#put aside your whatever and whatever and realize that the seam could very much be poc

[gutfaced]

when people stop using the excuse of “olive [skin] is a spectrum!” when referring to any character that hails from the seam, i can die peacefully.

for reference: the seam — dark hair (straight, with the exception of haymitch and his curly hair,) olive skin, gray eyes. (e.g, katniss, gale and the hawthornes, haymitch.)

merchants — blonde hair (curly,) pale skin, blue eyes. (peeta, delly cartwright, mrs. everdeen and primrose.)

yes, in the case of the seamfolk, it is definitely possible that they are simply tan white people. however, in the racial context of appalachia, there is a population of native americans (who often have olive skin and straight dark hair,) along with the melungeon population (which includes people of color.)

suzanne collins would've made the distinction, as she did for the merchants if they were white. this theory is unlikely though, considering that systematic oppression plays a role within their race. (the seam are worse off; they're the poorest part of the district with people casually dying of starvation in the streets, they're also workers in the mines and more likely to have lung problems/die from mine collapses if not explosions. they also run a black market for sake of trades and food. the merchants run shops and are better off than the seam.)

i'm not saying at all that white people can't be olive skinned, i do very much agree with that and it's something i acknowledge. but again, appalachia, where twelve is located, has a population of people of color in which fit the description (which could likely be native americans.) there's a stark difference in both sides of twelve's population and their races, and if suzanne had made the seamers with the intention of them being white in mind, katniss simply could've said it was a white-predominant population with the notion of seamfolk being darker.

with all of this in mind, no matter how you flip it, the seam-originating characters in the movies are whitewashed. and that takes away from the history of these people and takes from their oppression and representation of history in a book that already deals with racial issues and such things.

[crappymixtape]

because of you • epilogue

PART I • PART II • PART III • PART IV • PART V • EPILOGUE ❝ an enemies to lovers fic with Steve? 💙 maybe they have to put aside their differences to fight upside down stuff and realize they actually have a lot in common 👀 • 18+ | ( 1k – a little bit of king!steve, mostly angst with a dash of fluff, enemies to idiots in love, steve x reader )

B E C A U S E O F Y O U • E P I L O G U E 🎶 believer – piano version, SYML

❝ WE’VE BECOME ECHOES, BUT ECHOES ARE FADING AWAY, SO LET’S DANCE LIKE TWO SHADOWS, BURNING OUT A GLORY DAY ❞

Walking across the parking lot of Hawkins High with Steve Harrington’s hand in the back pocket of your jeans was a surreal feeling. Never in a million years did you think you’d be on speaking terms with him let alone dating him. You also didn’t think the world would end, so maybe being wrong was something to get used to.

Steve had a bag of clothes under one arm while you pulled a wagon of canned food and blankets behind you. It seemed like everyone was in need of something – shirts, coats, shoes, bread, cheese, shelter – and despite the way everyone had rallied against Eddie, they changed their tune quick after the news broke. Came together as a community to support each other through these unprecedented events.

The story came out that it had been a serial killer who’d murdered those poor kids, not Eddie, and it was all forgotten anyway the minute your little town suddenly turned into a war zone. Helicopters and tanks and soldiers, scientists and news crews from all over the nation. The ash hadn’t stopped falling since the Creel House and in the daylight the damage was so much worse than any of you had expected.

When Steve drove you home, it just simply wasn’t there. Swallowed up in one of four deep gashes splitting the earth at the seams. Your parents had survived, came back to see if maybe you’d go home to find them and tried to salvage whatever they could.

They’d sought shelter with your aunt on the other side of town, but Steve insisted you stay with him. Told you you’d have your own room and space and whatever you needed and when you expected a no, your parents surprised you with a yes, with relief. It was tight enough over at your aunt’s as it was and maybe it was better that way. With a friend – friend.

“Donations?” a volunteer asked, pulling you from your thoughts.

“What?” you started, but Steve held up his bag.

“Yeah, yeah. Clothes, food, some blankets.”

“Great, that’s perfect. Clothes are on the tables at the far end of the cafeteria, food is being collected here in the quad and blankets go to the library,” the volunteer said and Steve thanked her with a small smile.

Even though you were bringing things to donate, it was a weird feeling knowing you’d likely be looking for things for you too. You wondered about everyone else. Wondered if they had lost everything too and hoped they hadn’t. Hoped they were all safe. The Wheelers, the Sinclairs, Max and Robin and Eddie–

“Holy shit–no way! Sweetheart, who’s that in your back pocket??”

As if summoned by your very thoughts, Eddie materialized at the bottom of the parking lot turning your cheeks cherry red, Steve’s hand still tucked into your jeans.

He gave Eddie a big grin and dipped down to press a kiss to your temple, “Shut up, Munson.”

“It’s Steve you idiot,” you snarked, lips tugged up in a little smile, no heat behind it and as soon as you passed the wagon off to a volunteer, your best friend was pulling you into a hug.

“Missed you too, sweetheart,” Eddie murmured into your hair, holding you tight to his chest. His voice wobbled a little and it made your throat squeeze. He’d brushed with death last night, just the same as you, and feeling him here – really here – was like a big sigh of relief.

“Wayne okay?” you asked quietly and he nodded, curls tangling with yours.

“Yeah, thank fuck,” he exhaled, finally letting you go to rub at the back of his neck. “Trailer’s totaled though.”

“My place too,” you commiserated and Steve’s grin faded as his realized just how much had been at stake outside of the party, outside of Vecna.

“Listen,” he started, clearing his throat, “My parents checked in this morning to make sure I was alright, but aren’t coming home anytime soon. If you need a place to stay there’s plenty of room…” Steve jammed his hands in his pockets, unsure if he’d crossed a line or was breaking some unsaid rule, but Eddie grabbed him by the arm and yanked him into a hug too.

“Thanks, man! God, that’d be great. Promise Wayne and I aren’t messy, we’ll clean up and help with dinner and the trash and–”

“Eddie,” Steve laughed, giving the other boy’s shoulder a squeeze, “It’s okay, I’m sure you’re fine.”

You were positive your heart was going to burst, tears stinging at the corners of your eyes for what felt like the hundredth time in the last 24 hours – mostly because of these two idiots – and both boys noticed at the same moment.

Eddie frowned, worried, “Hey, hey, what’s up?”

“Oh–shit–you okay, Princess?” Steve asked, his words blending together with Eddie’s.

“No, I’m okay–” you sniffled, pressing your palms to your eyes, half-laughing at how stupid you felt, “–you two just suck.”

Both boys laughed, we love you, and Steve pulled you under his arm, “Hate to say it, but I think you’re stuck with us.” He shot Eddie a look and the other boy grinned.

“Yep. Sorry, sweetheart,” Eddie gave you one of his too-charming winks, “can’t get out of this one.”

You huffed a laugh and buried your face into Steve’s chest. Warm like summer and the sun, like safe and home, and when you pulled away to push up onto your toes and catch his lips between yours a voice echoed across the quad.

“OH MY GOD–WHAT?? STEVE, WHAT THE HELL?? WHEN WERE YOU GOING TO TELL ME YOU’RE DATING–”

“Oh, Christ–Robin! I’m right here, you don’t have to yell!”

[ I COULDN'T HELP MYSELF, THIS SCENE WAS SCREAMING AT ME LIKE ROBIN – YOU'RE WELCOME ]

crappymixtape™ • steve harrington masterlist // stranger things masterlist♥️ reblogs and comments keep me going, friends! ily! ♥️

[plus-size-reader]

Creep pt.2

Victor Criss x Plus size!reader

Word Count: 2424 words

Warnings: none

Summary: Victor finally gets the date he was so desperate for

Part 1 

—————————————————————————————————

He’d figured it out.

It took him all week, and he’d nearly burst a blood vessel while trying to figure out what it was he wanted to do, but Victor knew now.  

You specified that you wanted him to take you to dinner. That was what you wanted if you were going to believe that he had feelings for you, and he definitely did.

So, all he had to do was figure out was where to take a girl like you, a girl he really liked, without his friends ever finding out that the dinner date happened.

It was a tall order, but after all this time, he had an idea.

All he had to do was make sure that the guys were busy, and he would be free to take you anywhere he wanted. Then, as far as wooing you went, he already had a whole dinner date set up in the form of a picnic in the quarry.

There weren’t a lot of first date level restaurants around here that were any good, and the ones that were around, he certainly couldn’t afford or wasn’t allowed back into.

Most of the business owners in Derry were wary of the Bower’s gang, and they had been banned from most of the fancier establishments.

Hell, even the milkshake bar on the other side of town had threatened to have them arrested if they ever went back. Though, he sort of understood where they were coming from, after Henry spray painted some really obscene things on the side of their building.

Victor just hoped the saying was right, and the thought behind his evening with you would be enough to show you just how much you meant to him because the picnic he’d planned was pretty extensive.

He had gone out and picked up everything you could have wanted, aside from the burgers he was going to pick up right before picking you up at your house, so they wouldn’t get cold.

He had a blanket that he could spread out over the edge of the rock quarry, looking down over the water, and he even got these tiny little cakes from the bakery down the street that he figured you’d like.

Girls liked those kinds of things, he’d asked Belch.

All in all, it was shaping up to be a pretty good date. The only thing Vic still had to do was figure out how to get the guys out of his hair for the night.

The worst thing he could possibly imagine happening would be Henry, Patrick, and to a lesser extent Belch, crashing your picnic and ruining his chances with you completely.

The blonde was already well aware that he was on thin ice with you, which was why this probationary date had to go well. He wanted to show you that he was capable of this.

That he was more than just some thug who made fun of pretty girls for their extra weight and relationship status, two things Henry went pretty hard at you for.

Henry and Patrick both liked to comment on how you would never have a boyfriend because of your size, and how you would probably die a virgin cause nobody would hit that.

In fact, there were very few things about you that the more alpha of his friends wouldn’t torment you for, something that, the more he thought about it, made Victor upset.

You had a point that day in the hall.

He had never really said anything nasty about you to your face, but he hadn’t stopped them from doing it either. He just stood back and let his friends treat you like the dirt beneath their boots.

It was hardly the foundation for a functional relationship, but he wanted to try. For now, all he could do was hope that he’d planned such an amazing date that it would make up for all those terrible things.

Thankfully, before Victor could further drive himself crazy, his three best, and only, friends came around the corner and made a B-line for him. This was it, if this went well, he would be home free for his date tonight.

...But if it didn’t, he had no idea how he was going to explain it to you.

There was no way you would give him a second chance if he cancelled your date to spend the night riding around in Belch’s Trans Am, listening to hair metal.

It had to happen tonight.

“Where have you been?” Belch asked, the only one of the three to even address him once they’d made it to his side.

Henry and Patrick continued to talk about whatever it was that had them so enthralled.

It wasn’t new, and didn’t even really bother Vic, but it was something he had never realized before. They didn’t even really seem to care if he was there or not, which he never would have noticed before talking to you.

Somehow you had managed to turn everything Victor knew upside down and he wasn't sure that he liked it. He wasn’t blind to the fact that his friends weren’t the best people before, but it had never hurt him to be around them.

They were the only friends he had, even if they weren’t the greatest guys of all time.

They were what he had.

“I had to run a few errands, no big deal” the blonde shrugged, hoping he’d done a good enough job at hiding his true intentions so that Belch wouldn’t ask any questions.

He wouldn’t have any answers for him if he did.

This whole thing was new to Vic, who had never really liked a girl this much in the first place, but he was doing what he thought would work. Lying, thankfully, wasn’t new to him.

At the very least, he could rely on his quick wit and the fact that two of the three of his friends couldn’t have been more oblivious to what he was doing and the third wasn’t the brightest to begin with.

It was starting to look like his little scheme would actually work.

Belch didn’t pry any further, something that Victor was glad for, and before it could get any more awkward or he gave himself a stroke, he asked what he’d been trying to ask for days, but didn’t have the nerve to.

“So, what’s the plan for tonight?”

He tried to make it as nonchalant and casual as he could, as if he was just inquiring about the plans he knew they had indefinitely.

Even if the four of them were just going to walk around Henry’s property, or terrorize kids in the park, they always did something together. It wasn’t the sort of question that should have roused any suspicion.

Still, Vic couldn’t help but feel like his entire plot was unraveling at the seams and it was only a matter of time before the gang found out what he was doing and slaughtered him.

It wouldn't go over well. “Nothing, I gotta take care of some things for my pop, so you three girls are on your own” Henry shrugged, not offering any more explanation than that. Whatever it was, if Butch was involved, they knew not to press it.

Though, Victor already felt a little better knowing that Henry wouldn’t be skulking around, potentially finding the two of you in the woods.

Henry already had it out for you more than anyone else because of that time he asked you to see a movie with him and you said no. That rejection had really stuck a bur in his side, and it surely had something to do with his cruelty toward you now.

He wasn’t used to hearing no, after all.

Patrick and Belch had other plans too, it seemed, not really interested in hanging out with any of the others of them without Henry. If it wasn’t the whole gang, it was weird for them.

So, it seemed like Victor was in the clear.

All he had to do now was show you the time of your life and hope that you actually gave him a chance. A girl like you should have never even agreed to go out with him in the first place, so he wasn’t going to ruin it.

You deserved the best, and he was doing all he could to provide it.

~

Vic was sure he’d never been this nervous in his entire life.

Before now, he’d been so preoccupied worrying about the threat of the gang finding out what he was doing, or you changing your mind and rejecting him that he hadn’t given any thought at all to how this would feel.

Waiting for you to get here was going to kill him.

All Victor could think about was whether or not you were coming, or if something had happened to you on the way here. Maybe you decided that this wasn’t a good idea and were staying home, or worse, maybe you had another date.

Whatever it was, it was taking you way too long to get here and every second that passed by, he was sure you weren’t going to show.

You had stopped him in the hallway after the last bell rang, signalling the end of the day, and told him that you would meet him in the Quarry, because he didn’t drive, which didn’t seem like that big of a deal at first.

No good first date had even begun by walking awkwardly in silence through the woods, and it was smart to meet up for the more romantic parts of the evening. However, now that it was here, Vic had to wonder if it was all some clever ploy to leave him in the quarry alone.

It seemed cruel, but after everything he and the guys had done to you, it would be a lie to say that he didn’t deserve it.

He couldn’t have blamed you if you hated him.

Thankfully though, as the sun began creeping down and the air cooled that much more under the waterfront’s influence, you came walking up the path.

You had to admit that when he first suggested coming to the Quarry this late in the evening, you weren’t sure. It still seemed like this whole thing could be some joke, or something put on by Henry to humiliate you.

After all, Victor was the most unassuming of the four of them and if you were going to agree to go out with any of the Bower’s gang, it would have been him.

You just weren’t sure how to feel.

...but you were relieved to see Victor, right where he said he’d been, sitting on a beach towel or something.

It didn’t seem like a set up for a prank, but you weren’t fully convinced until you reached his side and saw the huge set up he’d spread out for you, right on the edge of the cliff.

You were far enough back to avoid falling off or dropping anything into the water below but close enough to see how pretty it was up here. You had never been here before, which had only solidified Victor’s plans to bring you.

The quarry was one of the only things in Derry that was worth seeing, and the fact that you’d lived here this long and still hadn’t come up here was blasphemous to him.

“Hey, I was getting worried you wouldn’t come” Vic called, the first to speak between the two of you. He did his best to play it off like a joke but it seemed like you knew how nervous he was.

Of course you did.

You were nervous to do this too.

Putting yourself out there wasn’t really something you did often or were good at, and you felt like you had taken a huge risk in agreeing to do this with him. However, as far as dates went, this really was worth the risk.

No one had ever gone through so much trouble just to impress you.

“You get stood up often?” you teased, sitting down on the spot across from him which you assumed was meant for you. It would have been sort of strange if he was waiting on someone else too.

It was a joke of course, but what you didn’t know was that he had. In general, Vic didn’t date too often just because he didn’t have a great history with this sort of thing.

He wasn’t exactly a ladies man after all.

“Sometimes” he shrugged, hoping that wouldn’t scare you off. It was much more honest than he was used to being, with anyone, but for some reason, you brought it out of him.

The two of you seemed to bring something different out of each other and as strange as it was for both of you, it was nice.

Victor, for one, felt like he could be who he was around you. It didn’t matter how vulnerable or goofy he wanted to be, there wasn’t going to be any awful consequences like there would be with the gang.

You didn’t seem to care if he wanted to be a geek.

“That’s okay. Me too” you shrugged, grabbing one of the cans of soda he offered you.

Your admission made him laugh, of course, because he assumed that you were joking, but after a few seconds of silence, he realized just how wrong he’d been.

You were completely serious, but that didn’t make any sense to him. You were beautiful and the fact that you had been stood up on a date didn’t compute for him.

Who in their right mind would have skipped out on a date with you? Victor certainly wouldn’t have, even considering how difficult you had made getting here for him.

“Well, for what it’s worth, I’m glad they were so stupid because now you’re here with me” he sighed, doing his best to keep from looking you in the face after saying something like that but you were happy he had.

That was one of the sweetest things anyone had ever said to you and as shocked as you were that he was the one saying it, you weren’t going to argue.

“I’m glad too. You’re surprisingly sweet, Vic” you allowed, taking a sip of your drink without much more between the two of you. This was hardly where you saw the evening going, but it was for the better.

Maybe he wasn’t so bad after all.

[sweetestlamb]

Walk Through A Storm

Author's note: Honestly, like I could help myself from doing this. it's short because I need to actually get my life together but enjoy. Oh also I don't wanna think anymore so someone give me title in the comments lol I'll pick the one that fits the best. (Thanks for actually giving suggestions, one really spoke to me!)

Summary: "I'm not ready to stop kissing you yet."

"I thought you were going to reject me." She whispers in between the small space between them, their lips are close enough to meet again in another soul burning kiss and he's tempted to close the gap again. They can talk later so for the second time in his life he wants to be selfish, she brings that out in him; makes him hungry for more than he thinks he deserves. She's been doing that since he first met her.

"I'm not ready to stop kissing you yet." Her eyes widen at his whispered words and without pause he leans closer softly pressing his lips against hers. She tastes sweet like the best candy he could never get as a young boy. Her little hands slide up his back dragging him closer and he goes easily, his walls are saw dust at this point and she's a windstorm. Wrapping his arms fully around her body he pulls her closer, cupping the back of her head as he swipes his tongue at the seam of her lips. She gasps in a way that makes his blood bubble and flow southward. The sea roars besides them providing the soundtrack to their first cognizant kisses. Hopefully the first of many.

The kiss drags and overlaps, her tongue persistent in his mouth and her hands busy stroking and rubbing at his back. It takes all of his willpower to sever their connection but he's starting to feel light-headed (and horny). This all still seems like a dream ever since he saw her running over to him, when she was supposed to be in Seoul. Leaving without telling him. Making him think the worst.

"Why do you look like you want to cry?" She cups his cheeks and he's reminded of that unforgettable night. She looks so concerned that he wants to disappear not used to being on the receiving end of such looks.

"Nothing. I'm fine." He tries to brush her off, viciously wiping at his eyes but she doesn't let him push her away, grabbing his hands tightly in her own. "Tell me what you're thinking. I told you everything in my head."

He almost chuckles at her expectant gaze. She sounds like him demanding payment.

"People usually leave but you're the first...to come back early." He smiles sadly thinking about all the people he'll never see again, and how he considered that she might go back to Seoul and realize that she was much too big for the pond that was Gongjin. He wouldn't have stopped her, she deserved the whole world.

"The first hm. I like that." He stares at her face, grinning at the satisfied grin and the enveloping dimples on both sides of her face.

"A daughter with your dimples would be dangerous, I think I'd understand how Chun-jae feels then." She pauses at his words mouth gaping and it hits him just what he's implied about their future. It's presumptuous and he should correct it but his tongue feels too heavy and her bright eyes suck the air from his lungs.

"Where's Mi-Seon? How did you get back so quickly?"

"Oh." She jumps cutely, suddenly hitting him on the shoulder and he winces ready to scold her for hitting him so close to his injury. But then she starts hitting herself on the head and instinctively he grabs her, stopping the self inflicted abuse.

"Stop that. I like that head." It's cheesy, something he would have cringed at if he heard another utter it but once he sees the smile she rewards him with none of that matters anymore, he'll say anything to make her beam like that.

"You're such a flirt." She fails at sounding bothered. "Oh and I left her in Seoul. It started raining and I realized you were it for me so I ran into the rain and left her on the sidewalk. Crazy right?" She starts snickering at her own words and he stares at her taken aback laughter forced out of his lungs at her infectious giggles.

She comes into his house like she belongs there, going to his fridge without permission and grabbing a bottle of water. He feels parched watching her drink it, never before has he wished to be a plastic bottle. So many firsts with her.

"What are you staring at?" She tilts her head like a bunny and he can't get the image of her with floppy ears out of his head.

"Cute."

"What?" She blushes furiously at his accidental slip and he clears his throat before grabbing his phone, desperately needing a distraction.

"Nothing. I'll call someone to pick up Mi-Seon."

"Who are you calling?" She asks walking over to him, sitting far too closely for his brain to function at maximum capacity. When a deep familiar masculine voice answers she squeals, bouncing in her seat and giving him thumbs up. He feels so proud he could burst.

"Don't say no. She's all alone and abandoned. What if something happens to her? Could you live with yourself?" He replies to the stuttering officers weak refusals and those are the right words to get the meek man moving, it's comical that he would be playing matchmaker for anyone else.

"You're a master manipulator." She accuses and he stares in surprise, "Does it upset you?" But she surprises him by leaning closer, spread deliciously across his compact couch. "No. It's sexy." Her face is glorious under the soft lighting in his living room and he swallows the drool collecting in his mouth, embarrassed when it starts a coughing fit. She thumps his back firmly before thrusting her water at him, "Drink." He listens obediently.

He gulps at the bottle, taking a deep breath before collapsing backwards into the couch.

"Am I making you nervous?" Making. As if it's only a present occurrence, as if she hasn't been making him swallow his words and expectations from the very beginning. He shifts looking at her through narrowed eyes.

She's far too innocently twirling her hair blinking up at him with wide eyes.

"You're doing this on purpose." She smiles serenely at the claim, leaning back onto the couch and by default his arm that's strewn across the top. She presses her body into the side of his body and he tightens his hold on her shoulder. It all feels too natural.

"I'm surprised it's working. You never seemed affected by me. You denied liking me so easily. Biological crisis, my ass."

He jumps at her cursing, she sounds too much like her father. It makes him smirk.

"I thought I had to. You were right, we are so different. I thought it was something fleeting for you, you told me you're someone who gets curious."

"Pfftt. You think I get curious about just anyone? I have high standards. I'm quite a catch you know?" Her signature bravado, but this time he can see through the veil better. Can spot the cracks and tears and it makes him want to protect her even more.

