#i'll make sure to answer them all when I come back

[holyguardian]

The bath had been the most horrible part somehow. Strictly ordered by the Lucian King, and for good reason. But it shattered Aerith's heart hearing how Roran screamed and cried even with their father joining him. The pools of water, even if warmed and laced with delicate calming oils, were too big of a reminder of what he had endured.

It was the most miserable cleansing of her life. Not even washing out her endless curls made her feel any better... it was usually a time of silent reflection. Like meditation, where her fingers were kept busy, so she didn't fidget around and become distracted. On that day it only felt like a massive chore.

The sudden move was a welcomed one. There was less space, less privacy, and it no longer felt like they were tightly woven in a circle nestled all close together in a family home... but it felt right. It felt safe. Walls behind walls behind walls. Nothing could creep up on them under the cover of dark.

Aerith remained dressed down in very simple linen, her hair wilder than ever, freshly washed with her wavy spirals not restricted by any braids elaborate or otherwise. It somehow suited her.

When she answered a knock on her door, the last person she expected to find on the other side was Prince Somnus. She thought perhaps it would be her mother or father informing her that Roran had stirred from his nap.

On the other hand, Prince Somnus likely didn't expect to find her so... plainly.

She blinked and stared at the offering, accepting the clay pot from him before realisation washed over her. She looked up to him with an almost-smile, nodding her head in thanks. Roran would nibble these kinds of treats until the pot was bare.

Then Somnus asked after her and she answered with a deeply heaved sigh. Her foot stuck out and hooked on the wood door, pulling it wide and open so she didn't get into trouble for speaking with someone improperly behind closed doors.

"I can't complain, it's against royal protocol." she answered, placing the offering on a stand near the door so she wouldn't forget it on her way to Roran's chambers. She directed Somnus to come sit by the window with her. He could politely take a chair by the table. She sat against the window arch, briefly looking out into the garden.

"Roran... he is shaken up. But we gave him some some calming tea, apparently a strong brew, he's fast asleep being watched over by mum and dad. I was pretending I'd be able to find something fun to surprise him with but I couldn't think of anything good enough. When he wakes up I'll bring those sweets to him, baked goods are actually his favourite. He's always swiping them from the kitchens." she explained, her thoughts a jumbled mess.

Lowering her eyes, she kicked up her leg to show off her footwear. "Pretty sure I stole your sandals from the closet. You're not getting them back." It was a meaningless little comment. Something to make things lighter, as he had put it.

This was far from how this morning had been supposed to end. But all had panned out well… enough. Somnus watched until Aerith and Roran were safely gathered up in their parents’ arms. Nothing could happen now. Like an ocean’s wave that tension washed over and off him.

His own parents were less emotional. They knew he would be fine. Their own relief was apparent upon seeing the prince and princess well and healthy. This would have been the worst. Not just a scandal but a true tragedy, if their guests’ children would have perished here.

The queen briefly looked him over, a small thank to the gods. While the king gave Somnus a nod with a quiet order to take care of this. He knew what to do. The soldiers were quickly instructed. The body should be removed from the cave and burned away from any fields or orchards or villages. Other servants called to take care of prince Roran and princess Aerith. A bath was in order after this, to ensure nothing of the Starscourge clung to them.

He wanted to talk to Aerith. But the Princess was busy, conversing with the Queen. Only what she said rang a memory in Somnus’ mind. From far ago lessons. Jenova.

There would be no grand announcements this day. There was work to be done. The Lucian royals were at task with the army, combing through the nearby caves and forests for any sign of further Daemons.

The castle was bustling, though quietly. The royal family of the farmlands had been removed from the villa by the orchards, instead being placed within the castle walls itself. The chambers allotted to them there weren’t as spacious as the villa itself, but they had been welcomed to use any and all they needed from the Lucian family.

Walking by the archway that afternoon, Somnus could see the scales of Nidhogg between the bushes, moving slowly as he breathed. There was a quiet noise coming from him, like a dog whimpering. The dragon probably feeling the boy’s fear.

At least Somnus imagined that as he passed by.

Knocking on the doors that he guessed would now be Aerith’s rooms, he felt strangely empty. Neither a bath nor trying to find anything in their library had given him more answers about a ‘Jenova’. But was that really important now?

He would have smiled upon seeing Aerith opening the doors, but this day was not suitable for smiles. Still, Somnus held up a shallow clay pot.

“Here. Sweet baked goods from our kitchen. I thought Roran might enjoy them… they are said to make things lighter…”

That sounded awful. Somnus almost cringed at his own words. Of course the boy would be terrified now. But he hoped Aerith would understand the sentiment. She did not look lighthearted either.

“… how are you doing?”

[hauntedhokage]

Leaving anonymous love notes for you to find + Sae Itoshi from Silver's prompt list

You left the door to your office unlocked, since as the team's social media manager you didn't really have anything confidential to lock up, but you think that was about to change. For the last week you'd come in to find some note left somewhere on your desk for you to find, each one containing a sweet message - but not knowing who they came from made you a bit uncomfortable.

The first just telling you that you looked beautiful the day before.

The second a note that you always looked beautiful, but he loved how you looked in the team's jersey.

The third a reminder to stay hydrated, left with a couple bottles of your favorite brand of water (you didn't even know how anyone knew something like that)

The fourth, fifth, and sixth also came with gifts. A couple small boxes of snacks and a little plaque that said 'best instagram photographer', both making you a bit emotional at how much this guy thought about you.

Today's message was left on a sticky note stuck to your monitor, wishing that they could ask you out on a date but fearing that their reputation would have you declining to protect yourself from that reputation. The handwriting is neat, font small to ensure it would fit on the sticky note, and you tuck it away in a folder that had the other seven. The handwriting was consistent, and the words felt much too genuine for it to be the team messing with you because they thought they were funny.

But you do watch them all closely throughout the day, getting to mess with them during their practices and team meetings giving you the opportunity for closer interactions that you used to gauge whether they were acting differently towards you. Unfortunately the only thing out of place was the fact that Sae actually stopped to entertain the meme you were recording content for.

"Why do you have this picture?"

"I'm trying to get your autograph." Your response gets a snort from the midfielder, but he accepts your sharpie and takes the picture from your hands. It's old, Sae had to have been around five or six kicking around a soccer ball. "Your mom was excited to send it to me. Think I might frame it."

His reaction wasn't as outwardly amused or embarrassed as the other guys you'd ambushed that day, but the fact that you'd gotten any reaction from him at all made your day. He was cute when he smiled, you wished you could see more of that from him.

"I'll see you later, I'm sure," he states, handing the picture back to you before adjusting his bag on his shoulder. "I'm looking forward to it."

"Yeah," you murmur, watching in surprise as he walks away from you to get to the locker room.

You end up working late, usually being out of the stadium before the team finished their practice, but you wanted to get your next few videos edited so you could relax and respond to funny comments for the rest of the week. It takes you some deliberation, but you do decide to lock your office to see what your admirer would do next without being able to steal your stationery.

Sae is coming down the hall when you leave, something that wasn't surprising since he was notorious for practicing later than the rest of the team. Most of the team had popped in to say goodnight, a couple asking if you needed someone to hang out and make sure you made it home, and you happily wave them off with a promise to see them in the morning. But not Sae, and that was because he was leaving now. There's a paper in his hand, and he looks surprised to see you leaving as he approached.

"You're still here?"

"Yeah," you say with a shrug, turning the key to lock the door and meeting his gaze to see the obvious question. "Someone is using my papers and stuff to leave me love notes, I don't hate it but I'm trying to get them to reveal themselves."

You just aren't ready to get your answer when Sae takes the paper in his hand and slides it under your door. He doesn't say anything, just tilts his head in a silent invitation that you can't help but accept. He was so weird, but you were into it.

"Does this mean I can get you on a livestream?"

"Don't push it."

[themadearl]

"Finders keepers, losers weepers."

Note: I quickly whipped out this one shortly after inspiration struck. It got way longer than I envisioned which was short and cute. Slight warning for rowdy behavior.

The Name-Writing Habits of NRC Students

Like most things that spiral out of control, it started with a small thing that lead to another

A small joke from Ace who thought it would be funny to write his own name on Yuu's left cheek while she took a nap during break time

Seeing Ace's name on her face somehow sparked something competitive in Deuce and without missing a beat, another name was quickly scribbled under her right eye

When Yuu promptly woke up after the second name was written, she could only watch in confusion when Ace immediately clasped Deuce's mouth before he was able to say something

On the way to the potions class, Yuu wasn't quite sure what the deal was when students started snickering around her like there was an inside joke she wasn't in

"Did anything happen during break time that I didn't know of?"

There was a sudden pause in movement from Adeuce and both started frantically shaking their head, Deuce more desperate than Ace

Something was definitely wrong, Yuu just prayed she could stay away from this one

(Out of Yuu's sight, Deuce elbows Ace in the gut and motions to her face)

Thankfully Crewel found it less interesting than the other students and promptly excused Yuu to the washroom to clean her face

Yuu had to mentally repeat to herself to not shout Ace and Deuce's names when she saw the bright red and blue names on her face

"What's with the scowl on your face?"

Standing next to her was Azul wiping his face with a handkerchief, glasses tuck into his front pocket

"No reason. Just that there was something on my face, thanks to the two idiots I call my friends."

"That reminds me. . ."

Hearing the pause midway in his sentence, Yuu stops her actions to notice Azul has put on his glasses and has a pen in his grasp

Ah crap

"A little fish told me that someone was having fun walking around with writing on their face."

Nope

Yuu quickly wipes the dripping water from her face and makes a dash towards the door

Only to find the Leech twins standing right outside the washroom door

"Shrimpy~" "Good Afternoon."

