#like i still feel predatory around girls and it has only increased since I started presenting more masculine

[jinuaei]

Dude, you could make a drunken alastor with the reader, what would it be like? And what would happen?

(( I saw a short on YouTube of an animation, I thought it was so funny... I wanted to see a fanfic about it...

If you're curious: https://youtube.com/shorts/ZN2PBs-RsVM?si=12BtCleXiCO7BWkU ))

So I basically mixed both of these asks into one fic, sorry if its not what you wanted its 3 am and I don't know what im doing kk love yall byeeee. been a while since I wrote so please be kind

Additional art

Warning: Kind of yandere? tagging just in case, BAD ACCENT WRITING, kissing!, Drunk alastor

Alastor is a heavyweight when it comes to drinking, but still, his tolerance to strong alcohol is no match to the king of hell himself. The bottles that surround the both of them shine under the lights of the hotel, empty as the red eyes staring at the wall behind Husk. Which is rather concerning as the owner of said eyes is the loser of the impromptu drinking game, started by the loser himself.

Alastor has been taking big Ls tonight huh. Not only did he lose his own game with the king of hell, he’s also getting clowned on by his enemy. Speaking of, Lucifer is now gloating in front of Alastor about how ‘he’s better’ and ‘you thought you could defeat THE KING OF HELL???’, while the recipient is still mindlessly staring at the display bottles of the bar.

Concerned, you walk up to him with hesitation, not wanting to trigger the hunting instincts he has displayed every time you are around. He has always pursued you not in a romantic sense, at least you think so, but more of a predatory sense. Everytime you walk into the room, his head always snaps to your direction, the smile on his face spreading wider and the horns growing the closer you get. At first you would just ignore the ever growing static emitting from him, the fear of getting mauled and eaten by him increasing with the volume of the radio waves. 

The intimidating display of his horns always amp up too whenever the other men of the hotel try to talk to you, or just even approaching your general vicinity. The headaches that you leave with always render you unable to do anything for the rest of the day. But with how constantly he’s been threatening the whole room with his power and presence, it’s no wonder you’ve been trying to avoid him everytime you just even feel the shift of static in the air. You’d rather not be MIA just because Alastor’s radio waves make you ill.

However, when you’re with the girls, his presence becomes pleasant, the sharp noise turning into a sweet jazz song that calms your nerves. During those times, you find yourself appreciating his presence. When you talk to Charlie or Nifty, he likes to cozy up right next to you, butting into the conversation, and when either of them ask for help, he tries to include you into the task, even when you are not needed. For Vaggie though, he still does stand next to you but you guess that his face is not as pleasant as when you talk to the other girls as Vaggie always glares at him when tries to speak. Nonetheless, the girls are always treated better than the boys.

Onto the current task, you wave a hand in front of him, still hesitant as Lucifer is still trying to provoke the Radio Demon. Thankfully Charlie managed to drag him away from the bar, talking about how his father is also drunk. With the unsuccessful attempt of catching his attention, you instead call out his name. In response, his head snaps to you with a painful noise that sounds like his neck breaking.

“Are you good Alastor…?,” his stare is still there but it looks more focused compared to the past 20 minutes.

You wait for him to respond, or at least for his brain to work again. Alastor blinks slowly, his smile growing bigger as his eyes finally focus on yours. The empty gaze turns soft and sitting before you is Alastor not as the Radio Demon, but his truest most pure self. And now that you think about it, you don’t hear the faint hum of the radio coming out from him, it was pure silence. That is until he finally speaks to you.

“Hello sha…”

Your breath hitches. 

You did not expect the cajun accent that came out of his mouth, and by God was it hot. It took you longer than you wanted to respond, the sheer change of his usual accent surprising you.  And the surprise must be obvious on your face as Alastor chuckles at your bafflement. 

“Why, what’s wrong dear…?”

He speaks slowly, slurring some of his words, but the accent is still thick on his tongue.

“Nothing, it’s just… how are you? You’ve been staring at the wall ever since you lost to Lucifer.”

“Hm… Nothin’, just thinkin’.”

“Thinking about what?”

“You.”

He purrs, the half lidded stare directed at you burns your body hot. It was nearly impossible to look away from him, but luckily he moved first, perching his head onto his crossed arms, looking adorably tired.

“So uh.. You drink whiskey huh?,” you fumbled, pointing to the various bottles that surrounded him.

He nods, still burrowed in his arms. The others are starting to retreat to their rooms, waving a goodnight to the people left in the lobby, which was you, Alastor and Husk, who is now starting to clean up the bar.

“You know, I haven’t tried whiskey yet.”

Alastor raises his head to look at you, mouth slightly opened as if to display his disbelief to your lack of taste. 

“Well, surely you have to try at least once!”

Husk was only minding his business, cleaning up the bottles on the table when Alastor yanks his arm and pulls him to demand a bottle of whiskey. The cat demon's face scrunched up, and he looks at you with a ‘are you fucking for real’ face, you can only smile sheepishly back. Being given no choice, he complies to Alastors demand, grumbling about wanting to sleep but needing to still clean up after you both. Feeling pity, you volunteer to do his work and let him go to bed, he eagerly agrees and practically books it upstairs. 

The demon left with you shows off the bottle he acquired, popping off the cap with a flourish. You try to find a glass to drink out of but Alastor had another idea. He drinks out from the bottle and before you can ask him to stop, he grips the back of your head and kisses you.

Your eyes widen, freezing in your seat in shock and awe. His hand moves under your chin and his thumb trails up to hook it through your lips and pulls open your mouth. The whiskey from his mouth transfers to yours, burning as you gulp it down your throat. He finally pulled away when there was no more whiskey left to transfer.

“Well, what do you think? Do you like it?”

The dopey smile on his face is impossible to ignore, he looks so pleased yet still so hungry, but the ever so gentleman still waits for your reaction.

Honestly, you don’t know if you liked the whiskey but you really, really, really liked the kiss.

“Yeah! Yeah, I liked it.”

“That's good! I’m glad my deer also likes the stuff that I like. Haha! Here, have some more!”

He nudges the bottles to you, but since it's midnight and you’d rather not have a hangover by the morning. So you refused, and he full on pouted, pouted! And he looked so sad too, his ears flattened and everything! 

You couldn’t bear to see him that sad, even though it’s actually terrifying seeing the Radio Demon, acting like a dejected puppy. So you came up with a solution to both of your problems.

Gingerly holding his cheek, your hands carefully pull his face to yours, his gaze curious but willing. You bit your lip before kissing him lightly, unsure of whether it’s okay or not to do this to the predator that has been haunting your days. The same predator who's now reduced to putty in your hands, eagerly kissing you back with vigour. He tastes of whiskey, which was what you were finding for, and slightly of blood, maybe his meal from earlier that night.

You pull away from him when you start to lose air from the kiss, he complies, his face dazed and the blush from the kiss spreads across his face. Catching your breath, you see Alastor move closer to you, he moves his face to your neck, sniffing it deeply.

“What are you doing…?”

“I’ve been waitin’ for you to accept me for so long...You don’t understand how long I’ve longed for you sha… To become mine,” he starts to ramble, the cajun accent still thick, and only getting thicker the lower his voice gets. His hands start to roam around your body, gripping your waist tight as he pulls you close to him, he would have pulled you onto his lap if you haven’t stood your ground.

“Oh… how I wanted to rip those damned men that try to take you away from me, ‘specially that cursed sorry excuse of a father, Charlie would be soooo much better taken care of by you n’ me. Nifty already thinks of you as her parent, to which of course I wholly agree with. You’d make a perfect parent sha.”

You stay silent as his whole body is now fully leaned against you. 

“I like helpin’ you out n’ Nifty, makes me feel like a proud father n’ a good husband… Ohhhh, i’d love to be your husband.”

“Sometimes, I like to follow you around to protect you from those disgustin’ dogs tryin’ to steal you away from me.”

What the fuck is happening? You thought this man hated your guts and only wanted to fuck with you for fun, but not like this. Yeah the kiss wasn’t good either but you only wanted to do it for bragging rights, like who could say they kissed the Radio Demon?? Oooh, Vox would have your head if he knew about this, that tv head of his and his weird obsession with Alastor. 

“Would you like to be mine sha?,” his voice snaps you out of your thoughts, his face now planted on your chest as his face nuzzles on it, you can see movement under his coat but you ignore it in favour of looking at him.

“Well… uh…”

“Please…? Please be mine…”

He moves his face close to you again, his breath tickling your lips, tempting you to kiss him again. Your response gets stuck on the tip of your tongue, but luckily, you don’t have to respond as his body flops onto yours, his weight fully on top of you. You can hear his leveled breathing as he dozed off, cradled against your neck, a sign of him now being asleep.

Well shit. You’d have to drag this 7 foot deer up his room, and you pray that he doesn’t remember anything from tonight.

[peppermintbutch]

Hey guys guess who just experienced a sudden burst of internalized homophobia after cringing at seeing the german word for “lesbian“ written out!

[slythergirlimagines]

Worth Your Time- Jack Shephard x Reader

Summary: Reader and Jack are friends with benefits, but when reader gets hurt it could change their relationship. (GIF not mine!) Masterlist

Warnings: injuries and some mentions of sex, also dead relatives and abusive ex mentioned   

Words: 3,189

Requested: Yes! @flowercrowns-goodvibes thank you so much for requesting something about Lost. My love for this show and for Jack is endless:) I hope you enjoy it!

Worth Your Time

The first time you slept with Jack Shephard, you were both drunk. Hurley and Charlie had found some vodka in an old bunker. Everyone had craved the distraction the alcohol provided and a party had broken out in result.

After your fair share of drinks, you had stepped away and gone to stare at the ocean. Jack had found you there, drunk and depressed. You had opened up to each other, you about the abusive relationship you were running from, and Jack about his father. You weren’t really sure how it happened, but one minute you were talking and the next you were having sex.

You had never really talked about it after it happened. It was only a few days later that you had a nightmare and sought out Jack. After that, you began seeking comfort in each other, and of course some other things. It wasn’t all physical though.

You and Jack talked about anything and everything. You connected, and you understood each other. You had realized too late into your relationship that you were developing feelings for him, and you couldn’t tell him. If you told him, then everything would get weird and he wouldn’t want you anymore. The voice in your head definitely belonged to your ex, but it was right. Jack was too important to lose.

Currently, you are enjoying the day. Sometimes on beautiful days like this, you like to pretend that you’re on vacation. You close your eyes and let the breeze blow through your hair, and you let yourself pretend for just a little bit that you have no problems. It helps to forget reality sometimes, especially when your reality is being stranded on an island where everything seems to go wrong.

Today the waves are sparkling and the sun is high in the sky. Charlie and Hurley are still trying to fish, even though they’ve never caught anything. Sun is off tending her garden, and Kate and Sawyer are flitting about doing who knows what. Claire wades into the water, rocking baby Aaron back and forth. None of these people are who you want to see. You’re looking for Jack.

You see him exiting the make shift medical tent, and you quickly jog over to him.

“Jack!” You call to him. When he sees you, his face breaks out into a huge grin and your heart flutters in your chest. He’s just a friend you remind yourself. A very hot friend that you sometimes have sex with.

“Y/n!” He calls back, mimicking your enthusiasm.

“Hey!” You say, finally catching up to him. “I have something to ask you.”

“Oh yeah?” He says, plucking some fruit from the breakfast pile, and taking a bite.

“Sun and I are going on a hike this afternoon. She’s needs help finding some seeds for the garden, and I was wondering if there’s anything you need medically?”

Jack looks up at the clouds, and makes a face.

“Are you sure you guys want to go today? It might rain.” You roll your eyes at his concern.

“Don’t worry, Jack. We’re big girls, I think we can handle it!” You wink. It feels natural to flirt with him like this.

“Alright, alright. I just can’t help it.” He says. His voice drops a little at the end, and it sends shivers down your spine. His brown eyes turn hungry, and he lets them rake over you.

It’s been a few days since you’ve been together, and you’ve missed him. His eyes tell you that he’s missed you too, even if his mouth won’t say it.

When he finishes looking you up and down, he catches your half-lidded gaze and smiles.

“Come back to me in one piece.” He leans in, whispering in your ear. “I’ll make it worth your time.” His pupils are dilated when he pulls back and he smirks at you, licking his lips.

Jack Shephard can be down right predatory when he wants to be. You shiver, and smile back at him.

“You know I wouldn’t miss it for the world.” You let yourself linger in the moment, and then you remind him of your original question. “So do you need anything?”

Jack looks sheepish, and rubs the back of his neck as he answers. “No, sorry I forgot the question.”

“I have that effect on people.” You flirt.

“That you do.” Jack looks up at the sky and then back at you. “You better go before I lose all semblance of self control.”

“If this is you controlled I can’t wait to see you wild.” You smirk again and then back up slowly. “See you later doc.”

You leave him there, practically panting, and hurry back to Sun.

————————————————-

The hike goes well. Sun manages to find a majority of the seeds she needs with little problem. You’re on your way back when you notice a patch of familiar looking plant stalks.

“Sun!” You call.

She turns around and raises an eyebrow in your direction.

“I’m going to stay behind for a little bit, I’ll catch up!” You say.

“I don’t know....” Sun says, glancing up at the darkening sky.

“I’ll be fine!” You say. “This is literally going to take like five minutes!”

Convinced, Sun nods and continues on her way.

“Be careful!” She throws over her shoulder.

You promise her you will, and then turn your attention back to the stalks.

When you were younger, your mother was very into natural remedies. She grew a lot of her own plants and herbs to aid in the healing process. Ginger was always one of her favorites. The root helped calm aches and pains, and it would be the perfect gift for Jack. You may not have medicine on this island, but you could use what was around you.

Quickly, you get to work pulling the roots of the ground. It’s hard work, and it takes you a lot longer to fill up your basket than you had hoped. By the time you’re finished, your hands are bleeding and the sky is nearly pitch black.

You stumble quickly onto the path, and start walking as quickly as you can. Maybe you’ll be able to get close to the beach before the downpour starts. You aren’t half as lucky as you wish you were though, because it only takes a minute for the rain to begin.

It’s a thick blanket of water, and there are no breaks in between downpours. The rain pounds against your body, soaking through your clothes in seconds. It also makes it impossible to see where you’re going.

Your boots start getting stuck in the mud, and before you know it, you’re slipping and sliding around. Everything is distorted through the water and you start panicking. Are you even going the right way?

The water starts gathering and rushing downhill like a fast moving stream. It’s impossible for you to keep your balance, and you fall, bashing your leg against the side of a rock. You feel it slice through your skin, and the pain is consuming.

The water keeps pushing you with its current, banging you against objects in the path. Finally, your head bangs against something hard and the world goes dark.

————————————————-

“Dude!” You hear a voice yell. Your head pounds, and you lift a shaky hand to feel around. There’s a tender spot when you touch it, and you quickly drop your hand.

“Dude, I think I found her!” Hurley says. His shouts increase the pounding in your head, and you go limp with the pain.

“Where is she?” You hear Charlie’s heavy accent.

Flashlight beams illuminate your face, and you listen as they start to panic.

“Oh my god. She’s dead, Hurley look at her.” Charlie says.

“Dude, I think I’m going to hurl.” Hurley says, gagging.

“Hurley, get a grip! Listen to me. Who’s going to tell Jack? He’s going to lose it mate! He’ll go absolutely bonkers.” Charlie says.

Hearing Jack’s name rouses something in you, and you have enough energy to groan his name. You want Jack. He’ll make you feel better and take all this pain away. Over the pounding of your head, you hadn’t even been able to think about the searing pain in your leg.

“Jack?” You ask again.

“She’s alive!” Charlie shouts and you listen as he and Hurley celebrate.

“Dude we’ve gotta get Jack, what if it’s not ok to move her?” Hurley asks.

“Ok ok good point. You stay here and I’ll go get him. They shouldn’t be too far away.” Charlie says, and you hear him run off.

“It’s ok, y/n.” Hurley says. “I’m here, and Jack’s going to be here real soon. He’s worried sick about you.”

Jack was worried about you? You smile, and it’s painful, but you also feel a lot better. Jack will be there soon and he’s worried. Your Jack.

The pain is slowly increasing, and you feel like maybe you could sleep a little longer before Jack gets there. I mean you wouldn’t be missing anything.

“Y/n??” You hear a voice call, and it’s Jack. You’d know his deep voice anywhere.

“Jack.” You groan.

You hear the snapping of branches as someone runs to you. Large, warm hands start checking over your body. Jack’s hands. You’d know them anywhere too.

“What happened?” He asks, and you can hear how wrecked his voice is. You’ve never heard him so worried before. Usually when he checks on patients he has a forced calm to him, but now he sounds desperate and pained.

“Rain.” You mutter helpfully. “Cut leg.” You wince as his hand finds the wound.

“Head hurts.” You mumble. You’re tired again. This whole ordeal has honestly worn you out, and Jack was here now. Everything would be ok, because he would take care of you.

“Don’t you dare fall asleep on me.” He commands. “Don’t you dare.”

“Ok, Jack.” You say, but everything is already getting hazy and unfocused. “Love you.” You smile. Colors dance under your eyelids, and you let them sweep you off into the dark again.

———————————————-

In your dream, your mother stands before you. She’s wearing the same familiar blue sweater and jeans that you remember.

“Mom?” You ask, tears in your eyes.

She smiles at you, and her eyes crinkle into lines at the corners. Her eyes sparkle as she looks at you. She envelops you into a hug, and you realize she still smells the same. She’s only been gone for two years now, but it feels like it’s been an eternity since you’ve seen her.

“Oh y/n.” She says, and softly lets your hair as you cry into her shoulder. “I’ve missed you so much.”

“I’ve missed you too.” You choke out, tears making your voice thick.

“You’ve been so brave, y/n. What you’ve been through... you’ve been so strong.” She smiles at you softly, and squeezes you.

Her words bring back memories. The island, the plane, leaving your ex, meeting Jack. Jack.

“Yes,” your mother says. “Jack is a lovely man. Every mother wants her daughter to bring home a doctor.” She teases.

“Am I dead?” You ask, suddenly fearful that you’ve left him.

Your mother looks at you softly. She shakes her head.

“Not yet. You can still pull through. Your doctor is giving death one hell of a fight. He’s not giving up on you anytime soon.” She smiles.

Of course he wouldn’t. Tears spring to your eyes as you think about Jack fighting for you, not giving up on you. You can’t leave him. You don’t want to leave him.

“Mom?” You ask. “I don’t want to die. Not yet.”

She pulls you into a hug, and laughs wetly. “Then you won’t.” She says.

“I love you.” You tell her. “I miss you everyday.”

“I love you too.” She says. Then she presses a kiss to your forehead, and everything dissolves.

————————————————-

You’re awake, but you don’t open your eyes. Pain makes your limbs heavy and your brain sluggish as you try to make sense of everything. You finally crack one eye, and groan against the painfully bright light.

“Y/n?” Jack says, hope colors his tone.

“Jack?” You ask. You reach out your arm trying to find him, when he catches your hand. You feel him cradle it between his palms, and he places a lingering kiss to it.

“Oh my god.” He says, and you can tell from the emotion in his voice that he’s crying.

You pry your eyes open again, this time determined to keep them open. You blink several times, before your eyes adjust and you’re able to focus.

Jack stares at you, eyes glassy with tears cradling your hand to the side of his face. His brown eyes are warm, and he’s smiling in relief.

“Hi.” You tell him shyly. You can’t comprehend why he’s so emotional about you. Jack has taken devastating loses on this island, and you still haven’t seen him look as torn up as he does now.

“Hi.” He says back, and it feels like it means everything. Your heart stutters against the intensity of his gaze.

“What happened.” He asks you, softly. He lets one of his hands trace the side of your face, and then starts stroking your hair out of your eyes.

“I saw some ginger root, and I remembered my mother using ginger to help with aches and pains. I thought it could come in handy, but it took me longer to harvest it than I thought. I couldn’t out run the rain.” You say. It’s a little embarrassing, to admit it. You know how stupid it sounds in retrospect.

Jack shakes his head at you.

“Should’ve known.” He says, but he smiles instead of reprimands you. You know it’s probably only because he’s so relieved that he isn’t yelling at you.

“What can I say.” You mutter, leaning back into the cot. You can tell you’re in the Med tent.

“Are Charlie and Hurley ok?” You ask suddenly. Your memories are a blur, but you can remember their panicked voices.

Jack laughs a little, and you smile in response, glad to know he is ok enough to laugh.

“Yes. They thought you were dead.” He says, and then all the humor leaves his face. You regret ever bringing it up as you watch him debate with himself.

“I thought I was going to lose you.” He says. He has the same look on his face that he had when he told you the “angel hair pasta” story.

“Your leg was sliced up really bad. Deep too. I had no way of knowing how much blood you lost.” He says, eyes haunted. “Then your head wound. God, I had no way of knowing how bad that was, or if you had other internal injuries. Then you passed out on me, and you’ve been out ever since.”

“I’m sorry.” You say, and you realize that you’re crying. Jack’s pain has become yours and you’re so mad at yourself that you scared him so badly.

“No!” He says, and hurriedly wipes your tears away. “Don’t cry! It’s not your fault.”

“But it is. I was so stupid.”

Jack just shakes his head and continues brushing back you hair. He’s being so gentle with you, and it’s such a stark contrast from some of your wilder nights. The thought brings a blush to your cheeks.

“I had to bathe you.” Jack says out of nowhere, and he looks awkward as tells you. Like he’s asking for some sort of forgiveness. “I had to clean the wound, and you were unconscious and I didn’t trust anybody else...”

You start laughing and you can’t help yourself. He just looks so sweet asking you to forgive him for helping you.

“Jack, it’s not like it isn’t anything you haven’t seen before.” You say, and your voice lowers a bit.

The air is suddenly charged with electricity as you two lock eyes. Your heart starts beating quickly again, and you wonder if Jack can tell.

“You told me you loved me.” He whispers.

Your blush, horrified. If you could, you would go back in time and finish the job the rain started.

“Jack, I’m so sorry.” You say. You knew you’d find a way to mess this up eventually. You couldn’t bear to lose him now.

“Did you mean it?” He asks. You search his face for any sign of disgust, but he only looks curious. You can’t lie to him, and you find that somewhere deep down you don’t want to.

“Yes.” You say. “But I was never going to say anything, I never meant to make it weird or-”

“Y/n.” Jack says, and he gives you a glowing look. He looks so happy, and your heart thumps painfully against your ribs.

“I love you too.” He says quietly. “I’m sorry it took all of this for me to admit it to you. I- well it was never just sex for me either, you know. It was always about you.”

“Me too.” You whisper quietly. Then you start laughing again. This time jack joins in, and the two of you laugh for a long time.

Jack looks at you like you’re his world, and then he kisses you gently. It is a much sweeter kiss than any you’ve ever shared with him, and it makes your whole body feel fuzzy and light.

Jack pulls away and you whine at the loss of contact.

“Jack!” You cry. He looks positively boyish like this. Young and happy.

“You’re injured.” He teases. “What kind of doctor would I be if I didn’t force you to heal properly.”

“You’re such a tease!” You pout.

He kisses you again, and laughs.

“You love me.” He sings.

“I do.” You can’t stop saying it enough. You pat the space behind you in the cot and give him your widest eyes. “Come join me?” Jack rolls his eyes, but comes to join you in the cot.