"I know. You're the best thing I've ever caught."

He'll never grow tired of being the reason that face turns so pink and flushed. (Immediately pushing aside an image of her beneath him.)

"Wait here. I have something for you." He wants to argue as she starts to leave his embrace but she's too quick for his grabby hands and he pouts at her unwanted departure. He moves to follow her but she's back before he's even finished putting on his shoes.

"Where did you go? We could have gone together."

"What? Did you miss me?" She teases, dimples flashing up at him.

"Don't be absurd." He denies but his cheeks burn yes.

"Whatever. I went to get this. Here." She thrusts a large bag at him, looking excited and embarrassed all at once. He takes it confused, prying it open and feeling more confusion wash over him.

"These are men's shirts." He says dumbly and she stares unimpressed at him, rolling her eyes before nodding.

"Yes. I got them for you in Seoul. Keep them even if you don't like them. They're a gift." She looks so small and... scared that he reacts without thinking, dragging his shirt over his head and throwing it to the side. The sight that welcomes him as his head pops out of the hole is not a new one, but it's still as effective as the first time. Hye Jin looks desperate, eyes locked on his now naked chest. His skin raises under her intense gaze.

"Miss Dent--Hye Jin ah?" His call doesn't do anything, well that's a lie it doesn't knock her back to reality like he'd expect instead it seems to be the siren call that lures her closer to him. Her hand outreached before landing on the tense muscles in his stomach, with one touch he already feels devastated.

"What are you doing to me?" He aches to feel and touch and kiss and fuc-

But it's too soon for all that. They haven't even defined this yet and despite all the lines they've crossed he wants to do this right.

Taking a step back he escapes her torturous touch and pulls a shirt from the bag, ready to cover himself back up from her too penetrating gaze.

"Wait." Her voice is so raspy and longing he has no choice and he watches mesmerized as she watches him hungrily, eyes darting all over his naked skin dissecting him. He swallows hard when he sees her little hands balled up in fists by her side. Disbelief swirling in his belly. "Okay. You can do it. That's enough....for now."

His cheeks flare at the seductively spoken words and to stop himself from devouring her like a starved man he slides on a smooth button down shirt. It fits him perfectly and gulps as he buttons it up. Nobody besides his grandfather ever bought him clothes.

"It's a perfect fit." Hye Jin echoes his thoughts smoothing a hand across the soft material. He stands ramrod straight at her ministration.

"Thank you. I'll wear it well." His throat is thick and he has to blink to chase away the tears pooling there, dangerously close to falling. She hums before stepping forward into his space again, that kiss effectively tearing down all the walls and lines they had both erected and drawn.

"You're already wearing it so well. But...it looks even better off. I can't wait to see it on my bedroom floor."

A scandalized squeak is all he's able to get out before she's diving at him and devouring his lips so roughly that they tumble onto the floor.

The pain in his shoulder is worth it as she kisses him senseless systematically driving out every doubt and insecurity. At least for tonight.

[embrassemoi]

Surrounded by the Moon and Stars ✷ 23

Pairings: Sirius B, Remus L, [F]Reader CW: Drinking, slight internalized homophobia A/N: The first part dives into Lily's sexuality. It’s pretty innocent but may make readers uncomfortable. If you want to skip, go past the line break and I bolded the words ‘Round round get around’ for when it’s ‘safe’ to continue!

Chap 23 Playlist

【 Masterlist: Previous Chapter | Next Chapter 】

Chapter 23: The Daily Quarrel

━━━━━━━━━༻☽༺━━━━━━━━━

Lily always considered herself to be calm, rational and level-headed, that’s what made her a great prefect and student. But over the last five months, Lily felt herself becoming everything but that.

Lily never concerned herself with dating. Of course, she’d entertained the thought. She had crushes before, many crushes, and dabbled in the idea of romance, love, dates and commitment. Especially now as it seemed like the older she got, those around her fell into relationships and quick snogs in the broom closet that she was forced to break up one too many times. If she were to date, she didn’t want to force it. Lily wanted it to come naturally. It was never that important. If it happened, it happened, and she would welcome it with open arms.

But recently, it was all she could think about.

At first, it was a passing thought. Boys — dating — and then other things she thought she buried deep down began to resurface.

Girls, by every definition, were beautiful. Lily would admire the way they style their hair or religious headwear, how they carried themselves with such effortless grace that they never seemed to notice themselves. Girls, women; Lily thought they were thoughtful, kind and more respectful than men. She felt loads more comfortable around them before her thoughts began to turn more obscure — until her mind quickly shut it down and interjected that she just wanted to be close friends.

That was an utter lie.

It’s not like Lily didn’t feel any sort of attraction towards boys. She did, very much and had feelings both romantic and well… er — unleashed a plethora of other feelings. Lily was not opposed to holding hands, kissing or cuddling them, she really liked the idea and felt herself grow warm. She would do all sorts of things with the right boy. But there was something so exciting, yet frightening when the idea of hand-holding, kissing and cuddling with Y/N. That certainly left Lily with sweaty palms, heart racing and a flustered mess.

Whenever she held her hands, went around holding her arm in the halls, or crept into each other’s beds at night, Lily felt like a puddle of nerves.

She’s managed to force a smile most of the time whenever improper thoughts surfaced. She could be alone, walking the hallways for her prefect duties and something would pop up: when her fingers ran through Lily’s scalp when she brushed her hair. Her smile. Her eyes… her damn eyes… All she thought about these days was her. How was Y/N doing? She’s so funny! Would she like the way she styled her robes today? How would she look on top of — ARGH! Lily was mortified half the time.

Let’s just say that it was a gradual realization.

Lily wasn’t stupid, far from it and knew what was happening and it left her on complete edge, especially around Y/N. It left her face scarlet red and felt as if her chest was about to burst into a bloody mess. She couldn’t even look or be anywhere near her sometimes because it was too overwhelming.

But her feelings… Lily grew up being taught that she wasn’t supposed to feel this way for another girl, let alone both boys and girls...

Her heart, mind, morals, feelings, everything she believed in was at war. Lily felt herself change inside and out. It’s always been there, those… emotions — and suddenly it just ripped at the seams. Y/N was just the tipping point.

But why did it feel like such a crime for something so innocent? Something that is supposed to be beautiful?

And Y/N… out of all people!

It had been a very tiring and stressful school year so far.

Potter’s birthday had coincided with Gryffindor’s win against Hufflepuff and thus, a joint party was thrown. Lily watched from the sidelines as Y/N’s back faced her. The glowing of lights, all charmed red, immersed her as she snapped an abundance of photos of a very plastered Potter having the time of his life. He stood on a table, drunkenly singing.

Another bright flash went off and she brought the camera down, took the photo and shook it. A wide smile plastered on her face as she watched the photo develop and her body shook with laughter. But as if Y/N knew Lily was staring, her head swivelled around with a smile so blinding that it hurt Lily’s heart; now filled with hot shame again.

She shouted over the loud music. “Petals! C’mon, let loose for once!” She pointed to the cup in hand.

Lily looked down, looking at the amber liquid filled to the brim of her cup, untouched. Her gaze looked back, giving her a shy thumbs-up and brought the cup to her lips. The bitter taste of Firewhiskey burned before spreading warmly through her. But, Y/N’s reaction was worth it.

Lily tried to still her heart as she ripped her gaze away. Y/N made her feel everything but calm, rational and level-headed. It was terrifying. 

━━━━━━━━━༻☽༺━━━━━━━━━

‘Round round get around, I get around, yeah

(Get around round round I get around, ooh-ooh) I get around’

“Hip-hip —” James bellowed, raising a glass filled with Firewhiskey in the air.

“HOORAY!” The Gryffindors roared back.

“Hip-hip —”

Throughout the night, Sirius danced with probably every girl there before he went to turn the record player louder, re-filling his glass. He watched as James hopped off the table and made his way to Emmeline, peppering her skin with sloppy kisses that made her laugh and eyes crinkle.

They all officially met her that night. She’s sweet, kind and they found out she’s just as crazy as James in the love department and they seemed beyond happy.

Peter was there, who looked at the two, almost enviously, faced stained red before solemnly bobbing his head to the music. Sirius didn’t think much of it, instead just passed it off as a sad drunk.

‘I'm gettin' bugged driving up and down the same old strip

I gotta find a new place where the kids are hip’

Sirius cringed; he was never a fan of the Beach Boys but Wormtail and Prongs loved it…

Students jumped, rocking to the blasting music. Some talked, some were snogging, others tipsy or drunk. Sirius grinned from ear to ears as he looked around the room, searching for Remus. He was already a pole light, he would stick out like a sore thumb. But instead of Remus, Sirius’ eyes settled on L/N; film in hand, talking to another student. He was blond, a year above them, large in stature and Sirius recognized him from the Gryffindor tryouts back in September. Aldrich McLaggen.

His face was beat red as he chatted with L/N, his hand toying with the sleeves as he looked her up and down, wearing a flirtatious yet apprehensive grin. The bastard was flirting with her.

Sirius felt himself grip his glass tighter than normal, his free hand bunched into a tight ball while pressing firmly to his side. Neither she nor Sirius spoke, aside from their Puffskein assignment and it was killing him. From the discomfort or wishing they had kissed that night — he didn’t know. But it was tortuously awkward.

“Padfoot,” came a voice. Remus leant against a nearby table as he sipped his drink. No matter how much he seemed to drink, Remus was able to knock back drinks after drinks without it affecting him. Sirius envied that but then the thought passed, eyes settling on L/N.

“Moomy.”

Remus followed Sirius’ eyes, scrutinizing the situation.

“She’s so annoying,” said Sirius. He didn’t even mean to speak, it just slipped out.

Remus’ brow rose. “Talking about this, again? She’s not. L/N’s my friend and I like her.”

Sirius shook his head. “She’s insufferable. Who does she think she is?!”

“... Who?”

“Just look at her!” Sirius exclaimed, using large hand movements. “She acts like she owns the place. Just because she’s new she assumes she’s better than everyone else! And —” Sirius continued to rant but Remus blocked him out, head shaking.

Fucking idoit, Remus thinks. He wants to slap Sirius silly. When will he stop talking about her?

“— taking all of my friends: Prongs, Lily, Marlene, Wormy, you! I was —”

“You sound like a child.”

“— so smart. The Slugclub? All filled with stuffy pricks — except you and Lily — the kicker, I’ve seen her with Regulus! A Slytherin! Come on. That’s just asking for —”

“Padfoot —”

“— don’t understand how —”

“Crikey! Sirius!” Remus scolded. Sirius went quiet, intimidated by him. Remus took a deep inhale, his eyes fluttering shut but asked, “Why do you hate her? Is it because of that fucking rejection because —”

“What?!” Sirius’s voice cuts, loud and booming to the point where several heads swirled to look at him.

Remus looked at them, making hand movements to shoo them off. “Mind your business.”

“Moony, you know me! Come on! Sure, I’m a dick, but I’m not that much of a dick!”

“Then what is it? It can’t just be that she’s annoying.” Of course, Remus was right again. Always so blunt and never failed to be clear-cut.

Remus then tipped back his drink in one go without a flinch and left Sirius’ side. He’d much rather do his prefect duties than listen to him go on about the same conversation for what seemed like the eighth time that week. With Sirius left to sulk, he sighed and looked back to the scene, feeling irrational jealousy bubble up.

L/N laughed at whatever McLaggen said, who leant into her ear. What an obvious bloke.

Maybe it was because of the mix of alcohol that made Sirius place his cup down and stride up to them, but even he knew it wasn’t just the Firewhiskey.

“I’ve always wanted to visit. How was it like living —”

“McLaggen.” Sirius’ voice came out gruff and cold.

Both their heads turned towards him and she sent him a look, telling him to go. But too stubborn, he stayed put.

“Um… Black. Hello,” McLaggen responded. Sirius continued to stand tall, body language closed off, telling him silently to leave.

Tosser. Pillock. Daft bimbo lookin’ arse —

The boy coughed awkwardly and threw L/N a tight-lipped smile. “See you!” She nodded her head, giving a small, friendly wave. “Bye!”

Sirius took his place instantly. “Finally, you said something right for once. He’s a git.”

L/N’s face scrunched up in confusion. She sent daggers his way and he had to stop himself from smirking. “Surprise,” he drawled, hands going up to shake in jazz hands. “You seem happy to see me.”

“Why are you talking to me? People might think we’re friends.”

“Like we were ever just friends.”

Her mouth hung open after registering what he said and Sirius felt like using an unforgivable curse on himself. Did he have to bring it up like that?

Sirius was all over the place with his thoughts. Point blank, he didn’t know what the fuck was happening. He so badly wanted to draw near, to touch her and hear that damn laughter, but did he?

His… very unwelcomed feelings — whatever they were, were beginning to get in the way of his already messy life. Was it the chase that made him feel so electric, the need to dive into someone else to cover up his own problems? Was this him dabbling in his unhealthy behaviours and would this just set him back? Sirius wasn’t sure and he walked a fine line.

Humans, especially those like Sirius, are social beings. Like most people, they craved recognition, approval and constant reassurance from those around them. People want to fit in that desired image but struggle to find happiness — lost in that perceived image they chase. Desired reality… it’s like a mirage. The constant back and forth only drained him and it had been more apparent than ever since the break. That pretty packaged Sirius — was that him subconsciously crawling its way out, making him lose the little progress he’s made by continuing whatever this was? A game, his true feelings or a way to be social, to fill that void settled deep within his chest?

But he doesn’t think so, and that freaked him out even more. What scared him was that he wanted to get to know all the little parts of her, no matter how much he tried to deny it. It felt like a mantra playing in his head, questions about her he wanted answered. But he could never be sure.

L/N remained silent and he cut in, trying to cover up his internal dilemma.

“Now look who’s the quiet one.”

“Be more conceited, will you?”

“Insolent brat.”

She grinds her jaw aggressively, to the point where he swears he can hear bones crunching but she holds back from a snarky comment. His mouth opens, ready to add on before L/N turns around to survey the room. He watches as she looks up to James and back to him and then a small, separate room that’s cut off from the main room. The last thing either wanted was to ruin James’ night or cause a scene. “Follow me.”

Sirius rolls his eyes, teasingly staying back a beat before another Gryffindor girl comes up to him. He’d danced with her earlier. “Pretty boy,” she greets, “Fancy another dance?”

Sirius’ eyes travel to L/N who’s eyes hardened as she stomped back up to him. “Sorry, but pretty boy” her voice dripping in obvious sarcasm, “Has somewhere to be.” Then, she tugged on the hem of his sweater and the action had Sirius’s heart flutter. He let her lead him through the crowd, nearing the room.

“Pretty boy? So you do think I’m pretty?” He smirked, watching her duck her head to prevent him from seeing her reaction.

Out of the entire student body he could’ve had feelings for — feelings he’s never felt before that caused him to go speechless, heart speeding and the urge to inch closer — it had to be her? She never knew how to take a joke either! How James and Remus were so fond of her, he didn’t know.

She shoved him into the small room, casting Muffliato. It was ill-lit, the only source of luminosity were the red lights seeping in the cracks of the door and the small window; twinkling stars shining just enough. The mixture of lights made her look alluring.

“What do you want?” Her voice is passive-aggressive.

You, he reckons. Or maybe a permanent silencing charm to never have to hear her speak again. Either seemed great.

Her eyes rolled, impatient as he remained silent. “Could you be anymore… confusing? You’re hot and cold! First, you’re nice to me, then mean. Then come up to me, ruin my conversation with Aldrich and now you’re silent.”

“Fine. I don’t want to be here with you, happy?”

“Like you didn’t start this.”

“It’s not my fault you’re infuriating, constantly running your mouth.”

She takes a deep breath, her hands rubbing her face and let’s out a frustrated groan. Her eyes snap back open, “I hate you.” The silence was loud.

Sirius felt himself freeze, eyes turning half-lidded as he took a few steps towards her. She backed up, sliver of a smile there. His chest rose, breathing deeply, “Say that again.”

L/N looked up at him with those eyes he swore looked right through him. Simply being that close made him feel as if he ran a marathon. Then, a wicked, yet timid grin worms its way on her face. Their soft breaths were tense, like if either were too loud, everything would come crashing down.

She repeats. “I hate —”

She doesn’t finish her statement as Sirius pressed himself against her, pushing her back but snakes a hand to prevent her head from hitting the jagged wall.

His voice was low. “Are you sure you want to say that again?”

Her breath hitches. He grins. She swallows. “I. Hate. Y—”

Each syllable was hushed as Sirius pressed his lips onto hers, gentle, sweet and hesitant, contradicting compared to their banter.

When the initial shock wore off, he felt Y/N respond to the kiss, deepening it. Her lips parted and Sirius slid his tongue inside. She was a bit clumsy, hesitant but eager. Sirius smirked at her. Everything felt startling, incredible and better than what Sirius imagined it to ever be like. He felt like a firecracker, a warm feeling spreading through his veins like fire.

She’s soft, incredibly so. His free hand went to roam around before settling on the base of her back, stroking the soft skin up and down. Her hand is threaded through his hair just hard enough that he has to bite back a groan. Her other hand is pressed firmly onto his chest and god — she feels so good.

To Y/N, Sirius tastes like what you think he would taste like. He tastes expensive, smells really good and his kisses are a lot softer than she expected — the very opposite of him: energetic, rough, messy and wild. Instead it’s delicate, sweet and velvety.

She’s the first to pull back and Sirius can’t help but move his head to try and catch her lips but settles on pressing his forehead against hers.

Their soft pants fill the air and Sirius feels like screaming. His skin is boiling and she looks beyond enthralling. Their eyes locked and her eyes washed over him with such an intensity that it could rival any ocean wave.

Neither spoke, just trying to process what happened, letting their eyes run wild before she tucks a fallen strand of hair behind Sirius’ ear. The action, so small and fairly insignificant, made something so bubbly flare in his chest.

Both of their pupils are blown wide and this time, she’s the one to lean in first; with a series of soft peaks before Sirius prolongs it. Both his hands are now on her face, tilting her head up before one goes to graze her neck.

There wasn’t a sinking or horrible feeling in his chest that made him feel used or worthless and he took that as a good sign to continue.

This time, it’s faster, rough and passionate and Sirius leads, his hips pressed against her, caging her against the wall. Her hand then went to embrace Sirius, her nails scratching down his back and he involuntarily slipped out a soft groan into her lips.

Merlin… she’s more intoxicating than any brand of alcohol he’s ever drunk.

Eventually, they simultaneously pulled away, using whatever sense they had left and Sirius was left feeling high and shaky. Y/N looked away first, Sirius continuing to stare wide-eyed.

“Um — w-we should — ugh — get going —”

“— Right, I was just about to…”

Sirius backed up, letting Y/N free as she went to sit on a nearby chair. Sirius ran a hand through his hair and stumbled back into the party. He exhaled deeply, fingers outlining his lips in shock.

He must be mad — blood fucking mad! They’re both equally mad!

God, he must be blushing like a damn fool and certainly, he’s not going to be able to sleep tonight. Blimey…

Once James saw him, he pointed and made a B-line, strutting over, his hips exaggerating until he swung an arm around him.

“Siriusss! You’re my best friend!” James ruffled his hair, “Did you know that? Merlin — you light up my world.”

Sirius felt himself smile, but he’s still not fully there. His mind thinks back to her touch: soft and fleeting and god does he crave more and — what is she thinking?

“In love with me? You’re going to have to get in line.”

“Love with all m’friends… Moony… Wormtail — Whiskersss.” James slurred his words slightly and went on a tangent but Sirius’ eye remained on the door, waiting for her to come back.

She’s taking an awfully long time. Fuck, did he push it?

“Mate — earth to Padfoot?” James says, this time knocking his fist on his head like a door. “SIRIUS! Yoo-hoo! In there?”

“Yeah — sorry. A lot’s on my mind.”

James studied him, looking a lot more sober than he did just seconds ago as he went to fix his glasses and said seriously, “Is it… the nightmares again? We can go and talk about it?”

This caught his attention. Ever since Valentine's, he’s been talking to James about them — or at least mentioning bits and pieces which helped a lot more than he expected. “What? No, no it’s not that.”

“But if it is, you’ll tell me, right?”

Sirius has to stop himself from snorting, but it’s all too endearing. “Of course — I’ve only gotten them two times this week.”

Prongs grins like a mad man, throwing his fist in the air. “That’s one down! Amazing! You are amazing.”

And then he hears the door click open and it’s her. She sent him a small smile, barely there but Sirius felt his heart swell. Marlene bounced up to her, pulling her into a dance along with Mary. He watched as her head tipped back with a smile so dazzling and he felt his skin turn fuzzy again.

She got under his skin like nobody else and he’s starting to love it.

[ladyreapermc]

So! I already asked today 😈 buuuut since you are officially doing requests, I’d love to be kidnapped by Henry and ahem claimed. Because my size kink is raging today. Feel free to take it playful, dark, primal 💖 you are the writer 😻 I love you!

You can ask as many as you want love! Always! 😉 Hope you like your “drabble” LOL

Warnings: dom!Henry; possession kink;

You knew you were working too hard and barely having time for Henry when he was just back from shooting his new movie and about to take off for another season of The Witcher, but you couldn’t help it.

This would be one of the biggest book launch events your publishing company would do and you needed to be on top of everything, which meant late hours at the office, making sure that everything was perfect for next week.

“Hey boss,” your assistant peeked her head inside your office making you look up from the documents you were browsing. “Car’s waiting downstairs.”

“What car?” you frowned. “I didn’t…” you looked down at your phone and there was a reminder of a meeting with the new author you just closed a deal. “Shit!”

You didn’t remember agreeing to this but then again, you didn’t remember what you had for breakfast this morning. Wait... Did you have breakfast? No time to wonder now as you rushed to get up and shrug on your coat.

“Thanks, Daliah,” you said picking up your purse and pocketing your phone. “Remind me to give you a raise.”

“It’s already in your planner.” She winked at you as you stepped into the elevator and as the doors slid closed, you watched her typing a message, probably letting the driver know you were in the way.

The black sedan was waiting for you outside, not your usual town car but you didn’t have time to wonder. Just got on the backseat, calling a quick greeting to the driver as you texted the caterer the last minute adjustments required for menu.

You were so absorbed in these tasks that you didn’t even noticed where you were going until you looked out of the window and realized you on your way out of the city.  

“Excuse me? I think you’re going the wrong way…” you called out, finally paying attention to the driver and that profile was unmistakable. “Henry?”

“Hey, love,” he glanced at you through the review-mirror. “Don’t worry, I know exactly where I’m going.”

“Hen, this isn’t funny, I have a meeting…”

“With me,” he answered, flashing that all fangs smirk. “As matter of fact, Daliah made sure to clear your schedule for the entire weekend. You should really give her a raise.”

