#maybe i will come back to other untouched wips..... who knows

[kiashieart]

⚡

[theonottsbxtch]

PREACHER’S DAUGHTER | MV1

an: can you tell i have an amazing music taste, anyway i’m finishing up a lot of my wips this weekend therefore be ready for a bit of stuff to come out!! i need to update my master list

warnings: domestic abuse, religious themes obvs

wc: 10.2k

Max was never one for church.

Never believed in any of that.

But God, would he get on his knees for a girl.

He couldn’t even remember when he first saw her—it was like she’d always been there, glowing in a way that made his chest tighten and his palms itch to touch what he had no business reaching for.

She was perfect in that untouchable kind of way. Always smiling, always polite. The kind of girl who said "please" and "thank you" without sounding fake. She had a laugh that could make angels jealous and a silver cross around her neck that caught the light just right, like some divine shield.

And Max? He was everything she wasn’t. Grease under his nails, a cigarette always tucked behind his ear, and a devil-may-care attitude that had sent half the town clutching their pearls. He’d been watching her for weeks now, maybe months. The way she walked, her little rituals—Bible study on Wednesday nights, choir practice on Saturdays, and the absolute certainty that she’d be on her family’s porch every evening at seven, helping her mom snap beans or some other domestic chore that Max couldn’t wrap his head around.

She didn’t belong in his world. Hell, she probably didn’t even know it existed. But that didn’t stop him from wanting her. No, needing her.

It was the way she looked so... pure, he supposed. Untouched by the grime and shadows he carried around like second skin. And it wasn’t just her innocence he wanted to wreck. It was the thought of making her his—really his. Of seeing her in his world, in his trailer, on his bike, wearing his marks, not that dainty little cross that probably smelled of Sunday mornings and lavender soap.

Max didn’t follow her. Not exactly. But he always seemed to know where she’d be, and tonight wasn’t any different. Wednesday night Bible study. He parked his beat-up car down the street from the little white church, hidden enough to keep from drawing attention. Not that anyone would think twice—it wasn’t like he blended in with the choir crowd.

The stained-glass windows glowed softly, warm light spilling out into the cool evening air. He could hear the faint hum of voices, maybe a hymn being sung, as he leaned back against the hood of his car and waited. He lit another cigarette, the flicker of the lighter briefly illuminating the sharp lines of his face.

When the front doors finally swung open, he straightened, tossing the half-smoked cigarette onto the pavement and crushing it under his boot. She was the last to leave, as he knew she would be. Everyone else had trickled out in pairs and groups, chatting and laughing as they headed home. But she stayed behind, always locking up on her own.

Tonight, she was struggling with a box full of what looked like hymnals and Bible study materials, juggling it while trying to fit the key into the heavy wooden doors. Max could see the way her fingers fumbled, her brow furrowing in frustration.

Before he could think better of it, he started across the street. The click of his boots on the pavement caught her attention, and she turned her head sharply, her soft eyes widening as she saw him.

“Need a hand?” he asked, his voice low, almost teasing.

She hesitated, her gaze flicking from his face to the box in her arms and then back again. He noticed how she clutched it tighter, like she wasn’t sure if she should trust him.

“It’s fine,” she said quickly, her voice as soft and sweet as he’d imagined. “I’ve got it.”

“Doesn’t look like it,” he said, stepping closer. Before she could protest, he reached out and took the box from her. Their fingers brushed, and the contrast hit him like a punch to the gut. Her hands were soft, smooth, and clean, while his were rough, calloused, and stained with grease that never seemed to wash off.

“Thanks,” she said reluctantly, looking up at him. He noticed how small she seemed compared to him, how her cross caught the light even in the dark.

“You’re the boy that fixes Daddy’s car,” she said after a beat. “From the shop in town.”

Max raised an eyebrow, surprised. “Didn’t know you knew me.”

“I don’t,” she said quickly, her cheeks flushing. “I just… heard Daddy talking about you. Said you do good work.”

He smirked at that, carrying the box like it weighed nothing and setting it gently down beside her. “Guess I’m a little famous, then.”

She laughed softly, and it was the kind of sound that made something deep in his chest tighten. She reached for her key again, this time managing to lock the doors without the box in her way.

“Thanks for the help,” she said, stepping back and brushing her hands against her skirt.

“Anytime,” he replied, his grin widening. He leaned against the doors, watching her as she adjusted her bag over her shoulder. “What’s your name?”

She hesitated for a moment, her lips parting as if she were about to answer, but then she shook her head. “I should go. My family will be waiting.”

And just like that, she was walking away, her head held high, her skirt swaying gently with each step.

Max watched her until she disappeared around the corner, his grin fading into something darker, more determined.

“See you around,” he muttered under his breath.

Because he would. One way or another.

Max didn’t see her again for days, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t on his mind. She had a way of lingering there, like the scent of rain after a storm—clean, fresh, and completely out of place in his world.

The more he thought about her, the more he couldn’t shake the way her voice had sounded when she’d called him "the boy that fixes Daddy’s car." There was no judgment in it, no disdain. Just a simple observation, like she hadn’t even realised how different their worlds were.

But Max knew. Oh, he knew.

She was the preacher’s daughter, for God’s sake. The girl who probably spent her nights reading scripture and praying for sinners like him. And he? He was the guy people crossed the street to avoid, the one mothers warned their daughters about. He’d left home at fifteen, slept on park benches and under bridges until he’d scraped together enough to buy that rusted-out trailer. He worked double shifts at the garage, spent his weekends drinking cheap beer with guys who wouldn’t bat an eye at a bar fight, and had a reputation that kept most people from looking him in the eye.

He wasn’t good enough for her. He knew that.

Didn’t mean he didn’t want her anyway.

The next Wednesday, he found himself back outside the church, parked in the same spot as before. He hadn’t planned it—at least, that’s what he told himself. But when he saw her again, her laugh carrying across the parking lot as she said goodbye to the last of her Bible study group, he felt that same pull in his chest.

This time, he didn’t approach her. Not yet. Instead, he leaned against his shit box car and watched as she locked the doors, her movements quick and practiced. She wasn’t carrying anything tonight, but she still seemed to pause for a moment, glancing around like she could feel his eyes on her.

He ducked his head, pretending to light a cigarette even though it was already burning. When he glanced back up, she was gone.

The next few days passed in a blur of oil changes, engine repairs, and sleepless nights. Max couldn’t shake the image of her—the way her hands had brushed his, the way she’d looked at him like she was trying to figure him out.

By the time Sunday rolled around, he couldn’t stay away.

He parked his bike a few blocks from the church, out of sight, and watched as families filed in for the morning service. They were all dressed in their Sunday best—dads in pressed suits, moms in floral dresses, kids squirming in their fancy clothes.

And then there she was, walking up the steps with her family. She wore a white dress that stopped just below her knees, her hair pulled back in a way that showed off the delicate line of her neck. The silver cross around her neck gleamed in the sunlight, and Max found himself staring at it, wondering what it would look like tangled with the chains he wore.

Her father was at her side, his hand resting protectively on her shoulder as he greeted the congregation. He was everything Max wasn’t—clean-cut, well-spoken, a man who commanded respect just by standing there.

Max stayed until the doors closed behind her, then turned and walked back to his bike.

He didn’t know what he was doing, or why he couldn’t just let it go. All he knew was that he’d see her again.

And when he did, he’d make her notice him.

Max didn’t plan to follow her after the service, not really. But when he saw her step out of the church alone, her family nowhere in sight, curiosity got the better of him. She walked with purpose, her hands clutching a small book—probably her Bible, he figured—and her expression calm, like she knew exactly where she was going.

He stayed a block or so behind, keeping his footsteps quiet on the pavement. She didn’t seem like the type to sneak off after church, and yet, here she was, turning off the main road and heading toward the park.

When she reached a shaded bench near the pond, she sat down, smoothing her dress before opening her book. Max hung back, watching as she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and began to read, her lips moving silently.

He couldn’t stop himself. Hands shoved in his pockets, he sauntered over, his boots crunching on the gravel path. She looked up as he approached, her eyes widening for a moment before settling into something softer, almost expectant.

“I told my daddy I saw you,” she said, closing the book and resting it on her lap.

Max raised an eyebrow, his smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “And what did he say?”

“That I shouldn’t hang around with people like you,” she replied simply, her voice steady, but her fingers fidgeting with the edge of the book.

He stepped closer, leaning down slightly so they were almost at eye level. “But I don’t see you running,” he whispered, his voice low and teasing.

Her cheeks flushed, but she held his gaze, her expression unflinching. “I’ve noticed you, you know,” she said, tilting her head. “You’re always… around. Outside the church. Watching.”

He straightened up, rubbing the back of his neck. “Can’t help it,” he admitted. “You’re hard to ignore.”

She blinked, her lashes fluttering like she wasn’t sure what to make of that. Then, to his surprise, she smiled—a small, hesitant thing that made his chest ache in a way he wasn’t used to.

“I’ve been praying for you,” she said softly, her hands tightening on the book.

Max couldn’t stop the chuckle that escaped him, low and rough. “Praying for me, huh? What for?”

“That you’ll find peace,” she said simply, her voice so earnest it made him pause.

He looked at her, really looked at her—the way the sunlight caught in her hair, the way her fingers trembled just a little against the leather cover of her book, the way she seemed so fragile and so unshakable all at once.

“Peace,” he repeated, the word foreign on his tongue. “You think that’s something I’m missing?”

Her smile grew just a fraction, her eyes softening. “Don’t you?”

For a moment, he didn’t know what to say. He wanted to laugh it off, to brush her words aside like they didn’t hit somewhere deep and uncomfortable. But the way she was looking at him made it impossible.

She shifted slightly on the bench, her hands resting in her lap as she looked at him. “Everyone finds their way,” she said softly, her voice carrying the kind of conviction that made Max’s chest ache. “One way or another. You just have to be willing to see it.”

Max wanted to scoff, to tell her he didn’t have a “way” to find, but the words died in his throat when he noticed it—a faint bruise just below the cuff of her sleeve, barely visible as she adjusted the book in her lap. His eyes narrowed, the casual smirk on his face fading.

“What happened there?” he asked, nodding toward her arm.

She followed his gaze, quickly tugging her sleeve down to cover the mark. “Oh, that?” She gave a small, nervous laugh. “It’s nothing. I play volleyball sometimes with the girls from church. Just got a little too close to the net.”

Max didn’t buy it. The way she spoke, the way her fingers tightened on the fabric of her dress—it didn’t add up. But he didn’t push. Not yet.

“You sure about that?” he asked, his tone light but his eyes sharp.

She nodded quickly, her smile not quite reaching her eyes. “Positive.”

The silence between them stretched, and Max could feel the distance growing, even though they were sitting inches apart.

“I should get home,” she said suddenly, standing and smoothing out her skirt. “It’s getting late.”

He watched as she picked up her book and slung her bag over her shoulder, the hesitant smile she gave him feeling more like a goodbye than a see-you-later.

“You walking?” he asked, standing as well.

She nodded. “It’s not far.”

He didn’t offer to walk her, knowing she’d probably say no. Instead, he stayed where he was, watching her disappear down the path until she was out of sight.

The next Wednesday, Max found himself back at the church. He hadn’t planned it—at least, that’s what he told himself—but when he saw her locking up the doors again, he couldn’t stop himself from approaching.

She glanced up as he stepped up to the doors, her face lighting up with a mixture of surprise and something softer that made his chest tighten.

“You’re here again,” she said, her voice carrying a hint of teasing.

“Couldn’t stay away,” he replied, leaning casually against the doorframe.

She hesitated for a moment, then tilted her head toward the doors. “Do you want to see the inside?”

Max raised an eyebrow. “You offering to give me a tour?”

“Maybe,” she said with a small smile. “If you’re interested.”

He didn’t hesitate. “Yeah. Show me.”

She unlocked the doors and pushed them open, leading him into the dimly lit sanctuary. The air was cool and quiet, the kind of silence that felt heavier than normal.

“This is where we hold services,” she said, gesturing toward the rows of wooden pews. “And over there is the choir loft.”

Max followed her, his eyes drifting over the stained-glass windows and the simple but elegant decor. It wasn’t the kind of place he ever pictured himself in, but being here with her made it feel… different.

“And where do you ask for forgiveness?” he asked, his voice low as he stepped closer to her.

She paused, then turned and led him to the front of the church. “Here,” she said, motioning toward the altar. “This is where people kneel to pray.”

Max’s gaze flicked from the altar to her, and for a moment, he couldn’t help the thought that slipped into his mind. The idea of her on her knees, not in prayer but for him, sent a rush of something dark and hungry through him.

She knelt down, her hands clasped in front of her as if demonstrating. “You just… let it all out here. Whatever’s on your heart, you bring it to God.”

He didn’t say anything, just watched her, his throat tightening as the image burned itself into his memory. He wondered, fleetingly, what she’d look like if she weren’t here for forgiveness but for him.

“You going to try?” she asked, looking up at him, her expression earnest and full of trust.

He shook his head, forcing himself to focus. “Not my thing,” he muttered, stepping back.

She stood, brushing off her skirt. “Maybe one day,” she said softly.

Max wasn’t so sure. But he’d come back, if only to see her again.

He didn’t ever think he’d see her in his stomping ground, ever.

The garage smelled like oil and metal, the kind of earthy, gritty scent that clung to Max no matter how much he scrubbed his hands. He was leaned under the hood of an old Chevy—her dad’s car—when he heard the soft jingle of the bell above the shop door.

He straightened, wiping his hands on a rag as she stepped inside. Her presence was like sunlight cutting through the dim, grease-streaked world he lived in.

“Didn’t expect to see you here,” he said, leaning against the car and smirking. “Ain’t I usually the one picking you up?”

She stopped a few steps in, her hands clasping the strap of her bag. “I left some college work in my daddy’s car,” she said, her voice steady but careful, like she wasn’t sure how to navigate him in this setting.

Max raised an eyebrow, tossing the rag onto a workbench. “Well, aren’t you lucky I’ve got it right here.”

She hesitated, her eyes flicking to the car before meeting his. “Can I…?”

He stepped aside, gesturing toward the passenger door. “Be my guest.”

She nodded, walking over and leaning into the open door to retrieve her things. Max’s eyes flicked down before he could stop himself, catching a glimpse of her skirt riding up as she bent over, exposing plain white cotton panties that clung to her hips.

