#its like people watching but more like mind watching

[fluffylino]

loner ! minho - drabble

you've observed him in your classes. he's hot. he's always by himself. little did you know he was fascinated with you too...

-contains mature themes (risky sex oops)

minho's in your class. he's there almost for every single lecture. never skipping unless he didn't show up to uni.

theres something about him that makes your heart race. maybe because you were just like him. the silent ones in the class who mostly sat right at the back where you could be at peace and avoid most interactions.

somehow the two of y'all never sat together, sometimes sitting on opposite ends of the small class or maybe on the bench infront. you watch him at times whenever the lesson content gets boring. taking in the sight of him paying attention.

was he really paying attention or was he just lost in his thoughts?

were you ever in his thoughts?

did you ever make an appearance in his mind?

.

.

its a long day. back to back lectures since 8 in the morning and you're tired. this time your class was being held in a small private classroom that nearly no one knew about except the people in this specific class.

neatly taking off your shoes outside the carpetted stairway.

noticing the larger pair of combat boots that are tucked away from all the other shoes.

mindlessly you keep your shoes near his. because he had mindlessly been doing that for the past few weeks. placing his shoes next to yours.

silently entering the class, only to realise you had losf track of time in the canteen. 10 mins since your class had begun and here you were.

heart thumping nervously at all the eyes on you, as you quietly scutter to an empty chair. the teacher has made all of y'all sit in a semi circle. for more integration and freedom.

and you find yourself seated directly across minho. taking in the sight of him entirely as your professor absentmindedly continues talking about something.

your eyes can't help but trail down to his hands. watching him crack his knuckles and adjust the rings he wore on his digits.

the black shirt complimenting his physique and his leisure way of sitting making your stomach churn with arousal.

why were you finding him so ravishing today? seeing him so upfront worked wonders on your imaginative brain.

blinking slowly as you thought of how his fingers would feel against your body. maybe even between your legs...

blushing heavily when he glances at you briefly. and from the corner of your eye, you swear you see him hide a smirk.

.

.

class is over and you're about to leave when you feel a gentle hand on your shoulder. and you're quick to turn around.

masking on a kind smile which immediately falters.

"wait back with me..." its him.

bag slinging across his shoulder as he stands beside you. quietly waiting for everyone to leave. with a long stride, he closely the door of the classroom. latching it smoothly and for a second you think he's uncomfortable with you.

what if he noticed how obvious you were.

"u-uh is everything o-okay?" you mumble, taking a few steps back when he stands in front of you. minimizing the gap as much as possible.

"i don't know, you tell me..." he lets out, tilting his head with intent. your mouth opens and closes. going speechless and every single coherent thought escaping your mind.

"...i d-don't know" you stutter unconciously. struggling to maintain eye contact with him. looking anywhere but at his eyes.

"do you...." he starts off. clearing his throat before looking at the latched door for a second, turning to purse his lips at you in a somewhat shy manner.

your bag sliding off one of your shoulder's and falling on the ground with a soft thud when he holds your chin.

making you look up at him the whole time.

"do you want to eat ramyeon...with me?"

minho whispers. purposefully leaning closer to breath heavy on your parted lips. your own breath shaking as you unconciously refuse to create a gap between y'all.

"or am i just eye candy for you?" he adds with a playful tone.

"no! i mean...n-no. you're more than just...that"

you mumble, cheeks heating up furiously. eye candy? that meant he knew you were watching him.

"well this eye candy's wondering if you just wanna keep staring at him or instead do something about it..."

.

.

.

"is this what you were dreaming of"

minho whispers huskily, hand stuffed down your pants. pulling you higher up on his lap. fingers tracing over your cunt. your nervousness dying down when he touches you like he's meant to be the only one touching you so intimately.

"m-sorry" you whimper. feeling concerned with yourself for imagining such vile things. filthy dirty thoughts during innocent moments.

"no baby, this is what i dreamt of too"

rubbing his middle and ring finger up against your folds. teasingly feeling up your clit. knowing that this was the first time you'd let anyone touch you like this.

"dreamt of dirtier things...so fucking filthy"

slipping his digit past your entrance and you keen. stomach burning with the unfamiliar intrusion.

"thought of you riding me on one of these stupid chairs" minho breathes out. curling his digits upwards to rub your walls. grunting when you grind down on his fingers.

"m-me too...wanted to ride you...want to ride you"

you gasp out, covering your mouth at the risks y'all were taking. an empty locked classroom.

"your s-shoes" and he smiles.

"you noticed. couldn't get over the size difference"

he teases, pulling his fingers out to lick them seductively. deciding to draw fast rough circles on your clit. stimulating the bundle of nerves so fast that you shake in his hold.

"don't you have class?" he asks, knowing damn well that right now class was the last thing on your mind.

"i have you." you moan, praying that luck ws on your side and that you'd get the time to taste him...

.

.

.

.

.

inspired by the dream i had last night AAAAAAA im screaming without the s-

[azrielbrainrot]

Take Me Back To Eden

Pairing: Shadow King!Azriel x F!Reader

Kinktober 2024: Throne Sex

Description: You've dreamt of the day Azriel would come back home for so long that you find yourself at a loss now that it actually happened. Luckily, it all falls into place as soon as your eyes meet his.

Warnings: Smut, vaginal sex, throne sex, some fingering, some dirty talk, you know the usual

Word Count: 4,2k

Rating: 18+ MDNI

Notes: This was originally supposed to be a rhys story but there will be plenty more opportunities to write about throne sex with him. Also this ended up actually having some plot and extremely fluffy. Hope you enjoy!

Kinktober 2024 Masterlist

The halls of this castle are intimately familiar to you, having walked them a thousand times over when your closest friend lived here with his family and a thousand more working here as a maid, keeping an eye on the palace and its new residents while Azriel and his allies found a way to take back his power and his rightful seat on the throne.

You've worked tirelessly for this moment, dreamed of it more times than you could ever count, but now that the walls were painted in the traitors' blood and his intoxicating scent permeates the halls once again, you found yourself at a loss, slowly making your way to the throne room to meet him, one foot in front of the other, letting your body guide you as your mind wandered.

Azriel has been by your side for as long as you can remember, even before you truly knew what him being the heir to the Shadow Throne truly meant. Your father was exceptional at his job, landing him not only the position of Head Healer of the kingdom but also the King's private healer. This meant he spent a lot of his time at the palace, becoming an important figure in the court.

Azriel's father was cruel, manipulative and nothing short of terrifying. As much as you resented your father, you could understand why he was too scared to go against his wishes, always following every order without question, even when that included bringing you to the palace to be the heir's friend whether you liked to or not.

When your father first told you of the King's decision to let you and Azriel be friends since you were about the same age and he thought you'd be a good influence on him, you had been scared out of your wits, crying your eyes out and begging him not to take you with him, all in vain of course. You had never met Azriel before and so you expected him to be just as heartless as his father and older brothers, no one you ever wanted to spend any time with let alone befriend.

The stories circulating the kingdom weren't kind to him either - people talked of the bastard's son with poorly concealed disdain, about how he had lived locked in a tower, barely taken care of for most of his life until against all odds the shadow's chose him as successor instead of his full noble-blooded brother's; everyone seemed to think he wasn't worthy of the throne since he was the son of a maid and barely educated, completely neglected since birth, but alas the shadows had made their decision, and no one, not even the King, could go against their wishes.

Azriel was a shadow of the male he is now when you met him, too shy and traumatized to even look you in the eye or speak a word to you, sticking to the corners of the room, hiding himself as best as he could in the midst of his shadows. You were only nine when you met him, a year younger than him, and even then you couldn't imagine all the pain he had gone through, vowing to help him and stay by his side as you watched him cower away from the light, dressed in expensive clothing as if that would hide all the pain and suffering he had been subjected to.

Actually befriending him was harder than you initially thought. You spent countless days simply trying to get him to speak a word to you, almost wearing yourself out as you talked and talked, about anything and everything, trying to find something that would catch his attention and get him used to your presence. Gradually he started opening up more, answering your questions with a nod or shake of his head, and then a word or two, until bit by bit you started having full conversations, his voice rising in volume with time as well. His other lessons helped make him more confident in himself too as he found his place in the world.

Azriel told you about his mother and how much he missed her; about the treatment he endured in that cold tower and how sometimes he still wished he was there instead of next to his father; how his older brother's retaliated for not being chosen by burning his hands when he was only a child who didn't even know what it meant, how his hands still ached at the smell of fire and just the sight of the marred skin sent a stabbing pain through his heart, keeping them concealed with leather gloves most of the time. It was only years later when he let you see them and hold them in your own, the same night he told you he had been sneaking outside the palace, making other friends and traveling his kingdom as far as his wings allowed him, taking you with him for the first time.

The days you spent sneaking away with him and the new friends you made were some of the best of your life, the only ones where you had truly felt free, but sadly they wouldn't last. Shortly after Azriel came of age, his oldest brother killed his father and seized the throne, chasing Azriel and every sympathizer out of the palace and forcing him to go into hiding. You've barely seen him since then, only managing a few secret meetings over the years while he prepared to take back his crown.

Your father had been among the casualties and your family's sudden fall from grace landed you a job cleaning the palace where that hateful usurper now lived. Unwilling to resign yourself to serving the male who almost killed the only person you've ever loved, you started working as a spy, sending out encrypted letters about the movements within the palace and any important information you could get your hands on to hopefully help Azriel as much as you could.

Of course when he found out you were putting yourself in danger like that, he flew over to your house despite the search parties still raking through every corner of the kingdom. It had been the last time you spent more than a few hours with him and most of those had been spent fighting, but the memory brought a smile to your lips all the same. Even though you were screaming until your voices became hoarse, it was clear that it all stemmed from your love for each other and how worried both of you were at just the thought of the other being in danger. Azriel had also left your house with a chaste kiss to your lips, a line you had never crossed before, and a whispered promise of surviving and coming back for you, for his throne.

Taking the last turn to the throne room, you find yourself in the present, every other thought escaping your mind when you hear his voice muffled behind the door, heart swelling in your chest instantly. You only caught a glimpse of him when he first stormed the palace grounds earlier that night, unable to linger and watch as you needed to fulfill your role and help every innocent bystander escape through the back doors.

Judging by the blood and the few corpses still scattered throughout the halls, you missed a hard-won battle, but the lack of urgency in the sentry sent by Azriel to get you told you there weren't any severe injuries to worry about, among your friends at least. As excited as you had been for tonight, the thought that Azriel could get hurt kept you up for days.

The smell of smoke still lingered in the air and you found yourself twisting your hands together, wondering if the smell still brought him the same awful memories, wondering if you still knew him after all this time, if it would all be the same.

Raising a shaky hand to open the door, you find five pairs of eyes falling on you as soon as the room is revealed to you, hands reaching for their swords before noticing it was you and not any lingering soldiers, still on high alert from the fight. Their reaction makes you pause, startled momentarily before taking another step into the room when their serious faces turn into smiles.

It had been a long time since you've seen the neighboring kingdom's prince, - King, you correct yourself, - his general and his cousin. You've met them when you used to sneak out with Azriel, spent countless nights together causing harmless trouble as youths do. They had been with Azriel when you couldn't, helping him get to this point from the front lines while you stayed behind in the palace. Amren also stood by their side, the centuries old mage looked as unnerving and unruffled as ever, perhaps the best kind of ally Azriel could ask for.

Speaking of, your eyes quickly dart around the room, finding those beautiful hazel eyes at last, heart stalling in your chest when you find them already expecting yours. Azriel was sitting on the throne, on his throne, clad in black leathers as his shadows lazed around his body. His shoulders had gotten broader and his powerful wings were sitting up high behind him, unbelievably large, the blood of his enemies still staining his armor - the perfect image of a King.

A smile falls over his stupidly handsome face when his eyes meet yours, standing up to greet you immediately. This sets you in motion, your steps speeding up as your body carries you to him, barely acknowledging the rest of your friends as they excused themselves with knowing smiles, closing the door behind themselves just as you walked up the last steps to the throne, throwing your arms around Azriel's neck, a gleeful chuckle escaping him, catching you in his arms effortlessly, wings wrapping around you as well.

It was almost overwhelming being able to hold him in your arms after so long, feeling his warmth against your body, his scent assaulting your senses as you breathe him in, vowing to never let him leave you behind ever again. You're unsure how much time passes before he pulls away, gently prying your face from his neck so he can study your teary-eyed expression intently, one arm still wrapped around your waist as he takes you in.

Gods, you almost forgot how downright mesmerizing he was. From this close you could count his eyelashes and every green speck in his hazel eyes, if you moved just a breath closer, your nose would bump against his, another one and his lips would fall on yours. His hand craddled your cheek, his bare hand you noted, the rough, familiar texture sending a shiver down your spine as his fingers caressed your skin softly.

“We did it,” you breathe out, watching the smile on his face grow even wider, a breathtaking sight. He leans down, kissing your other cheek and murmuring the same words back at you against your skin, relief clinging to every word.

His body was still somewhat tense against yours, wings tightening behind him every so often as his breath came out in puffs, his lips peppering small kisses from your cheek up to your forehead and then down to your jaw, trying to reach every bit of skin while you tried to check him for injuries or any other sign of discomfort, remembering he had just come back from battle.

“Are you hurt anywhere?”

Azriel simply shakes his head against you in lieu of an answer, tucking himself deeper into the crook of your neck, breathing your scent in again, his hold on your body tightening as well.

“Is it too much to bear?”

When his brother took over he didn't only steal his father's shadows but also Azriel's. It had been strange to see him without those wisps of darkness clinging to his form, unnerving even, and you know that becoming accustomed to not having them by his side was the hardest trial for him to overcome. But now that his brother was dead and he finally sat on his throne, his shadows had returned to him at last, and the ones who were once his father's followed them.

“Could be worse,” he says, a shudder betraying his attempt at a leveled tone. “They like the scent of blood.”

A tremble runs through your treacherous body, the low timber of his voice as he spoke against your skin, lips brushing you with every word making it hard to keep your mind working properly. He hums at your body's reaction, tongue peaking out to lick over your pulse point, feeling your heart racing faster and faster under him.

“Azriel-”

“They like yours even more. Always did.”

The confession hangs in the air as he continues to lap up at your skin, his teeth coming out to play and mark you ever so softly, teasing your supple skin. It looked like he was barely restraining himself, trying his best to hold onto sanity while you trembled in his arms.

You knew having this many shadows suddenly singing to him had to be extremely overwhelming after so long stuck in silence, the power that came with them and now also rumbled under his skin even more so. He needed an outlet, and you both knew the blood he already spilled wasn't nearly enough.

“Let me help you.”

The groan that escaped him echoed around the room, pulling away from your neck with a harsh bite and finding your lips before you could even react, finally unleashing himself at your proposal. His shadows followed his lead as always, falling over your body as he did, twisting and turning as they roamed over you. A frenzy overtook you as well, your hands tangling in his hair, pulling him impossibly closer to you, needing to feel him under your skin, so deep he wouldn't be able to escape ever again.

The lights deemed even further around you, until only the moonlight filtered through his shadows, making it hard to see when you managed to pull away and take a breath, your eyes blinking as you tried to watch him in the dark. He had no such problem of course, unashamedly studying your face as you recovered, biting your bottom lip and licking at the drool gathered in the corners of your mouth, moaning at the way your scent deeped with arousal and mingled with his own.

The lines had always been blurred at best between the two of you, fear the only thing keeping them intact in the first place, but now you didn't have to worry for his or your safety anymore, about what his or your parents would think or do if they found a weakness in the other, now you could finally give in to each other without worries.

It had always been a poorly concealed secret how much you wanted each other anyway, and now that nothing was stopping you and he was finally in your arms, you could barely keep this craving down. You could only imagine what it felt like for him with the addition of the new untamed power running through his veins and the pesky shadows whispering in his ear.

Azriel starts walking backwards until he reaches his throne, bringing you along with him for the entire way as he catches your lips between his once again, sending your mind stumbling along with your feet. When he sits down, your body naturally follows to straddle his thighs, and you pull away with a gasp, his hard cock pressing where you need him most.

The maid's uniform you still wore was thrown over your head in a flurry of movements, revealing your unmarked and unobstructed body to his hungry gaze. Unable to stop himself, Azriel leaned closer, sucking a nipple into his mouth as his hands moved all over your body, caressing and grabbing every bit of skin and flesh he could, leaving you tugging at his leathers so you too could rid him of the bothersome clothes blocking your view, as good as you always thought he looked in them.

It's only with a whine of his name and a particularly harsh tug at his black, messy curls that he pulls himself away from you and helps you take the top part of his leathers off. You had been right about his shoulders getting broader, his entire body looked more muscular too. Of course the heir to the throne had been training since he was a child and Azriel had always been a large male, but after having to literally fight to survive, he was left with cleaner muscles, and quite a few scars you had never seen before scattered over his torso, making a mental note to ask him about them later.

He barely gave you any time to fully take him in, moving to unbutton his pants without pause, settling for pushing them down only enough to uncover his throbbing cock, your attention quickly falling on it. Your hand wraps itself around him in curiosity, a delicious shudder running through him as you tighten your hold around his cock, stroking him up and down slowly, reveling in every harsh breath and the pool of desire growing in his eyes.

“I need more, angel.”

Nodding, you agree with him. “Me too.” You needed all of him, needed him to fill you up until he was the only thing you could smell, taste and feel.

He rips your underwear off unceremoniously, inserting two of his fingers inside you as slowly as his frenzied state of mind allows you to, your own body ignoring the slight pang of pain at the sudden intrusion as your hips start rolling into his hand feverishly. You were beyond soaked, the sounds his fingers elicited as he fucked them into you downright sinful as they echoed around the room along with soft moans and gasps of his name.

