#the first (vanity) doesn’t have holes in the right places

[algolagniaa]

I HATE BUILDING FURNITURE. sorry lesbians in my phone

[violentdeliiights]

admiring

i haven't written properly in so long and i fully blame uni and my silly sad little brain but i'm back! hopefully won't be such a massive break next time!!

this is fully just drabble to be honest- nothing really happens it's just pure fluff but i was watching austin powers for the millionth time and the fembots' night dresses gave me a vision

cw: female reader, slight misogyny at the start??, simon likes to stare but so does reader, just fluff

word count: <1k

Simon had never been one to bother with looks.

His mother had raised him to view women as more than their outward appearance. He couldn’t stand hearing boys in school reducing their girlfriends to mere sexual objects, or ranking girls in their year based on their tits. 

It made him irrationally angry when he was on base and would overhear recruits talking so crudely about their own wives and girlfriends.

Even when he was asked what his ‘type’ was, his answer was always, “s’Long as she’s a good’en I’m not fussed.” His partners were his- what right did anyone else have to make comments about their appearance? He’d always thought his partners were gorgeous, but he didn’t have specific demands or things he was attracted to.

Looks would fade, the number of the scales would vary, but a good heart would remain always.

However, he can't help but think every time he looks at you that he truly hit the jackpot. Your face fits perfectly in the cradle of his palm, his arms wrap warmly around your waist, your legs entwine snugly with his under bedsheets, his chin slots just right in the space between your ear and your shoulder. 

Most importantly, your heart has a glow that he’s pretty sure he can see every time he looks at you. He’s never met a person so good. Someone that just…gets him. You are his person through and through.

His favourite hobby when he comes back from deployments is to simply just observe you. Honestly, he’s not even bothered if you find it creepy. He just loves to admire you. Can’t believe he got so lucky- a big, belligerent brute like him with such a perfect lass? 

You’re partial to those flouncy, vintage nightdresses- the ones that kind of remind him of the Austin Powers girls he used to fancy as a young lad. Since you got together, he’s bought you countless of them; he adores how you look in them and how feminine and confident they make you feel.

Sat against the headboard with your kitten, Toast, napping on his broad chest is how he finds himself most evenings, watching you through the mirror of your vanity. He knows your routine like the back of his hand at this point; after a shower you make yourself a sleepy time tea, wash your face, and then sit at your vanity to put your rollers in and do your night time skincare. It’s the same routine you’ve had since the very beginning of your relationship, and so a couple weeks in, Simon knew he had to get you your own vanity at his place- the same one you now sit at in your shared flat every night.

Even when you’re going out with friends or putting makeup on for a date night, he loves to just come and admire you. Admittedly, he still doesn’t understand the daily torture of that eyelash curler fucker but he knows better than to question anything you do.

His greatest miss when he’s away on deployment are- other than your presence in itself- those moments every night when he can just sit in your silent company and admire. 

You’d only questioned him once, back when you’d first got together before anything was even official; “Everything okay?” you’d asked amusedly through the mirror, feeling Simon’s eyes burning holes through your face.

“Just like lookin’ at you, birdie.” His stare never faltered, and his tone was so matter of fact that a blush bloomed across your freshly moisturised skin.

After that, it was just an unspoken thing. Even when you weren’t at your vanity- on the couch watching a film together, bustling about the kitchen for your keys when you’re late for work, strolling through the little park just behind your flat, sitting across from him at the dinner table.

Part of it comes from the military background of course- if he can see you at all times, nothing can happen to you. 

Unknowingly, Simon isn’t the only one who loves to stare.

Most of the time, he’s fast asleep by the time his head hits the pillow and you’ve always been a night owl, preferring to stay up late with a cup of tea and a book. Therefore, there are a few hours each night where Simon is dead to the world, Toast curled into the crook of his neck, and cuddled so innocently into the soft downy duvet you insisted on that you can use to simply admire.

His scarred cheek fits so perfectly in the cradle of your palm, his arm winds just right around your waist so that he can be near you even when unconscious, his legs slip snugly around yours under the sheets. His heart shines, even when you know he doesn’t think very highly of himself, plagued by his past. But you know he’s a good man. Your Simon. Your person.

He was so reserved when you first met. Cards kept so close to his chest- the mask he never took off even on the first date. It makes you admire him even more when considering how far you’ve come. How much he’s grown as a person. How good you are for each other. 

The scars never bothered you. The tattoos covering decades of battle wounds only made you want to open him up. The way his nose was permanently crooked, his hearing damaged from years of living in warzones, his lips scarred and showing teeth when he wasn’t smiling. None of it mattered to you. He was a good man, and his heart was the most noble thing about him.

[johnwickb1tsch]

bittersweet ~ a yandere!John Wick x fem!reader sunshine/grump coffee shop AU... Part 22 all chapters

WARNING: NSFW, SEXUAL CONTENT, YANDERE SH!T. Plz take care. I luv u all. 😘

-He sets you on the vanity, the marble cool against your bare bottom. The contrast of his hot hands upon your thighs is maddening, and you whimper as he withdraws from you.

“Shh,” he says. “Do you want these undone? Or do you want me to touch you?”

The fact that you actually have to think for a moment before you answer makes his eyes shine.

“Untie me,” you answer as quickly as you can form words. By the way he looks at you, you’re afraid it wasn’t fast enough. There is a heavy pause between you, electric with the warring of your wills.

“Hmm.” You can’t stop yourself from making a sound when he leaves you, though he only takes a few steps to the tub, turning on the taps.

“I’ve had a long day,” he says, looking you over like he might like to eat you.

You worry your lower lip between your teeth, your heart in your throat.

This is it, you realize. No turning back now.

“Where were you?”

“You’ll find out later, if you’re a good girl.”

You’re not sure you like the sound of that.

He bats the door closed with a swing of his long arm before returning to you, standing between your spread legs. You are cold, in just the thin silk of the stupid nighty, and the line of his body so near yours warms you like a furnace. He takes your wrists in his sure hands, running his fingers over the ropes as he admires his handiwork upon you. Then he begins to pick at the first knot, and even he seems to have trouble undoing it at first.

You really hope he doesn’t have to cut it. You do not like the thought of a blade in his hand, that close to your skin.

“Is this…something you’re really into?” you dare ask, your heart in your throat.

“Shibari? I may have dabbled in my misspent youth,” he answers with a smirk, enjoying your uneasiness far too much. “Are you curious about it, kitten?”

“No,” you answer quickly, winning a pout that has no business on the lips of a grown ass man, but somehow is cute.

You understand it’s something some people enjoy, and that’s perfectly fine. Consenting people, who know what they’re getting into, and trust each other.

Sadly, that is not the boat you’re in right now.

“Shame. Maybe later, when you’ve come to trust me more.”

The fact that he knows you don’t trust him now is perhaps a little heartening. However, you decide you will not be bringing it up again.

When at last your restraints are reduced to a pile of red silk on the floor you cannot suppress your sigh. He runs his hands over the marks in your skin, seeming fascinated by the twisted patterns imprinted in your flesh.

“You alright?” he asks, rubbing to aid the circulation. Even just on your wrists, his touch is maddening.

You press your lips, warring with the desire to tell him off for it, or play it like no big deal. You decide to go with what is already obvious between you.

“I didn’t like that.”

He turns your face up to his with a hand that engulfs your jaw. “Then be a good girl, and I won’t have to do it again.”

“Be sweet to me, and I will.”

He narrows his eyes at you for your pithy insolence, but you can tell that he’s secretly pleased. When he lowers his head to kiss you, his tongue sweeping your mouth possessively, you hate to admit that you forget all about your aching wrists, and your self-respect, straining to reach more of his soft mouth as he uses his height to draw away.

He places your hands on his chest, looking at you expectantly. Realizing that he wants you to undress him, you try for the first button.

As it turns out, you really weren’t lying about the circulation in your fingers. Or maybe the lack of use throughout the day, something. It is not easy to undo the first button of his shirt. It is tiny, and the hole is tight, and you are ready to rip it off by the time you finally manage to slide it through.

 “Don’t tear it,” he warns, as though he can read your thoughts.

You sigh, and concentrate on the second. It gets easier as you use your fingers more…and the prize you begin to unveil spurs you on. You realize you are biting your lip again when you taste blood in your mouth. Button by button, you unveil the marvel that lies beneath.

He stands still as a statue as you work, watching you with those eyes that miss nothing. You are not half as nervous as you should be, enjoying your task. When you pull out his shirt tails you finally begin to understand. 

A myriad of scars covers his body from collar to below his waist line. Large and small, fresh and old. Cuts, and round puckered flesh that look like bullet wounds. Your heart drops to your feet, and you sense it as John stiffens under your scrutiny. 

“Oh, honey...” 

It hurts to look at. It hurts because you cannot fathom the pain he must have gone through, enduring all these injuries. He lets you touch him, tracing the lines of these old wounds. You meet his eyes, finding him vulnerable, before giving in to the urge to press your lips to his chest over an old scar that cuts across his pectoral. His eyes slide closed, and you think it might be the first time you've seen him surrender to anything.

You slide down from the counter, pressing against his body as you plant your feet on the floor. Wanting to see all of him, you circle him slowly, never once taking your hands off of him. The scars continue there, and across the expanse of his powerful shoulders are sinister looking tattoos. Some men get tattoos like this because they think it makes them look hard, but somehow you just know that they mean something in his world. Something...ominous. On top of the tattoos, the praying hands in the center of his back bears a horrible brand of an upside-down crucifix.

That might have hurt more than all the rest.  

You rest your head in the divot of his shoulders, wrapping your arms around his muscled torso. It feels good, to nestle here. Better than it should.

“I wouldn't have run,” you tell him, and you feel a tremor run through his steadfast frame, his big hands covering yours just beneath his heart. 

You make your way back to his front, and his sharp eyes follow your every movement. 

“You would have had questions.” 

“Of course I would have.” 

You’re not a total idiot.

“You would have been scared.” 

You just shake your head, knowing it was true. At that time, you wouldn't have had the sense.  Even now, knowing what he was capable of... you still weren't half as scared of him as you should be. 

His gaze upon you is surprisingly soft, as he considers your words. You dare think you’ve finally gotten through to this man, until his long fingers close around your jaw, holding your gaze upwards. “You’re not lying to me just to appease me, kitten?”

Rather than follow the wiser path of meek contrition, you give way to the indignant anger rising in your breast.

“You’re so worked up about me running from you, but you know what? You ran from me first. You didn’t even give me the chance to accept you.”

He narrows his eyes down at you, considering what you’ve said.

If you're lying, he has to punish you.

If you're telling the truth, then this whole thing blew up for nothing, and it's all on him. 

Rather than hash this out, he dips his head to kiss you again, and he is not exactly gentle with you. Hungry for you, his tongue sweeps into your mouth, his teeth on your lips leaving you bruised. His hips pin you against the vanity, his erection pressing into you unforgivingly.

His fingers tangle in the lace skirt of your nightie, pulling it up. You fight him on instinct, and hear the silk tear as he jerks it from your grasp, defeating you so easily. He draws it up over your head with a flourish and throws it across the room, leaving you utterly bare to his gaze.

You are glad for the warm steam that is filling the room from the running bath. The tub is so massive it’s not even a quarter of the way full. Still, you try to cover yourself, but John grips your wrists in his big hands, twisting your arms behind you easily.  

His eyes rake over you, and your nipples harden as though he’d touched them. “So. Fucking. Beautiful.”

He falls on you, releasing your hands to cup your face as he kisses you again without mercy. His touch is possessive, inexorable, unyielding, and his hands explore your body, the curve of your bare back and the swell of your breast. His thumb and forefinger pinching your nipple make your knees weak. He recedes like a crashing wave down your body, his mouth upon your chest, your breasts, his tongue wreaking sweet agony upon your aching tips.

You don't know how much more of this your pussy can take. You've never been this turned on, for this long, in your life. 

You blink stupidly, when suddenly John is on his knees before you, looking up at you with his nose nuzzling the curls between your legs. That brief moment of eye contact electrifies you, before he guides your leg up over his shoulder, and licks your weeping slit. You lean back on the marble counter, and if not for his strong hands on your hips and your ass, you would have fallen, your legs shaking beneath you as he wrecks you with that devilish tongue.

He brings you so close to the edge with licks and little sucks, torturing you making circles with the tip of his tongue before taking mercy with broad, hard strokes, two of his long fingers sliding inside of you. That burning knot of pleasure begins to tighten within your womb. You clench on his fingers, your grip white-knuckling on the side of the vanity, so relieved for release on the horizon that you could cry.

That is when he leaves you, wiping his mouth on your belly as he stands before kissing you with the same punishing force as before. You whimper into his mouth, cheated of your pleasure, so pent up you could die.

“Hush,” he tells you, more gently than you would have expected from him in this unforgiving mood. He lifts you up onto the vanity again, easily as though you weigh nothing. With stars in your eyes, you watch as he undoes the zipper on his slacks with quick efficiency, pushing it all down to the floor and kicking it away.

You cannot help but stare, your lip caught between your teeth again. How many times a day can you think to yourself, This man is beautiful? His trim waist and powerful thighs covered in crisp dark hairs. The line of soft dark hair on his belly leads the eye downward…he is thick, and long, and even while you know you are in trouble, you cannot quell the dark thrill of knowing he is going to absolutely ruin you.

“Like what you see?” he asks, pulling you from your trance. He pumps himself up and down a few times, spreading the precum leaking from his tip.

Unable to find words in that moment, you nod.  

“What was that, sweetheart?” His big hands on your thighs pull you to the edge of the vanity top, his body wedged between your legs.

You make a frustrated sound between your teeth. “Yes, I find you very fucking beautiful, Mr. Wick.”

He offers you a cruel little laugh before catching your lips with his, his thick tip hovering at your weeping entrance. You try to move closer to him, hungry for the stretch and burn of his cock entering your body, but he holds you fast.

There is a surprising vulnerability in his next words, uttered quietly against your ear. “You want me?”

“Yes.”

God help you, but it’s the truth.

You give a strangled moan as he pushes inside of you, writhing from his cock and his teeth in your shoulder. The sound he makes is more animal than human as he works himself inside.

“Even your pussy fights back,” he huffs with strained laughter, easing himself in and out. “God, baby, you feel so good.”

Your fingernails dig into his shoulder as your body protests the invasion half-way.

“Wait…”

“Can’t…” he informs you raggedly. “Breathe for me, kitten, I know you can take me.”

“It’s been a long time,” you admit between a deep inhale, trying to adjust. A long time, and to be frank, none of your previous experiences with men prepared you for him.

“How long?” he demands, as though this is information he desperately needs to know.

“Over a year.”

Long before you met him.

He veritably growls his approval at this figure, and if you weren’t so cock-drunk you would have rolled your eyes at the fragility of the male ego. As it is…you can hardly think straight at all.

“That’s my good girl,” he rasps against your skin as he slides deeper and deeper inside. “So wet for me. So good.”

You cry out as he bottoms out against your cervix. He looks down between you, fascinated by the sight of his body buried in yours to the hilt.

“That hurt?”

“A little.”

“Sorry.” You can hardly believe it when he kisses you with contrition. “I’ll try…” He thrusts again, slower this time, and it makes you see stars. “To be gentle.” He presses his thumb to your lips, and you open for him, sucking and leaving a trail of saliva as he withdraws. When he circles that thumb over your clit you mewl like the needy little kitten you are for him, your thighs tightening upon his narrow hips. He moves for you at just the right speed, teasing you with the thickness of his shaft in all the right places inside. Your walls grip him with abandon, desperate for the pleasure he’s been dangling before you for days.

“You wanna cum, pretty kitten?”

“Yes,” you pant, so desperate for release. Your tight little pussy clenches around his cock in answer, and he sucks in breath through his teeth.

“Then you have to say something for me. And you have to mean it.” 

Fuck. 

“What?” You can hardly remember your own name, much less form complicated sentences as he fills you to bursting, merciless and so very wonderful, his thumb working magic on your clit.

“Say you’re mine.” 

He glides inside you, stretching you more somehow, but removes his hand to grip your hip.

When you meet him with silence he kisses your neck, nipping at your skin as punishment. There will be marks all over your chest and neck tomorrow.

It doesn't matter.

Not like you're going anywhere.

Not like anyone will see you. 

You keen, craving more pressure, more friction, pulling him deeper with legs wrapped around his back, bringing you so close to where you need him. You think you can come on his cock, whether he touches you or not. It would be a victory, to prove that your pleasure needn't only come at his own whim. 

Knowing all too well, he denies it to you, holding himself just shy of it. 

“Say it,” he demands. “Say you're mine, and I'll give you everything you want.” 

“Even freedom?” you dare ask as he strums at you again, a master at keeping the fire at just the right height, making you feel so good, but never quite enough to make you cum.

You don't know how you have the cheek, with his clever fingers between your legs frying your brain.

This man was made to torture you, it seems. He shifts, so that he is making shallow strokes that only barely stimulate you. You scream a little in frustration. It actually makes him smile. 

“Did you know that ninety percent of women cannot orgasm on penetration alone?”

“You don't have to be so fucking smug about it.” 

“You need me.” 

“Do I?”

You reach for your clit, hoping he will be distracted by watching you. Most men would, but not John. He is a man of focus, determination, sheer will. He catches your hand with a warning growl, twisting it behind you. 

Pulling you closer, he buries himself as deep as he can, his face buried in your hair. It doesn’t hurt this time. It feels like he makes you whole, and you feel the bass growl he makes against your ear in the depths of your soul.

“Please? I can’t wait anymore, baby girl. I want to feel you cum with me.” There is a new desperation in his words, and you know he must be close.

“Then let me cum,” you answer, hardly recognizing your own voice. “I want it. I want you.”

“Say you’re mine.”

You are tempted. Boy, are you. You want it so badly your legs tremble, your back arched tight as a bow. A tear rolls down your cheek, because fuck you if a part of you doesn't want to say it. Not just because it's the only way you're going to get to orgasm, and he’s driving you insane. But because...you know it would make him so fucking happy.

You’re afraid if you say it aloud, it might be true.

You are so close, but he is a master of bringing you just to the edge before backing away. In that moment, you hate him as much as you love him. You know, you just know, that if you give in to this possessive madness so soon, there will be no going back. You will be so fucked, and not in the way you want to be.

You just shake your head.

“Go to hell.” 

It is, decidedly, the wrong answer, of course. His eyes darken, and he ruts inside you out of spite, spilling himself with a growl and his teeth in the curve of your neck. You feel the scalding hot rush inside you, the impossible fullness. It is good, and you are this close as he shudders against you, but in the end it’s just not enough.  

You keen miserably as his slick length slides from you, leaving you filled with his cum, utterly wrecked yet still unsatisfied. He wipes his tip across your belly, marking you.

Men.

“You are the stubbornest fucking woman I’ve ever met,” he grumbles low in your ear.

It sends a shiver across your skin.

You have to try twice before you find your voice.

“Thank you.”

He actually laughs, a harsh, disbelieving bark as he shakes his head at you. You watch as he goes to turn off the bath taps, the tub finally full, thoroughly enjoying the view despite how he’s left you. He steps into the water, turning so that he can see you with his arms on the rim of the tub.

You take some pleasure in the fact that he doesn’t look quite satisfied either.

Though your legs barely work, you slide down to the floor with a glare, intending to use the shower instead, away from him. You feel his seed dripping from you, down your thighs in warm thick rivulets. He didn’t ask if you are on birth control, and you’re grateful for your IUD, feeling like you’re armed with a secret weapon. If he means to bind you further to him with bearing his child…he’ll be disappointed. You decide right then that’s a card you’ll play close to your vest.

You take one step towards the shower before he makes a sound of warning low in his throat, and you freeze in your tracks. “In here,” he directs, and you close your eyes with wariness. Of course, that was the deal you’d made with the devil, and he’d warned you not to break an agreement with him.

He’s going to torture you more, you reckon, with his mouth or his fingers or maybe even that magnificent cock again, and you just don’t think your body can take it.

You’re not sure your heart can take it, either.

“Don’t make me ask again.”

Resigned to your fate, you go, sinking into the warm water. It would have been wonderful, you know, if your every nerve had not already been on fire.

You hover up to your neck in the deep tub, trying to relax and succeeding only by half. “Come here,” says your beautiful tormentor, holding out his hand to you. The invitation is deceptively gentle this time. Mr. Wick, the undisputed King of Hot and Cold.

“You are such an asshole,” you inform him as you take his hand, letting him pull you into the circle of his arms against his chest.

“So you tell me,” he says with his lips against your temple, his arm around your waist holding you to him. “You might be a tiger kitten, but you’re still just a kitten.” He almost sounds proud about it. “I’m going to win in the end.”

You’re afraid he’s right, but you’re not ready to surrender just yet.

[sleep-drunk-kitten]

𝐬𝐮𝐫𝐯𝐢𝐯𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚 𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐟𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐚𝐬𝐲 𝐧𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐥 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐝𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐢𝐞𝐬 | 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐨𝐧𝐞

pairing: enhypen x fem!reader, platonic!Sunoo, ft. Lee Felix and Han Jisung of Stray Kids and Choi Soobin of TXT as side characters

genre: crack, fluff, isekai!au, royalty!au

content warnings: the crown prince is a bit of a jerk, war and an absent father are mentioned in passing, other than that there's nothing I can really think of? but lmk if I missed anything!

word count: 3.9k

summary: upon meeting her betrothed and possible murderer for the first time... our protagonist finds herself sure of two things: 1) he's every bit the princely male lead of the novel she'd loved so much in her previous life and 2) he's actually a little insufferable.

notes: It's finally hereeeee!! I'm so sorry for making you all wait for this, but I'm slowly working my way out of that writing slump~ I'm not sure whether or not I like how this turned out, but I hope you guys can just overlook it and move on if it sucks 😭 (please, for my sake, do. I will literally cry if my anxiety's proven right rn-)

I will be making a taglist for this fic, so if you're interested in being added please either drop an ask or let me know in the comments

Everything after the cut IS proofread for once, but please feel free to let me know if any typos slipped through the cracks!

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“Nonono, the blue one was a million times better,” Sunoo said, pointedly ignoring the deathly glares of Felix, your head maid.

