#the tension is ruined by me knowing that all it took was smearing the circle kdjfkd

[linddzz]

Latest idea floating around in my head: a twist on the Hob saving Morpheus from the time-out ball, except that's where they first met each other.

Hob's still immortal, it's just that Death was the one who came and gave him the deal of meeting every 100 years

(is this also bc I'd love Death being Hob's centennial buddy? Her being way less reserved and straight up telling him who she is. Her delight at his delighting over life. The rage in him when Eleanor and Robyn die. Death took them and she wouldn't even say anything to him when she did it. Also I'd like to see him just immediately choke and squirm like a bastard as soon as he starts explaining his new shipping business to her in 1789. Yes and hell yes gimme Hobsie and Death as bros.)

So Hob is trying out new stuff again. He's never tried out being a magus and gets himself in as a member of Burgess' order and eventually an acolyte.

And then he's introduced to the "devil" that Burgess keeps in the dungeon. He's to help study up on strengthening the wards around the sphere and all that. And boy is he deeply, super uncomfortable with the sight of this frail man trapped in a cage.

("Don't let his pretty face fool you." Burgess will tell him, "the thing is a demon who would destroy us all if given half a chance."

To be fair, Morpheus does not help his case at all and his expression clearly says "you fuckin bet I will")

And Hob is Hob. So while he's working on studying up on wards (which so happens to involve a lot of careful, detailed study of the wards around the sphere) he's chatting at the thing in it. He complains about the boss, talks about the War, tells the demon about his day while the demon either glares at him or makes a hilariously big show of not paying attention. Sometimes Hob straight up shirks work (with a winking "you won't tell the boss right?") And just reads books.

And he nearly shrieks in surprise when he's reading some new novel called The Hobbit out loud and looks up to find the demon watching and obviously interested. So of course Hob is gonna keep reading him stories and keep studying those binding spells super closely.

And ok that's where I gotta admit the story doesn't have a solid conclusion in my head yet (besides obviously Hob is gonna bust Dream out and then get kissed a LOT) but I do have one bit where Morpheus first talks to him and of course it's just cryptic weird shit. Because Morpheus has started watching this shit-wizard who won't shut the fuck up back and can tell that something is OFF about him.

So just imagine Hob is yammering away about how he thinks the masters kid and the gardener have something going on, and he nearly shits himself when the "demon" presses a hand against the glass and says

"Death has touched you. I see it now. My siblings marks upon you. Is that what you are here for? To report to them? To let them see how low their family has come? So they do know what has come of me then, and they have sent you to chatter away and truly make it clear that they will do nothing."

Hob's just like. "WHAT?? SIBLINGS?! You TALK??! Hang on you know Death???!" But Morpheus already is back to curling in on himself in a furious pissy sulk

[multifanhoe99]

Kinktober Day 8- Corruption

Pairing: Non-Idol!Chanyeol x Innocent!AFAB!Reader

Warnings: Arranged marriage, virgin!reader, possessive!Chanyeol, nickname (Angel), mentions of multiple rounds, He basically makes you cum over and over till the sun comes up.

=Let me know if I missed any.=

18+ MDNI

PROMPT LIST

MASTERLIST

Chanyeol didn't like the idea of marrying someone he didn't know. He thought that the practice of arranged marriages between wealthy families was weird and unnecessary. In fact, he was planning on ruining this dinner to save you both the trouble later. He thought he had it all planned out perfectly until the moment he laid eyes on you. You looked so soft and innocent. He instantly wanted to protect you from the world. Hide you away in his own personal bubble and never let anyone else touch you. It unlocked something in him that he never knew was there. Something that made him want to ruin your perfectness. All he could imagine was watching as your adorable makeup got smudged and smeared because he had you in tears from pleasure you'd never known until him. Chanyeol's heart raced as he approached you, his earlier plans of sabotage long forgotten. He bowed slightly, taking your hand and brushing his lips across your knuckles. The touch sent electricity through him.

"It's a pleasure to meet you," he said, his voice low and husky.

You blushed, averting your eyes shyly. "Likewise," you murmured. As dinner progressed, Chanyeol found himself captivated by your every word and gesture. He watched the way you delicately sipped your wine, imagining those lips on his skin. When you laughed at something he said, the sound was like music. Under the table, his hand found your knee. You jumped slightly at the contact but didn't pull away. Chanyeol's thumb traced small circles on your skin, relishing how soft you felt. Your eyes met his, a mixture of surprise and intrigue flickering across your features. Chanyeol felt a surge of possessiveness, wanting to be the only one to ever see that look on your face. As the evening wore on, the tension between you grew palpable. Every accidental brush of hands, every shared glance, felt charged with electricity. Chanyeol found himself leaning in closer, drinking in your scent, memorizing the curve of your neck. When dinner finally ended, he couldn't bear the thought of letting you go. Luckily he didn't have to wait long. It is customary in these arranged marriages for the couple to meet for the first time the night before the wedding and no sooner. So he would see you again tomorrow, walking down the aisle, looking even more pure and angelic than you did tonight.

As Chanyeol lay in bed that night, his mind raced with thoughts of you. He tossed and turned, unable to shake the image of your innocent face, your gentle smile. The need to possess you, to claim you as his own, consumed him. When morning finally came, Chanyeol dressed with meticulous care. His hands shook slightly as he adjusted his tie, anticipation building. This was it - the day he would make you his forever. The ceremony passed in a blur. Chanyeol barely heard the words being spoken, his eyes fixed on you. You looked ethereal in your white gown like an angel descended from heaven. His angel. As you said your vows, Chanyeol's voice was thick with emotion. Not nerves, as the guests assumed, but raw desire. He slipped the ring on your finger, relishing how soft your skin was beneath his fingers calloused from playing guitar. When the officiant finally pronounced you husband and wife, Chanyeol could barely contain himself. He pulled you close, one hand on the small of your back, the other cupping your face. His lips met yours in a kiss that started gently but quickly intensified. You gasped softly against his mouth, and he took the opportunity to deepen the kiss, giving you a taste of the passion that had been building since he first saw you. The reception was torture for Chanyeol. All he wanted was to whisk you away, to finally have you all to himself. But social obligations kept you both busy, greeting guests and participating in various traditions. His eyes followed you constantly, drinking in every smile, every laugh. Whenever possible, he kept a possessive hand on you - at your waist, on your arm, clasping your hand in his. As the night wore on, Chanyeol grew increasingly impatient. All he wanted was to finally claim you as his. He wanted to be the devil to tempt you, his angel, into lustful sin. Finally, the last guest departed and you were alone. Chanyeol's eyes darkened as he turned to you, his new bride. Without a word, he swept you into his arms and carried you to the honeymoon suite. Once inside, he set you down gently. His fingers trembled slightly as he reached for you, cupping your face.

"You're so beautiful," he murmured, his thumb tracing your lower lip, "So pure and innocent. I want to corrupt you in the most delicious ways." You shivered at his words, a mixture of nervousness and excitement coursing through you. Chanyeol's lips found yours in a searing kiss, more passionate than the one you'd shared at the altar. His tongue sought entrance, which you granted with a soft gasp. Chanyeol's hands roamed your body, caressing every curve through the delicate fabric of your wedding gown. You whimpered softly, overwhelmed by the intensity of his touch. Chanyeol growled low in his throat, the sound sending shivers down your spine.

"You're mine now," he murmured against your neck, his breath hot on your skin, "All mine." With deft fingers, he began unlacing your dress, his lips never leaving your skin. As the gown fell away, Chanyeol's eyes darkened with desire. Chanyeol's eyes raked over your newly exposed skin, drinking in every inch of you. He reached out to touch you, reverent and possessive all at once.

"Perfect," he breathed, "You're absolutely perfect." You shivered under his intense gaze, a blush spreading across your cheeks and down your neck. Chanyeol tracked the rosy color with his eyes, fascinated.

"So innocent," he murmured, "But not for long." In one swift motion, he pulled you flush against him, claiming your lips in a searing kiss. You gasped at the sudden movement, and he took the opportunity to deepen the kiss, his tongue exploring your mouth. His hands roamed your body, leaving trails of fire in their wake. Chanyeol walked you backward until your legs hit the edge of the bed. He gently lowered you onto the soft sheets. His eyes never left yours as he slowly unbuttoned his shirt, revealing toned muscles underneath. You couldn't help but stare, mesmerized by the sight. Chanyeol smirked, noticing your wide-eyed gaze.

"Like what you see, angel?" he purred, voice low and seductive. You nodded shyly, unable to form words. Chanyeol's smirk widened as he finished undressing, leaving him in just his boxers. He crawled onto the bed, hovering over you with a predatory gleam in his eyes.

"You're so beautiful," he murmured, trailing kisses along your jawline, "So pure and perfect. I can't wait to ruin you." His lips trailed down your neck, leaving a path of fire in their wake. You gasped and arched into him, overwhelmed by the new sensations. Chanyeol growled low in his throat, the sound vibrating against your skin.

"That's it, angel," he murmured, "Let me hear you." His hands roamed your body, touching and caressing places no one ever had before. You whimpered softly, torn between shyness and growing desire. Chanyeol's eyes darkened at the sound.

"No need to be shy," he said, voice husky, "You're mine now. All mine." He captured your lips in another searing kiss, swallowing your moans as his fingers found sensitive spots. Your hands clutched at his shoulders, nails digging into his skin. Chanyeol hissed in pleasure.

"You're so responsive," he murmured against your skin. "So sensitive to my touch. I love it." Chanyeol's hands continued to explore your body, each touch igniting sparks of pleasure. You trembled beneath him, overwhelmed by the intensity of the sensations. His lips trailed down your neck, leaving a trail of hot kisses.

"Ch-Chanyeol," you gasped, your voice breathy and uncertain. He paused, looking up at you with dark, desire-filled eyes, "Yes, angel?"

"I've... I've never..." you trailed off, blushing furiously.

Understanding dawned in Chanyeol's eyes, followed by a flash of possessive hunger. "You've never been touched like this before, have you?" he murmured, his voice low and husky. When you shook your head, he groaned softly. "Oh, angel. I'm going to make this so good for you," he murmured, his voice low and husky. "I'll be gentle, I promise." His lips found yours again in a tender kiss as his hands resumed their exploration of your body. You gasped and whimpered at his touch, overwhelmed by the new sensations. Chanyeol took his time, savoring every reaction, every soft sound that fell from your lips.

“That's it, angel," he encouraged softly "Let go. Feel everything I'm doing to you." Slowly, carefully, he began to push you towards the edge. Your breath came in short pants, your body trembling beneath his. Chanyeol watched your face intently, memorizing every expression of pleasure that crossed your features. Your back arched as waves of pleasure washed over you, Chanyeol's name falling from your lips in a breathless cry. He held you close as you shuddered against him, murmuring words of praise and adoration. As you came down from your high, Chanyeol peppered your face with soft kisses. "You're so beautiful," he murmured. "So perfect." You blushed at his words, still shy despite what had just transpired between you. Chanyeol smiled tenderly, brushing a strand of hair from your face.

"We're not done yet, angel," he said, his voice low and full of promise. "I'm going to worship every inch of you tonight." True to his word, Chanyeol spent hours exploring your body, bringing you to the heights of pleasure again and again. By the time the sun began to peek through the curtains, you were a trembling, exhausted mess. Your skin glistened with sweat, and your hair mussed beyond recognition. Chanyeol looked down at you with a mix of tenderness and pride.

"Look at you," he murmured, tracing your swollen lips with his thumb. "Thoroughly fucked out, and all mine." You managed a weak smile, still catching your breath. Chanyeol gathered you into his arms, pulling you against his chest. His fingers combed gently through your tangled hair.

"Rest now, angel," he said softly, "You'll need your strength for later." As you drifted off to sleep, Chanyeol's arms wrapped protectively around you, you realized that maybe arranged marriages weren't so bad after all. You had found your perfect match in this man who could be both tender and possessive.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A/N: I catch up just to fall behind. Oops.

[flowerbeom]

Make A Wish | LJB

Lim Jaebeom x Female!Reader

Genre: Fluff / Established Relationship / Sickly Sweet Soft Romance

→ When a late night at work ruined your plans to surprise him, Jaebeom proves that love is all that matters

Word Count: 1.1k

A/N: Written for many reasons. 1. To complete a jaebeom + balcony + soft request. 2. To create something for the #7for7Project. and 3. Because it’s Jae’s birthday and I love him. → Also, it’s a bit clumsy because I’m rusty, but I had an idea so I ran with it.  → gif by the radiant @defgyus​

It didn’t happen often, but the nights you were kept late at work were always the worst nights for it to happen. I’m so sorry, you had texted. Don’t be silly, he replied; completely genuine - he could hold no grievance. But as you drove home through empty, almost sleeping streets, you grimaced knowing every plan you had secretly made would not come to fruition. 

Tired fingers gripped the steering wheel as a yawn punctuated the silence in your car. The blaring glow of a red light made your eyes drift to the passenger seat where a strawberry sponge cake sat sad and deflated, the words written in icing were smeared across the top from hours of waiting. Disappointment filled you and then emptied out with a laboured sigh. Just get home, you reminded yourself. Everything will be better once you’re home. 

From the driveway, you stared into your dimly lit house. The small bags you had prepared for your surprise hung limply in your hand; carrying little gifts, none of any great material worth, but filled with meaning from moments and memories shared. The types of gifts only you and him would understand. The best types of gifts. And still you stood at the front door dejected. So with a strengthening breath, you crossed the threshold into the home you shared.

It took a few quiet footsteps for you to call for him.

“Baby?” 

Silence was your response. 

And another few more footsteps up the stairs to call out again. Though for some reason, it came out in a whisper. 

“Jae? Sweetie?” 

The hollowness of your voice melted into the melody you started to hear as you approached the bedroom. Peaking passed the open door, you spotted Jaebeom’s outline; seated quietly on the balcony, cradling one of the cats on his lap. Lit softly by the lamp in the corner, you could hear him humming, some tune you knew he just came up with in that moment. Airy and light, yet filled with a depth he carried within him; you felt your heart yearning to go to him, to listen to his song within the warmth of his embrace. And yet you quietly turned away. 

The small and gentle smile that etched into his cheeks as you approached him with a slice of cake, adorned with a single candle was enough to ease all the tension you harboured inside you. He didn’t like it when people sang that happy birthday song but he would listen to you sing it on repeat because he would never and could never deny you. 

Jaebeom laughed as he shook his head when you knelt before him, holding out the little plate for him to blow out the candle. Instead, tender hands pulled you up onto his lap; your cat quickly scurrying off amongst the fuss. 

“Hello you.” He greeted as his arms circled your waist. 

“Hello you.” You said softly as his lips placed a gentle kiss on your cheek.

A few moments passed cheek to cheek by the glow of that single candle before Jaebeom playfully knocked his forehead against yours. 

“It’s not my birthday.” Brows furrowed as he paused for your response. 

You simply smiled, mischievous in kind, and waited. Soon Jaebeom’s phone that lay on the small table beside him began to ping. Midnight had struck. Message after message, notification after notification and a missed call or two from either Jinyoung or Youngjae illuminated the screen. 

You raised a playful brow. “It is now.” 

Nimble fingers poked and tickled the soft flesh around your waist that you almost dropped the plate and you chided Jaebeom for the near disaster. He merely giggled and stole a kiss to bring a smile back to your face. 

You settled again onto his lap, nuzzling into him as he held you close. 

“This isn’t what I had planned.” Admitting meekly, as you watched a bead of wax trail down the candle. Jaebeom placed his chin on your shoulder. 

“Oh? What did you have planned?” 

“Dinner, cake, balloons, presents on the bed...” 

“Were you going to be one of them?” He jeered. A sharp jab of your elbow into his chest wiped the smirk off his face. 

“It’s not funny.” Sulking on his lap, he simply pulled you closer, letting his lips ghost the side of your neck. 

“This..” Gesturing to the plate in your hand. “And this..” Embracing you tightly. “And this..” Lifting his finger to your chin to turn you to face him. “..Is more than enough.” 

Jaebeom kissed you slowly, tenderly; enough to quiet the world.

Jaebeom somehow, in his simple ways, always made you forget any troubles you had. He eased your anxieties, revelled in your triumphs and made you love the parts of you you always thought you couldn’t. In his quiet ways, he made you feel like you were the centre of his universe. And over time you realised, he had become yours. 

Smiling to break the kiss, you lifted the plate to his face. 

“Here, make a wish.” Jaebeom giggled, amused with your insistence. Feigning thought, Jaebeom pursed his lips and hummed, then quickly blew out the candle. 

“Happy birthday, baby.” Sealing the greeting with a cheeky peck on the tip of his nose. 

“What did you wish for?” You asked as you swiped a finger of cream off the cake, holding it out for him. 

“Nothing.” He snapped his lips onto your finger, sucking the cream clean off in an attempt to stifle your bubbling outrage. 

“What! Why?!” You shot at him. He snorted, clearly he had failed. 

Taking the plate from your hand, Jaebeom pushed the hair off your shoulder before placing a gentle hand on your cheek. 

“I don’t need anything when I already have you.” 

He smiled, sweetly, enough to make every part of you glow with warmth. 

But as you leant forward to kiss him, the sweet smile on Jaebeom’s face started to shift; devilish in its undertone. And before you knew it, the plate he held in his hand was flat against your cheek; cake smashed into your face. 

Jaebeom swiftly slid you off his lap as you came to grips with shock and quickly raced off into the house; narrowly avoiding your thrashing, clawing hands. 

“Lim Jaebeom! You get back here you piece of sh--”

“..Remember I love you, and treasure you and you’re my dream come true… Don’t kill me!” 

You chased him down, throwing pillows at his back; swearing and laughing in tandem before finally jumping onto him, pinning him to the floor. Punishment was endless kisses, endless cake-stained kisses; covering his face and neck and chest with frosting and strawberry cream. Jaebeom willingly bore the consequences of his actions, and benevolent as you are, allowed him to atone for his wrong doings by paying in kisses. A fair price you thought. 

With Jaebeom, as with life, things rarely go to plan. But it turns out, you just need someone, the right someone, to show you that it doesn’t always need to. 

[alexandenigtscreations]

Chapters: ½ Fandom: The Penumbra Podcast Rating: Teen and up Relationships: Peter Nureyev/Juno Steel Additional Tags: Poisoning, Poison, Heist gone wrong, Peter Nureyev has ADHD, Rita defiantly has ADHD, Nonbinary Juno Steel, Whump, Hurt/Comfort, TPP, Junoverse | Juno Steel Universe Summary:

After Nureyev get’s poisoned on a mission, he’s determined to see it to it’s completion. He and Juno make quite the team after all. Had many thoughts after reading @kaiserkorresponds​ 's fic ---> [The Celestial's Kiss https://archiveofourown.org/works/31409258 ]. Which apparently has been spinning round and round my head. I do love a good poisioning <3</p>

Chapter 1:

It should have been obvious from the moment the drink hit his lips.  The sour bitterness that the burn of poor quality alcohol failed to mask.  It should have been obvious.  But focused as he was on keeping a straight face; Nureyev found himself swallowing the vial fluid before he could begin to think better of it.  He paused, eyes flicking down to the odd shimmer he’d mistaken for ice melt.  

That- wasn’t ideal-

He filed deeper thoughts on the subject away in favor of assessing for further threats.  The facility crawled with them, from the myriad of security cameras to their flamboyantly garbed host.  They were watching a little too closely, a little too carefully.  A smile playing across their garish lips.

Nureyev sat back, glancing over at his goddess.  A vision in the scarlet A-cut dress.  There was a slit running up his thigh, revealing quite a bit of leg and a hint of a holster.  

Juno’s own drink, served neat, bore the same tell-tale signs of tampering.  The Detective swirled it about his glass, clearly about to throw it back in his usual no nonsense fashion.  

That would not due.

With all the coolness Nureyev could muster, he placed a gentle hand over Juno’s cup.  His Detective tensed, sending a soft, questioning gaze his way.  

“Not very hospitable, spiking a Lady’s drink.”

“What?” Juno pulled back, guard up.  

Nureyev’s fingers curled around the glass, taking a moment to weigh his options.  He had half a mind to fling it’s contents into the eyes of Jody, the large thuggish man directly across the table.  He might even have time to incapacitate Mx. Balsa and get Juno to cover him before reinforcements came.  They might even make it out in one piece-  

It was tempting, but ultimately would get them nowhere.

They were on a job, after all.  If there was any chance of salvaging the situation, that should be their first option.  One little computer virus, how hard could it be to plant?

He took the glasses and poured their contents on the floor, the ice shattered on impact.  