If you weren’t so worried about the event, you would agree. Instead you were just annoyed that Henry had convinced your assistant to con you into going out of town with him when you definitely didn’t have the time. You left your laptop back in your office and only had your phone and tablet with you, but neither wouldn’t last the night.

“Now, you can work for the next 45 minutes until we get to the hotel, but after that I’m taking your phone and tablet away and you won’t get them back until Sunday,” Henry informed you, attention shifting back to the road and you sighed, knowing it was pointless to argue.

So you did what you could in the timeframe he offered you but as soon as he parked the car, Henry snatched both devices from your hands, giving you a warning look that told you to behave before he stepped out and circled the car to open the door for you.

“Bear, do you have any idea how much I…” your words were cut out as Henry kissed you with fervor as soon as you were out of the car, making your thoughts scatter and the protest to die on your tongue.

He was holding you with a hand on the small of your back, bending down to reach you, almost blanketing with his sheer size and that never failed to send shivers down your spine. It wasn’t just that Henry was tall. It was the broad shoulders and the solid frame; the wall of muscles that made you feel so safe and incredibly aroused over the fact that if Henry so wished, he could make you do anything he wanted, pin you down and carry you around, manhandle you and pretty much claim you and there was absolutely nothing you could do to stop him.

Just that kiss, all full of meaning, his tongue pushing past the seam of your lips, his large palm holding you in place as he devoured your mouth, his stubble leaving red rashes on your chin. Your small hands clinging helpless at the front of his shirt, because your knees wobbled at the intensity of his kiss showed you had no way out. You were his for the next two days to do whatever Henry pleased and there was no point in argue. Not that you wanted it anyway.

When he finally released you, you gasped desperately for breath at the same time you tried to chase his lips, not even close to satiated from his touch and passion but Henry’s hand moved to your nape, holding you still as he smirked at you.

“That’s better.” he pressed a sweet kiss on your forehead before meeting your gaze. “Now, panties.” For a second, you just gaped at his outstretched hand. “You’re not gonna need them for the rest of the weekend.”

“Hen, you’re not…” your trailed off as he arched his eyebrow at you. He meant it. Every word.

With your cheeks heating up, you reached beneath your pencil skirt and shoved your panties down until they fell to your feet. Henry grinned wickedly as you picked them up and put them on his hand. Only then he stepped away from you, letting you move aside so he could close the car door with one hand while he pocketed your panties with the other.

You were acutely aware of the feel of the wool of your skirt against your naked ass as Henry guided you to the elevator, his hand  once again on your back, his thumb sneaking beneath the waistband and caressing the bare skin just above your ass as you two watched the numbers rise.

“You know I could finger you right now and no one would be the wiser,” he said, giving you another one of those wicked smirks.

“But you’re not going to…” you protested, swallowing the lump of embarrassment in your throat as you glanced at the camera in the corner. “Bear…”

The words died on your throat as he slipped his hand under the hem of your skirt, massaging your cheeks, his lips softly grazing your cheek in a loving, very chaste kiss, his body shielding your lower half from view as the elevator doors slid open and another man stepped inside, giving you both a short nod before turning his back on you.

“You’re mine and I do whatever I want with you,” Henry whispered, nipping your ear. “Now, keep quiet, dear,” he said, his fingers finally finding your slit and pushing inside.

xxx

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[alittlewhump]

Unbidden - Act 2, chapter 8

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Content warnings: None

Morgan followed the sound of voices through the archives. He'd taken a more familiar route this time, one that skirted closer to the markets than he'd liked. Blaise and Cain were discussing something, but Cain stopped mid-sentence when he spied Morgan.

"Morgan! It's good to see you again, friend, though I had not expected you so soon." Morgan allowed himself a small smile. He'd missed Cain and his stories, his easy friendliness.

Blaise spun around to face him. "What are you doing here? You-" She seemed to lose her train of thought briefly as her eyes lingered at the collar of his shirt. "You should be resting."

"I want to make up for the time I've lost," Morgan said, growing serious again. He didn't feel tired, exactly, and anyway there was no respite to be found in his shared room. "There are demons seeking the tomb of Tal Rasha as well. Time is of the essence. What is it you've found?"

He couldn't read Blaise's expression as he came around the table to look at the books laid out across it. It turned out that finding the tomb would only be half the problem. There was a specific artifact needed to open it, and it had been split into pieces. A staff, which Morgan recognized from a tour of the local museum, and an amulet, which Blaise had already managed to recover from the demons who had held it. But it was not as simple as just having the pieces; there was a strange device required to bind them together, and that was guarded in yet another tomb by magical traps set by an ancient order of mages known as the Horadrim. Cain was familiar with this order, luckily enough, and was certain that he would be able to use the device once they'd located it, and it looked like Blaise had already eliminated several options from a long list of possible locations for that tomb.

It was growing late in the day, though, and Blaise flatly refused to start a new expedition before the morning. "You might be fine," she groused, not sounding as though she believed that to be the case at all, "but I'm hungry and tired. I'm going back to the palace. You can come with me, if you want. You could probably use the rest."

Morgan didn't want to go back, not yet. He looked down at the map on the table in front of him. Most of the marked locations were far enough from the city to be troublesome, but within a reasonable distance of a waypoint. Potentially good ways to keep himself occupied, to make sure his skills hadn't suffered too badly from disuse. Unfortunately, he'd never accessed most of the waypoints. He would need help with that.

"I'll stay here for the night. I can catch up on research." He paused. Perhaps someone else could act as a guide, someone he wasn't already deeply indebted to. "Is there someone who could show me to these waypoints?"

"Yeah. Me. Tomorrow." No luck there, then. Blaise put one hand on her hip. "Are you really sure you want to stay here?"

"Yes." He'd fled his room for a reason. If he didn't have something useful to focus his attention on now, he was going to come apart at the seams. He just needed to occupy himself, and that was going to be much easier here.

"All right, fine. But I'm not going to take you anywhere tomorrow if you haven't gotten any rest."

Anger flared suddenly hot in Morgan's chest. She kept insisting he rest, as though he hadn't just lost - how much time exactly wasn't clear, but it was certainly at least a few days of precious time, while she apparently picked up the slack. Did she still think of him as a child, someone who needed to be taken care of? Just another responsibility to shoulder? He slammed his open hand down on the table, growling "I don't want-"

He caught himself there, squeezed his eyes shut. Took a deep breath. Control. She had every reason to see him as an inconvenience, and that wasn't important. How others perceived him was inconsequential, he reminded himself. The only thing that really mattered was the Balance. His most important task was to find and stop the demons intent on upsetting it, and he wasn't going to get any closer to that goal by antagonizing a person who could help him. What he needed was her cooperation, not her respect.

"I apologize for that outburst," he said, opening his eyes but keeping them deferentially cast down. "It was not called for. I have had my fill of sitting idle, but I will rest when I need to."

Blaise was silent for a moment. "That's... whatever. Fine. See you tomorrow." She left without further comment. Morgan smoothed down the paper he'd rumpled in his childish show of temper. Not counting the claw vipers, it had been a long while since the last time he'd let himself get agitated to the point of lashing out. He was still on edge, not feeling quite settled in his skin after all that had happened. How long was it going to take him to get back to normal? He would have to focus his meditation on regaining emotional control for a while. This type of behaviour was totally unacceptable.

Cain cleared his throat. "Shall we continue? I believe I have at least another half hour in me today." He smiled warmly and Morgan relaxed a little. He could count on the scholar to leave well enough alone, to focus on the task at hand as he so badly needed to do.

"Yes, please."

Cain dedicated the better part of the next hour to filling in details about the Horadrim and their role in imprisoning Baal. He had managed to put together a diagram of the runes he suspected would be holding the demon lord in place, which Morgan set aside carefully to memorize later. He also had a general idea of the area where the Horadric cube, the device required to reunite the staff, was located, and what manner of traps would be securing it. The trouble was that the desert landscape had shifted over the intervening years, so none of the nearby landmarks were there any more. It was in this general area that Blaise had been concentrating her efforts, having gotten clearance from her superiors to pursue the lead. She had made impressive progress. Hopefully she would still be willing to work with Morgan after he'd repaid her efforts with nothing but a short temper. She didn't tend to accept apologies well, though. He'd just have to work harder at making himself useful.

After Cain retired for the evening, Morgan settled into what felt like a reasonable pattern of alternating between study and meditation. He had to ease himself into it at first; the urge to focus all of his energy on the problem of finding the cube was very strong. But the longer he studied, the more he realized he did need to rest himself properly. Once he passed the initial hurdle of forcing himself to stop and meditate, it was actually a relief to do so. It was good to meditate with peaceful intent again. The familiar, uninterrupted mental exercises were calming in a way he'd sorely missed, and it felt like a luxury to be able to sit in a comfortable chair again. Of course, everything felt like a luxury, compared to... well. It was nice to have a fresh appreciation for the small things.

By the time the sun was coming up, Morgan was satisfied that his understanding was at least adequate. Blaise and Cain found him leaning over the table comparing two maps, trying to pick out notable landmarks from the older one that might still be recognizable in some way.

"Good morning," he greeted them, looking up from his comparison a few seconds later. Both appeared to be in reasonably good spirits.

"Morning. So, do you still want to go out today, or do you want to keep studying?" Blaise lingered at the threshold while Cain made his way around the large table.

"I'd like to join the search today. I've rested," Morgan added quickly at the expression that flickered across her face. "More than I expected. I can keep up."

"Right. Get your gear and some breakfast then, we should go before it gets too much hotter."

Morgan flinched as a hand came down on his own. He'd almost forgotten Cain's tendency towards this sort of casual contact. The old man patted his hand twice, smiling encouragingly.

"Do stay safe out there. Good luck."

"Thank you," Morgan said, sliding his hand away. "I'll meet you at the waypoint," he suggested as he headed past Blaise. She didn't agree or refuse, instead following him out of the archives wordlessly. She only broke her silence once they were outside.

"You know you don't have to do this," she said, uncharacteristically quiet. Morgan searched her face, but couldn't identify the expression on it.

"No, I do. I can't just stand by and do nothing as evil gathers its forces. As a follower of-" he caught himself, remembering they were out in public. "I am obligated to do everything in my power to ensure that Darkness does not triumph over the Light," he explained instead.

"After all you - I mean, don't you think you've done enough by now?" Her unreadable expression didn't budge. At least it wasn't anger, he decided. That was a positive.

"No. There is no 'enough' until the Balance is righted. And even then, there will always be more to do." It wasn't a single task to be completed, it was a duty that extended past the definition of 'lifelong' as most people knew it. Long after his body was dust, even long after his spirit faded, there would still be more to do. It just wouldn't be his to do any more. But since there was still life in him in this world, he had to keep working toward the larger goal.

Blaise seemed unsatisfied with his response, but they had reached the waypoint. "Well, I guess I'll scout ahead while you get yourself together. If I'm not here when you get back, just wait for me."

"Very well." He turned to head towards the palace. If he was fast enough, he could get equipped and still visit the marketplace before it got too busy. There was a vendor who sold nuts and cheeses, good nutrient-dense foods that would be suitable for eating while travelling. It would save time if he could avoid larger meals altogether.

Morgan was relieved to find his room empty when he reached it. It wasn't that he didn't want to see Jemali, exactly, but he wasn't looking forward to it either. Not before he managed to get a handle on his emotions. To dismiss the lingering ache of disappointment that he'd invited in by allowing himself to believe briefly, stupidly, that the kindness he'd received had been anything other than a transaction. Of course he knew better, but it had been a moment of weakness. Nothing to do for it but try to get stronger.

His equipment was still as he'd left it. Despite not wanting to keep Blaise waiting longer than necessary, he let himself fall into an easy rhythm of tightening and checking buckles, running his fingers along the edges of the straps to find any thinning or splitting spots. It was a pleasantly tactile exercise, and the familiarity was a comfort.

The small bag of trinkets had been placed back with the others. It was tempting to go through them, to satisfy his vague curiosity about the cost of Jemali's service, but he'd already spent more time than he intended here. It was time to move on to the marketplace, then the desert. Yes, it was good to have an itinerary again.

[nosferatvpussy]

distorted lullabies [chapter I]

Word count: 2,134 Warnings: none but please keep in mind this story will eventually delve into mature themes so go away if you’re not 18+ Pairing: Dracula x female reader

I’ll try posting a chapter per week. Any constructive criticism and feedback is very welcome (really, english is not my first language so I’ll take any help I can get). I’m waiting for ao3 to e-mail me an invitation so I can post it there, too. 

_______________________________________________________________

He heard her footsteps long before she knocked on his door.

He stood sat on his armchair with a book on his lap, waiting. A loud song reached his ears, making him tilt his head. Hm. Interesting how humans could go around now with a tiny appliance that played music directly in their ears. The gramophone had lost its appeal and the wealth associated with it. Now everybody on the street carried one of those metal and glass slabs with strings attached to it, bobbing their head to their song of choice.

She was humming along with the song as she walked down the corridor to his building. Shifting in his seat, he closed his eyes and took a deep breath. A hint of perfume, coffee, strawberries and honey. Curious. Not a scent of her blood yet.

The clicking heels stopped as she paused the music and he rose. He took his time on the way to the door so she could adjust her belongings. Another deep intake of breath and he came to a halt, a sigh escaping his lips. 

Oh, intoxicating.

He found that this new era had brought exquisite new flavours to his taste, but this one… ah, she was a mix of old european blood, found only in the hidden depths of the Carpathian Forest, and the lovely nuance of modernity. That old saying, you are what you eat applied to her as well. Whatever she was in habit of eating or drinking heavily influenced her scent. A nice, well preserved and safely kept bottle of wine, just for him. It quickly overpowered all the other scents surrounding her.

Knock, knock.

Throwing his head back to try and regain his composure, he opened the door. The door handle dented beneath his hand upon laying eyes on her. He expected her to pretty but he was met with far more than that. 

“Yes?”, was all he could manage. 

“I’m Y/N L/N,” she said as if it were explanatory. He stared at her blankly. “Renfield sent me, I’m from the lawyer firm? I brought you some documents to review.” 

“Oh, yes, of course,” he stepped aside, opening one arm to invite her in and putting a smile on display. 

She peered at him from the corner of her eyes as she passed him, quickening her pace as he took another whiff. He would have to be more cautious so as to not scare her away. But if she did flee that would only make him chase her and he would drink her down too quickly, without any appreciation whatsoever. And what a crime that would be.

“I brought you a cell phone, as well. Renfield mentioned you were stripped of yours when you were taken to the Foundation.” She placed her bag on a chair and her briefcase on top of large center table of his flat. She had her back to him, giving an opportunity to analyse her.

The tight clothes and missing fabric was still something he had to get accustomed with but he wasn’t complaining. If anything, he quite liked the fashion of this century. 

The fact that he could see her stockings was outrageous, black with a seam running down the center of her legs. In his time, she would have been lynched for having her undergarments on display like that. The black high heels were a nice touch. And then the tight pencil skirt outlining her curves… It left just enough for his imagination. 

She turned around to see him standing there like a statue, the door still open. Ah, pity. How unfortunate that those shirts were still in fashion. He couldn’t recall the name humans gave it in this era and suddenly he hated it. The collar covered her neck entirely. In fact, now that he realized it the only skin showing on her body was on her face and hands. 

“Count? Are you alright?”

“Perfectly fine, my darling,” he replied, closing the door at last and swallowing down the saliva that had welled up in his mouth. He strode over to her, placing his hands on the chair closest to her. “I apologise for my manners. It has been awhile since I had a guest over, you must think me a terrible host. Please, take a seat. Unfortunately I have only water and wine to offer you.”

She looked derisively to the chair offered to her. Her lips fought a smile and he encouraged it by smiling in return, but, no, she refused to give it to him.

“Renfield was right,” she whispered under her breath but he caught it. Louder, she said “Thank you but I’ll stand. I’m in a hurry today. Don’t you worry about me,” she extended a white box with a picture of that metal slab on the front. A cell phone, she had said. “Here you go, there’s already a simcard in it, your new number is written in the back. I’ve taken the liberty to set it up for you. I placed Renfield’s number on speed dial should you need it, he’s registered as 6. You do know how to handle one of these, right?”

“I catch on fairly fast,” opening the box and retrieving the phone. “And if I need to contact you?” 

“You have no need to contact me. I’m simply running an errand for my boss,” she stated dryly, averting her eyes. “Here, if you could sign these for me to release the rest of your assets,” a pen was offered to him. He plucked it from her small fingers automatically.

It was not often that he met someone that resisted his charms. He could count on one hand, in fact. The Van Helsings, Johnny and now her. At the very least Agatha and Zoe held some interest in him and Johnny had made himself a hero waging vengeance against him - especially now with the Jonathan Harker Foundation.

But not her. Not one sliver of interest.

“Are you signing them or should I come back another da- evening?” she corrected herself, one hand on her hip and another raising to push her hair back. He caught a glimpse of the skin beneath her ear, paler than the rest of her.

He took his time signing each of the documents. When he was done, he gathered the papers in his hands, holding them flush against his chest so she wouldn’t get them and leave. She bit the insides of her cheeks, meeting his eyes with clear annoyance on them. Oh, fiesty. She was an impatient one. Maybe he had caught her on a bad day but he had a feeling she was always like this. He could not stop his smirk, which only made her heart beat faster in anger. 

“And if I want to contact you? I promise you I will make it worth your while.”

“I don’t do dates with clients.”

“I’m not your client.” 

That made her scoff.

“Right. You’re Renfield’s,” her eyes traveled up and down him, granting him a little satisfaction. “Still, I don’t do dates.”

“What if it’s not a date? I am new to London and I would appreciate if someone could show me the sights.”

“I’m not a tour guide,” she replied, her expression hardening. 

“No, you’re a lawyer.”

“I’m well aware. Can I have those back?”, one hand out to him with a raised eyebrow. 

“No.”

“No?”

“No.”

Both of her hands went on her hips and she huffed, trying to make herself bigger as if she was demanding respect. The movement made her breasts press through her shirt, giving him a delightful sight. She grabbed her purse, swung it over her shoulder and proceeded to close her briefcase. 

“Fine. Keep them. I’m late to an appointment at court. I’m sure Renfield can send someone else to get those papers. In the meanwhile, enjoy life without all your money.”

“How insolent of you,” he shot back but he was smiling. He doubted she would address him like that if she knew just what he was.

“Yes I am. I don’t have time for games.” 

“This is isn’t a game.”

“Isn’t it? I see right through you. God, and you must think you’re so innovative with all the european sophistication. I bet you’re used to having women throwing themselves at you as soon as you mention you’re a Count.”

“Usually, I don’t have to mention it at all, in fact,” he intervened. She was about to continue but he carried on. “What was Renfield right about?”

Her eyes widened and her lips parted in surprise. He cocked an eyebrow, shaking the papers as if to say he would give them to her if she answered.

“That you are not from here and that you are old fashioned.”

Listening attentively to her heart and how it skipped a beat, he shook his head to the sides.

“That’s not all. What else?”

“He said that you would try and gain my affections.” 

The Count offered her the papers. 

“Perhaps I ought to change lawyers. He clearly speaks more about his own clients than he should. Would you be available?”

And with that she chuckled. Ah, so the façade could be broken… at least for a second. 

“I’m afraid I have a long list of clients at the moment, Count Dracula. If you commit a serious offense you may call on me to represent you,” she took the papers, her fingers briefly brushing against his cold skin. Her eyebrows furrowed but she was quick to conceal her startlement at his temperature.

She was walking to the door as she stuffed the papers inside her bag and he accompanied her.

“I might just murder someone to take you up on your offer,” he said from behind her, in a tone much more serious than he intended. Still, she laughed at that, the sound ringing through the room. 

He courteously opened the door for her and she turned on her heels, extending a hand for him. 

“I apologise for being rude before but I will not apologise for setting boundaries. I hope you understand that, Count. And if you do decide to murder someone make sure to hide the evidence so it will be a good case for us.”

“I will keep that in mind.”

He grinned at her and she smiled back but without the warmth he presented her. A large hand slipped into hers and she shuddered. Gazing down unto her eyes he shook her hand which made her smile grow more confident. She had started to loosen her grip but he held her firmly. He bent forward and his lips caressed the back of her hand. She stared at him the whole time as if hypnotized and for a moment he thought he had gotten her in the palm of his hand but then she blinked and cleared her throat. 

“Boundaries, Count Dracula, you should remember them if we meet again. Goodbye.”

“Bye now, my darling,” he called when she turned her back to him and started marching down the corridor, swaying her hips.

“Boundaries!” she repeated as she entered the elevator.

Before the doors closed he could swear he saw an amused glint in her eyes. 

The Count sat on his armchair again, the book now forgotten as he thought about Y/N. He was still indecisive about what to do with her. Simply draining her would not only be a waste of good blood but as well of character. 

She demanded respect with every step of her heels. He would bet that she could cower many men with that stare of hers. Dracula had never met many lawyers and those that he did meet were fascinating in different ways. Johnny was determined although slightly stupid. Renfield was a slave to his every wish. Should Dracula ask him to retrieve the fattest fish in the sea, the poor man would probably drown trying to get it. But she was an entirely different breed.

So strong-willed that it was a charm all on its own, without even striving for it to be as such. He had heard an expression on the television the other day that he thought might apply well to her - “my way or the highway”.

And such amazing beauty. Make up was far more popular in this century, he could tell, and he was quickly learning it could disguise many unwanted flaws but she used in such a way that it added to her beauty instead of covering it. 

Beautiful, impetuous, resolute… and a sense of humour that was surprisingly dark. 

Ah… She would make quite the bride if she could withstand the change. And if she did not, he would make sure to savour every curve and every last drop of blood in her body.

[reneejuliet]

I can hear the bells.

Author: reneejuliet

Pairing: Jungkook x Reader

Rating: E (absolutely nothing)

Word Count: 1, 768

Genre: Fluff, Soulmate AU?

Author’s Note: Hiiiiiiiii. Here it is: my first drabble. I swear Jungkook isn’t even my bias, he’s just such the sweetest little sweetheart to ever exist. As soon as I read/heard about his whole thing with wanting to hear a bell when he meets his soulmate/significant other, this just popped right into my head. And because I am an insomniac, I finally wrote it out last night. Hopefully you like it! 

Also, the photo above is edited by me.

  It was quiet - that was the first thing Jungkook noticed. The soft lull of commercial music hummed above his head as he perused the shelves, just muted enough for any lyrics to be indistinguishable. He didn't mind. It lent a hand in dissociating, something he rarely had time for these days.