Azriel seemed transfixed on the way your cunt swallowed his fingers greedily, the hazel in his eyes barely visible around his blown out pupils. Gods, if you didn't stop him you think you would end up cumming entirely too fast which is why as much as it pained you to, you grabbed onto his wrist and stopped his movements, breathing out a rushed “Need you now,” when he looked up at you in question.

You used your grip on his cock to guide him to your entrance, lifting yourself up on your knees as his hands fell over your hips, helping you along, shivering when the head pressed against your cunt. Pressing down on him with a whimper, you let your weight drag you down his length slowly, throwing your head back with a loud moan at the stretch, walls fluttering wildly around him as they struggled to accommodate the delicious intrusion until he finally bottoms out, your body shaking uncontrollably on top of him.

Your lips find his yet again, getting lost in his taste as you start moving against him, his hands grabbing onto your hips hard enough to bruise as he grinds you down on him, breathy whines and moans swallowed in a passionate kiss, only pulling away when you start speeding up, moving up and down his length as his hips start meeting your thrusts, your hands holding onto the arms of the throne for better leverage, the way he was stretching you out and hitting every earth shattering angle threatening to make you lose yourself.

There was no doubt in your mind that anyone that walked by this hall could hear you, but you truly couldn't bring yourself to care about them, or that the walls were still covered in blood, or anything else for that matter. You had waited too long for this, to kiss him like this, to hold him like this, to feel him like this.

“You have no idea how many times I've dreamed of this,” he manages between pants, eyes darting around as he tries to take the maddening sight before him fully, only receiving a feverish moan in response from you, unforgivingly close to the edge as you were.

Hazel eyes darted around your body as he tried to take the maddening sight before him fully, taking note of the way you struggled to keep your eyes on him, mouth agape as the sweetest whines and gasps escaped unattended; the way your body moved with each roll of your hips, breasts bouncing as you did; and how perfectly you fit together, his cock disappearing inside you with every thrust.

His hands move down to your thighs, lifting your hips on his own now, your body simply following his lead, letting him take control as you moan out his name unabashedly. For a moment Azriel thinks his shadows, the crown and even the throne he was sitting on meant nothing if he didn't have you by his side, if he couldn't feel you like this again.

“Are you close, my love?”

One of your hands falls to hold onto his, needing to ground yourself, needing to feel him on every inch of your skin, needing to know this was real. Struggling to even breathe as he repeatedly hits every pleasure spot inside you, leaving you on the brink of madness.

“So close, Az.”

“Let go for me. Show me how sweet reality can be,” he murmurs breathlessly, obviously dangerously close himself. “Need you to give me everything, need to feel you falling apart on my cock.”

And fall apart you did, a gasp escaping your lips as an overwhelming amount of pleasure takes you under, drowning you completely under the waves as the world stands still, your body falling forward and shaking against him. Azriel keeps fucking into you, taking this new position as an opportunity to thrust into you even harder, chasing his own orgasm at the same time he prolongs yours.

You reach a hand out to caress the talon of his wing at the last minute, reminded of how sensitive they were, being immediately rewarded with a delicious whine of your name as he lets go, fucking his cum deep inside you with jerky motions until you were both spent, chests rising and falling against each other as you caught your breaths, meeting halfway in a kiss, his shadows covering your bodies once again.

Pulling away proves to be a monumental task, his lips chasing yours every time you try, having to push against his chest as you straighten your spine, trying to ignore his half hard cock still tucked inside you as he leans back against his throne, letting out a chuckle when he tries to pull you back to him and you send him a poor attempt at a glare, the smile plastered on your face and the fucked out look in your eyes making it less than believable.

“Do you feel better now?”

“I feel perfect,” he sighs dreamily, gazing up at you adoringly as his thumbs draw circles over your heated skin.

“So…” You trail off, not quite knowing what to say in this situation. After dreaming of not only having him back but also making him yours so many times, you couldn't find the right words now that it actually happened. “You're back.”

“I'm back, my love,” he confirms, cupping your cheek once again and rising up to leave a chaste kiss on your lips, the new pet name sending goosebumps traveling across your skin, your heart so full it felt like it would explode out of your ribcage.

“I had a speech ready, you know?”

“A speech?”

“I had every intention of talking to you before this happened, but words won't ever be enough to describe how much I love you.”

His words paired with the look in his eyes were making you beyond giddy, wrapping your arms around his neck as he kissed you once more, drunk on your taste, unable to ever get enough.

“Say it again.”

Azriel lets out a delighted chuckle, pulling away so he can watch your face, taking you in before indulging you as he stares deep into your eyes.

“I love you. I've loved you for as long as I can remember,” he starts, voice soft as he did, “If I hadn't met you I wouldn't have been able to survive my father's cruelty, and if I didn't know you were waiting for me here, I wouldn't have been able to find the strength to come back and take back the throne. I owe you my life.” Tears gather in both of your eyes as he leans his forehead on yours, continuing, “The years I spent away from you were the hardest I've had to endure, and now that I finally have you back by my side, I won't ever let go. I don't want to spend even another second away from you.”

“I love you too,” you breathe, your heart so full it felt like you couldn't contain all your love for him inside.

Azriel kisses you again, tears now streaming down your faces as you cling to each other. He was right, words could never be enough to describe this moment, let alone the love you shared, but you were willing to whisper them as many times as you could until there was no breath left in your lungs.

[comatosebunny09]

defense(less) zone | sylus

— summary: it wasn’t until your friend returned with a third glass that he noticed something was…off. the woman—tara, he believes her name was—pat him on the shoulder as she strode past. “have a good night, mr. skye,” she drawled, leaving sylus to ponder what the hell that meant. — cw: aphrodisiacs, written with female reader in mind, awkward boners, stupid humor, alcohol consumption, accidental intentional drugging, profanity, sylus in-heat, sexual content, mdni — notes: here's half of what you asked for. once i finish up with my other wips, i'll revisit this one. thank you so much for reading! — tags: @leighsartworks216 @world-of-hearts @queenofstresss @cheshireworld @beewilko

Sylus knew better.

He knew after the third time you warned him not to touch the grog that it was imperative he listen.

Sure, he teased you about it. “I assure you, sweetheart. I know how to hold my liquor.”

The sharp look in your eye held a warning. “That’s not the problem.”

He chuckled with his hands thrown up in mock surrender. You were being a killjoy, sure. But he heeded you, avoiding the table that held the concoction of spirits like the plague.

Until…

Well, your friends—they were so lovely. Equally as insistent, shoving drinks and hors d'oeuvres into his hands while you were off socializing.

It was your fault for leaving him alone. You were the talk of the ball since you��d stepped foot in the venue with Mister Tall, Dark, and Devastating. Naturally, when you left his side, your friends swept in, buzzing about like hoverflies.

They bombarded him with questions, swooned over him, complimented him. He was used to the limelight. This level of attention. But it hit differently when people weren’t kissing his ass because he was a kingpin.

He found his defenses melting into the floor the more they talked to him, and it was easy for Sylus to understand why you acquainted yourself with them. They were lively. Disarming. Dangerous.

One of your lady friends sidled up to him with a glass of something ominous. Light pink in color, and it swirled and glittered like a nebula. Its acrid scent should’ve been enough of a ward. But he didn’t want to be rude. And he wasn’t a bitch, so he drank it, ignoring its harsh edge. He needed to blend in. Show you he could drink like a sailor and still carry you home by the night’s end.

And…maybe he was being a little impressionable.

It wasn’t until your friend returned with a third glass that he noticed something was…off.

“Thank you,” Sylus said, the glass poised at his lips.

Your friend watched with mischief painting her features. That didn’t bode well. Sylus threw back the last drink, placing his glass on a waiter’s tray passing by.

The pair stood in uncomfortable silence—Sylus smiling warily with a hand stuffed in his pocket and the young lady refusing to look away as a Chesire grin split her face in twain.

The woman—Tara, he believes her name was—pat him on the shoulder as she strode past. “Have a good night, Mr. Skye,” she drawled, leaving Sylus to ponder what the hell that meant.

The rest of your coworkers followed suit, slowly trickling away to the dancefloor. As Sylus said his goodbyes to the last of them, the room started to teeter, and his chest grew heavy as if weighed down by lead.

Sylus massaged his temple, trying to blink away the sudden bleariness. There was no way in hell he was drunk. Not this early in the evening, and not after a handful of watered-down cocktails.

He scanned the room. Caught your eye amongst the sea of revelers. You raised your champagne flute to him in greeting, a quiet smile rounding your lips. This ball was important to you—an opportunity to create a lasting impression on your new superiors. Sylus would kick himself if he spoiled it. So, he nodded.

But he learned to regret that simple gesture soon enough.

He stumbled forward a step or two, and the marbled floors below swam. What the fu—

Shaking his head, Sylus’ eyes flit to you to see your brows pinching with concern. You looked like you wanted to tear through the crowd to get to him. He smiled to lay your worries to rest, mouthing, ‘I’m alright.’

Seemingly satisfied, you spared him another apprehensive look before returning your attention to the woman before you who’d ensnared you in conversation.

Sylus wasn’t exactly sure what was amiss with his body. Just knew he was growing hot beneath the fibers of his tux, and the hairs at his nape were pasted to his skin by sweat.

He wended through the crowd, taking long strides towards the restroom. Maybe a splash of cold water would draw him back to sobriety.

On his journey, he caught sight of the punchbowl you’d steered him away from all night.

He swallowed past a lump of barbs in his throat, quickening his pace as a familiar swirl of pale pink gleamed condescendingly at him from within.

—

Thankfully, the bathroom was empty.

He inspected himself in the mirror, his large hands on either side of the sink bowl to keep him upright.

He’d broken out with a fine sheen of sweat. It was becoming increasingly difficult to breathe. Why the fuck was it so hot? And why was his chest burning like that, the sensation slowly puddling in his stomach?

Sylus turned on the faucet. Cupped his palms beneath its languid spray, splashing water onto his face. He slapped his cheeks, willing himself to get his shit together. Despite his efforts, the lights of the men’s room continued to spin and blur, and he struggled to keep himself afloat.

He winced at his reflection. Took a deep breath, mouth hanging open when he exhaled. He looked flushed. Unkempt. The veins of his neck visibly throbbed, and he felt the beginnings of a headache seeping in. Could he really not hold his liquor?

“Hey, man!” called a boisterous voice from behind. It was followed by a clap on Sylus’ shoulder, and had he been anyone but himself, he would’ve barreled into the wall. A growl roiled in his chest, and he cut his eyes at the intruder.

The guy in question—one of your coworkers whom Sylus spoke with earlier—draped an arm about his shoulders, studying both their visages with a drunken cant to his lips.

“Great party, huh?”

Sylus could only grunt, his throat slowly constricting, and his wits scattered about.

“You alright, man?” he queried. “Not lookin’ so hot there.” He studied Sylus’ side profile a moment longer before a knowing foxlike grin crept over his lips. “Aw, dude! You get a hold of the grog, too?”

Sylus felt the color drain from his face.

“Yeah, man. That shit’s lethal. Don’t know what they put in it this time, but I’m harder than a rock!” The room erupted with his raucous laughter directly into Sylus’ ear. He proceeded to palm himself, playfully wiggling his hips.

Sylus wondered how long you’d give him the silent treatment if he committed murder tonight.

“Take care, man,” the obnoxious asshole bellowed, patting Sylus a little too roughly between his shoulder blades. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do!”

Sylus tracked his movements to the door until it swung closed behind him, blotting out the swell of noise beyond. He bowed forward, his forehead colliding with the glacial surface of the mirror—a welcomed contrast to his inflamed skin.

“Fuck,” he rasped, hanging on by a thread.

They spiked the grog. They spiked the fucking grog. He’d had three glasses of it, and whatever was in there disrupted his senses and made his pants grow unbearably tight. That would explain why everyone was so nauseatingly happy.

Your visage flashed in his mind. Made his body pulse, and he crumbled with grit teeth.

He knew you’d be up his ass when you found out.

In his defense, you left him to the wolves. To those jackals you called friends.

—

He finds you in no time. Sniffs you out like a bloodhound after he gave himself a lengthy pep talk in the bathroom.

“Sweetie,” Sylus calls from behind. Eases a hand down the curve of your spine. You shiver. Damn your dress for having such a devastating plunge. For boasting your pretty skin like that.

You’re so soft here, he thinks, dragging the backs of his fingers up and down the ripples of your vertebrae. The scent you carry is lethal. Floral and sweet. His eyes nearly pitch into the back of his skull when he gets a whiff, toes scrunching in his dress shoes.

You peer at him over your shoulder, a soft smile to your lips. Toy with your necklace. Very demure, very docile.

“There you are,” you purr with that thousand-watt smile, your voice honey-smooth. He feels it pooling in his lower belly. Bites his lip against a pathetic sound threatening to make itself known.

Over your shoulder, he gives your company a curt, dismissive smile. Perches a hand on your hip, drawing you back towards him to spin you around. He then leads you to a spot devoid of people, away from the strobing lights. His palms clasp around your arms, thumbs cruising over supple skin.

“What’s up?” you whisper, pressing a concerned hand between his pectorals. His Achilles Heel. His heart beats a war cadence against you. He might just take you here if you’ll let him. Split you nice and open.

Alarm meddles with your features at his silence. At the violent tremor of his heart. Your brows furrow, and your lips quiver. “What’s wrong, Sy?”

God, you’re beautiful, even when you look all concerned. He traces a languid triangle between your bowed lashes and lips. Wants to kiss you so fucking bad. Smudge that pretty lipstick down your chin. Slide his hand between your thighs and make you sigh his name in front of all these people.

His dick throbs.

Fuck. Focus. Stay focused.

“Sweetie,” he tries again, swallowing thickly. His eyes are at half-mast. He’s trying his best not to sway—not to look like a bumbling idiot, but whatever’s in his system has him seeing double.

You jet into mom mode. Gently grab his wrists, the feel of your digits branding his skin, wrenching a needy sound from his throat. “Sylus, what’s wrong? Talk to me.”

He debates on telling you the truth. Turns it over like a record in his mind, weighing the pros and cons. Feels silly, like a child admitting to rifling through the cookie jar.

A wave of vertigo hurtles into him, reminding him of his plight. He teeters forward, catching himself at the last minute. Angles closer, his breath stirring your baby hairs.

“I…might’ve indulged a little.”

“Huh?” you ask, rubbing up and down his arms. You smooth his hair away from his forehead, behind his ears. Gather his cheeks into your palms, and he burns like an inferno. “The hell does that even mean?”

He tries his best to roll his eyes. For someone so gorgeous, you can be incredibly daft.

“The grog, sweetie.”

“The grog…” There’s a faraway look in your eyes.

He watches the gears turn in your head before realization descends on your shoulders. Whatever concern you held for him sloughs off, replaced by mortification. The world eases by in a Gaussian blur, every sound a muddled mess to his ears.

Suddenly, you’re shoving at him. Pelting his chest with half-hearted jabs, and he stumbles back. Bad idea. He catches your hands, holding on tight to keep himself afloat.

“You drank—you drank the fu—”

Glancing around, you haul him towards an alcove. Push him up against the wall none-too-gently, forcing a grunt from his lungs.

“You drank the fucking grog?”

Uh-oh. You’re whisper-yelling. He’s in for it now.

“Yep.”

“After I told you, like, thirty times not to?!”

“Yep.”

“What the fuck, man!”

He’s swaying again. Plasters on a silly grin. It’s comical, watching you quietly panic.

“To be fair, your friend fed it to me.” He motions to something off to the side with a tilt of his head.

You pick up on his cue. Tara’s not too far off, waggling her fingers in a way that bleeds mischief.

“Unbelievable!” you sigh, scrubbing a frustrated hand down your face. “I can’t leave you by yourself for two seconds.”

You’re clearly upset. He doesn’t mind catching strays. Couldn’t dodge them even if he tried. So, instead, he takes hold of your hands to calm them. Tugs you closer, eyes a bleary shade of burgundy. 

“What’s done is done, sweetheart. How we next choose to handle this is what matters now.”

You give him a look. A once-over, painting a sharp line down the slope of his body. It is then that you catch sight of him—hot and turgid against the stitching of his trousers. A knit forms between your brows. You look like you want to scream-slash-cry.

“That bad?” you ask. Your disappointment from before abates, replaced by something of concern. He chuckles, and it’s an effort on its own. 

Sluggishly, he directs your hand to the cusp of him. Groans something filthy and bitten-off, eyes screwing shut. He bows into you, a bead of sweat trailing down the ridge of his Adam’s apple. 

“That bad.”

[wandaslittlelove]

Rio x religious!femReader? Full of smut, religious guilt and corruption kink ☺️ it could be set in the 1600’s

Only if you are confortable with it 😉

Blood Stained Altar

Pairing: Dark!Rio Vidal x reader Warnings: SMUT 18+ MDNI, Dark themes, Blood, knife, Noncon, Me not knowing religious things, Cunnilingus (R), Fingering (r), Spit kink, Marking, Choking, I think that's it.

You kneeled in front of the Altar. Hands clasped and eyes closed as you prayed. Lately there has been a shadow in your room every night. It felt like eyes were watching you everywhere you went. Feather light touches in the middle of the night. Things in your room moving and disappearing. You were convinced it was a ghost. So you came to the church your father owned every night in hopes of praying whatever was bothering you away.

