#ask-the-dank-ass-creeps

[king-of-wrath]

"...Do I really gotta do this?" Satan asked, facepalming himself before getting up off his throne.

"I would tell you fuckers digging-up that Gritt Force guy's trauma and commenting on his sex life to go touch grass, but briefly touching a single blade and running back inside your dank hovels ain't enough to fix your rude and invasive asses. Nah, you gotta at least get to second base with your front lawn. But there's only one way to guarantee you'll actually do that..."

"If they can't behave online, then they don't get to BE online..." he grumbled.

Satan then stuck his giant head out the window of his fortified palace, shouting in the general direction of a specific geothermal power plant.

"SHUT IT DOWN, BOYS! NO MORE ELECTRICITY FOR PRIDE!"

As ordered, the plant's workers scurried about to deactivate each generator connected to Pride Ring. Block by block, Pentagram City would start going dark.

"IF WANT YOUR LIGHTS BACK ON, THEN START TEACHING THOSE PARASOCIAL STALKER CREEPS PROPER MANNERS---THROUGH GRATUITOUS VIIIOLEEENCEEE~!" he shouted towards Pride.

"FUCK YOU, TERMINALLY-ONLINE DEMONS!"

[biblicallyaccuratebeskar]

Metal Home

Read Chapter 19 Here

Also on AO3

Chapter 20/22: ~3.3K words

One

Our first stop during our week off, hilariously, was Nevarro.

When Din first suggested it I laughed in his face, assuming it was one of his dry jokes. When he didn’t respond I realized he was serious.

“You’re kidding. Why do we need to go back to Nevarro?”

“I need to check in with the Tribe.”

“Mandalorian business?”

“Mandalorian business.”

I never pried and he never told me why he always slipped away after our meetings with Karga. That part of him remained mysterious to me, the ins and outs of his Creed. All I knew was that it was important to him. I’d still never seen another Mandalorian.

I didn’t like it, but I didn’t fight it. He knew what he was doing and he felt he needed to go.

That didn’t stop me from following him.

He was shiny as hell and walking right into a bounty hunter nest. Virs was off our ass, but it was still unclear if the bounty was officially off my head. I thought it was reckless, so I slipped out after him as he was unaware of my presence. If he needed backup, I’d be there.

I sped after him as he went down a dark side street, disappearing through an open doorway. When I came to it I realized it was a stairwell, and I made my way down. It led to the walkable sewer system under Nevarro. It was dark and smelled of, well, sewage. Where the fuck was he going?

The more we progressed I began to hear something. A hammering noise, metal on metal. It became louder the farther we progressed down the dank tunnel. I saw him slip around a corner and into a doorway. My back slammed against the outer wall when I heard a voice.

“Ah, Din Djarin. Your presence is welcomed.” It was a woman’s voice, elegant through a modulator. Another Mando.

“Thank you. I have returned to apologize for my absence.” His voice was stiff and formal. She must be some sort of superior.

“There is no need for an apology at this time. You are Mandalorian. Those who abide by the Creed and walk the Path remain one with the Tribe, even with distance.”

“Y-yes.” He faltered. She noticed.

“There is something troubling you. Speak.”

“It is nothing.”

“You have abided by the Creed, have you not?”

“I-...”

The silence was thick and tense. She cut through it, her voice a blade.

“Have you ever removed your helmet?”

That’s what made him pause. He’d broken his Creed...for me.

“I have,” he spoke, voice fragile.

Shit. Just like him to run himself into the ground for the sake of being truthful.

“To whom was your face shown?” the woman asked, voice frigid. “It was me.” I jumped into the doorway, hands up in surrender. I didn’t know what she would do to him if he’d broken the Creed, but she wasn’t going to lay a finger on him if I was there.

Din’s reaction would’ve been the funniest thing I’d ever seen if I wasn’t so tense. He spun around, stiffening like someone had shocked him in the ass.

The other Mandalorian looked taken aback too, but had a far less physical reaction. Her helmet was gold, covered in small spikes. A fur wrapped around her shoulders and she held a massive metal mallet. I would’ve died to be her friend if I didn’t just make the situation dangerously awkward.

I could feel Din‘s fierce exasperation as I slowly approached the Gold Mando.

“I’m the only one who’s seen his face,” I told her.

“Hm,” she hummed out with a hint of dissatisfaction. It was mildly offending, but I shook it off.

“And what is the nature of your relationship with this man?” she asked, voice eerily monotonous.

“I’m uh...I’m his...co-pilot. I’m his co-pilot.”

“Yes. Co-pilot.” Din echoed.

“I see,” she responded, walking towards me. “What is your name?” “Larkin Vega, ma’am.”

“Larkin Vega, do you wear his beskar?”

“Uh...”

I couldn’t tell what that question insinuated, but I gathered that I maybe needed to wear his armor to see his face. The only problem was I didn’t. Panic slowly started creeping in when I remembered. The knife.

I flicked it out of my belt and showed her. “Yes, I do.” I desperately hoped that would do the trick to alleviate whatever her concern was. “Bring it to me,” she said motioning to take it. I hesitantly placed it in her hands. She took it over to her workstation and raised her mallet, bringing it down on the blade. A musical clang rang throughout the room.

“Though...unconventional, this is indeed beskar. Was this your intention, Din Djarin?”

He was quiet for a moment. I was so lost, barely keeping up with what was happening around me.

“Yes. It was.”

“Well, then there is no need to fret. You still abide by the Creed.” “Thank you. We will take our leave now.”

She handed back the blade. “Use it well, Larkin Vega.”

I nodded. “Of course.”

She looked at Din. “This is the Way.”

“This is the Way.”

We both turned and left, and as soon as we passed the doorway Din roughly grabbed my arm and nearly started running out.

“Hey, I’m sorry, I’m sorry!”

“We’re going back to the ship now.”

“Yeah, I gathered that.”

We scrambled back, not wasting any time. As soon as the hull door closed it seemed we were in hyperspace.

Din was quiet, and not the usual good kind. I could tell he wasn’t pleased with me, but I gave him space.

But the quiet just kept going. He was maneuvering around, so tense, it almost made the air in the Crest hard to breathe.

The silence extended through the rest of the night and bled into the following day. It felt like I had to tiptoe to avoid a landmine that I didn’t even know was active or not.

What had I done?

——

“I have a surprise for you.”

That was nearly the last sentence I expected him to use to break his long period of beskar-ridden stoicism, but it admittedly succeeded in perking me up.

“A surprise. Really.” I smirked at him, watching him close the doors to the weapons closet as I sat perched on our bed.

He put a new blaster in his belt and headed up the ladder to the cockpit. “Have your blindfold on for when we descend. We’ll be there in a short while.”

“So the surprise is a place? Wait, my blindfold?” He didn’t respond as he disappeared up the rungs.

I slowly wrapped the piece of cloth around my head, the action familiar as I’d done before dozens on dozens of times. It had been only a few days since I’d stopped wearing it at night and it already felt bizarre to wear it once again.

The ship lurched as we closed in on wherever Din was taking us. When it shuddered, landing on a solid surface, I heard him land in the hull. A gloved hand wrapped around mine and guided me towards the door. I wordlessly let him lead me, nerves suddenly creeping up my stomach.

The door opened and I felt a delicate gust of warmth blow over my arms. My feet left the gangplank and onto something soft. It felt like grass and soft earth, my boots sinking ever so slightly.

I bit my lip. He’d barely spoken to me at all since Nevarro. Whatever I’d done it wasn’t good. I’d never seen him so frazzled, so quiet.

“I’m sorry about Nevarro. I should’ve said something sooner but-“

“You did nothing wrong.” He wasn’t brushing me off, wholly truthful as always.

“Then why…?”

“Take off the blindfold.”

I took in a deep breath. Right. The surprise. My fingers quickly undid the knot and the cloth slid from my eyes.

And oh, Maker.

We were in some sort of forest, but nothing I saw was green. The sky above was dark and endless, but every leaf, every blade of grass was speckled with glowing pigment in rich shades of blue, pink, and purple. Flowers twinkled like stars. Trees blowing in the wind looked like they were dipped in glitter, like those obscene dresses off Coruscant runways.

Directly in front of us was a pool of water, surrounded by rocks. The water was incredibly clear, ripples emanating from a waterfall and glittering with light as the movement danced across the surface.

My hand fluttered to my lips. It was easily the most beautiful planet I’d ever seen. Words couldn’t even form in my mouth.

“I came here on accident years ago, when I was new to the Guild. Punched in the wrong coordinates and landed here. No population, just…this.” Imagining him as a new and (more) shiny hunter made me snicker. Just like him to stumble across the most beautiful place in the galaxy unintentionally.

“I’ve always wanted to come back,” he murmured, turning his helmet to me, “but I’ve never had a good reason.”

A grin broke across my face. “You’ve just been keeping this in your back pocket this whole time?”

He shrugged, walking toward the pool. “We’re on vacation.”

I laughed as I followed him. He stilled on a rock before, achingly slow, beginning to remove his cape. The Rising Phoenix. Every Maker-forsaken blaster, knife, and anything else that could maim from his belt. Finally, his helmet.

He had a breathless look on his face, also in awe of the scene before us. A childlike wonder. It squeezed my heart, seeing the lack of worry lines in his forehead.

I was distracted like a schoolgirl with a crush, doe-eyed staring at his face, when in one fluid motion he pulled off his shirt and dove into the crystal water. His figure floated underneath the surface, black flexing as he sped through the water like a fish.

Din loved to swim, I realized deliriously.

He was graceful, arms navigating the ripples just like he navigating the ship’s console or a pulse rifle. With ease. And also, while looking infuriatingly hot.

I frantically threw off my boots and socks and hiked up the bottoms of my pants, gingerly sitting on the rock and sinking them into the pool, wiggling my toes in the warm water.

He popped above the surface and swam over to me, leaning on the rock, a small smile on his lips as a droplet dripped off the tip of his nose.

“It’s nice…” he said suggestively, offering out his hand. Something in me deflated.

“I- I’m sorry. I don’t know how to swim.”

His eyebrows raised and he floated over, in between my legs, placing his hands on my hips.

“I wouldn’t let go,” he whispered, for the first time I’d ever seen, asking “please” with his eyes.

Slowly, I lifted the seam of my shirt, crossing my arms as I reached up, letting it fall behind me. A gust of warm wind blew across the bareness of my back, under the straps of my undergarment. I laced my arms around his neck and he pushed off the rock, holding onto my waist.

It felt bizarre being buoyant in the water like that, but any nerves melted away with the warmth of his touch, the firmness of his hold. His strength. The look in his eyes that held hunger, confidence, distant sadness. But most of all, wonderfully of all, happiness.

I smiled softly as I reached a hand up to wipe the dripping curls off his forehead, letting my hand linger on his cheek for a moment.

“You big fucking romantic, you,” I said, rubbing over the stubble. There was barely any room between us, body on body, floating in a pool of stars. “Din, this is…”

Words couldn’t do it all justice. I stopped short, just taking in the scenery once more, the dreamworld fantasy he’d stumbled across and brought me to.

But why? Why now? Why, after all this time?

He must have seen the quizzical look on my face.

“There’s something I have to tell you.” Din’s voice was rich and gruff. Sturdy. But his words were fragile, tense eyebrows and wide eyes giving away apprehension.

“What is it?” I whispered, stomach flipping over itself. There was a reason we were here. What could it possibly be?

“Nevarro. The Armourer…she…”

I tensed. “Din, are we in trouble?”

“No. No, it’s just that…” He was avoiding eye contact, jaw clenched. My thumb rubbed over his cheekbone. “Hey, if you don’t want to talk about it right now we don’t have to.”

His eyes snapped onto mine. “I have to,” he bit out. He was nervous, and my mind was spinning in circles trying to discern why. I just nodded to encouraged him along.

“She held witness to you wearing my beskar.”

I stared at him squinting a little, my mind still desperately trying to catch up. And then it all clicked at once and everything in me softened.

“Din. Does that mean what I think it means?”

His eyes were darker than the sky above, reflecting the particles of light like faceted jewels, big and true.

“Larkin, by Creed we are one. But only if you wish. It can be undone.”

My hand fell off his face in shock and into the water with a small splash. It spattered us in drops but neither of us moved at all.

“Please tell me,” he breathed, chest rumbling against mine, “please tell me if you want this.”

I could’ve laughed in his face but I was too delicate to muster it.

“Want this? Din, there’s no one else in this big, stupid galaxy I’d rather live and die with. I want you Din. I- I need you. I always will. So yes,” I inhaled shakily. “Yes.”

I swear I saw a fuse light inside him then, some dormant light blasting through his skin and rendering him incandescent. He kissed me, fierce but soft, lips cool and wet but like a match, lighting a fire deep in my chest and burning out only the word more.

I dove in deep, water rushing around us as we collided.

One in the Creed.

The whole planet was glowing, but Din Djarin was the brightest fucking thing around.

——

That night I was laying on his chest under the canopy of bioluminescence. We’d dragged out the mattresses and made camp, like children playing house. The covers were warm around us and smelled like him now. A flower he’d picked for me was tucked behind my ear, the soft pink petals illuminating us both as we took each other in. We were bleary-eyed and tired, a little drunk on each other, but neither of us wanted to give in to sleep and have the moment end. He was slowly running his fingers through my hair.

If I could go back and tell the Larkin that was so scared to sleep next to him with a blindfold on what was happening now, I think she would’ve gone into catatonic shock.

“I have a question,” I told him, craning my neck to look in his eyes. They sparkled when he was happy.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Did you know about all of this when you gave me the knife?”

He clammed up for a moment, considering what to say.

“I did.”

A grin cut across my mouth. “No fucking way.”

He winced a bit. “Yeah.”

This whole time? My mind reeled.

“You gave me that knife when I pinned you sparring for the first time. Remember?”

He covered his face with his other hand. “I did, didn’t I.”

I cracked up, laughing loudly into his neck.

“You know if you asked me then instead of giving my a knife there was a good chance I would’ve said yes,” I said softly, voice still bright with laughter.

“Really?” His shock was apparent and innocent.

I cupped his face. “Yeah. You had me from the moment you nearly killed yourself with a jet pack.”

“Oh, so that’s how we’re gonna do this,” he smirked, voice low, heaving up to hold himself above me. His curls fell towards me, the muscles in his shoulders and chest flexing, smile positively evil.

I shrieked as he fell towards me, kissing hard, body pressing into mine.

“You had me from the moment I saw you,” he murmured into my neck.

I took his face in my hands and gazed at his features in awe, knowing he told the truth.

After all, Din Djarin wastes none of his words.

——

When I woke up the first thought I had was of my parents.

It wasn’t a rare occurrence. Often first thing my brain would revert to them. Maybe it was a response in confusion as to why I wasn’t in my childhood bed, or maybe it’s because they’d haunted my dreams that night.

Usually these thoughts came on violently, assaulting me with no warning, creating a tear in my chest that I would need to messily patch up throughout the day.

This morning was different. I thought of them fondly as I moved in closer to Din, burying my face into the broadness of his back.

The love my parents had was something out of the books I read. It was real and raw, my mother and father true in their intentions and honest in their thoughts. I was privileged to grow up in a home built on the foundation of their love. It was a privilege to witness them love each other even if it was for a short amount of time.

Mom and Dad knew the stakes of protecting the books. They knew the stakes of raising me as well. I was reared with the expectation to achieve greatness and goodness if I were ever to be without them. And I was, so soon.

For a while, that loneliness was all I felt. I was stuck in limbo, aimless. Constant survival mode, yet constant listlessness.

Then, things happened. Things changed. And somehow I worried that my parents wouldn’t have been happy about that.

I had rediscovered my power, my connection to the Force, and the fear of myself was beginning to turn into a pain of the past.

I had found a purpose, working with the New Republic. Every day I was surrounded by people who understood the fight my family fought long before the Empire’s end was in sight. My parents’ names were echoes on ledgers and data sheets, and I could almost feel them guiding my hands.

And, maybe, most wondrously of all, I’d found love.

Din groaned softly and rolled over, pulling me into his chest. He gently kissed my forehead before drifting back to sleep, snoring lightly.

Maybe for a stint of almost a year I was a prolific bounty hunter. Maybe I’d made reckless decisions left and right. But at the end of the day, I took solace in knowing that none of that would matter if my parents knew I was happy and loved.

And wow, was I in love.

Every part of Din was lovable to me. Every physical inch and every thought that would come into his head. It was all lovable because it was all him.

It was all so impossible and gut-wrenching that sometimes in the middle of the night I just looked at him, wondering what I’d done right.

When I thought of my parents that morning, I thought of how hard they must have loved each other. They were always under the threat of adversity, but they had each other. I knew what that felt like now. To be each other’s anchor.

As long as we stuck together, there was nothing we couldn’t do.

I’ll be okay, I thought, hoping they’d hear me.

Even if they didn’t, with my Mandalorian, with my Din, I knew it would be true.

[ask-the-dank-ass-creeps]

Will blushed nervously a bit. “Um... Well... Actually...I’m bi-” “But William is quite the ass man~!” The clown chimed in as he draped an arm around his buddy, causing Will to blush more. “I, on the other hand, believe I would be what you humans consider pansexual? I’m not too picky, but I do like squishy things~” He looked over to their stiched up neighbor who was standing with crossed arms, unwilling to speak. “I don’t think you’re going to get an answer out of him, but I can tell you he doesn’t seem to be interested in dating. Maybe what you would call ace or demi? I’m not certain, but he does have a secret soft spot once you get to know him~” Franki glared at LJ before turning to walk away. “Fuck you.”

[smutty-ki113r]

Ah hello dear ignore the last request! Anon WASNT on! But once again could I request platonic creepypasta of your choice with a reader who was just broken up with as you know I was recently broken up with and it was VERY messy anyways drink water eat sleep

Lots of love

-✨

❤️‍🩹Jeff the Killer❤️‍🩹||The Break Up

Comfort Drabble||~ platonic

Inspired by: Machine Gun Kelly

It had been such a difficult week, everything seemed to be going downhill and you felt like you had no control. The things that had been seemingly been going well had just fallen apart and it was such a gut-wrenching feeling to experience.

The breakup made you question everything, was there something you could have done? Was it your fault? Why didn’t they talk to you about it first? Had it been building up? Did they fall out of love? Why?

It was horrible to have to pretend everything was ok, you really didn’t want to be vulnerable around the creeps, or look weak. Bottling up the resentment, sadness and anger was hell. Crying for hours on end and not being able to change anything.

You never would have thought that Jeff would have noticed, or even cared. He had actually paid a lot of attention, and he felt like you weren’t acting like yourself. Although he was an ass most of the time he did enjoy your company, those laughs of broken humor and the play fighting.

He could clearly see the change in your attitude, you’re lack of motivation. Whenever he looked at you there was a glossy look to your eyes, like you were lost down a black hole of thought. Not to mention you looked restless and your eyes were always red.

It was after dinner when he went up to your room to talk to you, it’s not like you had eaten much either. Giving an aggressive knock and hearing no response back, he felt like you were ignoring him. Now annoyed beyond belief, probably just worried, he went to open the door.

“WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH YO-“ and he’ll come across you sobbing at the edge of your bed, your head in your hands. Unsure of what to say and giving “uhh’s” until he decides to close the door behind him and ask “what’s been going on?”

You never expected the change in tone, it was unlike any you had ever heard from him. It made you feel safe, so you told him what happened through sniffles, him sitting next to you and nodding his head in sympathy. Laying a big hand on your back and stroking softly to try to get you to calm your breathing.

He was angry at your ex, for treating you that way at the end. Telling you “they really didn’t deserve you” and “you’re fucking better off without them”. Eventually Jeff himself will get comfortable enough to hug you, encasing your body in his arms and running his fingers through your hair.

After you end your crying he’ll suggest going to explore some abandoned buildings or listening to music. He will also make a shit ton of dank jokes, pleading when he asks “Want me to kill them for you?” And “If you still want their heart I’ll go cut it out for you”. Overall he will be super perceptive, since he knows how feeling unwanted and unloved is he will not want to see you go through the same. He’s a good companion.

[lambden]

Tumblr ate this post twice so here’s a third attempt! I wrote this for last week’s flash fic challenge; the prompt was so good that I decided to whip up some Yencilla. Priscifer? Who knows, but I love them. (Also on AO3)

Summer - Calvin Harris (Medieval Bardcore Remix)

T, 2.8K words, Yennefer/Priscilla, Yennefer/Priscilla/Triss, Geralt/Jaskier

Tags/warnings: Modern AU, established relationship, minor nonspecific reference to past drug use

“I shall never forgive you for this,” Priscilla tells her best friend. Jaskier doesn’t raise his head from his task of draping cheap tulle around her legs, so he must not take the threat seriously. Her eyes narrow. “Do you hear me, asshole? Never."

“I hear you,” Jaskier replies, all sing-song and teasing. Priscilla is going to poison his next meal. He pushes a safety pin through the netting, fastening it around her hips and then stepping back to survey his handiwork. “Not too bad!”

Priscilla scoffs, twirling to test the makeshift skirt. Sure enough, her metallic underwear, with bright silver straps clinging to her thighs and ass, is...  partially disguised. You’d really have to be staring to notice it, and as Jaskier assured her upon their entrance, nobody’s going to spare her any weird looks. Not when there’s so many other oddities to stare at.

Like many of the hijinks that Priscilla has been drafted into over the last few years, this is solidly and wholly Jaskier’s fault. He’d sent her a text two days ago about getting last-minute tickets to a festival. Priscilla had reminded him (politely) that she didn’t do drugs anymore, and he had laughed and said ‘but you still drink, don’t you?’

The website to The Hidden Continent was down when she tried to check, but Priscilla didn’t bother asking Jaskier about dress codes, figuring that this event would be similar to other music festivals the two of them had frequented. So she had only checked the weather— blue skies all weekend, not a single cloud to warn her about the oncoming embarrassment— and packed her tent and supplies into the back of her tiny car.

She thought that something might have been wrong from the second she saw the unicorn on her way into the forest. An actual, honest-to-God unicorn, not a decoration; there was a knight tending to it, brushing out its mane by the side of the road. Priscilla nearly drove into a tree but managed to right herself, chasing away the creeping suspicions that this was a different kind of festival.

Then she’d gotten out in the parking lot, wearing only her golden lingerie set, small iridescent wings, and a dramatic makeup look with at least a pound of fake gemstones. Her gaze landed on Jaskier, waiting outside the festival entrance, wearing… Well. Wearing some Medieval Times bullshit.

They’ve mostly screamed it out by now, but Jaskier is still determined to go inside— inside the Renaissance Faire, which is absolutely not the weekend experience that Priscilla thought she’d signed up for. He brought a lute and a stupidly long coat that he’s sure to overheat in and everything. He looks the part— well, he looks like a bloody idiot, but judging from everyone else in sight, that seems to be the assignment. Priscilla, on the other hand, looks exactly like the rave queen she thought she would be this weekend.

Hence the skirt. She hikes it up, adjusting her silver bra so that the straps cross in a different way. There’s no way to make this outfit look decent, but the only other thing she packed is her pajamas. She’s about to tell Jaskier that she’s bailing when a family walks past them in the parking lot and one of the children’s eyes go wide. “Look, mum! A fairy!”

