#the type where when you stand up straight you look thin

[moon9931]

yo

yoyoyoyoyoyoyo YO-

while some of you wait for the magma pages, look at the thing I drew. LOOK!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

get your feet off the table!!!!!!!!! rodent!!

[rodolfoparras]

The art of tardiness

Pairing: Unspecified Male Character x Male reader

cw: 18+, possessiveness, anal fingering, anal sex, top male reader, bottom male character, age gap, morning sex, writing on skin, feminization (hole referred to as cunt)

Synopsis: sometimes calling him yours just isn’t enough

There were times you were sure that your boyfriend was dating two different people.

One was the young man who’d swiftly tuck his tail between his legs at the smallest comment made about his relationship. That man could admit that he lacked experience compared to his much older partner, could admit he probably wasn’t his partner’s ideal type with his scrawny frame and short height, and he knew that even if his boyfriend were to look past those things, the people around them would never do it.

Then there was the rabid dog in the shape of a young man, that barks and bites at any potential threat, such as hostile comments made about his relationship. He’d look you straight in the eye and tell you not to make comments about a relationship you know nothing off, hell he’d get in a physical altercation if you provoked him enough.

And then of course there was the desire to bite the hand that feeds him, devour his person down to the bone so he wouldn’t have to share him with the world. He or rather you were pretty good at keeping this desire at bay but sometimes you just couldn’t contain it especially early in the mornings, when he looks like a sight to behold with his lazy smile bleary eyes, thin white sheet doing nothing to cover up his naked body.

You want to keep him in bed, mark him up, make him cum over and over again til all he can remember is the feeling of your cock

Unfortunately things aren’t that easy, especially when he has to get ready for work in half an hour, but stubborn as you are, you don’t let him go, dead set on marking him up as much as possible.

At first he’s too lost in bliss to notice what you’re doing, letting you suck and nip on the sensetive skin while desperately clinging onto your body, that is til you bite down hard enough to draw blood and the man jerks in place, wide eyed and suddenly too aware of what you’re doing.

“No marks” he says, even goes as far as to scruff your neck, as if you’re nothing but a disobedient dog to him “I have work, remember?”

“Please?” and you know that you must sound rather pathetic but honestly you couldn’t care less, especially not when you notice that a couple of marks have already started to bloom on his skin.

“So goddamn possessive what am I gonna do with you huh?” He says, while keeping a vice like grip on your neck “Should I let you write your damn name on my forehead? Would that make you happy hm?” He says gaze much softer as his thumb strokes your neck.

Even though he hadn’t intend to do so, his words gave you an idea and you immediately find yourself reaching for the night stand, hand blindly rummaging through the drawer.

“And what do you think you’re doing?” He says, brow raised but it doesn’t take long before realization strikes him “Absolutely not,”

You turn to the other man , practically giving puppy eyes. This time you do feel a tad bit of embarrassment but not enough to give up on this battle.

“I can’t go out like that,”

“You won’t,” you immediately say “I’ll do it somewhere you can cover it,”

“Jesus Christ kid,” he sighs out and pinches his brows but despite his words you know that his resolve has crumbled.

You’re quick to grab the first best pen before straddling his waist, the late night escapade having left him in nothing but a thin white sheet covering the most sensitive part of him but you can still feel you cock head rubbing upon the cleft of his ass as you settle down.

“Cheeky bastard” he breathes out, fully aware of where your mind’s gone to.

You only hush him response, muttering how you have to be focused before you attempt to put the marker to his arm.

But before you can do that he grabs ahold of your egg wrist, a firm look painted on his face “promise me it’ll wash off,”

“Promise,” you say with a shit eating grin on your face.

And as you proceed to put the marker to his skin, you realize that you’re at loss of ideas on what you could write on him. It’s like you wanted to do so much when the idea first struck your head but sitting here you almost feel overwhelmed by all the options that you have.

You play it safe at first, writing out your name just below his pec, a move that has the man squirming beneath you.

“Tickles,”

“Sorry,” you say, not an ounce of sincerity in your tone as you draw another scribble on his forearm. It’s you and him- well it’s supposed to be but your artistic skills only allow you to draw two stick figures holding hands.

For a moment there are no words exchanged as you continue draw on his skin. You do a couple of doodles here and there, some ridiculous other more scandalous. You even write some words on his skin- some being your name others being lewd quotes, everything done within range where he’d be able to hide it beneath his clothes.

“This enough for you kid?” He says, when the majority of his chest is covered in little scribbles.

He probably didn’t mean anything by those words. But the ugly monster residing inside couldn’t help but take this as a challenge especially when he says that as he lays naked in your shared bed, soft smile on his face, the scribbles of your name clearly showing under the rays of sunlight protruding through the bedroom window.

Instead of responding to him you grab ahold of his wrist, black marker writing out the letter M on his skin, bold and big, just within the range of where he can pull on a shirt if he wishes to hide the word. The letters I N E are soon added in place, big bold and curling around his underarm.

The word mine now lays written on his forearm.

But you don’t stop there, eyes flicking over to his furry stomach that looks awfully bare before you take a marker to it and start writing your initials all over it. This time around the skin isn’t as forgiving, straight lines turning jagged from coarse hair and faded scar. Not that you mind and neither does the little monster residing inside.

You continue writing on him, covering as much skin as he allows but truth be told you don’t know how his clothes will be able to cover up some scribbles, not that you plan on telling him that right now.

And he doesn’t seem to care that much as his gaze carefully follows your movements, breathing growing heavier and heavier with each second that passes.

At some point you feel the need to get closer to him even though you’re practically sitting ontop of him, swiftly shuffling around til you’re slotted between his thighs, carefully drawing a line from the crevice of his knee down to the groove of his left thigh.

He continues to watch you with attentive eyes, as you add a triangle to the end of line, the marker reaching dangerously to where his balls lay hanging between his thighs and from where you sit you can smell his musk hitting your nostrils, can feel his thighs clench beneath your fingertips , can now see the way the black arrow is humorously pointing straight to the furley ring of muscles.

It’s impossible not to reach out to the spot between his legs, a curious finger swiping over his sensitive skin and pulling a gasp out of him“Hah!”

Your eyes flicker up, cock twitching at the sight of the man who already looks so wrecked before looking back to the marker in your hand, moving it back and forth til the line on his thigh grows in size, doing anything just to busy your mind because you’re supposed to draw on him not fuck him, remember that?

But it’s not long before your attention is back onto his burning heat, a glob of spit landing onto the sensitive skin before your finger circles his now wet rim.

“What are you-“

He doesn’t get to finish his sentence before you slip the tip of your finger inside, watching the way he jerks in surprise, the sudden movement jacking up the straight marker line, but you couldn’t find it in yourself to care.

“Jesus Christ kid,” he breathes, voice dripping with both arousal and amusement as you continue to sink your finger inside of him.

“This alright?” You ask, and push til you’re knuckles deep before giving an experimental curl of your finger.

Another gasp escapes his mouth, hips bucking up into your touch “ hah -now you ask?” He says, but despite his words the man nods at your question.

That’s all it takes for you to work a second finger inside, this time coaxing a hiss out of him,“easy there kid going to break me,”

You can’t help but chuckle at that”Think you’re giving me too much credit pretty,” you say but decide to move your fingers at a much slower pace, watching the way his body once again relax onto the sheets as contented hums escape his lips.

You continue curling your fingers inside while drawing onto the man; circling birth marks and scars you find pretty, drawing arrows across every inch of skin while watching the way he twists and turns in the sheets with every brush of your fingertips “so fucking pretty like this drives me crazy “

At some point you stop drawing on his skin, turning all your focus to the fingers buried inside him.

You don’t even notice the way tears have started to gather at his eyes, nor the begs and please continuously escaping his mouth, too entranced with the sight of his hungry hole practically swallowing up your hand.

It’s only when he grabs ahold of your wrist that you snap back into the present moment, now noticing how you’ve left the pen to bled out on the white sheets, and how the ink on his skin has already started to smear.

The gruesome monster inside tells you that you need to find another way to mark the man.

Within moments you’re grabbing ahold of his legs, pushing his knees up to his chest til his cunt is on full display, not wasting another second to line your cockhead up with his entrance before pushing inside him.

“Ah fuck! Insatiable dog,” he barks out, not having expected you to do that but that doesn’t stop him from practically clamping onto you as you bottom out: heels digging into your ass and nails digging into your back as you start driving up into his hungry cunt.”mpf fuck just like that keep going kid“

Who’s insatiable now? You think to yourself, a strangled chuckle escaping your lips as you continue to thrust into his tight wet heat.

It doesn’t take long before you’re setting a steady pace, thrusting so erratically he’s practically choking up on the moans that are trying to escape his lips, bed frame frantically rocking against the wall every thrust of your hips.

“Ah! Fuck! Going to - hah going to kill me,” he says through choked sobs, hands madly clawing at your back as if he’s losing his footing on this world.

And as you look down at the beautiful mess he makes, you can’t help but notice the shadow of a bulge showing on his stomach, right below the spot where your initials lay.

Once again you feel the zealous monster within you take the steering wheel, hand pushing his legs past his ears, before drilling into him.

“Say it “ you grunt out, hands keeping a vice like grip on his thighs, pushing his legs so far back you’re sure you’ll split him in half if you keep it up “Come on come on say you’re mine”

At first he’s at a loss for words, barely even able to catch his breath with the way you’re erratically thrusting into him but eventually he manages to respond to you.

“Yours yours all yours fucking fuck I’m cum-“ he splutters out, hole erratically clenching down onto your cock before he cums in hot thick white streaks, across both his and yours abondmen “‘m sorry ‘m sorry” he slurs out, while he continues to shamelessly fuck himself back onto your cock.

Something about that sight is enough to triggering your own orgasm

“Fuck!” You cry out, eyes squeezing shut before youre hit with hot blinding pleasure.

The world around you blurs out, ears ringing loud as you continue to ride out your high before you eventually slump down beside the man.

“Jesus Christ,” you say, ears still ringing loud, world barely coming into focus. “That was-“ you begin but trail off once you can’t seem to find the right word for it.

A laugh rumbles through the older man’s chest, his big hand cradling the back of your neck before he says “got that right kid,”

You look up at him only to be left speechless at the sight.

See people always said that a relationship with someone so much younger than him would ruin him. You’d hear it over and over again while eavesdropping on whatever conversation he was having about this “sudden” relationship.

You never really understood what they meant until you saw him sprawled out on your bed, gaping hole stuffed full with your cum, and every inch of his skin covered in your initials.

At least they knew he was yours to ruin.

Yours

Yours.

Yours.

That little insatiable monster that can't seem to find rest rises to life again, coaxes you to slot your lips against the older man’s, tongue slipping into his mouth and licking along every nook and crevice, leaving the taste of you behind for anyone that would dare kiss him.

It takes one more kiss before he prys himself away from you, and walks over to the bathroom on shaky steps, the sight of his inked ass is the last thing you see before the door closes behind him.

You slump back into bed with a smile on your face, the taste of him still lingers on your lips, the previous string of events practically burned into your iris and for a second it all feels like a dream that is before you hear your name being shouted behind the bathroom door followed by a string of angry words “why won’t this shit wash off,”

Oh well…

[monster-disaster]

[monsters] Neighbors

Thoughts about living with monsters- You live in an apartment with monsters all around.

An orc family lives above you, and they’re the sweetest neighbors you’ve ever had. The wife loves inviting you over for coffee and a bit of gossip. Her stories fill the air with warmth as she pours your cup and chats about the neighborhood or shares a delicious new pastry she’s baked. Her husband? He’s a gentle giant, always ready to roll up his sleeves and help out around your small flat. Whether it’s fixing a leaky faucet or carrying heavy groceries up the stairs, he’s there before you even ask.

And then, there are the babies; two adorably chubby little ones with soft, green cheeks and big, curious eyes. You’ve become their go-to babysitter, which means plenty of afternoons filled with giggles and messy faces.

But when night falls, it’s a different story.

The ceiling might as well be paper-thin, with their gravelly voices and laughter rolling through the floorboards. Sometimes, those conversations turn into... well, more intimate moments and the babies aren’t just cute, they’ve got lungs that could rival any set of bagpipes. Their cries often jolt you awake in the middle of the night, heart racing.

Even with the sleepless nights, you never find it in yourself to complain, though. There’s a warmth to their noise, a liveliness that fills your small flat with a sense of family, even if it comes with a few sleep-deprived mornings.

Beneath you on the first floor lives a goblin who’s practically made it his life’s mission to comment on every noise you make. You do your best to avoid him, but it’s only a matter of time before you bump into him, leaning against his doorframe with arms crossed and an unimpressed scowl etched on his face.

He never misses an opportunity to complain.

“Your steps are like thunder up there. Ever heard of walking lightly?” he grumbles, or “How many times do I have to tell you? Lift the chairs, don’t drag them! Sounds like a damn avalanche down here!” And that’s not even the worst of it. The day he leaned in closer, his eyes narrowing as he muttered, “And for god’s sake, put a pillow over your face next time you play with your vibrating friend,” your face burned hotter than a forge. You were sure the ground might split open beneath you right then and there.

Since that conversation, you’ve found yourself tiptoeing around your flat, trying to keep your footsteps as light as possible, but even with your efforts, you know the next run-in with him is just around the corner, along with another list of grievances he’s been stewing over.

To your right lives a wolf-shifter, and for the most part, things between you are easygoing. He’s a quiet neighbor, the type who nods at you in the hallway and even offers a polite smile now and then. But his love life? That’s where the peace ends. His one-night stands, in particular, are the worst. You’ve lost count of how many times you’ve had to comfort his partners the morning after, wiping away their tears when they realize that "just one night" really means just that. They always seem to hope for more, for something lasting, and it’s always you who ends up playing the sympathetic neighbor, nodding along as they pour out their hearts. Of course, it's your fault too. You should learn how to mind your own business instead of feeling sorry for crying women. And men.

And then there’s his rut. The first time you realized what was going on, you nearly dropped your coffee cup. The howls, the desperate growls, and the unmistakable... fervor of it all carried straight through the walls. After those nights, it’s impossible to even think about making eye contact with him. Weeks go by before you feel like you can look at him without your mind immediately replaying all the sounds you heard. And he, of course, acts like nothing happened.

To your left lives a succubus, and teasing you seems to be her favorite pastime. She’s always around when you come or go, somehow knowing exactly when to time her appearances. She leans casually against her doorframe, dressed in barely-there lingerie or a robe that hangs loose enough to leave little to the imagination, her lips curling into a knowing smile as she catches your eye. It’s impossible not to feel your cheeks heat up under her gaze, especially when she purrs a playful remark. Her eyes linger just a moment too long. And those paper-thin walls? They do nothing to block the sultry sounds she makes late into the night, sounds you’re sure are meant just for you.

You tell yourself you are holding your ground, that you won’t give in, but every sly comment she throws your way and every time she catches you with a flustered look makes you worry that it’s only a matter of time before you find yourself at her door, falling right into her trap.

Across the hall lives an elderly minotaur who, bless her heart, has made it her personal mission to match you up with one of her grandkids. No matter how busy you are, she has a sixth sense for catching you at the worst possible times. If you are running late for an appointment, she is suddenly in the hallway, eager to chat about her "really successful and recently divorced" grandson. Or maybe you’re lugging bags of groceries, arms aching under their weight, and just as you are almost to your door, she appears, excited to tell you that another one of her grandsons, who just came back from abroad, is finally ready to settle down. You try to smile and listen, nodding along as she goes on about their good jobs, kind hearts, and how they need someone like you in their lives. And of course, you don’t have the heart to cut her off, even when you’re in a rush or your arms feel like they might fall off from holding the bags. So, more often than not, you find yourself standing there, smiling politely and listening for far longer than you’d planned, as she talks on and on about her grandkids’ achievements while her eyes twinkle with hope.

“Y/N!” The goblin’s voice rings out just as you step into the elevator. Your name rolling off his tongue is already dripping with complaints. "I'm sorry!" You almost shout when you catch a glimpse of his frown while frantically jabbing the button for your floor. "Y/N!" As the elevator finally slips shut, cutting off his grumbling, the tension drains from your shoulders, but your relief is short-lived when you hear the familiar ding and the doors open. "Hey," the wolf-shifter greets you casually before taking your place in the metal box. You manage a stiff nod and a quiet "hey" while drifting your gaze to the floor, unable to hold his gaze for more than a second. When he disappears behind the thick doors, you let out a sigh and shift the bags in your arms as you fumble for your keys. Just as you manage to find them, the door in front of you swings open, and you force a smile as the elderly minotaur across the hall greets you warmly. “Hello, dear!” she beams. “Would you like to come in? My grandson, you know, the one I told you about, is visiting, and I thought you two should finally meet!” Your mouth opens, and your brain scrambles for a polite excuse, but before you can get a word out, her grandson appears behind her, placing a gentle hand on her shoulder. “Maybe next time, Nan,” he says with a smile, steering her back into the apartment. You share a moment of mutual understanding before the door clicks shut. Just as you breathe a sigh of relief, again, another door swings open, again, and you freeze, momentarily forgetting how to breathe. The succubus leans against her door, draped in dark purple lingerie that hugs her curves like a second skin. The bralette barely manages to contain her generous figure, and her sultry smile only deepens as she takes in your flustered expression. “Hello, Y/N,” she purrs. Your cheeks flare up, and you barely stammer out a weak “Not today!” as you nearly stumble into your apartment. You can hear her laughter echoing behind you, but your attention is quickly snatched by the buzzing of your phone. Your bags hit the floor with a heavy thud, and you cringe, fully aware the goblin will have a field day with this. You glance at your screen, catching a new message from your friend upstairs: The kids are with their dad. Fancy a coffee? How about you come down? you quickly reply, no way willing to risk leaving your apartment again today. Sure, comes the reply almost instantly. Did you hear about the party that harpy threw on the fourth floor? She drives me mad! No, you think, but leave the message unanswered. Of course, you didn’t hear about the party. How could you, with the orc babies wailing through most of the night?

[frankenstein-ate-my-left-shoe]

part 2 to this | T | wc: 2,141

🐺🌕🐾🐺🌕🐾

No wonder he didn’t fuckin hear him. His whole brain was focusing on excuses that it drowned out anything else. Without the door opening (which would 100% have shut him up), Steve didn’t have the brain power to listen for even the softest carpet-muffled footsteps.

“Sorry, I was coming to help and then I heard you talking about…” Eddie starts, but trails off, glancing between Robin and Steve, then shakes his head as if getting himself back on track, “But then you said you’d ‘radish’ me and it was so damn funny…”

For a breath, no one says anything. Steve can hear it in Eddie’s breath and in his heartbeat’s slightly quickening pace that he’s just about to say something else, probably some way to excuse himself, when Robin bursts out laughing.

“Seriously! I couldn’t believe it either, ‘Radish’! Ha!” She continues to cackle, doubling over dramatically.

Steve rolls his eyes at her, “Yeah, yeah, Steeb no good with word.”

That just makes her laugh louder. “Oh this is too good, damn, I can’t breathe.” She giggles again, standing straight only momentarily, because as soon as she looks at Steve, she starts cracking up again. “Sorry, sorry, I gotta,” another giggle, a gesture toward the house, “I’m just gonna…” she heads back inside, cackling all the way. He even hears her mumble ‘radish’ to herself again just before she slides the door closed behind her.

“Uh…surpri–”

“You’re really a werewolf?” Eddie cuts him off, then realizes. “Oops, sorry.”

Steve sighs and sinks down onto one of the patio chairs. He looks up at Eddie, still standing by the sliding door, and pats the spot on the seat next to him.

Eddie, of course, nearly trips over his own feet to get over to him, falling onto the chair with enough force to shift the feet on his end backwards an inch or two.

“Yeah, I really am.” Steve takes a deep breath and glances over at Eddie; his eyes are wide and wholly focused onto Steve, more than ready to listen. He huffs a laugh when he lets out the breath. “I’m sure you have questions.”

He’s barely gotten the words out when Eddie starts pelting him with questions. “So, can you like..smell really good? Or hear? How far can you hear? Does everyone have their own scent? If you bite someone, do they become a werewolf too? Do you only change on the full moon or is it a ‘whenever I feel like it’ type thing? Like, are you a werewolf or a Werewolf TM?”

Steve snickers at Eddie taking the time to actually say the letters T-M out loud, but it doesn’t affect Eddie’s focus on asking a million and one questions in the slightest. “What color is your fur? Is it brown like your hair? Do you even have fur when you change? Do you have claws? How big do you get anyway? Do you have a tail? Is the pack thing real? What about the mate thin—”

That’s where he cuts himself off. The bright blush on his face seemed to be the cause; all the blood that he could’ve used in his brain to ask more, suddenly rushing to fill up his face with color.

