#it’s late and I just had to get my idea across

[eupheme]

— i’ll be there

[part iv of sugar, sugar] | [masterlist]

wolverine/logan howlett x neighbor!f!reader

rated e - 4.5k

tags: baker!neighbor!reader, logan pov, soft smut & fluff, oral, fingering, multiple orgasms, manual restraints PiV, creampie, light angst, references to anxiety, guilt, memories of canon-typical violence/ death, logan handling his feelings in his own way

a/n: after finishing part iii, there were two ideas in the back of my mind (this, and then fixing [redacted]) so I am back with a little more 💕

Sometimes, it feels as if he’s still waiting for the other shoe to drop. Breath held - bracing for a blow that hasn’t yet come, each time the cracks lengthen in his walls. Letting sunlight seeping through.

So sure it’s waiting on the horizon for him, as it always had done. Has been, since that first night you spent together, all those weeks ago.

Finally allowing himself to exhale - for today, at least - in the darkened room.

It’s late when he twists the handle of the apartment door, easing it open. A habit now, how the keys drop into the ceramic mug on the table just inside, clinking against loose change.

His shadow stretching long across the wooden floor, cast by the light you left on for him in the kitchen. Fingers tug at worn laces, loosening boots that are left next to yours.

Funny how he’s able to navigate this space now, without thought. The old fleece from Wade’s closet slung across the back of an armchair. His feet taking him to the edge of the couch, fingers idly brushing over the stitching of the folded quilt left out for him.

One heartbeat passing, and then another.

He moves on.

The bedroom door creaks on its hinges, as he nudges it open wider.

Light pouring in, letting him see where you curl on your side. The space next to you open - as if waiting for him.

As if you knew he’d be coming.

All he’s wanted to do since Wade turned the car around was get back to right here.

Something loosening in his chest. Fingers working at the buttons of his flannel, then dropping to the heavy buckle at his waist. Stripped down, when he draws back the covers, and slides next to you.

You murmur his name, curl into him. Can’t pretend there isn’t a tugging behind his ribs at the sound.

His fingers drift across skin, tracing the strap of your nightgown. You lips curve up, eyes cracking open.

“You have a good day?”

Logan pauses for longer than he should, turning the question over in his head. Chooses to ignore it, for now.

Chooses to let his head dip, to press his mouth to yours, instead. Letting his mind shut off, letting it go silent for a moment.

Focusing on this, instead.

The tug of your fingers as they slide into his hair. Pulling him close - keeping him there, the sluggish movements turning more lucid as he deepens the kiss. Pliant becoming demanding, and even after the day he’s had, he can’t help the chuckle when your hand curls around his shoulder.

Urging, once more. Fully awake now, lips pressing against his jaw as he follows your whims. Settling between your thighs, cock stiffening with the way you nip at his neck. How you roll your hips upward, until he pins you to the bed himself.

“Missed you.” It’s sighed out.

Something inside his chest thrums, his heartbeat kicking up a notch. The answer coming easily, without thought.

“Missed you too, sweetheart.”

He means it.

Had left a little piece of himself behind when he left early this morning. The echo of your goodbye kiss lingering against his lips, as he had climbed into the car with Wade. Going north.

But he doesn’t want to think about that now.

Now, he’s letting his senses take over, an old habit. Focusing on warmth of you beneath him. Eyelids fluttering shut with the sting of your teeth against his throat. A twitching smile as his hands wander - letting you try to mark him as he finds the hem, slips beneath.

Fingertips dragging over bare skin. Rucking the flimsy fabric up higher each time his hips lift. A low sigh when he finally presses against your bare skin, nudging himself against the soft juncture of your thigh.

Your scent washes over him, drowning out the layer of thoughts that have chased after him all afternoon. Vanilla and sugar and you - he’s tried to taste it before, with the wet drag of his tongue.

Sometimes you smell like him, if he’s lucky, in the early morning, still tucked into bed. Cigar smoke clinging, from where you sat with him on the fire escape. Where he’s left himself painted across your skin.

It’s familiar. It’s as comforting as the pretty noises you make. Hungry for him, fingers tracing along his ribs. Slipping down the slope of his back, trying to tug you to meet him.

Logan is used to rushing things - wants to, after the day he had - but in the night, when he knows you don't have to get up early, it feels like time stands still.

He allows his movements to slow.

The mattress dips as he inches down it. Palms finding the curves of your tits, a soft squeeze against the giving flesh before he’s finding the taut peaks in the fabric with his teeth and tongue.

The silk darkens, as you squirm. A whine is wrenched from your chest, as his mouth closes around you.

The tip of his tongue flicking across your nipple. His other hand drifting down, hiking your thigh higher around his waist.

“Let me-“ It comes from you in a rush, hands tugging at the fabric.

He won’t ruin this one. Knows you like it - instead he balls the fabric from navel to sternum in his fist. Tugs, until your tits slip free.

“Fuck, Logan.” It’s laced with appreciation.

With need, as he sucks a mark against your skin. Another on the soft swell beneath, the pinch of his teeth soothed by the drag of his tongue.

Knowing what he’ll find, when he finally moves down. The fingertips that trail down as he kisses your stomach, your hip - ghosting across your folds, coming back slick.

They slide between his lips. An amuse-bouche to the feast laid out before him - unable to resist the urge to taste you, fingers spit-slick when they return.

“‘s for me?” He rasps, and a laugh slips from you - the soft, muffled sound dragging out into a moan as he traces your opening - sinking down to the knuckle.

“Always for you.”

It loosens a breath he’s been holding all day. Coming out as a rough sigh - your thighs inching wider as he kisses your mound.

Hovering then, just shy of where you need him.

“Really did miss me, huh?”

Can’t help it. Another unconscious nudge, seeking reassurance.

Your hips lift, seeking. Hands trailing down, fingers drifting over your tits, your stomach. Down to stroke your thumb against the bristle of his beard.

“Every time you leave.”

He leans into your touch. Eyes focused on the dark glimmer of your own, as he lets your fingers tangle in his hair. Let's you guide him, a low hum as he closes that final inch.

The tip of his tongue stroking against a spot he knows well, as your moan rips through the quiet. His name following with a soft whimper, and it’s then that his eyes shut.

Focused on the way you smear across his tongue. The wet suck of his finger, sinking into molten heat. Trying to grip him already, clenching around what little he’s given you.

A second teases. Slipping inside, as he tongues at your clit. As you pant, whining - nails pricking against his scalp. Thighs pressing into his shoulders, until he’s hiking one over, and then the other.

His hips flexing, rutting himself into the mattress as you surround him. Fingers curling and stroking, until you leaking against him palm. Until the quiet room becomes a chorus, his name a sweet song on your lips.

“Logan.”

Logan, Logan.

A name stamped on a piece of metal, but he’s grateful for it now. Grateful for the way it rushes from you, as if you’ve forgotten all else.

As he winds you up - your grip tightening, but it only spurs him on. Your breath shortens, as his free arm bands across your abdomen, leaving your hips to flex uselessly against his strength.

“Fuck me.” You urge. A hand kneading the flesh of your breast, the other circling around his wrist. Pleading, with the pinch of your brows, as your fingers flex against his iron grip, “Need you, Logan. Want, ah-“

“Come for me first.” It’s close to a growl, his own fingers never stopping. Feeling how you stiffen beneath his arm, on the cusp of something he’s more than happy to give you.

“Want her nice and ready for me.”

You moan at the command. Head tilting back as your body obeys - the “yes” that’s chanted over and over, pitching higher each time.

Stringing out, and then breaking. Your back bows, as the pleasure alights within. Coming hard with rhythmic throb he can feel against his tongue, that tight pulse around fingers.

He doesn’t let up until you’re squirming away from the press of his mouth. Puffy and slick where you warm his fingers, your arousal already leaking down to the curve of your ass. Swollen with desire, and he swears he feels you clench one last time, when he slips them free.

Another kiss pressed against you, one that has you sighing. Wriggling out of the twist of your nightgown, hooking it around a finger until it pools on the floor below.

Still begging for him as he lifts himself up. Closing the space between you as he shifts forward, palms curving against your hips as he kneels between your thighs. Your eyes drunken with pleasure up close - soft and hazy, your smile coming easily.

His hips rock forward on their own in response, unable to help pressing himself against you. A sticky spot of need left behind, smeared against your skin.

Your fingers pinch against his forearms as you push yourself up to your elbows, eyes dipping down. He knows you can see what he can, as his own head tilts - the swipe of his cock against your folds.

How they part for him, when he teases you - slipping the fat head against your entrance. Knows you imagine it - you’ve told him what you think about when he’s away.

How it’s never enough. Never him. Watched you show him how you fit your fingers inside yourself, but you can never reach the places he can.

He sinks into your heat with a slow thrust. You’re heaven around him, tight and slick and familiar. Teeth clenched as you make room, until he’s buried flush inside you.

Can feel your pulse around his cock, when his eyes close. When he lets all his senses narrow down to the space you’re joined.

Could never last, if he stayed that way. Would get pulled over far too quickly with the way you clench needily around him, trying to coax him to move.

And it’s here, as you beg him for more, that he loses himself. Hands flattening against the mattress as he slips half-way out - the jolt it sends through you, when his hips snap forward.

The gasp it pushes from you, your eyes fluttering shut. A sharp pinch of nails again, but it’s welcome - a low grunt, as he drives home again.

Again, and again. Leaning into the snap of his hips. Your hand reaching, drawing him down to you - mouth tipping up to meet his.

A groan, when you taste yourself against his tongue. Letting his sweep against yours, until you’re panting against his lips. The angle deep, with the way he hovers over you.

His hands fisted in the sheets, now. Using them for leverage, the bed creaking as he ruts himself into you.

A growl slipping from his chest when your fingers start to drift. Knuckles brushing the whorls of dark hair across his chest. Following the trail that leads down, past his abdomen.

The tips ghosting against your clit, just a tease before he’s shifting - a hand curling around your wrist. Bringing it up, pinning it above your head.

“Don’t need it.” It comes out ragged, when it passes his lip.

“Just me, right?”

Logan can take care of you. Stoking the lot embers in your belly, coaxing them to a burning flame.

He needs this.

Needs to be the one to give it to you.

“Just you.” The reply comes automatically. Your other wrist offered as you give him the control he desires, lifted to press into the clutch of his grip.

It makes his own muscles tighten. A deep clench, his cock throbbing inside you. Fingers pinching as he sees the way you give yourself to him.

Face tipped up, bare and stretched out beneath him. The pretty jolt of your tits each time his hips snap forward, and it’s enough that he’s closing those last inches of space.

Fitting himself against you, as his nose buries against your neck. Your thigh hooked over his hip as you chase his mouth, until you’re sighing against his lips.

Knows you can come like this, squirming beneath him, as his hips tilt. As he strokes against the places his fingers know well, your lips parting with a cry.

“Come on, honey.” It’s murmured out. Mouthing at your jaw, the word rasped low in your ear, “One more and then I’ll give you what you want.”

His other hand drifting - elbow and knees taking the brunt of his weight. Down past your hip until his palm curves against your thigh, hiking your thigh up higher.

Opening you up further, when he bottoms out. His breath hot in your ear, panted out each time his heavy sack kisses against sticky skin.

Winding you up, higher and higher. Your body arching against his - toes curling, a heel pressing into the mattress for purchase.

“Oh fuck, keep going,” You beg, trying to meet him - unable to do anything more than take it when he has you pinned like this, “Please, I’m so close-”

“Know you are,” He answers with a rough sound - more growl than words. The flesh at your thigh denting with the press of his fingers, keeping you still so he can pound against the spot that has you seeing stars.

“‘ve got you. Come for me, sweetheart.”

The whine that leaves your lips pitches high, the rushed plea dissolving into needy sounds. Muscles stringing tight, head tipping back as your breath grows short.

His eyes fixed on your half-lidded ones, your lips parted in pleasure. Feeling the crest of your orgasm - the flex of your wrists in his hand, the grip of your thighs as they press against his hips.

It’s different, like this. The pulsing clench around his cock, the press of your body against his. The rush that surges through him at the way you come undone for him - always him - how he’s never been able to get enough.

He’s following soon after, with a snarl.

Unable to get a grip on his restraint. Usually can hold out, needing more.

Another. Another. Another.

Not finished until you’re boneless- pleasure-drunk - and only then does he give in to his own need.

But tonight he’s wrenched over with way you tighten around him. Tendons flexing as the steady saw of his hips grows sloppy.

A punch of metal through flesh, as he throbs - that tightly-wound tension snapping as he spills himself deep inside you with a ragged groan, thrusts going shallow as the tight clutch of your cunt milks him empty.

All those muted thoughts inside his head fading to white noise. Drowned out by the panting of his breath, the thrum of his heart.

The rutting of his hips slow, as he comes back to himself. Always losing control around you. That tight leash slipping between his fingers, piercing through. The pillow tucked under your head shredded, looking as if torn open by a beast.

“Shit.” Logan grunts - as he comes back to himself, flesh knitting together, “Sorry, sweetheart.”

A groan, as he leans back - only to find his grip on your wrists had loosened. That your fingers lace through his now, careful of the tender spots between his knuckles.

“I’ll get you another. I’m-“ He’s starting, but then you’re smiling.

“Good for it,” You finish for him, breathlessly - face tipping up to meet his, “I know.”

Still so soft and pliant. Legs still hooked around his waist as his lips press against yours - urging him to stay.

So, he does.

He still hasn’t moved.

Sometimes, it feels as if he’s still waiting for the other shoe to drop.

Breath held as he braces for a blow that hasn’t yet come, each time the cracks lengthen in his walls. Letting sunlight seeping through.

So sure it’s waiting on the horizon for him, as it always had done. Has been, since that first night you spent together, all those weeks ago.

Finally allowing himself to exhale - for today, at least - in the darkened room.

Your nails drag against his shoulders, scratching at bare skin. A little furrow in your brow at the weary sound - unable to help the question that he’s sure has been on the tip of your tongue all night.

“Did something happen at work today?”

It’s met with silence, one minute bleeding into another.

You always seem to know. An innate sense, or far too observant - and if he wasn’t so sure you were human, he’d be think you were like him.

His breathing low and steady as the hours replay in his mind again, a warm exhale against your throat. Still caging you in beneath him, your leg still hooked around his calf.

You don’t push him. He knows what he’s like - that you’ve learned it’s easier to argue with one of the brick walls in your apartment, or to talk sense and logic with Wade, when he gets in one of his moods.

Only when the scratches of your fingers slow to a halt, does he answer.

Finds it comes easier, this late in the night. In this room - his tongue loosened like the rest of him.

“Didn’t go today.”

It’s accompanied by the shift of his hands. Grasping at your waist with a low hiss as he eases from you - your body carefully untangling, as if you’re expecting him to leave.

Logan doesn’t know if he has the strength to, tonight. Instead, he only sinks back against the mattress - his arm sweeping out, tugging you close as you tuck yourself against his chest.

Not knowing where to start, or if he evens wants to - his teeth still pinching at the inside of his cheek. Eyes drifting to the glimpse of the city outside your apartment window. The moonlight that cuts across the angle of his face, a path that you follow with the tip of a finger.

Supposes he could start at this morning.

“Wade’s been talking about X-Force again.” Logan’s fingers catch yours, flattening them against his chest. The words spoken to the ceiling, eyes still unseeing, “Keeps askin’ me to join him.”

You make a low sound at that.

“You don’t have to, Logan.” There’s a twitch of your hand beneath his, “I’m sure he means well, I can talk to him-”

There’s a bloom of affection in his chest, at how quickly you offer. Trying to protect him - as if you could put yourself between him and the ghosts of his past.

“That’s not what I’m getting at.” His eyes drag to you then, crinkling, “Thank you though, sweetheart. ‘s nice of you to offer.”

Unconsciously curling his arm a little more tightly around you when he sees the way you look at him - so fiercely, eyes unblinking. Before he goes somber, loosening his hold on something he’s held close to his chest for a long while now.

“Been thinking about it.” Logan confesses, quietly.

You’re silent, processing his words. The weight of your gaze settling over him.

He gets it - he’s felt the same. Hasn’t said it out loud before - no more than a non-committal sound, when Wade first brought it up.

“Think I liked being a part of something. Back in the void, it felt… good.”

He clears his throat, his gaze drifting from you again. The bob of his adam’s apple as he swallows, fingers twitching against yours.

Had forgotten what it was like. Had rebelled even then - brushing aside the planning until Laura had found him by the fire. Even then he had wanted to discard it. Even as it festered in the night.

But even after everything, he couldn’t let them go alone. Not when he could help, this time.

“So I went today. With him. He was headed up to the mansion, and I thought I could do it. Go in this time, but-”

The sentence hangs, half-finished.

It’s not the first time he’s gone back.

Went the week after he first started staying with Wade. Needed to see if it was still standing.

If the sky was still blue above, instead of being blocked out with ash.

His body had rebelled the whole drive. Had only gone back once in his world. That time no more than a blur and yet the memories had still crashed over him, threatening to pull him under.

Even with the reminder that this mansion wasn’t his rang in his ears, it hadn’t done any good. His mind was never one to truly forget. Spent two hundred years watching places, people change. Ones that once existed, ones that would never look the same - they all existed in him, somewhere.

And even after everything - even after those bouts of not knowing who he was - they still managed to survive, broken into bits and pieces. Tearing its way through his skin to be known.

So even if moss grew high, even as it sat there - overgrown - the memories flooded back.

His feet taking root, at the gate. Unable to make himself take another step further - held in place as if by a force he’d encountered before.

Fleeing, like a scared animal.

But he’d gone again.

And then again.

Drawn back - each time moving just a little bit closer.

Each time still a mile away.

Thought maybe he could do it this time, when he wasn’t alone. Pass over the threshold and inside.

Maybe they’d still be there.

But…

“I couldn’t.” He manages.

Logan knew they wouldn’t be. It had been another knife between his ribs, when he found out they were still gone. The Logan of this world with them, and maybe it was better that way.

He’s met a few that live inside, since. Those who still carried on didn’t bear the hatred that his world did. Didn’t know him like he knew himself.

Didn’t know what he did.

Had only told a few, and even they didn’t look at him the way he was used to - and he still wasn’t sure how he felt about that, either.

Ones like Wade - Wade who had noticed the way he stiffened at the steps to the Mansion.

Grown silent.

If it had been another day, Logan would’ve had something sharp and unpleasant to say about that. But there was a ringing in his ears. Tunnel vision, narrowing down to the old brick.

The dread hadn’t crashed over him this morning. Had been right - Wade’s presence had muted it. Made it bearable, until his eyes had lifted.

