#maybe the bite marks on the cart are a bad thing :(

[letsgobarbs]

A Groom On A Bride Train: Chapter 1

INDEX

If that perra pinches her nose one more time, he’s going to bite it clean off her face. He knew he smelled bad— he could smell it himself. But it was not that she smelled like an angel’s rosy fart. They had all travelled from distant lands without a proper bed or a wash for who knows how long, simply covering the last stretch of this journey together to the same town. To get married.

His jaw ticked to the side before he clenched his teeth. The skin of his lips burned with the cold. He fisted his aching fingers to preserve some warmth in the wooden digits. He hated the cold— for many reasons— he hated it most because of how silent it was. The snow had been falling over them like a fresh, white shroud of anxious silence as all the women agonised over their fate.

And breaking this silence was the jarring clatter of this closed wagon— with bars over its windows, no doubt used to transport prisoners. Tovar tried not to look closely at the scratch marks on the wood as if some wild animal had been tied inside once— he steered clear of anything with claws after the Tao Tei, preferring to deal with human opponents only.

His thick, matted beard covered the snarl curling his lip as he felt another stare at the side of his face before the woman heaved a giant, weary, woebegone sigh— he was surprised her soul didn’t fly out of her nose. For the last few weeks, these mujeres had stared at him in open curiosity, fear and even pity before they had all decided that their circumstances were far worse. And they might be right.

Only the truly desperate women chose to place themselves at the mercy of a strange man— ones who had no one to protect them from the monsters they were running from. He, on the other hand, was the idiota who thought he would be answering an advertisement for a servant’s job in some Lord’s castle when he saw the announcement on the tavern wall. They were looking for someone who could cook, clean and maintain a household— how was he to know that was a posting for a wife? Who even advertises for a wife?

Lords and Kings never hired sell-swords during the winter unless strictly required— they were just more mouths to feed. And there had been suspiciously no wars or conflict in the neighbouring nations where he could find work. As the winter set in, the lack of coin made him desperate to seek out alternate employment.

He hadn’t realised that the alternate employment would lead him to a brothel where he would be knocked over and bundled into a cart for some mysterious town. All things considered, it was not a bad arrangement for him— a roof over his head and food in his belly in exchange for lying with a man. He was not unfamiliar with it, when the attentions of his own hand grew tedious and there was no spare coin for a whore, men often made do with each other in the armies.

Come spring, he would be on his merry way again. And if the man he was with dared intimidate or take what he was not willing to give, then he would lose his life under his blade. Even then, there were worse prospects, he reminded himself. Moreover, there was still a chance that this was all for naught— maybe no man in town was willing to take another man for a partner and he would be able to find other work there.

He scowled at the pouch of coin each of the women was given, “Why don’t I get one?”

“You don’t look like a helpless lady to me, amigo.” Tovar raised a curious brow at the man, a fellow countryman? Not that he had any loyalties to a country.

They had descended from the wagon to a completely different world— an unrealistic and stupid one at that. A sweet young boy had chivalrously assisted the women off the wagon and then baulked at the sight of his lumbering figure climbing down. The Spaniard, Silva, handed a purse full of money to the women. Apparently, they were free to leave should they wish to.

He wasn’t the only one who looked dubious at the offer. There were no free things in this world— especially not money. If used prudently, it looked enough to last them a month. And they were assured the wagon would take them back to the city before nightfall. The raven-haired woman who had been entirely silent on their journey disbelievingly scoffed at the offer.

Not everybody would be getting married— only the ones chosen by the men of their community would have to leave with their partner. The rest of the women would be given a room in the local boarding house and they could work for their food. But they would only be welcome until spring— unless their circumstances change as they court and decide to marry one of the townsfolk.

The women who were chosen were expected to stay with their prospective husbands. However, if they decided not to marry, they were welcome to lodge with the other women. Even without the coins, there was hope for him yet since the same accommodation and arrangements extended to him as well. He would stay, but the other women had to make their choice now for the pass through the valley closed during the heavy winters and they would not be able to leave until spring.

Tovar levelled a mutinously apathetic stare at Silva when the man had glanced a second longer at him as he warned of legal repercussions should any of them commit a crime in this town. He couldn’t help but mock the man— for all his talk of being supportive and good to the women, the fact was they were trapped in a holding cell with no choice but to trust the men imprisoning them. He studied the men that steadily filled in with a derisive glower.

Much like those animales salvajes, men too had ways of arranging themselves. There would be the loudest, strongest men— often the bullies— flanked by their stooges who benefit from the connection, tailed by the men you had to keep an eye on. Those were the men who were scheming, skilled and the most dangerous, especially if they were alienated even by the men around them.

A few men were standing impatiently at the very front while the others retreated against the walls— seemingly uninvolved but not uninterested. Not the usual arrangement but not unfamiliar.

“That one is mine.” A deep voice rumbled from the biggest man. His eyes were trained on the butter-blonde. Tovar sneered at the man, of course that mountain of a man would choose someone so small. He waited for Silva to correct him, but the man only gave an exasperated sigh.

Butter-blonde whimpered in fear as the man advanced.

“How do we know you will not harm her?” He interjected, cursing himself as soon as the words had left his mouth. It had been the wrong thing to say. The man bristled with rage while several others breathed an affronted huff. He shivered with disgust, William had rubbed off on him. The strong take what they want, he reminded himself.

“Listen you—”

“Easy now, he is not one of us. He does not understand our ways,” Silva defused. Tovar wanted to cackle, he understood the ways of men just fine.

“I’ll take him.” A low voice called out. Every head swivelled to see the figure materialising out of the shadows of the wall. It took him too long to realise that the stranger meant him.

“He stinks—”

“Perhaps pick one of the women—”

“Reconsider, this one is troublesome—”

Many voices interjected and dissuaded at once. But the man only stayed them all with a raised hand, “No, him. I’ll take him.”

The stranger glided forward. Tovar could not see the man’s face, the lower half was covered by a cloth and the upper half was concealed by the hood of his fur-lined cloak. It did not seem like the cloaked figure would be able to overpower him. He procured a small, ornate dagger— the blade reminded him of his own curved sword.

“Use this when you are in danger. Just stick the pointy end anywhere you please,” He advised while offering the leather-wrapped hilt of the dagger to Butter-blonde.

“She’ll keep this dagger, understand?” He warned over his shoulder at the bigger man who nodded in agreement.

“She can sleep with it under her pillow if it makes her feel safe,” he assured.

The hooded figure receded into the shadows once more where Silva no doubt attempted to persuade him to choose anyone but him. Tovar scowled at their sneaky glances, he agreed the man should pick someone else. Cacao-brown, Raven-hair, Tight-curls, Braids, and Straight-black were already chosen by other men. But Hay-blonde and Acorn-brown were pretty enough women— unless the man did not prefer women at all.

Even so, he did not cut the most attractive figure at present. His hair was long and matted with sweat and muck— he could feel the bristles of his moustache dip inside his mouth if he opened it. He had not washed, his skin was covered in grime. He reeked sour and ripe. He was built like any other soldier, which appealed to some— women enjoyed being taken roughly by some brute. But his physique was hidden under the loose cape he wore over his armour.

If that man thought he would submit to him, then he can keep dreaming. Tovar had been very young when he had learned that men do not often work open the hole before they take their pleasure. However, if the man needed someone to ride him, then he would do so without any qualms— but of course he would be a considerate lover.

Several other men were oddly solicitous of the man, they whispered to him in low, hushed tones— probably instructing him to call on them should his chosen husband ever pose a threat. He rolled his eyes when Silva helped the man onto the driver’s seat before loading a covered basket and Tovar’s travel bag in the cart. He wondered if the man was very young— but that was still no excuse to coddle the boy like this, he would have to learn how to be strong.

He made a great show of checking his belongings, his pointed glare promising vengeance if anything had been stolen from his pack. His weapons were all accounted for— from his axe and swords down to the smallest knife, except for the blades he was hiding on his body. His bedroll was damp. A few meagre coins clinked at the bottom, not even enough to buy him a meal— aptly chastising and reminding him why he was here in the first place. He looked at his horse with a wistful sigh, the poor beast followed them with his reins tied to the rickety cart.

“You know you should have confiscated my weapons. What if I chose to attack you?” He pointed out to his betrothed. No, too romantic.

The man must have given a contemplative hum, “But why would you do that?” Tovar could not discern an accent in the broken words. The man straightened his back, as if to appear taller, before urging his horses to draw the cart. Was he trying to seem older?

Tovar suspiciously observed the man, he had no taste for a boy. “Why did you choose me out of everyone?” He pried.

“Because you’ve got something they don’t.” The words seemed mumbled, it was as if the wind carried them to his ears.

“A cock?” He guessed. Rich, warm laughter was lost to the falling snow.

You had never lit a fire before. It was such an odd thing, everyone could do it. You had seen other people do it— but you had never done it yourself. Previously, you lived at the boarding house with a spare few others until they had needed to make place for the new women. There, the fire was always lit and maintained by the sweet boy who cleaned the rooms. And before that… well, that had been a different life.

You don’t even know why you offered. You had most certainly never cooked before. You took your meals at the inn, and had planned to continue to do so— before you found yourself a husband that is. Well, he wasn’t your husband yet and judging by his surly scowl, he did not seem to be amenable. But would he still expect you to cook for him, you wondered with growing dissatisfaction.

You weren’t dissatisfied with the stranger, only at yourself for being so incompetent. You had never learned the most basic skills. You hadn’t had the forethought to buy some fruit preserves, cold meats, cheeses and bread from the townsfolk. Then again, you had not expected a guest. If it was just you, you could have staved off the hunger until breakfast tomorrow morning. But you could not very well starve a guest— and he did look starved, amongst other things.

His stomach had loudly rumbled when both of you were brushing down your horses in the barn. And you had stupidly suggested a welcome meal along with a humiliating attempt at levity in response to which his lips had curled into a disdainful snarl. You tried not to think about how plush those lips were. Maybe you weren’t cut out for this, tomorrow morning you would ask Silva to take him to the boarding house along with the others.

You had paid Edna to clean up the place today, and she had been kind enough to heat up some water for you to wash. But he had needed that much more than you— desperately so. You took a deep fortifying breath. There were still some red-hot embers in the hearth so the water would be simmering upon your return. All was not lost, at least you did not have to figure your way around a flint and steel.

You scrounged about until you found the box that was filled with straw and moss and you threw some of the tinder over the embers and watched the encouraging wisps of smoke rise. Only, they shortly died. You grasped at your memory, there was something you were missing. Aah!

You crouched before the fire, gently blowing through your mouth until a flurry of sparks danced in the air and caught onto the dry kindling. You suppressed a giddy smile at the small flames lapping onto the straw and moss. There was a cold draft that threatened the fledgling fire and your hopes along with it. Wood— you needed the sticks and split logs from the wood pile.

You hurried to the shed just through the back door in the kitchen, mentally thanking Logan and a few other friends for stockpiling the wood. You would have to send them a little gift for their help. There was a nervous excitement in your rushed steps as you returned to find the small flames still merrily crackling in your absence. You sat before the fire place and held the smallest stick aloft until the fire accepted your prayers and offering.

It was a task well done! You had managed that brilliantly, and without harming or burning yourself. You turned your attentions to the vegetables, giving them a rinse before you started to peel and cut them. The progress was painfully slow. It was as if the potatoes had a mind of their own, they would stubbornly dance along with the knife as you sawed on them. You smacked them on the table with the knife buried half way. It split into two, one of the pieces flinging itself across the room in protest.

But it was the carrots that posed the most danger. You had lovingly cradled them in your hand, and with a burst of confidence had thought to pare them. The knife struggled against the skin before abruptly sliding straight to your thumb, cutting off a chink in your nail and slicing the skin. You sucked on your thumb to ease the pain and bleeding. Defeat clogged your throat, but you blamed the tears on the wily onions.

Those onions took years off your life, you decided to peel them— the single layers were easier to cut than the whole bulb albeit tedious. You threw the hacked vegetables in a pot full of water, adding a bit of salt. Your palate was unaccustomed to under seasoned food, you would have to search for the herbs stored in the cabinets. You heaved the pot on the hook and slid it so it hung above the fire. Now, the fish.

You grimly faced the basket. It was so kind of Silva to share his catch, it must have been difficult to find something in this snow— he’d said something about it being rare this time of the year. You grimaced at the thought of having to butcher the fish. You would have to behead it, clean it, gut it and then cut it. Was that the correct order?

Firmly, you shook the sight of protruding fish eyes, tiny pointed teeth and— did fishes have a tongue? You tried not to think about it as you gently eased the lid of the basket off. Then quickly covered it again. That was no fish… Your fingers twitched the lid aside, forming a small crack for you to peak through. It was a thick, black eel. And it was alive.

Your heart was hammering in your chest. Through the nausea gathering at the base of your throat, you silently bolstered yourself. You were strong. You were independent. You were capable of fending for yourself. You would not be defeated by some slimy creature. There was a tired, weary guest in your house who you will feed. You will do your duty as a gracious host.

You sniffed as you took a long, deep breath, blinking away the tears stinging your eyes— silently warring with the loneliness that poured forth in a deluge and painfully flooded your heart with thick misery and anguish. It was so foolish to feel lonely over some silly fish. For a brief moment, you considered waiting for the stranger in the bathroom to ask him to deal with the eel before banishing that thought. He hated you already.

You were brave. Resolutely, you lifted the cover of the basket again.

Tovar scratched the scruff on his jaw, deciding his arms hurt from holding themselves up as he cut and sheared his hair and beard. This would have to do. He searched through his pack and retrieved a shirt and braies— they were not clean but at least they were dry and did not stink foul like the ones he was wearing. Goose bumps broke out on his cold legs, the trousers only fell to his calves and he did not have any socks or stockings to cover his feet.

There was a large crash followed by a terrified screech.

He gripped his sword, a hand on the latch of the bathroom as he listened for more sounds. There was only a muffled sob and a strangled shout. Strangely, there was only one pair of footsteps in the scuffle. He wrenched the door open, blade ready to strike an intruder— only to be caught by some wet, writhing, slippery thing on his face. He viciously pinned it to the ground, his sword sticking out of… an eel. It flapped and twitched around his ankles. Tovar turned his sword and cleaved its head clean off.

The kitchen was a mess. There was water splashed across the floor over lumps of straw, moss and logs of wood. There were vegetable peelings strewn over the kitchen table and floor. The kitchen table was also cluttered with every pot, pan and utensil the boy seemed to own. There was an acrid stench of something burning from the smoking pot over the fire.

He bit his tongue, trying not to unleash his anger on the boy standing in the mess sheepishly twiddling his fucking thumbs— he seemed close to tears as is with the hitched and stuttered breaths. “You’ve never done this before, have you?” he asked.

A small, stubborn moment of silence before a brief shake of his head. Tovar threw a broom at him, beckoning the man to sweep the floors as he cleaned and prepared the eel. The concoction in the pot was not salvageable, it looked like a bucketful of something that could have dribbled out of a toddler’s nose but it was also charred black at the bottom somehow.

Despite the frustration simmering under his skin and the irritation burning through his veins, there was a fresh, bubbling pot of stew over the fire. He had found some dried herbs like rosemary, thyme, sage and parsley in one of the kitchen cabinets. He had also discovered a few cloves, nutmeg and cinnamon. But spices were expensive and he did not want to offend his host.

His stomach grumbled in protest at the wait. The boy cleaned the table and floors by the time Tovar placed the pottage between them. However, it was only after he was halfway through the second bowl of his dinner that he realised his companion had not even touched the food. He pursed his lips, biting the inside of his mouth to hold his tongue as he glared at the boy through his lashes while his face was still buried in his bowl of soup.

“Are you going to eat that?” He asked into the silence and watched as the boy’s fingers curled over the bowl before loosening again. He did not wait for a response and dragged the bowl towards him. He finished that portion as well under tentative, watchful eyes. If he didn’t want to eat what he had made, then he could go hungry.

Tovar didn’t know why he felt so caustic— it was not like him at all… sometimes. But there was no need for unnecessary disrespect when civility and understanding can work just as well. The boy was probably not disrespectful so much as standoffish. It was odd that he had covered himself so entirely inside his own home— as if he didn’t trust to have him inside. If that was the case, he should have never picked him.

He could understand being nervous, Tovar knew he cut an intimidating figure. However, the man had the audacity to refuse his extended olive branch and show of goodwill by rejecting the meal he had prepared. He hated those who wasted food, there were enough people who would fight for the scraps off the table of a boy like him. He was probably some lordling fallen on hard times. Judging by the mess in the kitchen, he has never had to fend for himself before— hence, the need for a wife who could cook, clean and maintain a household as the advert was seeking. But then why choose him?

He scoffed as Silva patted the boy’s head— it was disgusting to see him preen under the older man’s gaze. He came every day, just as he must visit all the other women, sometimes with one of the unpaired women riding with him. He would never come inside, the boy would go out to meet him, where Silva probably asked about the boy’s well being— clearly not trusting Tovar— while levelling his beady gaze over the Host’s shoulders at him in a silent warning.

Never once, in all the weeks he has been here has he gone out to greet Silva. There were silent lines drawn between the two. He had never even disliked an enemy on the opposite side of the battlefield as he disliked this man. He struggled to find a reason for his distaste and aversion. He had been looked down upon many times in life, it was not entirely new. Tovar would think less of Silva if the man easily trusted him. Was it envy then?

He easily dismissed that notion. Tovar had nothing to feel jealous of. But it irked him that the Host had neither deigned to speak to him, nor so much as looked at him for the past few weeks. He didn’t even know the boy’s name. He was just a rich, spoilt child who put on the airs of a superior— just like those kings and lords who employed men like him to fight their wars but never stepped into the battle themselves. There were things he had seen that would make a boy like him wet his soft, luxurious bed— not that he had seen his Host’s bed.

Silva frowned at him, he wondered if the boy was badmouthing him. There was a contemplative look on his face as he absently smiled at his Host. Tovar sneered as the man huddled closer to the boy and affectionately comforted him. He was not some monster that they were acting as if the boy was wronged to have him in his home when it was the boy who had chosen him as his husband.

He had not even seen a single hair on the boy’s head let alone hurt him. His Host always remained cloaked, with his face covered at all times. The only time Tovar saw him was in the morning when he moved from his bedroom to another room and then in the evening when he moved from that room back to his bedroom.

At least he took to eating the meals that he had prepared. But never at the same table. That ghoulish boy would emerge from his caves when Tovar worked outside to pilfer the food from the pots and would return the dishes in the dead of the night as he slept.

Moreover, his Host was squeamish. He cleaned himself incessantly— his Highness required a sponge bath every day along with a basin of water to wash his hands before every meal. And every few days he would take a longer bath in a tub. Tovar would not have entertained him if the boy had asked him to fill his baths for him. But his Host was so determined to avoid him that he bathed at night. It would only make him cold and sick.

So, Tovar took to spending more time in the barn as he fed the animals hoping the boy would bathe during the day. He didn't do it out of the kindness of his bleeding heart, of course, he just didn't want to cater to someone on their sick bed. But maybe that would finally offer him a glimpse of his face.

However far more mysterious than his face was this town. He had not noticed on his first night, but the were drains running beneath the house that carried of waste and water. There were no signs of a cesspit nearby. It was the sort of plumbing system he had seen in faraway lands. Moreover, there was a tank above the house that collected rainwater. The water was available in the bathroom and kitchen through pipes. The tank also emptied into the well behind the house when it overfilled.

Then there was this boy’s wealth— the house was grand and made according to specific requirements. A greenhouse was built behind the house which was overrun with weeds. His horse was a good-quality steed. There were also spices and expensive wines stored inside the house.

Tovar winced as he poured the gin into a bowl of water and vinegar. It was very good quality gin, and if any other man used it to clean windows, he would have punched a hole through his teeth. But this was another one of his attempts at riling his Host.

He had begun by using the costly and rarer spices in their daily food, but they suited the boy’s tastes and he ate more. He then made spiced wines but the boy remained apathetic to his splurge. There were also the fine linen curtains that he tore up to use as kitchen rags. The Host barely noticed its absence. He did not know whether the boy was so wealthy that he did not think much of these indulgences or if he was too afraid to confront him over them. It was probably the latter.

He dipped a rag in the mixture and cleaned the window, blocking the sight of Silva’s departure as the boy returned inside. Tovar caught his furtive glances from the corner of his eyes, shifting so his host could see the waste of his excellent and costly Gin. The boy paused, and Tovar braced himself for his words. But his host turned to walk away again.

He huffed in exasperation, “It must be difficult to be in love with a man you cannot have.” Perhaps, he should not have used this topic to antagonise him, but the boy needed to let his emotions out so they could clear the air between them. Living under this awkward and tense silence did not suit his constitution. He turned to see his host facing him with a confused tilt to his head.

“Silva. You are in love with him are you not?” He asked. But the slight inflection at the end of his question made it sound like a taunt.

“Silva is married. His husband is the Lord assigned to the Sheriff’s duties of this town.” Although his voice was raised, his host was not as angry as Tovar had thought he would be. If he had bristled at the question, he could not notice it under the mask and hood.

“So you had not hoped to make him jealous by taking another man as your lover?”

It was the only reason he could think of for the boy to have chosen him from all the women. There were enough men in this town for his scheme— far too many even— but he would conveniently be leaving in the spring. He received no response from the host. Tovar watched his shoulders steadily rise with a deep breath and collapse with a sigh before he turned to sequester himself back in the workroom.

Pero Tovar was the oddest man. He was also an unfortunate victim of flighty moods— one moment he had jovially introduced himself and then as soon as you had offered your name he had scowled and huffed. Every time you tried to speak to him, he would give you the cold shoulder. He seemed to hate everything about you, it almost made you wonder if he was prejudiced against you. He carried a crusader’s sword— a few of them you knew could be quite puritanical.

No, Tovar was anything but puritanical. He wielded a scimitar decidedly not European or Christian— you could not tell if his shamshir was Arab, Egyptian or Indian. He enjoyed what could only be considered excess and luxury. But he was adept and efficient at housekeeping. And he was, unfortunately, the most tempting man you had ever seen.

As he had shouldered past the opening of the holding cell, you had briefly reconsidered your decision. He was so large and hulking that he had to stoop and turn to exit through doors. For a moment you had been afraid of his build, the strength of his form— he could easily overpower you, hurt you and you would not be able to fight back.

Silva had repeatedly assured you that he would visit every day to make sure nothing went awry. You had fought the swift refusal that had climbed up your throat by biting your tongue. Nipping at the heels of the fear was an odd swoop low in your belly that you had later identified as arousal. All you could think about was the same bulk of his form dwarfing you under him, with those large, brawny hands tracing your body— holding you down.

The fervour of your own thoughts had surprised you. No man had held your attention this way before. You had been betrothed once but even he had not elicited such passion from you. You weren’t even sure what he was supposed to do after he held you down— the acts of a marriage bed had all sounded rather painful and gory. But you knew you would like the scrape of his beard against your skin.

He had shaved his beard to reveal the most expressive face. It was unfair that he should still look so handsome even with his lips always curled into a mocking, disdainful snarl. Typically, you hated those people who would sneer and bark at others— their faces permanently scrunched in displeasure as if their own moustache stinks. But his smirk only drew your attention to his lush and full lips.

You watched as his lips curled around the canteen to take a drink— his bottom lip enticingly sticking out at the opening of the container. They looked so soft, you wondered what they would feel like between yours. You wanted to bite his lower lip, you realised with startling anxiety. Perhaps you were growing insane— kisses were supposed to be soft, sweet gestures of affection. People didn't bite each other’s mouths.

It was entirely his fault for driving you crazy. You had always hated people chewing too loudly and yet you were drawn to watch as he took his meals at your table, the muscles of his face working and his jaw grinding as he chewed like a barbarian. And strangely the sight had been… fascinating. Had it been anyone else you would've been moved to violence, but with Pero Tovar, you had the most unreasonable urge to domineeringly lift his face by the chin and peck his lips. You wondered what his reaction would be if you took such outrageous liberties with him. Would he be befuddled? Shocked? Most likely, he'd be upset at being taken away from his meal.

You frowned as he briskly turned his head to scan his surroundings. He emptied the flask of water in the bowl before him and quickly guzzled the liquid down. You were engrossed in watching the movement of his throat as he swallowed when you realised he had diluted the vinegar and gin concoction he had used to clean the windows before chugging it. You clamped a palm over your mouth to stave the giggles, but your body still racked with them. The man was disgusting and disgustingly endearing.

He removed his shirt, you got precious little work done when he did so. You liked watching his muscles ripple and bunch under the swathes of tan skin littered with scars and freckles. You could no longer lie to yourself that you only watched him to gauge his size since you had already finished sewing his clothes. Your gaze traced his broad shoulders, the curl of his hair that tapered at his nape. He turned to hiss at your chickens.

Those chickens hated him. They were his only, and very worthy, opponents since he was pecked and defeated by them most days. All your other animals had fallen for the charms of his low, dulcet tones. You unconsciously rubbed the spot above your heart to ease the pang of ache that had settled there. If you weren’t careful, you would end up eating out of the palm of his hands just like those poor beasts— a slave to the dark, honeyed brown of his eyes.

The glint of metal around his neck shimmered under the winter sun. The locket nestled on his chest distracted you from the wisps of coarse, dark hair that grew there as well as his flat nipples that would have you enraptured any other day. It was a reminder of a bygone time— a cruel reminder that a man like Pero Tovar would never want you.

He did not bother with the bread today. He considered throwing in some preserved meat in the vegetable pottage to make it heartier and make up for the lack of bread. The gallinero had taken far more of his time and energy than he had expected. Once he cleared the snow from the top, he realised that the coop had been drooping under the weight of the snow. While it was well-made and new, it had taken time to balance it in the uneven snow.

He had then cleaned it and added extra layer of straw to keep the chickens warm through the snow. Tovar fancied that those little demons even liked him by the end when he had provided some warm water for them to drink and moisten their tiny throats— the same ones he wanted to wring most days. Not that the chickens showed their warming feelings— they were just as high-maintenance and uppity as their owner. Regal and proud too, he conceded for them both.

He startled at the sight of his Host sitting at the dining table. The boy needed to stop moving so quietly and suddenly. He looked uncertain and nervous. Tovar wordlessly poured another bowl of the thick soup before joining him at the table. It seemed his evenings would change from now. It was not that Tovar did not enjoy his peace and privacy, but he had always been a social animal— the last time he ate a meal alone and in silence was in the Chino prison. He appreciated a good song and good company with his meals. However, since His Highness was shy, he would settle for amiable silence this winter.

The pile of clothes on the table made him stop short of his first taste of dinner. His Host slid them closer towards him. There was a deep blue wool tunic and a dark yellow linen tunic— his thumb subconsciously stroked the small, embroidered suns, this was no common fabric weaved at home. It must have been expensive. Even the embroidery was delicate and fine, the reversible kind which would allow him to wear them inside out as well. He had included a long-sleeved and a short-sleeved undershirt in the pile as well.

There were also trousers— long braies that reached his calves as well as short ones that stopped at his thighs. They were paired with socks and chausses that matched the length to cover his legs. The pile included mittens, a scarf and a warm wool hat. But it was the jacket that stood out to him. It was a doublet that seemed as if it was ripped off some royal courtier. It was black and long-sleeved, sumptuously embroidered with thin silk threads of reds, oranges and yellows that glittered and shone cohesively like a flickering flame.

Had it belonged to some other man who had stayed the winter before him? The thought made him sit up straighter. There was no reason to feel affronted, if his Host was offering him fine clothes, he would gladly accept them. But his hands had long stopped stroking the embroidery on the jacket. Wearing such an expensive jacket could leave him robbed and killed in some ditch, he thought with a sneer— no wonder the man before him left it behind.

Tovar had seen enough cold, painful days where even the alms thrown his way were a life-saving grace. He did not have the luxury of turning down a few worn clothes— not many people did. Which only meant it was upsetting to him that somebody had been here before him. All the work he had put into this place had lulled him into a false sense of proprietorship. He needed to remember that he would leave in the spring— as soon as the path opened.

“Thank you,” was all he could manage for a moment. His host nodded at his words but his hands lingered over the edge of his bowl again, they reached for the spoon before hesitating and pulling away.

“Just eat. Why wait until later when it is cooled down?” He encouraged.

The boy eased his mask down his chin, his head turned down towards the table so Tovar could not see his face. He bit back an exasperated sigh, worried that the hood of that cloak might dip into the pottage— he hated doing laundry in the cold. But perhaps ripping that cloak away from him might spur his Host out of his shell, provided he did not own another.

“How did you think a marriage would go without you showing your face? I promise you whatever scars you might have, I have seen worse, amigo.” He was surprised at his own good temper and patience today. Perhaps, his success with the chickens was inspiring him to cajole his taciturn Host.

But his amusement did not last long. The cloak fluttered around the boy’s head, his chin moved as he spoke. Tovar did not hear it. And that awareness settled in his stomach like lead. But it grew and expanded like smoke that slowly clogged his throat and burned his nose. He could not hear.

“Don’t mumble, I can’t hear.” He wanted to take back his words as soon as he had said them. There was no reason to share that with the boy when he hadn’t accepted it himself. He stubbornly shoved a spoon in his mouth, the food tasting like hot ashes that clung to his mouth instead of sliding down his throat. He just needed time to heal…

He could hear the rattling wagon wheels, and the clucking chickens. He could still hear the chorus of a raucous tavern ditty. The softer sounds will come to him eventually. The black powder had exploded too close to his ear when he had crossed the wall to help Will— damn him. His ears just needed time to heal, at least the ringing was not so persistent.

