#its called the lions den

[mr-orion]

sometimes you gotta hype yourself up and color your sketches... anyway, Ray's about to ask you something very on the nose and it's gonna hurt. You should watch out.

[foldingfittedsheets]

We had lunch with a friend who was relating a story to us about a friend of hers who lives in a rural area populated by a very large number of mountain lions.

She and her husband were at home when they watched a mountain lion jump their back fence, dead deer in tow, dragging its prey to their back shed. They watched with horrified fascination as this apex predator started absolutely going to town on this deer carcass. Honestly, same. I’d have watched too, I love a free nature documentary.

But after several hours as the cougar continued to lounge they started to be concerned. This was not a neighbor they wanted. They didn’t want to call animal control so they did what any rural American would do and grabbed their guns.

Their first several warning shots were met with unimpressed ambivalence, the cougar regarding them with the smugness of a fat and happy cat who’s heard a gun before.

Frustrated, they went back to the drawing board. Then they decided to stand on the back step with two different speakers at max volume blasting the cougar with sound waves. While also firing their guns in the air. This finally achieved the desired result, the cougar hightailed it away at top speed.

What were they blaring, you ask? What scared the lion from its den?

NPR.

Our friend was laughing as she said, “It didn’t mind the guns but it hated NPR, it was one conservative cougar!”

[otkuhotgirl]

─── 𝐖𝐑𝐀𝐏𝐏𝐄𝐃 𝐆𝐈𝐅𝐓 .

# with donquixote doflamingo.

the king of dressrosa had what he wanted — when he wanted. you included.

⎰ & KINKTOBER, day twenty-three. smut (mdni!). shibari. power imbalance. usage of devil-fruit. toxic!relationship. obsessed!doflamingo. mentions of blood. kidnapping. sadistic!doflamingo. honestly, doflamingo. afab!reader. no y/n used.

WC: 1.8k.

marines were oftentimes disappointing — powerless marines, however, with a hero’s ego and character, were a disease. the truth of dressrosa’s reign nature was his perfected little secret, yet it was not uncommon for certain doubts to reach the surface, those who, however, were swiftly eliminated by vergo. doflamingo’s domain had emerged through a foolproof plan, therefore its aftermath was of insufferable boredom. aware of such, the man who previously occupied the heart seat of the donquixote allowed an arrogant, avaricious rear-admiral to reach the kingdom’s barriers — a bit of fun offered to its king.

the man, for sure, had a considerable fleet. yet, upon approaching the palace under the pretense of a marine-ordered reunion, the rear-admiral had but a mere subordinate accompanying him into the lion’s den: you. and not a minute thereafter, doflamingo understood why — you were the prettiest individual he had ever seen; a distraction. an attentive glint; an intelligence your commander did not give you the proper credit for. a fancy dinner whose food you had not touched, whereas the rear-admiral drank and feasted while voicing out demands that doflamingo had no intentions to follow whatsoever.

at last, when his patience wore itself thin, he snapped a finger to call for diamante, a brief order spoken: “get rid of the trash.”

the rear-admiral had been dragged out of the dining room, shouting in desperation as doflamingo accessed your figure — terrified. his tongue darted out of his mouth, appreciating the prey that had been bestowed upon him. doflamingo grinned, his fingertip teasing the edge of his wine cup.

“eat,” he demanded, shoving his fork into the meat.

your hands were trembling as you guided the food into your mouth, avoiding his pointed glance. doflamingo was delighted. vergo had gifted him the rear-admiral as a source of brief entertainment, unaware of the long-term feast that accompanied that pitiful excuse of a man. you were meek in comparison to him — and aware of it, too. that made you obedient; conformed. a small feline trapped amidst the jaws of a predator. you were all but awaiting your death, aware that the thread of your life relied on his patience. doflamingo was used to the fearsome position he occupied — thrived on it, even — but never once had he terrified such a gorgeous one, and that alone was enough to make his cock twitch.

you were given quarters adjacent to his own, free access to the palace — unaware that pica was an ever-present figure, watching amidst the rocks. daylight was yours to claim, yet at the first sight of moonshine, doflamingo could be found sitting on a couch in your bedroom, legs spread wide and a devious smirk etched on his face. he never dared move; never dared command. instead, he lived for the teasing, for the terrified expression you wore, fearing his next step; of his thoughts. you sat on the corner, hugging your knees, wary, squinting eyes failing to catch a glimpse of him. you were cornered and vulnerable and oh, so appetizing.

doflamingo fell for that hunting game, deciding to surprise you in broad daylight, too — accompanying you in silence; hovering over your hunched figure in the library. his desire was palpable, as well as his possessiveness. not a single member of the donquixote family, save for his elite soldiers, was allowed to reach you — viola, especially, for he had no doubt the woman, who loathed him so, would meddle in his game; attempt to free you. doflamingo could not have that. all things considered, he was a patient man — dressrosa hadn’t become his after a reckless strategy, after all. it had been a well-crafted stratagem that he was proud of, and you were deserving of similar care.

doflamingo led you to the edge of restlessness, wishing not to force you to submission through brute force, but rather having you succumb to it — mentally and physically — after prolonged emotional torture. and when, at last, you caved, months wasted on a failed escape plan, he was right there to wrap his little strings around his prey.

you were suspended in the air, stripped naked in the middle of his room. your wrists were tied behind your back, and his strings covered every inch of your figure — tightly — the flesh of your thighs and breasts spilling out, sensitive and aching. he licked his lips at the sight, circling you as though you were a maimed, tired target.

your calves and legs were trembling, giving in under the pressure. he moved his middle finger, tugging the string around your neck. your head was thrown backwards; back arching painfully. your toes curled, feet unable to touch the ground underneath. he had you propelled far higher than intended, but that was no problem whatsoever, for doflamingo himself was a man of considerable height, and his twitching cock would find no issue sliding inside your cunt, when the time came.

“where were you planning on going, hm?” he roughly inquired, nose buried on your neck. doflamingo started to suck harshly on the exposed skin, and you shuddered, failing to move, for his strings held you in place as though a marionette.

“nowhere,” you whispered, ever-so-softly, following his movements with blown pupils.

the string at your throat tightened, a singular streak of blood emerging under the pressure. he licked it, grunting when the string sliced his tongue and mingled his blood with your own. he observed you through his sunglasses, a smirk that showcased his canines apparent in his face.

“yet, you were found in the docks,” doflamingo mocked, purposefully cutting his fingers on the strings as his hand roamed through your body. “do you think there is a corner in this world you could run off to where i wouldn’t find you?”

he forced his index and middle inside your parted lips, smearing them crimson; forcing you to taste him. your pupils dilated, fear mingled with an undertouch of lust that had his tip leaking. when he retreated his fingers — coated in your saliva — doflamingo shoved it inside his own mouth, taunting laughter coming out muffled.

“what was the plan?” doflamingo continued, increasing the tightness of his strings. he trailed his index down your stomach, gradually reaching your clit. “enter a commoners’ ship? dock into an unknown island, enjoy a few hours of freedom until i dragged you back?”

you gasped, out of breath as the string constricted the passage of air through your neck. he laughed — lowly; mockingly — drawing pleasure from your struggle. his finger hovered over your clit, applying a certain pressure that had you squirming.

“i gave you a home, food, clothes,” he listed, drunk on the scent of the cologne he chose for you — and that you were all but coerced to wear. “yet, you tried to flee. how greedy, what else could you want?”

a single tear rolled down your cheek. freedom, perhaps, would be your wish. regardless, your eyes rolled, desperate sounds falling from your lips as you gasped for air. he grunted, enjoying the spectacle. two long fingers teased your folds, teasing your entrance — wet, surprisingly enough. you were getting off on that treatment. what an amusing lamb. he circled your clit, chuckling at the immediate reaction.

“need to breathe, don’t you?” doflamingo taunted, releasing the pressure with a smirk as you gasped, filling your neglected lungs with air. “can’t even do that without my permission, yet you dare try running away?”

“i’m sorry,” you sobbed, squirming. “will never do that again, young master, i promise.”

the title rolling out of your tongue had him containing a shudder of delight, refusing to offer you a glimpse of the power your voice held over him.

“you’ll call me doffy from now on,” he demanded, strings dropping you roughly on the floor. you whimpered at the sudden contact of your knees against the ground, not daring to complain regardless.

“yes, doffy,” you crumbled, forced to give in to his commands.

doflamingo’s strings toyed with you midair as though you were a lifeless doll, throwing your figure on the edge of his large bed, knees sunk into the mattress. his palm bent your front forward, face bruied on a pillow. strings wrapped around your arms and wrists, obligating you to keep them raised into the air. your chest was pressed against your thighs — strings constricting the blood flow; flesh pouring from the edges. doflamingo gifted himself with a clear sight of your pert ass, using his free hand to part your folds, licking his lips. he landed a harsh, heavy slap on it before getting rid of the layers of clothing that separated him from your leaking hole.

his tip teased your entrance — cunt already clenching around nothing. doflamingo did not mind enough to fish for a condom; perhaps if he impregnated you, you’d stop musing an escape. he moved the fingers that controlled the strings, strength enough to leave superficial cuts on your flesh. your blood dripped on his sheets and you sucked on a harsh breath, sobbing as a singular string threatened to maim your nipples. the pain had been enough before, but when he slid inside, large and long girth shoved straight into your cervix, you all but shouted — the sound sent to the pillow‘s fabric.

doflamingo didn’t give you the time to get used to his length, moving with a ruthless pace. his free hand gripped your ass, feet dug into the ground as he hammered inside. the bedroom was filled with your muffled moans; balls slapping against your ass at every roll of his hips. the warmth of your cunt enveloped his girth, deep still yet not quite as enough, for his base remained unsheathed. he clicked his tongue in annoyance, retreating altogether, leaking tip barely inside before doflamingo shoved himself completely, uncaring for the state of you.

the sheets were a combined chaos of blood and the pair of your essences. doflamingo felt himself stretching your walls to the point of discomfort, yet you all but mewled louder, fingers maimed by the strings as you held onto them.

“still want to leave?” he grunted, sweat dripping down his bronzed skin as he hammered his tip into your cervix.

“no, doffy,” you stuttered, gasping once he, at last, found your g-spot. he grinned, sunglasses slipping to the tip of his nose as he increased the aggressiveness of his pace.

another thrust teasing your gummy spots; saliva dripping down on your back from the tip of his darting tongue. he leaned his chest forward, angling himself in a manner that had his girth swallowed entirely by your greedy walls — clenching; challenging; threatening to milk him dry.

“will cum,” he stated, intonation not open to complaints. “and you will take it all.”

the string at your neck had your head thrown back, mouth parted from the pillow. “yes, doffy.”

“good bunny,” doflamingo complimented, clicking his tongue as your walls tightened due to the approach of your orgasm.

a single, devastating thrust — combined with the pressure of his strings around your entire figure — had you sent to the edge. cum showered his girth and he shot his own load inside, the sight of blood exciting him far more than it should. doflamingo kept the pace regardless of the shared orgasm, fighting against his own overstimulation as he ravaged your insides, ignoring your desperate pleadings for an instance of reprieve. you dared to run away — and he’d make sure to smear your walls until the punishment was etched into your mind.

— 🐈‍⬛ : i could NOT fix him but i could make him moan like a girl.

[beenbaanbuun]

Hai there! :3

Hope youre having a lovely day/night! I wanted to say I love your works!

I’ve been following your opposites attract universe and I have to say I love it so so sooooo much!! Its just so sweet and beautifully written! Addams! matz is now my roman empire.

I have a question though after reading the fight and the apology parts of the story, since hongjoong basically NEVER yells but did in fact yell at darling, do you think darling for a good period of time would be a bit distant from joong? Like she’s knows she’s forgiven but would she be too scared to make a similar mistake? Cause if it were me where I was able to make someone who never gets mad, mad. I would know I FUCKED up big time and I’d be so nervous to be around them 😭

If Darling does somewhat become a bit distant how would Hongjoong react to that too? Like would guilt practically eat him alive? 😭

Thats all! Thank you again for your works I love reading them!! 💕

i was going to reply to this like it was just a simple question but i must write………..

not proofread yet

as you stand outside hongjoong’s office, you can’t help but feel your heart beating a mile a minute. it’s silly, you know that, and yet you can’t help but hesitate. he’s on the other side of that door, after all, and try as you might, you simply cannot let things go back to normal. it’s only been a few days, yet you haven’t crossed the threshold into that room even once. you’ve barely even spoken to hongjoong, in fact. apart from mealtimes and night when he cannot go without you in his arms, you opt to stay far out of his way. it’s not that you want to, but instead you feel like you have to.

it’s for your own peace of mind.

except this time you can’t. this time, you’re under strict instructions from seonghwa to fetch hongjoong for dinner. he knows what he’s doing, the corners of his mouth tilting up in an annoying smile after you tried to come up with some excuse as to why you had to avoid hongjoong. clearly none of them worked since here you are.

you knock, three light taps against his door so as not to irritate him too much. he’s working, after all, and you know better than to get in his way while he’s working. “come in, dove,” he calls, surprising you as he refers to you by name; how could he tell from a knock alone?

the brass doorknob is cold as you push the door open tentatively, your feet remaining firmly at the threshold. it’s a surprise to see him turned away from the desk, eyes already upon you before you even fully reveal yourself. there’s a smile on his face, soft and delicate as though he’s gazing upon something beautiful. he’s gazing upon you, but standing before him with your bottom lip tucked neatly between your lips and your thumbs picking at one another, it’s hard to feel like you’re anything but worrisome.

a hand rests upon his lap, fingers drumming lightly upon the thick black fabric of his slacks. the seat he flaunts looks oh-so-tempting, but you refrain from taking it. from closing the gap and shoving your face in his neck like you’ve been craving to these past few days. he always smells so nice; warm spices and home.

“how could you tell it was me?” you ask as you shuffle from foot to foot in his doorway. his smile grows wide as he studies you.

“seonghwa enters immediately after knocking, yeosang wouldn’t be visiting me, and you,” he pats his lap twice, your favourite seat becoming just that more tempting. still, you somehow manage to hold yourself back, “well, you never knock but since you’ve been avoiding me—”

“i have not!” you squark, eyes going wide and feet finally carrying you forward into the lions den. your hand slips from the door it had been holding open, and the slam of it shutting lets you know that you are in fact trapped. there’s no escape from hongjoong now without it being plainly obvious that you are in fact avoiding him, although that seems to be a fact he’s already grown wise to.

hongjoong seems to be aware of that fact too, as the moment the door encloses the both of you in the confines of his office, he taps his lap yet again. this time, you almost break.

“you see, if you weren’t avoiding me, you’d already be in my lap,” he tuts at you, relaxing himself in his chair and letting his legs spread. as sweet as the spot on his lap looks, you must admit that the one between his thighs is equally as enticing. you could sit there for hours just staring up at him in wonder.

you take yet another step into the room, more than happy to deny yourself the pleasure of his lap, less happy to remain so far away from him. you might be avoiding him, but you can’t deny yourself the simple pleasure of seeing his pretty face up close. the sly smile he wears when he teases you is admittedly beautiful, even if it does annoy you to no end.

“maybe i just don’t want to sit in your lap right now,” you argue, to which he responds with a scoff. rightfully so; if you’re going to lie you should at least try and make it believable. “or maybe i just don’t want to get in trouble with seonghwa by making us late for dinner.”

another chuckle, although you suppose this one is even more deserved than the first. you’ve never had a problem flaunting seonghwa’s orders and rules before, so why start now? defeated, you give him a deep sigh.

“come here, dove,” he says through his amusement, adoration laced through every word he speaks. you take another few steps closer, although not as close as it seems he desires you to be.

hands wrap themselves around your hips, tugging lightly at your body until your stumbling forwards into hongjoong’s grasp. they move around your body quicker than you can squirm free of them, pulling and pushing at your limbs until you’re arranged exactly how he wants you, straddling his lap with your hands resting tentatively upon his shoulders. it takes just a few seconds for his arms to snake themselves around your waist, locking you in place.

his head is tilted in such a way that he can appreciate the sheepish look you wear. the way your eyes look anywhere but his own, and the way your jaw ticks in something akin to agitation, although hongjoong knows you far too well to assume that that really is the case. if you were agitated, your pretty lips wouldn’t be pressed into a pout, they’d be forming cute little insults that hongjoong would have to try his hardest not to find sweet. if you really were agitated, hongjoong would know better than to tighten his grip until you have no choice but to lay with your torso flat against his.

you don’t even resist when he traces a finger up your spine to the nape of your neck. it tangles itself with the strands of hair that twist around another, soothingly tugging on them. it doesn’t take much more than that for you to finally relax against his frame, sinking into the warmth his body offers you.

“i wasn’t avoiding you,” you whisper, just loud enough for him to hear.

“liar,” he murmurs back.

“i wasn’t!” you insist, “i just… i didn’t know what to do around you. you never yell but—”

“i did.”

you hum in agreement, “you did.”

hongjoong’s arms get tighter around you as though he’s afraid you might slip away unless he holds on tight. you don’t mind; the pressure is honestly quite nice. it helps melt your inhibitions, your fear of telling hongjoong exactly how you feel. you shouldn’t be scared when it’s quite obvious how much the man adores you.

“it felt like something changed between us,” it doesn’t feel so hard to admit that when you’re in his arms, “i didn’t want to do anything that might change it even more.”

you’re met with a few seconds of silence; it’s hard to discern whether it’s comforting or anxiety inducing, yet you’re more than happy to sit in it. if hongjoong needs to take a breather before responding then you’re happy for him to do that. you’d much rather sit uncomfortably for a few seconds than have him raise his voice at you again.

although something inside of you tells you that it’s unlikely for that to happen again.

“you’re silly, dove,” he finally responds, forever taking place in just those few seconds. “the only thing that changes between us is how much i adore you, and that continues to grow and grow each time i see your face.”

“it can’t have grown much these last few days then,” you comment, “you’ve barely seen me…”

“oh, but i have,” he says it as if it’s obvious, “i see you every time i close my eyes. whenever i blink, you’re there, saying something cheeky to seonghwa that you know will get you into just the right amount of trouble to get you what you want,” he brings you closer still, his grip so tight that you’re certain your ribs might crack under the pressure, “so yes, darling, my love for you has grown exponentially these past few days.”

you can’t help but let yourself smile, tucking yourself into that sweet spot between his chin and his shoulder to hide it. he smells so good, just like he always he does, and you pull a deep breath in through your nose. cinnamon and home fills your senses and you realise that no matter how hard you try, you can’t stay away from hongjoong for long.

he’s just as much your home as seonghwa is.

[macsimagines]

Yandere!Mikey w/ a S/O that had his child

ASKBOX IS OPEN

(So for this set of headcanons its for a Mikey thats been consumed by his dark impulses and has probably lost everyone... ALSO PLEASE tell me what you think? I work better when I'm given notes so any complaints or compliments ill take!)

