#i wanted to make another mini drawing to show what it looks like when he cries as phantom but i dont have that ability lol

[starry-bi-sky]

Childhood Friends Danny and Jason: Danny's Ghost Form

So here is what i think Danny's ghost form looks like in the childhood friends au: a lot less 'child friendly superhero' and more 'kid/teen who died in a lab accident'. My favorite part is his eyes, which stems from his grief over Jason's death. He always wears his goggles over his eyes in his fights to protect them from debris and mostly just to hide it from the living. It's very unsettling you know?

Here's the og post if anyone hasn't seen it yet

In case you cant read my handwriting: 1: "hair pushed back by goggles" 2: "usually wears goggles over eyes/hides unsettling eyes/hair fluffier" 3: "can sometimes see his heart glowing"

[cevansbrat0007]

A Friend in the Dark: Part I

Summary: Ari receives an unexpected call from you in the middle of the night. Takes place directly after the events in The Do-Over. And be sure to check out A Friend in the Dark: Part II!

Warnings: Mature Themes, Ari Being A Menace, Sexual Fantasies, Allusions to Oral Sex, References to Home Invasion, Cursing, Minors DNI

A/N: Special thanks to my creative consultant, @curls-and-eyeliner, who helped me come up with the opening. Part my Sweet Renegade Series. Semi-proofread, not beta'd. All mistakes are my own. Likes, comments, and reblogs are always appreciated. Thanks for reading!

Ari runs an agitated hand through his already tousled brown locks before tossing a stack of documents on his desk. Leaning back in his seat, he finds himself wondering why he was somehow always the one who always ended up drowning in a sea of never-ending paperwork. 

At this rate he was never going to make it home. The last thing he wanted to do was spend another night sleeping on the couch in his office. Unfortunately, it was quickly beginning to look like his only option. Of their own violation, his tired eyes stray towards the desk drawer that holds all the takeout menus. 

Maybe he’d try that new Mexican joint over on Madison – the one that claimed to have the best tamales in town. It was a bold claim to be sure. But it was definitely worth investigating if only so he could– 

A sudden knock at his door jolts Ari out of his thoughts. How strange. Buck, Pixie, and the rest of the gang had left hours ago. And he was sure they’d closed up on their way out, which meant that he should’ve been alone. 

The knock sounds again, this time a little more insistent. Next thing he knows, the door slowly begins to swing open to reveal…

You.

The woman he’d left behind months ago. Far away, in the little rinky-dink town of Bell’s Creek. Or so he’d thought. But now here you were. Standing there looking like you’d just stepped off a runway, wearing a black, off-the-shoulder mini-dress that hugged your curves just right.  

Stunned into silence, all Ari can do is continue to gape at you. His mind races as you step into his office, a million burning questions hitting him all at once. 

What brought you here? How did you find him? Was everything okay? 

“You’re a hard man to track down, Mr. Levinson.” You purr before taking a seat on the edge of his desk. Unable to help himself, his eyes stray to the hem of your dress as it rides up, giving him a glimpse of your deliciously thick thighs. 

“Why are you here?” He stammers, his mouth going dry when you invitingly cross your legs.

And now he knew that you weren’t wearing any panties.

You offer him a delicate shrug. “I tried to stay away, I really did.” Stretching your legs, you draw his attention to your stiletto clad feet. “But it was just too hard.” 

Ari had never considered himself to be the type of man who was into feet, but that never stopped him from admiring your perfectly painted toes. Tonight they were a shiny, deep red that matched your manicure. 

“Look, Duchess…I–”

“Tell me you didn’t miss me.” Reaching over, you use two fingers to tilt his bearded chin. “That you haven’t thought about me since you left Bell’s Creek.”

“Every damn day.” He admits hoarsely. “But we can’t–”

“We can.” You softly interrupt, before sliding off his desk and sinking to your knees, forcing the bounty hunter to move his chair to allow you space. “I’ll show you. Give you a taste of how good it’ll feel to have me the way you’ve always craved.”

Ari’s pulse kicks up the moment he feels you rest your soft hands come to rest on either of his thighs. Meanwhile, his already impossibly hard cock is busy straining in his jeans, desperately seeking relief. His head tips back as he waits for you to do something – anything – before he resorts to embarrassing himself by begging. 

“Did you really think I didn’t know how bad you wanted me?” You lightly drag your nails over his impressive bulge, delighting in the way he shivers at your touch. “You wanted me from the moment I walked into that church.” You allow your hands to rove higher so that you’re now gently gripping his belt. 

“Yes.” His breathing is shallow and labored.

“But it wasn’t until you found me at my shop that day, when you got angry at the thought of me sleeping with Martin, that you decided you wanted to fuck me.” You slowly begin undoing the clasp. “Isn’t that right, Detective Levinson?”

“Y-yes.” Ari rasps, licking his dry lips. He groans low in his throat when you wrap a hand around his girth, freeing him from the confines of his pants. 

“How many times have you imagined this?” The question comes out both sweet and silky. “How many times have you lain awake at night fantasizing about what I'd sound like when I’m choking on your thick cock?”

“Shit, baby!” He hisses as you begin stroking him up and down, working him with each sensual flick of your wrist. “Every fuckin’ night – gah!” 

“Wanna know a secret?” You ask at the same time as your mouth slowly starts to descend, heading in the direction of his aching member. “I’ve been dying to taste you too.” You pause, stopping just short of taking the plump mushroom head between your lips. 

“I can’t wait to find out if you’re salty…or sweet.” Ari’s hips buck when you finally take him into your mouth, greedily sucking him down as if you’d done it a hundred times. Of its own accord, a large hand fists itself in your curls, forcing your head down and making you gag as you struggle to take more of him. 

“That’s it, Duchess. Don’t fuckin’ stop. Don’t…don’t…don’t…”

Ari’s House – 3:00am

Ari suddenly shoots straight up in bed, blinking rapidly as his bleary eyes work to adjust to the darkness of his bedroom. He scrubs a weary hand over his beard before vaulting himself out of bed and heading towards the bathroom. 

Without flipping the light, he immediately turns on the tap, splashing his face with water. He’s annoyed by the fact that you’d managed to find your way into his dreams yet again. As if it wasn’t enough that you already seemed to plague his every other waking thought, now he also had to worry about you disturbing him in his sleep. 

Although it had been days since you’d last spoken with each other, that hadn’t stopped him from keeping tabs on you. While he tried to tell himself he was just doing his due diligence, deep down he knew there was a little more to it. In his mind, there was nothing better than watching your hips sway as you unknowingly went about your day.

Especially when you were wearing those leopard print leggings you seemed so fond of, or better yet, a pair of denim shorts that perfectly hugged your ass. Sure, he was a fool. But some days he was beyond caring. He’d long since decided that you were the only good thing about this dingy little town anyway.

Ari flops back down on the bed with a disgruntled sigh. He had a feeling that he wouldn’t be getting any sleep tonight, even if he could somehow convince his stubborn dick to cooperate. As he lays there, he finds himself wishing he would’ve gotten a chance to speak with you at the church potluck the other week.

At the time he’d been besieged by the townsfolk – mostly women – all of whom had demanded his attention. Meanwhile, you’d been content to stay huddled in the corner, picking at the food on your plate in a way that almost reminded him of a little bird. 

Closing his eyes, he wills his body to relax in hopes of reclaiming at least some of his inner peace. Only to jump when he hears his phone begin to ring from its place on his nightstand. 

Who the fuck was calling him at this hour?

Frowning when he doesn’t immediately recognize the phone number, he briefly hesitates before answering.

“Hello?” The greeting comes out a little gruffer than he intends.

“Ari?”

His world suddenly grinds to a screeching halt. Because while he doesn’t recognize the number, definitely knows the voice. 

He’d know your voice anywhere.

“Ari…are you there?” 

“Yeah, sweetheart. I–I’m here.” He gives a quick shake of his head as he attempts to get his mind to connect with his ears. “You okay?”

“I’m so sorry for calling so late. I really am, but…” There’s no missing the distinct hitch in your throat, even as you try to keep your voice low. “I think someone…” He listens as you trail off, most likely to try and collect yourself.

“You think someone is what?”

“I think someone is outside my house. I–I think they’re tryin’ to get in.” 

It’s at that moment when Ari feels all breath literally leave his body. Mostly because it was the last thing he expected you to say. Regardless, seconds later he’s on his feet, hastily throwing on his clothes.

“Where are you now?” His tone is short and clipped as he goes about collecting his things. 

“I’m locked in my room.” You whisper while struggling to keep the tears at bay. “I ran when I heard them scratching at the backdoor.”

“Good girl.” He grunts before putting the phone on speaker so that he can begin lacing up his boots. “You got somethin’ to protect yourself until I get there?” 

“I have a bat.” You supply helpfully, even as you huddle on the floor by your bed. 

“Baby, I meant more like a gun.” 

“Um, no. No.” You inwardly curse yourself for being so afraid of those damned things. Your uncle used to own one, but you’d foolishly gotten rid of it after he passed. ”I–I’m sorry.”

“It’s alright, sweetheart.” Ari speeds down the stairs, taking them two at a time as he holds the phone to his ear. “I want you to stay right where you are, okay? Gimme your address.”

“Okay.” Your fear is so palpable, it’s almost paralyzing. But you at least have enough sense to remember where you lived. Thank goodness for that.

“Good girl.” Grabbing his car keys off his kitchen counter, the bounty hunter makes it out of his house and into his truck in record time. “I’m on my way. You call this into the station yet?” He asks, double-checking that his preferred gun is still in his glove compartment. 

“N–no. Because what if I’m wrong and–”

“But baby, what if you’re right?” He swiftly interrupts as his vehicle’s engine roars to life. “Look, I’m gonna hang up with you and call this in.”

“Please don’t go!” You cry, before slapping a hand over your mouth. 

“I swear I’m gonna call you right back. Right fuckin’ back, okay?” God, he hated to leave you – even for a second. But this was something that had to be done. “You have my word.”

“O–okay.” Is all you can muster as you clutch your baseball bat tighter to your just. “But please hurry.”

“I’m comin’.” He assures you as he backs out of his driveway, pulling onto the street. “I’ll be there in ten minutes. And don’t you dare open up that door for anyone but me. You hear?”

“Yeah.”

“Good girl.” The bounty hunter praises once more. “Just try and stay calm for me. I’ll be there soon.” 

Gritting his teeth, he ends the call before dialing the one cop he knew would be on duty tonight – Officer Milton. Knowing time is of the essence, he hurriedly relays the info to the one man before hanging up and phoning you back. 

Except you don’t answer. In fact, it goes straight to voicemail. When the same thing happens a second time, Ari gives up in favor of concentrating on the road. He’d be to you soon. And whoever was responsible had better hope that the police beat him to the punch. 

Otherwise the fine officers of Bell’s Creek would have a dead man on their hands. 

END PART ONE  

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[luveline]

hello my love!! could you maybe show us what bedtime is like in the kbd universe? thank you, you’re incredible <3

kbd —dad!steve and mom!reader get their small family ready for bed. 3k

“She looks so pretty,” Avery whispers. 

Steve struggles to pull the hem of his sock over his ankle, crossing his legs to match her as she snaps an apple slice in half with her fingers, the juice wetting her pyjama top, her torso swaying as his knee bumps into hers. “Who?” Steve asks, blinking. 

“Wren,” Avery says, leaning back to let Steve see the baby where she’s napping in her bouncer. Avery shoves a chunk of apple in her mouth. “She’s pw-ery.” 

“Try not to talk with your mouth full, you might choke.” 

Avery nods, closing her mouth to chew up the rest of her food with chipmunk cheeks. 

Steve draws a little heart into her knee. She has a bruise from falling up the stairs a few days ago like a purple ink blot just under her kneecap, but she hasn’t complained. She didn’t cry when she fell, she just got back up and asked for a Capri-Sun. Steve’s surprised she’s so hardy, but she’s getting older. He’d sort of been hoping she’d want him to kiss it better.

“She’s pretty like her big sister,” he says. 

“I’m glad she’s stopped crying all the time.” 

“Me too.” He takes one of the smaller slices from her plate to eat, wiping juice from her cheek as he does. 

She grins. “Thank you.” 

“You’re welcome. You all done?” 

“Yep.” 

“Not hungry anymore?” 

“Nope.” She grabs her plate before he can. “I’ll put it in the sink.” 

“Thanks, beautiful.” 

She jumps up with her empty plate and does a spin, saying, “Who, me?” 

Steve laughs like an idiot, still chuckling to himself as the sound of her plate hitting the kitchen sink reaches his ears. Wren, finally out of her sleep regression (for now), doesn’t wake. All good signs of a good night. 

Steve lets his head fall back onto little legs. “What about you?” he asks Dove, the second youngest daughter, where she sits behind him on the couch. 

She hums under her breath, her hands quick to weave into his hair, petting it away from his face. He waits for an answer he doesn’t get, closing his eyes and turning his face into her knee. Her giggles are treacle sweet. “Don’t sleep,” she protests. 

“I’m tired.” 

“It’s not bed time.” 

She’s not gonna like what Steve’s about to tell her, if that’s the case. She had a screaming tantrum last night about bed time where she threw herself on the floor and whacked her hands until her palms turned bright red. He’s not wanting a repeat. 

“It is bed time,” he says gently, though it’s not for another half an hour, “but, I was thinking, because you’ve been so good today you’d stay up extra. Maybe even have hot cocoa before bed.” Steve turns to meet her eyes. “How’s that sound?” 

“Really?” she asks, her eyes blowing wide with excitement. Steve is starting to wonder if she’s not as mini-me as he used to think, growing into sweeter features as she leaves the baby-toddler stage and starts to look like a kid. He loves it. 

“That sound fun or what?” 

She dives at him. He has enough sense to have twisted and catches her before she can break any of his teeth. “You are the best daddy ever!” she declares seriously, almost tipping over his shoulder. 

He lets her dangle for a second, then yanks her back topside. “You’re my best girl, that’s why. Let’s go make the drinks. Actually, we better go see who else wants some.” 

You and Bethie are attempting some last minute crafts at the dining table, and you’re very interested in hot chocolate but Beth doesn’t like it and so, doesn’t want any. She does seem interested in a glass of milk with a couple of chocolate chip cookies, so it’s nearly the same thing. “Careful,” he says, putting the half a pint of milk down in front of her birdhouse cautiously, “you don’t wanna spill that, baby.” 

“Who says she’s gonna spill it?” you ask. 

“Don’t start with me,” Steve warns. 

You smile to yourself. You’ve a spatula for PVA glue in your hand, skins of glue dried to your fingertips flecked with splinters of wood. Lollipop crafts felt like a good idea when he’d suggested it, but then he didn’t actually want to do it, and you’d been kind enough to step in. I’m sick of mess, he’d confided. 

Well, you’d said, somewhere between a quick kiss pressed to his shoulder and your hand rubbing it away, you probably shouldn’t have asked me to have so many kids. 

I love mess, he’d corrected immediately. Love to make more of it someday. 

“We’re nearly done in time for bed,” you assure him now. 

“I told Dove she could have an extra half an hour.” He winks at you clumsily. 

“Oh, really? Well, maybe Beth and Avery should get some extra time too.” 

Beth dunks her cookie into the top of her cup. “No thanks. I’m tired. Can I sleep with Avery again?” she asks, milk dribbling down the sides of the glass to darken the coaster underneath. 

“You’ll have to ask her yourself,” Steve says. “Wait, where is she? I thought she was in here.” Something grabs him by the legs, a sudden clutching that activates a heat in his eyes and spine he can’t explain. He flinches sideways into a cabinet and almost steps on a rather small limb. “What the fuck.” 

“Boo!” Avery says, laughing brightly as Steve rights himself on the counter. 

“Avery! Did I step on you? I’m sorry,” he says, immediately bending down. “What were you thinking? I could’ve really hurt you!” 

“Daaad, I was just pulling a prank,” she says. 

He checks over the arm he was so sure he’d stepped on. “You okay?” 

“She’s fine,” you say. “Yeah?” 

“I’m fine!” She hugs his legs again. “You said a super bad word.” 

He was hoping everybody missed that. “Dove–”

“Dad,” Dove interrupts, kicking her little feet exactly where he left her sitting on the dinner table by your left, “bad words make me cry.” She says it all clunky and clumsy, having heard it enough times. Her Aunt Robin has a potty-mouthed girlfriend, and Steve can’t do damage control quick enough sometimes.

“No, it’s when you say bad words daddy cries,” Avery says. 

“I didn’t say one!” 

“I know! I just mean it’s not when dad says it.” 

“What?” Dove asks. “He did says it.”

You’re grinning. You love when Dove confuses herself, all kids go through it, where half the time they don’t know what they’re saying until you help them along, but you love Dove’s new phase especially because she’s always been so serious. “What Avery is telling you, baby, is that daddy doesn’t get upset when he says bad words because he’s a grown up.” 

“So when we’re older we can cuss too?” Bethie asks. 

Steve’s jaw drops. “No, Beth! No, none of you need to say bad words, and I don’t either, and I’m really sorry. Can we forget about it?” 

Steve makes hot chocolate and helps you clean the sorry mess you’ve made on the table, and, after some light teasing, everybody forgets he’d reacted so violently to Avery’s surprise. Well, almost. Dove is the first to succumb to a case of the sleepies despite being otherwise reluctant to give in, sitting on his thigh, marshmallows still whole in her drink. She’d barely managed four sips. 

Steve cuddles her to his chest, covering her ear where she nuzzles against him from the sounds of your and Avery’s giggling. “He went pale,” you’re saying. 

Beth offers Steve half of one of her cookies. “You didn’t,” she says. 

If he didn’t have his arms full of Dove he’d scoop her up. “Thank you, Beth. I love you.” 

“I love you too.” 

“Alright,” you say, twining your fingers and sliding them behind your head, your neck and back clicking audibly in the quiet of the Harrington house winding down, “I think it’s bedtime. Are you done with your drink?” 

You rinse the cups. Steve ferries Dove upstairs, has her down and tucked in in record time, soon enough to catch you as you and the rest of the girls make your way upstairs. Beth and Avery are beautifully silent, weary of their sensitive baby sister where she’s cradled to your chest. 

You attempt to put her down in her crib in your room, but Steve gets the feeling you aren’t successful when a crackly cry breaks out. 

“Oh, no,” Avery says. 

“It’s fine. Let’s go brush our teeth, okay? Mommy has it.” 

They brush their teeth. Steve wipes their faces down with a damp hand towel and has a moment of gratitude just touching their faces. They both look so loved, the way their eyes crinkle, the way they lift their chins, all too happy for Steve to do it. He loves these moments of being a dad most, he might say, second only to getting to talk to them, especially now they’re both holding conversation. They talk to each other none stop; Beth talks to Avery ten times as much as she does anyone else. 

