#i have to go stare at a wall. i have to rethink life forever

[lesbiten]

got bored and decided to watch a few eps of black mirror. never seen the show before. what the everloving shit and balls

[fandxmslxt69]

hello,,,,,,,,, hi,,,,,,,,, i have heard,,,, many wonderous things abt your writing ma'am and and..........nothing brings it to justice HOLY FUCKING SHIT?????????????????????

ok good morning everyone UMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMM

woah. wow. yeah. yeah yeah im nodding along yeah. yeah.

i have no words

THE WAY HE SAID "Claim your throne" I AM BARKINGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGG

SHAKING IN MY BED. UNWELL!!!!!!! what am i meant to do with my life now.

its the way....the way you make it sooo hot and sexy but such a slowburn but SO SOFT TOO

Loki's "Will you have me?" okay just SHOOT ME IN THE HEART THEN WHY DON"T YOU?????

this girl is too strong bc if it had been me I would have probably folded by week 2. Week 3 MAX.

He....he....HE"S SO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

the slight slowburn at the start the hot desperate need THE UIHSYDBFJASDYFUGVHSDF OF IT ALL YEAH YAH YEAH YEAH

wow

i need a minute to recover

and a really cold shower.

Surrender

Summary: Finding your soulmate is supposed to be a romantic, life changing experience.

No one tells you what to do when a). your soulmate is the homicidal maniac who led the successful takeover of your planet and made himself king and b). you kind of still want him anyway.

(Soulmate AU where Loki won)

Pairing: Loki x Female Reader

Warnings: Smut, 18+, Minors DNI, dirty talk, praise kink, oral sex, teasing, orgasm delay, sex, vaginal fingering.

A/N: look, I was intrigued by the idea of a Loki Wins AU and also a soulmate AU and this just sort of happened. I may write more of this concept because it gave me IDEAS. This is also available on AO3.

The mark on your wrist begins to burn the minute he walks into the room.

At first you think it’s a coincidence or a mistake—there are guards walking with him, perhaps it’s one of them. But then he flinches, his right hand going to his left wrist and your heart sinks to your knees. It could still be a coincidence, you tell yourself halfheartedly.

He scans the room and when his eyes land on you, it’s like the tumblers of a lock clicking into place and you know.

He’s much taller than you thought he was—that’s the only conscious and coherent thought you manage to have as he approaches you. Being the subject of his gaze is overwhelming in a way that you sort of expect, but it still makes you want to sit down and close your eyes. He looks you over, his gaze lingering briefly on your nametag from work.

“Show me your wrist,” he says.

You don’t think he’s using his powers, but you comply automatically, extending your arm toward him, wrist turned up. There’s a frisson of electricity that buzzes along the back of your hand when he touches it—if there were any remaining doubts about who he is and his relationship to you, that feeling surely puts them to rest. You know that he must have felt something too from the way he looks at you sharply, as though he thinks you’ve done something intentional to cause this. You can only hope that your wide eyed bewilderment convincingly conveys your innocence.

His expression betrays nothing as he examines the mark on your wrist, which is now glowing a bright gold that would be pretty if the circumstances were different.

It’s funny, you think. You’ve been waiting for this moment your entire life and all you can think is that you wish it wasn’t happening.

He releases your hand and looks at you in a calculating sort of way. “Come with me,” he says finally.

You do, of course. What other choice do you have?

*

The next several hours are a blur.

You are shuffled from place to place. Usually there is at least one guard—you’re not sure why. The idea of you being able to do any damage to him is laughable and escape doesn’t exactly seem like an option. Where could you go that he could not find you?

It’s a depressing thought; you try not to think much about it.

You know exactly when the news breaks because it coincides with your phone basically becoming unusable due to the flood of notifications, calls, and texts. You put it on airplane mode to compose a short message to your family and friends. Your reassurances feel a little trite given the circumstances: I’m fine, I’ll call when I can.

You can’t exactly type what you’re really thinking, which is more along the lines of I’ve just learned that my soulmate is the homicidal maniac who led the successful takeover of our planet. I’m doing about as well as you’d expect.

You turn airplane mode off long enough to send the email. Once it sends, you power down your phone. It doesn’t seem prudent to leave it on, at least not right now—right now, it only serves as a reminder of a life you know you’re going to have to leave behind and you’re not at all ready to confront that particular loss.

They eventually take you to what you assume are his rooms. You’re surprised by how traditional the decor is—you had expected a cold sort of minimalism, but there’s more wood and warm colors than you would have thought. You are informed that there are clothes for you in the closet; you nod and say nothing, though you wonder how they managed to pull an entire wardrobe together in the span of only a few hours. Magic, perhaps.

You are finally left alone, though you’re fairly certain that you would find guards stationed outside if you were to look.

You take one of the elegant velvet throws from the bed and wrap it tightly around yourself before settling on the couch next to the window. You’re not exactly cold, but it feels like a necessary armor between you and this unfamiliar place.

You stare out the window for a long time. You’re too high up to people watch and you’re not sure that you could handle that anyway—it would be yet another reminder of the fact that your life has changed in a massive, earth shaking way that you can’t even begin to understand. Instead, you stare at the tiny cars on the city streets below, snaking their way to destinations that feel so far out of your grasp that they might as well be on a different planet altogether.

*

It’s late when he finally shows up—so late that you’ve actually gotten ready for bed, donning one of the silk nightgowns that had been left for you. You can tell it’s more expensive than any sleepwear you’ve ever owned in your life. You’re just glad that it’s modest—you had half expected to find that all your pajamas were bustiers, thongs, and thigh highs in some sort of ill considered attempt to seduce you. But this is elegant and understated, with a matching robe that you cinch tightly around your waist.

You sit on the couch, the throw still wrapped snugly around you. He looks at you, the corner of his mouth curled up in a slight smirk.

“I hope you don’t intend to stay there the entire night,” he says.

“I hardly know you,” you say before you can even contemplate whether it’s wise.

He looks…amused isn’t quite the right word, but there’s a subtle tilt to the corner of his lips—not quite a smile, but maybe somewhere in the vicinity.

“Give it time,” he says, and something about that makes you shiver.

*

You intend to sleep on the couch, at least for these first few nights when everything still feels so raw and strange.

Or that was your plan, anyway.

Loki doesn’t say anything else as he prepares for bed and you stare resolutely at the window so as not to invite any more conversation or prompt any invitations to join him in bed. Eventually, the lights go out and you are left alone with your thoughts in the dark.

The room is much colder at night.

You’re not sure if it’s on purpose, though you wouldn’t be surprised if it was. Perhaps he likes it like this. Perhaps it’s to lure you to him, to tempt you into seeking out the warmth of his bed and body.

You pull the blanket more tightly around your shoulders. Eventually, you allow your eyes to drift shut.

You wake some time later in the middle of the night. The room feels even colder, the velvet of the throw and the silk of your nightgown and robe a scanty defense against the chill. You burrow against the couch cushions and it’s sort of bearable.

But you also have to pee.

You hold off for as long as you can, but you eventually summon the will to leave the couch and seek out the bathroom.

The bathroom is even colder—perhaps it’s all that glass and marble that makes the difference. You’re wearing your robe and you’ve still got the blanket wrapped around you, but your teeth are chattering by the time you wash your hands. You run the water as hot as you can stand, but it only does so much. If you were braver—if it wasn’t your first night here, you would run an extra hot shower and stay under the spray until your fingers and toes pruned and the chill was chased from your bones.

Instead, you hustle back to the couch, burrowing against the cushions, throw and robe wrapped tightly around you. But you still can’t seem to shake the cold. You huddle on the couch, shivering, trying to calm your body.

Time passes and you don’t grow any warmer. You wonder if you can steal another throw from the bed—surely he won’t miss one—when a voice speaks from the darkness.

“Come to bed,” Loki says.

You clear your throat. “What?”

“I can hear your teeth chattering from here. Come to bed and stop being absurd.”

You hesitate, staring into the dark. You consider the cold, the slight kink in your neck from the way you’ve been sleeping on the couch, the late hour, the way that sleep pulls at your eyes. A bed is appealing. Maybe more appealing than it should be.

You find yourself getting to your feet and slowly making your way across the room.

You pause on the other side of the bed—your side, you suppose, though calling it that still feels too intimate. You can just make him out in the dark.

“You’ll stay on your side,” you say, like making it a statement will make it so.

“Well, you hardly know me.” His voice is clipped, more bitter than you expect as he echoes your words from earlier.

You can’t help but scowl. “I’ve known you for less than twenty-four hours and it’s the middle of the night. I’m not doing this right now.”

He laughs. It’s sharp and brittle and unexpected, but it’s a laugh all the same, and something about that helps, if only a little.

You don’t say anything else as you climb into bed. You find that the blankets are warm—warmer than you expect—and heavy. There’s a part of you that expects yourself to be too nervous and on edge to fully relax, but the coziness of the blankets piled around you is oddly calming, even with Loki mere inches away. You hunker down underneath the blankets, situating yourself on the pillows.

He doesn’t say anything and it’s not long until his breathing becomes steady and even.

And after a while, yours does, too.

*

Consciousness creeps up on you slowly the next morning, a far cry from the jarring alarm on your phone that usually disrupts your slumber. You are warm and cozy, cocooned in the blankets, safe from all of the bullshit that had happened yesterday.

It’s such a peaceful, easy awakening that it takes you a moment to realize that you aren’t alone.

It takes another moment for you to realize that your cheek is pressed against Loki’s chest. And to make matters worse, not only are your arms wrapped around his him, your right leg is also flung across his waist, like you can’t bear to be parted from him for even a moment.

But before the panic sets in, there is a barely perceptible moment where your body just enjoys the feeling of being pressed against him. It’s quick and you’d deny it if asked, but the rush that you get from giving into the pull of your soulbond for even that brief moment is nothing short of incredible.

But it’s just a moment and your mind quickly turns to the matter of extracting yourself without drawing his notice. Ideally, he’ll just stay asleep and you won’t have to deal with any awkward fallout. If you move very slowly and carefully, perhaps he won’t notice.

You carefully start to move your leg from his waist.

“To be clear, you’re on my side of the bed,” he says.

God fucking dammit.

You abandon all subtlety and quickly peel yourself away from him.

“I must have rolled over in my sleep,” you say, incredibly conscious of how stupid that sounds.

He smirks, which is somehow worse than if he’d said anything.

“It won’t happen again,” you say.

It does.

This is your new routine: you start every evening on the couch, wrapped up in your robe and throw. You wake some time in the night, teeth chattering. Sometimes, Loki will tell you to come to bed. Other times, you quietly give up and slip under the covers on your side of the bed.

But every morning without fail, you wake tangled around him.

Sometimes, he’s spooned up behind you; more often, though, you’re the one clinging to him. It’s as though your body has a homing device that leads you over to his side of the bed in your sleep, dutifully ignoring all of your stern warnings about who stays where.

The worst part of it is that you’re fighting your own instincts. On a very basic, physical level, you yearn to be close to him. There’s a part of you that revels in these unintentional moments of closeness, that wants to allow yourself to enjoy the feeling of him, to allow him to put his hands on your body, for you to put your hands on him.

The fact that he wakes up noticeably hard most mornings does not make this any easier.

This is a problem that you’re not entirely sure how to solve and the second week in, your desire for information finally outweighs your desire to avoid social media and the deluge of emails and texts that you know are waiting for you on your phone.

You turn your phone back on and immediately delete all of your social media apps. You don’t know what they’re saying about you and you don’t care to. You turn off all of your notifications, even the little number icons that show you how many unread emails and texts that you have. You want absolutely no distractions.

You open a private browser window and pull up Google.

Newly connected soulbonds are the hormonal equivalent of pouring out a bunch of gasoline and striking a match. Soulbonds are intended to be consummated. You know this. There are people who wait it out for one reason or another, but that’s very much the exception—it’s a physical and emotional test of endurance. And you’re beginning to understand why.

The internet is not very helpful. You already know what happens when you don’t consummate a soulbond promptly—increased arousal, restlessness, vivid dreams, and so on as time goes on. You’re more interested in mitigation. You find a few blogs that have entirely irrelevant suggestions like cuddling on the couch or holding hands. “While you’re waiting for intercourse, why not try some outercourse?” one post muses with a level of earnestness that causes you to immediately turn off your phone and fling it across the room.

You’re going to have sex with him at some point. That’s inevitable. On a very basic level, you want him—it’s more or less coded into your DNA. But that is at odds with the reality of who he is and what he’s done. It might feel good to wake up tangled around him, but it only takes a minute to remember the battle of New York and it nearly extinguishes the desire burning within you.

But only nearly and only for now.

*

The third week is when things start getting increasingly difficult.

Loki seems content to wait things out. You can feel the burn of his gaze on you, but he doesn’t push, doesn’t prod.

You, on the other hand, find yourself slipping into a heightened state of arousal that is becoming impossible to ignore. Midway through the week, you finally give in and try touching yourself in the shower in the hope of some relief and you come so quickly and so hard that you have to clap a hand over your mouth to keep from crying out and your legs very nearly buckle from the force of it. A few twitches of your fingers has you sprawled on the shower floor and coming again, harder than before. You repeat this trick a few times but even as strong as it is, it doesn’t really help—you’re back to where you started within minutes.

Worse though, is the fact that it’s his face that you see when you come. Every. Single. Time. You imagine him over you, his gaze dark and intent as he watches you come; slack jawed and hissing in pleasure as he pushes into you; growling in approval and impatience as you take his cock into your mouth. The images come entirely unbidden and stick in the forefront of your thoughts like a burr clinging to wool.

When you see him later that afternoon, his gaze lands on you in such a way that it feels like he knows everything you’ve done and everything you’ve seen, from that moment in the shower to the shameful thoughts you had as you came.

The dreams start shortly after, and they are objectively worse.

The dreams are far more vivid than just images. In the dreams, he’s touching you, coaxing you to peaks you could never have imagined, pressing into you, taking you hard and fast and achingly slow and everything in between. The dreams leave you out of breath and shaky, aching for a touch that you know that you should not want, but do with every fiber of your being. By some miracle, they only seem to occur while you are on the couch and not when you’re in bed, but that luck won’t hold forever.

Perhaps more importantly, you know it’s only a matter of time before you give in. Deep down, you’ve known this from the moment the mark on your wrist started to burn. Your resistance is eroding like a sandcastle at high tide and it’s only a matter of time before you crumble.

But not yet. Not yet.

*

Five weeks after your arrival, you wake sweating and out of breath from another dream.

You take a few deep breaths. It was similar to the ones you’d had before. Thinking about the details makes your core ache and your clit throb so you try to keep them out of your mind.

You’re half surprised that you’re not tangled around Loki, given the content and subject of your dream, but that makes sense when you realize he’s not in bed. Instead, he sits on the couch, staring into the middle distance. Perhaps he is struggling with the same kinds of dreams.

The idea of you making Loki too hot and bothered to sleep is more appealing than you’d like to admit. You hastily dismiss the thought before it can bring any more heat to your already too warm skin or add more fuel to the flickering desire that seems to have settled permanently in the cradle of your hips.

You slip out of bed and go to the window, folding your arms across your stomach as you stare out at the sleeping city.

“You were calling out in your sleep.”

More heat prickles at your skin.

“Hm,” you say, trying your best to sound casual.

“What were you dreaming of?” he asks.

He’s only asking because he already knows the answer. You know this. But the lie still slips from your lips: “I don’t remember.”

He laughs, a quiet and dangerous sound that stokes the fire in your belly. “Have you forgotten, darling, that I am the god of lies?”

You can hear him walking toward you, but you keep your back turned. Has the room always been this warm?

He waits until he is directly behind you to speak again. “Will you lie again when I ask if you were dreaming of me?” His voice is so close, full of depth and a little husky. 

“You flatter yourself,” you say.

You can hear the smirk in his voice, feel the whisper of his breath on your neck. “You’d like to think that, wouldn’t you?” He pauses for a moment. “But you were calling out for me.”

Your lips are dry. You want to deny it, but it feels useless. Worst case scenario, he’s still mostly right: you were dreaming of him and you can’t even really deny crying out for him because you were asleep and you don’t know for sure.

“It’s nothing to be ashamed of,” he continues. His voice drops. “Every time I close my eyes, I see you writhing in pleasure beneath me.” He pauses. “Or I see myself between your legs, worshiping you with my mouth, bringing you to ecstasy over and over before I finally take you.”

Your heart is pounding and every nerve in your body feels as though it’s connected directly to your clit. You are warm—too warm—and you can feel your pulse pounding in your throat.

“What were you dreaming of?” he continues, his voice barely a murmur.

“Nothing,” you say.

He clicks his tongue. “Try again, darling.”

You say nothing and after a moment of silence, he seems to decide that it’s time to switch strategies.

“You must be so wet,” he murmurs, his tone low and soothing.

Your stomach and your cunt clench. If he starts talking dirty to you, it’s over.

“We’re not meant to go this long like this,” he says. “We both know that. It’s been five weeks. Your poor cunt is probably aching for me, just as I ache for you.”

Your breath is coming in shaky gasps. You need him. You can feel your resolve starting to slip.

“Yield to me.” His voice is rough with wanting, like this is just as hard for him as it is for you. “I know you feel it. I feel it, too. You yearn for me, you crave my touch. Let me make you feel good, darling, let me ease that ache. Yield and I will give you everything.”

You draw in a shaking breath and slowly turn to face him. He’s looking at you with an intensity that you expect, but it takes your breath away nonetheless.

The remnants of your resistance are lost to the wave of him and the only thing that’s left in its place is a raw need like you’ve never experienced before.

You don’t know what to say, so in the end, you settle for his name. Just his name, said quietly with all the desperation and longing that has been making your life hell these past few weeks.

You get a glimpse of the fire in his eyes before he’s on you.

There’s nothing gentle about this kiss. It’s the kiss of two people who have been deprived of each other for too long, your teeth bumping against each other, tongues twisting and tangling. You end up pressed against the wall next to the window, your leg wrapped around his waist, his hand supporting your thigh. He presses his hips against you and you moan into his mouth at the feeling of his hard cock dragging against your swollen, sensitive clit. He draws back slightly to look at your face as he slowly grinds his hips against yours, his free hand moving to palm your breast over the silk of your nightgown.

You moan again, your head dropping back against the wall. The soft, slippery friction of the silk of your nightgown against your nipple and the soaked lace of your underwear rubbing against your clit is enough to make you go cross eyed, a slow tease that only fans the burning embers within you. Your body is overheated and too tense, but Loki is blessedly cool in a way that somehow both soothes and inflames.

“You’re drenched. I can already feel that,” he says, his voice thick with desire as he moves against you. “I could make you come like this.”

You whimper, rocking your hips back against him. “Please.”

He shakes his head. “Another time. Tonight I want to feel you when you come.” He drops his hand from your breast, trailing down your stomach and moving in between your legs. His fingers slip beneath your underwear, and you let out a needy whine as he strokes the slick folds of your sex. “Is this all for me?” he asks, his voice slipping into a low growl.

You barely manage a breathy affirmative.

“Sweet thing.” His thumb rolls over your clit as he slides one finger into you, and your back arches automatically, your breasts jutting out. “We’re going to have to do something about this, aren’t we?”

“Please,” you breathe.

“How can I resist such a sweet plea?” he says, sliding another finger into you and curling it just so. “Or such a wet and needy cunt?”

“Don’t stop,” you say.

“I ought to make you beg me for it after everything you put me through.” His eyes darken as his thumb presses against your clit and you moan. “But perhaps I can be generous. I can feel how much you need to come on my fingers.”

You nod, slack jawed and panting.

“You’ve been waiting for this,” he murmurs. “You’ve tried to deny yourself, but you need me, you need my touch.”

You whimper, your hips rocking.

“Say it,” he says, stroking your clit.

“I need to come,” you moan.

“A good start,” he says, his voice a stern purr. “But not quite what I asked, my love. Try again.”

A twinge of irritation manages to work its way to the forefront of your mind. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I’m not exactly in a state to be playing twenty questions.”

His eyes light up with a predatory gleam that heralds the arrival of something that you know will end enjoyably for you.

“Oh, darling, that attitude won’t do at all.” His fingers are immediately and conspicuously absent and you very nearly cry out in frustration. But before you can, he is sweeping you into his arms and making the journey to the bed in several long strides. He sets you gently on the bed and looms over you, green eyes flashing as his hands stroke up your thighs. You lift your hips and he pulls your underwear off, tossing it to the side.

“Let’s try that again, shall we?” His voice is a growl. “Tell me what you need.”

“I need to come.” You know it’s the wrong answer, but this particular game of cat and mouse and the predatory gleam in Loki’s eyes are making you even wetter and god, you need him.

His eyes flash with a barely concealed delight. “Try again.”

You spread your legs rather conspicuously, hiking your nightgown up to your waist. “I need to come.”

He’s looking at you intently, lips slightly parted. “You’re trying to distract me with that pretty cunt, you wicked thing.”

“Is it working?” you ask.

He lowers his head to kiss the inside of your left knee. “It would work much better if you answered me properly and told me everything you need.”

You think you have an idea of what he wants to hear, but you’re not quite ready to give up the game yet. Instead, you pull your nightgown up and over your head and toss it to the side. His eyes are dark as he looks at you, his gaze lingering on your breasts and trailing down to the apex of your spread legs. You wonder what it would take to make him lose control, to take you in the way that you both need.The thought sends another flood of heat to your aching core. 

You lick your lips. “Will you make me come, Loki?”

Another wolfish grin. “Closer. But not quite. Try again.”

You let your hand slide down your stomach and between your legs and you part your sopping folds so he can see the full extent of what he’s done to you—every dripping inch. The look he’s giving you now only heightens the feeling.

“Should I make myself come?” you ask and you’re immediately rewarded with an almost feral look and a sharp smack to your ass.

“Don’t you dare,” he growls.

You put on your most innocent expression, even as his visible hunger makes you ache. “I thought you’d like seeing me touch myself.”

“Oh, there will be time for that later,” he says, his eyes still dark. “I’m particularly interested in seeing what prompted those intriguing little noises I kept hearing while you were in the shower. But every tremor of pleasure that wracks your body tonight will be from me alone. Now,” his eyes glitter and his hand replaces yours on your cunt, his long fingers spreading you open, but not touching you, his expression rapt with undisguised greed, “tell me what you need.”

Your capacity to tease and resist him was well and truly exceeded when he smacked your ass and was further obliterated by the monologue he just delivered. “I need you to make me come, Loki. I need you so bad.”

His smile is filled with dark promises and a hunger that you have every interest in sating several times over.

“Good girl,” he says.

And his fingers slide back into you as his mouth envelopes your aching clit.