Jaskier’s expression is equally gleeful when Priscilla looks back at him. She relents, glowering, “Fine, alright. We can go in.”

The Hidden Continent, as it turns out, is just as weird as a rave, but smells infinitely better. Instead of dank clouds of sweat and weed, the air is intoxicatingly sweet. Jaskier drags Priscilla over to the vendor stalls and plies her with honey cakes and glass bottles of mead, which… is a good first step towards apologizing, she has to admit. The way he orders is hilarious though; he’s always been grandiose and melodramatic, but this takes it to the next level.

Strangely, Jaskier fits in here. Priscilla knows she must look as nervous as she feels, but Jaskier was right— nobody pays her any mind. A woman selling ‘alchemical treatments and medicine’ checks her out, but Priscilla doesn’t mind that kind of attention. Music drifts on the breeze from somewhere, and everyone seems to be in good spirits. Slowly and reluctantly, Priscilla begins to let herself have fun.

Then Jaskier finally lets go of her arm without warning, making a beeline across the market. Priscilla struggles to follow him through the crowd of knights and maidens and strange druid-looking people, nearly dropping her mead in the process. She drains the rest of it and finds Ye Olde Recycleing Binne to dispose of the bottle. And when she lifts her head, she finally spots Jaskier again, approaching the smith’s tent.

If Priscilla didn’t know Jaskier so well, she could have easily mistaken the scene for something right out of a movie. Jaskier takes off his ridiculous hat, smoothing down his hair and moving his lute onto his back, striding towards the tent with less confidence and bravado than before. He looks nervous, and Priscilla can’t tell why— not until the sole occupant of the tent comes into view, anyway. A grizzled, strong man, with his white hair half-tied up and a sword in his giant hands. Jaskier’s type in a fucking nutshell.

Priscilla groans. So that’s why they’re here this weekend.

The blacksmith sees Jaskier and drops his sword, burying it into the dirt without a second glance. He blurts out, astonished, “Dandelion!” and sounds just as raspy as Pris had expected. Jaskier strides forward, pushing the man further into the tent, and Priscilla groans and turns away. She doesn’t need to watch this, not when she’s the one holding Jaskier’s coinpurse and there’s still mead that she can go waste it on.

But when she tries to make her way back to the market, she gets… turned around, a bit. This festival is far bigger than she’d expected, and she begins to regret not taking a map when they’d come in. Jaskier had promised he knew his way around, but now that he’s in the arms of his mysterious summer lover, Priscilla doubts she’s going to see him for several hours. Fuck.

After wandering past a strange group of goth princesses who possibly might just be vampires and a rosy nobleman drunk off his ass on whatever ‘Erveluce’ is, Priscilla finally finds a row of buildings. Not tents, real buildings— small quaint brick houses that probably accommodate more permanent vendors than the stalls. The first one has a large sign over the door marking it as an apothecary, and Pris figures that’s as good a bet as any to ask for directions.

Except when she opens the front door, no counter or wares are in sight. It looks more like an eclectic bookstore than a drugstore or apothecary, with stacks of old books piled from floor to ceiling. Dried bundles of herbs hang from the walls; lavender is the only one that Priscilla recognizes, and it makes the entire foyer smell like lilacs. She breathes in, uncertain, and wonders if she’s perhaps breaking and entering.

But then someone barks from another room, “Come in, you’re going to let the cat out!” and what choice does Priscilla have? She shuts the door behind her, toeing out of her sandals and dusting off her tulle skirt. The safety pin has started to snag; she’ll need another quick repair the next time she tracks down Jaskier. Or maybe she’ll go buy one of those fancy gowns that everyone is wearing.

The first room she enters is vacant, with no humans or cats to be seen. There’s a skull up by the window, and more books and plants. It isn’t exactly the kind of cheerful decor Priscilla would pick out for her own apartment, and it’s colder in here than outside on the festival grounds; she shudders, folding her arms over her chest. The motion pulls her wings taut, nearly making them flutter. She doesn’t notice, too enraptured by the weird skull on the desk.

“Oh,” the voice from before says, surprised. Priscilla straightens up, whipping around. In the doorway to the study is the most beautiful woman she’s ever seen. “You’re not Triss.”

“No, I’m not,” Priscilla agrees. The woman tilts her head, scrutinizing her and her outfit. Her violet eyes trace over the shape of Priscilla’s body, as well as the silvery underwear that must be visible through the translucent tulle. Pris flushes under her watchful, curious gaze, stammering, “I’m sorry, I got turned around outside. I think I’m a bit lost, do you have a map or something that I could borrow?”

Priscilla clears her throat, wishing she was wearing more clothing. Or much, much less. This stranger must sense her dismay because she makes a sympathetic noise, sharpness not quite disappearing from her expression but she softens, shoulders sinking. “Is it your first time here at the festival?”

“Yes,” Priscilla nods, grimacing. “That obvious, huh?” She reaches down to grab fistfuls of her skirt, twisting them up into bunches. “Um, my friend didn’t give me a lot of details, and then he ran off to go get laid. And by a lot, I mean any. Any at all! Before I got here, I thought it was a rave.”

Laughing suddenly, the woman smiles. Priscilla smiles back, absolutely enchanted. It’s hard to keep her eyes off the woman’s body in that dark dress that flatters her in all the right places, but her smile is even more hypnotic. “That’s alright,” she tells Pris, still smiling. “You look the part. When I saw you standing in here, I thought that a beautiful lost fairy might have stumbled in.”

From anyone else, it would be unbearably cheesy. From this gorgeous woman, it’s the best pick-up line Priscilla has ever heard. She mumbles, “Sorry to disappoint.”

“Not at all.” That perfect smile widens. “My name is Yennefer, and yes, I can give you a map. Or you’re welcome to stay here while your friend is otherwise occupied, if you’d like. I have food, and wine…?”

Remembering how the blacksmith had called Jaskier by his stage name, Priscilla decides that a layer of anonymity would be sexy. Just for the festival. “I’m Callonetta,” she introduces herself, curtseying slightly. Yennefer laughs again, soft and delighted. “Wine sounds lovely!”

---

Someone blows a bugle somewhere, doing a poor imitation of a rooster, and Geralt shifts beneath Jaskier. Jaskier, not accustomed to waking at the very break of dawn, grumbles and sprawls over Geralt’s chest, muttering his protests. Geralt just laughs, kissing the closest part of Jaskier in reach— his ear— and then whispering, “Time to get up, Dandelion. Day’s a-wasting.”

“Day’s a-wasting— it is the crack of fucking dawn, you bastard,” Jaskier grumbles, half-muffled by the meat of Geralt’s shoulder. Geralt shudders, grinning. “I want to sleep in with you til half-past ten at least, and then go for round five, because you fell asleep before we could try that other thing—”

“You were half-asleep when you suggested it,” teases Geralt. Jaskier moves his thigh until it’s pressing between Geralt’s legs, but his lover just sighs, nipping his jaw underneath his ear. “You’re going to miss the whole fair at this rate.”

“Don’t care about the fair,” sings Jaskier. He can’t keep all the sadness from his voice when he admits, “Don’t give a shit about any of it. I only came here for you.”

“You must have really needed a good sword polishing.”

Still drowsy and half-hard, Jaskier still finds the mental clarity to smack Geralt’s arm for that one. But he’s smiling against Geralt’s shoulder. “I’m serious! The school year is too damn long! I’ve waited forever to get to see you, and now the first night is over already… Before we know it, you’re going to be whisked away back to the real world, and I’ll never get to see you ever again.”

“You still come see me during the school year,” Geralt snorts. “Ciri thinks we’ve got raccoons thanks to all the fucking noise you make sneaking in.”

“Well,” squawks Jaskier, “I can hardly be blamed for my eagerness when I’ve so dearly missed you and your giant cock—”

Geralt silences him with a kiss, which is by far Jaskier’s favourite way to be silenced so he doesn’t put up a fight. They kiss unhurriedly, heartbeats matching pace after a quiet, long moment. Geralt’s lips are even sweeter in the morning; one of the great impossible injustices. Surely someone as beautiful as Geralt should have at least one catch, like horrendous morning breath. Jaskier wonders if he somehow sneaks away a few minutes before dawn to brush his teeth and put on mascara.

“We’ll get to round five, but I have to get up now,” Geralt tells him, kissing him once again. “I barely made any sales yesterday thanks to a certain clingy bard, and you’ve got to go track down your friend.”

Jaskier goes still. “Oh, fuck. I forgot about Pris!”

It takes them twenty minutes to get dressed and ready— well, to be accurate, it takes Geralt five minutes to dress and fifteen to fuck around with his hair, while Jaskier scrambles around the house rambling about how he abandoned his friend without a second thought in pursuit of some good dick, the best dick, but no dick is good enough to forsake a bosom friend, and Geralt, where the fuck did they leave his pants. It’s half-past dawn by the time Jaskier kicks open the door to Geralt’s summer home, still rambling about how Priscilla is going to actually murder him.

“You’ll have a grand funeral,” Geralt promises. His mouth opens to say something else but he freezes, staring oddly behind Jaskier.

“You’d better fucking come,” Jaskier stammers, pulling his doublet into place. His hair is a mess and there’s no accounting for his beloved hat, but whatever, he’ll track it down later. First things first is finding his friend. Then he finally clues into Geralt’s expression and follows his gaze, whirling around to see the occupants of the house across from Geralt’s lodgings.

Yennefer and Triss, the Continent’s resident witches, are also shutting their front door. But accompanying them is a pretty blonde wearing a long purple gown and a crown of flowers. She turns around, giggling about something, and then she and Jaskier make eye contact and the world goes to hell. Both shriek, in unison and similar tones, “So that’s where you were last night!”

“I looked for you!” Priscilla rounds on him first, stomping over. Her lips have a tell-tale wine stain and her hair has been painstakingly braided back into an intricate style under the flowers. “I couldn’t find you anywhere, and you were here all along? Snuggled up to this… this beefy blacksmith?!”

“Well, I looked for you,” Jaskier lies boldly. He can feel Geralt rolling his eyes. “So you mean to tell me the whole night you were just across the street, cavorting with witches?!”

“They aren’t witches! They’re lovely women, and yes, they were kind enough to host me last night, since you fucked off to get your dick wet and I couldn’t find you.”

At that, the two not-witches approach. Triss nods to Geralt, smiling politely as if to say ‘so you’ve found yourself an idiot bard too’— he nods back. Yennefer tilts her head, eyeing Jaskier with that shrewd look that always makes him a little scared for his life. But when she speaks, she sounds far nicer than usual. “So you’re Nettle’s friend?”

With the grace and reservedness of a banshee, Jaskier demands, “Nettle?!”

“Callonetta,” amends Yennefer, smiling broadly and mischievously. Her fingers curl around Priscilla’s far shoulder, arm circling around her protectively. Jaskier is going to blow a gasket. “She was lost. We helped her out.” Sure enough, Triss walks around Priscilla’s other side, sliding an arm around her hips and smiling politely. Jaskier’s eyes bulge out of his head.

“I’m glad we found your friend, Dandelion,” Geralt intervenes before anyone can yell any more. “Shall we work this out over breakfast?”

“Sure,” Priscilla nods quickly. There’s still glitter on her forehead from her makeup yesterday. “I’d love to get to know the man that Dandelion is so taken by.” Her eyes sparkle, and Jaskier wants to jump down her throat, but… she’s smiling so genuinely that he can’t be mad. He had half-assumed she would leave yesterday, so he supposes he should just be grateful she’s still here, and happy to boot.

“Well, Callonetta, if you’re hungry, there’s a stall that does these biscuits with lemon curd— here, I’ll lead the way.” He offers Priscilla his arm as an obvious peace offering, and she takes it, stepping out of the grasp of Yennefer and Triss. Jaskier starts leading his friend over towards the food vendors, and quiet music drifts across the gentle morning breeze, meaning the other bards have woken up somewhere. Jaskier starts to think this might shape up to be the best Faire yet.

From behind them, he hears Yennefer say, subdued but still amused, “Callonetta was telling us about another kind of festival in the fall that we think could be very fun, Geralt.”

[paversandplatters]

||𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝙱𝚎𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚒𝚘𝚛 𝚘𝚏 𝚂𝚑𝚎𝚎𝚙|| (5/20)

Apocalypse! Au (TW! Minor gore and cussing)

Reader x multiple

Chapter 5: A Flock Found

They pack a wheel barrow to the brim with the newly acquired supplies they find not botheringing to leave behind much of anything, making sure to cop the twenty five gallon container of gasoline from the tool shed out back behind the building... Lord knows they'll need for the grand task ahead of them. By the time the light in the south western sky began to fade from a light gray to pink over the backwaters of the panhandle they're ready. They slip outside through the rectory's side door and creep single file along the edge of the property. Y/n takes the lead, periodically glancing over her shoulder for any sign of the herd that had crossed the highway or any sign of the group that occupied this space all too recently. She carries a glock with a full magazine just in case. The dusky air gets clammy and cool on the back of the stranger's neck as he follows them to the car. They climb in hurriedly, stowing their provisions in the rear cargo bay. Y/n kicks the engine on as the newcomer clambers into the passenger seat next to her- much to the dismay of the other two- unfolding an old dogeared map.

"They usually stick pretty close to the ocean." He says almost to himself, silently calculating the mileage between them and the gulf. "Probably should start down by Perry or Carwfordville." He senses movement ahead of them through the windshield and glances up in time to see a couple of jagged shadows emerging from the woods about a hundred yards away, drawn to the sound of their engine. Garbled growls can be heard over the drone of crickets. The trace smell of garbage on the breeze, the light and space of the outdoors is almost overwhelming to him. He feels like he's been asleep for a hundred years, locked away in that dank and dirty church- he starts to feel dizzy.

Y/n gooses the accelerator and the SUV lurches away. He sinks into his seat as they roar down the road, swerving to avoid the half dozen or so biters now skulking out of the woods blocking their path. They sideswipe one the creatures, ripping a chunk of its shoulder, splattering fresh gore across the glass of his side window.

"You get used to it." she states after he flinches in disgust. He just stares at the splatter, flecks of bone chips, and a long trail of black bile.

"I don't think anyone can get used to that ..." Nick mutters from the back seat.

Night falls and the darkness deepens behind the trees on either side of the road. Most of the streetlights in this part of the country have gone the same way as the internet or cable TV, so the road only gets darker and darker as they head south towards the steaming thickets and festering swamps of the coastal lowlands. The going is slow, most of the two lanes are crowded with rusted out wreckages ,the carcasses of cars and trucks so old now that the weeds and switchgrass have begun to grow up from their metal endoskeletons. The two young men in the rear breathe heavily, thickly, half asleep while Y/n drives and softly hums some forgotten tune. They had passed the jerky and water around a few minutes ago- their standard fare of supper- and now their bellies growl and their eyelids droop with exhaustion.

"You never gave your name..." His hushed voices rings out from the shotgun seat.

"Hadn't crossed my mind at the time, sorry about that... It's Y/n" She chuckles softly. "The one with the headband is Nick but goes by Sapnap, don't ask i don't know- the other one with the accent is George." he just simply hums in reply.

"What about you big guy? What do they call you?"

He takes a moment to regard the woman seated next to him; his head still trying to wrap itself around this complete stranger who's shown him nothing but kindness. On the one hand, she seems trustworthy enough, friendly, a good listener, courteous and capable of single handedly taking out an entire chapel full of reanimated corpses... On the other hand she seems like a walking time bomb. He'd seen her type before- they type that's too kind until something or someone breaks that trust. A hairline trigger. The sad fact is he doesn't have a large array of options. Staying in that hellhole of a church with those enslavers, listening to the groans of the dead, waiting for whatever those bastards would do next quickly loses its charm... Seeing the aftermath of her cleaning house with that knife had given him an odd charge- a cathartic release. He's also aware that he'd never be able to find the caravan on his own given the sorry state he's in. He really has no choice but to go along with her and her scruffy ass men and hope for the best.

"I don't have a name.. that is, one that I can remember.."

She desperately wants to pry, how could he not remember his own name? But the thousand yard stare and glassy gaze is enough to stop her from inquiring any further. "Well we've gotta call you something big guy." She's met with silence in response. "Alright, I guess Big Guy it is then." He offers only a meek hum in response. In an attempt to silence his own raging thoughts his eyes landed on the red bandanna tied to the rearview mirror for what was probably the hundredth time since he started on this way too long car ride.

"... What's that about?" He points to the red scarf.

"It belonged to a friend of mine a long while back, before Sapnap and George were a thing." Her hands tighten their hold on the wheel. "I was caught by 'traders' and he was stuck in the same hole as me... Couldn't have been any older than fourteen at the time. One night the compound was under attack, their front gate was breached- luckily we were kept at the very back end, so when the opportunity came we managed to escape our holding cell and I hoisted him over the wall. Told him to keep running, to not look back. He got away but I was caught again," She takes in a deep breath before resuming her story.

"I was quickly sold off to some asshole who had these two chained up for breaking into their stores... one thing led to another and we snuck out and snagged this ride... we've been moving around since." It was obvious by her tone there was a lot she was leaving out and probably for a good reason. Notably the two in the back seat were dead silent, so much so that it made the air feel heavy and dense enough to cut with a sharp enough knife. Suddenly he was wishing he hadn't bothered to ask in the first place

"That sign back there," He manages, desprate to break the heavy air "Said 'Cross city 12 miles" He glances up from the map in his lap, gazing out the side window at the stewing darkness of Dixie County Florida. "Got a feeling we're getting close."

The vast patchwork of wetlands passes in a blur on either side of them. The land oozing a low blanket of methane as gray as mold, clinging to the shadows of pine thickets and gullies like dirty lace. The air smells briny and rotten with dead fish. Every few minutes they pass the ruins of a small town or wreckage strewn trailer parks. No sign of survivors in these parts, though only the occasional silhouette of an upright corpse shambling by, it's eyes like twin yellow reflectors in the darkness.

"We can't just keep burning gas all night." Sapnap says from his place in the rear, his voice all cranked up with pain and panic "and we can't just go off of what you overheard those traders talking about- Much less go off of feelings.." Big guy just keeps a neural face.

"We're in the ballpark" He persists "Believe me they'll be hard to miss." Y/n grips the steering wheel, her jaw working overtime on a piece of gum, snapping and chewing complusively as she drives.

"How many vehicles do they have in this convoy?" George questions between wheezy breaths.

"No idea... but it's quite a few ."

"That's pretty general."

"They'll be easy to spot." He replies once more, gazing back out at the darkness. "Our best bet is to follow the coast, they like to keep close to the water.."

"Why's that?"

He shrugs. "According to those 'traders' they keep their eyes peeled for ships or any possible way they might get their asses the hell out of here. Most of the bigger boats around here have been destroyed by the hurricane that hit a couple years ago, so it's a long shot that they'll find anything..."

They're about to give up the search when they start to climb the gentle slope- at first so gradual it's almost unnoticeable - up the side of a vast malodorous landfill- the barren trash-strewn scrubland to their left reaches across miles of sandy berms, all the way down to the deserted ghostly boardwalks that wind their way along the beaches. The sky has begun to bruise pink with predawn light and Y/n has just started to say something when the Big Guy sees the first faint streaks of red dots in the distant haze.

"LOOK!" He points his large gnarled hand down at the far dunes of ashen white sand winding along the coast. The surface is so pocked and windswept it resembles the dark side of the moon.

"Where?" She cranes her neck, slowing the vehicle down to a crawl.

"I don't see anything."

"About Half a mile up there... Look at the tail lights!"

She takes a deep cleansing breath as she finally sees the caravan chugging along the coastal road in the predawn light, it looks like embers throwing up puffs of smoke in their wake.

"Holy shit, I see it." A big smile washes over her face, Glad she decided to follow through with this insane plan.

"What do you think of those boys?" The two young men in the rear lean forward, transfixed by the sight, each of them rapt and silent as they gaze at the convoy.

"What are you doing?! Blaster your horn at them," George stutters anxiously. "Don't let them get away !"

Y/n smiles to herself, in her former life she used to be fascinated by the wildlife shows, often catching them in the late night showings after work before she turning in for the night. She remembers one episode in particular, on the behavior of sheep vs the behavior of wolves. She remembers the flock mentality; the sheep moving almost as one, easily managed by a single sheepdog. She remembers the instinct of the Wolf, stealthy, patient as it and its pack creep up on the flock. She shoots a glance across the dark interior at the larger man sat next to her before turning her head to face the two sat behind them.

"I have a better idea."

Taglist

@the-wandering-pan-ace @hvrcruxes

[redhawtriot]

Could I possibly have a scenario with a fem s/o who is constantly high but yet Bakugou can’t help but fall in love :) thanks in advance!

Anonymous- “Can I pls get first date with bakugo and reader goes to pay for her half and bakugo shits her down with some tsundere ass response like “I just know if you pay for this you’re gonna complain you dont have money to buy other shit.”

Tip Jar ☕- Not expected but always appreciated💞

I mashed these two request together!

Enjoy the fluff while it last cuz it’s finna get ANGSTY in this bitch!

HnM💕

How Stop liking a Stoner (Bakugou x Reader)

Bakugou absolutely hated you. Of course he didn’t get along with most people that he met, but the way that he despised you felt different  from others somehow. 

It all began the day that the two of you met. You had walked into class with a very distinct odor. You considered yourself to be a professional at hiding your more delinquent lifestyle; however, masked away under the layers of fruity and sweet perfumes that you had coated yourself in, was a slight, but very recognizable, dank and smokey smell.

You also had certain mannerisms that could alert even the purest of minds to your…ahem… extra-curricular actives.

Now, you weren’t a complete noob. You could handle the high well enough that you weren’t overly quiet, or loud, but you did often find yourself in situations that could expose your habits: such as when Mina asked you to feel how soft a furry piece of her hero costume was, and you ended up petting it for a few uncomfortable minutes before someone called you out, snapping you out of your trance.

Bakugou, being the ever perceptive grump that he was, noticed any of these sorts of slip ups and drew up the conclusion that you were indeed a stoner.   

But that wasn’t even what he could bring himself to hate about you. No, it was the way that you made him feel whenever you were around that made him wholy despise you. 

When you stupidly giggled at every slight occurrence, he could only replay the sound in his head over and over. Disgusting. When you absentmindedly swayed your body in a slight dance during lectures he couldn’t help but to watch you with a terrifyingly light feeling in his chest. Fucking gross. Even as you sat chomping on the insane mountain of snacks that you brought to class, he couldn’t fight the urge to steal glances at the little smile that was perpetually plastered onto your face. Absolutely adorable. WAIT? WHAT THE FUCK?! 

God, he couldn’t stand your ass.

The furious blond found himself sitting at his desk, glaring at his laptop. He sat in thought for a moment before violently popping his knuckles and leaning into the search engine in front of him, allowing his fingers get to work.

Is marijuana bad for you? 

Bakugou scrolled along the first page and found many differing views on the subject, but most scientific articles and studies mostly said the same things: “maybe”, “it depends”, and “we don’t know.” He groaned in frustration, before trying another phrasing of his question,

Can smoking have long term effects? 

The teen was surprised by the overwhelming amount data that appeared, before realizing that they were mostly referencing to cigarettes and cigars. He growled and angrily smashed his fingers against his keyboard to correct his question.

Can smoking weed have long term effects?