“Are you having a sleepover again?” Steve asks. 

Beth turns to Avery pleasingly. “Can I? Please, please, please.” 

“Yes!” Avery says, big sister extraordinaire. She wraps her arms around Beth’s shoulders, taller, more aware of herself as she presses her cheek to Beth’s and mumbles, “Of course you can. I love you. I want us to have sleepovers every night.” 

You emerge from the bedroom victorious, heading into the bathroom as he and the girls come out. “I’m just gonna brush my teeth,” you say. 

“Gonna get Beth changed.” 

“Okay, I put her nightie on the foot of her bed earlier.” 

It’s routine but not without enjoyment. He makes sure they’re both comfortable in the night's sleepwear and takes care of their hair, before giving Avery’s room a quick half-clean and shaking out the sheets on her bed. Avery has the second biggest bedroom, though Bethie’s is nothing to turn your nose up at, and it gets Steve thinking as they climb up into Avery’s single bed. 

“I think it’s good for you guys to keep your separate rooms for now,” Steve says tentatively, “but what do you think about sharing?” 

The plan was that Dove and Wren would share, but if Avery and Beth are getting along so well, it might not hurt to ask. 

Beth gasps. “Our bedrooms?” 

“Like, you and Avery could both sleep in here. You have a bunk bed, or we could get you a big one to share, and you could share teddies.” 

“I don’t want to share my teddies,” Avery says. 

“Well, you don’t have to. I’m not gonna make you.” Steve squints at them both. “Bad idea?” 

“I want to share,” Beth says immediately. 

Avery has a better understanding of what that will mean. “Maybe.” 

“You don’t have to,” Steve says. “Your rooms are yours, okay? Maybe we can just get you a bigger bed anyways, Ave. You’re so tall now, in a couple of years you’ll be ten feet tall and we’ll have to bend you in half to get you to school.” 

This is the funniest thing a man could say, apparently —both Beth and Avery burst into girly giggles that ring down the landing. Beth sounds like she might be sick. She laughs so much, falling into Avery’s side as her big sister says, “Dad, that’s silly!” 

“I can show you, if you want. We’ll practise making you into an Avery flavour pretzel, c’mere.” 

She squeals and climbs over Beth’s legs to huddle in the corner of her bed. Steve doesn’t so much as touch her legs and she’s laughing again, panicked, hyper laughter like she can’t decide if she wants to be folded or not. He presses his finger over his smile. “Shh, shh, we can’t wake the babies.” 

“Sorry,” she laughs. 

“My fault. Don’t be sorry.” He gives her leg a squeeze. “How about we start to tuck you in, girls? Do we have everything we need?” 

Beth wants a few things from her own bed, but besides that, they’re ready. Well, they’re supposed to be ready, but Steve wound them up and it’s his own fault, he can’t even complain when they beg him to watch a movie. What’s the harm? he decides, turning on Avery’s TV and pushing their favourite tape into the VHS player. 

“The effect FernGully has on the new generation is amazing,” you say, wiping your eyes. You’ve changed into pyjama pants Steve’s sure you’ve had since you met him and a tank top with straps falling down your shoulders. He wants to pull them back over the curve of your shoulder, but he’s trying to be less smothering.

He fluffs the pillows behind the girls’ backs. “It’s the boy. What’s his name? Dennis? Daniel?” 

“Neither.” You put a fallen teddy back on the bed and turn on Avery’s star-shaped night light before flicking off the big light above. The TV glows green on their legs. 

“Gonna lie down?” Steve says, gentler now, easing them in. 

Avery flops back. Beth curls in on her side, and it reminds Steve of you and him. He can sleep any which way. You’re slightly more particular, but you’re happier curled on to him. He really loves how close they are as sisters, and he has to give Avery some credit, because while Beth is exceedingly easy to love, she’s a clinger, she worships her big sister, which must get heavy from time to time. 

Avery pulls the blankets up over them before Steve can do it himself. He sighs, tucking them both in. Blankets pushed gently under their sides, hair brushed back from their little faces, he says, “Love you, Ave. Love you, Beth,” kissing their foreheads in swift succession. “I’ll see you in the morning, okay?” 

“Love you, daddy,” they say at the same time. 

You touch his arm gently before leaning in for your own kisses. You’re slower than he’d been, turning their faces in your hand one after the other to place identical kisses on their cheeks. “Love you, sweetheart,” you say to Avery, and, “Love you, baby,” you say to Beth. Steve holds your back as you do. “Have good dreams, okay? And don’t mess with the TV. One movie tonight is enough, you’ll wake up with sore eyes.” 

He steals another kiss from both of them and then you’re closing the door behind you, the house much darker and quieter than it had been only ten minutes previous. 

“You want a glass of water?” Steve says. 

You catch his hand. “I got you one.” 

Neither you nor Steve bother with anything but bed. He draws back the blankets and you climb in, only stopping momentarily to make sure that Wren’s alright in her crib. You curl in the middle of the bed and wait for Steve to force his way beneath you, which he does, your face resting on his shoulder, your leg stretched across his. Your hip is a lump in the blankets. He lets his hand fall atop it, whistling a tired breath through his teeth. 

“Mm,” you agree, stretching out, curling in tighter. 

“I know,” he says. Can’t forget his best girl, can’t not think about how much he loves you when it’s you and him alone. Mostly. “You alright?” 

“Fine. Tireder than I thought.” Your eyes close, lashes brushing his chest. “H?” 

“What?”

“You okay?”

“Fine, honey. Was just asking you,” he mumbles. His pillow feels like a cloud beneath his head, the mattress even better, and the sheets are a brushed cotton that’s amazingly soft on his skin. 

He turns his nose down onto you for a not so secret sniff. 

“Feels too good to be true.” 

“My turn tonight,” he says. 

“No, baby, it’s my turn.” 

“That’s fine.” He’s not as tired as you, or at least not half as achy. If Wren wakes up crying (not definitely going to happen) or Dove has a late night startle (even less likely, though not impossible), he’ll take the burden tonight. “I wanted babies and I got ‘em.”

“I want them too,” you say. 

“Of course you do,” he says, rubbing your forehead with the tip of his nose affectionately. “That’s not what I meant.” 

“Less when they wake me up,” you joke. 

Steve feels up your side to your shoulder for a sleepy cuddle. You don’t realise how soft you can be, how warm you are pressed against him like this, how grateful he is to hold you. Maybe you can read his mind, or maybe as just pure evidence of such a feat, you cup his upper arm in your hand and begin to draw shapes over his skin, breaking the pattern with fleeting scratches. “Are you sure?” 

“Yeah, honey. I’m sure. You go to sleep now, okay? It’s Saturday tomorrow,” he whispers tenderly. “You don’t have anywhere to be.” 

“‘Cept here,” you whisper back. 

“Love you.” A brush of his lips to your eyebrow. “Goodnight, sweetheart.” 

“I love you.”

“I love you,” he says. He swears he’s gonna stay up for a bit and count your eyelashes or something, maybe pen you a love poem, write a note about your lips and how they pout when you’re nearly sleeping, but he forgets to when you press your face into the curve of his neck and kiss it clumsily. You fall asleep at the same time, the girls laughing in whispers just a few feet away behind the wall.  

[fayesia]

Day 4 - dubcon

"Snake" - Sirius x slytherin!reader

ִֶָ𓂃˖ ִֶָ✰࿐ warnings - rough sex, dirty talk, thigh riding, breeding kink, unprotected sex, p in v, creampie, no aftercare, petnames "bunny"

ִֶָ𓂃˖ ִֶָ✰࿐ wc - 1.1k

Everyone knew that you, a Malfoy, loathed the filthy blood traitor Sirius Black.

But no one knew the way he had his mouth and hands all over you in this small cramped broom closet, hidden in the winding hallways of forever changing directions by the moving staircases.

"Wait-Black stop-hmph"

You were shut up by the force of Sirius' hands pulling you chest to chest with him, one of his hands winding up your back to yank a fistful of your hair. Whining out your hand came forward to slap at his chest, but he dismissed your movements quickly with his other hand.

"Stop fucking fighting, little slut acting like she doesn't want this after practically begging for it with these clothes."

You thought the denim mini skirt was cute. It was never something your pureblood parents would allow you to wear at home, and it perfectly matched with your soft pink lace adorned singlet that read babygirl. Sirius seemed to disagree, as the mere sight of you in Hogsmeade had him using the table to cover his crotch. A rather large bulge under his jeans forming, similar to the one he had right now with the close proximity between the two of you.

His mouth canvased across the expanse of your jawline and neck, his teeth scraping against your skin, drawing out near sinful moans from you. Moving his hands beneath your top, he caressed the small of your back up to the middle of your spine, a whimper almost drawn out of you. Sirius' head bent down until your noses were almost touching, his eyes focused on your own, and you couldn't bear to look away. As he knee slid between your thighs, your denim skirt easily rode up your waist.

"Do you really want me to stop babydoll?"

"No"

You answered almost simultaneously with the movement of your hips, the contact of your pussy against the rough material of his jeans through your panties had you wet. Smirking against your jugular, you heard a huff of amusement come from Sirius' mouth.

"Don't think this fucking means anything Black"

"Oh no of course not I would never think anything of the way your cunt is soaking my jeans as you hump my thigh like a fucking dog in heat"

Blushing ferociously you grumbled at Sirius to shut up, continuing to ride his thigh you had finally found the perfect angle to rub your clit. The coil inside you tightening as you softly moaned out, a noise Sirius took immense pleasure from, his hard cock almost painfully yearning to be free from his jeans. Right as you neared your high, you dug your nails into Sirius' shoulders, digging harder when he removed his thigh from your thighs before you could even come.

"What the fuck- no that's it. If you can't fucking get me off I'll just find someone else to do it. I'm sure your brother Regulus can make me feel a lot better than your needle sized dick."

Finishing your rant you looked up at Sirius' face.

Fuck.

You made a mistake.

That rant ended up with you being bent over, panties pulled to the side, as Sirius had one hand pulling a fist of hair and another pushing your back into a deep arch. His cock was also deep. Pounding brutally inside of you as you whined at him to wait. Hands scrambling to push him away as well as grip onto a nearby shelf for balance. The stretch was painful which your face showed but Sirus didn't notice, or rather, he didn't fucking care, it was one way to prove you wrong about your "needle sized dick" comment. Something he didn't appreciate at all.

"You think anyone can fuck you like this. Only I make you a slut. Fucking whore for this cock aren't you"

You couldn't even get the words out, the start of one was quickly finished with various gasps and moans uncontrollably coming from your mouth.

"You wanted this though didn't you. Riled me up and put this whole show on so I would fuck you like a proper bitch"

"N-ugh-no no-didn't fuck ah"

"N-n-n dick made you so dumb you can't even fucking speak can you"

Sirius mocked you, and shamefully, you tightened around his thick length at his words, your noises only increasing alongside the ferocity of his movement and foul words. He roughly pulled you away from the shelves, turning you so that you were facing him before swiftly entering you again. Your pussy had gotten used to the stretch but the sheer length of him penetrating you from a different and deeper anger made your limbs weak. Enough so that Sirius was able to lift your top, continuing to thrust inside of you, and grope your breast. The supple flesh was ravaged by his long nimble fingers which found themselves busy with your nipples, tweaking the soft buds until the hardened.

"Fuckin' stupid babygirl huh, is that what you liked to be called when you bend over for every snake"

Your head moved side to side, Sirius had rendered you speechless suffice for the quiet noises still coming from you.

"Bet you're a cumslut for them too, you let them fill you up, let them breed you with their little pureblood devils"

"Ngh-no-never let them.."

"Fuck. But you'll let me yeah. Cause you want me to. Fill you and use you like the cumslut you are, turn you into my favourite breeding bunny. You want that don't you babygirl?"

Sirius' thrust were more furious as he ranted about cumming in you. Your back was growing sore from rubbing against the worn out wood as well as your neck which was forced to bend at an angle where you could see sirius' cock enter in and out of you. His dick was rubbing against that perfect spot in you as you furthered tightened around him almost cutting off the circulation to his cock. The noises he let out were now almost anamilistic, sounding like an angry canine marking its territory. Which is exactly what he was going to do.

"Gonna cum inside yeah, pump you full of my blood traitor babies."

"Sririus wait-"

But it was too late. His head had already dropped back to face the ceiling, and he was groaning out without a care as to who could hear him. Warm thick liquid was coating your inner walls, which you could barely react to from the body shattering climax you were experiencing. Left shaking in Sirius' arms from the feeling of your liquid mixed together dripping out of you as he pulled his now limp dick out.

"Look at you now fucked stupid. And you think my brother could've fucking done that, god you're pathetic."

His eyes glared at you as he used his wand to fix himself to look presentable before leaving the closet and closing the door behind him with a harsh slam. You were left leaning against the wall with your top flipped up and you skirt bunched around you waist, Sirius' cum still leaking out of you.

No, his brother would never do this.

Kinktober Masterlist

[starlightazriel]

bee 10

series desc: modern best friends >lovers au(fem reader, tattoo artist coke boi az haha) part 10 psa: not everyone will like this part lol don't kill me borderline domestic violence/abuse

warnings: 18+, rough sex where reader is drunk(blurry consent lines, i know i have issues im sorry), unprotected sex, spanking, praise, bj, possessive az, dark az, more groveling, drug/alcohol addiction, az having lots of inner monologue, self loathing, depression

a/n: canon az would never do this omg hes an angel with women bee series az however is a hot mess PROCEED W CAUTION!!!! kisses xoxo

AFTER COMMENTS RECEIVED I ADDED A POLL FOR THE NEXT 24 HOURS REWRITE OR PART 11 VOTE HERE

wc: 4.7k

other parts can be found on my az masterlist<3

ten

Azriel was watching the front door for hours. He knew she was back in town, he saw Kat's story. Y/n standing next to her, drink in hand. A grin, bloodshot drunken eyes, swollen from crying too, a tiny jean mini skirt, a crop top that was definitely Kats as it stretched too tightly over her generous breasts, nipples rings showing through the taut fabric. It had taken everything in him not to throw his phone through the flat screen. She was out looking like that, and he was here, miserable, sober besides all the weed he had smoked, which didn't do much for him anymore.

12:23 am.

He did clean up the house a bit for her... He couldn't let her walk into the mess he had created. He started with all of the trash, moved to the dishes, put any paraphernalia away back in his room, picked up all of his clothing strewn about the house.

1:37 am.

Fuck. The drawings. Azriel hesitated in front of her door, though he had been spending a lot of time in there recently, knowing she was back in the city, it somehow felt like a violation. That was ironic, considering how all of this had even started between them. It took effort not to physically cringe when entering her room, and his stomach twisted, cheeks burning at the realization that she had been in here. She had stopped here earlier before going to Kats. There was her bag. Right there, in the corner. His eyes settled on her bed, three of his drawings laid there carefully. He swallowed thickly as he looked at the drawings, each one made in the peak of his mental breakdown he had been going through since she left. One was of their hands, his own scarred flesh against her delicate smooth skin. One of her by herself, laughing, happy, his gut twisted. The last, of them kissing, him holding her face in his hands, tear stains dotted the page and that feeling of guilt that he was all too familiar with lately settled, dragging him down with it.

2:01 am.

Fuck. What the hell was she even doing? Where was she? He let out a heavy sigh before he picked up each and every one of the messy drawings he had done and brought them into his own room, shoving them deep into the filing cabinet by his desk. That was when the pacing about the entire house began— he couldn't possibly sit still now.

2:22 am.

Twenty minutes of pacing wasn't him doing any good, so on went the TV, he thought some cartoons should make him feel better and he settled on CatDog. Another spliff, some chips, cartoons humming in the background. It was better than going out of his fucking mind wondering what she was doing. Which he was still doing— but at least the mindless cartoons helped to drown out the voices screaming in his head, and the insatiable desire to do a line. He had forced himself to stay sober today... He wanted a clear head when he spoke to her.

2:46 am.

Azriel froze when he heard the doorknob turn, his heart beginning to pound wildly. He hadn't seen her since that night on her parents porch. What was she going to say? He had been preparing himself for the worst.

"You cleaned," a small hiccup, flushed cheeks, nervous, sad eyes avoided his as she entered the apartment. She was looking around, anything to avoid eye contact.

"I did," he rose to his feet, dropping the end of the spliff into a the ash tray he had been using. He took a few strides closer, freezing in the hallway when he finally got a good look at her. Lipstick smudged across her lips, hair disheveled, stray pieces falling around her face and eyes.

"Az," she whispered, her eyes widening slightly as they met stare that was growing angrier with each passing second, the emotion emanated from him, filled the apartment like a heavy shadow that pressed into her chest, that made her want to cower away from him.

He didnt know what it was, what over came him but he was in front of her in an instant, long scarred fingers grabbling her face, jaw clenched, grip tight around her own jaw, her cheeks squished, smudged lips smushed together. She's afraid of you, stop. She yelped quietly, eyes wild, wide with fear as she stared up at him, a pleading look in her eyes.

Stop now.

"What the fuck did I say?" it was a low growl, deep from his throat, she was drunk, he could tell, she could barely keep herself up, her knees wobbled, both hands curling around his arm, trying to pull him off of her. He knew this wasnt okay— no this was wrong, so very wrong.

Let her go.

"Az," she whimpered softly, her eyes glazed with tears.

Fucking stop— irreversible damage Azriel, stop now, before you can't.

"I told you not to fucking play with me. You fucking reek like booze and you look like a cheap fucking whore," a lie, his eyes flashed as it passed his lips, she thrashed slightly trying to free her face from his grip. "Stop fucking moving," he grunted, releasing his grip on her face to grab her neck, his fingers squeezing against her soft flesh, he felt her swallow beneath his grip, his blood thrummed.

"Az stop," she begged, her fingers still wrapped tightly around his arm, eyes wild and nervous as her nails dug into his skin.

"This is mine, its all mine," he rasped, his other hand roaming roughly over her body, "I swear to fuck— y/n if you gave my pussy up," he nearly choked on the words, his blood boiling and stomach churning at the thought.

This is wrong Azriel— stop, stop now. You should be on your knees begging forgiveness, stop.

This wasnt him, this wasnt supposed to be happening... This was his father— this is how his father treated women, not him.

"Az, I didnt," her voice broke as she rasped, her eyes were afraid but also— tender, because she knew him, she knew he didnt mean to treat her this way, she understood him on a level that no one else could.

"I should slap the fuck outta you for coming home like that," his fingers loosened on her neck, a sigh of relief escaping her lips with the motion. He didnt mean it, he would never hit her, his chest tightened, her eyes flashing as his words sunk in.

What the fuck is wrong with you? She's never going to talk to you again.