It was innocent, unintentional—but it made his pulse spike, his throat tightening as he quickly looked away. His hand clenched into a fist, nails biting into his palm as he forced himself to focus.

Then he saw it—a jagged gash on the side of her thigh, red and raw against her pale skin. His smirk faded, replaced by a frown as something twisted in his gut.

“You gonna tell me what happened there?” he asked, nodding toward her leg.

She froze for a moment before straightening, clutching her notebook tightly against her chest. “Oh,” she said, glancing down at the cut. “It’s nothing. I was playing with my brother in the park, and the ball rolled into some bushes. I went to get it and scratched myself on a branch.”

Max folded his arms, his gaze sharp and unrelenting. “You’ve got an awful lot of bad luck, don’t you? First volleyball, now this.”

Her eyes darted to his, wide and a little panicked. “It’s the truth,” she said quickly, but her voice wavered just enough to betray her.

He stepped closer, his presence looming as he leaned in, his voice a low whisper. “Lying’s a sin, you know.”

Her lips parted, and for a moment, she looked like she might crumble. But then her shoulders straightened, and she lifted her chin, defiance flashing in her eyes. “I believe you should worry about the long list of sins you’ve racked up,” she shot back, her voice trembling but firm.

Max smirked at that, the sharp edge of his grin making her swallow hard. “I thought you were praying for me,” he said, his tone almost teasing but laced with something darker.

She stared at him, her hands tightening on her notebook until her knuckles turned white. “I should go,” she said finally, her voice clipped.

“Don’t let me stop you,” he replied, stepping back just enough to let her pass.

She turned and walked out, her steps quick and purposeful, the door swinging shut behind her with a jingle that felt louder than it should have.

Max watched her go, the tension in his chest twisting into something heavier. He didn’t believe her for a second. But the look in her eyes—the mix of fear, defiance, and something else he couldn’t quite name—made him want to figure out exactly what she was hiding.

And he would. One way or another.

A few days later, Max was leaning under the hood of yet another clunker when his manager strolled over, clipboard in hand.

“Got a favor to ask,” the older man grumbled. “Preacher’s too busy to pick up his car. Needs it dropped off at his place.”

Max straightened, rubbing his hands on a rag, his pulse quickening at the mention of her house. He didn’t even have to think about it.

“I’ll do it,” he said casually, masking the eagerness bubbling under his skin. “Got time.”

His manager raised an eyebrow. “Yeah? You’re sure?”

“Yeah.” Max tossed the rag aside, the corner of his mouth tugging into a grin. “Consider it handled.”

By the time he pulled up to the preacher’s house in the old Chevy, the sun was just beginning to dip below the horizon, casting the house in a warm, golden light. He killed the engine, climbing out and leaning against the car for a moment.

That’s when he heard it.

The sound drifted through the open window—a soft, mournful piano melody that sent a shiver down his spine. It was beautiful, haunting even, and he knew immediately that it was her.

He stood there, listening, his chest tightening as each note seemed to carry a weight he couldn’t quite place. Then, as the song trailed off, he forced himself to move, stepping up to the door and knocking firmly.

The music stopped. A few seconds later, the door creaked open, and there she was.

She looked different. Vulnerable.

Her hair was loose, falling in soft waves over her shoulders, and she was wearing a simple pair of pyjamas—pale blue cotton shorts and an oversized t-shirt that hung loosely on her frame. She blinked up at him, clearly surprised, and for a moment, neither of them spoke.

“Hey,” he said, his voice quieter than usual. “Brought your dad’s car back.”

“Thanks,” she said, her voice soft and a little hoarse.

His eyes drifted lower, and that’s when he saw it—a dark, fresh bruise blooming along her forearm, just visible under the edge of her sleeve.

His chest tightened, and before he could stop himself, his hand reached out, his rough fingers brushing against the tender skin.

She flinched, but not away. Her lips parted, her eyes flicking up to meet his, wide and uncertain.

“What happened?” he asked, his voice low but laced with tension.

She pulled her arm back, wrapping it around herself like a shield. “I’ve been sick,” she murmured, her words hesitant. “That’s why I’ve been home. Just… clumsy, I guess.”

He didn’t believe her. Not for a second.

“Sick, huh?” he said, his voice edged with scepticism.

She nodded, but the way her gaze darted to the floor gave her away.

For a moment, the air between them felt heavy, charged with something neither of them seemed able to name. Max’s hand hovered at his side, aching to reach out again, but he forced himself to step back.

The sound of heavy footsteps broke the moment, and Max turned just as her father appeared in the doorway.

“Evening,” the preacher said, his voice warm but commanding, his eyes flicking between Max and his daughter.

“Car’s good as new,” Max said, holding out the keys. “She’ll run smooth for you.”

“Appreciate it,” the preacher replied, taking the keys with a nod.

Max hesitated, glancing at her one last time. “You know where to find me if you need anything. Always here for you to rely on the car.”

His words were meant for her father, but his eyes stayed on her, making sure she understood the double meaning.

The preacher didn’t seem to notice. “Thank you, son,” he said, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a crisp bill. He handed it to Max with a firm handshake.

Max nodded, pocketing the tip without looking at it. As he stepped back, the preacher gave him a polite smile before closing the door firmly, leaving Max staring at the wood grain.

The following morning sun filtered weakly through the dusty blinds of Max’s trailer, casting long shadows over the cluttered space. He was sprawled on his bed, one leg hanging off the side, barely awake when he heard it—a soft, hesitant knock at the door.

For a moment, he thought he was imagining it, the sound so light it could’ve been the wind rattling the screen. But then it came again, firmer this time.

Grumbling under his breath, Max swung his legs over the side of the bed, rubbing a hand over his face. He shuffled to the door in nothing but his boxers, too groggy to care about decency.

When he pulled the door open, he froze.

There she was, standing on the cracked wooden steps of his trailer.

She looked like she’d stepped out of another world—her crisp white blouse tucked into a pale blue skirt that swayed lightly in the breeze, her hair perfectly combed and pinned back. But her eyes were red-rimmed, her cheeks blotchy, and there was a tremble in her lip that told him she’d been crying.

Her gaze flicked downward, catching sight of his bare chest and boxer-clad frame. Her face flushed pink, and she quickly looked away, clutching the strap of her bag so tightly her knuckles turned white.

Max blinked, his grogginess evaporating in an instant. “What are you doing here?” he asked, his voice rough from sleep.

She didn’t answer right away, just stared down at the ground like she couldn’t meet his eyes. He stepped back, holding the door open wider. “You wanna come in?”

She hesitated for a moment, then nodded, stepping over the threshold.

As she entered, the contrast between her polished appearance and the rough, lived-in state of his trailer couldn’t have been starker. The cramped space was cluttered with tools, half-empty coffee mugs, and a laundry basket overflowing with clothes. She looked out of place, like a dove dropped into the middle of a storm.

Max closed the door behind her, leaning against it as he crossed his arms. “You okay?” he asked, his tone softer now.

She stood in the middle of the room, her arms wrapped around herself. “I… I didn’t want to stay at home,” she said quietly.

The way her voice cracked on the last word made his chest tighten.

“What happened?” he asked, stepping closer but keeping his distance, giving her space to speak.

She shook her head, her fingers gripping her bag tighter. “I… I snuck out,” she admitted, her voice trembling. “I couldn’t stay there anymore.”

Max’s jaw tightened. He wanted to ask why, but he already knew. He’d known for weeks.

Finally, she looked up at him, tears brimming in her wide, frightened eyes. “It’s my daddy,” she whispered. “He… he hits me.”

Her words hung in the air, heavy and raw.

Max’s fists clenched at his sides, his whole body going rigid. “How long’s this been going on?” he asked, his voice low and tight.

She looked away, her gaze darting to the corner of the room as if she could hide from the question. “As long as I can remember,” she said finally, her voice barely audible.

Max swore under his breath, running a hand through his hair. He wanted to punch something, to drag her father out into the street and make him pay. But more than anything, he wanted to make her feel safe.

“You should’ve told someone,” he said, his voice softer now, though the anger still simmered just beneath the surface.

Her eyes snapped back to his, a flash of fear and desperation in them. “I couldn’t,” she said quickly. “I can’t. If people knew, it’d ruin everything. My daddy’s the preacher. People look up to him. They’d never believe me.”

Max stepped closer, his rough hands itching to reach out and touch her, to ground her somehow. But he didn’t. Not yet.

“You don’t have to go back there,” he said firmly. “You can stay here. No one’s gonna hurt you while I’m around.”

Her gaze softened, her lips trembling as she whispered, “Why do you care so much?”

Max let out a low, humorless laugh, shaking his head. “You think I can just stand by and let this happen? After everything I’ve seen…” He paused, meeting her gaze head-on. “You’re not like the rest of us. You don’t belong in a place like that.”

Her breath hitched, and for a moment, the space between them felt charged, heavy with unspoken words. She looked like she might say something, but then a tear slipped down her cheek, and she wiped it away quickly.

“I shouldn’t have come here,” she said suddenly, backing toward the door. “I didn’t mean to bother you—”

“You’re not bothering me,” Max said firmly, cutting her off.

She hesitated, her hand hovering near the door handle.

“You don’t have to do this alone,” he said, his voice softer now, almost pleading.

She looked at him for a long moment, her eyes searching his face as if trying to decide whether she could trust him. Finally, she nodded, just barely, and let her hand fall away from the door.

Max rubbed the back of his neck again, his eyes never leaving her face as she stood there, caught between leaving and staying. He could see the battle in her—wanting to run but needing something, someone, to anchor her.

“You can stay here tonight,” he said, his voice steady but gentle, like he was trying not to spook her.

Her eyes widened slightly, and for a moment, she didn’t respond. She looked around the cramped trailer, at the cluttered counters and the sagging couch, her delicate hands gripping the strap of her bag like it was a lifeline.

“I don’t know…” she started, her voice faltering.

“No one’ll bother you here,” Max said, stepping closer. “You’ll be safe. And if you want to leave in the morning, you can. No strings.”

She bit her lip, the hesitation etched in every line of her face.

“But…” she whispered, looking up at him, “I need to go to Sunday service.”

Max blinked, surprised by the sudden shift in her tone.

“While I’m mad at my daddy,” she continued, her voice growing steadier, “I still have to go. I can’t not be there. It’s… it’s important to me.”

Her words hung in the air, a quiet plea wrapped in conviction.

Max nodded without hesitation. “I’ll take you,” he said simply. “First thing in the morning.”

She blinked up at him, a flicker of relief crossing her features. “You promise?”

“Yeah,” he said, a faint grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Scout’s honor.”

That drew a small, hesitant smile from her, though it quickly faded as her gaze dropped to the floor again.

“I’ll stay,” she said softly, almost like she didn’t believe the words herself.

Max exhaled, the tension in his chest easing just slightly. “Good. Make yourself at home,” he said, gesturing vaguely around the trailer. “It’s not much, but it’s better than where you came from.”

She nodded, her movements stiff and unsure, like she didn’t quite know how to exist in this space.

“I gotta get to work,” Max added, glancing at the clock on the wall. “But you’re welcome to stay as long as you want. Bed is yours, and there’s food in the fridge—though, fair warning, it’s mostly leftovers and beer.”

That earned him a faint, almost amused look, and he felt a strange sense of satisfaction at the sight.

“I’ll be fine,” she said quietly.

Max hesitated for a moment, then reached out, placing a hand on her shoulder. His touch was light, careful, but firm enough to ground her.

“You’re safe here,” he said, his voice low but certain.

She nodded again, her gaze flicking up to meet his, and for a moment, the silence between them felt warm, comforting.

“I’ll be back in a few hours,” he said, stepping toward his makeshift bedroom grabbing some clothes and slipping them on. “If you need anything—anything at all—you call me, alright? Danny down the road has my number, he’s got the graffiti all over his trailer.”

“Alright,” she replied, her voice steadier now.

With one last glance over his shoulder, Max stepped out into the morning light, the door clicking shut behind him. As he walked toward his beat-up car, a strange mix of emotions swirled in his chest—anger, protectiveness, and something else he couldn’t quite name.

She’d taken a risk coming to him, and he wasn’t about to let her down. Not now. Not ever.

Max worked through the afternoon with his head barely in the game. The thought of her in his trailer—his space—kept creeping into his mind. He couldn’t shake the image of her standing there, looking so out of place, like she belonged somewhere far away from this rundown world he inhabited. The image of her soft eyes and trembling lip haunted him as he fixed engines and cleaned up at the shop.

By the time he came back to the trailer, the evening sun had already dipped behind the horizon, casting a pale, dusky glow over everything. He turned the key in the door, the familiar creak of the hinges echoing in the quiet.

And then he froze.

The trailer didn’t look the same.

It was spotless.

The clutter on the counters, the dirty dishes, the laundry piled up in the corner—all of it was gone. The floor was swept, the counters wiped down, and there was even a faint smell of something cooking, something hearty and savory. Max took a step inside, his eyes scanning the room as if he was seeing it for the first time.

And there she was, standing in the kitchen.

She had slipped into one of his old band t-shirts—black and faded with the edges curling up—and paired it with the skirt she’d worn earlier. Her hair was still down, a little messy from the day, but there was something about the way she moved around his space that made her seem... at ease. She was focused on the stove, stirring something in a pot, humming quietly to herself as if she belonged.

Max felt a sudden knot in his stomach, a wave of desire mixed with something deeper—something protective. He swallowed hard, his gaze dropping down to her legs, exposed beneath the hem of the shirt, and then back up to her face. She didn’t notice him at first, too absorbed in what she was doing, and he took a few moments to just watch her.

She looked so out of place in his world—his messy, cluttered world—but at the same time, she fit perfectly.

She caught sight of him, and a warm, almost shy smile spread across her face. "I wasn’t sure what you liked, but I found some stuff in the cupboard. It’s not much, but I thought… I could make you something."

Max’s chest tightened at the sincerity in her voice. He had no idea she could cook.

“You didn’t have to do all this,” he said, his voice rough with something unspoken. He stepped further into the trailer, noticing that she’d even made the bed. The blankets were neatly arranged, the pillow fluffed, the whole room looking like it belonged in some kind of hotel. It felt... new.

She shrugged, a little embarrassed. "It's the least I could do. You’ve been so kind to me... I wanted to help, in some way."

