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sevsgiirl · 3 days ago

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— piss her off ‘til she hates me, pt. 3 (final)

pt. 1, pt. 2

mechanic!sevika x reader. men and minors dni.

synopsis: when the vacant house next to sevika’s finally got new tenants she didn’t think much of it. as long as her new neighbors didn’t cause any trouble, all was well. that is until she found out the neighbor had a young daughter.

word count: 9k words.

tags: age difference, alternate universe, mechanic!sevika, brat!reader, enemies to lovers, oral sex, dom!sevika, sub!reader, pet names, scissoring, fingering, hate sex, vaginal fingering.

note: anddd we’re on the final! I hope you guys enjoyed this little fic I wrote. it’s my first ever fic writing for sevika and I originally posted this on ao3 but thought I’d bring it here to tumblr as well <3

you can check out the fic playlist here.

you need to get the hell out of here.

you were becoming a problem and sevika doesn’t know how much more she can take until she starts losing her mind. you were loud, reckless, inconsiderate, had a questionable way of dressing yourself (who the fuck wears fishnet stockings and skirts in this weather?) and most importantly-

you were way too fucking young for her to be thinking about you like this.

lewd, pervasive thoughts crept into the back of sevika’s mind shortly after you caught her gawking at you. she wanted the ground to swallow her whole, not only because she has to explain to you why you caught her eyeing you like a raw piece of meat, but also because she had to sit down and reflect why seeing you in that state - naked, alone and oh so, vulnerable - caused her heartbeat to quicken.

she tossed and turned on her bed unable to sleep, visions of your skin and how soft it looked plagued her thoughts. the small curve of your spine while you stared at yourself in the mirror, acting all timid which was a juxtaposition to your usual bold behavior.

sevika bit her lip at the thought. maybe there were layers to you she didn’t know about yet - layers she’d have to admit she wanted to unravel piece by piece.

perhaps underneath the confident persona you put up, hid a needy and bratty girl who just compensated for the lack of attention she got by being loud and intolerable. that should explain it.

why every time sevika didn’t pay you any mind you insisted on pushing her buttons just to get a reaction. how you clearly reveled in being told no and disobeying.

it annoyed the shit out of her and she’s imagined many times putting you in your place, and how the only thing up for debate was her method of doing so.

when she let her mind linger on the idea, all she could think about was how she could bring out that same shyness she saw in you earlier. maybe if she pushed you hard enough she could do it.

push you down onto your knees rather while gripping your hair. tight enough that it’ll cause your eyes to water, pleading with her that you won’t disobey her again after being such a goddamn headache.

she can picture it now. slipping a thumb into that annoying mouth of yours so she can shut you up while you suck on it, feeling you drool by the corners as you let your tongue swirl languidly around the thick digit, imagining just how better it’d feel if it was her strap buried deep into your throat while she pushed it in and out of your warm mouth until you found it difficult to breathe. maybe then you’d learn to behave.

sevika’s throat bobbed as she envisioned throwing you harshly onto her bed, legs spread while you looked up at her with glossy eyes. she found herself unbuckling the belt around her hips, thoughts of you swimming in the darkest corners of her mind while she pulled her pants down until it bunched up around her feet and she snaked a hand down into her boxers.

feeling just how wet she’d gotten imagining you writhing on her sheets, soft sighs and pathetic whimpers leaving your mouth while she’d plunge two to three fingers in and out of your tight hole.

then she’ll push you by the arch of your back and your thighs will grow moist by the abundance of slick she’ll coax out of you. sevika lets out a groan as she rubbed circles onto her clit, visions of your naked form taped onto the back of her eyelids while she slipped a finger in and gave her poor pussy its needed stimulation.

the rhythm of her touch started slow and her eyes fluttered shut - thinking about getting on all fours and gripping the meat of your thighs while she ate you out. doing it at her own pace and teasing you until you start whining, demanding she go faster but it’s not like you deserve it, do you? after how you’ve been acting.

how she’ll lap you up with her tongue and take her time with you like you’re a meal needing to be savored. god, just imagining how you would taste drove her insane.

her chest began to rise and fall as images of your fucked out face came to mind - with tears streaming down your cheeks while you babble out incoherent nonsense. telling her to go harder, faster, to handle you in whichever way she likes.

the pace of her fingers quickened, and the slow build-up of a climax started to unfurl deep in her abdomen, feeling the throes of her pleasure soar as she became just as desperate as you were in the sick little fantasy she conjured up in her head.

how after she’s finished eating you out she’ll pull out her strap and slide it into your needy cunt, watching you beg for it while little cries of pleasure slip past your lips.

a litany of promises of how you’ll be good. that you won’t disobey her again and that you’ll do better than to talk back and test her patience, and how she’ll reward you with every harsh snap of her hips until the tip of her strap reaches so far into your insides that all you see is white.

how your nails will claw down her back and leave a trail of scratches that’ll sting so good. with that, she felt something in her snap as her orgasm consumed her.

moaning loudly, sevika felt herself leak down onto her sheets. surprising even herself at just how much came out of her, at how much the thought of you alone immobilized her, she could barely feel her limbs as exhaustion slowly overtook her. she couldn’t even find it in herself to feel ashamed about what she’s done before she fell asleep.

but little did she know, that right across her window and into your bedroom, was you writhing just as pathetically on your bed while you drew orgasm after orgasm out of your pussy. trying to repress the noises you so desperately wanted to let out in case your father would hear. you pushed in and out the lengthy dildo in your sopping cunt, your cum coating it to the hilt as your body shook.

meanwhile, sevika’s name tingled just at the tip of your tongue.

𐙚 ˙ ⋆ .˚

she couldn’t bear to look at your father in the eyes after that.

she felt guilty, so fucking guilty because here your old man was being nice to her and what does she do? act like a creep around his daughter and fantasize about fucking you into her mattress?

it was shameful but it’s not like she could push it down and ignore it. until now she still hasn’t been able to. too caught up in how she’s been obsessing over you since. she knew her agitation towards you stemmed from genuine annoyance, but she’s speculated there was more it than that.

how you’ve vexed her without even knowing it. sevika may be in denial but she wasn’t a liar. she’s caught herself many times in the past eyeing you way too long. how some of your clothes were way too short and revealed slithers of skin so intimate it made the insides of her mouth dry up.

how she’d watch you from her porch while you sun bathed on your front lawn. nothing but a thin bikini on as on-lookers, mainly boys around your age, stopped to stare as she glowered at them until they ran off. she wanted to justify it thinking she just wanted to do good by your father, but by the way she’d continue to let her gaze linger on the deep plunges of your cleavage she realized she was full of shit and wasn’t any better.

still, it was wrong and so she avoided you. even when you continued to litter on her yard and blast your annoying music, she ignored it and didn’t waste any time confronting you or telling you to keep it down.

you knew the reason for it too. you weren’t stupid. it irked you beyond belief because it’s not like it was a big fucking deal? she caught you half naked, so what? now here she was acting like you’re a deadly virus she needed to avoid. truth be told, as much as the two of you got under each other’s skin, seeing that exasperated look on her face as she took the trash out and heard your alternative pop rock music blasting loudly from your room made your day.

plus you’d never admit it, but you’ve noticed the way she’s stared at you. even though her actions spoke otherwise you couldn’t ignore the tension between you and how that only got amplified by how she’d get up in your face and tell you to fuck off.

you found enjoyment in it, and now she’s not doing it anymore. you hated to feel this way but it almost made you feel unwanted.

so much so that you didn’t even bother blasting your speakers anymore, which made sevika curious but decided to brush it off while she continued fixing her car engine outside her house, oil and grease lathered onto her forearms as she positioned herself beneath the vehicle, giving you a good view of her muscles and the way her abs rippled underneath her shirt.

she was annoying but dear god, was she hot.

you couldn’t stand it.

you walked closer to where she laid on the ground, covering the streaks of sun that bounced off her glistening brown skin and she wondered about the silhouette that suddenly casted itself over her. she then pushed herself from beneath the car only to be met with the sight of you, ever so curious.

“I need to borrow a screwdriver,” you said with your arms clasped behind your back, staring down at her expectantly.

sevika took a moment to process your request before she let out a scoff, resuming her task and you frowned at her ambivalence “fuck off, princess.”

“I mean it,”

“yeah sure, and let’s all just act like the tools mounted on your dad’s garage isn’t there but somehow my tiny tool box is more of use to you.” she quipped back. she’s been invited there before when your father asked her for help to fix his generator.

you huffed “his screwdriver is uh… dull now.”

“and you’ve become less insufferable. see? we can all lie. now scram.”

you wanted to throw that tool box on her head. why was she being so stubborn and ignoring you? you hated it but you refused to back down, even when she continued fixing her car and not paying you any mind.

“I told you, I’m not-“

“why haven’t you been paying me any attention lately?”

sevika blinked slowly at your question. it was so meek too, the way you asked it, so out of character from the way you normally presented yourself. she pulled herself from underneath the vehicle again just to see you watching her with an almost puppy eyed look on your face.

she sighed. god, what are you doing now?

“I never pay attention to you.”

“we both know that’s not true.”

“I only pay attention to you just to tell you to quit being annoying. I promise you that’s not the kind of attention you should be worried that I’m no longer giving to you.”

‘we’ll, it’s better than nothing’ you thought but kept it to yourself, intending to be more straightforward instead.

“is this because of what happened a few days ago? when I caught you staring at me from my window?”

sevika didn’t expect you to bring it up, so to say she was caught off guard would be an understatement “that’s not-“

“it is, isn’t it?” you chuckled “grow up. it’s not like it was a big deal. plus I could tell you liked it.”

a deep blush painted over sevika’s face and you liked that your words got to her. she began to stand up from where she laid on the ground and hovered over you, her jaw clenched and visibly irked.

“I’m telling you this now. quit it or else.” she warned and your eyes darted to her lips.

you took that as a challenge “or what?” you stepped closer, tip toeing ever so slightly that your nose almost brushed against hers.

sevika couldn’t believe this. what’s gotten into you? but she should’ve seen this coming. she knew you did everything that you did because you wanted attention, craved it. and based on how desperate you looked right now, she was tempted to set you straight and give you what you wanted.

to grab you by the waist and bend you over the hood of her car and take you right ther-

she shook her head, stepping away as you looked at her like a wounded animal at the loss of proximity.

fuck. this girl is gonna be the death of me.

“go home. I don’t have time for your bullshit.” sevika snapped, picking up her tool box and walking back inside her garage. she then watched as you stood there, a pout on your face and your eyebrows furrowed before you glared at her, stomping back to your house and she slammed the garage door shut.

this is bad. so fucking bad.

𐙚 ˙ ⋆ .˚

two weeks.

two more weeks before you head back to college and sevika couldn’t be any more grateful.

because thank fucking god she didn’t have to deal with you anymore. not that she had to ever since your little moment with her while she was fixing her car. everything seemed to stop after that. the music, the pestering, all of it.

while she was relieved you were out of her hair, she couldn’t deny that a part of her felt almost restless since you stopped bothering her. coupled with the news that she no longer had to see you for god knows how long. it was overwhelming, but still. it was for the best.

she still talked to your father now and then and was recently asked if she could watch over you while he goes out of town to tend to your grandmother who had recently fallen ill. nothing too serious. but because she only lived alone of course your father was quick to pack his bags for the next three days to go check up on her. so she agreed.

not that she was going to come over, babysit you or anything. she just had to watch over the house and see if you’d go out late and to inform him of any suspicious happenings while he’s gone.

on the day that he left, sevika watched from her front door when you bid him farewell. giving him a long hug before he got into his car and drove off.

leaving you two to meet each other’s eye again and you simply brushed her off, slamming your door shut once you were inside. no commotion from you after that, nothing.

one could say she liked the silence, but it unsettled her. maybe you just got her so used to your chaotic nature these past couple of weeks the absence of it felt disorienting. yeah, that’s the only explanation for it.

she wanted to chalk it up and think that in a matter of days everything will blow over. plus her boss had informed her the renovation will be done soon so she needed the peace and quiet now more than ever, and for a moment she really thought she had it.

until she heard it again.

but this time much louder.

she had just fallen asleep on her couch and it was nearing 8pm when the sounds of a crowd outside jolted her out of her slumber. she rubbed her eyes and looked around to see where all the noise was coming from, and when she peeked through her blinds she couldn’t believe it.

your house open to a line of people, some she recognized to be the firelights and others she couldn’t even identify, coming in and out of your house as the same overpowering music blared from your living room - so loud she could feel the shockwaves bounce through her walls.

you were ridiculous. so fucking ridiculous and she should’ve known better than to think you learned your lesson.

without a moment of hesitation she got up from her couch and marched her way to your house, pushing past the bodies of intoxicated twenty something year olds grinding against one another. neon green lights illuminated through the windows of your home and red solo caps were scattered across the grass your father worked so hard to trim.

she was angry because while you were here throwing a fucking party, he was out of town looking after your sick grandmother.

you’re unbelievable. so fucking unbelievable.

she noticed many familiar faces when she pushed through the sea of people dancing in your living room, but one she was quick to pluck out from the crowd was a girl whose bright blue hair couldn’t be missed even from a mile ahead.

she made her way towards her, forced her to turn around by her shoulder and powder looked up, confused before she registered sevika’s face.

“sevika?” she yelled through the bustling sound of techno music “what are you doing here?”

“where is she?” she didn’t have to clarify who because powder immediately knew who sevika was referring to.

“she’s throwing a party before she goes back to college. can you please just lay off her and-“

“I don’t fucking care. she’s caused enough trouble as it is.” she snapped, making powder take a step back and before she could even reason with the distressed older woman, was when you finally appeared.

scurrying through the crowd in a tight, strapless mini dress that reached below your thighs, the material hugging your body in all the right places and while sevika would’ve loved to take her time to look at you, she wasn’t in the mood.

your eyes widened when you saw each other, but then your expression quickly turned sour and you crossed your arms over your chest “what the hell are you doing here?” you asked, voice clipped.

her nostrils flared as she straightened her posture and towered over you, her height overwhelming in the already cramped space.

“I already told you to quit this bullshit. but of course you never listen. your father is out of town and you pull this nonsense?” she barked and you can only laugh in response.

“what? you think just because my dad is not here you have full authority over me? fuck off, sevika.” you spat, a stubbornness in your tone that didn’t allow any room for arguments.

but sevika fought harder.

she balled her fists, looked around and saw the empty bottle of hennessy on the table near her. your eyebrows knitted together when you watched her take it, raise it in the air and slam it onto the edge of the table, causing everyone around you to stop and stare as the music paused.

you couldn’t believe what she had just done as she glowered at the many faces in the room, a mixture of both scared and perplexed at the sight of her.

“everyone. out!” she yelled, her voice echoing like a clap of thunder bolt.

everyone got up and fled as fast as they could. meanwhile, you stood there frozen, shocked at just how easily she was able to ruin your night as the last person got out of the room until it was only the two of you left.

the room was simply crickets and your bottom lip wobbled, a sob threatening to spill out “what the fuck is your problem?” you cried out. sevika couldn’t help but chuckle at your pathetic display of frustration. you looked like you wanted to tear her apart.

“do you have any idea the commotion you could’ve caused? your dad works at the town’s office and if any of the neighbors got fed up with you and decided to call the deputy to file a complaint, how do you think this will look for him? you’ll be leaving in two weeks and won’t be the one facing the repercussions of your actions. but he will.”

your shoulders sagged at the realization. perhaps the thought of you leaving your dad again got you so tangled up in your emotions you couldn’t think clearly, coupled with the unresolved tension between you and sevika. everything had become too much to bear. you wanted a moment away from it all.

“I didn’t think-“

“yeah, that’s the problem with you. you don’t think.” she growled and your mouth fell open at her words.

that’s when you felt it - the fiery hot rage that culminated inside of you these past couple of days after being ignored by her. truth be told, a huge part of the reason behind all of this was because you needed a way to grab her attention again. but with the way she was speaking to you now you’re beginning to doubt if you still want it.

“I don’t need you to talk to me like I’m a child.” you hissed and she grinned.

she walked towards you and bent her head slightly so she was eye level with you - her hot breath fanning against your lips.

“then stop fucking acting like one.” she bit back, noticing the way your breathing became shallow.