As he eyeballed his screen he was once again disappointed by very vague and unclear answers. He slammed a fist onto his laptop in frustration. How the hell could you put that shit into your body without knowing what it would do to you later?! 

Wait. A better, more pressing question shoved itself into his mind.

WHY THE HELL DID HE CARE SO DAMN MUCH ABOUT WHAT YOU WERE DOING?!

Bakugou groaned in frustration and roughly snatched a fist full of his hair, as if he were trying to rip you clean out of his mind. He knew for a fact that mind-altering wasn’t your damn quirk. So why the hell does he give a fuck about you? You weren’t even around him, yet he found himself having his thoughts wander to your well being. It pissed him off. 

Bakugou once more smacked his fingers against his keyboard as he typed one final question,

How to stop liking someone?

As soon as he saw the words flash across his screen, it was like the weight of the entire situation finally cracked something inside of him. Shit. He did like you. The boy suddenly slammed his laptop shut and threw it away from him like it had suddenly disgusted him.

He then decided that he was going to pretend like the last hour of his life just didn’t happen. Yeah he was gonna “control, alt, delete” the fuck out of every thought he just had. 

God dammit, he didn’t have time to dwell on crushes if he was going to be the number one hero! That stupid, delinquent girl wasn’t going to get any more of his time or thoughts!!

But.

It seemed like fate had something else planned as you hurriedly walked to your classroom, 1-A, the next morning. You absolutely couldn’t risk being late today. You hadn’t had enough time to grab your eye drops that morning and Aizawa would certainly notice your altered state if attention was drawn to you. 

The hallway ahead of you moved in choppy frames before you finally whipped a turn to enter the door of your classroom. As soon as you turned into the class, you were slapped with a warm sturdy object, sending you flying back onto your butt.

Bakugou immediately thrashed his body around to confront whatever idiot just knocked into him, “HEY WATCH WHERE YOU’RE…” he trailed off as he recognized your figure. Your lunch box that you had been holding had spilled its contents all over you, but the dirty sight of you was somehow still enough to make his heart throb, “…going.” he finally finished.

“Sorry, Bakugou,” you apologized as you rubbed the side your your head, trying to stabilize your whirling mind, “Oh, man! My food!” you sadly exclaimed as you recognized the pathetic mess of snacks and small meals you had prepped for your day all over the floor and yourself.

The sight of your frown in contrast to your usual happiness gave Bakugou’s chest a twinge of pain. He growled at the emotion as he glared at you on the ground, “Well, maybe you should get your head out of the damn clouds and watch where you are going!” he yelled before stiffly turning on his heel and heading to his seat. 

You blinked in surprise at his retreating figure. Well, you hadn’t exactly expected him to apologize or help you or anything, but you also didn’t expect to see the blush that creeped across his face before he stormed off. 

Huh.

You cleaned yourself up easily enough. Honestly, the situation and Bakugou’s subsequent outburst had helped you make it through the day without getting suspended, drug tested or expelled. By the time you cleaned yourself up and made it back to the classroom, your eyes had pretty much returned to their normal state. 

Today might not be so bad after all!

GrrrrRRRrrRRrrr, your stomach screeched, causing almost all of your classmates to whip their heads toward you in surprise. 

Shit…

You hurriedly grabbed your stomach with a nervous laugh, trying to console the despairing little monster; however, you still spent the rest of the school day with your tummy loudly yelling at you. Watching everyone eat during lunch was absolute torture as your stomach cursed at you for being so damn clumsy. You honestly could have died. 

Death by munchies.

However, it seems as if the cannabis lords took pity on you that day and you actually made it through your last class. You were the first one out of their desk as you rushed out of the classroom and down the hall— the thought of food on your mind, but suddenly you felt a heavy hand snatch your wrist,

“Hey, idiot!” When you looked back your eyebrows shot straight up at the sight of Bakugou’s hardened expression, “Let’s go grab some food.”

Um… hWhat? The suggestion completely threw you off balance. You shook your head as if the vibrations that just came in through your ear needed some readjusting,  “Like… together?” you tilted your head in shock. You’ve never seen Bakugou willingly hang with anyone else besides Kirishima, let alone initiate an event with them!

Bakugou fumed at your questioning appearance, “Are you really that stupid!? I could hear your stomach growling from across the classroom!!”

You giggled at yourself in embarrassment, not quite sure of what else you could do in the moment, “…Why do you care?” you laughed.

Your laughed sent a searing wave of heat to his face. You’d… never directed this display of happiness toward him before, and for some reason it made him feel extremely hot,

“I don’t!” he yelled as he tried to fight the warmth away, “I just knocked your food down earlier and… I don’t want to owe you anything,” he suddenly noticed that he was still clinging to your hand. The heat in his face doubled as he snatched his hand away from yours, “So where do you wanna go? I am not taking no for an answer,” he began as he walked away from U.A.’s campus with a rigid nod for you to follow him. 

You paused for a moment. Is this real? 

A large smile began spreading itself across your face– the cannabis lords once gain raining mercy down upon you, “Maybe a… Mcdonalds!” you happily suggested as you skipped into a light jog ran to catch up with him.

“Mc.. donalds?” Bakugou threw you an expression that resided in an area between horrified and disgusted for a moment before correcting himself back into his comfortable anger, looking at the ground as the two of you walked.

“Yeah, like the clown place!” you added. Bakugou growled at your answer. He wasn’t a fucking idiot he knew what a damn McDonald’s was. You laughed at his response as you continued, “You’re not scared of clowns are you, tough guy?” you teased.

“Fuck you,” he simply huffed, refusing to even entertain your accusations. 

“Wow, on the first date?” you boldly retorted with a stifled laugh, causing him to falter in his steps for a moment. He snapped himself out of whatever stupid emotion he felt at your words, 

“IT’S NOT A DAMN DATE!” he roared, causing you to simply shrug, a pleased smile on your face as you continued to walk without him. 

“Where are you going, you idiot?! There is a Mcdonald’s right there!” he angrily gestured to the golden arches the other direction of where you were headed. 

“I like the one by my house better,” you explained, “It had a gas station attached to it, so I can grab some snacks on the way out.”

….

G-gas Station McDonald’s….? Bakugou could have thrown up right then and there. 

“DISGUSTING!” the blond screeched, “I am not walking all the way over there just to walk back to the dorm! Are you an idiot?!”

Alright. Who the fuck did this to him? Made him crush on a complete loser?! Cupid? God?! He was gonna fight whoever the fuck it was! 

“Fineeee,” you laughed and the two of you walked over to the inferior McDonalds. Bakugous eyes widened in repulsion as you ordered both a Big-Mac meal and a twenty piece chicken nugget with a dozen cookies.

As soon as you happily reached out to give the cashier your money, he swatted your hand away and shoved his own cash at the associates face, “No, take mine.” he harshly ordered. The employee shakily agreed and accepted his money. 

You threw him a confused glance but before you could even open your mouth to question him, he spoke up, “I just know that if you pay for this, you’re gonna complain that you don’t have money to buy other shit,” he explained, a faint blush creeping onto his cheeks. 

You noticed this red tint, but decided to tease him instead of pointing it out, “Yeah, like gas,” you nodded with a sly smile. 

“Gas? You’re fifteen and don’t have a damn car, you idiot,” He argued, but the boy immediately paused as soon as he saw the suggestive expression that you held on your face. Things finally clicked as soon as you wiggled your eyebrows towards him. Gas… you meant weed. He angrily snatched the two soda cups that the cashier was extending out as he loudly yelled at you,  “FUCK! YOU MAKE IT SO DAMN HARD TO BE NICE TO YOU, YOU KNOW THAT?!” He screamed as you cracked up at his uncharacteristically slow uptake.

The two of you had decided to eat at a booth near a window. You found yourself being really surprised at the quality of this McDonald’s chairs. Bakugou loudly chastised you for gawking at the chairs like some freak before the two of you promptly began eating your food. 

It was mostly quiet between the two of you as the textures of the meal performed on your sensitive tongue until Bakugou finally spoke up, “Why do you put that nasty shit into your body?”

“Uh,” Your eyes danced away for a split second, “McDonalds?” your faced crinkled in confusion.

“No, you dumbass!” Bakugou fought the urge to facepalm, “marijuana!” he angrily corrected.

Oh… you felt yourself deflate for a moment, as the question absorbed into your mind. You suddenly let out a giggle, “I don’t know. It makes me feel good, I guess.” Bakugou had to fight another blush at the sight of you adorably shrugging your shoulders. 

“That’s a stupid answer. You can’t feel good on your own?”

You tilted your head as you thought about it for a moment. Of course, you could feel good on your own. Just take a look at you! You weren’t even very high anymore, yet you were still on cloud nine right now for some reason, “Well… I feel good right now with you.”

That did it. His adrenaline flared up in an instant. Bakugou couldn’t even come up with fluid words as a series of death threats and curses instinctively flooded to the forefront of his mind,  “S-shut up.”

You giggled at his loss for words before letting the conversation die again. The two of you once again found yourselves in silence as you sat with a smile on your face.

This time, it was you who broke the silence, “Thank you, for hanging out with me today. I really appreciate it.”

“Whatever, loser. Don’t get used to it,” he huffed, angrily stuffing a few fries into his mouth. 

“So…. there’s not a second date ahead?”

“I didn’t say that,” he grumbled, snatching his glare away from you and out of the restaurant window. 

So it was a date. A huge smile once again spread across your face for the millionth time that evening. You happily plopped another fry into your mouth at the sight of him blushing once more. 

[cosmic-hearts]

castles in the air | lee donghyuck | two

lee donghyuck x female reader

genre; enemies-to-lovers, friendship, romance, fluff, angst

warnings; mentions of alcohol and drinking in this chapter!

foreword; in which you might be a real-life princess with a prince promised to you right from the start, but you won’t be getting your happy ever after. 

<< previous chapter | next chapter >>

You stand before your wardrobe, faced with yet another clothing dilemma. You love fashion and dressing up, you really do, but sometimes it can be a real pain in the ass. 

If this were another soirée or evening function, you’d know exactly what to wear—that gorgeous Isabella Militao dress you’d been saving for a spectacular debut. That would be sure to make jaws drop; it was a gift fashioned by the loving hand of Aphrodite herself. 

But you’re going to a high school party, and you don’t think girls turned up in the latest garb fresh off the runways of New York Fashion Week. 

You think back to when Donghyuck asked you to go to the party with him (“because we actually need to seem like we’re dating”), and you asked him what to wear. He’d scoffed and you nearly socked him in the face.

“How would I know? Your parents literally own Seoul’s biggest fashion brand. And you’ll look good in whatever.”

If that had been a genuine compliment, you would have been flattered. But it was the tone in which he’d said it, that matter-of-fact, detached voice devoid of any tinge of personal belief or emotion that made it clear he was merely stating a truism, an indisputable fact. He might as well have said that the sky was blue. 

You eventually decide on a red sleeveless silk floral dress that stops slightly above mid-thigh. It’s not exactly the most modest article of clothing you own, but it’ll have to do. 

When you get in Donghyuck’s car, he doesn’t even glance over to see what you’re wearing, a stark reminder that this clearly isn’t a real date. You on the other hand, can’t help but sneak peeks at his outfit (it’s just the fashionista in you, you swear): a denim jacket thrown over a casual white button-up shirt and dark jeans. A simple look, but surprisingly he makes it work. 

You quickly look away before he catches you staring.

He drives in complete silence and before long you reach your destination. Upon entering the house, Donghyuck immediately leaves your side to reunite with five other boys; you have to stand alone for a hot minute and bear witness to the fist bumps, back slaps and bro hugs going all around.

“Who’s this?” One of the boys asks, his blue hair gleaming underneath the faux strobe lights. 

You open your mouth to reply, but Donghyuck beats you to it. “My girlfriend. Everyone, this is Y/N.” He sounds like he’s gritting his teeth while introducing you as his girlfriend, which makes you want to laugh; after all, he’s brought this upon himself.

“Hi,” you say, smiling at the boys, “it’s nice to meet you guys.”

“Hi, I’m Jaemin,” the blue-haired boy steps forward and says, flashing you a wide grin that sparks a curious flutter in your chest. 

“Did you break up with Sohui?” A brooding, dark-haired boy asks Donghyuck. It’s clear to see that he has none of that chipper energy Jaemin possesses.

Donghyuck’s gaze becomes shifty and he clears his throat awkwardly before replying, “Yeah.”

What a lie.

Before you can think too much about it, Jaemin whisks you all away for a game of spin the bottle. The consequence? 7 minutes in heaven. 

You’d heard of the game before but you didn’t think people actually played it at parties; it all seemed so terribly cliche. Looks like you were dead wrong, because once the bottle lands Jaemin and then you everyone’s in an uproar and you’re panicking because you really don’t want to lose your first kiss to a stranger, however hot he may be. Heck, you’d rather do it with Donghyuck; at least he’s a familiar enemy. 

Jaemin smirks at you and grabs your wrist, gesturing towards a nearby closet (god, the sheer disgrace you feel, what would your parents say?) and your heart starts thumping in your ribcage, the butterflies from earlier entirely gone. You contemplate breaking out into a sprint for the bathroom or just running out to the garage and driving Donghyuck’s car away into the night. You look over at Donghyuck, hoping that he can read your mind and get you out of this situation (you know he hates you but surely he doesn’t hate you that much), but he’s staring at you with a glazed expression on his face and you can’t believe he’s about to offer you up like a lamb to the slaughter, that asshole—

“I’ll do it instead,” Donghyuck suddenly stands and grabs your free hand, tugging you away from Jaemin. Without waiting for his response he drags you behind him to the closet, pulls you in and shuts the door with a loud slam. 

You release the breath you’d unconsciously been holding and start to sink down onto the cushions littered about in the dark, dank and cramped space, but then you stop short Donghyuck places a hand on your arm. He shrugs off his jacket and shoves it into your hands, whispering, “Your dress.”

When you two are finally seated, his jacket draped over your lap, you ask in a slight whisper, “What do we do now?”

At this, Donghyuck breaks out into a sardonic smile, leaning in close to whisper in your ear, “We’re not going to do anything. Don’t forget that I have a girlfriend, and if I kiss you, you might just fall in love with me. Can’t risk that now, can we?” 

You try to ignore the way his breath tickles your ear and the fact that it’s not an entirely uncomfortable sensation. You hate the way Donghyuck plays with you like this, as though he’s constantly reminding you that he will never be yours, arranged marriage or not.

You press yourself into your corner of the closet to get as far away as possible from him, before taking out your phone and instinctively scrolling through Twitter, your lifeline—it’s almost like a coping mechanism, the way you try to get lost in your timeline filled with pictures of the Albertine bookstore and 90’s Chanel gowns to try and forget the fact that you’re currently stuck in a musty closet with your childhood enemy. Donghyuck does the same; he pulls out his phone and starts typing rapidly. You figure he’s texting Sohui to complain.

Before long the 7 minutes are up and the boys are pounding on the closet door. You sigh; they sound like ravenous zombies lying in wait to chew you out when you emerge. You’re about to push the door open when Donghyuck puts a hand on your arm; you turn to face him with the most annoyed expression can muster. What now?

Without warning, he reaches behind you and pulls out the scrunchie that’s holding your hair in a high ponytail. You nearly yelp at him in surprise as your hair spills past your shoulders, utterly dishevelled (also, that’s a limited edition Chanel scrunchie right there) but he must have seen it coming because he places his hand over your mouth, quick as a flash. Leaning in close, he whispers in your ear, “We have to look like we just made out, idiot.”

You flash him an angry glare which soon turns into a look of sheer embarrassment as he unbuttons the first few buttons of his shirt, a sliver of light through the crack in the closet falling on his now exposed collarbone. You look away hastily, thankful that the darkness obscures the blush creeping up your cheekbones. 

He’s about to push open the door when he suddenly hisses, “Shit, I almost forgot the most important thing. I need to get some of your lip gloss off.”

Against your better judgement, you acquiesce. Anything to get out of this literal hellhole.

Closing your eyes, you feel a warm palm on the back of your head and you brace yourself. You feel his thumb running across your bottom lip in one swift but gentle motion, and when you open your eyes he’s swiping it across his own. 

The blush in your cheeks intensifies and you look away quickly. 

Finally, Donghyuck pushes open the door and a flood of electric purple light streams in. The boys whoop and cheer, and Jaemin invites you to sit next to him. You happily do so, desiring to be in the proximity of anyone other than Donghyuck—you might just combust with embarrassment if you sat next to him after that horrendous episode.

“Are you good at drinking, Y/N?” Jaemin asks, his smile as striking as his cobalt blue hair. He really is a heartthrob. 

“Somewhat,” you say, being deliberately evasive; you aren’t about to let him know that your tolerance was limited to dainty sips of Sauvignon Blanc or Chardonnay typically served at the high-end functions you went to.

“Great! Let’s play a drinking game then,” he says, winking, and the butterflies in your stomach make it hard for you to resist.

Over the course of the next hour, you find yourself in an endless cycle of drinking games—you weren’t bad at those games, and it wasn’t very often that you had to drink, but when you did, the single shot of soju burned your throat on the way down and seemed to erode your consciousness along the way. You can feel your cheeks getting hotter and hotter, and the laughing faces of the boys seem to pass by in a hazy blur. 

“Y/N,” a low voice chimes in your ear; it’s a stern, familiar voice. You frown instinctively; you have a pretty good idea of who it is, even if you can’t see him. “Stop it. You don’t have to keep drinking if you can’t handle it.”

You wave him off; there’s no way you’re drunk. “Who… Who said I can’t handle it? I’m no… lightweight.”

“Yeah… She seems to be managing fine, right Y/N?” Another voice, this one slurred and a little too mirthful to be sober. A flash of blue hair. It’s the cute boy, you think to yourself and smile.

“Enough,” the stern voice cuts in again, right when you are about to reach up and touch the boy’s hair, to see if it feels like cotton candy as much as it looks.

You feel an arm snaking round your waist, forcing you to stand up. Your head rests on something firm and solid; it’s almost comfortable, but you want to keep drinking. You have to prove that you can hold your liquor; you are Y/N, for goodness’ sake, and you can do anything you set your mind to.

But before you can open your mouth to protest, the world begins to spin and darkness swallows you whole; you have no choice but to fall into it without resistance.

—

This isn’t what Donghyuck envisioned when you decided to take you to the party. 

He didn’t expect to have to get stuck in a closet with you for a whole 7 minutes. He didn’t expect you to get dead drunk while slobbering all over Jaemin. And he certainly didn’t expect to be hauling you on his back to the front step of your house and having to present your dismally inebriated form to your mother. 

“I’m so sorry,” Donghyuck says, hoping he comes across as apologetic enough, “I should’ve taken better care of her.”

To his utter astonishment, your mother waves off his apology with a flick of her hand. “Don’t worry about it! I expected this to happen; Y/N has never been to a party without us before. I’m glad you were with her; god knows what would have happened to her if you weren’t there!” 

Donghyuck resists the urge to chortle. What are you, a child?

“Could you take her up to her room please? I’ll get the housekeeper to run her a bath.”

“Sure,” he says, grimacing inwardly at the thought of having to lug your deadweight up four flights of stairs; thank goodness there’s an elevator.

He tries his best not to dump you unceremoniously onto your bed, taking care to remove your strappy sandals. When the job is done, he’s about to leave when something on your desk catches his eye. He walks over and picks it up, turning on your desk lamp for better lighting. 

In his hands lies a framed photo of the two of you when you first met as kids—you in a bright pink dress adorned with a monstrosity of ribbons, him in a suit. You’re both sitting on a park bench holding hands; he’s staring at the camera with a stony expression, while your smile looks more like a grimace. 

The memory of that day rushes to greet him, clear as day—it was the first time he saw you, and it was on the same day that it was announced that you were going to be his future bride. It was the day he started his campaign of relentless hate towards you, the day he decided that you were to be his lifelong enemy.

Donghyuck sets the picture down on your desk with more force than intended. Why would you still keep it? Did you really want a constant reminder of your betrothal to him? Did you really want a constant reminder of him?

His whirlwind of thoughts is interrupted by a weak voice. “Donghyuck?”

He walks over to your bed where you lie intoxicated, cheeks flushed and eyes half-lidded, tangled locks of hair strewn across your pillow.

“You’re awake,” he says, voice flat. 

“I… said… I wasn’t drunk… idiot…”

Nope. Still wasted.

“Just go to sleep. Your bath will be ready soon,” he’s about to leave when you lift your hand to latch weakly onto his wrist.

“Wait,” you mumble, “I… have to ask you… something.”

“What is it?”

At this, your lips turn into a pout. “I know… you’re… a liar.”

“What?”

“You…,” you gesticulate aimlessly at him—after all, finding words is such a chore when you’re hardly sober— “when we were young… you said that… you hated me because I was wearing… pink.”

Donghyuck’s breath hitches in his throat; he can’t believe you can remember that. 

“Yes; what about it?”

“You’re lying. That’s… a stupid reason… for hating someone. So tell me… why exactly… do you hate me so much?”

Donghyuck feels his heartbeat pick up but he keeps his lips pursed. 

“I never told you this… but… it hurts. It hurts how… you don’t even want to be friends with me…” you ramble on, lips forming a pout while your eyelids get heavier and heavier. “Why don’t you like me…” Your eyelids flutter shut and your breathing evens, and Donghyuck releases the breath he’d been holding.

Donghyuck feels the sour pang of guilt creep up on him. Granted, you’d never done anything to warrant his hate for you; he simply detests your very existence, which isn’t something you can help. It never once occurred to him that you’d be hurt by him—he didn't think he mattered to you at all. He can’t believe you still remember what he’d said to you all those years ago. Sighing, he rakes a hand through his hair; perhaps some soul-searching is in order.

He pauses for a moment, watching the way your eyelashes graze your cheekbones ever so slightly. Your cheeks and lips are flushed cherry pink from all that drinking, and a stray lock of hair spills across your face. He reaches out to draw it away from your face, marvelling at how normal you look for once; your sleeping face is so tranquil, like a child’s. No one would ever be able to guess at how you are nothing less than a perfect, infallible human being. It’s easy for him to forget how you’re the same age as him; you just seem to possess a maturity way beyond your youth that Donghyuck really can’t wrap his head around.

He gently drapes the duvet over you, and he’s about to leave when he sees that his denim jacket is still wrapped snugly around your body, though it’s a couple sizes too large for your slight frame. 

He can let you have it for a little while.

—

You proudly hand your mother your school journal, decorated with pink glitter and purple felt butterflies you painstakingly cut out yourself. On the first page, the words “My Dream Job” are neatly inscribed in cursive lettering, with hearts over the i’s. 

“Mrs Lee asked us to write down our dream job today,” you gush, pigtails bouncing with excitement. “Look what I wrote!”

Your mother smiles as her eyes skim over the words ‘fashion designer’.  You gabble on. 

“I told the class I wanted to take over your company when I grow up and become a fashion designer just like you!” 

“Very good, Y/N. I’m so proud of you. I have no doubt that will happen,” she says, patting the top of your head. 

“Oh, I also asked Donghyuck what he wanted to be. He said he wants to be a singer when he grows up.”

Your mother’s hand falls from your head and she frowns. “Does he?” 

“Yeah. Isn’t that cool? I told him that was really cool.” 

Her expression turns austere. “There’s no future in that, Y/N. You should tell him to be like you and take over his family’s company. That way he’ll be successful.”

