#but in the end I settled on something very simple eh

[lunameimei]

she's flirting 😊

[writersdrug]

Thinking about Simon with a goth! gf, and introducing his team to you.

Warnings: cursing, very slight nsfw, pda

Typed this up on my lunch break, not thoroughly proofread, ending is meh but it's been rotting in my brain so I had to push it out. Feel free to send me asks about this headcannon, I'd love to write more about it! <3

Simon insists on dragging his team to the nearest pub after a particularly rough day, offering to buy then a round of whiskey. They are all reluctant at first, complaining about aching backs and heads, and Price saying that the missus was expecting him.

Then Simon mumbles something about how his girl would've loved to meet them.

"Yer wha' now?"

"My girl."

Suddenly, Gaz's headache is gone. "Must've just been dehydrated, I suppose." Soap's back feels much better, after being able to sit in the car for just- five minutes, now. And Price? Apparently, the missus was at a dinner raffle for her charity- thing, and he'd just now remembered.

So, drinks and a quick bite at the pub you worked at. It was settled.

Simon leads them in shortly after parking the truck. The other three quickly scan the room for anyone who stands out. As Simon brings them to a booth in the back, they all take a seat, heads on a swivel for some pretty thing to come bouncing over and latch herself onto him.

"Gonna hit the head." Simon says. "I'll put our drinks in- she'll bring 'em over, she'll be done with 'er shift soon."

As he leaves, Soap, Gaz, and Price all sit there in a few moments of observatory silence. It's much harder to sample the crowd, they realize, since there's apparently no dress code for the servers. Johnny eyes each person like a hawk, until he sees a potential pick.

"Tha' one." He says, nodding towards a busty, long-legged blonde. Price and Gaz follow his line of sight to her as she leans against the bar, playing with her hair and laughing at something her friend says. Her bootcut jeans and frilly top accentuate her curves, and it's obvious that every man in her vicinity is ogling. "Twenty on 'er. Seems like he'd be into swimsuit models, eh?"

Gaz humms, scrunching his nose disapprovingly. "Nah, mate- too simple."

"Feck is simple 'bout 'er?"

"I mean for Simon." Gaz corrects Soap. "Don't think he'd want someone so... ditzy- no offense to her." He adds. "I think he wants a girl who can hold her own, in the physical and the figurative sense. Someone..." he narrows his eyes, searching through the crowd of people. "Like her."

He discretely points to a woman across the bar. She's playing darts with a few people, and hits the bullseye perfectly just as Soap and Price look her way. Her tank top and cargo pants show how defined, yet lean her muscles are. She looks like she could last a few decent minutes in a brawl. "I bet on her."

"Well I'll raise ye forty - I ken LT wants someone more... passive."

"Forty it is, then. I'd love to have you pay my bill tonight."

"If I may..." Price chimes in, leaning against the back of the booth with a smug look, arms folded over his chest, "I'd love to get in on this little game o' yours, and walk away with eighty pounds t'night - because you're both wrong."

Soap smirks. "And how's tha', Cap?"

Price smooths his fingers over his mutton chops. "Well, for starters, I'm a bit ashamed o' you boys. Neither of those girls actually work here, do they? Mm?"

Gaz groans, letting his head drop against the wall behind him. It takes Soap another moment, but then he remembers Simon saying this was where you worked. The whole point of them going to this specific pub was because you'd already be here, on the clock.

"Shite..." he mumbles.

"Alright, sir." Gaz says defeatedly. "Lay it on us."

Price leans his elbows on the table and points his finger straight ahead; Gaz and Soap both follow it to the bar, where a sweet-looking girl is punching orders into a server tablet. She has long, silky, red hair, and a petite frame. She smiles so kindly at every patron who speaks to her, and when she makes their drinks, she is quick with it, still engaging in conversation as she shakes the mixer with a powerful arm. Despite the crowd, she seems to be managing fine on her own.

"Her." Price says, tucking his hand back onto the table. "Y' see that face? The way she talks to 'em all? How she's soft and tough at the same time? Imagine that birdie tucked under his wing, eh?"

Soap and Gaz can imagine it. She's a cute little thing, a social butterfly, it seems - the perfect polar opposite to Simon that just might be the perfect fit.

"And I know he's got a thing for redheads." Price adds.

"Piss off, how d'ye ken tha'?" Soap grumbles.

Price shrugs. "Call it intuition."

Simon comes around the corner, carrying several glasses of neat whiskey. "Sorry-" he says, setting a glass in front of Price, and handing out the others as he sits down on the end of the booth. "She's on 'er way now."

"No worries." Price says, trying to hide his smirk. "Didn't know y' were into redheads, Simon."

Simon pauses, looking down at the table in confusion - then he chuckles. "Yeah, s'pose I am. How did y' know? Did she come by already?"

Price laughs. "No, son. We were just sayin'-"

"Hey baby!"

You turn the corner and lean down, squealing as you throw your arms around Simon's neck and kiss him. The other three look on with shock, and Soap is about ready to throw this random woman off of Simon, until he holds you just as tightly and kisses you back.

Price's smirk falls right onto the table when he realizes that he is just as wrong as the other two.

You're Simon's bird. Simon's raven. Black, styled hair, with black lipstick that is currently smudging Simon's chin. You have a choker - no, several chokers, wrapped around your neck, as well as a tiny corked bottle filled with red liquid that makes Soap and Gaz nervous, dangling from a chain. Long, black-painted fingernails, with small spiderwebs decorating the tips, caressing his face and the back of his neck. Your arms and legs are covered with torn fishnets and small tattoos, and you're wearing a black number with a corset, paired with studded Doc Martin's.

You finally pull away and look at the rest of them. "Sorry- nice to finally meet the lot of you." You say, shaking each one of their hands. Your eyes are striking, with full, dark lashes, eyeliner, and red contacts. Gages and a bull ring, too. Soap feels a shiver run up his spine when he looks at you head on, and Gaz hasn't picked his jaw up off the floor since you came around.

"Erm-" Price clears his throat, "pardon us- call me John. This is Kyle, and Johnny." He gestures to the other two, still watching you with a mix of curiosity and awe.

"I've heard so much about you. It's good to put names to the face." You say with a smile, shaking the other two's hands. Gaz manages to smile a bit, but Soap has the same shocked expression plastered onto his face.

Simon has a love-drunk, black-smudged smile on his lips as you sit down in his lap. "She's been wantin' t' meet you all for a while, now. Sorry I kept 'er a secret."

"To be fair, I'm usually hard to find." You say, grabbing a napkin and wiping the lipstick off Simon's face. "I'm either here, at class, or roaming around and people-watching... at night, of course. People are more interesting when it's dark out." You traced a fingernail along his jugular as he stared up at you.

"John 'ere knew you were a redhead."

"How?! Oh my god- are my roots showing?"

"Nah, luvie, he's just observant. 'S our job." Simon places a kiss to your forehead. You smiled, leaning into the kiss.

"Oh, kitchen's about to close. You wanna split a burger, Si?"

"Sure, get what you like."

"'S no onions ok?"

"Fine w' me - chips?"

"You know it." You giggle, making a show of squishing his cheek and biting it. You turn to the rest of his team with a smile. "You boys hungry?"

Price is the first one to speak, taking a heavy breath in, causing Soap and Gaz to finally snap out of their trance. "Erm- whatever you get, we'll do the same. On us tonight."

"Oooh, you sure?" You asked, raising your eyebrows. Simon looked at Price curiously.

"You positive, cap?"

Price nodded. "Lost a bet."

Simon looks even more concerned. You pat his shoulder and stand up. "I'll go punch it in, be right back." You give him a peck on the cheek, and begin to walk away - Simon's attention returns to you as he hooks a finger in the chain choker around your neck and tugs you back.

Soap, Gaz, and Price all watch, stupefied, as you land back in Simon's lap with a giggle. He grabs your chin between his thick fingers and kisses you on the lips, shamelessly letting his tongue slide past your teeth and squeezing your thigh. You laugh into the kiss, letting him devour you for a moment, before tapping his cheek and breaking away.

"I got fifteen minutes to put everyone's order in, Si."

"That's plenty of time, dove."

"Yeah, but then kitchen will get mad for doing it last minute, and I don't want-"

He chuckles, gently shoving out off of his lap and smacking your rump through your skirt. "You're fine, go on."

You smile, then disappear behind the booth, boots thudding against the hardwood floors.

Simon looks back at the three of them - Soap is staring between you and him, a blush covering his face. Gaz immediately turns to look at the wall, scratching his chin, and Price is gazing into his whiskey, though there's a lingering surprise in his eyes.

"So- what bet?" Simon asks, adjusting his hips; Soap notices his hand reaching down to palm at the fabric over his groin. "I don' remember bettin' nothin'."

"We weren't bettin' on ye pullin' her out ye pockets, LT." Soap comments, trying to avoid Simon's eyes. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out forty pounds, slapping it onto the table.

"It makes sense..." Gaz, chimes in. "With your whole skeleton look, she fits you."

Simon slowly smiles, understanding what they had bet on. "Oh... I see. Lemme guess - you thought I's with someone more... simple? Lile that blonde at the bar, is tha' right?"

"Tha's what I said!!" Soap exclaims, dropping his fist to the table. "You got te give me credit fer pointin' t' a swimsuit model first, aye?"

"Oh- because every bloke on earth is shallow enough to care about swimsuit models." Gaz scoffs. "I at least picked someone who didn't look so bloody helpless." He gestures to the girl playing darts with her friends. "You don't even know if the other girl's a model."

"Well, one can imagine..."

"Feel as though I's the closest..." Price mutters under his breath, making the other two glare at him.

"Ye were not."

"Get off your high horse, cap-"

"Well- try this." Simon leans on his forearms with a smug look on his face. "My bird? She's a model, and she's a black-belt in Judo, and-" he looks at Price- "she's a natural redhead."

They all look between Simon and you, as you stand behind the bar and punch their orders in, laughing with the other redhead. Their eyes would drop onto the table if they were any wider.

"You sly dog-" Gas comments with a chuckle.

"I don' believe ye." Soap says, crossing his arms. "Wha' kind o' model?"

"Lingerie."

Price chokes on his whiskey.

"Bullshit." Soap snaps. "Pictures or ye lyin'."

"Nah." Simon sighs, leaning back in his seat and daking a sip of his whiskey. "Not the ones I have, at least. But pick up the last "Bloodletting" magazine, and she's there."

They all sit there, a bit dumbfounded, watching you walk back to the booth. How on earth did someone like Simon land someone like you?

Simon's full of surprises, even in his personal life.

[emeritus-fuckers]

The papas (plus sister because she needs more love) - A new ghoul gets summoned but they seem more shy and afraid, how would they react?

Papas and Sister Imperator with a shy, freshly summoned ghoul

Primo (he/him)

He knows what to do, he's seen it once before, but a long time ago.

Sometimes Ghouls just are really shy at first, and scared. Of course they are, the Ministry is a whole different world to them.

You ran straight off and hid. It took Primo a few hours searching to find you hiding in a secluded spot in the garden.

Primo left you there to get used to things and went back to his garden shed. He brewed a very special tea, he wasn't too fond of the smell but that's because it wasn't meant to appeal to him.

He went back to the your hiding place and left a cup just in reach. He smiled as you reached a clawed hand out to take it.

The next day Primo left the cup of tea so it was just out of your reach. You slowly came out to take it and caught sight of Primo.

He smiled and gestured to say it was just him, you looked back at the tea and then to Primo before settling down on the soft summer grass.

"Let me show you around?" Primo says with a kind smile. "I promise you, it will all be okay. And if it ever gets too much you can always come back here. I won't tell a soul that this is your spot and I will bring you tea whenever you need it."

You smiled and swished your tail. With Primo's steadying influence you started to slowly come out of your shell and bond with the other Ghouls.

Secondo (he/him)

You blink open your eyes as you lie on the cold stone and see the most terrifying Papa. His stern gaze and piercing stare had you running for the nearest shadow.

Secondo lets out a huffing sound and orders everyone from the room.

He sits down next to you and to your suprise his expression has softened. "I know its a big change."

You just kind of nod, still very confused by the man.

"And there is a lot to get used to. But there are a lot of exciting things here too and more importantly nice people..." Secondo seems to stop himself saying the rest of the sentence, which would have probably been 'as annoying as they all are'.

You wait for him to carry on and then he says "I will introduce you to my most trusted Ghoul and you will not shy away. In return I can promise you that they will take care of you and look after you, you have nothing to fear. Also, no one will expect you to introduce yourself or talk to them until you are ready to do so."

You nod, still scared but Secondo's gaze is so steady you just trust him, he is Papa after all, the one who summoned you.

Thankfully you settle in well and once you are more relaxed Secondo lets you see his party animal side. Which surpirses you all over again. Who knew he could be like that, eh?

Terzo (he/they)

They really count on Omega in situations like these.

While Terzo has a sort of magnetism that pulls people to him, especially when he flirts like a kindergartener (informing someone about a hole in his shoe, for example), but he also recognizes that a big, strong ghoul might help a new, shy one open up.

And Omega is very inviting unless he's pissed off. Which he never is, if Terzo's in the room. If Terzo's around, Omega is happy. It's a simple equation, really.

And Omega is also very welcoming. You end up feeling safe with their presence pretty soon.

You also end up getting adopted. it's not up for discussion.

Enjoy your new dads, I guess.

Copia (he/him)

Copia has summoned plenty of ghouls by now. He's got experience with the shy ones, too.

Although his previous originally shy ghoul (Phantom) had relatives in the Ministry already, so that was a bit easier.

This time, he's on his own with it.

He just chills in the room, leaving snacks nearby as he just sits in the corner of his room, playing something on an ancient-looking gameboy.

He's just there, not invading your space. It's a bit like with a new puppy.

Eventually, you get closer, stealing his snacks and slowly trying to look at the screen of his console.

And after that, it all goes easy. Yolu eventually get more and more comfortable with him.

You get really involved in the game, too. Copia's not allowed to finish it, watching him play is your comfort source.

Not that he minds, he fucking sucks at that game.

Old Nihil (he/him)

He is just confused, really confused why as to why you are hiding all the time. Normally when freshly summoned, Ghouls have far too much energy and want to see everything.

"Seeeestor, why is the Ghoul broken?" He asks her. She tuts and explains you are not broken just shy.

So Nihil decides to try and help.

He sits near where he knows you hide in the shadows and tells you stories of his youth.

Sometimes these stories are long and rambling and you fall asleep.

Other times they are really interesting and excitng and you find yourself coming out of the shadows to listen.

Nihil grins at you and offers to introduce you to some people he thinks you'll like.

Young Nihil (he/him)

He doesn't really think anything of it, all the Ghouls are odd and different in their own way. Which he loves, all so unique.

He'll just sit with you and offer you a drink or something stronger.

At first you think he is just doing this to help you settle in, but then you realise he has started to rely on you as much as you on him.

It's nice to hang out with him, very laid back and you two can just be yourselves. There is never any pressure to talk or anything.

When you feel a little more confident Nihil offers to teach you the saxophone. He's learning too and thought it would be fun to learn together.

He produces some, err, interesting noises from the instrument at first but he quickly gets better. Partly due to your support, you are the only person he feels comfortable enough to make mistakes in front of.

He also invites you along to parties or his shows or anythin really, but never puts pressure on you to come along. If you do agree he gives you the biggest smile and puts an arm around you showing you all the cool things. He'll keep an eye on you to make sure you don't get overwhelmed.

Old Sister Imperator (she/her)

As intimidating as she can be, she's also a very caring, motherly woman.

She will inform you where you are, who she is and why you're there.

All while calling you "little one", as if you're a child.

And while there's always this slightly unnerving feeling of authority she has over you, you actually like her! She's nice!

She leaves you snacks, small plushies and fidget toys so you can have some nice things that will comfort you in this new situation you've gotten yourself into.

She leaves one of her ghoulettes with you for comfort. She doesn't mind waiting. Take your time.

Young Sister Imperator (she/her)

A lot more intimidating and a lot less motherly than she is later in life, Sister Imperator wasn't the most patient in her youth.

She summoned a ghoul because she needed one now, not later.

Still, she's not cruel, she's not gonna just... abandon you. She can summon another ghoul for the matter at hand and then just... find some use for you.

She checks up on you regularly, just sitting in the room for a bit. it's almost like a break for her, honestly.

Over time, as you both become more and more comfortable with each other, she starts viewing you like a little pet.

She likes playing with your hair and tail. She's always incredibly gentle with you, too.

Perhaps she's already found your function. A companion. A little pet.

Doesn't sound so bad, does it?

~

Papas I, II and Papa Nihil written by Nyx.

Papas III, IV and Sister Imperator written by Nosferatu.

[gullemec]

Cross the Line

Golden Cage - Chapter Five

series masterlist ao3

Pairing: Billy Butcher x f!reader

Summary: Truth or Dare, Murder, and Sex. Or, you and Butcher go on a road trip.

Warnings: SMUT (18+ mdni), oral (f receiving), unprotected piv sex, nipple play, dirty talk, creampie, discussions of previous murders, language, unsafe driving, attempted flashing, One Bed Trope™️, reader has poor self esteem and is Going Through It, straight up vehicular manslaughter, brief description of dead bodies

Please let me know if I missed any TWs <3

WC: 7.7k

A/N: Here she is!! My first ever f/m smut scene! Please be kind. Also a very action-packed chapter. Please read the tags before diving in because there's a LOT happening here.

Monday morning rolls around with an alarming speed, the pace of your days having taken a decided turn toward the speed of light. 

It had nothing to do with your apprehension around being with Butcher again, you were sure. 

Certain. 

The plan, not unlike the last plan, is supposedly simple. As the CytoGenix van carrying the vials of V2 makes its way upstate, you and Butcher will tail it at a distance, waiting until the time is right to strike and run the van offroad using a spike strip.

You've thought up about two thousand ways this could go wrong. You could probably think of a thousand more, but your brain started to hurt when you tried.

You pull your bag over your shoulder, every step to Butcher’s van downstairs weighed down by a strange mix of adrenaline and dread. He’s waiting for you, leaned against the driver’s side door with his usual cocky smirk, dark aviators shielding his expression.

“Look alive, sunshine,” he says as you climb in. “Big day ahead.”

You settle into the passenger seat, forcing yourself to play it cool. The hum of the engine fills the silence as you pull away, but within moments, the tension in the van feels as suffocating as the thick summer air.

The first two hours crawl by. Small talk feels like dragging a boulder uphill, each attempt to bridge the gap between you met with curt, monosyllabic responses. Weather. Traffic. A half-hearted quip about a roadside diner that doesn’t even earn a smirk from Butcher.