Reading the old placard affixed to the stone. The name - worn away, but he knew each letter, the shape of them, by heart.

But it had him giving into the feeling that he shouldn’t be there.

“Five minutes” he had been told. Didn’t know how Wade knew exactly how long five minutes had taken, but he had been back exactly as three-hundred counted seconds had passed.

The afternoon plans dropped - taking him along for a haphazard amount of errands. Laundromat. Grocery Store. Arcade. Discount Outlet. Logan forced to follow, until he’d been able to find himself again. Push down the memories, lock them away, as he always did.

Until it felt like it happened a week ago, instead of this morning. The endless chatter a balm, with its familiarity.

He tells you this now, slowly.

“Thought I was done running.” Logan sighs. A hand scrubbing a little too harshly across his face, pulled from yours, “Guess I was wrong.”

Your brow knits. The look you give him is soft, empty fingers curling.

A breath - as if you’re unsure how he will take what you’ve about to say.

But then it’s slipping from you.

“I don’t think you’re running.” It comes out quiet, but he can tell you believe what you’re telling him.

“It’s okay that you’re not ready. You know that, right? Not everything has to be all or nothing.”

Logan hums.

“Maybe,” You start, carefully. Another breath, and he lets his hand return to yours when you reach for it - resting across his chest.

“Maybe you keep going what you’re doing. Maybe you keep trying. Another step each time.”

There’s an age-old urge to rebel - to push your kindness away. To lean into the voices he’s brought over from his world.

But it’s hard to, with his heart thrumming beneath your palm.

“If you want me to, I’d-”

It drops off - but he’s certain he knows what you were going to say.

That you’d be there.

Go with him, be by his side - if that’s what he wanted.

He doesn’t know how to take it, your offer. Voice pitching low and gruff, as he twists his chest towards you.

The words coming slowly, and he finds he means them.

“Just knowing you’re waiting at home for me is enough.”

Home.

That’s what this place has become, hasn’t it? Wade’s apartment. Yours. This room, with his things tucked among them.

“I will.” You breathe, “Always.”

It’s a promise.

It’s one he thinks he might just believe.

His eyes flick down - and the dance begins once more, as leans into you. Done with words, for now.

The cracks deepen, as his hand slips up your bare shoulder. Cradling the back of your back, as your mouth meets his half-way.

Being the one to keep you close, this time.

Losing himself in you, once more.

Logan wonders sometimes what would have happened if Wade had pulled him into another world.

Would it have been enough, if they had been alive there?

But he might not have met you, there. Things might have not gone the same way, in the journey before. Another path taken, one where he had made it alone into the room with the Time Ripper.

Or worse, if he had been the only one to make it out.

Even those who worked outside of space and time had told him there was no going back.

He couldn’t fix what happened.

He could only move foward.

One step at a time.

Logan huffs, a breath of a laugh, as your own gradually slows. The second round and the late hour catching up to you, in the silence that’s gone soft, and the warmth of his embrace.

So many nights he thought about this. Certain he didn’t deserve it. Deserve you.

Always pulling away.

But tonight, your fingers lace through his. He’s tucked between your back and the wall of painted brick behind him, almost as if you’re protecting him.

Ears keen enough to pick up the faint clattering next door. A low murmur of voices, cadences he’s come to know well.

Maybe once, he can believe he’s safe.

Not everyone gets a second chance. He knows that now, and vows to grab onto it with both hands.

Sink his claws into it, if he has to.

And as his arm tucks around you like an anchor - he finally lets sleep take him.

if you've come back - thank you so much for reading. this series has meant so much to me, so it was very exciting when I was struck with inspiration for two more chapters of their story (exploring some ideas I hadn't yet been able to get to) 💖 I am planning to post another part next week, and this will be holiday-themed!

[blackmagecat]

Time to tell you all a horror story. My own personal nightmare I’ve been living with for almost 2 years now.

[TW for pregnancy/childbirth trauma, stillbirth and infant mortality]

The minute I started my baby registry on Amazon was the minute I signed my soul away to unending torture. I lost my daughter at 34 weeks of pregnancy due to little blood clots that formed in my placenta that apparently nobody had been able to detect (but that's a story for another time...) Anywho, the algorithms had already been in full swing by that point, recommending and advertising every baby product under the sun.

But here's the thing. Those ads don't go away just because your baby is dead. In fact, they stick around, and assume that your kid is still there, growing. These things are so targeted, they have been literally serving me ads based around the relative age of my assumed-to-be-living child.

Do you have any idea how fucked up it is to have to watch your non-existent child age and grow in daily, targeted ads? To watch actors pantomiming milestones you'll never get to experience? And for what? To sell me diapers I can't buy?

Worse still, I think the algorithms are finally catching on that something happened to my daughter. Lately I've been getting ads like this:

They don't know what happened exactly, but you'd best believe they're ready to sell me something once they figure it out! My husband has also been getting St. Jude's ads left and right also, where previously he had next to none. Now it's every third ad on each YouTube video he watches, and that's been going on for weeks.

I wish it were illegal. I wish there was something I could do beyond praying that the VPN or ad-blocker I'm using will shield me. I've reported ads as often as I could, but my reasons are rarely listed in the little dropdown menu. I always end up picking "Other."

I can only imagine how many others are out there going through the same. Is it too much to hope we can all get together and file a class action somewhere, somehow? It's one thing to come across a random billboard, or actual TV commercial. I'm responsible for my own reaction to that. But its another thing entirely to have companies stalking you and using your personal history and trauma as a persistent, blunt force tool to make you spend money.

Also I've said this before but advertising is an industry that should be considered as pointless and harmful as fossil fuels.

[magnagaruzenmon]

Red Nose

A Christmas gift for @leafostuff

Despite me hoping onto the Chaehyun train late I think you solidified a lot of my love for this particular idol and while our realms and ideas don’t intersect. I wish you well.

I bumped into Chaehyun while she was wandering through the throng of guests, her eyes scanning every face anxiously. It was a little odd to see her here, knowing how hard it had been for both of you since the fallout. She looked like she’d rather be anywhere else, which only made me feel worse for her.

“Oh, Tiger, what’s wrong?” I asked, suppressing the urge to slip away to the guesthouse for a little longer. I wasn’t exactly eager to get involved, but her expression tugged at something in me.

She startled slightly at my voice, then relaxed when she saw me. “Oh, Rexy, it’s nice to see you.” Her tone was soft, like she was trying to mask something—whether it was nerves or sadness, I couldn’t tell. “Have you seen Mikey?”

I frowned. That was the last question I wanted to answer, especially from her. “No, I haven’t,” I admitted reluctantly. “But he was invited, so he’s got to be here somewhere, right?” I tried to sound reassuring, but even I wasn’t entirely convinced.

Chaehyun nodded, though it was clear my words hadn’t done much to ease her mind. “Could you… help me look for him?” she asked hesitantly.

Internally, I groaned. Babysitting an ex at a party was not on my evening’s agenda. But there was something in her voice, a vulnerability that made it impossible to say no. “Yeah, alright,” I said with a sigh, gesturing for her to lead the way.

We wove through the crowds, her small frame darting through gaps that I had to squeeze through. Chaehyun was quiet, her eyes darting around as if you might materialize out of thin air. After ten minutes of fruitless searching, she slowed, her shoulders slumping.

“You know what, Rexy? This was a mistake,” she said quietly. The weariness in her voice made my protective streak flare up.

“No, it’s not, Tiger,” I said firmly. “Let’s look a little longer.” And then, as if the universe finally decided to cut her some slack, I spotted him across the room. “Damn it—there he is.”

Chaehyun froze, her eyes following my gaze. When she saw him, her breath hitched. You were just leaving the bathroom, looking more polished than I’d expected—maybe you were hoping to run into her too. your eyes met, and everything around them seemed to blur, the noise of the party fading into silence.

I chuckled, stepping aside. “Go get ’em, Tiger,” I said, giving her a gentle push forward. She stumbled slightly but caught herself, throwing me a quick, grateful glance before she closed the distance between the two of you.

For a moment, I watched y'all, the air between you two charged with unspoken words. And then I turned away, heading toward the guesthouse. I figured I’d earned that quiet moment now.

Chaehyun looked at you nervously, her hands clasped tightly in front of her. There was a flicker of hesitation in her eyes as if she was summoning all her courage just to speak. Finally, she said softly, “You look nice.”

You nodded, your expression neutral. “You do as well.”

There was a beat of silence that stretched between you, thick with unspoken tension. She shifted on her feet, her fingers fidgeting with the hem of her sleeve. Then, taking a deep breath, she asked the question she dreaded but had to hear the answer to.

“Why did you storm off like that?”

Your eyes widened slightly in surprise at her boldness. For a moment, you hesitated, weighing your words, but frustration from that day bubbled to the surface. “Hunny, you were cheating on me with Dinozen,” you said bluntly, your voice edged with a hurt you thought you’d buried.

Chaehyun blinked, her brow furrowing in confusion. “Cheating?” she repeated, almost incredulously. Then something clicked, and her face softened as the memory came rushing back. “No, not cheating. He was helping me get you a Christmas gift.”

You raised an eyebrow, skepticism clear in your expression. “Really? Prove it,” you demanded, crossing your arms.

She smiled faintly, reaching into her pocket to pull out her phone. “Here,” she said, holding it out to you. “Go through the texts. They’re all there.”

You took the phone warily, scrolling through the messages. What you found wasn’t what you expected. Line after line of texts between Chaehyun and Dinozen, discussing nothing but Pokémon strategies, trades, and gift ideas.

“Why do the two of you talk so much about Pokémon?” you asked, bewildered.

Chaehyun’s lips quirked into a sheepish smile. “I wanted to surprise you for Christmas by learning one of your favorite games,” she explained. “In all its forms—cards, games, whatever. Dino was helping me get a quick grasp so I didn’t look like an idiot. Also, can I just say that Pokémon is way more expensive than I thought it would be?” She sighed dramatically as if the memory of the prices alone was enough to drain her energy.

For a moment, you just stared at her, the tension in your chest loosening with every word. Then, unexpectedly, you burst out laughing—a warm, genuine laugh that made Chaehyun’s worried expression melt into relief.

“You’re serious?” you said, still chuckling. “You went through all of this just to surprise me?”

She nodded, her cheeks pink. “I wanted to make you happy. Dino was just helping me figure it all out.”

You shook your head, the last remnants of doubt fading away. “I can’t believe I let myself think the worst,” you admitted, the weight of the misunderstanding lifting from your shoulders.

Chaehyun reached out tentatively, her fingers brushing against your hand. “I should’ve explained sooner,” she said softly. “I never wanted to hurt you.”

You gave her a small smile, turning your hand to gently take hers. “And I should’ve trusted you,” you replied.

For the first time in what felt like forever, the two of you laughed together, the cracks in your relationship beginning to mend.

Chaehyun smiles as your hand finds her. "Can we go back home?" she asks softly. You notice her cherry nose and say,

"Sure Rudolph" the two of you head to your car that's covered in snow. Chaehyun ever determined hops into the driver seat and expertly navigates your way back home. When the two of you arrive. Chaehyun pounces on you excited beyond belief. You are a bit taken aback as she fervently kisses you up and down as the two of you enter your home.

"I need you," Chaehyun groans as she pushes you to the floor "NOW!" she growls as she lifts your shirt off and dives into your pants.

"Wow, the tiger really came out to play," you say before you watch Chaehyun tear into your pants.

"I HAVE NEEDED YOU FOR TWO WEEKS!!" she growls before freeing her sizable breasts from her bra and forcing you to grab onto them. As always she is delicately soft and pliant under your touch as you knead her mounds. She moans as she sinks into your cock. She groans as she begins to ride you. You moan as her walls clench you tight.

"Fuck! Did you get bigger?" she asks in the throes of pleasure, you chuckle then say,

"I think you got tighter," Chaehyun was about to scold you before you thrust into her causing you to hit her g-spot. She cums on the spot squirting all over you. When she recovers. she calms down and happily gets up. Her legs are a little wobbly but you steady her.

"let's continue this in the bedroom," she says

You smile and say, "Lead the way"

[ohdeerfully]

Hi,

I was wondering if I could request a story. Alastor x reader although they’re more friends at the beginning. And something thats probably not canon.

The reader is doing research for the hotel trying to find proof that souls can be redeemed. In her search she stumbles across newspaper archives about the Louisiana killer. Knowing that its Alastor she becomes interested and through more digging she discovers that his victims were actually all criminals ie rapists, drug dealers etc. She prints some of the info out (I don’t know why) and then back at the hotel she accidentally drops some of the papers and Alastor sees them. I’m not sure where to go from here, I want Alastor to get a bit angry but reader assures him that his secret is safe with them.

I know its long I’m sooorrry! Let me know what you think.

💙💙

heyyy!! thank u for the request sorry it took literal ages to touch...this short fic contains NO ROMANCE sorry alastor lovers. but i hope you still enjoy!

Silence Your Soul

Alastor x Reader (platonic) TW: nothing specific? alastor is a jerk but whos surprised. hazbin typical crimes

masterlist join my discord!

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After Charlie gave you a second chance at her hotel, saving you from the streets in the city of Pride, you were nothing but devoted to her cause. Offering her a hand in trying to prove that the damned can be forgiven and offered a spot in Heaven was the least you could do—although it wasn’t easy.

It was a late evening when you found yourself in an unkempt library at the edge of the city, only tended by a single employee that probably hasn’t seen a soul in weeks. Her excitement upon your arrival made you feel bad, seeing her nearly jump out of her chair as she greeted you made her loneliness awkwardly obvious. You exchanged pleasantries before meandering through the dusty aisles.

You had given yourself a challenge that you weren’t even sure was possible to complete; it seemed more so just busy work to keep you from getting bored at the hotel. Finding proof of redemption for one of Hell’s most prolific Overlords was crazy work, but you assumed if it was possible then virtually any other demon could be forgiven.

Fingers trailed over the spines of historical books and biographies, pursing your lips as you searched the overwhelming amount of titles at your disposal. As rundown as this library was, you would guess it had the inventory of hundreds of ordinary libraries you’d typically find while alive. It didn’t help that you really didn’t have a starting point—you had no clue if you’d even find anything written on Alastor. You only had a vague idea that he was a murderer in Louisiana.

By tedious preservation you eventually managed to find a biography very succinctly titled “Alastor - New Orleans Terror.” You clasped your hands together and raised it to the sky in relief before grabbing the dusty cover and bringing it to the front of the library. After a brief conversation and being asked to sign up for a library card—although more often than not books were never returned—you were on your way back to the hotel.

Charlie had provided you with a little office to do your work in, a small gesture as thanks for your dedication to her idea. You locked your office door and sat down at your desk, pulling a packet of sticky notes and a few pens closer before opening the biography on the resident Radio Demon.

A few hours later, around midnight, you decided to call it for the day with a hefty slam to the book cover. You pushed your chair away from the desk and stretched your arms above your head, bending your back over the head of the chair until a satisfying series of cracks went up your spine. You slumped back down and began to tidy up your area.

The book had a littering of tabs sticking out of the pages, numbered to follow the bullet pointed notes you wrote down on a few sheets of paper. You were pleasantly surprised with what you found out about Alastor, although now you weren’t sure how it would help Charlie’s case in proving all souls can be redeemed. Murder is bad, yes, undoubtedly, but a strong case could be made for Alastor regarding who and why he killed. His reasonings were rather… kind? Somehow? As kind as murder can be.

You tucked the loose pages into the back of the book, holding it firmly to keep all your notes contained. You clicked off your lamp, stood up, pushed your chair back under the desk, and left your office.

Investigators at the scenes of his murders always drew to a similar conclusion—his victims were often rapists, abusers, and two were even politicians with links to trafficking operations. Murder… could be forgiven in this case, right? Of course, Alastor is in Hell for a reason, he’s actually insane and extremely manipulative, but his reasonings for the actual crimes he committed were—

Your thoughts were cut off as you rounded the corner and full body slammed into the man of the hour himself. Shit, how did you not sense his presence? Or, better, how did he not sense yours?

The book in your hand flew almost comically a few paces away, pages scattering out and landing in a messy halo around the book. You took a few stumbling steps backwards, hand pressed against your nose, aching from the impact. Your eyes were blurred with pained tears as you lifted your gaze to Alastor’s smiling expression.

“Hey, shit, I’m sorry,” You said quickly, blinking the haze out of your eyes as you dropped your hand from your face. You began walking towards the book. “I should’ve been paying more attention.”

Alastor was faster, beating you to the mess with his much larger stride. “No worries at all, my dear!” He said all too cheerfully for it being the middle of the night. “Awareness goes both ways after all!”

He hummed as he bent over, swooping up the biography with his name plastered grandly on the front. His shit eating grin somehow doubled as he looked back at you, his long index finger tapping on the cover. 

“A fan?”

“Hardly,” You rolled your eyes, playing a bit coy to counter his confidence. “Just picked it up at the library. Since I work for Charlie I figured I could learn a bit about our more famous residents.” 

Your act didn’t seem to put a damper on his cheer as he briefly thumbed through the biography, but it didn’t take long for him to notice the numbered sticky notes. His red eyes casted towards you before looking down at the similarly numbered sheets of paper by his feet. You sucked in a breath before gritting your teeth. You could probably explain yourself through this if you thought fast enough. 

He knelt and gathered the pages, placing the book down so he could use both hands to shuffle through the papers. You waited, tense, as his eyes scanned your notes. As painfully quiet moments passed, you saw his brows furrow and grin grow tighter.

When he looked back at you, his expression remained calm, but you could tell by the harsher prickling of static on your skin that he was frustrated. 

“While I’m quite pleased to see someone so interested in my living affairs,” He said rather forcefully as he stood, papers still gripped tightly in one hand. “This extensive meddling is rather annoying. What was it they said about… that one curious cat?”

The air grew a bit dangerous with his words as his voice dripped with venomous radio static. You were frozen in place, thoughts flying in every possible direction for words to calm the Overlord.

“H-hey, I’m just working for Charlie, you know, like I said earlier,” Your explanation came in an embarrassing stutter. You figured you may as well just tell the truth, although leaving out the part that you chose to research him. Of course, maybe it would butter him up enough to let you go if you told him how interesting you found him and his previous life; you chose to keep your dignity for now.

“Well, I ask you to leave me out of it,” He responded quickly, and you knew he wasn’t really asking. You nodded feverishly, promising to obey and reaching for the papers in his hand. He tutted before moving his hand away.

