#river runs deep [ au ]

[razzle-zazzle]

Whumptober Day 13: Team as Family

Familial Curse

2733 Words; River Runs Deep

TW for implied past war crimes, past memory alteration

AO3 ver

Donatella does not like this. Any of this.

Her son running away was bad enough—both in how badly she failed as a mother to make him feel the need in the first place, and in how much danger he was in the entire time. But this? Coming so close to the Psychonauts, who her family fears almost as much as Deluginists?

Still, it is important to support her son. Even if he is being reckless—and really, what else can Donatella expect, when she raised him as a death-defying acrobat?

But she still does not like this. Not the Psychonauts being a stone’s throw away from her family, not that woman with the nerve to threaten burning their caravan—

But really, Donatella mostly hates how it feels like her family is coming undone. There is a pressure, she feels, that she has to alleviate if she doesn’t want to push her children away—a pressure she never realized until it was shoved right in front of her face.

Still, she will make do. It’s what she must do, as an Aquato. She will hold her family together, however she can, because it is her job as the mother and the matron of this family. She will not let this family fall apart—or into bad habits—on her watch.

Speaking of…

“Pootie, do you think you could go help Dion set up the Aquatodome?” Working together has always helped to mend damaged bridges—and perhaps her eldest will lighten up if he sees his younger brother doing something familiar for the family.

Raz shrugs, but goes off to do so anyway, which lightens a weight in Donatella’s chest.

Things… may not work out perfectly—they rarely do. But at least she can still hold things together, and make do.

It’s what she has to do, after all.

+=+=+=+=+

Dion hefts the sign for the Aquatodome into place, Raz’ psychic grasp helping to lift it.

Of course. Pooter runs away to go flaunt his powers at a—a summer camp for weirdo fortune tellers and the moment he comes back he’s prancing around with all these new powers, as though it doesn’t matter if someone sees.

Then again, maybe it doesn’t matter if the den of psychic cops practically next door know if Raz is psychic. But knowing Raz can start fires with his mind is only one step off of knowing he can move water, which is one step off from—

Dion viciously cuts off that line of thought. Den of psychics right next door. Best not to think about it.

Still—Dion hops down, frowning at the self-satisfied grin on Pooter’s face. “You know you’re not supposed to flaunt that… psychic stuff.” He reminds him.

But Raz has hit that age where things like common sense just seem to bounce right off of that helmet he always wears, so instead of agreeing he just looks up at Dion with big green eyes and says, “But they’re useful, aren’t they?”

Dion grumbles, but he can’t really argue that point. “So what? It’s still not safe.” It doesn’t matter how useful the damn powers are, if they only cause trouble in the end. “It’s not worth it.”

Raz gives Dion a flat look. After a moment, he sighs, and changes the subject. “Had any visions lately?”

Dion stiffens, but there’s nobody around them but for the rest of the family. “I haven’t had any.” He lies, through the sudden trickle of water in his brain. He wishes it wasn’t a lie—what’s the point of knowing danger is around the corner if he can’t do anything about it? If he can never piece together what the universe is trying to tell him in time to do anything meaningful? It’s never enough—it’s just headache after headache after headache.

Raz sees right through Dion. “Maybe you’d understand them better if you practiced.” he suggests, voice only slightly dry.

Dion scoffs. “And maybe you’d stop getting into trouble if you practiced not being reckless.” He leans forwards to flick Raz’ forehead—

A river flowing up into the sky—

Dion flinches back. Stares at Raz, at the tiny creases under his eyes and the ill-fitting clothes. The sound of rushing water fills his ears—danger.

“Just… stop it, Pooter. Stop going down this road.” He knows Raz won’t listen to him, knows that whatever the universe just tried to tell him will pass no matter what he or anyone does—but he speaks anyway.

“Is that a premonition?” Raz asks, somewhere between smug and sincere, worry in those big green eyes of his.

“No.” Dion doesn’t get premonitions. He just gets headaches. Hallucinations, even. Brain vomit that doesn’t mean anything—and even if it did Dion never figures it out in time—

Powers like these are never worth it. Dion just wishes Raz would realize that sooner rather than later.

+=+=+=+=+

“I miss you too.” Frazie admits. “But don’t be getting all sappy on me, Poots.” She lifts one hand into the air, then adjusts her other so that she’s standing on only her fingers. After a moment, she lets her palm fall to the ground, and trades hands.

Her little brother is such a crybaby, sometimes—though, if Frazie thinks about it, it’s not like her older brother is much better, always getting prissy about something. Drama queen.

Not that she’s much better, Frazie supposes. But can she really be blamed? Everything about this is—it’s just not right, so unlike the normal routine for her family. And she has Raz to blame for shaking up the status quo—

But she guesses it’s been a long time coming. It wasn’t like Raz was very good at hiding those hokey magazines, or that pamphlet that Dad tore up right in front of everyone—which, yeah, if Frazie was ten and scared she wasn’t sure she wouldn’t have run away, either. But she didn’t have Raz’ reckless streak, so she would have never had that stupid pamphlet in the first place.

“And I bet your invisibility trick would really impress Hollis!” Raz continues, “Most psychics can only turn themselves invisible.”

Frazie smirks. “They’re just not as cool as me.” She declares, balancing on one foot. And then, just to add to her point—

Raz stumbles back as an invisible pinecone hits his forehead. He stares at the now visible pinecone, then kicks it. “See? You’d do great at it.”

Frazie shrugs. Maybe it would be nice, to go to an unfamiliar place full of unfamiliar people just to learn a few psychic tricks she doesn’t really need—

Okay, yeah, no. Not happening. Frazie and Raz exchange a few more words before the conversation trickles out and Raz leaves. She watches him go, then huffs.

There was so much more she could have said, just then. So much more that maybe she should have said.

Well, she supposes she’s always been good at shutting up.

+=+=+=+=+

“Hey, Queepie—” Raz starts.

Queepie ducks down off the roof, radio floating behind him. Ugh, can’t Raz see he needs his Me-Time? Everyone’s acting like the world’s going to end, and the icky-sticky feeling filling the air has made the camp unbearable.

At least the radio doesn’t feel any of this icky-stickiness. It just keeps playing the same song—a really good song, that Queepie’s never heard before but he really likes and kind of wishes he could never stop hearing. It’s certainly wayyyy better than sticking around the camp where everyone’s acting like everything’s gone wrong. Frazie got to run off and get alone time, so why can’t Queepie?

Something Bad is going to happen, Queepie feels. But predicting bad things is Dion’s job, so Queepie focuses on the music pouring out from the radio. He lets the sound wash over him, drowning out the icky-sticky feeling in his head, and starts to bounce in place.

Raz had called it “stimming”, once, after reading one of his comics. Queepie’s pretty sure the word is dancing—but he doesn’t really care what it’s called, so long as he’s allowed the time and space to listen to music and do it. So he does, moving his whole body like it might make the icky-sticky feeling go away entirely.

(It never really does, but Queepie keeps dancing anyway.)

+=+=+=+=+

“Nona, look!” Mirtala lifts her hands from the ground so that she’s balancing on her braid hoops.

“Hm?” Nona is slow to turn, and doesn’t quite make it all the way before she halts. She glances at Mirtala, but doesn’t really look.

Mirtala huffs, puffing her cheeks out. This keeps happening! She had asked Mom about it, a while ago, and she had said something about Mirtala looking too much like Nona’s sister—but that’s not good enough! The worst explanation!

Still, Nona keeps turning to glance out at the woods, in a way that she doesn’t usually do.

Mirtala’s… she’s not stupid. She knows there’s something her parents haven’t told her, something that all her older siblings know. Something about Nona, and why Dad sometimes trips over a different name when calling for her. Mirtala just doesn’t know what it is, that has her family constantly on edge.

Dad says it’s because their whole bloodline is cursed to die in water. But Mirtala’s seen Raz playing with the water, making it dance around him when he thinks nobody’s looking. Mom says that psychic powers draw attention, Dion says they only cause trouble. But Queepie always looks so happy when he dances and the radio dances with him—though he is bug-eyed and weird, so Mirtala doesn’t really know what to make of that.

But Raz… Raz looked so small when Dad tore up that pamphlet, in a way that Mirtala doesn’t think her older brother should be. And he looks so much happier now, running around on a glowing ball of mind stuff, dressed up like that guy from the comics he sometimes reads to her and Queepie.

But he also looks tired, if Mirtala thinks about it. She frowns, somersaulting out of her handstand and then doing two flips in quick succession. She knows there’s something going on, something that she doesn’t know that has everyone all worried and trying to hide it. Something that nobody will tell her about.

Mirtala frowns. She does a cartwheel in front of Nona, who doesn’t react, staring off into the trees. Mirtala huffs, and takes Nona’s hand. “C’mon, watch Didi juggle me!” She prompts, startling Nona from her weird trance.

Nona looks at Mirtala strangely, for a moment, before shaking her head as if to clear her mind. “Yes, let’s do that.” She agrees, allowing Mirtala to lead her away from the trees and towards the Aquatodome, where Dion’s still standing about muttering.

Mirtala’s not stupid. She knows there’s more going on, even if nobody will tell her about it. But that’s fine, she thinks. They can all sit and hide their feelings all they want; Mirtala will simply entertain herself.

(She’s not always honest about how she feels, either.)

+=+=+=+=+

“DON’T ‘RAZPUTIN’ ME!”

Raz’ voice catches Augustus’ attention, jolting him from his thoughts. He follows the source of the noise, finding his son looking alarmingly distraught next to…

“What’s all this?” Augustus asks, fighting to keep his voice even. That man is… he was the old man from the summer camp, if Augustus remembers correctly. Ford, that was his name.

But Augustus doesn’t have the slightest idea what Ford is even doing here, so close to their family’s camp—nor does he have any idea why his son is so upset, but none of the ideas he does have are any good.

Raz points at Ford. “He did it!” He shouts. “He’s the one who messed with your memories!”

“What.” All of Augustus’ worried anger crashes against a wall, melting away as he stares Ford down. There is something vaguely familiar about him, Augustus realizes—but he hadn’t realized why until now.

Now, when it feels like every muscle in his body has locked up. This man—this man is why Augustus can’t remember his mother’s face, can’t connect the woman who raised him before the deluge with the photos of the protests. This man is why Augustus and his aunt have been unmoored for so long, unable to remember more than the tiniest flashes of their lives Before the Deluge. This man is the source of it—

But why?

“Why?” Augustus asks—no, pleads, clutching at his chest as though that might somehow loosen it, “You—why would you—” He can’t find the words; the world seems to tilt.

“Because I loved her.” Ford laments, which is in itself a whole new revelation—how did this man know Lucrecia? What did he know—about Lucrecia, about Marona? “And I thought it was the only way to keep her safe.”

Augustus’ head is spinning. The river cutting him off from his past—and the man who made it, standing before him—is he breathing?

“So you took her memories?” Raz demands, snapping Augustus to reality. There are tears running down his son’s face. Augustus’ chest tightens further.

And then Donatella—lovely, brave, gorgeous Donatella—surges forwards, pointing at Ford. “You.” She nearly snarls, and Augustus stares at her, tries to etch her face into his mind forever—something he’s done so many times before. He never feels quite so unmoored looking at her; even now, Augustus finds stability in the way Donatella stands, shoulders set, glaring at Ford.

“You have some nerve!” And oh, Augustus is falling in love again, for the millionth time, because how can he not? “What is wrong with you? Do you have any idea the damage you’ve done to this family?”

Ford’s mouth opens, but no sound comes out. Augustus wants to grab him by the shoulders and shake him, wants to demand the answers he’s never been able to find—

“Wait.” Frazie’s voice breaks the silence. 

“Where’s Nona?”

+=+=+=+=+

Lucrecia wanders.

The forest is dark, down here on the ground where the sunlight can’t quite reach. But there is something familiar about this darkness, something etched into her mind telling her where to go. A pull, like the river flowing to the sea.

It has bothered her since they arrived here, cautious about being found out but wanting to support Raz nonetheless. Something in this forest is haunting her, and she needs to find it.

The trees thin out, and Lucrecia finds herself overlooking a flooded clearing. The buildings down there…

Lucrecia makes her way down. She knows this place, doesn’t she?

She wanders down to a dome of stained glass, her hand raising as though she might touch the color panes before her. There is something so familiar about this. It reminds her of a patchwork quilt, of scraps of unused fabric forgotten in the back corner of a drawer. There is something heavy, here, that sees her lowering her hand and turning away.

One path is blocked by vines, another by honey. So Lucrecia turns to the path that’s still open, ambling over to the wooden building looming half over the water. Like an overturned turnip, sagging and starting to rot with age. She crosses the threshold, wood creaking beneath her feet—

There are ghosts here, of some past she does not remember. At once, Lucrecia knows—she has been here before. Before the Deluge.

The notion terrifies and excites her in equal measure. Her lost history, at the cusp of being known—but what will it say about her? About the paths she took? Will the new knowledge fill the holes in her mind, or will it only bring her more grief?

(Perhaps she deserves the grief, for all that she’s done.)

“Oh, ma’am, are you lost?” An unfamiliar voice breaks Lucrecia from her mind’s ramblings. She turns to see a young man, maybe a bit younger than Gus, standing on the edge of the rotting wooden pier.

Lucrecia does not recognize this man. There is an emblem on his robe—ah, he’s a Psychonaut. He looks too young to have been part of the group that defeated her, but—well, best not to lose her wits around him, then.

“Oh, I’ll find my way home eventually.” Lucrecia answers, drawing her shawl in closer. There is danger on the horizon, the water below beckoning her to play. “I always do.” She does not know how to purge the ghosts lingering here, nor does she know if she will actually find anything. So she will simply have to bide her time, it seems.

The man nods. “I imagine you would.”

[fruitageoforanges]

jace strong, weirwood lord of harrenhal —

‘harwin raises the strong boys’ au (explored more in my 1640s historical fusion fic!). i decided to lean in to both jace’s connection to cregan and the old gods of the north and the general weird, magical, cursed atmosphere harrenhal in this conception of him. ie. that he takes after auntie alys rivers in his leaning towards magic and being just a tad creepy.

[bonbonly]

𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙬𝙚𝙨𝙩 𝙘𝙤𝙖𝙨𝙩, 𝙩𝙝𝙚𝙮 𝙜𝙤𝙩 𝙩𝙝𝙚𝙞𝙧 𝙞𝙘𝙤𝙣𝙨 𝙩𝙝𝙚𝙞𝙧 𝙨𝙞𝙡𝙫𝙚𝙧 𝙨𝙩𝙖𝙧𝙡𝙚𝙩𝙨, 𝙩𝙝𝙚𝙞𝙧 𝙦𝙪𝙚𝙚𝙣𝙨 𝙤𝙛 𝙨𝙖𝙞𝙜𝙤𝙣𝙨 ✶ the lights, cameras and props aren't enough to hide your mistakes when you've angered a few of your associates ; this follows my hollywood!au and as always 18+, minors dni! ✶ drivers involved: carlos sainz jr., charles leclerc, max verstappen, lewis hamilton, nico rosberg, jenson button, fernando alonso, daniel ricciardo, sebastian vettel ✶ warnings: smutttt, p in v, breeding kink, slapping, cunnilingus, blowjobs, spanking hehehe

🎥 producer!carlos sainz jr.

"famed actress (y/n) (l/n) criticizes Sainz 55's production company... i'm not here to be second..." carlos reads through the headline of the front page, before throwing the newspaper at your face. you flinch and turn your head to the side, breath shaking as you continue to bounce on his cock. your arms are tied behind you with his belt, the leather bound so tight that you swear it might be cutting off circulation. your mouth is stuffed with your panties, the lovely mascara you had bought was now running down your cheek; like delicate rivers streaming across the globe as he put it. he shifts in his seat, causing you to let out a muffled cry as the tip of his cock pushes further into you. his hands are behind his head, a grin on his face as he sees you all helpless and vulnerable like this. just like when you first came to his office asking for him to make you a star.

"after everything we've been through, cariño, this is how you'll repay me? wanting to leave?" he laughs, a coldness in his voice that cuts into your skin. goosebumps trail your body as he gently blows on your hardened nipples, begging for his attention. when you pause just a bit from riding him, he rolls the newspaper and smacks your ass, sending you forward onto his chest. he won't touch you nor help you. instead he bucks his hips forward, relishing in your cries. he can hear your muffled apologies, and he merely shakes his head, "from the top, mi vida, for an award winning actress, you sure are terrible at delivering a good performance for me to enjoy. come on, make me cum before i decide to throw you out, permanently."

you roll your hips, nodding your head as you continue, your thighs burning from exertion.

🎥 actor!daniel ricciardo

"that was my scene, you know that was my scene," daniel hisses into your ear, fingers deep inside you in your trailer. you gasp out loud, gripping onto his shoulders as he continues his relentless assault, waiting for you to cum for the third time. you moan, mouth open wide as he spits into your mouth, grabbing your chin so you can stare into his eyes, "this is my big chance to get back on the big screen. i'm not letting you ruin that for me."

perhaps wanting to outperform him in front of the cameras was a mistake. you do recall seeing the cameraman flinch a bit. you did great, you always did but they could see daniel ready to pounce on you as soon as the director yelled cut. now you're in your trailer, being shoved down onto all fours. he grabs his phone and props it on the table as he slips off his shirt. "we'll see who's better now, cunt" and he brings his head down, eating you out from behind. his tongue slips into your dripping pussy with ease, smiling as you're mewling and shaking. fuck, as much as you hated him for always trying to get in your spotlight, you couldn't let this opportunity pass. you might even help him get a few more roles if he could make you squirt all over his body.

🎥 actor!max verstappen

"ok, i made my sister win those oscars, what are you going to do about it, hm?" max scoffs, leaning against the wall during the afterparty. you snarl at him, smacking him across his face.

"i would've won. i would've won all these years had you not been busy screwing me over like this," you watch him stumble backwards, your handprint blooming on his face. his expression of shock turns into one of anger and he grabs you, dragging you off to the bathroom. once inside, he bunches your dress up and bends you over the counter, laughing as he sees your pussy gaping for him. "schatje, i didn't know your pussy was this sweet, waiting so patiently... crying for me to fill you up."

you're screaming as his cock buries to the hilt inside of you, slapping your ass hard so that every time you sat down, you'd only be reminded of him. he licked his lips, bringing your back to his chest as his pace became faster, "oh fuck, maybe if you became my personal little slut, i'll try talking to the association to give you all the awards next year."

you smile at his words, "fuck... i can get behind that."

"maybe though... it's a maybe. maybe i might change my mind, and fuck this pretty pussy of yours raw, fill you with my cum again and again until the media comes to know of our future child," and despite his words, you're clenching around his cock because you always loved a little thrill in your life.

🎥 producer!lewis hamilton

"how ungrateful of a whore do you have to be?" lewis laughs, watching you on your knees as you suck his cock. you bob your head around his throbbing member, the sinful noises you have to offer fueling him as he grabs the back of your head and shoves you deeper down. "fuck, you sound gorgeous."

he can see you smile through the deed. he looks up to see your offer to switch to his production company for a year. an interesting contract, he knows you'll renew it if you're successful with him. especially if you're worshipping his cock like this. he grabs his phone, and takes a few pictures of you. he even records his cock ramming into your swollen cunt, your tits bouncing as he fucks you raw against his desk.

"rec-recording for oh!" you arch your back, cumming once more before whining as he continued to fuck you, "recording for memories?"

"you could say that," lewis grins, his thumb hovering over carlos's contract. if you were willing to go against carlos's back to contact him again and again, despite all the times he rejected your offers, then how loyal would you even be when you signed with him? you're extremely talented, though, he'd be a fool not to sign you. your cunt was also pure heaven.

🎥 actor!charles leclerc

"how inexperienced do you think i am?" charles scoffs, grabbing your chin and forcing you to look at him. you're on set of a film with him, already getting off on bad terms because you couldn't stand the fact that this newbie was receiving more attention than you. it was a sex scene, one you signed up for because this was just normal for you. only difference was that in this makeshift room with no light at all spare an artificial moon outside the window, charles was fucking you for real. no fake socks, no skin color underwear. he had shoved those panties to the side a long time ago and rubbed your clit hard right before the director yelled action. method acting, that's what the assistants on set whispered before leaving.