"Im sorry," she slurs softly, her glazed gaze dropping as if she couldn't look him in the eyes, guilt settled on her face. No, this is my fault, don't do that, don't look like that because of me.

"Don't be sorry," His voice was still firm but his eyes softened, swallowing the lump in his throat. I don't deserve you, run. Fucking run. "Just be a good girl and take off your whoring outfit," he finally loosed his fingers from her neck with a gentle push and she stumbled back, wobbly on her feet, she's drunk as fuck, don't fucking do this Az, this is fucked. Youre fucked, youre fucked in the head.

"You missed me didnt you?" she relaxed again allowing a small drunken giggle to escape her lips, she steadied herself on the near by side table before beginning to undress. His eyes followed her movements as her fingers slid over her silky skin and she slowly unclasped the dainty clips on her high heels revealing the fresh looking French tipped toes, his mouth watered at the sight of her.

Tell her how much you miss her. Tell her the truth, tell her youre sorry. Put her to bed Azriel, change her clothes, put her to fucking bed you sick fuck.

Anger outweighed his desire to do the right thing, he couldn't stop himself, what if this was his last chance to fuck her? To feel her?

"Keep going," he encouraged, his hard cock aching in his pants, pressing against the fabric of his sweats, he could feel the precum leaking from the tip, painfully so, he hadn't gotten his nut off since last time they'd fucked weeks ago. He watched as she slid the little mini skirt down her long smooth tattooed legs, many of them he had done himself. She looked so fucking good, shit he'd missed her. "Mhmm," he hummed to himself, his eyes burning into her skin, not looking away for even a second. She shimmied off the crop top next, her braless breasts bouncing deliciously as she freed them from the tight top. A soft involuntary groan escaped his lips at her now near bare body before him. He took a step toward her, placing his hand under her chin and tilting her head up so he could inspect her, she shivered slightly at the touch and he pressed his thumb lightly into her chin, his eyes raking over her bare skin.

"Azriel," she whispered, squirming slightly under his gaze, he froze at the small purply spot behind her ear, a little hickey.

"Oh youre so fucked," he let out a soft breath, poking the small bruise, she let out a small yelp, flinching away from him.

"Az! What is wrong with you?!"

So many things.

"What is wrong with you?" a soft growl escaped his lips, his eyes growing darker with each second that passed, he reached behind her, his body pressing against hers as he did, her breath caught, her eyes wide as she stared up at him. In a swift motion he cleared everything off of the side table in the hallway, the ceramic bowl that held their keys cracking on the floor, she winced, opening her mouth to say something but he grabbed her chin tightly again, forcing her to meet his gaze. "You come into my house, at almost three am, dressed like a fucking thot with a hickey on your neck, face all fucked up," he released her jaw aggressively, her head thrown to the side slightly, she let out a soft whimper, rubbing her chin. "Who gave it to you?" he demanded, placing his hand on her shoulder and whirling her around, pressing her against the table so her hips were flush with it, another small whine escaped her lips.

"It doesn't matter Az-"

"Tell me," he growled softly, his hand connecting with her ass in a sharp smack, she flinched, her hand finding the edge of the table and she held tightly. "Tell me," a warning edge in his tone

"E-Eris!" she yelped out softly, bracing herself for the next impact.

"Yeah, youre so fucked," he chuckled dryly, without an ounce of humor in his tone. Rage was coursing through his blood, red, red was all he could see. Fucking Eris, why? Why him? He didnt know why it infuriated him so much, maybe because he was so different from Azriel, practically opposites. How could she even be attracted to both of them? His pale perfectly smooth skin and red hair like the fucking devil, immaculate cleanness, infinite pockets and endless confidence and suave. He hated all of it.

"Az please," she begged, and he was too angry to even acknowledge the damage he knew he was doing.

"Youre soaking wet," he yanked her thong down, exposing her bare ass to him, his mouth watered again at the sight. "Is it because you like when I rough you up like this?" another smack to that same reddened spot on her bum followed by another soft whimper, her fingers gripping the edge of the table tightly. "Or is it because you like redheaded pricks?"

"Both," she bit back, her words slurred, he laughed again, that same humorless cold chuckle before his hand connected with her skin again, the sound echoing through the quiet hallway. A shaky breath released from her lips as she braced herself for more, her eyes squeezing shut.

"Makes me sick you let him put his hands all over you. Act like a whore get fucked like one," his gravelly voice laced with intent as he released his hard cock from his sweats, they pooled on the floor at his feet as he wrapped his fingers around his thick length. She gasped softly, wincing at the sting as he slapped his cock on the round of her ass in that same spot he had spanked numerous times. His teeth sunk into his lower lip, cheeks flushed with anticipation, he had missed this.

"Youre mine, you understand me?" he asked, his tone sharp as he slid his leaking tip over her entrance, he hissed softly under his breath at the feeling of her wet cunt on his most sensitive skin.

"Yes Az, yes I understand," she rasped softly, another soft yelp leaving her lips as he shoved his cock into her, a low guttural groan leaving his lips. He had missed this so much.

"Good girl," he ground his hips against her ass, pinning her against the table, another small cry left her lips as he pulled his throbbing cock nearly all the way out and back in, the table shook beneath them. His thrusts were greedy, quick and unforgiving as she fell apart beneath him. Her pussy clenched around him, the tip of him dragging across her g-spot with every forceful stroke.

"Az," she let out a broken whimper, her mouth falling open, face twisting in blissful pleasure as she came all over his cock. He rasped a breath, surprised he hadn't been the one to cum first. Maybe she had been wound just as tightly as he was.

"Oh?" he breathed out, panting softly from the pace, small beads of sweat forming at his temples. "You came already?" he asked, a prideful smirk tugged at the corner of his lips as he ground his hips his cock filling her up so perfectly, her creamy release leaking around the base of his cock. She only whined softly in response which was only broken up by a soft yelp when he abruptly yanked his cock from her. Azriel grabbed her shoulder, pulling her up on wobbly legs before pushing her down on her knees.

"Go on," he grunted, his eyes glazed as he stared down at her, she was drunk as hell. He swallowed, wrapping his fingers into her hair and tapping his cock on her face, she loosed a breath, her jaw dropping open for him. She gagged as his cock hit her throat, not nearly fitting, he moaned, holding her head in place and fucking her face. "Fuck baby, good girl," he panted softly, his cheeks flushed, eyes glued to her, she moaned around him, her eyes squeezed shut, tears forming at the corners of her eyes as he brushed the back of her throat over and over. He hummed in approval as she swirled her tongue around his tip, dragging it along the underside of his cock, over his balls and then back up, her lips wrapping around him again.

Azriel cursed under his breath, his fist tightening in her hair as he released his thick ropes of milky cum into her mouth, she nearly choked as it shot to the back of her throat, one of her hands gripped the back of his knee tightly as she swallowed every last drop and sucked his cock clean. She panted, shrinking down onto the floor a bit her knees nearly buckling beneath her. He released her hair as she sunk down, a shaky breath escaping her lips as he did, his gut wrenched at the sight of her. On the floor beneath him, body dusted with red marks that he knew would turn to purple by the morning, he left them there. Azriel swallowed thickly as he tucked his cock back away into his pants before leaning down, putting his hands under her arms to lift her.

"Come on, get up," his tone is soft as he helped her up, once she was on her feet he easily he picked her up, and she rest her head on his chest as he brought her to the bathroom. "You feel lighter... You eating?" he asks, the guilt beginning to gnaw at his gut.

What the fuck is wrong with you? Fucking sick piece of shit.

"Mhm," was her only response, he let out another small sigh before setting her down on her feet. "Where's all my pictures?" she slurred softly, her eyes raking her her room.

"Put em away," he muttered, a blush creeping onto his cheeks as he rifled through her clothing retrieving a soft cotton pair of panties and a long t shirt.

"I liked them Az," she mumbled lazily, her eyes closed as he dressed her in her more comfortable clothing. He winced a little at her words

"Bed time," he breathed, steadying her on her feet before scooping her up in his arms again, and placing her into her bed. He tucked her in, pulling the blankets up to her chin and tucking them around her body.

"Why didnt you tell me you were moving to Vegas Azriel?" she asked, her words still slurred, he swallowed hard, tugging at his hair as he sat on the edge of her bed.

"We should talk tomorrow," he muttered, knowing she probably wouldn't remember the conversation if they had it now. She only nodded, her eyes still closed. Azriel reached out hesitantly and gently rubbed her back as she fell asleep.

He stayed there, watched her sleep, the soft glow from the string lights she had put up along one of her walls the only thing iGuilt gnawed at his gut, at his insides, he wanted to jump out of his own skin.

She deserved so much more than him... The little girl that he had shared his favorite candy with in front of her house, the girl that had saved him, so many times— she deserved the world, and he couldn't give it to her. He couldn't even keep her happy, the dark circles and the drop in weight proved that. It was his fault. All of it.

All day, he had gone all day without a single line.

And now— after he had taken advantage of her, put bruises on her, fucked her while she was too drunk to say no, said horrible fucking things he didnt mean...

Now he needed a fucking line.

-

A soft groan escaped my lips as I rolled over, pain, I was in pain everywhere— felt like I had been hit by a damn bus. My head pounded from the amount of alcohol I had consumed, my pussy was still lightly throbbing, completely beat up from last nights activities.

The house was quiet, but still my head throbbed.

My mind was fuzzy but I remembered pieces, remembered that I had made out with Eris, come home late, Azriel had put his hands on me- we had fucked. I groaned again, pressing my palms into my aching eyes.

Obviously, Azriel was out of fucking line— out of control. I hadn't thought our situation could get any worse, and now, impossibly worse.

Could I blame him for his actions when nobody taught him how to love someone? When I knew that his need for control had rooted from the childhood horrors he had once faced? Could I blame him for his actions when I knew his brain had developed around abuse and violence? No, I couldn't blame him.

Maybe I was in denial, but underneath it all? Still my Az.

Waiting on the counter for me was a latte and a breakfast sandwich from my favorite cafe, next to it a folded piece of paper. I unfolded it, my chest swelling at the bouquet he had drawn along with a few bees flying around it, the drawing was messy a few ink splatters where he had pressed the pen down too hard, but still beautifully done like anything he touched with his artistic ability. A small message scribbled at the bottom.

hope its still warm when you get up im sorry if you don't completely fucking hate me stop at the shop before your shift, i love you, azriel

Still my Az.

I sighed, frustration beginning to bubble within me. Always lax, always acting like everything was just fine. I was tired of it, I was tired of always just pretending like everything was okay when that dark cloud of depression had reared its ugly head weeks ago.

It was an effort to shower, to get dressed, I didnt have the will to put any makeup on besides a little mascara afterwards. Every movement felt heavy and painful and full of more effort than it should, but it wasnt only my physical condition from drinking an ungodly amount and Azriels- outburst. It was also my emotional state- my brain so utterly exhausted from all of the trauma I had been enduring in the past weeks. I couldn't even bare to look in the mirror for more than a few moments either, the fingerprint shaped bruises dusted along my jawline highlighted by the brightly lit bathroom.

It was even more of an effort to get myself out of the car when I reached the shop. Anxiety gnawed at my gut, would they ask? Would they even notice? It didnt matter, I needed answers. I needed answers to questions I hadn't even formed yet. The bells chimed as they usually did and the stares I received upon my entrance didnt do anything to sooth my anxious gut. The lack of clientele in the waiting room definitely helped, a little.

"Hey," I said wearily to Kat and Cass, I avoided eye contact at all cost, and found my usual place leaning against the counter. Kat was in her chair behind it, Cassian perched on a stool nearby.

"Hey boo," Kat says quietly, I could feel Cass' boring into me. Don't bring it up. I could tell by his lack of greeting he was about to.

"Y/n, please don't tell me Az did that," Cassians voice is soft but I could hear the concern laced in his tone.

"Is he here?" I ignored his question completely, I didnt want to get into it. Not now.

"Hes doing a tattoo, Cassians room is empty tho— if you wanted to wait for him, its been a couple hours, hes almost done," Kat didnt pry, she knew better, and Cass didnt protest when she offered his room up without asking first.

"Thanks," its slightly breathless, with an effort not to burst out in tears in front of them. I couldn't handle the worried stares— the pity. The door clicked shut behind me and I dropped my bag on Cassians piercing bed and slid into his chair. Alone, now, I let the tears of frustration flow freely. They were silent, but hot and streaming, I wiped my eyes with my sleeves, letting out an exasperated sigh.

I didnt know how long it had been when I heard his voice outside, I held my breath to listen. "She's here?" surprise, hopeful surprise.

"Az— Im not past putting you on the floor if you put your hands—"

"Im not," Azriel cut him off with annoyance. I straightened, realizing he was about to be in here.

I sniffled, wiping my eyes again quickly to try and hide the evidence of my tears before Az stepped in, in all his brooding glory. His face was grave, eyes impossibly more tortured than usual, hair messy and disheveled, chains stacked, poking out from under his shirt, he was in the same clothes that he had been in last night and it didnt look like he'd gotten an ounce of sleep.

"Leave it open," I commanded softly, I saw Cassian quickly look away and back toward Kat as Az began to shut the door. Hurt flashed in Azriels eyes, but he stopped, leaving the door where it was. It wasnt wide open, but open enough.

"You don't trust me," it wasnt a question, but a statement, and he was right, to an extent at least. I didnt think Az would hurt me— after last night... I wouldn't feel bad for asking him to leave the door open.

"Youre fucked up," I muttered when our eyes met, his pupils always a tell tale, he swallowed, his throat bobbing with the motion. "Probably should have this conversation another time."

"I was always fucked up Bee, every fucking moment I was fucked up— it doesn't matter," he took a step toward me, I held my breath again, my eyes tracing every movement he made. "Im sorry." Another step, I bit my lip, my cheeks flushing as I watched him drop to his knees in front of me.

"Sorry doesn't fix everything," my voice broke, he winced, his eyes boring into mine, showing me a vulnerable side Id never seen before.

"I know that," he breathed, and I almost broke all over again seeing the tears that threatened to spill from his eyes. "Im so fucked in the head Bee nothing I did last night was okay- fuck- it was- Im sick Im sorry," he rambled, he slid his hands into his hair, his fists curling into it, his elbows on either side of his head.

"Its not okay none of it— the fucking bottle girls, the lying, last night especially... I- you asked me last night why I kept Vegas from you and I have nothing- I have no good fucking answer or excuse that makes it okay but I swear I was gonna ask you to come with me, like fuck y/n I wish you could see I wish you could understand—" rambling again, I let him, my tears flowing again, words failing me. "I would let Rhys fucking sue me for breaking contract before I would leave this fucking city without you," his cheeks were flushed, tears running down them, I hadn't seen this before... As well as I knew him he never showed this much raw emotion, besides anger. "I know Im a fucking addict and a fucking alchy, but Im trying to be better, I went to AA, Im trying to quit drinking, but Im fucked Bee- Im so fucked up from all the shit Ive never faced and Im so fucking sorry I put that on you lastnight."

AA, he had done that for me, my heart ached for him. To hear him say those things about himself, in front of his friends, my heart ached knowing how hard all of this must be, but for me, he was doing it for me.

"If you never forgive me I deserve that, I honestly do Im a piece of shit— a fucking stain on your very existence you deserve so much fucking more than someone like me," I wanted him to stop, I wanted him to stop saying all of those horrible things, as angry as I was at him.

"Im so fucking sorry," he breathed again, his voice breaking, with a sob. Az, my Az, the one who hid behind that cold stare and never let anyone in, the one who never let that hard exterior crack... Was on his knees for me... Every word, Kat and Cass could hear every single word, they could hear him cry, hear his confessions his countless apologies and he didnt care. He didnt care that they knew, he only needed me. He needed me like air to breathe.

And I felt it, I felt it with every ounce of me because I needed him just as much.

So I didnt hesitate when I reached for him, when I pulled his hands from his hair, and pulled him to me. His body went limp, his knelt form hunching over as he let his head fall into my stomach.

"It's okay Az, breathe," my voice was soft as I stroked his hair, holding him close to me while he cried.

I knew it wasnt okay, none of it was, but he needed me and I needed him, and the rest I would figure out later.

-

a/n: wow they are toxic and codependent hahaahahaha NOT FULLY PROOF READ EXCUSE MISTAKES

taglist<3: (if you changed your username and still want to be tagged lmk, or would like to be added to the list)

@smalljasper289 @cynthiesjmxazrielslover @scorpioriesling @userxs-blog @lilah-asteria @abadfantasybook @judeduartewannbe @lindsayscottagebythesea @velarisdusk @serxndipity-ipity-blog @julesvanslutta @honk4emoboyz @bookishbishhh @dakotali @blessthepizzaman @scooobies @durgenyx

[serv0z]

Starlos turn 1!!!! Next will probably be my fallen human designs and then Dalv since I already have the previous one done :3 Yapping below!!

firstly. i am reading ALL these tags im so happy you like my designs NJKCDSDS I like to think of them in a story aspect !!! I love the og designs but they're sometimes missing key things that fit with what they do and their personality or show their relations with another character!! but sprites are hard to do nd i am a detail-lover LMSDUIDSJFSK so you cant see much without zooming in but aside from the blue dots scattered around his skin he also has white freckles that are meant to kinda be like!! mini constellations. I like to think he got it from crestina!! His hat is lighter on the underside to give it more of a pop and he has one of the bows ceroba has with a bell around his hat. I imagine she gave it to him sometime when they were kids nd he put it on his hat. the shawl. needed so much more detail. i added kinda these spikes similar to sunrays or his lil star head that peek out from the base. i have his scarf a brown line and dark brown dot to match it.

I wanted him to have the lil dangly bits from the shawl so i threw those on there and darkened the end of the shawl. His undershirt, in game is the same as what we draw as a 'scarf' but im pretty sure its a turtleeck. I didnt want it to be tho so the shirt is a darker blue. hes got a bracelet that hes matching with the posse!! each color represents of them. He keeps it on at all times. while the hip holster was nice i think he'd have it more secure so it wraps twice around. His pants looked a lil bland so a blue line kicked it up. his boots resemble a star on purpose!! obv his spurs are gonna kinda resemble a star too. Gave him a tail bc i really like the hc he has one,, hes got his lasso to the other side of him attatched to the belt for easy access. his shawl!! also has a bunch of scattered stars on it to make it nicer!! hes got a clover by his badge, i imagine he finds one some time after clover passes and wears it for 'good luck' and to carry clover with him yk? Since there's the growth of the dunes after true pacifist i imagine they get all kinds of life growing there too so its not too farfetched !!

[zeondraws]

I poked a few questions at Secret Mode on their discord server and got an answer back today. Right after I came home and I can't stress how happy I got reading it.

I'll try to show my the questions and the answers together, so that people on tumblr have enough context what I asked about. Figured you guys might enjoy.