(D/N) - Daughters Name (Y/N) - Your Name

You were supposed to be a one night stand. He wasn't even going to give you the time of day. You were some secretary or pencil pusher and he was making deals (harassing) your boss.

But you catch his eye, and your boss has you entertain him to make things go smoother.

Thankfully, you two hit it off. Mikey can be charming despite his horrible reputation and you've got such beautiful kind eyes...

One thing leads to another and one unforgettable night you two have sex.

Mikey doesn't call you or contact you after that, and you can take the hint that it didn't mean anything more than just a way to relieve stress.

That would be all fine and dandy if it weren't for the fact that you were puking your guts out and happened to be pregnant.

You can't depend on Mikey, you don't think he'll accept your child and you really don't want them involved in the underworld that Mikey controls.

So you move out of Tokyo to distant family in a different town. You get a job, have your wonderful child and live peacefully in a small town.

Four years down the road, you end up back in Tokyo with your daughter. You owed a friend a favor and you're not too worried.

Your Daughter might be Mikey's clone but Tokyo is a big city and he's a busy man. He must have had countless women before he's not going to recognize your face out of a million others. Plus its been years. You should be safe right?

Wrong. You wake up one morning and (D/N) is gone. You're frantic searching for her, so confused where she could have gone from your friends apartment when it hits you: The Park!

Sprinting over there you're met with a sight you never thought you'd see. Mikey holding your fidgeting daughter in his arms.

If not for the terrifying look in his eyes the scene is almost comical.

The two of them together look like a before and after picture because of how similar they are.

"Y/N, you wanna explain this?" he asks you, and you're more shocked he remembered your name than anything else.

You try to pull it together, you don't want to cause a scene in front of your daughter.

"Th-that's my daughter. She ran off this morning and I've been looking for her."

He tilts his head to the side while he looks you up and down, placing your little girl on his hip.

"Don't you mean our daughter?" there's something dark in his voice and down right malevolent in his eyes.

Panic rises in your chest and you look down at the ground. "I just...I wanted her to be safe. I-I didn't think you'd care."

Your sweet Daughter whimpers for you, not understanding who this strange man is or why he's making her mommy so upset.

"You thought I wouldn't acknowledge my own child? Am I that kind of man to you?"

Silence stretches between you before you finally get the courage to say; "How did you even find us?"

Mikey just stares and holds your girl close before answering; "I heard you were in town. I came looking for you, and found her. Guess this is fate."

What you didn't know was that Mikey did want you, he wanted you so bad it almost drove him crazy. He tried to keep his distance and ignore you, and just when he can't take it anymore he finds out you moved away?

That's fine. It wasn't meant to be. But he had eyes and ears out for you if you ever came back to him. If you willingly walked back into the lions den that must mean you want him to have you.

He hears your back, with a daughter, and that's not a problem. If you have a husband he'll make sure you don't anymore and he doesn't mind a brat, you'll give him some of his own and that will make up for it.

So he goes looking for you, and he's almost to the apartments he knows you're staying at when a little girl catches his eyes. For a second he thought he hallucinated a mirror, but no staring up at him is his own face.

In his heart he knows who this girl is. And he's mystified when she starts talking to him.

"How come the sun's so bright?" she asks him for whatever insane reason.

And the empty abyss in his chest is suddenly full of love and affection. She's perfect. He had a perfect daughter now. Mikey embraces and tells her as much. That she's wonderful and beautiful and so loved.

Then you come sprinting towards them and Mikey suddenly remembers you kept her from him.

Back to the present, he thinks if this had been anyone else he would have killed them. But its you. And thankfully you raised the perfect child and gave him a healthy daughter, so he can't be too mad. He'll take it out on some underlings that left out very important details...

"I'll take responsibility," he tell you grabbing you by the wrist and pulling you so you're face to face, "And you will too, Y/N. We're gonna raise a very happy family. And you're going to give me a very big one. Lots of kids." one for every person he's ever lost.

[heartofmortis]

✶ Lionheart

Robb Stark x (Baratheon/Lannister!) Reader

TAGS: friends to enemies to lovers, slow burn, one bed, childhood friends, arranged marriage, female rage, eventual smut, hurt/comfort, canon compliant (boooo!), major character death

NOTE: so this is also an oc fic on wp, but i wanted to try out something new! in rewriting to second person, some edits have been made. there will be no y/n, and there are other ocs in this fic (since that’s what i usually write) and reader does have some physical descriptions.

i’m in suchhhhh a robb stark brainrot atm, this is how i’m coping 🫶

TIMELINE: season / book one onwards. a mix of show & book canon!

SUMMARY: A soft heart is no curse.

You are nothing like your parents. Your mother’s first-born, most deeply adored. Born in the ashes of a victorious rebellion, you are the brightest spring child in King’s Landing. Free as the breeze whistling through the trees, love burns in your veins like sun rays. (You’re too good for this world, your mother whispers as she holds her daughter close. No one will hurt you. You’re safe here with me.)

The Pearl of King’s Landing, they called you. Sun-bright and untouchable. To be beloved by the Smallfolk is a rare gift, and you bear it proudly. A little doe beside your father, a great stag, and your mother-lion.

A soft heart is no curse. You believe it until you spend a month travelling north with your family, a trip that spins your world on its axis, and won’t let you come home. When you are left alone in a vast castle with no true company, your pretty heart can only be a curse. No one trusts a naive girl raised in the lion’s den — not even when steel cuts across your palms, blood soaking your fingers as you try to protect a boy you hardly know. Your mother was the only one who allowed you to be yourself. (The North does not find courage in the kindness of princesses.)

Your soft heart is a curse until the day Robb Stark takes it in his hands and promises to keep it safe.

Against a thousand odds, in a moment of peace within a storm of chaos, he finally accepts you. And you feel like you belong for the first time since you left the safety of the Red Keep. (No one will hurt you here with me. I’ll protect you.)

A soft heart is a beauty on a battleground. A light in the dark, an anchor. Undying, and calling for your love to come home safe. Alive. But a soft heart is only pretty until it bleeds. Until it rains. Until it screams. Until you want to claw it from your chest and throw it to the lions who claim to love you.

(Your soft heart, devoured by the Young Wolf, rots beside him.)

wattpad / playlist

━━ ACT ONE; northern attitude

prologue / posted 11.10.24

chapter one / posted 21.10.24

& more coming soon!

[junichan]

Recently I've been seeing a lot of Sun Wukong and reader / OC with baby monkeys stuff, and I am just living for it. ( @journey-to-the-au's #Fruit Troup and @semisolidmind's #Royal Children especially) Something about baby monkeys rattled around in my little brain long enough that I had to bang out this drabble. Its my first ever x reader story, and its just slightly nsfw so beware!

Cuddle Break

Synopsis: Your reaction to snuggling a baby monkey has quite an effect on Sun Wukong

Warning / Triggers: Slight NSFW - mention of an erection and implied adult situations

For several days now the group had been traveling through a dense jungle. You had stopped for a break on the side of the road to eat some lunch and rest your weary feet. Although it was a little humid, it felt pleasantly cool beneath the shade of the jungle canopy. You would have liked to take a quick nap, but Tang was anxious as ever to get moving again.

“YN, would you mind finding Wukong?” the monk asked. He smiled apologetically, as if he knew he was sending you into the lion’s den.

Almost since the day you’d joined the group, the demon monkey had begun teasing and flirting with you. You did your best to laugh off his advances, thinking he was probably just messing with you, but lately Wukong was getting so provocative that Tang was forced to use the headache spell a few times just to get him to give you some space. You were starting to consider that maybe Wukong really was into you, which wouldn’t have been a problem if you didn’t find him so damn attractive too!

As usual Wukong had gone off on his own to scout out the surroundings as soon as the group had settled down. Normally Pigsy would have been asked to go find the monkey, but he had eaten so much lunch that he’d zonked out hard enough that even Sandy was struggling to wake him up. There was nothing to be done about it, so you set off in the direction you had seen Wukong go earlier, hoping he hadn’t gone too far.

It wasn’t much trouble to find a little footpath that meandered through the jungle underbrush. You tracked it for a while, occasionally calling out the demon monkey’s name. Eventually you came to a wide, slow running creek, and trusting the intuition that had served you so well on the journey so far decided to follow it upstream. It wasn’t too long before you caught a familiar chirping, chattering sound. You had heard Wukong occasionally making those noises, but this time they sounded surprisingly soft.

“Wukong!” you called as you got closer, “Tang wants to get going…!”

It wasn’t long before you spotted him and understood why the noises were so unusually gentle.

Sun Wukong was perched on a thick branch hanging low over the creek, surrounded by a troop of infant monkeys. It was the little ones that were chirping and giggling as they climbed on him like a living jungle gym. He seemed to be enjoying it, indulging the little ones with the softest smile you had ever seen on his face. And the babies were so cute! Little fluffy beans with their little tails and itty-bitty noses!

“❤️Oooh my gooooosh!!❤️❤️” You gushed before you could stop yourself.

The Monkey King and his tiny subjects looked at you in surprise, only just noticing your presence. The babies looked a little nervous, but Wukong’s grin only got bigger as you approached. You were glad to see that the little ones trusted Wukong enough that they didn’t run away, even when you pulled yourself up on the branch to sit beside him.

“They’re so adorable, Wukong! Do… Do you think I could hold one?”  

Wukong had never seen you so enamored before, it was adorable! “Sure,” he chuckled, “Just be careful. They got a strong grip.” He lifted one of the little ones off his knee, making reassuring noises as he handed him over to your waiting arms.

The baby was clearly a bit frightened of you, staring at your face with wide, darting eyes. “It’s okay sweetie,” you cooed to reassure him, stroking his head and back. “Don’t be scared.” To your delight the infant started to purr, and snuggled against you as you cradled him against your chest. You were so besotted with affection for the little guy that you didn’t even notice the intense way Wukong was staring at you.

It wasn’t until he’d handed the child over that Wukong realized the little one had fur that was remarkably like the color of your hair. Watching you snuggle and coo at the infant made him think of you doing the same with his offspring. Just imagining you getting you pregnant with his heirs drove him wild. If it weren’t for the children still clinging to him, he would have pounced on you right there.

What was worse, he was a little jealous of the little one! What he wouldn’t give to have you hold him and stroke his fur like that! That look of sweet and tender adoration in your eyes should have been for him!

Oblivious to the immortal demon’s internal struggle (and the bulge in his pants) you continued to soothe the baby monkey in your arms. The little guy was practically melting as you pet his soft fur. Then two more of the little ones abandoned Wukong to crawl into your lap, eager for their turn at cuddles. You scooped them up happily, pressing kisses to their foreheads. “Aww! Mama’s sweet babies! ❤️”

Wukong grit his teeth to stifle a groan. The jolt of arousal that went through him was so violent his hand shot up and snapped the branch above him like a twig. The baby monkeys that were still sitting on him were startled enough to scatter further up the tree.

You gave him a puzzled look, holding the little ones in your lap a bit protectively. “Something wrong, Wukong?”

“I’m fine,” he answered, jumping down from the branch. He sounded a bit more terse than usual. Obviously he wasn’t fine, but he wasn’t going to tell you about it. “You said Master wanted to get going. We should head back now.”

You sighed, glancing down at the baby monkeys curled in your lap. They had been startled by Wukong crushing the branch but had hunkered down rather than run away. “Aw, can’t we stay just a little longer?”

"C'mon, YN, let's go." Wukong shook his head, shooing the little ones with a few soft hoots. They reluctantly crawled out of your lap, and you pouted as you let them go. Then he reached up, grabbing your waist to lift you down off the branch. You accepted the surprisingly chivalrous gesture, even putting your hands on his strong shoulders to steady yourself. But once your feet were on the ground, he didn’t let go.

You felt your face heat up with a blush as Wukong stepped into your space, his grip on your waist keeping you from escaping when his chest pressed flush against yours. You could feel his warm breath on your ear as he leaned in and growled suggestively, “You know, I could give you a few of your own if you wanted…”

“Wukong!!” The insufferable demon laughed as you pounded your fist on his chest in protest. But at least he let you step back, and you took a deep breath to try calming your racing heart. And racing hormones!

Against your better judgement, you let him carry you back to the others on his cloud. You tried to ignore his tail curled around your middle, somehow convincing yourself that it was only to keep you steady.

Wukong could tell under all that flustered embarrassment you were turned on. He could smell it on you, and it made him grin victoriously. It wouldn’t be long now before he’d finally have you. He might have even been able to convince you to let him have his way right there in the jungle, but he knew there wasn’t enough time to really enjoy himself. If the monk had sent you to look for him, it wouldn’t be long before he sent Pigsy or Sandy to look for you. He could wait a little longer. You were worth it flexing a little patience, and no matter what, in the end you’d be his.

And in the meantime, seeing you snuggle the baby monkeys gave him a sneaky idea for how to get some of that attention for himself…

[cobragardens]

The Golden Lion

For all that Aziraphale is the more frightened of the two of them, Crowley is the snake: he camouflages himself carefully, and his first instinct is always to flee.

Aziraphale's is to stay. He insists on facing the Apocalypse. He insists on facing the Second Coming. He insists on trying to make a difference. He doesn't want to go up to Heaven, but he does it anyway, alone, because he wants to stop the destruction of Earth (again) and keep Crowley safe.

He's very difficult to shame, too. He never gives up his innocent pleasure in eating, even though Heaven, Hell, and probably people on Earth all mock him for it. He's soft and he remains soft, even after Gabriel shames him for both his physical and metaphorical softness. That takes a lot of strength and an unshakeable character.

You know the gold ring Aziraphale wears as a badge of office, that functions as the counterpart to Crowley's snake tattoo? The charge on that ring is a lion.

The heraldic attitude of the lion is rampant (i.e., reared up): it stands on its hind legs with its forelegs raised, as though attacking, and its head is forward-facing: it looks forward, toward the future.

Obviously in popular symbolism, lions represent bravery, and that definitely fits Aziraphale. He's literally leaving the only person who has ever loved him to go make the universe a better place for that person and for everyone, and he's going alone amongst the people who have despised and shamed him his whole existence and tried to kill him at least once; those people are mfing Heaven and have been entrenched in their power for thousands or millions of years. It doesn't get a whole lot braver than that.

In Christian symbolism specifically, the lion represents Christ. (He's referred to in the book of Revelation as the "lion of Judah" because the heraldic symbol for the tribe of Judah was a lion and Jesus was said to be from the tribe of Judah because his [step]father Joseph was from Judah.)

Normally when a story draws a parallel between a character and Christ, the parallel is one of self-sacrifice. That's not what's happening here. When symbolism for Christ represents his self-sacrifice, Jesus is invariably associated with a lamb--the sacrificial lamb--not a lion. When that symbolism represents Christ's mercy or holiness or divine nature/ordination, the dove of the Holy Spirit is used.

But the lion is a symbol inherited from the Old Testament. It represents royalty, power, threat, and seizure from others by force. Jesus is symbolically depicted as the lion upon his return to Earth during the book of Revelation. The lamb is Jesus' self-sacrifice and death for the sins of humanity, but the lion is Jesus' return, powerful, royal, and triumphant.

Does Aziraphale's ring foreshadow his involvement in the Second Coming of Christ? Probably! Is it a symbol that Heaven is the proverbial (and biblical) "lions' den" where they should be doves and lambs? Maybe.

I think it more likely that Aziraphale himself will be the lion, on a righteous rampage like Jesus chasing the moneylenders from the steps of the temple, telling them "It is written, My house shall be called the house of prayer; but ye have made it a den of thieves." Because the ring is a signet ring, meant to impress a seal that legally represented the wearer as an individual. So the lion is linked to Aziraphale himself.

Aziraphale is soft. It is one of his very best qualities. And soft and weak are not the same thing: because he is soft, he tried to kill the Antichrist, a child. Because he is soft, he stood alone before a demon in defiance of the will of Heaven and demanded with no power whatsoever to back him up that the demon spare children whose murder God had authorized. He, an angel of God, worked with a demon to deceive the Heavenly Host and, as he points out himself, thwart the will of God. Even before that, because he was soft, Aziraphale gave humans the gift of fire and self-protection and then lied to God Herself about it. I mean it literally does not get any more courageous than that.

And I can't stop thinking about what that lion, and that softness, and the link between the two is going to mean for S3.

[bitethedevil]

Raphael the Cat (Character Analysis)

I’ve thought a lot about the whole cat and mouse metaphor from his Cormyrian rhyme, even when I first started playing the game and hadn’t developed my unhealthy obsession with Raphael. It is an odd thing isn’t it? Why a cat?

The mouse thing makes perfect sense for his character. He often refers to others as ‘little’ or something to that effect (such as ‘pipsqueak’). You are small and he is big. That’s always the gist of it. Of course, the ‘mouse and cat’-trope is pretty common, but why not identify with something bigger and scarier? He does it by calling himself a ‘devil’ instead of what he really is: a cambion.

We know that he doesn’t just do it with us. In the Devil’s Den at Sharess’ there is a book where someone had written about winning over a devil in a poetry contest and the devil is clearly Raphael. We know because he has circled it in red that his ‘down came the claw’ line is mentioned in it. Which means that this loser (affectionate) reuses the same old material for clients.

He’s not a lion, or a wolf, or whatever absolutely terrifying creature you can find in the D&D universe. He’s a cat. That’s what he’s chosen as his fursona, if you will. Why though? The more I think of it, it makes complete sense, and it is such an apt metaphor for his character.

“Is there anything duller than a loyal dog?”

Raphael says that line and then says ‘I much prefer a cat. Meow.’ Iconic, honestly. It also says a lot about his character. What is a dog’s role in a house? They protect their owners because of some sense of fondness or at least because they are trained to it. What does a cat do? It kills mice.

Not because of any sense of fondness or duty to its owners, but because it is nature for it to do so. It is specialized to kill mice and rats. A cat does what a cat wants, which is exactly what Raphael does.

It’s written somewhere in the Devil’s Den that he sometimes doesn’t even really need to claim someone’s soul or help them, but simply does it because he feels like it. Cats are notorious for killing even though they don’t even really need to.

Considering how ordered and hierarchical the Hells are, I really think that Raphael is a bit of a wildcard. It comes with his nature, I think. Most cambions are loners and solitary by nature. He does what he wants. It certainly takes some balls to directly hand over an opportunity to fuck over the literal Archdevil of Cania by telling us about Cazador’s ritual.

No matter how much he claims that he loves order, I think order is mostly what he personally deems as order. It’s whatever he feels like, which is the general theme with him.

Master of the House

A cambion isn’t seen as much in the Hells. Don’t get me wrong, he still seems really successful for a cambion, and he certainly is higher in the hierarchy than most of his heritage. In the Hells he really is a cat surrounded by lions and tigers. He might see himself as a lion, but which cat doesn’t? Though, he is still aware of his place in the Hells, or he would not have lived for so long.

A cat might not be the king of the jungle, but they certainly rule their tiny kingdom of the house they reside in (ask any cat owner). It’s the same with Raphael. The House of Hope is his little kingdom where he rules. It’s obvious from all the plaques you see around his house.