“you’re so obnoxious, you know that? you’re so deprived of attention and what do you do? you act like a brat. always so loud with your horrible music and skimpy clothes, walking around like you need the attention so badly you’re almost thirsty for it.” she said, her voice dropping to a dangerous octave and you only looked at her, wide eyed “what do you get out of it, huh? annoying me so fucking much?”

you were unable to speak. at loss for words while your gaze darted from her eyes down to her full lips that was formed in a subtle snarl.

you were silent before your mouth twitched into a smirk “I like the way you get mad at me.” you purred, clutching her shirt and tugging her towards you “it turns me on.”

sevika didn’t have time to process what was happening when you smashed your lips on hers. the kiss searing, hot and heavy. all teeth and desperation and clawing onto each other, the outcome of the built up tension between you two ever since you arrived.

her hands pawed at your hips, leaving deep crescents on their journey down to your thighs and she harshly gripped the plush skin with her blunt nails. making you squeal and she lifted you up while you circled your legs around her waist.

she tore her mouth away from yours and proceeded to pepper kisses down your throat, a broken moan leaving your lips at the feeling of her sucking on the sensitive area below your ear. sure to leave hickeys once she’s done while she leveled her eyes with yours with a predatory look.

“this is just what you wanted, huh?” she huffed and you nodded your head.

“sevika, please…”

“please what?” she taunted with a nasty grin on her stupid, beautiful face “what do you want me to do, princess?”

you bit your bottom lip while a tear fell from the corner of your eye and dear god, she didn’t expect it’d ever come to this. all those nights imagining what you’d look like under her and here you were, so pliant and needy for her touch.

you snaked your arms around her neck and pulled her closer “you know what I want,” you whined with a pout, which amused her even more.

“nah. that’s not enough, baby. want to hear you say it. come on.” you gasped at the feeling of her callous fingers trailing softly inside your thighs, leaving feather like touches that left goosebumps on your skin.

“sevika, please.” you cried out, trying to grind on her hand and it only made her pull it away.

“say it, you little brat. come on.” she pressed once more and you groaned.

“please fuck me.” you mumbled and she lets out a tsk at your tone.

“I’m sorry, what was that?”

your jaw clenched and you tugged at the fabric of her top “I said please fuck me!” you demanded “sevika, I swear-“

that was all she needed. she didn’t intend on teasing you further when she herself wanted this just as much as you did. maybe even more.

the next thing you knew she placed you onto the table, took her arm, used it to slide everything that was on top and threw it all onto the ground. adjusting you properly onto the wooden surface before crouching down so she could be near your crotch.

your breath hitched when she bunched up the bottom of dress so she could see the lace panties you wore, whistling at the sight as your cheeks warmed “take a look at this.”

before you could make a snide remark, your head fell back when she suddenly dug her nose at your clothed heat, moaning when she kissed the area and sucked. hard.

“sevika… oh my god.” you whined helplessly when she continued licking through your panties, biting the inside of your thighs and leaving little love marks as your body shivered.

the sound of fabric tearing snapped you out of your euphoric state and you looked down to see she practically ripped your underwear in two “why the fuck would you-“

“shut up. I’ll get you another one.“ she grumbled, holding your hips tightly.

“but those were expensive, you asshol!-“

your words died in your throat when she licked a fat stripe onto your pussy with her hot, wet tongue. making you cry when she lapped your juices like a woman starved.

“you’re so fucking soaked...” she groaned, vibrations shooting up your spine and you clenched at the way her tongue drew circles around your clit to all of a sudden deep thrusts with the muscle. you shamelessly rode her face as your slick dripped from her mouth down to her chin.

she pulled back and quickly collected spit in her mouth just to shoot it down your puffy cunt, watching the way her saliva moved down to your folds and she lets out a shaky breath “such a pretty fucking pussy.” she rasped, lapping at it harshly.

you arched your back and gripped the edge of the table so hard you swore that your knuckles turned white. with her pupils blown wide you felt like were being feasted upon as she continued making harsh sucks onto your bud, feeling your orgasm approaching and you started squirming in her hold.

“I’m so close, sev…” you whimpered and her tongue darted further while you felt one of her fingers prod your entrance before she slipped it in, a choked sob leaving your mouth at the stretch when she pushed it in and out at a maddening pace before adding another finger in.

you swore you almost saw stars explode behind your eyelids at the way she fucked you with her fingers, starting off gentle before she began ramming them into you at a brutal pace. so much so that your body rocked back and forth against the table.

“s-sev, please! please! fuck!” your cries were borderline pornographic as she continued pounding into you “I’m gonna cum, I’m gonna cum, I’m gonna-“ your words came to a screeching halt as white, hot blinding pleasure took over your body in harsh tremors.

you cried loudly and gripped her hair but she didn’t let up, slurping up your juices while she bent her fingers to piston them into your tight walls you could only thrash in her grip due to the overstimulation “s-sev… too m-much.”

“this is what you needed right? to have the attitude fucked outta you?” she chuckled before giving your clit one last kiss.

watching the way your pussy gaped before she started sliding her sweats down, her chiseled abs and prominent V line coming into view and you licked the top of your lips when she pulled her shirt over head, leaving her in nothing but her sports bra.

she took your dress and pulled it down until you were left bare naked as well. then she scooped you up in her arms and placed you onto the carpeted floor.

she leaned down, placed a languid kiss onto your lips and you cupped her face in your hands as you moaned softly.

she then slotted your legs together so her clit touched yours. it was swollen and red due to not getting her fill yet and she groaned at the feeling of your wetness grinding against hers. humping you like an animal in heat.

“that’s right. f-fuck. cum for me. cum for me one last time while I shoot my load onto this pretty fucking pussy.” she huffed while your eyes moved to watch the scene below you and your jaw went slack at the way your clits dragged against one another. your slick meshing with hers and the residue of saliva that she left when she was eating you out.

you felt the coil in your stomach tighten one last time and you swore you were about to pass out “I’m gonna c-cum again, sev. oh my god.”

“cum for me. cum again for me, baby. come on.” she panted while the sounds of skin slapping resonated through the small space of your kitchen, making you wail out while your tits bounced at the the violent way her hips snapped at the bottom of your thighs.

you came the second time that night, body trembling so hard you simply went limp and sevika continued using your body to get off.

she followed you shortly after, grunting as her hands gripped your hips so tightly you were certain it’ll leave bruises.

she was breathing heavily, squeezing your sides before she dipped her head down to kiss you.

you hummed at the display of affection and she pulled back once both of you found it hard to breathe.

“that was…” she muttered and you giggled.

you peppered kisses up her jaw and smiled “I don’t think I’m gonna be able to have breakfast on that table the same way again.” you said which sevika could only laugh at, shaking her head as she palmed your cheek.

“god,” she looked at you with amused eyes as you nuzzled against her touch “you really are something aren’t you, princess?”

#sevika x reader #sevika x you #sevika x y/n #arcane #arcane smut #wlw smut #arcane fanfiction #lesbian #sapphic

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aloysiavirgata · 2 days ago

Note

prompt:

byers: why dont you tell scully you love her?

mulder: i cant, she'll think im only saying it because were having a baby.

They’re eating wings at Kislings in Baltimore. Langley won’t touch blue cheese, something about spores and a fungal internet, so Mulder had to order ranch as well. Like a fucking pussy.

Frohike crunches hard on a log of celery. “You talk to her yet?”

Mulder scowls. “I observed that she would look like a bowler hat if turned sideways. She declined to be amused.”

Frohike groans. “Jesus. Did you really?”

Mulder scowls with increased vigor. “Dear Abby never covered this particular situation, my apologies. Should I approach the lady in white tie or a morning suit?”

Byers pokes at a pile of discarded chicken bones. “Have you tried being honest with her?”

For a man who has spent most of his adult life in pursuit of the truth, Mulder looks deeply disgusted.

“What the fuck does that mean?”

Even Langley is contemptuous at this. He rises, disappearing into a darkly recessed corner that houses Ms. Pac-Man.

“You’re an idiot,” Frohike observes into the mound of chili fries. “UPenn, Oxford. The dumbest motherfucker I know. I’ll marry her tomorrow; when do the courts open? Mulder, with all due respect and forgetting the rest of it? HAVE YOU SEEN HER?”

“Shut up,” Mulder says, weary.

Byers, ever gentle, squeezes his friend’s shoulder. “Why don’t you just tell Scully you love her? She knows, or she wouldn’t have asked. And you know, or you wouldn’t have agreed.”

Frohike snorts around a mouthful of fries. “He’s hopeless, that’s why.”

Mulder glares into the middle distance. “I can’t. She’ll think I’m only saying it because we're having a baby.”

Byers, with his deep, wise eyes. Byers, with his own human credential. “I know,” he says, soft. “I know why you feel safer to say that. But Christ, Mulder. You two aren’t teenagers. It’s not a Cracker Jack engagement ring and a quickie wedding. You could have something here.”

Mulder looks back at his friend. At his friends. Behind Langley’s absence is his love for Scully; for Mulder. Frohike’s gnomish tenderness, Byers’s deep, endless honor.

Mulder imagines himself at 17 - a pregnant Catholic girl, a debt of honor. Imagines how his parents would throw money and secrecy at it all without ever once considering the people involved.

He throws a hundred on the table.

He pulls out his phone.

#xf fanfic #xfiles fanfic #msr #my fic #prompt #inbox #ust #pregnancy

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carlos-in-glasses · 3 days ago

Text

Thank you for the tag @ironheartwriter @tellmegoodbye @annoyingcloudearthquake

@strandnreyes @heartstringsduet @lemonlyman-dotcom @whatsintheboxmh @paperstorm

@henrygrass @emsprovisions @everlastingday @nisbanisba @carlossreaders

From BF fic, I too have something to offer on the theme of them getting absolutely railed:

In the months since adopting Jonah, they've had a crash-course in how to have quiet sex. Something neither thought was possible, and became a gnawing concern right before they flew out to Switzerland to bring him home. It had been on Carlos’ mind, but TK actually spoke it, and when he spoke it, the floodgates opened. They sat cross legged on their bed and had a long, late-night conversation about their sex-life. Which wound them up so much, TK found himself deep-fuck-spread-eagle and screaming, but that's neither here nor there.

“I’m worried that if I’m quiet, you won’t know how much I’m enjoying it,” TK said, “I love telling you. I love shouting it.”

The worry was needless. Of course it was. It seems so obvious now. In quietness, what happens is they can hear each other’s breath shake. Within every whine and plead there is a hurricane. They kiss more to shut each other up. They whisper close to each other’s ears the filthiest words to describe how they feel and what they want. In quietness, they cry more – orgasms are gasps in their throats, tears falling. The intensity is different. It’s more. Tomorrow, TK will find himself walking with a slight limp like he always does, the day after Carlos has had him twice. Carlos will saunter into the office with a confident smile, suit jacket slung over his shoulder.

"Well...good mornin', partner," Sam Campbell will say, shaking his head and taking a ‘that’s none of my business’ sip of his coffee.

Open tag and tags below:

@lightningboltreader @goodways @bonheur-cafe @reyesstrand

@alrightbuckaroo @cold-blooded-jelly-doughnut @liminalmemories21 @welcometololaland

@ladytessa74 @orchidscript @mikibwrites @freneticfloetry @rmd-writes

@chicgeekgirl89 @pimento-playing-hopscotch @eclectic-sassycoweyes

@herefortarlos @sapphic--kiwi @literateowl @butchreyes

@futures-tense @anactualcaseofthetruth @the-126-family

@theghostofashton @butch-buckley @rangersoup

@nancys-braids @laelipoo @captain-gillian @thisbuildinghasfeelings

@kiwichaeng @carlos-tk @no-goodbyes-no-regrets - If you want to share/haven't already! No pressure ever! ❤️🩷🧡💛💚💙🩵💜

#wip wednesday #911 Lone Star #911 Lone Star fic #Tarlos #Tarlos fic #BF Fic #cig fic #my fic

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honey-on-your-tongue · 1 day ago

Text

FWB

Part 9 Logan Howlett x fem!reader Series masterlist

a week ago

The days blur together. All he knows is that he’s drinking too much. He’s no longer keeping track of where he is, or what time it is, or how much alcohol he’s had. He’s not even keeping track of the women he hooks up with. He doesn’t care. He’s trying to drown, be it in a river of his unshed tears or in the hundreds of whiskeys he drinks. Either way, he just needs it all to disappear.

One night, he’s sitting at a bar, chatting up some girl whose name he can’t even remember. And as she talks and talks and talks, Logan finds himself thinking of you.

You and your gorgeous eyes. You and your sweet words. You and your brilliant mind. And this girl…she’s nothing compared to you. None of the girls he’s ever been with compare to you. Not even Jean.

Yes, he loved Jean. Yes, he admired her. Yes, he cared for her. But you? You’re just…unique. There’s something about you, a certain essence that no one else posseses. It’s like you and him were made to fit together; two pieces of the same puzzle.

And this woman is talking and talking and talking and Logan remembers your laugh, the scent of your skin, the taste of your lips, the feeling of your fingers in his hair, the arch of your back, the little snores when you were asleep…

What am I fucking doing?

He springs up from his high chair at the bar and the woman pauses.

“Are you okay?” she asks, eyeing him.

In his drunken state, Logan shakes his head and slurs out, “No.”

“What’s wrong?”

“I have to get back to my girl,” he replies and stumbles towards the exit.

The night is cool and dark and lonely, but Logan doesn’t notice that. He doesn’t notice how he almost falls a hundred times or how he gets lost half as many times. All that’s in his head is you. You, you, you. He has to get back to you. He has to.

What the fuck was he thinking? What the fuck was he doing? He just…walked out on you. He’s a fucking idiot.

“Well, that ain’t new,” he mumbles at himself as he finally sees the mansion in the distance. God, how long has he been out here, wandering the streets like a lost dog? It’s gotta be at least two, three in the morning.

You’re probably asleep. He can picture you lying in your bed, eyes shut, lips parted slightly, your hair all over your pillow…

He stands at the front door for ages, his hand on the doorknob, his heart in his throat.

He feels nervous, scared, disgusted with himself. How is he supposed to face you tomorrow morning? How is he going to look you in the eyes and ask for forgiveness after what he’s done?

He considers leaving again, but, fuck, he just needs you so bad. And not in a physical, I need her for sex kind of way. He needs to sit down and talk with you, needs to hear about your day, needs to smell your hair right after you’re out of the shower, needs to feel your hand in his while he drives you two somewhere for date night. He needs to love you, like he needs air. In fact, he may need it more than he needs air. At least that’s what it feels like.

Scared that he’ll run into someone else who might be up, Logan decides to take the kitchen door. He pushes it open silently and slips inside, as nervous as a little kid who just broke an expensive vase.

He’s had enough to drink, but he figures a beer won’t do him any harm. So, he heads to the fridge and takes out a can of beer. He’s just opened it when he hears it. Footsteps. Soft, measured. And then, the scent of you, the sound of your heart beating.

Everything in him stops, his blood seems to turn to sludge and time slows. A little smile threatens to show on his lips, but he’s not sure he’s in a position to smile at you. “You’re always too loud, never did learn to calm your heartbeat. I heard you a mile away.”

You peek out from around the corner, frowning as you take in his appearance. “Lo?”

God, he missed that. The way you’d say his name, the little nickname that makes him feel like he’s human and not some monster. He sees the way you look at him, though, the way you study his messy hair and long beard. Yeah, he hasn’t been taking care of himself, lately. Life’s been hell without you. And he wants to say that to you. But he doesn’t. He just takes a sip of beer to wash down the words.

You cross your arms. “What’s wrong with you? You can’t just fucking walk in here whenever you damn well feel like it. You nearly gave me a heart attack.”

“Where are the others?” Logan asks, trying not to think about your words. What’s wrong with you?

I don’t know, he wants to scream. I don’t know. But maybe if I’m by your side, I’ll be okay.

“Working,” you tell him and he sees you put a little switchblade away.

He imagines you all alone here in the night, defenseless. They left you all alone? Left you to take care of the kids and the mansion while they all left on a mission? His blood boils. No, he realizes. They didn’t leave her alone. I did. I’m supposed to be here.

“Lotta good that would’ve done you,” he says sarcastically about the little blade, angry at himself. He was out drinking while you were here alone, defenseless. He’s an idiot.

“Where the fuck even were you? You’ve been gone for, like, a week,” you accuse and he griamces slightly.