"Does Muir play the Bagpipe?" - Personally (others might disagree), I could definitely see Muir play the bagpipe (especially if he can annoy Innes with it!) but what would most likely happen is that he would bring something small that is allowed in his baggage like an harmonica.

"Something I noticed is that McLeary's name seems to be an innuendo to MacReady from The Thing, which made me wonder: Were names chosen at random or did they serve a specific purpose? Another person I know noticed Muir means "sea" while Innes means "island"." - I think the short answer is yes names have meaning and none of them were picked at random! But our philosophy is to let people draw their own conclusion as we don't want to make things "official" by giving our reasons! (we love to read/see people create their own theories so feel free to share them!)

"One small thing me and other people wondered, ingame we found a schedule for the shifts. A bunch of the crewmates seem to be listed on it, like "Derek M."? and "Joey I." Where we wondered if those were the first names of Muir and Innes?" - To my knowledge Muir and Innes have always existed in the game and can be found listed on that schedule I think although it might be hidden. Derek and Joey might be in the background without lines. - Innes' first name is Terry and Muir's name is Ewan.

"Another mini question I had was, is it possible to know who lived in the room 121? I could never find any indications thus far." - 121 was meant to be Innes and Muir's room...Innes is the one who likes reading. Seeing how much fans love them I wish we'd set dressed it more with clues about them.

"And my last goofy question is, when Muir basically yeets Innes across the deck, he is still animated when he lands inbetween the containers (I'm using a mod to look around the level a bit more). Did that have a specific reason? Did Muir just threw him across the deck or did he want to carry him?" - For Innes being animated for a bit longer, the simple answer is that our lead animator always plan to show a tiny bit more than what is shown because you never know if an angle might change...

With this I am finally able to somewhat complete my picture of the crewmate rooms. Thank you so much! I am learning so much about this game and how the developers approach the lore. I've never really been in such a community before so this is all very new for me. But a very positive experience (Since I feel extremely awkward asking questions, where I never know if I sound pushy/annoying, so I am often extremely nervous).

But this also means I have another detail to add for my video- Ooohhhh!

[tadpolesonalgae]

Rhysand x reader: Peacock Feathers[*]

A/N: yeah, I like this one.

Summary: he always has something fun planned for Date Night.

Warnings: heavy voyeurism, heavy exhibitionism, fingering, not wearing seatbelts, sexual tension, 5.2k words

‘The most flamboyant lingerie set you have. Wear it for me.’

You huff at your husband’s minimal description for the dress code of tonight’s date. You rummage through your draws, flinging open the armoire, even the wardrobe in the corner, riffling for something. What did he even mean by flamboyant? Did he want you to strut out into the night cloaked in nothing but some sheer lace and heels? You bite your lip at the idea. It would be just like you husband to arrange something like that.

Flamboyant…flamboyant…

Flamboyant!

You rush back to the armoire, digging through the neatly set clothes, fingers searching for the material until you find what you’re looking for. You hold it up, and nodded. Yes, it would do. It would do quite well, in fact. Now, to find a way to conceal it…

You know he’s taking you out…somewhere. And unless he’s planning on smuggling you in, wrapped in a body bag, then you will need to find a way to hide the finely made lingerie from prying eyes. You sigh at yet another task to fulfil. You’re honestly going to bite Rhys’ cock off if this fails your expectations—for all the trouble he’s putting you through.

Once again, you search through your wardrobe, gazing at the menagerie of gowns and dresses. An array of satin and silk, garish and gaudy, jewels glimmering in the warm lamp light, winking at you temptingly. But no, you would choose something simple, something that would enhance your underclothes. You think about what your husband is likely to adorn himself in. If he asked you for flamboyant…it could be anything. Still, bright pops of colour weren’t really his style, preferring the brush of dark sleeves and silver cuffs than splashes of sparkling yellows or velvety oranges. The most flamboyant you’ve seen him in is a dark red suit, in celebration of a dear brother—and even then it had been so dark the crimson only showed if the light hit from a particular angle.

Having ruled out most options, you figure your best chances are either white or black, if he’s going to dress in a suit. White or black. You scan the wardrobe for anything that would fit with the lingerie. The choice is easy.

————

“Ready, darling?”

You silently move yourself to the top of the curved staircase, taking the one closest to your dressing chambers. Your husband’s eyes sweep over you, glinting with feline satisfaction as he drinks you in. One step at a time, you descend toward him, moving with elegant precision. You keep his eyes the whole while, basking in the heat of his keen gaze, and you wonder if you’ll even make it out the front doors.

A subtle string of rose quartz beads decorate your throat, the white satin of your gown flowing in smooth cascades behind you. The dress slims to your waist, the mini corset accented with small iridescent sequins that decorate the floral jacquard fabric. The heels you’ve selected hold a thin stilt to balance on, platinum lace weaving around your ankles, ensconced with silver thread keeping tiny beads wrapped snuggly against the ties. A single ring adorns your right glove, resting with grounding weight on your thumb. The band is silver, set with a moonstone, tiny amethysts framing it against the creamy silk of your gloves. Beneath the smooth fabric on your left hand lies your wedding ring, a beautiful sapphire welded delicately into the metal.

He drinks in the dusty red of your lips, matte in their texture and slightly dulled to not pull away from the rest of you. Divine. Enchanting. Refined. Perfectly attuned to him, having not gone too over the top when he’d requested flamboyance. Keeping in mind that you were a pair and would be seen together.

“You look positively delicious,” Rhys purrs as you reach the bottom of the staircase, gliding over to him. You give him a sultry smile, one that has heat shooting straight between his legs. He’s brought back to the Soirée last month, when you’d been sat on your knees between his thighs, dark rouge lipstick blurred at the edges of your mouth, perfect replicas stamped on his cock from where you’d kissed up and down the length of him until he couldn’t take it any more. He remembers how you’d swiped at the smudged tint, glaring up at him teasingly, “why is it whenever you take me out somewhere I always end up with my makeup out of place?”

Then there had been the masquerade party the month before, where you’d been set on keeping those damned masks on, hiding the beauty of your face from him. You’d insisted the anonymity had been thrilling, given a dark edge to the experience. It was this in particular that had him thinking. Turning over different venues and activities until he’s found one he believed would be pleasingly satisfying to your slightly sinister tastes.

“I could say the same about you, husband.” He looks ravishing. Charmingly debonair in his black suit, complete with smooth bow tie and crisp white shirt. Not a crease to be found. A kerchief makes a soft triangle atop his breast pocket, complete with a peacock feather decorating the smooth lapel of his jacket. “I don’t suppose you plan on informing me of tonight’s venue?” You inquire, settling a palm over his heart as you lean against him.

His hand raises to your jaw, tilting your lips toward his. “And ruin the surprise at the last minute? I think not.” He presses his lips to your own, coming away vaguely rosey from the rouge staining your mouth. You pout, fingers circling over his chest, “you like watching me squirm, don’t you? How cruel you are, truly. I cannot fathom—” you press another kiss to his lips, “—why I ever married you.” He offers you a feline grin, “maybe you enjoy the tension. The edge.” His fingers grip your hips, pulling you against him.

You’re pleased when his eyes darken as he feels the pattern of something thin beneath the satin. “What did you choose?” His voice has dropped, roughening and you suppress a shiver at the timbre. You peer up at him innocently, “and spoil the surprise at the last second? I think not.” Your teasing spurs him on, fingers deftly catching on the low collar of your dress, moving to pull it from your skin so he can catch a glimpse of what lies beneath.

Rhys gets as far as bringing a wash of cool air down your front before you’re jabbing two fingers into his chest—down his sternum. “Ah, ah, ah, husband.” You push him back, preventing him from peering down your top. “Leave something for dessert,” you chastise, a low growl sounding in the back of his throat. Pleasure sings beneath your skin at your husband’s antics.

Your fingers waltz upward, delicately hooking beneath his perfectly wrapped bow tie, pulling him downward toward your mouth. “Wouldn’t want to spoil your appetite now, would we?”

“I assure you my appetite is depthless when it comes to you, wife.” His fingers latch onto your own, pressing a kiss to your knuckles. You flush with pleasure, “shameless flirt.”

“Promiscuous madam.”

You raise a single, neatly groomed brow, “a madam?” You echo, then press against his chest, allowing him to feel the soft plushness of your breasts. “And what’s a refined gentleman like you doing in the arms of a lady of the night, hm?”

He growls, grip tightening on you possessively. “She’s taken something from me. Something very precious. Plucked it straight from my chest, weaving her sinful fingers between the bones of my ribs.” His mouth brushes over your own, an erotic caress of his lips. “I fear the day she returns it, for the pain it will bring.”

Your eyes dip as they follow their quiet movement. “I took yours as payment for my own.” You whisper back, “I am merely human, and cannot survive without it.” His arm snakes around your lower back, forehead pressing to your own, sharing in the intimacy. “You took mine first, Rhys.” He releases a soft breath at his name on your lips. “It’s only fair.”

He laughs softly against your mouth, and you keen beneath the sound, pushing up onto your tiptoes, desperate for another taste—

“Shall we?”

He’s pulled back, leaving your chest cold, heat warming between your legs. Your husband holds out an arm, waiting for you to latch onto him, arrogantly expecting. You gift him a saccharine smile, already planning how to overthrow him for the evening, “lead the way.”

————

The lamplights reflect in the puddles as it drizzles. Already you can make out the faint wisps of fog rolling through the dark streets.

“What’s on your mind, darling?”

You turn, propping your chin on your hand as you gaze at him before straightening, looking ahead. “I was thinking whether you’d enjoy the silk of my hands or the velvet of tongue.” You glance at him sidelong, pleased when he stiffens. You could swear you see his demeanour shift to match the darkness of the night. “Do you think it wise to begin this dance so early?” He drawls. You return your gaze to peering through the chauffeurs window, watching them cut through traffic. “That is true,” you contemplate, “it is usually your role to insist on foreplay.”

You turn in your seat, catching the dark glint in his violet eyes. You offer a coy smile, enjoying rilling him up before the event has even begun. He leans over, across the space between you, mouth lowering to brush the shell of your ear, “did you follow my orders for tonight?” You swallow as he pulls back to look at you, shifting to be beside you, the powerful lines of his body pressing to your own shape. “Are you so desperate to see me in my underthings?” A serpentine smile twists the edges of your rouge mouth, “I chose an appropriate set. I think it will appeal to your tastes.”

Again, his eyes dip to that teasing window of your chest, dress cut low enough to reveal mouth-watering skin, but not enough for him to catch a glimpse. No matter, he’ll find out soon enough.

Rhysand straightens, reaching to his pocket, “I forgot to give you this, for the night.” He retrieves a headband, accented with a single peacock feather at it’s crest, set with clear jewel you believe to be a diamond. “Put it on for me?” Your heart beat increases at the deftness of your husbands fingers, brushing strands of hair from your cheeks before setting the circlet atop your brow. “Perfect,” he murmurs, and you wonder if he meant to say it aloud.

His thumb brushes beneath your lashes as he stares into your eyes. You lean into the touch, indulging in the heat of his large palm over your jaw. He looks as though he’s considering kissing you, eyes dipping lower, a deep hunger roiling in their depths. “Go on,” you encourage, shifting your body to face his as your arms snake over his shoulders.

But the chauffeur pulls up a driveway, bringing the vehicle to a stand still.

Your husband pulls away with a grin, “enjoy.”

————

The red windmill.

An interesting name.

He’d guided you to the entrance, your silk encased hand gripping the satin hem of your dress to keep it from dragging on the floor. When the receptionist had asked for a name to place for the reservation, he’d given it over, and then the two of you had been escorted to a private suite. The server had shown you around, where things were, and then left you alone, together.

When the door clicks, you turn to Rhys. “Care to reveal your secrets now, sir?” His lips quirk as he settles in a large armchair, a deep red to match the atmosphere of the chamber, lit by warm lights and accented with blacks, reds and oranges. His legs spread as he gets comfortable, facing you. “Every garment you remove, I’ll let you in on a little more,” he purrs, readying himself for the show you’ll give him.

You roll your eyes, but pull the glove from your left hand, wedding band glinting in the light. He raises a brow at the small movement. “I didn’t take you for a coward,” he taunts, but you simply peer down at your nails, examining them. “Secret, please.” His mouth neutralises into an unreadable line, “we’re here for entertainment.” You roll your eyes again, “obviously.” He grins, silently ordering you to remove another item of clothing.

Teasingly, you remove the other glove, staring him down from across the room as you perch on the arm of the chair opposite him. You drop the silk onto the cushion, the pure white an erotic contrast to the dark colours shrouding the suite. “Both your voyeuristic and exhibitionistic tendencies will be satiated.” You blink, then narrow you eyes at the man. “Have you brought be to a sex club, Rhysand?” He chuckles at the use of his full name—you only use it when displeased with him. “Rhys, you haven’t,” you gasp, “what if someone sees?” Sometimes you really could strangle your husband.

But then he stands from his reclined position, prowling forward, hands wrapping firmly around your waist as his shadow swallows you. “Isn’t that the point?” He purrs, your spine arching against him. “Don’t you delight in their attention? Revel in it?” Heat flushes your cheeks at your husband’s accuracy. “I know how you like being perceived as an object of desire. Isn’t that why you didn’t bat a single, pretty eyelash when I made my request for the night?”

His hands glide up, tracing over your breasts until they cup your jaw, “I’ll ravish you in front of the whole world if it pleases you.”

“But a sex club!” You hiss, making him laugh. “Am I laughing, Rhys?” You snap, making him calm himself.

“I give you my word, it’s nothing as disreputable as a sex club,” he purrs, but the lilt in his voice suggests a loophole. “Why don’t you remove that dress of yours so you can get to the big reveal, hm?”

He steps away, allowing you to stand. To proceed with the show. You huff, turning your back to him as you begin slowly unslotting the tiny satin cushions from their holes. One at a time. Piece by piece.

Gradually, the smooth material begins its descent off the slope of your shoulders. His mouth dries as he finds the thin, platinum straps that loop atop your arms. The satin slowly gives way, showing off the latch of the brassiere you’ve donned. Pure, glittering white. He swallows as the gown lowers over your waist, caressing the intimate skin of your waist; hips.

The dress pools at the poised set of your heel adorned feet, the silver ensconced lace matching the delicious underthings you’ve selected. His breath catches as you glance at him over one shoulder, giving him a partially concealed view of your beautiful face. Your slim fingers waltz over the skin of your arm, trailing down as your eyes follow teasingly. The other hand is wrapped over your hip, playing with the thin band of your underwear: matching lace that clings to the plump curve of your rear.

“Turn around, darling. Let me see you.” His voice sounds rougher; more strained.

Ever so slowly, you step out of the waves of satin, turning to reveal yourself to him.

A low groan sounds at the back of his throat as he slips two fingers beneath the collar of his shirt, apparently in need of some cooler air. You smirk as you begin prowling closer, stopping only when you’re positioned between his muscled thighs.

Your husband enjoys himself as he drinks you down, eyes dragging so slowly over every fine detail, and you swear you can see the plans in his mind fading back to dust. He wets his lower lip, gaze darkening as he imagines where you’d enjoy being touched, whether you would prefer his fingers or his mouth over your perky nipples. Whether you’ll insist on keeping your lingerie intact, or whether you’ll be so desperate as he is by the night’s end that you won’t care about it being hastily removed. Strewn across the rouge carpet.

Sequins and pale glass beads are woven to the brocade fabric, indentations of peacock feathers shimmering in the light, iridescent thread glimmering. Tiny sets of diamond are dotted at the base of the brassiere, looping around your back and over your shoulders. Strings of pearls dangle from the base of the lingerie, hanging in crescent circles like ribs made of moonstone—reconnecting at the clasp. The underwear matches perfectly, accented with the same glittering platinums, silver embossed feathers curling over your hips.

“You’re divine,” he breathes, violet eyes reflecting your warm light. His hands reverently pull you closer, your own settling on the corded muscle of his shoulders as he places a kiss to your navel. “Divine,” he whispers, shakily. Your husband looks up at you, your fingers weaving through his blue-black hair, so soft to the touch. He keens at your touch, revelling in the press of the pads of your fingers, feather-light as you trace the sharp cleft of his cheek.

“What’s the big secret, husband?” You murmur, hooking one leg over his thigh as you slide into his lap. He moves for your mouth, lips parting, eyes sliding closed but you set a firm hand on his chest. “Now, now, Rhys. Behave.” He groans softly at the command, eyelids lazing open to look at you. Lust and hunger dance intimately, barely hidden in the now indigo hue of his irises. Your fingers settle either side of his chin, tilting his jaw toward you, his pupils dilated and burning.

“It’s your turn, Rhys,” you whisper alluringly, hips winding over his. He stifles another groan, “wicked, wicked woman.” A thrill of excitement brushes down your spine at his pained tone. His strong arms snake around your waist, clutching you to his body, hand settling between your shoulder blades, indulging in the drag of your breasts. He grips your ass, pulling you tight to his hips, feeling the prominent outline of something delicious between your thighs—against your stomach.

“Come on, now,” you chide, mouth dancing over his own, a sensual caress of breath. “Make good on your word, husband.” A strained sound of pleasure rumbles in his chest, eyes flicking up to yours. He swallows, and you trace the roll of his throat. Then both his hands drop to your ass, hauling you against him as he stands, your thighs wrapping snuggly around his hips. “Rhys…?” Your tones shifts to irritation and he chuckles.

Your husband moves fluidly through the suite room, opening a door the server hadn’t shown you. You try to turn but he presses your face to his shoulder, hiding the view from you. All you’re able to make out is the general volume of people, but it’s a bit far away, as if from a lower floor. Music rolls up to your ears, fiery, rhythmic, and you want to set your heels to the floor, if only to spin with your husband to the syncopated melody.

“Rhys? What is that?” Your husband sets you down on what feels like a balcony, his grip loosening, allowing you to peer about. “Look for yourself,” he smirks, stepping back a little. Your thighs tighten around him, tugging him back to your chest harshly as you take in your surroundings.

He’s seated you precariously on what is indeed a balcony, thick mahogany supporting you. Large, champagne coloured chandeliers hang from the ornate ceiling, light refracting through the glass diamonds, casting their golden glow throughout the hall. You’re on the highest floor, the room is cavernous compared to the booth he’d taken you to. Below, people chatter and make merry, dressed finely in anything from night robes to stunning silk dresses to flimsy underthings with a fan of feathers haloing their heads like crowns. A menagerie of fluidly colours: purples to yellow, stripes of pink and cream, splashes of oranges and greens, the glittering sparkle of sequins and jewels gleaming in the low light.