“Dear heavenly father, I am not sure what has been watching me this last month but I can tell it is not one of your creations so I pray for protection. For you to keep me and my family safe. To not let anything happen. I ask-” The lights start flickering and a sharp breath makes its way into your lungs. Trying to ignore it you close your eyes again but suddenly you hear a loud cackle before you feel hands on your waist and a breath on your neck.

“You can’t pray me away darling.” Her hands held your waist tightly as she placed feather light kisses on your neck. “I’ve been watching you. Waiting for the right time to make you mine. You are my prize. A gift” Her words trail off into a whisper as she pulls your back flush against her. You are frozen in fear until her hand starts to slip under your shirt. Quickly you scramble out of her arms and turn to face her. She stands with a smirk on her face as she steps towards you. You step back again but are stopped from going too far because of the wall behind you. You go to run but a vine wraps tightly around your ankle to keep you in place. Two more come up to wrap around your arms keeping them firm by your side.

“W-what are you?” You ask as you struggle against the vines causing them to tighten their hold on you. The woman chuckles as she continues to step closer to you.

“The green witch. Death. But you may call me Rio or mistress.” As she steps back into your personal space her hand comes up and she brings a nail to run along your jaw. You looked away from her but her hand roughly gripped your face and turned you to look at her. Her eyes were almost black and her nails sharply dug into your skin. You knew there would be marks later.

Your mind raced at her words. Witches were told to be cruel beings that practiced dark magic. People who worshiped the devil. They were also told to be ugly but she did not look ugly. No, she was beautiful. You cursed yourself for thinking that and almost as if she could hear your thoughts she chuckled. She leaned closer so that you could feel her breath right against your lips as her nails dug harsher into your jaw.

“You're a pretty thing,” She whispered. Suddenly her lips were on yours. Your eyes widen and you go to push her off but the vines keep you still. After a few moments her tongue licks at your lips wanting entrance but you keep your mouth closed. A growl escapes her and her nails dig hard into your waist drawing blood causing you to gasp. Quickly she shoves her tongue into your mouth and groans. A fog-like haze takes over your mind and for a second you kiss her back feeling her smile against your lips. When she pulls away your lips are slightly swollen and she smirks down at you.

“Let me go. Please” You beg as her hands start to wander your body. 

“No” Her voice is firm as she speaks and you gasp as she undoes your corset. It falls to the floor with a thud. You struggle and thrash in her grip not wanting her to get any further but with a roll of her eyes and a flick of her wrist your dress is gone leaving you only in your bra and panties. Her eyes travel along your body, her hands following the movement. Her hands run down your shoulders pausing at the tops of your breasts peeking out over the bra then slowly down your stomach until one comes to grip your hip harshly. The other cups you over your underwear and she lets out a groan at the damp spot.

“You're enjoying this” She teases as she drags her fingers up and down over your covered core. “So wet for me. What a little slut.” Her nails graze your clit and you can’t help the whimper that gets let out. You had never felt like this before. Had never been touched in this way. It felt so different. So good. But you knew you couldn’t let her touch you like this. Couldn’t let her take what is supposed to be saved for your future spouse. 

Thinking fast you take the leg that is free and kick her. She stumbles back a bit, cursing. You look at her smugly for a moment thinking you have won but then her gaze is back on you. Her eyes are almost black and narrowed. Her lips curved into a snarl. A whole new wave of fear and arousal though you would never admit that rushes through you. Before you can blink her hand is gripping your throat tightly and she is slamming your back onto the altar. Your gasp for air as her hand tightens. 

“Do that again and I’ll kill you” She hisses. Her hand stays on your throat but loosens enough for you to get air back into your lungs and the other pulls your bra down allowing for your breast to be exposed. The cold air hits your nipples causing them to harden slightly. Her smirk grows as she runs her thumb over one of them gently. Your body betrays you and arches up into her touch. You never realised that someone touching your nipple could feel so good. But right now with her her fingers softly pinching and pulling it sends another wave of wetness into your already soaked panties. The pleasure is short lived though as she quickly becomes rough again. Her once gentle fingers pinch harshly and pull causing a cry to fall from your lips.

“That hurts!” You cry as she repeats the motion on your other breast. She looks at you with a fake pout before pinching again. After a few more times tears start to fall down your face and she finally gives your sore nipples a break. You breathe a sigh of relief but your breath quickly gets caught in your throat as her hand pulls your panties off. The air is cold and you can feel the wetness dripping down your thighs. 

“Beautiful” She whispers as her thumb comes to rub small circles on your aching bundle of nerves. Your body jerks at the feeling and before you can stop it a moan makes its way past your lips. Her eyes snap up to your face at the sound. “Such pretty noises. Do it again” Her voice is commanding and you can’t help but to obey. Your thighs attempt to clench shut and you can’t decide if it’s to keep her hand where it is or to keep it away. Her magic quickly opens them again though. Keeping you spread out wide for her and her gaze. She leans down hovering her face right above yours. Her breath on your face is what makes you snap out of your pleasure filled haze.

“You- Stop” Your words are not very convincing as there followed by a moan and your hips bucking into her hand. She chuckles at you and leans down to place a small kiss on your lips. 

“Why would I stop? Doesn't it feel good” She mocks. You shake your head denying it but she knows you're lying. The wetness coating her fingers and the little noises leaving your lips tell her differently. “I bet this will feel better” One of her fingers comes to circle your entrance dipping in slightly only to pull back out. The feeling turns your brain fuzzy. You don’t understand why it feels so good. It should only feel good when your husband does this. At least that’s what your father and everyone else told you.

“Don’t” 

“Shh my love. Just feel” Her lips press down onto yours just as her finger slips into you fully. It hurts and is a bit uncomfortable at first. The feeling foreign. But it soon turns into pleasure as she begins to pump it in and out while curling her finger. She starts out slow giving you time to adjust before she picks up her pace. Her mouth parting from yours to look down at the sight of your heat taking her finger. “So tight. Going to have to stretch you out” She grunts. You don’t understand what she means. Not until a second finger joins the first and she stretches them apart. It feels so good. You feel so full. A tightness begins to form. Almost like you have to pee. 

“Feels weird” You cry as your hands start to struggle in your restraints. She doesn’t respond, instead she grips your jaw and orders you to open. Opening your mouth you feel her spit into it.

“Swallow,” She demanded. Once you do she gives you a smile and begins to kiss down your body. Her mouth stopped briefly to suck and nip at certain spots leaving a trail of hickeys in her path. Slowly she works her way down. And your hips buck again when you feel her breath right on your mound. Her fingers continue their assault inside of you. Causing the feeling to get tighter. It’s intense but nothing happens. Almost like you need more. She seems to notice this to as not even a second later her mouth is on your clit. She sucks it into her mouth and you can only describe the noise as filthy. The room is filled with the sound of her fingers pumping inside you, her sucking on your clit, and your moans. Before you know it the knot inside of you explodes. Your vision turns white for a second as you let out a loud cry. The air feels like it’s getting sucked out of you. It’s intense. So intense that you don’t even register the pain on your thigh until Rio pulls away. When she does though there's a blade in her hand dripping with blood. Looking down you see that your thigh is bloody and something had been carved into it. You let out a cry of pain as she swipes her thumb over the wound the letters R.V. causing blood to leak onto the altar below you. Her face comes back up to yours as you cry from the pain and from the realization of what has just happened. She shushes you as she tries to bring you comfort,

“I know baby but we have to let this heal naturally. If I heal it it won't stay. Let’s get you home. We have to get that cleaned and bandaged. And then” Her voice drops as she gently lifts you into her arms “Then I’ll take your virginity fully. You're mine now.” 

[alwaysthefool]

Coincidence (Sylus x Reader/MC)

Tags: Angst, no comfort, jealousy, misunderstanding, GN Reader, MC Reader

Warnings: major insecurity,

Synopsis: You see Sylus with someone else, causing a misunderstanding between the two of you

It definitely wasn’t one of your best days. Your hair had been dull from exposing it to too much heat, and your skin was facing a breakout. He’d seen you at your worst and best before, and besides, Sylus didn’t care for those things so you didn’t think much about it when he called you over.

Maybe you should have.

She was everything you weren’t, everything people said you lacked, with a beautiful smile and perfect teeth. He called her closer to whisper something in her ear, to which both of them laughed, before she noticed you, gracefully bid her farewell to Sylus, and walked to the door.

“Will I be seeing you at the banquet tonight, sir?” She asked, turning slightly.

“I’ll let you know.” Sylus turned his attention to you, his lips curling up, and suddenly it did not feel so genuine. It felt cunning, manipulative, and the second you found your own brain blaming you for insecurity, you realised your thoughts were being manipulated. He wasn’t using his aether core or evol, it was all a plot, a power play to lift up your spirits and let you down, over and over again. Right?

“…you coming?” Sylus, whose voice was generally hard to ignore, had been talking about something.

“What?” You frowned, not sitting down or making yourself comfortable in his office like you usually would, which made him stand up and walk towards you.

“Would you like to come with me to the protocore auction tonight?” He repeated, staring deep into your blank eyes. He said he could see people’s deepest desires, and at that time you didn’t know what you even wanted.

“I’m actually busy.” You cautiously stepped back, feeling worse than you did when he first called you there. It hurt worse than your heart at its weakest state, than your throat all those times you’d scream when nightmares terrorised you, probably more than any other time an opponent hurt you.

He was about to say something, but a bailing ring on your phone interrupted you. You glanced quickly at who it was— Tara— and excused yourself to pick up the call, a cheerful voice saying something about being bored on her week off, and without a pause, you replied saying you’d be there.

“Really?!” She exclaimed, and you also realised how you’d been neglecting your friends, spending your free time with him instead.

“Really.” You replied solemnly, just walking out of his manor, only dropping a text that a friend needed you for something important.

You thought he’d chase after you, try to stop you, at least text you to stay, but he did nothing of that sort, and you were soon at Tara’s house with a pack of beer, chips, and hidden feelings.

“Maybe you should see other people.” She suggested, looking down at your palm to read the lines. “It seems like you’ll have many romances- ooh, I know, why don’t we go out tonight? Maybe we’ll find the one!”

“Tara, we’re not finding ‘the one’ at the club.”

“You never know!” Although she took the week off to recover, she was quite jumpy when getting ready, helping you too. It was pleasant to have someone like that around in times like those.

You looked better, finally, dressed well with your hair done, although you shouldn’t have done that considering how weak it was, but it felt nice to just feel adored for the first time in days. Tara took you to a tiny get-together with some of her team, the club thankfully not being too crowded. You got along with her friends, the free cocktails helping you get your mind off things.

It seemed you really hit it off with Andrew, captain of the analytics division, who also didn’t seem to mind Tara partying on her time off. “Everyone should have time off every once in a while.” He said, as the two of you watched her dance her heart out with a smile on your faces… and then trip on her own feet and fall.

The two of you rushed to her, helping her up, and calling a taxi for her. She insisted for you to stay and enjoy, telling you she’d be fine by herself. Andrew started to scold her for being reckless but she told the Taxi driver to step on it before he could finish, earning another laugh from you.

The cool breeze made you shudder, and the team leader gave you his coat. You thanked him shyly, the two of you talking for a while outside, until you spied a shiny eyed crow perched on a light pole, immediately ticking you off.

He was with someone else, so why was he interested in what you were doing? You put your arm on Andrew, leaning in to whisper something in his ear, holding his hand as the two of you went back inside.

Back at the base, Sylus watched you through Mephisto’s eyes, not having attended the auction himself as you wouldn’t be going.

“So that’s why you blew me off.” He mumbled to himself, turning off the screen after commanding Mephisto to make sure you got home safe.

He wondered what happened, where he went wrong, how he could fix things. You seemed down for a while, so he set up a perfect date night for the two of you, acquiring tickets for a ball in another city, having a designer deliver garments that would suit you personally earlier that day, because a week ago you told him you wished to attend one of those while mindlessly scrolling through the Pinterest board on your phone. He thought he’d surprise you, but then you hurried away from him, making him think something bad happened.

Now he supposed you just liked the simpler things in life, and a simpler man, too. Is that who called you when you ran without a bye? When he stared deep in your eyes and saw disgust again? You hated him, right? You liked someone else, right?

“Have it your way, sweetie.

Now I won’t chase after you.”

-x-

Pssst if you liked this, i wrote this concept (with a follow up happy ending chapter) for ZN too, I’ll link it in the reblogs!

Also let me know if you want a Part 2 to this and what it should be!

[quillandtea]

Tonight’s thought

Let’s talk about Nicola Coughlan, Jake Dunn, Luke Newton, and this whole messy situation. Because, honestly, I’m baffled, frustrated, and trying to make sense of what’s real versus what people want to be real.

First, let’s address the Lukola fans (myself included): there’s this belief among some fans that Nicola and Luke are secretly in a relationship. The proof? “Crumbs.” Literally crumbs. What are crumbs, you ask? They’re the little moments people cling to: behind-the-scenes clips, interviews, photos where they’re smiling at each other, or moments where their characters (Colin and Penelope) are obviously acting and showing their chemistry. And yes, their chemistry on Bridgerton is undeniable—it’s what makes Polin work. But let’s be real: they’re actors. Their job is to sell their attraction so people will watch the show. That’s the point of their work.

Outside of playing their characters, WT (walking and talking outside of work or being seen interacting) is also thrown in as “evidence,” but even then… they’re colleagues! Of course, they’re going to have some level of friendliness. So where’s the solid proof? Why is this idea of them being secretly together so persistent? Why do we cling to the crumbs but never acknowledge the lack of an actual loaf?

Now let’s flip the narrative to what everyone is actually talking about: Nicola and Jake Dunn (JD). There’s been so much speculation and, honestly, the evidence there is glaring. Pictures of them in Malta, NYC, concerts, dinners with friends—and not just casual group shots. There’s that one where they’re holding hands outside a restaurant, and you can’t convince me they were expecting paparazzi there. And her phone screensaver? Him. She even just posted a photo to her 6.5 million Instagram followers with him casually in the background. Are we really going to pretend she didn’t know what she was doing there? Isn’t that confirmation at this point?

Here’s where I’m stuck: if Nicola wants to keep her life private (which is absolutely her right), why is she feeding the narrative of being in a relationship with JD? She hasn’t done anything to deny it, and her actions seem to support it more and more. Posting a picture with him in the background, allowing herself to be seen holding hands with him in public, attending multiple events together—these aren’t the actions of someone trying to shut down rumors. If anything, it feels like she’s subtly confirming the relationship without outright saying the words. Why is she adding fuel to the fire if she doesn’t want people talking about it?

And let’s be honest, if she were doing all of this with Luke—public outings, dinners, intimate moments, social media posts—the fandom would absolutely lose its mind declaring them a couple. So why is the narrative different because it’s JD? Why is this relationship so downplayed by some fans when she’s doing all but holding up a neon sign that says, “Yes, I’m with him”?

Here’s where I’m torn. Do I want her to be with Luke? Absolutely. They’re adorable together, their chemistry is off the charts, and yes, it would be a fan dream come true. But… if she’s with JD, it’s honestly upsetting. Let’s address the elephant in the room: he’s 13 years younger. Thirteen. That’s not a small age gap, especially when she’s closer to 40 and he’s just barely into adulthood. It’s hard not to feel frustrated about it. The power dynamics, the life experience gap—it just doesn’t sit right with me.

And what if she comes out she’s actually with JD and confirms a long-term relationship? What excuse would fans have then? How would Lukola survive off these crumbs if the whole loaf is clearly JD? Would people still deny it or cling to some “oh, they’re just friends” narrative?

This whole situation is just confusing. I like Nicola and want her to be happy, but the mixed signals are maddening. If she’s with JD, I can’t help but feel disappointed for personal reasons (again, that age gap). If she’s not, why does it look so much like she is? Why is there so much effort in keeping it vague? And why does Lukola live off crumbs when there’s clearly no solid proof?

Maybe I should just leave and block anything related to Nicola and stick to reading Polin fanfiction. At least there, we know how the story ends. This is what happens when you ship real people—it’s exhausting, messy, and makes you question why you cared in the first place.

[wormwoodartemisia]

[One of my favourite tropes in all variations: getting rescued, one way or the other - and I really need more people to write about it 😇]

I guess enough of us have probably already made certain experiences with that one kind of guys who simply wouldn't let the issue drop when you tell them that you're not interested, no matter what you say (in decreasing stages of politeness), unless...

{Only this time, we turn the tables a bit. 😏}

Claimed

Sometimes you need to be rescued - and sometimes it's the others…

About 5.2k words

Established Ghoap, civilian afab!Reader; (almost) no specific description (except that Reader has got soft hair that's long enough to run one's fingers through + Reader might appear rather tall at some point, but nothing in detail); no use of y/n

Warning: no smut actually taking place, just some references (mostly implied, intention to have sex); taste of alcohol

[[In case you want some more info: first meeting; aggressive, unrequited flirting: pestering and being a nuisance (when 'no' is interpreted as 'try harder' or simply ignored, but neither by Reader nor Ghost/Soap); fake kiss; What do we think about a threesome {MMF/MFM}?]]

Your original plan was to go out and spend some quality time on your own, focussing on nothing in particular, just floating through your own mind. However, it's one of those nights...

The bar is crowded in a pleasant way. When you enter, you can nontheless still get you favourite spot in the small booth not too far away from the bar counter. The perfect place for treating yourself with your favourite drink and indulging in the typical noises here that let you relax after an ardous week full of work. Normally...

The night is still young, you're in good spirits altogether. On such lazy evenings, you like people-watching, in case someone catches your attention. Then you wouldn't actively listen to their conversations, of course, but discretely observe them a bit, guess their mood and wonder what circumstances brought them here. A good training for staying attentive and creative alike.