You moan as your hips lift and your hands tangle in his hair. He mumbles something that sounds like “perfect” against your clit, first teasing you with the tip of his tongue and then pressing it flat against you and rubbing in slow circles. Meanwhile, his fingers have found that soft, aching spot inside of you and he presses against it in slow, firm thrusts that make you tremble.

You initially think that you’ll be quite quick to come because you’re already so wound up, but Loki seems determined to find the edge and keep you there for as long as possible—and he’s really, really good at it. He falls into a rhythm where his tongue strokes your clit once, twice, three times and withdraws; his fingers pick up the thread, stroking your walls once, twice, three times and withdrawing, only for his tongue to resume where he left off. In this way, he keeps you balanced on the edge in a perfect kind of torture. It feels so good, but it’s not quite enough to get you there just yet.

You make liberal use of his name—it’s a plea, a curse, a benediction, a moan, a sigh. Instinctively, you know that he likes this, but it’s not enough to distract him into letting you fall even a moment before he wants you to.

The ache that’s been building in your hips for the last couple weeks is growing, burning bright and warm. Your body feels electric in the best way, your nerves humming and buzzing and straining for release.

“Loki,” you moan, partly as encouragement and partly because you want him so badly.

You’re so close. Your entire body is tense and trembling; all you can think about is how badly you need to come, how much you are aching for your release.

So close.

“Loki, please,” you moan, truly desperate now. “Please let me come. Make me yours—”

You’re not sure if it’s what you said, the desperation in your voice, or pure coincidence, but in that moment, he shifts his rhythm so that his mouth and fingers are no longer alternating, but are instead moving in sync. And this is what you need to tip you over, to allow that wave to finally, finally crest and then break.

Your orgasm hits you hard, pulling a loud moan from deep within your chest and making your entire body quake. Sparklers are dancing along your veins, champagne bubbles fizzing along your muscles, stars bursting behind your eyes. You have never felt anything like this before—you are satisfied but also aching for more, falling apart and being remade over and over again.

It’s only when you’re decidedly in the blissful wave of the aftershocks that he dares to lift his head and he looks you over like you’re something wonderful. Before you can raise your hands to reach for him, he’s crawling up to you, claiming your mouth in a kiss that feels deeper than the ocean.

He slides his hand in between your legs and you whimper, shivering at the sensation of his thumb stroking your sensitive clit. But somehow, he finds that particular angle and pressure that’s just enough, but not too much. You moan and he slides a finger back into you, rolling in the same rhythm as his thumb on your clit.

“That’s it,” he murmurs. “Keep going for me, darling. I want to watch you come this time.” His voice is so firm and authoritative and it strikes sparks up and down your spine.

“Fuck,” you gasp, your hips rocking with his hand.

“You’re doing so well getting ready for me,” he purrs. He lowers his voice to a rough growl. “I can’t wait to fuck you until you’re trembling and coming all over my cock like the wicked, filthy girl that you are.”

It’s the combination of his words and his voice and his perfect hands that does it this time. A rolling, fluttering shudder fizzes through your body, building to a peak that has you letting out a guttural moan as you clench around his thrusting fingers.

“Yes, that’s it,” Loki says as he watches you through hooded eyes. “You are gorgeous when you come undone.”

He kisses you slowly, fingers moving steadily until the final shudder rolls through you.

Somehow, through all of this, he’s remained fully clothed. There’s an aspect to this that’s appealing—it makes everything feel particularly decadent and a little forbidden—but your palms are practically itching with your need to touch him. You need him inside you, but you also need him close, bare skin on bare skin.

Your hands sneak under his shirt and you suck in a sharp breath when you feel the heat of his skin underneath your palms. You tug his shirt off him and make quick work of his pants before drawing back to look at him.

He looks like art. It’s a silly thought, but there’s some truth to it—there’s an almost ethereal quality in the sharp angles of his face and the elegant symmetry of his musculature. 

Your gaze drifts down to his cock. He’s long, thick, and hard, the tip flushed and slick with pre-come. An ache courses through you—something about seeing the full evidence of his arousal makes everything seem more real, makes you want him with renewed ferocity.

You want to touch him and so you do, your fingers curling around his shaft.

“Can you feel how much I need you?” he asks as you stroke him slowly. He is remarkably composed, though you catch the slight hitch in his breath and it sends a thrill through you.

“Will you show me?” you ask.

“Every day,” he says.

It’s an answer you’re not expecting. You were speaking strictly in the immediate, physical sense. This feels deeper, more meaningful. You’re not quite sure what to say, so you kiss him and he kisses you back with an intensity and thoroughness that makes your toes curl.

He rolls over you, his body covering yours. It’s almost overwhelming how good his bare skin feels against yours. You take his cock in your hand again and stroke him, slowly rubbing the tip from your clit to your entrance, coating him in your slick.

You expect him to just push forward when you guide him to your entrance and you’re almost disappointed that he doesn’t—you’ve both waited so long for this and your need for him is burning inside you like an inferno.

But instead he pauses, his eyes locked with yours.

“Will you have me?” he asks. There’s vulnerability in the question, a softness in his green eyes that you don’t expect. It feels like a loaded question, though not necessarily in a bad way.

You don’t hesitate. “Yes,” you breathe.

Something like relief flashes briefly in his eyes before he leans in and kisses you. You tilt your hips up again and this time, you feel the blunt head of his cock slowly press into your waiting warmth.

You’d read people describing first times with their soulmates and it had always sounded so hyperbolic and silly. They’d throw around words like euphoric and transcendent and all you could do was try not to roll your eyes.

But the moment Loki is fully seated inside you, you finally get it. Every overwrought, overused cliché seems to occur to you all at once—puzzle pieces falling into place and locks and keys and halves made whole and all that bullshit—and it all makes sense in a way that it hadn’t before.

Loki’s eyes are stormy above you, to the point that you think you may have angered him, but then he kisses you with a ferocity and possessiveness that steals your breath and makes you tighten around him.

“Mine,” he growls against your lips. “Mine.”

There’s a lot of emotion in that word. There’s history in that word. It’s the sort of thing that the two of you will probably need to unpack later. For now, though, you wrap your legs around him and meet his demanding, hungry kisses with your own.

“I’m yours,” you murmur against his lips. “Take me.”

You expect him to respond to that plea with a frantic pace. But instead, his first thrusts are slow, like he’s savoring it. Your body yields to him instinctively, your muscles drawing him in and then tightening further as he withdraws. You are so slick, so ready for him that it almost feels a little obscene.

“You are exquisite,” he rasps as he sinks into you, his head bowing to kiss and nip at your neck. “I have been aching for you.”

“Yes,” you breathe. “Please.”

You’re not entirely sure what you’re asking for—more of this, more of him—but he seems to know anyway. He kisses you deeply as you wrap your legs around his waist, rolling your hips up to meet his.

In one fluid motion, he rolls you over so that you are on top. He looks up at you, an irrepressible smirk curling at the corners of his lips.

“Go on,” he says, his voice low. “I want to see you take your pleasure from me. Claim your throne, my love.”

A shiver works its way up your spine. This is a man who single-handedly conquered the entire planet and he’s telling you he wants you to ride his cock until you come. It is raw and sexy and undeniably hot and the way he’s looking up at you makes you feel beautiful and powerful.

You lean forward, bracing your hands on the mattress, tilting your pelvis until you find the right angle, the one that makes your stomach tighten and your breath stutter. 

A smile twitches at the corners of his mouth. “Right there?”

You let out a shaky breath and rock your hips. “Yeah.”

It takes a moment for you to find your rhythm, but you find that you want—or perhaps need—to go slow and steady. Loki watches you, his hips rocking with yours as he lets you set the pace, his hands sliding from your hips to your breasts and back again, like he can’t get enough. His gaze is intent and intense and you get the sense that he’s cataloging every movement, every gasp or sigh, furrowed brow or bitten lip.

The coil in your hips is starting to wind tighter and you know it won’t be long. 

As though he knows, Loki slides a hand down your body, palm gently pressing against your lower stomach. A fantastic pressure begins to blossom in your hips and you whimper.

“You’re doing so well,” he purrs. “So tight and wet. You’re perfect.”

“Getting close,” you breathe.

“I know, I can feel you,” he says.

You’re at a point somewhere beyond words, riding that wave, chasing bliss that you can almost feel. A choked whimper falls from your lips.

“That’s it,” rasps Loki. “Be a good girl and come on my cock.” He flicks his thumb against your clit and you completely unravel.

It was good the first two times, but having him inside you as you come sends you to another plane of existence entirely. Your orgasm seems extended, the feeling of his cock against the spasming muscles of your cunt creating more even rippling pleasure. And the noise that he makes, the filthy praise that falls from his lips, the way that his fingertips dig into your hips just makes it all better.

He rolls you over onto your back just as you’re starting to feel boneless, and pulls you into a deep kiss.  He thrusts into you, a little faster than the pace you had set, but still slow and steady.

“I want to feel you come again,” he breathes. “Do you have any idea how long I’ve waited for this, how good you feel?”

You shudder as his cock drags again against that spot inside you. He repeats the motion and you keen, tangling your fingers in his hair.

“That’s it,” he rasps, bringing your leg up over his hip to press even more deeply inside of you. “Come on, darling. Let me feel you.”

You wrap your arms around his neck, meeting his hungry, demanding kiss with your own. You roll your hips with his, chasing the flickers of bliss that he’s steadily stoking to an inferno once more.

“Please,” you mumble against his lips. “Need you. Please.”

He groans and increases his pace just enough to make you whimper. The desire inside of you is catching fire.

“I…fuck, I—” Your hands are gripping his shoulders, your body shaking as you approach your end.

Loki’s eyes are wild, his teeth bared. You can tell that he’s close, that he’s chasing the same incredible feeling that you are.

“I want you to come for me,” he grits out. “And the second I feel your tight cunt start to tremble around me, I’m going to come inside you.

You moan, fingernails digging into his shoulders. You are unbearably close.

“Do you want that, darling?” he says. “Do you want me to come inside you? Do you want your perfect cunt filled with my seed?”

You are almost beyond words, but not quite: “Yes. Please.”

Despite how close he is, he still gives the impression of being entirely in control. He lowers his head so that his lips graze yours and his eyes are all that you can see. “Then come for me,” he says.

Two more deadly smooth rolls of his hips and you do. A guttural, plaintive sound falls from your lips as your whole body trembles with the force of your orgasm, your cunt squeezing around the girth of his cock. He groans, mumbling something in a language you don’t recognize before he, too, starts to unravel.

His face is rapturous when he comes, his head tipping back and his mouth falling open, brow furrowing. If you weren’t so distracted with the rippling shocks of your own pleasure, you would try to commit it to memory. Instead, you simply try to enjoy the feeling of him emptying himself inside of you, the stuttering thrust of his hips, the soft groan that falls from his lips. Finally he stills, resting his head in the crook of your shoulder. You can feel his heart pounding against yours.

You feel…it’s not different, exactly, but there’s a kind of ease and connection that just feels right. The restless ache inside of you is finally quiet and you feel loose and languid and pleasantly sleepy.

Finding your soulmate isn’t necessarily the same as falling in love. Sometimes it all happens in the moment. Sometimes it’s years in between.

For you, though, you can pinpoint the exact moment that seed was planted: Loki raising his head to look at you, his hand curled against your cheek. His gaze is careful, reverent, like you are as warm and golden as the dawn just barely beginning to streak the morning sky.

[a-driftamongopenstars]

Please make something about angst with crow, I love angst things 😭🙏

ahhh have some Crow angst :) expanding on what the Witness may have offered to Crow when they communed in the Final Shape! ! a mild warning for body horror 👀 also on ao3

Crow closes his eyes. He allows the unnatural quiet envelope him, drowning his ears in white noise. He feels the beating of his heart, hard against the ribs, pulsing through every vein in his body. He feels awfully alive and awfully aware of the second chance his expired body was given.

Where there is heartbeat, there is Light.

"Do not let it go to waste."

A voice, trembling in multitude, reaches him from every corner of the cavern. From every grotesque mouth, echoes off the walls.

"I didn't," Crow says with a shrug. His eyes are still closed, yet he can see the colour red.

"But you may, yet. Let us show you that which can become true. Your desires are within reach, your salvation can be a salvation for all."

Crow sighs, breathing sharp air through his lips.

"Show me."

...He sees Mara, her arms outstretched to him in welcome. He tells her of the most rare power, a wish that made itself true and known. She takes the Ahamkara from his arms as it coos and purrs. Mara laughs, Mara squeezes his forearm.

"Well done, Brother."

...He sees Mara holding a heap of red flowers, her fingers dripping royal blood where cord-like roots are breaking the skin with thorns. Yet, she still holds and smiles.

...He sees himself her equal. The Prince of the Awoken, not a secret hidden away from him, only from the others. His sister's trust implicit and unquestionable and well-established.

Crow's jaw sets tightly in a clench. All too familiar, all too painful. A glowing lure that led him astray, led him to his death, dressed in the puppet of his sister's image.

"Is that not what you wish for? To finally have an understanding, to finally have the sister you have always wanted by your side and in your confidence? You can rethink that."

"Why?"

"But you know better, Crow. You have always known better."

...He sees himself in royal garments, the Awoken people bowing in loyalty to their new King. He would not commit regicide, but it would not be necessary.

...He is the Disciple. His body burning with Light and Dark, together. His image shimmers, split in two, one half planted firmly in reality, the other shaping a throne world, for he may never die. One eye is burning amber, the other - vengeance and righteousness. His knife carves out the perfect reality in the Witness' name - and his own.

His Ghost on a leash, the Guardian's essence forever saved in the Pyramid tomb, the Vanguard no more. His wounds are smoking with the stench of Dark Ether.

The world is turning into a still-life of paradise.

"Salvation can come," the voices whisper. "Embrace it."

Crow opens his eyes. He sees himself, cast in statue, empty sockets of eyes staring from beneath the hood. A promise so close. Everything could be as he wants it to be. Any dream - a reality.

His lips curl into a dry smile, his hand reaching out towards the statue.

He lets it go.

"No."

[be11atrixthestrange]

Hi~, I don't know if you're still taking prompts, I just discovered you on AO3 and I love your stories. If you like my idea, feel free to write about it :) I imagine that Ron goes to Hermione's room the night after Dobbie's death. And he comfortes her and hugs her (and apologizes for leaving) and they fall asleep deeply for the first time in months. (+Bonus: They wake up embarassed, because they hear that the others don't find Ron in the house) -H

Hi! I take prompts! But I'm slow AF to respond, so it's possible you don't even remember asking for this!

But, here's some Shell Cottage fluff, just because I had three glasses of wine tonight (oh, the scandal!) and then things happened!

---------------------

More Than Okay

“Ron, what are you doing here?”

Her voice jolts him awake and for a moment, he forgets where he is. It takes a few seconds of consciousness for his eyes to adjust to the moonlight before he can make out his surroundings. He scans the room and takes in the peeling and dated wallpaper, the two framed twin beds with upholstered headboards, one of them empty, another a lump of blankets, an explosion of bushy brown hair.

It’s a far cry from the mildewy tent canvas and camping cots, the thick, icy air, the constant penetrating dampness. Hermione is so far from the girl he’s been living with in the tent. Before, she was so full of passion, determination and fire. Anger. Energy. Now, her voice is weary, ragged, worrisome. It’s not like her to ask questions she already knows the answer to.

“Where else would I be?” he asks as he sits up, suddenly more lucid and awake than ever.

“Downstairs with the boys, where you’re supposed to be.”

The corners of Ron’s mouth turn up into a smile. It’s still Hermione. Waking up from what was essentially a coma, and she’s arguing with him. He wants to laugh with relief, but it might not serve him well.

Instead, he hardens her gaze and looks her directly in the eyes. “I’m never leaving you again.”

He watches her eyes glow as she absorbs his words and everything they mean. The future implications, the past apologies, her own stubbornness reflected right back. “Where are you going to sleep?”

Ron nods toward the empty bed, the one that was supposed to be for Luna, but who knows where she is right now. Looking for crumple horned snorkacks, probably. “I can sleep there.”

“No.”

“I’m serious. I’m not leaving y—”

He pauses when she shifts to her right, ever so slightly. The subtle smile on his face is now etched across, possibly permanent.

“I know you’re not leaving me,” she says, averting her eyes. “Just don’t sleep in Luna’s bed.”

Ron stares at the space beside her. It’s only an inch or two larger than before, but he can’t help but interpret her movement as an invitation. He wants to slide under the covers and wrap her in his arms, but it’s risky. It would be disastrous to misread her now, but if he’s learned anything over the past few months — past twenty four hours, even — it’s that risks are unavoidable and he might as well start calling the shots.

So he does. Ron rises to his feet and watches her eyes widen in surprise and a smirk cross her face as he accepts her invitation. He crawls underneath the blankets and wraps his arm around her. She leans, melts, into him and everything feel so natural, so easy, like it’s something they could have done years ago without blinking an eye.

“Dobby died,” he says.

Hermione lets out an audible sigh, one that Ron can feel against his neck, reminding him of how close her lips are. Have they ever been this close?

“How’s Harry handling it?”

“About as well as you’d imagine.”

He can feel Hermione’s head bobbing up and down in the crook of his neck. “And you? How are you holding up.”

“Fucking fantastic.”

It feels almost disrespectful to verbalize it, but it’s true. The pain of Dobby’s death has only heightened the joy of Hermione’s survival. It’s shines a light on his new focus, the sole reason he has to still fight. Her.

He expects her to reprimand him for his lack of respect but she doesn’t. Instead, she tightens her embrace and he pulls her body against his. It’s not enough. If only he could pull her even closer, and there were no barriers between them. He could kiss her right now, shag her even, and he still wouldn’t be close enough. So he settles for the embrace. It’s motivation to win this damn war so he can spend the rest of his life next to her. If she’ll have him, of course.

When her breath quickens against his neck, he knows she’s looking at him, waiting for him. Inviting him. He could kiss her, snog her senseless. They both want it more than anything.

“Not like this.”

It takes all of his willpower to say it. Thankfully, she nods against him and he hopes more than anything she understands how much he wants her right now. He always has, always will, but not like this.

He doesn’t have time to rethink his rejection — it’s not even a rejection, it’s a rain check — and he knows she understands that by the way her fingers dig into his t-shirt as she hugs him. Their time will come, and it will be worth it.

While wrapped in Hermione, sleep creeps in with ease. His eyes flutter shut, and for the first time in forever, he has the best motivation to keep fighting: it’s for more nights like this. They collapse against one another, comfortably, as though it’s not the first time they’ve done this. If his dreams count, it’s definitely not the first time they’ve shared a bed. Maybe it’s not for Hermione, either. It doesn’t seem like it by the way her body collapses against him, seeming to mold to his skin, her legs wrapping around his thighs, her breasts against his arm, her breath against his cheek.

It’s both exciting and comfortable, natural, and it spurs the endless dreams as darkness encroaches.

———————————

“Ron! Where’s Ron!?”

Ron’s eyes snap open at the sound of his name. The voices are downstairs, muffled by walls, hallways, and a staircase.

“Haven’t seen him, why?” Harry, groggy as ever, sounds like he doesn’t give a crap about his best friends’ wellbeing. Good man.

“He’s not in his bed! Did he go for a walk or something?” Ron can make out Fleur’s voice, frantic, panicked.

“He’s around, just give him a second,” says Dean. “He’ll show up.”

Fleur scoffs at Dean, and Ron laughs. It wakes Hermione.

“What are you laughing at?” she asks, and then they both pause, as footsteps approach.

“Nothing,” he says. His arm are still tight around Hermione and neither make an effort to move.

They tug closer as the door swings open, Fleur emerging into the doorway, her hair billowing behind her.

“Hermione, have you seen Ro—”

Fleur freezes in her tracks, scanning the pair intwined in each others’ arms.

“Yes,” says Hermione. “I have seen Ron.”

Fleurs eyes flit between the pair, and she’s clearly unsure what to say. “Very well, then. I’ll let everyone know he’s okay.”

She backs out of the door, and it shuts between them. As soon as she’s gone, Ron and Hermione erupt into laughter.

“She was so worried about you!” says Hermione.

“No need to be.”

“Exactly, you’re okay,” she says, pulling him in. Her leg drapes over his torso, and without thinking about it, he lays a hand on her thigh.

It’s so natural that it’s hard to believe he hasn’t kissed her yet.

But when she smiles at him, and her eyes drift shut, he follows suit. It’s been a while since he’s had a good lie-in, and they both deserve it. Plus, anything is better than facing the knowing looks of his friends down in the kitchen. He might as well sleep in.

At least they know he’s okay. More than okay.

[hanyaksha]

「call you mine」 xiao x f!reader 18+

genre: smut

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT 18+ ONLY !

includes: fingering, creampie, top xiao/dom!xiao, wet and messy

summary: it takes a lot to catch the attention of an adepti - especially Xiao. Although still confused by the unfamilliar feeling, he's got his eyes on her around Liyue or Wangshu Inn.

'There she goes again', Xiao thought as he saw you strutting just outside Wangshu Inn, bowing repeatedly to say your apologies to the person you accidentally bumped into. You were running and seemed to be in a hurry when suddenly this man blocked the road you were speeding in, causing you and him to clash. Xiao doesn't normally care about mortal lives, it just so happened that whenever he decided to rest outside the terrace of Wangshu Inn you would always be somewhere outside catching his attention. You're either running around in a hurry or working your ass off trying to make a living by selling sweets and delicacies that somehow became the favorite place for kids around town to visit.

'how clumsy. human lives really are fragile.' he unconsciously thought to himself as he continues to watch from a distance. He saw how you laughed it off with the man you accidentally bumped, how it was easy for you to smile and radiate a warm aura. In his eyes you looked pure. Xiao compared himself to you and scowled at the thought that he could never be someone like you. He feels his chest tighten as he gets reminded of his own demons, his past and all of those who he slaughtered with his own hands, the bloodbath forever painted in his memory. Frowning, he sighed and decided to shrug the ugly feeling off. His eyes wandered around, unconsciously trying to look for your familiar aura only to find you gone from the last spot he saw you standing. With nothing else to do, he kept searching until he caught a glimpse of you from a distance near Dihua Marsh, gliding around with Venti as he creates wind currents for both of you to fly on.

