#i think its a question of whos a faster draw

[juniebugs]

peter parker would not be a chemical engineer!!

actually-- maybe he would be. i'm not completely against it and i would never yuck someone's harmless headcanon shaped yum

but please please please know what a chemical engineer does before you headcanon it. for my soul. as a chem eng student with a special interest only God could stop. lol what even is an engineer? you may be asking yourself. fair question. its one of those professions that is so broad its a bit hard to narrow down.

like, okay, you can imagine an office worker as... a person who works in an office. but what are their daily tasks? well it depends on their position, their company, how close they are to retirement, etc. engineering is kinda similar. the office would be problem solving with math, science, and a whole-lotta of trial and error. the daily tasks would change though. and a large part is based on the specific discipline.

okay, but whats a discipline (aka a specialization)?

what an inquisitive mind we have here. if you have ever heard of a mechanical engineer you can probably infer that their daily tasks would be much different to uhhh like a computer engineer. maybe some overlap-- sure, sometimes-- but generally distinct.

chemical engineering is a discipline! cool cool cool... so what does a chemical engineer do? not actually a lot of chemistry

WHAT HOW IS THIS POSSIBLE ITS IN THE FUCKING NAME

relax, pwincess. chemical engineers use chemistry in their work, but they just as often use physics and math (and even biology! which i have tons of fun with). chemical engineers can do a ton. so its a bit hard to narrow down. for this reason, i really can't claim our resident spidey wouldn't enjoy chemeng. i just picture him as mechanical and biomedical.

if you love chemeng so much though (me too!) and want to keep using it, here are some example jobs:

process engineer (could be oil, could be biotech, could be anything. essentially this is the managing of manufacturing or some kind of process control. checks flow of products in and out, their quality, and the maintenance of the machinery).

research & development (so, so broad. could be research in how a new heart pump could work-- thats flow in and out baybeee. it could be new renewable energy for batteries. it could be changing how fans are made. because why not).

optimization (oooo so sexy. wanna make something cheaper / easier / faster without comprimising it's quality. you might think its impossible, but chemical engineers dream big.)

and literally so many other things.

because

OKAY, maybe peter parker could be a chemical engineer

chemical engineering is a pretty tough degree, so when employers see it they also see : can do math, can do deadlines, can do problem-solving. it's pretty much only the people skills they can't confirm LOL so live your truth, write your fanfiction, draw the most unhinged fanart, i'll be reblogging all that shit. but now you're doing it with a better understanding of chemeng. and aint that something.

[comatosebunny09]

carpe noctem [ resolution ] | sylus

— summary: he tells you to take a load off—clear your head. it would be a nice gesture if the center of your torment didn’t accompany you (or the one where sylus is tired of waiting for you to want him, too). — cw: reader is not mc, femme reader, assassin reader, misunderstandings, self-deprecating thoughts, mutual pining, sexual content, more self-indulgence, alcohol, language, mentions of violence, implied naughty things done in public, sylus is probably ooc, i struggled with this but i hope someone likes it, mdni — tracklist: mystery survivor - brown eyed girls bonnie & clyde - dean heaven & back - chase atlantic pon pón - khruangbin lago azúl - jamila velazquez efecto - bad bunny lights up - harry styles

You’re halfway through a glass of something acrid when heavy leather plops on the bar counter beside you. 

Its brass buckles gleam ominously beneath the foggy, red glaze of Lux. You arch a brow. Tilt your head. The ice in your glass shifts, and your jaw slackens.

You don’t have to turn around to know who the source of the commotion is. Feel him before you see him, a solid mass of shifting muscle pressed up between your shoulder blades. The heat he exudes permeates through layers of skin and flesh. His cologne surfs above that of alcohol and tobacco, curling around your senses in a steady creep. 

He leans closer, and the static from his proximity prickles your skin. He perches loose fists on the counter’s edge, bracketing you between sinewy arms, just barely brushing yours. Just barely. 

You smirk. Try to hide that shiver when his lip grazes the outskirts of your ear, purposeful, slow, breath disturbing the delicate baby hairs framing your face.

“Up for a joyride?” he asks, his voice gritty, steeped low between the rock of the music and your pulse wild in your throat. It pools hot in the chasm in your chest, a slow trickle to your belly. 

You set your glass down. Peer over your shoulder. His face is so close, that pretty nose, those grey-fringed lashes, you can almost kiss it. 

“Can I change first?”

It’s a solid question; you’re still wearing your costume. Body glitter. Makeup. Limbs still hum with the adrenaline from your show. From the attention. From his eyes sweeping over you from the second floor’s rail as you swiveled your hips in rhythm with the music.

He noses along your cheek, siphoning the breath from your lungs in a sticky gasp. That mouth again—it moves along your ear, murmuring so hot and fevered, you wonder if you’re dizzy because of it or the alcohol coloring your veins.

“Later.”

You suppress a frown as he draws back, taking that overwhelming pressure with him. You watch him retreat into the crowd of club goers, eyes burning like two feverish flames before he makes for the door. 

You’re surprised by his easy command over your body, but you don’t have to be told twice. Don’t think twice.

Downing what’s left in your glass, the sting eases the ache of your nerves. You slip a fistful of crumpled-up bills onto the counter for the bartender before snatching up the leather jacket and sliding off the barstool faster than she can thank you for the tip.

“Have fun!” she calls at your back.

You miss the knowing smile kissing the bartender’s lips as you follow behind your boss’s afterimage, wending through the sea of pulsing bodies with all the purpose of the world. 

—

It’s chilly out.

The night air nips at your exposed skin, salted with the scent of exhaust fumes and evergreens and fried food. 

You had shrugged into his coat on your way out of Lux. 

It's too big for you, the sleeves’ hems brushing past your fingertips. But it smells like him, like drive-in movies and fresh cut grass and safety. And it’s warm like him. Warm like the blissful sweep of sun rays. Like a campfire amid the first crack of winter. You’ll bear the jacket’s weight if it means being closer to him. Carrying a piece of him over your shoulders, distributing his load so he doesn’t have to bear it all himself.

He’s waiting for you. Propped all cool against his bike like the love interest of some dark romance novel, silhouetted by the winking city lights behind him. He’s a behemoth of black leather and white hair, and he smirks at you over crossed arms when he sees you. He reaches into his saddlebag to procure a helmet with cat ears mounted on its front, thrusting it towards you.

You lift a brow. Snort. Your lips crook as your heels click over asphalt. He’s so sure you’ll come with him. You’ll come to him. 

But you’d follow him to the ends of the world if he asked.

You take the helmet, your skin tingling when your fingers brush over matte kevlar. For a moment, the art of breathing eludes you. You excuse it as a consequence of the air, of the alcohol bubbling beneath your skin, of your hair tickling your neck. 

You mount the bike behind him after sliding the helmet onto your head. It purrs to life between your thighs, shaky like a slumbering beast, smoke crawling from the exhaust. You put as much space between your bodies as possible, hips pushed back, still wanting to maintain a modicum of decency. He peers at you over a broad shoulder, and you know he’s nothing short of amused behind the dark wash of his visor. 

You gasp, your helmet fogging with condensation, when he tugs you closer by the wrist. His back is deliciously rigid pressed up against your breasts. He taps your hands crossed over his navel, ensuring they’re secure, ensuring you’re holding tight before kicking the kickstand back. You lay your cheek between his shoulder blades once the tension abates. Brush off his brazenness as him wanting to keep you safe.

You cling to him for dear life with a yip in your throat as the motorcycle peels off. And he chuckles something smoky, adrenaline spuming all hot through your veins.

The pair of you cut a sleek outline of black as you whip through the quieted streets. Your destination’s unknown, but you’re just thrilled to be out. To be at his side like the universe isn’t conspiring against you. The wind is brisk and welcoming, licking your exposed thighs and legs, prickly through your stockings. 

Your lips ache with a smile, and once you’ve grown accustomed to the speed, you unwind an arm from around his middle to hold it out behind you. Lean slightly back. Wind eases through the spaces between your fingers. You feel like you’re flying. Free. 

It’s a rush, whatever hair you didn’t squeeze into your helmet whipping wildly around you. As street lights glaze over your visor, you feel like you’re in a dream. And the music playing in the built-in headset is transcendental, aiding that out-of-body experience. 

It’s been too long since he’s taken you out for a ride on the back of his bike. Hardly had time for it, what with the missions and deals and a pretty, infectious damsel soaking up the space between you. 

She’s off in Skyhaven on leave. 

You thought it strange she’d vacation there of all places, but you didn’t argue when you dropped her off at the station, shrugging her somberness off as anxiety for the trip.

Your boss has been surprisingly bold in her absence. Grew more purposeful with the brush of his fingers, with his staring, more concise with his words. You know it’s just his way of filling the crater Ms. Hunter left in his chest. You’re something of a placeholder. Someone to pass the time. But you’ve been taking advantage of it. Flirting back for old time’s sake, teasing him, manipulating him with the flutter of your lashes, knowing he could never be yours deep down. 

Something pulls in your chest. A steady tug like ivy through a lattice fence. A pull on your conscience. Your smile falters the slightest bit. You shove down those gut-wrenching feelings, trying to enjoy the night. The airiness between you. The familiarity. It’s just a joyride. No harm, no foul. You’re not betraying anyone by enjoying yourself a little. Besides…

You never know when it’ll be snatched away like a rug from beneath your feet.

—

You don’t expect an airfield to slide into view, the steel grate of a barbed fence, a stretch of grass painted with dew. The familiar outline of a jet catches your sight, the sleek metal gleaming in the coppery blink of the moon. You wonder what bossman’s up to as he cuts the bike into a hangar, its rumble echoing off thick metal walls whilst you ease to a stop. 

He cuts the engine. You watch the muscles in his back swim as he tugs off his helmet, shaking out those wispy tendrils of white. So cool, you think with pursed lips. You follow suit when you remember yourself, dismounting the motorcycle after him, throat thick with questions.

You wordlessly trail behind him, the click of your heels reverberating throughout the hangar, traded for that of muted clops against the asphalt on the airstrip. Crickets. Wind. Engines humming in the distance. He’s nearly twice your size, yet you’re practically his shadow. Always have been, a silent presence at his back, a viper ready to strike at his command. Loyal thing you are, through and through. 

“What’s this about?” you finally ask when you near his private jet. You’ve had enough ambiguity for the night. 

He’s halfway up the stairs, massive hands swallowing the rails. He studies you from his shoulder, a roguish crease around his eyes. 

“Do you trust me?”

You snort. Has he ever given you a reason not to? He’s always had your back. Always a sturdy palm on your shoulder, squeezing. Antiseptic and gauze to dress your wounds. The comforting burn of whiskey in your throat. A voice to lull you into a fitful sleep when the nightmares bare themselves. 

Your voice is husky, low, a smile tugging at your lips, a thrill coiling around your spine.

“Of course.” 

You take the hand he offers you, guided up the steps into the jet’s cabin like something delicate. 

The crew greets you, all knowing smiles and quick bows beneath the sepia-toned cabin lights. Sylus’ hand falls to the small of your back, searing through the heavy fibers of his jacket, possessive yet respectful, burning down to bone as he leads you down the aisle.

“Wait a sec,” you muse, a quizzical glance cast over your shoulder, aimed at him. “I didn’t pack anything.”

He quirks a brow. Smirks. “Well, it’s a good thing I know your measurements.”

You try not to linger on what that means. On the tight coil in your stomach, the way he looked at you as if only you exist in his world.

—

He’s as cryptic as ever. Then again, you haven’t pressured him for answers. Figure he’s keeping to himself for a reason, the blue light of the tablet in his hand ominously shadowing his face. 

Another mission, perhaps? An undercover gig where you play a glittering, docile doll on his arm until he gets what he’s after? He’ll fill you in on the intricacies later, you’re sure. You trust him so much, it’s sickening. 

It’s been a while since you’ve been on a night fight. You’ve long since traded the distant gleam of the city below for the dark brew of clouds outside the window. And despite the luxury flanking you, you grow antsy. 

You’d slipped off your heels. Fidgeted with the buckles of his jacket in the face of his silence before tearing yourself from the seat to grab something to drink. Something to take the edge off. To dispel the slew of questions in your mind, the curl of your tongue, the gnarl in your stomach, a voice far-off telling you something was amiss.

Your hips sway something dangerous as you near your seat. Two crisp glasses of bubbly fizzle in your palms, a sly little smile on your face. He doesn’t look up when you plop down, still thoroughly engrossed in whatever’s on his screen until you thrust a champagne flute towards him. He accepts it with a quirk of lips, fingers purposeful in their excursion over yours on the stem, eyes drinking you in.

You shudder, feeling like he’s stripping you down to the marrow with that devastating gaze. Clearing your throat, you take a sip. Hide your anxiety behind the rim, opting for cool, calm, collected. It’s a good burn. A good fizz, loosening the restraints of your inhibitions. Maybe you can badger him now.

“Are you kidnapping me?” you joke, crossing your legs. Innocently drag your toes up his tibia for added effect, luring a chuckle that bleeds sin from his throat.

He sets the tablet down on the side table with his champagne flute. Leans slightly forward, fingers wrapping around your foot to drag it into his lap. “Would you like me to?”

A thrill shoots through you. Spools hot in your stomach. You’re insane, because you think being kidnapped by him wouldn’t be so bad. 

His fingers are magical. Give you a glimpse of a night two months back. You still taste him. Still feel him, the texture of his shirt between your fingers burned into your mind. The sounds he poured into your mouth, the dangerous press of his body against yours…

Shifting gears, you swipe a finger over your bottom lip in contemplation. His digits knead through tension and pressure. You bite back a sound. Swallow. Don that playful mask.

“Dunno. Think I’d be fine with it if it were you holding me hostage.”

His smirk deepens, a dimple cratering his cheek, lashes dancing as he watches his hands at work. You want to ask why—why he’s being so attentive, so disarming, so god damn irresistible when he smiles like that. When he laughs like that. When he does that, that thing where he makes you feel like he could throw it all away for you. 

But, you settle for letting the steady hum of the jet engines saturate the air between you. Don’t want to disrupt the moment, the spell falling like a gauzy shawl over your shoulders. The burn of his gaze on your cheek as you peer out the window.

He’s an enigma and could put back up that aloof front at the snap of your fingers. And you might just remember that you’re dropping your defenses too low. Growing too close with a man who couldn’t be farther away. 

—

You land somewhere remote. 

Somewhere off-grid where the sun always shines and tropical birds sing in the trees overhead. Someplace where the ocean glitters a clear blue, and sand gets stuck between your toes, gritty, trapped against the soles of your feet by your sandals. 

It’s humid, the kind of damp that pastes your blouse—yes, you finally had time to change, to freshen up—to your torso like snakeskin. But you bear with the mild discomfort because you don’t think you’ve ever been somewhere so beautiful. 

It’s like a best kept secret. A treasure Sylus has hoarded from you like a crow’s nest, though you can understand why. 

It’s an island untainted by city life. Sleepy, save for the calming crash of waves along the shoreline. The air smells of sea salt and greenery. Of memories of a distant youth, all splotchy in your mind. You can’t recall much of your past up to a certain age—brainwashing—but it conjures something deep-rooted and nostalgic. Something that makes you all warm and fuzzy inside, and your lips ache with a smile.

You were greeted by locals upon your arrival. Men in linen shirts, skin kissed by the sun. Women with pretty freckles, wavy hair, and hugs as welcoming as a summer’s day. You don’t think you’ve ever seen Sylus so at ease—or as calm as someone like him can appear. He was boyish in a way. Infectious, gazing at you with eyes that glittered like the sun refracted off the ocean in the distance.

You pretended your voice wasn’t lodged in your throat at the sight. Like your body wasn’t humming with a pleasant sensation when he laced your fingers together, tugging you down the shore. Confusing you more than the jet lag, than the dizzying weight of the sun.

Dirt roads branch and twist through this tropical oasis. You take a Jeep to a tucked-away bungalow, sunlight dappling your bodies through the leaves as you ease out of the SUV. It’s so very him, isolated and distant. And despite how modest and unassuming it looks outside, the bungalow’s inside is something to whistle at. 

It’s luxurious. Two stories. Hardwood floors, ceiling-high windows, posh furniture, beach motifs, elegant coastal decor. Of course, you don’t expect anything less from your enigma of a boss. He’s just full of surprises, isn’t he?

“I take it you’re enjoying the view,” he asks from behind as you study the beach not too far from the veranda. The lazy back and forth crawl of the waves. Seabirds pecking at the sand. Palm trees scraping a sky so blue. 

“It’s gorgeous,” you say, awestruck. Not really thinking, leaning into your hands pressed against the glass. You’re childlike. It’s magical. You feel like you’re witnessing something intimate. Somewhere you have no business being, territory that’s off-limits.

You turn suspicious eyes on him, crossing your arms, drumming your fingers against your bicep. “What are we doing here?” Straight to the point. You’d been burning to get to it. 

You didn’t prod him much during the jet ride. Assume that you’re here to uncover some elusive protocores. Here to take out a big baddie and end his nefarious dealings. Maybe negotiate with the local military for some state-of-the-art weaponry. Not to let your guard down like the atmosphere suggests. 

Sylus grabs a peach from the fruit bowl settled on the kitchen island’s center. Tosses it up before catching it with practiced ease, and his fingers swallow the damn thing whole. You watch with bated breath as he brings it to his mouth. His eyes narrow behind it, unreadable half-moons, a sly smile stretching past it. 

“House-sitting,” he replies before taking a bite. The sound is juicy, overwhelming, pristine teeth tearing through peachy pink skin. Your mouth waters. You’re hungry, stomach flipping, but you don’t think it’s food you crave. 

“House-sitting,” you parrot, testing the weight of those words in your mouth, distracting yourself. You round the island to stand across from him. “For who?”

“An old colleague,” he answers as if it’s as easy as night’s transition into day. 

You scoff, rolling your eyes, looking off to the side. Sylus associating himself with anyone long-term is a foreign concept. Anyone other than you, the twins, Mephisto, Ms. Hunter…

But, you’ll bite. 

“Then why’d you bring me here?”

You stiffen when he moves. When he props his hands on either edge of the granite countertop after setting his peach down, and the span of his arms is so ridiculously wide. He pitches himself forward, spilling like liquid fire over the island, and the heat of his body is tangible. So close, static builds, his breath stirring the baby hairs matted to your skin by sweat.

A veil drops. Anticipation wells in your chest. His gaze flicks from between your eyes down to your lips that part and quiver with the effort of breathing. With an attempt to form words. 

His jaw slackens in kind, contemplative. Like he’s at odds with himself, mulling over something deep in his mind. For a moment, you think he’ll kiss you. Selfishly hope he kisses you. 

Instead, he crooks a finger beneath your chin. Tilts your head slightly back, and you’re watching his eyes gleam like gems held to the sun from down the bridge of your nose. 

His fingers curl around your neck. Tangle in the fine hairs at your nape. Grip loose enough for you to pull back if you deem the pressure too intense, but firm enough to anchor you to the spot. Your pulse thrums something frenetic beneath his fingers. He swipes a worn thumb pad over the corner of your mouth, and you widen it without realizing. 

You unconsciously lean into his palm. Eyes shroud with something dark and unmistakable.  A quiet yearning to mirror his. An unspoken plea, your defenses slowly burying themselves beneath the wooden panels of the floor. 

You’re closing both your hands around his wrist, tender. Cautious. Holding his hand to your cheek like you’ll fall if he lets go. You turn your face towards his thumb, its roughened callus easing over your bottom lip, lightly pulling it down, delightful tingles echoing through your body as you absently nuzzle into his palm. 

“So you can’t run away from me this time,” he rasps, entranced by your mouth. By the suppleness of your skin, the warmth bleeding from your face into his palm. 

Run away? Why would you—

Who would want to—

You’re out of your mind. So deliciously delirious. Whether from the jungle heat or the molten pressure of his presence, you’re unsure. You just want to live in this moment forever. Preserve it like a snapshot from an old, disposable film camera. Your inhibitions don’t live here, your conscience. Only you and this man who pilfers the air from your lungs, who stirs the earth beneath your feet.

You blink drunkenly, your stare dropping to his mouth. Back to those eyes leaking a mysterious shade of ruby. Pupils blown wide. “What do you mean?”

“Is it so wrong to want you all to myself?” he husks, voice abrasive. Disarming. You feel it in your toes. Feel it embedding itself into your psyche. “No distractions, no misunderstandings?”

You laugh. Swallow against the grit of your throat. Lick your lips. “What do you mean by that?” 

You know what he means. The weight his words carry. Yet you play coy. It’s easier to deflect. Easier to deny than to call it what it is—a weekend getaway. A chance to pick up where things left off. An opportunity to stir whatever mess swells between you. Some time to play until his precious little hunter is back in his arms.

He draws you closer. So close, your foreheads touch. You’re standing on tippy-toe, palms flat against the granite, watching his lashes flutter as he studies your mouth. Breaths hot and dizzying against your skin. He’s massive. Could cover you like a blanket, swallow you whole like a riptide dragging you out to sea. 

“Still playing oblivious.” He sounds forlorn. Voice cracks as it peters, and it simmers in your stomach. “No matter. You’ll find out soon enough,” he says, trading his despondent smile for a smirk.

His thumb cruises along your cheek. And for a moment, it looks like he’ll kiss you. Steal the taste of your lips. But he’s a conniving little shit. He releases you from his spell, hand falling from your neck, fingers grazing your shoulder. He draws back, snatching up his peach for another bite.

You blink away the bleariness. Tamp down a pout. Watch as he moves towards the door, a hand stuffed in his pocket.

“Where are you off to?” you call at his back. Chew your lip, brows knit. Only he could make you this petulant—this lovesick. 

“To visit an old friend. Try to enjoy yourself while I’m away. Take a load off. Enjoy the sights.”

He disappears through the desk-speckled doorframe before you can get another word out, swallowed by the sun. Leaves you to nurse the violent thrum of your heart. To bask in the heady scent he leaves—the molten ache spooling between your legs.

You cross your arms. Huff like a bratty child. He’s doing this on purpose, you’re sure. Punishment for you leaving him hanging, much like you did him that night. 

Hard to relax when you want to throw yourself against the floor. Kick and scream. When you want him to kiss you like the world will end tomorrow. 

You’ll pay him back when he returns.

—

And you do. 

In the form of a red, floral dress that clings to the devastation of your body. 

Spaghetti straps barely cling to your shoulders. Loose knot tied against your naked back at the swell of your rear. The chiffon hem brushes your ankles, but a dangerous slit reveals enough skin to draw the attention of the bar’s other patrons. Locals. Middle-aged men with sweat beading on their temples and mustaches, drunken smiles on their faces, their tongues swiping over their lips. 

You had enough Spanish in your mouth to stumble through ordering drinks. 

Tequila. Not your go-to, but it’s a good burn. A burn that loosens your reservations, your arms in the air. It’s enough to make your hips sway seductively to match that smile on your face as you move through the hazy film of smoke adorning the bar, guided by the croon of the Reggaeton thumping in the floor. 

The attention’s nice. The staring, the lust coloring the air—you’re good at this, remember? But you’re centered on one man in particular. Dancing just for him. Just to fuck with him. Feel his eyes drilling down to your very being as if only you exist, and it makes your body hum pleasantly alongside the sting of the alcohol. 

He can’t keep his eyes off you, perched at the bar’s counter on a stool, swirling the contents of his whiskey glass. Whether he’s watching you out of a habit of concern—he’s stared down every man who came within an inch of you, trying to guide you into a dance by the hips, by your arm, or a hand at the small of your back, and if looks could kill, everyone here would’ve been burned to cinders—or genuine intrigue, you’re unsure. But you play on your delusions anyway, figuring he’s just as enamored by the swivel of your hips as much as everyone else here.

He bought this dress just for you. Had it tailored to the shape of your body, down to the cinch of your waist, the span of your shoulders. You discovered it when he left you to your own devices earlier, boredom and curiosity leading you to scavenge through the luggage he packed for you after you walked the surf. 

When Sylus returned to the bungalow as the sun crested over the sky, you begged him to take you out. You wanted to dance. Wanted to explore this peaceful, tucked away island he whisked you off to, to have you all to himself. Wanted to make him pine for you as much as you yearned for him. Retribution for how he’d left you mentally reeling. Left your body burning. 

Besides, you couldn’t let such a pretty dress go to waste. 

Your gazes interlock every so often. His lips quirk seductively. He raises a glass to you, brows lifting slightly. He chose to hang back while you took to the dance floor. You’re enjoying yourself. He’s enjoying you, too. And the music’s nice. The atmosphere’s soothing. Sure, the bar’s a little run-down, a hole-in-the wall, half of it opening up into an impromptu patio outside. But it has its charm. 