Taking a sip from your drink, you casually start scanning the taproom with your eyes, when suddenly you notice a tall, broad figure in black appear from the back of the spacious room and lean against the counter, just a few seats away from you. For the shortest of moments the man takes you in and briefly nods at you in acknowledgement. You have hardly any time to reciprocate his gesture before he turns away again to order two drinks.

Of course you remember this stoic man from several other visits here, outstanding as he is, always looking the same, clad in the darkest colours only, his face covered by a black surgical mask he never takes off fully. He's one of the regulars (even if he's sometimes away for weeks), just like you - but you wouldn't have thought that he’s ever noticed you in here, let alone make it known to you...

In all the past months, you never saw him look your way, not even slightly. He always seemed totally concentrated on the guy he kept company - that boisterous, ever-grinning mohawk with his fiercely piercing blue eyes that winked at you playfully one night when you passed them on your way out to head home. A contagious smile. Handsome man in his extrovert personality, but you don't find his mysterious, calm mate any less attractive, though you haven't seen much of him so far, except his short blond hair, some fair skin and now his dark, steady eyes a few moments ago.

You save his expression in your memory. Definitely something worth remembering.

To be honest, these two are your favourite people to watch.

Together, they take a presence in the room that's unmatched, draws you in, clouds your thoughts, if you allow yourself to go astray. You've never witnessed anything like that before. These two men have captivated you right from the start and it took you some time to put it into words: blowing through the landscapes of your mind, Mohawk is a storm, Mask is its eye... They belong together.

Such a beautiful couple (you're absolutely sure that's what they are, you can’t have misread their interactions), radiant energy, all easy-going, just pure affection, content with and enough for each other, never any drama.

Well, there's always a first time...

When Mask picks up his two drinks, he manages to take two steps back into the direction where he came from before he stops midmotion. Mohawk has just entered the stage of your field of vision, approaching fast from the backroom and stepping at the counter behind his mate. He leans his back against it, sighing audibly. You wouldn't need to be as close to them as you are in order to notice his furrowed brows and the tight line of his lips. It's easy to tell that he’s frustrated - massively so. Slowly Mask turns around, handing Mohawk his drink.

"Well, Johnny, no more damsel in distress, I take it?"

"Ach, haud yer weesht."

You can’t avoid becoming a witness to their talk. Despite the other people around, it’s a quiet evening and their deep voices carry over to you easily, closeby as you are, the tension not to be overheard.

Johnny takes a sip, looks at his partner and rolls his eyes. He's just noticed someone behind his friend. You've never seen him that annoyed: "No second act, please..."

Then you see the beauty beeline towards the two men.

You bet every guy in here would give her 10/10 - and you could readily agree - if not for her flawless outward appearance desperately trying to cover up that one specific look in her eyes, with which she holds her chin up just one bit too high. Though, nine of ten would probably gladly ignore that streak of arrogance (- which you feel so obviously oozing off her in case one is willing to take one closer look - ) if that meant getting a chance to know her better - and her pants.

She's all seductive smiles: "How impolite of you to keep me waiting!", she chirps, addressing both men equally, voice like sugar syrup, sticky, dripping. Used to getting what she wants...

Taking another sip, Johnny doesn't even bother to look at her at this point anymore.

First-row-seat, you can watch the drama unfold.

Mohawk: "We'd rather be alone."

Beauty (flirtatiously): "Now we're getting closer. Just my thought. So we're leaving?"

Black Mask: "You are very welcome to go."

Beauty: "Well, you already get me going, mystery, but I'd love to come as well."

You almost choke on your drink. This woman is terrible, fully ignoring both men clearly pointing out that her attention is unwanted! It has become obvious that she must have already been digging on your two favourites for quite some time, finally even making them change their place...

Yet she doesn't stop: "If you know what I mean."

Mask: "We get it, but we choose to ignore the implication."

Beast: "Ohh, playing hard to get, sweets? I like me some good challenge!"

Mask: "Nice. Then show us how fast you can get away."

Beast: "No problem. I'm off in less than one second if you take my hand."

"I'd rather take yer head", Johnny mumbles, but in contrast to you, she can hear him and grins wickedly: "And I'd give you head willingly, Scotty too Hottie!"

She reaches out to him, but Mask's cold voice actually makes her stop.

"Don't touch him."

Beast chooses to let Mask's words play into her favour: "No need to be jealous, killer."

"Go pick someone else."

You're convinced that he'll finally get through to her, but Beast gets distracted.

"Yeah, pick me, sugar! Anytime!", some random guy in passing by turns to her, immediately posing, showing her his upper arm, flexing his biceps, clearly quite taken with her outward appearance.

"Not now", she dismisses him, noticeably annoyed, but he only shrugs, grinning, before calling back over his shoulder: "Change your mind, lemme know, gorgeous."

Mask: "You should go with him."

She gives that bloke a swift lookover. "Not my type."

"We're nae yer type, either", Johnny points out.

Beast: "Oh, but you are. Love that brogue."

Mask: "Let me rephrase: you are not our type."

Beast: "Don't worry, I can become anybody's type."

She wants to touch him, both of them, badly so, you can tell, from the way her fingers are twitching at her side, but something's holding her back. So she does have a slight idea of boundaries, at least.

"We might nae be interested in women altogether", Johnny states matter-of-factly and has her head snap into his direction again.

"Hot - but you've never had a woman like me before, I promise."

"True. And ah hope we'll never meet one like ye again in future, either."

"You won't. I'm unique - and you really don't wanna miss this one chance, boys. I'll make it worth your while."

Rather worst your while, you think to yourself while you notice their patience wearing thin. It is beyond you why she doesn't take 'no' (all those 'no's') as what it is. It makes you angry, this full display of blunt disrespect, every rejection - in decreasing stages of politeness - just a spur for her to try harder, eagerly pushing an ego that is non-existent...

It's now that Mask furrows his brows and rummages in a pocket of his jeans: "We don't find you attractive at all." On finishing his sentence, he takes a look at what he's holding in his palm now, a silently vibrating mobile phone. He shoots the other man a swift glance: "I'm'a take that call now, Johnny. Make her leave." His tone has changed, laced with finality.

Mohawk straightens, the command initiating a subtle but nontheless visible transformation. He responds to his masked partner with one single firm nod: "Yes, sir."

The mask exits.

Beast was quiet during their exchange but now she's biting her lower lip and turns to Mohawk seductively: "Sexy."

He looks at her, the bright summer sky of his eyes now the cold of the frostiest glacier: "Oan yer bike!", a deep, low rumble.

You can sense that this was his last attempt to give her a decent way out - unfortunately she doesn't take her chance: "I'd rather ride you, handsome."

You know this type of person - man or woman, makes no difference. She won't stop.

Mohawk has just realised this sad fact, too. He breathes out deeply and while his eyes are wearily drifting towards the exit, he grazes your gaze for a split second.

Meanwhile, Beast dares to get closer, the attempt of a huntress, about to reach out and - what? Touch his hips?

It crosses your mind that this insufferable person would have already been removed from the bar had she been a man harassing two women. However, with switched roles (and a beautiful woman being after two broad blokes) nobody (except Mohawk, Mask & you yourself) seems to fathom any fundamental problem...

You can see that this might get ugly (situations easily do with people like Beast) - and since you know how things can be... Your turn.

Ready to avoid the catastrophe...

He doesn’t get the time to say anything, nor does she to lay hand on him. You're faster.

Within one heartbeat you've grabbed your drink and pop up at his side, so much out of nowhere, that you manage to catch Beast by surprise and get her full attention.

You press yourself against Mohawk's side (as unobtrusive as possible under these circumstances) and, by reflex, you guess, his left arm comes to rest around your waist, a pose the two of you have fallen into so naturally, nothing odd about it, no hint of hesitation from either of you.

He doesn’t flinch, doesn’t act surprised. He simply gets what you're doing here - but Beast doesn’t have a clue.

Showtime...

This is the guise you've chosen to present, and you perform artstically: there's a hint of defeat in your features, a slight hue of regret and a thin-lipped smile pointing downwards, emphazising that you know when a game is over.

You make sure that Beast gets enough time to study your facial expression. Then you donne Mohawk a genuine smile: "OK, honey, you win. I am fucking jealous seeing you flirting with some random woman. You were right, I was wrong. It really pisses me off when you tease her. I need this bad charade to end right now or I’ll forget myself", you notice a spark of mischief in his eyes, "And yes, darling, for the records, you have just won our bet. Happy now?"

Mohawk smirks at you, "Wasnae too painful tae confess now, was it, luv?" and makes you wonder how a grin can be so subtle and triumphant at the same time. You can feel him squeeze your waist in affection.

Now you turn to the other woman: "Really good job, dearie, digging on my man, testing my limits. So, have a nice one and farewell."

You can see the wheels in her head turning.

Does she call your bluff? No, at least not yet.

Doesn't mean it's over, though...

She gives you a calculating look-over, probably wondering why this man would be with you [in general, but especially] when he could have her - but she doesn't voice you're not his league, as some might say. She notices his hand caressing you softly, small gestures that make your acting convincing - the final proof, you think, to make her believe your claim is true.

Yes, "OK, I get it, the two of you belong together", but "but then I won’t let that blond enigma off the hook, for sure!"

Your heart skips a beat.

"Pity", a deep voice chimes in. Neither that woman nor you have noticed the masked man's return, his eyes fixed on Beast. So both of you stare at him when he takes one final step, "I'm all hers as well. Actually", to put his arm around your shoulder and drag your body into his possessively, "we're a throuple."

That poor woman is speechless for a second, blinks, flummoxed. "Throuple?", she repeats, utterly dumbfounded, her voice dripping with doubt.

"Aye, throuple, ye ken?", now Mohawk closes back in on you as well, his hand sliding to the small of your back. His once mischievous smile grows darker as he pulls up one eyebrow and a corner of his mouth, showing teeth, grinning - it's the wolfish way: "We fuck each other relentlessly and live happily ever after, just the three of us."

The blond wolf knows to add an eloquent thought: "With just the right amount of cocks 'n' holes to take care of, one sweet, perfect cunt. Yours not needed."

Her eyes go wide at their crude, blunt proclamation, a behaviour so different from before, but you yourself can’t help the smirk that creeps on your lips. Too much information for her...

Her eyes dart to the upturned corners of your mouth, the way you can hardly conceal your grin gets her suspicious.

However, your own focus finds a reason to shift when at the same time you feel the two men moving you in perfect sync. While Mask's right hand is sliding up from your shoulder to your neck, his left hand is tracing your left arm downwards until his long fingers can intertwine with yours. Using only soft, sweet pressure, he's holding your hands against your hip. Meanwhile, he's turned your body away from facing the other woman so that your back is firmly pressed to his front.

You feel the outlines of his muscular body, too fascinated to do anything else but comply - and why wouldn't you? It's too delightful a moment not to simply bask in - hyperaware of how your handsome 'darling' has also fully turned to you.

He's the counterpart to the man behind you, pressing his chest to your front, radiating heat that directly pools into your core. It comes oh-so naturally for you to place your right arm on his shoulder, your fingers sliding up his neck and into the soft strands of his hair, by instinct. You could swear you hear him faintly moan in pleasure; you can see dark night dawning in the shining sky of his cerulean orbs.

Caught between two predators, you couldn't be a prettier prey for them to play with... They're a sling that grows tighter around you, a closely woven net you don't want to escape.

You just concentrate on the feeling, let it swallow you whole, relishing in the moment, pretty sure you'll never get anything comparable again.

It's a perfect moment - apart from the fact that it’s not real.

However, maybe that's just what's made it all possible for you - no self-doubts, no fear of overstepping or misreading anybody's signs, no fear of rejection - for you won't ever be close to one of these guys, who aren’t into any woman after all. That has been clear to you from the very beginning, undeniably. Maybe it’s the first time you really feel at ease in a situation that could be part of a fantasy (literally your own fantasy!) - and the way they play along (a bit exaggerated in a way, perhaps) does some good to your self-confidence, despite only being a play pretend.

Suddenly you are pushed back over the edge of reality when the reason behind everything disturbs your haunting demon of harmony.

"You do them both?", Beast inquires, voice too shrill.

Don't let her catch you, this was your idea! Play cool!

Your remark sounds casual enough: "Well, yes... Not necessarily at the same time, though..."

"Not necessarily not at the same time", Mask clarifies pointedly, just loud enough for the four of you to hear and he lets his hips roll against the curve of your arse in one smooth motion that holds enough pressure to softly push you forward.

His partner knows how to catch you, perfect timing, by letting his own lower body meet you less than halfway. If you thought the three of you were close before, then you were wrong. Now you definitely feel the outlines of their dicks against your body. The vice their muscular frames create presses a shaky breath out of you that you didn’t know you were holding. It sounds too close to a wanton moan.

Suddenly feeling caught out, you hurry to hide your face from her in the crook of Mohawk's neck, blushing.

"Careful", you whisper into his ear, in a mild shock regarding your reaction to the two men. Mohawk makes you look him in the eye, tenderly thumbing your chin, and grins like a challenge. The way he then gingerly licks his lips makes him look hungry, almost lets you assume he might actually want to try and get a bite of you... What a silly idea for you to have...

Time seems to stretch and leaves your mind in a dizzy state.

"Lucky you." Her comment startles you. Why is she still there?

You sigh. Ultimately, you've put yourself in this situation - which isn't unpleasant in itself, rather the opposite. So don't be shy in the last few metres. Keep playing until the curtain falls...

"Luckiest girl in town", you confirm and mean it, "Can always have my favourite sandwich whenever I want."

You turn your head so you can have it leaning against the cheek of the man behind you, who closes the distance between your faces immediately. He welcomes the gesture like a purring cat and you feel the low sound vibrate in his chest.

Finally Beast truly takes a look at the two men and the woman who has claimed them. She can’t but feel betrayed. Her face turns into an ugly display of her defeat.

She snaps at both man equally: "You could have just told me right from the start that you got a girlfriend."

"Less fun", Mask comments deadpan and doesn't care about how she looks at him, fury raging in her eyes: "Arsehole! Wasting my time like this with your childish games! Grow up!"

How you despise her for her ignorance, for not letting the issue drop at once unless another woman has put a valid claim on the objects of her desire... How you loathe people not accepting 'No' and blaming others...

There is a jet black feeling boiling under your skin like the most Stygian gloom.

Beast is still glaring at the three of you, she might be even waiting for an apology that will never come.

"We're done talking now", your voice is ice crushing on her heated temper.

Mohawk knows a drastic method to underline your words. He turns your face away from her, his warm hand cupping your cheek, and draws you in. For a kiss...

You feel bold, (wrath coursing in your veins because of her) moving your lips as a tribute to all these Hollywood film-kisses you've seen in your life, mimicking passion; no tongues, no such line would be crossed with him. This will stay safe, you assume.

He tastes of whisky - tar notes and peat with tangy crisp seaweed and smoky bacon swirling on the surface, hints of sweet vanilla. Mouth feel is superb, dark and sweet, grounding you.

How long is this imitation of a kiss taking that you can process all these impressions? What's your flavour on his lips?

The woman watches you kissing for an endless moment, but how would you know?

You're focalised on the open-eyed dance of your mouths that you're sharing with this stranger of your dreams, concentrated on keeping up the façade while the two of you are holding each other's gaze, his boyfriend pressing your backside to his own body. What a strange intimacy...

When you feel the man behind you carefully untangle your intertwined fingers to let his hand find its way between Mohawk's and your own body in order to have his wide palm spread below your heart, his other hand wandering up your neck and into your hair, soft strands gliding through his fingers like liquid silk, a pull that's not a pull, you know that the other woman has finally left.

It's time for you to break the kiss, observing the man in front of you, that smug smile spreading on his delicious lips and reaching into his eyes, half-lidded now like those of a well-fed cat. You are preparing for an awkward feeling to set in, but it never comes. Somehow you stay caught in that surreal bubble the three of you have created.

Should you have a bad conscience towards the man in your back for your having indulged in kissing his partner? You decide against this notion. He has no reason to be upset or jealous, has he? You did nothing wrong, only responding to a kiss, not initiating it yourself; somehow it wasn't even a kiss, all just a fake, a game, nothing serious...

Right here, right now, you don't have the slightest idea how right and wrong you are at the very same time...

[Prepare to learn, dearie dove - choices have consequences.]

"Pure dead brilliant, bonnie", Johnny beams, "Tha was the nicest way out of this fucked-up situation. Ta."

Your proud, sly smile replies: "Just couldn't tolerate her disgusting behaviour anymore." Then you shift your weight to prepare for stepping aside in order to give up the formation of your human sandwich, but the man in your back reaches out his left hand, placing it on his partner's biceps.

Your cerulean bliss smiles impishly at the masked man in a way that leaves no question as to their feelings for each other (Beautiful!) and lets the fingers of his right hand come to rest on Mask's lower arm.

Just a gesture of affection among them, for sure, but your attempt of leaving this flat triangle has failed miserably, keeping you caged between the two of them. (Probably for the better since Beast might still be around!) Anyway, why would you complain? So when his two saphires return to you, you add: "I knew I simply had to do something when she was about to get all handsy with you."

He grimaces in repugnance: "Aye, got too close, that one", then he addresses his boyfriend, "Bloody bint was about tae grab ma bahookie, ye ken?"

"English, MacTavish."

You can hear the grin in Mask's deep baritone.

"Sorry, sir", he's not sorry at all, "Let me translate: my arse." He flashes you one of his flawless smiles and a conspiratory wink you bathe in. Their banter is enjoyable!