"you think i don't know anything, isn't that right mon ange?" he whispers, low enough so that no sound system can pick up his words, it's only meant for you. you gulp, trying your best to make your moans seem fake. the bed's creaking beneath you, tears in your eyes with how good he's fucking you. you shake your head, words failing to come out because now you're arching your back, your nipples brushing against his chin and he smirks, taking the opportunity to lean closer and wrap his mouth around your areolas, flicking his tongue around as you're squirming underneath him.

"oh fuck!" you whisper, silently screaming to the side where the cameras cannot see you, "i cannot believe you..."

"meet me in my trailer after, i'll prove to you that i'm not just some stupid rookie with a pretty face," he nibbles at the shell of your ear, and you bite down onto his shoulder as you're cumming around his relentless cock. the poor set crew had a lot to clean up after this scene.

🎥 director!sebastian vettel

"no, no, no!" sebastian yelled out, rolling his eyes. you'd messed up the take for the 50th time. "schatz, what's going on? what's wrong with you?"

he hops off his chair and walks over to you with a frown on his face, "you usually get these in one take! are you not feeling well?" he places the back of his hand on your forehead, and you shrug your shoulders,

"just not feeling it today," and that makes his face harden. so in your trailer, he's sitting on a chair, your legs in the air as he contorts your body so that your face is against the ground, he lets the blood rush down to your pretty little head for a few seconds before pulling you back up onto his lap. clothes are long gone, he's mouthing the fat of your tits,

"i have a schedule, i have days to finish this film and if you're going to be a brat," he pauses, slapping your face gently so that you get the idea, "on your knees now. right now. you can't say your lines? make that fucking mouth useful then, du hure."

🎥retired scriptwriter!nico rosberg

"you keep coming back here, acting like i'm going to... oh fuck," nico groans out loud, watching you spread your legs out for him. you were always such a tease. even before he quit the industry, you always tried to coax him into a quickie before the ceremony would start. nico falls to his knees, crawling over to you on the bed. he grabs a pen and bites the cap off, spitting it to the distance before biting the insides of your thighs. you yelp in surprise, giggling as a hand comes to tangle in his hair and he glances up at you with hooded eyes and half a smile.

"i guess i could write a script for you," he murmurs, licking your clit rapidly as you buck your hips against his mouth. he wraps his lips around your puffy folds, tugging and sucking before writing all around your cunt and on your thighs. the feeling of the pen's tip alongside his tongue lapping up the gummy walls inside you makes you let out a wanton moan, body arching as you chase after your release. the pen dips further into your skin, the small dose of pain sending your mind into a dizzy mess he shoves the pen to the side and lets his fingers scissor inside your juicy cunt.

when you wake up the next morning with his cum leaking, you also finally see what he's written all over you: my pretty little dumb slut. you're already grabbing the pen to write all over his bare chest.

🎥 film critic!jenson button

"oh," jenson pouts mockingly as he sees you crying, "oh did my words hurt miss princess's feelings?" he grabs your jaw and tilts your head to look at him, "well too fucking bad. you want to insult my intelligence to the press? you want to see me replaced? darling, if it isn't me writing these film reviews, which other journalist's cock is going to have that cunt sinking down on them, hm?"

and before you can answer, his grip tightens, "if it isn't me, i will personally see to it that each review i write is worse than the one before, i have credibility sweetheart. you want to ruin my reputation? i can go one step further."

you knew fighting with him was pointless, but there was a bit of fun in it. up until now, it seems that he really was at his last straw with you. he throws you over his shoulder, shutting and locking the door to his office before throwing you onto his swivel chair. he rips your clothes off like a madman, a hand around your throat as he squeezes gently and soon his hard cock is sliding along your wet folds that yearn just for him to stretch you out. "i should take a photo of you right now and send it to the press. they'd love to see another dumb whore on the front pages."

"i...i'll have you photographed as well," you hiss, bucking your hips to see if his cock will finally slide inside you. he smacks his member a couple times against your cunt, loving the way you're begging for him to fill you up.

"go ahead, i have nothing left to lose. you do that, and there'll be permanent evidence of our affair. you don't do that, i'll still make sure there's evidence," and as you tilt your head in confusion, he lets out a laugh, "going to fill you up with my cum and see if a baby will put you in your place."

he fills you up in one thrust, watching the way your eyes widen as you moan out loud.

🎥 retired actor!fernando alonso

"what do you mean you no longer want to take acting lessons with me?" fernando roars, crossing his arms. his princess, his sweet girl was wanting to cut ties with him? seriously? he worked so hard to bring you to the actress that you are today, giving you all the skills and talent in the world! the reason you were so big now and praised for your performances was because of him! he helped you!

and now you wanted to leave him because some young actor named... what was it? charles? or was it max? or was it even daniel? who even knew anymore!?! but you were being wrapped around SOMEONE'S finger. no, no, this wouldn't do. your stubbornness had its limits, and he was for sure going to make you regret trying to leave him. he has you over his lap, smacking your ass as he makes you count.

every time you hiccupped and forgot to count through the tears, he makes you restart. by the time your ass is covered in his handprints and the tears are now loud sobs, he flips you over and lets you bury your face in his neck. "come on, mi princesa, you cannot leave me, after all i've done! i thought you liked our private lessons!"

"i do, i do! i'm sorry, no one treats me good as you do," you whine, kissing him. he caresses your cheek, using his thumb to wipe away your tears. he lets you show your forgiveness by letting him fuck you as much he wants for the night! you don't know how many times you've cummed, but the more he thrusts into you, the louder you wail. you feel like you're on heaven, his big hands groping your tits, slapping them as his hips snap faster and faster each time. you're screaming as you squirt all over his cock, laughing half-way through with how good you feel. you're unaware that as soon as he's done with you, he's going to pull a few strings to make sure his princess doesn't pull out another move like this again. he's your mentor after all, he's doing what's best for you!

got more ideas/requests/questions for my hollywood!au? send them in!

[ceilidho]

take me home, country road

[ao3]

You have nothing on your person apart from a hastily packed suitcase and the dress you came into town wearing, on the run from trouble back home. Too bad John's missing a bride that matches your description. Or: the 1800s (mistaken) mail order bride au (part 9)

first chapter >> last chapter

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If you’d lived any closer to other people, you’d be ashamed of the state that you arrive home in. Both you and John had stumbled out of the river and put on your clothes hastily, the fabric sticking uncomfortably to your wet skin, difficult to put back on without drying off. He hadn’t brought a flannel or towel to dry yourself with after your swim—perhaps thought you’d dry in the sun. Even if there had been one, you can’t imagine you’d have the patience.

You move in quick bursts, pants pulled up your legs, blouse buttoned with trembling fingers, feet straight into your bottoms, your socks stuffed in your pockets. John moves with similar purpose, quick to dress and usher you over to Buttercup with a hand flat on your back, pushing you with the force you remember him using all those weeks ago on your way to the courthouse. 

Neither one of you says a word. Words feel far away and clunky. Rough in a way they’ve never felt. Improper too, to turn to your husband under the light of a clear day and whisper, I want you to make love to me. Say to him, I need to be as close to you as physically possible, I need you to soothe this ache in me, in front of God and all of His creatures wandering through the woods. 

You wonder if you look as disheveled as you feel. 

The ride home passes by in a blur. Perhaps the sunlight catches your eye through the treetops and pries the memory from your head, the passive observer in you usurped by the soft animal of your flesh. It feels John’s strong hand on your hip and purrs. It coaxes you to rub your backside up against him, startled when his fingers tighten around your hip and he holds you there against his erection, groaning softly. 

“Keep that up ‘n we won’t make it home, darlin’,” John warns, voice growling in your ear. Your blood sizzles, vision going white. 

You feel coltish when he helps you dismount, legs shaking beneath you as you watch him take Buttercup back to the stables. He makes quick work about it, long legs carrying him swiftly from the house to the stables. It’s different observing him now because the thought that rises to the top of your mind now, like the fat on the cream, sweet and plump, is, that’s my husband. My husband is going to deflower me. My husband is going to take me to bed and strip me down to nothing and spread my legs—

The thought evaporates when you notice him shut the stable doors and head back towards you. Again, he walks with such purpose that you can only stare at the movement of his hips. 

Time stops when he puts a hand to your cheek and bends low, drawing you into another kiss as deep and languid as the one back in the river. His tongue curls around yours, plying you open until you have no choice but to relinquish everything to him. Your tongue, your docility, your mind. Everything parts to let him inside.

“Look at you,” John murmurs against your lips. “Sweet little thing. Can barely keep yourself upright. Let’s get you to bed.”

He ushers you up the stairs with haste. The staircase feels longer than usual, more of an effort to get up each step. In the bedroom, he locks the door like he did that first night, but this time your heart flutters instead of trembling.  

It’s hardly been any time at all since you saw him naked in the river, but the sight of his bronzed flesh and hirsute chest when he strips his shirt off leaves you breathless. He’s the kind of man that you would studiously avoid looking at if you were to pass him on the street. Too strapping of a man to waste your yearning heart on. Too much of a blow if he were to pass his eyes over you and find you wanting. 

But to know that he wants you as bad as he does is almost too much as well. 

John leans back against the pillows with you cradled in his arms, your pants long since stripped from your legs. Your blouse is still on, but barely, rucked up over the soft swell of your belly. Only a single button holding it in place, even the thread on that button loose and fraying. A hand cups your breast, the other folded over your hand resting on your belly, your fingers threaded together.

“God, you’re just about the prettiest thing I’ve ever seen,” he sighs. Your core tightens at that and he breathes a laugh when he feels the muscle of your stomach flex under his hand. “Could hardly believe it the first time I laid my eyes on you. I was spittin’ mad, left waitin’ and wantin’ all those weeks, but then you walked in and…Christ, I just knew.”

“Knew what?” you ask, ignoring the ache in your chest at the mention of the girl he’d been waiting for. 

“Knew I would’ve waited my whole life if it meant I’d get you.”

What does it mean that everything in you quivers at that? On the threshold of breaking. Your husband’s fingers plucking your nipple and then soothing the hurt by swirling his thumb around your areola. He’s worn your resistance down to the quick. You curl the hand on your belly into a fist and his fingers curl with yours.

“Been such a sweet thing for me too,” John says into your ear, dragging his hand from your breast down your stomach and over your hip, curling around the inside of your thigh and pulling it open. He can see everything now, the dewy petals of your sex spreading wide for his perusal, no longer hidden beneath a shift or dress. “Fuck, darlin’…look at that gorgeous little slice of heaven.”

“Oh Lord—” you say, heat crawling up your neck.

John huffs, rubbing his palm up and down your thigh, closer and closer with every stroke. Your sex pulses with each glancing stroke, your breath coming out in ragged pants. “Made me work for it, didn’t ya?”

“I did no—I barely did a thing.”

“Yeah, you did, pretty girl,” he says, dismissing your words, and then his fingers are there, splitting your lips wide, middle finger dragging down the seam like he did on the porch swing all those nights ago. Any rebuttal you might’ve had vanishes in a blink, heart beating staccato. “Could’ve taken it that first night. I wanted to—almost did. But I wanted you sweet and simpering.” He nuzzles into the crook of your neck, beard burning the skin there. “And what are you now, darlin’?”

“S-sweet and simp-simpering,” you whisper, stuttering when his finger glides over your opening and finds you soaked. So slick that his finger sinks right in up to the second knuckle.

Your knee falls open even more. 

He smiles against your neck before kissing up to your temple. “That’s right, honey. Knew you had it in you.”

“Oh—it’s…it’s…” you gasp when he gives you another, two fingers plunging into you, shallow pumps that hardly get you where you need to go.

“There we go, darlin’. Ain’t that nice? Need ya to be nice ‘n soft for me—don’t wanna hurt ya.”

He’s far from hurting you, but still your stomach twists up. 

“I need—I need—p-please, John, give it to me.”

“And wha’s that?” You can hear the smile in his voice. “Give you what, honey?”

You’re tempted to grab his hand and bring his fingers up to your clit, but you can’t quite muster up the nerve. Instead you huff, brows puckering in frustration. You try to draw your knees up to your chest and gasp when he pulls his fingers out of you and wrenches your knee back down to the mattress, pinning it there. 

“None of that,” John scolds, his wet fingers curling around the inside of your knee. “You have to ask for things, darlin’. Use your words.”

Your core clenches at his words. The little bit of stretching that he did leaves you feeling empty without his fingers, slickness dripping down the inside of your thighs. 

“I need to…” you say, thoughts slipping from you. All you want is for John to plunge his fingers back into your sex and take you to your peak, but the words get lost as they travel down your tongue. “It’s not enough.”

“Just my fingers, you mean?” The same ones he digs into your leg until the flesh bulges around his fingers. 

“No,” you whine. You try to drag the hand intertwined with his on your belly down to your sex, but he resists, keeping your hand pinned in place. He holds firm when you struggle, chuckling at the whine that slips past your lips. 

“Poor girl. Needy little thing, aren’t ya? Not stretched enough yet though, darlin’—I’m a lot bigger than a couple fingers.” You choke at that, scandalized. “I’ll give your clit a little lovin’ though.”

He takes his hand off your knee and brings it up so he can spit in his hand. You flinch when you hear the glob of spit hit his palm, and then his hand is back between your legs, wet palm grinding into your sensitive button when his fingers push back into your hole. Single-minded now, trying to coax your orgasm out of you. Forcing a third finger into your hole and shushing you dismissively when you howl and try to squirm away.

The voice in your head demeaning you for acting so lewd is drowned out by your own cries when you come on John’s fingers. It disappears entirely when John kisses your temple and thanks you for giving him your release. Like it’s a gift you’ve given him.  

Your hands flutter over his shoulders when he gets you on your back and fits his hands into the creases of your knees to guide your thighs open. He must like what he sees because his eyelids droop when he stares down at the slick folds between your legs, heavy with lust. 

“Lord, that’s pretty,” John says, petting your clit with his thumb and smiling when you squirm. 

You breathe in quick, shallow breaths, hopelessly beyond composing yourself. Perhaps once or twice you might have allowed yourself to imagine what it might be like to lie with a man. You’ve heard other women giggle amongst themselves about it, about men going cross-eyed, rubicund cheeked, heaving bellies and thighs slapping against the girl’s rear—a handful of thrusts and then finally some peace and quiet when he passed out on the other side of the bed. 

You’re familiar with the mechanics, if only in theory. The expectation of disappointment; that you’d only have to grin and bear it. Think of England. 

John, of course, does not conform to those expectations.

“You take my hand, darlin’,” he murmurs, taking your hand in his and pressing it down to the bed. “Give me a squeeze if it’s too much.”

Your mouth is too dry, mind too scattered to form a response. All you can do is stare up at him.

“Hey.” With his other hand, he gives you a light tap on the cheek. It doesn’t even sting, but it makes you blink. “You still with me?”

“Yes,” you answer, nodding. Your heart jumps when he reaches down to take his shaft in hand and notch the head against your sopping entrance.

Everything collapses down to the feeling of him pressing forward, an insistent siege that doesn’t let up because when you squeeze his hand reflexively, it comes with a, yes, yes, please, falling unbidden from your lips. It feels foreign at first, bigger than the fingers he pressed into you before. Claustrophobic, suffocating. With his arms braced on either side of your head, John eclipses everything else from view.

When it gets too much, you squeeze his hand and dig your nails in, hissing at the stretch. It hurts, and the more you tense, the tighter you get. John winces when you clench around him.

“Easy does it,” he says, squeezing your hand back. He dips his head to drop a soft kiss on your lips, coaxing them open. When you think of the men that languish in opium dens, you imagine that it must feel something like John Price’s tongue licking into your mouth. 

“It hurts,” you mumble when he pulls away.

“I know, honey. Being so brave for me though.” You whine when he sinks in another inch, flexing your toes up in the air. “My brave girl—that’s it…just a lil more, darlin’.”

“There’s more?” you blurt out, and he laughs, the sound coursing through you, shaking you with him. 

Effervescent bubbling joy swells in your chest, so crystal clear for a moment. The man above you almost glows, so radiant that you reach a hand up to cup his face, entranced. 

There’s nothing like him in the world. No one else like him. Steel underneath silk, the very roughness and essence of man that you’ve always known tempered by a softness that makes you physically ache. And in spite of self-doubt and common sense, he looks down at you with the same reverence. Knowing nothing about you. Knowing only something essential about you, the part divested of history, past or future. Whoever you are at your core, he wants it. He’s taken it as his own. 

Then he pushes that last inch into your cunt and you go breathless. 

“There we go, darlin’,” John grits out, and you can see the sweat beading on his temples now. “Good fuckin’ girl, takin’ all of that.”

Your hand feels clammy in his, a thin layer of sweat building on the nape of your neck and along your back as well. He helps you cinch your legs around his waist more comfortably, and you lock your ankles at the small of his back, but still it feels too much. Stretched to your limits. You can hardly swallow, never mind open your mouth to speak. 

John praises you the whole time in hushed whispers, squeezing your hand in his and petting your face with the other. Fingers slide past your cheek and tangle in your hair, a thumb tracing the shell of your ear. He drops wet, sucking kisses down your neck and over your clavicle, licking up the hollow of your throat. Your skin must taste salty with sweat, but still he lavishes you with kisses. 

“Can you take a bit more, darlin’?” he asks. “Still hurt?”

“It—it’s tight,” you rasp, wiggling your hips. You’re hardly able to move though, pinned in place by his bulk. 

“C’mon, arms around me,” he tells you, waiting until your hands are tangled together behind his neck. “We’ll take it real slow, okay?”

You squeak with the first thrust, not expecting the feeling of his cock pulling out of you before pushing back in. He rocks into you slowly though, letting you grow used to the feeling of him inside you. His eyes don’t leave yours the whole time. Dark blue warmed by the sunlight.

My husband’s inside me, you think, a bit hysterically. The same man that you thought might lock you up and throw away the keys now has you on your back in his bed—your bed—making a space for himself in your body. 

The discomfort takes most of the pleasure away at first. All you can focus on is the way your flesh has to stretch to accommodate him with every thrust, the breath forced out of you. Lips screwed up, teeth digging into your bottom lip painfully to hold back the soft grunts building up in your chest. 

“You alright?” John asks in a pulverized voice. You’ve never heard him quite like that.

You squeeze your eyes shut. “I’m f-fine.”

You don’t sound fine. The sound he lets out lets you know what he thinks of your response. He takes greater care for a time after that, each stroke deliberate, a slow, smooth glide. You feel ragdoll-like in his arms, like a poppet for him to play with; a well-cared for thing. A treasured thing that he rocks into and peppers with kisses, across your eyelids and forehead. 

The bedroom echoes with the sound of your panting breaths and John’s deep, guttural groans every time he sinks into your sex, the lewd, wet squelch of your cunt growing louder as his hips pick up speed. You can see the second you lose him when his eyes go flinty, staring past you. His hands fist into the bedsheets, knuckles going white. 

“Jesus—” he grunts, driving into you hard enough to send you shuttling up the bed. You squeal at that, digging your nails into his back. “Yeah, hold me like that, honey.”

Your breasts bounce with every thrust. John’s eyes flit between them and your eyes before snapping back up to meet your gaze, barely tearing his eyes away long enough to blink. 

Your skin feels hot, tight. Worse when he finally takes your nipple into his mouth like back in the river and suckles. Crude, wet sounds fill the air; sucks that turn sloppy. He kisses between your breasts before latching on to your other nipple. 

He murmurs praises into your skin, breath going choppy. Little susurrations. My wife. Brave, pretty girl. Taking it so well. Tiny little thing.  

When a couple tears leak down your cheek and it starts to build beneath your skin, hot tongues of fire licking up in you, John’s lips pull into a flat line. He can smell it on you. See it in the way your eyes lose focus, glossy and wet. He grabs your face with one hand, pinching until your lips purse. 

“Look at me when you come,” John growls, fingers digging into your cheeks and forcing you to meet his gaze. “You look at your husband when he makes you come.”

You couldn’t look away even if you wanted to. His fingers pinch where they hold your cheeks. This close to his end, his strength gets away from him; you can feel the attempt to be gentle, but it gets lost in his frenzied need to pump his spend into your belly. His biceps bulge beside your head, a vein near his temple throbbing. 

“You w-won’t let me go? You won’t leave me?” you ask desperately. You don't know why you need to hear him say it, but you’re afraid you’ll die without it. 