“But he’s good at singing,” you protest, eyes shining with the memory of his voice, “and he looks so happy when he’s singing. If he’s happy, won’t he be successful too?”

—

“Do you still sing?”

Donghyuck raises an eyebrow at you as he chugs his iced coffee. “Why do you ask?”

“It’s called making conversation. It might not be in our contract, but did you intend to sit in silence until the sun sets and we go home?”

It’s your turn to pick a date, so you’ve dragged Donghyuck to a music cafe with a stage by the entrance where a teenage boy sings soulful R&B tunes. You weren’t being entirely truthful when you told him you were just making conversation; you did want to know if he still sang. To see if he was prepared for what you were about to throw him into. 

“Sometimes,” he says, “maybe one day I’ll serenade you. With a song about how annoying you are.”

You resist the urge to toss your steaming mug of chamomile tea in his face. These days, after your horribly embarrassing encounter at the party (Donghyuck insists that you threw up in his car, but you don’t remember that at all), his attitude toward you seems to have shifted. Sure, he’s still mean, but not resentful. He doesn’t seem to hate you that much anymore; when he says spiteful things you can sense its teasing undertones. 

You wonder what sparked this change. Shouldn’t he detest you even more? You literally threw up in his car—or so he claims. Or maybe he’s finally come to his senses and recognizes just how lovable you are. 

You load up your smile like a gun.

“You do that,” you say, raising your hand to beckon someone over. To Donghyuck’s surprise, the manager of the cafe scoots over, and when he leans down you whisper something into his ear. The man chuckles and sends a curious glance at Donghyuck.

“What was that?”

“Nothing,” you say, smiling sweetly and taking a sip of your coffee. 

The performer ends the song, and bows to polite claps from the audience. The manager you just spoke to goes up on stage, voice filling the room. 

“Thank you Jihoon, that was lovely as usual. Next up we have Lee Donghyuck—this is his first time performing, so do give him your encouragement!”

Donghyuck literally jumps in his seat and you stifle your laugh. He sends a death glare in your direction and mouths I’m going to kill you. You clap for him in response, that sweet smile never leaving your face. You’ll get it from him later, no doubt, but this is totally worth it. 

Donghyuck finally gets up and trudges over to the stage. He steps up to the mic, closes his eyes for the briefest of instants, and his lips part.

You expected, after all these years, that his voice would have hardened somehow, taken on a rougher edge, flavoured with the accents of a baritone. However, Donghyuck surprises you yet again—his voice is just as airy and angelic as it was nearly a decade ago, and every line he sings is like a stream of honey pouring forth from his lips. He breezes through countless high notes effortlessly in a way that sends chills down your spine, without so much as a twitch of neck muscle; he loads every word with so much emotion that it seems like the euphonious melody is coming to life right before your very eyes. The other patrons in the cafe are spellbound, drinks and conversation long forgotten; he’s bewitched everyone, and there’s no escaping. 

In short, Lee Donghyuck is still a marvellous singer. And possibly a siren.

When he’s done, it is silent for a moment, the aftereffects of his spell still lingering. And then a single clap from the manager breaks the reverie and soon everyone is applauding in awe and surprise. There are even a few cheers.

You watch as he smiles and bows bashfully before walking down the stage, leaving his five minutes of fame behind. His cheeks glow under the warm light of the cafe; he looks absolutely ethereal.

“What do you think?” He asks as he slides into his seat. You can almost feel the passion flowing from him in waves. 

You stare at him, starstruck. How could you possibly tell him that you never want him to stop singing, that you actually would like to be serenaded by him, that you want to wake up and fall asleep to the sound of his voice every single day? 

So you settle for, “N-Not bad.” Yes, you stuttered. You hope your cheeks won’t betray you.

Donghyuck smirks. “Really? Your face tells me something else.”

Instinctively, you place a hand on your cheek—it’s burning. You take a large gulp of coffee to hide the flames in your cheeks; Donghyuck’s smirk only grows wider. 

Avoiding his gaze, you ask, “Anyway, what song was that? I’ve never heard it before.”

He rubs the back of his neck with his palm. “Actually, I wrote it.”

“You what?”

“I wrote it. Want me to announce it to everyone?”

You can’t believe it. Not only does this boy before you have the voice of an angel, he’s a lyrical genius too? The world is simply not fair.

“Wow.” You lean back in your chair, all attempts at unfazed composure gone. “That’s actually crazy. You’re actually crazy.”

You look back at Donghyuck, expecting him to look smug, but instead his lips are pursed and his gaze is downcast.

“What’s wrong? Upset that your identity as a secret genius has been exposed?”

“No, it’s just… I wrote this song for Sohui. I thought she would love it, especially since she’s always been super supportive about my singing and songwriting. But… she doesn’t like it.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know. She said I should have bigger dreams now. Apparently, I can’t get anywhere with this.”

You keep silent, wondering how she could possibly say that to him. Heck, if a boy wrote you a song and serenaded you with it you’d probably get down on one knee and profess your undying love to him. 

“Maybe… maybe she’s right. My parents say that all the time too. I shouldn’t be singing anymore. It’s time to grow up. You can’t make money out of dreams.”

He looks so crestfallen, the incandescent shine that had previously graced him completely vanished. That shine of passion was what set him ablaze and made him look so euphoric, and now it’s gone, like a candle snuffed out by the darkness. 

You want to get it back for him. You want to see that look of pure bliss spread across his face. You want to see him shining bright and luminous again. 

“So, what? You’re just going to stop singing then?” You ask, folding your arms across your chest, “I thought you were more determined than that. Once you’d set your mind on something, you wouldn’t let it go. That’s how you nursed that burning hatred you had for me, right?”

He has the good grace to blush.

You lean across the table and look him straight in the eye. “And I thought you could care less what others thought; that’s why we’re doing all this. That’s why we’re going against our parents’ will and fighting this bloody engagement. The Lee Donghyuck I know won’t go down without a fight, especially if it’s something he clearly loves so much.”

One final push. “But I could be wrong. I mean, I don’t really know you.”

Donghyuck’s head snaps upward and he stares right at you; you can see the fire in his eyes. Whether it's rage or passion, it doesn’t matter. You managed to rile him up. That was all you wanted. That’s the only way to keep his flame burning. 

—

The drive home is filled with a pregnant silence. You wonder if you took it too far; after all, you and Donghyuck aren’t exactly the chummiest of friends. Maybe you overstepped the boundary a little.

But all you know is that you won’t stand by and let him give up such a blessing, something that clearly gives him so much joy. You won’t let him become an empty shell. 

You of all people know how that feels. 

When you reach home, you unbuckle your seatbelt and say goodbye. “Thanks for today, Donghyuck. You can choose the next date.” 

You’re about to reach for the door and get out, but Donghyuck stops you with a hand on your wrist. 

“Y/N,” he says, and you look at him, acutely aware of the sensation of his fingers clasped around your wrist. His gaze burns into yours in a way that makes your heart jolt and your brain question everything you ever thought you’d felt about him.

You wonder whether, in an alternate universe, things could have been different between you two.

“Thank you,” he finally says, gaze softening, the faintest hint of a smile etched on his lips.

Perhaps you melted a little.

[nialledfromfics]

The Dating Game | Chapter Ten 

~~

His hands twisted roughly into the material of her sweatshirt at her sides, fingers pulling her in and wrapping around her waist. He couldn’t help himself, he didn’t want to. It was like some kind of magnetic force between them, driving them to one another. It was frenzied and steamy, a wild hunger begging to be fed. Her soft lips were moving with his, kissing him harder and more earnestly as she gripped tighter to the hair at the back of his head. A breathy moan pushed past her wet lips, landing like honey on Niall’s tongue and he reached up to cup around her head, diving deeper into the kiss. He nibbled at her bottom lip, swallowing the faint whimpers that emerged as Joey raised to her tip toes and curled her arms around his neck. 

Slipping her lips away from his to catch her breath, Joey smiled against his hovering mouth. She had never before in her life felt something as intense and electrifying as the rush that was jolting around inside her at that very moment. Like going over the very first drop of a roller coaster; the adrenaline zipping through your veins, the tingle in the pit of your stomach rising into your chest, the uncontrollable thumping of your heart, the need to scream out and cry and laugh all at the same time. Niall’s big hand pet over her hair as he gently curled his fingers into the red strands, holding her body as close as he could manage. 

Joey caught his stare, dark and heavy lidded, full of desire and she sweetly smiled up at him. “Stay,” was all she whispered out, the words making his heart want to leap straight out of his chest. She tipped her head slightly and enticingly placed her mouth to the side of his neck. “Please…”

Niall swallowed hard under the press of her lips as she slowly started to trace kisses across the hollow of his throat. “You..um, you sure?” he shakily asked, his eyes rolling back with the wet heat of her tongue over his flushed skin. 

Joey popped her mouth off his neck and peered up at him, sliding her hands around to cradle his bearded jaw. “Never been more sure of anything.”

Smirking down at her, Niall pushed his mouth to hers in a hasty kiss, a giggle spilling past her red-bitten lips as Joey began to tug him backwards into her bedroom. Their feet stumbled across her cream-colored carpet; shoes being tossed and shirts being ripped off, and Niall kicked the door closed with his socked foot as they entered the bedroom, their lips finally tearing apart. Standing but two feet away from her in only a pair of shorts left on his body, Niall struggled to control his breaths, ragged and heavy, as his eyes stayed fixated on the gorgeous girl in front of him. 

Joey had yet to shed any clothes, their fumbling journey to the bedroom resulting in his tongue in her mouth and her fingers yanking off Niall’s button up shirt. The redhead gently bit down on her bottom lip as she darted her stare with his, and it was not another second before she was lifting her old sweatshirt clear over her head. A bright shade of pink punched its way to Niall’s cheeks, his wide eyes dragging over her exposed top half and taking in the sight of her bare breasts. Joey’s chest was heaving under the intensity of his stare, her heart pounding and a single thought of being thankful that she had decided to not wear a bra to bed made a naughty smirk form on her lips. 

Niall caught her gaze again, darker and more heady than before, and he wasted no time, whispering a low ‘holy fuck’ under his breath as he stepped towards Joey and cupped his hands around her jaw, pulling her straight into another feverish kiss. Her small hands splayed at his sides, groping at his warm skin as he kissed her and held her body firmly against him. A few more frantic moments of heated kisses and bumping noses and knocking elbows passed before they were both fully naked, their sticky bodies falling in a heap on the bed with Niall slotted between her spread legs.

A tightness clamped in Joey’s lower tummy, shivers pouring over her skin everywhere that Niall touched, and her mind was a frenzy with a million sensations rushing through her all at once. She could feel his weight between her thighs, feel him hard and thick and throbbing against her center and she scratched down his spine as he gently sucked along her jawline to her neck. Joey moaned from the feeling of his blistering hot tongue on her dank skin. 

“God,” Niall mumbled, his teeth scraping against her collarbone, “I’ve been wantin’ this since the day I fuckin’ met ya.” 

Joey breathed out a smile at his words, mussing her fingers up through his hair to bring his face back to hers. His blown out pupils locked on her own, and she swore she could have fainted just by the look on his face. His eyes glassy and dark with lust, his cheeks ruddy, his swollen lips glistening red from her kisses and it sent a unyielding wildfire surging all the way down to her core. Joey bit at her lip, quivering underneath him. “I’ve been wanting this since before I met you,” she said to him. 

Niall raised a mischievous brow. “Ooh...someone had a little celebrity crush, eh?” he teased, the one corner of his mouth tugging up. A tiny dimple pressed into his left cheek and Joey thought she was gonna lose it right there and then. 

She narrowed her eyes. “Don’t get cocky.”

“Baby,” Niall cooed out to her, a small rock of his hips sending a shaky gasp to escape from her parted mouth, “I think this is the perfect time to get cocky…”

Joey threw her head back in a loud laugh, Niall not being able to help but join along with her for a split second before he had his fingers tangled into the side of her red hair and his mouth right back on hers. Hooking her ankles around the back of his thighs, Joey kissed Niall until she could barely kiss him anymore, his curious touch roaming down the curves of her body, groping and feeling at her. His roughened fingertips brushed over her pert nipples, and her back arched with the heat of his naked body nestled against hers as his wide spread hands slipped around her waist and along the concave of her lower spine. His fingers clawed at her feverish skin, enticing a growling moan to creep from her bared throat. It was the most arousing sound he had ever heard and he was determined to hear it again. Pressing kisses down the valley of her rising chest, his big frame curled around the echoes of her pleasure, his darkened eyes locking on the twist of her brow and the delicious part of her puffy lips. Joey vibrated under the power of his touch as his mouth ate away at any nerves that had possibly plagued her before. Wrapping his pink lips around the supple skin of her breast, his palm slid down over her hip to the full of her ass and he gently played with the soft skin.

She had begun to roll her hips up towards him, not being able to control the ravenous ache for him that was pulsating beneath her flesh and spilling out onto her mattress. Nor could she control the needy whines and the desperate gasps that were echoing off her bedroom walls. It was all she could do but try to hold herself together. 

She felt Niall slowly shift his body to line himself up, and his eyes met hers for a fraction of a moment, Joey shakily nodding in consent before he eased himself inside of her. He kissed away the contended hums flowing from her as he buried his cock as far into her as he could, Joey clamping her arms around his broad shoulders. She was slippery wet, dripping for him, her warmth swallowing his length so perfectly like she had been made just for him. Low groans from both of them met at the tips of their tongues, their bodies melting into each other's tight embrace as Niall started to move above her. 

Joey felt lightheaded, and out of control, her head hazy and filled with the heat of Niall’s breath on her lips and the delicious stretch of his cock inside her. Her body was sticky, loose with sweat and an overpowering urgency to feel more of him, all of him. Every single bit of him that she could. Pulling him back into a kiss, Joey sucked at his tongue, her fingers tugging at his dark hair, her hips crashing against his as he thrust inside her and with her eyes squeezed tight and her heart nearly bursting out of her chest, she knew she was exactly where she was always meant to be. Right there, under him, with him. 

Niall was absolutely losing his mind. His heart barreling in his chest, like a freight train gone off its rails, unstoppable and reckless. Her incredible body, so soft and gorgeous, shaking underneath him as he thrust inside her. He kissed her like he had never kissed anyone before, coaxing those sweet moans and breathy whimpers from her throat, feeling the greedy pull of her fingers in his hair as she held him right where he had always wanted to be. The balmy scent of her skin invaded his nose as he nuzzled the side of his face down against hers, sucking gently at her neck. He had never felt that way with anyone before, being inside someone like that, fitting together so perfectly, so naturally and whole. Like there was no other place he could ever need be, than right there with her. She was perfect, she was everything, and Niall was going to fucking lose it.

“Fuck, Jo,” he puffed out. Both hands were tangled in her long red hair, his body, drenched in sweat and rocking against hers as Joey slipped her trembling touch down the sides of his broad back. She could feel his muscles contracting with each thrust, feel his flesh burning into her fingertips as she dug them in deep, and Joey couldn’t help but cry out as the mounting heat of her orgasm had started to overflow inside her. 

She was close, already she was so close.

Squeezing her eyes tight, she gasped for much needed air, the push and pull of his length rubbing perfectly against her upper wall, right at that very special spot that made the sparks fly like lightning under her eyelids and the waves crash heavy between her thighs. Her nails dug into the hot flesh of his upper back, Niall thrusting and sucking his way back over her chin to her mouth. “Oh God, Niall...please...don’t stop,” she moaned out, the whiny inflection in her voice urging Niall on more than ever. 

He was struggling to hold off; the feeling of her, the sounds of her, the sight of her almost ending it for them both right then and there. His lips found hers once more, and Joey eagerly kissed him back, tiny grunts and whimpers filling the dense air around them. And it was only when their damp sticky bodies began to teeter over that mind-numbing edge of release, that their eyes peeled open and locked heavy on the other. Their mouths hung agape in idle quiet, Joey’s face twisting in unfamiliar pleasure as Niall sunk himself all the way inside her, the last thing she needed to finally let herself go.

Her back arched off the bed, her head pushing into the mattress as his name rolled off her tongue so sweet and silky that Niall could no longer hold himself back, his body following her right over that intense and mind-blowing brink of ecstasy. Their shaking bodies moved like a wandering boat in the tide, languidly riding out their wicked highs and softly easing each other down. Cradling his hands around her head, Niall puffed out a low satisfied groan as he brushed his nose at her chin to coax her lips back to his, kissing and kissing and kissing away her straining breaths.

“Mmm,” Joey lightly hummed, carding her hands up through his messy hair as Niall dropped his damp face down against the side of hers. She had a blissful, fucked-out smile spreading over her mouth, one that she wasn’t even willing to fight and it was all she could do but burst out in squeals over what had just happened. He had made her feel beyond what anyone had ever done, it was fast and fumbly but every second felt so good and so right, and just being with him washed every ounce of hurt away from her racing heart. 

Niall chuckled faintly against her neck, giving her a sweet little kiss right below her ear as he slowly lifted up his head. His eyes, the black having faded back to the striking light blue she loved, swam over her flushed face, a musing dreaminess overtaking him as he very softly brushed some hair off of Joey’s temple. He smiled down at her. The young woman pulled in a deep settling breath, her touch sliding over to cradle his bearded jaw as she eased Niall into a kiss. Their bodies were still melded together, his semi-hard length still resting inside her with Joey’s legs wrapped tight around his hips as she oh-so-gently swept her tongue in his mouth. 

The next few minutes were spent relishing in the tepid warmth of their spent bodies; slow kisses and sated fingers curled in hair until Niall graciously slipped his mouth away from hers. Glancing at Joey, he gave her a lopsided smirk. “Christ, baby,” he sighed, “that was-...you’re fuckin’ amazin’.” 

“You made me come,” she blurted out, her breaths still tangled in her throat as her eyes fixated on his. 

Niall tipped his blushing face down in a low chuckle at her statement, his thumb rubbing against her temple as he held the side of her head. “Yeah, I could tell. Did ya enjoy that?”

Joey sheepishly scraped her teeth along her bottom lip as she slid her hands over to cup around the sides of Niall’s neck. “Yeah, I did. Very much.” 

“Good, my love,” he whispered, pressing another soft kiss to her lips. Lifting his wrecked body from hers slightly, he let himself slowly fall from inside her, the action causing Joey’s eyes to flutter closed before he situated his frame up on his elbow, still hovered over her. His amorous gaze stared down at her, whisking over her features one by one; the starry-eyed look in her eyes, the punch-pink that washed across her cheeks, the puffiness of her lips that were begging to be kissed. Joey felt a ripple in her belly start to grow as Niall’s stare entrapped her and she bashfully giggled, her nose scrunching up as she slapped a hand over the front of her face. 

Niall grabbed her hand and pulled it away from her face, resting them down together on the bed beside Joey’s head. “Uh-uh, no ya don’t,” he commented with a little laugh, his thick fingers tenderly entwining with hers. “I can’t get over how gorgeous ya look right now. Freshly fucked…and satisfied.” 

He was teasing her, but Joey knew it was the absolute truth. She rolled her eyes anyway. “You’re insane,” Joey mumbled as she rubbed her thumb along the side of his. “And still incredibly cocky.”

He breathed out a smile and reached over with his unoccupied hand to softly trace his fingertip along her lips. “For real though, I’ve been dreamin’ about this, all of this right here with you for...so fuckin’ long, darlin’,” Niall told her, his voice gritty in his throat as he spoke, “Like me heart is doin’ flips in me chest right now and me head is fuzzy and all over the place and it’s just like...fuck, ya drive me crazy.” 

Joey pulled in a jumbled breath as her stare dragged over his, and all she could do to fight the nervous trampling in her tummy, was faintly giggle. “You know you drive me crazy too.”

“You’re just so fuckin’ beautiful, I can’t get over it,” Niall went on with a shake of his head, his finger now slipping along the side of Joey’s jaw. “Ya leave me in awe, Jo, every time I look at ya. You’re sexy and sweet and hilarious and way smarter than me and I could go on literally forever if ya let me. And I love bein’ around ya, I love makin’ ya laugh and spendin’ time with ya and if I could, for the rest of me life, I’d just wanna lay here with ya and kiss ya and fuck ya over and over…” 

Leaning his head down, Niall used the tip of his finger under her chin to bring Joey’s lips to his in another sweet kiss. Her heart was taking off in her chest, so loud she was certain Niall could hear it too and she scratched her fingernails into the little hairs at the back of his neck as he kissed her even harder. She was so tipsy by her feelings for Niall; intoxicated by his touch, high off of his words and blinded by the way his body felt on hers that it left her in a contented state of clouded, sensual bliss. She had never felt that way about anyone and no one had ever made her feel that way in return. Only him, only Niall. 

Giggling against his lips as the reality of her thoughts crashed through her head, Joey quickly shot her body up, causing Niall to roll over and plop down on his back on the bed. Her lips were still pressed to his, a loud laugh rumbling out from his chest as the girl swiftly straddled her naked body on top of his. Niall went to rest his big hands on her spread thighs as Joey’s mouth left his, but she quickly grabbed at his wrists and pinned them to the bed above his head. 

His brows lifted in amusement as a smug grin slid across his pretty little kiss-bitten mouth and Joey leaned down, not being able to help herself, and pressed her lips to his once more. “You know what?” she finally said as she hovered her upper body over him, holding his wrists taut. 

“What?”

Flicking her head, Joey tossed her long hair over her one shoulder. Niall’s eyes went big, his body already starting to react to her again as he peered up at the stunning woman that was sprawled out on top of him that had his arms pinned above his head. He was beyond aroused. “”You’re incredibly lucky,” she mewed. 

“Yeah?” Niall said, licking over his lips as Joey nodded. “And why’s that, petal?” 

“Well, for one, ‘cause you’re hot.” 

Niall’s eyes pinched shut in a cackling laugh. “Is that so?” he asked, trying to slip his arms out from her grip. He needed to have his hands on her body, it was like medieval torture staring up at her on top of him like that and not being able to touch her. Absolute all-consuming torture.

Feeling his body tense up under the spread of her legs as he tried to escape from her grip, Joey giggled and squeezed her fingers tighter around his wrists. “Don’t move, baby,” she sweetly taunted with a shake of her head, “I’m not finished.” 

Niall groaned, more out of sheer tempting pleasure than annoyance and Joey tipped her cheek to her shoulder, her darkening eyes trailing across Niall’s handsomely rugged face. “And two, ‘cause you get to be with me,” she paused, smiling as Niall shook in a chuckle beneath her. “But on top of that, you’re just beautiful and witty and talented and sensitive and you have the biggest heart I have ever seen.” 

Niall quirked his brow. “Biggest heart, eh?” He was being playful with her, and a little devilish smirk crept over the corners of his mouth as he just barely rocked his hips up off of the bed. 

Narrowing her eyes, Joey fought the smile that was invading her and whipped her head around to peer down over her shoulder. Tucking her bottom lip into her mouth, she watched as his fully swollen length throbbed against his lower half, the bright-red leaking tip brushing faintly at the skin of her backside. He was breathtaking to look at; solid and thick and still gleaming with her wetness and Joey's mouth began to water as she flicked her stare back to Niall. 