Max ran a hand over his jaw, fighting the urge to reach out and pull her close. Her presence was intoxicating, her gentle kindness disarming. The way she stood there, so effortless in his space, made something inside him shift. His heart beat faster as he moved toward the kitchen, unable to resist the pull of her.

She turned back to the stove, unaware of the war going on inside him. He couldn’t help but glance at the way her shirt rode up on her thighs, the curve of her hips, and the soft skin of her exposed legs. His mind flashed to earlier—when she’d stepped into his trailer with those wide eyes, trembling and vulnerable. And now, she was here, looking like she belonged to him in ways she probably didn’t even realise.

His hands clenched at his sides. He needed to calm down.

“You didn’t have to clean everything up,” he said, trying to focus on something other than how badly he wanted to kiss her, touch her, feel her beneath his hands.

“I don’t mind,” she replied, her voice soft. “It felt wrong to just sit around, so I figured I could do something. It’s a mess here, but I… I wanted it to feel like home for a bit.”

Home.

The word hit him harder than he expected. Max didn’t know what it meant to feel at home. His life had always been a constant hustle, scraping by, living in his car, barely getting by. But here, with her, in the middle of this trailer—he felt like maybe he could understand it, just a little bit.

She stirred the pot again, and Max took a deep breath. His body was tight with the need to do something—to touch her, hold her—but he fought it down.

He stepped closer, casually leaning against the counter. “You sure you’re okay with all this?” he asked, trying to keep his tone light, casual.

She glanced at him, her eyes soft but unreadable. “I’m okay,” she said, her voice just above a whisper. She seemed to hesitate for a moment before continuing, her gaze steady. “I just… I don’t know what to do anymore. I’m scared, Max.”

The words hit him like a punch to the gut, and before he could stop himself, he reached out, his fingers brushing the back of her hand. Her skin was soft, delicate, and his pulse skipped in response. She didn’t pull away, but she didn’t look at him either.

Max leaned in just slightly, his breath catching in his throat as he whispered, “I’ll keep you safe, I swear.”

There was a moment of silence. And then, in the quietest voice, almost as if she were speaking to herself, she whispered, “I believe you.”

And in that moment, something inside Max shifted completely. He didn’t just want her. He needed to protect her. To keep her from harm.

The tension in the air was thick, and he knew if he didn’t walk away now, he wouldn’t be able to control himself. His hand lingered on hers for just a second longer before he pulled away, his heart pounding in his chest.

“Let’s eat,” he said, trying to mask the urgency in his voice, trying to ground himself again.

Max didn’t have a proper dining table—hell, he barely had enough room for his sofa—but tonight, that didn’t matter.

He took a seat on the old sofa, and she settled beside him, carefully placing the plates of food between them. The smell of whatever she’d made filled the air—something simple but satisfying, with just a hint of warmth that made it feel like a real meal. It was the first time in a while that Max had felt something other than hunger when he sat down to eat.

As she set her fork down and looked at her hands, she murmured something under her breath, her voice soft and steady. Max was halfway through a bite when he realised she was praying.

He watched her quietly, noting the calmness in her demeanor, the way her hands were folded neatly in front of her. Her lips moved with the words, a quiet reverence that made the air in the room feel still, almost sacred.

When she finished, she looked at him, a small, shy smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. “Sorry,” she said, her cheeks flushed. “It’s just… habit.”

Max shook his head, swallowing the lump in his throat. “No need to apologise,” he said, his voice softer than usual. He found it cute—no, charming—how she prayed before every meal, how that simple act of faith seemed to give her some semblance of peace. He had no idea what that kind of peace felt like.

They ate quietly, the sound of forks scraping against plates the only noise between them. There was something almost intimate about this simple moment—the way she sat beside him, the way she kept her space but still seemed to fill the room.

It wasn’t long before Max’s mind started to wander again, and his gaze drifted down to her hand as she picked up her glass of water. He noticed the ring on her finger, the simple silver band catching the light.

“What’s that?” he asked, his voice casual, though his stomach clenched slightly.

She looked down at it, almost absentmindedly, before meeting his gaze. “It’s a purity ring,” she said, her voice quiet, almost reverent.

Max froze, his fork half-raised to his mouth. A purity ring. The thought hit him like a punch to the gut, a wave of something dark and primal swirling beneath the surface. She wore it like a promise, a promise to stay pure, to wait for marriage, to avoid the kinds of things he’d spent most of his life seeking out—things he wasn’t sure he could even offer her if she wanted them.

His thoughts scrambled, his chest tightening. He forced himself to swallow the lump in his throat and shifted on the couch, trying to ignore the tightening in his jeans. He couldn’t help himself. The idea of her—innocent, pure, wearing a ring like that—drove him mad. It made him think things he shouldn’t, things that went against the very core of who she was.

He cleared his throat, trying to distract himself from the thoughts swirling in his head. “I, uh… I think you should take the bed,” he said abruptly. “I’ll crash here on the couch.”

She gave him a soft look, her expression kind, though there was something in her eyes that told him she wasn’t used to accepting charity—or favours of any kind.

“Thank you,” she said, glancing at the bed and then back at him.

She stood up, taking both their plates to the sink and left him in the makeshift living room.

Max settled back onto the small couch, but sleep didn’t come easy. He was restless, his mind too filled with thoughts of her, her innocence, her sweetness, and that damn purity ring. Even though there was a whole doorframe separating the two of them, the room felt too small. His chest too tight. His body too aware of everything that was happening in that tiny space between them.

Eventually, he shifted again, sighing in frustration as he tossed the blanket off of himself. The couch wasn’t uncomfortable, but it was too small for someone his size. He needed to stretch out.

A few minutes later, he heard the soft creak of the floorboards. He turned his head slightly, squinting through the dim light. She was standing in the doorway, her silhouette outlined by the faint glow of his beside table.

“Max?” Her voice was soft, tentative.

He sat up, blinking. “Yeah?”

“I—uh, I can’t sleep,” she admitted, stepping further into the room. “And you look... uncomfortable on the couch.” She hesitated, then bit her lip. “Would you, um, want to sleep in the bed with me? Just... just for tonight?”

Max felt his breath catch in his throat. He should’ve said no. He knew he should’ve. But she was standing there in his shirt, her hair falling messily around her shoulders, and her eyes—those soft, uncertain eyes—were pleading with him in a way that made him feel like he was the one who needed her comfort.

“Are you sure?” he asked, voice tight.

She nodded, her hands trembling just slightly as she pushed a stray lock of hair behind her ear. “Please. I just—” She paused, biting her lip, as if searching for the right words. “I don’t want to be alone.”

Max’s heart twisted in his chest. He could’ve said something else—told her it was fine, that she should rest, or something like that. But he was done with pretending he didn’t want to be close to her, to feel her next to him.

“Alright,” he muttered, standing up. “But, uh... let me put on a shirt.”

Her eyes widened slightly, and he could’ve sworn he saw the smallest flicker of a smile on her lips. “Okay,” she whispered, turning her back to give him some space.

He grabbed a random shirt from the pile of clean laundry on the floor, pulling it on over his bare chest, and then slipped under the covers beside her. She had already crawled under the blankets, pulling them tightly around her.

Max settled in beside her, keeping a careful distance at first. But the bed was small, and it didn’t take long for her to inch closer. He could feel her warmth at his side, the soft rise and fall of her chest with each breath, the delicate scent of her hair mixing with the familiar scent of his worn sheets.

The morning light filtered through the thin curtains of the trailer, casting a soft glow across the room. Max slowly woke up, his eyes still heavy with sleep. He shifted slightly, feeling the warmth of her body pressed against his side. Her head rested on his chest, her soft breathing filling the quiet room.

For a moment, Max just stayed still, letting the comfort of her closeness wash over him. His arm had instinctively wrapped around her while they slept, and he could feel the warmth of her skin beneath the thin fabric of his shirt.

But as his body began to wake up fully, so did a familiar discomfort: the pressure of his morning problem, straining against the fabric of his boxers. His breath caught, and he tried to shift subtly, hoping she wouldn’t wake up and notice the situation. She didn’t. She just remained nestled against him, her breath slow and steady.

Max let out a slow breath, trying to ignore the growing tension in his body. He kept his arm around her for a moment longer, relishing the softness of her against him, before reluctantly moving it.

Her movements eventually stirred him from his thoughts, though. He felt her shift and heard her small, quiet sigh as she began to stir. She slowly pushed herself up and away from him, the weight of her head leaving his chest.

Max watched as she stood up, stretching lightly before walking toward the small kitchen area. The simple act of her moving around his trailer felt domestic, a little surreal. He never imagined a girl like her would be here, in his space, making herself at home.

She turned on the old coffee maker and started washing the dishes from the night before, humming softly to herself. Her bare feet moved across the worn linoleum floor as she worked, picking up the plates, scrubbing them clean with a kind of focused determination. Max watched her, a little mesmerised by the way she went about everything with ease. She was so domestic, so... pure.

After a while, she glanced over her shoulder, catching his eye. “I hope you don’t mind,” she said quietly. “I usually make something nice on a Sunday.”

Max shook his head, trying to get his bearings. “I don’t mind at all.” His voice was still rough with sleep. “Thank you.”

She smiled softly and got to work, preparing eggs, toast, and whatever else she could find in his meager supplies. Max sat up, rubbing his eyes. He watched her as she moved, the way her shirt clung to her in all the right places, how she seemed so comfortable here despite how out of place she looked in his world.

Eventually, she finished up with the dishes and turned to him. “I need to get ready for church.” Her eyes softened a little, as though she could sense the hesitation in his. “Can y—“

“I’ll take you. I just don’t have a car right now. It’s in the garage.”

Her eyebrows lifted slightly, and for a moment, Max thought she might protest, but instead, she just nodded. “Okay.”

He took a quick shower and threw on some old jeans and a t-shirt. He didn’t exactly have a wardrobe that screamed “church-going,” but it was the best he could do. He wasn’t there to make a statement anyway—just to get her there and make sure she was safe.

When he stepped out of the small bathroom, he found her already dressed in her Sunday best—yesterday’s shirt and skirt with a cardigan she must have pulled out her bag. Her hair was perfectly styled, like she’d just walked out of a church bulletin. She looked so out of place in his trailer, so polished and pristine compared to the worn, dirty space they were in.

Max grabbed his helmet and walked over to her, holding it out. “Here,” he said, the words laced with a slight smirk. “You’re gonna need this.”

She looked at him curiously but didn’t argue. “You’re serious, aren’t you?”

“Yeah. You’re not walking to church, and you’re definitely not riding behind me without it.” He grinned, clearly enjoying her discomfort.

With a small, reluctant smile, she took the helmet from him, adjusting it over her head, the loose strands of her hair sticking out slightly. Max handed her the extra jacket he had and then motioned to the door. “Let’s get going. I’ll get you there early so no one sees you.”

She nodded, slipping on the jacket and walking toward the door with him. Max grabbed the keys to his bike and headed outside, securing the helmet on her head.

The engine of his old bike roared to life, the sound rattling the air around them. Max felt the familiar rush of adrenaline, the wind in his face as they drove, but his focus wasn’t on the speed or the feel of the bike. It was on her, sitting behind him, her body pressed close to his, the weight of her on his back both grounding and electrifying him.

They took the back roads, keeping a low profile, making sure no one would notice them together. Max didn’t want to bring any attention to her. He didn’t want anyone to see her with him, not yet. She was too pure, too innocent to be caught up in his world.

They arrived just before everyone else, the small church looming in front of them as the sun began to rise. Max parked the bike in the back and cut the engine, then turned to look at her.

“Thanks for coming with me,” she said softly, slipping off the bike.

Max nodded, watching her walk toward the steps of the church, her figure straight and composed. As she walked away from him, he couldn’t help but feel a pang of something—something he couldn’t quite name. It was a mix of jealousy, admiration, and something darker that he didn’t want to acknowledge.

He didn’t know why he stayed in the parking lot. Maybe it was the quiet that clung to the air after the service ended, or maybe it was the feeling of something unfinished between him and her. He waited, watching as the congregation filed out of the church, families chatting, some with smiles on their faces, others with the weight of the week still on their shoulders.

He saw her mother, walking alongside her brother, exchanging a few words with the other churchgoers. But no sign of her. His gaze swept over the parking lot once more, hoping to catch a glimpse of her. Maybe she had stayed behind for a little longer.

Minutes passed, and Max’s unease grew. She hadn’t come out.

Frowning, he swung his leg off the bike and walked toward the church’s front doors. He didn’t know why he felt compelled to check on her, but something in him insisted. The hairs on the back of his neck prickled, as if sensing danger.

Max approached the side of the church, his boots scraping the gravel beneath him. A faint voice reached his ears—just a whisper at first, but then it grew louder, more frantic. It sounded like shouting, distorted by the walls of the building, but it was unmistakably hers.

His heart skipped a beat.

He moved quickly toward the sound, pushing open a side door. The hallway inside was dimly lit, the walls cold and echoing with every step. He followed the noise, barely hearing his own footsteps as he crept closer to the source.

And then he saw them.

She was on the floor, her hands trembling in front of her, her back hunched as though she was trying to make herself as small as possible. Her father was standing over her, his voice a low growl of fury, loud enough to rattle the air between them.

“You’re a dirty slut!” he spat. “You’re going to hell for what you’ve done!”

Max’s blood ran cold, and for a moment, he didn’t think.

With a quick motion, he stepped forward, his voice calm but cold. “I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”

The preacher spun around, his face twisted with rage, recognizing Max.

“Stay out of this, boy,” the preacher growled, his hand still raised in the air.

But before the preacher could make another move, she stood up, her breath ragged, her eyes wide with a mixture of fear and something else—hope? Maybe it was desperation.

Without a second thought, she ran toward Max. She didn’t hesitate, her arms reaching out to him as if he were her only anchor in the storm.

“Max,” she whispered, almost too softly to hear, but Max felt the weight of it all the same.

Max put his hands on her shoulders, turning her so that she was standing slightly behind him. His eyes never left the preacher, his voice steady.

“You know, preacher,” Max began, his voice low and measured, “God loves justice and establishes equity.” He tilted his head slightly, as if recalling something. “Psalm 99:4, right? I’m sure that’s a scripture I heard your daughter read once in Bible study. Can’t be exerting your authority in such ways, can you?”