Tovar fumed under the boy’s gaze, rising to deliver another scathing retort. But he pulled the candles on the table closer to himself before fluidly lowering the hood to reveal his face in the candlelight. His Host closed his eyes, tilted his face up towards him and slowly moved his face one way, then another— allowing him to examine the full extent of his damaged face, exchanging one vulnerability for another.

Although, it was not much in terms of vulnerability according to Tovar. The boy was not scarred in some violent tragedy— it must have been an illness, some plague which caused pustules on his face that left behind spotted, mottled skin as he healed. He was mildly impressed when the boy looked at him with a sheepish smile, knowing he could be missish and shy. He had the most remarkably warm and kind eyes.

“I’ve been told my face puts people off their meal.” There was a self-deprecating twist to that smile that he suddenly felt averse to seeing, choosing instead to stare down at the cooling soup in his bowl.

In loud, clear, slow, tones his Host announced his name, “—in case you hadn’t heard it.”

“I knew that.” He hadn’t. “I’m not deaf, just speak up,” He blustered. The boy looked immediately contrite.

“And it’s not so bad”—he ate a spoonful of vegetables—“all that covering up made it seem worse than it actually is.”

He must have huffed, his lips parted before closing again, “You do not need to say perfunctory words.”

They hadn’t been perfunctory. The boy was quite handsome— his features were an enchanting blend of masculine and feminine. Before he was scarred, he must have attracted many appreciative looks which has made him more sensitive to his visage now.

“There are uglier people in the world who marry just as same. And you do not need to worry about spending your nights on all fours.” The joke was crass but he hoped it would make the evening more lighthearted. However, the boy just looked confused with his head thoughtfully tilted. What man was so unaware of bedsport?

“When did you fall ill?” He asked. He must have succumbed to illness quite young hence deprived of sexual experience.

“Just a few years ago— what do you mean by all fours?” He leaned forward, eyes wide with curiosity. He chuckled around the spoon in his mouth, his eyebrows quirked up in humour. Would His Highness be horribly shocked?

“When you have a woman, or yourself—”

“I am a woman.”

Tovar blinked at him— her? No. But the person just stared at him expectantly to continue his words. He flicked a furtive glance lower— at the chest— but women could be flatter there was no real way to tell. He looked away in shock, feeling the heat crawl up the back of his neck.

“You’re a woman?” His voice sounded hollow to his own ears.

“Yes… are you disappointed?”

He rapidly shook his head in denial, feeling a bit dizzy by the end of it, “But, you’re a woman?”

“Well, yes. But it is better to dress as a man— more comfortable.” she ate her meal serenely, unconcerned with the emotional turmoil she was putting him through.

“How could you be so irresponsible and invite a strange man into your house?” He was belligerent.

She looked up from her bowl at the fury in his words, “I was just as defenceless before when you thought I was a man but—”

“Don't be cheeky—” He thundered.

“—how like you to be so patronising as soon as you find out I am a woman—”

“—and Silva, that man allowed you to take some dangerous man home—”

“—He is not my father, he comes to check everyday to make sure I am well—”

“—a lot of good checking everyday will do, you are far too—”

“—so you are very dangerous, are you?”

“YES,” he yelled. They were both panting, with over-bright eyes glaring at each other.

“You should not just trust anyone. Women do not need to have husbands delivered by some wagon—” He lowered his voice so he was not shouting at her, but there was still a hardened edge lining his words.

She scoffed at him, “I happen to be one of those women who no one will have. You can hardly judge how I source a partner”—she proudly lifted her chin—“it seems we will not suit, sir.”

Stupid, impertinent woman deserved to be turned over his knee. Didn't she know any man would take those words as a challenge?

She's not yours, he reminded himself. She never will be.

“Sit. Eat,” he tersely commanded anyway as she rose out of her seat.

“Why did you choose me? Because I was the only man? You should have tried your luck with the next cart full of people,” he demanded.

“I could have chosen one of the women as well,” she sniped at him before her lips pinched into a prim expression.

“I chose you because you seemed the sort of person who wouldn't really care about the opinions of others… You would not say one thing but mean another. So I would not have to wonder about what you think of me. You're the sort to be brutally honest and quite pitiless about it too,” she bit off, her lips still pursed distastefully.

Her words were a far cry from compliments, but he recognised the underlying current of appreciation in them. And it terrified him. He was not some brutally honest man— lying came as a second nature to Tovar, he did it so often even he could not differentiate it from the truth. William had been the honest, honourable one of the two.

This woman had invited him into her home, believing there was some noble chivalry hiding beneath his veneer of foul temper and scorn that just did not exist. It was no veneer, he was black and rotten to his core. That small woman in the holding cell, he realised with a start. This delusion must have stemmed from him speaking up for that woman. He had not wanted to. And if given another chance, he was unlikely to defend her again.

His eye twitched with premonition even when she obediently went back to finishing her dinner. It was cold now, irritation slithered under his skin— it made his fingers twitch before he tightened them around his spoon. He should have never spoken to her and eaten his warm meal in peace.

“I made the clothes in a rush and had to guess your size, so they might not fit as well. I can alter them for you.” Her words broke the oppressive silence that had descended between them. He glared at her through his lashes before he sighed. He couldn’t hold the heat in his eyes when she looked like that— pouty and hesitant. She had made them herself, for him.

“Thank you,” He muttered again.

She was hovering as he washed the dishes, offering to help several times. He waited for the water to boil so he could shoo her away for her bath. He tried not to think about how foolish it was for her to undress and take a bath when there was another man in the house. He needed to fix the latch on the bathroom door, it easily opened with a strong shove.

He should wash as well today so he does not smell like the pollos. He did not want his bedspread to stink either— it was the best he’s ever had, stuffed with straw and lined with cotton. His back was grateful for his Host’s luxurious offerings. He flicked a gaze to still find her pensive as she sat at the dining table. He would catch her fidgeting in her seat out of the corner of his eyes like she was about to grab his attention before she would think better of it. Or perhaps she did say something, and he did not hear it.

“Do you truly think my face is not so bad?” She broached. He hummed in affirmation.

He had seen scarring like that on many people before. Even soldiers would scar as such after long, hot days under the helmet that caused pimples and acne to smatter their cheeks. He’s had a few before, but Tovar had never checked to see if they had left little divots on his face— it had never occurred to him to be sensitive about them. Hers was slightly worse, the discolouration was severe in her cheeks and her scars were scattered across her forehead and chin as well. But it was not so bad that she would need to hide away behind masks and cloaks. Women had the oddest notions of vanity.

“Then will you try it with me? Marriage, I mean?” Her voice was too high-pitched, it betrayed her nervousness. He chuckled at her question, rinsing the pot he had been scrubbing.

Tovar threw an amused, lopsided smile her way, “And what exactly would this marriage include?” He hoped his voice was light-hearted enough to distract from the fact that he had no idea what any marriage would entail. She looked thoughtful while she considered her words as if she, too, had no idea what was involved in a marriage.

“Supporting each other, taking care of each other, emotional confidences”—he snorted at that one but she continued anyway—“being a family.” Something flickered in her eyes at that last point in her list. Family.

He observed the tense set of her shoulders, her hands fisted on her lap and the false nonchalance in her eyes. This meant something to her.

It was strange to know his words were important— that whatever he would say to her could cause her to deflate and recede into the shells she had crawled out of. Tovar found he did not want that. But he also didn’t know anything about family.

He knew a little about supporting each other and taking care of each other, the battlefield had ways of cultivating friendships and brotherhoods. Both of which he had thrown away in the face of survival. As for sharing emotional confidences, he would only need to listen— something he struggled with at the moment, but he could nod appropriately and sagely as he feigned sympathy.

From aristocrats to peasants, all families and marriages tend to be mercenary at heart— it was the way of the world. She wasn’t asking much of him, and he could provide her this small comfort in exchange for her hospitality. Not much would change, it was just two people playing house as they were currently doing.

He silently acquiesced with a gesture somewhere between a nod and a shrug. But her joy was palpable. He felt the familiar stirrings of self-disgust at the hope shining in her eyes. He rinsed the pot again, only to distract himself from the sight of her wide, toothy smile. It pricked at his conscious— but it was futile, he had buried that bastard a long time ago. If this woman was fooled by him, then it was entirely her fault. He made no promises of genuineness— or even staying.

“Are you inviting me to your bed too, Princesa?” He teased, needing to see anything other than the sweet triumph on her face. However, instead of being offended or shy, her laughter rang across the room— bright and loud.

She rolled her eyes at him in good humour as if he had shared a distinctly ridiculous joke, “Don’t worry, I would never expect that of you. It is not like you would be overcome by lust with the way I look.”

Tovar believed her parents should be flogged and strung at some square for raising their daughter to be so stupidly sheltered and naive.

“I was offering a trial of some sort— just for this winter,” she explained. Perhaps not as naive as he thought she was.

“We could see if we suit. If we should like to be married then you stay here, with me. But if we do not suit then I will pay you for your services when you leave.” He judged too soon, she was a complete lackwit. Why would she offer him money?

He tried not to let his disbelief show on his face.

“For all the work you’ve been doing around the place”—she waved her hand as an all-encompassing sort of gesture—“Thank you for that, I am terrible at housekeeping. So, you will have to continue undertaking those responsibilities in the future.” Aah, so if they did not wed then he will be considered the servant. Rich and spoilt to boot.

He put away his unexpectedly surly mood. A more honourable man would have refused the money— his good friend William would have explained to her that extra hands were often only paid with food and board for the winter. Unfortunately for her, he was not such a man. Tovar would leave this sleepy little town in spring with his purse of money.

A/N: The kitchen disaster scene is inspired by The Beauty and The Blacksmith a novella by Tessa Dare. I hope you guys are ready for a very domestic Pero, and he will only get more homey from here <3

I am not hard of hearing, hence I will accept any criticism someone might have for the portrayal of Pero and his deafness.

Thank you for reading!!

[loveharlow]

SYNOPSIS‧₊˚ [5.7k] based on 1x03.

WARNING(S)‧₊˚ swearing, mentions of death/grief, creepy older man behavior, pining/unrequited love, assault/mild violence

˗ˏˋ series masterlist ˎˊ˗

NOW PLAYING‧₊˚

YOU PICKED UP THE OBJECT, SLIDING IT TO JOHN B THROUGH THE CRACK IN THE STONE.

“That’s not gold.” Pope spoke despondently with a childish frown.

“Holy shit,” John B spoke, ignoring his friend's sadness. You climbed your way back out of the tomb, dropping next to JJ who helped you dust yourself off as JB continued speaking. “This is from my dad.”

It was a bittersweet moment, hope that maybe this wasn’t all for naught. However, the rev of an engine in the distance made your smiles drop, a golf cart pulling up in the distance. You all began shoving each other out of sight and behind the tomb, panic clearly present.

“John B, your light!”

“Turn your light off.” You all hissed at him, the boy being the only one with his source of light still bright and kicking. From your distance and the lack of daylight, none of you could tell whether it was the square groupers or not, but you all decided to throw all caution to the wind when it looked like the person in the driver’s seat had a gun. 

“Screw this.” Kiara said, getting up and bolting, the rest of you following quickly behind her. You almost knocked one another over trying to jump the fence, everyone making it smoothly besides Pope, who managed to get stuck. By his pants.

In your rush, you all practically ripped the boy off the gate, leaving his pants behind before piling in The Twinkie and speeding off, giggles filling the vehicle. 

“ARE YOU INTENTIONALLY IGNORING THE MOLD ON THAT BREAD?” You questioned, disgust written all over your face as JJ spread peanut butter all over the mold-ridden slice. You were back at the “safety” of The Chateau, waiting for John B to build up the courage to open the package — a large white FedEx envelope, ‘For Bird’ written across it, the nickname his dad had given him. 

“I’ll just pull off the bad parts,” JJ reassured with a shrug, putting the slices together. “Plus, mold is good for you.” You made a sound of disgust before leaving the small kitchen space with the blonde trailing behind you, the two of you stopping behind John B who was seated, looking over his shoulder alongside Kiara and Pope.

Taking a deep breath, he ripped open the package quickly, JJ gagging behind your head after taking a bite of his sandwich, a sass-filled ‘told you’ leaving your lips as your eyes focused on the items John B was pulling out of the parcel.

The first thing was a map — black and white with notes on it. Coordinates, The Lighthouse and The Cut labeled on it, some kind of whirly drawing, and X marked over some area. The next thing was a tape recorder, blue, small and dusty.

John B paused for a moment before pressing play. The mechanism came to life, a static cassette-like sound coming through before a voice was heard.

“...Dear Bird,” The nearly forgotten sound of Big John’s voice filled your ears, just as deep and brassy as you remember, the southern twang in his speech causing a small smile to form. “I hate to say ‘I told you so’ but, I told you so. And you doubted your old man…I suspect at this moment, you’re filled with guilt and self-loathing over our last fight. But don’t kill yourself just yet, kid. I didn’t expect to find The Merchant either.” 

You wondered if you heard that correctly. Big John had actually found The Royal Merchant? Looks were shared amongst the group but nobody said a thing, letting the recording continue.

“You were probably right to call me out. Wasn’t exactly father of the decade. What can I say, kid? I could smell the barn… hopefully we’re listening to this in our brand-new sugar shack down in Costa Rica, livin’ off passive investments and pulling on permits. If not, and you find this for less than optimal reasons, well…that’s what the map is for. There she is, The Wreck of The Merchant. If something happens to me, finish what I started. Go for the gold, kid. I love you, Bird, even if I didn’t always act like it…I’ll see you on the other side.”

And then the tape was ending, leaving you with a million more questions than you all had walked into this with. The house was silent, you all silently anticipating what John B was going to say or do. If he was going to cry or scream.

You sighed when the boy got up, chair scooting harshly across the floor as tears became evident in his waterline as he turned around and practically collapsed against the wall, sobbing. Hugging the structure as he slid down slowly, unable to fully hold himself up.

Kie was the first and only one to walk over to him, laying her head of curls against his shoulder blade in comfort.

“HOW MUCH WAS IT AGAIN?” JJ quizzed, the group of you sitting on the dock outside The Chateau in the middle of the night, nothing visible for miles. Just the stars in the sky and the sound of cicadas.

“Four hundred mil’.” Pope answered, staring out into the distance as he sat on the rail. 

“All right, let’s talk the split.” JJ started. “Now, before you say evenly, may I remind you that I am the only that can properly defend us from those groupers who were after us?” He tried, whirling the gun around his finger. “Protection? Not cheap.”

“You’ve done zero training.” Pope reminded him as you taught Kiara chords on her ukelele and John B sipped mindlessly on a beer, paying no mind to the four of you.

“Youtube, bro!” JJ argued back. “That’s at least a five percent bump right there.” 

All you could do was roll your eyes, Kiara’s strumming ceasing as she turned to Pope. “What’re you gonna do with your share, Pope?”

“...Pay for college in advance.” He nodded his head as he spoke with conviction, staring down at his knees. “And also textbooks. Those are expensive.” You couldn’t help but chuckle. You wondered what Pope was gonna do when he realized that school will come to an end one day. “What about you, Kie?”

“Yeah, what does a socialist do when she’s rich?” JJ poked.

“Just…wanna make a double album.” She shrugged cutely, a small smile playing on her lips. “‘Bout OBX, the pogues. Y’know, the way Catch a Fire is about Kingston. Record it at Marley Studio, Peter Tosh producing…”

You could help but make a face, turning to the girl next to you. “Peter Tosh is-”

“Peter Tosh is dead, I know. The Spirit of Peter Tosh will never die.” She spoke optimistically. “And what about you, huh?” She nudged your shoulder playfully. “Got any big plans for your cut?”

You stared up at the sky, a look of thoughtfulness on your face as you bit the inside of your cheek. “Travel.” You said simply, looking back at the friends around you. “With Marley, of course. Paris, Italy, Thailand, Japan… Oh! Bora Bora…” You spoke dreamingly. “I’d send you all postcards and, like, candy and shit from each place. I’d come back home every now and then, though.”

“You’d take the dog with you?” JJ questioned.

“Um, yes,” you answered like it was the easiest thing in the world. “...Marley and my guitar are the only things I really have left of my dad, everything else is memories and pictures, and I think taking Marley with me would be like taking him too, in a way. He always wanted to travel, anyway. Just never had enough money and too scared of planes. So, I hope the airlines are okay with me booking a first-class seat for a 65 pound Golden Retriever.” You chuckled. 

“I know what I’m gonna do.” JJ shrugged nonchalantly.

“And what’s that, blondie?” You whipped your head towards him, kicking your feet against the wood.

“I’m gonna get a big ass house on Figure Eight and go full Kook. Gonna get a marble statue of myself, and then I’m gonna get a koi pond.” You and Kie couldn’t help but share a look, bursting out into giggles.

“I’m never visiting.” She said through her fit of giggles, JJ simply shrugging at her statement and throwing a piece of grass he'd been rolling into a ball at you. 

“What’re you gonna do, JB?” Pope asked the boy who hadn’t spoken in almost an hour. You all anticipated his response, not even knowing if he would respond.

He simply smiled smally, not making any moves to look at you all. “...To going full Kook.”

IT WAS THE NEXT MORNING AND YOU HAD ALL ALREADY BOARDED THE HMS POGUE, A DAY OF SUNLIGHT NEVER WASTED. JJ whistled, lowering his shades and eyeing the boat coming towards you all and heading in the opposite direction. “You guys see that? That’s the Malibu 24-MXZ, the world's finest wakesetter. Number one in luxury, quality, and performance.” You liked seeing this “nerd” side of JJ — the one who knew heaps of information about bikes and cars and boats. 

“I hate to break it to you guys but that’s Topper and his girlfriend.” Kie spoke nastily, eyeing the couple coming into clear view next to the five of you. The two blondes eyed the group of you down without shame, even behind their blacked out sunglasses you could tell.

Sarah lifted the aforementioned shades from her face, giving you all a distasteful glance, eyes lingering on you and Kie before averting her gaze back in front of her.

“You don’t have to act like you don’t see us, bitch.” Kie spoke, not yelling but loud enough for the couple to hear if they hadn’t sped past you all. 

“Did you see the way Topper was clinging onto her?” You snarled, the statement directed more at Kie than anyone else. “I’d take more pride in the boat than her, if I were him. She’s probably already onto the next guy and he has no idea.” You concluded, sipping on your ice cold beer.

“SWEET LORD, THE INTERNET!” Pope practically cheered as the group of you ran into the study room of the Kook hotel that you were pretty sure you’d just snuck into. He ran to the computer, pulling out the map from John B’s backpack and wasting no time entering them into some website he was using, Earth Search. Lord knows how he found it but it was Pope you were talking about.

“34°57’30” north. 75°55’42” west…” He muttered, fingers going a mile a minute across the keyboard. 

“The continental shelf?” John B queried over the boy’s shoulder. 

“That’s off the deep end…” You pointed out, leaning over Pope’s other shoulder. The website continued zooming in on the destination, footsteps and voices outside of the closed door had all of your hearts pounding as you waited.

“It’s on the high side. That’s only 900 feet.” John B added after it had expanded enough.

“Only?” You questioned, eyeing him with a look that said ‘are you crazy?’.

“C’mon, that’s do-able.” JJ spoke up from behind all three of you. You turned to him with the same expression, standing up slightly from your bent over position and planting a hand on your hip.

“Oh, I’m sorry, Aquaman. Do you plan on guiding us down there?” You retorted.

“Will we be taking your personal submarine?” Pope backed up.

“Ha ha.” The blonde shot back at you both, grimacing. “No, smartasses. The salvage yard has a drone that can drop one-thousand. Three-sixty camera and everything. It’s exactly what we need.”

“Aaand can your dad get his grimy little hands on that?” John B asked.

“My dad’s grimy little hands are what got his ass fired. But the drone’s in the impound yard in the back.” Sly, hopeful smirks were shared amongst you all before you shot up, gathering everything and rushing towards the door, Pope at the end of the line shaking his head.

“Can’t we do anything legal for money?”

“WHY DO WE HAVE TO DO THIS AGAIN?” You asked from the back of the van that had just arrived at the impound lot.

“Because, you’re two hot teenage girls that have the power to entice the middle-aged man at the front gate.” John B told you bluntly. You curled your lip at his statement.

“That wasn’t creepy or mildly perverted at all… Let me out.” You demanded, JJ sliding open the van door to let you as Kie hopped out of the passenger seat. 

The two of you walked the short distance to the truck you’d be driving around the corner to the impound lot, Kie swinging the keys around her finger.

“We got this?”

“Hell yeah.” You smiled, giving your best friend a low high-five and hopping into the vehicle, engine starting as she twisted the key.

It was less than two minutes before you pulled up the gate, spotting the man inside of the booth to the left. You both got out of the truck, waving your hands to gather the man’s attention.

“Hello?” Kie called. “Excuse me?” The man’s attention was diverted from whatever he was reading, your presence prompting him to get up and out of his seat, leaving the tiny building to approach the gate from the other side, a stoic expression on his face.

“Can I help you ladies?”

“Hi,” You flashed a bright smile, shoving your hands in the back pockets of your shorts. “We have a flat tire.” You pouted, not missing the way his eyes roamed your frame for the briefest of moments. “We were wondering if you could help us out?”

The security guard looked around for a moment, as if maybe this was something he wasn’t supposed to be doing before nodding. “Yeah.” A mischievous smirk spread across his face.

“Yeah?” You reiterated cutely as he retreated back into his booth to open the gate. You turned to Kiara with a knowing look on your face, a playful side eye.

“How do you do that?” She asked with a small chuckle. You simply shrugged. 

“It’s all in the eyes.” You taunted, watching as the man returned. Leading him to the back of the truck, Kiara gave the guys, who’d been hiding, the signal to go.

“It’s this back one. Must’ve been a leak or something.” You gathered the older man’s attention, attempting to keep it on the truck for as long as possible.

“Probably just been sitting in the yard too long?”

“Yeah…” Kie cutely replied. 

“I got this.” The guard replied, trying to seem all macho and manly. You watched as the three boys slipped their way into the gate. It was silent for a few moments as he worked on the tire and you and Kie tried to keep a non-suspicious look out.

Minutes passed before a dog’s bark was heard, loud and incessant. The security guard paused in his movements.

“You hear that?”

“Hear what?” You and Kiara said simultaneously, trying your best to act unbothered.

“Tebow’s got something…” He pondered aloud. 

“Y’know how dogs are,” You scoffed with an awkward smile, trying to dismiss his concern. “He’s probably... terrorizing a squirrel or somethin’.” You offered.

“...Yeah, yeah.” It seemed to be a good enough answer as the man got back to working on the car. Suddenly, Kie was discreetly leaving your side and going to the other side of the truck, you questioned what she was up to before you heard the low hiss of air leaving a tire.

The guard must’ve heard it, too, his movements ceasing again before looking up. “Hey, where’d your friend go?”

“She, uh, had to pee really quick.” You tried to dismiss his concern carelessly.

“...There’s no bathroom out here.” He spoke, standing up to his full height now, equipment in hand. 

“Y’know, how it is,” You chuckled nervously under your breath , shoulders square as you became visibly tense and tried to side-step and block his path. “When a girl’s gotta go…”

He didn’t say anything back, quickly walking past you in wide strides to the other side of the truck, catching Kiara releasing air from another tire. “What’re you doing?!” She stuttered to find words before the man was dropping the equipment and running into the impound lot.

Your hands gripped your hair. “Shit.” You cursed, scurrying to get back into the truck with Kie. There was nothing you could do to aid the boys now. You could only hope they had enough time to grab the gear and go as you and Kie sped off.

AFTER REUNITING WITH GUYS, who had successfully stolen the drone, Kie offered to feed everyone down at The Wreck. The sun had gone and it was nightfall, the diner lit up dimly by the time you’d all arrived in The Twinkie.

“What I would do with a beer and shrimp 'n grits right now…” JJ longed, hopping out of the door.

“Amen.” You agreed. “The crimes I would commit for a single fry right now are horrendous.” None of you anticipated how hungry stealing drones, flirting with creeps, and running from dogs would make you. 

Upon entering The Wreck, you were met with shadowy lights and a few leaving guests, the restaurant close to its closing time. The boys ventured off into the seating area while you and Kie stuck around to greet her father. 

“Hey, Mr. C.” You smiled, greeting the older man with a hug. 

“Heyy, kid. It’s been a while. It’s good to see you smilin’.” He greeted back enthusiastically, patting a fatherly hand on your shoulder. 

“Hey, dad.” The girl hugged her father. “How’d we do?”

The older man sighed, shaking his head and drawing his lips into a thin line. “Didn’t turn it over once.” You and Kie shared a look of pity for him, small frowns on each of your faces.

“It’s probably just bad luck because of the storm.” The brown-haired girl tried to reassure her father. 

“Yeah, I’ll be sure to tell the banks that.” He grimaced.

“Guess now is not the best time to ask for free food for me and my friends?” She attempted sheepishly, peering back at the three boys eyeing the food like shelter dogs. 

Her father’s demeanor did a complete one-eighty. “Look at them,” He started, eyeing the trio of boys with disgust. “They’re greedy pelicans. I told you to stop hanging out with them.” He told his daughter, eyes drifting to you. “The both of you...” He added.

You hated the way Mr. C spoke of the guys. They were your best friends and he, himself, used to live on The Cut. He talked about them like a purebred Kook, like someone who has never known poverty. Sometimes, you thought he held a grudge against you for bringing Kiara into your friend group with them. But you’ve known her just as long as them. 

“Everybody at the Kook academy hates us, Dad.” She protested, shifting her weight and rolling her eyes.

“‘Cause you never gave them a chance.”

“We did give them a chance.” She argued back for the both of you, knowing you weren’t likely to step in against her own father. “They got all stuck up on us. They care more about shoes and coke than anything else, I mean, what’re we supposed to do with that?”. All the man could do was sigh, Kiara looking back and JJ, John B, and Pope pitifully. “Those are our friends.”

“Look…I gotta throw it out anyway, might as well take it.” He caved. Bright smiles broke out on both of your faces, the two of you encasing the man in a bear hug before releasing him and turning back to the three boys who were patiently waiting.

“Sit down.” Kie said, the guys cheering and pulling out seats. It wasn’t long before Mr. C brought the food out — french fries, crab legs, soda, chips.

The guys ate like they’d never eaten before. Maybe they really were hungry pelicans.

The Wreck had closed by the time you guys started eating though, allowing you to play music on the eatery speakers while you ate.

At some point Kie, who’d been dancing by herself, invited John B to get up and dance with her, the brunette accepting the invite. However, one absentminded glance to your left had you watching Pope, who was watching them. He looked sad.

You never thought about that — Pope having a thing for Kie. You couldn’t really picture that in your head but you still felt bad.

In a group of three guys and two girls, someone is bound to catch feelings for someone. 

Breaking your gaze on Pope, you looked around to find JJ staring at you. You flashed him a smile and tossed a fry at him to which he caught in his mouth, you both bursting out with laughter.

THE FIVE OF YOU WASTED NO DAYLIGHT THE NEXT MORNING, testing out the gear the second the sun reached its peak. Kie and JB were under the water helping to test out the quality of the camera, both of their faces seen on the pixelated screen.

“God bless geeks, Pope. Truly.” JJ spoke over the boy's shoulder. You were sitting on the wooden railing, legs swinging and adorned in nothing but your bikini. “What would we do without you to control the drones?”

“Technically, it’s not a drone, it’s an ROV-”

“Shut up. Shut. Up. It’s too early for that right now.” You chuckled under your breath at JJ's dismissal, you wondered if JJ and Pope ever got tired of bickering. They were like brothers or an old married couple, either or. Just then, the pair in the water came up for air, John B shaking the water from his hair and being the first to speak.

“Hey, once we get footage of the wreck, we’ll bring it to a lawyer in town and file a formal claim.” He threw out. “We can go through your mom.” He directed the statement at you.

You couldn’t help but roll your eyes, even if they were squinted from the sun beaming in them. “I wouldn’t trust my mom to help us. It’s like she’s been in cahoots with Shoupe ever since we moved to Figure Eight and everyone knows he really works for Ward.”

“Why would we have to do all of that anyway?” JJ asked the boy in the water.

“There is a maritime salvage law.” Pope cut in. “You can’t just go to the ocean floor and scoop a bunch of stuff up.” You’d been examining the equipment while they talked amongst themselves. Noticing something before speaking up.

“The tether on the ROV is really long. In the wrong kind of weather, it could get pushed around.” You said, turning to face them. “We should go at dead calm. It’s our best option.” 

“And today is not that day.” Pope said, eyeing the sky that was turning a dangerous shade of gray in the distance, a storm brewing. 

“YOU THREE GET THESE GROCERIES TO FIGURE EIGHT. GET STRAIGHT BACK HERE WHEN YOU DONE.” Heyward told you, JJ, and Pope. “I promised delivery by this afternoon.”

He handed JJ the last of the groceries, the blonde piling them onto the platform in the middle of the boat before Pope got the engine going. Heyward’s boat moved faster than the HMS Pogue, you were on Figure Eight territory within minutes, the boys eyeing the properties and estates like puppies.

“It doesn’t even look like the storm hit here…” Pope said, astounded, staring down one of the bigger houses. He had a point, the house looked like the storm purposely moved out of its way.

“It’s ‘cause they got generators, bro.” JJ began, his disdain for Kooks peeking through in his tone. “And then they say the juice will be out all summer at The Cut.”