“I assume you’ve dedicated quite some time to this research, no?” He mused, waving the stack of pages tantalizingly just out of your reach. You sighed in defeat, hand falling to your side. 

“Yeah, a bit,” You admitted, folding your arms. He laughed for a moment and then you saw a green aura emanate from his palm before a burst of flame consumed the papers. Your mouth twisted into a frown as you watched green-tipped embers of your hard work sizzle into nothing on the red carpet below.

“Well! Then that’s far too much sensitive information on my history, so better it to be gone,” He explained, patting his hands together to rid them of any remaining debris. His eyes then turned to the book, swiftly picking it back up.

“Such a fine piece of literature, really,” He sighed dreamily, theatrically tracing a finger over his own name. It almost made you sneer—what a self-absorbed prick. Then, that same green aura lit in his hand. “Shame it has to go.”

“Wait, wait, wait, that’s not mine, I need to give it back to—” A whoosh of bright flame cut off your pleas, and you groaned in aggravation as shards of the book crumpled by his feet. You watched in helpless defeat as Alastor burned any remaining bridges to his living history. Perhaps that book managed to slip under his nose all these years as he built up his title as an Overlord. Now you had the awkward chore of trying to explain to the librarian why you can’t return her book.

“So…” Shit, that ominous tone in his voice was back as he met your gaze. You couldn’t handle the eye contact, so you swiftly looked to the side, down the hall, in meager hopes that anybody could interrupt this scene and save your sorry ass.

“All that remains, my dear, is you,” He stepped closer, and you similarly stepped backwards. The air in the room suddenly felt too heavy, the lighting too dark. Were you crazy, or were the shadows in the corners stretching towards you?

“I can’t have you running around Hell, whispering my secrets into the ears of the unworthy majority, right? No… that wouldn’t do at all,” Another step forward from him, another back for you. This continued for a few steps before your back hit a wall, sending a freezing chill down your spine. You knew running would only enhance his drive to strike you down, so you remained stuck in place. 

The antlers on his head seemed to expand and grow sharper as he reached a hand towards you. You squeezed your eyes shut and grit your teeth. If anything, you wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of hearing your screams. 

The burn of flames never touched your skin, nor did the sting of tearing flesh. You cracked open your eyes, and saw that his arm hovered only a foot away from you, palm turned upwards. His piercing red eyes bore into your own, never leaving even when you struggled to meet his gaze.

“Unfortunately for me, maybe fortunately for you, Charlie is very fond of you,” He sighed dramatically. “But, still, I can’t have you walking freely around knowing what you know. You are now the last source of my history. So…”

His hand nudged, regaining your attention. You swallowed a lump in your throat, adrenaline still pumping through your entire body and creating an uncomfortable pounding in your head.

“My soul..?” 

Alastor’s eyes rolled before his grin curled maliciously. “Well, obviously, how else will I keep you from opening that mouth of yours?”

Your fingers instinctively reached towards your chest, toying with the fabric of your shirt. Was it really worth it?

“I don’t know how much of an incentive you need here, my dear,” He laughed, although his tone gave away his slight impatience. “You give me your soul and your silence, and I give you… your pitiful life. Hm. Sounds fair to me!” 

You chewed on your cheek. Man, fuck it, you didn’t really want to risk finding out if Charlie’s friendship was truly enough to keep Alastor from killing you. Your hand shot forward before you could give yourself any more time to ponder—or, any more time for Alastor to lose his patience and change his mind. 

As soon as your hand folded around his, a near blinding flash of green light forced your eyes shut as you turned your head away, a squealing and staticy noise filling your ears as you felt a heavy pressure on your neck and a lightness in your chest. In a brief moment, the room fell silent again and Alastor yanked his hand from yours.

You slowly opened your eyes again, timidly looking towards him. You didn’t really have any words at this point, only a sense of loss you couldn’t quite put a finger on.

“There, all settled,” He spoke cheerfully, a complete contradiction of his actions just seconds prior. “Have a goodnight.”

Without another glance, he turned heel and walked away, a light hum playing from his lips. You stood there, staring aimlessly down the hallway and then down at the carpet where blackened ashes of his history stood.

Honestly, right now you were just grateful you weren’t a part of the pile.

[to-the-stars8]

Home For the Holidays

Jason Todd & Dick Grayson & Tim Drake All Chapters Ao3

A/N: Just a little Christmas story for the holidays I thought I would post. I don't know if I'll finish it before Christmas or at all, but we will definitely see how it goes! Sorry if the characters are a little OOC, I just wanted to try something new--tho I did try to stick with the og characteristics as much as I could. Also, I'm kind of keeping it sort of to the original timeline, which is why it's set in the 90s.

Jason, Tim, and Dick are stuck in the middle of who-knows-where with little to no money and only five days til Christmas. Not to mention, tensions are high between them, so they have to come together to figure out a way to get home.

December 20, 1992, Reno, NV

Last Christmas was playing on the radio in the motel room as Jason took a drag off a cigarette while he watched Tim try a kickflip for the third time in a row. The plastic lawn chair he was sitting on was rocking back and forth on its feeble legs. He could hear Dick arguing with Bruce on the guest room phone inside, and it was getting heated. Eventually, the conversation ended with Dick calling Bruce a shit father and slamming the phone down. Tim must have heard it from his spot in the parking lot by the way he gave Jason a questioning look but didn’t say anything. 

A few minutes later, Dick stepped out of the room. He sucked in a fresh breath of Reno air before exhaling slowly. It was something he had been doing lately to try and calm down, but, this time, it didn’t seem to be working. 

Taking another drag of his cigarette, he offered it to Dick who declined it with a slight wave of his hand. Jason raised his eyebrows in an ‘you’re loss’ gesture before asking, “What did our dear old Dad say?”

By the sour look on Dick’s face, it hadn’t been anything good. “He’s on some mission and can’t come. He’ll try to get in contact with Alfred, but I doubt he will if it’s not urgent. He also bitched at me for not calling on a ‘secure’ line.”

Jason was all but surprised. Bruce picked and chose when he wanted to be a loving father. Flicking away the bud of his cigarette, he finally said, “This place is too expensive to stay at, even though it’s a fuckin’ dump.” 

“We’ll figure something out,” Dick said, trying to be calm. “I’d like to be home for Christmas. We should be home for the holidays.”

For some reason, that annoyed Jason and he snapped back, “And how are we gonna get there, Richard? Right now, I got thirty dollars to my name, and I would bet that thirty dollars that you got less. I doubt the kid has anything to offer other than piss-poor skateboarding skills.”

“I can hear you, asshole,” Tim shouted across the parking lot. 

Jason ignored him before saying slowly to Dick, “Just give up the Christmas idea.”

“Just because you and Bruce don’t like each other, doesn’t mean he doesn’t like us.”

Dick was sure Jason would have gotten up to hit him just by the look on his younger brother’s face. Standing suddenly, Jason glared down at Dick before turning on his heel to stalk off. Dick, feeling guilty, tried to call him back, but it was useless. With a huff, he retreated into the room. The door slammed shut behind Dick, making Tim jump. 

It had been like a cycle of arguing before coming to a truce since the end of the mission, and Tim had just started to wait until the next time they would blow up at each other. He couldn’t picture Jason keeping any kind of positive attitude of any kind, and Dick didn’t really have the sort of temper that could tolerate anything but happiness and complacency. At the end of it all, it left Tim annoyed, Jason stomping off, and Dick trying not to blow up. 

With a sigh, Tim went to do another kickflip.

[angstywaifu]

Hi, how have you been??

I was wondering if your requests are still open? If so, it crosses my mind: what if Garrick had a cousin secretly dating Bodhi, and how would he and Xaden react if they found out about their relationship after Bo goes feral because Garrick's cousin is hurt?

It's just an idea, if your requests aren't open or makes you uncomfortable in any way I apologize and please forget I asked in the first place.

Love your work, btw. Bye 👋 💕

Worse Kept Secret - Bodhi Durran x Reader

A/N: Just like Bodhi not telling Xaden and Garrick, better late than never right? I'm so sorry this took so long to get to. I hope you like it!

Masterlist | Support Me

“We should probably tell them soon.” I tell Bodhi as we make our way to class.

Bodhi’s eyes widen before he shakes his head. “Hell no. Garrick would have my head if he found out about us.”

I roll my eyes. “You’re acting like he’s my brother.”

”He may as well be with how protective he is over you. Have you seen the way he glares at any guy that looks your way for a second too long?”

I sigh. “You’re over reacting, it will be fine. He’s going to have to find out eventually.”

”Yeah, when he’s stationed far away from here when he can’t hunt me down and murder me.” He says before coming to a stop outside his classroom.

It had been six months since Bodhi and I had started seeing each other. Both of us agreeing to keep it a secret at first in case it didn’t go well or we decided to go back to being friends. But six months in it was clear that this was going well, and it was getting harder and harder to cover up sneaking off together. Especially now Bodhi and I were helping with supply runs, meaning our time together was becoming more and more limited.

“No we are telling him before he graduates and gets stationed elsewhere.” I tell him sternly.

Bodhi’s shoulders sag in defeat, before slowly nodding his head. “Fine, but when my body turns up one morning in the middle of the rotunda just know it was because of you.”

I quickly check the hallway to make sure we’re alone before leaning up and kissing him on the cheek. “I’ll remember your noble sacrifice. See you at challenges.”

He chuckles and shakes his head at me as I turn and walk away to my own class.

Bodhi.

I rush into the training room, the familiar sounds of fighting echoing around the room as everyone watches on. My squads flight training had gone over time due to an inccident, so I’d missed the first half of challenges. I push my way through the crowd to the ususal spot I stand in with Y/N, Garrick, Xaden and Imogen. But as I break through the crowd the only one there is Imogen. I scan the mats in the centre of the room, expecting to see them fighting on one of the mats. But none of them are there. Strange.

”Where are the others?” I ask Imogen as I manouver into the gap next to her.

”Healers Quadrant.” She says timidly, as if almost scared to tell me. Which was not normal for her at all.

”Imogen, what’s wrong?” I ask, crossing my arms over my chest as I look down at her with narrowed eyes.

She looks up at me and recoils slightly at my stare. “Jeez, it’s scary how much you look like Xaden when you do that.”

”Imogen.” I say more sternly.

“It’s Y/N. She…”

”Imogen I swear to the gods you better tell me what happened.” I demand.

”She got badly hurt in challenges. That new Barlowe kid got paired up with her.”

I feel all the colour drain from my face at her words. Barlow had no care or regard for anyone but himself. He was ruthless, and was already known for killing quite a number of cadets already. As well as sending a long list of cadets to the Healers Quadrant in very bad condition.

I turn and shove my way through the crowd, Imogen calling out to me in an effort to stop me. She was pretty much the only one that knew about Y/N and I. She had covered for us numerous times after stumbling across us one night in an abandoned tower. Clearly it was not as abandoned as we had thought.

As soon as I push through the doors, I sprint over to the bridge connecting us to the rest of the college. But no matter how hard I push myself it feel as if time is slowing down, as if I’m running through mud.

I can’t help but think of the worse. I had seen first hand many times how Jack’s opponents had ended up post challenging him. Most of them unconscious, a lot of them gushing blood from some sort of wound, or…. Dead. No she isn’t dead. Imogen would have said so. But she had called out to me….

The thought has me pushing my legs harder, barrelling towards to door opening that finally looked like it was getting closer and closer. Rounding the corner, I nearly take out a healer who squeals with alarm as I dodge past her.

I push open the doors to the infirmary, Garrick and Xaden’s heads whipping towards me as I rush towards them. “Where is she?” I demand loudly as I stop in front of them, frantically looking around at the beds.

”She’s back there with Nolon.” Xaden tells me, nodding towards the closed door at the back of them room.

I side step him, starting to rush towards the doors before a hand grabs my flight jacket and hauls me backwards. I reel around, shoving Garrick in the chest hard, causing him to stumble back as he releases my jacket.

”What the hell has gotten into you?” He nearly yells at me, the room going silent as the healers look at us with alarm.

I freeze, realising I’m reacting in a way I probably shouldn’t be for someone they think I’m just friends with. Yes she was Garrick’s cousin, but I had only know her coming up to two years now. Garrick should be reacting like I am, which I’m sure on the inside he was.

“Sorry. Imogen just made it sound bad.” I say as I lower my gaze, awkwardly scratching the back of my head in an effort to pass this off.

”What did she say?” Xaden asks.

”That she was up against Barlowe.” I say quietly. Imogen hadn’t actually said it was bad, I had just assumed it was. If I was smart I would have rushed in and asked what happened. Not come barging in here like I was out for blood.

”And?” Garrick asks, his tone almost teasing as if he can see right through me.

“And that was it…” I mumble out, but with the breathy laugh I hear from the two of the I know they’ve heard me clear as day.

“Yes it could be better, but all Barlow managed to do was break her arm.” Xaden tells me, my head snapping up in relief at his words. A broken arm was nothing, happened all the time around here. And easy fix. And explained why she was in the back with Nolan.

”If anything, Barlowe should be the one you’re worried about.” Garrick says with a laugh.

I turn and follow his gaze to where Barlowe lays in one of the beds I’d missed in my scan of the room, clutching a very blood stained cloth to his side as the healers work to mend the wound. On his bedside table lays on of her daggers covered in his blood. I can’t help but smile knowing that she’d gotten him back, and done worse damage to him than he had done to her.

“Definitely not worried about him. He deserves it.” I say as I turn my attention back to them, both of them nodding in agreement.

I think I’ve gotten away with hiding why I reacted the way I did, until Garrick looks me in the eyes and just smirks at me. “So instead of trying to pass off your reaction due to Imogen being vague, you going to man up and tell me you’re dating my cousin?”

I feel like my heart stops as my eyes go wide. Xaden doesn’t even try to hide his laughter at my reaction to Garrick’s words.

”How the hell did you know?” I blurt out with out thinking, mentally slapping myself.

Garrick rolls his eyes. “You really trusted Imogen to keep your secret from us?”

I groan as I hide my head in my hands. “Definitely wasn’t your smartest move cousin.” Xaden says as he pats me on the back.

“Excuse me while I go find a certain pink haired cadet to murder.” I grumble out as I storm out of the infirmary back to the Rider’s Quadrant, Garrick and Xaden’s booming laughs echoing behind me

[scribbly-artist]

Lesson Learned

Summary: You’ve known Silco and Vander for a long time, you all go way back. They also know you’re a little shit - on purpose. Trouble makes it way back to you.

Author’s Notes: Thank you to my mutual for sending in the request for this one!! I had actually made a text post talking about writing something like this in the past. It goes to show that if you egg me on with ideas, I’ll write something for it. :^) I actually had a lot of fun writing this one too! Figuring out Vander and Silco’s dynamic as well as the Reader was really fun to put together. I didn’t write this inherently romantic but I think you can think of this one swinging either way! I hope everyone enjoys this one!! <3

Words: ~2,100 | AO3 Link

A quiet night at The Last Drop was always your preferred place to hang out and unwind. It was a Tuesday and no one else was around, despite being not that late into the evening.

It was good when the bar was empty, because you could hang out with your two mates - and owner’s of the place, Vander and Silco.

Both men have looked out for you tremendously. You were all mining buddies from way back when. You may be small, but you are undoubtedly mighty. They were quite surprised to see someone of your stature work in that kind of field. They never underestimate your skills, but they always made sure you were safe in those awful conditions. 

You've never had anyone to rely on your whole life - your family was long gone. These two were the closest you've had to family, and you were grateful for it. 

Music played from the jukebox and bounced across the walls as you took a sip from your glass. Straight from the bottle with a bit of ice: exactly how you like it. Vander was behind the bar cleaning up from the busy day, and Silco was writing in a book a stool away from you.

“Man, things are a lot more quiet these days, huh,” you mused aloud, taking another swig of your drink, the ice clinking gently. 

“It's better that way, don't you think?” Vander replied, swiftly cleaning a glass with a piece of cloth. 

“Well, yeah. I suppose. Not much to do these days other than putting your head down and working, though,” your finger circled the rim of the glass, fidgeting. “It wasn't the best, but I had a lot of fun in the mines.”

“You did?” Silco piped up, scribbling something down in the notebook with his pen, not looking away from his work. 

“Yeah - getting down and dirty was fun, until the debris-filled air got caught in your lungs,” reminiscing, you went through your memories. “I remember you two bickering over something real stupid, like an old married couple, and I had to be the voice of reason and break you two up.” You giggled as you spoke. 

Vander shook his head with a laugh. “I remember always saving you two from rocks falling on your heads. Yourself, in particular, were never the careful type.”

“I just had fun smashing rocks up, y'know? So what if a couple rocks fell on me?” You replied with a wave of your hand. 

Silco grabbed his glass, still writing in his book, taking a swig of his drink. “I remember you always bugging Vander and I on break - on purpose.” He gave you a bit of a side eye with a smirk. 

You returned his look with a smirk of your own, a glint in your eyes. “I remembered one way I used to annoy you,” you scooted over on your seat, leaning over and poking Silco in his side. He wasn't expecting that, his grip on his pen slipping on the paper. “I used to always poke and prod you while you wrote up our daily report on our break. Just so the higher ups couldn't read your handwriting.” You gave him another ticklish poke, making your point clear. 

Silco’s eyebrow twitched, messing up another word he was writing. He crossed it out. “I never had a way to stop you back then. You were always so persistent. And slippery...” Silco replied, not looking up from the notebook. Vander finished cleaning up the glasses, propping his elbows up on the bar, giving his full attention to both of you.

You gave him another poke with an added scribble, making Silco drop his pen onto the floor, turning to give you an unamused look. “I always brought the fun to our break, right?” You tilted your head with a smile.

“…but now, I might just have a way to stop you.” With a swift motion, Silco closed the notebook. “Vander, if you would.”

“Wha–” you didn't have a moment to get a word in as Vander made his way around the bar, grabbing you from behind. Vander lifted you slightly off of the ground, your feet just scraping the floor, encapsulating you in an almost bear hug. His hold was strong so you wouldn’t be able to wriggle yourself away, but he was gentle.

“Hey, hey hey hey, waitwait, what are you doing?” You asked, nervousness laced in your voice. Surely Silco and Vander wouldn't do anything awful to you, right?

“Every time you bugged me, and every time I tried to get you back, you swore up and down you weren't ticklish–”

“BECAUUUUSE I'm not, obviously,” you quickly interjected with a cautious laugh. 

“And every time I tried, you never gave a reaction. But thanks to our kind friend here,” Silco motioned to Vander. “He let me in on a little secret.”

You gasped in surprise, craning your neck to look at Vander, your eyes wide. “You didn't.”