Not that he was complaining. That was something he tried very hard to never do. Jungkook knew just how lucky he was, how great of an opportunity he had seized at a young age that allowed him this crazy, amazing lifestyle he would have never had otherwise. It had its pitfalls, its downsides, but every road in life did. His benefits far surpassed any complaints he could possibly muster, and so he made painstakingly sure to always keep them to himself.

No, he was simply grateful for these moments when they did finally come. When peace and quiet weren't such foreign concepts, but old friends to reacquaint with. Familiar, warm.

The quiet was to be expected, he supposed, given that the sun hadn't even risen yet. In fact, just across from the shop, the high-rise windows showcased the faint stretch of dawn as it began to wake up the horizon. Currently it was just smudges of blue, but soon the sky would blossom with rosy hues as it yawned awake into the start of another day.

For now, though, there was still time to snooze.

It was for precisely this reason that they had chosen now to pass through. The airport was all but barren, and what few bodies did inhabit it were so sparse the danger of recognition was all but nonexistent. Precautions were still taken, of course. Masks pulled up over noses, hats tugged down over eyes. It was always better to be safe than sorry, after all. The majority of the guys hadn't even bothered to stray away from the gate. He wasn't alone, though. Namjoon had also diverged, meandered his way over to a small bookstand cater-cornered from the group in search of a good in-flight read.

Jungkook’s destination had turned out to be this souvenir shop, small and homely despite the massively industrialized building it took residence in. Its doors had barely opened before he had wandered his way in, eyes twinkling at all the miscellaneous knick-knacks lining shelf after shelf. His fingers had ghosted over fancy scarves, traced titles of foreign books. He'd even gotten a chuckle out of a commemorative t-shirt. Then he noticed the small display of perfumes, nose already tingling with the promise of pretty scents, and his feet had turned with a mind of their own. One more couldn't hurt...

He had just stepped out of the aisle when something clipped his shoulder and he stumbled to the side. Gripping a shelf for support, he managed to maintain his footing while turning to identify his assailant. He hadn’t even realized anyone else was in the shop – aside from the clerk behind the counter, anyway. But he was too late. The only sight left to greet him was an arm thrown haphazardly upward as the other person staggered back around the corner from whence they had come. The soles of their shoes squeaked across the tile, followed shortly thereafter by an alarming cacophony that just beckoned Jungkook to follow.

Before he could stop himself, Jungkook heeded the peculiar siren call. The first thing he noticed was the display, its shelves dropped to the side as the last of the trinkets slid unceremoniously toward the ground. Then there was the figure, hunched over itself as small, delicate hands tried to grab as many of said trinkets in a rush to save them. Mumbled words joined the discord, tickling at Jungkook’s brain, though he recognized few. They were spoken too harshly, too quickly. What he did recognize was that they were foreign for the country they were currently in. They were English.

A rush of embarrassment spurred him forward, crouching low to help gather the fallen souvenirs. “Sorry, I – so sorry…”

The sound of his voice startled the other person out of their ramblings and they jumped back on instinct. Above, the display rattled dangerously again on impact. The last remaining shelf teetered off kilter and its contents spilled forward, raining down with a musical chime.

Instinctively, Jungkook lunged forward, throwing out his arms in protection. The trinkets pelted against his body as they fell, too small to hurt. Below him, the other figure jumped again before curling in on itself, face buried in the hood of their jacket. He could just make out the eyes though, wide and bright as they stared at him in shock.

Once the barrage of ceramic keepsakes stopped and the store fell back into relative silence, Jungkook unfurled himself from his hunched position. Out of the corner of his eye, he surveyed the shop to assess the damage. No one seemed alerted to his presence, at least. Not even the clerk. A rush of relief surged through him.

“Sorry,” he muttered again, absentmindedly reaching out a hand to help the other person up. “Are you okay?”

That small, delicate hand slipped hesitantly into his and he tugged. Just as his eyes fixed forward again, they were drawn away at the sight of something slipping off the stranger’s shoulder. Once more instinct acted for him, his other hand shooting out to catch the stray souvenir. What he thought was one was actually two, however, and while the first landed squarely in his opened palm, the second tumbled musically toward the ground.

That was when he recognized the sound. And in what felt like a true movie moment, Jungkook swore time slowed down as his eyes shot back up in surprise. The stranger stared back, face frozen in shock, hood finally slipped away from their face. Jungkook drank in the sight before him while the delicate noise rang loudly in his ears.

Bells.

You were beautiful.

You stood before him, body frozen in complete confusion with just a touch of fear. Plus, you were afraid to move, what with the dozens of ceramic bells now littering the floor around you. So you stayed put, albeit awkwardly, fists curling into the sleeves of your jacket. This man’s gaze was intense, especially given you could see nothing but his eyes. It was a little unnerving.

“I, uh…” You tried to speak, but it was difficult with how he was staring at you. Your cheeks flushed, one hand raising to swipe at them in a weak effort to hide the blooming color.

Jungkook didn’t need to hear much to think your voice was more melodic than anything else he’d ever listened to. And the soft dusting of pink on your skin? More captivating than the glowing dawn outside, and easily his new favorite color.

Whatever moment spanned between you was broken by the call of a voice outside of the shop. Your head perked up at the sound, eyes leaving him in search of the source. He felt his heart thud pathetically at the loss of your attention. His fingers curled tighter around the bell and beneath his mask, he worried his lip between his teeth as he struggled to find something – anything – else to say to you.

Then your eyes turned back to him, and all thought flew right out the window. “I, uh, I have to… go,” you managed to stutter out. Attempting to step around the mess beneath you, your body swayed on uneven footing. Jungkook’s hand came to rest on your side for support, guiding you safely to a free expanse of floor. He hadn’t even noticed your own hand had gripped his arm until suddenly it was withdrawing, shoved deep into the recesses of your pocket.

“Thanks,” you muttered, the flush darkening on your cheeks. Jungkook was sure his own were a matching hue, and he’d never been more thankful for his disguise. “Sorry for the, uh, mess.”

You were moving toward the front of the shop – you were leaving. Jungkook’s eyes widened in realization and, as was proving to be his usual today, he moved after you without thinking. He caught up to you at the end of the aisle, fingers brushing against the seam of your palm as he reached out. You jumped, spinning to face him again. Judging by your expression, you clearly had not expected him to follow.

“Sorry,” he mumbled, dropping his hand back to his side. “I just… uhm…”

Your eyes darted outside of the shop, and he noted the figure hovering in the hall, calling out once more. They turned toward where you both stood, and their eyes lit up in recognition upon seeing you. You looked back to him in apprehension.

“I need to go, my flight –“

“Your name?” Jungkook spit out, cheeks flaming in embarrassment. Damn, he wished he were more eloquent.

Your lips pursed in surprise at his outburst. “Wh-what?”

He couldn’t help how his gaze fell to your pouted lips for a split second. He hoped you wouldn’t notice, but your ruddy cheeks indicated that you most definitely did. You looked good in scarlet.

“Your name,” he breathed out a little easier this time. “I can… have your name?”

Maybe it was the caffeine from one too many coffees buzzing through your veins, or just the way his dark eyes glistened so innocently in the faint light of dawn. Or maybe it was because you were just desperate to get away before your already dwindling wallet could feel the weight of the possible damage you had caused in there. Either way, you found it much too easy to oblige him.

“Y/N.”

His heart took wing at the sound, and the smile that split his face was so wide it crinkled his eyes to near slits. And he swore your lips twitched with faint mimicry. Then you were moving again, joining your friend as you both hurried off to your gate.

“Ahem.”

Jungkook turned to see the store clerk perched over his shoulder, arms crossed over her chest. She raised an eyebrow at him, tilting her head in the direction of the broken display. His head bobbed in admonishment and he moved back inside, quick to assure the clerk he would pay for the damage. This seemed to soothe her, at least, and he followed her back to her post at the register. Somehow, he found he didn’t mind the impending cost. Instead, his hand tightened around the little ceramic bell, grateful to have a keepsake of the single most important day of his life.

The day Jeon Jungkook met his soulmate.

In’t he cute? Anyway! I sort of have an idea for this to be a series/longer piece, so pleaseeee let me know what you think and if I should expand. Otherwise this will remain a stand alone. Thanks for reading! ^.^

©reneejuliet 2020. No part of this material may be copied, photocopied, reproduced, reposted, or translated without consent.

[lemondropsssss]

“Hello Geralt.” By some strange miracle his tone is even, his hands don’t shake, and Jaskier doubts even Geralt could suss out his anxiety.

“Jaskier.”

Geralt looks different. Ragged would not be an incorrect word for it. Geralt’s hair is greasy, the white streaked grey from lack of washing. He’s dressed all in black par the course, but his shirt has seen better days and his cloak looks like it’s coming apart at the seams. Geralt is without his armor, but his steel sword hangs on his belt and Jaskier knows he has at least three knives hidden somewhere beneath the mess. He looks older, and more exhausted than Jaskier has ever seen him.

What is most curious is his companion. He can’t be more than fourteen, but why would Geralt have a young boy with him? He wears a loose shirt and worn trousers, and a cap covers his head. He looks up at Jaskier from under a too-big cloak, and he’s struck by all too familiar emerald eyes. There is only one green-eyed fourteen-year-old who could possibly be following a Witcher. A Cintran princess thought lost to the world.

He meets Geralt’s gaze and they have a quick nonverbal conversation over her head, Geralt confirming his suspicions of her identity with a curt nod. The ease and familiarity of their communication digs like a knife into Jaskier’s gut.

“We were hoping you could...” Geralt pauses, and Cirilla wastes no time in digging an elbow into his side. “We were hoping you could help us.”

“Help you.” He repeats, just to make sure he heard correctly. Not at all because asking had made Geralt’s face contort in ways Jaskier hadn’t thought possible.

Geralt sounds off a grunt and a short nod, which he supposes he should have expected from the Witcher.

“What kind of help do-” Jaskier is cut off by a door banging open down the hall, and the loud sounds of students spilling into the walkways. Geralt curls a protective arm around Cirilla’s shoulders, tucking her against his side and out of sight of any passing students.  

“We shouldn’t talk here. The University is safe enough, but walls have ears, and you carry precious cargo.” He nods towards Cirilla. “Right then. Help. You need to go to Number 6 Cheeseman Street. Tell Beatrice that you’re friends of Julian. Here, take this,” He tugs the heavy silver signet ring off his middle finger and holds it out to Geralt, “So she knows I sent you.”

“Who’s Julia- Wait. You’re not coming with us?” Confusion is evident on Geralt’s face, and the knife in Jaskier’s gut just cuts deeper.

You’re doing it again says the cruel voice in his head, You’ll give and he’ll take until there’s nothing left of use to him. And then he’ll run off with his sorceress and his child while you wither and die like the weak pathetic mortal man you are.

“You came at the end of this class, Geralt, but I do have another one today. Funny, how schools work on a non-Witcher-centric timetable, isn’t it?” Geralt looks reasonably chastised, and Jaskier can’t help but feel a spark of vindication at that. “I have responsibilities here that I can’t just abandon. Go and wait for me. Bea will take care of you, and you’ll be safe there.”

Geralt watches Jaskier turn on his heel and walk back into his classroom with a feeling akin to longing in his gut. He hadn't realized how much he had been missing the bard until he was standing in front of him. He was struck with the sinking feeling that their friendship may not have survived the dragon mountains after all.

“Here,” He grunts, passing Ciri the signet ring. If he’s disturbed by this new, different Jaskier he doesn’t show it. He can't show it, not around Ciri. She needs him, and he would die before failing her. Geralt knew Jaskier might have still been upset after their disastrous parting, but the changes he saw in his old friend were not what he had expected. He wore somber clothes, had shorter silver swept hair, and no open smile; the man who had come out of that classroom didn’t seem much like the Jaskier he remembered.

They collect Roach at the front gates, and begin the trek towards Number 6 Cheeseman Street. Ciri is quiet as they walk, toying the ring between her fingers. It’s been a long year, and Geralt knows she’s more tired than he is. He leads her through busy city streets, keeping her tucked close between him and Roach, finally coming upon the quieter richer streets favored by nobles and the prissier academics. Of course Jaskier would know someone here.

They reach Number 6, and Geralt pauses and situates Ciri half behind him before he rings the bell. It’s another minute before the door is opened.

“Yes?” An older woman asks. She’s short and stout, her more-grey-than-brown hair pulled back into a neat bun. There’s a softness to her, a kindness around the eyes, even as she frowns warily at them. She doesn’t seem like the kind of woman Jaskier normally fell into bed with, but it’s entirely possible the bard’s tastes had changed.

“Are you Beatrice?”

“I am. Can I help you with something?”

Geralt motions to Ciri, who holds Jaskier’s signet ring out to the woman. “We’re friends of Julian’s,” Ciri says, and Geralt can see the older woman softening at the sight of both the ring and the child. She inspects the ring for a short moment, giving a long sigh and muttering something about bringing home strays before stepping aside to let them in.

Beatrice is a force of nature, and it isn’t long before Geralt and Ciri have both been bathed, scrubbed, changed into clean clothes, and settled at the kitchen table with bowls of hearty stew and fresh brown bread. Roach is taken two houses down to be stabled. Bea, as she insists they call her, assures him she’ll be well taken care of. Their bags are brought back to the house and settled in their connecting rooms.

This is all done in the span of an hour, and it’s all Geralt can do to just let it happen. The woman doesn’t seem any particular threat, though he has put an idle thought towards what happens when whatever lord of the house shows up. He knows Jaskier has friends in all sorts of places, but he doesn’t know of any noble who would be happy to find an unknown Witcher at his table.

They’re halfway through their second helping of stew when Geralt hears the front door open, and an even tread making its way toward the kitchen. A moment later, Jaskier appears in the doorway. He looks over them both with a sharp eye, and Geralt feels strangely vulnerable under his gaze.

“Here you are, dear,” Bea hands Ciri another large slice of bread for her soup, and then passes another to Geralt. “Get in here,” She orders, and Ciri’s gaze snaps up, just noticing another has joined them. “I’ll not be bringing you supper to your room later, you’ll eat here with your guests.” It’s not a negotiation. Jaskier grins, holding up his hands in a sign of peace.

“Yes ma’am.” He sinks into the chair at the head of the table, and Bea puts down his own bowl of stew and bread. “I should have warned you, Witcher, Bea does have a tendency to over feed her guests; you and your companion are bound to roll away from the table.” Jaskier winks at Ciri over his bowl, and the girl offers a small smile in return.

“I am sorry dear, in all the commotion we were never properly introduced.” Ciri stills, and her gaze shifts to Bea in the corner before flicking back to Geralt. “Bea,” Jaskier calls out when he realizes her worry, “Would you mind giving me and my guests the room?” The housekeeper huffs but leaves, with a stern warning to Jaskier about what will happen if he lets the bread burn. It’s only when Jaskier can no longer hear her footsteps that he turns back to Ciri. “I admire your caution, little one. An important skill to learn when one travels with a Witcher. I wish you no ill will, and I can promise that no harm will come to you in this house.”

Ciri looks back to Geralt for confirmation, and he gives her a short nod. Jaskier feels a mild pull of hurt at the familiarity of their silent conversation, and quickly tucks it away before either can notice.

“Ciri,” She says quietly, sitting up just a little straighter as she does. “You can call me Ciri. But we use Fiona around everyone else.”

“Then perhaps you should remain Fiona during your stay here. I trust Beatrice with my life, and she’ll probably spoil you rotten as long as you let her, but it will be safer if she doesn’t know your true identity. Information is powerful, little one, but no one can let spill a secret they don’t know. I am very happy to see you safe here, Ciri.” He says her true name softly, and when she smiles at him the sight practically melts his heart.

“Who owns this place?”  Geralt interrupts, earning himself a scowl from Jaskier. “Not another lord you’re cuckolding?”

“It’s a bit hard to cuckold oneself, dear, but I supposed I could give it the old college try.” He’s smiling and his tone is light, trying to mask any hurt at the dig.

“What, this is yours?” Ciri asks, looking around the expansive kitchen. “Bea said it belonged to Master Julian, but Geralt said your name was Jaskier.”

“Yes, well, it’s been over a year and she still refuses to drop the ‘master’ part. I did try and tell her it wasn’t necessary and then she got very offended and didn’t speak to me for three days.” Geralt is giving Jaskier his dopey-what-the-fuck-are-you-on-about look that once upon a time would’ve made his knees weak. Now it just makes him sad.

“Well then, let me introduce myself properly. Or, reintroduce, as the case may be.” He stands and bows low to Cirilla. “Professor Julian Alfred Pancratz, Viscount de Lettenhove, formerly known as the Bard Jaskier, at your eternal service.” When he adds an extra flourish Ciri giggles, and the sound tugs at his heart.

Geralt is watching him with a frown, and Jaskier meets it with a raised eyebrow himself.

“You never said you were a Viscount.”

“You never asked,” Jaskier points out, folding himself back into his seat, “I’ve told plenty of other people my name. Truly, twenty odd years and it never seemed strange to you that a woman would name her honest to gods son Buttercup ? It’s hardly my fault you weren’t paying enough attention.” Geralt opens his mouth to retort, so Jaskier shifts his attention back to Ciri. “It’s very good to have you here, little one. I came to sing to you a few times for your birthday, though you were quite young then, so I don’t expect you’d remember.”

“No, I remember you. A little, at least.” She pauses, tilting her head to think, “I remember grandmother didn’t like that grandfather had invited you.You brought me a carved wolf, but grandmother screeched and I wasn’t allowed to play with it. I didn’t know why. I liked your songs, especially the one about the lion cub.”

Jaskier laughs. “Yes, while Eist and I had a friendship of sorts, I can’t say your grandmother was overly fond of me. I think she worried I would tell you stories of a mighty Witcher who would one day come to claim you. Perhaps a wolf was a little too on the nose.” He grows somber, and reaches out to cover her small hand with his. “They were good people, your family. I am sorry they are gone.” He squeezes her hand, and gives the princess a reassuring smile that she returns, albeit shakily. “I admit I worried for you, when I heard of Cintra’s fate. It makes me very happy to see you safe here with Geralt.”

Jaskier can feel Geralt’s gaze on him, but he does not meet it. They finish their meal together, and Ciri warms to Jaskier quickly. He jokes and trades silly stories with her, Geralt grunting or adding short corrections to the ones about their adventures together. Soon enough Ciri is falling asleep in her stew. Jaskier sends her up to bed, bidding her goodnight and watching as she ascends the stairs to her room.

Geralt is still sitting at the kitchen table, watching Jaskier. His gaze is careful, his eyes follow Jaskier as the man collects two cups and a bottle of wine.

“I assume you still drink,” He says, setting a cup down for Geralt before sliding into a chair. He pours them both glasses before sitting back with a heavy sigh. “Go on, then. You’ve got that look in your eye. Does the mighty Witcher Geralt of Rivia have something to say?” It was much easier to keep his tone level with Cirilla there. Now he can’t keep the bitterness from his words, and they leave a bad taste in his mouth. He tries to wash it away with big gulps of wine, but it doesn’t help.

Geralt grunts instead of a real answer, and Jaskier huffs a laugh into his cup. He drains it, and pours himself another.

“You’re different.” It’s quiet, almost so quiet Jaskier can’t hear it over the crackling of the hearth but he does.

“Yes, well, that is normally expected of us humans. Change. Personal growth. That sort of thing.”

"Personal growth. Huh. I half expected you to offer to sing Ciri to sleep. Regale her with tales of the White Wolf."

Jaskier's answer is to huff a dark laugh into his cup and continue drinking with determination. At least he can be good at some things.

“Where’d you get the money for all this?” Geralt asks after a long silence. There’s a hint of accusation in his tone which Jaskier bristles at.

“Fishing, technically. And taxes, I guess, you’d really have to ask my sister.” At Geralt’s confused look he sighs deeply before explaining. “I’m a Viscount of a coastal estate, Geralt. I make money by having other people fish and then taxing them for it. Is this really the first thing you ask me? Eighteen months and all you have is a question about my business practices?”

Geralt doesn't answer, and that only helps to fuel the anger growing in his belly. The wine isn’t exactly helping, but he isn’t going to stop drinking it. They sit in silence, Jaskier drinking and Geralt watching him. After what feels like an eternity, Jaskier heaves a sigh and stands.

“Right, well, if you’re not going to say anything I’m going to bed.”

“Jaskier, wait.” He almost doesn’t. He almost leaves, but that voice. It haunts his fucking dreams, and he can’t say no to it. But he doesn’t turn around.

“It’s Julian, now, actually.”

“Julian, then.” The voice is closer now, and Jaskier had forgotten how quietly his Witcher could move. A hand tugs at his shoulder, turning him back around to face Geralt. His face is doing something Jaskier had never seen before, and on anyone else he’d say it was regret. “I wanted to...” He trails off, and Jaskier tugs his arm out of Geralt’s grip.

“If you have something to say, say it.”

“Damnit, bard. You don’t make this easy,” The man growls out, running a frustrated hand through his hair. “I am sorry. About what happened on the dragon mountain. About what I said. I was angry, and you were there. I didn’t mean it.” It’s more of an apology than Jaskier had thought Geralt would be capable of, but it does nothing to repair the gaping chasm between them.

He still needs things from you, the insidious voice in his head whispers, Once you give him what he wants he’ll leave you. Haven’t you learned anything? He doesn’t care about you. You’re a burden to him. You don’t make this easy. How pathetic.

Jaskier offers Geralt a tight smile, taking a small step back. “The mountain is in the past. What happened there doesn’t matter anymore. You don’t need to worry, I understand what this is now. I’ll help you, and as soon as you’ve both rested and resupplied you’ll be on your way.” He says it with some amount of finality, as if that would make it any easier to get out.

Jaskier will help Geralt, because there really isn’t any version of reality in which he wouldn’t. But he knows now not to make their arrangement out to be anything more than that; an exchange of goods and services. He owes Geralt more than his own life is worth, and helping him and his Child Surprise now is simply a way to pay back that debt. As long as he remembers the status quo he should come out the other side unscathed.

“I bid you goodnight, Witcher.” Jaskier’s voice is steady when he speaks, thank all the gods for small mercies, and he’s almost halfway up the steps before Geralt’s reply reaches him.

“Goodnight, Julian.”

.

@itsthedemonsboi @naominami ya’ll asked to be tagged

here is part one, part two, and the full story on ao3

[gold-eyes-vengeful-heart]

Silvarre

((An aside of a fic, about the remnants of the IXth Legion.

Contains spoilers for 5.5′s MSQ! Also contains a (villain) Garlean being quite canon-typically imperialist if you’re not down for reading that kinda thing which: understandable, have a nice night))

===

Tiberius mal Cassius--or Tiberius van Cassius, as far as he was concerned--settled more easily into his Weapon’s cockpit, and just sighed in resignation over her comms-link.