“I just…needed to clear my head,” he says quietly. But the memories of the alcohol, the women the leaving so he doesn’t have to face the consequences comes to mind.

He sees the look in your eyes and he remembers that you can hear his thoughts. “I see,” you say in a broken voice as you cross your arms.

Immediately, he tries to make ammends. “No, bub, look—”

“Don’t you bub me,” you snap and he shuts up. You think you can just treat me like that? Fuck me and disappear without a word? You didn't even leave me a fucking note!”

And, God, you’re right. You’re so right. He left without even saying goodbye. You’re right, but he needs to make this okay. “No, listen to me—” he tries again.

You scoff and laugh humorlessly. “There’s nothing to listen to, Logan, because there's nothing you can say to make this better. I don't need any more of your bullshit. I'm done.”

And that’s it. His entire world crumbles then and there. He could swear he feels his heart stop, his lungs refuse to take another breath, his brain unable to process your words. Those two words hit him with enough force that he feels almost instantly sober. “What?” he asks, his voice trembling. He’s never heard his voice tremble before.

“I’m done. Fucking done.”

One of the kids shows up then and interrupts, but Logan is too far gone to care.

Done.

He lost you, just like he thought he would, and by trying to avoid that, he achieved it anyway.

He feels like he might throw up, like he might cry. He wants to break every window in the mansion and destroy every curtain and tear the furniture to pieces and yell and punch and kick and destroy until he’s too tired to do anything but lay there in his sorrow.

Instead, he just remains where he is, frozen, as you turn to take the kid back to bed.

And just before you leave the room, you glance back at him. And that’s the last straw.

He sees the pain in your eyes, the heartbreak. Where he once saw adoration and trust and care, he’s now seeing hate and pain and disappointment.

He was so scared of losing you, that in everything he did to avoid it happening, he only led to its realization.

---

Taglist

@nerrivm @rosiahills22 @d3vils-adv0c8 @thychuvaluswife @18lkpeters @daddy333 @e-nonsense @ch3rryblossms @ayamenimthiriel @thesecretlifeofmo @simming4sims @raideaters-blog @1cam8 @angelicbbsblog @giuliahowlett @lemonsquaredd @meadow-field @secretpandaconnoisseur @givenoutlaw @wunder-blunder @aredheadednerd @fictionalmen-dilflover @insanesociopath @m1cky-y-y @fictional-hooman @ion-even-know @znerac @steviebbboi @insanesosciopath @reidsworld @arrozconpepitoria @meadow-field @sir-thisisadndserver @wolviesgirl @rooroen @tezooks @nervousmumbling @sowhatariyana @mikyapixie @breezeybre @andmuzzlethat @takeyour-pants-off @manifester3 @ddwnghead

*if you wanna be added to the taglist, let me know 💛

---

Blog masterlist

#logan howlett #logan howlett x fem!reader #logan howlett smut #logan howlett x you #logan wolverine #logan howlett x reader #logan smut #wolverine smut #wolverine #logan howlett angst #wolverine x reader #logan x you #wolverine x you #logan howlett fluff #wolverine angst

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heylittleriotact · 2 days ago

Text

𝐢 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐝 𝐩𝐞𝐨𝐩𝐥𝐞 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐝𝐲𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐨 𝐠𝐞𝐭 𝐢𝐧 𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞

𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟖

𝐄𝐦𝐦𝐫𝐢𝐜𝐡 𝐱 𝐑𝐨𝐨𝐤 𝐌𝐨𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐧 𝐅𝐮𝐧𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐥 𝐇𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐀𝐔

Emmrich works, Rook shops, dinner is imminent

Link to ao3 or read below the cut.

“Three times?”

“Yup.”

“And then this morning too?”

“Mhmm.”

“Damn. He must have been thirsting after you for ages.”

Rook tried not to look too pleased with herself as she regarded the shelf of dried pastas in front of her, purportedly deciding what shape she wanted, but in reality her mind was wandering down the enthralling path of recently forged memories from the night before.

The feeling of his lips on hers.

His scent.

The way he moaned while he was fucking her: not forced or put on. Instead, it was like he had never enjoyed anything in life quite so much as being entangled with her…

I’m in the grocery store with my best friend, picking up supplies for dinner - now is not the time.

Too late though: thoughts of Emmrich had already taken root, and sinful need slithered through her organs, twining around her guts and settling deep in her belly, impossible to ignore.

Later. Soon…

“Does he have Instagram? Facebook? I wanna see this silver-fox-fuck-machine for myself.”

“He doesn’t,” Rook said quietly, her lips curling at the absurdity of Emmrich having any kind of social media accounts. Most funeral professionals had nearly invisible online footprints - in an age where everyone you ever met was likely to look you up online, remaining largely unsearchable was the only sure way to guarantee your privacy.

“LinkedIn?”

Rook wrinkled her nose and pulled a box of linguine off the shelf, tossing it in the basket Leon held. “What? Cuz he’s old?”

“I mean… yeah?” Leon shrugged, his soft, dark brown eyes widening innocently.

“Shut up, Leon,” Rook squeezed past him, bumping her shoulder against his pointedly despite the abundance of space in the empty aisle.

“What?” He giggled, falling into step behind her, shaking his luxurious mane of thick black hair. “Nothing to be ashamed of - you were the one that couldn’t shut up about him at the Mussels Absinthe show a few weeks ago. You bagged yourself a sugar daddy - good for you! Wish I had that pull.”

Her cheeks heated as they wandered towards the produce section, “Can you maybe try not using your fucking radio voice while we’re discussing my sex life in the grocery store on a Thursday afternoon?”

“Just sex then?” Leon forged on, not bothering to lower his warm, booming voice at all. “Or have the seeds of romance been planted and fertilized?”

“Leon.” Rook ground out, looking around to make sure no one else was being subjected to this.

“Oh yeah,” he remarked observantly, “You fucking like him, don’t you?”

“What’s not to like?” Rook retorted, manhandling a practical, sound-minded bit of dignity into the conversation as she selected a basket of mushrooms. “He’s stable, supports himself, has a functioning vehicle that’s not filled to the windows with garbage, doesn’t bitch when I tell him to wear a condom, and knows how to get a girl off.” She dropped a mesh bag of garlic bulbs into the basket with unwarranted spite. “Bet he won’t ask me to buy weed for him and his band buddies, or go running to Mummy for rent money each month either.”

“I love it.” Leon said, rubber voice adopting a whimsical tone, as he switched the basket to his other hand and squeezed a grapefruit because Rook knew he’d eyed it and felt like he needed to. “The complete about-face rebound from pie-in-the-sky wannabe rockstar burnout to sophisticated man-about-town is truly inspiring. Tommy is gonna shit himself.”

“It’s not a rebound, and Tommy’s not gonna know a damn thing about it,” Rook snapped, sounding just as harsh as she intended to. “That fucking dickhead doesn’t deserve a window into whatever happens to be going on in my life. He lost that privilege when he fucked that stupid waitress at The Hanged Man… and that was after the shithead already fucked around once and got caught.” She shoved a few shallots into a bag, pretending she was shoving them down Tommy’s throat. “I know he asks around about me - I’m not stupid - and you’d better not be fucking telling him anything about me: I don’t want him knowing where I work, what I’m up to, who I’m fucking, or even what I’m doing with my fucking hair these days. He’s a piece of shit and I hope he chokes on his fucking tongue.”

“Point taken,” Leon raised his eyebrows. “And just so you know: I haven’t said a word to him - and I never would. I haven’t even seen him around at shows or anything for the past month at least.”

“Good,” Rook quipped, calm entering her voice. “Maybe he’s finally made himself useful and gotten a fucking job. Or better yet: done us all a favour and dropped dead.”

It was always one thing to make arrangements with a family that clearly didn’t know much about their loved one in life, but it was quite another thing altogether to sit in an arrangement office with the overwhelmed family trying to guide them towards decisions while simultaneously steering them away from ones that their loved one was blatantly disagreeing with in real time.

“Next! I really don’t care for gerber daisies and I haven’t a clue as to why they think I have some sort of attachment to them.”

Emmrich subtly glanced up from the pages of the binder of floral arrangements into the ghostly visage of the recently deceased octogenarian hovering around it with the rest of her family.

Over the years he had mastered the art of subtly urging the living towards the decisions of the dead, but it wasn’t always easy: it was a balancing act on both fronts that to his knowledge, no other funeral professionals but himself had to manage: the rest only had to worry about satisfying the living. Emmrich had to make sure everyone was pleased.

Try explaining that to the dead, though: the average person rarely considered it in life, but the reality was that funerals were - and always had been - just as much for the living as they were for the dead. Of course celebrating the life and legacy of the departed was of utmost importance, but the communal event itself: the ritual of a funeral, be it Andrastian, Qunari, non denominational, or anything in between was arguably more for the people left behind than the ones who did the leaving: an opportunity for the bereaved to come together and support each other through the heaviest days of their grief. To weep, and laugh, and share stories and regrets. But the world was changing, and fewer and fewer people saw the value in said rituals. Thought them trite and old-fashioned and impractical.

It was a shame, really. But as it stood, society seemed to prefer to grieve privately… or not at all, preferring to bury their sorrows in busy things like work, and commitments; happy to deny that they felt anything at all in favour of letting that vacuous wound inside of them fester and scar rather than accepting the laborious journey of grief and the healing that came with it. No one liked saying goodbye. No one enjoyed losing a loved one. But… that was life, wasn’t it?

And of course, what came after death was a mystery to everyone. Even Emmrich, who had been able to commune with the metaphysical imprints of the recently deceased since childhood was unable to say for certain what followed that final breath: not everyone became a ghost, it seemed, and those that did tended not to linger overlong - less out of choice, he knew: the echo of a soul could seemingly only sustain itself in this realm for a finite time, becoming progressively less substantial before eventually fading away forever. Where it went after that, he couldn’t say.

That was what kept him awake at night. Not the awful music someone might choose, or the fear that his funeral would be poorly attended. No - it was the creeping, uncaring entropy of death itself. The utterly dispassionate way it claimed everybody and everything. The way it would eventually claim him too.

“While we were working on your Mother’s obituary, I recall that you indicated she kept a garden at your childhood home in Cumberland. Are you able to remember if there were any flowers that she particularly enjoyed growing there?”

Of course he was asking her surviving son and daughter, but he was most certainly asking the ghost of Maude Laviolette as well. Something to go off of from any of them would be helpful at this point - they had been in arrangements for nearly two hours by then, and it was clear that everyone was growing tired.

“Delphiniums. Stock. Snapdragons.” Mrs. Laviolette ticked off garden flowers on her ghostly fingers, her voice an echoing melody composed of emotion and memory.

As the Laviolette siblings looked at each other over the table, trying to work out exactly what flowers their mother might have grown all those years ago, Emmrich flipped a few laminated pages of the binder, allowing himself to idly wonder what sort of flowers Rook liked - or if she even cared for them at all. It was so difficult to tell with her - assumptions almost always turned out to be wrong in her case, but she clearly had an affection for things that grew, so surely she appreciated the beauty of flowers?

“Perhaps an arrangement similar to this one here? The ‘Garden Stroll’ casket spray?” He tapped a ringed finger over the picture of a stunning arrangement of delphiniums, spray roses, mums, and iris that ranged from a delicate, powdery blue, to deep violet, to white.

“Oooooh you clever man!” The echo of the elderly woman clasped her hands under her chin and joy crept into her voice. “This is lovely! Could we swap out the mums for stocks and add in some snapdragons?”

“Oh yeah! Some of these look a lot like what Mum grew. The blue ones especially!” Eve Laviolette looked at her brother and pointed at the delphiniums in the photo. “Remember these ones, Aiden?”

Aiden Laviolette scratched at his dark brown beard and squinted at the binder.“I do. I do remember those. But there were others too that were kind of similar…”

“Snapdragons?” Emmrich prompted, for all intents and purposes, a senior mortician who was very well acquainted with flowers after so many years of doing this.

“That’s it!” Aiden exclaimed, “Snapdragons!”

“May I suggest if you’re adding the snapdragons, for the overall shape and spirit of the arrangement, you might consider switching out the chrysanthemums for some nice, gentle stocks? I’ve seen a similar arrangement where it was done to great effect.”

It wasn’t lying. Not really. Just… massaging the truth such that everyone - whether they had a pulse or not - was happy… or as happy as they could be given the circumstances…

He flipped to another page to show them an arrangement that featured some stocks.

“Eve, don’t you think that maybe Mum grew these too?”

Eve leaned over the page to take a closer look and gasped. “She did! What are the odds?” She looked up at Emmrich, her thin lips curving into a generous smile. “If I didn’t know better, I’d almost think she was giving you instructions from beyond the grave!”

Emmrich returned the smile, the corners of his eyes crinkling warmly as his face took on the oft-used expression that imparted comfort and peace to those living through dark days.

“A happy coincidence only, I’m afraid, but one that Mrs. Laviolette would be pleased with, I hope.”

His eyes strayed ever so slightly over Eve’s shoulder to see the phantom of Maude Laviolette, looking chuffed as anything as she looked over her daughter at the picture of the chosen floral arrangement.

“Thank you, young man,” she said, rubbing her daughter’s upper arm with the tender familiarity that only a mother could impart. Eve’s expression changed to one of surprise as she looked up at the touch, looking over her shoulder and seeing nothing. “You really are a credit to your profession. Thank you for taking such good care of my kids - Maker knows they need it right now.”

Emmrich entered the customizations for the casket spray into the file, went over the remaining details that needed to be decided that day, and printed the contracts to the administration office.

Taking the navy blue garment bag containing the clothing that Mrs. Laviolette’s family had brought for her to wear, he excused himself, stepping into the hallway and closing the door behind him. He would see to the contracts and give Eve and Adrien a few minutes to chat openly amongst themselves and have some space without the pressure of a near-stranger sharing the room with them.

Rebecca (‘Becks’ as she was known to most) handed him the itemized clothing intake form he’d gone over with the family and printed out, and he folded it in half and placed it inside the garment bag before writing Mrs. Laviollete’s name on a manila tag and attaching it to the clothing hanger with a rubber band.

“Thank you, Rebecca,” he handed the permanent marker he’d used to sign the tag back to Becks and took the contracts from her next. “Oh, could I trouble you for a jewelry envelope? They also brought her glasses, her wedding rings, and a pair of earrings if memory serves.”

The relief admin reached into a drawer under the desk and surfaced with a self-sealing, manila envelope, adding it to Emmrich’s growing pile of paperwork.

It was always strange seeing someone else sitting at Rook’s desk. He’d gotten so used to seeing her there over the past months. It wasn’t that he didn’t like Rebecca - quite the contrary: she was very good at her job, and a lovely person, but she wasn’t Rook.

“Did you get permission to post the obit on the website?”

“Ah! I thought I may have forgotten something… my apologies, Rebecca - I’ll be sure to ask before they leave.” He treated her to an apologetic smile and scrawled a few x’s on the contract to better indicate where the family needed to sign.

“Forgetting things, Emmrich?” Remarked Joan, the other permanent chapel administrator from her own desk. She was in her forties and had tightly curled hair the exact colour of nutmeg. She twirled her pen in her hand and smirked at Emmrich - this sort of harmless teasing was not unusual from Joan. “That wouldn’t have anything to do with the fight you clearly lost with an octopus last night, would it?”

Oh dear - his collar must have slipped down, revealing the deep mauve love bites Rook had left on his neck.

“That’s hardly any of your business, dear Joan,” he retorted curtly, adjusting his collar with dignity as he continued to review the funeral contracts.

“You gonna bring them to the Wintersend dinner?” She demanded, and Emmrich threw a cautionary glance at Becks as she failed to subtly lean over her desk to try and catch a glimpse at his neck.

“Perhaps,” he flipped the page, circled the price of the casket upgrade that they had discussed. His phone vibrated in his breast pocket, heralding the arrival of a text message - he already knew who it was from, and his stomach fluttered pleasantly. “We shall see.”

“You haven’t brought a date in years,” Joan said. “Was just talking about it with Wayne-“ ah yes, Wayne: Joan’s husband who worked at the nearby cemetery - somewhat rough around the edges, but a lovely fellow all the same. “- last one was that uh… what was she an art appraiser or something?”

“An art dealer,” Emmrich sighed, focusing intently on the contract hoping that Joan would take the hint: he saw little reason to stand around discussing a former flame with colleagues. Not with a family next door.