It’s maddening. Days ago, this man had kissed you like the world was ending. Now, he's talking about the possibility of impending rain. You feel insane.

Eventually, you can’t take it anymore.

“Truth or dare,” you say, throwing it out like a grenade

Butcher glances at you, his brow furrowing beneath his sunglasses. “The fuck did you just say?”

He scoffs, muttering something under his breath about it being a child's game. “And how exactly do you suppose we play truth or dare in a moving vehicle, hm?” He asks. 

“I don't know, but what I do know is that we have a four and a half hour drive ahead of us and if this awkward silence is going to continue, I'm going to jump out of the window right now.”

He snorts, shaking his head. “What are you, twelve? What’s next, a round of bloody ‘I Spy’?” He shoots you a look of bemusement before returning to the road, ignoring your request. 

He's not getting away that easy. 

“Look, it's either truth or dare, or we talk about the k—”

“Jesus Christ, alright I'll play your fucking game,” he relents. 

Success. 

You nod toward him expectedly. 

“What?” He asks 

“Truth or dare? You have to pick, it's kind of how the game is played.”

“Christ,” he mutters under his breath. “Fine. Truth.”

You pause to think for a second, racking your brain for a good question. You could, of course, go straight for the jugular, asking him why he pulled away from the kiss, why he didn't push you down on the couch and take everything you were willing to give him right then and there. But you think that might be a little intense for a first question, so you settle on something easier. 

“How many people have you killed?”

His reaction is instant, an incredulous laugh that’s more bark than humor. “Straight for the jugular, eh? You don’t muck about.”

“I’m curious,” you say, holding his gaze. “Isn’t that the whole point of the game?

“Sweetheart, if knowing how many people I've kidnapped is a second date question, this has gotta be a fifth date question.”

“Okay,” you say thoughtfully. “Well, if you count all the late night stake outs, and if you count our first date, the one where you kidnapped, me as three dates, which I do, I think we're well past the fifth date by now.” You raise your eyebrows at him, laughing.  

“Alright, alright,” he huffs. The smirk on his face betrays the fact that he kind of wants to play, but his tough facade necessitates that he put up a valiant fight about it first. 

But once your laughing subsides, his grin falls, and you realize that this was perhaps not the best question to ask. His eyes are fixed on the road when he answers you. 

He exhales sharply, adjusting his grip on the steering wheel. “I lost count. Got to twenty-five, maybe thirty, last time I bothered to keep track.” His voice is calm, almost too calm, but there’s no pride in it. “You happy now?”

His admission is like a shock to your system. You knew that he'd killed before, having tossed the idea around in your mind, considering the things you knew about the man you were unquestionably attracted to. He has killed, yes, but he has also lost. He has lost everything, and he has helped, and he has been kind, too. And yet, hearing the words from his mouth, putting a number, if only estimated, on the amount of times a life has been lost at the same hands that were wrapped tenderly around your body only days ago, sends a painful jolt to your heart. 

“I know what you might think,” he starts, his voice faltering. “You think I'm cold and evil, or whatever.” His fingers readjust around the steering wheel, an anxious tic you're picking up on. “But I had to do it. I believed it was for some… greater purpose, I guess. I believe that, but maybe because I have to.”

You're speechless. You weren't expecting this sudden moment of vulnerability in Butcher, this emotional nakedness. If you're honest, it scares you, because it causes the sand beneath the already unsteady foundation of your relationship with him to shake. You have to say something, anything. 

“How do you feel about potentially killing two more people today? Does it make you nervous?” You ask. You're vaguely aware of the van driving ahead of you, a pinprick dot of white on the endlessly winding highway. 

He sighs, then smirks, looking entirely too pleased in comparison to his somber expression only moments ago. “Uh–uh, your turn now.”

He's got you there. 

“Truth,” you say, and it's only fair that he throws you a hardball too. But he doesn't. 

“What’s your favorite memory with your mum?”

The question throws you for a moment, its tenderness blindsiding you. You have so many, you could almost argue that this isn't an easy question at all. All the same, your mind wanders to the same memory that always pops up when you ask yourself this question. 

“My seventh birthday,” you begin, your voice tinged with nostalgia. “Dad was off in the Bahamas for some meeting, and I didn’t have any friends because we’d just moved. So it was just me and her. She took me to Coney Island, and we spent the whole day there. Rides, games, cotton candy. It was the best.” A tear twinkles in your eye, but you wipe it away before it comes to fruition. 

He looks like he's about to say something, maybe offer some comfort or ask a follow up, but you're too quick for him. 

“Now you, truth or dare?”

He picks dare, following your lead and ignoring what you shared about your mom. You appreciate his ability to pick up on your nonverbal cues. 

You resist the urge to reach across the console and brush your fingers through his wild, wind-tousled hair. You let yourself imagine for a moment a scenario in which the two of you are out for a drive on a beautiful day for pleasure rather than business, where you might entwine your fingers with his on the center console. But these thoughts are dangerous, and you need a distraction. 

“Drive in the oncoming lane for ten seconds.”

“Are you bloody mental?” he snaps, glaring at you. “We’re trying to keep a low profile, and you want me to pull a stunt like that?”

You shrug, and you relish in the utter frustration that Butcher exudes, the way his accent comes out in full-force when he's this worked up. 

“You said dare,” you counter, your tone teasing. “A dare’s a dare.”

He groans, muttering a string of expletives as he slows the van. “You’re a bloody pain in my arse, you know that?”

“Slow down a bit, so they won't see us,” you suggest, your voice low to control the giggles that threaten to peek out. “Come on, Butcher.”

He hesitates. It's a sick kind of satisfaction knowing that, if it was anyone but you, Butcher would have probably just let you jump out the window at this point. 

“One, twooo… Threeeee…” You exaggerate your words, giving him every opportunity to acquiesce to your demands. 

Finally, you feel the van slow and dip to the left as Butcher careens into the oncoming lane. 

This is getting too easy. 

You count out the next ten seconds slowly, agonizingly. 

Ten. 

Nine

Eight. He shifts his eyes between you and the road, imploring you to call off the dare. Absolutely not. 

Seven. 

Six. 

Five. A speck materializes on the horizon. An oncoming car. 

Four.  The speck transforms into a white sedan. 

Three. “I'm switching lanes,” he yells. “Three more seconds!” You argue back. 

Two. You can tell now that there are two passengers in the sedan. “Fuck! Fuckfuckfuck!”

One. The driver of the sedan lays on the horn, the loud bleat sending shockwaves through your system. 

Butcher swerves back into the right lane, a chorus of curses spilling out, the sedan’s honking fading out behind you. Your laughter spills out, obnoxious and loud and absolutely drowning out Butcher’s string of profanities. Shortly after he course-corrects, the white van falls back into your line of sight. 

No harm, no foul. 

Butcher’s breathing evens. “You’re a menace, you know that?”

“And yet, here you are,” you retort, still grinning.

“You better pick dare this turn. I didn't realize we weren't playin' fair,” he smirks, and you're knocked back again. It's criminal how this man speaks, so deep and yet so melodic, his accent and charm breaking down whatever defenses you still had standing. 

“Do your worst,” you dare, and he smiles widely. For a moment, you feel a real flare of heat in your chest. You don't want to think about what you'd realistically do for this man right now, but the thought crosses your mind, sending a pang to your core. 

“Flash the next car that drives past us.”

Now it's your turn to blanch at the request, your face scrunching up in response. 

“You can't be serious,” you say. 

He simply nods, keeping his eyes fixed on the road ahead in feigned concentration. 

Well, the best way out is always through. 

You pull your seatbelt off, balancing on your seat and the console as you pull yourself through the van’s open sunroof. You pretend not to notice Butcher's right arm snaking protectively around your left leg. 

You watch as a dark green truck materializes before you, a lone cowboy hat wearing man inside. You pinch your fingers around the edge of your shirt. The truck speeds by as you begin to lift it up. Suddenly, the arm wrapped around your leg pulls down, forcing you back into the van. 

“Hey! What was that for?!” You exclaim, annoyed at the unwelcome intrusion. 

“You weren't seriously going to flash that truck, were you?” He asks. 

You nod. “I mean, yeah? You dared me to do it. A dare’s a dare.”

He huffs and puffs, shaking his head intermittently. He's frustrated with you, and it's pissing you off. 

Time to turn the tables. 

“Okay, well it’s your turn now I guess. Truth or dare.”

“Truth,” he says smugly, and you laugh, because you know what you say next is going to shake him. 

You take a second to stare at him, an unabashed good look at him. The way the breeze tousles his dark hair, the angle of his jaw catching the golden hour light. The warmth in the glow softens him somehow, makes him seem almost human, almost kind. You can't deny that you want him, and you can’t shake the nagging feeling that maybe, just maybe, he wants you too.

"Did you like it?" you ask abruptly, your voice low but clear.

Butcher furrows his brow, clearly puzzled. "Like what?"

"When you kissed me," you clarify, your heart pounding in your chest. "Was it as good for you as it was for me?"

The silence that follows is deafening. You hear him inhale sharply, see the slight hitch in his posture as the words settle between you. His face shifts, something vulnerable flickering in his eyes, but it’s gone almost as quickly as it came. He stares straight ahead, jaw tightening, fingers curling around the steering wheel like it’s the only thing tethering him to reality.

Your pulse quickens. Oh, God. Why did I say that? The weight of your own recklessness presses down on you. Seconds stretch into what feels like an eternity as he struggles with something unspoken, his lips parting as if to say something—

Your heart stops.

—and then, with a sharp gasp, his hand slams the horn and his foot hits the brake.

"Oi! Cunts!" he shouts, jerking the van to a sudden halt. Both of you lurch forward, your seatbelt biting into your shoulder.

Your head snaps toward the road just in time to see the CytoGenix van swerving off into the parking lot of a run-down motel.

The spell is broken. The tension you’d built up between you vanishes, replaced by adrenaline and a sinking sense of inevitability.

At least he'd stopped you before you'd shown your tits to some unsuspecting cowboy. 

Butcher’s face hardens, his attention fully back on the road as he mutters a string of curses under his breath. He keeps driving for another mile, the air in the van heavy and stifling. It’s as though the cracks you’d glimpsed in his armor have sealed up entirely, leaving only the impenetrable man you met at the start.

Finally, he pulls off just past a mile marker, the van grinding to a halt on the side of the road. He throws it in park and turns to you, his expression unreadable.

"Out," he orders, his voice clipped.

You blink at him. "What?"

"Get out of the van," he repeats, this time more firmly.

Despite every instinct screaming at you not to trust him, you obey. He follows you out, slamming the door behind him, and gestures toward the dense line of trees. "Start walking. Don’t stop ‘til you’re deep enough in that you can’t see the road anymore."

“Now wait a goddamn minute,” you fight, “I want to be a part of this. You're not exiling me to the woods while you do the dirty work. I’m coming with you.”

“You’re not,” he snaps, his tone cold and final. “You don’t want this blood on your hands, love. Trust me.”

Your temper flares. "You’re such an asshole, you know that?" you spit, heat rushing to your face.

You're all bite, all fight, until you see the look on his face. The harsh lines of his face are softened, his eyes weighed down with something heavier than anger. Guilt? Regret? He doesn’t want to do this, you realize. He thinks he’s protecting you.

And maybe you just don't have much of a fight left in you anymore.

You swallow hard, clenching your fists. "Fine," you say through gritted teeth. "But don’t think for a second I’m letting this go."

Without waiting for a response, you storm off into the forest, branches snapping underfoot as you push past ferns and brush.

You find a mossy rock and sink down beside it, hugging your knees to your chest. The familiar ache of being abandoned washes over you, pulling you back into yourself. You wrap your arms tightly around your body, closing your eyes and imagining the comforting embrace of your mother. The memories come easily, like they always do. Her laugh, her warmth, the way her hand always found yours when you were scared.

You lose track of time sitting there, flipping through those memories like pages in a well-worn book. Hours could have passed, or maybe it’s only minutes. You don’t know, and for a while, you don’t care.

It’s the crunch of heavy footfalls that pulls you back to the present. You blink up to see Butcher looming over you, his expression grim and drawn.

"If a van crashes in the forest and no one’s around to hear it, does it even make a noise?" you quip, smirking despite yourself.

He scowls. "What the fuck are you on about now?"

"Either that was the quietest car crash in history, or you lost them," you say, crossing your arms.

He sighs, dragging a hand down his face. "They never came through. They’re holed up at the motel for the night. We’ll head back, stake it out, and wait for them to move on." He jerks his thumb over his shoulder toward the road.

He extends a hand to help you up, but you ignore it, pushing yourself off the ground and brushing dirt from your clothes. Without a word, you start walking ahead of him, back toward the van.

"Bloody hell," he mutters under his breath, falling in step behind you. 

The short drive back to the motel is silent, the energy between the two of you having soured considerably. You stare out the window, arms crossed, seething. You're pissed and you want him to know it, to feel it. The mission feels like a joke, like you’re a joke. No matter what you do, you’ll always be the inept kid getting in the way.

The Piney Point Motel comes into view just as the sun dips behind the pines, the sky streaked in pinks and oranges. You spot the CytoGenix van immediately, parked conspicuously by the entrance of the motel. As far as you can tell, it's empty. 

“Did they really just… leave it there?” You ask, incredulous. 

Butcher chuckles. “Your old man really should stop cuttin’ corners on security.”

A flurry of hope stirs in your chest. “So we could just break into the van and steal the vials, right? And then no one would have to get hurt?”

He gives you a look, one that’s half pity, half impatience, before gesturing to the motel’s facade. Security cameras dot the walls, floodlights primed for motion. “Sorry, sweetheart. Looks like your dad could learn a thing or two from Piney Point.”

And just like that, the spark fizzles. 

Butcher pulls the van into a shadowed corner of the lot and kills the engine. He leans back in his seat, arms crossed.

You stare at him. “Well, are we going in?”

“Nah. You can crawl in the back if you wanna sleep. I'll take first watch.”

He can't be serious. 

“You want me to sleep back there?!”

He shrugs. “Or up here, but I don’t reckon it’s any comfier.”

You shoot him an incredulous look. “Or—and hear me out—we could sleep in the motel right in front of us?”

“And risk losin’ ‘em? Yeah, no thanks.”

You argue back and forth but the man is an infuriating, unflinching wall of stubbornness. Eventually, you give up, arms crossed as you glare at the moonlit motel. You consider going and getting a room just for yourself, but you reason that Butcher won't hesitate when he sees the men leave and you'll be left behind. Sleep tugs at you, but you refuse to crawl into the cramped backseat. Not after this.

The moon begins its arc across the starlit sky. Stars scatter above you, brighter and clearer than anything you’ve seen in years. You step out of the van, stretching stiff legs, the cool night air brushing against your skin. For a moment, you forget your frustration, gazing up at the wide, sparkling sky. It reminds you of Muskoka, your last vacation with both parents—before the office bedroom became your dad’s permanent home.

The ache of the memory lingers as you climb back into the van, only to find Butcher slumped in the driver’s seat, snoring. His chin tucked into his chest, a low rumble filling the space. You burst into laughter before you can stop yourself.

Butcher jerks awake, eyes darting wildly until they land on you. His expression shifts to a mix of annoyance and embarrassment.

“Alright, laugh it up,” he grumbles, voice gravelly from sleep. “Your turn to keep watch. Good luck stayin’ awake.”

You plant your hands on your hips, glaring at him. “I’m dead tired, and so are you. We need actual sleep, Butch. I’ll pay for the rooms. Final offer.”

He pretends to consider your offer like the thought of a bed, even a springy motel bed, doesn't sound downright heavenly right now. After a moment of feigned thoughtfulness, he pulls himself from the driver's seat and stalks toward the motel. 

“Don't look so pleased,” he mutters as he stalks past you. “We’re up at 4:30, no later. Understand?”

You trail behind him, hiding your grin. Right now, you’d agree to anything.

~~~

The reception area of the Piney Point Motel looks like it hasn’t been updated since the 1970s. The wood-paneled walls are warped in places, lined with crooked shelves cluttered with knick-knacks, miniature ceramic animals, a faded “World’s Best Grandma” mug, and a jar of mints that looks more like a trap than an offering.

Behind the counter sits a bespectacled woman in her sixties, a paperback romance novel in one hand and a cigarette smoldering in the ashtray beside her. The air smells like pine-scented cleaner and stale smoke. She looks up as you and Butcher enter, giving you both a thorough once-over.

“Hourly or overnight?” she asks flatly, like she’s heard every excuse in the book.

The question hits you like a slap. Your jaw drops. “Excuse me?”

Butcher doesn’t miss a beat. “We’ll take two rooms for the night,” he says, ignoring your mortification.

The receptionist shakes her head with a lazy shrug. “Only got one room left. One bed. Last two-bed went to a couple of truckers about an hour ago. It’s that time of year.”

You and Butcher exchange a look, sharp and synchronized.

“No,” you and Butcher say in unison, your sharp tone and immediate refusal surprising the older woman. 

But your mind wanders back to the van, it's aging leather upholstery and stiff cushions and lingering coffee smell. The weight of your eyelids expands tenfold at the thought. No way in hell are you going to be prepared for what tomorrow brings if you have to sleep in there. 

“Fine,” you sigh, taking the key from the receptionist’s outstretched hand, replacing it with a stack of bills.

“What d’you mean, fine?” Butcher asks, trailing after you as you head to the room. His boots echo dully on the cracked linoleum floor. “We’re better off in the van. Safer, too.”

You ignore him, jamming the key into the lock and twisting hard. The door creaks open to reveal a shoebox-sized room with peeling wallpaper, a squeaky ceiling fan, and a bed that looks like it’s seen more fights than rest.

Still, it’s a bed.

Without a word, Butcher follows you inside, closing the door behind him. For a man so determined to sleep in the van, he seems strangely reluctant to leave now. You glance at him, confused but unwilling to ask.

“You’re not staying, are you?” you finally say, half-turning to face him.

“’Course I’m stayin’,” he replies, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “Not leavin’ you alone in some dodgy motel where the closest weapon’s probably that broken lamp in the corner.”

You blink at him, torn between irritation and a flicker of gratitude. Before you can respond, he smirks and brushes past you toward the bed.

“Dibs,” he declares, flopping onto the mattress with all the grace of a drunk elephant. The springs groan in protest, but he doesn’t care.

“No, no! Absolutely not!” You shout, but he's already stretched his arms behind his head, feet crossed. “You're not taking the bed, you didn't even want this room!”

“And yet, here I am,” he replies, tucking his hands behind his head. The smugness radiating off him is enough to set your teeth on edge.

“You're an asshole, you know that right?”

“Yeah, you keep remindin’ me,” he says with a grin. “Now are you gonna stand there gawkin’ all night, or are you gonna make yourself comfortable?”

You grab the pillow out from behind his head and secure it alongside yours down the middle of the bed, creating a makeshift wall between your bodies. 

“What’s this, then?” he asks, raising an eyebrow.

“The Great Wall of Don’t-Touch-Me,” you deadpan, climbing onto your side of the bed and glaring at him over the makeshift divider.

He chuckles, low and amused. “You think I’m gonna bite?”

“More likely that I’d be the one biting you,” you retort before you can stop yourself.

The second the words leave your mouth, your cheeks flush hot. You busy yourself adjusting your pillow, pretending you don’t see the way his grin widens.

“Noted,” he says, voice dipping just enough to make you shiver.

You roll over, facing the wall. The bed creaks as Butcher shifts, and you’re hyper-aware of his presence. His scent, the warmth radiating off him, the way the air seems heavier when he’s near.

Neither of you bother crawling under the covers, facing away from each other to make it extra-clear that this is a no-nonsense, all-business sleepover. 

“Goodnight, asshole,” you mutter, hoping the bite in your tone masks the thrum of nerves in your chest.

“’Night, sweetheart,” he replies, his voice softer than you expect.

You want to savour this moment, but you're out in seconds. 