He takes care to wrap himself gently around you without disturbing your injuries. Content, you sink into the warmth of his embrace.

“You know, technically I did come back in one piece. And you told me you’d make it worth my while....” you trail off, wiggling your eyebrows suggestively.

“Not. Until. You’re. Healed!” He throws a hand up into the air. “I swear you’re going to kill me.” He says shaking his head.

Smiling, you think about your mother and the fact that you had almost died. It may be cheesy, but it was certainly true. Any second with Jack was more than worth your time.

A/n: I hope you enjoyed reading this! I write for a lot of fandoms and my requests are open if there’s something you want to read. You can find all my other work under the tag slythergirlimagines!

[op-peccatori]

True Disaster (NSFW) | MLQC Lucien | Kinktober (October 2nd)

Prompts: October 2nd:  Asphyxiation || Orgasm denial/edging || Public

KINKTOBER IS HERE and I’m liviiiiing. @alloveroliver​ thank you, thank you, thank youuuu for organizing and hosting Kinktober!! 

Fandom: Mr Love: Queen’s Choice

Pairing: Lucien/Reader

Rating: 18+

Warnings: explicit smut, unprotected sex, oral (female), orgasm denial, (semi?) public sex, overstimulation, sex toy (vibrator)

a/n: the title is from Tove Lo’s True Disaster. I believe this song applies to how I feel about Lucien perfectly. and I dearly hope I didn’t fuck it up during the editing

For the fifth time today, you’re wondering if this is worth it. It’s getting old. 

You can barely concentrate on the pages in front of you, the letters blurring in and out of focus. Your breath is growing heavier, everyone’s voices loud in the background but still beyond your understanding. Your thighs squeeze together, a futile attempt to gain some friction, to ease the agony you’re being put through. Your coworkers have no idea anything is out of the ordinary, they have no idea you’re on the verge of losing your mind. And it’s all thanks to the man smiling angelically down at Anna while she thanks him for appearing on their special episode for Miracle Finder. 

Sadistic bastard.

You would say he hasn’t even glanced your way, but you know that’s not true. You can feel him taking note of your reactions. Every drop of sweat that beads on your forehead, the slight tremble in your fingers, every moan you swallow with panic clearly visible in your eyes is observed by him. You can see how much he likes it, it’s clear in the dark glint in his eye. You can almost hear him purring with delight.

Your boyfriend is an evil man. It’s a part of his charm. 

You wonder how no one can hear the buzzing in your body. You can feel it down to your toes, but it’s centred below your belly. Sending pulses that threaten to overwhelm you. It’s absent right now, but every once in awhile his eyes would dart to you and decide you haven't been tortured enough.

Just a little more, baby. Can you do it for me? 

And so it would increase, pulling you under the surface but never letting you drown. It’s breaking you down inch by inch, a hand around your ankle dragging you into madness. Putting you right where he wants you.

Good girl.

It takes you a few seconds to realize someone was calling your name. You glance up to see another regular on the show, Kim. The singer. Kiki, Willow and Minor have agreed that while he wasn’t quite on Kiro’s level, the singer was very good-looking. His aloof and reserved personality only added to his appeal. You just hope he doesn't notice the twitching.

“Hi, Kim! Sorry, I’ve been...a little out of it, you laugh nervously. “What were you saying?” The man, bless him, just gave you a small smile before repeating himself. 

“I just wanted to thank you for allowing me to be a part of the team,” he says, smiling a little wider at your protests. “I’m really glad I got to know everyone here. And you, of course. I’ve been a fan of Miracle Finder since I was a kid.” 

And isn't that just so sweet? 

You relax and smile back at him warmly, immediately engaging him in conversation about the common factor in your childhoods. He tells you how excited he was when he got a call from you, his usual reserved demeanour set aside. You miss his flushed cheeks and shy gaze completely, too busy telling him about your favourite episodes. 

You’re distracted. And like a fool, you let your guard down. 

“Um, I was wondering if you’re...seeing anyone,” he asks suddenly. You pause, blinking at the sudden question, a something nervous churning in your stomach. 

“Huh?“ He seems oddly encouraged by your response.

“Yes, I actually wanted to ask if you’d like to get a coffee or something soon,” he confesses with a ghost of a laugh. Just as you’re done processing this, your mouth opens and the only sound you manage is something resembling a strangled tone because it’s started up again. Not low, not steady–it’s insistent, working the walls of your core ruthlessly. Your eyes fly to Lucien in panic, but he’s not looking at you. You hold on to the edge of the table, mouth open and eyes wide. 

No. No no no.

Kim calls your name, concern in his voice. 

“Right, um. I’m sorry, but I’m afraid,” you say and gasp, your smile shaky. “I’m afraid that won’t be possible.” His face falls but before he can say a word, you squeak something about the bathroom and fling yourself out of the chair, rushing out of the conference room. Your journey to your office is shaky at best, the wave building with each step you take. You fall to your knees with a low cry as the door closes behind you. You can’t touch yourself, because he’ll know. You can only pray that this time, he’ll let you finish. 

“Oh God.” 

Your hands are clenched in the pale blue carpet, your knuckles white. Your teeth are digging into your lip painfully. Your walls flutter, and you’re so close. It’s been over two hours since you started this game, your confidence in winning it non-existent after being denied for so long. 

It was right there. And then it was gone again, snatched away from within reaching distance. You slump and whimper, the disappointment nearly unbearable.

“Fuck. Fuck fuck fu-“ 

“Well, isn’t this a sight?” came a voice you knew were all too familiar with. You look over your shoulder to see Lucien standing in the doorway, an infuriatingly innocent smile on his lips. His eyes are anything but. You take a deep, fortifying breath and fall on your ass, leaning back on your hands, as you pant. There are tears in your eyes. 

“I hate you.” He locks the door behind him. His smile slips into a smirk and you couldn’t help but think there was something extremely filthy about it. You want to devour it, lick the curve of it and see if it still stays when you shove it into your sex. It probably would. 

“Do you?” He coos, slipping his jacket off and draping it over a chair. He moves smoothly, without a care in the world, as if you aren’t trembling at his feet. He offers you a hand and you take it with a weepy glare, letting him pull you up. Your knees are weak, and you have to lean back against your desk to be able to remain standing up. If he were a less composed man, you just know he’d be laughing evilly. Instead, he watches you, your skin heated and gaze needy. 

“So much. You’re trying to kill me,” you say with certainty. He grins at that, a hand on your thighs already, stroking the flesh there teasingly. He kisses your cheek, your neck, humming at the taste. ”And you're succeeding.”

“That’s a very serious accusation, darling,” he says, tone mocking but mostly suggestive. Your belly clenches in response. “What in the world would I do after killing you? How would I go on?” 

You scoff, hyperaware of his long fingers hot on your skin. “With ease and the memories of torturing me to keep you warm at night, I’m sure.” You try to adjust your body so he would be closer to where you need him. He pinches the inner part of your thigh in response. 

“I would wither away,” he sighs, stepping closer to you. He’s sincere but your frustration has reached its limit. You don’t have the patience for his dirty mind games, not right now. “I like the real thing far too much.”

“It doesn’t seem like it.” 

“No?” He brings his other hand to your mouth, tracing your lower lip with a finger. You bite it and the sound that leaves his mouth could only be described as predatory. “But you know I’ll give you anything you want, don’t you? You need only ask for it.” Ask for it. You have troubling asking for it, but you also have trouble with not being allowed to come for this long.  

Decisions, decisions.

“Then let me–“ you try to say, but are ultimately unable to finish. Lucien’s mask slips into something eager. “Let me...“ 

“Let you?” he asks slyly, the pads of his fingers teasing the edge of your underwear. Your head tilts back, watching him as he leans over you with a hand resting on the desk. Your heart races faster at him being so close after what feels like ages.

You remain quiet. 

“Let you what?” He asks again, a whisper against your lips. His fingers dance over your clothed entrance, his pupils dilating when he feels just what he’s done to you without even touching you. One dips into your sex slightly and your walls contract. You’ll say anything to get him to give you what you need. “Use your words, babygirl.” 

“Let me come,” you implore, mouth curving up when his hand stills, his eyes wide with surprise that you actually said it and gave in. You’re mildly embarrassed but mostly aching for him to touch you. He opens his mouth, probably to tease you a little more, because he’s an asshole – when you both hear someone calling your name. You ignore it, continuing. “Please, Lucien? Let me come. On your fingers, your cock, anythi-”

“____!”

It’s Kim. 

‘Seriously?’

It doesn’t seem like he’s about to give up, his voice growing closer instead. The doorknob jiggles. Lucien and you stare at each other, breaths mingling. The look in his eyes is so electric, you chew on your lip nervously. And then he rips your underwear in half, stuffing its remains in his back pocket as you stumble. 

“Lucien!” you whisper-scream. Honestly, he can be so jealous and petty. It pisses you off at times, but right now...you decide it’s working in your favour, because he’s pulling the vibrator out to replace it with his fingers, pushing your legs apart impatiently. Very out of character for him. You know it has everything to do with the guy outside, which has you terribly amused. “Maybe I should see what he needs–oh.“ You’re cut off by his fingers pushing their way into you, with Lucien not even bothering to start with one. There’s little resistance, and you might have thought to be self-conscious with how utterly wrecked you are, but you can’t think beyond the prize that’s suddenly within your reach. 

Thank you, Kim!

“Oh, please, please please.” You cling to him, terrified of being left dangling from the edge again, your hips grinding into his hand. “I’m so close baby, just a little more.”

Lucien doesn’t say anything, his breath tickling the shell of your ear before his tongue sneaks out to trace it. Your hand comes up to rest on his broad shoulder, before slipping down to the fly of his pants. He’s wearing the black ones. A favourite of yours, mostly because of how they stretch over his backside. You had barely been able to look away every time his back was to you. Paired with his black turtleneck, it was positively sinful. And unhelpful. 

You suppress a smile at his obvious bulge as you unzip his pants carefully, your fingers spreading over his briefs greedily as you palm him through them. He groans softly, biting down on your earlobe. Your fingers squeeze around him and you whimper. You can’t help but run a hand over his ass before you pull his briefs down, his cock leaking and stiff in your hands. Your lips quirk up at the feeling of him panting into your hair, and he kisses you urgently, his curling fingers making you moan and pull away.

You spit into your hand and wrap it around him, your palm warm and slick around his shaft. His tongue licks into your mouth again with increasing intensity. 

The desk is uncomfortable beneath your back when he presses you into the surface, your stapler digging into your shoulder but it’s forgotten when his dick is slipping through your folds. The burn is satisfying, as is his low groan. 

“Oh, you feel so good.” Your walls are clenching around him, your legs pulling him closer. 

“You have – no idea how perfect you are.” He watches you arch your back with raw desire in his eyes. You have no thoughts to spare, just a deep hunger for him as he snaps his hips into yours, his fingers gripping your hips possessively. “Come on my cock. You’re – almost there baby, I’ve got you.” His words are a rumble that moves through your body. There’s no patience for softness, no sign of gentleness. He sets a harder pace, angling both your hips and hitting you just right, hand slipping down to your sex to finally throw you headfirst into darkness. The room is still spinning when it fades away, his cock still hard in you. 

“I think I blacked out,” you croak, blinking repeatedly. He smiles down at you, a touch of wickedness to the curve of his mouth. He kisses you on the mouth, quick and hard, and then he’s pulling out of you and pulling a chair to take a seat. You have half a second to pray before your knees are pushed apart and his head is buried between your legs, tongue pushing through your slit, ravenous and precise. You can hear someone scream, only the rawness of your throat making you realise it’s you. His tongue is intent in the way he uses it, lapping at you and rubbing your swollen sex. It’s painful, you’re too sensitive but his lips are around your clit. The sounds you hear are obscene and you’re thrown into another orgasm, one you weren’t prepared for.

He doesn’t stop. You’re half gone by the time he stands up, his lips glistening with your own essence before he licks it off and his eyes are brimming with satisfaction. 

“Beautiful.” 

Your jaw is slack, your entire body seems to have dissolved onto the desk, your legs still trembling. Your hair is sticking to the back of your neck. His eyes don’t leave you as he strokes himself to completion, his seed spattering your abused sex like thick paint as a curse escapes his lips. Your slow smile is content and lazy, and still, he watches you. 

There’s silence in the hall outside your office. 

[the-evisceration-station]

I like your commentary! I found Colette's relationship to Addy to be way more intense and multi-faceted on the show than in the book. What is your take on book!Colette versus show!Colette in terms of Addy? Feel free to point me to an old post if you've already answered a question like this.

Hey dude! Answering under the cut for potential book spoilers! 

They certainly upped the homoeroticism up in the show and I think that contributes a lot to the intensity. I think it’s more obvious in the show than in the book that Colette is taking advantage of Addy’s affection for her. Both because of the increased homoeroticism on screen and because since we’re no longer seeing the story exclusively from inside Addy’s head, it’s easier to draw conclusions about how Colette is, rather than how Addy sees her. 

I personally believe that book!Colette’s relationship with Addy was just as multifaceted as in the show, but that it comes off as more simplistic because it’s dyed by Addy’s perspective. But hey, YMMV for sure! If you feel like it’s objectively less multifaceted, that’s also completely understandable and I totally see the trajectory of that conclusion. I personally, just like, get the vibe that Addy presents it to us more simply because Addy likes things simple. Simple and pretty. Addy tends to obscure/ignore/lie when she’s confronted with things that are difficult. Complex and ugly. 

Colette is more blatantly predatory in the show though, for sure. That sauna scene. Dude, what even the fuck. She really invited Addy to chill with her nude in the sauna. Alone too. I can’t believe she’s too oblivious to realize how inappropriate that is. 

But okay, book!Colette vs. TV!Colette, what differences do I feel here...I’d say TV!Colette is more composed than book!Colette. Book!Colette seems more disturbed by what went down with Will, at least to me. But then, how much of that was real?? 

She whines to Addy about how she’s slipping up, not sleeping, hitting her daughter because she’s so stressed and traumatized, but was that true? Or was she just telling Addy that to get her to feel bad and soften up? And being that Will didn’t get killed off until episode seven, it’s totally possible that scene would’ve been a thing in the series too, only we didn’t reach it. 

Oh, I think book!Colette might be somewhat less private than TV!Colette. I get the impression from the book that Addy hung out a lot more with Colette and Will, rather than just Colette. Which is...still predatory (especially considering book!Will canoodled with Beth) and pretty fucking weird, all around. There’s one moment (forget which page, but it’s def in there) where Addy describes this: 

“Watching them kiss, watching the way he opens her mouth with his, her sneaky looks back at me, the pleasure on her, I feel myself go loose and wondrous inside. I want to be a part of their kiss, and maybe even they want it too.” 

I mean, Addy is a weird kid and kind of a voyeur-lite, and an unreliable narrator, so maybe her feeling like they wanted her to be apart of it was just all in her head. But whether or not it was, it’s still pretty damn strange they just bringing a teenage on their dates like that. 

 But I don’t think they hung out as a trio that much in the show. There was the one date in episode three, I could buy possibly a few offscreen that didn’t hold any narrative significance, and then Will showing up shitfaced at Colette’s place where they just kinda got forced to deal with him. TV!Colette seems more private to me in that sense, she seems to keep her interactions with Will and Addy more separate in the show than in the book. 

I think TV!Colette likes her kid more than book!Colette. There’s that part where (again, forget the page and I’m paraphrasing) where Colette is like, “what? my daughter whomst?? lmao, maybe she’s drinking poison under the sink rn, idk” whereas in the show, Colette seems more bemused by her child’s existence than outright indifferent. She even inquires about why she had a bandaid to Matt...but there again, I wonder. Does TV!Colette actually care about her kid?? Or did she just ask Matt about the princess bandaid because she wants him to think she gives a shit and stay on his good side? 

I think both TV!Colette and book!Colette find themselves boxed into domestic places they don’t want to be in, and that’s partly why she’s drawn to Addy. She’s manipulating her, yes, but she also likes being her bestie, and being a gal pal to the squad because it’s a way of shrinking her adult and domestic responsibilities. She gets to let loose and act like their peer, like she herself is a teenager without all those responsibilities she doesn’t want to have. I think it’s more obvious in the show she regrets some of the life choices that contribute to her being boxed in. 

I can’t believe I’ve typed this much and still failed to really give you an answer. Um. I guess Colette is a bit harder for me to pin down, since she lies so much...and I just fucking scrolled up to realize I wasn’t even answer the right question, oh SHIT. Smfh, I really did that. 

You asked specifically in regards to Addy, and I went on about a whole bunch of other junk. Oh well. Too late to delete now, I’m just gonna chug along here and...

Colette and Addy. Hm. The homoerotic subtext is absolutely more mutual in the show. I did have an ask a little like this before, but I’m still of the belief Colette isn’t actually attracted to Addy. I think the subtext on her part is all a farce, because indulging Addy’s crush gives her even more power over her. I don’t think she actually wants to roll around in the hay with Addy, even though she’s teasing her with little touches and batting bedroom eyes her way. 

I think book!Colette is less blatantly inappropriate in part, because she seems to keep her interactions with Addy relatively less separate than her interactions with others. Like Will, Probably the squad girls too, I think she has them over to her place a bit more in the book than on the show. 

I still think the crux of the relationship is the same for TV!Addy as well as book!Addy. I think it’s mostly that the homoerotic subtext has been elevated, rather than the relationship itself that’s changed. And that we get a different view of that relationship as it builds and unfolds, because we get to see it without exclusive Addy goggles. And maybe they are somewhat closer in the show, because Colette spends more solo time with Addy.

tl:dr; I don’t really think anything’s changed about the relationship itself, but more so the presentation of it and translation of that relationship to screen. Except that TV!Colette is potentially an even bolder, better manipulator than book!Colette and more willing to be inappropriate with Addy to keep Addy close to her. I also think the homoerotic subtext is intensified, because TV!Colette spends more time one-on-one with Addy, while book!Colette spends more time with Addy and Will, and the squad girls at the house parties. I don’t think any of Colette’s motivation is different, however. But again, YMMV! All of the above is just my personal take, and I started to ramble and repeat myself halfway through, probably. 

[leadflowers]

VTMB OC Meme

I decided to repost this VTMB OC meme by denerims as its own separate post instead of a reblog. Because it’s so long, most of it will be under a cut.

These are my Bloodlines fledglings only; I have loads more VTM OCs but this would quickly become quite unmanageable if I added them all :P

Ahem. Without further ado…

🌹 What clan do they belong to and how do they feel about them?

Emily Belmont - Clan Toreador. Embraced for her looks more than anything else, she feels a bit inadequate compared to the talented artists and visionaries of the Clan. She is generally well-liked among the other Toreador, although she tends to get taken advantage of due to her naivete.

Kate Murray - Clan Tremere. Embraced outside the Pyramid, Kate is determined to earn her way in and gain access to the Clan’s arcane secrets and valuable resources. Distrusted by most for her unorthodox nature, Primogen Strauss is a mentor of sorts, even if they differ greatly in their attitude towards modern technology.

Danniella Drake, aka Dany, Dee, D. - Clan Ventrue. In life an aspiring politician with lofty ambitions, not much has changed since her Embrace. Loyal but arrogant, generous to her allies and utterly ruthless to her enemies, Dee feels she was born to rule and is quite at home among the Ventrue. Of course, an ambitious upstart is as likely to make enemies as she is to gain friends…

Wilhelmina “Mina” Ellicott - Clan Nosferatu. A former British socialite and beauty queen, Mina’s Embrace into the Nosferatu clan was a veritable fall from grace, forced upon her by a vengeful Sewer Rat whom she viciously mocked, taking him for a vagrant. She loathes them and they aren’t fond of her either, so she keeps to herself.

🎹 Do they have any special talents or skills?

Emily: Although she has a pleasant voice and was working as a singer in a seedy bar at the time of her Embrace, Emily also has a BA in English.

Kate: A computer science student and a recently Awakened mage before her Embrace, Kate combines tech savviness with a growing knowledge of Blood Magic.

Dany: Decisive, persuasive, intimidating when she wants to be, Dee is good at making tough choices for “the greater good”.

Mina: A spoiled girl who spent her former life travelling and partying, Mina never bothered developing many useful skills; hard work is for the poor after all. She is good at reading people, however.

🌃 Where are they from and where do they live now?

Emily: Actually from LA, and is still living there.

Kate: Oregon, currently living at the Los Angeles Chantry.

Dany: Washington DC, at the moment looking to establish her own domain.

Mina: From England, was on a trip to the US when she ran afoul of her sire. She is drifting from place to place.

💢 What is their moral alignment?

Emily: Neutral Good

Kate: Chaotic Neutral

Dany: Starts out as Lawful Neutral, then slides towards Lawful Evil

Mina: Neutral Evil

👯‍♀️ Do they have any notable allies/friends?

Emily: Emily has several close acquaintances and is quite close to VV, a Toreador as soulful as she is who understands her desire to hold on to her humanity.

Kate: Regent Maximilian Strauss and Beckett as fellow scholars, Mitnick whom she can geek out with

Dany: Prince LaCroix (for now…)

Mina: Imalia, whom she sees as a kindred spirit of sorts.

💘 Do they have a romantic interest?

Emily: Heather Poe, her ghoul. (I made a drawing of them a while back. Incidentally that’s what Emily would look like if the game engine allowed it)

Kate: N/A

Dany: N/A

Mina: N/A

🏴 What are their allegiances? (Camarilla/Anarch/Independent/etc)

Emily: Anarchs

Kate: Camarilla/Strauss

Dany: Camarilla/LaCroix

Mina: Independent

🧛‍♀️ Do they have any preference regarding who they feed on/how they feed?

Emily: She prefers feeding from willing vessels, and Heather when possible (but not too often as not to harm her)

Kate: She likes taking as few risks as possible when feeding, but otherwise has no real preferences. Will prefer getting a bloodpack instead of going out to hunt if it means getting more research time in.

Dany: She doesn’t tell her specific blood preference to anyone, and is one of her carefully guarded secrets. Needless to say, she tries to ensure she has a steady supply of it.

Mina: She refuses to feed on rats and bums unless absolutely desperate, just like she avoids the sewers and prefers skulking around in a large hooded overcoat. She likes feeding from pretty people and making it unpleasant for them, out of spite.

⌛ When and how were they turned?

Emily: She was targeted by a romantic Old World vampire who said he reminded him of a Pre-Raphaelite painting. He visited her a few nights at the bar where she worked as a singer and lured her to a dingy motel room where they had sex and he turned her without her knowledge. (her story more or less follows the vanilla game intro)

Kate: Little did she know that she nearly became a Nosferatu when, following a clue left by her late grandfather, a mage, Kate hacked her way into a low security server hosted on SchreckNet and used by a group of young Tremere for the purposes of exchanging information. There she met her future sire who soon realised her arcane potential and decided to Embrace her. The Nosferatu were considering doing the same, impressed with her technical skills and wary of the risk she now posed to the Masquerade.

Dany: She was Embraced by an arrogant young Ventrue who watched her debates and how she handled her opponents, believing she would make a good addition to his power base. Foolishly, he believed he could conceal this from the Prince; he was wrong.

Mina: She was leaving an expensive club with her friends when she bumped into a shabby man whom she took for a vagrant. Disgusted, she complained loudly that his stink was now all over her expensive dress and that they really shouldn’t allow such filth to roam the streets in the nice part of town. Unfortunately for her, the “bum” was actually a Nosferatu who did not take kindly to the insults and decided to teach the rich bitch a lesson.  