Grinning, you present your own theory: "I bet she would have even kissed it right on the spot if you had told her to or simply let her..."

The man in front of you says nothing in reply, but you see his eyes flick to your lips. You feel the weight in your back shift when the tall blond leans forward to whisper in your ear, just loud enough for his friend to hear, too: "I think he liked your kiss much better."

Then you feel a soft press against your jaw that confuses you. Has he just put his masked lips on you?

You need to blink several times, clear your throat and reply: "That wasn't... real. Only some sort of film-kiss. No real kiss, you know?"

"It was lips on lips, hen. Half way up tae geez a winch, eh? Sounds much like a kiss tae me."

"Bloody looked like one as well."

"And tasted so, too. Yer such a nice addin tae Scotch whisky, bonnie."

You swallow - speechless, considering the turn this conversation is taking. You want to come up with some witty remark - but you totally lack any clever ideas... You play for time, reaching out to the bar counter, taking a sip from your drink.

You notice the blond's hand close around his own glas. It's only when Mohawk places his right hand on your hip that Mask lets go of the other's arm. To you it’s nothing but coincidence. The only thing you do know is that Mask will now turn his face towards the bar, away from the crowd, before pulling one sling of the mask off from behind his ear to take a good swig of his beer. You watched him do so many times in the past while you were observing the two of them. - Enough of a reprieve for you to sort out and contemplate your feelings.

You convince yourself that you shouldn't read too much into their flirty behaviour. After all, these two men are a gay couple. You will just enjoy yourself. Clearly no reason to get flustered, right? Have fun and flirt back - and let them kiss you if they like. For your part, you liked the kiss(es?) - real or not!

Then the fabric is back in place and Johnny grins at him, a thin-lipped, intense little smile, that suits his half-lidded eyes: "Ah bet she'd taste delicious with tha drink of yers as well, Simon."

The pale man hums in anticipation, a deep, rich sound, promising. "We shall see."

Still trapped between the two them, you turn to Mask as far as possible, attempting a self-confident smile in response: "Now shall we?"

His right hand lands at the nape of your neck, his thumb ghosting soft circles on your skin. "Guess so, sweet'eart. Or do you think we haven't noticed you staring and watching", your eyes go wide and the crinkles growing around his eyes tell you that he’s smiling, "at any occasion, right, Johnny?"

"Aye, very accurate, Si. Studyin us as if it was her job."

Despite the fact that he's talking to the mask (Simon!), Mohawk (Johnny!) is looking at you solely. "Like some spy, gatherin intel or so."

Spy?! Something in his voice makes you believe that this might not entirely be a joke. On the one hand, you're shocked about the fact that - obviously - you are far worse at people-watching than you thought. How embarassing! But on the other hand, it’s such an appealing idea that they think you capable of actually being such femme fatale. Thrilling! (Or worrisome?)

However, ... what would there be to spy about them, anyway? Despite their scars, testimony of various hardships, they'd hardly be some modern James Bonds...

Well, you couldn't care less! This evening is the most exciting thing since... Oh, don't rack your brains, honey!

You bite your lower lip as not to let them see the wide grin that would definitely threaten to appear on your face. "I'm no spy." A soft smile in your voice can be heard unmistakenly as you are about to look down to where your and Johnny's bodies are touching, but, within a split second, Simon's hand reaches around your throat, with the softest of pressures only, and keeps your head tilt up with his index finger.

"Luckily, you're not", Simon's voice, close to your ear, sends a shiver down your spine.

Johnny's words make it whip straight into your core, the promise of an underlying danger: "Good fer ye, lassie, and good fer us. Win/win situation. Rare enough." His hand seems to burn on your hip. And once more your world shrinks down to these two strangers.

Simon's mask touches your earlobe: "Had a bet whether you would take the first step, doll."

"And what a first step tha was, bonnie, placin yerself in my arms, makin me yer man. Sweetest compensation fer me losing." He winks at you conspicously, daringly, but you are still processing their words.

Simon lets go of your throat when you take your drink again. You drain the rest of your glas in one go.

"Finished?", the Scotsman asks, "Then cummoan."

You glance around the taproom. "Have you seen where she went to after she'd left us alone?", you ask.

It's Simon who answers your question. "Left the bar some time ago with her friends."

You nod, relieved immensely, for you wouldn't like her to come across you sitting here all by yourself. "That's good. OK. Have a nice evening then, you two." You try a good-natured smile. It makes you a bit sad that your night together has already come to an abrupt end.

The roguish look Simon and Johnny exchange with each other goes completely unnoticed by you.

Now Mohawk playfully nudges you with his shoulder, slowly, tenderly, as not to really push you away with it. "Wiz talkin tae ye, hen. Had the impression it got pretty obvious that the three of us would be leavin thegether."

This is an unexpected turn...

You stare at the grinning man in front of you, dumbfounded, kind of, speechless.

Could I possibly misinterpret their intention regarding the things to come?

The way Johnny's looking at you makes unmistakenly clear: he means it; however, they won't coax you into anything you wouldn't want - you can decline, put a stop to it, anytime; they themselves wouldn't offer anything they disliked, either. No obligations.

You turn to get a look at the man behind you. He holds your incredulous gaze, unblinking, followed by one single affirmative nod.

This can’t be happening...

Their directness, sincerity, makes your decision an easy one.

Too good to be true...

A playful smile starts to spread on your lips. You only wish your voice sounded firmer when you finally answer. "I'd like that. So what happens now?"

Johnny's palms run up your arms and down again. "Listen, bonnie: ye set the pace. All ye need to ponder about is the timing, eh?"

"The timing?", you ask, slightly confused.

"Aye. Make up yer mind, take a moment tae decide. We've got plenty o' time. Ye can have anything."

You're still no wiser when Johnny addresses his mate as if you weren't there and listening: "Ah'm curious tae see what she will pick. Ah bet she's already gone through every scenario in her head since she started watching us, our wee minx." Simon slowly nods in response. "Got that impression, too."

On your way out, you're comfortably tugged in between the two almost-strangers who have just happened to become your two boyfriends by accident. Johnny’s got his arm around your waist again, a heavy, pleasant reminder, solid warmth, whereas Simon's massive hand is a crisp burn at the back of your neck, alluring autumn on your skin, the phantom of a chill ready to reach under your surface.

The moment the three of you are out of earshot, the masked man helps you to see things clearly, to understand the transition from fantasy to reality:

"So, how do you want us, love? One after the other - or both of us at the same time?"

[kalpeavaris]

Cyn - Creature/Furry AU - [Lore Post]

Worked at the Elliott Manor as a maid, was fairly shunned and often avoided by other Workers due to her appearance and clumsy behaviour. Often reprimanded by the Elliotts for her attitude and way of working, with Tessa encouraging Cyn & making sure she was kept on the estate.

Smaller than any of her siblings (who she does not know, sadly) or most Civets due to malnourishment during her younger years.

Tessa was actually the one to bring Cyn from the labratories she worked at into her home, as Cyn was being used as a "lab rat" for several testings due to her Albinism.

Cyn was the first and only person to come into direct contact with the sample of the "Absolute Solver", a mutated and self-aware Virus strain similar to Rabies or CWD (chronic waste disease).

Tessa brought the sample home in secret to hopefully continue working on cracking its code in her freetime, which is how Cyn found it while cleaning her room.

Due to Cyn's weak immune system the virus took hold of her fairly easily, nestling inside of her brain & being able to speak to her.

Thanks to the Solver's self-awareness of being a virus and its abilities it found the task of manipulating Cyn and using her as host to (hopefully) spread itself in the future fairly easy.

Over time, the Solver convinced Cyn that Tessa & her family were the Ones responsible for her being infected with the "sickness", convincing her to kill everyone on the estate on the night of a very important business meeting / gala event.

After wiping out the entirety of the Elliott family and their guests, Cyn fled the estate to Camp 98.7 where she hid and the Solver slowly started to mutate her body, taking inspiration from several animals and creatures in order to form the "perfect apex" for its plans.

The Solver deemed Cyn's fragile & rather weak appearance and demeanor as "not functional" for its plans, hence the rapid want to transform her. Using its abilities it had the upper hand and ability to change every aspect of the Civets outer appearance, almost shattering her mind while doing so.

What was left of Cyn during the story was... a chimera, all and nothing at the same time, made from parts the Solver deemed "useful" for the future plans it had on its mind. Horns for offense, wings to soar the sky, legs capable of running on both two and four legs, powerful jaws and teeth to kill, scales to protect the body - it saw her as imperfect, each change a desperate try to make her into something that could be deemed "perfect". Wielding the sword she had used to kill the Elliott family, she was ready to go to war for the Solver... albeit unwillingly. The Solver, appearing to her as a huge, grotesque hyena, was always there in the back of her mind (literally), steering her every move. It only allowed Cyn to move by herself when she was alone, often watching and belittling her for having issues to move and coordinate herself in this new body of hers. After the Solver arc and its destruction, Cyn was able to gain the upper hand over her mind - which took alot of time and help from other people (especially N and Uzi). She was capable of changing some aspects of her body "back" in some sense, however, alot is irreversible.

Was able to change her face slightly (removed the scaling on her snout, made it more cat-like with a more rounded appearence) & her ears rounder, similar to how they were as Civet

Made the wings way smaller as she dislikes them. Can't remove them entirely, but them being this small works. She hides them under clothes when she wears them.

Made her tail resemble her old one more with a more rounded tail tip & fluffy appearence.

Walks on both 2 and 4 legs, but due to her changed anatomy she involuntarily prefers 4 legs.

Whenever she walks on 2 legs she has to use the cane, as it's difficult for her to keep herself stable.

The Solver had used her body for so long that it became almost impossible for Cyn to act on her own - when she was possessed, it was like she was watching from a seat in her mind while the Solver moved her.

The first few weeks after her freedom was regained she almost didn't move at all without being told to or prompted by Uzi and N, not out of malice or to annoy them, but simply because she just... didn't know she had to move by herself. She was so used to someone else doing it that she forgot those instincts.

This also applies to her speaking - it was mostly the Solver speaking through her, so Cyn forgot her own voice and got kinda freaked out when she first heard it. Thanks to all the physical changes her voice also changed ALOT - from soft and timid to almost rasp, growly and deep.

Despite her looks she's still very timid. Way more extroverted than her former Civet-self, but still withdrawn from Strangers. When she first met Uzi properly she was kinda taken aback by Uzis extremely outgoing persona :']]

Bit Uzi once during an episode of flashbacks when Uzi assumed her to be conscious and came closer without warning, which resulted in Cyn biting off her arm (don't worry, Uzi gets a sick robotic replacement B]]) Uzi apologized profusely for the incident, while Cyn did the same for hurting her - fell in love at the first arm amputation /j

Found her confidence again thanks to Uzi dragging her along on her way to love herself.

[hexhomos]

random question (please feel free to ignore)... do you have any recommendations for where to learn more about League of Legends lore/worldbuilding? I'm fresh off watching the show, totally unfamiliar with the game and wanting to try my hand at writing fic but am finding myself a bit lost as far as learning more about the setting (specifically Piltover and Zaun). I ask you because I've been reading (and greatly enjoying) some of your fics and they feel really grounded in the setting. thanks so much for your time!

I'll always direct you to the vikjayce codex first (open this on browser so you can see the site tabs/better reading experience) so you can get a hold of their characters pre-arcane.

After that, try the Piltover page and the Zaun page on the league universe website! There are other tabs for champion lores and such. I recommend skimming through every region's summary pitch to get a feel of things and then reading whatever you like.

I recommend these roster champs for a sampler:

Kindred (death) | Brand | Camille | Blitzcrank | Singed | Irelia | Sylas | Bard | Lillia | Nilah | Orianna | Ryze | Riven | Vel'koz | Bel'veth | Zoe

The interactive map of Runeterra can give you a good sense of scale/positioning for things and navigating it will lead to more links. It's a pretty cool experience but browser only.

We also have ALTERNATE UNIVERSES with their own lore and different takes on the champs. Arcane implies they remain all canon simultaneously. Star Guardian is a magical girl universe & Odyssey is a space opera universe with their own pages, though there's far more based on skins. Every timeline every possibility etc you have freerange

There's also a 2021 companion book called Realms of Runeterra, I don't think its particularly game changing but it presents things in an organized way and you can.... find it in places where books are uploaded...

lastly, youtube has a lot of 'lore of runeterra' 'league lore summary of X & Y' videos - some of them pretty good! I'm not going to link any because I havent watched them in a while but it can make things easier for you. JUST KEEP IN MIND pretty often these youtubers will get details wrong and you should be double-checking on any assumption they do before internalizing it as hard canon, like read the short story or bio for yourself etc. A lot of people mischaracterized jayce/viktor for a while bc these guys kept conflating arcane with past canon and arcane changes up the world A LOT, the previous timeline is basically destroyed.

On the last point: writing Arcane verse gives you a little more wiggle room because the entire worldbuilding is up on the air, and relies entirely on what is most convenient or narratively sound for the story. Readers are totally willing to see your own take on things.

[ak319]

Hello, I love your writing so much, if you can do so, could you please write a Yandere!Arthur Morgan x infant daughter reader where he's a papa bear to her, and he finds out she's being bullied by other kids in school. Ofc familial /platonic please

Thank you and hope you have a great day!

AN: moi heart AGH! Cute!! Tsym btw! (^///^) Warnings/MDNI: None, jus' fluff fluff nd' fluff! A little angst, bullying +++ Arthur is 30, Modern AU🍼 tag list: @nayykura @shackspossum @whalecage

Arthur's ears perked at the sound of your soft burp, a tiny noise that brought a tired but satisfied smile to his face. Finally. One of the trickiest tasks, but one he wouldn’t trade for the world. He adjusted his grip on you, gently patting your small back, his broad hand covering you almost entirely. Rocking in his old chair, the rhythmic creak matching his soft coos and steady breathing, he lulled you into a peaceful slumber, and before long, he drifted off too.

After a long, grueling day this was what grounded him. You were his balm, his anchor, the only thing keeping him steady after everything he’d been through. Holding you brought him a peace he never thought he’d feel again.

Stirring awake, he carefully laid you on the bed, making sure to stack pillows securely on the empty side. Then he stretched out beside you, his rugged face softening as he traced the curve of your cheek with a rough, calloused finger. He couldn’t resist placing featherlight kisses on your tiny forehead and rosy cheeks, his heart swelling with a love so fierce and pure it almost hurt

He couldn’t be more grateful for your presence. Just you, him, and this quiet farmhouse nestled in a peaceful community. The same family farmhouse he had nearly sold, back when everything seemed simpler, before life turned upside down.

Then he almost lost it all. Your mother, his wife (M/N), taken from him in a senseless tragedy during his time as a cop. The memory still felt like a jagged wound, one that would never fully heal. By some miracle, you had been spared, untouched by the violence that claimed her. God knows what he would have done if… if something had happened to you too. The thought alone twisted his stomach into knots. He knew he wouldn’t have survived it, he would’ve lost himself entirely.

So, he made a choice. He left it all behind after ensuring the culprits got caught and sentenced. The city, the job, the chaos. He packed up what was left of his life and came here, to the farm. Away from those dangerous, vengeful people who had shattered his family.

He wasn’t alone in the transition. His childhood best friend, John, stood by his side, helping him find his footing in this new chapter. With John’s support, he rebuilt, trading badges and bullets for the quiet rhythm of rural life. Now, he works from home as a graphic designer, balancing his new career with the role that means the most to him: being your father.

The move to the farmhouse was no easy feat, but Arthur didn’t care about the logistics, his top priority was you. Arthur let only Abigail watch over you while he handled the chaos of packing and unpacking. He didn’t trust babysitters, no way in hell. He’d heard enough horror stories from folks and read about things in the news that made his blood boil. The idea of leaving you with a stranger wasn’t just uncomfortable, it was unthinkable.

The only person he trusted was Abigail. “You’re family, and you’ve got Jack, so you know how it is,” he’d said when asking her to keep an eye on you. His version of breathing was checking in every ten minutes, asking Abigail if you’d eaten, slept, or cried. Even when he knew you were safe, his mind wouldn’t rest until he saw you again.

The farm itself had seen its fair share of upgrades, some subtle, others impossible to miss. The once-simple property now stood fortified with long, reinforced fences and modern electric security gates. The kind designed to deliver a harmless but sharp jolt to anything attempting to breach them, ensuring no unwelcome visitors, human or otherwise, made it in.

Security cameras were mounted everywhere, their lenses scanning every corner of the property without missing a spot. Arthur had spent weeks installing them, triple-checking blind spots until there were none.

And for those thinking of trying their luck? Booby traps, carefully concealed and strategically placed, added an extra layer of insurance. He hadn’t been sure at first, was that going too far?--but the idea of anyone getting past his defenses to threaten you erased any hesitation.

Inside, the house was an entirely different kind of fortress. Childproofing was everywhere, every sharp corner was padded, and cabinets latched tight.

Then there was the basement. What was once a dusty, forgotten space had been transformed into a stockpile, his grandfather’s old cavalry arsenal, now fully restocked and meticulously maintained. The weapons had been relics from a long-forgotten outlaw era, but Arthur saw them as a necessity. A last resort. If anyone dared to cross that line, they’d find out the hard way what kind of man they were dealing with.

Because nothing, nothing, was more important than keeping you safe.

❀˖°

“Hey--no, no-" Arthur picked you up, his glare faltering under the effort to stay stern. “You don’t claw or brawl with Pa’ on this matter, miss.”