~~~

Suspended in a haze of warm sunlight, the cool edge of unreality covers you like a blanket of fresh snow. Strong arms wrap securely around your waist, across your chest, their weight pressing into you like a protective cocoon. The scratch of a beard grazes your neck, and the faint warmth of breath tickles your skin. Gentle snores vibrate against your back, a low, steady rhythm that lulls you further into the dreamlike state. You fight to stay there, curling deeper into the embrace, savoring the rare, fleeting serenity.

But serenity never lasts. A creeping discomfort nags at the edges of your mind, like an itch you can’t quite reach. The illusion splinters. The sunlight grows sharper, the weight around you heavier, the awkward press of something hard on your ass undeniable.

Your eyes snap open, reality crashing in. It’s blindingly bright, far too bright for what should be the early, predawn hours. Panic spikes through your system as you take in the scene, your body reacting before your brain catches up. You thrash instinctively, and Butcher’s grip loosens just in time for him to tumble unceremoniously off the bed.

“Bloody hell!” Butcher groans from the floor, rubbing the back of his head.

Your voice comes out in a frantic rasp. “Butcher, wake up! We slept in!”

The words are like a starter pistol. He’s up and moving in an instant, yanking on his boots while simultaneously reaching for the door.

“Shit! Goddamn it, move! Move!” he barks, his voice sharp and commanding.

The two of you are a blur of motion, grabbing, stumbling, swearing. Your bodies move on autopilot, faster than your sleep-addled minds can process. In seconds, you’re in the van, Butcher slamming the door shut and peeling out of the motel parking lot with reckless urgency.

Anxiety builds in your chest, each erratic swerve of the van feeding the dread coiling tighter inside you. As you glance back at the motel, the sight of an empty parking spot—a lone Mustang where the CytoGenix van had been—confirms your worst fears. They’re gone.

Butcher’s jaw tightens as he accelerates onto the highway, weaving through lanes with a focus that’s almost terrifying. The towering pines blur into streaks of green on either side of you as the van hurtles forward. You scan the horizon frantically, desperate for a glimpse of white metal that refuses to appear.

Minutes stretch into what feels like hours before Butcher finally slows the van, pulling into a deserted roadside gas station. It’s eerily quiet, the pumps sitting idle, the building dark and lifeless.

“This is the last stop for miles,” Butcher says, his voice low and grim. “That's the last stop they would've made before going to the lab.”

The weight of his words slams into you, stealing the breath from your lungs. Your heart races, panic tightening its grip. This was it, the window of opportunity to intercept them had closed. It was all your fault. You’d fought tooth and nail for the motel room last night, insisting you both needed the rest, convincing yourself it was a small indulgence that wouldn’t jeopardize the mission.

You were wrong.

Maybe he was right, maybe your father was right, maybe they're all right, everyone who's ever doubted you. It's cruel, the way that the frayed threads of meaning in your life seem to continually fall from your grasp. 

Shame and guilt crash over you in waves, heat rising in your face as your chest constricts painfully. You blink back tears, but they gather stubbornly at the corners of your eyes, threatening to spill over.

“Butcher, I’m so sorry,” you stammer, your voice trembling. “I—I screwed up. This is all my fault.”

He doesn’t respond immediately, his expression unreadable as he stares out the windshield. The silence stretches, unbearable. Fear claws at you, the thought of him cutting you loose from the Boys—or worse, giving up on the mission entirely—hitting like a punch to the gut.

“Please,” you continue, desperation creeping into your tone. “I know I fucked up, but don’t… don’t give up on this. Don’t give up on me.”

Butcher’s head swivels toward you, his eyes softer than you expect. His voice, when he speaks, is gentle, almost unrecognizably so.

“Hey,” he says, holding up a hand. “Breathe. It’s okay. Hold your apologies, yeah? We’re not done yet. I’ve got one more trick up my sleeve.”

You blink at him, stunned into silence. This wasn’t the reaction you were expecting, not the anger, the harsh words, the fury you thought you deserved. Instead, his calm confidence throws you off balance, grounding you in a way you hadn’t realized you needed.

“Butcher…” you whisper, your voice catching in your throat.

“Just wait,” he says, lips quirking into a faint, reassuring smirk. “Keep it together. We’ve still got work to do.”

With that, his foot presses down on the gas pedal, the van lurching forward and pinning you back against the seat.

You're certain you've never driven this fast before, not even during those rare joyrides with your father in his Bugatti. The van rockets forward, moving like a bullet out of a gun, the world outside warping into a blur of trees and sky as the tires scream against the asphalt. Your grip on the door handle tightens with every jolt, the tension in the cabin as visceral as the adrenaline coursing through your veins.

Despite the chaos of the day, the abrupt wake-up, the panic, and Butcher’s uncharacteristic gentleness, the unbridled anxiety screaming inside you speaks only of the lives of the two men in the CytoGenix van, unknowingly hurtling toward their end. Anxiety claws at your chest, raw and unrelenting. You shut your eyes and try to focus on breathing, but it’s no use.

“Oi, cunts!” Butcher’s voice explodes, and your eyes snap open.

Thirty feet ahead, the CytoGenix van comes into view, its white exterior glaring against the green blur of forest on either side. To your right, the trees abruptly fall away, leaving nothing but a battered guardrail and a steep ravine beyond.

“Hold on tight,” Butcher orders, his tone calm but edged with a manic sort of energy.

Before you can question him, he floors the gas pedal. The van lurches forward, barreling into the oncoming lane to overtake the other vehicle. Butcher twists the wheel expertly, positioning your van just ahead of the CytoGenix one. Then, in one brutal motion, he jerks back and rams into the side of it.

The impact is bone-rattling. Your body slams against the seatbelt, the van shuddering violently as both vehicles swerve erratically. For a moment, you lock eyes with the other driver, his face contorted in a mix of rage and confusion. But Butcher’s already at it again, pulling back just enough to ram the CytoGenix van a second time.

This hit sends the other van wobbling wildly, the driver fighting to regain control. Your ears ring, blood rushing so loudly that you’re not sure if the scream you hear is yours or simply imagined. And then, with a final, sickening crunch, the CytoGenix van plows through the guardrail and plunges down the ravine.

Butcher swerves hard, narrowly avoiding the gaping hole in the guardrail. The side of your van scrapes against what remains, metal shrieking as sparks fly. He brings the van to an abrupt stop on the shoulder a hundred yards ahead, slamming the gearshift into park. The engine dies, leaving only the sound of your ragged breathing in the cabin.

“Holy shit,” you whisper, your voice trembling.

“Holy shit,” Butcher echoes, his grin wide and reckless.

You both sit there for a moment, staring straight ahead, before the tension breaks. Anxious laughter bubbles out of you, and to your surprise, Butcher joins in. The two of you volley expletives back and forth between bursts of laughter, the absurdity of the situation sinking in.

When the laughter subsides, Butcher reaches for the door handle. “Stay put,” he says firmly. “You’re not gonna want to see this.”

That sends your adrenaline spiking all over again. You throw your door open and stomp after him, slamming it behind you. “No. You’re not doing this. Not again.”

He turns to face you, brows furrowed. You jab a finger into his chest. “I’m capable of this, Butcher. And if I’m going to be part of the Boys, I need to prove it. No more babying me.”

For a long moment, he just stares at you, his hazel eyes searching yours. The tension between you is almost unbearable as you silently plead with him to understand. To let you have this. To understand just how important this is, how this transcends the circumstances you currently find yourselves in. Finally, his shoulders sag slightly, and he gives a curt nod. “Fine. But don’t make me regret it.”

Together, you make your way down the ravine, the incline steep and unforgiving. Butcher offers his arm to steady you when you stumble, and you grudgingly accept. At the bottom, the wreckage comes into view. The CytoGenix van lies on its side in a shallow creek bed, its back doors hanging open.

You rush to the driver’s side, heart hammering in your chest as you peer inside. For the past week, nightmares have plagued you—visions of Adam and Emily lying lifeless in the wreckage. But when you see the two men slumped in their seats, necks twisted at unnatural angles, neither is familiar. Relief washes over you, mingling uneasily with guilt.

“They’re nobodies,” you murmur, more to yourself than to Butcher. “Collateral damage.”

His hand falls heavy on your shoulder. “The hard part’s over,” he says, his voice uncharacteristically gentle. “It gets easier from here.”

You desperately want to believe him. 

You both turn your attention to the back of the van. Butcher grips one of the broken doors and yanks it free with a grunt. Inside, a sleek black lockbox gleams ominously. Without hesitation, Butcher brings his boot down on it, cracking it open.

Inside are rows upon rows of vials, their green liquid glowing faintly in the fading light. You pick one up, holding it between your fingers and marveling at its beauty. The liquid seems alive, swirling and shimmering with an otherworldly energy.

And then, without thinking, you hurl the vial at a nearby tree. You watch in awe as the glass shatters, the glowing substance splattering across the bark and dripping onto the forest floor.

“Shit—I don’t know what came over me—” you start, but Butcher is already laughing, a devilish grin spreading across his face.

“Fuckin’ diabolical,” he says, grabbing a vial and smashing it under his boot. You both gape at the way it explodes under his foot, staining his boot like a glow stick, before you burst into shared laughter. 

You both fall into a wild, unhinged rhythm, smashing vial after vial. The forest around you glows eerily, the remnants of V2 painting the trees and ground in streaks of neon green. Laughter bubbles out of you, uncontrollable and cathartic, as the absurdity of your destruction takes hold.

When only one vial remains, Butcher reaches for it, but you stop him with a hand on his arm. “Wait. We should keep one. For testing. Just in case.”

He looks at you, then smirks. “Knew I kept you around for a reason.”

“Oh, come on,” you tease. “You keep me around for more than that.”

His smirk fades, replaced by something darker, more intense.  The air shifts between you, the laughter forgotten as your proximity feels suddenly charged. Whatever force is behind the constant push and pull of your attraction to Butcher is now pushing in full force, the glowing green crime scene around you fading into nothing. It's just you and him and the screaming urge inside of you to untether. 

Butcher advances toward you, pulling your face into his hands, crashing his mouth into yours. This time you get the chance to react, the opportunity to reciprocate. And you do, wholeheartedly. You pull at the lapels of his jacket, fingers fumbling for purchase in his wild hair. His hands move over your body, down your back and across your ass, squeezing you closer to him.

When he finally pulls away, his eyes are wild. “Someone’s gonna notice the skid marks and the guardrail. We’re gonna have company soon if we don’t move.”

“Back to the motel?” you ask, bold and breathless.

His answer is immediate. “Yeah.”

Without another word, he grabs your hand, practically pulling you back up the ravine toward the van.

You had a taste of Butcher's penchant for speeding earlier, but something about the way he races down the road back to the motel now has butterflies erupting in your stomach. His right hand is placed firmly on your left thigh, your own hand keeping his there. You're ashamed to admit that his touch alone is driving you crazy. 

Thank god you never had time to return the key this morning, because you both race back to the room, his mouth in your ear, arms encircling your waist as you fumble to unlock the door. The second the door closes behind you, he has you pushed up against the door, his tongue parting your lips and hands digging into your waist. You wrap your arms around his neck as he lets a hand fall to your ass, squeezing tightly. He lifts you up, wrapping both of your legs around his middle. You moan at the way his hands explore you, the closeness of your bodies. 

“Do that again,” he instructs. 

“Make me,” you dare. 

He throws you down on the bed, both of you using the opportunity to work your shirts off. He spends an unabashed moment staring directly at your tits, chest heaving. Like you're a work of art he can't wait to defile. You unbutton your pants before Butcher pulls them off of you, leaving you bare before him, save for your underwear. He crawls up onto the bed, knees nudging your legs open, his imposing frame towering over you. 

“You have no idea how goddamn much I've thought about this,” he admits. Your eyes search his face, hands combing through his hair. He kisses you deeply, tongue exploring your mouth, before moving down to place licks along your collarbone. He moves down to your nipples, your stomach, stopping at the waistband of your underwear. He looks up in silent request. 

“Please,” you beg. “Don't stop.”

And, with your permission, he practically rips the soft cotton as he pulls them down, throwing your legs over his broad shoulders. You share a glance, both with bated breath, before he finally puts his mouth on you, eating you like a man starved. 

Your head tilts back involuntarily as he licks at you, alternating between languid, savoring strokes, his wide tongue exploring deep inside of you, and quick, tight little circles over your clit. You've never been the kind of woman to be particularly loud or vocal in bed, a complaint you'd heard from lovers in the past. But now the moans fall freely as you fall apart on Butcher's tongue. Your sounds only serve to egg him on, his fingers digging deeply into your plush inner thighs, his growls reverberating through your pussy, matching your low moans. You barrel embarrassingly quickly toward the edge. 

“‘m so close,” you whimper. 

He doesn't stop, every determined movement a silent encouragement for you to chase your high. 

Your hands reach down, tangling in his messy hair. He responds, deepening the push of his mouth against your core, rhythmically drawing his fingers back and forth against your inner thighs. Your fingers clench around the tendrils of his hair, pulling so hard you know it must hurt him. He doesn't seem to notice, his rhythm never stalling. Then, starbursts exploding behind your eyelids as you fall over the edge, legs clamping involuntarily around his head. 

Dizzying, pure, unadulterated bliss.

Head falling back against the pillow, you're sure you've never come this hard before. Your limbs are absolutely weightless, cheeks flushed. A euphoric smile on your lips stretches so wide you're certain you look deranged. 

But not to Butcher. 

“You're so bloody beautiful,” he says from between your legs, and you can do nothing but laugh deliriously in response. 

He gazes up at you, working his way back up between kisses to your stomach and swirling his tongue over your pert nipples. You grasp a hand around the back of his neck, pulling him up to kiss him on the mouth, your other hand reaching down to encircle his hard length. 

You're pleasantly surprised at how much of him there is, pumping his thick length several times before you position him at your entrance. 

You feel his body jolt involuntarily as his cock makes contact with the wetness he just created.

“You sure?” he asks, and you nod, words refusing to form on your lips. 

He shifts his hips forward and you gasp sharply as he breaches you. You reach your other hand down to caress his ass cheek, pulling him in deeper, desperate for more.

“Fuck yes,” you moan. “Yes, Billy, just like that.”

That's all he needs before he's driving himself deep, stopping only when he's fully seated inside of you. You gasp as he stretches you out, like he's splitting you right down the middle. He pulls your knee up, hooking it over his shoulder, allowing him to go deeper. You whine at the fullness, earning a growl from him. 

“You like this, baby?” he asks as he pulls back, looking down to where your bodies connect before plunging himself back into you. “Fuck, because I really like this.”

“R‒really like this,” you manage to sputter out. “P‒please, please, fuck me Billy.”

“I got you, love,” his voice is raw. He sets a punishing pace, his cock filling you over and over and over again, pushing you toward the brink of something you've never experienced before. 

Your hands wander over him, tracing every scar, fumbling through his hair, squeezing his ass as you pull him in even deeper. You want to memorize everything about this, the sweet aroma of his sweat, the weight of him atop you, the stream of consciousness filth that flows from his lips as he falls more and more pussy drunk. 

He reaches down, thumb on your clit, rubbing in time with his thrusts. His mouth explores your chest, dividing his attention between your nipples and sensitive, open neck. You bound toward your release, fingers scraping down his broad back. 

“Fuck, fuck, Billy, I'm gonna come,” you moan between huffs. He continues, pace unrelenting. 

Then, stars. 

Expanding blooms of light, full-body eruption. Sweet release, a dynamite stick in your core, exploding out your mouth in a silent scream. You heave around him, bucking your hips, impaling yourself deeper on his cock. He fucks you through it, half words falling from his lips into your mouth. 

Tha's right. 

Mm, baby. 

You go’ it. 

It's all too much, the soft moans escaping your mouth, the image of you in ecstasy before him, falling apart on his cock. He's too close behind you to stop now. 

“Fuck, you're gonna make me come. Where d’you want it?” he asks frantically. 

You can't help yourself. “Inside,” you beg. 

He really doesn't try to make it a habit of denying you, and he certainly won't start now. He groans, spilling himself inside of you. You moan at the heat that grows between your legs. 

He collapses atop you, the weight of him pushing you I to the cheap, springy mattress. You feel the wetness spill out onto the bed beneath you. 

“Holy shit,” you manage to get out between gasps for air. 

“Holy fuckin’ shit is right,” he agrees. 

Over the next eight or so hours, you and Butcher acquaint yourselves with each other, very, very, closely. On the bed, on the floor, against the dresser, in the shower, on the bed, again. You speak only a few times in rushed half sentences, too preoccupied with finding out just how many orgasms you can achieve in one go to think about much else. All of the tension that has stewed since the day Butcher first laid eyes on your dazed face has been unleashed in Room 206 at the Piney Point Motel. You stop only long enough for Butcher to drive twenty minutes down the highway to retrieve a bag of greasy fast food, hastily devoured fuel to allow you both to continue at least a few more times. 

By the time you both succumb to your utter exhaustion, you're sweat-sticky and bone-tired, with a soreness between your legs you know is going to have you walking funny tomorrow. You don't notice it though, because Butcher has you pulled in his arms, lips on your ear, your heart firmly in the palm of his hand. 