“That’s right!” Joan pointed her pen at him. “Any idea what she’s up to these days?”

Emmrich bit back his annoyance and forced his expression to remain stoic. “I haven’t any reason to, so no.”

He preferred not to think about Philomena. Preferred not to think about how the avant-gardé and eclectic Orlesian patron of the arts was initially swept off her feet by his charm and eccentricity; his passionate need to understand death and all of its facets, and his almost poetic talent for finding splendour and hope amongst decay and putrefaction.

He felt terrible about himself whenever he thought too hard about her, and he was reminded by his subconscious that she’d gone back to Orlais about a year into their relationship and stopped calling him, texting him, and emailing him without a word of warning.

He never really understood why - never got a tidy explanation - but he had a few guesses: likely a culmination of many things - one too many cocktail or dinner parties amongst the elite creatives of Nevarra where he misread the room. One too many anecdotes about death or decomposition delivered with the casual ease of someone describing the process of preparing an omelette: “It’s a commonly held misconception that rigor mortis is a permanent affliction, however, the stiffening of joints and muscles after you pass on only lasts for a few short hours. Admittedly it can make it challenging for one to manipulate the extremities during that time, but simply massaging the affected areas causes rigor to subside in short order, restoring flaccidity and range of movement so the limbs can be moved freely once more.”

“… Ohhh!” Someone would say with feigned enthusiasm after too many moments had passed without anyone saying anything. “How… interesting!”

The slightly agape mouths and raised eyebrows told a different story.

Add to that one too many declarations of love and romantic intent: words trotted out in flowery verse; expensive gifts lavished with the unspoken hope that they could make him enough in her eyes: I can provide, see? You will never want for anything. I am safe. I am kind. I love you, I love you, I love you - will you love me?

He knew he got too attached too quickly and too easily. He always had, and when he was inevitably left to clean up the aftermath of another lover’s hasty departure from his life, his old friend and colleague, Johanna was always quick to point out that of course he had managed to frighten yet another one away with his saccharine yearning - as if he needed reminding.

Not that he cared what Johanna thought, but he could practically hear her calling him a cradle-robbing pervert upon learning about Rook.

And would she be wrong?

Sighing again, he marked up one more place on the contract before heading back to the arrangement office.

As he vanished around the corner, he heard Joan say to Becks too loudly for it to be accidental, “Seems pretty miserable for a dude that just got laid.”

I really should have taken her out for dinner first. How thoughtless of me…

The guilt hadn’t subsided by the time he arrived home to shower, change, feed Manfred, and return to Rook’s apartment.

She’d messaged him twice throughout the day. Once in the morning to say she’d had a nice night, and once in the afternoon to say she was looking forward to seeing him again shortly - that one had been accompanied by a picture of her wearing nothing but a towel, the curves of her perfect breasts just barely concealed by the grey terry; drenched hair dripping tantalizingly over her skin.

He was grateful he’d waited to look at that one until after the Laviolette family left, because within minutes of opening it, the utterly gorgeous still frame of her had him rock hard, and he found himself shamefully jerking off in a stall in the staff bathroom, desperate to finish so he could refocus himself and concentrate on his final arrangement meeting of the day like he wasn’t some sort of lurid sex obsessed deviant who had successfully reduced a woman like Rook down to a vapid sex object.

He was grateful for a change that the family he was assisting wanted a direct cremation with no service, no viewing, and no obituary. The sole executor brought the will, and was the only person attending the meeting. Everything had been prepaid in advance by the deceased, so there were no changes nor any new decisions to be made: simple, quick, and to the point.

Despite this, Emmrich still managed to spell the word ‘preparation’ incorrectly three times in a row, and almost gave the son making the arrangements Rook’s business card instead of his own.

There was nothing for it: he was a mess.

A besotted, smitten, horny mess, and at this rate it wouldn’t be long before he frightened her away too. What was he thinking? That this young, beautiful creature with a lifetime of promise and possibilities before her would be in a hurry to tie herself down to a man old enough to be her father?

That she would happily embrace the strange looks they would almost certainly get in public as people drew conclusions they had no business drawing?

That she would quickly come to know the worst of him that dwelled beneath the thin veneer that was the ‘best’? The insecurity and loneliness and self-loathing; the irrational fears and anxieties that kept him awake at night and overwhelmed his mind at times, leaving him little more than a quivering, hyperventilating wreck, curled up under the blankets and praying for the Ativan to kick in soon.

She would figure out that he was too much. Too different. Too weird - even by the very broad definition applied by morticians.

He would have to tell her that he could see and speak with the dead.

He would have to tell her that more than anything in life, he was afraid of dying - a wildly contradictory fear for one in this profession.

She was going to know before long that the carefully crafted facade of Emmrich Volkarin was a lie - brazenly thrust into the world, and effective only because of the sheer amount of time he’d been insisting upon it.

She doesn’t deserve this.

She deserves a future full of joy and potential and dreams that are entirely attainable, should she only dare to wish for them.

I didn’t even ask her to dinner before I slept with her…

It seemed stupid to get hung up on that, but he was: mutual feelings or not, it fell to him to take the lead, and rather than controlling himself and treating Rook with the respect she was due, he took her to bed and didn’t even have the decency to spend the entire night.

She deserves respect, and here I’m treating her like a fantasy…

Tuning out Manfred as he twined around and through his ankles, coating the hem of his pant legs with white fur, Emmrich sighed and pulled out his phone, preparing to call Rook and tell her he couldn’t do it - he wasn’t coming over.

But before he could place the call, a banner appeared at the top of his screen.

Another message from Rook.

‘Are you on your way yet?’

A reasonable and fair question - that wasn’t the part of the message that made his eyes prickle unexpectedly. It was the words that followed.

‘I miss you.’

‘I just made it home - I’ll be over soon - close to 7:00. I miss you too, Rook. I missed you all day.’

Just as he said he would, Emmrich arrived right at 7:00. Rook had spent the last twenty minutes stationed at the window again, staring down the length of her street, her stomach leaping whenever she saw headlights turn off the main road.

When she finally saw the recognizable shape of Emmrich’s lights, her stomach flip-flopped even harder, and she pushed away from the window, taking a moment to check herself over one last time in the mirrored closet doors to make sure she had dressed herself properly: her hair was nicely pinned up in a bun with stray wisps pulled loose to frame her face, and she turned her back to the mirror, looking over her shoulder to check for the twentieth time that she hadn’t accidentally tucked the hem of her stretchy burgundy velvet mini dress into her thong. Her stockings were free of runs, and she hadn’t managed to soak sweat stains under her arms yet - though she suspected that was about to change. Her makeup still looked pristine, and the softly tinted gloss she’d chosen over her traditional matte red lipstick still looked good.

Satisfied, she slipped out of her apartment and down the stairs where she waited at the front door for Emmrich to appear, emerging from the dark to stride up the walkway, as elegant and refined as ever.

Her breath caught in her throat at the sight she’d been waiting all day to see: him - with his perfectly styled silver hair and his angular, distinguished face. He wore the same black pea coat from the night before, and had switched out the brown chinos for charcoal grey tweed trousers that bore the same impeccable tailoring. With his expensive looking Antivan wingtips and his cream coloured scarf he looked like a bougie fashion journalist or something.

He looked fucking hot.

“Fuck me…” she murmured under her breath before flinging the door open and grinning at him. “Hey.”

“Hello, Rook,” he beamed, stepping inside and taking the weight of the door from Rook, letting it close shut gently behind him.

He was holding a white paper shopping bag, and his glasses fogged up again the same way they had before, and for a moment she was at a loss for what to do with herself as they occupied the small vestibule.

Making a decision for both of them, he swept her against him with his unburdened arm and brushed his lips over her left cheek, then her right, before releasing her.

“I’m sorry it took me so long - traffic and Manfred, you see.”

Hoping he couldn’t see her sway in place as the elation of being touched by him again negated her ability to balance properly, she unlocked the main door and he followed her inside and up the stairs.

“Oh no… no problem at all. I know it’s a long drive. How was Manfred?”

“Oh he managed to break into the pantry today and ate an entire loaf of bread. I think he’s rather upset that I was absent last night for far longer than I usually am.”

Guilt wrung Rook’s gut then. “Sorry,” she glanced over her shoulder at him, offering a sympathetic grimace as they continued their ascent. “I’d say you could bring him with you next time, but there’s a ‘no pets’ policy and my landlord is a real prick about it - last year the old man in 204 got a hermit crab to keep him company after his wife died and the prick made him get rid of the little guy.”

“How sad,” Emmrich frowned, looking genuinely sorrowful at this.

“I brought him a house plant - a cutting of Perry, actually - and I try to visit him once a week for coffee. He’s grateful, but I think he’d be happier with his hermit crab… or his wife for that matter.”

Emmrich’s mouth curved in a soft smile, though the melancholy didn’t leave his eyes. “That’s very sweet of you, Rook.”

“It’s not,” she argued placidly. “It’s just the right thing to do: people should look out for each other, but for some reason they just… don’t and it annoys the fuck out of me.”

“That makes two of us,” Emmrich agreed, wincing slightly as they made it to the landing of Rook’s floor.

“Shit, sorry - are you okay?”

“Oh yes, just the ever-present protestations of knees that I should have cared for better in my youth.”

Rook didn’t know what to say to that. She certainly couldn’t render solidarity in the form of a believable ‘Ugh! Me too! Fucking achy joints amirite?’

She didn’t have achy joints: she was 25.

So instead she just nodded and opened the door to her apartment, ushering Emmrich inside with the same elevated politeness that she ushered families into visitation rooms with.

“What have you got there?” She asked, pointing at the bag that he had set down in the entryway so he could undo his scarf and slip out of his coat.

“Give me a moment to sort myself out and I’ll show you,” he retorted with the tempered ease she’d come to know. He hung his coat and the scarf on a hanger and put them in the closet before removing his shoes. “You look lovely, by the way.”

Damn right I do - I don’t dress up in my own house for just anybody.

“Thank you.”

Emmrich straightened and pushed his shoes to the side of the mat with his foot. He was wearing dark green dress socks with a beige diamond pattern on them, and a black turtleneck that made for a decidedly Warhol-esque look.

They regarded each other silently for moments that lasted far longer than they had any right to, clearly both at a loss as to how best to proceed.

“I uh… haven’t started dinner yet, but if you want some wine, I—“

Something seemed to snap into place in Emmrich’s brain and his eyes widened at her words. “Wine. Right!” He scooped the white paper bag up from the floor and reached inside, withdrawing a visibly dusty bottle and handing it to Rook. “You must forgive me - I didn’t think to ask what was on the menu tonight, so it might be a poor pairing - foolish of me - but the… the wine I brought you last night is… well it’s…“ he sighed wearily, “This will be far more palatable, trust me.”

Rook looked at the bottle in her hands, swaths of dust cleared away to reveal dark, shining glass where her fingers and his had touched it.

She was far from a connoisseur of wines, generally opting to drink anything that had a price tag of $10 or less - or came in a box - and would surely get her drunk faster than beer.

“This is… this is… really nice wine, isn’t it?”

Emmrich made a dismissive sound in the back of his throat, “Hardly the nicest, but a definitive improvement on anything with a screw-top.”

Rook swallowed, feeling out of her depth: poor… stupid… uncultured.

Seeming to pick up on her discomfort, he plucked the bottle from her hands and wiped the remaining dust from the label. “It’s from my personal collection: one of a few that I have left from a good year. I think I purchased a case of these for eighteen dollars per bottle, so it’s less that I broke the bank, and more that I stumbled upon something good and decided I wanted to hold onto it.”

“I don’t even know if I have a corkscrew,” she admitted, still feeling sheepish.

“Well we’ll sort that out if we need to,” he treated her to that easy, nonjudgmental smile again and picked up the bag again, handing it to her. “For you.”

Rook’s eyebrow raised when she accepted the bag. She peered into it, then back to Emmrich, then she abandoned the entryway, placing the bag on the kitchen counter and reaching inside.

Her fingers closed around a hard ceramic pot, swaddled in cardboard and plastic. Carefully lifting it, she set the pot on the counter and pried the plastic away, revealing a plant with deep green leaves and a woody stem. Its delicate limbs curled prettily upwards, and small white buds were nestled in the fragrant greenery.

She gently rubbed a leaf between her thumb and forefinger, saying hello to her new friend.

“You brought me a plant?” She asked, staring at the fledgling creature, her heart filling. “What florist is even open at this hour?”

“Odella’s, of course,” Emmrich answered, naming the florist that McDermott & Rafferty had contracted out for funeral flowers for years.

She felt his presence drawing close to her, heard him place the wine bottle on the counter gently, then felt his hand on the narrow curve of her waist - almost tentatively at first until it became obvious that she was not going to flinch away… only then did it settle. With his other hand he brushed a sprig of leaves and stooped slightly behind her, placing his face alongside hers.

“I thought to bring you flowers at first, but this seemed a more fitting offering than an impermanent and fleeting bouquet, given your passion for growing things.”

She didn’t understand why at the time, but the fact that he remembered - or even cared - about her affinity for houseplants made something tighten in her chest.

Tommy hated them. He thought they were a waste of time. Told her if she was gonna bother putting so much energy into growing something, it might as well be smokable.

“Do you… like it?”

Rook realized that she hadn’t spoken. Hadn’t said anything. Not so much as a ‘thank you’.

“It’s beautiful,” she said, though she hadn’t any clue what it was. “It’s… it’s a…?”

“A jasmine plant,” Emmrich assisted. “It will bloom for you in time, so the flowers are forthcoming.”

Rook pulled her gaze from the small potted plant and turned against the edge of the counter so she was facing Emmrich.

“Something to look forward to, then,” she smiled, looking up at his kind face. She curled her fingers into the front of his shirt and pulled him closer. “Thank you. For the plant, and the wine… you didn’t have to.”

“But I wanted to,” he entreated, his sweet, spearmint scented breath washing over her cheeks as she fixated on the enticing shape of his lips.

She still needed to start dinner. She hadn’t even put music on. She promised him a meal, and here she was, wasting time…

“You been tested recently?”

The amorous look in Emmrich’s eyes vanished, replaced with confusion. “Tested? I—?”

“STI panel.”

“Oh!” The faintest blush crept over the bridge of his nose and he looked at the cupboards over her shoulder. “Every year, or after a new partner, whichever comes first, but… I haven’t had a new partner in some time and-“

“You’re clean?”

The flush deepened, diffusing over his cheeks. “W-well yes, of course, but-"

Satisfied, Rook pushed away from the counter enough to drop to a crouch, one knee brushing the floor as she undid Emmrich’s belt buckle and slipped the button of his trousers loose.

Catching on, he managed to babble, “Rook, darling, y-you don’t have to-“ before she dropped his zipper and pulled his dick out of his underwear, casting one cheeky look up at the stammering man in front of her before taking him in her hand and dragging her tongue up the underside of his cock.

“Ah!” He moaned unbidden at the sudden wet warmth when she took him into her mouth, buckling slightly against the counter behind her. “R-Rook!”

Her other hand found the back of his thigh and she locked him in place, filling her mouth with his semi-hard length, hollowing her cheeks and sucking him in, her pussy immediately responding to the high pitchy breaths - little half groans and whimpers - that poured from his lips.

He was surprised by this sudden turn of events, yes, but he didn’t pull away; didn’t tell her to stop. Instead, his gasps gave way to deep elated sighs as she worked him with her mouth and her hand, taking her time and worshipping his long, thin cock, tracing every handsome vein; revelling in the salty tang of his skin and the slickness of his precum on her tongue as she knelt in front of him.

“S-so good…” he whispered, carding the fingers of one hand through her hair, his head tipping back, “Oh… that feels so, so good…”

I know it does, handsome…

Rook hummed approvingly around him, feeling him throb against the roof of her mouth. She let go of his cock, wrapping her wet fingers around the back of his other thigh before slackening her jaw, opening her throat, then taking him deep, deep, and deeper still until she felt him butt against the space just beyond her tonsils. He squirmed in her hands, biceps femoris fluttering coyly under her fingertips. His hand tightened in her hair, but not enough to hurt.

She inhaled deeply through her nose, filling her lungs and belly, lost in the cathartic victory of the bliss she was subjecting him to; the smell of him; the dainty sweetness of the viscous, anticipatory fluid that continued to seep from his sensitive slit...