He narrowed his eyes at you, though the corners of his mouth twitched in amusement as your legs thrashed in the air. 'Aren't you a tiny feral adorable kid---no be strict , Arthur-'

' “You, ma’am, are going in the tub-”

“WAIT! I’ll go myself!” you blurted, words tumbling out so fast they were practically gibberish. But Arthur, seasoned in the art of decoding your toddler babble, understood every syllable.

“Fine,” he huffed, setting you back down and straightening up with his hands on his hips. He gave you a look that screamed, I’m watching you.

Your eyes darted everywhere but to him. “Um-kay!,” you muttered with exaggerated determination, shuffling your feet as if preparing for the world’s longest journey.

“1,” you started.

“2…”

“um..4? 3-”

“You ain’t counting to ten for the tenth time, young lady. That’s it.” Before you could stage another dramatic delay, he swooped you up mid-mock-Olympian stance and plopped you straight into the tub.

“NOOOOOOO! NOT FAIR! you wailed, your indignation echoing off the bathroom walls.

“Nothing’s fair in baths and bedtimes,” he said with a grin, rolling up his sleeves. “Now, let’s get you cleaned up, Bunny.”

❀˖°

Arthur set the plates and a steaming dish of soup and garlic bread on the table, his ears perking up as your voice carried in through the open window, accompanied by Mouse’s sharp barks. His German shepherd was stationed outside, a necessity for security, Arthur didn’t trust Mouse’s temperament indoors, and keeping the dog outside served as both a deterrent and a watchful guardian.

He glanced out and spotted you with a ball, your tiny frame dwarfed by the expanse of the yard. His jaw tightened. What’d I say about being out at this hour?

He stalked to the lawn without hesitation, his boots crunching against the gravel. He scooped you up without warning, setting you on his hip like you weighed nothing.

“When it’s near dusk, you are to be inside, you get inside without me needing to remind and call you every time,” he said, his voice firm, though not unkind. “Why do I always have to repeat myself?”

“I was gonna come, Pa’!” you protested, squirming slightly. Jeez, he needs to loosen up sometimes.

Arthur stopped, fixing you with a look that left no room for argument. “Some things I say are meant to be words on stone, you hear me? No arguing, Bug.”

He set you down gently but guided you firmly toward the house, casting one last glance at the fence and Mouse, whose ears twitched as if sensing Arthur’s unease.

❀˖°

The early morning mist still clung to the fields as Arthur loaded up the old truck, a fishing pole in the back, tackle box rattling as he slid it into place. The air was crisp, the scent of pine and fresh earth mingling with the faint smell of dew on the grass. You sat in the passenger seat, your legs swinging with excitement as you clutched your little fishing hat, a hand-me-down from Arthur that was still a bit too big for your head.

The drive to the lake was peaceful, the old truck rumbling along the dirt road as the first rays of sunlight broke through the trees. The lake, just a short distance from the farm, was quiet this time of morning, still and calm, with only the occasional ripple as the wind stirred the water.

Arthur parked the truck by the shore and hopped out, stretching his arms over his head. He opened the back, grabbing your tiny fishing rod first, a smaller one he had made sure to get just for you. He handed it over, his large hands carefully guiding yours to the handle.

“You know what to do, Bug?” he asked, crouching down to your level, his tone soft but serious.

You nodded, eyes gleaming with determination. “I throw it in, wait, then reel it in, Pa’!”

“Good girl,” he said, pride swelling in his chest. “But remember, patience is key. The fish don’t always bite right away.”

You gave him a mock serious look, puffing out your chest. “I can be patient.”

Arthur smiled and ruffled your hair before picking up his own rod. Together, you both walked to the edge of the water, the soft crunch of grass underfoot. He demonstrated how to cast his line, showing you the way to swing the rod before releasing it into the water. You watched carefully, eyes focused on the movement, and then it was your turn.

Arthur stood behind you, guiding your hands as you swung the rod and released the line, the soft splash of it hitting the water echoing in the quiet morning. You let out a little cheer, stepping back to wait.

“Good job, Bug. Now we wait.”

You sat down on the grassy shore, your legs dangling, and Arthur followed suit, sitting close enough that he could keep an eye on you but still giving you the space to enjoy the moment. The world seemed so still here, only the sounds of the water lapping gently at the shore and the occasional bird call filling the air.

Minutes passed. Arthur cast his line again, his concentration on the ripples in the water, but he always kept an ear out for you. You were so quiet, so focused on the task at hand, that he couldn’t help but smile.

“Pa’?” you asked after a while, your voice soft but curious.

“Yeah, Bug?”

“Can we do this every month!?”

Arthur’s heart skipped a beat. He turned to look at you, his chest tight with love. “Of course, Bug. We’ll always fish together, whenever you want.”

You beamed, your little fingers still wrapped around the fishing rod, staring out at the lake with a peaceful contentment that mirrored his own.

And then, as if on cue, there was a tug on the line. You gasped, your eyes wide, and Arthur was there in a flash, his strong hands guiding yours as you struggled to reel it in.

“Got it, Bug! Reel it in, slow and steady. You’ve got this.”

You grinned, your little arms straining against the weight of the fish, the excitement in your eyes contagious. Arthur stood close, his hands still hovering just in case, but he could see you were doing it all on your own.

With a final pull, you brought the fish to the shore, Arthur helping you hold it up for a brief moment, both of you staring at the wriggling catch.

“We did it!” you cheered, jumping up and down with excitement.

Arthur laughed, lifting you up into his arms. “You did it, Bug. You caught the first one. I’m proud of you.”

You giggled, your face flushed with happiness. “We’re gonna have fish for lunch! YAY!👹 "

Arthur laughed, holding you close. “Yeah, we will. And we’re gonna have a lot more days just like this.”

As the sun climbed higher in the sky, you both spent the rest of the morning fishing, the peaceful quiet of the lake wrapping around you like a blanket. Every now and then, Arthur would catch a fish of his own, but it was clear which one of you was the real star of the day.

❀˖°

One evening, as usual, Arthur sat at his desk, working on his laptop, the soft glow of the screen illuminating his focused face. You were sitting nearby, playing quietly, but after a moment, you turned to him, your small brow furrowed in thought.

“Pa,” you asked, your voice soft but filled with curiosity, “why don’t I have a mommy like Jack? Like the ones on T. V. ?”

Arthur’s heart skipped a beat. He had been waiting for this question, dreading it, but he knew it was time to answer. He paused for a moment, setting his laptop aside, and turned to face you, his expression gentle.

“Well, Bug,” he started, his voice warm and tender, “you know how some kids have two parents, right? They’re like a big team, helpin' each other out. But you,” he said with a wink, “you’re extra special. Sometimes, God decides one parent is all a kid needs. Just one, but that one’s enough to love ‘em, protect ‘em, and make sure they’re always happy.”

He leaned down to your level, his hands resting gently on your shoulders. “And that’s you, sweetheart. You got me, and I got you. We’re a team too, just the two of us.”

You blinked, absorbing his words, and a small smile tugged at your lips. Arthur ruffled your hair affectionately, the worry in his chest easing as he saw you begin to understand.

“Some kids might need a bigger team, but not you. You’re my girl, and I’m all you need, ain’t that right?”

You nodded slowly, your eyes lighting up with trust and love. Arthur smiled, his heart full. “You don’t need a mommy to be loved, Bug. You’ve got all the love you could ever need, right here with me.”

He pulled you into a tight hug, feeling your little arms wrap around him. “And I’m gonna love you forever, no matter what.”

❀˖°

Arthur couldn't believe how quickly time had passed. One moment, it seemed like you were still a tiny thing, curled up in his arms, and now, the time had come to enroll you in school. He didn't want to let you go. He'd kept you close, always close, and the thought of someone else seeing you, taking care of you, made a cold knot form in his stomach. But he knew John was right. You needed to make friends. You needed to grow.

"Y/N needs to learn how to be around other kids, Arthur," John had said, his voice filled with that well-meaning confidence. "Jack goes to the same school too, so it'll be fine. It's just school. Let her have a chance."

Arthur had reluctantly agreed. He trusted John, mostly, and if Jack was there, well... that was a bit of relief. Still, the idea of you being away from him, surrounded by others, made his chest tighten. He was used to keeping you safe, keeping you all to himself. The thought of someone else influencing you, teaching you things....but he would do this for you.

And so, with his heart heavy but his determination set, Arthur had filled out the papers and enrolled you in school. He kept telling himself it was for your own good, that it would help you grow, make you more confident. Even if it was hard to admit, you were growing up, and he had to let you experience the world outside the walls of their home.

But Arthur knew something else, too. You were shy. You didn't like being around other people, especially strangers. He'd always been there to protect you, to shield you from the world outside. But now, the world would be coming to you.

As he walked you to school for the first time, his hand lingering a little too long on your shoulder, he whispered softly, "You stick close to brother Jack, alright? If you need any help, you go to him. You don’t need anyone else. Just him, just me, and you. No one else matters."

You gave him a shy nod, looking up at him with those wide eyes that always seemed to need reassurance. Arthur smiled down at you, brushing a lock of hair from your face, his fingers lingering just a moment too long.

"Good girl. And don’t let anyone take advantage of you.”

❀˖°

“You eat your lunch today?” Arthur asked, his tone casual but observant, as you stood in front of him with your hands tucked behind your back.

You nodded quickly, avoiding his gaze. “Uh-huh!”

Arthur opened the lunchbox, finding it spotless inside, not a crumb left. For a moment, he felt a spark of pride, was he really lucky enough to have a kid who finished her lunch every single day? But then, something about your overly innocent expression made him pause. He set the lunchbox down and folded his arms, tilting his head.

“So,” he said, setting the lunchbox down and crossing his arms, “how was it?”

“Hmm?” You glanced up at him.

“The sandwich,” he said, watching your reaction closely. “Was it good?”

“Oh, yeah!” you said too brightly. “Really yummy.”

Arthur tilted his head, his sharp eyes narrowing slightly. “What did I make again? Just slipped my mind.”

“Uh… peanut butter and jam?” you mumbled.

Arthur’s jaw tightened, though his expression stayed calm. He crouched down to your level, his presence steady and unyielding. “You sure about that, darlin’? Because I know I packed you a chicken and cheese sandwich this mornin’.”

You froze, the color draining from your face.

He sighed, shaking his head lightly. “Now, you and I both know you didn’t eat that sandwich. So why don’t you go on and tell me what really happened?”

You looked down at your shoes, your voice trembling. “I… I was going to eat it, but some kids… they took it.”

Arthur’s heart sank, though his expression remained calm for your sake. He reached out and gently lifted your chin so you had to meet his eyes. “They took it?”

You nodded, biting your lip as tears threatened to spill. “I told them to stop, but… but they wouldn’t give it back. They laughed and said it wasn’t m-ine anymore.”

Arthur’s jaw clenched a flicker of something dark flashing in his eyes. He pulled you into his arms, holding you close. “Bug,” he murmured, his voice low and soothing, “you listen to me. No one, and I mean no one, gets to treat you like that. You understand?”

You sniffled, nodding against his shoulder.

“They got names, these kids?” he asked, his voice soft but edged with a steel promise that this wasn’t going to be ignored.

You hesitated, your gaze dropping to the floor. Then, in a barely audible whisper, you murmured a few names.

Arthur nodded, his jaw tightening. “Alright. I’ll deal with ‘em. You ain’t gotta worry about that anymore.”

As he reached out to hold your hand, his fingers brushed against a faint redness across your skin. He stilled, his brow furrowing. “What’s this?”

You instinctively tried to pull your hand away, but Arthur held it gently, his thumb brushing over the red mark. “Bug,” he said, his tone dropping to that low, firm register that always made you listen. “Who did this to you?”

Tears welled in your eyes as you sniffled. “It... it was the teacher,” you admitted, your voice trembling.

Arthur blinked, the words hitting him like a punch to the gut. “The teacher?” he repeated, his tone deceptively calm, though you could feel the storm brewing beneath it.

“I told her about the kids taking my lunch,” you explained, your words coming in halting gasps. “She... she said I was tattling and hit me with a ruler for ‘causing trouble.’”

Arthur’s grip on your hand tightened slightly, but only for a moment.

Arthur stood so abruptly that his chair scraped loudly against the floor. “Get your shoes on, Bug. We’re going to the school.”

“But-”

"No buts. No one lays a hand on my girl, now c'mon, Pa’s got somethin’ he needs to take care of."

The sound of Arthur’s boots echoed ominously in the otherwise quiet hallway as he strode toward the principal’s office, his expression carved from stone. His hand hovered protectively over your shoulder as he guided you along.

The principal looked up as Arthur entered, his usual composure faltering at the sight of the respectable ex-cop's stormy glare.

“Mr. Morgan,” the principal began, forcing a tight smile, “is there-”

Arthur didn’t wait for pleasantries. “There a reason my daughter came home with a red welt on her hand?” he demanded, his voice low but seething.

The principal blinked, momentarily caught off guard “I--I’m not sure what you mean-”

“She told me her teacher hit her,” Arthur interrupted, his words sharp enough to cut. “With a ruler. After she reported kids stealin’ her lunch. That’s what I mean.”

“Well, if a teacher disciplined her, I’m sure-”

Arthur stepped forward, leaning over the desk, his voice dropping to a dangerous growl. “You think layin’ a hand on my girl is ‘discipline’? You call ignorin’ the bullies and punishin’ the victim a job well done?

“We have rules about-”

Arthur leaned forward, his presence towering even as he kept his voice level. “You got rules about discipline, huh? How about rules about protectin’ kids?! Or do you only enforce the ones that let you blame the victim!?”

“Mr. Morgan, I understand you’re upset-”

“Upset doesn’t cover it,” Arthur snapped, his voice rising slightly. “My girl’s been comin’ home hungry because you let bullies run wild. And now she’s got a bruise on her arm because she finally got tired of takin’ it? You think that’s how you run a school? By punishin’ the one kid who’s just tryin’ to eat her damn lunch in peace? Because if that’s how you run this place, we got a bigger problem than I thought.”

The principal held up his hands, visibly nervous. “I assure you, Mr. Morgan, we take such incidents seriously. I’ll speak to the teacher and-”

“No, you’ll do more than SPEAK!" Arthur took a deep breath, steadying himself. “Here’s what’s gonna happen, you’ll make sure she’s held accountable. And while you’re at it, you’ll deal with those bullies, too. My daughter’s been hungry three times this week because of them, and now she’s got a mark on her hand for speakin’ up?! That ends today.”

“Of course, of course,” the principal stammered. “I’ll handle it immediately.”

Arthur straightened, his gaze never wavering. “You’d better. You’re gonna deal with those bullies and that damned teacher, properly. And you’re gonna make damn sure no one here ever lays a hand on my daughter again. Otherwise, I’ll be takin’ this to the school board, the police, and anyone else who’ll listen. You got no idea what I can do. You got me? You’ll be answerin’ to me."

He turned, placing a reassuring hand on your back as he guided you out of the office. As soon as you were outside, he crouched down and looked you in the eye.

“You did the right thing, Bug,” he said softly. “And I’m proud of you for standing up for yourself. But you leave dealin’ with grown-ups to me, alright? Nobody’s gonna hurt you again.”

You nodded, wiping your eyes as he pulled you into a hug.

“Now, let’s go home,” he said, ruffling your hair. “We’ll make somethin’ good for dinner and figure out how to make sure this never happens again.

❀˖°

“So... no school?” you asked hesitantly, peering up at him with wide, uncertain eyes.

Arthur leaned back in his chair, his arms crossed, and sighed. “No, Bug. You’re still gonna study--but at home, alright?”

He could already hear John’s voice nagging in his head, telling him he was being too overprotective, that keeping you out of school might isolate you further. But Arthur dismissed it. You were still so young, still figuring out the world, and he decided what was best for you. Nobody else.

“Don’t you worry about a thing,” he said firmly, his voice softening as he brushed a hand over your hair. “Ain’t no way I’m lettin’ you go back there to get hurt again. Not by kids who don’t know how to act, not by some teacher who should’ve never had a classroom in the first place. You’re my responsibility, and I ain’t lettin’ anybody mess with you like that. Ever again.”

You nodded slowly, relaxing into the bed. His words felt like a shield wrapping around you, and you trusted him entirely.

Arthur watched you settle, his jaw tightening slightly as anger simmered beneath his calm exterior. He’d been right on the edge of losing it, of storming over to those kids’ homes and making their parents pay the price and make them understand what it meant to raise decent human beings. And that teacher? Though fired, it still didn’t sit right with him. The thought of her laying a hand on you made his blood boil. It had taken every cell to control to not blow her brains out.

He took a deep breath, forcing himself to focus on you instead of the anger that threatened to bubble over. “I’ll teach you myself,” he said, his tone lighter now as he tried to make you smile. “We don’t need teachers like that, anyway. I’ll make sure you learn plenty, and we’ll even have fun doin’ it.”

“Really?” you asked, your voice small but hopeful.

“Really,” he said, tugging the blanket up around you and pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead. “Now, you get some rest, Bug. We’ll figure out all the details in the mornin’.”

❀˖°

After finishing up the dishes and double checking all the doors, Arthur made his way back to your room. He found you sitting at your small desk, scribbling on a piece of paper with intense concentration.

"What’re you workin’ on, Bug?" he asked, leaning against the doorframe.

You looked up, a hint of shyness in your eyes. "A thank-you card," you said quietly.

Arthur’s brow furrowed. "For who?"

"For you." You held up the paper, a drawing of you and him making a cake. Above it, in your wobbly handwriting, it read: "Thank you for being my Pa."