At the front of the hall lies what appears to be a small orchestra, and you zone in on the figure at the forefront of the music, just ahead of the elderly conductor. He’s playing what might be an accordion of some kind, the music frenetic, a frenzied tango of notes. “Is that a squeezebox?” You peer closer, still wrapped tightly around Rhys’ hips. He peers with you, “I believe that’s a copy of a French Flutina. Popular in the 19th century.”

You listen closer to the music, trying to place it. Your husband smiles as recognition sparkles in your eyes, “Libertango, Astor Piazzolla.” He nods, hand cupping your cheek, “indeed.” Your hold relaxes on him a little, allowing you more leeway to watch the crowd. His mouth drops to your throat, kissing a slow trail from your collar bones to your jaw. Your breathing deepens, then catches. His lips lift into a smile over your neck, “see anything interesting?” Then he receives a light smack to his shoulder, “Rhysand!” You scold, fuming, “it is a sex club!”

Sure enough, he can make out the groping hands on the floor below, the bent over bodies, the kneeling legs, the harsh snap of hips. All while the musicians play on. A symphony of pleasure singing through the room, a harmony of moans for accompaniment. “They prefer the term massage parlour. The clientele are free to engage with other participants in whatever way they wish. No one here is paid to do anything.”

Your raise a brow sceptically, “you’ve done your research, husband.”

“Only the best for my wife.” Your lower body tingles at the title. “I hope you know I refuse to step foot in that…pleasure hall. These heels are white. And very dear.”

He laughs against your skin, “why do you think I reserved a private room for us, my darling?”

You pout at the cunning man. “How obnoxiously sly of you,” you remark. “I’m always ten steps ahead of you, dear,” he murmurs over your lips, giving you a serpentine grin before twisting you round, so your back is pressed against his broad chest. “Rhys!” You squeak, hands flying for something to grip onto, feet weaving through the wooden beams withstanding the balcony railing.

“Enjoy yourself,” he drawls, opening his mouth over the unmarked skin of your neck, pressing hot, wet kisses to you. You moan softly. All those people, indulging beneath you, hardly an idea of what’s happening above them. “Relax,” he instructs, nipping at the pearled lobe of your ear. You whine. “You try relaxing with the potential of falling to your death,” you manage, even as his arm tightens around your stomach, letting you know you’re safe with him. “You know that, should you fall, I would plummet with you,” he whispers against your skin, drawing a bark of laughter from your throat, the rose quartz beads ringing at the sound. “I would have preferred reassurance you would not let me drop, Rhys,” you snap playfully.

“That too.”

You huff a laugh that turns into a hitch as his hand cups you through the finely woven lace. A moan slips from your lips as heat warms your skin, his fingers deftly rubbing over the apex of your thighs. “Rhys…” He kisses your jaw, “look below you. All those people revelling in one another, taking what they want until they’re drunk on pleasure.” Your breathing becomes shallow.

“Any one of them could look up—some already might’ve—see you spread out on the balcony, with my hand between your thighs.” You preen against him, melting into his warmth as his fingers dip lower, oscillating over your entrance. He pushes the damp silk to the side, scooping up your slick on his middle and forth finger before raising it to his lips, groaning at your taste. You release a sultry laugh at your husband’s actions, spreading your legs a little wider, “take more, if you want.”

Rhysand growls at the invitation, gripping your jaw, forcing you to look at the people below. “How many people do you think are watching you right now, huh?” You. Not us. You. “How many people do you think have seen how you’re dressed—how you’re acting—and hoped to themselves you’ll be gracing their mouths later?” The heel of his palm presses to the top of your thighs, rubbing gently as his fingers circle you, before pushing in. “How many people down there, do you think, are pleasuring themselves to you?”

Your back arches against him, his clever fingers curling and dragging against your walls. You swallow, desperate to find your words, “I…I don’t know…” you manage, and his teeth nip at your throat, biting lightly. “Have a look, darling. Seek them out.” You moan, trying to follow his orders, but the light is fairly minimal, and the bodies are fading to an erotic dance of shadows. “Can’t do it?” He drawls, pressing his fingers deeper, up to his knuckles.

He laughs darkly beside your ear, “down near the front, a little away from the cellist.” You follow his directions, landing on a figure with their head raised, pleasuring themself. “Beside the third exit on the ground floor, wearing red.” Again you follow, finding a figure strewn over a table, gazing upward. “The floor below is, opposite.” You moan loudly, the sound getting wisped away in the music.

In the booth he’s talking about, a woman is bent over the railing, her petite breasts exposed to the air—to the audience below—while an older gentleman stands behind her, and you can see how her body is pushed forward with each snap of his hips. Her lips are parted, and were the room silent you’re sure she would be moaning as you are. Her eyes are hooded, but watching you, watching as your husband’s fingers push into you, how your back arches.

He does something wicked with his digits, and you gasp, head tipping backward onto his shoulder as he presses against your clit. “Rhys…” you moan out, feeling so high already, practically weightless, as if you could fly away. “Easy,” he orders, arms tightening around you as your hips buck. “Not tipping over that edge just yet.” The possibility has your heart rate increasing, adrenaline thrumming beneath your skin, buzzing at your fingertips.

Your eyes return to the couple on the lower floor. “Do you think she’s an escort?” You manage, noting her scandalous clothing and exquisite gems adorning her throat and wrists. “Does it please you to fantasise about their outside lives, hm? Create a story for them, to get off to?” You moan at his words, nodding your head. “What do you think she’s thinking right now?” His fingers fuck into you harder, keeping their pace though the pressure increases over your clit. “I—…” you can’t manage anything: it’s so overwhelming.

“I think she’s wondering how you taste, what it would be like to have her fingers burying into you like this,” he punctuates his words with a flick of his wrist, digits dragging against that glorious spot inside you. “I bet she’s wishing you were coming on her tongue instead.”

You whimper, nails digging into the banister as you draw nearer and nearer. “Maybe she’s fantasising about you, what your story is. Perhaps she’s winding a filthy tale in her head of you being stolen away by a dark stranger, auctioned off to the highest bidder for your virginity.” You pant heavily, delighting in the wet squelching coming from between your thighs, proof of your arousal for your husband. At some point, dancers had appeared onstage, dressed in thinner and even skimpier clothing than you. Jewels, gems, and peacock feathers waltzing across the skene.

“Perhaps she’s creating a story of a failed marriage, love abandoned, so you’ve left to seek out some real pleasure, from someone who will treat this cunt right.” You whimper, so close to unravelling from his silver-tipped tongue. He’s always been quick on his feet when it comes to this, perfectly attuned to the darker parts of your mind, the more private thoughts you have. “Perhaps she’s telling herself you’re nothing but a dirty whore, trying to scrape together a penny or two by selling your pretty pussy.”

You suck in a sharp breath of air as your high hits you, fully seizing your body as you tighten wildly around his fingers, grinding your hips against his hand as he pulls you through the euphoria. “That’s it,” he encourages, “show everyone what a filthy whore you are.” Your cunt is still fluttering around his steadily moving fingers. The hot breath from his mouth brushes over your ear, fanning across your neck, “you’re no better than a prostitute, are you?” He whispers, circling your clit slowly, working you down.

You pant heavily as your heart beat begins to even out in the aftermath. You swallow as his fingers drag out of your slick heat, coated in glossiness that shines in the low light. “Open.” You hardly have time to follow the command before the pads of his middle and forth finger are sliding over your mouth, like an obscene lip gloss. He pushes them in, against your tongue so you can taste your own arousal. His hips buck against your ass.

“So good, aren’t you. My good, little wife.” You whine at the title, and he helps you down from the balcony—carefully. He spins you around, pulling you tight to his hips, pinning you to the railing. “Think you’re all warmed up for me now? Or do you need some time to cool off?” He taunts. You buck against him, “I can take you.”

He chuckles at your enthusiasm but his eyes flick to the stage, filled with dancing song girls. “Looks like some of the entertainment is starting,” he drawls, giving you a light pat on the ass before he’s guiding you to a chair. Your legs give out when he pushes you, collapsing into the soft cushions. “Why don’t we resume after this brief intermission, hm? I’ll fetch us some refreshments.”

When you look like you’re about to stand to follow after him, he sends you a look over his shoulder. Promising more. “All I want you wearing is those gloves when I return.” His eyes darken as they drag over your body, male satisfaction glinting in his sharp gaze as he notes the slick glossing your thighs. “After all, you were so keen on finding out whether I would like your silk or velvet more.”

Heat flushes your cheeks at the reminder, excitement zipping beneath your skin. Your eyes dip to his hips, “do you think you’re appropriate?” You smirk, noting the obvious outline of his cock, your tongue wetting your lower lip. He mirrors your grin, “think I should send you out there in my stead?” He drawls, sparking arousal in the pit of your tummy. “Maybe a dark stranger will whisk me away, auction me off to the highest bidder.”

“Precisely why I will be getting refreshments,” he smirks. “I’ll knock thrice, slowly, when I return.”

“Maybe I should lock you out. Make you wait like you’re doing to me,” you drawl, watching lazily from your half reclined position. His laugh is a lovers caress between your legs, “if you have the heart to.”

“It’s your heart,” you remind him, smiling.

“Exactly.”

Taglist: @myheartfollower @tcris2020

[honeytama]

sooo many thoughts,, barbecue n fireworks w/bestie matt (feat. bomens boys) under the cut

fluff fluff fluff

ugh grill king ily,,,,,you’re so adorable w your special grilling gear and apron that you just have to pack with you :( even on tour bc who knows when there’s going to b the chance to cook something up for your friends aw

imagine you, best friend! matt, and the guys having an off day in the summer time. he’s so excited to cook for you bc you’ve never had his food and mans is constantlyyyy talking about it.

you tease him about needing to try it for yourself to see if he’s really the best

“i know my stuff is good. you’re gonna be begging me for seconds,” he boasts, clicking his tongs at you.

mhm ok

you offer to be his assistant or just to stand with him

“nope!, i’m in control, just relax and let me take care of it”

so you sit your pretty little self in a fold out chair sipping your favorite bevy he put in the cooler just for you (bonus: if it’s a celcius that he got you into, he’s so proud of himself) and just watch/talk and laugh w him while he stands there vigilantly watching the food…. w his apron on and hair tied back :(( (sorry domestic matt just really gets to me)

once the food is ready, he calls everyone over to make their plates but he already knows what you like 😭

“just sit there, i got it ☝️”

he fixes it up for you and you look down at the plate,, it’s perf with all your favorites and condiments and sides stoppp

“you want another drink?? i put an extra (your fav) in the cooler,,here” without you saying yes he’s digging through the ice to grab it for you. acts of service are his specialty <3

while you’re eating, he’s constantly trying to get up to refill your plate or getting you napkins or making fun of you for getting ketchup on ur face and trying to wipe it away :( the guys are just liiikkke uhh bro STAND UP (actually sit down they don’t need 10 napkins theyre FINE ,,,, also the boys have never seen matt flirt before so it’s a lil awk)

later in the night, matt and folio are being country boys and setting off mini fireworks in the empty parking lot nearby while everyone watches,, excitedly w a lil bit of fear of course

matt runs over to the chair next to you to watch them go off and you tell him you’re a lil freaked out that something might go wrong and/or you’re afraid of the booms

he holds your hand in his on top of your chair’s arm rest and tells you “it’ll be okay” ;~; he “wouldn’t do it if you would be in danger” ;~;

you watch his face glow in the light of the fireworks and your heart feels like it’s gonna explode, especially when he looks at you to check if you’re as proud of him as he is himself

ALSO !!! matt bought sparklers and guess what no one NO ONE can use them but you two ahh

“noah, no these are for y/n and i get your own!”

“PLEASE just one” noah tries to fight him on it :/

“you should have planned ahead !!”

guard dog matt..

“AY who tf took 3 sparklers?? stay out of my shit! now y/n only gets to do it twice 😩”

matt’s always listening btw, it’s why he got you the sparklers in the first place :) he remembered you telling him you wanted to try those old cutie pinterest pics where you write each other’s names and draw w sparklers…

he’s thinks it’s dumb! and probably won’t work! BUT ANYTHING FOR U

noah does get 1 sparkler to share w nick! folio n jolly get their own bc theyre good boys and don’t steal. you all are trying to figure out how to get the best pictures and matt’s just busting their balls saying you’re better at it than they are 💀

when you finally get back to matt who’s been watching you have fun from his seat,, you show him your pictures….

you tease him when his cheeks show a bit of pink and his lips turn up just a bit

“oh, cute…”

you’ve shown him a pic of u drawing ‘ matt + y/n <3 ‘

he sees you staring EEE “shut up”

“matt, i didn’t even say anything!!”

the matt eye roll,, “whatever just remember to send that to me…”

[t0mashek]

Mini character guide for my fellow McSpirk fanartists!

I feel like I finally have a satisfying level of muscle memory down for how I draw each of our guys in a recognizable way! My portrayals of Kirk, Spock and Bones aren't usually drawn with a reference, and they definitely don't look all that realistic, but I figure at least one of you out there might like to have a peak into what I do to try and make them recognizable!

Before I show the specific lines I always like to use, I would like to shoutout all the artists out there with same face syndrome. I had very bad same face syndrome before I started drawing Star Trek fanart, the variety of characters in Star Trek REALLY helped me draw better characterizations of people! BUT, if same face syndrome is something you currently struggle with do NOT let it deter you from posting your beautiful art!

Even when drawn with the same basic face structure like I did here, it's still very easy to tell who's who, just with the use of colors, hairstyles and facial lines!

Now, for anyone who is wanting to pinpoint what I try to keep consistent in my drawings of the boys, I highlighted the lines I find most important in my drawings of each of them. I try to keep my style slightly cartoony, so I like to exaggerate!

The roundness of Jim's face is what I always try to make the most pronounced in all of my art of him. The contrast to the harsher angles of the faces of Spock and McCoy is one of my favorite things to include in my art. He has a button nose in combination with those apple cheeks, they're my favorite thing about Jim to overexaggerate!

McCoy on the other hand? Give him his TRIANGLES. I try to go for a much more square face when drawing Bones, but for the lines and features within his face we love our good old friend the triangle. That man's eyebrows are pointy, and I love to give him his mouth lines. I like to balance out the sharper lines I draw on his face with the round lines of his hair.

Spock has the bangs, ears and eyebrows that play a great advantage to us, no other bro serves like Spock. While I love the pointy sideburns on all of the boys, Spocks sideburns help me play into the length of his face. He's got a straighter face and straighter nose compared to his human boyfriends. And while he and Bones both have those handsome mouth lines, you can differentiate the shape of the crease to fit their faces! When I'm drawing McCoy's mouth lines, there's more of an angle, I draw Spock's lines straighter, similar to his face and nose.

I hope this might help some of my fanartist brethren out there! Or at the very least give you a little peak into my art process! If anyone finds this helpful and uses it to draw some art, I'd love to see it! The variety of styles and character potrayals I see in all of the Star Trek fanart I browse on here never fails to warm my heart. These goofy little guys never fail to stand out from one another, no matter how they're drawn, and that is just so special to me.

Live long and draw fanart, little gay people in my computer!!! 💛🩵💙🖖

[moonlight-tmd]

Whenever I listen to Hooked On A Feeling by Björn Skifs I imagine a scenario of Blitzwing just being totally smitten by the little yellow autobot he just met and he's trying his best to court him.

He doesn't even hide it, he will just straight up ditch the entire fight to go talk and compliment the yellow mini and either the Autobots or Lugnut has to chase/drag him away.

The worst part is Bee is totally into it. He doesn't see why the heck this would be a bad idea, the big goofy weirdo(affectionate) just wants his attention and love. Said goofy weirdo is also not that bad-looking and strong. All of his oddities are just more of a lure to capture Bee's curiosity and interest.

Blitz would go and draw attention of citizen so the Autobots come and he'd sing and dance on a makeshift disco ring to flirt with Bee. When that fails he'd carve a giant ice statue of Bumblebee and present it to him and Bee will be so amazed. And when that fails due to the other Autobots dragging Bee away (as always) he'd show up to the emergency at the bridge Bee is at with Ratchet, stand nearby and hold up a sign saying "Please go on a date with me! <3" while blasting some love song he heard that the lyrics literally describe his feelings. Bee did jump off the bridge to get to him that time... unfortunately Ratchet had caught him and lifted him back up with the magnets before Blitzwing could catch him and run off.

Bee's teammates have to keep an eye on him at all times so he won't sneak out and go do something he'll regret. Bee is not happy that his friends don't want him to go and try be happy with another mech, he's very pouty whenever they tell him no he can't do that. So what if it's a 'con? He's never truly taken a side and only wears an insignia for the sake of having some leeway with other Autobots. All of them could be organics, monoformers, 'bots, 'cons or other-faction for all he cares. He just wants to have friends, doesn't matter what or who they are.

I imagine at one point in time on earth Bee took off the window in his room and has it on a latch or something so it opens like a hatch so he can sneak out via his room. He has a big trash container with a lid on the other side and few crates so he can climb down from the window. One time he manages to fool whoever is on the nightly watch over him so he won't sneak out (aka they check if he's still in his berth, this time he waited until the check pretending to recharge and then snuck out). He got out and drove to places he usually saw Blitz hanging out on patrols. He wasn't in any of those places but Bee waited some in one of them and sure enough Blitz did happen to come to that location that night. They were so happy to finally talk with each other properly without anyone hearing anything and interrupting every 3 minutes.

They hit it off near instantly. Bee is so curious and amazed by a unique mech like Blitzwing and Blitz is so enamored with Bee's personality and cute appearance. They dance, sing and laugh under the stars and it's like a love story come real. Of course, they meet few times in secret after that. Bee thinks about how to make others allow him to meet with Blitz... but just as he does that they hear a knock at the shutter and wouldn't you know, Blitzwing is standing there with big boquet of flowers and some small packages. Somehow he learned the location of where Bee lives by himself. Of course Bee grabbed his servo and led him in to play games together despite the others being very much startled by what the heck a 'con is doing in their house on a tuesday morning.

By that point they just give up all efforts to try to keep those two apart. It's pointless... At least Blitz doesn't seem as bad as they thought he was- he did bring them gifts to come into their favor after all.

So Blitz is a regular guest at the Autobot base. Bee is happy, Blitz is happy, and the others still keep an eye on them just in case. But they definitelly stopped being so paranoid over Bee.

[deafenedsaltwater]

Solid 8 hours yessss

I should really work on Art Fight but yesterday's (uhh two days ago now as it's 1am whoops) itft vid really made me joyous

Soap with wings is a side effect of me trying to incorporate her rag in the design, and it looked enough like a wing to make it so. Really only drew Soap because I feel like it's a waste to just not draw a character from an object show I draw for so often

That's kind of a mini Fourteen gijinka as well, a more fem spin on it ig. Whimsy ♡

Star, Heart and Bottle Cap are one-off characters, I just wanted to draw the two things I always doodle with one of my fav concepts for an object ☆

Tau and Pi are kind of just representing the two sides of who I am right now. I feel shitty and have no idea what my gender is, and I am so fed up with my own whining about it.