'ah, the bard' he thought. You two were having fun and he can tell you're enjoying yourself just by the look of how you laughed. Xiao felt calm watching you simply being you. Even if it's from a distance, a part of him craved for that warmth somewhere close to him. He wondered what it would feel if someone like you would share that to someone as tainted as him. Xiao glowered when he realized that he was longing for a human. He stopped himself from thinking any more than that. There was no need for you to be involved with the likes of him, it would only make him feel worse knowing that he would be of no good to you. He didn't want your pure glow and warmth to fade away because of him. Xiao sighed and decided to walk back in the inn where he would rather rest to keep your memory out of his head. He had known you for quite sometime now, despite it being from a distance it was surprising that he felt like he had met you. It wasn't difficult for him to somehow feel comfortable seeing your presence outside the Inn. He loved the way your clothes would flow against your body, how your skin looks soft under the sunlit sky. You looked ethereal, he simply adores that and is unknowingly thirsty to get a taste of your gentle touch. Despite refusing to involve himself to mortals he still grew a liking to you, making you an exception. He convinced himself that he doesn't have any time to meddle with a human's life yet his thoughts and actions contradicts this. He feels like he's about to lose his mind as scenarios of you and him fill it up. Xiao leaned back to his chair, throwing his head back as he massages the bridge of his nose. He looked like he couldn't bear to think more of you or he'll go insane. It wasn't enough to just simply think of you - he wanted your presence, he wanted it near and he wanted it now.

Xiao growled and glared at the wall. Standing up, he went out of the Inn. He decided to just come get you himself. He realized how long he was lost in his thoughts when he noticed the moonlight outside. He didn't mind it and just continued to venture out in search of your familiar scent and aura, hoping he'll catch a glimpse of you somewhere near. It didn't take long until he saw you close on a cliff just outside the parameters of the Inn, desperately trying to reach out to the violetgrass you were trying to harvest. Xiao stayed hidden in the branches of a tall tree, hesitating and rethinking his actions because he was unsure of how to interact with you. He was worried he would just scare you away since he was, after all, a vigilant yaksha adeptus. He noticed you struggling to take a hold of the particular flower so he decided to take matters in his own hands and to just help you with it. Xiao leaped and swiftly took it as he landed beside you to hand it over. Surprised by how fast everything went by, you stared at the man in front of you, his golden honey eyes glimmered from the soft light of the full moon added by the glow of the Wangshu Inn from a distance made everything perfect. He was breathtaking, you felt your heart pounding as you reached out to take the flower from his hand. You knew who he was, mainly because you would often hang out with Venti to ask about him. There was something about this adepti that made you want to learn more about who he was. People in Liyue says that he rarely shows himself, even during the Lantern Rite Festival you find yourself hoping for him to come out. And now lo and behold, he's right in front of you - the man you have always hoped to meet.

"thank you," you gave him a slight bow to show your gratitude for his help. You were also extremely worried that he might hear the loud beating of your heart because of how quiet the night was. "it's dangerous to be out here at this time." He said, his voice as cold as the wind blowing. You smiled and chuckled at him before you replied "my bad, I wanted to help out Baizhu because he needed some Violetgrasses. They ran out of it and I couldn't let Qiqi do it herself" you feel Xiao's gaze piercing at you so you look down and felt a shiver ran down your spine everytime the wind blowed. You didn't know what he was thinking, he's unpredictable. His gaze didn't show a hint of what was on his mind. "you're cold. come." your face immediately flared up when he reached out his arm around your waist to pull you closer to him. The butterflies in your stomach went crazy when you felt your bodies touch. Xiao summoned his primordial jade spear as he tightly held you close, you felt a sharp cold all over your skin as you closed your eyes and the next thing you know, both of you are at where it seems to be like the Wangshu Inn. The view was amazing from Xiao's quarters, you can see Mt. Qingce and Jueyun Karst far in the distance under the night sky. He was standing right beside you, an arm still around your waist and as you're busy admiring the view outside, Xiao was preoccupied studying your features. He thought your hair smelled nice, and that the shape of your body fit right in his arms. It was amazing how he made you feel so comfortable despite just meeting each other.

"you feel familiar... and your warmth, I'm drawn to it." he says with a straight yet calm voice. Xiao was doing his best to stop himself from just throwing you on the bed and be one with you. As much as he wants that, he wouldn't want you to feel unsafe around him. He didn't want to hurt you either because he knows what his strength is capable of. Blood rushed to your face as embarrassment seeped in by hearing his words. Maybe it was because he felt the same way as you did that caused an uproar to the butterflies in your stomach. Still quietly standing there, you were unsure of what to do. You were cautious that your actions might come off as rude or disrespectful to an adeptus like him. He studied your expression and slowly turned to look away and fixed his gaze on the painting to his right instead. "are you afraid?... do I scare you?" he calmly asked. It was almost as if he was ashamed of himself in which you immediately denied to. "of course not! It's just that I want to be closer to you but I'm afraid I'll make you feel uncomfortable. I really am happy to be here." you tried to reach out to touch him but decided to stop in your tracks, your hand left hanging in the air. A part of you wanted to comfort him, to close that gap between the two of you but at the same time you didn't want to cross his boundaries. Xiao didn't know what to feel, it has been a while since he felt happy and he thought he almost forgot this type of emotion. He's very new to this kind of thing, he hasn't done this to any other woman besides you so he although he didn't want to admit felt slightly embarrassed about opening himself up to you. Xiao fixed his gaze to meet your eyes, his honey orbs shining in the moonlight leaving you mesmerized by his beauty. He was breahtaking and you could feel his eyes burning holes in your body. It was as if he wanted to say something but just couldn't--just hoping you would get the memo through eye contact. Xiao broke the tension to look at your hand still in the air. You noticed him staring and as you were about to place it back down he caught it with his own and laced his fingers into yours. Embarrassment started to wash all over you. You wanted to yank your hand back but you knew you'll immediately miss his touch if you do so. Unconsciously you bit your lip to stop your face from turning into a complete replica of a tomato. Seeing that sight of you drove Xiao crazy, the eagerness to be closer with you grew faster as every second passes by. Xiao isn't usually the type to be the first to make a move but he yearned for you so much until he could no longer take it. He acted without thinking twice and went in for a kiss, his hands slowly going up to cup the back of your head to pull you closer. You were surprised but you soon didn't have the time to care about it because of how easily you got drunk by his kisses. It was obvious Xiao didn't have much experience in this, his kisses were sloppy but at the same time it was gentle. It was slow and he took the time to explore your mouth as his tongue slipped in. Your knees trembled as the tension around the two of you grew, any further than this might make your legs give in. You clinged on to him as your knees felt jelly, Xiao groaning in the process in response to your sudden shift of movement.

Hearing him groan was the cherry on top for you to go insane. It was too much and you feel your body heating up as both of you grew more needy of each other's touch. With one hand cupping the back of your head, Xiao placed his other on your waist to pull you closer. Your bodies touched as he continues to make out with you, he pulled you in so close that your boobs are all pressed up against him. You groaned when you felt his boner, driving Xiao crazy when he too felt stimulated. "mhm," he moaned, hand gripping tighter on your waist. You were so close that you can't help but grind on his hardened member while both of you moaned in each other's kisses. Xiao held on to your thighs, pulling it up to carry you. You felt his dick graze on your clothed pussy, the friction making you dripping wet. Xiao carried you and laid you on his soft bed, making sure that your head would be supported by a pillow underneath. He was caring despite his hungry kisses and you blushed at the thought of him being thoughtful for your well being. Xiao didn't waste any time after he laid you in bed, he reached out for your clothes and slowly stripped you out of each garment, planting hickeys here and there as his hands traveled on your sensitive body. "mhm... Xiao...more.. please--hngh" you tried to beg only to be cut off by your own moan when Xiao decided to place his lips on your nipple, his free hand groping the other. "be a patient good girl for me." he cooed. Xiao was emitting such lewd sounds as he sucked on your nipple, his other hand slowly making its way down to your already wet cunt, his fingers kneading slow circles on your folds. You squirmed and moaned underneath him, your knees folded and closed due to the sensation. "how sensitive.. so pretty." Xiao nibbled on your lips before using his hand to pull your knees apart to allow him to move his fingers easier. He wanted you wide open for him, all stretched out for him so he can feel you dripping for him. You arched your back when you feel him press his digits on the folds of your pussy, slowly prodding on the entrance while his thumb was kneading on your budding clit. You tightened around his fingers, each move heating you up as you craved for more. Xiao kept planting hickeys around your breasts, occasionally sucking and licking on your nipple while his fingers played with your pretty little cunt.

"hngh... want you.. Xiao--ngh" you begged. Any more of his stimulation might make you cum, especially when he knew exactly where to touch you down there. Xiao ignored your plea, still insisting on teasing you. He liked the idea of being in control and having you weak for him with your mouth open while you moan, eyes shut, hands gripping on his hair and back arched while your pussy is being played. He used slow motions to play with your folds and the insides of you, making sure that he touches the right spots to send shivers down your legs. "no.. ngh.. Xiao.. faster--please" you pleaded breathlessly. But Xiao was strict and stubborn to his actions and instead of obeying to your wishes, he switched from sucking on your nipple to nibbling on your ear. "so needy." he whispered as he curled his fingers inside you and made small circles on the walls of your pussy. You were a moaning mess, he hit your g-spot so good that you tightened around him. You feel it building up inside you, if he keeps going any further you might just come on his hand right then and there. Xiao used his two digits to spread and carress the walls of your pussy, giving you no choice but to just moan harder to the sensation. "Xiao--nnghh I might.. I--" Xiao cut you off, his lips shutting you up as he kissed you torridly.

"Not yet." his voice was stern and strict. It felt more like an order that you had to obey or else you'll face consequences should you wish to disobey him. He pulled out his fingers before you reached your limit. You feel your cunt throbbing, eagerly craving for him to fill you up. Xiao sat back to strip himself, his hands finding its way to grip on your knees to keep it wide open for him. You took a good glimpse of his cock, tip already dripping with precum. You wanted it in so bad. Xiao wasted no time and began to grind the tip of his member on your clit, making sure that his dick is coated by the juices of your wet pussy. Your moans echoed in his room, he was teasing you and he did it nice and slow, making you more and more impatient. You wanted to beg, to make him hear your pleas but you did your best to remain patient and do as he ordered. After a while of more teasing, he loomed over you. His hair was falling on his face as he prompted himself over you and you swore the sight could make any woman in Teyvat lose their sanity.

"good girl." he burrowed his face in the crook of your neck and planted soft kisses on it, his hands carressing your torso and groping your breasts all while at the same time making you feel the tip of his cock enter your pussy. You were so wet and it wasn't even his whole dick inside you yet, the stimulation just drove you insane and knowing that it was Xiao fucking you was enough to turn you into a moaning hot mess. You feel the tip slip in and you arched your back as you moaned. He was all over your body, making sure that his hands and lips were planted on your skin so you don't forget his warmth. He kept teasing, only letting the tip in and grinding it in the entrance of your dripping cunt. "hngnh.. Xiao.. please--ughn, I want it.. in-" It was this familiar feeling again. Any more of his teasing and you might just come. It was just too good and a big part of you just wanted his whole thing stuffed in you. "hmm.. so impatient." he cooed, his lips brushing on your neck and all the way down to your shoulder. He planted one last kiss on you before sitting back up, his hands now gripping on your knees to spread them wide. He took his member out and held it, using the tip to gather the slick dripping from your cunt before shoving his whole dick in. Moans were the only thing escaping from your lips, head filling in with ecstasy as Xiao pounds his cock in you. He was going in so fast and deep, the curve of his cock grinding on the pulsating tight walls of your wet needy pussy.

"ngh..." his moans were a major turn on and you paired it up with your own sets of moans too, making it the only sound being heard in the room other than the sound of skin slapping from being fucked hard by an adeptus. The pounding of his cock inside you was enough to bring you to cloud9. You reached out to his arms and hugged him close, your fingers digging on his back as his thrusts grew faster. The built up orgasm you had from all his teasing earlier was coming back again but you paid no mind to it and continued moaning. "oh! Xiao... there.. deeper---there!" he went in much closer to you, face buried beside your neck while his hands travelled down to grip on your butt, raising it up a little so he could hit the deepest parts of you better. His cock prodded on your walls that was now tightening up more than before. You were so good around his member, your pussy enveloping every part of his throbbing dick inside you.

"Xiao.. coming.. hnngg--" you wrapped your legs around him to pull him closer, wanting every inch of him go deeper as you neared your orgasm. "Go on. Come for me." he said it with his raspy panting voice right in your ear and licked it as he rammed his cock in a slower but deeper pace. Once again you were a moaning mess, helplessly calling out his name in between moans. You spasmed as you came, toes curling in and your fingers drawing lines on his back as you digged them in his skin. He let out the sexiest moan as you feel his load being shot inside you, deliciously filling you up and the rest dripping out at the entrance of your creaming pussy along with your own cum.

You lay there breathlessly under him, your head still high up in the clouds. You feel him panting beside you and he proceeded to hug you as he rolled over to the side, not minding that his cock was still stuffed inside you. You liked the sloppy feeling of your pussy dripping with his cum and his dick coated by the creamy walls of your hot cunt.

You hugged him back, snuggling in close to him and slowly drifting to sleep. You felt him kiss your forehead after a while and his hand cupped the back of your head to pull you closer to his chest. You had the sweetest dream that night and you couldn't be any more happier than knowing that you were wrapped in his arms during your sleep.

「hanyaksha © 2021」 all content belongs to me. please do not modify, edit, or repost.

[twink-appreciation-posts]

High Caliber - Spencer Reid x Reader

chapter ten of “all bets are off”

!! this chapter is 100% SKIPPABLE. you do not need to read it for the plot if you do not want to !!

WARNINGS: GUN PLAY. not safe handling of lethal weapons. this is WRITING and i do not encourage this reckless behavior. literally just PORN.

Wait, you had a mantra didn’t you?

What was it again?

It was sort of hard to think clearly when Spencer was pinning you up against the wall with a hand wrapped securely around your neck. It was sort of hard to breathe or move in general, actually, but you weren’t complaining. There hadn’t been a moment since you’d both stepped in the door of your apartment that his lips weren’t on yours. When he kissed you it had always been passionate, but this time it was beyond that. His lips moved against yours like his life depended on it. There was no back and forth struggle for power. He was fully in control and you both knew it. When he was forced to pull away from you to breathe and he released his grip to allow you to do the same, you were struggling to grasp at the hint of rational thought.

“S-Spence….” Your voice was raspy, weak. He watched your face, waiting for you to finish your thought. Fuck. The stupid fucking mantra. You had only had it for a few days and you were already about to fuck it up. When you didn’t continue your sentence Spencer grew impatient. He was tugging your shirt off and then his hands were moving under your shirt, behind your back to unclasp your bra. He wasn’t wasting time. He leaned down and left sloppy kisses down from your collarbones, trailing downwards until his lips closed around one of your hardened nipples. Your hands shot up to his hair, tugging gently as he teased the sensitive area with his tongue.

“Spencer,” you attempted to speak for the second time, words getting cut short for a moment by a moan. “Spencer, listen to me….” He hesitated, pulling away from your body and looking up at you with those eyes that were screaming at you that he was desperate to take what was his. “We can’t have sex.” You blurted the words out quickly, stumbling over them, immediately regretting it.

He stood up straight, staring at you with confusion. “What?”

You stared at the ground, twirling your hair nervously, too scared that you’d melt away if you looked at him. “W-We can’t have sex. I-I made a promise to myself that we wouldn’t… that I wouldn’t have sex with you again.”

You were scared of what his reaction may be. Anger? Hurt? Wondering why the fuck you invited him over in the first place? You were sure as hell were wondering that yourself. But his response was more concerning that you had expected. He laughed. A low, dark laugh that was enough to make your eyes flicker up to see what the hell was going on. “That’s what you promised yourself? You wouldn’t have sex with me again?”

You nodded, staring up at him with a mixture of concern and fear. What was so funny about that?

“And what, exactly, do you define sex as?” He questioned. Oh. You saw where this was going.

“Um, I-I don’t know…” You replied honestly.

“Well, is this sex?” He dropped to his knees in front of you, hands running up and down your thighs, spreading them slightly. You watched, lips slightly parted in shock, as he leaned forward, licking a stripe from your clit down to your entrance. You gasped, head rolling back and bumping against the wall.

He paused. “Is it?” He asked again, lips hovering so close to where you desperately wanted him. You bucked your hips forward slightly in tour desperation and he responded planting his hands on either side of your hips, pinning you to the wall.

“N-No, I guess not.” You breathed out. He let out an amused huff, leaning forward once again and sealing his lips around your clit, tongue rubbing fast circles around it. You moaned loudly, toes curling slightly at the sensation. This isn’t what you had expected from deciding to stick to your word. He groaned against you, one of his hands sliding down from your hips to your inner thigh, caressing it with his thumb. Your hands once again found their way into his hair, tangling and tugging at his roots. He liked it, you could tell, because with each tug he would move his tongue a little bit faster. After a few moments, he pulled away and you whimpered at the loss of contact.

“What about this, huh?” His finger toyed at your entrance, the digit immediately becoming soaked with your wetness. “Is this sex?”

You were panting, shaking your head frantically. “No.”

You could see he was amused. You had only added rules to the game he had been playing with you all along, and Spencer had always liked a challenge that made him use his head. “Seems like we’re figuring out that we don’t need to break your promise, then.” He pushed two fingers inside of you, pumping them in and out slowly, watching your face as the pleasure took over. He licked his lips before diving back in, his tongue lapping at your clit hungrily. You couldn’t take your eyes off of him as he worked, inching you closer to orgasm with each second.

Your moans were crude, loud, unfiltered, as he overwhelmed you with stimulation. Fuck. You were so close, but for some reason he was slowing down strategically, holding you on the edge. “God, fuck, please. Please let me cum.” You groaned in frustration. “Please, I’ll do anything. Fucking hell, I’m so close. Spencer, please.” But he didn’t care. He kept going, only stopping and slowing down when he felt your body begin to shake or flinch. He continued on like this for what felt like forever, bringing you impossibly close to your climax without allowing you to actually cum. When he finally stopped all together there were tears forming in your eyes, your body aching for release more than it ever had before.

When he pulled away he looked up at you, hair matted to his forehead from sweat, his lips pink and swollen, and you could’ve passed out from the sight.

“Do you know the types of thoughts I had about you this week while you were ignoring me?” He rasped out. You were at a loss for words, wishing he would just let you finish. “I thought about showing up at your apartment. I thought about taking you against your desk so that I could prove to you and everyone else how much of a slut you are. At Rossi’s I thought about fingering you under the table and watching as you tried to hold back your cute little moans….”

You noticed suddenly that as he was speaking he was feeling around for something underneath his pants near his ankles. What the fuck?

“You had my mind going to places I never thought it could go. I thought I was going crazy,” he continued, eyes never straying from your face. You took the time took take a look at his, scanning, finding some emotion that you couldn’t quite place.

“You never answered me the other day, you know.” He bit his lip and suddenly his brow furrowed like he was concentrating. “About if you trust me.”

And that’s when you heard it. The click of a gun being removed from a holster. Your eyes went wide with panic. “What the fuck?” You gasped out, body running cold as you saw him pulling out his weapon from under his pant leg, holding it at his side. “Spencer. What the fuck?” You repeated, voice wavering.

“Would this be considered sex?” You had never seen Spencer like this before. He was focused, breathing heavily, and there was a determination and darkness behind his eyes that should’ve made you rethink your situation. Keyword: should’ve. Because the only thing you felt in the moment was a twisted attraction. Need. Want. Desire. Everything that you knew you shouldn’t feel, but staring at Spencer with a gun in his hand like this was only lighting a fire within you that you hadn’t felt before.

Words left your mouth without conscious thought. “No, sir.”

Spencer let out a long exhale, a combination of relief and lust. “Good girl. Fuck. Such a good girl.”

You watched as he fiddled with the gun in his hand for a moment before he stood up, kissing you with enough force to cause you to bang your head against the wall sharply. Neither of you seemed to care. Suddenly you felt cold metal trailing down the side of your body. You shivered, gasping, which Spencer used as an opportunity to slip his tongue further into your mouth. You knew he was running the tip of the gun down your body, pausing as he pulled away.

“Couch. Now.” He breathed against your lips. You nodded, taking the few steps it took to get to your couch, and he followed, sitting down and spreading his legs a bit. “Do you wanna ride my thigh, baby?” He suggested, gun still resting in one hand.

Yes. Fuck yes. You instantly moved to straddle his thigh, eyes locked on his. He looked down for a moment, freaking his eye contact, and you heard the unmistakable sound of a loaded gun being cocked. You watched as he moved the gun upwards, placing the barrel against the side of your head. You gulped. “You look so pretty,” Spencer cooed. His other hand held your hips down against his thigh, moving you back and forth quickly to apply even more friction. You were getting close again, but you tried to cover it up, hoping that if he wouldn’t notice he wouldn’t stop you, but it was to no avail. He noticed your breath becoming ragged, your legs shaking around him, and he held you down harder, stopping the movement of your hips. “N-No…” You said weakly, trying to break free of his hold.

“I know you want to cum, baby. Beg. Beg for me to fuck you with my gun.” he whispered directly into your ear, breathing heavily.

“Please, sir, please. I’ll do anything. I’ll do anything for you. I need it.” You were aware of how pathetic you sounded, but words were coming out faster than your brain could consider them. He helped you off of his thigh and pushed you down onto the couch gently. You shivered in anticipation as you felt the metal leave your skull, only to reappear between your legs, pushing the barrel against your entrance. The cold and smooth texture felt foreign but strangely pleasurable, and your back arched instinctively towards it.

“So needy, even for something like this,” Spencer commented, pushing the barrel inside of you just a few inches. Your breath caught in your throat, mouth open in a silent moan, as he slowly and carefully pushed it further in, inch by inch, stretching you open. The few bumps and rivets on the gun were amplifying the pleasure that was taking hold of your body, and you couldn’t stop the moans and whimpers that began to leave your mouth.

“Fuck. Feels so fucking good. So fucking good.” You choked out.

“Yeah? You like that, baby? I knew you would. My perfect little girl.” He praised gently, tucking your hair behind your ear almost lovingly, a stark contrast to the actions of his other hand. He was moving the gun faster now, pumping it in and out of you, deep enough to where the cylinder was pressing up against your stomach with every thrust. “Open.” He commanded, tapping a finger to your bottom lip. You obliged and he spit into your mouth and you barely hesitated before you swallowed. “You’re so fucking hot.” He practically growled, moving to nibble on the sensitive skin of your neck, leaving bruises where the old ones had finally begun to heal. The edging that you had gone through earlier kept you steadily moving towards your climax, body shaking.

“S-Sir, I’m so close.” You warned, voice wavering.