Two equally large smiles with all their sharp teeth shown in plain view

There was no way Yuu was going to out-run the twins in all their 190-something height glory so might as well just get the dreaded over with

Azul's smile brightens at seeing Yuu's defeated face and he grabs her wrist along to an empty hallway with the twins walking behind them

The prefect closes her eyes, waiting for the inevitable to come

Only to feel her bowtie coming undone which at this point had Yuu stopping Azul's hands

"Wait wait-wait, WAIT! Aren't you trying to write on my face?! Floyd, stop taking my gloves off. And Jade, don't think I didn't notice you trying to get my coat!"

"Where's the fun in writing on a place someone else has wrote on?"

Jade answers in place of Azul with a cheerfulness Yuu didn't know he had

Yuu's protests are quickly muffled as the trio work together to take off her coat, undone the top buttons to her collared shirt and her gloves were tucked into Floyd's pockets

"I call dibs on shrimpy's wrist!"

"Then I'll take her hand."

Leaving their benevolent dorm leader to carefully write down his name on Yuu's collarbone

Once the three of them were all done admiring their handiwork, which were three varying shades of blue names, they promptly restored her school uniform back to normal

(Yuu could only look on into the blank space with deadpan eyes during the meantime as they tidied up her uniform)

"Since our goal has been accomplished, we will be taking our leave. See you next time, prefect."

With a goodbye and an impeccable smile, the trio finally turns to go back to wherever they came from

Before Yuu could finally relax the tense nerves in her system, Floyd turns around to say one last thing

"The writing will remain for a week, so shrimpy doesn't need to worry about getting it smudged~"

Which left one final thought in the prefect's mind

Ace and Deuce are so going to get it

[cillianmurphysdimples]

A female Y/N / Cillian fanfic. (Part Thirteen)

Absolutely not based on anything real at all, all totally fictional, fanciful and all total bollocks.

Warnings for sexual references and language. Adult themes. Not suitable for under 18s.

We Got Issues

Part Thirteen: Cillian's sons spend the evening with them, with a takeaway, and Y/N can see he loves their presence. But when their plans to have 'the talk' are thwarted, Y/N gets confirmation from Cillian that the love is there, their relationship is enduring, but that he knows they have issues to discuss. [Fluff/Comfortable - no sexual scenes but some sexual language]

@remembering-angels @dragonsneversharetheirtreasure @aesthetic0cherryblossom @meister95 @vivianleighwishesshewasme @meadowshelby @lavender-haze-01 @strangeions

“Ah, shut up!” Aran sticks up for himself as Malachy makes yet another joking dig, and you can see Cillian's face as he tries not to laugh. The rarely used dining table is awash with cardboard boxes, half finished pizzas, and the greasy but somewhat addictive smell of takeout fries that always taste better than homemade food. You lean back into your chair, holding your glass of Coke, and splutter a laugh over the mouthful you attempt to sip from it when Aran follows up his moan with a skillfully hidden middle finger directed towards his brother, that Cillian failed to catch, and Aran is grinning as he looks across at you when you laugh. You wink at him with a smile over your shared secret.

It falls quiet for a moment, but for the music coming from Cillian's Spotify playlist pulled up on the TV, and it's in that quiet moment that Malachy switches from their playfulness into something a little more serious. “You're flying back over to England in the morning, Dad?” He asks.

Cillian is sitting with his elbows on the table and his chin resting in the palm of his right hand. He's been fiddling his fingers in and around his mouth for a while - it's often a mindless sort of idiosyncratic quirk, but there are times you've watched him soothe himself this way when anxiety is high. He straightens a little and drops his arm down. He's wearing his glasses and he looks a mixture of blissfully happy at the family chaos and utterly exhausted by life in general. You are both a little hungover - and you'd finally gotten from him that morning the extent of his and Enda's additional drinks! - and you can tell he's still feeling it compared to you feeling better. “Eh, evening flight.” He answers and there's a smile that forms that is sweet. “I've a week or so then I'll come back for a few days, and then I'll be there until, um, a week before Christmas. And youse are welcome to stay when I'm back, you know that. Sure youse can stay here if I'm not, it's your house too.” he says with conviction and Malachy nods his head. Right then, you can't tell if the young lad is melancholic or just not particularly expressionistic. “I'll ring your Mum myself, but did youse mention Christmas to her at all?” He asks.

Aran nods, finishing a mouthful of pizza before he replies, wiping the side of his mouth as he speaks. “She said it's up to us.” He shrugged his shoulders.

“I don't want to not see either of you for Christmas.” Malachy says, and you decide, by the tone of his voice, that he is fairly melancholic. “If we stayed with Mum, though, you'd come over or something?”

“I would, of course,” Cillian nods and he's frowning earnestly behind the specs. “I'll be here, like, and we can see one another whenever youse want. If you want to stay with your Mum, then do, it's fine. We can pick another day, and cook here or get a table somewhere. Honestly boys, it's fine. Same as last year.” He's reassuring them, you know, but you can see that same battle in Cillian that you know for sure the boys are having - their own feelings versus everyone else's.

“There's plenty of time off school and work ahead, you'll be able to come and go as you please,” you say quietly, and Malachy gives you a genuine smile, even if it is small, that you take as a thankful acceptance of your words. There's a quiet that falls again and you awkwardly look from one Murphy man to the other. Cillian's playlist seems to fall silent for a minute too, but when it restarts, it seems much louder. It booms the folky guitars of Lemon 7s by ‘A Lazarus Soul’, and you can see Cillian slowly and silently mouthing along.

“There's a video of you being passed around, Dad.” Aran speaks up and you know it's going to both amuse and disinterest Cillian to learn about it.

“Is there, yeah?” He raises his eyebrows and brings his glass to his lips. As he draws it back, he licks his lips and nods in Aran's direction. “G’on, what is it?” He humours his son.

“Ah nothing strange, just from last night, saying about us studying the book. Obviously it's way before you got locked.” Aran says offhandedly, and Malachy laughs at the declaration.

Cillian smirks and shakes his head. “I was not locked.” He weakly defends himself, but laughs a little when he looks up at both boys who are both making faces either at him or pretending to be ridiculously drunk. Malachy had picked up on his Dad's obvious delicate temperament the moment he'd got into the car when Cillian had picked them up, according to both boys, and had been slagging him on it ever since. Aran just found the idea that his Dad was hanging to be delightfully amusing.

“Even Y/N agrees,” Malachy continues his slagging, and gestures across at you. “Was he pissed last night?”

You chuckle as they all turn to you, and Cillian's subtle wink is amusing and also a sign that you're fine to slag as much as you like and he'll not get arsey over it. “Out of his mind,” you tease with a laugh. “Nah,” you say, “I mean he wasn't sober or anything, but there wasn't any falling asleep at the island with his shoes as a pillow.”

Malachy's eyebrows rise up and Aran's head whips to his Dad with gleeful expectation at your breadcrumbs for a story. “When was that?” Malachy laughs loudly.

“Easter last year,” you laugh. “We went to a birthday thing for a friend in Balbriggan, I think.” You smile as you look at Cillian, and you're glad he's smiling. “He learned his limit on the beer that night, and for three days after.” You laugh. He had been in a bit of a state the days after this particular party. While he had a drink or two fairly often, it was rare when he let the alcohol be the guide, so times like this one, while good for slagging and remembering, weren't anything you'd ever use as a resentment or a punishment.

“Oh! I remember, we came for dinner the next day.” Malachy laughs and points his finger towards his Dad playfully. “Y/N picked us up, she said you weren't feeling too good but you wanted us here for dinner still. Whole time we were here you were on the sofa there.”

Aran looks at you, then his Dad. “That when you were being sick upstairs when we got in the door?” Aran asks, laughing, and Cillian gives them the embarrassed reaction they want by covering his face with his hands, but as he drops his hands back down, he's laughing at the jibes. “You need a downstairs toilet.” He laughs.

“That's the one,” you say. “I don't think you went near any food for two days.” you laugh, and reach out your hand across the table and pat his hand. As your hand lifts off his, he turns his palm over and lovingly captures your fingers, holding you there.

“Laugh now,” he says and looks at his boys in turn, “When youse are out with your friends and coming rolling back home to your Mum, you'll be on your arses the next day yourselves. And, sure I'll laugh!” He says lightly, chuckling. He rubs his thumb back and forth slowly across your fingers in his hand. “You all done, or still eating?” He asks, and he releases your hand as he stands up. He pushes his chair back with his legs and starts collecting together the empty containers on the table.

Both boys begin pushing away half finished food and empty boxes, sliding them towards their Dad. You get to your feet and help with the clearing away, “No, stay there,” you say as Aran goes to stand up and help with the cleaning. “Finish your drink.” You smile.

“Ah, give over, the two of you get up there now and help,” Cillian says with amusement. “It's your home, you help with the jobs. C’mon. Mal, will you bring the empty glasses into the sink there? And eh, Aran, grab a dishcloth in the kitchen and give that table a wipe.” He says, piling the pizza boxes and containers into a neat stack. He's light hearted, but he is keen, as he always has been, that the boys are helpful around the house when they're here. Not that he'd have them scrubbing or anything, but it isn't the first time at all that he's had them clear up after dinner. “I'll throw these out in the outside bin,” he says, glancing at you. As he takes the tower into his arms, he peers around to see where the lads are, and leans towards you for a gentle kiss. You smile as he steps back again, “Dessert.” He says, cheesy and tacky and smiling like an idiot. You can't help smiling back, then you shake your head as you watch him head toward the front door to leave the containers into the recycling bin.

“Thanks, you two,” you say, entering the kitchen, where you find both boys loitering after finishing the tasks Cillian had set for them. “Slave driver, your Dad.” you joke and Malachy offers a smirk but you suspect it to be one of pity. “School tomorrow?” You ask, looking between the boys. Aran was approaching his leaving cert and Malachy was in a college you didn't know too much about.