You’ve never seen your boss dance before, but you figure a man like him has some rhythm. He’s cultured. Clearly been here before if the way the natives acknowledge him is anything to go by. Like someone to be respected or feared. 

You contemplate sidling over to him. Grabbing his hand, pushing your breasts up against his bicep, that pretty little beseeching smile crooking your lips. Think about dragging him out for a dance. Having that calamitous body pushing against yours, his hands at your waist, lips imprinting themselves on the hollow of your neck, voice murky in his throat.

But before you can bring the thought to life, someone plops on the barstool beside him. A man who looks like he could be Sylus’ age, though his stubble ages him. Dark hair, bushy brows, ill-fitting suit. He’s clearly inebriated by the slouch of his body. A carefree contrast to the regal set of Sylus’ shoulders. He knows him. Sylus looks annoyed when said man claps him on his back, his raucous laughter cutting through the music. His glass poised at his mouth, he leans closer to Sylus, murmuring something near his ear. 

Something esoteric by the looks of it. Something that you can’t catch, but it probably concerns you. Because when you turn in the midst of your dancing, you don’t miss both sets of eyes tuned to you—one set playful and knowing and adorned with crow’s feet, the other somber and far-off beneath furrowed brows, above tight lips.

You wonder what they’re on about. You’re about to sashay over before a stoutly, older man draws you close to salsa, pulling a laugh from your throat. And you’re so pretty and carefree as you move, your eyes occasionally flitting back to your boss and his company as they talk.

— 

The rain doesn’t detract from the island’s mugginess. In fact, it becomes even more humid, with bodies huddled together beneath the bar’s half-roof, trying to keep from getting wet. It’s fruitless, the rain puddling at your feet, making the concrete floors nothing short of slippery.

You don’t contest, laughing something unhindered when Sylus takes your hand, drawing out of the crowd. He flashes a smile over his shoulder before you jog after him, engulfed by the downpour and the gray haze cast by the heavy clouds overhead. You’re surprisingly fast for the towering heels you wear, strapped to your feet. And you’re both acting like two mischievous youths by the time Sylus pulls you under the awning of a nearby cafe, figuring the weather’s too tumultuous to make for your bungalow on foot.

It is there where your mirth simmers. Where you realize you’re soaked to the bone, your dress molded to you like a second skin. You’re incredibly close. So close, his overpowering warmth permeates through layers of flesh, and you’re spinning. Your nipples knot beneath the drag of the fabric. Sylus takes the opportunity to lure you closer, his back colliding with the stone wall behind him when you careen into his chest.

He’s so very handsome, white locks pasted to his sculpted face. So pleasantly solid against your palms pressed against his chest. His hands burn something fierce through your skin, fastened to your back. Time slows to a crawl, the rain an afterthought as you slowly look up, lost in the heady, love-drunk stir of his eyes. It wouldn’t take much to stand on tippy-toe to kiss him, to taste the rain intermingled with the saccharine flavor of his mouth.

So, you do.

Your fingers clasp around his biceps. And he doesn’t fight you, instead urging you forward, leaning down to meet you halfway. You come together like the moon drawn to the earth, and twin, relieved sounds leave your chests when your mouths collide. 

He takes your breath away, sucking it into his lungs like it’s his own. Cups your cheek in his palm, greedy, greedy as he anchors you to him. Your arms intuitively snake around his shoulders, wrists cross behind his neck. It’s like kissing fire, and the sounds he pours into you make your toes tingle, your center pulse.

Without warning, his fingers mold around your thighs, the thick flesh cratering between them before he rucks you up to encircle his waist with your legs.

You’re a mess of gnashing teeth and hair and desire as he turns your body, walking you into an alcove devoid of light, hidden from the street. And as your alarm bells sound in your mind—wait, stop, no—as your spine crashes into a textured, brick wall, you allow him to ravage you. To flood your body with every bit of emotion he’s held back for God knows how long via his mouth. Via his hands bunching your dress around your hips. His teeth scrawling down your neck before seeking refuge in your shoulder. 

You throw your head back, sighing hot and wanton, mouth curved into a smile. He’s hard and thick pressed to the apex of your thighs. All for you. Just for you.

This isn’t right. Isn’t how you envisioned things culminating between you, but you think, fuck it.

What happens here can stay here, the echo of your voices painting every crevice of the alleyway.  

— tags: @melonssoup, @dana-nite, @allura-miss, @l1ttlebabyapple, @asakiyu, @loliesaregreat, @theloveofnagiseishiroslife, @mentaltrouble2201, @jupitersays, @animecrazy76, @wowunreal, @jaeminsbuckethat, @darkeskye, @lookingforlia, @aishasylus, @t4naiis, @everywherenothere, @unknown-ends, @blessdunrest, @lunebulous, @iwantmyredvelvetcupcake, @ceronnica, @sillyfreakfanparty, @midiplier, @abbylee0710, @hanaluxx, @nicohii, @beewilko, @viqlume, @snowfall-jess (sorry if i missed anyone).

falling action | masterlist

[art]

Creator Spotlight: @themetalhiro

Hi, I’m Metal! I’m a freelance artist from good ol’ New Jersey. My favorite things to work with are a lot of bright colors, exaggerated poses, and candid scenarios. I try to farm sensible chuckles whenever I can, so I’m also big into comics. I love making them about my life, and the media I’m into, and one day I’d like to publish my own series!  Thank you to everyone who has gotten me this far!!

Check out Metal's interview below!

Did you originally have a background in art? If not, how did you start?

I guess so! It’s funny, I don’t remember a single time in my life that I wasn’t drawing as a hobby… somewhere in middle school (a little late, I know.) I put the pieces together that animated movies were made by artists, and that it wasn’t just for fun, they were paid to do it. The moment I discovered people could be paid to make art, I decided I would do that, too. Now I’m here!

How has your style developed over the years?

I think the best way to answer this would be with an example! Over the last few years, I have made more of an effort to draw more intentionally, which sounds silly. Now, I put more thought into my poses and step out of my comfort zone with shape language and composition. I had a phase where I drew everyone with a huge, perfectly circular head and no nose. That definitely did not lend much variety...

Which 3 famous artists (dead or alive) would you invite to your dinner party?

Ack! I’m so terrible at history! I’d love to give a well-thought-out answer about fine artists of old, but I don't think we’d have much in common… Most artists I admire and who have driven me forward creatively are the people behind comics I’ve read. Andrew Hussie, Bryan Lee O’Malley, Eiichiro Oda... these guys have inspired me greatly and had a heavy influence in developing my art style and sense of humor. I’d love to ask them questions about their processes and upcoming projects. I think it would make for an entertaining night!

Over the years as an artist, what were your biggest inspirations behind your creativity?

Outside of pure aesthetics like searing bright colors, layered clothing, and loud noises…. the best and most inspiring moments in my life were those surrounded by friends and loved ones! I cherish the hell out of memories of hanging around in fun locations, trying weird food together, and impromptu midnight walks... so I try my best to capture that atmosphere and my own memories in my work when I can, even if I’m imposing fictional characters on top of them. That’s always the core of it.

What is a medium that you have always been intrigued by but would never use yourself?

I would never permanently refuse a medium, but every time I pick up clay, I’m like a baby using its hands for the first time. Absolutely dreadful. If one day I could make and paint a figurine like the ones I admire in videos, that would be awesome... But for now, I’m not counting on it.

How do you want to evolve as a creator?

I’ve had an absolute blast drawing fanart over the years, and it’s certainly played a massive role in my growth as an artist. But my dream has always been to publish my own stories for y'all to enjoy! I have lots of worlds I want to introduce to you before I’m old and gray. I want to get faster, work harder, and get better at drawing interesting settings so I can get the wheels turning as soon as possible. I also want to stop avoiding the color blue like a coward.

What do you wish you knew when you first started out creating art that you know now?

Pay your taxes quarterly. Tablets will break at the exact moment you need them most, so have a spare. Wear your blue light glasses. You’re going to need to wear a brace on every joint on the right side of your body. It can be lonely sitting at your desk all day. The car on the side of the road that costs $1000 cash….. don’t trust it!!!

Who on Tumblr inspires you and why?

@cranity—They use absolutely beautiful colors and weighty line work. Everything looks so sharp and clean! I wanna put it all up on my wall!

@vewn—Their ability to crank out quality short films and illustrations packed with detail is incredible. The off-kilter perspective they use really sells disorientation and catches your attention like nothing else.

@nelnal—They have absolutely banger character designs again and again, I can’t believe one person’s mind can come up with so many creative ideas!

@jinx88kc—They have a beautiful and recognizable style, and the way they incorporate animation into their illustrations sometimes is SO cool!

Thanks for stopping by, Metal! For more of Metal’s work, follow their Tumblr, @themetalhiro! If you haven't seen their Meet the Artist piece, be sure to check it out here!

[edenspoem]

ellie and reader 🤝 double ended dildo

mdni | yeah, ellie loves this. besides being a strapless dildo adjacent (which she also loves) double-ended ones are made for her; entirely because she is a notorious morning-grinder. always waking up with a wet, lady hard-on (cause she's a fucking loser when it comes to sleeping next to you, more often if you slept in each other's arms, skin-to-skin, breasts pressing and everything.) so her hand always has a one-track mind of its own. consistently in her own panties—or creeping softly by the hem of yours. literally the giggliest, reddest girl who conceals herself in your neck when she asks you. “can i get it from the drawer? you can just lay there, i wanna do it this time.” such a flincher too; so sensitive to affirmative gropes.

and, yeah, she is a whiner on top. like, no wonder this toy in particular is in high demand with her. she draws all the sound in the world into herself and leaves you to numbly drown in what it produces. impulsive, breathless chants of, “yeah, yeah—fuck, yeah..” when her hips are restless trying to hit all the deep, intoxicating spots inside herself. then, concentrated, in-tune questions of, “fuck, like this babe? wanna see me go faster?” when she wants to focus on it, pushing inside of you, thinking with her hips instead of her racing heart for a minute. such a damn mess too. i mean, ellie is like that when she's being penetrated, but it truly does get everywhere. nowhere near ashamed about the arousal that drips from her pussy to yours—and absolutely loves running the tip, covered in your slick, through her folds. intimacy doesn't get any better than that for her. insane eye contact too, god. nothing hotter than a girl who wants to show you her dilated, moth-green eyes while humping her pussy on yours.

[tf2occontest]

The Courier VS Armani & Marcel, The Decoys VS The Therapist

(Final round! No match-up list here)

Alright team, here's a recap: This is a contest to determine who amongst you will take the top of the leaderboard and be hired at TFI! Simply put, whoever gets the most votes wins the contest, and whoever doesn't... Well. They'll be put down swiftly and cleanly. :}

So, mann your stations, because here are your FINAL contestants! Vote for your favorite mercenary who you want to win the TF2 OC Contest! - P

OC INFO UNDER THE CUT!

We highly encourage you to take a peek to make your decision!

The Courier

@sicc-nasti

Image credit: @/sicc-nasti

Do you like receiving your mail on time and your packages in pristine condition - untouched by curious hands and peeping eyes? Do you love when your woefully embarrassing love letters filled with poetry from your soul are delivered with the utmost care and secrecy? Does it fill you with glee when your special snacks you ordered overseas finally make its way into your hands and not a SINGLE piece is missing?

If you said yes to any of these questions then WOW do I NOT have the guy for you!!!!

Instead-

TFI presents you something you didn't know was possible OR legal - weaponized postal services!

Meet your 10th Class-

The Courier!

By intercepting and opening someone else's mail, an individual can gain access to confidential information that can be used for identity theft, fraud, or other illegal activities. And we wouldn’t want that, now would we? That's why our solution to this simple problem is bringing the mail to the battlefield! Courier is equipped with MANN CO approved disposable stackable mail crates for your climbing or shielding needs. Just think of how nice it would be to build a tower to do taunts on or have cover from that enemy Heavy's hail of bullets. Sure it's clunky but nothing shreds paper faster than a bullet - that's science tested and math approved by TFI scientists! And monkeys!

Courier is THE MANN for the job.

If that ain't enough to catch your attention, let's take a peek at the men behind the uniform.

RED’s Courier is a Puerto Rican ex-felon hailing from the greatest place on earth! New York City! With an insatiable appetite for all things fraud, deli meats, and violence - what more could you ask from a guy?

BLU's Courier is a Puerto Rican-Italian ex-con plucked from the greatest place on earth! Jersey City! With an insatiable appetite for all things smuggling, deli meats, and violence - what more could you ask from a guy?

Not enough for a vote?

Well, listen, I'm not above bribery. If you vote for them, Courier promises to not read your mail for like a week and INSTEAD- will write you up a totally not fraudulent marriage certificate to any merc you want!! Just think! Finally legally married to Heavy! Or Engie! How’s that sound for incentive, boss?

THROUGH RAIN, SHINE, BULLET HAIL OR SNOW, THEY’RE YOUR COURIER.

VOTE FOR COURIER IN THIS UPCOMING TF2 OC CONTEST

Maybe there’ll be enough in the budget for a third one!

Armani & Marcel, The Decoys

@friendlyengie

Image credit: @/friendlyengie

When your job description is to be as obnoxious as possible, obviously you’re going to send in a clown! Armani is a Decoy, which means his purpose is to get on the field and draw as much attention to himself as possible. Sure, it probably means he gets killed frequently, but isn’t that half the fun?

Personally, Armani is rough and over the (big)top. He’s Italian, too. If that helps. If it doesn’t ignore that part. He’s got the flowery language exaggerated expressions of a performer and absolutely none of the social tact. He’s loud and in your face and simply does not care! Take him or leave him, baby! (Please take him.)

Marcel is just a guy. A little man. His mime-specific approach to the decoy class means he’s a lot less loud shouting and japes, and a lot more inconvenient tricks and hiding where you just can’t see him. He saves his breath unless he has the chance to be really funny. As a person, Marcel is eccentric and expressive. Cartoonishly so. A man of few words, since said words can only be spoken when he pulls the string on his back, he normally conveys his thoughts through actions instead. He’s annoying, and he wants you to know that specifically. He’s charming enough that he can make people forget how obnoxious he is just long enough for whatever stunt he pulls next to come out of nowhere. Ain’t he just so charming?

The Therapist

@hazardtoons

Image credit: @/hazardtoons

You wouldn’t expect an organisation like Team Fortress Industries to invest in something like mental health treatment for its hardened soldiers. The one giving them this generous care is a woman only known by those who work at the company as Therapist - a seemingly well-intentioned lady there to give everything from a shoulder to cry on to someone to seek advice from.

There is a catch, however. Not all the information she gathers from her clients is used for good. Underlying that comforting presence is another tool of oppression used in the company.

[swanlikely]

Current Brainrot: Being Heian Period Sukuna's Concubine!

Author's Note: hiiiiiii fanon sukuna my beloved :333 here's the filthy sukuna smut you all requested! Sorry it's shorter than usual :(( I was crunched for time w/ work and school (Artist & Her Patreon)

not proof-read! (sorry if there are any errors - let me know and i'll fix it!)

CW: AFAB! reader, usage of she/her, pet names, degradation, choking, oral (f! receiving), sukuna's glorious stomach tongue.

✧₊🦢🫖₊✧✧₊🦢🫖₊✧✧₊🦢🫖₊✧✧₊🦢🫖₊✧✧₊🦢🫖₊✧✧₊🦢🫖₊✧✧₊🦢🫖₊✧✧₊🦢🫖✧₊🦢🫖

You were Ryomen Sukuna's concubine, his most favored one. So much so that since he met you, no other woman had caught his eye. Sukuna was a vile and nasty man, some would even call him evil, but what he was doing to you in this moment was pure, unadulterated debauchery.

You were trapped beneath Sukuna's imposing frame, his six powerful limbs encasing you completely. The soft, plush cot beneath you felt worlds apart from the sheer muscle of the man above. With a cocky smile and an cocked brow, Sukuna looked terrifyingly alluring.

"What were you doing, little mouse?" Sukuna growled, his sharp teeth grazing the sensitive skin of your neck. A thrill ran down your spine as you arched toward him involuntarily, your body responding to his every touch. Two of his powerful hands gripped your plush hips, their strength undeniable, while the other two pressed you firmly against the hard, robed expanse of his crotch. The heat radiating from him was exhilarating, making it impossible to think of anything but him.

"Nothing," you whimpered, pushing against him. Your hips squirmed desperately, seeking any form of friction against his hard body, the need for contact driving you into insanity. He throbbed against your bare cunt.

"Is that so?" he scoffed, yanking one hand from your hips and wrapping it around the base of your neck. He squeezed just enough to make you gasp, his touch strong yet careful not to leave a mark. "You're such a lying whore," he laughed.

"You were touching yourself without my permission," he spoke, each word like a dagger of venom. His grip around your neck loosened, and he reeled back to take a look at you. You were already a gasping, needy mess��stark naked, dripping, legs spread just for him.

He could eat you up.

"Maybe I need to show you real pleasure," Sukuna hummed, a rare softness gracing his features. Your gaze traced the intricate black markings that adorned his body, starting from his collarbones and trailing down to the bold pattern across his chest. You halted at his navel, where the mouth etched into his stomach lay open, salivating. "Don't be scared, I won't bite, much," he teased, a predatory glint in his eyes.

He shifted his body closer to you, the mouth on his stomach agape, tongue out, eager to taste you. The tongue started to lap against you, slow and rough, each stroke making your mind go blank. Its size ensured it reached every crevice and fold. You couldn't escape the pleasure, couldn't escape him. His tongue continued its relentless exploration, each stroke bringing you further into a haze of sensation.

"K-kunnnnaaaa," you whined, your voice small and meek. He smiled as he watched you twitch and grind against the tongue, you looked so beautiful. So filthy, so desperate. "That's it, drown in pleasure," he groaned, drawing his face closer to yours. His lips crashed against yours in a frenzied kiss, and he was devouring you with both mouths. You were completely and utterly his, lost in the intensity of the moment.

The tongue lapping against you quickened its pace, the wet muscle moving faster and harder. A moan escaped your lips, muffled by the kiss, and he chuckled in response. You couldn't tell which mouth the sound came from, but the sound was delicious.

He pulled away to admire his handiwork. Your face was a deep shade of crimson, and your tongue lolled out of your mouth, a testament to the pleasure he had wrought.

"So, who makes you feel better?" Sukuna's question dripped with cruelty. Both of you knew the answer—he made you feel like you were teetering on the edge of ecstasy and oblivion. It wasn't even a contest; Sukuna's touch would always triumph over your own nimble fingers. He knew exactly how to make you feel alive.

"Hmm?"

"You d-do, my lord!" you practically squeal, your voice trembling as he devours your cunt. Each movement brings you closer and closer to the edge, and he relishes every second of your unraveling.

Your body is shaking under his touch, every nerve ending aflame with desire. "That's right," he murmurs, his voice a dark, seductive whisper.

"Only I can make you feel this way." His pace quickens once again, and you can feel yourself spiraling towards the brink. "Cum for me," he commands, his eyes locked onto yours, filled with frightening hunger. You can barely hold on, arching towards him as the pleasure builds to an almost unbearable peak. His grip tightens, and you can feel his breath hot against your skin.

Finally, you can't hold back any longer. With a cry of pure bliss, you surrender to the orgasm crashing over you. He watches you intently, a satisfied smirk playing on his lips as he revels in your release.

As you catch your breath, he leans in closer, his lips brushing against your ear. "You know," he teases, "if you keep making those sounds, I might have to devour you all over again."

"My lord!"

[zarnzarn]

Odysseus' wife owns a gold chain.

The first week they were together after he returned, she'd slithered it out of its box when he was distracted, holding it up in the dim lamplight.

"You left my sight today," She snarls, beautiful in her fury. Insane and flawed and real and his.

"For ten minutes," he reminds her fondly. "To help bring in a sack of grain."

"Too long," She declares, voice choking up with tears. He reaches up to wipe at her waterline, heart aching. "Leave such things to other people."

"My darling wife, so strong," Odysseus coos. "You know that you ask the impossible. But I can see you have an idea?"

Penelope grins again, almost cruel, and lays the chain across his chest, heavy and glinting. "It is designed to be inescapable. Unbreakable. It will not let you walk even past the sands of our shoreline, let alone the docks."

His stomach swoops in excitement and some stirring form of arousal.

"I was going to clamp it on your wrists when you were sleeping," She says casually. "But now I find I want you to look as I shut it upon you."

Another man would have started shouting. Pushed her off, threatened her with a sword; a sane one would go running for the hills.

Odysseus smiles. Cocks a brow. "Wrists?"

-

The King of Ithaka, they say, has chains around his feet like a common slave.

It echoes in the palace like a dancer's anklets, tinkling and rustling when he walks around his home laughing with his son, when he makes official trips to the markets and to the goat festivals, when he comes to eat.

It is on him when he teaches the children of Ithaka to spar, somehow never an impediment for the crafty king, only a tool to be used against them. He can run faster than his own son even with them on, although Prince Telemachus is growing into his own terrifying capabilities at an astounding rate with every passing day, and many already fear his beauty and his wit.

("Huh. Mom get you those?" Telemachus says on the first day. Odysseus idly wonders if he should be worried about the utter lack of surprise on his son's face, and what it implied about Penelope's parenting and ruling skills.

"Yes," He says, pulling him into a side-embrace and kissing him on the forehead. Telemachus relaxes into his arms like a kitten and he smiles warmly. "I don't think she quite plans to let me out of them."

"Yeah, sounds like mom," His son yawns. "You should get someone to make sure it doesn't chafe, though.")

The King wears them even when nobles and dignitaries come to visit, of which there are many. Never bats an eye at their cries of astonishment and outrage, like he has accepted already that he will be in them forever.

"My wife doesn't want me to leave the island," He says jokingly, when someone whispers concerns and questions to him. "Hence, the chains!"

For a week, perhaps, an outsider to the island could consider it stress, a story to laugh at later once the fear had passed. But the Queen of Ithaka shows no signs of telling her husband to take them off, and everyone in Greece who was left to her tender mercies for twenty years knows better than to trust her placid, warm smile enough to confront her about the madness. They rule together now, and the chains remain on in some horrific perversion of royalty, even as they lean into each other and whisper and giggle like infatuated youngsters.

His comrades from Troy, when they come, shout in outrage, drawing their swords, but are quickly reassured by the people of Ithaka themselves, who point out the way the King never complains about them, visibly melts whenever his wife possessively tangles one of her own feet in the chains to pull it shorter at their stares, looking at her with nothing but adoration.

("Are you truly fine with it?" Hermes is the only one to ask, and get a true answer. His ankle-wings flutter in uncomfortable nervousness whenever the chain clinks- if it can hold one of his blood, it can most likely hold Hermes himself, too- and Odysseus knocks his head into the other's shoulder reassuringly.

"I am," He says truthfully. "It keeps her calm, and it keeps me happy- to belong. To choose being tied up, rather than being forced."

"It sounds horrific and I do not understand it or you in the slightest," Hermes replies cheerfully, ruffling his hair. "But to each their own, I suppose.")

The only time the King of Ithaka is let out of his chains is in the early morning, when the sun is still down and no one can see them.

Penelope and Odysseus both enjoy their baths, and he lies back on their bed after, still dripping with water, and lifts his feet in the air seductively. Penelope strokes his legs lovingly, pressing a kiss to his calloused ankles before unmercifully clamping the chains shut once more.

(Athena comes in once during this moment, swooping in silently through the window. Odysseus meets her eyes over Penelope's shoulder, and for a moment the mad thrill of it all recedes at her knowing gaze.

She raises a judgemental eyebrow, questioning. He gives her a small smile and shrugs the best he can without tipping Penelope off.

She shakes her head, a fond smile on her lips, and makes her way closer. Penelope's breath catches as Athena places a hand on her shoulder and she looks up sharply at their patron, some vestige of scared guilt passing over her face. Vulnerable.

Odysseus knows that it is only Athena and Athena alone who Penelope will listen to, if the goddess tells her to take the chains off. His wife braces herself, as if preparing for an argument, but he knows Athena can see just as well as he how deeply their separation hurt Penelope, why he agrees day after day to let her put them on, indulges in her possessive madness- although his agreement doesn't really factor in here much, he knows.

Athena studies the both of them once more, and then smirks. "You should get him the full set.")

Odysseus' wife owns a gold chain.

Years have passed, and he still thinks her smile is at its most beautiful when she tightens it around his feet.