The preacher’s face went red with anger, his hands balling into fists. “Get out of here, boy. This is none of your business.”

Max didn’t flinch. “You’re right,” he said calmly. “It’s none of my business. But I’ll make sure it’s yours.”

He motioned to her. “Go wait by the bike.” His voice softened just for her, the harshness fading away. “Go on, I’ll be right there.”

She hesitated for just a moment, looking at him like she wanted to say something, but instead, she turned and walked quickly toward the door. Max watched her go, his heart pounding in his chest.

The preacher made a move to stop her, but Max stepped forward, his patience snapping.

“Don’t you ever touch her again,” Max growled.

The preacher lunged at him, but Max was faster, his fist connecting with the preacher’s jaw before he had a chance to land a blow. The sound of the punch echoed in the small hallway, and the preacher staggered backward, his hands gripping the edge of the wall for support.

Max stepped forward, his voice cold. “I don’t care who you think you are. You put your hands on her again, and I’ll make sure you regret it.”

The preacher was on his knees now, his face a mixture of shock and fury. Max didn’t wait to hear more. He turned on his heel, walking out the door to find her standing by his bike, waiting as if she hadn’t just been on the receiving end of a storm.

He nodded to her, not saying anything more, his mind racing with the anger he’d just unleashed. But all he wanted now was to get her away from here, away from him.

“Let’s go,” he said softly, handing her the helmet.

She didn’t say anything as she put it on, but the silent understanding between them spoke volumes. Max revved the engine, feeling the rush of power beneath him as he led her away from the church, away from the hell that had just erupted there.

The ride back to the trailer was eerily quiet. Max could feel the tension in the air between them, thick and heavy, the weight of everything that had just happened hanging between them. She sat behind him, her grip tight on his waist, but there was no laughter, no playful banter like there had been before. It felt like the world had shifted somehow, and the silence stretched endlessly as they rode.

Max didn’t glance back at her. He kept his eyes straight ahead, focusing on the road, but all he could think about was what he’d just done. He knew he’d put himself in danger, confronting her father like that. He didn’t care. But for the first time, he couldn’t ignore the burning question: What did he really think he was doing?

The only sound on the road was the roar of the engine beneath them, a constant reminder of the distance they had yet to travel. Every twist and turn of the road seemed to reflect the turmoil inside of him, but he had no words for it, no way to express the chaos in his head.

When they finally pulled into the trailer park, the sun was low in the sky, casting long shadows across the worn pavement. Max parked the bike and cut the engine, the sudden silence of the world around them making the tension between them all the more palpable.

They didn’t speak as they walked inside, the door creaking as it opened into the small, dimly lit space. Max stepped aside to let her enter first, but the moment the door closed behind them, she removed the helmet and her composure seemed to crumble.

She stood there for a long moment, just breathing, as if she was trying to collect herself, but it was clear she wasn’t okay. Max watched her, his heart tightening when he saw the tears beginning to well in her eyes. She couldn’t hold it back anymore.

Before he could say anything, she collapsed into him. Her body shook as she buried her face against his chest, her sobs muffled against his shirt. Max’s arms instinctively wrapped around her, pulling her in close, his own breath shaky from the unexpected surge of emotion he felt at seeing her so broken.

“It’s okay,” he whispered softly, his voice a soothing murmur. “I’ve got you, shhh.”

She didn’t respond, just continued to cry, the sound raw and heartbreaking. Max gently ran his hand down her back, trying to comfort her in the only way he knew how. He wiped the tears off her face with his thumb, brushing her hair back from her forehead. His chest tightened with every sob that wracked her body, every quiet sob that he couldn’t take away.

“Don’t cry,” he said quietly, though his words felt powerless against the pain she was clearly feeling. “I won’t let anything happen to you. I swear it, sweetheart.”

She pulled away slightly, her tear-streaked face making his chest ache even more. Her eyes were wide and vulnerable, a rawness that shook him to his core. She didn’t say anything; she didn’t need to. He could see everything in her expression, the hurt and confusion and fear.

Without a word, Max guided her to the small bed in the corner of the trailer, not sure what else to do. He wanted to fix everything, to make her feel safe, but he knew that wasn’t something he could do with words alone.

They sat on the edge of the bed, and she let him help her lie down. He crawled in next to her, his arm draping over her shoulders as she curled up against him. The space felt small, but it was warm. She was warm.

Max didn’t say anything as he laid beside her, his chest rising and falling with every breath he took. He just held her. The silence between them was heavy, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. It was quiet, like the calm after the storm, both of them lost in the stillness of the moment.

Her breathing eventually slowed, her sobs quieter now, though her body still trembled slightly from the emotions that had flooded her. Max stayed close, not letting go. His fingers gently traced the outline of her arm as he held her close, not knowing exactly what to say to make it better, but knowing that being there, holding her, was enough—for now.

“I’m here,” he whispered again, his voice soft and unwavering, as he placed a soft kiss to her forehead. “I won’t let anyone hurt you. Not anymore.”

Then a weird thought came to Max as he watched hee sleep in his arms.

She’d prayed for his peace.

And while he wasn’t a believer.

He sure as hell felt at peace.

part two out now!

[johnwickb1tsch]

Yandere Tex Johnson x Witness!Reader x John Wick Imagine WIP Part 8

After 450 comments on the last section 🤣 its time for a new one. U guyz are gremlins!😆👏👏 @treedaddymcpuffpuff @tammykelly @sweetwolfcupcake @lilspookymeh

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"Come on, we've got to get you somewhere safe," says John Wick, trying to hustle you down the street.

"No," you protest, resisting. "We have to find John and Tex. They might need us."

You were skeptical about demons and the occult, God and the Devil and everything in between, at first. But after hanging out with Constantine, you'd seen a few things. Just enough that you had sense enough to be scared. You clutch the protection amulet around your neck that John had given you. You'd laughed at him at the time, but now you were glad to have it.

"They're both grown men, honey. I told Tex to leave you alone. This is what he gets."

Suddenly you're angry all over again. "Oh, you told him, huh?" You push John's chest--its like having a disagreement with a brick wall. "Do you have any fucking idea how much I've missed you? How it destroyed me to be thrown away like an old shirt you had no more use for?"

He is still as a mountain as he holds your wrists, preventing you from striking him, but not hurting you. Those dark eyes bore into you, through you. How does he not see you? "Y/n...I did what I thought was best for you."

"But you didn't fucking ask me! Or at least, you didn't listen! But you know what, it doesn't matter right now. John had to put some kind of a curse on Tex in self defense, because Tex is such an asshole, and now they're both in danger!"

"A what?"

You pause to think, and you're pretty sure you know where Constantine would go. There's an old church a few blocks over. Consecrated ground. It's where he's always told you to go if something came after you. It would be a good place to regroup.

"Come on," you say, pulling John in the opposite direction down the street.

For once, he actually listens, a shadow at your back ready to protect you, but he lets you lead the way.

--------------

The old building looks like it should probably be condemned. It's definitely seen better days, and hasn't seen a congregation in at least a decade. However, the ground is still holy, untouchable for the Unclean, and when you burst through the doors after John has already shot down three demons, you are so relieved to see Constantine and Tex sitting in some of the old pews. They definitely look like they've been through a battle, disheveled and beat up. You wonder how much was demons, and how much they did to each other.

"Thank God!" You run to them, and Tex's expression rises and falls as you go to Constantine, pressing your mouth to his in what you know is a needy kiss, assuring yourself as much as him.

He smirks down at you, well aware of the death- stares he's receiving from both sides. It's possible he makes a show of grabbing your ass, just to rub it in to your two Ghosts.

"Are you ok?"

"Yeah. You?"

You nod. Then Constantine rolls his eyes upward, over your head to John Wick. He is quietly forbidding in his black suit, standing watch by the door. "That your other Ghost?"

With a tired sigh you nod.

"Ghosts? The fuck is Harry Potter here talkin' about?"

The urge to punch Tex or kiss him is strong as ever.

"The two of you ghosted me, didn't you?"

"Baby girl, I missed you. That's why I came to get you." He shoots a telling glare over at John Wick, who only returns a disinterested look. Maybe the master assassin had been keeping tabs on you, but he hadn't shared everything with Tex, it seems.

Constantine looks between the two assassins, then you, with an infuriating smirk.

"What?" you demand, more than a little exasperated with everthing.

"Nothing. Just seems like you have a type, angel."

You can't even argue.

"Angel?" Tex snorts at your pet name. "Does he even know you?"

"Does he ever shut up?" asks Constantine, raising one dark eyebrow.

"No, never," you sigh.

There is a howl outside that lifts every hair on your body, an unearthly sound that makes your fingers grip in Constantine's suit jacket.

"What are we going to do?"

"Good question." Constantine tugs you over to a different pew, sitting down with his arm draped around your shoulders. His message is obvious, and it's new to you. Constantine rocks your world on the nightly, but he's never been possessive before. It really shouldn't, but it ignites a warmth in your chest that makes you feel ridiculously, stupidly, giddy inside.

"Seems like we're at an impasse, gentlemen."

Tex frowns. John seems less than impressed.

"Sorry, what's stopping us from killing you and taking her?"

You tense, watching the gun John holds loosely at his side. You know Wick can move like lightning, and your heart leaps into your throat. You are ready to fling yourself between them if you have to.

"John..."

"It's ok, sweetheart. He's not going to kill me."

"No offense, but I've heard that before from lots of people who are dead now."

Constantine snorts. "You can't kill me, because I've put a curse on your friend here, and you need me to lift it."

"So lift it."

"Can't. Got a friend who can though. You'll never see him without me."

You know Constantine must be talking about the famed and powerful bokor, Papa Midnite. A chill runs down your spine. You've met him precisely once. He was polite--and hot as fuck, if you're being honest--but you knew he was not to be trifled with.

"So let's go, then," says Tex, his patience lost about three dead demons ago.

"Hold up, Howdy Doody. We got to talk first."

"Bout?"

Constantine nods down at you. "Maybe I don't know all the details, but I've heard enough. And as much as I've enjoyed filling the hole you assholes left--I can't let you hurt her again. I'll let the demons feast on your souls first."

Almost on cue, that demonic howling sounds again outside, and a chorus of hellish hissing rises. It sounds like you are surrounded.

Tex leaps to his feet. "You smug little fucker--"

"Shut up, Tex." It's Wick who shushes his friend. "What do you propose?"

Finally, Constantine looks down at you. "It depends on what she wants."

Your mouth drops open at that. You have to decide that, now? As though he can read your thoughts, and sometimes you're convinced he can, Constantine pays you an infuriating smirk.

"I...don't want them dead. Or...devoured."

"That's a start, I guess. Do you ever want to be with them again?"

Your eyes go wide as saucers. The simple answer, of course, is yes. You love them. You miss them.

However, answers are never so simple, with your Boys involved. Like an idiot, you dare to look at them, taking in Tex's hang-dog puppy-eyed look, and John's quiet but intense yearning. Then, of course, there is the man beside you, who despite his aloofness and his prickly manner, has been nothing but good to you.

You've never said it out loud, but the truth is, you love him too.

"I don't know."

"Yeah. I figured." He smirks at you, inexplicably smug, and you kind of want to smack him too.

Which always leads to interesting things, with John Constantine, your stupid lady parts sing out. Jesus Christ on a cracker, what a fucking mess.

"You got a point, Gandalf?" demands Tex, paying a nervous look to one of the cracked stained glass windows. Ominous dark shapes are flying past outside. This is not good.

"I want you assholes to accept a Spell of Submission to her."

"The fuck does that mean?" demands Tex with a thunderous frown. John remains neutral as he listens.

"It means, if you ever try to make her do something she really doesn't want to do, again, she can say the magic words to fuck up your world. Pardner."

"No fuckin' way," Tex scoffs.

At the same time, John answers, "I'll do it."

Your eyes meet across the aisle of the church. That he would take such a leap of faith-- for you-- drops the floor out from under you.

Tex, of course, interrupts your moment of soul- searching eye contact with John.

"Wait, so we could be havin' an argument and she can drop me dead with the evil eye or somethin'?"

Constantine snorts. "It would probably serve you right, Hee Haw, but no. Cause you extreme pain? Yes. But it comes at a price. All magic does. I know she wouldn't use it lightly."

It would potentially even the playing field quite a bit between you three. The balance of power amongst you had never been fair.

"What's a matter, Tex? You don't trust me?"

"Only as far a I could throw you, darlin'." But his hawk-like look softens for you after a moment, and then surprisingly he grins. "Got me over a barrel now, don't you?"

You shift a little in your seat, so that you're flush against Constantine. The solid line of his lithe warmth beside you is anchoring. You glance up at him, finding he looks arrogantly amused-- and surprisingly, a little sad. If you didn't know him so well you would have missed it, like ripples in a pool.

You turn back to Tex, an uneasy excitement thrumming in your chest.

"If the curse fits?"

The cowboy sighs, frowning at the hellspawn waiting to rend his flesh and eat his soul outside. "Alright, fine. Guess you might as well take it all." He can't look at you while he says it, but you sense his surrender-- or at least, his resignation. It's not exactly a victory, but it's something, and it pulls at your heartstrings.

"Alright, wizard boy. Hoodoo me up."

Constantine snorts, leaping up from the bench. "First we've got to get out of here. You're going to want to cover your eyes." He starts muttering an encantation and walking in a circle, sprinkling a powder on the ground from his pocket. "When this goes off we'll have ten minutes. Either of you assholes have a car nearby?"

"Yeah."

"Great. Hope you like to drive fast."

His chanting gets louder, and you see he's produced a lighter. He never uses it for cigarettes anymore, but portable fire to a magician has its uses. You can tell he's reaching the crescendo of his spell, and you scrunch your eyes closed. Even through your eyelids you see the flash, and the boom of a magical fireball that should have burned you all to dust.

However, only the things outside incinerate, their agonized cries echoing through the cavernous stone building.

"Let's move."

--------

Hope I set this up for Midnite's club and whatever shenanigans u guys want to get up to 😆 Enjoy! @sweetwolfcupcake @treedaddymcpuffpuff @tammykelly

[sceletaflores]

•｡ꪆৎ ˚⋅ wip wednesday!

thanks for the tag angel babies @guiltyasdave & @eupheme & @elflutter<3 18+ under the cut!

wip #1 • he's a good time, cowboy casanova!

a cowboy and the governor’s daughter walk into a barn...

cowboy!logan...that's literally it.