  “Maybe it would be if I were going out for an evening ball or something, but it's a bit much for seeing a guest over some tea,” you reply dismissively, inspecting the girl standing in the three large mirrors placed round the circular platform you’d been standing on for the past hour, shifting uncomfortably from one foot to another as your maids brought dress after dress out from your closet and whisked you through trying them on one by one. 

  Sunoo rolled his eyes at the statement, marching towards your vanity and sifting through the jewelry scattered across it till he settled on a length of thin silk ribbons. “Babes, be real with me here, it's not just some tea party and you know it.”

  The three maids who'd been helping you into the layers of lace and silk that made up the soft buttercup yellow gown Felix had chosen stepped to the side to give Sunoo room on the platform behind you, having learned very early on that there was little to no point in trying to stop him. 

  Ribbon in hand, he began weaving the silky material through the hairstyle they'd arranged as neatly and prettily as possible, ignoring a pained noise from the one nearest him. “I mean, it's not every day your fiance comes all the way out to your family’s manor on the outskirts of the city to make sure the bride-to-be he doesn’t actually care about hasn't lost all her marbles.” 

  You didn’t understand how Sunoo managed to carry on chattering with their eyes boring holes into the back of his head, especially when their dirty looks were nothing compared to the expression on Felix’s face–his twitching left eye reminded you of a glitching video game character–but he did, carrying on as if it were just the two of you in the room.

  “Your Grace,” Felix’s voice was strained, “I really do wish you wouldn't say such things to her Highness.”

  “What? That her beloved fiance's come to see her?” Sunoo said, batting his eyes and pouting in mock innocence.

  “That’s not what I meant and you know it,” Felix snapped back, eyes darting between his face and the silk in his hands. 

  “You know she doesn’t really care, right? Why would she care about that cold-hearted stone-faced bas-”

  “Sunoo!” you gasped, cutting him off by stomping on one of his fluffy house slippers with the toe of the wildly uncomfortable heel that had been forced onto your foot. You swear you see the corner of Felix’s lip twitch at the strangled noise your best friend makes. 

  “Ow ?! That was uncalled for- what’s with the look? Is anything I’m saying wrong?”

  “No, but you still shouldn’t be talking that way about a member of the royal family,” you reply with irritation, “you not liking him doesn’t take away from the fact that he’s the fucking prince now does it?”

  In your peripheral, the three maids shift uncomfortably, and Felix doesn’t even try to hide a long-suffering sigh, making a mental note to inform your tutor that your etiquette lessons still weren’t sticking the way they should. 

  Sunoo sees this, of course–grinning evilly at you. “It would seem that it doesn’t change the fact that you’re a princess either, Your Highness, better wash out that potty mouth of yours before your dearly betrothed arrives.”

  You nearly grab a handful of your skirts to give yourself enough mobility to kick him, but Felix launches himself in your direction before you have the chance, shoving Sunoo rather unceremoniously to one side and holding your wrists under the guise of guiding you off the platform. 

  “An excellent idea Your Grace, but I fear we have neither the time nor the soap for such an endeavor as m’lady’s presence is needed in the garden.”

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  It really was a scene straight from one of your romance manhwas; a neatly laid tea table under a pearly white gazebo, your gloved hand wrapped delicately round the gilded handle of a steaming cup of tea–the picture of perfection in your soft yellow dress that matched the white and yellow roses blooming in the bushes surrounding you perfectly. 

They filled the cool morning breeze with their sweet perfume, sending ripples across the clear blue lake so it glittered in the morning sun.

  It was beautiful.

  So beautiful. 

  And yet it still didn’t quite compare to the man sitting accross from you. 

  You’d read his description countless times. Everything from the plush curve of his lips to the sharp intensity held in his dark eyes… yet nothing could have prepared your heart for the sound of his laughter, carried to you over the foliage, the sight of those lips spread in an easy smile as he chatted with your brother, shoulders shaking with mirth.

  Nor, you think, could anything have braced you for the chill that would run down your spine when his smile dropped the second Soobin said his goodbyes, worriedly whispering a plea for you to ‘behave yourself’ as he kissed your cheek and left the two of you alone. Your chest constricting almost painfully when those same dark eyes that you’d squealed and giggled over late at night fixed on you, void of any emotion. 

  He'd stood from his place at the table to greet you, bowing formally in reply to the curtsy your poor tutor had drilled into your bones. 

  “(y/n).”

  “Your highness.”

  “You look to be in good health.”

  “I am, the family doctor and my handmaids have tended to me with so much care since the incident, recovering well is the very least I could do.”

  An awkward pause.

  “You seem to be in good health too, Your Highness.”

  You could’ve kicked yourself when the prince simply nodded and thanked you in return–a flash of something like recognition passing behind his eyes–before they went back to that easy, indifferent facade you supposed was crafted especially for Princess (y/n). ‘which makes sense,’ you mentally deadpan, ‘she was about as close to a crazy yandere psycho as you could get without actually killing anyone.’ 

  Still, those simple pleasantries, taken straight from the pages of volume two of your etiquette lessons, were the only words exchanged in greeting.

  It made even the silvery morning breeze feel stifling.

  Ever the gentleman, the prince pulled out your chair, made sure you were comfortable, and nodded once to your guard. “All is well with the knights of the (l/n) estate, Han?”

  The effort it took to refrain from snapping your head up and giving them both a confused once-over was monumental. It hadn't occurred to you that the crown prince would be familiar with any of your personal guards, though you supposed it made sense. Most of them had, according to Felix, been looking after you since you were only nine or ten, of course they'd be on friendly terms with your fiance.

  “We've been keeping busy, Your Highness,” Han said, and you could almost hear the smile in his voice. Knowing him, he was probably rocking back and forth on his heels, hands clasped behind his back. 

  “That's good to hear,” the prince nodded, settling into the seat across from you, “I fear the royal knights have grown rather complacent since the relief and revelry that followed the war, it has been a task for General Jeong to whip them back into shape.” 

  “I can imagine,” Han chuckled. “But really, who could blame them, it’s taken us a long time to reach this peace, what good would it be if we didn’t take at least a moment here or there to enjoy it? As it is, I doubt we would have stayed so diligent if it weren’t for Her Grace, (y/n)’s been coming down to the training grounds and asking us to teach her some basic swordsmanship of late.” 

  While Han was probably puffing up his chest and beaming proudly over at the prince, thrilled to share the good news that you were finally taking your swordsmanship and safety more seriously, you were trying to avoid choking on air. 

  There were many things that you didn’t know about Princess (y/n) (l/n)–daughter of an esteemed archmage and revered general–but one of the things that had been emphasised enough in the novel enough for it to stick firmly in your mind was this: she was a frivolous, selfish, bitter disappointment to her bloodline. Squandering the skills she’d inherited from her mother to brew potions that only served her own selfish needs, and refusing to entertain the possibility that she could possibly take after the father she loathed for abandoning her to fight in the war . 

  She would never willingly break a sweat. 

  Especially for the sake of swinging around a big heavy old sword. 

  And it seemed the prince was thinking the same thing, his next words directed at you. “I didn’t know you’d developed an interest in adopting such strenuous hobbies.”

  “I… I suppose almost dying will do that to you.”

  “Indeed…” 

  There was a brief pause, in which the prince looked like he was contemplating the milky way while stirring a cube of sugar into his tea. Setting your nerves on edge as you wondered if now was a good time to bring up wanting to end your engagement, or if you should try and “ease into the subject more naturally” as your tutor had told you with his head in his hands, tears of frustration pricking at the corners of his eyes after witnessing just how “abrupt” your manner of speaking was.  

  You were still turning the words over in your mind when his voice cut through your thoughts, crisp and clipped despite the concern you guessed the inquiry was meant to show. “I was told that you were caught in a storm.” 

  “I was,” you nod with a bit too much enthusiasm, relieved to finally have an excuse to fill the silence. “I was told that I was on my way back from visiting a cousin who happened to be staying in town when a sudden storm hit us and knocked my carriage into a ravine-”

  “You were ‘told’ that you were on your way back from visiting a cousin? That fact doesn’t come from your own memory?”

  You blink, caught off guard by his interruption. ‘Isn’t that rude? Is he allowed to be rude because he’s a prince or because he’s my fiance? But wait he shouldn’t be rude either way? Ah screw it, being mad won’t help my case anyway so…’ 

  “Yes, I believe His Grace mentioned in his letter to the palace that the event and the fever that followed seems to have caused a condition the doctors refer to as temporary amnesia, my memories are only there in bits and pieces.”

  “Is this memory loss permanent?” 

  “No, we suspect I’ll start remembering things  little by little, a few are already coming back to me,” you say, one hand gripping the material of your skirt in an attempt to keep your voice pleasant and calm.

Sure, the prince didn’t like the princess much, but that didn’t mean he had to be a prick about it, he could afford to be nicer when he was asking questions about her literally forgetting her entire identity. If you didn’t know how awful she’d be a few years down the road, you would’ve found him insufferable. 

  “I see…” he said, still slowly stirring his tea.

  “What exactly do you see, Your Highness,” you smile a little tersely, bringing your own cup up to your lips, praying that the lipstick your maids had chosen was transfer-proof. 

  The prince raised an eyebrow at you, apparently picking up on the shift in your tone.  “Nothing… I’m simply intrigued by your sudden change in character, and the rather dramatic event that you claim caused it.” 

  It takes you a moment to process his words, and a moment more for agitation to prickle under your skin. ‘The fudge muffin does he mean claim?? I fell off a hill??? Hannie carried me back??? I was out of my mind for a week???’

  Reminding yourself over and over again that in his mind he was talking to someone who definitely wasn’t you, you press your lips into one of the polite, plastic smiles Sunoo had been practicing with you. “I apologise for not hitting my head on something less dramatic… I’ll be sure to aim for the carriage windows instead of massive tree branches if it would be more convenient for you… Your Highness.” 

  “What would have been more convenient for me, and all parties involved, would be your learning to heed warnings, and refrain from traipsing off into town when you know that the sky bodes ill,” he replied smoothly, ignoring the agitation in your voice. 

  “I’ll do my best to remember that then, Your Highness,” you say through gritted teeth, taking a fortifying sip of your rich floral tea, immediately wondering how the prince could possibly drink something so naturally sweet with even more sugar. 

  Your answer seemed to surprise him, another flash of… something crossing his features before it vanished just as quickly as the one before. 

  “Very well,” he nodded, bringing the sugary concoction he’d like to call tea to his lips, distracting you slightly with the way his adam’s apple bobbed as he drank. 

  ‘Oh he hates my guts but dear mother of cheesy romance he’s definitely this world’s male lead…’ you mused, shaking your head slightly to get yourself back on track. You were annoyed. Very annoyed. And the source of that annoyance was speaking to you again. 

  “I came here today to confirm for myself that you have indeed recovered fully, now that I’ve made sure of that there really is no reason for me to linger longer than necessary,” he said, setting down his cup with such practiced ease that it barely made a sound.

  Alarm buzzed under your skin, causing you set your own cup down with much less grace than intended, a sharp clinking noise ringing through the empty gardens. “I- oh shoot- Your Highness there’s actually something I need to discuss with you before-”

  “If it concerns the steadily growing pile of invitations and inquiries piling up on your writing desk we needn’t bother with any discussion,”  he said, cutting you off without missing a beat, already signalling to the guards–who’d moved away at some point to offer you both more privacy–indicating that he intended to stand and leave. "As long as you stick to the promise you just made to listen to your guards and His Grace, you’re allowed to attend and host as many gatherings as your heart desires, just know that I will not be able to accept any invitations, I am a busy man-”

  “Your Highness,” you all but snapped, lips pursed into a thin line, as if sealing them together would stop the flurry of expletives in your mouth from rolling off your tongue.

  “(y/n),” he said mildly, raising an eyebrow.

  “That is not what I wanted to discuss, but while we’re here, why the hell would I need your permission to attend any kind of gathering?”

  The prince blinked blankly, holding up a hand to signal both his and your guards to wait. “What are you on about (y/n)? You’re my fiance.”

  “Yes, exactly, fiance, and by arrangement, not by choice.”

  “I can’t say I follow your meaning, both these things are well established.”

  You swore your eyes nearly popped out of your skull with the effort it took not to roll them. “If I were your wife, or your partner by choice I would, to a certain degree, understand if you wanted me to give you a heads up before I go out-”

  “A head?...”

  “But I’m not, and at this rate I’m really not sure I want to be, I’m an individual totally separate from you, these are my decisions to make, you have no right to dictate my comings and goings… Your Highness.”

  The Prince went silent, watching you steadily, his calm an aggravating contrast to the tense knot of anger and anxiety lodged in your throat. ‘Oh… oh… I’m so sorry Mr. Park…’ you whisper a silent apology in your head and offer a few prayers for your tutor and the vein in his forehead’s good health.

  “What exactly do you mean by ‘at this rate I’m really not sure I want to be’, Princess.”

  The chill that runs down your spine when he uses your title instead of your name is immediate, your hands going slightly numb in the silken confines of your gloves.

“I mean that… that I don’t want to marry a complete stranger,” you manage, fumbling through whatever you could salvage from the script you and Sunoo had prepared. 

  “Is that what you'd call someone you’ve known since childhood?” he scoffed, the annoyance creasing his brows the most feeling he’d shown in response to you since his arrival. 

  “Well from the way you’ve spoken to me till now I can’t exactly consider you a friend now can I?” you seethe, regretting it almost instantly when his expression twists into something almost like hurt. You’re not sure why he made that face, but in a moment it’s gone, and no matter how it made you feel, you have a goal here. Not. Dying. 

  Which probably meant that pissing off the crown prince wasn’t the best idea. But oh well. 

  “I have no memory of you, Your Highness, as far as my mind is concerned, today is our first meeting… and from what I can see, the boy who’s meant to be my future husband sees me as either an object or a nuisance… I was hoping that meeting you would ease my mind about this whole engagement thing, but I’m sure now. I don’t want this.”

  The prince stared at you for a few moments, expression unreadable, and you guess that–aside from what you hope looks like defience and resolve–you look much the same. 

  When the world finally clicks back into motion, he nods once. “You do know that dissolving this agreement between our families is not something to be taken lightly? While our parents cannot force us into marriage, they will still try to convince us of our obligations.” 

  He looked up then, and something in his expression was different. It was still indifferent and unreadable as it had been, but there was a softness to it that you couldn’t quite place. It was confusing. “I understand, I know it won’t be easy, but this is my wish,” you say, relaxing slightly in your own seat. 

  “If that is what you want… I will speak to my father once things have settled down within the palace… I jest about the knights and their complacency, but the air is less than still, war is a messy business, and cleaning up the aftermath will take some time.”

  “I can wait… till next spring, but you must have asked him by then.”

  “I will,” he nods, “and I’ll write to you once it is done so you may speak with His Grace as well.”

  “Thank you… it’s appreciated…”

  You stay like that for a beat longer, staring at each other from across an intricately laid tea table, each of you wondering what the other must be thinking.

  “If that is all… I shall take my leave,” he says, breaking the odd trance. Standing, waves your guards over, and you take that as your cue to stand and curtsy as well. 

  “It was a pleasure meeting you, Your Highness, the (l/n) family thanks you for your time.” 

  “Likewise,” he says, bowing. 

  Han and two other knights make their way over, wearing slightly troubled expressions, you guess they must’ve heard more than they were meant to. But it doesn’t matter, you think, eventually the news of the broken engagement would be the talk of the town, you shouldn’t be embarrassed about a few knights getting a preview. 

  “Before I go,” the prince says, “you should know that you never needed my permission for anything, (y/n). You may come and go as you please, you are an individual capable of thought and making her own decisions, as you say. However you must understand that to the public eye, you are the future crown princess, and that is not something to be taken lightly. It is my duty to do what I can to protect the royal family’s image, and having my fiance attend tea parties and balls when she is not in her right mind would have been foolish, to say the least.”

  He’s being earnest, you realise. Apologising in his own roundabout way. Maybe. Whatever it is, you choose to take it, knowing that beneath whatever dislike he may hold for the former princess, Park Jongseong was a good person. 

  “I… I’ll remember that in future…” you murmur.

  “Good… and one last thing.”

  “By all means.”

  “I know now that you have no memory of me, but you should know that you’ve never called me by my title.”

  “Oh?” to your memory, the princess had never called him anything but his title, he wouldn’t allow it. “Did I… call you by your given name?” 

  For the first time, he smiles at you, and you curse your heart for the way it flutters in your chest. “No, I don’t expect you to use it if it brings you discomfort, but the nickname you gave me when we were six was ‘Jay’, because you said I resembled a bird by the same name.”

  “A Blue jay?”

  “Yes, my hair was lighter then.”

  That confuses you slightly, his hair is black, as far as you can tell, but you ignore it, choosing to smile politely and nod along. “It must have been a very handsome bird.”

  “It was rather ugly, actually,” he says, walking down the gazebo steps to join his guards. “I bid you farewell, Princess, the royal family thanks you for your time.”

  “Likewise,” you respond, watching him as he goes. Noting with a hint of amusement that his hair shines blue in the now bright morning sun. 

  “What was all that about?” a voice says, and, predictably, Sunoo appears from one of the side paths. 

  “Were you listening the whole time?” 

  “Well I tried, but the fountain was too loud, only caught some yelling.”

  “Some guard you are,” you whine, smacking Han on the arm as he joins the two of you, “did you even realise a sneaky little rat was eavesdropping? 

  “Ow! For your information I did, but I figured there was no point chasing him round the gardens when I knew you’d be inviting that rat to tea anyways.”

  “That is very true,” you sigh, grabbing a plate and settling yourself across from Sunoo–who already had a mint chocolate chip cookie stuffed in his mouth. 

₊˚ ‿︵‿︵‿︵୨୧ · · ♡ · · ୨୧‿︵‿︵‿︵ ˚₊

  “(y/n)! Forget soap we’re gonna need bleach for that mouth tonight,” Sunoo cries, doubled over in a fit of giggles.

  “I knowwww,” you groan, massaging your temples. “Mr. Park’s gonna kill me.”

  Sunoo shakes his head. “You make the poor guy sound like an old man, you do realise he’s only our senior by about two years, right?”

  “He’s still my tutor! I’m trying to show some respect, as a thank you for how patient he is with my dumb ass.”

  “He deserves a raise,” Han chips in, settled on the marble gazebo rails with a plate of cheesecake in hand. 

  “He doessss,” Sunoo agrees, waving a teaspoon for emphasis.

  “You’re all really mean y’know,” you sigh, slumping over the table and grabbing one of Sunoo’s hands and moving it into the shape of a rabbit.

  “Not as mean as Sunghoon’s about to be when he sees your posture,” Sunoo says. 

  “What do you mea- Oh! Good morning Professor Park!”

[conceptalbummultiverse]

Only One Left

Hear ye, hear ye! Today I post the first post-Will They Come? one-shot, a short story that continues the Concept Album Multiverse! If you've missed Ziggy and Floyd and are curious about how they adjusted to living in Hunger City, read on! Or read the story on Ao3 here!

This story involves an existential breakdown and a monumental amount of angst, reader discretion is advised!

After observing the rumpled white blanket on the chaise lounge, the multiple empty bottles littering the dressing table, and the smudged vanity mirror, Ziggy Stardust had only one opinion to give of his proposed new home.

       “No.” He turned from his reflection to face the person who had brought him here. “I’m sorry, but this isn’t going to do it for us.”

        “No?” the person who’d introduced herself as Taraji repeated, arching an eyebrow. As the bartender of Hunger City’s premiere entertainment club, the Hole in the Wall, she’d been happy to give Ziggy and his partner Floyd a tour of the club’s basement, once Ziggy’s son, Jack, had suggested that Ziggy move there. Sensing the spirit of adventure, Ziggy had been happy too, until he’d actually seen the basement for himself.

       “What’s wrong with it?” Taraji asked.

        “It doesn’t suit.” Ziggy knew that he was speaking for Floyd, which wasn’t exactly fair, but he also knew Floyd well enough to guess that he shared his opinion of the place. There was the matter of living in a basement, for starters. If Ziggy couldn’t feel the sunlight warming his eyelids as it seeped through the windows every morning, then there was no point in waking. He also wasn’t keen on the idea of living beneath a music venue. Although the recent loss of its star performer was bound to have disrupted its schedule, Ziggy didn’t want to share his space with a packed house of screaming fans and a bunch of rowdy musicians, unless he happened to be the one putting on a show. And considering he hadn’t sung a note since he’d left Planet Earth, the likelihood of that happening was remote. 

       The final straw however, was that up until a few days ago, said star performer, Aladdin Sane, had lived in this very basement, and while Ziggy wasn’t an overly superstitious person, he’d had a strong sense as he walked around the room that his ghost was still present. Though he tried not to dwell on it, he couldn’t stop himself from wondering what would have happened had he and Floyd managed to arrive on this planet a few days earlier, before the siege of Hunger City had begun. The tantalizing vision of running across another one of his people, the long-lost Aresians, refused to leave his mind. 

       At the very least, I could have let him know that he was no longer alone…

“All right.” Taraji glanced over her shoulder to where Floyd was waiting at the bottom of the stairs, apparently taking the dismissal in stride. “If this place don’t suit, maybe my apartment will.”

       “Your apartment?” Floyd said. 

       “Yes. My apartment.” Taraji strolled over to the stairs, a gentle smirk on her face. “I work at this place, but I don’t live here. Aladdin Sane made that pretty clear when I first showed up. I’ve got an apartment nearby.” With her hand on the banister, she paused to address her guests before ascending the stairs. “Follow me. There are plenty of empty rooms waiting for ya.”

       Ziggy gave Floyd a should-we-do-this look, and was met with an it’s-better-than-nothing shrug. All right, then. They’d have to see the place before making a decision, but it was better than nothing. In particular, it was better than staying in the underground refugee camp set up within the Hermesians’ city. Most of the humans had already returned to their homes aboveground, not wanting to overstay their welcome. The only reason that Ziggy and Floyd hadn’t joined them was that they didn’t have a home. Not yet. If all went well, perhaps they would soon.