Vander has a mischievous look in his eye. “Oh, I did.”

You remembered when Vander found out you were ticklish…

Silco had gone home early, but Vander and yourself were getting some equipment cleaned up. You had come to him after a rough day at the mines. You had hurt your shoulder from hauling material around, and Vander offered to try to massage your shoulder to make it feel better. 

You accepted his offer, and it was fine at first, under he squeezed in just the right way. You let out a squeak, Vander had thought he had hurt you at first and was worried. You denied that he hurt you, which relieved him, but he asked why that happened. You had to tentatively explain that it tickled. 

Vander had replied with something similar to “You know, he’s going to use that against you if he finds out about this?” with a smirk on his face. You practically begged Vander to not tell Silco a word of this, and he told you he wouldn't tell a soul…

Silco let out a dark chuckle as he could almost see the cogs turning in your brain. 

“Vander, you traitor!” You started to thrash about, but Vander held you tight. “You said you wouldn't tell him!” You weren’t really angry at either of them - you could definitely feel the sweat collecting on your palms, though.

“I figured I might as well. If you're reacting this awfully about it, then maybe it'd be a useful tactic to knock you down a few pegs whenever you're being a right little shit.” Vander let out a laugh at your demise. Your squirming was no match for his grip, you didn't even sway him in the slightest. Of course you couldn’t, his frame was a whole lot bigger than yours.

Silco took a step forward, the grin on his face all too evil. “It’s what you deserve for messing with the wrong person.” He was having way too much fun with this. Your heart skipped a beat with a bit of fear. Oh, shit!

“Noooo, no no, Silco, no, we can t-talk about this, right? We’re buddies?” Your smile was lopsided and wobbly, nervous giggles already teetering out from your throat. “Surely you can forgive me? It was all in good fun! Right??”

“You can’t worm your way out this time,” he inched his face closer, a sweat drop rolled down from your forehead. Your eyes darted to his hands as he flexed his fingers. “I’ll send the message across and make sure you think twice about trying to annoy me for your own amusement.”

Before you could sputter out anymore protests, Silco dug in.

He was terrifyingly gentle, was your first thought. His fingers skittered up and down your sides. You instinctively bit down on your lip hard to silence yourself. They both noticed this.

“Surely you know I won’t be satisfied until I get what I want?” Silco moved his gentle yet dexterous touch upwards, skittering into your unprotected underarms. He got a fair bit of extra thrashing from that, making him chuckle. Vander had to hold you a little tighter. “There’s no use holding it in, you understand?”

You shook your head back and forth, determined to hold your laughter at bay. You were not going to let them win this. 

Silco tsked, shaking his head. “Your stubbornness will be your downfall.”

You felt another, bigger hand poking around - uh oh, Vander was joining in. His touch was a bit rougher, his fingers scribbling around your stomach. Vander joining in along with Silco is what caused the dam to shatter into pieces.

“WaitwaitWAIT— AHAHA!!” You finally let it all out, laughing your head off with a big, goofy smile on your face. Silco and Vander leaned their heads back away from your face a little - they weren’t expecting your laugh to be so shrill and loud, it hurt their ears.

“Awfully loud, this one,” Vander commented, your cheeks turning red. “Though, they squeaked last time; wonder if we can draw that noise outta ‘em?”

“NohohoHO! D-Don’t you DAREEE!” You threatened with a whine, though not serious about it at all.

“You were never intimidating to begin with, let alone in this state,” Silco observed, moving his hands to trail down to your stomach, trading places with Vander who started squeezing at your ribs. You let out a squeak, exactly what they wanted. “Especially like this.”

“HAHAHA— no, nohohoho!! It tickles!!” You couldn’t hold back anymore, the feeling overwhelmed every nerve in your body.

“That’s the point.” Silco couldn’t help laughing at your silliness. Tears were budding in the corners of your eyes.

“Think the lesson stuck?” Vander piped up, his scribbling slowing to a stop. He still kept a grip on you, although you had stopped fighting back to save what little energy you had left.

“Yes... I believe so.” Silco gave you a couple more tweaks and pokes to your sides and ribs, and finally let up. He moved his arms away from your body, crossing them over his chest instead with a grin on his face. Vander loosened his grip on you. You nearly tumbled to the floor but managed to stay up right, your head hanging down to the floor. Your body felt like lead.

You greedily sucked in air, your chest rising and falling. You raised your head, eyeing Silco. “Has… has anyone ever t-told you that you can be scary if y-you could set your mind to it?” 

Silco stretched his hand out in a truce, and you grabbed on with your own. “While Vander has his size and his raw strength, I have my words. We’ve scared plenty off before.” Silco spoke with a laugh. Both men led you to sit down - Silco by the hand, Vander with a hand on your back - back on your stool at the bar.

Vander rounded the bar, refilling your forgotten and watered down drink with a new beverage and piece of ice. You grabbed your glass, raising it in thanks as you took a sip. Silco took his own seat back at the bar, drinking from his own glass.

“Didn’t overdo it, did we?” Vander questioned, reaching out to ruffle your hair. You giggled as you pushed your hand away.

“No, no, it was fine…” You could admit…  you thought you liked that little exchange. You were quiet for a moment, lost in thought.

Until you felt a poke in your side from Silco. “What’s wrong? Can’t handle a taste of your own medicine?” He teases.

“It’s not that…” you took a deep breath, resting your hand over your face. You could feel the subtle heat coming off of your checks. “Actually… I think I liked it…”

Both men paused for a moment in silence at your words. Vander was the first to speak, with a smile and a teasing lilt in this voice. “Isn’t that something?” He couldn’t stop himself from laughing, making you groan in response.

“That’s positively adorable of you.” Silco smirked, placing a hand on your shoulder with a wide grin. Your face only got more red as you covered it with your hands.

“Ughhhh, s-shut up…” your voice was muffled from your hands. “It just made me feel safe… and happy…”

“Looks like we’ll have to put you in your place more often, don’t you agree?” Vander asked, looking over to Silco who nodded a little bit too enthusiastically for your liking.

“Ugh,” you pulled your hands away from your face, throwing your head back. “I’m never going to live this down, am I?”

Your face only grew more crimson during the night as you got relentlessly teased and prodded at by your two favourite people. You wouldn’t ever admit it again, but deep down, you enjoyed it.

[elainsgirl]

I think one important way to tell what couple are the next MCs is which couple moves the plot forward. Elriel obviously are connected to every part of the main plot (and have always been). But I've been curious if I've missed something lately so I have been looking into gwynriel and elucien posts, to just listen and see what they think the plot of a gwynriel or elucien book would be. And there is just nothing, just like the past few years. Either nothing at all, or no consistency at all. Theories pointing in all directions, built on nothing, or straight up taking elriels clearly set up plot as gwynriels or eluciens. If I were wishing for gwynriel and elucien, this would seriously worry me. It should not be a mystery for readers to assume where the plot of the next book is going. But gwynriel and elucien truly have no consistent idea what their books would be about. Elriels have had a very reasonable and concistent canon based idea of the plot of an elriel book for years. Casual readers pick up on this too (see jordin sparks recently for example). New elriels come on here and have the same ideas of an elriel book without having interacted with the fandom before. Elriel is just so stable, clear, and reasonable. Truly obvious, as Sarah said.

I know this is a little pointless because we literally know Elains book is next, and Azriel is her only love interest. But out of curiosity, i wonder what is your idea of what gwynriels and eluciens think a gwynriel or elucien book would be about? I can't wrap my head around what they actually think.

Hey anon 🫶

I actually love this ask because after interacting with multiple antis across multiple platforms - your words are true. Antis do not have a clear set plot for their books. Different groups will say different things.

Generally, as a whole Elriels have always known the bond will play a role in Elaind’ book, especially given Azriels bonus. Elain choosing Az despite her mate will be the big moment. Finding a way to break the bond without Elain/Lucien having any repercussions. Allowing a new generation of faes to break their bonds if they’re unhappy with their mates and choose who to love of their own will. I know elriels have theorised the lore behind the cauldron and those theories have solidified after Hofas confirmed what we have thought to be true: Bonds can be corrupt and wrong -> Cauldron bonds are to match powerful faes = powerful offsprings: which makes sense why Lucien became Elains mate as Az was shot and weakened. I know lots of elriels including myself have theorised a two bond/two mate theory which is becoming more likely to happen in Elains’ book after confirmation that Az can scent eluciens unaccepted bond. As well as the fact that lots of elriels have always known that Elain and Az will be connected to the prison which will be explored in their book. Each sister has conquered a mountain so it stands to reason, Elain will as well. Elriels have agreed on a spy arc for Elain as it fits the foreshadowing given to us. So yeah, elriels have come together and have created a general outline of what Elains book will look like and its the same for almost every elriel.

As for antis, this is just what I have seen:

Elucien group 1: Gwynriel book > Elucien book. In Gwynriel book, Lucien finds out what happened between Elain and Azriel. Gets upset & distances himself from Elain. Elain has a vision of Koshei which means she will have too join Lucien and the B.O.E in going to Koshei’s lake. Cue forced proximity between lucien and elain, elain realises how stupid & mean she’s been so she grovels for Lucien. Him - being the good guy he is - chooses to forgive her and BAM they accept the bond and live happily ever after. Ofc AFTER they save Luciens girl bestie who he’s been living with happily. Through this, Elain will become happy as she is “depressed” in the Nc. Her besties will be Vassa and the man who made a r4pe joke about her Jurian.

Elucien group 2: Elain gets fed up with how the IC treat her, she is sick of them all and is heavily depressed in the NC. Plot filler and somehow Lucien ends up at Day. He realises his parentage, works on his powers. Elain represents the Nc and spends time at Day to strengthen the bond between NC and DC - this will happen through her throwing balls and attending them. Forced proximity between her and lucien, elain realises she’s so stupid for hurting him, grovels and then BAM they accept their bond and live happily ever after.

subgroup 2a - Helion dies in a BD initiated by Beron. BOOM, Lucien is crowned HL of Day and Elain HighLady.

Subgroup 2b - Elain and Lucien end up at spring. I don’t know why or how. They help Tam out. Make the Spring Court better. Tamlin dies and they’re crowned HLs of Spring.

I will say, more eluciens are solidifying on the lake plot (due to Sjms interest in a firebird retelling) they say elain will have a vision which will lead her there or it will be due to Papa’s bargain, so she will be the one to kill Koshei and free the women…definitely not the actual firebird in the series.

The issue with these two plots: Elain is not the focus, she is a side character to her own story. It ignores a Lot of canon and runs on assumptions instead. Elain’s character growth is her accepting the bond. Thats it.

Gwynriel. Idfk tbh. They change their tune a lot. So pre-hofas, Gwyn and Az were going to band together and reform Illyrian. Do what Rhys failed to do and ban wing clipping, spread the valkry agenda and help the women. Emerie would “guide” aka simply tag along and be present so this plot can’t be labelled for what it is: the white saviour trope. Anyways, the book would just be about Az healing. Someone suggested him seeing a therapist bcs Az having feelings for Elain was that bad and showed how unhinged his character was. So through this healing he would notice Gwyn, friends to lovers trope -> they fall in love and BANG!, plot twist, they’re ✨mates✨ bet you didn’t see that coming.

Post-Hofas, Nesta and Az will need Gwyn to do research on the 8 pointed star and made weapons. Gwyn is something special and allows her to use Gwydion. This somehow leads them too the prison where Gwyn and Az (sometimes Nesta is included) will revive the prison through song, healing - light & shadows. Dusk will be reborn, Nesta will be HL. Gwyn her first in command. The whole acosf gang leave the NC and move to Dusk where they live happily ever after. wait..I think I forgot a key point…oh yh. Somewhere between all of this: Elriel will end in a terrible kiss and both them agreeing they were idiots who were using each other to ignore how they truly felt and then…

BOING! Gwynriel are revealed to be mates. Suprise!

my humble opinion is that Gwynriels/Eluciens are more focused on the vibes, dynamic, tropes then the actual Plot. For example, They can say, “X” will happen but won’t be able to prove it so they never truly develop “X” it’s just an idea with loose- very loose- canon foundation. However, they can write multiple HCs based on tropes and the dynamic they want for the characters as thats how they maks their ships enticing and interesting. Honestly, there’s only a limited plot either ship has and its not based on foreshadowing more like connecting random pieces of info together instead of paying attention to the info the author connects together. I can do that with any ship as well. You can do it too. I also think antis just think Mass will do all the foreshadowing in one single book instead of pacing it out like she is known for.

With elriel - there is a solid plot that has been foreshadowed for 3 books. If I tell you “in Elains book, one subplot is her becoming a spy” I will be able to back that claim up with multiple canon information the author intentionally wrote in a way that leads you to believe this. Elriels are consistent- we aren’t divided on many things. We all have a general idea for the book. Many theories & plot ideas are the same. We aren’t unclear of what will happen in Elains book. The majority of us have Elain front and Centre. Focusing on her potential & growth as a character. We incorporate Azriel into Elains storyline. With antis, especially eluciens, Elain is weaved into Luciens main storyline.

When you read the books w an unbiased lens, its clear which couple has a plot that moves the story forward and allows it to branch into other potential side stories, which again. Mass is known for.

[fairyniceyeah]

You made my dawn - Food coma 😸🐕🐢

Titel from 1 to 13 (SEVENTEEN)

Previous story: Lost in the big city

Summary: Even as the situation could have been avoided and mixing various cuisines was not the smartest idea, she couldn’t help but feel bad. All three of them looked miserable, clearly having been unable to estimate their limit.

CW: emeto

Main characters: Jun + Mingyu + Hansol/Vernon

Comfort came in many, many ways but there was something undeniably comforting about good food. Eunji just wished that her trainees had a bit more common sense. 

It was pretty late in the evening when she got a call from Jun, which was rather unexpected. The trainees had been overjoyed when they were finally given phones and they all used them responsibly, often just to communicate with family in the night. Jun especially never had been one to call her much unless it was an emergency. So she fumbled with her phone instantly, worried what might have happened.

“Noona?”, Jun greeted her, his voice strained, “we, uh, we have a bit of a problem. Hansollie really isn’t feeling well.”

“Oh no”, Eunji mumbled, her mind running through all interactions she had with the young trainee that day. She couldn’t remember noticing that something was off - it must be a recent thing. She reached for her purse, ready to rush across the hall over to the trainee dorm. “I’ll be there in a few minutes.”

“Uhm, noona”, Jun said, a strange sound to his voice. “We, uh, we’re not at the dorm.”

That stopped Eunji dead in her tracks.

“What do you mean?”, she asked. “Where are you, cutie?”

She swore, if they went to practice again …

“We’re at the Chinese restaurant by the park”, Jun replied sheepishly. 

“Uh huh”, Eunji said, “pray tell me what you were doing there?”

“Well, it’s … it’s my fault. I said I missed Chinese food and then Hansollie said he wanted to eat some American food again and Mingyu then suggested that we should just go restaurant-hopping … no, Mingyu, it was your idea … sorry, noona. Well, now we are here and I think Hansollie had a bit too much food.”

Eunji ran her hand through her hair. She expected to see gray hair any day now. The kids were impossible. But she understood - she knew Jun loved his home country’s cuisine and both Mingyu and Hansol loved to experiment with food and none of the three really knew when to stop. Maybe it was the restricted eating that the company had introduced to them against her will - they didn’t know how to tell when they were full anymore. For now she could do nothing but make sure they were okay.

“Okay, tell me your location and I’ll come get you with the car”, she said.

“I told you, the Chinese restaurant by the park.”

“Junnie, there are at least twenty Chinese restaurants…”

“The good one…”

“Jun…”

“Noona, the authentic one, come on…”

“Jun…”

“I’ll send you the address.”

“Thank you.”

Ten minutes later Eunji found her three charges sitting on the sidewalk by the address Jun had sent her. As she parked the car and got out, she found all three of them looking a bit uncomfortable. 

“Noona”, Mingyu whined, his classic pout on his lips and rushing to cling to her. “I’m never eating again.”

“Hm, I doubt that, dear”, she mumbled, mustering the three of them.

Surprisingly Mingyu looked the best out of the three, while he seemed to be a bit pale, at least he was standing and walking. Hansol was curled up, arms wrapped around his stomach and he was pale, looking pained and queasy. Jun was sitting beside him, arm wrapped around Hansol’s shoulder but he had a hand on his stomach too.

Eunji shook her head and sighed, kneeling down in front of them. 

“Hey, Hansollie”, she mumbled, brushing back a strand of his hair. “Bit too much food, buddy?”

Hansol just groaned. 

“Junnie, how are you?”, she asked, noting how protective Jun seemed about his stomach. 

“I feel so full, noona. My stomach hurts and I’m kinda nauseous”, Jun admitted.

Eunji nodded. Even as the situation could have been avoided and mixing various cuisines was not the smartest idea, she couldn’t help but feel bad. All three of them looked miserable, clearly having been unable to estimate their limit.

“Let’s get you all home, okay?”, she suggested. 

Hansol was pliant as she helped him up, settling him in the front seat. With his motion sickness she didn’t want to take any chances. Mingyu also just slumped into the backseat. When Eunji had helped settle Hansol she turned to find Jun awkwardly standing by the backseat car door, looking uncomfortable.

“What’s wrong, Junnie?”, she asked, reaching out to place a hand on his shoulder.

“I think I need to puke, noona”, he whispered shakily, a hand on his chest as if he didn’t want to publicly raise it to his mouth. 

“Now?”, Eunji asked, already frantically looking around for a spot.

Jun nodded, turning greenish. 

“Alright, come on, cutie”, Eunji mumbled and grabbed his hand. “Stay where you are”, she called to the younger members and rushed Jun into the restaurant. A server looked at them confused, but ready to stop them until she saw Jun’s face. She instantly pointed them towards the bathrooms.

As soon as they entered the big, single stall bathroom, Jun was bent over the sink, heaving violently. Eunji locked the door and just reached him in time as the first wave of vomit came up. She brushed his longish hair back and rubbed his back, whispering soothing words. 

Jun just kept gagging and retching, his stomach turning itself inside out. It was hard to watch as more and more chunky, thick, brown puke fell into the sink. Eunji shuddered when she realised that she could sort of piece together what he had eaten and instead focused on washing the sick away with the facet. 

“Noona”, Jun gasped, tears in his eyes. “I … “ He stopped himself, gagging again. “I feel so sick.”

“I know, Junnie, I know”, Eunji mumbled, “you’re gonna be okay.”

It took a few more minutes, so much coming up, until Jun was able to stop. Euni gently helped him straight up, washed away the remnants of vomit in the sink and held him steady as he washed his face and swished his mouth. 