He has created his own little space where he is the most fierce and dangerous thing there is, and all the little mice who enter buy it. To a mouse, a cat might as well be a lion, which is why I think Raphael ‘dotes on mortals’. He likes feeling important, big, and scary, and mortals see that image of him.

The Cat

Though they are small, cats are apex predators. At the same time, they are irresistible to humans. We pet them, we take them into our homes, but compared to a dog, the attention you get from a cat is very much dependent on the cat and not the owner.

Raphael is the same. He comes and goes as he pleases. He appears and gives you attention, nuzzles up against your leg, making you feel special for even getting his attention. Remember what he said to Mol if you help her win?: ‘She won, you know. She’ll be the one who comes to me.’

He wants people to want his attention, so when he gives it to you it almost feels like a gift. He keeps talking about us knocking on his door as well. We know that he has most likely talked to Voss before we arrive to Sharess’ because Voss knows he has the hammer. Still, he seems very uninterested when Voss is actually there, practically on his knees begging for his help. Peak cat behavior.

However, we know what happens if one chooses to spite Raphael. It becomes very clear that he is not a cuddly and patient pet, and you suddenly realize that you were the mouse all along and that you never were in any control over the situation.  

He was that apex predator all along, you just never quite realized just how small you were. Again, a cat is a lion to a mouse. He actually even alludes to this idea himself if you have tried hurting him: ‘Like a mosquito nibbling at a dragon. Begone.’.

He’ll tell you that you can be friends with him, pretending that you are something that could resemble equals, but it is all smoke and mirrors. Everything he does is to pretend that he is less intimidating that he is, and he even refuses the notion that he is the cat in the lullaby in the beginning. But if you happen to get too comfortable or think you can best him, he reminds you just how small you are and that’s a theme throughout all his interactions.

[unsoundedcomic]

Whumptober 2024 - 10&11 - "Blow to the Head" & "Double Vision"

Durlyne let the Tanners have the slums and, in exchange, the Tanners did not often venture into the city's ghers nor its moneyed streets. This rule wasn't written down anywhere nor ever even said aloud; it seemed instead branded on local hearts. Durlynians learned it in the way that children learned knives were sharp and stoves were hot.

The Tanners had been Lemuel's boogeyman the first ten years of his life. Afterwards, he met the world's scarier monsters, but tales of the Tannery rogues had primed him for them: throatcutters, twin takers, back flayers. Hides from the Tannery were the finest in the land, for they did not skin the swine nor stag; Tanners skinned the man.

If you stayed out of the slums though, a lad was safe. A careful lad was safe.

So why, today, was the Sheriff of White Hill constabulary laying murdered in his fine home? His whole family, in fact, was murdered. A wife, two little boys, an infant girl, and even the family kedises slashed to death in their drawing room. Lemuel didn't understand it, but it was hard to question: one of the assassins had been caught trying to put the manor to the torch afterwards. A Midmolil boy for sure. An oily little throat-cutter called Corley Full Tang. By dawn, the inquisitors would twist him into shapes that did not yet have names.

But right now, his two accomplices were flying through the labyrinthine slums beyond Blue Boy Bridge. And Lemuel Adelier wanted them badly. He was only a week returned home from the army, freshly recruited to the Lions of Mercy. He was a Lion! They could never send him away again.

As long as he was a GOOD Lion.

"Take some care there!" Duane called after his brother, egging his mount on until it ran apace with Lemuel's panting bull , "You don't chase the viper into its den; you don't put yourself alone in the dark with it!"

Lemuel barked a laugh. "Home to the wife then if you're afraid, old man! Did you not see the blood in the Sheriff's home? From corner to corner it pooled! Over tin soldiers and a Tainish primer it pooled!"

Lemuel didn't have to turn to see the words had struck. There was a six month old baby girl in his brother's home now. Never again would he be fighting fully armoured. "Of course I saw it," Duane snarled, "And my prudence is not fear, ye strutting cock! Do as I say and wait for reinforcements. Do not ride off unbuttoned in your shortclothes and embarrass me, the one that brought you here. This isn't Chinoll!"

"Embarrass you!" Lemuel echoed, "Embarrass you!"

"Do you not covet the snakes? Know your place or the closest you will ever be allowed to a vliegeng are their dung heaps!"

"I don't need your permission! I'll find them!"

The Adeliers had been born and raised in the Godkiller's city, and though Lemuel had always respected his grandfather's advice to never venture beyond Blue Boys Bridge, he knew the Tannery's mark as well as any other local with a sense of self-preservation. As his hound snuffed after the villain's scent now, he noticed that mark mysteriously absent from the walls. Should the killers not be running back to their den, or at least towards the assurance of their own territory?

Lemuel was about to make this observation aloud when a door blew open, and eyes flashed in the night. "There!"

A throwing knife shot wasp-like from Lemuel's hand. The figure in the doorway yelped (Lemuel distantly hoped he had not just murdered a washwoman) and bolted from the building towards a break in the opposite wall. Clattering to the pavement, the knife didn't stick, but Lemuel's dog was already pounding past it, leaping, landing hard on the rogue's back. Lemuel dismounted like a diving raptor, sailing over the hound's head and to his prey's side.

"Some viper!" Lemuel grabbed his collar, hauled him to his feet. "More a worm slinking on his belly through the dirt! You slaughtered that entire family, and not a drop of blood on you! Look at the professional, Duane! Look at the coward!"

The elder Adelier pulled his hound up sharp, oozing disgust. "Excrement in a suit," he hissed, "Child-killing trash that would make a liar of Sonum Ssael when He taught every man has in him the way to His side. WHY! Who hired that hit, demon?"

Lemuel punched fingers into the knife slash in the assassin's coat, then ribs. The move would have felt more satisfying with a clawed gauntlet, perhaps, but it still produced a warbling, ricocheting scream. Blood oozed, and stuck the contents of the rogue's opened pocket to the LIon's punishing hand.

"Stop it!" Duane demanded. Lemuel did it again. Oh, Duane professed to loathe this sport, but he'd deliver this bastard to the inquisitors without a qualm in his heart. Ha!

"Sing for us!" Lemuel snarled, "Sing! Or I let you live to see the pit! And by God, if you do, you'll wish I'd taken your liver-"

The world offset suddenly, violent as a rutting vliegeng. Lemuel's vision exploded silver, and it was his turn to be on the ground. It was happy to catch him, but then he couldn't lift his newly wet head nor remember what he'd done with his legs. Fearfully Duane snapped his name but it was only his shadow that approached. Then in a mighty leap it cleared him, and Lemuel saw his brother bolt to the far end of the alley, palms flashing green spellfire. There was an exchange of pymary there, too fast for Lemuel's concussed brain to follow. Duane would win of course. It was hardly worth watching. Perhaps he'd give that show a miss entirely…

When next he opened his eyes, Lemuel was in his bed at the Temple barracks. Pink sunlight filtered through the high slits in the walls. He felt warm and sleepy and doped with something that he thought he'd like a second helping of.

"Oh, no, no," admonished Leysa, pushing him back down. Drugged or sober, Lemuel was powerless to resist. He lay obediently paralysed by the same tone of voice his new sister-in-law used when telling Duane he WOULD be playing cards and smoking with her father and his friends tonight.

"Where… is…?"

She smiled, grim, and fixed the cold rag back on his forehead. "Duane is choosing the 'most cross and callous tyrant in the Temple' for the task of interrogating the man he caught last night. Those terrible criminals nearly had the undoing of you, sweet boy, and you know your brother is one to take that personally."

Lemuel shut his eyes, giddiness and nausea battling for control of his stomach. "He… will wring his hands over insulting a hackney… until one he holds dear is threatened. Then, he would challenge God."

"I confess it to be a quality I adore," laughed Leysa. Lemuel thought she had the most musical laugh. He felt singularly accomplished when he could produce it. "Please do not mistake his nature for hypocrisy. Recognise that it is love."

"I fear… I embarrassed him last night."

"You are his brother. It is why brothers are. I did not see embarrassment when he laid you here in your cot however, nor after he had sent for his own sleeping wife to tend you. I only saw-"

"Love. It's how he gets away with everything."

Leysa laughed her songbird laugh, carefully petting his head. She liked him, and Lemuel still couldn't figure out why. He rubbed his eyes, cross, then felt a stinging spot suddenly at his side. His blood-sticky fingers found bandages there, and produced great agony when he pressed them into his abdomen. Leysa captured his hand, shushing him.

"Now, I told you they nearly had the undoing of you. After his friend struck you with that spell, the man you were on top of put a knife into your side. He's still out there, somewhere, but no concern of yours. You need to rest. I will have the cleric bring more medicine."

Hard breaths through his nose. Lemuel bade the pain subside as his mind raced. None of this made sense… but he would NOT be Duane's embarrassment. "Please," he agreed with Leysa, "More."

===

Double Vision

A few hours later, his hound was happy to see him, though Lemuel wondered why the kennel lads were keeping the animals two apiece in their stalls today. As he neared, careful not to seem in a hurry to the attendants, the pair of dogs resolved into one.

Oh.

He wanted to shake his head to clear it, but was certain that would result in a swoon. God's Beard, could he ride at all with his eyes half-crossed by the Temple's finest unguents?

They'd killed the pain at least. Lemuel was able to swing onto his saddle with the barest grunt, and only the slightest tickle of oozing blood from his stitched side.

"We don't have a lot of time before Leysa returns," he murmured. The dog whumped and beat its tail twice. Leysa'd gone home to feed the new baby, but she'd threatened him with strangulation if he moved from the cot. That's why Duane had sent for her. It had nothing to do with her laugh nor her kind eyes nor any particular skill she had at pressing cold rags to hot foreheads. Duane simply thought he'd mind her more than anyone else. Well! The great Duane Adelier was not so wise, was he!

He'd said papa would be coming to visit soon too, after the shop closed. That would not control him either! No, no. That only motivated him to put himself elsewhere. He did not need to see the old man's pity; that look in his eyes with which he had always regarded his youngest son. That look. That inscrutable LOOK.

I'm sorry you're not your brother.

To hell with it. Lemuel had investigative work to do, and some degree of personal honour to restore.

He made it over the Bridge in an hour, sticking to the low streets and away from the busy market corridor. Passing over the river, it was grey and berg-bloated, bottles and trash choking the banks. In the wan afternoon light, Lemuel looked down at his gory right hand. He squinted, willing his vision to align and read to him the torn scrap of paper stuck to his palm.

"Gherson Oa"

It had been in his would-be murderer's pocket. Was it a street? None that he knew. Perhaps a business name somewhere in the slums?

Once he'd reached the mouth of the alley, Lemuel left his hound and proceeded on foot. The wine-coloured stain half-way down the filthy corridor left him even sicker in his middle. He saw Duane's prints in it, a wild frenzy of boot soles and bloody knees. Slashes where his coatskirts had dragged through the seeping red.

"Love," Lemuel whispered. Of course Duane loved him. And he loved Duane. But there was not one Goddamned thing in the world that love could mend. Ssael spoke of honour, of duty, of responsibility towards family, faith, and country. If the Godkiller had thought more of love, He'd have said so. Let love be for mothers, fathers, and children. Let it be for people who knew how to laugh.

Quietly, carefully, Lemuel eased open the door from the night before, the one from which his attacker had bolted. It was unmarked. The lock was broken. Freshly broken. The knights and constables must have already been through here?

Aye, the small room inside was a mess. Turned over tables, papers scattered, a wooden trunk opened with pymary and all its contents emptied into a heap. Lem crossed the room and descended a hobbled set of wooden stairs leading out the back. They led to a basement converted into an equally disastrous kitchen. Its upholstered chairs had been slashed open. Sawdust hung in the air. Lemuel had to squeeze his nostrils shut for if he sneezed he was sure he would split open.

That's when he saw it. Sitting on the dark counter admidst overturned mustard jars, half a loaf of stale bread, and a few broken jars of pickle, he spied a canister with its label torn.

"tmeal," it read.

Sweating through his uniform, Lemuel affixed to it his own bloody scrap of paper.

"Gherson Oatmeal."

He breathed a chuckle, expression a rictus of triumph, and unscrewed the top.

There was only a dead mouse inside.

"Bleeeeeeding heeeeell," he moaned. Duane would laugh at the soldier brat thinking he'd figured out something clever. The Temple's finest men had swept through here. If there was anything to be found, they would have found it!

But there WAS something to find! Something about the entire assassination was wrong. The Tanners would not have ventured to the Sheriff's very home to kill him. They would not have killed the entire family, enraging the rest of the city. They would not have been caught in the act! And a Tannery assassin would not have stabbed a knife into an unconscious Lion and failed to have it kill him!

Amateurs! These were amateurs!

But wait, wait, wait.

Wait, wait, wait, wait, wait.

Duane had spoken in the past of pymarics with material triggers. Doorways that only opened if certain keys or materials swept into their questing field.

"Is there a dead mouse door?" he asked the room.

Well, not in the north wall. He held the oatmeal canister in front of him like the world's least successful alms cup, rattling the limp rodent inside, running it past a framed calendar, a faded old poster for the General Foundry's playhouse (destroyed in a fire years ago), a shelf of tin tea canisters and detergent boxes. Nothing. Nor did the east wall budge, nor were there any likely apertures to the west, which was covered over with dusty shelves, a grimy wash basin full of dishes, and a stove missing its grills.

"An embarrassment!" he despaired, holding his head. He felt weak and sick. Blood dribbled down his hip and made a wet, cold streak in his trouser leg. They would never give him a vliegeng. Newly arrived and already put in his cot by some son of a bitch wright; by some cowardly murderer with an oatmeal label in his bloody coat. Probably the lunatic only kept it to roll a weed fag! Piqued, furious at himself, Lemuel threw the canister and its forlorn dead occupant to the floor-

Which dissolved beneath his feet. Into perfect powdery blackness, Lemuel fell.

Concluded here.

[miniwheat77]

Vanilla. (Detective!Graves x Reader.)

!violence, reader is injured, alcohol, blood, violence, smut, unprotected p in v sex, heed the warnings, you’ve been warned. NO MINORS!

“Graves, there’s a call on line one waiting for you.”

He nods his head as he walks in the door, he hasn’t even clocked in yet and there’s already something waiting for him. “Yeah they’re going to have to wait, I just got a call about a disturbance at the Lions Den.” His partner, Diane says.

“Where Summer is missing from?” He asks. She nods her head. “Alright, let’s go. Tell them I’ll call them back.” He nods to the receptionist.

Phillip Graves lives in a small town. The police station he works at has very few cops which means despite his title as a detective, he’s still going out on calls like this. This one is important though.

The Lions Den is a popular bar/club. It’s got its popularity because it’s within walking distance of the only college in town. It’s been popular for years and years. But recently, it’s become a concern. It was the last place Summer Pennington was ever seen. They’ve been investigating everything since it happened a couple weeks previously but they’ve run out of leads.

Hearing that there’s a disturbance there has Graves’ hair standing up. He hopes it’s nothing bad.

He pulls into the gravel parking lot and hurries out of his car. Both him and Diane making their way inside.

It looks normal. The cracked black marble floor is covered in people. Inebriated and dancing like there’s nothing going on. The lights are flashing and it’s a good 10 degrees hotter inside. He makes his way up to the bar. “Hey, we got a call about a disturbance?” He asks, he’s confused. “Oh! Right. Hold on.” The girl turns her back to him. “Y/N!” She calls.

A girl emerges and he swallows hard at her appearance.

She’s got her hair tied back in a messy ponytail and she’s got a tight black v-neck on. Which appears to be the outfit of choice for the bartenders. She fills it out well, and she’s real pretty. “Hi.” She says. She swallows hard, seemingly distressed but hiding it well. “A regular, he uh. He got mad because I had to cut him off and he hit me with a mug.” She shrugs. Only then does he see the blood beginning to trickle from her hair line.

A beer mug.

A fucking beer mug.

“He went out the back.”

Graves radios to Diane where the suspect went, giving her a description. Turning his attention back to you.

“Do you need me to call anyone? A beer mug is one hell of an object to get hit with.” He sits down at the bar. Seeing her smile. “Ah, it’s not my first time.” You laugh. He can see your eyes are drowsy. “I’ll be alright, thank you though.”

“Hey. While I’m here.” He sits up. “I talked to a couple of bartenders here a few months back about cameras outside, but they said they didn’t have access to them. Do you know who I could talk to about seeing those?” He asks. “Of course, that’s me actually.” You smile. You throw your towel down, making your way around the bar. He follows after you when you push through the crowd, entering a blacked out door in the back. You close it and the music is muffled. He can finally hear himself think. “This is about that girl right?” You ask. He nods his head. “Yeah, the one who went missing from here.” You nod your head, typing away at the computer. “Are you the owner?” He asks.

“Oh.. no. I just manage it.” You smile. “The owners.. they kinda helped me out when I was a teenager. I take care of the bar, they guarantee me a job. I was a troubled teen so they helped me get on my feet.” You explain.

He nods his head. “What day was it she went missing?” You look up at him. The way you look up at him through your lashes has blood pooling in his lower stomach. Your eyes pierce right through him. He clears his throat. “Uh.. April 24th.” He nods. “Someone last seen her around midnight.”

He nods his head. “Alright.”

He sees you digging through footage, pulling up the date he’s said. You open up the footage from that night. You drag the cursor over the little white bar at the bottom and he watches. You move it slow, and he watches the screen.

“There.” He mumbles. He moves in closer to you and you notice the smell of his cologne immediately, body going stiff from his close proximity. He gets eyes on Summer and the both of you watch the night unfold. She’s dancing, seemingly having a normal night until a girl and a guy come in. Summer seems to start trouble with the two, thus getting asked to leave. The three of them leave, going different ways. Summer disappears down the street and he watches her dark form disappear slowly. “So she didn’t go missing from here.” He sighs. “I remember them arguing that night.” You turn to look at him. “She called the guy Aaron. And I know for sure she was going to the college down the street, she’d been in here a couple times wearing the schools clothing.” You explain. “You mind coming down to the station? I’d like to get a statement.” He asks. “Yeah, sure.”

You stand up, following him out of the office. You make sure the bartenders don’t need any help before following him to his police car.

“I’ve got the suspect, he put up a good fight but I’m on my way back to the station with him.” Diane radios to him and he smiles.

—

“You want something to drink sweetheart?” He asks. “Oh.. no. I’m alright.” You smile. You’ve got a pretty smile.

He sits down across from you. A notebook and pen in his hand. As he sits, he can’t help but notice the smell of your perfume. It’s a mix of Vanilla and something he’s not familiar with. The scent invades his senses and he gets stoved up for a minute. He hates that you get him so foggy without even trying.

“Alright. So I’m just gonna ask a few questions and try to get through this as fast as possible. I don’t want to keep you.” He explains.

“So, Summer got into a disagreement and on the footage it seems like you’re the one who intervened, do you remember what it was about?”