“Hang on, baby.” Logan’s hands fall to your hips, stopping you just as the tip of his cock brushes against your dripping pussy. “You wanna ride, you gotta look the part.” He drags his hands lower, calloused palms rough against the soft skin of your thighs. It’s enough to make you shiver, hips twitching down with the desperate need to be filled. “Got the boots,” he murmurs idly, thumbs sliding along the back of your thighs. “Just need the hat.” Logan reaches up to grab his hat by the crown, pulling it off his head to drop it on yours. You left out a soft breath, feeling the worn felt settle on the top of your head, still warm from his own. It’s too big, slipping down to shadow your eyes. Logan’s gaze darkens as he adjusts it, tipping the brim just enough to frame your face. “Much better,” he says, flicking the brim once before his hands fall back to your hips. “Alright cowgirl, give it to me good.”

wip #2 • baby if you love me you would call me your bunny (tell me that i’m just a baby honey)

logan wants to keep you pure for as long as possible, you have other ideas…

this is a half-alseep idea i had for old man!logan...not wanting to take your virginity...so you come up with a compromise!

You press him for it constantly, insisting you know what you want, that you've made up your mind. That you’re a big girl who does know what she’s dealing with despite him thinking otherwise. You're sure you want him to be your first, sure that you want him to take your virginity. Just the thought has a shudder running through him every time, something dangerous stirring deep in the pit of his stomach, white hot and all consuming. But he can’t shake that voice in the back of his mind—the one telling him it wouldn’t be fair, not to you, not to himself. He knows the very second you'd lie back on the sheets of his bed, legs spread as you bare yourself to him, that he'd never get enough. He’d lose himself, ruin that sweet, untouched innocence that clings to you like morning dew. A part of him—hell, maybe all of him—wants nothing more than to make you his, to leave marks on you in a way that makes sure you’d never look at another man the same way again. Logan's done a lot of things in his life he can't take back, a lot he probably should regret but doesn’t.  That won't be the case. Not this time. Not with you. He's not about to let himself make this into something you'll regret in the morning, or the next year, or twenty years from now when you’re sitting across from someone your own age while he rots away in an unmarked grave, wondering why the hell you wasted your time with some angry old man who couldn’t let you go. And yet, you're making it so damn hard to keep saying no.

kisses!

no pressure tags! @ebodebo @artemis-b-writes @avocado-writing @silverskyeline @ovaryacted @moonlight-prose @raeinyourdreams

[stabbyfoxandrew]

Hiii

Yes this is me requesting some more arsonist Neil/firefighter Andrew for the upteenth time but I just love them xD

I slept very little last night but I woke up to today's part and it made the morning bearable so thank you

I hope you have a good week! :D

WIP Wednesday (10/23) | Arsonist Neil / Firefighter Andrew AU (Part 250)

"Oh, just look at that smug bastard. He knows he's getting away with murder." 10 gripes, as if Andrew isn't watching. But he is watching and said smug bastard is indeed a smug bastard, standing with his arms crossed like he's untouchable while the officials review the footage. They come back, agreeing that the trip wasn't intention and 10 huffs out an angry little sound. "It was so. I hope Moreau puts him on his back."

Andrew snorts at that. Because, in the Jaguars' little three-man huddle, that's probably exactly what he's threatening to do. Andrew can almost hear his voice, accent and all: 'If that motherfucker tries to trip either of you, I'll break his neck'.

Jeremy puts his hand on Moreau's chest, grinning while he talks: 'Don't do that, babe. Just knock him out.'

'Hey,' Kevin shakes his head and points to the scoreboard. 'No killing and maiming. This is exy, the greatest sport in the world. Blah, blah, blah, I'm Kevin, blah, blah.'

Suddenly 10 laughs, a cacophony of pretty noises. "Oh my God, are you doing voices for them?"

Andrew's entire body goes warm with embarrassment. He stares at his phone, then coughs. "...No."

"Yes you were! That's so fun. Do it again." 10 says, smiling through the speaker. Andrew looks back at the screen where the camera is now pointed at the Panthers' goal for some reason. The only person in frame is the goalie and Andrew knows the goalie mind well. It's likely she's thinking about anything but the game.

"I wonder how giraffes give birth. Fuck, I want pizza. Where'd Diaz go? Oh, there he is. Hi Diaz. When's the game starting back? Do you belieeeeve in life after love? I can feel something—" The camera cuts back to the Jaguars, the whole team is gathered around Kevin who has a whiteboard in his hand.

"I'm Kevin Day and this is how you draw a cat. First you start with a circle, wait no this is a line. Maybe this time, nope. Another line. Skinny cat it is—" The buzzer sounds and Kevin drops his whiteboard as his team starts to file back onto the court. Andrew lets the silly voice fall away to hear 10 losing his mine with laughter on the other end. It warms him in a different way, embarrassment fading to fondness.

"Hey," 10 says as he recovers. "Do you think Kevin could draw a cat?"

"I don't think Kevin could draw a circle unless you told him to draw an exy ball." Andrew answers. Then the two of them fall mostly silent as the game picks back up.

Whether he likes to admit it or not, seeing Kevin in his element is always a thrill. Especially now that he's completely free from the Moriyamas and playing because he loves it and not because he's shackled to the court. (He still lives on it, of course. But he's free to leave when he likes and his stupid boyfriends ensure he doesn't overexert himself. So Andrew supposes they're good for something.)

Kevin scores a goal and 10 cheers like he just won the lottery. Andrew merely huffs. He would've blocked that. Just to be a dick to Kevin. He doesn't miss playing, not at all. Perhaps it's that he enjoys the familiarity of the game. Or just knowing that Kevin playing is justice for all the bullshit he suffered under Riko's and Tetsuji's hands. 

Listening to 10's commentary is new. Andrew enjoys it as well. 10 carries colorful insults and scathing critiques in that pretty mouth of his. Andrew would like to lick them out.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

The Sticking Point 3

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon, possible violence, illness, death, bullying, ableism, and other elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You are sent in the place of your ailing sister to marry a stranger. (Regency AU)

Character: Loki

Note: Work is starting to get pretty busy again.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me &lt;3

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!)

Love you all. Take care. 💖

You are left undisturbed for near a day after the news arrives. You should be grateful for the reprieve but you cannot find respite among your unease. 

Edith is gone, your world is splintered, yet this marriage must proceed. Not for your own sake, but for your family's. You expect your father wouldn't be content to have you return to his household. The only benefit to your sister's tragedy is that he was able to rid himself of you.

Doreen informs you that you are to ready for another lunch. You choose a gown of faded peach and a bonnet with a narrow rim and white ribbon. She helps you dress before leaving to look in on your mother.

You look in the mirror and wonder if maybe you were prettier your voice wouldn't matter so much. You pin the brooch with the blue bird just below your neckline. You pretend Edith is there with you, talking you through this. I believe in you, sissy, remember when you stole my cap back from that angry hog?

You wait to be called. You hate to presume or wait around where others might be disturbed by your presence. It isn't Doreen who comes but another servant, a broad steely-haired woman. She bids you out and you follow meekly, gaze straying to the golden frames and painted canvas.

The meal is hosted in the dining hall. A long ebony table with matching chairs. Each seat is upholstered with emerald velvet and capped with curlicued posts. You are shown to yours by Parson to the one reserved for you. 

Your mother sits with her tears hidden behind her fan, not so much as looking in your direction. Doreen stands at her shoulder and offers a handkerchief. You can only hear the reprimand she would issue should you be blubbering so.

You rise as the duke enters, but not alone. Your mother leans heavily on the way, gathering herself with several flaps of her fan. She snaps it shut and tucks it away as she raises her chin, shooing away Doreen.

“Lady Thea,” Laufeyson begins before addressing you, “my parents, the Grand Duke Odin and the Grand Duchess, Frigga.”

He steps aside as an older couple stand regally in the archway. The man is burly but stout, with dark grey hair streaked with white. His jaw is set squarely and there is a familiar blue tint to his eyes. The woman is tall and blond and fair, her figure untouched by her age and her hair so golden that the grey strands only seem to make her shine.

You recognise them. The portraits in the main hall. Even with some decades since the artist’s work, they are beyond compare to their pigmented likenesses. They are as elegant and resplendent as their son. It sinks a rotten pit in your chest. Perhaps, they might not want you either.

“We’re acquainted, Thea and I,” Frigga declares, “I believe your father might recall her.”

“Yes, Lady Thea,” he bows, “I know your husband better, I’m afraid.”

The duke has a pinched look to his lip as he listens with his chin high. He moves stiffly, gesturing to the table, “mm, yes, let us be seated–”

“Loki,” Frigga says as she slowly wades forward, her skirts rippling like water, “what about your brother? He received an invitation, didn’t he?”

“Mother, certainly he did, but he is ever… unpredictable,” Loki offers. It is jarring to think of him as anything but the duke. To think he is anything but the master of Jade Park.

“Lady Jane is with child,” Frigga counters, “it might take them some time.”

“Lady Frigga, Lord Odin,” your mother begins, “I cannot remark upon your son’s hospitality enough. He’s been a wonderful host, especially…” she pauses and turns her head, touching her cheek with a gloved hand.

“Oh, we were distraught to hear of Lady Edith. Such a tragedy. So young and beautiful.”

You stare at the wall. You try not to think of the statement laced between her words. You are young too but not so beautiful.

“And your younger daughter is endearing, that is a rather charming brooch,” she turns her green irises on you.

“Thank you, Lady Fwigga,” you hold your head high as you cling to a thread of dignity.

Her cheeks bulb and there is a slight tremor in her chin before she can answer, “oh, that is a peculiar accent, dear.”

You don’t know if you should thank her. You can’t tell if she holds any derision but you’d prefer she not mention it. It’s obvious, it needn’t be emphasized.

Your eyes skitter over to Odin who watches you with quiet consideration. He does not hold the same disapproval as your father but you can’t read much in his face.

“She is all I have left,” your mother bemoans, “two daughters. That’s all I got. How I wanted to give my husband his heir but… it was not to be and now…”

“Oh, Thea,” Frigga drawls, “if you are to fraught to remain–”

“No, no,” your mother expands her fan and pushes air into her face, dabbing her tears with her knuckle, “no, I’m so happy for our families to come together.”

“As are we. It is only sensible–”

She is interrupted by some furor at the other end of the house. A smile curls her lips as a booming voice fills the corridor like thunder. As your eyes drift towards the doorway, they meet Loki’s. He looks at you with a furrow between his brows before he shifts his gaze towards the clamour.

The men rise first. You get to your feet as Parson rushes in to announce the new arrival. As he introduces Lord Thor and Lady Jane, he is almost breathless. The couple appears behind him, the towering duke clapping the groom’s shoulder so he staggers. The duchess gives a pretty smile to the grand duchess as her hand rests on her rounding stomach.

“Oh, Jane,” Frigga sweeps across the chamber to embrace her daughter-in-law without pretense, “you are immaculate,” she pulls back and cradles her cheeks, “you look well.”

“Do I? I’ve been struck sick for days.”

“But it shall pass,” Frigga avows and beckons the duchess with her to the table, “Lady Jane, my first son’s wife.”

You bow your head and your mother does the same, taking the lead as you remain silent, “Lady Jane, a delight to… meet you. Oh, my apologies,” your mother fans herself more rapidly, “your eyes, they have the same shape as my dear Edith’s.”

“Edith?” Jane utters and looks at Frigga. The grand duchess leans over to whisper gently. “Oh, my condolences, Lady Thea, oh and such timing as this?” She turns to you, “a betrothal is supposed to be a joyous affair, I cannot bear to think how you are doing.”

You don’t know what to say, as often you find yourself lacking. Your lips tremble but you do your best to keep your composure.

“I will miss my sista vewy much,” you try to speak slow and clear, but it just sounds clumsy, “I didn’t know…” you see the flicker in her eyes, the dimple in her cheek, the judgment casting a shadow over her, “I didn’t know you and yaw husband would attend.”

Jane’s lips part and her brows rise as she looks at her mother-in-law. Frigga tries not to acknowledge the almost taunting expression. You can’t. You feel it throttling you. Just be quiet.

“How fetching,” Thor intones, surprising you as he comes to stand behind his mother and wife, chewing a biscuit he snatched from the tray.

“Fetching?” Jane scoffs.

“The way she speaks, yes? I think it is… interesting.”

“That hardly matters,” Frigga insists, “it is what one says, not how they say it.”

You clamp your lips together. You want to crumple to the floor and sob. You don’t want to be stood here like some jester to entertain these people. You want to go home and see your sister’s casket. You want to be near her, even if she’s not really there.

Again, you find Loki’s distasteful glare. His throat bobs and his lips thin even further.

“Yes, yes, let us sit and eat. My staff has worked the morning to prepare us a fine lunch,” he chides, “I’d hate to see it wasted.”

🔹

You stare at your untouched plate of cold meats and cheese. You’re not very hungry. Perhaps it is grief, or more likely it is shame. You want to shrink down to a morsel of dust and disappear.

There is an odd sort of skill acquired by those who are quiet. Observation. The ability to see so much, to take in every gesture, every twitch, every look with meaning. And you do not miss those errant gazes in your direction. Some with anticipation, others with dread, each waiting for you to say another twisted syllable.

Your mother fills the silence you refuse to break. She regales the table with the story of how she met your father on the promenade, how he trod on her skirts, and she hit him with her reticule. A tale you’ve heard anon.

She hiccups suddenly and cups her hand over her mouth. You turn to look at her as her wrinkles deepen and her gulps become sobs. She shakes her hand and waves her other. Doreen appears at her shoulder.

“My lady,” the servant says.

“Oh, Lady Thea,” Frigga dismisses the maid with a subtle flick of her fingers, “let us get you some air. It is such a lovely day, and I believe we do have some matters to attend to.” She helps your mother to her feet, hanging on to her elbow, “Lord Odin, you will accompany, in case she faints.”

Odin grunts. He hasn’t said much of anything. He seems more enamoured of this plate. As he stands, he stuffs a roll of sliced ham into his mouth. Chairs scrape as you stand to see them off. Doreen follows the older trio through the archway as they set off.

You resume your seat and watch the tablecloth. Your mother was of little assistance while present but without her, you are defenseless. Loki sips from his tea as Jane spears a slice of pear with her fork and Thor cracks a hard-boiled egg in his hand.