[opiopal]

yall wanna know something I think abt a lot? teenage/ little sibling mc au's. Mc gets brought down to the devildom at like 15-16 yr, obviously there is zero romance and instead they just get kinned as the 8th sibling in the HOL.

you guys wanna know what else I think of a lot? little sibling Mc being an agent of chaos when their found family trope isnt paying attention.

I can't help but imagine that once mc is kinned they get crazy spoiled. not spoiled rotten but they know they can get away with a LOT because they're now seen as the cute youngest that doesnt know any better. but obviously they do since they are a teenager who knows how the world works.

and I mention the agent of chaos thing is because they were already attending highschool before hand, so they quickly notice how highschoolish RAD feels, so they were able to jump into the social ring a lot faster then regular Mc. and thus have the ability to get information from people who trust them/like them. so it ends up being useful to them. and now to my leading point: imagine a sort of friendship with Mephisto. its really more like, a symbiotic relationship. they are around each other for a reason. and that reason is RADs newpaper club.

it first started out with Mc staying after at RAD with lucifer to help with a few things, eventually Mc was put in a random room to hang out in after they did all that they could. which turned out to be the room for the newspaper club. after a while they get bored because their D.D.D died and they snagged a paper that was meant for the next day. eventually Mephisto enters the room, goes to tell them to leave which quickly they say "Dia told me I can be in here, if you have a problem with what the lord wants you could always go tell him that!" which shut him up fast. a good couple of minutes go by before the silence is broken by Mc speaking up and going, "You know, this is kinda boring." offended, he whips around, "excuse me?"

"theres nothing interesting here. interviews.. talking about things that everyone already knows about.. like, I could google half this junk." "I- well what would you know!?" "a lot actually. you dont appeal to any of the students here."

he glares for second before inhaling slowly, remembering that diavolo might be nearby.

"oh yeah? as if you could do better." "I could actually," "well i would love to hear it then."

he says sarcastically. though Mc speaks anyways.

mc adjusts how they were sitting and scans over the paper for a second.

"a gossip section would do it good." "what?" "come on dude, its non-sports club 101, if you want people to pay attention to you, you need to appeal to them. I was in theater for a while and we'd bribe people with free food if they sat through the whole show. this place loves drama. and lucifer being drawn riding on a unicorn isn't funny enough to get more then one person to buy it."

slowly they start talking a bit more casually and stop being so hostile. eventually Mc says that they could tell him the gossip they hear if he wants to make a part in the paper for said gossip. so, from then on they slip notes to him about student drama. which does indeed get more papers told!

though one day, someone pisses Mc off. not really that they were the one insulted, but they heard a few demons talking shit about their older brothers. so for the next week Mc takes a good amount of notes on those demons. which eventually they go to Mephisto with their notes and gave them to him. when he questions why these particular demons, he's met with a very angry "if those cunts want to talk shit and not mind their business then why shouldn't their own business get talked about." for a moment he wants to press further... but unfortunately for him he found himself actually caring about this human very much so he couldn't help but just want to make them feel better... and this much of a consititant story would draw people in so its totally not that he kinned this kid as well, totally!! so for about two weeks the gossip section has an ongoing story that causes nearly the whole school to get a paper to stay updated.

of course every bit of gossip uses code names to keep people from being outed on anything. and honestly some of the gossip might end up being people bringing it to the newspaper club themselves, so maybe a small confessions page ends up being opened.

obviously this is something a little cracked, and just a not very thought out thing that exists bc it makes me giggle when I'm daydreaming before I fall asleep<3 and honestly I wouldn't be surprised if there was already a gossip section in the school papers, but unfortunately I was never ever able to make it past the first few lessons of session 2 of obey me, which sucks:/

[becauseicantthinkwritings]

No Other Gods

Serial killer! Billy Russo x Female Reader.

Billy’s POV mostly

Summary: Billy’s on the run, moving from place to place as he leaves a trail of bodies behind. When he steps into a church to hide, he stumbles upon someone that makes him want to stay.

Warnings: Dub- con, violence, gore, blood, blood smearing, so much murder, mentions of Billy's past assault attempt, suggestion of possible sexual assault attempts toward the reader, religious themes, blasphemy, sexual acts in a church, thoughts of non-con (no actual non-con), poison, restraints, oral, fingering, sexual intercourse, wax play/heat play, Devil worship. 

If you want clarification on a possible trigger, I am happy to elaborate. 

I took the dove out back, shot it, then resurrected it so I could kill it again. Be warned.

For my lovely @ittybxttykxttytxtty who was so instrumental in the design of this fic. This goes out to you, love, who reminded me that I shouldn't be afraid to write whatever inspires me.

He’s calm. 

Each step he takes is slow, measured, he hears the echo of it on the quiet street, the drag of his shoe on the concrete sidewalk. 

He turns the corner, and has to fight the instinct to hold his breath as they turn their heads to look up at him. The murder weapon tucked into the waistband of his jeans feels ten pounds heavier.

Even breaths, one in, one out, he knows nothing, he has no sense of concern, or worry. He blinks, feels trepidation wash from his skin.

Internally, he readjusts his course, doesn’t want to walk past the group of officers that are studying him from further up the street, doesn’t want to answer questions just yet, not until he has his story straight.

From the corner of his eye, he catches sight of the church and he changes his walk ever so slightly that it looks as though he’s been heading there the entire time.

When he’s at the closest point, he raises his head and smiles, gives a little wave to the officers, wishes them a good day, though he knows what they know, and it’s not a good day for them.

The church is pristine, unlike the other buildings on the street, it stands with fresh paint and the smell of almost dried varnish and scrubbed steps that tell him that this church is probably the most coveted place in the entire town. 

Billy, having just cut a man’s throat in the High school gymnasium, steps past the door, and does not immediately combust.

Surely, that must mean he’s doing something right, that his cause is a good one, maybe even approved of in the eyes of God.

He’s not convinced.

For a moment, he thinks it’s empty, thinks he’s alone with God and his thoughts, up until the slight movement of shoulders draws his eye.

He’s in disbelief that he missed you the first time, the light of the stained glass hitting your sedentary form.

He takes some quiet steps forward, swears he feels the concealed knife grow warmer. He watches you, studies in rapt attention the way the coloured lights look on you, the way they illuminate your hair, makes his fingers ache to touch something that looks explicit in its forbiddenness.

Your dress is white, or a cream colour that tells him the outward state of your mind, the purity nurtured in your soul.

He moves faster now, eager to see you, to know what you look like, to hear your voice, to look into your eyes.

He turns when he makes it to your pew, sees the way the light caresses the planes of your face, and he wishes he could do the same.

You are radiant, undisturbed beauty, your hands clasped together beneath your chin, a small rosary wound between your fingers. He wants to touch your hair, swirl strands of it around his finger, he wants to feel your skin, hold your form beneath his palms.

Everything he wants, halts, the moment you turn your head and look up at him.

His lips part in surprise, he’s taken by you. You must be an angel, or something more.

“Hello.” You say softly, gazing up at him with unsure eyes.

“Hello sweetheart, I'm sorry to bother you.” Billy answers smoothly, as though he isn't desperate for you to get closer so that he can catch your scent.

You look like you smell like flowers, he thinks to himself, bristles with delight when you finally stand, the light streaming through the stained glass paints you with a myriad of colors.

“It's okay,” you soothe, “I don't mind helping.” You smile at him, an ease of trust in your eyes. Trust, he could so easily extinguish with the weapon concealed on him.

You extend your hand, giving him your name, he smiles, gives his back. In your eyes, he can see something he doesn’t quite recognize.

Too pure, Billy finally decides. You're too pure, there must be some wrong.

“I’m new to town,” Billy explains, leaning in so that he can stand in God’s light with you, in hopes that you can absolve him of the thing he has done.

“Got a little bit lost. Will you help me find my way?”

You smile, and it reminds him of warm fires in the winter, of standing in sunlight after being drenched from head to toe.

“Where are you going?”

.

One of the wives whispers something in your ear, Billy watches you tilt your head back laughing. You had this entire town wrapped around your finger and before he’d arrived, he’s sure no one had ever questioned your purity.

A white dress and blue cardigan, he wants to take you into one of the back rooms of the church and push his murderous hands under your dress, feel your gasp in his skin as his hands paw at your delectable thighs.

He wants to ruin the very image of you, reshape you for him, and him alone.

He turns his head slightly, observes that he’s not the only man here transfixed by you, but one in particular catches his eye.

The reverend, in the same clothes he’s just delivered Sunday sermon, gazes lustfully at you, his glasses balanced at the very tip of his nose to conceal the direction of his eyes. 

He recognises the expression, knows it like he’s looking into the face of someone who once looked at him the very same way. The reason he started killing in the first place. 

He feels the itch swell inside of himself, his fingers flex.

It seems as though it would be time to hunt again very soon.

.

“Lost again?” Someone says behind him while he’s picking out laundry detergent.

He turns, seeing you there, in a pale pink shirt, and tan pants that hide your figure from his view. 

He smiles, watches the way you light up even more. A sweet, little morsel made for his fangs.

He holds up two different boxes of detergent for you to see.

“What do you think?” He asks.

You hum, deep in thought.

“This one,” You say, pointing at the item in his right hand, “smells too flowery for my taste, and you don’t seem like a man that likes to smell like flowers.” 

He smiles, raises his eyebrows, intrigued.

“And this one,” You point to his other hand, “Oh, that’s the one I use.”

“So it must be the best.” He agrees, as if you made a proper suggestion, putting the latter into his shopping cart.

You smile up at him in amusement.

“So, how are you getting all of this back to your place?” You ask, tilting your head at the moderate amount of groceries in his cart.

He turns, looking at what you were observing.

“You’re right, I might have picked up too many things for my walk back home. I’ll have to put some things back.” He agrees with her implications.

“No way!” You protest, reaching to take his hand, tugging him with you.

“Pastor Wade brought me along with his wife, I’m sure they’ll have some extra space in the back for you.” He follows, feeling anger that Wade had found himself closer to you than before. You wave your hand excitedly at the reverend, and Billy smiles internally at the sour look he receives from the man himself.

The trunk gets filled with the reverend’s new items, and Billy smiles, looks at you as you tilt your head, trying to solve a problem of too many groceries and too many people trying to fit into one vehicle.

“Give it up,” He says, mouth angled near your ear, “I’ll find another ride-”

“Don't you dare,” You argue, “I promised you a ride home and I won’t back down now.”

He smirks, watches you pile yours, and then his items into the backseat of the car. When you’re done, there’s only just enough space for only one person to fit.

“That’s okay.” You insist, “I can sit on you, if you don’t mind?”

Of course he doesn’t mind.

“If you’re sure.” He taunts.

“It’s a great idea.” Wade’s wife echoes, too eager to have them both in the back seat and the journey started.

Billy does his best to appear aloof, he gets in, and looks up at you expectantly.

You’re hesitant at first, before looking around, and then climbing into the back seat of the car to seat yourself in his lap.

Billy takes a deep breath, exhales, watches the pores on your neck and collarbone rise when his breath touches you.

A few moments into the ride and you’re wriggling uncomfortably in his lap.

“What is it?” He asks.

“Warm.” You explain, reaching for the buttons on your pink cardigan, brushing his stomach with your hand as you tug it off your shoulders.

Billy watches, with rapt attention as you reveal a white shirt beneath your cardigan. When you almost slip off his lap, he reaches to grip your knees.

“Hold on, sweetheart.” He whispers, just so you can hear.

You hold conversation with Wade and his wife throughout the journey, talking about how excited you are for the upcoming Christmas season, and that dressing up as an angel at the annual concert is a highlight for you.

All the while, Billy keeps you seated in his lap, your ass right on his hardening cock, the smell of blossoms drifting from your hair.

He closes his eyes, tries to distract himself from thinking too much about you, but he knows it doesn’t work. When the road gets bumpy, Wade apologises for the rough ride, and you respond with something reassuring.

You stiffen after a moment, and he knows he’s been caught.

He knows you feel him when you turn your head to look at him in surprise, his cock, hot and hard below your ass, rubbing against you as the car sputters along.

He looks right back at you, meets your shocked look with a sinister one of his own, wants you to know what a man feels like, makes sure you commit him to memory.

In the rearview, he sees pastor Wade glance at the pair of you. Billy looks back, holds his eyes, gives the supposedly pious man a smirk.

.

The next Sunday, you sit beside him in church.

It completely unfocuses him from his next target, he tilts his head to look at you.

Such a curious thing, drawn to something you now know isn’t as wholesome as appeared to be. It makes him feral, makes him want to put his hand on your thigh, slide it slowly up until he’s at the apex, tuck his obscenely large fingers under the waistband of your panties, find you dripping, feel you aching, press a lone finger to your swollen clit, make your sweet little cunt gush in God’s sacred domain. 

When it’s time to take his hand in prayer, he makes sure to do it as slowly as possible, dragging his fingers along your palm, your touch makes him feel blessed.

.

It becomes a habit, sitting beside him for Sunday mass, the eroticism of your touch right before you pray, before you ask God for forgiveness from all your impure thoughts and deeds, and Billy sits besides you, blood dripping from his hands as he imagines the ways he wants to violate you in this very church.

.

It’s a Wednesday evening when he steps into the church, the most desolate time possible. He knows there’s only two people here, him, and his target.

He moves slowly, cautiously, on the balls of his feet to avoid making too much sound. The wind blows, the front doors to the church groan. 

He passes the stained glass windows where he’d first met you, he passes the pew he sits at every Sunday while thinking about you, he passes the doors at the back of the church that he thought would make a decent place to defile you.

He goes deeper, till he can hear the quiet familiar slapping of a man going at it.

He’s not shocked by it, or scandalised, he knows his wife barely touches him, he knows she has an idea of what goes on inside his head. Billy’s studied her too, looked at her while she watched the way he leaned in to speak to you, a spark of realisation in her eyes. 

He makes gentle movements, turning the doorknob with two of his fingers at a pace so slow it goes unnoticed by the person on the other side of the door.

He gazes steadily through the small gap.

Pastor Wade has your pink cardigan pressed to his face. Billy remembers the last place he saw you wear it- in the back of Wade's car. 

He has one hand to his face, and the other stroking his meagre erection. Billy waits, in the stillness, the only sounds are the preacher’s laboured breaths and the movement of his hand.

There’s a right moment to act, and Billy waits patiently, he doesn’t have to talk himself into this one as much as he’s done with some others before. This one comes easily, in part because he’s grown accustomed to the feel of blood spilling onto his hands, almost craving it now, but mostly, it’s because Wade’s next intended victim is you.

In front of him, Wade groans, tilting his head back pace quickening. Billy pushes the door open. The wooden door doesn’t groan like it did before, Billy had greased the hinges just last week in preparation for this.

Billy stands behind the man, waiting for the precise moment, and when the preacher lets another groan loose from his lips, a warning of impending release, Billy strikes.

The man comes just as his throat is cut open, blood spraying from his neck as semen spills from his cock. Warm blood pours over Billy’s hands, as he supports the man as he drops, not wanting to cause more noise than necessary.

He lies on his side, turns his head upward, mouth parting in surprise as he sees Billy’s face. 

“I wish I could punish you more, but I’m not worried, I know the Devil is going to take his sweet time with you.”

He watches the words register behind the dying man’s eyes, and Billy smiles wickedly as life leaves him.

He tugs your cardigan free from Wade’s hand, it’s partially soaked in blood and will need to be properly disposed of, he doesn’t want anyone finding it and linking you to the crime in any way. 

He studies the soft pink material, smiles at the thought of you. He brings the material up to his nose, catching the smell of blossoms just barely clinging to the fabric.

The fluttering wings of a bird above makes him glance upwards, and he figures one must have found its way into the space between the ceiling and the roof, searching for a comfortable space.

He uses your cardigan to clean his knife, before turning, and heading for a sink to wash the blood from his hands.

.

He brings a casserole to the deceased’s house the evening they discover him dead. 

It’s just a little something to help out, he explains to Wade’s widow when he greets her in the kitchen. Her eyes are bloodshot and swollen, crying from the moment she’d heard the news, no doubt.

He doesn’t stay with her too long, excusing himself despite her attempts to hold onto his hand, the women around her gazing at him, more intrigued than ever about his culinary skills.

He wants to find you, to see you. There’s an itching inside of him that won’t go away until he knows you’re here with him.

When he finally catches sight of you, something inside of him unknots itself. You’re standing in the middle of a large group of concerned people, you look like you’re fighting tears with everything you have. A woman touches your shoulder, and you raise your head to give her a brave smile.

He pauses on the outskirts, wonders how he’s ever going to get your attention.

But he doesn’t have to worry, because your eyes lock with his as soon as he stands still, as if you’d been seeking him out this entire time. He gives you a small smile, something of an icebreaker from so far away, and you take it as an invitation, running right to him with tears already spilling down your cheeks.

Your body collides with his, and for a moment, there’s only you, and the softness of your form, and the smell of your hair and he’s quietly reassuring you that everything is going to be okay.

He enjoys it, the way you grip his shirt, the way you cling to him with every ounce of strength you have. He hugs you back, finding a way to the soft loveseat in Wade’s living room. You don’t pull your head from his chest as you cry, you shake with big, heaving sobs, and he tries his best to comfort you.

If you’d only known what Wade’s intentions were with you, you wouldn’t be crying. After a while you calm, and you continue to cling to him while you sniffle, his shirt damp with your tears and he wears it like a badge of honour.

So many people stop in to check on you, more and more with each passing hour. Billy thinks more people are concerned with your wellbeing than with Wade’s actual widow.

It amuses him, that so many people are drawn to you, that you have such influence on everyone, that they care so much for you, and here you are, tucked into his body, turning your head into his chest to cry every now and again, growing less frequent with the more time that passes.

Later, he offers to take you home. He’s just been able to afford a slightly beat up car, and he asks if you’d be okay with being driven by him. You accept with sleepy eyes, and he smiles internally, going to find Wade’s wife to bid her goodbye.

He overhears one person speaking with another about the state in which the body was found, covered in his own blood and semen, throat slit from ear to ear. Billy is delighted to hear it, he wants everyone to know, he wants to shame Wade’s name, even in death.

His widow is sad to watch Billy leave, she grips at him once more, trying to wrap her arms around him the way you do. When he mentions your name, he watches her stiffen, mouth set in a grim line, something in her eyes like accusation, or knowledge of something that she cannot say to another soul. 

She doesn’t speak her accusations to him, and he leaves, wraps an arm around your wobbling form and helps guide you to his car.

You’re so tired, and you fall asleep in his car as soon as you’re buckled in. He drives slowly, takes the long way, anything to be by your side longer. Your cheeks are stained with tears, he thinks about how beautiful you’re going to look in black.

You hum sleepily, reaching across, he blinks in surprise when you take his hand in yours.

“I heard how he died. Can’t wrap my head around it. Someone just decided he shouldn’t be alive anymore. Can you believe that?”

The lord giveth, and the lord taketh away, he wants to say.

Out loud, “I’ve seen it a couple of times, back in New York.” he says instead.

You squeeze his hand.

“Do you think you could ever take a life?” 

His breaths pause, it was time to confess to you.

“I have,” He clears his throat, “I have killed people, I was in the army.”

Your head swivels to him in his peripherals, he glances back with a sad smile.

“I just thought you should know.” 

“Thanks for telling me.”

You continue to hold his hand.

“You- you’re not- you don’t hate me?” 

“It’s not in me to hate, I have to believe that the path you’re on was necessary to bring you to me.”

“To you?”

“So I can help you.” You answer, squeezing his hand.

He wants to rip you apart and reshape you with his own hands.

When he finally gets to your house, he helps you out of the car, helping you up the few stairs and supporting your weight as you get the door open. When he tries to let you walk on your own, you stumble, and he has to catch you before you fall.

“I’m really tired.” You explain to him, and he hums in understanding.

He takes you up to bed, watches you collapse onto the soft surface, knee length dress rucking up so that he catches just the quickest glimpse of your underwear.

His hands clench into fists. He wants to push your skirt up, bury his face between your legs, taste your little cunt, worship you until you come on his tongue. 

“Will you stay?” You ask, arms spread out, legs slightly bent as they press together.

He kicks his shoes off decisively.

“What will people say?” He teases.

“You don’t strike me as a man who’s ever cared about that.” You whisper softly.

He grins, climbs into bed beside you, reaches around your hip so that he can pull your body against his.

“Goodnight, angel.” He whispers as your eyelids flutter, struggling to stay conscious.

“G’night, Billy.” You respond, touching your face into his chest once more before you doze off completely.

It's too much power, and you must know it. To fall asleep so easily right beside him, every temptation to be like the predators he hunts. He could press his palm to your thigh, drag his hand up to your hips, you would never even know. He could do so much worse, pin you to the bed, pull his cock out and take you right here, watch you wake in shock while he fills you. Watch his cum leak out of your little hole. What could stop him? You? God? Everything he's wanted at the tip of fingers and all he has to do is take.

In the end, he doesn't do it. He lies beside you and thinks of all the vile things he could do and doesn't act on a single thing and he doesn't really know why.

He thinks it's because of the consequences. Doing that would mean you wouldn't want to be around him, and he needed you to want to be around him. 

By the time morning comes, and you wake, he's spent the entire night memorizing the feel of your body against his. If you feel his aching erection, you say nothing of it, and he's not sure if that's a good thing or not.

.

He finds you right after the funeral, lighting the candles that have gone out when the doors had been wide open to allow the coffin through.

“How are you feeling?” He asks, approaching you, swallows as he finally has a chance to fully appreciate your funeral attire. 

It's loose, giving you an almost formless shape, to hide from everyone's view, your skirt is just a little shorter than usual, probably something you haven't worn in a while, resting at mid thigh and no doubt giving the women something to chat about in hushed voices. 

You glance at him with a little smile, before continuing your painstaking process of relighting each candle. 

“I'm alright. The lord gives, and like natural order, the lord takes.”

He blinks.

“That's right.”

“What do you think about the Devil?” You ask suddenly, not looking up, simply tilting your head to continue your work.

“What do you mean?” He pries.

“Is he evil? Or is he just the way God made him?”

“He's both.” Billy answers.

You smile, and finally turn to look at him. 

“Do you think God loves him?” 

“Doesn't the Bible say God loves all his creations?” 

You smile wider, nodding. For once, Billy feels like he doesn't have the upper hand in a conversation. 

“Are you worried about eternal damnation?” Billy asks, taking a step closer, ready to reassure you that someone as sweet as you couldn't possibly end up in Hell. If you were damned, well that didn't bode well for him.

“I'm not afraid of Hell, I can handle fire.”

Billy watches you raise a hand, and hold it closely over one of the candles. He hisses, grabbing your wrist and pulling it away.

He turns your palm to check for any serious burns, but he'd withdrawn your hand just in time.

“I'm alright, Billy.” You reassure him, leaving your hand in his, and using the other to continue with your previous task.

It's the first time he realises that there is more to you than he'd initially thought. He'd seen you as a pristine painting before, something to be looked at, forbidden to touch, to love from afar. Now? You were an enigma, a puzzle whose pieces were made to be handled, to be solved by the right person.

Billy wanted to be that person.

.

“-He wants to be here with you, the lord is one with everything, he’s in everything you see, and everything you touch. You just have to close your eyes and let him in.” 

From around the corner, Billy listens to you speak, your hands holding the other woman’s, who’d stumbled into the church an hour ago, searching for someone to speak with. 

“I’m not worth the forgiveness.” The woman sobs.

Billy is ashamed to admit that the very sound of your voice turns him on. He feels sick, that listening to you speak about the lord makes him hard. If he closes his eyes, he swears you talk about God as if he’s just another person in the room, 

“He believes in you. You’re here, you found me, because that’s what he wanted. You found the strength to come in, to open yourself up to being judged just a little, and I know he appreciates that. He loves you, and I do too.”

Later, when the woman leaves, with a promise to be here on Sunday, Billy finds you, shuffling and reorganising reading materials near the altar.

“You’re good at this.” Billy murmurs.

You smile.

“I’m just doing what he commands.”

Jealousy stirs in Billy’s chest.

Before he can stop himself, he’s stepping into your space, you look up at him with wide eyes, as you try to back away.

“You’re so selfless, don’t you know what people say about you?”

You blink in surprise, your body lowering as you descend the stairs, away from the altar and toward the pews.

“It- why should it matter what people say?”

“They call you a temptress, you’re the reason Wade’s burning in Hell. I heard his wife say it herself.”

“That’s not my fault.” You defend.

“It’s not? You’re telling me you have no idea of the effect you have on men?”

You go down another step, he follows.