       Up the stairs and through the main entrance they traveled, struggling to match Taraji’s brisk pace. Part of Ziggy was grateful that he didn’t have to spend any more time at the Hole in the Wall, and yet, with the stage behind him and the bar to his right, he longed to linger. Had Aladdin Sane planned on performing when he’d first moved into this building? Or had that come later? Nothing about the place struck Ziggy as particularly Aresian architecture, but then again, Ares itself had hosted many different cultures, several of which Ziggy hadn’t been familiar with. Had Aladdin Sane enjoyed performing for the humans, or had they talked him into doing so? When had the Hermesians come into the picture? What had drawn so many to Aladdin Sane’s performances? When faced with the challenges of trying to rebuild civilization from scratch and struggling to live in harmony with various aliens, who among the humans had decided that hey, what this city REALLY needs is a rock and roll show? Or had this venue existed in the Aresians’ time? Ziggy hadn’t been to such a club when he’d lived on Ares, but just because he hadn’t been to one didn’t mean that they hadn’t existed. If only there were someone on this planet who could provide the answers to his questions, someone who would understand why he had to ask them…

       “Ziggy,” Floyd murmured, his low voice startling Ziggy from the quicksand of his thoughts. When he glanced at Floyd, the latter jerked his head in Taraji’s direction.

       “Well, now.” Surveying the couple, Taraji rubbed her hands together. “You ready to see the apartment?”

        “Yes,” Ziggy said, though he would have preferred a bit more time, and cast a smile Taraji’s way. “Thank you very much.” 

        The apartment wasn’t far from the Hole in the Wall, which was to say that one could walk there without tiring. As they walked, Floyd stayed close by Ziggy’s side, his arm occasionally brushing against Ziggy’s. Each time their skin connected, Ziggy wondered if this was Floyd’s way of signaling that he wanted to take Ziggy’s hand. A flicker of annoyance kindled to life within him. Why doesn’t he just do it, then? He knew he had to be patient with Floyd, but they’d been together for goodness knows how long. If Floyd ever wanted anything from Ziggy, he could just ask for it. 

       Not that Ziggy was in the mood to provide much of anything. He’d already walked the streets of Hunger City, and he’d recognized the style of architecture on sight, but now that the prospect of moving into one of the surrounding buildings loomed over him, each step triggered a wave of crystalline memories that neither time nor his past drug use had erased. His home on Ares had been lavish, nothing like the gray utilitarian boxes that made up Hunger City. However, he vividly recalled spying such buildings from the confines of his personal vehicle as he’d ridden across the bridge to get to Serafina’s home. He recalled the holidays that his family had taken together, all the cities they’d passed through on their way to the countryside, and he recalled the inner-city functions to which his parents had dragged him once he came of age, usually to sign a document or to judge a complaint. Each and every detail remained with Ziggy– the uncomfortable chairs he’d been forced to sit in while his parents were conducting business, the tickle of the breeze through his vehicle, the anticipation building within him as he daydreamed about how he and Sera were going to spend the day. But all of a sudden, the vast expanse of memories didn’t seem like enough. When he and his parents had visited the city, couldn’t he have asked who lived there and what they did, instead of complaining that he was bored? Why hadn’t he thought to wonder what had caused such drastic divisions between the place where he lived, and the ones he visited? Even when he’d been with Sera, too much time had been wasted on useless declarations of love, when he should have been puzzling out all he could about eir family’s situation and why it was that ey’d asked him to keep their relationship a secret.

        If only I’d known that I’d never get to talk to em again…

When Taraji had led Floyd and Ziggy to the entrance of the apartment building, she pressed her fingertips against a touchpad by the door. Ziggy jolted as the door unlatched on its own accord and silently swung open. 

       “How’d you do that?” he breathed.

       “It reads fingerprints.” Taraji held her hand in the air and wiggled her fingers. 

       “Yes, I—” Ziggy bit back the rest of his proclamation. I know that! One couldn’t have grown up on Ares without knowing that. “How did you get it to read yours?”

       Taraji shrugged. “They can be reconfigured.” A teasing glint appeared in her eyes. “I wouldn’t have lasted this long in Hunger City without a little technical know-how.”

       Ziggy said nothing, but his head whirled as he stepped inside the lobby, Floyd following behind. How had Taraji, whose planet’s technological achievements hadn’t cracked the secret of biometrics in the time that Ziggy had lived on it, figured out how to manipulate Aresian technology in her favor? Not even Ziggy was fully certain of how the touchpads worked. Just how much knowledge had been lost along with the rest of the Aresians…?

       Though Ziggy spotted a lift right away, Taraji made for the stairs, explaining that the lift hadn’t worked properly for ages. As grateful as Ziggy was to leave the dismal, barren lobby, the stairwell was an immediate, uncomfortable shock to the senses. On the walls around him, extending along the length of the stairs, was a series of messages, some scrawled in giant screaming letters and others sketched in a quiet, secretive hand. Before Ziggy knew it, his eyes were leaping from message to message, permanently absorbing each one.

        SAVE YOURSELVES!

      Turn back NOW!!!

       Here lies Rhea Mistari, beloved parent and friend 

      NO ONE IS COMING TO SAVE US

On and on the tributes and warnings went, so many that Ziggy quickly lost track. He ached to tear his gaze away, but some hideous compulsion forced him to keep reading. To bear witness. 

       “Sorry about the graffiti,” he heard Taraji say from further up the stairs. She and Floyd had paused up ahead, waiting for Ziggy. “There aren’t many of us who live here, and we figured it wouldn’t bother nobody to keep it up…”

       Ziggy tried to form the word no, but his lips wouldn’t move. No. Don’t apologize. This wasn't defaced property. These were the Aresians’ last words. His people’s last words. They’d left a testament to what they had gone through, as the natives of this planet exacted their justice.

        It was too much, much too much for Ziggy to take in all at once. He fell into an automatic mode, dimly scanning each word without allowing himself to comprehend anything. Don’t let them get us… REST IN PEACE VARIN… No Aresian would have written on the walls in ordinary circumstances, and never to the extent that these ones had. Imagining how desperate they must have been made Ziggy’s breath catch in his throat. Each person who’d scrawled on the walls must have known that they weren’t long for this world. They hadn’t cared whose minds they’d scar should an innocent stumble across these messages, for survival had been paramount. None of them could have expected Ziggy to witness it all one day… 

       As Ziggy’s gaze trailed down the wall, a series of flowing letters leapt out at him. Before he had even read what they had to say, his heart skipped a beat. He drew towards the wall, tentatively reaching out. When his fingers brushed the first letter, he noticed that his hand was trembling.

       “What is it?” he heard Floyd say from above.

       “I.” Ziggy swallowed and tried to project his voice, but it shook so badly that he wasn’t sure if Floyd could understand him. “I. This handwriting, I— I recognize it…”

        Countless times he had seen this handwriting, on a card signed many happy returns, Ziggy!, or in a letter– I’m looking forward to coming home soon– or at the bottom of a vibrant, colorful canvas. That very same name from the canvas now filled his field of vision. PIA CYGNET.

Beside Pia’s name was a quick drawing of eir face, looking much the same way ey had when Ziggy had last seen em– short black hair pulled into pigtails, cool blue eyes downcast. Even without reading the name beside it, he would have recognized the drawing as his sibling’s handiwork. His frantic gaze moved downward, his heart pounding so hard he was afraid that Floyd and Taraji would hear it. Beneath Pia’s name was another, written in the same flowing hand. KATEE CYGNET. Beneath that, another. DIONE CYGNET. And another… and another. SOMMIE CYGNET. DENYL CYGNET. A drawing of the subject’s face accompanied each name, but each one, save the first, had an X drawn through it. 

        Finally, close to the floor, Ziggy spied his own name. ZIGGY CYGNET. As with the other names, his face has been drawn beside it, but instead of an X marking his features, Pia had written a large question mark. Half-afraid, but unable to stop himself, Ziggy pressed his hand flush against the wall, covering up his depiction. The writing swam before his eyes, each word running into the next. He could feel his breath growing shallow and more rapid, the trembling in his fingers extending to the rest of his body.

       After all this time, he’d found his family, only his family hadn’t been able to find him. According to Pia’s document, each one had fallen to the People while he’d first been secluded in space, then spinning his wheels on Earth. A frantic sense filled him, the urge to do something, even though he knew that it was far too late to do anything. Katee was gone. Dione was gone. His parents were gone. Pia had not marked eir own death on the wall, presumably because ey were gone too. Had they suffered at all? Holed up in the stairwell of their home, reciting the names of the dead…

        They’re all gone. All of them. Every single one.

The wall seemed to lurch forward– or rather, Ziggy was the one lurching forward, his knees buckling. With the wall’s support, he was just barely able to remain upright, but his blood pulsed in his ears and his vision began to blur. His body convulsed, the taste of bile rising in the back of his throat. Never mind Aladdin Sane’s dressing room. This building was full of spirits, everywhere he turned. All around him, the remnants of his people commanded his attention, forcing him to bear the weight of their loss and reminding him that he– he was—

       “Ziggy?” Floyd’s voice was sharp with alarm. Great, now I’ve gone and upset Floyd as well…

“Ex— excuse me,” Ziggy stuttered, though he wasn’t sure if Floyd could hear him. “I’ve got—” I’ve got to get out of here. Got to get out… GET OUT OF HERE! 

       He wasn’t sure how he managed to make it back down the steps, with his chest heaving and his knees turned to jelly, but somehow he managed. Though there were no visible reminders in the lobby of those who had lived there before, Ziggy could still feel his people looking down on him. On shaking legs, he struggled towards the entrance, desperate for a scrap of sunshine, but then he remembered the touchpad on the other side of the door, and all at once it hit him, an ocean wave knocking him off his feet and sweeping him into the undertow.

        I’m the last of them.

        There’s only me.

        I’ll never see them again.

       In his heart, he knew he should have been prepared. He’d suspected it from the moment he’d discovered that the planet Ares had died in his absence. He’d seen Ares’ barren surface for himself while passing it on the way to this one. Though the Aphroditans had told him that they’d followed through with their evacuation plans, he’d been unable to ignore his doubts, which had been confirmed over last night’s dinner with Mylo and Xyloto. Finally, just when he’d thought that at least Aladdin Sane may have survived, Jack had shot down his dreams.

        And yet, knowing that he was the last full-blooded Aresian left alive was different from witnessing it. Now that Ziggy had seen the writing on the wall, the undeniable truth was sinking in that his family was dead. So were all the people he’d visited on his parents’ boring business trips. So was the delivery person who had brought fresh groceries to Ziggy’s home every morning, and the friends who had attended his parents’ frequent dinner parties, and the gardener whom he’d greeted daily while sunning himself in his leisure time, and the craftsfolk who displayed their creations in the park on weekends, and the instructor who’d taught him how to play music, and…

       Everyone. Not just his family. Everyone. Every person Ziggy had ever known before coming to Earth, and all the ones he hadn’t known, had long ago met their end either on the surface of a dying planet, or at the hands of the People whom they’d oppressed.

       A scream began to claw its way up from Ziggy’s chest, but he pressed his hand against his mouth, not wanting Taraji or Floyd to hear him from upstairs. Oh, Lord. He didn’t want to be doing this. He’d survived so much that others wouldn’t have been able to– a six-year cryogenic sleep, two years navigating the unfamiliar Earth, three months of drug abuse, several weeks in a coma following a near-death experience, and two further months of serving as a test subject for Earthly scientists. He’d made his way off the planet, tracked down the Aphroditans, and followed them to the planet on which he was now standing. He was alive. He was safe. But he wasn’t sound, otherwise he wouldn’t be falling to pieces like this. He wasn’t sound because he was alive, and the people he’d dedicated the last few years of his life to saving weren’t.

        As Ziggy stood there, his shoulders shaking feebly with each breath, he dimly picked up the sound of footsteps behind him. Soon he felt an arm draped over his shoulders. If Ziggy hadn’t been aware of who was touching him, he might have ducked away, but he knew that only one person would have dared to approach him in such a way. The arm turned him around, revealing Floyd’s tense eyes and the grim set of his mouth. 

       “Ziggy…”

      Ziggy opened his mouth, but it took him a moment to draw enough breath to speak, let alone to force any words past the painful lump in his throat. 

       “I— I’m the only one,” he choked. “I’m the only one l— left…”

        He couldn’t get anything else out, due in part to the tears streaming down his face, and in part because Floyd chose that moment to hug him. As his strong arms wrapped around his back, Ziggy collapsed against him, shuddering. Some inane part of his brain was convinced that he had to say something, some explanation for his reaction or perhaps a litany of the names he’d read on the wall, but the only sound he could manage to make was a ragged sob, whenever his lungs would permit him to receive enough air. Lord, he really must be going crazy. He’d come all this way, and now his people were gone, and he was crazy, and he had a son, oh goodness, his son was the last of them, but he wasn’t Aresian, not really, and he wasn’t human either, not really, and he’d brought him into this world without remembering that he’d done so, and now he was expected to take care of him, but how could he do that when he couldn’t even take care of himself… 

        “Ziggy.” Floyd’s low, firm voice rumbled in his ear. His hands gripped Ziggy’s shoulders, gently pushing him away until they were looking at each other face to face. His hand folded around Ziggy’s cheek, and Ziggy leaned into the touch, his world shrinking down to the size of Floyd’s palm.

        “Breathe.” The command was delivered quietly, yet firmly- a suggestion that must be followed. Somehow, although the breath was shallow and shaky, Ziggy managed to obey. He forced his eyes shut, trying to connect solely to the place where Floyd was touching him, and to  his trembling, clenched body. Breathe. One, two, three, four. Hold. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven. Release. One , two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight…

        Eventually, the pattern that Floyd had taught to Ziggy so long ago released the tension within him and steadied his heartbeat. Exhausted, he swayed on his feet, losing his balance just in time for Floyd to wrap one strong arm around him, while the other moved upward to cradle the back of Ziggy’s head. 

       “It’s over,” Floyd softly rumbled, his hand moving rhythmically down the back of Ziggy’s neck and stroking his hair. “It’s all over now.”

       Ziggy couldn’t speak, so he nodded instead, his fingers twisting into the fabric of Floyd’s shirt. Yes, it was over. That didn’t mean it hurt any less. But some small part of him appreciated what Floyd had to say. What happened to his people had happened in the past. There was no way to change that. He had no choice but to mourn them, and then move on. 

        Get up, Ziggy. The world awaits. 

Although Ziggy didn’t believe in any sort of God, he decided right then and there to thank God for Floyd Pinkerton.

*

“Is he going to be okay?”

       Though Taraji was clearly trying to keep her voice down, Ziggy didn’t think she realized how sensitive his hearing was. Of course not, he started to think. She’s never met an Aresian before. But she had met an Aresian before, because she had known Aladdin Sane. He offered a grim smile towards the ceiling in response to her query. I sure wish I knew myself.

Floyd, of course, sidestepped the entire question. “Thank you so much, Taraji.” His voice carried through the walls of the other room, and Ziggy honed in on it. “You can go now. We’re good here.”

       “All right.” Ziggy picked up on the sound of Taraji’s footsteps traveling away from Floyd. “If you need me, you know where to find me.”

        Once the door had shut, Ziggy expected Floyd to come to his side right away, but he heard him puttering about the main room instead, doing who knew what. Well, good. He must be exhausted after today. A yawn overtook him as he stretched his body out beneath the soft sheets of what was now his and Floyd’s bed. He’d been resting in it ever since Floyd and Taraji had carried it all the way up to the spacious flat on the top floor, which they referred to as a “penthouse.” The rest of the essential furnishings would be acquired later, once they had found some that were not in use and once Ziggy was in better shape to pitch in the work. Part of him felt guilty that he’d been so useless when Floyd and Taraji were moving his and Floyd’s scant belongings into the flat, but there had only been so much that he could do after having to travel up through the message-littered stairwells again. Taraji had promised that as soon as she got some time to herself, she would take a look into restoring the lift so that Ziggy wouldn’t have to confront the evidence of his people’s mass deaths on a daily basis. Ziggy was grateful that she hadn’t offered to wash the graffiti away.

       Presently Floyd appeared in the bedroom’s doorway with a sculpted mug in hand. Much to Ziggy’s surprise, the mug was steaming. He sat up and reached for it as Floyd came closer, eventually snatching it out of his hand and inhaling the herbal scent.

       “My, my. Where’d this come from?”

       “Taraji laid it on me,” Floyd answered. “Made it herself, apparently. Said it’s supposed to calm the nerves…”

       Ziggy smiled as he wrapped both hands around the mug, the heat soaking into his palms. The last time he’d drunk tea had been on Earth, ages ago. He made a quick mental note to write a thank-you letter to Taraji, assuming this society still kept that tradition. If not, perhaps there was something that he could make for her in return.

       As Ziggy took his first sip of the tea, trying not to burn his tongue, Floyd sat down beside him, rubbing his knee. While at times Ziggy had found himself frustrated with Floyd’s habitual reticence, in this moment he relished it. He hadn’t said much after the scene that Ziggy had caused in the lobby, because there wasn’t anything that he could say. A straight shooter, Ziggy remembered praising Floyd once upon a time ago. That was certainly one of the qualities that had first attracted him to Floyd. While he often struggled to verbalize his thoughts, he always acted with candor and feeling.

       The tea wasn’t the best that Ziggy had ever had– some sugar would do it good– but its bitter, earthy flavor stirred long-ago memories from the back of Ziggy’s head, like a child kicking up dust. He shifted around on the bed, trying to judge if he could pull off a certain trick. It had been so long since he’d practiced it.

       He poked Floyd’s arm. “Want to see something?”

       Floyd’s eyes were cautious, but inviting. “Hmm?”

       Without another word, Ziggy began to swirl the tea around in his mug. He concentrated fiercely on the loose tea leaves sitting in a pile at the bottom. Back when he’d lived on Ares, he’d been able to do this in five adjustments. His parent Sommie had gotten it down to three, which Ziggy had always admired. But because he was out of practice, it took Ziggy ten movements of the liquid in the mug before the tea leaves finally settled into a recognizable image– the slim shape of a tree like the ones that grew on the mountains of Freecloud, its branches reaching greedily towards the blue sky. 

       Once Ziggy had arranged the image just so, he looked over at Floyd, who immediately burst into applause. A smile came to Ziggy’s face, the weight dragging his heart down easing ever so slightly. He inclined his head forward in a seated bow.

       “Thank you, thank you.” Part of Ziggy expected to feel wistful, but somehow, performing the old parlor trick had dispelled the awful tension that had been hanging over him all day. He took a regular sip from the mug. “I learned that quite a while ago, from my… my father.” Using a strictly biological term for one of his parents felt strange, and more than a bit disrespectful, but he supposed Floyd would have a better understanding of what he was trying to say.

       “What was he like?” Floyd murmured. The way he regarded Ziggy, simultaneously mystified and dazzled, rarely failed to make Ziggy want to melt, but he subdued the reaction. What was “he” like, indeed… It was by no means an easy question.

       “He was a kind person. Tough when he had to be, but kind first and foremost. I never saw him rise to anger. He always received any problems I had with an open mind.” Or rather… he’d received most of Ziggy’s problems with an open mind, until Ziggy had begun to ask such questions as why is our garden so much more lavish than my friend Sera’s, and why do people come to our gate sometimes with signs and slogans, and why do I always have to have an escort when I go out? What do you think is going to happen to me? Those problems had been brushed under the rug, leaving Ziggy to wander about in the dark until Serafina had visited him that fateful night and shone a light directly in his eyes, illuminating his mind.

       “He—” Ziggy stopped himself, suddenly at a loss for words. It wasn’t that he couldn’t speak, but simply that he didn’t know what to say. A vision of the family portrait that had graced his home’s foyer rose up before his eyes. How still and stiff everyone had looked, locked into their chosen positions. In a way, they’d remain there forever, having been cut down before any of them were able to learn and progress. If they’d survived the People’s attacks, would his parents someday have realized the error of their ways? Would they have eventually backed off the People on their own accord, or perhaps extended a hand to the Aresians they’d doomed to a slow death back on their home planet? If Ziggy had been reunited with them, would he have been able to make them see sense?

       Earlier in the day, such thoughts might have paralyzed Ziggy, but after seeing for himself the document of his family’s end, he felt strangely nonchalant as he reflected. Maybe his family would have come around, or maybe they wouldn’t have. He’d never know for sure, and he had no choice but to accept that.

       “You know, Floyd,” Ziggy murmured. “You were right, what you said earlier. When you said it was over.” He stared down at the mug in his hands, ignoring the weight of Floyd’s eyes boring into him.

       “I’ll never know why my parents made the deal that they did. I’ll never know why they thought it best to deny the same comforts we had to half the citizens of the land they controlled. I’ll never understand how Serafina could present such a threat to them, and why they demanded I end things with her instead of hearing me out, like they would have done in any other circumstance.” Ziggy steadied himself with a breath as the memories unfurled within his head. Not having the answers to his questions would probably eat away at him for the rest of his life, as it had ever since he’d left Ares. And yet… 

        “But it’s okay, because it’s over now. I can’t bring them back, and I’ll probably never find closure, so I might as well stop looking.” With a shrug, Ziggy reached over to take Floyd’s hand. “I’m ready to move on, Floyd. I’m ready to live.”

       Floyd said nothing for a moment, but his fingers twisted around Ziggy’s, entwining themselves through his.

       “It never goes away,” he said eventually. “You’ve got to remember that.”

       “I know.” Do I ever! “It’s just… This is hardly the end of the road. We’ve got a whole new planet with which to acquaint ourselves.” Under his breath, Ziggy huffed a laugh. “I’ll never forget my family. I can’t forget them. But this is the beginning of a new journey, Floyd. Doesn’t it excite you?”

       Floyd gave Ziggy’s hand a sharp squeeze, thrilling him from head to toe. “Only if I get to accompany you.”

       “Of course!” Again Ziggy laughed softly, reaching to press his free hand against Floyd’s cheek. Ever so slowly, he turned his face towards him, delighting in the sight of his brown eyes. Even after so long, the bemused, upended look that Floyd frequently bestowed upon him was still as endearing as all get-out.