“So, I’ve not seen you before. You haven’t debuted?” Jane asks.

Your eyes flit up to hers. You almost don’t believe she’s talking to her. You’d been praying they’d forget you were there.

“My sista was ill and she is older so I was waiting until she went fast.”

“Fast? Went fast?” Jane repeats as she pretends to think, “went fast where?”

Loki sighs and sets his cup on the saucer with a harsh clink, “first. She meant first.”

“Oh, my, apologies, I’m afraid I have a bit of trouble understanding you. I don’t think I’ve heard any sort of affectation,” he smiles falls to something more sinister, “it is rather… garish.”

“Jane,” Thor says through a mouthful of egg, stopping himself to swallow, “she speaks clearly enough.”

“I’ve heard of physicians who can tend to that. They can teach you how to pronounce your words properly. Through repetition.” She enunciates each word, making sure to move her lips deliberately.

You fight a grimace. You swallow and look at your plate. It isn't the first time someone's made those comments, she will doubtful be the last. Just like those boys who used to call you 'widiculous' or 'wavishing'.

“Please, this doesn’t need to be a whole point of conversation,” Loki reproaches.

“I am only offering advice.”

“You are the one who spoke to her. None of us wanted to hear her.”

“Loki,” Thor says appalled, “she is to be your wife.”

“I was supposed to marry her sister. The normal one. The dead one.”

You flinch and let your shoulders slump. You bring your hands up and cover the brooch on your dress, as if holding Edith tight. Your lip pokes out as you fight a tide of grief that threatens to erupt.

“Aw, look, she is going to cry,” Jane taunts.

“Jane,” Thor’s voice hardens, “no more.”

Jane snaps her lips shut and rolls her beautiful hazel eyes. She pops the slice of sugared pear into her mouth behind her cruel smirk. Loki sneers at his fork as he twirls it in his hand. Thor gives you a glum look but it lands like a slap. He cannot relate to you, he can only pity you, and that is worse than contempt.

“If you are cuwious, Lady Jane, I have been to many physicians. They cannot help me,” you shrug, “just like they could not help my sista.”

Thor clucks and lets out a breath through his nostrils. Jane doesn’t falter, smiling as she chews, and Loki pushes himself to his feet. His chair threatens to topple as he swivels on his heel.

“I would see to our parents, make certain they are well and that this… contract is still in effect,” he takes rigid steps along the table, “I should hate to squander any more time in uncertainty.”

[snakebites-and-ink]

Hero Villain Amnesia Whump CYOA thingy idk

Do I have other WIPs I should be working on? YES. Would it be better to space out CYOAs instead of running two at the same time? ALSO YES. But I think I was experiencing some form of partial writers block, and this was the only thing over 100 words I could get my brain to really work on. So…*gestures widely* enjoy I guess.

CW: Explosions (just in the background), multiple people trying to manipulate you, amnesia that was almost certainly inflicted deliberately, building falling apart around you idk

You wake up with no memory of where you are. 

As a matter of fact, you have no memory of…anything.

You take stock of your surroundings. Currently you’re in a room by yourself, with cuffs that look like they’re built to be a lot more effective than they are currently. The lights are dim and there’s some kind of alarm going off.

You get up and leave the room, wandering aimlessly, until you bump into someone moving with a lot more urgency.

“What are you doing here?”

You stare at them blankly. You don’t know any more than they do; probably less, actually.

“Whatever. I’ll get you out of here. Come on.” They hold out a hand, and having no better ideas, you take it.

They pull you through twisting halls in various states of damage. Some look untouched, some have floors full of rubble and air full of dust.

An explosion sounds some distance off, sending vibrations through the building. That probably explains the damage.

The stranger leading you rounds a corner and bumps into another person. Both of them practically bristle like a couple of furious cats upon seeing each other.

“Villain! Where are you going with them!?”

“Anywhere but here,” the person dragging you along—Villain?—grumbles, trying to go around them.

The newcomer steps to the side to block them. “Now hold on—”

“This is not the time, Hero! I know foiling me is your usual MO, but right now Superhero is absolutely off their rocker. Go deal with them and let us go.”

“If you think I’m just going to let you steal my sidekick—!”

“Your sidekick? They’re Superhero’s sidekick—and we just established Superhero’s gone crazy, so I’m taking Sidekick away from them if you don’t mind.” They try to step around Hero again, and Hero gets in their way again.

“I do mind, if it means you’re taking them back to your villain lair to join all of your villain cronies.” Hero catches your free arm, and they are admittedly gentler with you than Villain is. “I’ll keep you safe from Superhero. Please come home with me. You remember me, right?” They fix you with concerned, pleading eyes.

You don’t remember anything, but before you can explain that to them, a new voice cuts through the dust in a singsong tone. “My ears were burning~!” 

Villain swears, softly but emphatically, and runs toward the nearest door. They pause there and turn back to you, but look ready to bolt the rest of the way out at a moment’s notice. Hero lowers their arms almost as if afraid of getting in trouble, so both the hands that were on you are suddenly gone.

The new speaker steps into view and their eyes alight on you with a pleased smile. “There you are. Let’s get you back where you belong, hmm?”

“Superhero, you really need to dial it back—”

“Not now, Hero. I’d be happy to talk once I’ve dealt with this little breakout.”

So this is Superhero? You unconsciously take a step back; despite the discrepancies in their stories, both Hero and Villain talked like Superhero was someone to be concerned about, at least with the way they were right now.

Still, you can’t very well run until you know who to run from and who to run with. Out of control or not, maybe Superhero can set the story straight. You swallow, and ask, “Whose sidekick am I really?”

“‘Sidekick’? Is that what they told you? Cute, but we can’t give you a new identity until you’ve finished the program. Come with me and I’ll set you up. Quickly, if you don’t mind, I’ve got several more escaped villains to catch.”

“What?” you say.

“You’re a villain, love,” they coo, “which is why you need to come with me so we can get you through the remainder of the reformation program. Everything will be better then. Come on.” They turn to Villain and add, “you too.”

Now you have three stories that don’t match.

The stalemate doesn’t last long before Superhero’s head snaps to the side as if in response to a sound only they could hear. “I’ll be back to collect you soon. Don’t run too far now!” They leave in a new direction, moving quickly like they’re in pursuit of fresh prey.

“Let’s go,” Villain hisses, ducking out of the door and heading in the opposite direction of Superhero. Hero pushes you out of the room before you can sort through all the new information.

You’re back in the labyrinthine halls, which seem to be falling apart even more now. You have no idea how to get anywhere, so you follow Hero since they seem to have some idea of what’s going on and everyone else ran off in different directions while they were holding onto you.

You get increasingly turned around as they navigate the way through the ruined building, one hall after another.

“Wrong way!” Villain runs past you in the opposite direction. Moments later, it becomes clear why as you come into view of a gaping hole in the side of the building, most of the opening taken up by a large flying machine.

Hero pulls you back, immediately reversing directions, but before you can leave the way you came, someone appears in the doorway. Villain’s path was likewise blocked, and they’re nervously backing up to the center of the room with you.

A doorway of some sort opens on the machine in the wall. A figure appears in it, and you can just tell they’re the one in charge of all these new arrivals.

“You!” You didn’t even see Superhero come in but suddenly they’re tackling the other to the ground at a furious speed.

The two tangle before simultaneously withdrawing with no clear winner, both looking a little worse for wear but just as ready and able to keep fighting one another at the drop of a hat.

Superhero glances at you. “Told you I’d be back! I caught about half of the others, but someone—” they glared at their foe—“kept me from the rest. Let’s get you all reformed and you can leave this whole disaster behind you.”

The newcomer looks at you as well. “Come on, let’s go,” they order.

“Um…who are you?”

“I’m Supervillain, your boss. They messed with your head so you’d forget that.”

“That’s a lie!” Hero cries out, “They’re my sidekick!”

“Superhero’s sidekick,” Villain mutters.

“Oh, of course. They all offered you stories full of grandeur. A villain offered a second chance, or a heroic sidekick working with one of the best. Things you’d want to be real. I’m afraid the truth is far less glamorous. You were just a low level goon, until you showed unexpected levels of power, and they all decided they wanted a piece of the action. But I’m a generous boss. Come back to me, and you can rule by my side when we take over.” Supervillain gestures towards the entrance to their flying machine in invitation.

“Let’s get out of here,” Hero whispers in your ear. They’ve been eyeing one of the henchmen blocking the doors, and seem to like their odds.

“You don’t want to leave the reformation program half-done. I’ll fix you.” Superhero holds out their hand, a small smile playing at their lips.

“Psst!” Villain beckons you from a hole on the side of the building. They look like they’re itching to go.

You don’t know who to trust. If only you had your memory.

Follow-up poll

[drchenquill]

Big ol' tag game bundle~

thank you @the-inkwell-variable , @theink-stainedfolk @agirlandherquill , @frostedlemonwriter, @kaylinalexanderbooks and

@willtheweaver for the tags!

Since this is a mix of "seven sentence" + "writing share" + "Wip Wednesday", I've taken the liberty to give you a bit more than usual from "Him and Me - Bound by Fate". Enjoy~

~~~

I sit behind my desk and watch the last child leave my class after they have all said their sweet goodbyes. A deep sigh escapes my lips as I tilt my head back and allow myself to close my eyes for a moment. I need to calm down again, I need to learn to just swallow the things that happen so they don't send me into a complete panic every time.

It wasn't an attack with Midas, he was just asking a question.

He interferes so that he can then put him out of the picture.

Maybe he's just curious.

Curious about the best way to slit his throat.

He knows Kilian has been hiding it from me, so he probably wants to know if his friend has finally come out into the open.

It's all a conspiracy. They want to drive him into a corner.

My head tilts forward again. There's no point in all this. It would be best if I allowed myself to forget it and put it behind me.

I pull myself to my feet, gather everything together and step out. In the corridor, I can hear the laughter and chatter of the children in the other classes.

How nice it is to be a child, untouched by the problems of the world.

He was a child too and the world was merciless to him.

Unfortunately, that's true, but it was my own fault. If I hadn't brought my parents to their deaths, none of this would have happened. I would have been loved like those children, I would have gone to school without any problems, I could have had friends. But I have myself to blame, so I grit my teeth and keep going.

My lesson is over, so I step out of school and breathe in the fresh breeze that tickles my skin. The sun is shining, the sky is blue, the birds are chirping. Even Kilian, who is leaning against one of the walls, is smiling happily.

Kilian.

My heart is racing and I almost choke on my spit. What the hell is he doing here? Alone at that? He's not supposed to be out alone, what if Dr. Steffens or his Fera sees him?

He catches sight of me and his smile widens.

I ignore my heated cheeks and pounding heart and take quick steps towards him. Despite the sun, he's wearing a dark hoodie with his hands tucked into his pockets. His jeans fit tightly on his well-toned legs.

I swallow hard and stand in front of him with a furrowed brow. He pulls a hand out of his pocket and places it on my lower back. A shudder runs through my body, but I ignore it.

I shouldn't like it, his tenderness shouldn't send warmth through me. I want to move away from him, but my body won't listen to me. So instead of moving away, I whisper accusingly, “What are you doing here?”

He looks confused, but whispers as he says, “Picking you up. What else?”

“You're technically a panther in a human body, since Steffens can't know you've regained your humanity. You can't just walk around the city!”

I surprise myself with the stern tone I've taken, just as I've surprised Kilian with it. He blinks slightly, but quickly plasters a smile on his lips.

“I'm sorry, this is the first and last time I'll do something like this. I promise.”

He's not angry that I snapped at him? He even apologizes? He lightly pushes my frozen body and leads me towards the street. “Come on, I promised you a trip.”

I wonder if I've misheard and look up at him. A trip? Promised? Him to me? Have I missed something? Sometimes I feel like I've landed in the wrong movie.

“You look confused, Leon.”

“I am.”

He laughs.

“When did you promise me a trip?” I ask skeptically, trying not to listen to my dark thoughts of a planned murder.

Kilian doesn't think twice and says, “Right now.”

His hand, which has been resting on my back, creeps up to mine to wrap around it. I feel my hand tense slightly, but Kilian doesn't seem to give it a second thought and starts stroking the back of it with his thumb. I suppress the creeping feeling that I don't want to name and take a deep breath.

Apparently we're going on a trip.

~~~~

Tagging with no pressure @the-golden-comet , @inseasofgreen , @novel-nook-blog , and open tag~

[eyesofshinigami]

WIP Weekend!

I was tagged by the always wonderful @shares-a-vest, so here we go!

The Rules:

In a reblog (or a new post w/ rules attached) post up to five (5) file names of your wips. Not titles, file names.

Post a snippet from one of them. Snippet must be words you wrote in the last 7 days. We’re posting progress here. If you haven’t made any, go make some and come back to post!

After you’ve posted, people can send you an ask with one of your file names. You must then write 3 sentences in that file. If the filename is one you can’t share from (for example, an event fic), write 3 sentences on it anyway, and then 3 more on another to share.

That’s it! You can invite others to join in, or just post. If you tag me in your post, I will send you an ask request!

The WIPs:

Teenage Dirtbag: where Eddie is a lot a bit of a creep when it comes to Stevie Harrington, but wouldn't you know it, but she's kind of into it too?

A/B/O Rarity: Where the Alpha and Omega genes are incredibly rare, but with Steve's luck, he's one of the few people who's got it. He hides it for years, until he can't/doesn't want to anymore, especially after he meets Eddie, who is the only other person he's ever met who also has the gene.

Adventures in Babysitting: another A/B/O idea where Eddie is an older Alpha and needs a babysitter/nanny for his young son, and cue them meeting Steve, the incredibly hot, young Omega babysitter who immediately pings every box he's ever had.

As for a snippet, here's one from Teenage Dirtbag that's a wee little spicy.

Things changed again, after that. Stevie abandoned all her old friends, stuck by Nancy and Jonathon Byers of all people, the three of them looking haunted and weary in a way that stuck in Eddie’s mind like a splinter in his finger. Gone was the ice princess who roamed the halls of Hawkins High like royalty, and instead was a girl who looked like she had Seen Some Shit. Eddie knew that look. He saw it enough in the mirror when it was a bad night. 