You nod your head. “Yeah. I heard Summer getting upset with the two because Summer and the boy had dated previously and I guess she didn’t like seeing him with the girl he was with. His name was Aaron, and I’m pretty sure she said the girls name was Maddie, I’m not entirely sure but I think that’s what I heard.” You explain. He nods his head. “Summer was pretty drunk, started threatening the two so I asked her to leave and the other two left right with her.” He’s listening and writing notes down.

He asks a few more questions but when he’s done, he takes you back to the bar. He even stays behind, having a couple drinks before he went back to his job. It’s the thing about being a small town detective. Nobody can replace you.

He makes small talk with you, finding out that you live in a tiny apartment above the lions den itself which he thinks is cute. But he wants to know more about you.

When he leaves, he leaves his card with you. Letting you know that if you need anything at all, send him a text or give him a call.

———

It’s always you who cleans up at the end of the night. The other bartenders do a sub par job, but you can’t stand the smell of Vomit and Sweat. So almost every night, you’re up late scrubbing the floors. This night though, is different.

It’s just reached two in the morning, the lions den closes at one.

You’re sweeping beneath the tables and that’s when something shiny catches your eye. A silver snake skin handbag. Without thinking, you pick it up and throw it down on the table. Finishing sweeping.

Once you’re happy with the way the floors look, you turn your attention back to the handbag. Lifting it back up. Maybe the contents inside would help you get a name. You unzip it and look inside. There’s a few old cards and receipts. You find a drivers license, pulling it out. Chills shoot down your spine when you see her photo. The name on the ID reads ‘Summer Pennington’

It wouldn’t seem so chilling, but since you lived just above the bar and cleaned these floors every single night.

Someone had to have placed it there.

You make sure the door is locked before digging your phone out of your pocket, making your way into the office where you had placed his card.

You lift it up, typing the numbers into the keypad on your phone and ringing him.

You only hope he’ll pick up this late.

“Hello?”

His voice is hoarse and he’s got a morning voice going. If the situation weren’t so dire, you’d probably find it somewhat attractive.

“Sorry to bother you so late detective..” you breathe. “But I’ve just found Summers handbag. And it wasn’t here last night.” He perks up when he hears it. “Alright. Lions den?” He asks. “Yeah.”

“I’ll be there in 5 sweetheart.”

The pet name leaves his lips before he can stop himself and he hangs up before he embarrasses himself any further. He gets out of his bed and throws on a pair of jeans. He’d usually dress up but since it’s so late, he doesn’t think much of it. He grabs his keys off of the table by his door and makes his way out to his car. The cold air nips at his skin, he should’ve put on a jacket. He climbs into his car, starting it and speeding out of the driveway to get to the Lions Den. Theres no more time to waste.

He speeds the entire way there, luckily it’s not too far from his house. He pulls into the parking lot and parks his car right in front of the doors, climbing out of his car. He walks right inside. Seeing you cleaning behind the bar. “Hey. It’s right there. I put everything back and left it alone.” You breathe. “Are you sure it hasn’t been here this whole time?” He asks. You shake your head. “No, I scrub these floors almost every night, I would’ve seen it.” He nods his head. He makes his way over to the purse, thinking of who he should call this late. “If someone put it there, it had to have been seen on the cameras right?” He asks. You nod your head. You make your way around the bar, walking toward the office in the back. He follows right behind you. You sit down at the desk, typing away at the computer. He waits impatiently.

Once you’ve got the footage pulled up, you’re both watching the screen like hawks. Eyeballing the table where you found her handbag.

You see nothing after a few minutes, but than a gleam catches your eye.

“It’s there.” You mumble, pulling the tab back over the white line.

You watch a man enter the doors and make his way right to the table. Sitting down there for just a second before standing up and making his way to the bar. Graves sees his face and scoffs. “Aaron.”

“Aaron put it there.”

He shakes his head. “Alright. I’m going to take her handbag and head the station first thing in the morning. You make sure to lock up after me alright?” He looks at you. Seeing you nod your head.

You’ve got a bare face. All of your makeup is washed off and your hair is tied back. You’ve got more comfortable clothes on as well. He has to tear his eyes away from you. Saying goodbye as he leaves out the door. He knows there isn’t much he can do right now, not until he has Diane with him. But he can at least scope out where Aaron lives. He unlocks his car and climbs inside. Waiting a second to make sure you lock yourself inside the building. He takes a deep breath, lifting up his laptop and typing in Aaron’s in the police database.

Unfortunately the list is long, for such a small town there’s a lot of Aaron’s who commit crimes.

It takes him a few minutes of scrolling before he comes across a photo of Aaron and figures out he got arrested a few weeks back for domestic abuse.

The chilling part?

The girl was Summer.

How did they not know this when she went missing?

He shakes his head. Digging further and further in until he figures out his last known address and he decides to scope the place out for the night. Making sure to stop by the 24 hour coffee shop. Thank god for Coffee.

He parks on the street a couple houses down, recognizing the vehicle out front. He seen it at the Lions den the other night.

He doesn’t see anything for a couple hours and gets bored. Deciding to search more people through the database. The only way they’ll appear is if they’ve been arrested and fingerprinted.

He briefly remembers you saying you used to be a troubled teen, so he types in your name. Surprised when you appear high up on the list. Your mugshot is clearly a photo of you while you’re inebriated. He can tell by the sly smile and bloodshot eyes. He sees that you’ve been arrested for couple of small things. Public intoxication, probation violations, a couple from fighting. He laughs to himself. You seem so well put together for someone who’s got such a bad track record. But he can tell these charges are old. It’s been quite some time since your last arrest.

Once six am rolls around, he’s dialing Diane first thing and getting a warrant for Aaron’s house.

It’s late afternoon when they finally have it, and they load up the squad car. Graves drives and Diane is in the passenger seat. They don’t know how this is going to go, so they prepare for the worst. Wearing vests and planning to be as careful as possible. Graves pulls right into the driveway and they both move quickly. Getting out of the car and making their way up to the front door. Graves knocks normally, and is surprised when Aaron opens the door. “What the hell?” He gasps. Raising his hands up immediately. “Keep your hands where I can see them Aaron. Don’t do anything crazy.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Summer has been missing for the last couple months. Do you know anything about that?” He asks, moving to handcuff Aaron. “What? Of course not!”

“Than why were you at the Lions Den last night? Hm? We have you on video staging her handbag in there.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Diane. Load him up, I’m going to look around.”

Diane nods her head. Graves keeps his gun drawn, just in case there’s any more people he needs to look out for. He makes his way through the entire house and it’s clean, but he discovers that there’s a basement.

He opens up the door, and it’s pitch black down there. He makes his way down the stairs, flicking on a light switch when he sees one. What he sees inside has his heart falling into his stomach. He can see a woman slumped over, she’s handcuffed to a pipe. He rushes over to her, checking to see if she has a pulse. She shrinks away from his touch and he inhales a deep breath, thank god. He tilts her head to get a good look at her and realizes that it’s Summer.

He’s found her.

He calls for backup immediately and Diane takes Aaron down to the station. He’s not getting out of this one.

“Hey. It’s alright.”

Summer finally starts to stir, she’s clearly drugged.

“I’m detective Phillip Graves, I’m here to get you out of here.” He breathes. He unlocks the handcuffs and lifts her up. He has to get her out.

———

It takes a few days for everything to settle.

Summer is in the hospital recovering, Aaron is locked up tight behind bars.

Graves hasn’t spoken to you, but he figures he will now.

The case is sure to hit the news anytime now, it’s alright if you’re the first to find out.

“Hey. That cute detective is out at the bar asking for you.” Another bartender comes into the office. You laugh. “You can send him back here.” You roll your eyes. She disappears from the doorway and a moment later, he’s knocking gently at the frame. “Hey.” He smiles. “Hi. Everything okay?” You ask. “Yeah, yeah. Everything is great.” He closes the door. “Actually wanted to come let you know that we found Summer.”

“Seriously?” You look up at him. “Yeah. She’s alive, just recovering.”

“That’s.. wow. That’s awesome.” You breathe. “How did you find her?”

“Got a warrant for Aaron’s house, he had her locked up in his basement.”

“Jesus Christ, seriously? What a psycho!” You breathe. “Yeah. But he’s off the streets. He’s going to prison for a while and she’s recovering.”

You smile. “That’s awesome.”

“Yeah, and I wanted to come say thanks. Your cameras and cooperation have been the sole reason we were able to solve this.”

“Well. If you want to stay for a drink, we close in about 10 minutes.” You smile. “Sure. I’d like that.”

“I was going to come sooner but I just got off work.” He laughs. “Been doing paperwork in my office.”

“Boy I felt that one.” You laugh, slapping a hand down onto the stack of paperwork you’ve got sitting on the desk.

The both of you make small talk for a while, until the bar officially closes and all of the employees have left. Not before giving you grief about leaving you alone with a man of course. Lots of winks as they walked out the door. You made sure to lock it after them. You pour him a drink, and make small talk with him while you clean. When you finish, you stand on the other side of the bar and he takes in your appearance. Apron and that black v-neck you usually wore.

“You know.. it really pissed me off the first time I came in here. Hearing that guy hit you with a fucking beer mug.”

You laugh, looking down. “Yeah.. I wasn’t too happy when he hit me with it, trust me.” You laugh. He smiles. “Yeah. If it makes you feel any better, I wasn’t too kind to him when we brought him in.” You smile. “Do you have anything at all to protect yourself in here?” You smile. “Wouldn’t you like to know.” You laugh.

“I would yeah.”

You smile, reaching down just beneath you, raising up the little cubby. You can feel the cool metal on your hand, raising it up and setting it on top of the bar. Making sure the barrel is pointed away from him. “Damn.” He laughs. “All my bartenders are trained to use it. Nobody knows it’s back here.” You pull it back. “Better stay that way.” You narrow your eyes at him, seeing him smile. “Your secret is safe with me.”

“I have another in my apartment upstairs. But.. that stays up there just in case.”

He laughs.

“You know. You’re a real pretty girl.”

“Thank you.” You laugh, looking down. “For a heathen.”

You look up at him, through your eyelashes. “I don’t think you know the half of it, Detective Graves.”

“I think your file told me everything I needed to know about you.” He brings the glass of whiskey up to his lips. “You looked me up?” You laugh. “Maybe. Hey, as far as I was concerned you were a suspect.”

You roll your eyes. “Sounds like excuses. If you wanted to know so bad you could’ve asked.” You lean over the bar. His eyes flicker to your chest for just a second. You don’t miss it.

“Must be pretty interested if you’re looking me up.” You make your way around the bar, going to sit next to him but he grasps your arm. He slides off of the bar stool. “Yeah. Maybe I am.” He laughs. He pins you between him and the bar, the wood digging into your back. “But you don’t seem to have much of a problem with that. Don’t see you trying to get away.”

You smile, eyes moving to his lips and back to his eyes. “Didn’t want to.”

“You’re bold.” He laughs. Sliding his hand onto your hip, leaning in. “So you won’t mind if I…” he pushes your hair behind your ear. “Just kiss me.” You roll your eyes, grasping his tie. You pull him into you and his lips are finally on yours. He moves both of his hands to rest at your hips as he kisses you, pulling you into him more. He glides his hand lower on your hips and pulls you into him, his front pressed firmly up against yours. He’s a good kisser.

He glides his tongue over your lip, he wants more.

You pull his bottom lip between your teeth and tug gently, feeling him growing hard against you. You rut your thigh into his growing erection and he groans into your lips.

“You sure you want to do this?” He breathes. You bite your own lip, nodding your head. “I can take you up to my apartment. Come on.” You breathe. You grasp his hand, leading him to the back of the bar and up the stairs to your apartment door. You unlock it, stepping inside. He follows in behind you, smiling. It’s a lot nicer than he expected it to be, for being above a dive bar anyways. You keep it nice inside. He chooses to say nothing, as soon as he closes the door he’s pouncing on you again. He’s got his lips on yours and he’s lifting you up, you wrap your legs around his waist and he starts walking toward the hallway where he assumes your bedroom is, guessing correctly. He nudges the first door open with his foot and sees it’s your bedroom and it’s just as well kept. Your bed is made and it’s spotless inside, too bad he’s gonna wreck the bed.

He drops you onto your bed, forcing your legs apart and moving himself between them, grasping the bottom of your shirt and helping you pull it over your head.

His tugs his off immediately after, reaching for his belt.

You push your own pants down your legs, kicking them off. He exposes himself, his pants still sitting at his mid thigh. He moves up onto the bed more, hovering over you. “You look good like this.” He breathes. “Gonna look even better when I’m done with you.” He smirks, lining himself up with your entrance.

You gasp as he slides into you, burying himself to the hilt inside of you. He laughs at the gasp you let out at the intrusion. “Fuck.. you’re tight baby.” He hisses. He raises your thighs up slightly, getting a better angle to reach deeper inside of you. You cry out as he slides right into your spongy spot. Your thighs start to shake. “F-fuck.” You shiver. “You’re really good at this.” You whine out. He can’t help but laugh. “You’ve never had good experiences have you?”

You look up at him, crimson creeping up your cheeks. “No.” You shake your head. You’re still breathing heavier than you were before, which tells him you’re getting overwhelmed which is exactly what he wants. It’s been a while for Phillip but that means nothing. He’ll never forget how to please a woman, he knows exactly what to do. He can read you, and tell what you’re going to like. He doesn’t have all that much experience either but he doesn’t forget. He slides out of you, bringing your thigh over the other until you’re slightly on your side. He slides back into you, giving him a good angle for better access to that spot inside of you, he knows you wont last long like this.

He rests his chest into your back, his breath warm over your ear. “Nothing wrong with that sweetheart.” He chuckles. Chills rise on your skin from him talking right next to your ear. “But I’m gonna change that for you, so just try to relax.” He’s rutting his hips into you and you’re panting slightly. Waiting.

He draws his hips back and thrusts into you, he laughs when your lips part in surprise. He can still smell your vanilla perfume on you. Eyes rolling back as he feels that knot forming in his stomach. “You feel so fucking good baby, so good.” He grits his teeth, eyes screwed shut at he keeps rutting into you, hips moving with yours perfectly. Your thighs shiver, moans flowing from your lips like a river. He’s got you right where he wants you. You’re right on the brink, the warmth building more and more with each draw of his hips. You take in a jagged breath and with one more thrust into that spot inside of you, the tightness unravels, warmth spreading through you. You throb around him as you reach your high, crying out. You flinch away from him, sweet spot abused and sensitive from his perfect thrusts.

He grasps your leg, pulling you back into the missionary position you were in before.

He hisses, clutching your hips hard and taking a couple of extra hard thrusts. He slides out of you just as he reaches the brink. He wraps his hand around the base of his cock and pumps quickly until he’s coating you in his cum. The warm thick ropes have you flinching slightly. Coating your skin on your lower stomach. He laughs once he’s come down from his high. “Fuck.. didn’t expect this tonight.” He sighs. He moves himself until he’s lying next to you.

You’re quiet still. He notices immediately, turning to look at you. Your eyes are slightly wider than before, pupils still blown out. “Hey, you alright?” He tilts your chin to look at him. “Uh- yeah. Yeah I’m fine.” You shake yourself out of the daze he’s put you in. “You sure?” He laughs. “Yeah- I’ve just never… been touched like that before.” You laugh. “What, never cum during sex?” He jokes. “No.”

He pauses. “Really?”

You bite your lip, nervously nodding your head.

“Ah well. Doesn’t matter now cause I’m here.” He laughs. “Was I too rough?” He props his head up onto his hand, his elbow resting on the bed. “No, not at all.” You breathe.

“I don’t usually do this, how about you let me take you on a proper date?” He smiles. You laugh. “Yeah, I hoped you’d ask that after this.” You giggle. Seeing his lips rise into a smile. “Course not. You’re a pretty girl, deserve nice things.” He leans into you, kissing your lips once more.

He stands up, asking where to find a towel to clean you up.

When he’s helped you clean up and you’ve returned your clothes to where they belong, you decide to ask.

“Do you think Summer will be okay?” You ask.

He sighs. “I think she’ll have some trauma from all of this, but I think she’ll be okay. Yeah.” You nod your head. “I’m glad you found her. I was so worried. I had a brand new schedule in the works just in case it was some kind of freak just kidnapping girls.” You sigh. “Really?” He asks. “Yeah, figured if we closed a little earlier the college girls would get home sooner and my girls could get out of here.” He smiles. “You’re a good girl you know that?” He smiles.

“I’m a troubled girl.”

“That doesn’t mean you can’t be good. Without you we never would’ve found out what happened to Summer. You have to give yourself some more credit here, you’re a smart girl.” He laughs. “I knew I liked you from the moment I laid eyes on you.” He smirks. Seeing your roll your eyes.

“Yeah well, I think you got what you wanted, Detective Graves.”

“Got what I wanted and more, sweetheart.”

[lulublack90]

Prompt 2 - Delight

@jegulus-microfic May 2, Word count 611

First part

“No, come back later, he’s not seeing anyone right now.” Madam Pomfrey barked at them when they tried to visit Remus the following morning. 

It had been bad once they got him safely back down the tunnel and into the shrieking shack. He’d torn the place apart trying to get back out. He and Sirius had taken the brunt of Moony’s frustrations, and they had quietly rejoiced when those first rays of sun loomed over the horizon. They watched as their poor friend reappeared as the wolf made its way back inside him. Remus hadn’t been conscious when the transformation finished and that was their first clue that Remus’s wasn’t in a good way. Sirius had crawled nearer and gasped. James had peered over his shoulder and seen the cuts and gashes caused by the Wolf taking out its anger on itself, on Remus. He still hadn’t come round by the time they had to go. James had to physically drag Sirius away as he’d refused to leave their friend. It was only when they passed Poppy Pomfrey on the way back up to the castle, she didn’t see them, of course, did they all relax a bit. She’d be able to help Remus.

“Well, she’s a delight as usual,” Sirius scoffed as the hospital wing door was slammed in her face. 

“Come on, let’s go down to breakfast, we can try again before lunch.” James suggested, slinging an arm around Sirius’s shoulders and leading him away from the infirmary with Peter trailing behind. 

They turned a corner and came face to face with Regulus. 

“Reggie? What are you doing up here?” Sirius said in surprise, scanning Regulus’s body for any signs of injury. Regulus ignored his brother and looked directly at James. 

“I want some answers.” He was scowling and James’s brain told him it was a pity he scrunched up his face like that because he was quite handsome. James blocked that train of thought and said to Regulus.

“Not now, later. I’ll tell you what I can, but some things aren’t mine to tell. Tonight, the history of magic classroom after dinner.” They started to walk away. Sirius opened his mouth to say something to James. 

“Wait, where’s Lupin?” The three Marauders spun around, worry on their faces. Regulus’s eyes widened as he looked at the hospital wing doors and back to their guilty faces. “Salazar’s pointed beard! You’re telling me mild as can be Lupin is actually—” Sirius raced forward and covered Regulus’s mouth with his hand, stopping the next words from escaping. 