“I know, baby.” He mumbled against your neck. “Go ahead. Cum for me.” You cried out as your body convulsed around the weapon, cumming around it, leaning against Spencer for support. He watched, marveling at your reaction to the pleasure. When you began to recover he pulled the barrel out. You watched as he brought the gun up to your lips. He watched you expectantly. You parted your lips and he pressed the gun forward, forcing it into your mouth. You tasted yourself and metal on your tongue, embarrassment threatening to take over when you realized what was happening. “Clean it. We can’t have anyone finding it all dirty when they do equipment inspections.” He commanded. Your embarrassment faded a bit, being shoved down by your desire to please Spencer. You flicked your tongue around the barrel, doing your best to follow instructions, and when he was satisfied he pulled the gun back out. He wiped your spit off onto the fabric of his pants. “You’re so good.” He repeated the praise.

“What about you?” You questioned, realizing you had barely even touched him yet.

“Still worried about making me feel good?” He smiled a bit. “Aren’t you tired, baby?” You began to say no, but he cut you off. “We can just say you owe me one.” You weren’t sure if that was better or worse than just getting on your knees right then and there, but you nodded, agreeing.

“I don’t know what to say…” You breathed out eventually.

“You did so well for me, and you kept your promise.” He told you, leaning down to place the gun back in its compartment. “Want me to run you a bath again?”

You nodded. This was starting to feel uncomfortably like a routine. Get wildly fucked only to not talk about it and take a bath. Oh well. You were too tired and shocked to argue.

You weren’t excited to wake up in the morning, sure that you would have bruises on your neck, an ache between your legs, and the knowledge of everything you had just done.

“I’ll go do that, then.”

And then he was walking towards the bathroom, and you were left wondering how you had gotten yourself into a worse situation than you had been in before the night had begun.

Fuck. Mantra or not, you were still getting your life ruined and you couldn’t blame anyone but yourself.

taglist <3

@101donuts @annestine @spideyboix @babybloomer @welcome-to-hoeville @eldahae @brokenanxiety @andiebeaword @spencerwaltergubler @la-vie-en-amour1 @rainsong01 @taekwinkle @dreamer7black @guessthatswhyiliveinhell @creepingfromthecorners @joyousreid @slutforthegubes @cluelessnitwhit @idfkijustneedafuckinguser @downondilaudid @screeching-student-unknown @gretaamyk @thegingerfairchild @criminal-minds-reider @spencerrreid-cm @collegestudentvevo

[princessofgayskull]

our secret moments in your crowded room // pt. 2

a catradora drabble (companion piece to this) featuring Melog

summary: Catra doesn’t want to go back to sleeping alone, and her new room in the Bright Moon Castle is too big not to be lonely

The first night Catra sleeps alone, she doesn’t sleep at all.

She doesn’t understand how anyone expects her to, either. The night that followed Horde Prime’s defeat, the first time the moons rise on a planet that finally peace, is total and complete chaos. It’s the feel of magic settling in the air, it’s clones who don’t know who they are or what to do expect stand around everywhere, it’s the victory cry of Etherians echoing across the horizon, Catra’s voice joining them for the first time. 

It was also too unfeasible to go all the way back to Bright Moon and make it there in time for anyone to get any actual sleep. Not that anyone gets much rest back at camp either, but at least those shelters were already made. The night was equal parts celebration and retribution. For the first time in years, Catra falls asleep on Adora’s shoulder with Melog sprawled over both their laps. For the first time in years, Catra wakes to find Adora still there with.

But going to Bright Moon is unavoidable. It’s unavoidable because it’s Etheria’s center, it’s where the diplomacy flows out and into the rest of the system, it’s where the new beginning actually begins and Glimmer has this idea in her head that Catra should be there and should be a part of it. What, like she’s gonna go back to the Fright Zone? There was nothing left for her there. 

Everything important in Catra’s life is heading towards Bright Moon for the next phase, and they want Catra to come with them. Adora wants Catra to come with them. And when Adora tells her that when they’re breaking down camp, her hands on Catra’s shoulders and that soft look in her eyes, that instinctual urge to run away disintegrates into nothing.

She just doesn’t expect her first night in Bright Moon to be spent staring up at a ceiling so far up in a room enveloped in the night’s darkness and the paralyzing sound of her own loneliness. Melog sleeps across her chest, a white noise machine of warmth, keeping her grounded in this reality of this room that has its own gravity. Catra can’t find it in her to close her eyes as she lays across what’s more of a pillow plush than an actual bed.

The only reason Catra’s in here is because Glimmer gifted her the room out of legitimate kindness. As it turns out, Adora got one of her own when she left Catra- sorry, defected from the Horde- because people here were actually treated like people and regardless of what Catra had done in the past, she fell into that category now. She was one of them now. It didn’t make her a princess or queen by the longest shot, but around here that counted for something.

“Pretty sweet accommodations, huh?” Glimmer had thrown her words from Horde’s Prime back at her, holding back no amusement when she had shown Catra around the room, teleporting in a craze from one piece of fancy furniture to the next.

All of the moments that Catra had spent overwhelmed and so, so out of her depth since walking into Glimmer’s palace were coming crashing down on her now and she could barely breathe under the weight of it all. Figuring all her snarky commentary about the way Royals lived was enough, Catra didn’t bother voicing her discomfort. Deep down, she hoped that the way Melog wrapped themselves between her legs and curled their tail up her thigh clued Adora- or anyone really- into how much she wanted to be whisked away from this.  

Why hadn’t Adora just asked Catra to stay in her room? Catra would’ve been more than okay with that. 

Running her claws down her face, Catra groaned. It had been stupid to think that those sleepovers Glimmer gushed about when it was just the two of them on Horde Prime’s ship would last forever now that she was a part of the gang. Not as stupid as thinking Adora would be up for some sort of cohabitating, shared sleeping arrangements with her when they’d been sworn enemies less than a month ago.

“I need to give Adora space. She’s her own person, she can make her own decisions.” Catra tells herself, trying to take a deep breath like Perfuma had taught her. “And I’ll fall asleep eventually. I don’t need her around to do that.”

This statement prompts Melog to lift their head, ethereal blue eyes wide and shining with packed judgement.

“Don’t look at me like that!” Catra hisses at her animal/alien companion. The dissonant purr of Melog’s reply fills the empty space around them.

“You didn’t ask Adora if she wanted to sleep alone. You can ask her if she wants to sleep together, and if she says she wants space, then you know,” Melog’s purr ends and Catra rolls her eyes before throwing her head back on her pillow.

“How does that help me now? Adora’s probably asleep already. Last thing I wanna do is wake her up and get punched in the nose. Again.”

Melog, keeping their eyes on Catra, withholds their reply. Not backing down form the staring contest the alien cat has incited, she glares at her companion. Which is useless knowing how she’s practically see through to this creature- wait, she stops herself, blinking. See through.

Catra has the beginnings of an idea. A creepy idea, so she doesn’t bother trying to think it through, rather pushes Melog of her legs and trips off the giant pink pillow puff that’s her bed so she can act before she uses her bravery. 

A purr makes Catra’s ear perk up, “Really? Are you sure this is a good idea?

“Hey!” Catra sent a flat look in Melog’s direction. They’re shielding her legs and making her think twice. “Laying next to that cot Adora has cloaked isn’t great but it’s better than being in here alone!” Alone with the images that haunt her, the images she’s sees when she lets her eyes close: Shadow Weaver taking her mask off before ceasing to exist, the violent green waters of Prime’s baptismal font, Adora unconscious in her arms as the world ends around them. With shaking hands she asks, “Are you gonna help me or not?”

Melog runs through her legs, rubbing her calf with their phasing mane. Catra’s companion heads for the door.

 _

Sneaking past the Queen’s Guard is child’s play. Melog has her back, keeping the both of them cloaked, as Catra sneaks around in her Horde issued bra and sleeping shorts. Maybe one day she and Adora will get around to finding clothing that can withstand the strain of battle that doesn’t carry the Horde’s symbol, but Catra doubts a shopping list is high on anyone’s priority list right now.

It’s not like any of the guards that stand at fourteen feet intervals- Catra notices- are on high alert, or would rat her out for being out past curfew. Because there’s no curfew here and that’s not their job. But Catra breathes a little easier knowing she can’t be seen. Maybe it’s because they can’t ask questions if they can’t see her, can’t make her rethink her strange stalker like actions. Maybe it’s because wearing their clothes, Catra hasn’t exactly shaken off the rust of growing up in the Fright Zone.

Melog keeps her out of sight as they walk past Bow’s room, sending her a look when they hear his snores seeping out from under the door frame. Catra shrugs. 

With no guards around, Melog starts up again, “Why did they put Adora’s room so far from yours?” which Catra knows is probably code for, “how much longer do I have to keep this up?”

“You big baby,” Catra runs her hand over Melog’s tail, “And I dunno, how I am supposed to know the inner workings of Sparkles’ mind? I’m like, the first person new here that hasn’t been a prisoner.”

Her claws trail the wall and she keeps up with Melog’s steps. 

The fact that the room Glimmer put her in was where they’d been “keeping” Scorpia didn’t go over Catra’s head. Yeah, she and Scorpia are on better terms these days, but remembering how Scorpia left her for the Rebellion still brings a sting to Catra’s throat. Remembering that it was her own fault is like the punch in the gut she didn’t ask for, but probably deserv- WHACK!

“Ow!” Beyond the pain resonating in Catra’s forehead, she can hear Adora cry out. 

“Adora?!” Melog’s cloaking falls and Catra is standing in front of her, well, sort of girlfriend, wincing and holding her forehead there in her gray tank top and shorts.

“Catra?!” Adora yells with the same tone when she realizes what the invisible force she butted heads with actually is. “What are you doing out of bed?” 

“I could ask you the same thing.” replies Catra.

Adora takes a guarded stance and Melog looks between the two of them before her shoulders fall, “I- I couldn’t sleep. I thought, um, that I could come see you? I mean, I did think you were going to be asleep and I thought I could just stay there with you-” as she speaks, a sort of softness overcomes Catra. How had she managed to survive on the other edge of Adora’s sword? No wonder her destiny as a Force Captain was doomed from the start, that her anger sputtered and left her burned out. Catra had so much love for this woman. It was always going to win out at the end of the day. “-is that creepy? I know, it’s creepy but I just really wanted to see you-”

Catra grabs Adora’s hand and looks her in the eye. “Do you wanna come lay down? With- with me?” 

“Mmhmm,” nods Adora. She intertwines their fingers together, and when Catra starts to pull her back up the hallway, she follows without hesitation.

Since they’re going back the way they came, past Bow and Glimmer’s rooms, Catra’s hand finds Melog’s forehead and the cloaking flows through their bodies. Catra and Adora don’t make any noise, don’t make any stops, beyond the looks Catra throws her over her shoulder. Right before they reach the door to Catra’s room, Adora squeezes Catra’s hand. 

“Hey,” her voice is barely above a whisper, “why were you out of bed?”

“No reason.” Catra turn her face away, hoping that the cover of the dark will hide her growing blush. She curls her tail around her waist and keeps it there to keep it from betraying her.

“Oh my gosh, Catra- were you coming to see me?” Adora throws her hands onto Catra’s shoulders, a playful instinct that Catra can’t fight the subconscious need to return.

Melog’s cloaking falls.

Grabbing Adora’s fingers, Catra pulls her sort of girlfriend to her front before grabbing her wrists and pinning her to the wall. Their noses touching, Catra lets herself smile, “Okay, maybe I was. You’re not the only person who doesn’t want to sleep alone.”

“Is it also cause you like me?” teases Adora. 

Even in the dark Adora’s the most beautiful thing Catra’s ever seen; blonde hair unrestrained and kissing her defined shoulder, standing up against the wall in her pajamas, she’s all Catra’s ever wanted.  

“You idiot,” Catra kisses her lips, “it’s actually because I love you.”

_

Catra wakes to a warmth against her back. A chest rising and falling, a hand lain across the crook of her elbow. Opening her eyes, she sees that it’s not only light out, but that the dawn has come and gone, turned in midmorning without their permission. There’s no way she and Adora haven’t slept in way past the time the promised to be up and ready to take on the challenges that awaited them in peacetime.

“Adora,” she mutters, rolling over and buries her face in the space between Adora’s shoulder and head, “you’re hogging the blanket.”

Adora doesn’t open her eyes as her grip on Catra’s waist tightens, “‘S’not fair. You have Melog.”

Running her hand down the side of her animal companion, Catra lets out of a breath. She’s sandwiched in between Melog and Adora’s warmth, the little spoon wrapped in Adora’s calm embrace. There’s nothing Catra would change about this. This is the way she’d keep things forever if it were up to her.

“We have to get up soon,” Catra tries, yawning and stretching her arms out.

Her girlfriend’s hands come down over hers, “Don’t want to.”

“Adora-”

“I want to stay with you, Catra,” her sleepy voice reverberates over Catra’s ears and they flatten under her chin. Tail winding around Adora’s waist, she pulls her closer and sighs.

“What if Rainbow and Sparkles come looking for us?” 

Adora, eyes still closed, lets out a happy sigh. “Let them.”

It goes without saying that Catra never has to sleep alone again.

reblogs > likes!

[blkmxrvel]

Haven’t Forgotten My Way Home (21)-[CONVERTED]

Pairing: Kara Zor-El x Female!Reader

Summary: In the D/s society of National City, men and women abandoned by their Dom/mes or otherwise deemed unfit for life “outside” end up at the Mount Overland House for Orphaned Submissives. It is here that Kara Zor-El finds Y/N Hastings, broken and fearful from mistreatment at the hands of her former Dom. Can Kara coax Y/N back into the world that once so terrified her, and show her the true meaning of care and submission?

Warnings: Domestic Violence (Flashbacks, Mentions and Descriptions), Misogyny, Domination/Submission.

A/N: Hi, everyone! I know it’s been an EXTREMELY long time and I apologize for that. Life got in the way. But I won’t be giving up on posting this! I’m going to be posting chapters 21-28 daily over the next week, as i’ve already had them converted. As for the last 3, they should be up in rapid succession. Thanks for not giving up on me lol, love you guys and enjoy!

Kara liked the freedom of living on her own. She liked being able to leave her clothes lying around if she wanted to – which she didn’t. She liked being able to have dessert first sometimes – which she did, frequently. And she liked being able to decorate her house the way she wanted to, stay up as late as she wanted, play her music as loud as she wanted and sing along with anything and everything, even the television commercials.

Which she didn’t do.

Not often, anyway.

But every now and then… sometimes it was nice for Kara just to go home. To the place she was born, where she was raised. The place where Kara Sophia Zor-El first discovered just who, exactly, she was.

David Zor-El threw open the door and immediately wrapped his arms around Kara, pulling the girl inside. “I’m not letting you go,” he said, hugging her tightly. “I haven’t seen you in forever.”

Kara rolled her eyes and carefully disengaged herself from him, returning the hug nonetheless. “Thanksgiving was just three days ago, Daddy,” she said happily. “I don’t think that constitutes forever.”

“It does in Daddy-time,” he said, then looked past Kara, above her head. “And who’s this?”

Kara half-turned, extending her hand with a smile to the Y/H/C-haired, nervous submissive hovering just behind her. Y/N took it and offered her own, albeit smaller, smile. “This is Y/N, Daddy. She’s… my friend. I told you, remember?”

Y/N looked at Kara’s dad shyly, but didn’t say anything, and Kara squeezed her hand...

“That you did, that you did,” David said, stepping over to study Y/N, looking warmly at her. “But you failed to mention that she’s beautiful, Kara. It almost hurts to look at her; it’s like staring at the sun with no sunglasses.”

“Daddy, stop, you’re embarrassing her,” Kara said, lightly punching him in the arm. “And you’re going to make Dad jealous.”

“Yes, stop, my boy,” Randy said, coming into the living room and standing beside his husband. “You’re giving me a complex.”

“He forgets I only have eyes for him,” David said to Y/N, who rewarded him with a grin and a blush. “This is Kara’s friend, Y/N, Sir.”

It was only now that Kara was grown and out of the house that her fathers were more comfortable with their dynamic in front of her. As a child she’d known it existed, because it was the way things were. But her fathers were intensely private, and so their dynamic was often revealed in more subtle ways to their daughter. It was through her fathers that Kara learned a dynamic could be established with just a single word. The raise of an eyebrow. The fact that her Daddy was always the one who made dinner and that Dad was the one she had to ask about a raise in her allowance.

The full force of her fathers’ dynamic, and their love, had become apparent when Randy had gotten sick. Used to Randy making the rules, David had nevertheless become the rock of the family, holding his Sir and Kara together as he cared for the man he loved. Their rules had all but gotten thrown out of the window, and it was interesting to see, if only for a short time, the dynamic shift, in a way. Randy had had difficulty giving up some of his control, especially since that was even out of his control. And it was Randy who had the biggest problem with Kara giving up the New York Academy of the Dramatic Arts to help take care of him, but David was the one who voiced it, resulting in the biggest argument Kara had ever had with her fathers.

Every now and then they would bring up NYADA, but it was very easy for Kara to push away that conversation by telling them that she had work to do in National City, and that if she didn’t do it, no one else would. Kara knew that her fathers were proud of her, but she also knew that there was sadness that she hadn’t yet realized her dream, and probably no small amount of guilt from Randy. Kara had repeatedly told him that she didn’t blame him, and she didn’t, but she knew neither of her fathers would be truly happy until she was in New York.

Randy regarded Y/N seriously before smiling just as warmly at her, even as his eyebrow rose at Kara. She felt herself flush and shrugged slightly; her father was always able to see right through her.

“Welcome to our home, Y/N,” Randy said, stepping back and leading the girls more fully into the house. “Do you want anything to drink, something to eat?”

Kara watched Y/N carefully, then practically beamed as Y/N said, “I wouldn’t mind a drink if it’s not too much trouble, Mr. Zor-El.”

Y/N’s eyes were wide and inquisitive, almost like a child’s, as she took in her surroundings. The Zor-El house was small, smaller than Kara’s even, but it was comfortable and it was clear that, unlike Y/N’s childhood home, Kara was sure, that people lived and loved there. Everywhere in the house was evidence of a happy family: from the pictures of Kara and her fathers on the wall, to Kara’s numerous singing awards as a child, and both Randy and David’s work accomplishments. David was chief of staff at a hospital outside of the city, and Randy’s skill as an accountant kept him in high demand at tax season. Kara was proud of her fathers, and proud to be their daughter.

“Please, call me Randy,” he said, before tipping his chin at his submissive, who quickly went to the kitchen to fetch drinks. “And as gushing as my David is, he’s also right. You’re absolutely beautiful.”

They sat on the couch with Y/N close to Kara, who briefly touched Y/N’s knee reassuringly. The gesture didn’t go unnoticed by Randy, who seemed to have been staring at his daughter ever since he’d entered the room. She felt exposed under his gaze; she knew he could read her like an open libretto, and that he’d no doubt start asking her questions as soon as they were alone, but she wasn’t sure she was ready for that, at all. She didn’t have to answer to her fathers when it came to her personal life, Kara knew, but she also knew that they were used to her tendency to leap without a parachute.

“Thank you, Mr.- Randy,” Y/N said softly, losing some of the tension in her muscles as David brought her a drink and handed it to her with a smile. “It’s really nice to meet both of you.”

“Speaking of meeting,” David said, snuggling up to his Sir on the couch, “How did you and Kara meet?”

“Oh, I-I, um…”

“Through work,” Kara said, gently squeezing Y/N’s knee. “I saw her across the room, said hello, started talking—“

“Wouldn’t shut up…”

Kara blinked, looking at Y/N, who smirked at her.

David grinned. “That’s our Kara,” he said. “She’ll talk your ear off if you’d let her.”

“Oh, I’m sure the ears are just the first things to go.”

Kara gaped and as David and Randy laughed, Y/N leaned into her to whisper.

“No rules outside the house, Miss Kara.”

“Might have to rethink that,” Kara muttered in return, but she wasn’t annoyed. No, the reaction she was having at Y/N’s smart little moment of defiance was… inspiring a completely different reaction in her. She coughed and took a sip of her drink to distract herself from thinking about it.

… Was this why Lena liked it so much when Sam was a brat?

But it was dangerous, too, this game Y/N was playing with her, in front of her fathers. Kara had told her before the visit that they would have to be careful.

“Are you ashamed of me?” Y/N had asked her, and the question had cut Kara to the core.

“Of course not,” she’d hastened to reassure the girl. “But little one, I don’t want to jump into this too quickly, and you know why it’s important not too many people know about us right now.”

“Because you’re still scared,” Y/N had said, and Kara hadn’t been sure she had an argument against that.

But there would be no way she could be ashamed of Y/N. It had been a week since they’d made steps towards setting up their dynamic, and slowly but surely both she and Y/N were making progress in discovering what they both liked, and what neither of them wanted. Kara was quickly learning that Y/N craved instruction almost as much as she craved reassurance. It was a delicate balance, for Kara to tell Y/N things like “go get this,” or “bring me that,” and have it be within the context of their relationship and not just her being overbearing or controlling. But Y/N seemed to be thriving with it, and even Nia had remarked that Y/N acted much happier than she had before. Kara had declined to give Nia a reason for it.

For herself, Kara was discovering that one of her favorite things was just to cuddle with Y/N at the end of the day. She’d been worried about having Y/N on her knees so much, but it didn’t matter if she insisted Y/N sit next to her on the couch; inevitably Kara would find that Y/N had slipped to her knees at her feet, and her head was resting either on Kara’s lap or against her side. And Kara would just hold her, stroking her hair, and watch for that quiet look of contentment to appear on Y/N’s face.

That was the one thing that Lena had repeatedly stressed to Kara during her training: watching was a necessity. Watch for happiness, for pleasure. But more than that, watch for any sign of hurt, any sign of discomfort, any sign of loneliness. And it didn’t matter if Y/N was curled up to her or stuck with her nose in the corner, Kara wouldn’t stop watching, guarding against any misstep, terrified to make a mistake. Because for Kara it was a huge thing, finally having a submissive.

And having one that had been completely broken before, at the hands of another? Delicate wasn’t a word Kara would use to describe Y/N, but it was the only way she knew to treat the girl. There was a danger in that, too, Kara knew, though she didn’t think Y/N would ever be one to take advantage of it.

Even if she was a brat.

But her fathers were asking Y/N more questions, much like Alex had that first time, and Kara quickly turned her attention back to them. She was content just to sit and listen to Y/N’s voice as the young woman described everything from her parents to things she liked to do in her spare time… describing anything but how she and Kara had really met, how she had been promised to an abusive boy at the age of 16, the fact that she had ended up at Mt. Overland House.