Mx. Balsa smiled.  “Very good Mr. Tillerson.  It seems you passed our test.”

“A test.  We came to have a civilized discussion, Mx. Balsa.” Nureyev said pointedly, he could still feel the burn of the alcohol in his throat “Not play childish games.”

Mx. Balsa shrugged their narrow shoulders “Childish or no, it’s effective.  We don’t let just anyone play with us.  I’m sure you understand.”

“Understand?” Juno bristled, “Understand my boot! You try to pull something like that-”

Juno came up short when Nureyev squeezed his thigh; nodding his head graciously, “Naturally.  Now are there any other- tests- we should be made aware of or are we free to get down to business.”  

Was he imagining it?  Or was his stomach already souring?  

File it away-

“Down to business!” Juno blurted, “They offered us a spiked cocktail and you want to get back to business?” he sat back, crossing arms over his chest “I say no way.  The only people that I know of who spike drinks are scoundrels and cheats.  How are we supposed to take them at their word?” At some point the moral outrage in his voice changed into a conversational tone.

Nureyev could have kissed him, if it weren’t for their cover- “My colleague has a point.  You’ve tested us, it seems only fair that we should test you.” he gave his best smile, “Perhaps a sample of your information for our technicians to verify.”

“I hardly believe that to be necessary-” said Mx. Balsa.  Nureyev knew that they were the sort of person that relied heavily on their reputation.  But deals weren’t made on reputation alone.  

“Oh?  But I do.  Unless you are unable to deliver what we discussed?” Nureyev stared into their pale eyes.  They didn’t flinch.  He waited a beat, then two and still nothing.  He stood with a heavy sigh “I believe our business here has concluded then.  Mr. Micah.” He offered a hand to Juno, who accepted it.  

“Sure Tillerson.”

The pair made to leave. Jody, Mx. Balsa’s companion moved to intercept.  Which was effective both for the fact he was so broad of shoulder as to eclipse the door behind him and so tall that even Nureyev felt as though he had to peer up into his face.  

Instinctively, Nureyev moved in front of Juno.  It was ridiculous, a man that large simply should not be allowed.  

“Like I said, there is no need to leave.” Mx. Balsa’s tone did not change, but there was a weight to it now, a tension.  

“And why should we stay?” Juno crossed his arms defiantly over his chest.

They surveyed him for a moment. “If it’s information you want, it’s information you will have.”  They slid a chip into their comms and made a fuss of downloading a sample.  It chirped upon completion and they offered it up with a flourish. “Please, a sample, if you will.”  

Nureyev’s eyes flicked from the chip to their host and back.  He smiled, accepting it in a cocky, gracious manor that was felt exclusively by his alias.

“Very well, I’ll have our team verify this information.  If you would excuse me.”  Jody made an intercept but this time Mx. Balsa intervened.  A small shake of their head, jewels shimmering in the light.  That was a relief.  With a nod to Juno, Nureyev slipped out the doors and made a beeline towards the restroom even as he sent the data to Rita.  

As much as he wanted to run, he didn’t.  He kept his gate easy and posture confident.  That changed as soon as he was in the privacy of the privy.  

Nureyev bolted to a stall, shoving two fingers down his throat.  He gagged and wretched till his eyes watered, jaw cramped and his skull pounded.  Bowing lower with each convulsion, clinging to the hope he’d retch up the vial cocktail.  

It wasn’t working.  

He reached deeper, spayed his fingers further, feeling the bite of his sharp teeth in his hand, nails scraping on the inside of his throat-  

Historically, he’d viewed being ill at will as a necessary evil of his trade.  A skill, as it were.  

One he’d never mastered.  

It had landed him in the hospital on an occasion or two.  

Try as he might, the only thing he succeeded in doing was ruining his makeup.  He gave up, of course he did, there wasn’t a point in driving himself into exhaustion.  Yet alone displaying that weakness for the world to see.  

There was nothing for it.  He would just have to bide his time until they returned to the Carte Blanche.  

In all probability, he had time.  Brahmese people were particularly resilient to a variety of toxins.  Not by some evolutionary fluke, but by design.  The planet had always been hostile to its human inhabitants.  In all its infinite wisdom, the government, rather than deal with the expensive venture of cleaning the pollutants from living zones, had instead chosen to subsidize gene editing.  That was before the war though.  

Mag had been so relieved to find Nureyev had inherited the genetic coding.  ‘First rule of thieving Pete’ he’d laughed ‘take any advantage you can get!’

Advantage- Nureyev snorted, more like a double edged sword.   While it afforded him some protection, it also marked him as distinctly Brahmese.

File it away-

The thought of the Carte Blanche again, of Vespa Ilkay.  She was the last person he wanted alerted to the genetic quirk.  

File that away too while you’re at it-

Nureyev turned his attention to the vanity.  He’d made quite the mess of himself.  Lipstick and eyeliner smeared, ropes of various… secretions clinging to his nose and mouth, eyes red and puffy.  He frowned at the fine dusting of red circling the tender flesh behind the spectacles.  Petechiae- apparently he’d burst a few blood vessels.  

Great, just great.  All the work he’d put into Tillerson’s visage for naught- file it away.  

All the same, he allowed himself a moment of discontent as he began the process of cooling the swelling, washing away the evidence and rework his appearance.  

The door swung open, and scarlet filled his periphery.  

“God Damnit , there you are- Tillerson-” bless him, they’d practiced using their aliases for a week before the job and Juno was still uncomfortable with them.  

“Mr. Micah.” Nureyev returned, blending the concealer under his eyes.  

“You were gone for a while-” Juno didn’t say it, but he didn’t have to.  Nureyev could tell when his Detective was worried.  He was fidgeting head to toe, poor thing.

“I decided to visit the powder room while waiting on our team to analyze the data.” he glanced at his comms “The information appeared to check out- And- oh my they seemed to have attempted to sneak in a trojan horse.  Rita assures it isn’t a problem but-”

Juno plainly wasn’t listening.  He was looking him over with that sharp eye, stepping into his space.  “You okay babe?” he breathed, reaching out to smooth a hair back into place and cupping his cheek “your eyes are red.”

Nureyev jumped in surprise.  Had Juno even bothered to check for surveillance devices or-  People slept with their co-workers all the time, he and Juno were no exception to that rule, but what if they were seen?  Found out?  Their cover blown!  What if-

But no- he trusted the Detective.  

He cleared his head gently kissing the lady’s palm.  He considered for a moment telling Juno about the poison, but what came out of his mouth instead was “Just some minor irritation, love.” He stepped away, Mr. Tillerson sliding back into place.  “I suppose we should return to our hosts.”

“Yeah-"he flashed an uncertain smile.  Just don’t go disappearing on me again.  Thought they were going to eat me alive or something-”

“We can not have that now, can we?” He returned the smile, trying to exude his usual confidence despite the weakness in his legs.  They would have to wrap this up quickly, if the dizziness was anything to go by.  Plant the virus and leave.

“You were gone for quite a while Mr. Tillerson.” greeted their host.

“Merely conversing with my associate.” he shrugged, “And you’re in luck, Mx. Balsa.  Your information appears to be- genuine.” Nureyev planted a firm hand on the table, as much for balance as it was to return the chip.  

“Of course it is, we went through great pains to ensure it to be so.”

“Indeed. I’m sure the origin story would be most interesting but we have a matter to settle.  The price.”

They had discussed this before.  Mx. Balsa wouldn’t deal with those who didn’t have something interesting to offer.  It had taken Buddy and Rita time to figure out their tastes, and even more to fabricate a program.  A hacking bot.  It wasn’t real of course, the only thing that made it halfway convincing at all was Rita piloting the thing remotely.  

“Yes, the price-” they drawled.  Nureyev did not take kindly to that tone.  “The price just went up.”

Nureyev’s eyebrows crept upwards while Juno bolted upright “Hey now!  We agreed to the terms before this even-”

“Micah, please”

“No!  So far they’ve tried to poison us and hid a goodie in their sample intel.  Now they want more .  Hell, they should be paying us for this-”

“Mr. Micah, please.  I merely desire to know what it is you hope to accomplish with the information.  And to get a taste for your program’s capabilities as you have of my intel.”

Nureyev pretended to consider it, placing a hand on Juno’s knee and tapping out a message, before saying “These appear to be fair terms, however, what I’m wondering is if there are any more hidden fees.”  

To say Mx. Balsa was slippery, was an understatement.  Nureyev had seen people like them before, knowledge brokers, able to root out and twist any grain of truth to their heart’s desire.  This was not someone he wanted to be investigated by.  Juno would be a veritable beacon.  Public employees were so easy to track-

Mx. Balsa took their time in testing the program.  Rita informed them when she’d gotten the virus set up in their system, it didn’t take her long at all.  Now they just had to play the wait game.  They fained interest in the intel, made up a story to satiate their curiosity and asked enough questions to avoid suspicion.  All the while Nureyev could feel his health take a steady trend downwards.  

Once or twice he thought they shot him a knowing look as his attention began to wonder, or that Jody was leaning in a little too closely.  He tugged at his collar absently, the sweat plastering his shirt to him under the corset.  It was hard to gauge if the pressure of the boning was having a positive or negative effect on the nausea.  If they knew he’d been poisoned, what would they do?  Would they try to revoke their deal?  Detain them?  Hurt them?  Hurt Juno?  

He could not let that happen, would not.  

Juno squeezed his thigh, startling him out of his thoughts.  Mx. Balsa was pushing a new chip towards them, the one with the information they’d spent the better part of a day mulling over.  It was encased in a silver embossed box, flashy and probably manufactured to ensure no one could scan its contents.

Nureyev took out his comms once more and clicked it into place.  It was all there, Rita checked for them.  Thank the stars it wasn’t another test.  After all, it would be suspicious if they left with only half the intel.  

“I believe that concludes our business.” he smiled, rising gratefully to his feet.  

“We’ve kept you so long, won’t you stay for dinner?”

“Dinner my ass.” Juno grumbled for only Nureyev’s ears.

“Didn’t quite catch that-” Mx. Balsa frowned.

“Ohh Sorry, we’ll pass, don’t feel like dying today.” Juno smiled, voice dripping in sarcasm.

“Ahh, Pity.”

Nureyev’s laugh was cut short from a stabbing pain in his abdomen.  He started again, swaying, hand pressed to his stomach.  Certain he’d find blood.

“Everything okay there Mr. Tillerson?”

Glancing down revealed only the pristine pearl embroidery of the corset.  No blade, no blood, he was…. fine-  

He released his death grip on the chair, quickly filing away that sensation best he could.  Their mission was nearly done after all, no need for theatrics now.

“Perfectly.” He smiled wider, displaying sharp teeth.  “We’ll show ourselves out.”

Jody made a big show of opening the doors for them so that the muscled chords of his biceps were on full display.  They’d just managed to step before slamming it shut at their backs.  

The smile Nureyev had been wearing, dissolved into a grimace. He set a brisk, if uneven, pace to the exit.  

“Hey- Ran-” Juno groaned “Tillerson!  Wait up!” Juno clacked to his side.  

“Apologies Micah, I merely-ah!” he stumbled over his feet, Juno caught him in his strong arms.

“Hey- are-are you alright?”

His head was still spinning and there was that question again.  He had no desire to deal with it at present. “I-”

“The truth this time.” Juno pressed, ever the persistent Lady.

“Just a tad under the weather-” he admitted.  

“Babe, why didn’t you say something-”

“Something I drank.  It’s fine love.”

Bone deep tiredness pulled him down.  He wanted nothing more than to surrender himself to the arms of his goddess.  It would be safe there, warm.

Juno looked like he was going to ask more questions but was interrupted.

A shrill cry tore through the hall.  It sounded like Mx. Balsa.

“What the hell?” Juno craned his neck to look.  "You don’t think they found it yet?“

"Let’s- not check.”  Nureyev entwined his arm with Juno’s, setting up a brisk pace towards the doors.  Relying on the Detective as one might a crutch.

There was a wash of hurried footsteps, people shouting, blasters charging- the only thing that made sense was security-

“I believe we’ve overstayed our welcome Detective!” Nureyev said.

“Ya Think!” Juno yelled back, voice cracking from the force of it.  Even so- he withdrew a fist full of blaster from the dress slit.

But Nureyev wasn’t focusing on Juno, wasn’t focusing on the escape.  Jody was barreling on through the guards, weapon raised and charging and trained on-

“Micah!”  He slammed into Juno just as the bolt whizzed past striking another employee.  They rotated so that he could serve as Juno’s shield while giving him time to line up a shot.  It might have worked too if he’d been a little quicker-  

The next thing he knew he was violently ripped from the Detective.  A strong, bulky arm wrapped about his throat, crushing it.

Jody-

It had to be, few could make Nureyev’s toes leave the ground.  His chest quaked with strain of forcing air in and out of his constricted windpipe.  He kicked for purchase, skiving off the panic by attempting to worm his forearm up through the choke hold; the other diving into a pocket for a blade.

“Tillerson!” Juno shouted.

“Important to you isn’t he.” Their voice was surprisingly soft and high for their bulk.

Juno fired two shots beyond them, he must have hit his mark because there was the sound of something hitting the floor.  

Jody jerked back, causing stars to burst in front of Nureyev’s vision.  Fear clouded his mind, making him claw at the bodyguard.  Even so he blindly groped for the familiar curvature of a handle-

“No more of that-” they warned “Or I will be forced to-” but what they’d be forced to do was lost.  

Nureyev found a knife amongst the stashed trinkets and baubles, he had just enough wherewithal to mouth ‘ ready- ’ before manically plunging the blade into the brute’s thigh.

They howled, dropping Nureyev.  Juno sent a stunner straight to their chest as soon as his partner was clear.  The lady darted forwards, catching the thief under arm and hauling farther along the passage.  Nureyev, for his part, gulped down air and forced his sluggish legs to take his weight.  

They had no choice but to run.  Nureyev readied fresh blades, easier to locate now his brain had a proper supply of oxygen.  Pressed for time as they were, he couldn’t help but notice he wasn’t recovering like he ought to.

They rounded a corner and “Damn it” Juno hissed, taking in the thick ring of guards round a door “There’s too many-”

Manny there were.  But they also appeared green, scared.  Nureyev didn’t need three decades of experience reading people to know they could be intimidated.  

“Perhaps-” he puffed, flashing a wiry smile.  "Let’s see what they are made of.“  It was all the warning he gave before sprinting towards the group.  

It was a foolish plan, a desperate one.  There were screams and shouts as Nureyev’s blades flashed.  He had to give them a little credit, they held ranks far longer than he’d imagined them capable.  That all changed with the first spray of blood.  Typically he’d aim to wound in Juno’s presence; but with the way his hands shook he was taking any opening that presented itself.

Distantly he could hear the bite of Juno’s words as he called out and could feel his presence joining at his side.  The two of them versus the small army of guards.  He allowed himself to get caught up in the simple rhythm of the moment.  

For the first time since the mission started, Nureyev’s mind cleared.  All there was was the ache of his breath, the burn in his limbs and the death defying dance with Juno Steel.  

They shot and sliced their way to an opening; clawed a path to the hall, the entrance way and the street beyond and-

Sweet escape-

This - this moment right here, was what Nureyev lived for.

The dizzying rush of the night air spurred the pair on until all sounds of pursuit faded.  Despite his long legs and penchant for running, Juno easily kept pace.  He could feel it now, the sickness worrying away at him from the inside.  He didn’t know how much more he could take before his legs would give out or lungs burst.  Still he pushed harder, dug deeper, counting his steps to drown out the complaints of the body.  

At long last they stumbled into an ally way; a narrow thing that reeked of misuse.  

"Okay- What the Hell!” Juno rounded on Nureyev, eye flashing in the dim light of the dome.

Nureyev swallowed, hardly able to keep his focus on the Detective.  The light cardio had left him feeling queasy and weak.  Wrong.  He supposed poison on an empty stomach would do that to you.  Not to mention how tender his throat was after Jody’s mistreatment.  

He put a hand to his clammy forehead, swaying a little.

“I thought I was the reckless one,” he lectured “the one that went off half co- babe?  Nureyev?!!!”

He’d doubled over, retching earnestly this time.  Just as before, there was nothing to bring up-  The cruel dry heaves cramped his core and set his eyes watering, legs folding under the crushing weight of it.  

“Babe, heyheyhey, hey~ I got you-” strong arms wrapped around him, propping him up, “I’ve got you.” Small circles worked into his back as they waited for it to end.

“S-sorry-” he gasped between convulsions.  They didn’t have time for this, they didn’t have time for any of this.  Yet here he was endangering Juno with his own ineptitude.  “I’m- ss-”

“Ugh-uh, no, you’re not doing that.” Juno cut him off.  “Hell, when you said you weren’t feeling good-”  Nureyev made to apologize again, but Juno gave a warning “hun”

He slumped against the brickwork, trembling and breathing heavily.  

“Done?”

Nureyev gave a non committal hum.  It was all he trusted himself to manage.  

All the same, a moment was afforded to him to clean up with a moist towelette.  Again his makeup was ruined, but he was far from caring.  The important thing at present was to leave this city behind.  

Juno seemed to be thinking along the same vein.  “Think you can stand?  Or should I contact Jet?”

“No need for that love.” Nureyev smiled weakly, nausea churning within “Just give me a hand.”  

The Detective obliged, neatly entangled their fingers and pulled him along using his comms to navigate.  He was mighty grateful for the assistance, between the stomach ache and the weight in his limbs, he was having difficulty remaining upright.  

Nureyev eyed the nooks and crannies of the back streets.  Had he been alone he’d likely of spent the night curled up in one of those charming locations.  Cold and cramped, but out of sight.  He sighed, surrendering himself to the guidance of his goddess.  

“Hello Ruby.” Nureyev greeted wirily.  It chirped in response alerting Jet to their presence.  The door swung open of the Ruby’s own volition and the pair slid in.  “Jet-”

“Ransom.”  Jet acknowledged.

“Hey big guy.”

“Are either of you injured?” he asked, glancing back in the rearview mirror.  “I ask because of the blood.”

“Don’t think so.  Had to get a little rough on the getaway.” Juno explained glancing down at his gore streaked dress and coat.  “Honestly, if we could move out, that would be great.  I don’t really fancy meeting up with those nut jobs again.”

Nureyev hummed in agreement.  Doing his level best to keep his expression neutral and his breathing measured.  He must look a mess judging by the way Jet kept eyeing him.  

Turbulence made him gasp as pain blossomed in his abdomen.  His composure slipping and rearranging like water.  He slouched lower, trying to get some relief-

Juno was talking with Jet, or talking at him more like.  Nureyev stopped listening after the first few moments, lulled instead by his Lady’s warm voice and the way it crackled at the edges when he became impassioned.  He was just so tired-

Before he knew it, the thief was leaning on the Detective’s shoulder, sinking into his side, bloodshot eyes fluttering shut.  Normally he’d be loathed to sleep at the end of a job like some worn out child.  But he couldn’t fight anymore.

[strawberrywritings]

First ‘I love you’.

A/N: My commitment issues were not happy that I stuck to this series, but I made it and here you have the final part. I never thought that a prompt would’ve turned into a series, but it’s been good and now I’m definitely in Angel’s lane lmao

Even if this is a scheduled post, I still want to thank everyone who has supported me, and those who will keep doing so. It means a lot to me, thank you. And I hope you like it! xx🍓

/ Previous parts / Masterlist

Warnings: oral sex (f receiving), mentions of sexual intercourse, light bondage

Suddenly, he was on his knees in front of you, he grabbed your hands and held them tight. “Please, say it again, mi dulce. I need to know this is real”, his eyes were glimmering and wide, like a child who had just received a present from Santa. “I love you”, you whispered, his eyes never left yours, until he moved forward, going for your lips. He was deliberately slow, giving you time to pull away if you wanted to, but you had no intention of doing so; instead, you closed the gap and kissed him. It was sweet, warm, felt like home.

He got up and started kissing you again, both of your hands still in his, as he walked you backwards to the counter of the kitchen, pressing you against it. His mouth moved to your neck, leaving light red marks with his teeth, and he groaned when he moved his head away from your skin to overlook them. Your eyes were still closed and he took the opportunity to bite at your earlobe, his hands squeezing your ass. “Not here – you managed to say in between kisses – bedroom”, you couldn’t even finish the last word that he was dragging you to the bedroom, gently pushing you on your king sized bed, putting his body on top of yours and kissing you again. It was full of passion, hands wondering the exposed skin on each other’s bodies, your tongues tangling together and his hips grinding into yours. None of you dared to talk, there would be time to talk after Angel was done with you, and by the looks of it, who know when that would be.