Still smiling, Steve asks, “You done?”

Eddie gulps down nothing, managing a strangled “Yep.”

“Well, I’m a werewolf, I turn into a…not exactly a wolf, I don’t think, more like a big dog? And it’s not really a moon thing; I can change whenever I want to, though I feel more of a need to around the full moon. It’s easier then too.

“I’m about as tall as I am now when I’m changed, like, my face is right about the place it usually is, and yes, I’m stronger, faster, and have had better hearing and smell since it happened.”

“What happened anyway?”

“Hang on, hang on, I’m still answering your first zillion questions.” Steve says, faux-disgruntled. It makes Eddie laugh and do a weird half gesture slash bow in his seat for Steve to continue.

“Okay, uhm…” He starts to count out things on his fingers, thinking back on what Eddie asked. “Yes tail, yes to everyone having a scent, but that’s already been a thing, you can smell other people too, can’t you?” Eddie shrugs in acknowledgement, “Mine’s just stronger of a smell; Not claws, but I have nails like any other dog.. 

“And the pack thing…” This one was going to be more difficult, “Yes? But mostly only for the kids I suppose. And Robin. Don’t get me wrong, I’ll put myself between any of you and whatever danger comes along, but it’s like in my bones to want to…I dunno, hoard them all away? Wolf analogy would be to put them all in the cave,” he gestures to one side, “and put me in the entrance.” Then gestures to his other side. “Not realistic, but that’s what it feels like.”

Eddie snorts a laugh, but nods, so he continues on. “The mate thing though,” Eddie tenses, “It’s not like the fics, not really at least as far as I can tell.”

“You’ve read werewolf fics?”

Steve shrugs, “I got curious, sue me.” They both fall silent, staring out over the pool.

“How��d it happen?”

He takes in a long breath through his nose; the chlorine stings.

“Couple years ago the shitheads roped me into venturing through these tunnels under Merrill’s Pumpkin Patch. Upside Down related nonsense, of course, and when I was helping them back up out of the hole to avoid this..herd of demodogs, I was still down there when they came tearing down the path.

“I think one of them snuck a taste and that’s what did it. Though I didn’t notice it at first, adrenaline and all; plus the beating I’d taken from Hargrove what, a couple hours before that at minimum?

“I woke up a couple days after everything was over that time as a dog, nearly snapped my bedframe in half with all the extra weight. Anyway, long story short is: I woke up a dog, took me a couple days to figure out how to turn back, then another chunk of time figuring out how to do it on purpose, then Starcourt happened and whatever those guys shot me up with made it so I couldn’t change for a while, made me pretty loopy, but I got Robin out of the whole thing, and told her about wolf Steve while coming down off that truth crap, and that’s pretty much it.”

Eddie blinks at him once.

Twice.

Then, sounding as if he was releasing a breath he’d been holding that whole time, Eddie heaves out a “Jesus Christ.”

“Yep.”

Eddie blinks at him a couple more times, then his face scrunches up as if he’s in pain, “Jesus Christ, you heard me talking about being claimed and shit… I was talking to you about it, uugh!” he drops his face into his palms in exasperation.

Steve hears Eddie’s frantic heartbeat grow faster then, so clear it’s as if he had his ear pressed directly to his chest.

“And you overheard me saying I’d like to radish you,” a loud laugh escapes Eddie’s lips, “So I think we’re about even.”

He’d tried to sound confident and nonchalant about it, but in the breath it took Eddie to finally drag his hands down off his face, Steve’s own heart and thoughts were thundering on. It must’ve really, only been hypotheticals, wishful thinking, fantasy. There’s no way Eddie would actually want him. No way his affections that'd grown for the man beside him in the short month since the world didn’t end, would be returned.

Eddie finally removes his hands, “The full moon is only a couple days away.” he says, glancing up at the sky.

See? Topic changed. Steve knew it’d be too good to be true.

“Yeah, there was one right before everything happened last month.” Steve nods, swallowing down the lump in his throat, “Maybe I’ll come by the park and visit.” He elbows Eddie playfully.

“I’ll make sure Wayne doesn’t shoot ya.” Eddie grins.

Steve snorts, elbowing him again and standing. “C’mon, let’s go back in, I think Robin wants to play Uno.”

- - - - -

True to his word, Steve loped out into the light of the full moon a couple nights later on all fours, trotting away from Loch Nora with one place on his mind. 

Crossing through the forest separating the two neighborhoods, he makes it to the edge of the Forest Hills park in no time at all. He skirts along the edge of the park to where the government had bought and placed the Munsons’ new apology double-wide and hunches low, padding along until he’s under the window he knows is Eddie’s.

Even if he hadn’t known before now, the music he could hear across the highway out by the entrance to the park would certainly tell him which one is the metalhead’s.

He hops his front paws up just under the edge of the window and sneaks a glance inside.

Eddie’s bed is against the wall in this trailer, the end of it falling right under this window, and Eddie is sitting in the middle of the mattress, hunched over his guitar.

Not wanting to scare him, Steve originally wants to just scratch his nails along the sturdy vinyl siding here, but even if he didn’t have enhanced hearing, he’d know that Eddie wouldn’t be able to hear something so light.

So, he barks.

One short ‘boof’ at the bottom pane does it, and if Eddie had been holding anything but the literal most important possession of his, it’d be on the other side of the room with how far he jumps.

“Jesus Chri— Steve?” he asks disbelievingly at the window.

Steve feels his doggy face react to the goofy grin he’d be doing if he’d been on two legs. Tongue lolling out one side, tail swooshing up a mini hurricane behind him, damn he’s obvious.

Eddie comes to the window and Steve drops down onto all fours, plopping down on his haunches while he waits for his friend to budge open the glass.

He finally wrenches it open, grinning down at Steve in wonder, “Look at you, big boy, y’came to see me after all—”

Whatever Eddie says after that is lost to the now-settling wind. 

All of Steve freezes up. His tail stops mid wag, his jaw snaps shut and narrowly misses catching his tongue on his own teeth. 

Because Steve can smell him.

He can smell Eddie.

Screw whatever he’d told him before at his pool, not everyone has a smell. Not one like this.

Sweet and spicy, smoky and delicious, like nothing he'd ever smelled before.

The wolf part of his brain, a mostly mute half of him that seems to be what tells him where the moon is in its cycle, how far away that smell he picked up on the wind is, that holds all his baser instincts, screams “MINE.”

Just before he’s about to fling himself over/onto/past Eddie in the window to get into that trailer by any means necessary, Steve’s conscious human brain grasps onto the last sliver of conscious thought, and not a moment too soon. His legs were couched as if about to leap.

He wrestles his wolf brain back, tucking his tail down (telling it desperately to stop wagging goddamnit), lowering his front paws and nose to the ground and taking lungfuls of dirt smell instead, and backs up.

He takes two good steps back before Eddie’s voice cuts through his hold on himself, “-eve? Steve! What’s wron–?”

His hold on his last strand of conscious thought wrenches him around and sends him flying back into the trees to Eddie’s call of “Where are you going?”

He just needs to stay out of Hawkins, stay in the woods at least, nowhere near where Eddie would find him if he came looking.. At least until the full moon is over and he won't feel that uncomfortable itch beneath his skin to shift if he goes back to two legs.

His thoughts threaten to whirl, why now, why Eddie? Okay, he knows why he’d like it to be Eddie, but really? Mates are a real thing and Eddie is his?? 

The wolf brain rumbles happily and Steve finds himself listing back towards Forest Hills mid-run and corrects himself.

He can’t risk hurting Eddie; what would he even do? His wolf brain says to bite, to claim, reminds him that Eddie wants that too, but wouldn’t that hurt him?? His teeth are, in fact, much larger in this form.

He’s listing again.

Steve shakes his head, empties his head of everything but run, breathe, run, breathe, run…

Daybreak can’t come soon enough.

🐺🌕🐾🐺🌕🐾

surprise! it was always meant to be 'radish' lmao

editing to tag folks who were interested in the last part!

@shainsaw22, @devondespresso, @sageclipse, @allyricas, @hotluncheddie, @stedumpsterfire, @themoonagainstmers, @mugloversonly, @yesdangerpls, @matchingbatbites

[louloulemons-posts]

Curly Kisses

Eddie Munson X Fem!Reader

Summary : The different types of kisses you share with eddie.

Word Count : 2.1k

Warnings : not proofread, kisses, talks of sex, hickies/love bites, eddie gets drunk, kisses whilst intoxicated, pure fluff, idiots in love 🤍

A/N : sorry for the lack of updates i started uni recently and i’m trying to find my footing 🫶🏻

~ / / / * \ \ \ ~

Pre-Date Kisses :

Before you and Eddie got together you were very friendly with one another, always close, laughing, smiling, lingering hugs, hands brushing.

Along with that there were the cheek kisses, the ones that made Eddies cheeks burn and yours ache with smiles. They were sweet and kind and full of admiration.

“Morning,” Eddie smiled as you climbed into the van, “Hello.” You handed him your drink of steaming green tea. “Thank you,” he said, taking a sip, before handing the cup back.

The drive in the morning was how it always was, quiet, but a comfortable silence. The pair of you not awake enough to hold conversation. The air was cool so your body was a lot closer to Eddies trying to steal his heat.

“You okay there?” he asked.

“Chilly.”

“Hold the wheel,” the boy said.

“What?”

“Hold the wheel.”

He took his hands off and began to shrug his jacket off, sending a wave of panic through your body. Leaning across the boy and holding onto the wheel, you tried to keep the van steady and straight.

He dropped his jacket on your lap, sliding your hands off the wheel and placing his own there. “I hate you, you know,” you spoke, sliding your arms through the sleeves.

“Mhm, tell my jacket that.” You scoffed, rolling your eyes at him, whilst you sunk further into the smokey smelling material.

Pulling into the parking lot, Eddie ran round the van, opening the door for you.

“M’lady,” he said, offering you his hand, sliding your palm into his you played along, “Thank you kind sir.”

Gareth walked over to you, waving hello, “Morning guys.”

“Hey G, look I gotta run okay. I’ll see you later,” you smiled at the pair, taking off Eddies jacket.

He stopped you, “Keep it for now, don’t want you freezing.”

“Thank you Eds,” you smiled, standing on your tiptoes to press your lips to his cheek.

“I’ll see you guys later.”

“Bye,” Gareth waved.

“B-bye,” Eddie stuttered.

The younger boy laughed, “So when are you asking her out?”

“Shut up!”

~ / / / * \ \ \ ~

Drunk Kisses :

This was also before you were dating, Eddie was hanging out with some friends and they had got … well drunk was putting it lightly.

Steve had called you to come and pick the boy up, you didn’t mind of course, you wanted him home safe and you knew that would happen if you were there.

Upon arrival Eddie almost launched himself at you, “Missed you,” he said, hugging you close. “Missed you too,” you laughed, “Let’s get you home yeah?”

Eddie was rambling on and on about the fun he had ( “would’ve been better if you were there”). The drive to his trailer wasn’t a long one, but Eddie was drunk and had the coordination of a baby giraffe.

His arm was over your shoulder as you basically dragged him through the door. “Where’s Wayne?” he asked, huffing, so his lips pouted. “He’s a work.”

“Oh yeah,” he laughed.

“Silly boy, come on let’s get ready for bed.”

“You’ll stay?”

“If you want, it’s not the first time we’ve had a sleepover.” The grin on his face was beautiful, he soon picked up speed as you were in his room.

“I’m going to get changed, please don’t injure yourself,” you said, half a joke, half pure concern. “Don’t worry babe, I’m all good,” he winked. Rolling your eyes you headed off to get changed.

Returning to Eddies bedroom you found him sat on the edge of his bed, staring as his feet very intensely. “You good?” You questioned, making the boy jump.

“Mhm, I’m fin- wow,” he paused.

“What?”

“You look good in my clothes,” he motioned to your make shift pyjamas, an old and worn band tee of Eddies and some shorts.

“Wear them all the time Eds.”

“I know you just look … pretty.”

“You think?”

“Mhm,” he nodded, pushing up from the bed and making his way to you.

“What are you doing?”

“Something I’ve wanted to do for a long time,” he suddenly sounded more sober.

Placing his large palms on either side of your face, his pressed his mouth to yours, a soft kiss. Brushing of lips. Beautiful warmth. You could feel his smile growing against you.

“Eds,” you whispered, pushing him back, but not letting go fully, “You’re drunk.”

“So?”

“Eddie it’s not good to kiss when you’re drunk. How would you feel if I was drunk?”

His face dropped at that, “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” you said, brushing a curl out of his face, “Let’s go to bed, we can talk about this in the morning. Sound good?”

“You’re not going to leave are you?”

“I’d never leave you.”

~ / / / * \ \ \ ~

The (Second) First Kiss :

Hearing a groan behind you, you couldn’t hide your laugh. “Morning Sunshine, coffees on the table. Making you some eggs and bacon.”

“You’re an Angel, mind telling me what happened last night.”

“One word : tequila.”

“I’m gonna murder Harrington.”

“Well he told me it was all your idea Pretty Boy, plus I don’t think you’ll be doing anything with that hangover.”

He sat on the couch, cradling a mug of coffee like it was his love and joy. “Did you come and get me?”

“Told you I would.”

“Thank you.”

You slid the food onto the plate, handing it to Eddie, “Eat, I’m going to get dressed and then buy you some gatorade.”

“Then we’ll talk about the kiss?”

His words were muffled with bacon, “What did you say?”

“The kiss. I kissed you. Or did you lie when you said we’d talk about it? If you don’t like me like that I get it.”

You sighed, “Eds it’s not that. You’re my best friend, I’m so scared well ruin it.”

“We won’t, come on it’s us. Plus we’ll never know if we don’t try.”

“Eds-“

“I like you. Do you like me?”

“Yeah.”

“Then there’s our answer.” He put down the plate, standing up go meet your lips.

His hands pulled you closer by the waist, you hands resting at the base of his neck, playing with the curls that lived there.

“We’ll be okay,” he whispered against your mouth. “We’ll be okay,” you repeated, huffing a laugh. “What’s funny?”

“You taste of tequila and bacon.”

The boy groaned, resting his head in your neck, making you smile. “I’ll go get some gatorade, you rest.”

“Thanks Sweetheart,” he said, kissing your head.

~ / / / * \ \ \ ~

Sick Kisses :

“How are you feeling?” You asked, sitting down next to Eddie. He’d called you the night before saying he had come down with something and Wayne was forcing him to stay home.

“Rough,”he said voice hoarse.

“When was the last time you had medicine?”

“Like an hour ago, I can’t have anymore yet.”

You brushed his curls out his face, “I’m sorry you feel sick baby.”

“I feel better now you’re here.” You laughed, “God Munson, even when you’re sick, you’re a sweet talker.”

“Don’t you know it,” he laughed, making himself cough. “Careful,” you spoke, grabbing a glass of water from beside his bed. “Here, take some sips.”

He did, slowly, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “You’re a great nurse.”

“I wish I could make you better,” you said.

“You have. Just by being here.”

“I missed you at school today.”

“I bet, I’m the best.”

Smiling you shook your head, “So cocky,” leaning down to kiss his lips he turned his head. “Hey!” you said.

“We can’t kiss, you’ll get sick.”

“But-“

“Baby no!” he chuckled. You rolled your eyes, groaning, “Fine. I’ll just have to kiss you here,” you pecked his cheek, “And here,”one to his nose, “And here,” a final one to his forehead.

“I’m cured!” he said, grinning, his face flushed. “I knew it’d work. Kisses are the best medicine.”

~ / / / * \ \ \ ~

After-Sex Kisses :

Your breathing slowed, Eddies arm thrown over your waist. His bare chest, against the skin of your back. Your body was sweaty and warm, and felt floaty and beautiful.

“You okay?” he whispered into your hair. You hummed, running your fingers against his arm. “I’m so okay.” You were in a daze like state, you tended to be like this whenever you and Eddie would sleep together.

“Your head a bit fuzzy?”

“Mhm, but it’s good fuzzy,” you reassured him. “Okay baby.” You felt his lips on your shoulder, soft butterfly kisses. This had become a routine.

He clean you up and leave gentle presses at every part of skin he could touch. Even though what you had done before seem a lot more intimate , the kisses made your cheeks burn.

He pressed his mouth on your stomach, thighs, neck, collar bones, arm and all over your face. Your body was tired, your eyes drooping, “Go to sleep baby, I’ve got you.”

You knew he did. You trusted him, letting your mind drift away for the night, feeling the gentle brushes of Eddies lips as you did so.

~ / / / * \ \ \ ~

Embarrassed Kisses :

You laughed, Eddies arms around your middle, as you cooked scrambled eggs for the pair of you. “You, Eddie Munson, are a little goblin.”

“So I’ve been told,” he smiled, kissing the side of your head.

“Go wash up, food will be ready soon.”

“Yes Ma’am.”

“Weird.”

“Oh right, I’m Sir.”

“In your dreams.”

“You know it babe,” he winked, walking to the bathroom.

You stood in front of the stove, Eddies shirt and your shorts on, your skin was on show - the bruised skin. Because apparently Eddie become a vampire when you have sex.

You didn’t mind it, it just meant a lot of makeup or turtlenecks. Humming to yourself as you plated up the eggs and toast, you didn’t hear the door open.

“Morning,” a gruff voice spoke, making you jump slightly. You turned to see Wayne, taking off his shoes, “Uh hi Wayne,” you said, waving a wooden spoon in hand.

“How’s things?” he asked.

“Good.”

“Good,” he looked up from his laces, eyes widening slightly, unable to miss the large love bites littered over your neck and thighs.

“I uh … I made eggs, I was just about to get ready to go,” you said quickly, putting the spoon down. You almost ran to Eddies room grabbing your clothes and changing.

You grabbed your bag, walking down the hall to leave, but bumped into Eddie. “Well hello,” he smiled, before noticing your expression and addition of clothes.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, cupping your cheek, brown eyes full of concern. “Waynes home.”

“Yeah?”

“He saw all the … the bites. I’m just a bit embarrassed, so I think I’m gonna go. You eggs are on the counter.”

“Do you want me to drive you?”

“No it’s okay, I’ll call you later.”

“Okay. But uh just so you know, Wayne doesn’t care, he loves us both, he just wants us to be safe. I know you’re embarrassed, but it’s just a thought.”

“Thanks Eds.”

“Anytime Angel.” He leaned down to kiss your forehead, gentle and light, almost like a fairy. He did the same to your mouth.

{After you left}

“So uh you a vampire now?”

“Can we not.”

“You using protection?”

“Of course.”

“Just making sure.”

“I’m not dumb.”

“Whatever you say Dracula.”

“Wayne!”

~ / / / * \ \ \ ~

I love you Kisses :

Lay side by side, you breathed out looking up to the beautiful night sky. Stars littered across, a crescent moon twinkling brightly, it was so lovely to look at.

“This was a good idea,” Eddie spoke from beside you. “I knew you’d like it.”

“Well I’m with you, I’d like anything.”

You rolled your eyes at your boyfriends antics, forever the flirt. You drove out to lovers lake after a long week of work. It was nice to unwind with the person you loved most.

“You remind me of the stars,” Eddie spoke.

“Huh?”

“You remind me of the stars,” he repeated.

“How so?”

“You can’t help but find them beautiful and be in awe of them, even from a billion galaxies away. I feel that way for you, I’d love you billions of galaxies away.”

“Love me?” you asked, heart thumping in your chest. “Yeah, I do, love you that is.” His face was pink, you leaned up on your elbow, smiling down at him. “I love you.”

“You do?” he questioned, almost out of breath. “I do, I love you so much.”

“I love you,” he breathed a laugh, smile breaking over his face.

His hands came to your cheeks pulling you down to meet him, lips met messily, but so lovingly. His tongue danced with yours, pulling you as close as physically possible, pouring every ounce of love and adoration into this one action.

“I love you,” he whispered against your mouth. “I love you Eddie Munson.”

~ / / / * \ \ \ ~

Thank you so much for reading!

Please leave any requests 🫶🏻

[golden1u5t]

playboy bunny | s.r x fem!reader

ꨄ requested: anonymous

ꨄ genre: suggestive

ꨄ summary: while being questioned in regards to a murder investigation, your only way of proving your innocence is the tattoo you have on your underboob.

you're sitting in the chilly interrogation room, your arms folded in as goosebumps spread across your skin. the only thing you had on was a thin tank top and a pair of shorts the officers had given you to cover up the bathing suit you were wearing.

they hadn't said much when they brought you in, there was a ringing of shock in your brain that only allowed you to process the words 'murder investigation'.

after sitting in the cold room for at least half an hour, the door finally opened and two agents came in. you could tell they weren't just the local police, not just because of the way they dressed but also because of the way they carried themselves, they were confident but not in a cocky way like regular cops were.