“Repeat that again for me, Tesserarius Venatio.” With a simple impulse of thought, he sent his Weapon inching closer to the port side of his airship, her aetherial wingtips getting within yalms of it. (But it was far from the greatest show of precision he had ever done; in Silvarre’s cockpit, they were one, and they were capable of much together.)

{yes}

{together}

The thoughts strayed into his own and he mentally embraced them with a smile. “I had been hoping you would see things my way.” It had been glorious, watching her rip straight through her containment as if it hadn’t even been there, in a shower of metal and glass and torn cabling. It had been significantly less glorious to see the other Weapons escape into the wild, but...no matter. He would find them and either destroy them or tame them with Silvarre.

“S-Sir?”

The tesserarius’ voice made him realize that he seemingly had been talking to himself, and so he just raised a brow and replied. “I’m waiting, Venatio. You have me talking to my child, you’re taking so long.”

(He couldn’t have them thinking he was too much of a madman.)

“Y-Yes...As I was saying, the Eorzean Butcher came back, and she killed your entire squad of spies when she did.” An image came up in the corner of the main viewing screen, and Tiberius’ eye flicked lazily to it.

A bunch of corpses impaled on a tree. It might have just seemed like pure savagery to the uninformed eye--and it was, really, even then--it also told Tiberius that even biting that bloody savage in half hadn’t been enough to really kill her. He really should have assumed, when he found no body or anything other than the massive spray of dark blood from the initial bite; then again, there were very few things aside from some particular species of slime monsters that came back from such a life-ending blow.

Until her. Of course.

“None of us know how,” the tesserarius continued with an audible gulp, “or perhaps it’s just someone imitating her, to keep the savages’ morale up--”

“Oh, no, no.” Tiberius casually cut him off. “I’m quite certain that’s her again. I’m beginning to think that the rumors of her in particular being near unkillable have merit.” He sent Silvarre into a gentle ascent, with a single thought and a twitch of the controls. “It would hardly be the strangest thing I’ve seen in the savages’ lands.”

“Then how do we overcome--?”

He, yet again, cut the increasingly-panicked tesserarius off. More firmly this time. “If you believe the only way to subdue a savage is to kill them, then you have a distinct lack of imagination. Even if she’s one of those that can’t have their minds and their wills broken enough to submit--and I quite believe that, given what I’ve heard of her and her tribe--there are more ways of getting an immortal out of the way than one of you might think. If you bury anything deep enough, out of reach of even the strongest savage enough...”

He trailed off meaningfully, and his underling sighed shakily.

“Well, yes,” the tesserarius admitted, if reluctantly. “You and your...daughter...”

He clearly thought the title strange, but he of course didn’t have the spine to contradict his Legatus.

“...did manage to get her out of the way for quite some number of weeks, doing what you did. I can’t speak for the others, but...I’m certain you’ll find a way, even if no one else has.”

Tiberius immediately picked up on the odd tone of the last bit. “But?”

“It’s nothing, Legatus Cassius.”

“Oh, come on. It’s something.”

“How many of us are going to die in the process?” The scared little remark almost squeaked out of the other man, and the silence that stretched on between them over the comms-link grew to what was probably an unbearable level on Venatio’s end.

But, finally, Tiberius just chuckled, though a hard edge laced his voice as he responded.

“I’m not fond of sacrificing my own men for no reason. You know this, Tesserarius Venatio. Of course I’m going to do my best to avoid doing it. But...” His voice lowered, and though Venatio wouldn’t see it, a strange glint came to his eyes. “When dealing with savages, sometimes it’s the only way, or they’re going to kill and maim all of us in the name of their backwards ‘justice’. It’s no dishonor to lose one’s life in the noble pursuit of saving one’s men from the enemy...and saving one’s country.”

The nerves came right back to the tesserarius’ voice. “Our country is on fire, Legatius Cassius. The Prince has just blithely allowed a civil war that is tearing us apart--”

“So it’s up to us to take the reins. To crush those other Legions and their inferior Legatus leaders under heel. To rebuild it, in our image.” Tiberius sighed, rolling his neck for a moment. “And if we can trap that particularly obnoxious savage, I’m certain we can do the same to the rogue Prince. If they don’t actually wipe one another out, that is.” That was always a possibility, and one that he inwardly was...sort of hoping for. If just because it would be the perfect time to stab whoever the victor was in the back.

It was as good a plan as he could come up with at the moment, anyway. Unlike the other Legions, they still had the benefit of their engineers and medics not being brainwashed by...whatever that horrible tower in the Garlean homeland was, gorging itself on the minds of the best Garleans and turning them into little better than mindless ants, all working towards some obscure dark purpose.

{don’t like it no}

{evil}

{badbadbadbad}

The discordance washed over his thoughts and Silvarre briefly banked left and then right in a silvery-armored arc, as if to shake off the memory of that thing they had seen before. He wasn’t any more thrilled to think about it than she was, and even lightly patted the console. “Ah, my apologies, dear. It is unpleasant--”

“Sir?”

Tiberius blinked, briefly. Here he thought he had turned that off first. “Yes, yes. At any rate, we still have our Legion’s engineers together and away from whatever the Prince is building out there that makes a mockery of our Empire.” He had heard himself about the bizarre actions of those exposed too closely or too long to the towers, their beastman-like praising of the Empire as if the Empire was a mere eikon to be worshipped. Disgusting. The thought of it curled his lip, even. “We’ll just have to ensure that that Roegadyn is shoved back out of the way whenever she decides to interfere with us--and we now know of a fairly sure-fire way to do so. And in the meantime, continue to establish our Legion’s own base outside of Garlemald, lest the Prince and his irritating lackey do something immensely foolish and lethal to the whole continent.”

They would likely not be so lucky as to have the two simply off themselves with their own plotting. But he could hope.

“And then we can put all our heads together and figure out how to put all of them down forever, and continue the work the true Empire started. And we can get my Weapons back...that one the test subject stole most certainly included.” A vein of unnatural light pulsed lightly at the corner of his eye, driven by a flash of anger, and he just lightly rubbed that painful spot until it went back down. Weapon-blood was inconvenient at times, wasn’t it? “These so-called gods of theirs will continue to ravage the planet until they leave it a dead rock in space. If they won’t take proper care of their own damned lands, and doom the rest of us in doing it, I’ll make them at the point of a gunblade.”

He finally cut the connection, sending Silvarre back into a dive to follow the airship. It didn’t matter to him if his foes were Garlean, Eorzean, or any of the other savages--even if they were eikons, he would see them all crushed out of his way, and he would finish the noble goal the Empire had started.

It was the only way to save a world that was falling apart at the seams, as far as he was concerned. And he wouldn’t stand by and watch while it happened.

[mamichigo]

Title: glass bottles

Pairing: Kokichi/Shuichi

Rating: G

Word count: 2,1k

Tags: Fantasy, Fairytale Elements, Phantom Thief Thief Kokichi (with a twist), First kiss

Summary: Shuichi has something of his stolen in the quiet of night, by a boy with mischief in his eyes.

Notes: Gift for participant #29 in the @kokichigiftexchange

*

Shuichi had seen them only briefly. One glimpse of a large smile with sharp teeth and purple eyes that seemed to glow. They were light on their feet, quiet as the night as they made it inside Shuichi's room on their tiptoes, like a particularly graceful ballerina. Shuichi didn't have a chance to speak up before the person raised a hand and blew glittering powder into his face. He had collapsed on the spot, but not before the mysterious person supported his swaying body by keeping a hand on his back and another to the back of his head.

The next morning, Shuichi woke up with glitter in his hair and on his fingers, along with a sense that something had gone wrong. Or, like something had gone missing.

He didn't realize the source of that impression until his friend, noticing Shuichi failed to react at all to upsetting events, joked that maybe his emotions had been snatched while he wasn't looking. Kaede had also been startled when he pinned her with an intense gaze and agreed with a terse nod.

"Is it really possible to steal someone's emotions?" Shuichi asked.

Kaede, never one to ignore even his silliest remarks when he was serious about it, put a hand to her chin. "It's not impossible around these parts. I might have heard something like that before, but it's more of a story to scare children than an existing fact."

"But we can't say for sure it doesn't exist?"

"That's right."

Satisfied, Shuichi relented and allowed the topic to change. As soon as he was done, Shuichi set out to research if there was any chance that he had been robbed of his emotions after all. After days of talking to more people than he was comfortable with, Shuichi found somewhat of a specialist (or so that was what he claimed to be). He had an oppressing, almost scary aura to him, but the man spoke of tails that made Shuichi go a little bit starry-eyed.

"Spirits are quite the trick loving bunch," Korekiyo explained over a cup of tea, "perhaps to compensate for what they didn't have the chance to do in life."

"So they're dead…?"

Though Shuichi couldn't see Korekiyo's mouth, he was sure he was smiling somewhat mockingly. "Yes, that would be the logical conclusion."

Shuichi hummed and looked down at his hands. Maybe he'd feel a little sad for this person, if they hadn't stolen his ability to do so.

"Is there any chance for me to find them?"

"Luckily for you, I have many reasons to believe you've encountered a spirit I'm already familiar with."

From the subsequent long monologue that he listened to, Shuichi extracted two important pieces of information: go north, find the closed orphanage that stands at the top of the hill; and, his little robber was apparently a boy who called himself a phantom thief. Or rather, the Phantom Thief, capitalized. Shuichi was doubtful that was his true name.

Nonetheless, Shuichi set out just as instructed. On the sunset of the next day, Shuichi had found himself facing the building that looked a bit like an abandoned church rather than an orphanage, if only because all the windows were stained glass colored vibrant red and pink, for the most part. Shuichi squinted at the building as he struggled to catch his breath.

Though Korekiyo had believed the opposite, Shuichi didn't feel safe, after all. Even a village kid as him knew the stories about people who encountered spirits and never came back afterwards, and knew even more of the ones who returned but not as themselves. Shuichi clutched the sleeves of his shirt.

While he pondered if he should go in or not, the doors slammed open on their own. A giggling voice could be heard, distant; a whistle of the wind. Shuichi tensed up, but shrugged to himself. That was as much of a friendly invitation as he would get, he decided.

The atmosphere inside the orphanage was strange, but perhaps only because he passed rows and more rows of open bedrooms, with beds as small as the ones he used to have in his room when he was nothing but a child. The place was covered in dust and debris, as well as wildlife, like it had been standing so long it was now splitting at the seams.

Though Shuichi was sure he had been wandering without aim, his feet took him to the only room that seemed lived in, to a sense. The dining hall had a table in the middle that went on for miles, and it was the first object Shuichi saw in here that was not dirty. It was also lined with candles in fancy candelabra, making the room just a bit too warm.

The room changed once he stepped properly into it. The bare, rotting walls were now covered in an intricate, elegant wallpaper; the table was surrounded by too tall chairs with plushy looking cushions; the table itself was now full of plates of all kinds of sweets that Shuichi had never seen before. At the center of it all, a carefully balanced tower of beautiful glass vials, adorned with flowers or stars or wings.

Finally, at the head of the table, swimming in his chair, sat a boy who watched him predatorily. Shuichi recognized his teeth first, bared in a childish smile. His face was framed by swirls of red paint, but the rest of his attire was perfectly pure white.

"Phantom Thief," Shuichi greeted.

"So you already know who I am," the Phantom Thief drawled his words, pleased with this outcome. "I'm so glad you went through the trouble of finding me!"

Guessing it was alright to do so, Shuichi sat on the opposite side of the table. The glass tower in the middle obstructed their vision, and they both inclined their heads at the same time to look at each other.

"Of course I did, you have something of mine," Shuichi said, straight to the point.

The Phantom Thief pouted. "We could've made a game out of it, you didn't need to say that right away." He heaved a forlorn sigh. "The rudeness of it all."

"Game?"

"Of course, I love games. Don't you?"

"Occasionally."

The Phantom Thief nodded twice, then dipped his finger into the nearest platter of food. He stuck his finger into his mouth, and promptly spat out whatever it was he just ate.

"Let's talk business, then," the Phantom announced magnanimously. "You're here for what I've stolen from you, is that right?"

"Yes."

"And what are you willing to do to have it back?"

Shuichi blinked. "I don't have to do anything since it's rightfully mine."

There was a stunned silence, followed by loud laughter. The Phantom Thief clutched his sides and his head dipped out of sight for several moments, but Shuichi could imagine the amused expression that was currently on his face.

"That's not how it works here, sorry." He didn't sound apologetic at all. "You have to try harder than that if you want your flask back."

Immediately, Shuichi's eyes were drawn to the glass standing between them. The Phantom Thief applauded him.

"That's right, that's where it is!"

The Phantom Thief stood up and turned to face his chair, then he put one foot up on it, followed by the other. He climbed onto the cushion, then the table with the nimble movements Shuichi just vaguely remembered from their first encounter.

"You see, this wasn't my first heist," the Phantom spoke while he kicked food, delicate china and expensive cutlery aside with the tip of his shoes. He walked to the middle of the table until he could reach for the vials shining in the candlelight. "Yours wasn't all that difficult to catch, either. But it's very special to me, so I can't give it back so easily."

The vial at the very top, placed in the spot of honor, was removed from the overall tower by the Phantom's hands, then held to his chest as if cradling a child.

"So, what is your proposition?"

Shuichi frowned as he watched the navy blue liquid inside slosh. He wondered what would happen if it fell, then broke. Shuichi clutched his hands to his knees.

"What could you possibly see in my sadness?" Shuichi inquired, and if he sounded miffed, well. He was. "Wouldn't it be more rewarding to steal someone's happiness?"

The Phantom contorted his face into a grimace. It made the paint on his cheek distort disturbingly.

"For the record, we don't steal anyone's happiness. That's against the rules." He tilted his head. "Right?"

The question wasn't directed at him. He saw nine heads, nine people all dressed similar to the Phantom Thief, nod in agreement then disappear before Shuichi could process that he wasn't hallucinating. He shuddered as he realized he was being watched by whoever those people were.

"I suppose that's fair," Shuichi conceded. He added, mildly, "But that doesn't explain why you did it, and why you won't return it to me."

The Phantom Thief rolled the flask in his hands and spun a circle himself as he went over the question.

"You wouldn't remember anyway," the Phantom decided.

"Enlighten me."

The Phantom was slightly taken aback by the response, a small stumble to his steps a proof of it.

"...Huh." The Phantom thought and thought, and finally said, "You felt sadness for me."

Shuichi furrowed his head. He was sure he wouldn't have forgotten about an encounter like that.

"When?"

"In a dream."

The Phantom decided to continue his track, this time towards Shuichi. There was more clatter as everything in his path was damaged beyond use. He came to stand above Shuichi, chin tilted up as he looked down on Shuichi.

"Or maybe I'm lying,?" The Phantom Thief challenged. "You'll have to find out yourself, all you have to do is remember. Now, I'll be taking this--"

Shuichi grabbed his ankle before the Phantom could turn on his heels. The Phantom tested the strength of his grip, but didn't try to break free.

"What do you want?" Shuichi asked.

"Oh?"

"We could strike a bargain."

The Phantom smiled in clear self-satisfaction, and from this angle it looked especially cat-like.

"Aren't you the courageous type," the Phantom complimented.

"It can't be anything too bad," Shuichi defied, but the words weren't convincing even to himself.

"You're so lucky I have just the thing in mind today, and it should cause you little to no pain, as long as you don't struggle too much." The Phantom Thief bent down, and suddenly he was crouching and leaning close to Shuichi. "How about it?"

"I'd like to hear what it is, first."

The Phantom Thief giggled. "Alright." He tilted the vial this and that way, showing it up to Shuichi. He inched himself a tad bit closer. "I'll give you your precious emotions, the one I've been treasuring… I'll give it to you, as long as you kiss me in return."

Shuichi couldn't help but gape. He was back to clutching his knees, for an entirely different reason. 

"...Is that all?" Shuichi choked.

"You're blushing," The Phantom pointed out without mercy. He watched Shuichi as his face went through the full spectrum of the color red. "So, what will it be? Take it or leave it, I won't take any other bargains, and I won't wait forever. Tick tock, Shuichi."

Shuichi swallowed dryly, and, with his head blessedly blank, pushed himself up by the chair's armrest, and his head met the Phantom's halfway. Shuichi expected him to be cold, to be a corpse covered by a porcelain face, but the Phantom was warm and pliant above him. The Phantom's hands trembled and Shuichi had to grab for the vial before it fell. The sudden touch of skin on skin broke Shuichi's thread of reason, and his other hand found the Phantom's hair and stroked the back of his head.

The Phantom's lips tasted of nothing. Shuichi exhaled softly and found some echo of a distant memory, not his own. Shuichi pulled back, vial in hand.

"Was that enough?" Shuichi asked, voice hoarse.

The Phantom was unresponsive for a beat. Then, he leaped forward, kissed the corner of Shuichi's mouth and demanded, "Call me Kokichi."

"I can do that."

Without a moment's delay, Shuichi downed the contents of the glass vials. It went down like a block of ice. Shuichi watched Kokichi from the corner of his eyes, and the boy did the same.

"This won't be the last you'll see of me, you know," Kokichi commented.

"I'm not afraid."

Kokichi smiled, sharp teeth in his mouth and glitter at the corner of his eyes, with a mess of a hair that framed his innocent looking face.

"Good, I won't stop until I have your heart."

Shuichi chose not to reply. As he left Kokichi standing alone atop the table, too small among the too big furniture, Shuichi could finally feel the stab of sadness that came from the sight. 

[lisaleigh713]

The Principal and his wife

During the summers in High School, I worked as a lifeguard at our city pool.  It was a great way to make money, get some sun and check out all the hot guys all while getting paid to do so.  I was allowed to wear whatever bathing suit I wanted so naturally I decided to wear bikinis, I just couldn’t wear a thong which is what I preferred.

My first summer at 15 years old proved educational.  I saw a bunch of great looking guys and girls but my interest was more toward older men and women.  I had been fucked before by a boy and since I had been fucking men and women, I realized I wanted nothing to do with a boy anymore.

That first summer was spent trying to figure things out.  I wanted to know who came on a regular basis, how they dressed, did they notice me in my bikini?  Ultimately what were my chances to hook up with some other men and women beside my teachers and family.

The summer past and I returned to school and to fucking my teachers.  I didn’t fuck them for grades, as my grades were very good.  I was on the honor roll every year.  I fucked my teachers because they wanted to fuck me and fuck me they did.

The next summer rolled around and I was now 16 years old.  I had been fucked almost every day by someone in my family or at school but now I was back to my job as a lifeguard.  My boss really liked me as I did a great job and I had now fully matured to the size I am now, a 34DDD.  Needless to say I had plenty of flesh hanging out of my bikini top.

The second week into the summer I saw a very familiar face, my principal from school.  He was a very handsome man, educated and built.  He was with his wife who could have graced the covers of any magazine to include Playboy.  They had two children who were 11 and 12 years old.  Both of their children were girls.

It was time for me to take a break and hydrate.  I got down from my lifeguard stand and walked toward the lifeguard area in the back.  I had to pass right in front of my principal Mr. Heard and his family.  I stopped briefly to say hello and he didn’t recognize me right away, but when he did, his face beamed.  I know that look, that is a look of “oh I want to fuck you right now.”

Mrs. Heard or Jill, as I came to call her, shook my hand which of course caused my tits to bounce.  That was my in.  Jills eyes widened and she smiled.  She gripped my hand like she didn’t want to let go.  Eventually of course she did.

I retired to the lifeguard room to cool down some and hydrate.  I couldn’t help but get horny at the thought of fucking one or both of them so my pussy got wet, very wet.  After 30 minutes I resumed my duties at a different lifeguard stand.  I could see them as they were very close to me and on more than one occasion I caught them looking at me.

Since Mr. Heard and Jill kept looking at me naturally I needed to give them a show.  I began spreading my legs to give them a better view of my crotch and of course I had to bend down so they could see my breast sway back and forth.  Jill was getting hot.  She was squirming around like an eel on dry land.  I even one saw a small wet patch on her bikini bottom.

Mr. Heard on the other hand could not get up to go in the water.  He had a raging hard on and from the looks of things it was big.  Average in length but thick as a telephone pole.  He would be fantasizing about me tonight while he fucked Jill.  Eventually the pool closed and I went home to my mom.  Dad was out of town for a few days and so it was just us girls.

Of course since I was horny mom and I had to play around with some new toys she purchased, but that is a story for another time.

The next day I went back to work and within a couple of hours Jill showed up by herself.  I met with her and asked about Mr. Heard.  Jill said her husband was out of town for a week at a school administrator conference and their daughters were on summer vaca with the grandparents.

“Wow, you mean to tell me you are alone for the whole week,” I said.  Jill looked me in the eye, smiled and said, “yes Lisa, I will be alone the whole week should you need to stop by for anything.”  I completely understood what Jill was saying.  Jill wanted me to come over so we could make love to each other.

I phoned mom later and told her not to wait up for me as I would either be late or see her the next day after work.  Mom completely understood and just advised to have a bunch of fun so I could come home and tell her about it later.  At the end of the day, I showered and put on some fresh clothes.  I put on a short skirt and a very see through white blouse with my heels and drove over to Jill Heard’s house.

I knocked on the door and when she opened the door she was dressed in nothing but a black lace bra, garter, silk seamed stockings and 5 inch black heels.  Her hair, makeup and nails were perfect and she wore Chanel just like I did.  She gently pulled me in to her house, closed the door and began to kiss me passionately.  That was the nice thing, small talk or convincing was not necessary.

We kissed and necked and let our hands rubbed all over each others body.  We needed to break as we were in no hurry.  We stopped and had a glass of wine or two each.  We talked about our experiences with the same sex and how hers started in college.  I didn’t share too much other than I had been with other women too.

Jill said, “grab your wine and come with me.”  I grabbed my wine and she grabbed my hand.  She led me to the bedroom where we removed our tops and bottoms but left on our lace and heels.  I like to get fucked in heels period.

We explored each others body for several hours, kissing and licking each others pussy and nipples until we both came very hard.  We lay there on the bed with our chests heaving and still on that roller coaster of orgasms.  Once our heartbeats returned to normal, she asked me where I learned to squirt.  I explained my first time with a boy and how things were and then my discovery of squirting.

Jill expressed a desire to learn how to squirt and felt Mr. Heard would really like that in the bed.  I exclaimed to her I would be happy to show her how.  I got between her legs and began to slowly suck on her clit and lick her pussy.  I told her to relax and breathe.  I could tell she was getting close to an orgasm and I told her, “Jill when you start to cum, take a deep breath and slowly let it out relaxing your body, just let it go and it will happen.”  I stepped up my pussy licking, clit sucking and nipple play and I could tell she was going to squirt.  Everything tensed up and when she breathed in and relaxed she squirted all over the damn place.