“Mine until the end of fuckin’ time, you hear me?” He pinches your cheeks until your mouth falls open, then leans down to lick into your mouth. “You’re gonna let me put a baby in you, wife, and you’re never gonna fuckin’ leave me.”

You come when his mouth brushes over yours, the intimacy overwhelming. Your thighs tighten around his waist, trying to get as close to him as possible, nails raking down his back. If you could climb into his skin, you would. 

John reaches his peak noisily, his thick spend filling your cunt and his tongue filling your mouth. You can feel it inside of you, spurting against your womb, and even the thought of that makes you shiver. He made a house for a wife and children, and he has the former now. Only the latter is missing. 

His hands and mouth are everywhere on you. Petting along your flank, stroking down your side. Sucking softly at your lower lip while he pumps the last of his essence into you. You feel wrung dry, every limb aching and sore. It’ll be worse come morning. For now, exhaustion settles over you like a blanket.

When he pulls out, you can’t help the sound that comes out of you, like a sob trapped in your chest. 

“Oh Lord, I’m a mess,” you whisper, leaning up on your elbows and glancing down between your legs with morbid curiosity. 

Embarrassment at the sight of John’s come leaking onto the bed sheets nearly makes you curl up into a ball. It’s filmy and sticky when you try to gather it up with your fingers. You wipe it on the bed sheets when you realize that now you just have a mess on your hands. 

The mattress squeaks under his weight when he gets off, wet, flaccid cock swinging between his legs. Again, you can’t help but stare despite the way your stomach twists. 

“Sit up,” he orders, and you do without thinking. “Can’t go to bed like this.”

John washes you with a warm cloth, dunking it in the porcelain basin on the bedside table whenever it gets too cold. You’d protest the gentle treatment, but it’s nice to be waited on for a change. You can see why some would grow used to it. The only time you lose your cool is when he drags the washcloth gently between your legs. 

“You could just give me the cloth,” you snip, horribly embarrassed. “I’ve washed myself once or twice, you know.”

For all your spitting and hissing, he only laughs. 

He takes care of the wet spot beneath you as well, lifting you up and sitting you down on the wooden chair before changing the sheets. 

“I can—I can wash those in the morning,” you chime from the chair in the corner of the room, ankles crossing and uncrossing nervously. You wince when you feel a glob of his spend drip out of you. 

John’s mustache twitches with a barely contained smile. “We’ll worry about that in the morning, bug.” 

It’s hard to just let things go. Two weeks in his care can barely begin to equate to the decade plus you spent fending for yourself. There are still days you spend looking over your shoulder, waiting for your past to catch up with you. Waiting for this life to evaporate like smoke. You can’t relinquish all of your control just yet, not when that possibility still looms on the horizon. No matter how much you want. 

You don’t think he knows what’s doing. Not truly. 

John can’t know what he’s become to you. That he is fixed, that he is binding you to a present that you never saw as sure. It wavers in front of you like the fickle light of a candle, and suspended above it, you stare at the douter, waiting for it to come down and snuff the flame out.

[pressureplus]

I actually have this request in my head for a while now... but I'm not sure if you be up to do it so thank to let me know if you will do it or not. Fem! Reader who is happily married and live together with Sebastian (when he still human). Until, Sebastian was arrested and sentence to dead. Reader found no long after his dead that she was pregnant. Years later, Sebastian manage to escape Hadal Blacksite probably very injured in the process. He was soon spotted by the kid that look similar to his human self (the kid probably be now close to be a teenager now), as the kid call up their mother. Sebastian was shocked to see his wife come to view.

I'm looking 👀

Love this dramatic shit, I'm SO here for it!

I'm going to be referring to your son as S/N, so y'all can name your boy yourselves! (I'm real interested in the stuff you might choose, so if you wanna put them in the replies, I'd love to see your baby names!)

Smaller Hands

Pairing: Sebastian Solace x Fem!Reader

Au: [Unnamed]

Warnings: Mentions of Pregnancy, an Absent Father, injury, and Imprisonment

◞꒷◟ ͜ ͜ ◞ྀི◟୨୧◞ྀི◟ ͜ ͜ ◞꒷◟◞꒷◟ ͜ ͜ ◞ྀི◟୨୧◞ྀི◟ ͜ ͜ ◞꒷◟

He had been running a very long time before he got to where he was now.

Escaping the Blacksite was only the beginning of his long, long journey home. He had wrestled himself from the depths of the deep ocean and fought his way all the way up to the light far, far above him.

Breaking through the surface of the water had provided him with a hope he never thought he'd see truly grow into something he could really hold. Sunlight and open air and a horizon that stretched endlessly in every direction... Sebastian hadn't known freedom in over 10 years, but there it was.

The way the natural light caught the glint of his wedding ring had him already tearing through the water with a grin, energy back in his tired body. It certainly wasn't his original ring, no, that one wouldn't fit on his new, much larger hand anymore, but the replacement that he got so he could wear a ring on his hand and not just as a pendant was enough of a visual reminder of his love, sending him treading the water the way this body was made to do. He had to get to his wife.

He had to see his Y/N again. That's always what his efforts were for.

It was days before he even reached a beach, and weeks of dragging himself through the shadows and the alleyways, keeping himself out of sight. He would squint at road maps and try to figure out how he was going to get himself home, not very well able to get on the public transport or drive himself there with a body like this. He had to be more than a little creative with how he was going to cross the countless miles between his lover and himself if he wanted to make it there at all. He'd spend his seemingly endless days hopping trains and swimming rivers just to close the distance faster, like it may wash away the last decade he's had to go without her.

Sebastian could only hope she waited for him, though those chances were next to none. She had been there the day he was 'executed', watching him get taken back to the chair that was supposed to put his story to its end. She has every right and reason to think he died that day, and he could never be angry or upset if she decided she still needed to be held the way his other hands used to hold her... Would these hands even fit her anymore? They'd outgrown his first ring... Would they be too big to hold hers anymore? The painful thought was a reoccurring one, and it plagued every dream he had in the moments he would manage to rest.

He's nearing his old cottage now, beaten and scarred from the long trip home, more than a little bit tired and definitely hungry. He's barely going to make it if he manages to get to the doorstep at all, but more thankful than ever he'd made his home with her outside of the city and out into the woods so he might have a moment to his thoughts. He could very well find her with another man, or he could find a completely new family, or even find nothing but flowers and trees- The life that he made with her could be all but ashes on a breeze that swept this place years ago. She could be a memory and this could all be for nothing just as easily as anything else. He wouldn't even have a right to be angry... He wouldn't even feel a right to cry if she's decided to move on.

"SNAKE MAN! SNAKE MAN!!!"

He's shaken from his pondering by an unfamiliar voice, a starry eyed child fumbling out of the bushes like a little animal.

He nearly panics and flees before the brave, feral little boy reaches out for his hand and looks up at him like something right out of a story book- Which, he supposed may be fair given the way that he looks now.

"Are you a forest monster!? Do you grant wishes and eat people and stuff?!" It's clear the boy doesn't know fear, young and small still, with new eyes... But familiar ones.

Sebastian's heart drops into his stomach when he begins to recognize the thick, dark hair and deep brown eyes. This boy is the spitting image of the way he looked when he was around 10 or 11... It's like he's been pulled right from Sebastian's old childhood photos.

Too dumbfounded to speak, Sebastian stands there, every muscle in his body tense while his eyes flick around the boy's face trying to figure out how this could be.

"S/N! What are you doing talking to strangers, you were supposed to be at least playing in the yard and not the woods before the sun started setting." Y/N rounds the trees with a stubborn look on her face and immediately freezes when her gaze meets Sebastian's.

The air is knocked out of the both of them, leaving them only able to stare, and he notes the way she's remained nearly the same as the day that he was forced to leave her behind. Like a flower that never wilts, she stands as beautiful and as amazing as she was when he had first met her. Frozen with an expression he can't place, she makes no motion to do anything at all. The larger man acts first at the realization she must be frightened of him, going to put his two unheld hands up and open his mouth to explain himself-

"You said not to talk to strangers, this is CLEARLY a forest monster." Little S/N beats both of them to the punch and confirms to Sebastian all at once that his attitude is as strong in his blood as that unruly dark hair is.

"Heed your mother, would you? I could very well eat you." Sebastian ushers the child forward with a playful threat, the boy in reference pouting and looking back up at him.

"Come on, I'm only out a little bit late! It's not dark yet! Monsters only eat people in the dark." The boy argues, unfamiliar with the idea of real danger, it seems, but certain of himself the way only children really can be.

"Sebastian I can't believe it... Is it you? Am I losing my mind?" Putting the scolding and corrections on her son's statements off for a better time, Y/N looks up at the mutated form of her lover, hoping she might be right. When Y/N speaks, it's soft and uncertain, a hand going to rest on her child's shoulder so as not to lose him while she's distracted.

"You recognize me?" His heart practically jumps into his throat and he struggles to cope with how quickly she's guessed it was him.

"If not for the way one soul knows another, then for your voice and... Our ring." Unafraid just as well, she walks right up to the towering creature and brings her hand up to the necklace it's strung onto around his neck.

"Am I too late?" Sebastian asks, still scared.

"You're late, but never too much. You had better come home now though." She gets firm near the end and he laughs, melting.

"Awe that's no fair! I'm in trouble for being a few minutes late and he gets to be gone forever!" The boy whines and Y/N seems to laugh when she ruffles his hair.

"You can be out of trouble because it's a special day. Now, let's go home and get you to bed." Y/N's eyes stray back up to her husband, the fondness that was there in those beautiful eyes he fell in love with was something that had grown blurry and hard to recall until now. The way her gaze rested on him so softly brought him back like he'd never left in the first place.

"I think I have some things to talk about with your monster, here." She smiles at him and goes to slide her hand into his, the cold feeling against his palm of her own ring -the matching one to his from the promise that they'd made at that altar a long time ago- made him feel warm again, and made him feel alive.

"Yes, I've got a lot of things I've been waiting to tell her for these years we've spent apart."

[adragonprinceswhore]

All work is 18+, Minors DNI

Aemond Targaryen

🌊 Colour My Mind, Bring Me Back

Prince Regent Aemond Targaryen returns to King’s Landing victorious after besting his uncle during The Battle Above the Gods Eye, securing his withering brother's claim to the Iron Throne. Upon his arrival, he learns that his wife was a casualty of a Black ambush, suffering a severe blow to her skull. When her disoriented mind wakes, she’s lost all recollection of him and their shared past.

🌺 The Way I Feel Under Your Command

Disgruntled, Aemond agrees to accompany his family on their yearly summer trip to Red Lake; a luxury resort hidden away in the ruins of an ancient castle. Dragged to a staff party on his first night there, he meets a young woman working as a dance instructor in urgent need of a partner.

🎼 Rumours

After a painful separation, you and your soon-to-be ex husband agree to put your differences aside and continue to make music together. But Aemond Targaryen’s vengeful streak runs deep, and you’re the object of his ire.

🍄 The Commune

A modern AU where Aemond, power-hungry and high on hubris, is the leader of a commune with a peculiar affection for the Seven.

🐉 One Whore’s As Good As Another

Desperate to prove he’s no mere boy, Prince Aemond leaves his taunting brother and seeks out another conquest. Momentarily, he feels back in control, until his brother reappears.

🔥 Warm Me Up

When his wife speaks out of turn during a dinner with the King, Aemond needs to reprimand her indiscretions.

🏺Whatever Interests You

You’re hired as a journalist to interview Prince Aemond Targaryen about his complicated family and their colonial past. Meeting the prince in person, he proves to be much more than the pompous royal you had imagined.

🏒 Sexting w/ modern!Aemond

You may be the one Aemond asks for when carnal urges consume him, but never forget that he’s in charge.

❤️‍🩹 Soft & Hard

How do you forget about Aemond Targaryen when he’s everywhere you look?

🥀 Romancer

When his wife tragically passes away, Prince Aemond stops at nothing to get her back.

📸 Make You Feel My Love

A few months after you break things off with your boyfriend, Aemond, you start receiving strange messages and phone calls from an unknown number. Things escalate when you’re sent a video secretly filmed half a year ago, of you and Aemond having sex.

🍑 Celebratory Dinner

Aemond wants to try something new for your one year anniversary.

Aegon II Targaryen

💫 Rip It Up & Start Again

Growing up on the perilous streets of Flea Bottom, you’d learned that in King’s Landing it’s either eat or be eaten. When you hear from a friend that a posh rehab centre just outside of town is hosting an open AA meeting, you see your chance to infiltrate the elite of Westeros, hoping to swipe something of value from one of the rich snobs there. Unfortunately, it seems like the wristwatch you attempt to nick belongs to a man you share an unexplainable bond with.

🕯️Teaching the Unteachable

When all else fails, Aegon’s wife employs drastic measures to teach the unteachable.

Billy Washington

🚿 You’re Perfect

You ask Billy to fulfill one of your fantasies.

Tom Bennett

⚓️ Tell Me You Missed Me

Word around the street is that you went on a date with someone else? Tom Bennet, fresh of the navy vessel, is not happy to hear that.

Osferth

♨️ You’re Nothing But A Beast

After falling into a river in the middle of winter, Osferth needs to warm up his lady companion.

[dixons-sunshine]

Sweetest | Daryl Dixon x Fem!Reader

Summary: Wounded and benched from runs for the week, Daryl was asked to watch the kids in the prison while you and some of the others worked on repairing a breach in one of the fences. One of the kids asked Daryl how he met you, his wife, and it made for a rather sweet tale.

Genre: Fluff.

Era: Prison, pre season 4.

Part of the Shopping Spree, Hangout Dreams AU.

Warnings: None.

Word count: 1.6k.

A/n: This turned out worse than I hoped, better than I expected. I don't really know how to explain it, but I hope you like this! (Thank you @ddamm and @dixondystopia for giving me your favourite moments from the entire series to add to this! They were pretty much the same, so great minds truly do think alike, as they say.)

“Mr Dixon?”

At the sound of his name being called, Daryl looked up from his baby girl and locked eyes with a little girl—Mika, he believed her name was—who was staring at him with a big smile. “Yeah?” he replied, slightly bouncing his knee when Hazel began fussing a little.

Mika giggled slightly, sharing a look with her sister, Lizzie, before turning back to the archer. “Mrs Dixon is your wife, right?” she inquired, bouncing slightly on her feet.

Daryl's lips involuntarily twitched up at the mere mention of you. He nodded and shrugged his shoulders. “Yeah? Why do ya ask?”

“Well, my dad likes to talk about how he met my mom. Mr Greene has told us how he met his last wife a million times. We wanna know how you met Mrs Dixon!”

Almost as if for added emphasis, the other children all perked up and voiced their interest in knowing the tale of how Daryl met you, his beautiful wife. The archer, both amused by the children's nosiness and embarrassed by the metaphorical spotlight he was placed under, let out a small scoff and adjusted Hazel in his arms, allowing the small girl to happily toy with his fingers. “It ain't some big love story or nothin'. It'll only bore ya.”

“No, it won't,” Carl added from his position atop one of the tables. The teenager had been sulking because Rick had forbade him from helping fix the breach in the fence—where several walkers had managed to crawl through—but the chance of getting to know some insight to one of the most talked about couples in the prison brightened his mood somewhat. You and Daryl were the only couple that dated back before the outbreak, and everyone was eager to know how the two of you got together, and how you managed to keep that spark alive. “We wanna know. Come on, Daryl. Please.”

Daryl let out a small groan and rolled his eyes at the young Grimes' insistence. “Why dun' y'all go pester Glenn or somebody? M'sure he'd be more than happy to tell y'all 'bout how he met Maggie.”

“But he's told us that story a zillion times already,” one of the kids groaned. “We wanna hear your story. Please, Mr Dixon.”

Daryl let out a deep sigh. From somewhere behind him, he could hear Carol chuckle, closely followed by the chuckles of a few of the adults that were taking a break from their chores around the prison. Daryl shook his head and pursed his lips. “Y'all really wanna hear?” Almost instantly, all of the kids perked up and simultaneously voiced their clear interest, trying to talk over the other. Daryl raised his eyebrows and let out a small chuckle. “Woah, calm down. I ain't sayin' nothin' 'til y'all quiet down.” And just like that, it got so quiet, one could hear a pin drop. “Y/n and I go back many years, long 'fore all'a y'all kids were born. We're closin' in on three decades'a knowin' one another.”

“Thirty years?” Carl voiced in a disbelieving tone. “That's basically forever!”

Daryl chuckled and shrugged. “Guess ya can say tha', yeah.” Daryl shushed Hazel when she began fussing a bit, lightly tickling her stomach to coax a laugh from her. “We met when we were twelve, 'side this river in the woods outside the trailer park we lived in. I admit, I didn't know wha' to think'a her at first. Refused to talk to her fer a whole month, but she never gave up. She kept pesterin' me 'til one day, somethin' happened and I broke my quiet facade. Tha's when we started becomin' friends.” Daryl stopped and tried to hide the smile that spread across his face, but to no avail. “She, uh... She quickly became my best friend after tha'.”

“When did you start love-liking her?” one of the kids asked with a giggle, closely followed by the mischievous laughter of the other kids.

Daryl hummed and shrugged. “After she did somethin' fer my sixteenth birthday. I liked her fer a while 'fore tha', but tha' occasion was my wake-up call. My feelin's fer her slapped me righ' in the face tha' day.” He stopped and let out a small sigh before continuing. “I didn't have the balls to confess to her fer 'nother year after tha'. And when I did confess, it was righ' after we went and bought pa—” Daryl cut himself off, painfully aware of the immature teenage boys that would freak out over the mere mention of pads. Because of that, he altered the truth a little. “...Pasta fer dinner tha' nigh'. Things escalated and we kissed, and then her mom walked in.”

“No,” Beth gasped, slightly tightening her grip on Judith as she thought of the embarrassing scenario.

Daryl chuckled and shrugged. “It was embarrassin' as shi—crap, tha's fer sure, but we lived. Her mom was nice 'bout it all. Definitely didn't mean we could escape her teasin', though.” He pursed his lips as he thought of that moment, the embarrassment still fresh in his mind, even all those years later. “Her teasin' got even worse when Y/n and I eloped. She was kinda upset 'bout it, but she soon went straight back to teasin' us fer not bein' able to wait to have a proper weddin'.”

By that point, unbeknownst to the archer, the group that had been working on fixing the fence—a group that included you—had silently stepped into the part of the prison everyone was in to alert the kids to the fact that they could go play. However, once they heard what the crossbow-wielding man was talking about, they stopped and remained quiet, eager to hear about it all. And you stayed quiet as well, quite shocked that your husband was willingly telling stories about his past with you. He preferred to keep that part of his life private, but there he was, happily talking away. It made your heart swell with love and affection for the man.

“The two of you stayed together for all those years?” Zach—Beth's boyfriend—asked, leaning against the wall. When Daryl nodded, he continued. “How?”

Daryl shrugged and adjusted his daughter in his arms again, feeling her head begin to droop as she was beginning to fall asleep. “I love 'er. And fer some reason I still don't understand 'til this day, she loves me. Ain't tha' hard to stay committed to the person ya love the most. Relationships ain't always all sunshines and rainbows, but when yer with the person ya love, s'all worth it. Y/n taught me tha'. She's the sweetest person ever. I dun' know wha' I did to deserve her, but I thank my lucky stars every day tha' I get to call her mine.”

It went silent after that. The only sound that could be heard was the distant sound of walkers groaning outside the fences. That is, until Rick spoke up from behind the huntsman, startling him and alerting him to the fact that essentially everyone had heard him practically rave about you.

“Well said, brother. Well said,” Rick complimented him, a faint, teasing smile on his face. He turned towards the younger ones in the group and gestured towards the door. “Y'all can go play now. Just stay away from the fences.” And just like that, all the kids—except Carl—had forgotten their need to hear about Daryl's love story with you. They all excitedly darted out the door, their laughter fading as they disappeared out the doors.

Michonne smirked, playfully hitting you on the back. “Y/n, you never told me you found such a keeper. And you found him early on, too. You're so lucky.”

“Yeah, she is,” Carol chipped in, a teasing smile on her face as well. “Did I ever tell you about this one guy in our old camp that insulted her and Daryl instantly put him on his ass? He did accidentally reveal her pregnancy while doing so, but that's besides the point.”

“Was it Shane?” Rick asked, sighing when Carol nodded. “Yeah, of course it was,” he mumbled while he shook his head.