“Shut up you idiot!” He hissed into his brother’s ear. He looked to James, wanting to know what to do next. James didn’t know. He raked his fingers through his hair, leaving it standing up on end. 

“We need to talk to Remus,” He murmured quietly. Behind him Peter uttered a muffling charm, so they could speak freely. “Good shout, Wormtail.” He nodded at his friend. “Okay, change of plans. Come up to Gryffindor tower at dinner time, it’ll be empty then, and we can answer your questions.” He told Regulus. Regulus’s eyes narrowed and Sirius suddenly yanked his hand away. 

“Yuck, gross, Reggie!” He exclaimed, wiping his slobbery hand on his robes. 

“Do you really think I’m that stupid that I would willingly walk into the lion's den?” He scowled harder at James. 

“I think you will if you want to know the truth.” James shrugged his shoulders as he grabbed Sirius by his non-licked hand and carried on down the corridor. “See you tonight.” He called over his shoulder, knowing someone like Regulus wouldn’t be able to resist coming to find them.  

Next part

[uzurimisery]

chapter 5: the call. / coriolanus snow / nsfw

Rating: Explicit

WC: 6746

Warnings: MDNI, he's still insane and possessive, he's not a good guy but he's hot, vomit mention, not beta read

AO3 version | Series master

Friday evening had finally come, the pit in his stomach made Coriolanus anxious. Somehow, despite the years he’d known your mother, and the year he’d spent “dating” you, he had never met your father. The man had taken your mother’s last name when they married, something that rarely happened before, maybe only twice. A myriad of questions swam in his head, threatening to drown him. Ancient myths of sirens singing his doom. Would he be just as insane and twisted as your mother? He couldn’t be, he was far too public-facing. Would he be more like you then? A playful actor with a cold nature? You had to get that from someone and it was not your mother. The traits you shared with her were cruel.

Sometimes his mind was his worst enemy. He conjured up scenarios that ranged from disastrous, to pleasant, to ones that ended Panem as he knew it. He couldn’t shake the feeling like he was walking into the lion’s den. 

“Will you quit picking at that seam?” Tigris slapped his hand away from his suit pocket. “I spent too much time making that for you to ruin it.” It was a miracle she had agreed to come to dinner tonight. 

That last time they spoke had ended badly, the confrontation lingering. Despite their difference, Tigris did care for her cousin. 

“Relax, it won’t come undone from that.”

Grandma’am chided, “Now you two play nice. I am far too excited to talk with Mr Gaul about updating the apartment to let you both ruin it.” She was oblivious to the underlying tension and chirped excitedly about getting a look inside your family estate.

“Sorry Grandma’am,” Tigris always backed off when she got in trouble. “It won’t happen again.”

When the car pulled up to the gates, a private force of peacekeepers let them through, opening the gate after confirming their identities. He had known that your mother kept security with her, but not to this extent. The drive up to the front of the house was long, longer than it should be. The winding driveway, flanked with trees, led them to the crest of the hill and when the canopy lifted, Coriolanus could see your house.

Bathed in the warm orange of the setting sun stood the grand chateau-style mansion. Its two-story structure adorned with intricate architectural details and expansive windows lit from the inside. The mansion’s commanding presence, nestled amidst the green rolling gardens, was a symbol of just how important the Gauls were. 

Tonight was going to be a formidable challenge, his nerves building as they got out of the car and escorted through the front door by an Avox. The foyer featured a grand staircase at the back, sleek black railings with intricate breaks in the straight metal showcasing various scientific objects, custom-made to reflect the occupants of the house. The floors were white marble, polished to a mirror shine, reflecting the twin crystal chandeliers that illuminated the space. If the Snow apartment was extravagant, this was utter decadence, opulence in inches of the estate.

Underneath the foremost chandelier stood your family, your parents flanked you on either side. 

Mr Gaul was a tall man, taller than Coriolanus. His hair was neatly cropped and styled, the sides tapering into his beard, which was short and neatly trimmed. The combination framed his face, etched with lines of experience and an air of stern authority. Everyone in the Capitol knew him to be a fashionable man, and tonight was no exception. His suit was velvet and impeccably tailored, a testament to his discerning taste and attention to detail, only adding to his imposing physique. He had on a house coat as well. It was in a matching velvet and embroidered everywhere apart from the trim, with fine beads swirling and encircling each other. He had a way of making people look at him. It must be where you got it from. Your mother was speaking to the both of you as he watched on. 

Dr. Gaul was not wearing a lab coat-esque top for once and instead was in a black pantsuit. The trousers hung straight on her, a crisp pleat going down the centre, stopping just past the heels. Her blazer had a white inside that carried out onto the lapels, and under it was a simple black blouse. She had told him once that fashion was something she didn’t care about. 

You were the first to notice the Snow family approaching. It seemed like black was your family’s colour tonight. Your gown was longer, trailing behind you as you walked, turtleneck and long-sleeved. It was simple. Nothing very interesting about it other than the way it clung to your curves. You pulled your hair back and up, a few curls loose to frame your face. You were stunning.

“Welcome Snow family,” Dr. Gaul spoke first. “Thank you for joining us tonight.” She extended her hand for Grandma’am to shake. 

Grandma’am shook it and offered her own greetings. “Thank you for your invitation. I thought it a wonderful idea to get us together before the engagement party.”

“Of course. Mr. Gaul was insistent on it.” Did he have a protective streak? 

Your father finally spoke, his voice bassy and resonant. “I would like to know the man my daughter is marrying before walking her down the aisle.” He was friendly, all smiles, as he grabbed Grandma’am’s hand and kissed the back of it. “You must be Mrs. Snow. Lovely meeting you.”

He moved on to Tigris, offering similar treatment, before coming to Coriolanus. Mr Gaul stared him up and down, picking apart his appearance. Coriolanus felt like a shadow was being cast over him, the man looking down at him as if he was appraising a purchase. His gaze was unwavering, judgement and assessment being made every second Mr Gaul looked at Coriolanus. He could feel the pressure mounting, settling on top of him heavy and grinding, expectations being placed on him. 

“So this is the man that has the Capitol in such a stir, proposing to my daughter without a ring on national TV.” 

Coriolanus stood tall, composed despite Mr Gaul’s intensity. “Yes, sir.” 

The older man cracked a smile, bright and blinding, as he reached out to grab Coriolanus’ hand. Mr. Gaul’s hands were soft, but Coriolanus could still feel the remnants of calluses. “I like your gumption, son.” Relief washed over Coriolanus. 

“I couldn’t risk the chance of ever losing her,” Coriolanus smiled, hoping it was charming. 

“Are you two done, then?” Your question was jovial, playful and light, as you came to the pair. Mr. Gaul pulled you in for a hug and kissed the top of your head. He watched Coriolanus as he did, the smile he previously had gone and his eye holding a warning. Perhaps Mr. Gaul was the judge and jury, and Dr. Gaul was the executioner when matters came to you. 

“We’re done.” Mr. Gaul’s previous expression was back on his face as you pulled away from the hug. “The chef is just finishing up the first course. While he does, I wanted to give you all a tour of Gaul Manor.”

“A tour would be wonderful. Thank you, Mr. Gaul.” Tigris was the first to accept the offer, wanting to get away from whatever had just happened between your father and her cousin. She was followed by Grandma’am voicing excited agreement. 

“I’d like to show Coriolanus the gardens before the sunsets entirely. Would that be alright Father?” 

Mr. Gaul didn’t seem like he wanted that to happen at all, lips tightening into a fine line, but the man was weak to you. He always had been. “Of course, baby girl.” Surrender.

You walked Coriolanus to the gardens, pointing out the different rooms as you went. The click of your heels echoed down the corridors. He could see the back patio lead out to the rear gardens down a set of stairs. The train of your dress was going to get dirty if you walked around like that. He grabbed it, lifting it off the ground for you. Why did he do that? He didn’t care if the dress ruined, clothes were just clothes. Did he care if it had been ruined and it upset you? His emotions had been haywire since he woke up. 

The twilight embrace of the gardens was nice, the air filled with the scent of blooming flowers and the gentle hum of insects. Suddenly you laughed, holding your stomach and grabbing Coriolanus’ arm as you walked through the garden. 

“You looked terrified.” 

Indignation ate at him. “I did not.” 

“You did. I swear I could see you trembling, shaking in your shoes as he stared at you.” You straightened up, facing him. “He’s always wanted to do that to someone. He thinks it’s one dad thing he’s never had the chance to do.” 

“Wonderful” Coriolanus was sardonic in his reply. 

“Oh, lighten up. Let him have his fun. If this alliance is serious, this will be the only time he’ll see me get married.” 

Did you not believe Coriolanus was serious about this? He had told you, in not so many words, that he wanted this. He didn’t make friends, let alone allies, but you were both things. Was your worry about him falling in love with someone and screwing you over serious? How could you doubt him? He had given you no reason to. 

“It is serious. Did you think I’d say that in jest?” 

You shrugged. “Perhaps. You’ve been all over the place for the past couple of months. One minute we’re friends and the next you’re telling me off for standing too close to Dennis Fling, of all people.”

“I’ve had a lot on my mind.” Coriolanus knew that the answer was lacklustre. It didn’t account for his actions, nor explain them. The past few months there had been a lot on his mind, grappling with his growing feelings for you and going between acting on them or closing them off completely. He’d get close to the latter, and then he’d see you again and his resolve lost. The want he had for you vexed him, and he’s felt sick to his stomach since realising he loved you. 

“You can talk to me about it.” Your shoulder bumped into his as you spoke. “We are friends, and allies now, too.”

“Another time perhaps.” 

“Sure.”

The rest of the stroll through the greenery was quiet. Coriolanus lost himself in his own head again. Should he give up his previous plan and tell you how he feels now? It was there, threatening to jump out of his mouth. But doing that was risky. You could still walk away from him. He should just wait until you had been married or a few before telling you that being married made him fall in love with you, not that his desire to possess you led to him genuinely coming to care for you in the past year. Sick and twisted bastard he was.

He was in too deep, the surface feet above him and he could not reach it. 

“We should go back inside with the others. I imagine dinner’s ready by now.” 

“Sounds good.” 

Coriolanus held onto the train of your dress until you were back inside, letting it fall and fan around you. He hadn’t realised the chill that had seeped into his bones from being out there. It wasn’t cold today. Maybe he was just sensitive. He made sure to escort you properly, fearful your father would pop out of a corner, glaring at him for not treating you properly. Dr. Gaul had cameras everywhere, so who’s saying there weren’t any in the house?

When the two of you reached the dining room, the rest of the party was seated. This was the smaller of the dining rooms, the other being reserved for large parties. Mr Gaul had designed the one to offer a more intimate space, better for conversing as a whole. It was just as ornate as the rest of the house, the ceiling an ornamental relief. Each of the Gauls sat at opposite ends of the table, Tigris and Grandma’am on the left and right of Dr. Gaul respectfully, leaving the only seat free near your father. 

Coriolanus pulled your chair on for you before sitting on his own on your father’s right. Two waiters came out, putting down plates in front of everyone and filling their wine glasses with crisp white. The first course was some sort of salad, colourful on his plate, a champagne vinaigrette tossed over it. 

“What did you think of the gardens, Mr. Snow?” Dr. Gaul asked him as she took a sip, an eyebrow raised. 

“They were wonderful.” His words were polite, nothing too overplayed.

“Indeed.” Was he supposed to say more? 

Before he could, Mr. Gaul injected. “I spent a long time designing them and then pruning them. When the plants finally matured, I hired a gardener for it, hoping that they’d be taken care of. But much to my chagrin, they weren’t. So I fired that gardener.” 

Your mother hummed. “Finding a new one was a simple task, wasn’t it, husband?”

“Very. You’d be surprised at the number of competent men who lined up for the job.” 

“You had a replacement picked out that same day if I recall correctly, no?” 

“Indeed, I did.” Mr Gaul wiped at his mouth with the napkin on his lap. “Luckily, that new gardener was good at his job.” The threat was hardly hidden in the story. Coriolanus was replaceable to the Gauls. If he acted out of line with you, they would cut him down. He felt your foot rub his ankle, a show of comfort. 

“You’ve always been too attached to those gardens father,” You were aware of what your parents were telling this story for. “Someone might think that it was your child and not me.” 

Mr. Gaul backed off. “Well, they would only be partially blind to confuse the two of you. You’re as pretty as a rose.” 

“Grandma’am are you still keeping up your rose garden on the roof?” Coriolanus could kiss you right now, as you steered the conversation away from him. 

The chatter was light as everyone ate, courses coming and going. Mr Gaul was a jokester, cracking them to make yourself, Tigris, Grandma’am and even Dr. Gaul laughed, but it never reached her eyes. They were always on him, studying what he said and did. How he looked at you. 

It was odd, striking in a sense, so different from the initial stiffness of your interactions and formality that had previously been established. It was homey, a warm blanket on a cold day. You had grown up like this, a sprout the Gauls had watered and tended to until you bloomed one day just as you were now. 

Would you want a house like this? To have family dinners and tell stories of the days you had? Coriolanus didn’t think he could offer that. He didn’t know how to be a good partner, only play at one. His parents’ marriage was one based on fear and obsession, just like his own feelings for you. To him, that’s what love, partnership, was. A foundation of need. Even now he still wanted to hide you away, to run from the situation. Your parents’ overarching care for you is tenuous to navigate. It’d be a tough role, he’d stumble over his lines, his delivery shaky, but he could try if it made you happy. If it made you stay. If it made you love him.

___________________________

“We’ve received an increase in our budget.” Dr. Gaul stood at the front window of her office. It was two stories above the main lab and looked out over it all. 

From here she saw all. Right now she was watching you, her only child, as you led a training session. Your lab coat was an altered one. She had permitted you to wear black over the usual white. It was an older style, pre-war, from a country that was no doubt dead. You had read about them in an old book, Cheongsam, and you told her that when you grew up, you wanted a lab coat just like her but one that looked like that. Her favouritism for you was a quiet thing, often unnoticed, but she gave you that. 

She had summoned Coriolanus to her office with little warning. He had been mid-experiment when his communicuff buzzed with two words. “Office. Now.” 

He was unsure what she needed to tell him that urgently. When the family dinner ended well, he assumed he was off the hook. Mr. Gaul agreed to push the engagement party to the end of the month, instead of when it was supposed to be today, citing that he wanted to make the event more grand. Coriolanus was grateful for that. 

“That’s great news. It allows us to move forward with expanding the arena”

“Yes, it does.” Dr. Gaul’s tone was flat, devoid of her usual sing-song, her hands clasped behind her back as she stared down below. It was always so quiet in her office. There was no ambient noise to soothe the mind, only silence unless you spoke, and she was quiet. 

“Do you need me for anything else Dr. Gaul?” 

“Tell me, what do you think of her?” His blood turned to ice. 

“Of who?”

“Don’t play stupid,” she sighed, low and heavy. “Of my daughter, my Y/N.” 

His panic built, rising in his throat, the taste of bile settling on the back of his tongue. His heart pounded, a relentless drumbeat surging against his ribs. It was so loud he swore she could hear it. Sweat built at his forehead, his palms clammy. This was a test. She had seen something at the dinner that set her off, a bloodhound on a trail.

“I…” his voice caught in his throat, words refusing to form. “I think she’s extraordinary.” 

The words felt inadequate, but too much at the same time. Did she want to hear about how skilled you were? Should he lament on your strongest attributes and how he admired them? Or should he confess to his greatest sin, his need to have you?

“Yes, she is.” The short answer she gave only tormented Coriolanus, unable to determine what course to take. “Did you know she almost killed me?”

He stammered. “I’m sorry?” 

“When she was born, she almost killed me. I carried her for 40 weeks, gave up opportunities for her, and then when she came into this world, kicking and screaming, I nearly bled out,” she spoke without turning to face him. 

“I-”

“I didn’t like her at the start. She was small and fragile and cried so much. I could never get her to latch properly, making her colic. There were times when I wanted to end my suffering and kill her, but each time her father would be there and she’d calm down again. She’d smile. And then one day, three weeks after she was born, she latched on with no issues.” He was afraid to speak again. 

“I started watching her after that, treating her like an experiment. To me, she was one. Was I capable of motherhood? Of loving a child? It’s a hypothesis that is still being tested to this day. Bur preliminary results show one thing.” her body turned and finally facing him. “I care for her. I have killed for that girl and I will do it again, regardless of the consequences.”

Dr. Gaul began walking towards him, her steps silent.

I raised her with everything that I had. I gave her every opportunity and helped guide her into the ambitious woman she is today. From the moment she suckled on my teat, I laid the world at her feet, feeding her independence.” 

They were face to face now. Even though she was markedly shorter than him, she still looked down at him. 

“Are you a threat to her independence, Mr. Snow?”

Coriolanus stood his ground, gaze unwavering under Dr. Gaul’s scrutiny. Her tone laced with pride for you and an accusation for him. She questioned if he was a threat to you. Was she threatening to kill him? Replace him like they had the gardener.

“I would never do anything to jeopardise her independence, Dr. Gaul.” his voice was quiet, barely above a whisper. Even now, after years of working together, she unnerved him. “I would never dream of doing anything to harm her.”

Your independence with him was still under question. If he could let you do as you please, just like you had been this whole time, was something he didn’t know the answer to. So far, your independence has been good for him. But would it always? People change over time and who was to say you wouldn’t change, no longer view him positively. If that happened, your independence would most likely be lost. He wouldn’t let you get away from him. Would he hurt you then? Nothing life-threatening.

“Her father likes you.” Her eyes narrowed, slits like a viper ready to strike. She tore apart his words as she looked over him, searching for any hint of deceit, but she found none. “Do you know how an actor dies?”

“No.”

“They start to believe the part they play is real, that the story is real, that their feelings are real. Do you believe that it’s real?” He wanted to vomit, expel the contents of his stomach and her feet. To gag and gag as they poured out. She was onto him. She knew everything. 

“No, it’s not real.” 

She had seen the lie there, that he thought it was real, and that his feelings for you were real, and she called him on it. “Don’t lie to me, Mr. Snow.”

“It’s real.” He was exposed. “It’s real to me.”

She turned again, walking back to the overlook. What ever anger she had for him now covered. He couldn’t tell what she wanted. Was this the right answer? Had he passed her test? 

Her voice was flat when she spoke. “If you ever hurt her, I will destroy you. I will cut you from pelvis to neck, pull your innards out and suspend them. I will lock you in that state, pump you full of the bare minimum nutrients you need to live and force you to watch your loved ones die, and for her to live on happily. Do you understand?” 

“I understand.” 

“Good. Now get out of my sight.” 

Coriolanus was out of the room before she could finish her sentence as Dr. Gaul’s words rang in his ears. She would always be watching him, making sure that you were safe. You would always be hers before you were his. She knew the truth now too, that his perverse need for you, debauched thoughts, had him in love with you. His tie felt like it was choking him, fingers pulling at the knot to free it. His pace rushed as he retreated into his private lab. This was bad. It was more than bad; it was deadly.