"y/n? i'm emily prentiss," she gave you a polite smile as she sat down across from you. "this is derek morgan. we'll be questioning you today." she gestured towards morgan as he stood behind her.

"i'll tell you what i told those cops, i didn't do whatever you're accusing me of doing."

"we're not accusing you of anything, yet." morgan spoke from his position behind prentiss. your eyes flickered from the case file being presented in front of you to him crossing his arms over his chest.

emily spread out a few pictures in front of you, all of them of different men dead and mutilated from the waist down. you turned away from them and leaned back in your chair, feeling as though all the drinks and food you had the night prior were slowing making its way back up.

they started off with simple questions: "do you recognize these men?" "where were you last night?" then they moved to more deeper questions: "who was your last relationship?"

"were you abused as a child?" "what's your relationship like with your father?"

they didnt let up until the door opened again and another agent came in. you sat up straight when your eyes landed on him. he was tall and very handsome, he was just your type. under any other circumstances you would have started to fix your hair up and try to catch his attention.

"it's not her."

"how do you know that, reid?" morgan turned towards him with a confused look on his face. you watched as spencer blushed and glance over at you for a brief moment before turning back to derek.

"a witness came forward, said they saw the unsub and victim at the park when they were doing- uhm- when they were having sex. the unsub didn't have any tattoos." spencer stated, he still refused to look at you.

you thought for a second that he'd found you incredibly hideous but then the his words about the unsub not having tattoos donned on you. without second guessing him, emily walked around the table and uncuffed you. almost immediately you started to rub the skin on your wrist, wincing slightly at the dull pain. you waited until emily and derek walked out of the room to speak up.

"how do you know i have a tattoo?" 

spencer finally looked at you, he shrugged his shoulders and stuffed his hands in his pockets. "i saw your photoshoot in a magazine a while back." he mumbled, the blush on his face spreading to his neck.

"¡ assume you'll be in town for a few more days?" you stood up from the chair and made your way to stand in front of him. spencer quickly said yes before catching how eager he sounded and settling with a nod. "maybe we can have dinner and explore some of the other tattoos that didn't make it in the shoot."

"i- i'll have to think about it." there was no thinking honestly, he just didn't want to sound desperate.

"i'm sure you have my number if you wanna take me up on that offer." you gave him a smile and brushed past him.

spencer knew for a fact that he would be taking you up on that offer.

[ccrites]

chokehold

listen, I've had this idea in my wips for a while (since the begnining of the year actually) and the fat reader worms have been wiggling in third gear with all the awesome stuff early ( @391780 ) has been putting out lately. So have 6.4k words of Soap being an absolute pussy eating freak but you know you love him

(also on ao3 if you prefer the formatting there, or if you want to drop a kudo)

.

The second the doors swing back closed behind you, you start feeling the scratchy feeling of doubt at the back of your throat.

It was predictable, really.

A small gym in a small town, heads turn when the hinges creak, not because they’re staring at you specifically, but because it’s a reflex.

Or at least, that’s what you tell yourself to keep the scratchy feeling from turning sour in your mouth. Or make you throw up from embarrassment.

Perhaps your New Year’s resolution should’ve been to start on a home gym type of situation. Buy yourself some girly weights, a mat, and some sort of stepping device, and do those easy exercises every slim, pretty, high-ponytailed YouTube instructor seemed to preconize people out of shape do. Like a hamster on a wheel inside their cage. A rat chasing its own tail, maybe.

No, you promised yourself no more fake promises. Perhaps the money spent on the gym membership (stupid fucking New Year’s promotion) would motivate you to use it, lest it’s just money down the drain. 

You wore the stretchiest, thickest pair of black leggings you owned, hoping no one would see the terrible shape of your underwear through it. On the opposite spectrum of things, you knew the largest hoodie you owned would smother you and make you boil with sweat, so you chose the next best thing: the widest black t-shirt you owned. It was definitely not black enough, the dye faded into a dark gray from use over the years, but it was the only thing that camouflaged your body enough from the others’ sight. God forbid they imagine what your body actually looks like underneath.

The heads pretty quickly turned back around as you started walking towards the empty treadmills. It couldn’t have been more than a second, but the combined weight of at least a dozen pairs of scrutinizing eyes would’ve been enough to make you turn on your heels and back to your car, fuck the membership price.

At the very least, you could convince yourself that walking in place (no better than a hamster on its wheel but oh well) would be enough to get you started. Baby steps, and all.

It doesn’t take long for you to realize the treadmill fucking sucks. Why would anyone suggest looking at a parking lot while suffering instead of the pretty scenery of a park or forest (while also suffering, but still).

The timer you’d set for the warm-up (ten minutes, just like the pretty blonde coach suggested!) crawls by way too slowly for your taste. You’d be all but whooping with joy when it beeps if you weren’t so out of breath and conscious of a gaze on you.

You’d seen him as soon as you walked in.

Between figures of balding men trying to get rid of their beer gut with abs, two thin women whispering to themselves in a corner while trying to look inconspicuous, and a few other, completely average-looking men and women, there he stands, eyes meeting yours in the mirror as he deadlifts an impressive amount of black plates.

He immediately looks straight ahead, correcting his stance, as if there were anything to be corrected, in your unathletic opinion. The muscles in his arms bulge even through the thin, grey hoodie, and the ones in his legs coil tight as the weight is lifted off the ground in a slow, controlled motion. Not even a grunt escapes his lips, at least no one you could hear from where you stood, completely mesmerized.

There was always something almost unappealing about overly muscled men. Their wife’s not feedin’ ‘em enough, your granny would grumble when passing by the rows of magazines at the checkout of the supermarket. 

Yet this man.

Yeah, he was muscled. But in a way, he looked… almost normal. Like he was built for strength, not necessarily vanity. Each bend of his legs, each twist of his arms…

You’d swoon if you hadn’t lowered your standards so low he’d trip on them. Accepted it a long time ago. Fats belong with fats, thins with thins, and if there’s a thin with a fat, either one’s getting fattened up, or the other’s getting dumped. It’s a self-fulfilling prophecy, and one you’d rather not be a part of.

You walk with shaky legs to the water dispenser, then get ready to grab the second to lightest weights to try some bicep curls.

You try to remember the positioning from the videos. Rotate in… or out? Should the wrists be like this? You go through ten repetitions on each side, before you think that you should’ve gone for the abs straight away. God knows there’s fat to burn there, and that the flab under your arms can wait.

You turn back from the rack and walk straight into a wall.

No, a chest.

Fuck.

“Sorry there, miss,” says a deep voice. You detect some sort of accent, unable to quite place it right away.

Your eyes run up, instinctively stopping for a second at chest level (holy heavens that’s a Chest with a capital C if you’ve ever seen one) before finally meeting that same pair of eyes you met a few minutes ago, through the mirror.

Double fuck.

“S-sorry, it’s me, wasn’t watching,” you stammer out, gesturing to the weights in a panicked way. “Just, y’know, switching exercises,” you sputter with a nervous laugh, like it was a completely normal thing to switch exercises after one rep.

He chuckles, and you really need to start planning your escape, because holy shit the way his pectorals rise and fall as his chest puffs up is getting a bit too much for your poor little humiliated self to handle, but he doesn’t let you as he speaks in a soft tone.

“I’m getting arms aren’t really your thing, eh?” he asks, not unkindly. Gosh, did it have to be a Scottish accent?

You can’t meet his eyes, they’re too blue, too piercing for your liking. “To be fair I don’t know what’s my thing yet, I’m just starting out, y’know?” you shift your weight on your legs, conscious of the size difference, and not in the way you wanted to be. Your neck is very warm all of a sudden.

He laughs again, like it’s the funniest thing in the world, and you almost want the floor to open up and swallow you whole, but the words that come out of his mouth are completely unexpected.

“Figured! A girl with thighs like yours, I’m sure you can deadlift more than me with just a lil’ training. I’m Johnny, by the way,” he adds in passing, as if offering his name is the least of his concerns. “You ever got someone to train you?”

You’re entirely unsure if you’re dreaming or not. Did this Scottish hunk of muscle really just offer to be your personal trainer?

“Never - uh… lifted anything, I guess. Just when moving, my couch and bed and all, but I had a friend help me.” You definitely feel like you’re oversharing and you’re struggling to ignore the weight of the gaze of the two thin women, burning through you as they whisper among themselves, when you realize you hadn't answered the second part. “Oh and, uh– no. I’ve never… trained. Been trained. It’s my first time in a gym since- a while. I don’t want to bother you.”

You finally look up at him, and you’re unable to read his expression. There’s a sort of curiosity, a fascination, that blends fast into a wide-eyed joy that’s so open, so sincere that it makes your head spin as he gently but firmly grabs your wrist and pulls you where his bar stands on the thick mat, ignoring your sputtering protests. “Not a bother at all, lass!” He lets go of you as he bends down and effortlessly racks the barbell, starting to remove plates as he continues. “We can start by measuring your max lift, then the one where you can easily do three reps, then we’ll hike it up till failure, so I can calculate your starting training weight!” he rambles on excitedly. You nervously shift on your feet, conscious of more curious gazes on you, but then he’s back in your bubble, pulling your attention towards him like a magnet.

His smile is like a blazing sun, and you don’t have the heart to tell him to prepare for disappointment.

He’s infinitely patient as he shows you how to place your feet, and the angle of your hips (oh, how you feel your knee weaken at the feel of his light tough through the leggings, nothing short of electrifying, despite being perfectly friendly), the hold on the bar. It’s all a blur till you find yourself bent over in front of him, looking in the mirror at your position and trying not to feel conscious of the way he’s placed behind you. Or let your mind wander in inappropriate places.

“Whenever yer ready, hen.”

You brace yourself, close your eyes for a brief second, wondering how the hell you’d landed on this planet, then breathe in, open your eyes-

The weight is in your hands. Not on the floor. You’re holding it.

You almost drop it when he cheers behind you, warm palms rubbing down from your shoulders to your elbows and back up. “Easy! I told you you’d be a natural! ‘S all in the legs and you’ve got awesome legs, bonnie! Let’s add twenty more.”

It’s a blur of racking and de-racking and lifting once and setting back, and redoing it again and again. You’re out of breath, sweating like a sinner in church, but you’re smiling along with him, finding yourself giving him double high fives, and doing small, excited jumps.

“Next one’s exactly my weight, if y’can lift that, I’ll be losing my bloody mind! D’you realize how well yer doin’ for a first-timer?” He says as he bends next to you, adjusting the bar for the next set of weights. With a wipe of his forearm over his forehead, he crouches slightly down, placing his head right above your shoulder and looking your reflection in the mirror straight in the eyes with a conspiratory grin. “Swear to God, if ye can lift it off the ground, I’m buying you the most expensive drink at the bar next door!” he says, grin blending into a blinding smile, too genuine for your own good.

He’s just friendly, just friendly, just friendly, you say to yourself like a mantra as you position yourself. He stands again to his full height behind you, hands ready under the bar, a safenet.

Deep breath in– hold it…

Slowly but surely, you lift the weight off the floor, your ears ringing from the effort. You see his lips move as he cheers you on, but the blood pumping in your eardrums makes it impossible to hear him. Suddenly, the weight is back on the ground and your feet are off the floor as you’re lifted in a tight embrace and spun around like you weigh nothing.

You yelp and flail but he’s holding you tight, face pressed smack-dab in the middle of your chest, between your tits, rumbling praises about your prowess while you’re trying to figure out whether this can be something that your brain is capable of summoning as a dream.

“Put me down, Johnny, oh my God, put me down!”

He thankfully complies but not before squeezing your ass tighter, and suddenly nothing feels real anymore.

“Jesus, I knew ye were perfect,” he says, pulling back reluctantly to rerack the bar and put back the weights. “I cannot wait to properly start training ye’ tomorrow, but for now, I have a promise ta’ keep, and, uh, let’s just say I wouldn’t mind using those strong thighs as earmuffs with this freezin’ weather. On the way back from the bar, what d’ya say?” he adds, wiggling his eyebrows with a crooked smile that lets you know he’s joking around. (Is he?)

You laugh with him and for a second, you forget what you were here for.

+++

The way to the bar is short. It was just a block away (Good for business, he jokes), but the conversation with Johnny made time really fly by. 

He seems genuinely glad when you tell him you’d decided to head to the gym not just as a New Year’s resolution, but trying to simply become a better you. There’s no condescendence, no talking down, no (God forbid) pity, just an overall nice interaction the whole time. He tells you about being on leave as a soldier (Medical leave, he specifies, a fucked up knee can work in a gym, but it’s a different story out in the field), you tell him about your studies and how that led into a “big girl” job that left you no time for yourself.

“But I’ve always been a big girl,” you feel the need to justify. “Just… gotten bigger as I stopped finding time to move. The desk and the laptop are pretty stationary,” you joke, still trying to make sense of why a man like him (broad, and tall, and strong, and… gosh, just perfect-looking) would even deign to accept being seen with you.

(It’s not a date, you dumbass)

“I happen to like big girls,” is what you don’t expect him to say.

Wait, what?

His blue eyes glue you to your seat, and you respond dumbly. “What?”

“I mean, why do you think I’d offer to train you?” he continues, placing his hand, big and warm over your thigh. It’s squished as you sit, wide and flattened in your seat, yet his hand covers a good amount, almost covering the whole width.

Your brain is short-circuiting but you have to answer something.

“Out of– uh… out of niceness?” you stammer out, feeling your insecurities climb back out of the hole they’d been sleeping in all this time, making you shrink even more, trying to cover yourself as if he didn’t see right through you with that piercing gaze. “To feel good seeing you be the reason I lose weight?”

He chuckles, squeezing your thigh as his head hangs down, almost as if to hide the smile that spreads on his lips.

“Strength training doesn’t work like that, bonnie.” He looks back up, and his eyes are blue, and wide, and so pretty, that you can’t find anything to argue back. “Ye’ think building glutes underneath that fat arse does anything but make it bigger?” He shifts, inching closer as he licks his lips and drops his voice lower. “Ye’ think growing your quads will make this,” he gives an even firmer squeeze, wiggling the fat back and forth, and you tense under his grip, but he’s got you pinned down, “any less wide and soft?”

He presses closer, and the booth has no escape room, you’re practically squeezed into the corner as he pushes his body against yours, bending to whisper lowly in the crook of your neck.

“I did not joke when I said I want yer pretty thighs wrapped tight around my head.”

You can’t be blamed when you don’t remember how you ended up in the back of a cab, Johnny barely taking the time to bark an address to the poor driver and throw fifty quid on the front seat before kissing you absolutely senseless, shamelessly groping your tits with a hand and wrapping the other around your thigh, squeezing you close.

You should probably think more about going home with basically a stranger, no matter how hot, but when he presses his entire palm against your cunt, cupping it over the quickly dampening pair of leggings that didn’t seem so thick anymore, you can’t think at all. He swallows your quiet moans, and hums contently against your lips, taking each gasp for air as an invitation to slither his tongue into your mouth. God, you’d forgotten what a good makeout session was like, and you can’t even find it in you to be embarrassed when you see the cabbie’s eyes in the rearview mirror, instantly looking away when you see him staring. 

Johnny doesn’t seem to mind either, and when he notices you looking in the front again and again, he crowds you against the door behind the driver with a huff, half-climbing over you until his knee is pressed against your core, and the only thing in your field of vision is him.

“Johnny,” you try to say, but it’s getting hard to think, with the way you’re being squeezed in a corner, this hunk of a man of pure muscle pressing against you like a weighted blanket, kissing you like you were a drop of water in the desert and he was a parched man drinking you for his salvation. You feel his excitement pressed against your thigh, and it gives you enough lucidity to try again. “Johnny,” you gasp out again, “aren’t we going a little fast?”

He laughs instead, choosing to focus on the side of your mouth, pressing fervent little kisses down your neck before starting to suckle the delicate skin over where your clavicle is. “I can go as slow as you’d like, bun.” He takes the spot an inch next to the previous one into his mouth and sucks again, this time more forcefully, marking you, and oh God you’re going to have to conceal it before work tomorrow, unless you can find a turtleneck to wear–

The cab driver clears his throat, and you notice that the car is stopped in front of a small apartment complex. Johnny says a cordial thanks as he pulls you out of the car and throws another twenty on the backseat, before wrapping his arm around your shoulders and taking all of the thinking out of the equation as he walks you to the entry.

His flat is pretty well furnished, all things considered, but he doesn’t give you enough time to observe the deco as he presses you against the door and slides his hand under your leggings.

“Got me starin’ at that ass the second you walked in, best fuckin’ thing I’ve seen in months, d’ye realize that, bonnie?” he breathes out against your ear as his entire palm cups your sex, and you can only whine as you press your forehead into the crook of his neck. “And by how wet this pussy is, I think you liked starin’ at me, too.”

“You are–” you say, but he curls his middle finger in, spreading your lips and spreading the wetness to your clit, making you choke on your words, “-very nice to stare at.”

“Yeah?” you hear the grin in his voice.

“Mmhm,” you nod, as he keeps the back and forth of his finger, never dipping in too far, just keeping you hungry for more.

“Then how’d ye like to stare down at me as I taste this wet cunt of yours?” he purrs in your ear as he stops moving completely, letting the words process.

Brain.exe has stopped functioning. 

Had you ever had a boyfriend willing to speak filth like that to you when you were down to do the deed, maybe you would’ve gotten enough practice to know what to answer something sensible and intelligible to that, but as it stands, all you can muster is a very dumb-sounding “Huh?” as you stare back at him.

And that, apparently, is the funniest thing in the world to him, because he dips his head down and laughs, almost like a boyish giggle. Not only does that not stop him from kneeling in front of you, but it also somehow gives him more confidence to keep talking like that.

“How about you look down into my eyes as I eat out your pretty little pussy and make you come around my tongue, how’s that sound?” His baby blues bear no trace of maliciousness, no trace of a joke, as his fingers hook around the waistband and trace it around your stomach. You have to make a very conscious effort not to suck it in immediately in preparation for the letdown, but he doesn’t pull them down yet, only moving his hand alongside the edge. Your silence as you try to process what is happening only seems to spur him on instead. “In fact, how about you close your eyes, I close mine, and you hold my head close as I devour you, would you let me do that, pretty girl?”

“I’m not-” you can’t think of any way to properly let him down, not when he looks up with such pleading eyes, so the words stumble out gracelessly. “I’m sweaty, you don’t wanna–”

But he interrupts as he pulls your leg closer by gripping your thigh and squishing it against his cheek “But I do.” He inhales deeply, and your own breath shakes at the sight of how blissed out he already looks. “God, I want it. Let me have this.”

A voice somewhere inside yells at you that this has to be some sort of weird fetish, and that he most certainly won’t be having the same aura of desperation around him tomorrow, when post-coital rationale shows up and he sees your body past the veil of lust, but for now, you think that getting some with Johnny cannot be that bad compared to any one of your past encounters. Might as well enjoy it when you still can.

You wrap your hand around the one he still has around your waistband, and see his face positively light up as you softly caress his cheek.

In the end, you’re the one that pleads.

“Johnny, please.”

Your pants are off you and your leg is over his shoulder before you realize what is happening.

The feel of his warm tongue against your slit makes any thought, any doubt, any fear positively vanish, and the content sigh that he lets out as he licks at you is the same sigh as finally removing a bra at the end of a long day, it’s the sigh of laying down carelessly onto a soft bed after standing up for hours, it’s the sigh of the first bite of the best meal a man has after starving for weeks.

It should be awkward the way his arm wraps around your thigh and sinks into the softness of your stomach, using it to pin you up as he uses his other hand to spread you out enough for him to work his jaw the same way he did when he was making out with you in the car… Yet it’s not. It’s natural, the way his hand squeezes you as he licks, and sucks, and kisses around your pussy, unhurried yet passionate, languidly but firmly, pressing his tongue in, licking around your lips, and maddeningly avoiding the place you wanted him to touch most.

“Johnny,” you moan as he grazes his teeth around your sensitive nub in response. You almost buck out of his hold, but he’s firmly keeping you in place. “Please, don’t tease.”

He hums in response and dives back in, eyes fluttering closed as he ignores your whines. Every time his tongue or lips graze your clit, he works his mouth the opposite way, holding your thigh harder and pressing his palm up as he counters your hip movements with a clever swipe of the tongue. It’s absolutely maddening. “Johnny, please!”

He chuckles as he pulls back, an obscene string of spit lengthening as he pulls back, only breaking when he runs his tongue against his reddened, swollen lips. “Thought ye’ wanted me ta’ go slow, bun.” His eyes sparkle with challenge, but you can also discern a veil of unhidden desperation, of waiting for you to give the go-ahead for him to let loose.