He detached his lips from yours, one of his hands coming to cradle the side of your face as he started deeply into your eyes. “I love you, too. All these days without you have been the worst, let me show you how much I fucking missed you. – he placed a soft kiss to your lips – Let me worship you, mi vida, I’m beggin’”, how could you deny the man? His eyes were wild with desire, making wetness pool in your panties. You closed your eyes and sighed, those three words replaying over and over again in your mind. “You can do whatever you want to me”, you let your head relax into the pillow and moaned as he reattached his mouth to your neck.

Angel moved like a man possessed, he ripped your clothes off until you were completely naked in front of him, moving so fast you had to slow him down a couple times, reassuring him you weren’t going anywhere. “I thought I fucking lost you, thought you hated me”, he spoke as he started to make his way down your body, kissing and nipping at your chest. Your eyes flew open when you felt his mouth press a trail of kisses under your belly button, your thighs clenching at the thought of what was to come: you and Angel had sex multiple times, but you usually skipped the foreplay, he had never eaten you out.

“Everything okay?”, he got on his knees, his shirt had come off and you could see every muscle on his torso, making your mouth salivate even more at the sight; you nodded and he spread your legs, licking his lips when his eyes landed on your glistening mound. “You have no idea how many times I’ve thought about eating this beautiful pussy”, you had discovered Angel was a talker and he was damn good at it, you had no doubts that mouth of his had some more surprises in store for you. “Please”, you mewled, your hips lightly bucking up, and he chuckled. He climbed off the bed, but before you could protest, he came back with his bandana in hand, smirking and sitting down near your face; from this angle, you could see the bulge in his pants and you wished he would just fuck you already. He folded the bandana and put it over your eyes, “Lift your head for me”, you did as he said and he tied the material behind your head, your world going momentarily black.

You felt his breath on your cheek, and then you heard his deep voice, “I am gonna eat you out nice and slow, take my time with it, and then I’ll wreck you. That okay?”, you whimpered at his words and nodded feverishly, he put a hand on the base of your neck and pressed his thumb and pointer finger into your skin. “Lemme hear you say it”. “Lick my pussy, Angel, please”. “Good girl”, one of his hands caressed your skin from your chest to your pussy, his fingers skimming over your clit a couple times before you felt the bed dip between your legs. Nothing could have prepared for how skilled Angel’s mouth was, he was definitely better that anyone else you’d ever been with, and you were sure you were ruined, you wouldn’t be able to get enough of him. He kissed and licked your lips, your clit, like he was starving, and then your felt a finger at your entrance, circling your opening before slowly slipping it inside.

You moaned loudly and he smiled at seeing your body tremble because of him. One of your hands tangled in his hair, pulling softly at the longest strands, making him hiss and his hips bucked into the mattress as a response. You were going to ask him to fuck you, you were ready to beg, but when the pad of his finger came in contact with your g-spot, your mind went fuzzy and you were mumbling incoherent praises. Angel was moving his tongue just right, he now had 2 fingers inside you applying pressure on your front wall, the combination of his movements and the fact that you couldn’t see was driving you crazy. “I’m- gonna cum”, you panted, the hand that wasn’t on his head was gripping the sheets tighly. He removed his lips from your clit, one hand coming up to grab your breast and the other speeding up the movements to make you come faster. “C’mon, drench my fingers. – he gave a chaste kiss to your hipbone, resting his head against your skin as his thumb replaced his tongue on your clit – Eres tan hermosa, y eres mía. Te quiero demasiado, mi amor… nunca te dejaré ir”. And his words did it for you, hearing him speak Spanish always turned you on, so hearing him declare his love for you like that… it was mind-blowing, just like the orgasm that followed. You writhed and moaned loudly while he helped you ride out your high, never ceasing his actions, looking at you with pure adoration in his eyes.

/

An hour later, you were still on the bed, where Angel was keeping you hostage. He had your hands tied up to the headboard, pounding into you as your breasts moved in rhythm with his trusts, his eyes transfixed on your sweaty body, as the umpteenth orgasm rushed through you. He fucked you in all the positions he could think about. When he finally came inside you, he did so with a loud growl, all the tension from the days you spent apart left his body; he gently untied your hands and he wrapped you in his arms, not caring if he smeared his cum all over himself. He kept cuddling you, your bodies pressed together as he caressed your hair, kissing your forehead from time to time.

“I could never hate you”, you whispered, so feebly that if the room wasn’t completely silent, he would’ve missed it. “I was scared. Nobody has ever cared this much about me”, you turned around in his arms and pressed a kiss to the column of his throat, nuzzling your nose against his skin right after. “I do. Being away from you has made me realize that. We’re in this together, Angel, I’m not leaving”.

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[anthropwashere]

our indestructible days ch 4

ch 1 | ch 2 | ch 3

Al time Al time

(also Mei is sick and tired of these motherfucking homunculi in these motherfucking teenagers)

=

Mei's gotten blood on the splintered ruin of his chest. Her small hands trace the rough edges of his damage with soft and hurting sounds. Alphonse lifts one hand to pass a thumb across her eyebrow, smearing the cut before it can spill into her eye.

"I'll be okay," he assures her. His body might be broken again, but that's nothing to be worried about. Pain has been an absence in him for a long time now, and here she is spilling over with it.

"Lay still!" She admonishes, then whimpers. She's small, smaller than Ed was when he was her age. She must have bones like a songbird’s; easily broken. "Y-you're going to fall apart even more if you aren't careful!"

"I'll be okay," he repeats. Maybe she'll hear him this time. "You need to get out of here. You're too hurt to fight anymore."

"So are you!"

He's not hurt, not really, and as long as the blood seal isn't damaged he'll be safe laying here until the battle's over. He's not sure if there's enough of him left for Ed to transmute without risk, but that's a concern for later. His armor rings with the furious rattle of nearby gunfire, the thunderous booming of mortars. Mei Chang is small and wholly human, and this isn't her fight at all.

"I'll be okay," he repeats again. There's nothing else he can tell her. He's always okay.

"If we're careful, Xiao Mei and I can—"

"Stop," he interrupts, not unkindly. "You're hurt and I don't have legs right now. I'm too big for you to carry."

Her dark eyes are shiny with pain but she still manages an impressive harrumph! "You doubt the strength of the Chang princess? I'll have to prove you wrong on the honor of—oh!"

"What?" She's gone rigid and breathless, hunching over him as she looks at something further off than he can strain to see. "What's wrong?"

"There... there's three of them again," she whispers. "Three homunculi."

"But—" Father's one of them, obviously. And Greed, him and Ling are out there fighting too. The third though, that can only be—

"It's definitely Pride," Mei confirms. She's slipped a hand into her sash, no doubt readying a fresh fistful of knives. Just in case. "But I can't see him anywhere. Can you?"

"No." The last place Al saw him was down in Father's throne room, a ribbon of shadow wrapped brutally tight around Ed's left arm. He strains to sit up, to get a better look, to see— "My brother—do you see him? Is he okay? Mei, please—"

"He's fine! Please don't exert yourself!" Her small hands touch his shoulder, trying to force him down again. He only knows because he happens to see her doing it in his peripheral. "Their Father attacked Edward, and your Teacher too, but the soldiers saved them both! I swear!"

Relief floods him, a tension that isn't exactly tension as he remembers it easing in him. It isn't relaxing, it isn't easing. It's like allowing himself to forget for a moment the enormous weight his small blood seal is carrying. He sinks back, ignoring the scrape and clatter of his pieces. "O-oh. Oh, thank goodness. Thank you. Where are they now?"

"Two soldiers took your Teacher elsewhere for a few minutes. She's fighting again now, and she seems to be doing fine. Edward ran toward, ah, Central Command?"

"Yeah," he confirms automatically, wondering why Ed would run away from the fight. It's not like Ed to run. Does he have a plan, maybe? Something he needs some distance for? Or a better angle? He can usually guess what Ed's thinking, but this is….

This doesn't make sense.

"I lost sight of him in the smoke." Mei hesitates, looking toward the western wing of Central Command that's still standing. "Alphonse, I'm sorry, but that's where I'm sensing Pride too."

It's an easy conclusion from there. "Oh, of course! Pride must have run from their fight, and Brother's making sure he doesn't get away!" Al's relieved laughter is nearly lost in another burst of firepower—literally, as the Colonel's taking point again, Lieutenant Hawkeye directing his attacks. Mei dips low as wind whips her braids wildly, her little hands white-knuckled on his sharp edges. The armor must be getting painfully hot with how close the Colonel's attacks have come. He desperately wishes he could get up and protect her, join in the fight again, something. But he's simply too broken now. 

It strikes him out of nowhere, how absurd everything's become. Barely a year ago his biggest concern had been getting his body and Ed's limbs back, and keeping a running list of tasty-sounding food to try once he could eat again. That all seems so long ago, now.

Mei stiffens, Xiao Mei snarling on her shoulder. "He's getting closer!"

Al doesn't have to ask who she means. Father hasn't moved from the center of the parade field, and Greed's made it clear which side of this fight he's on. "Get out of here! Before he sees you—"

Ed strides out of the thinning smoke, hands fisted at his sides and jaw stubbornly set, and the world makes sense again.

Al struggles to his elbows, wishing he could run, desperate to pull Ed into a brief but fervent hug. "Brother!"

"Look, he's fine," Ed drawls in a tone of voice that's distinctly other in a way Al couldn't describe if pressed, yet all the same dread knocks the joy clean out of him even before ink-black shadows rise, serpentine, behind Ed. When Ed looks down at them his yellow eyes are empty tunnels. Then his face shifts, the shadows twitch, and Ed's rushing to his side. "Are you crazy? He's not fine, he's in pieces! Al, hey, are you—"

One of Mei's knives appears in Ed's left shoulder like a magic trick, its pink ribbon fluttering. 

"Get away from him," she orders imperiously, on her feet with another three knives at the ready. Her face is a wax mask of pain, but her outstretched hand is steady.

Ed looks at her, not surprised but—resigned? He brings his right hand up to touch her knife, a ting of metal against metal. Belatedly, he winces. "...Jeez, Mei. You didn't have to do that."

All wrong. This is all wrong. Ed wouldn't act like this—wouldn't react like this. He'd holler hurt, curse up and down, insult Mei horribly. But he just stays kneeling, a curl of something like—like shame to his mouth. "Ed...?"

Ed's face shifts again, his right hand dropping like dead weight. Ed sneers. "Are you really so oblivious?" He reaches left-handed for Mei's knife, yanking it out without a flicker of pain on his face. Al doesn't see so much as a drop of blood before red light heals the wound like it never existed. The unmistakable crackle of a transmutation, and red light can only mean one thing. Another bizarre expression crawls across his face, settling on a far more familiar sneer. Ed's derision. Ed's disappointment. Ed's bitter laughter. "If this is a win in your book then it's no wonder your Promised Day has turned out to be such a shitshow." 

Ed's voice warps and warbles, gaining and losing an awful, malicious echo. Distantly, Al registers the familiar shapes of Teacher and Major Armstrong giving it their all against Father not so very far away. The outcome of today's battle seems, suddenly, wholly unimportant. "You...? Edward, you're—you're a homunculus?"

Ed's face softens as his hands hover over his armor. "Al—Alphonse. Hey. I'm sorry. I didn't—it wasn't like Ling, okay? Pride forced his Stone into me. I couldn't—I tried to fight him, but—" Ed takes a shivering breath, knocking his right hand's knuckles against the shrapnel of Al's chest. Ting. "Jeez. What even happened while we were down there?"

"He protected me," Mei pipes up, glaring fiercely.

Ed smiles. "Did he? I'm glad." He shivers again, shuttering his eyes. When he opens them again they've gone horribly flat, a mirror to Selim's cold cunning in all but the color, but his voice still sounds Ed-adjacent. "Can you keep an eye on him for me, Mei? There's no time to fix him now."

"I'm not sure I'd let you try even if there were," she retorts. "Not with one of those monsters inside you!"

Another shift of Ed's face, and then thick shadows splash inside Al's broken chest like waves on a beach, skirting his blood seal. He feels the barest brush of tiny claws scratching at the metal around it. It's all he can do to keep from crying out. "Foolish girl," the monster possessing Ed spits. "Do you really think so little of Edward Elric? He's fought me every step of the way. I've had to take a firm hand with his soul to get this far."

Pride gestures. Mei gasps, failing to smother it behind her bloody hands. For a moment Al thinks Pride's hurt her, sunk his shadows into her skin beyond where he can easily see, but she's not bleeding or writhing or anything like that. She's just—staring, horrified, at Ed. Al strains for a better look and feels the world stutter in terrible shock.

Ed has two legs again.

His left pant leg has been cut short, all the way up to his mid-thigh, and the entire leg is just... normal. There's a perfectly normal, flesh-and-bone leg where Al's become accustomed to seeing layered steel. There isn't even a trace of the thick scar tissue that's darkened Ed's thigh since his outfitting.

"He—he cut it off," Ed whispers. "To—stop me from—I mean, I—I kinda woke up, inside the—his Philosopher's Stone, or whatever, and he was.... I heard him and I looked out and he was… he’d killed—" Ed shudders again, gasping. Teeth split the black shadow curling at his knees, and Pride's voice echoes his. "What did you do, Pride? What did you do to them?!"

Al wants to grab hold of Ed, wants to shake sense and sanity into him again, but the shadows pooling inside his armor are circling even closer to his blood seal. Unbidden he finds himself thinking of stories he's read of sailors and pirates on the high seas, of shipwrecks and dark water and sleepless predators circling. He knows that if he moves now they'll all regret it. "E-Edward."

Ed snarls. After a tense few seconds the shadows pull back. "Sorry, sorry, I—I'm sorry." His exhale comes out loud and shaky as he drags his hands over his face. "I asked you a question, Pride." 

A pause. 

"Are you lying? If you are, I swear I'll—" 

A pause. 

"What about him? You think I'm gonna trust anything he says either?" 

A pause.

"Shut up, stop laughing. They went where?"

A final pause, and then Ed sighs heavily, glancing at the hole in the parade field they'd all come out of. "Fine. I'm holding you to that."

Did Greed and Ling ever speak like this? It's frightening, to see Ed clinging to control over his own body. Fresh explosions ring in his broken armor and Al forcibly puts his concerns aside. Ed's alive. That has to be enough, for now. "Pride?"

Ed twitches, his eyes going flat and cold. "What?"

"You—you could have killed Edward, but you didn't."

"Not for lack of trying."

How cruel. How indifferent. Al can't begin to understand this thing wearing his brother's face. He's not sure he even wants to try. "I don't think that's true. Promise me, please—"

Guttural screaming from shockingly nearby cuts him off. Dazzling red light fills his vision briefly; when it clears he catches sight of Teach and Major Armstrong again, scattered like autumn leaves. 

Ed swears, already on his feet and running off, and this time Al can't go chasing after him to make sure he doesn't do anything crazy. "There's no time! Mei, take care of Al for me!"

"Ed—! Brother!"

But Ed doesn't look back.

[explosionshark]

Hey! Big fan of your writing. :) For the writing prompts, could I request #3 for Chloe Price and Victoria Chase?

hi i’m so sorry it took me a month to do this! thank you for the prompt! i think this is my first chaseprice. originally this was going to be sad, but i didn’t feel like bumming anyone (including me) out tonight so instead it got, uhhh, vaguely smutty. 

3. “It’s three in the morning.”

“It’s August 17th. Grass is green. That sleeve is way more trailer trash than badass punk rocker.”

“What the fuck are you talking about?”

“Oh, I’m sorry, were we not just reciting a list of the obvious at each other?”

“Fuck, Victoria, just get in the car before I change my mind,” Chloe practically growls, leaning across the cab to throw the passenger side door open in invitation.

“Why would I do that?” Victoria asks, but doesn’t stop, forcing Chloe to keep creeping down the street in her truck with the door open, like some kind of stranger danger-ass creep.

“Because it’s three in the morning and you’re walking down the street alone at night by yourself, like an idiot,” Chloe barks. She’s trying to do the right thing, trying to be like… all conscientious and shit. It hardly feels worth it, when once again, Victoria Chase finds a way to make her feel like a totally useless idiot the moment she opens her mouth. “Why are you walking down the street alone at night by yourself like an idiot?”

“Why are you stalking me in your truck?” Victoria tosses back. “You know, you’re not doing much for all those awful stereotypes about predatory lesbians, Chloe. What’s next? Going to offer me some candy? What, are you a friend of my mom’s?”

“Your mom and I aren’t friends, she just eats me out when your dad’s not home,” Chloe says and the tension in her shoulders, the sharp sting of humiliation reddening the back of her neck eases when Victoria chokes out a laugh. “Now stop being a bitch and get in the fucking car. It’ll be faster. Put us both out of our misery.”

Victoria actually pauses this time, glancing around the street before eyeing Chloe’s truck with suspicion. 

“No one’s gonna see,” Chloe rolls her eyes and leans back into her seat. “Literally everyone smarter than you’s at home in bed right now. So, like, the whole town.”

With a huge sigh, Victoria hauls herself into the truck, slamming the door hard enough to rattle the whole cab. She smells like expensive perfume, peppermint schnapps and wood smoke. She kicks her towering heels off immediately, pulling her stockinged feet up onto the bench and tucking herself into the corner of the cab.

Stockings. She’s wearing stockings under that short skirt, riding up even shorter with the twist of her legs. Stockings, like some kind of sexy old-timey movie star fantasy run amok. Chloe wonders how Victoria Chase finds a way to be 18 and 81 at the same time. 

“Whose party?” Chloe asks once she drags her eyes away from Victoria’s legs, pretending she doesn’t see the smirk on Victoria’s face that means she absolutely noticed.

“The Vortex Club’s. Who else?” Victoria asks, running a hand through her hair. It’s shorter now than the last time Chloe saw her, a few months ago. It makes her look older, more mature. It leaves Chloe feeling even more like a stupid teenager, fumbling and uncouth, even though she’s technically older than Victoria.

“Yeah, stupid question,” Chloe mutters. It feels dangerous, just the two of them in Chloe’s truck like this. “Not like you hang out with anyone else.”

“It’s called having standards,” Victoria sniffs. “Maybe if you tried it sometime you wouldn’t be nearly twenty and still getting busted by the cops for smoking pot and blowing up GI Joes with firecrackers behind the Circle K.”

“You heard about that?” Chloe laughs. It’s a little embarrassing, and David had given her absolute hell over it once word got back to him from his little buddies in blue, but Christ, it had been funny. 

“About how somehow you’re an adult who has the life of a Toy Story villain and you’re, like, fine with it? Yeah, Chloe. I heard about it.”

“And you think my life would be, what, different? Better? If I just wanted it to be? If I had your standards?” Chloe asks, pulling into the darkest corner of the Blackwell student lot and killing the engine. The cab is dark but for the light streaming in through the back window from streetlamp a few rows over. The night is silent without the rattle of the truck’s old engine. Chloe slithers across the seat like she’s been wanting to do since Victoria got into the truck. Closer, she can read the expression Victoria’s face a bit better – a little expectant, a little disbelieving, like she always seems to be when they’re together like this.

Like she’s halfway between scared and excited and she likes it best right there, between the two.

“I think our lives are what we make them,” Victoria says, voice even and calm, despite the quickening of her breath. Her makeup’s gently faded from the night, except for the lipstick Chloe saw her touching up on the street before she pulled up alongside her. It’s bright red, applied just a little too thick, Victoria a little too drunk to make it perfect. “I think if you want to be successful and you work hard for it, it will happen.”

Chloe wants to lean in and mess it up. She wants to taste it herself, scrape it off Victoria’s bottom lip with her teeth, smear it messily down her chin, her cheek. She wants that lipstick staining the collar of her shirt tomorrow when she wakes up.

But she waits.

“So people who don’t succeed, it’s just their fault for not wanting it enough, huh? For not working hard enough,” Chloe says and it makes her mad, kind of. But it doesn’t make her want Victoria less. Victoria says nothing, just keeps watching Chloe from across the bench, leg still tucked up under her. “Pretty rich girl like you, you would think that. Mommy and Daddy sending you to a fancy private art school. You would think that.”

“I worked hard to be here,” Victoria says.

“Yeah,” Chloe nods. “You and your standards.”

She leans forward, one hand behind Victoria’s head flat on the glass of the window, the other grasping the inside of a thigh, just under her skirt, just over where the stockings end. She applies the gentlest pressure, feels Victoria turn for her, legs falling open for her, hears the breath catch in Victoria’s throat.

Chloe knows an invitation when she sees one. She slides her hand higher.