“Do you feel a bit better after you got all of that out?”, Euni asked, running her hand through his hair.

“Yeah, sorry”, Jun mumbled sheepishly. 

“It’s alright. I’m just glad you feel better. Do you feel ready to go home?”

Jun ignored her question, his eyes filling with tears.

“I’m so sorry, noona”, he whispered, “it’s all my fault. That Mingyu-yah and Hansollie aren’t feeling well. I … I was feeling homesick and I said I really wanted to eat real Chinese food again and so they said they wanted to try it too. Hansollie started talking about hamburgers and pizza and other American food and then Mingyu suggested we try all three. So we ate some Korean street food and American street food and ended up here as the final joy. I … if I …”

“Oh, Junnie, no”, Eunji mumbled and pulled him into her arms, his body shaking softly against hers. “You miss home, that’s okay. I understand, we all understand. I think it’s pretty nice that Mingyu and Hansol tried to cheer you up, hm? Of course, you maybe shouldn’t have done it all in one sitting but you’ll learn from this.”

Jun nodded against her and took a deep breath. “Can we go home?”

“Of course.”

The drive home luckily wasn’t as exciting. Jun and Minygyu were cuddling in the backseat and Hansol was slowly starting to relax in the front seat. Once they reached the parking garage, Mingyu and Jun helped each other out of the car while Eunji took Hansol’s hand, leading them all up to the dorm.

“Go lie down on the couch, okay?”, she suggested, “I’ll get you something to help you feel better.”

Together the three of them sadly shuffled to the living room, collapsing into a pile of teenage boy. Eunji grabbed some stomach medicine from the kitchen cupboard as well as some water bottles and a bucket, just in case. She activated the kettle and brought the other items to the couch before filling up the two hot water bottles they had. 

She smiled when she saw the three of them. Hansol was curled up in a tiny ball in one corner, Mingyu holding his hand. Jun was curled up in Mingyu’s lap, while the tallest was stretched out. Gently Eunji placed a hot water bottle against both Mingyu’s and Jun’s stomachs, both exhaling in relief as the warmth soothed their muscles.

She contributed the medicine before settling down with them by Hansol’s side. As expected, the youngest quickly crawled into her lap, and grabbed her hand, playing it against his tummy. Eunji rubbed tender circles against his skin, knowing it was what soothed the kid the most. 

“Rest”, she told them, “I’ll be here if you need anything. Next time, just let me know and I’ll drive you to some good food, okay? You don’t have to pay for a piece of home and comfort yourself.”

Next story: Big brother

[movingmusically]

Author’s Note:

This is probably as close as I’ll ever get to writing Feyd, I thought I’d use this request as my opening. Pairing is Austin x actress!girlfriend.

Word Count: 9,032

Masterlist

Feyd’s Darling

You adjust the strap of your bag on your shoulder, taking a steadying breath as you step into the sleek black SUV waiting to take you to the studio. The small cameo you’ve agreed to shoot today isn’t like the roles you’re used to. You’ve built your career playing complicated, deeply layered characters that demand weeks of preparation. But this? This was something entirely different.

You weren’t here for the role itself. Playing one of Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen’s Harpies—a voiceless, eerie presence in a pivotal scene—wasn’t what had drawn you to the set of Dune: Part 2. No, you’d agreed to this for one reason.

Austin.

It had been months since you’d last seen him. Between his rigorous training and rehearsals for Dune and your own shooting schedule overseas, time together had become scarce. You’d been surviving on stolen moments over FaceTime—late-night conversations where he’d look impossibly tired but still manage to make you laugh, and texts exchanged in the middle of the night when one of you was just waking up, and the other was finally going to sleep.

But today, for the first time in what felt like forever, you’d get to see him. In person.

The thought makes you smile as the car weaves through traffic. Austin had been dropping hints about how much work he’d put into the role—his training regimen, the diet, the months of preparation to embody Feyd. He’d downplayed it, of course, but you could hear the pride in his voice.

You’d also seen glimpses of the transformation in those FaceTime calls—the way his posture had straightened, the sharper angles of his jaw, the quiet intensity that crept into his eyes when he talked about the character. He’d joked about being “a total monk” while preparing for the role, but you knew how much it meant to him. And now, you were about to see the results of that hard work up close.

You glance down at your phone, re-reading his last message for what feels like the hundredth time:

Can’t wait to see you, Harpy. Don’t let me distract you too much. ;)

The nickname makes you laugh softly. It had started as a joke after Denis Villeneuve—Denis Villeneuve!—had suggested you for the cameo. You’d almost turned it down because of scheduling conflicts, but the idea of working with Austin on something this big, even for just one scene, had been impossible to resist.

You catch your reflection in the car window and smooth your hair. It’s not every day you step onto a set like this—not as yourself, at least. This wasn’t your project. This was his. You weren’t here to command the spotlight. You were here to be a part of something bigger. And for once, you didn’t mind.

As the SUV pulls up to the studio gates, your heart flutters. The driver rolls through security, and you sit up a little straighter, anticipation thrumming through you. It’s ridiculous, you think. You’ve been with Austin for years. You’ve shared countless moments more intimate than this. And yet, the thought of seeing him here, in his element, makes your pulse race.

The car slows to a stop, and you push your sunglasses up into your hair before stepping out. The familiar scent of a busy set—dry, metallic air tinged with the faint smell of latex—hits you immediately. Around you, assistants dart back and forth with costumes and props, crew members shout directions over the hum of machinery, and towering set pieces loom in the distance like alien monoliths.

Your eyes scan the chaos, searching for him. And then, you see him.

Austin.

He’s walking across the lot in a dark hoodie and sweatpants, the hood down, his hands stuffed into his pockets as he talks with an assistant. Even from a distance, you can feel the quiet confidence in his stride, the subtle shift in him that had started months ago when he first began preparing for this role.

As if sensing your gaze, he glances up—and freezes.

The grin that spreads across his face is immediate and infectious. He starts toward you, his pace quickening until he’s practically jogging, weaving around crew members and equipment.

“Hey,” he says, his voice warm and familiar, tinged with the kind of relief that only months of separation can bring.

“Hey yourself,” you reply, grinning as he reaches you and wraps his arms around you, pulling you close.

The first thing you notice is the heat of him, the way his body feels solid, firm against yours. It’s not just the closeness you’d missed—it’s the way he’s changed. His chest is broader, his arms stronger, and you can feel the sheer strength of him as he holds you like he doesn’t want to let go.

Before you can say anything else, he dips his head, his lips brushing against yours in a kiss that’s soft and sweet but lingers just enough to make your heart race.

“You made it,” he murmurs, his forehead resting lightly against yours as he pulls back just enough to look at you.

“Of course I did,” you reply, your hands resting on his chest as you take him in. Up close, the subtle changes in him are even more obvious—the sharper lines of his jaw, the faint shadows under his eyes that speak to how hard he’s been working. “You look…”

“Different?” he finishes with a crooked grin.

You laugh. “Yeah. Different.” Your hands slide down to his arms, squeezing gently. “Have you been hiding these from me, or did this just happen overnight?”

His laugh is low and bashful, and he rubs the back of his neck. “I mean, it’s been a lot of work, but… it’s been worth it. Honestly, I’ve enjoyed it more than I thought I would.”

You smile, your hands still resting on his arms. “That’s because you don’t know how to do anything halfway. You’ve been obsessed with this since day one.”

One of the assistants calls his name, gesturing toward the makeup trailer. Austin glances over, then back at you, his hand lingering on your waist.

“I gotta go,” he says, his voice tinged with regret. “But we’ll talk later, yeah? Between takes.”

You nod, smiling. “Go. I’ll see you on set, na-Baron Feyd-Rautha.”

He groans, backing away with a grin. “Stop with the titles. I don’t need an even bigger ego.”

As he disappears into the trailer, you let out a slow breath, your heart still fluttering. It’s only the beginning of the day, but already, you can feel it—it’s going to be one you’ll never forget.

After Austin heads off, you’re guided toward the makeup trailer by a friendly assistant. It’s bustling with activity, prosthetic pieces laid out like delicate artefacts on metal trays, airbrush machines hissing softly in the background. You take it all in with quiet fascination. As seasoned as you are in the industry, it never stops being surreal to see these massive productions come to life.

A makeup artist greets you with a warm smile. “Right on time. We’ve got everything set up for you.” You nod, slipping into the chair they gesture toward.

The makeup process takes far longer than you anticipated. You sit patiently as the team works around you, transforming every inch of your face and head into something alien and terrifying.

It starts with the bald cap—a delicate, almost surgical process that requires precise glue application and hours of smoothing to make it seamless. One artist carefully stretches the material over your hairline while another paints and blends until it looks like your skin. The sensation is strange and a little claustrophobic, but you’ve been through similar transformations before. You know the end result will be worth it.

“How’s it looking?” you ask, glancing in the mirror halfway through.

“Still human,” the lead artist jokes, not even pausing as they work. “But don’t worry, we’ll fix that soon.”

After the bald cap is finished, they move on to your skin. Airbrushes hum softly as they pale your complexion, giving it an unnatural, ghostly tone. Every inch of you, from your jawline to the exposed parts of your arms and shoulders, is meticulously blended to match.

Then come the details—the black, predatory contacts that make your irises look soulless, and the finishing touch: the black dental inserts.

The assistant holding them out gives you an apologetic smile. “These are going to feel weird, but you’ll get used to them.”

You slide the inserts into your mouth, testing the fit. The sharp metallic taste is immediate, and you can’t help but grimace when you flash a grin at the mirror. Your teeth are pitch black, turning your smile into something sinister.

“Yikes,” you mutter, leaning closer to inspect. “I look like I crawled out of someone’s nightmare.”

“Perfect,” the makeup artist says with a grin. “That’s exactly what we’re going for.”

The final piece is the costume, which you’re guided into with the help of the wardrobe team. The sleek black leather clings to your body like a second skin, the high collar and sharp lines giving you a distinctly otherworldly edge. It’s tight—so tight that even breathing feels measured—but the effect is undeniable.

When you catch a glimpse of yourself in the full-length mirror, it almost doesn’t feel real. You tilt your head, trying to reconcile the figure staring back at you with the person who stepped into the trailer hours ago.

“You ready?” one of the wardrobe assistants asks, adjusting a strap on your shoulder.

“Yeah,” you say softly, taking one last look before turning to the door. “Let’s do this.”

The set is already alive with activity when you step out. The metallic hum of machinery mixes with the low murmur of voices, and the air is heavy with the scent of paint and latex. Crew members move purposefully around towering Harkonnen set pieces, their dark, industrial design making the atmosphere feel even more claustrophobic.

You clutch the edges of your robe closer to your body, the leather of your Harpy costume beneath sticking uncomfortably to your skin. The tightness of the ensemble, the black teeth, the bald cap—it’s all doing its job a little too well. You already feel like a stranger in your own skin, which you suppose is the point.

“Looking good, Harpy,” one of the crew members quips as they pass by, giving you an approving nod.

You smile politely, but your attention is drawn to the massive table at the centre of the room. This will be the focal point of the scene—a dark, sinister slab surrounded by smaller props that look like they belong in an alien torture chamber. A few assistants bustle around it, carefully setting up what appears to be ceremonial knives and goblets.

Before you can take another step, you hear the sound of a door opening behind you. The quiet hum of the set is broken as someone steps inside, and you know, even before you turn around, that it’s him.

“Austin’s here!” one of the assistants announces, and the energy in the room shifts slightly as everyone turns to greet him.

You turn, and there he is.

He’s wearing a simple black robe that hangs open just enough to hint at the body beneath. The bald cap, perfectly blended, makes his already sharp features look even more defined, and his posture—straight, confident, almost regal—is unmistakably Feyd.

But it’s his eyes that catch you. Even as he exchanges pleasantries with the crew, his gaze finds yours, and for a moment, it feels like it’s just the two of you in the room.

He crosses the set toward you, a grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Well, well,” he says, his voice low enough that only you can hear. “If it isn’t my favourite pet.”

You smirk, crossing your arms over your chest. “Nice robe. You make that look work for you?”

He chuckles, glancing down at himself. “You tell me.” His grin widens, his eyes sweeping over you in your full Harpy transformation. “You look… amazing. Creepy, but amazing.”

“You’re one to talk,” you shoot back, tilting your head toward him. “I think you’ve got me beat in the creepy department.”

“Good,” he says, his tone playful but carrying just a hint of Feyd’s menace. “I wouldn’t want anyone stealing my spotlight.”

“Trust me,” you say, raising an eyebrow. “No one’s stealing anything from you.”

Before either of you can say more, a familiar voice calls out across the room.

“Ah, there’s my pair of troublemakers!”

You both turn to see Denis Villeneuve striding toward you, his expression warm but sharp, as if he’s already calculating how to squeeze the perfect shot from the scene.

“Troublemakers?” Austin echoes, smirking. “I’m on my best behaviour, Denis. You know that.”

Denis laughs, shaking his head. “Your best behaviour is still dangerous, my friend.” He turns to you, his eyes flicking over your costume with an approving nod. “And you—fantastic. Exactly what we needed.”

“Thanks,” you say, smiling. “This whole setup is incredible. The design, the atmosphere… it’s amazing to see it all come together.”

Denis waves a hand as if to brush off the compliment, but the pride in his expression is unmistakable. “It’s a team effort,” he says before glancing between you and Austin. “And now it’s your turn to make it sing. Are you two ready?”

Austin glances at you, his smirk softening into something more genuine. “Oh, we’re ready,” he says, his tone low and confident.

Denis nods, clapping his hands once to signal to the crew. “Good. Let’s get everyone into position.”

You’re positioned on the dark, slightly raised mattress in the centre of the set, flanked by the other Harpies. The leather of your costume creaks faintly as you shift into place, finding a pose that feels both regal and predatory. A prop goblet filled with thick, inky liquid rests lightly in your hand, and your black teeth glint as you test the angle of your jaw under the harsh studio lights.

Denis steps forward, adjusting the camera’s angle slightly. “Alright,” he says, his tone calm but authoritative, “we’ll start from the top. Harpies, I need you to feel utterly intoxicated. You’re watching him not as a man, but as a god. And Feyd…” He glances at Austin, who is standing at the centre of the room in his robe, his expression unreadable. “You own this space. No hesitation, no weakness.”

Austin nods, his face hardening as he prepares to shed himself and fully step into Feyd. A makeup assistant approaches, slipping off his robe, and suddenly, the set seems to fall into a collective hush.

He stands there, bare-chested, as the attendants begin applying the jet-black mud to his torso with precise, almost reverent strokes. The paint clings to the hard lines of his muscles, accentuating the strength and sinew he’s worked so hard to build.

Your breath catches slightly, but not just because of how striking he looks—though it’s impossible to ignore. It’s the way he holds himself, every inch of him embodying Feyd as though the character has seeped into his bones. You’ve always known how hard he works, how deeply he commits to every role, but seeing it up close like this… it’s something else entirely.

Every glance, every subtle movement of his body is deliberate, calculated. Even in stillness, he exudes an intensity that fills the room. You can’t help but admire how completely he’s transformed—not just physically, but mentally.

This isn’t Austin anymore. This is Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen, a creature of cruelty and cunning. Watching him, you realise there’s no trace of the man you know and love in the sharp smirk curling his lips, in the deadly precision with which he handles the blade. It’s almost unsettling, but it only deepens your awe.

“Focus,” you remind yourself, forcing your expression to remain neutral as you slip back into character.

“Action!” Denis calls, his voice ringing out across the set.

Austin moves into place, his bare feet stepping purposefully on the metallic floor. The attendants surround him, their movements graceful but subservient as they smear more mud onto his skin. His gaze is sharp, scanning the room with an almost predatory detachment, before landing on the three of you—his Harpies.

His lips curl into a smirk that’s equal parts seductive and cruel.

“Would you like some fresh meat, my darlings?” he purrs, his voice low and velvety, with just enough menace to make the hair on the back of your neck stand up. “Lungs? A liver? What would you like? I hear they are big today.”

You and the other Harpies exchange subtle glances, your eyes gleaming with an almost feral hunger as you raise your goblets to your lips. The movement is slow, deliberate, meant to convey intoxication rather than haste. You let the thick liquid slide down your throat, suppressing the urge to gag at the bitter taste of the fake drink.

The tension in the room builds as the Weapons Master enters, grovelling before Feyd as he presents the blades. Austin steps forward, taking the white dagger in his hand and running the blade along his tongue in a move so smooth, so unnervingly casual, that even you feel a chill crawl up your spine.

You know this moment is calculated—designed to unsettle—but it’s so flawlessly executed that you forget for a second you’re on a set. You’re not just watching Austin act; you’re witnessing the culmination of months of effort. The discipline, the preparation, the way he’s pushed himself to inhabit this character—it all hits you at once, and you feel a swell of pride so intense it almost distracts you.

But it’s more than pride. It’s a magnetic pull, an overwhelming need to keep watching him. His body, honed to perfection, moves with a deadly grace that makes it impossible to look away. Every muscle, every sharp edge of his frame, tells a story of sacrifice and dedication.

The scene continues, building to the moment when Feyd turns his attention to the attendants. With brutal efficiency, he slices into the first, testing the blade with disturbing ease. As the actress crumples to the ground, clutching her neck, your job is to remain impassive, watching with a detached sort of curiosity.

When he stabs the second attendant in the ribs, over and over, you feel the weight of the scene—the cruelty, the coldness—but it’s tempered by your knowledge of the man behind it. He’s brilliant, you think, your chest tightening. Brilliant, disciplined, and utterly unstoppable.

“Cut!” Denis calls suddenly, and the spell breaks.

The room shifts as people spring into action, assistants rushing forward to reset the props and help the actors reset their positions. Austin steps back, his features softening as he glances at Denis for feedback.

“That was good,” Denis says, stepping forward. “But I want more menace from Feyd. The cruelty is there, but the charm—it’s a little too subtle. Remember, these people worship you. They want to fear you. And Harpies…” He turns to the three of you with a thoughtful smile. “I love the stillness, but I think we can push the intoxication further. Let’s see a little more… hunger.”

You nod, adjusting your position slightly as you exchange a glance with the other actresses.

By the time the cameras roll again, the atmosphere on set feels electric. Austin’s movements are sharper now, his command of the space absolute. Every glance, every shift of his body exudes dominance and danger, and as he delivers his line—

“Would you like some fresh meat, my darlings?”

—you feel a shiver run down your spine, not from fear, but from awe at how fully he’s become Feyd.