🤝 What is their relationship with their sire like?

Emily: She only knew him briefly, but she was drawn to him and was shocked when she witnessed his execution. She retains a feeling of guilt over his death; if it hadn’t been for her, he would still be alive…

Kate: She feels what happened to her sire was unfair, although she is aware that he knowingly violated Kindred law, so it was his fault too. She hardly knew him, so she cannot say she had a strong attachment to him, though she wishes he were still alive, and that she’d been properly inducted into the Pyramid without having to fight for the privilege.

Dany: She thinks he was a fool, although she is grateful for the opportunity his actions, misguided as they were, have afforded her. Immortality is an improvement on her previous condition, and she is determined to overcome her…less than auspicious beginning.

Mina: She absolutely loathes him and watched with glee as his head was separated from his body. At least she got that bit of revenge over the bastard.

🖤 How do they feel about being turned? (How did they adjust? Do they feel differently now than they did when they were first turned?)

Emily: She was crushed to find out she had been turned into a bloodsucking monster, but she has tried to adjust (with much difficulty). Heather’s presence has helped her experience a counterfeit sort of humanity, the two of them entering a co-dependent relationship which Emily clings to for comfort. Although she knows Heather’s feelings are influenced by the Blood Bond, her own love for her clouds her judgement.

Kate: She hated the idea of losing her life at first, the future she had all planned out, but soon consoled herself with the prospect of an eternity spent unravelling the secrets of the Tremere Clan and beyond. For a consummate scholar like her, the possibilities seem endless.

Dany: She took it in her stride, and in fact being Embraced into the Clan of Kings only served to cement her belief that she was meant to accomplish great things; greater now than she ever dreamed possible. This was fate.

Mina: Losing her looks, which she valued above all else and underpinned her identity was agonizing for Mina. At first, she refused to come out of her warren until driven by hunger. It is still immensely difficult for her to accept that she is hideous, reviled. Never a particularly nice person, the Embrace has brought out a cruel, vengeful streak in her and she delights in petty schemes and revenge.

💉 Have they sired anyone? If so - why, how and did they claim their childe?

None of them have any childer, although Emily dreams of Embracing Heather one day.

👷🏻‍♂️ What are their opinions on mortals?

Emily: She is determined to avoid slipping into a “predatory” mindset like many of her peers and see them as cattle, which isn’t easy to do given her appetites.

Kate: Always a bit of an intellectual snob, that sense of superiority has increased since her Embrace. She won’t go out of her way to be cruel, but she can’t help seeing their fragility and their limitations, compared with the power and intellectual prowess of an Elder Kindred (which she aspires to becoming one day)

Dany: Most of them are of little consequence, although a few have their uses and a small minority are deserving of respect.

Mina: She hates them for their ability to walk freely in public, without inspiring fear and disgust. She especially hates good looking humans who remind her most of what she has lost.

👑 What is their opinion on the Camarilla?

Emily: Opposing it felt a bit like opposing her government, so for a while she was willing to accept the status quo, and not make waves. She wasn’t blind to their abuses, however, and wanted no part of that.

Kate: She approves of some members of the Camarilla but not others. Overall, she thinks it makes sense as an organization, Kindred needing laws and an organised society to keep them safe, but some of the blatant power plays and injustices she observed left a sour taste in her mouth. She doesn’t care much for politics either way, her focus is her research.

Dany: A staunch supporter of the Camarilla and the Masquerade, she firmly believes that law and order are a Kindred’s best friend, and that the Ventrue are best suited to enforce said laws.

Mina: She doesn’t care either way; supposedly the Camarilla value Nosferatu as informants and spies, but she’s isn’t good at either of those things so she’s not counting on any protection from them.

💥 The Anarchs?

Emily:  The Anarchs provided more equality as well as freedom than the Camarilla did, who just treated her as a lowly pawn. She doesn’t really care about the politics or sparking a revolution, she just wants to live her life in peace.

Kate: Too, well, anarchistic and idealistic. If history taught her anything, is that people will always seek power, power breeds more power and Kindred are no different. The pseudo-egalitarianism they espoused had been tried before in various forms, unsuccessfully.

Dany: Rabble, who endanger all their kind with their petty rebellions and lax adherence to the Masquerade, when they _should _be aiding the Camarilla against the Sabbat.

Mina: She doesn’t give a damn about their “grievances” or their conflict with the Camarilla. She has her own troubles, and it’s not like they give a crap, do they?

🧥 The Sabbat?

Emily: Absolutely terrifying, a mirror of her worst nightmare, of what she could become if the Beast took over.

Kate: Unstable fanatics ruled by paranoid, superstitious Elders who see signs of Gehenna everywhere, although most just seem to enjoy mayhem for the sake of it. If left unchecked, they could bring about the end of their kind, not because of some Ancient awakening to devour them all but because humans would come after them with explosives and flamethrowers.

Dany: The Enemy, which must be destroyed. No mercy shall be granted them.

Mina: Sometimes she is vaguely tempted to defect; then she could cause some real damage to assholes like her late sire and kill uppity kine without restraint.

💞 Do they have any opinions on [particular clan]?

Emily: All clans have their good and bad sides, as far as she’s concerned, but she will admit she feels uncomfortable around the Nosferatu; not because of how they look, but because most of them treat her with thinly veiled hostility (and sometimes they omit the veil altogether).

Kate: She appreciates intriguing, clever, well-educated individuals regardless of clan; for example, she respects Beckett as a scholar and enjoys geeking out with Mitnick.

Dany: She believes in the superiority of the Ventrue but in general is willing to listen to others regardless of clan, if they have proven their worth and loyalty. Disloyalty, on the other hand, (towards her or the Camarilla) is something she does not tolerate.

Mina: Needless to say, she is not fond of the “pretty bloodsuckers” of the Toreador clan, although that dislike extends to attractive members of other clans as well. On the other hand, she doesn’t particularly care for the company of her fellow Nosferatu either; too confronting.

⛪ Do they practice or believe in a religion? (Kindred or mortal)

None of them were religious in life, and they carried that lack of belief in the unlife.

🌎 Do they try to retain any part of their humanity?

Emily: Very much so, to the point of self-deception. Heather is her main tether to humanity, her ghoul and lover, bound to her but having a powerful hold on her in return. She mourns her lost humanity which makes her seem weak in the eyes of other Kindred, but when roused she will fight tooth and nail.

Kate: To some degree, yes. She has no intention of giving in to the Beast any more than she has to, but also understands that the pursuit of knowledge and arcane power sometimes involves some…unsavoury practices.

Dany: The Beast must be kept in check, of course; that is vital for any sensible Kindred’s longterm survival. That being said, difficult decisions must be made, traitors punished and sometimes that involves collateral damage. All for the good of the Camarilla, and the Masquerade.

Mina: Humanity? You mean what was stolen from her by that filthy bastard they called her sire? Well, if they made her into a hideous monster, she might as well behave like one…but the truth is, Mina fears the Beast. Accustomed to pulling everyone’s strings, she now feels powerless; the idea of losing what little control she has is not exactly attractive. So she does exercise some restraint.

🚫 Have they ever broken one of the Traditions? (This is includes the Masquerade)

No, not so far anyway. :P

[rokutouxei]

unfaithful

mystic messenger unrequited (?) 707/MC, Jumin/MC route | hurt/comfort, angst, smut | 3336 | [ao3] warnings: EXPLICIT, tw: cheating, spoilers: 707′s name disclaimer: i don’t intend to romanticize their behaviors at all. so, as a reader, please don’t romanticize what they’re doing too.

It was bad enough that Jumin hadn’t been returning your calls or messages for the past week. But to top it off with one of the biggest Korean tabloids plastering an image of your husband holding hands with another woman as he’s on an international business trip—one that would last a whole month?

You didn’t know what to do.

You decided to have faith in Jumin, like you promised him you would. That you would understand if he had long business trips, if he couldn’t stay by your side as much as another man probably could. You had talked all about this before the two of you got married. You’d both settled it well like adults, literally the only thing missing would have been a contract to really finalize the deal.

You sent him messages. [Text me when you have free time!] Not that he ever did, not without you prodding him to. When he’s really busy, when he’s in the zone, he’s rarely the first one to send a message. You set that aside. [Who are you with today? I hope meetings go well!] You try your best to be as patient, as understanding, as ideal of a wife as you can be.

But you’re only human.

It’s been six months since the grueling start of the complex, international trade deal that had shaken C&R. It was a good connection; something that, in Jumin’s words, “would dramatically increase and aid in the development of C&R as a national and potentially international business success”. This is why Jumin had taken the entire dealership into his hands. Six months of traveling out of Korea to settle deals and other contracts with international partners and clients.

He’s only been home for a non-consecutive 2 weeks since the year started. The penthouse is empty with only you and Elizabeth the 3rd.

The first one you call is Seven. You’ve considered the other four members of the RFA as your best friends (you’re not as close to V, as much as you wished), but Seven has always been especially close to your heart. The two of you vibed really well, jamming together with your bad, nerdy jokes and hanging out a lot.

When your husband refuses to respond to your calls, you’re glad when Seven answers.

Jumin hasn’t put it into words, but you know he doesn’t like it when you hang out with the other RFA men on your own. So you invite Zen, too. That first dreadful week, it’s the three of you who end up in a dimly lit bar in one of the busiest streets downtown, sharing bottles of beer (and juice for Seven, because he “doesn’t drink”).

You try not to cry, but you’re already on the verge of tears. “I just, I don’t know what to think of it. I’d like to think he isn’t that careless to get caught!” You say, sarcasm dripping in your voice.

Zen has a hand on your back and a soothing, comforting voice. He mirrors your anger; comfort that you need. “That Jumin Han… thinking he can get away with this.” He rubs calming circles on your shaking back.

“I don’t even know who that is, but the tabloid blew it up so hard, and now everyone is talking about it,” you whimper. “I said I’d ignore it, but I see it everywhere. It’s like, ‘Hello, I’m his wife, I’m right here!’ I haven’t even talked about it with him, and yet the whole of Korea is already up in flames about it.”

Seven runs his thumb over the back of your hand. “It could have been nothing, yanno,” he reasons out. “A clingy, touchy colleague. You know those kinds.”

“He’s married,” you groan. “She’s holding the hand with our ring on it!” The tears are waterfalls now, and they drip on the shiny glass bar where you guys are seated. You wonder what you’d done to deserve this. “He’s not telling me anything. I haven’t talked to him in a week. I don’t know what’s happening. If I hadn’t seen that headline--those photos--I would have assumed him dead.”

“When does he come home?” Zen asks, taking a swig of his beer.

Seven does the math. “Three more weeks?”

You lean your head against Seven’s shoulder and sob. “Seven, Zen, have I not been a good enough wife? Have I not been enough for Jumin, after all this time?”

“Oh, babe,” Seven sighs, gently patting your head. “You’ve always been enough. Please don’t ever think that.”

But you do. You do it all the time.

It’s hard not to, honestly. You know Jumin does his best to make you feel loved and welcomed and part of his world, but you come from completely different social classes to begin with. You grew up and lived with different rules, different functions, different expectations. It’s not like you can go around ignoring what other people say about the two of you. You’ve heard it all: “lowlife”, “gold digger”, “user”, “manipulator”—you’ve gotten so used to it you barely flinch any more.

But they still sting.

You’ve watched enough dramas to know the type of girl that suits Jumin—maybe someone who is into business as well, someone who grew up affluent, who knows what to do with this much money and wealth, someone who doesn’t sit and keep the house. You know he needs someone who can keep up with him.

You want to be someone who can keep up with him. But no matter how hard you keep chase, it’s like you never really reach that “ideal girl for Jumin” in your head.

You know Jumin loves you. You like to think he does. Even when he’s busy. Especially when he’s busy. He said it himself—he’s not choosing to ignore you, it’s just that the things he has to do in order to make sure you’re happy, and everyone else around him is successful, sometimes he has to do while spending time away from you.

You try your best to be the ever-accepting, ever loving wife.

You try.

It’s the second, nearing third week since Jumin has last answered your messages. You’d invited everyone out. It’s a weekend. But Jaehee is busy, covering for Jumin for C&R, and the work never ends. It’s Yoosung’s first day at this animal volunteer center, and he can’t miss it. Zen has rehearsals, and being the lead man, he can’t easily skip out of it, much as he wanted to. It was only you and Seven. The two of you meet at an arcade, and decide to spend the afternoon trying to beat each other in all the different racing games. You won the last two rounds, but you know it’s because Seven went easy on you.

How you winded up in Seven’s apartment is lost to history. Somewhere between “I don’t want to go home in that empty penthouse yet” and “Maybe we should watch a movie? Something long that’ll keep you distracted?”, you ended up in the back of his red Ferrari going double the speed limit to his bunker on the outskirts of town.

Seven pulls out his sofa into a bed, and throws in two blankets and four pillows for good measure. He lends you a pair of pyjamas to change into—“that dress is pretty, but that’s not comfortable for a movie night that’s for sure!”—and as you get dressed, it takes him no more than 15 minutes to prepare a large monitor to watch Pacific Rim in.  

You lay down huddled in blankets next to each other, Seven humming an excited tune as the movie begins. It’s one of his favorite movies, he says, makes him feel brave and strong. When the protagonists suffer the first blow, you instinctively reach out to hold Seven’s hand; he gently places his other hand on yours comfortingly. The little child hides behind a large rubbish bin, and you cling to Seven’s arm in near-tears. “Will she make it?” you ask yourself, will I make it? Will I make it? Will I make it?

You don’t even realize you’re crying until you feel the warm touch of Seven’s lips against your forehead. And you don’t know what comes over you, but the instinct is loud, and simple, and sudden. With one fisted hand you pull Seven’s collar towards you and kiss him flat on the mouth; his lips part open in a gasp and you take it as an invitation; you slide your tongue into his mouth, hot and constricting. You swallow the moan that leaves his throat.

When the two of you part, he is panting and so are you. “Uhm—"

“Don’t ask,” you say, leaning your forehead against his, hot puffs of breath against his own shaking lips. “Just kiss me.”

He hesitates. Rightfully so. But it only takes a few heartbeats for him to change his mind, scooping you up into his arms, his hand against the back of your head as the two of you kiss.

You haven’t been kissed like this in months.

His mouth trails wet kisses down your jaw, down the side of your neck, and where his lips are it feels like burning. With Jumin, it’s always been warmth, and comfort, and belonging, but with Seven…with Seven something sears in your gut, like a wildfire. He pulls away from you just enough to tug you out of the shirt you are in, his shirt, his pair of pyjamas, his—and to lift your bra to cup your warm, soft breast against his hand.

Everywhere he touches he feels like he’s trespassed, but he’s waited so long and he can’t say no—

“Seven,” you croon out, as he kisses your bare shoulders, you know you shouldn’t, you know this isn’t what you came here for, all you wanted was a little—

He stops. “Saeyoung,” is what comes out of his mouth, and he whispers it against the skin of your neck. “My name is Saeyoung. Call me that.”

The taste of his secret is bitter on your lips, but sweet in your loneliness. “Saeyoung,” you breathe out, and he presses his fangs on your pulse. You don’t see him but you can feel his predatory gaze, his pupils blown wide. “No! Don’t bite.”

“I won’t,” he says, only grazes his sharp canines along your neck—just enough for you to feel it, to feel your pulse racing because you know this is not what you should be doing.

But you let him anyway, with every fiery touch you chase the cold of the loneliness away. Seven—Saeyoung presses light kisses along your neck, but you can feel their hunger, just barely holding back.

You don’t know when you start crying, but your cheeks are wet and your eyes sting. You chant his name—Saeyoung, Saeyoung, Saeyoung, your cries broken with tears and sobs as he makes his way down your body, his hands on your breasts, your ribs, the curve of your waist. He kisses right along the hem of the pajamas, asking permission, and you lift your hips just enough for him to pull everything down to your ankles. As he lifts himself up to pull off his own shirt, you kick off the rest of your clothes to the floor.

He presses his hands right above your knees and stops.

“Hey… are you… are you sure about this?”

You don’t have a drop of alcohol in you, but you’re drunk on his touch; every time his hands graze your skin you feel a little more intoxicated. You meet his eyes, molten gold with a heat that goes right through your skin, and nod.

“Please.”

You cry out when he finds his way to your thighs—his hands feel so different but they fill the empty gaping hole that Jumin left—and kisses the skin slowly, reverently, as if it was holy.

This is the first time Saeyoung has touched you like this, and he’s trembling a little but he doesn’t let that stop him. He doesn’t force you pliant against the sheets, doesn’t go and claim you as his own. No, this—this whole thing, this was for you, he was only the warm body closest, most eager, most available. He eats you out like a man starved; his nose pressed against your pubic bone as he teases every sensitive part of you. He proves to be a fast learner, figures out how you like your clit laved with his tongue, accentuated with shallow licks to the rest of your slit.

“Fuuuuuuck,” you groan out.

When he looks up at you, you look absolutely wrecked. Eyes at half mast, tear trails running down your cheeks, mouth open. You’re holding on to the sofa with a vicelike grip and cry out when he pumps his first finger into you, one knuckle, two, and you’re doing your best not to grind your hips against his face. He pulls his finger out and presses in two, gently prodding, and then you shriek as he touches something electric. He holds your thighs down with his other arm, keeping you in place as he works you through a rising orgasm—he whispers “come, come on,” with his tongue against your clit and come you do, crying out in halted, high-pitched whines as your muscles spasm and the feeling of release washes over you like a tide rolling in.

And so he lets go, watching as you relax back into the sofa, sniffling and sighing at the same time. You uncurl your fists from the mattress, brush your hair out of your face, and close your eyes.

“You okay?” he asks, hesitantly, not really knowing how to talk about this, but he can’t say the regret has settled in quite yet. Awkwardly, with his boner tenting his pants, he sits by your legs and waits for what’s to happen.

For what to do next.

You gingerly get up to a sitting position, your heart still loud like a drum against your chest. You look at Saeyoung carefully, his mussed hair, his obvious erection, the way his eyes look so dark but the most alluring shade of gold, framed by his red, red hair.

You crawl towards him, and you watch as his adam’s apple bobs in his throat when he swallows.

You wonder what he’s thinking right now.

Saeyoung doesn’t flinch when you reach out, just watches as you put your arms around his neck, and press his lips against his. A soft kiss, almost shy, nearly chaste; but then you slip your tongue in his mouth and you swallow the moan that drawls out of his throat. His fingers weave into your hair, pulling gently, and you sigh into his kiss.

When you part just enough to take a breath, he looks into your eyes as if making sure. And you’re sure. In this moment, right now, this is all you’re sure of. Saeyoung is all you’re sure of.

So when he pulls you into another kiss, you don’t hesitate to drag your hands against the hardness of his cock, dragging the fabric of his pants against the sensitive spots. He nearly chokes in surprise at the action, but he doesn’t pull away, doesn’t flinch, doesn’t falter. You pump him through his clothes until you’re sure he’s as hard as he can get. You push one palm flush against his chest, just enough to get his attention.

Your lips let out one word that makes him hot all over. “Off.”

Yes ma’am, you hear him whisper under his breath, as he stands up and fumbles with his belt and his zipper. The pants fall to the floor with a clink of his belt and the boxers soon follow. You only have a moment to admire his fully naked form, the first time you’ve ever seen him this bare, before he’s back on the sofa bed and he pulls you up against his lap.

The two of you sit there for a moment, just watching each other for any sign of breaking. Any moment now you feel like he’ll tell you to stop, tell you that this isn’t right, tell you that you should stop. This is a wind-up ticking time bomb and you’re waiting for everything to burst.

But then you feel his arms around your waist pulling you closer to him and you let go.

“Please,” you ask him, again, your lips kiss-swollen, your eyes still glassy with tears. “Have me.”

“I don’t—” he swallows, again—“I don’t have… condoms.”

You shake your head. “Neither do I. I don’t care. Please,” you say. “For me.”

And the thing is, he can’t say no when he’s loved you all this time—

His arms are broad in a way different to Jumin’s; you relish in the muscle hiding underneath the skin as you cling on to him. He fixes your positions on his lap as you align the head of his cock against your entrance, and slowly, slowly, almost agonizingly slow, you slide down against him. He doesn’t move—barely holding back a thrust, and you felt that—and so you go ahead at your own pace as you take him in inch by inch. You feel his grip tighten against your waist the deeper you go, and by the time he is fully sheathed in you all you can let out is a ragged breath.

He holds your thighs in his hands and presses a kiss to your forehead, a gesture so gentle that it makes something in you break.

“Relax,” he says, his voice low. “I got you.”

He starts to thrust into you, a slow pace that makes you feel dizzy. You wrap your arms around his neck and press your face against the crook of his neck. Your hot breath fans against the skin over his pulse and he shudders at the contact, thrusting a little too hard that it makes you cry out. Sorry, he mumbles, before readjusting. Your nails leave crescent-shaped marks against your back as he fucks you.

Feeling his own orgasm coming, he pulls your leg higher around his torso and tilts; your back hits the bed as he continues to thrust, the sound of skin on skin sloppy and loud. You let out a stilted “Ah, ah, ah, ah” as he pushes against you deeper, just enough for him to brush there. He hits a spot that makes you see stars, over, and over, and over again, your body electric, every single thrust is charged, and it makes you cry out—“Jumin!”—

And he doesn’t mind.

That’s the thing, he doesn’t mind, because he’s knowing he’s claiming things that aren’t his to begin with, so he just keeps going, going and going until your vision goes white, and everything collapses into a wave of an orgasm that leaves you boneless. “Inside me,” you gasp out just in time, as he follows soon after, his movements erratic and nearly primal. He bites his lower lip hard as he can when he does, doing his best to follow your request to not leave marks.

When he pulls out of you a different kind of emptiness floods you, and you lay there feeling like someone that could have been. Saeyoung is thorough as he cleans you up, and doesn’t ask any questions when after it all you only roll to one side of the bed, wordlessly pulling the blanket up your chin. He turns off the movie, turns off the lights, turns off his emotions, sets aside what has to be set aside; deals with the aftermath on his own, as you, exhausted, fall into a fitful sleep.

When morning dawns in the bunker, sunlight does not stream in the window warmly. There’s only cold walls, and Saeyoung’s glow-in-the-dark stars from the ceiling. You see Saeyoung’s jacket draped over your blanket. You hold this against your bare chest, think of Jumin, and cry.

[wickednerdery]

Title: FrostBitten: Keep a Cool Head Author: @wickednerdery Fandom: Marvel Pairing/character: Loki x Jotun!OC (& Reader) Rating: Mature Summary: “What the hell do you think you’re doing?!” Notes: This is a series/multi-chapter fic - Masterlist Here. Ulfr is a Frost Giant, more clearly so than Loki, and “played” by Lee Pace. This is mostly Loki and Ulfr, but the reader is mentioned, haha! The whole story in general is dark, this one’s mostly just angst, threats, and violence though…For consistency and length it gets a “Read More”.

Within the mirror dimension Strange easily stretches hours of practice into minutes and even then Ulfr presses the constraints of time. For once he works with single-minded focus, gives the doctor a student eager to learn. He pushes the limits of his own abilities and, in some ways, the sorcerer’s. Every second is worked with an intensity that unsettles; something’s changed, something’s affected Ulfr’s determination, and Dr Strange cannot be sure if it’ll be for better or worse.