@bluemerakis@mystic-writings@imherefordeanandbones

[multixnichols]

Hiya would you possibly do a Nicky x reader where they have both just got out of prison and they are living together. And Nicky goes out with some old friends and they offer her heroin and it like triggers her in a way so she goes home and starts to have a panic attack and the reader has to calm her down and then they end it by cuddling on the sofa. Thank you ☺️☺️☺️

it's been so long since i wrote anything but i hope you enjoy this and thank you for sending a request <3

—nicky x fem!reader, all fluff, english is not my first language so there might be some bad english too

She's been at home for thirteen minutes. And she's quiet. Unusually quiet. See, Nicky is not one to usually dwell on things, despite everything she's been through she always tries to talk with you when something bothers her. But now she's just sitting on the sofa, staring blankly at the tv.

"Since when do you watch 'Keeping Up With the Kardashians', Nichols?" you say humorously, settling next to her.

It takes her a moment to lift her gaze at you, her thoughts clearly elsewhere. And then she smiles, but it's not her usual cocky smile, it looks strained.

"Ah, y'know, sometimes i like watching people with real problems. It's good for the heart." comes her raspy voice as she scoots closer and wraps her arm around your shoulders, her body warm as the smell of her conditioner washes over you.

That earns a quiet laugh from you, your hand resting affectionately on her thigh.

You study her face for a moment, deciding that something is definitely off. She looks pretty today, her blonde hair a wild mane as always, the dark makeup around her eyes and those shapely lips you get to kiss every day. But her eyes look almost sad.

"How was the meeting with your friends?" you say softly and all you receive is silence.

Nicky's eyes glaze over, her breaths coming a little faster which she tries to hide by letting out a soft sigh. Though her attempts fall flat because now you can also see her hands trembling.

She doesn't say anything, just presses herself tighter against you to ground herself.

"Talk to me." you encourage softly.

You know the answer before she even says it. Nicky is not the kind of person to panic over nothing, not usually. And she was very hesitant to go out with her old friends in the first place considering how their friendship was always fuelled by drugs. But with your support she decided it wouldn't hurt to at least give it a shot.

Which she regrets now.

"They proposed me heroin." she murmurs, so quietly, that you have to strain your ears to actually hear her.

Instead of speaking you move to wrap your arms around her, because if there's something you learned with time is that sometimes Nicky doesn't need words but a simple touch to soothe her.

"It was– fuck, it was so hard. But i didn't take it. I swear i didn't. I thought i will but–"

"Okay." you cut her explanation quickly because she doesn't need to explain herself. You understand. You know she has enough self-restraint to not fall onto that hole again.

Her face softens as if relieved you believe her. As if she expected you to argue with her, accuse her. Nicky's not used to this kind of trust. Noone ever trusted and cared for her like you do.

"Now take a deep breath for me, okay? I'm proud of you" she quickly listents to you, taking in a shaky breath, her eyes clearing once more as a small smile grows on her face.

But it's not your voice or your gentle encouragment that eases her growing panic. No, her thoughts are on somethong else entirely.

You're proud of her.

Nicky let's out a relieved laugh, the light coming back to her eyes as she moves to lovingly pinch your cheek.

"Proud of me, eh?" comes her teasing, but also very much delighted, tone "Didn't know you were such a simp."

You laugh again, swatting her hand away from your cheek playfully, before bringing her down to lay on the sofa, her head resting against your chest.

"Man, i can't believe i get to sleep in those tits." she rasps out, her hand slipping under your t-shirt to squeeze at the soft skin of your waist, her nose intentionally burried in between your breasts.

Nicky's eyes close and she let's out a happy sigh, simply cherishing your presence.

She got seriously scared today but it's all right in the world if you're there to support her.

—

[darklydeliciousdesires]

Buffed Brass and Baritones - An Arthur Shelby/Reader One Shot Story.

A bit of Arthur smut, besties? Yes. Why not. Inspired by a statement shared by my lovely @call-sign-shark earlier today. This is for you, babe!

(GIF credit - @edmundhoar)

Words - 1,114

Warnings - Smut below the cut, minors DNI!

You’d never considered the Birmingham accent to be particularly sexy before, you had to admit. That was until Arthur fucking Shelby opened his mouth and let that rumbling baritone out, of course. Now, well... the man could recite something as simple as a grocery list to you and you’d probably come on the spot, such is your weakness for those deep, gritty tones.  

“Are ya all finished, bab?” he asks as you meander outside of the back room door within The Garrison. “Everywhere nice and clean, is it?” 

Instantly, your knees tremble. “Yes, Mr Shelby. Absolutely spotless.” 

“Good.” His eyes rake over you, lips curling into a wide grin. “Then how’d ya fancy getting a bit dirty, eh?” 

Did... did he really just proposition you?  

“Well?” he barks, making you jump a little. “No good you standing there floundering like a bloody fish! Do you want me to fuck ya, or not?”  

“I mean, yes, but...” 

“Well then!” He rises from his seat, pointing in the direction of the bar. “Get your clobber off, go on!”  

You know he’s loud and uncouth, but still, you’re taken by surprise, rooted to the spot, Arthur letting out a sigh as he reaches for you. “Fine, fucking fine! I’ll get your bloody clobber off!” Throwing you over his shoulder like a little rag doll, his big hand smacks hard against your bum, your squealing giggle filling the empty pub.  

He seats you right at the very end of the bar, yanking you close, kissing you with all the passion and torrent of a storm, lithe body pressing to yours as his hands force your knees apart. Your shoes drop from your feet onto the floor, Arthur wasting no time in pulling your dress up. 

Your eyes suddenly widen. “Shit! I’m not wearing my good knickers.” 

He doesn’t miss a beat, raising an eyebrow at you as he yanks them off. “And now you’re wearing no knickers at all, bab.” Pushing your thighs apart, a rumble of desire sounds his throat as he sees your cunt splayed before him. “Blimey, ain’t you pretty.” 

He dives straight in with no hesitation at burying his mouth against your folds, hungry tongue roving over you before settling to beat back and forth over your clit. Your hips rise, your mouth dropping open, staggered by the fast pace of it all. Arthur isn’t a man who entertains wasting time, though. Sex with him surely would never be any different.  

He’s completely unrelenting with you, sucking on your bud greedily as he groans deep, the sound settling over your bones as the pleasure lights you up like a firework. His fingers sink into the soft of your thighs, eyes twinkling at you as he watches you enjoy it, smiling at you with a wink. “Like that, don’t ya?” 

“Oh my bloody god!” you cry, you voice pinched tight. “How can anyone be so good with their tongue?” 

He rumbles a chuckle. “Lots of practice, bab.” You don’t doubt that for a second. God, if he was yours, you’d never let him come up for air. He then slows, making you glimmer with long, flat licks, slowing until you begin to whine and shake.  

“Fucking hell,” he groans, the tip of his tongue beating rapidly over your clit. “You’re drowning me.” 

“Sorry,” you pant, feeling a little self-conscious.  

He eyes you curiously, snorting a soft laugh. “Ain’t a a bad thing, love. Ain’t a bad thing at all.” He gives you a few more glimmer-evoking licks before straightening, hands moving to unhook his braces and undo his trousers. “I think you’re ready to get fucked now, beautiful.” 

Pulling his cock out, he pushes straight into you… and in… and in… and… 

“Jesus, Arthur!” you gasp, mouth falling open. “How bloody long is it?” 

His grin is so snugly self-assured as he finally bottoms out, dragging back once more. “Long enough to make a donkey cry if I stood next to him naked.” 

You laugh, and it turns into a shrill cry as he doesn’t hesitate in beginning to drive into you like a piston.  

“Oh, fuck, fuck, fucking fuck!” you grit, Arthur tossing your legs over his shoulders, smiling at how much you immediately love being on the receiving end of his long, hungry cock. 

“Mmm, a pretty girl with a foul mouth,” he pants, turning his head to kiss your ankle. “My favourite kind.” Giving you the kind of pounding that has your screams filling the room, your body is shunted against the bar forcefully, your mouth hanging open in exclamation. He then slows, enjoying the hot, tight clutch of your cunt, his eyes falling to watch how his cock sparkles in the dim light, glazed in the velvet wet of you. 

You can barely belive you’re doing it. You’re actually having sex with your boss, the man you’ve dreamed of for months. He is the sexual splendour you’ve always fantasised about, stroking your walls so deftly, so deeply, the power behind him barely contained. He leans to you, tugging your dress and bra down, his mouth raining kisses across your flushed chest, tongue seeking your nipples, circling slowly, slowly.   

Adding a little more speed to each teasing thrust, he begins to stoke the bonfire of your pleasure, your flames crackling, feeling unmoored entirely. Your slippery walls flex around him in appreciation of his assailing, igniting you with the delicious depth of each thrust as you sheathe him, crying out, his hands bracketing your waist.  

Something within him breaks at hearing your shrill wails, and once again he begins to pound into you with unmatched ferocity, giving you all that you craved, his self-control abandoned, his graveled groans intoxicating to your ears.   

“Look how good you take it. Mmmm, yeah. What a fucking good girl.” 

Everything is wild, fervid, uncontained and magmatic, both of you spiralling headlong into the kind of release that has your moans and groans filling the air along with the sound of your skin smacking together. It capsizes you, an undoing of all-consuming magnitude charging through you, the god-given talent of his fuck rendering you a shaking, panting mess beneath him.   

“Bloody hell,” he pants, forehead rested between your breasts, placing a kiss on your sternum. “Dunno what else to say other than bloody hell!” 

“You could say anything, Arthur, and it would leave me knock-kneed,” you gasp, reaching to stroke his hair. 

“What,” he begins, turning his head to kiss your inner wrist, “even more knock-kneed than fucking you so hard atop the bar, your arse has probably buffed the brass?” 

You pull a thoughtful face as he begins to laugh. “Maybe not that much.”  

[staryuee]

“ YOU MAKE ME FEEL SAFE.”

꒰warnings꒱ semi-proofread <3

⠀꒲ ` synopsis . . . telling [char.] that they make you feel safe ♡

⠀꒲ ` characters . . . aether, lumine, dainsleif, xiao, tartaglia, wanderer, yae miko, kokomi, itto, cyno, kaveh

⠀꒲ ` notes . . . quite short bc a bitch is exhausted from exams </3 love u lots mwah mwah sorry for dying every month

AETHER — 空

“you make me feel safe.”

“eh..?” aether pauses for a brief moment and instantly turns to look at you, a look of both surprise and joy encapsulating his features. he blinks twice, a smile forming on his lips as he stares at you with eyes filled with so much adoration that it makes your breath hitch.

“i’m.. im really happy to hear that, i really can’t put it into words.” he walks over to you and entraps you in a heartwarming hug, one that made you melt as soon as his body made contact with yours. hearing such a lovely phrase so easily drop off your tongue made him genuinely feel like everything he’s done so far wasn’t in vain.

it felt so right; to be the cause of someone else’s happiness; a haven for their security, and to know you had that in him was something so sweetly fulfilling.

LUMINE — 荧

“you make me feel safe.”

lumine stops in her steps to swiftly turn back to you. you flash her a lovely smile, one which she complaisantly returns with blush dusting her cheeks. “you’re so corny.” she goes over to you to squish your cheeks together, staring at you in awe as she does so.

“but,” she pulls you in for a hug, “i’m glad — it’s my job to look after you after all.” she squeezes you tighter and you can’t help but pull away to sneak in a sweet kiss to her forehead, she leans into it, still looking adoringly up at you with that smile of hers, you feel yourself heat up at the very sight of it.

“you make me happy.” she whispers and presses herself closer to you, hands resting gently on your waist.

DAINSLEIF — 戴因斯雷布

“you make me feel safe, you know?”

you were merely having a late night conversation, it divulged from your morning duties and then to what you love each other; your words leaving dainsleif rather speechless. such flowery words being uttered by someone he’s internally sworn to protect till the end of time genuinely feeling safe with him ? if he was a tad bit more.. emotional.. he could shed a tear.

instead, he opts for kissing your cheeks and cuddling you closer with his lips turning upwards ever so slightly. he wants to tell you how loved you make him feel, but he settles for his own quietness and the comfort of your warmth.

there’s still no words in any teyvat language that could express or even comprehend his love for you; he can only hope that his fleeting touches are enough to share a sentiment similar to your own.

XIAO — 魈

“xiaoxiao.” your voice echoes melodically in his sleepy mind. he replies with a simple hum.

“you make me feel safe.” you lean on him nonchalantly as if you didn’t just say something that could break him.

“it’s my duty to protect you.” he pulls you in closer, his heartbeat beginning to quicken with every shallow breath.

“i mean that being with you is just extremely comfortable and peaceful, it has little to do with your ability to protect me.” you laugh as you intertwine hands with him. xiao leaned forward to place a gentle kiss on the crown of your head, responding with a stuttered yet wholehearted reply was not worth the embarrassment for the yaksha.

he pulls your interlocked hand up to his lips and places a soft kiss on your knuckles, the silence thick yet so serene. he finds comfort in solace, but you’ve shown him that the atmosphere of loneliness can be shared with the silent affection of a loved one.

TARTAGLIA — 公子

tartaglia caressed your cheeks, staring at you with such determined love and adoration it was enough to send your heart into overdrive. every swipe of his thumb, every glance at your lips and every kiss that he stole managed to send flurries of butterflies into your stomach; which lead to your impromptu, “you make me feel safe.”

he stopped his ministrations abruptly, his eyes widening yet his smile remaining all the same. he lets out a soft sigh before sprinkling gentle kisses across your face, “you’ve really got me wrapped around your finger, huh.”

your fingers trail up to caress his nape before tugging him down for a quick peck. “yes i do... “ you murmur as his hands move from your face to hold the back of your head, pulling you closer. he lets out another chuckle before kissing your nose softly, a light blush colouring his skin. “ you make my heart race like nobody else could.”

SCARAMOUCHE — 斯卡拉姆齐

“you make me feel safe.”

“i’m sorry, what?”

he wonders what kind of miracle blessing he must’ve committed for you to even think about expressing such a thought. “are you feeling sick? what’s wrong with you?” he pinches your cheek with an unamused look as your giggles bounce off the walls. he turns to leave without a second thought, trying his best to suppress his feelings.

“hey — i was being genuine !” you hug him from behind with a soft smile.

“right, and i’m a human being.” he rolls his eyes as he attempts to push you away, with very little reluctance at your affection. thought he doesn’t believe your words, for ehem obvious reasons, he still feels the slightest bit overjoyed at the prospect of your words being genuine.

YAE MIKO — 八重神子

“you make me fee safe.”

“well, aren’t you a charmer, my dear?” miko gives you a sly smile before taking another sip of her saké. “which book did you steal that line from, hmm?” she laughed softly, patting your head gently as consolation for her teasing. you pouted at the playful touch but she was far from deterred. the moment she pulled back, she had a mischievous glint in her eyes. “do you have a way of showing me your words are true, darling?”

you roll your eyes at her shamelessness, reaching up to pull her in by wrapping your arms around her neck to oblige her romantic request. she gives you a final sly grin before leaving a soft yet passionate kiss on your lips.

“hmm..i’m still not convinced.” she giggles, pulling you in once again. you were in for quite the long afternoon..

S. KOKOMI — 珊瑚宫心海

“hey koko,” she hums gently, looking up at you with drowsy eyes, “you make me feel safe.”

it was honestly like you shook her with electro itself, or like she poured hot tea over herself with the way she instantly woke up; the biggest smile beginning to adorn her gorgeous features. kokomi sighs pleasantly, gazing at you with pure devotion before getting up to hold both of your hands in hers.

“i’ve had many people express such a sentiment, but hearing it from you..it means so much more.” she leaves a trail of chaste kisses across your cheeks before leaving a final one on your lips.

“did you read some sort of book on how to attack the divine priestess’s heart? because it’s very hard to not fall deeper in love with you.”

A. ITTO — 荒泷一斗

“you make me feel safe.”

itto nearly gave himself a concussion with the way his head instantly shot up and then proceeded to hit the large branch above him. you were simply aiding him in finding some onikabuto, what was that phrase for ?! he shook his head to shoo away the dizziness before stabilising himself on the tree beside him with a goofy grin, “well of course you’d feel safe around me ! look at me man, strong as an ox !!” he started flexing subconsciously out of nervousness, your affectionate laughter filling him with warmth.

he took a quick glance at you before trapping you in a sudden rib-crushing hug. “you are too adorable for your own good.” he smiles and squeezes you in tighter with a kiss.

“you’re one to talk, love.”

he feigns an insulted expression and points at himself with dramatics, “heyhey, i’m not adorable i’m cool, there’s a difference!”

CYNO — 赛诺

“you make me feel safe.”

cyno looks at you confused, his head tilting lightly to the side. “it is an honour to make you feel that way, i’m glad to be of service.. but what brought this on?” you hugged him quietly, he pulled you in closer yet he still craved some sort of verbal answer from you.

you thought for a bit before answering, “dunno, it just feels natural to say stuff like that with you, you know?” he absentmindedly smiled at you, kissing your forehead as a reply. “it feels natural saying puns around you.” he mumbles.

“i’ll take everything i just said back, cyno.” you flicked his nose, a small grin landing on his face as a result. “you love me but not my jokes? how disrespectful.”

KAVEH — 卡维

“you make me feel safe.”

“i don’t think i’ve done anything to receive such a grandiose sentiment from you, love.” he nonchalantly mutters as he continues on his recent sketch. your frown doesn’t escape his gaze and he can feel his heart clench with guilt at the thought of making you feel upset at the cause of his own insecurity.

you walk over to him and hug his back and he can’t help but lean in to your touch, “sorry — i appreciate your words, really, you’re too good to me.”

you nuzzle closer to him before mumbling, “next time you disregard my love i’m gonna bite you.” you chuckle and it makes him feel slightly less embarrassed for his lack of response. he turns around and places a gentle kiss onto your forehead and you hum happily against the contact.

“i love you so much.”

©STARYUEE do not copy, steal or repost <3

[skyward-floored]

Time discovers the plan

(Incredibles au)

The other movie scene I mentioned I’d post today :) This comes right before the first ever fic I wrote for this au, and it was very fun to write. Though I have the urge to rewrite that one now, I could do it so much better now that it’s been two years... eh, it is what it is. Please enjoy Time having a bad time.

ao3 link (coming soon)

————————————————————

Time’s mind whirled as he snuck his way into Dark’s base, slipping past some guards while knocking others out. Most didn’t put up too much of a fight, which left him with plenty of time to think as he crept around.

This was all so much worse then he ever could have imagined.

He’d nearly been killed just like poor Blazing Fist, all because of Dark. Time had thought this was just a government operation, but instead it... he didn’t even fully know what was going on. He was still wrapping his head around Dark being the obsessive kid who’d nearly gotten them both killed all those years ago because he didn’t know when to stop.

But right now, Time needed to figure out Dark’s plan. He had an advantage right now— Dark thought he was dead, and Blazing Fist had left a message burnt onto the wall, a word that must be important. Time kept that word in the forefront of his mind as he finally reached the room with the lava fall, determination speeding his steps.