“I- I don’t- I’m not-”

He feels so large, looming over you, frightening you.

“You don’t?”

“I only want to serve.” You whisper.

“Who?” Billy taunts.

“What?”

“Who do you serve?”

“The Lord.” 

The back of your legs bump the wooden pew. Billy watches you gasp. 

“And what if I wanted you to serve me?”

He doesn’t let your confused expression last for too long.

Billy acts fast, sitting on the pew, and gripping your hips to drag you onto his lap. He guides your legs over his, spreads his thighs so that you’re forced open too.

You suck in a deep breath, head falling back onto his shoulder. You look up at him, mouth parted, eyebrows drawn together.

“What are you doing?” You ask, your body still on top of his own, he realises that you’re not fighting him like he was worried you would.

He shushes you, gently presses the tips of his fingers right above your knees, takes his time dragging them up.

You reach for his hands, covering them, unsure if you should stop him or not.

“I’m giving you what God can’t.” He simply says, looking up at the altar before them, listening for anyone walking in as he brings a veined hand up to cup your mound.

You let out a little whine, fingers gripping his wrist, unable to pry his hand away.

“This is wrong.” You whisper, tugging at his wrist.

“I’ll make you feel right in a minute.” He answers, moving slowly to push his hands into your panties.

This is what your cunt feels like, is his first thought. Billy bites down on his bottom lip, his fingers feeling over your pussy, exploring, learning, and when he finally dips his hands lower to find you wet, he can’t help chuckling to himself.

The wrongness of your situation turns you on, and Billy uses it like fuel, lights a fire so readily, eager to watch everything burn.

“This is all an act, isn’t it?” He jabs, “You pretend to be so pure but that little cunt is dripping on my fingers.” You shake your head in protest.

He’s gentle when he finally touches your clit.

You gasp, let out a strained moan, trying to fight a losing battle with your body.

He circles his fingers on your little bud, pulls your legs open wider when you try to shut them. He’s slow, he’s careful, he feels you tremble, feels your breaths get faster. 

“Don’t tell me you’re going to cum already.” He chides, “I’ve only just started.”

A soft cry is your only response.

When the sun is at the right angle, it shines through the stained glass and paints you both in multitudinous colours. He looks down at you, your face is one of mindless pleasure while the hues dance on your trembling skin.

“Look at you,” he murmurs reverently, “sinning in God’s light.”

Your eyes roll back in your head, mouth parting with the start of a loud cry, he slips his free hand over your mouth, muffling the sounds of pleasure you make.

You rock on him, cunt spilling more and more onto his fingers, his mouth begs for a taste.

Your nails dig into his wrist, he welcomes the feeling, delighted to have given you something only he could give.

When he’s sure you’re going to be quiet, he slips his hand from your mouth, and after a few moments, he pulls his hand from your panties.

His fingers go right into his mouth, eyes closing in bliss at your tart taste, he licks his fingers clean, runs his tongue over them one more time to make sure he’s gotten every drop of you.

You look at him with parted lips, caught in your own amazement, coloured light still spilling onto you.

He smiles, pulling your skirt down, closing his legs which close yours.

He pauses when he feels your fingers touch his chin, he looks at you in surprise to find something calm in them. You part your lips, like you’re about to say something, and then you startle when the doors to the church are pushed open.

You slip off his lap, rising to a stand, you smile, welcoming the people coming in.

.

Billy is waiting in the confessional booth for you to pass by. You’d been so exhausted recently, trying to help the newest preacher get settled, and then someone else had been murdered. A woman working at the bank had been stabbed repeatedly in the face inside the bank vault. Her body had been found on a pile of money. 

It was odd, Billy thought he was the only one of his kind in town, to know there was another out there, made him want to look out for you more than ever.

This, was not him looking out for you.

Rather, he was waiting to pull you away, to be your distraction from another funeral, to save you, if he so dared call it that.

He hears footsteps, identifies you from the click of your familiar shoes on the church floors.

He hears the large wooden doors at the front open to allow the coffin in, and while everyone looks in the direction of the doors, he slips out, wraps his hand around your mouth, and pulls you, struggling into the confessional.

You stop fighting when you see him, and he smiles, bolting the doors closed from the inside. 

He looms over you, cock hardening in his pants, presses a finger to his lips with a smile.

Your mouth parts, curious about him, and when he presses you back, settling your body onto the wooden bench, you don’t have much choice but to obey.

He watches you, fire in his veins. You look up at him with the sweetest eyes, and he knows he’s ready to defile you right here.

Instead, as the funeral begins, he drops to his knees in front of you, pulling your panties down your legs so that he can worship you with his tongue.

He keeps you right on edge for the entire sermon, licking you slowly, your hands in his hair, your breathing deep and low to avoid attracting attention.

He edges you, echoes the prayers being said outside into your heated core, licks at your sweet bundle of nerves, doesn’t stop for a single second.

When the congregation takes up a gospel in praise, he waits till the voices are at their highest point to let your orgasm take you.

He tastes you greedily, thankful to have ever crossed your path.

He closes his eyes, decidedly not done with you, peeling at your virtue until nothing remains.

.

He takes you home that night, helps your exhausted form like he did before, hands gripping your waist to support your fumbling steps.

“You need to stop expending all your energy like this.” He chastises, lips in your hair, breathing in your scent.

“I’m fine, I just need to sleep.” You protest.

He guides your key into your door.

“Will you stay again?” You ask hopefully.

“If you want me to. But if someone sees me leaving-”

“I know, they’ll have reason to call me a whore.”

“Don’t say that about yourself.” His voice is maybe too sharp with you.

You let out a little laugh.

“Right. Sorry.”

He gets you up the stairs, feels you take a deep breath as you yawn.

“Help me get out of this dress?”

God, you really were tempting him.

He watches you fall back onto the bed, clad in only your underwear. He finds it impossible to look away, when your body looks so divine. 

He gulps, wants to kiss every exposed inch, wants to make you see heaven any way that he can.

You watch him while he watches you, he’s transfixed by you.

“You want to touch me, don’t you?”

He curls his hands into fists.

“I always want to touch you.”

You give him a sleepy grin, arching your back, reaching behind to unclasp your bra.

“Can you bring me a dress from my closet?” You ask softly, and he stiffens to obey.

He pulls the door open, searching through the delicate things suspended from hangers for something for you to sleep in. He finds a sheer dress, smiles as he pulls it from the closet, he glances back at you to find you already asleep, your breasts exposed to the cold air.

He smiles, turns back to close the door, pauses when something shiny catches his eye.

It’s behind the wooden walls of your closet, shining through the slats. Billy’s eyebrows draw together, leaning in to press against the spot, the entire panel of wood shifts, and he realises that the closet has a false back.

He tosses your dress over his shoulder, reaching for either side of the wood, he presses down gently, and the entire thing shifts upward, allowing a space for his fingers to fit in.

He pulls, the piece of wood is heavier than expected, turns, and tucks it against one side of the closet.

What he finds… washes his mind blank of any rational thought.

It’s an altar, but it’s not for God.

There’s an inverted pentagram painted onto the wall in something that Billy, with his years of experience in the matter, knows to be dried blood. On the pentagram, there are photos pinned, polaroids of him that he’d never seen you take, taped to your wall with little hearts scribbled on. There’s other things as well, the dog tags from his bedside drawer, the pocket square he’d thought he’d misplaced after Wade’s funeral. So many little items of his, in this space, and he realises that he has no idea who you are at all.

On the floor, is the pink cardigan soaked in Wade’s blood, half burned from where he’d tossed it into a quick fire in the woods behind the church. Billy kneels, fingers brushing the handle of a knife with a blade embellished with flowers, stained with blood. The skull of a goat, surrounded by black and red candles.

He knows he should be feeling fear, but there’s no ounce of it anywhere in his body. He licks his lips, plucking a photo of himself from the wall, he feels his lips curl up involuntarily.

He stands, turns to wake you, to confront you, and halts when he finds you already behind him.

You look sleepy still, swaying on your feet, body still bare, and before he can say anything, you raise a fist, and blow a strange powder directly into his face.

It stings when it touches his eyes. He groans, drops the photo of himself he was holding, presses the heels of his palms to his eyes and stumbles. His throat tickles, he coughs, body trying to expel whatever you’ve dosed him with. He can’t see, and he reaches for where he knew you were last, only to find formless air.

He tries not to panic, if you wanted to actually hurt him, you would have by now. Perhaps you just didn’t know what his reaction was going to be and you were safeguarding yourself.

He feels the handcuff wrap around his wrist, but he fights it, his eyes sting too much for rational thought.

“I’ll help you if you cooperate.” He hears you say.

He huffs out a breath, extending his cuffed arm for your guidance.

You pull at him, bringing him to your bed, and cuffing both his arms to the frame. His eyes sting when he tries to see through them, his face burns too, like it’s on fire.

The next thing he feels is a cold cloth on his face, and then there’s instant relief. 

You place a damp rag over his eyes, and on the lower half of his face, leaving his nose exposed for him to breathe.

“Let it sit for a little, it needs to neutralise the poison.”

Poison? He thinks in shock.

He tries to calm himself, tries to tug on his restraints as little as possible. He tries to run through everything he’d learned in the past few minutes, sort them into his head, solve puzzles he didn’t even know existed.

You were entirely not who he thought you were, not even a little, not even at all.

No, not true, he’d seen it, glimpses of the real you from the very start, too pure, he’d thought, too pure that there must be something wrong.

He should have seen it from the minute you took his hand, from the minute you sat on his lap, when you felt his erection and still flocked to him. Billy should have known. It was in the way you thrived under the attention, the memory of you holding your fingers over the candles in the church. He’d seen it all, and had been unable to put the pieces together.

He hears movement, feels the bed dip as you come closer to him, feels your weight settle on his hips, straddling him.

The rags are pulled from his face, and you use the edge to wipe the remnants of something he can’t see.

“Sorry about that. I didn’t want to hurt you, but it was this or hitting you over the head with a bat.” You smile down at him, he can still see you there.

You don’t look like a new person, you only look more relaxed in his presence, his eyes drop down to find you wearing the dress he’s picked before he’d discovered your secrets.

“You don’t worship God.” He starts.

You smile.

“No I don’t.”

“But you go to church, you help other people find God.”

“You think that saves them? No one in that church is free of sin, no one is made better by being there, they’re only better at hiding it.”

He blinks, tilts his head, waits for you to continue.

You reach for a box of matches, striking one, you light the candle sitting on your bedside table.

“I go to church, because every time I step in there, I spite God.”

He watches you reach to strike another match, lighting the candle on the other side of the bed.

“My Lord, the only one I pray to, is the Devil himself.”

Billy blinks, tilts his head.

“You tempt everyone there with your innocence on purpose.” He says, thinking out loud.

You make a sound of disagreement.

“Not exactly, I’m just charismatic, and the fruits fall where they fall. My intention isn’t to tempt, it’s not my fault that men are so easily… tempted.”

He raises his eyebrows in amazement at your point.

“Look at Wade for example, I was only as nice to him as I was with everyone else, but he took it another way, I’d finally decided to kill him when he touched my thigh for too long… I was watching him from a small space in the roof when you came in.”

Billy watches, hypnotised as you drag your palm over your stomach, your ass grinding gently against his semi-erect cock.

“I watched you stand behind him, waiting for the right moment.” You whisper, hand slipping under your sheer dress, working its way down the front of your panties. Billy’s teeth clench, pulling at the handcuffs.

“I watched you cut his throat,” You groan, “There was blood everywhere.” Your head tilts back as he watches you touch yourself to the memory of his past crimes.

“You took my cardigan. I knew there was something about you before, but it was only then that I knew I had to have you.”

He watches you, fingers hidden from his view as you pleasure your little cunt. He feels rage at not having any control.

“The woman in the bank,” Billy tries to think with you so close, “That was you.”

You nod, smiling down at him. 

“She was a bad person. I wanted to give Satan someone to play with. Just like he gave me you.”

Billy’s hands are in fists, blunt nails pressed to his palm.

“Let me go.” He grits out.

You smile dreamily, shake your head.

“Not yet. I want to have you first.” 

His breath halts in his chest, desperate to ask you what you mean, but he thinks your intention is clear enough.

He pulls harder on his restraints, not wanting to be bound the first time he feels you.

“Don't fight it, Billy. Let me have you how I want, and then, maybe we'll see about those cuffs.”

He stops struggling, takes a deep breath, goes still.

You smile, undoing his belt as quickly as you can, and then tugging at the buttons of his shirt until his torso is bared to you. 

He listens to you hum with delight, feels your scorching tongue lave at his chest, over his heart, flicking at his nipple.

He begins to understand how feral you are, listening to your hums of appreciation as your tongue drifts over his neck. He realises, that you’re just a small thing, searching for someone exactly like you in a world full of people pretending.

When you open his pants, his mouth goes dry, his jaw drops open as you suck on the tip of his cock for just a small moment, enjoying the taste of him before you’re slipping your panties to the side to take him in.

Billy closes his eyes, swears, low in his throat. You feel better than he’d imagined, your walls fluttering around him, pulling his cock deeper into you so naturally that he swears it was always meant to happen.

You moan loudly, head tossed back.

“I would have let you fuck me in that church.” You confess, “I would have let you fuck me in a pool of Wade’s blood.”

Billy groans.

“I’d fuck you in the bare earth.” He grunts, supporting your conversation, “I’d make you beg me to.”

You clench tightly around him, and Billy swears he sees stars for a moment. Your breasts bounce as you roll your hips on him, and after a moment, you pause, reaching for one of those lit candles beside your bed.

Billy looks at you, keeping your steady gaze, trying to prepare himself for the possibility that you might drop hot wax onto his skin.

But you spare him, instead, you tilt the candle, letting a few drops of molten wax fall onto your thigh.

He feels you tighten, grunts in pleasure at the vigour your pace takes on.

He’s so captivated by your enjoyment of it, that he can’t help but ask.

“Do it to me.” He asks.

You smile, hovering the candle over his chest, and when the first drop hits, he gasps. It stings, burns like fire, but then something sweet fills the space, his body somehow asking for more.

You don’t give him any more though, placing the candle back in its original spot, and beginning to rock your hips in tandem.

You’re struggling to achieve orgasm in this position, and he feels amusement rise within him, knowing more about your own body than you seem to know.

It finally makes him relax, knows that no matter how hard you try, you still need him to get you off.

He waits, and waits, and finds that he can be patient when it comes to pleasuring your cunt.

You pause, pouting.

“Poor little girl,” Billy chides, “Can’t manage to come on her own. You need my help, don’t you?”

Your eyebrows are drawn together When you look down at him, trying to make sense of his words.

“N-no, I can, uh, do it myself.”

He grins sharply, relaxes.

“You’re so out of your depth.” He taunts.

“Nuh uh.” You hum, still trying to use his cock to pleasure yourself. Billy turns his head to study his restraints, the wooden pillar he's cuffed to on the headboard is wobbly, he figures one sharp pull at just the right angle would get that hand loose. The other pillar however, is too sturdy for a move like that.

He has to move fast when he does it, find a way to get you to release his other hand.

But first, a distraction.

“You're beautiful like this,” he says truthfully, “Your true self is so much more than I'd imagined and- well maybe we are right for each other.”

He watches you nod eagerly, still trying to reach your peak, your head tilts back, lulled into a false sense of security.

Billy takes his opportunity to strike.

He pulls as hard as he can on the wooden pillar of the headboard, muscles flexing almost painfully. He almost thinks he's going to fail but right at the last second, the wood gives, freeing the handcuff and allowing movement.

Your eyes fly open, and you reach for something behind you, pulling out a knife.

He catches your hand, twists your wrist so that the knife falls free, and pushes it off the bed.

Before you can scramble off of him, his hand grips your hair harshly.

“Unlock me.” He hisses into your terrified face.

Despite your obvious fear, he still feels you clench around his cock, and his desperation to have you exactly how he wants, increases.

“I'm not going to hurt you.” He clarifies, “But you're mine now, so unlock me.”

Your eyelids flutter, your eyes glancing at a spot beside him. He doesn't turn to look, simply leaning his body with yours, hand still fisted no doubt painfully in your hair.

He looks from the corner of his eye, as you tug the bedside drawer open and stick your hand in.

 “You better not be reaching for another knife. It wouldn't take much for me to squeeze the life out of you, even with one hand tied.”

He feels you clench around him again.

“You like that? That I could kill you without a second thought? Your cunt’s gripping me so tight, baby.”

You let out a little whine, withdrawing with just a metal key pressed between your fingers.

“Good girl,” Billy praises, feels even that go right to your cunt, “Now unlock me.”

You do his bound hand first, and then pull the other cuff from around his wrist. Your eyes cling to the reddening bruise on his wrist from pulling too hard.

When he's finally free, he grins, right in your face, before pulling you off his cock and flipping you over.

You gasp in surprise as your back hits the bed, Billy leans away to get a good look at you.

He can see your delectably shaped tits through the white sheer dress, he admires the way it looks- like innocence and somehow pure sin wrapped all in one. 

He thinks, for the first time, he finally sees you, finally understands what he has, looking up at him with careful eyes. 

“You said something earlier. That the Devil sent me here for you,” he leans forward, cups your breasts through the dress, stiffening your nipples, watches you writhe beautifully under him.

“But I'm not your plaything, little girl,” His fingers pinch down, pressing your nipples between his thumb and forefinger, watching you gasp in pain and pleasure, “You're mine.”

It sets off something inside of him, and like an avalanche, any semblance of self control he'd ever had, just crumbles.

He leans down, lips pressed to yours, he feels an ache inside of him lessen.

You kiss back, with forceful lips, your hands gripping the back of his head, fingers in his hair to stop him from pulling away.

His hands press against your shoulders, feeling their way over the sheer sleeves of the material, gripping your hips, fingers catching on the fabric as he touches your body for the very first time.

Your legs wrap around him, it makes him so delighted, that you want him, that he's going to use that against you.

He pulls back, grinning when you whine, reach for his mouth once more, his hand finding your throat too easily, gripping it to push you back.

“Where did my little fighter go, hmm?” He leans forward to lick your cheek, enjoying the surprised expression on your face.

“Please,” you whisper, “I need you to make me come.”

His nose brushes yours.

“Why? Don't you touch yourself all the time?” He taunts, already knowing your responses before you say them.

“I haven't been able to- since you touched me.”

He laughs, watches you get more and more demure with each moment.

“You haven't been able to come since I put my hands on you? I wonder why?”

“You feel too good.” You confess to him.

He tries to fight it but it makes him laugh again, he buries his face into your neck, amusement so heavy in his body and he has to let it out.

“Sorry, It’s just that- you haven't even seen what I can really do yet.”

“Show me.” You beg.

His hands caress you gently, he nods his head, and then, tears your dress into pieces.

You’re so turned on, aching for him, you shudder as he pulls the remnants of your dress from your skin.

His touch is frantic, his palms skate over your skin, gripping, feeling, your thighs, your legs, your arms, it makes you so much more aroused to be felt like this. No part of your body is safe from his wandering hands, it feels as though he’s trying to learn you, and you are so eager to let him.

His lips are next, kissing the top of your breast, working his way between them, the feel of his lips on your skin makes you feel more connected to him than before. He pulls your panties off in a swift rush, kissing at your knees when he finally gets them off.

“Want to know why my touch feels good? Because I know you. I know what your body likes.” Billy says, you lift your head to look at him, his hand sliding up between your thighs, the tips of his fingers making delicious sparks.

He touches your slit, tracing the seam of your cunt so gently, desperation pooling under your skin. He presses a single finger against you, until he just brushes your clit with the very tip of his finger.

“You need this little bundle here touched, kissed, and it can’t be too harsh.”

You cry out when he just softly strokes your clit. Pleasure burning through you at just the simplest move.

“You think that just because you like pain, that this has to be rough too, but no, your pretty body craves a soft touch.”

He proves it to you, his gentle fingers massage your clit, he makes it look effortless, eyes drawn to your centre, looking up at you with dark eyes every now and then.

It’s the burn of his slow movements that make you lose your mind. The worst part is that he’s right, you’ve never touched yourself so gently before.

“Does that feel good, baby? I’ve killed so many people with these same hands. But I bet that makes your little cunt even wetter.”

You mewl, nodding, remembering the way you’d seen Billy kill. The amount of blood he’d left behind, such a messy crime scene.

You bite down on your bottom lip, back arching, hands gripping your sheets.

Just a little bit more, you think, gasping, quietly urging him on, hoping that he doesn’t stop his movements.

“That’s it,” Billy praises, “Just like that, show me exactly who owns you.”

Your breath stutters in your chest, your vision goes white as pure euphoria overtakes you. It comes in waves, cunt fluttering around nothing, your body shudders as your brain tries to process pleasure beyond your comprehension.

It takes you a moment before you can breathe through it, and like before, it feels like you’re floating, somewhere deep in your subconscious.

His face comes into your line of sight, a proud smile on His lips, beautiful in every way as He hovers above you.

You suck in another breath, it helps you feel your body, and the remnants of your still occurring orgasm.

“The first time I saw you, I couldn’t look away. I thought you were the most beautiful thing I’d ever laid eyes on. I wanted you all to myself. Now that I have you here, now that I see you, I want you forever.”

You nod eagerly, smiling up at him, gripping his hand to press your cheek into his palm. You wanted that, you wanted to be His as well.

“Now be a good girl and stay still.” He whispers, lowering his body once more, burying his face between your thighs for the second time in your life.

You almost want to scream. His tongue pushes its way to your clit, flicking softly, dipping down to lick at your entrance.

You hear Him moan between your thighs, you shudder, arching your hips into his face.

He slaps your thigh, a warning that he intends to uphold the discipline of His instruction, you simply clench in response.

You wanted- so much more than you could admit.

You'd thought, for a brief moment, that he was the personification of Lucifer himself, that Billy was a reward for your years of devotion, but somewhere in the back of your head, you were starting to feel something different, new, that not even your devotion to Satan himself could match.

He licks you like he's starving for it, hands on your thighs, tongue in your cunt you want to struggle just so He has a reason to hold you down.

You say His name, you feel your thighs tremble, His lips kiss at your swollen clit.

You don't know what you're feeling, something in your chest, that tugs everytime he touches you.

Drunk on His mouth, you hiss when his pace increases, unsure if you'll even be able to have another orgasm so close to the last.

He's careful, dexterous, precise, he licks cunt the way he kills- with careless precision, a spectacle to be admired, spoken about in hushed tones. 

Billy doesn't ask, he simply manipulates your body until you're wound so tightly on edge once again, unable to comprehend how you got here in the first place.

You groan, your grip on sanity crumbles away, all you can think about is Him, and the way his beard feels, scratching between your thighs, and the darkness of his hair and the grip of his fingers on you, holding you to him, daring you to struggle. 

There’s a loud rushing in your head when your next peak finds you, your back bowing off the bed once more, something pinches in protest but you can’t focus on it, the pleasure too important to give up just because you’re a little uncomfortable. 

He licks at the arousal spilling from you, moans into your body with each taste, making you see stars, or fireworks or maybe even just flashes of bright lights and colours. 

It somehow reminds you of the stained glass of the church, makes you feel adjacent to something that’s on the tip of your tongue but you can’t find the right words for it.

He draws back, beard wet with your slick arousal. It’s gorgeous, and you watch him tug his black shirt off- that he’d worn to the funeral of the woman you’d killed- and use it to dab at his chin.

Your eyes roam down his body, it’s the first time you’ve ever seen a man as sculpted as he is, lean and muscular, small bits of hair on his chest and a spot right below his navel that your tongue aches for.

You sit up, looking at him, pressing your thighs together as he pushes his pants all the way down his legs, his cock already solid and leaking for you.

You remember the first time you felt Him, the way you knew without a doubt that you were going to have him, before you even fully understood what he was.

He reaches for you, grips your thighs and pulls you to the edge of the bed. You gasp at his easy display of strength, watching as he strokes himself for a few moments before lining his cock up with your dripping entrance.

Your past orgasms have made you more sensitive, each inch of him he presses in makes you bite down on your bottom lip, trying to breathe through the overwhelming pleasure and the stretch associated.

“You're so tight.” He utters with a strained voice.

You can only moan, reach to touch Him, the light of the candles flickering on his bare skin in the dead of night.

Your fingers graze a circular scar on his lower abdomen, and at the same time, he thrusts the rest of his cock fully into you.

You cry out, the sudden bliss of being stretched, goes right into your head, you gasp, your body begs for more, begs to be undone by him.

You swear you can taste blood in your mouth from biting down on your bottom lip too much, unable to vocalise your appreciation of him, he draws his cock out, before making another harsh thrust.