“It must be nice to be a Kook.”

“Lucky bastards.” JJ shook his head, you simply ignored them. They weren’t wrong and technically, you were now a Kook yourself so you had nothing to add.

Financially, you were a Kook. But you’d always be a pogue at heart. 

“Isn’t that your place?” Pope pointed out, speaking to you. Your house was coming into view up ahead.

JJ whistled at it — the exterior was polished, the yard was kept, the trees were trimmed, no weeds or overgrown plants obstructing the view of the home. Your house wasn’t as old as most on Figure Eight, it has only just been built when your mom bought it a few months back. You could even see Marley running a muck in the yard from the boat.

“Look at that beauty. Must be nice going home to that every night, huh?” JJ poked.

You scoffed, rolling your eyes at the blonde. “You’d be surprised.”

YOU WERE ON YOUR LAST DELIVERY OF THE DAY,  the three of you had split up to get the last of the orders done quicker. You and JJ had completed yours but Pope had to go through the golfing trail behind the Country Club, so you’d figured he hadn’t finished yet and you both decided to go after him.

“You can’t seriously tell me that you don’t like living on this side of the island.” JJ kept nagging about how much life had changed for you. You wished he would drop it.

“It’s not Figure Eight that I hate, JJ. It’s the people. I don’t know them and they’re all assholes.” You started, walking alongside the blonde, watching the Country Club members golf. “I’d feel safer taking a walk on The Cut at night than I would here. Might get jumped by some coked up college kids.”

“Meh.” He started. “I wouldn’t let that happen. And if it did, y’know we’d find those guys and kill ‘em. Rocky Balboa style.” He joked, throwing air punches and making sounds that made you laugh. 

“What the hell?”

You heard someone exclaim in the distance, you and JJ sharing a look as your laughter died and you slowed in your steps. The voice sounded eerily like Pope.

“You owe me for that!”

The pair of you started sprinting, arriving just in time to catch Topper swing Pope to the ground after snatching the beers he was supposed to be delivering out of his hands. Pope was shoeless and his hat had come off, sand and blood littering his face.

“What the fuck?” You yelled, not even taking into account Rafe’s presence at the moment. 

“Hey, hey!” JJ shouted, running over to Topper and snatching him up by his collar. You didn’t know what was happening, all you know was that all of a sudden, Pope was charging at Rafe who was quick to whack him in the stomach with his golf club before hitting him over the back with it.

The sound of metal hitting his spine caused you to flinch. “Stay down, bitch!” Rafe screamed. You stood frozen in place, a fear you’ve never felt before. But you knew why. You were hoping, praying, pleading that he wouldn’t notice you were standing there. That he’d be too caught up in his own rage to see you.

Topper had managed to push JJ off of him in an effort to calm Rafe. You took the opportunity, with Rafe’s eyes on Topper, to try and aid your beaten friend. You kneeled next to him as JJ stood angrily off to the side, probably making sure Rafe wouldn’t try to pull anything else. 

“Pope…” You muttered, voice laced with concern as you examined his face — blood between his teeth and sand in his eyes.

Your hair was shielding your face slightly from Rafe’s view, you were sure. “Hey, no, don’t help him,” He started, raving and ranting. “I said don’t fucking help him!”

Breaking past Topper’s defense, the man stomped toward you before kicking you over, a grunt falling from your lips. With you now laying in the sand on your back, clutching your side in pain, he could see your face clearly with your hair splayed around you, no longer obstructing his view.

“Leave them alone!” JJ tried, but Rafe was quick to swing the club in his direction as Topper stood anxiously behind him, but his eyes were still on you. You hadn’t seen him in months, the same goes for him to you. All he did was chuckle, a laugh with no amusement behind it as he crouched down above you. 

Even while you were in pain, you managed to glare at him, a mean snarl on your lips as you tried to control your breathing but every intake of air hurt. “Where you been hidin’, sunshine?” He spoke softly but so menacingly. When his finger trailed across your bottom lip, you used whatever energy you had left to bite down on the digit. Hard. “Ah- fuck! You stupid bitch! I’ll-” He lifted the club up, preparing to slam it back down until Topper gripped his shoulder.

“They got it, man! Let’s just go.” He urged, Rafe eyeing your figure on the ground, breathing heavily like a bull. His eyes then scanned JJ and Pope before he spoke.

“We don’t want you over here, you got that?” He warned angrily, eyes landing on you once more. “Any of you.” That was all he wrote before Topper was pulling him away from the scene, the two boys disappearing. 

Your mind was racing a mile a minute, probably faster. You rolled over, ignoring the searing pain in your side as you pushed yourself up. You felt a hand on your arm , trying to help you but for some reason...it just made you angry.

“I got it.” You strained out.

“Let me help you-” JJ tried.

“I don't need your help, JJ!” Then his hand was reluctantly leaving your arm and offering it to Pope who brushed him off in a less aggressive manner as you stood to your full height, a slight limp as you began walking away.

The walk back to the boat was silent — suffocatingly so. Nobody said anything when you boarded, or when Pope got the engine running, or when you passed all the houses on Figure Eight. 

You didn’t expect JJ to sit next to you, especially after yelling at him. “Listen, I don’t know what happened out there, alright? And maybe you’ll tell me or maybe you won’t but I mean seriously, are you guys just gonna let them get away with that?” He scoffed angrily.

“What’re we supposed to do?” Pope shot back.

“I don’t know, something, man! Anything!”

“...Turn the boat around.” You spoke up from where you were sitting, an idea sparking in your rage-filled mind.

“AND WHY NOT RAFE’S BOAT?” JJ spoke up from your place across the water, eyeing down Topper’s brand-new boat.

“Because,” You started, stripping down to your bikini. “Rafe doesn’t have boats. They all belong to Ward. This? This is Topper’s personal possession. So, we go for him.”

The answer seemed satisfactory enough for the blonde as Pope also took off his shirt. “They hit us, we hit them.” He said before turning to you specifically. “I know you’re a swimmer-slash-diver and all but I don’t think you should be swimming in your...condition.” He warned, eyeing the large bruise blooming along your side.

“I’ll be fine.” Was the last thing you said before jumping into the water, Pope splashing in close behind you. You both swam your way over to the speed-boat, jumping onto it. It took seconds for Pope to release the seal that kept the boat from sinking, water bubbling into the base of the wakesetter as you threw your fist against the windshield, effectively cracking the glass.

The pair of you dove back into the water, making your way back to a bandana and sunglasses clad JJ who was waiting. Climbing back on to the boat, Pope handed JJ the plug to which he chucked farther into the ocean.

“You can’t tell anyone.” Pope spoke breathlessly, watering dripping down his frame.

“I won’t, dude-” JJ assured

“No, not anyone. Not Kie, not John B, nobody, got it?”

“Got it.”

NIGHT HAD FALLEN ONCE AGAIN. It was like it never ended as of recently. You were all back at The Chateau, the events of earlier still fresh on your mind and the ache in your side still throbbing to remind you.

“You really think it’s out there?” Pope asked JB. The boy simply shrugged in response.

“My father thought it was.” 

“...But do you?” Pope reiterated. The sound of crickets and cicadas filled the silence as you all waited for him to answer, thunder rumbling in the distance.

“After hearing his voice on that tape? I think I do.”

 “We’re gonna find it.” Kie reassured.

JJ yawned, stretching on the hammock you two were sharing with Kie as Pope and JB shared the other. You and JJ were squished on one end with her on the other. “I’m gonna dream about shipwrecks.” He spoke through his exhaustion, his arm somehow landing behind your neck and curling it towards him, effectively shoving your face into his neck. “And I’m taking this one with me.”

“JJ!” You muttered against his skin as they all laughed. "Let go of me, Maybank!" Your muffled voice came through as you struggled to push the blonde away.

“Shh, just let it happen.”

IT WAS THE NEXT MORNING AND YOU WERE STILL HALF-SLEEP BY THE TIME YOU’D BOARDED THE BOAT. John B wanted to get a head start on this whole ‘X marks the spot’ thing and you’d reached the spot where the Royal Merchant was allegedly sunk by noon. 

“Alright, ladies and gentleman,” The brunette spoke, far too chipper for how early it was. “To going full Kook!” He cheered as he and Kiara lowered the ROV into the water slowly. They fed the cord down inch by inch, monitoring everything and JJ steered the boat.

“Alright, JJ we’re right over it!” JB called out. “Ten seconds northwest!”

“Ten seconds northwest, got it.”

You were leaning against the side of the boat, watching the screen with Pope as you struggled to keep your eyes open. The morning breeze hit you every now and then, in nothing but your bathing suit and a large shirt, a lazy attempt to avoid questions about what happened to your side until you could come up with an excuse that your friends would believe.

When Kie was about 400 feet of rope deep, thunder rumbled in the sky, causing your eyes to examine the ocean. “The tide’s turning.” You warned tiredly, perking up slightly at the change of events. John B directed JJ to change the direction of the boat, over and over again until they got it right.

The storm was getting scarily close, so close you could see it building in the distance. It suddenly got strong, pushing the boat back by at least a couple of feet. It became a frantic fight against the storm, with Kiara warning John B that they may lose the ROV and John B instructing JJ on how to navigate the boat while you and Pope kept an eye on the visuals.

Kiara was at 950 feet and you and Pope still couldn’t see anything, even when JJ managed to steady the boat once again.

“Okay, we’re on the floor.” You announced, signaling to Kie that she could stop feeding the rope. 

“You should be seeing something-”

…

“You see anything?!” JJ called from behind the wheel, the four of you staring at the screen in disbelief and relief.

“It’s The Royal Merchant.” John B said as you all watched the ship come into view, clear as day.

next chapter >

feedback is appreciated! thanks for reading.

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©loveharlow.

[writingandimagining]

Astarion x Original Female Character

High-Elf Bard

I have not played DnD. I have only played Balder’s Gate up to Act 3. I’m just really down-bad for every stinking character in this game. This was written no beta at 2am. Excuse the quality.

“So, darling, how does an noble elf become a traveling bard?” Astarion asked, the same mocking glint alight in his eyes as always.

Lyriel rolled her eyes.

“In just as dramatic as a fashion as we received these worms,” she replied, curt, her attention on the task before her: search the bodies of the fallen gnolls for any supplies.

She had always skillfully avoided delving into her past, while picking relentless at the threads of his. Its was maddening.

“Oh, a delicious secret, is it?” He purred, sidling closer to her on the path.

“No, no blood involved. That’s your definition of delicious, right?”

A sharp bark of laughter escaped him. For all that Lyriel mocked his vampirism, she had let him feed the night before.

He could see the twin marks on her neck.

The taste of her blood. Sweet. Intoxicating. Warm.

He had almost drowned it.

He would have killed her if not for how she pushed him off.

Astarion had stumbled through approximation of gratitude and left her by the fire.

The boar he found later felt like ash in his mouth.

Morning came, along with a lot of sharp looks tossed his way, but no one approached. They all waited for some signal from their unspoken leader, the elfen bard turned one time vampire snack, to speak.

The cleric had healed her, whispering furiously about how stupid the bard was to let him feed.

Lyriel had waved it off.

“I will just pay special attention for some lesser restoration scrolls. I will not ask this of you again, Shadowheart.”

Astarion’s eyebrow rose, but he kept his eyes on the book in front of him. He knew the so-called Blade of Frontiers and Wizard of Waterdeep watched his every move.

“Again?!” Shadowheart cried. “You cannot be serious.”

Lyriel let out a loud sigh.

“I’ve not yet decided. He said he would be more powerful with it. Let’s see if he was telling the truth.”

Shadowheart said nothing. Astarion waited, if he could breathe, he’d be holding his breath.

“Look, it’ll be okay. You healed me, no harm done.”

“Astarion?” Lyriel asked, blue eyes tracing his face.

He feared what she could find. Whether it was the worm or just something about her, she read him too easily.

Damn her. His mind had wandered too easily. He was losing the advantage.

“Yes, darling?” He said.

“Where did you go?”

“Oh just remembering last night.”

She rolled her eyes. “Oh, when you tried to kill me?”

Astarion gasped, bringing a hand to his heart. “I would never try to kill you.”

“Liar.” She replied, but with no malice, almost… affectionate?

“Honest, you just tasted so rich.”

She looked off to the side of the road. Shadowheart and Lae’zel trades vague insults and threats as they worked their way through some of the abandoned carts in search of food.

Astarion had assumed, wrongly it now seemed, she was an easy target.

A sheltered little elf, rebelling against some trivial thing or another, on a temporary stint as a bard. But, he didn’t even know her age, much less how long she had been separated from her people. He didn’t know the first thing about her, only what clues he draw out of her actions and dress. And those could only reveal so much from a practice performer as she revealed herself to be with every confrontation skillfully avoided with half-truths and sweet smiles.

“What makes you say I’m a noblewomen? Maybe you’re just…” She turned to look at him, giving him a once-over that felt more like a studied assessment than anything lustful. “Uncouth.”

Astarion’s jaw dropped. Him? Uncouth?

Lyriel laughed, the sound light and amused.

A joke then. He could comeback from his stumble, his distraction caused by the two almost proudly displayed marks.

Lyriel always wore her hair in a ponytail. And despite the obvious place of the bite, she continued to wear it. Her sun-kissed blonde hair, pulled back completely, to reveal her pointed ears and truly astounding amount of golden earrings, cuffs, and piercings.

“It might have something to do with the small fortune you wear.” He replied, sitting down on the crate she had just closed.

“Or maybe I’m just an incredibly successful bard.”

“A successful bard? I’d sooner believe the gith and the cleric could fall in love.”

She snorted. She responded better to jokes than flat out seduction. Astarion hadn’t relied on his wit much in the last two hundred years, his looks and charm making his… assignments laughably simple.

But Lyriel, she was different, she was clearly attracted to him, but she never let it sway her decisions.

He couldn’t say that he had manipulated her to donating her blood. She seemed to easily give it up along with her trust.

“Letting a vampire snack on you? Speaks of the naivety of a high-born.”

“Or maybe I didn’t want you to suffer?”

Astarion tilted his head. He had done nothing to deserve this consideration. A trick of some sort, surely.

Yet, she had defended him from the rest of their group. Insisting that she trusted him, in harsh light of the day, the truth plain to see.

“You can’t be more than sixty and a high-born elf.”

“If I tell you, will you stop asking questions?”

“Will you?”

She pursed her lips. Glossy and pink. Honestly, how did the others not see it? The high cheekbones, clear-blue eyes, the perfect skin save for a smattering of freckles that screamed sun elf. The rings and necklaces and earrings that dripped down her neck and caressed her fingers. One ring displaying a sigil he remembers from before, though what House it represents was lost to his not-so reliable memory.

“Fine. Yes. I’m a high-born. Was a high-born.”

He quirked his eyebrow. The correction spoke of a fresh wound. The few elven nobles left were cloistered away in the Upper City or in small fiefdoms in the woods. Astarion had easily avoided them, not wishing to be reminded of who he once was, besides Cazador preferred his food much younger than your average elf.

“A recent falling out?”

She sighed.

“No. I left some three hundred years ago.”

“You what?” Shadowheart gasped, suddenly at her side.

Even Lae’zel looked shocked.

“I am four hundred and seventy,” Lyriel said.

And here Astarion thought he was after a girl a fraction of his age.

“The Elven nobles are not the same as what you know a noble to be. Our history is fraught with conflict with the drow, with each other. My family’s house, somehow survived it all. We’ve—they’ve had a tenuous hold on their wealth and power, often only scraping by through marriages. While most elves have scattered to their own adventures, spending our long lives under the sun or the moon as we see fit, I had the misfortune of being destined for marriage.”

Lyriel shrugged. “So I left. I was the only child my parents bore. I know not why. Maybe in these three hundred years they had another. There is no way of knowing. I cut all ties to them. To that facsimile of a world where they hoped to restore the old Elven court.”

“So you left because you might have gotten married to someone?” Astarion pushed.

Lyriel’s face twisted.

“I was married. By all rights I still am.”

“I’m sorry, what?” Shadowheart asked.

Lyriel and the half-elf were close. It bordered on romantic, but Astarion could see that both women held back from the other. And they knew it.

If Astarion was capable of sympathy he might have left Lyriel to pine in peace, but he wasn’t. He had a plan after all.

One that looked more and more complicated by the day.

Lyriel’s face tightened, not meeting anyones gaze.

“I escaped. Let’s leave it at that.” She said, standing up and dusting her clothes off. “Let’s go. I only have so many more pockets left before we need to head back to the druids to trade.”

[floortile34]

original post is deleted so soz reblogging from u and derailing

maybe done this already. idk

01: yeah i have a really good relationship with my parent :3

02: my sister maybe? like 4 and a half hours ago

03: lots of things but i dont think about them cause ive already learned enough from my mistakes and i dont wanna feel bad remembering them

04: nuh i hav very good security (maidgirlthings with submachine guns)

05: moar pls

06: opioid overdose

07: chocolate. like 10 mins ago

08: nuh i dont likeys

09: nuh but i bite corpse's nails

10: i doaunt remembar

11: yea i like lots of ones. and lots of plurals. all my friends and family members and all of those sorts

12: yeah. is fines. but i likeys eeping at like 14 hour mark or so

13: mm not rn but maybes soon. i dont hav reason to hate anyone rn

15: yes pet me pls :3

17: yeaa. and basicaly everywheres. but i prefers soft places like bed cause is comfy

18: yea a bit. especialy when they move fast

19: yea i wanna time travels. i wish time wasnt linear. i wanna exist simultaneously everywhen

20: i donot know wat that means hold on i look up

mm i donot remembers. was a while agoo. i wana does that now with my big sis tho awawa

22: i cannot even describe to you what my concepts on family and age are. and you could not even comprehend if i did

23: nuh uncomfys. pawtism would makeys them feel horrible i thinks

26: dmt and salvia and a thc cart. maybe also a sandwish but not that hungy yet

28: i am poly. does not apply

29: yea lots of times. i like crying id wanna do it more if it wasnt messy

30: hunger. and teeth. and corpse face feels like stuff. and the temperature is uneven on corpse

31: yea many

32: magenta. but with colors like, one isnt really enough. needs many. needs a whole palette. also i wish i had tetrachromatic vision or sumn like that

39: mm idk like 25? tho the delineation of what counts as me is kinda debatable. tho the lowest age is probably like 5

65-67: sex is not a useful concept within this context. or in most contexts it's used in

70 horrible questions ... Fuck it

01: Do you have a good relationship with your parents? 02: Who did you last say “I love you” to? 03: Do you regret anything? 04: Are you insecure? 05: What is your relationship status? 06: How do you want to die? 07: What did you last eat? 08: Played any sports? 09: Do you bite your nails? 10: When was your last physical fight? 11: Do you like someone? 12: Have you ever stayed up 48 hours? 13: Do you hate anyone at the moment? 14: Do you miss someone? 15: Have any pets? 16: How exactly are you feeling at the moment? 17: Ever made out in the bathroom? 18: Are you scared of spiders? 19: Would you go back in time if you were given the chance? 20: Where was the last place you snogged someone? 21: What are your plans for this weekend? 22: Do you want to have kids? How many? 23: Do you have piercings? How many? 24: What is/are/were your best subject(s)? 25: Do you miss anyone from your past? 26: What are you craving right now? 27: Have you ever broken someone’s heart? 28: Have you ever been cheated on? 29: Have you made a boyfriend/girlfriend cry? 30: What’s irritating you right now? 31: Does somebody love you? 32: What is your favourite color? 33: Do you have trust issues? 34: Who/what was your last dream about? 35: Who was the last person you cried in front of? 36: Do you give out second chances too easily? 37: Is it easier to forgive or forget? 38: Is this year the best year of your life? 39: How old were you when you had your first kiss? 40: Have you ever walked outside completely naked? 51: Favourite food? 52: Do you believe everything happens for a reason? 53: What is the last thing you did before you went to bed last night? 54: Is cheating ever okay? 55: Are you mean? 56: How many people have you fist fought? 57: Do you believe in true love? 58: Favourite weather? 59: Do you like the snow? 60: Do you wanna get married? 61: Is it cute when a boy/girl calls you baby? 62: What makes you happy? 63: Would you change your name? 64: Would it be hard to kiss the last person you kissed? 65: Your best friend of the opposite sex likes you, what do you do? 66: Do you have a friend of the opposite sex who you can act your complete self around? 67: Who was the last person of the opposite sex you talked to? 68: Who’s the last person you had a deep conversation with? 69: Do you believe in soulmates? 70: Is there anyone you would die for?

[lee-aveyourmark]

pov: you're doing grocery shopping with nct dream

∘.∙°. masterlist Warnings: mentions of food and eating; physical affection - hugs, kisses, everything to make you cringe

mark Constantly brings up the other Dreamies when finding foods that remind him of them. It's sweet to see how much he cares for them, but when he's stopping every 30 seconds to give a backstory for an item that catches his eye, it's not hard for your pout to come out. Will shut himself up and exert some self-control when he notices your furrowed eyebrows. Nevertheless, you two still end up buying some snacks for the other Dreamies. Likes to share one side of his wireless earphones with you. However, you begin to walk ahead once he's turned up the volume and started grooving to the beat a little too passionately. Your calls for him to stop fall upon deaf ears, and it takes a light pinch to the nape of his neck to remind him that he's at the supermarket with grannies watching him busting moves. Some shopping trips are confidence builders for Mark as you encourage him to avoid premade meals and buy fresh produce to cook with. Giggles and hugs you tightly when you concede to buying more eggs than normal so that he can practice his sunny side up's. Takes pics of you two in front of the safety mirrors and develops an album on his phone from the number of similar photos.

renjun Sings to himself while shopping, and also harmonises along to whatever you're singing without knowing that he's doing so. Spends a considerable amount of time debating different options for each item. Maybe a little too much time, because by the time you've reached the seventh item on your shopping list, you're yawning and thinking about your cosy bed. Is not afraid to ask workers where certain things are. Is also drawn to demonstrations of new kitchen appliances more than food samples. Often ends up overbuying, either because he overestimated the amount needed or because there were many dishes that he wanted to try making but they all called for different ingredients in small amounts. Gets deeply offended when you ask some stranger for help in grabbing something from the top shelf. Literally scoffs to himself, rolls his eyes, places his hands on his hips and glares at you and the stranger from afar. Gives you the silent treatment for two minutes before breaking because he forgot what was the next item on the shopping list which was in your possession. Also breaks when you slide your hand into his and do not let go even when he tries to walk in the other direction.

jeno Judges everything in consideration in reference to Jaemin. Choosing what cut of meat to get? Jeno thinks Jaemin said that this cut was best for its price point. Not sure what brand of matcha powder to buy? Jaemin mentioned one time that this certain brand has a really nice kick, so you should probably get that. Scratches the back of his neck when you put the chosen matcha powder back with an adamant shake of your head, reminding the samoyed that this Jaemin is also the same Jaemin who drinks coffee with six shots of espresso. Most of your shopping trips are done after 11am because Jeno just... loves sleep. If it's before midday, he's shuffling down the aisles in slides and slight bedhead that he tries to cover up with a hood. He's also still bleary-eyed and stifles a yawn while tugging on your sleeve to help him navigate through the store without bumping into anything. Becomes more awake once he munches on some samples. Pushes the cart leisurely with one arm and holds your hand with the other, gently stroking your knuckles. Sneaks candids of you picking things off the shelves and comparing items. Seeing you bite your lip in deep thought makes him want to kiss you so bad, but he'll wait until you're alone. He'll also save the pics for later when he misses you and needs a reminder of home.

haechan Takes turns pushing the cart, but sometimes he'll have a mind of his own and force you to push it against your will while he runs off. There's a 50-50 chance of him making a small toddler cry by smiling at them. Will always opt for the spiciest option there is, and argues that it's the right choice. Tries to convince you by reasoning that you should just learn to eat spicier or dilute your portion with water. When threatening to break up with him because of his stubbornness, he reluctantly swaps for one spice level below and then two upon catching your glare. Picks a random item off the shelf every 5 minutes and makes a cheesy pun about it to flirt with you. More often than not, you just shake your head and continue walking down the aisle with a smile. Suddenly stops you and grabs your face with his hands, staring at you intensely for a brief moment before leaning in with puckered lips. The whine he lets out after you push him away attracts the attention of everyone in the aisle. The only way to get out of the spotlight is to give him a quick peck which turns his whines into a squeal of satisfaction. Proceeds to cuddle his head into your neck while browsing the next two aisles, only retracting when you complain that you can't feel your shoulder anymore.

jaemin Every shopping trip is also a date. This man will convince you to wear a couple's article of clothing to receive coos from elderly women. Will also feed you all the samples there are to offer before trying them himself. Falls head over heels for you for the 138th time when your eyes light up and eyebrows raise in delight at how tasty a sample is. Proceeds to buy half the store's stock of that item. Then, he falls for the 139th time when you push the shopping cart with him, fawning over how cute your hands look next to his. He slips one hand between the space of your two so that your arms are intertwined, before adorning the biggest grin on his face when you link his arm with yours and rest your head on his shoulder. Will buy the ingredients for whatever dish you wanna eat later that day because he's self-assured that he can make the dish. Whenever he lets you pick out groceries, he'll never oppose your selections that go against his personal preference. Instead, he'll try to appreciate your selections or help you fix the dish's taste if your choice turns out to be unfortunate. Peppers your face with kisses once you two return to the car because he found all of your shopping mannerisms adorable, and holds your hand while driving back home.

chenle Probably the only member who'd do groceries in the actual morning. Because Chenle knows what he's looking for, grocery trips average around 30 minutes. That's including time for you to browse and select snacks that weren't originally included on the shopping list. Will go on a rampage and nonstop brag about you when an old lady comments on how sweet your relationship is. Has such a soft spot for the elderly and for children to the point of paying for their groceries if there's a cute family or a lonely grandpa waiting in line behind you two. Also likes to act as your sugar daddy, nonchalantly allowing you to toss two tubs of the most expensive brand of ice cream that the store has to offer into the shopping cart. Shares his music with you, but doesn't seem to be bothered with you listening when he accepts a call and starts talking with a cousin. Continues shopping after the call ends as if nothing happened, asking for input about certain grocery items. Bursts into laughter when he sees you standing stock still with awkwardness written all across your face, your cheeks as red as the bunch of tomatoes in his hand. Can't stop cooing you because of how cute your face was, and soothes you by buying your favourite drink from the cafe next door to the grocery store.

jisung Snacks, snacks and more snacks. 90% of the time Jisung asks you to go to the grocery store with him, it's because he's looking for snacks. Careful but confident when choosing snacks. However, ask him one question about buying actual groceries, and he'll spiral into a deep internal conflicting monologue about the 10 different brands of the one item you're looking for. Nevertheless, you let him and his snack connoisseur antics be because most of the time, his selections turn out to be pretty good. Pops along to whatever song the grocery store is playing, even if it's some old trot tune. Falls behind when stumbling upon a childhood ice cream, proceeding to become lost. Has to roam all the aisles twice before finding you. You're extremely confused when he approaches you with tears in his eyes and hugs your shoulders tightly. Shyly waves to all the toddlers who stare up at him in awe in passing, reaching out with a blush when he misinterprets the child's extended hand for a high-five. Uses his massive hands to bring the groceries to and from the car, and feels proud of himself when he only needs one trip to haul them out.

[1kook]

attachment: 1 image

— jjk x (f) reader

summary; But for Jungkook to initiate some sexting, nevertheless sexting at 1pm on a Saturday, when you were at work and you were almost positive he was supposed to be on stream right now? Unheard of, you had to mark this down somewhere. warnings; sexting, dick pics, dirty talk?, phone sex, vivid depictions of jungkook being just so sexy bc its true, rating; mature (18+) misc; mentions of youtuber kook 🥰, he’s just horny, stupid selfie trends (see here), he’s a little whiny but so hot v.v  wc; 4.6k 

notes; I've had this in my drafts since april 😐 n then i was like maybe we should actually finish this so i started n then last night i hit another follower milestone!!! so then i rlly forced myself to finish this bc i was so 🥺🖤👩‍❤️‍💋‍👩 anyway enjoy lmk what u think its not proofread bc uhhhhh yeah 🤩

You’re at work when it happens.

It’s sometime between your usual listless thoughts of what to write for your weekly reflection papers for some course, and your trip to your store’s pharmacy to bother a coworker. Your phone vibrates in the pocket of your work apron. You’re normally pretty good at ignoring the sound, most of the times it’s just a classmate asking for help on homework or Jimin lamenting his love life, so you’ve grown used to ignoring the tiny vibrations, stocking a quarter shelf of different cooking oils before something in your brain tells you to check your phone.

You already know it’s not something grave, but that thought alone means nothing at the sight of the tiny jungkook♡ that appears at the very top of the list of notifications. Your boyfriend’s texts tended to be wildcards, never following a certain routine or alluding to any specifics. He could send you a long paragraph on how much he misses the scent of that one shampoo, the one you’d briefly run through last year because your usual brand was out of stock, with a ten point explanation on why you should switch back to it. Or two word, caveman sentences that drove you crazy because you never understood what exactly he wanted when he’d send those nondescript “munchies dip” texts.

You unlock your phone, clicking to the messenger app instead of directly on the notification. Hopefully the preview will give some warning on whether you should invest in this conversation or not. You hated the read receipts on messages, choosing to ghost conversations as you pleased, but Jungkook had wiggled his way into your phone one afternoon and specifically turned them on for his chat with you, and you’d never turned them off since. So he knows if you choose to ignore Attachment: 1 Image at 1:43pm exactly, and he'll pester you about it until you respond.