The scene flows seamlessly this time. Feyd’s smirk is perfectly calculated, the brutality of his actions balanced by the charisma in his tone. When he stabs the second attendant, the room feels charged, the energy thick and tangible.

As the third attendant trembles, Feyd tilts his head, his expression almost curious as he murmurs, “A notch off balance.”

The Weapons Master visibly quakes, and as Feyd delivers the final, cutting line—“It’s the tip. Should be sharper. See?”—you feel the perfect synchronisation of every element in the room, from the lighting to the acting to the unspoken tension that hangs in the air.

“Cut!” Denis calls, and this time, the applause is immediate.

As the crew begins to clear the set, you stay frozen in place for a moment, your goblet still clutched loosely in your hand. Your heart is pounding, your breaths shallow, and not because of the scene itself. It’s because of him.

Austin moves off to the side, brushing some of the remaining mud from his chest, and you can’t take your eyes off him. The sharp lines of his muscles, the powerful way he moves, the way his body looks like it’s been sculpted out of marble—it all leaves you breathless. But it’s more than that.

It’s the way he’s able to command a room, to hold everyone’s attention with nothing more than a glance or a shift of his tone. It’s the discipline you know he’s poured into this role, the months of preparation that have transformed him into something unrecognisable, yet still him.

You swallow hard, a heat spreading through your chest as you watch him joke quietly with one of the assistants, his easy smile making him seem so at ease despite the weight of the scene he’s just performed.

You feel something deeper than admiration bloom in your chest—something heavier, something that sends your pulse racing as your eyes linger on the curve of his shoulders, the taut muscles of his back.

He glances at you suddenly, catching you staring, and his lips quirk into a subtle, knowing smirk. He doesn’t say anything, but the look in his eyes—the flicker of heat, the way they sweep over you briefly—says enough.

The tension coils tighter, a silent promise that you’ll deal with this later, when there’s no one else around.

“Alright,” Denis says, cutting through your thoughts. “Let’s move on to the close-ups. Take five while we reset!”

Austin walks toward you, his smile softening as he steps closer. He doesn’t say anything at first, just looks at you with those impossibly sharp eyes, his chest still streaked with remnants of black paint.

“You’re staring, Harpy,” he murmurs, his voice low enough to make your breath catch. His smirk deepens as he stands over you, his shadow falling across your body sprawled on the mattress. “Should I be flattered?”

You tilt your head, forcing yourself to stay in character just a little longer. “What can I say? You do make a rather commanding figure.”

The corner of his mouth twitches, somewhere between Feyd’s menace and Austin’s genuine amusement. His gaze sweeps over you, lingering on the gleaming leather of your costume, the sharp lines of your body pressed into the dark mattress. His eyes darken slightly, a flicker of heat passing through them, and the tension between you tightens like a wire.

“Funny,” he says, leaning down until his face is level with yours, his voice dropping into something velvety and teasing. “I was about to say the same thing about you. My perfect little pet.”

Your breath hitches, and for a moment, you forget about the dozen or so crew members moving around the set, the cameras, the fact that you’re supposed to be preparing for the next take. It’s just him, towering over you, his voice dripping with that intoxicating mix of Feyd’s menace and Austin’s natural warmth.

“Careful,” you manage to reply, your voice softer than you intended. “You’re going to make me forget which one of us is supposed to be worshipping the other.”

He chuckles, and the sound sends a shiver through you. His fingers brush lightly against the edge of your goblet, his touch deliberate, teasing. “Oh, don’t worry. There’s plenty of time for that later.” His words are a promise, quiet enough that only you can hear them.

Your heart races, your pulse thrumming in your ears as he straightens up, his expression smoothing back into Feyd’s calculated coolness. He lingers for a moment longer, his gaze locking with yours, and then he steps away, moving toward the crew without another word.

You let out a slow, shaky breath, gripping the goblet in your hands as you try to steady yourself. It’s ridiculous, you think, how easily he can undo you with just a few words, a look, a slight shift in tone. But that’s Austin—and right now, it’s Feyd.

You glance toward him as he speaks with Denis, gesturing toward the set pieces with a calm authority that only enhances his commanding presence. He’s in his element, and watching him like this—completely focused, utterly confident—you feel that familiar rush of pride and admiration, mingled with something much deeper.

“Places for close-ups!” someone calls, and the noise of the set begins to rise again as everyone scrambles to reset. You shift on the mattress, falling back into your predatory pose, but your mind is still on him.

The tension between you now feels electric, and you know, without a doubt, that this isn’t over. It’s only a matter of time before you’re alone, and that thought is enough to send a thrill of anticipation coursing through you.

For now, you tell yourself, you’ll keep it together. You’re a professional, after all. But as the cameras start rolling again, and Austin steps back into place, you can’t help but let your gaze linger on him just a second too long.

“Cut! That’s a wrap for this scene,” Denis calls out, his voice cutting through the hum of the set. “Fantastic work, everyone.”

The relief on set is palpable as the crew begins dismantling the setup for the next scene. The assistants start clearing props while Denis reviews the playback with the camera operators. You stay seated on the mattress for a moment, stretching your legs out and rolling your neck, trying to shake off the stiffness that comes with hours of holding predatory poses.

Austin approaches, still partially smeared with remnants of the black mud. He wipes at his chest absently with a towel handed to him by an assistant, though it does little to remove the dark streaks. Despite the intensity of the scene, he’s grinning, that boyish charm slipping through the cracks of Feyd’s menace.

“Not bad for a bunch of creepy Harpies,” he says, glancing between you and the other actresses. His voice is light, but his gaze lingers on you, softening slightly.

“Not bad for a sadistic na-Baron either,” you reply, smirking up at him as you shift on the mattress. “I think Denis might actually keep you around.”

Austin huffs a laugh, reaching up to scratch at the edge of his bald cap. “High praise. Should I be flattered?”

Before you can reply, Denis himself appears, his expression a mix of satisfaction and his usual sharp focus. “Austin, you were brilliant,” he says, gesturing animatedly. “The menace, the presence—it’s exactly what we needed. You owned the scene.”

Austin grins, brushing a hand over the back of his neck. “Thanks, Denis. Means a lot.”

Denis turns to you, his gaze appraising but warm. “And you…” He points at you, nodding in approval. “Exactly what I wanted from the Harpies. Controlled, predatory, but magnetic. You brought a presence to the scene that elevated everything.”

“Thank you,” you say, smiling as you push yourself up from the mattress. “This whole setup made it easy to slip into character. I mean, how could I not be terrifying in this costume?”

Denis chuckles, glancing briefly at your leather ensemble. “True. But it’s more than the costume. You both brought something special to this. This scene—it’s going to stand out. I can feel it.”

You glance at Austin, catching the flicker of pride in his eyes as Denis continues. For a moment, it feels like the three of you are the only ones in the room, the noise of the crew fading into the background.

“Well,” Denis says, clapping Austin on the shoulder before turning to you with a nod, “you’ve earned your break. Go get out of those costumes, and we’ll see you tomorrow.”

You’re back in the makeup trailer, sitting side by side with Austin as the team carefully removes the layers of prosthetics, paint, and black inserts. The atmosphere in the trailer is quieter now, a calm after the storm of filming.

You lean back in your chair, closing your eyes as the lead makeup artist gently peels the bald cap from your scalp. “I’ll never get used to how weird this feels,” you mutter, earning a chuckle from Austin beside you.

“Think of it as a free facial,” he jokes, his voice lighter now that the day’s intensity is behind him.

You turn your head slightly to glance at him, watching as one of the assistants wipes away the remnants of the black mud from his chest. Even out of character, there’s something commanding about the way he carries himself, something magnetic that keeps your eyes locked on him.

“You still have paint in the cracks of your abs,” you tease, pointing at the streaks the assistant is struggling to remove.

He looks down, grinning. “Occupational hazard. I’ll just tell people it’s part of my skincare routine.”

You laugh, shaking your head as the assistant works on removing the black contacts from your eyes. Once they’re gone, his familiar blue gaze locks onto yours, and the soft warmth there makes your heart skip.

“You looked amazing out there,” he says, his voice dropping slightly, meant just for you.

“You weren’t so bad yourself,” you reply, smiling as your cheeks heat under his gaze.

He leans back in his chair, his grin lazy. “Not bad, huh? That’s all I get after transforming into a sadistic space lord?”

You shrug playfully, tilting your head. “Well, I guess I’ll give you some bonus points for the tongue-on-blade move. Very creepy.”

“Good,” he murmurs, his eyes glinting with something more. “Creepy was the goal.”

The makeup artist interrupts with a laugh. “Alright, you two, stop flirting, or we’ll never get this done.”

You and Austin share a conspiratorial look, but you stay quiet, letting the team finish the process. It’s not until the last remnants of paint and prosthetics are gone that you finally feel like yourself again, though the tight leather of your costume reminds you the day isn’t over yet.

By the time you’re both out of makeup and back in your casual clothes, the set has mostly cleared out. The towering Harkonnen structures seem less menacing now under the dimmed studio lights, and the hum of activity has died down to a quiet murmur.

Austin waits for you by the door, his hoodie pulled back over his head, his bag slung lazily over one shoulder. “Ready to get out of here?” he asks, his voice low, his smile soft and inviting.

“Absolutely,” you reply, stepping up beside him. The weight of the day seems to lift as you fall into step together, the tension from earlier still humming faintly between you.

The night air is cool as you step outside, the city lights casting a soft glow over the lot. Austin’s hand brushes against yours, a subtle, fleeting touch that sends a thrill through you. He glances down at you, his smirk returning.

“Crazy day,” he murmurs, his voice carrying a hint of exhaustion.

“Crazy,” you agree, tilting your head to look up at him. “But worth it.”

He nods, his expression softening as his hand finally finds yours, his fingers curling around yours with an easy familiarity. “Thanks for being here,” he says quietly. “It meant a lot. Having you on set, seeing you there…”

You squeeze his hand, your voice warm. “I wouldn’t have missed it for anything. Watching you work like that… it’s inspiring, Austin. You were incredible today.”

His smile is small but genuine, his thumb brushing lightly over your knuckles as you walk side by side. “Hearing that from you… means everything,” he murmurs. “I mean, I know I put the work in, but seeing you out there, knowing you were watching… it made me want to give it everything.”

You glance up at him, the raw honesty in his voice making your chest tighten. You stop walking, tugging his hand slightly to make him pause. The lot is quiet now, only the faint hum of distant conversations and the occasional clatter of equipment breaking the silence.

“You always give it everything,” you say, your voice soft but firm. “That’s one of the things I love most about you. You don’t know how to do anything halfway.”

His lips curve into a small, almost shy smile, his free hand coming up to rest lightly on your waist. “I guess I just want to be someone you’re proud of.”

You take a step closer, letting your hand rest on his chest, where you can feel the steady beat of his heart. “You already are.”

For a moment, neither of you says anything. The tension from earlier lingers in the air, but now it feels softer, warmer—less like a coiled spring and more like a quiet promise. His eyes search yours, and you can see the weight of the day melting away, replaced by something tender and unspoken.

Austin holds your gaze for a long moment before he exhales softly, the tension easing into something quieter. He leans in to press a kiss to your forehead—simple, gentle, and lingering—before murmuring, “Let’s get out of here.”

You nod, your chest tight, and fall back into step beside him as the two of you walk toward the waiting car. The driver holds the door open, and Austin gestures for you to climb in first before sliding in after you. The interior of the car is warm and quiet, a sharp contrast to the cool night air, and as the door shuts, it feels like the rest of the world finally falls away.

The city blurs by outside the window, the lights streaking like lazy stars. For the first few minutes, neither of you says anything—there’s no need to fill the silence. Austin shifts beside you, his hand resting comfortably on your thigh, thumb tracing soft circles through your jeans. It’s an absent, familiar touch, but it still sends warmth pooling in your chest, spreading outward.

“You okay?” he asks softly, breaking the silence. His voice is low, rougher around the edges after the long day.

“Yeah, just thinking,” you reply, turning your head to look at him. “About how much I missed this. Missed you.”

He lifts his hand from your thigh to lace his fingers with yours, bringing your joined hands up to his lips. “I missed you too,” he admits, squeezing your hand. “More than I even realised.”

The car slows as it approaches the building where Austin’s been staying during filming—an unassuming apartment building tucked away from the busier parts of the city. Austin thanks the driver quietly before stepping out, reaching back to offer you his hand.

“Come on,” he says, the faint smirk tugging at his lips softening the invitation.

You take his hand, following him out of the car and into the cool night air. The building is silent as you step inside, your footsteps echoing faintly off the marble floors. Austin leads you to the elevator, his hand never leaving yours, and the moment the doors slide shut, you both exhale at the same time, as though you’ve been holding your breath all day.

The quiet hum of the elevator fills the space as you step inside, the doors sliding shut with a soft hiss. Austin presses the button for his floor, leaning back against the wall, his hood pushed back, revealing his now-messy hair and the faint shadows still clinging to his jaw. One hand is in his pocket and the other still holding yours.

Neither of you speaks for a moment. The silence isn’t awkward—it’s heavy in a way that makes your pulse quicken, like you’re both aware of the tension but neither of you wants to break it just yet.

You lean back against the opposite wall, your fingers still tangled loosely with his. Austin’s eyes flick over you, lingering for a beat too long, and when your gaze meets his, you catch the faintest trace of a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“What?” you ask softly, your voice breaking the silence.

His head tilts slightly, his blue eyes sharp and steady on you. “Nothing,” he murmurs, though there’s something knowing in his tone. “Just looking.”

You roll your eyes to cover the way your heart stutters, a teasing edge creeping into your voice. “Well, stop it. It’s weird.”

He grins, slow and lazy, pushing off the wall and closing the distance between you in a few easy steps. He doesn’t stop until he’s standing right in front of you, close enough that the warmth of him wraps around you like a blanket.

“Stop looking at you?” he murmurs, his voice low, almost playful, but there’s an edge to it that makes your breath hitch. “Not a chance.”

Your back presses against the cool wall of the elevator as he raises a hand to rest it lightly against your hip, his thumb brushing just under the hem of your sweatshirt. It’s the gentlest touch, but it sends heat curling through you, making it impossible to focus on anything else.

“You’ve been staring at me all day,” he continues softly, his eyes never leaving yours. “Thought I’d return the favour.”

You open your mouth to reply, but the words catch in your throat when his free hand rises to brush a strand of hair back from your face, his knuckles grazing your cheek. The touch is feather-light, but it’s enough to unravel you completely.

Your voice is barely more than a whisper when you finally speak. “Austin…”

Whatever you were going to say gets swallowed as he leans in, his lips brushing against yours in a kiss that’s slow and deliberate, like he’s savouring every second of it. He tilts his head just slightly, deepening it, and his hands slip to your waist, pulling you closer until there’s nothing between you but the hum of the elevator and the thrum of your heartbeat.

It’s not rushed, but it’s not gentle either—there’s a quiet hunger in the way he kisses you, as if the tension that’s been building between you all day is finally snapping, and neither of you wants to stop.

When he pulls back, just enough to rest his forehead against yours, you’re both breathing a little harder, your hands clinging to the front of his hoodie like it’s the only thing keeping you steady.

Before either of you can say anything, the elevator dings softly, the sound startling in the quiet, and the doors slide open behind him. Austin sighs, a small smirk tugging at his lips as he pulls back just enough to glance over his shoulder. “Perfect timing.”

You huff a breathless laugh, trying to collect yourself as he steps back, his hand slipping into yours again. “Saved by the bell.”

“More like delayed,” he mutters, his voice low and teasing as he leads you out of the elevator. You feel his thumb brush over your knuckles as you walk side by side down the quiet hallway, the tension from earlier still humming faintly between you, simmering just beneath the surface.

Austin pauses in front of his door, glancing back at you with that lopsided grin that’s both infuriating and impossible to resist. “You coming in, or are you still thinking about the elevator?”

You roll your eyes, though you can’t help the smile tugging at your lips. “Just unlock the door, Butler.”

He chuckles softly, turning the key in the lock and pushing the door open, stepping aside so you can walk in first. The apartment is quiet, the faint hum of the city outside muffled by thick walls and drawn curtains. It’s lived-in but simple—warm lights, a couch with a throw casually tossed over the back, and a few stray scripts scattered on the table.

The door clicks shut behind him, and you barely take two steps inside before you feel his presence behind you, his hands slipping onto your waist, warm and steady. Your breath catches as he pulls you back against him, his chest pressed to your spine.

“You know,” he murmurs, his voice low, rough in a way that sends a shiver down your spine, “I’ve been trying to keep it together all day.”

You turn slightly, just enough to catch his gaze over your shoulder, his eyes darker now, the usual softness replaced by something heavier—something you’d felt building between you since the elevator. “I noticed,” you reply, your voice barely above a whisper, your pulse racing.

Austin doesn’t give you a chance to say anything else. He turns you to face him in one fluid movement, his hands still firm on your waist as he backs you up slowly until you hit the door. The soft thud reverberates through you, and you’re caged there—him in front of you, the door at your back, and every inch of space between you evaporated.

You look up at him, your breath uneven, your hands instinctively clutching at the front of his hoodie. “Austin—”

“I know,” he cuts you off softly, his forehead brushing against yours as his hands slide from your waist up to cradle your face, thumbs sweeping across your cheekbones. “I missed you too.”

There’s no hesitation this time. He leans in and kisses you, and it’s nothing like the kiss in the elevator. This one is deeper, hungrier, months of separation and stolen glances crashing together all at once. His lips move against yours with a desperate kind of urgency, like he’s trying to make up for every moment you’ve been apart.

You melt into him, your arms winding around his neck as you pull him closer, your fingers threading through the soft hair at the nape of his neck. He groans softly against your mouth, the sound low and rough, and it sends heat pooling deep in your stomach.

Austin presses you more firmly against the door, his hands sliding down to your hips, gripping them tightly as though he’s afraid you’ll disappear. When he breaks the kiss to trail his lips along your jaw, down to the sensitive spot just below your ear, you let out a soft gasp, tilting your head back to give him more access.

“God, I missed this,” he murmurs against your skin, his voice rough with need. “Missed you.”

“Me too,” you manage to breathe out, your heart pounding as you tug him back up to kiss you again, your body arching into his. There’s nothing careful or hesitant about the way he kisses you now. It’s all-consuming, overwhelming, and you don’t care about the door pressing into your back or how your clothes feel stifling when his body is so close to yours.