He moaned her name quietly again when she eased him further down her throat, exhaling slowly… so slowly through her nose as she went, bobbing her head slightly and going further with each stroke until he was fully seated and her nose brushed skin beneath the coarse thatch of hair on his lower belly.

He positively vibrated in her hands - ass clenching, thighs spasming, hips jerking, the nails of his free hand scrabbling over the smooth surface of the counter as Rook swallowed around him and fucked him with her throat, each lewd wet thrust punctuated by the unseemly sound her vocal cords made as they were repetitively prodded by his intrusive length.

“Darling…” he whined, a man toeing the chasm of abandon. “D-darling please… I can’t… oh - I’m going to— ohhh!”

His words were cut short and he went rigid as a corpse before uttering a strangled yelp and collapsing against the counter with a thud, propped on an elbow as his hips jerked gracelessly against Rook’s face and she felt his hot, thick cum spill down her throat - one satisfying, relieving pulse after another.

She moaned as she swallowed him, cunt aching as she drank him deep, his warmth spreading through her, her name falling raggedly from his mouth over and over and over, each repetition more reverent than the last.

When he was done, she twitched her jaw, let him slip wetly from her, traced her lips with her tongue, and smiled up at his fucked-out face.

“I was looking forward to an appetizer, and it was delicious…” she rose, tucking his cock back into his pants and doing them up. “So… how about that glass of wine, handsome?”

It was actually pretty funny, the way that Emmrich was gaping at her with his unusually clumsy fingers absently trying to configure his belt buckle, his face flushed and shiny with post-orgasmic bliss.

“Wine,” he swallowed, throat bobbing, hazel eyes blown out behind the lenses of his glasses. “Yes, yes… allow me.”

He seemed to grasp onto some scant flotsam of rational thought amongst the pitching sea of post-nut clarity and finished with his belt, sliding his sleeves up his forearms and clearing his throat before saying (roughly), “If you did happen to have a corkscrew, where might it be?”

#emmrook #emmrich x rook #modern funeral home au #emmrich #emmrich volkarin #dragon age emmrich #this is an emmrich thirst post #emmrich romance #emmrich smut #rook is a grimy mall goth #dragon age #datv #dragon age the veilguard #dragon age fan fiction #dragon age fan fic #this old man needs to have his mind and dick blown frequently okay

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lilbabypanda-blog2 · 5 hours ago

Text

Phainon x (fem) reader (8)

I finally wrote the next part. XD almost forgot about it

Part7 Part8

Y/N slowly rose to her feet, holding up a hand to signal the others to keep quiet.

Phainon, ever the obedient golden retriever, immediately snapped his mouth shut.

Mydei, however, crossed his arms and muttered, "If this thing attacks you, I'm drop-kicking it into the stratosphere."

Y/N chose to ignore that.

She carefully made her way over to the messy pile of stolen goods—merchant bags, small trinkets, half-eaten food, and even what looked like a very expensive-looking scarf.

The little chimera was buried under it, its horned, cat-like face barely peeking out.

At first, it shrank back, its tiny body trembling.

Y/N lowered herself to the ground, hands open and relaxed. “Hey, it’s okay,” she murmured gently. “I won’t hurt you.”

The chimera’s ears twitched. It hesitated, then sniffed the air.

After a few tense seconds, it launched itself forward.

Phainon and Mydei both reacted instantly.

Phainon gasped dramatically. “It chose her!”

Mydei sighed. “For the love of—”

The little creature curled up in Y/N’s arms, purring like a tiny engine.

Mydei stared.

“…You’re telling me this thing,” he gestured vaguely, “this tiny flying cat-lizard has been the one robbing an entire city blind?”

Y/N nodded.

Phainon, absolutely enchanted, dropped to a crouch beside her. “Look at its tiny horns,” he whispered in awe, reaching out. “It’s like a little king.”

The chimera leaned into his touch, its tiny tail flicking.

Phainon visibly melted.

Y/N laughed, but before she could say anything—

A rustling sound came from behind them.

The group froze.

Slowly, they turned toward the source of the noise.

More rustling.

And then—

Pop.

A second chimera, this one deep purple, peeked out from behind a rock.

Then—

Pop.

A third, vibrant blue one, poked its head from the top of the stolen goods pile.

And finally—

Pop.

A pink one dramatically leaped onto the rock above them, its wings fluttering.

Silence.

The four chimeras stared at the humans.

The humans stared back.

Phainon slowly turned to Mydei, his voice completely serious.

“…Mydei,” he said. “I think we found the entire criminal empire.”

Y/N, still holding the orange chimera, blinked at the others in realization.

“Oh,” she said. “So that’s why there were so many different traces.”

Mydei just dragged a hand down his face.

“…I hate this job,” he muttered.

Y/N grinned. “No, you don’t.”

“I do now.”

The purple chimera suddenly jumped forward, landing directly onto Phainon’s lap.

Phainon made a high-pitched noise of excitement. “It picked me!!”

The pink one jumped onto Mydei’s shoulder.

Everyone turned to him immediately.

“…Don’t,” Mydei warned, already sensing the incoming comments.

Y/N barely held in her laughter. “You look good with a pet, Mydei.”

“It’s not a pet,” he snapped. “It’s a criminal.”

The chimera purred, rubbing against his cheek.

Phainon gasped. “It likes you.”

“It’s mocking me.”

Y/N patted his arm. “It’s okay, tough guy. Maybe it’ll give you back your missing armor piece as a peace offering.”

Mydei gritted his teeth as the chimera made itself comfortable on his shoulder.

Phainon snorted. “Welcome to the team, Mydei.”

The pink chimera was still perched on Mydei’s shoulder, tail curled around his neck like a living scarf. Meanwhile, the blue one had taken a liking to his lap, sitting there like it had claimed its territory.

Phainon, holding the purple chimera like a baby, giggled. “You know, Mydei,” he said, scratching its tiny horns, “I think they like you.”

“They do not,” Mydei said immediately.

The pink chimera nuzzled against his cheek.

The blue one made itself comfortable in his lap and started purring.

“…They might,” Phainon added.

Y/N, still cradling the orange one, grinned. “Face it, Mydei. You’re their new dad now.”

“I refuse,” Mydei deadpanned. “I don’t do kids.”

The blue chimera purred louder and started kneading his leg with its tiny paws.

“…What is it doing?” he asked, looking at it in horror.

“It’s making biscuits!” Y/N cooed.

Mydei grimaced. “It’s what?”

“It means it loves you,” Phainon explained. “You’re their new favorite person.”

The pink chimera grabbed Mydei’s earring and started batting it around.

“…I’m under attack,” Mydei muttered.

Y/N snorted. “You’re under affection,” she corrected.

Mydei gritted his teeth. “Same thing.”

The pink chimera snuggled deeper into his neck. The blue one curled up in his lap.

Y/N and Phainon exchanged a delighted look.

“…He’s already attached,” Y/N whispered.

“I am not,” Mydei snapped.

The chimeras nuzzled against him.

Phainon gasped dramatically.

Y/N grinned. “You so are.”

A few minutes later, they were all sitting by the stolen goods pile, letting the chimeras roam around.

Phainon was still cuddling the purple one, while Y/N was gently petting the orange one as it purred against her chest. The pink chimera had climbed back onto Mydei’s shoulder, while the blue one remained curled up in his lap.

Mydei sat cross-armed, looking deeply done with everything.

Y/N watched as he absentmindedly scratched the blue chimera’s tiny ears.

“…You’re petting them,” she pointed out.

“I’m not,” Mydei denied, mid-stroke.

Phainon snickered. “You so are.”

The pink chimera rolled onto its back, tiny paws in the air.

Without thinking, Mydei gently scratched its belly.

Silence.

Y/N and Phainon exchanged a look.

“…Busted,” Y/N whispered.

Phainon gasped. “You love them!”

Mydei sighed deeply, staring at the sky like he was regretting every life choice.

“…I hate both of you,” he muttered.

The pink chimera licked his cheek.

The blue one purred louder.

Phainon and Y/N beamed.

For a moment, everything was… peaceful. Too peaceful.

Then Y/N, stroking the orange chimera’s tiny wings, suddenly frowned. “Wait.”

Phainon, still cradling the purple chimera like a baby, tilted his head. “What’s wrong?”

Y/N glanced at the pile of stolen goods—various bags, trinkets, coins, even pieces of armor. “We, uh… kinda have to return all of this.”

Silence.

Mydei groaned. “I knew that was coming.”

Phainon blinked at the pile like he had just noticed it for the first time. “…Right. Because technically this is all stolen.”

“Technically?” Mydei repeated, raising an eyebrow.

Phainon grinned sheepishly. “I mean, the chimeras were just borrowing it!”

Y/N snorted. “That’s not how theft works, Phai.”

The orange chimera licked Y/N’s fingers.

“Okay, but look at them!” Phainon gestured wildly. “Are you telling me you’d arrest these adorable little faces?”

Y/N giggled. “No, but we do have to fix this mess.”

Phainon sighed dramatically. “Fine, fine. We’ll return everything. Somehow.”

A pause.

Then Mydei narrowed his eyes. “Wait a second.”

Y/N looked over. “What?”

“…How are we supposed to carry all of this?” He gestured to the absolutely ridiculous amount of stolen goods. “Because I don’t know about you, but I really don’t feel like dragging an entire city’s worth of stolen loot through underground ruins.”

Y/N and Phainon both turned to look at the sheer size of the stash.

It was… a lot.

Phainon, ever the optimist, tapped his chin. “Maybe we can get the chimeras to—”

“No.” Mydei cut him off immediately.

Phainon pouted.

Y/N sighed. “We’ll figure it out, but first, we really need to contact the others.”

Silence.

Then, almost in sync, Phainon and Y/N’s eyes widened.

“Oh no,” Phainon whispered.

“Oh no,” Y/N echoed.

Mydei blinked. “What now?”

They slowly turned to face him, looking incredibly guilty.

“…We forgot about Tribbie, Dan Heng, and Trailblazer,” Y/N said, voice small.

Mydei stared.

“…You just now realized?”

Phainon grimaced. “In our defense, we almost drowned, then got attacked by tiny adorable criminals.”

Y/N nodded rapidly. “Exactly! We were very busy!”

Mydei dragged a hand down his face. “You two are unbelievable.”

Y/N clapped her hands together. “Okay, okay, no need to panic—”

“I’m not panicking,” Mydei cut in. “They probably are.”

The moment he said it, realization sank in.

Oh. Oh.

Dan Heng. Tribbie. Trailblazer.

They had no idea what had happened.

For all they knew, Y/N was still at the bottom of some pit, and Mydei and Phainon had vanished into thin air.

Y/N winced. “They’re gonna be so mad.”

Phainon, face paling, nodded. “Trailblazer’s probably already trying to jump in.”

“…Dan Heng is definitely stopping them,” Mydei muttered.

Y/N exhaled. “Okay, so—new plan. We need to—”

Before she could finish, the blue chimera (still happily curled up in Mydei’s lap) suddenly perked up its ears.

The pink one did the same. Then the orange. Then the purple.

All four chimeras looked toward the entrance of the cave.

Phainon tensed. “Um… guys?”

Y/N followed their gaze. “…Did anyone else hear that?”

Silence.

Then—a faint sound. Footsteps. Distant, but approaching.

And from the way the chimeras suddenly huddled closer to them, one thing was clear—

Something else was coming.

The sound of footsteps echoed through the cavern.

Y/N, Phainon, and Mydei turned toward the entrance, immediately tensing—until a familiar voice rang out.

“Y/N!?”

Tribbie’s voice.

Before any of them could react, a blur of red curls came barreling in.

Tribbie practically launched herself forward, skidding to a stop. “Oh, thank the Aeons, you guys are alive! I was getting ready to make a whole dramatic eulogy—”

Dan Heng and Trailblazer followed behind her, both completely soaked from their trek through the underground tunnels.

Dan Heng paused at the entrance, taking in the scene. His eyes slowly moved over the room.

First, the pile of stolen goods.

Then, the four small, fluffy creatures lounging about.

Phainon, cuddling a purple chimera like it was his firstborn child.

Y/N, calmly scratching an orange one behind the horns, smiling.

And finally—Mydei, scowling while a blue chimera sat comfortably on his lap.

Dan Heng closed his eyes for a long moment. Then, exhaling, he muttered, “I already regret coming here.”

Trailblazer, hands on their hips, just looked at them all. “Okay. Explain. Now.”

Phainon grinned, looking entirely too pleased. “Good news! We found the thieves.”

Trailblazer tilted their head. “...Where?”

Y/N gestured at the chimeras.

A pause.

Dan Heng blinked. “You’re joking.”

The pink chimera stretched, yawned, and curled deeper into Mydei’s arms.

Mydei let out a long, suffering sigh. “Trust me. We wish we were.”

Trailblazer opened their mouth. Then closed it. Opened it again. “So we spent all this time chasing down these?”

Phainon, enthusiastic as ever, nodded. “Aren’t they adorable?”

Dan Heng, who had long given up expecting anything normal from Y/N and Trailblazer, rubbed his temples. “I don't even know why I’m surprised at this point.”

Before he could say anything else, the blue chimera suddenly perked up, hopping off Mydei’s lap. It stared directly at Dan Heng.

Dan Heng noticed. Stared back.

Silence.

Then, without warning, the chimera rushed forward and latched onto his leg.

Everyone went quiet.

Dan Heng slowly looked down.

The chimera tilted its head, then snuggled closer.

Phainon gasped. “DAN HENG, YOU’VE BEEN CHOSEN.”

Trailblazer snorted. “Oh, this is gold.”

Dan Heng looked at them, expression blank. “Get it off.”

Y/N grinned. “Aww, it likes you.”

Mydei, deadpan, crossed his arms. “Careful, Dan Heng. You’re a father now.”

Dan Heng gave Mydei a tired look. “You’re all insufferable.”

Meanwhile, Trailblazer crouched down to look at the chimera. Before they could reach out, the pink one suddenly launched itself onto their shoulder, curling around them like a scarf.

Trailblazer blinked. “Well. That was fast.”

Phainon grinned. “You’ve also been chosen.”

Dan Heng sighed. “Enough. Do we have a plan for returning the stolen items?”

Tribbie clasped her hands together. “Oh, that part’s easy! I’ll just open a gate back to the city! Boom—problem solved.”

Y/N brightened. “Tribbie, you’re amazing.”

Tribbie puffed up with pride. “I know.”

Mydei rolled his eyes. “Great. So we don’t have to carry all this junk.”

Trailblazer snickered. “Oh, come on, Mydei. You’d look cute struggling under a pile of stolen treasure.”

“Shut up.”

Dan Heng, still trying to gently pry the blue chimera off his leg, sighed. “I assume we have a plan beyond this?”

Y/N grinned, scratching the orange chimera behind its tiny horns. “First, let’s see if these little guys will help us sort everything out.”

Phainon perked up. “You mean—tiny delivery workers?!”

The chimeras blinked up at them.

The orange one licked Y/N’s hand.

Phainon gasped. “That’s a yes!”

Dan Heng looked skyward, as if asking the Aeons for patience.

Trailblazer chuckled. “Alright, let’s get to work.”

After everything had settled down—the stolen goods returned, the chimeras taken back to Okyhma, and the group finally able to rest—Y/N noticed something.

Phainon had been unusually quiet.

For once, he wasn’t cracking jokes or annoying Mydei. Instead, he was just sitting by the fire, staring into it, absently rubbing his arm.

His injured arm.

Y/N sighed.

This idiot had been fighting, swimming, and running around all day without properly taking care of his wounds.

She stood, walked over, and nudged his shoulder. “Come with me.”

Phainon blinked up at her. “Huh? Where?”

Y/N just grabbed his wrist and pulled him up. “To clean your wounds before they get worse.”

Phainon, completely caught off guard, let himself be dragged away. “Oh. Uh. Okay.”

From the other side of the fire, Mydei smirked knowingly.

Y/N led Phainon near the river where it was quiet and cool. She made him sit on a rock while she pulled out some bandages and a cloth from her pack.

Phainon watched her, blinking. “You… carry medical supplies?”

Y/N rolled her eyes. “Of course I do. Someone has to be responsible.”

Phainon grinned. “Are you saying I’m irresponsible?”