You contemplate it all for twenty seconds. It could be a variety of things, you guess, but the only way to find out is to actually see with your own eyes what he’s up to this time. He knows better than to distract you at work, is usually really good at waiting until your shift is over to spam you with messages. For him to send you something now, only a few hours into your shift, is uncharacteristic of him.

But you glance down the aisle anyway, taking note of some elderly woman you’d helped a few minutes prior and another teenager aimlessly walking around, probably looking for the snack aisle. You inhale and press down on your chat with Jungkook.

It takes you a moment to make out exactly what the image is, twisting and turning your phone around as you fight to see it without raising the brightness. It’s only when your eyes finally adjust to the dark screen, the faint beeping of the check-out registers fading into the distance, that you realize it’s a shot of the front of his sweatpants.

“Hm?” you murmur, getting brave enough to pinch the image between two fingers, zooming in until you’re able to decipher a multitude of details. For one, there’s a Flaming Hot Cheeto stain on the hem of his sweatpants, the same one you’d accidentally put on there a few weeks back and haven’t been able to wash out since. Then there’s that huge palm of his, tattoos and all, rested carefully against his thigh. It’s veiny and thick in all the right places, bringing all the attention to his knuckles, which you guess is what he was going for when you consider the centerpiece of the image—his hardened dick straining against the grey material.

There’s no text attached to the message, no snapchat font slapped over the image, so you wonder what exactly he wanted you to do with this information mid-shift. Well, realistically, you know exactly what he wants, but that doesn’t mean you won’t clown him before getting there. After all, Jungkook was seldom the naughty texter; sexting annoyed him, he would whine, because he would do all that and not even get to feel the true pleasure of sex, of being inside you. You’ve dabbled in it here and there, but it never went as perfectly as it did in pornos. He’d drop his phone and forget it, or you would straight up ignore the damn device as you went all in on yourself.

But for Jungkook to initiate some sexting, nevertheless sexting at 1pm on a Saturday, when you were at work and you were almost positive he was supposed to be on stream right now? Unheard of, you had to mark this down somewhere.

you what’s this about?

You decide to play it safe, because as exciting as the image of Jungkook at his computer chair, cock hard and angry at the thought of you, fluffy hair ruffled in that way you adored, jaw twitching and tightening as he touched himself, moaned deep and rough and just how you liked and—

As nice as that image was, for all you knew this vague message was Jungkook sending you a picture from a week ago to purposefully fuck with you at work.

jungkook♡ what time u get off? jungkook♡ miss you bad baby

Your stomach flips, and it takes everything in you to not squeal and bounce between the shelves like a toddler on a sugar rush. Here was your boyfriend, the cutest, sweetest boy, sending you dirty pictures of himself and telling you how much he needed you. Yes, YOU, not some random on the street, or someone else in a club, Jungkook needed pleasure and that pleasure could only come from you.

You glance back down the aisle again, checking your surroundings for the second time that day. You’ve been standing here, stock cart empty for a little over five minutes now, so it’s probably best to change location lest your manager come barking down your neck. You send one quick text before heading off for stock again.

you 4pm :(

Your phone dings again just as you’re leaving the stockroom, but you decide to check it once you get to the hygiene aisle you need to work on next. Still, the prospect of Jungkook having texted you has you walking with a skip in your step, one your coworker teases you about when you pass by her.

jungkook♡ fuck jungkook♡ tell me what panties youre wearing jungkook♡ please ?

You bite your lip, stopping yourself from smiling at the tone you’d picked up from his message. There was no doubt he’d been riled up for a while now, and you wonder if he sat through his usual Saturday morning streams with his cock hard, pushed against the edge of his desk like you knew he did when such things happened. The thought has you nearly fumbling with a bottle of aloe vera.

you seamless black thong you the one you bought me at the last vs sale

Briefly, you wonder if you should have lied and told him you were wearing that red lace set he’d given you last Valentine’s Day, the one he’d bought with his first big YouTube check. But the beauty of being in a relationship with someone like Jungkook is that you could have told him you were wearing grandma undies and he’d still think you were the most beautiful person to grace the planet.

jungkook♡ mm jungkook♡ tiny ones u ruined last time?

You set your phone down, speed stock a row of sunscreen like you’re on some shelf stocking national competition, before daring to text Jungkook again. Your cheeks are still warm, and your hand tightens dangerously around a bottle of shaving cream.

Before you can formulate some response, he’s sending another one in.

jungkook♡ u soaked those jungkook♡ came fast that day jungkook♡ want u so bad

Your cheeks burn, a little embarrassed that he remembers such details. As with all Victoria’s Secret panties, they were, like Jungkook said, extremely thin. You pause, shift your stance just barely, but you’re definitely wet. Not terribly so, but with this fabric, you’d start to notice it sooner than with others.

you mm you makin me wet bunny

It’s not a complete lie, but knowing Jungkook this is exactly what he needs to hear to get that competitive streak going. You shake your head to clear your thoughts, stocking another section of men’s shaving cream. It takes longer for him to message you back, and you wonder if he got off fine on his own. If it’s over now, at least he provided you with some distraction midway into your shift.

When he texts you again, you’ve almost completely convinced yourself he’s finished, so the Attachment: 1 Video that appears on your lock screen throws you for a loop.

It’s a short clip, no longer than ten seconds, but it has you scrambling to lower the volume on your device as some unsuspecting mother of two wanders past. You flash her your practiced smile, the same one you give all the store’s customers. Not like your boyfriend is jacking it off on your phone, shallow pants filtering out from the speakers.

You turn your phone over carefully after she leaves, try to at least pretend you’re still doing your job as you play the video again.

Sweats are gone, but boxers remain. Legs deliciously exposed, thick thighs with muscles that ripple when he moves. Shirt pulled up just slightly to showcase that broad expanse of tummy, cute belly button and defined abs that tighten with each glide of his palm over the outline of his cock. Your mouth fills with drool at the sight. He was so hot.

Your brain hasn’t even processed it yet, all your energy directed towards your clenched pussy, when he shoots another text.

jungkook♡ im so fckin hard jungkook♡ wanna kiss yuo every where baby jungkook♡ come ove r soon ??

Shutting your eyes and counting to ten doesn’t help ward off the sudden wave of horniness that consumes you, but it does remind you of the job you’re supposed to be doing now. You shake your head, as if the image of Jungkook’s dick throbbing beneath his boxers, low voice in your ear, will magically disappear. It doesn’t, and it plagues you even more when you begin stocking a section of sunscreen, numbly instructing yourself on what to do next. Shaving cream, sunscreen, lotion next, you repeat.

It doesn’t help.

Two minutes later and you’re scrambling for the phone you’d hastily tucked into your apron pocket, tapping your passcode in until your messages with Jungkook are pulled up again.

you after work you promise

Your head is absolutely spinning, the coil in your stomach too tight for you to try and be a functioning member of society. Something in you says to sneak off to the bathroom and call him, but your boss is a little bit of a prick when he wants to be, thinks you take too many bathroom breaks as is.

Speak of the devil and he shall appear. A curt call of your name has you whirling to face your shelves again, phone tightly pressed against your ribs like maybe it’ll melt into your skin and he won’t see it. At the same time, your sudden fright has you scrambling to turn it off, fingers sloppily pressing against the buttons, hitting the volume like seven times before you eventually feel the familiar click that signals it’s off.

Your boss disappears shortly after, and with his sudden appearance having made every hair on your body stand, you find yourself now slumping against your stock cart. Jesus, that man was a handful to deal with.

The paranoia sticks for a little bit, has you stocking shelf after shelf like a robot until you finish the entire row of hygiene products, back stiff from bending over so much. It’s only when you return to the stockroom ten minutes later that you dare take your phone out again.

A pleasant surprise awaits.

It would appear that during your haste to hide your phone from your boss— Jungkook’s scandalous messages and all —your frantic hands had done something else. A fuzzy picture on your end, a blurry display of lotion bottles you had stacked just before your boss’s impromptu appearance, with no words to accompany them. Normally Jungkook would have ignored that; you frequently sent accidental messages like this, butt texted him, he says.

But there’s something about Jungkook’s horny brain that makes him do stupid things, makes him blow up your phone with a series of question marks, call you four times, whine and fuss in your message thread, and eventually, send you probably the oddest image to date.

jungkook♡ ??? jungkook♡ ????what is that jungkook♡ baby please jungkook♡ I don’t get it ??

jungkook♡ Missed Call (4)

jungkook♡ baby jungkook♡ what does it mean jungkook♡ please ur drivign me insane jungkook♡ jsut wanna hear yuor voice jungkook♡ fuck please just

And then, there’s another one of those cursed Attachment: 1 Image messages.

You shouldn’t be as surprised as you are. You’ve been dating Jungkook for a few months now, know he had that sort of unique personality most college dropouts turned YouTubers do. But every now and then the absurdity of his actions makes you question him still, makes you wonder what exactly goes on in that pretty head of his to warrant such ideas, makes him balance a bottle of body lotion on the thick outline of his cock like this.

Unlike the first few images, this one was taken in front of a mirror. The blinding fluorescent light in his bathroom paints him in a stark color, has every inch of his pretty face on display for you. Rosy cheeks, dewy skin. Perfectly swollen cock straining beneath his grey boxers, curved up against his hip. Shirt pulled up, finally freeing that expanse of muscles on his abdomen, cute little belly button on display once again. The red material is pulled up to his mouth, pearly white teeth biting down on the fabric, and he’s got this flushed expression on his face.

But the real star of the show isn’t his chiseled abdomen or sexy expression, but the sheer hardness of his dick that lets him balance a bottle of body lotion over it, like a fuckin’ shelf or something. He’s so hard, dick so full beneath his boxers. So big too, the little boxers pulled taught around said engorged cock and thick thighs.

Your brain says to laugh, to tease him for being such a clown even when he’s horny as hell. He won’t take it to heart, will probably laugh along with you and you’ll add it to your still growing list of funny memories.

But your caveman libido says call him, so that’s what you do, ducking down behind a new shipment pallet with a squeak as the phone rings. It only lasts four seconds before he picks up, voice breathy and low, but it sounds so loud in the silence of the stockroom.

He doesn’t even let you get a greeting in. “You like my picture, baby?” he husks. It sounds like he’s right there, right beside you, speaking into your ear. Your pussy throbs at the way he sounds. Paired with the picture from before, it has your body tingling all over.

“What the fuck is that?” you hiss, trying to not let the sudden overflow of arousal leak into your words. Jungkook chuckles.

“What?” he huffs. There’s the brief sound of shuffling, the scratchy noise of his phone presumably being pressed against his shoulder. “I’m so hard, baby,” he sighs before you can pretend to reprimand him any further. “Fuck— you, can you just talk to me?” he groans, and the disgusting sound of him spitting into his palm fills your ear.

Your face feels warm, eyes nervously peering across the stockroom like your boss will suddenly appear now of all times to rip you from this important phone call. The anxiety and arousal mix weirdly, have your leg bouncing but every new movement sends a shock up your aching cunt to your chest, and then out to the tips of your fingers.

“You shouldn’t be doing that when I’m at work,” you murmur hurriedly, moving to nervously bite at your finger. Jungkook moans softly.

“Uh huh,” he says.

The air conditioning turns on and you nearly jump out of your own skin. “Kook,” you stress, frazzled by your own burning arousal and the fear of being caught. Like you said. Weird mix. “I— not when I can’t respond.”

He shudders on the line. “You’re responding now,” he points out. You hate when he’s right. Before you can defend yourself, define what a proper response is in this scenario, he’s beating you to the punch. “Baby,” he whimpers, voice so airy yet low, makes your eyes roll into the back of your head, back unconsciously arching. “Couldn’t stop— fuck.”

Your mouth feels dry, all and any form of lecturing fading from your thoughts as you become consumed in Jungkook’s little whines and whimpers. He talks smoothly, a modern day Casanova, and it’s certainly because of that cult-like harem he’s gathered on YouTube. Teenage girls who kiss his ass, tell him he’s cute and dreamy. Make his ego so big.

But then he gets horny and can barely contain that lisp you tease him about, shivers and melts when you put his cock in your mouth. “Couldn't what, bunny?” you mumble, voice drawn tight because now you were really horny, and it was all his fault.

The nickname makes him mewl prettily, your speaker suddenly going scratchy as he fumbles with his phone. “C- Couldn't stop thinking about you— your mouth,” he admits, and now you’re certain he’d sat through that Saturday morning stream like this. “T- Tits,” he adds, lisp slipping through. “Fuck.”

You bite your lip, eyes fluttering shut as you remind yourself now was not the time or place to get yourself off. But, well. That didn’t mean you couldn’t get him off. “Sat through your stream like this?” you murmur, circling your kneecap with a trembling finger as if it’ll ward away the raging lust in your abdomen. Jungkook confirms with a breathy moan. “Had all your little fans wondering why you ended so early.”

He groans. “No,” he chokes, voice hot from how much it wavers. “They— I lied,” he confesses out of nowhere, “s- said I had a doctor’s appointment.”

You muffle a giggle into your palm. “Naughty,” you tease. “Too hard to do your job.”

“Just,” he cuts off, voice feathery. He sounds so close and you haven’t even said anything of substantial value yet. “Tell me,” he says quietly, “what to— mmh, what to do.”

A smirk consumes your features. You try to hide it, but there’s no one here anyway so you’re left grinning at an unpacked box of dental floss like a madwoman. “Why?” you inquire playfully, bask in the sad little whimper he responds with. “Shouldn’t you know how to make yourself cum?”

Another groan of frustration, desperation seeping into his tone when he speaks again. “Baby, please,” he begs, and it feels good. Feels nice to have this big YouTuber begging for you like this, whimpering your name like his doesn’t appear on the top 25 most viewed. “Like when you— ah — when you tell me… what to do.”

Your body feels hot, thighs pressing together with each whimper that falls from his lips. “Okay,” you concede, and he audibly moans in relief. “Tip first,” you instruct softly, eyes defocusing as your brain slowly starts to manifest the image of Jungkook spread out on his bed. Thick thighs, grey boxers pulled taught around them, fat cock between his pretty hands, inked knuckles squeezing around his member. You swallow. You can tell exactly when Jungkook does as you say because another muffled moan fills the speaker. “One finger,” you remind him quickly, head spinning from the mere memory of his dick. “Run it… run it over the slit, bunny.”

“Nngh—“ Jungkook sputters. You can only imagine the face he’s making now, the bottom lip he’s bitten raw by now. He does it a lot; it’s a nervous habit. But as sexy as it looks when you’re in bed, you know he has sensitive lips because of it, bleeds easily if he’s too harsh. You have half the mind to remind him about it now, but then he’s hurriedly gasping out for more. “And, and then? Wha— what then, baby?”

He sounds so sweet, melodic voice dripping with honey. “Touch your balls,” you say a little breathlessly. “Don’t squeeze,” you add, “just roll your palm over them.” Your palm squeezes against your thigh, as if it’s remembering the feel of his body, the soft skin between his thighs when you’re down there. He gets so jittery, thick thighs nearly crushing you if you drag him along too much. “O- Other hand on your cock,” you stumble, thighs squeezed together. “Stroke yourself just like I do, bunny.”

Jungkook complies. “Just like you?” he mumbles, suddenly sounds farther away. As if he’s dropped his phone off to the side. “Fffuck,” he grunts, “m- mouth is so pretty.”

“Hm?” you inquire, so consumed with tampering down your growing arousal for a second that you miss his sentence.

Jungkook’s breath stutters, and for a moment you’re met with the wet squelch of his cock in his hand. And then, “pretty mouth… make me— make me wanna see you cry.”

You bite your lip. “Why,” you say tentatively, finally caving in with a hand fluttering over the front seam of your jeans. Not a question, more of a gentle nudge for him to spill his thoughts.

“Be- Because,” he cries, fucking into his hand. He sounds closer and closer. You have to wonder just how long he had been riled up. It’s been a while since his first message, he was probably desperate by now. “Y- You’re so nice,” he cries, and the sentiment, though oddly out of place, makes your heart squeeze with adoration for the boy on the line. “Wanna be,” he groans, “wanna be so fucking mean to you, baby.”

The sudden change of tone makes you choke on a moan, hand pressing against your mound like it’ll somehow penetrate the thick material of your jeans and give you the sensations you crave. As it stands, it’s a muted feeling you get instead. When your hands fail, his voice compensates. “Fffuck, don’t you— don’t you think about it too?”

Admittedly, no.

Jungkook had always been a gentleman in bed. Always cared for your needs before his own, went out of his way to make you feel pampered and adored during your most vulnerable moments. Contrary to what his online persona might say, he was a good boy. Sweetest boy you knew, touched you like you were made of glass.

So to suddenly learn of this dream— fantasy? kink? —of his that you would certainly enjoy equally as much, well. It made you whimper into your palm, eyes worriedly flickering toward the stockroom’s entrance.

“Why?” you whisper, feeling like a broken doll repeating the same phrase over and over again. You’re suddenly aware of how hot everything was. Your polo felt sticky against your spine, apron too tight, jeans too stuffy. How long had you been hiding in here for? You don’t even know. Hopefully your absence on the floor had gone unnoticed.

Jungkook pants into the line; everything sounds so sticky and wet on his end, hand undoubtedly working away at his cock. “Shit,” he curses, doesn’t really answer your question until you prod a second time. “I- I like it,” he stammers. “When you… fuck, when you look small.” He elaborates before you can even ask, breath heavy and drawn out. He was so close. “When your mouth… when it hurts,” he says, thoughts a scrambled mess. “Like when you— when you cry because my cock is— it’s too big for you.”

A blatant ego boost you’ll ignore for now. Not like you can focus on too many things right now anyway. “Your cock is big, bunny,” you agree softly instead. Your legs feel cramped from crouching so long, so you push yourself to your feet. Except then you’re made aware of how fucking wet you are, panties soaked from the phone call with your boyfriend. You shift and they stick to your folds, make you release a shaky exhale that Jungkook doesn’t miss.

“I— you’re wet,” he says boldly, and this time your meek confirmation isn’t a lie. Jungkook grunts. “Fuck, baby, I—“ cut off by his own whiny cry, probably bucking into his hand like a madman by now. “Wanna, wanna kiss you everywhere,” he says, a call back to his earlier message. Your legs feel like jello. You want him to kiss you everywhere too— lips, tits, cunt that is dripping for him now.

“I- I’ll be over soon,” you stammer, feeling like you’ll pass out if he carries on any further. He sounds so good on the line, soft pants, rough growls. You can’t possibly listen anymore, not when you’re so wet and horny in the middle of your shift. “Just,” you pause, can’t get the image of his pretty cock out of your mind. Every blink makes it more vivid, reminds you of the vein on the underside, the exact shade of the tip.

“What?” Jungkook hisses, voice higher than usual, parts of it lost under the rapid movements of his hand. “Tell me, baby, tell me what to do,” he begs hoarsely, “I’ll do it.” Sounds so desperate and needy, two seconds away from busting all over his hand.

You have to lean against the wall of the stockroom to ground yourself, remind yourself you’re not in the same situation as Jungkook and can’t cum in your pants like a teenager. “J- Just cum,” you choke, eyes fluttering shut.

He must’ve been waiting for that command, because the second the words leave your throat he’s filling the line with breathy groans and cries as he comes all over himself, probably ruins his t-shirt. The sounds have your hips unconsciously bucking forward into nothingness, the frustration of not being able to cum with him manifesting in the form of a tiny little sob. Luckily, he doesn’t catch it.

When it’s all said and done, he’s left panting into the receiver, flooding your speaker with breathy sighs that only make you more and more aroused.

“You’re terrible,” you frown, cheeks flushed, body tingling. You flip your wrist over and check the time; it’s been about sixteen minutes since you disappeared from outside. Sixteen minutes of listening to Jungkook touch himself and moan and whine and whimper. Tease you with new possibilities you had never considered before. And now he’s satisfied and you’re not.

Jungkook chuckles, low and tired. The sound shoots straight to your cunt. “Come over after you shift,” he says, as if you’re not planning to fake a severe case of the flu right now in order to get off early and run to his bed. You only had a little less than two hours of your shift left anyway. Not like they paid you well to begin with. Jungkook shifts, releases one of those saccharine groans as he probably snuggles into his bed, all sweaty and worn out. “Want you to fuck my face, baby.”

You frown, counting to ten to calm yourself down. Another few minutes of listless conversation, and you hang up. Your body feels featherlight, a little woozy as you make your way back out into the floor.

Nothing has changed. Customers pour in and out, your boss scolds you for a display you didn’t do, and life inside the store drags on. No one knows that you’re soaking your panties to hell and back, Jungkook’s soothing moans in your ear. Life goes on.

you shift ends in 20

jungkook♡ sweet jungkook♡ got your seat ready jungkook♡ Attachment: 1 Image

Copyright © 2020, 1kook on tumblr. absolutely NO reposts allowed.

[arvandus]

Congratulations on the big 500 ^-^ I'm so happy for you! Could I get a fluffy #24 with Dabi, pretty please? 🥺👉👈

I’m finally getting to thissss! I’m so, so sorry for the delay. For some reason I struggled with this one for a while, then suddenly something clicked, and inspiration took over. I really enjoyed writing this, it felt very cathartic. It might feel a little heavy/emotional at first but trust me when I say that it ends with fluff.

#24: You're The Only Thing That Matters

Pairing: Dabi x GN!Reader

Word count: 1825

Warnings: light angst(?), fluff

---------

You hadn’t meant for this to happen. Then again, no one ever does. It’s not like anyone ever plans for their apartment to get broken into, their personal items stolen...

Then again, it wasn’t entirely unexpected, not with a neighborhood like this. But it was the neighborhood you could afford. Now here you are, hanging out across the street at the local market, too afraid to return upstairs to your ransacked home. You don’t have a car to drive yourself to a motel to stay the night, you don’t trust nighttime public transportation, and you don’t have enough money for an Uber. But you have to go somewhere. So, you take your phone and called the first person that comes to mind...

Dabi.

You can’t help but laugh that his number is the first one you think to dial. From the surface it makes sense – you two have been seeing each other, so of course he should be someone you can trust enough reach out to. But this is Dabi. Even with your intimate relationship with each other, he is often distant and, more often than not, entirely unavailable. It doesn’t surprise you too much... he’s a villain, after all, and sometimes that villain life requires him to disappear for periods at a time.

Which is why you are honestly surprised when he picks up.

“What?” he says gruffly, like he doesn’t have your number saved in his phone; he knows it’s you on the other end.

You bite your lip before answering. “Um, hey, Dabi. It’s me.”

Already you’re struggling to keep your voice from quivering with unshed tears. If you let yourself cry now, you wouldn’t be able to stop, and this really isn’t the place for it. You watch as an old man pushes a cart past you at a snail’s pace, his gnarled fingers grabbing a bag of rice from the shelf.

Dabi must have heard the emotion in your tone though, because his next words come out slightly softer. “Hey, doll. What’s up? Ain’t it a little late for a phone call?”

“Yeah, I’m sorry, I just...” you take a steady breath through your nose in an attempt to ease your jitters. “My place got robbed, and... I need a place to stay for tonight.”

You hear voices in the background, and Dabi growls at them to ‘shut the hell up.’

“I’m sorry,” you say quickly. “Am I bothering you? I didn’t realize you were working...”

“It’s fine, doll.” Dabi replies. “Yeah, you can crash here.”

More arguing. But a moment later, you hear the click of a door being closed and the background noise disappears.

“I’m headin’ over.” Dabi’s voice comes through clearer than before now that there are no other voices coming through the receiver. His deep tone makes your pulse slow down to a manageable pace, and you take a deep sigh a relief. “Where are you?” he asks.

“I’m at the grocery store across the street.” You reply.

“Stay there.” His words are an order, his voice unusually firm. Is that... concern you hear?

“They close in fifteen minutes.” You say nervously.

“I’ll be there in ten.”

You hear the click and the call ends, and you really wish it didn’t. Then again, there was no telling where Dabi was, or what he was in the middle of when you had called.

The minutes tick by slowly as you wait, each minute dragging on longer than the last until you’re certain that you’re in hell, watching time slow to an endless crawl. The ten-minute mark comes and goes, and Dabi is nowhere to be found, and now you’re struggling to keep the panic down. What if he doesn’t come?

But just as the dreaded thought enters your mind, he’s there, appearing next to your shoulder like an apparition, a dark angel disguised in a black hoodie, his mouth covered. You nearly jump out of your skin when he puts an arm around you before you quickly realize it’s him, your protector.

Already you can feel the tears brimming in your lashes, but his words quickly interrupt the flow like a stopper.

“C’mon, doll.” He whispers in your ear. “None of that now.”

He guides you out of the store into the dark night and you stare across the street at your apartment complex. The building is tall and old, looming over you like a bad dream as visions of your ruined home flash in your mind.

“D’ya need to grab anything from your place?” he asks. You shake your head. You don’t want to go in there, even with Dabi present.

“Didja lock the door?” he asks again, and you shake your head again.

“Whoever it was broke it.” You reply. “Please, I just want to go...”

He stares at you for a moment, his blue half-lidded eyes reading the look on your face before he looks away.

“Well, c’mon then.” He says. He guides you to the subway. Once you get on the train, you sit next to him and rest your head on his shoulder as the empty train car sways and bumps on the tracks. You can feel the fear begin to fade away with each passing of the flashing lights through the dirty windows, graffiti carved into their acrylic surface. You interlace your fingers in his, and for once he doesn’t fight it, doesn’t recoil his hand to the safety of his pockets.

The ride is silent and so is the walk to his hideout. He leads you in through the rickety door with the dented doorknob where a ragtag group of people lounge on dirty couches. Your body stiffens instantly, your hand tightening around his as if doing so would fill you with courage you didn’t have.

A man with white hair with the slightest tint of blue-grey glared at you with red eyes. “I thought we agreed on no outsiders?” his voice comes through with a growl, carried on a sneer past scarred lips.

“Shut up.” Dabi snaps at him as he leads you past the group to another door that leads to a hallway.

A couple doors down and he pulls you into what you can only assume is his room – after all, it’s your first time being here; Dabi had never let you visit him before.

“It’s not much, but it’s safe.” Dabi comments as he closes the door behind you.

The bed is messy, the mattress old. You don’t care though. The space smells of Dabi, and as soon as your brain registers that you’re no longer in danger, you buckle down onto his bed and begin to cry with your face in your hands as the aftermath of emotions overflows into your palms.

Dabi removes his hoodie and kneels before you. He watches you in silence, the glaze of his eyes never betraying the emotions tucked away in secrecy. He hates seeing you like this, hates watching you fall apart in front of him. It makes him feel useless. Cautiously, he reaches out and takes your hand from your face, holding your fingers in his warm palm. He can feel the wetness of your tears on them, and he fights the urge to increase his body temperature, to evaporate the evidence of your pain from his skin. Your eyes catch his, red and puffy, and before he can react you throw your arms around his neck and fall into his lap. He catches you – how could he not? – and holds you to him as you empty your emotions into his shoulder.

When the well of your tears has finally dried, you wipe your eyes with the heel of your hand and pull away from him slightly. Dabi can see the exhaustion falling over you in real time, your shoulders slumping and your hold on him loosening into a relaxed grip.

“I’m sorry, I... I just... it’s been a really bad day.” You say, your eyes downcast.

Dabi can’t help but give a dry chuckle as he helps you up to your feet. “Yeah, no shit.”

He sits on the bed and pulls you with him until you’re both lying down on his messy sheets, with you curled into his side.

“Thank you for coming to get me...” you whisper as you rest your cheek against his chest.

“Did you think I wouldn’t?” he teases, but his smile falters when your breath hitches and you don’t answer.

It cuts him deeper than he expects, but at the same time he’s not surprised... he hasn’t exactly been the best boyfriend – is that even what he is? Is that what he’s been to you? It wasn’t like you two ever discussed it; you two just... were. He’s given you so little...

Dabi swallows before he continues, his voice quieter this time, quieter than he’s ever been with you before. “I’m just glad you’re not hurt.” The confession feels weird on his tongue, like a foreign language, but he pushes forward, determined to say what he should have told you sooner. His voice drops even lower to a barely audible whisper. “I’ll always come for you.”

Despite the hush of his words, they feel like a shout. The admission leaves him feeling embarrassed and vulnerable, and a part of him wishes he could take them back, simply because of what they mean. But they don’t come without their own reward - you relax at his words, your body molding against his as your arms tighten around him. It’s the first time he’s been so open with you and the nervousness in his veins gives way to a light euphoria at your acceptance. His arm tightens around you as if he’s afraid you’ll melt away, as if his touch is the only thing keeping you real, his perfect dream come to life. Within minutes, your breaths become deep and even, and Dabi realizes that you’ve fallen asleep on him, your body giving way to its exhaustion after all that had happened. He stares down at you for a long, quiet moment, watching you sleep on him.

Dabi had never put anyone else first before, not even you despite your closeness. But when he answered your call and heard the fear in your voice, it was as if the ground had been pulled out from under him, his entire world thrown into chaos. If anything had happened to you... If you’d gotten hurt in any way...

His grip on you tightens a little more and he brushes his lips against your hair. Maybe it’s the bravery he’s feeling at your acceptance of him. Or maybe it’s the fear of what could have been. But his next words come out in a hushed whisper, a secret confession meant more for himself than you.

“You’re the only thing that matters.”

And even though you’re supposed to be asleep, your soft words hum into his chest, burying themselves like sunflower seeds.