Her dark eyes locked with his. “Among other things…” she went on, causing Niall to tip his head back in a laugh. “Since the second that I saw you, Niall, I wanted you. I wanted to know you, wanted to know what it was like to kiss you, and be with you and to make love to you.” Niall swallowed hard at her words, his heart beating like a drum in his chest as his eyes darted fast over hers. “You are all I ever think about. All I have ever wanted. And now…”

The young woman paused and bit at her lip. “...it’s my turn to fuck you.” 

A long-winded moan spilled out of Niall’s mouth, his heavy lidded eyes rolling back as Joey eased up onto her knees and finally let go of his wrists. Swinging her arm behind her, she kept her stare focused on his as she wrapped her fingers around his length. Joey slowly slipped her hand up and down his slick shaft, Niall struggling to breathe as he pasted his splayed hands on the tops of her thighs and began to drag them over the curves of her body. His chest was heaving as she continued to gently tug at him and he ran his touch over the sticky flesh of her front, thumbing across her breasts before his one hand had found its way between her legs.

 “Fuck, you’re so hot,” he muttered between gritted teeth, his blacked out stare settling at her center. 

Joey’s eyes had fallen closed as she felt the steady push of Niall’s two fingers slowly enter her. Her head tossed back to her shoulders, her frame nearly buckling as she gasped, filling her lungs with the sweet scent of arousal that was swimming in the air around them. The two played with each other for what seemed like hours, the time spent exploring and touching and tasting. Listening to each other, feeling each other and giving each other everything they had. 

It wasn’t long though, that Joey had her mouth back on his–kissing and sucking, sharing his breath–and Niall was inside her once again, gripping her hips as she slowly fucked him for the second time that night.  

•

Joey awoke the next morning more rested and satisfied than she had felt in years. A smile had pulled across her lips before her eyes even opened, her head resting against Niall’s chest as her naked body curled around his. She could hear his slow, steady breaths as he slept, the night’s warmth seeping from his skin to hers and she eased her sleepy stare over his uncovered torso, watching as she very gently, and quietly, ran her fingers through the soft hair that splattered over his chest. Turning her face slightly, Joey pressed her lips to his skin; her eyes closing as she pulled in a deep, satiating breath, his used musky scent easing past her nose. 

The late morning sun had crawled in past her blinds, casting a glow upon him like bits of gold shimmering in a riverbank and it made Joey feel as if she was in some kind of vivid daydream. His body felt heavenly up against hers, her thigh locked over his under the weight of her covers and as her stare drifted from the peak of his chest back up to his face, her lungs tightened by the ethereal sight of him. His soft pink lips sat in a slight part, his dark eyelashes resting lightly on his cheeks, the tiniest hint of freckles dotting across the bridge of his nose and just as Joey had reached up to cup her hand around his stubbled jaw, the tiny dog that laid at the end of the bed began to stir. 

Sadie had felt Joey’s movements in the bed, alerting the pup to the fact that the young woman had awoken, and the mini dachshund took it upon herself to hop up and start climbing her way up Niall’s sprawled out body, towards Joey. She tried to shoo Sadie away, but her giggles were far too gone by that point, and Niall had already begun to stretch out of his deep sleep. The dog, now aware that Niall was also awake, switched her attention over to him and began to assault his face with little licks. “Oh Jesus,” he grumbled, twisting his head back and forth as he attempted to avert the sloppy kisses. 

Joey clamped her hand around her mouth to stifle her laughs, and Niall chuckled as the rambunctious pup settled her body down next to him, right in the fold of his unoccupied arm. They both peeked down at her little brown body curled up in the crook of his armpit before Niall finally looked back over at Joey, catching her stare. He smiled as he rubbed over his eye in a quiet yawn. “Mornin’, love,” he softly said. 

Joey bit at her bottom lip and grabbed around his chin. “Morning,” she replied, pushing a kiss to his mouth. His hand cupped around the back of her head, holding her lips to his and Joey had just inched back as he placed a gentle peck to her forehead. 

“I didn’t leave this time,” she went on, laying her palm on his chest as she peered up at him. 

Niall huffed out a chuckle and ran his fingers through his hair, messing up his bed head even more than it had been. “I fuckin’ hope not, this is your house.” 

Joey tucked her face against him in a giggle. “Hey, you wanna, maybe, go with me to take Sadie for a walk?” she asked, glancing back up at him. “We can stop and get breakfast at this little coffee shop I know...

Reaching over to her, Niall’s stare followed his touch as he gently brushed a strand of hair away from her cheek and smiled. “Love to,” he replied. 

“ ‘kay.”

Joey flipped the covers off of her naked body as she sat up, taking a moment to lift her arms above her head in a stretch. Niall could not take his eyes off of her, dragging down the slight curves of her waist and over her bum and he very tenderly ran his fingertip down the slope of her spine. She peeked back at him, met with his stunning blue eyes and a smirk that could kill and she giggled as she clambered over him off of the bed. 

“Jo...” Niall called out as soon as her bare feet hit the carpet. Having already stood up, she glanced at him right as he grabbed around her wrist and tugged her back down into the bed on top of him. She fell onto him in a heap of giggles, his mouth instantly attached to hers. His fingers curled into the sides of her tangled hair, his tongue sweeping softly over her own and all she could do was kiss him harder, faint hums pleading from her throat. Finally pulling away, Niall’s half lidded eyes swam over hers. “You’re fuckin’ unreal,” he breathed out. 

Joey bit at her bottom lip. “I know.” 

His mouth sank back to hers in a low chuckle, their eyes falling closed and Joey cupped around his neck as she felt Niall’s wandering hand unwind from her hair and slowly trail down her back and over her bum. She giggled against his lips, his fingers slipping between her legs and there was a second that she just let him touch her, feel at her, play with her, before she broke the kiss. “You better stop it,” she shakily whispered, her forehead pressed to his brow as she squeezed her eyes closed in a low gasp. He was too good with his fingers. 

“Why’s that?” he chuckled. 

“Because you’re...um,” Joey paused and swallowed hard, “getting me wet.” 

Niall brushed his nose at hers to entice her into a kiss. “Isn't that the point?”

Joey peeled her eyes open and lifted her head up. Niall met her stare. “Normally yes,” she huffed, licking across her lips, “but I gotta go walk Sadie or she’ll pee on my carpet and if she does pee on my carpet, it’s gonna be your fault and I’m gonna make you clean it up.” 

Pinching his eyes closed in a rumbling laugh, Niall tossed his head back into the pillow, his fingers sliding from her center back to a safer place at her hip. “Fine, love,” he said, peeking at her, “but after we get back from eatin’ breakfast...I get to eat you.” 

Joey raised a brow and cradled her hand around his bearded jaw. “Mmm, with that fucking mouth?” she teased, pressing a kiss to his lips, “no arguments from me, sir.” 

“Ohh Jesus Christ,” he groaned. 

A cackle spilled out from Joey as she jumped off of Niall and out of the bed, Sadie already circling at her feet as she stepped over to her dresser to find some clothes.

•

After getting some coffee and a couple breakfast wraps, Niall and Joey made their way back to her apartment, their clothes hitting the floor as soon as they stepped inside. The rest of the day was spent tangled in the bedsheets, immersed in each other and only as the sun was setting did Niall suggest they venture out to get some air, and some more food. 

Grabbing some Chinese take out, they decided to go over to Niall’s place to hang out as he wanted to clean himself up a bit and get into some comfortable clothes. He also wanted to play Joey some of the songs that were going to be on his new album. He was very keen on her hearing the first listen live–especially one song in particular he kept mentioning–just him and his guitar, before she was to hear the actual record. Even just that simple thought, being one of the few people who got to be in his life that way, to hear his music before the masses and be in a position that he could just sit with her and sing to her, it was overwhelming for Joey. 

After taking a much needed shower and changing into a t-shirt and a pair of jogger shorts, Niall came down into the den area that was off of his kitchen where Joey was waiting for him. She was slumped back into the couch, bare feet tucked up on the cushion, watching some tv. She smiled when she saw him. “Feel better?” the red head mentioned as Niall snatched his guitar from the ottoman and plopped down in the corner of the couch next to her. 

“You’ve no fuckin’ idea,” he mumbled. 

Joey’s light brown eyes trailed over him as he set up the guitar, tapping on his phone screen to use an app to help make sure it was in tune. His dark hair was still slightly damp, tousled over his forehead, his skin glowing, surely from the steam and heat of the shower and he smelled as if he had just walked out of a Hugo Boss ad. Leaning her head back into the couch, Joey hugged her sweatshirt clad arms around her bare legs that were huddled up to her chest. Biting down on her lip, she kept quiet as Niall began to play, singing her just a few of the songs that he knew she would like. She had heard his past music, been an unassuming fan of his first solo record that he had put out a couple years prior, but that moment was different. It seemed all too surreal. To actually be in the same room as him, listening and watching him play, hearing his smooth and sultry voice that was singing just for her. It felt almost as intimate as them sleeping together. 

The thought made Joey blush and she tipped her head forward to rest her cheek on the bend of her knees, her stare never leaving Niall. As the last song, the very one that he had been wanting her to hear, started, as the words began to leave his lips, Joey knew that it was something special. She couldn't tear her eyes away from him, she couldn’t breathe, she couldn’t move. The lyrics ripping through her soul, the delicate sound of his voice catapulting her into a devoid and intricate space that she had never been before. It was emotional and raw and honest and heart wrenching, and she knew from the second he opened his mouth, from the very first word that broke off his tongue, that it was for her.  

Her eyes were bleary, holding steady on the man sitting next to her with the guitar in his hands and the softness in his face as he sang. As the song ended, a quiet fell between them, Niall’s gaze meeting Joey’s and it was as if no words even needed to be spoken, they both just...knew. They knew what the lyrics meant, what they were for, and why they had been written. Joey had never heard anything so painfully beautiful before in her whole life. And it was all for her. 

“That was incredible, Niall,” she told him, watching his glassy eyes fall to the fretboard of his guitar. His fingers silently dabbled along the strings. “It was so beautiful.” 

“You liked it?”

Swallowing hard, Joey faintly nodded her head as she swiped a thumb under her watery eye. “Yeah.”

“I wrote it for you, darlin’,” he admitted, peering over at her, “it’s about you.” 

Joey smiled and tightened her arms around her shins. “Yeah, I kinda picked up on that.”

Pulling in a deep breath, Niall fussed with his damp hair, brushing it off his forehead. “I wrote it a few months back,” he went on, flicking his eyes between her and down at his guitar, “when I was in London, actually. Last minute addition to the album, but I just couldn’t leave it off. Means too much to me.” 

Joey let her stare fawn over him for a moment before she lifted her head from her knees and leaned over, cupping her hand around his face to bring him into a kiss. She held him there, capturing his lips in hers, breathing him in, tasting him, and it wasn’t until they heard the shuffling of footsteps against the hardwood kitchen floor that they both eased away. 

“Well, this looks a whole lot different than when I saw you two at the party last night,” Chris chuckled out, his brows raising. 

Joey glanced back at Niall as she crossed her legs on the couch, giving his friend a smile. “Hi, Chris.” 

“Heya, Joey.” Slugging off his jacket and laying it on the back of one of the kitchen chairs, he hooked his hands on his hips. “So...this a thing now, huh? You two?”

Niall nodded and placed a hand on top of Joey’s thigh, his thumb rubbing softly over the skin. “Yeah, man, it’s a thing.” 

Biting off her growing smile, Joey pushed her curled fist to her mouth as Chris threw his head back in a groan. “Fuckin’ finally,” he spit out, “it’s about damn time, ya’ll, holy shit.” 

Joey couldn’t hold back her chuckle any longer. “So you knew?” she asked Chris, who had stepped over to the fridge to grab a bottle of water. 

Unscrewing the cap, he took a long sip. “I knew from the first night ya came over here that you two had a fuckin’ thing for each other. Just didn’t think it’d take this long…” 

Niall snorted and shook his head as he moved his attention back to his guitar, plucking at the strings. “It was like watchin’ paint dry waitin’ for you two to hook up,” Chris went on. 

“Well, he did have a girlfriend for the last couple of months…” 

“Shush,” Niall interjected from next to her. She peeked over at him with a smirk.

Chris belted out a laugh. “Lila? She was a joke, Joey, no offense to her or anythin’, but we all knew that.” 

“I wish I had known that,” Joey scoffed.

“She was just somethin’ to pass the time for him,” Chris tried to explain to Joey, Niall sitting quiet beside her. “Until you figured out what you wanted. That you had feelings for him like he does for you.” 

Joey narrowed her stare, slouching back into the sofa. “So I was the only one who didn’t know how Niall felt about me?” she remarked, shooting her stare back and forth between the two boys. 

Niall laughed and gave her a shrug, and she looked back over at Chris as he gathered his jacket from the chair. “Yup!” he said with a nod as he turned to head up the stairs to his bedroom. 

“Dammit,” Joey mumbled under her breath. 

Chris chuckled again, just as he was rounding the second floor and out of their sight. “Night, ya crazy kids!” 

Sliding her stare back over to Niall, he was already looking at her, a lopsided smirk on his face. Joey scraped her teeth over her bottom lip and Niall lifted the guitar from his lap and laid it on the other side of him on the couch. He swung an arm around Joey’s shoulders, and tugged her down against him in a cuddle. “So…” she began, nuzzling her face against the warmth of his clean t-shirt as she held onto his arm that was locked around her, “seriously...how long were you gonna wait?” 

Niall pressed his lips to the top of her head. “For you?”

“Yeah…”

Joey felt Niall breathe out a soft chuckle into her hair. “As long as it took, petal,” he whispered.

[punkandsnacks]

Sinnerman, Chapter One; Lions and Lambs.

Author: @punk-in-docs​ & @adamsnackdriver​

Also on AO3-

Trigger Warnings: This is also - surprise surprise - another fairly slow burn story. With so many triggers and red flags I can’t even begin to tell you! I’ll tag each chapter of course. There is some language and violence and swearing in this chapter- hope y’all are ready to sin for this one... In this story there is knife play, violence, rough sex, dubcon, angst, and just a great great deal of, well, sin.

Synopsis: Prisoner!Killer!Kylo/OC AU

In which a sweet crime writer goes to question a convicted scarred murderer; what could possibly go wrong? (Oh! So many things)

He’d watched her pulse leap in her pale throat when he sat down. Watched her shrink in her seat. Saw how her pale blue eyes dilated when she saw him. He’d heard her gulp. Heard her breath hitch. That had been hard for him not to smirk wildly at. That he had such an effect upon her...

Seeing her in here after so many goddamn days and years limited purely to the bland familiar sights of fellow prison inmates and guards. Broad men of all sizes. So to suddenly walk in here, and see what little treat sat awaiting him, was like New Years Eve in Paris.

After all, he was a dangerously bored, violent sociopath.

~ ~  🖤 ~ ~ 

   Evelyn Winslow was the kind of woman no one ever saw.

 Not that this was ever a detrimental feature. Matter of fact, she thrived happily behind this persona.

 All her life she’d been the bookish one. The shy one. The bibliophile who hid herself away behind her self-constructed, unbreakable, fortress of comfort. Supported by books and her intelligence. Held up faithfully by her own proclivity to be first and foremost, who she was comfortable to be.

All for herself, and no one else. Which was just as well. She was a daughter to a single mother, and was raised by both her grandmother and mother alike. It had been many years since she’d lost her granny to cursed old age and her mother to a rotten illness.

She was entirely alone in her world. It was populated now by nothing other than her small corner of cherished hobbies, and her job to fulfil her. It kept her sane, and happy. Even if the loneliness did creep In sometimes… and she was hardly the type of girl to have legions of men fawning after her as lovers… She was a reserved, quiet person who was happy with her own set of well-loved interests.

 This was obvious from the first glimpse of her.

 Drab formal work-wear wrapped around her unremarkable, small, body, swathed in her trusty granny cardigan, with a patch sewn roughly over the worn elbow.

 Her round, owl-like reading glasses perched happily on her pale face. Her plain hair, chestnut auburn, somewhat shiny, but somewhat straggly, was smoothed back into an artless bun at the back of her neck. Though despite her best efforts, wisps of it still managed to catch in her face, swinging in front of her glasses clad eyes and her ears.

 She was perched on the edge of an unfathomably uncomfortable plastic chair. Her small form getting swallowed up into the artless frame the seat offered.

One that she couldn’t help but think didn’t mould to cradle the shape of anyone’s ass.

Her body was alight with nerves, she tried to absolve her trembling hands on the reliable paperback she’d sloped in her lap, hoping she could lose herself in the words, and they would provide her the usual succour of her favourite novel.

 But the worn, water warped paper backed book did nothing to aid her. Not when she was in this place.

 This great sprawling concrete building took up most of the horizon, like some ugly beast. She had hesitated getting out of the car three times before she bit the bullet and went inside.

Entering the place was a challenge in itself. Two forms of ID required, a security check, bag search and finally she was allowed inside this awful, cavernous setting.

 She’d been escorted along the drab, cold halls by a broad, silent guard. The hallway she’d been led down filled full of the far off clamour of all male noise.

The musty air mingled with the stale stench of ancient sterile cleaning products that she was sure had been pasted over the peeling lino floors with a mop, in the not too distant past by some inmate.

 The lumbering guard ahead of her didn’t even bat an eyelid when he led her down a walkway, high above what she could discern was a common room of sorts. Down below, she could see pool tables, and normal tables gathered in groups, surrounded by tall columns of orange clad men of all shapes and sizes mingled around them.

 Heat flooded to her cheeks when came the first wolf whistle aimed up at her. She ignored the rising clamour of shouts and calls that were sent her way. Some voices more distinguishable than others- unfortunately.

 Voices erupted from beside them too. They walked past rows of white barred cells.

 She flinched out of her skin when one huge man thudded down from his top bunk and rattled the bars of his cell so loud it almost knocked her off her feet.

 She tried to keep her eyes down as the guard had said, and not interact. But at his rough voice and even rougher words she made the mistake of flickering her eyes across to him.

 “Come over here bitch, I wanna get a good look at you.” He all but spat at her. His hands braced on the bars, leaning closer.

 She fixated on the scar that divided his face. The shaven crop of his hair, and the tattoos that marred his thick arms. By the time he dropped his head to clock her ass, his smile was a leer.

 The guard seems to take notice of the prisoner and sends back a harsh bark of warning to him.

She found her courage, and her legs re-joined, and she moved off. Her cheeks pink, her shame broadcasting out of every pore.

 Her fear and her anxiety palphable in the air. Almost as if she could reach out and touch the cloud of nerves surrounding her.

 “Don’t let these scum know you’re scared. They’ll eat it up if you do.” The guard casually tossed over his shoulder as they came to another set of stairs, leading away from the commotion of the common room.

 Evie frowned at his words. And gulped too.

 It was obvious from the off, not as if she needed the confirmation, but it was clear this place didn’t welcome nor warm well to outsiders.

Eventually her silent bidder of doom led her to another waiting room, and told her to be patient and that the Prison shrink would be with her soon to debrief her about her visit.

 So here she found herself. Jiggling with nervousness. Reeling from the rough words of the prisoner who’d gotten off from scaring her half to death. Feasting on her with no more than his eyes like she was a porterhouse steak.

 Sickness and dread bubbled up in her stomach, cloying sour in her throat. She picked a stray thread off her drab grey skirt. Tucking her teal cardigan tighter around herself. She was feeling clammy and terrified. The dank air in here serving to make pimples raise on her exposed legs.

 She’d taken the dress code very seriously. Her sensible grey skirt came to her knees. She wore simple kitten heels on her feet. Her white blouse and her cerulean blue wool cardigan were both buttoned modestly across her décolletage.

 Nothing to invoke or enflame masculine attention. She was well versed in that rule.

 Her makeup was practically non-existent.  No lip colour, barely any blush. Nothing to conceal the bags under her eyes and only a sweep of mascara to darken her lashes.

She’d been scrupulous about everything. Only cursing herself when she lapsed, forgetting the dress code when she spritzed perfume on her wrists and dabbed some on her neck this morning.

 Assured the guard opposite wasn’t watching, she lifted her wrist to her nose and inhaled. Nothing but the scent of her washing detergent and the soft scent of her skin. She flattered herself she might get away with it…

 Nervously tapping her foot, she put her ineffective novel away and reached for the file in her bag. Reacquainting herself with the contents which she was sure she knew off heart by now.

 She’d read over prisoner ID 623859’s profile numerous times. She’d gone over it time and time again, hoping it would make her feel more prepared. It was an odd thing; there she was, of an evening, curled up on her sunny front porch, in the porch swing, with a glass of white wine, going over the file of this perfect stranger.

 This whole man in his entirety, having been consigned to a number, and a charge sheet...

 The absurdity and callous nature of it had struck her as a very cold and brutal thing. To add insult, the file had lacked a mug shot. So she couldn’t even see what he looked like.

 Her boss had shrugged when she bought it up. The photo had gotten lost or dropped out at some point perhaps… did it matter? To Evie it did. They could atleast give this man the decency of being treated like a human being.

 And now she was here, and it was all so real. She’d be meeting the man behind this file in a mere matter of moments.

 She’d  interviewed a few prisoners before, all in the line of duty for her work as a crime writer. But they’d been in on minor charges such as breaking and entering, arson, car theft or fraud.

 She’d never had to sit across the interrogation table from a killer before.

 Because ID 623859 was a lifer, who’d been sent down for five counts of first degree murder four years ago.

 A step up from her usual inmates doing 2 – 3 years for good behaviour and the district attorney arguing for whittling their case down to community service rather than jail time.

 Out of her comfort zone couldn’t even begin to describe the place she found herself in right now-

 She was so idly consumed in the file, the reverberating clang of bars in front of her echoed in her bones, startling her yet again out of her daze. Looking up she met the gaze of a very run down man who tiredly called out her name in confirmation.

 “Winslow?” He asked morosely.

 She darted up nervously. Pushing her glasses up her nose. Tucking hair behind her ear. Her anxious tick, she’d always been told by her granny.

 The laminated name badge pinned to her chest earlier clattered against her arms when she stood. She nervously shut the file and stepped towards the man. Awkwardly jerking her hand out from under the coat folded over her arm.

 “Hello. Yes. Uh, you must be Doctor Finch…” She greets politely. Finch assessed her with a fatigued flick, up and down, of his eyes.

 “This way..” He greeted with little enthusiasm. Encouraging her to follow. He didn’t return her handshake.

 He was a short, stout man. Dressed in a drab puce green shirt, with sweat stains at his armpits, and a bland brown tie knotted around his neck like a lifeless noose.

 His trousers were wrinkled and his shoes looked unloved to say the least. Even with his olive skin, his salt and pepper balding hair and baggy eyes spoke volumes of his jaded despondency with his job.

 As she followed him she noted the scent of stale sweat, bad coffee and awful cheap cologne followed him as he moved. Everything about this man seemed stale.

 She trailed after him obediently in silence, the only sound they made was his lolloping steps from his heavy boots, and the dainty click of her heels hitting the lino floor. It wasn’t until they got to the second door that he spoke. His voice too, was fusty.

 “So. You’re here to see Ren…” He lets his question hang in the air.

 “Uh. Yes.” She speaks up. “I’m from Armstrong & Lowery Publishing. I was tasked along with a few in house authors to write criminal profiles for a memoir series. Very edgy. Uh, plenty of personal insight into life after conviction...” She explained. He replied with a less than impressed grunt.