“I’m fine with faster–” you start, but the words dissolve into a barely restrained moan as he hikes your leg up more, getting you closer to him, and immediately singling onto your neglected clit.

His forehead rests onto your belly now, and if you had more than two functioning neurons you’d wonder how he is that he’s breathing, but his hums and moans let you know that he’s perfectly content burrowing his nose in your pussy, nudging at your clit with the tip of it as he licks you with all the dedication you’ve never been shown from a man of his caliber.

He builds it up, and soothes it down, knowing exactly when to put more pressure, or when to teasingly swirl his tongue around your entrance, or to lave broad strokes of his tongue, so much so that the knee that’s not hooked over his shoulder almost gives out on a particularly forceful suck of your clit.

“Easy there,” he groans almost petulantly, as if you’re interrupting him. “Can’t have you fallin’ over when I’m not done wit’ ye.”

“My legs are gonna give out,” you say honestly, trying to catch your breath and avoid having the perfect man at your feet steal it again. “You’re a bit too good at this.” He grins up at you, “Am I?” and you want to give you a playful swat, but instead decide on carding your fingers through his now disheveled mohawk. “Guess the mess on my face speaks for itself… Shall we take this to the bedroom?”

You throw a glance around the apartment, assessing your options. “Couch is closer.” His smile is blinding. “I like how ye’ think.”

It’s now the second time he surprises you by scooping your legs from under you and picking you up like he couldn’t wait any longer and that carrying you bridal-style was the only way he could think of moving you. You yelp out a protest but he swallows it with another hungry kiss, shamelessly smearing your own wetness over your cheek as he walks you both to the couch.

You sink into the cushions where he places you gently without so much as a grunt of effort, and oh God, there they are, the standards are rising.

You reach over to pull him closer as he straightens up, but he only gives you a peck on the lips in return, like he hadn’t been kissing you sloppily the entire time.

“Come back,” you whine, hoping you can get it done before he comes back to his senses, like they all do, but he just smiles and kneels between your feet, hands pressing your thighs apart. The squelch of your lips parting should be embarrassing were he not looking up at you like you were the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen, eyes full of adoration, like a child staring up at the full moon on full display on a clear night’s skies. Maybe you are his moon, his goddess, judging by the lust-clouded look directed at you.

“I did say I was gonna make you come on my face,” he says lowly, the gravel in his voice making you squirm as he places a trail of kisses up your thigh. “And I intend to keep that promise.”

With that, he dives in again, using his forearms to pin your legs open on the couch and his fingers to tease around where his tongue can’t reach. You mewl when you feel his tongue at your entrance, circling it around it briefly before delving in as deep as he could, his right hand stroking your clit rhythmically. The fact that he’s so good at somehow playing all your buttons like a maestro directing an orchestra has you thinking that he must be some sort of womanizer, some freak who does this kind of thing every night, but then his lips wrap around your nub and he gives a firm, long suck, and any restriction that you could’ve conjured up simply vanishes. Your thighs want to close around his head, but you can’t move under the iron grip he has on you.

You fist his hair more forcefully than necessary, and he looks up, wet eyelashes framing his beautiful eyes as he hums in response.

“Please,” you moan, and he hums affirmatively again, closing his eyes to focus on licking and suckling harder. He heard you, he simply doesn’t seem to care. “Johnny.”

“What,” he asks, voice muffled and why is this so hot? 

“I need… I need,” you whine, unable to string the words together, and desperately trying to buck your hips under him, for lack of strength to actually close your thighs how you want to.

That seems to get his attention, and he chuckles, before pulling back with a gentle kiss on your mound. “Guess you’ll have to keep tryin’, pet,” he sussurs, a condescending pat on your thighs before he dives in slower than before.

Oh, the absolute asshole. Now he wants you to work for it?

You think that doing the opposite, relaxing your thighs open and letting him go to town however he wanted would help, but he seems hell-bent on riling you up every once in a while, getting you closer and closer with each lave of his tongue over your poor, overstimulated clit, but never enough to actually push you over the edge.

After what seems like an eternity, and almost, almost starting to think that this was a mistake, halfway ready to let him do this thing before your hip starts to cramp up, you feel a finger nudge at your entrance.

“Fucking finally–” you start, ready to curse him out, but he’s faster than you can think in your blissed-out state, and he slides a second finger alongside the first one, immediately zeroing in on that spot that makes you go cross-eyed and buck under his hold.

“Thassit– there you go, pretty girl,” he murmurs against your clit, and oh, okay, maybe you were closer than you thought, because the rhythmic curl of his fingers doesn’t need to last long before you’re off like an arrow, back arching and thighs squeezing, coming harder than you ever thought was possible. If he were any less skilled at making you completely lose the ability to think, you’d maybe notice that you’d managed to close your thighs almost completely around his head, but he wasn’t, so you don’t, twitching helplessly in the aftershocks of the most wonderful orgasm a man had ever given you.

Limbs that somehow still belong to your body hang uselessly off the side of the couch, and you struggle to catch your breath. You blink lazily, noticing him smugly wipe his face with the back of his hand, his half lidded eyes not any less blissed-out than yours. 

You didn’t believe a man like this ever existed, until now. It aches that this might not be something that would last, so you make grabby hands at him, unable to find the will to speak just yet. 

He laughs softly and gently grabs your arms, kissing from your knuckles slowly up your arm, to the crook of your neck. The patience he has is almost inhuman, as he takes the time to let you regather your senses, matching the marks he made earlier on the other side of your neck. You cup your hand around his head in response, and he smiles at you.

“Ye’ with me, bun?”

“Mmhm.”

“That slow enough fer’ ye’?” He holds himself up, an inch fron your face, and you reach up to kiss him.

“I’m gonna kill you dead,” you mutter against his lips, and he chuckles.

“Let me at least fuck you properly, first,” he whispers, and you notice that he’s long since unbuttoned his pants. You barely get a view of the massive size of him over your belly as he holds himself in his hand, large palm not enough to cover the whole length of him as he strokes himself, angled in such way that his tip rubs against your clit on each downstroke. The word “Please,” is not even halfway out of your mouth when he sinks into you in one swift motion, the rest dissolving into a long, drawn-out moan.

“Fuck-” he grunts, “so tight, cannot believe it.”

He guides one of your legs to wrap around him, keeping it flush against his body with his elbow as his palm grips your ass tightly, the other holding him against the backrest, forearm near your head as he pulls you closer for a sloppy kiss as he starts rolling his hips. You moan into his mouth and he swallows them greedily, leveraging each trust of his hips with a pull with his hand, helping you move in tandem with him, readjusting when your thigh threatens to slip out of his hold. The slaps of his pelvis to yours should sound obscene, his hard muscles hitting against your soft, jiggly skin, but his groans into your mouth are like music to your ears, the fact that he’s vocal about it has you almost reaching your peak again in no time, but he seems to sense it, and slows down immediately.

You try to kiss him harder, but he makes a small noise of protest, muttering something that sounds vaguely like “no, let me, let me just–” and you want to ask what he wants to do, to help him, but he instead reaches down both hands to grab your hips and pull you off the backrest. You yelp as your ass suddenly hangs in the air, his cock speared inside you the only secure point as he pulls you halfway off the couch, but he directs you firmly, “Here, around me,” helping you wrap your legs tightly as he starts thrusting again, harder than before.

“Oh, God, oh God,” you flail around, but each thrust in pushes your back into the cushions, and he reaches behind his back to hold your feet in his hand as he presses his palm near your head for support, spewing more filth as he does.

“That’s it, hold me tight, squeeze my cock like ye’ almost squeezed mah heid off earlier, huh, bonnie? Show me what those thighs can do, fuck-”

Your whole body is jiggling with each thrust, and you don’t have it in you to even feel self-conscious with the way each time he fills you, the tip of his cock nudges against the spongey spot inside, making you mewl in tempo with his relentless rhythm.

“Johnny, Johnny,” you moan, and he bends over to kiss you again, swallowing his name like communion while you chant it like a prayer.

“Don’t give up now, bonnie, keep squeezin’, fuck, I can feel ye’, yer so close.”

You try to get some leverage with your upper body, trying to push yourself up the cushions, but his cock suddenly slips out of you as your thighs almost give out, and an apology is already halfway out your mouth when he kneels back down and burrows between your legs, tongue first with a rushed “Need ta’ taste us, fuck, both of us, together-”

One hand wraps around your hip and over your pelvis, reaching up to knead desperately at your stomach, to pull you closer or push you away, you can’t tell, the other pulling your lips apart to settle his entire lower face against your pussy firmly– before letting go as he starts humming.

Your thighs are free to squeeze around his ears, and he nods encouragingly as he keeps licking, and then you hear it: the sounds of wet stroking. You don’t see him fisting his cock, but you hear it, fast and desperate. As your hand tangles in his hair to pull him closer, and another hum– no, another moan vibrates through your core, it’s the last thing you hear before you’re absolutely gone, gasping out a curse as you tense up in his hold, trembling as you come.

It’s even more intense than the first one, and as you buck out of his hold, he stands up shakily, his hand moving faster and faster around his cock, the angry red of his tip at the same level as your face. You gesture for him to sit down, trying to signal to him that you want to reciprocate despite the post-orgasmic haze and exhaustion, but he shakes his head, and, seconds later, you feel warm wetness land on your belly and slowly trickle down as he moans your name when he comes.

You feel like you still have to give something back, and, when he slumps down next to you with a content sigh, you climb over to place a delicate kiss on the tip of his cock, letting out a huff of laughter when it twitches under your touch.

“Ye’ absolute menace,” he whispers fondly as he pulls you up and tips his body to the side to lie down, using his legs to push you up halfway over him, trapping you between his body and the cushions, yet protectively shielding you from falling over. You place another kiss on his stomach, and you see his abs tense under your touch as your warm breath moves his hairs as you hover for a second, before deciding to shift up and use his pectorals as a cushion. He hums softly as his arm wraps around under yours, reaching to pull the plaid off the back of the couch and settle it around you both. Ticklish, eh? That’s a piece of information best stored for later.

You’re still breathless, absolutely done for. God, best decision of your life, going to the gym. “Now what?” you can’t help but ask. It’s the same fear that always creeps up, the fear that he got to try out a fantasy, and now that he was done with it, he had no need to want to continue anything possibly serious. Not that eating a girl out on a first date, if you could even call it a date, was a sign of a one-night stand, you can’t help but feel awkward and insecure now that it’s all done, despite the comforting cuddle.

He chuckles in response, that same chuckle from earlier in the day, a What a silly question chuckle. Like he’d read into your thoughts and insecurities and found them absolutely laughable.

“Same time at the gym, tomorrow? I want you to squeeze my head off next time.”

“Next time, huh?”

He pulls your leg over his pelvis, trapping his still half-mast cock between his belly and the crook of your knee, hand firmly wrapped to shift you up, almost completely on top of him. When both of you are comfortable and you start feeling the tendrils of sleep pull you deeper, he gives a last, playful squeeze to your ass.

“Next time.”

[pars-ley]

I...do? (part one)

Pairing: Kim Taehyung x f. reader (ft Jung Hoseok briefly) Summary: Based on the film ‘the proposal’ - You hate your boss. He's rude, arrogant and conceited, not to mention works you to the bone, day and night. So walking into one of his meetings, where he announces your upcoming wedding, you being shocked is the least of it. But when he threatens the career you've worked so hard for, can you still say no to his proposal? Genre: Enemies to lovers au / CEO au / fake dating au / colleagues to lovers au / co-workers to lovers / series / angst / fluff / smut Rating: 18+ (future chapters will be nfsw) Warnings (per chapter): blackmail / manipulation / rudeness / angst W/C: 2.9k Banner: @shadowkoo you are amazing Beta: @beomcoups and @cherrysoulth thank you so much!  Notes: So this has been in the works for about four fucking years now and I’ve decided to do this as a series and i’m finally ready to start posting! Sorry to anyone who has been waiting. This was originally for the 'spring will come again' event with @bangtanarmynet Please, share and comment, it will really help with motivation for writing, which I have been lacking for a while. Thank you so much for reading! Taglist: @ladyartemesia @taestannie @somewhereofftheglobe @moonchild1 @taebangtanbabe @leedoesntknaur @siadreams @m-1234

It’s a lovely spring morning; the trees are green, and the flowers are beginning to bloom. The sun is out and the air is fresh. You have one of the most beautiful views in the city outside your office, floor-to-ceiling windows looking out over the new growth and warm weather. You’re relaxing into your seat, basking in it…that is, until the elevator down the hall stops on your floor, and you know exactly who's about to step off. You type out your usual frantic message to everyone in their office cubicles in the expanse between the elevators and his office, which you sit directly outside of, and hit send.

Y/n: Satan is entering the gates of hell

Everyone rushes frantically back to their desks. Hushed whispers sound across the void, filling the atmosphere with nervous energy. The elevator dings and silence is instant. You watch as your boss struts along, ignoring everyone else’s presence entirely. 

“Good morning, sir,” you remark with a polite smile as soon as he reaches your desk, to which he strides past you, straight into his office. Resisting the urge to make a sarcastic remark, you focus back on your work, but your irritation grows towards him. Your patience is already thin this morning.

Discreetly, you glance in his direction, noting the way he sits behind his desk, leaning back in his chair, leg crossed casually over the other, and flipping through document pages with an arrogance you can see, even from here. You absolutely hate how good-looking he is. Why does someone so infuriating get to look like that? It somehow makes his whole attitude even worse.

His low voice calling your name snaps your attention. "Get in here."

Sliding your chair out from under your desk, you follow orders.

“Yes, Mr Kim, ” you respond, standing with hands clasped in front of you. Your posture and all-black attire, particularly the skirt, were requested by him.

“Where was my usual tea this morning?” he asks, eyes unwavering from the pages he's absorbed in. 

“The shop was closed this morning, sir, and I thought it best not to go to the other one, as you told me their tea 'looks and tastes like noodle soup.'” Your heart races with annoyance, as you chew the inside of your lip, attempting to hold back any smart-arse remarks.

I’ll tell you where I’d like to put your tea, sir, I’d shove it right up your-

“Then, what is this?” He points to the mug you left on his desk in replacement, a look of disdain twisting his face.

“That’s the tea I made for you, Sir.”

His eyes meet yours for a second with a hard stare. “Right, well next time, how about...don’t.” 

Your teeth clamp together, jaw tensing as you struggle to bite back your retort, instead opting to take the tea and down it right in front of him. The hot liquid burns your throat as it slides down uncomfortably, and you carefully place the mug back on his desk, wiping the corners of your mouth with your fingertips.

"Is that better, sir?" You smile sweetly, but it’s written all over his face that he knows it’s not genuine judging by the glare he throws your way.

Your stomach somersaults nervously, worrying you've gone too far before his eyes fall back down to his paper.

“I have an unscheduled meeting in twenty minutes, it’s important, so make sure I am not disturbed by anyone. Are we clear?” He meets your eyes again, the intimidating aura he radiates hitting you fiercely.

“Y-yes, Mr Kim. Should I delay the ten o’clock meeting then?”

“You’re a smart girl; figure it out.” 

He looks back down at his work, seeming bored of your presence, but you stand there aghast as to what you can reply to that without getting fired.

“Get out.” He waves a hand, dismissing you.

"Right away, sir." You bow dramatically before leaving and closing the door, forcing yourself not to slam it and wishing you could go and scream into a pillow. 

Mr Kim Taehyung can kiss your arse.

Sitting back down at your desk, searching for anything to get your mind off the frustratingly rude man, when your mobile phone rings, surprising you. Even more so when you see it's your mum.

"Yes, mama, I'll be down this weekend," you say quietly into your phone once you're finally able to get a word in. Keeping your voice low to avoid your slave driver of a boss hearing your personal call.

Your mother’s squeal makes you giggle. "Like I'd miss my parents’ thirtieth wedding anniversary celebration."

"How long are you staying for this time? It's been too long since I've seen my baby!" she stresses.

You can't help the smile that tugs at your mouth. "I know, mama, I'm still working on that."

"You need to tell that boss of yours that enough is enough before he ends up working you to the bone!" Her disapproving tone makes you feel at home.

You see Mr Kim heading your way, "Hmm-mmm, listen, ma, I've got to go; I'll see you this weekend. Love you." You hang up abruptly and get straight back to typing.

"Personal calls should be taken at personal times," he says firmly, heading off down the hall.

Heat flashes up your chest, and your attempt to bite down a retort wavers, "That would mean me being allowed a personal life, sir, " you call after him.

His steps falter for a brief moment before continuing on with not another word or so much as a glance in your direction. 

You swallow and let out the breath you didn't realise you'd been holding, envisioning hurling your phone at the back of his head. I wonder how hard I'd have to throw it to knock him unconscious or to at least give him a concussion.

Taking a long breath and trying not to grind your teeth, something that has become a habit lately and focusing back on your workload.

A short while later, Mr Kim is sitting in his unscheduled “important” meeting, meaning you could blissfully get on with paperwork without interruption. However, glancing up from your computer, you notice how tense and somewhat uncomfortable Mr Kim looks, something most uncharacteristic of him. So it does not surprise you when your work phone vibrates loudly at your desk. Looking down, you see the message "Save me," sent from him, your usual code system to get him out of something he really doesn't want to be part of anymore.

Getting up from your desk and striding across the space, you knock quietly on the door before entering.

"Sir, you have an urgent call on--"

"Ah, here she is," Mr Kim beams at you, a sight that is not only shocking because of how rare it is but also how breathtakingly gorgeous his smile is. You stand there frozen in your spot, unsure what has caused this sudden change in his mood. "No need to stand on ceremony, sweetheart; Mr. Jung is well aware of our upcoming nuptials." 

You stare at him blankly, wondering if he's perhaps having some kind of stroke and considering whether or not you should call an ambulance. He comes over to your rooted feet by the door, and before you can say anything, his arm winds around your waist and guides you over to his desk. You're hyper-aware of his hand on you in such an intimate manner and it infuriates you, boiling your blood liquid hot in your veins. It feels like everything's moving in slow motion while you attempt to piece together all the chaotic thoughts happening in your mind, but nothing makes any sense. 

Upcoming nuptials? Hell would have to freeze over more than once for you to be hitched to a man as rage-inducing as him. In fact, you'd rather be a miserable, shrivelled-up spinster living with a household full of cats than walk down an aisle where he's waiting for you.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, and please, call me Hoseok." Mr Jung stands up and shakes your hand, offering you a dazzling grin. You don't fail to notice his suspicious gaze raking over you and your boss. "So, a wedding, that sure is exciting, huh?" he asks you, raising an eyebrow as he waits for your response.

You feel Mr Kim's hand dig into your waist, sparking you to say, "Yes, very. Who doesn't love a wedding?"

Hoseok laughs. "It's true, they are such joyous occasions. Are you prepared? Is everything set, I mean?"

Before you can say anything, you hear your boss's baritone voice beside you, sending vibrations through your body and muddling your mind even more. "There are still a few things here and there to take care of, but I have faith it will all be done in time."

"Perfect." The man smiles at you. "So your families know about this wedding?" 

Hell, I didn't even know about it, so they definitely don't.

"I don't have any family; both my parents died years ago, no siblings or grandparents alive," Mr Kim admits, voice impassive. You can't help but be surprised by this new piece of information. You’re unsure if that was true or part of his weird ruse, but your heart tugs a little at imagining someone not having anyone, even someone as vile as him.

"Oh, I am sorry," Hoseok offers, "and what about your family?" He aims at you.

"We were planning on telling her family this weekend," Mr Kim interjects. “It's her parents' wedding anniversary, so we thought we'd go up there for the bank holiday and surprise them, didn't we, sweetheart?" 

You clench your teeth together to stop your mouth from popping open in shock. He squeezes you closer to his side, a movement that has you tensing your jaw in an attempt to keep the searing in your veins down to a minimum. 

"Yes, yes, we are," you add, forcing a smile.

"So what happens now?" Mr Kim asks.

You glance up at him, then at Hoseok, who seems to be scrutinising your every move. You resist the urge to squirm uncomfortably in Mr Kim's grasp.

"Well, you'll both have to come in for an interview at some point. Provided you both pass this stage and I deem this marriage legitimate then, we'll fill in the necessary paperwork, you'll no longer be deported and your new visa will be valid."

You no longer hear the words being said, everything becoming muffled and moving in slow motion. Deportation!? Legitimate marriage!? That's why he's made this up, so he can stay in the country. 

You feel your stomach drop to your feet, heavy, yet threatening to shoot up and out of your mouth, decorating his office carpet.

"Great. Is there anything else you need from us, Mr Jung?"

He taps his chin and stares at you quizzically. "Just make sure neither of you are lying, then we'll have no problems. A fine and prison time is not to be looked at lightly."

What!? You laugh nervously. "People actually get sent to prison for that?"