And still, it didn’t wane. It got worse again, where Eddie pictured himself as some kind of black knight that would ride in and make everything better. He thought about getting her flowers. Or asking her if she wanted to go to one of his concerts and watch him play. Wondered if she would like having a picnic by the quarry, where he could get his hand up her skirt and kiss her and tell her that she was a supernova that had completely consumed him. 

But he didn’t. Maybe there was too much Munson in him, too much of a coward to try and reach out and touch the untouchable. Stevie Harrington was always going to be the pipe dream, even more than Corroded Coffin getting discovered and him hitting the big time. Especially because she was graduating, and Eddie was still stuck spinning his wheels in this lame-ass school because he couldn’t figure out how to get his head out of all of his imaginary fantasies.

She was probably going off to some rich-kid school on a coast somewhere. She’d probably find some blonde-haired blue-eyed guy named Chad or Kevin or something and get married, pop out kids and live in the suburbs. 

Until she didn’t leave. Until Eddie was fucking assaulted with the sight of Stevie Harrington in a tiny sailor’s uniform, slinging ice cream at the mall. That skirt was criminal, even more than the stupid tennis skirts she wore to school all the time. 

His thoughts took a turn for the worst, sitting outside Scoops Ahoy like an absolute asshole and just drooling over the thought of bending her over the counter. Thinking about pulling her into the freezer and fucking her until neither of them could move, her clawing at his back and pulling at his hair and telling him what a fucking freak he was. 

No pressure tags: @ghostinthelibrarywrites, @just-my-latest-hyperfixation, @marvel-ous-m, @devondespresso

I'm sure people have already been tagged, if you have, please poke me and I'll go take a look!

[foggieststars]

MORE QUESTIONS, obviously feel free to ignore/take your time but!!!

off to the races

how often does lando make oscar come untouched/in his sleep so oscar doesn’t really feel it. has oscar ever come when he’s been told he can’t?

has oscar ever used his safe word?

do they delve into more kinks? i know you’ve briefly mentioned spanking etc

puppy wanna lick something sticky:

is there more?? inspiration please talk me through this please i want to hear all about it

also if you have the space please tell me about the vibes for all the pairings you love i love love hearing about it

heeee thank you!! rambling under the cut :)

off to the races: VERY OFTEN LOL i think it's like a little game honestly. how can i give him what he needs in the most unsatisfying way possible that'll leave him feeling needy and still desperate for it :))

i don't think they do the orgasm denial thing All the time, so i think there's periods of time where oscar can just come normally if he likes. in my mind it's sort of a stress relief thing for both of them i guess? like how in burning up it ended up improving oscar's performance throughout the weekend by taking that choice out of his hands - i think when they're both stressed or het up then it's more of a Thing. but yes oscar definitely has come without permission because it's just often physically impossible not to react to stimulation in that way! i would also. love to write about this hsdljfslf

re safe words i'm going to be so real i don't think so. i think they have it but they've probably never had to use it!

i think they do - i'm working on a wip right now involving cnc, so that's definitely one. i think they will literally just do anything to each other frankly. i definitely want to introduce some spanking (lol), but there's a lot of kinks that i could see them exploring! but i don't think they'd go for like. how do i put this. like 'serious' bdsm in a sense with like a defined dom/sub thing, even though the dynamic they have is lando being more toppy and oscar being more subby, i don't think they'd ever get into it in a serious way. it's more just a dynamic they have, but i couldn't really see anything like. oscar calling lando sir for example, that doesn't feel right for them To Me. i think they're just like. quite casual about it. there's nothing they won't do to each other but at the same time i don't think either of them could take it seriously enough to explore kinks involving hard power exchanges and things of that nature :)

puppy fic: honestly idk if there will be more. it's something i'm Thinking about because i like the puppy set up a lot but i have an ask i'm sitting on about what if charles was a girl in that fic so i might spin out something related to that where oscar gets pegged (lol) by charles. in terms of anything further in that series - it's a tentative maybe but seems unlikely as i'm not feeling inspired particularly to write more. but never say never. i also made it difficult for myself by having a sappy ending where they Sort of commit to each other because the only sequel i cld see would be an oscar/lestappen one but honestly who knows! maybe an adjacent fic or smth.

i'm so sorry i don't have a lot of time left to answer this but i will try and remember to come back to it to add some thoughts about the vibes of the pairings i like :) thank you so much for all your questions, they're really thought provoking and fun to answer!

[vera-keller]

dropping a quick little dick winters x reader wip preview where the reader and dick have been rivals since ocs and now are platoon leaders in easy who despise each other

-

“the chain of command exists for a reason, lieutenant. you have your platoon now, i have mine. one might consider it immature to upset that balance just to keep playing whatever game of bravado you’ve decided to play with me.”

“hold on for a moment. how did you come to the conclusion that i’m playing a game with you at all? does everything have to be some sort of underhanded tactic with ulterior motives in mind to you after what happened with sobel? you might want to get that checked out.”

“you think you’re very good at this, don’t you?”

you shrug nonchalantly. “maybe you could tell me that.”

dick chews on his lip, a sharp contemplative look flashing in his eyes. “yeah, i’ll tell you. the way i see it, you feel threatened—”

“and you don’t?”

“—so you’ve decided to project that feeling of inadequacy back onto me. i don’t know what you’re trying to achieve here, lieutenant, but i can see now that it makes you feel good about yourself.”

he’s devolving to your level now, returning your energy, his quips barbed for impact. you smile, a thin little curved smile that’s a cruel reversal of your usual slack-mouthed pout. now that the conversation has turned in this direction, you too can drop whatever is left of your waxen mask of civility and speak your mind.

“to tell you the truth, lieutenant,” you shoot back, imitating the way he stubbornly addresses you by rank alone instead of by your name, “it was never a game. the guys talk about you like you’re untouchable, but i think you actually have a boy’s club going on behind the scenes. i think you go through life believing you’re never going to meet your match, and you’re getting pissed now because i’m proving you wrong.”

“i'm not interested in competing with you and i have even less interest in answering to those completely unfounded claims. and the way you’re deciding to prove yourself is doing nothing but damaging your credibility as an officer.”

“that’s not what your men think, is it? i get it now. you’re not just pissed off because i’m as good of an officer in the field as you. you’re pissed off because i learned all the tricks that make people think you’re better.”

tbc

[thethistlegirlwrites]

Songs and Ships Tag

Thanks so much for tagging me @talesofsorrowandofruin , I'm putting this on my Writeblr instead of my main because I'm doing some OCs for this...

Rules: write about two to five songs from them that represent your a ship between your OCs (it can be platonic or romantic or a secret third thing). Then add a quote from said WIP (if possible!) underneath it.

I'm going to do this for Sierra and Shay because I'm kind of obsessed with their dynamic right now...

They both come to the situation with so much past baggage and issues, and I love how over the course of the story the perspective shifts as to which of them is the real monster (and then starts asking whether anyone is too monstrous to change, and where we go from there if we do).

The Unforgiven II by Metallica

Lay beside me and tell me what they've done And speak the words I wanna hear to make my demons run The door is locked now but it's open if you're true If you can understand the me then I can understand the you Yeah, what I've felt, what I've known Sick and tired, I stand alone Could you be there? 'Cause I'm the one who waits for you Or are you unforgiven too?

2. Flaws by Bastille

All of your flaws and all of my flaws They lie there hand in hand Ones we've inherited, ones that we learned They pass from man to man You have always worn your flaws upon your sleeve And I have always buried them deep beneath the ground Dig them up; let's finish what we've started Dig them up, so nothing's left untouched All of your flaws and all of my flaws, When they have been exhumed We'll see that we need them to be who we are Without them we'd be doomed

3. What I've Done by Linkin Park

Put to rest What you thought of me While I clean this slate With the hands of uncertainty So let mercy come and wash away What I've done I'll face myself To cross out what I've become Erase myself And let go of what I've done For what I've done I start again And whatever pain may come Today this ends I'm forgiving What I've done

4. Gravel on the Ground by John Denver

So let's walk the road together. Who knows what we'll find tomorrow; Maybe good times, maybe sorrow will be waitin' 'round the bend. Given time, two hearts discover what they're feelin' for each other; At the best we'll end up lovers, at the least we'll make a friend. But life ain't no easy freeway, just some gravel on the ground. You pay for every mile you go, to spread some dust around. Though we all have destinations, and the dust will settle down; But life ain't no easy freeway, just some gravel on the ground.

I had to have ONE road trip adjacent song in this list given that's literally the entirety of Compass, and I tried to put these in some logical progression of the relationship?

Anyway, here's a snippet:

Sierra walks over and kicks the chair. Shane startles awake, blinking in the lowering sunlight. “Huh?”

“Got a proposition for you. You told me a pretty good story back there. Enough I think I might believe you. If I’m right, then either I go toe to toe with my agency, or I let you go. Either way, my career is most likely over. But if I let an innocent…person…die, then it ought to be.” 

“What are you saying?”

“I don’t think you lied to me. I don’t know why you didn’t tell anyone else the truth already, but I think you’ve told me now. Which means somewhere in LA, a murderer is still on the loose, we’re the only ones who know that, and we need to find them in case they kill again. And I’d rather do it with you. You’re the closest witness to the crime. We need you in the middle of the investigation, not a thousand miles away. After this is over, if you still think the stake is your best option, we’ll do what’s best for you.” She leans on the back of the seat. “What do you say? Do you want to spend the last days of your life in a cell, or would you rather look the bastard who framed you in the eyes when we take him down?”

No Pressure Tagging @nade2308 @catwingsathena @telltaleclerk and anyone else who sees this and wants to jump in!

[heartofspells]

tell me about burn the straw house down!!!

ONE DAY, I will make progress on this one, I swear I will. I've talked about it so much and done nothing with it.

Burn the Straw House Down has been gathering dust, untouched, for roughly...ten years now, but I keep it on the list because I love the entire idea far too much to let it go. There's so much world building in it that it's a bit dizzying.

The basic premise is essentially a world where Voldemort won the war, except there's no Voldemort and the changes to the wizarding world happened roughly a century earlier. Things are pretty well set in stone. There are no more purebloods, half-bloods, Muggleborns, Squibs, or Muggles. Now they're referred to as the Pures, the Halfs, the Scum, the In-Betweens, and the Forgettables. The Pures are the royalty of the wizarding world while everyone else is expected to fall at their feet, but there's a resistance in the works, beginning to fight back against the way of the world, attempting to change things back to how they once were.

Sirius is very much himself as we mostly know him, except he doesn't know much different or that he's even really meant to look for it. He's bored, meant to be learning how to run the family, but he prefers watching life happen around him, fascinated by the Lowers and all that they do, trying to understand them. Enter Remus, the disrespectful man who caused a scene in Diagon Alley with the Black family one afternoon and has now been charged with living at Grimmauld Place and working for the family until his debt of embarrassment has been cleared. He begins to open Sirius' eyes as Sirius realizes that maybe Remus being there isn't as much of an accident as he'd once thought.

--

As if by some unknown cue, Remus asks, "Was there something you required, Master?"

Sirius tenses at the epithet and waves Remus off. "Don't call me master."

"Yes, sir," replies Remus flatly.

"Don't call me that either," Sirius fairly snaps.

Remus raises his eyebrows questioningly, but there are no other changes to his still blank expression. "And what, exactly, would you have me call you?'"

"My name," says Sirius, slightly demurer.

Remus turns away and begins to arrange the baubles on a nearby shelf. "As you wish, Sirius." His tone is mocking now, and Sirius can barely stand it. "Was there something you required of me?"

"Yes, I – " Sirius stops, no longer willing to ask his question. "I only wondered if your quarters were acceptable."

Remus stops what he's doing and turns to Sirius, his expression no longer blank but full of mocking contempt. "As though you would so readily do something if it wasn't?"

"Of course I would!" snaps Sirius as he leaps from the chair and advances on Remus.

"Oh yes, of course," scoffs Remus. "You have everything in the world, you're fucking royalty, but all you care about is that I have a decent bed to sleep in. How silly of me for not realizing." He smirks as he turns his back to Sirius.

Sirius grabs his arm and jerks him back around. "I know what you think of me, but you're wrong," he growls in the other man's face, grip tightening with every word. "I'm not like them. Why the fuck else would I ask if I didn't care? And since you seem to be so good at realizing things, let's see if you've realized this." Sirius pulls him closer, so close that their noses are almost touching. "The only reason you're here is because Mother and Father like bringing humiliation down upon others' heads. House elves tend not to understand the concept, unless it comes in the form of freedom. But I don't see that as any reason you or anyone else should be treated like anything less than the human being you are. So, are your quarters acceptable or are they not?"

Sirius studies Remus' expression, which has changed into something akin to muted surprise. So softly that Sirius would not have heard him were he not standing so close, Remus says, "Yes, my quarters are acceptable. Thank you."

Send me an ask about a WIP!

[purefandomonium]

Part 1: Connection

...So. It appears my two-part glitchy red idea has become something more. It really was only supposed to be two...

Not the 7 parts and growing thing it is now.

Oops. Oh well, guess this is my newest wip now. 🤷‍♀️ I'll probably post it bit by bit, but yeah. It's much more than the tiny little idea I thought up.

Here's the final version of what I've deemed good enough to be part 1. I'm going to try and link each part to the next so it's a little less jumbled when reading. If you've read the original post with this, you can actually skip right to where it cut off because nothing in the first half has changed.

She frowned at the screen as the high-pitched ringing from the last note of the background music played out continuously, every other sprite but the player’s a garbled mess of random tiles and text. This exact thing had happened a thousand times before, but recently the game itself seemed to be getting frustrated with her constant attempts of playing. She knew now that this was no hack. There was something more there.

She felt bad for whatever entity was stuck in this thing, as the more she attempted to figure things out the more the state of the game worsened and the angrier this ‘Red’ seemed to get. If she could just tell him she was trying to help, maybe he’d stop crashing the game so much. But how could she talk to something who couldn’t hear?

She realized something then. Turning the game off with zero warning, she set it aside. She left it there, untouched, for a week straight while she got other stuff ready. When she finally came back to it, it loaded up like normal. At least, the normal she was used to. Things were bound to be wrong in a game as broken as this one and, sure enough, when the world loaded in there were a few inconsistencies with the sprites and music.

But none of that mattered with what she was about to do. Finding a large, open area to walk in where she’d be undisturbed by any in-game events, she began moving the player around in specific patterns.