Arthur froze, his chest tightening at the sight. He stepped closer, kneeling beside you to get a better look. "Well, I’ll be..." he muttered, his voice thick with emotion. "That’s real nice, darlin’. Prettiest thing I’ve seen all day."

You smiled, a little bashful but proud. "You always take care of me. So, I wanted to make something for you too."

Arthur reached out and gently pulled you into his arms, holding you close. "You don’t ever have to thank me for that, sweetheart. Lookin’ after you? That’s the best thing I’ll ever do."

You nuzzled into his chest, your small arms wrapping around his neck. "Still. Love you, Pa."

"I love you more, Bug. Always and forever."

[thcophagy]

while he was likely coming across as more mature and lived than she was, oz could relate to how frankie felt in that moment. he remembered how open the world had felt once he'd lost his virginity, no longer tied down to the worries and expectations held for years over what his first time was supposed to be like. things were rarely as scary as people made them in their heads, they were also not as enjoyment as they might've hoped but either way, you could never know how you'd feel about something until you took the plunge. he felt strangely proud of frankie, he'd known her for such a short amount of time and yet she'd taken a big step, it was thanks to his guidance and perhaps a touch of manipulation but she seemed happy enough; however she felt the next morning, oz was content in the knowledge he'd helped someone towards their freedom and wasn't that what all the poets and writers he loved fought to do? she was always pretty but her orgasm had brought a warm glow over her that oz found intoxicating. it made him want to push further and explore all the other ways to get her off, if riding his thigh had gotten her so hot then he was certain he could work wonders with his mouth or fingers. they'd have to find time for that some other night because there was no way oz was going to bat her hand away from him, not when her clumsy and hesitant touch felt so surprisingly good. he couldn't help but snort in amusement at how eager she was to prove himself to him; he wasn't in need of an ego boost but he wasn't about to turn one down. with past lovers he had developed a tendency to try and urge them to place him above themselves, even with the more strong-willed and like-minded individuals he'd pursued. he wanted to be seen as something special, someone worthy of the level of praise he yearned for and so far, it looked like frankie was capable of giving him that and tenfold. "you're sweet." he really hadn't needed to do much to win her over. his flirtatious had came at first as little more than instinct, a default he fell to when met with a pretty girl and she had fallen for it harder than he would've ever expected. now here she was, desperately trying to reason with him to allow her the chance to jerk him off. the night couldn't have gotten better if he'd written it out in prose. "okay. you can have whatever you want." he meant it too, for that moment at least. he made no fuss in trying to help her undo his jeans, some bravery was required and he couldn't coddle her more than he already had, both because she'd never gain the required confidence if he did and because it wasn't in his instincts to do so. once her hand had wormed its way into his pants and wrapped around his cock, oz's hips twitched and he exhaled a wobbly sigh, one he tried to hold back but ended up being huffed out of his nose. it would've been hard to miss the look of apprehension across frankie's face, he could only hope that it was due to her inexperience and not because of a sudden wash of regret. "it's okay." he reached out and brushed a stray curl away from her face and let his hand settle around the back of her skull, cradling her as gently as he could. "your hand feels good. keep going." a little dry, nothing that they couldn't fix with a little spit, plus he'd been leaking steadily throughout watching her grind against him so her touch wasn't a painful one. "take it slow at first, yeah? up and down, from the bottom right to the tip."

as a child, frankie had spent most of her time either alone or surrounded by her parents and other adults, which led her to feel as though she was wise beyond her years. her parents' friends and colleagues loved to tell her that, marveling over how mature she was for her age and claiming she must've been an old soul, so she couldn't help but take it to heart. all through her adolescence she'd felt as though she couldn't connect with her peers because her intellectual development was far beyond theirs, but as she transitioned into adulthood, she'd begun to see just how much she'd missed out on in terms of social milestones, and now she felt more childish than ever. this experience with oz was helping her feel how a twenty year old woman was meant to feel, all the reckless giddiness that came with exploring a new connection, and maybe it was only happening because she was drunk, but wasn't that all the more fitting? she felt reassured by him, comforted to the point where she wasn't tempted to flee from his home and never show her face in public again, a warmth blooming in her chest not from the product of arousal, but that of affection. "yeah... i dunno how to describe it, it was... i dunno." her cheeks were a soft pink, still barely able to meet his eyes from how bashful she felt trying to describe her feelings on the matter. "it's just different experiencing it with someone else, i guess." there was something about being seen as a sexual being, being perceived while in the throes of pleasure and hopefully contributing to their own that really intensified whatever she may be feeling. no matter what happened with them in the future, she would always remember the way he felt beneath her, the way he looked at her with lust in his eyes, the raspy tone of his voice egging her on as she chased her own climax. it was something she didn't think she'd ever get tired of, already imagining what it would be like to take things further, though she knew she shouldn't get ahead of herself. he certainly hadn't given her any indication that this would only be a one time thing, though— she couldn't imagine how anyone could speak such words of flattery with no intention to see her again. "well i'm really grateful... for everything." she assured him, making sure to catch his eye so he could see she was earnest before he became distracted by her hand clumsily fumbling over his erection. her lips curled into a grin once he lifted his attention back to her, nodding eagerly and pressing her hand a little harder over him. "i do want to," she insisted. "and i'm a really quick learner, so... you won't have to hold my hand the whole time." part of it was a desire to prove herself to him, making sure he knew she had something of value to offer him, but she also wanted to prove to herself that she was worthy of his attention. if it was all one sided, she'd no doubt feel inadequate, but providing him with the same enjoyment he'd given her would ensure that they were on equal standing. with his hand over hers, she felt a bit more confident, fondling the outline of his cock over his jeans and getting a good idea of the shape of him. with this bout of boldness, she used her other hand to pop open the button of his jeans and drag down the zipper, checking in with him for a moment before she wiggled out from under his grasp and slipped her way into his pants to dip beneath the waistband of his underwear and grip him fully. finally feeling the warmth of his bare cock, her confidence faltered, eyes widening slightly while she paused with her fingers wrapped around him, wanting to make sure she had his permission before she went any further.

[kentobb]

hiromi higuruma x female secretary (AU).

chapter 03 > chapter 05

chapter 04

Higuruma steps outside the hospital into the cool morning air, the faint buzz of early risers filling the streets. The glow of streetlights still lingers as the sun begins its slow ascent, painting the horizon with streaks of pale orange and pink. He lights a cigarette, the faint crackle of the flame breaking the silence as he inhales deeply. The smoke curls around him, a temporary comfort against the whirlwind of emotions he doesn’t dare to name.

He leans against the wall, watching the revolving doors as people come and go, each immersed in their own stories. Yet, none of it matters to him. His mind drifts back to the room upstairs, to the image of you struggling to sit up, to your voice barely audible as you spoke about your family. He exhales slowly, the smoke dissipating into the air as he pinches the bridge of his nose.

The cigarette burns low, and he tosses it into the ashtray, straightening his tie. It’s almost morning now, and he knows he should return. With a deep breath, he heads back inside, his steps deliberate but slightly hesitant.

As he reaches your room, he pushes the door open quietly. The soft glow of the early morning sun filters in through the window, bathing the room in a warm light. His gaze immediately falls on you, still fast asleep. Your features look softer in the morning light, the lines of worry erased, leaving behind a peaceful expression.

He walks over to the bed, carefully drawing back the curtain to let more light in. Just then, the door creaks open, and a nurse steps in, carrying a tray of breakfast. She pauses when she sees him.

“I’ll take care of it,” he says simply, gesturing toward the tray.

The nurse hesitates for a moment before nodding and leaving the room. He places the tray on the bedside table and leans over slightly, his hand brushing your shoulder gently. “Wake up,” he says softly, his voice low but firm enough to pull you from sleep.

Your eyes flutter open slowly, taking in the sight of him standing over you. The way the light frames his figure makes your heart skip a beat, and you quickly look away, embarrassed. He helps you sit up, his touch firm but careful, and goosebumps trail across your skin at the contact.

“Eat,” he instructs, taking the tray and placing it in front of you. You reach for the utensils, but your hands still ache, the injuries from the accident making even small movements difficult. He notices immediately.

Without saying a word, he picks up the fork and begins to feed you, his actions precise and efficient. You’re flustered, your cheeks burning as you try to focus on the food instead of the way his hands move or how close he is to you.

“This isn’t necessary,” you mumble, your voice barely audible.

“Stop talking,” he replies curtly, his tone not unkind but leaving no room for argument. “It’s faster this way.”

Despite his words, there’s a tenderness in the way he cuts the food into smaller pieces and waits patiently for you to chew before offering the next bite. His usual cold demeanor seems to soften slightly, though he works hard to make it appear like he’s simply fulfilling a duty.

And then it happens again.

Your eyes meet, the unspoken tension between you thick enough to cut through. For a moment, the world seems to fade away, leaving just the two of you locked in this silent exchange. His breath catches as he takes in the details of your face—the curve of your lips, the faint blush on your cheeks, the way your eyes seem to search his for something unspoken.

For the first time in years, Higuruma feels his carefully constructed walls crack. His heart races, and a thought flits across his mind, unbidden: You’re beautiful.

But just as the moment begins to stretch into something deeper, the curtain is pulled back with a flourish.

“Well, well,” Shoko’s teasing voice cuts through the air, shattering the fragile tension.

You jump slightly, your cheeks turning an even deeper shade of red as you turn your gaze to the blanket. Higuruma straightens immediately, his expression snapping back to its usual professionalism, though the tips of his ears betray a faint blush.

Shoko strides in with her usual air of nonchalance, clipboard in hand. She approaches the bed, glancing between the two of you with a knowing smirk. “Didn’t know you offered feeding services, Higuruma,” she quips, raising an eyebrow. “Very hands-on for a boss, aren’t we?”

“Do your job,” he snaps, rolling his eyes, though the annoyance in his tone doesn’t quite mask his embarrassment.

Shoko chuckles, clearly enjoying his discomfort. She places a hand on your wrist, checking your pulse, then jots something down on her chart. “You’re doing well,” she says, addressing you. “Should be good to go by tomorrow.”

Higuruma’s shoulders visibly relax at her words, though he quickly masks it by adjusting his tie. “That’s good,” he mutters, nodding.

Shoko grins, glancing at him again. “You seem relieved. Almost like you care or something.”

“I don’t— I do, she is my employee,” he replies quickly, his tone icy.

“Uh-huh,” Shoko says, clearly unconvinced. She finishes her check-up and steps back. “Well, I’ll leave you two alone. Try not to stare too much, Higuruma,” she adds with a wink, disappearing through the door before he can retort.

The room falls silent again, but the atmosphere feels heavier this time. You glance at him nervously, still feeling the ghost of that moment before Shoko’s interruption. He exhales quietly, running a hand through his hair as he collects himself.

“Finish your breakfast,” he says, his voice quieter now, almost hesitant.

You nod, but your mind is far from the food in front of you.

As the hours stretch on, Higuruma remains seated near the window, his phone pressed to his ear as he wraps up a call. His voice is low, measured, and professional, discussing something you can’t quite make out. Meanwhile, you sit quietly, staring out the window, watching as the soft glow of the day fades into evening. Your reflection in the glass seems distant, lost in thought as you try to distract yourself from the pain and the awkwardness that lingers between the two of you.

Finally, he hangs up, his sharp gaze shifting toward you. He notices your far-off expression, the way your fingers lightly tap against the edge of the bed. For a moment, he hesitates, debating whether to say anything at all. But then, his cold, practical nature pushes him forward.

“If you don’t like coffee,” he begins, his tone as sharp as ever, “what do you like? Tea?”

You glance at him, startled by the sudden question, but shake your head softly. “No, I don’t like tea either,” you reply, your voice quiet but steady. “I prefer hot chocolate.”

He raises an eyebrow, his lips curving into the faintest hint of a smirk. “Hot chocolate? Like a child?”

The words are out of his mouth before he can stop them, and he immediately notices the way your expression falters. Your fingers fidget nervously with the blanket, and you avoid his gaze. The subtle shift in your demeanor is enough to make guilt settle heavily in his chest.

“I’m sorry,” he says abruptly, his tone uncharacteristically soft. “That was uncalled for.”

You glance at him, surprised by the apology, but you simply nod, brushing it off as you force a small, strained smile. “It’s fine,” you murmur, quickly changing the subject. “Once I’m cleared, I’ll come back to work the next day. I can’t afford to miss more time.”

His brows knit together, the cold professionalism returning to his voice like a shield. “That’s nonsense,” he replies flatly. “You’ll rest for at least a few more days.”

“I don’t need that much time,” you counter, sitting up straighter despite the ache in your body. “I can handle it.”

“Handle it?” he echoes, his tone sharper now. “You just survived a car crash. Be realistic.”

“I am being realistic!” you snap, though your voice trembles slightly. “I can’t afford to take more time off, and I don’t need you to make decisions for me.”

His jaw tightens, his expression hardening as the tension in the room grows thicker. “This isn’t up for debate,” he says icily. “You’ll rest. That’s final.”

“I don’t understand why you care,” you reply, frustration creeping into your voice. “I’m just your secretary. Why does it matter to you if I come back sooner or later?”

His eyes narrow, and for a moment, he doesn’t respond. The question hangs in the air, heavy with implication. He looks away, his fingers tightening around the edge of the chair as if searching for an answer he’s unwilling to give.

“You don’t understand because you’re too stubborn to listen,” he finally says, his voice colder than before. “I’m ensuring my employees are in proper condition to work. Nothing more.”

The words sting more than you expect, and you sink back into the pillows, silent now, unwilling to argue further. The room feels colder, the distance between you both growing despite the physical proximity.

He notices the way you retreat, how your expression closes off as you turn your gaze back to the window. And though he doesn’t say it aloud, he feels like a complete jerk.

The silence in the room feels deafening as you try to keep your composure. You glance out the window again, trying to let the tension dissolve, but it clings to the air like a heavy fog. You shift slightly, ignoring the ache in your body, and say firmly, “I’m ready to go. I only had minor injuries.”

He exhales sharply, his patience visibly wearing thin. “You’re not leaving, I already told you this” he says curtly, his tone sharper than before.

“I don’t see why I can’t,” you counter, refusing to back down. “I’m perfectly capable of going back to work. Why do you worry so much about this?”

He freezes, the question hanging in the air like a weight. His fingers curl tightly around the chair’s armrest, his jaw clenching as he tries to rein in his thoughts. But the constant push-and-pull of your defiance frays his control, and the words spill out before he can stop them.

“Do you really think I care about you as anything more than an employee?” he snaps, his voice cold and cutting. “No, because that’s all you are—an employee. Don’t start thinking there’s something more to this. Don’t start thinking it’s anything romantic.”

The words pierce the air like daggers, each one sharper than the last. He doesn’t stop, his frustration blinding him to the effect of his words. “And for the record, you’re not my type either.”

The room goes completely silent. He doesn’t realize what he’s said—or the impact of it—until he turns back toward you and sees your face.

Your expression shatters something in him. Your eyes, usually bright with determination or curiosity, are dull now, shadowed with hurt you’re trying desperately to hide. Your lips part slightly, but no words come out. The way you look at him, like he’s just confirmed your worst fears about yourself, makes something tighten painfully in his chest.

He swallows hard, regret washing over him instantly. “I—” he begins, his voice faltering. “I didn’t mean—”

But you don’t let him finish. You cut him off, your voice soft but firm, and so cold it feels like the sharpest rebuke. “I’m not interested in continuing this conversation.”

His heart sinks as the distance between you grows palpable. He wants to fix it, to take back what he said, but the walls you’ve put up feel insurmountable.

“Please leave,” you add, turning your gaze away from him. “I’d like to rest now.”

For once, Higuruma has no retort, no carefully measured response. He nods stiffly, gathering his things without another word. As he walks toward the door, his steps feel heavy, each one weighed down by a guilt he doesn’t know how to resolve.

Before leaving, he pauses briefly, his hand resting on the doorframe. He turns his head slightly, as if he wants to say something—to apologize again, or to undo the damage he’s caused. But the words die in his throat, and he steps out into the hallway, the door clicking softly shut behind him.

In the silence of the room, you let out a shaky breath, the tears you’ve been holding back finally spilling over. And somewhere down the corridor, Higuruma leans against the wall, staring at the floor, wondering what on earth is wrong with him.

The morning light filters through the hospital blinds as you gather your discharge papers. Shoko has cleared you to leave, and you’re relieved, though the thought of going back to your apartment fills you with mixed emotions. You start looking at your clothes—a hospital gown and yesterday’s bloodstained outfit—and grimace. You’re unsure how to manage without fresh clothes.

Suddenly, the door opens, and you glance up to see him standing there. His usual calm demeanor is tinged with hesitation. You immediately straighten your posture, forcing professionalism into your voice. “What are you doing here?”

For a moment, his words falter, but then he clears his throat, his tone measured but slightly awkward. “I brought some clothes. I thought you might need something more comfortable once you were cleared.”

He hands you a small bag, and as you take it, your fingers barely brush his. You quickly pull away, avoiding his gaze as you mumble a quiet, “Thank you.”

He notices the way your eyes never meet his and the subtle tension in your shoulders. The guilt from last night lingers, but he says nothing about it. Instead, he adds, “When you’re ready, let me know. I’ll take you home.”

You shake your head, trying to regain control of the situation. “That’s not necessary. I’ll manage.”

His expression hardens, his patience clearly thinning. “This isn’t up for discussion.”

You sigh in irritation, your own temper flaring. “Turn around.”

His brows raise slightly at your directness, but he obliges, turning his back to give you privacy. He stares at the door, trying to focus on anything but the sound of you moving behind him. His eyes flick to a small mirror on the wall, catching a glimpse of your reflection before quickly looking away, his ears burning with embarrassment. He clenches his fists, muttering silently to himself to stay composed.