“Study day tomorrow,” Malachy replies, and pulls his phone from his pocket. “If Dad isn't leaving early then tomorrow, can I stay here tonight?” At the age his was, Cillian did expect to see a little less of Malachy these days even if it hurt him, so hearing that he actually wanted to spend the night was a surprise.

You raise your eyebrows. It's been a long time since Malachy stayed over. You don't want to tell him no, but your stomach drops at the suggestion for one reason - that morning you and Cillian had agreed that you'd sit and talk this evening, and you were desperate to get it done. But turning Malachy away was the last thing you'd do, and you push a smile to your lips. “Yeah, I don't mind. I'm sure your Dad'll be happy.” You say, “You can stay too, Aran. I can always drive around and collect your things for school tomorrow from your mother, and Cill will drive you in the morning." Like summoning the devil, Cillian arrives in the kitchen, pushing up the sleeves of his thick jumper, and looks at you all in turn. “Cill, Malachy wants to stay,” you say, your eyes following him as he walks to the sink to wash his hands.

With his back to you all, he turns his head over his shoulder to his eldest son. “Grand, yeah, stay,” he smiles at him. “Sure I can drop you home before I leave tomorrow, or earlier if you want.”

“And you'll take Aran to school in the morning if he stays too, yeah?” You ask. Disappointed that your conversation is now on hold, you replace the feeling with the joy of the boys staying over for the first time in a long time, and the wonderful mood that you know it'll put Cillian in.

“I will, yeah,” Cillian says, turning off the tap. He turns around, drying his hands on the dish towel, and looks at Aran. “Do you want to stay or go home?” He asks, noticing he's a little quiet.

Aran shakes his head, “I'll go,” he says quietly. “I didn't finish some homework,”

“I can go out to your mother's and pick your things up.” You repeat your earlier offer.

Aran shakes his head again. Cillian reaches out and claps his hand onto Aran's back, “No bother, it's grand. Sure whenever you're ready I'll bring you home. You want to go now?” He asks and you can see a little bit of preempted separational upset creeping into his expression. Aran nods his head, indicating he's put up his walls and it's ready to return to his mum. Your anxiety questions whether it's something you've said or done that's suddenly seen Aran close up, but you can't think what. Cillian nods his head slowly. “Okay so,” he says quietly. “Let me get my runners on and I'll drop you home.”

By eleven pm, you and Cillian are curled together in bed, with the just audible sound of the TV in Malachy's room carrying through the upstairs. You lie with your head on his chest, in the region of his heart, and his arm is wrapped around the back of your shoulders to pull you in closer. His free hand is up on the pillow beside him with his fingers moving back and forth through his short hair. You keep your palm flat on his pyjama covered chest, but move your fingers a little, caressing against him gently. It's quiet and comfortable, and you're both exhausted, but you don't feel able to turn away and fall asleep.

“Sorry we didn't get to talk this evening,” Cillian says quietly, his voice a husky whisper.

You shrug your shoulders a little, “It's alright, Malachy being here is a good excuse to hold off.” You say, and consider that it is perhaps the only reason you two wouldn't talk tonight, knowing it was important.

“I didn't want to say no, it's rare he's about these days,” he continues and you agree fully. "And he's been gas craic there this evening, can't get over him and Aran growing up so fucking fast."

You hum softly at his sentimentality, and move your fingers softly against his chest again. “No, it's okay, I completely understand. We can talk another time.” You say with a soft sigh.

“It's important.” He says and you're glad he feels that way. “You were right with what you said yesterday, we need to talk about it all.” Despite wanting him on board this much, you also allow your anxieties to win as you wonder why he's so eager. What could he possibly have to say now? “Sure it's not like it's a discussion on splitting up, or that we don't love one another, fuck sake,” he says, “But I know it's a discussion that we both need to have and get united on.” You admire his confidence, and you sincerely hope that this is the case - reaching a point when you and Cillian feel the need to separate was a daunting idea - and you're so glad he understands that this needs to be aired and done properly. His arm tightens around you, pulling you closer in against the left side of his body. He smirks into the darkness of the bedroom but you can hear the small breathy laugh that accompanies it.

“What?” You whisper.

“Just after getting a flashback of last night,” be says and you can hear by how his words form that he's still smiling.

“Which part?” You ask, though you're sure you know well. You tap your hand against his chest where it rests and he laughs a little more. “Could it be the part where you couldn't get your fucking shoes off, or are you being filthy minded?”

He laughs again and it vibrates against your ear pressed to his chest. “I think that's one for the memory bank.”

“The wank bank you mean!” You tease. “If you pull yourself off in a hotel to me, spread-eagle on our sofa, I'll die of embarrassment!”

“Sure I'm away a long while sometimes,” he says, once again tightening his arm around you. “Can't expect me to walk around with the horn.” You laugh a little too loudly, and he shushes you even as he laughs too. He sighs as you both settle and you feel a wave of sadness that once again, tomorrow he'll be gone.

[zippyskyfalls]

Alright, new AU time!

This one is a lot different than most of my AU's, because this one takes place AFTER the events of EPIC

-------------------°•☆☀️☆•°--------------------

Antinous thought it was all over the minute that arrow hit the edge of his throat, his plan had been perfect. Yet whoever had shot him was obviously skilled... they wanted some form of control over the suitors. He just had to hope he would meet his friends in Asphodel.

At least, that's what he thought would happen.

He woke up with his body laying between bodies of sand and grass, vision blurry as he began to scan around for any sign of life

"Oh, you have got to be kidding me."

It was the voice of a woman.

In most situations, the voice would have felt rather soothing. But with the tone of the words that had escaped her mouth, and the current situation he found himself in, he needed pure focus in this situation.

He needed some kind of control.

The suitor jerked his body to sit up, forcing himself to stare in the direction of the voice when his vision finally began to clear.

Her skin tan and eyes almost golden. Her hair was brown fading into a dark blond as it was tied in a halo braid with soft curles to the side. Her outfit a deep, mute red with golden symbols of the sun tattooed on both the outfit and her skin.

Her face however screamed of disgust as she offered Antinous a hand up, to which he confusingly took.

What was even happening right now?

"Follow, suitor." She snarled beginning to walk to a terracotta Palace with markings of the sun and flowers all around. Antinous, though confused, forced himself to walk.

He needed to get answers somehow.

"In most cases," she began, her hair bouncing back as two tree Nymphs opened the door, alarmed expressions on their face as soon as they spotted Antinous. "You would be turned into a pig, especially after the horrible stunt you had pulled in Ithaca."

How did this random lady know anything about that? How long had he even been out for if rumor had spread so fast.

"But the Gods have ultimately decided that you need to stay alive, so I'll have to make sure your live is a living inferno in here."

She stared back at him, a mix of confusion and disgust on her face as she stopped walking. "Was your throat so horribly injured that you've lost the ability to speak?"

He'd barely even thought of what happened to his throat during that. When he pressed a hand onto his neck, he could feel the light brush of bandages on his throat.

"I-I apologize. I didn't-"

"Your name."

"Antinous." He muttered, forcing himself to stare up at the woman in front of him. She didn't feel normal, not at all. Something out of this world reeked from her.

Something Devine.

"I suppose I'm forced to tell you my name, it's Circe. Lady Circe to you. Are we clear?" She narrowed her eyes, awaiting the suitor to respond.

"I said, are we clear?"

"Yes, mam."

Circe called for a nymph, who quickly handed her an outfit. The nymph didn't even seem to glance at Antinous as she nervously left.

Circe tossed the clothes to him, barely even phased by how clumsily he managed to pick them up.

"Come now, you've got work to do."

"Work?"

"Yes." She nodded, rolling her eyes as if Antinous was meant to wake up with this information.

"You're the Servant of Circe, after all."

-------------------°•☆☀️☆•°--------------------

THANK YOU FOR READING!!!

I can't spoil much since this will be posted on my official YouTube channel soon (@Zippyskyfalls!), but I wanted Tumblr (arguably the platform I'm most popular in since most of my subscribers don't watch my videos by now) to be the first people to get to see my AU!

I hope you all enjoyed reading!!! See you guys soon~

[bvckbiter]

“Leave me behind.” – ethabaster (romantic) angst

for the request game

Alabaster stares at his boyfriend. “I’m sorry?”

“You heard me.” Ethan turns over in his bunk to face the wall, away from Alabaster. “If you really plan to defect, you better fucking leave me behind.”

“Why?”

“I’m in this for better or for worse, Bas. There’s no world where I take the easy way out.”

“The easy way—” Alabaster swallows hard as heat rises to his face. He’ll be damned if he cries in front of Ethan, even if the tears were of anger. “Ethan, if this goes on, nine-tenths of our army will be decimated by the time we win.”

“That’s the price of war.”

“Three of my siblings died today!”

“Not in vain. We rescued the Clazmonian Sow from the Hunt.”

“And that’s what they’re worth?” Alabaster’s voice crack. “A flying pig? Makes me wonder what you’d trade me in for.“

A sigh. Ethan sits up.

“Come here.” Ethan draws him in. A sob rips a path out of Alabaster’s chest as he buries his face into his boyfriend’s shoulder. “I’m sorry. I didn't mean it like that."

A few seconds is all he lets himself indulge in before Alabaster pulls away, furiously scrubbing at his eyes. "if you're really sorry, then come with us," he says heavily. "I'll lose my mind if I see any more of my siblings die. Or you."

"I can't." A strong hand tucks errant strands of hair behind his ear, rueful and loving. "Three of your siblings might've died today, General, but do you know how many other demigods have died since I joined the Army?"

Alabaster sniffles. Maybe thirty-two, thirty-three. He'd lost exact count at twenty. Keeping demigods alive as the Army moved around the North American continent without the magical protections that Camp Half-Blood offered had been incredibly difficult; not all newcomers adapted well, especially the younger ones.

He's so tired.