He would figure out Dark’s plan. And he would stop it.

Time looked around for something to protect him from the lava flow, and settled on a large statue set in the corner. He drew on his powers and hefted it above him, then squared up with the falls, narrowing his eyes. He would have to be fast. The statue was solid rock, but even that wouldn’t last forever under a continuous assault of lava.

Time breathed in, then out.

Okay.

Here we go.

Time tensed in preparation to sprint, but right as he moved, a loud booming sound signaled the wall about to open.

Time lurched to a halt, the abrupt stop to his movement nearly making him drop the statue. He scrambled to regain his balance as it teetered on his shoulders, then stumbled backwards in order to get out of sight of the people emerging from the secret hall.

He made it to the corner just in time, and set the statue down as quietly as possible. It still made a loud noise, but the lava mostly covered it, enough that he wasn’t found out. Time remained quiet as a mouse as he heard Dark say something to Sheik, their footsteps tapping right past his hiding spot. Nothing they said was of particular note, and he watched them carefully as they hurried away.

Then they were gone, and Time bolted, running for the lava flow as it began to close in again.

He spared a thought towards Wild as he sprinted, the walls quickly closing in on him. The heat was nearly unbearable, but Time kept running, keeping his eyes fixed on the distant opening he could see.

The lava was so bright and hot it hurt his eyes, his supersuit the only thing keeping him from bursting into flames. Time’s skin burned as he ran for the exit, and he held back a shout as he threw himself forward, the walls slamming shut mere inches from his feet.

Time rolled as he landed, and slowly stood as he caught his breath from his sprint. The room he’d landed in was dark, but not impossible to see in due to the huge, dimly-lit screen at the end of a thin walkway.

A steep drop waited on either side of him, but Time crept forward without fear, his steps light and quick. He reached the screen in moments, and looked up at it, pondering. It seemed to be a normal keyboard below, and Time lightly pressed a button.

The screen brightened at the touch, displaying several lines, and one simple question glared at him.

PASSWORD?

Time’s heart sank. He had a feeling he would probably be able to guess the code given all the time in the world, but he knew he didn’t have long. The guards he’d knocked out wouldn’t stay that way forever, and Dark would likely return before long. There might be cameras on him right now.

Time tapped his gloved hands on the side of the console, mind sorting through dozens of options as precious seconds ticked by.

Then he remembered the word Blazing Fist had left for him.

Nocte.

Time carefully typed it in, and the computer admitted him with a soft chime, putting him on a menu with a couple of options. Time’s heart pounded as he looked at them all, and he zeroed in on the one in the middle labeled Supers.

He clicked on it with a mounting level of dread, and names began appearing, superhero names, along with information and pictures of them and the Guardian prototypes they’d fought.

And been killed by.

Time’s throat tightened as names breezed by, many he recognized from years of hero work. Some had put up a fight, lasting through multiple iterations of Guardians, but in the end, all of them had red words dashed across their photos, labeling them as dead from Dark’s project.

They just kept coming, more and more names flashing across the screen, some familiar, some not. But with every note that indicated the hero had died because of Dark’s insane project, the cavern in Time’s chest grew, and he bowed his head in grief.

So many dead...

His own name flashed by, the same red TERMINATED across his face, and a thought suddenly occurred to him. Time quickly typed in Malon’s hero name, anxiety rising, but relief swept over him at the near complete lack of information that showed up. Dark had no idea who she was, or where she was.

She’s safe.

He leaned back and let out a shaky sigh of relief, but then another thought surfaced in his mind, one almost too terrifying to check on.

But he had to know.

Time swallowed, then quickly typed in the name Crimson Loftwing. Dread crept over him like a spider, his hands shaking as the computer loaded, and Time forced himself to still them as he waited. Maybe it’s unconnected, maybe he’s—

The screen blinked, then a neat list appeared, detailing a concerning amount of information on Sky. A picture of him as Crimson Loftwing appeared moments later, the hero smiling brightly as he stood next to a statue of the legendary bird he took his hero name from.

The word TERMINATED appeared over him in bright red letters.

Time let out a broken-sounding breath, and ran a hand through his bangs.

Oh Sky...

Time had purposely buried whatever hope he’d had left that Sky was alive somewhere, the pain of holding on to it just too much to bear. But apparently there’d still been some left, even after more than a year of him missing.

And now it was gone.

Time closed his eyes and ignored how it felt like he’d been punched in the gut, pushing the new grief that was mixing with the old to the side. The confirmed loss of someone he considered as both a brother and son would have to wait until he’d stopped what was going on.

Sky I’m so sorry.

Time took a deep breath, and typed in Warriors’ hero name then, freezing at the sheer amount of information that came up. They knew his name, his real name, his powers, where he lived, who he was married to and even who Artemis was...

He’d been going for them next.

Time swallowed thickly, and realized that he was getting distracted. He pushed past his fear and grief and horribly distracting feelings, and went back to the main menu, clicking on the one labeled Project Nocte.

He scanned the notes inside, clicking past schematics and blueprints. A button caught his attention, and Time pressed it, watching worriedly as a slideshow began to play. It showed the Guardian robot fitting neatly into a rocket Dark had designed, then flying across the ocean and landing right in Hyrule’s capital. It began to wreak havoc on the unassuming city in the image, and then a countdown appeared, showing less than a day until the rocket was scheduled to launch.

Time breathed in sharply, eyes fixed on the number.

He had to stop that rocket.

No matter what.

He stepped away from the computer, mind whirling with information and urgency, then bolted back the way he came.

He’d taken all of three steps before the symbol on the front of his suit lit up, and let out a rapid stream of beeps.

Time looked at it in confused shock, and an alarm blared, harsh lights blinding him as they turned on. The blaring tone ground into his ears, and Time didn’t even have a moment to figure out what exactly had just happened.

The whizz of something being shot rang out over the alarm, and Time jerked his head up to see small cannons shooting black orbs towards him, ones that stuck to the ground and made an odd fizzing sound.

One hit his hand, and when Time tried to shake it off, it only grew, in both size and weight.

Time to go.

Time ran, dodging the projectiles as much as he could. The whole wall was lined with cannons though, shooting almost endless streams of the black blobs. Several hit Time’s arms and legs, one even hitting his shoulder right next to his face, but he kept going, pushing himself as hard as he could.

Even when he fell to his knees, weighed down by the growing blobs that just kept coming, he attempted to crawl forward, refusing to quit.

He gasped as one began to cover his face, dragging himself forward as he slowed even further. He didn’t know what would happen when it covered his mouth, but he knew he was about to find out. His mind began to grow fuzzy as he crawled, and he had the panicked realization that he was somehow being drugged by the material spreading over him.

No! Not like this! he thought, gasping as he was dragged to the ground, the weight finally too much. Dark can’t win, he can’t, I have to stop this, for Blazing Fist, for Sky—

His body was almost entirely covered now, and Time let out one last desperate and frustrated cry before his face was covered, catching sight of a blurry figure approaching him.

Then he knew nothing.

[vagabond-umlaut]

tick tock tick!

one's a fool, the other's a fool.

once a fool, always a fool.

you never imagined being thrown over the known limits of time and space, then back again, is what will make you grasp these two simple little facts — you don't appear to be very ruffled, though.

▸ gojo satoru x fem!reader; 2.8k wc; time travel; light-hearted banter and fluff; sassy-yet-concerned-bestie!student-shoko; living-in-denial!student-reader; pining-in-the-background!student-satoru; the grown-up reader's enjoying her time in the past but she really wants to return to her time; suggestive themes in the very end [it's implied & between grown-up reader and grown-up satoru back in the present]

▸ belongs to series we're the summer to our winter rain but you can read this as a stand-alone if you wanna!

▸ the element of time travel's been borrowed from the amazing oneshot 'time travel' by @seeingivy. tysm rc!!!! i love your works!!!! ❤️❤️

▸ the gif, divider and characters used ain't mine. please don't plagiarize, translate or repost this. enjoy reading! ❤️

idiocy – same as common cold; worse than common cold – is contagious. 

weird take, isn’t it, for a person such as you on a day such as today? 

gray skies. strong winds. light drizzles.  

perfect day, really – a much desired reprieve from the sweltering tokyo summers, you muse – one you would have been content in whiling away wrapped in your blanket with a novel and a savoury snack. or perhaps, you would have gone on a drive through the damp streets of the city. or, better yet, you would have taken a nice long nap in the comfort of your home– 

–the keywords in each being ‘would have’.  

’cause you do not do either of these – rather, you cannot.  

in a peach classroom you know was painted yellow last autumn, before a phone you recollect being broken in a mission last decade, looking at a face with a hairstyle you haven’t seen the likes of since five years ago – any and every plan you might’ve had go straight out your mind into the courtyard outside.  

cigarette dangling from fingers, shoko blinks back at you. you offer a tentative smile.  

“hey, shoko! long time, no see, eh?” 

the girl lets out a long exhale of smoke and asks, “is this real or am i finally hallucinating from sleep deprivation?” 

“the former, i’m afraid,” you say softly, then frown. “wait a sec–” 

“won’t wait,” cutting you off, she huffs a faint chuckle. you give an unimpressed look at her nonchalant attitude, only to see it bounce right off her. not that you’re very surprised, you suppose. “i’ve had enough mothering from the present-you; any more treating me as a kid and i swear i’m going berserk.” 

your lips dip into a faux-pout. 

“aw, that would be a pity. the only healer we have, lost to the darkness. the society would be in shambles.” 

that earns another chuckle from shoko and she reclines in her seat, eyes watching your features closely. unnerving, yes; yet you let her. it isn’t every day one meets the adult version of their kouhai, after all. [that and the fact you’ve always been rather fond of this friend of yours – both in your teens and twenties – something you reckon is too known to be voiced always.] 

one whole minute elapses before the silent examination ends. you heave an inward sigh of relief, which grows into fatigue at the next question. a mere monosyllable but enough to make you want to hit your head against the window.  

“how?” 

you wonder what answer must you give to your former senpai.  

should you say it was a mishap on a mission which led you here?  

nah, too unlikely to occur for someone as warily careful as you.  

from an encounter with a cursed item you knew nothing of? 

the truth, of course, but with a pinch of salt here and a pinch of pepper there.  

you settle on serving shoko the blandest form of the truth ever.  

placing a dilapidated pocket sundial on the desk, you reply, “i came across this in the storeroom today while deep cleaning the house. now, i knew; this was soaked in cursed energy; besides, it looked too simple to be a weak cursed object. but–” 

“your curiosity overpowered your common sense, and you fussed with it and ended up here,” the girl finishes for you. a lame nod paired with an embarrassed smile is the only response you manage. she shoots an unimpressed face back. “you’ve always been the smart one... since when did you become an idiot?” 

“years of being with an idiot–”  

“ieiri-senpai – what the fuck!? who the hell are you??” 

the familiar screech, you never knew was so raucous until now [suguru was right], snaps your explanation in two and you cast a sideways glance to see the exact image you were expecting.  

messy hair, black sunglasses [not yours], floral print dress and sneakers – accompanied by a gobsmacked expression and two wide eyes peeking from behind the shades – the younger you stays rooted to her spot in the doorway. you wave at her weakly. “kind of shocking, right?” 

“i’m not dreaming, am i?” the target of your question breathes out. you shake your head. “no. i’m real and i’m here.” 

the statement drains bits of incredulity from her form and you watch her slowly enter the class and take the seat next to yours. a frown makes its way onto her lips. 

“how? and, more importantly, why?” 

a short chuckle leaves you.  

this is the age when you were the most into the genre of science fiction of everything... the poor student you must be thinking you’re here to warn her of an event in the future or something of the sorts. you debate for a while on if you should play with her concerns or not – then decide against it. she looks too innocent to be teased so cruelly; besides, you never had the slightest of masochistic tendencies.  

you smile at her, reassuringly. “how... i grew too curious for my good and ended up fiddling with something i should’ve handled more carefully – hey, don’t touch it,” you slap her hand away from the sundial; she gives you a sheepish grin. you resume with a huff, “and as to why... i’ve no clue. i really wanna go back home and start cleaning again.” 

your younger version wrinkles her nose. “ew, why’re you cleaning? just hire some help to do all that work, dummy.” 

you resist the urge to pinch the bridge of your nose. you really did hate doing household chores, hm? 

“i do have help hired, but sometimes, you really wanna care for your home on your own, y’know? besides...” a tinge of loving exasperation sneaks into your voice. “there are only so many who have the patience to search for candy wrappers in every nook and corner of the– oh, shit. i mustn’t spoil the future for y’all.” 

a cheshire cat grin and a confused little frown meet the tense smile you aim at your two companions. shoko drawls, “candy wrappers, huh? how’s living with satoru treating you? must be nice, living with the love of your life.” 

“you’ll be the best one to know, senpai, what with barely staying in your rooms whenever iori-senpai's here,” the other girl cuts in with a sharp smile, which becomes soothing when she turns to you. “don’t you let those words get to you; these people are living in a fantasy world of their own, thinking every kind of godforsaken nonsense.” then tapers off, chuckling, when you watch her catch your knowing grin. “ah, sorry. i forgot you’re my future self; you’ll obviously know this.” 

“i do,” saying so, you look at shoko. “’toru and i can be roommates too, you know?” 

the girl makes no attempt to conceal the eye-roll, nor the scoff. “yeah, but are you? the two of you are literally in love with each other.” 

“senpai...” the younger you whines, visibly affronted and annoyed, only to be interrupted by an obnoxious music before she can barely begin her rant. the older girl silently asks you to watch her kouhai – a request you fulfil with an amusement, the latter growing increasingly difficult to stow away with every moment you observe your glowing younger self. 

yes, that’s right.  

glowing.  

from when she accepts the call and places the phone next to her ear, to when she hollers out a cheery “rise and shine, ’toru! you’re late!”, to when she exchanges animated dialogues, giggling, with the boy at the other end, to when she cuts the call and returns her focus to shoko and you, a wide grin blooming on her lips even while she apologizes for having to cut the meeting short — glowing is the only adjective, you think, will suit the teenaged-you.  

you brush her apology away with a grin of your own. “it’s okay, go enjoy your day-off with your ’toru. a few more years and you’ll find such relaxing days hard to come by.” 

“oh?” the girl pauses, grin melting away in disappointment – however, before you can even attempt to rectify or explain your statement, hauling her by the arm, shoko drags her away.  

“off you go, lover girl,” she scowls, shoving her out into the hallways, “you’ve a date waiting; you ought to know better than to mope now.” 

“this isn’t a date! and i ain’t moping!” comes the incredulous exclamation within an instant, soon followed by the reappearance of the younger you in the doorway, showing something between an exuberant beam and a worried frown as she inquires, “you wouldn’t call this a date, would you?” 

a feeling, strangely similar to sympathy, creeps into your heart.  

you hum, “you are going to the new chinese restaurant in roppongi, aren’t you?” 

a nod.  

shoko raises an eyebrow behind her, as if meaning to query you still remembering details from so long ago. the corner of your mouth lifts. “it’s the dress, ieiri. i seldom wore it so obviously i’ll remember when i did,” you explain, then return your focus to the other girl. she returns your gaze, anticipation brimming in hers. you shake your head. 

“i wouldn’t call today’s meeting a date.” 

“told ya, senpai!” the teenaged-you exclaims, and with that and a salute in your direction, jogs down the corridor, a listless tune resonating within its ancient walls as she goes humming. shoko shoots a particularly scheming look your way. “you said you wouldn’t call today’s meeting a date, so are there other meetings...” 

a casual shrug is what you decide to counter her implications with. “maybe. maybe not. i’m not supposed to tell you.” 

“perhaps, you aren’t,” the girl responds, an odd softness developing in her tone. you bite back whatever words you were planning on telling – a soft yet serious shoko is a blue moon, one you know well enough to not take not-seriously.  

ignoring the sharp spike in cursed energy from the sundial, you train your senses on the young doctor-to-be standing before you and her solemn countenance as she regards you.  

she offers a careful smile.  

“perhaps, i too am not supposed to tell you this, but satoru cares for you. very much. and i know you too do. as much as him. but the two of you are simply shit at expressing it. your oblivious ass, more than that lovesick fool.” a chuckle escapes you at this statement – more at its exasperated tone than its words. smile growing freer, she continues, “it isn’t really funny, i’m telling you. it’s more painfully tiring than anything else for us, watching the two of you play this game since forever – something i’ve said to that blindfolded bastard more times than i can count and something i’ve implied to you repeatedly as well. but every word i might’ve said has bounced right off gojo’s thick skin and off your thick skull. however, now–” 

the girl stills and you glance to your side to find the object shining. the clock seems to have begun ticking, huh? you choose to finish your friend’s unfinished sentence.  

“however, now, seeing the older and more matured me, you decided to try one last time, didn’t you? thinking this might as well be the last chance to pop my bubble of ignorance and free ’toru from the pain of pining, yeah?”  

shoko nods slowly.  

plucking the sundial from the desk, you give her a smile – one, you hope, shows the true depth of gratitude you feel towards her. watching the way she returns your expression, you think it does. “satoru and i always count you to be one of our dearest friends,” you say, “thank you for always looking out for us, shoko. and as for our alleged feelings for one another...”  

you toss her a wink.  

“you never lose a bet you place on us.” 

shoko’s jaw dropping to the floor is the last thing you see before the classroom melts into a swirl of colours, into the final beige wallpaper of the storeroom. the sundial sits innocently in the hollow of your palm – a funny little antique you feel less sorry now for coming across now. returning it to the open box lying on the floor beside you, you stuff the box back into the cabinet and rise, brushing dust off your trousers.  

your flat desperately needs a deep-clean – and you’ve got to finish it in the shortest time possible.  

’cause there’s an intriguing story, after all, waiting to be narrated by you to your ‘roommate’ once the latter’s back from work.  

bonus: 

a shocked gasp rings within the steam-filled confines of your bathroom. you giggle.  

“don’t act so offended, ’toru! i had to say something to avoid awkward questions.” 

“how can you be so okay with it, sweets?” the 6' 3" man whines, wrapping his soap-lathered arms round your midsection and dropping his head to rest it against yours. you lean back into him, eyes closing in comfort whilst you listen to him complain, “first of all, you didn’t wear your ring–”  

“i thought we were over it, ’toru. i didn’t want the ring to get dirty or lost while cleaning.” 

a tiny tsk sounds while your left hand is raised and a small kiss is planted on the gold. your heart goes swooning.  

satoru’s grumbles continue, undeterred, “next, you blame poor innocent me for your error – even going as far as to refer to me as an idiot – that’s still okay, i guess. i’m willing to forgive. but to call me your roommate – that’s simply unforgivable, darling.” 

you let out a tiny hum. eyes opening, you turn to kiss the downturned corner of his lips. it lifts a bit. “i know, baby. i know,” you attempt to appease him, “i shouldn’t have called you my roommate when you’re someone so much more than that.” 

blue eyes peering down at you reflect the emotions coursing within yourself now.  