 “Lucky you.” He answered drily without looking back at her.

 The pit of hope in her stomach dried up. She wouldn’t be making any friends in here, that was for certain.

 “Now listen…” He breathes out blearily.

 “This isn’t some tame convict whose serving time for joyriding…” He begins. For the first time since they’d met, he turned to her and stared her down deep with the depths of his dark eyes.

 “This criminal is a violent, dangerous, sociopath who brutally attacked and killed five men, in cold blood.” He tells her. Each word punching out his mouth with heavy gravity. She nods.

 “I read his file…” She offers weakly.

 He scoffs.

 “Then you’ve barely scratched the surface, girly.” He tells her with a hint of amusement in his voice.

 Do you always make the outside visitors your entertainment? She wonders idly.

 “Truthfully. I don’t know what warnings I can give you about Ren.” He starts as he unlocks a barred door from the keys clipped to his belt which strained under the size of his rotunda belly.

 “One thing I can promise you is that you sure as hell might not get much out of him. He doesn’t tend to like being interrogated by journalists. Ask the last one who came to annoy him with questions.” He chuckles.

 Evie froze. He turned around and met her gaze with the threat of his morbid promise glittering in his eyes.

 “What happened to the last one?” She asks in a voice that was barely audible.

 “They pushed him.” He says. “Ragged on him, dug into his weak points. Delved far too deep into his personal life for his liking…” Finch tells.

 “Even handcuffed to the table, he managed to reach across and break their arm in three places. And he didn’t even work up a drop of sweat as he did it.” He warns. “...And don’t go thinking provoking him is the only way to set him off either...” He starts.

 “Two years ago I was performing a routine eval of him, and he lunged across that table and stabbed my own pen through my hand when I tried to get him to finally open up about his childhood.” As he spoke, he held up his right hand, and she could see the uneven bump of a small jagged scar sat on his palm.

 Evie blinks. Her spine felt frozen rigid in fear. It took an enormous portion of her courage to step through the barred door he held open for her.

 “If you’ve talked to other prisoners before, then you’re up on the familiar protocol… No reaching over. Don’t pass them anything except paper. Keep your hands to yourself. Dress appropriately. Don’t rile them. And when times called, times up. Visitors and Prisoners both follow the rules, that clear?  You stay seated until the prisoner is escorted out by the guards… the usual fuss…” He adds.

 She thinks she may have nodded in response. She isn’t entirely sure.

 He walks her down another long hallway. This one was much different to the one the other guard had led her down.

 There were no bars. No open communal spaces. The doors here weren’t bars, they were solid heavy metal. With tiny shuttered windows on each one. She didn’t need to be told what kind of men were kept back behind these doors.

 She soldiers on. Acutely aware of the clack of her heels that rung through the hallway with each step she took. How unfamiliar a sound like that must be in this miserable, rigid institution.

 “What else can you tell me about him?” She braves to ask. “Something that isn’t in his file?”

 Finch sighs and goes quiet for a moment, fiddling with the keys in his hands to find the next one for the interrogation room.

 “You want my honest opinion?” He speaks up. Standing stiffly and regarding her for a moment. She waits patiently for his assessment.

 “He ain’t seen or talked to a woman in three years. You want the truth, I think that’s gonna have a big effect in how he reacts to you. I don’t know if it’ll necessarily help you or hurt you. You may arouse his interest, but that doesn’t mean he’s gonna give you answers.” He honestly informs her.

 “He’s not gonna open up to you just cause you’re a woman. He won’t see you as some compassionate, kind, caring shoulder to lean on. For all I know, you going in there to question him could be putting you in serious danger.” He tells her seriously.

 No sugar coating news around here, it seemed.

 That was when he stepped closer and unashamedly took a deep breath next to the air surrounding her shoulder. She shrunk back a little, perturbed.

 “Forgive my asking. But did you put perfume on this morning?” He asks her in a bored monotone.

 Her cheeks heat. “Habit.” She tells him, embarrassed at having been caught out. His eyes turn to points

 “Next time? Don’t. He’ll pick up on that.” He tells her off sharply. She bobbles a nod once again. He turns and continues their long walk to the interrogation room.

 “Now. There’ll be guards posted outside the door. And I need to mention for safety all your conversations will be recorded.” He explains the usual procedure.

 “I’ll be watching the two of you from the anteroom on the video monitor. If he tries anything. We’ll be there hopefully before anything can happen. We’ve learnt the hard way to step our measures when it comes to Ren, for both inmates and visitors.” He tells her.

 “I read about his… uh injury… After his sentence here…” She tells Finch. “The altercation with the other prisoner, in the yard.”

 “Nastiest thing I’ve seen in a long while.” He tells her.

 Back to her as he punched a key code into the panel on the wall. A harsh blare opened to cell door, showing her the rows of silver tables and fixed chairs inside.

 She’d read in the file about what happened not long after he was first incarcerated. Some gang set after Ren during yard time one day, and the leader took his shiv and carved a scar down from his forehead to his shoulder. Holding him down as he did to teach the new pretty boy who was top dog.

 They had swaggered off, assured they’d cemented who was the alpha. When Ren, bleeding profusely, and in probably unfathomable amounts of pain, chased the guy down, beat him half to death, buried the guys own shiv in his thigh - and bit out a chunk of the leaders face for good measure.

 It took four guards to get Ren off him before he killed the fellow prisoner. guards, prisoners and visitors gave him a wide berth after that. No one dare looked in his direction if they knew what was good for them.

 “Since that day he’s been in solitary cell confinement for his sentence here. Can’t trust him to be the type to get along with a bunk mate.” Finch spoke under his breath, as if he was speaking disappointedly about an errant child who didn’t gel with other people.

 He’d gone through two cell mates here in his first month. Both of whom barely escaped with their lives.

 He waved his arm, indicating for her to take a seat at one of the tables.

 “Standard procedure. The prisoner will be escorted in shortly, Ms Winslow. Take a seat…” He tells her.

 She steps past. Clutching her coat in her arms as if it could protect her. She chose the table in the far corner. And spread her folded coat across the back of the chair. Nerves squirming in her belly like some rabid, wild animal was trying to burrow into her stomach.

 She tucked a strand of her hair and took a seat. The worn and scratched metal chair under her making her skin thrash coolly as she lowered down onto it. Tainting her skin with goosebumps. The hair at the back of her neck was needled straight on end with terror.

 “I’ll be in the monitor room watching. Try not to let him play too many of his games with you, and remember. Don’t antagonise him… Best of luck…” Finch sniped at her before he shuffled away out of sight.

She tried not to let herself think unpleasant thoughts about the insipid, embittered man who clearly despised his job and all those involved along with it.

 She fiddled with her glasses, and withdrew her notebook and pen from the confines of her bag. Nervously nibbling on her lower lip. She flexed her cold hands as she flipped to an empty page. Making last minute, nervous adjustments, fixing her badge. Making sure she was still all buttoned up, and presentable.

She nervously crossed her legs, feeling that her sheer beige tights slid smoothly along her cold, goose pimpled skin. She wiggled her chilled toes in her shoes. Shamefully aware as she drew her cardigan over her chest, that she was suddenly freezing.

 For good measure, she crossed her arms over her chest and hunched down in her seat, arms under the table and awaited her fate.

 The first thing she heard, was the jangle of the keys scuffing the barred doors unlocking then clanging as they were slid open.

She was beginning to understand they were the standard noise to echo and signify movement about this prison.

 The sound seemed to rattle through her, ringing through her skeleton. Making more dread creep through her. She swallows, her eyes darting to the door where she could hear a few sets of footsteps shuffle and clatter along the vapid lino floor.

 There was something else too, along with the heavy sets of treads, she could hear a soft clinking noise shift in the air. It took her a second to come to realise that she could hear his shackles as the prisoner was being shifted along.

 Cuffed at the ankles and the wrists – for her safety. She heard a door open and close, and Finch’s bored voice rang loud through the halls. They were just metres away, beyond the barred door.

 “You be nice now, Ren.” Finch warns.

 The clanking stopped for a moment.

 “You know I don’t play well with others.” A deep baritone answered drily. The implication in his voice was dangerous. It made her blood run cold.

 Evie suddenly wanted to shrink down to about three centimetres tall. She wanted to wither away into the chair like a dried up leaf curling in on itself.

 She watches Finch unlock the door and then it is filled by the three figures the other side of it.

The tall column of orange prisoner is flanked by two guards. They, frankly, looked ineffective in comparison to the figure they were there to guard.

 They seem more like ineffectual support than anything. Because the solid wall of tall man in the prison jumpsuit was entirely six feet four of fury, rage and danger hemmed into an orange uniform.

 He may have been the incarcerated one, but power pulsed about his figure like a far off threat. Lingering in the distance. Always there, chiming gently.

 He stands a foot above the two guards, superior, and the small curl of his lips suggests he knows this.

 Under an unruly mane of inky hair, his eyes look darker than black zirconia’s. The harsh light of the room they’re in reflects in a glimmer back off his black, fathomless eyes.

 Lifeless eyes, like sharks eyes, she thinks… dead eyes… the knowledge he was a killer made them more chilling- Those eyes had seen men die.

 He cocks his head at her through the bars and surveys her. Something dark and terrible flares through her belly.

 She wants to pull up her book, shield herself. Put something, any barrier really, between her and his burning eyes that were boring holes into her like flames scorching paper.

 It was like looking at something grotesque, it unsettled her down in the very marrow of her bones – but her body just wouldn’t let her look away.

 She hadn’t expected to find herself so entranced with his looks. He could definitely be classified as intoxicating.

 She certainly felt under the influence. He was handsome in an unbelievable and impossible way. Strong, broad features, full lips.

 A clean shaven chin. Face marred by a thick, jagged track of a vivid red scar running from the top of his forehead entirely down his right cheek, slicing its scarred trail deep into his skin. It told of what made him so dangerous, so brutal. The latticework of violence on his skin written with the tip of someone else’s crude knife.

 It marred well with the tattoos that she could see covered every inch of his torso. The backs of his hands, twined along his large, thick fingers. Hidden at either side of his pale neck by long strands of his hair that fell in waves to his shoulders.

 Down the front of his neck, by his clavicle and the exposed top buttons of the stark orange jumpsuit. There too shadowy patterns of ink are shouting their dark tales of his life from the surface of his alabaster skin. Appropriately, She can see teeth, bones, skulls, darkness and blood.

 The door is slid open and with a final, resounding thunk, this odd entourage steps into the room.

 The prisoner is walked across to the table. Evie’s hand itches. She wants to do something normal. She wants to rise to her feet, greet him hello, and shake his hand as if this was a business meeting over coffee. But she can’t. She won’t.

 She stays with her ass firmly placed on her seat as if it was cemented there. Her wrist twitches and she fights the proclivity to reach across for a handshake. Rule 1 of prison etiquette; Don’t reach over – keep your hands at all times, to yourself.

 Instead she can only sit there, pinned, under the gaze of the gigantic man being led towards her. She felt exposed like this.

 A rabbit in headlights. Vulnerable. And she wasn’t even the one in shackles here… how was it he still harnessed all the power in the room?

 She was convinced he managed it by the sheer size of his body alone. He was towering to say the least. She was sure he was a good two feet taller than her.

 She watched him stride across the room, with the guards shuffling him in by his sides. She saw his long, powerful legs stride him forwards as if he wasn’t even in cuffs, or in this prison at all.

 She is cursed to do nothing but watch, as he is led across to her. The guards go either side as he lowers that big body of his into the seat opposite. She fears that he wouldn’t fit onto it.

 But he eases down and slides his hands forwards onto the metal table top. He unfolds his legs under the table and lets them stretch out, almost hitting hers. He arcs his back and shoulders forwards in the chair and lets his forearms rest on the surface.

 She jumps back, flinching in her seat when he drags his shackles harshly across the tables surfaces. The metal whining and shrieking.

 Oh, she was sweet. He’d scared the poor little lamb.

 She watches the guards chain his joined hands to the metal bar secured on the table top. He sits there, suave, like a king, not even acknowledging the two people securing him. His eyes remained fixed on her.

 She wets her lips, and tucks her hair behind her ear. His eyes don’t miss a thing. Evie gives the po-faced guards a wobbly smile, which they do not return, before they shuffle away out of the room. Leaving her all alone to the savage mercy of Kylo Ren.

 “You know the rules...” One of them warns him as they shackle his left wrist. How many more warnings was he in for?

 “Is that meant for me, or her, Henderson?” He asks. Looking her right in the eye. Appealing to the guard by name.

 She gulps. Again. He spots it. 

“None of your trouble here with the lady. Try not to get yourself thrown in the hole for a month this time…” The Guard bays back to Ren’s snappy mouth. Their conversation ends with the harsh clang of the cell door.

 “No promises…” He mutters lowly. Growling lowly at her.

 Her mouth gapes lightly. And his smile curls up more in the beginnings of a smirk. She felt her bravery deflate at the fact he was staring his piercing gaze into her soul.

Yet still referred to her in the third person. As if she wasn’t in the room. As if she wasn’t even here. To him, she supposed, she was an ineffectual, annoying spec. A fly he wished to swat to death with his very large, tattooed hands.

 For what feels like the first time, she lets her frightened gaze meet his. She sits up a little straighter and shuffles in her seat, her eyes switch across to the door as the guards flank it and stand silently.

 Arms crossed, backs ramrod straight. Eyes daggering into Ren’s back. She timidly reaches her hand out for her notebook. Feeling a little like she was dangerously reaching her hand into a lions enclosure at the zoo.

 She wets her lips. Summoning the energy to speak.

 Ren feels his temper simmering under his skin already. Was the damn girl a fucking mute or what?

 “Um, Thank you, for agreeing to meet with me, Mr. Ren…” She begins.

 He merely narrows his eyes. Otherwise silent as the grave.

 “I’m missing my yard time for this. And for what? So a Librarian can ask me the same fucking questions every journalists wants to ask me?” He all but spits out.

She can tell he doesn’t really require an answer on that one.

 She shuffles. Tucks her hair behind her ear again. Clearly that outburst made her uncomfortable.

 “I’m not a journalist…” She corrects weakly.

 His impassive, handsome, face made no move to acknowledge her smidgeon of backbone.

 She looked about as robust as that godawful fraying, fuzzy, granny cardigan she was wearing. He thought about how the heft of it rudely hid her body shape from his eyes.

 “My names Evie Winslow. I’m a writer, actually. I’m from a publishing house that’s very interested in your story as a lifer in here. They’re doing a series of inmates personal memoirs to publish into a volume of…”

 “Writer. Journalist. What’s the difference…” He lets out under his breath to himself, unamused.

To him, they were both annoying, pushy, arrogant suits who only seemed to swan into this place to grill him with personal and infuriatingly nosy questions.

 “You look like you know your way around a book. You’ve doubtless read my file judging by that manila folder sticking out your bag… You’ll know my feelings about bossy journalists asking me their annoying questions….” He warns, his voice a dark purr.

 His threat hanging around in the air. As he spoke, he leaned into the table. Pinning her under that dark gaze once again.

 That gaze had kept him safe being locked up in here all these years. It made sure people left him-the-fuck alone. Made sure some of the fucking scum that co-inhabited this place knew not to antagonise him.

  She bites at the inside of her lower lip. Mulling over his musings.

 “Writers have the luxury of imagination.” She offers simply as an answer. Again, he is silent. But she can see activity at the back of those deep dark eyes as he assesses her.

 She was meek. There was no doubting that. He somehow found himself giddy at the fact that she leapt out of her skin when she slowly scraped his shackles across the table.

 He’d watched her pulse leap in her pale throat when he sat down. Watched her shrink down. Seen how her pale blue eyes dilated when she saw him. He’d heard her gulp. Heard her breath hitch. That had been hard for him not to smirk wildly at. That he had such an effect.

 After all, he was a dangerously bored, violent sociopath. Seeing her in here after so many goddamn day and years limited purely to the bland sights of fellow inmates and guards.

 Broad men of all sizes. So to suddenly walk in here and see what sweet, shapely little treat sat awaiting him was like New Years Eve in Paris.

 A writer, was all he’d been told. British too, apparently. What the fuck does some prim suited, stuck- up writer want with him?

 Visitor signed in as E. Winslow. He’d expected to walk in and see some balding, academic, authorial fat old man. Not a delectable, petite, shapely, dark haired woman.

 When he saw her wet her lips as she looked nervously across, he swore to god his cock leapt up to attention under his jumpsuit. He tried to discern more of her figure as he sat, but her frumpy work wear made that a challenge.

 He let his mind drift a little as he was shackled in. His eyes went to her chest for only a second.

 The fuzzy cardigan did well to hide her shape from him. But he could see under those drab work clothes there most likely his a fine figure.

 The sight of her buttoned over cleavage and the slight hint of her pale sternum made his mouth water. Aswell as the scent of her.

 Her fucking scent he could smell all the way down the corridor.

 Sweet honeysuckle or some natural shit like that. Lavender. Peonies. Something other than the scent of the paltry institution detergent they washed the prison suits in.

 That something other was like ambrosia nectar to him.

 He thanked the stars that she’d put on perfume too. Giving him something to fucking distract him from this fucking pit if for only a damn second.

 He could trace warm notes of it in the air around her. Something so bright and floral it was all he could do to concentrate on ignoring it.

 He wanted to lean across and find out with his lips where abouts she sprayed on her soft, silken neck. He wanted to vice her throat in one hand, squeeze, and feel her pulse go crazy under his palm. Crushing her windpipe lightly under his violent grip.

 He can’t say he was familiar with her type. She had a lot of things she tried to hide herself away in.

 Her messily arranged hair, the librarian owl-like glasses, the dull blouse and the boring cardigan; it all screamed ‘safe’ at him. Polar opposite to him, he thought.

 His entire demeanour was centred off the fact he never hid a thing. Of course, he tried to blend into society’s norms into what was acceptable. But that was a different thing. He was big, tall, unabashed, broad, unashamed, confident.

 He brazenly wore his temper, his tattoos, his wealth, his piercings – the few he had left. She was the complete photo negative. She seemed designed to take up as little space as was possible.

 Her personality spoke of her living her quiet, shy life in exactly the way she pleased. No wedding ring visible on her slim finger. From that he could discern that meant she didn’t dress up her petite frame for anyone but herself. Never stepping out of her comfort zone.

Never doing anything brazen or risky. She looked like a woman who lived well within the parameters of her cosy, cushy, ineffectual little life.

 So what was this nice, educated, girl doing in a place like this? Talking to a man like him?

 “Call a spade a spade. You’re here to ask me questions. No matter what job you’ve got.” He grilled with a neutral expression. Piercing right to the point.

 He’d got her there.

 “Well. Yes, I am…” She adds.

 He made no move except to harshly exhale. She could see he was still staring her down like he wanted to cut her into strips, simply for being here.

 “What more, personally, can you tell me about your conviction? What was that like?” She begins, holding her notebook open. Her pen poised to take notes.

 His jaw grit. Tight.

 If she thought he was going to sit here like an obedient lapdog, and answer every personal question she wanted to pry into about his own damn personal life, she could think again.

 “Long and boring.” He answers stiffly.

 “The trial?” She asks.

 No answer comes from him.

 “Read. My. File.” He answers shortly.

 She blinks, her pen poised over the paper, now blotting a large, sticky ink stain on the creamy lined notebook paper.

 “How was it adjusting to prison life?” She ventures. But by now she knows not to get her hopes up for an answer.

 “Painful.” Comes the reply with his similar deadpan expression.

 “Uh..” She stumbled, trying to find the notes. Flicking through pages and feeling her cheeks glaring red with embarrassment.

 Her throat was drying up. Her hand trembling. He was so big, and just so terrifying.

The veins in his neck were starting to strain up under his skin. Pulsing with the need to keep a foothold on his patience.

 “What do you want me to talk about, huh?” He asks suddenly. Bursting forwards even more in his chair.

 The scraping of the shackles on the table shrieked again. Once more, she jumped at the noise, and he felt his arousal bubbling up with his rage.

 “You want me to describe in vivid detail what hurting all those men felt like? How it felt when I held the knife in my hand and ran it into them. Into their skin. Into their guts. How I slit one of their throats and how it felt fucking good to watch the blood pour?” He asks with a little twitch of his head, and morbid fascination in his voice.

 “And with another one…. About how I cut his femoral artery, deep, and watched him die so slowly. People don’t reckon they know how much blood is in the human body. But, ohhh, I do, Kitten. And it’s a lot. I know because I watched a man fade slowly away in a pool of his own blood. By the end he was choking on it.” He explained.

She wanted to flinch at that pet name he’d assigned her in the middle of his murderous diatribe.

 “I think you do want to hear it. On some twisted level. You want people to know how it feels. That’s why people will read your fucking memoirs, baby.” He says

 “They want to read about it because they will never know how it feels to be like me. To be like any of the murderers in this place. They can never know. So, they do the next best thing.” He explains.

 ”They come in here and they poke and prod and dissect us with psych evals and dare to call us crazy. When really, they’d do anything to know what it feels like to be a killer. To fall over that edge.”

 She felt somehow both sick and feverish. Frozen.

 She said nothing, but looked at him with those big, blue, innocent, scared eyes of hers. And my god, the sight of that almost served to make him rock hard under the goddamn table.

 “Is that what all you and your type want to hear? I enjoyed killing them. I glad I did it. No I wouldn’t take it back if I could. I’m glad I killed them all. Yes, I do curse every day I’m trapped in this miserable rotten hellhole, being shuffled around like a caged animal. Being told when to sleep. When to piss. When to shower. I miss my freedom.

 She just stares for a second. She wasn’t hard hearted enough to scoff at him in derision.

No. She was too sweet, he thought. But he could sense her disappointment at him. She chews on the inside of her lower lip again. And then he watches as she lays her pen down…

 “What else do you miss most from outside this place then?” She asks after a long moment of silence.

 That made him cock his head. It startled him. She’d startled him. The petite, five foot three librarian had astonished the six foot four, gigantic killer.

 “What?”

 She wet her lips. His big thighs tensed under the table.

 “What else do you miss-“

 “I heard the goddamn question. Kitten.” He growls with little patience.

 Her spine tingled at his oddly soft endearment once again. He knew. Of course he knew. Those pale cheeks went pink, that’s how he knew.

 She idly stroked a fingertip over the spine of her closed notebook. He watched her do it.

 Her hands looked soft. When she glanced over to his, she saw they were marred with scars, calluses, and toughened skin. She wondered how soft they’d feel pressed against hers…

 She’d been warned about sharing private information. Warned against sharing anything that wasn’t pertinent to her enquires as a crime writer.

 But she wanted to level with this dangerous man. As she imagined no one else had ever bothered to do. They took him at face value; a killer, an ID number of six letters. A last name. And that was all.

 They didn’t look beyond, however hard that may be, and however tricky Ren made it for them, to see the man underneath the prison file.

 He was still a human being. Sure, a damaged one. But still-

 “I’d miss my garden.” She pipes up.

 She flickers her eyes up, watching him as he shifts back to relax slightly into the cold metal cradle of his chair. His wavy hair caught the light, despite what she knew would be years of lax grooming and institution shampoo used on it, it still looked silky. Falling in gentle waves around that unforgettably beautiful face.