“I love you too.”

[tossawary]

wait can we hear more about da ge mbj au I'm very interested

MBJ getting abandoned as a child makes me enjoy imagining him being soft for babies, especially demon babies. Which made me want to see SQH put into a situation with a lost demon child and MBJ getting to see that. 

Which ended in 3,000 words of canon divergence fic.

-

The situation was bad. 

 Airplane’s fellow An Ding disciples were dead. 

 There was a young demon lord unconscious in front of him, probably dying, and Airplane couldn’t bring himself to bring down the rock in his hand. 

 His hand was shaking. He couldn’t make it stop. 

 This System really didn’t give a fuck about the author’s wishes, huh? Airplane Shooting Towards The Sky had been shoved into one of the worst character roles in Proud Immortal Demon Way and left to take the long way around to the plot. Now he was being told that his favorite character was expendable? Irrelevant? Talk about insult to injury! Nothing was sacred here, was it? 

 Airplane put down the rock. 

 Then he picked up the rock again. 

 He looked at it. 

 Then he hurled the rock away and put his head in his hands instead. 

 He came to a decision - a shitty decision for a shitty situation - and got to work saving his future murderer’s life. At least he would know some of what to expect if he kept the storyline mostly the same! Besides, his life wasn’t good enough to be that concerned about it! Maybe the System would put him into a decent role next time! 

 Maybe it was empathy at seeing someone being fucked over by the System! 

 Airplane did his best to slow down Mobei-Jun’s bleeding and loaded the man into the cart. He also did his best to ignore all the dead bodies around them. Gross. 

 That should have been that! He should have then been on his way to continue making a really bad decision in a really bad situation. But as Airplane moved to leave the scene of a massacre behind him, he saw movement out of the corner of his eye. He startled, snapping around, prepared to defend himself physically or verbally! 

 Instead, he saw a baby. 

 Ah, well, not a baby baby! But a child somewhere between the ages of three and four years old! A chubby one too! The chubby child was crouched halfway behind a tree, looking at Airplane with wide eyes, little hands clawing anxiously into the grass. It was impossible to miss their little pointed ears and the blue mark in the middle of their forehead. How could anyone miss that kind of family resemblance? 

 The demon child froze upon being noticed. 

 Airplane looked between the demon child and the young demon lord in the card, but the similarities only got stronger the longer he looked! 

 Holy shit! 

 HOLY FUCKING SHIT! 

 But he didn’t remember Mobei-Jun having a child! He remembered Mobei-Jun having siblings, sure, but he was pretty sure that... he’d alluded to Mobei-Jun’s uncle doing away with most of them. Did that mean that this child was supposed to… die? 

 This situation had gotten even worse. 

 Leaving a child here to die was… pretty bad. Airplane had done some not very good things to make it in this world and in his sect without losing any sleep over it at all, but the idea of leaving this child to die made Airplane want to be sick! At least, as soon as he realized that if Mobei-Jun had been protecting this demon child and woke up to find this demon child missing, then Airplane would be really, truly, totally fucked no matter how tightly he hugged the man’s thighs! 

 It looked like the demon child had to come too. 

 How the fuck did a person go about catching a demon child?! 

 “Is… this your gege?” Airplane tried carefully. “Is this your gege here?” 

 The demon child didn’t respond. 

 Airplane gestured at Mobei-Jun repeatedly, unsure how to get the message across. “Is this your gege?” he said, louder. “Baba? ...No? Not Baba? Da-Ge? Are you his didi?” 

 That got a blink. 

 “Didi?” Airplane repeated, desperately. “Come here, Didi.” 

 Airplane Shooting Towards The Sky hadn’t handled children since his last life. He’d been one of the younger siblings in Shang Qinghua’s family, so he hadn’t been involved in any of the child-rearing before leaving. But Airplane’s experience wasn’t very good! Some forced babysitting of his father’s do-over children and his mother’s stepchildren’s children didn’t make him an expert! And this was a demon baby! 

 “Didi, your gege needs you,” Airplane wheedled. “Come here! Come on!” 

 Slowly, the demon child began to crawl over towards the cart. 

 “Your gege is hurt and needs help,” Airplane said, in most most soothing and also urgent voice. It was a weird balance! “Come on! Come along! Didi, your gege needs help. He’s hurt. Come here, please, that’s it! That’s right! Good job! You’re doing such a good job coming up here for your gege! We need to get your gege somewhere safe!” 

 The demon child made it to the cart, trying to stay on the far side of it and away from Airplane. Airplane tried not to make himself look too threatening. He also tried not to contemplate his apparent natural talent for kidnapping children, which probably wasn’t something to make a person feel proud. 

 “Didi, can I pick you up? Didi, can I lift you up next to your gege?” 

 Reluctantly, the demon child lifted his chubby arms and let Airplane slowly approach him. Airplane carefully put his hands under their armpits and then hefted them into the cart beside Mobei-Jun. The demon child nearly kicked him in the gut, struggling to get to the unconscious and injured ice demon! 

 “Ah, be careful of the injury-!” Airplane said, trying to move the child back. “OW!” 

 The demon child bit him. 

 Airplane yanked his poor hand back. “You little fucker! Ah, fine! Curl up in your gege’s blood and see if I care,” he muttered. “Let’s just get out of here already.” 

 The demon child curled up against Mobei-Jun’s side and Shang Qinghua got back into the driver’s seat of the cart. Trying to channel his spiritual energy for healing purposes while focusing on driving was hard. Even if he could have managed it properly, he still would have been stuck with an aching hand as it healed, which didn’t make him feel very charitable towards the demons in the back seat. 

 Ungrateful! The both of them! 

 When they finally got to a decent hiding place, unloading Mobei-Jun was nothing less than a pain in the ass. Airplane was forced to negotiate with a two-foot tyrant with needle-sharp teeth who didn’t want to move and didn’t want Airplane to touch his gege. Airplane was forced to wheedle like never before. 

 “Your gege is hurt, but I can help him,” Airplane insisted soothingly. “See that place? It’s safe in there! Don’t you want your gege to be somewhere nice and safe, where no one can see him and I can heal him? Look at that hiding spot! It’s a good hiding spot. We all need to go into the hiding spot now. We’re all going into the hiding spot. Come on, Didi, help me get your gege into the nice, safe hiding spot. Come on now. Be good.” 

 The demon child bared his teeth as Airplane helped him down from the cart, but thankfully didn’t bite again. The demon child then hugged Airplane’s shins very unhelpfully as Airplane hefted Mobei-Jun into his arms. 

 Airplane was forced to shuffle. 

 He never thought he’d be so grateful for all the carrying that An Ding Peak forced its disciples to do! Sometimes, carrying things around was all Airplane did all day long and now it was paying off! Airplane wasn’t as strong as some of his peers, sure, but he still managed to carry a giant ice demon into the “hiding spot” with a little ice demon attached to his leg. He counted himself grateful there was only one Mobei-Jun to deliver inside, because he couldn’t have handled more. 

 Once inside, the demon child curled up against Mobei-Jun’s side again. Airplane took the opportunity to look after the cart’s beast of burden and unload the supplies from the cart, searching desperately for the medical supplies their mission had been allotted. When he finally found the medicine, returning triumphantly, the demon child was ungratefully unenthusiastic about Airplane’s careful approach. 

 “Ah, Didi, don’t growl at me! See, look! Look! It’s medicine! Medicine for your gege to stop the bleeding and... make sure his organs go back on the inside. Eugh. Ah, anyway, I’m helping. It’s okay because I’m helping. See, look, I’m helping. It’s okay.” 

 Airplane managed to get pretty far before the demon child couldn’t take it anymore and tried to bite him again. Airplane shrieked, but managed to wrestle the demon child off him, and ended up grabbing some of the food supplies as a desperate distraction. 

 “Bite this! Bite this! Didi, look, it’s food! Food for Didi!” 

 The demon child growled, but putting the food directly in front of his face caught his attention. The demon child’s eyes narrowed in on the food in a super predatory way that was unseen in human babies. Airplane gladly made the sacrifice. He threw the food to the demon child, who scrambled to catch it, gave it a sniff, and then started to hesitantly nibble on it before taking bigger bites. 

 “See? Don’t bite your Shang-Gege and he’ll give you food instead,” Airplane muttered, quickly turning his attention to the bigger demon. “You stay there and chew that and let me help your gege. I’m helping. I’m helping. I’m helping. Shang-Gege is helping Didi’s gege. Everything is good. Everything is okay. There’s no need for biting.” 

 Airplane didn’t really know how much the demon child understood of what he was saying. The demon child looked more than old enough to understand basic speech. He at least understood “stay”, Airplane decided, by sitting off to the side and anxiously chewing through dried food supplies while Airplane worked rearranging Mobei-Jun’s guts and then bandaging up the blood mess. 

 Maybe it helped to see that Airplane had no intention of eating the unconscious and vulnerable Mobei-Jun or something. He was pretty sure that was a demon thing. 

 He couldn’t bring himself to think about what he was doing! 

 If he thought about his actions here, he was going to throw up or something! 

 So long as he kept his hands moving here, he didn’t have to think about anything. He was just an An Ding Peak disciples hard at work betraying the sect. Yeah. 

 Eventually, Mobei-Jun was in as good a shape as Airplane could get him. The demon child - Didi, Airplane decided to call him - was curled up into a ball beside where Mobei-Jun was lying. Didi looked like he was forcing himself to stay alert. 

 “It’s all okay now,” Airplane said. “See? I helped. Shang-Gege helped your gege. Your Gege needs to sleep to get better and now you can sleep beside him.” 

 Airplane washed himself as best he could and tried to wash Didi a little, but the demon child was resistant and snapped at him. Airplane, expecting this now, successfully dodged the snap and wiped at Didi’s face. Trying to be nice was too much work! Airplane’s clean-up job ended up being pretty shitty. There was no doing anything about Mobei-Jun’s blood staining Didi’s clothes around the knee and elbow. 

 “Ah, fine, curl up in blood again, you little brat,” Airplane sighed. 

 Didi curled up against Mobei-Jun’s side again and, apparently, immediately fell asleep. 

 Airplane secured their hiding place as best he could, took stock of their pitiful amount of resources, and tried not to panic about what the fuck he was was going to do now. He was exhausted. Saving two ungrateful demons was hard work. He had no idea what was going to happen next. He was pretty sure he had just made the worst mistake of his life, but it was a little late to change things now. 

 Airplane found a good patch of floor to watch over the demons and let himself collapse. He was too tired to think anymore. There were too many things to think about. 

 He hoped that Mobei-Jun didn’t die. Demons were hardy and demon lords were even hardier, but the real world that had been made out of his shitty web-novel was really unpredictable sometimes. For all Airplane knew, Mobei-Jun was going to develop an infection and a fever. Maybe Mobei-Jun would die anyway and Airplane was going to be stuck with a bitey demon brat who hated him. 

 Airplane yawned. Keeping his eyes open was becoming really hard. Fuck. 

 Watching Didi’s back go up and down with his unconscious breaths was pretty mesmerizing. It was really tempting to sneak over there and pinch one of those chubby, chubby cheeks. Or those cute demon ears. But the demon child looked almost as tired as Airplane felt and probably bit in his sleep. 

 Airplane really didn’t want to think about what would have happened if he’d just taken off with Mobei-Jun, not knowing the demon child had been hiding nearby. That might have been the worst possible situation. Didi was dirty and exhausted now, sure, but he looked like one of those babies who should have been spoiled and happy all the time, and not mercilessly abandoned to the human world.  

-

 Airplane woke up with a hand around his throat, squeezing. 

 There was a dark shadow above him and an even darker feeling in the air. The hand at his throat felt freezing cold. The air was burning with hateful demonic energy that felt like acid on his skin. Airplane struggled, but it was all immoveable. 

 “Where is he?” the shadow snarled. 

 Airplane choked. 

 His shadowy attacker belatedly seemed to realize that Airplane couldn’t talk when he was being choked to death! The squeezing let up enough for Airplane to breathe again. His lungs felt like they were burning hot and cold! His throat felt crushed and ruined. 

 “What did you do with him?” the attacker demanded. 

 “...W-wh…?” 

 “The child! Where is the child?!” 

 Airplane realized here that he was looking into the face of his future murderer. It was hard to make out in the darkness when he was being choked! 

 Mobei-Jun looked wild. His eyes looked like lightning. 

 “The ch-child… ch- chi- is-” 

 Mobei-Jun snarled again with impatience. 

 Even though it definitely wasn’t Airplane’s fault he couldn’t talk coherently! 

 “H-here,” Airplane choked out. 

 Mobei-Jun’s grip tightened, but then the man froze. His head snapped to the side. 

 Airplane followed the demon lord’s gaze. 

 Through the darkness, if Airplane squinted, he could see a small figure crouched by the supplies. Didi was frozen, watching them, chubby cheeks stuffed with stolen food. 

 Oh, there weren’t words for what Airplane wanted to say to the brat! Sneaking around like this in the middle of the night! Nearly getting Airplane strangled for no reason! 

 Mobei-Jun released Airplane immediately and flew across the room to the demon child, who threw up his arms immediately. Mobei-Jun took his younger brother into his arms and then collapsed heavily to the floor. By the sound of it, he crushed some of their precious food supplies as he fell! But the man was too busy wrapping his arms around the demon child to care about things like that, letting Didi sob into his chest, glaring at Airplane over the demon child’s head. 

 Airplane kept his distance! He knew better than to get anywhere near that! 

 The silence was very heavy. 

 He was certain that Mobei-Jun had reopened his wounds, if they had managed to close at all! As time trickled by them, he could see red seeping down the man’s side. 

 “...There are more bandages,” Airplane said finally, hoarsely. 

 Mobei-Jun’s scowl deepened, his lip curling. 

 “Ah… if- if you want them.” 

 What an asshole! 

 Airplane stayed put and didn’t make any sudden moves. 

 His throat felt like shit, so he tried to heal it with his spiritual energy. It was hard to focus with the demon lord glaring at him like that, on the other side of the room, but he didn’t really have anything better to do. There were only so many names he could silently call this ungrateful young demon who’d attacked the bro who’d saved his life! 

 At least Mobei-Jun hadn’t bitten him too. 

 Time trickled by and by. Eventually, Mobei-Jun’s eyelids began to droop close. The man’s injury appeared to be pulling him back under, whether he liked it or not. 

 After Mobei-Jun’s eyes had closed without opening for a long time, Airplane finally risked moving again. Mobei-Jun didn’t wake up, but Didi’s eyes fixed on Airplane, which made Airplane fear being bitten as he carefully came closer. 

 “Ahhh, see? Your gege is fine. I’m just… just going to put him back to bed, alright? You- don’t get up… just stay there and don’t bite me. We’re putting gege back to bed.” 

 Airplane dragged Mobei-Jun back to where the man had been before, with Didi staying put on his elder brother’s chest. Airplane was sure that this couldn’t be good for the demon lord’s wounds! But clearly Mobei-Jun didn’t give a shit about his own health! 

 “Didi, can you get off gege’s chest? Keep hugging him, just slide off, please? Gege is hurt, remember? Gege is hurt and we need to help him. See, he’s bleeding. Please let your Shang-Gege help again and don’t bite me. Everyone is fine. Everyone is happy. Everyone is getting along just fine and helping and healing. There’s no need to bite your Shang-Gege who is only helping, okay?” 

 Didi was more cooperative this time, sliding off Mobei-Jun chest to hug his less-injured side, while Airplane poked at the demon lord’s bleeding. The injuries looked… a lot better than Airplane would have expected them to. This healing rate was nothing short of astounding. Was this the power of an OP demon lord? How unfair! 

 Airplane did his best fixing the man up again. 

 He should have just let the man rot! 

 Mobei-Jun had just tried to kill him again! He would totally deserve it! 

 But there was a demon child carefully watching and Airplane didn’t want to end up with custody if his future murderer died here after all. What would he do with a demon child? Take them back to the sect?! His master would love that, he’s sure! 

 “Ah, looks like he’s getting lots better,” Airplane told Didi hoarsely, rubbing at his poor throat. “You’re doing a good job looking after him. Good job helping your gege. Keep helping his sleep, okay? Stay right there and don’t go sneaking off again, okay? Please don’t go sneaking off again, your Shang-Gege won’t be able to take it.” 

 Didi just blinked at him. 

 “Good job,” Airplane said. “Good job. Shang-Gege is… going to make sure that everything is okay outside. You stay here and protect your gege. Good job.” 

 That said, Airplane crept backwards, got up, and went outside. 

 Once outside, he promptly fell to his knees and curled in on himself. 

 “Holy fucking shit,” he said. 

[doyumacy]

RIDE OUT - 9

ʏᴜᴛᴀ x ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ x ᴍᴀʀᴋ ʟᴇᴇ

ɢᴇɴʀᴇ: ꜱᴍᴜᴛ, ᴅʀᴀᴍᴀ, ᴀᴄᴛɪᴏɴ

ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ: ꜱᴜɢɢᴇꜱᴛɪᴠᴇ ᴛᴀʟᴋ,  ʟᴀɴɢᴜᴀɢᴇ

ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ: 2,7k

ᴛᴀɢʟɪꜱᴛ: @coffee-prince-kyungsoo@xcharlottemikaelsonx@marksquare@tomorrowxforever@yoongsicles @neococo7 @angels-from-california @ahgastayzen @hiraarri @uhyikesbro

"yes yes yes yes," you moan as yuta eats you out.

"y/n, you look amazing. your face flushed, your lips as red as cherries, and your pussy, well i have no words for that." your face flushes even more from the compliment.

yuta adds a third finger and you roll your eyes. "fuck, i'm gonna cum." you whine.

"come for us, baby," you hear mark whispering in your ear. “let us see how beautiful you look when you cum.”

you wake up startled. your forehead is full of sweat and your hair is sticking to the back of your it. you swallow slowly as you sit on the bed and try to control your breathing. you don’t even realise you are panting.

what the hell was that? why is your mind tricking you in that way and making you have wet dreams about these two men? as if it isn’t hard enough.

you run a hand through your hair and get up from the bed going downstairs. it seems that johnny and jisung aren’t up yet. you need to focus on something else or your mind won’t stop replaying your steamy dream, and that’s the last thing you need right now.

you make breakfast and then get ready to open the shop. luckily, jungwoo has arrived earlier and he has already opened. you enter the shop and spot jaehyun talking to jungwoo about some switches.

“good morning,” you mutter.

jaehyun turns, surprised as if he isn’t expecting you. jungwoo smiles at you. “you're early today, y/n.”

“couldn’ts sleep,” you shrug and walk next to jaehyun. “i recommend the red one. it’s a better fit for your car.” you tell jaehyun.

he nods. “thanks.” he rubs his nape. “do you think we can talk?”

“i’ll be… at the office,” jungwoo gives you privacy and locks himself in the small office.

you turn your face to jaehyun. “what do you need?”

jaehyun sighs and rests his hands on the counter. “i didn’t know anything about it. i found out he was alive like almost two months ago…” he scrunches his face. “i’m sorry.”

you slowly nod. “i know.”

jaehyun frowns. “hold on, you’re not gonna yell at me or something?”

“you want me to yell at you?” you ask him.

“no, but… i thought you hated me and didn’t want to be my friend anymore,” jaehyun exhales in relief.

“dude, i had your dick in my mouth,” you remind him. “nothing can beat that.”

jaehyun laughs. “so, are we good?”

“yeah,” you reply to him. “but if you ever lie to me again i will chop off your balls.”

“you are a sadist.”

“stop whining and come here,” you open your arms.

jaehyun goes around the counter and hugs you. “i also knew you wouldn’t last too much time upset at me.”

you squint your eyes and look at him when he pulls away. “i can still regret it.”

“you won’t, and you know why? because i am your best friend and you need to rant about the situation,” he beams proudly.

“well, you’re right,” you murmur. “my mind is fucking me up and i don’t know what to do.”

jaehyun wraps an arm around your shoulder. “listen, y/n, fuck your mind. listen to your heart, does it beat faster when you see mark or when you see yuta?”

“beats pretty much in the same way for both,” you groan. “i’m even having wet dreams with them, jaehyun!” you rest your head on his shoulder. “i’m sick.”

“well, my advice is go poly!” he smiles and you stare at him. “yeah, never mind. that wouldn’t work. yuta is too possessive.”

“i just remembered why i never ask you for advice,” you sigh.

jaehyun giggles. “you want me to be real honest?” you nod. “you like mark and maybe there are more feelings there involved, but how do you feel about yuta? you might still have feelings for him?”

you pinch your nose. “it’s… complicated? weird? i mean, i never felt like that for anyone before. yuta is… the love of my life?”

jaehyun shrugs. “could be yes, but that doesn’t mean he’s your only love of your life. you still can have one more, or two, or three…”

“could you please run me over?” you sigh dramatically.

jaehyun chuckles. “y/n, i’m serious. you need to make your mind up before someone gets hurt.”

“that doesn’t help either,” you groan, pushing him away.

you are walking down the santa monica pier with mark at your side. after he picked you up that afternoon, he told you he'd take you to your favorite place. you never revealed him that, but replied he got a little help from jisung.

you are walking close together, shoulders brushing. and mark desperately wants to hold your hand. he ends up taking your hand into yours and you smile slightly squeezing his hand.

“the sun is setting.” you say. mark drags his eyes away from you and focuses on the water. the way the waves move toward the skyline.

the sunset reflects onto the water, pinks, oranges, and purples all blending with blue. It’s beautiful.

“it’s breathtaking.” he states, turning his head to look back at you.

“yeah. it's my favorite part of the day," you say, sounding awed. mark smiles at you, big and lopsided.

“i feel the same way,” he confesses, staring at you.

you blush and decide to avoid his eyes. you two stand there in silence for a while, holding hands. once it’s nearly dark, mark and you walk to the pacific park entrance and he smiles looking at the colorful roller coaster. “let’s ride it.”

"that looks,” you pause as you look up and watch the cart fly along the metal, the occupants all screeching with excitement as they were flipped upside down and around sharp curves, “interesting.”

"come on!" he takes your hand, yanking you towards the line.

how are you supposed to say to mark you're scared of roller coaster and you have never rode one? but you can't. he looks so excited and so thrilled about it that your heart melts.

you don't have to wait long before you are next to load onto the cart. mark looks over and sees that you are biting your bottom lip as the previous passengers file out of their seats.

“y/n, you don’t have to do it if you don’t want to,” mark looks at you.

“no, I want to do this.”

“good,” mark nods, “because it’s our turn.”

mark helps your with placing the seatbelt on, laughing when he realizes that you never wear a seatbelt when you drive but somehow you trust it. when the ride operators come around and pushes the metal bar onto your laps, you squint down at it and tilted your head.

“do they really expect this to stop us from falling out?” you whisper and yank on the bar a couple times, making the whole cart shake.

“come on baby, you know about physics,” mark reaches over and places one hand on top of you to stop the shaking.

"i know nothing about physics," you frown, looking at him.

"you do," he holds your hand. "just relax, baby. if we fall, we won't know."

you groan and squeeze at his hand. "i'm gonna yank your hair off."

mark chuckles and when the car begins moving forward, the grip that you have on the bar tightens. you begin creeping up the first hill, and mark looks over at you to try and calm your nerves.

“why don't you ride roller coasters?”

you rub your forehead. “my best friend died on a roller coaster. this shit collapsed and she died."

"oh shit, y/n... i'm sorry," mark stares at you and groans. "fuck, i'm sorry. i'll talk to guys so we can get off ri-"

mark stops talking when he sees you laughing and throw your head back. he cocks an eyebrow. "what's so funny, baby?"

"i'm shitting on you, mark," you wipe your eyes.

mark squints his eyes and pulls away from you. the roller coaster stops once you're on the highest point. you refuse to look down because you don't want to see the sea and how tall you are. mark slightly moves, making the cart move. you hiss at him. "stop, mark."

"what?" he smiles at you, moving again.

you whine and you grip at the bar. "mark!" you groan. "stop it or i swear to god i'm gonna run your over with my car."

mark laughs and he comes near you. "you're so cute when you get mad."

"and i'll get cuter when i chop off your balls," you stare at him.

he pouts. "truce?"

"fine. but dinner's on you."

after leaving the pier, mark takes you to his favorite restaurant. he then takes you home and parks right outside. he turns to you and smirks. "i had a great time."

"yeah well, wish i could i say the same," you joke.

mark laughs and leans to give you a kiss. you kiss him back and he grabs your jaw to kiss you better. you pull away and smile tilting your head to the side. "just a simple kiss for you, lee."

mark nods. "as my girl wishes."

you roll your eyes. "you can be very cheesy sometimes, did you know?"

"yep." he winks at you.

you sigh. "i can't stand you."

"too bad. you're already so into me."

"just... go home, mark." you giggle and give him a final kiss. he nods and kisses you back. "text me when you get there."

(...)

on a saturday night, doyoung ask you, no, demands you to be at a party he's throwing. you don't want to go, but you can't risk screwing yuta's plan.

you arrive at the party’s locations and you find some known faces. you spot doyoung talking to a red haired man and you assume he’s his friend. you turn around, walking through the drunk and high people dancing. you have a cup in your hand, but you’re not drinking. you need to keep your head clear in case something happens.

as you’re trying to make your way to the bar so you can take a seat, you meet with someone’s chest. you look up and your eyes  wide open. it’s jisung.

what the hell is he doing there?

“what in the world are you doing here?” you hiss at him.

“my friend invited me,” he shrugs.

“are you stupid, jisung?” you look at him. “this is doyoung’s party!”

“w-what?” he stutters. “i didn’t know. my friend just told me to come, but i can’t find her anywhere.”

“tell your… friend you had to go.” you advise him. “please. i don’t want doyoung to see you.”

“too late.”

“why?” you frown.

“he’s walking to us.”

you suddenly feel an arm around your shoulders and doyoung pulls you closer to him. he smiles. “who is this young man, y/n?”

you gulp. “he’s my uhm… my brother.”

doyoung smiles looking at jisung and extends his hand. “nice to meet you. i’m doyoung.”

jisung looks at you and then eyes doyoung’s hand. he slightly shakes it. “hi. i uhm… i’m jisung.”

“jisung.” doyoung nods. “i’ll remember that name.”

you remove doyoung’s arm and get away from him. “we’re actually leaving.”

“already?” doyoung cocks an eyebrow. “but the party just started.”

“i have homework,” jisung suddenly says.

“homework?” doyoung laughs. “okay. young kid needs to finish his tasks.”

“thanks for having me,” you tell doyoung. “see you later.”

“uhm… g-goodbye.” jisung mutters.

you take jisung by the arm and walk out of the party. you both are shaking but try to act as nonchalant as possible.

doyoung watches you two leave and when he feels someone’s presence next to him, he doesn’t even flinch. “told you he’d come.”

doyoung takes a bale of cash and hands them to the person standing next to him. “how did you convince him?” he turns to them.

“he’s a man,” the person fixes their hair. “a bit of flirting and he was ready to leave his family.”

doyoung nods. “yves, right?”

“yes.”

“nice job. i’ll see you around.”

(...)

the days go by and you and johnny come to the agreement that jisung will not leave the house until the situation is fixed, as it is very risky and doyoung knows about his existence, although he still does not know the identity of 'jwi'.

one night, after mark drops you off he decides to walk to the door and when you two are having a mini make out session, yuta decides to show up.

the sensation you get is confusing. you feel you're cheating on yuta and that makes you feel guilty. but you also like mark, and the more you spend time with him, the more feelings you get for him.

on the other hand, you keep having dreams where the three of you are together and you hate it.

you slightly pull away from mark and look at yuta. he only stares at you. "good evening."

you press your lips together and mark's grip on your waist tightens. "is johnny inside?"

you nod. "yes. you can come in."

yuta shakes his head. "can you tell him i'm outside please? i just need to give him something."

"okay. i'll be right back," you murmur.

you get into your house looking for johnny. mark leans against the wall, with his hands inside his jeans pockets. yuta looks everywhere but at him and it's uncomfortable.

an awkward situation.

"so..." yuta breaks the silence. "you dating my wife."

mark stares at him and blinks. "yeah."

yuta nods, slowly crossing his arms on his chest. "enjoy the time you still have left with her."

mark scoffs, almost laughing. "you're that insecure you need to threat me? you need to work harder, buddy."

"you're allowed to think whatever you want, mark," yuta shrugs. "y/n loves me. don't tell me you don't see it."

"i don't because i'm sure about her feelings towards me," mark smiles.

"please mark, you'll end up believing she's over me and hurt yourself," yuta tilts his head to the side. "i'd recommend you to walk away for once."

"i'm not the type that walks away," mark spits, looking at him.

you and johnny show up at the door and johnny greets yuta. he hands him a black usb and tells him he needs to go. he approaches you and kiss your cheek goodbye. yuta smiles at you and before he turns around to leave, he winks at you. mark rolls his eyes and johnny feels awkwardly trapped.

mark says goodbye seconds later but he gives you a kiss on the mouth, making johnny feel more uncomfortable. his eyes go everywhere, trying to avoid the scene of you kissing mark. it's gross.

"okay, get a room now. i can see the tongues from here," johnny makes a disgusted face.

"goodnight, baby. sleep tight." mark kisses your forehead.

"you too," you smile at him.

mark says goodbye to johnny and you watch him get into his car. once you and Johnny are back inside the house, johnny rubs his cheek. "girl, you need to do something about it."

"about what?" you ask him.

"about the two desperate dicks that were outside minutes ago," johnny scoffs. "didnt you feel the tension between those two? i thought they would start beating each other at any second."