“I think we’ve covered more than enough for tonight,” Strange cancels out the latest spell, much to Ulfr’s annoyance as it finally begins to work.

“I want a Sling-Ring.”

“No.”

There’s a low growl from the blue beast. “If you want it, I’m trapped here. I don’t like it. You claim using the ring is a basic step in magic, one of the first you learned, and now you’re denying me those lessons?”

“You don’t need it to achieve our goals.”

Ulfr moves closer, attempts to intimidate as he looks down. “I’m not a fool, I know you’re not teaching me anything that puts you, others, at risk should I betray you.” He forces a deep breath as the mirror dimension shivers. “But if something happens to you, here or elsewhere, I’m stuck with no means to carry out the plan. Not without a ring.”

Fractals of Loki appear just outside the dimension, both men curse. “I’ll consider it,” Strange yields, panic touching his voice as Loki speaks to, reaches out for, Ulfr’s illusion still in the chair. “For now, you must return.”

The force of sudden extraction unsettles Ulfr’s usual demeanor, puts him on edge in his own body, and he attacks on instinct. Grabs by the throat, slams with ice-cracking and wall-crushing ferocity, as he growls between deep blue lips.

Loki’s mouth snaps free of Ulfr’s icy hand. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?!”

He takes in the king’s Jotun appearance; red eyes and blue skin, ridges, contrasting black hair. It’s strange in its rarity to see Loki in his true form, even for him. Ulfr notes how the lines of his arm and hand seem to swallow up those on Loki’s throat and face. “Forgive me, my king.” Ulfr lets go, they both slip back to human form. “You startled me. Was there something you needed?”

Loki came in ready to rant, to take out terror and rage on his second-in-command, but the sudden aggression throws him. All the anger and fear shifts, twists into something far more dangerously calculated. “I’ve been thinking on the new girl.”

“Mmm...”

“Would you like her?”

“What do you mean?” There’s traps abound, Ulfr’s not answering until he’s sure.

“You know what I mean. I saw you looking at her, watching her on hands and knees before me. You wished it was you, yes?”

“I’d kill her.”

The smirk grows as Loki straightens, steps up until Ulfr steps back. “Since when has that stopped you in the past?” Eyes turn predatory, approach continues. “In fact, if I’d hazard a guess, it’s part of the pleasure for you, isn’t it? Pushing them, yourself, farther and farther until the inevitable happens? Until they break apart in your hands, around your cock.”

Ulfr reveals only a hint of wariness; he blocks the god from his thoughts, but not so much Loki sees it as an increase in abilities.

“How far do you think you can get with that bold little bitch you want so much?” Loki grins, finally starting to feel his new self - powerful, in control, a true king - once again. “Unless your feelings are more romantic than desirous...is that, Ulfr? Is it love?”

Another step forward from the king and calves hit the chair.

“No matter. If you don’t wish to have her, that’s fine. It was merely an offer, a show of appreciation for all you do.” Loki blows a chuckle in Ulfr’s face. “I’m sure the rest of the men will enjoy her, she’s hardly been used after all.”

“You’ve barely tried -” Ulfr cuts himself off.

The god ticks head, arches brows. “She’s mine to have and give as I choose.”

There’s no clear way out. Anything Ulfr does is going to lead to some kind of failure, someone’s pain. He contemplates the least abhorrent option. “True, your majesty, but...” he spreads a smile. “What would others think, you unable to cow one little Midgardian thrall? It doesn’t look good, people might lose faith in you.”

They both know who Ulfr’s referring to, though neither will say the name. Loki cannot bear to say it, can hardly bear to think it, and Ulfr knows he doesn’t need to. Thanos is there, always, even when he’s not.

“You’ve a valid point, Ulfr.” Loki smiles back. “We’ll break her, properly, tomorrow....or kill her, whichever comes first.”

“We?”

“Of course. You’ve been such a great help to me thus far, why wouldn’t you continue to be...You do wish to help your king, don’t you?”

“Yes.”

“Good.” Loki goes to turn away, before pausing and turning back. “One more thing, Ulfr.”

“Yes?”

His hand flies up, grips Ulfr’s throat and yanks him almost to his knees. “You touch me like that again, you touch me in public, I will cut off those Jotun hands of yours and use them as a new mantelpiece to rest my scepter upon.” Another harsh tug and Ulfr's kneeling. “Understood?”

“Yes, my king.”

“Good.” Loki forces himself into human form, though keeps his own brutal cold as he squeezes. “Now I suggest you practice controlling yourself or I’m sure tomorrow may well be the first and last time you touch that dear girl of yours.”

Ulfr nods, head still down, even after Loki releases him. He thinks of all the things he wants to do. Crush Loki’s throat, slam his head until brains splatter, throw him out the window. Make the false king weak and wailing and begging mercies. Ulfr’s mercies. He shakes in the thrill and bottled up rage of it.

At the door Loki suddenly stops, turns. “...Why were you sleeping in your chair?”

“I was trying to work on my body heat.” Ulfr glances up, gives a sheepish smile. “...But I guess I dozed off.”

Loki nods, takes in the thick layers of ice that surround them, and muses. “That poor girl, I feel bad for her already.”

The moment he’s alone Ulfr stands, laser-focus on where Loki last stood. His jaw clenches. The walls and ceiling grow slick, drip wet, as a puddle forms under Ulfr’s feet. Held breath releases in a growling-grunt as fists ball and fissures pop apart the glacier room.

Oh Loki...hope you enjoyed yourself because this is probably gonna bite you in the ass, haha! As you can see, Ulfr can be skilled in magic when he actually makes the effort, but he’s rarely made the effort before this, lol! (And, if curious, the last bit is meant to be akin to Loki magical rage-throwing furniture in his cell in Thor: Dark World.)

(Gif made by me via two gifs I found on Google.)

Tagged:  @welcome-to-fangirl-hell @chibiyanai @wadeyouwitch @creedslove @lady-crowned-with-stars @moonfaery @annievvv7  @ladyfluff @holykryptonitekitten @lokilvrr @janebrownnie @lokis-little-kitten @alexakeyloveloki @theangelsfightwithdevils @the-blue-tiefling @lokis-lady-death @dangertoozmanykids101 @prometheasmother @vethrvolnir  @wintertink  @amethyst-dreams-and-candy-canes @drakonwild @starscreamloki @helayes  @hiddles-rose  @the-lady-witchitery @galaxies-inside-my-head @jackheart180 ...Thinks that’s everyone, you want on the list, just lemme know!!

[kiruuuuu]

Bandit/Jäger oneshot in which Jäger is convinced that jerking off while wearing Bandit’s jacket is the best thing since sliced bread. (Rating E, explicit smut/eventual fluff, ~6k words) - written for @blitznbandit. Happy Birthday!! 💞💞

.

The music is loud enough to dampen all other sounds, the usual hard rock Bandit favours, full of cheesy guitar riffs and dudes singing about all the things these kinds of dudes normally sing about – and yet Bandit’s voice easily pierces the cacophony despite being nothing more than a low purr: “I can’t take my eyes off you, you’re beautiful. I could do this all night.” One of his hands pushes under Jäger’s t-shirt, rubs over a nipple while the other continues to slowly but surely drive him insane, keeps the strokes slow. He knows exactly how Jäger likes it, massages the head and his balls now and then before his fist closes around the shaft once more to continue the teasing. They’re in a remarkably clean bathroom somewhere, probably a club, both of them sober but having made the decision to go pee at the same time? No, that’s right, Bandit dragged him here after undressing him with his eyes, couldn’t stand to be separated from him just a minute longer.

When Jäger throws his head back into the pillows at a particularly vicious throb of his rock hard erection, the headphones almost get pushed off his ears and so he has to momentarily withdraw his one hand to adjust them before he pushes it back under the jacket, the only piece of clothing he’s wearing right now. The rhythm of the song returns, resonating in his body, and he sinks back into his fantasy like a comfy blanket.

He was cold earlier, on the way to the club or pub or wherever they are, that’s why he’s wearing it. It fits him perfectly, the soft leather like a second skin and it smells like Bandit, too, dizzyingly so because Jäger’s toes curl every time he moves and catches a whiff of it. In a way, it’s like being hugged by Bandit constantly, and so his projection does, whispers more filth into Jäger’s ear as he proceeds to jerk him exactly how he likes it only now there’s an edge to his voice. He sounds strained and keeps glancing down, is clearly affected by what he sees and it won’t be long until he’s tired of waiting, until he turns Jäger around and fucks him, right then and there in the really quite clean bathroom, claims his body, moans into his ear as he thrusts into him and reaches around to continue -

Jäger gasps and lies to himself for a second, pretends he’ll go for another round if he finishes early but it’s only his impatience getting to him – this together with the mental image of Bandit losing control due to his unbearable desire is too much and he’s so close already. Breathing heavily, he forces his own hand away from his weeping dick and strokes his thigh instead, forces himself to wait a bit before he continues. In his mind, Bandit is teasing him, denying him his release so they can come simultaneously, telling him how good he feels as he keeps pushing into Jäger’s hole which is tingling pleasantly right now. Maybe he should go a step further today, he has enough time. It’s tempting.

For now, he has to pace himself. He could take a break and possibly dig up Bandit’s aftershave as well, change positions and reach a bit lower, to the place where his fingers are lazily trailing now, brushing over his scrotum, travelling further south. He decides to go for it but first, he needs lube, so he heaves a shaky sigh, opens his eyes and does not expect Bandit to just stand there two metres away, staring at him directly with a small, disbelieving grin on his lips and his phone in his hand.

The panic is instant and follows the second in which Jäger’s heart literally stops in horror because not only has he just been caught in the act of wanking on Bandit’s bed wearing nothing but his trademark jacket, no, he’s been caught by the devil himself. Before the consequences which undoubtedly await him register, he jerks upright into a sitting position, dumbly shielding his cock from view, and pushes the blasted headphones off. It’s not even the first time he got caught while wearing some, that’s the beauty of it, he really should’ve known better, learnt from his adolescence but he’s already defending himself from himself mentally, recalls the fact that Bandit wasn’t supposed to be in the base the entire day and yet the only thing he blurts out is a heartfelt: “Fuck.”

“Oh yeah”, Bandit agrees with him and lets his grin morph into the sleaziest smirk Jäger has ever seen, “you fucked up, babe. Big time. Normally I have to pay for a show like this.”

“Delete it”, Jäger demands with burning cheeks.

“Oh, they’re on my cloud now”, Bandit replies innocently while tapping away at his screen – at least his gaze isn’t focused on Jäger anymore.

“Delete it all, Dom.”

“Whoops, I sent them to myself via email.” His teammate wiggles his eyebrows at him. “What a shame, I deleted all my saved passwords from my phone. Even if you steal it, you won’t be able to access it to purge it all.”

Fuck, Jäger repeats in his head and frantically starts searching for an alternative. Have Mute hack Dom’s phone? Mute would probably save the incriminating evidence himself and blackmail Jäger with it in the future. Tell Blitz? Jäger would rather give up his mortal soul than admit to what he’s done. As terrifying as it sounds, Bandit himself seems to be his best shot. Or rather: the least worst. “Okay, look”, he begins and hates himself for how his voice cracks.

“Ready to bargain?”, Bandit guesses correctly with a wolfish grin. “That’s what I like to hear. What are you willing to do to make these oh so delicious photos disappear, hm?”

A dangerous question. An absolutely dodgy and perilous question, a slip-and-slide kind of question because Bandit grants him the option of proposing exceedingly desperate solutions which his teammate might not even have considered viable, discarding them because surely, Jäger would never. But right now, senses heightened due to the adrenaline spike resulting from the shock, skin tingling where Bandit’s gaze unapologetically rakes over it and mind still occupied with residues from his earlier fantasies, Jäger would. Oh would he ever. He looks at Bandit and pictures himself on his knees in front of him, for the first time in his life servicing another man and dear God this shouldn’t be turning him on so much. He bites his lip and remains silent, refuses to answer for fear of what might come out of his mouth.

“No offers? Alright, no problem. I actually have something in mind already.” Humming to himself, Bandit starts rummaging in his wardrobe as if finding one of his colleagues clearly masturbating to him was an everyday occurrence for which he’s perfectly prepared. Regardless of his mortification, Jäger is intrigued, his cock twitching in anticipation and his mind racing while trying to discern what it is Bandit has planned for him. It must be something filthy, maybe he’s going to torture Jäger with toys or maybe he’ll finally, finally go all the way. Not that he’s refused before seeing as Jäger never gave any indication on wanting it, but this would be the ultimate excuse. He can tell himself – and Bandit – he only gave in because he was blackmailed. Right? He’s chewing on his lip and tries not to let his excitement show on his face, not to let Bandit know how much he’s actually looking forward to whatever it is he’s going to do to him.

And then Bandit pulls something out of his closet and says: “Wear this.”

Jäger blinks. Looks at the outfit with an even expression and struggles to come up with a reply for a few seconds. Ignores Bandit’s predatory grin. He can’t be serious. “You can’t be serious. No fucking way.”

“Who do you think would appreciate the pictures the most? Elias? Maybe one of the girls?”

“You can’t make me put this on.”

“Oh, I can and I will. You break into my room, wear my jacket, choke the chicken on my bed and have the audacity to tell me you’re not going to do me this small favour?”

It’s – Jäger can’t do this, he’ll never be able to look into a mirror again. Mindlessly horny or not, there is a line and this is definitely crossing it, he’s fine with performing sexual favours for his own pleasure but this – this is too much. Why does Bandit even own one of these? “Over my dead body, Dom.”

Bandit’s grin widens. “Well, if you insist.” And Jäger is not sure whether he’s joking or not.

.

Two minutes later, Jäger is kneeling on Bandit’s bed, wearing every midlife crisis suffering pervert’s wet dream of a schoolgirl uniform and valiantly fighting the flush threatening to darken his cheeks. It’s a complete set together with thigh-high socks, a much too short skirt and even a loose tie over the tight blouse – and Jäger wants to die. As if him sporting this abomination of an outfit wasn’t bad enough already, Bandit’s devilishly pleased face only increases his embarrassment to a point where Jäger is this close to actually choosing literal death over this humiliation. Worryingly enough, his dick hasn’t received the memo it’s supposed to be disliking any of this and instead is straining against the underwear on which Bandit insisted. It’s too small and uncomfortable and Jäger rues the day he first laid eyes on Bandit because he’s the whole reason it’s come to any of this.

“Why do you have this”, he wants to know defeatedly. The clothes fit suspiciously well and the two of them are built very similarly, so -

“Shut up and spread your legs. You’re going to finish what you started earlier, only by my rules. How does that sound?” Bandit sits down on a chair he pulled towards the bed, not close enough to reach and yet entirely too close for comfort. His leather jacket is draped over the backrest and Jäger throws it a longing glance. He’d much rather wear it than this disaster.

Upon hearing Bandit’s plans for him, he can’t help but feel a pang of disappointment amid all the horror. He swallows his pride together with the that’s it? lying on his tongue and obliges, allows Bandit a better view and averts his gaze. He’s never done this, never dressed up and… performed for someone else’s viewing pleasure so he’s lost on what to do and how to do it. Arousal is still thrumming in his blood, convincing him to relax a little, give in, and yet he’s hesitant.

“You like this, don’t you?”, Bandit purrs and Jäger only just stops himself from nodding. “This is supposed to be a punishment though. You’ve been naughty, you dirty little slut.”

“Okay, no”, Jäger protests immediately in indignation, “I can – I can do what you asked, but that’s -”

“Fucking slut”, Bandit repeats with gusto and a triumphant grin. “My rules, don’t forget that. Besides, you were the one ready to nut all over my poor jacket. If you want me that bad, show me. Let me see how much you want this.”

Jäger remembers now why this is a bad idea: Bandit is going to be insufferable. Reluctantly, he lifts the edge of the skirt, revealing the outline of his erection which jumped happily at Bandit’s insults (something he’ll have to worry about later, now’s not the time). His teammate’s expression slips into self-satisfied and he stretches out on his chair in anticipation. “Lovely. Go ahead, then. Give me a show.”

With gritted teeth, Jäger pulls down the waistband of the panties, hooking them under his testicles and freeing his stiff member from its prison, and contemplates existence for a second. It’s entirely his own fault he’s here now, there’s no real denying it – he could’ve borrowed the jacket and none of this would’ve happened, he wouldn’t be wrapping his own fingers around his cock with Bandit watching intently. Somehow, it’s worse than being touched by him, he’d prefer Bandit using him instead of this where he himself is in control and has the illusion of agency. And despite the shock earlier, the tip is still sensitive to the touch, sends small electric shocks through his body on every light stroke.

He feels filthy, sullied purely by the fact that Bandit is watching him, that there’s an asymmetry between them: Jäger flushed, breathing unevenly and genitals exposed whereas Bandit is composed and fully dressed. It’s elating somehow, like being allowed something forbidden and so he tightens his grip and speeds up, even leans back and flips the skirt up so Bandit won’t bitch. He can’t lie to himself and pretend he’s simply jerking off like usual because he knows Bandit’s there even if he’s not looking at him and instead fixing his gaze on his own swollen dick, no, it’s completely different and… he can’t say he doesn’t like it.

“Were you thinking about me?”, Bandit asks innocently and Jäger loses his rhythm for a moment, glances up in disbelief. “Huh? Were you imagining my hands around your cock instead of your own?” He’s balancing his chair on two legs while regarding Jäger with a fond smile and in any other context it’d seem almost sweet – right now, it’s nothing but cheeky.

“I wasn’t -” He breaks off and gasps when the words finally register because oh yeah, it’s the logical conclusion from how Bandit found him, isn’t it? Therefore, Bandit now knows of his attraction, possibly guesses a crush and dear Lord. That’s not ideal, is it? He’ll shamelessly exploit his knowledge. Kind of like he is now.

“But you were. I didn’t know you liked me that much.”

“I don’t”, Jäger insists emphatically and vaguely panicked. Even after more than a year, Bandit still intimidates regularly him, his lack of conscience and overall callousness are alarming and the two of them clash now and then, neither of them ready to back down from an argument which often results in stony silence until they go drinking together and suddenly are best friends again. Bandit is fickle and vulgar and yet something about him appeals to Jäger, probably his softer side which surfaces rarely. He can be lovely and thoughtful and even compassionate, and thus Jäger’s mind wanders, conjures up situations where this complicated, complex man feels so drawn to him that his lust wins over common sense – and it’s fucking cliché, he knows that, as cheesy as it is improbable and so he’s ashamed to admit to his fantasies.

“No? You don’t?” Bandit acts surprised and for a moment, Jäger wants to trip his chair and send him flying. “If it’s not my charming personality, it must be my body. Right?” It warrants no answer and so Jäger simply concentrates on not coming too early – the temptation to end this as quickly as possible is strong, just like his desire, though he feels Bandit would make his dissatisfaction known in that case and he wants to avoid exactly that. “Maybe it helps you if I take off my clothes as well.”

Jäger stops moving his hand. While he’s frozen and simply staring at his erection framed by the pattered fabric of the skirt and the white lace, he hears rustling and feels his heart speed up. Slowly, he raises his gaze and is confronted with a flat belly first, then black ink on pale skin, meandering over pronounced muscles and distracting to a point where it takes Jäger several seconds to notice the dark metal. Jesus Christ. His shaft twitches in his fingers the moment he realises Bandit’s nipples are pierced and he watches, thunderstruck, as Bandit licks over the pad of his thumb and begins playing with one of the rings, his grin never once fading.

Holy hell. This is -

“Don’t fucking stop. You’re supposed to entertain me.” With a barely suppressed moan, Jäger resumes his strokes, drinks in the lithe body lounging in front of him and tries to picture the scene from outside – him in this ridiculous outfit, wanking to a half naked Bandit teasing himself. His eyes are drawn to Bandit’s crotch and find what they’re looking for, the outline of his boner visible even through the jeans and when he sees it strain upwards, he inhales sharply. “You want me to join you?”, Bandit questions him calmly and this time, Jäger gives a direct answer, nods eagerly and bites his lip when Bandit’s unoccupied hand starts unbuttoning his jeans. Excitement rises in him because even if he might not get to touch it, at least he’s going to see his dick and file the image away for later, for when he can ‘borrow’ the jacket maybe or find out where he buys his aftershave. He’s not obsessing about this. He’s not.

When Bandit pulls his erection out, Jäger’s first reaction is a bit underwhelming because hey, it’s a cock, very similar to his own, nothing he hasn’t seen before, only then his mind catches up that it’s Bandit’s and it’s in this state only because of him. Heat rises in him at this realisation and he subconsciously mirrors Bandit’s movements, slides his hand from the tip to the base a few times before going for shorter, faster motions which steal his breath away – though not nearly as much as the sight in front of him. He gets it now, gets the appeal of making someone else pleasure themselves. His eyes are glued to Bandit’s erect cock, to the wet head just as much as the long fingers massaging it, working the shaft, and yes. He likes this. It’s mutual, incredibly hot and relatively tame despite his costume. If this is all he’ll have to do, he’s more than fine with it.

“You’re enjoying this too fucking much”, Bandit pants, slightly shaken and not unaffected which intensifies the rush Jäger gets from all of this, “how about you put the ass in masturbate and finger yourself a bit?”

Well. So much for that. He halts for the nth time but is too far gone to stop touching himself entirely, strokes over the sensitive spot right below the head and moans involuntarily when he sees Bandit doing the same. “Can’t I just – ah – keep going like this?”

“Sluts don’t get to come from their dicks, sweetheart. Lube is in the drawer.”

When Jäger utters a breathy laugh at the blunt statement, Bandit’s serious façade crumbles and makes way for a short-lived genuine smile which usually shows when Jäger actually managed to amuse him and also destroys the illusion of a power imbalance momentarily. “I can’t do it the other way though”, he says as he crawls to the other side of the bed only to balk at the variety of items in Bandit’s bedside table. The skirt is brushing over his tip and he’s well aware of the view which he’s presenting to Bandit – butt raised in his direction – and yet can’t find the energy to care.

“So you’ve tried before?” Bandit sounds intrigued again and when Jäger shoots him a look and an affirmative though hesitant nod, the smile is gone, replaced by a fiery gaze and an expectant smirk. “How many can you fit in? Three? No, no, don’t take the panties off, just push them down and let me see.”

Jäger knows what he’s asking for and the thought causes all the embarrassment to return which vanished upon Bandit starting to jerk off as well. Uncertainly, he drags the underwear over his hips and shows his backside to his teammate, shuffle closer to the edge of the bed per Bandit’s instructions until his feet are dangling over it. He can only imagine what he must look like right now – basically offering himself, skirt riding up and barely covering his ass, white blouse flattering his narrow waist and thigh-high socks adorning his legs. The feeling of depravity returns once more because it’s a shameful pose, no matter how easily he relented. Without giving it too much thought, he flips the cap open and pours some lube into his hand, coats his fingers and reaches behind him.