       Stroking his thumb against Floyd’s cheek, Ziggy murmured, “I don’t know what I’d do without you.” The moment he had unleashed the statement, a strange feeling of excitement filled him, balancing on the knife’s edge of fear. If their arduous voyage across space and time hadn’t already done it, today’s events would have proven that Ziggy needed Floyd as much as Floyd needed him. He could think of no one else who would have stayed by his side for as long as he had, supporting him throughout the search for the Venusians and the search for his people and finally the search for a new home. And he could think of no one else whose side he wanted to remain by.

       Floyd responded to Ziggy’s words with an action that drowned them out. He leaned forward, and Ziggy met him halfway. As their lips met, an instant sense of calm swept over Ziggy. He kissed Floyd softly and sweetly, before pulling away.

       “Are you sure you’re going to be okay staying here?” were the first words out of Floyd’s mouth.

        Oh, how sweet of him to ask. Though Ziggy understood Floyd’s concerns, he nodded. The ghosts that haunted this building would never be exorcised, just like the ghosts within his soul. In both cases, though, he was prepared to learn to live with them.

       “As long as you’re here, I’m here.”

        He didn’t need to say another word.

[sarahblueskyyyy]

Fire

Minor DNI! Dewdrop x Ghoulette! Reader, toxic, manipulative, panic attack, fight sex, vaginal sex, breeding, cruelty, porn with plot, blood and injury, Dewdrop is being an a-hole, burnplay, etc.

Fire is destructive. When it meets each other, it either grows stronger, engulfing the world around them, or—it quells and extinguishes its own existence; fights to dominate and die until there is nothing left. Yet, both you and him—find comfort in fire. [“Shame. Had you begged, I’d have let you go."]

Fire is destructive.

When it meets each other, it either grows stronger, engulfing the world around them, or—it quells and extinguishes its own existence; fights to dominate and die until there is nothing left.

Sometimes it works both ways.

Sometimes it clashes, gnawing at the opposite’s core, in attempt to burn it down. The other times, it stands alone. In forlorn, its flame flickers, turns to millions of embers, before shattered completely and dissolve with the sky.

Sometimes—it’s just like that. A daily occurrence, an unfazed phenomenon.

Your snarl dragged out from the base of your throat. Your eyes—just like his, glint in intimidation. Too prideful to back down—a vanity determination to take down the other side; even when you know full well there is no worthy conclusion to be taken in the end.

“Fuck off,” Dewdrop hisses. “Stop bitchin’ for one day.”

You scoff. Hand still wiping on your guitar—using unnecessary amount of pressure through the piece of cloth. “You messed up. Be for fuckin’ real.”

Cirrus and Cumulus are trading looks. Then, Aurora’s violet orbs turn to Swiss. The Multi-Ghoul shrugs—a sign to let whatever happens unfurls by itself. Only interfere when it’s needed.

Dewdrop doesn’t lose his venom. Despite the calm tone, his gruff voice echoed, piercing the right place, “Of course it’s me. It’s hard to see where the mistake comes from when you are one.”  

You freeze—fingers stop moving. The piece of damp cloth, imbued with cleaning liquid, stays on top of the guitar.

“Dew,” Rain is warning him, softly.

“Mia caro, that’s not nice.” Copia then swifts his glance to you. “You too, dear. It’s just a slight miscoordination. No need to engage in distasteful argument.”

“What, why?” Dewdrop pulls one corner of his lips. His voice injected with faux innocence. “She should always remember who she is. A failure, unwanted being, accidentally summoned from the pit—”

“Okay, spitfire.” Swiss reaches for him, wrap his arm around his shoulder. He’s trying to direct the red-eyed ghoul’s attention by ruffling his platinum hair. Tenderly, playfully. Refuse to be pulled into the heated atmosphere. “Let’s pack up. We need to go back to the hotel anyway.”

However—a fire is unyielding. It will not stop until it strikes to every side possible. “You cryin’?”

You blink. You can feel your visual blurred and there is a pang prickling in your chest, quickly spreading to the end of your fingertips. However, you just take a deep breath, put your guitar back to its case, and walk away—let yourself be the first one who arrives at the bus.

Cardinal Copia pinches the bridge of his nose.

.

.

.

.

.

“You are not a mistake,” Cumulus says gently. She let your head slumps to her chest comfortably. She uses both hands to give you a back rub in vertical motion, while your biceps rest on the sides of her body. “You know that, right?”

“Mh-hmnn.” An incoherent mumble. You need some moment before uttering the words that have been lingering in your head; even before the Fire said it himself, “He’s not wrong, though. It’s not supposed to be me—you’re not supposed to have two fire wielders in one pack.”

She sighs, kissing the top of your head. You find an unbelievable amount of warmth through the simple gesture. “Sweetheart—there is no rules in things like these. You bond well with the others—it means you belong here.”

With the others, except …, you let the words hang at the end of your tongue. Prisoned by your own voice box.

“Cumulus,” you call for her.

The Air Ghoul bats her eyelashes, waiting for your answer.

“I love you—you are the best.”

She laughs. “Bet you use those lines with everyone, you flirt.”

A grin flashes across your face. “I do.”

.

.

.

You remember the ordeal as if it was yesterday. It was as clear as the water in small stream, so transparent you can see the bottom of it.

You didn’t remember what kind of being you are—or if it was matter in the first place. But, you do recall the way something rips apart your soul, your physical body—unravelled it through space and time, until you landed on the symbol, infused with devilry.

You remember how you felt your whole body burn and ache. Horns bowed heavy at the sides of your temples. Long, acute nails scratching on the concrete below you. You recognized the smell of your own blood, from the scars all over your body—because a summoning never delivers something unscathed.

You relive the anger back then—the hatred and all the conniption you carried with every inch of your nerves because you knew you shouldn’t be there.

A mistaken calling, an unwanted prodigy.

And you remember the harsh, rough flame that covered you, rendered you useless, made you writhe and wailed and cried pathetically—begging, pleading, to be freed from it.

And then—

--you wake up. Your breath hitch and the oxygen stings your lungs. You stand up from your position, trying to calm the remarkably fast heartbeat, trying to comprehend your surroundings.

But it’s a vain effort. Your head is spiraling like you’ve been hit by a powerful swing—it affects your eyes and now everything seems splitting. You curse under your breath. Sweats make rivulets on your back and forehead.

I need to grounding, you think to yourself. In theory, it’s easy—try to focus on your senses and pay attention on the smallest things. Something real—something to make you certain that you are here instead of anywhere else your mind tries to convince you.

Once again—it’s no use. All your fingertips could feel is a hard, freezing pavement below you. And instead of the aroma of your own room—it smells like blood, fire, and a hint of morning dew.

Fuck. I need to breathe.

You inhale sharply. No matter how many times you try to feed your lungs—it feels never enough. The air is not going there; it sits in your throat and that’s it.

Call the others?

No—I can’t bother them.

You open your drawer—snatching an object, made of metallic with wooden handle. A simple folding knife; a gift from Swiss—to celebrate your arrival, he said.  

You place one of your hands on the table. Palm heads up. The other hand gripping the knife—fingers anchoring on the wooden handle. You don’t count to three when you raise your arm up to the air, before shoving it back down in rapid speed, piercing your palm, right through the other side.

You hear a wail much more faster than your ability to recognize that it’s yours.

The pain hits you abruptly—sending shivers to your nape, crawling to the end of your toes. And, Satanas, it’s fucking—hurt, but then all your senses are wondrously working.

Pain is an effective everything, Dewdrop verbalized that once. And now it’s ringing in your ear. He’s not wrong.

Your eyes have stopped its whirling. You can see your own feet and the bleeding hand. You can smell the result of your body perspiration—and the faint morning dew. You can hear the sound of your thumping heart, and—one’s footsteps in the hall, before it amplifies in every stride, stops at the front of your door.

Wait.

Morning dew and—

“Open your fuckin’ door.”

You sigh. You try to gather yourself. But you can’t hide the hoarse on your voice, makes it lose all its arrogance when you say, “Fuck off, Dewdrop.”

He calls out your name. Not a nickname that is intended to sneer or scorn at you. Your name—one that you chose for yourself, to represent the whole you.

Dewdrop enunciates every word, “Open the door.”

You felt your head heavy. As if the gravity suddenly increases tenfold, pulling your head down.

“‘S not locked.”

When the door is swung open, you could see his unvexed expression. You’re not sure whether that’s a façade or not, but—you do realize he takes a short glimpse at your palm. He closes the door behind him and gets closer to you.

You could see your own reflection on the red orbs. Without averting his gaze from yours, he stretches his arm slightly, grabs the knife, and pulls it out in one motion.

“Mngh!” You bite down your lips. Okay, Lucifer—that hurts, hurt.

He puts the knife on the table. Kneels down, he takes your hand from the table. “The fuck is going on,” he starts. Not even a question. “Everyone can smell your blood miles away.”

And hears your wail, but he doesn’t turn that into an audible voice.

You see him inspecting at your cut. With little energy left, you answer him, “Panic attack. I needed grounding—nothing helped me. Resorted to drastic measure.”

“And you can’t just call?”

“Who—you? Right.”

“Use your fuckin’ head,” he spats. You shut your mouth. “Next time; you call.”

You detect a small spark of fire from his fingers.

Memories flash once more in your head; the summoning, him restrained you on the ground, the fire—you pull away, blood dripping everywhere.

“No!” You let out a choked word. Heat creeps to your eyes, forming a puddle of water. “No fire ….”

Dewdrop looks at you. He doesn’t need to do a scrutiny to answer the sedentary questions on the back of his head. He waits a few seconds before trying to reach you again. “No fire. I bring Rain’s medical kit.”

You still hesitate.

Dew scoffs. “Give me your hand—I don’t have all night.”

You let him grasp on your palm. And—you just realized he does bring a medical kit. Didn’t aware of it before.

He works on your hand. His movement is not of a compassionate one, but also far from rough. You can feel the stings when he tugs the bandage. Small bullet of tears falls from your fluttered eyelashes. You harshly wipe it away from your cheek.

From your point of view—you could see his horns. Perfectly placed on his temple, framing his head. The horns are simple, straightforward without any curve. It’s white with dark red gradation at the base. The colour shines under the light.

“Done.” Dewdrop closes the box. “Try not to stab yourself again.”

“Why do you even come here, Dew?”

“Babysitting shift. Apparently, it’s my turn.”

You growl. Eyes glint dimly, scowl at him.

He smiles. Challenging. An attempt to ignite another fire. “What? Wanna cry?”

“Get the fuck out.”

He shrugs.

Then, after you close your door, you look at your hand. The bandage is neat and perfectly protects the injured hand.

You don’t get him.

.

.

.

It doesn’t mean anything has gone better. As the matter of fact—it’s been going downhill, keep rolling, and hasn’t reach the bottom, however deep the end line will be.

However, it’s undeniably going there.

Speaking truthfully, you have a basic idea why he loathes you so. Probably has something to do with the way you share his specialty. Or the way you push yourself to the edge in everything you do; all or nothing. The same determination you put on stage while chanting the words of Satan.

The way you bleed and bruised because you practice more than you should be, pushing yourself to the brink of exhaustion.

However—you still think that’s a bad reason to hate his own kin.

Actually, you should be the one who nurtures the grudge. Keep it safe deep inside your core—let it unleash when the time is right. He burned you that day—that was not an accidental mistake, despite how your summoning was.

You are still a defect. Not were; not back then. Now. Until the end.

You can practically hear him, albeit no exact words are spoken. It’s crystal clear what he is thinking, even when he’s peacefully enjoying his dinner. Let his sharps teeth rip apart the sitting grilled meat on the perfect-polished plate. It’s not cooked all the way—you can taste raw blood on your tongue.

The first time dinner were served in this abbey—you asked naively, “What meat is this?”

Phantom’s soft smile and Aurora rubbed your back were enough of an answer. You never brought up about it anymore.

“What’s wrong? Are you not feeling well?” Cirrus chirps. She moves her eyes between your plate and your eyes.

You put a smile. “No, just ... I’m full.”

Cirrus blinks at your half-eaten foods.

Mountain, tries to be as subtle as he can get, sniffs the air. He then says, “Just leave it be. I’ll finish it.”

“Well, that’s not fair, is it?” Swiss takes the last bite of his portion. His grin is wide, deliberately showing his teeth.

Cumulus laughs. “Boys.”

“Holding yourself back from getting a second fill, Dew?” Rain asks, he nudges the Fire Ghoul besides him.

Dewdrop carves a simple smile. “I don’t eat dog’s leftovers.”

You stands up. Smile doesn’t reach your eyes. “I’m going back to my room first.”

You realizes some pairs of eyes that are directed to your back. You tries to ignore it; along with the sentence that spitted out from his mouth.

.

You did feel full—however, for some reasons, your stomach grumbles once more in the middle of the night. You swipe your palm on one corner of your lips. A splatter of blood. Your eyes are luminous—much more so in the dark. Looking at the dead rabbit—or at least what’s left of it. The intestines are scattered on the dirt, the eyeballs protruding from its eye sockets.

Not bad, but ... eurgh.

You hear a rustle and footsteps. You turn around, in reflex you flick your wrist, and flame bursts on there.

“Drop it,” Dewdrop spits.

You growl. “I’d rather burn you instead.”

He’s unperturbed by the threat. Glances at the carcass. “That rabbit has rabies.”

“I’ll bite you then, let’s see if it’s true.”

“Calm down.” He cocks his head to the abbey. “Rory was searching for you. Worried by your lack of appetite.”

“Right.” You shakes your hand. The fire vanished in a mere second. “Tell her I’m fine. There is nothing to be worried about.”

“Yeah.” Dewdrop pokes at the poor animal with the tip of his shoes. “Okay. Suit yourself.”

You frown at him. “That’s it?”

Dewdrop waits for the following words that might follow.

You stammer—baffled by your own question. But you refuse to back down; to retract the illogical query, “No mockery, no taunt, the throwing insults—”

“You want me to?”

—then why the fuck have you been hostile all this time?

Something snaps on your head—quickly eroding your patience, sends lump to your larynx, and all you want to do is spit out.

But instead—you reach where he stands. In one swift movement, you clutch at his shirt, pull it down until his neck is accessible to your lips.

You expand your jaw—flexing the fangs, before it digs to his neck.

Dewdrop hisses.

You taste a distinct metallic liquid—a long stripe of your tongue dances across the freshly made scars. You allow your lips to latch on him a little longer. Drinking softly, satisfied the thirst.

Weird. You just ate, but—the hunger rises even more. There is sweet, cold sensation on your throat, flowing abundantly.

Dewdrop presses his forehead on your shoulder. “Fuckin—bitch.” The words almost lose all its meaning. He puts his hand on your back, tracing the spine, before his fingers stays on your waist.

You unconsciously whimper. Goosebumps all over, soft electricity tickles every cell of you.

Guess she’s still hungry after all.

Dewdrop waits for a perfect 10 seconds and he realizes that you have no intention to stop. Blood literally drained from his body—and he starts to feel light-headed. His vision swaying, as if it’s rocked like a new-born baby.

He struggles, holding your shoulder. “Fuck, stop it.”

You hums. His request falls on deaf ears.

Dewdrop grits his teeth before deciding to flex his fingers, nails short but sharp, claws at your back. Not deep—yet, enough to invoke your screams.

You gets away from him. Pupil wide, looking at him and the streams of blood on his nape, dripping to his shirt.

Your first grunt is sent to give a warning. The second one is a promise.

Dewdrop stands sturdy on his feet. You leaps at him, claws and fire blend into one. You pushes him to the ground, using full force of your body, sit on his stomach and plant your nails on his chest, dragging it forward.

You grins. You shouldn’t feel as excited as you do now, but—you do.

Dewdrop groans, he hits your side with his knee—not his best attempt, not using his entire power, yet capable of launching you away from him.

He coughs. Spews blood. He already lose some of it because you latched at him like a stupid leech. He sees you writhing on the ground. Suspecting your ribs must have been broken.

He uses the chance to strike back, caging you with his body, teeth slashes your neck.

You cries, fights back, grabs at his arms.

He bites harder, using one of his hands to caged your wrist, put it on top of your head.

You wail, relight the fire on your palm.

Dew hisses, pulling away his hands, lose his momentum. Despite him owning the element, a foray from the same kind still hurts the same—your fire burns him in a way he can’t burn himself with his own fire.

And you jumps once more at him. Scratching, burning, killing, claiming—at least that’s the idea.

The fight lasts for only another 5 minutes—before Swiss found his teammates ripping each others’ guts out and processing to separate them. The others are showing up almost at the same time with him. Half of them seize Dewdrop—his hands still digging out from the arms that contain him; seeking your flesh, nails bathed by your blood. His grin is as wide as yours.

The ghoulettes grip at your waist—for both of your arms covered with fire. You keep trying to magnify the flame—but Rain pours a colossal amount of clean water on you. It's prickling on your wounds and you kicks uncoordinatedly in retaliation and expressing the pain.

When Copia hears the news, both you and Dewdrop already fell into the state of forced slumber. Phantom used his devilry—a forte of his—to make you and Dewdrop lose consciousness, stopped the fight instantly.

Copia, in the state of frustration no one ever seen before—says calmly, “We need to send one of them back. Or both.”

Mountain knits his eyebrows. “It’s just a fight.” He doesn’t sound sure of his own statement. It sounds like he’s trying to assure himself—rather than the leader.

“One of these times, they are gonna kill each other,” the man speaks in authority and absolute law. He looks at the sag bodies of his ghoul and ghoulette. Wrapped in bandages, black and blue everywhere. The obvious burn spots are tormenting to look at. “And that’s not a pretty sight I’d want to see—for the rest of you to see.”

“Sending them back to hell will relive the previous memory.” Cumulus’ tone is soft. “‘S not going to be a pretty sight for both of them either.”

Copia sighs.

“Then make sure they stop doing this.”

.

.

.

It was a disaster. It truly was. You weren’t sure how you lose it. Perhaps it was the last trigger that you needed to break loose all hell. Perhaps after all this time—all you wish to do is fight back.

You take a deep breath, then let it go gently. You raise your hand to reach the cupboard. Grab a cup glass, wanting to fill it with water.

But then you notice the healed scar on your wrist. An inarguable prove that someone once raked your skin.

You look at it then blink. After the incident—Copia strictly advised you and Dewdrop to create some distances. Practice is withheld until further notice. You clearly heard the underlying threat from Copia, albeit unspoken, “One more of this tomfoolery, I’m sending you back.”

So here you are—avoiding him as much as you can. The same way he’s excusing himself every time he notices your presence. Both of you have enough sanity to not fuck up for the second time.

Even so, the relationship between you and the pack haven’t changed, so does him and the others. Cirrus, Cumulus, and Aurora still hang out with you a lot—and you cherish every second of it. Mountain and Rain, using their alchemy, tend to your wounds. Swiss is still as the same as the usual.

You’re sure that’s the case with him as well. So, it really resurfaces the question once more ...

... why does he despise me?

No. It’s maybe ....

You look at your wrist. The recollection of that night flashes in front of your eyes. The calm, shining moon, under a starry sky. And in a matter of a second, as if something ties up your chest, pressing it down—you feel your breath hitched.  

You put the glass on the table before drop it down and possibly break it.

Oh, no.

You recognize all too well of what’s coming. The sound of your own heartbeat is loud, pounding your ear drums.

“Hey—are you okay?”

You bring your head up—eyes land on Mountain’s figure, just a few steps away from where you are. You suspect he’s going to have a breakfast, as you were intending to do.

You swallow a chunk on your throat, “Yes, I’m fi—”

—ne? Really?

Mountain calls for your name. He gets closer, places his palm on your jaw.

“Sorry,” you say weakly. “Can you squeeze me—really hard?”

“Yes,” he answers, fast, doubtless. He puts both of his arms under yours, adhered his body against you. He gives you a firm hug, pats your back. His tail, spade-pointed, even delicately wrap around you.

It is so strong, yet—you don’t feel suffocated. It’s warm and more than you can hope for. It makes you smells the particular earthy fragrance—as if you’re lying on a field of flower in the middle of the spring. Your hammering heart slows gradually, back to its original resting rhythm. You sob quietly, hugging him back when the addled brain finally clear.

You sigh.

He was right.

You should have called somebody—no matter who.

.

You meet him again after a while. You find him sitting on a window tracery. A big one—located in the highest part of the building. From here, you could see the view of the whole hill. The green and dark forest, skirted this—castle. And on more far away, you could see the faint, glimmering light of the city.

Dewdrop, without turning his head, asking, “What?”

“Rain is looking for you,” you say, face directed at him. Leaning one of your shoulder to the frame of the window. Built out of stone, all the slopes were precisely carved into pointed trefoil, with flowery-like strokes all along the edges. “Wanna take a look at your knee. He’s at the chapel.”

He scoffs. “And out of all people, he asked you to fetch me?”

“No.” You still look at his eyes—reddish with a tint of blue. The colour of flame. “I volunteered.”

Now—there it is, he looks at you. Confusion painted on his scowl.

“Tomorrow is our first rehearsal since ... the incident.” You smile. “Wanted to talk to you first. Make sure we don’t fuck it up again, hm-mn?”

He delivers a humourless chuckle. “Right.”

And, amongst the silence that fills the air, you break it gently, “Why do you loathe me, Dew?”

Without missing a beat, he speaks, “You’re a mistake.”

“No—I’ve heard that one,” you persist. You stand on your tip-toes, raise your head to meet his eyes—because he’s sitting in a higher position from you. You extend your hand, tugging on the hem of his shirt. “Why, exactly, do you that relentlessly—scorn on me?”

Now—you are not sure what kind of face you make at him. Or what gear just clicked on his mind, turning, rolling around—linked on the correct places. However, he seems determined to answer truthfully, as he grabs the back of your neck. Strong enough that you feel his nails.

“You are insufferable.” His fingers rubbing your nape. “You fuss, you howl—testing my patience. Ever since you rose from that pit.”

You wait.

“To the point I want to burn you whole.” He smiles. “To scars you—rake my claws on you. To see you bleed and writhe—to see you fuckin’ break, ruined and wrecked.”

“Then fuckin’ break me,” you growls. An invitation, disguised as a provocation. You whine. “Ruin me, Dew. What are you waiting for?”