 Most inmates she knew were only allowed bar soap, basic shaving necessities, and loveless bathing products to clean with.

 He looked like the kind of hardcore man who’d stuck to a strict grooming routine before he came into this place. Cut-throat razor.

 The finest shaving creams and expensive balms used, to sit lingering their fine fragrance on his skin. Cologne so expensive it was like a scent of the finest luxury with every whiff.

 The thought of seeing hot, steamy water run over that broad tattooed figure she knew was lurking under that jumpsuit. Trickling over those rippling muscles in his back, over his shoulder blades, down across his divinely formed- she found herself flushing with longing.

 She snapped back out of her sordid daydream...

 He was clearly reluctant to speak. So she continued. “My Granny left us her house in her will. After my mother passed on also, it became mine. It’s small. Full of hand me downs, antiques, and various knick-knacks. It’s a cheap, dated house now. But it’s warm. Its clean. And it’s all mine.” She tells him.

 ”All I have left of my family exists in that house. My little dwelling in the middle of nowhere. One of my earliest memories is planting daisies into terracotta planters with my granny. I must’ve been about, five or six. As a kid I was always outside, playing in the garden. And my mother always roped me into help...” she chuckles.

 ”And that’s how I came to love it, I guess. I’m at my happiest up to my elbows in dirt putting in a new bed of tulips, or tending my hydrangeas, or seeing my hard labour come to fruition when my jasmine gardenias blossom in the first week of spring. It’s a lovely thing.” She explained.

 “The smell of my lilac trees on a warm summers morning coming through on the breeze from my kitchen window. That’s what I’d miss.

 Unless she was very much mistaken, that was a small curl of a smile turning up the corner of his lips. Barely visible. But she knew what she saw.

 “Coffee.” Was the word that surprised her when it came sailing out of his lips. A short, staccato bark, really.

 She nods.

 “Italian coffee. Strong. No milk. Dark as ink. A triple espresso so strong it makes your teeth ache.” He lets out. “The instant shit you get in here tastes like mud.”

 “That’s good…” She smiles lightly. Tucking a strand of hair back behind her ear. She does that a lot, he noticed.

 “I could do without being assaulted daily by Finch’s shitty cologne too. But there’s not a lot I can do to change that either.” He grumbles.

 His eyes turned up to the corner to fix a dark glare into the camera that was pointed down at them. He knew the chubby man would have his arms crossed over his fat belly, watching him through the monitor. Probably picking his nose or reading a dirty magazine.

 An unusual feeling spread warmth through his stomach when he saw her fight off a broad smile at that wish. She pushed her glasses back up her pixie like, upturned nose and tried her best not to laugh aloud.

 “Some things are just, eternally, beyond our reach, I guess.” She mutters quietly.

 ”No accounting for taste.” Ren glares solidly at the camera. Making sure Finch heard it, and saw it.

 “Time’s up.” Came a short outburst from the heavy set guard stood flanking the door.

 Ren watched the prim Ms. Winslow turn her head, her mouth gaping as she blinked prettily at the two plodding guards who came over to release Ren’s shackles.

 Once again, he watched her like a hawk, rather than paying attention to what was being done to his hands as they were jerked free of the table.

 She wondered if his wrists hurt with the careless way they handled him. Tugging and pulling his hands about in the cuffs like he was a nerveless piece of meat.

 She could see the raised red lines of irritation from the harsh cuffs about his pale, thick inked wrists that looked sore.

 He could tell she was disappointed. She had hoped for more from him. Her boss would grill her for days about this. He already found her a thorn in his side.

 Nothing she ever did was good enough. He proofed, edited and slaughtered her articles and writing proposals before he sent them to print. She didn’t like to reckon what he’d do if she’d go back tomorrow empty handed.

 “Come see me again.” Came a baritone rumble from opposite the table.

 “Up.” One of the guards instructed plainly. Yapping at him like a baying dog.

 Evie blinked. Did he just…?

 “Kitten.” He growled a crooked smirk in parting, rising to his full towering height again, eyes pinning her down again before he was tugged away.

 Shackles clanking. Big broad frame filling the door as he moved through it. Out into the hall.

 And she watched that tall column of orange flanked between two short navy pillars once more before he is out of her sight.

 She’d never been more speechless. And somehow, oddly enthusiastic. He’d spent the first ten minutes glaring at her. Terrified her to the bone. Threatened her and made her shiver in her seat.

 And still she felt motivated to come to this awful place again, merely by the way he’d growled his little pet name at her.

  ~

  It was a few days later, and just gone past noon when a tall man strode his confident way into his corner office. His blushing blonde secretary had just handed him his schedule.

 And he thanked her with a sultry wink. He hadn’t bedded this one yet. But he was going too, he could tell.

 Another warning from HR about the mingling of personal and work relationships sent his way as a final warning; that he could easily ignore, just crumple and throw in the bin as he had done with the last four.

 He strode into his office with all the poise of an Emperor. Surveying the expensive, sleek space he’d worked semi hard to earn.

 His Brioni suit was flawless. His office was kitted out with some new, showy expensive Italian designers collection. Fresh calla lilies adorned the masterpiece of an art vase on his coffee table, and with the sun filtering through his blinded windows just right, he felt good that today was going to be glorious.

As most of his days usually were.

 His coffee warming his hands, last nights lovers lipstick he was sure was still smeared its cloying kiss on his neck and his collar, and on the fly of his zipper.

And it didn’t hurt that the cute girl at Starbucks had scrawled her number onto his cup next to his name.

 He hummed merrily as he crossed to his desk, just as his office phone blared to life. He slung down his cup and answered it. Checking the time on his flawless Panerai watch.

 “It’s me.” A gruff greeting came, down the line.

 His head shot up. He’d know the baritone match of his relatives voice any day. He smirked.

 “He never calls, he never writes…” He chided with his typical grin, leaning back to perch on the edge of his desk.

 “I need a favour…” He grunted.

 He listened for more that was sure to follow.

 “Someone came to see me recently. And I need to know who they are. What they want. I need information and you’re going to get it for me.” They instructed.

 “Do you want the usual package of information or something a little…sexier?” He enquired.

 “I don’t give a shit. Just come see me with what you know when you find it.”

 “I might need some gentle persuading…” Came his playful answer. He didn’t. He just loved riling his twin.

 They growled lowly down the other end. How long was it before he crushed the plastic handset to splinters, he wondered?

 “Just do it, Ben.” Came a ferocious order. A threat. A promise. And then the line went sharply dead.

 Ben Solo put the phone down, lifted his coffee to his lips, and smirked.

 Today really was destined to be full of surprises after all.

  ~ ~  🖤 ~ ~

[detroitbydark]

Pairing: Crosshair x OC

Characters: Crosshair, Omari

Warnings: repercussions of violence against women, injury, sex work

Summary: Its just a transaction. At least that's what he tells himself. They don't kiss. He tells himself that too.

---------

“Omari” Crosshair doesn’t bother to hide the irritation in his voice. Felucia had been a complete shit show. They’d spent a week in the hot, dank jungle. He’d spent the majority of it perched, still as stone, in a sniper's nest while bugs attempted to burrow through his composite for a clone feast.  All he wanted to do was unwind and fuck his frustration away. 

The one place he was supposed to be free of it all had been unusually tense since he’d shown up. Mari had been… off, reticent since he’d shown up and it was beginning to rub his last nerve raw.

“Why won’t you look at me?”

Mari busies herself pulling clean sheets across the bed, smoothing them with her hand as she goes, “you’re early and I’m not ready” she huffs. 

He doesn’t really mind too much that she hadn’t greeted him with her usual knowing smile and banter. He’s got an excellent view of her ass through the sheer robe she’s wearing and that should be all he really needs for the moment but there’s more to it. Her shoulders are tight, her movements are stiff. She’s tense and after nearly a year of coming to her he knows what to expect and this isn’t it.

“Your on the clock, Kitten.” He reminds roughly from his spot slumped in her armchair. The top half of his armor already piled neatly in the corner. He’d done it himself. He hadn’t taken his own armor off in ages. She did it.

“If you're not happy with me Crosshair, you’re welcome to find someone else” it’s said through gritted teeth as she still refuses to look at him. A wave of emotion (panic, though he’ll never admit to knowing that feeling) washes over him. The problem was he didn’t want to see another girl. Mari knew what made him tick and, honestly, he liked being around her more than he could reconcile with himself.

“Easy girl” he stands and covers the few steps between them. He’s gentle when he takes her arm and she only struggles weakly as he turns her.

 “Look at me Kitten” 

She doesn’t. Her chin tilts up and she looks toward the window. The yellow, artificial light spilling in casts her face in a shadow, dark under her eye and…

Crosshair takes her chin in hand and turns it sharply to him. Brown eyes narrow in on the dark shadow around her right eye and cheek. The shadow that’s not a shadow.

“What happened?”

Mari’s eyes go wide as she attempts to pull away but he’s not having it.

“It’s fine Cross” her voice smooth as Cyrene silk. She’s trying to throw him off and he makes a sound of distaste as her hands come up and stroke over his chest. “It’s nothing to worry about.”

Yeah, he wasn’t about to let it go for a soft touch and her false soothing.

She seems to relax as his hand loosens on her chin but she redoubles her efforts quickly as his hand grabs her wrist and starts pulling her toward the refresher.

“What are you doing?”

She pulls halfheartedly against him. He’s glad she’s smart enough not to truly fight him. He wasn’t in the mood for it.

“Take your armor off” he demands as the light hums to life and he stops her in front of the sink.

“What are you talking about?”

Her eyes narrow and, Maker, it’s really hard to not give into her and let it be. 

But he can’t. This wasn’t his business but he can’t let it go.

“It’s just a little bruise” she admits, weakness creeping in, “we don’t have to- I mean you can come a different time if it’s that big a deal to you.”

“Omari, I said take off your make-up”

Crosshair watches her shoulders slump. When they played she gave into him so easily but that was during playtime, when she was on the clock. He was asking something else of her now and she was fighting him. 

He ignores the way she doesn’t move to do as he’s said, instead he opens the small vanity and retrieves a cloth he knew she kept stored there. Reaching around her he turns the water on, finally using one hand to move her to the side so he can wet the cloth himself. He can feel her eyes on him and when he glances up he catches a moment of curiosity, a moment of something like apprehension before she locks it down.

He wrings the cloth out and grabs her hand, placing it in her palm.

“Do what I say” his tone remains low and demanding as her eyes scan his face, “I’m not playing right now.” He confirms.

He can see the wheels in her head turning. She’s weighing all the possible outcomes, looking at all the options. Finally, she turns toward the mirror and adds soap to the cloth. She focuses entirely on the suds she’s creating and avoids catching his eye in the mirror behind her.

Her fresher is tiny and he uses it as an excuse to crowd in behind her as she begins taking the layers of makeup off in slow circles. The deep red of her lips fades to a soft pink, the contours of her face become less sharp, softening her appearance and showing how young she still was. Her skin is smooth. Her complexion clear but not the single uniform tone her makeup suggested. 

He watches the transformation silently as she peels away the protective armor to expose her true self underneath.

Her eyes dart to his once and he offers a tight smile that she returns with an equally strained one. His hand falls to her hip and he gives an encouraging squeeze. The tension between them seems to melt as she leans her weight back against his chest.

“That’s my girl” the words slip out and he doesn’t regret them, “finish the job Kitten”.

“Crosshair-“

“No” he stops any excuse “I want it off”

Mari nods and rinses the cloth with fresh water before bringing it back to begin taking the shadow and concealer off her eyes. The bruises surrounding her right eyes bloom them. The thick layer of makeup had done an exceptional job of hiding the colors, blue and purple at the center with sickly green beginning to peek through around the edges as healing began. The damage stands out starkly against her pale skin. He tamps back the murderous feelings swelling in his chest.

She finishes slowly. Setting the cloth down and looking at him through the mirror.

“Who?” It’s one word, asked with more menace than even he knew he was capable of. 

Mari shoulders square.

“It was just business. If you don’t like it you don’t have to-“

“Omari, who did it?” His hand turns her gently. She flinches as his thumb traces the beginning of the trauma on her cheek bone to where it extends up onto her temple.

“I won’t be servicing them anymore if that’s what you're worried about. No more damaged goods-.”

His thumb dips down to her lips, silencing any further explanation.

“I asked who” his tone is cool “you’re going to tell me and then you’re going to show me where your bacta is.”

He loosens his grip as she turns away. He watches the struggle on her face in the mirror as she roots around to find the small bottle of bacta spray.

The green of her eyes sticks out sharply against the discolored skin and Crosshair can’t look away as she turns back to him. 

“Darj’in Kos, Black Sun” she says quietly. She looks so soft, not at all like the woman he’s used to. 

He takes the spray in hand. His voice softens. 

He softens.

“thank you.” 

It surprises them both when he leans down, presses a soft kiss to her forehead. He doesn’t stop there. He places another to her battered cheek. Her skin is still damp and he can smell the residual of the makeup lingering there. She inhales sharply as his lips press quickly against the corner of her mouth.

“I’m sorry” he lies, drawing up to his full height.

“It’s ok” she lies back.

“Close your eyes for me, kitten” 

Crosshair is thankful when her lids flutter shut, a moment without her eyes on him to think as he holds a shielding hand over her closed right eye and sprays the bacta. 

He didn’t kiss. Kisses were not something they did. She had rules and he had issues and-

“Crosshair?” How long has he been frozen there, bacta in hand? Her warm hand presses against his chest, another trails up to his cheek. The pads of her fingers press softly into his skin. He notices for the first time the light smattering of freckles cross the bridge of her nose, the pale pink scar that sits above her left brow. 

“Hmm?” He hates that he doesn’t have anything better to say but her forest eyes are peering up at him shining with nerves he’s never seen in her and he’s not prepared for what it does to him, the way his lungs feel starved of air.

“Kiss me again?”

The can of bacta clatters against the floor as his head dips suddenly. His lips capture hers in a rush of need as he presses her back against the counter. Mari clings to him, her hands fist in his blacks, keeping her body flush against his. Her lips are sweet and soft and she blossoms under his touch, opening to him as his tongue explores her mouth. 

He swallows down her soft whimpers, pretends he doesn’t feel the swell of emotions building in his chest. She chases after him as she pulls back and he darts in for another peck before he lifts her into his arms. She clings to him, mouth nipping and sucking at his neck as he leaves the fresher, the make-up stained cloth, and his ability to remain indifferent behind.

Taglist: @skdubbs @pastelbunny1501 @my-own-oracle @underworldqueen13​ @obiorbenkenobi​ @adritozier

[ask-the-dank-ass-creeps]

And we’re live!

Welcome folks! Step right up big and small to see the best blog of them all! The Creeps Crew is here to have a roaring good time.The gang is all here, Laughing Jack, Will Grossman, Frankie, A certain mystery corpse and cameo’s from all your other favorite creepypasta characters! So come on in, sit back and relax with us! Maybe if your feeling up to it ask us a question or two, hell maybe even three if you’re feeling a little crazy! The Creeps boys are waiting to hear from you. And they’ve definitely got a lot to say. -KorgiMun

[atths--twice]

Magic Fingers and Sunflowers

Day six of prompts/asks, but today is more of a passing comment ask than anything else. A fellow Phile mentioned how she loved on the run stories and well, this was one that I had been thinking about for a while and so,,, a story was born. I hope you all enjoy it,

Spring 2003 

Scully looked in the rear view mirror with a smirk, as she watched Mulder leaning over the backseat, searching through the bags in the very back of their sedan. He sighed loudly, turning around to look at her. 

“You’re sure they’re back there?” he asked, in a frustrated tone. 

“Uh huh.”

“Well, I didn’t find them.”

“Then you weren’t looking hard enough.”

He leaned over the backseat again and she was treated to a wonderful view of his denim clad ass, as she flicked her eyes from the road and back to the rearview mirror. 

“I still can’t find them,” came his muffled voice. “Oh no, wait. Here they are, I found them.” He righted himself and she hummed in displeasure, no longer able to see his ass.

“Do you want anything?” he asked, catching her eye in the rearview mirror.

“No, thanks. I’m fine. Well, maybe a bottle of water.”

“Oh, some water. That’s a good idea.”

He leaned back over the backseat and she made sure to watch him as much as she could, without putting them in danger.

Grabbing the water bottles, he crawled back over the seats and sat beside her, setting their bottles of water in the cupholders. He opened up the bag of sunflower seeds and popped one into his mouth, turning to her with a smile.

“So, where exactly are we?” he asked, spitting out the shells, and tossing them out the window. She shrugged and he gave her a look, shaking his head. 

Opening the glove box, he took out the map and unfolded it with a heavy sigh, as she smiled. 

“Somewhere near Dallas, right?” he asked and she shrugged again, honestly not sure where they were. “Scully…” He sighed again and she chuckled. 

“As if it truly matters, Mulder. I know that we’re in Texas. Does that help you out at all?” 

“Considering that Texas is super tiny?” he asked sarcastically. “Yes, that helps me out immensely, Scully.” He rolled his eyes, looking at the map again. 

“Here we are,” he said, pointing to the map. “Huh…” 

“What?” she asked, glancing at him.

“Well, I think we’re actually closer to Chaney than Dallas. Chaney, Scully. Maybe we should pop in and see if we could find your buck toothed boyfriend,” he said, looking at her out of the corner of his eye.

“Mulder… how many times must we discuss this? He was not buck toothed, and you know it.”

“I know nothing, aside from what I saw,” he said with a shrug. 

“He did not have buck teeth, which I know you did see.” 

“Say what you want, but the jury is still out on that,” he said, popping a few more sunflower seeds into his mouth. She shook her head, breathing out of her nose, as she pictured Sheriff Hartwell and his non-buck toothed smile. 

“We should stop and stay there for the night,” he said, folding up the map and putting it back into the glove box.

“Why would we stay there? We can still drive for a few hours,” she said and he laughed. 

“To quote you, Scully, ‘as if it truly matters,’” he said with a grin. “We have nowhere else to go, no place in particular to be, so why not?” He winked to her and she knew she would be relenting, but she wanted to tease him a bit more.

“I think we should just keep driving. We still have some hours of sunlight left,” she said with a shrug.

“That place had the magic fingers that you like,” he said, raising his eyebrows seductively.

“You mean like that one place did in Oklahoma? When it stopped, breaking down before I…?” she raised her eyebrows and he laughed. 

“As though I didn’t help you out when that happened,” he reminded her and she took a deep breath at the memory of how he had done just that; making her toes curl as she moaned his name. 

“We have all those quarters,” he said in a singsong voice. 

“For showers. At campsites.” 

“Or for beds with magic fingers…” He wiggled his eyebrows and her body responded. She took a deep breath to avoid pulling off the road and yanking him into the backseat. 

“Turn left,” he said smugly and she turned on the blinker, glancing at him, her eyes roaming over his body. 

Driving into the small town that they had come to years ago, was like a sense of déjà vu. 

“Everything looks almost the same… except for the lack of vampires, of course,” he said and she laughed. 

“Did you expect to find them walking around wearing their black cloaks?” 

“They didn’t wear black cloaks, Scully, you know that.”

“Just like you know Sheriff Hartwell didn’t have buck teeth,” she said under her breath, turning down the main street and heading toward the motel. 

“Woman…” he muttered and she smiled. 

He volunteered to go in and get their room. She watched him walk in front of the car and to her left, again admiring the way his jeans fit him. When he walked inside, she looked around at the crappy motel, and shook her head. 

“What had I called it? Oh right, the Davy Crockett Motor Court,” she whispered to herself, with a chuckle. “The Sam Houston Motor Lodge... God, it’s like stepping back in time.” She shook her head again and smiled. 

He came out of the door a couple of minutes later, a huge grin on his face and got in the car. 

“I got them to give us the room you had before,” he said excitedly and she shook her head. Only he would be excited about something like that. She started the car and they drove to the room, backing in, in case a hasty retreat was needed. 

Taking only the necessities from the car, they stepped into the room and she was hit with a wave of memories: how tired she had felt after that first autopsy, the ache in her feet, how her stomach had rumbled as she waited for the pizza to be delivered, and when Mulder had arrived, covered in mud. 

“Whoa, the place is exactly the same, even down to the smell. It sure takes you back, huh?” he smiled and she nodded in agreement. The room definitely had a certain dank smell about it. 

Setting their bags down, he searched the room, the bathroom, and the small closet. It had become standard procedure any place they stayed. They could never be too careful and they were always on their toes. 

As he checked the room, she looked around. It was the same. The longhorn coat rack was still attached to the wall. The chairs that read “Howdy partner” were sitting against the wall. Even the bedding seemed to be the same. She was not sure if it made her feel good, or a bit creeped out. 

“Phew, no vampires,” he said in relief, as he stepped out of the bathroom, a hand at his chest. She laughed as she shook her head and he pumped his eyebrows at her. 

“Is that what you were looking for?” she asked, shaking her head. 

“Of course,” he said, with a frown. “But, I’ve checked, and we’re in the clear. Man… I’m hungry. We should’ve gotten some food. Now we’ll have to go out again, ” he sighed. 

“Or we could always order a pizza,” she suggested with a shrug and he looked at her aghast. 

“Are you trying to get me drugged? Again?” he asked, grabbing the room key and stepping out the door. 

“Can you dig it?” she teased in a low voice. 

“Shut your mouth. I did not, Scully,” he said, with a mock sigh as he shook his head. 

“Jury’s still out on that, as well as the buck teeth, it seems,” she said with a smirk, getting in the car as he locked the room door, laughing under his breath. 

___________________

After a delicious meal of Mexican food and a couple of beers each, they returned to the motel. 

Humming as he opened the door, she smiled at him, happy from the evening they had spent together. She stared at his profile and took a deep breath, shaking her head. God, he was handsome, so very sexy. How she waited so long to sleep with him, she would never understand. 

“You and me both, Scully,” he said in a low voice and she realized she had said that out loud. His eyes roamed her body, as he pushed the door open, allowing her to enter first. 

She was breathing hard as the door closed and locked, but when she heard the pile of change hit the dresser, she nearly forgot to breathe. 

Turning around, she stared at him as he lifted his shirt over his head and dropped it to the floor. His hands went to the buttons on his jeans and she could see that he was already aroused. Desire coursed through her as she began to take off her own clothes, dropping them to the ground. 

He stepped toward her, causing her to back up until her legs hit the bed and she sat down, scooting back further onto the bed. He grabbed a handful of quarters and walked to the side of the bed, setting them in neat stacks of four. 

“Fifty cents for two minutes… I’ve got five dollars worth of quarters here. I think we’re good,” he said, climbing onto the bed and over her. 

“Twenty minutes… yeah I think that will be sufficient,” she breathed, her core throbbing for him.

He kissed her, and her arms went around him as he lay on top of her. He was so warm and she could feel him hard against her, making her throb once again. His lips traveled down her body and she became wetter. His tongue trailed across her stomach and she gasped. 

“Mulder…” she breathed and he kissed the scar from her bullet wound, and traveled back up her body. 

He stopped at her breasts, taking his time at each of them, using only his mouth. He sucked at a nipple, and she arched into him. As he bit down lightly on the nipple, the bed suddenly began to shake violently.

She shouted out a laugh of surprise, and he lifted his head from her breast, his eyes wide in shock.

“Was it always this shaky?” he asked, his voice bouncing along with his body.