Y/N gave him a deadpan look. “Phainon, you literally got stabbed last week and shrugged it off.”

“…Fair point.”

She dipped the cloth into the cool river water and then gently took his arm, starting to clean the small cuts and scrapes.

Phainon tensed at first, then relaxed under her touch.

She was so careful, so gentle.

She didn’t even hesitate.

And for some reason, that made something in his chest tighten.

His heart was beating way too fast.

He tried to distract himself. “You’re, uh… really good at this.”

Y/N shrugged. “I’ve had practice.”

Phainon tilted his head. “Looking after other reckless idiots?”

She smirked. “Something like that.”

There was a moment of silence as she worked, carefully wrapping his arm.

Phainon, unable to help himself, stared at her.

The way her brows furrowed slightly in concentration, the way her hands moved with such certainty, the way she was just… there, helping him, without question.

And before he knew it—

The words just… slipped out.

“I think I love you.”

Y/N froze.

Phainon froze.

A beat of silence.

Then—

Phainon’s eyes went wide.

“WAIT—”

He clapped a hand over his mouth, face instantly turning bright red.

Y/N, still holding his arm, just blinked at him.

Phainon slowly lowered his hand, looking absolutely mortified. “I—uh—I mean—I—That wasn’t—”

Y/N tilted her head. “…Did you just confess on accident?”

Phainon groaned, burying his face in his hands. “Oh my gods. Yes. I did. I didn’t mean to say it out loud. Forget I said anything—”

Y/N smiled softly. “Why?”

Phainon peeked at her through his fingers. “…Huh?”

Y/N squeezed his hand.

“Why should I forget it?”

Phainon blinked, heart practically leaping out of his chest. “Wait—”

She grinned. “Because I kinda like you too.”

Phainon stared at her.

Brain: stopped working.

Soul: left body.

Heart: overheating.

Y/N, amused by his dumbfounded expression, leaned forward and—

Gave him a quick kiss on the cheek.

Phainon short-circuited.

His entire face went up in flames.

Y/N laughed. “Oh my gods, you’re actually steaming.”

Phainon covered his face again. “YOU CAN’T JUST—YOU CAN’T JUST DO THAT—”

Y/N grinned. “I just did.”

Phainon, still burning up, peeked at her. “S-So… does this mean…?”

Y/N, still holding his hand, smirked. “Yeah, dumbass. I’ll go out with you.”

Phainon looked like he just won the lottery.

He grinned so wide his cheeks hurt. “Really?!”

Y/N laughed. “Really.”

Phainon let out the happiest noise known to mankind.

When they returned, Phainon was still grinning like a love-sick idiot.

Like, full-on dreamy, goofy, floating-on-air grin.

It was extremely obvious.

Trailblazer raised an eyebrow. “Uh. You good?”

Dan Heng sipped his tea. “No. He’s in love.”

Tribbie grinned. “Did you finally confess?”

Mydei sighed, rubbing his temples. “Gods, I can already tell this is gonna be unbearable.”

Phainon just grinned wider, looking at Y/N like she hung the stars in the sky.

Mydei groaned. “I was right. This is unbearable.”

Y/N snickered. “You better get used to it.”

Phainon beamed. “Yeah, Mydei. Get used to it.”

Mydei looked at the sky, as if asking the gods for strength.

Dan Heng simply sipped his tea.

Trailblazer whispered to Tribbie, “5000 credits says Mydei will try to leave them behind on the next mission.”

Tribbie grinned. “You’re on.”

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alittlegiraffe · 3 days ago

Text

Title: Lose Yourself in Us (Part 4)

The realization doesn’t come all at once. It creeps in slowly, like a shadow stretching across the floor at sunset—something you try to ignore until it’s too big to look away from.

At first, you push the doctor’s warnings to the back of your mind. You tell yourself you’ll be fine. You have to be.

But then the symptoms start.

The exhaustion that clings to your bones no matter how much you rest. The dizziness that has you gripping the counter to stay upright. The tightness in your chest that makes it hard to breathe some nights.

You don’t tell Marshall. He’s already so distant, so angry. You can’t add to it.

But late at night, when he’s asleep beside you, his arm draped protectively over your growing belly, you lie awake, staring at the ceiling, thinking about the what ifs.

What if I don’t make it?

What if this baby grows up without a mother?

What if Marshall never forgives me?

One night, when the weight of it becomes too much, you get up quietly and sit at your desk in the dim light of the nursery. And you start to write.

The first letter is for Marshall.

You stare at the blank page for a long time before finally putting the pen to paper.

Marshall,

I don’t know how to start this because I don’t want to admit that I might not be around to say these things to you myself. But if you’re reading this, it means I didn’t get the chance to.

I need you to know that I never wanted to leave you. I never wanted to hurt you. I just couldn’t make myself walk away from this baby, from the life we created together. And I hope that someday, you’ll understand that.

You’re the strongest person I know, even if you don’t believe it. And I know this is going to break you. I just need you to promise me one thing—that you’ll keep going. That you won’t shut down, won’t let the anger eat you alive. This baby is going to need you. And you are going to be an amazing father, whether you believe it or not.

Please don’t let this make you bitter. Don’t let it turn you into someone you’re not. Love this baby enough for both of us. And when they’re old enough, tell them about me. Tell them how much I loved them before they even got here.

And don’t ever, ever think that I regret this. Because I don’t. Not for a second.

I love you. Always.

Yours forever,

[Your Name]

Your hands shake as you fold the letter, tucking it into an envelope and placing it in the top drawer of the dresser. And then you write another letter. And another.

One for your baby—words they might need to hear someday. A promise that, even if you can’t be there, your love never leaves.

More letters follow over the next few weeks. Letters for birthdays, for first days of school, for milestones you may never see.

It becomes part of your routine—your quiet, secret way of making sure that, even if the worst happens, your love won’t disappear.

And then, one evening, everything unravels.

You’re in the kitchen, washing dishes, when you hear it.

A crash. The sound of something slamming against the wall.

Your heart leaps into your throat as you rush down the hall to the nursery, and when you get there, your breath catches in your chest.

Marshall is standing in the middle of the room, your letters scattered across the floor around him. One is crumpled in his fist, his whole body trembling.

His head snaps up when he sees you. His eyes are wild, burning with something between heartbreak and fury.

“What the fuck is this?” His voice is rough, strained.

Your stomach twists. “Marshall—”

“You—” He swallows hard, shaking his head as he gestures at the mess around him. “You wrote these? You—You’ve been sitting here, writing letters like you’re already dead?”

Tears well in your eyes, but you don’t look away. “I had to.”

“No, you didn’t.” He steps forward, voice rising. “You’re just—You’re giving up! You’re acting like there’s no chance, like—” His voice cracks, and he squeezes his eyes shut for a second before looking at you again. “You’re planning for a future where you’re not here, and I—” He shakes his head violently. “I can’t.”

“I’m not giving up.” Your voice is soft but firm. “I just… I need to be prepared. Just in case.”

He lets out a shaky breath, his hands clenched at his sides. “I can’t read this shit,” he mutters. “I can’t sit here and listen to you talk like you’re already gone. I can’t—”

His voice breaks completely, and suddenly, he’s sinking down onto the floor, his hands gripping his hair, his chest rising and falling too fast.

You move without thinking, kneeling beside him. “Marshall—”

“I don’t know how to do this.” His voice is barely a whisper. “I don’t know how to live without you.”

Tears slip down your cheeks as you reach for his hands, pulling them away from his face. He lets you, his fingers curling around yours like he’s afraid to let go.

“I don’t want you to have to,” you whisper. “But if something happens, I need to know you’ll be okay.”

His breathing is uneven, his eyes glistening with unshed tears. He looks at you like you’re slipping through his fingers, like he’s trying desperately to hold on.

And in that moment, you realize that no matter how much you try to prepare, no letter in the world could ever say what you really want to say.

So you just hold him. And for the first time in weeks, he holds you back.

#eminem #marshall mathers #eminem x reader #marshall mathers x reader

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nymph0maniaccc · 1 day ago

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Misery Loves Company

Part Two

2k words

Jax Teller x Fem!Reader

Background: You’re sick of the new girl getting all up on Jax so you take matters into your own hands

Series Warnings: Strong language, mentions of drug use, criminal past, cheating themes, eventual smut MDNI, show spoilers.

a/n: This will be a 4-5 partish series will a few blurbs in between cos if you have any request you can send them<3, this is also written with a black female reader in mind but anyone can read as long as you aren't being weird. Also thank you to my baby @starfxkrinc for proofreading mwah I love you so much<3, last but not least enjoy! Also thank you so much for the love on part one!

Two months in, Jax is more at home in the halfway house than he ever thought he’d be. Not because he likes the place it still smells like burnt coffee and broken dreams but because of you. Because every night, when the rest of the house fades into silence, you’re there. Sitting on the sagging couch next to him, trading smirks and secrets like you’ve known each other forever.

At first, he fought it. The calls to Tara helped with that. Every time he heard her voice, he reminded himself of the life he was supposed to go back to. But with every “I love you” that felt more like an obligation, with every pause between words that stretched too long, it got harder.

And you didn’t make it any easier.

It’s the way you make him feel alive. Like he’s not just playing a part in a life that doesn’t quite fit anymore. Like he’s not trying so damn hard to be the man everyone expects him to be. With you, there’s no weight, no expectations. Just fire, raw and untamed, the kind that makes him forget anything else exists.

And maybe that’s why he’s losing control.

It wasn’t just that Tara felt distant. It was you.

And then there was her.

Brittany.

A new addition to the house, blonde, all fake sweetness and forced laughter. She was the type who smiled too much, the type who leaned a little too close when she talked to Jax, who laughed a little too loud at his jokes. She wasn’t subtle. And the worst part? Jax wasn’t exactly shutting her down.

It made you sick.

You weren’t the jealous type, not usually. You didn’t do the whole possessive, needy thing. But this? Watching her throw herself at him, watching him entertain it, even just a little? It made your blood boil.

She’s always finding excuses to talk to him, laughing too hard at his jokes, brushing her hand against his arm like she doesn’t know exactly what she’s doing. And Jax, to his credit, doesn’t seem interested. But that doesn’t matter. Because you’re interested. In him. In every damn thing he does.

It all snaps one morning.

This morning is the last fucking straw.

You wake up early, stomach knotted, mind already set. You don’t know what’s going to happen when you see her, but you know it won’t be good. And sure enough, there she is, standing in the kitchen, stirring her coffee like she owns the place.

You didn’t even think about it.

She looks up, offers you a smile that’s a little too sweet. “Morning.”

You don’t answer. Just step closer, heart pounding.

“I see the way you look at him,” you say, voice flat.

Brittany blinks, then lets out a nervous laugh. “What?”

“Jax,” you snap. “I see the way you fucking look at him.”

Her smile falters. “I—I don’t—”

But you don’t let her finish. The anger, the jealousy, the months of pent-up tension explode all at once, and before you even realize what you’re doing.

One second, you were staring at the back of her head, and the next, you were grabbing the nearest thing, an old, chipped ceramic coffee mug smashing it against the side of her skull.

Fuck.

Jax is still half-asleep when he hears the crash. Then the sharp, choked-out gasp.

By the time he stumbles into the kitchen, you’re standing over Brittany’s limp body, chest rising and falling in quick, shallow breaths. There’s blood pooling beneath her head, spreading out over the cracked linoleum. The broken remains of a coffee mug are at your feet, your hands clenched into fists.

And for the first time since he met you, you actually look shaken.

Your breath comes in sharp, panicked gasps. Your hands shake. Did you just-?

“What the fuck?”

Jax’s voice.

You whirl around to see him standing in the doorway, eyes flicking from you to Brittany’s motionless body, then back to you. His jaw tightens. But he doesn’t look shocked. Not really.

“We need to go,” you say, voice barely above a whisper.

Jax doesn’t argue. Doesn’t even hesitate.

He just nods once. “Yeah.”

The motel room is shit. The kind of place that smells like cigarettes and bad decisions. The walls are yellowed with age, the sheets rough against your skin. But none of that matters.

Because you’re here. With him.

Jax leans against the dresser, hands running through his hair, exhaling slow. “We shouldn’t have done that.”

You shouldn’t have done that, is what he means. But he doesn’t say it. He won’t.

“She was gonna take you from me,” you mutter, voice hollow.

Jax’s gaze snaps to yours. Something dark flickers behind those blue eyes, something you can’t quite name.

“No one’s taking me from you.”

It’s not reassurance. It’s a fact.

The weight in your chest loosens just a little.

You stand by the door, still as stone. Then, finally, you move.

You cross the room, slow, deliberate, stopping in front of him. When he finally looks up at you, the storm in your eyes is just as fierce as the one raging in his chest.

“You should be scared of me,” you say softly.

Jax exhales, shaking his head. “I think I’m past that.”

And when you lean in, pressing your lips to his, there’s no hesitation. No guilt.

Just fire.

As your lips meet, you feel the intensity of the moment, the raw passion that's been simmering between you two for months now.

Jax's hands grip your waist, pulling you flush against him. His kiss is rough, demanding, a feverish clash of lips and tongue that leaves you breathless. You can taste the desperation, the barely-contained rage. It makes your head spin.

He walks you backward until your legs hit the edge of the bed. You fall onto the mattress, taking him with you. His weight pins you down, his hips grinding against yours in a slow, deliberate rhythm.

The taste of him addictive. Your breath mingles, becoming one as the world around you fades away, leaving only the two of you lost in this desperate, consuming need.

One of Jax's hands slides down to your ass, squeezing hard before slapping the fatty flesh, pulling you tighter against him. You can feel his arousal growing through his jeans, pressing insistently against your stomach.

"Fuck," he groans against your neck, nipping at the sensitive skin. "Fuck, I've wanted this for so long."

Your fingers ghost across his buzzed head, nails raking down his scalp. You arch into him, desperate for more friction, more everything.

"Then take it," you breathe, voice raw with need. "Take what you fucking want."

He breaks away suddenly, his eyes dark with lust as they rake over your body. "Take off your clothes," he demands, voice low and rough with desire.

You don't hesitate. With trembling fingers, you pull your shirt over your head, letting it fall to the floor. Your bra follows, and you reach to unzip your jeans, shimmying out of them along with your panties until you stand before him completely naked the art that marks your body fully on display.

Jax drinks in the sight of you, his gaze hot and intense. "Fuck" he rasps out, reaching out to cup your breasts, thumbs teasing your nipples into hard peaks before trailing to the words inked under your breast. “Love Is The Key”.

"Touch me, Jax," you plead. "Please..."

He obliges, one hand sliding down your stomach to cup your mound. His fingers brush against your clit, and you whimper, spreading your legs wider in invitation. He takes the hint, plunging two fingers deep inside you, pumping them in and out as his thumb circles your clit.

"Wet as hell.." Jax groans, watching your face contort with pleasure. "You want this dick don't you? Want me to fill you up, prove I’m yours?"

"Yes," you pant, hips rolling against his hand. "I need it. Need you."

He bites down on your collarbone hard enough to bruise.

"You want me to hurt you?" His voice is a low rasp in your ear.

You nod, eyes glazed with lust. "Yes. Fuck yes."

He smirks, something wicked dancing in those blue eyes. Then his hand is around your throat, squeezing just enough to make your pulse jump.

"Beg for it," he commands, thumb pressing into your windpipe.

"Please," you gasp, voice strangled. "Please hurt me.

His other hand fists in your hair, yanking your head back. He crashes his mouth against yours, all teeth and tongue. The pain, the pleasure, it's dizzying.

"You like this? Like having me inside you?"

"Yes," you pant, walls clenching around his digits. "More. Need more."

He withdraws his hand, bringing his slick fingers to your lips. "Suck."

You obey, moaning at the taste of yourself.

"Get on your knees." Jax rasped out.

You scramble to comply, ass in the air, back arched. The sound of his zipper is deafening in the small room. Then he's inside you with one brutal thrust, stretching you wide.

You scream, fisting the sheets. He sets a punishing pace, each snap of his hips driving you further up the bed.

"Fuck," he snarls, gripping your hips hard enough to leave finger-shaped bruises. "Take it. Take my fucking dick like the crazy bitch you are."

His words send a chill down your spine. You push back to meet his thrusts, relishing the sharp sting of pain when he smacks your ass.

"Yes," you whimper. "More. Harder."