"We have a cause, and we have a responsibility to the corpses we stand on," continues Ethan. His hand slips down Alabaster's face, tracing his jaw before nudging the younger boy to look at him. "I can't let their deaths be in vain, even if you're willing to turn tail because some of them hit closer to home than you were prepared for."

"Do you always have to be so pragmatic?" Alabaster heaves.

"I'm not saying that I relish their deaths. There's a reason why I remember the number, and every single one of their names and faces." A trembling smile spreads on Ethan's lips. "But it's nothing that I don't expect of myself, too."

With the tidal wave of grief and the combined six hours of sleep he'd managed over the past three days, every remaining neuron in Alabaster's brain is struggling to keep firing. Too many emotions and arguments and apologies fighting its way out of his body.

It's infinitely easier to sink back into Ethan's embrace.

"I hate you," Alabaster mumbles.

"You like that I give zero fucks about openly disagreeing with you. I mean, you said so yourself when you very dramatically made your feelings for me known." Soft snickers escape them both, before Ethan's tone turns somber again. "Changed your mind?"

Their foreheads touching and fatigued breaths mingling, Alabaster traces the eyepatch strings along Ethan's temple.

"A good general doesn't leave his men behind, I guess," Alabaster answers, hoping and holding his mother's words to his aching heart as a balm.

We will be victorious, Alabaster. I'm sure of it.

---

"Child," his mother warns, Greek fire-green eyes flaring in alarm as Alabaster's discordant laughs echo around them.

"Mother," he says hysterically. "Even if I leave him here, I can't let his death be in vain."

"Think about the siblings you have left under your care."

"Ethan would've wanted this." His fist curls iron-tight around his sword, the handle of it now bound to his hand by the frayed eyepatch he'd pried off Ethan's broken body. "We regroup."

***

thanks for this req! it was extremely yummy to write 😋

this is based off an idea i had of ethan and al having kind of opposite trajectories wrt their loyalties to kronos. ethan is under no illusion that hes being a hero and this will be a bloodless fight, only turned by the excessiveness and aimlessness of kronos' violence; meanwhile al genuinely wants to be the good guy and struggles with making sacrifices even if it's for what he perceives as a good cause - right up until he's lost too much and he gets hits with the worst case of sunken cost fallacy known to man

ethan is a tad manipulative here, which is something i don't think i see that often in fanworks, but i just think that with al being Delusional™️, ethan is also kind of the og Delusional™️ even if it's to a lesser degree, so it's fun to kind of sprinkle in how one influenced the other... al had to learn his shit somewhere.

casualty numbers completely made up on the fly. im not here for statistics-scaling

[sl-vega]

going on hiatus for a bit, interaction will be limited and posting will also be taking a break

[sysig]

But would you tho (Patreon)

[sleepyagent]

I want someone to love me quietly and loudly at the same time because Im an idiot

[todayisafridaynight]

there's normal thought exercise questions to be had about fave charas like 'what would your fave do in X situation' or 'does your fave like Y why or why not' but the most important question to me i could ever answer about my faves is 'do they like shadow the hedgehog and is it purely ironic or do they have all 326 route titles memorized'

[killerpancakeburger]

Thinking about a Reader who ends up having Scary Dog Privileges with Ghost without meaning to. It just happened.

Then they have to deal with the fact that this comes with duties too.

Tags: civilian!reader, gn!reader, mostly fluff, a bit suggestive, smug!Ghost, smooth!Ghost. 800 words.

Part 2. Part 3.

When Ghost is reluctant to getting sutured in Medical after accidentally opening his stitches, grumbling he can do it himself, who does the nurse call for? Yeah, you.

She could stand her ground, after all she's used to dealing with big, whiny men, but it's much more fun to knock on your door and smile at your bewildered gaze and gaping mouth when she explains the situation in two sentences.

"Ghost's being difficult, mind taking over?" "I'm sorry, what the hell does this have to do with me?" "C'm'on, everyone on base knows he's got a soft spot for you. Don't you want to make my job easier?"

You roll your eyes and slam your hands on your desk as you get up. Groaning as you walk past her— "I'm doing this for you, nothing else, got it?"

Mumbling to yourself "you've got to be kidding me" as you barge into the sick bay. Ghost is coolly seated at the end of a bed, large as life, casual clothes as black as his mask and— oh. You weren't told the wound was on his thigh— you weren't warned that he didn’t have pants on. You can’t help it, your eyes go down, down, your lingering gaze and your flustered silence forming a confession louder than words.

A noise — a scoff or a grunt, you’re not sure — emanates from him, breaks your trance, makes you look up. The amusement in his gaze tells you he noticed your oggling— of course he did. Nothing gets past the Ghost, and you've been remarkably unsubtle. Despite the mask, you swear you can make out the smug smirk on his lips. His cockiness reignites your irritation. Annoyance making you bolder than you really are, you charge at him, crossing the distance between you two in a stride, stopping close— too close. He doesn't back off.

"What's wrong with you?" you snarl. "Nothin'," he retorts, imperturbable.

It's actually the first time you’re overlooking him. You may be enjoying it a bit too much. Nevermind the fact that you've had to wedge yourself between his parted legs to get there.

You frown, unconvinced by his answer.

“Did Soap contaminate you?”

Bargaining to be cleared out earlier was the Scotsman's trademark.

“Johnny throws a fit cos he hates feeling useless. That's not what I'm doing.”

A smirk stretches your lips.

“Oh, no? I'm sure your reasons are much more noble.”

“Doesn't matter. Got what I wanted anyway.”

He's way too self-satisfied for a man in his underwear.

You throw an unequivocal look in the direction of his injury.

“What you wanted? A still open wound?”

“You.”

He replied without missing a beat, as confident as usual. It is both alluring and aggravating.

“And your idea of wooing me is making me upset?”

You don't add “because if it is, that's really fucking stupid” out loud, but you’re sure he got the message through your tone.

“Nah. But you're more honest when you’re angry. Gutsier.”

You only realize he slipped his index and middle fingers in your trouser loops when he sharply tugs at them. Off balance, you steady yourself by catching his shoulders.

Taking advantage of the strip of bare skin between your shirt and bottoms, the pads of his thumbs idly stroke your hip bones. The contact sends electricity through you, shivers of pleasure running down your sides.

“Ghost,” you start, severe, trying not to let the effect his touch has on you show in your voice.

“Simon,” he counters, surly. “Told ya it's Simon when we're alone, didn't I?”

He did, but you didn’t think he was serious. If that's what it takes to get him to listen… you’ll play by his rules.

“Simon. What's the rest of your brilliant plan? I'm here, but I can’t stitch you up.”

“How ‘bout a deal. I'll stop resisting… for a price.”

You raise an amused eyebrow.

“What kind of price?”

“A kiss.”

You snort. You didn’t believe him capable of something so… puerile.

“With the mask on?”

He doesn't move a muscle to get rid of it.

“Take it off.”

You usually wouldn’t obey what sounds like an order so easily, but it's the first time you get to touch the skull. Slipping two fingers between skin and cloth, you slowly roll up the mask all the way under his nose.

You gently trace the scars surrounding his lips. Then, the second you feel him relax, grip on your hips slackening and intensity of his gaze waning, you grab the bottom of his mask and drag it back down vigorously, making the holes for the eyes land way too low for him to see anything.

“If you thought you'd get a reward for acting out, you've got another think coming.”

[corkinavoid]

DPxDC Summoning Failed Successfully

Imagine a warehouse. Imagine a bunch of cultists in dark robes with all the candles, daggers, ancient books, and chanting. Now add Danny.

Only not as the summoned being, no. As a sacrifice.

He is sitting down, tied to a chair, in the middle of the summoning circle, looking as bored and deadpan as he can possibly be. The cultists are chanting, and he frowns, listening to their chants for a moment.

"Hey, is that Latin?" He questions, but to no avail, "You know you're not actually using those words correctly, right?"

"Keep quiet, child!" One of the cultists snaps. Danny leans back in his chair and shrugs.

"I'm just saying, you ain't summoning shit with wrong grammar," he huffs, seemingly absolutely nonchalant about the whole thing. Oracle, who is watching the whole ordeal through the surveillance cameras, raises her eyebrows. Red Robin and Robin are already en route to the building the cultists chose for their extracurricular activities, but now she almost wants to watch this a bit longer.

Gothamites are pretty used to all kinds of shitshows, but this boy is from out of town. She checked him through facial recognition. Daniel Fenton, a transfer student from Amity Park, Illinois.

A few more cultists stop chanting and turn to Danny.

"Do you know Latin?" One of them asks, and the boy makes a half-nod, making a thoughtful face.

"Not fluently, but, like, it's a dead language, I felt kinda obligated to learn it. Just for the meme, you know?" He chuckles.

The cultists, judging by their confused silence, don't know. Barbara doesn't know what he's talking about, either. But she is almost curious now, so she taps Robin's and RR's comm lines:

"RR, Robin, when you arrive, don't jump into the scene," she asks.

"Understood," Tim answers immediately, but Damian, of course, demands explanations:

"Is there an obstacle?"

"Not really," Barbara humms, "The sacrifice is in the process of de-escalating the situation."

She can almost hear the questioning silence over the comm, but, thankfully, no one argues. Meanwhile, one of the cultists pipes up, voice full of doubt:

"So, you can... like, proofread our incantation?"

"Yeah, sure," Danny nods, apparently fine with being sacrificed, "Who you're trying to summon anyway?"

"Satan," that same cultist answers, and Danny laughs approvingly.

"Classic," he nods and smiles, "I'll give you this. The circle is mostly alright, so you don't need an incantation to summon the fucker, I have him on speed dial." And with that, he leans forward, screaming towards the floor: "Ey, Satan!"

Barbara must say the act was actually convincing, but he went a little overboard with it now. She reaches to tell both Robins to get in, but suddenly, a loud, booming voice reverberates through the building.

"The fuck do you want, kid?"