Your back arches, you don’t feel like you’re in your body, or maybe you feel too much in your body, the only thing you know for sure is the pleasure that fills you, that threatens to swell under your skin and explode outward.

He keeps his motions swift, harsh, deep, following through with each shift of his hips fully before beginning another.

“Who’s your God? Tell me.”

“L-Lucifer.” You utter automatically, but it’s the wrong thing to say. He stops, hands gripping your jaw tightly, bringing all your focus to him.

“What was that?” He grits out.

“Lucifer?” You whisper, voice light with pleasure.

He shakes his head, leaning away and reaching for something nearby.

You tighten around him when you spot the burning candle in his hand.

“Say that again.” 

“Um…” You stutter, unsure of what to say.

You gasp in surprise when the first drop of hot wax hits your hip. It stings, just for a moment, before leaving the sweetest tingle in its place.

“Please.” You moan, pressing your hips upward for more of his torment.

“Can Satan do that?” He asks, rutting his cock into you at a slow shallow pace. When you don’t respond, you feel another heated droplet sting the skin of your hip.

You peek at him through parted eyelids, watching the way he looks at you in amusement, before tilting the candle again, this time to allow hot wax to fall onto the opposite side.

“Billy.” You moan, and you watch him grin.

“Answer my question, little dove.”

You shake your head.

“N-no. Satan can’t make me feel like this.” You whisper.

He moves, drips wax onto your thigh, making you gasp in pain, feeling it heighten your euphoria.

“Do you like feeling this way?” He asks, and before he can finish his sentence, you’re nodding, raising your hand to your chest to roll your nipples between your fingers for his appreciation.

“I like it, Billy, I love it.”

“Then tell me who your God is.” 

You think you finally understand what he's trying to say, his cock pressed deep inside of you. He's the reason you feel so good, he's been the person occupying most of your thoughts from the day you met. He's someone you'd be willing to kill for.

“You.” You finally answer, and he smiles, moves his hand, still holding the candle, wax dripping onto his fingers, he tilts the candle and lets a few heated droplets touch the skin over your womb.

You gasp, the skin there is a little more sensitive, the burn is more intense, more pain than pleasure but He doesn’t seem to care, simply continues to smile as he blows the candle out, putting it back on your nightstand.

There's still another candle on the other side, allowing you to see, though everything is just a little dimmer now.

Your skin tingles, warm, the dried wax on your skin cracks as you move, but you don't get a chance to focus on it too much, because as soon as Billy lets go of the candle, he's pressing into you with renewed vigour.

Your thighs tremble, tears pool in your eyes, He's rough, grunting with each stroke he makes, earning a reciprocated cry when his cock bottoms out inside of you each time.

Skin against skin, sweat glistens on his chest, you want to taste him.

“Say it again.” He commands, leaning over you to brush his lips to your ear, “Who do you worship?”

“You, Billy.” You respond eagerly, gripping his shoulders, pressing your nails in, listening to him hiss in response, gripping your jaw to bring you into a bruising kiss.

It's messy, his tongue dipping forcefully into your mouth like he owns you, his cock doing the same, taking everything as if it's owed.

You bite down on his bottom lip, hears him grunt out a manic laugh in response.

“You're all fucking mine.” He grits, leaning back and pulling your boneless body up until you're on top of him, his hands gripping your hips to keep you moving on his cock. You tuck your head into his neck, unable to be anything more than a receptacle, to take Him, over and over until he's finished with you.

“How does it feel to be saved by your new God?” He grunts between thrusts.

You can barely find the words to speak.

His hand slaps the flesh of your ass hard, demanding a response.

Cruel, you think, that He wants you to speak, that He thinks you're even capable of thought.

“Feels good.” You hum, fingers gripping his neck, nose to his jaw, taking what he gives, you tears dripping onto his collarbone.

He groans into your ear, it’s the best thing you’ve ever heard and you finally begin to understand true devotion.

“Please,” You beg, “Please.”

He grunts out a chuckle between thrusts.

“You don’t have to beg, I’m here, I’m not leaving.”

You tilt your head up, vision hazy, your body tingling with something too intense to be just bliss.

He kisses you softly one more time before dropping you back onto the bed, pushing your knees upward so that they’re almost to your ears.

He feels so much deeper this time, fucking you hard, merciless thrusts that has your cunt fluttering again, warning you that you’re on the right path to an orgasm.

He doesn’t stop, looking right into your eyes as he pushes his cock into you, over and over and over. You see stars, you see him, you see nothing else.

He licks his thumb, lips wet with saliva, he slips it between your bodies, angles it right against your clit, swipes gently from left to right.

You make a loud sound, followed by a flurry of pitiful whines, trying to warn him, to implore him. He doesn’t stop fucking you.

Your toes curl, one small breath of air before the most intense rush of ecstasy takes root in your body. You’re lost in the rapture, taken by the experience to even register the sounds you make.

You feel fire, you feel sparks, tingles that rush all over your skin, your inner walls gripping him so tightly as you’re forced to experience bliss at His hands.

He groans loudly, and before you know it he’s fucking into you rougher than before only for a moment before he makes a sharp sound of relief, cock pulsing as he spills himself into you.

You clench around him, making sure he gives you every drop of himself. Knowing that this is the right way to show your devotion.

There’s a moment of insecurity, when he crashes to the bed beside you, eyes closed, his breathing is quick, as if he’s just run for miles. You worry that once he’s had his fill of you, that he won’t be interested any more.

Your head is turned to look at him, lungs still heaving, the bliss of your orgasm hasn’t left you completely yet, and you watch him, curious to observe what he does next.

He peeks an eye open, mouth pulling into a smile that bares his teeth, he pushes himself up, crawls closer till he’s in the space between your body and arm, kissing at your cheek and shoulders softly.

It opens something inside of you, to feel that, to know without a doubt that He meant every word He said.

You raise your hand in wonder, fingers gently brushing His cheek, before pressing your palm to His face. 

He looks down at you, moves his own hand to run the backs of his fingers against your face, two people, finally seeing each other, finally showing themselves, unafraid.

It’s more than you could have ever hoped for.

.

Billy stands in the shadows, waiting.

He watches his targets leave the bar, two men, laughing with each other as they head to the nearby bus stop.

He follows, observing the way they move, trying to figure out just exactly how drunk they are. One wears a leather jacket, with his hair slicked back, the other wears a plain white t-shirt, and jeans.

They talk loudly, confessing to things Billy already knows about.

When one of them looks up, and sharply elbows the other, nodding to a place ahead, Billy knows what they see.

You lean against the bus stop, face buried in your phone, too occupied with it to notice that you’ve been spotted.

You’re beautiful, Billy muses, white dress, denim jacket, a little purse hanging from your elbow, standing under a small streetlight. It’s like he’s seeing you for the first time all over again. 

The man in the leather jacket gets to you first, looking over your shoulder, peering into your phone looking at what you’re doing for a moment before saying something to you.

He watches you startle, look up at both men as they approach.

It’s like a dance, the way your fright gives them confidence, the manner in which you step back, warning them that you’re going to run before you actually do.

He smiles as you slip from their reaching grip, running into the nearest alley, he watches them take chase.

He moves faster, making sure there’s no chance of putting you in any real danger.

When he gets there, they’ve got you cornered, your back against a wall with them closing in. They’re too focused on you to ever notice him.

He takes a breath, waits for a moment, enjoys the thrill of what he’s about to feel.

When one of the men reaches to put his grimy hands on you, Billy strikes.

The man in the leather jacket makes a gurgling sound as his throat is cut wide open, splashing mostly on himself, but some of it gets on your dress and he knows he’ll get on his knees later to apologise for getting your dress messy, even though he knows you like it.

The other man can only make a single sound of terror before he’s falling to the floor, mouth agape as the handle of a knife protrudes from his eye.

He’s still alive, though not for long as Billy watches you drop to one knee, pulling the knife from his skull to plunge it into his vocal cords next. 

You look up at him, with bright eyes, excited to be doing this with him. He bites down on his bottom lip, thinks you look adorable when you’re seeking his approval.

He doesn’t care if the men are in their last moments, he reaches for you, grips the collar of your jacket and hauls you up, manoeuvring you until your back is pressed against the wall of the alley.

He drops his head, angles to place a fierce kiss on your lips, smearing blood on your face when he grips your jaw.

Billy pulls away, breathless, heart hammering with the thrill of murder, he looks into your eyes, and finds himself looking back.

He’s not surprised- simply acknowledging to himself that it’s what he’s been seeing the entire time, what he couldn’t put a name to when you first met, he now knows.

.

“And the lord said ‘Thou shalt have no other gods before me.’” 

It makes you look up, to meet Billy’s eyes.

You watch the corner of His mouth twitch in amusement.

.

[etherealising]

four | the art of letting you go

masterlist | previous chapter | next chapter

pairing(s): carmen 'carmy' berzatto x fem!reader | fem!reader x original male character | the bear x fem!reader

synopsis: as the chaotic berzatto family christmas draws to a close, you and carmy find yourselves dancing around truths you both can't seem to admit even after so much time apart.

warning(s): none | minimally edited |

wc: 9.9k

You leaned against the bathroom sink for a moment longer, willing the ibuprofen to work faster. Christmas with the Berzatto’s was never traditional or without its chaos, but you were sure this was the worst it had ever been. You still couldn’t wrap your head around what just happened, your ears picked up on the noise outside of the bathroom, the tow truck having arrived. You took one last deep breath before turning to leave.

You tuned out most of the noise, trying to find Hayden amid all the chaos, only to come up empty. Spotting Michelle and Stevie preparing to leave, you made your way toward them, hoping they had any idea where the man might be.

“Michelle, have either of you seen Hayden by chance?” You watched as Stevie helped Michelle slip on her jacket, finding the two of them endearing.

She shook her head no before Stevie spoke up, “I think I saw him step outside a little bit ago.”

You nodded in appreciation, moving to walk around them but stopping as Michelle’s hand shot out to grip your arm. You looked at her in question.

“Baby, you care deeply about Carmy, right?” You nodded apprehensively, the words she wasn’t saying not at all lost on you. “Just…this shit, being here is toxic for him I mean look at the fucking dining room.” Michelle stopped to take a breath, trying not to get too upset.

“What I’m saying is I offered Carm to come stay with us in New York for a bit, get away from all this.” She gestured between herself and Stevie as you nodded along to her words. “I need you to do me a favor and talk him into coming if his mind's not already made up, please.”

A chuckle passed through your lips at her words, “I think it’s a great idea, Michelle, but I can’t force Carmy to do something he doesn’t want to do.”

Michelle’s lips pulled up into a half smile as she looked at you, “I think we both know you can.” You frowned at her words, not sure what she was getting at. “Just try, please…you love him, and I know you want better for him. This is better for him.”

The woman gently squeezed your arm in one last plea. You knew she hadn’t meant to throw your unreturned feelings in your face but was more so stating a fact that it seemed like everyone but the person you wanted most seemed to know.

You sighed before nodding, not promising anything but knowing you would try regardless. “It was good seeing you two. Drive safe.” You earned a hug from each of them before walking around the couple to continue your hunt for Hayden.

As you trekked down the street in your search, you couldn’t help but think about Michelle’s words. You couldn’t be sure that New York would be better for Carmy at all, but you knew he didn’t get out all those years ago to chase a dream, just to end up back in Chicago being swallowed up by all the bullshit this town brought. You caught sight of a group of neighbors standing outside, spotting Hayden’s tall figure easily as you decided you’d bring the conversation up to Carmy somehow before you left.

Making your way towards Hayden, you were surprised to see him in conversation with Claire Dunlap. Last you heard, she was in med school. Hayden caught sight of you before waving you over, causing Claire to turn in your direction and wave once she realized who you were.

“Well, well, well, if it isn’t the three musketeers back together again.” You laughed off Hayden’s words as Claire pulled you into a hug, greeting you.

The three of you back together after all this time seemed inevitable. “Baby, it's so good to see you! We were just talking about that summer.” She gestured between her and Hayden before the three of you shared in quiet laughter.

It was the summer after high school graduation that found the three of you an unlikely trio. With Carmy out of your life and Hayden filling in that void, Claire somehow seemed the most likely fit since Fak spent most days working the myriad of family businesses the Faks possessed. You and Claire were cordial throughout high school but only really began hanging out after Senior prom, where you forced the lifelong duo of you and Carmy into a group after prom night in hopes of creating a bit of distance.

Hayden pulling you and Claire into his sides brought you out of your head, quietly laughing along with the other woman, “So listen…ladies, Hay Hay needs some cheering up, and it just so happens a few people we graduated with are having a Christmas party so…any takers?”

You scrunched up your nose at the idea of partying with people from high school, also just surprised by the many mood swings Hayden was exhibiting in one night. Claire speaking up in agreement to join Hayden made you feel a little less bad that you were about to decline his offer.

Movement in your peripheral vision caught your attention, forcing you to turn your head only to be surprised when you made eye contact with Carmy across the street. The two of you held each other’s gaze as you tried not to focus too much on the way his lips wrapped around the cigarette he was smoking.

“I love you, Hayden, and I know you need friends right now. But I think I’m gonna hang around and help out the Berzattos.” You turned to look at the man, watching as his eyes darted across the street, followed not so shortly by Claire’s.

Hayden shrugged, removing his arm from around you, “No, no, I get it, Baby. You just love Carmy more than you love me.”

The volume of his voice was louder than it needed to be, catching the attention of everyone else gathered around and forcing Claire to cover her giggles with her hand as you shoved the mans shoulder, imploring him to shut up.

“God, you’re so annoying. See, this is why I’d rather clean up Christmas dinner than hang out with you.”

You ignored the very unsubtle look Hayden gave Claire, not wanting to get into that at the moment before the more tolerable of the two spoke up.

“We should hang out before the holidays are over. When do you head back to the West Coast, Baby?” You nodded along to Claire’s words, wanting to the make the most out of your short vacation.

“My flight leaves the day after tomorrow. We could do breakfast in the morning if the two of you don’t party too hard.” You looked between the two individuals, watching as they nodded along in agreement, a smile lining your lips. “Great, Hayden just text me where to meet.”

The man nodded, happy not to have to put up a fight about being the one to choose where to eat. You guys continued going over the morning plans for a few minutes more before the passing of the tow truck with Donna’s Benz forced your small group into silence, watching as it drove out of the neighborhood.

“Well, guess I’ll see you two in the morning. Please be careful and make good choices.” You pulled Hayden into a tight embrace, raising to kiss his cheek before you and Claire hugged, exchanging goodbyes.

Hayden patted your head with his hand, “I’m not ready to be an uncle, so you make good choices too!” He gave a soft pat to your bum as you walked away, making sure that once again his voice was louder than it needed to be, forcing you to wonder why you even tolerated his friendship and ignoring the urge to look in Carmy’s direction even as you felt his stare burning into your figure.

“Nat, I promise everything will be fine if you go home.” You were helping her take the food platters from the dining room to the kitchen so all leftovers could be put away.

You and Pete had been trying to talk her into going home for the past 20 minutes, getting most of the cleaning done along the way. When you returned to the house, most everyone had cleared out besides Tiff, who was lying on the couch waiting for Richie’s return and Nat and Pete, who were having a small argument about heading home. You knew Nat would try to stay and clean everything up, but you didn’t mind taking the burden off her shoulders and lending a hand, considering how tired all the worrying she did throughout the day must’ve made her. And you knew Nat well enough to know she was most likely blaming herself for the car-sized hole in the wall, and she deserved to go home and rest.

“Listen to Baby Nat.” Pete followed the two of you into the kitchen, trying his hardest to get through to his wife. “You need some rest, honey. Baby already volunteered to clean the rest of the mess up. You’ve done enough for tonight.”

You watched from your position in the kitchen as Nat rested her hands atop the countertop and lowered her head as she released an exhausted sigh, “I’m so tired.”

“Exactly why you should listen to your loving husband and head home.” You came to stand next to her leaning against the countertop. “I promise you don’t have to worry about anything, Nat. I’ve got it handled.”

She lifted her head to look at you, biting her lip in contemplation before she finally gave in and nodded to your words. You let out a sigh of relief before the older woman pulled you into a much-needed hug, and you returned it with just as much vigor.

“Are you sure you don’t need my help?” She pulled back, and you could tell from the look in her eyes that she was searching your face for anything she could lock onto to get her to stay.

“Natalie.”

She closed her mouth at the stern way you said her name, giving you an apologetic smile before nodding and letting you go. You followed her and Pete out of the kitchen, moving out of the way of the returning group as they walked through the door and waited for the couple to grab their belongings to say your goodbyes.

Nat pulled you in for one last hug before you moved to hug Pete. “You two get home safe, I’ll try not to come in too late.” Nat nodded along to your words before Pete ushered her out of the house, sending you one last wave before you turned to finish cleaning the awaiting mess in the kitchen.

Returning to the kitchen, you surveyed the array of dishes scattered around you, releasing a tired sigh before you rolled your sleeves up and got to work. You did your best to ignore the quiet argument happening between Richie and Tiff as they prepared to leave in the foyer. The sound of the door opening and closing made you think they left without saying goodbye, but then you realized it was Carmy as he exchanged goodbyes with the couple.

“Baby! We’re heading out.” Richie’s voice reached your ears as you wiped your hands on a dish towel before moving to exit the kitchen and see them off.

The trio was all standing in the foyer, and you moved to hug Tiff first, gently squeezing her against your own body as much as her bump allowed. “It was so good to see you. Let me know how you like the gift, yeah.” She pulled away, placing a soft kiss against your cheek while murmuring a tired thank you.

A quiet giggle left you as Richie wrapped you in a warm hug and began rocking you back and forth and cooing nonsense in your ear before placing a kiss onto the crown of your head. You pulled back smiling as you looked at him, “Why didn’t you tell me Hayden was getting a divorce now I feel like a fuckin’ jagoff.”

You gave him a disbelieving look, he was acting like you forced him to run with his stupid little joke. “So it’s my fault you have the humor of a five-year-old?” You raised your eyebrows in question, ignoring the figure lingering in your peripheral. “Honestly though, it kept Hayden’s mind off of Sasha for a bit, so I guess it wasn’t as terrible as I let on.”

Richie gave you a triumphant smile before leaning in for one last hug and turning to escort his wife out of the house as Carmy opened the door for them. Richie stopped on the porch before turning to you and Carmy, “You two lizards have fun with the fucking mess. And Carm, don’t let Baby leave this house after midnight; she doesn’t need to be out on the road so late.” The wink he sent you earned him another eye roll. You knew the older man thought he was being slick and helping you, but he was just being a nuisance. You waved the two of them off before leaving Carmy in the foyer and returning to the kitchen.

Carmy entered a bit after you. Neither of you spoke; instead, he just began to help you. The two of you easily fell into an unspoken rhythm. The sight of you moving around each other, knowing exactly what the other needed without being told, was so domestic it almost disgusted you. As Carmy held a bowl for you to scoop leftovers into, you could feel his gaze shooting up every so often to stare at you. You were sure he had something to say but was second-guessing himself, a trait he hadn’t seemed to outgrow.

“You, uh…you didn’t marry Hayden, did you?” You let out a quiet chuckle at the rhetorical question. Carmy’s tone made it obvious that your and Richie’s conversation in the foyer already answered his question, and now he was seeking confirmation.

You scooped the rest of the food into the bowl before reaching for the lid and placing it on, then looking up at Carmy. “Did you ever receive an invitation in the mail?” Carmy’s eyebrows shot up his face, almost like he was surprised you would’ve invited him to your hypothetical wedding. “You could’ve just asked me, you know. When have you ever believed anything Richie’s ever said anyway?”

Carmy gave you a solemn nod of his head before taking the Tupperware from your hands and placing it in the fridge. You moved to place the pot and ladle in the sink, relieved to finally begin washing all the dishes, getting you one step closer to being done with the clean up. Pressure on your lower back caused you to stiffen as Carmy stood a bit behind you, not allowing his hand to linger for longer than necessary.

“Let me wash the dishes. You did most of the work already, just dry 'em for me.” He moved to stand at your side, the sleeves of his sweater rolled up, giving you a glance at the few lines of ink you knew he didn’t have when you last saw him. You allowed your eyes to wander in curiosity, wishing to know the story behind each addition, but instead nodded and moved from in front of the sink to allow him space and grabbed a new dish towel from the side drawer.

If Carmy saw the question in your eyes, he didn’t comment on it, instead turning the faucet on and beginning to wash the dishes.

A comfortable silence fell upon the two of you; the only noise floating through the kitchen was the sound of the running water and dishes hitting the side of the sink from time to time as the two of you worked in tandem harmony.

Neither of you mentioned the lack of space between you two or the constant accidental touches of your arms brushing each other’s.

As you set the last pot down to dry, you could hear Carmy rummaging around behind you, getting something out of the refrigerator. You quickly washed and dried your hands before turning in your direction, staring at his back for a moment before he turned around. Your eyes fell on the saucer in his hand with one singular cannoli on it, your chest feeling a bit heavy at the sight of it.

Carmy slowly made his way over to you, the saucer held out between your two bodies in offering. You couldn’t help the small smile from spreading on your lips as you looked at the treat eyes moving to look at Carmy’s to find him already looking at you.

“I uh…we used to share a cannoli every Christmas,” he paused, free hand moving to awkwardly rub the back of his neck as his eyes dropped to a random spot on your face to avoid direct eye contact. “Thought it’d uh be nice to share one tonight…since we’re both in town.”

You nodded in understanding, reaching out for the dessert, watching as Carmy carefully reached around you to place the saucer on the counter behind you, the space between the two of you almost nonexistent as he stepped closer. You raised the cannoli between the two of you, free hand gently cupping Carmy’s chin as you guided the treat toward his mouth, watching as he slowly parted his lips, softly biting down before allowing you to pull the cannoli away from his mouth. Your thumb darted across his bottom lip as he chewed carefully wiping the spot of cream left behind before moving your hand from his chin and pushing the appendage through your lips sucking off the tart filling.

Carmy’s eyes followed the movement as he slowly chewed, trying not to show just how mesmerized by you he was in that moment, gaze glued to the slow way you pulled your thumb from between your lips. “Do you remember the last cannoli we shared?” Your quiet voice helped to clear the daze he was in. his eyes fluttered rapidly a few times before finding your own again, a slow nod of his head being his only answer as he watched you bite into the cannoli, trying to calm the longing the indirect kiss brought forth in him.

“D-did you…you uh ever tell him?” Carmy didn’t care to hear your answer, but he needed a distraction from the way you were unconsciously awakening years of yearning within him. He watched as a frown painted your features, letting his eyes dip down your face to watch the way your lips wrapped around the treat before the object was no longer obstructing the pretty line of your mouth. Carmy swallowed, doing his best to ground himself as he realized with every breath he took he could feel your chest brush against his. “Y-you said he was older. I just…assumed it was Mikey.”

Realization swept through you at Carmy’s words. You swallowed the bit of food in your mouth before slowly swiping your tongue across your lips, ignoring the sudden urge to kiss the man standing before you.

You thought back to Christmas of senior year, the last time you shared a cannoli with Carmy. You’d both made promises to each other. Promises that neither of you bothered to keep. You remembered Carmy’s wide blue eyes as he promised to help you hide the fact that you were taking a gap year before college, knowing your mom was at the end of her rope. And you who stupidly promised him you would finally admit your feelings to the guy you’d been crushing on, his words reminding you of the partial lie you told at one point about him being older to assuage Carmy’s curiosity, so it made sense he would’ve thought you it was Mikey.

A moment of silence passed between you as you contemplated what you should do, tugging your lip between your teeth before coming to a decision and setting the last bite of cannoli on the saucer, never breaking eye contact with Carmy. Your fingers slowly reached out, and you felt as his twitched once your own finally made contact before your hands were slowly intertwining with his.

“It was never Mikey.”

The words were whispered between the two of you, the subtle admission of truth hung heavily in the air of the Berzatto kitchen. Carmy was only a few months older than you, but still older, nonetheless. His grip on your fingers tightened as he frowned while looking at you, trying to understand why you looked so unsure of yourself.

There was clear apprehension in your eyes the longer Carmy looked at you without saying anything. Your heart pounded hard in your chest, and a sick feeling rose in your throat as you clung to the false confidence swimming through your veins.

“Carm,” you paused, needing a minute of preparation,n surprised when Carmy’s hand apprehensively settled against your cheek thumb gently rubbing back and forth, wetness spreading across your cheek, letting you know the tears you were fighting so hard to hold back finally made their appearance.