And as much as Kara remained ever watchful of Y/N, even as they sat there with her fathers, she knew that Y/N was also watching, watching the interactions of Randy and David. It was only the second time she’d seen the way a positive relationship worked, and Kara thought it was cute, the way her eyes were wide and taking everything in. And there was a lot to see; Kara’s fathers, while not outwardly affectionate like Alex and Maggie, were very much in love. It was evident in the way they looked at each other, in the way David refilled his Sir’s drink without even being asked, in the way that Randy offered his hand to help David off the couch. Kara had giggled quietly to herself when Y/N’s mouth had dropped open a little, the first time Randy had said “thank you” to his submissive for bringing him something.

“I’ll be right back,” Kara said, when she felt her phone vibrate in her pocket for the third time that evening. She was worried that it might be something for work; even though she had prescribed hours during the day, she was always technically “on-call” at night, and she knew all it would take is one case like Y/N’s, and she’d be out the door and on her way to Mt. Overland House.

But she furrowed her brow when she saw that the calls were not from work, but from Alex, and she hadn’t left a voicemail.

“Huh,” she said quietly to herself, just as Y/N slipped into the kitchen.

“Everything all right, Miss—“ Y/N caught herself and cleared her throat. “Everything all right, Kara?”

“I hope so,” Kara said. “Alex’s been trying to reach me, I’ll have to call her in a little bit and make sure nothing’s happened with Maggie.” As much as she loved her best friend it was always in the back of Kara’s mind that she’d get a call like this, that Maggie had done something to hurt herself, or worse, Alex. She knew Maggie was working hard to escape the demons of her past, but she also knew how easy it was for the demons to catch up.

She turned back to Y/N, and, noting that her fathers were talking together in the living room, reached out to cup her waist, pulling Y/N to her. She kissed her gently, and then whispered, “You’re being an absolute brat right now. I can’t believe you told them I snore louder than Theo when I’m napping!”

Y/N giggled, a blush spreading over her cheeks as she tucked her head on Kara’s shoulder. “But you can’t put me in the corner here,” she teased. “Remember your rule? The only place you’re Miss Kara is in your home.”

Kara rolled her eyes, running her hand through Y/N’s hair. “Am I only Miss Kara at my house, though?” she asked softly.

Y/N shook her head, her breath tickling Kara’s neck, and Kara shivered. “No. You’re my Miss Kara no matter where we are.”

She didn’t know why that made her arms tighten around Y/N, but it did, and Kara gently kissed the top of Y/N’s head. “Then maybe we ought to reconsider that rule.”

Y/N pulled herself up and met Kara’s eyes. “I could be okay with that,” she said, and her gaze was steady, clear.

“Even if it means you’re going straight to the corner when we get back, my little obnoxious one?” Kara said with a grin.

Y/N smiled, flushing an even deeper shade of pink. “Even if it means that, Miss Kara.”

From behind them Kara heard her father clear his throat, and she and Y/N jumped apart. Randy smiled at them both, though it was strained even as he politely said to Y/N, “David is breaking out the family photo albums, I imagine you might want to see them?”

“I- yes,” Y/N said, seeming reluctant to leave Kara. “I want to see just how cute… Kara was as a baby.”

Kara groaned and covered her face with her palm, shaking her head, as Y/N headed into the living room. She grinned at Randy. “Photo albums are things you show girlfriends, Dad.”

“Which is maybe why David wants to bring them out, Sophie,” Randy said, leaning against the counter with his arms crossed over his chest.

Kara sighed.

“Want to tell me where you really met Y/N?”

She should’ve known that Randy would see everything, from the way she looked at Y/N to the little touches they’d both shared, here and there throughout their conversation with Kara’s dads. For Kara it was the casual affection that was easy with Y/N, for Y/N it was the constant need for reassurance but also, Kara was beginning to learn, the desperate need for her. Kara should’ve known that something like that wouldn’t be easy to hide.

“I did tell you. We met at work. I just didn’t tell you… that she lived at Mt. Overland House.”

Randy shook his head. “Mt. Overland House? Kara…”

“I know, Dad, all right?” Kara snapped, and then took a deep breath, moving to stand next to her father. “I know.”

Randy slipped his arm around his daughter’s shoulders and hugged her close. “So some jackass was mean to her, then. It’s a shame; she’s clearly an amazing young woman.”

Kara smiled to herself, nodding. “She’s not perfect, but she’s the closest to it I think I’ve found. With the exception of yours truly.”

“Is she good to you?”

“I don’t think that you and daddy could choose anyone better for me, if you were into that sort of thing.”

Kara spilled it all, then, hoisting herself up onto the counter like she used to do when she was little and she’d watch her Daddy cook while her Dad sat at the table poring over his work. How Y/N had grown up, how her claim had been arranged. Her dad made all the right gestures, all the right sounds of anger and indignation as Kara described Y/N’s abuse at the hands of James, and how she had ended up at Mt. Overland House that fateful night. She could hear Y/N laughing in the living room, no doubt giggling at the picture of two year old Kara in the bathtub with a soap beard and a plastic microphone in her hand, and it made Kara tear up.

She’d had so much happiness in her life, despite her father’s illness and the lack of NYADA. And even though Y/N had had her grandfather, she deserved so much more…

“Is she submitting to you?”

Kara hesitated. “Yes.”

“Are you being good to her?”

“Dad!” Kara said indignantly, and Randy held up his hands.

“I love you,” he said, “and you’re my daughter. I know you’ve seen the way your father and I act with each other, and I know Lena trained you well. But I also feel just a little protective towards that young lady in the living room, and just as much as you deserve someone to be amazing with you, she does too. Maybe even more after everything that’s been done to her, Sophie.”

Kara nodded and hopped off the counter to lean against her father, who automatically wrapped his arms around her. “I try,” she confessed. “I really care about her, Dad, and I-I want to be good for her.”

“Do you love her?”

“I think… I’m starting to.”

“But you’re scared.”

Kara shrugged. “Everyone seems to know me better than I know myself.”

“I’d be scared if I was you,” Randy said, “And all David and I had to contend with were his parents thinking he should be with a woman instead of your old dad, here.”

Kara nodded again, remembering how her Daddy’s parents had never met her, never made the effort to contact her or her father. She thought they were somewhere off in California now, but she couldn’t be sure. Daddy didn’t like to talk about them.

“But I also know that if Y/N deserves anybody, she deserves my sweet, compassionate, occasionally loud and very opinionated Kara Sophia.” Randy cupped Kara’s head in his hands and kissed her forehead.

“I always knew you’d make a good mistress,” Randy said, then tilted his head. “Is that an awkward thing for a father to say to his daughter?”

“Very,” Kara declared, laughing, then hugged her father fiercely. “But thank you, Dad.”

“Why didn’t you want to tell us?” Randy asked. “You’ve never hidden anything from us before.”

“I know,” Kara said, feeling guilty. “But it’s just… work, and I’m trying to be careful for Y/N.”

“You haven’t technically done anything wrong, Sophie,” her dad said, and Kara shrugged again.

“She wants me to go to New York,” she said suddenly.

“In that case, how soon can we make her a part of the family?”

“I-is everything okay?”

Kara moved to once again reassure Y/N, who was standing in the doorway looking like a deer in the headlights with one corner of her cardigan twisted in her hand, but Randy beat his daughter to it as he asked Y/N, “Y/N, would you mind if I hugged you?”

She paused, giving Kara a strange look, but when Kara smiled, Y/N nodded. Randy hugged her quickly, gently, before drawing away and holding her at arm’s length.

“You’re a beautiful young woman, and you deserve to be happy,” he said seriously, then looked back at Kara. “I hope you two take care of each other.”

“He knows?” Y/N asked when Randy left for the living room, and Kara could tell his subtle warning about taking care of his daughter wasn’t lost on her.

“He knows, little one,” Kara said; when she took a deep, shaky breath Y/N came to her immediately, wrapping her arms around Kara and holding her close. Kara closed her eyes, absorbing Y/N’s comfort, her strength, before reopening them and smiling faintly at her.

“And surprisingly, he’s okay with it. I think as long as I’m happy, and you’re taking care of me, and I’m taking care of you…”

“Good,” Y/N said, and surprised Kara by kissing her, deeply, right there in her fathers’ kitchen. It left Kara feeling dizzy, and she had to put her hand back on the counter to brace herself. Y/N’s own eyes widened, and Kara saw her swallow hard.

“W-wow,” was all Y/N said, and Kara grinned a little.

“Wow is right,” she agreed, trying to force out all of the images that had rushed into her head with the ferocity of Y/N’s kiss. Images that involved a bed, restraints, and the two of them, very, very naked…

“Do you want to go back into the living room?” Y/N asked. “I think your dads have more pictures they want to show me.” She stuck her tongue out at Kara.

“You are definitely going into the corner when we get home,” Kara said, and thought that the living room was the last place she wanted to be at that moment. The bedroom would be much nicer… Her phone vibrated again.

Kara looked down at it. Alex.

“Let me just answer this, little one,” she said, “Then we’ll go back so that I can be humiliated some more.”

She pressed the button on her phone. “Alex?”

“Maggie,” she said.

Kara furrowed her brow. “Maggie? What’s going on, why are you using Alex’s phone?

“Well… let’s see, how do I say this? Ma’am’s, uh, terrified to talk to you right now, Ma’am.”

Now Kara was even more confused. “Terrified to talk to me? Why? Put her on the phone, Maggie.”

“Can’t do that, Ma’am, she’s working on a case right now. That’s kind of why I’m calling.”

Alex had been promoted to Advocate within SETS, a liaison of sorts between Dominants and their submissives or former submissives. She wasn’t a lawyer or a counselor, but she did act to ensure that her clients received the fairest treatment under the law and the government. Her promotion was to defense advocate, helping to defend those who were accused of abusing or mistreating their partners, a decision that Kara had found distasteful, and she’d told her so.

“It pays more,” Alex had said honestly, “And you know as well as I do that sometimes the ones getting accused aren’t at fault. Look at Maggie.”

“I’m not really sure why you have to call to tell me about Alex’s case? Y/N and I are my dads’, and we’re kind of busy right n—“

“I know,” Maggie interrupted, and Kara would’ve been angry at being interrupted, if she’d given her a chance to, but instead she kept speaking. “And that’s also kind of why I’m calling, because Ma’am has a new case, it starts next week, and I really think you need to know about it. And you should also know that she’s really, really sorry.”

“Sorry?” Kara said, exasperated. “Why on earth does Alex need to be sorry?”

“Because she’s defending James.”

[midnightseonghwa]

𝐄𝐲𝐞𝐳 𝐎𝐧 𝐔 | 𝐩.𝐬𝐡

✕ 𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: Solo Idol!Seonghwa x Staff!Reader 

✕ 𝐆𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞: Idol au and fluff 

✕ 𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬: 3.7k+

✕ 𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: Cliche k-drama themes, Seonghwa is a solo idol, mentions of overbearing fans and some sneaking around. 

✕ 𝐄𝐝𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐒𝐭𝐚𝐭𝐮𝐬: Unedited

✕ 𝐀/𝐍: This was requested by anon! Well, welcome to the fandom once again and I’m very glad you decided to give my writing a try. Here is your very fluffy piece~~ I hope you like it! Do let me know what you think! ♥️ 

✕ 𝐀𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐭𝐢𝐜: here 

✕ 𝐓𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭: @teeztheflag​

Girls and boys alike crowded in front of your office building, the eager fans holding posters and light sticks, their love for their idol drawn in hearts and love declaration as you stood against one of the windows, observing the entire scene.

"Some fans," Yeosang said, handing you a cup of coffee and standing next to you, "Are not sane."

You rolled your eyes, throwing your colleague an odd look before raising the small paper glass of mix-coffee to your lips.

"Let them be, idols exist for a reason," you replied and Yeosang hummed, sitting at the table and flicking through the schedule for today.

The crowd seemed to grow thicker as the security team started putting up barricades to prevent fans from trampling over people who were entering the building.

"Yeo?" You asked, turning to face your friend and colleague, the same one who told you that getting into the entertainment industry would be profitable and a good idea.

You've never listened to any of his ideas again...

"Who's on the schedule today?" You asked, setting the paper cup down and leaning over the small plastic folder Yeosang was looking through.

"Uh...we had a couple in the morning but the only interview left for the afternoon slot is..." he trailed off, flicking through the numerous pages before landing on one.

"Park Seonghwa," he said, finger, pointing to a name that was highlighted in yellow and marked as important.

"Park Seonghwa?" You asked, turning the file around to look for yourself.

"Yeah, it says so right here and look, you're on the interview staff," he said, tracing over your name with a blue ball pen that was in his hand.

"He finally agreed?" You asked, a look of bewilderment coming across your face before you re-read Park Seonghwa's name and then yours, written in the same line.

"It took forever but apparently boss managed to get his agency's approval," he said and you opened your mouth to say something when screams suddenly erupted, shaking the entire office building.

Out of the windows, you saw a black van pull up to the front, windows tinted black so that nothing from the inside was visible. The security team crowded at the front of the van, some holding back screaming fans while others were given the responsibility to clear the way to the front entrance of the building.

"(Y/n)!" A voice came from the door and you turned around to see San, another one of your colleagues calling you.

"Let's go! He's here!" He yells and you throw Yeosang a quick look before getting your jacket and id card.

"Good luck," he whispers, sipping on his coffee again.

"Thanks," you breathe out, "I'm going to need it."

The tray of water bottles felt heavy in your hands as you walked towards the dressing room that was currently being occupied by none other than THE Park Seonghwa.

You stopped at the door, hands trembling ever so slightly as you felt his famous aura literally suffocating you.

Raising your hand to knock, you steadied the bottles in your hand before the door was swung wide open by Seonghwa's manager, Jung Wooyoung.

"You are?" He asked, asking for your id to make sure you were part of the interview staff and not some fan who was stalking Seonghwa.

"(Y/n)(L/n), part of the interview staff. I've come to brief you and Mr Park about the interview schedule?" You said, catching a peak of blond hair moving behind Wooyoung before the smaller male moved over to cover the dressing room from your view again.

"That's perfectly fine, you can brief me and I'll make sure to relay the same to Mr Park," he said and took the tray of water bottles from you, handing to some stylist who was passing by.

"Uh, alright. Here are some of the questions that we have prepared. It's completely up to Mr Park if he wants to go through them or not. The interview will begin in a short while and I will be the one to escort Mr Park  to the interview room," you finished, handing Wooyoung some files with the questions along with a few more documents your boss had asked you to hand over.

"Thank you for the information, (Y/n)(L/n), you are free to go," Wooyoung said, turning around and shutting the door right in your face.

You stood there stunned, not quite sure how to react to the ever-mysterious Park Seonghwa that you had only ever got the privilege of seeing on the internet or tv.

Cocking your head to the side, you walked down the corridor and towards the main interview room.

Maybe the actual interview will be better?

Despite the soundproof walls of the interview room, you could still hear the fans screaming and it was starting to cause a bit of a headache for you.

"Hey," San said, nudging your side in a whisper, "Did you pass on all the files like boss asked?"

"Yeah, but Seonghwa's manager is oddly protective. None of the other managers I've interacted with has been so...protective," you said, fiddling with your fingers that were clasped in front of you as everyone set up filming equipment around you.

"Honestly, if I was Park Seonghwa's manager, I would be protective too. I heard that some fan even broke into his hotel room and stole his socks," San whispered, leaning scandalously close as if he was telling you some dirty secret.

"Oh..." you trailed off, a frown settling on your face before the camera crew signalled five minutes to shoot.

"That's my cue to go and inform Park Seonghwa's manager," you said, dragging yourself out the room and into the corridor.

Arriving in front of Park Seonghwa's dressing room again, you stared up at the black letters before knocking on the door again.

"Back so soon?" Wooyoung asked, arms protectively caging the door as if you were even interested in viewing the probably uptight and snobby celebrity who was sitting inside it.

"Well, it's been half an hour since I came and I'm here to inform you that there are five minutes left for shooting to begin," you said, not really interested in exchanging any more words with Wooyoung than what was required of you.

"I see," Wooyoung said and peaked into the room behind in before giving you a nod.

"Wait here while Mr Park finishes," he said and jutted his chin out to the opposing wall of the corridor.

"Sure," you said, lip twitching in distaste as you sauntered to the corridor wall behind you and leaned against it.

You were sure you actually waited those five minutes to shooting in the corridor, staring at Park Seonghwa's name printed over the door.

Clicking your tongue, you pushed yourself up the wall, raising your fist up to knock again when the door swung wide open and Wooyoung gave you a disapproving and irritated look.

"Someone should really teach you patience," he said, moving to stand beside you as the styling team filed out and lastly, the man of the hour, Park Seonghwa.

You had only ever seen him on tv up till now. The angled cheekbones that could probably kill with skin that seemed to be blessed by the angels, it was true; he really did look better in person.

Who would've thought...?

"If you'd follow me," you said, leading them down the with a sigh, the feeling of a headache overwhelming your senses completely.

Walking into the interview room, you saw Yunho, the interviewer and a dear dear friend of yours already seated on set, filming the introduction and opening.

San came up, holding up a mic as he hooked it up to Seonghwa backside before attaching the small black mic to the front of his shirt.

"Be careful," Wooyoung hissed and you could've sworn that for a second, you saw Seonghwa flinch.

But just as you imagined the whole ordeal, his eyes returned back to their previous look and the smile that he put on his face that your colleagues normally gushed about.

"It's done," San said, checking the mic once before moving away to check other equipment.

"I hope you've read the script. Best of luck," you said, trying to ease your own nerves.

"Thanks, maybe I'll need it," Seonghwa said, moving past you with a breeze of cologne that had you move back and really rethink your life decisions.

Had THE Park Seonghwa really just talk to you?

Did he reply to your empty greeting of luck?

San stared at you wide-eyed from the corner of the room before quickly turning away when you looked his way.

Perhaps, Park Seonghwa had some human words left in him.

Yunho started off with the basic questions, the concept for his most recent comeback, why that specific concept was chosen and all that jazz.

Throughout the whole interview, you were standing behind one of the cameras, holding the script and making sure everything was going according to plan when you couldn't help but shake the feeling that Seonghwa was unfocused on the interview, completely lose in some other universe.

Making direct eye contact with the interviewer was something every celebrity usually did; to show that they were interested and focused on the interview at hand but for some reason, Seonghwa's eyes kept flicking over to the camera you were standing behind, the action looking hidden and quick but you caught his gaze every time.

"It is all thanks to my shine-stars, my fans. I wouldn't be able to stand here today without them," he said, gaze flicking nervously over to you when the red light was blinking on some other camera.

You offered him a smile back to comfort him but that only seemed to unnerve him further as he stuttered over his words, his sentences coming out muddled and botched.  

Yunho did the closing, thanking Seonghwa for joining one last time before thanking the viewers who were watching from home.

The crew called it a wrap for the day, some of them extremely annoyed at the fact that Seonghwa couldn't keep his gaze focused on the correct camera. Most were annoyed about the long night of editing they would have to sit through.

"Hey," San said, handing you and Yunho a can of coffee, still warm to touch.

"Ah, thank you," you said, taking it from the lanky boy and popping it open.

"So, how was it interacting with the infamous Park Seonghwa," you teased, nudging Yunho in his stomach with a little teasing smile on your face.

"Millions of girls would be dying to take your place right now," you said, adding to tease the taller.

"I think...I think I overestimated Park Seonghwa's professionalism," Yunho muttered, taking a sip of the coffee before sighing.

"What do you mean?" You said, eyebrows furrowing at his words.

"I mean, you were there. You saw how unfocused the man was and if this is how he usually does his interviews, the crew must be doing a darn good job at editing him to look so top-celebrity-like," Yunho explained, San nodding along at his words.

"I'm sure he's had a tiring day," you reasoned, getting touchy out of nowhere about Seonghwa's professionalism.

"Oh, he definitely had a tiring day staring at you throughout the whole interview even when the signalled camera was another," San snorted, hiding his teasing smile behind his can of coffee.

You quieted down at his words, his intentions not quite hitting you right. Seonghwa wasn't staring at you...he couldn't have been.

An idol? As big as Park Seonghwa nervous and staring at a typical entertainment staff?

"Yeah right," you said, a laugh falling from your lips at how ridiculous San sounded.

"But it's true, even I-" Yunho started, only to quickly get shut down by you.

"Let's call it a night, boys," you said, thanking San for the coffee once again and then picking up your jacket before exiting the interview room.

The walk to your apartment was cold, the wind blowing hard as it whistled past your ear and into the freezing January. Your shoes hit the unruly pavement with a loud noise and you rubbed your hands together, trying your best to produce some heat.

It was almost midnight, the interview taking longer than expected with some hitches here and there with equipment, and you wanted nothing more than to just melt into your bed.

Snow hadn't fallen this year but the temperature had still fallen close to the negatives and you were one step away from freezing your toes off.

It was in these situations where you wished you owned a car or at least lived far enough to use public transport but the ambiguous distance to your house and everything around it gave you the option of none.

You crossed an alley, the yellow light of the streets hitting you in the face before you were stopped by a calling of your name.

"(Y/n)!"

The voice was whispered, but loud enough for you to hear it. It had a tone of urgency under it and currently, turning back to face this person was the last thing you wanted to do.

"(Y/n)!"

There is was again, the calling of your name by a voice that seemed horribly familiar.

"It's me!"

You stopped in your tracks, the voice clicking and it's owner clicking in your head until it was too late for you to turn around.

"Park Seonghwa?"

His name came out louder than intended and you quickly clamped your hand over your mouth and looked around, trying to spot any rogue paparazzi members.

You stepped further into the alley, hidden by the shadows of two buildings as you came face to face with a sunglassed idol clad in a white sweater and jeans.

"How are you here? Did you follow me? Does manager Wooyoung know about this?"

Questions after questions spilt from your mouth and at least Seonghwa had the decency to look a little bit shameful.

The male sighed, pulling his sunglasses off before facing you with his deep brown eyes that were just barely visible in the dim light.

"No, I didn't follow you here and no, Wooyoung doesn't know about this. I can't keep up with his nagging anymore," the male sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose before leaning against the brick wall behind him.

"You didn't answer my first question. How and why are you here?" You asked again, trying your best to maintain some friendly distance in case you were ambushed by fans or the paparazzi out of the blue.

You didn't have the time or money for a scandal.

"I...I saw you during the interview-"

"Yes, I noticed. Actually, the entire crew noticed. You sure aren't subtle for a celebrity," you huffed, crossing your arms over your shoulders.

Seonghwa visibly blanched at your words, heat taking over his body as it turned his white cheeks a red.

"Uh...yeah, I-" he stuttered, rubbing the nape of his neck before shrinking into himself even more.

You watched the idol's personality take a full shift from what he was usually portrayed as, the strong, very in-your-face character and fewer words, letting his good looks and charisma do the work for him.