Cultists fall to their knees - it doesn't seem like an act of worship, more like their knees bucking. The whole circle dimly lights up in red, smoke raising from it.

"Do you see this shit, Oracle?" Red Robin questions, and she mhm's at him, not sure what else to say. If this is still an act or a trick, she must say it's a very good one. Although somehow she suspects it's not a trick. She's seen enough magic in her life to tell the difference.

"Do you want to come to Earth, be gay and do crimes?" Danny asks, almost mockingly.

"Fuck off."

The red light flickers and disappears, and Danny looks back up to cultists, grinning cheerfully.

"Welp, looks like he doesn't wanna," the kid concludes and stands up from his chair. Barbara hadn't seen when or how he got out of his bindings.

The cultists just watch him walk out of the circle in bewilderment.

"Pursue?" Robin's voice comes over the comms, and Barbara thinks for a moment.

"I get a feeling like that's a bad idea," Tim mutters over his line.

Barbara agrees.

[shellshocklove]

moanin' & groanin' | logan howlett

pairing/AU: lumberjack!logan howlett/wolverine x inexperienced!female!reader

summery: working for your father's timber business isn't what you saw yourself doing, but when the wolverine comes looking for work it's suddenly not so bad – especially when he can teach you a thing or two.

warnings: this is an 18+ fic so mdni! age gap (in the way that his mutant abilities prolongs his life), swearing, use of pet names, smut, car sex, praise, a little dacryphilia, logan's got a dirty mouth, soft dom!logan, a little size kink (basically logan has a big dick), handjob, fingering, a little manhandling, unprotected sex (don't do it!!), no use of y/n

a/n: um hi! this is my first ever logan fic. i really hope i got him right! not beta read, and barely edited so any mistakes are my own. happy reading! <3

main masterlist / ao3

The pages crinkled under your fingertips as you turned another page. Over the top of your book you could see your father's men milling about, getting the timber ready for another outgoing truck. Day in and day out they worked like flannel-covered ants. 

He wasn't here, your father, leaving you to hold down the fort, or office to be precise, as he  ran errands. "I'll be back before lunch," he'd told you, a hand passing through the sleeve of his tan Carhartt.

The office felt bigger when he wasn't here, like his neuroticism took up twice as much space as he did himself. You looked around the room. It was small, more like a hut than anything else, raised up on cinderblocks. A tiny kitchen lined the front wall, the refrigerator had given out once this month already and something smelled like it had died in there, the white florescent light under the wall cabinets gave you a headache, and the tap drip drip dripped. The table and the mismatched chairs, your father had found at a fleamarked years ago, before you were born most likely, and they wore the wear and tear of years of use. 

Every available surface was covered in papers, and the wooden shelves on the wall dipped in the middle from the weight of the binders. When you were little you'd been afraid the wood would break in two, but they were still standing (hanging?) – maybe they'd stay like that for the rest of eternity for all you knew. Your father's office had only one desk, which made your job as occasional office manager and full-time problem solver, problematic. 

Your father would sit in his chair on one side, while you'd steal one of the mismatched chairs and occupy the other end. If you'd had your way, you wouldn't be working here. The timber business interested you just as much as your father was interested in the disco they played on the radio. "If it ain't the king of rock I don't want to hear it," he usually said and switched the channel. 

But the town was small, and no one was hiring. The summer after you'd finished high school you'd dreamt of moving to the city, but the money had been tight and your father needed you. At least the work, if your father didn't meddle, was relatively easy: answer the phone, type out the invoices and salaries, keep an eye on logistics, and make sure whatever breaks gets fixed. 

The radio hummed at a low volume, one of the singles from Tapestry, as you turned another page of your book. Leaning back in your father's office chair, you glanced at the clock over the door. He should be back by now. Just as the thought crossed your mind, the door swung open.

"Did you need something?" you asked, your book dipping down in your lap. 

Logan raised an eyebrow at you as he walked into the office on heavy steps, that damn cigar hanging out the side of his mouth. "Nice to see you too, princess," he poked jokingly, tugging at his gloves, one finger at a time, and tucking them into his leather belt. 

He sported the same outfit he usually wore; bootcut jeans, a white t-shirt under his flannel and a thicker wool-lined jacket. He must've been sweating in here with that on.

Autumn had claimed the trees and ground months ago, but this morning the frost had covered the ground and bit at the apples of your cheeks. Your breath had come out in swirling plumes when you'd locked yourself in this morning; the first glints of the sun peeking through the windows as it rose over the mountains. The first thing you'd done was crank the heater, and now as you approached midday, you'd shed your sweater long ago while the windows had fogged with condensation. 

The smallest of frowns tugged at your brows, as a heat prickled up your neck to your cheeks. Logan made you a little nervous– not in a bad way, but in a way where your thoughts would wander in his presence, conjuring up scenarios of him and yourself in… comprising positions. Okay, maybe it was in a bad way. But who could blame you when he walked around like that?

He'd arrived only a few months ago, at the tail end of the summer, looking for work. He was strong, stronger than any of the other men working for your father, and although the work was hard, it seemed like he never tired. You didn't know much about him and he kept mostly to himself, hidden away in a cabin up in the mountain, but sometimes you'd see him down at the local bar, nursing a glass of whiskey in one hand and a lit cigar in the other. More than once you'd seen him chatting up Kayla Silverfox, and more than once you'd wished it was you in her place.

"Oof," Logan groaned as he opened the fridge, grabbing his packed lunch and closing it as fast as he could. You appreciated him for that; whatever had died in there should stay in there.

"Yeah," you said, "I'm not cleaning that again, not even for a million bucks."

"Can't blame ya." 

He looked to the table for a second where the guys usually ate their lunches, before he decided to take your usual chair at your father's desk. As he sat down, you pushed the ash tray to his side of the desk, earning you a short smile in thanks as he rested his cigar. It wasn't unusual for him to talk to you on his breaks. 

So, why did you heart beat so fast in your chest?

Because it was the first time you'd been alone.

"So, where's your old man?" he asked and bit into the sandwich he'd packed in an old newspaper.

"Running errands– he should be back soon…" you trailed off.

Logan hummed non-committedly. "So, you're in here sittin' pretty readin' your book while we're out in the cold slavin' away– maybe I should become the boss' daughter."

"Well, it's not easy," you sighed, feigning confidence, "and you gotta be pretty first of all," you front teeth dug into your bottom lip as you tried to hide your nervousness.

"That's true," he grinned, "I ain't got nothin' on you, princess."

Logan held your gaze with intent, and it was like something in the air shifted. It happened sometimes with Logan, like he had this power beaming from him that sucked you in. Erratic wings fluttered in your stomach, and you had to drop your gaze.

"So, how's the book?" he asked, taking another bite of his sandwich.

"Eh," you shrugged, dog-earing the page your were on, before throwing the beat-up paperback on the table. "Too many plot twists– first they're on earth, then there's this virus spreading– so they have to move all of humanity to the moon, but then there's this species that lives under the surface of the moon who they start a war with, but one of the main characters are in love with a moonie– that's what they call them– so, now they're in love and trying to stop the war and…" you shrugged again.

Logan chewed slowly as he nodded his head. "Sounds complicated," he decided, making you let out a small laugh.

"I guess so."

A grin washed over Logan's face at your small laugh, and you felt his gaze roll over you, over your exposed skin. When he looked at you like that, like a predator drooling for a meal, you felt a small damp spot stick to your panties. You watched as his nostrils widened, his jaw clenching shut as a pulsing vein protruded from his neck.

"So, science fiction," he started, clearing his throat, "Didn't know you liked that," he continued between the last bites of his sandwich

"Some kid at the library recommended it," you shrugged, "so I thought I'd try it out. And it's not like it's that far from the truth– we've got mutants."

Logan crumbled the newspaper hard and quick, the sharp sound making you jump. "Yeah," he said, and stood to his feet, "That's true."

He grabbed his burnt out cigar, and threw the ball of newspaper in the trash. You started to wonder if you'd said something wrong, but then he said, "Your father's back," and not even a second later you could see your dad's old truck pull up outside the window.

How did he even know that? 

"Logan– wait," the words just fell out of your mouth before you could even think them through. He hovered by the door, raising a questioning eyebrow at you. 

You could be brave– Just say it! 

"Come by later would you? Before you leave for the day– I have something for you."

A gush of cold air blew in with the arrival of your father. He almost crashed right into Logan on his way out, nearly knocking him down the wooden steps. You thought you could glimpse a small nod from Logan, but he was out the door so fast you couldn't be sure. 

The rest of the day went by slowly as a growing anxiety gnawed at your neck. With your dad back you slipped out to borrow the car, driving into town to pick up some lunch at the local diner. It was routine at this point, something you did without thinking, but today your thoughts couldn't stay still. You were pulling up outside the office when you realized you'd driven the whole way with the radio off.

What was even your plan? 

You wished you were better at this. You could pretend, sure, put on a brave face to hide the nerves from surfacing, but how do you get a man like that to go for a girl like you?

You felt non the wiser when the sun had dipped below the mountains and he finally knocked on the office door. Your dad had left thirty-minutes earlier, stranding you at work with no way to get home. 

If this didn't go well, you didn't look forward to walking home.

"What 's it you wanted, princess," Logan asked, leaning against the frame of the door with one knee popped. Your eyes couldn't help but run down the length of him – his broad shoulders, the bulge hidden below his big belt buckle, and the veins of his exposed arms as he slung his jacket over his shoulder.

"Oh, um," you tried to shake your thoughts, and you rummaged the desk for the envelope. "Here," you said as you found it, stretching your hand out for him to take it.

He pushed off the door frame with a raised eyebrow, the cold air from the open door taking with it the warmth of the office. "What's this?" he questioned, taking the envelope from your hand. 

"It's your check– for this month's work," you explained.