Jill screamed and writhed all over the bed.  I held onto her thighs with my arms and basically locked my head in between her legs and got my tongue on her clit so hard and my finger on her G-Spot.  We were locked together like lovers should be.  We rolled around on the bed for a bit squirting and convulsing.  When the orgasm finally subsided, she pulled me up to her and kissed me so passionately.  Then fell back in a heap on the bed.

I could see no more for the night and it was almost midnight so I decided to get up and go home.  Jill was completely passed out and there would be no waking her until the next day.  Mom asked how things went and I began to explain to which mom then wanted to taste Jill’s pussy on my tongue.  Mom and I wound up fucking each other for about an hour and then we fell asleep in a pool of mixed orgasm from both of us.

The next day a work, I was honestly surprised to see Jill as the pool.  She was so beautiful walking to where my stand was.  I leaned down and asked how she was, Jill said, “my god that was the most incredible experience of my life, can we do that again today?”  I said, “your in luck today is my early shift and I will be getting off at 2p.m.”  Jill stated then, “and getting off again at 3p.m.

We went back to her house and fucked our brains silly after I got off work and we continued to fuck the rest of the week.  Mr. Heard was due back Saturday morning and she expressed I really turned him on and how he fucked her that first night even once calling out my name.  I knew where this could lead but was not ready for that path just yet.  I had one more night with Jill and I wanted to take advantage of it.  

Friday was another early shift for me and Jill did not come to the pool that day.  I went by her house after work, dressed to the nines.  I had on a short black leather micro shirt, a mesh see through red blouse, a garter belt, silk seamed stockings and my 6 inch black sling back leather stilettos.  I knocked on the door and the door opened but not to Jill but to Mr. Heard.

I took a couple of steps back, my heart had stopped and I grew weak in the knees.  Jill moved him aside, grabbed my hand and led me in to the living room.  She only had on a see through black robe and her heels.  She pulled me close to her and kissed me passionately.  Our hands roamed over each other rubbing our breast and asses.

She stopped and pulled back.  “Now your turn” as she looked at Mr. Heard.  Mr. Heard moved over to me and did as commanded and begin to kiss me.  Jill moved behind me and played with my tits and pussy while Mr. Heard kissed me.  I was so turned on.  Jill whispered in my ear, “I called him and asked him to come home early, I wanted to be with you both.”  

My pussy was now dripping wet.  We moved to the bedroom.  Mr. Heard removed his clothes while Jill removed mine.  I dropped to me knees and began to suck Mr. Heard’s cock, taking it all the way down.  This seem to impress both Jill and Mr. Heard as she could not deep throat.  Jill put her hand on the back of my head and pushed my head onto Mr. Heard’s cock encouraging me the whole time.  “Thats it, suck that cock Lisa.  Damn what a good girl.  Lick his balls when you are down there.”  Of course that just made Mr. Heard’s cock that much harder.

Jill and I lay on the bed.  Mr. Heard was going to fuck his wife first but Jill said, “I want to watch you fuck Lisa.”  So Mr. Heard moved over behind me while Jill moved in front of me.  I got it, she wants me to make her squirt again so Mr. Heard could see her.  Mr. Heard made a couple of stabs at me to no avail.  I reached between my legs and took hold of his cock and guided him in but not my pussy, my ass.

I wanted Mr. Heard to fuck my ass while I ate his wife’s pussy.  After a couple of minutes he looked down and stopped.  “Holy shit!!!” He exclaimed.  Of course Jill thinking something was wrong moved to where Mr. Heard was.  “Damn” Jill said.  You are in her ass.  I said, “yes he is, now let him fuck my ass.  Mr. Heard you can fuck my ass all night if you want while I make your wife squirt.”

That was enough.  He started pounding my ass while i went back to getting Jill ready to squirt and squirt she did.  She bathed me in her cum juice which set Mr. Heard off cumming in my ass.  He started to pull out and I reached back, grabbed his ass and pulled him back in to me.  “Don’t pull out, just stay there.”  Mr. Heard and I moved together next to Jill, with his cock still in my ass.

We were all heaving and I had a small orgasm but this night was about The Heard’s.  We all got our breathing under control and Mr. Heard cock slipped from my ass.  “I have never fucked someone in the ass before,” said Mr. Heard.  I retorted, “how was fucking my ass and cumming in my ass?”  “Incredible just incredible,” said Mr. Heard.  Jill was still in another world but quickly coming back to us.

This was their first threesome but it would not be their last.  I excused myself briefly and upon returning found the Heard’s wrapped in each others’ arms and passed out.  I dressed and went home only to find mom and dad in the living room fucking.  Well what’s a girl to do except strip and join them.  I had an incredible orgasm then along with mom and dad.

The weekend came and went and I returned to work on Monday.  The Heard’s showed up again, still without their children.  They couldn’t take their eyes off me nor I them.  Jill came to me and said “do you think we can do that again tonight but only have him fuck my ass?  Can you teach me to take his cock in my ass?”  “Of course I can, and I would love to join you this evening.”  Summer came and went and the Heard’s and I spent many a day and night together when their children were not at home.

School started back and I would meet Mr. Heard in the hall and if no one was looking he would allow his hand to slide across my breast or across my ass.  This was a sign to meet him in his office, he wanted to fuck me.

I thought I was going to have to get a personal secretary for all the people wanting to fuck me but things just worked out so whoever wanted to fuck me was able too.  Yes, I was a slut in school but Jim, the boy, would never have another piece of ass from me.   Turns out he fucked another girls after me and after he began to brag, she confirmed they fucked but said he didn’t last even a minute and he has a tiny dick.  Jim was laughed into oblivion.  I wondered what ever became of Jim until one day…

Love and Kisses,

Lisa 

[joon-ipersgirl]

O2 - the bloody build-up

genre: mafia!au, angst, fluff, slow burn, mystery-thriller

pairing: namjoon x reader

summary: charismatic. beautiful. fearless without question. the ambitious team of seven young men in charge of spiral, downtown district’s hottest new club, go above and beyond to provide 100% satisfaction to their clients.

after an eventful night out, you have no choice but to join the team for property damages greater than your intern salary. challenging a series of events that can no longer be left to coincidence, secrets threaten to burst at the seams as your professional and private life collide, and another - more sinister - debt is added to your total. 

how far are you willing to go to pay back your pound of flesh? remember, nothing is ever as it seems...

word count: 4.6k

warnings: cursing, some mentions of blood, mentions of guns (someone does get shot, but nothing super crazy), some violence, mentions of alcohol consumption 

a/n: thank you guys so much for the love on the first part! i really appreciate it. i hope y’all aren’t confused about their nicknames and stuff, like which member is which, but let me know and i’ll clarify 😭 this part might be a little far-fetched towards the end, but stay with me lol. i’m still working on my masterlist, but please check out my updates page which includes my works-in-progress. i’m actually pretty excited about what’s coming up next. as always, feedback is always appreciated and encouraged. thank you again to @alversia​ for reading this and supporting my writing. pls enjoy! 

full masterlist // series masterlist // previous // next 

“You expect me to head to Spiral tonight? Dressed like this?” You look down at your white button-up and black pencil skirt. Laura was out of her damn mind.

“Oh come on! It’ll be fun. Just some coworkers getting together after a hard week’s work. You haven’t been out with us in forever!” she exclaims, standing up from her desk.

“You know Amani doesn’t like us like that, Laura.” Paul does have a point. It wasn’t that you didn’t like them as people - well, that would be a lie. You didn’t. It’s just, who would want to spend their Friday night drinking with their coworkers when you could be at home, curled up with your cat, and tucking into whatever delicious dinner your roommate had prepared?

“I never said that I didn’t like you guys -”

“Out loud,” Paul says, interrupting you.

“- I just wasn’t planning on going out tonight. I’m not even dressed for the occasion,” you continue.

“It doesn’t matter. It’ll be dark anyway,” Laura tries again. “You said you had a good time the last time you went,” she reminds you.

You remember your brief run-in with Suga and the sleazy man at the bar. It’s been three weeks since then and the bruises on your arm have faded. Aside from that minor incident, you did have fun. The music was good, the bartender was attractive, and the drinks weren’t too pricey. In fact, Suga did say that the next time you came, drinks were on the house.

“Plus, you missed James’ birthday celebration 2 weeks ago.” You resist the urge to roll your eyes.

“Alright, alright. Fine, I’ll come,” You tell them.

“Great! Let’s go!” Laura squeals and grabs your coats.

It was going to be a long night.

The small group of you huddle together in front of the door to Spiral like penguins in the dead of winter. The wind is harsh but expected on a cold December night. You pull up the collar of your wool coat to shield your face as you wait in line and wish you had remembered to bring your scarf. Spiral was fairly new and you assume that more and more people were coming to experience the place with its modern goth vibe. Your feet hurt from the 4-inch heels that your manager, Mrs. Kim, insisted on young women wearing to “keep the spirit of professionalism going”. Honestly, you just thought she wanted to see you suffer the way she did all those eons ago. A rite of passage, if you will. After fifteen minutes, you’re finally at the door where the bouncer and two other men stand talking.

“Is everyone here ridiculously attractive?” Laura whispers to you. You glance up to look at her.

“Who are you talking about?” She points at the three men by the door.

“Ah,” you say, acknowledging them. It was on second glance that you realize Min is one of the men in the group. You groan as you remember your brief conversation the last time you were here.

“You okay there?” Paul turns to ask you over his shoulder. You nod. “Just making sure you weren’t thinking about bailing on us,” he says with a grin. You roll your eyes and punch his shoulder as you wait to get your IDs checked. It seemed as though security had increased.

“Well if it isn’t my little snack?” You groan again as Min grins at you. His silver hair stands out among his dark-haired companions, though he’s shorter than the other two.

“Your who?” the man next to him asks, confused.

“My snack,” Min emphasizes. “Suga wouldn’t let me have her though,” he says with a pout as he turns to you again.

“I wouldn’t let you have me,” you mumble and shift closer to Laura who’s watching the scene unfold with wide eyes.

“What was that?” Min asks, his grin growing again as he steps closer to you.

“Min, leave her alone,” the bouncer says as he waves through the first half of your coworkers after checking their IDs.

“You guys really never let me have any fun.” Min’s laugh rings through the air as he steps back next to his friends.

“Do you know him?” Laura asks you. You shake your head. She doesn’t need to know that story.

“I’ve only seen him once and very briefly at that. Come on,” you say nodding towards the entrance after taking back your ID.

You brush past her and the three men and head down the stairs ignoring the eyes that follow you. The heat from the club hits you like a brick wall and you immediately pull off your coat. You follow Paul’s tall figure through the mass of people on the edge of the dance floor. The music is just as loud as you remember and you welcome the thumping bass music as it pounds through your veins and echoes in your chest. You slide into the booth next to Paul and Laura follows closely behind you.

“This place is so cool! We have to come back!” Laura yells over the music into your ear. You wince at the sound.

“Laura, we just got here,” you tell her while putting some distance between you though there isn’t much room as seven of you have squished into a booth probably meant to seat five.

“I know, but this place is awesome!” she yells back with more enthusiasm. This was going to be a very long night and you could not do it sober.

“I’m going to get a drink from the bar,” you say, excusing yourself and squeezing past Laura to exit the semi-circle shaped booth.

“Why don’t you just wait for the server?” Paul asks while holding up a menu from the stack placed on the table.

“Because I need something strong before I can sit down and socialize with you guys,” you reply with a sourly sweet smile.

Paul shakes his head and you head off to the bar ignoring his judgemental stares. You take the long way, bypassing the dancefloor to avoid any prolonged standing on your already aching feet trying to shuffle through the thick crowd. Though there are more people here tonight than the first time you came, you’re able to squeeze through relatively unscathed. Sometimes being small did have its perks. You find an empty barstool close to the spiral stairs that led to the second level and sit down.

“What can I get for you?” the bartender asks. You narrow your eyes at him. This was not Jin.

“Where’s Jin?” you ask him.

“He’ll be here later. Do you -”

“And Suga?” you ask, cutting him off. How were you supposed to get your free drinks when this guy didn’t know who you were?

“Who’s asking for him?” he retorts, his eyes narrowing at you. His tall frame takes up most of the room in front of you as he leans across the bar, inches away from your face.

You try your best not to cower as you stare each other down, but his presence is powerful. His platinum blonde hair shines purple under the fluorescent colored lighting and his brown eyes are dark. His lean muscles sprawl taut under his skin and his black t-shirt stretches across his broad shoulders. Your hypothesis was right: everyone who works here is fucking beautiful.

“A valued customer,” you tell him. “He told me the next time I came in, drinks were on the house.”

“Suga said that?” the blonde asks incredulously. He lets out a boisterous laugh. “Now I know you bumped into me pretty hard a few weeks ago, but I didn’t think my chest was that hard,” he says while slapping it.

“Bumping into you? I don’t know what you’re talking about. If you don’t believe me, why don’t you ask him?” You cross your arms. “While you’re at it, you can make me an Old Fashioned.”

“Bossy, aren’t we? Honcho!” He waves his arm to someone. You turn and see the other man from outside walk over with a tray in his hand. Of course, he works here too. The all-black uniform should have given it away. Apparently, all the attractive men who live in this city did.

“What’s up?” he asks while passing him a ticket most likely filled with drink orders. He isn’t as tall, but his build is athletic and you can tell he works out.

“This young woman says that Suga told her next time she came in, drinks were on the house,” the bartender tells him, a teasing tone in his voice. The second man turns to look you up and down.

“Suga told her that? Babe, I think you’re thinking about the wrong man. Maybe it was Min? I know we all kind of look alike in the dark,” he suggests.

“That’ll be $10.50, sweetheart. Definitely seems more like Min’s type,” the bartender agrees, giving you a once over. He sets the Old Fashioned down in front of you. You scowl at both of them.

“Are you fucking kidding me right now? You think I’m making this up? Fine,” you say, hopping off the stool. “I’ll prove it to you. I’ll go get him myself.”

You hate most people and you hate most clubs, but one of the things you despise the most is being called a liar. You pride yourself on being a woman of integrity and you would not let these assholes paint you to be something you’re not. As you turn to head up the stairs, you feel someone grab your wrist and you whip your head around.

“Where are you going?” Honcho asks, his dark eyes sizing you up.

“Let go of me,” you tell him and yank your arm from his grip. You weren’t doing this again, not tonight.

“It’s okay, Honcho. Let her go,” you hear the bartender say as you walk away.

You climb the stairs and strut across the walkway. Below you, the blonde bartender and Honcho, arms crossed, watch you as you make your way to the office. Motivated by their doubt, you walk a little more confidently towards the office door. You stop short, take a deep breath, and then bang on the door. There’s no answer. You knock again. Nothing. Just as you go to knock for the third time, the door flies open.

“Who the fuck is -?! Kid? What are you doing here? You can’t just walk up here!” Suga yells at you.

“Your employees are being assholes and don’t believe that you said I could have free drinks for some reason,” you tell him, ignoring his outburst.

“You came all the way up here to tell me that?” he asks, eyes wide. “Do you even know - You know what? It doesn’t matter,” he finishes.

“I don’t like being called a liar,” you state.

“You’re bold, kid. I’ll give you that.” He shakes his head and shuts the door behind him, locking it.

He walks past you and heads down the stairs. You turn and follow him back to the bar. Though Suga is short and you are in heels, he moves much quicker than you expect. By the time you make it downstairs, he’s already leaning against the bar and signaling for the bartender to come over. Your Old Fashioned is sitting right where you’d left it. The bartender walks over and grins at you.

“I see you found him,” he says with a smile.

“Moon, why are you patronizing our customers?” Suga sighs. The bartender laughs.

“Always gotta check orders, boss,” Moon chuckles. Suga narrows his eyes at him.

“Look, just give her what she wants okay? You know I have other things to look at right now and I can’t have you fucking around.” You grin smugly behind Suga’s back, your short stature barely visible over his mint-green head. You didn’t like to think of yourself as cocky, but most times, when you were right, you were right. You saunter towards the bar and climb back onto the barstool you’d previously vacated. Moon’s eyes narrow and he glances over at you.

“Alright, Suga. I’ll stop fucking around and get the job done like you asked,” Moon spits. You survey Suga’s face as it falls and you feel the mood shift drastically as unspoken words pass between the two men.

“Can I have a new one? You never know what crazy people will do around here, you know?” You ask and add the please at the end, smiling sweetly at Moon, drawing the attention back to you.

“Y/N!” You barely hear Laura yelling your name over the music. “Y/N, are you okay?!” she screams over the music. You watch her hobble over to the bar with her drink in her hand. You know her feet hurt just as much as yours do and it shows in the way she walks.

“Paul and I saw you go up the stairs and I wanted to make sure everything was okay,” she continues when she gets closer.

“Everything’s great. Hey, do you want another one of those? Moon was it? Could you make her a strawberry daiquiri along with that Old Fashioned?” You ask. You shouldn’t enjoy this as much as you are.

“She’s real bold,” Moon says, turning to Suga, the mood seeming to return to its previous vibe though you can sense the tension between the two of them.

“That’s what I said.” You grin at Suga.

Moon sets your drinks down and you take a small sip, savoring the taste of the brown liquor. Observing Moon and Suga over the rim of your glass, the two of them have hushed words in a corner. Though Suga supposedly owns the club, it seems as though Moon is calling the shots based on their body language. Laura sits next to you and interrupts your examination as she starts talking about work-related issues. Laura is a sweet girl and as much as you want to be an active listener, paying attention to her drone on and on about Paul asking Melissa to lunch every day instead of her can only be so interesting after 20 minutes of the same story.

“Look Laura, I’m gonna go to the bathroom. I’ll be right back, okay?” She nods and you leave her at the bar after finishing the last bit of your drink.

It wasn’t a surprise to see the line to the ladies’ room outside the door, soft chatter filling the hallway as you wait. This was one of those times when being a woman wasn’t fun. At the rate this line was going, you would have permanent blisters on your feet. The heat isn’t as stifling and you’re grateful you remembered a hair tie as you scrape your curls into a low messy bun. You shuffle forward with the rest of the women as the line advances and you thank the sweet gods when you can finally see the stalls. A few more minutes pass and then it‘s finally your turn. You practically run into the stall, slamming it behind you. Once you’ve finished and flushed, you exit the stall and hear screaming.

You rinse your hands quickly and peer around the propped open door. The line had disappeared and the small hallway and rest of the restroom was empty. This was not regular partygoer screams of fun. No, this is something much more gruesome. You peek quickly down the hallway again from your hiding spot. The music is still blaring, but now it sounds eerily quiet for a Friday night at one of the most talked about clubs in the city. Something is wrong.

You slip off your heels and tuck them under your arms. You sigh softly as the blood rushes back to your toes. If it came down to it, they could be used as a weapon, but only if you had the element of surprise. Sneaking a look around the corner, you immediately draw back. A gun. Fuck. You turn back and quickly hide in one of the stalls on the left hand side of the restroom and crouch over the toilet, holding onto your heels with one hand and using the other to stay in place. You shut your eyes and try to even out your breathing. How the fuck were you supposed to get out of this?

The sound of a walkie talkie alerts you to the second presence in the room. Their steps are even as the person systematically checks the stalls. There are five stalls between yourself and the first door and you need to figure out something fast. The person had checked the second door and was moving onto the third. Taking a chance, you balance your shoes on your lap and shift your weight gently so you’re holding one foot in your dominant hand. Just as whoever is pushing open the third stall, you throw your shoe diagonally across the room under the stall next to you and hear it skid across the floor.

“What the fuck?” A man. Fuck. You pray that he hadn’t been looking too closely to see the initial direction the shoe had come from and was only focused on its destination.

Peeping through the small crack between the stall wall and the door, you see that his back is towards you. You take your second shoe and slide it in the direction of the main door of the bathroom. Through the small crack, you watch as he turns toward it again.

“Where the fuck are these shoes coming from?” You knew you only had a few seconds before he would forget about the shoes and resume his search. You take your chance.

As quietly as you can, you hop off the toilet seat and bolt out of the stall. Before he could fully turn after hearing the banging of the stall door against the wall, you jump on his back and wrap your arms around his throat as tight as you possibly can. He lets out a strangled cry as he drops his gun where it clatters to the floor. You press on his throat harder using the muscles in your forearm to apply more pressure. His hands are desperately clawing at your own as he stumbles around the room. Your grip around his waist falters when he slams you back into the glass mirror mounted on the wall. You hope the music is still blaring as the shattered pieces fall to the floor. The force of the blow has you slipping to the ground and you feel lightheaded. You know you can’t give up if you want to live.

“You fucking bitch!” he yells out hoarsely while clutching his throat. He turns to retrieve his gun from across the room and you grab the longest shard of glass from the ground that you can find before you launch yourself at him again.

You stab him in between the joint of his right shoulder, praying you’ve shoved it deep enough to sever the muscles and ligaments holding it together, leaving him unable to use his arm. Blood pools in your palm and you bite my lip to stop yourself from crying out. His shout is loud and you dive past him to grab the gun while he tries to remove the glass. You flip over onto your back and aim at his left knee as he charges towards you, right arm hanging down at his side, limp. Missing, you hit him in the thigh as he falls on top of you, groaning in pain. You scramble from beneath him and stand as he clutches his bleeding leg wound. Your breathing is heavy as you realize you had just shot a man, the cut on the back of your hand evidence as the gun had kicked back and cut you. Granted you have every right as he was trying to kill you first, but you’ve never fired a gun before yet here you were standing over the body of a potentially dead man.

“Don’t move,” you tell him as he writhes around on the floor. “And shut the fuck up before I give you something else to scream about.”

You look down at your stained clothing and ripped stockings. Blood is splattered around the room and the stinging in your palm intensifies. You can’t have him calling for help. Tucking the gun into the back of your skirt, you remove your stockings and shove them into his mouth, creating a makeshift gag. His breathing is shallow and you roll him onto his side so the glass is no longer pressing into his shoulder. You grab the walkie talkie and realize your hands are shaking as drops of blood hit the floor. Your skirt is ripped and your hair has fallen out of its bun. Your adrenaline rush is starting to fade and you can feel the pain radiate from the back of your skull outward. The faint splattering of blood against your fingers makes your stomach churns slightly at the sight. Fuck. You were probably concussed.

Glancing back down at the man who now seemed to be unconscious, you walk quietly back to the main door of the bathroom and poke your head around. No one is in the hallway. You realize that the music is off but the strobe lights are still going. You assume that you shot the man while the music was still playing and that’s why no one had come running. Both hands on the gun and held at your side, you inch your way closer to the end of the short hallway. You’re trying to stay alert and keep your breathing even, but it’s becoming more difficult as time passes.