He obliges, slapping your ass over and over until the flesh is red and stinging. Your pussy clenches around him, so close to the edge.

"Gonna cum on my dick?" he pants. "Gonna fucking soak me?"

"Fuck yes!" you mewl, body shaking with the effort of holding back. "I need it. I need to cum."

He leans over you, one hand twisting in your hair, the other snaking around to rub your clit. The dual stimulation is too much.

"Cum for me," he groaned in your ear. "Now."

Your orgasm crashes over you like a tidal wave. You scream his name, vision going white. Your pussy spasms around him, milking his dick for all it's worth.

He follows right behind, pulling out cumming right in the middle of the angel wings that covered the bottom of your back. His groan is guttural, primal, the sound of a man unhinged.

You collapse onto the mattress, bodies slick with sweat and come. He follows you down, sprawling half on top of you, panting into your hair.

"I love you," he murmurs, the words soft but sure.

Your heart skips a beat. You turn your head to catch his lips in a slow, tender kiss.

"I love you too," you whisper against his mouth. "Always."

“You really are trouble,” he muttered, voice low.

You smirked, but it didn’t quite reach your eyes.

“So are you.”

Jax doesn’t know what the hell he’s doing anymore.

He should be thinking about Tara. About Abel and Thomas. About the life he was supposed to come back to. But he’s not.

All he can think about is you.

Because for the first time since he walked out of Stockton, he doesn’t feel trapped. He doesn’t feel like he’s drowning in expectations, in a life that doesn’t fit him anymore. With you, there’s no past. No future. Just this.

Just you.

And that scares the hell out of him.

Because as much as he doesn’t want to admit it, Tara’s slipping further and further away. Every call, every forced conversation, every moment he spent trying to hold on to something that already felt like a memory it’s all starting to feel pointless.

Because she’s not here.

You are.

#jax teller x reader #jax teller imagine #jax teller smut #jax teller #sons of anarchy imagine #soa #sons of anarchy x reader #sons of anarchy #charlie hunnam #jax teller x black reader

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greenbubblefactory · 2 days ago

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Matchup for @a-kind-pandemic-disaster

Congratulations you have a match with..

Idia Shroud !

★At first glance, you and Idia might seem like an odd pairing,him, a socially anxious shut-in with an aversion to anything remotely resembling human interaction, and you, a quiet but motherly presence who’s patient to a fault. But in reality? You two fit together almost too well, like characters in a slow-burn romance visual novel that he swears he totally hasn’t been imagining in his head.

★The first time he meets you, Idia is convinced you’re a background character from an eerie, gothic-themed otome game. Your aesthetic dark academia meets pastel goth completely captivates him, though he’s far too awkward to say so outright. Instead, he just stares a little too long before quickly hiding behind his tablet, sending Ortho out to do most of the talking while he tries to figure out how to interact with someone who looks that cool. He might even mumble something like, “Ugh, why does this feel like the setup to a tragic romance route? If this were an anime, I’d be doomed.”

★Despite his initial hesitance, Idia is drawn to your presence, partially because you’re not overly pushy and partially because he can sense that you, too, prefer quieter spaces. You don’t force him to step too far outside his comfort zone, and that alone makes you one of the safest people he’s ever met. And then there’s the moment he learns that you’re a writer. A horror and romance writer.

★At that point, Idia is both intrigued and horrified. On one hand, he’s deeply impressed,your ability to weave eerie, unsettling narratives is the kind of thing that could rival top-tier visual novel scripts. On the other hand, he’s paranoid.What if you write villains that are way too attractive? WHAT IF YOU BASE YOUR CHARACTERS ON REAL PEOPLE?? He panics for a full three hours before Ortho convinces him to just ask you about it like a normal person.

★When he finally works up the courage, Idia is surprised by how easily he can talk to you about horror. Despite being a total scaredy-cat when it comes to jumpscares, he’s the type who will stay up until 4 AM deep-diving into horror game lore, and now? Now he has someone to rant to about his theories. He even starts reading your work in secret, claiming he’s just skimming it, but then sending you random messages at 2 AM like:

★"Okay, so first of all, how dare you write such an insanely good plot twist? And second of all, if I have nightmares, you’re dealing with them."

★And then there’s gaming. Idia practically malfunctions when he finds out you love gaming as much as he does. He’s usually too anxious to play with people in real life, but with you? It’s different. You don’t judge him when he gets too competitive, you’re patient when he rambles about obscure mechanics, and you’re just as content as he is to spend hours co-op grinding. He low-key starts treating gaming sessions with you like dates, even though he’s too embarrassed to admit it. If you ever make a slideshow game specifically for him, that’s it. That’s the moment he realizes he’s completely and utterly doomed. He keeps every single one of them, even the goofy ones, and will occasionally replay them when he misses you.

★Idia also relates to your struggles in a way that most people wouldn’t. As someone who’s also neurodivergent, he understands the exhaustion that comes from masking, the way overworking can become a coping mechanism, and how easy it is to trust the wrong people. He tries not to be obvious about it, but he’ll start looking out for you in small ways reminding you to take breaks, hacking into NRC’s system to lighten your workload (not that he’d ever admit it), and casually “forgetting” to log off when he knows you’re up late with insomnia, just so you won’t feel alone.

★Your relationship is built on mutual understanding. He doesn’t force you to socialize more than you’re comfortable with, and you don’t pressure him to step too far outside his bubble. But at the same time, you help each other grow. You remind him that it’s okay to take small steps toward the outside world, and in return, he teaches you the beauty of existing in your own little space without guilt.

★And if anyone ever tries to take advantage of your kindness? Oh, they better be ready. Idia may not be the type to fight people outright, but he will ruin them digitally. He may not always know how to express his affection verbally, but his actions whether it’s tweaking an algorithm to make sure you never get bad gacha pulls or programming a custom AI to read you horror stories late at night speak volumes.

★To everyone else, he might just be NRC’s most reclusive, gaming-obsessed shut-in. But to you? He’s your favorite co-op partner, your biggest (secret) fan, and the one person who truly gets you.

★Idia is your chaotic, nerdy gremlin who understands your struggles and shows his love through digital devotion and quiet companionship.

English is not my first language so I'm sorry if there are any spelling mistakes!

#matchup #twisted wonderland matchup #twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland x reader #idia shroud x reader #idia shroud #idia shroud twst #twisted wonderland idia #idia x reader #twst idia #Idia Shroud x you

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secretlovesoftheheart · 2 days ago

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oops Mouthwashing incorrect quotes part 2 I have no self control

Anya: The results are in, I’m afraid you have updog… Jimmy: What’s updog? Anya: Daisuke! Get in here, I told you I could do it!

Curly: We’ve found the person who stole your identity and was impersonating you. Jimmy: Where were they? Curly: Eating cheetos and crying in their car. Jimmy, impressed: Damn, they really went for it.

Daisuke: If I run and leap at Swansea, he will most certainly catch me in their arms. Daisuke, running towards Swansea: Coming in! Swansea: No! I’m holding coffee! Swansea: Drops coffee and catches Daisuke

Jimmy: I WOULD DESTROY THE WORLD FOR YOU! Curly: Okay, can you do the dishes? Jimmy: No!

Police Officer: You have the right to remain silent. Jimmy: I choose to waive that right! Jimmy: screaming

Curly: Do you take constructive criticism? Jimmy: No, only cash or credit.

Curly: What do we say when life disappoints us? Anya: Called it! Curly: No.

Anya: You’re not ascending to godhood, you’re just dehydrated. Curly: Outta my way, gaygirl! I’m about to liberate myself from this mortal shell! later Curly, texting Anya: hopital

Anya: Whoa, Jimmy, what’s up with that angry face? Jimmy: Daisuke won’t stop talking about how “Ancient Egyptians were furries”. Daisuke: But they were! Just looks at all their gods- Jimmy: Oh my god, SHUT UP!

Curly: What is the one thing I told you not to do? Jimmy: Burn the house down. Curly: And what did you do? Jimmy: I made dinner. Curly: Jimmy: Curly: Jimmy: And burnt the house down.

Jimmy, holding a toy lightsaber: I’m Darth Vader! Swansea: I’m done with everyone’s bullshit.

Jimmy: Wow, they really hate us. Curly: Yes, perhaps they’re homophobic. Jimmy: But we’re not gay, Curly. Curly: Jimmy: Curly: We’re not?

Curly: Oh man, you have any shaving cream? Daisuke: No, I don't like the way that it tastes. Curly: Wait… you eat shaving cream? Daisuke: No. Why would I eat it if I don't like the taste.

Swansea: A sprite is anything not static. Daisuke: A sprite is a variable object, be it 2d or 3d. Curly: A sprite is a fucking soda. Curly: You god damn geekass bastards.

Anya: Coca Cola can remove rust from metal, imagine what it’s doing to your body. Daisuke: Pfff, getting rid of the rust, idiot. Anya: THAT'S NOT HOW IT WORKS! Swansea: Hmm… I've been drinking soda and my body's rust free… not sure where you're getting your facts from…

Curly: Are you alright? Anya: Short answer or long answer? Curly: Short? Anya: No. Curly: Long? Anya: Nooooooo.

Jimmy: You have Crayons? Daisuke: Yes, I have— Jimmy: You're— how old are you? Daisuke: YES I AM AN ADULT AND I HAVE CRAYONS, I HAVE A BOX OF EMERGENCY CRAYONS IN THE CABINET UNDER THE TV BECAUSE EVERYBODY NEEDS CRAYONS SOMETIMES, OKAY? EVERYBODY NEEDS CRAYONS.

Daisuke: That sounds super! Doesn’t that sound super, Swansea? Swansea: No. Daisuke: I think I speak for Swansea when I say it sounds really super.

Swansea: What the hell is wrong with you? Jimmy: I have this weird self-esteem issue where I hate myself but still think I’m better than everyone else.

Daisuke: Wow, this parking is as straight as I am. Jimmy: I know I should be focused on the fact that you just came out, but HOW DARE YOU INSULT MY PARKING!

Jimmy: I feel awful about killing you. Curly: Jimmy: Even though technically you never even died, so I don’t know what you’re bitching about.

Daisuke: I have a bad feeling about this… Jimmy: What do you mean? Daisuke: Don't you ever get that little voice in your head that tells you if you're going to get into trouble? Jimmy: No? Swansea: That actually explains so much.

Daisuke: How are you so calm?! Anya: I’ve passed beyond “stressed”, beyond “hysteria”, into the gray misty indifference of complete shutdown of all but emergency services in my brain.

Curly: Jimmy's first detention, I'm so proud. Anya: Whoa, back up. Why did they get detention? Swansea: Because they're an idiot. Daisuke, terrified: They can do that??

Anya, Entering Curly's room: Jimmy did it again. Curly: Peace disturbance? Anya: What no- Curly: Arson..? Anya: NO, JESUS CHRIST, HOW MANY- Curly: uh….Attempted murder? Anya: NO, HE ATE ALL THE FOOD IN THE FRIDGE, BUT WHAT THE FU-

Curly: Can you please just apologize to Anya? Jimmy: Fine, but I have to warn you that this may make me a nicer, better person and that is not who you feel in love with.

Swansea: Where’s Daisuke? Jimmy: Around. Swansea: Around? Swansea: You don’t have any idea, do you? Daisuke, dropping down from above: Did you know there’s a space above the ceiling?

Daisuke: Adulting is hard. Daisuke: How do I quit? Swansea: Time travel. Jimmy: Die.

Swansea: Daisuke, what does IDK, ILY, and TTYL mean? Daisuke: I don’t know, I love you, talk to you later. Swansea: Alright, I love you too, I'll ask Anya. Daisuke: Wait- Swansea, no-

Swansea: Can you keep a secret? Anya: Do you know anything about my life? Swansea: No, I don't. Good point.

Jimmy: Punch me in the face. Swansea: …Punch you? Jimmy: Yes, punch me, didn’t you hear me? Swansea: I always hear ‘punch me in the face’ while you’re speaking but it’s usually just subtext.

Swansea: All of your existences are confusing. The Squad: How so? Swansea: Your presence is annoying, but the thought of anything bad happening to any of you upsets me.

Daisuke: shoves their hand in the slot of a toaster Swansea: … Daisuke: …I get confused sometimes. Swansea: Me too.

Curly: What’s something you guys are better than Jimmy at? Daisuke: Mario Kart. Anya: Yeah, video games. Swansea: Emotional vulnerability.

Jimmy: Just trust me. Have I ever put you in an unsafe or uncomfortable situation? Anya: All the time. Jimmy: Then you should be used to it by now.

Jimmy: Be careful, I thrive on negative attention.

Curly: Look, Anya, it's the third time this week you had a mental breakdown and its Monday.

Jimmy: Would I rather be feared or loved? Easy. Both. I want people to fear how much they love me.

Daisuke: I’ve never smoked marijuana. I ate a brownie once at a party. It was intense. It was kind of indescribable. I felt like I was floating. Turns out there was no pot in the brownie. It was just an insanely good brownie.

Swansea: I would never say that my partner is a bitch and I don’t don’t like them. That’s not true… My partner is a bitch and I like them so much!

Jimmy: Things will get better! The Squad: Jimmy: Okay, maybe they won’t. Jimmy: But they will be terrible in new and interesting ways!

#mouthwashing #mouthwashing game #mouthwashing anya #mouthwashing curly #mouthwashing jimmy #swansea mouthwashing #daisuke mouthwashing #curly mouthwashing #jimmy mouthwashing #mouthwashing swansea

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natashaslesbian · 20 hours ago

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No Matter What | SJ

Summary: You share a secret with your mom and she supports you through it

Request: Could you please write a Scarlett x daughter reader where she has a crush on a girl. scarlett don't know this girl or even know that reader likes girls but when she finds out after reader came out to her, she obviously supports reader a lot. after their date they go back to reader's house and scarlett just being the typical leave the door open mom and very happy for reader

Word Count: 962

Warnings: none I believe :)

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You were curled up on the couch scrolling on your phone, unaware of the figure lurking above you. “What ya doing?” Scarlett said suddenly, leaning over the back of the couch. “Holy sh- mom!” You yelped, pulling your phone into your chest. “Ooo almost got ya!” The blonde giggled. “Okay, if you scare me and I curse that’s entirely your fault” you said, rolling your eyes. “Well maybe I’m just waiting to use my mom powers to ground you, I’ve been waiting for it since you were 12” Scarlett said, settling down on the couch next to you. “You’ve been waiting to ground your child?” You asked. “It’s what every mother dreams of” your mom smirked “not like it’s ever gonna happen with you though is it, guess I got lucky with the most well behaved child on earth” Scarlett smiled. “Yeah” you whispered, pulling your phone back down to your lap and shutting it off. “You wanna watch a movie?” Your mom asked, softly twisting the loose strands from your ponytail. “Yeah sure” you said.

You really tried to enjoy the movie, but you couldn’t help the continuous nervous fidgeting racking your body. Scarlett noticed but she decided not to say anything, until the film ended and she saw the light layer of sweat covering your forehead. “What’s wrong sweetheart?” Your mom asked. You thought about lying, but you were so bad at it there was no point. It’s no wonder Scarlett had 100% trust in you, if you ever tried to deceive her you know it wouldn’t work. “If I tell you something, you promise you won’t be mad?” You quietly asked. “Well I can’t promise that without knowing what is it but you know you can tell me anything” your mom said, switching off the tv. “You’ll still love me the same though right?” You shyly said. “Oh baby nothing will ever make me love you less” Scarlett smiled, shuffling closer to you. You cautiously reached for phone and pulled up the Instagram page you had been scrolling through before the film started. “Is this what you were looking at earlier?” Your mom asked as you passed her the phone, you nodded cautiously.

Scarlett looked down at the picture you had loaded to show her “oo she’s pretty” your mom said, still not fully understanding why you were showing her this. “Oh!” She suddenly said “you think she’s pretty too? Like…like you like her?” Scarlett delicately asked. You avoided eye contact as your mom figured out what you were trying to say, you felt tears well up in your eyes and you desperately tired to hold them back. “Hey, hey, hey, it’s ok” Scarlett said, shuffling closer to you “why are you crying sweetie?” She asked. “Because…because I’m your good girl, the daughter who’s never in trouble, who’s never done anything wrong” you sniffled. “And you still haven’t baby! You’re not in trouble! You’d never be in trouble for being who you are!” Scarlett cooed, pulling you into her arms “you don’t hate me?” You said, voice quivering. “No. I never could y/n” your mom said, squeezing you tightly. “I am so proud of you, thank you for telling me” Scarlett smiled.