Irrationals as a whole for me have aquatic features added to them. It started with me adding whiskers on Tau to match Pi's little antenna things. From there, it just reminded me of a cat fish, so..

Example of how I doodle the other Irrationals. And 9 + 6.

Kind of a 360 of my objectsona. I didn't use the actual clipboard they're based on for this, just my memory. Mm I'm tired but I'll still try to type out some of the ideas somewhat showcased

Drawn on face, it doesn't move. That's just a thing I do in sketches for ease of expression. When he (I?) want to change it out, just draw another one in place

Arms come from inside the compartment paper is kept in. That's another thing I'll have to sketch out to esplain, but the clipboard opens, and I guess that's where the organs would be

I drew that Zero because I would not be 37 in a bfb world. I would be a Zero, as someone has to be, statistically

No other notes. I just uhh I love hourglass itft

[nevernonline]

✧.* he's all that; lsm mini series

✧.*synopsis: every year the kappa sorority hosted a 'hot or not' greek life pageant show. you've luckily escaped having to bring your own "nottie" to give a makeover to and train in hopes of winning a big prize for the rest of your crew. but, just when you thought your lucky streak was going strong your name get's chosen as a representative and your sisters had just the guy for you to make over.

part of my seventeen movie series. 

paring: seokmin x reader (y/n uses she/her pronouns.) 

genre/s: fluff, strangers2lvrs, neighbors2lvrs or whatever.  

warning/s: alcohol mentions, swearing, cigarette mentions, swearing, some pg-13 jokes. no funny business iykyk. lots of mean girls (rip)

word count: 4.2k

note: im notorious atp for not editing, pls. this edition of nmm is inspired by a true classic she's all that (w/ a bit of greek the tv show/sydney white energy if any of u have ever seen ALSO classics, this was supposed to be one part, BUT! I feel myself getting so carried away so … three parts.) i was going to post my gwag update today but im gonna wait till either tomorrow or Tuesday <3.

beginning ▸ middle ▸ end.

Y/n was dreading the meeting she walked through the front doors of the sorority for this afternoon, the pageant. Kappa and all the other sororities on Greek row participated in what they call ‘Hot or Not’ every year since supposedly the 1980’s something her now head sister Heather claims was started by the legacy that was her mother. Which maybe was true, but y/n could never figure out why it mattered? And while it was fun it was a little bit old school.

“Hey, girls. Everyone settled in? We have a very exciting tradition here at Kappa as you may know.”

The cheers rang through the sitting room, with its white walls, pale pink carpets, and sherpa couches, the cheers and claps of girls hoping Heather draws their name from the glass bowl with her perfectly manicured finger tips.

“Yes. It’s so exciting, we have a few new faces so since you haven’t been a part of this week in past years we left you out of the bowl, but we will have many things for you to participate in this week. Like dine and dash, our famous Good as Gold party, and of course judging the competition at the end of the week. Before we get to the drawing, I wanted to congratulate our last year's winner, Suni. Give it up for her.”

Smiling, y/n clapped along with the other girls, giving Suni her flowers. About to step out behind the two french doors to grab a water or something to drink, when you hear Heather call your name loudly. All of your other sisters and friends spinning around watching her looking like she was attempting to escape the reality of her name being the one chosen after three years of getting out of it.

“y/n! Finally, Come back here, girly.”

Walking through the clapping crown y/n took her place next to the blonde and pretended to smile with excitement as her gut was telling her it was absolutely the worst day of her life.

The only reason y/n was in this sorority was to get extra college credits, that and Heather and her mother met here and have been friends since that very day. Heather was obsessed with being a legacy and clawing her way to the top of the food chain at the university. Y/n was just there for the ride.

“Everyone, you all obviously know my very good friend and our smartest sister, y/n. I personally have been waiting for the day she got chosen out of this bowl. It’s something our moms, co-vp’s of their 1980’s class of Kappas have been talking about for years. So I’m just as excited as I’m sure y/n is to be our guiding light to another victory this year. Anything to say, y/n?”

“Uh, not really, you said it all.”

Another big fake smile appeared on her face. Laughing and giggling at all the congratulations coming her way.

“Girls, before we enjoy our lunch. Don’t forget tonight is dine and dash, please find your dates and bring them to Carol’s Diner at 8pm. See you there.”

Checking the time on your phone you had roughly 45 minutes before your lecture and enough time to take off the gaudy Kappa logo’d sweater you had to put on for what Heather calls “official business.”

“Y/n what are you checking the time for? We have a lot to do today.”

“I have a class in 40 minutes, I have to go back and change.”

“I don’t get why you won't just move back in here with us?”

“I told you, Heather. I can't. I have to focus on getting into Med School and no offense to you or the other girls, but this isn’t exactly the best place for me to focus when I have to study.”

“Med School can wait just one day right? We have to set up the table at Carol’s and set up for the party later. Would you mind going with the new girl Sam to grab the alcohol? And then you can meet me back here and we will go to the diner together. I’m going to have the girls go out and look for some Nottie’s for you today before that whale from Delta picks them all up. “

“No, but-”

“Thank you! Love you!”

“Also her name is not Sam, It’s Soyeon.”

“Okay got it, toodleoo.”

Searching the house for the person and so called new girl, Sam you stumbled upon her sitting out on the back patio writing in her journal.

“Soyeon?”

“Oh, hey y/n.

“Hey, sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you.”

“No, you didn’t. I’m just so used to everyone calling me Sam I forget people know that it’s actually not.”

“Yeah, it took Heather a whole year to not call Suni, Sunny and everyone just kind of follows her suit.”

“I thought you had class? I didn’t know you were still here.”

“I do. It’s just a lecture on the importance of mammograms and breast cancer research so, I guess it’s okay. I can just find it somewhere online.”

“Ready to head out?”

“Would you hate me if we stopped at my dorm? I cannot wear this fucking sweater for more than an hour or I may spontaneously combust.”

“Yeah, I don’t want to be seen with you in public while you’re wearing that.”

“I appreciate your honesty.”

“You should.”

Y/n and Soyeon escaped the general excitement of the rest of the girls by escaping out the outdoor gate and walked viciously together to change the heinous sweater on y/n’s back.

Turning the corner to finally reach the hall her single dorm room lived at the end of, she ran into a tall boy who’s books scattered all across the floor, a boy she had never once run into literally and physically.

“I'm so sorry.”

“No, no I’m sorry, I wasn’t watching where I was going.”

“You’re y/n right?”

“Yes? Why?”

“Oh, no. Nothing like that. I live across the hall from you. I see your name tag on your door all the time and all the photos of you from all your friends. Which now that I’m talking makes me sound like even more of a weirdo? I’m sorry. I’m Seokmin, my friends call me DK or Dokyeom , whatever. And now I’m rambling, please stop me.”

“No, you’re okay. Can we at least just get off the floor now?”

“Yes.”

Seokmin or Dokyeom whatever his real name actually is, crawled off the floor and stuck his hand out to you for assistance pulling your pink colored body off the floor.

“This is my friend, Soyeon.”

“Sorority sisters?”

“Wait. How’d you know? Oh, fuck the sweater. Don’t tell anyone you saw me wearing this, I know where you live.”

“Don’t worry, I never will. But, sorry to uh, cut this meeting short I have to get to class. I’ll see you again, I’m sure. Bye, nice meeting you y/n. And you too, Soyeon.”

“Bye.”

In unison you and Soyeon watched the tall boy walk towards the elevators. Both of you have differing expressions of looks on your face, one of pure enjoyment watching the awkward interaction and one of pure dumbfoundedness.

“He’s cute.”

Soyeon brought you out of staring at the boy walking away and stepping into the elevator, throwing his fingers up waving goodbye while clutching his mounds of books in his hands.

“What?”

“I said he’s cute and he’s your neighbor. Lucky girl.”

“Oh. Yeah, I can’t believe I’ve never met him before.”

“Why don’t you ask him out?”

“We just met. Plus, I’m busy with school and now this stupid pageant. I don’t have time for cute boys.”

“I’m sure you can make it work.”

Unlocking your door and letting Soyeon in before you so you can sneak a peek at his front door in front of yours. Plain, just a few funny messages and cute stickers of tangerines and tigers pasted on his whiteboard. Maybe he already has a girlfriend? But a boy like that with that many books is probably much like you and had no time for dating.

“Wait. Y/N your room is so nice? Maybe I should move out of the house. It’s loud as fuck anyway.”

“Why are you in the sorority? I’m not judging because I was basically dragged into it too. I’m just curious?”

“My mom always wanted me to join. She said it’s a good way to find friends, I always had a hard time making them. So I figured why not?”

“Got it. Makes sense.”

“What about you? You also don’t serve sorority girl to me.”

“Because my mom also got me to join, that’s actually how I know Heather. Our moms were co-captains of the sorority at some point in the 80’s.”

“Oh, so you’ve known her your whole life?”

“Mhm.”

“No offense or anything, but she’s… kind of a bitch.”

“Kind of? It’s only gotten worse since she’s been in charge. She was okay when we were younger, but you know.”

Slipping out of your jeans and sweater, you threw on a black pair of pleated pants and a loose white button down.

“Also you have tattoos and a sick body, stop dressing like an old woman.”

“I could never pull off what you wear? You’re so cool and confident.”

“Promise me. One party this year you’ll let me pick out something to wear?”

“Okay.”

“You’re very trusting.”

“What? You’re going to make me wear a hot pink dress and try to dye my hair blonde too?”

“Hell no.”

“Exactly.”

Hours passed on as you were getting to know Soyeon more, a part of you realized what you had been missing meeting girls outside of your own circle at school.

People who share your interests and enjoy talking about things other than clothes, shoes, and boys.

It was actually the least stressed you’ve been around someone at the sorority in a long time. Almost like a breath of fresh air.

Getting out of the Uber you took filled to the brim with alcohol and snacks, you were back at the big White House at the end of the street. Not a flaw in sight. Almost like it wasn’t a real reality.

“Should we ditch the diner? We could always go see my friend play at the bar across campus instead?”

“I would love nothing more, but Heather will have my head shaved or something.”

“Okay, well when we ditch later we can head there.”

“It’s a date.”

“Ew, you’re so corny. Save it for your new lover boy across the hall.”

“Shut up.”

Soyeon and you laughed, dragging the last box up the stairs into the foyer of the house. Met with the blonde at the bottom of the stairs.

“There you guys are! I was going to send a search and rescue team to come for you if you didn’t show up soon.”

“We got a little distracted. Sorry.”

“No problem. You’re here now, Sam go up and get ready, I’ll help y/n from here.”

“Okay.”

Soyeon or Sam, picked her poison and shoved down Heather still calling her by the wrong name and walked up to her room to change and get ready for the rest of her night. While you were stuck unpacking the boxes.

“Y/n. Don’t forget to look out for the boys everyone brings tonight. We can pick one from the litter for your Nottie.”

“Look, Heather-“

“I know what you’re going to say and don’t even think about asking me if you can drop out of the pageant, okay?”

“I just don’t think it’s worth it or fair anymore, why don’t we just get the other frat guys to do it? Like Mingyu or Wonwoo, Johnny? I don’t know. I don’t want to make anyone feel uncomfortable.”

“You raise a good point. And it gives me an idea.”

“Which is?”

“We have the other frats competing too, we’ll get more payout and the three uglies will be more profitable than ever for us. You’re so smart.”

“That’s not wha-“

“Ah! I’m so lucky to have you. I’ll let everyone know.”

Heather bounced off into the other room, texting rapidly with her manicured hands on her cell phone, making the fire bigger.

With your head spinning around and around you don’t even remember walking your way to the diner waiting for the freshman girls to bring their guys along to the large table set for someone’s embarrassment.

Taking a seat near the end of the table next to Soyeon and Heather on your other side, you sat and sipped at the Diet Coke in front of you, feeling your mix of anxiety and angel swirling in your stomach and begging for something a little stronger.

“Are you feeling okay?”

Soyeon leaned over and whispered into your ear, seeing the look on your face and noticing your obvious quietness.

“I’ll tell you after.”

“Okay, if you want to go early, let me know.”

“I will”

Heather had her vulture eyes on, waiting to see which she would inevitably have embarrassed by the groups around you with no remorse.

She looked into your eyes and signaled to a cute shy boy across the table, sitting and picking at his nails, making it clear she had made her mark.

“Let me use the bathroom first okay?”

“Yeah, of course. You wouldn’t want to miss it.”

“Right.”

Walking briskly into the old blue stalls in the bathroom, which you didn't even really have to use, but just needed an excuse to go somewhere and release your anxiety.

“Y/n? Hey. Y/n?”

Seeing Soyeon’s platform heels under the bottom of the stall door you jumped up and swung your head out of the blue metal.

“What?”

“Remember that guy you met today?”

“Yes, of course why?”

“He’s here.”

“Someone brought him?”

“No. He’s here with his two friends and Heather invited them to the table. One of them is that dude that’s friends with Mingyu with the that acts like a tiger, the hot nerdy one, and the other one is just some hot short buff guy, never seen him before. Anyway, We either have to get out of here right now or stay and hide in here until they're gone.” L

“Why don’t we just go-“

“No. I don’t want him to think you’re a bitch? Are you crazy? You can’t go dunking on nerds in front of three hot dudes?”

“Okay let’s go.”

As the two of you tried to make your exit from the ladies room you heard commotion outside in the dining room, so you both slipped back quickly into the bathroom, locking the door for some reason as you head the chairs scooting and the bell ringing meaning people were slipping out on one of the boys at the table.

“You think they're gone?”

“Yeah. I hear the sink running in the men’s room, come on.”

As you walked out of the bathroom in front of you Seokmin was sitting at the table covered in a turkey club sandwich looking at the long tab Heather left for him.

“Hey, what are you doing here?”

“Your ‘sisters’ dumped a sandwich on me and left the tab? Do you guys do this a lot?”

“It’s just some stupid shit Heather came up with when she became president. Me and y/n were hiding in the bathroom so we could come and pay the tab. But, you got to it first.”

“Right.”

Not saying anything and standing in your tracks cold, you watched as Soyeon took the check from his hands and waved you on to help him as she went up to pay.

“She dumped her food on you?”

“Yeah, my friends and I were just coming for takeout. I saw Soyeon so I went to say hi and she wanted to come get you. But the blonde girl,”

“Heather.”

“Yeah, Heather. She told me to sit down for a second and my friends went back to their dorm so they could keep studying and deliver food to some other guys. She was okay at first, but once Soyeon left she dumped her soda and sandwich on me and when I came back they were all gone.”

“I’m so sorry? Let me get you dry cleaning money or something.”

“No, don’t worry about it. I can handle it. I’m glad you two were here though, I don’t have my wallet on me. Are you okay though? Have you been crying?”

“I’m fine, just had a moment.”

The small black haired girl popped back over, tucking her card back into her wallet and smiling at the two of you sitting and talking with Seokmin covered in an orange beverage, a little bit of lettuce stuck in his hair.

“Want to come to a party?”

“If it’s at the sorority then sorry, no thanks.”

“No. It’s just some of my friends from the music department. They’re playing a show at O’Malley’s.”

“I don’t think orange soda is really a good look for a party.”

“That’s okay, y/n has to go change too. You guys just meet me there? I’m going to head out and get us a table.”

“Well I do owe you guys both a drink. So, sure.”

“Oh, and Seokmin?”

“Yeah?”

“Make sure y/n actually comes back out, she’s hard to get her hands on.”

“Of course.”

Walking back to your somewhat shared dorm, you and Seokmin walked in silence past greek row, watching all the girls running around to get ready for a greeting ceremony to the frat houses as escorts to their party.

The boy looked at you up and down, imagining you inside one of those grand houses gossiping and dishing on sister life just trying to figure out why you joined in the first place, your friend included.

Reaching your destination with only smiles and small giggles shared between the two of you on the walk over, you both slid into your dorm rooms and found clothes that were far more suitable for a night out.

You noticed the black tank top Soyeon had pointed out before and slid it on, matching it with a pair of dark ripped jeans and your go-to loafers, sliding back into the hallway, finding Seokmin on the other side of the door waiting for you.

He was somehow on your wavelength wearing an oversized black t-shirt and jeans.

“I figured I should try to match Soyeon's aesthetic somehow.”

“Me too. You look nice, I like your shoes.”

“Thank you.”

“Shall we?”

“Yes. I definitely need a drink.”

“So, y/n what is your drink of choice.”

“Anything strong and not sweet.”

“Oh, so not me then.”

“Shut up.”

Seokmin made you laugh, there was no way a boy like him was not taken or at least could be interested in you.

“Have you and Soyeon been friends for long? You guys seem close.”

“Actually, not really. We hung out for the first time today. I mean, I’ve seen her at parties and stuff, but she’s sort of been like a breath of fresh air for me.”

“Really? I’m surprised by that. Why are you in the sorority anyway? You don’t exactly have the same.. Vibe? Or whatever as the other girls. Especially the ones I met today.”

“My mom. The girl. Heather. Soda spiller, her mom and mine were friends when we were kids, they're legacy members. So I just thought it would be fun, but now.. I don’t feel that way.”

“Can’t you just quit?”

“I guess.”

“Why don’t you want to?”

“I guess I just want to be someone who sees things through. I also can’t offer Heather the satisfaction of knowing I left.”

“She really is that bad huh?”

“Worse. It’s a long story. Can we table it?”

“Of course.”

Reaching the door of the bar, you caught a glimpse of Soyeon’s shoulder tattoo near the stage, through the large crowd of people mingling.

“Go. I’ll order us drinks and meet you there?”

“You sure?”

“You said you needed it right?”

“What about your wallet?”

“Apple pay, y/n. Duh.”

“Your ID?”

“My friend is the bartender, just go.”

“So sassy.”

Walking your way through the crowd by pushing yourself through other bodies you finally reach the girl on the other side and wrap your arm around her waist as a hello.

“What the- Oh my god, you actually came? You look so hot. I’m proud.”

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“It’s fine. Where’s the puppy?”

“At the bar grabbing drinks.”

“On the leash already? You’re good.”

“No. He’s just nice.”

“True. But, he also likes you.”

“I don’t think it’s like that, but maybe someday you’ll tell me I told you so.”

“I look forward to it. I saved you guys a table.”

“My girl.”

Soyeon gestured her long manicured fingers behind you, noticing the boy making his way with two glasses in his hands and another tall figure following behind him holding a tray with various things on top.

“Hi, Soyeon.”

“Hi, Keom. Thank you for joining us. Who’s the glasses?”