Carmy’s other hand released yours, moving to cup you other cheek, trapping your face between his warm, slightly calloused hands. You closed your eyes at the safe and comforting feeling that washed over you from being in his presence after so long. Things between the two of you weren’t fixed by far, and you hadn’t forgiven the cruel way he treated you five years ago. But you weren’t sure how much longer you could live with yourself knowing you never told him about the love you held for him.

“Talk to me, Baby…p-please.” The concern was not only evident in his voice but his eyes as he stood in front of you, anxiously waiting for whatever it was you needed to tell him.

With one last deep breath, you reached up, allowing your hands to grip his wrist and ground you to the moment before speaking. “Carmy I-,”

You flinched in his hold as a loud crash reverberated through the house, and Donna’s muffled curses followed shortly after. Carmy’s hands dropped from your face in an instant as he stepped back out of your space. Whatever moment the two of you had been trapped in was gone just as quickly as it seemed to start.

Carmy’s hands came to wipe across his face, pushing his hair back in the process before he spoke up. “I should go check on her just…uh don’t leave i-its late.”

You nodded your head up and down, rapidly waving him off with a forced smile on your lips. You watched as Carmy hesitated to take his leave, only moving as more curses could be heard from Donna. He let out an annoyed sigh before leaving the kitchen.

A quiet sigh escaped you as you dropped your head to your hands, trying to get your emotions under control, unsure what to do with yourself. The exhaustion of the day settled heavily into your bones as you stood there. All you wanted to do was sleep, and as much as you’d rather return to Nat and Pete’s house to do so, you knew it was better if you didn’t drive while tied and emotionally distraught.

After giving yourself a moment, you grabbed the saucer with the last bit of cannoli and turned to throw it in the trash before placing the plate in the sink. Exiting the kitchen, you moved to Mikey’s room, knowing he wouldn’t mind and that spending your night in his room was for the best.

The present on the edge of Mikey’s bed was haunting you. Against your better judgment, before hunkering down in Mikey’s room, you went to get Carmy’s present out of your rental car. You thought for sure that after a nice warm shower, you would’ve had some idea of what you were going to do, but as you sat on Mikey’s bed in the spare clothes you left in his room last Christmas, you were nowhere near being close to a decision. You could always just leave it in front of his bedroom door and pretend like it was nothing, but that seemed too immature even for you.

After a few more minutes of thinking, you’d come to the decision to just take it upstairs to him and then return to Mikey’s room. You put yourself in this position by buying him a gift in the first place, so now you have to deal with the awkwardness of giving it to him.

Rising from the bed, you grumbled under your breath as you snatched the box up and walked across the room and, wrenching the door open in frustration, before walking towards the stairs and taking them two at a time to get this over and done with. Stopping in front of Carmy’s door, you took a deep breath, raising your hand to knock, only to stop as his bedroom door swung open.

A freshly showered Carmy stood on the other side of the door. You felt a bit ashamed at the way you let your eyes rove over his toned figure, tracing the lines of his muscular arms that his white tank top left on display before meeting his eyes, knowing he just watched you shamelessly check him out.

Carmy cleared his throat as you looked at him, the red patches inking up his neck a sign that you had been caught. You stared into his eyes relentlessly, knowing he wouldn’t say anything about the moment. His eyes darting away proved you right as they latched onto the sleek black box in your hands.

You watched his hand move to scratch his tricep trying to figure out what the fuck a chef needed with all that muscle before you let your eyes trail down his arms in appreciation once more and allowed your gaze to land on the wrapped rectangular object in his hands.

A small smile lined your lips as the situation dawned on you before you found yourself laughing as you stared into Carmy’s eyes. “I came to give you this. Looks like you had the same idea.”

Carmy nodded slightly, lips turning up with his own smile, “Uh, come in.” His words sounded more like a question to you as you giggled before stepping around him into his bedroom, hoping this go round wouldn’t end like the earlier one.

Before you could speak another word, Carmy’s voice sounded from behind you, “I uh meant to check on you but…in the kitchen you uh y-you were crying and I…just is everything okay…with you I mean?”

You breathed a soft sigh through your nose, trying to ignore the lump that settled in your throat. Taking a deep breath, you sat the present on Carmy’s bed before turning to face him. “M’fine Carm, today was just a lot, you know, seeing you…dinner.” You shrugged, trying to appear nonchalant as you played with the cuffs of the crew neck you were wearing. “Anyway, I bought you something. You don’t have to open it right now. I just wanted to drop it off.” You pointed at the box, feeling awkward standing in Carmy’s room.

Carmy nodded, eyes falling onto the object before he forcefully held out the box in his hands. “This is for you.” His voice was louder than it needed to be as he spoke, causing you to giggle at his obvious nervousness before gently taking the wrapped box out of his hands, surprised by the weight of it. “Will you uh stay…s-so we can open each other’s presents, I mean.”

As tempted as you were to return to Mikey’s room and lock yourself away in isolation, you also couldn’t help the way you wanted so eagerly to be around Carmy. You nodded in answer, sending him a gentle smile, “Only if you open my gift first.”

Carmy softly laughed at your words before nodding and moving to pick up the black box and sitting where it once was. He gently patted the space next to him, wordlessly asking you to join his side. You carefully walked over his legs before sitting next to him and gently putting the present Carmy got for you behind your back on the bed.

You watched in nervous anticipation as he pulled the bow holding the top and bottom of the box together before he pulled the top off, setting the black silk from the bow inside the lid and handing it off to you, a small shy smile on his face as his eyes met yours. You couldn’t help the nervousness racing through you as he carefully peeled the sticker off the tissue paper hiding his gift.

Carmy was careful in his ministrations, almost as though he was too afraid that ripping the tissue paper would ruin the moment. You began bouncing your leg up and down, anxious at his reaction and trying to fight off the urge to explain what was going through your head when choosing the gift.

The pristine white jacket was finally uncovered, the sight of it causing Carmy’s hands to freeze midair. You didn’t dare glance at his face, too concerned that you made the wrong choice. Even without looking at him, you knew the minute his eyes latched onto his embroidered initials on the cuff of the chef’s jacket.

Carmy hesitated for a moment before his fingers touched the cursive CB; his fingers moved back and forth every so often as he allowed himself the moment to take in the thoughtful gift in front of him.

“Is it too much?” You couldn’t hold back any longer, his silence not doing you any favors. “I understand if you don’t like it or want it…I know we’re not friends, so maybe this is weird, but when Nat told me you’d be here for Christmas, I kind of freaked out and was like maybe I should buy him something, you know? I mean I k-know you like hate me and everything and I pretty much ruined your life bu-,”

Your voice trailed off at the hand that gently stopped your fingers from picking at your nail beds, forcing you to raise your head and focus on Carmy. Looking into Carmy’s eyes, you couldn’t help but feel so small under his intense gaze as he searched your face, trying to find something you were unaware of.

“Baby…I,” Carmy paused. he had five years to come up with the apology you deserved, but there were never enough words in the English language to excuse the way he spoke to you that night. That didn’t mean he was off the hook, and if he was honest, that in itself was an excuse for apologizing, but looking at you right now, he saw the toll his words had taken on you all these years later. He swallowed the lump forming in his throat as he let his eyes trace your features wanting to catalogue what you looked like in case he never got the chance to see you again, he couldn’t help but to hear your moms voice in his head as she explained to him that his newly discovered feelings were no excuse for his actions, a conversation he carried with him constantly. Carmy cleared his throat he wasn’t even sure if their was any point revealing the way he felt for you, did his feelings even matter anymore when it came to his proximity to you, he felt childish that even all these years later his fear of your rejection was what kept him from being honest with you.

He’d lost you once already, and as he sat there memorizing every part of the person you’d become, he couldn’t get himself to speak the words out loud for fear that whatever was left between the two of you would be lost forever.

Carmy cleared his throat, hoping the smile he was giving you wasn’t too forced. “This, uh…it means a lot to me, Baby. T-thank you.” And he meant every word, even if he wasn’t sure how best to articulate those feelings to you. He turned back to the present, unable to look at you any longer for fear he’d accidentally let all his feelings spill out and ruin the rocky ground the two of you seemed to be on.

The anxiety you felt in regards to the present seemed to melt off of you just a bit as you silently watched Carmy stare down at the pristine jacket, his fingers ghosted off the fabric once more. The sight of him seemingly mesmerized by the gift reminded you of Michelle’s words, prompting you to speak up. “Maybe…maybe you’ll find use for it in New York.”

You watched Carmy’s hand stop its movement, a part of you unsure if you should have brought up New York at all. “Yeah…maybe.” The definite tone in Carmy’s voice left no room for any further conversation, and you weren’t sure if it was because he’d already made up his mind or if you were just no longer important enough in his life to offer worthy advice.

“C’mon…open this.” Carmy held his wrapped gift out to you, and you let your eyes bounce between the festive gift wrap and then up to his face. The whole situation beginning to feel a bit odd to you.

You took the object from him, smiling in surprise at just how neatly the gift was wrapped, considering how awful his wrapping skills were when you were younger. The weight of it made you curious, and you couldn’t help the slight tingling of excitement that danced up your spine. You looked it over for a minute trying to figure out what it was, the two of you hadn’t been on speaking terms for so long you were worried you would have to pretend to like whatever he got you, not that you wouldn’t still appreciate it but it would be a reality check forcing you to realize on just how much you grew in your time apart.

Tearing through the wrapping paper, you slowed your frenzy as the surface of the gift came into view. You let out a quiet gasp as you reached out to trace the brush strokes, stopping mid-air as though the paint was still wet and you’d ruin the finish. Words couldn’t describe the scene you were looking down at, and it wasn’t because the English lexicon was inadequate but because you just found yourself speechless as you let your eyes trace every meticulous stroke of the brush, your fingertips following after. As your eyes and fingers moved across the scene, you realized you’d been correct in your assumption of who the artist was. Carmy’s signature sat hidden in the bottom corner of the painting, and the sight of it pulled a small genuine smile to your lips.

“Carm,” you paused, still trying to take the gift in. “This is incredible, thank you…gosh this must’ve taken you hours to complete.” You were so lost in your mesmerization of the artwork, that you had no time to take inventory of Carmy’s own mesmerized gaze, though it wasn’t at all focused on the scenic watercolor artwork that he poured every bit of his free time into, instead it was focused on something he found much more deserving of his attention.

You turning your head forced Carmy to blink at you rapidly, not enough time for him to pretend as though he hadn’t been staring at you this whole time. He looked at you blankly unaware that you said something when lost in his daze, he allowed his eyes to flicker down to your mouth as your smile grew a bit wider before you spoke up, “I said its beautiful Carm, but you couldn’t have been making this for me you didn’t even know I’d be here.”

Carmy tried not to be embarrassed that you were partially right in your observation, considering he’d only wrapped the item after seeing those pictures of you in the group chat. “I uh, after that night,” he paused, trying to pretend as though he hadn’t noticed the slightest downturn of your lips. “I-I went over to your house to see you…your mom answered the door and said you weren’t there but,” Carmy wasn’t sure if it was necessary to let you in on the heart to heart he’d had with your mother that day, so for now he would bypass it.

“She, uh, she gave me that old keepsake box you used to have, the one I, uh, made you in shop class.” Carmy couldn’t help but feel embarrassed admitting he kept a possession of yours even after all that shit he told you, “She said you wanted to throw it out…all the stuff in it too because…well because of me actually. Told me to hold on to it…that you’d miss it one day.” Carmy focused his gaze on the spot between your eyebrows unable to look you in the eye, “It started falling apart a couple years ago and so I-I put everything in a shoe box, but then I-I-I had time and so I uh built a new keepsake box a-and then a few months ago in Copenhagen I just I looked at my surroundings and everything was calm, peaceful I was content right? And so I uh I just fucking started painting and it became like my nightly routine until I-I finished it a-and then I put your stuff inside.”

Carmy finally gave in and allowed himself to stare directly into your eyes. A chill ran up his spine at the intensity of your gaze. He latched onto the slight sheen over your eyes, hoping he hadn’t made you upset with his actions.

“It's your birthday.” Carmy felt pathetic for how soft his voice sounded when he spoke. He watched as your brows furrowed in confusion, and he couldn’t help but find the expression adorable as he did his best to bite back a smile. He reached out, allowing his fingertips to unnecessarily graze the skin of your wrist where the sleeve of your crew neck was pushed up before his hand landed on the padlock style lock on the outside of the box, moving the digits to the date of your birthday. “The lock uh i-its your birthday.”

Carmy tried to calm his erratically beating heart, sure he’d force an anxiety attack if he didn’t calm himself down soon. He watched anxiously as you opened the lid and began to dig through the box, freezing as you let out a gasp. “Did you get all of these developed?” The tone of your question did nothing to quell his racing heart.

He nodded, taking a moment to get his breathing under control, “Y-yeah I,” he paused, unsure if he was prepared for your reaction. “Uh, every year for your birthday I would uh…get a roll developed.” Carmy’s hand quickly moved to wring the back of his neck, hoping to assuage some of his nervousness.

The photos in question were all taken throughout your and Carmy’s years of growing up together. You developed an obsession with photography after a school field trip to a museum and never looked back. You documented almost every moment you could think of with the help of disposable cameras. Your mom never able to spare enough for the Polaroid you wanted, so you settled for what you could get. Shuffling through the photos revealed hundreds of moments shared between you and Carmy, from random shots of Carmy standing in The Beef to birthdays and Christmases. All of it, all the memories you thought your mom got rid of at your request, were here. And Carmy had them the whole time despite telling you he no longer needed your friendship.

As you continued shuffling through the photos, you couldn’t help the few stray tears that escaped your eyes. It wasn’t just you and Carmy confined in time, but photos of your mom and the Berzatto clan that you’d completely forgotten existed. The joy these memories brought back for you was paramount in making you the person you are today. But as you picked up the next stack, you allowed a humorless chuckle to escape as much as you tried to forget that night it seemed to be etched into your memory, and now those memories were tangible, trapped in time. You stopped on a picture of you and Carmy, sure Fak took it considering how blurry it was the daylight made it obvious this was hours before everything between you and the youngest Berzatto went to shit, his arm was slung around your shoulder as the two of you looked at each other laughing about something.

It was your fault the two of you ended up at that house party, but you never found out what caused Carmy’s anger towards you.

A sharp ache raced through your chest as you continued shuffling through the pictures from that night before stopping; it was too much. All of this was too much, from you and Carmy not talking for the past five years to him being upset that you were ‘married’ and most of all, the fact that he’d kept these memories with him all this time and treated them with care.

“Why are you doing this, Carmy?” Your voice sounded so small to your ears and you didn’t want to fight with Carmy, but you couldn’t just sit there and pretend any longer with him, it hurt too much and you weren’t sure how much more of this farce you could take before it broke you like all those years ago.

You felt him flinch at your words where his leg pressed into yours before you turned to face him, hands gripping the photos. “I just…why are you doing this to me, Carmy? I don’t get it. One moment, we were best friends, then you’re telling me to leave you alone like I was just some stupid high school girl who spent her whole life hanging off of you a-and now this,” you gestured at the keepsake box in your lap filled with memories. “Why would you give me these things like we’re friends, knowing we’ll probably both return to our lives and continue pretending the other doesn't exist?"

“I,” Carmy paused, unsure of what to say to everything as he glanced back and forth between your eyes, hoping they’d be able to help him find his grip in this conversation.

“I’m sorry I ruined things with Claire, okay? I’m sorry about working at The Beef and for making you think I was trying to replace you or whatever. I didn’t even know I was doing any of that, Carmy." You turned to face Carmy as you felt your emotions overwhelm you.

“After you left, it was so hard for me, Carm and…I know you tried to reach out but…my mom just died, and it was like you just threw me away and then wanted me back all because it was convenient for you. And it’s not fair, Carm…this isn’t fair to me.” Your words were punctuated by you loosening your grip on the photos and letting them fall back into the box. "A person that doesn’t want to be friends or want you in their life doesn’t create a yearly tradition that aligns with your birthday, and they definitely don’t carry your memory in every new place they go."

The truth behind your words felt like a punch in the gut to Carmy, he sat there watching you break down because of him once again and not having any idea what to do, listening to the way his harsh words embedded themselves into you even after all this time. The two of you weren’t friends anymore, were barely even strangers, probably closer to not even remembering the other existed most days, and it was all because of him. If things were how they used to be, he wouldn’t feel hesitant to pull you into his arms and comfort you like he knew you needed.

He took a moment just to watch you feeling a bit masochistic as he reminded himself that if not for him, Christmas wouldn’t be ending with you in tears. Carmy did his best to be gentle as he reached for your hand that now held your head as you did your best to calm yourself down but he thought better of his decision before standing up to place both your presents in a safe spot, doing so gave him a bit of time to think of the best way to go about the situation.

Returning to the bed, he turned down the blankets before moving to kneel in front of you, his hands hesitantly rested upon the skin of your knees, hoping the circles he rubbed into your flesh did a good job at calming you. “Baby, hey…c’mo,n lets lay down, yeah?” Your silence unnerved him, he didn’t know what to expect. As much as he hated to admit it, he didn’t know you.

“Why did you do it, Carm?”

The sadness in your voice sent a stab of pain through Carmy’s chest, but it's what he deserved to see the consequences of his actions play out right in his face, to understand how words he regretted almost immediately stuck with you forever.

“Baby…I,” he paused, knowing if there was ever a time to confess his feelings, it certainly wasn’t in this moment when you were already so upset with him. “I-I can't…I just I-I don't know what you want me to say.”

Carmy watched the way your lips trembled, unable to move his gaze any higher, already knowing that tears were dripping down your face as your eyes continued to well with tears. The sound of you choking back a sob had Carmy rising to his feet before he was gently pulling you into the solidity of his torso and letting you soak his tank with the tears he caused. A heavy weight filled his chest as you so easily wrapped your arms around him, needing a certain comfort from the same man who constantly seemed to take you for granted. He moved his hand to the back of your neck, gently massaging the skin in hopes it was enough to get some of his regretfulness across.

An eternity seemed to pass as Carmy stood there lost in his head before realizing the noise from your crying had calmed down. He could feel your grip around him begin to slacken, followed by your breathing slowing. Carmy didn't want to inconvenience you more than he already had, but he at least wanted you to be comfortable while you slept.

Carefully, he moved his hand from the back of your neck before gently cupping your cheek and tilting your head up just a bit, watching as you blinked your eyes open. "C'mon, let's get you to bed." He felt selfish to feel relieved that you nodded along to his words without putting up a fight. He gently pulled you to your feet, a sad smile gracing his lips at just how reminiscent this moment was to the many the two of you shared growing up.

Leading you around the bed, he reached around you to turn down the covers before gesturing for you to get in. As you lay down, he hesitated before pulling the covers up to your chin while you yawned. He gave you one last look and a tight-lipped smile, then turned with every intention of going to sleep on the couch.

"Carm?" The ghost of your fingers brushing his stopped him in his tracks, surprising him before he turned to face you. "Can you stay, please…I don't wanna be alone."

Carmy watched as you pulled the covers off and moved over, welcoming him to join you. He felt uncertain about

He stood there awkwardly contemplating your request before obliging, and apprehensively easing himself into the bed trying his best not to lay too closely next to you and failing miserably in the cramped twin-sized bed. Carmy stiffly laid there flat on his back and awkwardly stared up at the ceiling. This bed had never been big enough for the two of you, but you always made it work, and now he wasn’t so sure if that approach would be welcomed.

The heat of your gaze burning into the side of his head made him feel self-conscious about being in this situation. Letting out a deep sigh, he carefully turned to face you, eyes instantly connecting with yours as he settled more comfortably into the position. You looked exactly as you always did when close to falling asleep, but your eyes were swollen from all the crying. Being in his childhood bed with you like this brought back a surge of memories within him, and before he could think twice about it, he was raising his arm to give you space to move closer, watching as you took the opportunity to scoot closer before pressing your face into his chest.

It was just like old times as Carmy's hand moved to stroke the back of your head. Except neither of you knew the other as deeply and personally as you once had. He found himself relaxing into you when he felt your hand move to wrap around his torso and you snuggle deeper into his chest.

Carmy listened to your breathing slow with each passing minute. The quiet of the room and the comfort your embrace brought finally gave him the moment of clarity he needed as he thought back through his every interaction with you during the day. He was far from prepared to see you after five years of no contact, but that didn't take away from the fact that being surrounded by your presence once more brought forth a serenity within him he was sure he hadn't felt since before that night. And now, as he lay here with you in his arms again after so long, he realized just how much of an idiot he was being. You deserved to know why he cut you out of his life so suddenly, even if that meant finally admitting the feelings that confused him for so long. As night turned into day, he concluded that having you in his life was more important than whatever fears of being rejected he had, and so with that final thought in mind, he allowed himself to doze off, holding you just a bit tighter just in case.

The spot in bed next to Carmy felt cold as he reached his arms out; instead of his fingertips meeting the smooth skin of your arm, he was met with the fabric of his bed sheets. It took him only a moment before his eyes were fluttering open, and he blinked the sleep out of them, only to realize that the bed was empty, and he was all alone.

A melancholy feeling settled in his chest as he let out an exhausted sigh and laid there just staring up at the ceiling, feeling more defeated than he had in a while. He sat up, looking around the room for any sign of you still being here, instead coming up empty, noticing the gift he got you was also missing.

Carmy stood up, running his hands through his hair as he gave the room one more once over before his eyes landed on a piece of paper atop the pillow on your side of the bed. He was hesitant to pick it up and read it, unsure if he could face whatever you'd written on the paper. On the one hand, he was happy to see you'd left something behind in the wake of leaving, but on the other, he didn't think he could handle whatever the note seemed to hold.

He was sure if he stared at it any longer the heat of his gaze would burn a hole through the damn thing. Minutes passed by as he contemplated what to do. Part of him wanted to know the contents of the note, and another part just wanted to ignore its existence. Not even a second later, he was walking around the bed and sitting on the side you once occupied before picking up the slip of paper and reading it.

Carm,

I wanted to thank you for the gift you gave me and also for saving all of my memories for all these years. My mom was right in giving them to you, and I appreciate how much you cared for them. I'm sorry I left without saying goodbye, but I didn't want to fight with you again. I know it may not have seemed like it, but I was happy to see you, Carm, and I wish things could have turned out differently for us. I wish we could have worked on mending whatever relationship we still have left but I can't keep going through life wondering what I did wrong, and maybe you have no reason for ending our friendship, or maybe you do and feel like I don't need to understand, whatever the reason I respect your decision Carmy and because of that I think it's best we continue to keep our distance from each other. I deserve more than the crumbs of half truths you are willing to give me. Frankly, I deserve an apology, and regardless of why we fell out, I deserve to be treated like my feelings matter, Carm, because they do. I know my worth, Carm, and whether you do or don't, it isn't for me to decide to make you see it. You hold a special place in my heart, Carmy, but I think it's well past time I stop allowing you to take me for granted.

I will always love and respect you, Carmy, but I think our relationship has run its course. I wish you nothing but the best, and I promise I'm always rooting for you, just from afar.

Baby

Carmy could feel the disappointment giving way to something deeper, branching off into anger and frustration. And it was all aimed towards himself he had five years to get his shit together where you were concerned and was offered every opportunity to right his wrongs and continuously chose not to.

If you thought it best to return to being strangers, then he would respect your decision even if he didn't agree with it.

As he moved to set the piece of paper back on his nightstand he caught sight of the small square images that had been hidden underneath the letter.

He brought forth two aged Polaroid pictures. The first, a group photo of the five of you - Mikey, Richie, Sug, You, and Carmy - all smooshed together in the photo. The date on Mikey’s hat reminded him exactly what the occasion was. The five of you were all huddled around The Beef’s booth, Mikey and Richie on the far left side arms thrown over the other, big smiles directed at the camera. Sug stood smiling in the middle hands placed on the cheap fold-out table in front of them. Carmy’s eyes drifted to the last two figures in the photo, the two of you taking up the right portion of the Polaroid.

There Carmy was sitting at the table relegated to manning the cash box because Mikey wouldn’t let him help with cooking. You were behind him, bending over to be at the same level as him, and your head sat comfortably next to his. Your arms were thrown around his shoulders, hanging off of him like a koala, your bright smile mesmerizing as it was directed at the camera. While you were looking at the camera, he was looking at you head slightly turned in your direction small shy smile directed your way as he focused on you.

Carmy’s thumb came up to gently caress the 15-year-old versions of the two of you trapped in the picture, the same small smile gracing his features as he remembered that day. He sat the photo in his lap before moving on to the next.