You wouldn’t know how she was being touched from that perfectly cool look on Victoria’s face. Smug, almost bored. Chloe kind of admires her for it, even though she wants nothing more than to ruin that poise. It’s the challenge, the vaguely adversarial nature of the sex that keeps these encounters, brief and few that though they’ve been, interesting. 

It doesn’t take long, really. Chloe’s good enough at this by now and Victoria’s drunk enough to not care that she’s being obvious. Within minutes she’s writhing against the door, shaking and swollen, dripping down Chloe’s wrist and begging to come.

So, of course Chloe pulls away.

Victoria keens, scrabbling desperately at Chloe’s retreating arm, panting and lipstick-smudged and nearly delirious. “Fuck. Fuck. Why’d you stop?”

“Well, I figured you wouldn’t want any handouts, right?” Chloe drawls, and reaches over her shoulder for a fistful of her tanktop. She yanks the shirt up and over her head, liking the sound her necklace makes when it falls against her bare skin. And yeah, technically, this is a tremendously bad idea because they’re in the Blackwell parking lot and there’s security wandering around out there somewhere but, well. Fuck it. Life’s a risk.

“Are you serious right now?” Victoria glares, looking very regal and pissed off for a girl with her skirt hiked up over her hips. All the incandescent rage in the world couldn’t disguise the way her eyes keep drifting down to Chloe’s exposed breasts, though, the way she has to fight to meet Chloe’s eyes when she speaks.

“Well, it wouldn’t have been very fair of me not to give you a chance to earn it,” Chloe shrugs. “But, y’know, most people don’t know this about me but I’ve actually got a pretty fuckin generous spirit and shit. So, like, if you were to ask me nicely, I’m sure I could…”

“Oh fuck this,” Victoria snarls and for a moment Chloe thinks she must have finally pushed too far, that Victoria’s going to fumble her way out of the cab and stalk back to her room.

But instead she launches herself across the cab, shoving Chloe up against the other door so hard and clumsy and fast her elbow bounces hard enough off the steering wheel to make her whole arm go numb. But before she has a chance to complain about that Victoria’s in her lap, grinding against Chloe’s bare stomach while her fingers tug insistently at the metal bars through Chloe’s nipples.

She’s rough and pissed off and neither of them is going to last like this but, well. Victoria’s kind of a perfectionist, control-freak weirdo, right? Chances are she’ll want a few more rounds, to make it perfect.

Chloe’s never been one to back down from a challenge.

dialogue prompts

[guksauce]

~TickledPink!~

Part Three

Pairing: Jjk x Reader Pregnant AU

Word Count: 2,641K

Rated: M

Book Warnings: Mentions of Sexual Assault, Mild Smut, Adult Language, Fluff City.

Author: @guksauce

Notes: Thank you to those that give this story and myself love 💖 This one was for Taehyung, getting to spread his wings and be the little artist he is!

Tag List: @jamkookies @jk97luv @1-in-abillion

All you know is whoever just threw open your curtains is in direct line of facing your wrath. Early, dramatically slanted, morning rays flood Jimin’s bedroom and your cracked eyes catch the way dust particles fall like glitter to the ground. The idea of waking up and having to leave this bed after Jimin had changed all the linen to clean sets last night, felt like a crime. His generosity spree came back to you in vivid colors; vibrant pink tufts of hair, borrowed fluffy white Chanel sweaters, smiling crescent eyes, and smoky white curled wisps of hot latte steam. Exchanging old stories about each other’s parents and home life from days gone by helped you to almost completely forget the argument you’d witnessed. The argument you’d caused. Jimin had begged you to not let it bother you so much and had shown you nothing but genuine friendship and support, that of which you would forever remain in his debt for doing so. But you would never fully forgive yourself for making a rift.

You couldn’t even be mad at the curtain culprit, especially not when his face was all the best parts of happiness embodied. Childishly puffed cheeks under smoldering taupe eyes, and heart shaped lips curved into a smile so unimaginably warm. He exuded a coziness so genuine it was impossible to feel anything but whimsical.

“Good morning Y/n-ssi.” Protests to even being talked to yet leave your throat in gargled groans as you cover your eyes, providing some relief from the sunlight.

“Good morning Taehyung-ah. What time is it?” Not that it matters, it’s obviously too early to care about times or anything for that matter. Tae’s mood is high above you, raining down in feathery words and soft chuckles. You feel bad for not being more of a morning person so that you could enjoy being rained on by Tae while being warmed by the sun, but he doesn’t seem to mind the groggy attitude you wear as he waltzes to the door.

“It’s 11am. I was going to let you sleep in longer, but I’ve been working on a surprise for you that I would really love for you to see.” Long strides leave behind the potent but endearing scent of fresh paint. It mixes with a familiar cologne and you decide that this is probably what Tae smells like all the time; art.

“A surprise for me? But why?” Before you can question it further, he’s taking your hand and pulling you from your heap of warm blankets and leading you out of the comfort of Jimin’s bedroom. It was the first time you’d been outside of his room since last night amidst the chaos and youd be lying if you said the air outside of the room felt sticky with remnants of tension. You squeeze Tae’s hand as you scan the halls and nearby rooms with wide eyes in fear of being seen by one of the other members.

“They’re gone. They went out shopping for the day, so you can relax.” The gesture isn’t a lot, but the way Tae slows his steps to fall in line with you and gives your hand a much needed reassuring squeeze back, keeps you from gulping for air when you think you might just break down in the middle of the hallway. “Ok! This is where you have to cover your eyes.” You do as you’re told and cover your face with your hands. Tae makes a sound of approval just before you spread your fingers enough to peek through.

“No, no, no! No peeking.” He laughs and uses his own hand to double cover your eyes. The sound of a handle turning is heard, as well as his voice behind you guiding you to the surprise. The smell of paint becomes more pungent as it fills your nostrils, along with a gust of cold morning air through an open window. There’s a dull ache in your head but its worth it when Tae uncovers your eyes and lets out a small “Tada!”

Together you stand in an empty room. Except it doesn’t feel so empty. Instead its full. Very full. Of what, you’re uncertain but you can feel that it holds something powerful. It reminds you of the feeling Jungkook and Jimin described last night; pure elation, as though you aren’t the only two standing in this room.

“Taehyung…You did all of this?” In this room stands tall walls similar to that of Jimin’s room except all of these walls are a beautiful lavender purple. Despite the overwhelming aroma of paint, somehow it morphs into fields of tall stalks of tiny purple flowers and the autumn winds turn into balmy summer breezes carrying tiny white dandelion seeds.

“Yup! We wanted to make sure you had a space of your own and I got to thinking last night that it would be fun to customize it for you.” Crisp white trim kept the room bright and the purple filtered out any harshness that an all-white room would have. It was comforting and calm and Zen.

“You really didn’t have to do this Tae. This is too much.” You say shaking your head as you take one last look around.

“Ah, what’s a little paint? It took no time at all and it wasn’t hard.” Taehyung watches you closely as you look around. He sees the moment your features change from awe to guilt; smiling eyes pointed up to the sky fall to your cheeks and a wide grin droops to pouting lips that you try to hide by walking to the window. He seizes the opportunity. “Damn it, I missed a spot.” He says through a full smile when you turn around. Taking in his appearance, you finally see the hard work built up on his clothes. His white shirt is forever stained with purple paint where he’d spattered it everywhere from the roller, and his black sweatpants artfully ruined with full on handprints in both purple and white.

When he holds out a paintbrush to you and the smile returns to your face, he hopes you wont mind being covered as well.

“You know, as wonderful as this is, I don’t know if ill be staying here. I don’t want to ruin Yoongi and Namjoon’s relationship any more than I already have.” You take the brush from Tae’s hand and stare at the bristle’s already muddied with wet lavender paint.

“I think you should stay. Just because Yoongi was mad doesn’t mean you are disliked.” Tae says softly and you nod. Turning to the wall, you dip your brush into the paint and smearing it onto the surface in patterns that look like the thoughts swimming in your mind. There should probably be a pattern. Up, down. Up, down. Or side to side even but you fill the white spaces with swirls and circles. Tae pauses and almost protests but tilts his head to the side as he considers this a window into how you see the world. He joins you with a lop-sided smile on his lips, trying his best to blend his designs with yours.

“This rooms been empty forever. I’m glad you’re filling it. And from what I heard from Jungkook and Jimin this morning, for more reasons than why you were brought here, they are too.” Out of the corner of your eyes you can see the way Tae turns his head to see your reaction to his words and you can’t help but smile.

“I feel like…I’ve tainted this place.” You admit and he bathes in those words, soaking up whatever meaning he found in them.

“Any family of Namjoon’s, is family of ours.” He says firmly, pausing to choose his next words very carefully. “It’s been just us for so long…I think for all of us its hard to imagine there being anyone else. But really its nice.” Tae peeks again in your direction to gauge your reaction. Your smile is thin and small but it’s there and that’s all he needs to push forward. “Sometimes we forget why we do what we do. Becoming more of an image for others has really blended in with the fame, you know? Sometimes things start to merge, and we get caught up in the work of it all and forget to remember where the power comes from. It comes from our connection with people. With our fans. With our family. With you. I think you coming into our lives has reminded us just how fortunate we are to be where we are and who we are and how we are together.” At this point, Taehyung has lost himself in his self-realization and his words get quieter as he begins to talk more to himself and less to you.

It continues this way while you each fill in the blank space on the wall, talking nonstop to each other. Mostly its Taehyung. His easy-going attitude and free-spirited aura breaks your wall of nerves. He tells you everything from his life on the farm with his parents, to his beginnings with the guys and how fond he’s grown of them over the years. His story is long and really you don’t mind listening because it’s amazing he’s even come this far in such a short amount of time. Your proud of him because really, it’s a lot and you can’t imagine having to cope with all of this fame and fortune and recognition at such a young age.

It makes you admire him a little more as you watch him fill in the last strip of white paint with the purple color, he picked out for you. For you…

“Thank you.” It’s cold on the floor where you’ve made a small nest in the protective sheet covering the floor. The paintbrush in your hand feels heavy and your limbs feel like they might fall off if you raise them above your head again. In hindsight you probably should have let Tae take care of the top half and you the bottom half but being next to each other seemed to work better for conversation.

“It was really no trouble Y/n. It was fun. Its been a long time since I’ve had another person to talk to. Don’t get me wrong,” He starts, wiping his hands on his shirt leaving streaks where more droplets fell onto the fabric, and turns to you on the floor. “I love my brothers. Their great and talking to them is always…well…great. But talking to you about my journey has been really new and refreshing.” Kneeling to you he smiles a thousand-watt smile that all but blinds you. “So, thank YOU for reminding me of who I am and who I’ve become.”

“Yeah. You’re welcome.” You see his smile and raise him a bigger one followed by a much-needed hug. “If anything, you’ve only given us a new layer of glue. It was a test of our friendship and it survived. Sometimes we aren’t so sure we belong together but its moments like this where we feel like we can. Like we Will.” His embrace is warm and welcoming and you’re sad you hadn’t gotten to know him a lot sooner. Curse Namjoon for being so-

“Taehyungie! We’re home!” Down the hall the lock on the door clicks and the handle creeks slowly. Jimin’s voice is the first to echo the walls of the apartment.

“Can you come help us carry in groceries!” Hoseok asks, the sound of his shoes squeaking on the hardwood floors of the foyer. Everything in your body begs you to run, the muscles in your legs clenching as you try to tug away from Tae’s embrace.

“Don’t run, Y/n. You don’t have to run.” Tae doesn’t know what’s happened to you, so he doesn’t realize the way he’s triggered you by holding you in place until you’ve frozen in his arms.

“I just...I have to get some things from Jimin’s room. I forgot to clean up some stuff and…and.” Footsteps approach your purple room and though being clung to makes your heart beat wildly in your chest, you hold Tae tighter the closer they get.

“Taehyung have you seen Y/n? She’s not in Ji-oh.” You let out a deep breath when you connect the voice with the face that appears in the doorway to your new room. It’s much brighter than the first time you’d seen it. In fact, Jungkook was glowing. He didn’t look plagued with sleepiness or twisted with anger at Yoongi. Instead he was fresh and glowing and…beyond handsome. Gently you step away from Taehyungs hug and wave awkwardly.

“Hey.” You say.

“Hey.” He responds, an adorable smile pulling at his lips. The way the sunlight pours in from the window behind you, it catches strands of his long hair and turns them to warm melting chocolate.

“I was just thanking Tae for painting this room for me. It’s my favorite color.” You smile fondly at Taehyung who bows formally like the little prince he is and turn back to Jungkook. He nods and takes another look around with his hands folded behind his back.

“It’s pretty. He did a good job.” He states, taking a step closer to you. The smile lingering on his face melts you into a puddle as you observe him. For a second you feel bad for leaving Tae standing alone in the corner of your room while you gawk at Jungkook, but he’s content with admiring his work. “And I see you helped.” Kook chuckles as he reaches up before he realizes what he’s doing and wipes your chin, revealing a purple smudge on the pad of his thumb when he pulls away. The gesture is harmless to everything but your heart. You flush immediately and laugh as you rush to start pulling up sheets from the floor.

“I did! It was really fun. Tae and I had a great time. He told me all about his family and how he met all of you and-. “

“What’s this?” The voice that fills the room isn’t smoldering like Tae’s or lifting like Jungkook’s. Instead its deep and layered with mild disappointment.

“I painted Y/n’s room so she will be more comfortable here.” Taehyung says with no signs of wavering as he moves closer to you. His voice doesn’t shake like your knees do.

“Mm.” Unable to read Yoongi’s emotion, you stay glued to your spot in the far corner of the room as his eyes scan the room before settling on the sheets in your arms. “Ill take those.”

“Um…I can take them…” Momentarily you’re surprised that he would even offer to take the sheets. Why would he want to help you after the unintentional tear you’ve made? No. Don’t. Tae said you…you’re the glue.

“I’m doing laundry tonight so I should just wash them.” This time when he holds his hands out in your direction, its no longer a question. He’s taking the sheets. You rush across the room, scooping up the last sheet on your way and keep your focus on the ground beneath you as you hand them over. He doesn’t tug them away from you like you expect him to. Neither does he make any sounds or signs of protest or disgust and really you feel like begging him to punch you square in the face for the trouble you’ve caused. Stop! Tae said you’re family.

“Dinner will be ready in 10 minutes.” Yoongi says no more and no less and it’s a blessing. A blessing because this is normal for him and normal is better than yelling at Namjoon or cursing at Jungkook. You consider this a win and bow softly as Yoongi departs, leaving the feeling of your new purple room in the same condition it was before; happy.

Part Two

Master List

Part Four

[codenamesazanka]

Also! 

so, uh. have some Spinaraki PWP WIP. This has been sitting in my drafts forever. Gonna leave this in 2019 in hopes that I can write better stuff in 2020. Happy holidays and happy new year everyone.

The lube’s all over his thighs and his stomach. It’s on the sheets too, making a mess of everything, but Spinner wants to be careful. Wants Shigaraki to not literally tear his own ass apart when taking Spinner’s two dicks at the same time, even if Shigaraki himself doesn’t seem to be concerned.

Double anal, the internet told Spinner this was called, and it looked painful. But kinda hot.

Incredibly hot, actually, now that it’s Shigaraki on top of him, slowly stroking both of Spinner’s cocks with one hand, attempting to direct them into him. His long white hair spills over his shoulders and falls in front of his face, but Spinner can still see his expression. Mouth pressed into a flat line, and red eyes slightly glazed over in concentration, with more than a hint of excitement in them. He’s not looking at Spinner much, but the few times he does, that vivid scarlet gaze looking right at him—

“Shigaraki,” Spinner breathes, gripping Shigaraki’s boney hips tighter with both hands. He tries not to dig his fingers into flesh, tries to not thrust up and finally be fully, completely inside Shigaraki.

They both have wanted this for a while. Shigaraki has been especially eager, and though Spinner’s willing too, he always held back.

(“What, worried about me?” Shigaraki had asked, looking annoyed after having his offer turned down for the third time, and Spinner had given him a shove, then kissed him. He said, “Yeah, obviously. Plus it would mean no sex for a while waiting for your ass to stitch itself up.” Then Shigaraki scoffed and said, “We both have mouths, don’t we?” and the conversation devolved into exactly that type of sex.)

Today, though, is a quiet and lazy Sunday. Shigaraki gave the League the day off. He gave Spinner a look, an unspoken order to stay. To hang out. They really did, but by early afternoon, boredom set in and video games weren’t going to cut it.

Spinner fucked him once with one dick, and then while resting and waiting to recover, Shigaraki fingerfucked himself. Spinner watched; he couldn’t look away. It was better than any porn he has seen of people doing this. Those long, rough fingers thrusting in and stretching; the barely audible sounds Shigaraki made, which had become brief moans when Spinner took Shigaraki’s cock into his mouth and sucked.

All that had quickly gotten Spinner painfully hard again. Immediately, Shigaraki had pushed him into the bed; had climbed on top of him, and kissed Spinner, rough and hurried.

All that preparation is probably still not enough, but they’re now past the point of caring. Shigaraki, thankfully, is taking it slow.

How long have they been going at it? Spinner wonders if they have spent their whole day screwing around. Not that he minds.

Especially not when Shigaraki lowers himself and lets the tips of Spinner’s two cocks to slide into him. The sudden grip and pressure, the feeling of his dicks rubbing into each other and against Shigaraki, watching himself enter him - Spinner can’t help the loud groan.

“Spinner, if you come early,” Shigaraki says, pressing down his free hand - four fingers - on Spinner’s chest. “I’ll destroy both your dicks.”

“You’ll be ruining it for yourself— fuck.” Shigaraki slides himself down further, and Spinner stabs his claws into Shigaraki. Shigaraki only grunts and takes more of Spinner into him.

They’re doing this. Double anal with Shigaraki. Those words feel ridiculous, delusional, and yet the weight on top of Spinner, the sound of Shigaraki’s rough breathing, the sight of his red cocks entering Shigaraki, those are so very real.

���Don’t push yourself,” Spinner says, and because Shigaraki can still be a brat, he gives Spinner a flat look before pushing himself down hard. “Shigara—”

“I’m fine,” he says, voice strained and body tense. He’s stopped moving. But Shigaraki’s still not halfway down.

“Do you have to be such a dumbass?” Spinner hiss, wanting to both scold him and ask if he’s hurt. Instead, he sighs and strokes Shigaraki’s thighs, lightly scratching with his claws. After a while, Shigaraki’s shoulders slump slightly as tension fades from them, and he sits down a little more, then a little more.

Spinner sinks back into the sheets. The view from where he is, Shigaraki is stunning. He’s sharp angles and languid movements hiding inhuman strength, pale brutal scars everywhere and still alive. Even in bed, even like this, he’s Shigaraki Tomura. Still intense, still dangerous.

His leader.

Spinner wants to kiss Shigaraki. Wants to sit up and kiss him and let him bite at his neck, while Spinner runs his hand down Shigaraki’s spine, along all those bony bumps, the way Shigaraki likes it, always pressing into his touch.

Right now, though, it’s not the best idea to move around. But Shigaraki should feel good. Spinner wraps a hand around Shigaraki’s neglected dick. Tries to; Shigaraki smacks him away.

“Not yet,” Shigaraki’s voice is low and hoarse, sounding almost like a growl.

Spinner snaps back: “Let me do something.”

“What? This—” Shigaraki pushes himself down again, much less roughly this time, but he also moves his hips in a way that has Spinner gasping “—isn’t good enough?”

Then Shigaraki lean forward and take a loose hold of Spinner’s beak, fingers tracing the contours. Lube gets smeared onto his nose, his cheeks, his jaw. “Hey, wha—”

Shigaraki presses two fingers to his mouth. He says, “Lick.”

It’s an order, forceful and abrupt. Spinner hesitates, and Shigaraki gives him that unpleasant smile of his. “Didn’t you want something to do, Spinner? Well then…”

Spinner bites down. Enough to hurt, but without drawing blood - not that Shigaraki would mind, probably. That minor act of defiance out of the way, Spinner closes his lips around the fingers, and sucks.

Above him, Shigaraki twitches a little. His smile turns real, but still devious. Spinner tries to give him a half-hearted glower, but then Shigaraki is rubbing tiny circles on Spinner’s chin with his thumb. The remaining two fingers take turns stroking Spinner’s cheeks.

That has his heart pounding hard, yet Spinner knows he’s fine. That Shigaraki has impeccable control over his quirk, always. He trusts Shigaraki with his life. He’s been devoting it to his leader for months now, after all.

The lube is slimy and bitter, but the taste quickly dissolves. Spinner swirls his tongue around Shigaraki’s lethal fingers, and looks up. When Shigaraki meets his gaze, Spinner opens his mouth; stretches out his tongue and licks, slow and deliberate. Just like he was ordered to.