His raised eyebrow pulled into a frown, "This is a week early," he questioned, "and I usually get these sent in the mail."

"Oh, I-I just thought I'd give it to you personally this time," you lied, fitting a shrug at the end for good measure, trying to sell how completely normal and nonchalant you were.

Logan raised a skeptic eyebrow at you, and you suddenly felt really really stupid. In your chest your heart could compete with a hummingbird's.

"Really?" he said with a smile before he dropped his chin, "Can I appreciate a little extra something in here, or…?" he trailed off, waving the envelope.

Letting out a shaky inaudible breath, you tried in your flirtiest voice, "Maybe if you give me a ride home…"

...................

The lights from the town below looked like stars scattered over the night sky, the yellow light of the roads connected them like on a string. You knew that Logan knew where you lived; the town was small, and even with the short time he'd spent here, it wasn't hard to get familiar. He'd stopped at the lookout point, about half-way up the mountain road. It was nice in the daytime, with a nice view of the town, the mountain and rivers, but at night it attracted a different kind of crowd: lovers. It was cheesy, and cliché, but clichés were clichés for a reason. 

The Led Zeppelin tape whirled, and the music stopped. 

Suddenly you felt nervous, fingers picking at a loose tread on your sweater. Logan leaned forward to flip the cassette, and his truck filled with a sound of organ, like you were back in church. When he leaned back he slung his arm over your seat. You watched how he spread his legs, getting comfortable, as his eyes found your face.

Under the wool, your heart picked up its beat.

In a brave move you shifted closer, the leather seat moaning under you, as a pleased smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. His big palm snaked around your shoulder, curling you closer to him until his lips caught your own. You only hesitated for a second before your hand found his neck, where your fingers tugged lightly at the hair at the nape of his neck. 

A low growl huffed against your lips, and he deepened the kiss, pressing himself roughly against you as he licked into your mouth. You couldn't help the small whimper escaping you. His touch was rough, almost impatient, but tender all at the same time, and you felt yourself fall apart.

The air stuck to your skin, clammy and sticky with arousal and now you started to get impatient. With a loud smack you broke apart, your lips raw and spent from use as you caught your breath. A rough hand cupped your cheek, the pad of his thumb skated gently over your skin as he tilted your head towards him.

"Such a pretty little thing," he mused. His eyes had gone dark, pupils huge and filled with lust; yours must've looked about the same as they rolled down his body. He shifted closer to you, pushing you closer to the door, and you got a better view of the bulge hidden behind his jeans.

Your heartbeat pounded in your ears, clogging up the sounds around you like you were underwater, pushing at your thoughts at the back of your mind. Logan moved with such ease, each touch natural and easy, like he'd done them a thousand times. Not like you, with only your short-lived high school boyfriend under your belt. 

"Hey," he shook your head gently, "Where you goin', bub?"

"I'm sorry," you whispered, a heat coating the apples of your cheeks. 

He shook his head, his face surprisingly tender for someone so rough, "Tell me, baby."

"I'm just…" you trailed of, trying to find your words, "I'm a little nervous– I haven't done this much," you said, avoiding his gaze.

"That's sweet, bub." The pad of his thumb rubbed the pet name into your skin as he leaned forward to catch your lips in a soft kiss, "But I wouldn't worry that pretty little head of yours 'bout it."

His breath was hot against your own, and an ache started to spread between your legs. The hand on your cheek travelled downwards to tug at your jacket, and you parted only for a second to rid yourself of it, but before you could lock your lips with his again he grabbed at your hands.

"I'll teach ya," he told you and guided your hands to his broad form. 

He let you touch him as he shucked off his jacket, your fingers dancing over the soft flannel. He was solid beneath your fingers, hard muscles from hard work. A patch of dark hair curled at his chest, peeking out beneath his white shirt, and you found yourself wondering where it lead.

Curling his hand around your wrist, he guided your hand lower; down over his chest where you could feel the solid form of him. His bronze belt buckle burned you like ice, but the heat of him as he pressed your hand to the hard bulge beneath the buckle burned even brighter.

"You feel that?" He looked you straight in the eyes. He pressed your hand down harder and you could feel the shape of him against your hand, hard and thick, and big. You barely managed a nod through the wave of heat coating your cheeks. 

"That's because of you, princess." His voice was low, almost like a growl, as he started to guide your hand to rub over the thick length.

"Me?" you questioned, breathless. 

"Yes, you," he chuckled, a heavy hand petting at your head. "D'you want to take it out? Stroke it f'me?"

"Please," you begged, looking at him with moony eyes through your lashes.

"So polite f'me," he mused, his hands tugging at his belt before he popped the button on his jeans. Slipping off your shoes, you crawled up into the seat, sitting back on your knees as you watched him pull at his jeans. Peeking out from under the denim, you could see a dark patch of hair.

Logan was in no rush, revealing only an inch at a time of the base of his cock, making a show of it as the tension rose. A wave of tickling arousal washed over you, and it made you brave, reaching a trembling hand forward, you helped him tug at the fabric.

At last his cock sprung free.

You felt your eyes widen at the sight, as you involuntarily squeezed your thighs together. Even with your limited experience, you knew he was bigger than most. The thick length of his cock bobbed from the weight, hanging heavy between his legs. At the tip of his fat head, a drop of precum pearled, almost invisible in the dark truck. 

"Come here, bub." He widened his legs as he reached out a strong arm for you, curling you into his shoulder. 

"Put your hand on it," he ordered, "like this," he grabbed at your wrist and guided you hand towards his mouth. You let him move you around, eyes blown out and wide as you couldn't take your eyes off his impressive cock. 

A wet blob of spit pulled you from your thoughts, it drew the slightest frown over your face until he guided your palm, now coated in his spit, to his cock.

Under your palm his skin was silky soft, but hard and firm at the same time. You found yourself mesmerized at the sight of your hand around him as you familiarized yourself with the heaviness of him in your hand. 

"There ya go–" he cut himself off with a groan as you formed a fist around the head of him. Your fingers struggled to reach around him, but it didn't seem like Logan minded much when you moved downwards smearing his spit over his shaft in an experimental tug. 

"That's it, good girl, just like that."

A warmth bloomed in your chest at the praise, wrapping itself around your heart. You wanted him to say it again– to be good for him. So, you reached forward with your other hand, wrapping it around the base as the other formed a fist around the head. Another pearl of precum beaded at the tip, and you took the opportunity to skate your thumb over it, massaging it into his spit.

A growl seemed to get caught in Logan's throat, and still riding off your high that the praise had sown in you, you started to pump his cock in slow strokes. A slick sound escaped under your fists with each stroke, and you watched how his head fell back in pleasure.

"Am-am I doing it right?" you asked, voice barely above a whisper.

At the sound of your voice, Logan sat up straighter, a heavy hand falling over your back to pull you closer. "You're a natural, princess."  

You couldn't contain the smile from coating your lips as he brought you in for another searing kiss. It was hot, and suffocating, and all-consuming, all at the same time. It clouded your mind, and you forgot what your hands were supposed to be doing. 

Logan's hand travelled down your body, his big palm grabbing at your ass. "Take of your pants," he ordered against your lips, "Panties too," underlining his order with a couple of light slaps to the flesh.

Shuffling out of his hold, you fingered at the button of your pants, pulling at them and your panties as quickly as you could. Goosebumps prickled over your exposed skin, the air suddenly frosty without Logan's touch – but that didn't last long.

The calloused pads of his fingers trailed up your thighs, pressing down into the flesh as he pulled you closer to him. "Come sit in my lap, princess."

He didn't wait for you to move, instead he manhandled you how he wanted. Spreading his legs wide apart he fit you between his legs, your back pressed against his hot chest with his hard and leaking cock caged against your ass. 

"I'm gonna touch you now, baby, okay?" his deep voice whispered in your ear.

"Okay," you peeped, heart pounding in your ears at this new proximity. 

He spread your legs, putting your wet and neglected cunt on display, hooking them over his knees. When his palms danced over your inner thighs, you felt yourself sink deeper into his chest, deeper into the safe scent of pine and man. 

"Need to get you ready f'me, bub– stretch this tight cunt out for my big cock," he cooed.

You ached for him, a sticky wet feeling between your legs as you wished so badly for him to finally touch you. His touch was light, but teasing, drawing circles along the thin flesh, circling closer and closer to where you needed his touch the most, before he pulled away. 

"Please," you whined, grabbing at his arm.

His breath felt hot against your neck, and you could feel the grin he pressed against your skin. He let you guide him upwards to hover his large palm over your mound, but he wouldn't let you have it. Instead, he pushed at your sweater. His hand spread across the skin beneath your belly button as prickled goosebumps followed the rough pads as they ran across your skin.

"Y'gonna feel me right here, bub?" he teased, "So deep inside your tummy?"

A whine caught in your throat and you felt like an exposed nerve. Arousal pulsated throughout your body, threatening to pull you apart unless he did something soon. Your neglected cunt dripped with an ache only he could sooth. 

"Yes, please, Logan," you whined, tears threatening to spill.

His thick beard scraped against your cheek, and you almost trembled from anticipation as he slid his hands downwards. He raked his fingers through the curls of your mound, and a gasp fell from your lips when he finally pushed at your clit.

A wide smile reached across your face when he started to circle his fingers, tight with the perfect amount of pressure. Your hips bucked to meet his touch, your cunt eager and dripping for more of him. His other arm clasped around your middle, keeping your still and steady in his lap as he had his way with you.

A bold finger dipped lower, running through your folds and teasing at you entrance. A slick sound filled the car as he played with your cunt, circling his fingers around your hole, dipping a teasing finger inside you just to the first knuckle, before withdrawing it just as quickly. 

"Such a messy pussy," Logan murmured in your ear, the deep bass of his voice vibrating into your skin. "Listen."