But here, standing in front of you in a dim alley with the cold January wind blowing, you saw the cold celebrity replaced with a hesitant boy, one who was probably just caught by his mother stealing cookies from the jar.

"It's alright," you smiled, feeling as if it was your responsibility to put Seonghwa out of his embarrassing misery.

"I'm sure the crew will do a good job at editing."

Seonghwa smiled back at you, his row of perfect teeth on display.

"I wanted to wait around for you but Wooyoung pushed me to go. Something about my image or whatever...but I...I really wanted a chance to just...talk to you," he admitted, visibly deflating at how inhumane he sounded.

You stood straighter at his words, the reality of him being in a completely different social status from you hitting you right in the face.

"But you're an idol," you said, the words coming out before you could stop them and you wished you could've at the way Seonghwa flinched at your words.

"Yes, yes I am..." he trailed off and offered you a weak smile, this one not quite reaching his eyes.

Silence enveloped the both of you in a bubble, the outside world muted and numbed.

"But I..." Seonghwa started, a bashful but determined tone to his voice.

"But I am human before I am an idol. So if I want to make friends and date then it's completely up to me," he finished, eyes shining as if he had some new scientific discovery.

"You're absolutely right," you said, feeling rather proud that he could come out and say those things, despite knowing how much backlash he was going to receive from his fans and company.

"And I would really like to get to know you," he said, trying his luck again before you tilted your head to the side, weighing your options.

"Then you best follow me," you said, walking in the direction of your apartment and then looking back at Seonghwa who had already slipped his mask and sunglasses back on.

"I haven't had these in ages," Seonghwa said, holding the crispy hotdog coated with powdered sugar, ketchup and mustard in his hand as if it was some kind of treasure.

"How long is ages?" You asked, curious about how someone could voluntarily abstain from heavenly foods.

"Ever since my trainee days...so maybe like four or five years now?" Seonghwa said, trying to count the years of his training and then post debut.

Your eyes bulged out of their sockets, jaw falling limp around the hotdog that was in your mouth.

"Four to five years of eating grass? For what?" You asked, tone absolutely exasperated, already feeling exhausted at hearing Seonghwa.

"At that time, it was my passion. To sing, dance and have so many people love you. I didn't quite realise how vile the entire industry was at that time," he admitted, taking a bite out of his hot dog before.

You quieted down, his words hitting you deeper than you thought it would. You barely knew this man, but somehow, more of him was exposed on the internet and you would be able to know him just by clicking a few links.

But how well exactly?

"So, Mr Park, tell me about yourself," you said, picking up a stick of fish cake and pouring some soup into a paper cup.

"I'd like it better if you just called me Seonghwa," he said, discarding the empty hotdog stick into the trashcan and picking up some chicken skewers.

"Okay, Seonghwa, tell me about yourself," you said, handing the lady at the stand some money.

"Why? You can just find out by going on the internet," he said, eyes curious but also slightly distant.

"But I want to know the real you. You said you wanted to talk and what better way for two strangers to talk than to introduce themselves?"

Seonghwa nodded, pulling a piece of chicken off the stick.

"I don't actually like jalapeno flavoured chips," he said, scrunching his nose up.

"Oh?" You asked, amused at the random piece of information he decided to start with.

"Yes, Wooyoung likes them and he was spotted buying them once and everybody just assumed it was for me," he said shaking his head while laughing.

"Continue," you said, ladling some more soup into your paper cup.

"Fans started giving me jalapeno flavoured chips at fan signs after that and I..." he trailed off, not quite sure of what to say.

He glanced warily at the lady at the stand who seemed disinterested in your conversation but you can never make out a prying ear until everything is exposed.

"Let's go, I know a place we can talk," you said, handing the lady the last bit of money before giving out your hand.

Seonghwa looked at your slightly perplexed before he slid his hand into yours and was pulled into the night by you.

The night air was crisp, the cold biting at your face and hands as you set the small blanket you had grabbed from your apartment onto the terrace floor.

"Are you sure no one will see us here?" Seonghwa asked, sitting down on the blanketed floor.

"I mean, see for yourself," you said, gesturing to the wide expanse of empty space that looked as if it hadn't been used in over a century.

"Fair enough," he said and pulled his legs into his chest.

"I take it you're not the most flexible?" You teased, taking a seat in cross-legged position next to him.

"No...that's one fact they got correct about me," he said breathing in the night air while marvelling at the city lights.

"You have no idea how boring it is being cooped up in my apartment. Like at least if I was in a group then I would have my members to keep my company but it gets so lonely sometimes when you're a solo idol," Seonghwa ranted, his nose turning a cute shade of pink from the cold.

"Well, after everything you just shared, I'd say we're friends now," you said, leaning into his side in a friendly manner.

"If everything goes well, I hope we can be something more," Seonghwa said, twisting his fingers together.

Your words got stuck in your throat at his confession. You literally saw him for the first time today!

"Hm...maybe if you play your cards right and don't accidentally out yourself first," you said, playing it off cooly.

"Does this mean you'll see me again?" Seonghwa asked, eyes hopeful, twinkle resembling the night stars above.

"If you promise to come and do more programmes with me," you answered playfully but the speed at which Seonghwa nodded almost made you want to kiss him there and then.

"Of course, as long as I get to see you," he said and you swore your heart almost leapt out of its chest.

You responded with a smile, placing your hand over his.

Seonghwa seemed a little taken aback by the action but turned his hand over to his palm and interlaced your fingers together.

[ashesandhackles]

Inferius

(They are corpses that have been bewitched to do a Dark Wizard's bidding)

(i)

To the Dark Lord

His brother may call him an idiot for believing in their parent's spiel, but Regulus Black was never a fool. He understood what was going to happen when the Grimmauld Place went a week without fights, in deadly silence that he didn't have to keep to his room, or the basement (when things got uglier between his brother and parents) anymore. He understood the phrase calm before the storm better than anyone, and eyeing the ugly resentment on his brother's face during the meal, Regulus decided to spend the rest of the day in the basement.

Kreacher was the one who came to him in the night with sandwiches after the muffled shouting from upstairs had stopped, and said, "Master Sirius ran away."

Regulus nodded, throat dry, "Good riddance" because he couldn't have said anything else, he knew where his brother was going to go. He knew what it meant, (he is going to be the heir, no longer the shadow, the spare) and yet, it curiously felt like a sting of betrayal and abandonment.

The night when he ordered Kreacher to come back after the elf's service to the Dark Lord, he had kept the elf in the basement within his own blankets as the elf tried to calm his violent shivering, a curious ringing in Regulus's ear and the phrase calm before the storm struck his mind again. He was scared, the same fear he felt when he had watched Sirius spit blood in the basin. He asked his brother, furiously back then, "Why do you keep provoking them?"

"Because it feels good" Sirius had replied, wiping his mouth. The curious ringing in his ear happened then, and he knew what was going to happen before it did. He wasn't prepared then, for his brother leaving. He wasn't prepared for his instincts to be right. But he had to be prepared now, he owes it to this elf who had paid for his foolishness, for his trust in Dark Lord and if he was right, because this time he was sure he was, because as they say, truth is bitter, betrayal burns and both of them are churning in his system, and what he was about to do never felt more right.

He is not the child who hides in his basement so that he cannot see the evidence of his parent's cruelty, he is not the child who will ignore Dark Lord's cryptic sentences about his immortality, he is not a child who does not feel the horror of what he has been asked to do in name of an ideology. So when Kreacher wakes up, Regulus asks him quietly, "What happened?"

This time, he was prepared for his instincts to be right.

(ii)

I know I will be dead long before you read this

Mulciber had Regulus Black in a chokehold, he probably would have spit in that arrogant face that now looked so much like Sirius Black's that he would have happily choked the younger boy to death. However, this boy looked much thinner and almost ghostly, as if he hadn't eaten or slept for days, and whatever his resemblence to his blood traitor brother, he liked the kid until he chokes, "Fuck..", he struggled against the hold and decides to put on a sneer, "..you".

"You are rethinking your loyalties? Right bit of coward, aren't you, Regulus? Blood traitor like your brother to boot," Mulciber had gotten what he wanted when the offense at being compared to his brother, once again, registered in the boy's eyes. The kid seemed to want to protest his difference from his elder brother, but the moment had passed and Regulus Black said nothing.

With enormous satisfaction, Mulciber let him go, and Regulus massaged his throat and started to laugh, a hollow, desperate sound of a madman, "What a little piece of gormless shit you are, Mulciber. And a fool - I am betraying the Dark Lord? He is going to betray us all. All of us, every last bootlicker."

Mulciber snarled, "The moment you are disloyal, you are marked for death Regulus. Our disloyalty would be paid for by our life. You knew that as soon as the mark had been branded to our skin."

The boy's grey's eyes narrowed and he seemed to spit with spite Mulciber didn't know he was capable of, "And yet, Mulciber, he wouldn't have any qualms treating you like a throwaway servant. Forgive me if I have a bit more pride than that. I have had enough."

Mulciber gnashed his teeth, "Listen to me, he will kill you. Or he'll make one of us kill you. If this is the time you have chosen to worship your blood traitor brother's path, then you are going to be sorry.  You are going to get yourself captured, tortured and killed, hopefully not in that order. You are the heir of the most influential pureblood family - surely you know what happens?"

Regulus's eyes were cold, as if he was calculating something. Mulciber thought the kid looked rather like a corpse already. How pitiful.

When Regulus spoke, it was a whisper, "I do. I really do", after which he promptly wrenched the door open and left. That was the last Mulciber saw of the young heir.

(iii)

but I want you to know it was I who discovered your secret.

He was thirsty, so thirsty- he crawls to the edge, ignoring Kreacher's sobs. Why was he doing this? his tired brain demands an answer. Why?

This was a moment of glorious Gryffindor heroism, he would have thought. He is doing what his brother would have done, he had been born to replace his brother again, and again. To be an heir Sirius refused to be, to be a Death Eater because that is what is expected of him and that is what he believed in, he was the much better son and heir the Blacks deserved but not wanted.

So he cups water in his hand, because even in the tale of glorious heroism, he is playing the part his brother would have done, and now he was forever resigned to play his shadow. He could hear Kreacher sob harder when hands from the water grabbed him- but for one infinite, one brilliant moment, he realised. Sirius would have never been put in this position in the first place, because Sirius isn't foolish enough to join the Death Eaters. This strike against the Dark Lord, a covert strike of a follower who had been disillusioned, like a docile snake rising from the grass, so Slytherin, was completely his own. The thought made him smile as bodies dragged him underwater.

(iv)

I have stolen the real Horcrux and intend to destroy it as soon as I can.

Regulus's fingers broke the surface, he had been clawing ferociously at the water as if it was a wall he could climb, he opened his mouth to scream, to ask someone to help him and when his mouth formed the words, water rushed in, choking him.

A little part of him is glad the water cuts off his scream, because he knew whose name he was about to scream to come and help. Because that was the name that had been screaming in his head for days since Kreacher's return, Help me, Sirius!

The dead hands were pulling him under and his life was dwindling out of him,the blackness covered his lids, he could feel the hands choke him, (to be one of them, to serve the Dark Lord by protecting the fake locket he had planted) and that little part of him is glad he is dying like this, and not by the Dark Lord's hand.

He didn't think he could have tolerated the fact that his last second of life would be spent staring at the end of the Dark Lord's wand, the man who was going to betray them all, the man who cares about nothing but his own power.

Regulus had known his death was looming the moment he made up his mind, and yet, he struggles with Inferi as if he wants to live.

Help me, Sirius.

(v)

I face death in hope that when you meet your match,

If Mulciber thought he'd been in this position with the half breed pointing his wand between his eyes back during Hogwarts, he would have laughed himself hoarse. And yet, when he looked at the deranged face of Remus Lupin who looked more like a beast than a man at the moment, the fear of God was knocked into him. Remus Lupin's voice was both a desperate demand and a threat, "Where is Regulus Black?"

How the hell should I know? Mulciber wanted to say. Did you ever see this coming? The Dark Lord gone because of -good lord- an infant, and Sirius Black thrown into Azkaban for betraying the Potters. For all Mulciber knows, the world had gone mad. He could hear Regulus's sneer in his head as he stared up at the half breed and started to speak. Remus Lupin looked like he wanted explanations as well, from him, from anyone, to understand how the world had gone bleeding mad.

"Tell me where he is"

(vi)

you will be mortal once more.

No one knew where and what happened to Regulus Black, (except Kreacher but no one thinks to ask a house elf) and no one would recognise him if they did.

Not even the long awaited Dark Lord's equal, because all the bright green eyes saw was a grey, decayed dead body attacking him along with the mob (if Regulus Black were alive, he would smirk at the irony, oh the allegory of it all).

And briefly, briefly, within the ring of fire which the rest of the Inferi's collapsed against each other to move away from, Regulus Black's body recognised the light.

R.A.B

*Note: Lupin makes an appearance because he gave Harry information about how Regulus managed to stay alive for few days after defection in HBP when talking of Karkaroff's death. He obviously got that info second hand. Sirius's info is also second hand : "From what I found out after he died, he got in so far, panicked and tried to leave-". Hence the Mulciber scenes.

[sharkbait-writes]

Despite knowing it would happen, it still hurt.

Here’s the thing. No matter how close you are growing up with your siblings, despite your bond sufficing through different opinions and actions, not matter the love you felt for them and how deep it was ingrained, no matter how much it made you yourself -how much it was coded into you- there will always be some things breaking that bond.

Whether that was different ideals, believes, actions or even orders.

(Help, help, somebody PLeaSe heLP ME, i doN’t kNow WhAt to do DO, WHAT ISHAPPENING TO ME, SOMEBODY HELP ME, PLEASE, PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLE-)

So, no matter how much it hurt Fox, -no matter how much it chipped away at his own person until it broke him and left him an empty shell, not even a whisper of his old and own person residing-, he was absolutely not surprised when it happened to him.

Life always found a way to come back to him.

Fox realized that very early in his life and was constantly reminded of that fact.

And no matter how much it absolutely destroyed Fox, he knew it would happen and he was not even a single bit surprised.

Chancellor Palpatine found him on a roof. Because where else could he have been?

Many believe that to be a sign. A symbol. That something bad was about to happen. That he could make one wrong move and tumble over the edge.

But the Chancellor knew him well enough to know that wasn’t going to happen.

The Coruscant Guard might have been reduced to nothing but lap dogs for the senators in the eyes of the public and the GAR, but they still did what they were originally supposed to be doing on Coruscant -keeping the plant and its inhabitants safe. And while being in broad daylight worked in daylight, during night it was a different game. One played by the guard and consisting of jumping off high platforms and swinging between building.

So yes, the Coruscant Guard was never immediately on high alert if they saw one of their own on the edge of a high platform, like a roof for example. Every Guard knew how to act if something bad were to happen. If they were ever to tumble over the edge.

Perhaps it helped that Fox wasn’t standing, but instead sitting with his legs dangling over the edge and repeatedly hitting the wall behind with the other foot every hit.

Perhaps it was helping that Fox wasn’t holding any kind of beverage and instead had his hands lose in his lap and with no bottle on either side of him.

Perhaps it helped that Fox was one of the best. Had been swinging between these very buildings since he first laid eyes on them. One of the most highly decorated soldiers in the entire GAR.

Perhaps it was the way his muscles didn’t seem to be flexing, building up for the moment the constant tension could finally be let lose, and instead looked, for the first time in what seemed like forever, relaxed.

Or not relaxed- outwardly perhaps he seemed like it, when internally he actually was numb.

“You want to know why I’m not crying?”, the silence had been stretching for far too long between the two. Long enough for Palpatine to rethink his decision, now however, it seemed like he chose the right time.

The thing is, Fox knew it would happen.

He knew since the beginning of the war, where he was the only one of his squad to be assigned to stay on Coruscant. On Coruscant where he was doomed to watch his loved ones die and not be able to do anything about it. On Coruscant where he was doomed by behing held captive against his own will and knowledge-

(whY is he sO ALONE???)

-On Coruscant where he was doomed to become someone he wasn’t-

(Oh, force, whY Won’T soMEonE COmE AND SAVE ME???)

-Where he was doomed to realized his family was leaving him, their faces turned away from him so he couldn’t see their disgust, pain, betrayal, shame, numbness or passiveness on it.

One by one, his family left him. First the younger cadets looking up at him, then his trainers, then his batchmates, then his very own Guard and then his fellow Guard Commanders.

One by one they died.

One by one they turned their backs on him. And he let it happen, didn’t stop it because he did the same to them.

And it hurt.

Oh, how it hurt and destroyed him from the inside out. That the only reason he was even still fighting this warm was leaving him, like he had left them.

That his family was gone and he was alone.

And even if it hurt so much he could barely make it out of his own bed at times, he had not been surprised at the slightest to see it start to happen.

“My family has left me. I’m all alone. I should be crying. But I’m not”, the clone’s face has been looking up the whole time, unseeing. His eyes busy watching memories and past actions.

“You don’t even care. You’re only here because you are the only one still looking for me, even if your reason is anything but moral..”

Palpatine stayed quiet.

“I have lost everything and I’m not even crying a single, kriffin’ tear”, Palpatine wasn’t even sure if he was supposed to have heard that, with how quietly it was whispered.

It hurt, but it was not surprising.

After all the hurt he put his family through, after all the broken promises and forgotten reunions and eft alone brothers and murdered brothers-

(brotHER killer, brotHER killer, brother Killer, brother kiLLEr, BROther ki-)

(YOU MURDERED YOUR OWN VOD)

Without much flair, the clone stood up. It stood there, on the edge of the roof just staring up, and turned just the slightest bit.

If Palpatine had a caring heart and the clone were more than just a clone -if it were an actual human being- the next words would have made him feel at least something. A tug at his heartstrings, a burning behind his eyes, a jab at his heart or even a problem with breathing. Anything.

But as it was, the clone was all it was -a clone- and Palpatine was only here to make sure his plan didn’t go down in flames.

Which was why the next matter-of-fact said words -quiet, small and empty-

“I knew it would happen”

-directed at the night sky a couple of levels higher up but getting caught in the pollution of lower levels- only made him feel irritation.

But the clone only shouldered its way past Palpatine, down the stairways and to his bike to get back to his office where he would be alone again.

Fox remembered how in the beginning he thought that maybe they would just ignore him for a short while. But that changed and the though he would be replaced.

And then his batchmates stayed only professional with him if they were together, never mentioned him to others, acted if he were nothing more but air otherwise, stopped trying to get him away from his early death by flimsiwork.

And then he realized they didn’t want anything to do with him anymore.

Fox was already feeling empty enough to know it was only a matter of time.

If Fox would have turned around he would have seen the Chancellor in all of his robed and hidden glory silently watching him leave. Would have seen the way the corners pf his mouth turned up ever so slightly to reveal a smirk and a whispered “tomorrow”.

But he never did.

[missytearex]

Here are the fics that kept me entertained this month. Remember to leave kudos/comments if you choose to check them out. Under 10k fics are under the cut.

🌊 Follow Your Arrow by @bitter-leaf --- [fic post]

larry | 78k | explicit

Harry was the golden child, blessed in every way; Niall was the charming miscreant, a bad boy; Liam was the future-son-in-law parents of daughters dreamt of, and Zayn was the kid parents wished was their son. But Louis, Harry thought, Louis was the special one.

It's senior year and everything is about to change.

🌊 Caves End by @jacaranda-bloom --- [fic post]

larry | 39k | explicit

When a recurring injury cuts short Harry’s time as the Captain of the English Football Team, he needs to rethink his career and his future. His best mate and manager, Niall, decides that what Harry really needs is a change of scenery, time to relax, and to get some perspective on his life. What Harry doesn’t expect is for them to end up in Australia, on a farm, with the most gorgeous man he’s ever laid eyes on.

OR the one where Harry has lost his future, Louis has lost his past, but maybe together, they can find a way through the dark.

🌊 What You're Signing On For by @a-brighter-yellow​ --- [fic post]

larry | 29k | mature

Back at home in London after a whirlwind romance, Louis wants nothing more than to break ties completely with the sophisticated Frenchman who swept him off his feet. In order to do that, he needs the help of Harry Styles: former town bad boy and adopted brother of Louis' flatmate.

An O.C. AU about flawed first impressions, the seductive power of French pastries, bad romance novelists, and getting on the same page.

🌊 Home (It's You) by Anonymous --- [fic post]

larry | 28k | mature

When Louis left his high-powered life in the city to settle down in the suburbs, he had hoped to one day fall in love and start a family. He certainly didn’t expect to meet the omega of his dreams within five minutes of moving in.

He also didn’t expect the love of his life to hate him so much.

Or, Louis and Harry are neighbors who can't seem to get along...until they fall in love.

🌊 driving down a one way road (to something better) by @so-why-let-your-voice-be-tamed​ --- [fic post]

zouis | 26k | teen and up

“I’m at the airport.” It’s followed by a bitter laugh. “I’m - I’m literally at the airport, hiding away in the toilets to make a phone call. They’re probably going to barge in here in a minute, thinking I’m doing something illegal, but I didn’t know what else to do Lou.” He sounds desperate, wild, nothing that Louis is used to associating with Zayn. “My flight leaves in an hour, and I wasn’t gonna do this, but, I didn’t know what else to do.”

Louis frowns. “What do you mean, love?”

“Can I - Can I please come and stay with you?” It’s barely more than a whisper, and Louis honestly isn’t sure if he’s heard it right, but the lack of an immediate response on his part makes Zayn’s breath come out all shaky and Louis won’t stand for that.

“Yes,” he decides, repeats it, in a softer but no less certain voice, when he knows Zayn is about to protest. “Yes. Of course. I’ll be there, yeah? I’ll come pick you up. When will you get here? What airport?”

---

When Zayn breaks up with his boyfriend, he needs a place to stay. Louis wouldn't be Louis if he didn't immediately open his doors to him. Never mind the fact that he's been in love with him for two years. That's not important, right?

🌊 A Road To Something Better by @taggiecb --- [fic post]

larry | 25k | explicit

Louis Tomlinson, famous romance novelist, has just had the rug pulled out from under his feet when his boyfriend leaves him without notice. What's the most appropriate response to this? Move a thousand miles away and seclude himself in a tiny lake town, of course. But nothing is as he expects it to be in the very best way, especially not the handsome mayor of McAll, Idaho.

🌊 When Tomorrow Comes by Anonymous --- [fic post]

larry | 11k | explicit

When Louis and Niall are partnered up to complete a project on Omega scents and how they effect the nesting behaviours of Alphas, little does Louis know that the course of his life is about to be forever altered.

OR the one where Louis is an Omega who has been keeping himself pure for his Alpha, Harry is a traditional Alpha focusing on his studies while he waits to find his bondmate, and Niall is a sneaky bastard who keeps borrowing Louis’ clothes and never returning them.