He snarls. Eyes lustful—one claw is teasing your skin, prickling it. He clutches on your sides, lifts you up—makes you sit on his lap. Groins grinding at each other and you bucking your hips—frictions send quiver to your legs.

“Shame.” He catches your jaw with one hand. Forcing you to look at him. “Had you begged, I’d have let you go.”

Had I begged; you’d have enjoyed it more. You want to say that. But you don’t bother. No, when his hands roaming on your body—take off your shirt, fling it somewhere. You’ll find that later. His fingers outline your curves and find themselves on your breast. He pinches the nipples, hard—unforgiving.

You tremble and he orders you to stay still with the scratches he makes below your tits, between the lines of your ribs. He twists the tip of your tits. Smears your chest with your own blood.

As a way to distract yourself from the pain—you nib on his neck. Teeth are sinking and Dewdrop groans—a mix of pleasure and a throbbing pain.

You can feel heat and wetness pooling at the centre of your sex. His hands are unrelenting working their way on your soft plump of flesh. Kneads it, harshly, like a cat forcing its paws.

And see—it’s been going on fine, until the scent of metallic liquid distorts your mind once again. Your breath in and out in a broken tempo—but not in a good way. You inhale, hold it as if water strangles your lungs, and you exhale as if you are choking on something.

Dewdrop notices it, holding your jaw, cupping it with his palms. He hisses—then seals his eyes into yours. “None of that. You focus here—only here.”

You nod frantically—trying to follow his lead.

He brings your forehead to meet with his. Horns clunking, nuzzling against each other.

“Deep breath.”

Trembling, you close your eyes. Try to grasp the air, let it walk through your diaphragm, slowly, but surely. And—here it is, the smell of a morning dew. Droplets on the leaf when dawn emerges from the dark.

Dewdrop uses his fingers to tap on your back—like playing a piano. Careful on each tuts, but demolishes any gesture of hesitation. You feel the warm taps behind you—recognize the heat, the unusual high temperature that separates him and the others.

When you lift your eyelids—red orbs, black sclera, are there to welcome you.

Dewdrop’s eyes are crosshairs, locked into you. “You with me?”

A nod.

“Words.”

“‘M here,” you say. Slightly pull your head back. “I’m here,” you repeat, murmuring so soundlessly. You take another breath before tilting your head, calculating the right angle.

Dewdrop let you work with your own pace. His hands still tapping and you kiss him. It’s slow at first—testing the water, getting known of the uncharted territory. Doesn’t take long until you find the guts to do more—to bite on his lips, to increase the magnitude, knock around his teeth using your tongue. The clicking of each lips, the hungry, and needy sucking are growing—ravaging in a way no one ever has before.

Dewdrop stifles his moan. Can feel you drooling and he involuntarily scoffs against your mouth.

He makes sure you’re not relapsing first before his fingers travel south. Circling around your navel, before stopping on the zipper of your pants. He takes off the button, zips down, middle finger and ring finger swipe the outside of your underwear.

You gasp, stomach muscle tightens. He strokes the damp cloth, made of soft cotton. Patience was never really his strong suit—he said that before—he slides down your underwear from your hips. A trail of half-transparent slick makes a thin bridge before it severed by the created distance. He slips his two fingers up to your entrance, creating an incline inside—a contour, moulded by him rightfully. 

You shudder, nails digging on his shoulder. Clenching from the new sensation—almost shut close your thighs together. But his other arm clasping on it—prevents you to do so.

His fingers move inside, stretching the overly, unbelievably—spongy walls. Your hip keep shifting and he feels stiff in his pants it’s almost hurt. As if something is biting down on him. But mostly it hurts because he knows that the urge that has been seeping through him since who knows when—is now attacking back as a horde, nullifying the sane part of him (a small part he has).

“Ah—”

You bite your lower lips.

“No. If you hold it; I’ll stop.”

You moan. The fingers poking at the right place. Scratching your inner muscle that keep contracting-relaxing. “The—,” you hold a wail, “—chapel is right below us.”

“Not my concern.”

“Dew—!”

He presses at the clit using his thumb and you slightly jump. You purr and elicit high-pitched, un-verbal cry as the touch on your bundle of nerves doesn’t stop. You gripping on his fingers, wave of pleasure ready to wash over you and just a little bit more—just a little bit more, you’ll cry in relief, let go of the tension.

But—he stops in a precise time. Like a cruel joke, he grins, and all the pride, the resolution, or anything that was left of you—was burned completely.

You look at him, all teary, stimulations sending you over the edge. Heart is torn-up by shame and the desire to wanting more; to savour what heaven feels like.

Or hell—if it’s any matter.

“You want me to break you?” Dewdrop slides off his own pants. Fingers circling on his own erection, thumb idles on the tip—purple-ish colour. So beautiful, so unworldly. It’s hard, blood filling his sex so fully, leaving no space between veins, nerves bulging almost painfully.

He position himself, glides his cock between your labia—slippery, soft. Wetness helps him, but nothing compares to your evoked whimpers; drumming in his ear, intensified the arousal that keep building inside him, ready to burst anytime. Ticking bomb of indulging deed you both are participating right now.

He groans. “I’ll break you, love.”

You moan. His hand on your bottom and a harsh slap is given ruthlessly. You wail, forehead droop on his collarbone—keening into his touch, despite all the abuse he’s been putting you through. Your ass must be red and probably bleeding, for you can feel he keep whipping on your skin.

And when he finally thrust inside—he does it rough, hips slamming, squelching, each sound lewder than before. You roll back your eyes, back arching. He grips on your hips, moving it in tandem with his pace, and with every push-and-pull, with every shove—he feels so good he almost whining, for his shaft gets drown in the molten, spasming flesh.

There are trains of grunts and moans and you can’t help the sad, pathetic, dog-like plead, “Pleasepleaseplease—”

Dewdrop slams his hip, knocking at the base of your cervix, plant himself to the hilt. You cry, incapable of forming words. Nothing really matters except the gushing feeling on your lower stomach; the absolute relish of the most primal, worldly—longing.

Dewdrop spread your half-dried blood to your clit. He’s trailing a repetitive motion there. You can feel your legs twitching, toes-curling, and your ragged breath becomes more and more disarray. The threatening climax is there and by Satan—you wish to embrace it like a good girl of Lucifer you are.

It’s doesn’t feel like it’ll be enough. Out of your own volition, you keep bouncing down, chasing the immeasurable peak, and your claws deep on his shoulders, near his neck. Incoherent words, breaking moans—you sob as he rutting inside.

And when he releases inside you, at the same time when you orgasm—something zaps you hard, rattling on your brain, reverberating through your body and your vision turns to white, glimmering, shattering pieces. The back of your eyes are running around, cells swirling and all that. Your scream is erotic, hurdling on every corner of the room. You can hear Dewdrop’s choked up groans as he fills you inside, as his cock still scraping your walls, deterring his cum from coming out.

You cry, limbs vibrate, but—all of your energy has been wringed, and nothing you can do except squeeze out the remaining tears, the manifestation of the overwhelming euphoria.

Dewdrop exhales heavily, chest moves up and down—slowly, following his breath. He grabs the side of your head, kisses your temple. His hand brushes the sweats on your cheek before he bites on your chest.

You whine—a useless protest.

Dewdrop smiles.

.

.

.

.

.

“Finally found a way to cope with your own emotion, dear?”

Dewdrop blinks. He offers a smile and caress his nape. A new bandage encircles his neck softly enough to make sure he doesn’t lose the ability to breath. Rain’s handiwork is neat, clean, and flawless as usual.

“I always knew how to cope with my emotion, Papa.”

Copia sighs. He’s scanning the ghoul in front of him and he gets reminded by one particular ghoulette—with almost the same pattern of new scars. “Yes, but she didn’t know how. You let her standing on a too thin of a line, Dew.”

Shoving her around like a cat playing with its food. Copia almost verbalize that. But he doesn’t have to—he knows Dewdrop knows the implication behind his words.

Dewdrop’s crooked grin expands, just a slightly. “Well—but it’s all true. She is a mistake. The incantation was supposed to bring a being with more—peaceful, element. She raised hell on earth the moment she arrived.”

“Yes, but it was your request to keep her—instead of sending her back right away.”

The Fire Ghoul hold his hands behind his back. Like a merciless, wicked child—knows nothing except taking what they want. Inflicting pain is their first and foremost nature, laughing on the misery of others.

“And yet—the final call was in your hand and you chose for her to stay.”

Copia rolls his eyes. He swears to the King of Hell he adores one and every single of his ghoul, but sometimes—they are his everlasting headaches.

“One rule, Tesoro.”

“Anything, Papa.”

“I don’t want to see another blood-bath,” he states. “Your fellow mates are far more delicate than you are—and her.”

“I won’t,” promises Dewdrop. He waves his hand as Copia turns to the other way, walking across the hall. He lets out a snort and walking to the opposite way. On the corner of the hall, he notices the unmistakable footsteps.

He looks at you and says, “Rain and Mountain have checked you?”

You give him a nod. “Yeah. Met Papa after that. He asked me where did I get the wounds.”

He scoffs. “What did you tell him?”

“Hunting,” you speak nonchalantly. “Fought with the bear.”

“Right. Smart.”

You hear the sarcasm and decide to ignore it. “Well—anyway, I’m going back.”

“Tomorrow before practice,” Dewdrop calls for your name. “My room?”

You laugh half-heartedly. “What, like a bitch in heat?”

Oh, so now—she bites back.

"Aren't you one?"

“No,” you answer. “Can’t have the guitars smeared in blood. Use your head.”

Dewdrop doesn’t return the taunting as you’re walking away from him. He just smiles, going to his own resting place.

Fire is destructive.

When it united, it grows so powerful it swallows up the world around them. More often than not, it fights each other, meeting in the middle, before eradicates its own life.

But, just for a fleeting moment, a second when two fires meet each other—there is a foxtrot between them, every flame, every ember, intertwined like lovers’ fingers, twirling and drowning together, like a pair of bettas with their flowing and colourful tails, brush against one and another.

And both of him and you—find comfort in fire.  

[ofpineapplesanddawns]

This idea hit me like a ton of bricks, so of course I had to write it.

From my au where Lucian and a vampire!Peter live together and have a cat named Catmilla.

Warning: mentions of silver-related injuries, Peter has pierced ears and nothing in canon can change my mind

On with the fic!

--

Peter frowned as he dug about in the little box where he kept all his piercings, both fake and real. He wanted to wear this one pair he had that were snakes with little red gems dangling from them, but he couldn’t find both of them. Well, he had one of them, and it had been left exactly where he placed it this morning before his shower. But the second one, which had been right next to it, was missing.

Had he put it back in the box after he dumped it out to find the piercings in the first place? 

Hmm, no, he knew he had left them both out. Had Catmilla knocked it off? No, she hasn’t moved from her cat bed by the window, too comfy with the Vegas sunlight to bother getting up any time soon. 

He looked all over and around his personal vanity, not finding the damn thing. With a huff, Peter moved out of the room as he worked to put the lone piercing in. “Hey babe,” He called out to Lucian, wherever he was in the flat, “you got a sec?”

“Yes, I’m just in the weapons hall.” Lucian called back and Peter found him removing one of the swords from the wall, wearing gloves. Ah, right, he was planning on cleaning and sharping some of them today. 

Peter noticed his boyfriend has his hair pulled back, always a good look for him, but he also noticed something else. 

Something familiar dangling from Lucian’s left ear.

“There it is!” Peter exclaimed, making Lucian jump, nearly dropping the sword. 

“W-what?” Lucian blinked, turning to look at him.

“My earring! You had it! I spent forever trying to find the match and you had it the whole- wait a fuckin’ minute! You have pierced ears!?” 

Lucian set the sword side before turning completely to face him. “Ah, well, just the one, actually. But yes, I have a pierced ear.”

“B-but I’ve never seen you wear anythin’ before? And don’t you heal quickly from injuries? How can your ear still have a hole in it for a piercing?”

Lucian removed his gloves, then he removed the piercing. He approached Peter and let him look at the small hole. It looked rather like the silver scars Lucian- oh. “You pierced your ear with silver?” 

“Actually, Sonja did.” Lucian said, sounding a bit embarrassed. “She thought it would be a good look on me, having my ear pierced. One night, she took a silver needle to do it, and let me tell you, it was one of the most painful experiences I’ve ever had with silver.”

“Probably hurts like a paper cut, tiny but oh so evil and painful.” Peter commented, taking his earring back when Lucian handed it to him. “That’s cool and all, but how come I’ve never seen you wear anything before?”

“I just don’t think about it, and any I had are long gone after 2003. Sorry for wearing yours, I noticed it and thought, hm, it’s been a while. I didn’t know you were planning on wearing it.”

“Eh, it’s fine.” Peter said as he put it in his other ear. “’sides, it doesn’t match you. I’m sure I’ve got something more your style. Maybe a small ring? Oh! I’ve got a variety of those, and in different colors and textures! Or maybe one of my moon ones? I’ve even got a few with bats! Let me go get the box!” 

He ran off, his mind currently occupied with the thought of how hot it was that his fashion-backwards boyfriend can wear a piercing.

--

The earrings Peter is wearing are real and I have them. 

Every Michael Sheen character I write for should have his left ear pierced. I know my Aziraphale’s always do! Why not Lucian? 

[perillahome]

How to Install Ceramic Knobs – A Quick DIY Guide by Perilla Home

Are you looking to add a bit of charm and style to your furniture? Ceramic knobs are a simple and beautiful way to do just that! Whether you’re refreshing an old dresser, sprucing up your kitchen cabinets, or even upgrading your bathroom vanity, ceramic knobs can make a huge difference in the look and feel of your space. And guess what? You don’t need to hire a professional to install them. With a few simple steps, you can do it yourself!

Let’s dive into this quick DIY guide to installing ceramic knobs, brought to you by Perilla Home.

What You’ll Need:

Before you get started, gather all the tools and materials you’ll need. Don’t worry – it’s not much!

Ceramic knobs (of course!)

Screwdriver

Drill (if you're drilling new holes)

Measuring tape or ruler

Screws (usually come with the knobs)

Pencil (for marking)

Level (optional, but useful for precision)

Now that you’re ready, let’s break down the process into simple steps.

Step 1: Remove the Old Knobs (If You’re Replacing Them)

First things first – if you’re upgrading your furniture and replacing old knobs with beautiful ceramic ones, you’ll need to remove the old knobs. Here’s how:

Use your screwdriver to unscrew the existing knobs. Simply twist them off, and set them aside for disposal or reuse (if they’re still in good condition).

If the screws holding the old knobs are really tight, you may need to use a bit of force, but be careful not to damage your furniture.

Step 2: Decide Where to Place Your New Ceramic Knob

Now comes the fun part! You get to decide exactly where you want to place your new ceramic knob.

Measure carefully: If you’re installing the knob on a drawer, use a ruler or measuring tape to find the exact center of the drawer front. This helps ensure that the knob is centered and symmetrical.

Mark the spot: Once you’ve figured out the perfect spot, use a pencil to mark the position. If you’re installing multiple knobs, make sure to measure the distance between them, so they’re evenly spaced.

Step 3: Drill a Hole (If Necessary)

If your furniture doesn’t already have a hole for the new knob, no worries! You just need to drill one.

Use a drill bit that’s the right size for the screw that comes with your ceramic knobs. If you're unsure, check the packaging or the knob’s instructions to get the correct size.

Drill a hole into the marked spot, making sure to keep the drill straight and steady. Take your time with this step to avoid mistakes!

Step 4: Attach the Ceramic Knob

With your hole drilled (or if you already had a hole from the old knobs), it’s time to attach your beautiful ceramic knob.

Insert the screw: Take the screw that came with your ceramic knob and insert it through the back of the drawer or cabinet.

Attach the knob: Now, place the ceramic knob onto the screw and gently twist it until it’s secured. Be careful not to overtighten it, as this can crack the ceramic.

Step 5: Adjust and Make Sure It’s Level

After attaching the knob, check to see if it’s aligned properly. Use a level if you want to be extra precise, especially if you're installing multiple knobs. Adjust as necessary to make sure everything is straight.

Step 6: Repeat for Other Knobs

If you’re replacing multiple knobs, repeat the steps above for each one. Just be sure to measure and mark each spot carefully, so your knobs look perfectly spaced and symmetrical.

Step 7: Test It Out

Once all your knobs are installed, give them a little test to make sure they turn smoothly. If everything feels secure, you’re good to go!

Why Choose Ceramic Knobs from Perilla Home?

Ceramic knobs are not only stylish but durable, and they come in a variety of colors and designs to fit any home décor. Whether you want something classic, modern, or quirky, there’s a ceramic knob that’s perfect for your furniture. Plus, they’re easy to maintain – just wipe them down with a soft cloth to keep them looking beautiful.

Installing ceramic knobs is a simple DIY project that can make a huge impact on the look of your furniture. With just a few basic tools and a little patience, you can transform your space in no time. So, grab your favorite ceramic knobs from Perilla Home and start upgrading your furniture today!

[marblepro]

Hair Oil Spills on Your Bathroom Marble Vanity Top? Follow These to Remove the Stains

How to remove oil stains from a white bathroom marble vanity top? Well, bathroom vanity tops are more prone to spills and stains compared to other marble tops. Marble vanities in bathrooms come with lots of things. We usually put our makeup and skincare products on our bathroom top. And thus. It’s a must to be careful around them.

Yet, you may accidentally spill things like hair oil on the surface and stain your beautiful marble counter. Since marble is porous, it takes seconds for oil spills to get into the stone through the pores. Hence, you must take immediate action if you accidentally spill something oily like hair oil on your marble bathroom vanity.

Wondering what to do? Well, let’s discuss that in the following blog post.

How can you draw hair oil spills out from your white marble countertop?

Accidental spills can happen anytime. Yet, accidental oil spills on the marble countertop can harm the surface and leave an ugly yellowish stain on it. It won’t only ruin the look of the bathroom but also cause more dirt to accumulate on your precious marble countertop.

But well, you can remove the oil stains from the marble top using the below methods,

1. Using cornstarch:

Apply cornstarch generously on the stained part of your marble top and leave it like that for the next 24 hours.

Wash the area the next day with a gentle detergent and hot water.

It’ll draw out the oil overnight from the pores of the stone.

2. Using acetone:

If the above step doesn’t work, take a gentle cleaning agent and mix it with a few drops of acetone.

Now apply the soapy solution over the oil-stained area on the vanity and leave it like that at least for 15 minutes.

Then take a paper towel and blot the soapy mixture using it.

The soapy solution will blot up as much oil as it can from the stone pores and transfer it to the paper towel.

3. Using hydrogen peroxide:

If none of the above steps worked, then you should follow the poultice method to remove the hair oil stain from your marble top.

First, rip a few white paper towels into small pieces.

Now take a mixing bowl and fill it with hydrogen peroxide solution.

Dip the piece of paper towels into that solution.

Now place these soaked pieces of the paper towel over the oil-stained part on the counter.

Take a plastic wrap and cover the entire area with it. Secure the edges with painter’s tape.

Cut some holes in the plastic wrap to allow the poultice to dry off.

Leave the entire thing like that for about the next 24 hours.

Check the wrapped part of the marble top and ensure not to remove the wrap until the pieces of paper towel are completely dry.

After 24 hours, remove the plastic wrap and the paper towel pieces from the surface.

Mix a gentle dishwashing liquid and hot water in a spray bottle.

Spray the solution on the entire surface of the marble countertop and wipe the countertop with a soft microfiber cloth.

Now take another soft clean cloth to dry the surface completely. Ensure that there’s no moisture left on the surface to avoid leaving water marks on the counter.

Final thought,

Have you accidentally spilled your hair oil on your white bathroom marble vanity top? Using the right tips, you can clean the stains from it. We hope this blog will help you with that.

[frenchfrywrites]

CODE y69

MINORS DNI

Warnings: amab gn top dom(ish) living human reader, trans man bottom zombie Vil Schoenheit, monster(fucker) au, monsterfucking, medical play, roleplay, breeding kink, lots of drool, vil goes nonverbal, slight dumbification

Words used for Vil: pussy, cunt, tits, hole, clit. Mention of him having a period and getting pregnant

The sound of the door to Vil's bedroom opening softly tears his attention away from his vanity.

"Ah, sorry," he stares through the mirror at his door, where the doctor– he gathers from the white coat and stethoscope– he arranged a house visit with stands awkwardly in the doorway. "Am I interrupting something?" You ask, setting down your bag of medical devices and instruments on Vil’s bed.

"No," he’s quick to answer, capping the tube of lipstick he'd been applying and standing to greet you. Both of you size one another up as Vil sluggishly crosses the room. You’re handsome in the long white lab coat, undoubtedly so, and if he had the blood to do so, Vil thinks he might feel flushed. The mild anxiety he typically finds himself having when he’s among the living settles in, and he feels the urge to preen and reapply his makeup.  

The two of you exchange introductions, and Vil notes that your hand feels so nice and warm when it shakes his, before you ask him to make himself comfortable on his bed. Vil sits himself down as gracefully as possible as you open your bag “I almost thought I had the wrong patient,” you offer him a bashful smile, applying hand sanitizer to your hands, then tugging on some gloves. “You looked so alive,” and your admission earns you a soft laugh from Vil. 

“Thank you,” he mumbles quietly. After his untimely demise Vil's tried his best to cover his dead skin, the chunks of missing flesh, and his vacant eyes. He appreciates his efforts being recognized. 

“Alright, let’s just jump right in, yeah?!” you give him a wide smile, “can you tell me your first and last name? And your date of birth?” Vil tells you the information easily. “And when did you become undead?”

“A couple of months ago,” he hopes you don’t pry much more than that. It’s not something he likes to dwell on.

“Great! Do you remember the last physical you had when you were alive?” you ask carefully, rummaging around in your bag.

Vil doesn’t remember much from before his death. He has people he knows- or knew- tell him things about himself, but most of what they tell him feels blurry and out of reach.

“It’s okay if you don’t,” you say when he hasn’t responded in a while. He hums- and it sounds a bit too close to the sluggish groan he’s heard from older zombies for his liking- and anxiously flattens the wrinkles on his skirt. 

“This will be a bit different from an exam that an alive person might experience, but that’s why you called me in the first place,” you ramble as you put on a pair of gloves. 