“...Keep doing that.” Shigaraki says. There’s a hitch in his breathing. He takes Spinner deeper into him.

Spinner ends up biting and licking and sucking each of Shigaraki’s fingers. He’s never going to get the taste of lube out of his mouth, but Shigaraki liked what he did. It’s worth that.

As he licks at Shigaraki’s pinky, Spinner’s cocks are almost fully inside Shigaraki. It’s fucking amazing.

“You doing okay?” Spinner presses his lips to Shigaraki’s wrist. He doesn’t get an answer. He gets Shigaraki watching him with half-lidded eyes, expression aloof.

He gets Shigaraki locking eyes with him as he finally sinks all the way down. For a few seconds, Spinner forgets to breathe.

He’s in Shigaraki. Both his cocks, all of him; Shigaraki allowed it, wanted it. Wanted Spinner.

“Shigaraki,” Spinner says, and Shigaraki huffs.

“Stop looking so dumb.” There’s little bite behind those words though. He shifts, only a little but Spinner jerks up involuntary. Shigaraki tenses up but rides it, adjusting himself.

“Impatient, huh?” Shigaraki grinds lazily against him. Spinner struggles to say something back, distracted by the sight, by how good Shigaraki feels.

“It’s... been like... a whole hour.” Spinner is breathing hard already, and they haven’t even done anything yet. “You should be in awe of my endurance.”

“We’ll see,” Shigaraki says, and grinds his hips down again. Spinner can’t wait to fuck that smug smile off his face.

Gradually, Shigaraki goes from grinding to riding him. There is justice in this world, because it’s Shigaraki’s turn to be speechless - he’s got a very intense look on his face again, he’s panting through clenched teeth. Spinner stares mesmerized, as Shigaraki rise up, then ease himself back down, going higher and higher each time.

When Shigaraki starts moving faster, when he’s able to lift himself and drop down with ease - and he’s moaning too, softly, sometimes - Spinner grins shakily; places his hands on Shigaraki’s hip and starts to thrust upward. Shigaraki doesn’t stop him.

They fuck, Shigaraki deciding the rhythm. He rides Spinner hard but steadily, eyes staring unfocused on Spinner’s chest and both his hands there too, steadying himself. Spinner matches his pace, trying not to go too fast or deep. And he’s looking downwards, watching the actual fucking.

It’s a striking color contrast, his green scales so vivid next to everything. But even more so is his two dark red cocks against Shigaraki’s pale skin; and the sight of his cocks thrusting into Shigaraki, thick red into pale white, disappearing then being pulled out, again and again—

Spinner couldn’t hold himself back. He sits up in one swift moment, causing Shigaraki gasp and make a sharp guttural sound that turns into a low moan; then, wrapping his arms around Shigaraki, Spinner pushes up as hard and deeply as he can.

The yelp Shigaraki makes and the way he clenches around Spinner is almost enough to push him over the edge.

Shigaraki punishes him for that. With a crazed look on his face, he grabs Spinner by the throat, gripping hard with three fingers, pressing so it’s difficult to find his breath. His nails scratches at Spinner’s scales, moving against their natural direction, more than a little painful. Spinner shivers.

Shigaraki trying to strangle him, and Spinner can’t speak. He mouths the words instead, and just when the lack of air is about to make him panic, Shigaraki relaxes his hold.

“—Fuck— don’t—” Spinner coughs and heaves in as many deep breaths as he can. “Shigaraki, bastard—”

But those fingers are still around his neck, and they pull him close. Shigaraki kisses Spinner long and hard, teeth scraping against his lips, tongue pushing against his. It leaves him breathless and lightheaded again.

When they finally part, Shigaraki rasps, “That makes us even.” And he grins, so smug and mischievously boyish that it’s Spinner’s turn to kiss him senseless.

As Shigaraki steadies himself, grabbing Spinner’s shoulders and roughly grinding his hips, Spinner presses his beak to the side of Shigaraki’s head, nuzzling behind his ear. It feels like the right time to say something. He knows Shigaraki will wave it off, make fun of him for it, but Spinner wants to tell Shigaraki— That he—

Then Shigaraki is moving in his arms, riding him hard again, and Spinner can’t think straight. Shigaraki is so tight, so perfect, and Spinner can feel Shigaraki’s hard cock rubbing against his stomach.

-

hmm.

[kaetastic]

You Had Your Chance

pairing: Steve Rogers X Reader

summary: Steven Rogers finally meets you once again, after the past beween you two. 

word count: 1k+

warning: A N G S T

note: i love angst, and when i woke up- i wrote this directly lmao. i was listening to scotty sire take me away. i needed angst, have a nice day!

He heaved a sigh, eyes shut tight as the stinging alcohol slammed onto the back of his throat. The blaring music bouncing through his ears, he held back a frustrated groan and an irritated roll of his eyes. Beats of the song linked with the strong punch of the present colognes. Bodies were everywhere, walking from one side of the room to the other. It was getting on his nerves.

“What’cha doing?” Sam inquired, pushing his legs onto the high chair. It squeaked at the sudden weight. He placed his glass down, gently; the blue liquid in his cup splashed out slightly. He hissed in at the spill. “Thank you.” He sent a thankful smile to the bartender who noticed the mishap, wiping it away- there was no trace of the accident. Only beads of water from the wet towel.

Steve who still didn’t answer his question, rubbed his temples in circles, he felt nauseous in the confinement of the room. It was spacious indeed, but the number of guests Tony invited made him feel overcrowded and overwhelmed with emotions. He didn’t know why he was drinking either. Why was he even here? Thoughts ran around his head to answer his own question. But it all zapped to faded specks of dust.

“Woah…” The Falcon stared in awe, mouth gaped open, jaw resting on the floor as he blinked rapidly, not believing his sight. But it was true. The glittery and sparkly dress was prominent amongst the audience. Steve pulled away from the table, glancing at his friend before scanning the crowd in hopes of finding what left him astounded. It didn’t take long for him to find the breathtaking reason.

The hard beats of the song slowed down, volume muffled as his eyes land on the front door. The dress hugged her curves, thin straps holding the pieces as a slit had cut from her thigh and below. His lips parted as he admired her choice of outfit, mouth suddenly went dry. Those who stood in her way paced backwards to make way for her, as they too stared at her with amazement, gobsmacked at the beauty that stood in front of them. As if time was slowed down, her head whipped from side to side, eyes running with no halting. She was looking for someone.

A grin smeared on her lips once it landed on his, her pearly white teeth gleaming and twinkling. She paced forward but halted once an arm wrapped around her waist, pulling her body into his warmth. She glanced at him, eyebrows furrowed which relaxed once she realized it was him. Albeit everyone had their eyes on them, their composure didn’t falter under pressuring gazes. And if her smile wasn’t bright enough, it shone more. Playing the same reaction, he pressed a soft kiss on her lips that was painted with a fierce red.

Steve’s hopes clashed like fragile glass. His clench on his cup tightened slightly, not enough for it to shatter. They pulled away, his arms wrapped tightly around her waist as they walked closer to him; his eyes accidentally making contact with Y/N. Steve’s breath hitched, rapidly changing his view to the bar. The strong breeze swung by him, the scent of her favourite perfume intoxicated him. She would always wear that one.

And very much to his dismay, they passed him. Glancing to face her, the music played a rather soft melody this time, he watched as she hugged Tony and Pepper. She radiated happiness, on top of the world as she laughs; her head was thrown back with a large smile, her curled hair bouncing on her shoulders.

He just wanted to go back in time to be with her. To take the chance he never did. 

A deep sigh left his lips, he rubbed his thumb onto the wine glass- head facing down the rail as his eyes shut tight. The music that resounded were confined in the party hall, the only barrier between the busy city and the party was the door that perfectly sealed the noise. Only muffled melodies slipped pass the busy night.

The door squeaked. The music was very much to his disliking, blaring after. He cleared his throat, standing still to seem more presentable; not knowing who it was. Sipping on the wine, the faint clash of the door fitting back to close. He froze. The familiar scent entering his lungs.

He flinched back to leave, but he was cornered. He adjusted his cuffs, trying to distract himself. Not wanting to glance at the figure.

The heavy silence weighed on their shoulder, it took him everything to hold back the urge of turning to face her, “Remember when we first met?” As if a spark of electricity zapped through his muscles, he tensed. Slightly shocked at the abrupt commencement of a hopefully, conversation, his eyes didn’t waver as his orbs started to look around the busy night streets. He tried to find something interesting, to pull himself away. But a pit of fire roared in his stomach, he had to take this chance.

“How could I forget?” He mumbled back, not an answer but a question to her own. She chuckled, wearing a gleaming smile as she gripped onto the cold rails. A slight hiss left her lips before she got comfortable, warmth radiating the frozen-like metal.

“I remembered when we used to get coffees together.” She reoccurred the memory, a content smile at the quick play of the past. He nodded.

“I would be the one to wake you up for training,” He chuckled, shaking his head as he joined the memory train. “You were always cranky if someone woke you up, feral.” She gasped from his sudden insult, a hand on her heart with widened eyes as she was left dumbfounded for a few seconds. More shocked at his boldness rather than his insult.

“My beauty sleep is my top priority.” She reasoned, scoffing.

“Really? You always slept at 4 a.m. in the morning.” He glimpsed to face her, it was an action with no hesitation and zero to no thoughts. He finally realized his mistake, looking at her. His mouth wide open as he finally gets to admire her up close, her curled hair fitted her outfit perfectly. The glitter that smeared across her cheekbones shimmered, her lipstick still strong. He watched as she chuckled at his comment.

The silence creeping back in, shivers running down their spine as they stood there, honking of the streams of vehicles in traffic echoing through the balcony.

A twinkle of sparkle hits his eyes, he side-glanced at the shiny object. His heart clenched. He quickly averted his gaze, breathing heavier as thoughts devoured him. Clearing his throat once again, he decided to break the silence, “That’s a beautiful ring.” He commented, not daring to look at her reaction.

Y/N smiled, turning her left hand to admire the diamond ring that wrapped around her elegantly. Smaller sized diamonds embodied the sides of the rings- adding more twinkle like the stars that smeared across the night sky. The memory of her wedding flashing before her eyes, she breathed out the air she didn’t know she was holding, taking her seconds to think of a reply, “How about you?”

“Hm?” He turned to face her.

“Where’s the lucky lady?” She chuckled, hoping to crack the tension that suffocated her throat; she wonders if he felt it.

Steve pushed the metal rail, holding onto it as he looks up at the dark canvas of a sky, “Haven’t found one yet,” He answered, a bit too nonchalantly than he intended. Finally, the realization of awkwardness and tension slapped him. “I mean, who would want to be with a 100-year-old man?”

She smiled at his attempt of relieving the tension. His mouth gaped open to finally ask her the question that had been stabbing him for months. Which faltered to a thin line when the drumming speakers flowed out to slip through the eerie silence between the two. Her head whipped back to take a glimpse at the person who punched a hole through the barrier, allowing the familiar rhythm to recklessly join the night.

“I’m not ruining anything right?” The brunette asked, glancing at his wife and Captain America. She shook her head. He wore a friendly smile as he wrapped his arms around her shoulders, pecking her forehead at her body warmth; happiness erupting in his stomach as she hugged his chest tight.

“Steve, my husband- Duncan. Duncan, Steve.” They shook their hands, Steve dragged the moment a bit too long as his grip harden. Duncan’s mouth gaped open, standing awkwardly; glancing at his wife who stared at their hands.

“Sorry, just thinking.” The super soldier lied, cringing at how bad it came out. Pulling his hand back, he smiled at the couple.

“Sorry Cap, have to steal this gorgeous woman for the night.” She slapped his shoulders, cheeks painted red at his compliment. “What? It’s true. Your favourite song is playing, come on.” Y/N grinned at her husband’s intentions, she nodded as he interlaced his fingers with her.

Steve’s tongue twisted, the door opened and Duncan was pulling her to enter the building but before she disappeared, he yelled, “Let’s get some coffee later!” She nodded before her figure was engulfed, her body joining the rest as she happily danced with her husband.

The door was shut once again, he sighed as he watched her having the best time of her life. The blaming that he had found himself acquainting floated and hovered around his conscience; she flowed to the rhythm perfectly as Duncan twirled her around. It could’ve been him. It could’ve been him who made her happy. It could’ve been him to kneel on one knee. It could’ve. But his fear of losing someone else stopped him.

[ceruleanmusings]

eat, snark, love (not necessarily in that order)

pairing: draco malfoy/theodore nott (because what else do I write?) word count: 1762 tags: post-hogwarts, roommates, established relationship, fluff, domestic fluff, POV draco malfoy, Tagging: @ladylilymalfoy904034 @lareiism​

ao3

——

Draco leaned his weary, rain-soaked, mud-covered, exhausted body against the doorway and watched. Well, admired would be the right word. He couldn’t look at Theo, not anymore. Not since…well, right about third year in fact. Something about the way Theo directed a cocky smile at him from across the room when he succeeded in the difficult potion they were learning on the first try grabbed him, shook him up, upended him, and set him back on his feet living in a new world. A world in which, somehow, Theo shifted towards the center.

And it gave him a lot of time to admire his old friend over the years. To take in the curve of his lips, a swath so pink he didn’t doubt that kissing them would taste as sweet as he imagined.

To sink into the depths of his murky eyes, not exactly green but not entirely brown either; a combination so unique even the shifting colors of the potions they spent months slaving over over the years touched upon that color.

To follow the curl of his deft fingers as they wrapped around his wand with certainty, barely giving his actions a second thought; almost as if it were an extra extension not just from his arm but from his mind, the spells and jinxes and charms cast with barely an utter from his lips.

To now, where he sat on the countertop—despite Draco asking him a thousand times not to, for Merlin’s sake—book held in front of his face, lithe fingers curled around the cover, long legs crossed at the ankles. (His lounge pants hiked up a few inches above his ankles. Draco made a mental note to take Theo shopping and then another mental note to find a way to bribe him into going).

But it was the jumper that really caught his eye; the slate gray, cable-knit jumper that seemed to hang off of Theo’s lanky frame in a way that, to others, would appear he was swimming in it but to Draco made him look comfortable, safe, and inviting. Like a teddy bear. Not that Draco would ever call him that. (To his face at least.)

And…shit, he had to go and do it. Draco’s teeth scraped against his lower lip as his eyes scanned the length of Theo’s forearms. His bare forearms, the sleeves pushed back up to his elbows, bunching and bundling only to emphasize the expanse from the elbow up to his bony wrists.

Fuck, that’s what he missed the most while being away.

Yes, he enjoyed playing Quidditch again. He was shocked when he was accepted into the traveling intramural league and half expected some sort of ambush to take place when he showed up on the first day. They’d only been a few years removed from the fall of V…the Dark Lord and he was ready with his wand tucked up his arm and plethora of non-verbal spells and jinxes at his disposal. Just in case. But he was brought in with a clap on his back and a broom shoved into his hands. They took off into the sky, to test their skills and…Draco was free. His stomach swooped, wind rustled in his hair, tugged at his clothes, lifted him upwards and away from his worries, his name, his past. He missed it, he loved it, he didn’t even mind when he crash laded onto the waterlogged pitch and smeared mud into his workout gear.

But he missed this more. Coming home, having a place to come home to, having someone wait for him, and…he stood up straight, eyebrows lifting. He shook his head, certainly his eyes were deceiving him but no. A quick pinch to his inner arm told him he was indeed awake. His pupils blew wide, gray shifting over to black when the fuzziness around Theo smoothed out and revealed a steaming pot, a spoon spinning in lazy circles around the rim as if an invisible hand stirred it. Another pot on the stovetop, covered by a lid dotted with condensation. He didn’t need to look to know what it was. The hearty scents wafted past his nose and fed the hungry beast in his stomach and perfectly meshed with the scent of him.

He’d been away far too long.

His leather bag fell off his shoulder and landed on the hardwood floors with a thump. Behind the book Theo’s head lifted and then tilted to the side. Dropping one hand to his lap, he closed the book with a snap and lowered it from his face with such agonizing slowness that Draco had to keep from launching himself across the kitchen to yank it out of his hand

Theo’s green eyes took a slow journey from his face, down his neck, down his chest, dropping to his shoes, and traveled back up again. Draco felt his gaze; white hot against him. Goosebumps erupted over his skin and static sparked and crackled in his ears, in the air around him, the electricity thrumming with every breath that came out of him.

Theo lifted his chin and Draco saw it, a whisp of a smile at the corner of his mouth before he let out such a world-weary sigh that only Theodore Nott could muster and perfect.

“You always find a way to ruin my surprises,” he stated.

His legs, once numb, finally started up again. With each step he kept his gaze—steady and sure—on Theo until he was within arms reach. Their knees touching. Together. Finally. Still…“I think the fact that you want to surprise me is a surprise on it’s own.” Draco’s lips curled upwards and a challenging sparkle settled in his eyes. Upclose the spicy aroma of the stew and the colliding scent of Theo’s minty bodywash crashed into him, dizzying him.

“You’ve been gone for six days,” Theo said, following a snort. He reached out and brushed a few strands of white-blond hair out of Draco’s face.

Draco touched his knee. “Miss me, Nott?”

Theo’s eyes jumped up to the ceiling and he turned away from Draco, peering into the pot as the spoon continued to stir the brown liquid. Potatoes, carrots, beef, and onions bobbed among the surface. “You weren’t supposed to be back yet,” he said towards the surface.

Draco leaned forward, squeezing Theo’s knee as he pressed, “Did you miss me?”

Theo hummed; the sound reverberated in Draco’s skull and lit him up like a firework. “You’re very pushy for someone who’s tracking mud along my flat.”

“You missed me.” His smile—beaming of smug satisfaction—took up half his face at his conclusion. A man of little words, Draco could read Theo like a well-loved, frequently sought-after book. His fingertips read every pulse and twitch of Theo’s muscles as they trailed up his thighs.

“I haven’t said such a thing,” Theo said, voice deepening.

“Right. Because it’s normal for you to wear my jumper.”

Theo’s eyebrows furrowed and he shook his head. “This one’s mine.”

“No it’s not. My grandmum knitted me this one.” Draco tugged the hem, catching a glimpse of skin beneath; the trail of hair heading North and South simultaneously. He licked his lips. “Yours is white.”

Theo stilled and Draco took that as an opportunity to duck his head and press a kiss to his boyfriend’s throat. Theo’s adam’s apple bobbed and a hiss quickly followed when Draco reached beneath his jumper, running his hands on the expanse of Theo’s stomach. “Your hands are cold.”

Pushing a breath out his nose, it was Draco’s turn to roll his eyes. “Leave it to you to ruin a moment, Nott.”

“Don’t be a git, Malfoy. Alls I’m sayin’ is you’re getting me wet and muddy.”

“Right. Forgot you were a bit particular about your cleanliness.”

Theo gave him a pointed look. “Takes one to know one. You keep that up I won’t ask you to join me in the washroom.” As he spoke he reached around and grabbed at Draco’s arse, lifting him up onto his toes. Draco scratched at Theo’s stomach for good measure as Theo leaned forward and murmured into his ear, “Need to warm you up somehow.”

Backing away, Draco forced himself not to focus on the lack of warmth that grew in the space between them as he motioned towards the food on the stove. Let Nott squirm. Serves him right. “Mmm. I suppose the stew wasn’t to take care of that.”

Theo crossed his arms. “I still need to eat even when you’re not here.”

Lifting the spoon out of the pot, Draco sipped at the steaming stew. The burn on his tongue was worth the tension in Theo’s shoulders and the twist to his mouth. “I would have taken that at face value if you didn’t already say it was to surprise me.” In his peripheral he spotted that tiny tell-tale twitch at the corner of Theo’s eye.

There was a shortlist of things that Draco savored: a good spot of tea, Belgian chocolates, his grandmum’s desserts, his mum’s only attempt at cooking dinner (he knew Theo got the stew recipe from somewhere). But seeing Theodore Nott stumbling, thrown off his game?

That, well, that was priceless.

“You missed me,” he stated again, lifting his chin.

Theo leaned forward until his forehead pressed against the side of Draco’s head. “I always do,” he said. And before Draco could speak he added, “It’s dreadfully boring without having someone around to ignore.”

“Git.” He grabbed the collar of Theo’s—his—jumper and yanked him forward, lips colliding in a clumsy, hungry kiss that quickly melted into another and another and another where one barely ended when the next begun, heavy breaths filling the air and the humid heat trapped around the collar of Draco’s shirt rivaled the steam coming from the stove.

“Are you hungry?” Theo asked, the question embedded against Draco’s throat.