“Not to mention how he nearly killed Jenner because he wouldn't let us out—well, wouldn't let them out. He didn't care much for us back then. We all know he only wanted the doors open so that Y/n was safe,” Glenn piped in.

“Aw,” Michonne cooed teasingly. “That is so sweet, Daryl. You're just a big teddy bear.”

Daryl ducked his head in embarrassment as the others joined in on the teasing as well. He could feel his cheeks flush, and he would've gotten up and bolted from the embarrassing situation, had it not been for the fact that Hazel had just fallen asleep, and he didn't want to wake her.

The feeling of your hand being rested on his shoulder almost instantly made him calm down, your familiar touch bringing a sense of comfort to him. The rest of the group were to busy relaying their favourite moments they had seen between the two of you to notice this interaction, and the archer was glad about that. He was also glad that they couldn't hear what you whispered in his ear, because although Daryl Dixon wasn't a selfish man, the others didn't have to hear these words you clearly meant just for him:

“I'm proud of you. You climbed out of your shell today and did something I know you don't always enjoy doing. You're amazing, Daryl Dixon, and I love you so much.” You placed a soft, tender kiss on his cheek. “You really are the sweetest person ever.”

©dixons-sunshine 2024. I do not give permission for my works to be copied, modified, adapted or translated to any other site or platform without evidence of my given consent.

[potatomountain]

CIY CH 28

Chapter Twenty-Eight

📍Pairing: detective ateez ot8 x detective afab reader 📍Summary: "Sharp Words" 📍WC: 3.2k 📍AU: detective/mafia 📍Genre: action, dark romance, poly romance 📍Warning(s): mentions of torture/r@pe, mentions of minor character death, a few punches, angst 📍Beta readers (and sole motivation): @yourfatherlucifer, @flurrys-creativity , @bunnliix, @adelusionforyourthoughts and occasionally @daemour 📍AN: just like a little warning, these last few chapters will be emotionally packed and quite angsty. While there is comfort, there is also the characters each reacting to what happened in their own way and it has made me cry a lil. While it is made obvious what has happened to reader in this chapter, once more no details were given just a brief description of the damage of her body. If this is something that makes you uncomfortable or you just dont feel up to sharing these emotions with these characters atm, that is perfectly fine- please take the time to read this when you feel up to it. It's not going anywhere i promise! 📍dividers and banner made by me! ageless blocks will be blocked immediately if you interact with this post

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Somehow, despite Yunho’s speedy driving, you fell asleep by the time they arrived at their shared home: a small industrial building on the south river that was repurposed as their base of operations. It was also Hongjoong and Seonghwa’s main residence.

Hongjoong had Jongho take you right to the master bathroom, which he followed. Jongho didn’t want to set you down to undress you, so with the hot water running from the multiple shower heads, they both stood fully clothed as they washed you up. Jongho was careful to keep the water from hitting your face, turning you slowly and as carefully as he could while Hongjoong was just as gentle cleaning the blood - and dried semen - off your body. 

It was an effort to remain calm, both freezing up when you made any movement to wake. How you managed to sleep through the entire shower, which was not quick by any means, only had them concerned. While it made sense you didn’t sleep during your time held hostage, it still hurt.

Stepping out of the shower they were faced with the dilemma of getting you dry despite both in their soaked clothes. A knock on their door drew their attention, Yunho freshly changed and standing in the doorway. “Hwa sent me as back up.” 

As if handing off a fragile valuable, Jongho gently handed you over to Yunho and into the towel he had. He didn’t take his eyes off you, pain burning brightly in them. Hongjoong did the best to comfort their youngest, patting his back to avert his attention. “Let’s change and then regroup with everyone. She needs her rest. Is the doctor here yet?” Yunho nodded, already leaving the bathroom. “I’ll send her in once I put Butterfly down. She said it was best to keep her naked until after she examines her. I’ll stay with her to put her in something comfortable after.” “Good. Clothes- ah thank you.” Hongjoong trailed off as Yunho pointed to two piles of clothes on the counter before leaving with you.

Once both men were dressed in clean clothes, and Hongjoong was sure there was no more blood on him, they left to join the others downstairs, passing the doctor Haru sent on the way.

Seonghwa had changed and cleaned up as well, standing behind the large sofa that both Yeosang and Mingi were sitting at, San pacing off to the side. There were no remnants of the rescue mission on any of them: no blood or dust or dirt. As if reading his mind, Seonghwa spoke up. “We didn’t want any reminders of what happened in case Angel woke up and saw us. Is she…?” “She slept through the whole shower and is now being checked out by the doctor. Yunho is going to stay and get her comfortable after.” With a deep breath, Hongjoong crossed his arms over his chest. “Let’s make this quick, I want a debrief.” “Now?” Mingi gawked, swallowing any other retort at Hongjoong’s glare. “Right. Um, Yeosang?” Yeosang glared at him for throwing him under the bus, but sighed and relented. “She never left the safe house.” He knew what they wanted to know the most, how you had gotten caught. Why you hadn’t been safe. “After Seonghwa let her go and joined you to fight off the Blood Hounds, she tried to find you both.” He swallowed hard, remembering what he had seen on the screen at the time, the pride he had felt followed by the fear. “Some had stayed behind after you both gave yourself up. You were barely in their van when she… she killed one of them, and then got caught. They had her in a different car.” “By the time Yunho and I got there, she was long gone.” Mingi added on, looking up at his leader. “Yunho thought it would be a good idea not to let the others know right off the bat, considering San was knee deep in Viper territory and Wooyoung was the middle man for some negotiations. He didn’t want to risk either of them getting too emotional.” “You didn’t tell me until the day of!” San swiveled on his heel as he snapped at him. “I could’ve been out looking for her sooner!”

“San, he has a point.”

“Don’t give me that shit Seonghwa! She was held hostage and tortured, and the fact no one told Wooyoung is-” “You haven’t either.” Yeosang chimed in nonchalantly. “He just knew about Captain and Hwa.”

San however looked away with obvious guilt on his face, broad shoulders somehow getting even more tense. “Of course I didn’t. He would’ve-” “And you would’ve too.” Hongjoong brought the attention back to himself. “Both you and Wooyoung will act first, plan after, especially if it would come to her. So if we wanted her back to us alive, Yunho made the right call.” That was the reason he was third in command. He made smart and logical decisions even in the middle of chaos. There were times both Hongjoong and Seonghwa had needed Yunho to keep them levelheaded even, especially when it came to you. “But we will have to tell him now. Once she’s a bit more rested.” “You know… it was shocking how Jongho reacted.” Mingi pointed out, drawing attention to the youngest who had been silent behind Hongjoong. “You volunteered to work on it, looking around the area the van was last spotted at well through the night.” Jongho was visibly uncomfortable at the topic, swallowing hard. In fact he was avoiding everyone’s gaze. “I thought they were going to kill her.” Silence fell over the room, a solemn tension as they each thought of how they would’ve felt if the Blood hounds had actually killed you. Would it have spared you from the torture? No, chances are they would have tortured you until you died. That just left how empty they would have felt with you gone, the guilt that would eat them alive.

They were still wrestling with those thoughts as Wooyoung strutted in up the stairs, letting out a sigh of relief. “You’re back!” He ran over with the intent of hugging them, but slowed once he got to San, noticing his body language and how the bigger man seemed to shrink away from him. “Sannie? What happened?” No one wanted to be the one to break the news, but they couldn’t hide it. Seonghwa and Hongjoong shared a look while Yeosang pulled out his tablet to look through the camera’s; he probably had one Junghoon on surveillance back at the precinct so he could be here for you. Mingi very obviously avoided looking at Wooyoung, even Jongho couldn’t hide the guilt on his features. Wooyoung looked at each of them, expression hardening as he realized quickly they were keeping something from him. Before he could question however, the door to the closed off loft, Seonghwa and Hongjoong’s area, opened and down the steps the doctor descended. Wooyoung’s eyes narrowed, recognizing the woman. “Dr. Handong?”

The woman adjusted her glasses as she stepped forward, adjusting the bag over her shoulder. “I finished my examination, it’s just like you had said. Most of the cuts done were pretty shallow, but there were some older ones that were pretty deep. My best guess is due to struggling.” She had ignored most of the men and spoke directly to Hongjoong and Seonghwa. “No broken bones that I could make out, though her ankles and wrists are swollen from the binds she had been in. I left some painkillers and instructions for her care with the one upstairs and I can send over a female nurse to oversee her care for about a week?”

“Can someone explain to me what’s going on? She’s not talking about our Goddess is she? Why would she be all banged up?” Wooyoung’s voice rose an octave as he barked out questions, a tremble that grew with each word. “Wooyoung…” San reached out for him, but the man dodged him and stepped more in the room. “I think you know why.” Hongjoong moved to block Handong from Wooyoung’s view, needing this taken care of first. ���Is there a reason a female nurse needs to be present? We can take care of her can’t we?” “No offense, but from my experience women don’t tend to lean on men after one has assaulted her in this way for days. She’s torn up pretty bad there, and it’s going to hurt and be uncomfortable for her to use the restroom, maybe even sit. It’s likely she’ll prefer female company, and a nurse would be able to make sure she is properly cleaned so no wounds get infected.” Handong replied coolly, unaffected by the reactions of the men. “You can leave the decision up to her, call me should she request one. My lady also extended the offer to have her recoup with us.”

“She’s not going anywhere!” Wooyoung’s shout startled Hongjoong enough to glance back, not at all surprised to see the fury and pain on his features. “Her home is with us and we’ll take care of her. My mom knows that.” He hissed out, pulling his arm from San’s grip and marching past the others. 

Mingi stood up to try and stop him, but Wooyoung was nothing if not quick. Jongho however grabbed him, yanking him back from the stairs. “Will you stop, she’s sleeping.” “Oh now you give a damn about her? After all the shit you said, you care how she is?” Wooyoung snapped out, struggling against his grip. “Let me go! You all did a fine job taking care of her after all.” “Wooyoung that’s not the case and you know it.” Hongjoong followed him in an attempt to help Jongho pull him away. Seonghwa had swept in and was seeing Handong out, the others rushing in to also keep Wooyoung from disturbing you. But he could be a force to be reckoned with, especially when it came to you recently. He climbed over Jongho and onto the stairs, both of them scrambling and beginning to fight. Somehow Wooyoung was on top, connecting a fist to Jongho’s jaw and giving up on passing him. Instead, he released his anger out on him. “Stop keeping me from her!” “Woo!” San reached for him again, just to be elbowed back. The stairs were too narrow for them all to intervene. “Shut up San! It’s his fault! If he hadn’t been so dead set on keeping her out just because of his hurt pride she wouldn’t have been there! We could have kept her safe better!” He brought his fist down again, Jongho catching it and rolling them over and held him down. “Will you shut up! She’s sleeping!” Jongho hissed out, pinning his arms above his head but that didn’t stop Wooyoung from squirming under him. “Like you give a damn with your ‘I hate all women now that I was two timed by one’ mentality! Seriously get over yourself! You’re just fucking pissed your ego got hurt.” He spat out, earning a punch from Jongho that had his head hitting the concrete stairs. “You don’t have room to talk, throwing a fit she didn’t fuck you first.”

Suddenly Jongho was yanked off, surprisingly by Hongjoong, and pushed back into the others that held him still. “You two, enough. We can bitch about who’s fault it is all day but that does nothing to help her right now. It happened, she’s hurt, right now she needs-” “Don’t tell me what she needs, Captain.” Wooyoung hissed out as he sat up, glaring at Jongho intently. “San and I both told you all how well she fits. How perfect she is for us. But you didn’t want to believe it, insisting she was going to play us just like that bitch did you. She’s dead now, would it take her dying in your arms to get through your thick skull that she’s not like that?! Is that-” “No!” Jongho’s broken cry interrupted him, shoulders falling as he vehemently shook his head. “She might as well have when I caught her today. I knew she would get hurt if she got wrapped up with us and she did! I was-” “Right? Are you happy you are?” Wooyoung wiped the blood from his lips with the back of his hand, staring him down. “It was going to end up this one way or another. Either we killed her off or she ended up as one of us. Captain said so, Jongho! But you kept fighting! Every time we made a vote you insisted no, and this was an all or nothing decision!” Jongho winced at his words, looking away and fists clenched at his sides. “I know… I-” Yeosang stepped up to him, taking his hands in his for silent comfort. Just as he did, San made his way over to Wooyoung, hesitating to see if the man would even let him approach.

Wooyoung did, reaching out for him. “Am I wrong Sannie?”

Instead of answering, the man pulled Wooyoung onto his lap and held him. “Let’s not fight. Please? She needs us right now and… I need her to be okay.” He buried his head in the crook of Wooyoung’s neck, breathing him in as he held on tight. Wooyoung softened significantly, wrapping his arms around his shoulders and holding him closer. “Oh baby, you’re right. I’m sorry… I can’t imagine how this feels for you.” Now that it seemed Wooyoung was calming down, focusing more on finding comfort and giving comfort with San, Hongjoong let out a long sigh. He moved to offer comfort as well, just to wobble and lean against the railing. “Shit…” They had been so concerned with you that Hongjoong had forgotten that he too had suffered torture, even if it was no where near as extensive as yours. It had been days since he ate or drank anything after all, and then somehow finding the strength to pull Jongho off Wooyoung? He was starting to crash from the adrenaline, now in the safety of his home, all of his lovers safe and secure.

Mingi was the one to catch and support Hongjoong when his legs gave out, having been silent the whole time. The man had his thoughts on the situation, but no one was in a condition to listen. “Should we get takeout?”

The simple question had a few of them laughing, food on no one’s mind but definitely on their stomachs with the few growls that resounded. 

“No need, I’ll cook.” Wooyoung lifted his head, voice strained from the silent tears he was finally letting slip. “I don’t plan on going anywhere any time soon, Sannie and I can take care of our baby girl upstairs.” “That’ll be good.” Seonghwa called out from across the room, finally rejoining them. “Joong and I will eat and then rest down here. We all can take turns sitting upstairs with her in case she wakes up. We don’t want her to be alone.” Hongjoong nodded, leaning into Mingi and thankful for the support. “We’ll need some of you to be out on the field, but we can rely on Minjae and the others to oversee the Pirates main functions for now. Wooyoung can do a lot of work from here as can Yeosang so…” “I’ll have Yechan bring me some things from my place at the precinct, I don’t want to leave.” Yeosang chimed in, his entire focus still on Jongho. “You want to stay too, right?”

Slowly he nodded his head, leaning into Yeosang. “My jaw hurts.” Yeosang cracked a smile while Wooyoung laughed. “Good! My strength training is paying off. Soon I’ll have San sized muscles!” “Oh please, like we need more muscle.” Yeosang teased, taking Jongho over to the couch. Mingi also took that as a sign to start helping Hongjoong over to one of the couches around the large open spaced area. After setting him down, he helped Seonghwa. Wooyoung and San had gotten up and made their way to the open kitchen with the intention of feeding and taking care of the others. San started grabbing drinks while Wooyoung put all of his energy into cooking. Were any of them really okay? No. Silence fell over them as they busied themselves with whatever task, but every single one of them constantly glanced over at the windows of the loft, the black curtains hiding the room and any sound inside. They fretted over when you would wake up, over what your reaction would be, and so forth.

Wooyoung made a small feast and had it laid out on the coffee table so Hongjoong and Seonghwa could eat easily, the others also digging in with uncharacteristic silence. No flirting from Wooyoung or fight stories from San. No old man jokes from Jongho or mom and dad moments from their Captain and Vice. No teasing Mingi, or shenanigans that usually surrounded them when they ate together in this place.

Nothing but a heavy weight on their shoulders that didn’t feel any better with each bite. Wooyoung finally convinced Hongjoong to let him take food up to Yunho and for you, the man rushed up the stairs with a tray after he fretted over making it pretty for several moments. Stepping into the room he held the tray tightly so as not to drop it, but his heart felt like it fell through the floor. Yunho was on the bed with you on his lap, sobbing as he rocked back and forth gently. He looked up when Wooyoung entered, making a motion to keep quiet, but it drew your attention.

You lifted your head just as Wooyoung set the tray down nearby. Seeing the tears run down your swollen and red eyes hurt, but not as much as when you dislodged yourself from Yunho and lifted your arms up to Wooyoung.

The man burst into tears, easily sweeping you into his arms as he sat on the bed next to you. “It’s okay baby girl, you’re safe now. We aren’t going to let anything like that happen again.” You sniffled and sobbed, burying your head into the crook of his neck. “Wooyoung- don’t leave me.” The broken tone just tore at his heart even more and he sobbed silently into your hair that smelled of Seonghwa’s shampoo and conditioner. “Course not Goddess, how could I leave you? Never again you hear? I love you too much for that.” His own voice trembled with the confession, hands rubbing up and down your back, recognizing one of Mingi’s shirts that he kept here. They all had some clothes kept here and it was a joy to see you in them, to have you smelling like them and holding onto him like this. He just hated how it came about. 

His confession seemed to relax you, the soft touch of your dried lips on his neck sending a shiver down his spine as you breathed him in. “I love you too.” Just as his words had eased your mind, your confession eased his. He moved to lay you down under the blankets, continuing to hold you close and comfort you as best he could. 

He’d keep on his promise, never again would he leave you.

Taglist- in reblogs!!

AN about the Taglists: So to make sure that when Case: It's Us has a taglist of readers I know are reading and interacting, I will be redoing the taglist for Case: It's Us. To apply for it, I'll have special instructions on the last chapter of Case: It's You to do so. SO if you are part of the Case: It's You taglist, keep in mind it won't be carried over unless you follow the instructions I give. And considering that Case: It's Us won't be posted until late Janruary-Early March (the exact date isnt decided yet, i have a busy end of the year so i do not want to make promises), it will be best to be put on that Taglist so you know when it's available. If you have ao3, I recommend following CIY on there, in which I will make an announcement on CIY when CIU is up on ao3 and you can subscribe to it for notifications that way. I post the ao3 and the Tumblr versions usually the same day or back to back days (its easier to post on ao3 as opposed to here where i need the warnings and tags for each chapter. Thank you for loving and following along to Case: It's You! Hard to believe two more chapters after this! If you've read the note, I would appreciate in the comments or in your reblog which of all characters of CIY are your favorite! As well as which one you would like to see more of! (yes I know Jongho please don't hate me) With Love~ Doom

[staylovesmiley]

Give Me Your TMI~ Chapter 2

₊˚⊹ᰔ Pairing; Yang Jeongin x Fem!reader, Stray kids x Fem!reader

₊˚⊹ᰔ ₊˚⊹ᰔ Summary; In a world where Humans and Hybrids should be living as equals, Hybrids are still viewed as being closer to their animalistic side than their humanistic. Deep in the woods lives a band of misfit hybrids who reject these societal views and keep to themselves, choosing to live away from humans. What happens when the youngest of this rogue group meets a lost Human girl, befriending her after an incident where he must rely on her for help?

₊˚⊹ᰔ ₊˚⊹ᰔ ₊˚⊹ᰔ Warnings; hybrid!au, female!reader, angst, mild violence, mentions of sexual harassment/assault and discrimination, she/her pronouns used for reader, this is very loosely based off the overall themes/tones of the manga and anime fruits basket~

This chapter especially has mentions of attempted murder and a gun (nothing gory or descriptive), if that is something that triggers you please proceed with caution

Darkness. Everything was wrapped in a complete and total darkness.

You had been staggering all morning that day, your hunger finally having caught up with you as you had run out of food weeks ago and were relying on water from the river and what few plants you could confidently identify as edible to keep going.

As you felt your body weakening significantly you attempted to make your way into your tent to get some rest, stupidly believing yourself to just be tired. When your body hit the hard and muddy ground you barely felt a thing, already too far gone to feel anything but the cold that had settled deep in your bones.

So this was it, you were finally going to die. Bitterly you thought to yourself that this is what he had wanted, that he would be winning in the end after all. You weren’t sure how much time had past but through the haze of memories flooding your mind in what you assumed were your last moments here on earth, the vision of a strong yet somehow lithe body holding you, protecting you, came into view. He was beautiful, stunning even. There seemed to be a hazy glow around him, an aura you could only describe as angelic. That must be it- he was the angel meant to guide you into the afterlife. You felt at peace with such a kind soul watching over you, faintly making out a whisper of his name. “J-Jeongin?” You repeated after a while, feeling his attention solely on you. This felt nice, safe. You allowed yourself to bask in this embrace as you drifted back into the darkness once more.