"I don't want to talk about it," you state.

"you always avoid talking about it, but you eventually will have to choose one." johnny cocks an eyebrow. "or maybe convince them to start a relationship with the three of you."

"you're so annoying, johnny. just... go away." you wave a hand to shoo him away.

"you can shoo me away but you know you need to choose one." he shrugs. "it's not fair and you know it."

you sigh. "i know."

[whitleyschn33]

Not Everything Can Be Wiped Away With A Hug

Or why I’m not happy with Weiss and Whitley’s reconciliation. 

Whitley and Weiss haven’t had a great relationship. From the first time we see him, the two are shown to not be comfortable with each other. Weiss’ tone when they meet is one of dismissiveness and wariness, even if the conversation ends on a technically hopeful note. As the show goes on, every interaction the two have is riddled with tension. Weiss accuses him of wanting her loss of status, Whitley gets angry and bites back. Whitley stops by her room to ask if she wants anything and twist the knife, Weiss asks if he’s jealous and slams the door in his face. When Weiss comes back at the party, she does everything she can to brush him off, clearly annoyed, while Whitley talks about what he’s been up to since she’s been gone. Weiss laughs when Whitley gets splashed with wine, Whitley storms off in a huff. Then Weiss comes back during the... siege(? I don’t know what to call this failed attempted at a Fall), commanders the house, shoves a weapon in Whitley’s face, sends him to his room like he’s a child, and then doesn’t acknowledge him again until he calls Klein. At which point she hugs him and all tensions disappears from their relationship. 

See what’s missing here? We have point A of massive hostility between the two with both parties having grievances with the other and point B of both parties having found a balance in their relationship. What’s missing is a strong connection between those two points. What’s missing is the meat of the actual arc, something between set up and pay off, and that’s ultimately the problem with their reconciliation. It wasn’t worked for, at least on Weiss’s end. There was no effort for any of their grievances to be addressed, talked about, and worked through. There was no point where they took the grievances that had been brought up and had the characters discuss or react to them in any meaningful way. It just fell into their laps - or rather, it fell mostly into Weiss’s lap. That’s the short version, anyway. Let’s discuss the long version.

In Volume 7, Weiss and Whitley’s relationship is tense, Weiss clearly annoyed and dismissive of her brother for being a snot towards her, and Whitley angry that Weiss ignores him and abandoned him to their neglectful/abusive parents. In episode 7, though, Willow flat out tells Weiss why Whitley acts the way he does to her. Willow gives us Whitley’s motivations - that he’s hurt and resentful towards Weiss. This is the set up for a reconciliation; Weiss has been given insight into Whitley’s point of view (had it literally shoved in her face), and has the chance to contemplate it so as to be able to find common ground later. 

Plot stuff happens, and the two are separated as Weiss deals with all that until Weiss needs a place to lay low. Armed with new information on Whitley’s disposition, Weiss... 

Whitley: Oh, you’ve picked a fine time to--

Weiss interrupts by pointing Myrtenaster at him, and he looks at the blade in fright.

Weiss: Not. Another. Word. We’re coming in.

Whitley steps aside and groans as Ruby’s group walks into the manor.

...threatens him after saying 7 words. Not even words of “you can’t come in” or anything to suggest he won’t let them in but, “oh great, this is a wonderful~ time to drop by”, venting frustration. Weiss doesn’t try anything else before shoving a weapon in his face (the face of an unarmed, defenseless, civilian minor that physically can’t stop her from coming in anyway) and forcing her way inside. 

Whitley: Things are already bad enough after what you did to father, now you want us to harbor fugitives too? Our family has a reputation.

He crosses his arms in annoyance. Blake, having set Nora down on the floor, looks at him.

Blake: That’s what you’re worried about? Your reputation?

Whitley: I’m just saying that we’ve already lost all the house staff, and Mother locked herself in her room.

Weiss: Maybe you haven’t figured out what’s going on, Whitley, but we’re busy trying to save Atlas.

Whitley continues to vent his frustration. Jacques, Whitley’s only source of familial attention, has been taken away by Weiss (”what you did to Father”), the staff has all vacated the estate (most likely a combination of their employer being carted away in the back of a military truck and then all hell breaking loose in Mantle and Atlas airspace), and Willow, the only other human being in the mansion, has locked herself in her room for several hours, up to almost 24 hours (I’m honestly lost on the timeline of this volume with how much it flip-flops between night and day, and I can’t be bothered to rewatch these episodes). 

Whitley has been left completely and utterly alone, and Weiss comes back not for him, but to use his resources to hide herself and her friends, all of which are wanted by the military. I don’t know what Atlesian policy is, but harboring fugitives is a crime punishable with prison sentences in the US, dependent on what the fugitive is charged with. She’s forcing him to risk being arrested and imprisoned for her crimes, after destroying his family’s reputation with Jacques’ arrest and causing everyone to vacate the manor and leaving him utterly alone (the way he follows up Blake’s response with “I’m just saying we’ve already lost all the house staff” makes me think he’s tying those two things together. With Jacques’s arrest, their reputation is falling, and everyone’s jumping ship, starting with the house staff. Any other family allies the Schnees might have legally and politically are likely to follow suit to save their own skin (ah, societal politics of the rich). Harboring fugitives and Whitley and possibly Willow arrested as well? The Schnees are sunk, dead in the water. They’re not getting out of that, they’ll be left to the dogs.). And how does Weiss respond?

Weiss: Maybe you haven’t figured out what’s going on, Whitley, but we’re busy trying to save Atlas. 

How in the absolute hell is he supposed to come to this conclusion? No, really, tell me. He knows two things: one, he knows there’s some kind of Grimm threat in the heatless Mantle and hovering around Atlas based on the news - maybe; we don’t know how much the news has reported about how bad it is outside of that one Mantle broadcast and how much Whitley has kept up with the news (he seems the type to absorb in as much information as possible, but he may not have been watching every waking second) - and two, he knows his sister and her friends have pissed off the military and are marked as fugitives. There is no way for him to know that the group of fugitives are doing anything to help Atlas, especially when he has no way to know what’s going on and what Weiss+co are up to. Weiss’ comment does nothing but imply that he’s too wrapped up in his own stuff to see the big picture, when he doesn’t have the knowledge that there’s even a big picture to look at. Rather than trying to reach out and reason with Whitley, Weiss snaps at him and treats him like he’s being self absorbed and shallow. His life is falling apart, he’s been left behind again by staff and his mother, and Weiss doesn’t just not respond to it, she gets mad at him for it. It’s Ruby that has to step up and tell him that they just need a place for their friend to heal and then they’ll leave (which turns out to be a bold-faced lie, but that’s another post). 

Whitley relents then, and asks what they want him to do. Weiss then tells him to “go to his room”. Let’s set this up - we don’t know how old Whitley is, but we can guess based on Weiss’s age. Weiss is 19, and Whitley is likely 2 to 3 years younger, as he seems a bit older than Oscar but most likely more than a year younger than Weiss. That makes Whitley at least 16 years old, possibly 17. Whitley is either just a year younger or the same age as Ruby, the girl Weiss is blindly following as a leader. Whitley is not a child. A minor, probably, but not a child (I consider “child” to be 12 and under, and minor to be 13 - 16/17 (depending on what the age of maturity is in Remnant, which I’ve always considered to be 17 based on Beacon admission ages) btw to clarify). Yet, Weiss tells the boy that she has no legal or emotional authority over that’s about the same age as her leader to go to his room, treating him like he’s a petulant child. She doesn’t want to have to deal with him, so she shunts him aside - makes it clear that she’s not going to break his isolation, she wants him out of her way. Alone.

The relationship between Weiss and Whitley was already tense and hostile, but this pushes that to the next level. Before, it was hurt feelings and snipping - valid hurt feelings on both sides - but this has escalated it. Physical threats of violence, forcing him into committing a possible felony, and then dismissing him like he’s a child shows a lack of respect for Whitley, and is the exact opposite of working towards reconciliation. I wouldn’t be surprised if Whitley’s anger and resentment towards his sister grew after this; that would be my reaction. 

“But wait!” You might be thinking. “That’s not really fair to Weiss - she’s worried about Nora who’s possibly dying and about being followed by Atlas’ military. She just wants to get under cover as fast as possible and then get to helping Nora! She’s stressed and tense, it makes sense that she’d be brusque to Whitley; we shouldn’t judge her so harshly.” To which I say - character is the choices you make under pressure, not when everything is just fine. Weiss resorting to the threat of violence immediately against someone she knows is no threat when faced with a tense situation where some diplomacy and respect would go a long way, it’s not a good look for who she is as a person. But alright, let’s play that game. Weiss is too worried about Nora to deal with Whitley at the moment. She gets Nora to bed, starts treating her as best she can, and then... 

Nothing. Weiss doesn’t speak to Whitley again until he calls Klein for Nora, presumably a day later (once again, I’m not entirely sure. They arrive at what I believe is sunset, Amity happening that night, then the sun rising or setting in Midnight (?) and in War it’s night again as Klein arrives, so I think that this has  to be the next night but it’s extremely difficult to tell and causes a crap ton of plot holes, thanks a lot CRWBY (I might skim through each episode to put together just how broken the timeline is)). That’s 24 hours where Weiss didn’t decide to ask Ruby or Blake (who I would have thought would be the one to have the most first aid knowledge of the three with her militia group experience) to watch over Nora for a few minutes while she seeks out Whitley to talk to him. 24 hours where she didn’t choose to apologize for threatening him, or go to talk to him about what’s going on, or follow up on Willow’s request, or ask if their mother is even alive still if she’s been locked up drinking for over a day, probably 2 (again, the timeline is fucked up). That’s not “I’m rushing and being harsher than I normally would out of concern for my friend”, that’s “I don’t regret or care about how I’ve treated my brother; I don’t see any reason to reach out to him” (And as side note - if Weiss had gone to see Whitley earlier, letting him know just how bad of shape Nora was in, Whitley might have called Klein earlier. By talking to her brother, Weiss could have gotten Nora the help she needed sooner, but she didn’t).

This is the next conversation Weiss and Whitley have after she threatens him and sends him to his room. I know I spent far too long breaking it down, but that was just one incident, the only one between  between Willow telling Weiss to not forget Whitley and their hug.

Weiss: You called Klein?

Whitley: That girl needs a doctor. (turns away from Weiss) I didn’t do it for you.

Weiss: I know. That’s why it means so much to me.

Whitely gasps as Weiss steps forward to hug him. After some hesitation, he sighs and embraces her back. Weiss gasps when she and the others hear an explosion from outside.

That’s it. That’s their reconciliation. After this point, Whitley shows no anger towards Weiss or brings up his issues with her, so we’re meant to think that this is it, the Weiss-Whitley reconciliation is over.

Now, on Weiss’s side, I could see this putting Whitley in her good graces (maybe). Weiss’ grievances with Whitley boil down to hurt feelings over him being a snot about her loss of inheritance and being annoying. Whitley was being a jerk about it when he came around in V4E9 to twist the knife, but we know why he did that (he was pushing his own situation in Weiss’s face, a “see how you like it, being stuck here alone like I was” type thing), Weiss does get an explanation for it later from Willow, and at the end of the day, that’s all he did. He didn’t betray her, act against her, try and get her in trouble with Jacques - he didn’t do anything to her. Gloating at the role reversal is petty, yes, but it’s not like Weiss doesn’t attempt to fire right back, and it’s not like she wasn’t plenty rude to him when accusing him of wanting it to happen. Weiss mentions “you never liked me” in V4E7, but we never get anything more specific than that, and implies that he was just bitter and snippy with her like he is in V4E9. Theoretically he could have been an absolute terror before, but since we’re never shown any of this or given any examples, it’s difficult to factor in anything Whitley may have done before V4 as a piece of Weiss’ attitude towards him. Point is, since I’m starting to ramble, is that ultimately Whitley hasn’t done anything but hurt Weiss’s feelings, and him calling a doctor for Nora purely because Nora needs one feels like it might be enough to put Whitley in Weiss’ good graces, even if it raises some uncomfortable implications - that Weiss only extends her love and affection when Whitley does something she likes and can revoke it if he does something she doesn’t (like make a light joke).

On Whitley’s end, though, this scene is an absolute mess of an ending. At the end of Volume 7, Whitley is angry and resentful towards Weiss (and Winter) for abandoning him to abusive and neglectful parents, and then arresting Jacques, taking away his only source of attention and dealing a huge blow to their family’s status. In Volume 8, Weiss comes back, threatens him physically, dismisses his concerns, treats him like a child by sending him to his room, and leaves him alone again until he does something she likes. At no point does Weiss do anything that would make his attitude towards her shift to the better; in fact, she does things that should only further alienate him. Why is Whitley no longer mad at her? Because she gave him a hug? That doesn’t change that she still (from his point of view) abandoned him without a second thought, blamed him for things he didn’t do, threatened him with a weapon, forced him to harbor them, and then talked down to him and pushed him aside when she didn’t want to deal with him - abandoning him again. Weiss has done nothing to make Whitley any less resentful. She hasn’t acknowledged how she’s hurt him, they haven’t discussed why he was so hurt by her leaving, there’s been no attempt for the rift between them to be mended. Weiss just hugs him, and somehow that makes everything better. I didn’t realize that Whitley was so completely starved for affection that a hug makes him forget everything leading up to it - a hug that he initially backed away from.

He has his hands raised defensively, he starts backing away, and his expression is completely shocked. His posture is completely stiff, his arms falling to his side and hands clenching into fists. He’s clearly not comfortable with this initially, before giving in with a sigh and hugging Weiss back - giving in and giving Weiss what she wants. 

Weiss is happy with him now, so Whitley can’t be upset. Weiss gives her approval, Whitley has been useful to her, so Whitley is “redeemed” in the eyes of the characters and the audience. What Whitley wants, what Whitley feels, what motivates Whitley? They don’t matter now that Weiss cares about him again. They aren’t discussed, they don’t continue to effect how Whitley acts and views Weiss, Weiss has forgiven him, so Whitley isn’t allowed to still be pissed with Weiss. Weiss didn’t have to do anything to reconcile with her brother, she doesn’t have to be humbled or acknowledge her own role in this dysfunctional relationship. She got to treat him with violence and like a child, and then hug him and act like everything is forgiven when by all reasonable logic, Whitley should be pushing her away, repeating that he didn’t do this for her and to back off.

Weiss didn’t work for this; Weiss didn’t earn this. Whitley’s own emotions and motivations were stripped away to let her get her brother on her side without her having to confront her own mistakes, because RWBY refuses to let its main girls make mistakes.

This isn’t the first time this has happened in RWBY, far from it. This isn’t even the only example of this happening with Whitley. Next episode and a few later, they do the exact same thing with Whitley and Willow! Whitley starts episode 8 rightfully pissed at his mother; she’s left him completely alone for two days straight to drink in her room, being less than useless, straight up neglectful. This anger carries on when she tries to call him, him turning to the door as the Hound approaches with anger. During the Hound attack, Willow grabs onto him, and he lets him. That makes sense, both of them were extremely frightened by this Grimm unlike anything they’d ever seen. What doesn’t make sense is that in episodes 11 and 12, Willow is still hanging onto him. I haven’t watched episode 11 for personal reasons (RWBY’s pissed me off), but I’ve seen the screenshots.

Willow’s holding onto him like she’s showing him off with pride. It’s a cute image - but why is Whitley allowing it? Why is Whitley not pulling away? Whitley was rightfully angry at his mother for neglecting him, for leaving him emotionally and mentally, right up until the Hound attack. Now, I know what you’re thinking; Willow saved his life. They killed the Hound together. Something like that, it can being people together. I agree - and I would even buy that being the spark for Whitley giving his mother another chance if there had been any kind of scene or even conversation on screen where we get to see this transition from rightfully anger at a drunk neglectful mother to a son giving a proud mother another chance at being his mother. It would have been incredibly easy to slip in, too! Like, and I’m just spitballing here -

Willow after the Hound is killed: Are you alright, Whitley?

Whitley: Oh, so you suddenly care. That’s nice to know.

Willow: I have always cared -

Whitley: Then you haven’t ever shown it! Whitley gets visibly angry. You’ve done nothing but leave me alone in this house with him while you drown yourself in your wine. You haven’t cared about me since I was 7 years old! Stop acting like you’re my mother! Whitley starts walking off. 

Willow: Whitley - ! Willow reaches out for Whitley and stops him I - she deflates - You’re right. I have been a horrible mother. I’ve left you alone, all this time, and if I had been even slightly more drunk tonight, you might have been killed.  ...I might have lost you for good, and it would have been my own fault. I’m sorry...

Whitley: He pauses, and falls silent. 

Willow: ...Please. I almost lost you tonight, and I don’t want to lose you to something I can fix. Is there anything I can do? Can I... Can I get a chance?

Whitley: .....he turns back to Willow, taking a deep breath, and looks up at her. ...One chance. You can’t - You can’t fix all of this, but... Whitley looks away ...I’ve wanted you back for 9 years. I don’t want to lose you either if I might get you back.

Willow: Willow looks surprised, before giving him a weak smile and pulling him into a hug. Thank you, Whitley. And I am so, so proud of you.

Whitley: Whitley stiffens with surprise, looking at his mother with shock, but returns the shaky smile and hugs her back.

One minute for this conversation, and I would be completely on board with Whitley and Willow seeming to reconcile as well. The same goes with Weiss, except a longer conversation.

If Weiss and Whitley had had even one talk where they both admit their faults and failings, apologize to each other, and agree to try again, I would be all on board with this Schnee family reconciliation. As it is now, though, with how it’s been written in the show, neither Weiss nor Willow have had to work to repair their relationships with Whitley; Whitley’s anger has just been wiped away. They set up the potential for reconciliation between Weiss and Whitley, between Willow and Whitley, acknowledging why Whitley is angry with both of them, but rather than have any of the characters take that knowledge and use it to reach out to Whitley, the writers skip all of that and let the characters treat Whitley however they want until they end up reconciled with one act. A single summon is treated like it makes up for years of neglect. A single hug because Whitley was useful to Weiss is treated like it makes up for abandonment, disrespect, and threats of violence. They don’t, and the lack of respect the writers’ have for the emotions of a male abuse victim sickens me.

[officerjennie]

May I ask for some Jaskier/Your Choice for 05. online lingerie shopping together with partner? Please.

I think this prompt is so cute! Went with Geraskier because I’ve been thinking about them a lot today ^^

CW: lingerie, porn mentioned (this story ain’t horny tho)

--

Wiggling about in the pillows that he’d arranged as a back rest against the headboard, Jaskier made himself quite comfortable, tugging up one of the many blankets to get cozy. His laptop ended up propped up on a pillow in his lap, forever attached to the wall since the built-in battery had given up on life roughly two weeks after he’d gotten it. By the time the bedroom door got pushed open Jaskier had already opened up several different tabs, perusing without his husband.

“Just set it on the table, dear, it’s too hot right now.” He looked up to beam up at Geralt, who had been ever such a dear and made him some chamomile tea - just the right sort of relaxing thing to help clear his mind after work. Geralt even did as he asked, drink coaster included since he’d learned after he’d placed a glass directly onto the wooden bedside table once before - Jaskier had practically wept at the thought of his grandmum’s heirloom staining with a water ring.

With a rather wry look, Geralt had reminded him that his ‘grandmum’s heirloom’ had been bought straight off amazon, and Jaskier hadn’t talked to him the rest of that night.

So, thankfully for both of them, he’d remembered both coasters this time, and even remembered to bring Jaskier something to nibble on. It earned him a firm smooch to his cheek as he made room for himself on the bed, reaching an arm around Jaskier to tug him close and rub affectionate little circles onto his hip with his thumb.

“..what are you looking at?”

Oh, right. Jaskier blinked, turning back to his laptop. “Right, yes. I had actually been thinking-”

“This is the most boring porn you’ve ever pulled up.”

“It’s not porn, Geralt, honestly! You know I talked to you about that- hey.” He pouted when he saw the hint of a smirk on Geralt’s lips. The bastard was teasing him. That earned him a light swat to one of his lovely thick thighs. “I was thinking about spicing up our love life in a different way, and wanted your opinion on it. Didn’t know what you liked. Well, if I’m honest, I’m not entirely sure what I like yet. There are so many options!”

“You don’t have the tits for that one,” Geralt drawled, nodding towards the lovely leather piece Jaskier had pulled up. It had been complete with crisscrossing leather straps (and had a lovely picture with other leathery suggestions in it, though it might be a bit too daring of them to jump that far into spiciness without testing the waters a bit first).

He pretended to be offended by that, gasping and putting one hand on his chest. “I’m wounded, Geralt, how could you?” After a second of staring at him blandly, Geralt leaned forward just long enough to peck the tip of his nose, making Jaskier scrunch it up and lose his faux offended expression. “Well...you’re not wrong. You do though.”

“No.”

“You’re no fun.” He stuck his tongue out just a little, but he knew better than to leave it out. Not if he wanted a productive conversation - Geralt was known to bite.

“But, you are right. I’m not actually too fond of the thought of a brazier; they look wonderful on some but I’m not sure they would on me. Shame most of the pieces are made for more feminine bodies...” A real shame, really, though at least there were more options for him nowadays than there used to be. Most places even let you custom order as the norm instead of paying a shit ton extra for it.

He flipped through some of the tabs, watching Geralt through his periphery as he went through a few more options. Lots with crisscrossing straps, some with a delicious amount of lace (something Jaskier loves in theory more than in practice; it itched his skin something fierce), a lovely array of colors ranging from teal to red to a blue that Geralt even pointed out reminded him of Jaskier’s eyes, to the ever safe and secure black that would look good on anyone.

Not that Jaskier wanted something black. He might look good in it, but he yearned for colors. Let his dearest husband be the one who stuck to a monochrome closet, he would be a rainbow of fashion until his dying breath.

“Oh, but what about this one?” He pulled up an image of a cute piece in the google search, grinning at the aptly named ‘homosexual lingerie queer men’ piece. “Pink ribbon! You could untie me with your teeth instead of just ripping my pants off for once.”

Geralt gave one of his unimpressed hmms but his eyes darkened a little with interest, which made Jaskier quickly mark this particular pieces as a definite ‘Maybe’. Plus it would make his butt looks very cute and fuckable, with the ribbons tying around his plump little cheeks. Oof, what a confidence boost that would be.

And the ribbons around the front were an even better bonus. The thought of wearing it under his clothes out in public, for only him and Geralt to know, made him squirm a little - better to think about that later, after they’d decided on a piece or two.

“Not getting it?”

“I want options, dear heart, have you ever known me to only get one?” Plus that one, as beautiful as it was, was also 90% lace. He needed a non-lacey option.

Geralt pushed him forward a little, helping him rearrange as he moved behind him, propping his chin on Jaskier’s shoulder to peer over it while he held him. Jaskier leaned back into him and tilted his head to let Geralt get cozy, sighing as Geralt left a few very soft, unassuming kisses to his jawline and neck.

“Oh I just love the name of some of these.” Some of them were quite...cringy, borderline uncomfortably so, with the way they were named. But it didn’t stop him from checking out some of them, and one in particular really grabbed his interests. “Geralt! The sleeves! Oh I just love them, isn’t this such a unique piece?”

This one, Jaskier was simply in love with. Red velvet, a cute tummy piece that had velvet ties attaching it to some lacy straps that wound around the upper thighs. He clicked through the pictures, even adoring the small, velvety bra piece, the cute bow in front absolutely tickling his interest. But the upper body piece is what really drew him in, the puffy shoulder pieces and the short sleeves and the tight collar, a zip up back and the open chest part - the style really was unique when weighed against all the others they’d flipped through, and really, the bow that went right above the thong like straps for the bottom sold it for him.

“Do you like it?” He wiggled his hips as he tilted his head to look at Geralt, a hopeful sort of pout on his lips. “Oh, tell me you love it, I know you love red on me.”

“Looks good on you,” Geralt agreed, squeezing him all tight just because he could, really looking at the lingerie piece, studying it with a thoughtful frown. “Not bad. Probably feels nice.”

“Much nicer than the full lace pieces for sure, though the lacy edges might still itch. Lots of things to untie, a few clasps, even a zipper - would make stripping more interesting.”

“Slower.”

“That’s why it’s called teasing, love, it’s supposed to be slow. Achingly so.”

Geralt nipped his neck, his eyes still on the laptop screen. “It...would suit you.”

“Really? You really think so?” He didn’t hide his giddy grin, not bothering saving this one for later, immediately adding it to his cart and checking out - Geralt had to rattle off their card information for him after he gave him a pitiful pout, whining over the thought of getting up and not being good enough with numbers to remember it all on his own.

With the order settled away, all Jaskier had left to do was pout over how long it would take to get there. Two to three weeks was entirely unfair and too far away. Geralt held him in his mourning, the laptop forgotten and tossed across the bed, Jaskier’s cheek squished against his husband’s glorious chest, their bed an absolute mess with the pillows crowded in their corner and the blanket almost pushed entirely off with how Jaskier was splayed across it. 

“It’s not fair,” he whined, just to feel Geralt’s fingers work their way through his hair.

“You’re a mess,” was his husband’s only response, but as Jaskier looked up at him with forced tears in his eyes he knew what Geralt had really meant: he was his mess.

[pitviperofdoom]

I really liked your 'Life Preserver' excerpt and I'd love to read more about it. I liked the interaction between Gerry and Georgie, their characterization and Gerry's description of his relationship with Jon, plus this exchange: “He thinks your mum’s a homophobe, you know.”“You know, he’s probably right? Think she might just hate the idea of love in general, though.”“Messy divorce, I take it,”“Rohypnol and garden shears were involved, so yeah, I’d say it was pretty messy.”

Thanks!

Yeah, Gerry and Georgie surprised me as a really interesting dynamic to explore. In spite of Georgie’s caution around the Entities, Gerry just feels like the kind of person Georgie would get along with, given the people she canonically ends up loving.

Anyway here’s another part I’ve written! This one actually has Jon and Gerry in it.

---

When Jon went in for his next shift, things went smoothly enough to be genuinely suspicious. Tina was his desk partner again, and she greeted him with the same cordiality as always. No one official-looking ever came by to speak with him.

The only hint that anything had happened that night was a campus-wide e-mail paying respects to Daniel Lattimer, one of the subject librarians, who was reported as having “passed unexpectedly”. The message held all of the usual official platitudes and nothing else; Jon had read it word for word several times to be sure.

Someone should have known, shouldn’t they? It wasn’t as if he had been careful about covering his tracks, beyond making his tip anonymous. The library had cameras. He was sure he’d left at least a few shoe prints in all the blood.

But nothing came of it. The first hour passed peacefully, with nothing more exciting than a couple of patrons he had to inform of overdue books.

Jon spotted the familiar dark figure out of the corner of his eye, even before Tina hissed a warning at him. He raised his head to watch Gerard Keay’s approach, chest suddenly tight with nervousness.

How on earth was he supposed to explain this?

“Hey.” Gerard was in front of him already, leaning his elbows on the desk as usual. “Any word on that book? I tried to come in yesterday, but you were closed.”

“R-right.” Jon hesitated. There were several ways he could answer this. He could, of course, be utterly truthful and tell him that he’d burned the thing on account of it being made of meat and killing one of the librarians. He almost laughed at the thought. At worst, Gerard would complain to someone about Jon being unhelpful; at best, he’d find it funny, but he’d demand a real answer once he was done laughing about it.

He could lie and stall by saying that the book was still on its way. But that was a temporary fix at best, and it would only lead Gerard to keep coming in and asking.

And would that really be so bad? Jon shook his head to clear away the thought.

“Right,” he said again. “A-about that. Unfortunately—” He slipped his bandaged hand behind the desk, out of sight. “—we were unable to find the book in storage. It seems to have been marked incorrectly. It happens sometimes. Though not very often, I assure you,” he added hastily. “But it’s been marked down as missing, I’m afraid.”

“Oh.” Gerard’s face was the very picture of disappointment. “That’s a shame. Really did need that one.”

“Terribly sorry for the inconvenience.” Jon tried to sound like he meant it.

It was hard to force down the sheer, overwhelming relief. Just last night he’d regretted his own paranoia, but now? If he hadn’t gone back, if he hadn’t checked for the book…

Well, the library might not have been closed yesterday. And he didn’t have the first shift at the circulation desk. And whoever did might have been someone who didn’t know, someone who wasn’t haunted by the name Jurgen Leitner, who might have taken the book from the cart and handed it straight over—

The unwelcome memory of Mr. Lattimer’s body rose up behind his eyes, juxtaposed over the young man standing before him.

As a child, he’d doomed someone else to a gruesome death that should have been his. So maybe this time… maybe he’d actually…

“Well then,” said Gerard, shaking him out of his bubble of thoughts. “Guess that’s—er, guess I’ll look elsewhere…”

“Right,” said Jon. “Unless there was anything else you needed…?” He tried not to sound too hopeful.

“No, thanks, that’s it,” said Gerard, already turning away. “Thanks for all the help.”

“Oh, I hardly—I mean, I didn’t really do much, in the end.”

Gerard regarded him for a moment, head tilted to one side with a thoughtful look. Then, quite without warning, he smiled at him. “Don’t sell yourself short. You were great.”

“O-of course,” Jon stammered as Gerard turned to leave again. “Oh, wait—wait a moment.”

Gerard looked back. “Yeah?”