“I’m going to skip over taking your blood pressure and checking your heart, for obvious reasons,” you tell him, standing next to where he’s seated. Suddenly, you press yourself into Vil’s personal space, 

“Can I touch you Mr. Schoenheit?” and logically Vil knows his heart has stopped beating for a long time, but he feels like it flutters in his chest all the same.

“Yes,” he consents, trying his best to not sound breathless. You take his head in your hands, feeling around his skull. 

“You have lovely hair Mr. Schoenheit,” it’s an offhand comment, but it makes Vil feel like he’s on cloud nine. 

“Thank you,” he practically whispers as you gently touch the back of his neck. 

“Good,” you step back and Vil tries not to follow your touch, “looking great! I’m going to ask you to make some facial expressions with me now, so I can see how your muscles are working.”

Vil nods, folding his hands in his lap. 

“Could you frown for me?” he does as he’s told, “then smile? Then puff your cheeks?” distantly, Vil remembers that people have told him he was in movies when he was alive; a memory of acting exercises comes back to him faintly as he moves his face through various expressions.

“Hm, I can see that the muscles on the right side of your face are still quite stiff,” Vil’s face falls at the news, “hey, it’s alright!” you caress his right cheek gently, massaging the muscle by his jaw gently. Even though your hand is gloved, Vil can still feel the heat radiating off your flesh all the same. He feels hungry. “Anyone who is not specifically looking for it would not notice, I promise,” you reassure. “Now can you open your mouth for me?” 

Vil drops his jaw and it cracks a bit, leaving his mouth open just a bit wider than a living being would be capable of. That’s not true, he corrects himself, knowing that the naga can open their mouths nearly twice as more as he can. 

“Oh Mr. Schoenheit what lovely teeth you have!” you joke, and despite himself, Vil laughs. “Seriously, you have a full set! Many of my clients would dream of having your mouth,” you muse, running your fingers along his teeth. The urge to wrap his lips around your fingers and suck is overwhelming, but somehow Vil finds it in himself to resist it. He thinks you must be a little stupid, even if you are a doctor, for putting your fingers in a flesh-eaters mouth. Slipping your fingers from his mouth you reach into your bag and grab a wooden depressor. 

With your free hand you grab a small flashlight from your breast pocket, and press the wooden stick against his tongue. 

“Say ahhh,” you instruct. The noise that comes out of Vil is closer to that of a moan, but you don’t comment on that. You press the depressor further back and he gags. With a look of surprise you pull away from him, removing the depressor from his mouth as you do. 

“Sorry, did that hurt?” you ask curiously. He clears his throat, trying to regain his composure. 

“It wasn’t so bad,” he confesses. Your eyes widen just a fraction, but Vil takes note of it. Turning back to your bag you take out an otoscope, “We’re going to check your eyes and ears next, you haven’t noticed any vision or hearing loss, have you?” Vil shakes his head, thankful that so much of his body continues to function.

“Can you look at…” you trail off, glancing behind you at his wall, “the calendar back there for me?” He looks at it as you flash the light into his eyes. “Ah, are you wearing contacts?” you ask after a moment. Vil hesitates to answer, but eventually nods, “I’m sorry Mr. Schoenheit, but I need you to take those out.”

With a sigh Vil makes quick work of removing the colored contacts- or as quick as he can be with the body he inhabits now. Trying his best not to pout he lets you take a good look at his glossed over, foggy eyes. 

“You’ve got very pretty eyes Mr. Schoenheit,” you say as you pull away, “pretty and they're doing everything that eyes should be doing!” Vil huffs, 

“Flattery will get you everywhere doctor.” You manuver Vil's head so you can look into his ear, brushing his hair back to get a better look and further exposing his expression. 

“I’m already alone in your room with you Mr. Schoenheit,” you whisper, moving to look at the other ear, “how much more will flattery get me?” you muse. Vil is so glad his body can no longer blush, because he thinks he’d be as red as a tomato if he were living. 

“Ah,” he goes to say something but before he can come up with anything, you’re moving onto the next thing. Feeling a little dumbstruck he watches you take off the stethoscope around your neck, and put it on. 

“I’m going to take a listen to your lungs now, is that alright?” Vil nods, so you continue. “Would you please lift your shirt a bit?” With slightly shaking hands (the excitement of having you so close is having an apparent effect on him) he lifts his blouse for you. Sliding your hand under the fabric, you press the cold metal to his chest, and Vil gasps. 

“Sorry,” you whisper in his ear, not sounding very apologetic. “Can you take a deep breath for me?” Vil does his best, trying to sound relaxed and calm, even when he feels the opposite. “Sounds good!” and within a blink of an eye you’re gone. 

After stuffing away your stethoscope you turn to Vil, “right, so next we’re going to- oh,” you stop mid sentence, staring at his chest. Vil looks down, trying to see what you could be looking at, only to find that his nipples are hard. Shame washes over him, and he tries his best to cover himself, but you stop him, sitting next to him on the bed.

“It’s okay! I’m sorry I had such an unprofessional reaction, it’s just I don’t see that often with my patients,” you rub his shoulder comfortingly and Vil slowly drops his arms. 

“Can I take a look?” You ask after a moment. Vil tucks his hair behind his ear, nodding slowly. Your hand falls from Vil’s shoulder to the hem of his shirt. As you tug it upwards you expose more of his skin. 

There are small patches of decay, some skin that’s been stitched back together, and on his left side some of his ribs are exposed. With your other hand you thumb over one of his nipples, and Vil lets out a soft gasp. He feels so good having you touch him that any insecurity he’d normally have about the rotting, peeling flesh previously covered by his shirt is flung out the window.

“Did that hurt?” and Vil feels tingly all over at the quiet rumbling sound of your voice.

“No doctor,” he breathes, his breath hitching when you rub your thumb over it again. 

“Feels good, Mr. Schoenheit?” you check, not giving Vil any relief as you continue to rub circles around his nipple.  

Not trusting his voice, Vil nods, blinking slowly as waves of pleasure work their way through his body. 

And as quickly as it started, it’s over. You pull back, and much to Vil’s humiliation, he can’t help but lean forward and try to chase your touch. 

“Ah,” he makes a soft noise as his brain catches up. Part of him wishes to beg for more, but his pride stops him.

“Are you having other reactions, Mr. Schoenheit?” you ask softly. Vil rubs his legs together as he focuses,

“Yes doctor,” he answers honestly. Your smile widens at that,

“Amazing,” you praise, “can I see?” Vil lets out a low groan at that. Instead of using his words, Vil takes the hem of his skirt, and lifts it so you can see his soaked panties. Vil can’t help but grin when your warm touch returns to his chilled body as you gently run your fingers from his clit to his hole. 

“Such a responsive, functional body,” you hum in his ear, and Vil clumsily jerks his hips into your touch, clutching desperately at his skirt. 

“May I take a closer look Mr. Schoenheit?” 

“Yes please, doctor,” Vil moans, his words slurring together. You slide off the bed, and between Vil’s decayed thighs. Your hands tug at the top of his panties, and with some combined effort, the two of you manage to take them off him. 

“Oh look at you,” you coo, using two gloved fingers to peel apart his pussy lips. The heat from your body, even with a layer of gloves between the two of you, feels scalding against his frigid skin. It makes him want to melt into you. He clutches tightly at the fabric of his skirt, putting all his energy there so he doesn’t reach out to touch you. 

"Ah," Vil gasps softly when your finger begins to slowly rub circles onto his clit. 

“I bet that feels good, doesn’t it,” he can hear the smirk in your voice, but he doesn’t seem to care, and instead nods dumbly. Looking up at him, you take note of how Vil’s eyes go in and out of focus as he watches you play with his cunt.

It takes a while for him to notice, but Vil eventually sees the hard to ignore tent in your pants. Within the moment that he notices your hard-on, you slip a finger inside of him, and he jerks violently, letting out a long, guttural moan. 

“I want to see if the muscles here are working correctly,” you explain, though you doubt he’s even listening to you.

Vil opens up nicely around your fingers, producing more than enough slick to accommodate the intrusions. His clit took a while to get erect, but it now stands proudly, twitching and aching for attention. While fucking him slowly with two fingers, you use your thumb to play with it. This draws a groan from out of Vil. You doubt he’d appreciate being told so, but it’s the kind of groan that’s classic of his zombie kind. 

“Unnngh,” he moans, “g’nna uhmm,” and there’s just enough consonants and vowels for you to put together what he’s trying to say. You pull back, refusing him of the orgasm that was so steadily approaching. 

“Wuh?” he blinks slowly, and you watch as his pussy attempts to clench around nothing. “Huh, please,” Vil groans breathlessly when he finally processes that you’re no longer touching him. 

“It looks like your ability to self lubricate is working perfectly. I wonder though, Mr. Schoenheit, do you still get your period?” you ask, removing your white coat and gloves.

“No, doctor,” Vil replies after a moment, entranced with watching you undress. 

“Then I suppose the only way we’d be able to tell if you’re able to get pregnant or not is by having me fuck your womb full of cum,” Vil nods along, though he questions your logic. He’ll agree with whatever you say if it means you’ll fuck him. 

You reach into your bag, and after a moment of rustling around, pull out a vial of lube.

Laying back, he spreads his legs wider, making room for you to join him on the bed. He makes a pretty picture, with his skirt bunched around his hips, and his shirt pulled up to show off his tits. You tell him as much,

“You look so good,” you praise, and Vil preens, smiling and spreading his legs wider. You make yourself comfortable between his thighs, massaging his stiff muscles gently. Fumbling a bit, you open the lube, and lather your cock. Vil doesn’t mind the slight lull in action, instead focusing his energy on reaching up and linking his arms around your neck to pull you close. 

He moans when he feels the tip of your cock press against his hole. Vil feels like he’s never been more alive as he feels your tip press into him. He knocks his head back against his pillow, arching his back as you slowly push yourself into him. 

“There we go,” you coo, rubbing his hips and thighs lovingly when you’re balls deep inside of him. “How’re you feeling Mr. Schoenheit? Any pain? Any discomfort?” you check in, because Vil looks fucked dumb already. 

“Guh-” he groans, then mumbles to himself. You wait patiently, and finally he forms a coherent sentence, “good, you feel- good,” he whines, his mascaraed lashes squeezing shut. His words divulge into mumbles and groans as he tries to tell you about how deep your cock is inside of him, and how hot you feel.

Slowly, you start to move your hips, fucking him nice and deep to make sure he’s properly adjusted to the intrusion before you take it up a notch. Vil practically melts into the bed beneath him, weakly holding onto you, his pussy clenching and twitching around you every so often. 

“You feel so good,” you tell him softly, “ah, so tight,” you groan. Vil keens, and then instead of using his words- which he seems to have lost already- he tries his best to work his hips back against yours. You let out a breathless laugh, “faster already?” and Vil nods, letting out a pathetic whine.

“I’ve got you darling,” you coo, easily picking up the pace. He lets out a pleased moan, settling back down and returning to laying like a corpse under you. 

“Just- ah- lay back and let me fuck you baby, you don’t ngh have to think at all, let me do all the work, sweet thing,” he nods dumbly at your instructions. 

“Shit,” you breathe, fucking him so hard that his tits bounce with each thrust. Your hand fumbles around for a second before coming in contact with Vil’s clit. When you begin to rub at it as you fuck him, Vil cries out, his mouth falling open with a loud click, and his clouded eyes rolling into his skull. He clenches like a vice around you, and if you didn’t know any better you’d think he may have cum.

Drool begins to pool from his mouth as you play with his clit, and he lets out weak groans when you thrust him particularly hard or deep. 

“I’m close,” you strain, because god you think you could get off just from looking at him, and the way he’s fluttering and clenching around you only gets you closer and closer to climax. Vil babbles something incomprehensible, drool continuing to fall from his mouth, puddling on the pillow and sheets beneath him, and thoroughly slicking his chin. 

One of his hands falls from where it’s been wrapped around your neck, and rubs at his belly. Your hips stutter as you catch his drift, 

“Fuck, yeah, ‘m gonna cum inside you Vil, gonna get you pregnant, gonna fill your womb, ungh, you want that?” he nods, his clit twitching under your fingers. 

“Cum with me- Vil- c’mon baby,” you feel like you’re teetering on a cliff edge, just moments away from coming face to face with your orgasm. 

He falls first, his groan of your name getting stifled as he slaps an arm over his mouth, squirting on your cock as you fuck him through it. You cum not long after, keeping your promise and snapping your hips flush against his as you pump him full of your cum. 

You stay seated inside Vil until he weakly pinches your skin with his other hand, a nonverbal cue that your fingers on his clit and your cock inside him are making him sore with overstimulation. Pulling out you take a second to watch your cum ooze out of his pussy. If he hadn’t communicated that he was sore, you wouldn’t hesitate to get your head between his thighs and clean him up with your mouth. 

Instead you flop down next to him, and take his cold body into your warm embrace. Vil removes his arm from covering his messy mouth, and snaps his jaw back into place. His eyes go unfocused as he looks at you next to him, and moving on instinct, he goes for your neck. His teeth just barely graze your skin before he realizes what he’s doing and resists the urge to devour you. Instead, Vil kisses your neck as an apology before pulling back.

Now that there's a bit of space between the two of you, you can get a good look at him. Vil looks properly fucked, his lipstick smudged, his mouth slick and sticky with drool, his mascara running slightly, his hair all out of place.

You can’t help but lean in and give him a loving kiss. Vil kisses back weakly, humming a tad mournfully against your lips. You think he’s probably still upset about nearly letting his monstrous inclinations take over. Through the kiss you try to convey that you trust him and love him. When you pull back there's a comfortable silence between the two of you for a brief second.

“Next time, I want to be the doctor,” Vil finally speaks, his voice rough and fried. You laugh, nuzzling into him, and pulling the comforter over the two of you. 

“Ooh I like that, can you be all fascinated and awed with my living body?” you prompt, causing Vil to crack a smile. 

“I think I could, at the very least, act like I would be “fascinated and awed”” he mimics you playfully. You laugh loudly, kissing him between giggles. 

“Whatever you say, Dr. Shoenheit,” you tease, kissing him again before he can get the last word in.

[maxverstappensflatbrim]

Show Me Yours | Matty Healy [16]

chapter sixteen, act two: anobrain

masterlist

December 8th 2013

It was exactly as he said, he took her to see a band of his friends on the smaller stage in the afternoon, then they went to a fancy restaurant, had a fancy meal and he walked her back.

She invited him up, he said no, but promised to see her the next day.

She smiles watching him leave down the corridor, she doesn’t notice Matty leaning against his doorframe.

“No shag?”

She closes her eyes briefly with a sigh, before turning around to him, “No, Matty, no shag.” She says, turning and knocking on the door.

“Afraid he won’t beat the first time?”

She pauses, hand stilling above the door and she glances over at him. He seems to realise what he’d said at the same time as her and he stands a little straighter, “Sorry, I… I don’t know where that came from.”

“What are you doing?”

“What?”

She sighs, “What are you doing, Matty? Why are you here right now?”

He clears his throat and kicks his door open a little wider, “I knew you didn’t have a key, Ross went back to some girls hotel. He’s not in there.”

She sighs with a nod, “Uh, which rooms Ad’s?”

“Adam, George, John and Zishaun had to stay in the hotel across the street, remember? Rooms were double booked.”

“Who are you bunking with?” She asks, arms wrapped around herself.

“Last night Jamie but his missus came out here to surprise him so they’re across the way too.”

“So… no one?”

Again he shows the kicked open door and she sighs, “Will you walk me across? Please?”

He looks down at himself, he’s got no shirt on and has some old joggers with holes in questionable places, then he lifts an imaginary watch to his face, “It’s three in the morning.”

“Please?”

“No.”

“Matt-”

“Just, get in.” He says holding it open, “I have a bed and some clothes.”

She waits for a few seconds in the hallway, then sighs and steps inside despite her better judgement.

Matty watches her as she kicks her shoes off, lining them up neatly against one wall as his lay kicked on top of each other just beside them.

He watches her hand flex as she pauses looking at them, desperate to fix them and line them up beside her own. A task she would usually just complete without much thought.

Instead she lets her fidgeting hand fall to the bag on her shoulder and only glances back at the shoes twice. The first as she places the little black leather bag onto the table where Matty’s tote bag resides and then again as she moves to the mirror to untie her hair from the half up half down braid style she’d made George do for her that morning.

When she turns around again Matty is lying against the headboard, phone in hand and there’s a t-shirt and boxers on the end of the bed.

The t-shirt is again, one of hers, an old Fiona Apple t-shirt from when she played in London back in 2006.

She doesn’t comment on it this time, she closes the bathroom door until it clicks, takes off the long sundress she’s wearing and changes into the clothes.

Her neatly folded clothes are placed on the floor beside his closed suitcase and as she stands she risks a glance at his shoes.

She pauses slightly, feeling his eyes on the back of her head she acts as if she was just tying her hair up. Acting as if it wasn’t the fact that his shoes are now lined up against the wall beside her own that momentarily froze her.

As she messes about with her hair, trying to tame it into her bobble her eyes glance across the vanity before her.

Cigarettes, lighters, his wallet, some loose change and a CD with the receipt on top lay scattered around. But what catches her eye is the book.

‘Show me yours, Tommie McDuff’

She lets her finger trace the cover, a picture of herself that Matty had taken one day when the band had performed in Brighton.

She flicks at a few of the post bits and book tabs sticking out the side, one on almost every page.

She pushes her finger open to the page where a piece of paper sticks out the top but as she hears the sheets rustling as Matty moves in the bed she pauses and steps back.

Once her curly hair is tied back she lies on the bed with her back to him, reaching to flick off the lamp beside her.

Matty’s lamp is still on, and remains on for almost ten minutes as he sits up in the bed staring at the wall in front of him.

“Tom?”

“Hmm?”

“Did you uh,” He pauses as he shifts down, still laying on top of the covers, “Have a nice night? Nice date?”

Her jaw wiggles as she thinks over his question, “I did.”

“Good. Callum-”

“Caleb.”

“I know me and the guys are giving him shit, but, he seems… alright.”

“He is alright.” She tells him quietly.

Matty turns over so he’s lying on his side, he reaches out and tugs on one of her curly strands of hair, “You gonna go on another date?”

“I’m not sure, he gave me his number last time. So, maybe I’ll text him.”

Matty nods and as he does he shifts a little closer to her, away from the edge of the bed, “You should.”

She chews on her bottom lip, eyes falling closed as he moves to play with more strands, her hand grips her pillow, anchoring herself down so she won’t turn around.

She wants to turn and scream at him. Tell him it could be him she’s going on dates with, him who’s making her happy, him that she calls ‘alright’ when friends ask, whereas in reality he’s fucking amazing and she’s playing it down so the smile won’t ache her cheeks.

But Matty doesn’t want that.

It’s toxic really, how hurt she feels from his words and actions yet she wouldn't even consider doing anything of the kind that might mean he’s not in her life.

The logical part of her is telling her to leave, go across the road to the other hotel. Leave behind her friendship with him to fully move on, to recover, to heal.

They were never together but she knows this is what heartbreak feels like. Her first broken heart given to her by none other than her best friend, Matthew Healy.

She'd rather lie here now and suffer than not be able to see him every day. Not be able to watch him perform. Not have him.

“Goodnight, Roddy.”

Matty eyes practically become hearts as he stares at her back, he lets go of her hair, back of his hand brushing down her shoulder.

His eyes water as he stares at the back of her head.

‘You’ll ruin her.’

“Goodnight, Baby.”

⋆｡ ﾟ☁︎｡ ⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡ ⋆

December 9th 2013

Matty woke up to an empty bed, the little fancy notepad and pen that the hotel had on the bedside table was on her pillow and he picked it up to read it.

‘I called Ross to come open up for me, got that second date after all. Thank you, see you later -Tommie x’

He sighs, thumb running over the ink and it smudges, it’s fresh.

For some reason he finds himself standing quickly, stumbling over himself as he gets up on barely awake legs.

It's then he hears voices outside, no, her voice.

He rips the door open and steps out almost bumping into someone, “Sorry, mate.”

He steps back quickly, hitting into the closed door behind him and shakes his head to try and wake himself up.

Tommie’s brows furrow, “You alright, Matty?”

He nods quickly and gestures to her hotel room door behind her, “Ross still in there?”

She nods and he does too, still standing there awkwardly. She smiles at him a little timidly then turns to Caleb, “Uh, the Ubers downstairs can you go on down? I’ll sort him out then meet you down there.”

He smiles and leans into place a quick kiss on her cheek, one that has her cheeks reddening and head bowing down.

Her hair is straightened today, Matty notes, she must’ve just done it quickly, he can still see one strand trying to curl since she’d obviously rushed.

She turns back to him and tilts her head to her shoulder, “You alright?”

“Yeah, yeah, uh, last night I gave Ross my- wallet. Yeah, Ross has my wallet, and I wanted to go to that cafe next door. Get a drink and that.”

She steps forward, hand on his arm, “Are you sure, Matt? I’ve been so worried about you lately, I mean, you look like shit.”

“Thanks.”

She rolls her eyes, “You know what I mean? What’s wrong?”

Her touch is too much, the soft skin of her fingertips, roughened by years of guitar, burns his arm and he steps back, moving his arm to run a hand through his hair.

“We’re okay?”

Her brows furrow and she nods, her lips tug upwards, it takes every single cell in her body to make the smile look real. “We’re okay.”

But the effort is worth it when she watches his shoulders drop in relief. She turns away, he calls after her.

“Yeah?”

“I am sorry, I want you to know that.”

She nods, “I know… I’ll meet you guys there later, alright?”

“See you later.”

She starts walking down the hallway slowly and he quickly calls after her, “Tommie?”

She turns as she presses the button for the lift and steps back to see him better, “Yeah?”

“He’s a good guy, but still, be careful, yeah?”

She lets her lips curl and nods before stepping into the metal box and letting it take her downstairs.

Matty groans loudly, muttering different ways to call himself idiot under his breath as he runs his hands down his face.

He turns back to open his hotel room door but ends up walking right into it with the realisation he never grabbed his key card.

“Shit.”

Turning to the door opposite he hits his first against it, “Ross?”