Warmth is what brought you back to the land of the living, wrapped around you and almost too warm. Your eyelids fluttered open slowly and you began taking in your surroundings as your vision slowly came into focus. Where am I? You thought to yourself. A small room, the blinds were closed but you could tell from the sound that it was still raining outside, a heavy downpour at that. The lamp on the bedside table was on, and a light weight rested on your chest atop the quilt that covered you up to your neck. You looked down at what it could be laying on top of you, only to be met with the sight of a sleeping fox curling up on the lower part of your chest where your stomach began.

“Mr. Fox?” You said, voice hoarse from not using it for however long you didn’t know. At the sound of your voice the creature atop of you stirred, soft brown eyes looking back at you before he seemed to register that you were awake. Silently he rose, hopping down from the bed and making his way out of the room causing you to sit up and try to follow.

You groaned, wincing a bit at your stiff muscles but managed to sit up straight, the blankets falling to pool at your waist and it was then that you noticed you were wearing clothes that didn’t belong to you. “What-?”

Confusion set in, but then you realized that maybe this was the home of whoever Mr. Fox belonged to. Of course it made sense that such a smart and seemingly domesticated fox was a pet to someone since wild animals didn’t typically respond to humans the way he had. You were almost correct, but also so wrong. “Be careful, please. Your body is still very weak.”

In came Jeongin, your angel, causing you to gasp. “You’re real?!” Was the first thing out of your mouth, though as soon as the words left your lips you clasped both hands over your mouth as an embarrassed flush reached your cheeks. The boy laughed, moving closer to the bed. “Yes, I’m real..” You couldn’t help but giggle and slowly let your hands fall into your lap. “I only meant that- well I thought I had only dreamed you up…I thought I was dying and you were my guardian angel.” The words caused Jeongin to blush, looking away and that was when you noticed the pair of fluffy red triangles tipped with black atop his head and the even fluffier tail behind him. “Oh- Jeongin you’re-“ He froze, suddenly hesitant at your reaction

“A hybrid.”

“Mr. Fox-“

Both of you responded at the same time. He couldn’t help but smile, of course you would point out that he was your Fox friend before even thinking of him as anything else. “Yeah, I’m Mr. Fox…but please call my Jeongin?” You nodded, still taking in his beautiful face as you continued to blush. “Mhm, yeah I can do that- Jeongin…” The hybrid had to keep himself from chirping at the sound of his name on your lips, almost as addictive as your giggle. “Um- how did I get here? And where am I exactly?”

The hybrid looks a bit bashful, causing you to hold back from cooing at how adorable he looks with a soft blush on his cheeks. “Well when I found you lying there unconscious I panicked and so I brought you um…t-to my home so we could help you.” Oh, so this was his home. You smiled softly as you looked around, taking it in now with clearer vision. But wait- his wording threw you off a bit, causing you to tilt your head curiously. “We? What do you mean-“ Before you could finish your question there was a light knock at the door.

“Ayen-ah? I have some more broth for our patient~” At the sound of a newcomer you drew your legs up to your chest, ignoring the ache in your muscles as you wrapped your arms around them protectively. “Oh- she’s awake! Well hello to you, it’s nice to see you’re conscious.” The man had soft brown cat ears atop his head and his sleek tail was whipping behind him slowly as a soft smile teased at the corners of his mouth. “I’m Minho, I’ve been the one looking after you while you rested.” You nodded slowly, taking in his appearance as he set a tray with a bowl and glass of water on the bedside table before taking a seat on the edge of the bed closest to you. Goodness, he was gorgeous as well. You thought to yourself how two men could be so beautiful as Minho took the glass of water in his hand.

“Do you think you could drink something for me, pretty? I’m sure your throat is terribly dry after being out cold for three days.” Your eyes widened comically as you looked between the two hybrids. “T-Two days?! I was asleep that long?…”

Jeongin nodded, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah…I was beginning to worry you wouldn’t ever wake up-“ Your heart softened as the concern in his voice, giving him a sad smile as Minho carefully handed the glass to you. “Careful, just take small sips yeah? Innie here was so worried he didn’t leave your side until I forced him to go take a bath to calm down.” You couldn’t help but giggle at the thought, taking a few hesitant sips of water as instructed.

While you sat and finished a little over half of the contents of your cup, both hybrids filled you in on everything you had missed from the time Jeongin found you up until that morning when you woke up. It was still early, yet with the cloudy skies and rain pouring down you could have been fooled into thinking it was the dead of night. “It’s been raining ever since that day…we tried so hard to keep things warm for you in hopes it would help you wake up sooner-“ You nodded, watching as Minho took the bowl of broth into his hands and began moving a spoonful towards you. “Oh no I can feed myself-“ you started to say but the cat hybrid shook his head. “You’re still weak. Don’t think I didn’t see your hands shaking as you held that glass. Now open.” Seeing there was no room to argue with him, you parted your lips slowly and allowed Minho to feed you the broth carefully and slowly one spoonful at a time.

Once you had your fill, shaking your head as he attempted to continue to feed you, he set the bowl down and the sound of footsteps outside caused you to flinch. “Um- pardon me asking but…how many people live here?” Just then the door opened to reveal a second cat hybrid with soft fluffy tanned ears and a matching tail as well as a hybrid you couldn’t quite classify with soft brown ears and slightly fluffy brown tail almost like a squirrel but not quite. “Ji, Lix, our pretty has finally woken up.” Minho smirked to the other hybrids, his words causing Jeongin to growl slightly before laying himself across you like he had been earlier though in this form his weight against your chest caused you to let out a little squeak.

His warm body pressed against yours, with his head resting against your chest wasn’t unwelcome and you gently began carding your fingers through his slightly curly locks just like you would have in his fox form. “Jeez, possessive much? Come on Ayen we’ve been waiting to meet her for sooo long!” The hybrid you couldn’t classify said, flopping down on the bed beside you and curling up comfortably. You giggled as you observed him, causing Jeongin to blush at the sound he loved so much and bury his face into your shoulder. “And who might you be?” Your voice was soft, airy, and it caused the hybrid to look up at you in awe with big round brown eyes. “I’m Jisung!” Minho could see you eyeing him quizzically and seemed to guess what you were trying to figure out. “He’s a chipmunk hybrid. I know there aren’t many owned by humans so you’ve probably never seen one before.” Jisung sat up on his elbows, seemingly enamored as he took in your appearance closely. “Don’t worry if you haven’t- I’ve never seen a human before so we’re even.”

You shrugged slightly, looking around at the four of them before answering. “Actually I’ve never seen a hybrid before at all…so this is all kinda new to me-“ At that the four hybrids gawked, not sure how to respond but in the end it was the cat hybrid who had entered with Jisung who spoke up. “Like- never at all? Never ever?” You shook your head, giving them a shy smile. “Nope- I am not exactly from a high class background and my family kept me pretty sheltered so I wasn’t allowed to go out much…I mean I know of them- heard of them. Just never met one before.” The second cat hybrid sat at the end of the bed with his legs folded, hands braced on his calves as he leaned forward to get a better look at you. “Well I’m Felix! It’s nice to meet you-“

Four sets of eyes looked at you expectantly, clearly waiting for you to say your name eagerly. “Oh gosh I haven’t properly introduced myself- I’m y/n.” Jeongin gasped a bit, lifting his head to rest his chin against your chest and fully meet your eyes. “That’s so lovely, pretty-“ you giggled again, trying to hide your blush but no matter where you turned there was a hybrid watching you carefully. “We’ve been calling you pretty this whole time because that’s what our innie referred to you as.” Minho teased, pinching the youngest’s cheek earning him a little yip in distaste for the action. “Oh- um, that’s fine if that’s what’s more comfortable for you? I’ve never had a nickname before-“

Jeongin blushed at your words, mumbling to himself that only he should get to call you that but the words were so soft they couldn’t reach your ears. However, the other hybrids heard him loud and clear and gave each other a smirk of acknowledgment. “Pretty it is then, it suits you.” Jisung said, nodding as he curled back up beside you. “Thank you- and thank you all for taking such good care of me…I’d probably be dead if it weren’t for your help.”

At the mention of your previous state the hybrids all gave each other a knowing look before Jeongin slowly sat up at the end of the bed beside Felix. “I couldn’t ever ask before because I was only around you in my fox form…but what are you doing all the way out here? There aren’t any other houses around for miles and the closest town is all the way at the bottom of the mountain…” His voice was soft, concern and curiosity laced within his words and your chest began to feel tight. “I-I…My husband-“ you started, tears welling in your eyes. At the mention of a husband Jeongin frowned, tilting his head as he remembered the small camp you seemed to inhabit alone. “He left me here…we- gosh this is so humiliating.” You hid your face behind your hands, trying to will your tears away as Minho gently began rubbing circles on your back. “It’s okay, take your time…we are here to listen, not judge.”

At the kind gesture, and the worried yet what faces watching you carefully, you took a deep and shaky breath. “We had just gotten married, something arranged by our parents, and this was supposed to be our honeymoon.” Your gaze fell to your lap as you began to play nervously with the edge of the quilt still pooled at your waist. “But I guess he didn’t really want to marry me, as if I had a choice in the matter myself- as I was busy setting up the inside of the tent he just…drove off.” The hybrids all gasped, practically sitting on the edge of their seats as they waited for you to continue. “I didn’t understand why at first….but then as I was looking around to see if he left any clues to why he just…left- he wanted me dead.” Minho frowned, brow furrowing as he looked into your eyes with a growing mountain of questions though he only asked one. “How did you know he wanted you dead? Surely he could have just gone to get something from town and planned to come back.”

You shook your head at the cat and sighed raggedly, hands falling limp in your lap before forming tight fists. “He left me a pistol and a note saying that he brought me up here to kill me, that he didn’t and couldn’t love me but that he chickened out and hoped that I would finish the job for him.”

Jaws dropped, completely and utterly shocked by the revelation, Jisung immediately wrapped his arms tightly around you and buried his face in the crook of your neck as you felt the dampness of his tears soak the collar of the shirt you wore, which you briefly wondered who it originally belonged to. “That’s so cruel! How could he even do something like that to his wife?!” You laughed bitterly, hands coming to caress the hybrids hair softly. “Thats why I was walking around the woods that day I met Jeongin for the first time…I was trying to see if there was anyone living in the area that could help me and maybe give me a ride back into town…”

The room fell into silence for a moment, the only sound being the rain fall outside and the quiet whimpers from a still crying Jisung and now a tearful Felix before he too crawled closer to wrap you both in his embrace. “Guys it’s fine- I’m…I decided that day that I was going to live, even if just to spite him. Though I guess I did a pretty poor job of that considering I almost died of starvation barely two months in-“

Your story explained so much, but still left questions. Why an arranged marriage in these times? Why were you so sheltered to the point that you weren’t allowed out side often enough to have ever seen a hybrid? These questions hung heavy in the air but the group didn’t want to push too deep and cause you any more distress as you were still healing.

“Well I’m glad our innie here found you. Things could have been much worse if not for him.” Minho lightly praised their youngest, reaching over to ruffle his hair and effectively bring him out of the daze he had been in ever since learning of your failed nuptials. “I owed you, you know….you saved my life and- and I knew I could trust you.” His words were soft, but firm in the belief he had for your friendship causing your heart to flutter. “Innie…that’s such a cute nickname.” Is what left your lips. You said it without thinking, meaning to have kept it to yourself but now the fox was blushing so deeply he had to hide his face behind his hands.

As Minho left the room, door closing shut behind him, a strong hand reached out and took hold of his wrist. “Minho.” Chan’s voice was low, obviously trying not to alert the younger hybrids in the room that he had been listening in to your story the whole time. “I know, she’s awake now…once I’m confident she isn’t so weak I’ll have Jeongin bring her back to where he found her.” The oldest shook his head firmly, wolf ears shaking twitching as his gaze fell to the floor. “No she- she can stay for now. But she better not do anything to make me regret that decision.” Minho smiled softly, eyeing the head of their little family with fondness. “Her story got to you, didn’t it? Poor thing didn’t have a chance out there if it wasn’t for our little fox, hm.” Chan sighed, nodding in agreement before letting go of the cat hybrids wrist as he began walking down the hall to his own room. “I still don’t trust her- but I’m not so cruel as to send her to her death after hearing all that.”

Minho chuckled as he made his way towards the kitchen to clean up and prepare some more substantial food for you to try and get your energy back. This was going to be interesting, considering not all the members of their family were so forgiving of humans as he was. He didn’t blame them, of course, with the tainted history each of them had varying in levels of severity and having caused all of them to end up here. Their own little haven, safe from a society that condemned them and treated them as nothing more than objects and pets. You were different though, he could tell. Minho knew from experience that not all humans were bad, and he felt in his bones just like Jeongin that you could be trusted. This would be good for them, he thought, maybe help some break down walls and work through their pasts in ways they never could on their own.

author’s note; waaahhh! Thank you so so much for all the love I’ve received on the first chapter of this series~ it genuinely means so so much to me hearing all your kind words and feedback on a project I’ve been so excited to work on! How are we feeling after that reader lore drop huh? There is still more to come as I not-so-subtly hinted but all in due time!! Also as I do with all of my fics reader has a lil nickname, this one being Pretty~ again I hope you all enjoy! I know this chapter is significantly shorter than the last but I didn’t want to add too much and make it feel like it was going all over the place just for the sake of making it match the length of the first post- anyways I’m gonna stop rambling now hehe ᕱᕱ₊˚⊹♡

taglist; (pink users means I couldn’t tag) @coastinglove @estella-novella @chancloud8 @skzswife @motheraiya55 @zofia515 @skybluelixie @breadedloafs @inaribu00 @silly250 @royal-shinigami @thatgirlangelb @bby-boo4u @emmxxsworld @vampkittenb82 @h0rnyp0t @alisonyus @im-sinking-in-mud @ihrtlix @mrs-hwangh @danixiulin @bookswillfindyouaway @daceyena @kiaralynn3838

[endlessdreamworld]

Baptism by Fire

the sequel to a short AU fic featuring secret priest! Sunday of a small village x baker! gn reader. part one here.

The familiar jingle of the bell above the front door signaled the arrival of a customer in the tailor’s shop. “Coming!” Sunday called, putting a pause to the present project. It was a simple hem for the blacksmith, though it did require some special care given how thick the heat resistant fabric was.

There you were, dripping on the polished wooden floorboards of the tailor’s shop with all of the charm of a pathetic wet cat. And it wasn’t just that. Your uniform had frayed threads that were burned loose from what seems to be a fire. It left you looking like you were covered in wet spiderwebs, the clothing in total ruins. Poor thing’s shaking, Sunday hurried towards you. “How in the world did you manage to both drown and burn your pretty uniform?” He knew you weren’t the type to be wasteful, so this current predicament put him on edge. I need to do something before my sweet dove catches a cold. 

Sunday took your hand, being mindful to brush as much of his skin against yours as he could. It was a test just for you, to see if his favorite lamb could resist the temptation of flesh. He didn’t fail to notice the small twitch of your lonely fingers just before he let go and sat on you on a stool, towel already in hand.

“There was an accident at work. A corner caught fire and I had to throw myself in the river or risk hurting myself,” was your out of character confession. It was unlike you to be this careless. “I’m sorry Mr. Oak, but I wasn’t able to save you any of today’s specials because I had to run right over here.” The implication of missed payment went unspoken between you.

Sunday retrieved the towel, and replaced it with some undergarments. “Think nothing of it, or maybe like a gift for being a loyal customer for such a long time. Now we need to get your measurements, don’t we?” He took your hand and led you to the back of the shop where there was a curtain to grant you privacy. You changed into the garments and readied yourself for the impending proximity. He pulled back the curtain, measuring tape already in hand.

The next – eternity. It was nothing short of an eternity of torture. It felt like you were dying every second Sunday’s fingers roamed your body. The brush of measuring tape and the tender pads of his fingers seemed to be relishing in your suffering. God was testing you, you justified. It was up to you to endure this for you and Mr. Oak.

Sunday worked in complete silence, leaving you with only the pounding of your heart and the scratch of ink against paper as he wrote down the shape of your form one number at a time. Just before you went crazy, and opened your mouth to vomit out your sinful feelings, it was over. You passed.

With a spare set of clothes, and a pat on the back, Sunday sent you on your way. It must be hard to make an entire set of clothing from scratch, and it would give you an excuse to come back every few days just to ask about the progress. There was nothing wrong with wanting to know about the status of something that important, right? But deep down you knew you were lying to yourself, and so you had to confess to all of the filth you have buried deep in your heart.

“Forgive me father, for I have sinned.”

It was you. Sunday was hoping you’d stop by and tell him the story of what really happened earlier that day.

“Speak freely child, God forgives all who sin.” He tried to keep his voice steady, but you were just as much of a test of faith for him as he was for you.

It took you a moment to find your voice but he couldn’t blame you. It wasn’t easy to confess your shortcomings especially if they weighed as heavy. “Today I lied to the person I cared most about.” He wasn’t surprised to hear this. Sunday knew the moment you spoke to him earlier that morning that you were lying about the circumstances of your garb.

“Confess to me the truth of your lie and all shall be forgiven,” Sunday kept his voice level, maintaining that unusual drawl of his to mask his identity.

“Perhaps it’s more of a fib, but my intentions were to deceive. Today I told him I had a workplace accident, but it was a bit more than that. The baker’s son has been more and more forward with his intentions and he’s become more shameless with his... touch,” the words tasted bitter leaving your mouth and you couldn’t hide the shaking in your voice even if your life depended on it. “I’m afraid to speak out for fear of losing my home.”

A foul serpent in our midst, one that needs dealing with. The viper will be extricated from our hallowed garden by the week’s end.

“Today, he got closer and closer, and I prayed to God to save me. As if by divine intervention my uniform caught fire from a stray ember that escaped the oven. No one thought ill of me when I elbowed past them on my dash to the river. That’s what truly happened. I just wanted to spare him the worry.”

He sighed, “A kind lie but a lie nonetheless. You are forgiven.” That wretch will pay most dearly for making you feel such desperation. 

“Father,” you called out, the wood of the confession booth felt claustrophobic. “Do you think this is a sign from God that my feelings are pure? I cried out to Him and he granted me the blessing of sanctuary, an opportunity to spend time with the one I hold most dear.”

You leaned up against the screen of the booth and shut your eyes, recounting the memory. “I feel I was tested today. I didn’t notice how soft Mr. Oak’s hands were until today when he traced them down every part of me. I fear I’ll be haunted by the memory of it until the end of my days.”

Sunday’s mouth went dry at the thought of your confession. “The book speaks of baptisms of fire. God has given you a sign from above that you’ll find salvation in your beloved. You should accept it for what it is.”

“Thank you, Father.” You bid your farewell, your heart much lighter and your head clearer. Yes, he was right, this surely is a sign from above. And so when you returned back to the bakery, you snuck around like a thief in your own home. You grabbed what you needed, the tool of your salvation, and climbed up the ladder to your room in the attic.

This is God’s will. You were told as such. But was the way your heart was racing, and the filthy thoughts that plagued your mind God’s will too? You didn’t know. What you did know is that you were desperate to be delivered from the fate you were given -- indulging the baker’s son or risking homelessness. You find the borrowed clothing you had gotten from Sunday earlier that day on the bed where you left it.

The object you had in your hand that you’ve used countless times felt much heavier, as if consecrated by the weight of what you were about to do. This is necessary, this is God’s will. This is so we can be together, so I can be saved. Your breathing sped up in anticipation and your hands shook. The shrill groan of metal grinding against metal as you opened the object echoed through your mind as you began to wildly cut at the fabric.

Who knew a simple pair of scissors could feel so holy?

Sorry for taking so long! I hope it met your expectations. Tagging everyone who requested a sequel or to be tagged: @yae-yu127 @hersweetsstrawberry @666xist @killergee @anzuwrld @xeltxt @thypplover @mehkers

[razzle-zazzle]

Whumptober Day 25: you're not delivering a perfect body to the grave

Buried Alive + Storm (metaphorically)

3387 Words; River Runs Deep

TW for discussions of memory alteration, death mention, burying someone alive

AO3 ver

“What did you say in that letter?” Raz asks.

“Nothing important, really.” The reflection of Mail Ford responds.