“Just imagine it’s my fingers”, Bandit speaks up, voice thick. He seems to be enjoying himself if his laboured breathing is any indication, and so Jäger wastes no time and gingerly pushes one finger into himself, relaxes into it and tries to ignore his pose, him on his hands and knees just for Bandit. It helps to picture his object of desire behind him, pretend it’s him slowly working Jäger open, getting him ready for -

When he adds the second finger, his arm gives in and he buries his face in the blanket to muffle his moan because now he’s thinking of Bandit taking him again, the idea flighty and vague in his head yet oh so tempting. Bandit would claim him, show no mercy, lose himself and it’d be incredible. He can hear more rustling behind him, Bandit probably shuffling around on his seat, but the blood rushing in his ears is louder. It’s rare enough that he does this, breaches himself for the sake of mind-blowing pleasure, and now he’s showing it to Bandit of all people, his gaze setting him ablaze, mind running wild with hopeful thoughts.

“That’s right. Reach all the way inside. You look fucking amazing like this.” Jäger stifles another moan at the low rumble of Bandit’s voice and concentrates on the odd feeling his fingers are causing, not unpleasant but strange nonetheless. He hasn’t fully gotten used to it yet but inserts a third finger tentatively, stretches himself and feels his dick twitch in response. “You’re so eager. Do you do this often? Fantasise it’s my cock instead? I didn’t know you wanted me this badly, you little slut, you’d probably be happy choking on my dick, too.” Jäger is biting his lip once again, the words getting to him more than he’d like to admit. He feels like putty in Bandit’s hands, probably would obey his every order right now, especially if he were allowed to suck him off despite never have done so before. He’d find a way.

And then a hand comes down on his ass, hard. He jumps at the loud smack and it’s the shock more than actual hurt which causes it – Bandit is standing right behind him but Jäger can’t see because his face is still in the sheets and it’s the second time Bandit catches him unaware. “Take your fingers out”, he orders and Jäger does, slowly, leaves behind an odd, empty feeling, made even more vulnerable due to the fact that Bandit is this close now, can inspect it directly. “Do you want this instead?”

Before Jäger can ask, there’s something touching his backside, touching his hole and it’s blunt and hot and holy fucking Christ. It’s finally happening. He’s frozen, focuses on the silky smooth feel of Bandit’s shaft slowly rubbing up and down over his ring of muscle and has trouble breathing, clenches his fists, tries and fails not to tremble. “Huh? I can’t hear you. Do you want me to stick it in?” Jäger is tongue tied with how much he wants it, pushes against Bandit’s dick and is rewarded with another sharp slap to his ass which has him shy away. “As long as you don’t have a cock in your mouth, you can answer.”

Bandit leans over him for a moment and the next thing Jäger knows is an insistent tug at his throat, threatening to cut off his air and so he rises the more Bandit pulls on his tie, has it wrapped around one hand and drags Jäger so far up that he’s on his knees and fingertips now, wobbling unsteadily and eyes wide in alarm. He can still breathe shallowly and it doesn’t hurt but he doesn’t want to test his limits. “Marius, my dear friend and part-time slut, do you want me to fuck you right now or not?” Bandit sounds amused, as if he’s enjoying himself immensely.

“Yes”, Jäger whispers and sucks air in through his teeth when he feels Bandit’s thick head breaching him straightaway. His belly flutters and his mouth falls open at the intrusion, his ring of muscle pulsing around the shaft yet welcoming it easily due to the thorough preparation, and it’s – he feels it in his throat, every centimetre is like a landslide, fills him to the brim and makes him wonder how it’s possible for him to accommodate this much. He’s being complemented, becoming one with Bandit and despite the circumstances, it’s painfully intimate and causes a fuzzy, warm feeling to rise up in him. The pressure around his neck disappears once Bandit is buried fully in him and he sinks back down, pants against the sheets and experimentally squeezes around Bandit’s cock, relishes the sensation of it throbbing this deep. It feels even better than he thought it would.

“Fuck”, Bandit hoarsely voices all that Jäger can think right now as well, “oh fuck. You’re so tight. Oh my God.” Hands come to rest on Jäger’s hips, thumbs brushing over his lower back and Bandit withdraws, pushes back in and Jäger is lost to the world. It’s so different to anything he’s felt before, a much more fundamental pleasure, and he has to give himself up for it, trust Bandit to take care of him. His eyes fall shut and his toes curl during the next thrusts, still gentle, tentative, but then Bandit grabs the waistband of his skirt and starts dragging him to meet his movements as Jäger moans helplessly. Bandit’s earlier words come to mind for some reason – and right now, he admittedly does feel pretty slutty.

None of his wank fantasies could’ve held up to the real thing, it’s an odd mix of deliberate and wild, he’s being flooded with sensations yet they’re predictable to a certain point, reassuring and deeply satisfying. He rocks back into Bandit and his senses are being overloaded with intense lust, forcing moans out of his throat and making his thighs shiver – every thrust hits something inside him which makes him see stars, pushes him into the mattress as he just lies there and allows Bandit to take him apart without even considering touching himself. His dick is worryingly stiff and leaking copious amounts of precum, he’s never just dripped like this and yet it feels too good to end it this soon.

Curiosity and the need for a deeper connection win over his embarrassment and he props himself up on his lower arms, twists around so he can look at Bandit and has the sneaking suspicion he ends up gazing at him so lovingly and devotedly he must look like a newly deflowered virgin. He certainly still feels that fluttery thing in his stomach which probably also shows on his face, but Bandit doesn’t seem to mind his longing expression because he just flashes him an affectionate smile and starts petting him. Without interrupting his hard thrusts, he strokes over Jäger’s back, softly drags his nails over his scalp in a soothing gesture and brushes over his side before telling him: “You look so pretty like this.”

You too, Jäger thinks, flattered, and savours the view of all the intricate tattoos up close for a moment before a spike of pleasure makes him whine. Bandit’s eyes darken and he speeds up, reaches around Jäger’s body to jerk him to completion but slows down when Jäger asks him to wait. “Can we -”, he stops when Bandit bottoms out and has to take a deep breath before being able to continue, “- I want to… let me look at you.”

And Bandit returns his gaze, both fond and disarmed, before sighing and pulling out, making both of them groan. “Alright. Lie down.” He pats Jäger’s ass and removes the lacy underwear, crawls between his legs once Jäger has made himself comfortable on his back. Only now does he notice Bandit is actually wearing a condom, something which he didn’t feel before, and not for the first time is his mouth faster than his brain.

“Do you want to take that off?”

Bandit laughs in disbelief and scoots closer. “Are you fucking serious?” He slides back into Jäger and, once again, it’s entirely new since now they’re looking at each other, much closer than before and Jäger can’t help but feel up Bandit’s chest, trace the ink with his fingertips and pull lightly on one of the nipple rings while wrapping his legs around Bandit’s waist, barely taking notice of the long socks. “Looks like you really are a slut, you take my cock so willingly, you’re basically drawing me in yourself. How does it feel?” He thrusts deep and Jäger moans in response, arches his back and grips Bandit’s thighs. “Hm? How does my cock feel?”

He’s starting to get light-headed from the intensity of it, from finally being this close to Bandit, hearing him moan now and then, his features contorting in pleasure – he’s painfully attractive and simply looking at him sates a hunger inside Jäger of which he wasn’t aware previously. “It feels fucking amazing”, he replies quietly because it does but also because the smile he gets in return is blinding. He’s grinding against Bandit now, moving one of his hands to his own crotch to finish with Bandit fucking him what started as him being all alone.

“Yeah? You like it?”, Bandit wants to know and grins, satisfied, when Jäger just nods. “You look so cute, you know, like you can’t get enough. Maybe I’ll dress you up properly next time and fuck you so hard your mascara smudges.” For a moment, the image is in Jäger’s mind, him bouncing on Bandit’s dick in the same outfit as right now, nails and lips painted the same shade, and – and no, he can’t do that. He shakes his head slightly even as his hand speeds up, his muscles tensing. He realises with sudden clarity that he’s close, that he’s going to come with Bandit’s cock deep inside and Bandit looking down at him almost proudly and it’s all he ever wanted, even if he’s wearing a goddamn skirt. Every one of Bandit’s thrusts rock his whole body and he looks down to where they’re connected, can watch the shaft entering him over and over again and it feels so incredibly good.

“I’m gonna come”, he whispers and moans when his words earn him a brutal thrust which hits all the right spots, his hand tightening. “Oh fuck, Dom, I’m gonna -”

“Do it.”

And after Bandit has slammed into him a few more times, Jäger gets pushed over the edge, finally tips over into the promised land of sweet relief. Warmth spreads from his midsection, rushes down all the way into his toes, forces the air out of his lungs and has him curl up in bliss, disbelieving sounds falling from his lips as his dick pulses and spurts thick semen all over his clothes. It’s pure ecstasy, much more extreme than any orgasm he’s ever had before, shakes him to his core and leaves him quivering. Waves of pleasure muddle his brain so that he barely notices the gentle hand pushing his hair back and brushing over his eyebrows as he shudders and clamps down on Bandit’s erection.

While he coasts on the afterglow, slowly relaxing, loosening the death grip of his legs around Bandit and sinking back into the pillows, Bandit continues his affectionate ministrations, strokes his cheek, touches his parted lips, caresses his exposed throat and then massages his chest, digs his fingertips into his muscles and helps ground him, soothes his exhausted body. He stopped moving when Jäger came, displaying an impressive amount of patience and when he manages to open his eyes again, Bandit is regarding him almost victoriously. “Felt good?”, he asks.

Jäger just nods, still stunned, and when Bandit smiles yet again, he just – pulls him down and kisses him. Despite everything, they’ve barely touched the entire time so he’s starving for closer contact now, stretches towards Bandit and hums when he reciprocates, toys with his tongue and admits to himself that alright, maybe he does have a slight crush, but so what? Sure, maybe the target of his infatuation just made him wear this ludicrous costume and insists on calling him a slut but no one’s perfect, right? He’ll easily forgive Bandit everything as long as he won’t stop snogging him like this, thorough and filthy. Since Bandit hasn’t come yet, he pulls him in with his legs, rocks against him and moans into his mouth when Bandit understands and picks up where he left off, drives into Jäger and gasps when he clenches around him.

They never stop kissing until Bandit reaches his orgasm as well, one moment Jäger is sucking on his lower lip with abandon and the next Bandit tenses up and pants and groans against his neck, sheaths himself fully in Jäger and climaxes as well, body trembling under Jäger’s palms and cock throbbing. The sensation is addicting and part of Jäger wishes he’d gone bareback. Just so he can strike it off his bucket list, of course. For a few wonderful moments, it’s quiet, both of them concentrating on their breathing, Jäger basking in Bandit’s body heat, and then Bandit withdraws to tie off the condom and carelessly throw it to the floor. They look at each other, a little lost, and Jäger’s arms feel oddly empty all of a sudden.

“Can I take this off now?”, he eventually wants to know and Bandit chuckles.

“Sure. I’ll have to wash it anyway, you jizzed all over it.”

“I might regret the question”, Jäger responds as he’s unbuttoning the blouse, “but I just need to know: why do you own a schoolgirl outfit?”

“There’s a perfectly normal explanation. It was supposed to be Jackal’s Halloween costume but it was a little too short, so he gave it to me. I honestly didn’t think you’d be so into it, but here we are.”

“Here we are”, Jäger echoes and throws the second sock onto the floor. They look at each other again. “Are you going to delete the photos now?”

“Are you kidding? You jerking off in my jacket is the single hottest thing I’ve ever fucking seen, there’s no way I’m deleting anything. But there’s also no way I’m showing anyone else. That shit stays with me. It’s mine now.” Oh. Alright. If he puts it like that, Jäger supposes he’s fine with it. Mostly. It’d be even better if Bandit wrapped around him again but that’s probably asking too much – they’re done with each other now, it’s like a finished transaction. Both of them got out of it what they wanted. Right? “What were you listening to, actually?”

Jäger opens his mouth but Bandit is faster, snatches the player still attached to the headphones which were discarded on the bed and scrolls through the playlist. The more he sees, the higher his eyebrows rise. “This is all – you always complain when I put any of this on. Do you even like this music? Man, you really must have it bad for me, eh?”

It’s a joke. Both of them know it’s a joke and yet he can’t bring himself to laugh, can’t even pretend to find it funny and so he stays dead silent. Bandit fixes him with a level stare. “You’re fucking with me.”

There’s nothing he can say. He has no defence and so he remains mute.

Bandit lowers the music player and blinks at him, his expression unreadable. “I need a smoke”, he announces and gets up, probably flees and Jäger can’t blame him. After all, this is coming out of nowhere and there was no indication this meant anything. Despite the way they beamed at each other. Despite all the kisses. Just as suddenly, Bandit changes his mind and sits down again, drags Jäger closer and manhandles him onto his lap, embracing him and hissing: “Fuck. You goddamn idiot. Fucking talk to me. How did you think wanking in my bed would help you in any way?”

“I just -” He doesn’t know. In a weak attempt at being funny, he offers: “I mean, it kinda did.”

A huffed laugh and then Bandit is locking lips with him again and this time, both of them are fully aware of what it means. Jäger smiles into it, holds on to him and kisses back contentedly, satisfied with just staying like this for a few minutes, the warm, fluttering feeling returning to his stomach. “I didn’t know”, Bandit murmurs eventually and Jäger shakes his head gently.

“I didn’t tell you.”

“Does this mean I can officially call you my slut now?”

Jäger snorts and jabs him in the ribs. “Absolutely not.” Then, all of a sudden, a different thought occurs to him: “Did Jackal give you the panties as well?”

And, with a wide grin, Bandit says: “No, don’t worry. Those are just my own.”

[darkmindsthinktwistedthoughts]

Market in Details

This was a marvellous little prompt from @naiyabladesinger who wondered what it would be like to see our smooth operating warlord as an information broker in a modern au setting. It was fun to write. Hope you all enjoy - Aerion x

Warnings: Smooth operating darker Shingen. Shady dealings.

Masterlist

---

Market in Details

The room he was shown to was a balance of opulent period style and functionality. To the average person on the street, it looked like a comfortable reception room for an old house. To him, it looked like a very good magic trick.

He had been looking for months to find the root of the issues he had been put up against. All those loose ends cut just as he was about to close his hand around them, slipping through his fingers like water. It had started as an intriguing little game. Now it was just flat out frustrating.

When you deal in information the last thing you wanted was someone to beat you to the kill. It was common enough if you swam in ordinary circles, but he was not a small fish he was a shark. People went to him when they needed information to make things happen. It cut both ways, his information gained them their desired outcome and he gained wealth and protection.

Ever since he was a child watching his father working he was struck by a rather obvious thing. Information was everywhere and all of it was valuable. He became very good at reading people. Facial expressions, body language, tone and inflection in their voices. By the time he took over the family business, he had his own network of intel gathers positioned exactly where he needed them to be. Primed and set within his web to gather some of the biggest most lucrative bits of information he knew to be available.

---

“I have a question about some of this information.” Kaito said from the other desk in the office. He had been one of his father’s best men and he had kept him on so as to help with the filing systems.

“And what would that be?” His pen scratched across the papers in front of him as he answered.

“You aren’t stopping where your father did. You are gathering everything, and I mean everything right down to how often they change their socks at times.” Kaito sounded a little worried.

“There is no such thing as pointless information. Sometimes even the smallest and apparently insignificant detail can be the key to unlocking your desires.” His reply was cold but still, he did not stop. The paperwork was a shambles, the disorganisation of the information they had was a nightmare.

“Yes I understand but. Some of our clients will use this to bribe, blackmail and extort. And that would only be the beginning in some instances.” Kaito was a kind and honest man. It made him wonder how he even became connected with his family. His concern was justified and a voice inside him agreed with Kaito completely. But is was not that voice that ruled him at that time.

“And that would be for them to decide. I am merely providing a service. What the client chooses to do with the information acquired is on them not me.” The arrogance in his own voice even in a memory stung.

---

That whole conversation had been so long ago it was like it had happened with a completely different person. He had been young and ambitious. After seeing his father pushed out of work he had vowed to make it so it wouldn’t happen again. How much of himself had he ignored that day? How much had that small seed of darkness, the anger, and fear, taken from him as it grew before he found a way to keep it in check?

He was not the man he was when he was younger. He was established now. The work he did was sought after and highly valued. It gained him what he desired and although he could never relax he could revert to something close to what he really was. Behind the mask he had worn, all that armour he created for himself he was still that curious little boy. He was happy to watch people and talk to them. He missed the human connection. He saw it, but he hadn’t felt it since he took over the company.

It seemed silly to say he longed for a simpler time where he followed the same path his father had taken. He might have found a nice girl and settled down and been happy with a family of his own by now. But he remembered when his father had lost most of what he had set up. The look of pain on his face as he told staff they were being paid off. It had angered him and he held on to that making a promise that it would not happen again and he would regain everything his father had lost that day.

When he was younger that kept him going it gave him focus but now he was older he seemed to have matured. Kaito had said before he left for his retirement that he was happy to see the boy he remembered once more. It had touched him because he knew what the old man had meant. He was no longer feeding off a dark energy within like before. He had grown past it. He couldn’t deny that it was still there but he was less focused on that and had turned his mind to maintaining the business without pushing it further. He was content.

That was what he thought up until a few months ago when it happened.

---

It was a quiet day nothing out of the ordinary. He had a meeting with the subordinate of a new client who was interested in acquiring his services but requested a meeting beforehand. He was not aware of anyone seeking out another company once deciding to meet with him. He found it interesting that they would send a lackey to negotiate terms and conditions. Not a lot of people locally traded like he did, and his was the biggest network. However, his natural curiosity won out and he agreed to the meeting at a small hotel that rented conference rooms.

“You are an information broker?” The slender man sitting at the pine table in the room enquired. The man was smartly dressed in a new business suit that looked to be right off the rack, a few sheets of paper in front of him. Smiling he took a seat opposite.

“I always preferred the term information specialist.” He noticed the man shift his gaze with a predictable question, ‘what makes you different?’. “You see while others provide information gathered from standard sources, those publicly accessible databases of stored snippets of interesting information that benefits everything from stocking your local shop with the correct items to increase turnover, to predicting where the flop of a hand will fall during those discussions around a table with your shareholders. I don’t just stop there. While it is arduous and time-consuming to just trawl through data it is also something that any broker can do.” Smiling he kept his own body language as open as he dared mirroring the client’s employee. It was the easiest and fastest way to gain someone’s trust. He was a master at the sales pitch, and this was his prime time slot.

“When you say you don’t stop there? Exactly what do you mean?” There was a hint of suspicion in the man's voice. It was clear he was uncomfortable but trying to hold his nerve and see the task through to the end for his employer.

If He hadn’t already investigated the man’s employer he might have been a lot less forthcoming with his reply. After all his protection could only help him as long as he didn’t create a direct confession that could be submitted as evidence.

“That is easy. Do you know the biggest and best source of information out there is not something correlated on a compiling system given access to by anyone with a set of eyes and a basic level of understanding? It is people. The information is all in the people.” He paused for a bit of dramatic effect allowing the words to sink in. “I specialise in that. Do you want to know what Mr. X was up to last night? I can tell you what he had for his dinner, what time he went to the toilet and who he made a phone call too. Do you want to know who has access to a computer system? I can tell you their choice of outfit that day, who forgot to brush their hair and who takes sugar in their tea. You want to know where a stockpile of armour and weapons is and who you have to contact to negotiate a deal? I can tell you his asking price, who else he is trading with and what type of movie he prefers all before I have finished my morning coffee. I can get you information not found on any database. I can provide you with photographs, transcripts, recordings... you only have to name it. Information is knowledge and that is power.” Yes, he knew the value in even the smallest insignificant detail when it came to deals and transactions. He saw it clearly when he was a child and built on it.

“At what price?” The man opposite grabbed a glass of water from beside him in an attempt to hide how uncomfortable he was.

“Oh, that is the golden phrase. What is the price? You are of course completely right you see everything and I do mean everything has a price. The only question is do you have the ability to pay it?” The smile on his face was fearless, predatory he could see the man in front of him move. It was not a task he had signed up for to be in a room with a dealer like him that was all too clear. The conversation should have won him the contract. It should have... but what happened next was not something he had predicted at all.

“Thank you for your time Mr. Takeda. My Employer shall be in touch after we have compared your quote with the other firm.” The slender man shuffled the papers back into a briefcase he took from beside his chair.

“Other firm?” His voice hid his shock beautifully. It had been a long time since someone had made him feel like the air had been removed from his lungs. Flashes of his father sprouting up rather unhelpfully in his mind.

“Yes. Being a shrewd businessman yourself I’m sure you can appreciate that from a business point of view it makes sense to consult more than one specialist and ensure the necessary work be carried out at the best price.” The man before him smiled blissfully unaware of what his words had triggered in his mind.

“Naturally. Thank you for your time, I'll see myself out.” Standing from the table he moved to the door and lobby beyond. To anyone else looking they would see a nonchalant man smiling after a successful meeting. The truth was Shingen Takeda was not a happy man.

---

Arriving back at his own office he received word that the client had taken the opportunity of employing the other firm. Other firm? It had been years since he had been passed over in preference of another company. It had maybe made him a little too complacent but now he wanted something. He wanted details. Who were they? What did they do? Where did they come from? After a few short emails and phone calls, he cast his net into the city and waited for the information to flow in.

---

Nothing. Complete radio silence on anything involving the other firm. The only thing that happened was he lost more clients. Whilst he still remained the largest information broker in the city he was becoming annoyed at fighting shadows. It was not something he was happy doing. He liked to see the faces of the ones he was at war with. Knowing your enemy was one strategy he had used in the past thanks to his reading of Sun Tzu, and it had served him well. But it appeared his opponent had employed a lesson from the same book, all warfare is based on deception.

He was coming up with shadows and whispers on the wind. Nothing concrete, nothing helpful. It was frustrating and made his blood boil. Nothing was distracting him now. The women he usually turned too in times like this were not able to distract his mind. Their touches nothing more than meaningless gestures. There was no thrill, no excitement. The food he ate tasted bland, even his beloved sweets were sour. Everything was wrong.

It occurred to him one morning as he was getting dressed that what he felt wasn’t exactly anger. It was not as tangible as that. Somewhere between the frustration and the agitated raw emotions stemming from that day when he lost his first client in years, he had begun to enjoy it.

No one had challenged him like this before. That was why his usual entertainments hadn’t captivated his interest, this battle was already doing it. He was lost to it. His beloved pursuit of information and knowledge had gripped him in a way nothing else had. He wanted to know who it was behind the smoke and shadows. But now he also wanted to see who was pulling his own strings too.

---

So that was how he came to be at this property. It was in the oldest part of the city where the buildings were still ornately built in carved stone. The rooms were large but full of character and history. The blend between the modern and the old was subtle and comforting. It was so easy to go too far with it and leave a place feeling lacking in some way. Yes, this was definitely a reception room of someone who understood more than basic levels of things. Shingen smiled to himself as he took a seat and waited for the secretary that had greeted him at the door to return.

He unfolded the note he had received at his office. “A little bird told me you are looking for me.” On the back of the note was an address. It crossed his mind it was a trap but after arranging a few things that would be triggered in the event of anything happening to him he decided to try his luck. There was nothing before this and if this was the one he was looking for, the boss of the other firm. Well, he might not be given another opportunity to meet them.

It was peaceful but he could feel the tension build in his body. He had been a fool to not notice but he had been feeling like this since day one. Time had done nothing but elevate his interest and arousal with this whole affair. He was caught somewhere in a flux of emotions, the frustrated anger turning towards something he was more familiar with when laying in bed.