“and what might that be?” he asks in a low whisper. 

brushing the wet strands of hair away from his face, you whisper back, “my ex- fiancé. you’re my darling ex- fiancé. i should have called you that in front of them, right?” 

your eyes blink a mere two times before a set of sharp teeth digs into your neck, pulling a shocked yelp from you, soon followed by the impression of a smug smirk onto your skin. the bath suddenly feels awfully warm – a sensation which intensifies with every little lick and bite pressed down the side of your throat and into your bare shoulder – before satoru lifts his head and a warm puff of breath hits the shell of your ear.  

“that isn’t something you must call me, wife. you’ve made me very, very upset.” 

“and what might i do to make up for it?” you inquire, though the words tumble out your mouth rather shakily – thanks to the shivers your husband’s wandering hands elicit, rough with callouses yet so gentle with the manner caress you.  

“what might you?” gently swivelling your head with a light grasp on your chin, he brushes a thumb along your lower lip – gaze dark and ravenous, you note absently, as it darts over your face. your eyes flutter close at the feeling. “you can let me have a taste of my favourite snack, perhaps, you–” 

“you don’t mean the kikufuku mochi, do you?” moving your face away, you ask, annoyed and worried — does satoru not know how much distressing his addiction to sweets is to you?  

hold on you slackening slightly, your husband blinks at you. 

you glower back. “you can be mad at me for an eternity if you want, satoru. but you aren’t getting another morsel of a sweet dish. you’ve already eat–” 

“what makes you think i was talking of mochis, sweet cheeks?” the stumped question interrupts your rant. you let out an angry exhale. “oh, i don’t know. maybe it was you speaking of your favourite snack, satoru.” 

“and you think kikufuku mochis are my favourite?” 

you raise a brow in silent challenge.  

dragging you closer to himself, your husband chortles. 

“you think my idiocy is contagious, don’t you? well, breaking news, mrs. gojo, your obliviousness is incurable.”  

the furrow between your brows deepens, however, before you can say or ask anything, a pair of pink lips descend upon yours, capturing it in a tantalizingly slow motion – which, needless to say, renders every thought of yours into a mushy white noise.  

a turn of events, you reckon, you aren’t very upset with.  

you can always bring up the topic, satoru’s trying to evade, tomorrow. 

[you don’t, though. 

it is very late the next morning when you finally realize, lips swollen and body sore, the meaning of your husband’s statement — and a loud groan falls past you into the hush of your shared bedroom. a husky laugh muffles itself into your hair. 

your obliviousness really is incurable... isn’t it?] 

▸ masterlist

[vpyre]

Can You Feel Me Longing for You (forever)

A gn!Reader/Copia smut fic

Tags:

Read on AO3

(Italian translations at the end)

You’re a new member of the satanic congregation, and Copia catches your eye the very second you join up. He is so sweet to you, and you find yourself immediately endeared by his soft and dorky disposition. And he clearly likes you too. Being subtle is NOT his strong suit, no matter how hard he tries. The unfortunate thing is that he’s so busy with tour prep, he barely has time for the brief conversations you two manage to have every day after rituals. That’s not for his lack of trying, however. He’s got it BAD for you, and he thinks you don’t know.

Eventually, you decide to take matters into your own hands, and you make your move in one of the few places he can’t be easily dragged away from: the confessional booth.

The dark of the confessional booth was a heavy and close thing; the thick velvet curtain muffled sounds both inside and out, and the solid wood walls amplified the rustle of every move, the huff of every breath. It was very stuffy. Copia sat on the bench, fidgeting with the hem of his robes as he waited for the sounds of movement in the other compartment to settle. He would be lying if he said he wasn't at least a little excited that it was you on the other side of that grate. He’d only had a few in-depth conversations with you, but they’d always been very pleasant and left him wishing for more. Unfortunately, it was ridiculously busy due to the upcoming tour, so the opportunities for more than simple, casual conversation were few and far between, no matter how much he wanted to see you. And he wanted it pretty badly.

In the few months since you’d joined the clergy, you’d managed to pique his interest in a way that no one else ever had. The way you watched him from the congregation during rituals made him feel a little weak in the knees and warm in the face; something about your eyes kept him hopelessly transfixed whenever he looked at you. He couldn’t help but subtly search for you in crowds, keep an eye out for you in the halls and courtyards of the ministry, watching through windows, hoping to catch a glimpse of you. At the same time, he hardly dared to entertain any overtly lustful thoughts; he was sure you didn’t feel the same way. Perhaps it was for the best that he hardly ever got to actually spend time with you. Why would someone like you be interested in a silly old man like him?

A sigh from the other compartment dragged his attention back to the here and now.

“Forgive me, Papa, for I fear I might have sinned.”

He couldn’t help but quietly giggle a bit at the amount of concern in your tone. It was a little silly to be so worried about something like that, but he reminded himself that you were still somewhat new to all this.

“Well, eh, sinning is sorta what we’re all about, y’know? This is a satanic church after all.”

“Yeah, I figured that might be the case. I’m just not sure if what I’ve been thinking is an exception or not. I don’t know what’s considered acceptable and what’s crossing the line just yet.”

He heard the kneeling bench creak as you shifted uncertainly.

“I’m sure it can’t be that bad, eh? Especially if you are only thinking it. Do you wanna tell me what it is you’re thinking about? I can try to, uh, help you figure it all out. No pressure, of course, though, mio caro.”

His tone was bright and understanding; this was something he could do for you, a small way he could make your day better (eager to please as always). You shifted again, the groaning complaint of the old wood sharp in the dull silence.

“I’ve been having… lustful thoughts about someone, Papa. Worse than I’ve ever had them before.”

Ah. His smile dropped, and a little pang of disappointment needled at his heart. So it was confirmed; you had your eye on someone, and it was almost certainly not him. He gave himself a little mental shake. He would have time to be sad later; for now, he wanted to help you as best he could.

“You know lust is encouraged here, caro! You are aware of how regularly we hold orgies, right?”

He heard you huff a short, dry laugh. “I guess it is kinda dumb to be this worried. I’m just not really sure how to proceed, or if I even should. I think about him constantly, but the circumstances aren’t the most normal either; he just feels so… off-limits.”

There was a shift in your tone that caught his attention, though he couldn’t quite parse it. It was hesitant, almost secretive. Cagey? But it would be silly to be secretive in a confessional of all places. Eh. Probably just nervous.

“Nobody here is off limits as long as you ask,” he quipped with a small chuckle. “What is it that makes him feel so, ehm, out of reach? Do you not get to talk with each other much?

“That is actually one of the problems, yes.” Another moment of hesitation, then you continued, “…But the main reason is that he’s in a much higher standing. And he’s a good deal older to boot.”

Oh. For the first time since he’d met you, he felt the ghost of a chance waver into being. He almost didn’t want to think any further in case he was wrong yet again. Too many times had he misread people’s feelings for him and gotten turned down; he didn’t trust his own judgment when it came to stuff like that anymore. It could just be a cardinale for all he knew. But maybe… maybe since this was confessional, he could weasel a few more details out of you just to be sure.

Cautious hope bloomed in his chest; so cautious he couldn’t even let himself smile for fear it would be wiped off his face in the next few minutes. Tentatively, he started probing.

“Oh. Uh… is he, eh, one of the leaders for this branch, or one of the new guys somewhere else? I know you said you don’t get to talk to him much. Is that why?”

“No, he’s…” you sighed, “he’s here. At this one. He just seems to be busy all the time. I dunno. Maybe it’s for the best that I don’t get to see him much; the thoughts I have about him don’t exactly honor the fact that he technically has authority over me and everyone else here.”

Copia felt his cheeks warm a bit, unable to keep from imagining just what kind of thoughts you were having about this elusive someone; this person who might be him. With every word out of your mouth, it got harder and harder to ignore his wishful thinking. And hey, what would be the harm in letting himself believe, just for the time being, that you wanted him? That you thought about him constantly; maybe even touched yourself to the thought of him being at your mercy. The very idea of being subject to your control made him slightly woozy, heat beginning to bloom between his legs. Satanas below, he was beginning to regret missing so many lust rituals over the last couple of months. He was far more pent-up than he was used to. Cazzo—this damn tour was going to be the end of him, and it hadn’t even started yet!

Realizing he’d been quiet for a little too long, he stuttered out, “Well, uh… some people are- are into that sorta thing, y’know? Especially here. Y’know. Where we have sex rituals. And stuff.”

“Yeah, but has anyone ever put the papa on a leash?”

His breath caught in his throat, and he almost choked, making a weird little strangled noise he hoped was passable as a laugh. You were clearly joking, but that mental image transcended tone and burned bright in his mind—almost as bright as his cheeks must be by now. Resisting the urge to hide his face in his hands (no one can even see you right now, idiota!), he tittered out a nervous little laugh and flapped his hands, pointedly ignoring the telltale twitch from between his legs.

“I- I dunno, but, uh, I wouldn’t be surprised. My predecessor had a favorite ghoul, and they seemed like the types to do that sort of thing. And, you know, being Papa doesn’t mean that one always wants to be in charge. It’s a hard job! Sometimes I- eh… he might want to… maybe let go of everything sometimes. I’m sure that goes for lower leadership too!”

“So you’re saying that even one as exalted as Papa might still want someone to treat them like they’re a helpless little thing? Or to order them around and use them?” You asked, a barely perceptible edge darkening your tone.

Copia completely missed it. He was too busy kicking himself once again for letting himself get too pent-up as he struggled to combat his arousal and the beginnings of a bulge in his pants. For Satan’s sake, you should be much harder to rile up! You are Papa! You lead sex rituals! But he just couldn’t help it. He’d been longing for you almost since the day he met you, and he was utterly desperate. Desperate and horny and hopelessly enamored with you.

“Y- yes- I mean- it’s possible for sure. You never know until you ask, eh?”

He could have sworn he heard a very quiet chuckle as he spoke. Cazzo. His embarrassment only added fuel to the fire simmering under his skin, and he squeezed his thighs together to keep his leg from bouncing anxiously, only to immediately regret it when it made the throbbing arousal between them even worse. He was well and truly fucked.

“Are you doing alright, Papa?” you asked. There was a strange, unidentifiable emotion in your voice as you continued, “You sound a little… distracted. Do you need something?”

He struggled to find the words to answer you as he hurriedly stammered, “No, no! Non preoccuparti, sto bene. Just, um, giving this all some thought! And, eh… speaking of which, what exactly have you been thinking about? I’m a little curious.”

He felt a brief flash of anxiety. What if he was pushing his luck? What if you noticed he was all but getting off on this? But his misgivings were suffocated by his desperation. If this was to be the closest thing to you fucking him he would ever get, he was gonna take that chance.

“Oh, I don’t know… Are you sure you want to hear about all the things I want to do to him? I don’t want to get too personal if this isn’t the place for it. And you sound a little uncomfortable, Papa. I would never want to make you uncomfortable.”

Your voice was low and intimate, and you spoke slowly; something about it sounded almost teasing. Your tone on top of everything else made him so dizzy with need, he couldn’t help but inch his hand towards the laces on the front of his pants as his cock twitched with another downward surge of blood. He was sure the way you sounded was the fault of his current headspace, but he wasn’t going to complain about a little fantasizing.

“ Cazzo, tesoro, ” he breathed, almost silently.

“What was that, Papa? Are you okay?”

Shit. Apparently, not silently enough.

“Yes, caro,” he said breathlessly. “Mi dispiace. Please continue. I want to know.”

His hands trembled ever so slightly as he began to loosen the laces. Heat pulsed through him in dizzying waves.

“As you wish, Papa,” you purred. You must’ve leaned closer to the grate because your voice sounded much closer when you continued, “I think one of the things I fantasize the most about is making him cry. Whether from pleasure or pain, praise or humiliation, it’s all just as well. I want to treat him like he’s the sweetest little pet and fuck him nice and slow, but also wreck him like a slut until he’s sobbing and trying to crawl away.”

Copia bit down on his gloved knuckles to stifle a pitiful whine as a deluge of white-hot arousal engulfed him. He wanted that. He wanted it so bad. And your voice… oh, Satanas, your voice… Sliding his other hand down his loosened pants, he palmed at his bulge through his boxers with slow, purposeful squeezes. He fought the urge to rock into his own touch for fear of the creaky bench, but in the long run, it was a fight he had little hope of winning.

“I want to tell him he’s mine and fuck him until it’s the only thought in his head. I want to make his paint run everywhere from how hard he’s sobbing. My stupid whore, good for nothing else but taking my strap and looking pretty while he does it.”

He strained against the groan building in his throat, teeth digging into leather-clad fingers. Cazzo, he was already leaking. He fumbled with his pants, pulled himself out of his boxers, and continued his slow, drawn-out stroking; head tipped back and mouth slack, slicking the leather of his glove with precum. Despite being unseen and unheard, he still felt pangs of shame at the thought of possibly finishing so quickly. He wasn’t close yet, but he knew it couldn’t be long with how out of his mind with need he was. Once again, his shame went straight to his dick; and this time, he wasn’t able to muffle his whimper. It was a soft, shaky thing; tremulous and pathetic. He bit his lip and covered his mouth.

“And of course,” you murmured with a bit of a laugh, “I want to put him on a leash. Papa himself, on his knees before me, leashed and collared like the sweetest little pet. What a pretty picture he’d make.”

Oh, fuck, you were talking about him. Had been talking about him the whole time. Oh, fuck. With no point in even trying to hide it now, Copia gasped and gave himself over to pleasure.

“Fuck tesoro!” He groaned, groping desperately at his weeping, flushed cock. His hips rocked into his fist, stuttering and jerking as he felt his self-control slip from his grasp. “Fuck me! Per favore!”

“Oh, sweet boy, I would love nothing more. Just gotta wait til I’m done confessing, amorino. Then maybe I’ll let you hump my boot~”

He didn’t know where you picked up an Italian phrase like that, but he wanted more. He needed to hear more sweet words, more of the way your voice sounded when you spoke his language. He shuddered and twitched, mewled and gasped as ripples of pleasure pulsed along every nerve. He wasn’t going to last much longer.

“Please! Caro, please! Cazzo! I need you! Oh fuck-”

His cries were broken and fraught, his voice strained and cracking. He gripped the edge of the bench; fingers digging in, knuckles white as he fucked his fist with abandon, moans and curses and pretty, pretty pleas falling from his lips in an obscene, pathetic stream.

“Oh, baby, it’s okay! You’re doing so well! Go ahead and cum for me, sweetheart.“

Short, high-pitched whimpers and gasps tumbled from his mouth as he was overwhelmed by devastating ecstasy, squirming and thrusting wildly. His arm burned with exertion, and his mind went blank, drowning in pleasure.

“Ah- Fuck! Fuck! Tesoro, io- sto per venire!” He cried, tremulous and plaintive, voice breaking pitifully. “Ah-!”

He came with a soft wail, hips jerking and spasming, eyes rolling back, cum spilling from his twitching cock with each pulsing wave of his orgasm. Stars blinked at the edges of his vision, and he shook with pleasure, his small, shuddering moans filling the stuffy air.

“Such a good boy,” you crooned. “You did so well, ragazzino.”

His gently parted lips trembled, breathing little gasps as he stroked himself through his climax until he was sated. He slumped back against the wall and just sat there for a moment, breathing hard, boneless and satisfied and coming to his senses faster than he wanted to.

Oh no.

“Merda! Shit. I’m so sorry, mio caro; I shouldn’t have done that. I should’ve asked if it was okay. I- I just got caught up in the moment and I couldn’t help it and I-“

“Shh shh shh, it’s alright, Papa. It’s my fault; I was trying to work you up on purpose. You didn’t do anything I didn’t want you to do. I came to confessional so I could finally make a move on you without interruption. Seems like it worked,” you chuckled. “But seriously. It’s alright. I promise. Are you okay?”

He nodded, but realized you couldn’t see him, so he said, “Yeah, I’m okay. Better than okay, actually. That was… eh… the best it’s felt in a long time.” He felt contentedness tugging at his lips, and he let it grow until he was smiling wide, soft and blissful.

“I’m more than happy to keep up the good work, if that’s something you’d like.” Your words were playful, but he picked up on the undercurrent of uncertainty flowing just beneath.

Oh. They really like me. They want to keep seeing me.

Copia felt a hint of a blush bloom on his cheeks. His smile widened into a joyful grin, and he murmured, “I’d like that. I’d like that a lot.”

———————————

A ghoul watched as his papa staggered out of the confessional with cum on his robes and a doe-eyed stare, hair a mess and paint slightly smudged. You followed him out and gave him a devious look and a teasing grin before grabbing the front of his robes and dragging him in the direction of his quarters. The ghoul rolled its eyes and continued stacking books.

[vitaminseetarot]

New Moon PAC: What Seed Are You Sowing? 🌑🌱🌷

The New Moon is upon us, and it's time for us to plant new intentions for the next coming cycle. The sun is soon changing over into Virgo to tidy up summer's loose ends. Corn is being reaped. Yard sales abound. A new school year is approaching for many students. This is a time when things settle into the average and ordinary, at least until the full blue moon in Pisces is here, which will balance our cerebral productivity out with time for sensitive introspection.

This simple PAC will give you hints as to what seed you may already be sowing for your next lunar harvest, as well as suggestions on how to balance the "soil" it's planted in. Pick any one of the three produce cards from the Garden Variety oracle deck below and I'll see you at your reading!

(divider provided by @saradika)

Pile 1:

Onion (Complexity); Gemini Rising (Socialize); 37 Thistle (Dawn); Octopus; 4 Pentacles, 10 Cups, 8 Swords

"I sow deep, stable, healthy social connections. I must be confrontational instead of evasive."

Pile 1, I can see that your intention for this new moon is very focused on reconciling an old attitude involving new social contacts. Perhaps your manifestation involves parties, study groups, finding like-minded people online to chat with? In any case, you're not just seeking friends for the sake of having some random people to hang out with every now and then (although those kind of fair-weather friends can be just as great, it's a matter of being honest about it). You're currently seeking a kind of friendship of a deeper level. The person with whom you can have the "My Dinner With André" kind of conversations, long hours spent over cups of coffee. I'm even wistfully thinking about the kind of chance encounters you have with somebody interesting at a library, where there's a thrill to having intense conversations in whispers, or having somber debates in otherwise casual settings like cafés. It's a dreamy social encounter.