⋆｡ ﾟ☁︎｡ ⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡ ⋆

“Hey.”

Caleb catches her hand as she goes to walk the few steps up to the hotel, she turns, skirt moving with her movement, “You guys were… outstanding today.”

“Outstanding?”

She walks backwards and he nods from a few steps below moving in time with her, her right foot his left foot, her left his right.

“Amazing.” The hand still in his hold is raised and his lips place a delicate kiss upon her skin. “Phenomenal.”

“Tell me more.”

He follows her through the hotel, muttering compliments which he finishes with a kiss on different parts of her body.

Astonishing. Her shoulder.

Stunning. Her cheek.

Breathtaking. Her jaw.

He finishes by muttering his praises of her and her dress, his lips on hers as he walks her out of the open doors and down the hallway towards her room.

He has her up against the door, hand not moving from their place that he’s settled them comfortably on her hips.

“Ross is at that girl's place again.”

She moves so her hand can get into the pocket of her skirt- something that when she had discovered that morning on their date she had gushed about for at least two hours, later showing the rest of the guys when she got to them and any random passer buyer who would listen- then she presents her key card and slides it back until she here's the door click.

He takes it upon himself to push it open, using one strong arm to sweep her up against him as she moves her to the bed furthest from the door.

He could tell that's the one she's using from how much more put together than the other it is.

Clothes are scattered before the door is even closed and he's on top of her, pulling back once to hear her approval before continuing.

It's fast.

It feels like it lasts three minutes with him on top of her, his head buried in her neck as he tells her how good she feels.

She lays there, legs around his waist, hands in his hair but face stoic as she stares at the ceiling.

She compares everything to Matty.

His touch, his lips, his words, the pace, the feel. Everything.

She closes her eyes, letting her mind wonder, thinking of that night in LA until he’s pulling back to look at her, “Did you finish already?”

She bites her lip and nods, faking being out of breath as her lashes flutter, “Yeah… yeah, Ma- Yeah.”

“Did you just almost call me mate?” He chuckles.

She licks her lips and nods quickly, brows raised as he laughs and pulls her closer.

taglist

@thereisaplaceintheheart

@indierockgirrl

@sofaritsalrightt

@julezs-bl0g

@eaglestar31

@sophinthealpss

@if-my-heart-bleeds

@befrwime

-let me know if you want to be added :)

-I'm going to be taking a bit of a break from posting to focus on writing the next couple of parts, plus I'm going on holiday and need to sort a few personal things out

-thank you for reading, Mac :)

[dulcewrites]

I know you are not taking requests right now. But when you do, Is it possible that you could, if you are comfortable, to write Austin!Elvis proposing or eloping with black!reader? ❤️

You’re All I Need to Get By

Pairing: austin!elvis x black!reader (wc: 946)

Requested: yes (thank you)

Warnings: age gap, allusions to attachment issues and trauma from his mom’s passing. Honestly this is mostly very fluffy and sweet

A/N: This gonna take place around 1970/1971. Elvis was touring, but y’all are in Memphis during this time. He’s 35/36 while reader is 28. This song came on when I was writing it so I decided to name it after that (I don’t know if this is an unpopular opinion but I think I prefer the Aretha version to the tammi and Marvin one) Also when is tumblr gonna step their pussy game up and do Apple Music instead of Spotify 🤔

Elvis feels sick to his stomach. The type of nauseating gnawing he normally only experiences before performances… and sometimes while he watches a big Steelers game.

The party hasn’t even started yet, and he already doesn’t know what to do with himself. Maybe tonight isn’t the night. Maybe he should hold off, but this ring has been burning a hole in his pockets for months. He can’t chicken out now.

You’re zipping around the room like you always do when you get ready; not able to stay in one place. From the closet to your vanity, to the bathroom because “baby, the lighting is different”. Makeup done but hot rollers in your hair; pink silk robe and fuzzy slippers on.

“Ok, the red or the black,” you hold up two dresses and all Elvis can do is blink at them.

You sigh, picking up on his anxious energy, and stand in front of him between his legs.

“I know what this is about.”

“What,” he says it way too loud, looking up a little alarmed. Oh god, you probably found the ring. He should’ve listened to Jerry and gave it to someone to hold. He’s always been bad at keeping secrets.

“Honey, if the colonel calls you again while you’re taking time to yourself, just hand me the phone,” you push his hair from his forehead. “I’ll sure as hell set him straight.”

He looks up at you heart thumping. How the hell did he get this lucky? He can’t mess tonight up. It’s been four years since you’ve starting dating, and now his life has been split up into two times: before meeting you, and after meeting you.

The days in Hollywood started to blend together before meeting you. He remembers feeling like he got punched in the gut the moment he first saw you. It doesn’t hit him how unhappy he had been until he felt the happiness that comes with being with you. It didn’t take him long to realize he’s willing to go the ends of the earth to keep that happiness.

He remembers how much it took to get you to want to leave your home in California. For him, for this life; he knows it’s not easy.

Despite where and how he was raised, the idea of marriage scares him a little. A family that depends on him scares him. He knows he wants that with you. The forever and always. He thrives off having people he loves around.

But with commitment comes expectations, with expectations comes hard work, and hard work means people getting tired and leaving.

He couldn’t handled another person he loves this much leaving him.

Having this party to celebrate the tour wrapping seemed like a good excuse to have everyone in one place for the proposal. Everyone seems to know but you, which is probably a first for you Elvis thinks. You’re inquisitive and sharp, one of the many things he loves about you.

“I like the black,” you go back to looking in the full-length mirror at the dresses.

The anxious feelings only grow as he watches you continue to get ready. God help him.

“Man, I think it’s time,” Jerry whispers and Elvis swallows hard.

The party has been in full swing for a couple hours now. You two worked the room together before parting ways. Elvis spent a lot of the party working over what he wanted to say in head. Maybe he should’ve written something down.

He looks over at you giggling on the couch with some of the other ladies. Brown skin glittering and smile is bright. He loves you so much it kind of hurts.

“I think the man of the hour has something to say,” Jerry calls out, motioning for the music to get turned down.

Fuck.

A couple people give him knowing and encouraging looks. You flash him a curious smile, tilting your head to the side. In group situations like this, he normally ran what he wanted to say by you. Elvis clears his throat coming to center of the living room.

“I’m realizing why went into music and not speech givin’,” the room laughs at his joke.

He sticks one hand in his pocket fiddling with the ring box out of nervousness.

“First, I should thank everyone who went into helping me with the tour,” Elvis starts. “It was long and exhausting, but we did it.”

His eyes scan the room, giving grateful smiles to everyone. He stops when they get on you.

“And of course, I want to thank my baby,” he says shyly. A round of awes come from the people in the crowd. “I wouldn’t be able to do any of this without you.”

You mouth ‘I love you’ to him. Elvis takes steps towards the couch before letting out a shaky breath. He gets down on one knee and your eyes widen. He pulls the ring box out.

“Yes! Holy shit yes!”

Your immediate reaction garners a cacophony of laughs from room, and Elvis beams.

“I haven’t asked yet,” he laughs.

“Right sorry, keep going,” your smile is so wide, and you’ve slid forward on the couch.

“Honey, will you marry me,” Elvis opens the ring box to reveal a sparking oval cut diamond surrounded by two smaller yellow diamonds. Holy shit was right you think.

“Yes,” you exclaim, and he puts the ring on your finger.

Your friends and family let out cheers and whistles when you two share a long kiss. He pulls you two up into a hug.

“I love Mrs. Presley,” he whispers in your ear.

“I love you more Mr. Presley.”

[lilyofthestyx]

I saw request we’re open for RE8. Could I please have a fem! reader who tries to get rid of Ethan Winters because he keeps causing distress to her wife, Alcina? Please and thank you.

yes. yes you most certainly can have this.

i have been DYING to write about some alcina x fem!reader for the sole reason being that i have NEVER questioned my sexuality so hard since this damn game came out so yeah.

ps: wrote this in first person hope that's okay!

pps: there is some major plot deviation because.... i felt like it. idk. it fit??

DISCLAIMER: I do not claim to own Resident Evil or its characters or plot. CAPCOM please don't come for me.

here you go love >:)

word count: 1.57k

"Girls!" I call, closing the door behind me. "My darlings, I'm home!" Shifting the grip on the parcel of items from the village, I look around.

Usually one of the girls would've answered by now. Bela is usually here to greet me.

She's probably with her mother.

I shrug off my fur coat, handing it to one of the maids. She takes it and lays it over the back of a chair. I can tell by the large, gnarled scar on her forearm who she is "Marienna," I mumble, staring up the stairway. "...where're the girls?"

Marienna's face pales as she stares back at me. Her mouth opens and closes like a trout. "Well?" I snap, "D'you know where they are or-?!"

A crash resounds down the hallway. Alcina's voice tears from her bedroom, followed by a shuddering sob.

I'm hurrying up the stairs in seconds, abandoning the parcel. My body collides with the door- forcing it open.

Our bedroom is destroyed- the vanity broken to pieces. Alcina's soft hands cling to the golden wood, thumb rubbing against the varnish. Slowly, her eyes trail up to me. A smile nearly as broken as the vanity crosses her painted lips. "...I loved this damned mirror," she mumbles, eyes turning down to the broken pieces again.

"What happened, darling?" I coo, stepping over the pieces to stand beside her. My hand on her shoulder, I turn her face gently towards mine. Tears are streaming down her face- leaving jagged streaks of mascara. "Are you alright? What happen-"

Alcina's body tenses under my touch. Trembling, her grip tightens on the wood. It cracks before being wrenching in twain in her hands. "It was that stupid manthing!" She hisses, standing back up to her full height.

"...what 'manthing'?" I ask, "Your brother?"

Alcina ignores me, leaning back down to pluck one of the larger fragments before throwing it across the room. "He laid his filthy paws on our daughters!"

My mind races as it struggles to understand what the hell is happening.

Manthing.

It's not Heisenberg. He'd never lay a finger on the girls.

Some brutish village slug- that's got to be it.

But why? Why on earth would they...?

It doesn't matter.

As Alcina leans down to grab another bit, I grab her hand. "...are... are the girls okay? Where are they?"

A shuddering sigh passes her lips. "...they're all together," she whispers, wiping tears from her face hastily. "Bela... she was... that disgusting beast, he nearly killed her!"

"What?" I mutter, eyebrows drawing together as I step back. "...what... well is she okay? What happened? Is she going to be alright?!"

Alcina sighs again. "...she'll be alright," her hand wraps around mine gently. "Her sisters found her. Brought her to me."

"Where is she now?," I ask, tightening my grip around her finger. "My baby girl... where...?"

Alcina smiles warmly, getting down onto one knee. Her fingers brush back the hair from my eyes. Tears fall quickly down my face as I realize what could've happened if Cassandra and Daniela weren't nearby. "She's with her sisters," she answers gently. "Resting... waiting for her mother to get back with the flowers and silk from the village."

A cold laugh passes my lips before I sniffle. "...her mother should've been there. Should've never left."

Alcina's face tightens. "You can't blame yourself, darling," she mumbles, turning my chin up so I can face her. "No one knew this... Ethan Winters... would be so hideously vindictive."

I nod slowly, wiping the tears from my face. "...can I see her?"

"Of course, my love," she says, leaning in to press her lips to my cheek. "Of course."

The two of us walk down the halls to the center of the house. 'Safest place for her' Alcina had told me.

She had spoken to me the entire way over here, trying to get me out of my own head.

Bless my beloved wife for trying.

But that name. It just keeps buzzing around my mind.

Images of my hands, covered in thick blood, gripping the handle of a sickle play through my head. The blade going through the jugular of this 'Ethan Winters' and popping out the other side. Him desperate for air, choking on his own hot blood, as he watches me loom over him.

His last words will be for mercy.

His last view will be my blade.

My breath is bated as I watch him stalk through the darkness of the courtyard. In the moonlight, I can see is head is down, eyes wary as he keeps a fair grip on his pistol. The cool air lets me see him regulating his breathing- keeping him steady, keeping his pistol steady.

He's experienced.

My grip on my own weapon tightens as he stops in the gazebo. His eyes narrow as he turns around, his pistol raised. I watch in mild amusement as he whirls around, looking for something to shoot.

He's experienced, yes, but still not experienced enough.

I tug the fabric around my face higher along the bridge of my nose. Gripping my sickle, I balance on the balls of my feet.

Ethan finally relaxes, dropping his arms with his back to me.

A small smile creeps along my lips under the mask. A foolish move made by an even more foolish man.

My body slides underneath the stone railings for the stairs leading into the center of the courtyard. Untucking one of the smaller knives from my belt, I pinch it between two fingers and flick my wrist forward.

The knife goes flying- landing right between Ethan's shoulder blades. A guttural yell comes from him as he spins around to face me. In a blink, I'm up in front of him, nose brushing against his.

I can see the fear in his eyes.

I can't help my smile growing beneath the dark fabric.

Ethan raises his hand, pistol in his palm. With a tut of my lips, I shake my head and stab his hand through with my sickle. "...no, no," I mumble as he continues to scream and thrash against my hold. "There'll be none of that, I'm afraid, Mister Winters."

His teeth gritted, he hisses as my sickle is pulled from the inner part of his wrist. A bitter laugh bubbles up from my gut as he stumbles back onto the floor of the gazebo, now holding the pistol in his shaky left hand. "You can't be serious!" I giggle as Ethan pulls the trigger.

A wet squelch hits my ears as the bullet tears into my stomach. I sigh dramatically, looking down at the gushing hole in my dress. "You didn't think I was human- did you?" I ask, twirling the sickle in my hand.

"Wh- what?" Ethan mutters, eyes fixated on the bullet wound in my torso.

"I'm not," I continue, stepping closer to him as he tries to back away. Another gunshot echoes through the courtyard- the bullet landing in my left shoulder. "Not entirely, anyways."

"What the hell are you?!" Ethan yells, firing three more shots. One in the crook of my neck, one just barely grazing my temple, one lodging itself in my hip.

My jaw tightens as I hurry forward, grabbing him by the collar and throwing him back into the center of the gazebo. "I!" I snap, grabbing him again and gripping his wrist. "I... am the mother of the girl you almost killed!"

I pull another knife out of my belt. Trailing it down his lips, I smile. "And the wife... to a woman scorned." With a single swing, the knife digs into the flesh of his palm and nails it to the gazebo.

Ethan yells in pain. As I step back, his other fist cracks across my face. I stumble back. Grabbing at my cheek, I chuckle darkly. "Oh, Ethan," I coo coyly, grabbing my sickle. "You really shouldn't have done that."

I swing and watch with what could only be described as 'glee' as the blade pierces his throat. Covered in blood, the blade glistens crimson in the pale moonlight. Ethan's choked pleas are drowned out by my laughter.

"Why?" is the only word able to leave his lips without being smothered in a gush of blood.

"Because, Mister Winters," I hum, my nose brushing against his as I watch the life in his eyes flicker. "You should never have touched my family."

BONUS ENDING:

"What is that delicious smell?"

I turn around to see Alcina bending down to peek outside. A smile crosses my lips as I gesture to the mutilated corpse with the end of my sickle. "Dinner, my love," I hum, wiping off the blade with the fabric I had used for a mask. "Sorry it's not the cleanest."

Alcina scoffs and waves me off. "It's fine, _________. I'll just go let the girls know their mother brought dinner...," she pauses, eyes flicking over the gushing body. "...who was that? He smells... familiar."

"Just Ethan Winters," I answer nonchalantly.

"...y-you..." Alcina stammers, eyebrows weaving together and lips pursing. "You... when did you-?"

"He must've been tired," I continue with a small smile. "He was not nearly as difficult a kill as I thought he'd be."

"...I'll... I'll be going now."

"Okay, love," I chirp, "I'll drag him in in a second. Love you!"

Alcina's eyes are still wide, mouth slightly agape as she steps away from the doorway. "...love you too... darling."

can you tell i had a lot of fun with this?

yeah. because i did.

i hope you enjoyed! writing lady d is so much freaking fun i kid you not.

big vampy lady make brain go brr

[rey-is-not-a-skywalker]

Noctis Lucis Caelum- SFW alphabet

First piece of writing on here let's gooo- Feel free to request anything! I don't have a list of things that I write for yet, but just pop it in my ask box and I'll see what I can do- please don't let this flop 💚

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

A - Affection (How affectionate are they? How do they show affection?)

Noctis isn't really one for very open affection, around others the best he will do is holding hands or exchanging a few smiles here and there- but alone, he will happily sit with you and play games on your phones together, maybe even a few snuggles.

B - Best Friend (What would they be like as a best friend? Where does the friendship start?)

Noctis would be an amazing best friend, as long as you don't mind sarcastic remarks and sometimes having to deal with his slight temper tantrums. He will do anything to save your life, though. He'd take a bullet for you if needs be.

C - Cuddles (Do they like to cuddle? How would they cuddle?)

He isn't big on cuddles. Snuggles, and hugs, he's mostly okay with, but cuddles... he just doesn't know what fo do with himself if he finds himself in the situation.

D - Domestic (Do they want to settle down? How are they at cooking, cleaning, ect?)

He doesn't mind settling down for a while, but listen, there's a reason Ignis is the one one cooks. Noctis cannot cook at all. Last time he tried, he burned the food. And it was a soup.

E - Ending (If they had to break up with their partner, how would they do it?)

He'd try to let you down slowly, he doesn't want to hurt your feelings, but he'd end up digging himself into a deeper hole. It'd probably sound something like this: "Listen, I... I think we should go our separate ways... It's not that I don't like you, or anything... it's just-"

F - Fiance(e) (How do they feel about commitment? Do they wanna get married?)

He has no real opinion on it- but he'd happily get married to you if you asked. If it meant you could spend the rest of your lives together, how could he say no?

G - Gentle (How gentle are they both physically and emotionally?)

Usually, he's not the most gentle person, but he will try to be if he sees that you're upset or in pain. He will often use a softer tone of voice with you, and may touch your shoulder to comfort you.

H - Hugs (Do they like hugs? How often do they do it, and what are they like?)

Like I said- he doesn't mind hugs, so long as they are short, and not in front of everyone. He doesn't like hugging for too long bec as se he finds it awkward, but in a heartfelt moment, it doesn't kill him to embrace you from time to time.

I - I Love You (How fast do they say the “love” word?)

It takes a long time. It's not that he doesn't want to say it, it's just that he finds it awkward. He'll only say the L word in a heartfelt moment, or when if it's a very special occasion.

J - Jealousy (How jealous do they get? What are they like when jealous?)

Now, Noctis isn't really one to get jealous, heck, he might even find himself catching feelings for a few others while he's with you, but he always remains loyal to you and expects you to do the same.

K - Kisses (What are their kisses like? Where do they like to kiss you? Where do they like to be kissed?)

His kisses are usually short, and simple. He likes to kiss you in the most romantic places, you lips, your cheeks, and forehead are his favorite. He likes to be kissed on the back of his hands, and loves to get lost in your eyes as you. He will happily accept whatever affection you have for him.

L - Little Ones (How are they around kids?)

This man is amazing around children, but only the older ones. Probably about eight plus- he isn't the best with babies and todlers. To be honest, he couldn't know what to do with them.

M - Morning (What are mornings like with them?)

It will take him a while to actually get out of bed, but in the meantime he will put his arm around you and stare into your eyes for a bit, getting lost in them.

N - Nights (How are nights spent with them?)

Nothing special. Usually he will stay up late and play board games or games on his phone while eating a delicious Ignis cooked meal.

O - Open (When do they open up about themselves?

Really not a lot. Sometimes, when he's really upset, he'll vent to you, and only you. He doesn't like other people listening, and he knows he can trust you with his secrets.

P - Patience (How easily angered are they?)

Though he's usually chilled out, Noct can be angered very easily. He will start yelling, and maybe even draw a weapon on what's making him angry. His movements will also become snappy, and he will be more prone to breaking things.

Q - Quizzes (How much do they remember about you?)

He remembers a lot about you. Your name, your age, your favourite things to do and eat, but he can't for the life of him remember anything truly personal about you. He does tend to remember a few things you vent to him about, though.

R - Remember (Favorite memory with you?)

When you two went to Altissa, and had a ride on the gondolas all around the city. You even had some of the world-famous ice cream with you, along with a moogle plushie. He will never forget your hair blowing in the breeze. That to him is his idea of a date.

S - Security (How protective are they?)

This man is very protective. He will not let anything harm you. He will try his very very best to do anything he can to protect you, and if harm ever came to you, he'd blame no-one but himself.

T - Try (How much effort do they put in?)

He does try, for the most part. If someone gives him a mission, he isn't one to back down. He will try his best to make you happy, and will spend all the gil in the world if you were happy because of it.

U - Ugly (What are their bad habits?)

His posture. He stands with his back arched and his hips forward, which can be very bad for him in the long run. His father told him countless times to fix his posture, but he never got around to it.

V - Vanity (How concerned are they with their looks?)

He really doesn't care much how he looks. He might be a king, but his looks aren't a factor in how he rules, right?

W - Whole (Would they feel incomplete without you?)

Very much so. Nothing would feel the same if you dissapeared, and he wouldn't know what to do with himself, and he'd have to have some sense knocked into him by Gladio.

X - Xtra (Random HC)

He loves to impress you- be it with his unique fighting style, or with his amazing fishing skills. He also makes sure to catch the best fish he can, and he loves it when you cook his fish for him. He'll happily sit with you and enjoy the meal.

Y - Yuck (Things they don’t like either in general or a partner?)

He hates people who try to hurt him, or his friends/partner. He also doesn't like vegetables, and if you try to make him eat his greens, likelihood is, he'll just warp away from you. Far away.

Z - Zzz (Sleep habits)

It usually takes him ages to get to sleep. Sometimes he'll be up all night fighting daemons, and getting gil. When he does sleep, it may only be for a few hours. He goes to sleep late, and wakes up early, and the others have to practically drag them out of the tent or bed.