One of his hands moves beneath the hem of your sweatshirt, his fingers brushing against your bare skin, and you shiver at the contact, the heat of his touch searing through you. “You’ve been driving me crazy all day,” he murmurs between kisses, his lips ghosting over yours. “Lying there, looking at me like that…”

You can’t help but smile, breathless, as your fingers tug at the hem of his shirt, desperate to feel him—all of him. “I couldn’t help it. You looked…”

“Hmm?” he hums, his smirk pressing into the corner of your mouth as he pulls back just enough to yank his hoodie and t-shirt over his head, tossing it somewhere behind him. “Go on. I looked what?”

Your words falter as you take him in, your gaze sweeping over the broad lines of his chest, the hard planes of muscle you’d only been able to admire from afar earlier. Your hands move instinctively to his skin, splaying out over his chest, your thumbs brushing along the ridges of his abs. He’s warm and solid beneath your touch, and for a moment, you forget how to form words.

His smirk softens into something warmer as he watches you, his hands returning to your waist, his thumbs dipping just beneath the waistband of your jeans. “Speechless?” he teases, his voice low, his lips brushing your temple.

You let out a shaky breath, tilting your head up to meet his gaze. “Just… appreciating the view.”

Austin chuckles softly, the sound vibrating through his chest, and he dips his head to kiss you again—slower this time, but no less intense. It’s softer now, more deliberate, like he’s taking his time to memorise every brush of your lips against his.

The warmth of his hands grounds you as he starts guiding you away from the door, walking you backward through the dimly lit apartment, his body close enough that every step feels like a challenge to keep moving. When the back of your knees hit the edge of the bed, he pauses just long enough to look at you—really look at you—his blue eyes dark, filled with something that makes your pulse stumble.

You reach for him, your hands curling around his shoulders as you pull him closer, but he doesn’t move right away. Instead, he lifts a hand to your cheek, his thumb brushing along your jaw with an unexpected gentleness. The contrast between the quiet intensity in his eyes and the raw need lingering in every other part of him leaves you breathless.

“You’re really here,” he murmurs, almost like he’s saying it to himself.

The emotion in his voice twists something in your chest, and you reach up to thread your fingers into his hair, pulling him down to kiss you again—this time harder, like you’re trying to answer every unspoken word in the way your mouth moves against his.

Austin doesn’t hesitate now. His hands slide beneath your sweatshirt, pushing it up as his lips trail down your neck, leaving a path of heat in their wake. You tug at the hem of his sweatpants as the two of you fall onto the bed in a tangle of limbs, laughter slipping out between the kisses, only to be swallowed up again as the tension finally snaps, pulling you under.

Austin’s weight presses you into the mattress as your bodies fit together like they were always meant to. His lips never leave your skin, moving from the hollow of your throat to the curve of your shoulder as he pushes your sweatshirt higher, exposing inch after inch of your bare skin to the cool air before removing it completely.

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmurs against your collarbone, his voice rough and breathless, like he’s barely holding himself together. His hands trace your waist, sliding over your hips with a reverence that sends a shiver through you. It’s not just the way he touches you—it’s the way he looks at you, like he’s trying to memorise every part of you after so much time apart.

“Too many clothes,” you manage to whisper, tugging at the hem of his sweatpants again. The desperation in your voice makes him grin, low and knowing, as he leans back just enough to peel the offending fabric down his hips, leaving him bare. Your gaze drifts lower, and heat flares across your cheeks when you take in the hard, heavy length of him, already straining with need.

“Your turn,” he says, his tone low and teasing as his fingers hook into the waistband of your jeans. He drags them down slowly, watching every inch of your skin as it’s revealed, his eyes dark and hungry. When you’re finally bare beneath him, he takes a slow breath, his gaze sweeping over your body like he doesn’t know where to start.

“You’ve been driving me insane all day,” he mutters, his voice gravelly as he shifts back over you, his body settling between your thighs. “Watching you on set like that, knowing I couldn’t touch you…”

His hands skim up your sides, his thumbs brushing the sensitive skin just below your ribs, and you gasp softly, your back arching instinctively. Austin catches the sound with his lips, kissing you deeply as his hips press against yours, his arousal hot and heavy where you’re already aching for him.

“Tell me what you want,” he murmurs against your lips, his voice dark and commanding but still tinged with that familiar warmth that’s all him.

“You,” you breathe, your hands sliding up his back, feeling the hard planes of muscle ripple beneath your touch. “I just want you.”

That’s all he needs to hear. Austin dips his head to kiss you again, slower this time, like he’s savouring the taste of you. His hands roam your body with purpose, mapping every curve, every sensitive spot, until you’re trembling beneath him, your breaths coming in shallow gasps.

When his hand slips between your thighs, his touch is gentle at first, teasing, as his fingers brush over your slick heat. “So wet,” he murmurs, almost to himself, his voice rough and low. “You’ve been like this all day, haven’t you?”

You bite back a whimper, your hips rocking against his hand as he presses a finger into you, slow and deliberate. “Austin—please.”

He chuckles softly, the sound vibrating against your skin as he kisses his way down your neck. “I missed hearing you like this,” he murmurs, adding a second finger, his pace steady but relentless as he works you open. “Missed feeling you like this.”

Your body arches, heat pooling low in your stomach as the tension builds, and you grip his shoulders tightly, nails digging into his skin. “I need you,” you gasp, your voice breaking as his thumb brushes over your clit, sending a sharp jolt of pleasure through you. “Now, Austin. Please.”

He groans softly, pulling his hand away to position himself between your thighs, the head of his cock pressing against your entrance. He hesitates for just a moment, his eyes searching yours, dark and tender all at once. “You okay?”

You nod, your breath catching as you wrap your legs around his waist, pulling him closer. “I’m perfect.”

That’s all the permission he needs. With one slow, deliberate thrust, he sinks into you, filling you completely. A gasp tears from your throat, and Austin groans, his forehead dropping to yours as he stills for a moment, giving you time to adjust.

“Fuck,” he murmurs, his voice rough and strained. “You feel… so fucking good.”

You tighten your legs around him, urging him to move, and he doesn’t hesitate this time. He pulls back slowly before thrusting into you again, setting a rhythm that’s deep and deliberate, each movement sending waves of pleasure crashing through you.

Your hands cling to him, your nails dragging down his back as he moves inside you, his pace quickening as the tension builds between you. “Austin,” you gasp, his name a broken whisper as he buries his face in the crook of your neck, his breath hot against your skin.

“I’ve got you,” he murmurs, his voice rough with need as his hips snap against yours, the sound of skin on skin filling the room. “I’ve got you, baby.”

The pressure coils tighter and tighter inside you, your body trembling beneath him as his movements grow more urgent, more desperate. His hand slips between your bodies, his fingers finding your clit and pressing in tight, deliberate circles that make you cry out, your back arching off the bed.

“Let go for me,” he murmurs, his voice low and commanding, his lips brushing against your ear. “I want to feel you, baby. Come for me.”

His words push you over the edge. The coil inside you snaps, and pleasure crashes over you like a tidal wave, leaving you breathless and shaking as your body clenches around him. Austin groans, his pace faltering as he follows you over the edge, his release spilling into you as he buries himself deep, his body trembling above yours.

For a long moment, neither of you moves. Your heart is still racing as Austin collapses against you, careful not to put his full weight on you as he presses a soft kiss to your shoulder, his breaths coming hard and fast.

“You okay?” he murmurs, after a while, lifting his head just enough to look at you, his blue eyes soft and searching.

You smile, brushing a hand through his damp hair. “More than okay.”

Austin grins, brushing a strand of hair away from your face as he leans in to kiss you again, slower this time, his lips warm and gentle against yours. “Feels like forever,” he murmurs between kisses, his voice filled with quiet sincerity. “Having you here… it’s everything.”

You smile against his mouth, your heart swelling. “I know the feeling.”

Eventually, he rolls to the side, pulling you with him so you’re curled against his chest, his arm draped securely around you. The exhaustion of the day finally starts to settle in, but the warmth of his body and the steady beat of his heart beneath your ear keep you grounded, safe.

“Don’t let me fall asleep yet,” Austin murmurs sleepily, his fingers tracing absent patterns along your back. “I don’t want to waste a second of this.”

You smile against his skin, pressing a soft kiss to his chest. “I’ll wake you if you do.”

But as his breathing evens out and his hold on you relaxes, you don’t have the heart to keep your promise. For the first time in months, you’re both exactly where you’re meant to be, and you’re not going anywhere.

[moriartyluver]

FALSE LOVERS CHAPTER XXIX

"SO, DID YOU TELL WILLIAM?" Josephine asked as she walked through the Moriarty Manor with (Name) "you know, about your condition.." 

"What?" (Name) blinked, clearly invested in her own thoughts whilst her friend spoke. "Oh...my condition.." she paused, standing still on the stairs, her hand rubbing at her neck nervously, then moving to fidget with her hair. "see..the issue is.." She trailed off, trusting to explain. Josephine furrowed her brows, noticing a fresh bruise on her neck. 

"Oh my god." She huffed under her breath. "You didn't tell him, did you? You slept with him! Again!!" 

(Name) frowned, getting a little defensive "It's a very difficult position to be in-" 

"Oh I bet you know a lot about difficult positions.." The brunette remarked. 

"Josephine!" 

"Sorry, sorry. I've never been pregnant before, surprisingly, so I can't judge.." she hummed 

"Don't say that word out loud. If my own husband doesn't know, I'd rather nobody but you or James know either." (Name) said, moving her hand down to fiddle with her sleeve "I did try to tell him, I really did. But then he started being all flirtatious and he somehow has this way of making me feel all funny, and honestly he may be the best man I've ever had, in a weird sort of way.." 

"I'd never imagine you describing William as such," Josephine giggled "Still, how did things escalate so much..?" 

"Well, I went to his office, made some small talk about the incident with Whitely, before he was assassinated, then he starts making some jokes, and we reminisced on our university days together. He brought up this one memory I feel quite fond of, and then I realised that I must have been very..mean to him, more so than I am now. As if I crossed the line a few times, so I apologised and then we kissed, and then.." (Name) spoke very, very quickly, her demeanour flustered "Well, you know.." 

"I'd rather not know," Josephine pulled a face. To her, this was like walking in on one's parents doing it. "Also you should tell him to be more discreet..you have a huge bruise on your neck, it almost looks painful.." 

"You should see the ones I gave him." She joked, before noticing josie's flat expression. "Sorry."

She rolled her pale blue eyes, walking down the staircase with her to the lounge. "It's fine..it's quite nice to be able to gossip for once, especially with how busy things have been lately. With Fred now gone more often, I've been used as messenger girl whenever I'm available.." 

"Yes, well, we did recently confirm to the public that this urban legend of the Lord Of Crime is real..it's a shame my old persona hasn't made a return. Now she is just the Lord of Crime's wife," (Name) chuckled dryly, her silk gloves sliding across the bannisters. 

"Most women could only dream of such a thing," Josephine reassured with a soft laugh whilst they walked into the lounge whilst the others discussed matters regarding milverton. 

"..but I would never choose that option. I'll kill Milverton whether my name spread or not." William spoke, pausing as (Name) entered the room. Everyone went silent for a second or two as she sat down beside her husband, confused as to what they were discussing. 

"I'm afraid I missed a few chapters." (Name) stated calmly. "Are we really going ahead with such a plan, provided the risk?" 

"(Name)," William placed his hand on her thigh reassuringly. At this point in time, he didn't care if people knew of their odd relationship. "It was bound to happen at some point." 

"Right." She nodded stiffly. She was clearly unhappy with the idea but she couldn't say much. It was part of their contract and pre existing agreement before they started their affair — could one even have an affair with their spouse? 

"As Louis said, this mission will carry unprecedented risks, but I can't keep Milverton alive much longer." He said. (Name) honestly was quite fond of Milverton at first, but upon finding he was responsible not only for the deaths of the Whitleys, but also the Jack the Ripper scandal, she could care less if he died. She just found him intriguing. 

Sherlock used the correct means to achieve moral goals, William used unethical means to achieve moral goals and Milverton purposely would use horrible means to achieve horrible goals. 

She couldn't help but wonder why. 

Regardless, he was to die, hopefully at William's hands, because she'd rather not have Milverton be Sherlock's first kill.

"Let's take action as soon as we're ready." William stated, snapping (name) out of her thoughts. 

Louis parted his lips, about to protest before William cut him off again.  

"We all knew this was coming, Louis. It was going to happen sooner or later," He said. "It's all according to the moriarty plan." 

"So this is it.." (Name) muttered as she sat on William's bed, surprisingly clothed. 

"This is it." He repeated. "When you signed that contract, you knew it would come to this..I apologise."

It didn't exactly feel sincere when he apologised, almost as if he was speaking to an acquaintance or associate — not his wife. 

"I suppose I'll have to remarry.." She hummed. She knew she probably wouldn't, couldn't. She was finally pregnant, with an heir. That's all she needed. 

William's jaw clenched at the mere idea of another man stealing the life he wanted. "I suppose you will." He nodded, shutting the book in his hands, getting out of his chair and approaching his bed on the other side of the room. "I.." He opened his mouth, closed it, then opened it again, like a fish. 

"I know." She looked up at him. "I know." 

He nodded, sitting down beside her and wrapping an arm around her waist apologetically whilst she rested her head on his shoulder. "Who would've thought..you and me.." 

"I never took you as the sentimental type." she laughed dryly. 

"I am a dead man walking, after all," William rubbed her shoulder soothingly. "Speaking of which..." 

"I'll pay for the funeral, don't worry. I can even have you sent to (home country) so you can have a tomb where it won't be destroyed by angry people." She said in a soft, melancholy tone. 

"That's alright. I'll let my gravesite be destroyed and ruined." He smiled. "Actually..I was thinking." 

"You always think." 

"So do you," he chuckled. "But in all seriousness, this is important. I'm going to have to ask you to do something a little bit difficult."

"I've never failed any mission you've given me," (name) reminded him. "I'm your strongest soldier." 

"That you are," He kissed her forehead. "But this isn't a physical thing..I mean, you'll pick up a pen, and write a few sentences, but it's.." William trailed off, his scarlet eyes shifting away from her and onto the equally red wallpaper. 

"What is it?" she asked curiously. 

"I'm going to need you to write a letter," He explained, rubbing her thigh. "To one of the main newspapers. I'll need you to write about how you recently discovered I was the lord of crime, how you plan to annul the marriage, and how you want the public to know you were never involved." 

He paused, looking into her eyes, searching for a reaction. She took a moment to process his words, her eyebrows furrowing in an angry glare.

"No! Why would you ask me to do such a thing? I may be a killer but I can't lie to an entire nation!" She exclaimed, standing from the bed. "I was just as involved as you were, and I've been killing since I was 16!"  

"You've lied numerous times before, I don't see how this may be any different," He pointed out. 

"But it's different—" She sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. "What am I to tell my parents? My friends? Should I just continue to live a lie after you...you.."

She couldn't even bring herself to say it. 

"You can tell your parents the truth if you like, (name). They're good people, they wouldn't cast you out." He reassured her "And it's for your own sake. What will society think of a woman who knowingly let her husband kill people? What will they think when they find out you helped too? What will they think when they find out you married me because you just wanted to keep your parents happy and the men away? This is for your sake, I only ask that you write one letter." 

"William.." She whispered his name. 

"If you don't, I'm afraid I'll have to forge one." He stated. "You're already in enough trouble with parliament and her majesty herself, what will they do to you or to (home country) if they realise you were involved, that you were the lady of crimes."

She sighed. He was right. 

"I have business to attend to in Manchester, tomorrow afternoon, which I can always say was done out of fear of my husband being upset with me. I may have time to write a letter then and send it off as soon as possible to all the newspapers possible." She rambled. "And I'm telling my parents. They're going to be in Manchester too." 

"Everything?" 

"Everything." 

"I knew something was wrong." Grand Duchess (last name) sighed. "I told you, didn't I, (Father's name)?" 

"You're right. I apologise for not believing you, my love." He rubbed his wife's shoulder, kissing her cheek apologetically. 

(Name) couldn't bear to even look at them. She kept her head bowed and her eyes on her shoes. "I'm sorry, again." 

"No, (Name). I'm sorry." Her mother reached her hand out to hold her daughter's. "So is your father. This wouldn't have happened if we.." 

"There was nothing you could've done to change anything." She reminded them. "I had to do what I did, regardless of how horrible and wrong it was.." 

Her parents shared a look, before turning to their daughter again. She looked so small, so vulnerable. It was as if she was 9 years old all over again. 

"But we should have been there." The grand duke spoke. "At such a young age, you witnessed something so traumatising, and you lost your brother too..then we encouraged you to go to Britain for the sake of your education, and didn't contact you regularly, only visiting a handful of times, and even then we weren't around long enough for you." 

Her mother nodded in agreement. "If we had been there, if we had made you feel safe and welcome with us, you wouldn't have killed as many people as you did, you wouldn't have felt the need to marry a man you despised, and you wouldn't be in the situation you are in right now." 

"It wasn't your fault.." (Name) whispered, holding back tears. "There's this man, Charles Augustus Milverton..he would spread rumours about me through a magazine he owned, solely to torment me..it just made matter worse and now he's going to expose William's wrong doings to the entire country, and that..I can't imagine how he must feel right now.." 

The grand duchess sighed. "You love him, don't you?" 

"I do." 

"For how long?" 

"I..I'm not entirely sure.." She glanced down to her stomach. "But I know that I can't let him die..I just can't." 

"There's something else you're not telling us, isn't there?" Her father asked. 

"You can tell us, we won't judge you or be upset." Her mother reassured. "We're your parents." 

"I haven't even told William..Josephine, and another close friend that I work with, they're the only ones who know..." she trailed off. "I mean, how could I tell him. I haven't even told him I love him yet..He's convinced our relationship is just a facade for the public with some extra benefits for the both of us.." 

"(Name).." 

"I'm pregnant." 

"It's a shame this comedy doesn't have an audience," Milverton laughed as William and Sherlock turned their pistols to face him, rather than pointing at each other. They had both been inside Milverton's villa for a while now, with two very different reasons yet seemingly the same outcome. "The light and dark that symbolise London..the two of them are here together." 

"Make that three." A voice spoke from behind Milverton. He glanced over his shoulder, smirking as he saw his main target, (Name) (Last name). 

His smirk widened as he noticed a gun in her hand, pointing straight at him, finger on the trigger. "It's splendid you could join us. You seem so innocent but upon further inspection, anyone could tell that you had been aiding your husband's 'activities' all along, perhaps even the match that lit the fire." 

"I'm not here for him." She assured "You know exactly what you've done." 