Jon dug into his pocket, pulling out the lighter. “Is this yours?” he asked, placing it on the desk. “I found it on one of the tables in the reading room, and I remembered you had it the other day…”

Instead of taking it, Gerard simply flashed him one last grin. “Keep it,” he said. “I’ve got loads.”

“It’s really not good to keep ignition sources in a library,” Jon protested, feeling inordinately flustered.

Gerard laughed, a brief, bright thing, and—

“D’you want to get coffee?” Jon blurted out.

The smile froze on Gerard’s face, before giving way to surprise. “What?”

A stab of terror nearly robbed Jon of his words, before he found his voice again and forged ahead. “Do you—I mean. Do you want to get coffee sometime?” he repeated. Shit. Shit, he was doing this, how was he already doing this? “With me?” He wanted to kick himself, of course he’d know he meant it that way. “I—my shift ends at noon today. If you’re free. I-if you want to, I mean.”

Gerard blinked at him, so utterly bewildered that it might have been funny if Jon’s heart weren’t currently climbing into his throat. “You—wait. Is this… are you asking me on a date?”

He said it so incredulously, as if the idea that Jon would ask him on a date were utterly incomprehensible to him. Rapidly, Jon’s heart sank back down.

“Yes,” Tina leapt in helpfully. “He is. Aren’t you, Jon?”

She nudged him none too gently. “Y-yes,” he said, because it wasn’t as if he could dig himself any deeper. “That—that was the intention.”

“Huh.” Gerard shrugged. “Sure.”

The whiplash made Jon dizzy for a moment. “Really?”

“Yeah. Noon, right? See you then.” With that, he turned and walked out of the library.

Once he was out of sight, Jon slumped over onto the surface of the desk like a marionette with its strings cut.

Tina patted his back. “Proud of you. Go get that goth D.”

***

It wasn’t that Gerry didn’t know it was a terrible idea—just that he’d had worse ones before. He was still breathing after years of them, in fact. So what was one more?

Jon the librarian was far from the first scarred survivor he’d ever met. They weren’t common, precisely, but nor were they unheard of. Technically he was one, and Mum had been as well, before she carved herself up.

But Gerry knew he was an outlier, and as rare as surviving one brush with the Fears was, meeting two of the things and escaping uneaten from both was on a level of its own. But against all odds, when he looked at the wispy little librarian who’d spent the past week being so divertingly helpful, Gerry could see two separate, distinct marks on him, where there had previously been only one. And they really were distinct from one another. The Flesh was like a shark sometimes, content to take one good bite before losing interest and wandering off, while the wisps of the Web still clung jealously. A scar like that could have been left years ago or the day before they met. You could never tell with the Web.

That added to the risk, of course. For all he knew, this was some ploy from the Mother of Puppets to catch him and draw him in. A little cliche, maybe, but Gerry couldn’t fault it for its efficacy.

He’d said yes, after all.

In his defense, it wasn’t every day he met someone with a nice face, a taste for burning Leitners, and enough luck or fortitude to walk away from two different Powers. Nor was it every day a person like that asked him to… well…

People didn’t flirt with him, was the thing. Anyone who knew enough to be worth talking to either wised up and ran the other way, or turned around and tried to take a chunk out of him.

So, yeah. Might as well give it a shot. See what it was like, while he had the chance.

He had til noon to brace himself, anyway. Not enough time to go back to Mum’s and freshen up, which was a shame. She’d just faded out a couple of days ago, so he knew he’d have the place to himself.

Ah, well.

In spite of himself, Gerry found himself turning his face upward with a grin and an excited spring in his step. It’d be a bit like traveling abroad, or visiting tourist traps, or all the other things he indulged in when Mum was gone. See as much of the world beyond his own as he could, before she finally fucked up and got him killed.

A date! Who’d have thought he’d get to check that one off the bucket list?

[sunny54st]

SteveTony - Getting Together

Here are some Getting Together fics that I adore. Don't forget to leave kudos and nice comments in every fic!

Lovesick, by royal_chandler, 3 k >, fluff.

The depth of the flu aisle in the pharmacy is substantial, overwhelmingly so, and Steve is half-convinced he needs to return to the front and trade his basket for a full-on cart.

There's a Party Going on Right Here, by Annie D (scaramouche), Post-Endgame.

After the Battle of Earth, Tony hosts a party.

Open Tab , by machi_kun , 5k> words, Post-Avengers 2012.

Tony has a lot of money. Really. More money he could possibly ever spend by himself. So what if he spends some of it buying gifts for his friends? People like gifts! And Steve is his friend. His best friend, actually, inside the Avengers, and he’s glad it turned out this way - so it’s also a way of saying 'thanks for putting up with me', he thinks. He just wants Steve to be happy. If Tony can make him happy, then why wouldn’t he? Tony buying Steve gifts is no big deal. Shut up, Rhodey.

(Pretty) Odd, by machi_kun, 5 k> words, Developing Relationship, Fluff.

In his file, Tony Stark had been described as eccentric. He had also been described as a narcissist, as a self-destructive liability, as not-recommended, and all sort of fancy words that are used to disguise the fact that they were calling him an all-around asshole; And that’s a very long list of bad adjectives, for a guy Steve saw carry a nuke behind his back to save the city, gave them a place to stay, and is slowly showing himself to be one of the most curious people Steve has ever met. Maybe Tony Stark is eccentric – and maybe he is a bit of an asshole. But maybe he’s also more than that.

Six Times DUM-E Made It Worse (and One Time He Fixed It) by FestiveFerret, 4 k > words, Outsider POV.

DUM-E has a lot of Very Important jobs to do, and he does his best to do them right. Sometimes, though, things don't work out very well.

All he wants is for his humans to be happy.

Sweet Child O' Mine by starspangledsprocket, 9 k > words, Age Regression/De-Aging, Fluff.

After just their second outing as the Avengers, everyone except for Steve and Tony are turned into toddlers. Madness ensues.

'Cause Everytime We Touch by Perlmutt, 5 k > words, Touch-Starved.

Steve noticed it the first time they were officially introduced at Fury’s office after the battle of New York.

He extended his hand for a handshake, a silent peace offer after their horrible first meeting at the helicarrier almost a week ago. Stark looked at it like it would bite him any second. Steve could see how his hands twitched where he’d buried them in his pockets. But instead of taking his hand, he stared into his eyes for a moment and nodded before turning back to Fury.

Only later would Steve learn that it wasn’t hatred or aversion.

how the thought of you does things to me by Finduilas, 6 k > words, Mutual Pining, Domestic Avengers.

Steve has a thing for Tony's butt. Tony has a thing for Steve's beard. They're both very obvious about it (just ask any of their friends!), but somehow they manage to also be completely oblivious.

Right here waiting by gottalovev, 19 k > words, Cat Dads.

Steve has been missing Tony like crazy since he left the compound. One day, Steve drops in unannounced at the tower, and when on a walk for coffee they rescue newborn kittens.

Or: A yearning Steve, an oblivious Tony, and co-parenting kittens. (= fuff!)

picture perfect (picture us) by starklystar, 18 k > words, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Photo Shoots.

Tony has a habit of being handsy during photoshoots.

Steve has a habit of being flustered whenever Tony touches him.

Misunderstandings happen.

Or, five times Steve and Tony went to a photoshoot

+ the one time they had better things to do.

++ the one time they take their photoshoot online.

take me out (to the ball game) by muItifandomjess, 1 k > words, Fluff.

“Take me out to the ball game, take me out with the crowd,” Steve sings, his shoulder bumping into Tony’s as he sways back and forth. “Come on, Tony, sing!”

“I am a genius billionaire playboy philanthropist,” Tony protests around a mouthful of hot dog. “I do not sing.”

Or, Steve and Tony go to a ball game. It all kind of snowballs from there.

Drifting Further Everyday by GotTheSilver, 8 k > words, Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier.

Steve’s quiet a lot of the time, it’s almost like living with a ghost, and Tony kind of hates it; he lives with more than enough actual ghosts every day. The longer time goes on, the more Tony recognises what’s going on, sees the jumpiness, the haunted look on his face, and he gets it. Realises they’re both trying to bury things they don’t want to talk about. More often than not, Tony turns around in the workshop to see Steve sitting there, patiently working on something in his sketchbook or reading an actual book, usually something he missed during the years he was frozen.

Somehow Steve is filling all the gaps in his life Tony didn’t realise he needed filling.

Goop, Or Five Times Steve Rogers Was Covered In... Something, And One Time Tony Was by Bill_Longbow, 7 k > words, Mutual Pining.

There were a lot of things Steve had expected about the future; sleek buildings, sleeker electronics, and all the food you can eat. Being covered in alien goop wasn't one of them.

or

How Steve being covered in... stuff, brings Tony and Steve closer.

The art of longing by itsallAvengers, 63 k > words, Oblivious Tony, Not Actually Unrequited Love.

Steve's used to missing his shot. To being too late, too scared, and losing everything. But he really did think that this time, with Tony, something could work.

Then Tony meets Mark. He's cool and charming, he's a scientist and he's perfect for a man like Tony Stark.

And suddenly Steve...

Well. Steve just doesn't have a place anymore

earth laughs in flowers by starksnack, 3 k > words, Love Confessions, Secret Admirer.

A secret admirer has been sending Tony flowers and confessions of love.

Crash Into You by FestiveFerret, 15 K > words, Post-Avengers (2012), Stranded.

Tony was pretty used to crashing.

It seemed like these days more often than not his return to earth in the Iron Man suit was at least somewhat out of control. He couldn't count the number of times he'd used a helpfully situated building, a local landmark, or, hey, even a teammate to slow a wild descent. And he'd be damned if he'd admit it to Pepper, but on more than one occasion he hadn't even been conscious when he'd hit the ground.

So crashing wasn't really a new experience. He would get banged up a bit, maybe put a scratch in the suit somewhere, but bruised ribs healed and there was no better way to work off the post-battle high than smoothing dents out of his most prized possession.

He had a feeling crashing in the Quinjet, without his armour, was going to be a bit different..

I like me better (when I'm with you) by I_write_things_sometimes, 79 k > words, Domestic Avengers, Friends to Lovers.

If you ask either of them how they got together, they'd go back to an unremarkable night filled with expensive food, rich donors, and lots of schmoozing. And, of course, the anxiety attack that started it all.

"Not recognizing someone was strange enough, but the longer the two men spoke with — or, more accurately at — Tony, the more convinced Steve was that the conversation was unwanted, at least on Tony’s part.

The first clue was that Tony was actively leaning away from the men he was talking to. Steve had learned firsthand that Tony was an incredibly tactile person. When he wanted to talk to you, Tony engaged completely; he’d sling his arm around your shoulders, squeeze your arm, or drag you around as he talked, walked and usually did at least two other things. Even when he argued, Tony was often immediate and in his opponent's space; Steve knew that from experience.

Right now? Tony was scanning the outskirts of the room rather than making eye contact with the men near him. If Steve had to guess, Tony was looking for the nearest exit."

Or, the way Steve Rogers and Tony Stark became friends and then more.

Mission SteveTony by itsallAvengers, 7 k > words, Mutual Pining, Oblivious Steve Rogers.

If the entire team of Avengers could please stop trying to get it on with Tony when Steve is right there, he would really appreciate that, thank you

you'll wait a long time by nanasekei, 16 k > words, Pining, Post-Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie).

Steve and Tony share a moment during a wedding. Things escalate from there.

-

Alternatively: Four weddings, a funeral, and one very emotionally stunted idiot.

The Game by FestiveFerret, 5 k > words, Gay Chicken.

The game starts when Tony walks into the garage to find Steve sitting astride the R1200RS, staring down at his phone, and he maybe, just a little bit, walks into a car.

Talking Bodies by itsallAvengers, 13 k > words, Misunderstandings, Insecure Steve Rogers.

Coincidentally, the physical effects of romantic and sexual desire match up very closely with the physical effects of fear. But it's not a problem-- it's not like anyone is going to be able to hear the way your heart speeds up, or see the minute dilation of your pupils, are they? They'd have to be some sort of Superhuman to do that.

And what's worse than a Superhuman hearing that quick pulse and seeing those dilated eyes and concluding that you're in love with them?

A Superhuman hearing that quick pulse and seeing those dilated eyes and thinking you're terrified of them.

more than just a dream. by frostfall, 10 k > words, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Parent Tony Stark.

Tony: Fine.

Tony: I think I might.

Tony: Just might.

Tony: Have a teensy-weensy crush.

Peter: ;)

Peter: Is it who I think it is?

Tony: Unfortunately, yes.

Tony: You happy now?

(Peter thinks he's found the perfect partner for his dad. Tony thinks his son has officially lost his mind. Steve's just oblivious to the fact that he's out of Tony's league.)

don’t want you to get it on (with nobody else but me). by frostfall, 4 k > words, Jealous Steve Rogers, The Pocky Game.

There are a lot of things that Steve doesn’t get about the future. But it’s fine. He will, eventually. He has time.

But one thing he knows is that he’ll never, ever be able to wrap his head around is the fanfare surrounding Pocky.

(Or Steve’s jealous of biscuit sticks.)

check yes (if the feeling isn't new) by cvptains, 12 k > words, Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Meddling.

After the battle with Thanos, both Tony and Steve struggle with reconnecting in certain aspects of their lives. Sam Wilson and Peter Parker are totally over it.

Where both Steve and Tony's respective friends make accounts for them on the renowned dating app, FlickLove, and the results come out a bit... surprising. Cue unadvisable meddling that really — honestly — comes from good intentions.

take my heart clean apart by mistymountainking, 13 k > words, Tony Stark Has Self-Esteem Issues.

He’s tired, so tired of waiting, tired of touches with no meaning, tired of holding his breath when Steve’s in the room, tired of keeping this love to himself.

“I can’t—I can’t, if you don’t mean it.”

***

Tony comes home exhausted after an SI event. Steve acts as welcoming committee. It's an old, careworn routine they've perfected over the years, but tonight ends up going in a very different direction.

[seaofghouls]

DSMP FALLS! <1>

Ah! Summer break! A time for leisure, recreation, and taking her easy.

..Unless you're me.

A pair of triplets crash through a billboard with a go-kart. "AAAAAHHH!" Being followed by a monster of unimaginable horror. "It's getting closer!" One of the triplets cried. My name is Y/N. The boy to the right of me about to puke is my triplet brother, Tubbo, while the boy to my left screaming profanities is my other triplet brother, Tommy. You may be wondering what we're doing in this situation. "Look out!" Tubbo cried. "Agh!" Y/N screamed. "This monster is such a bitch!" Tommy cried. "Tommy!" Tubbo frowned. Rest assured, there's a perfectly logical explanation!

... Let's rewind. It all began when our parents decided we could use some fresh air. They shipped us up to Gravity Falls, Oregon, to stay with our great uncle in the woods. "This attic is amazing! Just look at all of my splinters!" Tubbo cried. "..And there's a fucking goat on my bed." Tommy sighed.

Tubbo walked up to the goat.

"Hey, new friend! Yes, you can keep chewing on my shirt!" Tubbo giggled. Y/N giggled as well. Tubbo and Tommy seemed to look on the bright side of things. I, however, was having a bit of a harder time getting used to our new surroundings. "Boo!" "Aagh!" Y/N jumped up from their spot from under a tree. An old man took off a mask and started laughing. And then there was our great uncle Schlatt. That guy. Our uncle had transformed his house into a tourist trap called the Mystery Shack. The real mystery is why anyone came. And guess who had to work there? Y/N sighed, sweeping the floor. Tubbo reached out to touch something in this gift shop before Schlatt slapped his hand away.

"No touching the merchandise!" He said. Tommy snickered and touched it anyway out of spite. It seemed like it was going to be the same routine all summer, until one fateful day.

"Alright, look alive folks! I need someone to go hang up these signs in the spooky part of the forest." Schlatt said. "Not it!" The triplets said at the same time. "Also not it." Ranboo said. "Nobody asked you, Ranboo." Schlatt said. "I know and I'm comfortable with that." Ranboo smiled. "Niki! I need you to put up these signs!" Schaltt said. "I would.. but I can't.. reach." She trailed off. "I'd fire all of you if I could." Schlatt sighed. "Okay, let's make it eeny, meeny, miny, you." Schlatt pointed at Y/N. "Yes!" Tommy and Tubbo exclaimed. "Awe what? Gruncle Schlatt, whenever I'm in those woods I feel like I'm being watched." Y/N said. "Oh, this again." He rolled his eyes. "I'm serious, something weird is going on! Just today, my mosquito bites spelled out beware!" Y/N said, showing schlatt their arm. "...That says bewarb." Schlatt said. "Look kid, the whole monsters in the forest thing is just a local legend. Drummed up by guys like me to sell merch to guys like that." Schlatt pointed at a guy distracted by a schlatt bobblehead. "So quit being so paranoid!" Schlatt said. ... "Ugh, Gruncle Schlatt. nobody ever believes what I say." Y/N groaned as they hammer signs in the forest. They hammer another tree but stop when they hear metal. "huh?" They hit it the hammer again in curiosity. Finding a secret door with a machine inside, they mess with the buttons for a bit before something opens up behind them. "What the.." Reaching into the hole, they find a dusty old journal. They brush it off and start reading. "Woah.. trust no one, huh?" Y/N mumbled. "Hello!" Tubbo exclaimed. "What are you reading, some nerd book?" Tommy asked. "Uh-uh, it's nothing!" Y/N exclaimed. "Uh-UH IT'S NOTHING!" Tommy mocked. "What, are you seriously not gonna show us?" Tubbo asked. "..Let's go somewhere more private," Y/N said. ... "It's amazing! Gruncle Schlatt said I was being paranoid, but apparently, Gravity Falls has this secret dark side!" Y/N exclaimed. "WOAH!" Tubbo exclaimed. "SHUT UP!" Tommy pushed Y/N with a grin on his face. "Get this! After a certain point, the pages just stop! Like the guy who was writing it mysteriously disappeared!" Y/N exclaimed.

The doorbell rang. "Who's that?" Y/N asked. "Welp, time to spill the beans! This guy's got a platonic date!" Tubbo grinned. "Platonic??" "Date??" Schlatt walked in as Tubbo came back in with someone. "Hey family, I want you to meet my new platonic boyfriend!" Tubbo exclaimed. "Sup." He said. "Hey." Y/N and Tommy said. "How's it hanging?" Schlatt finger gunned. "We met at the cemetery. He's really deep." Tubbo smiled. "..What's your name?" Y/N asked. "Normal.. Man!" He groaned out. "He means Norman." Tubbo giggled. "..Are you bleeding, Norman?" Tommy asked. "..It's jam." Norman said. Y/N stared at him in suspicion before Tubbo dragged Norman away. There was something with Norman that wasn't right. I decided to consult the journal. Y/N read the journal out loud. "Known for their pale skin and bad attitudes.. these creatures are often mistaken for.. TEENAGERS?!" Y/N exclaimed. "Beware Gravity Falls' nefarious ZOMBIES?!" Y/N gasped. "Zombies??" Tommy gasped. He was sitting there with Y/N. "Tommy, outside!" Y/N exclaimed. "Oh, no! Tubbo!" They both yelled. Norman lurched towards Tubbo, grabbed him, and put a flower crown on him. "Daisies?? You scallywag!" Tubbo gushed. "Is our brother dating a zombie or are we just going nuts?" Tommy muttered. "It's a dillema to be sure." Charlie said. "Agh!" Y/N jumped. "I couldn't help but overhear you guys talking to yourselves in this empty room." Charlie explained. "Charlie, you've seen Tubbo's platonic date, right? He's got to be zombie!" Y/N said. "Hm.. how many brains did you see the guy eat?" Charlie asked. "Zero.." Y/N sighed. "Look, dudes, I believe you. I'm seeing strange thing in this town all the time. Like, the mailman, I'm pretty sure that guy's a werewolf. But! You gotta have proof, or else people will think you're a major cukoo clock." Charlie said. "As always, big C, you're right." Tommy said. "My wisdom is both a wisdom and a curse." Charlie said. "Charlie! The toilets are clogged again!" Schlatt called out. "I am needed elsewhere." Charlie took off. Y/N and Tommy decided to work together to get some evidence. Throughout their studies, Norman certainly had strange behavior, but not enough to convict him of anything supernatural. "I'll talk to Tubbo, don't worry, sib!" Tommy said. "Alright." Y/N nodded. ... Tommy walked into the triplets' shared room. "Tubbo, we've got to talk about Norman." Tommy said. "I know! Isn't he great?? Look at this smooch mark he gave me!" Tubbo turned his head to show a large red area on his face. "Egh!" Tommy cried. "Hah! Gullible. It was just an accident with the leafblower. That was fun." Tubbo laughed. "No, listen, Tubbo! I'm trying to tell you that Norman is not what he seems! The journal that Y/N found!" Tommy insisted. "You think he might be a vampire?? That would be awesome!" Tubbo gasped. "Guess again, big T! A zombie he is!" Tommy said. "A zombie?? Not funny, Tommy!" Tubbo frowned. "I'm not joking! Y/N can agree, it all adds up! The bleeding, the limp, he never blinks! Have you noticed that??" Tommy exclaimed. "Maybe he's blinking when you're blinking." Tubbo suggested. "HE'S GOING TO EAT YOUR BRAINS, BIG T!" Tommy shook Tubbo. "Tommy! Listen to me. Norman and I are going on a date tonight and I'm going to be adorable! He's going to be dreamy! And I'm not going to let you and Y/N ruin it with another one of your crazy conspirices!" Tubbo kicked Tommy out. "Ah man.. what am I gonna do??" Tommy slumped against the door. Someone sat down next to him. "How'd it go, bro-bro?" Y/N asked. "He's refusing to listen.. He kicked me out." Tommy sighed. Y/N frowned. "Not surprising. Hopefully he'll come to that realization in his own." ... The two out of three triplets were sitting on the couch, looking over the footage. "I guess we don't have any actual evidence, huh?" Y/N sighed. "Yeah.. I guess we can be kinda paranoid sometimes-" Tommy stopped. In the footage clip, Norman's hand fell off and he put it back on. "WAIT WHAT?!" Tommy and Y/N exclaimed. They leaped off

the

couch in a hurry. "WE WERE RIGHT! HOLY SHIT!" Tommy exclaimed. Racing outside, the two tried to find their uncle. "GRUNCLE SCHLATT! GRUNCLE SCHLATT!" Y/N called out. Schlatt wasn't paying attention.

"Wait! Niki has the cart!" Tommy suggested. "Good eye, Tommy!" Y/N grinned. "Niki! Niki! We need the cart to save our brother from a zombie!" They ran up to her. "Try not to hit any pedestrains." She winked, giving them the keys. "Alright, Tommy! Let's go save our sister!" Y/N grinned. They backed up before Charlie stopped them. "Dudes! This is for the zombies." He handed them a shovel. "Thanks." Y/N grinned, "This is in case you see a pinata." He handed them a bat. "..Thanks?" Tommy said. "Better safe than sorry!" He called out. Tommy and Y/N sped off to find their brother. They heard screams and drove to the direction of the sound. "LET'S GO!" Y/N exclaimed. "Get his arm there, Steve!" Tubbo was struggling against several gnomes. "WHAT THE FUCK IS GOING ON HERE?!" Tommy exclaimed. "Tommy! Y/N! Norman turned out to be a bunch of gnomes! And they're total assholes!" Tubbo cried.

"Gnomes..? We were way off." Tommy mumbled. Y/N flipped open the journal. "Damn.. no weaknesses." They sighed. "Hey! Hey! Let go of my brother!" Y/N demanded. "This is all one big misunderstanding. Your brothers not in any danger! He's just marrying all one thousand of us and becoming our king for all of eternity!" The lead gnome explained. "Give him back right now, or else, prick!" Tommy demanded. "You think you can stop us, child? You have no idea what we're capable of!" The gnome went on a tangent before Tommy scooped him up with the shovel and tossed him to the side. Y/N used that chance to free Tubbo, dragging him back to the kart with Tommy. "GO GO GO!" Tubbo exclaimed. "I wouldn't worry about it. See their little fucking legs? Those pricks are tiny." Tommy smirked. Tommy stopped when they heard the noises of a creature. A giant gnome creature, to be exact. "Damn." Tubbo said. "MOVE! GO GO GO!" Y/N screeched. The giant creature chased them through the forest. Gnomes launched onto the kart. "Agh!" Tubbo exclaimed. "GET OFF MY FACE!" Y/N cried. "I got you, sib!" Tubbo punched the gnome, while also accidentally punching Y/N several times before the gnome let go, revealing new bruises on Y/N's face. "..Thanks bro.." They winced. "Look out!" Tubbo cried. They crashed into the back of the Mystery Shack. They were officially cornered. The triplets hugged each other in terror. "W-where's Gruncle Schlatt??" Y/N asked. "It's the end of the line, kids! Tubbo, marry us before we do something crazy!" The lead gnome ordered. "There's gotta be a fucking way out of this.." Tommy muttered. "I gotta do it." Tubbo decided. "What?!" The other two triplets exclaimed. "Tubbo, are you crazy?!" Y/N asked. "Trust me." Tubbo said. "..What??" Tommy gasped. "Trust me, just this once, guys." Tubbo said. The two hesitated and then nodded. "Alright, Jeff. I'll marry you." Tubbo stepped forward. "Hot dog!" The lead gnome climbed down to Tubbo. "You may now kiss the groom." Tubbo said after the lead gnome put a ring on his finger. "Well, I don't if I do!" The lead gnome grinned, puckering up. Tubbo took that chance to hit him with the leafblower that was left outside. "Agh!" The gnome screamed. "That's for lying to me! That's the breaking my heart! And that's for messing with my siblings!" Tubbo shot the gnome off into the forest and the rest of the gnomes scattered away. As the triplets walked back into the Mystery Shack, Tubbo stopped them. "Hey, Y/N, Tommy, I'm sorry. You two were really just trying to look out for me." Tubbo sighed. "Oh, don't be like that! You saved our asses back there!" Tommy smiled. "I guess I'm just sad that Norman turned out to be a bunch of gnomes." Tubbo sighed. "Hey, look on the bright side! Maybe the next one will be a vampire." Y/N giggled. "You're just saying that." Tubbo giggled, punching their shoulder. "..Awkward triplet hug?" Y/N suggested. "Awkward triplet hug." Tommy and Tubbo said together, the three of them in a hug. ... "Yeesh, you three get hit by a bus or something? Hahah!" Schlatt laughed. The triplets ignored him. "Hey, um,, I accidentally overstocked some items, why don't you three take something?" Schlatt said. "What's the catch?" Y/N raised an eyebrow. "The catch is do it before I change my mind, now go!" Schlatt said. The triplets grinned at each other. Tubbo picked out a grappling hook, Tommy picked out a music disc, and Y/N picked out a a hat with a bat symbol on it. ... This journal told me that there was no one you could trust. But when you go up against an army of gnomes with side by side with two people, you realize they probably got their back. "Tubbo, can you get the light?" Y/N asked. "You got it, sib!" Tubbo shot the grappling hook at the light. "Oh, for fuck's sake!" Tommy rolled his eyes. Tubbo and Y/N giggled. Our uncle told us there was nothing strange about this town, but who knows what other secrets are waiting to be unlocked? -------

[matchamorphosis]

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥  𝐜𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐯𝐚𝐥 𝐜𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐯𝐨𝐫𝐞

𝒎𝒆𝒍𝒕𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒍𝒊𝒌𝒆 𝒂𝒏 𝒊𝒄𝒆𝒄𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒎 𝒘𝒉𝒆𝒏 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒔𝒎𝒊𝒍𝒆

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 || ari punishes you for being a brat during your date out at the summer carnival

𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞 || pure filth, smut with some fluff

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 || modern AU agent!ari levinson × [black//woc]!reader + crossover!ransom drysdale

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 || 4K ⟶ 𝐝𝐢𝐯𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐝𝐢𝐭 || @firefly-graphics

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 || 18+ nsfw daddy!kink, age gape: reader is twenty one and ari is thirty five (don’t like, don’t read), heavy language, dirty talk, punishment: overstimulation, eating out, blowjob + spanking mention, movie crossover! + you might get a cavity just from reading this

𝐬𝐨𝐧𝐠 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐩𝐭𝐬 || melting by kali uchis ♡ angel by kali uchis ♡ honey baby (SPOILED!) by kali uchis

𝐰. 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞 || this was initially for @jtargaryen18’s writing challenge #30DaysofChris but i took a long break in the middle of writing it, sorry for the long wait lovely! ♡ this took less time to edit and write than i thought and believed but i hope you guys enjoy it just as much! ♡ reminder : italic means flashback, bold italics means thoughts/exaggerated dialogue, and non-italic/bold means present!

 + p.s || do not repost, republish or plagiarize my work on any other fanfic platform such as: wattpad, ao3, tumblr, etc or steal my work all together. do so and i will rip your spine from your scumy asshole and shove it down your talentless throat. ♡♡♡  

my storybook ღ join my taglist

BABY THIS IS A WONDERLAND

when your tongue licks the bittersweet honey glaze of my pussy lips, where my sinfully divine bubblegum dreams collapse with your good boy deeds but you just keep licking my core desperate. ‘cause baby the milk that leaks from the honey hive in between my thighs is like a strawberry cone to you- and your going to lick me up before I melt under your hot gaze.

"Ari," your meek whimper spills but he keeps licking.

as if he's trying to break the dam that'll give him the strawberry milk that will quench his undying thirst. you’re stuck in this pleasurable killing punishment, if only you knew to stop when you were told to. listen to the voice in your head to stop acting like rotten spoiled brat and you’d have the pleasure to grind your honey slicked cunt against his bearded face.

if only you listened...