The second was just the two of you. Dressed in your finest garments for senior prom, standing on the lawn of the Berzatto home. He remembered that night, the night he took Claire to the prom and realized that no girl he took an interest in would compare to the way he felt for you. He focused on the old photo in his hand, feeling sorry for the two teens in the photo unaware that their friendship would never be the same after that night.

The more he looked down at the photo, the more he decided it was his favorite of the two of you and he appreciated the fact that you'd even left it behind for him.

You and Carmy stood side by side, neither of you paying any attention to the camera, your body turned slightly into his as your right hand rested right where his heart was. His arm settled around your waist, both of you staring at each other, the picture capturing the moment Carmy had finally admitted to himself that he wanted more than a friendship with you. Right before the picture had been taken Carmy had whispered about how beautiful he thought you looked, he remembered the look in your eyes as his compliment caught you off guard, the way your eyes quickly flashed to his lips as he gave you his small shy smile.

Carefully placing the photos back where he found them, Carmy rested his head in his hands, knowing he would regret not being honest with you, and he had no one to blame but himself and the way he constantly ruined any form of goodness between the two of you.

a/n: wow, i just love making these two suffer. realizing i may have foreshadowed a little too close to the moon in this chapter but ohhh well...hope you all enjoy this update and prepare yourselves because we're getting our first interlude rewrite chapter next update yay!!! love you all please take care of yourselves and my inbox is always open if you ever need anything. 🖤🫶🏼

[jooyeonsvape]

— stickers (k.j)

genre; fluff, smut

pairings; idol!jiseok, female!reader

w/c; 2.3k

synopsis; at your first xdinary heroes fan meeting, you ask jiseok a question that stunned him and you leave feeling embarrassed.

a/n; this is a request from my bestie @sug4r-latte i love you sm my angel!! sorry it took so long, also its 5:30 am so if its not what you asked for, let me know and i can rewrite it tomorrow!! <33333

[ masterlists ]

after all the money and time you’ve spent on your favorite band, you were finally in line at their fan meeting.

jiseok was talking with a fan but your eyes never left him, “wait, what should i even say to him?” you turn to your best friend, who was next to you. “introduce yourself, tell him you love him, show him your drawings, and move to the next member.”

you take a deep breath then nod, walking forward as the line moves, and side eyeing jiseok while you’re speaking to jungsu.

finally the moment you’ve waited for, the love of your life infront of you, face to face. “hi pretty, do you have anything for me to sign?”

everything your friend told you went out the window while you just stare in his eyes and the anxiety takes over.

“can i put stickers on you, bite you and then kiss your face? please say yes.”

jiseok’s face said it all. he was suddenly stunned by your questioning and you knew your words moved faster than your brain could when jooyeon started giggling next to him.

“uh, you can put stickers on me, but i think the security guards will kick you out if you did the other things.” he leans in with his signature laugh, holding out his cheek so you can put your stickers on him.

your hands shake as you peel the stickers off, then place the pretty pink ones on his cheek, and a few glittery ones around his eyes.

he signs the drawing you made while he waits for you to finish then a guard signals for you to move down the line.

——

“will you stop sulking, it wasn’t as bad as you think, plus, i think he found you adorable.” your friend tried to make you feel better while you take another shot of whatever the bartender gave you, but at this point her words meant nothing.

“he was probably uncomfortable, i am so embarrassing.” you take the shot and make a face, looking over at your friend who gave up her speeches.

the worst part about everything is, it was videoed by another fan and villians on twitter are making fun of you. “i’m confiscating this,” she grabs your phone from your hand while you scroll through the hate tweets and tear up.

“is that xdinary heroes?” the voice came from someone at a table and your eyes shot to the door, seeing the members walking inside. “fuck.” you whisper softly to yourself and hide your face, “why are they here?”

your friend analyzes from afar, “they’re getting in a booth and looking at the menu, no one can see you, lift your head now.” you open one eye and slowly look up, peeking over nonchalantly. “they’re so beautiful, and jiseok still has my stickers on, aww.”

——

30 minutes in, you peek over again to see the boys eating while having a drink together, and your heart flutters at their cuteness.

jiseok walked to the bar you were and your friend were at without either of you noticing. “hey, we just met right? i’m jiseok.” he had a bright smile and the shot you just took almost spit out of your mouth.

“y-yeah, i know, i’m [Y/N]. sorry, i have word vomit when i get anxious, i didnt mean to make you uncomfortable or anything earlier.” the alcohol helped you articulate your feelings better to jiseok but he just shakes his head. “you didn’t, i thought it was cute, i even took a picture with my stickers on, see.”

he points his phone to the adorable selfie he took moments after you placed them on his face and your heart flutters again.

“6 shots of vodka please.” jiseok told the bartender, but when he got his wallet out your friend shakes her head, “put it on our tab.”

he grabs the tray with the shots and you give him a warm smile, too embarrassed to say anything incase you mess up again.

“do you two want to come to a party we’re hosting at our hotel? it’s not going to be a lot of people but, it’ll be fun hopefully.”

“yes, we’d love to come, which hotel will you be at?” your friend giggles to herself at you trying to be sly, considering both of you knew exactly where they were staying.

he grabs a napkin next to you, then writes down the address and which room they’re staying in. “this floor is closed off so give me a call when you are downstairs.” he writes down a number at the bottom and you nod fastly.

you look at your friend when jiseok leaves and grab her hand, “we cannot go looking like this, let’s go get ready.”

——

“hi, this is [Y/N], we’re downstairs now.”

after you sent the text, you felt your heart pounding out of your chest due to anxiety. “i can’t believe how this night is turning out… what if i get to kiss hyeongjun?” you nudge your friend but she just laughs, “hey, it’s not impossible with the way our luck is going.”

you shush her when jiseok comes jogging up with the stickers still on his face and a bright smile, “you made it, come on up.”

he leads the two of you upstairs where the other members are and a few of their staff. “i told you there wouldn’t be a lot of people, we’re not much of partygoers besides with ourselves.”

you wanted to ask why he invited the both of you if it was just going to be a guys night in, but instead you kept your mouth shut.

“we’re playing drinking games, want to join?” you shake your head at gunil’s offer and laugh, “i had plenty, i’ll stick with water.

you introduce yourself to the boys after taking a seat next to jiseok and the 8 of you begin playing games.

after the 5th round of jooyeon losing and taking a shot each time, he went from dazed to incoherent.

you were all laughing at his and seungmin’s freestyle performance to ‘night of fireworks’ when his foot slipped.

your mouth opened wide as you see the drink in his cup coming at you in slow motion and jiseok jumps up fast when he sees the liquid covering your clothes.

the bright pink bra you were wearing showed clearly but everyone was too drunk to notice and jiseok grabbed your hand. “i’ll get you something to wear.”

you follow him with tears in your eyes, “i’m sorry, it’s been nothing but embarrassment since we met, i’m going to leave before something else happens.” you were now crying while jiseok goes through his suitcase and picks a shirt for you.

“i don’t think you should leave over spilled vodka.” he simply states and you sniffle, grabbing the shirt, “thank you.”

jiseok wipes your tears then smiles, “your smile is addictive.” he blushes at your words and shakes his head, “i’m going to wait outside while you change.”

you take a deep breath and feel your hands start to shake as you talk, “c-can you stay in here with me?”

his eyebrow furrows and shrugs, “sure, i’ll just turn away.” he faces the wall while you get undressed and you clear your throat. “i’m done.”

jiseok turns around and his smile drops immediately, “wow.” was all he could get out when he sees you standing tall in only your underwear.

“i like you.” you mumble and walk towards him, “i can’t help but think you’re interested in me too, considering you invited me here.”

jiseok nods and rubs the back of his neck gently, “yeah, you stood out in my mind from your bluntness and beauty.”

you rub your thumb over the stickers you put on his face earlier and smile, “i’m surprised they’ve stayed on this long.”

he closes his eyes at the feeling of your hand and blushes, “actually, i asked the makeup artist to glue them on for me.”

“can i kiss you jiseok?”

instead of answering he grabs your waist in his hands then pulls you into his chest, and kisses your lips.

the kiss was more than you were expecting, his lips were soft and his hands knew where to roam on your body, making your skin fill with goosebumps.

“do you want to see my bed?” he asks in the kiss and you giggle, “i would love to.”

jiseok leads the both of you to his bed and lays you down on the pillows while he continues to kiss you. “are you sure this is okay?” you nod at his question and bite your bottom lip. “i’m sure.”

when he gets conformation, he takes off his shirt and you admire his toned abdomen. “you’re gorgeous.” you whisper soft and he chuckles, “have you seen yourself?”

jiseok presses his clothed dick against you through your underwear and your breath hitches at the feeling.

“remember when you asked to bite me and i said the security guards would kick you out if you did?” he chuckles at the embarrassing memory and you nod, “yes.”

“there’s no security here, you can do whatever you want to me now.”

you blush at his words and lean in, giving his neck a soft nibble while he continues to grind against your pussy. “bite harder.”

you listen to his command then bite down hard on his shoulder and go up to his neck. “that feels so good.” you whisper in his ear and bite down on the lobe.

he takes off his pants with one hand skillfully while still grinding and pants soft. “kiss my neck pretty.”

you blush at the name and do as he says, swirling your tongue around his neck before biting down again until his pants were completely off.

“can you ride me?”

you flip the both of you over and smirk, kissing his lips again, seeing the stickers on his face shimmer in the moonlight when you take your bra off.

“this is gonna have to be quick incase anyone comes in, but i will make it up to you next time.” jiseok mumbles while circling his thumb around your nipple.

next time?

you slide off his boxers with a smirk when his hard dick pops out and jerk it teasingly in your hand. “alright, i’ll make you cum quick.”

jiseok chuckles and watches as you slide your panties to the side before sinking down on his cock. “fuck.” you tried to not be loud but with his size, it was hard. “no moaning.” you whisper in his ear and kiss his neck again.

“no promises baby.”

you grab his hands then place them on your breasts while your hips move in a slow motion and bury your face in his neck so you didnt moan.

“go faster.”

you whine in his neck and bite down hard on his skin again while your bounces get faster. jiseoks dick hits against your walls with every bounce and when he plays with your nipples, you couldn’t help but moan loud.

he puts a hand over your mouth and left you with just shallow breaths through your nose while you bounce faster. “i’m going to fuck you hard now, but you can’t make a noise okay?” jiseok whispers and you whine as a response.

he flips you over on your stomach and pounds you from behind without any hesitation, making sure to bury your face in his pillow. “good girl.”

you let out a moan and you feel a sharp pain on your ass from his hand but it felt so good. you moan again to test him and he strikes you with a chuckle. “you’re cute.”

jiseok rubs the place he smacked and groans soft, “i’m close [Y/N].”

you agreed by pushing your ass against his thrusts and your hand grips the bedsheet next to you. “me too jiseok, keep going.”

the sound of the bed squeaking was surely heard by the others in the living area, but you didn’t care anymore. “i’m so close, please cum in me.”

jiseok groans at your words and reaches his arm around, rubbing your clit slowly. “let’s cum together baby.”

you nod and he snaps his hips sloppier, indicating he was about to burst. “i’m cumming [Y/N], fuck.”

his voice being low sounded so sexy and you couldn’t hold it in anymore. your walls clenched around his dick and the both of you reach your orgasm at the same time.

his cum shot deep inside of your pussy and he falls ontop of you with a panting moan. “shit….” he murmers when you push your ass against his sensitive dick and laugh to yourself.

“that was amazing [Y/N], really.”

you blush and turn around so he was laying on your front, “it was, i can’t wait to do it again, i could go for hours.”

jiseok leans down and kisses your lips softly, “oh i forgot, i got something after the fan meet.” he stands from the bed and walks to a plastic bag on the dresser then goes to the bed with something in his hand.

you sit up on the bed and he hands you the paper, “stickers?” he nods and chuckles, “i thought they were cute, i was gonna wear them at the next concert.”

you bite your bottom lip from his adorableness and wrap your arms around his neck, “you’re so sweet, this made me feel a lot better.”

jiseok kisses the side of your head and smiles, “can i put them on you so we can match?” you nod and lean in, waiting for the stickers to be placed on your face.

——

gunil knocks on the door to jiseok and his shared room, peeking in. “hello? can i come in?” when he didn’t hear anything, he walks to the bed then sees you both covered in stickers, and passed out while cuddling close.

“kids.” he jokes to himself.

[euseokz]

@ eunseok — how could you hide stuff like that from me baby, you know that only riles me up more . . cws : use of sex toys . dom/sub dynamic . wc : 0.8k+ . genre : smut

BOYFRIEND! EUNSEOK who goes a little crazy when he finds out you have a sex toy hidden away in one of your drawers, somehow never having mentioned that to him in the few months you had been together.

“i assumed you’d already know!” you’d argue, resting your hip to the side against your counter as you both stood in the middle of your kitchen, your conversation about baking a cake together having somewhere along the way lost itself and became about you having a dildo stored in your bedside table.

at first you could see eunseok was genuinely surprised, but now his eyes were slowly turning darker with lust, heavier as what you could only assume were filthy thoughts filled his mind. eunseok took a step closer to you, bringing you towards him by placing both hands on your waist, hiding them under the fabric of your pajama shirt and pressing his cold fingers against your naked skin.

“how could i ever know if you never told me, baby?” he asked rhetorically, his tone finally telling you what his expression already did — eunseok was horny, and the only thing he probably wanted in that moment was to move you to your bed and act out whatever fantasies he had bubbling up in his head. “did you use it while thinking of me? did you fuck yourself and imagine it was me?” he continued, voice dripping with arousal, lower than usual, more intimate even. he raised one hand up, brushing your hair gently behind your ear and then caressing your cheek with his thumb, eyes locked on yours the whole time as he spoke.

eunseok came even closer to you, one knee settling between your legs and pressing against your middle while his lips fell to the side of your neck, leaving fleeting pecks on the sensitive skin. “you haven’t answered my question” he pressed after a few moments, nose nuzzling into your skin, mouth by your ear as he spoke in a tone no louder than a whisper. you almost whined, but still mustered up enough self-control to give him a nod, adding a small “yeah, i did”. eunseok loved how easily you fell into a more submissive position, how he didn’t have to do much for you to willingly submit to him when it came to sex. he continued his ministrations in your neck, leveling up and moving towards actually sucking on the skin, licking and biting over every spot he wrapped his lips around, enjoying how you mewled his name, your legs faltering under some invisible weight, the only thing holding you up steady being eunseok’s grip on your hips, his fingers now reaching under your pajama pants and past the band of your underwear, completely pressed against you.

eventually, and not with much more convincing needed, you found yourself in your bed, legs spread wide as you laid down, your bottoms thrown elsewhere while eunseok kneeled in front of you, sleeves scrunched up his arm and hair slightly disheveled as he held your dildo in one hand, the other drawing comforting circles on your inner thigh while he slowly thrusted the toy in and out of your soaked cunt. the feeling of it dragging in and out of you was amazing, somehow only enhanced by the fact your boyfriend was the one pushing it into you. with each movement the toy came out of you glistening even more than before, your slick completely covering the entire length, right down to its base.

“does it feel better when i do it or when you do it?” eunseok asked, starting to go faster, a sly smile on his lips while his dark eyes shined brightly, his look almost mesmerized, as if he knew what he was doing to you — which, all things considered, with how well he already knew your body, he most definitely did. you let out a soft moan, stumbling in your words as you replied that yes, him doing it did make it feel better, that it didn’t feel the same as when you did it.

“you should just say it bluntly, baby” eunseok continued, eyes drifting to your pussy, starting to move the toy more precisely, trying to angle it so it would hit that one spot inside you he knew you liked, his other hand moving to drag over your clit, stimulating it and further enhancing your pleasure, making your legs tremble and your abdomen tense up, your orgasm already starting to threaten to build up. “you prefer it when i fuck you, even if it is with just a stupid toy. you shouldn’t be ashamed to admit that” eunseok continued, continuing to spew absolute filth with a wide, satisfied grin adorning his lips until you were finally cumming around the dildo in his hand, creaming around its girth all while moaning your boyfriend’s name.

“if you put up such a nice show for me when i fuck you with a dildo, i wanna see what you do when it’s actually my cock inside you” eunseok finalized, pulling the toy out of you and starting to undress himself, ready to finally properly turn you into a mumbling mess for him.

[verspia]

Heellooo

I request where kenan and yn is dating and have for 2-3 months but keeping it secretly, cuz of his career, and kenan and his friend cubanito doing a livestream, and kenan gets spammed if he’s seeing someone, but he tries to keep it private and try to dodge the questions, cuz its rumored he’s dating someone that is not YN that the people suspect, but he is seeing YN, and his friend try to confirm he’s not seeing that girl, but kinda seeing someone else? which is YN

❤️

THEY DONT KNOW ABOUT US • KENAN YILDIZ

( pairing ) kenan yıldız x reader

i love this so much i rlly hope i’ve written it to your liking

ps i used karlotta as the rumoured girl

liked by karlottafan and others

footballwags - kenan yildiz in the likes of this model 👀 is she his new beau?

comments

user86 - who uses the word beau 💀

karlottafann - they’d look so cute together 🥹

user86 - those posts are from ages ago tho?

user09 - another one bites the dust

user97 - footballers and models what’s new 🥱

user98 - someone confirm this asap

user02 - he def slid into her dms

user037 - dating for sure

The apartment feels quiet without him, the kind of quiet that settles deep, filling every corner with the absence of his laughter, his low voice, the warmth of his presence. You’re curled up on the couch, phone in hand, scrolling through the endless stream of notifications that come with dating someone like Kenan. It’s been three months now—long enough that you know the feel of his hand on the small of your back, the way his thumb traces idle patterns against your skin when you’re watching movies, the little half-smile he gives when he thinks you’re not looking. But still early enough that everything feels new, each touch a rush, each shared glance a secret you’re both savouring.

It’s also long enough that the rumours have started, circling like vultures around your little bubble of privacy. You both agreed from the start to keep things quiet, at least for now. His career is always in the spotlight, scrutinised by fans, tabloids, and everyone with an opinion. And then there’s you—part of his world but never quite fitting into the neat little narratives they want to create. So you’ve kept it hidden, the two of you slipping through back doors, stolen moments in between his rehearsals and public appearances, and late-night drives through empty streets where the rest of the world doesn’t matter.

Tonight, he’s across town, sitting in Cubanito’s sleek, minimalist living room, the kind of place that’s made for being on camera. You know this because you’ve been there—laughing, sprawled out on the couch with Kenan’s arm around your shoulders, out of view of the lens. It’s where they do their live-streams, just the two of them bantering about everything and nothing, their easy chemistry drawing thousands of viewers every time they go live. You usually like to watch, listening to the sound of Kenan’s voice through your phone, letting it fill the space when he’s not with you.

You open the app and the live stream is already buzzing with activity, the chat scrolling faster than you can read. Kenan is sitting on the left, relaxed in his usual way, hoodie pulled up just enough to shadow his eyes but not hide that familiar, lopsided grin. Cubanito is beside him, gesturing wildly as he talks, always the louder, more animated of the two, but Kenan’s calm presence keeps everything grounded.

You watch them for a while, smiling at the banter, the way Kenan leans back, completely at ease, laughing at something Cubanito says. But then the comments start shifting, and you notice the questions piling up, flashing bright and insistent:

*Who’s Kenan dating? Is it true about him and that model?*

*Kenan, are you seeing someone? Don’t dodge the question!*

*Kenan, blink twice if you’re with her!*

You feel your heart clench, fingers tightening around your phone. The rumours have been everywhere—screenshots of kenan in her likes, whispers and speculation that he’s dating her, even though you know better. But Kenan’s been careful, dodging the questions whenever they come up, brushing them off with a laugh or a change of subject. Tonight, though, it seems like they won’t let it go.

Cubanito squints at the screen, reading the chat aloud in his usual dramatic fashion, but this time there’s an edge to his voice, a hint of mischief that tells you he’s about to stir the pot. “Yo, Kenan, they’re really going off tonight. Everyone wants to know who you’re seeing, man. Spill the tea!”

Kenan chuckles, but you can tell from the way he shifts in his seat that he’s uncomfortable, his smile tightening just a little. “Nah, it’s nothing like that,” he says, trying to keep his tone light. “People just love to talk, you know how it is.”

Cubanito isn’t having it, though. He leans closer, elbows on his knees, eyes bright with the thrill of teasing his friend. “Come on, Kenan. Everyone thinks it’s that girl—what’s her name? The model? But I don’t know, man. Doesn’t seem like your type.”

Kenan’s smile falters just a fraction, a tiny crack in his usual composure. You know he’s trying to figure out how to handle this, how to keep your secret safe without feeding the rumours. He glances at the chat, then back at Cubanito, his expression caught between exasperation and amusement. “Nah, it’s not like that,” he says again, firmer this time. “I’m not seeing her.”

Cubanito leans back, throwing his hands up in mock defeat. “Okay, okay, you’re not seeing her. But you’re definitely seeing *someone*, huh? Come on, man. We’re all friends here.” There’s a playful edge to his voice, but also a knowing look—a hint that maybe he’s aware of more than he’s letting on.

Kenan shoots him a warning glance, but it’s softened by the faint smile tugging at his lips, the kind that always makes your heart skip a beat. He runs a hand through his hair, and for a moment, he looks right at the camera, right at you, like he’s letting you in on the joke. “Let’s just say… I’m happy,” he finally says, his voice low, almost lost beneath the noise of the livestream. “And that’s all that matters, right?”

The chat explodes, filled with questions and speculation, but Kenan doesn’t pay it any mind. He turns back to Cubanito, deflecting with a joke, steering the conversation back to safer ground, but there’s something in the way his gaze lingers on the screen—a quick, barely-there look that makes your chest tighten. It’s a look meant for you, and you alone, a silent reassurance that no matter what the world thinks, he’s yours.

You feel a rush of warmth, a quiet, private kind of joy that’s just for the two of you. It’s not easy, keeping things quiet, pretending in public that you’re not together when every time you’re alone, he’s the one who makes you feel seen in a way no one else ever has. But moments like this, where he slips you into his world without anyone else noticing, make it all worth it. The stolen kisses, the late-night texts, the whispered promises when no one else is around—it’s messy, and it’s complicated, but it’s yours, and it’s enough.

liked by ynusername, cubanito_official and others

kenanyildiz_official - mein einziger 🤍

comments

cubanito_official - nice 🔥

tarik.muharemovic - little lady is cool 😎

↪️ kenanfan - his friends have met her 🥹

user13 - bro really soft launched blondie to say that model ain’t his girl

user97 - he unfollowed the model 💀💀

user02 - ok but i need to know who she is and ask ab her hair care routine

user09 - couple of the year

fin.

[heliads]

Aaaaah so glad I made it in time x3 your writing is godsent and being able to request something fills my cold heart with joy!

Okay so I rewachted Descendants and just... imagine if Carlos has to live together/spend time with a villain kid that got adopted and raised by the big bad wolf (I checked and yes that is a Disney villain!).

For some plot... (my mind comes up with something funny so do not expect too much lol) maybe taking place during Descendants 2 (with Uma) and somehow the crew has taken Carlos and Little Bad Wolf has to keep an eye on him? Except that little bad wolf gets seasick "Dude this ship isnt even on open sea, how are you feeling sick?" "shut up!"

'get him back' - carlos de vil

masterlist

The pirates never should have taken Carlos.

It was a stupid move, really. Stupid to get Mal on their bad side, but even worse to kidnap Carlos. As if Mal wouldn’t do anything in this world or the next to get her friend back. As if anyone who dared to stand in her way would not find themselves lost to the salt of the sea if they didn’t immediately back down.

Uma didn’t learn that lesson soon enough, but she will. It doesn’t matter that she was a formidable foe, the moment she made the fight personal by kidnapping Carlos, it was all over. Mal’s got an unsettling edge to her voice, the sort of dark and twisted tone that makes you follow her orders without question. Villain kids don’t like doing what they’re told, but in this case, you’re all of the same mind. What matters the most is getting Carlos back. Your egos can wait until after your friend is back by your side.

Uma’s ship came by in the dead of night and took Carlos when he was walking around unawares. They must have all attacked at once, half a dozen pirates against one boy, because there’s no way Carlos would go down without a fight. There are clear signs of a scuffle on the roads where they took him away, obviously not the clean abduction Uma was hoping for, but the facts remain. Carlos is gone, and you need to get him back as soon as possible.