The sound as he played with your pussy was obscene, lewd, and so dirty you felt a heat crawl up your chest. A breathy gasp escaped you when he finally split you on his finger, and a satisfied smile coated your lips as he started to move it inside in a steady rhythm, prodding every so often at that spongy spot inside, the spot your own finger couldn't reach.

"F-feels s-so good," you managed to stutter out. 

The heel of his palm pressed against your clit with every thrust, teasing at your insides and conjuring moan after breathy moan from your lips. He guided you closer and closer to the edge, and you wanted so badly to fall. When he pulled out to slide another finger inside you, you felt a tear roll down your cheek with satisfaction.

"I can feel that pussy clenching me– you close, bub?" he poked, never stopping his fingers.

Your head rolled back, resting heavy on his shoulder as you nodded franticly, mouth parted slightly, humming out small breathy whines. You were so close, the tension in your stomach twisting and aching for release.

But then he pulled his fingers, dragging them up over your mound leaving a wet trail in your curls. You couldn't help the disappointed sigh as more tears pressed their way down your cheeks.

"Shh," he hushed you, "you're okay, bub." 

Under you, you felt him move, his strong muscles flexing as he shifted you on his lap. When you felt the blunt head of his cock slide between your folds, an eagerness came upon you. You grinded against him, making a small chuckle rumble from his chest. Logan slapped his heavy cock against your folds, coating his big cock in your slick arousal. 

The first stretch of him knocked the breath right out of you, the fat tip of him splitting you in half as he helped you guide yourself down on him. You had to remember to breathe, your hand fumbling for something to hold on to. 

"Fuck," you whimpered, eyes wide, "I-it's so big– it's t-too big."

His hand wrapped around your middle held you in place, keeping you still on his cock as you adjusted to the first inches of him inside you. 

"It's not too big, princess, you're doing so well f'me," he praised, "just a little more, bub– you can do it."

With a wet whimper you lowered yourself, taking a couple more inches of him, as Logan pressed more fluttering praise into your skin. He let you take your time, easing yourself down on him at your own pace. When your thighs were finally flushed with his, he was so deep inside you, you jolted, trying to move back up, but Logan's hands held you down. You felt him in your tummy, like he'd said, his cock reaching so deep you were shaking.

"Sit still, get used to it," he told you, as you tried to catch your breath, "You're being so good f'me."

And somehow the burning stretch of him soothed away into a pleasurable pressure, one you couldn't help but chase. With an experimental rock of your hips, you felt the fat head of him prod at your spot, making you mewl. And when you started to swivel your hips, Logan groaned in satisfaction, meeting your movement with small thrusts.

Slowly, he picked up his rhythm, strong hands shifted to dig into your hips, holding you in place for him to move you as he wished. In your ear, you heard him growl, deep and animalistic as he fucked up into you.

It didn't take long until your breath came out fast between moans as the pressure built, and built, and built. 

"Logan," you moaned, tethering right on the edge.

Another growl escaped his chest, as his strong arms hooked under your legs. He pressed them tightly to your body as he picked up his pace, bucking wildly into your eager cunt. You could feel him throb inside of you, and you couldn't help but clench at the thought of feeling him spill inside you, claiming you.

"Don't stop, please, don't stop," you begged, tears streaming down your face like two winding rivers, "I-I'm gonna come."

A hand slid between your legs to rub at your puffy clit, coaxing you closer and closer with winding circles. 

"Come on my cock, baby, come all over that big cock."

It was hot, and blinding. Euphoric shocks pulsed through your body, as you fluttered and gushed around his cock. Logan's grip on your legs tightened as you shook violently with your orgasm – a million stars exploded behind your eyes.

"Oh, that's it, bub, such a good girl," he praised between heavy wet pants against your ear.    

Fucking you through your ecstasy, Logan chased his own high at a relentless pace, and all you could do was take it, reduced to a ragdoll in his hands. In your ear he muttered nonsense interlaced with praise, telling you how good you felt, and how perfect you were for him.

With a deep groan he pulled out quickly, tugging at himself until he spilled his thick spend on the truck floor. With bleary eyes you watched how it pumped in quick spurts, dripping down his hand and soiled the knuckles in his own sticky cum. 

Behind you, Logan breathed hard, nudging his nose against the column of your neck to press soft kisses to the hot skin. 

A pair of bright headlights beamed down the road, pulling you from the moment with its blinding light. Logan helped you shift off his lap, reaching to hand you your discarded clothes before he tucked himself back into his jeans. 

The cassette whirled in the car radio, and you couldn't remember when the music had stopped. Logan shifted back behind the wheel and an eerie silence grew in the distance between you.

"How 'bout I take you somewhere to eat?" he posed.

You smiled, "I could eat."

...................

hopefully this was okay? a comment telling me your favorite part is always welcome, and my ask box is always open to chat <3 and thank you for reading!!

© shellshocklove, 2024 i do not give any permission to repost, translate, feed to AI or redistribute any of my writing, with or without credit!

[mssorceressupreme]

Let The World Burn

——— Pairing: Hwang In-Ho (or Young-Il) x reader

Summary: In-Ho would let the world burn for you, developing a huge soft spot and love for you, once you die in his arms, he’s determined to make sure everyone pays for it

Warnings: reader!death, angst, mentions of gunshots, daeho has ptsd, violence, swearing, mentions of blood, deaths

a/n: reader doesn’t know he’s the frontman fyi

———

The arena was a hellscape. The air smelled of gunpowder and fear, screams mingling with the deafening sound of gunfire. Shadows darted in and out of your vision as frantic players pushed past you, some tripping over fallen bodies, others using them as shields.

Every step you took felt like a battle against the tide of selfish desperation.

You clutched the heavy bag of bullets to your chest, your heart pounding wildly. Somewhere out there, Young-il was fighting, orchestrating this mess while holding together the fragile remnants of control.

Dae-ho cowered behind the bunk beds, leaning with his legs to his chest on his bunk bed, his hands trembling as he peeked out.

You’d told him to stay put, and thankfully, he listened. You couldn’t blame him for being terrified—it was every man for himself now, and his fear was written all over his face.

“Stay here,” you had told him, squeezing his shoulder as the fear and panic grew in his eyes. “I’ll find Young-il and Gi-hun. You’ll be okay, alright? I'll come back for you, you just stay put here.” You comforted, he trembled with fear, clutching his legs tighter at every gun shot.

He nodded, wide-eyed, and you’d forced yourself to turn away before the weight of the situation could settle over you. Now, pushing through the chaos, your focus narrowed. You had to find Young-il.

“Young-il!” you screamed, your voice raw as you ran through the area, running up the stairs, dodging bullets and panicked players. “Young-il!” It felt like a never-ending maze of death.

He was there, standing in the midst of the chaos like a storm given human form. His sharp features twisted in determination, his dark eyes scanning the crowd as he dodged bullets and ran from the chaos. You called out to him again, louder, but he didn’t hear you over the deafening sounds of death and desperation.

Before you could reach him, a frantic player shoved you from behind. You stumbled, dropping the bag of ammo and as you bent down to pick it up, a sharp burning pain ripped through your side. BANG! The world spun as your knees buckled. The ground was cold and unforgiving when you hit it, the bullets spilling out of the bag and scattering across the floor.

It was a surreal kind of agony, blinding and consuming. You tried to breathe, but it felt like your lungs had been punched.

Blood was warm against your hands as you pressed them to the wound, your vision blurring as tears welled in your eyes.

You tried again, your voice trembling as you whispered, “Young-il…”

Through the haze, you saw him turn, his eyes landing on you. For a moment, time froze. His face- usually so unreadable, so carefully controlled, cracked with raw emotion. Horror. Rage. Despair. He saw you.

And then he ran.

“Young-il...” you tried to say again, but the sound barely left your lips.

When he reached you, he dropped to his knees, his hands immediately pressing over yours to stem the bleeding.

“No,” he whispered, his voice shaking as his eyes darted across your body, assessing the damage.

“No, no, no! NOT HER!” His voice rose as he turned his fury to the guards, his tone sharper than a blade. “She’s not a target for fucks sake!”

His words carried the weight of command, but the guards hesitated only briefly. Young-il didn’t wait for an answer.

His focus snapped back to you, his hands trembling as he cradled you against his chest.

“Stay with me,” he pleaded, his voice cracking. “Please, you have to stay with me. I can fix this. Just hold on, okay? Please.”

You blinked up at him, your breaths coming in shallow gasps. “Young-il…” His name was the only thing you could manage, but it was enough to draw his gaze back to you, his dark eyes glistening with unshed tears.

“Don’t talk,” he said quickly, his hands pressing harder against your wound. “Save your strength. You’re going to be fine. I promise.”

There was a desperation in his voice that you’d never heard before, a vulnerability that broke through his steely exterior. It was almost enough to make you believe him. Almost.

A small, weak smile tugged at your lips. “You… always so serious,” you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper. “I wanted… to help.”

“And you did,” he said fiercely, his voice trembling. “You did more than enough. Just stay. Please stay!"

Your hand, slick with blood, reached up to touch his face. He flinched at the contact, but didn’t pull away. “Thank you,” you whispered. “For caring.”

“No, no, no…” His voice cracked as your hand slipped away, falling limply to your side. “Don’t you dare…” His words dissolved into a choked sob as he pulled you closer. "FUCK!" He cried aloud, rocking you gently in his arms.

The chaos around him seemed to fade into nothingness as he held you, now lifeless, his world crumbling in his arms. His tears fell freely now, staining your already bloodied clothes. He pressed his forehead to yours, his breath ragged and uneven. "My Y/N..." he whispered. "My Y/N..."

And then, the grief turned to something darker.

When he finally looked up, his face was a mask of cold fury. He laid you down gently, brushing a hand over your face to close your eyes. Then he rose, his movements slow, deliberate.

The guard who had shot you barely had time to react before Young-il shot bullet which tore through his chest. One shot. Then another. And another. Now limp, the guard fell to the ground, dead.