"behave," Ari growled into your ear.

the single command is enough for you to roll your eyes and stick your tongue out up at him and so you do. of course Ari is used to seeing this brat but he was sure that with a glare or two you’d clean your act up but you’re still continuing your rotten attitude.

no, you don't want to fucking behave.

subtly walking away from him to the cotton candy vendor, the sound of the man pouring the sugar into the spiraling machine is music to your ears. a glare marks your sharp roseate lined eyes and a pout pulls at your glossed lips, all focused away from Ari but he still sees your rage.

it really wasn’t fair how he expected himself to go on this carnival date with you but not do the one thing that made you want to go. all that adding on that he expects you to behave and not be upset, it wasn’t for and you weren’t planning on calming down.

not even a little tiny bit, cause you want to go into the tunnel of love with him. all the small promises and little compromises made throughout the day as you and him walked and played the colorful tent games did he promise you that you and him would ride.

Ari knew how much this meant to you, you always wanted a special someone to sit besides the romantic boat ride with ever since you were a small girl.

it was his fault that he fell in love with a hopeless romantic, someone yearning to allow themselves be enveloped within the arms of their lover. feel their warmth as the red violet lights start to dim, kiss your lovers lips when you two meet the darkness. giggle when he confesses his sweet darling thoughts of you, you were a romantic for gods sake.

you wanted it so bad, yet every time you seem to mention it Ari deflects the topic with something else. another question or comment or confront your claim in the most abrupt yet sweet way possible.

“not now sweetheart, later maybe-”

“babydoll, do we really have to go in there?”

“it’s to much of a risk for daddy, honey bear!”

he would sweeten those claims up with kisses that would butter your mouth like the popcorn he hand fed you. it was tiring Ari out with your demands to ride The Tunnel of Love but now as he stand there witnessing his precious apple dumpling turn into a rather rotten and bratty apple he may fully turn down the conversation.

on top of that your pink and white gingham sundress displays a bit too much cleavage and leg for Ari’s liking. well he doesn’t like the dress, he loves it but he wouldn’t want you going out displaying it for everyone to see besides him. the nymphet styled cloth you walk so confidently may or may not have half the boys and men eyeing you everywhere you go.

this scene, the boys and grown men undressing you with their list filled hues and eye fucking you with every step your platforms take does make Ari want to snap at them. wonder if their mothers taught them better than to gawk, glare at the silly pubescent boys until they run away shitless. maybe intervene with the lustful stares of the men with a double fist threat.

it doesn’t ease the fire behind his eyes and the clenched fist he has when he’s noticing your smirk- the pounce in your stride that you seem to enjoy the attention.

the very way you bend down near the mirrors of a souvenir cart to re-apply the amber peach lipgloss to your lips is almost intentionally teasing for both Ari and anyone else watching. the way you glance at him through it, lashes batting and your glimmer hint hues screaming fuck me

he now knows this is all part of your game of acting up, you think you can get what you want from disrespecting his order and authority. it was so cute to him how you thought you could get away with your spoiled behavior.

sooner then later Ari is going to bend you over and teach you a lesson on teasing him in public.

the taste of strawberry cotton candy and buttery popcorn is still fresh and lingering in your mouth but you want to taste your juices on his candy red tongue.

"Ari," you carp, his tongue just keeps lapping up at your labia. unbothered and unfazed as hair spills over his forehead, he doesn’t care for he smiles when your plush thighs cage his face.

the continuous strokes of his talented tongue make your pussy flutter and spine shiver. wishing he’d push a fingers or two, god those thick fingers could undo any orgasm from you in matter of seconds. the thought makes a little drool seep from the corners to your mouth and you hug the large blue raspberry bunny Ari won for you closer to your chest. smelling the fruity scent as you whimpered when he bit at your cunt and kissed it better.

you’ve kept the fluffy berry scented stuffie close when Ari striked your ass cheeks earlier wit the same hands that keep your thighs gaped now. allowed you to have that dear comfort as he took on punishing you with his rough spanks.

the burning hand prints are probably visible now just as the wet tears around your eyes. the same streams that stained your peachy cheeks have dried but it wasn’t just your teasing that brought you up in your well deserved punishment.

no, you were in much deeper trouble than for that…

after your little tease show Ari figured to let you have your way, for now. it was always best for him to let you have your way since you were generally upset about not riding on the Tunnel of Love.

now, the golden rays of the sun setting radiated your glowing figure, hand with Ari’s the other holds your frosty pink cotton candy as you take the last bites of it. glancing up at Ari, you see the almost finished chocolate sprinkle swirled ice cream cone in his hand being treated with long slow licks.

attention going from the melting cone to his tongue you can’t help but want it.

want his hot tongue on you, in you.

you want it so so bad that you’re caught off guard when he smirks, not looking at you at all but feeling your stare. he feels your needy wants, knows the devious perverted thoughts going on in your pretty head and its all a dead giveaway when you hold his hand tighter before turning your head away from him.

your sudden shyness makes him let out a laugh. finishing the small cone within a few licks and bites. damn you are a contradiction of innocence and dirtiness that only helps his blood pound in devotion and cock harden in desire.

“what did we say about manners princess? it’s rude to stare at people while they’re eating,” Ari’s deep hushed words rattle your thoughts.

“I know daddy, I-” your words almost stumble when you feel the cool chocolate breaths wave upon your ear and his muscled arm wraps around your waist pulling you closer to him.

“is my princess getting needy? politely tell daddy what you want and maybe he’ll give it to you,” Ari whispers with a soft yet quick peck behind your ear, it’s almost enough for you to whine for more.

Ari knows you just can’t have that, it doesn’t even fill in a teaspoon of the battered lust that needs to be soothed. you really weren’t good at telling him what you wanted, sure physical and replaceable things weren’t an issue, clothes, purses, shoes, books. lets make it clear, if you see it, like it and want it- Ari bought it without hesitation.

however in situations like these, it wasn’t as if it was easy or hard to tell him what you want or what you want him to do to you. you just want him to just touch you, to feel his delicious large and warm hands- his gifted mouth on you already without being asked so many teasing questions.

“I want your tongue, daddy,” your words almost stumble out.

eyes to his now, they flutter innocently at him, biting your bottom lip you look down to notice the small tent at his pants and you smirk. given that rather rude action Ari’s hand that’s on your side goes down to grope the curve of your ass, giving it an equally gentle yet painful squeeze.

“you want daddy’s tongue princess? first tell daddy where you want it-” his sentence was interrupted by the loud vibration of his phone.

buzzing in his pocket you scoff at him when he takes it out to look at the pixel name displayed on the small screen. rolling your eyes when he doesn’t put it away you cross your arms, and let out a huff glaring up at him.

"daddy! mhmm!- daddy no more!" his eyes snap to yours, the sight of you makes him lick his lips.

shiny hair sprawled in all directions, face clouded with lust, the neckline to your pretty dress folded down to reveal your plump tits covered in his love bites. he’s trying his hardest not to give in to the throbbing temptation and smash his mouth against yours, take handfuls of your tits and fuck you till you can only say his name.

but he has much more control than that, he isn’t a needy baby like you. drooling at a few licks to your messy cunt and tits, god Ari knew he was lucky to have landed such a woman like you and you were his to bring as many orgasms as possible.

even if you didn’t want them, you were his little baby and his baby had rules to follow. breaking those rules resulted in punishments and as much as it hurt him to see you cry and whimper it was getting his cock hard to.

“now princess you wanted daddy’s tongue, and now you have it. that’s what you wanted so that’s what you’re going to get.” he muses as you licks your sensitive over-stimulated folds.

“but daddy you gave me four cummies already!-” you fumble into somewhat of a sob but the cry stops once Ari pinches the meat of your inner thighs making you whine at the sudden pain. “ouchy!” you snap, hating these painful thigh pinches but adoring the slow pussy licks.

“i’m teaching you a lesson princess, you’ve been such a fucking brat today so i’m going to treat you like a fucking brat.”

“but daddy!-”

“but what, princess? Daddy told you to stop but you never listen, you’re such a bad listener.” the tinge of disappointment is heartbreaking. tears swimming in your eyes knowing you have let your daddy down and you only wish at that moment -no matter how overstimulated your pussy- you’d go back in time an hour ago to prevent yourself from acting up.

“i’m sorry daddy-” the little broken sob that slips between your trembling lips makes Ari question himself if he’s punishing you too harshly but he thinks otherwise.

so he just tuts you as if he is scolding a child and your eyes swell up with more tears and you feel your bottom lip trembling in hurt.

“Daddy doesn’t want to hear an apology, daddy wants you to stay still so he’ll bring two more cummies out of you,”

hot tears fall as your throbbing pussy is fluttering with pain and pleasure, honey euphoria taking over you moan as your thighs shake and you release on his rubbing fingers. chest slightly heaving, you sniff as you feel your tears drying on your cheeks and watch Ari bring your creamy essence to his lips.

“princess look at the mess you made on daddy's hand. let daddy clean it up for you,”

after that rude phone call you were said to be meeting up with a friend of Ari's, well wouldn't want to say ‘friends’ more on the lines of acquaintances.

"I thought today was just us, he's your friend so why are dragging me into this." you mutter, yet when you feel his soft gaze on your eyes ease on your anger.

"be nice for daddy, okay princess?" he murmurs into your ear, snuggling into your neck. your chest lifts as you try to take in a deep breath and all the offensive rude snappy remarks on the tip of your tongue soften.

you hate the effect Ari has on you, your superior diva persona of sharp wit and pettiness strips away at his sweet and considering remarks. you’re his little spontaneous firecracker but when he cups your chin you turn into a kaleidoscope of butterflies. his feisty tiger cub that always calms down with his calming words and even soothing touch.

“fine,” you say and he smiles down at your stuff pout, it’s the best you’re going to give him and for that he pulls you closer to his side in gratitude.

walking side by side through the crowds, Ari adjusts the cap of the baseball hat down his forehead and you tuck in a piece of his hair behind his ear. making a rose heated blush appear on his cheeks which only brings out a wide smile and giggle from you.

“so, where is he? where are we meeting your ‘friend’?” your comment is sharp yet still soft enough to not avert the vex towards Ari.

“he said to meet us at the circus tent, before the clown stunts,”

“you thinking i’m going to meet him is a clown stunt-” you couldn’t help but let it slip out, you were still mad and you can’t help not to express it.

“princess what did we agree to-” Ari heavily sighs, a simple sign your running his patience but you roll your eyes.

“I know what we agreed to but I know nothing about your so called ‘friend’,”

how the hell did Ari expect you to be nice and peachy with a complete stranger when he warns you of them on a constant basis?

“we aren’t friends, we just have business to deal with,”

“yeah and what a professional scene to deal business then in a tent with lions, tigers and bears-” and suddenly a sharp slap hits your bottom and your to stunned to even register it.

oh my, oh my you’re in for a surprise and you sense it when the powder blue egg color of Aris mystic eyes shades darker. that again is a warning, for you to drop the attitude and suck up to this little silly social gathering but the pulling voices of your angry thoughts echoing fuck no are getting the best of you.

you always had your way, always and forever.

you two were surrounded by people and you even thought yourself no matter how pissed he was he wasn’t going to spank you. not pull you over his lap for children and parents to see but looking around you notice the sound of rides, people chattering, and laughing and playful screaming is to loud. everyone minding there own business to even notice his hand gliding up to wrap his fingers around your neck.

“don’t make me loose my patience. you are going to greet him politely, sit with him and-”

“god Ari do you want me to fuck him to?” you grumble and with that Ari grabs your jaw, directing your stare to his.

the grip on your wrist slightly tightened, his soft lips are to the shell of your ear and from afar it may seem like Ari is whispering something kind and dear from the way he’s smiling but you feel the snide in his harshly hushed words.

“is it that hard for you to be nice for my sake for ten decent minutes? I won’t fucking hesitate to pull you over my knee and spank you for the clowns and acrobats to see. I promise princess, if you even step a toe out of line you’re going to pray you haven’t. do you understand me?”

your glare is your only response until you mutter a small I understand daddy through your teeth barely loud for him to hear.

“speak up princess. I said, do you understand me?” Ari says, his words softer now and the grip on your jaw and wrist soften.

pressing a gentle kiss to your cheek he averts her face to meet him. “I promise you’re not going to regret meeting him. i’ve pulled a few strings to get him here but it’s all for you to enjoy,” he says and you quirk a brow at him, a smile finally pulling at your lips easing Ari.

“and who is that?” you say but Ari shakes his head with a small smirk, “I know you’ve been telling me how close you are to publishing your book and I thought why not I bring the finish line to you,” he says, you are still confused.

Ari was right, you are so close to making a publishing deal but you haven’t received any word in months. you yourself are getting anxious but the way you left the establishment shaking hands with the famous Harlan Thrombey himself. how he emphasized being invested in your work tore all those worries and fears away.

although, you were suppose to receive a call months ago, yet deadlines and interruptions of some sort keep on pushing your meeting with Harlan week after week. after that a contract was supposed to be sealed and editor negotiations completed and done for. not three months later you’ve received nothing and here you are wondering if Mr. Thrombey is having second thoughts on your work.

what is Ari planning for you with his friend?

⋄⟢⋅⟡⋅⟣⋄⟡⋄⟢⋅⟡⋅⟣⋄⟡⋄⟢⋅⟡⋅⟣⋄⟡⋄⟢⋅⟡⋅⟣⋄

sweat glistening your hairline, your soft whimpers fill the fairy light tent, only causing Ari to grip your inner thighs tighter. all this while his hot cherry tongue slides in and out your slick hole, you throw your head back. this pleasure feels like a fantasy and you’ve been reminiscing it to this point.

trying to move your glossy locks of hair away from your eyes, you hate the way he snapped at you earlier how you weren't allowed to touch him. not touch his soft toffee hair, his thickly bearded cheeks and muscled forearms- not even the comfort of his hand.

cause you’re in trouble and you aren’t allowed to touch him or yourself now or later until he says so. you’re the bad girl and the bad girl doesn’t get what she wants, no matter how much she pouts and cries.

"daddy!" and his eyes snap to yours, the pretty innocent blue now replaced by yearning.

knowing better to call his private title in public but the empty red, blue, and yellow striped carnival tent is the only event to do something like this. the soft music of the carousel in the background fuzzy, one of his hands creep up your bodice.

pulling down the tight neckline of your dress, he grips the soft mound tit in his hand and you erotically whimper as he roughly pinches the hard nipple. your pale pink and white gingham dress crowded your upper hips yet still lengthy enough that it covers Ari’s head. large warm palms caress your frosty cotton thigh highs as long slow licks smooth the folds of your fluttering pussy, aching to be satisfied by the pulse of his dick.

slow circular strokes of his thumb rub along the small slippery nub and your thighs twitch in blissful thrill over each of his shoulders. your feet in pink strap heels bounce and flinch every time Ari shoves his tongue in your hole. pouring out moans from you as you imagine his lips polished and shiny with your sweet pussy milk.

you want to see him, you want to see him eat you up you’re desperate to move the cloth over his head. see him licking and sucking the sinful treat he craves everyday. hating the sight of just his head bobbing up and down and side to side from the cover of your own dress you want to meet his eyes as he loudly moans while eating you out. slipping the small and loud growls and carnal noises release as he as his special treat.

daring to do so, you reach the hem of the dress and pull the fabric off his head, and there you see your handsome candyman. tawny brown hair tasseled and cheekbones red from the heat his eyes twinkle in mystic hunger, his lips soaked in your sensual essense. both his hands softly gripping your thighs, stroking your hips as his tongue still deep in your hole you let out a small whimper as he slips it out.

pupils wide and both the corners of his mouth leak with saliva and your cum and you feel your legs shaking a slight when he licks the corners. more so feel your pussy wetten when he glides his tongue over his top teeth glaring at you. awaiting the degrading scowl he has for you yet your surprised when you doesn’t pinch your thighs or claw at your hips even when he just smiles.

“peek-a-boo angel,” he purrs, eyes back to their cloud heaven blue and you feel your heart melting in your chest although it quickens when you brings his tongue right back to your pussy.

“so you must be {y/n l/n}, i’ve heard so much about you.” the young man sitting across from you chimes. You and Ari sit side by side on one of the many picnic tables around the humongous red and white circus tent.

“good things I hope, you must be Mr. Drysdale. how are you?” flashing your pearly white smile you rest your hand in the mans extended hand.

“what a doll, i’m doing great and how are you doing on this fine day?”

peachy fucking keen

he sounds like he’s trying his hardest to at least sound interactive and social. blue eyes move from your face to your cleavage and you want to snap at him to fucking pick.

“well today was excellent as a matter fact, a special day. all until you came along, you see Mr. Drysdale-”

“please, call me Ransom. Ari Levinson, long time no see! before we catch up why don’t you buy your lady a soda pop. i’d like to know the writers first before signing them off to my publish house,” the young man remarks, his eyes not to yours at all but to the way your dress tightly hugs your body.

Ari sees this, anger bubbling inside him he bits his tongue. meeting Ransom from his latest cases he was shocked to find out that he hadn’t been convicted for the third degree murder his buddy was investigating that had him wrapped up into it. even more shocked to find out that he had inherited his grandfathers publishing company.

this ‘meeting’ is to ensure you get your book published and live in your glory. so instead of barking at Ransom telling him to stop eye fucking you he instead offers you a kiss to the cheek and a soft stern whisper in your ear.

“behave while i’m gone,” and with that he walks away to the food vendors, knowing full well that it’s going to be you that’s going to drive Ransom crazy and not the other way around.

“I don’t understand, when I spoke to Ari-”

“well sweetheart today’s your lucky day, it’s not like everyday you meet the CEO of the company you dream your work be published in.” his voice smooth he stares down at you with hungry blue eyes.

cursing yourself for wearing such an unprofessional outfit but how were you going to find out that you were going to make a book deal on a date.

“I don’t understand, I was suppose to meet with Mr. Thrombey-”

“oh have you not received any word? Harlan, my grandfather, passed away three months ago,” he says but every word in his voice sounds fabricated, remorseless.

your surprised once you feel a hand on your bare thigh, gripping it firmly and you shift away from Ransom. his tongue slowly licks his bottom lip when his blue irises catch yours, you had to admit they were pretty like Ari’s but they held something else- something darker.

keeping a safe distance away from you and Ransom you don’t move your eyes away from him, not cowering under his gaze but holding a stronger glance to him. you knew guys like this, you grew up surrounded by them and you even dated guys like him but not in a single situation did you let them take advantage of you.

so, besides sitting at the table trying to avoid a conversation you get this “meeting” over with. Verbally deflecting the flirtatious remarks of Mr. Drysdale. dodging the charming maneuvers of him asking you for more face to face meetings and you can sense the anger radiating off him. it only makes you wonder how long it takes just for Ari to get you a damn soda pop.

“i’m not sure if you’re qualified enough for a place at my establishment. you don’t seem to meet my criteria options and your work isn’t up to our standards,” he says looking down at his phone, typing a message to someone as if you weren’t worth his time.

“I don’t seem to meet your criteria options? you mean offering to take me out when you damn well know i’m already in a relationship? what is this? I thought we were talking about my book,” that sharp remark leaves him dropping his eyes back to his phone after he receives a message.

“my question is why are you with a man like Levinson? a sweet little lady like you with a busy man like him can’t treat you well, can’t pamper you well, can’t fuck you well-”

“we’re done here,” you feel your face getting hot with rage, you were wasting your precious vacation days on this. “and what about your book Ms. {y/l/n}?”

you’re up and away front the table yet you turn your head to meet his eyes again. no way in hell were you going to publish your book for a company runned by Mr. Drysdale.

“it seems as though your establishment isn’t up to my standards Mr. Drysdale,”

"d-daddy, am I sweet?" fluttering your lashes to him, a deep groan shakes against your throbbing cunt and you feel your organism washing over.

the continuous licking from the tip of his tongue tracing your hole and his thick fingers rubbing your puffy folds are removed just for his mouth to suck the sweet essence pooling your rose bud.

his sweet and innocent angel, so naughty and dirty at these times. such a sweet fucking treat, a sickeningly saccharine poison to easily overdose. sporting soft cotton candy thighs he doesn’t mind at all being in between them, licking the sweet sugary sweetness.

y/n l/n is a wish candy girl that’ll rot Ari’s teeth to his graveyard kind of girl and he doesn’t mind it one bit.

"like candy dolly. you're sweet like fucking sugar." you moan at the comment and he won't stop licking. sugar cotton floss, sticky candy apples, rainbow swirled lollies, and buttery caramel popcorn- you’re the whole damn candy bar and his head is so deep in Candyland he can’t think straight.

all he wants is to see is your pie crumble before him as you give him the custard filling. it’s what he’s been craving and the various messages that Ransom sent him whilst in the food line asking him if he could “take you off his hands” only increases the grind of his mouth and tongue on your bountiful mound.

"daddy's on a sugar rush," you giggle completely unaware of the situation Ari has dealt with but otherwise he smiles into your pussy.

god you always had the cutest shit to say when he’s eating your pussy and he fucking loves it, eats it up.

"bad princess, you're going to rot daddy's teeth," trying his hardest to not think about Ransom at a time like this, in his position with his mouth on you.

"mmh!- that’s so sad daddy. I always liked your smile," you moan and sigh, testing his patience once more you begin to lace your fingers through his long hair.

Ari shakes his head disapproving though he seems to occupied licking your saturation from your mound to bother telling you to keep your hands to yourself. keeping your fingers in his hair, his eyes meet yours in anger and with the glimmer of menace he knows so well in your eyes he should prepare for your reckoning.

with that a pretty petty smirk curls your lips as you yank his chocolate locks downward, shoving your dripping cunt as it grinds against his mouth. Ari doesn’t back away but invites it, pulling away slightly to glide his skilled fingers over the soaked folds avoiding your desperate hole.

a whimper slips out when Ari doesn’t give you the pleasure that’s lingering and dripping from your crux but only avoides you; but then again how long can Ari avoid your need for another release. burly arms wrap around your body’s waist as you pulls you onto his lap, letting you saunter your arms around his neck you stuff your face in his chest letting out a whinish sob.

“i’m sorry for misbehaving today Ari,” a bang of regret hits Ari’s chest.

this was all his fault for demanding you meet Ransom to see some opportunities for you when he himself knew it wasn’t the best idea.

“don’t be sorry angel, I went too far and you were right. I shouldn’t have forced you to meet him. shouldn’t have thought of this in the first place,” that little whisper followed with a kiss in between your brows.

he still can’t get the sleazy voice of Ransom offering to take you “off his hands” so you’d get a position at his company. feeling his sugar high blood boiling just remembering Ransom talking about you as if you were nothing but a pawn item for bargaining, right in front of you as if you had no say whatsoever.

“you know how I hate cutting corners, I wanna be successful because I worked hard. not because my boyfriend wanted me to take it easy and let a rich boy take care of it for me,” you whisper, head snuggling in Ari’s neck which he hums.

god, you may be stubborn but you were so loyal to your aspirations and independence. strong when he met you and stronger now, he always has admired that.

“remind me next time whenever I want to introduce you to someone who runs this relationship,” and you giggle at those words.

quickly straddling his lap arms wrapped around his neck you pull him closer till your nose rubs against his and your lips briefly touch his.

“I run this shit,” you cheekily whisper subtly licking his bottom lip and Ari takes your ass in his hands, lifting you up your legs wrap around his waist. “yes, you fucking do.” Ari growls and pulls your lips to his.

he’s all yours, your caring daddy, your carnival carnivore.

truly yours.

♡♡♡ thank you for reading! ♡♡♡ pretty please like, reblog and/or comment what you think and if you enjoy this follow me to read more of my future works! ♡♡♡

[shoot-the-oneshot]

Hot Head

Requested @ateezlizard

#17 “I’m telling you, I’m haunted.”

Evan Buckley x reader

“I’m telling you Y/n, Halloween is the weirdest time of year.”

Buck complains, throwing random bags of candy in the cart. Sneaking a few in for himself when I wasn’t looking. To busy flipping through the costumes on the rack.

“Maybe so but, I think you’d look great in this.”

Barely hiding my smile at the deadpan look on Bucks face as he sees the cheesy firemen costume I was holding.

“That’s not even funny.” The look of annoyance quickly turning into a smirk.

“Why don’t you wear this?”

Countering my offer with a cliche angel outfit. Rolling my eyes as he laughs hysterically. “Honestly babe, you’re my angel even without a costume.” He says, wrapping his arms around me from behind trying to be cute. It’s sweet really, but wearing your 6ft boyfriend as a backpack through the store as he steers us to whatever catches his eye, isn’t as pleasant. “It’s only one day Buck, you can handle it.”

Today is the day, Halloween. The day kids get to stay up late, get more candy than they can eat, run around dressed as their favorite superhero or character. It’s also the day Buck is sure there’s something out to get him. It started with blood red water in his shower this morning, the scream he let out was loud enough to wake Y/n up in the next room.

Smoke suddenly appearing out from under the couple’s shared dresser. Then when he turned his Jeep on, scenes from horror movies blared from his speakers.

On their first call of the day at a haunted house where all the workers that weren’t aware of the emergency used Buck as practice and continued to jump out and scare him, one even complimented him on his firefighter costume. Poor guy only stopped shaking from either fear or rage, when we got back to the station to eat, being to busy talking to Eddie who was on the ladder to see where he was walking when Chimny yells out trough his laughter, already imagining his reaction.

“Hey Buck, don’t you know it’s bad luck to walk under a ladder!”

Looking from Chim then to the arial ladder that Eddie was on. Only now noticing he was standing under it. Almost tripping over his own feet as he jumps off to the side, nervously laughing.

“That, that doesn’t count right? Right Chim, Chimny!”

Chasing up the stairs after Chimny still calling his name. Eddie walks over to where you’re hiding behind the engine, watching it all unfold. “Don’t you think he’s been through enough?” eyebrow raised watching the chase going down in the fire house.

Smirking, thinking of all the plans you still have in mind. “Nope.”

It wasn’t until later that you almost started to feel guilty, almost, being the key word. Sure you planned most of the things today but not all the things that happened after, so you can’t really be blamed. “I can’t believe you almost ran over a cat.” Hen states, having seen the truck almost flip as Buck tried to dodge the cat, the black cat, that suddenly appeared in the middle of the road.

“After all the things that’s happened to me today I’m not risking it!” He snapped throwing his hands in the air, forgetting about the tool he held until it broke the mirror behind him. “No...” he breathed out looking as if he was in actual pain. Joining the rest of the crew when Boddy, put a hand on his shoulder feeling sorry for the younger man. Seeing the paramedics preforming CPR on the older owner of the house they got called too for a smoke detector check so the scene was a shock to the 118. After doing all they could to help, the medics call it. Going back to the ambo to call whoever they needed to call and getting the paperwork everyone had to fill out.

“Why are you in my house?” The firefighters practically jumping out of their skin when the presumed dead patient seems to be very much alive. Even Bobby lets out a startled gasp. The medics ran back into the house passing Buck who bailed to the front yard choosing to wait there then deal with the zombie. Pacing back and forth under the large tree in the yard, mumbling to himself that the day is almost over. Facing his coworkers when they come out of the house without bite marks as if the old woman was actually a zombie.

“It’s okay Bucks.” You cooed, actually seeing how tore up he was. The man ripping his jacket off before you can get closer to him.

“No! No it’s not, I told you I hated Halloween and you all laughed! Do you understand now!” His rant getting cut off as a giant snake falls from the tree into his shoulders. Yelping, flailing around enough that it falls to the ground.

“Oh that’s where that went.” The old woman croaks as she got pushed by the medic on the cot, seeing the fake snake on the ground. Not knowing it almost gave Evan a heart attack.

“Guys, I’m telling you, I’m haunted!”

“You’re not haunted Buck, it was Y/n.”

Captain Nash says, ratting you out to your boyfriend and the few people that didn’t know.

“What? No way.” He almost screams still wound up from the previous scare. “What about the haunted house that was a real call.” He asked when you sheepishly shook your head, confirming what Cap said.

“I recognized the address and called ahead I offered them 50 bucks to scare you.”

“The smoke and the shower this morning?”

“Put red dye in the shower head and dry ice under the dresser.” Chim not being able to hold in his laughs any longer. “I’m just going to say it. This is amazing!” Chimny being ignored as Buck continues asking questions.

“How’d you pull that off?” Pointing back to the house we just walked out of.

“Now that wasn’t me.”

And it’s true it wasn’t, no matter how amazing that would make this story sound later on when I tell his sister and Athena, at our weekly girls night.

“Why?”

Not being able to help himself from asking why his loving girlfriend of almost three years would go through all this just to torture him, he didn’t remember pissing her off lately, not enough for this anyway.

“Remember last year, when you put red hair dye in my shampoo and everyone called me hot head for a month.”

Oh, yeah, he did do that.

“If it makes you feel better, you did the worst things to yourself.”

You continued when he stares blankly at your face. Suddenly lunging at you, not having enough time to run away before he throws you over his shoulder.

“Even though i was terrified all day, that was good, just know I’m going get you back.”

“What if I wear that angel costume you picked out tomorrow night?”

“In that case all is forgiven.”

Setting you back on your feet next to the engine, giving him your best puppy dog eyes hoping he wasn’t to mad.

“I love you.”

“I love you too my little devil.”

“I thought I was your angel?”

“Apparently not on Halloween.”

Ruffling your hair before walking back to the truck. Eddie jumping in the drives seat just to make sure a kitten doesn’t cause a wreck back to the station.