Draco’s eyes fluttered shut. “Not really.”

“Good.” Theo’s smirk caressing Draco’s throat made him groan, his body humming in appreciation. “I’ll build your appetite.”

“Kinda hoping you would.”

As Theo hopped down from the counter and dragged Draco out of the kitchen towards their bedroom with laced fingers, his eyes bounced from his abandoned Quidditch bag to the pictures lining the walls of their flat. And like with the sport, Draco reminded himself, as the famillair swooping tumbled his stomach, that he was allowed to be this happy. That he was allowed to move on. That he deserved this.

He did.

He did.

He does.

[ahgaseda]

safe word || chapter 01

⇥ synopsis : as an investigative journalist, you are no stranger to danger, but you may have bitten off more than you can chew when you become caught between Yugyeom, an undercover cop, and Jinyoung, a ruthless gangster...

⇥ warnings : this story in its entirety includes but is not limited to strong language and dialogue, descriptions of blood and violence, alcohol or drug use, and explicit sexual content, and is intended for an adult audience only!

There wasn’t much to say when you realized what had just happened. Yugyeom was underneath you, his hands heavy on your hips, his pleasure already slipping from your folds. You lifted your head sharply, attempting to toss some loose, damp hairs from your eyes, and that was when the weight of what you had done landed on your chest like an anvil.

Glancing down, you met Yugyeom’s penchant gaze and lowered yourself to meet his lips; a wet, lingering kiss shared between satisfied lovers. When you rested more of your body on top of his, you realized you had been trembling from the intensity of release.

The two of you stayed that way for far too long, clinging to each other as the last of your rapid breaths began to settle back to normal. Your flesh was slick with sweat against his warm skin and the sight of glistening droplets coursing down his neck made you desire nothing more than to lap them up with your tongue.

For now, you remained unmoving, too conflicted with the thoughts racing through your mind. How were you supposed to feel after all this was said and done?

“Say something,” Yugyeom finally murmured, his grasp abandoning your hips to caress along your sides.

His touch was maddening; inciting the fire within you once again. The pads of his fingertips were rough yet gentle, and the combination only fueled your desire even more. Battling your conscience, you bit your lip and shook your head, suddenly avoiding his stare of adoration.

“Hey,” Yugyeom crooned, reaching to cradle your face.

The gesture was more than comforting. It was genuine and raw and you had never felt more vulnerable than you did in his embrace. His eyes were filled with concern and affection, but you were seething with unequivocal guilt.

This was all only a game. One you ultimately had to win.

No man could make you feel this way. It was something forbidden to you. Your job was to get what you wanted by any means necessary, but for the first time in your life you were feeling something - something so foreign and unknown to you that your first instinct was to run as fast as you could away from it.

“I can’t,” you finally whimpered, your body still on top of his, your legs still straddling his hips. Propping yourself over him, you felt tears burning between your lashes as you felt him still buried inside you.

“Can’t what?” he pressed, clinging to your face a little tighter, winding his fingers into your hair as if he could feel your body gathering the energy needed to flee from his arms.

Shaking your head, you stole one last kiss from his swollen lips and moved to clamber off of him. Every fiber of Yugyeom’s being screamed to hold you, to lock you to his chest and never let you leave, but he could see you were spooked and the last thing he wanted was to hurt you.

“I have to go,” you murmured bitterly. The strength in your legs had all but left, exhausted from the time spent entangled with him. Fumbling for your clothes, you could feel his eyes on your naked form, but pretended you were alone in the room for your sanity’s sake.

Yugyeom wracked his brain for what he had done wrong. The weeks of stolen glances and subtle flirting had culminated in a heart-stopping kiss behind the marina. The tension had been palpable and thick and when he finally asked you to meet him at a hotel, you didn’t hesitate to say yes.

He had felt guilty about sneaking around with you and treating you like some unspeakable secret, but he didn’t want his boss to catch him and incur more wrath than he already did.

And that was when it hit him. His boss. Yugyeom had just been a convenient avenue for you to get to the kingpin of the largest underground operation in the city.

A rancid taste filled Yugyeom’s mouth and burned the back of his throat. Unshakeable anger and jealousy seized hold of him and he balled his hands into fists as he sat up on the bed.

“Was it worth it?” Yugyeom asked vehemently, rising to snatch his discarded pants from the floor.

Plopping down on the nearby chair, you slid on your boots and proceeded to zip them, giving yourself an opportune excuse to continue avoiding his eyes. “No,” you finally answered to mollify your guilt, lifting to your feet and reaching for your jacket.

Yugyeom grabbed the leather before you could and you inevitably faced him.

“There were better ways to get to him,” Yugyeom hissed, gripping your jacket tightly as you tried to yank it from his grasp.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you replied hurriedly, the phrase coming out rehearsed and monotonous from years of misuse.

Yugyeom hauled the coat inward, jostling you toward him. You were no match for his strength and had the coat not been your favorite, you would have already been out the door.

“You don’t fool me,” Yugyeom whispered, his anger hiding his pain. He had let you in, had bared his soul to you, and you were running away. This was a level of hurt he had no idea existed until you dealt it to him.

Feeling his grip slacken, you tore the jacket from him and folded it over your arm, narrowing your eyes. “You don’t know me,” you said with a scathing edge to your voice, peering up at him with defiance.

Yugyeom took note of you - your rosy cheeks, puffy lips, and smeared makeup. You were covered in evidence of his passion and yet you glared at him as if he had ruined everything. “I know enough,” he finally murmured, releasing your coat.

You peered up at him, reminded of how small you felt beneath him. Your eyes fell on his bare chest, lingering on the bruise you had branded on his collarbone. Swallowing the lump in your throat, you were quick to fuss, “You can never tell anyone about this.”

“And what was this?” Yugyeom pressed, tightening his fists. He wanted so badly to touch you.

Sighing, you whispered, “A moment of weakness. It can never happen again.”

The hurt in his eyes almost sent you to the floor. Your heart clenched in your chest, forbidding you from causing him any more unwarranted pain.

Stiffening, Yugyeom seethed before you and you could see the emotions changing on his face.

“Fine,” he snapped. “Whatever you say.”

You nodded. “Okay.”

“Thanks for the ride,” Yugyeom added, pulling on his shirt.

You recoiled with shame and stomped toward the only exit, leaving a few choice words of profanity in your wake. Yugyeom snorted at your insults, but the moment you slammed the door behind you, he dropped onto the bed and ran his hands through his damp hair.

“I should have known better,” he murmured harshly to himself.

“How am I so stupid?” you exclaimed under your breath as you trudged down the hallway. The soreness between your thighs slowed your speed, but you were desperate to be out of the hotel. The longer you stayed, the more you felt yourself being crushed under the weight of guilt and regret.

Pulling out your phone as you stepped through the main doors, you tapped your foot impatiently through the first few rings and quickly barked, “Is he there?”

“Yeah, why?”

You sighed heavily and replied, “I’m gonna try him one last time.”

Hanging up the phone, you hailed a cab and focused on putting Kim Yugyeom out of your mind. The ride was nothing short of misery as you were constantly reminded of the ache between your legs, your mind offering you rapid glimpses of the memory of Yugyeom beneath you.

A soft hum lingered in your throat as you thought about Yugyeom pushing you against the wall, his lips hot and wet on your neck. You snapped out of your reverie with a visible flinch when the driver alerted you to his arrival at the club. Hurriedly, you thanked the man, paid him, and headed inside.

Park Jinyoung was savagery personified. He inspired fear in his subordinates and superiors alike. There were countless rumors of just how far he was willing to go to get what he wanted. And the brutality had made him the boss of Seoul’s most lethal circle.

“Hello again, Mr. Park,” you greeted suavely.

Jinyoung glanced up and offered a slightly wry smile. “Hello, beautiful,” he murmured, his voice like silk. “What can I do for you?”

“I’ve come to say goodbye.”

Jinyoung tilted his head, his curiosity evident. “What a shame,” he crooned, emotionless as he patted the empty seat beside him. “I’ve enjoyed our pursuits of the mind.”

You sidled next to him, leaning in close and inhaling the scent of his cologne blended with cigars and booze. Exhaling near his neck, you whispered, “I would have enjoyed more physical adventures with you, but I’m sure you have plenty of women to scratch that itch.”

“You are correct,” Jinyoung replied levelly, unaffected.

Feigning disappointment, you sighed, “Anyway, I wanted to say my goodbyes and let you know my dirtiest secret.”

His eyebrows arched, interest was piqued.

You were back in the game.

“I’m waiting,” Jinyoung said with impatience a moment later.

“I just rode the soul out of a man,” you confessed in a bare whisper, watching his pupils dilate in response. “And I closed my eyes and thought of you while I did it.”

Jinyoung swallowed, shuddering with lust and failing to conceal it. “And here I was... mistaking you for an innocent little thing,” he growled, caressing his fingertips up your arm.

Glancing down to see his shifting hands, Jinyoung caught your chin gently and tipped your head back up to meet his eyes hooded with desire and arousal.

You met his gaze and knew without a doubt that you were about to be devoured.

Finally, a mischievous smile appeared on his face. “I think it’s time you and I finally brought an end to this little dance we’ve been doing,” he said darkly.

“Mm,” you hummed in agreement, swallowing roughly as Yugyeom appeared in your mind - with a look of betrayal on his face.

Jinyoung slid his fingers until they were holding your throat and he flexed his grip slightly to snare your undivided attention. Seeing the flicker of surprise in your eyes, he nipped at your lips and whispered, “Pick a safe word.”

chapter 01 ⇥ chapter 02

Hey there, beautiful! If you enjoyed this, please leave a like or reblog or follow me! Or maybe buy me a coffee so I can keep writing? Or check out my masterlist here for more stories! Thanks for reading :) - Katya

This work is fictional and for entertainment purposes only, but is licensed and protected under a creative commons attribution-noncommercial-noderivatives 4.0 international license. Any instances of plagiarism will be dealt with accordingly. Do not re-post or translate without my permission.

{ copyright 2018-2020 © ahgaseda // all rights reserved }

[thewritewolf]

Rekindle Chapter 29: Werecat

A confrontation a long time in the making.

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28 29 30  31

@marichatmay

Enjoy!

Read on Ao3

Marinette watched as Adrien paced in front of her. His hands were clenching and unclenching at his sides, she could see the tension in his jawline and shoulders. She knew that if he was transformed right now, his tail would be flicking back and forth. She reflected that, given the circumstances, his anger was entirely relatable. Even with a cursory glance through the papers, he’d found enough to get him riled up and that was before they’d taken them home and started really digging into them.

It had been a real shock to see what Adrien had uncovered at the mayor’s office. The rest of the night had ended up feeling like a formality - even the discovery of a shard of the peacock miraculous, blackened and pulsing with energy and locked in the mayor’s desk, had only ended up being met with almost business-like indifference. After a certain point, it was hard to muster the energy to get more upset.

Thankfully, the same procedure that worked to cleanse akumas was easily adapted to purify corrupted miraculous. She noticed that the miraculous cure didn’t seem as effective as usual, but considering that all the damage would be primarily in the mayor’s building, they hadn’t been too broken up about it. For both the mayor’s sake and their own, they hadn’t gone back to check on him. Watching Adrien in this state, she couldn’t regret that decision.

She reached out and grabbed the cuff of his shirt, stopped him in his tracks. “Adrien, take a seat. You’re going to wear a hole into the floor.”

“I can’t!” He looked at her with such helpless emotion that was breaking her heart all over again. “Mari, my father blacklisted you from your dream job! And that’s not even touching on all the other horrible things he did to our friends, either directly or by supporting that terrible person!” He crumbled to his knees and rested his head on her legs. “I’m so so so so sorry. I had no idea…”

She lifted his head up to look him in the eye. “Adrien. Listen to me - don’t you dare for one minute think any of this is your fault. It is all on Gabriel and Andre. Not you. Okay?”

“Okay…” With a hesitant nod, he got to his feet. “How can you be so calm about this? You got hit hard by this.”

“Honestly? I’m pissed. But I choose to take it as a compliment. Gabriel Agreste, head of his own fashion empire, thought that I was good enough to ruin him.” She leaned back and crossed her arms at Adrien. “And you know what the best revenge will be? Getting bigger than he ever did on skill alone.” She patted the seat next to her and gestured towards the papers. “Now come on and help me sort through this.”

Adrien seemed to be mulling something over. He shook his head. “I’m sorry, I need to go for a run. I’m too angry to think right now.”

“Woah, kid, you sure about that?” Plagg piped up for the first time since they’d gotten home. It hadn’t been the lazy quiet she was used to from Plagg, but a very careful silence. As if he was waiting to see how things would play out.

“I don’t know if it is wise to-” Tikki stopped when she saw Adrien shake his head.

“I can’t help anyone right now. I just… I need some air.”

Marinette stood up and cupped his face. “Then go and get it out of your system. I’ll be right here waiting for you.” She rolled forward to kiss his cheek. “Don’t get lost out there, okay?”

He watched her with a tender expression, unable to do anything but nod. “Claws out.”

Once he was gone, Marinette collapsed into the couch. Tikki landed behind her.

“Are you sure that was a good idea?”

“Adrien is feeling a lot right now. It’s like Hawkmoth’s defeat all over again. I’m here for him, but this is something that he needs to come to grips with before I can do anything to help him. Once he comes back we can talk things out.”

Tikki considered this. “And what about you, Marinette?”

Marinette sighed. “I’ll be happy when I have my kitty back. Until then,” she leaned forward and started working through another set of papers.

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

Chat Noir’s mind was empty of thoughts as he let himself fully sink into the mechanics of running, leaping, and swinging. He had no destination in mind, but ran like a man possessed. As if he’d be able to burn out his anger and frustration with physical exhaustion. For a while, it worked and he was able to outrun his emotions - he became lost in the moment.

Running, however, is only a temporary solution. It took a while, but even his superhuman endurance began to waver and everything hit him all at once. He slowed down, legs becoming tired from more than just physical weariness. His knee hit the metal roof of the building he was standing on and only there and then, alone, did he allow himself to shed tears.

There were plenty of emotions vying for his attention. The most obvious was anger - he was beyond pissed at Mayor Andre, and more especially his father. He had known that Gabriel was not a savory character, even when his mom was alive. It had only worsened over the years, but even at his lowest, Adrien hadn’t expected his father to be capable of such… corruption and vileness. Which lead to frustration. Even in prison, Gabriel was ruining his life and hurting his friends. Shame was hot on its heels - despite Marinette’s reassurances, he knew that if there was anyone that could have noticed this earlier, it would have been him. The money used to torment his loved ones was the same money he’d helped Gabriel make through years of modeling.

Belatedly, Adrien realized where he was standing. The same warehouse that Hawkmoth - his father - had held Marinette in to get at Chat Noir. Like the true coward he was.

His brushed his tears aside and stood tall. There was one stop he needed to make before he went home to help Marinette deliver justice. Gabriel Agreste needed to understand the enormity of his crimes. And who better to do it than him?

So single-minded was Adrien that he failed to notice the white fur taking shape below him and a throaty growl that echoed in the empty space...

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Gabriel Agreste stared at the wall of his small prison cell. He’d been put into maximum security, solitary confinement as he awaited his no doubt highly publicized trial. There had been no visitors to break up the monotony of his daily routine. Nathalie was gone, likely a victim of the same miraculous that had stolen so much from him already. Adrien hadn’t been seen in months, abducted by his hated enemies. And clearly, all of his business associates were doing their best to divorce themselves from any relationship they had with him. He did not even have Nooroo any more, his one constant companion for the past what? Twenty, thirty years?

Worst of all, he knew that his wife was gone. The machine could not have sustained her for much longer, least of all without his frequent maintenance and care. No, now Gabriel was entirely alone in the world.

...Or at least he was until he noticed the figure in black standing on the other side of his cage, just outside the reach of his pitiful overhead light.

Of course, even in the weak light he would recognize that figure. Even if he hadn’t been spending the last ten years trying to pry jewelry off his body, living or dead, there weren’t many people in Paris who wore cat ears and a leather tail. At least, none that he would allow within twenty meters of him.

His face twisted into a sneer. “Chat Noir. Finally come to gloat at how you defeated the mighty Hawkmoth? How you tore a family apart because of your desperate need to play hero?” He watched Chat Noir flex his claws as his glowing emerald eyes stared back at Gabriel. Despite himself, Gabriel shivered - there was a coldness in that look that he’d never seen in the hero before, no matter what akuma’s eyes he had been looking through.

Instead of a response, Chat Noir said, “Claws in.”

After blinking away the spots from his eyes due to the green light show, he eagerly looked one of his nemeses in the face for the first time. A knot of some unfamiliar emotion knotted in his gut. Despite the suit vanishing, none. "...Son?"

"Hawkmoth."

Gabriel frowned, the much more familiar sense of parental disappointment returning to him. "Still no respect for your father, I see."

"There's no one here by that title. No one here who deserves respect. Let me tell you about some people I DO respect though." Adrien pulls pictures out of his jacket and throws them one by one at Gabriel’s feet.

The first picture was a happy couple dressed in wedding finery that Gabriel could barely remember as one of Adrien’s circle of nobody friends. "This is Alya and Nino. You remember them, right? Well this is their wedding rehearsal dinner. In Venice. Why in Venice, do you ask? Because, as I just learned, they were threatened by Andre Bourgeois to the point that they had to leave this city. They now travel where Alya can report the truth without being blackmailed."

Another picture hit the floor. "This is my former fencing instructor. I'm sure you don't remember him, because you didn't care about how I lived my life as long as I was busy and quiet and cut off from the world. He ran against the mayor several times trying to bring real change and each time he was met with a smear campaign that ruined his reputation and his business. He moved, and last I heard he has a very nice fencing studio in Marseille. He hasn't been back to Paris since."

"Adrien-"

The last picture was tossed directly at his face and Gabriel caught it easily with one hand. He almost wished he hadn’t when he saw his son, smiling wider than he had in years, his arm around a young woman that he definitely recognized.

"And THIS.” His son’s face was a mask of anger. “This is Marienette Dupain-Cheng. The love of my life. And she's still here. DESPITE the horrible competition she endured trying to break into the fashion world. DESPITE the critics who will tear apart anything innovative for ratings. DESPITE the blacklist I found in Mayor Bourgeois's office that had her name on it. The list you gave him."

Long moments passed between them, a silence thick with tension.

“You’ve got nothing to say for yourself.” It wasn’t a question.

“Everything I did was for us, for our family-” Gabriel was cut off by Adrien laughing, a biting, hollow noise.

“You didn’t do it for me,” Adrien spat at him. “You didn’t do it for mom. You did it for your idea of us, some… some fictional version of us that only exists in your head.” He shook his head. “Do you really think mom would have ever wanted you to terrorize Paris for her? Do you think she wanted to spend her last days of life stretched thin in stasis? What the hell would make you think I’d want a supervillain instead of a father?”

Gabriel didn’t have a response to that either and felt his legs give out underneath him as he collapsed onto his hard prison bed. He barely registered the flash of green light as his son - who he realized with dawning horror he had tried to kill many times in the past ten years - left him.

He finally recognized the unfamiliar emotion he was feeling.

Guilt.

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

Marinette took a big sip of her best red wine as her phone rang. She knew they were out of their league with this one, but she knew exactly who to call for help. It was a big enough story to entice her, but if she wanted this to work, she needed to be as honest as possible.

A voice answered on the other end. “Hey, M. What’s up?”

The time for hesitation was over. “Alya, I hope you’ve got a lot of time to spare.”

“For my best friend? I’ve got all the time in the world.”

“Good.” Marinette took a deep, fortifying breath. “I’m Ladybug, and I need your help.”

[zeciex]

Obsidian & Angelite Ch. 4 (M)

Oya has spend centuries bound to one single plot of land when one day a stranger with a voice of velvet and presence that can only be described as dark and outmost interesting. He comes with an offer she can’t refuse and suddenly her entire world changes, both for better and worse.

But what does Langdon need of her? And how can she use him to get what she want? Maybe they’re bound by something bigger than fate.

Warning: Dark themes, Strong Language, sexual tension, Sex, Unprotected sex, cream pie, blood, snakes

ArchiveLink

Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3

When the truth comes out so does the sin

She was done being kept in secrecy. Done waiting around and hoping to just fall over the answers to her questions. Something was drawing on her, pulling her towards the only solution she could come up with.

And that solution was to go straight for some answers, straight to the source. Michael had disappeared into the room behind the wooden door of frustrating secrecy and that’s when she hurried up the stairs to her room, pushing open her bag of wonders and produced a gilded knife. Sitting on the floor with her legs folded beneath her, she pushed up the white silk dress to reveal her tattoo of a snake, it slithering down her leg with its head towards her feet, black scales so detailed it almost seemed real.