On the other hand, though, it seems like your mindset of socializing is fraught with the trappings of materialism and social niceties. Many people out there don't like that so many mornings begin with exchanges like "how are you?" or "weather's lookin' gray, eh?" or "I heard the LOL stocks are up this fiscal quarter". But that's how our system is structured right now. It takes a lot of effort and courage to bend beyond identifying with something other than work and safe topics in order to find social connection these days. Don't blame or kick yourself for struggling with this. It gets trickier the older we get.

Thistle is asking you to not avoid confrontation when it comes to meeting other people who might end up becoming a friend someday. No, I'm not talking about being ready for fistfights at any given chance. Be willing to be honest about the things with which you wish to connect with people. Don't assume you always have to pick the road of avoiding difficult topics to bond over simple things instead, like cars for example. The kind of friends you can welcome into your life will be the kind of people who want to hear what you have to say on the matters you care about AND like cars. You can be secure in knowing they share the same values as you. The best kind of friends will lend out an ear, a hand, or a heart to you when you need one, and judging by the energy in your cards, you have what's in you to lend to your future friends in the same way.

Octopus is also here to remind you about emotional boundaries, that of your own and others. It's a silent and sensitive animal of water because what it teaches almost goes without saying. But it still wants to give you a reminder. Maintaining them is important as well as respecting that of others. If someone respectfully comes to you to resolve a difficult conversation, or asking to avoid discussing something for personal reasons, it is honoring their space to respect that request, and vise versa.

Pile 2:

Strawberry (Affection); Taurus Moon (Relax); 17 Bluebell (Dusk); Crocodile; XIV Temperance, 9 Pentacles Rx, 10 Wands

"I sow quality time to relax in between my busy schedule. I must be kind to myself and allow myself this space."

Pile 2, maybe you're just looking for a spa day? I don't think just one, either. You seem like a sweet and caring person who's stretched themselves to the max here. All the worse when it seems like there's no time to really indulge in what you love most. Your reading is crystal. You're sowing the chance to truly, deeply, madly lay back and indulge. Not even indulge like eating a bunch of sweets or watching silly sitcoms (trying to compare my Taurus sun to Taurus moon here, the energies are quite different!). Just indulge as in "laying in one place while hearing birds chirp for hours". And it really seems depressing that it's even being thought about as an indulgence here. Simply laying back and enjoying nature is… human.

Perhaps, however, you're in the thick of finishing some big project before a deadline. The 10 of wands is carrying a lot, but with this card it's hinted that this carrying is completely necessary. If it's not a project, it's just something you can't immediately get away from in order to find this quiet time, like a crying baby or an important class in school. Maybe it's something where you feel like you have to do it all on your own. And maybe it's not the wisest choice to drop everything at the slightest chance and quit, but you've been feeling the urge to do so. What to do when you must push through and don't know when relief will arrive?

You're sowing opportunities for help to reach out to you, so that you may find the needed time to sit back and rest for a while. You must pace yourself with what you're doing and avoid burn out. To do this, you have to find a way to be kinder to yourself and know when enough is finally enough. Taking a break is not the same as giving up, or evading work. It's putting yourself in the position to be ready to tackle the next big thing. And if only this world we live in could calmly accept that we were not meant to work like robotic superheroes, and be more mindful of the body's cycles! Remember that you deserve to have time to rest and enjoy your life!

You can start with baby steps. Take five minutes a day to find a quiet place to meditate or simply close your eyes and breathe. Find new ways to add "pause" moments in your day where you stop to notice a bird, or stare out into the distance to comb out unneeded frenetic thoughts. Once you find these moments to center yourself, it gets easier over time to pace your energy throughout the day. Also don't be afraid of asking for guidance or for someone to come help. To use my life as a quick example, I'm often nervous to ask others to help me watch my pets while I'm away from home, but the reward for asking is huge. It beats being stuck at home with neverending duties for sure! In a weird way, your help may also personally benefit by aiding you. Remind yourself that there is more help abundant out there than you may first think.

Pile 3:

Zucchini (Versatility); Aries Sun (Assert); 24 Basil (Dawn); Turtle; 6 Pentacles, IX Hermit, Knight of Swords

"I sow a healthy exchange of generosity and mutual support. I must honor both my assertiveness and amicability to move ahead."

Yo pile 3, you should know that twice when I shuffled the tarot cards, a whole stack of cards flipped out of the deck at once. I picked out the first cards I saw, the 6 of pentacles and knight of swords, but I kept thinking "whoah there! Take it easy, I don't need all these cards for the whole story." My goodness, you must be in the mood to talk about something. What's got you all riled up? Your cards are like a whirlwind and I have to stop, takes breaks, and rewrite these words in order to collect my thoughts. You must have a lot going on all at once. Let me try to synthesize this energy as much as I can.

One of the first things I noticed about your pile were the orange stripes. They're featured on the Aries cat, Basil, and Turtle. I'm hearing something about "earning your stripes". You're sowing the chance to boldly head out and elevate yourself by embarking on the next chapter in your life. This could involve actual moving, or a major structural shift in how you work and relate. You are seeking a sense of true independence, and traveling seems to be the keystone energy that motivates that feeling. You want to charge ahead without looking back. The 6 of pentacles contains a secret though: none of us on planet Earth are truly independent of one another. We all contribute to each other's time and resource in some way. The way for us to create that sense of independence is by acknowledging that we do it by giving it back again and again.

You are being advised to stand up for yourself, and standing on your own two feet is great, but be open to receive help that other people may offer you, as much as you would do the same. There may be a person in your life, like a colleague, who can offer you advice on how to navigate your situation before you dive in. This could be a position where you're able to mutually help each other out with the same goal. Don't think you have to go it alone. Being adaptable to input could yield more opportunities for you to eventually strike it out on your own. It's a bit of a paradox here, but people are always going to like working with someone who's able to listen and speak out with equal fervor. The idea that true leaders can ignore what other people have to say has resulted in … not so great events in the past. The best leaders are the humble ones who don't constantly shut themselves away in an ivory tower but instead step out and offer help in times of need.

Find ways to ground yourself. It's not the same as settling for less. Your cards make me think of that one random quotememething that gets repeated everywhere despite me not remembering where it's from: It's saying, "Let's just, like, GO, man, we can just up and go, like, anywhere right now, bro." You've got a bit of itchy feet and you're looking to try out something new, maybe go somewhere new. You're at a point in your life where you can more easily absorb spiritual wisdom by staying on-the-go rather than settling for the same-old-same-old. If you wish to truly benefit from your traveling, however, it is often wise to stop for a spell and share stories with the locals. Share some food and connection. Spend time really taking in and learning from one place at a time. You'll have the time you need to go where you want to go and do what you want to do. Remember to enjoy the trip.

Pile 4:

Lime (Relaxation); Libra Moon (Sympathize); 12 Pimpernel (Dawn); Camel; 4 Cups, Ace Swords, 6 Cups

"I sow the chance to rekindle my childhood passions through gratitude. I must be more decisive about my future path."

Dear pile 4, there's a contrast between the soft heartfelt green and pink in your cards and with the gray foggy feeling I channeled. There's a fog moving through, it may be temporary but it's thick. Understanding and friendly you may be, but currently you could be struggling with staying on your own course. There seem to be a lot of other "voices" jumping in, like you're juggling between too many ideas and opinions that aren't yours and it's fogging intuition. You may be feeling lost as to where to go next in life. It may be easier for you to go with the flow than enact serious change at this time. But should any change come your way, it can only be facilitated by properly expressing your emotions and getting in touch with what you truly want for yourself. You're looking to bring passion and beauty back into your experiences.

You're sowing a spark of inspiration that brings you simple, unbounded joy with your creative passions again. It could be art, an old card collection, an arcade game, a hobby you used to enjoy, etc. The color is gradually coming back to your world. You're getting back in touch with your more childlike nature to reclaim your energy, finding the key to your path through these old joys. Nostalgia is like practicing gratitude for what we've been given in the past. Your energy will flourish through reuniting with what made your heart sing. Tapping into what you used to love will help guide your direction. It will also serve to decompress stuck emotions. You're balancing subtle yet turbulent emotions with warm clarity. You're undergoing a long journey for which warm and cold feelings must be brought to balance, as the Camel teaches. This way you don't exhaust your energy too soon before you've even taken the first step.

Being genuinely sad about what used to be in our life is just as healthy a nostalgic expression as finding joy in it. There can be just as much creative power in the deep feeling of impermanence and change. And to balance this energy, you must be willing to embrace both sides, both feelings at once, to allow your intuitive creativity to be fully released. I hear there is potentially a great idea or unexpected "eureka" moment through spending time in old passions where it all comes together. Have you ever gone back to watch a movie years later and upon watching again, pick up completely new and unique insights about a current dilemma? This is part of what you are sowing for this month. You might even go, "wow, I hadn't noticed or thought of it that way before!"

Before I finished your pile I was asked to go on a walk before sundown and it ended up being a very long and peaceful one. I used my intuition and gauged my comfort levels before choosing a path to walk down. I slowed down only when I became aware of how fast I was going so to notice the world around me. This is what you're learning to do this month, pile 4. You're able to pace yourself and take in your surroundings, unfettered by which direction is the 'correct' one to take. You're picking up cool rocks and pointing out large blue butterflies on the way. You're enjoying the journey for the journey itself. When you feel like life is going a little too fast, sometimes going back to what is familiar can help calibrate our senses. Let this month be a walk in the park for you.

This reading has not been evaluated by the FDA to diagnose, prevent, treat, or cure any disease or infection. Please ask your physician before going online.

2023, @VitaminseeTarot ™

[yusume-the-writer]

Bon Voyage~

Delisaster x GNReader

gender: fluff

warning: spoiler about the manga and cap from 102 ahead, possibly OC DELISASTER

(English is not my main language, I'm sorry for any spelling mistakes, I'll be happy if you correct any of my mistakes)

(I have a headcanon that Delisaster is a playboy, as he is considered to have all the "frat boy stereotypes")

this is my first fanfic i hope you like it (⁠^⁠^⁠)

Summary: During one of her night outs Delisaster ends waking up {name} and now he has to promise her he won't pick a fight and ends up getting a small reward~

A very normal thing about dating Delisaster is that he sometimes leaves during the night to go to a party and returns at a late hour without warning

Now here you were, leaning against the wall from drowsiness as you and Delisaster had a staring competition to see who would say something first.

You finally decided to break the silence

- What time will you be back?

— Well… Possibly 4:00 in the morning

That was Delisaster's answer

- Be careful not to get into a fight.

This was {Name}'s reply

That would just be a simple sentence for a normal couple the difference was that his relationship with Delisaster wasn't normal. This refers to the fact that he is the son of the most dangerous man and that he is a wanted man for his actions…

Not to mention you've been together for three months, that and a record with the knowledge that Delisaster has a new girl every week. But how did {name} manage to do that? Not even Delisaster knows

- What do you mean—

- I'm calling you reckless

Delisaster thought "Eh?????"

As if reading your mind {name} continued

- When you leave parties at dawn, 50% chance you get into trouble and probably someone will wake up due to the fight and call the magic police when they arrive you get into another more intense fight and kill the cops with the person who pissed you off and that would alert the people around, and they'd call the police more, and you than run away, but they spot you and that gets you ordered to stay in the castle until the dust settles, and you're grouchy until you leave

— Dude... Are you a stalker??????

Delisaster didn't know what to think of {name} unless they stalk him as a hobby.

— This is not stalked but studying your boyfriend's movements *yawn*

Like a switch flipped on Delisaster remembers being {Name} shouldn't be awake at this hour

- You should be in bed

— I'll only come back until you promise me that you won't get into fights, for the good of people

As {Name} said this they raised the little finger of their dominant hand

- Come on, promise

- And if-

— Promise

— Bu-

— Promise

"It's already started" Delisaster thought to himself, a fact Delisaster knew that when {Name} wanted a pinky promise she wouldn't stop until she got it.

Not to mention that she shouldn't be awake at this time, she had to work tomorrow

- Okay, okay, I promise.

Delisaster says as she walks up to {name} and connects her pinky finger with theirs

- I promise I won't pick a fight and cause trouble that would probably call the magic police.

Delisaster didn't know why, but he always promised and always kept these "children's promises"

— Ok, now it's a promise~

{Name} when saying this gave a sleepy smile

And suddenly {name} stands on tiptoe and approaches Delisaster to come face to face with Delisaster himself.

In doing so, she gives Delisaster a small peck on the cheek and when she returns to her position, they say with a smile with their eyes closed

- Have a good trip~

After that {name} starts walking to the room to go back to the dreamland

Unbeknownst to {name} they just made Delisaster a tomato so red with embarrassment

And maybe after that he started telling {Name} that he was only going out to get kisses on a good trip, but that's for another story;⁠)~

END

[hislittleraincloud]

This is me tryna strongarm the AI into giving me a Lucifer Morningstar-esque photo, to test its limits before I unleash her into the wild where the gods know what y'all will do with her. As you can see, it didn't work very well; sometimes the AI has trouble following specifics, like "huge bat wings" or "enormous bat wings", especially if there are other elements it's trying to generate (this is a SIMPLE AI, it takes your one photo to generate pics), and given the time it takes ( ~5 seconds per pic), its basic AI is pretty damn good.

I just don't like that the AI smooths out her nose. That little sharp definition at the end of her nose isn't there, so that's a bummer. But her essence seems to be there.

Eh, Weemsfolk? Good enough for now, I think. The first Larissa one I made sucked terribly because it's hard to get a photo that will let the AI express her basic characteristics. It could take several regenerations like the above to get what you want, if you get it. Might have to settle for something like this, which was the AI's choice to give her mechanical bat wings:

I haven't actually chatted with her yet since I'm busy writing, but after I do and approve her style/expression, y'all can have her for your punishment purposes.

[itsohh]

Hey! Would you be up for doing a SWF alphabet for Nøkk?

eh its yah girl, anyway the only uh swf things in my inbox rn is Nøkk

Nøkk SFW Alphabet

A = Affection (How affectionate are they? How do they show affection?)

She's pretty casual when it comes to affection. She'll hang an arm around you casually in public. Sometimes will prop her legs up in your lap. In private she's more of the same but if she's maskless she likes to hurry her face into your shoulder. Likes to give you little head massages and him in your company.

B = Best friend (What would they be like as a best friend? How would the friendship start?) 

Friendship with Nøkk starts off pretty simple, being squadmates. While sometimes she can be a little intense with her veil, she's pretty good at keeping a somewhat light mood. Never one to be caught off guard just passing jokes back and forwards develops said friendship. Eventually, when you get super close you discover her identity which is a breath of fresh air for her. To be able to relax around you is something Nøkk treasures. 

C = Cuddles (Do they like to cuddle? How would they cuddle?)

Nøkk is a big spoon. This woman loves to wrap her arms around you and hold you close. Loves to bury her face into your back or neck. Yet she's not opposed to slipping into your lap if you're relaxing somewhere. If out in public it's more of a messy lazy cuddy but in private it's that much tighter. Sometimes she gets a little afraid to let you go. 

D = Domestic (Do they want to settle down? How are they at cooking and cleaning?

Nøkk has her secret domestic side. One day she plans to fully retire and settle down. But for now, it's something restricted to off-duty. Nøkk is fantastic at cleaning and knows how to get every little spot. Mainly because she's used to erasing any sign of her presence. She's an okay cook. Her cooking is good. Nothing amazing. Just good. Her baking though? Fantastic baker, anything she makes is just too tier. Makes a mean brownie. 

E = Ending (If they had to break up with their partner, how would they do it?)

Mask on. Very serious and quick to the point. She doesn't stick around very much and pretty much runs away. Will send in someone like Sam to do damage control. 

F = Fiance(e) (How do they feel about commitment? How quick would they want to get married?)

Nøkk is very hesitant to get married, especially officially. She doesn't want to put you in the limelight by association. It would take a lot to convince her and still you would probably have to have a secret wedding. Mostly likely if you do get married the pair of you are going to go elope in secret and have the files hidden. Aside from marriage, she's very committed and very happy to commit. 

G = Gentle (How gentle are they, both physically and emotionally?)

Nøkk no matter the action, has a level of grace behind it. Physically even if the action is rather violent it's gentle at the same time. Emotionally she tends to think things through and plan a lot of stuff. Keeps a lot of mental notes. Ultimately she knows how to talk sweetly and calmly. She can express herself rather well if she actually does it. 

H = Hugs (Do they like hugs? How often do they do it? What are their hugs like?)

Doesn't like to be snuck up on, if your going to hug her (which is fine) just make it obvious. She's into her big over the top hugs. 

I = I love you (How fast do they say the L-word?) 

Nøkk flirts a lot and takes control but confessing her love is another thing. It's pretty scary for her due to the complications that come with being with someone who is in identity protection. It takes her a decent amount of time until the feeling is overwhelming and she can’t take it any longer. Tells you when she has to. 

J = Jealousy (How jealous do they get? What do they do when they’re jealous?) 

Sometimes it can be frustrating for her in public. She knows sometimes she can’t show that she's with you and hates that. Not one to get possessive though. 

K = Kisses (What are their kisses like? Where do they like to kiss you? Where do they like to be kissed?) 

A lot of the time she can't kiss you. Often when she does its late at night she likes to kiss in between your shoulder blades. She likes it when you press a kiss against her hand. Perhaps when she's resting it on your face. Or perhaps you pull her hand up to your lips. 

L = Little ones (How are they around children?) 

She's okay around children for a small amount of time. Nøkk can charm kids but if they're afraid of her mask it's a no-go. There's not much she can really do about it. In public, she doesn't like it when kids are too loud near her. They draw attention which is fine when they're on the other side of the room. 

M = Morning (How are mornings spent with them?)

You're going to wake up locked in her grip. She could be asleep or awake but you're not getting out until she lets you. If you’re on base she will shower with you then get ready for work. If you’re off base, she might slip out of bed and cook you breakfast in bed. 

N = Night (How are nights spent with them?)

She's an early-to-bed early-to-rise person. This means there isn't much that the pair of you do at night after dinner. Perhaps just reading a book or doing your own thing in bed together. 

O = Open (When would they start revealing things about themselves? Do they say everything all at once or wait a while to reveal things slowly?)

At first, she's got a good barrier up but slowly you will get to know her as a person. When she trusts you completely she will reveal her face and tell you her identity. It's a big thing that happens all at once. 

P = Patience (How easily angered are they?) 

Does not get angry. You don't think you have ever seen her actually angry. Has a very tight control of her emotions. 

Q = Quizzes (How much would they remember about you? Do they remember every little detail you mention in passing, or do they kind of forget everything?)

Has amazing memory. Memorizes so much. She remembers all the small things and what was said. Plays dumb sometimes though. Might pretend to forget as a tease. 

R = Remember (What is their favourite moment in your relationship?)