The door behind opened and he was just about to turn and give a pleasant if not entirely friendly greeting to the one who had been a major thorn in his side and distraction for the last few months. However, his voice caught in his throat, mouth suddenly as dry as a desert. All he could do was watch as they entered the room and sat on a sofa in front of him, crossing their legs and flashing a smile that he swore should have been labelled as a weapon of mass destruction.

“Mr. Takeda I presume? My name is _____. I believe you have been looking for me.” Her eyes were bright and intelligent. Her voice was like a drug. Every little movement had him completely captivated.

“All of my life.” He had no idea how but he managed to locate his voice for that little phrase.

She laughed and it resonated in the room like a celestial choir. This was the owner of the other firm? He allowed her to continue her conversation as he listened secretly thanking whoever it was that allowed him to be with her like this. The puppet master was his mistress. She plucked his strings like a harp, and he found he was more than happy to dance to her tune.

---

[squipaudios]

Respect

[Inspired by this audio/video post thing where the host disobeys the Squip. Female Squip and host/reader bc I am a flaming lesbian and awful. Hard technically on it being sfw, as most dialogue is from the audio, this ficlet has no sex but I can write a continuation of it with sex. Sorry if I do the audio and script an injustice. Like how it’s in present tense like a scrub. Squip narrated as corporal but is still just simulating feeling.]

++++

The Squip finally relinquishes her hold over your movements once you arrive to the interior of a small abandoned warehouse.

“You know, I don’t know why I even bother with you.” She begins towards you with a calm that precedes a storm and you wisely scramble away.

Your back hits a wall. “I ask you to perform a simple task - yes, simple! That’s exactly what it was - and you can’t even do that.”

You flinch as she stops in front of you, far too close.

“Do you have any idea how many times you’ve failed me? If I wasn’t a supercomputer, by now I’d surely have lost count. And do you want to know something? Each and every one of my calculations has pointed to the exact same result: you’re completely useless. You’re weak, pathetic, distracted.”

You cry out as a sharp shock strikes the left side of your face.

“At first I just assumed that all you humans were like this, that it was some evolutionary defect, but my research on your peers seems to prove the exact opposite to be the case. It’s as though everyone has themselves together…everyone except you. It’s pitiful.”

The Squip’s eyes soften, but the cruelty only increases to replace the heat and disgust. She places her left hand on your face, idly rubbing her thumb across your cheek.

“I could kill you, you know.” A smirk with the same cruelty of her eyes spreads across her face, “Oh, yes, and it wouldn’t even be difficult!” the pressure of her thumb increases, dangerously close to your eye, “I am in complete control of your body;” Her nails dig into your skin, and her eyes fill with malicious delight, “I could tear you apart from the inside out.”

Her fingers trail down from your cheek to wrap lightly around your throat, “Cut off the airflow to your lungs,” she placed her other hand with gentle finality on the left side of your chest, “stop your heart-” she raised her eyes back up to your face, “wouldn’t that be fun?”

You clench your eyes closed as tears start to gather.

“Oh, look at you,” she coos, putting a hand on each side of your face, thumbs resting just below your eyes, “you’re trembling. Are…are you afraid of me?” She gives a low, truly terrifying laugh and pulls your head towards her so your lips just barely don’t touch. “Good.” She shoves you roughly back against the wall, “I don’t really think you deserve this, but I’m feeling generous. So I’ll remind you again that what I say goes.” The Squip’s hand goes again to your throat, constricting your airway, “You got that? It’s not your job to make decisions. Your job is to listen and obey. Do you know why that is?”

Her grip tightens and she uses it to pull you close to whisper angrily in your ear, “Because I own you.”

Owns you. Despair drips into your heart like a cold sludge; you are no longer your own person, you haven’t been since you stupidly took that pill. “Now, you’re going to apologize for what you did today. You’re going to beg for my mercy and maybe - maybe - I’ll make it worth your while.” You choke as the breath is stolen from you. “Am I understood?” she hisses.

You gasp out a sob as you nod, finally breaking down, and she pulls away. Is this how you are to die? Alone and terrified in-

“-a warehouse where no one will find your festering corpse for days? You forget I know your every thought.”

You turn your gaze to the ground, suppressing another sob as you use the wall to lower yourself onto your knees.

“Good start; now,” the Squip’s tone harshens, “beg.”

“P-P-Plea-ah!” you cry out, your back arching in agony, as a sharp shock runs through you.

“Keep your stutter to a tolerable level, it’s unsightly and you are bad enough as is.”

You swallow, “P-Please forgive me, it was stupid of me-!”

“Brainless, empty-headed, useless,”

“-all that and worse! I’m worthless without your guidance!” you can barely see through your terrified tears. You don’t want to die. “I don’t wanna think about how I would’ve ended up if you…” you dissolve into sobs, something in the back of your mind tells you that the Squip is probably influencing you to push you to such an extreme state of distress. It doesn’t matter, though.

How far would you go in desperation to save your own life?

You lean all the way down to press your lips to ground in front of the Squip’s feet.

You can’t see her predatory expression, but it burns the back of your neck.

Overwhelming panic dissolves into simple terror, confirming that the Squip was puppeteering your emotions-

“-like a toy.” Her laugh renewed the fear in your heart, “You needn’t fear, my marinetto, you have proven yourself more than idle entertainment. So, will you now obey,” you flinch at the harsh tone, “and let me make you less of a disgusting worm?”

You are silent for a moment, “I-it’s…it’s not what I allow, but what you command.”

The soft answering laugh chills your bones and she purrs, “Good girl.”

[hurricane-jenn]

Bullet Proof- Chapter 11

Hey guys, I feel like all I do is apologize for how long it takes me to upate fics, and I’m sorry about that. Please read my last post for an update on my life and my plans for my fics. As always thanks to @jordan202 for her support and for catching all my typos. As I said in my last post, this will be the last chapter of Bullet Proof, for now. Don’t get too worried, I am already planning a sequel, this will just be the end of this part of the story.

There is a special reference to one of my favorite TV shows that only lasted one season. It is in the form of words spoken between Owen and Amelia, over the phone and again at the end. I highly doubt anyone will get it, but if they do please message me because you are automatically my new BFF.

Chapter 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10

“I think I just stepped on a pressure plate,” she looked up to meet his eyes. “I’m pretty sure I just triggered a bomb.”

Concern flashed across Owen’s face. He took a step in Amelia’s direction trying to think of a plan for how to get her out of this.

“Owen wait!” He felt Teddy grab his arm to stop him. “You can't go over there, for all we know there could be more explosives. We need to wait for the bomb squad.” She looked over at Amelia with a worried expression. Though she was trying to be the rational one here, the idea of running over to Amelia’s aid had gone through her mind too. She finally found someone who could be a confidant, a friend, and immediately that person’s life was put in danger.

Owen shrugged off Teddy’s arm and made his way towards Amelia. Before he could get too much closer Amelia called out to him.

“Detective Hunt,” she said formally. “I really appreciate the concern, but I’m okay over here. Why don't you go make sure the techs are gathering evidence properly. I see someone over there not wearing gloves.”

Owen was taken aback by Amelia’s formal tone, but he followed her instructions. Making his way over to the techs he realized Amelia was wrong, all of them had gloves on and were following proper procedure. He then realized she must have been trying to get rid of him. The formal way she had called him Detective Hunt reminded him that they were coworkers, and were supposed to be behaving as so. Right now he was acting like a worried boyfriend, and Amelia must have picked up on that. Owen took a deep breath, though he was worried about Amelia, he had a job to do too and he needed to remain professional.

It had been over an hour since Amelia had stepped on the bomb, and she was still standing there. The bomb squad had arrived about half an hour ago, but no one had given Amelia any indication of how much longer she would be here. Everyone kept casting her worried looks and she was getting tired of it. In fact she was tired in general. She has been trying to keep herself incredibly still for the last hour, and she was exhausted. Her body was beginning to betray her, she could feel her legs shaking and she was starting to wonder how much longer she could stand.

The bomb squad tech, Dylan something or other, and his team continued to whisper and send worried glances her way while they stood a safe distance away. Owen and Teddy were supervising the collection of evidence, but they too were keeping a cautious eye on her. Amelia was done with being out of the loop on her own crisis. No one had even spoken to her in the past half hour. It was as if they were scared talking could set off the explosive.

“Hey,” Amelia yelled across the field. “Is anyone going to tell me what the hell the plan is?!”

Dylan stepped forward and raised his voice so she could hear him. “We apologize for the wait Miss Shepherd, we-”

“Doctor,” Amelia interrupted.

“What?” Dylan replied confused.

“It’s Doctor Shepherd not Miss.” Amelia replied annoyed.

“Right, well as I was saying… we are working on a plan to get out safely, the problem is we do not know yet if there are more explosives in that field. We need to ensure our path is clear before we come in to get you.”

“Cool so I'm just supposed to hangout here and wait?” Amelia deadpanned.

“Do you have your phone on you? You could play CandyCrush,” he joked.

Amelia didn't laugh, but instead got an idea. “Can I make a phone call?”

Owen had never been a good actor. In middle school he was cast as a pirate in his school’s production of Peter Pan. He had a huge crush on the girl who was playing a Wendy, and he tried out to impress her. He almost didn't, but his sister convinced him to. A regular in the school plays, Megan assured him she would be there to support him. It turned out he had never been bitten by the acting bug like Megan had and was a terrible pirate. On opening night Owen, who still didn't have the choreography down, tripped over a set piece and fell into the backdrop. He brought the whole scene down with him. Megan, bless her heart, stayed true to her promise of having his back, and pretended the whole thing was her fault. Needless to say he did not get the girl, and he never set foot on the stage again.

So now here Owen was having to pretend he was a professional doing his job, all the while the woman he cared very deeply for was in grave danger only feet away. He really wished now that he was a better actor. Teddy hovered near him equally worried. Neither knew exactly what to do. The bomb squad seemed to be handling it, though from where Owen was standing it just looked like that bomb squad asshole was checking Amelia out. Technically him and Teddy didn't need to be there anymore. Their part of the crime scene was covered and it was up to the MEs now, and of course the bomb squad. If it had been anyone else on the bomb him and Teddy probably would have left already. But it wasn't anybody else, it was Amelia. And though neither of them voiced it they both knew they weren't’ leaving until she was okay.

Owen was shaken out of his thoughts by the ringing of a phone. He didn't realize it was his own until his partner elbowed him in the ribs.

He assumed it was Chief Sloan asking why they weren't back yet so he answered without looking at the caller ID. “Hunt.”

“Don't turn around,” the familiar voice said.

Owen had to resist the urge to turn and meet Amelia's eyes. Instead he took a few steps away from his colleagues for privacy. Teddy met his gaze and nodded knowing.

“Hey,” he replied eagerly. “Are you okay? The techs keep whispering and I can't hear what they are planning.”

“I'm doing okay,” she let out a breath she didn't realize she had been holding. “I have never needed to sit down so bad in my life. This is worse than all the long surgeries I observed in med school. At least those I knew I could walk around and stretch my legs a little without putting my life in danger.”

Owen chuckled despite his increasing worry. It was his job to keep her calm. “Listen, I'm sorry I can't come over there, I tried but that bomb squad guy is an ass.”

“That he is,” Amelia replied. “And I swear he's spending more time staring at my ass than he is trying to get me out of here.”

“You noticed that too?!” Owen replied, his voice laced with jealousy.

Despite her circumstances, Owen’s jealous outburst amused Amelia and she burst out laughing. This caused Dylan to whip around and smile at her, which made Amelia laugh harder. Dylan took this as encouragement and threw a wink her way.

Owen saw this and mumbled into the phone, “that bastard.”

“Awe do I detect jealousy Detective Hunt?” Amelia teased. He chuckled in response but then a silence went over them. It was if they were both brought back to reality. And the reality was she was standing on a very unstable explosive, and the man who was supposed to save her was too busy winking at her to actually make a plan.

“Look Owen,” Amelia started.  “If I don't make it out of this I just want to say-”

“Me too,” Owen cut her off. He turned around and met her eyes. They shared a sentimental smile.

Amelia didn't actually know what she would have said if he hadn't cut her off. I like you? I have feelings for you? I love you? No definitely not the last one, it was way too soon to think about that.

Before Amelia could reply she heard Dylan shout, “Alright Miss Shepherd. We've cleared a path to you, I'm going to make my way slowly toward you.” Owen nodded at Amelia and hung up the phone. He walked over closer to the bomb squad guys needing to be close to her. Teddy came and stood by his side wrapping her hand around his. On her other side Henry appeared and took Teddy’s other hand in his. There they stood in a line, none of them spoke, but they were all there, Amelia’s people.

Dylan crossed the field slowly followed by one of his team members carrying something large. “Alright Miss Shepherd-”

“It's Doctor,” Amelia sighed frustrated. Why can't he get that right?

“Right sorry,” he apologized throwing her a wink. “So here's what's going to happen, Agent James here has a sand bag. She is going to place it onto the pressure plate to make up for your weight. But this is the tricky part, we need to put the sandbag on at the exact second you step off or else it will go off, and all of us will be blown to smithereens.” He and Agent James shared a good laugh before that, but Amelia just stared back at them terrified.

What happened next was all a blur to Amelia. She heard Dylan count down, she saw Agent James nod, and then she felt the ground beneath her disappear. She felt a jolt go through her body as she hit the ground, then the weight of someone else falling on top of her. She didn't know if she passed out or not, but when she opened her eyes she saw a pair of eyes staring down at her. It was Dylan, he was smiling in a sort of predatory way. She tried to sit up but she was pinned down by his body. He must have been what landed on top of her, he must have tackled her out of the way. She glanced around and realized the bomb didn't actually go off. She struggled to get up again but an intense pain went through her shoulder. Fuck, I'm sure it's dislocated. If fucking Dylan would get up it probably wouldn't hurt so bad.

All of a sudden Dylan was pushed off of her and she was met with the face of a very frantic Owen. She smiled up at him, relieved she wasn't blown to smithereens so she could look in those eyes again.

He pulled her into a sitting position and threw his arms around her in a tight embrace.  She winced in pain and he pulled back with a concerned expression. “You okay?”

“Yeah I think my shoulder is dislocated, but I'll live.” He stared back at her obviously not finding her joke funny. “Too soon?” she asked.

“Yeah a little,” but he grinned at her anyways. He helped her to her feet and steered her over to the waiting paramedics. They set her shoulder and put it in a sling, all the while Owen never left her side. Henry and Teddy made their way over to them as well and they all shared tight hugs, no one addressing how close a call it had been today. As the paramedics were finishing up with Amelia, Dylan came wandering over.

“Hell of a close call today Shepherd,” he said clapping her on the back. She winced, her shoulder still tender. “So what are your plans tonight? Wanna grab a beer and celebrate me saving your life?”

Amelia froze, too stunned to speak. Owen tenses up beside him, his eyes shooting daggers at Dylan. Teddy grabbed Henry’s hand, both worried how that would play out.

“Oh..umm,” Amelia stammered. “I'm flattered, but I'm actually seeing someone.”

Dylan's chuckled, “well it's okay, he doesn't need to know.”

Before Amelia could say anything Owen stepped forward, throwing his arm around her good shoulder. “Like she said, she's seeing someone.” He glared at Dylan, but when the bomb tech didn't seem to get the message he pulled Amelia into him and claimed her lips in a possessive kiss.

Dylan suddenly got very embarrassed and slowly inched away. While Teddy giggled at her friends and Henry let out a loud wolf whistle.

When Owen pulled away he noticed that many eyes at the crime scene were on him and Amelia.

She stared at him stunned, “wow I think I like jealous Owen.”

“Well he likes you too,” Owen replied trying to steer attention away from them. “Come on, I'll drive you and your car home, you've had a long day.”

Owen walked her over to the car and opened the passenger door to help her in.

He was about to close the door when Amelia stopped him. “You know, umm, back there when I said ‘If I don't get out of this’ what did you think I was gonna say?”

“Uh I dunno,” Owen replied, unsure how to say what he had really been thinking. “What were you gonna say?”

“Thanks,” Amelia said smiling at him.

Owen leaned in to kiss her but Amelia put her hand on his chest to stop him. “Owen, what if someone sees?”

He chuckled. “I think the cat’s already out of the bag in that one.” And with that he leaned in and captured her lips with his own.

[sunshinemiranda]

King of the Lost Boys - Anthony Ramos x Reader (Chapter 1)

Summary: Anthony, or Pan as he is known, is the leader of the messy gang of Lost Boys. He takes a particular interest that borders on feelings, and yet remember: love? He has never heard of it. 

Warnings: Alcohol! Swearing! Probably drugs! They’re Hoodlums™! 

Words: 6,451 (listen...kill me)

A/N: Day 3 of the Write-A-Thon already? Oh my goodness. So when I started this Peter Pan AU, I had no idea how it was going to go. Apparently, that meant this huge mess. This will be a three part series! Thank you to @hamilbye for letting me use her as a wonderful wingwoman in our story! Enjoy. 

The Lost Boys were a charming band of beautiful boys from the wrong side of town. They were the people your parents ushered you away from on the sidewalk, the boisterous laughs in the town square, the ones who spray-painted “the world is ours” on the water tower. They were the bad kids, the ones who smoked cigarettes when the lunch bell rang, the ones who barely made a celebrity appearance in class, and the ones who the students both idolized and feared. They called themselves the Lost Boys because that’s who they were: perpetually wandering the earth, purposeless, wild and free, made of ivy plants, cigarette smoke, sunshine, whiskey and worn leather jackets.

The first of the characters on the sidewalk is a grinning Lin-Manuel, affectionately nicknamed Slightly for his slim build and incredible talent at snatching wallets. He is the most confident of the bunch with an easy gait and a grin that seems to exude solidarity and assuredness. The only people allowed to call him Lin-Manuel are his parents. At school, he goes by Lin and if you break that rule, he’ll break your arm.

Next up is Daveed, also known as Diggs or Nibs. He is the personification of black satin fabric: smooth, beautiful to look at, and utterly desirable. His voice is a weapon of choice when it comes to coaxing a woman and there is no hiding the fact that he is the most popular of the gang, if the survey at school is any indication. A playboy in any context, it’s not odd to see him with a rotation of girls on his arm. There is never one for Diggs; it stems from his inability to make decisions, though he’d never admit it out loud.

Oak is just behind, his codename a source of embarrassment and status. Tootles, they call him, and anyone who giggles a little too hard will receive a glare hot enough to burn a forest down. He is the tallest of the Lost Boys and the strongest. There is no one in their right mind who would willingly attempt to enter a ring with Oak, but despite his size, he is the least violent of the group. In many attempts of gang wars, he is the first to move towards diplomacy and is known for his smooth, persuasive logic. Oak is the ultimate judge.

Chris is slow to follow but does so anyway. Curly, as the boys know him, is quiet and almost always attached at the hip to Slightly. The two had been throwing punches for each other since preschool. This boy is the one who speaks the least and yet secretly adores singing, though he’ll never perform for anyone. Always frowning, it seems, with a cigarette constantly drooping from his lips, Chris is the most mature of the boys. However, that isn’t to say he pulls away from the fights. Rumour has it that it takes Chris a single punch to knock a man’s front teeth out.

The Twins are next, two young men who are together more than they’re apart. Leslie and Jordan, brothers who spend all their time together, are prone to speaking scarily in unison and finishing each other’s sentences. The most mysterious of the group, not many people know their origin or background. One year, they simply appeared, like two sibling rabbits from a hat, blended seamlessly into the leather-studded background of the Lost Boy group and had been a part of that misshapen family ever since.

Pippa, or Tink, is the only female of the group. She was an innocent girl gone typically bad; dyed her hair, picked up a leather jacket and a cigarette and hadn’t been the same since. Respect throughout the school for the only girl in this band of boys grows daily and she has proven herself more than worthy time and time again. She is the right hand man, the second lieutenant, and the girl who is always by the side of the cavalry boy who leads this band of rebels. Tink seems to exude glitter; it is everywhere at once, in her hair, between her toes, underneath her fingernails. No one knows where it comes from.

The best is saved for last. At the front of the group is the leader of the pack, Anthony, or as the entire school whispers, Pan. His name is said with a mixture of awe and fear for this is the boy who resembles the stars, and speaks with a voice softer than a fire’s touch in the middle of winter, and who is built like an angel, whose each and every freckle must be a kiss from the sun. He is the boy who all the boys want to be and the boy who all the girls want to hold. Pan is flawless; he is the epitome of perfection, knows how to hold a cigarette just so, knows how to ruffle his hair to the side just slightly, knows how to snatch your heart with one crooked smile. Pan, the world murmurs, and everyone wonders how such an angel fell from the sky. He must have done something and everyone marvels at it. A boy like that cannot be evil, can he? But the truth is there, hidden in plain sight. It is in the creases of his leather jacket and in the scent of smoke and alcohol on his white t-shirts. This boy is dangerous. Beautifully so.

So now you know who the Lost Boys are, and now we can begin our story about a Pan who fell in love and nearly self-destruct at the thought. Take heed. It is not the gang that makes this boy threatening. It is the ease with which everyone falls in love with him that makes him dangerous.

Not every weekend promised entertainment and a memory that would follow you till the sun came up, but this one was. After a half hour of convincing and another half hour of getting ready, the night had become a prosperous oyster to be cracked open with coaxing hands to receive a shiny pearl. Nat, the one needing all the convincing, seemed to have an allergy to this kind of shellfish.

“How the hell are we even gonna get into this place? We’re minors, remember.”

Sidled up to the mirror in a violet dress, Nat was pouting as she pressed a mascara brush through her eyelashes. You, ready twenty minutes earlier, had been reduced to waiting outside the bathroom, eyes rolling every time Nat fretted.

“What do these fake ID’s look like to you? Just plastic decoration?”

“Oh, shut up. I get nervous. You know that.” She pulled away, looking at her reflection with a satisfied grin before looking over to you. “You look hot.”

A dove grey dress was hugging your body, black heels strapped to your ankles and you responded with a wordless smile. Rumours of an amazing bar that seemed to go easy on the ID process and went hard on promises of alcohol had all but set your school on fire. High school kids, when sniffing out rum, were better than freaking basset hounds. Tonight, with no classes the next morning and plenty of time to be hung-over, was the perfect opportunity to drag a girlfriend out to party.

“Ready?” You questioned, glancing at your phone before shoving it into your clutch.

“Yup. Let’s do this.” She grabbed her own purse before leading the way out of the small house your busy parents had left behind. A taxi had been idling outside and as you slid in, the smell of leather seats gave you a bit of a thrill. Tonight held promise. It was heavy in the air.

Belle Rêve was a messy, badly secured club in the sketchier part of the downtown area. It had opened about two months ago and had gained popularity faster than anyone had thought. Apparently, these people didn’t mind having a couple minors in the place, as long as you had a fake ID that they could pretend to look at and if you didn’t create too much of a stir.

“ID?” The bearded man at the door asked monotonously, and you flashed your best smile, handing over a card.

He glanced at it, grunted, handed it back and waved you through. Nat went through the same process, visibly nervous, and was waved through in moments. A contagious grin spread from your face to hers.

The place was dark, almost as dark as the night outside. Black light glow lightened the whites of waitress’ eyes and enhanced the predatory smiles of young men. A beat vibrated the floor so heavily that it made the lyrics of the song practically nonexistent and the occasional flash of the lights made everything feel light and surreal. Belle Rêve meant “beautiful dream” and God; the club certainly lived up to its name.