He nods. "Sure, it happens all the time. You could face up to five years in prison and a two hundred and fifty thousand dollar fine, and yet people still think that they can trick us." He rolls his eyes and shakes his head. "Anyway, I'll be sending you both a letter about when and where your interview will occur, most likely in a few weeks, I look forward to seeing you both then." 

You shake hands before he's gone and both of you are rooted to the spot, staring after him. 

Soon enough, Mr Kim moves back around to his desk, flicking through his papers, his eyes focused as if nothing out of the ordinary has just happened.

You stand there frozen, waiting for some kind of explanation, and when nothing comes, you speak up, "Excuse me, sir, but what was that?"

He sighs as if bored by your presence and continues to focus on the files in front of him. "They were going to fire me once I got deported and give Mr Park my job."

You stare at him, wide-eyed and open-mouthed. 

"Don't worry, we'll get married and get a quickie divorce. It will be over in no time."

You feel like your feet will surely collapse from the weight of this burden that has suddenly become yours. Without asking or consenting, you've ended up in a situation you're unsure how to deal with or get out of.

"Sir," you finally speak, breaking through your stunned silence and swallowing the burning you feel rising into your throat. "I cannot marry you."

Finally, he drops his papers and meets your panicked eyes. "Listen, you don't really have a choice; if you don't, I'll fire you and ensure that any new job you apply for will have zero interest in hiring you. I'll make something up so terrible you'll be blacklisted, and where will that leave you, after all the hard work you've put in during the last three years? Hmm?"

You stare into his cold, dark eyes and know there's no hint of a lie or an exaggeration in his words. 

“All of those late nights runs to the grocery store for me, all the weekend calls and late night working will have been for nothing.”

You struggle to find the words, feeling your world crashing in on you and smothering you beyond belief. Feeling yourself being pushed against a rock and a mountain with nowhere to escape, when all your legs want to do is run.

You suck deep breaths into your lungs. 

He would ruin your career and everything you've worked so hard for. In one fell swoop, your life would be over. For the last three years your job has been everything, not allowing an ounce of a social life; no holidays and no relationships, nothing has existed outside of your job.

Not to mention, how could you afford your apartment if you had no job? You'd have to move back home with your parents to small-town life...the thought made your stomach churn, that was more frightening than anything. 

"If I do this, I'm taking a big risk here, so I'm going to need some assurances."

He smirks, sinking back into his chair and folding his arms across his chest. The material of his blazer stretched across his bicep muscles, giving him an even more intimidating edge.

"I wasn't aware you were in a position to make demands."

Your hands clench into fists at your sides, longing to make a connection to his perfectly chiselled jaw, as anger bubbles inside the deepest pit of hatred you have for this man.

"I could go to prison! You're not asking me to go on a business trip; you're asking me to marry you so you can stay in the country! So, you either give me what I want, or I quit here and now, and bye-bye, Mr Kim, hello, Mr Park." turning towards his office door, your face flushes with angry heat. Feeling brazen and reckless, two can play at this game and if you are going to do this, you are damn sure you're going to make it worth your while.

"Wait," he says quickly.

Glancing back, you watch the smugness on his features slowly die as he realises how serious you are. "What is it you want?"

"A promotion. Not a bullshit one you make up so I can continue assisting you either."

He sighs and massages his temples. "Ok, ok, fine. How about the head of a department?"

You've wanted that since you started at this company; ever since you were hired, that has been your focus and the only thing getting you through this role.

"Hm, which department?" You act coy, knowing there's only one answer you want to hear.

He rubs his face and groans, his cool, calm exterior well and truly forgotten. "Design. That's what you want, isn't it?"

Taken aback by how he could have known that you pause for a moment before composing yourself once again. "Yes. I want it in writing and signed by you." 

"Fine."

You nod, feeling a triumphant bloom expand in your chest.

"Are we done here?" He asks.

"Ask me nicely." 

His hands come down hard on the desk; an exasperated look withers his face. "What?"

"Ask me nicely to marry you."

His mouth pops open, closes, and opens again. His cheeks flush, and the sight makes you smile. Who would have thought something so simple would make him blush?

"That's ridiculous."

"Ok, goodbye, Mr Kim; I wish I could say nice knowing you." You turn and push his office door open.

"Alright," he calls. "Just….shut the door."

You can hear the pleading in his voice, knowing how desperate he is and wondering how much you should take advantage of that. You do as he says, step back into the room, and watch with unashamed amusement as he stands up and rounds his desk, closing the gap between you rather sheepishly.

He takes a deep breath as his eyes stay fixed on your blazer's lapels. "Will-"

"On one knee, please." You interrupt.

His cheeks darken as he prepares to argue, but he second-thinks as his eyes flit desperately between yours. He slowly sinks down onto the ground at your feet and plasters on a fake and yet still dazzling smile, "Will you, please, marry me?" he finally says, sarcasm dripping off of every word.

For a moment, you enjoy the sight of him on his knees in front of you, looking up through thick eyelashes, but your abhorrence of him stops your mind from going any further.

"Fine," you reply with a smirk as you walk out, leaving him staring at your back. If you are doing this for him, you sure as hell are going to make him pay for it.

[sillysowa]

Ask and you shall receive, my lovelies!

ALL MINE!

PAIRING: HOBIE BROWN X PLUSSIZED!FEM!READER

GENRE: SMUT! PWP

WORD COUNT: 1.9k

WARNINGS: NON DESCRIPTIVE BODY SHAMING, FACESITTING, FACE RIDING, VAGINAL SEX, BODY WORSHIP

AUTHORS NOTE: I TRIED MY ABSOLUTE BEST TO WRITE ABOUT AN EXPERIENCE THAT I AM NOT INCREDIBLY FAMILIAR WITH, PLEASE LET ME KNOW IF ANY OF MY REPRESENTATION OR CONTENT IS OFFENSIVE OR INACCURATE! I WAS NOT COMFORTABLE WITH WRITING DESCRIPTIVE BODY SHAMING. SORRY IF THIS SEEMS AT ALL RUSHED, BEEN HELLA BUSY!

SYNOPSIS: YOU SURPRISE YOUR BOYFRIEND HOBIE AT HIS BIGGEST CONCERT YET, ONLY FOR SOME GROUPIES TO MAKE YOU FEEL LIKE SHIT, BUT HOBIE DOESN’T LET THAT SLIDE—OH AND HE FUCKS THE SHIT OUT OF YOU LATER!

—

Today was a big day. Hobie and his band are going to have a concert at their biggest venue yet, and you’re going to surprise him in the crowd. Originally, you and Hobie were pretty bummed because you had plans that day already, and you were almost positive that you wouldn’t be able to get the day off—but turns out you were wrong. Without telling Hobie, you managed to clear up your day completely, and get VIP floor tickets to the show. You had even gone shopping for a concert outfit that would make you look amazing under the concert lights. You are incredibly confident in your body and how it looks, and you really wanted to show it off.

It was the night of, Hobie left earlier, obviously disappointed that you wouldn’t be there but still understanding that your schedule was busy. The smell of his cologne when he bent down to kiss you, his guitar over his shoulder and his amp in his hands was a sight for sore eyes. The moment he left, you went straight to the nearest mirror and did your makeup, spending all the time necessary to look your absolute best. Finally it was time for the outfit. It was beautiful. It was absolutely everything you wanted and it looked beautiful on you. You couldn’t wait for Hobie to see you, illuminated in the neon lights and done up for him, but you really couldn’t wait for him to fuck you up.

You got to the venue early, making sure you could guarantee that you were front row, and prepared yourself to stand for a very long time. The looks that you were given from the groupies who walked to the VIP line made you roll your eyes. There was always those girls—the tall, stick-thin, bratty—and they always needed to make sure you saw them when they looked at you nastily. You just looked forward, and waited out the time until the doors opened.

When they did, you walked with a quick pace, not running, but definitely not walking. You made your way up to the front row, slightly to the right where Hobie plays—you knew because you saw his guitar propped up. You heard the sound of heels, giggled and snobby sounding voices around you. It was the girls from earlier. They were all around you, and you could hear their whispers. It didn’t get to you before, but god it was starting to get to you now. You tried your best to keep ignoring them when a tall blonde woman who didn’t look like the type to be at a punk-rock concert, leaned over and whispered something gut-wrenchingly rude in your ear before standing straight and chatting with her friends. You stood there, suddenly incredibly insecure and crushed. Your spirits were high before, but now? Now you just wanted to go home…to Hobie. That was when you remembered why you were here. You were here for Hobie.

When the lights came on, there’s a ruckus all around. The crowd squeezes together uncomfortably, the room growing loud and wild. The girls around you throw insults your way when you don’t move, holding onto the railing tight. The first song started, and you heard a flurry of yells from Hobies bandmates, and then Hobie. A chill raced down your spine like a rollercoaster down its tracks, and Hobie raced onto the stage. He looked amazing—A fishnet top with a leather vest over it, dark blue jeans held up by a spiked belt, as much silver jewelry as he could fit, and messy black eyeliner.

The song was going amazing, Hobies skilled fingers that you loved oh so much dancing across his guitar as beads of sweat formed on his forehead, his beautiful smile coming out for all to see. Nothing good lasts forever though as when you excitedly jumped with the crowd, the bitchy girl to your right started hurling insults at you. This time you didn’t take it so well. You started questioning her,

“What the fuck is your problem?”

“You, you fucking skank!” She yelled obnoxiously, “Can you fucking move?” She said with the most audacity you had ever seen in your life. Some of her friends laughed, some of them looked at you with a nasty stare, but you just shook your head,

“I payed for these tickets just like you. I’m just trying to enjoy the show, asshole.” You grunted, facing forward to catch the end of the song and ignoring her when she suddenly shoved you. You stumble for a moment, bumping into the fellow groupie bitches to your left only for them to grunt and get pissy. You turned around, ready to fuck her up when,

“You betta get your grimy hands of my girl.” Hobie spoke into his mic, voice deep and angry. He stared directly into the blonde girl’s soul, causing her to freeze and stare blankly at him, then dumbly point at herself like she wasn’t caught in the act,

“Yeah you, what the fuck do you think you were doin?” He laughs, “Get the hell out of my venue.” He suddenly deadpans, “C’mon, get.” He says, the whole crowd invested and booing the girls. They squeeze out of the crowd and get ushered out by security. You’re incredibly flustered as suddenly there’s a ton of eyes on you, everyone wanting to get a look at the lead guitarists girl.

“Take a peek at my girlfriend, people. Isn’t she lovely? God I can’t wait to tear that outfit off of her later!” Hobie gushes into the mic, his deep voice echoing in the venue. The whole crowd starts cheering and getting hype, the next song starting soon after. You knew you were in for one hell of a night.

—

“Can’t believe you actually came, you cheeky ting.” Hobie smiles as he kisses your neck, your back pressed against the deck of his boat. He had rushed you out of the venue earlier, cock already hard in his jeans and hands all over you,

“I wouldn’t miss it for the world, Hobie, I love to see you on stage.” You smile, thoughts caught up on what those girls said to you about your body earlier. You wonder if there will ever be a day where you feel confident in your skin without getting torn down by someone. You didn’t notice that you had started tearing up, but Hobie must have noticed because he grabbed your face, your eyes refocusing on him while he’s on top of you,

“Who the fuck were those girls?” He suddenly asks, his tone dead serious,

“Just some random groupies I think.” You say dismissing any conversation that might come up about what had gotten you in a fight with them, but sure enough,

“What caused that scene, love?” He questioned, head tilting and deep eyes analyzing your every move and facial expression—nothing gets past Hobie—especially not things like this,

“They…they made a couple comments about my weight.” You admit, trying to move past it as soon as possible.

“And that’s got you bothered?” He asks, already knowing the answer,

“No.”

“No?” Hobie asks, “I don’t buy that—you’ve got that distant look in your eyes doll. Do I need to remind you just how beautiful you are cause I have no problem doing that.” Hobie whispers, voice growing seductive and needy as he kisses your shoulder, his hands dipping down to cup your pussy. When you shudder and sigh, he chuckles, kissing you and suddenly flipping you both, you on top of him. Hobies strength never ceases to amaze you, and you’re even more amazed when he gently lifts you by your hips, sliding himself to be level with your cunt,

“Sit on my face baby, want your sweet pussy~” Hobie grunts, licking his lips and tearing your underwear off. You gasp and cry out when he pulls your hips down, eating you out like he’s gone mad. You rock your hips into his face, your clit bumping against his nose,

“…So pretty…so fucking good…and all mine…” Hobie grunts while he eats you out, his face buried between your legs and his eyes crazed. The warmth and wetness between your legs drives you crazy, panting and moaning as you thrust your hips against him. Hobies fingers grip your thighs, tongue fucking you while his nose rubs your clit. You feel your orgasm coming, and you can barely warn Hobie,

“I-I’m gonna…” You moan, your hands in his hair, looking down at him. Hobie just speed up his ministrations, hungry for you. When you cum, you shake and whimper, the sound of Hobie’s grunts and slurping overstimulating you almost instantly.

“Hobie~” You whine, writhing to get off of him when he finally gives in, gently helping you get positioned under him. He kisses you passionately, one finger under your chin. The kiss is full of love and passion, and Hobie kisses all the way down your body, whispering how much he loves the things about you that no one else has seen. How much he loves the things about your body that are truly unique, and the things about your body that you might not truly love. Hobie loves it all.

He undoes his belt, the sounds sending need straight to your core,

“I love you baby, y’know that?” He whispers,

“Yeah…I do.” You say, breathless,

“Let me show you, baby.” He groans, lining his tip up with your entrance and gently thrusting in. You wince at the size of his cock in you, and Hobie groans, his head dripping down beside you,

“You feelin’ good doll? Does that hurt?” He grunts out, his hands gripping the wood underneath you. The night is cold out on the water with you and Hobie all alone, and the feeling of him inside you is like heaven. You gasp out into the dark sky as Hobie fucks you, whimpering,

“Feels perfect, Hobie~”

His cock stretches your walls, his moans of how beautiful and pretty you are etched into your skin with each kiss. Your thighs shake and tremble and your head spins from all the praise, Hobie fucking you into the floor.

“You like that? Yeah? Good girl baby so good f’me just keep giving me those pretty moans baby” He moans, kissing you as he speeds up. He’s fucking you with reckless abandon, the boat even slightly shaking. He pulls away from the kiss panting wildly and throwing his head back as he thrusts into you. The noises that spill from your lips are animalistic, and your pussy squeezes around him,

“Hobie!” You whimper, your hands shaking on his back.

“Come on, cum for me luv.” He groans, kissing you deeply as you moan into his mouth. Your eyes widen and then roll into the back of your head, the sounds of both your skin slapping resonating around you. Hobie speeds up impossibly faster and you cum—seeing stars as you squirt all over him. Almost directly after, Hobie spills his cum deep inside you. You can feel the twitching of his cock and the warmth of his semen inside you. Tears spill out of your eye, Hobie breaking the kiss to wipe them away. His thumbs smoothing over your face. Hobie pulls out of you and scoop you up, bringing you to his bed and cleaning you up softly—the whole time whispering sweet praises to you and kissing every inch of your skin for the last time that night. Hobie cleans himself off, helps you into one of your sleep shirts that you left on the boat last time, and slips into bed behind you, holding you all through the night.

No one will ever tear down your self esteem with Hobie around. He was sure of it.

[aesthetic-bbyg]

LET THE LIGHT IN ~ Zoro

Roronoa Zoro x fem!reader

IN WHICH the non-chalant pirate hunter cracked a smile for only you.

Nattie speaks: a Zoro fic was long overdue on my blog, I luv my brooding babe💋

ZORO WAS CONSTANTLY VIEWED as a quiet but moody man. He communicated through glares, punches, and the occasional words. It was known that the man hardly showed affection—no, he hardly showed any type of emotion at all. The straw hats knew that he was one to be left alone whenever a fight went wrong, or to leave as he napped in his hammock for the fifth time in one day.

To others, his muscly stature and three katanas glued to his side were enough of a warning to steer clear of the man’s path. It was fair to say that Zoro was intimidating, scary, even. His deep voice sent shivers down people’s spines, his eerie smirk when he was ready to cause mischief was terrifying, his incomprehensible strength was capable of killing people.

Zoro was dangerous, and it was known by all.

Yet there was a crack in his shell, right where his heart laid. He first met you in a village when he was on the search for pirate, the charming lady at the crystal stand, begging for passing pedestrians attention. He stopped, pretending to be interested in the many objects carved out of glass when he’d actually been attracted in by your looks. The beautiful puffy cheeks that had a natural red hue, the plump lips, soft eyes. You were beautiful to him. After hitting him with a few flirty comments, he’d finally told you the reason for his stop on the island. Luckily, you had all the details he needed to find the pirate and let him collect the couple million berries he was worth.

You offered him a date, disguising it as an innocent cup of tea, but the looks you two shared when you were alone spoke far louder then he’d ever dare to say. In exchange for ‘date’ you gave some information on the pirate he was searching for. In that moment you’d managed to slither your way through the crack in his chest and strike his heart, shooting a foreign feeling into his veins.

It was love.

The Roronoa Zoro had fallen for a crystal glass vender and her stupidly cute smile. He could hardly bring himself to leave you that night, spending the whole evening discussing far more then the pirate he was searching for. But he did, he slept that night with only you on his mind.

The next day, after he’d shoved the dismembered head of pirate into a sack, he went straight back to you, thanking you for the help and leaving a single kiss on the knuckles of you hand. You weren’t sure if you’d ever see him again as his ship sailed off into the horizon, but you knew that the love in your heart was enough to prove what once was.

The next time, Zoro didn’t have a reason to be there. No Pirate to hunt down, nothing. He only wanted to see you again, and he desperately hoped that you hadn’t found someone else to capture your heart.

You still stood in the same place as before, the time apart made you seem like you’d grown even more beautiful then the last time. Your hair was longer, he noted. But the smile you held as a little girl passed by, curiously looking at the shimmering glasses with wonder was familiar. He trudged up slowly, his heart beating straight out of his chest as he kept his eyes on only you, it was a strange sensation. He felt nerves bubbling up in stomach, a thin layer of sweat made his hands clammy and he hid kind with scrambled with the right thing to say.

“Do you know where I can buy flowers?” Zoro suddenly spoke up, making you shoot your head up from the little girl. A maroon shade had tinted your cheeks, mouth stuttering open as you gazed up at him.

“Uh..Mrs. Poppins can help you, right over there.” You pointed a shaky finger towards the stand just a few steps away, an old woman with a variety of flowers waiting to be bought.

“Thanks.” Zoro smirked, nodding as he walked off, not another word spoken.

“Is that your boyfriend?” The young girl asked innocently, round the staring up at you.

“No, no, he’s not my boyfriend.” You chuckled, staring over at where he was, exchanging some berry for a bouquet of tulips. You just watched in utter confusion, the man you couldn’t stop thinking about just casually dropped by to ask for some flowers?

Every since he left you’d been dreaming about marrying the man, but you just assumed he was a distant memory you’d hold on to forever. He’d remain your husband in just your own dreams, never to become reality. Zoro walked back, a his smirk now dripping into a nervous smile as he held out the bouquet.

“It’s nice to see you, do you have any more of that tea?” He asked so softly that if any outsider that knew Zoro would be absolutely flabbergasted at the sight of him being such gentle man. The fact that he was blushing, he was nervous, a love confession sitting at the tip of his tongue because you’d never left his mind since that one day.

You swallowed down heavily, shyly taking the flowers and probably blushing like a fool. You held a bashful smile, nodding in response as decided to close down your stand for the day.

“You sure he isn’t your boyfriend.” The girl whispered, super discrete, making you giggle and shake out head. You gently shooed her away, leaving the two of you alone while Zoro chuckled at her words.

That was only the first couple times he’d visited you, each time he’d open more and more. His cold exterior melted into a protective lover that kept you warm at night. You were very aware of his dangerous job and just how brutal it was, it definitely worked you but Zoro always brushed off your concerns. Each time he left to hunt down a pirate you’d constantly await, staring at the port whenever you walked past, it hoping you’d see a familiar boat.

As of recently, you’d been ripping your hair out with absolute worry. Zoro had promised that he’d be back home within a week, it was now approaching nearly three weeks. You were mortified, unable to know if he was dead or alive at the moment. You truly tried to rid your mind of the bad thoughts, you knew the sea was a complicated part of nature, it could throw any sudden hit that broke you down. Maybe that’s what happened, but despite tricking your own mind you still lived day in and day out with a anxious feeling swirling in the pit of your stomach.

Every night you cooked food that was just enough for two servings, making sure to be prepared in case he suddenly came home. You made sure his side of the bed was always made, yet every night it remained cold and empty. You’d dreaded waking up each morning without him there, and today wasn’t any different. You dragged yourself out of bed, got ready, made breakfast, ate as his empty chair glared at you from across the table, and went to sell some crystal glasses.