“My friend Wonwoo, he works here, well he just got off. Is it cool if he joins us?”

“Of course.”

“Nice to meet you, Wonwoo. I’m y/n.”

“Hey.”

“So. Since I didn’t get to ask Soyeon what she wanted and I wasn’t entirely sure what you liked. We brought over options. But, we have to finish them all because Wonwoo was nice enough to gift them to us and it’s unfair to not accept gifts.”

“Very charming.”

You made your second flirty comment of the night to Seokmin, even though your sober self normally isn’t entirely as bold as you find yourself being with him now. But, in all fairness you were just trying to catch his vibe. He didn’t respond verbally, but just scrunched his nose in your direction almost as if he was letting you know that he’s interested.

“First, a simple vodka soda, little lemon, then just a couple of beer options, this is a sour, this is just a simple light beer, and an ipa, which ew, but I think Wonwoo likes, some tequila shots and some lemon drop shots, also a whiskey soda and a jack and coke, and then a uh, gin and tonic i think? Right, Woo?”

“Yeah, maybe you should be the bartender, Seokmin.”

“I have other talents.”

All eight of your hands reach every which way around the table and end up with different drinks sat in front of them, you beelined for the vodka and the sour beer, Soyeon went for the whiskey soda and the tequila, Seokmin for the gin and tonic and light beer, and Wonwoo for the jack and coke and the ipa.

“Who wants what shot?”

Soyeon dipped her arm back to the middle of the table covering her eyes with her opposite hand, grabbing a hold of the small glasses very carefully and placing them around the small group.

“There. Decided for you, me and Wonwoo get tequila and you and Seokmin get lemon.”

Smiling widely at your friend next to you, you grabbed a hold of the shot glass and held it up signaling everyone to cheers. Which they all happily obliged.

Soon after the alcohol was going through your bloodstream the band started playing their music that hit you right in the chest, songs about living your life to the fullest and choosing your own path, much to your surprise Soyeon was the one who wrote the music that spoke to your soul.

After the set ended, Wonwoo and Soyeon wanted to stay back and have a few more drinks to congratulate their friends, and enjoy their night, but you were beat thinking about all the work you still had to do over the weekend and dreading the choice of man Heather would embarrass. So you decided to leave with Seokmin walking you back safely to your dorm.

“What are you studying again?”

“Me? Oh, I’m studying to be a veterinarian.”

“Wow really? That’s cool, I didn’t know. You must be busy as hell.”

“I’m sure you’re just as busy, being a doctor for actual humans is way more complicated considering a lot of them are assholes.”

“That’s unfortunately true. But, I love it to be honest. I can understand why people are afraid of the hospital and surgery I guess.”

“That’s good, maybe we should study together sometime? I know it’s not the same exact thing or whatever, but it’s nice to have company?”

“I would love that, tomorrow? I mean if you’re free. We can go to the coffee shop or library or anything really?”

“Yeah, just knock around 10?”

“Okay. Cool. I’ll see you tomorrow??”

“Yes, absolutely. Have a good night, y/n”

“You too, Seok.”

Trying to get comfortable in your bed, some pesky person kept lighting up your phone screen, reaching over to turn on do not disturb you and realized it was Heather. She was asking a bunch of interrogating questions about your new friend Seokmin, begging you to bring him over tomorrow.

Unfortunately for you, you knew her interest in him was about to make your new relationship a very complicated one.

[ggomos-maribat]

7 | in which Marinette gets a new career: making Lex Luthor's life an absolute hell

Part 7 of No Mr. Wayne You Can't Adopt Me! | Masterlist

Sometimes, Bruce gave Marinette additional work that was stipulated nowhere in their contract.

Scratch that, he gave her a lot of work that wasn't part of the contract. Marinette wouldn't complain, obviously, since she was paid extra but occasionally, the additional chores became troublesome.

Nonetheless, there was also extra work that she absolutely enjoyed doing. The type of work that she would've done even if she wasn't compensated. Hell, she'd pay Bruce just to accomplish the task. One such assignment was set for the WE gala.

That night, Marinette Dupain-Cheng was the director, and her boss was the star of the show.

She was clad in a modest dress for the big night: gray, calf-length, minimal accessories, pointed heels. The most important part of her outfit, however, was the earpiece discreetly disguised with her hairpin, which put her in a direct line with Bruce.

She peered through the glass windows of the venue, seeing the gala in its grandeur. Fashionably late. That's what they called it. It worked when one wanted to draw attention, because with nearly everyone already present, a metaphorical spotlight would drop down from the sky.

She pressed a button on her earpiece, tucking her tablet close to her chest. "All ready to go, Mr. Wayne."

And of course, since he was Bruce Wayne, he delivered. Heads turned and skirts swished as he made his splendid entrance, just at the right level of 'fashionably late', Brucie-style. He grinned his shiniest grin and immediately greeted the elite guests of the gala he hosted.

Marinette slipped into the threshold herself. "May I remind you not to act too drunk tonight, you're too old for that and it's just going to look sleazy."

"Of course, Marinette, thank you." He replied just as stealthily. "I trust you'll take care of the rest?" 

Her lip curled upwards. "Oh, I intend to."

She took her position near the grand staircase, halfway blending in with the shadows. That amount of stealth would rival Alfred's or even Cassandra's. She just had to play another face in the crowd, someone barely noteworthy.

Then, she'll enjoy the show from her earpiece.

Target spotted. There was Lex Luthor in all his Mr. Clean glory, hanging out with other guests dressed fancily by the banquet table. At first, Marinette was quite surprised he accepted the invitation to a Wayne gala. But then she thought that Luthor would probably push his pride aside just to keep up appearances.

But it was amusing to see that a few of the people crowded around him left to flock to Bruce Wayne.

Her gaze turned towards her boss. He was dressed a bit differently than his usual gala outfit: a flashy golden suit with black markings on the fabric. They commissioned the design from M.D.C., but lent the production to WE's clothing department. Seeing the suit play its role proved that it truly helped Bruce steal the show.

Marinette waited until Luthor was closer to the table. Then she headed straight to it, swiping a mini fruit tart for herself to cover up the nimbleness of her fingers. Poor clueless Luthor, she thought when she successfully retreated back to the staircase.

The effects didn't take too long to see. As soon as Luthor moved to walk with the person he was chatting with, the tablecloth followed him, and so did the rest of the plates, utensils, bowls, and the gorgeous wine tower. The crash was like music to Marinettte's ears as heads turned and Luthor stared gobsmacked at the mess he'd accidentally caused.

The mess he undeniably caused, since the part of the tablecloth was still pinched between his belt and slacks.

The silence was deliciously deafening.

Until one jovial voice cut through.

"Lexie!" Bruce gently pushed past the group swarming around him. "Are you alright?"

Luthor's mouth opened. And closed again. Opened. Closed. "I didn't—how did . . ."

"My my, have you drunk too much wine?" Bruce's gaze swept over the ruined table which the staff were trying to clean up. "You've got to be a little careful, Lex."

Whispers rampaged within the crowd.

Luthor, seemingly trying to hold onto his composure, forced out a laugh. "That's funny, I barely drank tonight."

Bruce nodded sympathetically. "They say your tolerance does go down with old age. If you're feeling dizzy, you can rest upstairs—"

"No!" Luthor suddenly yelled. But immediately after, he cleared his throat and said in a softer tone, "No, thank you. Bruce. I'm feeling okay. I apologize for the mess I caused; I'll make sure to compensate for everything."

Marinette was nearly proud of the faux but extremely convincing smile that Bruce put on. "Very well. How about I help you get a new suit? It seems that some of the wine has stained yours."

***

Tim wasn't in the gala (he was both extremely sleep-deprived and unwilling to go), so Marinette took the liberty of sharing a video of Luthor's incident to him, which he would probably be sending to the family group chat. She conversed with the young CEO for a while, receiving praises on her skills as she waited for her target to come back.

It didn't take long for Luthor to return, all cleaned up like nothing happened. Although there were considerably fewer people who wanted to be near him. It was funny, to Marinette, how Luthor seemed to avoid the table as well.

Unfortunately for you, that doesn't make you safe. Unbeknownst to the general public, the gala venue was extremely dynamic since it was designed to cater almost any event. There were panels and advanced machinery controlling parts of the area, including the elevated stage that doubled as a gallery for the charity's exhibit.

The one who had guest access to the control was none other than Marinette Dupain-Cheng.

She just had to be patient. Luthor moved around a lot, likely because he didn't want to be caught off guard. He had stepped up onto the stage following an exec who was proud to show the gallery. At the time they came down, Marinette pressed a button on her tablet to make the steps move.

With a smack, Luthor's face met the polished floor.

Dramatic gasps echoed around. Faces of concern, some of indifference, others mocking. Like the hero he was, Bruce rushed to Luthor's side to offer a helping hand.

Luthor looked just about to slap his hand away, but he accepted it with a firm grip instead with an overly forced grin.

"Maybe you should lie down after all, Lexie," Bruce pouted. "You can't even walk straight."

The other man laughed a little too loudly. "No need to make it a big deal. It was just an accident."

Bruce clapped him on the back. "No need to be shy around me, hm? Tell me when you need to get some rest."

Whoa, that blood vessel is ready to pop on his head, Marinette observed when Luthor broke away from Bruce and stalked towards the drinks table near her in irritation. He poured out a drink for himself—

"Lexie, why did you run off? You should stay with me, you might cause another accident!" Bruce cried out.

Luthor whirled around. "That—that's a tempting offer, but I shouldn't trouble you," he said through gritted teeth.

"You look really red. I think you should step away from the wine . . ."

"I barely had a sip!"

Luthor turned back around to pick up his glass but it was gone. Meanwhile, Marinette brought the glass to her lips, savoring the expensive wine. She unintentionally locked eyes with Luthor, who looked like he realized who stole his drink. No one will ever believe you if you try to tell them, Marinette inwardly said. Giving him her most feral smile, she downed the drink in one go.

"That!" Luthor jabbed a finger in her direction. "Bruce! Isn't that your assistant?! She's the one causing trouble for me the whole night!"

"My assistant? Lexie, you must be seeing things! I gave her the night off—why would I need my assistant at a gala?"

At the moment Luthor forced him to look, Marinette had already slipped away somewhere else as if she'd vanished.

***

To other people who didn't know of Bruce's alter ego, it would be a mystery why he never had bodyguards with him. But to those in the know (exempli gratia, Marinette) it made sense, since Bruce had to slip in and out in times of emergencies and can defend himself pretty well. Marinette also had prior knowledge that Bruce sometimes let himself be captured to comply with the act. This kind of situation was one Marinette never wished to witness.

They were heading to a hotel for an investor and partnership meeting. Only Marinette, Bruce and the driver were in the limousine when the vehicle grinded to a halt. Peering towards the driver's seat, Marinette saw that the driver had slumped on top of the wheel.

"What the . . ."

The door was pulled open, and masked men armed with guns started pointing at them and telling them to get down. A couple pulled Bruce out of the limo, throwing him down on the pavement to be restrained.

"A kidnapping!" Airheaded 'Brucie' was on display, almost marveling at the situation they were in. "Haven't had those in a while. Careful now, don't be rough with my assistant."

Marinette stared at her boss in disbelief.

Is he . . . is he serious right now?!

Bruce was barely fighting back. No, he didn't fight back at all. You could've taken them all out and told me to keep quiet! Are we seriously doing this right now?! Are you secretly a masochist? Kwamis, we are going to be late for that meeting!

Marinette shut her mouth as she was also pulled out. The men were about to throw a gagged and bound Bruce into their (totally not suspicious) white van. We can't afford to miss this event, it's important for WE!

First, she disarmed them, kicking and knocking off the guns in their hands. One by one they fought back at her but she broke bones and pulled muscles flawlessly, not letting them land a single hit on her. Finally, she rounded them up in a neat circle with their own ropes and zip ties before dabbing the sweat on her forehead. Some of the men were unconscious, some were just disoriented.

Bruce was gawking at her. "Was that in your resumé?"

Marinette put her hands on her hips. "I didn't think it was relevant for the position. I took martial arts lessons in case . . . you know . . . I needed to kick an akuma's ass back in Paris."

"Oh."

"What were you even thinking, Mr. Wayne?" She glowered. "I know you also had self defense lessons—you could've fought back!"

"But—"

"Don't tell me you did it on purpose!"

Bruce quickly avoided her gaze. "I know how to stall the kidnappers until the vigilantes arrive for rescue."

"So you just sit still and do nothing?" Marinette scolded. "Mr. Wayne, who will sign my paychecks if something happens to you?"

"I'm used to it."

She gave him an unimpressed look. We're going to be late for the meeting anyway. Not to mention I'd have to get him a new suit and send his current one for drycleaning.

"Fine. You pride yourself now as a professional captive?" She smiled humorlessly. "Give me one good reason not to sacrifice you to these kidnappers right now."

"Wait, no—"

Marinette didn't even wait. She ushered her boss into the kidnappers' van and practically skipped towards the astounded masked men to free them. Albeit confused and still disoriented, the kidnappers took Bruce away and Marinette bade them goodbye while waving.

***

Of course, Marinette wasn't going to just leave Bruce like that. She still had her paycheck to worry about after all. After calling an ambulance for the driver, she drove the limousine herself and raced through the streets of Gotham, following Bruce's location through her tablet.

She arrived in a typical warehouse near the docks, as expected from amateur kidnappers. It was getting dark, but she allowed herself to enjoy the sunset for a little while. From her guesses, the rest of the family members would've already been alerted of his situation, so she took her place beside the building's door.

Lo and behold, it was Batman who arrived. Dick-Batman.

"Wait," she said when he passed by her.

. . . And she pretended not to notice him leaping back in shock.

"Huh?" Dick-Batman sputtered out.  "What are you doing here? It's dangerous—"

"Don't rescue him yet."

"What? Why?"

Marinette examined her fingernails casually. "He's enjoying playing damsel in distress right now while learning a very important lesson. Give it around five to ten minutes."

"Uhh, okay?"

Dick-Batman just leaned on the wall beside her in an awkward stance, trying to inconspicuously talk through his comms. 

**

Taglist: @hammalammadamdam @animegirlweeb @fairlyfatale

@agentxx92

[ariesqueencobra]

what we used to be | Xll

Pairing: Eli Moskowitz x Fem!Reader

Summary: Kreese begins slithering his way into Cobra Kai and you're not so sure about it. It only makes matters worse when your friend gets hurt and your boyfriend can't be there for him.

Warnings: swearing, kissing, slight bullying, mentions of assault and battery, mentions of stitches, play fighting, sparring, mention of a dick pic

Word Count: 2.6k

A/N: This is when things start getting good!

Thank you to those who already reblog and comment, I see you and I love you all for it!

I don't consent to this work being copied, translated or reposted.

“You gotta understand, the Mogadishu in the ‘90s was a hellhole,” Kreese explained. “Warlords controlled whole swaths in the city. My team and I were charged with cleaning the place up.”

You sucked in a breath, only imagining the hell Kreese went through while in the military.

“How many warlords did you kill?” Eli asked, smiling as he took interest in the conversation.

“You keep track of every ant you stomp on?” Kreese questioned.

“Woah,” you and Aisha said at the same time.

“Badass,” Eli grinned.

Kreese began another story, your attention span dwindling as you couldn’t picture where Kreese was as he listed other countries.

“They were outgunned, we were outmanned. I tell ya, Rwanda was no joke,” he sighed.

“Don’t you mean Somalia?” Miguel stood up. “Mogadishu’s in Somalia, Rwanda’s a whole other country,” he pointed out the man’s mistake.

“Of course, Somalia. I spend so much time in the sandbox, it all just bleeds together,” he said, cautiously stepping around his next words.

You nodded, attempting to understand.

“Listen up!” Sensei ordered, drawing your attention to him. “I see we got some new recruits,” he scanned over the crowd. “Everybody fall in. In neat rows and lines,” he said.

You caught his elaboration, a big step up from your first day. You face forward, face slack but you were giddy inside, already catching a few girls in the class.

Sensei stalked between the students until he paused, talking to someone. 

You heard an older voice and turned your head to see a grown man was present. He wanted to learn karate. You sent a glance at Eli, interest piquing you.

“I thought my last group was pathetic but if you do what I tell you to do you’ll at least have a chance of becoming a fighter,” Sensei boomed. “But to do that, you gotta fight. So who has the balls to take on the champ?”

Silence filled the room. 

“I’ll take him on,” a girl’s voice spoke up. 

You turned around to see a blonde with brunette roots stand in the back, her aura radiated power and dominance. You already liked her.

“I saw your little demo at Valley Fest. You guys put on a good show, but can you actually fight?” She smirked.

Oh, you definitely liked her.

“That sounds like a challenge,” Sensei said, taking a few steps closer to her.

“I like a challenge,” she responded.

Your smile grew, glancing at Aisha who shared the same sentiment.

“Mr. Diaz, show Little Miss Hotshot here what Cobra Kai is all about,” Sensei ordered, turning around and walking back to the front.

Miguel nodded but hesitated when he approached her. “Look, are you sure you wanna-,” he didn’t get the chance to respond when she charged toward him, kicking him square in the chest. He chuckled before he got serious. “Game on.”

They began fighting, Miguel having to block most hits. This girl was intense and she managed to stay even with him. 

You could also sense the heavy tension between them. 

It was cute. 

She body-slammed him onto the mat before he swept her legs out from under her. He stood up, offering a hand. “My name’s Miguel.” 

“Tory,” she breathed, grabbing his hand before she flipped him over, pinning his head to the mat. “With a y,” she said.

You snickered, impressed.

After class, you were in the mini-mart, getting some snacks before you headed off for a date with Eli. Aisha sighed behind you, staring at her phone. 

“Let me guess, dick pic?” Tory walked passed her.

You laughed, grabbing your favorite candy from the shelf before you joined both of them. 

“No, my mom wants me to go to the beach club with her,” Aisha sighed.

You and Tory stared at each other before laughing. 

“That sounds so miserable,” Tory mocked. 

“It’s not that,” Aisha smiled. “This girl Sam’s gonna be there and she and I are not on good terms,” she said. “Anyway, I’m Aisha, this is Y/N,” she jutted towards you.

“Tory,” she smiled at you two.

“That’s a cool bracelet,” you pointed at the spikey one. 

She smirked. “This? It’s not just for show. Some creepy guy at the mall tried to grab me once, but I managed to block him and give him a gift he won’t ever regret,” she jabbed her arm.

“Absolute badass,” you said, amazed. 

“You seem like you know how to kick ass pretty well, why did you join Cobra Kai?” 

“I’ve taken a few kickboxing lessons but I always wanted to smash boards blindfolded,” she mocked. 

You laughed. 