“Young-il” Gi-hun’s voice called, but it was drowned out by the sound of gunfire as Young-il turned his wrath on the rest. He didn’t stop, didn’t hesitate. For a mere second, you had given him a glimmer of hope, he had reconsidered his actions for a short moment in time. He even thought about ending the games and running away to take care of you, and only you. But no, now, he remembered who he truly was. The man who had once orchestrated the games with calculated precision was gone, replaced by someone unrecognisable—a man consumed by amplified vengeance and grief. A man with no mercy. A man with no heart. Every last bit of empathy, washed away.

“For her,” he muttered under his breath as he fired another shot. “For her.”

Young-il had lost everything before. But losing you? That was a wound that would never heal. For you, he would destroy it all. Let the world burn. Let them all pay.

[ccsainzleclerc5516]

Co Parents To Lovers Again (part 2)

Pairing: Charles Leclerc x reader

Warnings: fluff (smut in the next part)

part 1

It's been three days since the unfortunate misunderstanding with Charles and you haven't heard from him at all since.

You were overthinking the whole situation that happened on Sunday and couldn't come to any proper conclusion. At the same time, you were sad because he thought you would bring someone else into your bed, even though it wasn't your shared bed anymore, but you couldn't believe that he thought so little of you after all the years you'd spent together.

And yet on the other hand, you were thinking like any woman, you were glad that he was jealous and that the very thought of someone replacing him bothered him because that only meant he wasn't over you and that he still wanted to make things right between you two. Basically, you were torn between your brain and your heart once again and it was just a matter of what would prevail between the two this time.

Even though deep down you knew you couldn't fight yourself. You broke up over some disagreements that when you look at things more closely weren't worth destroying your relationship and your little family. You were both stubborn, he was a little too possessive, you were lacking in understanding, parenting, you spent most of your time alone with Lou and everything came together and exploded.

Now that you look back on the whole year you spent without him, you know that as hard as it is sometimes to be with him, it's ten times harder to be without him. You realize that you both made a rash decision, but then again maybe it had to happen only to make you realize how much you need each other in every way possible.

It's Wednesday night and while you're preparing tonight's dinner and tomorrow's lunch, Lou is sitting at the dining room table drawing. Soon your cooking is interrupted by the ringing of your phone on the kitchen island. A strange feeling comes over you as you wipe your hands on a dish towel and look at your phone only to see Charles' name on the screen.

You want to answer the phone, but you don't want the conversation to end in an argument so before you pick up the phone, you take a deep breath and try to calm down and strengthen your voice so it doesn't sound shaky.

"Hello?"

"Hey, it's me." He says it in a completely normal, calm tone and you're grateful for that.

"Hey, what's up?"

"Umm, I'm leaving tomorrow for the race so I was wondering if you could put Lou on the facetime so I can see her since I won't be able to have her for the weekend?" He asks.

"Sure, just let me switch to facetime."

Once you did, Charles face appeared on the screen and he smiled when he saw yours too. You tried to hide the blush on your face and quickly walked over to Lou putting the phone in front of her.

"Baby, daddy wants to talk to you" You said setting the phone in front of her and leaving them alone to talk.

Since the kitchen and dining room were connected, you went back into the kitchen and could hear everything the two of them were saying. You didn't want to eavesdrop, but you kinda did.

"Hey, daddy!" Lou exclaimed excitedly.

"Mon ange, what are you doing?"

"I'm drawing and-and mommy is cooking" She says.

"Yeah? What are you drawing?"

"I'm drawing you in a red car. See" She says putting up the paper in front of the camera for him to see.

"Good job, baby. It looks great!"

"It's for you, I will give it to you when you come get me" She says forgetting that she won't be spending the weekend with him.

"Thank you, baby, but unfortunately we won't be together this weekend because papa has to work, but we'll see each other next week, okay?"

"Oh.." She pouts.

"Don't be sad, we'll see each other very soon, okay? I miss you so much and I'm thinking of you all the time."

Your heart is completely softened by his words and the immeasurable amount of love he has for your daughter.

"I miss you too, daddy"

"Okay, baby. I'll talk to you soon, I love you."

"Bye, I love you too." She says waving her hand as he blows her a kiss.

You watch her from afar and see how her mood immediately changed when she heard that she wouldn't be seeing him. Shaken by emotions, you move closer to her and squat down next to her.

"What's wrong, bug?" You ask her.

She doesn't look at you but frowns looking down at drawing on the paper in front of her.

"I miss papa" She says, hear eyes filled with tears.

"Can I tell you a little secret?" You say and she nods. "I miss papa too." You whisper making her look at you.

"Would you like to watch him race this weekend?"

"You mean on the TV?" She asks.

"No, I mean how about we go and see him?" You suggest and her eyes light up.

"Really?!"

"Would you like that?"

"Yes, yes! And I can give him this!" She says excitedly and you chuckle at how sweet she is.

"Then we have a deal. Now, finish up your drawing and go wash your hands because dinner is almost ready okay?"

"Okay, mommy. Thank you"

Nothing can compare to the happiness you feel when you see your daughter happy. Both you and Charles would do anything for her, and that's why you decided to quickly run upstairs to your bedroom, turn the hoodie right side out.

When a print of an F1 car was visible on the black hoodie, you took a picture of it and sent it to Charles without any additional explanation, because you knew that everything would be clear as a day to him once he saw it.

After just a few minutes, your phone vibrated in your hands.

'Been looking for it for a while now..' Charles' message said.

'I really fucked up this time, didn't I?' He added.

'You kinda did.' You replied.

'I'm so sorry, y/n..'

'You're lucky your daughter adores you so much and you better send a plane for the two of us so we can make it to the race on time.'

part 3

@charlesgirl16 @aleatorio1234 @teamnovalak @watermelonslut @diaryofarandomkid @sunny44 @tempo-rary-fix @ggaslyp1 @janeh22 @seonghwaexile @seasonswinter @itgirlofthecenturysposts @ricciardosredbull @amz824 @sarx164

[mameillieureennemie]

piercer!vi x f!reader, modern day

you come in for a piercing and vi's instantly smitten.

part 1 | part 2

Vi's seen a lot of tits in her day; she's a piercer, and one could say it's a part of the job description. So it's nothing new to her—it's all become anatomical at this point.

But your tits?

Holy shit, your tits are the prettiest she's ever seen. They look so soft; so plush and beautifully curved. With pretty nipples perked due to the slight chill in the room; it's embarrassing how they make Vi's mouth water a bit. How they make her feel the need to take them into her mouth and suck until you're writhing and crying out her name—

"Vi?" You call out again, snapping Vi out of her dazed thoughts. She blinks, taking a moment to clear her head before she's able to look you in the eye and oh.

You seem...shy almost, evading her gaze with a slight tilt of your head. Your hands are curled into the hem of your top, still holding it above your chest, and it's such a sight of vulnerability that Vi feels herself losing a little more of her sanity. But she's a professional, damn it, and she's gotta act like it.

Clearing her throat, Vi manages a smile and tries to switch her focus to less devious thoughts. Like doing this piercing and letting you go on your merry way, beautiful tits all freshly pierced and—

Oops, her mind has wandered again.

"Sorry," she apologises sheepishly. "I had something on my mind that distracted me for a second."

"Oh," you reply, looking a bit calmer. "...everything okay?"

No, Vi thinks as she says, "Just peachy," with a grin before reaching for a marker. "Okay, so I'm gonna dot where the needle's going to go through and make sure the piercings will be even."

You nod. "Sounds good," you reply, returning her grin, and Vi gets to work.

It's easy to slip into the frame of mind she needs to be in. Because at the end of the day, she prides herself on her work and wants to do a good job. Especially for you because despite only knowing you for so little time, Vi knows you're deserving of everything great and fantastic.

So she focuses, making sure to line up the dots evenly. She tries to ignore your sharp intake of breath when her gloved hands touch you to get the angle she needs. Does everything in her power to pretend she doesn't hear your quiet gasp when she marks up your nipples. Swallows heavily when she feels the slight shiver your body gives. Breathes in deeply when she notices the not-so discreet clenching of your thighs.

She hasn't even pierced you yet, hasn't even really touched, and you're already slowly falling to pieces.

Vi doesn't know if she'll survive this session.

"Okay," she manages, voice gone raspy. "Um, lay back for me, please."

You nod, slowly leaning back until you're laid down. At her mercy. Wide eyes peering up at her as you still grasp at the hem of your top, as if it's a lifeline.

You lick your lips, a quick flash of a pink tongue over soft flesh, and Vi tracks it greedily with her eyes.

"Will...it hurt?" You ask softly, even though it seems you know the answer. With the clenching of your thighs and shudder of your breath, it almost feels like you want it to hurt.

"Just a little bit," Vi says, just as soft. "It won't last long...okay, pretty girl?" The pet name slips out, but she doesn't regret it. No, she doesn't because she can see the darkening of your eyes and the move of your throat as you swallow.

"...okay," you murmur, and tilt your head all coy as you stare up at her. "P–please take care of me."

Vi's blood sets on fire.

"Don't worry, pretty girl," Vi murmurs back, moving her stool so she's in the best position for what she needs to do. She reaches for your chest, tenderly grabbing your right breast and giving it a gentle squeeze.

Maybe that's an accident, as if the way her thumb caresses the peak of your nipple so she can watch you shiver. Trap a whimper behind bitten lips.

"I'll take such good care of you."

a.n: please don't look at me but...there will be a part three, the finale. 😩

tagging @mar1posita @hellishdevotee @grapelover2000 @naomipeach @livvieloveswomen @weirdero @agnesemmi @angiexcoco @bella-72-23 @fantanbietsson @olivianotrodrigoo @nanasemo @marcylated @prwttiestbunny @chxrryvalxntine @obivari @nanajustnana-a @jaynawayna