Your chants as pedestrian passed by echoed in the cluttered alleyway, people occasionally stopping, others giving you glared for your loudness. It was all part of the business, you served tea to those who’d spent the entire day wandering the hot streets. Or travelers that were curious, wondering how much of a difference a crystal glass made to a regular one.

“Pirates, incoming!” A bearded elder screeched, collecting a handful of working men to help dock the large boat. You didn’t even give it a second glance, you saw the Jolly Roger of a never seen before ship. They didn’t look to be threatening so you didn’t may it any mind. You would’ve been sprinting if it was a one of hose infamous crews that destroyed villages like the Buggy crew. Or, if you saw a familiar mess of green hair from ajar. But you saw neither, therefore it was best to continue serving the foreigner that had taken interested in a specific collection.

He eventually gave you some berry, placing the wrapped up pieces into his basket before he walked away. You sighed, leaning back against the chair and counting up how much you’d received. Some days were better then most, no glasses on the shelf, or you’d have all of them still waiting to be bought. Although, everyday you wiped them till they flowed in the sun and proudly showed them off.

You’d turned your to watch as the workers helped dock the ship at the small port, rushing around like madmen. It was a strange ship, it’s figurehead unlike any you’d seen before; a sheep. The Jolly Roger could hardly been taken serious, a very crooked skull with a hat atop of its head, nothing scream ‘not a threat’ more then that. It made you chuckle even more when a young boy in a straw hat skipped off, feet loudly clanking against the wood with a happy smile. He must’ve been the captain, his hat far too similar to the one on the flag to not be. He was

Followed by his crew, a unique set of people that you’d never even think to be on the same ship. A girl with fiery red hair, a boy with patched up overalls, a man in a slick suit, and finally a swordsman with a confident stride. You gasped, eyes focusing on the final man and his messy green locks. You bolted to your feet so quick that you’d nearly knocked over your precious crystals and shattered them on the cobblestone.

Zoro’s eyes scanned the village, a map of the whole place already embedded into his head as he searched for one woman. It wasn’t hard to find you, because you’d began sprinting for your life towards him which caught all of the crews attention. It was like miracle was suddenly born, a once in a lifetime moment seen, a one in a millón chnace of witnessing this.

Zoro smiled.

And not just a smug smirk he’d show off whenever Nami rejected Sanji’s compliments. Or when he’d defeated another enemy that had threatened the crew, nothing like that. His mouth completely widened, pearly teeth on display. His arms were wide open, inviting whoever you were into his warm embrace. You’d nearly tackled him, but Zoro was pure muscle and hardly even flinched as you tightly wrapped your arms around him, legs following but around his waist instead.

The same broody swordsmen they once knew was acting all sappy with whoever the hell you were. Your touch not even being questioned as it wandered from his neck to the tangled mess of his hair. It was truly a shocking sight to see, words unable to come out of the crew’s mouth.

“You had me worried sick.” You muttered into his neck, words muffled by the polyester shirt that smelt just like him. It filled your senses and relieved that pressure you had building in your stomach.

“I know, I’m so sorry, beautiful.” He whispered into your hair, leaving a light peck as your feet lowered from his waist to the floor. “But I always come back to you, don’t I?”

You smiled softly, hands resting against his chest as your neck craned up to look at his tall stature. “You do, and I thank the heavens everyday for that.” You glanced at the awkwardly silent crew behind him, “Who are they?”

“They, are the reason I’m so late.”

“We’re his crew!” A man in a strawhat happily said, waving enthusiastically as he bounced in the heels of his feet. “We’re on a mission to sail to the grand line so we can find the One Piece and become King of the Pirates!”

You stared in disbelief, a brow arched in confusion while the green-haired swordsman let out a loud sigh. “It’s a long story.”

“I’VE NEVER SEEN HIM SO…” NAMI wasn’t sure how to pinpoint the word she was looking for as she watched Zoro casually chuckle and flirt with you in the kitchen. He new persona gave Sanji a run for his money, that glint of adoration in his eye far to familiar to the girl. “So…expressing?”

It was the best thing she could come up with. Never did she think that he’d be so loose and be smiling so much, especially towards a complete stranger he’d never even mentioned. There was years of built up love they’d never heard of from Zoro, and strangely, it was a lot to process. You’d been very kind and invited them into your home, allowing them to rest on the couch and use the running water for their needs while plating a few serves of your fresh soup. Nothing compared to the chef’s cuisines, but enough to soothe the hunger and give a comforting warmth that hopefully calmed any tense air.

After all, from what Zoro had told you, this crew was tightly knitted together due to all the strange adventured they’d gone through in the past month. Introducing yourself, an outsider, to them and immediately getting accept was unlikely. But it seemed as if one member was more then ready to accept, especially with the peace offering of food.

Luffy.

The young captain that lead them through their tough battles with a clown pirate, a man with an axe hand, a fast butler, and god knows what else Zoro told you about.

You nearly murdered him with your glare when he sheepishly told you about his battle against Mihawk. Huffing and rolling his eyes as you pushed past the fabric of his shirt and noticed the bandages wrapped around his torso.

“I’m fine.”

“You’re an idiot!” You hummed, walking past him to serve up the first plate to Luffy who’s eagerly ate more then half the fruits in the bowl adorned in center of your table. You gave him a smile as he thanked you, immediately gripping the spoon and shoving the hot meal in his mouth.

“You should join our crew!” Luffy muttered through a full mouth, “You’ll have the future King of the Pirates as your captain!”

“No, you should not.” Zoro immediately cut through, his tone stern and expression just as mean.

“That’s not a bad idea.” You shoot back quickly, walking towards the dish cabinet and opening it. “I always have to stay back, worrying for your safety as you sail for weeks.” You grunted as you attempted to reach for a bowl on the higher levels of the shelf. “Maybe being out at sea with you would be good for change.”

You suddenly felt the swordsmen’s warm presence clash against you back, toned arm easily reaching the said bowl. “I strongly disagree.” He placed a hand on your hip as you turned to send him a look.

That specific look where a message was sent in utter silence. By the furrow of your brow, the slight pout in your lower lip, the squint of your eyes, Zoro understood what you were trying to say. “I strongly agree.” You brushed passed him, filling up the bowl with your steaming soup, “but,” you set it down in front of the boy with the dark brown locks, Usopp. “We’ll discuss this later.” You whispered towards the green haired man, lightly patting his chest as you pointed up to the shelf.

After the dinner, you tidied up your shared bedroom, readying any blankets and pillows needed to make the crew comfortable for the night. The strawhats busied themselves with the kitchen, refusing to let you lift a hand after the delicious meal. Zoro walked in not to long after, recognizing his foot steps. Even without his boots his feet still dragged along the floor harshly.

“It is later.” He simply said as you rolled your eyes, folding up a fluffy, knitted blanket as he approached the bed. “I don’t think you should come along, it dangerous.”

“Do you want me to introduce you to my husband who’s capable of holding three swords at once, and even without them he can still kill someone in cold blood with his stare?” You looked up at him with a raised brow, “Because I feel like you two would get along just nicely.”

It was now his turn to roll his eyes, “I won’t always be there, y’know, I could be distracted with someone else and you could get taken from me.”

“Then I’ll learn to fight, besides, I already know a few moves just from watching your intense training lessons every morning.” You carried the load of blankets as you nodded towards the pillows, “Mind taking that, sweetheart?”

He immediately followed after you with the stack of pillows, “It’s not that simple.”

“It really is, you’re just making it harder then it has to be.” You reply over your shoulder as you set the blankets down, Zoro following just after. “Home knitted blankets for all, I have an open space in our guest bed room and on the couch!”

“Thank you.” Sanji gave you an appreciative nod, cupping your hands gently as he spoke. “You’re help has meant a lot.”

You took his physical gesture as a simple act of kindness, returning the smile he gave you before Zoro stepped in with an outstretched hand.

“Watch it, waiter.”

“I was only being nice, moss head.”

“This is my house you’re in—“

“Our house.” You separated the two before the blonde could spit out an insult, lightly pushing Zoro away and back into the bedroom. “Calm down, okay?” This action was just another thing to add to the list of strange occurrences. Nami and Usopp shared a mixture of shock and confusion. The you literally bossed around Zoro without an ounce of fear was…crazy. The swordsman, despite being very dedicated to the crew, was more of a independent man who made his own rules. He wasn’t one to listen, especially when someone tries to force him to do so.

But your light push and soft words immediately had him backing of, albeit a bit annoyed, but still complying. You sighed softly and turned back to the crew, smiling kindly. “I hope you all sleep well, if you need anything at all ask me.” You glanced behind you, making sure your husband was occupied with something else as you lowered you’re voice. “Don’t try to ask that idiot anything, trust me, he doesn’t know a thing.”

A mix of quiet chuckled and laughs were shared between the strawhats until Zoro appeared behind you with furrowed brows. “Did you say something?”

You shook your head innocently, placing your hands on his chest and making him walk backwards towards the bed. “Nope, just wishing them a good night.” You shut the door with one last wave to the crew before turning back.

He grumbled in response, rummaging through a small drawer for some sweatpants. You undressed and slipped on a short nightgown, a new one you’d bought not too long ago. You weren’t aware how a simple piece of pink Cotten had Zoro utterly entranced. His eyes burned a hole into your back as you smoothed out any wrinkles.

“Is that new?” He mumbled casually, climbing under the cold covers. “It looks good on you.”

You smiled bashfully, gaze lowering shyly while you played with your fingers. “Ya like it?” He hummed in responds, crawling across the bed to reach you and pull you by the waist. You giggled softly, collapsing onto the mattress, trapped in by his arms.

It’d been so long since you laid in bed and actually appreciated its coziness, how the blankets trapped in a perfect amount of warmth. You’d gotten so lost in the nights silence, but with the company of your husbands soft breathing and occasional peck to the neck you’d sunken back into a comfortable state. You no longer felt that aching loneliness, now you had him to keep you warm, it made you think back to the previous discussion.

Nothing was ever really discussed after Sanji got involved, no offical answer was ever thrown out. Though you knew that the aching loss of your lover wasn’t anything you ever wanted to experience again. It would be different now that he’s on a offical crew, a crew that was in a mission to a very dangerous place. And based on their current experiences so far he’d most likely be gone for far more then just a month or two. Whether Zoro wanted to accept it or not, the sea was just as much as a threat to him as to you.

You had to be with them when they left to continue their journey, even if you had to sneak on.

“WHEN I TOLD YOU THAT YOU NEEDED a shower last night this wasn’t exactly what I was referring to.” You mutter, smothering a handful of body soap onto your shoulder and arms. Zoro had decided that he’d join you for the lovely warm shower you were having that morning. Causally ripping open the curtain and stepping in like he payed the bills.

His sly hands came up to assist you in rubbing the soap, dragging in a painfully slow pace along your skin. His his warm breath tickling the shell of your ear as he spoke, “At least I’m doing it.” He mumbled, large hands cupping your tits which lured out a gasp. You melted under the warm water, unsure if the trickling of it was the cause for your the burning sensation pricking your skin. Or maybe it was his teasing touch, his light pecks against your neck, pinches to your sensitive nipples. You threw your head against his shoulder with closed eyes. “Can’t I just spend some time with you?”

“After these past months you can spend as much time with me as you want.” You could practically feel the smirk of his lips, he lowered his head to capture your lips, indulging in that fact that he could officially make out with you.

Three harsh slams to the drawer caught your attention, snapping your gaze to the side in confusion. “Luffy, please hurry, it’s my turn.” Nami shouted before her footsteps retreated away. You huffed, bending down for the shampoo bottle. This gave Zoro the opportunity to grip your hips, reminiscing on the nights he had you in the same position. Only the constant patter of the falling water was replaced with the slap of sweaty skin on skin. You shot him a smile over your shoulder, standing straight as you raised a brow.

“You heard her.” You teased, running your fingers through his wet hair while he rolled his eyes in response. “C’mon, the sooner we’re outta’ here the sooner we can have the bedroom to ourselves.”

With that he grumbled, leaning down a bit to let squeeze a blob of shampoo into his green hair. Despite his obvious hard cock, he’d hold back on any touches because of the utter relaxation that was your fingers scratching his scalp as you lathered the bubbly liquid. How smoothly you rang your hands through his tangled locks, giving him that innocent smile whenever he lets out a quiet moan. It’s like you knew the affect your touch had in him, which you probably did but chose to be a teasing shit about it.

His tender muscles were beginning to soften, he constant state of being on guard collapsing with each motion of your hand. You finally let the water rinse everything out after a while, continuing to detangle. His hair wasn’t too long, so it was a simple task that took less then ten minutes. He grumbled as your touch disappeared, going on to shampoo and condition your own hair.

There was a comfortable silence after, the both of you showered like it was any other, occasionally kissing whenever wanted. The only issue was that it took far longer then expected. By the time you twisted the knob and shut off the after Nami had returned to the door, now being even more agitated with her knocks.

“Luffy, seriously, I need to go!” She shouted, waiting a few seconds before groaning. “What the hell are you even doing that’s taking so long.” Another beat of silence. “Luffy!”

“Yeah?” The curly haired boy walked out the guest bedroom with a confused look, wondering why she’d been shouting his name in such a angered tone.

Nami face dropped, bries furrowing as she turned to the wooden door like it was doing to speak to her. “If you’re not in there, then who—“

Zoro swung the door open, toweled wrapped around his waist while water dripped from his bare torso to the floor. His eyes glared at the girl, brushing past her casually as you sheepishly followed after. Her eyes widened, mouth dropped open and words stuck in her throat, unable to say anything.

“Wha—were they..oh my god.” She stuttered confusingly, mind attempting to process what she’d just stumbled upon.

“Were they showering together?” Luffy asked curiously, “That’s really smart, it helps save on water.” He smiled widely, patting her shoulder before walking off into the kitchen.

“Gross.” The Orange-haired girl muttered, sighing as she finally walked into the bathroom and rethought her whole point of view on the swordsman.

That same day, the crew had begun packing all their things. Readying the ship with fresh supplies, food, and a potential new member. You’d already had a large bag prepared, determined on boarding the Merry whether Zoro liked it or not. Clearly, he didn’t, because he was throwing out every excuse to make you now walk any further out the house.

“What if someone breaks in while you’re not here, huh, all of our stuff and memories could be taken.” Zoro crossed his muscly arms, blocking the front door of the home.

“Zoro, this is a nice town, nobody is gonna steal from me, and they already know who my husband is, to even think about stealing from here foolish.” You once again attempted to walk further but were met with a solid chest, you hugged out a groan.

“Okay, but they clearly see me leaving so that would leave ab opportunity open—“

“Zoro.” You warned, “Stop.” The man let out a sigh, shutting his mouth and rolling his eyes. “I don’t care what you have to say, I’m going with you. I swear if I have to live another day waiting on an empty bed for you, not knowing if it’ll remain vacant forever or if you’ll come back, I will die.”

“I’ll write letters or something.” He countered, much softer now that he heard your sentimental reasoning. If he was being honest with himself, having you with him on the journey to the Grand Line would be amazing. Much more comfortable sleeping with you in his hammock then alone, but he refused to ever out you in a situation where danger could come any moment.

“Zoro, my love, please.” You whispered, staring up at him so beautifully, eyes gleaming with hope as your lips frowned softly. He examined your features, taking them in and finding any new details to burn to his memory. “I don’t want to be alone anymore.” You lifted your left hand, gripping his own and showcased the rings. “We made vows, promises to each other, to always be together through anything.”

He eyes gloomed, leaning down to peck the stone on your finger. “I know.” He whispered, fiddling with your fingers as he went silent, mind attempting to finding another way, another excuse, but he couldn’t. The pros weighed out the cons in the on going battle of his consciousness. “Get your things, we’ll be leaving soon.”

The smile that took over your features was one that was more rewarding then any kind of berry he’d ever received. The way you jumped up and practically squealed, hugging him tightly and kissing his cheek with the a constant repetition of ‘thank you’ was adorable. He cracked a small smile, because of you, chuckling softly at your excited state.

You’d taken all your pre packed bags and begun dragging them towards the boat, practically skipping with each step. Usopp was loading in boxes of supplies, glancing up at the sound of your approaching footsteps.

“Woah, no way Zoro let you travel with us.” He smiled, taking your bags from your hands. “I’ll take these and out ‘em in his room, it’s good to have you with us!”

“Thank you, Usopp.” You nodded thankfully, looking back to see Zoro just a few feet behind you with a grumpy look. “Don’t mind his attitude, this wasn’t he choice..partially.”

“Why do you have her things?” Zoro asked, approaching the boy with a glare.

“Oh—I was just going to put in your room since she’s kinda new so she probably doesn’t know about the ship. But the great captain Usopp can help! Just being a good crew member.” The bit rambled nervously under the swordsman gaze.

“Yes, and I appreciate your help.” You said, emphasizing your words as you looked up at the man. “Now, would you mind showing me around, my love?”

Zoro let out a huff, allowing you to hook your arm around his as he trudged around the whole ship. He gave little explanations, simply stating what each part was and does, you had to ask questions for him to actually be specific.

“This is the kitchen, nothing special, no reason to be in here too long.” He walked in and was already stepping back out at the sight of the blonde chef cooking up a meal.

Sanji turned at sound of his voice, smiling brightly, but at you. He’d never dream of giving such a big grin to Zoro, “Ah, the Mrs, what do I owe the pleasure of?”

You pulled away from Zoro’s arm, who was clearly attempting to tug you away. “Just getting use to this place now that I’ll be on it for awhile.” You smile happily, “Smells lovely, can’t wait to get a taste of what everyone’s been raving about.”

“Yes, of course, I’ll be sure to put in extra love for your meal, our newest member.” It was in the French mans blood to be such a flirt, his charming smile practically imbedded into his features.

You nodded in appreciation, though quickly frowned when you heard the man beside you let out a low groan. “I told you to watch it, waiter.”

“Only being my usual self, no need to be so protective.” The blonde replied casually, turning back to his sizzling work. “It’s not like we’re in your house, anyway.”

“What did you say?” Zoro growled, “You give her another one of your stupid smiles I’ll cut off your lips, you bastard chef!”

“You’re just mad because you know she had the misfortune of marrying you, algae.”

“Okay, enough is enough, let’s move on to the next part.” You chuckled with humorlessly, pushing the man out of the kitchen before a hot pot was thrown at his head. “Jesus, you two really don’t get along.”

He lets out a sigh and rolls his eyes, “He’s just an ass who knows how to make me mad.” The two of you moved across the deck, walking into a small hideaway with little decoration except for a hammock strung up. You noticed your things piled up in the corner, already placed there by the lovely Usopp. “I’m happy you’re sailing with us.”

You were a bit taken aback by his statement, his soft tone familiar but unexpected. Nonetheless, you smiled, wrapping both your arms around his neck and craning your head up to gaze into his eyes. “And I’m happy to be here, with you.”

“I’ll finally have someone to properly sharpen my swords.” He said with a chuckle as you rolled your eyes and slapped his chest, walking back out to look at the view of the beaming sun. The door cracked open ajar letting the light pool in.

I have risen from the grave and graced you with the longest fic I’ve ever written on this blog. It got a little outta hand bc I just had so much time to put in thought and effort for this one. Comparing to the others where I’d come up with an idea and pull words straight out of my ass. I so sorry and I’m def trying to do better in writing but ideas for writing have little crashed and burn. This leaves me to highly encourage everyone to PLEASE send in request, I’ll drop a post in a bit about everyone I’m open to writing!

Mwah💋 ~ Nataly

[cameronspecial]

Hi!! since ur requests are open, I have this idea in mind. Basically:

Zach and reader, and they just started dating. Reader is like an art major or smth similar and she is always seen walking around with all her art projects, she is really clumsy and always has paint over her etc. Because she is oblivious too sometimes Zack tries to gain her attention but she is just really focused on her work and idk u can come up with the rest 😭😭 like a fluff type of thing. I hope I make sense.

The Artistic Girl

Pairing: Zach MacLaren x Reader

Warnings: Suggestive Ending

Pronouns: She/Her

Word Count: 0.6K

Masterlist

His first memory of seeing her is when he was playing soccer with his friends in the quad. She had been walking back from class with a thin large bag thing. It was practically as big as her. Zach was so intrigued by the object in her hand that he stopped his game to ask her. “What’s with the bag?” he questioned, running up to her with an interested face. Y/N was so lost in thought that she didn’t hear him. He ran after her, gently tapping her upper arm. He smiled when she turned toward him, “Sorry. I just wanted to know what this big bag is. It’s almost as tall as you. It’s kinda a funny-looking backpack.” “It’s a portfolio bag silly,” she giggles, opening the bag for him to see her drawings. “I’m coming back from my figure drawing class.” He looked up to her to ask for approval to look through her work and she nodded. His hands flipped through the amazing art pieced with awe. She brought so much life into the two-dimensional medium. “These are amazing. I’m Zach by the way. Could I get your number? I would love to see more of your art,” he flirts. She beams at him, “I’m Y/N. I would be delighted to show you more of my art.” The rest of their story creates a beautiful painting. 