“Just that I loved her.” Agent Cruller continues. “She just wanted to help, but they pushed her too far.”

“How should we have known?” Mail Ford asks. “It’s not like she was marked ‘Fragile!’” The typewriter passes from his hands to Agent Cruller’s.

“But I thought I knew her, and everything she held inside herself.” Agent Cruller laments. “Ahh, I had so much to learn.”

“Ah,” Mail Ford says, “I guess some packages are better left… unopened.”

And with that remark, Raz is left standing once again in the messy treehouse. He looks at the final piece of the mirror in his hands.

“Ford and Nona…” Raz has learned so much, just from poking around in Ford’s brain. His Nona’s memories of her past have been shrouded in mystery. The Aquatos feared the Psychonauts as much as they feared the Deluginists because of this fact—surely, if the Psychonauts ever learned that Nona used to be Maligula, they would prosecute her.

But Raz has learned so much. His Nona used to be a part of the Psychic Seven! She’s one of them! She and Ford were lovers! And oh, some part of Raz’ mind is almost giddy at the realization, that Ford Cruller could have become his great-uncle—but he pushes that part of himself to the side. Now isn’t the time to be fanboying. Raz has a mission to complete!

Still, the fact that Nona and the Psychonauts are more closely linked than Raz ever thought…

Maybe hiding from them is pointless. Maybe they won’t prosecute her. Maybe they can help.

Raz sighs, and puts the last piece of the mirror back in place. He has a mission to focus on. He pulls out the typewriter, and sets it on the shelf.

The silence stretches on, for a moment.

“Razputin.” Ford’s voice cuts across the space.

Raz turns to the mirror clasped in the body’s hand. “Agent Cruller!” He grins. “How do you feel?”

The reflection frowns. “I’ve done a terrible thing.” He shakes his head. “And so have you.”

“What?” Raz’ voice comes out smaller than he wants it to. “I just wanted to help!” And to see if Ford knows anything about whoever took his Father’s and Nona’s memories—though Raz doesn’t voice that bit aloud. “I don’t know who shattered your mind,” Raz steps forwards, “But now we can find out!”

“I already know who did this to me.” Ford admits. “That’s the first thing I’ve learned in here.” The mindscape begins to tilt, slightly, the sky above Raz starting to twist. “The rest you’re gonna have to see for yourself…”

And suddenly Raz is standing in a dark forest, Ford standing next to him. In Ford’s hands is a shovel, and on his face is a grim expression. He’s no longer dressed in a Psychonauts uniform, instead wearing a shirt and jacket.

“Ford,” Raz turns to him, “What is it?” Who shattered your mind? What are you trying to show me?

Ford points with his shovel. “See for yourself.” He utters, as Raz follows the end of the shovel to a stone archway.

Raz swallows. When he looks to his side again, Ford is gone.

Guess I gotta keep going. Raz walks through the archway, and finds himself in what looks like a cemetery. All of the tombstones are blank.

Slowly, carefully, Raz continues forwards, cool mist curling around his ankles. He picks up figments as he goes, looking this way and that for the answers Ford indicated would be here. The ground starts to curve sharply downwards before him.

Raz turns around at the sound of something scraping. His eyes widen—a massive comb is slowly advancing behind him, already past the cemetery’s entrance.

“Uh oh.” Raz hops on his levball and runs, rolling along the ground and collecting figments along the way. The sky darkens as he progresses, the comb advancing behind him at a steady pace, until the only light is that of Raz’ levball, and two lanterns hanging up ahead.

The lanterns are standing to either side of a deep hole. Raz hops down into it. The comb passes harmlessly overhead.

“Agent Cruller,” Raz calls up, “I’m getting less sure I want to see this!”

And Ford is there, at the edge of the hole, pushing his shovel into the dirt. “Oh no,” he mutters, lifting up a shovelful of dirt, “I don’t think you’ll want to see this at all.” He dumps the dirt into the hole—into the grave, Raz realizes, his eyes widening. Within moments, the grave is full, and Raz is struggling to escape the dirt surrounding him. Air! He needs air!

The dirt doesn’t give, pressing in all around Raz as he struggles. He needs to get out of here! But it’s heavy, and dark, and Raz can’t breathe—

Raz’ hand bursts through the dirt, and he scrabbles for purchase on the ground. His head emerges from the dirt with a gasp, his lungs sucking in all the air they can get. Even though he’s only a mental projection and would merely be dementestrated if he failed to make it out, Raz’ chest heaves and he struggles to regain his breath.

Well, now he’s even more sure that he doesn’t want to see this.

But he has to. So he picks himself up all the way, hauling his legs out of the dirt. He pops free, but instead of landing back on the ground he floats upwards.

No, Raz realizes, looking up above him—or rather, looking below—he’s not floating, he’s falling.

“What?” Raz reaches back towards the dirt, yelping as he falls—

Very slowly.

Okay. Okay. It’s okay. He’s fine. Raz looks back down, at the shapes floating in the gloom below him. He’s not going to go splat. He’s going to be fine. He’s going to be fine.

Sharklike-shapes swim circles in the gloom. Raz angles for a figment, grabbing it as he falls towards a candle-lit ledge. He lands, and runs over to the door, pushing it open.

A bowling alley stretches out into the darkness before him. A single light illuminates the beginning of the lane—and illuminates Bowling Ford, who’s lying supine on the wood, a bowling ball resting in his hands on his stomach. Raz walks up to him.

“Hey Ford,” Raz starts, “What’s the deal with the deep six treatment?” Couldn’t he just drop a memory vault or something? Points for the presentation, but Raz is tired. He has been running around all day trying to fix this, and he would appreciate a break.

“I did what I had to do.” Ford states miserably. “I loved her, after all.”

All of Raz’ annoyance comes to a halt. “Wait, what?” Okay, now he’s wondering if he actually managed to put Ford back together, because that makes no sense. It’s like he isn’t even responding to Raz at all—what does loving Raz’ Nona have to do with burying Raz alive?

Ford lifts his head up. “Someday, when you fall in love, you’ll understand.” He closes his eyes, puts his head back down, and, without any further comment, slides along the lane. A light that wasn’t there before sits at the end of it, backlighting a set of pins that Ford knocks over in his exit.

Oookay then. Raz tries to follow, but he can’t get any further than the edge of the light. Fine. He turns around, walks out the door, and makes his way to the edge of the ledge. There’s two more like it, further down, lit with the warm glow of so many candles. Raz jumps.

He floats down just as slowly as before, but it isn’t long before he comes to a landing on the next ledge, having grabbed two more figments on the way. The window above the door is yellow, this time, instead of the pink of the ledge above. Raz grabs a third figment, and enters the door.

Raz is in the hair salon, now, a single light illuminating a patch of green and yellow tile. Barber Ford sits towards the back, atop a massive jar of Hydrocide™. Raz walks into the center of the light.

“Ford, what’s going on here? What did you want me to see?” Raz is so, so tired of having to jump through hoops. It’s all he’s been doing, today, all he’s been doing since Truman asked him to put Ford back together. Raz would really like some answers now!

“I couldn’t let her go free, she was a danger to the world!” And once again, Ford’s talking like Raz isn’t really there at all. Raz huffs in annoyance. Ford continues, “Even though it was the world that made her dangerous.”

Okay, that’s not helpful. Raz already knows all of this—for all that Nona’s memories of her life before the Deluge are gone, she can still remember bits and pieces of her time as Maligula, for all that she refuses to share those bits. Besides, Raz saw all of this when he was running around in the hair-filled mindscape of Barber Ford!

Still, Raz persists. “I know this! But who took your memories?”

“Safe. She’s safe.” Ford says, like Raz isn’t there at all. “Well, she was.” He frowns. “We all were. Huh.” Ford shrugs, “Not anymore.” He plugs his nose, and falls backwards into the Hydrocide™. Raz reaches out, but Ford’s already gone.

Just like before, Raz can’t go much further beyond the edges of the light—not that there really is anywhere to go. So Raz turns around and leaves the room, standing on the edge of the ledge outside the door.

One more ledge to go. Raz already has a good idea of what’ll be on it.

He floats down through the twisted ground making up the chasm, collecting figments as he goes. The window above the final door is blue. Raz pushes the door open, and walks out onto a wooden floor. A typewriter dominates the space, and Mail Ford sits atop it.

Raz pushes up his goggles. “Look, Ford, whatever I’m supposed to know—just spit it out!” He’s so tired. Is it so much to ask that even just one thing comes easy today? Must everything be a struggle?

“I had to hide her from the world, because they’d never forgive her.” Ford rambles. “And I had to hide her from me, because I’d never forget her.”

Raz’ heart starts to sink. Ford isn’t saying… no. No, he must be confused, or talking about something else. “Where?” Raz asks, “Where did you hide her?” He has a sneaking suspicion as to who she is. He hopes it isn’t true.

Ford shuts his eyes. “She’s with family.” He falls backwards over the bar, sinking down into the slot for paper.

Annoyance and dread fill Raz in equal measure. He was hoping for answers about his Nona, about the Memory Man who took her and Dad’s memories, made them think they were mother and son instead of aunt and nephew, left them with nothing but broken pieces when the illusion finally shattered—

Now, Raz isn’t sure what he’ll find, and instead of being excited by the prospect, he only feels a growing dread. He grabs the Half-a-Mind dancing to the side of the door, and makes his way back out. One of the shark-shaped coffins floats by, a tag dancing on its back. As tired as he is, Raz slows it down with time bubble to grab the tag, then leaps off to float down further.

He tumbles slowly, starting to fall faster and faster—

Raz hits the ground with a thud. He picks himself up, and finds next to a tombstone marked “Maligula.” More importantly, though, he’s in a coffin, and despite his protests it slams shut on him, trapping him inside.

The world around him blurs. Raz finds himself still in the velvet-lined coffin, but now it’s big enough for him to stand in, like some weirdly-shaped hall.

What is it with Ford’s mind and Raz getting buried alive? Is it Bury Raz day? Can Raz catch a break?

Probably not. Raz continues on, the velvet hall expanding around him as he goes until it’s almost the same size as a regular hallway. Clusters of candles sit in the corners of the room he finds himself in, cobwebs hanging from the walls and ceiling. Before Raz is a bed, with two skeletons lying on it.

“Ah!” Raz jolts back. “Who’s that?”

Ford’s voice comes in from all directions, even as Ford himself is nowhere to be found. “That’s your grandparents, Lazlo and Marona. They drowned in the Valermo Dam disaster, remember?”

“I already know this…” Raz mutters. Though it is kind of weird for Ford to know it, he thinks. No wonder the Memory Man shattered Ford’s mind—they must have been protecting their own identity. Which means that Ford definitely knows who they were!

(There is another possibility, sitting at the edge of Raz’s brain. He ignores it.)

“You—what?” Ford sounds genuinely caught off-guard.

“Er—” Raz backtracks. “I mean, Grandpa Lazlo died, but my grandma made it out and came to live with my father.” He tries. It doesn’t sound very convincing.

“No, Raz. She didn’t.” Raz can’t tell if Ford believes him or not. Then again, Ford apparently already knows that Raz’ Nona isn’t really his grandmother.

Something clicks behind Raz. When he turns around, the wall is gone, revealing a long hall. Raz sighs, hops on his levball, and continues forward.

Ford’s voiceover continues. “Razputin, after the fight with Lucy, she was defeated, but alive. I snuck her away from the others and brought her back to the Gulch.”

But… wasn’t Ford’s mind shattered in the fight with Maligula? How could he have brought her back to America? Could he still teleport that far with a shattered mind?

(Unless Ford’s mind wasn’t shattered at all, Raz realizes. He shoves that thought down.)

“I put her in the Astralathe—one of Otto’s inventions.” Ford continues.

Raz comes to a screeching halt at the end of the hall. The room before him has wooden flooring mixed with the velvet, a stained glass window, and a strange machine that Raz has never seen before. His heart sinks. No, no, no.

“Created to make permanent alterations to the psyche.” Ford continues, ignorant to the rising panic filling Raz’ throat. No. No no no. Can Raz go back to being buried alive? Please?

Raz spots the purse behind the machine—the Astralathe?—and darts towards it, needing the distraction. He pulls out the purse tag and attaches it. Ford’s voiceover pauses, waiting until Raz is done to continue. After a long moment, Raz continues on past the machine, towards a blue door at the very end of the room.

“But I knew the world would never forgive her,” Ford says, as all of Raz’ hopes fall apart. “So I had to hide her somewhere safe.”

Tentatively, Raz opens the door. “Oh no.” Oh no, indeed—Raz is standing in the doorway of his family’s caravan, looking out over an empty and darkened version of their campgrounds.

“I hid her among her family, Razputin.” Ford says, “Among your family.”

Raz can’t deny it any longer. “You’re—” he gasps, his throat starting to tighten. “You’re the Memory Man!” He exclaims, “You’re the one who took Nona and Dad’s memories!” Raz’ chest tightens, the weight of the world crashing in all around him. No, no—this can’t be right. No.

All at once, the scenery playing out in Ford’s mind stops. “You… knew?” He appears next to Raz in the mindscape, surprise coloring his face.

Raz can’t be in here for a minute longer. He scrambles for his smelling salts and whips them out, popping them open in front of his face. He needs to get out of here. He needs to get out—

“Razputin—” Ford reaches for him—

+=+=+=+=+

Raz snaps back into his body on the mailroom floor. He looks at Ford, once, his chest starting to heave. No—he can’t do this. He never should have done this.

Ford comes back to himself, whirling around to face him. “Razputin—” He tries, but Raz is already running. He needs to get out of here! He needs space!

Raz runs, using his levball to go faster. He runs, all the way through the atrium into the lobby, outside the Motherlobe entirely, across the floating platforms—

(The water feels his agitation, and trembles in shared rage-hurt. It reaches out to Raz as he passes over it, whispering offers to play and wash his cares away.)

Raz reaches the tunnel to the Questionable Area, and keeps going. He bursts out the other end, his chest and legs burning, and he does not stop—

He can see the fairy lights of his family’s camp strung up, bright against the darkened sky. Raz dashes, intent on getting to his parents so they can all leave this place, or something—

Ford crashes into Raz from the side, stopping him from reaching the campgrounds. They tumble across the ground, Raz’ panic hitting a peak—

“Let me go!” he shouts, squirming in Ford’s hold.

“Listen, Raz!” Ford begins, “I know you’re mad—”

“Of course I’m mad!” Raz shrieks. “You’re the reason my Dad can’t remember his mother’s face! You’re the one who put my whole family into this mess, who forced us to hide Nona without any help!” Tears are bubbling out of Raz’ eyes like steam from a kettle. He finds he doesn’t care. “My family’s had to keep Nona’s past hidden all on our own just because you felt the need to shatter your own mind and run from your problems!” He can’t believe this. All his life, he’s looked up to Ford—wanted to be a hero, just like him.

But Ford isn’t a hero at all.

“You’re right to be mad, Razputin.” Ford sighs. “I was young, and I made a terrible mistake.”

“You could have stuck around!” Raz yells. “Did it never occur to you that they might remember?”

“I had hoped they wouldn’t.” Ford admits.

Raz yells. “Well they did! Except they still don’t remember before the Deluge!” He glares at Ford with every inch of anger in his body, “Nona remembers Maligula, but she doesn’t remember you!” And maybe Ford deserved that, to be forgotten by the woman he loved. But Nona didn’t deserve to have all her memories wrenched away like that. The Aquatos didn’t deserve the fear of not knowing, of always looking over their shoulders for fear of what lurked in their shadows.

“Razputin—” Ford raises his hands in a placating gesture.

“DON’T ‘RAZPUTIN’ ME!” Raz is tired. Raz is so, so tired.

“What’s all this?” Augustus’ voice breaks through the tension, and all of the anger leaves Raz’ body at once. He’s tired. He’s so, so tired.

Ford freezes like a deer in headlights. He opens his mouth—

Raz points at him. “He did it!” He shouts. “He’s the one who messed with your memories!”

Augustus’ eyes snap onto Ford. “What.” He sounds so much smaller than Raz’ father should ever sound.

Distantly, Raz notices his mother and siblings wandering over, Queepie held in his mother’s arms, Mirtala holding Frazie’s hand and rubbing at her eyes. He shoves down the part of him that doesn’t want his family to see him crying—Raz doesn’t have it in him to care.

He’s so tired.

“Why?” Augustus asks, clutching at his chest. “You—why would you—”

“Because I loved her.” Ford laments, “And I thought it was the only way to keep her safe.”

“So you took her memories?” Raz doesn’t know how he has the energy to continue yelling. Anger’s just like that, he guesses.

His mother passes Queepie over to Dion, wrapping an arm around Augustus’ shoulders. She glares at Ford. “You.”

Somehow, Ford manages to look even more rigid. “Me.” He admits.

“You have some nerve!” All of his mother’s ire turns to Ford, and Raz can’t find it in himself to defend the man. “What is wrong with you? Do you have any idea the damage you’ve done to this family?”

Ford opens his mouth, but no sound comes out.

“Wait.” Frazie pipes up, bringing everything to a screeching halt. They all turn to look at her.

“Where’s Nona?”

[ivyvenus333]

satosugu fic rec list!!

16 fics, 20k - 260k words (ordered by word count), lots of slow burn and angst with happy endings:), all on a03!

✪ – stsg staples (if new, start here ;o) | ✵ – personal favs

+ blurring all the lines, you intoxicate me (flyingmonkiesattack)

"Or: Getou Suguru is married and doesn't believe in soulmates. But when he meets Gojo Satoru, he can't help but be enthralled by the man." (Soulmate-identifying Marks, Cheating, ANGST) wc: 20k / Complete

+ loved you first (flyingmonkiesattack)

“Satoru is used to being clingy with his best friend, draping himself all over Suguru at any and every opportunity. Suguru never seems to mind, giving back just as much as he takes. And then he gets a boyfriend, and Satoru’s world comes crashing down.” (Jealous Gojo Satoru, Getting Together, First Time) WC: 21k / Complete

+ ✵ i'll become your wound (ordinarymonsters)

“He would know this voice anywhere—the softness of it, the warmth. It curls around him, achingly familiar. It’s been ten years, but there are some things not even time can erase. He’s certain he would even recognize the smell of him. The air is thick with coffee beans and breaded pastries, but if it was all stripped to nothing, Satoru would know the slight spice and clean scent of Geto Suguru as well as he knows himself.” -Or, it’s been ten years, and this is how they fell apart—only to fall back together again." (Getting Together, Falling Apart, Second Chances) WC: 23k / Complete

+ ✵ me and my husband, we're doing better (interludewings)

“In which Satoru Gojo decides to adopt two children, only to discover that he accidentally married his ex-boyfriend, Suguru Geto, during a drunken episode just months before their breakup. Now, they find themselves living together, forced to maintain the facade of a loving couple. This leads to a series of petty tricks, cringe-worthy pet names, and the unexpected challenge of raising children together.” (Exes to Lovers, Fake Marriage, Family Fluff)  WC: 46k / Complete

+ crash course on intoxication (velourfantasy)

“There might not be any curse more twisted than love, but frequent alcoholism sure does come close. Gojo Satoru and Getou Suguru are in the prime of their lives. They share an apartment together at the same college, they're studying things they both like, and their best friendship is just as strong as ever. It's everything Gojo hoped for and more...until he walks in on his best friend getting laid at a party he forced him to attend. Or: Gojo realizes his feelings for Getou run much deeper than friendship, jam packed with alcohol-induced incidents and metaphors.”  (AU - College/University, Roommates, Unrequited Requited Love) WC: 48k / Incomplete (pray that we get an update soon.)