How did he play this out? Would Dr. Gaul demand you stop seeing him, ruin all his plans? She wasn’t someone who spoke in empty threats and Hypotheticals; she spoke only of factual reality. Even if it meant destroying her protégé, she would do it for you. This was a bed of his own making, tangled in the sheets called emotion and desire, that he had to lie in. 

On the walk to his lab, he could feel Dr. Gaul watching from above. Or perhaps he was paranoid, imagining the feeling of a thousand eyes on him. Coriolanus’ mouth was dry, his hands trembling slightly. Weakness prevalent. Panic prevalent.

When the door closed, he nearly collapsed, stumbling across the room, knocking over a cup of pens as he reached his chair. The rows of instruments, intricate machinery with vials filled with different solutions, sat mocking him. They were tainted. Signifiers of his ambition now show just how much he still lacked. 

If your mother knew, did you? Had you known his feelings this entire time and strung him along? If you had known of those, how much did you really know? Coriolanus had never considered what you might know about him and what he’s done. What if Dr. Gaul had told you of his sins, how he turned on Sejanus and reaped the benefits? The possibility of you knowing the truth, his biggest flaws, wasn’t something he could let happen. You’d turn on him in judgment, your affection lost. 

A knock on the door pulled him from his thoughts, the mask slipping on again. 

“Come in.” He needed to drink something. Speaking felt like sandpaper on his vocal cords. 

The door opened as you slipped in, closing it behind you. “You alright? You looked like you were upset.” 

You were the last person he wanted to see right now, unsure if he could hide what was going on. 

“Yes, I’m fine. Just need to rerun a test.” 

“Oh. That’s unlike you,” you spoke as you plopped down on his couch, clueless about his struggle. “Normally you’re so on top of things.” 

You didn’t believe him. You were questioning him. Have you already spoken with your mother? Did she tell you everything? The temptation to confess, clear the air before it could change, pulled at him. 

“What do you know?” His accusation was sharp. 

Your presence, perceptive gaze that was always watching, unnerved him. “In general or?”

“What do you know about me? About my past?” Coriolanus knew he had to tread carefully, caution in every breath. He had to stay guarded and protect his ambition, but he desperately craved your understanding. The acceptance that what he had done was fine. 

You were silent, unsure what to say, dropping your flashlight in the dark, reaching out to find it. “Well,” He could tell with just that you knew it all. “All of it, I suppose, other than what you were feeling.” 

His voice wavered, a mixture of apprehension and curiosity. “How?” 

“I was there when my mother got the jabberjay. She almost ignored it, but I pushed her on it.” You had always known what he had done the whole time. “I told her that the extremes she had always wanted me to go to and I was incapable of, you could do them. That you’d be what she wanted.”

You had been the catalyst, the one that saved him from having to live out 20 years of service in District 2. At any point, you could have told the Plinths what he had done, but you didn’t. You had met them many times and never said anything. In fact, you offered condolences for their loss when you had first met them. Said that Sejanus had always been a positive light at the Academy. 

“What about the games?” 

“Just that you cheated, gave her rat poison and made the snakes desensitised to Lucy Gray’s smell.”

You sat there, casual and relaxed in his lab, acceptance clear. There was no question of morality from you, how he could do that to Senjaus, how he could cheat at the games. You understood that the ends justify the means. This was just another ordinary Tuesday for you. 

“I did have one question for you about her actually,” Coriolanus tensed. “Did you love her?” 

“No.” Coriolanus hadn’t loved Lucy Gray. He loved controlling her. He thought that being with her would be enough, but it wasn’t. She would always be District, low class and Covey, and he would always be a Snow. It was youthful naivety to think that being with her would ever amount to anything. 

“Is she dead?” 

“Yes, I killed her.” 

“What changed? You looked close during the games.” 

“She was a distraction, a liability, a threat to my success.” That’s all Lucy Gray had ever been to him. “So I killed her.” 

“You were right to kill her, then. Sounds like she was a loose end and the last thing we need is loose ends.” You were so unbothered by his confession, like you had expected it ages ago. “We should be more truthful with each other if this alliance is going to last.”

“Then it’s your turn to share. You know my biggest secret.” 

He felt calm now. The weight of your acceptance comforting him. Morality was inconsequential in the pursuit of greatness, and you knew that and you agreed with it. He had been vulnerable. You could have struck and crushed his heart by running, but you sat there taking it in. 

“No more secrets?” you questioned, offering to establish equal ammunition on his side. A pact of mutually agreed destruction. 

“No more secrets.”

“Do you remember Emon Quiver? You might have seen him on the Academy campus before. He was in my year.” You went on describing the boy, familiarity reminding him exactly who you were talking about. 

“He’s the one who got sent to District 11, no?” 

“That’s him. I lied about him ever touching me. Poor boys never touched a woman because of me.” Coriolanus watched you pick at the lint on your trousers. “The true story is that I was cheating off of him in history with Professor Demigloss. It was fine for a while. He let me do it with no problems until one day he wanted more from me, tried to say I owed him and if I didn’t sleep with him, he’d tell everyone that I was cheating.”

“What did you do?”

“What needed to be done. Told him to meet me in the library, made out with him a litter, put us in a position where he looked like he was in control and forced me. I waited for a few minutes, letting it happen. He didn’t know it, but they were doing an inspection of the Library that day, and all the staff was there. So they walk in and see Y/N Gaul underneath him. I started crying, begging him to stop, and said that I didn’t want this. Next thing you know, he’s off in 11 with no flesh on his fingers, if he even has fingers anymore.” You yawned as you finished the story. 

Your moral compass was just as fucked as his own. The willingness to crush others beneath your heeled feet, like the bugs that they were, was so similar to his own. “What if they believed him?” 

You laughed. “Why would they?” The point was fair, you were very convincing. “Anyway, that’s my big secret. I was thinking we should go out for lunch today. I’m tired of being in the lab.”

“I think that’d be fine. You can pick where we go.” 

As you started going through the option that you and he could go to, Coriolanus was stuck in limbo. He had expected this conversation to go so much worse than it did. You hadn’t cared that he turned on Sejanus and Lucy Gray. In fact, you commended him for it. Told your mother that his willingness to destroy others, kill their physical form and the memory of them, was a good thing, something she needed. It sent a jolt through him, heady with lust, making him giddy. You were validating his true nature, content with the darkness, at home in it. 

He felt a connection with you he had never felt before. You weren’t the sheltered playing card he had thought you to be, but a formidable force all in your own right. You understood the true nature of power and control, and the extremes one had to take to obtain it. You were cruel and vindictive, condemning a man to District 11 for threatening you.

It excited him. The prospect of navigating the Capitol’s political arena side by side, both of you playing the game well. There might be times when your interests clashed, but you were smart and willing to adapt. 

All he could think about was biting into your cherry-red lips like the fruit they were. Their tempting fullness waiting for him. He used to be afraid you’d run if you knew his truth. Now that you knew it, he just wanted you more.

But could he bear telling you that?

Don't worry! The series isn't dead. Holidays have just had me busy

(edit: forgot to do the tag list originally, silly me)

@serrendiipty @namelesslosers @glitteryblizzardsalad @harrysbitvh123 @secretsicanthideanymore @ayyyeeeeidk @hinata7346 @kisstheskin @sumo-b98 @duds31

[dreamgrlarchive]

My Fav Bad Girls

#PrettyHeiressDiaries: BGC Edition 🎀

tiara - bgc 7

“i’m the sh*t! look at me, then look at you! look at your hair, then look at mine!” ❤︎︎

bougie girl down! the hair and makeup were never not on point (tbh this is the reason i like most of these girls)!

real and pretty. never hopped on a bandwagon simply bc it was popular.

so freaking funny! and effortlessly too. she never came across as try hard.

my number one fav!

ashley - bgc 6

“i’m establishing my own dominance and these b*tches can’t f*ck with me!” ❤︎︎

if tiara is my number one fav, ashley is a close number two!

very girly girl and i love that in anyone.

cute little playboy bunny.

so authentic and never gave snake or try hard.

took an entire house on and was not scared to stand alone.

danni - bgc 8

“i’m not scared of no b*tch! whoop my ass today, whoop my ass tomorrow! i don’t give a f*ck how big you are! if i wanna do something i’m gonna do it and none of these b*tches are gonna stop me! so i’m glad you whooped my ass! that was the biggest fight in bad girls club history and it ultimately made us the stars, so, THANK YOU!” ❤︎︎

if you pay attention, danni was never the issue. she just always had her sisters back unconditionally. as someone with three sisters, i love that.

she and her sister WERE the entertainment of season 8.

knew she couldn’t fight and walked into the lions den unafraid. tbh i don’t care about a girl that “fights”. that is NEVER the reason i like someone. it’s corny.

danni was very clearly aware of the bigger picture and simply did not care about taking a hit. it’s not that deep.

camilla - bgc 8

“b*tch you’re just mad that another cute, hottie chick came up in this mug, and looked AMAZING!” ❤︎︎

gorgeous!!!! doesn’t get enough credit as one of the prettiest bad girls.

as someone that has been bullied in real life it was so fulfilling to see the way she handled it. she didn’t let ANYTHING shake her.

said exactly how she felt when she felt that way.

girls were jealous and she knew it.

sarah - bgc 11

“there’s no lying or sugar coating it! i do what i say and i say what i do!” ❤︎︎

my fav bgc blonde of all time. better than kate, kristen, and jada in my opinion.

yeah she talks a lot but she’s real and isn’t scared of anyone.

i would love to be friends with her she seems so sweet and caring. she reminds me of the girls that took me under their wing when i started at hooters.

called out stephanie’s irrelevant ass at the reunion, checked mehgan as soon as she heard shit talking + anyone who beats gigi’s ass is a fav in my book!

her signature piercings, bows, and blonde hair was so bimbo i love it. + that iconic reunion look!!!

unfortunately didn’t get enough time to shine on that raggedy season of hers but she was definitely the star of season 11 so i’m glad we got to see more of her on BGASB and season 13.

jelaminah - bgc 14

“i don’t feel like i’m better than nobody!… but i’m comfortable with who i am because it’s taken me a lot!” ❤︎︎

dominance at its finest. she said it’s the jela show and manifested that down. she had girls stuck in her face, but talking behind her back. that’s because they knew it wouldn’t fly.

her signature look oozed of feminine allure. educated! believed in having her own life and goals AND not entertaining men that weren’t up to her standards.

she kept her space clean and was disgusted by mess and filth.

able to cope with lots of personalities and get along with everyone.

proud to be black and didn’t tolerate racism.

the clermont twins - bgc 14

“you know, certain things i can’t help. i feel like i’m not just cute; like i got a lot going for myself and i’m smart. so like when you’re that strong of a person, you’re a bad b*tch!” -shannon

“i just look so damn good, and it’s so hard to meet other girls who are just as confident as i am! -shannade

“b*tch, SHUT UP!” ❤︎︎

vain black barbies and i’m here for it.

as much as people seem to think otherwise, they weren’t mean girls or bullies. they just spoke up for themselves when getting unsolicited harassment from the other girls.

every look for for me was a ten. i loved their aesthetic back then.

smart girls. they capitalized on their appearance on the show and now they’re two of the most noteworthy and wealthy bad girls ever.

unshakable confidence. the other girls wanted them humbled so bad and they just didn’t waiver. luvs it.

[delopsia]

stars on the barn floor | Rhett Abbott x Reader

Word Count: 9,200 Cross Posted on AO3 Warnings & Notes: AFAB!Reader, werewolf!Rhett, blowjobs, cunnilingus, unprotected sex, knotting, light bondage to keep Rhett from eating you alive, collars, heavy usage of "good boy," vague size kink, and a fluffy ending to top it all off. Rhett's just a big puppy in this one ❣ Brief Summary: This full moon, you're not letting Rhett spend his whole night chained up in the barn. No, tonight, you're gonna have some fun with him.  

The crunch of gravel beneath your feet might be the only sound on this ranch. Where the wind is usually eager to whip past you, it has now fallen quiet, too exhausted to continue its ambitious journey. You think there may be some crickets chirping contentedly next to the pasture gate, the one that still bears the scars of being rammed by a rich kid's Ford. It ought to be fixed by now; Cecelia says lightning doesn't strike twice, but Royal says that a new one will just get torn up, too.

The old man must have a crystal ball up in that hat of his. 

Fortunately, you don't need magic to know that you're about to walk your happy self into the equivalent of a lion's den, armed with nothing but a few flimsy pieces of leather and a strip of black fabric. A rifle would be a good start, but even that won't be enough to protect you if things get...hairy. 

These barn doors are so much bigger than they looked from the safety of the porch, towering over your head, the rusted handle ice cold in your shivering hand. You've got time to turn back. Even if he does know you're out here, you know he won't hold it against you for making the better, safer decision. 

But...

Chains clatter together, chased by a groan so low that you don't know if it's coming from the man inside or the settling of the barn.

"Rhett?" Your voice dies in your mouth as you push the door open, barely audible to your own ears. It's a wonder if your tone even carries a foot in front of you, never mind across the room.

Boots scuff against concrete, spurs jingling. He heard you. 

The prickle of your skin suggests that he can see you, but as you trudge into the darkness, it sets in that you cannot see him. Navigating blindly, hands held out at your sides, feeling along the rough texture of the old stalls, ancient and dusty from lack of use. They haven't seen a horse since last summer when Rhett and Perry put the finishing touches on the new barn. 

"Rhett?" Calling out again, as if doing so will make it easier to locate him. 

That low growl is closer than you anticipated it would be. 

Light trickles in through the warped window frames overhead. Thin slivers cascade downward, miniature spotlights revealing everything in its path. There's movement in the center of the room, chains clinking as a slim figure interrupts the delicate light show of the full moon, stumbling left, then right, bound to the center of the room. 

Opening your mouth once more, you call out his name. "Rhett?" 

His head jerks. Boots stomping the dusty floor. Maybe this wasn't such a good idea after all. All it would take is for those steel chains to come off the overhead beam, and you'd be toast, sliced up like tomorrow's breakfast sausage. 

But he already sees you. 

The light catches in his golden eyes, reflecting off them like mirrors. Your blood runs so cold that it might freeze. A handful of times, you've caught sight of their unnatural glow, rising to the surface when he grows angry, but it's never been quite this bright. Blindingly so. And yet, they're not all that different from the ones you've come to know. 

Soft around the edges, encased by long eyelashes that flutter as you come near.

"Get out," curt. Grit through his teeth. 

If you didn't know any better, you would think he was in the middle of a roleplay. His ears have long since broken from their natural human form, pointed and wolfish, sitting atop his head like a pair of triangles. There's a tear out of the left one, right at the tip, from a scuffle with his brother a few years back. 

Perry still doesn't talk about where the bite scar on his shoulder came from.

"Get." Fangs flash with the opening and closing of his mouth. "Out." 

Perhaps you're simply entranced by the sight of him; it's been days since you last saw him, and even then, it was a short meeting in a feed store checkout line. Or maybe you've plum lost your mind, a dumb sheep walking into the mouth of a hungry wolf. 

The leather slips from your hands, falling to the floor with a clatter so loud you reckon it'll wake the neighbors. Rhett jolts. Stumbling backward with a heavy growl that vibrates all the way up into your bones. His lip curls with a warning. One little nip is all it would take to remove a finger. But it's as if you're caught in a trance. You can't seem to stop yourself from reaching up and curling your palms around his scruffy cheeks. 

He's stiff. Heated gaze boring into your skull. "I said—" Your thumb rises to stroke the thin skin directly beneath his eye. 

And he's quiet.

The muscle there softens. Squishing beneath your touch. Dare you consider it; you reckon his gaze has warmed by a degree or two. A little shinier than before, as if the light of the moon is reflecting off a serene lake. 

Hesitant, his head tilts, eyes falling shut as he pushes into your touch. 

Maybe this wasn't such a bad idea after all. 

"Yer gonna get hurt," he mutters, but he makes no effort to squirm away, "if I come loose..."

The vicious wolf he's always warned you about is nowhere to be found. No bloodthirsty snarls or vicious snapping of his teeth as you grow near. Hell, the moon is as high as she will go, but he hasn't even fully shifted.

Your thumb ventures down his face, swiping across his bottom lip, past needle-sharp teeth and all. "You seem pretty lucid to me."

"'cause it's still early," his head jerks, afraid of your touch, all of a sudden.

One would think that a werewolf, a cowboy no less, would be pretty decent at understanding how to tell the time based on the positioning of the moon. Alas, you won't be sharing the insight you gained from looking at the time on your cell. 

Talking isn't what you're here for, anyway. 

No. Instead, your hands on his cheeks are growing firmer, holding him still, and he must have already caught on to what you're doing because his boots slam against the floor. Agitated. Trying to step backward. But his arms are still bound behind his back, and he's still attached to that beam overhead, can only move so much before he hits a dead end. 

A snarl tears through the quiet air. He's trapped with nowhere to escape. Those razor-like canines are showing themselves again. A flashy warning that he makes no attempt to fulfill, not moving a muscle as you lean in and tilt his head down, pressing a kiss to his sweaty forehead. 

The smile spreading across his face reveals the unnatural jaggedness of his molars. If it weren't attached to Rhett, you think you may have run out the door by now. "Did y' come all the way out here for a kiss?"

"You're guilty of it too, cowboy," you've lost count of all the times he's shown up at your door, looking for a little love. A kiss here, a snuggle on the couch there, once, he showed up just to see you smile and hear your voice. 

"I know it," the roll of his eyes is the last thing you see before you move in once more, lips finding the corner of his jaw. "I know it..." 

Your hands are sliding away from his face, smoothing past his chest, on a one-way track to find those damned buttons on his flannel. It must be your lucky day because it's one of his pearl snap shirts; each and every one of them pops open with the slightest tug. 

"'ts a bad time to be feelin' me up, darlin'," Rhett's muttering beneath his breath, but he's stepping forward. Pressing into the caress of your touch, fingers running over the divots of his ribs, up and down the smooth skin of his back. Anywhere and everywhere, all at the same time.

Your mouth pauses against his neck. "Is it?" 

For a moment, he's quiet. This close, you reckon you can hear the gears turning in his head, searching for the right words to say. He shifts, bumping himself into your mouth, but it doesn't reward him with another kiss. 

You wonder if he's realized that he stomps his foot when he's feeling impatient. 

"Not that 'm complainin'," his voice is quieter as if he's afraid to hear the sound of it.

Fortunately, you're in no mood to hold out any further, already beginning to lean in and ghost your lips over a vein, tongue darting out to trace across it. A portion of you is amazed that he's letting you do this, tilting his head to grant you access to his vulnerable throat, humming at your touch. So completely and utterly comfortable, despite the dizzying draw of the moon and the overwhelming helplessness he's placed himself into. Those chains behind his back are far too strong for him to break on his own; he can't defend himself, even if he wants to. 