———

Zach walks into their shared apartment to find Y/N at her pottery wheel. Her hands are cupped around the wet clay, creating a bulge in the once-straight cylinder. Her hair is in a messy bun and dried clay can be seen all over the bottom of her face and neck. Her clumsy personality means that her art supplies often find themselves all over her skin. It’s adorable. He remembers one time she accidentally sat on her paint pallet. The paint was all over her butt and it was hilarious. His eyes dart to the clock and he takes note of the time. Doesn’t she have class now? “Baby,” he calls to her. No response, instead, her tongue sticks out and her eyebrows furrow. He lets out a soft chuckle. When she gets into her artistic zone, it’s almost impossible to get her out of it. He’s only found one way so far to pull her attention away from her art. He removes his jacket, puts it on the coat rack, and then approaches her. She doesn’t look up at him. He is now standing beside her and he moves his face in front of hers. Her eyes are still glassed over in concentration, so he leans in for a kiss. Once her lips feel him, she snaps out of her thoughts.

Her dirty hands fly to his hair and she laces her fingers through his hair, forgetting the clay that dusts them. They stay like that for a few seconds before he pulls away and rests their forehead together. “You are late for class, Baby,” he whispers, turning their head toward the clock on the wall. She turns his head to her again, which gets some clay on his jaw. She leans in for another kiss, “Well since I’m already late, I don’t think there is any reason to go now. Plus, look at you. You are all dirty with clay. Someone has to help you get cleaned up.”

Zach smirks at her teasing words, loving where this conversation is going. “You are so right. And look at you. You have clay all over you too,” he plays along. She nods, standing up with him. “Well, let’s go get cleaned up,” she suggests, tugging him to the bathroom with her laughter filling the air.

Taglist: @winterrrnight @loves0phelia @thelomlisrafecameron @nonbullshit-toleratingkindagirl

[cookii-moon]

I really like it when powers are used for more than just fighting. Like it’s part of the character and their expressions. I wish Ninjago did it more and I really like when people explore it. Also it’s so cool in like animation or art.

Cole will cause the ground to shake whenever he walks when he’s upset or after an argument. You can tell when he’s growing annoyed by the sand and dust gathering and whipping around him like a mini sandstorm. When he feels infuriated or lashes out spikes of earth will erupt from the floorboards much to the dismay of those who have to fix it. When he’s distraught the earth will crack and lava will pool out of it. His wounds have a strange molten look to them. Anything earth related will cling to him and it’s so hard to get it off, you’ll spot him at the beach his entire lower body and arms coated in sand while an entire wave of it trails behind him like a dress trail. Sand will poof out of his hair when he’s surprised. His eyes, hair and skin will start to glitter and glisten like a geode when he’s excited, nobody knows if they’re just imagining it or not. Maybe, just maybe, he’ll leave a bed of beautiful flower-shaped crystals behind after making a particularly happy memory. If Nya was watching the crystals bloom around him as they talked, she didn’t say anything

Jay will cause a slight wind around him and the the air will be filled with buzzing electricity when he’s annoyed. Lightning will accumulate under his skin and give him a pulsing glow you’d rub off as the lighting when he’s angry, jumping from him to any power source or conductor nearby, hair standing up on end as it comes close. When he feels guilty or anxious, his body will go frantic, regularly twitching with nervous spasms and seizures. His eyes have that extra little energetic spark to them that makes it look like pure plasma or the middle of a thunderstorm. When he’s excited, his hair will poof up and frizzle, small arcs will shoot off of his form and there’ll be a quick bounce in his step. Maybe one day, when he’s dancing together with Cole, beautiful spheres of lightning and veils of plasma filled the room like a light show or a concert in response to his genuine joy. Of course, no such scenario has ever happened yet… to our knowledge, at least.

Zane will cause the air to chill around him under annoyance and his eyes will turn ice sharp. Frost spreads around him when he’s upset and blizzards will form and encase his body in ice when he’s devastated. Sometimes you can hear a soft crack in his step and a thin layer of ice will coat where he walked. When he’s excited powder snow will accentuate his movements and vanish in a trace as if his hands were coated in glitter. His skin might have a cold touch and ice-like shine to it when he’s content and comfortable. His hair will be coated in frost and light snow will begin to fall around him when he’s happy, but it isn’t an uncomfortable cold, rather a peaceful, ethereal type of snow that drowns out all other sound and leaves you in silent awe. When he gave Kai an ice sculpture of a seadragon in one such instance, Kai was sure it would melt within the next day, yet the sculpture has remained and not so much as a drop of water has ever been shed from it. Perhaps the emotions of elemental masters have a greater effect on their powers than previously believed.

Kai will cause the very air to smolder in his rage, flames will lick up his hands as ashes and embers fly in the wind and his hair dances and glows like a roaring fire consuming the sky. He will sizzle and crackle under annoyance as short lived sparks and embers entwine around him like a firecracker. His body emits just that tiny bit more warmth that makes him the favorite person to hang out with in the winter, whether the attempts be disguised and subtle or obvious and straight to the point. When content his entire body seems to emit a soft, sun-like glow and a gentle warmth will radiate out of him. One time, Lloyd begged and pleaded for Kai to take him to see his first ever festival. Little did he know it was Kai’s first as well. Lloyd could swear he saw shimmers and patterns and lights trail up his arm and through his hair before bursting around him in the air like fireworks as he watched a traditional Ignacian performance, though who really knows if that was more than simply the prop flames on stage.

Nya will cause waves to gather around her as an eerie blue light encompasses her eyes and bright blue markings trail down her skin and reflect off the water when she’s angry. When she’s aggravated, nearby water-based appliances may suddenly burst (see Seabound) and shower the room. Near the ocean, waves will lap at her feet and rise up to envelop her hair and sweep her away in an attempt to take her back to where she belongs. If light hits her the right way, you might see the way her skin looks so strangely translucent with the slightest hint of blue, and the light reflecting off of it like her skin were the surface of the ocean. When she’s glad or content water seems to spray around her in just the right way as a faint rainbow traces her movements and arcs around her. When she’s at shore with Zane after a long day and a heavy discussion, maybe coral will sprout around her and bubbles will float into the air as she pulls away from the hug, leaving Zane alone to wonder at the beautiful fairy tale land. And.. well.. relocate the coral. Just in case.

And finally Lloyd. Lloyd is unique in that his don’t often manifest physically. Sure, there’s the green glow of his eyes, the faint gold coming off of his arms and the slight pointed ears, but for the most part they figured his powers simply didn’t show themselves like the others. Which was correct, partially. But there was just that feeling that they brought with them. Sometimes there would be an anger originating from the very air they breathed, so strong that it would nearly choke them. Other times there would be a deafening silence surrounding them, as if blanketing the world itself. The only common factor in these occurrences was, well, Lloyd. It wasn’t until a late night video game session, after they had defeated emperor Garmadon, that Jay finally put the pieces together amidst the raging emotions that encompassed the room, that were later silenced as Lloyds golden glow grew brighter than ever.

so anyways this is a call to action for you to think about their powers more. My job here is done.

[lewis-just-lewis]

Evolve

1k words

Viktor x gn reader

Synopsis: you get initiated into Viktor’s glorious group of salvation.

Contains: lots of details about Viktor’s hex-hand, Czech Viktor, pet names, gn reader. No body type, race, or gender specified at all.

Translations: Drahý: Dear

To dobrý ono dobrý Drahý: it’s okay, it’s alright dear.

Ano: Yes

You feel something cold and flinch, pulling away and standing up straight.

“I-I’m sorry”

A soft chuckle comes from the man standing before you as he waves his hand dismissively.

“It’s alright, I understand why you’re nervous. This is the ehh most usual of activities no?”

You give a shy smile and nod in agreement. True, it wasn’t a particularly normal event to be in this sort of situation, or place. On the inner rims of Zaun, standing before this mage. Half machine half man, he bore kind eyes and a toothy smile-though crooked teeth were hidden behind thin lips as he offered a soft smile of sympathy.

You fidget with your fingers taking a deep breath, finding the floor beneath you suddenly more appealing than the man before you. Despite understanding the circumstances weren’t of the norm, you still felt ashamed for getting scared again. Sure it was only the second time-but it was just a hand. You redirected your gaze, heart rate mellowing as you looked at his hand that he’d pulled back from you. Resting it on his staff, you watched as it settled. Deformed yet beautiful, dark and yet saturated it almost seemed like his hand wasn’t his own-but under his control. It was odd in shape, like when molten glass meets cool water it was abstract yet organic. Glimmers of violet seeping through highlighting his knuckles, and running down to where it met flesh.

Viktor was beautiful, despite how he may see himself you saw a handsome man with an admirable goal. A goal you were happy to be apart of, so why was this so scary?

“Drahý?”

“Hm?”

You looked up again, meeting his eyes this time. His head was tilted slightly to the right, eyes narrowed like he was analyzing you. Focused and determined, you stared back-seeing if you could find anything of who he used to be buried beneath those honeyed eyes.

“I have an idea”

“Yes?”

“Would you like to touch me first? Condition yourself to the feeling in a familiar way before we try again?"

“..yes I. I do think that would help.”

He nods, expression softening. And extends his hand outwards, with his palm up an invitation to hold his hand. You accept, gently setting your hand in his. Your breath hitches as your fingertips find where skin meets inoraganic material. Gently gliding your hand from the base of his palm to his fingertips. The texture feels almost leathery, though corse. Like the feeling of a stone smoothed out by the tides, smooth yet corse in its own way. He was cold-but not freezing. The shimmering violet that ran through his hand, almost like blood in veins glimmered as you pulled your hand back more, as he pushed his fingers upwards. Gently holding your hand as he ran his thumb over forefinger and pinkie. Almost engulfing the rest of your hand entirely. You inhale sharply, suddenly realizing you forgot to breathe and he snickers.

“See? Despite appearances it’s absolutely sa-“

“You’re beautiful”

You blurt out, looking at him with certainty. But the confidence you had crumbles the moment his kind smile melts into a slight smirk. His eyes no longer narrow out of assessment. Your attention snaps back down to his hand.

“Your-your hands I mean. They-I’m not scared because of the way your hand looks. I just am not used to being grabbed by the face and and this type of initiation into things”

“What sort of initiation are you accustomed to?”

You shrug

“Welcome to the team? I guess?”

He scoffs, pull his hand away from you and you have to stop yourself from following it.

“Are we ready to try again?”

“Yeah. Yeah we are..”

“Good.”

You bow your head slightly, closing your eyes. You hear his staff clank for a moment as he steps closer into your space, the smell of oils and metal becoming more prominent. There’s nothing for a moment, and the outstretched silence begins to make you worry. Until something cold presses against your forehead, you flinch-but your eyes remain closed. He chides, accent heavy in a hushed whisper.

“Chh schh to dobrý ono dobrý Drahý

Although his language is foreign, it does give you assurance in an odd way. You try to relax as you feel his fingers press against your face, goosebumps forming as you adjust to the temperature. A faint humming is heard than a whirling sound of something, you squeeze your eyes shut as you feel his fingers push further into your skin. Light flashes behind your closed eyes, and suddenly you become morbidly aware of every bone in your body. Every muscle that’s at work keeping your eyes shut, you’re freezing and burning at once-are you shouting? You can’t hear-can’t see but this feeling it’s visceral. Like you’re being corrupted and cleansed at the same time. Like years of rot and decay that have tied you down finally are swept free, and flowers are pushing their way through your skin to start anew. And just before it becomes too much, it’s over.

You can’t tell your eyes are open, white still bleaching your vision as you blink away tears. You’re no longer standing, no you’re on the floor-your legs hurt-your knees maybe? Something hurts, you’re resting against something cold, but something warmer cradles the back of your head nestling in your hair.

“You did so well.”

Color finally comes back, you’re looking at one of the high walls of his Sanctum. Your fingers twitch, energy still flowing inside of you. You try to respond, to muster up anything close to a word but all that comes out is a confused huff and a breathy whine.

“Shhh shh…it’s okay. You’re okay..you’re one of us now ano?”

Exhaustion and a state of bliss suddenly wash over you. Like you’ve just ran a marathon and fallen into bed for the first time in days. You can feel something metal on your cheek, somewhere on his chest or arm. It was grounding in an odd way, and you could feel him pull back some loose strands of your hair.

“Welcome to salvation drahý”

[lewkwoodnco]

guardian angel - lockwood x reader

As a Visitor lingering in 35 Portland Row, you can’t help but worry over Lockwood and his reckless ways

He caught a familiar Visitor trying to wrench open a warm can of beer left on the kitchen table. So far, it seemed that she had only been successful in vigorously shaking it up. She had been too engrossed to notice Lockwood walking in, so she was just startled enough for him to swipe the can out of her barely-there grasp.

"Nice try. Maybe when you turn 18."

She groaned. She had been so close. "Technically speaking, I'm 87 years old."

"Technically speaking, you're dead."

a/n: might fuck around and make this a series idk idk also halfway through I realised the reader would be classified as a type three i think? but lockwood can’t talk to type threes so let’s just pretend she’s the only one he can talk to

tropes/warnings: angst, a lil fluff, slight slight hurt/comfort, descriptions of injury, visitor!reader

word count: 3.8k!

MASTERLIST | TAGLIST

Anthony Lockwood had one rule and one rule only when it came to psychical investigations - there was no such thing as a friendly Visitor. And for the most part, he abided by it. But every rule has its exception, and this one came in the form of a sharp-eyed Type Three not much older than himself.

On this particular evening, the trio had just returned from a particularly draining case. George padded down to the basement to put away their iron chains while Lucy headed for the kitchen to put the kettle on. Lockwood winced as he peeled his coat off, heavy with decades-old dust and soot. He shuffled into the nearly pitch-dark living room, visibly unwinding as he sank into his favourite armchair. But he knew better than to hope for some peace and quiet just yet. Almost immediately, the hair at the back of his neck prickled not uncomfortably as he cast his eyes around. The air shifted, and he looked up just in time to see a familiar face materialise.

“Butter-fingered Locky nicked himself?”

He smiled weakly, carefully pulling his shoes off with his good arm. A shallow gash ran through his left bicep where something had ripped through his coat and shirt. The Visitor fiddled with some trinkets on the mantle above the fireplace with a carefully crafted air of nonchalance, occasionally glancing at his face expectantly.

“Broken window. Some of the glass ripped through my coat.”

“Ooh. How dramatic,” she teased playfully. He reached for the first-aid kit on the coffee table, pulling out the disinfectant and bandages he needed one-handed. He tentatively dabbed at the wound, twisting his torso uncomfortably as he struggled to bandage it up.

“Shouldn’t you be getting someone else to do that for you?”

He looked up and arched an eyebrow. “Why? Are you offering your services?”

She grinned, her face creasing into a light-hearted expression he found oddly relieving. She opened her mouth to reply when the living room door creaked, and the warm light of the hallway flooded the living room. Lockwood jerked his head up as she flattened herself against the fireplace, much less opaque now. George was standing at the door, squinting as his eyes adjusted to the darkness of the living room.

“How’s the arm?”

Lockwood grimaced, carefully checking how sore it was. “Could be worse.”

George nodded absent-mindedly, wandering towards some files haphazardly stacked on the coffee table. Lockwood turned back to see her watching his wound thoughtfully, a gentle frown marring her face.

"That’s got to hurt. I think. It's been a while since I…you know.”

"How did you die?" Lockwood asked in a low voice. Instantly, her concern evaporated. Her eyes darted towards George, pouring over those files only a few feet away from them, with mock severity. 

"Hmm. Pneumonia, I believe."

She batted her eyes at him coquettishly and, as was routine, vanished into thin air. She didn't like giving him straight answers in general, and never for that question. One day it would be typhoid, the next frostbite, and then the Plague, and so on. Still, maybe one day she’d blurt it out without thinking, and so Lockwood kept asking.

She had been haunting 35 Portland Row from before Lockwood's parents had moved in. As a child, before his Sight had fully developed, he always had an inkling that something was there, hiding in the shadows. She had watched his mother mark out his height on the wall year after year. She had watched him scrape his knee barrelling down the front porch steps when he was five. She had watched his father chase him around the front yard on Saturday mornings. She had watched him grieve the family stolen from him. She had watched him stumble around, figuring out what to do with himself, night after night.

And so began her little acts of kindness. It was only because she was bored, she had told herself. A flare burn on his coat mysteriously mended seemingly overnight. The kitchen table flowers never seemed to wilt despite his forgetful watering habits. The orange juice carton was always put away in the refrigerator, even on nights when he was too exhausted to remember if he did. She had never meant to get this emotionally invested. Eventually, when he started noticing things were rarely where he had left them, he began to pick up more on her presence.

The first time she had materialised in front of him was when a 14-year-old Lockwood had yelled into the abyss that was an empty 35 Portland Row in the middle of the night, threatening to snuff her out for good if she didn't show herself. However, as far as 14-year-old boys went, Lockwood was not particularly menacing, so it was more pitiful than frightening. 

Still, the Problem had been relatively new when she had kicked the bucket, and she was nothing if not curious to a fault. He hadn't seemed to have expected her to actually show up, given the deer-in-headlights look on his face when his nervous brown eyes met her shining, lifeless ones. She had an inkling that the threat had been an empty one, because as much as he pretended otherwise, Anthony Lockwood never hurt anyone or anything as long as he could help it.

“I don’t understand,” he had whispered, looking terribly vexed, a strain to his pale features. “I’ve never felt any malaise from you. I don’t even feel it now. How could you -?”

She had shrugged. Her guess was as good as his. Probably worse, since she hadn’t had access to half of the numerous books written about the Problem in her time. 

After the first time she had materialised, he had resolved to find her Source and end the whole affair. But as their friendship blossomed, his resolve weakened, until eventually he decided it wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world to let a harmless Visitor like her lurking around. That isn’t to say they never slipped up around the others. If George himself wasn't so prone to talking to himself, he might have picked up on Lockwood seemingly muttering to no one in the pitch-black darkness of his room being odd. 

Since then, she started showing up more and more frequently, as early in the day as she was able to. This one evening, she had shown up as Lockwood had been cutting a slice of treacle tart to go with his cup of tea.

"Tony." Lockwood flinched. The air near him shimmered as she materialised, laughing, perched on the kitchen table. She enjoyed startling him more than any decent person should. Lockwood eyed her warily, mildly peeved.

"I've told you, it's Lockwood now."

"Yeah, yeah, but I've got nothing better to do for the next, hmm, I don't know, forever. This is my only entertainment, you know" she said, staring dolefully at the treacle tart. He followed her line of sight.

"I thought you didn't like treacle tart."

"I don't," she sighed exaggeratedly, unfolding her legs from beneath her, "but if I were still alive, I'd be able to give it a second chance, wouldn't I?"

He rolled his eyes and tossed a fork at her, and she gave a playful shriek of laughter as it flew through her.

Occasionally, it had crossed his mind that perhaps he was being selfish by keeping her here. He didn't know any more than the next person about what 'the next world' was, if it even existed, but in the psychical investigation industry, it was generally agreed upon that putting a Visitor to rest was the closest they could come to moving on. Despite the blades and gunpowder involved, freeing Visitors from their eternal agony was almost humane.

He didn't mind however she addressed him after that evening.

There was an old mansion right on the outskirts of London that was infamous for being impossibly haunted, earning it the nickname “Hell’s Manor.” Many agencies, including Fittes and Rotwell, had tried their hand at ridding the place of the supernatural phenomena, with little luck. It was only a matter of time before it was their turn.

“The main problem with Hell’s Manor,” George was saying over lunch after spending the morning at the Archives, “is how much the Visitors interfere with the investigation. More than half of them are Type Two’s, and according to the few survivors, they could barely see their teammates, let alone speak to them.”

The three of them glumly picked at their ghormeh sabzi, weighed down by the complexity of the case. “So what do we do?” Lucy finally asked.

“We could…” George glanced cautiously at Lockwood before continuing. “We could always turn down the job.” 

Lockwood didn’t look too appreciative of that suggestion. He set his jaw, stabbing at his lunch with a bit more force than necessary.

“Fine,” George relented. “Let’s give it some more thought. We’ll pick this up again next week.”

As George started on the dishes after lunch, Lockwood wandered over to the living room where George’s extensive, meticulous notes were scattered across the coffee table. Hell’s Manor was no joke, and George’s extreme attention to detail was a testament to that. 