+ ✪ carry me home (valleykey)

“The boy shifts on his feet. “The year is two thousand and eighteen? Common Era?” Slowly, smile still plastic on his face, Suguru faces Satoru. This fucking dumbass. “Satoru,” he says, dangerous edge to his voice, “what did you do?” Satoru makes some bastardization of a sound, half between a laugh and a cough. “...Whoops?” “I,” Suguru grits, pinching two fingers together, “am this close to mass murder.” He’s joking. Probably.  ///OR: Shortly before Getō would have massacred a village, he and Gojō are thrust eleven years forward into a would-have-been future that Getō is conspicuously absent from.” (Time Travel Fix-It, Geto Suguru-centric, ft. mental spiraling) WC: 58k / Complete

+ ✪ 愛のある場所; river of light (that brings me to you) (cosmichorrour)

“A lesson in love is a lesson in swimming. Except for Suguru, it’s getting dropped into the deep end with the tide licking at his neck, no kickboard or life preserver keeping him afloat.  (Or: This is how Satoru finds the ocean.) (“in love with your best friend things + butterflies in the stomach things.”) WC: 67k / Complete

+ what's it worth to you? (FrozenChopsticks)

“Geto Suguru has done some wild shit for a dollar. He's worked crappy jobs, he's endured awful bosses, but this might be the craziest yet. How hard could it be to be a sugar baby for some pretty boy with a couple million followers online and enough money to run a small nation? Very hard, apparently. And it's not just Gojo's high-maintenance behavior that's hard on Suguru. (no pun intended) Neither man has done this before, but it's a good thing they are both experts at pretending like they know what they're doing. And accidentally falling for each other isn't exactly what they had in mind.” (SUGAR DADDY, Influencer Gojo Satoru, Graduate Student Geto Suguru, SMUTTY) WC: 86k / Complete (so angsty. so horny. FrozenChopsticks >>>)

+ ✪ little things to live for (LyricalPary)

“Suguru is ten years old when Gojo Satoru comes into his life. He's nineteen years old when Gojo Satoru becomes his life. (or, falling in love with his childhood best friend during their annual trip to Okinawa was never part of the plan).” (Growing Up Together, Summer Romance, Hurt/Comfort) WC: 101k / Complete

+ ✵✵✵ crimson supernova (serenadewave)

“"You don't know what you're talking about," Suguru says dismissively, his voice laced with quiet indifference and a hint of irritation. The deliberate clink of books and pens echoes in the stillness, a subtle reminder of the distance he’s putting between them. His gaze flickers toward Satoru. “And get off my desk.” Satoru’s lips curl into a smug smile as he rolls his tongue over the lollipop hanging lazily from his mouth. Unbothered, his eyes sparkle with mischief. "Or what, Professor?" OR: It started out as a game, just something for Satoru to pass the time in lectures so as not to go insane. Really, that's all it was. How the hell it managed to erupt and morph into this, Satoru has no idea.” (Professor Geto Suguru, College/University Satoru, Teacher-Student Relationship, both are adults, SLOW BURN) WC: 104k / Incomplete (THE slow burn of slow burn. I would genuinely sell my soul for this fic. the weekly updates keep me alive).

+ ✵ (when facing) the things we turn away from (Darkness747)

“Suguru had let it go too far with Satoru. But what else was he supposed to do when Satoru was right there, looking at him in the beautiful way he always looked at people? What else was he supposed to do when he could feel Satoru’s body heat from across the bed? Or when their hands accidentally brushed as they walked through the hallways at school? Suguru’s heart broke within him, reconstructing, swelling, bleeding, and breaking again each time Satoru’s eyes met his, looking at him in the beautiful way he really only looked at Suguru. Or (in a less poetic version): the coming-of-age American high school trope but it's Satosugu.” (AU - high school, ANGST, Teen Romance) WC: 109k / Complete

+ you left your mark (FrozenChopsticks)

“At 28, Gojo Satoru's got a whole lot of things going right. He's got a business he loves, co-workers who adore (read: tolerate) him, and a kid he looks after. To his mother however, there are a whole lot of things he's doing wrong. In a bid to assuage his mother's worries about her son staying single forever, he visits a matchmaker. What he expects is a fun time to laugh about later. What he gets is a run in with the man who loved him and left him eight years ago. Geto Suguru is a different man from the boy he grew up alongside and shared so many firsts with. Even if Suguru has been assigned to find Satoru his future wife, they both can't deny the tension that still simmers between them. And Satoru's going to do just about anything to get back the man he fumbled so long before…”  (Matchmaking, Second Chances, Tattoo Artist Gojo Satoru, Romantic Dramedy?) WC: 112k / Complete (Tattoo Artist Gojo Satoru. TATTOO ARTIST GOJO SATORU.)

+ for you, my life (TokyoBunny)

“A story where Gojo didn't- couldn't kill Suguru Geto that day and the windfall that came with his weakness in that moment.” (if gojo saved geto, And they fell in love, caretaking) WC: 136k / Complete

+ split (ohsocyanide)

““Speaking of,” Nanami said, possessing all the eloquence of someone who knew precisely how devastating words could be, “I heard you were getting a divorce.” "A separation," Gojo corrected him primly.” (Married Geto/Gojo, Parents Geto/Gojo, AU-Canon Divergence)  WC: 142k / Incomplete

+ see you through my eyes (svarozhich)

“Satoru Gojo is the pinnacle of strength and standing at the apex of the jujutsu world comes with a price paid in lonely hours and haunting memories. Not so long ago the now-empty spot beside him was occupied by someone capable of reaching out through Infinity and keeping up with his pace; another name worthy of standing equal to his. A best friend he killed with his own hands. The Night Parade of a Hundred Demons happened almost a year ago. Suguru Geto is supposed to be dead. -- “So what actually happens when in assumption the body dies, but turns out the soul does not?” A story about second chances.” (AU- Canon Divergence, Post-Shibuya, Fix–It of Sorts, Getting Together) WC: 231k / Complete

+ ✪ coanda effect (bunniehoney)

“The JJK motorsport AU based on Formula One.” (Childhood Friends to Enemies to Lovers, Driver Gojo, Team Principal Geto) WC: 262k / Complete (The woman, the myth, the legend herself. Basically invented satosugu.)

++ drop your fav fics in the comments below challenge, go!

[star-suh]

Into the Wild

Choi Beomgyu x Male Reader

cw: fantasy au, top forest spirit beomgyu, bottom knight reader, some angst, happy ending?, fluffy smut, riding, bareback, nipple play, breeding.

an: there’s mention of blood and guts but just at the beginning.

—

the war of 1000 years was an ongoing conflict between two powerful nations. blood, guts, rusty swords and shields were scattered across the landscape, you could see the destruction caused by it everywhere you looked.

yn was forced to join the army of the white knights, whose purpose was to kill the last ones standing in the battle grounds but little did they know that it was all an ambush made by their rivals. screams and liters of blood filled the ground while a badly injured yn managed to escape. he went deep inside the forest not caring if he gets lost, anything would be better than die by the hands of another evil human. with the remaining strength he has he manages to get closer to a river of fresh water, wanting to drink some of it he crawls, leaving a trail of fresh blood behind him. his fingers mere centimeters away from the running water stopped its movements, yn fainted there. his low breathing indicated he didn’t have much time left, at least he could die in a quiet, peaceful and beautiful landscape…

“AHHHHH” yn woke up screaming and then letting himself fall in what feels like a fluffy cloud, “where am i?” he asks to himself, looking around to what it seems it’s a cozy cabin, with dim lit candles that smell amazing “what’s this place?” he stood up from the bed feeling a stinging pain on the side of his torso, seeing a piece of cloth wrapped around it. “you’re awake” a voice said, coming from another room. yn slowly walks towards there where he finds out a beautiful man with shoulder-length long hair with some highlights to it, wearing a white shirt with his face adorned with a cute blush. he looked so ethereal that yn just stood there with his mouth open “close it or a bug will enter on it” the mysterious man laughs quietly.

“sit there, i made some food”, yn obeyed waiting for the bowl of hot soup the man just prepared, “enjoy” he blurted out while sitting across the table to eat some soup too. “where am i?” yn asked. “my house” he replied, “deep in the forest, no one has ever come near here… except from you” he lifts the spoon towards his mouth while making direct eye contact with yn “you were so injured so i helped you a little”.

“thank you so much” yn thanked, “i thought i would die out there…” he sighed. “that’s what war leaves behind”, the man added. “b-but i didn’t want to” yn quickly replies “i was forced to” sadness and guilt washing over him. “they forced you huh? i’m familiar with that”.

“what do you mean?” yn asked back but the other didn’t answer, “the name’s beomgyu”.

as some way to return the favor yn stayed some days to help beomgyu with some home chores like going to collect some fruits, cutting the woods with an axe that by the way beomgyu could spend hours just looking how yn’s strong arms hold the axe and how the sweat ran down his body ‘so hot’ he thinks.

days turned into weeks and weeks into a month. their relationship went to a friendship to something more serious, the tension was there but none of them wanted to break it until one day, after drinking some fruit wine they got drunk and their emotions came out.

it started with beomgyu’s lips ghosting over yn’s who was desperate to feel the contact, he made the first move, kissing beomgyu with burning passion. he tried to get the dominance but beomgyu took it from him easily. beomgyu swallowed yn’s whimpers, caused by the first playing with his nipples, “it feels so good” he moans “i want more” and beomgyu nodded.

slowly they manage to discard their clothes with their lips still attached to each other “i can’t get enough of this” beomgyu says, “me neither” the other responds.

beomgyu guided yn towards the bed in where they fall and laughed. beomgyu went down while leaving a trail of kisses on yn’s body, every touch from beomgyu feels like a pleasurable burning, something that yn craved and he was getting now. beomgyu puts yn’s shaft on his mouth and sucks it, making sure to not leave a part unsucked. “so good beom” yn whimpers hiding his red face with his forearm. “is this making you feel good?” he asks and yn nods “then tell me if this feels good too” he kissed yn’s balls and buried his tongue on yn’s hole, drawing a surprised grunt from him “shit! it feels amazing” his moans growing louder and constant. after some more sucking beomgyu stand in all fours towering over yn’s quivering body “are you ready?” he asks, saliva smeared around his mouth “yeahh” he says “i want you”.

beomgyu’s shaft slowly opened yn’s walls, “so tight” he grunts, the back and forth movement making yn feel like he was in heaven, in a paradise. yn grabbed beomgyu by the neck and pulled him towards him so they could share another kiss. beomgyu lay down and let yn ride him, his ass wrapping his dick so perfectly, it was like it was made for just him. beomgyu played with his nipples, throwing his head back due to the immense pleasure, it was overwhelming. “if you keep doing that i might come inside you” beomgyu says worriedly in between groans, “then it means i’m doing it the right way” yn cockily replies with a smug smile.

yn hips were moving on his own at this point, he loved the way beomgyu feels inside him, he wants more, it was a pleasure he could not deny to himself. on the other side beomgyu hasn’t feel this way since so long, a mix of emotions clouding his mind. yn moved his hips to met beomgyu’s sloppy thrusts, “please beom i want it in me” yn started to beg and how can one deny that pleasure to such a cute dickrider?. beomgyu hugged him by the waist accelerating his pace, his balls slapping against yn’s ass “fuck yeah” yn smiles, tongue out and eyes rolled back. his dick spurting cum everywhere on the bed and sheets, “it’s my turn now. be ready” few sloppy thrusts later and yn’s gushy hole was filled with thick cum, lots and lots of it filling him up to the brim. “i feel so full” yn tiredly says hugging beomgyu while playing with his long hair. “i haven’t felt this way for so long… thanks yn” beomgyu kisses his forehead and falls asleep too.

war is over finally so yn decides it’s time to go back to his town and let everyone know that he was okay, “wait for me please beom, i’ll be back, i promise”. “it’s ok, i’ll always be here don’t worry” yn said a last goodbye and left but wondering why beomgyu doesn’t live in a town.

everyone that was still alive cheered for yn coming back alive to the town. he then goes to the cemetery to pay a visit to his dead parents, who died because of the war some years ago, a situation that some knight took advantage of to put yn in the white knights rows.in the cemetery was some kind of memorial for the ones who died in the war, yn curiously looked at it when something caught his attention, he felt surprised and sad and ran away.

“beomgyu, beomgyu” he yells when he arrived to the man’s cabin, “what happened?” he said anguished. “you.. you..” he pants unable to form a word. “...so you found it out..” a sad smile creeping over his face, “i was a knight like you before” he starts his explanation “they forced me to join their rows too.. just like you. bastards” tears forming on his and yn’s eyes. “i fought with all my strength but i realized it was pointless, i will die on the battlegrounds anyway” he wipes the single tear that rolled down his face “just like you i escaped towards the forest but the enemies found me and wel” he pauses “they killed me here”. “beom i’m sorry” yn gets closer to him and hugs him, “then are you a ghost?” he curiously asks. “uhm-uhm, so nature force or deity i don’t really know, brought me back to life to guard this forest”. “so this is why you don’t leave in a town”, “that’s right” he laughs trying to put the sad feelings aside, “i’m sorry for not telling you before”, once again yn hugs beomgyu tightly “guess there will be two of us guarding this forest now” he said kissing beomgyu right after, “but what about you yn, you deserve to be happy out there, with people like you” beomgyu worriedly spoke. “i’m happy here, with you. you are my happiness” his dazzling smile making beom’s heart flutter, the blush on his face becoming even redder “you’re so corny” he tries to disguise his shyness, “i know you love it when i’m like that” both laughed while beom hits jokingly the other’s shoulder.

the couple has lived happily since that day, with yn waiting to meet that nature force with the hopes of being turned into a forest spirit and live forever with his loved one.

[diejager]

begging for more monster 141🙏🙏🙏

hear me out- reader is a host to venom but has it hidden and they find out maybe…?

(i got hyper fixated on blue’s au and SCOURING the internet💀)

What if… Hunter was Venom?

Pairing: Monster Task Force 141 + König & Horangi x venom reader

Cw: blood and gore, canon typical violence, head eating, gaslighting by Hunter, injury, fighting, tell me if I missed any. Wc: 3.4k

Only Human masterlist

Sometimes, they’d find you mumbling to yourself, voice so low that, unless they were a hybrid or had impeccable hearing, they wouldn’t be able to hear it. It was a ne’er silent whisper of harsh words or soft coos towards a being they couldn’t see. Were you talking to someone on your headset? Were you wearing EarPods to talk to someone? Or had you lost some screws in your mind after working with them for so long? None of them truly knew, but they wouldn’t bother you with it when you never bothered them with pesky questions that sounded insulting to them. After all, why would they bother their adorably useful and resourceful medic? You were the beating heart of the Task Force, you made it whole and functioning. Yet, they couldn’t stop the curiosity that festered in their mind, the need to know what made you talk to yourself, mumbling and cursing when you were alone. 

Nothing seemed out of order, you were still strong-headed and scolding them like you did the day before, mumbling about Soap’s recklessness and Gaz’s impending fate of falling out of airborne vehicles. About Price’s habit of working too hard, pushing his already pained body to work. Pulling Ghost by the - bloody and soiled - sleeve to your infirmary with a deep frown and eyes glinting with the promise of retribution for the hybrid that hid whatever ailed him from you; you were the medic for Pete’s sake! It was your duty to watch over them. Hounding Alejandro for his medical check after a deployment because, as handsome and dependable as he was, he liked hiding his wounds. Running after Rudy for his checkups while he was limping or trying to avoid you. Calling after Horanji for his share of the affection, needle, scalpel, bandage and all, he needed and deserved all the others received. Or sitting beside König, reminiscing about your early days, where taking care of your patients was as easy as taking care of König was, grateful and pliant, showering you with love and adoration before, during and after the procedures. 

You had your plate full with them, so it’d be unheard of if you had time to care for others. You might’ve been a medic on base, but your priorities and loyalties lay with them, with Task Force 141 and its allies. However being a - their - medic, didn’t mean you were free from any pain, fear or quirkiness as they were. You were as weird and as awful as every single one of them was, wearing it pridefully on your chest when you stood with them; even if you were wholly human - or you were supposed to.

Ghost caught fleeting moments where a dark mass would move around you, a glistening blob of marble-like texture with silver rivers running across it. It was near impossible to see it when it would disappear once it felt - even the slightest indication - the presence of another living being, like an illusion of trick of the light. That’s what you told them, it was simply a trick of the light or something because you didn’t know anything about an ugly blob. It was told slowly and persuasively with a wince once the words “ugly blob” left your mouth, a pained grimace as if something was grating your ears or claws were digging into your mind. When he brought it up with Gaz - who had impeccable eye-sight, the harpy would agree, spewing words about it having a menacing face with wide, pointed eyes and a mouth full of teeth. Big and sharp teeth that seemed alien-like. It couldn’t have been the trick of the light, especially since both of them saw the same thing. They asked you once more, together this time, but you’d reassured them that they were both tired when they’d seen this blob. You were tired and sometimes saw moving forms from the corner of your eyes too, so it might’ve been hysteria - collective hysteria.

Soap, if he tried hard enough, would sometimes hear a deep voice echo around you. It wasn’t something disturbingly deep, or annoyingly alien, it was pleasingly deep with a smooth undertone to its growls. It would send chills up his spine when he heard it, but he would always catch your voice talking back to it. He’d hear hisses and curses, some more unusual and others more normal: “I can’t eat my teammates!”, “I told you no!”, “Stop eating heads! People will catch on!” or “Can you shut up?” and “I can’t concentrate with you screaming my head off!” Soap, knowing how good Alejandro’s hearing was, asked if the Mexican had heard you speak with an unknown voice, specifically a male voice. A few muffled conversations between you and an unknown man and sometimes one-sided, but, simply put, Alejandro had witnessed the same occasions as the Scot had. It wasn’t unusual to talk to yourself, would it? Soap liked to boost his own morale with confident words and flattering compliments to himself. Alejandro wasn’t a stranger to mumbling to himself either, cursing his choice in life and how he ended up with his - lovable - problem-causing band of vagabonds.

If you weren’t careful or unintentionally careless, there would be a distinct odour clinging to your skin. It would be strong and pungent, the smell fresh and metallic-like. König knew it well, he craved as much as he wanted to bathe in it, the sweet smell of blood. How could he not recognize the faintest whiff of blood when it often drove him mad with bloodlust and the uncontrollable need to fall into a daze of primal hunger? It stuck to you like a second layer of skin, thin and always present. It sewed into the fundamentals of your scent, the tinge of iron mixed into the sweet, syrupy musk. It drove him mad with need, thirsting for the thing that made you smell so delicious. It clung to you as if you bathed in blood, drinking and devouring it, yet your skin was clean, with no speck of red under your nails, on your skin or between your teeth. In a worry, he went to Price, The Captain had the most knowledge about you and König could trust him to take good care of him, being a dragon. He expected the Brit to know something, even the slightest change, but Price hadn’t caught anything odd about you. Perhaps it clung to you because of your closeness to him, Percht hybrids - although rare - were ferociously unpredictable and ravenously bloodthirsty.

Rudy was the more human of them, so he caught on to the changes in behaviours and habits of others easily. You’d act odd at times, shoulders slightly tense and back slumped inward, body tired but unable to relax. He wanted to help, he proposed, but you’d turned him down, telling him you were fine, that you were just restless from being off duty for so long or for being worked to the bone. He would also catch you subtly avoiding them without ringing any bells, seeming occupied with other things while whispering under your breath; your slower reactions to their banter and the darker bags under your eyes, wearing that dazed and blank look in them while you sat with them; or the strong growl of your stomach and the slight rubbing of your stomach, soothing an ache that rooted so deeply in your abdomen. He worried, often, if he was honest. Even Horangi, a man oblivious to most cues and behaviours in humans, saw the subtle change in your behaviour when you acted odd. He pointed out the rings under your eyes, your fatigued and distracted mind, and your lip-gnawing hunger. For a hybrid that had so much difficulty grasping and understanding humans, he caught on to your change abnormally quickly, even with the excessive chocolate consumption.

They were all suspicious and you, their sweet and convincing medic, had them doubting what they saw, your gaslighting working on them as easily as a child bribed with candy. It didn’t make you feel less guilty or disappointed in yourself, but you weren’t sure how they’d react to him, not being human or a monster. He was a creature out of the pages of a sci-fi novel, a creation of the human mind and imagination. Venom was an alien, something from outer space. You were convincing until you couldn’t anymore.

Let me take over, the soothing voice uttered to you, calling out your name in a concerned tone. Let me protect you.

You were compromised, the enemy had tapped into your line, listening in on your conversations and movements. That’s how they were able to separate most of you, to turn the squad of nine operators down to four smaller teams, all on the run and trying to stick to the shadows without calling to the others through the comms. You were crouched over Gaz, whispering sweet nothings to the hissing man. You soothed his ache, hand and mind strained on the bleeding wound on his forearm, his beautiful, bronze skin stained with crimson in the hot and humid air of Columbia. 