A few inches beneath its head she cut into her tight. The pain were a mere sting and not worthy of note. Blood drawn lines over her skin and dripped to the floor. For a moment nothing happened and then she felt it move beneath her skin. The feeling was strange, a dull pain and the expanse of her skin pulled over its form.

She hissed when it moved forward pushing its way out of the cut she made, its black scales glistening with her blood and tongue darting out to smell the air. It curled in front of her a moment before slithering over the floor leaving a trail of blood slowly drawing out behind it.

Oya rose from her position and followed it out of her room, with blood still running down her leg and staining the white dress that wrapped so tightly around her in every way that counted. She followed it down the stairs and away from Michaels room where she thought it’d lead her. Instead it slithered over the dark concrete floor, no longer leaving a path of blood, now she was the one that did the path making.

It stopped in front of the oak door, circling around and looking up at it with a hiss. Oya’s heart drummed rapidly, palms wet with sweat and adrenalin shooting through her veins.

“Show me,” she whispered to it and it answered with a lulled hiss disappearing beneath the door. For a split second she wondered if it had gone away, that she had lost it to the mysteries within but the door clicked open before her, revealing a staircase covered in darkness.

Her snake slithered further down making her follow, her hands trailing over the walls for support. Darkness ate her up bit by bit and then she passed the curve of the staircase and saw a light at the end.

A hissing grew louder. It should have made her turn around but she was too far now, pulled by the strangeness and the need to see. Her snake reached the bottom and perked up, watching.

The light danced as it touched her toes, growing for every step she took. Candle light, warmly glowing. And then she reached the bottom and saw, her heart stopping and then starting with a more rapid force.

In the middle of a bloody pentagram, knelt down and hunched over were Michael, blood trails running down his arms from wounds that had long since healed. His eyes black as in her vision, hiding the blue. His golden hair seemed even more golden in this light, against his bloody work that was smeared over his naked from.

Her heart was logged in her throat. She should be scared, anyone should be scared of what was before her but instead she was satisfied by the truth. His energy wrapped around her ankles and drifted upwards like it had done so many times before but this time, this time it was with a sinful intent she couldn’t deny had an effect on her.

She was seeing him for what he was and it was all clear.

The goddess of the underworld didn’t turn away but was rather drawn in. Her snake slithered further towards the pentagram only to be met by a snake he had conjured from his blood. Her snake hissed at its counterpart rising and his snake mirrored it perfectly, the only difference being it’s dark red tips on the scales.

When she looked up at Langdon again his eyes were on hers. With ease he stood and the nakedness of his being became all too apparent. With stubborness her eyes remained fixed on his, watching as they turned to a sultry blue.

“Have this answered your questions?” He drawled with desire shaping every word. Oya swallowed, feeling herself grow increasingly more wet. The strings that pulled at her revealed themselves as a bond forming between them. Though she hated the notion of fate and destiny, she felt that there was no other words to convey exactly what made her stay.

“Yes,” she breathed. Michael moved closer, every motion calculated and executed perfectly. The cool wall send a shock through her body when she took a step back and collided with it. “You’re the antichrist.”

He almost purred at her words, head tilting in observance. “Does that scare you?”

“It should,” she whispered, jumping when a bloody finger caressed over the fabric of her dress.

“But?”

“But,” she continued. “No. It doesn't.”

Dragging his finger down the deep v line of her dress he let it continue until it was at her thigh. Everything about him had been to seduce, just like she theorised. From every movement, every carefully picked word to the way he smelled, was to pull you in and devour you whole. She realised this and was still left with a wanting.

“So this is your truth?” She croaked out, her body reacting to the way his fingers hitched up the soft fabric in a dangerous game.

“Partially,” he teased. “Is this what you wanted to know?”

“Yes.”

“Does it make you trust me?” His finger grazed skin and it jolted her into action, wrapping her fingers around his wrist with the intent of keeping his fingers where they were to keep her focused on the question at hand. But the intent wavered, letting him still graze a ghostly line up her thigh, past her wound.

“It shouldn’t,” she uttered the truth. That’s when she realised that if he truly wanted to keep it a secret she couldn't have been able to get in. He wanted her here, wanted her squirming before him until she admitted to herself what he knew from the start, that they were bound. “But it does.”

Michael removed his hand that had trailed up her dress with an abruptness that snapped back at her, only making the ache more prominent. His bloodied hand trailed up once more, his fingers tilting her face towards his as he leaned further in, his brazent heat engulfing her.

It was a silent dare for her to make the first step. He played with her and this was his way of saying, ‘if you want it, then take it’.

“Michael,” she breathed his name and watched as his eyes all but rolled back in his head in bliss. When they finally fell back on her again there were an insatiable hunger in them, one that told her he’d devour her whole if she allowed. And like a dam breaking within, she pressed forward catching his lips with hers in a thrillingly sorching of lips.

At her touch Michael melted into her, his power filling her up with a dangerous desire, wrapping around her being and digging into her soul. With blazent touches, she felt him push the thin straps over the edge of her shoulders and let the fabric fall to pool at the floor, ruined by blood and never to be worn again. With his hands pressing her naked body to his and his lips melting away the last traces of resilience, she gave into him fully.

With a cooler touch than his own, her fingers made their way up his chest and locked around his neck. Those sinful lips of his were as hungry as his stare had been, they left almost bruising marks on her own and with his tongue he apologized.

It was maddening the way they fit.

With his hand trailing lower, he lifted her up and she responded with a surprised moan, one that made him smirk against the skin of her neck. She wrapped her legs around his waist and felt a hardness brush against her core. With his arm around her waist he carried her to the middle of the room, into the bloody pentagram and casually placed her there.

The drying blood stuck to her skin, tainted the suntouched softness of it and created something entirely unholy.

With teeth grazing the skin of her neck in heated nibbles Oya moaned, her fingers running through his hair, nails grazing the scalp. Now Michael moaned, his hand finding its way between her legs to massage slow and agonizing circles over her clit. Michael ventured lower leaving blossoming marks drizzle down her neck, over the crook of her collarbone and down to her chest.

She looked down at herself and watched as he took her nipple in his mouth the very moment a single finger dipped into her center. At their own accord her hips moved after his hand, begging for more but found that he was merciless.

They had barely done anything and she could already feel herself coil at his accord. He played her like he could do nothing else and it was the most erotic thing she had ever experienced. Slowly he moved his fingers, circling and moving in a way that drove her up the walls. In an attempt to keep some form of pride, she bit into her own hand trying to stifle the moans that wanted to leave her swollen lips.

With an fire in his eyes Michael removed his fingers, coming to look straight at her face. Blood was smeared up his neck and she imagined she’d be smeared in it too by then. Around him swayed his hair in a golden glory that tickled at her skin. She bit her lip when he removed her hand from them.

“Let me hear you,” he drawled, every word drowned in desire. Her lips chased his and won, drawing him into her and pressing her heels against his lower back, wanting nothing more than to feel him. Breathless she moaned and Michael swallowed it up with a thirst for more.

Without further due and in one swift motion he thrust himself into her. This time there were a chorus of moans falling from both of them. The sounds they made were lewd and sinful.

Oya dragged her nails down between his shoulder blades leaving a path of angry red marks. The pain stung with a fever of pleasure that dragged a gruntled moan from his throat, almost animalistic. He snapped his hips at her with a merciless hardness, digging deeper into her, deeper than she ever felt. The feeling was addicting, it made her toes curl and body beg for more. So much more.

“Fuck,” she cursed hoarsely, lifting her hips to meet his. While using one arm to hold himself up so that he didn’t crush her, his other arm tightened around her waist as he thrusted into her with a relentlessness she never experienced before.  With his lips leaving soft kisses at her neck and his tongue licking up the salty sweat building, Oya’s head fell back.

Not only was he fucking her like she had never been fucked before, not only did he reveal small glimpses of softness only seen and felt by her, but he was also pouring his energy into her, twisting the spell to break it, knock, knock, knocking at it to obliterate it’s ties around her neck, around what made her so much more.

With a vengeance she tethered closer to the edge with a coil wound up inside, waiting to break loose. “M-Michael,” her voice broke. Her fingers pushed back his tousled hair revealing the face of an angle but eyes of the devil.

A line between his brows made itself known, his body straining to keep together. The snap of his hips became faster and harder as he got close to his own breaking point. He tried to say something bit his voice broke into a groan of pleasure and his forehead fell to hers.

They looked each other in the eye when finally the coil broke, a burning sensation dragging over her back annulling the spell, breaking it open. For a moment it was as if the world vanished into nothing as her powers were released with her orgasm, her walls clamming down around him bringing him with her over the edge.

The candlelights went out only to shoot up again with an even bigger flame, her powers unfolding and mixing with his own.

Michael thrusted into her a few more times before stilling, drained by the performance. They looked at each other and both saw something new. A powerful goddess to match himself and a man more complex than any other.

He pulled out, falling to the floor beside her. There were only the sound of their heavy breathing, torsos moving up and down rapidly and the sound of their pulse in their ears. For a while they just stayed there, unmoving and panting.

She felt his seed drip out of her and the way her body slowly cooled. Everything was sticky. Sticky with sweat, sticky with blood and sticky with whatever else there were. Her snake slither up her leg to return to its place as ink on her skin. As soon as it crawled through the opening in her thigh, it seized to exist other than the tattoo. The wound itself healed with a touch of magic.

The power that had been released knitted in the air with electricity. It hummed over her skin, moved between her limbs, tendrils stretching from years of captivity. She felt free. Liberated. But beneath there was a worry, one she had refused to ever think about in the belief that this time would never come and now it was here. It was a scared little thought spinning the tale of not being able to control the power that had been freed. It was a shadow hidden in the corner of her mind that was otherwise flooded with new found flexibility.

She rolled onto her side to look at the man beside her and found his eyes already on her. Even with no words spoken there was a softness in the air between them, one that required no immediate response. They saw each other and accepted what they saw.

“What will you do with your new found freedom?” Michael questioned and broke the silence. There were a hint of something in his voice but hidden enough for her not to understand what it was. It was a big question and the answer heavy.

“I don’t know, never had that prospect before,” she said and felt how their energy twined. Reaching towards him she brushed a wild strand of hair out of the way, the notion of it intimate and on a level neither of them had experienced before. “I need to learn control before venturing out into the world. Who would be more perfect for teaching me than antichrist himself.”

Michael grabbed her wrist hovering above him and for a moment she thought it was an rejection, then he placed a lingering kiss on the inside of her wrist before letting go. For someone born of evil he had the strings of fate wrapped tightly around him, cutting into flesh and exposing what could be beneath.

“Stay.” He said the word, one single word that held more meaning than most. Her heart swelled and she hated herself for it. There were a battle of voices going on inside of her, the voice of absolute reason saying that whatever it was with Michael it was a trap, he was a trap. That what she saw before her was an illusion and putting more weight into it would only cause further harm. He fucked you to break the spell but what he got out of it was your willingness to open yourself up to him. You cannot play the devil, he plays you. Let the him in and you shall suffer.

Then there was the other side of the voice, the one that felt the pull between them like gravity, that clearly said And how deliciously we shall suffer.

“This wasn’t just for the spell, was it?” she questioned.

“Are you asking or hoping for something more?” Her heart beat drummed in her ears but her face remained the same, eyes not wavering from his.

“Both.”

With a strange affection Michael lifted her hand to his and intertwined their fingers, much like their powers were. They complimented each other in a way that made the soul rest easy, learning to pierce themselves together through each other. “You somehow manage to capture my interest beyond what anyone else ever have. I intend to figure out what make you tik,” he rolled to his side, the two inches apart. “And why your power calls mine.”

Oya swallowed, her heart threatening to shatter her bones. There were a chill to his tone, to his interest and that chill made the ache reappear in spite of the intent. Maybe they were lying to themselves or just maybe they were being the most honest they’ve ever been.

“I also wanted to fuck you senseless.”

“And you did,” Oya laughed the past doubts forgotten in the moment. Michael smiled at her then, a genuine smile she wanted to learn much more about.

[arazialotis]

Hunters Academy - Part 3

Word Count: Around 3100

Summary: The reader is looking for a way forward in life. A cryptic business card may provide her with a new opportunity at an unconventional school. Catch Up Here -> Introduction Part 1 Part 2

Warnings: Language, Drama

Pairing: Dean x Reader

This is purely for a hobby and my enjoyment. Maybe some of you will enjoy it too. I am by no means a writer so I apologize in advance for any mistakes or grammatical/spelling errors. I appreciate any feedback or suggestions!

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Things had finally cooled down between you and Serena. And by cooled down, you meant the two of you could at least be in the same room without getting the feeling she was waiting for the right opportunity to tear you apart. It was still a little tense but progress was being made nevertheless. Other than that, things had been going pretty smoothly. You took Sam’s advice and forced yourself to ease up a little.

One of your extracurricular activities included spending some time in the garage and not just to gawk at Dean; no matter how appealing his muscle looked popping out of that tank and smeared with a bit of grime. Honestly, you did try to focus on upgrading your ‘stang. You were surprise they had yet to mention anything in class, but you clearly remember the side panel of your mom’s car door concealing her stashed weaponry. With a hunt coming up in your second semester it would do you good.

Instead of a door compartment you opted for hollowing out the back seat and constructing the bench into the trap door. Dean was hard at work too, at who knows what. You knew when he was in the garage by the start and stop of his classic rock music. He’d been favoring 38 Special or Fleetwood Mac lately. As you worked you hummed along to ‘Caught Up In You.’ The melody was interrupted by the clang of metal and unintelligible cursing. Instead of checking on him out of concern, you stayed out of viewed containing your silent laughter. Several minutes passed without sound so you dared to peak through your rear window, but he was nowhere to be seen.

“Nice.” You heard from directly behind you. You jumped in shock hitting your head on the car’s roof. Unlike you, he didn’t keep his laughter a secret. “But as usual, overachieving again. I have a good chunk of class time dedicated to this in... oh, let’s say seven weeks.”

You sighed rubbing the back of your head. “And how was I supposed to know that?” You lightheartedly defended.

“I guess I won’t hold it against ya, since I only decided to add it to the curriculum just now.” He playfully admitted. “Two pointers though.” You followed him pacing around the car. “First, you’ll want something built in with easier access. Say you become surrounded by a nest of vamps, you’re not going to have time digging through your backseat.”

You smirked and rubbed the tacky fin on the back of the car. “Precisely why I have this.” You found the switch and hit the button releasing a blade resembling a katana into your hand. You gave it to Dean to examine.

“Iron?” He asked surprised by the weight.

You nodded. “Coated in silver.”

Dean tried to hide it, but he was impressed. He cut threw the air getting the balance of sword before handing it back to you. You set it back into place.

“Second.” He didn’t miss a beat. “Ain’t no way a body is fitting into that trunk.”

“Maybe not in one piece.” You winked at him.

You waltzed back to the front and slid onto the hood. Dean cautiously followed you, hesitating to blur any boundaries. But something about you drew him in, made it hard to stay away.

Even though your nose was already buried in the first auto mechanics book that was in nearby vicinity, swinging your legs back and forth, you were painfully aware of him inching closer.

“So…” Your breath was shaky but you looked to break the growing tension. “When it comes to 351 V8s…” You honestly had no idea what you were talking about at this point. “Would you recommend…” You couldn’t help it any further. You lowered the book to find him practically leaning against the car between your legs. You instantly stopped swinging them and lost the ability to form sentences.

“Y/N.” He softly called.

Both your heads swung to the sound of the heavy garage door opening and Sam appeared to ruin the moment. You looked back to Dean who seemed to have magically been separated from you by several feet. “As I was saying,” Dean started lecturing. “351s are a piece of garbage. It’d do you good to upgrade to a 372 turbo. It’s significantly lighter…”

“Dean.” Sam interrupted. “Can I talk to you.”

Sam looked between the both of you and it was easy to take the hint. You went back to working on the seat contraption yet tactfully eavesdropped on their conversation.

“Check this out.” Sam handed Dean his phone. After a few minutes of Dean looking it over, he continued. “Usually I’d say we should had it over to someone else, but… I don’t know… this seems big.”

“Yeah.” Dean agreed. “What, we really only have a week and a half til break anyways…”

“Just let them off a bit early?” Sam asked, feeling a bit guilty for abandoning the group.

“Nah. Y/N’s been working on something I think that’d do them all good. I wanted to fit it into the schedule next semester, but if we need to be gone, maybe now is the perfect time.” Dean suggested.

You continued pretending to work as Sam loomed over your shoulder. “Yeah, that seems fine. I’ll break the news to the others. Let’s plan to leave in 30.”

“Hey!” You cut in before he was able to run out. “Um, since I am pretty much finished with the project, maybe I could come with you guys on the hunt…” You sheepishly proposed.

“No.” They both rejected your offer in unison.

“You’re not ready.” Dean ruled and cut off your protest. “I don’t have time to show you the ropes and worry about your ass. This is real life Y/N and as good as you are compared to the rest of the class, you still need more training.”

When Sam didn’t object the reasoning, you huffed in annoyance but didn’t push further. Instead you dove back into the work.

“Y/n it’s not that…” Dean started again after Sam left. “You’re… I don’t want to…”

You gritted your teeth together. “Whatever Dean.” You put in headphones to clearly show you were done with the conversation.

He sighed looking at his watch debating whether or not to open up, ultimately deciding it could wait another day. He headed out as well to start packing. The days were slow without them here. As anticipated, you finished up earlier than the others. You briefly considered following the boys, but didn’t want to risk being expelled. You honestly had no where to go. Going back to your foster family would only raise questions and most likely anger. You did miss them, but here you actually felt like you belonged. With graduation coming up only next year though, concern built. You would most likely end up like your mother, jumping from motel to motel, no real place to ever settle down.

Broseph and Serena took off early. He wanted her to meet his parents, who were also hunters. They would finish up their project there. Once Kaveri, Skylar and Ciara completed the assignment, they took off for break as well; leaving only you and Ned. Not that you didn’t like Ned… but you actively avoided him, trying to limit your social interactions to the rec room or the kitchen. Something about him gave you the creeps, you couldn’t exactly figure out what. Besides a bit of quiet time on break would do you good. Yet he always managed to find a way to follow you around.

The layout of the bunker was huge. And just when you thought you had discovered every inch of this place, another door always seemed to materialize out of thin air. You practiced your lock picking skills and popped the newly discovered door open. Another storage facility. Although this time it captured your eye. Instead of the usual piles of books; this one contained artifacts, reels from a super 8 camera, potions, and god knows what else. You were digging around for a film projector when Ned appeared from nowhere.

He was digging through another box. “Do you think Sam and Dean declawed this themselves?” He asked holding what looked like a raptor claw.

“Jesus Ned!” You swore out of shock. It seemed this was becoming a pattern. “What, is it like your semester project to follow me around?” “Pretty much.” He set the thing back in its box and flipped his hair aside. You couldn’t tell if he was being sarcastic or honest.

“Well, I don’t know, a lot of this stuff looks pretty old, I would say probably before their time.” You walked around the room, trying to create a bit of distance, until you noticed grooves along the floor indicating file cabinets repeatedly moved. “Ned.” You waved him over. “Take a look at this…” He looked at you and had the same thought. You both grabbed a cabinet and pulled it open revealing the dungeon behind it. A huge red devils trap and chair in the center, handcuffs hanging off the wall, devices that looked more of interrogation tools than practical hunting weapons.

Both of your mouths hung open. “Dude…” Was all Ned managed to utter in shock.

You cautiously advanced… “Do you think it is just for practice or they use it for real?”

“What would they need to practice?” Ned debated.

“I don’t know… maybe showing students a real life exorcism, um... “ You were at a lost.

“No, it’s definitely a torture chamber.” Ned decided.

“Stop.” You insisted “We are hunters not cold sadistic torturers…” You stepped inside the circle. “I bet it is just for role play…” Ned smirked. “You know what I mean. Learning through practice.” You clarified sitting down in the chair. “So… are you going to exorcise me?” You popped an eyebrow.

He tilted his head to the side.

“Exorci…” You egged on.

He jumped in. “Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus, omnis satanica potestas…” You sat up in the chair. “Once I get outta here. I’m going to kill you and everyone of your little friends.” “Hey..” Ned stopped the chant, offended.

“I’m making it life like…” You whispered. “Keep going…” “Uhh… omnis incursio… uh… infernalis adversarii…” He stuttered trying to remember.

“Omnis congregatio et secta diabolica…” You piped in.

“Yeah, real life like Y/N, I’m sure the demon will be all the more willing to help.” He rolled his eyes.