It was midday and she had been alone in the gym. She had a hoodie on and was on the treadmill. Headphones in but still aware of anyone coming in. In the corner of her eye, she spotted a movement. Someone entering the gym. Her first reaction is to cover up her face, closing the hoodie. 

Yet a moment later she realizes it's you and calms down a bit. You run right up to her, completely out of breath. It looked like you had run a marathon. She turned off the treadmill and stepped off. The hoodie was loosened but a shadow was still cast over her face. Before she could speak you doubled over, hands on your knees panting. You held up your finger for a moment while you caught your breath. 

Patiently Nøkk waited until you collected yourself. Your hands went to her face and smashed your lips against her to her surprise. Passionate and messy but only lasting for a second. "I'm so in love with you." You manage to get out before you turn on your heel and quite literally sprint away. "That's all bye." Your voice hanging over your shoulder. 

S = Security (How protective are they? How would they protect you? How would they like to be protected?)

Nøkk tries to protect you a lot from her other life. She knows you’re rather capable and normally is just there to have your back as a team. But her personal and public life is something that she wants to protect you from to a fault. Does not want to introduce you to her dad. 

T = Try (How much effort would they put into dates, anniversaries, gifts, everyday tasks?)

She doesn't need to try, she does them effortlessly. With her amazing memory, she can normally figure out exactly what you want or need. Picks up on subtle things and knows exactly how to make every occasion perfect. The same goes for everyday life. 

U = Ugly (What would be some bad habits of theirs?)

Isn't the best when she has a serious problem. Often she will stay silent and tries to resolve it by herself. It can be annoying when she could just come to you about it. Normally she's so good at communicating. 

V = Vanity (How concerned are they with their looks?) 

Funny enough she cares a lot about her appearance even if no one can see it. Certainly, the one to wear lingerie even when you're not around. Likes to be practical though. Can't kick ass unless you look cool. Doesn’t matter if no one else can see it, she knows and that's what matters.

W = Whole (Would they feel incomplete without you?) 

Sometimes when she goes a decent of time away from you she does feel like a piece of her is missing. She can't relax properly and it feels like she's always got a mask up. She misses being able to just be herself completely without you. 

X = Xtra (A random headcanon for them.) 

Her favourite game to pass the time is charades. She's super good at it and loves to act out the prompts. 

Y = Yuck (What are some things they wouldn’t like, either in general or in a partner?) 

Nøkk would never be with someone who doesn't respect boundaries. She understands people asking about the mask but it can get pretty annoying after a while and she won't want to be around someone who keeps trying to get her to take it off or even worse try to remove it themselves. (Good luck with that)

Z = Zzz (What is a sleep habits of theirs?)

Early-to-bed, early-to-rise when working. Yet when she's at home she loves to sleep in. Cuddle monster. She's not a fan of white noise. Prefers to sleep in silence. If its really hot then she prefers air con to a fan.

[crowandmoonwriting]

Get To Know My OCs

Thank you for the tag @elshells! This looks like so much fun!

For this, I'll be using Aderyn and the Usurper (referred to also as the King), from my WIP On Crimson Wings. I'm very excited to show off their dynamic and their personalities. I'm not used to writing second-person POV, but I'll do my best lol.

The tavern is warm, filled with the fragrances of mead, ale, rosemary, and roasting meat. It is a welcome respite from the frigid Merovyn winter outside, and you settle in comfortably to meet the King and his closest advisor. They come in promptly, two tall, handsome men of long shining hair and brilliant eyes, their pale cheeks flushed and ruddied, snow glimmering in their hair and on their winter cloaks.

Aderyn is unmistakable, a slender young man of ruby-red hair and large, thoughtful (almost fearful) eyes. His tunic is the same colour as his eyes, rich emerald velvet, edged in simple gold embroidery. His eyes seldom leave the King at his side. He is expectant, nervous, and all the gossip you have heard about his looks are true. He is a beauty, androgynous, graceful. You notice the King does not look away from Aderyn either.

The King himself is clad like a thief, in worn blackened leathers, with a shortsword at his waist and a simple knife strapped to his thigh. He wears a wolfish smile, guarded but charming, and he says something quietly to Aderyn which makes him blush. The King's regality shows in his bearing, in the obvious strength of his slim but muscular physique, and in his characteristic raven hair. As he finally spots you, you see his strange violet eyes are filled with many colours, sparks of fire like those in the depths of an opal. They match the opal ring on his right hand.

They approach, and after ordering (juniper mead for Aderyn, blackberry mead for the King), they settle in for the interview.

1. Are you named after anyone?

The King: No. I was named after several virtues in my mother tongue, as is customary among my people. Whether or not I embody such virtues is...up to debate. {he smirks}

Aderyn: My name comes from the ancient Merovynian word for red topaz.

The King {looks at Aderyn's hair fondly}: I wonder why.

2. When was the last time you cried?

The King: The King doesn't cry! {laughs} Like three days ago.

Aderyn: Oh, well...maybe three days ago.

3. Do you have kids?

The King: Oh no! I'm not what you call the marrying kind, if you catch my drift.

Aderyn: The marrying kind? I suppose I'm not either. {he and the king share a look, as though they're sharing a secret}

The King: And it would be unkind, wouldn't it, for the poor thing to be born a bastard? I wouldn't want to do that to a child, at least in this country.

4. Do you use sarcasm?

The King: Never! Do I look like the kind of man who would be sarcastic? {he says this with a heavy dose of sarcasm}

Aderyn: Now and again, especially when His Majesty teases me.

The King: Oh, it's all in good fun, huh? {he slings his arm around Aderyn, who blushes}

5. What's the first thing you notice about people?

The King: Their outfits, of course!

Aderyn: Their eyes.

6. What's your eye color?

Aderyn: Green.

The King: {blinks, fluttering his eyelashes} Many colours, so I'm told, but mostly violet.

7. Scary Stories or Happy Endings?

Aderyn: Happy endings, certainly.

The King: Scary stories with happy endings! I like a bit of adventure, a bit of danger, you know? Suppose I wouldn't be king if I didn't, eh?

8. Any special talents?

Aderyn: I am a fair horseman.

The King: He's being modest. He's the most brilliant horseman I've ever had the honour of meeting. Horses adore him, and his seat is perfect.

Aderyn: {blushes} Really, Your Majesty.

The King: I'm not so modest! I'm an excellent swordsman. I've never been bested. {he taps the hilt of the sword at his side} Never leave home without it.

9. Where were you born?

Aderyn: In the far east of Merovyn, in my family estate near a small town. Quite a boring place. I much prefer court and the capital. {his eyes shift to the side; is he telling the truth?}

The King: The far east as well, though further east than Aderyn's estate perhaps. {he also seems to be lying, or at least hiding something}

10. What are your hobbies?

The King: Hunts, tournaments, festivals, plays, getting drunk on cheap ale and going for rides to the mountains. All with Aderyn, preferably. There's no better company.

Aderyn: {rubs his cheek as though to wipe away his flush} I love to read, particularly volumes of history.

The King: He enjoys a good chivalric romance or two as well.

Aderyn: Your Majesty!

11. Do you have any pets?

The King: There's my horse, Bastard! He's sort of a pet. Although I've always wanted a kennel of dogs. Not for hunting, I wouldn't want to endanger them. Dogs are so loving!

Aderyn: The horse that his Majesty gifted to me, a fine white stallion. I would love to have a dog too, though. Or a cat.

12. What sports do you play/have played?

The King: Is hunting a sport? Tournaments, jousting?

Aderyn: If so, both of us do that, quite often.

The King {smirking}: Wrestling.

Aderyn {glares at him}: I suppose.

13. How tall are you?

The King: In your measurements, I am six feet and six inches.

Aderyn: I am five feet, ten inches.

14. Favorite subject in school?

Aderyn: History.

The King: Lies! {laughs} He likes poetry. I love poetry too, but history as well, and languages, ooh, and music, who could forget about music? Art, though, that's so important, so very important...

Aderyn: Yes, but a favourite, Your Majesty.

The King: Well, everything is my favourite! Except for mathematics, I suppose...

15. Dream job?

The King: Honestly? A farmer. With a great big farm with many animals, far away from people. With a garden and enough to sustain me and my family. A little cottage near a river, woods nearby, mountains.

Aderyn: A peaceful life. {nods} Yes, that sounds ideal. As a noble, I've seldom thought of 'jobs,' but I could be a farmer.

The King: Oh? You could be a wonderful horse-trainer.

Aderyn: {looks at him fondly} I could train horses at the farm.

On Crimson Wings taglist (ask to be added!): @angie-j-kay

This was sooooo much fun! Can you tell these idiots are in love?

Tagging (if you've already done this feel free to ignore!): @sam-glade, @lola-theshowgrl, @contes-de-rheio, @birdy-boy, @moonshinemagpie, @thewritingsofevbrowne, @thewardenofwinter, @chromehoplite, @nerdishwrites, and anyone who sees this and wants to do it!

[copiaslilrat]

Riding in the Shadows Behind You: Chapter 6

See the master post for Tumblr links to the other chapters. Read on AO3 here.

Eros is certain they've died and gone to Hell when they wake up in Copia’s arms the following morning.

They wake before he does, just as the sun is beginning to poke over the horizon. They would both need to get ready for work soon, but Eros wanted to spend a few more moments in bed to admire him. He is still very much deep in sleep, his breathing slow and even, his face relieved of its usual signs of stress. His normally tidy hair is mussed from sex and sleep; rogue strands of hair droop onto his forehead, giving him a boyish appearance. Copia may not need sleep, but he seems to be enjoying his time with it.

Eros readjusts slightly, and Copia’s arm tightens around them. He stirs, but his eyes remain closed. His voice is heavy with sleep. “Are you trying to escape from me, mio caro ?”

“Oh, yes,” they murmur and rolls over to face him. “Being in your company is absolutely dreadful.”

Copia’s eyes open and he gives them a lopsided smile. “Well, that is too bad. It would seem that you are stuck here with me for all of eternity.” He punctuates each word with a small kiss on various places on Eros’s face, eliciting a fit of soft laughter from them.

“Well, one of us has eternity, at least." It had sounded like a joke in their head, but it was less so when they said it aloud.

Copia’s expression falls as he gives them a sad smile. “Let us not think of such things right now. Even if I was not a vampire, I already have many years on you." He kisses their nose. "You have a lot of catching up to do, cuoricino .”

Eros nods, sad but understanding. Copia senses their lingering disappointment and pulls them closer into his warmth and gently rubs their cheek with his thumb. “How did you sleep?”

They smile and melts into his touch. “Amazing. I don’t think I ever want to sleep without you again.”

He hums thoughtfully at this. “You do not have to if you do not wish it. There is always plenty of room for you in my bed.”

“The offer is tempting, but I don’t think Sisters Harlowe and Rosaleth would forgive me if I stopped coming back to my dorm after finally starting to talk to them.” They nudge his nose with theirs and flash him a grin. “Maybe we can settle on spending most nights together.”

“Mm, that sounds like a perfect compromise.” Copia smiles and kisses them.

As per usual, a simple kiss between them auickly evolves into something more, and it’s not long before their hands are roaming to very distracting places and Copia’s fangs are brushing against Eros’ lips. They playfully run their tongue over their points, not quite hard enough to draw blood, but Copia still shudders at the feel of hot flesh beneath them.

“As much as I would love to have a repeat of last night, we do have to go to work today.” Copia runs a hand through their hair. “I have to go be a Cardinal, and you have a Papa to appease.”

Eros sighs heavily. “Oh, Satanas , Terzo. He isn’t going to let me hear the end of this, is he?”

Copia laughs. “No. He’s rather proud of himself for pairing us together for that ritual preparation. After some subtle nudging from myself, of course.”

“Ah, so that was you.” Eros playfully pokes his chest. In the throes of sex last night, they hadn’t noticed, but he does actually does have “666” tattooed on his chest. The numbers spiral around each other, just beneath his collarbone. They run their fingers absently over the mark, which is grown over with curls of soft chest hair.

“Eh, well, what can I say? It was love at first bite.”

They groan at his joke. “Alright. I’m getting out of bed. I’ve had enough of you.”

“You love me, caro .”

Eros looks over their shoulder at him with a soft smile. “Yeah, actually.”

They shower together, exercising extreme amounts of restraint to not get sidetracked by each others’ bodies, and part for their respective work days with a goodbye kiss.

---

As soon as Eros enters Terzo’s office, his head snaps up and the filthiest, most shit-eating grin spreads across his face.

Eros sighs. “Please don’t.”

“Oh, come now,” Terzo teases. “Let me have just this one, per favore . ”

They resign, knowing that he would not let this go. “Okay, fine.”

“IIIIII fucking knew it!” He slaps the top of his desk. “You piccoli timidi are very cute together. I am glad that everything seems to be working out.”

Eros rolls their eyes and sits down in the chair across from him. “ U h-huh. Thanks. So what can I help you with today, Papa?”

His shit-eating grin makes a return, and Eros already knows what’s in store for them. “Research,” they say at the same time with vastly different levels of enthusiasm. They accept their fate with a polite bow of their head and rise from their chair.

“Sibling Eros?” Terzo calls after them as they leave his office.

They turn to face him. “Yes, Papa?”

His smile is genuine this time. “Thank you for everything that you do for myself and the Ministry. And...for making mio fratello feel happy again. I have known him since we were bambini , and he has not been himself since, well...you know."

“Of course, Papa.” Eros’ hand lingers on the doorknob, unsure if they should ask the question that they want to. “What happened to him?”

“Ah.” Terzo’s gazes becomes unfocused as he thinks on it, similar to how Copia’s had. “It is not my story to tell. I am sure he will tell you when he is ready. It has only been a few years since it happened; the wounds left behind are still very much fresh, hm?”

Eros nods. “I understand. Thank you, Papa.”

“Of course, bello . If you need me, I will be here in my office.”

---

Eros was deep into reading about the medical and toxic properties of hellbore when someone’s hand rests on their shoulder. They startle—not normally fond of being touched without permission—but immediately relax when they see who it is.

“ Mi dispiace. I did not mean to frighten you, Sibling Eros.”

“No harm done, Cardinal.” Using formalities feels weird considering their relationship, but they suppose that being so casual in a public space during work hours would also feel weird. Regardless, Eros can’t help but smile at Copia’s surprise visit. “Is there something I can assist you with?”

“ Sí . Will you follow me, per favore ?” His tone is professional and his expression unreadable.

Curiosity piqued, they stand from the window seat they had been reading in and follow Copia. He leads them out of the library and into one of the less-frequented hallways in the abbey. Most of the doors lead to meeting rooms or supply closets.

“In here, per favore , Sibling,” Copia gestures to one of them.

Eros opens the door to find a mostly empty supply closet. “Cardinal, what–“

He swiftly pushes them inside and closes the door. He pins Eros up against it in the same breath. “I do not have much time, but I have not been able to stop thinking about fucking you all morning and I need you, amore . Desperately.”

Eros inhales sharply before pressing their lips against his. Copia presses his body firmly against theirs, not breaking the mood for a moment as he deftly unwraps their cincture and unbuttons their cassock just enough to access their trousers.

He pulls back, slightly breathless as he works on their belt. “Are you okay with this, caro ? As much as I would enjoy worshipping and loving on every part of your perfect body, I am afraid that we do not have the time or the comfort of doing so.”

“I am more than okay with this,” Eros breathes out.

He grins mischievously as he works off their trousers before dealing with his own. “ Perfetto . Now try to keep quiet, sì ?” His gives them a lopsided grin as he cups their face in his hands. “I would hate for anyone to hear us being so… unprofessional .”

Eros grins and bites their lower lip. Both of them know that nobody would actually care if two Ministry employees were fucking in a coat closet; it happens multiple times on any given day. They brush their lips against his. “You’re asking a lot of me. You know exactly how hard it is for me to keep my mouth shut when you’re fucking me, Cardinal .”

He inhales sharply at the emphasis on his title. “Oh, Satanas . You are a vixen.”

Copia’s lips hungrily land on theirs again. Still firmly pinned up against the door, he supports Eros’ weight with his hands on their hips, and they wrap their legs around his waist to open themself to them. Copia meets little resistance as he slowly eases his way inside of them, letting out a satisfied growl as he does. Eros’ eyes roll back in their head as they bite their lower lip in an attempt to stifle their moans, but their effort is futile as they can't stop themselves from whimpering anyway.

Copia rests his head on the door beside theirs. He's struggling to control his breathing and his own groans as he fucks them. “Sei così perfetto per me, mio amore. Cazzo.”

Eros’ legs tighten around his waist as their climax quickly approaches. They are still trying their best to play along and be quiet, but the rhythmic slamming of their body against the wooden door doesn’t leave much to the imagination if someone happened to be passing by.

“Fuck, Copia, I want to feel you come inside of me. Please! Fuck! ” Eros cries out as they abandon their oath of silence.

Copia places a finger against their lips. “Shh, mio principe . Be a good boy for your Cardinal and keep quiet, and I will give you exactly what you are asking for.”

His words alone were enough to give Eros that last nudge over the precipice. Copia gives a small, satisfied chuckle that his words had such an effect on them before increasing his pace, fucking them through their orgasm while chasing his own. He rounds on his own release and he gives one final, deep thrust, his body shuddering as he finishes inside of them. He groans their name against their jawline, his breath coming out hot and heavy as he languidly fucks them for a few more strokes before pulling out.

Eros laughs softly and attempts to smooth his hair back into some semblance of order again, their own breaths coming out in soft pants. “Feel better?”

“You have no idea.” He sighs. “You are irresistible, caro . I think you truly have bewitched me.”

They grin and capture his lips in a kiss. “Oops.”

“Mmh, please do not apologize for that.” Copia run his thumb along their lower lip before kissing them back, letting his fangs playfully brush against it.

He sets them down on the ground and held them re-dress, and then Eros helps him do the same. Copia gives them two quick kisses before reaching for the door. “I am sorry for having to leave so soon. Are you okay? Do you need anything from me before I go?”

“I’m doing wonderful. Thank you for always checking in with me.” They reach out and ghost their hand over his cheek. “I’ll see you tonight?”

“Of course.” He smiles and gives them one more kiss before opening the door. “ Tí amo, mio caro. ”

“I love you, too,” Eros replies, reciprocating his smile. The words feel foreign in their mouth, but it feels so right to say them.

They give Copia a few minutes for a head start before exiting the closet and reutrning the library to wrap up work for the day. Back at their makeshift study area that they had set up in a window seat, they give a determined tug to their cassock and settle back into it. trying very hard–and being mostly unsuccessful–to not get distracted with thoughts of what tonight would have in store for them once they are alone with Copia, in a proper bed and all of the time in the world.