When you finally say, “I’m ready,” he turns around and his breath catches momentarily.

You’re dressed in the simple but comfortable outfit he picked out for you—a soft sweater and jeans that fit perfectly. There’s nothing particularly extravagant about it, yet it makes you look…different. At ease. Beautiful. He swallows hard, his face remaining neutral as he forces himself not to linger on the thought.

He nods curtly and picks up your belongings without a word. As you both walk toward the hospital exit, he opens the car door for you, his actions more gentlemanly than his demeanor would suggest. You hesitate for a moment before getting in, still unsure how to feel about his sudden attentiveness.

Sliding into the driver’s seat, he starts the engine and asks, “Your address?”

You give it to him, your voice quiet.

The car ride begins in silence, the tension between you lingering like a storm waiting to break. Both of you glance at each other occasionally but quickly look away, lost in thoughts neither of you are ready to voice.

As he pulls up to your apartment complex, his eyes take in the modest surroundings. The building looks worn, its paint faded and peeling, the narrow street lined with uneven sidewalks. It’s not quite run-down, but it’s clear that resources here are limited. His grip on the steering wheel tightens involuntarily, and he glances at you.

“Is this where you live?” he asks, his voice tinged with concern, though he tries to mask it with his usual tone.

You nod, looking out at the building. “Yeah. It’s safe, I promise,” you add quickly, picking up on his hesitation, avoiding his gaze.

His brows furrow slightly as he studies the area again, his lawyerly instincts kicking in. “Are you sure? This doesn’t—” He stops himself, shaking his head. “Never mind.”

He parks the car at the curb, and a quiet silence settles between you. You shift slightly in your seat, fiddling with the strap of your bag. “Thank you…for bringing me home,” you say softly, your words tentative.

He turns his head, his sharp eyes meeting yours. He nods once, curtly. “Come to work in three days,” he says firmly, as if it’s not up for negotiation.

You nod in agreement, and another silence stretches. The air feels heavy, and you can’t tell if it’s the awkwardness from earlier or something else entirely. “Thank you again,” you say, your voice even softer this time.

Without a word, he steps out of the car and walks around to your side. His movements are purposeful, his expression unreadable. He opens the door for you, and as you step out, you feel his presence lingering for just a moment longer than usual.

You adjust the strap of your bag again and glance back at him. “Goodbye,” you say with a small wave.

As you turn to walk toward the building, you feel his gaze on your back. He watches as you step through the entrance and disappear inside, and for the first time in a long while, his lips curve into a smile—a genuine, soft smile that catches him completely off guard.

The realization hits him like a jolt, and he quickly schools his expression back into its usual professional mask. He exhales deeply, shaking his head at himself, and mutters under his breath, “Get it together, Hiromi.”

Sliding back into the driver’s seat, he grips the wheel and drives away, the image of your parting wave lingering in his mind longer than he’d like to admit.

[callme-holly]

can you write the scene with steve where he beats soda in an arm wrestle but reader is on the couch and steve comes over and like wraps an arm around her and is like “ya see that baby?” and js really flirty :3 (est rls) i love him sm

𝐑𝐢𝐝𝐢𝐜𝐮𝐥𝐨𝐮𝐬

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: steve randle x reader 𝐚/𝐧 : i actually love this i wont lie. sorry if its a bit messy my mental health is so shit rn lmao

The Curtis house was filled with it’s usual chaos, the sound of people yelling and laughter filling the place as the boys all prepared themselves for the rumble. You never could understand what was so amusing about fighting; it wasn’t your scene, and it never would be as far as you were concerned. You were much more content to stay seated on the couch, your legs tucked up beneath you as you watched Steve and Soda arm wrestle one another, the former letting out a bark of smug laughter once he pinned the other's arm to the table with a heavy thud. 

The TV hummed softly in the background, the cartoon long forgotten by you. Instead, you opted to keep an eye on your boyfriend as he rose up from the table, his lips pulled back into a wide grin.

“Hey, baby,” he calls, his voice carrying across the length of the room easily. “Ya see that?” 

You can't help but laugh fondly as he bounds over to you, much like an excitable puppy, plopping down beside you and wrapping a strong arm around your shoulders. You lean into him willingly, sighing happily when you're pulled close, the strong scent of motor oil and a hint of colonge enveloping you; you’ll have to savour that smell, because once he’s back from the rumble, he’ll smell of nothing but dirt and rain. 

“See what, Steve?” You ask, your tone light and teasing, your head tilted in curiousity. Your eyes flicker over his expression, noting the pure amusement written all across his face, and you raise an eyebrow as if to prompt him on. 

He gives off an exasperated huff, the muscles along his arms tightening as he pulls you closer against his side, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. 

“Don’t tell me you missed my victory,” he teases gently, his voice low as he nuzzles at your hair. His free hand rests lightly against your leg, his thumb tracing idle patterns into your skin, soothing and familiar. “Cause I know you saw. You couldn't keep your eyes off me.” 

He isn’t wrong. You had been staring, unable to tear your gaze away from him, even if it was only for a second or two. 

“So what if I couldn’t?” you concede, leaning in to press a soft kiss to his jaw. “You made it pretty hard not to watch you.” 

Steve lets out a low hum of satisfaction, the noise vibrating through his chest, and you press closer to his side. “Well, that's good for me then, huh? Don't gotta worry about you looking at any other guys.” 

You scoff lightly, unable to contain your eyeroll. “Oh please. As if anyone else compares to you.” Sarcasm laces your words, and Steve grins once more, wider this time. Before you can even react, he pulls you back so that you’re lying flat against his chest, his arms wrapped tightly around your middle, restraining you. 

From across the room, Two-Bit lets out a small groan, and Darry mumbles something about “getting a room," but you pay neither of them any mind, too busy laughing as the boy beneath you peppers soft kisses all over your face. 

He leaves lingering ones on your chin, cheeks, nose... everywhere he can reach, until you’re practically gasping for air.

“You’re ridiculous!” You manage to choke out in between fits of giggles, pressing against his chest, trying to pull away to no avail. 

“But I’m your ridiculous,” he whispers, lips brushing against your neck as he presses featherlight kisses just below your ear.

And, yeah, you suppose he’s right.

[queenburd]

I write this post with the caveat that I was into TSP and TSPUD before discovering Cl0ck 0ut and I never joined any servers around it, so the impact to me is extremely minimal compared to many others who were heavily inspired by it. I recognize that while it's sickening to me, it's even harder for the people who joined the TSP fandom because of Cl0ck 0ut.

I'm also extremely on the fringes of the fandom in general, I've never gone out of my way to interact with people who are more well-known for their narrator designs. I don't know that this post is going to reach its intended audience that much.

With all that aside, I really want to tell the people who are extremely hurt and reeling and sick to their stomach something that I think is pretty important:

You may have been introduced to TSP from watching Cl0ck 0ut, and it may have inspired you, but it is not the thing that kept you here interested in the game. You're in this fandom because you found like-minded people, maybe through the animation sure, and continued to make connections beyond that surface-level one.

Look, I've been here before. I'm not old, but I'm in my late twenties now and I've been in fandom circles for nearly 2 decades. There were inevitably times where the fanbase learned bad things about the creator, or a specific "big time" fan whose works they liked. It does suck, it does hurt, you're more than allowed to feel betrayed and sick and stressed.

A lot of what got me through it was having other people to talk to, who understood because they were also going through it. They understood because they were in that same fandom with me, we had met through it. The thing that mattered was that I had friends I had made beyond a superficial initial connection.

You made bonds. You created things (headcanons, art, stories, theories) with other people, and you still enjoyed the initial thing, yeah, but you enjoy it more because of the extra layers of connection that it led you to! But remember, please remember, that while it was a jumping off point, and you might attach a lot of value to it for that, it didn't do the work. You and other people did that. And that's the real valuable thing. That doesn't have to be stained with the bad feelings, I promise. It can and has evolved past the initial connection.

It's gonna sting for a while. That's understandable. If you need to take a break from creating, no one can blame you. But keep your connections with other people. Keep your friends.

(And if you made things that were directly inspired by Cl0ck 0ut designs or initial story, I can understand if you're feeling extremely uncomfortable with making more of it. I have a couple fanfics I was reading that were based off it.

At the end of the day, do what makes you most comfortable, even if that includes putting it down and never picaking it up again; but know that people liked what you were making, again, not because it was Cl0ck 0ut based, but because you were doing interesting and unique things with the premise. That's what fandom does with any media, and the story you were crafting does not, I think, need to be wholly discarded despite its premise having...'issues'.)

[the-cactus-taco]

Inspired by the lovely works of @zuzuelectricbugaloo, I have decided to write a little fluff fic about error and the outliers from my au Mirrorverse.

Romance featured: bad sanses poly

Cw: mentions of body horror

Probably gonna make are for this later but I wanted to post it now.

Also apologies for any spelling mistakes I didn’t catch

Cuddle cocoon

Error wasn’t claustrophobic, he actually quite liked tight cozy spaces. He just didn’t like them with people he didn’t know. Being in a small closed off room with a stranger would almost certainly crash him. But being close to is friends was the thing he loved the most.

The feeling of pulling his partners flush against his chest, so close their souls were almost intertwined. The smell of bone and that day’s adventure. The warmth of their breath. The sound of loud purring echoed in is mind. He couldn’t get enough. It made his head go warm. The pure euphoria of simply being known by someone, and held in their arms.

Error was having a bad day when his partners invited him for a movie night. They were already waiting for him on the couch when he arrived. Nova invited the glitch to lay in his lap. An offered he graciously accepted. Flopping down and getting comfortable, he pulled himself close to nova’s chest. Wrapping his arms around the other’s Back. The dryad let out a low pleasant rumble as he watched error melt into him.

Nova ran his fingers down the back of error’s head. Error beginning to purr softly. The glitch began to drift as he listened to the soft hum of the other’s soul. Not quite asleep not quite awake. In his daze, instinct took over, as several spider like legs grew and glitched from his back. His new limbs began to wrap around nova’s body. Before spinning a thread from error’s face, and beginning to deftly wrap the other in string.

The couch erupted in quiet “aww~” form his other partners. Nova looked down at the him with a chuckle, and began to fiddle with the pointed glitchs on the back of error’s head. Nova’s voice was as smooth and low as always “Wake up my dear~ you’re wrapping me up again~” nova chuckled to himself a bit more as error slowly woke. “Aw no, that was adorable! Let him finish!” Killer blurted out.

The moment error realized what he had done, he began profusely apologizing and removing the strings. “Hush now my love. You did nothing wrong.” Nova cooed. Placing a hand on error’s cheek.

Hurting his partners was one of error’s greatest fears. And error could never banish the thought that he was wrapping them up so he could eat them. Like a hungry spider, encasing its prey before injecting them with its venom. Melting the creature alive and drinking the body.

The thought sent shivers down error’s spine. The comparison hurting even more knowing that error actually had venom. Two types to be precise. The first, injected from his fangs, would lull its target into a deep, restful sleep. The other… injected from his rarely summoned second set of arms, would pump its target with so much determination and raw creativity… It could liquify humans and monsters alike.

Error promised himself, no matter how corrupt his code, he would never, ever, use is second type of venom. The thought of melting someone alive was horrific. And no matter how many times he tries, the thought always crosses his mind when he would wrap up his friends.

Never. He would never dream of doing that to his parters.

Error shook is head. Trying to push down the thought. “Hey… rue…” horror’s deep baritone voice knocked error from his spiral.

The glitch looked to his friend on the other side of the couch. “Could I be next…” error looked confused “next for what…?”

Horror sheepishly look away “being all… tied up…”

Error’s face flushed with all the colors of the rainbow. “You’d… want that…?” Error always thought of his wrapping as kinda gross. But his partners actually seemed to find it… endearing. “Of course dude! Who wouldn’t wanna be wrapped into a cocoon by their giant spider boyfriend!!” Kills cut in. Dust nodded in agreement as horror chuckled. Error froze, trying to process.

Killer posed the question “wait— if we all wanna be in a snuggle cocoon with rue… what if you made on big enough for all of us?” The glitch paused. “Would you all… want that?” He said breathlessly. “Of course error! We’d love to cuddle with you~” nova replied. A deep warmth grew in error’s chest. None of his teammates could break his strings. If he fully ensnared any of them, they would be completely trapped. And yet… they yearned to be trapped by him. To simply be with him. Together.

Error’s blush was bright as he spoke. “I can do that.” Killer pumped his fist in the air, horror excitedly clapped, and dust and nova have him the warmest smiles.

Error pried himself away from his lovers and off of the couch. Going to his room and retrieving his largest hammock. He decided it would easier if he started with a solid foundation. He laid the hammock out on the ground in front of the couch. And after confirming no one needed the bathroom or was hungry, error spoke again “alright… uh— everyone get comfortable, and then I’ll start.”

They all giggled and chirped excitedly as they laid down on the floor together. Nova and horror were on the outside, killer and dust in the middle, with a spot in the dead center saved for error. The glitch was still afraid. Afraid of what would happen when he actually closed them all in. Would they freak out? Would it not be what they hoped? So he asked again “Are you guys sure about this?” And again, his partners reassured him. Hooting about how they were “ready when you are!” And “let’s get this rolling!” So… error began to close them off.

Starting at the top and moving down, the glitch used his long spider like legs to close up the hammock into a large cocoon, with strings connecting it to the ceiling. He left a small hole for him to climb in, before sealing it up from the inside. Error crawled over to the center of the cuddle pile. Once there, he pulled at the strings on his face, and suddenly, the cocoon pulled itself into the air.

Once they were all suspended a far distance off the ground, error finally relaxed. Killer pulled him close, so close the other’s floating soul pushed against his chest. “Your amazing, you know that glitchy?” He said with a wistful sigh. “What a wonderful work of art you are~” nova added, leaning to rub the back of error’s head. Error began to purr loudly, starting a domino effect the ended in every one of them purring to the best of their abilities. Dust was incapable of purring outright, but as he pulled error’s back flush against his chest, the glitch could hear a small rustling sound emanating from them.

His partners were all so close to him now, the weightless feeling of being hung in the air, slightly swaying back and forth, only enhancing the feeling. The strings around them were warm, but let in a surprising amount of air flow. Keeping the inside perfectly comfortable. Killer began caressing error’s curves. Whispering sweetnesses in his ear before leaning down and biting the glitches neck. Error yipped, causing horror to giggle. The larger skeleton reaching over to pet the side of error skull. It was only then when error felt nova’s tentacles winding around him, pulling them all impossibly closer.

It was as if nothing else existed. It was only him, and his lovers. Here, together.

The others talked and giggled to each other, purring all the while. Surrounded by the people he adored the most, close and connected. Error was in love. So incredibly, undoubtedly in love. It radiated his soul. Warm and soft like his friends touch.

The glitch closed his eyes, and soaked it all in. Melting into his partners hold.

[chimneyz]

To Think We Could Stay the Same

Words: 7,801 and Counting | 2 out of 15 Chapters

Evan 'Buck' Buckley/Tommy Kinard

post episode 8x06 | angst with happy ending | make up

It appeared Evan Buckley and Tommy Kinard stood outside the realm of space and time, nothing else mattered. Buck’s breathing hitched as his feet melted into the pavement below unable to move, his skin itched as he gazed at Tommy. He gulped down the anxiety filling his mouth but leaving it dry as the anxiety filled his stomach weighing him down. His eyes scanned Tommy, soaking up every bit of him. He looked like shit, good, as long as he looked like how Buck felt, good. Tommy’s hair curled more than its usual shaping, to Buck it wasn’t the clean cut he was accustomed to but disheveled, dark circles rested under Tommy’s eyes, a stubble hand grown in on his cheeks. Conflicting emotions stormed through Buck’s mind, he wanted Tommy to hurt as much as he did, it was only fair that way. But my God did it hurt to see Tommy this way.  “Firefighter Buckley,” Tommy nodded as he passed, almost robotic, emotionless.  Firefighter Buckley? Oh, that enraged Buck. Before his brain and logic could catch up, Buck turned toe, following Tommy closely behind.  “ Firefighter Buckley? Is that all I get?” Buck snapped.  Tommy didn’t turn to face him, only moving to the wreckage. “Hey!” Buck grabs his shoulder swinging him around, to actually look him in the eyes. Tommy couldn’t even give him that, focusing his eyes on Buck’s left shoulder instead. “I am talking to you Tommy!”  “Buckley, this is not the time!” Lucy hissed.  “I-It’s fine this won’t take long, go get the patient, I’ll be ready shortly.” Tommy worded carefully.  Hesitantly, Lucy looks between the two of them then leaves to check on the patient getting details from Eddie about the man in the car. Luckily, Bobby was busy elsewhere working on a small fire in one of the cars that had been evacuated. Buck could feel the eyes of both Hen and Chimney passively watching as they assess some of the other less injured people at the ambulance. But Buck couldn’t care less that all of this between him and Tommy would be on display for the world to witness, he needed to get this off of his chest.  “What the hell is wrong with you?” Buck sneered, “First you dump me after me telling you how I could actually see a future with you, you say it’s to protect yourself, which is bullshit. Then the first time we see each other after…. You act like there was nothing between us? You won’t even look me in the eye! Why? I want to know why Tommy!” 

SUMMARY: The breakup was harder to deal with than they had expected, both Evan 'Buck' Buckley and Tommy Kinard now have to face the new chapter of their lives alone. It seems like the universe has other plans though.

(new chapter every friday)