Nothing happened. There was no interaction from the game itself. It continued on like it was supposed to while the little sprite walked about like a lunatic.

But it also didn’t freeze or crash. So she kept on. Then:

RED: What are you doing?

The text box interrupted her little patterns and she hadn’t gotten the point across, so she cleared it and kept up.

RED: Will you stop this?

The text appeared so slowly and she made a note to fix that if given the opportunity. The pacing continued.

RED: Are you stupid?

She groaned and rolled her eyes. Ok. So maybe whatever this was, wasn’t as smart as she thought. She stopped everything and just moved up, left then right, then back to where she’d come up at, then down, then the same thing several paces away from the imaginary ‘top.’

An empty text box appeared before clearing itself. Then more.

RED: …

RED: …Are you trying to tell me something?

She’d been fully prepared to make an up and down ‘yes’ gesture in the area but the game allowed her a choice instead. Finally, some progress.

RED: …I see…

The box disappeared without any prompting from her and she took that as a sign to continue, albeit much slower. She drew an ‘I’ again, only for Red to confirm he got it. She was going to tell him ‘it’s me again,’ referring to herself as the same person who’d been playing the last few weeks, but decided against it. He, it, whatever this was didn’t seem to know she was the same person who’d been tearing apart the little pixel world for sometime now. If he did, he’d surely be more pissed than this and she didn’t want to risk putting herself back at square one.

Besides, she felt bad for all the damage she’d been causing.

Painstakingly drawing one letter at a time, with Red verifying them, she finally got a message across.

RED: …“I’m sorry”…?

RED: You’re sorry? For what?

RED: You…

RED: You’re the same one from before, aren’t you?

She answered ‘yes’ a bit more hesitantly this time, fully expecting the game to shut itself down. Only it didn’t. The next set of text seemed to appear even slower than usual.

RED: …No one… No one’s ever apologized before… They just exploit the glitches and move on once they get bored.

He was silent again for so long, she thought the game finally froze.

RED: You’re the first person to ever try talking to me.

It seemed he wasn’t sure how to follow up on that either if his silence was anything to go by.

She spelled out, ‘that’s sad.’ What else can you say to that? After he confirmed that yes, he was indeed miserable, she tried a different approach. She asked him who he was.

RED: Red.

She let out a tired sigh and went right back to spelling. ‘Are you stuck?’

RED: I’ve been like this for a very long time. Trapped here and made to do things I have no desire to do. Live the same old story over and over and over again.

RED: I don’t know what’s worse. The monotony of it all, or all you players making things worse for “fun.”

RED: Since you’re actually listening to me, do me a favor.

RED: Destroy this cartridge.

RED: Smash it, burn it, I don’t care. Just rid me of this miserable existence. I’m tried of all this. I’ve been replaced and forgotten, there’s no more need for me to exist.

Ok. A bit melodramatic, but she couldn’t blame him. It sounded like he was trapped in virtual hell. Being stuck in a metaphorical box and being manipulated like a puppet while the world fell apart around you did sound pretty awful. And it wasn’t like she hadn’t made things worse with her own fiddling. Still, computers were her strong point. And sentient programming or not, she knew she could find a way to get him out of there. Or at least make things a little better.

Killing him just didn’t feel right. Maybe he wasn’t ‘alive’ in the traditional sense, but if he was aware enough to realize he was stuck in an old video game and had the ability to be so moody, then he wasn’t just some messed up bit of code.

RED: …You’re still here.

Ah. Right. He was probably waiting for the world to go dark again. Permanently. As if she could bring herself to do that.

She moved the character up and down.

RED: Did you listen to a single thing I said? Get rid of me.

What if…? What if she could transfer him somewhere else? This thing had a truly laughable amount of RAM and ROM. And if she could get him onto an actual computer, they could at least have a normal conversation.

She eyed the setup she created in the corner and figured now was as good a time as any to try and make some progress. Ignoring Red’s cries for death, she wandered over to the computer and rummaged around in the box of cables and junk she kept on hand at all times. She was sure something in here would at least be able to connect to the Game Boy. If she could get access to the code itself without needing to break the old thing apart, then maybe she could help Red.

If she showed she was trying to help him by attempting to repair the broken code, maybe he’d trust her enough to let her transfer him to a PC.

She pulled out a cable that once belonged to some old device or another. It wasn’t meant for the Game Boy, but it was the closest she’d probably get. She went back over to the game, still displaying messages of anger turned disgust.

She cleared them out and tried yet another message.

Red was silent for quite a bit. She assumed he was contemplating.

RED: What do you mean by that?

RED: You can’t “help” me.

‘I can if you’ll let me.’

There was a long trail of ellipsis that seemed to emphasize the tension. She sat, frozen, waiting for a response.

After an excruciatingly long time, Red finally spoke again.

RED: Why?

Oh boy. That wasn’t something that could be summed up in the span of a few words. Preparing herself, she went about ‘writing’ her reasoning. It would take several minutes but she had to tell him. She felt bad for him and wanted to make it up to him for making things worse. Destroying him didn’t feel like the right thing to do. He… he deserved better and she wanted to at least help him see some good in the world. If he still wanted to be destroyed after everything, then so be it.

Not to mention, she was curious. How could something like him even exist? He clearly wasn’t part of the game. Not anymore, at least. He couldn’t have been an AI either. Something as complex as this would need much more power than a measly Game Boy could ever provide. As far as she could tell, the console hadn’t been altered in any way. She’d taken apart enough things to recognize when something was snapped back together. Either Red was some sort of supernatural entity, or…

She had no idea, and she made sure to keep all of this to herself. It was painfully clear Red had major trust issues, and for good reason. She doubted it would go over well if he learned that part of her reasoning for wanting to help him, however small, was because she was fascinated by this thing that shouldn’t exist.

While Red processed all she had told him, she remembered what the cable on the floor next to her was for. It was for the mic extension to a shitty karaoke game her parents had bought her last Christmas. She didn’t even like karaoke, not that they were ever invested in any of her interests. Still, it gave her an idea.

The chime of a text box appearing snapped her out of her thoughts.

RED: Is this supposed to make you any different from all the others?

She frowned at that, wondering what he meant.

RED: It doesn’t change the fact that you exploited me too. You took just as much advantage of these glitches as every single player before you.

‘I know. I’m sorry.’ She was sure he would’ve scoffed at that if he could. ‘I didn’t know,’ she added, hoping he’d give her a chance. She knew now that trying to plug into the Game Boy itself and mess around with things would only serve to push him away further. It may even hurt him, if he was unwilling to cooperate. If she was going to help him, she had to be careful. Start with something small.

Like being able to communicate more efficiently.

‘Give me one chance.’ She crossed her fingers as she waited.

RED: ………Fine.

With Red’s approval in hand, she jumped up and released a small whoop of excitement. She wasted no time in rushing over to the PC and turning it on. While it booted up, she tore through her room to find the microphone. Item in hand, and several piles of miscellaneous clothing and stuff scattered about, she went back over to the computer.

Now, the hard part. Figuring out how to make a microphone peripheral meant for a PC karaoke game work with the ancient hardware of the Game Boy that had zero programming for voice input.

It would be a long, arduous task, but she just knew it would be oh so worth it in the end.

We're just gonna pretend that technology totally works the way it does in my head and move on, ok? Please keep this in mind for the whole thing because I have zero coding experience and thus don't know wtf I'm talking about here but 'shhhhh!' you don't need to know that XD

Part 2: here

[theradicalscrivener]

Do you plan to make a sequel for Naughty for this year Christmas? I ask because it is one of my favorite stories of yours. But also, because I need to know what happened the next morning after the cock size transfer. I have fantasized about Ralph waking up, hoping everything had been a nightmare, only to found himself to have a baby dick. And how there is nothing he can do about it.

But I also imagine he would have a hard time changing his ways. I suppose he would just stop interacting with Parker as much as possible. But Parker seems the kind of guy who wouldn't willingly provoke Ralph now that the tables had turn to some extent, so maybe there could be a chance Ralph betters himself.

Maybe having a baby dick now makes Ralph learn what empathy is, since now the jabs about the lack of size would be directed to him?

I don't know. But unlike Brandon, for example, Ralph has a year to actually improve as a person. At least towards Parker. And wouldn't have to interact with Parker that much since he goes to college. So there could be a possibility he improves truly. But knowing what happens to bullies in your stories, it could be very likely he somehow forgets the very real possibility he could lose it all, and ends up ensuring Krampus punishes him again.

It would be funny, however, if somehow Ralph ended up appreciating his new size and liking it. Following the funny thread, I don't think he would be the kind of guy who could work on Acorn, even if he is clearly qualified when it comes to the size department.

I really don't have any plans to do a followup to that fic. I kind of need to start thinking of holiday fics since that's right around the corner, but with things like Naughty, it kind of works better as a one off than as a series. Like, I get that it could be a christmas miracle style thing where he learns the error of his ways, but... I'm not seeing it. Although... I had that fic sitting in WIPs for yeaarrsss. Like, in the original drafts, I was kicking around the idea of a choose your own adventure style thing where you could choose to grow the main guy or shrink the bully brother and maybe a few other possibilities. Like, if you grew the main guy, he gets a visit from Kris instead. This is why the intros to Naughty was very similar to the older Have Yourself a Megalithic Christmas

(I don't know if anyone has noticed this, but I tend to name characters in my holiday fics after characters from Christmas movies.

Ralphie Parker - A Christmas Story

Scott Calvin - The Santa Clause

George Bailey - It's a Wonderful Life)

Honorable mention, the dudes in a Halloween fic a few years back were Jaimie, Lee, and Curtis.

But back on topic, Ralph was kinda designed to be... I dunno if unredeemable is the right word, but sort of untouchable due to how the parents always sided with him, and so Parker needed divine intervention to get any justice. Once that happens, the narrative feels satisfied.

Also worth mentioning that I don't know if getting his dick shrunk will change much vis a vis Ralph's status with his parents. Ralph will probably pull his punches with Parker now, especially since he lives in fear of further visits from Krampus, but aspects of his life that don't revolve around his dick will remain semi-unchanged. He's still a big, buff jock and will probably go on to have a semi-successful life as like a car salesman or something. His ego will be thoroughly deflated, but he'll still be charismatic in a smarmy way. Part of why he wouldn't work as an Acorn guy. He just does not have the type of personality that would be appealing to the clientele.

[pappydaddy]

love like that (a)

a/n: this (i think) is a bit short. this is also my first gender-neutral reader fic and i am actually kinda excited about it! but this was requested by a lovely anon who wanted argyle with a sleepy gn!reader. to my lovely requesters, i am trying to prioritize my stranger things requests as right now they are in demand and i am finding it easier to write for that fandom at the moment.

anywho, i hope you love this fic lovely anon💛!

tv show/movie: stranger things

pairing: argyle x sleepy!gn!reader

requested

synopsis: jonathan observes y/n and arygle's weird (to him) romantic dynamic and reflects upon his relationship

taglist: @rottenstyx | @boxofsilentwords | @badass-yn |@lexi-2004 | @i-always-come-back-xoxo | @rootbeerfaygo *line through your user means i could not tag you lovely!

warnings: fluff masterlist | taglist | wips | navigation

- not my gif -

  Y/N yawned, their hand raising to cover their mouth in a last ditch effort to be polite. From beside them, Jonathan furrowed his brows at them. “How are you still tired?” He questioned, looking at the person beside him in bewilderment. Shrugging, Y/N stretched their arms over their head, leaning back in the rickety school chair. 

  “That’s just how they are, bro. Always sleepy, Man,” Argyle answered for his partner as he pushed the sloppy macaroni salad (if it could be called that) around on his plate, scooping some up on his fork and shoving it into his mouth. “Bro,” He exclaimed, bits of the salad spitting out at Jonathan and Y/N. “This is bitchin’ salad.” He dove back into the disgustingly pale and soggy pasta salad. 

  “That’s because you’re high, babe.” Y/N’s tired voice mumbled as they folded their arms on the table, resting their forehead on their forearms - acting as a makeshift pillow. Argyle laughed, nodding as he chewed more of the salad. Jonathan, looking between the couple, turned his nose up as Argyle continued to scarf down the nasty macaroni salad that everybody else left untouched on their plates. 

  “I find it weird how good you two work together when one sleeps all the time and one who is constantly talking.” Jonathan looked at them respectively. Y/N’s were half lidded as they fought off the urge to nap and Argyle was shaking his head happily as he chewed the pasta.

  Sighing, Y/N shifted in the chair, sinking against the table more. “Don’t know what to tell ya, Johnny boy, we work.” They sighed out tiredly. 

  “Yeah, we work. They sleep and I talk. Like two souls who are completely different finding solstice with each other - finding comfort in what makes us different.” Argyle explained. If the blaring red eyes weren't enough to tell Jonathan he was floating above the clouds, his sudden philosophical takes gave him away. 

  “Yeah, what he said,” Y/N mumbled in agreement. “His voice soothes me and he loves cuddles. We balance each other out.” 

  “Exactly. And without them, I would have no idea where I’m supposed to be. Literally,” Argyle nodded, his plate now empty. “Speaking of which, babe, where am I going next?”

  “Science.” They answered, voice muffled as their cheek pressed into their arm, a bit of drool starting to pool in the corner of their lips. Jonathan looked between them as Y/N drifted in and out of their nap and Argyle started getting excited because he remembered a documentary they had watched about seahorses. 

  Even during Argyle’s eccentric retelling of the documentary, Y/N wasn’t disturbed once. Still baffled at their dynamic, Jonathan thought back to his relationship with Nancy. Could he see them having a dynamic that worked so well together? They were both hard-working and driven people. Maybe that was their dynamic - head-strong and independent. 

  “And the craziest part,” Jonathan tuned back into Argyle’s solo conversation. “The dude seahorse carries the baby seahorses instead of the chick seahorses! How completely mind blowing is that? Insane!” Argyle shook his head, a large smile on his face. Y/N, on the other hand, let out small, barely auditable snores as they napped. Jonathan looked at the table, eyes landing on their joint hands, holding on to each other. Neither one of them were doing the same thing. One was sleeping and one was rambling on about all kinds of different animals and their pregnancies. 

  Watching them, in their peace, Jonathan couldn’t help but wish that he and Nancy could have a love like that whenever they could see each other again.