“The secret is poking little holes in the blindfolds,” Aisha whispered. 

“Cool,” Tory said. She walked towards the front of the store before Aisha stopped her.

“You guys wouldn’t mind joining me at the beach club? It’d be nice to have some backup,” she said.

“I’d love to, but Eli is taking me out on a date,” you smiled.

“Eli?” Tory furrowed her brows.

“Mohawk,” you said.

“You’re dating him?” She was surprised by it. “Seems intense,” she joked.

“Keeps me on my feet,” you responded.

“Well I guess I can suffer through a day at the beach,” Tory smiled, turning to Aisha.

“Have fun you guys, but we should all hang out together soon, it’s nice to have another girl on the team,” you grinned at Tory. You left the two, paying for your snacks before walking out.

Eli was leaning against the pillar outside, putting his phone away as you approached, talking to Miguel about something that clearly wasn’t making the other boy happy. 

“What’s going on?” You asked enthusiastically, glancing between the two boys. 

They glanced at each other, Miguel sending Eli a look that was only understood between them.

“Just talking about Kreese,” Miguel sighed. “I don’t trust him,” he admitted. 

Understanding, you nodded, patting Miguel on the shoulder. “Hopefully he doesn’t stick around much longer.”

Miguel agreed before he walked back inside the dojo, leaving you with Eli.

He kissed you on the lips, wrapping his arm around your shoulders before making his way to his car.

~

“Tory can kick ass, she proves girls are stronger than boys,” you snickered, ducking under a tree branch. 

The weather was sunny, with not a cloud in the sky. It wasn’t windy so it wasn’t that hot. It encouraged a good mood that your conversation drifted into one in which sex was stronger. 

“Sure she beat Miguel, doesn’t mean shit,” Eli retorted.

“I can beat your ass any day of the week,” you scoffed, stopping dead in your tracks. 

He was pulled back by your resistance, his brows furrowed at your words. “In your dreams, babe, I’m stronger than you, it’s okay to admit it,” he sucked in a breath, tugging on your hand to pull you along. 

The dock on the lake came into view and you were glad no one was around. This made this moment even more perfect.

“You’re on,” you pulled away, shrugging your backpack off.

He looked at you confused before he realized. “Winner gets bragging rights?” He smirked

“Definitely,” you grinned, raising your fists. 

He did the same but you didn’t even give him a chance until you were swinging your first punch. He blocked it, swiping your arms out before he aimed for a kick to your stomach.

You reacted, blocking him easily. You threw another punch, distracting him and managing to sweep his legs from under him. 

The leaves rustled under him and as he rolled onto his back, you swung your leg over, hovering over him. He was taken aback, visibly gulping. 

“Told ya,” you hummed, hands pressed onto his chest. The shit-eating look you had in your eyes was swiped the instant he flipped you over, a yelp escaping you.

“Wouldn’t call a victory that soon,” he grinned, hands holding him up on either side of your head. “Better luck next time, babe,” he smirked, moving off you and offering a hand.

You frowned, tucking a piece of hair behind your ear. “Does the loser get a kiss?” You grabbed onto his hand, your other wrapping around his forearm as you brought him close. 

He smirked, leaning in to kiss you but the next second, you grabbed him, throwing him over your shoulder and flipping him onto his back. He hissed in pain. 

You laughed. “Pucker up, loser gets a kiss,” you smirked, still holding onto his hand. 

A few minutes later you were now enjoying a tranquil day out on the dock, your leg crossed underneath you while the other dangled over the ledge.

Your stomach fluttered as Eli’s hand cradled your jaw, tilting your head to the side as he kissed you. Your hand rested on his wrist, the other pressed against his chest. No matter how many times you kissed him, you grew giddy, your face growing hot. It was a feeling you didn’t want to go away. 

“I think if we keep kissing, our lips are gonna fall off,” you snickered.

“Shh, I’ll take that risk,” he smirked against you, pulling you closer. 

The moment was beautiful but was cut short when your phone buzzed. This was the fifth time in the last ten minutes and you grew worried about who it was.

“Hang on,” you paused, pulling your phone out of your pocket.

“Just ignore it,” he brushed off, chasing your lips. 

“It’s Demitri,” you said, growing worried, knowing he only called for emergencies. 

Reading the messages he sent previously helped you relax, but seeing his urgency told you it was important.

“He’s probably only calling to bitch about something,” Eli scoffed, wrapping his arm around your waist to stop you but you pushed a hand against his chest. 

“Stop it,” you furrowed your brows, straightening and facing out onto the lake as you answered. “Are you okay?” You asked your friend.

“Eli didn’t tell you?” He asked.

“No, tell me what?” You furrowed your brows, sending your boyfriend a look.

“Your new Sensei attacked me in the dojo the other day, I had to get stitches,” he explained.

Your eyes widened. “He what?”

“Yeah, you heard me,” he said. “I thought Eli would’ve told you, but I guess I was wrong,” he sighed. “I wanted to let you know.”

“Yeah, thanks, I’ll stop by when I can, do you need anything?” You chewed on your lip, a feeling bubbling in your chest.

“I’m okay, thanks,” he said before hanging up.

“I told him to let it go,” Eli spoke up.

“Eli, our friend got hurt!” You exclaimed. “I knew Kreese had something off about him,” you said, thinking back to his slip-up at the dojo today. “Why didn’t you tell me? We could’ve been checking on Demitri like good friends instead of coming out here,” you gestured around you.

His brows furrowed. “Demitri will be fine. Besides, why would you put him over me? I thought our dates were important,” he argued.

“They are but things happen, he’s our best friend,” your voice cracked. “You should’ve told me,” you stood up, walking towards your backpack.

“Why are you acting like this? He’s the one acting like a bitch,” he sneered, standing up and following you. 

You couldn’t believe what he had said. “No, he’s not!” You turned around to look at him. “You’re the one acting so insecure! I’m not choosing him over you and it hurts that you’d say that,” you huffed.

You hated that you were arguing again. It’d been a while since the tournament but you hoped you were past it.

“Babe, stop,” he reached for your wrist, pulling you back. “I didn’t mean it like that,” he sighed. 

“I don’t want to fight about this,” you breathed. “I just want to see Demitri and make sure he’s okay,” you gulped. 

He was reluctant but after a beat, he agreed. “Okay, I’ll drive you.”

~

Disappointment filled you when Eli didn’t want to come inside to visit Demitri. First, it was the “nerd shit” stuff at the victory party but being so insensitive when he was assaulted?! 

You were trying to understand why Eli was losing himself. It hurt you in more ways than you could imagine.

After his mother let you in, you made your way to his room. You found him sitting at his desk, playing a game and when you knocked on the door, he turned around, showing you the bandage on his nose.

“I’m sorry I didn’t know,” you went over and hugged him. “And I’m sorry for how Eli reacted, I didn’t think he’d be defensive about it.” 

He nodded, patting your shoulders as he moved to sit on his bed. “It’s not your fault, at least one of my best friends still cares about me,” he shrugged.

Your gaze dropped, knowing you couldn’t even argue it. 

“I’ll talk to him,” you said. 

“Didn’t you already?” He looked at you. “It’s obvious he won’t change his mind. I’m just a big pussy according to him,” he sighed, licking his lips. 

“I think Kreese is getting into his head. He hasn’t been around long but he’s already slithering his way into Cobra Kai. I gotta be honest when I say I don’t like it,” you frowned. 

Valley Fest was his idea, he punched Demitri, and now your boyfriend is getting swooped up into his ideologies. Sure, he was Sensei’s sensei, but you had a feeling he was trying to revert Cobra Kai to its original state. 

“At least you’re not getting assaulted because of it,” he spoke.

“I know,” you nodded. “I guess you’re not joining Cobra Kai then,” you stated the obvious.

He shook his head. “I’m thinking of joining Miyagi-Do,” he confessed.

Your brows raised in surprise. You knew if Eli heard of this or anyone from Cobra Kai did, they’d be pissed but all you could find yourself doing was feeling proud of him. 

“Their demonstration did seem pretty cool,” you smiled. “I think you’ll fit right in,” you beamed. “And I promise I won’t say anything to Eli.”

“Thanks,” he sighed out in relief. “What about you?” He asked.

“What about me?” Your face scrunched in confusion. 

“Isn’t Kreese one of your sensei’s now? Don’t you want to get out before it’s too late for you too?” His voice was filled with so much concern. 

“He’s not my sensei,” you shook your head. “I don’t agree with what he believes,” you said. “Besides, someone needs to watch Eli, right?” Your tone was playful. 

He agreed. “Sure, I guess. Until he turns completely toxic and takes it out on you,” he warned. 

“I’m strong enough to not let that happen,” you cocked a brow. “Miyagi-Do will make you strong, so don’t worry about Eli, I’m proud, okay?”

“Thanks, Y/N,” he smiled.

Later, he offered for you to stay for dinner, which you accepted. It was a nice distraction from the worry you held when it came to your boyfriend. You just hoped he’d change once you talk to him.

~

The next day at the dojo, practice ran like usual.

“The back thrust kick works like this,” Sensei demonstrated. 

“What about if your opponent attacks you from behind?” Eli asked.

“Excellent question,” Sensei pointed. “Sensei Kreese, you wanna take this one?” 

You frowned slightly, eyeing the older man. Where were you when he was appointed as a sensei? You weren’t sure about this.

“Certainly Sensei Lawrence,” Kreese said, uncrossing his arms and making his way to the front.

“The key to making this move is to trick your enemy into thinking you’re retreating,” he began. “But just as they’re letting their guard down, that’s when you strike the hardest,” he demonstrated the kick. 

You took in the lesson, but the glance you shared with Miguel told you all you needed to know.

[sequinsmile-x]

I Knew You'd Linger Like a Tattoo Kiss - Kisses on the Corner of their Mouth

-x-

A series of unrelated one-shots and mini fics about the many types of kisses Aaron and Emily share.

-x-

Hi friends,

Here's another one of these for y'all! Sorry for the radio silence over the weekend, my sister was here to look after me and when we weren't out doing enrichment activities (shopping) to keep my brain alive I was too tired to think.

Please see the masterlist for a full list of tags, and the list of prompts for this series.

Chapter two of Hide Beside Me will be up tomorrow :)

As always, please let me know what you think <3

-x-

Words: 2k

Read over on Ao3, or below the cut

“Motherfucker,” Emily winces as she pulls away the antiseptic wipe she’d pressed to her skin the moment it touches her split lip, the pain lancing through her. She grits her teeth, her hand tight on the edge of the countertop, her short nails scratching against the worn laminate as the pain passes. She blows out a slow breath and looks at herself in the mirror, grimacing at the cut in the middle of her lower lip, her skin torn open by the butt of the unsub’s gun.

He’d been better prepared than they thought he would be, and he’d been waiting for them, hiding behind a door she’d walked through as the team swept his house. He’d jumped out, briefly pointing his gun at her before he chickened out of shooting her, a look of panic on his face as he realised she wasn’t alone. He’d lunged at her, hitting her square in the face with his gun as he attempted his escape. She’d cried out, alerting the rest of the team to where he was and Derek caught up with him quickly. 

Aaron had come running into the room, his eyes wide as if he had found her with a bullet in her vest, or worse, and she assured him she was fine, rolling her eyes at her boyfriend as he gently held her face in place. A hand on each cheek as he inspected her split lip. He’d tried to insist that she went to the hospital, something she was able to talk him out of, and as soon as they made it to the precinct she’d found the first aid kit and slinked off to the women’s bathroom, keen to clean up her injury and briefly escape Aaron’s hovering. 

She sighs as she hears the door open and she looks in the mirror again, unsurprised to see him standing behind her, “This is the women’s bathroom.” 

“I know,” he replies, stepping further into the bathroom before he turns and locks the main door behind him, ensuring it would just be the two of them, “I wanted to make sure you’re okay.” 

If it was anyone other than him, she’d be annoyed. She’d feel coddled, like he was trying to control her, like he didn’t think she could look after herself. But she knew that wasn’t the case. This was how he showed love, acts of service that she was still getting used to even 8 months into their relationship. She always wondered if it was a reaction to everything that had happened with Haley. If the way he loved those around him had changed to reflect what he saw as the mistakes of his past, the guilt that weighed so heavily on his shoulders she could sometimes see it. How he’d get physically smaller when he woke from a nightmare, his shoulders slumping as he curled in on himself, his expression so boyish he looked like Jack, fear and regret shining in his eyes as she tried to draw him back to her. Her forehead against his and her hand curled around the back of his neck to hold him in place as she told him everything good that she could think of.

She flashes a smile at him, grimacing when it pulls at the split in her lip, “I’m okay, I promise,” she says, turning to look at him, “It just stings, that’s all.” 

He steps towards her, an urgency in his touch when his hand finds her waist that makes her smile, “Have you managed to clean it?” 

She shakes her head, “Not yet.” 

He leans forward and kisses her cheek as he squeezes her waist, “Get up on the counter.” 

She playfully raises an eyebrow at him, a mischievous spark in her eyes that lets him know what she’s going to say before she says it, “I don’t think now is really the time.” 

It’s Aaron’s turn to roll his eyes, “Not for that sweetheart,” he says, stepping back to give her room, “So I can clean your lip for you.” 

She does as he’s asked, pushing herself up onto the counter before she passes him the first aid kit, “Come on then, Nurse Hotchner. Let's get this over with.” 

He reaches for an antiseptic wipe and encourages her to spread her legs enough for him to get as close as possible, something they both know is unnecessary but it makes warmth spread in her chest, the love she had for him always growing, every single thing he did something that made her fall impossibly more in love with him. 

“This is going to sting,” he says, his voice soft and gentle as he waits for her to nod in acknowledgement before he wipes it back and forth over her broken skin. She winces and he does too, the hand not cleaning her lip finding her waist, squeezing her skin to provide distraction and comfort in equal measure, “I’m sorry sweetheart.” 

She places her hand over his on her waist, encouraging him to let go so she can link her fingers through his, “It’s not your fault, honey,” she assures him, running her thumb back and forth over the heel of his hand, “We both know I’ve survived worse than a split lip.” 

He tightens his hold on her hand and disposes of the used wipe, “I know,” he says, raising her hand to kiss her knuckles, “We both have, but it doesn’t make seeing you get hurt any easier.” 

Emily knew she wasn’t any better than he was, that the mere thought of him getting hurt was enough to make panic climb up her throat, her ability to breathe tied up with his. Their lifelines wrapped around each other like vines, so intertwined she wasn’t sure how she’d cope if she ever lost him. It scared her. Her reliance on him, how much she loved him, how important he was to her. But she knew it was worth it. Whether she had him for 5 years or 50. Being loved, and loving him like this was worth whatever pain that would follow. 

“I know,” she says, reaching up and running her fingers through his hair, “I still don’t think I’m over that unsub coming at you with a knife a few months ago.” He’d barely been hurt. She knew that, the knife drawn across his skin in a way that hadn’t even needed stitches. But that hadn’t stopped the way her chest had constricted at the sight of blood blooming on his white shirt. A grim pattern that reminded her of unpacking his clothes from a plastic bag when he was in a hospital bed after Foyet. Back when he wasn’t hers and she was finally coming to terms with the realisation that she was in love with him, that the feelings she’d been harbouring for months weren’t just a simple crush on her boss. She leans forward to kiss him and frowns when he pulls back, her eyebrows furrowing, “I want a kiss. I was hit in the face with a gun today,” she says, and she knows if it wouldn’t hurt she’d pout, “I deserve a kiss.” 

Aaron smiles and tucks her hair behind her ear, his knuckles lingering against her cheekbone as he speaks, “I don’t want to hurt you.” 

She squeezes his hand and hooks one of her legs around him, holding him in place even though they both know he could step back if he wanted to, “You never could.” 

He sighs, his resolve already crumbling, his inability to say no to her something they were both more than aware of, “Em-”

“Besides,” she says, cutting him off, not wanting to let him come up with another reason not to kiss her, “I thought the Hotchner rule was you had to kiss something better,” she bites the inside of her cheek to stop herself from smiling, “How will it ever heal without the final step to the process,” she cups his cheek, “Especially since we have no Batman bandaids to hand.” 

Thanks to Jack being adventurous, a trait Aaron encouraged, delighted his son wasn’t afraid of life and of living it after everything he’d been through, she’d watched her boyfriend tend to a lot of scraped knees and elbows. Tumbles from playground equipment and falls from his bike treated with antiseptic wipes, Batman bandaids and a kiss, in that order. It never failed to make her picture Aaron doing the same to a little girl or boy who was half her and half him, their face slightly out of reach but their laugh the same as his as he pressed a bandaid to a tiny knee. She wanted it so much it made her ache. The life she’d always wanted but never thought she’d get finally on the path in front of her, the road ahead clear and easy for the first time in her life. 

Aaron groans, and she knows she’s won. He leans forward and kisses the corner of her lips, and then he switches to the other, purposely avoiding the split in her skin, and he smiles widely at her when he pulls back, “There you go,” he says, kissing her knuckles, “All better.” 

She shakes her head at him, “You’re lucky you’re cute.” 

He hums and leans in to kiss her forehead before he encourages her off the counter, his hands on her hips, “We should get out of here,” he says, his smile wide, his dimples making a rare appearance whilst they were on a case, “Before the others get the wrong idea about what we’re doing in here.” 

She laughs, and then immediately grimaces, her hand coming up to press against her lip, “Damn it.” 

“Sorry-”

“Please don’t apologise for making me laugh,” she says, squeezing his hand before she steps away, reaching for the lock on the door, “You should never be sorry for making me happy, okay?” 

He nods, leaning in to kiss the corner of her lips again, giving her one last moment of them before they would get another chance at home, “Okay. I love you.” 

She lifts their joint hands and rests her cheek against the back of his, smiling when he strokes her skin with his knuckles, “I love you too,” she replies, turning to open the door and stepping out, immediately ignoring the smirks Derek and Dave throw her across the room. 

“One last thing,” Aaron says as he steps out of the bathroom too, purposely ignoring how it deepens their friend's enjoyment of the situation. She turns and looks at him, her eyebrow raised, “If you think I’ve been over the top with this, just wait until Jack sees you’re hurt.” 

She groans, remembering how Jack had reacted when she’d cut her foot accidentally on a glass he’d broken, a shard she and Aaron had somehow missed still on the kitchen floor. He’d barely let her do anything, insisting she stayed on the couch. His expression as serious as his father’s as he presented her with a cup of tea he’d made with water straight from the faucet. It was the worst cup of tea she’d ever had, but also the best, and she’d drunk every last drop as he sat pressed up against her.

“You Hotchners are lucky I love you so much,” she mumbles and he chuckles, letting his hand ghost over her lower back before they step apart and walk towards the others, ready to wrap everything up so they could leave. 

“We really are.”