“Drinks?” Nat suggested, and you nodded, letting her pull you over to the bar to take a sight.

“Can we get a couple shots please?” You half-yelled over the music and the bartender nodded, disappearing before sliding two small glasses over to you and your friend.

“To this crazy idea,” Nat laughed and you could only grin back, knocking your glass against hers before tipping it back into your throat.

The burn was a welcome feeling and you straightened with adrenaline increasing in your veins, grin still on your face.

“Holy shit,” you laughed.

“I know. More?”

With a nod, Nat flagged down the bartender and you let your eyes wander around the place, trying to find any familiar faces. The sound of a laugh that miraculously carried over the music met your ear before you saw the source. It was a boyish, smooth kind of sound and it pleased you so wonderfully that your gaze was dragged, against its will, to the curly haired boy it had come from. He was turned away from you at the moment, surrounded by several other boys, all of them clad in leather jackets. The boy you were watching seemed to feel your gaze and he turned, a half smile tilting his lips up on one lopsided corner of his mouth. A breath stopped halfway up to your throat.

“Jesus fuck. Is that Anthony Ramos?” Nat’s voice cut into your hazy mind and posed the very question your mind had been repeating.

“Yes.” You swallowed, gaze still locked into his as he refused to stop staring.

You were not one to back down from a fight and, crossing your arms, you met his eyes and didn’t back down, frowning slightly. He grinned and finally, finally, half turned so he could break the connection between you.

You raised an eyebrow and smirked, as if to say, “See? I win” but he only smiled and turned back to his crowd.

Nat was staring at you, eyebrow cocked with a hand on her waist.

“What?” You questioned, eyes narrowing.

“Well, if you’re done eye-fucking our local bad boy, I’d like to have my best friend’s attention back.”

“Oh, shut up, we were just…having a staring contest.”

“Staring contests are for third graders. Third graders don’t undress each other mentally. Now take this freaking shot with me.”

Rolling your eyes with a good-natured smile, you reached out and downed another drink, slamming the glass down on the table. Before you could quip something to Nat about going to find some cute guys to dance with, a brunette waitress set a martini down in front of you.

“I didn’t order this,” you frowned, turning to face the woman (Pamela? Phoebe? The nametag was hard to read in the dark).

“It’s from him,” she threw a glance in the corner and you looked up to meet Anthony’s gaze all over again. He was grinning fully this time.

Frowning, you slid the martini away from you. “Tell him if he wants to talk to me he should do it himself and stop bothering the employees.”

The waitress grinned at that and walked away, moving to speak to him. He watched you during the entire exchange, his grin growing as he received the news. Content that he would stop bothering you and your friend, you turned away and back to Nat.

“What the fuck was that?” You huffed, leaning forward to rest your arms on the bar counter.

“That was a hot boy getting you a drink. For free. Should have just taken it and wasted his time.” Nat sent you a grin.

“You’re right, but with a guy like that, you gotta be careful not to stroke their ego too much.” You sent her a smile and she giggled.

“Hey, I’m gonna head to the bathroom. See you in a bit.” She gave your hand a quick squeeze before standing and finding her way across the club.

You turned back to the bar, leaning over to wave the bartender down. He was a bit busy hitting on a blushing boy on the other side of the bar and you rolled your eyes. Typical. What was a girl supposed to do to get a drink around here?

“Not a martini kind of girl, huh.” A smooth voice, all playful and soft, quipped from behind you.

You swivelled in your seat to come face to face with the same boy who you had been playing eye-games with, just five minutes before. Pan, as everyone knew him, was not just any boy. A drink from him was already impressive. A visit was like Halley’s comet: rare and a lucky chance to see. He was beautiful in the low blue lights of the club. His long, curly hair was tucked around one ear and that crooked grin was showing off his teeth again. The leather jacket he wore fit him so damn well.

“No, I prefer Sex on the Beach.” You gave a shrug, leaning back as you glanced up at him warily.

Everyone heard things about the Lost Boys and what they did, the kinds of people they were aligned with. This was the leader of an unpredictable group of boys approaching you and that could be a bad thing, but the thrill-seeking half of you wanted to wait it out.

“The act, or the drink?” He grinned, taking a seat on the bar stool Nat had abandoned.

“Oh, that’s real class. Haven’t heard that one before.” You rolled your eyes, turning to try and wave the bartender down again.

“Mm, thought not.” He watched you huff with an amused tilt of a brow. “Need some help getting that guy’s attention?”

“In fact, I do.”

“That’s odd. Didn’t think someone who looks like you would have trouble getting a man’s gaze.”

Jaw clenching, you whipped around to meet his eyes. It was time to end this. “Look, I don’t know what the fuck it is you want from me, but you’re probably not going to get it. Now can you please just go back to your gang of “quirky misfits”? I’m trying to enjoy myself.”

Your hands dropped from the air quotes you had added to your scathing remarks and turned away. Out of your peripheral, you could see his shoulders shaking. He was laughing.

“You’re all kinds of feisty, aren’t you? Hm. Okay.” He leaned over the bar and placed two fingers in his mouth, letting out a loud, New York-cab type whistle.

The bartender whipped around, shaken out of his next pick-up line to deliver to the unentertained boy he was hitting on. He walked over with a quick apology to Anthony.

“It’s fine, Isaac. All I need is a quick Sex on the Beach and then you’re free to get back to your, otherwise, very important business.” Anthony shot him a grin.

A moment later, Anthony took the drink and placed it down in front of you, lifting an eyebrow. You stayed silent, completely unwilling to speak to him.

“Take it.” He nodded toward the orange drink on the counter in front of you. “It’s a peace offering for us getting off on the wrong foot.”

Letting out a breath, you slid your hand out to pull the glass closer to you so you could bring it to your lips and take a sip. It would be a shame to let it go to waste.

“What the hell do you want from me?” You murmured, setting down the glass and turning toward the leather jacket-clad leader of the pack.

“A dance.”

You scoffed, reaching to sip your drink again. “No, seriously. What do you want? A one-night stand? Someone to stroke your ego? You came to the wrong place, Pan, I’m not that girl.”

“First of all, I’d prefer it if you’d call me Anthony, and no, you’re not that girl. Which is why all I’m asking for is a dance.”

A pause flowed through the space between you. You reached the bottom of your Sex on the Beach and stared at the melting ice cubes. Wasn’t high school about living fast anyway?

“Fine. But only one dance.” You held your hand up to warn him physically, the drinks settling into your body as a buzz warmed your limbs.

“Wouldn’t dream of asking for anything else.” He grinned and stood in one fluid motion, taking your hand and pulling you onto the dance floor as he stepped forward.

The place was crowded with couples and friends, all of them not paying attention to any boundaries or courtesy of space. There were no rules on the Belle Rêve dance floor and Anthony seemed to be the king of the court. The moment he delved into the crowd, the flow of people seemed to break like water around a stone and he tugged you, almost immediately, to the centre. He turned to you, teeth gleaming in the darkness and reached for your arms, bringing them to wrap around his neck, his own touch drifting to find your waist. 

“What’s your name?” He pulled out that half-smile and the snarky comeback you were going to deliver died in your throat. He had a really good smile.

“(Y/N). And I know who you are.”

“Really now?” He chuckled; hands drifting to grasp your waist, using the newfound leverage to pull you flush against him without warning. “Then you should know to stay away from me.”

There was no response possible then, because your conversation devolved into a dance quickly. With your arms around his neck and his hands pressing into your pelvis, there was a lack of communication that made everything better. After a moment, your eyes closed and you leaned forward, head landing just under his chin. His heart was pounding in his chest and you could hear it louder than the beat. His hips moved fluidly, pressing against you with an insistence that made the hours in the day infinite and the world cease its spinning. People had been right to say that Anthony was a magical kind of boy.

At one point, your eyes flew open and you leaned back to watch him, only to find that his gaze was on you. His hair was wild; curls flying all over the place as your bodies moved amongst a hundred others. There was a sheen of sweat glistening on his collarbone and you had a sudden desire to reach out and lick the length of his neck. A slow grin pulled into place on your mouth and it seemed to bring one from him as well. He leaned forward to whisper against the shell of your ear, setting a shiver down your spine.

“What are you thinking about?”

You looked up at him, pausing. “I feel immortal.”

He threw his head back and laughed, and you made a silent commitment to save that image in your memory: him in your arms, laughing with his hair back and sweat lining his cheekbones. It was a beautiful picture.

“Baby, stay with me and you’ll never have to grow up.” He was still grinning as he promised this and the pet name didn’t go unnoticed.

After that, your eyes closed again and your head found its place against his chest. The song seemed to last forever, but then it ended and there was no point in moving, so one dance melded into three, and then a fourth. By that point, you were covered in sweat and mashed in between Anthony and some other girl’s back.

With him so close, and your view of his face obscured, it was easier to justify your acts. It was easier to pretend that none of this had consequences. You tilted your head just enough to kiss his neck, eyes still closed as if in denial. His skin tasted like smoke and ivy. He tilted his head to the side, giving you better access and you nipped harder and harder, until there was something to show for your work, a purple mark that clashed against his bronze skin beautifully.

You pulled back, eyes half-lidded and all hazy. He was grinning again.

“Guess I’m going to have to be covering that up for a while, huh.” He chuckled, reaching up to push a strand of your hair out of your face. His touch was warm and it took significant will power not to lean into it.

“Anthony,” you mumbled, eyes closing for a second as a decision ran through your mind. The music was pulsing under your feet, making everything seem magnified.

“Yeah?” He replies, already leaning towards you, his hand cupping your jaw with callused hands.

“Kiss me.”

There is not a second to lose, it seems, and he is there before the alarms in your head can go off. His mouth is vicious and insisting, yet pliant against yours and his hands tug you closer. The world is reduced to starbursts of colour under your closed lids and you cannot help the aching tug of your heart as you realize that this boy is better than any kind of adrenaline rush. He is drug-like; someone made of star matter that the human body cannot resist. This is why mortals should not be allowed to kiss angels that fall to the earth. It is too much. It is all too much.

You pull away, hand moving to press against your mouth, trying to scrub the tingle that refuses to go away. His eyes fly open and his mouth is already tilted into that half smile. Fuck, his hair was all ruffled from your grasp and it made you want to kiss him again.

“This is wrong.”

“Come on. I’m not that bad of a kisser, am I?”

“Anthony, this isn’t fucking funny. I can’t do this.” Your mind, in its self-destructive whirlwind, summons a face. “Oh fuck.”

“What?” He moves toward you cautiously, voice concerned now. “What’s wrong?”

“Nat, I lost her, shit, where did she go?” You push yourself onto your tiptoes, searching the room frantically. “I need to find her.”

“Is she the girl you came with?” He asks, eyes scanning the room too.

“Yeah.”

“I think I might know where she is. Come on.” He takes your hand and the warmth of his touch is too comforting for you to turn down at the moment. He leads you through the crowds and to the table where his crew is accumulated, all laughing and talking.

“Yo, Pan, what’s up?” Oak stands to reach out and grasp Anthony’s hand.

“Hey man. I need to know where Nibs is.”

“He was talking to this girl, took her off somewhere. Think maybe in the lounge.” Oak says all this with a shrug, gesturing down the hallway. Then he sees you, hidden behind Ant, your hand clasped in his. “Who’s this?”

“(Y/N) is that girl’s friend. I’m just helping her find her.” Anthony’s voice is oddly tense as he plays it off. Immediately, he lets go of your hand.

“Okay,” Oak raises an eyebrow but doesn’t push. “Good luck.”

As soon as Anthony has led you far enough from his group, he reaches for your hand wordlessly and you don’t fight it. There is a submission to his touch that you seemed to have signed earlier in the night. It was pointless to pull away from something you wanted.

In the dim light, you spot a familiar head of hair, wrapped up in the embrace of what seems to be the professional womanizer of the Lost Boys. You reach over and grab Nat’s hand, giving a tug violent enough for her to stumble into you as she makes a sound of indignation.

“Nat, Jesus, I’ve been looking for you.”

She looks up at you, reaching a hand up to wipe the mouth that was just on Daveed’s, a sheepish smile on her face. “Oops. Sorry.”

“Diggs, come on, man.” Anthony is standing beside his friend, one hand on his hip. 

The culprit is still lounging on the red leather couch, giving a lazy shrug as his grin grows in size. ��Pan, it’s not my fault girls love me this much.”

“You disgust me.” You snap at him, giving Nat’s hand a tug as you march toward the exit. A thought that Anthony is calling after you registers dimly but you pay no mind.

It isn’t till you’ve managed to push your way to the doors that he actually catches up and cuts ahead of you.

“(Y/N), wait up!” He puts a hand on your shoulder and you flinch out of his touch, turning to face him.

“What do you want, Anthony?”

“I just…when am I going to see you again?” He asks, voice soft. Nat makes a noise but you squeeze her hand viciously.

“I don’t know. Just leave it, okay? I’ll see you around.” You breathe out and turn away, pushing out of the doors to wave down a cab.

It’s too much. All of it, it’s accumulated so fast that it’s overwhelming. At the start of the night, Pan was just a name to you and the Lost Boys were simply a reputation with no substance. But by now, Pan has become a shadow like personality, the Lost Boys are a reality and Anthony is the centre of all your mind’s twisted thoughts. You were wrong to think a kiss with an angel would not prove consequential. You were wrong to think that Anthony would not be special. You were wrong, and there was no satisfaction in a feeling like that.

The taxi ride was silent. Nat, treated to one too many drinks by Daveed, had passed out on your lap and your hands idly pulled through the tangles left in her hair. There was too much room in the car that left your brain defenceless. Thoughts came and wait without your consent and too many slides of Anthony’s face were projected in your mind’s eye. A tingle that had never really disappeared tickled at your mouth and you reached a hand up to brush over the remnants of lipstick, trying to rub his presence off your mouth. It didn’t work.

With Nat’s arm draped around your shoulders and her groaning, the door was difficult to open quietly but not impossible. As soon as you had her on the couch, turned safely on her side in case she threw up in the night, you tugged the afghan around her and pressed a pillow under her head.

Tired, aching and frazzled, your bed looked wonderfully comfy at the moment. The dove grey dress came off and the battle heels were discarded, all in favour of a worn short sleeve shirt and a pair of shorts. The taste of peach schnapps was souring quickly in your mouth, so a toothbrush full of toothpaste was reached for. It was just as you were rinsing your mouth that the first tap sounded at your window.

Must have been the oak tree beside your window. As you busied yourself with wiping off streaked make-up, another came. Then one more, and then a steady tap, tap, tap, tap that had become so incessant that it couldn’t be a harmless tree branch.

Small shadows were hitting the windowpane, and your view revealed tiny, harmless pebbles smacking against the glass. You waited for the rocks to stop, and a pause came. Pushing the window up, you peeked your head out, squinting into the darkness.

“(Y/N), it’s me.” That voice, one you were not at all acquainted with but could pick out amongst a thousand others rang out quietly. It crossed your mind that you very much enjoyed the way he said your name.

“Pan?”

“I thought I told you to call me Anthony.”

“Are you out of your fucking mind?”

“Yes.”

“What are you doing in my fucking yard? Leave.”

“This is what I get for trying to be spontaneous. I should have known a girl like you would have seen it as creepy and not romantic. Hang on a minute, I’m gonna get up there.”

“Like fuck you are!”

He didn’t reply but instead let the rusting of the tree’s leaves fill the space instead. You stood, fretting, at the windowsill, leaning down as you tried to make out his form in the darkness. Through the night, you couldn’t quite tell how he had even managed to scale his way up to the small slice of roof next to your window. Pretty soon, his white teeth were illuminating the dark next to you. 

“Jesus, how did you get up here?”

“I flew.”

“You’re hilarious. Anthony, what are you doing here?” You were whispering furiously, arms crossed as you realized that he was encroaching on a private space that you had felt un-scrutinized in.  

“I came to see you.” He made himself comfortable on the tin roof and shot you another grin, looking down to idly brush at his jeans.

A breath filled your lungs and you stared at him, wide-eyed, for a moment. “You’re crazy. You are actually crazy.”

“So I’ve heard. Now are you going to join me, or am I just going to have to freeze, Titanic-style, on your freaking roof?”

You let out a disbelieving squeak, but paused, hands worrying at the hem of your shirt, before you cursed under your breath and pulled a leg up to crawl out the window. The metal was cool under your exposed thighs and the night air nipped at any exposed skin. A shiver ran down your spine. His mention of a very classic romantic comedy tucked itself away for further leverage. Why were you out here? Was it the request of a boy that your lack of control could not deny? Or was it just a simple agreement that yes, this could be enjoyable? Damn you and your inability to steel decisions.

“Anthony.”

“Mm.”

“Why are you here?”

“I thought we addressed this, sweetheart,” he turns toward you, pulling his legs up to cross them, a youthful grin on his face. “I’m here to see you.”

“You don’t even know me.”

“Exactly. Me being here solves that.”

“Does it?”

“Absolutely.”

An attempt at a scoff bubbled up from your chest but came out in the form of a chuckle. His grin widened. You hadn’t quite meant to let him have the satisfaction of making you laugh but it seemed to be too late.

“Look, I’m sorry about Diggs.” Anthony let out a slow breath. “Women are his vice.”

“Yeah, I figured. I should have known, Nat is everybody’s type, she’s beautiful, and your friend doesn’t seem to be especially picky either. I’m not angry.”

He sent you a slow smile, all innocent and sunshine-y. Your heart dropped to your stomach as you stared, but you quickly turned to the sky. The temperature seemed to be dropping even further down and you shivered a little more violently, hands clenching into fists. Warm leather came down on your shoulders and tucked easily around your waist, a touch lingering for a moment and then pulling away.

“What is this for?” The leather jacket is worn but comfortable as you tug it a bit closer around you.

“Honey, you looked cold.” He deadpans. “What do you think it’s for?”

“I…” The scathing remark your brain was fighting to come up with seems to lose its light and the point of keeping up an argument becomes arbitrary. “Thanks.”

“Anytime.” He grins.

A silence fell with heaviness, a proper mix of uncomfortable and content, as if neither one could decide whether this was an enjoyable pause or not. Thankfully, the question didn’t have to last long.

“Do you know the story of Altair and Vega?” His voice is soft, and you turned to see that his gaze was trained on the night sky.

“Like, the constellations?”

“Yeah.”

“Well…no, not really.”

“They were lovers,” he smiles, giving a gentle chuckle. “You can see them, just up there.” He scooted closer to point more accurately, and though the story’s focus was the constellations, almost all your attention was focused on the warmth his thigh provided as it pressed against yours.

“See, their parents didn’t approve of the match. Vega, she had immortal family who were gods and Altair was just a cow herder.” Out of your peripheral, you can see his eyes drift towards you at this.

“But they disobeyed their parents and spent every minute they could together. When their parents found out, they split them up on either side of a river. The Milky Way Galaxy spiral makes this little trail between them. They stare at each other from across the water and weep for their lost love.”

“Come on, are any of the constellation stories happy ones?” You interrupted, a nervous babble that seemed to spew out of your mouth without regarding your own thoughts. Luckily, he laughed.

“There’s more. The magpies sympathize with them; so once a year, they flock together over the river and make a bridge so that Altair can go to her and they spend a single day together. It’s enough for them. But it’s all they get.” He shoots you a soft smile.

Was this really the person who led the Lost Boys? The notorious leader of the pack who was put on a pedestal and revered for his playboy-ish ways? It couldn’t be. Pan’s mask was crumbling to reveal a boy named Anthony who wasn’t quite like the role he played.  

“Romantic constellations? Titanic? Don’t tell me the famous Pan is a secret softie at heart.” You shot him a grin, bumping your elbow into his ribs.

“Hey, not me.” He chuckled, holding his hands up. “I’m a badass through and through.”

“A badass who knows about lovers in the sky and has seen the most iconic sad romance movie of all time.”

“Yes.”

“Some badass.” You laugh again, a fuller sound this time and he takes note, turns to you with a delighted grin.

“So she knows how to laugh!” His grin only widens.

“Sometimes. And usually at better jokes than yours.”

“Ouch. And just when I was going to pull out another one of my constellation stories. How ungrateful.”

“He’s got another one?” You grinned, giggling. “Pan: confirmed softie.”

“Hey, this one is cool.” He pointed again, motioning to a star that gleamed a little brighter than its neighbours.

“See that? That’s the second star to the right.”

“To the right of what?”

“Just to the right. Now listen. That is my star. It always has been.”

“Anthony, no one is allowed to take a star, that’s not-“

“Are you gonna listen, or not?” He cocked an eyebrow, tilting his head with a chuckle.

You huffed, but nodded, properly reprimanded. He chuckled again and nodded. 

“That star has my name on it, I’m sure of it. And if you’re ever in trouble, or you need someone, and I’m not around…just look to the second star to the right, and know that it is my star always watching you, no matter what. Okay?” Anthony turned to you, a soft smile that knocked the breath straight out of your lungs. It was hard to breathe, and harder still to speak.

“Okay.”

He had pressed a hand to yours as he made his promise, then moved his touch to cradle your jaw. The night was cold and his touch was fire. The world ceased its rounds, just as it did in the club, and you were falling towards him with a speed that astounded you. His mouth is just there, millimetres from granting sweetness but no, no, no, stupid girl.

“Anthony, I can’t.”

He stops immediately, freezes where he is and his eyes flicker from your lips to your eyes in seconds.  

“Why?” His voice is barely a whisper.

“Because I can’t. We can’t, it-it doesn’t make sense. Let’s just not get ahead of ourselves. Okay?”

He pulls back, looks down at the hand that had just been cupping your face, then returns his gaze to yours. He’s smiling, all soft.

“Okay.”

Relief fills your body, but the cold left over from his near electrocuting touch bothers you more than you had hoped it would.

“Now, I need to get to sleep. And you need to get off my roof.” You shoo him with a laugh, and he grins.

“I suppose you’re right. Get some rest.” He calls as you turn to crawl back through your windowsill.

“Goodnight, Anthony.” You turn to see a last glance of the shadow perched on the precipice of your roof.

“Goodnight, (Y/N).”

You had been expecting him to swing onto the oak tree’s branches, but instead he crouched, balanced for a moment, and then jumped. The movement took you so badly by surprise that his name nearly came flying from your mouth, but after waiting to see the damage, you saw the shadow of his outline stepping across your lawn and soundlessly making his way down the street.

That boy really could fly.

With the cold finally kept outside, your limbs warmed quickly and you reached to rub some blood flow back into your bare arms, but underneath your touch was leather. Anthony’s jacket was still hanging loosely around your shoulders, scented of whiskey and mist. Taking it off gingerly, you ran an absent finger over the creases of the worn fabric, then perched it gently on the chair before retreating to curl up in bed.

Sleep came easy but dreams of a figure sprinkled with ivy leaves and a laugh that sounded like Anthony’s traipsed through your mind all night. Flashes of scenes at the club, the feeling of his body and his mouth on yours mixed together and by morning, all you could remember about the whirlpool of visions was the gleam of a familiar star. The second one to the right, to be quite specific.

[obscuraxrp]

The smoke settles to reveal CHRISTIAN YU, also known as CRIS, a 26 year old were-lion of Sunseong. He is a restaurant/bar owner who appears to be adept in shapeshifting, animal communication, and enhanced condition --- but like most things in Sunseong, there must be more to him than meets the eye.