🌊 I can’t do this alone (sometimes I just need a light) by @beau-soleil-louis​ --- [fic post]

larry | 7k | not rated

“Harry,” he says after another contemplative moment, “can I hug you?”

It’s been...well, Harry doesn’t actually know how long it’s been. Less than an hour, probably, but already Louis says his name like it’s safe in his mouth, and now he’s opening his arms like Harry could be safe there too.

“Please,” Harry nearly sobs, and sinks into him the way butter melts on toast. It’s an apt metaphor, really, because what Louis is giving him is as essential and sustaining as a loaf of bread to a starving man. His basic need for physical affection is as vital as his need for sustenance, for sleep, and he can’t believe he’s allowed himself to ignore it for so long.

Or: Harry is having a rough time. Louis is the kind stranger who makes him smile again.

🌊 Nailed By Louis by @haztobegood --- [fic post]

larry | 6k | explicit

It had started as a joke, just two months earlier. Louis had tried to make recipe from HarrySizzles Instagram account. It looked doable: no strange ingredients, no scary kitchen machinery. Just a simple layered lettuce salad. The result had been catastrophic. His friends had laughed so hard at the disgusting appearance of his salad, and after a few drinks, Louis had been convinced to start his own Instagram to track his food failures.

🌊 You Drive Me Wild by @jacaranda-bloom --- [fic post]

larry | 5k | explicit

Most people would think that keeping a tube of lube hidden behind the driver’s side visor of their car is foolish and completely unnecessary, but then most people don’t have to chauffeur Louis Tomlinson around for a living.

OR the one where Harry has a brilliant idea to while away the time as he waits around for his boss but fate decides to rain on his parade... or maybe it’s the universe answering his prayers.

🌊 You're A (Total) Distraction by @lululawrence​ --- [fic post]

larry | 4k | not rated

Harry’s hand sprang out and took the arrow back in her grasp, Louis’ entire face having lit up when Harry spoke. “Thank you for returning this to me.”

“Well, it was my fault, right?” Louis gave her a big smile before glancing up at Harry’s ears and then over towards her target. “Fuck, are those all bullseyes?”

Harry shrugged. “I haven’t checked on them yet, but maybe.”

Louis’ eyebrows were raised. “I didn’t realize archery was such a big thing for deer hybrids.”

Pursing her lips, Harry tried to figure out how much to say. Why was Louis talking to her? Why had she called out in the first place? Was it because she thought Harry was a freak, like so many other humans?

“It isn’t for everyone,” Harry finally settled on.

Or the one where Harry is a deer hybrid trying to prove to her clan she's more than what's expected. When she meets Louis, a human, she thinks it's just a one time thing. It's not.

🌊 Raise My Body Back To Life by @fallinglikethis​ --- [fic post]

larry | 1k | mature

“You sure about this?” Harry asks one last time, looking over his shoulder at the young blonde standing there. She’d come to his office earlier in the night and nearly interrupted Harry’s meeting about a case he’s working on with the Chief of Police in her haste to get her brother back. Luckily, his assistant, Niall had held her off until he was done. “Death changes people sometimes. He’ll remember it. All of it. Dying, how it felt. If it hurt. You’re positive you want to put him through that?”

“I don’t,” she says, wringing her hands and biting her lip to stop it trembling, “but I have to.”

Harry stares, taking her in. Her eyes shine with unshed tears but she’s standing tall, certain. Harry nods once and turns back around to face the body lying on the metal slab before him. His name is Louis Tomlinson and, as he rolls up his sleeves, Harry Idly notices how gorgeous he was. Is. He hopes this isn’t going to traumatize Louis.

Inspired by Kill My Mind.

🌊 Devil in my Brain by @bitter-leaf

larry | 1k | general audiences

Louis’ pissed; pissed drunk, pissed off, seething as he eyes Harry in the club, waving his arms and shaking his hips like he couldn’t care less about how stupid he looks.

Louis might be going a little crazy.

🌊 Demarcation by @musiclily​ 

larry | 1k | not rated

Walls 

[tuancore]

Lost You (Part 11) :

Starring- Jinyoung x reader

Genre- Angst

Summary- It's your choices and actions which made you miserable.

Standing outside your apartment's door, you examined the door briefly, every single line and curve, remembering the time when you both first moved to this apartment after coming to Seoul, everything flashing before your eyes, rethinking your each and every decision in life. When you first came to Seoul, you felt like an outcast but with Jinyoung by your side, you had that hope of everything going to be alright, can't believe that same Jinyoung became so unfamiliar to you. Twisting the doorknob, you stepped in, just like the first time you entered with him.

Your eyes were covered with a velvety blindfold, you felt like stumbling every now and then in your heels, not knowing where he was actually taking you. He took you by surprise by picking you up in his arms, your hand naturally flying behind his shoulders. He chuckled seeing that terrified expression on your face, "Easy, angel I'm not going to drop you".

"Jinyoung, I swear if you're taking me to some horror house, you know how horrible they are" But he didn't reply you but kept on chuckling, making your stomach churn with anticipation. A ding sound, perked your ears, it was an elevator. He stepped out of it walking for awhile and then stopping again, "Angel,I found the best place for us, exactly what we were looking for", stepping in he gently placed you on your feet, slipping your blindfold.

"Welcome to our home" He grinned, seeing your shocked reaction. You gasped seeing all the showpieces and furnitures, all were exactly the same what you used to always discuss with him. You faced him with tears of joy in your eyes, smiling adoringly at him, "Everything....is exactly the same...". He nodded, hugging you gently while you melted in his arms,"You're such a crybaby..." Wiping your tears he cupped your face with both of his hands,staring into your eyes, he said,"I promise you angel, as long as I am with you I won't let you shed a single drop of tear. And that I'll keep you forever happy and safe in my arms".

The truth is promises are meant to be broken. You always heard that but never believed it until today. All of his words were nothing but sugar coated sweet talks, none of his promise were meant to keep. Dragging your feet to the middle of the living room, you stared at the large couch, it was Jinyoung's decision to keep it there so that you both could cuddle and watch movies on Sundays in each other's arms.

What was that for if he couldn't trust you enough?

Your gaze shifted towards the wall in the front, which at this point looked like some stalker's wall. Jinyoung out of many of his hobbies he was very much passionate for photography as well, and his all time favourite muse was you. You remember, how he used to budge you night and day to pose for him, most of the time you obliged which made him always run after you with a camera. After some time you got irritated, of his constant clicking, so you strictly ordered him to not to click your pics.

"Okay Okay! I won't ask you anymore to pose for me" He rose his hands in surrender, seeing a huge pout on your face.

He loved clicking your pics but it got irritating for you, since you wanted to enjoy moments with him without phones and cameras while he wanted to capture all the moments to reminisce about. So he found another way to keep on clicking your pics rather asking you to pose for him, he took your candid shots, whenever you fell asleep, or when you watered the plants, or when you cooked, when you jammed to your favorite songs, when you read books, or whenever you did some work on your laptop. He just loved you and only you. The wall was wall less and your face in frames more.

What was that for if he couldn't love you enough?

Out of so many pictures one was your favourite, subconsciously you walked closer to the frame taking out from the wall, caressing the image ever so lightly. It was a photo which was a candid shot clicked by JB, when you all went to the Disneyland in LA while visiting Mark's parents there.

"Why are you grinning like that?" Mark asked seeing your stupid grin, but failed to noticed two cones of ice cream in your hands. So you extended your hands showing him the cones, "My favourite ice cream!".

"Two cones? Each with five scoops?" Jackson commented not believing your childishness, "Ten scoops, are you even a girl?". Glaring at him you muttered 'idiot',"Of course I'm a girl that's why I love ice cream".

"More than Jinyoung?" Youngjae asked, teasing you on purpose. "Obviously!", You tilted the heads of both the cones forming a triangle as they the topmost scoops touched eachother, others mouthing an 'Ugh'. Your sparkly eyes became crescent happily biting on the scoops at once, when all of a sudden Jinyoung appeared out of nowhere back hugging you, his mouth on top of your head making it look as if he was about to bite you. Thats when JB clicked it. It was such an adorable picture and your favourite as well.

Someone really has said the truth, that only pictures last forever. Gripping the huge photogframe harshly in your hands, you threw it with a sudden force making it land at the corner of the room with a loud shattering noise. Everything was already over, so what was the need to keep reminiscing over such petty things.

___________

"Youngjae-ah.....Why?....." Jinyoung whispered in disbelief holding onto Youngjae's shoulder, he couldn't believe that Youngjae whom he thought of his smaller brother would hurt him in the most cruel way possible.

"It's not only Youngjae hyung but your so called friend Jisoo too" BamBam hissed, at the thought of Jisoo. Jinyoung snapped at BamBam with shock, another hard punch in his gut, "What are you saying?....".

"Yes, Youngjae and Jisoo were the ones playing you, noona and Jackson hyung like a puppet without any of your knowledge and if you think I'm lying then why don't you ask Youngjae hyung yourself" BamBam concluded with a stern face. Jinyoung turned around facing Youngjae with a furious eyes.

"Why the fuck would you do this to us?! Why Youngjae!?! Why!!" Jinyoung snarled gritting his teeth, his hands wrapped around Youngjae's throat almost cutting his oxygen, Mark and Jackson pulled him from Youngjae while he coughed his lungs out, his own tears spilling out.

"Because I love her....I always have....It hurt everytime I saw her in your arms smiling and giggling, I—.....I felt that it could've been me instead of you whom she loved more than her life.....and to protect my heart from bleeding anymore. I seperated you both" Youngjae's explanation made everyone beyond shocked. They all never thought the reason behind it was another complication.

"The fuck did you say Youngjae!!" Jinyoung growled breaking from Jackson's and Mark's grasp, landing a harsh punch on Youngjae's face which made him fall on the couch behind him, Jinyoung hovered over him punching him a few more times.

"Stop It Jinyoung! Stop it!!" Jaebeom and Mark shouted trying to get him to stop but he was too mad to pay attention to those words, when Youngjae pushed Jinyoung from him throwing a punch at his face, with blood gushing out of his own nose.

"STOP IT! JINYOUNG, STOP IT! CHOI YOUNGJAE!".

Youngjae got up on his feet, wiping the blood spurting out of his nose from his hoodie's sleeves, his cheeks also scraped from Jinyoung's hard punches.

"Since when?" Jackson asked sternly, glaring at him. Youngjae smiled at the mere thought of you, continuing, "Since University, she was my senior. I fell in love with her over time, she was not only gorgeous but kind as well. She saved me from getting bullied almost for an year and after that everyone stopped bullying me, how could I just not fall for her? I planned to confess her but Jinyoung hyung beat me to it! And my heart shattered when she accepted his love, I was broken......".

"Bullshit! You never told me that you were getting bullied back then!Plus she never told me" Jinyoung asserted. "I was! But whenever I was with you all I saw was you drowning in stress to get your master's degree and your father's constant ranting, so I kept quiet!".

"She never told you because I asked her to promise me to not to let you know about me getting bullied otherwise you'll get another reason to stress over and I didn't want you to!"Youngjae informed with his fists clenched in rage, "When she finally became your girlfriend, I thought of moving on so I tried dating but hell not a single girl I've been with could compare to her, I tried hard to convince myself that she belonged to you, she loves you but no my heart wouldn't listen.....it continued to ache for her, how could I just throw away the love which I had for her for past five years!".

With that Youngjae began to untangle all the strings, how he saw Jisoo working for Jinyoung, and from the way she looked at his with those heart eyes was enough to tell that she was in love with him, so he proposed the idea to Jisoo while as accepted it without any second thoughts. All they were waiting was for a right time and a perfect plan, and they got that exact opportunity when he saw you and Jackson meeting frequently without Jinyoung in range.

Coming to those photographs, he didn't had to do much at all, he simply clicked the pictures of Jackson's bedroom with every minor details, and technology gave him the exact environment Jackson's room had, but the real problem was in finding a boy who had same physique as that of Jackson and vice versa for the girl, so that your faces could be photoshoped accordingly, but that stupid girl forgot to hide her streaked hair.

"If you loved noona so much then why did you slut shame her like this?" Yugyeom snapped. "Jinyoung hyung was always insecure of the boys around her, so I kicked him on his weak spot. I couldn't believe when he believed in those fake photographs more than his own girl, I guess he really didn't deserve her".

"Youngjae......it's not love, it's obsession. Love is when you let the person you love just be happy, you completely shattered her! Jisoo and you both hurt the persons you loved! If you really loved her your heart would've ripped out everytime she suffered! It's not love Youngjae-ah, it's your obsession,it can't be love, it's not love........it's not......." JB croaked out choking on his own tears.

"After what you've done to her, Do you think she'll ever come to you? Do you?" Mark belted angrily. "She won't come to me but atleast she won't go to him either" Youngjae hollered with a sick grin, "And that's enough for me. If she can't be mine then she won't be his either".

"Youngjae fucking get out before we really do something to you which we'll regret for eternity!" JB yelled, motioning towards the door, shooting a last smirking gaze towards Jinyoung, he left without a protest.

Jinyoung dropped to his knees, feeling all the pain you felt through these days, all the tears you've shed for the pain he has given you. Small painful whimpers escaping his lips, everyone watched him crying.

"As much as I want to sympathise with you.....I can't, it's you who have brought this upon yourself" JB commented with a poker face eventhough his heart ached for Jinyoung. JB's remark send him further into the pit of guilt and remorse.

"Please..... forgive me......please....." Jinyoung stammered out sobbing hard, "I'm sorry.....I'm so so sorry", he just kept on pleading to the others, even when they were hurting seeing him before their eyes they were well aware that sooner or later this day will come, and Jinyoung will regret his each and every deed.

"You are sorry? You should be sorry. After whatever you've done to her, Do you think you deserve forgiveness?" Jackson crouched down beside him, his words hitting Jinyoung's heart like a dagger.

"Jackson.....I'm sorry......please forgive me. I was so wrong" He cried hugging Jackson, even if he wanted to hate Jinyoung, he couldn't Jinyoung was not only his friend but more of a brother. Unable to control his tears, Jackson sobbed hugging Jinyoung tightly letting him cry on his shoulder.

"Jinyoung hyung.....at some point we all can forgive you but the question is, Will Noona forgive you?" Yugyeom countered in a mere whisper. Jinyoung clutched onto Jackson's shirt, mumbling a quiet "No....".

"How am I supposed to apologise to her?" Jinyoung stared at Jackson for some assurance but found none, "I....I called my angel.....a slut.....how can I? I am such a monster, I even slapped her......when all she did was telling me the truth.....I hurt her, My angel begged me on her knees still I accused her of something so horrible. How can I be so heartless?....... Jackson, I—I made her feel so inferior......" Jinyoung gulped the knot forming in his throat as realisation hit him, facing BamBam he stammered, "BamBam....you said she is pregnant..... I—I despised my own child....our child.....How monstrous was I to hurt her this bad!!......".

By now everyone's eyes gleamed with tears, it was surely painful for him, but it wasn't anything compared to yours. Jinyoung has completely robbed you of your happiness, your everything, he tossed you away like you never meant anything to him while you continued to prove your innocence stepping on your self respect, self esteem. To be honest, he didn't deserve any forgiveness at all.

"Even if everything was set up by Youngjae and Jisoo, the way the things have degraded to, wouldn't have if you.....you" BamBam pointed out his finger at Jinyoung, "If you had faith on Noona, even a tiny bit, none of this would be happening right now. Instead of you crying here and she there, you both would be laughing and smiling in each other's arms........Loving eachother, accept it or not but you never trusted her enough. The way she was hurt, when you chose Jisoo over her......Gosh I can never forget the look in her eyes, She looked dead......so dead!".

Yugyeom patted BamBam's back with an attempt to calm him down, Yugyeom continued, "You can only pray for noona to forgive you. Everything is in her hands now".

The intense air subsided around everyone as BamBam's phone rang, answering the call immediately, he whispered, "Hello...".

The words from the other end broke BamBam to his soul, the phone slipped through his hands as he stared at Jinyoung completely emotionless.

"Noona had.....she had.....a miscarriage".

Part 10 // Part 11 // Part 12

Note: I'm not editing the drafts before posting them, so if you guys spot any errors, please let it slide, thank you so much ~~~

_______________________________________

[lombredanslaeu]

pure devotion / part two

▸ werewolf! johnny x human reader

▸ read chapter one here

▸ hey! its finally here. it wasnt my plan to do a part two but y’all wanted to see what happens next so here you go. thank you so much for reading the first chapter! enjoy

recap: werewolves are assigned with a soulmate and once they reach the age of 23, they would find who their soulmate is. you have always been in denial about being in love with your best friend, johnny. as the clock struck 10:34 pm - the exact time johnny was born - that’s when you felt the universe unfold within your veins. you are johnny’s soulmate. it would have been a successful fairy tale but johnny loves you too much to let it happen.

It has been almost a week since you and Johnny last talked. You thanked the universe for not letting you cross paths with Johnny in school. It would be dishonest to say that your heart isn’t breaking each second you’re away from him. You miss him, so much. It’s only been 5 days since his birthday but you just want to run to his house and see him again. Your friends grew suspicious about what happened between you two. It’s always been Y/N and Johnny every hour of every week. Now, it’s just you.

“Okay, Y/N, cut the bullshit,” Your friend, Nayeon, along with Yeri and Jungwoo, sat in front of you, demanding for answers. “What’s going on between you and Johnny?”

You rolled your eyes. You appreciate their concern so much but you knew they were gonna demand every details about your misunderstanding. Nayeon, Yeri, and Jungwoo are vampires. Vampires aren’t assigned a soulmate. They are free to choose who they’ll spend the rest of their lives with. Although they are also close friends with Johnny and your other friends who are werewolves, you are skeptical if they would understand or not.

“We just had an argument during his birthday. No big deal.” You replied.

“Uh? Of course, it’s a big deal.” Yeri started. “First, you and Johnny? Not talking for almost a week? Second, you two arguing during his birthday?”

“It’s hard to explain, guys.” You sighed.

“We have all day, Y/N. You know you can always talk to us.” Jungwoo said. “Besides, I’ve never seen Johnny this down before.”

You decided to share what happened that night. You knew in yourself that this will spread like wildfire to your circle of friends, or even worse, throughout the whole school. It has always been a big deal whenever a werewolf is soulmates with a human. They will be nosy and concerned. You don’t mind attention but you certainly don’t want to be pitied at. Your heart also ached at the mention of Johnny being sad. All your life, you felt like it was your duty to make sure Johnny is happy and healthy. Now, you sure will beat yourself later at the thought of you not being brave enough to confront him.

---

It was only 2:00 pm but you felt so tired. You felt like Atlas took a break from carrying the world and used you as a substitute. Jungwoo suggested to talk to Johnny as soon as possible. You understand that. You know that the only solution to whatever it is that you’re feeling right now is to talk to him. See what both of you can compromise. But, your mind is still a haze. It was your future you’re talking about. Whether you make this decision or that, it will affect the rest of your life. You wished things didn’t have to be this way. For the first time in your life, you wished Johnny didn’t exist.

You went home immediately after your last class. Your mother was shocked to see you come home early. You always went places with Johnny and your friends. Yeri invited you to go vinyl shopping with her and Jaehyun but you just weren’t in the mood to be fake happy.

“You look so down, sweetheart.” Your mother said as she sat across you on the kitchen island.

“Mom, I have to tell you something.” You sighed. You hated making your mother worried. But you knew that sharing this with her will help you somehow, hopefully.

Your mother stared intently at you, waiting for you to say whatever you had to say.

“I’m soulmates with Johnny.” You started. She leaned back on her seat, taken aback from your confession. “Remember last Saturday? During his birthday? We just found out that night.”

“Then, why are you so down?” She asked. “He’s your best friend since forever. I trust him and you trust him.”

“I don’t know, mom,” You felt tears form. “It’s just that - I’m scared. You know how risky it is for humans to be mates with werewolves. Remember Mingyu’s mother? She survived the transformation but she died after giving birth. I want to see the whole world when I’m 80, mom. I don’t want to die so young.”

Your mother hugged you. You knew she didn’t have an answer. She was fortunate enough to not be soulmates with a werewolf.

“You know, sweetheart, I had to give up a lot of things when I decided to marry your dad. I had to give up my wild nights with friends, my freedom of being single, the apartment that I loved so much. I loved these things so much because they made me who I am.” She said. “But you know what? I never missed them. I would trade so many of my yesterdays to have a tomorrow with your father. It was scary at first, I almost ran away during our wedding. But every night he would come up to me and make me feel like the most beautiful woman in the world, I immediately thanked God I never ran away.”

“That’s sweet and all, mom, but you’re not gonna die if you and dad mate.” You said bitterly through tears.

“I know, sweetheart. I know it’s unfair to you. But, I don’t want you to die without the love of your life on your side. Johnny is a good man. He would fight all of the odds for you and you, out of all the people in this world, should know that.” She said. “Our lives are full of risks. This wont be the only risk that you’ll take during your life.”

Later that night, you stared at the polaroid pictures that are glued on your wall. These were pictures of you, Johnny, and your friends. Your eyes landed on a picture of Johnny with a tub of ice cream. He knew you love ice cream so whenever you feel down, rest assured that he will be on your side with a tub of ice cream. He just knew what to do. It was like he was made to be your perfect fit. Almost immediately, you came into the conclusion that you were willing to risk it for Johnny. You were tired of feeling worried over things that haven’t happened yet.

---

You woke up with a livelier spirit than yesterday. You were still worried of what will Johnny say but the only thing you can do for now is not worry about things that haven’t happened. You decided to give him his favorite yogurt and flower as a peace offering. Today, you are willing to sort things out with him. You couldn’t bear another day with things not okay between you two. Before you left your house, you asked the sky above to give you a sign. You were willing to take whatever sign it gives you.

You entered the lecture hall and noticed that everyone’s mood was gloomy. Your professor, Mrs. Bae, was already in front with a sad frown on her face. Did someone die today? She waited for two more people to arrive before speaking. You were worried that it might be someone from your circle or worse, Johnny.

“We received the news early this morning that one of your classmate, Kim Soohyun, passed away last night.” She spoke. “Let’s give a moment of silence for her, her family, her friends, and her significant other, Choi Hansol.”

Your breath hitched when Mrs. Bae mentioned Hansol as her significant other. Hansol belonged to Johnny’s pack, meaning he is a werewolf. And Soohyun was human. As if on cue, Nayeon whispered to you.

“I heard she died from transformation.” She looked at you with so much worry on her eyes.