You basked in your mothers comfort for a while, relieved at finally being able to tell her. Scarlett allowed you the time to calm down before she spoke up again. “Does she go to your school?” She asked. “Yeah, she’s in my science class” you smiled. “Oooo I hope she’s your chemistry partner” the blonde chuckled. “Mom” you laughed, rolling your eyes. “Okay okay, well what are you gonna do? Could get her some flowers?” Scarlett said, sitting back with a giddy smile. “I don’t know” you shyly smiled. “Well what is she into? Does she like music? Musicals? What about just going out for dinner?” Your mom said, reeling off all of her ideas. “I don’t know okay” you softly smiled “I’ve never dated anyone before what if I make a fool of myself just by asking her out” you frowned. “Listen, making a fool of yourself is part of life, you’re bound to do it one day. But if she really likes you, she’ll accept you no matter what” Scarlett said. “Alright, well, she likes musicals” you grinned, cheeks already blushing. “Ok, I’ve got a plan” your mom said shuffling closer to you.

The day of your date finally arrived and Scarlett was beside herself with nerves, she’s vowed to be the kind of mother who actually allowed you to grow up during your teenage years. But still, knowing her 15 year old was off on her first date was a tough pill to swallow, you really were growing up right before her eyes. Scarlett helped you to get ready and saw you on your way out of the front door, you’d rejected her offer to drop you off at the movie theatre. You had the best time, getting to know your date and growing closer than you ever thought possible in just a few hours. You arrived home hand in hand with your ‘almost’ girlfriend after your mom had offered to host her for dinner. She watched from the kitchen as you snuggled together, clearly still smitten by each other. “We’re gonna head up to my room” you said after introducing Scarlett to your date. She smiled and nodded but couldn’t hold back from making a cheeky comment. “Leave the door open” she smirked. “Oh my god mom” you sighed, dragging your classmate swiftly up the stairs.

Scarlett didn’t know whether this relationship would last, whether or not it would blossom into something more or leave you with a broken heart. But she knew one thing. She would always love you. No matter what.

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A/N: sorry the ending was a little short but I hope you enjoyed it!

- Astara Bell

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[Taglist]

@saraaahsstuff / @dannipotatoo / @tobiaslut / @nev-valkyriesdottir / @marvelnatasha12346 / @yelenasdiary / @mousetheorist / @ashadash0904 / @strange-night-owl / @acciowriting / @hatergirl-69 / @lovelyy-moonlight / @escapereality4music / @jizzuo308 / @imjustvibingsworld / @ciaoooooo111 / @fxckmiup / @natbelovasblog / @godhatesgoodgirls

#scarlett johansson x reader #scarlett x reader #scarlett johansson #scarjo

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includedisco · 2 days ago

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Title: Firsts (Chapter 5- Kissing In The Downpour)

Characters: Fadel, Style

Pairing: FadelStyle

Fandom: The Heart Killers

Tags: Fluff, established relationship, post canon, dating, domestic boyfriends, post-canon, soft boyfriends

warnings: none

Word Count: 1,109

Summary: After a double date at the bowling alley, Fadel and Style get caught in the rain

A/N: The chapters are not exactly related and can be enjoyed as oneshots

Links for Chapter one, two, three, four

The bowling alley doors slide shut behind them, the sound of laughter and clattering pins fading away. Fadel adjusts his jacket, glancing at his watch. It’s late, but not too late. They’ve left Kant and Bison behind to finish their game, claiming they need to head home because they have an early start for work the next day. Really, though, Fadel just wants some time alone with Style before the work week starts tomorrow.

Style is already a few steps ahead, his hand still loosely clasped in Fadel’s. He’s humming some upbeat tune, his usual energy somehow still on fire even after hours of bowling and chatter with their friends. Fadel can’t help the small smile tugging at his lips. Style is ridiculous and entirely too much sometimes—but he’s also the best thing that’s ever happened to him.

They stop short at the edge of the pavement. The parking lot is mostly empty, save for a few cars scattered under the dim glow of streetlights. Rain pours down steadily, pattering quite violently against the tarmac. Style tilts his head back, his face lighting up as he takes in the sight.

“Rain!” he exclaims, as if it’s the most exciting thing in the world. He squeezes Fadel’s hand once before letting go, stepping out into the downpour without hesitation.

Fadel blinks, stunned. “Style, what are you doing?” he calls, his voice sharp with disapproval. “Get back here!”

But Style doesn’t listen. He spreads his arms wide, tipping his face up to the sky. Raindrops cling to his hair and drip down his cheeks, but he’s grinning ear to ear. “So refreshing!” he shouts, taking a deep breath. “Come on, Fadel! Live a little!”

Fadel scowls, crossing his arms over his chest. “You’re going to get sick, you idiot. And so will I if I have to drag you out of there.”

Style laughs, the sound bright and carefree. He pushes his wet hair back from his face and plants his hands on his hips, grinning at Fadel. “A little rain won’t kill you. Come here!” he beckons playfully, curling his forefinger.

Fadel groans, muttering under his breath about how ridiculous Style is. But when Style doesn’t budge, Fadel finally gives in. He steps into the rain, the cold water soaking through his clothes almost instantly. “This is so stupid,” he grumbles, reaching for Style’s hand to pull him back to the pavement.

But Style resists, tugging Fadel closer instead. Before Fadel can protest, Style cups his face in both hands and kisses him. Fadel tenses, surprised by the suddenness of it and the uncomfortable sensation of rain beating down on his back. But then he relaxes, his hands sliding around Style’s waist as he kisses him back.

The kiss is short but sweet, and when Style pulls away, he’s smiling like he’s just won the lottery. “See?” he says, threading his fingers through Fadel’s hair. “Not so bad, right?”

Fadel rolls his eyes, but there’s no real annoyance in it. “You’re a freaking menace,” he mutters, though he’s fighting a smile.

Style doesn’t give him a chance to say more. He kisses him again, and again, and again, each one quick and playful. Fadel can’t help but laugh, his hands trailing lower to rest on Style’s hips. “What are you doing?” he asks, even though he’s kissing back just as eagerly.

“I’ve always wanted to kiss my boyfriend in the rain,” Style says between kisses, his voice light and teasing. “Isn’t it romantic?”

Fadel snorts, but he’s grinning now, his earlier irritation completely forgotten. He pulls Style closer, deepening the kiss this time. The rain is cold, and their clothes are soaked, but Fadel doesn’t care. All he cares about is the way Style’s lips feel against his, the way his hands are tangled in his hair, the way he’s laughing softly between kisses.

When they finally pull apart, Fadel rests his forehead against Style’s, breathing heavily. “You’re going to be the death of me,” he says, but there’s no heat in his words. He tips his head back, yelling at the sky in mock exasperation. “What have I become? What has this man done to me?”

Style laughs, the sound bright and infectious. He wraps his arms around Fadel’s neck, swaying gently as if they’re dancing. “Admit it,” he says, his voice soft now. “You love me.”

Fadel looks at him, his expression softening. “I do,” he whispers, pressing a kiss to Style’s nose. “I really do.”

They stay like that for a while, holding each other in the rain. The world around them is quiet, save for the sound of the downpour and the occasional distant rumble of thunder. Fadel knows they’ll regret this tomorrow when they’re both sneezing and exhausted at work, but right now, he doesn’t care. Right now, all that matters is the man in his arms, the man who’s turned his glum world upside down in the best possible way.

****

The next morning, Fadel and Style are curled up on the couch, wrapped in a thick duvet. Both of them are sniffling, their noses red and their voices hoarse. A bowl of steaming porridge sits on the coffee table in front of them, half-eaten.

“I told you we’d get sick,” Fadel mutters, his tone more amused than annoyed. He spoons a bit of porridge and holds it out to Style, who opens his mouth obediently.

Style swallows, then grins despite his stuffy nose. “Worth it,” he says, his voice raspy. “Best night ever.”

Fadel rolls his eyes but can’t hide the small smile tugging at his lips. He takes a bite of porridge himself, then sets the spoon down.

Style shifts closer, resting his head on Fadel’s shoulder. “I want to kiss you,” he begins, his voice soft. “Can I kiss you?”

Fadel raises an eyebrow, looking at him with mock seriousness. “You already got me sick.”

“Oh, right,” Style says, pretending to think it over. Then, without waiting for permission, he leans in and pecks Fadel’s lips. “Feel better,” he whispers, his breath warm against Fadel’s skin.

Fadel stares at him for a moment, trying to muster up some irritation. But he can’t. Instead, he smiles, shaking his head. “Feel better,” he says back, his voice gentle.

Style grins, snuggling closer under the duvet. “See? Even sick, you’re the best.”

Fadel chuckles, wrapping an arm around Style. “You’re still a riot.”

“And you love me for it,” Style says, his eyes closing as he relaxes against Fadel.

Fadel doesn’t argue. He just holds Style a little tighter, thinking that maybe being sick isn’t so bad when they’re in it together.

-End of Chapter Five-

Thank you for reading ❤️

If you liked this story, please visit my AO3 for more.

#fadelstyle #the heart killers #the heart killers the series #thk #bl fanfic #stylefadel #thai bl #thai bl series #thai bl fanfic #joongdunk #fadel thk #style thk

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lalavenderangel · 3 months ago

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i just…🫠😮‍💨🥹🤍

#Nicholas the man that you are #he’s so pretty #i am not okay #i adore this man #like????#😭😭#but daddy i love him #i won’t be shutting up about these ever #nicholas alexander chavez #lavender baby

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zephilyr · 2 months ago

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spoilers for sylus new card!!!

I just finished the card story and OMGGGG, they totally did the boombayah 💖

Hands down this is my second favorite card after Sylus’s myth pair. He was soooo needy during this card, and the best thing is that MC initiated their kiss. I love my consent king sm.

Ugh, I loved their interactions when MC invited Sylus into her home, they were acting so domestic, like buying groceries together. Oh, and don’t get me started on the morning after, the familiarity and intimacy between MC and Sylus??? When he pulled her to kissed her on the car!

Great kudos to the developers and Sylus’s VA, he did an amazing job, he got me blushing so hard during the whole sequence.

My man really waited centuries to live a peaceful life with MC. 😭🤍

#i won’t ever shut up about this #they’re goals honestly #find me a man like him #sylus #sylus qin #sylus x reader #lads sylus #sylus smut #love and deepspace #lads #lads spoilers #spoilers

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heylittleriotact · 3 days ago

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👻 WIP WEDNESDAY 👻

Have I vindicated myself? Will I be flagged as a pervert again? Only one way to find out!

Thanks for the tag, @by-ilmater! Already loving your bodyguard AU!

Tagging @emmg @razildor @mageofquandrix @allofthebarks

Emmrich x Rook Modern Funeral Home AU

“Three times?”

“Yup.”

“And then this morning too?”

“Mhmm.”

“Damn. He must have been thirsting after you for ages.”

Rook tried not to look too pleased with herself as she regarded the shelf of dried pastas in front of her, for all intents and purposes supposedly deciding what kind she wanted, but in reality her mind was wandering down the path of recently forged memories from the night before.

The feeling of his lips on hers.

His scent.

The way he moaned while he was fucking her - not forced or put on. Instead, it was like he had never enjoyed anything in life quite so much as being entangled with her.

I’m in the grocery store with my best friend, picking up supplies for dinner - now is not the time.

Too late though: thoughts of Emmrich had already taken root, and arousal was already coiling deep and heavy in her core.

Later. Soon…

“Does he have Instagram? Facebook? I wanna see this silver-fox-fuck-machine for myself.”

“LinkedIn?”

Rook wrinkled her nose and pulled a box of linguine off the shelf, tossing it in the basket Leon held. “What? Cuz he’s old?”

“I mean… yeah?” Leon shrugged, his soft, dark brown eyes widening innocently.

“Shut up, Leon,” Rook squeezed past him, bumping her shoulder against his pointedly despite the abundance of space in the empty aisle.

“Just sex then?” Leon forged on, not bothering to lower his warm, booming voice at all. “Or have the seeds of romance been planted and fertilized?”

“Leon.” Rook ground out, looking around to make sure no one else was being subjected to this.

“Oh yeah,” he remarked observantly, “You fucking like him, don’t you?”

“What’s not to like?” Rook retorted, injecting a practical, sound-minded bit of dignity into the conversation as she selected a basket of mushrooms. “He’s stable, supports himself, has a functioning vehicle that’s not filled to the windows with garbage, doesn’t bitch when I tell him to wear a condom, and knows how to get a girl off.” She dropped a mesh bag of garlic bulbs into the basket with unwarranted spite. “Bet he won’t ask me to buy weed for him and his band buddies, or go running to Mummy for rent money each month.”

“I love it.” Leon said, switching the basket to his other hand and squeezing a grapefruit because Rook knew he’d eyed it and felt like he needed to. “The complete about-face rebound from pie-in-the-sky wannabe rockstar burnout to sophisticated man-about-town is truly inspiring. Tommy is gonna shit himself.”

“It’s not a rebound, and Tommy’s not gonna know a damn thing about it,” Rook snapped, sounding just as harsh as she intended to. “That fucking dickhead doesn’t deserve a front row seat to whatever happens to be going on in my life. He lost that privilege when he fucked that stupid waitress at The Hanged Man - despite having fucked around and gotten caught before.” She shoved a few shallots into a bag and tied it off, imagining she was shoving them down Tommy’s throat. “I know he asks around about me - I’m not stupid - and you’d better not be fucking telling him anything about me - I don’t want him knowing where I work, what I’m up to, who I’m fucking, or what I’m doing with my hair these days. He’s a piece of shit and I hope he chokes on his fucking tongue.”

“Point taken,” Leon raised his eyebrows. “And just so you know: I haven’t said a word to him. Haven’t even seen him around at shows or anything for the past month at least.”

“Good,” Rook quipped, calm entering her voice. “Maybe he’s finally made himself useful and gotten a fucking job. Or better yet: done us all a favour and dropped dead.”

“Next! I really don’t care for gerber daisies and I haven’t a clue as to why they think I have some sort of attachment to them.”

Emmrich subtly glanced up from the pages of the binder of floral arrangements into the ghostly visage of the recently deceased octogenarian hovering around it with the rest of her family.

The average person rarely considered it, but the reality was that funerals were - and always had been - just as much for the living as they were for the dead. Of course celebrating the life and legacy of the departed was of utmost importance, but the communal event itself: the ritual of a funeral, be it Andrastian, Qunari, non denominational, or anything in between was arguably more for the people left behind than the ones who did the leaving: an opportunity for the bereaved to come together and support each other through the darkest days of their grief. To weep, and laugh, and share stories and regrets. But the world was changing, and fewer and fewer people saw the value in said rituals. Thought them trite and old-fashioned and impractical.

It was a shame, really. But as it stood, society seemed to prefer to grieve privately - to bury their sorrows in busy things like work, and commitments; happy to deny that they felt anything at all in favour of letting that vacuous wound inside of them fester and scar.

What came after death was a mystery to everyone, even Emmrich, who had been able to commune with the metaphysical imprints of the recently deceased since childhood was unable to say for certain what followed that final breath: not everyone became a ghost, it seemed, and those that did tended not to linger overlong - less out of choice, he knew: the echo of a soul could only sustain itself in this realm for a finite time, becoming progressively less substantial before eventually fading away forever. Where it went after that, he couldn’t say.

“Delphiniums. Stock. Snap Dragons.” Mrs. Laviolette ticked off garden flowers on her ghostly fingers, her voice an echoing melody composed of emotion and memory.

As the Laviolette family looked at each other over the table, trying to work out exactly what flowers their mother might have grown all those years ago, Emmrich flipped a few laminated pages of the binder, allowing himself to idly wonder what sort of flowers Rook liked - or if she even cared for them at all. It was so difficult to tell with her - assumptions almost always turned out to be wrong in her case, but she clearly had an affection for things that grew, so surely she appreciated the beauty of flowers?

#v writes #wip wednesday #dragon age wip #emmrook #emmrich x rook #emmrich romance #modern au #funeral home au #emmrich volkarin #dragon age #this is an emmrich thirst post #emmrich #datv #dragon age the veilguard #dragon age emmrich

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