"I do indeed." He chuckled, watching as (Name) slowly walked through the dimly lit room so she was stood in front of him, beside William and Sherlock. "And I'm glad you turned up. I was worried, really, that you weren't going to be here when I saw your husband without you." He paused. "Can I even call him that? Your 'husband'?" 

"There are legal documents to prove it. I'm sure one of your lapdogs can retrieve them for you," she retorted. 

"Yes, legal documents." Milverton hummed. "I found a rather interesting one earlier this week...Although, not nearly as interesting as a criminal couple, even if you may not be the most romantic." 

(Name) glanced at William who didn't seem to pay her any attention apart from the initial surprise she was here despite orders given that she wouldn't. 

"It was you, wasn't it?" She asked, her finger trembling on the trigger, her hands uncharacteristically shaky "You who tried to expose me for taking down that trafficking ring, you who had my name plastered over the tabloids, and for what? I didn't do anything to you." 

Milverton's eyes darkened for a moment before he grinned again "because it's fun." 

"So are theatre productions not good enough for you anymore?" She asked sarcastically. 

He laughed. A sickening laugh.

"Why watch a measly play when I can make my own?" He smiled. "Tragedy, comedy, romance...All three seem to apply to your life." 

"What—?" 

"For example, sweet and innocent nine year old (Name), bright beyond her years, possibly the most intelligent woman, maybe even person, to ever live." Milverton continued, interrupting the woman, a bead of sweet running down her forehead. "A box turns up one day, her dead brother's head inside. How Tragic. She swears to take down the British empire, and has quite a lot of fun in the process. Most of your little boy toys ended up dead or missing, though. It was no coincidence that Theodore Arden, your little male friend, happened to have the father who ordered your brother's grizzly death. And it was no coincidence that they had been tortured to death soon after, aswell as blown up by a few bombs, how comedic." 

How did he know this? How did he know any of this? Even with a photographic memory, she still couldn't remember the exact details of all these occurrences, her brain had blocked them out for the most part. 

And (name) swore she only brushed over the surface of all this with William. Because she trusted him. She glanced at him, an expression of hurt on her pretty face, then forced her eyes back to Milverton. 

Did William tell him? 

"And of course, he wasn't the last man in your life, but he was certainly your first." He enunciated the last word, highlighting the double meaning. "I can barely count them on one hand. But then, after a strange disappearance of Lord Ashfordshire, You found the one. How romantic," Milverton looked between (Name) and William. "You were married, but seemingly didn't consummate, and I wasn't the only tabloid following your love life around, but I certainly got the most information. How would your husband," he gestured to William "feel about that?" 

"You know nothing." She hissed between clenched teeth. 

"Oh? I know nothing, do I?" Milverton chuckled. "For a genius, you make this so easy, my lady. The jokes just write themselves." 

William looked uneasy. He had long since settled in his feelings for his wife, which felt ridiculous if he said them out loud. He had confided a few times in his brothers, his friends, and he knew he was in the worst possible circumstance right now. He was in love with. And he was the Lord of crime. The Lord of crime, in love with a girl he originally perceived to be rude and spoilt and cruel and promiscuous. 

And he loved her, with his entire soul. 

"How would your husband feel, knowing he was likely your last option for a prospective husband? How would your husband feel," Milverton continued, each word leaking venom. "Knowing you only consummated your marriage because a few rumours fuelled your need to become with child?" 

William and (Name) made brief eye contact, with her looking at him apologetically. He didn't look at her with anything more than a neutral expression.

"How would your husband feel knowing you had an affair the entire time you were in (home country), towards the end of last year?"  

Her gaze could no longer linger on the blond, looking straight at Milverton with a mixture of anger and shame. 

William's eyes widened for a moment, waiting for her to say something in her defence. 

Nothing. 

To the people of The British Empire, I apologise. 

I, Lady (Name) (Last Name) Moriarty, have recently discovered something no woman would want to find. 

Recently, I had been lead to believe my husband was having an affair, due to the secrets he kept and the life he concealed. This, like most marital issues, was to be kept private. That was until I discovered something far, far worse. 

A few days ago, I had caught my husband, William James Moriarty, arriving home late, drenched in blood. Naturally, I was suspicious, and this event had led to me uncovering a truth I cannot keep to myself. 

William James Moriarty is the Lord of Crime. 

Had I known earlier, perhaps I may have been able to prevent the unjust murders of many innocent people, such as that of Adam Whitely. The guilt I feel is immeasurable, and I intend to financially compensate all those involved as well as provide evidence for this conspiracy to the authorities. 

Once again, I apologise for all the harm my ignorance has caused, 

Lady (Name) (Last Name).

"I assume this was all fabricated," Mycroft placed the newspaper back on his desk after reading from it aloud. 

"You know me so well," (Name) chuckled. "I do intend to repay all those who need it..deep down you don't really have an issue with what transpired. I know you don't." She said, her voice dropping a tone. "William himself asked me to write that, so don't think I'm sacrificing him to save myself." 

Mycroft scoffed. "Well you've never had a good history with men and their feelings." 

"Why would I? Most of the men who were involved with me in some way were all horrible. It makes no difference that I married a serial killer," she smiled, taking another sip of tea. "I have all I needed now. I won't bother you again, Mycroft dear, I assure you...although you will miss me. I was the only opponent to the British Empire who actually entertained you." 

"I don't consider destroying merchant ships entertaining," He recalled. "Or how about that time the new prime minister said something unkind to you and you set Parliament alight?" 

"First of all," (Name) defended herself. "I had valid reason for destroying those slave ships, you know very well what trades they're involved in. I'd rather not look away from such devastating practices, there are real people involved, not just figures and statistics," she argued "And second of all, that wasn't the prime minister, they were something else, Home Secretary I think, and they were very offensive to me. You know how I get when I'm angry." 

"Well at least he managed to survive." He muttered. 

"I've not killed that many people." She retorted. 

"I can't even give an exact amount, but most of the people you killed were important people, and it affected our economy, our politics, and our society in  multiple ways," Mycroft explained. "Which returns us to the main issue...Your husband — can I even refer to him as such?" 

(Name) hummed to herself "Well, I was thinking of having the marriage annulled, but William seems to have other ideas. Regardless, he is, unfortunately, still my husband and the future father of my child." 

"I gathered as much. Hopefully they don't inherit your spitefulness." He rolled his eyes. "Anyways, your husband has murdered more nobles than I can recall, some of which we still have yet to confirm. Albert has been vague with me on the issue. What do you suppose you'll do when the economy comes crashing down? What about if the people, the working class population, blame you for their issues? They'll revolt soon, riot around your family home..Now what must you do?" 

"They won't blame me if the elite don't do it first. That's how it always happens anyways, blame the marginalised when in reality, it's the rich's fault. The only reason it's causing issue is because the time between the murders has shortened to a mere few hours. Previously, it had been much longer, so another rich old man could fill the void and everyone kept their low paying jobs," she explained. "And the rioting is part of William's plan." 

"So that's it? You'll let him die and return to (Home country), have that unfortunate child, then raise it as an heir?" He asked, although she wasn't supposed to answer. "Your life would be so much better if you had married one of her majesty's sons." 

"No thanks, they're all hideous," (Name) shook her head, making a face. 

Mycroft fought back a laugh, trying to maintain his serious persona. "They are members of the royal family." 

"And the inbreeding caused their unfortunate appearances. At least William was handsome. Now I'll have a son with perfect features," She half joked. She did choose William over so many other men because of his superior breeding, which is ironic with his background as a commoner. 

"How are you so sure it'll be a boy?" Mycroft asked "wishful thinking?" 

"No, I'd much rather a girl, a sweet little girl with beautiful hair I can style, but I know, it's just my intuition. It's never been wrong," (name) flashed a smile. 

"No, I suppose not," He nodded "So, you're visiting my brother after I dismiss you?" 

"You don't get to dismiss me, but yes, I am." She said. "I need to ask him a favour." 

"Very well. We're done here," Mycroft stood up opening the door to his office. "Please keep me updated." 

"I shall." She gave him a nod, bowing her head a little before leaving "farewell, and have a nice evening."

Although that morning she had her letter published by the press, 'confessing' her lack of involvement, she knew some would not be entirely convinced. After all, who better to place the blame on than a foreign woman? Yes she was far from innocent, and she didn't exactly want to be perceived as such, only going along with William's plan for the sake of her parents and home country. 

So, she decided it would be much less likely that any rioters spot her if she secretly entered Sherlock's apartment, rather than from the front where anyone could see. He had been cleared of his murder charges that same day, now likely at home. 

(Name) peered into the window, knocking slowly after a moment. The curtains drew open, revealing a slightly amused Sherlock. He opened the window wide enough for her to enter in her cloaked disguise. She slid inside, walking towards him and pulling her hood down. 

"I wasn't expecting you, especially not like this," Sherlock laughed. 

"Well, hopefully after all this blows over, you'll expect a lot more from me," she smiled, combing her fingers through her hair. 

"Mhm..you're here about Liam, aren't you?" He asked, still remembering the incident with Milverton, but he decided against mentioning it. After the confrontation, ending in Sherlock shooting Milverton, he had heard (name) apologising to William from afar as they left, trying to get him to say something, but merely brushed her off with a claim he was busy. 

"I am." (Name) nodded. "I just finished talking to your brother actually, apologising for the whole ordeal." 

"Oh yeah, you sent that letter to the papers, right? I could tell most of it wasn't true, no wonder that brother of mine wanted to talk to you," Sherlock said, leaning against a wall. "You knew about this since the beginning." 

"And I participated too. William used me as the whistleblower because nobody would expect such things from a woman." She explained, brows furrowing. "Actually, I'm probably worse than he is. Which is why I think it's unfair that he must sacrifice himself, and only himself, for the sake of everyone else. I don't see a crown of thorns on his head, he isn't obliged to do so." 

"Classic Liam." He hummed. "So, let me guess. You orchestrated the Arden massacre, and were involved in the disappearance of Ashfordshire?" 

"Amongst other things, yes. I also was the main planner with that whole sex trafficking scandal a while back, and I was the one who set us all up on the Noahtic." (Name) confessed. 

"They never did find Ashfordshire's body..I assume you killed him though." 

She sighed, recalling the story "If you had seen what I had, you'd kill him too. It still haunts me sometimes. And although I did kill him, William dealt with the body. It was so badly damaged and wounded that nobody would recognise it even if they found it." 

"How intriguing. You know, (Nickname), I really wish I had met you sooner." Sherlock smiled. She reciprocated it with a bitter one. "So, what is the favour you're planning to ask me?"

"I don't know if Louis has already asked you to do so, he's been on edge all week so it's only reasonable to assume he's upset," She trailed off "I have my own plan, to convince William to stay, maybe just fake his death instead, I'm not entirely sure considering he hasn't been speaking to me much lately..But, if that fails, I want you to be there, when he tries to die. I want you to do everything you can to save him, and I'm sorry for asking so much of you." 

"Who's to say I wouldn't do it regardless?" His smile widened. 

(Name) let out a dry laugh. "In that case, I haven't anything to worry about.." 

"You really love him, don't you?" 

She nodded then glanced to the door, footsteps slowly creaking up the stairs. She glanced at Sherlock, nodding goodbye before climbing out the window, gripping onto a tree branch outside as he said his final words to her. 

"Congratulations, by the way. That kid's going to be a genius." Sherlock whispered. 

She hummed, a little surprised at first that he knew, but shook it off. He was the world's greatest consulting detective after all. She parted her lips to speak, but noticing the door slowly freak open to reveal William, who had yet to spot her whilst she slipped out the window, ready to return to her carriage home.

Once she arrived home, she waited in William's bedroom, that which could have been a shared one between the couple if their marriage had taken a different route. The sheets clearly hadn't been slept in for days, likely due to the recent killing sprees William had been on. Honestly, nobody had slept much recently anyways. (Name) couldn't remember the last time she had gotten in a full 8 hours of sleep without interruptions. She had been plagued by nightmares as of late, and she had too much to do so sleep seemed like a waste of time. She had made arrangements for the following morning to board a ship back to (Home country) with her parents and hopefully with William too. Her room was empty and everything was now packed away and on the ship somewhere.

William eventually returned home, darting straight to his bedroom to clean up, only to be met with (Name) waiting for him. She saw the blood staining his cheek and the tired look in his eyes which once shone so brightly, now making him resemble a corpse rather than the man she had finally come to terms with being the one she loved with all her heart. 

"The moon is beautiful tonight, isn't it?" 

He didn't respond. 

"William?" She called out to him again, approaching him, but strangely enough it seemed there was a boarder preventing her from coming too close. "We need to talk about this whole situation...I.." she bit her lip, voice cracking as she tried to find her words. She felt nervous, reminded about how he reacted after finding out about the affair. 

"What?" William muttered softly, albeit exhausted. 

(Name) almost seemed startled at how different this current William was to how her usual William was. "I'm somewhat offended you didn't tell me about this plan of yours earlier." She said, although that wasn't really what she intended to do. It was in typical (Name) fashion, in a sense. 

William spoke again, his voice aching as he wiped some blood off his face with his palm "You had known this since the beginning, it was in the contract after all..besides, we spoke about this earlier, a few days ago when I asked you to write that letter to the press." 

"You're right..my mistake." The noblewoman whispered "The plan was that I either marry again for an heir or have a child and remain a widow." (Name) recalled, stood before William, her hands interlinked as she fidgeted with the fabric of her gloves "But..it's not what I want anymore." 

She couldn't help but become incredibly aware of how selfish she continued to sound, with every sentence, every word, every syllable. 

"Not what you want?" William repeated curiously. Although he could barely bring himself to speak, he still attempted to keep this conversation afloat, in hopes of completing one of the last phases of this plan, his final problem. 

(Name) took a deep breath "You're not dying. I prohibit it," she said harshly, her voice slowly raising, something William noticed happened every time she was frustrated. Once again, she felt selfish, but selfishness may have been the only way to counteract the selfless sacrifice of William dying. "You're not allowed to die like this when there is clearly another way!" 

"Another way?" The blond mocked "(name), there is no 'other way'! I have the blood of hundreds on my hands, and the only way to compensate for all the lives I have ruined and all the pain I have caused is by dying!" 

(Eye colour) eyes widened momentarily. (Name) took her husband's hands in hers "And you won't let me help you clean these hands?" She asked, kneeling before him as he sat on the bed. "William, please just listen to me for once!" She pleaded, begging him on her knees, an image that (Name) from a year ago would have deemed impossible.  "My parents have already heard of what we have done, I spoke to them a few nights ago, and they helped me formulate a plan in which nobody else has to die for the sake of this stupid class system!" 

"We..We can run away! We'll go to (home country) with mother and father and...and we can take Albert and Louis and Josephine and everyone else!" (Name) continued, her grasp on his hands tightening "I don't care about the tension between (home country) and this pathetic empire anymore! If any conflict breaks out, I can deal with it! I'll do anything, I just want you by my side. We won't have to worry about anything anymore, William!" 

Williams lips parted, then shut, then parted again, as if he was choosing his words cautiously before finally muttering no more than her name, in a whisper so silent that it would be overpowered by the sound of a mere draft, leaking through the window. 

"(Name)" 

She looked up at him, her eyes glassy with tears that were threatening to spill, another word and the dam would break. 

"William, please," (Name) whispered, her voice cracking, squeezing his soft hands gently "I couldn't bare it if you were to die...didn't you consider that? There's so so much to live for, even if the nobility has made you feel otherwise..." 

"(Name), please don't do this," He whispered, blinking slowly and opening his eyes once more, the ends of his eyelashes sticking together with shiny tears. 

Even being sat there now felt more torturous than any form of pain he had ever felt. William had been hurt so much to the point physical pain had no effect on him anymore. He had been smacked in cruel orphanages, kicked by passers by, cut as a result of both his pride and his namesake's sadistic nature, whipped by his own adoptive mother, and yet he was being caressed so gently, but felt this pain was much more unbearable than anything he'd ever experienced in his twenty four years of pitiful existence. 

Seeing (Name), his beloved wife, sat in front of him, begging him to continue to live, something most men around him could do without a second thought (which he felt envious of, and then guilt for his envy), was devastating.

He had considered her proposal, imagining a life where he and (name) could exist peacefully. They could read at one of the many libraries in the (Last Name) Manor, whilst (name) would teach him (mother tongue), and be by her side on her travels to various countries. He'd play chess with (name)  until she finally won against him. He's finally be able to sleep peacefully in her arms without fear for his comrades and nightmares riddled with guilt. He'd live a life without needing to stain his hands with a single drop of blood again...

And yet he couldn't.

The more William imagined a future with her, the more it hurt knowing this was simply impossible for him to have. He wasn't allowed to be happy. He wasn't allowed to move on. He had killed too many, there was no turning back, no matter how badly he wanted to do so. It was cowardly, William knew that, but so was running away and leaving England in shambles because of his own selfish plans. 

"Don't you understand, William? I'll do anything.." (Name) looked into his eyes once more "I.." she took a deep breath, voice shaky 

"I love you."

[lazorbeanz]

Free candy ❌ Free mints ✅

[achingly-shy]

THE QUARTER QUELL ALLIANCE (insp.) — requested by @panemgif

[velmashaircut]

When I first began reading/ watching OPM I use to really, really hate Tatsumaki. She was probably my least favourite character from the main cast for over a year. I tried to hide it in my posts but I despised her.

Even back then I knew why, Tatsumaki reminded me of my older sister who at the time I did not have a great relationship with. Not only would I say Tatsumaki has my sisters personality and motivations amplified to the extreme, but my sister was seen as ‘better’ by everyone around me, or at least it felt like that to me. My sister obviously isn’t an esper prodigy but she is seen as smarter, prettier, more likeable you know the drill. The Psychic sisters arc was probably one of my least favourite arcs unsurprisingly, I can understand Fubuki’s feelings towards her sister completely. You would think this would make me like Fubuki …but back then I didn’t like her that much either lmao.

The manga, especially the chapters for the monster association arc, did a great job of changing my perspective of Tatsumaki. I can see why she’s the way she is and even if I disagree with her methods I do like her character now, I prefer her to Fubuki. I used to hate webcomic counterpart as well but ever since the mangas MA and psychic sisters arc I like her webcomic self also.

The relationship improvement with my sister played a part in this as well. My sister wanted to make sure I could stand in my own two feet but she went about it the wrong way, which was what Tatsumaki also did. So understanding my sisters motivations and the manga chapters made me understand and like Tatsumaki more.

[peapod20001]

I’m the type that can and will cry if think too hard <3

[arolesbianism]

I am rotating Light so hard in my head rn girlies who just straight up fucking torture ppl cause she can