Your heart was beating so much and you started to struggle catching up with it. Today was supposed to be the day you agree on being Johnny’s mate. You shouldn’t have asked for a sign. Earlier, you were so sure of your decisions. Now, you weren’t sure if you wanna see Johnny today. Looks like the universe really fucking hates your guts. You were supposed to have your peace of mind. You looked down at the yogurt and flower that you were supposed to give Johnny. You refused to believe that Soohyun’s death was a sign for you to rethink your decision but sooner or later, you found yourself throwing the flower to the nearest garbage bin and eating Johnny’s yogurt.

---

Day by day, you feel your friendship with Johnny deteriorating slowly. Soohyun’s death shouldn’t have affected you so much but for some strange reason, it did.

“You’re really not gonna fix anything by avoiding your problems.” Your friend, Jaehyun spoke beside you. You really shouldn’t be talking to him because you knew as one of Johnny’s closest friend, he would never stop convincing you to talking with Johnny. Jaehyun was also a member of Johnny’s pack. Jaehyun’s father is Johnny’s father’s right hand, meaning he is the beta of the pack. Jaehyun and Johnny are so close to each other, probably much closer than you and Johnny. You knew he would always have Johnny’s back just like you do. So, it doesn’t surprise you if he wanted to fix the problem between you and Johnny.

“How is he?” You asked, genuinely concerned for Johnny.

“To be really honest, I don’t think he can graduate if this problem doesn’t get solved.” He replied. “You probably think that I’m exaggerating this for you to talk to him immediately. Our graduation is just around the corner. If you don’t want to put your future at risk, at least don’t try to put his on a tight rope as well.”

You hated the fact that he was right. You were starting to feel selfish, too cowardly. Johnny was always brave whenever you needed help. It was time you became brave for him.

---

The loud music blasted through the walls of Lucas’ house. Here is where all the college parties are held. Lucas is also one of your closest friends. He’s a human who is dating Wendy, a vampire. Tonight was the farewell party of the graduating class of this year. You weren’t in the mood to come but you knew Johnny was gonna be here since he one of the graduating students.

You decided to get at least a little bit tipsy before you confront Johnny. With the help of your ever-supportive friends, your mind was hazy immediately. It was not a hassle for you to find him in parties. He is either playing beer pong, in the kitchen mixing up drinks with Taeyong, or in the dance floor with the other friends you shared. You spotted him standing quietly near the snacks corner. You know the reason why he isn’t as upbeat as he usually is. You stood next to him and he immediately noticed you. You didn’t know what to do or what to say.

“Hi.” You squeaked out.

“Hey,” He replied, giving you a warm smile. The smile that you fell in love with. You haven’t seen that smile in a while.

“I would give anything to see that smile for the rest of your life” It took you a few seconds to realize that you said that out loud. Damn this cocktail.

“Yeah, nice to see you again too, Y/N,” You noticed how his mood seemed to lit up. He looked down on you. You both haven’t said so much but he knew that things are finally okay. He got the picture.

“So, is this your response about what he learned during my birthday?” He said, lifting his cup to drink whatever is left of the drink.

“Yeah, look. I’m sorry. I’m sorry that I put you through hell because I was too much of a coward to talk to you. I’m sorry that I left you all confused and-” Your ranting got cut off when you felt his soft lips against yours. Each movement of his lips signifies his undying love for you. It signifies how he will always forgive you and accept your flaws that annoyed him to the core. It signifies that he wanted you to know that you were his and he was yours, forever. He lead you through the balcony of Lucas’ house, where no one was present.

“I love you,” You said after you pulled away. “I’m willing to risk everything for you. I would trade all my tomorrows for at least a minute with you.”

You didn’t realize that you were crying until he was wiping your cheeks with his thumb. His hands still cups your face as he stares down at you. You were expecting him to say the same but all you saw his head shaking from left to right.

“No,” he whispered. “I love you too, Y/N, so much. I’ve loved you for as long as I could remember. All the nights we spent tangled up in each other and telling one another how we’re just friends. All the make out session we had in the back of my car. The best of times, the worst of times. I’ve loved you through it all. But I can’t do this to you, Y/N. You deserve to live the best life you’ve set up for yourself until you grow old and wrinkly.”

You stared at him, tears flowing from your eyes. He hated seeing you cry. He could kill anyone or anything that made you cry. “You can do this with me, Johnny. If I die, at least I die by your side. I will die knowing that you made me yours. And to the die by your side is the perfect way I could die.”

He continued shaking his head, his own tears staining his flawless skin. “We don’t have to transform you.”

“But you need an heir. You need an offspring to be the next alpha after you.” You replied. “And I want to give that to you.”

“God knows how much I want to start a family with you too.” He said.

“Then, what’s stopping you, Johnny?” You asked him. You were so desperate to leave this party with you and Johnny being okay.

“I love you. That’s what’s stopping me.” He responded. The effects of the alcohol was slowly leaving your system. You were growing tired of this fight. You were never a patient woman but you pushed through just to make this right.

You remained in silence, looking up at the starry night. You asked the sky for one more sign. If only the answer to everything was written in the sky, you would have it all by now. But life doesn’t work that way. Sometimes, you have to ruin yourself to find the answer.

“I accepted a job offer in the city today. I leave in 2 days.” He said all of sudden. There. There was your sign. You sighed and look at him, with pride and sadness. You were so proud of him. You saw him struggle with college and now he immediately has a job in the city. But you were also sad. He accepted it without even talking to you - his best friend, and his soulmate. You couldn’t blame him. He probably wanted to get away from you after everything.

---

Johnny leaves for the city tomorrow morning. You have wallowed in self-pity the whole day. You looked at yourself in the mirror and saw how wrecked you looked. If only you fixed this as soon as possible, he probably wouldn’t leave. You scratched that thought out of your head. That was selfish. Johnny pushed aside his feeling for you so that you could have your dream. It’s time for you to stop being selfish and let him have his. You decided you wanted to see him before he left. This will probably the last time you will see each other so you were determined to fix the broken bond between you two.

You arrived at his house after a few minutes. His house wasn’t far from yours. The moment he opened his door, you attached your lips into his. You kissed him as if you’re begging for him to not leave you. He lead you both to his room and locked the door.

He kissed you first on the lips and soon, he traveled down your neck. The back of your needs hit the edge of his bed and he gently laid you down on it. It’s been a while since the last time you slept together. You weren’t planning on sleeping with him tonight but you wanted to make sure his last night with you was worth it.

It took an hour for the both of you to finish making love. Your head laid on his chest as your limbs tangled upon each other.

“You’re leaving tomorrow.” You announced.

“Yep,” He responded. His fingers drew relaxing figures on your bare back. “Okay.”

You looked up at him, confusion written on your face. What did he mean by “okay”?

Sensing your inquiring stare, he responded, “I can’t accept a life wherein I don’t get to hold you every night.”

He sat up on the edge of his bed, the moonlight that shone through his window lighted up his face. You followed, resting your chin on his shoulder as your arms wrapped around his body savoring the last moments before he leaves for the city.

“Find me immediately after you design a house, a building, something.” He said with conviction, staring deeply into your eyes as if wanting you to memorize what he is saying. “Find me immediately. I will wait for you. Even if it takes a couple more years.”

You felt tears streaming down your cheeks. You love him so much. You would take any compromise only if it means being with him in the end. You nodded, pressing a kiss on his shoulder.

“No other love, except me.” He stated.

“No other love, only you.” You said.

a/n: i hope you enjoyed this! as always, feedback and requests are always welcome.

[monopsys]

Is It Hate?

Day 2 domestic/ "yes, I hate you too"/ hanahaki disease au

"yes, I hate you too"

Summary (This was a normal fight between the Ikebukuro duo. But just three words could change that to something else.)

On AO3

   Without losing his footings, he jumped just barely before another sign made its way on him. Izaya smirked at the blond bartender and threw his own weapon at him. Shizuo dodged them easily but one made its way on his glasses shattering them. He showed his teeth angry at the informant who laughed at him.

   "I am guessing they must be the third pair this week. My, Shizu-chan you so careless this week."

   "If you came closer to me I would show you who is careless you little flea. Yet you continue avoiding me!"

   "And why should I do so? I know you want some roleplay Shizu-chan but I am not in the mood." Izaya said and played with his jacket.

   Since they started their little chase today, the people around them had finally left them all alone. Many still looked at them, watched them chase, bet on them. A routine.

   Izaya hated that routine.

   He wanted something more. Something exciting. Yet nothing new made its way in Ikebukuro. Nor Saika did anything to start a riot. Nor dollars. So boring.

   So when he heard Shizuo said that something inside him made him stop.

   "You beansprout! I hate you..."  Izaya didn't hear the rest but that made him stop moving and stare at Shizuo who continued talking.

   'I hate you.' He had heard that for so many people in his life and yet only this time it affected him so much. Was it because he was bored and wanted to clutch on something? Was it because the blond finally said those? No, it can't be. He has said those before, hasn't he?

   Hasn't he?

   Izaya dodged the next sign he saw coming his way without a problem and continued thinking despite the extreme noise that that Neanderthal did. Shizuo must have said at some point those words. He has to? But he knew that Shizuo wasn't that smart and he always said the truth. He barely lied. Yet why Izaya felt so much affected by those words? Was it because he felt they were genuine? Or those were pointed at him? He grimaced without showing Shizuo who despite the one-sided dialogue continue attacking.

   Izaya couldn't focus. He tsked. Only one person could make him that angry and lose his control and that idiot was in front of him, unaware. He needed to rethink some things so he put his trademark smirk on and with a sarcastic voice, said.

   "I believe that your break is over Shizu-chan. We wouldn’t like you to lose your job would we?"

   Shizuo stared at Izaya, lost for a second. This hunt was way shorter than he would like it to be. So he wouldn’t let him do so.

   "My break, my actions."

   Izaya clapped unimpressed. "Wow, such a good poet you are Shizu-chan. But that's enough for today." He said as he tipped towed away from the taller man.

   Yet a sign stopped him from moving forward since it struck the wall he moved to. Izaya sighed. So much dedication. It is getting on his nerves! 

   "Where you think you are going Izaya-kun? I am not done yet with you." He said as he walked closer to Izaya.

   Izaya turned to look at Shizuo. "But I am Shizu-chan. Let the adults do their job and play somewhere elsewhere, ok?"

   Shizuo punched the wall next to Izaya's head pinning him. "What got into you? You finished this battle with defeat?"

   "And if I am?"

   Shizuo looked at Izaya's eyes searching for an answer but Izaya didn't let anything show in his eyes. Not this time.

   After a while, Shizuo moved back and pulled out a cigarette. He nodded at Izaya and turned around.

   "I guess this time I will let you slide." He said but a knife cut his cigarette in half before he lit it up.

   He turned back to look at Izaya who looked at him with disgust.

   "That's unlike you monster. Letting me go this easily and not being bothered by it. If I knew better, I would say someone is disguised as you."

   Shizuo threw the cigarette at Izaya who easily hit it away. "You are starting to get to my nerves flea! I will just let you go since I know that face from high-school. Something is bothering you. So let us be and leave Ikebukuro."

   "Did you grow without me noticing Shizu-chan? What high things are you mustering?"

   "You asked nicely. Leave..." But before he finished his sentence Izaya moved and cut Shizuo's arm.

   Shizuo moved back surprised at the attack but moved quickly to throw the knife away and caught Izaya's arm. Izaya didn't move but stared at Shizuo this time showing his true emotions.

   Hate.

   Shizuo was familiar with that feeling. That was something he was used to. But what that look also showed, was anger. He looked at Izaya dumbfounded for a second before squeezing Izaya's arm resulting in him letting the new knife fall down.

   "Monster." Izaya smirked at Shizuo who didn't say anything.

   Not yet.

   "So no response. Now you are making me mad Shizuo."

   Shizuo shook Izaya. "Now I know that you are out of your fucking mind Izaya."

   Izaya smirked again trying to let his arm move but Shizuo’s strength was keeping him in place. 

   "And if I am?"

   "Did you finally lose it? Because I could end this here and forever."

   "Ah yes. For a monster that action is not something weird to do. As the hate you show."

   "Hate?" Shizuo asked and watched Izaya.

   He in return smirked again. "So you hate me Shizuo?"

   "Is that what it is? Just because I said I hate you?"

   Izaya laughed. "And what if it is you dumb idiotic monster?"

   "That’s nuts Izaya. We are enemies. Of course, we hate each other."

   Izaya came closer to Shizuo almost touching his lips. "Do we?"

   Shizuo moved back but still held Izaya's arm. "We do."

   Izaya looked at him. Observing him. And when he didn't find what he was looking for he looked down at the ground. He shook violently.

   "So it is." He barely whispered and Shizuo watched him. He felt Izaya shaking but he couldn't decide if that was laughter or crying. Or something else.

   "So then Shizuo, you do hate me?" Finally, Izaya lifted his head and looked at Shizuo.

   Shizuo watched him. Izaya's eyes had changed to something that Shizuo couldn't comprehend. Shizuo grimaced at the side. He hadn't seen this side of Izaya. Was he truly angry? He should be because Shizuo felt weird just by looking at him. That was new to him, completely letting him move to unmarked waters for the first time. He tsked. He didn't like this side of Izaya. The one that he didn't know how to comprehend. 

   His stare didn't move from Izaya's face. It was as like as it used to be. Emotionless and with that damn smirk on his face. Yet that eyes were...hurt. Finally, after so much time of silence, Shizuo broke eye contact and looked at the arm he still held.

    He was bothered. But why? Was it because this side of Izaya was new to him? Was the fact that they talked without fighting? Was it because he had won a battle between them? Or for once he was the logical one?

   Or was it because.... that damn eyes?

   Shizuo felt defenseless for the first time in his life. But Izaya looked for an answer and Shizuo would gladly give it to him.

   "Yes...I hate you Izaya." He said as he finally returned the eye contact with Izaya.

   Izaya finally moved his gaze down towards his other hand. After some time, his shaking stopped and he made his hand into a fist, and finally, after so much time, he laughed as he used to. Shizuo let out a breath that he didn't know he held and waited for Izaya to talk. Then finally Izaya looked up at Shizuo and his eyes had returned back to normal as well as his trademark smirk. 

   "Of course, Shizu-chan. I am sorry I doubted you. But now I am sure too of what I am feeling."

   With that, his fist made its way on Shizuo’s stomach making Shizuo bend down and letting Izaya's arm. He was caught off guard. A thing he shouldn't have done. With that, Shizuo felt finally angry and was about to scream at Izaya but when he lifted his head, Izaya had closed the distance and had kissed him. Izaya moved back quickly before Shizuo warped his hands around him. He smiled at Shizuo.

   But before Shizuo moved, he stopped at the sight in front of him. Izaya had moved back and his face had changed. He was smirking at Shizuo like always but that smirk was something more. Something genuine. 

   Something that was only directed to Shizuo. Something unique.

   Something that Shizuo would treasure to his memory.

   "Yes..." Izaya finally said with a slow but deep with emotions voice. "...I hate you too, Shizu-chan!"

   Shizuo closed his eyes and laughed like he used to but with a new emotion in it. He stared at Izaya who looked back at him and before they noticed they moved again. Towards each other.

   With that, the new battle had begun.

[qqueenofhades]

Aziraphale and Crowley decide to go travelling.

They have been on Earth for over six thousand years, but they’ve not actually seen that much of it. They’ve been soldiers posted at a garrison, responsible for the blessings and/or temptations despatched in the British Isles for jolly well most of that time, and they can’t just faff off whenever they please. (As well as, of course, the unspoken fact that neither of them will stray too far from the other. Aziraphale’s had to handle the Irish-related bits since the fifth century, when a killjoy bloke named Patrick chucked the snakes out. Pity, that – Crowley, being red-haired and fond of drink and trouble, would love to come back, but alas.) They have moved out of London and to that cottage in the South Downs, itself a change after living in the city for almost five hundred years, but it doesn’t take long for them to realise that without constant marching orders to await and no destruction of the world to avert, they’ve got… time. And one morning Crowley suggests, and Aziraphale somehow finds himself agreeing, that they just bugger off and see the lot of it. Or at least make a start.

They don’t travel like humans who want the big flashy commercial bits: the Eiffel Tower, the Great Wall of China, the Sydney Opera House, Disneyworld. Aziraphale thinks at first that they’ll just ride in Pullman cars, something he has always rather wanted to do, and is dismayed to learn that Pullman cars went the way of the dodo in 1968. Failing that, they should just fly, or miracle themselves. He’s taken aback when Crowley thinks it’s funny to insist on human transport, though Crowley himself was responsible for many of the recent innovations of the airline industry and has to admit, the first time they’re stuck in economy class aboard an over-booked jetliner with a screaming child behind them, he may have overdone it. They are subject to delayed trains, packed buses, leaky ferries, and the delights of something called a moto, which Aziraphale might have enjoyed more if he wasn’t screaming the whole time. Course, Crowley loves it. Nothing but respect to any mad bastard brave enough to drive that fast in Rio de Janeiro.

(‘Oh,’ Aziraphale says softly, as they stand at the very top of the hill, beneath the vast shadow of Christ the Redeemer, and think back to that promising fellow they saw nailed to the branch in Golgotha, and gaze down, down, down at the green mountains and the glittering city and the sun-blazing sea. ‘Oh, my.’)

They argue about where to go next. Crowley thinks Russia is too cold and Aziraphale thinks India is too hot, but they end up in both anyway. Aziraphale is entranced by a night at the Bolshoi Ballet in Moscow, and they wake one morning in the thick air of a humble guesthouse along the Ganges, smelling the burned offerings of the temple and listening to the splash of bathers and the chittering of the monkeys that stole their curry. They are generally pegged for gormless Englishmen wherever they go, or at least Aziraphale is; something about him just screams bum bag and floral-print shirt. Crowley manages to deter any local trouble by being himself, or if need be, flashing a strategic glimpse of his eyes. Not that that always works. A bunch of clubbers in a neon disco in Rome think it’s very chic.

(Crowley doesn’t like Rome much. He can barely walk round the city without looking like a jitterbug, and Aziraphale refuses to let him pop in on the Pope one morning in his skivvies, give the old man a good jolt. Supposedly it’s romantic, and watching a sunset over the Colosseum, hand in hand, Crowley can admit it’s got that going for it, memories of the lions that used to be big here notwithstanding. Nonetheless, he is relieved to leave.)

‘Look at me,’ Aziraphale beams, having ordered them a scrummy spread in Greece a few days later. ‘Real gentleman of the world, don’t you think, my dear? Pity we can’t see the Parthenon from here, but I suppose I can always – ’

‘If you say so, angel.’ Crowley lights a cigarette and tempts the loudmouth bastard blocking the view to go home and rethink his life. ‘Take another look now.’

They go to New York so Aziraphale can see a Broadway show, whereupon Crowley wonders how America has got into such a mess even with nothing whatsoever to do with him. Wants no part of that, thanks. They pop up to Canada after, which turns out to mostly be more Canada, though Crowley nearly hits a moose driving at ninety miles an hour down an empty highway and that would have good and discorporated both of them. They wind up at a tiny roadside motel where the only sound are the crickets and the distant sigh of passing cars, where it is deep summer and green and slow, and they lie on the bed with Aziraphale’s head on Crowley’s chest and neither of them say a word.

They drive down to San Francisco and fly from there to Tokyo, which delights Aziraphale with its proximity to sushi, clean and precise public transport, and miles of convenience stores to supply every imaginable item. Everyone looks somewhat surprised when he speaks Japanese. Crowley is just tall enough to regard doorways with suspicion, and cannot slack his vigilance when going through them. One such mishap leaves him with something of a lump when they arrive in Istanbul. Aziraphale’s wallet gets pinched in the Grand Bazaar, then after a brief and exciting episode involving a snake head, hastily returned. ‘Mesopotamia,’ Crowley remarks breezily. ‘Always an adventure in these parts, isn’t it, angel?’

They make their way down into Africa, where Crowley insists on paying homage at Freddie Mercury’s hometown in Zanzibar. Aziraphale snaps a photo of him at the sacred site and supposes that will be going into pride of place in a frame back at the cottage. They’re both burnt brown and riotously freckly, at least in Crowley’s case, and Aziraphale has acquired, under his dearest’s expert tutelage, a succession of fashionable sunglasses. They walk along a deserted beach in Cape Verde and sleep curled together in a hammock with waves lapping soft on the sand. Get on a boat headed to some island in the middle of the Atlantic, out in the arse-end of absolutely bloody nowhere, and gaze up at more stars than either of them, a pair of celestial beings, have ever seen in their lives. These do not fall, or burn, or break. The heavens do not brim with fire, nor does hell rise up. The world is at a point of perfect stillness.

‘We should get married,’ Aziraphale says one night, as casually as if it’s something that has only just occurred to him. ‘I mean… for the tax purposes.’

Crowley turns to stare at him as if it is the stupidest thing he’s ever heard. ‘Tax purposes?’

‘I just…’ Aziraphale opens and shuts his mouth. He still owns the bookshop, since he couldn’t bear to part from it, though he’s hired a couple of bright young things to run it. But of course, tax purposes do not actually have a rum thing to do with any of his reasons for asking. ‘If you didn’t… didn’t want...’

Crowley kisses him, hard and sharp and hungry. They don’t say more about it then.

They narrowly escape a hurricane in the Caribbean. They go on a trek through the Andes of South America, whereupon Aziraphale does not enjoy himself at all and has to shout at Crowley to stop leaping up hills like a lizard. They go up to Norway and putter along the fjords, and Crowley gets very drunk and pretends to be Thor. (His hair is growing out again, and he could throw lightning and thunder if he wanted to.) They hop to various cities in Europe on weekend discount-airline deals and go to the Christmas market in the Old Town Square of Prague. The really delightful thing about all this travelling, they discover, is the ability to come home together. Pop along on the train from Luton or Stansted or Gatwick or Heathrow, crunch up the walk with their bags, unlock the door and collect the post on the mat and go into the kitchen, make a nip of supper and crawl into bed together, half-packed suitcases dropped on the floor. It’s a lovely cottage. The houseplants are verdant and properly terrified, and the books cover every flat surface.

‘We should get married,’ Crowley says, on a flowering spring night in Vienna. ‘Horribly antiquated human institution and all that, but…’ He trails off, then shrugs elegantly. ‘Tax purposes.’

‘I thought, my dear,’ Aziraphale says, taking a sip of his wine, ‘that was originally my suggestion.’

Crowley’s yellow eyes sparkle at him. In this light, they are almost gold, rich and depthless, and Aziraphale would be very happy indeed to spend the rest of forever drowning in them. Placidly the demon says, even as his fingers interlock with his angel’s under the table and hold on tight, ‘I have no idea what you’re talking about.’