Crouching down by the entryway to the main floor, you try to scout the location of everyone. You can no longer see Laura, but Paul is across the room hiding under the table with some of your other coworkers. The rest of the partygoers are all laying down on the floor as the lights continue to pulse and flash. Min is by the door leading to the stairs to exit with the bouncer, a man pointing a gun to both of their heads. Honcho and the DJ are on their knees in front of the small stage below the DJ booth with another man holding guns to their heads too. The strange thing is neither Min, the bouncer, Honcho or the DJ look scared. In fact, they were staring at Jin, Moon, and Suga behind the bar, as if they were waiting for something.

“You guys mean to tell me that you know nothing about our loss of business?” the man in the center of the room asks. “Nothing at all?” You count three men pointing guns at the three men behind the bar, but know there are probably more upstairs.

“Nothing man. We’ve never seen you guys before,” Moon answers.

“Bullshit! That’s not what they told me,” he replies. He waves his pistol around aimlessly.

“Whoever gave you that information was wrong. We have no idea what you’re talking about. Just let the people leave and we can talk this out,” Moon says again.

The man in the center looks like he’s growing visibly agitated as he paces in the small open area of the dance floor. You can hear the soft whimpers from some of the people on the ground. You breathe out softly and try to keep your eyes focused on the man in the center. He’s tall and skinny with deep lines etched into his forehead as if he’s never experienced peace. His coat is thick and looks just as expensive as the suit he wears underneath it. You know there’s no point in taking any aim anywhere the coat covers because it would never make it past the first layer of fur.

“You little shits think you’re so smart, huh? As if I could let any of these people go after they’ve seen my face.” He chuckles. A horrified shriek echoes in the room.

“Shut up!” he screams and points his gun in the direction he thinks the sound comes from. Though he’s fairly young, you can tell he can’t hear very well as the shriek comes from the left side of the room and he was facing right.

“You fuckers moved to a big city and think no one would think to check you out and figure out what you’re really up to, huh?” You also realize he can’t see very well. Anyone looking at him would think he’s glowering at the three men behind the bar, but you can tell he’s squinting to try and see them better through the bright lighting; he’s nearsighted.

“Listen you crazy fuck, if you wanted to talk business, you could have walked in here nicely and asked about us instead of terrorizing our customers,” Suga spits. This was not going to end well.

“And who the fuck do you think you are?” The man roars, walking closer to the bar.

You watch as Moon’s jaw visibly clenches and unclenches as he tries to deescalate the situation almost in rhythm to the strobe lights. You know you’re running out of time before things potentially become bloody. There’s no way in hell you’d be able to hit a moving target; you’d figured that much out when the gunman charged at you and you shot him in his thigh instead of his knee. You try to stay calm and think of the best possible solution, but the lights are bothering your eyes. The fucking lights! If he could barely see with all the bright flashing lights, his range of vision should reduce with less light in the room. You have to shoot out the lights.

“Suga, shut the fuck up,” Moon grits out through clenched teeth. You squint and try to count the number of lights hanging from the ceiling.

“You gonna let him talk to you like that, sweetheart?” The well-dressed man cackles while holding his belly, his head thrown back. “Are you his bitch?” He sneers. Suga lunges forward and you hear guns cock. It didn’t matter how many lights there were, you just need to hit as many as you can.

“You think you’re tough kid? We’ll see how tough you are with a bullet in your brain,” the man says coldly, taking another step forward.

Just as he’s taking aim at Suga, you fire the first shot and miss the lights closest to Min. Your coordination is off. You feel seven pairs of eyes snap towards you and you make eye contact with Min from across the room.

“Fucking shoot her!” someone yells. You duck down as a rain of bullets fired toward your direction.

Screams echo around you as people try their best to get away from the danger. You ignore the guns pointing at you, firing, and stand up to take better aim at your target. You pray there are enough bullets in the chamber to get the job done as you squeeze the trigger repeatedly, aiming as best as you can. Your ears are ringing from the shots which are wild and you’re surprised as you manage to hit three sets of lights before you run out of bullets.

“Get down!” You focused back on the scene in front of me. You hear the shots fire and start to duck, but you weren't fast enough. With your arms still outstretched holding the gun, a bullet grazes across your upper arm. The skin burns and you cry out in pain. You drop the gun as Jin grabs you and pushes you closer towards the restroom, shielding you with his large body. Fuck, it was going to be a really long night.  

full masterlist // series masterlist // previous // next

ⓒ joon-ipersgirl, 2020

[yamithediaperdork]

Don’t be a bully!

The first thing 12 year old Lance Kennedy noted as he opened his eyes was that instead of waking up in his bedroom, he was looking up at the ceiling of the school bathroom. the tall for his age blond sat up and winced, his head hurt and he tried to figure out what had just happened, and looked around the smelly boys room and locked eyes with the new transfer student. a full head shorter then Lance and with mushroom cut red hair and freckles, Timmy chuckled and waved to Lance. "Hey crew cut! welcome back to the land of the living." the little shit said. Now it all came flooding back to Lance, He had been laying down the law to the little shit, having caught him all by himself in the boys room, and telling him how he expected the twerp to pay a bathroom tax if he wanted to use the schools shitter's. The dumb ginger had actually been dumb enough to mouth back, telling Lance that the bathrooms was for everyone, unless the abused the privilege, whatever the fuck that meant. Lance had had enough by that point and had gone to smash his fist into the little shit's face but somehow the little fucker was faster then he looked and had dropped down, then replied with a shot to lance's gut that had knocked the wind out of him. as he'd fall to his knee's gasping, the little shit had brought up his knee and- "..where the fuck did you learn to fight like that?" Lance asked, going to get up on his feet and pausing, as for the first time he noticed a weird noise when he moved, and a funny feeling around his hips. Looking down the bully's eyes went wide as he saw that instead of his power ranger briefs and black jeans, he was currently only wearing a bulky white diaper with a nursery print. "WHAT THE FUCK!?!" "I was wondering how long it would take you to notice that. honestly, i was hoping you'd storm out of here not noticing butttt I guess that was a long shot." Timmy franc laughed, leaning on a sink. "How did you even.. Why do you..what the fuck!?!" Lance yelped, hand going down, trying to cover the bulky diaper up and squirmed back and forth as he noticed for the first time his undies and pants were at Timmy's feet. "I knocked your butt out, and every school I go to there's a jerk like you I end up having to put in his place, so I always carry some spare diapers around. Speaking of, your gonna wanna follow me to my locker and snag some more, you';re not allowed in the boys room anymore." Timmy said. "..I'm gonna fucking kill you!" Lance growled, taking a fighting stance and Timmy, just snapped a picture. "Youuuu sure you wanna try something right now? I took a lot of pictures while you were out 'tiny' and got one with your thumb in your mouth and you in all your padded glory. would be a shame if they ended up on the school website." Timmy said, Looking totally relaxed. "besides, if you come at me again, You'll wake up in just your diapies tied to the flag poll. I'm a black belt and your just a thug." "...Give me back my fucking pants and underwear and I'll think about not pounding you face into mush." Lance said, gritting his teeth. "Counter offer, I'll give you back your pants, your undies are going on my trophy wall, and you be a good boy and mind your P's and Q's or I'll make you famous." Lance was taking slow steady breaths, but a small part of him realized that the longer he stood here arguing, the more likely it was someone else would come into the boys room. "Fine whatever. give me my pants!" "See? was that SO hard?" Timmy asked and tossed the jeans over. "By the way, I'll be doing diaper checks and if your not in your huggie..well there's gonna be trouble." He said and winked, then turned and walked away as Lance glared a hole at the back of his head, the hoped up and down trying to get his jeans to fit over the bulky diaper. "Gonna..freaking..Kill..Him!" He huffed, hoping and tugging, then tripped and went sprawling into one of the stalls, his head dunking in the thankfully clean toilet and as he reached to stop it, he pulled on the handle giving himself a swirly. '...God, what did I do to piss you off today?'

the bell had rung but lance was still late getting back into class, wearing his gym t-shirt and his crotch and butt area puffed out under his jeans, with his hair looking damp. Timmy just grinned in his seat, wondering what exactly had happened but never spoke up, though many of the others boys began to whisper and talk among themselves. "Why's he back in his gym shirt?" whispered the brunette Taylor, the shrimp of the class with confusion in his voice. "wait, do you think he got a swirly?" giggled the brown haired Frankie, the pudgiest kid in the class and frequent target of Lance's wrath. "who would have the balls?" Taylor asked, though the idea made him grin like a Cheshire cat. "Forgot that, look at his butt! it's huge! did he sit on a bee or something?" the long haired blond Justin asked, sounding slightly concerned. "Looked like my little brother when he puts on pants.. but he's only 2." blue haired Ike (dyed naturally) giggled. "wait, are you saying that's a diaper butt?" Frankie asked, laughing louder and getting Lances attention drawn over even as he was getting a lecture from the teacher. "ask him and find out!" Ike urged. "No thanks, I like life." Frankie said, shaking his head. Lance waddled, there was really no other way to put it, towards his seat and the class went silent, so that the faint sound of crinkles could be picked up as the bully sat down. it didn't help that due to his poor grades Lance had to sit at the front of the class, and ergo kept reaching back to tug his shirt down. "Now that Mr.Kennedy has graced us with his appearance, we'll go over the results of your last math test." Mr. Davis said, drawing the attention of the rest of the boys. Class went on as normal for the next 5 or so minutes, but as Timmy watched, knowing what was about to happy, he couldn't help but grin as Lance started to shift about in his seat more and more. 'I was wondering how long that fleet enema would take to kick in.' Timmy thought, and for the briefest of moments considered trying to give a heads up to the other boys. It was after all, about to get VERY stinky in the classroom.

Lances bowel felt all weird, and he played it up to his nerves since it was clear the rest of the class had figured out he was wearing a diaper. But now as Mr. Davis droned on and on about the test, and how many of the boys had failed certain parts of it (and Lance of course had funked it ALL) he could feel a urgent need building up and raised his hand. " Yes Mr. Kennedy, do you have something to ask?" Me. Davis asked, the tone in his voice making it clear he didn't expect much. "C-Can I go to the bathroom?" Lance asked, face wincing as a powerful cramp racked his body. "You were JUST on lunch break. I think you can wait a few minutes." Mr. Davis said dryly and started to turn back to the chalk board. "N-No sir I can't! Please!" Lance whined, all bravo forgotten as he gripped the sides of desk. a powerful fart was brewing and lance had a sneaking suspicion that if he let it out, he was going to fudge the stupid diaper taped snugly around his hips. "I'm sure you can-" was as far as the teacher got, before he was cut off by a massive wet sounding fart that filled the classroom. Lance himself found his body reacting on it's own as he leaned forward and raised his butt up from the chair, Helpless to do anything but let out a even wetter fart that was followed but a flow of sludge pouring out his back side and filling the diaper. His toxic smell also filled the classroom quickly, making eyes water and bring up complaints. "Is he.." Justin asked, a smirk turning into a grimace and he started to gag. "OH GROSS!" Taylor said, laughing and holding his nose. "Ugh! what a stinker!" Frankie complained, grabbing his hoodie of the back of his chair and burying his face in it as a semi shield. "Man my little brother brother doesn't smell that bad!" Ike laughed, holding his nose and waving a hand "Somebody change the BABY'S diaper!" Timmy called out, getting laughs from all the boys. "in the future Mr. Kennedy, if you have to go that bad, just leave the classroom." Mr.Davis said and walked over to the side of the classroom, opening windows. "Your excused to go and change your diaper." he added, getting even more laughs from the rest of classroom. "S-Stop laughing at me you JERKS!" Lance shouted, getting up and taking all of three steps before anther cramp hit and he was forced into a diaper pooper's squat, trying to cover his crimson face as more muck joined the back of his full diaper. Thankfully the diaper seemed to be a (pun aside) heavy duty one and hadn't leaked yet, though the wear and tear on his black jeans was becoming clear as the seams were starting to buckle under the pressure from the rapidly expending diapers. "Maybe I should help him to the nurses office." Timmy volunteered, making Lance turn and glare. "If it gets him out of my classroom faster.. your a braver soul then I." Mr. Davis said and nodded. wagging his eyebrows for the classroom and getting chuckles,Timmy made a show of it, acting like the smell coming off of Lance was a physical force and if he hadn't of been overwhelmed by the cramps making him take the biggest dump of his life, Lance would of slugged Timmy right then and there and dealt with the fall out after. Instead as he finished up with a series of stuttering farts, Lance felt too weak to do anything but numbly accept Timmy's help and as much as he hated the little shit, he leaned on him when it became clear the added bulk to the diaper had left him too unbalanced to walk on his own. 'As soon as i get this diaper off, then I'm gonna clobber him.' Lance promised himself as he waddled like a baby learning to walk out of the classroom.

"Man, you must of been backed up for awhile to unload like THAT huh?" Timmy asked as he lead the way. while Lance leaned on him for support Timmy didn't doubt for a second the only reason Lance wasn't at his throat right now was that he was literately too pooped to do so. And even if he had tried to attack him, one little shove and Lance would of gone butt first onto the floor and as good as the diaper was, it WOULD leak if that happened. Lance's jeans were making sounds of distress and Timmy had a feeling if they were pushed too much more the soon to be ex-bully would find himself waddling in the halls with his poopie diapers on display. It really was just too easy to make these so called big shots into helpless diaper filler, and Timmy enjoyed doing it at every school he went to. Though despite this being the 6th bully he had reduced into a pamper packer, there was one part of this that even Timmy had never fully adjusted to. The smell. Taking in shallow breaths he led the way to his his locker, to stop and get a new diaper for the new diaper filler, noting how Lance hadn't said a thing the whole time. "heh, you gone all baby brain on me? you even know where you are?" Timmy asked. That had actually happened at his last school, a pint sized bully named Malcore had been drunk on his own kool-aid after becoming student council president, and then ended up filling his diapers in front of the school while he was suppose to be giving a speech and had ended up giggling and singing 'I'm a little teapot'. Timmy didn't peg Lance as the type to break that bad but then again, you never really knew. "Hello? anyone home?" Timmy tried again and lance gave him a look that almost made Timmy need a diaper. "Shut up, and help me out of this shitty diaper." Lance growled. "I can see being a little stinker hasn't improved your attuide." Timmy said dryly, but handing Lance the clean diaper to hold, he got them into the boys room.

Lance wasn't even sure why he was hanging onto the diaper, save that the last time he'd gone commando in jean he'd chaffed pretty badly. the smell coming off of him wasn't as bad to him as it seemed to be to everyone else, but then again he was prone to having fart wars with his older brother Leon, who made Lance smell like a rosebush. In fact it was only the fact that lance could see HOW bad his smell was getting to Timmy, who had to keep stopping to wipe at his eyes, That Lance let the dead nerd walking help him get a change.   well that and he didn't know jack shit about changing a diaper. with his jeans tugged off off Boy boys got as look at just how totally Lance had destroyed his diaper, the designs were all gone and it was swollen and discolored, and sagged on his hips. "Uh..I mighta over stepped my reach here.. maybe we should take you to the nurses office." Timmy said, looking worried for the first time and lance smirked. "No way it'll survive the trip and if I go though the halls naked from the waist down in a shit coated ass, I'm making sure the headmaster knows who to blame." Lance said. "Fuck."

The clean up effort took by Timmy's estimate at least 10 minutes though it felt like hours, and he gagged badly several times during it. frustratingly enough lance just leaned back with his hands behind his head, smirking as poor Timmy did all the work. Finally the bully was ready for his new diaper and not eager to repeat the performance this time Timmy didn't even think of giving him anything to make him crap himself. Tapping up the new diaper, and having tossed the old one in the trash, Timmy scrubbed his hands over and over again in the sink as lance got up and grabbed his pants. "Now, while I'm grateful for the diaper change..I think you see I kinda owe you and well, logic dictates that I gotta pound you now." Lance said, tossing his jeans over his should and striking a fighting pose again. "...didn't we already go though this? or did you think just because your funk gagged me somehow I'll be a easier target now?" Timmy asked, turning the water off and well, just mostly ignoring Lance as he started to dry his hands. "I think you were bullshiting me before, and sides, I ain't got nothing to lose after the whole class just saw me..uh.." and lance lose his fighting pose for a second as his cheeks flared red again. "They all just watched you shit your huggies. Look, if it's a whooping you want, I'll give you anther one, but I really wouldn't recommend it." Timmy said, honestly trying to be helpful. "I know I can kick your ass!" Lance growled and started to charge in. 'Some people just insist on trying to skate uphill.' Timmy thought as he rolled his eyes. Snatching the top off of the trash can and then sweeping low with a kick, Timmy sent Lance flying head first into the trash can where he was then pinned, his diaper and legs sticking out and kicking in the air and Timmy just smirked. "I think you should take a little time out, and think about if trying to fight me is really working out for you." Timmy said, and after giving Lance's pamper butt a few pats, he left the bathroom, pausing only to grab the boys jeans and rip open all the stressed seams.

Lance whimpered and squirmed, trying to break free but the trash can itself was bolted to the floor after someone had been using the trans cans to break windows. And of course by someone, it had been him. He was a victim of his petty acts of vandalism and the only saving grace was that Timmy had put a few layers of paper towels over the dirty diaper to try and keep the boys room from becoming too toxic. If not for those layers Lance would of landed with his face against his own smelly diaper. the narrow design of the trash can meant his arms were pinned at his sides and useless and he just didn't have the leverage to force himself out by his legs no matter how much he kicked and squirmed. 'son of a bitch! I'm gonna kill him!' Lance sworn in his head over and over, truing it into a war chant of sorts as he tried to get free. 'Kill Timmy. Kill Timmy. Kill Timmy.' though even as he plotted out what he was going to do to the little shit, a nagging voice in the back of his head tried to remind him that he was 2 and 0 when trying to pound the bastard. never one to listen to common sense however, Lance figured third time was the charm and he'd figure out a way. He froze as he heard the bathroom door open, and then the voices that followed. "Man, who took a shit and didn't..flush.." came a voice that Lance knew VERY well and he groaned. If he was the top terror of the school, then Dustin Clearly was terror number two. the 13 year old was actually the same size as lance and had been the resident bully till Lance had put him in his place, but Dustin had made it clear he was only waiting for the right chance to strike to take back his tittle. "well well well.. what DO we have here." Dustin's voice rang out and then Lance felt a smack on the back of his pampered ass. he bit his bottom lip to keep quite on the hope that Dustin wouldn't be able to reorganize him from just a diapered butt and his legs. "awww, did the silly baby fall and go boom?" Dustin asked and laughed, smacking Lance's butt again. "or were you trying to be a good widdle boy and toss out your diaper and fell in?" again Lance kept silent, and prayed that Dustin would just get bored and leave. "You might as well speak up..Lance. Your the only one in the school with those tacky light up sneakers." Dustin added. Fuck! why had he begged and whined for his parents to get him those! he should of realized how much they made him stand out! "O-Ok Dustin. it's me. Can you PLEASE help me out of here?" Lance whined, with the jig up he had nothing to lose asking for help. "Hmmm i dunno..I think face down ass up in a trash can is a good look for you." Dustin laughed, and then Lance felt something poking the back of his diaper and moving around. "H-Hey! knock it off! what are you doing!?!" Lance yelped, kicking his legs only to get them grabbed by the stronger boy and held in place. "well you always made fun of me for liking to draw, but now I have this biggg white crinkly canvas to work with and a new black sharpie to boot." Dustin said. "Come on dude! this isn't funny! I'm getting light headed in here!" Lance whined and cringed as he felt himself starting to get close to crying. "alright alright calm your tits, I'm just about done and then I'll help you out. You know your pants are wreaked right?" Dustin asked. "Damn it! D-Dustin listen to me, there's this new kid.. he doesn't look like much but he did this to me and you're likely next. but if we team up-" Lance started to say and got a smack on his thigh. "OW! WHY!?" "oh quit your bitching, and no offense, but I think if I run into this kid I'm just gonna mind my manners." the sharpie stopped moving across the back of the diaper and then Lance felt himself tugged free, though some of the paper towel came up as it had plastered itself to his forehead. Dustin went to say something, then held his nose, his blench blond dreadlocks moving as did so and took a step back. "Ugh, dude! maybe you should go outside for a bit and air out, you reek like a shitty diaper." he said. Lance growled and thought about picking a fight with Dustin right then and there, but a small part of him nagged about the chance of ending back up in the trash can, and he stormed out of the boys room instead, trying to look as tough and as bad ass as he could, considering he was only in a diaper and t-shirt. Not to mention said diaper now had a warning written on the butt. 'Caution: full load!'  

Despite what his test scores might suggest, Lance wasn't stupid and knew better then to try and go back to class in just a diaper and t-shirt, and also knew better then to try and sneak out of the school in the same attire. Looking around the hallways of the school he tried to make his way to his locker, to get his gym shorts and cover up the diaper at least. if anything, his gym shorts would work better then his jeans had since his mom made it a point to get a size or two bigger (his jeans had been from last last) and he'd had to draw the string on it super tight to keep them from falling down. 'Huh, should of thought of that before..eh..I thought of it now, still means I'm a genius.' Lance thought, smirking and puffing up his chest in pride. He actually had a little swagger in his step as he got close to his locker, thinking about how he had outsmarted Timmy and while it might take awhile, he was sure he could get enough boys together that they'd make that ginger asshole into a even bigger baby then he'd been forced to be today. Lance was so caught up in his own head, picturing his victory that he failed to look at the clocks and see that it was just about the end of the period. he was just at the door to his locker, when the loud bells that singled the end of a period rang and made him yelp and jump. It also made him freeze as his bladder suddenly decided apparently that his bowels shouldn't be hogging all the fun and he started to flood the front of his diaper. As students poured out into the hallway he could only hunch over and try and will the flow to stop, even as more and more people started to notice him, pointing him out. there was a hush over the students in the hall as they looked, like the quiet before the storm, and then a roar of laughter washed over him as tears started to flow  from his eyes. "Stop it! stop laughing at me!" He whined and forgetting operation get some shorts, turned and ran away, sadly giving them all a good look at the message on his butt.

After that, Lance was never a problem for the most part. he kept to himself, he did his school work and his grades actually improved. He also never got back out of diapers as his parents didn't believe him when he said anther student had diapered him, and now he was in diapers 24/7, and even bulkier ones then the ones Timmy had put him in. These days the only time he's a bother to others is when he stinks up the classroom. Timmy sadly didn't get to stick around long to enjoy his handy work, His dad had anther transfer come though after only 3 weeks in town. Still he kept in touch with the boys from the last school, and saw how Lance even ended up having to drink from a sippy cup at lunch time and it gave him ideas for the bully at his new school, A know it all named Dan.

The end?