But that's not on your mind at all. No, you're too focused on nipping at his sensitive collarbone, still bruised from your handiwork earlier in the week. Then, down across his chest, broad and thick enough for you to get a greedy handful of as you kiss your way below that cheap, faded tattoo he got when he turned eighteen. 

Your tongue darts out to lave across a soft nipple.

"Shit," he sucks in a breath, always so sensitive here, "that...you..."

It's such a simple thing. Swirling your pointed tongue around the bud, feeling the way it hardens within a matter of seconds. You shouldn't be getting anything out of it, and yet, your thighs are squeezing together without a second thought. All the while, your fingers are finding that neglected bud, pinching it between your thumb and index. 

Rhett jerks, stumbling backward. "Leave...leave those alone."

"I thought you liked having your nipples played with?" You know the answer to that.

He knows the answer to that. 

But that doesn't mean he's going to say it out loud. Not without a few beers buzzing through his veins, warping his filter just enough to let a million and one truths tumble off his pretty tongue. 

"Don't say it like—mmh,"  sucking in his bottom lip, barely stifling that little noise.

You'd linger a little longer if you weren't thinking about something else. Every kiss you press to his skin glistens in the light, shimmering little patches that trail down the soft muscle of his belly, across his belly button. Never ending until his belt rudely intercepts you, obnoxiously large buckle still fastened and shiny as ever. 

Without a second thought, you pinch it open, knees settling against the dusty floor. 

"Oh my god," Rhett's head lolls backward, neck on full display, "you ain't...you're..." As if your intentions couldn't get any clearer, you find the flip of his zipper, pulling it down. "Shit, y' are." 

The only thing between you and what you're after is this damned button. Popping it open takes two seconds and two centuries, all in the same moment. "What did you think I was doing?" 

His feet shift, spurs singing their shrill little tune whilst you reach through the gap in his boxers. "I can lose my mind 'n eat ya alive at any given moment," interrupted by a shaky breath as your soft hand wraps around his half-hard length, "'n all y' wanna do is suck my cock."

You've gotten a little too good at guiding him past his confines, out into the cool air of this dingy old barn. It's a shame that you can hardly see him; a portion of you was beginning to wonder if this whole full moon thing would change anything in this department. 

"Is that a problem?" Feeling around blindly, your hand slips back through the fabric. 

His hips jolt as your fingers brush against his balls, gently drawing them out. They're heavier than you last recall them being, but maybe that's your memory playing tricks upon you. All you know is that Rhett's opening his mouth again, and you've been presented with the perfect opportunity to shut him up.

"Naw, I ain't sayin' that," he whispers. So airy and light that he might be up on a cloud, "'m tryin' to tell—shit." 

Your devilish tongue glides up the underside of his balls. Not afraid to let him feel the scrape of your teeth, internally hoping it will translate as some kind of sick reminder of his place. "What was that...?"

"No, no, no," you can't see it, but you know he's shaking his head, "jus'...keep doin' that." 

Can't complain with that logic. 

A little too excited, your mouth returns to the underside of him, his heavy cock bumping against your temple. It shouldn't do all that much for him, but the feeling of you gently sucking on his balls is all it takes to get him groaning low in his throat. Behind him, the chains clink, biceps straining against them, desperate to paw at the back of your head. Always a little too keen to get you moving on to his cock.

But you're in control here, and right now, you're too focused on moving over to equal out the attention. Carefully sucking on him, tongue soothing the skin when you let him fall free of your mouth. His feet shift, boots impatiently clunking across the floor. Your hand rises, taking hold of his all-too-heavy cock, hard as a rock within a matter of moments. 

A drop of precum spills onto the floor, leaving a shiny spot that catches in the light. Almost looks like a tiny star has fallen out of the sky to join in on the fun. A second lands to join, mere inches away from the first. 

You're far too stingy to let a third go to waste. Licking up the underside of him, trailing up the thick vein that emerges from his base and not stopping until you reach his tip. Plush and silky soft against your lips, he hasn't gotten an ounce of attention here, and yet he's soaked. There's so much precum gathered here that it looks like you've already taken him into your mouth.

"What's got you so wet, cowboy?" A lopsided grin interrupts your teasing, sprawling across your face before you can realize it. 

The corner of his lip wavers up and down, "'y know exactly why." 

"No, I don't reckon I do," leaning back on your haunches just as his hips thrust forward, seeking a contact he's no longer receiving. 

Rhett's quiet. Always has been a little shy when it comes to telling you exactly what got him going. Those wolfish ears twitch, stubborn teeth sinking into his bottom lip as if his words are going to burst past at any moment. He just needs the slightest push...like leaning forward and opening your mouth, hot breath fanning out against his flushed tip.

Again, his foot stomps. "Fuckin' mean." But then he's lowering his head, long strands of hair cascading into his face. "I..." hesitating, if only for a second, "like when y' go 'n do whatever ya want with me."

You knew what he was fixing to say, but that doesn't mean you're any less excited to hear him voice it. "Yeah?"

Nodding. "Uhuh—oh." 

A giggle is all you can manage, mouth too full of his cock to do much else. Heavy and throbbing against your tongue, already so damn excited, and you're not even started. Only just beginning to start sucking on him, cheeks hollowing as you gradually take more of him in. His pretty moan is an encouragement all on its own. 

Sucking off a werewolf during a full moon isn't exactly something that has made it onto your bucket list, but oh, is it a dream. Listening to the way his arms strain against his iron restraints, desperate to cling to your head as it begins to bob, slow ups and downs, at your own comfortable pace. 

Experimental, you lean back until your tongue can swirl around his sensitive tip. 

His thighs squeeze so tight that his knees damn near knock together. "Fuckin—ah!"  Even from down here, you can see how his jaw has gone slack, completely and utterly lost in the feeling of your mouth. "Sen...sensitive." 

All you can do is hum, amused by the little shiver that ripples up his spine. 

It's been a few weeks since you've last felt him on your tongue, but your memory is gradually beginning to come back, hands scurrying off to work. One wraps around the base of his shaft, the past that you can never fit in your mouth, while the other reaches to find his soft balls, still wet from your earlier handiwork. 

"Fuck, fuck, fuck," he's babbling, head rolling back and forth. Restless. "Keep doin' that." 

There's already an ache blooming in the corner of your jaw, but you can't help yourself. Not when Rhett's keening high in his throat, panting like a damn dog as you lower your head, engulfing him in the wet heat of your mouth. His blunt head bumps into the back of your throat. Damn near sends you lurching. 

Tears prick the corners of your eyes, burning like they're going to start streaming down your face at any moment, but you can't bring yourself to mind it. You're far too preoccupied with getting another one of those noises out of him, sucking hard on your next draw backward.

A crippling whimper breaks through the midnight air. His hips jolt forward by the tiniest fraction.

You might as well have cracked the code to a bank safe. 

He's a goner. He knows it. You know it. He knows you know it. Because you keep doing it. Long, slow bobs of your head, the ones that he desperately tries to chase the feeling of. Drool runs past your swollen lips and down your chin, leaving you just as wet and slick as he is, dripping off your skin and speckling across the barn floor. 

It's so distracting that you've nearly forgotten about the leather that rests by your right knee. It is not as if you can do anything to put your plan into motion; no, your hands are full. One gently stroking his shaft in synchrony with the rise and fall of your head, the other slowly beginning to roll his balls in your palm. Working him over like you're getting paid to do it. 

Rhett's strangled whine catches in his throat. "'m already close." 

You don't know if it's a warning or a plea, but the discomfort in your jaw is getting easier to ignore. Cheered on by the shiver that sets into his thighs and the airy noises tumbling out of him, starving for a breath that he can't keep ahold of. Broad chest heaving, still glistening with the trail that led you to your knees. 

His foot taps against the floor. 

"Baby, baby, baby," chanting like a melody, chased by the sweet cry of your name, "I'm gonna...I'm gonna..." 

Humming, you tilt your head to look up at him. Wide eyes meeting with his half-lidded golden ones—the tip of your tongue lifts, dancing across the sensitive underside of him. 

That's all it takes. 

You feel the twitch of his cock before his raspy wail greets your ears. A shudder wracking up his body. Spine trembling. Hips jerking forward as rope after rope of his cum spills from his overworked cock. Flooding your mouth. The base of his cock swells with every pulse. Too shallow to catch and form a knot, but he's almost there. If you push him a little further in a few minutes, you might get one out of him.

Devilish, you swallow around his softening length, amused by the sudden whimper and backward jerk of his hips. Pulling himself out of your mouth with a nice, wet pop.

Those sweet eyes of his are closed. Blissfully unaware, on his own plane of existence. So far gone that he doesn't seem to notice as you tuck him back into the safety of his jeans. Nor does he rouse at the sound of you grabbing the leather from the floor. Your knees ache as you rise to your feet, the wet spots on the floor looking something akin to a galaxy as you reach for the chains behind his back. The mechanism is simpler than it looks. Just one little pinch and—

"What—what are you doing?" Tripping over his own words. Arms suddenly falling to his sides. Free. "No, no, no, you can't—"

"Do you trust me?" Spoken far too gently for it to be such a sharp interruption. 

His lower jaw quivers, mouth parting the slightest bit. You can almost see the gears twisting and turning up in his scrambled head. 

Hesitant, he lowers his head with a shallow nod. "'course, but I can hurt..." Falling silent as you lift that thin rope of leather for him to see, held taut between two hands, the silver buckle gleaming in the moonlight. His tongue darts out to wet his lips. 

A boot thumps against the ground. Nudging himself closer to it. No glimpse of razor-sharp canines. Ears round and human as can be. Not even a sliver of gold in those wide eyes. Whatever control he's found, if you can even call it that, doesn't slip. Even as you loop the leather around his throat, feeding one end through the clasp, buckling it shut. 

The snap of the leash clasp on his collar damn near makes your heart stop.

But Rhett hasn't moved, still perfectly in control. If anything, he's more interested in the thin piece of black fabric you're lifting, torn from an old t-shirt he ruined while moving the cattle to the west pasture. 

"What're y' doin'?" He mutters as if he's afraid to open his mouth too far, and though you're beginning to cover his eyes, he doesn't make a move to stop you. Remaining still, even as you tie a sloppy bow behind his head.

Your hand finds his cheek, squishing it with your thumb. "Taking you home, sweet boy."

The corner of his lip rises. 

With a delicate pull of the leash, he stumbles forward, spurs singing their shrill tune as he clumsily drags his feet. Even with the help of you at his side, he's a mess. Knocking into the barn door. Very nearly trips over your kitchen rug when you get him home. So willing to trust where you take him but not quite equipped to make it graceful. 

"Why'd ya cover my eyes, anyhow?" He grumbles, big, sharp ears twisting and turning as he hauls himself through another step. 

"You mentioned nearly mauling a cow a couple moons ago," pausing just long enough for you to get him around the corner, into the bedroom, "and I doubt you know how to heel." 

"I can, too!" Those unnatural teeth glint in the light. You wonder if he would let you touch them. "'m a werewolf, not a damn stray." 

His bare foot knocks into yours as you lead him to the bed, a little more confident now. There's not much for him to run into here. The biggest obstacle is the bed that's hitting the backs of your knees, has you falling backward before you can realize it. 

On his own whim, Rhett's thumbing at his belt buckle. Opens it so damn easy that you almost question how it took you so many tries when you first got together. It's no easy task, getting his jeans down his legs, the material clinging to his thighs like a second layer of skin. 

Vaguely, you think you catch the silhouette of his cock bouncing, half hard and smacking against his hip. "You took your boxers off, too?" 

"Might as well," seeing him naked from the waist down is a bit of a sight, but it's one that doesn't last for long. His flannel hits the floor even quicker than his jeans did. "Ain't gonna need 'em here in a minute."

Coy, you tilt your head. "What makes you think I'm in the mood?" It's only after that you realize he can't see what you just did. 

But Rhett's entirely oblivious of your mistake, lips rising with an obnoxious grin, sharp teeth poking through, "can smell it." 

Your face feels cold. Blood draining away as if someone has just pulled the plug, spilling out into everywhere but your head. "You can what?"

He's leaning closer. Nose nudging into the side of your cheek, warm breath fanning out and tickling your ear like a feather. "Yer scent gets a lil spice to it," he murmurs, so low that every word rumbles down your spine like thunder, "kinda sweet, too." 

His unshaven jaw bumps into yours, long enough to have lost that sandpaper-like texture, nothing but a smooth glide as he blindly guides himself to your ear. He'd nibble at the shell of it, if he weren't worried about accidentally eating you. "Makes me fuckin' dizzy jus' smellin' it," whispering, so damn close that you feel his lips brush against your skin.

Maybe that's the reason why your inhale shakes the way that it does. "So you knew what I was up to when I walked into the barn?"

"Mhm," his humming damn near makes you shiver, "jus' didn't know what kinda fun you were hankerin' for." 

Your hand darts behind his head, tugging on the knot of his blindfold until it unravels, falling from his face and landing onto the sheets. 

Golden eyes stare back at you, vivid as ever. Except they're soft around the edges. The werewolf might have awoken for the night, but Rhett Abbott never went to sleep. He's still here, with you, crawling into bed the same way he always does. His cheeks fit into your palms the same, squishing beneath your touch as you draw him in.

He kisses the same, too. Humming into it, purring like a pleased little kitten, shifting to brace his weight on one arm, free hand skirting up the side of your shoulder. Fangs graze your bottom lip, a delicate reminder of the power they hold and what they could do if the reigns of control were to slip from his grasp.

But Rhett's never been anything other than gentle. The sharp impression of his teeth is merely there for show, as harmless as the muscles that bulge in his arms, present to protect and never to harm. Because his open arm drifts around your waist as he pushes you backward, cushioning an already soft fall. 

Your hands are on the move, one grabbing hold of his meaty bicep, the other drifting across his shoulder, blissfully abandoning the task at hand. His rough mouth parts your lips, a growl sitting so low in his throat that you almost mistake it for distant thunder, rattling the house and you with it. Rhett's warm belly may be pressed against yours, pinning you to the mattress, but it isn't enough to keep you from wondering if you've floated off the bed and begun spinning around the room.

"My shirt," you gasp, breathless, "get it..."

There's no point in finishing your sentence because Rhett's already tugging at the end of it, only breaking the kiss long enough to pull it over your head. The bedroom air hadn't felt cold until now. A sharp contrast compared to Rhett and his warm lips that melt with yours fits so perfectly, like your own perfect puzzle piece. 

His hips roll forward, rutting into your core, merely held back by the soft fabric of your pants, so thin that he could rip through them if he wanted. But he doesn't seem interested in doing such a thing, simply content to drag his leaking cock against the inside of your thigh, wetting the fabric there. 

"C'n I take these off?" He's speaking against your lips, too lazy to pull away any further than he already has. 

You're already nodding. "Please."

Now, he's got to draw himself away from you. Leaning back onto his haunches, the muscle of his chest catching in the moonlight that peaks through the window, calloused hands smoothing down the sides of your waist. Your hips lift from the bed just as his fingers curl into your waistband. 

That leather leash knocks into your leg as he draws your pants and underwear down all in one go, handle tapping at your knee as if to get your attention. One of your hands are reaching for it before you've even realized it, fingers slipping through the loop. It's just long enough to give him the space to pull your pants past your heels, only pulls tight when he leans back a smidgen further. 

"Forgot ya got me collared," Rhett's chuckling, already yielding to the tug of the leash. His lips graze up the side of your ankle, ambling along in no real rush as he makes his way back up your legs. Kissing at the juncture of your knee and up into the inside of your thigh, tongue darting out to sloppily wet the skin there. 

Golden eyes flicker up to meet your gaze. 

Idle, your unoccupied fingers find their way into his hair, curling and twisting in the messy curls that rest at the back of his neck. The leash pulls, too eager to guide him higher. Wasn't exactly a part of your plan for tonight, but you cannot even begin to deny yourself this simple pleasure. 

"Good boy," it's hushed, and it's barely there, but the words tumble off your tongue like any other. 

Rhett hears them. You know he has because those dumb, wolfish ears emerge from the darkness. Twisting and turning. Drinking up the tiny noise that chokes out of your throat when he sucks on a patch of skin on your inner thigh, working it over until you're certain that he's left a mark there. Repeats it again a little further up, drifts over to your other thigh, the tip of his nose bumping into you as he guides himself up, up, up.

His breath fans out against your cunt. So hot that it nearly burns. 

Your tug on the leash is all the encouragement he needs. Tongue poking past his lips and drawing through your folds, licking a slow, fat stripe up your cunt, groaning to himself like he's just won a grand prize. Even here, you can feel the smooth glide of his teeth, almost a perfect mirror of the silent threat you made to him in the barn. 

Big hands settle on either side of your hips, holding you still as he dips down to repeat it once more. "Taste so fuckin' good," grumbling into your pussy, the vibration of his voice dancing around your sensitive clit. 

He's already getting comfortable, settling flat on his belly, arms curling around your thighs, hanging onto you like you'll wander away if he doesn't. Leaves you no choice but to clutch the back of his head as his upper lip brushes where you crave him most. The very spot that he's so deliberately ignoring.

"Bastard," hissing. If he'd just go a little higher...

"What?" Artificial innocence drips from his tone, peeking up at you beneath long lashes. He's the very definition of a man who knows what he's doing, with that dumb, wolfish grin sprawling across his face. 

Fuck, you can't stand him sometimes.

The leash yanks. Jerking him upward, his mouth helplessly dragged up to the very place he's been avoiding. So caught off guard that he's hardly got time to react, before you're pushing his head back down.

Two can play at this game. 

"Impatient," he grunts, but he's not making any move to fight back. Contentedly swirling his tongue around your clit like you've been wanting, only pausing to wrap his thin lips around it. 

A spark of heat jumps up your spine, bursting in your head like a lone firework. Makes it so damn hard for you to get your thoughts in order. "You shouldn't talk with your mouth full, cowboy." 

Even with his face buried between your legs, it's impossible to miss the way that his eyes roll. Nor can you fail to notice the roll of his hips, chasing the feel of your sheets against his neglected cock, still heavy and weeping. 

But you can't pay attention to it for long because a calloused fingertip nudges between your folds. Stroking at your delicate entrance, pressing to feel the way you open up for him. What he finds must have been what he was looking for because the outer corners of his eyes rise with a smile. Your light tug of the leash is enough to keep him moving, that thick finger slipping into you without a second thought. 

It's been so damn long that you've nearly forgotten how this feels. The faint burn of taking him dry. How he curls upward, rubbing his blunt fingertip up your walls, rising up, up, up. You know he'll find that sweet little spot, he always does, but that doesn't stop your nerves from winding tight, thighs tensing as he nudges closer and closer to it.

"Fuckin' tight," he muses, drawing right across the nerves of your g-spot for the first time in forever. 

Your body jerks, a gasp bursting past your lips. "And who's fault is that?"