Blood rolled down his tense arm, over his round muscle and sweaty skin, it was a clean graze, the blunt head of the bullet grazing his arm deep enough for it to bleed but shallow enough for it not to leave him incapacitated with blood loss. It was a ray of light in your dreadful situation. You had his wound cleaned and wrapped up, congratulating him for pushing through and helping him up. You cursed the enemy, wondering how the low-stake in-and-out ops suddenly turned out to be an extremely high-stake one with minimal possibility of reaching the evacuation point. 

“C’mon Gaz, we need to move,” you whispered to him, holding your rifle closely to your chest while you walked around the shadows of Guaitarilla’s back alley and dark corners. “We need to regroup at the evacuation point.”

“Yeah, good plan,” he nodded, following your lead even though he was higher-ranked than you, but in such situations, survival was the priority. 

You stuck to alleys, using the shadows to hide from the patrolling cartel that had the town surrounded, it nearly baffled you with the speed of their defences and counter-attack if you hadn’t heard of Las Almas’ attack from El Sin Nombre and The Shadows from you teammates. Although you couldn’t admire them, you could respect their skills and ability, you only wished it was for you rather than against you. 

While you watched ahead, Gaz had your back, peering around the corner before giving him the green to move. It was a rotation between who went first and who looked back, but you made it work with only you both. You were so careful, yet it somehow wasn’t enough, someone had noticed you and it sent you and Gaz rushing for cover, to escape the group of dispatched cartel members. It was stupid, running without looking where you were heading towards. It was stupid to let the enemy tap into your comms. It was stupid, the situation you got yourself into. 

You were backed into a corner, Gaz standing before you like a protective shield between you and the enemy, his rifle pointed toward the quickly advancing group. You wanted to protest about him using his wings to cover you, his wide, brown feathers expanded to hide you from those men. He was already hurt from pulling you away from harm, but he was now standing protectively before you. You couldn’t let him get hurt because of you, not anymore. 

Little One, his voice rang once more in your head, the reassuring pressure of his presence in your body calming you down by an inch. Let me take over.

If you let him take control of your body, it would ensure your and Gaz’s safety, then you could reach the others that you’d lost in the chaos of the battle. While you wore the combat medic’s patch proudly, your prior training before taking up your 16 weeks of medical training wasn't lost to you. You remembered how to aim and shoot, how to snipe an enemy from afar and protect your teammates from whatever danger you faced. None were lost to you, and you’d use every bit of training you had to protect them, whether it was as yourself or with Venom’s help. Venom’s help was undoubtedly useful, and right now, you needed him.

“Please, Venom,” you spoke aloud, your soft voice carrying through the blocked alley. 

“Who-” Gaz asked, confusion laced his tone, the question left unspoken as Venom’s deep, rattling voice boomed across the tight space.

“We are Venom, flesh bag,” he growled, body crouching down, not dissimilar to a feline laying prone while it waited for the right moment to attack, and pounced at the men.

Don’t call Gaz flesh bag, Venom, you whined, your voice echoing in your shared subspace of your mind.

“If that is what you wish.”

His heavy mass landed on a man, pushing him to the ground with a loud crack. You imagined that Venom either broke his back or a few of the Colombian’s ribs, it was sickeningly delightful, the sadistic pleasure from Venom sent you reading with mirth. His hands stretched to abnormal lengths to swing at the enemies with practised ease and familiarity. Whether they’d die from blunt force trauma from Venom’s strength or live with a concussion, none mattered to him, hunger raked his being, the throb aching in the back of his mind. It was a moment where he was let loose, where you wouldn’t need to gorge on an extreme amount of chocolate to keep him fed. This would keep him satisfied for a few weeks. 

Venom pulled the first two in, his jaw widening to clamp down on their neck. Gaz saw the dangerous gleam of Venom’s teeth, rows of pristine and immaculate teeth the size of a finger bled the man’s head red in a single bite. He shivered at the decapitated body that fell from your monster’s hand as he went for the second and third Colombian. He made a show of viciousness and raw, unadulterated bloodthirst with his eating. Fortunately, apart from the bloody mess and dead bodies, Venom was a relatively neat eater, licking his teeth clean from the red stains with a long, slimy tongue. Gaz couldn’t shake how your monster made him apprehensive, his body flinching and trembling at the greater being.

“Let’s go, The Little One wants to rescue the others,” Venom’s grating voice shook Gaz out of his stupor.

“Hu-Hunter’s there?”

Venom nodded, his mass retreating into your body, the mass melting into you like a second skin. It was as if Venom was never there, as if it was all his delusional imagination. Gaz rushed to you, his hands grabbing hold of you as he shook you in his grasp, he cursed in worry, concern lacing every word he spewed in a tornado of fear, curiosity and confusion. His soft feathered wings cradled you, casting a protective shadow over you as you hid in the darkness of the alley. 

“Gaz, we have to go,” you murmured to him, your voice soft and reassuring, trying to help him walk off the edge you were pushed to. You both were safe for now, the cartel that had followed you all laid dead without their heads in a thick puddle of their viscera. “We have to find the others.”

He let out a shaky sign, his head nodding in affirmation at your comforting words. He loved that about you, that ability to heal and mend their ache and anguish with a smile and sweet words. Then, pairing your softness with your stubborn viciousness made you a gem within the military, a one-in-a-million for them. Yet, all that clouded his mind were questions, about your safety, about that monster that melted into you, about what kind or what it was. Gaz had so many questions that he’d push back for the greater good of rescuing the rest of the Task Force, he’d hound you for answers later when everyone was back together. 

When Venom resurfaced, retaking control of your shared body, he’d reassured you that he knew where they were, his body being hyper-aware of the things that made you smile and laugh. You were his host and his joy. It was an easier job than the two of you - you and Gaz - had expected, Venom’s claws digging into the buildings as he scaled the walls to reach the roof. From then, he pulled nothing back, rushing forward with the same enthusiasm as König had when he led first, and leaped, the muscles of his legs pushing him high across the buildings with Gaz flying beside him. 

Venom had made quick work of the situation, his body invulnerable to anything but loud sounds and fire, which none had since it was a rainy night. You found Horangi and Alejandro first, Venom doing what he knew best: protecting you, in relation, what you loved too, and feeding on human heads, the chemicals in the human brains nurturing him. Alejandro and Horangi were naturally confused and distrustful of Venom, but you had Gaz to smooth things over, and knowing that Venom’s way of speaking was curt and up-to-point - annoyingly blunt - it made your body soar with relief. They, albeit confused and curious, followed you from the ground as Venom cleared a path to the next ones.

Price, Rudy and Soap were the biggest team from your unexpected separation. They jumped at Venom’s appearance, Soap throwing threats at him when he took a step towards them. That was expected, Venom - even being the symbiote you were hosting - was a stranger to them and Soap reacted according to his instincts. That blaring, red light that signalled his brain to send his body on complete guard about the danger, Venom couldn’t escape a werewolf’s keen situational awareness. You’d taken the initiative to calm them down, seeing as everyone was already down,  the enemy loaded with bullets and dying in a pool of their blood. You kept the explanation short and simple, giving them the important points before promising to tell Price everything he wanted to know after you found Ghost and König.

Those two were harder to find, forcing Venom to extend himself to sense the slightest presence of either man. It couldn't be easier that Ghost was a wraith, being able to disappear and appear at will and that König knew very well how to hide, perhaps as well as Ghost could. When Venom found them, Ghost shot first, “shoot first, questions later” seemed to lead his decisions with König not far behind him. He brought his arms forward to protect himself and you, hidden within his mass. Venom growled but didn’t attack them, hissing the words you spoke to him to them. It was a simple quote that you’d shared with them in situations where they needed to find you between the hostages or under disguise. 

Like calls to like.

It was simple, but telling. They stopped the moment Venom uttered them, knowing well you were inside Venom, Gaz landing before him and the others steadily arriving behind the two. Task Force 141 was finally complete, from the most humane to the most chaotic hybrid, some were hurt, grazed, protrusions, and stabbed, but all were alive. You were glad, you were really, really happy that everyone was safe and alive.

Seated in the Razor, the silence and tension were thick within the cargo hold, Horangi and Gaz framing your sides with Price taking the seat across from you. You could see the stress and tension rolling off his shoulder after treating everyone, his brows furrowed and a frown curled his lips under his beard. Beside him was Alejandro and Ghost, both - like everyone else - wearing a confused and disgruntled expression on their face, their eyes gleaming with questions left unsaid. You’d left them wondering if their minds were playing tricks on them, if they were seeing things, if they were imagining things and if they were losing their minds. You understood the anger, but you had your reasons to hide Venom’s existence.  

Price crossed his arms, legs spread wide as he leaned back, his head tipped back with an inquisitively serious look. He raised a brow at you, waiting to see if you could prove your case or if you had anything to add before he started. With nothing to say, you bit your bottom lip, your shoulders screwed with anxiety and fear. You didn’t know what to expect now that your well-kept secret was out. 

“We have a lot to talk about, Hunter.”

“I know, Captain.”

Better sooner than later, leaving it to fester and grow would be bad for the TF’s morale and relations. 

Taglist:  @sae1kie @yeoldedumbslut @tallmanlover @distracteddragoness

[undreaming-fanfiction]

I've had a fantasy/medieval AU in mind for ages and I will write it one day, but the idea just wants out now. So have a brief summary.

Steve works in a small town in the middle of nowhere, he's doing odd jobs and helping to tame the local children. He's very protective because he knows the world outside is dangerous, and yeah, maybe their town is borning, but at least it's safe. Ever since his former fiancées friend got dragged into a river and drowned by a water demon, he's been even more protective of the children (and has saved them from a bunch of close calls too, even though they hate to admit it).

Eddie is a travelling bard, and Steve wants to tear his hair out and weave it into a basket or something. Because where he's trying to make sure the six kids get to grow up, Eddie is filling their heads with adventures, dragons, treasure and all that beautiful stuff that gets people killed one day. But the kids love him and Steve can only stay nearby and pray they don't run off one day with makeshift swords.

He just wants the kids safe. That's why he always accompanies them when Eddie is in town. So what if he sits nearby when Eddie spins his stories, it's just to protect them all from wolves if they decide to come. So what if he inches closer when the tale gets more tense and the protagonist is in danger. So what if he holds his breath until he knows whether the adventurers lived to see another day! It's all for the children, he says to himself.

And Eddie? Eddie sees the wonder in Steve's eyes. He sees a young man who has been walking in circles for too long, who has given up all of his future to give one to these six children. He sees in him what he sees in all of the adventurers and heroes he sings about, whose tales he carries with him. He sees all he wants to give.

So Eddie comes to the town more often than to the other ones. But whenever the children start raving about going on adventures, he just throws his head back and laughs. "You, going on an adventure? Please. Can you hold a weapon? Can you dodge an attack? Hm? Show me." The kids fail, of course. And Eddie says: "Do you know what the adventurers I sing about have in common? They came back from their adventures. And why? Because they were prepared! No one is going to sing about you if you drop dead during your first fight."

It doesn't take long for the kids to come to Steve for advice and training. And Steve knows somewhere deep in his heart that he can't protect them forever. He talks to the captain of the guard, Hopper, and he actually gets someone to train with the kids - and himself. He watches with pride as the children pick weapons best suited to their strengths, all too heavy for them, but that doesn't curb their enthusiasm.

He also asks his ex-fiancée, Nancy, to provide some basic training regarding edible herbs, remedies and poisons. He goes to Robin for a geography lesson, so that the little shits at least know where they're going and where their kingdom ends. He asks Jonathan to speed up their reading and writing lessons, and Argyle prepares a bunch of easy recipes from things that grow around them, and teaches them how to start a fire in almost any conditions.

When the kids turn fifteen, they are ready to go on an adventure with Eddie. Steve has done all he could, but he still feels they aren't ready, that he isn't ready. He'll die of worrying, he knows it. What is he even going to do now that the kids are gone?

But Eddie just smiles at him. "What, you put in all this work for them and now you don't even get to see them in action? Don't be stupid. Go and pack, we'll wait for you."

If Steve keeps thinking of Eddie's smile the whole time he's packing, it's only his business.

And that's how, with much of the kids' grumbling, Steve also leaves on adventure.

[starrywilliams]

baby i’m yours - abby anderson

and i’ll be yours until the stars fall from the sky. yours until the rivers all run dry. in other words, until i die

fem reader x abby anderson

synopsis: abby anderson hates seeing her girlfriend upset, so decides to show you just how much you mean to her.

word count: 1.7k

warnings: bad writing ??, general non-apocalyptic au, smut w a tiny bit of plot, top abby, oral sex (r receiving), fingering, some pet names, overstimulation, slightly insecure reader, not proof read !!

notes: i was gonna send this into someone’s asks but i thought it easier just to write it myself. so if it’s bad , ummm pretend it isn’t. wanted to add abby fucking r with her strap too but decided against it… so lmk if u want a pt 2 or something !!

it all started at a party. the music was loud and you were just a little tipsy, abby the designated driver as usual. she was talking to one of her friends beside you, rambling on about something you’d lost track of a long time ago. you could hear she was getting slightly angry as the conversation progressed, so you grabbed her hand to calm her down, y’know? but she decided to pull away. leaving you stood there embarrassed and feeling extremely awkward.

“i’m gonna go to the bathroom, okay?” you mumbled seconds later, not staying long enough to hear her response: if there even was one. you cursed when you tried to open the door, finding it was locked. from the smoke filled air and bottle covered surfaces, everywhere felt crowded. more crowded than you deal with right now, so you made your way out onto the, thankfully empty, small terrace that would grant you refuge.

clearing your lungs with a deep inhale, sobering up slightly while looking out into the darkness. she’d dropped your hand. maybe it was the alcohol making you overthink it, but you weren’t THAT drunk. abby always let you hold her hand, she knew you got nervous at these things. so you couldn’t understand why she didn’t this time. was she angry at you? had you done something wrong without realising? this spiral would’ve continued if it hadn’t been for a voice behind you.

“baby, what are you doing out here?” abby asked, voice laced with a slightly worried tone, as she kneeled down in front you. “nothing.” you choked, trying to avoid the tears that had accumulated in your eyes. “thought you said you were going to the bathroom?” she said, putting a hand on your knee. “it was full.”

she pouted, looking you up and down with concern. “d’you wanna go? i won’t mind.” she smiled, pushing your hair behind your ear in an attempt to cheer you up. biting your lip, you nodded, standing up. you walked silently behind her to the car, not really wanting to talk.

abby opened the door for you and held your side as you got inside. you took a deep breath as she walked around to the driver’s seat, knowing she would have questions. she slipped in, putting on her seatbelt and starting the car. abby let the sound of the radio fill the car for a few moments, driving away from loud house out onto the dimly lit street.

after what felt like a lifetime of awkward silence, she turned the dial down. “so you gonna tell me what’s the matter?” she said softly, gripping the wheel tightly as she did. “it’s nothing.” you muttered before looking down to your fumbling hands. “it didn’t seem like nothing.”

“well, it was. okay?” you snapped; voice croaking as you finished. abby frowned, turning to you as you reached the red light. “have i done something?” her voice was low - accusatory - and her eyebrows were furrowed. you looked up to the green light, “go.” she huffed, sticking her tongue into her cheek before nodding to herself. “so i have.” she whispered. “abby-“ you started. “what did i do?”

“it was nothing, i’m just overreacting.” you rambled, quietly thankful you’d reached your street so you could get out of this seemingly tiny car. “no, i must’ve done something. so tell me.” she sounded calm, words slow and sure. but you knew she was the opposite. she parked outside your apartment building, having failed to answer her request, you quickly got out and rushed towards your door, her not far behind you. “i asked you what i did to make you upset. answer me, please.” you pushed the key into the lock, turning it and pressing down on the handle before finally answering. “you dropped my hand.”

“i- what?” abby replied, laughing softly. “knew you’d think i was being stupid.” you whispered, throwing your stuff onto the side as you walked towards the kitchen. “i don’t think you’re being stupid. just tell me when this happened.” you grabbed a glass, “before i said i was going to the bathroom, you were talking to whats-his-face when i tried to hold your hand and you let go like- immediately.” you went on, finishing as the water reached the top of the glass.

“no it wasn’t like that.” she shook her head as you faced her, your furious pout not seeming to approve of her response. “it sure seemed like it.” you hissed, pushing past her towards your bedroom. you could hear her footsteps heavy on the floor behind you. “no, baby stop. sweetheart listen to me.” you pushed the door open, settling the glass down on the nightstand. “okay talk.” you began to undress, wanting to just go to sleep already. you were fully sober now, and very tired.

“i didn’t mean to drop your hand, i was about to get an eyelash off your face- but you pulled away before i could!” you looked up to her, sighing with a mix of relief and adoration for the girl. “oh abs. i’m so dumb.” you said as you stood up. softly smiling, you wrapped your arms around her waist and leant your head against her chest. “you’re not stupid, okay- maybe a little.” she joked, kissing your forehead. “how about i make it up to you?” she whispered in your ear before pressing her hips against yours “yeah, good idea.” you mumbled, slightly breathless.

that’s how you found yourself laid back on the bed with her whispering sweet nothings against your skin. each kiss against your thighs was making your patience disappear more and she could tell. “you sound so pretty like that.” you looked down at her, meeting her darkened eyes. “so fucking desperate for me.” you caught a glimpse of a smile before her tongue delicately made its way through your folds. the noise you made when she reached your clit was borderline pornographic, let’s just hope your neighbors weren’t in tonight.

feeling her tongue swiping back and forth against your needy little clit, your hands reached to her scalp; pulling her hair softly as you pulled her closer. “hands off baby.” you groaned, having to use your hips to get her closer. “abby, fuck.” you whimpered, thighs suddenly tightening around her head. “mhm.” she hummed, looking up to you again. “look at me.” she said against your pussy, moving her head lower once you did. “those fucking eyes.” she mumbled before slowly pushing her tongue into your hole, smirking as she felt it pulse around her. she moved it around slowly, before pulling back out just to thrust it back in again.

then she stopped. deciding to now leaving soft, far too gentle kisses around your lips. close to where you needed, but ever so far. “please don’t stop.” you whispered, screwing your eyes closed as if that would hurry her up. perhaps it worked, as you instantly felt two fingers push roughly inside you. your hips bucked upwards, a loud whine rolling out of your throat. “look so good for me, taking it so well.” she cooed, using her other hand to spread your lips. “your clit’s so swollen baby, want me to take care of it?” abby asked, her hot breath against it making you go crazy. you nodded, not receiving anything in return.

“use your words baby, tell me what you want.” she spoke, slightly mockingly as she dragged out the final word. feeling her large fingers thrusting inside of you relentlessly, you were almost rendered speechless entirely. but you managed to stutter out a “please touch my fucking clit abby.” that had her immediately suckling on it like a starved woman. the added sensation had you quickly getting closer and closer, that knot in your stomach tightening more by the second.

“feel so tight around my fingers, pretty. gonna cum for me?” she said, instantly returning to her assault on your clit while her fingers pressed against that spot inside you that made you see stars. you made some kind of noise to tell her yes before the cord snapped and you were drowning in her. “that’s it, sound so fucking beautiful when you cum.” abby hummed, stretching out the beautiful as her fingers started thrusting even faster. your legs snapped together as you pulled away, but a hand pressed down firmly on your hip, keeping you locked in place.

“you can take it can’t you? i just want you to feel good baby.” she cooed, keeping her pace rapid. “it’s too much.” you cried out, feeling your twitchy clit sting at the continued pressure against your insides. “you can take it.” she said, whether it was to reassure you or simply an order, you didn’t know. but to be honest, you didn’t care. you were gonna take it whether it hurt or not.

“fuckfuckfuck-“ you whined, feeling that knot tighten back up again. but with her fingers fucking into you like that, it felt so, so much more overwhelming. your mind was just chanting abby on repeat, and perhaps your mouth was too - you were too out of it to know.

then it was like a fucking explosion inside you, limbs spasming around her as your mind went foggy. you gripped onto the bed for some kind of relief from the pleasure that was consuming your every cell, but eventually you were just fucking floating. abby pulled her fingers out at some point, before softly licking up the mess you’d made all over your thighs. she left to go and grab a warm cloth, wiping you down before cleaning her face.

abby pulled your underwear back up your legs gently, stroking your hips as she did so. “i’d never drop your hand.” she whispered. you smiled at her, eyes barely open. “maybe you should, if it’ll end like this.” you joked, eliciting a small laugh from her.

she may have never dropped your hand after that, but she did fuck you until you saw stars, that’s for sure.