“I don’t know,” she said, watching his hair shaking as the bed seemed to speed up. They stared at each other and then they began to laugh.

“I put in a dollar's worth,” he said with chagrin, and she laughed even harder.

The vibrations slowed and they looked at each other with hope in their eyes. It was short-lived however, as the bed ramped up and she held tightly to him, fearful she would be bucked from the bed entirely.

“It’s only four minutes. Can we stand it?” he almost shouted, as the bed slowed and then sped up again. 

“No!” she laughed and they moved, him pulling the comforter off the bed and laying it on the floor. 

As they rose from the bed, their weight seemed to have been quieting the vibrations, because but once they were off, it became louder, the very screws of the headboard threatening to loosen. 

Her head fell back as her body shook with laughter, the vibrations rising and falling in turn. Obviously something was wrong with it, and all she could do was laugh. 

He pulled her to him and then down to the blanket on the floor. Surprisingly, or not, he had not lost any steam as they had left the bed. The bed continued to rumble and she could feel it down her spine and to her core. 

Yes… this was much better… 

The bed was finally silent, after running noisily for longer than the dollars worth of quarters. Mulder lay heavily upon her, both of them sweaty and tired, but happily so. She ran her fingers through his hair, smiling as she looked up at the ceiling.

“Is this what you saw when you lay here before?” she asked him. “All of these dots on the ceiling and that watermark above the bed?” He chuckled against her throat and she grinned wider. 

“I was drugged, remember? I don’t remember much about that moment.” 

“Aside from Ronnie coming at me like a flying squirrel?” she teased and he laughed. 

“Aside from that, yeah.”

“Hmmm.” 

The bed gave a sudden violent shake and they both froze, before she started to laugh.

“This was your idea. As if almost being killed by a “vampire” in this room wasn’t enough, we were almost attacked by a vibrating bed.”

“I can hear you putting air quotes around the word vampire, Scully,” he said, and she laughed. “But, yes the bed was a bit of a miscalculation.” 

“A bit? A bit?” she said, tugging at his hair and making him look up at her. “I felt like I was laying on top of a jackhammer. It was just...” She demonstrated how it felt to shake around and he said nothing. “You know? It was so rough.” 

“Sorry, I was distracted by the beautiful bouncing breasts in front of me,” he said, shaking his head, as if to clear it, causing her to laugh. He winked and kissed her before he pulled back and stood up. 

“What are you doing?” she asked, shivering a little, at the loss of his warm body.

“I’m going to see if I can unplug the magic fingers,” he explained, walking over beside the bed. “If I can’t, well then…”

She turned on her side, her head resting on her elbow as she watched him search for the plug. Again she admired his ass, this time completely nude.

“I can’t find where the goddamn thing is plugged in,”he said, grabbing the pillows off the bed and tossing them toward her, the bed jerking once more. 

“So, we’re sleeping on the floor tonight?” she asked, trying to stop her smile.

“It looks like it,” he said, pulling the sheets off the bed, and covering her. He turned out the lights, stepped over her, and lay down beside her, adjusting the pillows and blankets. 

“And to think I wanted to keep driving…” she teased and he huffed. 

“Shut up,” he breathed as the bed shook, causing her to giggle, and she laid her head on his chest. 

They lay in silence, aside from the occasional shake of the bed, until she could not hold it in anymore. 

“Who’s the black private dick who’s a sex machine with all the chicks?” she said in a deep voice. 

“Scully…” 

“No, Mulder… it’s SHAFT!” She sang in a high voice, before succumbing to giggles. He exhaled and then she felt him laughing, his chest moving. 

“Go to sleep, Scully.” 

“Shaft,” she sang again, laughing softly as she wrapped an arm around his waist. 

“Woman…” 

___________________

The next morning, a bit sore from their night on the floor, and tired from the bed shaking and waking them up, they showered and dressed, both moaning as they stretched their tight muscles. 

She cleaned up their makeshift bed, as Mulder packed up their clothes and gathered the quarters from the bedside table. The bed shook again as he walked away and he jumped in surprise. 

“Jesus Christ,” he exclaimed, staring at the bed, shaking his head as Scully laughed. “That scared the shit out of me.” 

Still laughing, she got in the passenger seat as he put their bags in the car, and drove over to the office to drop off the key. She watched him walking away again and she smiled. 

Driving out of town, he reached for her hand and she squeezed it as she looked out across the vast openness before them. 

“Oh look at that,” she said, a few minutes out of town, leaning forward and looking to her left. “Wait, isn’t that the cemetery?” He turned his head and let out a breath of disbelief. 

“Yeah, it is,” he said quietly, slowing down to a stop. He glanced at her and she smiled at him, letting go of his hand and opening her door. 

They stood at the gateway to the cemetery and stared at each other, before Mulder pushed the gate open, its hinges creaking from lack of use, and they walked inside. 

“What…?” Scully said, looking around. “How… how is this possible?” She reached out and touched a sunflower, one of many, the golden flowers reaching toward the sun. 

Glancing at him, she found him standing in the middle of a large cluster of them, a happy and amused grin on his face. 

“Mulder?” 

“I think… I think I did this…” He looked at her, somewhat unsure, but almost certain, and she raised her eyebrows at him. “When I came out here on my own with the sheriff, I dropped sunflower seeds along the ground in here to slow the vampire down if he showed up. I don’t know… could I have done this?” 

“I don’t know, but it’s entirely possible. However and why ever it happened, though, it’s here and I love it. It’s beautiful,” she said, walking over to him. 

He nodded as they looked at the sunflowers that had grown in the cemetery. Meeting his eyes again, she grinned and he shook his head with a disbelieving smile. 

She turned around and headed back to the car, Mulder trailing behind her. They walked through the gate, shutting it behind them with another squeaky screech. 

“Mulder,” she said, turning to face him, but the words died on her lips, as she discovered him holding a couple of the stalks of beautiful sunflowers. Handing them to her with a shrug and a smile, she kissed his cheek as she took them from his hand. 

“Mulder…” she said with a soft smile, looking at the flowers and then at the cemetery again. “Just look at what your overly knowledgeable brain created. It’s amazing.” He looked over his shoulder and nodded, looking back at her with a smile. 

“Well, I am quite clever,” he replied with a wink and she laughed softly. 

“Except when it comes to staying in once occupied rooms with malfunctioning vibrating beds,” she countered and he shrugged with a smile. “But look at what we would have missed, Mulder, if we had kept driving; happiness growing in an otherwise sad and desolate place.” 

“So you’re admitting that I was right?” 

“I wouldn’t go that far,” she replied, rolling her neck. “I have quite a few sore muscles who would disagree with your decision to stay here.” He laughed and she touched his chest as she stepped closer to him. 

“But, a cemetery full of accidental sunflowers… that is a very you thing to do; adding a small amount of light into the darkness.” He shook his head as he touched her cheek and she smiled. 

“Not me. Not hardly. But you, smiling at me that way, holding those sunflowers… well… that’s enough sunshine and happiness to power the earth.” 

“Hmm…” she said, with a half smile. “I’m inclined to say that’s almost too much, but…” She looked down at the sunflowers and then back at him with a one shouldered shrug. “I’ll allow it.” He snorted with a smile, kissing her loudly as he smacked her on the ass. 

“You’ll allow it… I swear woman…” he muttered as he pulled back, shaking his head and staring at her. She grinned and he kissed her again. “Come on, you. Bring that sunshine with us and let’s get going.” 

She smiled and took his hand as they walked to the car, a happy light feeling in her heart. Some days, living the way they were at the moment, it took its toll on them both,  and dragged them down. 

But then, there were days like today. Days when finding a cemetery full of sunflowers, from seeds scattered years ago, absentmindedly but also hopefully, was enough to keep the worry and darkness at bay. 

For a little while anyway. 

She turned once more and looked at the cemetery with a smile. Only Mulder would have inadvertently created a patch of beauty in such a broken looking place. 

Of course he would. 

[tssfanficboyo]

Rotting Corpses Don’t Stay Dead

The dead, rotting leaves were squashed under the boots of two figures hidden by the forest’s shadow. Although there was no day-night cycle in the Imagination, the forest had become darker and thicker the farther the two had ventured. 

“Where the hell are we going, Deceit?” one complained loudly to the other, “My feet hurt, and this place is getting… weird.”

Deceit ignored him, choosing to study the trees instead. Although he wasn’t an expert by any means, Deceit thought they were all in unhealthy states. Some looked half-burnt, others half-diseased, and still others were little more than stumps. 

“Hey, listen to me when I’m talking to you!” Desire, his companion, snapped. 

Deceit sighed. 

“Don’t tell me you’re scared of a few trees,” he said with a sweet smirk. 

That shut him up. For a minute. 

“I’m not scared,” he muttered, “This place is just shitty…” He growled in annoyance and pushed his hair back with his fingers. “What the hell are we even doing here? Fear utterly wrecked the place ages ago; there’s nothing left to find!”

Deceit didn’t say anything. Desire took this as a personal attack. 

“Well? Answer me, shithead!” 

Deceit hissed quietly. If his current task didn’t require backup, he would have left Desire to his soda and comics. As it was, however… 

“Desire, do you remember what I told you about the new Side?”

“What, the Prince-guy? What about him?”

“He was created out of the,” he rolled his eyes before saying, “good parts of the King.”

“Yeah, so?” Desire glanced away. They were approaching a sensitive subject. “The rest of the King is dead. Fear killed him.” He tried to be nonchalant. The last thing he wanted was to care about the other Sides’ stupid drama.

“Maybe,” Deceit said, “Something tells me Sides aren’t so easily… destroyed.” Both his and Desire’s eyes darkened. 

“What about,” Desire’s voice dropped to a whisper, “The Old Ones? The King, Mr. Think…”

“Papa Heart,” Deceit finished, catching his reluctance. “No, they may be dead, but they have not been destroyed. They have simply been… recycled.” An ironic smile twisted the serpentine features on his face. “Yes… recycled.”

Desire glanced around at the trees, which seemed to be closing in on them, as slow as decay. 

“Are you trying to tell me,” Desire swallowed dryly, “That all the parts Fear tried to destroy - it’s all gonna reform into another Side?”

“Finally, so glad you could join us,” Deceit chuckled. 

Desire growled and shoved his hands into his pockets. 

“Great,” he muttered, “another dumbass taking up space.”

Deceit made no comment, and for once Desire kept his lips closed. 

They walked in silence for a while; the leaves squishing under their feet; the trees creeping closer and closer, until suddenly, they found themselves in a clearing. 

Dark, threatening clouds swirled around above them. The trees had formed a tight ring, branches even interlocking to prevent escape.  And in the middle of it all, a black, brick tower stood tall, proud, and intimidating. Lightning crashed, blinding the two momentarily. Where it struck, a pile of flesh appeared, emitting a dank, moist odor. 

“Oh my god,” said Desire. Deceit inched closer, only for a hand to fly out and grab his arm. 

“Are you crazy?” Desire yelled as a blast of thunder shook their eardrums.

“It’s not real; we’re in the Imagination!” Deceit yelled back. Rain started to pour in sheets. 

“I don’t care! This place is cursed as hell and we’re leaving!”

Maniacal laughter echoed in the clearing. Desire let out a high-pitched scream. The pile of flesh started to gather, twisting and slithering on the ground until it was vaguely in the shape of a man. Another bolt of lighting hit it, and when the light dissipated, it was standing arms outstretched, head thrown back.

Horrible, spine-tingling, maniacal laughter filled the air. 

“I live!” he cried in a voice so strange and foreign. 

“That’s not a Side!” Desire yelped, cowering behind Deceit. 

“Yes, it is!” Deceit hissed. He stood determined. 

The new Side stood, basking in his own glory for a minute. Deceit and Desire exchanged glances. 

When they looked back, he was right in front of Deceit. Desire screamed and hid under Deceit’s cape. Deceit swallowed hard. 

“Hello,” he said quietly.

“Hi! Who are you?” The Side had a mustache, bright yet sunken eyes, and a streak of white hair. He leaned very close to Deceit, who caught a whiff of his odor. It was nothing short of repulsive, and he wrinkled his nose.

“I am Deceit,” he said, “Who-”

“And who is this?” the Side interrupted him and bent down to look at Desire. 

“Desire,” Deceit said hurriedly, “Who-!”

“Listen here, you little shit!” Desire cried as he leapt up, interrupting Deceit, “I will fuck your sorry ass up if you even think of doing, uh, shit, whatever it is you do!”

The Side blinked slowly, never ceasing to smile. 

Deceit waited a moment. 

“Well, then, who are you?” he finally got to ask, tapping the side on his shoulder. The Side’s eyes darted to Deceit before he abruptly shifted the rest of his body.

“Me?” he asked with wide eyes. “I! Am!” He twirled around, looking for something, much to the confusion of the other Sides. Suddenly he dove forward, grabbing a stray black brick. He was now covered in mud and had somehow tore his shirt. 

“This brick!” he cried triumphantly. 

“N- no. No, you’re not,” Deceit said with a sigh. The Side was now trying to eat the brick he said was himself, breaking several teeth. “You’re one of Thomas’ Sides,” he tried. 

The Side cocked his head to the side and looked at him. 

“Who’s Thomas?”

Time stopped. Deceit and Desire were shocked speechless.

“Thomas!” Deceit screeched, “The man whose mind we are a part of! He is - quite literally - everything!”

“I told you he wasn’t a Side, I told you, I told you!” Desire babbled, shaking his head back and forth, grabbing fistfuls of his own hair in distress. 

Deceit was too caught up to correct him. 

“How the hell do you not know who Thomas is?” he demanded out of the Side. The Side only shrugged. 

“I don’t even know who I am, and you expect me to know some dude named Thomas? Plu-ease.” He flicked his wrist at them. 

“Some dude-!” Deceit’s voice cracked. 

“Hey what if I stuck this brick up my butt?” the Side said suddenly. 

The others looked at him like he was an alien. He smiled mischievously. 

“I’m gonna do it.” 

“No don’t-!”

Several minutes and too many gross suggestions later, the three of them sat in the new Side’s tower around a small stone table as he played with a morning star he had conjured.

Deceit had conjured a cup of tea, but found that every few minutes he had to replace it. The Side’s influence worked hard to ruin anything nearby in the most disgusting way. 

Desire sat backward, resting his chin on his arms folded on his chair. He had a cigarette between his teeth that just sat there, a trail of smoke rising from it.

“So,” Deceit said after he finally calmed his nerves, “What is it that you do?”

The Side shrugged. 

“Whatever I want, I guess.”

Deceit glanced at Desire, but soon returned to the Side. 

“If you were to describe yourself in one word, what would it be?” he asked. 

The Side bit his lip as he rocked back and forth.

“Hmm. An artist!” he said, thrusting his morning star in the air.

Deceit narrowed his eyes and conjured his notebook. To write in it, he also conjured another hand. The Side ogled at his third hand and summoned another leg for himself.

“Wow!” he exclaimed. 

“Hm, yes. Pay attention, please,” Deceit said. The Side huffed, but the new leg disappeared.

“What do you think of the name ‘King Creativity’?” Desire suddenly chimed in sullenly. Deceit shot him a look. 

Remus stopped abruptly, mouth open in a frozen smile, eyes wide and unmoving. 

“ … I am the second born,” he said, staring straight ahead, like he was reading from a script, “Roman is Prince of the Mind Palace, but I am the Duke, the Duke of Creativity and Imagination. I may be banished but I will return. And I, Remus, will wreak havoc on those who dared to disgrace me.” 

A heavy silence settled over the room. 

The Side, Remus, was silent and unmoving. This disturbed Deceit far more than when he was active. The cigarette dropped Desire’s parted lips. He raised his eyebrows and sat back.

“Well,” he said, breaking the silence, “That answers that question.”

Deceit swallowed and nodded. 

“Yes… it does.”

Remus blinked quickly a few times and then leapt up onto the table.

“What if I burned down the forest!” he cried with a maniacal laugh that restored him to his former insanity.

“Don’t care what you do as long as you do it far, far away from me,” Desire said, standing up, and giving Deceit a curt wave. “Ciao,” and he sunk out.

Deceit stood up and looked once more at Remus, who had conjured a comically massive flamethrower. He sighed and sank out, leaving the Duke to his ideas and his tower.

[ceresoktavia]

The inofficial Number 42 - Chapter 10 w.i.p.

Demiurge’s steps were unusually cheery as he walked through the ninth floor, a gloating grin on his lips. After 3 torturous long weeks he had finally overcome his involuntary excursion into the hormonal chaos of an incubus. The only thing that had made this time somewhat bearable was Lady Marlianken keeping him company and though he would never admit it, he already mourned having her all to himself a little. Still he was glad that it was over and hoped that he would never ever experience such a loss of control again.

If he didn’t know about Albedo’s and Shalltear’s punishment, then he would have probably been in a less cheery mood than the one he openly showed. Anyhow, in his absence those two had been degraded to Pulcinella’s assistants and the clown had already admitted that only the lowest of low duties were on their list, as to Lord Ainz’ wishes.

Only imagining how they creeped through dirt, cursing themselves and their jealousy was almost too much for the devil’s poker face, but only almost.

As the entrance to Albedo’s chambers came into view he already saw Shalltear. Like a guard on watch she looked around. The second she spotted him, the vampire already snapped at him.

“There you are! Took you long enough!”

“Please do excuse me. I’ve reported in with Lord Ainz first.” He didn’t even try to hide his amusement about her behaviour, resulting in her huffing in offense.

She turned on her heels and vanished into the room. Just as he entered the room himself, he saw how she flopped down on a sofa next to Cocytus. With the exception of Gargantua, Albedo had gathered everyone occupying a more or less managing function within Nazarick. Therefore Sebas and Pandora’s Actor were present too.

“Wie wundervoll zu sehen, dass du genesen bist.“ Happily and with the fitting fulsomely gestures, the treasure guardian just greeted his returned comrade first, simply ignoring the metaphorical daggers Albedo was ramming into his back with her glare.

“Danke.” Those dumbfounded looks were utterly amusing for Demiurge. Lady Marlianken had been right, this was totally worth learning a few German terms. “Please do excuse that I’m again messing everyone’s workflow up by asking for this meeting.” Without any hurry he walked over to them and sat down as well.

“It’s alright.” Albedo had exchanged the death glare she had directed at Pandora’s Actor for her usual gentle smile. “You did say that you have information that would be of relevance to all of Nazarick, didn’t you?”

“I indeed did. Since I don’t want to keep anyone from fulfilling their duties longer than necessary …” Shalltear seemed to feel addressed, judging by her unamused pout. “… I’d like to cut it short, as long as everyone is fine with it.”

Silence.

No, I didn’t abandon my original fic :D I’m just having trouble wraping things up nicely for those who read it to enjoy (and to shut the little perfectonist in my head, but that’s a different story).

Thanks to everyone for having patience with my slow ass, I love you all <3 and special thanks to @jaldabaoth666 for all the talking, rambling, etc. she shared with me. It’s so much fun and I love you for it <3

[yodaswrinkles]

Hi there! Just saw the prompts you posted and loved em! Could you do number 45. with Johnny 'Coco' Cruz from Mayans MC? Danke!

45. You took a bullet for me

Warnings: Blood, violence, guns ... It’s Mayans MC so the whole drill

Pairing: Jonny ‘Coco’ Cruz x Reader

It was meant to be a quiet night. Or at least as quiet as a night at the scrap yard was ever going to be. He had his girl in his lap, a beer in his hand and a cigarette between his lips while they all chatted and listened to music around fire pits. He never felt more at home than when he was with his brothers or when he had Y/N in his arms.

She had been there when he’d got back from Afghanistan and all the days since. He’d kill for her and he’d certainly take hits if it meant keeping her safe. She kept him grounded, stopped him from losing his mind over stupid arguments or from making bad decisions. He told her everything. No secrets between them.

He kept his free hand pressed firmly against Y/N’s ass as she straddled his waist and relaxed under her touch, enjoying the teasing of her lips against the side of his neck, quite ready to pick her up and take her to a back room in the club house, or even get her on the bike and take her straight home but those thoughts shifted quickly when the sound of screeching tires and the easily recognisable colours of the Vatos Malditos poured into their scrap yard.

“Get down!” He yelled quickly, moving Y/N off of his lap and trying to keep her behind him as he stood near Angel, pulling the gun out of his belt, firing shots straight back at the rival club. “Y/N get inside now!” He yelled behind him, not stopping to see if she had followed his orders. Not once before had she questioned him on it but he should have been paying more attention. He should have been listening out for people coming in from the other direction because just as they had seemed to chase away the intruders and checking over any of their own injured, he heard three shots go off behind him, sure that he had been hit, they were so close.

Nothing could have prepared him, however, for the sight of his girl, the love of his life, his reason for staying sane, collapsed on the ground behind him, blood quickly pooling around her, “Shit! Y/N no! No stay with me hermosa… Por favor stay with me! Shit! Angel get help!” He snapped towards his best friend, his hands going straight towards where she’d been hit, putting on as much pressure as he could.

“I’m sorry mi amor… you weren’t paying attention.” Her voice was strained and he quickly shook his head, pressing his forehead against hers as he leaned down.

“It’s going to be okay… I’m wearing a vest! I told you to go inside!” He pleaded with her, choking up as he saw her Y/E/C eyes begin to flutter shut. “No! No don’t you dare… I’m not letting you go like this. Not without me you hear?!” He yelled trying to keep her attention.

The rest was a blur between an ambulance arriving and his brothers in leather, pulling him off of her, forcing him back while the medics did their best to stem the bleeding. He was shaking too much to be able to ride his bike down to the hospital but he needed to be there. He didn’t want to leave her side, getting in the van and letting the prospect drive him. It took all he had to not stare at his hands. His hands that were soaked in her blood, jeans too, hell it was smeared onto his kutte and he couldn’t help the thoughts creeping in that told him he would never see her alive again. Still, he tried his best to push those away until they arrived.

He jumped out of the van, running inside and telling them who and what he was there for, being led to a small, private room to wait for any answers, praying to whatever was out there that she would make it. He couldn’t lose her now, he’d never make it in this life without her.

What felt like years was only a few hours before somebody came to find him, letting him know that Y/N had survived the surgery, she was recovering in a high dependency unit and he could go see her, she’d been asking for him, wouldn’t get more rest before she saw him was what the nurse told him and Coco couldn’t help the smile that came with the statement. Even battered and  weak Y/N was more stubborn than ever.

He walked quietly into the room, making his way towards the bed, not hesitating in sitting next to it, clasping the hand that wasn’t stabbed full of IVs into both of his.

“How are you feeling Coco?” She asked, her voice a little hoarse but she was awake, and talking, and that was more than he could have asked for.

“You took a bullet for me…. And you’re asking how I’m feeling?” He couldn’t stop the chuckle that escaped his lips, “Amor… I’ll be okay when I know you’re better.” He murmured to her, kissing the palm of her hand gently.

“I think… I think you’ll find that I took three.” Her lips curled up into a smile, hearing him start laughing and she almost joined him for a moment before she winced at a pain through her body.

“Rest Y/N, I’ll be here when you wake up… I’ll always be here.” He promised, one hand going to brush some hair out of her face and he watched her drift off to sleep again, never taking his eyes off the love of his life, knowing then and there that he was going to ask her to marry him the moment they left the hospital. His ride or die forever.