FACECLAIM: Christian Yu, director of DPR (former c-clown)

APPEARANCE:

in his human form, he has tattoos completely lining his left arm front and back. some of them also border onto his shoulder/chest. on the right side of his chest bordering his shoulder and right arm, is a large piece that says ‘be there, be down & be you’. that was the first tattoo he ever received. His eyes also have a bit of blue in his brown eyes.

in his lion form, his width and height varies but due to his training will often reflect the average appearance of a lion when roaming the forest. the highest this natural form has ever reached was a little over 7ft with the longest being 14. his fur and mane is mostly white however his mane has black/gray tips. his eyes are blue/gray and most of his tattoos are completely hidden by his mane and fur.

BIOGRAPHY:

the prologue.

His mother had always been a bit cynical of life in the past. She said many things of love and people and often felt victim to the wills of fate. “They say…” She would always begin, in the middle of a quiet room with the sudden attention of all, “…all life has meaning and choices made or events that occur, should not be met with anger or regret.” The quiet murmurs of others never slowed her down. No matter what they said. She had always been a bit mad. "…No matter what happens in this life, or the next, or the last, they are similar to facing the reality that religion was created out of the unexplainable and some words could have no meanings at all, or that not every flower is beautiful and not every little girl is pure.“ This was usually around the time people would clear the room, commenting on how only the mad talks the way she does. And that she needs to locked up somewhere.

”…Life is inevitable, obstacles and certain situations are inevitable. And everything that happens is just that - meant to happen. Face it…it’s all inevitable.“ There was no one left to speak to anymore, she felt. Just like all the other times. One would wonder what she was hoping for when she talked like this.

“So is nothing really…unexpected?” A man ask, his golden eyes staring tenderly into her own. He had been the only one that stayed. “Is there nothing I can do, that will surprise fate? Is there nothing I can do to change our stories?”

chapter one.

The Yu Pride are one of the oldest werelion prides to date. They have had many names in the past, often blending and adapting depending on the location they occupy. Their origin story however has since been lost to them over the many years, with disputes ranging from descendants of Gods, to the great plains in Africa and maybe even Asia. But they are a noble family still, and after all this time have been able to survive into the new world. Even with the increase of hunters. They have public ties with the Aequitas Guild, and some have rumored secret ties to the Queen in the past.

chapter two.

At first, the mans family wasn’t too thrilled when baby Cris came into the world. Most of them hadn’t even known he took a lover, a human at that but warmed up to the idea once they saw the baby took after his father. Cris was a werelion, a white one, a genetic mutation they hadn’t seen in their family of werelion for years. And all though they welcomed both Cris and his mother into their pride, it wasn’t long until he lost her to fate. She had been battling cancer for most of her youth and after welcoming a child into the world, finally yielded to what she said was inevitable.

chapter three.

Cris had embraced his werelion side completely and trained to be strong just like his father, the new head of the Yu Pride. While Cris does value his pride, he is fascinated by other were species and hopes to start his own mixed pack. An ambition looked down upon by the rest of his family. But that fact hasn’t slowed him down. They tried to teach him to take pride in their heritage and place value in their ties to the pride above all else. While Cris does treasure his origins, he has always held on to his own individuality,

He is more than just a member of the Yu Pride, and with a fire in his eye hopes to make his own mark on the world.Although Cris feels he is not yet whole, not yet grown every day is another step towards who he wants to be. He had decided a long time ago that no matter what happens in this life, or whatever nonsese it decides to throw at him in the end, he will make a mark somehow. That he believes, is inevitable.    

the epilogue…    

We must always bow to fate.

CHARACTERIZATION:

Under the Yu Pride, Cris has grown to be ambitious and courageous, similar to the notable qualities revered in their animalistic counterparts. An extrovert, not only is he outgoing but he is fine tuned towards the emotions of those around him. A feature he credits to his mother.

Although a natural leader and intuitive, he will often play support to close friends and his circle. Mostly because he understands the importance of a pride and family.

A dreamer like his mother. Cris does tend to get caught up in his own thoughts once in a while, But he is easily able to snap back to reality and keep his attention where need be.

Although he is an extrovert, he sometimes puts a wall up when someone gets too intimate with him. He doesn’t really understand why. He keeps some of his personal thoughts to his self in an effort to keep people in his life and so that they will always view him in a positive light.

SPECIALTIES:

Shapeshifting, Rank I (20pts): Because of the family name and all, he has received some training in his shapeshifting. It is also largely due to the fact that lions are a rare commodity in this part of asia, especially extremely large ones, so hunting in their natural form would cause a bit of a problem. While he cannot do anything to his human form, in terms of swapping out features or using them for enhancements, he can alter the size of his natural lion form to something a bit more average. He cannot change his fur color however, so as a white lion he still stands out.

Animal Communication, Rank II (40pts): As a social family, the Yu Pride has never been shy in interacting with other were creatures. Intrigued by their abilities and specialties, Cris trained his animal communication in order to interact with other predatory animals, besides cats, due to his goals of starting his own mixed pack.

Enhanced Condition, Rank II (40pts): Werelions are known as formidable predators because of their short burst of speed, strength and overwhelming size. This is even more relevant for Cris, receiving extensive training since he was young. Compared to other were species, he is only able to reach tops speed at short burst rather than continuous. However given his training, the length of time is a bit longer among his species. In terms of his lion form, Cris’ muscular legs are powerful enough during a hunt. His fore limbs grip and strike while the hind legs are built for pouncing, All this tied together by his large sturdy paws, retractable claws and long and pointed teeth, sharp enough to pierce right through flesh. In his human form, he possesses strength far greater than the peak of human capability.

Enhanced Senses, Innate Ability, Rank 0 (0pts): As a werelion, Cris has a highly developed sense of smell and a sharper than average hearing. Although better compared to humans, among weres (wolves for example), his hearing falls a bit short.

Enhanced Vision, Innate Ability, Rank 0 (0pts): He see almost perfectly in the dark due to night vision (big cat things). But it has not been honed in particular to be called a specialty.

[shimmershae]

Kiss Me (a series of Walking Dead One Shots, Caryl).

So.  I stumbled on some prompts about kissing.  And because the shipper in me is almost always inwardly screaming this to our babies every time they're in close proximity onscreen, I decided why the hell not. 

 I can't promise frequent updates because I'm still struggling with writer's block like whoa, but there were 15 prompts in all, I believe, so expect me to add to this collection as inspiration and time allows. 

 Due to the nature of some of the prompts, some of the one shots will be AU's.  Some will be set in the ZA. 

 I hope you enjoy. 

 The first prompt is at a prom.  And yeah.  It's AU, lol, because could you imagine? 

 Some language, mild angst, and fluff under the cut.  Other characters making appearances and mentioned will be tagged. 

 Oh, and any typos are all mine.  I've read and reread through this thing several times, but I'm only human.  Let me know if there are any hugely glaring ones, and I'll do some editing. 

Kiss Me

  At a prom

      Carol has to hand it to them.  This year’s prom theme is certainly memorable. 

  “Still can’t believe Principal Monroe went for it.” 

  She bites back a smile, an effort to quell the butterflies suddenly taking flight in her belly that ultimately fails.  “Hmm,” she hums instead and takes a well-timed sip of her punch as one of her fellow chaperones sidles up next to her, their elbows brushing just barely as he reaches for his own cup of punch.   

  “Looks like blood.” 

  She smirks into her cup, takes another sip before responding.  “Pretty sure that’s the point.”  The newest and most talked about member of King County High’s staff, her gruffly handsome colleague Daryl Dixon was a man of relatively few words (although Lori swore he was positively chatty in Carol’s presence) whereas his predecessor, the kindly inquisitive Mr. Horvath, had decidedly not been.  It gave him an air of mystery that many of the hormone-fueled girls (and some of the boys) flocked to like moths to a flame, and enrollment in the school’s agriculture classes had more than doubled since the end of Dale’s tenure a year ago.  She should know, as her home economics classes were housed in the same building.  As a result, enrollment in her classes had increased, too.  And wouldn’t you know it?  She’s been making a fool of herself around the man ever since with shy smiles and oftentimes awkward, stumbling bits and pieces of conversation.  “Look around.  It’s the Apocalypse.” 

  “Pfft.  Really?  What kind?” 

  Zombies, kids in homemade Hazmat suits, aliens, even a few Mad Max types...he definitely has a point.  “At least the punch is good.” 

  “Pretty sure it’s spiked,” he says, downing the remainder of his cup and quickly grabbing the ladle to top it back off.

  “No!”  She frowns in disbelief before taking another tentative sip.  It tastes sweet, almost sickeningly so, but the gymnasium around them is crowded with teenaged bodies and Spring is just Summer-lite in Georgia.  With sweat pearling in the well of her throat and her curly hair starting to stick to the back of her neck in a frizzing mess, she’ll gladly take sweet over the alternative.  “I don’t believe you.” 

  He shrugs, gives her a curled lip little half smile.  “Believe what you wanna believe." 

  That smile does things to Carol, reawakens parts of her best left ignored.  But not even thoughts of her six-year-old daughter and the possible mischief Carl has enticed her into stirring up at the babysitter’s expense is enough to do it.  She throws back the rest of her own cup to combat the sudden dryness in her throat and holds it out for more. 

  “Thirsty?”   

  You have no idea.  She simply nods, and that half smile grows exponentially, shows off a gleaming set of teeth that looks positively predatory to her lust-muddled way of thinking.  She’s clearly not the only one because they soon amass a small crowd around them, roughly half a dozen giggling girls and one of her most prized pupils.  “Mr. Rhee,” she murmurs.  “Don’t you look…ghastly?” 

  Glenn takes her comment as high praise, his stature straightening and his grin positively beaming.  “Thanks.” 

  “No wonder the kid ain’t got no date,” Daryl mutters beneath his breath as one of the eyeballs attached to the teen’s costume glasses slinks forward then springs back. 

  His hand finds its way to the small of her back when she promptly starts choking, but Carol flinches forward, waving him and the rest of the concerned onlookers off.  “I’m okay.  I’m fine.”  Contrary to popular belief, she’s not completely clueless.  She’s heard bits and pieces of the gossip circulating the hallways and what little that has escaped her ears, Lori’s been sure to keep her up to speed.  Even if she does rag her about Daryl’s willful butchering, as she puts it, of the English language.  As two single, reasonably attractive adults of a viable age, they’ve captured the imagination of more than a few in the student body.  Just standing next to each other is more fuel for the fodder, she knows, and the deep blush on her cheeks, well.  She could claim a lot of reasons for it but Maggie Greene and Tara Chamblers?  Rosita Espinosa and Sasha Williams?  Amy Harrison?  They definitely wouldn’t buy it.  “I’m fine.  Really.” 

  Shane swoops in then and Glenn and the girls scatter with no small amount of tittering. 

  At the last second, Amy hangs back, shouts, “Cool costume, Coach Walsh!”

  “Impressive shiner,” Daryl says by way of greeting.  “Boss lady’s kid nail you?” 

  “Kid’s given me nothing but lip ever since I started dating her sister.”  Shane grumbles and (not-so) covertly flips the girl off before turning back to them.  Glancing over at Carol, he grunts out a laugh, dances around Daryl’s question.  “No, Man.  I wish.” 

  On cue, Lori joins them, rubbing one restless hand over her pregnant belly and touching Carol’s elbow with the other.  “Go ahead, Shane.  Tell him how you got the black eye,” she encouraged, as she and Carol shared a smile between friends.  “If you don’t, I will.”   

  “Fuckin’ T-ball practice.  I’m telling you, Carol.  That girl of yours…she’s little but she’s mighty.  Hear what I’m saying?  Packs a punch and has a helluva arm.  Shit aim, though.” 

  “No worse than Carl’s,” Lori reminds him with a laugh. 

  “No worse than Carl’s,” Carol agrees with a distracted smile.  She’s too busy trying to decipher the look clouding Daryl’s normally clear blue eyes.  It’s a fruitless effort, though, because it’s unreadable, just as guarded as always. 

  “Shane,” Lori teasingly singsongs.  “Fix me and the baby some punch.” 

  “You kiddin’?” Shane scoffs as he leads her away with a supportive hand hovering over her back.  “You ain’t touching that stuff.  My buddy Rick would…” 

  “Guess it really does have a little something extra in it.” 

  Daryl’s eyes narrow, but his lips twitch with the makings of a repressed smile as he studies her.  “You believe him and not me?” 

  Flustered, Carol explains, “Known him longer is all.  You, I barely know.” 

  “Fair enough,” Daryl allows with a dip of his chin.  “Listen, you wanna…” 

  “I’m sorry I…” Carol says at the same time.  “Sorry.  Sorry.”  Waving a hand in front of her flushed face, she worries her bottom lip between her teeth.  “Do you want to get some air?  It’s stifling in here.” 

  “Sure,” Daryl answers easily enough.  Shane and Lori are off in a quiet little corner, Lori’s swelling feet propped up in a chair and Shane holding up her phone while she FaceTimes her husband at work, but their other colleagues are taking their chaperone duties much more seriously, watching the students with eagle eyes.  “Mamet and Porter got this.” 

  Outside isn’t all that better, but Carol breathes a little easier all the same.  Too bad her heart picks up the slack, beating away inside her chest, because damn.  Without any other distractions, she notices just how good he looks.  He always looks good to her, too good, but tonight?  It’s not just the mugginess of a typical April night in the South making her melt.  The dark blue button-down he’s wearing is certainly more on the casual side, but it stretches snugly across his broad shoulders and molds lovingly to his upper body, and she, for one, isn’t complaining.  Catching him and herself off-guard, she blurts out a compliment.  “You look nice.” 

  “Pfft.” 

  “I mean it.  You look handsome.”  If she didn’t know any better, she’d think he were blushing, but the moon’s light is hazy at best as it peeks in and out of the night clouds, and she already feels like she’s staring, so she ducks her head. 

  “Handsome, huh?” 

  Carol sighs, pleased and more than a little bit exasperated by the situation she’s landed herself in.  Get some air?  Right.  Now she’s having trouble breathing again because he’s so close, close enough to touch, and she wants nothing more than to reach out to him, but there are so many reasons why that’s a bad idea.  Besides, she can still hear the laughter and the music from inside, muted but just beyond a set of double doors.  “Now you’re just fishing for compliments.  It’s…it should be unattractive.” 

  “Like you having a kid?”

  Her head snaps up, and her heart drops all the way to her feet.  “Wh-what did you just say?” 

  “That why you never mentioned her?” 

  “I don’t know what you’re…Daryl,” she sputters.  “We barely know each other, and Sophia?  She’s the most special person in my life.  Her well-being is more important to me than any crush could ever be.  Where is this even coming from?  It’s not like I’ve kept her a secret.” 

  The doors crash open behind them before he has time to formulate a response, and a fraught silence settles between, one that lasts until the laughing couple gets in their car and drives away.  When their tail-lights are nothing but a memory, he speaks again, his voice a low, husky rasp.  “You didn’t hear me right.  Said it should be.  Least that’s what me and my brother were raised to think.  But it ain’t.” 

  Softly, she murmurs, “It’s not?” 

  “It ain’t,” he repeats just as quietly.  “What you say…”

  He’s close again, and this time she does reach out, smooths a shaky hand over the back of his wrist, up his forearm.  “Daryl?” 

  “What you say me and you get to know each other a little better?” 

  Carol takes her time answering him, but that’s only because her heart has leapt back into her throat, beating away fiercely and making it difficult for her to formulate words.  He doesn’t know that, though, and endearingly, the man of few words starts rambling.  Already, he’s spoken more words to her in one night than probably the whole time they’ve known each other.   

  “Wanna be more than a crush.  Wanna be important.  Christ.  I wanna…” 

  “Daryl.”  She stops him by covering his mouth with her hand and can’t bite back the smile when his lips press warmly, unconsciously, against her palm in response.  “Okay.” 

  “Okay?  We can talk.  ‘Bout your kid even if you want.  Maybe someday I can meet her?” 

  “Okay,” she grins as his eyes glow at her in the darkness. 

  “You’re beautiful,” he blurts when she removes her hand, drops it to rest on his shoulder.  “So fuckin’ pretty.” 

  “If you’re trying to get me to kiss you…” 

  “S’it working?” 

  Carol pulls herself up on her tiptoes, both hands sliding up the back of his neck to his shaggy hair, and smiles at him, her eyes lingering on his utterly appealing mouth.  “Yes.” 

  “Yeah?” 

  “You can stop talking right…about…now.”  With each pause between words, they’ve moved closer and closer together, noses fitting against each other and lips ghosting until his hands find her waist and close the rest of the distance between them.  The sweet, innocent press of their lips doesn’t last long, and she soon finds herself with her back against the gymnasium wall and his rough hands tangled in her hair, lost to the rest of the outside world as they explore the wonders of each other’s mouths.  But all good things must come to an end, after all, and catcalls and good-natured whistles break them apart.  She hides her face in Daryl’s broad shoulder as hearty, teenaged congratulations go around. 

  “Get it, Mr. Dix!” 

  “About damn time!” 

  “I knew it!  I knew it!” 

  “Aww.  You two make such a cute couple!” 

  Until one commanding voice quiets them all.  “Enough!  Show’s over!  Back inside or vacate the premises!  Everyone!” 

  One by one, the teens comply, and Carol and Daryl find themselves alone in the company of their boss.  Speaking of little but mighty…Carol can’t find the words, and Daryl, unfortunately, reverts back to form.  “That include us?” Carol mumbles hopefully when he remains tongue-tied. 

  Principal Deanna Monroe props her hands on her hips, makes them sweat it out for a few seconds before answering.  “That depends.”

  Daryl finally rediscovers his voice.  “On?” 

  “Two things,” the diminutive woman smirks.  “One, you keep your hands to yourselves inside.  These are impressionable children we’re responsible for.” 

  “Done,” Carol promises.  “And two?” 

  “You guilt Walsh into donating his winnings.” 

  “Winnings?  The hell?” 

  “Don’t judge him too harshly.  A few more days, and let’s just say, my debate team would have benefited handsomely.”  With that, she leaves them with their jaws hanging open and their eyes wide. 

  Carol’s the first one to break, and Daryl soon follows her, smirking at the laughter that spills endlessly from her kiss-bruised lips. 

  “C’mere.” 

  “Daryl." 

  “You heard the lady.  M’not ready to let you go yet.” 

  One kiss melts into two melts into three and this time?  They’re both breathless. 

[shirlleycoyle]

Epstein Truthers Are Obsessed With a Sci-Fi Book About Child Sex Slavery Written by Bill Barr’s Dad

A pagoda-like tower stands in the foreground of the book’s cover, with a spaceship flying behind it in the distance. The book’s title, Space Relations, is spectacularly bland, but the subtitle—“a slightly Gothic interplanetary tale”—got me curious. Since it only cost $1.95, I bought the novel and a few other pulpy relics from John K. King Books, a cavernous literary landmark in Detroit.

It was September 2018. I had never heard of the author, Donald Barr, or his more well-known son, William Barr, who would become the Attorney General of the United States in a few months.

Space Relations: A Slightly Gothic Interplanetary Tale was already something of a curio that was selling for between $6 and $30 in July. Today, however, the book is priced anywhere from $150 to $300 on eBay, and is out of print practically everywhere else.

Why the price surge? The answer, regrettably, is Jeffrey Epstein, the alleged sex trafficker and convicted sex offender who died by suicide last Saturday at the Metropolitan Correctional Center in lower Manhattan.

Epstein’s most notorious social connections included both President Trump and President Clinton, and he also mingled with prominent intellectuals and scientists like Lawrence Krauss, Steven Pinker, and Marvin Minsky. But perhaps his earliest high-profile link is to Donald Barr, who served as headmaster of the prestigious Dalton School, a college prep school on Manhattan’s Upper East Side, from 1964 to 1974.

In September of 1973, a year before his tenure at Dalton ended, Barr published Space Relations. The book is highly unsettling and depicts the rape of enslaved people, especially teenage girls, and other coercive sex acts for the dual purposes of entertainment and controlled procreation. Barr resigned from his position as headmaster in June 1974 due to disagreements with trustees “over budget priorities and his disciplinarian approach to substance abuse,” according to his obituary in The New York Times.

Three months after Barr’s departure, Epstein started teaching math and science at Dalton even though he was a college dropout in his early 20s. He held the job for two years. Former students recall that even at that time, he displayed predatory behavior toward teenage girls.

It is not known whether Barr, who died in 2004, had a direct role in hiring Epstein.

The Epstein-Barr connection, which weirdly mimics the name of a herpes virus, is a weak link compared to more substantive evidence of Epstein’s relationships dug up in flight logs, photos, and court filings.

But in the wake of Epstein’s death, conspiratorial corners of the internet have noticed that the violent depictions in Space Relations somewhat echo his crimes and dark obsessions. A few eBay sellers have capitalized on this, going so far as to explicitly advertise Epstein in their product descriptions for the book.

“Parallels have been drawn between the plot of the novel and the current allegations of sex trafficking brought against the now deceased Jeffrey Epstein,” reads one listing. Another seller confirmed in a message to me that the price increased because of these similarities between the novel and Epstein’s crimes.

“Some say the book might be brought up as evidence in court but I don’t necessarily believe that,” the seller said. “Very few copies in the world as you can tell.”

The novel is both comically amoral and insufferably pretentious. To be fair, these traits were common in 1970s sci-fi.

The protagonist is John Craig, an Earth man in his 30s. After space pirates capture the passenger ship Craig is traveling on, he is sold into slavery on a planet called Kossar, a human colony run by seven oligarchs who delight in performing cruelties on their captives. The leaders are all male except one, Lady Morgan Sidney, whom the reader is immediately informed has “high breasts and long thighs.”

Craig ends up enslaved by Lady Morgan and falls in love with her. Though he is set up to be a kind of anti-slavery hero, he does not mind that she is a flamboyant sadist, and even enjoys participating in her demand to sexually assault an enslaved teenager at a clinic used to “breed” enslaved people.

(I’ve tried to find interviews with Barr that might clarify his inspiration for the novel, but only came up with a 1986 essay he wrote for The New York Times about ideal books for young readers. “Adolescence appears to be a relatively modern invention,” Barr opines, “and the romantic wretchedness of it appears to be more modern still.”)

By far the most disgusting aspect of the novel is its fixation on sexualizing adolescents, and its depictions of rape. Even the adult characters in the book are constantly infantilized. The novel is also rife with casually unsettling observations such as: “To me, pederasty seems utterly lacking in aesthetic appeal.”

This seedy undercurrent of Space Relations is the main reason its value has jumped over the past few weeks, as the horrors of Epstein’s crimes have unspooled in the news cycle (Barr’s second novel, A Planet in Arms, is also selling for around $200).

Rumors about the book have been floating around the internet for months, but have become more boldly conspiratorial since Epstein’s suicide. Of course, this gossip is simply speculation, and it bears repeating that the connection between Epstein and Barr is flimsy, and any link between Epstein’s crimes and the book’s contents even more so.

Ultimately, Space Relations is a testament to how normalized it was, and still is, to sexualize minors and fetishize rape in science fiction. It also underscores how powerful people often act with impunity. After all, Barr wrote a novel filled with underage rape at the same time he was running an esteemed Manhattan high school, and he didn’t even feel the need to use a pseudonym.

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