[slashthedice]

Be Mine Forever (Ch. 4)

And here is where our story ends. It's been a long time coming, but I wanted to make sure I got it right. This is the ending I've had planned since the beginning 9 months ago, so here it is in its final form. NSFW below.  Read the first part here, second part here, or the third part here. Or read the whole thing on ao3 here.

The tiled floor was cool beneath your warm hands. About half an hour into your impromptu and extended stay in the bathroom, you realized that you still had your coat and boots on when you began to overheat. Your shin throbbed from where you had slammed it into the edge of the bathtub, promising the formation of a bruise. You sat with your back against the door, legs outstretched with your coat draped across your lap as something to hold on to.

You had an inkling that you now understood what it felt like to be a prisoner awaiting execution. The only difference was that you did not know the crime with which you were being charged. Still, you could feel the headsman’s axe, or rather pickaxe, looming above you. You chastised yourself for the gallows humor, but found it surprisingly comforting as you awaited your fate.

It was an odd feeling knowing that the man that had given your life so much joy and meaning was now the one that would take that life away. Even still, you couldn’t find any negative feelings to direct at him. Yes, you were scared and confused, but you were also so glad that you could finally see him, even if it was to be the last time. He looked to be physically healthy, and if the overwhelming strength he had used against you was any indication, appearances weren’t deceiving.

His mental stability was a matter that was much less easy to ascertain. You still remembered the feral way he had lunged at you when they had first rescued him. The burn of his rage-filled eyes was at the forefront of your mind, seared into your thoughts. You suspected that he had nothing but ill intentions for you, but you wanted nothing more than to help him. You needed to quiet the storm you had seen churning inside of him, but you didn’t know how.

You kicked absentmindedly at your boots with your now bare toes. It seemed an odd thing to have happen while you were being held in captivity in your own home, but you were growing bored. By this point you guessed that a couple of hours had gone by, and your initial rush of adrenaline had long since passed. You were tired, and in the dim light of the bathroom there was little to do besides count the tiles on the floor or attempt to read the backs of shampoo bottles. You refused to let yourself fall asleep, however. You wanted to be awake when Harry came back for you. You wanted to look him in the eyes before he killed you. You wanted to know why.

You didn’t have to wait much longer.

Your heart seized up when you heard the distant sound of the door to the garage opening. Then came the heavy sound of Harry’s footsteps approaching the bedroom once more. His stride seemed to slow the closer he got, steps becoming lighter and more cautious. He was in the room, but you couldn’t tell much more than that. You pressed your ear harder against the surface of the door, knees digging into the tile as you waited with your hands braced on the wood.

The shriek of whatever heavy object he had placed in front of the door as it was pushed out of the way startled you. You launched yourself backwards, scrambling back until you hit the edge of the tub. Ah, there was the bell to toll your death. The executioner was here.

You waited for him to throw open the door and strike you down right there on your bathroom floor. You wondered how long it would take before anyone found your body. Surely they would notice your absence at work. At the very least, Rhonda would eventually notice that you had stopped calling.

You thought of the future you would never have. You would never get married, never have kids, never grow old and retire with the man you love. You thought of all this, but you found it hard to mourn for this hypothetical future. Such a future had been ripped from your grasp a year ago. That Valentine’s night had assured that you would never have the fairytale ending you had grown up dreaming of. Your ending was here, and there was no sunset to ride off into.

The seconds ticked on, and each one seemed to stretch on for an hour. You watched the knob, waited to see it turn, but nothing happened. You heard nothing further from the other side of the door. 

Feeling emboldened by the lack of action, you pushed yourself to stand, padding quietly towards the door. Had Harry left? Was he letting you go? You closed your eyes to focus on any noises. The heavy sound of his breathing filtering through the gas mask was still audible. He was still there, still in your bedroom, still waiting.

You had two options: stay put until Harry got tired of waiting and came in to get you, or open the door and face him head on. Your fingers trembled above the brass door knob as you reached for it. You wanted to see Harry, and you were tired of cowering in the bathroom. You loved him and he had loved you once, that had to mean something. You tried to calm your racing heart and shaking hands, wanting to face him with confidence.

The hinges creaked loudly with the slow swing of the door. You found a large black shadow perched at the edge of your bed, head downturned towards something in his hands. Harry looked monstrous in the gloom, illuminated only by the combination of moonlight and the dim glow of the street lamps that spilled across the comforter. You followed the unnatural lines of the gas mask, it seemed hard to believe that there was a man beneath it at all. 

As you took careful, shuffling steps forward, you saw the wear and tear on the coveralls he wore. The seams were splitting in the shoulders, and there were areas in which holes had appeared. Even in the relative darkness, you could see patches where the black fabric shone with wet stains. The coppery scent hung around him in a heavy aura speaking of recent acts of violence. You shuddered to think of where it all came from.

You steeled your frayed nerves and stepped towards him. As you neared the unmoving shadow, you saw what was clutched in his bare fingers. It was the shirt that had been your symbol of comfort and hope in the long months without him. His thumbs trailed over the soft material reverently. He did not look up at you.

“I never stopped waiting for you,” you said without thinking, voice barely above a whisper. “I never stopped hoping that you would walk through the door.”

His head turned slowly towards you. You looked for any indication of emotion, of recognition, of something to show you that he still knew you. You needed to know that it was truly Harry in there, that this dark specter that had scared and hurt you was not all that was left. He made no move to come towards you and he remained silent. There was no reaction to your words.

You took a few more steps towards him. He could have reached out and grabbed you if he wanted to. You ached to touch him, to take his hands in yours and tell him how much you loved and missed him. You wanted to wrap him up in your arms and never let him go. You refrained from doing so, not wanting to push your luck. You still weren’t sure how he would react.

His head followed your movement, the soulless eyes of the gas mask shielding his expression. Finally, you stood before him, looking down to hold the emotionless gaze of his mask. With trembling hands, you reached for him. This time, he could see what you planned to do, but he did not stop you. You held your breath when your fingers met the edge of the mask. With painstaking slowness, you dragged the apparatus up over his head, gasping slightly as more and more of that oh so familiar face was revealed to you.

His jawline was coated in a thick stubble. You remembered, a lifetime ago, watching him shave in the bathroom mirror. You saw his chapped lips, and were reminded of the way they felt against yours, burning and perfect. The familiar slope and curve of his cheeks and nose, reddened from the heat trapped within the mask. You were terrified, heart bursting. What would you find when you revealed his eyes? Would you see the man you loved or the shadow of hate?

The first thing you noticed was the darkened, bruise-colored shadows beneath his lower lashes. They were sunken and tired, the eyes of someone that had not known a good night’s sleep in a long time. His dark irises seemed heavy, weighed down by whatever thoughts gathered behind them. You wished you could read his mind, you wanted to get inside his head to know why all this was happening. He blinked at you slowly, like someone just waking up from a dream.

Your quivering hands cupped his face in your palms. You needed to reassure yourself that this was real, that Harry was here in front of you, sitting on your bed like he had never left. His stubble scratched your soft skin, sandpaper against silk. A few stray curls were stuck to his forehead with sweat and you longed to brush them aside with your fingers. His hands were unmoving in his lap, fingers tangled in the old flannel. You wished he would touch you, hold your waist and tell you he still loved you, that this was all a nightmare and he would never hurt you.

Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes, burning as they welled in your waterline and began to spill. It wasn’t fair. None of this was fair.

“I thought I lost you,” you said, voice tremulous with your admission.

A voice in the darkness startled you, its sound brittle and hoarse.

“You left me.”

Those three words struck you, piercing your fragile heart. You felt your teary eyes widen, but you held his gaze. You expected to find anger and betrayal in his expression, to see a reflection of the creature that had attacked you. All you found was a tired, defeated man.

“No, no,” you insisted. “Harry, I did everything I could to get you back.”

You couldn’t stop yourself then, you leaned in and pressed your lips to his. You tried to pour everything you had into the kiss, to give him your heart and soul, to show him how much you missed him. He didn’t kiss you back, mouth unresponsive against yours. You felt his fingers close around your wrists, and your already cracked heart broke a little more when you thought he was going to pull your hands away from him.

When you pulled back, he spoke again. “You abandoned me. All of you.”

You shook your head vehemently. “Not for an instant. I was there everyday waiting for them to rescue you and bring you back to me.”

You leaned in and kissed him again with mounting ferocity, you felt his grip on your wrists tighten. Your tears smeared against his cheeks as you pressed into him harder. You broke away only when you needed to breathe.

“You forgot me,” he sounded more like he was convincing himself than accusing you.

“Never. I love you. I never stopped loving you, not for a minute.”

His eyes snapped to yours, searching for any hint of a lie. You held your breath, praying that he would find your sincerity. Your heart was in your throat, constricting your airway until you were sure that you would pass out.

He moved faster than you could follow, and a startled sound came from you when he grabbed you and pulled you in hard, finally, finally kissing you back. He was insistent, desperate, and you melted into him immediately. He released your wrists. His hands found your hips and he pulled you closer until you were standing between his legs. You held onto him as tightly as you could. It was simultaneously familiar and strange, comforting and heartbreaking. You were drowning in him, but you couldn’t have been happier.

You had gone through these motions with Harry countless times before. You were intimately familiar with the way his hands felt on your body. You knew the taste of his lips and the feel of his arms around you. You knew the dark hair that you’d find on his chest and arms, knew all the curves and planes of his body. You knew how he moved. You knew what he liked and didn’t like, what would make him pant and moan and beg. You knew him.

But this time was different.

You didn’t feel as confident as you remembered. This felt like the first time, the uncertainty and the newness unignorable. You were unsure of what was okay and what wasn’t, you didn’t know what he wanted anymore. And despite the ferocity with which he kissed you, despite the straining desperation you could feel in his hands and arms as they held you close, you knew he was unsure too.

His hands were burning when they slipped under the hem of your sweater. You gasped into his mouth as the calloused skin of his palms and fingers skimmed the expanse of your stomach and smoothed over the plane of your back. He swallowed the sound of your tremulous moan as he deepened the searing kiss. It was hard to focus your scattered thoughts on anything but the feeling of him. If you weren’t careful, he would consume you entirely with his fire, but you would be happy to allow it.

You were too scared to engage in your own exploration. You were terrified that if you did you would wake up from whatever dream you had unwittingly tumbled into. You wanted to, though. You wanted to rediscover every inch of him, mapping out all of his dips and curves. To find the scars and imperfections you had touched and kissed a million times in the past, and to laden affection over any new ones. You wanted to run your fingers through his dark hair, and to trail your mouth down his abdomen. Fear kept you frozen in place, holding on to him as tightly as you could while he attacked your mouth with his own and felt the warmth of your body beneath your clothes.

The animalistic force and tempo of his kisses slowed until all that was left was the intermingling of your breathing and his, lips brushing gently between breaths. Your heart clenched, was this the end of the dream? Were you sentenced to wake to cold sheets and an empty bed?

You felt him grip the bottom of your sweater, pulling away from you just enough to draw the wool garment up over your head. The heat that swept through your body chased off the chill of cold air sweeping across your bare skin. One of his arms wrapped around your waist while the other gripped the underside of your thigh. He drew you in until you were forced to straddle his lap, knees framing his hips. His fingers found the clasp of your bra behind your back as you tentatively reinitiated the kiss. He fumbled with the delicate fastening, grunting his displeasure as he struggled against the ill ease of time spent unpracticed. It finally came undone before he drew the straps slowly down your shoulders and arms, pulling the undergarment away from your chest to leave you exposed to him.

His breathing hitched, faltering in his chest for only a fraction of a second before he crashed against you once more. He pulled you in hard, sealing your pliant form against his own before turning your world upside down. Your back met the soft, fluffy expanse of comforter and sheets while the rough fabric of his dark coveralls rasped against your front. The arm around your waist kept you firmly anchored to him while the other prevented his weight from crushing you. His pelvis brushed your own, sending a jolt of electricity straight to your core. 

You cupped his face in your hands as you leaned up to capture his lips with your own, eagerly opening up to him when you felt his tongue trace your lower lip. You were completely overwhelmed by everything that was him. His taste was the catalyst for a million bittersweet memories to flash and pool behind your eyelids and strangle your heart within your chest.

Ever so slowly, you allowed your hands to venture lower. Over the unshaved expanse of his jaw, down the column of his throat where his pulse beat wildly beneath your touch, until you found the zipper of his coveralls. Your labored breaths burned in your lungs as you listened to the rattling of metal teeth that followed the slider’s descent. Harry shrugged out of the upper half of the tattered coveralls, leaving him in a tight black t-shirt with the excess fabric hanging around his hips. For the first time that night, you could really see him.

He was still broad and strong, body a testament to years and years of hard physical labor, but he was not exempt from the toll of time. The definition of his biceps and triceps had fallen victim to a year without any real physical activity. He seemed slimmer, and you felt concern gnawing at the back of your mind, begging to know whether they had been feeding him well enough. New scars littered his arms, some looking like blast scars while others appeared almost like gouges or scratch marks.

You looked up at his face and found him staring right back down at you. His dark eyes were almost black as they swept over your bared upper half from behind the curtain of shaggy dark curls that were mussed and wild from his helmet. His chest heaved as he drew in a shaky breath. You wanted to spread your hands over his chest, to feel its firmness and the pounding beat of his heart beneath your palm.

Instead, you undid the button and fly on your pants before you began to shimmy them down your hips. Harry chased your hands away before coaxing you to lift your hips and allow him to pull the thick material along with your underwear down the length of your legs. You heard them hit the floor behind him.

You thought you would feel the same bashfulness you had felt your first time together, the burning sense of embarrassed hesitancy. Yet as you laid beneath him, completely nude and entirely vulnerable, there was no desire to cover your body or hide yourself away. You knew he was looking you over, taking in the image of you he hadn’t seen in so long. 

You felt you had reached a breaking point. There would be no turning back from here. You could feel the long cooled patches of wetness on his coveralls from where his thighs pressed into the back of yours. There was no denying what he was capable of, what he had done, what he had wanted to do to you. This was Harry, and you loved him, but the hands that he held you with were now steeped in blood and violence.

You reached for him and he met you, crushing your body to his. If you could melt into him, merge your body and soul with his, you would have. You wrapped your arms around his back and buried your face in his neck. Beneath the unmistakable smell of copper, you found his scent. That smell of musk and pine, intermingled with sweat. It was the most comforting scent in the world, and tears sprung to your eyes anew as you realized how much you had missed it, yearned for it in its absence.

You needed him. You needed to be as close to him as was possible, in the basest most physical sense. He was part of you, and you were part of him.

You slipped your hands between your bodies, searching and grasping for the edge of his coveralls. Your fingers tugged and pulled until they had pushed past the thick material and found the waistband of his underwear. You wavered there, watching the way his chest heaved with each heavy inhale of breath, you could feel the tension of anticipation in each of his tensed muscles. Finally,you took hold of him, freeing him from the restricting confines of clothing. He was already hard and heavy in your grasp, length velvety and scaldingly hot beneath your touch.

You ached for him. Every inch of your body begged to know his as intimately as it once had. Pressure mounted in the stiffened peaks of your breasts as you imagined his hands, his mouth, his wonderfully skilled tongue laving them with attention, and you arched into him for more of that wondrous friction. Your sex pulsed with faded remembrances of his touch, clenching around nothing as you thought of him filling you once more.

Strong hands gripped your thighs, spreading them and opening you up to him. You trembled as he shifted, every nerve and sinew taut with the delirium of expectation. You released him, hands finding his broad shoulders to steady yourself in preparation for what you desperately needed next. A stuttered, moaning exhale tumbled from your lips at the first brush of the blunt head of his cock between your legs. You made a pleading sound in the back of your throat, and with one hand at your hip and the other guiding his swollen length to you, he took what you both needed.

He pushed in and you immediately sucked in a sharp, pained breath because it burned. It had been so long, your body no longer used to him, and for a moment it knocked the air from your lungs. Your legs quivered while they framed his hips. You heard distantly the strangled sound of his groan as he was enveloped in your heat, but it was nearly drowned out by the blood rushing in your ears.

You wanted him to move, to pound into you and take everything you were willing to give despite your body’s resistance. He did not. He waited, frozen in place with you wrapped around him. He leaned his body into yours until you were chest to chest, his heart beating harshly along with yours. He pressed his lips to your neck and shoulder, hot breath rolling across your overheated skin. Your head spun as you waited, suspended in limbo between the opposing sensations.

Finally, as you adjusted to being filled so completely, you rolled your body into his. Your mind went blank with the first jolts of mounting ecstasy. He was here, and real, and filling you so unbelievably well. There was nothing but the two of you, joined in the most intimate way you could imagine, and for the first time in 365 days of despair and emptiness, you felt whole.

He pulled out of you with agonizing slowness, leaving you quaking with a need for more. You looked at him with tear-framed eyes and were stricken with how painfully perfect it felt to have his body above yours. This was where he belonged, locked in your embrace with flushed, sweat-slicked skin, mouth forming around panting breaths and pleasured moans, eyes half-lidded and looking at you like he had never seen anything more perfect in his life.

And then he thrust back in.

You vocalized your pleasure in disjointed staccato moans. You had forgotten anything could feel like this. Each time he buried himself within you, each spear of his length inside your eager, fluttering walls stoked the fire that gathered and burned at your core. You hooked your ankles behind his back, pulling him into every thrust as best you could. You needed more, deeper. You wanted all of him.

You heard him inhale harshly through his nose, as if he was trying to steady himself, to control his breathing and keep himself grounded. You could have died and been perfectly happy. Heaven was here, in his arms, surrounded by the knowledge that you tested his control so thoroughly. That you made him feel so good he could hardly stand it. That after so long your desperate coupling was nothing short of perfection.

His fingers dug into the flesh of your hip. You were sure that there would be bruises there tomorrow. The heat had reached such an intensity that you were certain you would combust. That blaze in your core had spread and expanded until you were filled with wildfire, and yet Harry continued to add fuel to the flames. Each time he entered you only served to galvanize the inferno. You wanted to tell him to slow down. You needed him to let you catch your breath or the fire would consume you and burn away everything except for the wonderful push and pull of him inside of you. You couldn’t find the words, so you said the only thing you could.

“I love you,” you wailed. “I love you... I love you... I love you...”

You felt him falter, pace slipping before he pushed into you harder, faster. The intensity of it all threatened to pull you under and drown you. He was your lifeline, and you held onto him with every ounce of strength you had. 

Harry groaned your name, lips right beside your ear, and that was it. The world exploded into white light as the fire inside of you burst. You dragged your nails down his back, taking handfuls of the t-shirt neither of you had cared to remove. Your body jerked and your walls clenched around him. Sparks of pleasure shot through your limbs, burning through you and leaving nothing but embers of satisfaction.

You heard yourself moaning as he continued to thrust through your climax. He was close. Each breath that escaped him was harsh. Each inhale burned his lungs. He would break apart at any second and you would hold the pieces together.

Tears spilled down your cheeks as you turned your head to kiss his temple, his cheek, the crown of his messy head. Your lips came away tasting like salt. He met you and captured your mouth with his own. You swallowed his stifled moan, your only warning before you felt the first jerk of his cock followed by a flood of warmth inside your slick cunt. You gasped as he panted against your lips. His release painted your walls, pulling aftershocks of your own release from your sex.

As you came down from the high of euphoria, your surroundings came into focus. Your arms and legs felt like jelly. The sheets were glued to your skin with sweat. Harry’s arms glistened in the combined light of the moon and streetlamps. You looked past him to the night stand. The alarm clock had been knocked over at some point, but you spotted his gloves that had been thrown carelessly on the little wooden table. Around them was a pool of crimson that had spilled over the edge and had begun to drip onto the floor below. A feeling began to well inside you, threatening to overshadow the warm glow that had centered in your chest.

Harry pushed himself up onto his forearms, eyes centered above your own. You felt your eyebrows draw inwards as you searched his face. Gone was any semblance of the fearsome shadow from before. For a moment, you could let yourself believe that this was the Harry you had always known. The Real Harry. The True Harry. When he leaned down to kiss you with a heartbreaking amount of gentleness, you could almost forget the blood that stained your wooden floor. He smoothed your sweaty, wild hair away from your face.

You realized with a sinking sensation that you did not know what to do next.

When he pulled out of you, he collapsed onto the bed next to you. You felt a combination of cooling fluids spilling from inside of you. You pushed yourself onto your wobbly elbows to survey the damage. Bruises had already begun to darken along your hip. The apex of your thighs was a mess of glistening slick and pearlescent cum. You would have to go to the bathroom and clean yourself up if you didn’t want it to--

Knock. Knock. Knock.

Your blood froze as you heard the pounding thud of a fist making contact with your front door. Your head snapped towards Harry who had turned to stone beside you. You knew who it was. You knew that if you opened that door, Newby would be standing there. He would tell you all the things that you had been trying to avoid thinking about. He would tell you everything Harry had done that night, tell you about the carnage and bloodshed.

He would ask you if you knew where Harry was.

You felt your eyes widen as you looked at the man beside you. He had killed someone tonight, maybe multiple people. He was a murderer.

You loved him.

He needs help, logic argued. If you love him, you’ll tell Newby that he’s here so that they can take him back to the mental hospital and treat him.

You pushed yourself to stand. A hand closed harshly around your wrist.

“I need to tell them something, Harry,” you said, corrosive guilt burning your insides. “I’ll get rid of them.”

You felt him hesitate, grip remaining firm for a series of infinitely long moments. Eventually, he relented, fingers slipping away from you.

You pulled your underwear up your shaky legs, cringing as the fabric cradled the mess against your folds. You rushed to your dresser, pulling out a nightgown and shimmying it over your head. You grabbed your robe, wrapping it around your shoulders and tying the belt closed. You couldn’t look at Harry as you left the room.

“I love you,” you said quietly.

You felt nauseous as you walked to the front door. Uncertainty gnawed at you, clawing at your heart and stomach. You could hear voices on the other side of the door, there were more people than just Newby. They suspected Harry was here, they were going to take him back.

You opened the door slowly, just enough for you to peek your head out.

“(Y/N),” Newby looked at you with a stifling amount of pity. He looked exhausted. “Where is he?”

He knew. He knew Harry was there. He knew.

You stared at him silently, your mouth had gone dry.

“We just want to help him,” Newby continued. “He’s a sick man, (Y/N).”

Your heart was pounding in your ears. Steady. Thump. Thump. Thump. You realized with a jolt that the sound wasn’t your heart. It was footsteps. Boots across hardwood. You wondered if the men on your front steps could hear it.

“He killed two men tonight.”

Your heart dropped like a stone. You had known, of course, but it was hard to face the truth so directly. Your mind was screaming at you, telling you that you had to tell them. You heard your back door open deeper in the house.

“Where’s Harry, (Y/N)?” Newby was pleading with you.

You heard the back door slam shut.

“I don’t know.”