[solarwonux]

Lucky || Joshua

Dad!Joshua x f!reader

w.c: 3.0k

warnings: mentions of suggestive themes, mentions of pregnancy

note: Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays today on this fine night I bring you Joshua Hong as a father let’s all cry together thank you very much. I hope you like it let me know your thoughts <3

pspspspsp: @sunlightwoo it’s back hehe

masterlist

“Are you and momma still friends?” Joshua’s daughter questioned tilting her head to the side, clinging on to his neck as the waves crashed around them. Joshua grinned and pushed back her beach hair. “Of course sweetheart why are you asking?” He wiped her running nose with the back of his hand before splashing a small amount of water in her direction. An annoyed expression forming on her face reminding him of the similar scold you had given him hours ago.

“She put you in time out.” She shrugged and reached to the side of Joshua’s body. Cupping her hands underneath the clear blue water before throwing it in his direction missing his face completely. “That wasn’t very nice sweetheart.” He chuckled. A wave crashed pushing them back slightly causing his hold on her to get tighter.

She pouted and pushed his face away, turning her attention to where you and his mother were sunbathing. “You made momma mad, that wasn’t very nice either.” She argued and pinched his arm, a mannerism she had inherited from you and the only thing that you did that he hated. But no matter how much your pinches hurt, because they did. He couldn’t imagine living his life without your stupid quirk.

“Momma’s not mad anymore though.” Joshua smirked and attacked her cheek with kisses, whines fell out of her mouth. Eyes burned holes in the side of his and he knew you were sending him your infamous glares. The ones that could send him six feet underground, that is if looks could kill and being married to you would’ve sent him underground years ago. He was thankful they couldn’t.

“She said you were in time out for three days.” She held up her hand signaling four with her fingers. Numbers weren’t her forte. You and Joshua had tried everything to get her to understand that three and four were two completely different numbers but she was at an age where listening wasn’t something she liked to do. The two of you figured she’d eventually figure it on her own, though sometimes Joshua suspected she was doing it on purpose. Her teasing attitude was another thing she had inherited from you making Joshua’s list longer by the second. “One less finger bubs.” He brought his hand out and pushed down her pinky to form three with her small fingers. A smirk appeared on her face as she raised it again only proving Joshua’s suspicions.

“Okay love, but momma isn’t mad at me anymore.” He stated confidently meeting your eyes only to have you send him the middle finger making his mother laugh beside you. He silently cursed but thanked god that your daughter wasn’t looking because the questions would’ve been endless. And he had barely survived the where do babies come from interrogation last week.

He knew you were still mad at him. You were fuming to the point that you were giving the summer sun a run for its money. But he had a plan, one he was sure would have you forgiving him in seconds. Only problem was the little demon in his arms innocently playing with the water surrounding the two of them--hated sleeping in her own bed. And he couldn’t ask his mother to look after her tonight because she had taken your side in the stupid fight.

In conclusion he was in a bit of a pickle.

Half an hour, that’s how long it took him to put his daughter to bed. She had requested a bedtime story, Joshua over the moon had no problem in reading one to her. But then when he was done she had requested another one and this time he had to act out every single character while she judged his performance. This had gone on for half an hour until finally her breathing got steady and she was fast asleep. How the beach hadn’t tired her out was a mystery he would eventually solve one day.

Joshua carefully turned off the lights and placed her favorite stuffed animals around her, so that when she woke up she would be met with a familiar set of faces. He tiptoed out of the room and turned off the lights. Taking a quick glance around the room, making sure nothing was out of place and that her night lights were on before carefully closing the door. His body cringed at the sound of squeaking hinges and he swore he had stopped breathing while he stood there in the dark hallway, motionless. His ears perked up to see if he could hear any sound of movement from the other side of the door and once he was sure his daughter was still fast asleep he quietly made his way to your shared bedroom.

“She’s asleep, let’s hope she doesn’t end up in our bed tonight.” Joshua walked over to where you were standing in front of your small vanity that also doubled up as a dresser. “We wouldn’t be trying to break this habit if you hadn’t insisted on her sleeping with us for the last few months.” Joshua let out an inaudible groan knowing very well he was the one at fault. “How am I supposed to say no when she asks with that sweet innocent voice and then gives me the look?” He eyed you through the mirror before wrapping his arms around your waist. His chin resting against your shoulder while you applied your eye cream gently. “It’s like she knows my weaknesses and then uses it against me.”

“It’s not that hard to break you Joshua.” You met his stare through the mirror, a knowing smirk forming against your lips. You sent him a wink before grabbing your cherry flavored chapstick and slowly applied it on your lips. The action sending shivers up his spine, his mind racing as he imagined your lips on his. The thought of the bitter sweetness of the cherry flavor hitting his taste buds made his mouth water. But alas you were still mad at him and his plan hadn’t gone in full effect yet. Patience is what he needed.

“Are you still mad at me?” He pouted slightly making you shake your head in annoyance. You huffed at his obvious question and removed his arms from your waist, pushing him away gently before making your way to your side of the bed. “I already apologized, what more do you want me to do?” He threw his hands in the air before letting them fall to his sides in defeat.

“You lost my necklace the one you gave me when our daughter was born, sorry’s not gonna bring it back.” You took off the many throw pillows that decorated the bed and threw them on the floor. Usually you would put them on the lounge chair by the window but tonight you couldn’t be bothered.

“I already told you I’d buy you a new one.” He groaned and walked over to his side of the bed peeling back the covers, stopping when he saw the tears start to roll down your face, his plan long forgotten.

Lately your mood swings were giving him a hard time and although he suspected why, he wasn’t sure if he should bring it up when the thought hadn’t even crossed your own mind. At least that’s what he concluded when you hadn’t brought it up. “It’s not the same Joshua, I know it’s stupid to hold such sentimental value over something so miniscule but it meant a lot to me and you lost it.” Joshua sighed letting the sheets go and crawled on top of the bed, kneeling in front of you and bringing his hands up to your face.

“Baby I swear I thought I had put it in the pocket of my coat when you gave it to me.” He wiped away your tears gently and placed a kiss on your forehead. “It was there when we left the reception. I even called Minghao to see if the venue had contacted him but he didn’t pick up.”

“Of course he’s not going to pick up, he's on his honeymoon, Joshua.” You sniffed and blinked rapidly trying to keep the tears at bay. “My point still stands, I’ve looked everywhere for it.” He sighed and wrapped an arm around your waist as he brought you close. Your knees hit the edge of the bed making them buckle, your body landing on top of Joshua’s as he laid the two of you down gently.

“Did you check your car?” You raised an eyebrow locking your eyes with his tender ones. His eyes grew wide and faint blush creeped on his cheeks as he recalled the very inappropriate events that went down in the passenger seat on your way home from the reception. “N-No the thought didn’t even cross my mind.” He cleared his throat, your face breaking into a smile as you removed yourself from his embrace and laid back, letting your body sink into the softness of your bed.

“I knew you hadn’t checked everywhere.” You placed your arms underneath your head watching the ceiling fan. He was chewing the bottom lip as the realization finally washed over him a very annoyed groan fell out of his lips as he dropped his head. “When did you find it?”

You laughed and moved so your body was now facing his defeated one. “Right after we dropped off your mother at her house. It was peeking out from underneath the back seat as I was putting bubs in her car seat.” You placed a hand underneath his chin and raised it. “This a new form of torture. I’ve been suffering all day today.” Joshua whined snaking his arm around your waist and pulled himself up so his chest was against yours. “I deserve an apology?” He pouted before pecking your lips.

“I’ll think about it, right now I’m exhausted.” You grinned and pushed your hand through his dark locks leaning up and kissing his nose. “I want to keep talking to you. You barely said a word to me all day and watched me suffer. I’m in a drought come and save me.” He finished and cuddled himself further into your body, his head on your chest. You giggled scratching his scalp, small satisfied sighs escaping his lips.

When you and Joshua first met on a disastrous blind date set up by your mutual friends where he accidentally spilled wine all over your new white dress, marriage was definitely not in the cards. But nothing is ever set in stone and you should’ve known his charm would win you over when he walked you home that night. Silence raining over the two of you except for the sweet apologies he would spew out every few minutes, thus beginning your loving journey together.

“What are you thinking about?” Joshua whispered drumming his fingers down the side of your body before resting them on top of your stomach. “How dramatic you are.” You joked wrapping your arms around his neck. He hummed and cuddled himself further into your body placing a gentle peck against the skin of your collarbone. “I think you might’ve rubbed off on me then.”

You giggled feeling his hand rub soothing circles against your stomach. A smile played against his lips and you wondered if he knew the secret you had been carrying for the past two weeks. It had started out as a suspicion when the food at Minghao’s wedding had made you sick. Then your emotions started getting the best of you, snapping and crying over everything and anything. When his mother came over to visit and noticed your weird cravings she had made you take a test while Joshua ran to the grocery for some parsley his mother had asked for. He didn’t question it. He had no reason to since his mother had insisted on cooking dinner for the four of you that night. But when he noticed the parsley had been left untouched in the fridge his suspicions started to grow.

He had been oddly observant lately, doing everything with caution, putting your daughter to bed every night a task you usually did and no problem in doing. Acting out all the characters in the story for your daughter was one of your favorite past times. He had insisted that you needed to rest, claiming he didn’t want you to stress out too much and just relax. So you expected he knew and was just waiting for you to tell him so he could finally celebrate. You had to admit it was fun seeing Joshua walk around as if he were avoiding the cracks on the sidewalk and the unsolicited back massages were to die for but you couldn’t keep living like you didn’t know he already knew. As clueless as he had acted, he hadn’t done a very good job at it. And After your secret doctor’s visit yesterday confirming what you had already known, you had been dying to tell him.

“Cut the shit Joshua, when did you find out?” You looked down at him as he smiled widely causing you to roll your eyes. His insides bubbling up with joy as he laid back facing the popcorn ceiling. “You aren’t very good at hiding things. I found the test a week ago when I opened your bathroom drawer looking for the tiny rubber bands to finish our bub’s hair.” He turned his face sending you a playful wink. You groaned running a hand through your face, finally realizing that your plan of total secrecy was a total bust.

“And our daughter can’t keep secrets no matter how many green gummy bears you give her before dinner.”

“I knew it was a little weird when she asked for just green gummy bears. She’s never liked them.” You nodded and grabbed Joshua’s hand. You brought it up to your lips and kissed each of his knuckles gently before resting on the side of your neck, scooting yourself closer to his warm body. “But I do, really honey you should’ve known better.” He smiled and pinched your cheek gently before leaning down and capturing your lips with his. He kissed you slowly at first, the kiss getting deeper by the second as he rolled you onto your back and carefully straddled your hips.

Joshua smirked the taste of your cherry chapstick hitting his tongue making his mind run wild. Slowly he pulled away and kissed down your neck, making his way down your clothed body not caring that small pieces of lint were getting stuck on his plump lips. He rolled your shirt up and sent you a wink before peppering kissing over your soon to be growing belly. Excitement was an understatement and he couldn’t wait to show you how much he truly loved you making a mental note to shower you with more love than usual. His plan finally going into action as he heard your soft sighs escape your lungs.

“Mommy is daddy out of time out?” The two of you panicked and you pushed Joshua off your body making him fall off the bed landing on the hardwood floor with a painful groan. Your daughter laughed hard at her father’s pain while she climbed up on the bed before sitting down next to you. “He’s on probation, baby.” You stuck out your tongue at Joshua who was looking at you rubbing his lower back. “And when were you going to tell me he knew about baby bean?” You raised an eyebrow at her. Her eyes grew wide with realization and launched herself at you hugging you tightly.. “I’m sorry momma, daddy said he’d take me to see uncle Hannie if I didn’t say anything.” She sent her father an evil look and he knew he had lost this argument just like all the other ones.

“It’s okay baby.” You kissed her temple and pulled away taking her pouting face in your hands making your heart clench. “I can’t believe you Joshua bribing our daughter into secrecy.” You scoffed. Joshua looked at the ceiling wondering what decision in life he had made that lead him up to this moment where his favorite girls were ganging up on him again.

“That’s not fair you did the same thing?” He stood up and sent you an accusatory finger making you gasp out in shock. Your daughter copying your mannerisms. “I did no such thing right baby?” You looked down at your daughter who had taken it upon herself to get under the sheets and cuddle up to your side. “That’s right momma’s innocent.”

“I should’ve known the odds were forever going to be against me when I met you.”

“It’s what you signed up for.”

“Yeah and I wouldn’t change it for the world no matter how many times the two of you gang up on me.” He smiled and stood up before quickly jogging over to his side of the bed and laying down. He wrapped an around you and your daughter bringing the two of you close humming happily. Your daughter squirming as she tried her best to let herself lose which only made Joshua’s arm grow tighter.

“But make no mistake one day I will get my revenge.” He sent you a wink before reaching over and pecking your lips lightly and then your daughter’s forehead and laid back. “Baby bean is gonna be on my side and I can’t wait.”

“Don’t get too confident, I don't want you to end up disappointed.”

[openforjean]

aren’t you a pretty thing?

dark!bucky barnes x innocent!fem!reader

warnings: +18, dark fic, stalking, handjob, manipulation, praise kink, sexual thoughts, daddy kink, mentions of breeding, oral sex, anal sex, I think I got everything??

a/n: for my queen @sultrygoblin hope u like it

The smell of popcorn, the screams of riders and laughs of children run by-still doesn’t distract Bucky from you.

Ever since he saw you at the library, a year ago. He’s followed you everywhere. Your job, stores you visit and your home. He even watched you celebrate your twentieth birthday from his car.

Bucky’s eyes trail your body, slowly. Those white stockings make your skin tone pop. His eyes spend a little more time on your legs, he licks his lips. Your skirt barely reaches your mid thigh, his eyes shift to your backside.

He can just imagine pounding you from the back.

“Say it, sweetheart. Say you want my cock,” Bucky says, gripping your hips from behind. You whimper and respond “I want your cock daddy, please, please fuck me”. Bucky doesn’t waste a second, he penetrates your sweet, virgin hole and pounds into you.

His thought is interrupted by a ballon popping from a nearby game booth. His eyes snap back to you and you’re now sitting at a bench...all alone. This is Bucky’s time to bite.

Bucky makes his way to you and sits on the other side of the bench. His arms spread and “accidentally” brushes against you.

You look at him and he quickly mumbles an apology.

“It’s okay,” you say. Bucky nods. And from the corner of his eye, his eyes trail up your thigh. He groans and adjusts his jeans. “Your friends ditch ya?” Bucky asks. This is the riskiest question yet. “No, no, this boy stood me up. He was supposed to meet me here and he isn’t showing,” you answer, with your head down. Bucky tusks and tilts his head at you. “Boys are shit. Get yourself a man, all boys do is fuck everything up. A man with experience, will show you a good time,” Bucky says.

“Oh, well, I don’t...know any ‘men’, but I guess you’re right about boys,” you admit. “You know me, remember?” Bucky says.

“Umm, I don’t think I’ve met you before...I might’ve forgotten, what’s your name?” You ask.

Gotcha.

“Bucky. We met at that party,” he says. You nod, “wh-what party? Anthony’s?” you ask.

“Yeah! Crazy party wasn’t it?” Bucky asks. Bucky doesn’t know who Anthony is, all he knows is that he now has you in his grasp. “Must’ve been, I wouldn’t know. I left early,” you answer.

Good girl.

“Don’t be sad about the boy, he probably wouldn’t have showed you a good time,” Bucky says to ease your heart. You nod. “Wanna get out of here? I can take ya home,” Bucky offers. You smile and your heart melts. No guy has been this sweet to you. “Sure, thanks Bucky,” you say. Bucky stands up and you follow him to his car.

Walking to his car felt magical. The sunset was pink, the smell of cotton candy filled the air. He opens the door and you get in, he closes the car door. You strap yourself in as he makes his way over to the drivers seat. He gets in but he doesn’t start the car.

“Bucky? What’s going on? Is everything okay?” You ask with panic growing in your voice. He looks at you with a a sympathetic look. “I guess, I just feel bad that you’re not having fun. You came here to go on a date and have fun, and you’re not having fun. I’m sorry, I just feel bad,” Bucky says. “It’s okay, I’m still having fun! It’s not your fault, we can have fun together. We don’t need to be here, it’s okay, I promise,” you affirm him.

“As long as you’re sure,” Bucky says, gripping the wheel. “I’m sure, we can have fun at...my place, if you want. I have some board games, I can make us some cookies too...” you offer. You don’t know him and you’re inviting him to your place. What’s got into your head?

The drive to your place is relaxing. The windows are rolled down, the radio plays smooth jazz and his car smells like cologne. You look at him as his eyes watch the road. His hair, his arms and thighs, so pleasant to look at. His hair flows, his veins flex, his metal arm shines and his thighs look so good to ride. Your feel your private part tingles and you shift in your seat, squeezing your thighs together.

“I live on Maple, by the way. Good thing you’re already heading the right way,” you say. Bucky’s eyes widen and he nods. “Good thing, right?” He says. He’s slacking already, ah, what you do to him. “Thank you for taking me home, I really appreciate it. And thanks for cheering me up, I feel better. All because of you,” you say, looking up at him with the most innocent pair of eyes. He gulps and shifts in his seat. “Of course, anytime,” he says.

He makes the stop at your house and the driveway is full. Your parents must be home, shit. You undo the seat belt and look at him once more with those eyes. “Thanks again, the offer still stands to come inside,” you say. He wishes that meant something else but he’ll take what he can get. “I don’t know, seems like you have a packed house.”

“No, no, no! Come in, my family doesn’t mind, you’re a friend now. The least I can do is treat you for taking me home and making me feel better,” you assure. Bucky would love to go inside, but he doesn’t want to risk your parents becoming suspicious. “Okay,” he says.

“Mom, dad, this is Bucky. My friend, he drove me home cause that boy stood me up,” you announce. Your parents smile and thank him. Your parents are just as naive as you, huh sweetheart? Your parents head to the porch to talk and you and Bucky head to your room. Bucky is much more at ease knowing your parents are just like you. He enters your room after you and his heart flutters.

You’re so cute.

White walls, medals from former extracurricular activities, paintings and stuffed animals. A white and gold vanity, golden bed with fluffy white sheets. The scent of vanilla lingers in the air. Your curtains are light, you can see right through them.

“I have Uno, Sorry, Dominoes and-”

“‘S okay doll,” Bucky says. Your mouth parts as he paces around. “Are you okay, Bucky?” You ask. He stops and spins to face you. “No, I need to tell you something and I get it if you don’t feel the same or want me to leave. I will. But...ever since I met you that night, I-I couldn’t stop thinking about you. And when I saw you at the carnival, I knew I had to make a move and talk to you. I spent weeks trying to forget about you and I couldn’t. My mind couldn’t seem to forget you, I don’t think I can...forget you,” Bucky confesses to you. You stand in awe and your heartbeat quickens.

He likes me. A really, really cute guy, likes me! What do I do? I mean, he’s cute and is very nice and friendly. He hasn’t done anything wrong, and he met your parents and they seem to like him. He’s already passed the test, basically. What’s the harm in going out with him?

“You like me, like me?” You ask, stepping closer to him. His nose brushes yours and he nods. “I do, a lot. And if this going too fast, we can slow down. Don’t wanna rush you into anything you’re not ready for,” he says. Your heart pounds and your minds spins from excitement. Someone likes you! You smile and you lean in to kiss him. When his lips touch yours, fireworks went off in your body. Your heart flutters and stomach flips, you feel like you’re in a different dimension. You pull away and wipe your mouth, and you shy away from his gaze. “Don’t look away pretty girl, that was a good kiss. Was that your first one?” He asks.

“No, it’s my second,” you answer with a smirk. He smiles and pulls you to your bed to sit.

“What do you wanna do now Bucky?” You ask, sitting next to him. Bucky stares into your eyes, lovingly. He doesn’t blink. You begin to feel uncomfortable, and your stomach stirs.

There’s a lot he wants to do with you.

He wants to see your body. Kiss every inch, make love to it.

He wants to taste your lips. Have ‘em around his cock and have them on his. Your sweet, pretty lips.

He wants to eat you out til you cry. Swirl his tongue around your clit and finger fuck your tight cunt.

He wants to fuck you. So, so, so bad. He wants to stretch you out and have you scream his name. Cum in in you, raw. Knowing he can knock you up with his baby. 

He wants to make love to that sweet, little pussy too. 

And of course anal. Thinking about fucking your ass makes him shudder.

But we have to climb to get to the top, so for right now. He’ll just have a little fun and have you jerk him off.

“I want you on your knees,” Bucky says, his breath hits your lips. “My-my knees? Why?” You ask.

You are innocent.

“Here, I’ll show you,” Bucky coos. “Okay,” You say. You get on your knees, willingly and you flatten your skirt. He licks his lips. Bucky moves his hands to his belt and undoes it, he unbuttons his pants and pulls his zipper down. Bucky’s hand reaches into his pants and pulls his half hard member out. His cock is thick, veiny and uncut. Bucky pumps his cock, with pre-cum leaking from his tip creating a mess around his cock and hand.

You stare at his cock, this is the first time you’re seeing one too.

“Touch it,” he whispers. You reach for his cock, you grip his shaft.

He sucks a breath in between his teeth.

“Does it feel good?” You ask, as you slowly pump his shaft.

“Yes, it feels very good,” Bucky says with his eyes glued to your sparkling ones. You’re so cute. Pumping his dick like a good girl, your hand feels so good too. “Faster baby, you have to make me cum, I’m almost there,” he says. You pump his cock faster and you fondle his balls in with your hand. “Shit baby, you’re so good. You’re gonna make me cum,” Bucky says. Your thighs clench together and you bite your lip. “You like that huh? You wanna make me cum? You wanna make daddy cum?” Bucky asks as his mouth falls open.

“Yes I do, I wanna taste it. Is that okay? Can I taste your cum?” You ask.

“Yeah baby, you can taste my cum. You’re not only gonna taste it, I’m gonna dump it in you. Over and over again, full you up with my cum just like the s sweet baby you are,” Bucky says. Bucky’s eyes shut and his mouth spills curses as he releases in your hand. You don’t stop pumping him, Bucky grabs your wrist and stops you. Breathing heavily, he says “taste my cum baby”.

You take a lick of his cum in your finger. You like his cum clean off. “What do you think?” Bucky asks.

“I like it,” you answer.

“Good, now get on the bed. I’m gonna fuck you full of it.”

pls reblog with ur thoughts and feedback, it helps me write more :))