"I know," sheepishly pausing to twirl his pointed tongue across your cunt, "'m sorry." Pity rewards you with a second finger, eagerly nudging in alongside the first, finally beginning to stretch you in earnest. Pumping in and out of you to the languid tune of his mouth, a lazy sort of thing that has your thighs clamping down around his head. 

"Rhett..." you don't know why you're muttering his name, but he's humming his response, and it's sending a bolt of lightning up your core.

A plume of heat swells between your legs. Familiar. The kind that has your lower belly alight with an excitement you haven't felt since the last time. Spurred on by the rough fingertips that incessantly rub into your walls and the burning tongue that draws sharp figure eights across your spasming clit. Just a little bit more. Just a little bit—

"Stop." Blurting. A little too loud. 

Rhett freezes so quickly that his tongue doesn't even dart back into his mouth. So shocked that his ears have returned to their usual human shape. His eyes are the only thing that moves, darting up to scan your face. Whatever expression he's looking for, he doesn't find it. 

"Close?" Lifting his head. Stiff.

Weakly, you nod, tugging on his leash with an uneasy hand, "Uhuh." 

Those shoulders drop with a heavy sigh, fanning out against your sensitive core as he begins to move. Hands settle on either side of you, bracing his weight as he crawls up your body, the muscle in his biceps flexing with the simple effort, veins rising from his forearms. A sight so mesmerizing that you nearly miss grabbing the lube off the spare pillow. 

His hand darts out, reaching to take it, but you're a little quicker, drawing it out of his reach. 

"Sit," a simple order, not an ounce of firmness behind it.

Rhett's head tilts to the side, pausing if only for a second, then falls back onto his haunches without a word. Sitting innocently between your legs, watching as you sit up and snap the cap open. The lube spills out a little too quickly, flooding your palm and dripping between the crevices of your fingers. 

"Shit," his eyelashes flutter as your hand wraps around his heavy cock, lazily spreading the sticky fluid across him. There's so much of it. Squelching with the motion of your strokes, the excess running down into the neatly groomed hair at his base and beyond. "Think ya got enough on me?" 

"Aren't you usually heckling me for using too little?" Fighting the urge to laugh, slick hand reaching between your own legs. The nudge of your own two fingers isn't what you're craving in the slightest; too small and thin as compared to Rhett's, but they work just fine when it comes to spreading some more of the lube.

"'cause I don't wanna hurt ya," the corner of his lip quirks up. Smug. One of the many downsides of dating a man who's hung like a damn horse and knows it. 

But there are a number of upsides that come with the territory, too. Wrapping his hand around himself makes him seem that much bigger. Thick in his hand, so heavy that it can't stand upright without some help. Falling onto your back does nothing to help it, and even as he shifts forward, blunt tip nudging at your inner thigh, you can't help but wonder how you take him every time.

Nor do you know how you plan to take the knot that subtly swells at his base, still inflamed from your handiwork in the barn. 

His cock head nudges against your folds, experimentally rutting between them. Has the air hitching in your throat and your hand unintentionally yanking on his leash. 

"Alright, alright," mumbling to himself through a laugh, "impatient."

A familiar pressure blooms before you realize what he's talking about. The careful nudge of his dick at your entrance, gradually stretching you around his mushroom tip. And maybe the full moon really does affect his size because you don't recall it ever aching quite like this. A subtle burn rising, even with the lube, has you holding your breath as he opens you wider and wider. 

"Relax, doll," he's coaxing, in that quiet voice of his hands rising to glide up your sides, "can feel y' clenchin' 'round me."

Easier said than done. But his touch is distracting enough to let a puff of air burst past your lips, lungs burning for a fresh intake of oxygen, chest rising and falling in perfect tune with Rhett's. With it goes the tension in your thighs, falling slack against the bed, drawn out even further as his tip drags against the sweet bundle of nerves inside of you. Little sparks bolt through your nerves, bursting up in your head and behind your eyelids. 

The leash tugs again, but this time, it isn't an impatient correction. No, you're trying to draw him closer, helplessly beckoning him to settle down onto his forearms. And he does just that. Warm body coming to rest against yours, so close that his jaw bumps into yours. 

"'s this where ya want me?" He whispers, rubbing your noses together just for the sake of doing it. Always has to be stealing some kind of affection, even when his cock is sinking into you, inch by devastating inch, stretching you so wide that your thighs tremble from it. 

You can't formulate a response; the words in your head have broken into fragments. Maybe you'd be able to gather them up if not for the delicious sensation of him bottoming out. Not another inch to take of him, his hips flush with your body. It's a damn surprise that you haven't cracked in half, so full that your lungs feel like they've shrunk by two sizes. 

"You can..." you're already too winded to get your words out, "you can move." 

Rhett doesn't budge. Eyes closed, seemingly off in his own little world, content with the sensation of your warm cunt, wrapped around him. But you didn't go through all this trouble just to skip out on all the fun now.

You give the leash an experimental tug. Jerking him by the slightest fraction.

A growl bursts from his throat. So loud that the room seems to shake with it. Gone as quickly as it arrived, replaced with an awkwardly quiet air, wide blue eyes blinking back at you. As if you were the one who made the noise and not him. 

"Move," repeating yourself, and if he notices the wobble in the firmness of your tone, he doesn't acknowledge it. 

Obedient, his hips draw backward, and you immediately know you're in trouble. Even for such a shallow movement, he's dragging deliciously against every little nerve within your walls, the soft swell of his base catching on your entrance as he eases back inside. It's the second thrust that knocks the air from your chest, puffing past your lips as he bottoms out, the edges of your vision going fuzzy.

"That," blurting, before he can even begin to lose his angle, "keep doing that." 

"'s that the spot?" Rhett grins, fangs and all. As if he can't feel the way you involuntarily flutter around him when he passes over it again.

Your lube-slick hand tangles into his hair. There's not a doubt in your mind that it's going to leave it matted and sticky once it dries, but that's alright. You're both gonna need a bath once this is all said and done. 

He's finding his pace, rising higher up onto his forearms, properly hovering above you. The kind of shift that has his balls smacking into your ass, the heaviness of his body rocking yours against the bed. Your mattress squeaks with every heavy movement, but it's barely audible over the wet squelch of his cock disappearing into you and the grunts that rumble out of him. 

He's feeling it as much as you are, eyes squeezing shut, teeth sinking into his bottom lip, canines threatening to puncture the thin skin there. Even as he draws back to settle on his haunches, you can hear him. Unusually noisy, those low noises bubbling into something louder, traveling on the coattails of his breath. 

Your thighs rise to squeeze around his waist, pulling him in a little harder now, "you're getting loud, cowboy." 

"Fuckin' sensitive," his hair bounces into his face, forces him to run one of those big hands through it, "still haven't—oh fuck." 

Your cunt is spasming around him. Clenching and unclenching as his plush tip kisses those sweet little nerves over and over and over. Your unoccupied hand can't stay still. Grasping at the edge of the pillow, squeezing a fistful of the sheets, flailing around at your side like a fish out of water. Anything to keep yourself grounded. 

"God," squeezing his eyes shut, hardly stifling a moan, "y' feel so fuckin' good." 

The sight above you is enough to make you dizzy. Rhett and his messy curls, sweat beading on his forehead, and the veins along his arms have long since begun to show themselves. Muscles flexing with every heavy thrust, his thick cock disappearing between your parted legs, stretching you obscenely wide. 

Fuck, you can't believe this cowboy is real.

He's reaching beneath one of your shivering knees, fingers sprawling around the underside of it and pushing it up toward your belly. "Ain't ever stayin' away for that long again." 

And you don't ever want him to, either. This bed and this house have been far too quiet without him; your toys haven't seen this much of you since before the two of you met. But he's here now, black collar looped around his flushed neck, leash bouncing with the movement of his body, and you don't have any intention of cutting him loose. 

"Yer thighs are shakin' so much," he says it like he's not trembling himself, weak hand struggling to keep hold of your leg, the two of you wavering like leaves in the autumn breeze. "'s it feel that good, sweetheart?"

If he keeps talking, you're going to combust. 

The leash nearly slips out of your sweaty hand when you tug on it. Couldn't have been much of a pull at all, but it works a growl out of Rhett's throat, golden eyes twinkling as he lets you reel him back in. A little too eager to get close to you again, chests pressing against each other, mouths meeting for a kiss, so sloppy that it hardly counts as one. Lips bumping together, unable to do anything but that. 

"Good boy," it slips off your tongue without thinking. 

The phrase has never really crossed your vocabulary until tonight, but something about the collar and the distracting massage of his cock has you throwing all rationality out the window. There's only one way to find out if he likes the phrase or not. MIght as well learn on the one night when he's fully capable of swallowing you whole.

"Again." 

You almost don't believe what you just heard. 

But Rhett's nuzzling his nose against your cheek, suddenly losing his rhythm. "Call me that again." 

Fire ignites in your core. Spreading until it feels as if your entire body has been plunged into a pot of boiling water. Fuck, if he keeps—if he just keeps doing that. "Good boy," repeating yourself, dissolving into a mewl.

His whole body jerks. Set off like a damn firecracker. Head dropping low, keening high in his throat, too weak to hold it back anymore. If he had a tail, you have no doubt that it would be wagging back and forth, a little too eager to hear your praise.

Impatient, your hand dips between your bodies, the pads of your fingers pressing against your clit. Sparks volt through your nerves. Has your heart lurching and hammering in your heaving chest. You're already close. 

"Want you to knot me," admitting your plan is easier than it should have been, falling off your drooling tongue without a shred of fear. "Can you do that?"

Now you've got his attention, snapping up to look at you. Mouth open. Eyes wide, clear for the briefest of moments. But then his cock head hits your g-spot head on, and it's got you clenching around him like a fucking vice. You're both gone. Fear of getting hurt be damned. Neither of you can think of anything except for this, this, this.

Then you hear it. The faintest "uhuh" you've ever heard. 

But it's there.

"Such a good boy for me," you might be babbling, but you don't care. Rhett's whimper is just as loud as yours, dancing together in the bedroom air, and that's all that matters. "so good, Rhett."

The base of his cock is swelling. Growing taut with a knot that catches on your rim, forcing those long strokes to devolve into short, fragile little motions. His voice is getting pitcher, whispering nonsense that sounds like your name, the curve of his nose pressing into the underside of your jaw. 

Until all of a sudden, his hips are slamming into yours, and he's cumming in you with a pitiful cry. Knot swelling into a bulb, locking your exhausted bodies together as his cum finally, finally spills into you, flooding your helpless pussy with rope after rope of white. And all he can do is collapse on top of you, his head buried into the gap of your neck.

You're so full of him. Nowhere for his cum to escape, even whilst his hips involuntarily twitch forward, jostling the mess he's made inside of you. And it's all just making your fingers work a little faster, rubbing over your clit over and over, spasming impossibly tight around his overworked cock. 

"Cum 'round me," Rhett's begging, his voice shaky can be. "Please."

And you do.

Back jerking up off the mattress, spots dancing across your vision, cumming around his cock without a shred of warning. Your pussy clamping down around his knot, fingers stalling over your clit. A strangled cry cuts through the air. You haven't the slightest clue if it's coming from you or Rhett, but you can't bring yourself to care. Too lost in the spinning of the room and the clouds fogging your mind to even try to comprehend what you're hearing.

For once, the room is quiet—nothing but two labored breaths, so heavy that the wind howling outside ought to be jealous. 

Rhett's eyelashes tickle your neck with every blink, the only sign you've got that he's still alive, "Think ya almost killed me."

"You're one to talk," you have to crane your neck to get a better look at him, contentedly snuggled against you, eyes blue as can be. Not a shred of werewolf left in him, too tuckered out to show its face any longer. 

"Careful," it's the start of the emptiest threat you've ever heard, "the moons still high."

The pillow has a higher chance of killing you than he does. 

"You haven't eaten me so far," teasing, letting your fingers dart down his naked spine. He shivers, jerking up onto his forearms all of a sudden.

His knot is already beginning to go down, makes it easy for him to draw his hips backward. Pressure builds for the briefest of moments, and with a soft 'pop,' he slips out of you entirely. Like a damn has burst, his cum begins to spill from your abused cunt, running down your skin and staining the comforter below. 

You really should get up and throw the sheets in the washer before anything can begin to dry, or worse, leave behind an impossible-to-remove stain. But you're too focused on Rhett, rolling over onto his back, sweaty chest heaving. The kind of thing that you cant resist from reaching out and touching, your palm sliding along his warm stomach, feeling the way it rises and falls in tune with his chest.

"Are you rubbin' my belly like 'm a dog?" He asks, through that lazy smile, all half-lidded eyes and sleepy muscle. Even now, you can't bring yourself to believe that there's a single vicious bone in his body, big and strong as it may be.

"Should I stop?" You suppose you already know the answer to your question; he'd be kicking up a bigger fuss if he didn't like it.

His head shakes, and even that looks like too tremendous of a task for him. "No, no, I ain't sayin' that." 

Instead, his hand rises to cover yours, following along as you rub up and down, gradually working your way higher and higher, from his belly button to that proud bull tattoo. A quiet growl rolls out of his chest when your thumb dares to swipe over one of his nipples, the closest thing he can get to purring. 

But you're not done roaming. Wandering even further up, across his sweaty neck and up to his scruffy cheek. It's been far too long since the last time you've gotten to do this. Feeling the soft drag of his stubble under your touch, the way that he dares to twist his head and nip at your palm when it ventures close to his mouth. Every gentle bite is soothed with a kiss, peppering across your wrist and fingers. 

"I suppose I should take that collar off of you," musing mostly to yourself. The leather still rests around his neck, no doubt sticking uncomfortably to his clammy skin, the leash still hanging from the loop. 

"Wanna keep it on," stubborn to the very end, his foot kicking out, as if that can possibly add fuel to his argument, "jus' a little longer." 

Your fingers drip down, tracing the redness that's long since appeared, his skin rubbed raw and no doubt sore from the collar. "It's chafing your neck." A part of you supposes its your fault, for not buying one meant to be worn on skin. 

"But I like it," that bottom lip pokes out the slightest bit, pouting in the only way he knows how, "feels nice."

"It's gonna have to come off eventually," at the very least, you can unclasp the leash, tossing it off the edge of the bed with a surprisingly loud clatter. "We're both gonna need a shower here soon."

His head tilts, brows raised. "Who says?"

"Me," fighting back a smile. Whether or not you're doing a good job at it is anyone's guess. 

"Nope." Rhett's defiantly shaking his head, as if that can possibly change the fact that the sheets and your inner thighs are stained with his cum, the kind of mess that absolutely requires a shower. "No, you don't." 

All of a sudden, he's moving, rolling back on top of you before you can even begin to comprehend what he's up to. You're pinned like a damn note under a tack; try as you might, you can't get all one-hundred-something pounds of him to even budge. Practically trapped here on the bed, forced to endure his giggles and the nuzzle of his cold nose, burying its way back into the crook of your neck.

"You're not gonna move, are you?" Why do you keep asking questions that you already know the answer to? 

"Nope," Rhett's pressing a kiss to a vein in your neck, like it will do anything to make this easier for you," the shower can wait a lil longer."

Admitting defeat has never been sweeter. You'd really love to climb into the shower and stand beneath the warm water with him, taking turns scrubbing each other down and rinsing the soap from his hair, but you don't mind this. Arms looping around his broad shoulders, hugging him close like some big, oversized teddy bear. 

In the back of your mind, a tiny light kicks on. "Will you agree to move if I promise to get you a softer collar?"

"They make those?" His voice is muffled by your neck, words tickling as they vibrate through you.

Humming, you tap your fingers against the solid bone of his shoulder. "You can even pick out the color." 

"Well, why didn't ya mention that before?"He's up on his haunches in the blink of an eye. Grinning from ear to ear, he reaches for your hands, giving them a tug, urging you to sit up. "C'mon!" 

The sheets. 

You need to get the sheets off the bed, but you've got no choice. Rhett's got a hold of you, and he's not letting go. Laughing, kicking up the biggest fuss he can possibly manage, eyes shimmering with pools of gold as he pulls you up onto your feet. Uncaring of the mess that is being left behind, too busy herding you in the direction of the bathroom. 

The water is already running when you realize you've forgotten to grab clothes, arriving in the form of an offhanded thought whilst you were watching Rhett test the temperature with his foot. But he's beating you to that, too, eagerly darting off into the hallway like an oversized puppy. Doesn't even bother to wipe the water off his foot, leaving behind a trail of water droplets that shimmer in the light.

They kind of look like the stars you left on the barn floor. Twinkling little galaxies, just waiting to be discovered.

"Watcha lookin' at?" Rhett's already rounded the corner again, tossing those offhandedly chosen clothes in the direction of the sink. Whether or not he remembered to grab underwear is anyone's guess. 

Your shoulders rise and fall with a shrug, "just a mess on the floor." 

He'll help you make a bigger one after you two step out of the shower. 

[universe-friday]

EXCERPT #55:

Hello. I hope somebody is listening.

[…]

[Laughing] You should have seen my face, old sport… Oh my… Solus really got me there.

I was so scared. I had led myself into their space, straight into the lion’s den. I started writing my will as soon as they said it… ‘Old sport’...

In that moment, I finally noticed what was on the desk. Among the stacks of papers and several monitors, behind it all was this small little device. It was then that I finally noticed the soft noise of static that lingered in the silence.

I was still too shocked to say anything. Instead, I just stared… Until Solus finally followed my gaze and laughed, picking up the device and fully extending its antenna. The static gets louder. All I could say was, “It’s a radio…”

Solus looked at me as if I was a child. People seem to do that a lot in the City. Perhaps that’s why I am always wearing a suit. Yet, it never helps anyone to finally take me seriously, does it…? Sorry, I digress, old sport.

Solus has a radio. That’s really what the meeting was all about. But instead of just simply telling me, they of course had to pull that stunt.

They said that they had the radio for a while. In fact, they also flipped through frequencies often. They said they couldn’t remember when they first heard me. But they’ve been listening ever since.

They didn’t realise who I was when I first went to confront them. It’s funny really, they said, they didn’t truly know until they heard me directly talking about them… Maybe this is a sign that I should be using codenames for everyone, not just myself… Hm… Maybe one day I’ll get on that - bigger cyborgs to fry, no?

That’s when they sent me the letter. They had decided to begin to look into the sinkholes because I inspired them to. They knew all that they knew and more because of my calls.

Perhaps, then, there are people listening. Perhaps I can finally create a team, maybe not of heroes, per se, but of people who care. People who know the ins and outs of the City; the truth behind its constricting walls.

Hell, I know we’re gonna need more people. And God can only help me if I have to work with Solus alone-

What…? What is it this time…? [Footsteps getting further away then closer again, paper rustles]

“Stop talking about me - Solu-” Okay, seriously, how did they get here so fast…?

[Sarcastically agitated] Solus, you know you’re only proving my point, right? I hope you can still hear me, you-

[Paper glides across a floor] …You’ve got to be kidding me.

[...]