“Listen Blink-182, I know I’m screwed either way so the sooner I smoke out of here, the sooner I can crawl back out of hell and peel off those fake eyelashes.” You goaded covering your tracks.

“Uh, they are not fake.” He gasped.

“Really?” You jumped back out of character. “What kind of mascara do you use? Sorry… back to it.” You settled back into the chair.

“Ergo draco, um… maledicte, ut expelliarmus…” He continued “Harry Potter.” You whispered.

“I mean, ut ex…” “Ecclesiam…” You reminded.

“Oh, right. Ecclesiam tuam secura, tibi facias libertate servire, te rogamus, audi nos.”

You rolled your eyes back and shook for a few moments before going limp. “Y/N… Y/N?” He whispered concerned not daring to enter the circle. “Y/N stop it.”

You couldn’t hold back anymore and clutched your stomach in laughter.

“You’re not funny.” He scoffed and went to leave.

“I’m fucking hilarious.” You follow him out, closing the cabinets behind you. “But seriously, mascara?”

“I stole Serena’s Better Than Sex, alright.” He confessed.

Your hand came down on his shoulder to catch yourself  buckling over in laughter. “Does she know?”

“No… don’t tell her… I replaced it with E.L.F.” He continued.

“Dude! You don’t have to worry about demons, she is going to kill you herseself.” You had to wipe away a tear in your eye.  

You both walked down the hallway to your rooms rambling hypothetically making up scenarios about Serena’s revenge.

He stopped at your room and coldly shifted topics. “Y/N, Do you really like Dean?”

“What? Who told you that?” You demanded.

“Skylar.” He admitted without hesitation.

You huffed in annoyance. “No, I don’t like Dean.” You lied not needing more drama or especially the rumor to reach the man himself. “Why would she say something like that?”

He shrugged his shoulders. “I don’t know, I just wanted to hear it from you.”

“O.. Kay…” You went into your room more confused than you Eurasian lore test.

By the time Christmas rolled around, the realization hit you that it was only you and Ned. Everyone else was off home with their families and Sam and Dean were still not back from their hunt. It didn’t even feel like Christmas, there was no snow on the ground, no tree, no presents. Ned ranted about the mix of Christian and pagan lore to celebrate a holiday that only worships capitalism.

You half-heartedly listened to him as you reflected back on Christmases with your mom. It was usually in a motel room or a Denny’s. Even Charley Brown’s Christmas tree usually put the one she found to shame. Gifts would consist of knick knacks found at gas stations like hostess apple pies, crossword puzzles, a stuffed bear holding a rose. But there was one year she went all out and bought you a polly pocket Cinderella castle. Looking back, she didn’t have fake credit cards, she must have picked up an extra job to pay for it. But you did it justice, carrying it around everywhere with you and spending countless hours building your fantasy life. If you thought hard enough, you’d even make a bet that you forced Sam to play when your mom and his dad were on a hunt together, but those memories were so long ago.

Christmas never felt traditional until you moved in with the last of your foster families. Your foster mom would wake you up every morning and the whole family would be downstairs progressively working their way through stockings and presents. Your foster dad would eventually turn on the TV to TBS while brunch was being served and you’d manage to watch A Christmas Story at least three times intermittently throughout the day. Relatives would come over for dinner and you’d help your foster mom in the kitchen preparing ham, potatoes, salad, rolls, really a full out feast. She’d probably still have a place set for you this year, hoping you’d show up.

You had to stop lingering on these thoughts so you convinced Ned to indulge in the capitalistic lifestyle and make Christmas dinner with you. Thankfully, Skylar and Kaveri showed up later in the evening because you had not adjusted the recipes to only fit two people. Even with them, there would still be plenty of leftovers.

Days had passed and the rest of the students had returned yet Sam and Dean still remained unheard from with class on schedule to begin tomorrow. You had braved the courage to call Sam once, but he didn’t answer, you couldn’t muster the courage again. Instead, you stayed up later than usual with your door cracked open hoping to hear them come in.

You stayed up reading, with only your desk light on. Although late, a few others were still up. You could hear Broseph’s passionate hollers down the hall as his sports team seemed to be rising to victory. With a jolt, you woke from the bed, you must have drifted to sleep momentarily. Coming from the room next to you was the all too sweet music of Pink Floyd’s The Wall, which you had missed so much since arriving here. The record was the only Christmas gift you had purchased this season - for Dean and partially you - as you could enjoy it from next door. And if the record was playing, that meant Sam and Dean were back. You resisted every urge to run over a greet him. So instead, you waited for him to come to you.

You pretended to dive back into your book but very shortly felt yourself slipping back into sleep. You went to wash your face and then planned to head for the kitchen to try and elicit a run-in. However, ‘Young Lust’ came up next. You couldn’t help but mouth along to the words and swing your hips enticingly around your room. You danced over to your and Dean’s adjoining wall imaging some sort of connection as you pressed your back against it.

‘Oh, baby set me free.’ You mouthed as your continued rocking your hips and reaching your arms above you pressing harder against the firm concrete. ‘Ooh, I need a dirty woman. Ooh, I need a dirty girl.’ You slid down the wall onto your knees air guitaring your way through the solo.

A cough instantly broke your concentration and your eyes popped open only to discover Dean had pushed the door open wider and was standing in it’s entrance. God only knows how long he had been watching your humiliating display. You immediately stood up, nervously combing your fingers through your hair.

“So, I suppose I have you to thank for the shiny new vinyl?” He asked.

You pretended to be confused.

“Well, Sam already gifted me some lube.” Your face contorted. “... For my car, for the car…” He recovered. “So with him off the list, that leaves… well nobody really.”

“I guess you have a secret admirer…” You winked.

“And you are going to pretend it’s not you, even though you were clearly enjoying it…” He challenged.

You shrugged your shoulders. “I guess we just get to mutually benefit… Oooh! Next time leave a note for, hmmm, maybe some Rush. Oh, and chocolate.” He chuckled. “Well, perhaps they already left you something?”

You furrowed your brow analyzing him further. His eyes hinted towards the base of your bed. You crouched down, looking underneath.

“What on earth?” You pulled out a box wrapped in Snoopy Christmas paper. Dean smiled as you lit up tearing apart the paper and realizing what it was. “Dean… you didn’t have too… How did you know?” You held a brand new record player.

“Whenever you stop in my room, your practically drooling over mine.” He remarked.

‘That’s not what I’m drooling over.’ You thought. “Dean, I love it.” You set it down on top of your bed. You waltzed over to him. “Thank you.” And gave him a hug without second guessing.

He was tense at first, surprise by it but then wrapped his arms around you. When you pulled back he did not release you from his embrace. You looked up at him, weariness from the hunt still hanging in eyes. His mouth danced closer to your lips, only breaths parted you. He searched your face for permission, neither one of you daring to close the gap. You pushed up on your toes but were too late. Dean had let go turning away from you.

“Shit!” He ran his hands through his hair. He turned back towards you. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have done that, Y/N.”

Before you could respond the sound of Sam and Joe’s voice grew closer from the end of the hall.

“Shit…” Dean muttered heading back to his room.

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Part 4

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100 followers fic For: vampire anon who asked for Rammstein as vampires but still as a band.  The only changes are vampirism and possible related side-effects.  Read here or at AO3

Title: Mouth-to-Mouth Blood Transition Fandom: Rammstein Rating: Mature Category: M/M Relationship: everyone really, Paul/Schneider Characters: the whole gang Additional tags: vampires, blood, blood drinking, how to deal with blood addiction, did I mention blood, crack

Summary: One should always, always read the travel brochures, especially when traveling to destinations with a high vampire population.

A/N: Dear vampire anon, I hope this fits your prompt somewhat! This fic… sucks. Yes, it’s exactly that bad. I’m not sure if the prompter wanted sexy vampires. I’m not sure they are sexy vampires. I wasn't even sure how to rate this. Perhaps one day I’ll write a serious gothic vampire AU, but it is not this day.

Mouth-to-Mouth Blood Transition

“We have a problem,” Richard announced. His hands were shaking, though he was smoking his dozenth cigarette of the hour.

“There is no problem. And I’m not going to talk about it,” Flake said in a dead voice. He was staring at a newspaper in a language none of them understood.

“This problem which doesn’t exist,” Richard said and cursed as he fumbled with the lighter, singeing his fingers. “Fuck!” That hurt more than it should have. The skin of his fingertips looked grayish.

“Yes. That is exactly what I mean.”

Till sighed and lifted his sunglasses to take a look at his bandmates. “I take it this means we all caught it?”

They stared at each other in various states of guilt and embarrassment in the close confines of the tour bus. It wasn’t like vampires were all that common. One or two might turn up at the Berlin underground scene for a brief fling with fame, but all six of them? It was a huge cosmic joke.

“There’s only one thing I’m going to say. The pyros are still not negotiable.” Till let his sunglasses drop and slouched back on the couch.

They all considered themselves to hail from the east, but there was east and then there was the East of gothic romances, with crumbling castles and dark woods and fucking vampires, afterparties in crowded clubs and literally bloody morning afters. As they had found out.

“How were we supposed to know vampirism was so easy to catch?” Paul said, fidgeting on his seat. His fingers picked at a large, fang-shaped scab on his shoulder until Schneider swatted his hand away.

“It’s stated on every travel brochure,” Olli pointed out. “Right after where it says to drink tap water at your own risk. Not that anyone apparently read any of them.”

“So how did they get you, then?” Schneider asked, annoyance written all over his features.

Olli’s face closed up. “It doesn’t matter.”

“There was a hot chick,” Paul said helpfully. “And her friend. And their boyfriend.”

“I don’t want you to talk about it, either.”

The one time he decided to really let loose… Olli banged his head against the foggy glass of the window. It had been quite a wake-up call to find himself covered in blood, his and others’, and to realize he could actually tell the scents apart. Worse, the strangely appealing smell didn’t disappear with showering. On the contrary, it kept hitting him in waves whenever a human walked past. Even the blood flowing through his own veins was an omnipresent distraction.

He was only convinced he hadn’t turned serial-killer overnight when he saw the state his bandmates were in. Oh, they were turned all right, but in quite a different fashion. One after another they slinked back to the tour bus, pale, dark-eyed and covered in bite marks, glaring at the sun which dared to show itself between clouds.

His morose thoughts were broken by Paul’s annoyingly normal chatter.

“Why can’t we be sexy vampires?”

“Vampirism is not required to make one sexy,” Flake said without looking up from the newspaper. “And I refuse to believe any of this is real without a proper medical check-up.”

“But couldn’t it have made me at least a little bit taller?”

“Come on, you’re just fine,” Schneider said and elbowed Paul. “Only somewhat paler than usual.”

“It sucks we are not in Renaissance Italy,” Richard said and left that thought hanging like it explained everything.

“Richard, what are you reading?” Schneider craned his neck to get a look.

“A novel I picked up before this clusterfuck. Something by Anne Rice. Vampires seemed to have way more fun back then. There’s brothels and courtesans and angelically beautiful boys who can’t resist vampiric charms.”

“I hate to break it to you, but that may not be actual history.”

“I know.” Richard cursed as he fumbled with the pages. “But I have to distract myself somehow! Don’t any of you feel it? I’m going crazy here, this is worse than when I tried to quit smoking!”

That was… bad. Richard looked like he was about to spontaneously combust. Figuratively speaking. The rest of them started to surreptitiously look for escape routes. Unfortunately, there were none.

“You’re craving blood?” Till asked, still looking out the window.

“And you’re not? The air conditioning is awful and we’re all crammed up here and the air’s thick with the smell of it...”

It was true, beads of sweat were gathering on Richard’s brow. He let the lighter and the book drop.

“Sure. But it’s not so bad. You won’t die of it.”

“Well mister self-denial, you may be into deprivation, but I can’t fucking take this anymore!”

“Richard has a point,” Olli said. He sounded calm, but his eyes were dark and gleaming in the falling evening. “How are we going to deal with this for the rest of the tour? I’m assuming we aren’t going to call it off.”

“It’s only a craving, right?” Paul said slowly. He was eyeing Schneider speculatively. “So circulating a little bit of blood wouldn’t be a problem?”

“Are you suggesting some sort of a vampiric circle-jerk?” Schneider asked.

“Well, if you want to think about it that way...”

“I don’t,” Flake said stonily. “But I don’t see how else we’re going to solve this. And I refuse to let something this ridiculous ruin a completely successful tour.”

“You think so?” Till asked, finally turning to look at them.

“Do we want this to become common knowledge? Look for snacks at gas stations? Didn’t think so.”

Flake did have a point. Tales of vampires sucking humans dry had turned out to be just that - folk tales or fucked up killers trying to blame it all on uncontrollable urges. Vampires didn’t need blood any more than smokers their nicotine; it was only another addition to a long list of addictive substances. Though attitudes towards vampires had grown considerably more tolerant in recent years, they were by no means safe from prejudices. Testing their luck in the middle of nowhere might not be the brightest of ideas.

“Well, in that case...” Till took off his sunglasses. His eyes were brighter than usual, an inhuman light burning from within. He’d looked so unaffected until now, only withdrawn... “Richard, come here.”

“You’re going to do it here?”

Flake’s indignant question fell to deaf ears. Richard practically threw himself at Till. He was too far gone to mind an audience, and anyway he didn’t have much scruples about things like that. Flake raised his newspaper in front of him.

“How do you want...” The words came out sluggishly, Richard was at the end of his patience. His fingers were clawing at Till’s shirt.

Without a word, Till pulled his collar to the side. Richard buried his face in Till’s neck with a desperate sound. The iron smell of blood wafted in the air as his newly broken-in fangs pierced skin. Till hissed, but his hands came to rest at Richard’s waist to steady him. He stared up at the ceiling, pain and rapture painted over his features.

It affected them all, deny it as they might. The air was almost crackling with tension.

They could see the change in Richard. The strain in his shoulders dissipated, and he relaxed in Till’s hold. The frantic, violent sucking turned gradually into gentler, teasing bites as the craving eased. Till groaned, his eyes half-closed.

Richard turned to look over his shoulder at the others whose eyes were glued on him. His mouth was smeared with red, and a little bit of blood was running down from the corner of his mouth. He licked at it unselfconsciously, making four people in the room very conscious of a desperation which had caught up with them. Richard’s smile was like sin itself.

“Anybody else want a taste?”

He held out his arm. It all deteriorated from there.

Richard had a hard time keeping count of what was happening. Red lust was filling his mind, so much better than a nicotine rush. Everyone looked beautiful, delectable, filled with sweet blood. Till had finally extricated Richard from his neck and made Richard turn around in his lap, a proprietary arm keeping him from leaving.

“This is what you wanted, isn’t it?” Till whispered in Richard’s ear. He nuzzled at Richard’s neck like he had all the time in the world.

“I figured, why not make the most of it,” Richard managed to say in a strangled voice. He tried to lean closer to Till, to cover that crucial bit of distance.

“Look at them,” Till said, meaning Schneider and Paul, who were trading bloody kisses on the other couch, quite unaware of anything else. “Think they’ll thank you in the morning?”

“Yes,” Richard gasped as Till’s breath tickled his skin. “Come on, don’t be such a fucking tease!”

“At least you appreciate reciprocity,” Till said. It started amused, but his voice took on something of a feral quality. “All right. You asked for it.”

Till bit down hard on Richard’s shoulder where a purple mark from the previous night still throbbed.

“Fuck,” Richard hissed. “You brute.” He made no move to get away. Then he let out a moan as another set of fangs got to work on him.

Olli had bit into Richard’s arm and was making helpless little noises, alternatively biting down and soothing the skin with his tongue as though in apology. Richard, who was trapped between the two of them and happy to be where he was, tried to reassure him by stroking his neck with his fingers. But soon he was so far gone in his bloodlust-filled high that he could do nothing but accept what they gave, gentle and rough, apologetic and forceful. He couldn’t decide which he liked more. He’d never felt taken in such a way, and his thoughts flitted back to the previous night, counting bodies and sets of teeth, wondering if he could persuade the others to…

Richard bit his lip at the thought, unmindful of his sharp fangs. Blood spilled down his chin, but someone was quick to catch it and dab at the wounds with their tongue. He blinked – that was not Olli – and saw that Flake had approached them silently. He seemed to assess the taste of Richard’s blood, frowning.

“Flake,” Till said quietly, letting go of Richard for a moment. “You know you want to.”

“You don’t know any such thing,” Flake said, but it came out more desperate than cutting. He was practically shaking, yet he refused to give in. Richard had to give him some credit for that.

“Really.” Till sounded affectionate. He lifted his own wrist to his mouth and bit at it until blood flowed and gathered on his palm. He held out his hand to Flake. “Come here.”

There was no way to resist such a temptation. Flake clambered on the couch and held Till’s arm in a vice-like grip as he finally succumbed. He lapped at the blood and apparently decided it was more to his liking, because he sank his fangs in, all hesitation forgotten.

Till let out a satisfied sigh and returned his attention to Richard.

“I’m not done with you yet,” he said, and Richard felt a pleasant thrill as Till made him tilt his head back, baring his throat. He was acutely aware of the throb of his pulse, the blood circulating and blending inside of him, reaching all the way to his rapidly beating heart. Then Till bit down and he could do nothing but moan shamelessly, wrecked by bloodlust and lust and blood, all mixed up.

When Richard reached some state of lucidity again, he was on the floor, propped up against Till’s chest. Olli was leaning against him, looking shell-shocked, and on his other side Flake had laid his head down on Till’s shoulder, long hair hiding his expression from view.

“No offense, but that was the weirdest threesome I’ve ever had,” Olli said in a faraway voice.

“Counting the hot vampire chick and her friends?” Richard asked, clearing his throat. He felt quite normal now, thoroughly satisfied and in need of a drink. His head swam a bit. Maybe he shouldn’t have let them take so much blood from him. Maybe he should have taken more.

“You’re higher on the weirdness scale.”

“Thanks for the compliment,” Richard said. “Besides, doesn’t that count as a foursome?”

“No, it doesn’t,” Flake said, brushing his hair away from his face. He grimaced as his fingers came away bloody. “I’m not a part of your ‘somes’. Besides, your blood tastes awful. Nothing but nicotine!”

“Oh really?” Richard said, narrowing his eyes. “Because your blood must be such a delicacy. You don’t hear me complaining about anyone’s beer drinking, do you?”

Till sighed against his back, and Richard felt vaguely guilty about ruining the moment. Then his eyes focused properly on the scene in front of him.

“They’re still at it, aren’t they?” Till said wonderingly.

Schneider and Paul were indeed still kissing, had been doing a lot more than kissing, and had fallen to the floor in the process. Shirts were strewn haphazardly around them. They weren’t even sharing blood anymore, though that had definitely happened at some point. The sight of them was rather gruesome, and extremely attractive for newly turned vampires.

It took some time before they realized everyone else was regarding them in rapt silence. Paul, who was currently on top, let his head drop in the crook of Schneider’s neck. Schneider was staring at the ceiling, his hands still at Paul’s hips.

“Did we just have sex?” he asked, a dreamy note in his voice.

Paul lifted his head and propped his chin on Schneider’s chest.

“I think it wasn’t sex, technically. More like mouth-to-mouth blood transition?”

“Then why is your hand down my pants?”

“Good question...”

There was a cough from the couch.

“We could weigh in on that, if you’re confused,” Till suggested.

“Ugh.” Paul realized their grimy state. “Let’s go clean up. By which I mean, I’ll go,” he added hastily.

“Don’t worry, I’ll join you,” Schneider said, and Paul beamed as he held out his hand for the drummer to pull him up.

There was a brief silence after they were gone.

“They are disgusting, aren’t they?” Richard said wistfully.

“Intolerable,” Till agreed, looking fondly down at Richard.

“I don’t know why we put up with them,” Flake said.

“Because they’re kind of sweet?” Olli offered.

That earned him exasperated stares.

“Olli, you’re too honest for your own good,” Richard sighed.

Olli shrugged. “And you’re not honest enough for yours.”

Familiar bickering eased them out of strange new territory. They would have plenty of time to explore it later. A lifetime, to be exact.

It turned out that like most things in life, vampirism had its upsides and downsides. Not needing much stage makeup to get the pale, glittery-eyed look was good; being easily flammable was bad. Despite that little drawback, they refused to pull any punches with the pyros. Any vampires in the crowd cheered them as the most badass performers on earth.

And when it came to interviews, questions about their possible vampiric tendencies were right up there with BDSM, Nazis, communism and necrophilia. Whatever they said, no one was the least bit surprised. Not even when they started referring to their newly found bond as a marriage by blood.

In short, nothing had really changed.