Mal has already drawn up a rescue plan. She’s enchanted a small boat to be silent and almost invisible in the dark waters; once night falls, you’ll sneak up to Uma’s ship and get your boy back. One of you will sneak on board and find Carlos, then dodge the pirates meant to be guarding him and bring him back to your ship. You’ll have to wait until the right time to make your escape, though, so you can immediately land at a local deck and make your getaway. Uma can beat you in water, but you’re faster on land, so everything has to be timed perfectly.

You’re the one who’s been assigned to the difficult task of slipping onto Uma’s ship. As the adoptive child of the Big Bad Wolf, you’re well trained in the art of sneaking around and blending in. You’re the perfect spy, so to speak, so you’re the best bet the VKs have at going unnoticed by the pirates on that ship.

Even though you know the official reason for your selection is simply that you’re the best among Mal’s VKs at staying under the radar, you can’t help a rush of pride at being the one selected for the task. When Carlos looks up to see his savior, you’re glad it’s going to be you. You want to be the one on his mind when he thinks of safety. You, not Evie or someone else. Just you.

The credit for this rescue, though, should rightly be shared among all members of your friend group. Right now, Mal, Ben, Jay, and Evie are on Mal’s cloaked boat, drawing close to Uma’s ship. It slides by before you, cresting the indigo waves, so close you could reach out and touch it with one hand. Right under it, you’re struck by the size of the ship. Carlos could be anywhere. This might take longer than you thought.

Mal nods at you. “It’s time.”

You nod back, standing up carefully and reaching for the rope ladder one of the pirates forgot to pull up on the side of the ship. Tugging it quietly to test its strength, you pull yourself up slowly hand over hand, pausing just before you reach the top so you can survey the deck and see how many pirates are there.

Not expecting an attack this late at night, Uma’s crew has left the deck mostly unmanned. Two pirates are idly chatting near the helm, keeping the ship on its course, and there’s a guy up in the crow’s nest, although he’s nodded off instead of keeping a good watch on any possible intruders. You crawl over the railing as quietly as you dare, sticking to the shadows to avoid notice. Oil lamps cast pools of sticky yellow light on the ground, and you skirt them as best you can, all the while making for the stairs leading to the lower parts of the ship. Your steps are silent, each taken with the fear of causing a loose board to creak and alert the crew to your presence.

Once belowdecks, you can breathe a little easier. Most of the sounds you hear are of snoring and sleeping pirates, although a few still remain awake even despite the late hour. Without the stars and moon bleeding white light overhead, the halls are darker, giving you more room to bleed into the shadows and avoid detection. A few times, someone pokes their head out of their door or shifts around a little, causing you to freeze in your tracks, heart hammering in your chest, but you still manage to come out of each close shave without getting caught.

The further you go into the ship, though, the worse you feel. Despite living on an island for most of your life, you never really had a chance to get on a boat before, and you can say decisively that you don’t enjoy the feeling. You like solid ground, a floor that doesn’t rock, and the stability of knowing there isn’t empty water under your feet at any moment. Uma’s ship lilts and turns every few seconds as it crosses the waves, and it leaves you feeling drained of all strength before you’ve even spent ten minutes inside.

You’re not here to complain, though, you’re here to rescue Carlos. You push past your growing nausea and keep peering in doors, searching for the room holding your friend. Before long, you spot it– a locked door at the end of the hall, a flash of white hair inside. It’s meant to be guarded by two pirates, but they’ve obviously grown bored of their post and settled in for a game of cards a few paces away. Perfect. You cause a small distraction by knocking a can to the ground down the hall, and hurriedly pick the lock while they go rushing off in the opposite direction. 

You swing yourself inside the cell and shut the door again just before they look back. Grinning, you allow yourself one moment of quiet victory before you’re engulfed in a rush of red and black and white.

Instantly, your body is on high alert, but you manage to calm down when you realize you’re not being attacked by a pirate but one of Carlos’ fierce hugs. He pulls back a second later, beaming ear to ear. “Y/N! What are you doing here? How did you find me?”

You laugh quietly. “You can thank Mal for that, she dropped everything to come rescue you once we found out you’d been kidnapped.”

Carlos punches the air triumphantly. “Perfect! Let’s get out of here. Pirates stink.”

You shake your head. “It’s not that simple, unfortunately. We have to wait an hour or so for Uma’s ship to pass by land. That way, we can escape onto the peninsula without trying to sail back or she’d catch us.”

Carlos’ face falls. “You’re telling me I have to stay in this rat’s nest even longer?”

You frown sympathetically. “I know, trust me, but we have no choice. She’d catch us if we tried to just sail away. And believe me, I’d like nothing more than to get out of here. I hate this ship.”

As if proving your point, the ship hits a sudden burst of waves and you nearly lose your balance and your dinner along with it. Carlos catches you before you fall, hurriedly bringing you over to a small, hard looking couch along the side of the cell. 

“Hey, easy there. Don’t go getting sick on my watch. You can lie down and try to regain your spirits while we wait for Mal, alright?” He says.

You close your eyes gratefully. “Thanks, Carlos.”

He giggles. “No problem. Although I can’t believe you feel this bad already, we’re not even out of the bay. This ship isn’t in the open ocean, how are you seasick? The water is practically dead still.”

“Shut up,” you mutter under your breath, fighting another bout of nausea.

Carlos laughs again, but thankfully remains silent. You have no doubt that he’ll be bringing it up again soon, though, probably to win an argument about which VK is the toughest.

You’d like to clear your good name, of course, but the rocking of the ship silences you again, keeping you absolutely still and silent on the tough couch. Carlos, sensing your obvious discomfort, tries to distract you by talking. He keeps his voice quiet so he doesn’t attract the attention of the guards outside, and the soft lull of his words spilling out into the darkness of your lidded eyes makes you wish for sleep. 

Carlos talks about how surprised he was when he was kidnapped, how glad he was to see you, what he plans on doing after you break him out of here, what he was supposed to be doing when Uma and her pirates took him in the first place. Carlos has always been a good talker, but you’re extra glad for it now.

When he pauses for breath, you laugh quietly and say, “I thought I was supposed to be the one saving you, but it looks like it might be the other way around.”

Eyes still closed, you can tell Carlos is smiling by the soft exhale he lets out. “I’d say freeing me from a pirate ship is a bigger deal than distracting you from seasickness. I’ll still give you this win.”

“That’s awfully generous of you,” you hum.

“Yeah, well, I’m a generous guy,” Carlos tells you. “It’s no problem when it’s you, though. I’d do anything for you.”

When you dare to crack open your eyelids, he looks more serious than you’ve ever seen him. All of a sudden, the breath is low and careful in your lungs not because of the churning waters beneath you, but because of him. Always because of him.

“Carlos,” you begin quietly.

“No,” he says, more determinedly, “I’m serious. I like you, Y/N. I really do. Seasick or not. I’ve liked you for a while, and if I was going to be stuck in a cell in a pirate ship with anyone, I’d want it to be you. You were the best part about the Isle of the Lost and the best part of Auradon. I can go anywhere if you’re with me. You don’t have to feel the same, I just– I thought you should know.”

You sit up carefully. “I do feel the same way.”

Carlos’ mouth drops. “Really?”

“Is that so much of a surprise?” You ask, laughing slightly. “I’ve followed you everywhere since we first met. We’re practically inseparable. The only reason I wasn’t kidnapped along with you is because I got distracted by Evie needing help finding a pair of matching shoes. You’re my home too, Carlos. You always have been.”

His smile is brilliant in the darkness. “I couldn’t be happier to hear it. Except maybe when we get off this ship.” He extends a hand to you. “How about we make our escape?”

You take it, letting Carlos pull you up. “I’d like nothing more.”

It feels like your entire life has opened up before you. If it takes a kidnapping, a pirate ship, and terrible storms for the two of you to finally confess your feelings, it might just be worth it after all. You’ve got Carlos, and that’s worth more than all the treasure in the world.

requested by @reinekes-fox, i hope you enjoy!

disney tag list: @blondsauduun, @lovesanimals0000, @mayfieldss, @eclliipsed, @faerieroyal, @goldfish4403

all tags list: @wordsarelife

[delulu-is-the-soluluh]

Scars of Flames and Wind | Prologue

Next Chapter

A Dark!Rowaelin x afab!Reader

Author's Note: Hello! It is with great apprehension that I post this fanfic, which has been in my mind for almost a year, but is now finally seeing the light of day. It’s also the first time in 12 years that I’m writing again, so I’m quite rusty. English is not my first language, so I apologize in advance! It’s a long chapter! (Creating context for a fanfic set in the canon era of the eight books made me rethink my life choices, but I’m not backing down!) I hope you enjoy it, and I would love to receive feedback <3

General Warning: Throughout the story, there will be Dark!Rowaelin, DubCon, possessiveness, extreme jealousy, low self-esteem, and many questionable thoughts and actions. There will be some creation of information for the sake of the plot but without straying from the canon, I promise.

Warnings: In this chapter, none; Flashbacks; Aelin’s parents as special guests.

Orynth, 10 months before the Fall of Terrasen

The library was silent and bathed in the afternoon sunlight, with the sounds of  turning pages and scribbling on paper echoing through the room. Rhoe was intensely searching for some information that could help in training his niece’s power. Despite being distant relatives and her presence being only due to a future agreement, he cherished the intelligent and fearless girl she was. But her ability to manipulate earth, from a long-forgotten and diluted dynasty in the Ashryver genealogy, was growing rapidly, and without any other living relatives like her and many of their records lost, it was becoming harder to train her abilities.

With a long sigh, Rhoe diverted his gaze from the paper to his daughter, Aelin, who had insisted on coming to study with him, under the pretext of “spending more time with her father” and learning more about “whatever he was learning.”

With a soft smile on his face, he watched her. Aelin was sitting in an armchair ahead of him, holding a book up to her eyes, without turning a page for quite some time. With a low laugh, Rhoe realized that his daughter was alternating her gaze between the page and his niece sitting by the window, drawing in her notebook, unaware that she was being attentively admired.

Aelin had come just to be close to Y/N. His smile dimmed as worry washed over him.

Aelin couldn’t help but notice how her hair shone in the sunlight, how her irises became lighter, and how her skin seemed to glow as she traced lines upon lines in her notebook. It was... mesmerizing. The fantasy book was already forgotten; she couldn’t concentrate on a single word. She wasn’t sure why she couldn’t. She just felt her cheeks warm slightly, using her book as a shield against her blush.

Was this what it meant to like someone? Her heart beat faster when Y/N was around, and her mind often wandered to the moments they spent together. So it was different from friendship... right? She had heard stories about her uncle Orlon and how he liked Darrow more than a friend, and that had never seemed strange to her. But now, feeling something like this for Y/N left her a bit..confused

A memory of the conversation she had the day before with her aunt, Marion, came to her mind:

Aelin was sitting in the garden, surrounded by the flowers her aunt Marion lovingly cultivated. Spring was at its peak, and the air was fragrant with the scent of the flowers. She looked at her aunt, hesitating for a moment before asking the question that was on her mind.

“Can I ask you something?”

Marion smiled, tucking a strand of hair behind Aelin’s ear. “Of course, dear. What do you want to know?”

Aelin took a deep breath, nervous. “Uncle Orlon and Darrow... they like each other more than friends, right?”

Marion paused for a moment, surprised by the question, but her smile remained gentle. “Yes, they do..”  she squinted her eyes, already knowing where this was going. “Why the question?”

Aelin took a deep breath, thinking about how to ask her that. “How do you know when you like someone like that? How do you know it’s more than friendship?”

Marion held Aelin’s hands, looking into her eyes. “Liking someone like that is a special feeling. You feel your heart beat faster when you’re near that person, and you think about them all the time. When you’re with them, you feel a happiness you can’t explain. It’s a type of affection and care that goes beyond friendship.”

Aelin bit her lip, still a bit confused, but her aunt’s words began to make sense. “And if I feel that for someone, but it’s not a boy?”

Marion smiled, caressing Aelin’s face. “Love doesn’t choose genders, Aelin. What matters is how you feel. If your heart says it’s love, then it’s love. And that’s something beautiful, regardless of who it is.”

Aelin felt relieved but still confused at the same time. “But... how can I be sure if it’s really that? How can I be certain?”

Marion thought for a moment before answering, her words filled with kindness and understanding. “Aelin, love isn’t always something we can define clearly. Sometimes, it’s confusing and complicated. But if this person makes you happy, if you feel a special connection, and if your heart beats faster just thinking about them, then maybe you already have your answer. Don’t be afraid to follow your heart.”

Aelin nodded, feeling a bit more at ease. Marion’s words echoed in her mind as she tried to understand her own feelings.

Back in the library, Aelin looked at Y/N once more. Marion’s words resonated in her mind. Maybe it was more than friendship. Maybe it was something special. She wasn’t sure yet, but she knew she wanted to find out.

Plains of Theralis - Terrasen, 6 months before the Fall

The field stretched out before them, a vast green expanse that seemed to lose itself on the horizon. The sun was high in the sky with vibrant heat. A light breeze carried the fresh scent of the earth and wildflowers, mixed with the distant sound of birds singing.

Aelin, with a daring smile on her lips, gracefully and confidently pulled the reins of her horse. She cast a challenging glance at Y/N, her blue eyes shining with the promise of fun and competition.

“Let’s see if you can catch me!” Aelin shouted, her voice filled with contagious joy and a hint of provocation.

Y/N, feeling the dense wind on her face, smiled back, her heart racing both from the race and the attention of Aelin. She spurred her horse forward, leaning in with determination. “Get ready to lose!” she responded, with a glint of challenge in her eyes.

As they raced, Y/N couldn’t help but get lost in the sight of Aelin. The way she moved, with wild freedom and natural grace, was mesmerizing. Her laughter, free and vibrant, seemed to echo across the vastness of the field, blending with the sound of the horses’ hooves hitting the ground.

Aedion, riding a bit behind and enjoying the competition, watched the interaction with an amused smile. He approached and shouted, “Show offs! I don’t want to be the third wheel here, so don’t worry about beating me!” he teased, his tone filled with humor and lightness. Y/N laughed as Aelin cast a challenging look at Aedion as she sped up even more, the wind blowing strongly in her face.

Last Beltane before the Fall

The festival was full of life and renewal. Bonfires blazed in the shadows of the night, casting a golden and dancing glow over the smiling faces of the people. The heat from the flames mixed with the fragrance of flowers and herbs adorning the place, colorful clothes and floral adornments decorated the participants, who moved to the rhythm of festive music.

Aelin and Y/N were at the center of the celebration, jumping over the flames with contagious laughter, their shadows projected on the dancing flames. The joy on their faces was palpable, and the heat of the fire seemed to reflect the flame of their own feelings. The sound of folk music and laughter mixed with the crackling of the bonfires, creating a symphony of celebration.

After a jump over the last flame, Aelin stopped dancing, and with a soft smile and a special glint in her eyes, she pulled something from her dress pocket and approached Y/N.

“I have something for you,” Aelin said, handing Y/N a small velvet box.

With her heart racing and the heat of the festival still vibrating in her bones, Y/N looked at the box with curiosity. “What is it?” she asked, her tone curious and eager.

Aelin smiled, her gaze fixed on Y/N as she watched her reaction. Y/N opened the box and found two delicate necklaces, each with a unique pendant. One necklace was adorned with a radiant sun pendant, and the other with a crescent moon. The light from the bonfires reflected off the jewelry, casting small sparks that seemed to dance in sync with the music.

“Aunt Marion made them for us. So that we always remember each other, no matter what happens,” Aelin said, her voice joyful and slightly hoarse from the celebration. She put on the necklace with the moon pendant for herself and held the necklace with the sun pendant, offering it to Y/N.

Orlon and Darrow watched from afar, their gazes attentive to the scene unfolding before them between the little princess and her future lady-in-waiting.

“Doesn’t this worry you at all? It’s good to see the girls together, but don’t you think this little crush could cause a new...linear impasse?” Darrow said with slight concern, his eyes still on the girls as they put on the necklaces for each other.

Orlon maintained a serene look at the two, still unaware of the agreement proposed not long ago: Aedion would marry Aelin in the future, with Y/N being the queen’s lady-in-waiting, a general, a bearer of wildfire, and a geomancer of the rare and forgotten Montserrat lineage.

But the “innocent crush”  had everything to become something more in a few years, and that was visible to everyone. Some servants even dared to say it could even be a mating bond that caused them to get along so well and never be apart.

“Well, if that’s the case, maybe Rhoe should start ordering another little princess as soon as possible to keep the agreement in order!” Orlon jokes, his eyes shining with humor.

Darrow couldn’t help but laugh lightly, even with the weight of responsibility still hanging in the air. “Let’s see how this unfolds, then. We still have time.”

Orynth, Hours Before the Fall of Terrasen

The day in Orynth was shrouded in a tense and anticipatory atmosphere. The unexpected visit of the King of Adarlan and his son, Dorian, to the kingdom of Terrasen had alerted everyone, even after deciding to give them a warm reception.

During the dinner, where royalty and the closest members of the court were gathered at the table, Aelin struggled to maintain her composure after rejecting Prince Dorian’s friendship, which was quickly rebuffed with his comment that he ate like a little lady.

Moments later, without any warning, Aelin felt a pressure in her head as a sudden burst of heat emanated from her body. Flames erupted around her, dangerously close to the curtains and ornaments. The guests recoiled, some shouting in surprise, while the Terrasen guards rushed to control the situation. Aelin's eyes were wide with terror and frustration as Y/N, amidst the chaos, swore she saw the King of Adarlan watching with a cold smile on his lips.

The dinner ended abruptly, and a quick decision was made: Aelin would be taken to a country house, far from Orynth, where she could learn to control her powers more safely. Her parents and a few guards would accompany her.

Hours later, as night started to fall, determined to comfort Aelin, Y/N sneaked into her room. The castle was silent,  as she entered the room unseen, finding Aelin sitting on the bed, her eyes still vacant from the events of the dinner.

“How are you feeling?” Y/N whispered with concern.

Aelin looked up in mild shock, her shoulders relaxing slightly at the sight of Y/N in her room. She tried to smile, but the effort was evident.

“I’m fine.” she answered quickly. “ It’s just.. it’s getting harder to.. you know, controlling these.. ” She replied, while raising her hands, voice quiet but trying to stay light. It was bad enough she had been banned from the library, her favorite place, because of them; having an episode like this, in front of everyone...

Y/N gazed at her for a moment and moved closer, sitting beside her. They sat in silence for a moment, just feeling each other’s presence. Aelin sighed deeply, her shoulders relaxing slightly.

"You've got this, Aelin. You always do.. Plus, you're not alone in this. At least they know what to expect, right?" Y/N said reassuringly. "Unlike my power, which is completely unknown, and I'm the only one who has it."

Aelin laughed lightly and before she could give her a smart remark, Evalin appeared in the doorway, her expression surprised but soon replaced by gentle concern.

“You shouldn’t be here, Y/N... Come on, let’s go back to your room,” she said, her voice firm yet kind.

Y/N resisted, holding Aelin’s hand. “I just wanted to know why she can’t stay here! Or maybe I could go too! Lady Marion is going, can I go too?” she complained, trying to give Evalin her best puppy eyes.

“Because...” Evalin hesitated. What excuse could she use? She didn’t like lying to the girls, but if she said it wasn’t safe, it would not only spark more interest but also add more reasons for her pleading. 

“Because someone has to stay here to keep Prince Dorian company, and Aedion... well, he’s not the best at it, is he?” Evalin sighed, giving the most generic answer she could.

However, it was not entirely false. Aedion was still on bad terms with the princeling for spilling tea on Aelin’s dress. 

Y/N huffed before getting up from the bed and hugged her, not noticing that one of the sun’s rays from her pendant had caught on Aelin’s still-scorched blue dress, tearing and falling onto the bedspread.

Aelin noticed and tried to warn her, but she had already left the room with her mother. With her eyes fixed on the chain, Aelin quickly wrapped it around her own, the pendants connecting, the sun encircled by the crescent moon. “I’ll return it later.” she whispered to herself.

But later, Terrasen was attacked.

The castle of Orynth was under siege. Flames licked at the stone walls, casting eerie shadows as screams echoed through the corridors. Adarlan, whom they had once welcomed as allies, were now ruthlessly burning and killing everyone in sight. The betrayal was a sharp dagger into their backs, a cruel twist after extending hospitality to those now wreaking havoc.

Aedion shielded Y/N with his body, keeping her safely behind him as they navigated the chaos as the last two survivors of Orlon’s personal guard guided them to the secret passengers . "Stay close," one of them muttered, gripping his sword tightly.

Y/N's eyes were wide with terror, tears streaming down her face. Her mind raced to Aelin, desperate to know her fate. "What about Aelin? What about Uncle Rhoe and Aunt Evalin?" she whispered to Aedion, her voice trembling.

Aedion's jaw tightened, his own worry evident despite his attempt to remain calm. "They'll be fine," he whispered back, "Aelin is strong, and so are Rhoe and Evalin. They have guards with them, they’ll be safe." his furrowed brow betrayed his own fear as his words sounded to not only reassure Y/N, but also himself.

They hurried down a narrow corridor, the guards pushing aside a tapestry to reveal a hidden door. "This way," one of them urged, ushering Y/N and Aedion into the secret passage. The door led them to the edge of Oakwald Forest, their only hope of escape. But as they emerged into the dim light of the forest, they were ambushed.

Adarlanian soldiers surrounded them, swiftly killing the guards who had been guiding them. "Run!" one of the dying soldiers shouted, his final act a desperate bid to save them.

Y/N didn't hesitate. She sprinted into the forest, her heart pounding, while Aedion drew a sword off the grass and followed, cutting and attacking any enemy that tried to block their path. Seconds felt more like hours, their skin and feet now bruised and scratched by the bushes as they entered the dark forest, the trees now looming like silent sentinels, and the sounds of battle faded as they ran deeper into the woods.

Y/N's breath came in ragged gasps, her mind a whirlwind of fear and grief. The betrayal, the loss, the uncertainty of their survival weighed heavily on her. Aedion was right behind her, his presence a small comfort in the midst of the nightmare.

As they reached a small clearing, they paused, both panting for breath. Aedion's face was grim, his eyes scanning the surroundings for any sign of further danger. “You’re okay?” he asked breathlessly, while scanning her with his eyes looking for any more serious wounds. 

Y/N was panting, breathless from running. Her body was caked with dirt and marked with cuts, her face streaked with tears that left trails on her cheeks. Her eyes were wide, lost and frightened, as she reached for her neck and realized her necklace was gone. She whispered Aelin's name and Orynth's, her voice trembling, lost for words.

Aedion felt the earth beneath his feet start to tremble, a subtle vibration that grew stronger as Y/N spiraled deeper into her panic, awakening her powers. He cut the distance between them, wrapping his arms around her, nestling her face against his chest beneath his chin, while his other hand gripped his sword tightly. He held her close, grounding her in the present and calming the tremors, ensuring they wouldn't attract any unwanted attention.

 "We'll find Aelin," he said, hugging her from the side, one hand on her head, the other still with a firm grip on the sword. his voice firm despite the sadness in his eyes.

"We'll find them all, I promise."

[meanbossart]

Hey!! U probably get that question often but like how did you get so so good at drawing like you for sure studied something with illustration or so right? Any tipps to get better at digital arr if ur working a fulltime job? Idk whenever i zoom out of my drawings it all looks wonky and the linework is either too thin or too thick and ugh i wish i had been brave enough to persue a carreer in the art field and got better when i had the time and choice. Now i feel with 25 its too late to become really good. Sorry for rambling i am kinda disappointed in myself overall. Thank you for your amazing art

I don't have a formal art education, but I have been drawing since I was a child. Drawing has just kind of always been what I do in my free time, and improving my skill and studying it in my own time is fun and challenging for me. I still have a ton to learn! My skill isn't where I want it to be and it probably never will be, but that's not gonna stop me from trying 😂

But I don't think it's ever too late to try learning a new skill. And If you can forgive my honesty, the concept of thinking that 25 is too old to start something from zero is kind of insane to me. If you start drawing right now, in 5 years you will be in a whole other skill level and be a measly 30 years of age - which is still very young, despite what the internet might lead some to believe.

Also, unlike a child who just doodles for fun, you have the capacity to manage your time, your attention, and to acquire the necessary resources to improve your art. Like, sure, I was drawing from a young age, but I sure as hell didn't take any of it seriously before I was in my early adult years - and then I started progressing much, MUCH faster thanks to then having the maturity to actually hone myself in the direction I wanted.

Just take things at whatever pace you can manage, but actually do it! The longer you spend lamenting about not starting earlier, the later it will be once you actually do.

Edit: Also don't zoom in on your art until it's like 80% done LOL