Lockwood scanned the notes thoughtfully. A nagging, reckless idea began to take root in his mind. He doubted any agency in their right mind had considered sending in only one agent, not with the horror stories chronicling the place. But what if…what if it was such a terrible idea, that it just might work? Lockwood was not one to doubt the power of sheer dumb luck, not when it had gotten him this far. 

He heard the kitchen floorboards creak. He surreptitiously snuck a few of the sheets up to the library, where he started drawing out some plans of his own.

A few hours later, he caught a familiar Visitor trying to wrench open a warm can of beer left on the kitchen table. So far, it seemed that she had only been successful in vigorously shaking it up. She had been too engrossed to notice Lockwood walking in, so she was just startled enough for him to swipe the can out of her barely-there grasp. 

"Nice try. Maybe when you turn 18."

She groaned. She had been so close. "Technically speaking, I'm 87 years old."

"Technically speaking, you're dead."

She pulled a face. "Boo." She turned to get a proper look at him and frowned at the sight of him nearly fully decked out in equipment. “Hang on,” she said, “I thought you didn’t have any cases tonight.”

Lockwood tried to appear engrossed in whatever he was reading. “Lucy and George don’t have any cases tonight,” he said far too casually without looking up.

“This better not be about Hell’s Manor,” she said in a flat voice, no trace of humour in her voice now. He didn’t reply, avoiding her gaze.

“Lockwood. Promise me you’re not going to Hell’s Manor tonight. Alone.”

When he still didn’t reply, she laughed humourlessly, as if she refused to believe it.

“Are you completely mental? Did you not listen to a word George said at lunch? Even I’m too nervous to hang about riff-raff like them, and I’m just about as dead as it gets.”

“It’s easier this way. Trust me.” She watched him stuff more flares into his gear belt than it could comfortably allow. “You can’t miscommunicate with anyone if there isn’t anyone to communicate with.”

“Lockwood,” she said mournfully, “they’ll eat you alive.”

“I’ll be fine,” he said tersely. “I’ll be in and out in a jiffy. And if you know what’s good for you,” he hurriedly added, recognising the defiant look brewing on her face, “you’ll stay away.”

“Loc-“

“I mean it, Y/N. Stay out of this.” Lockwood stared hard at her as her mouth pressed into a thin, flat line. He was impossible to reason with when he had his heart set on doing something like this. 

He turned, heading straight for the front door, pausing only at the rapier stand while her protests fell on deaf ears. In a haze of desperation, she slipped in between him and the door, as if she had enough substance to bodily block him from leaving. Without thinking, she stuck a translucent hand out to stop him. A translucent hand that, if Lockwood hadn't reflexively flinched, would have passed straight to him, and stopped his heart.

They stood there frozen for a moment, paralysed by shock and the terrifying almost-tragedy. Regret washed over her like waves crashing against a shore as she internally berated herself for being so careless. She was the first to break the silence, sharply sucking in an airless breath as she squeezed her eyes shut. "Crap. I didn't mean to -"

"So that's how it's going to be." Lockwood's voice was as wooden as his face.

"No." She bit down on her tongue, which was itching to go off on him and his injured expression. Logically, she knew he was only trying to emotionally blackmail her into letting him leave. So why couldn’t she bring herself to truly believe it? "Don’t be like that. It was - it was a mistake. You know I didn’t do that on purpose."

"Do I?" He glanced downwards to where her hand was still poised, mere inches from his chest. Immediately, she lowered her hand, putting as much distance as she could between the two of them as she flattened against the door. The lump in her throat made it hard to swallow.

She glared at him. "God, Lockwood, it was a mistake. You know I wasn't trying to -" She struggled with her words for a moment. "Trying to off you."

"Whatever," he muttered darkly under his breath. He reached around her to open the door as she moved out of the way, momentarily too flustered to stop him. He took advantage of her hesitation as he briskly walked out before she could recover.

"Anthony John Lockwood, you'll be sorry if you leave like this!"

Lockwood had never seen her this livid. He had made it all the way to the garden gate but she could only follow him up till the front porch steps, and even now her image was beginning to dangerously shimmer. Visitors couldn't manifest in the physical realm if they were too far from their Source, especially this early in the day, and both of them knew it was only a matter of seconds before she disappeared entirely. Her eyes flashed with anger as her mouth twisted into a vicious snarl, and she had never seemed more non-human than she did in that moment.

What did she know, Lockwood found himself thinking. She's been dead for nearly a century.

He paused long enough to watch her and her wrathful stare fully dematerialise. Then he turned and started walking, as if he couldn’t feel the leaden weight in his chest.

Hell’s Manor was a blur of anxiety and nausea. Lockwood had come up with a flimsy sort of plan where he had shortlisted the rooms most likely to contain the Sources, but he hadn’t anticipated the struggle just to get to them. His hands trembled, his stomach churned, and sweat beaded across his forehead as he fought against the overwhelming malaise beating down on him.

As he crept up yet another winding flight of stairs, he felt himself shiver as the air grew colder and thinner. He forced his eyes open wider, trying to block out the howling of some far-away draft and the creaking of the stairs. Out of the corner of his eye, he spied the ephemeral silhouette of a Wraith slowly advancing towards him through the shadows. Shadows, or other Visitors? His heart thudded unsteadily as he reared an arm back and lobbed a flare at the Wraith.

The Wraith flickered and howled as it burnt up, its agonising shrieking filling Lockwood’s ears. He stumbled gracelessly, latching onto the railing for support, his legs nearly too weak to hold himself up. As suddenly as the screeching had started, it ended. His head spun, ears ringing with the quickly disappearing echoes of its cries. Although the Wraith was momentarily incapacitated, the other Visitors were not.

Lockwood realised far too late that what he had erroneously registered as dizziness was the stairs beneath his feet ripping off the railings, twisting this way and that. He had the wind knocked out of him as he flailed, falling backwards and hitting his head on something very hard, the bitter taste of copper filling his mouth.

Bloody and bruised, he finally gave in to the overwhelming urge to close his eyes and pray for a quick death, the blood roaring in his ears muffling the rest of the noise. He took in a shuddering breath. Some of his ribs were definitely broken. The side of his face stung where a falling piece of wood had struck him, narrowly missing his nose. 

He ached and hurt all over. He imagined not leaving Portland Row that evening. He would have been home - warm, alive, and mostly pain-free, curled up in an armchair with a magazine, listening to whatever inane prattle Y/N chose to fill his ears with that day.

Oh, how he wished they hadn’t fought.

Unfortunately, the quick death he was hoping for refused to come. The chaos of the manor had reduced, as though there was a lull in the destruction. In fact, it was almost too quiet. Distantly, he heard some shuffling, then the sound of wood being dragged. Dragged, as though by someone alive and solid. The piece of debris that had been pinning his leg down being moved out of the way. Hands reaching out and pulling him up. But no one knew he was here. Only one person did, but it couldn’t be her. Could it?

That question was the last thing hovering on his mind before he slipped out of consciousness.

When he came to, the assault on his senses was overwhelming. He could hear his associates arguing over the beeping of some machine. The strong scent of antibacterial soap grated on him. The bitter taste of oral anaesthesia burned his tongue. He groaned softly, head shifting on his pillow. Almost immediately, the voices ceased. With a tired sigh, he reluctantly cracked open an eye despite the pounding in his head.

“What the hell were you thinking?” His eyes fluttered close as they started going off on him, only half-listening.

“- it was only by sheer dumb luck that we knew you were gone, otherwise who knows when somebody would have-“

He hadn’t been listening too closely, but he perked up considerably at the last bit. “Wait, wait. What do you mean, ‘sheer dumb luck?’”

He could see George seriously considering outright refusing to explain himself, but he finally gave in. “Your bedroom windows. You left them open, and your closet doors were making a racket slamming open and closed. That’s what tipped us off that you were gone, and the papers on your bed told us where. Great plan, by the way,” George’s tone shifted into something more sarcastic, “Why bring an entire team down when you can get yourself killed all on your own?”

He knit his brow, certain that he had shut his windows that morning. He hadn’t even taken any of his plans to his room; he had left them in the library. He cast his eyes around the room where they landed on Y/N hovering in a corner, intently watching him worriedly. As soon as a look of recognition crossed his face, the tension in her face softened and she winked at him, turning her attention to an anatomy chart behind her. With considerable difficulty, he tore his eyes away from her.

“Yeah. Sorry.”

It was evident from their perplexed looks that they hadn’t expected such a ready apology. Usually, it took much more threatening and scolding to get Lockwood to express any kind of remorse. They stuttered for a minute, truly taken aback, until Lucy suggested that they go find the nurse. 

"You snitched on me?" Lockwood cried out incredulously as soon as the door closed behind them. This, apparently, was far from the right thing to say, if the way she glowed brighter was any indication.

"Hey. I don't want any lip from you 'till you can breathe without wincing. Plus," her lips twitched despite herself, "I can see you've done a pretty excellent job of busting it up yourself."

"Ha-ha. A regular comedian, you." She extended a hand, her ghostly fingers hovering above the cut on his lip, only this time, he didn’t reel back. Her fingers skated over the other bruises and scratches on his face as if she secretly wished to erase them. He watched her impassive face with half-lidded eyes and, despite his annoyance over her interfering, drunk in the sight of her like a man starved. 

A sense of awkwardness hung in the air from their fight earlier. Lockwood might have wanted to talk it through if he wasn’t in so much pain. Instead, he was bad-tempered and sulky, and god did his ribs hurt. He sank into his pillows, burying half of his face into them, like a petulant child throwing a tantrum.

"I had it under control," he whispered through gritted teeth. 

Her eyes roved over his battered form disinterestedly. “Yes. I can see that.”

They fell silent again.

“You’re welcome, by the way.”

He mumbled something less-than-complimentary into his pillow. 

"Lockwood?"

"What?" he bit out. Only, it wasn’t Y/N who had spoken. Lucy was standing in the doorway, her forehead creased and her eyes fixed right where Y/N had been floating just a moment prior. She seemed too distracted to have noticed the unexpected venom in his voice. A good amount of Lockwood's frustration dissolved as he tried to keep his face blank of any panic, sitting up the best he could. Lucy frowned around the room for a minute, and he was sure the jig was up, until she shrugged casually. Lockwood relaxed visibly.

"Oh, nothing. Thought I heard some voices."

“Hmm. Must be the, uh, other room.”

“Probably.” Lucy paused for a moment, eyes dragging over the cuts and bruises on his face. Did he really look that terrible? “Try to get some rest.” She gave him a small smile as she turned to leave, quietly closing the door behind her.

He didn’t like how empty the room felt. For the first time in a long while, he felt well and truly alone.

"Y/N?" he called out in a soft voice, much more in the mood to make up now. He hated how pathetic and vulnerable it made him sound. But there was no reply. The air remained still, his surroundings free of any Visitor-like haze. There was only the beeping of the hospital machines left in her wake, which lulled him to a fitful sleep.

TAGLIST: @neewtmas @midnight--raine @ahead-fullofdreams @how-to-stuff-and-things @cielooci @mohinithoughts @snoopyluver20 @ell0ra-br3kk3r @elenianag080 @avdiobliss @houseoftwistedspirits @mischivana @dangelnleif @mitskiswift99

[generalllimaginesss]

"If you weren't my sibling you'd be my best friend." "I can most definitely be both?" "Nah."

hughes sister saying that to jack and being like he can’t be my brother and best friend because that’s already luke

I was waiting for this one!! I hope you like it!!

••

Jack wasn't the only middle child in the Hughes family, but he most definitely suffered from Middle Child Syndrome the most. Quinn was busy hanging out with his friends, and his younger two siblings always seemed to leave him out, whether that be on purpose or not was up for debate. Sometimes he just felt forgotten.

The truth is that Luke was like your child growing up. When he was a baby, he was basically a living babydoll. You dressed him up, helped feed him, bathe him, the whole ordeal. When he was old enough to walk, the trouble that the two of you got into was endless. He made sure that when he started to get serious about hockey that you didn't feel left out, always prioritizing your once a week gossip session that took place in your room as you did your skincare routine on you and him while catching him up with what's going on in your life.

The whole Hughes family knew the routine, no interrupting the gossip session, but Jack couldn't help but eaves drop on what you were telling Luke.

"...so I'm standing there, actually watching this dude lie straight through his teeth, telling me that he didn't try to hook up with my friend. Did he think she wouldn't send me the screenshots? I mean seriously..." Jack could hear through the rather thin walls from the place where he was standing in the hallway.

He was about to head to his room, but just as he was passing your bedroom door it opened, like a scene straight out of a movie, hitting him smack dab in the middle of his face.

"Dude this is sad. Are you this desperate to try to be in our circle?" Luke patted his brother on the shoulder as you got closer to the scene.

You and Luke communicated in almost a telepathic way, passing a glance that said it would be ok if Jack joined just this once.

"Come on you idiot," You took his arm and pull him into your room.

He looked between you and Luke, noticing some sort of mask covering both of your faces.

"What the fuck is on your face," Jack laughed as he started to pay attention to his younger brother.

"Don't knock it until you try it," He replied, sipping on a glass of water.

"So what brings you here today," You piped up, curious as to why your older brother was all of a sudden interested in your gossip day with Luke.

"I heard you talking about a boy," Admittedly, he knew it was kind of weird to be listening in on his little sister's love life, but he liked to think that they could be close enough to fill each other in on important information.

He noticed that you were preparing something, and then saw that you were coming towards him with whatever was already on Luke's face.

"No way in hell is that going on my face," He tried to defend himself, but Luke holding his arms behind his back revealed that there was no point in trying.

"If you want to be in on the gossip, you can't skip skincare," You said, applying the mask evenly over Jack's face.

"So you heard what I was saying?" You asked, biting your tongue and concentrating on not making a mess on your floor.

"Mhm," Jack hummed.

"Any advice?" You were actually curious about what he had to say considering he could be the type of dude to do some stupid shit like you had experienced.

"Don't give him the time of day. Know your worth. I mean you got some pretty badass brothers, so you shouldn't expect anything less from a guy," He advised, his eyes closed trying to avoid getting anything in them.

"I think that's why I keep getting disappointed. I mean, not counting Jack, you and Quinn set the bar high for expectations from a guy," Your comment is directed at Luke, but you give Jack a cheeky glance.

"Hey! I'm sitting right here..." He feigned hurt, his hand covering his heart to add to the dramatics.

"No, but seriously. Mom and Dad didn't raise you to settle. Don't compromise your standards for a guy that isn't worth it." Jack's advice was filled with love, something that he wasn't very serious about most of the time, especially with his siblings. They all loved each other, but they rarely expressed it through words.

"Thanks, Jack. You know, if you weren't my sibling you'd be my best friend," You passed him one of your headbands so that he would stop fidgeting and pushing his hair back with his fingers.

"I can most definitely be both?" He furrowed his eyebrows, confused on how he can only qualify for the sibling portion of your comment.

"Nah," Luke piped in, scrolling through his social media on his phone.

"And why's that," Jack questioned, watching as his two younger siblings began to look at each other.

"Listen, Jack. Bud. I love you, but as you can see my best friend slot is kind of filled by Luke. We do love you, though!" You called after him as he began to leave your room.

"Where are you going?" Luke called to Jack right behind you.

"To look for someone to fill my best friend slot since you two obviously have no availability!"

As if on cue, Quinn walked through the living room door, almost hitting Jack again.

"Watch where you're go-" He began, but as soon as he saw what was on his brother's face he folded over laughing.

"What is on your face?" Quinn asked between breaths, trying to hold his composure.

Jack flipped him off, but turned to the two younger siblings that were hanging out of your bedroom doorway.

"I'm sure Quinn would love to be my best friend," Jack narrowed his eyes at you, causing you to giggle.

"Not with whatever is on your face," Quinn chuckled and ruffled Jack's hair.

"I hate you all," Jack rolled his eyes as he made his way to his room.

Although he said it, he'd never mean it. Even if Luke was your so-called best friend, at the end of the day you all knew that it was the four of you against the world. You all would do anything for each other with no questions asked. The four of you may be dispersed across the country at any given point, but eventually you all would find your way home to each other.

“I’ll be your best friend, Jacky Boy,” Quinn knocked on Jack’s door, a suppressed laugh threatening to spill.

“Fuck off,” Jack threw back.

*

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[wiltkingart]

HYMN: extra story

since my rewrite of HYMN is on extended pause, ive decided to extract one of the new scenes and share it here as an extra so that it can see the light of day one way or another. its a look into atom's past when he was much younger, during his final eval for becoming a unity keeper. 3.8k words, the usual violence ahead:

-

On the morning of his final eval, the weather is just warm enough for Atom to wear one pair of gloves without running the risk of frostbite. The sun is a bright pinprick in a pale blue sky. Beside him, Lev's hands are tucked deep into his coat pockets. An icy wind cuts down the residential street and plays with the dark wisps of hair that refuse to be contained under his fur hat.

Lev hasn’t said a word since the two of them got off the metro and made their way here. Atom knows he’s nervous, he admitted so himself that morning over breakfast, but it’s still weird to see him this quiet. Out of the two of them, it’s Atom who often has little to say in any given situation. In the unusual silence, Atom tries and fails to come up with the right words to ease his worries. Pulling his scarf higher up his nose, Atom can't help but feel eager to get the mission started just so they can get this over with and Lev can stop looking like his stomach is eating him from the inside out.

Ten minutes later, Sergeant Milanova exits her armored Keeper vehicle and makes her way over to join them at the foot of a tall apartment building. Metal spikes on the soles of her snowboots noisily crunch across the frozen road until she comes to a stop in front of them.

"Your names?"

Lev stands up straight, raises his chin, and remembers to take his hands out of his pockets. Being older than Atom by 5 months, he goes first. "Lev Lukovich."

"Atom Belov."

Sergeant Milanova grunts in acknowledgement and flips through a thin folder in her hands. Snow goggles cover most of her face and her straight mouth betrays nothing of her opinion of them.

“As you already know, I am Sergeant Danilla Milanova and I will be overseeing your final evaluation today. The two of you will work together in a live field test mission where you must follow a standard takedown order and apprehend an active Target. This type of mission is the most common type of work you will be doing as active Keepers, besides regular patrolling. As active Keepers you will most commonly work in groups or pairs, unless you are promoted into a solitary position down the line. Today I will be testing your ability to work together to take down your Target in an efficient and timely manner.

“This is a live test, meaning your Target is actively wanted. This is not staged. If you fail, your actions will have severe consequences. I am here to observe, not intervene. The only reason I will step in is if I deem the mission a complete failure and have to take out the Target myself. If that happens, you will be sent back to training with the opportunity to retake this test in two years. Is that clear?”

“Yes Ma’am.” Lev and Atom answer in unison. Milanova digs through the pages in her folder until she finds what she’s looking for.

“The Target is Sergei Ivanov. Age 32, Electrician. He lives in this apartment—room number 716—along with his family. He has been found guilty of High Treason. Today is his day off and he is expected to be home all day. He is to be shown no mercy. His penalty is death.” The folder snaps shut in Milanova’s hand and she passes a look over them. “Any questions?”

Atom rests his hand on the sword strapped to his belt and looks up at the apartment building. He hopes it has a working elevator system. If not, at least a heated stairwell. But the smooth, dirty concrete walls don’t get his hopes up very high.

“Treason for what, if I may ask?”

At the sound of his voice, the world drifts to a stop, like the first gentle flakes of a snowstorm. Atom, surprised, looks at Lev. Did he really just ask that? Milanova’s straight mouth twitches and pulls down at the corners, confirming that yes—he really did.

“That is not your concern, Cadet.”

Lev swallows and looks down at his hands. Atom thinks he’s dropped it, and is about to apologize on his behalf, but Lev pushes on before Atom has a chance to open his mouth.

“I think it is my concern if he is my Target. High Treason is a serious offense and I would like to know what he did to deserve—”

“He’s guilty. That’s all you need to know.”

“But what did he do?”

Milanova takes two crunching steps forward to stand directly in front of Lev. She isn’t much taller, but that doesn’t stop her from looking down at him.

“Why does it matter to you, Cadet?”

“My—,” Lev bites his lip. Atom sees that his fists are shaking at his side. Briefly, Atom feels the urge to take them and warm them between his own hands. Maybe he should have brought an extra pair of gloves after all, only so he could give them to Lev. Maybe if he wasn’t so cold he wouldn’t feel the need to do whatever the hell this is.

“I’m sorry, forget it.” he says.

“No. This is important to you, clearly. I want to know why.” Milanova’s tone holds no warmth. Wind whistles down the street, deafening in the silence it demands. Milanova isn’t going to let Lev drop the subject, Atom knows it, as sharply as the sick feeling building in his stomach. He wants to grab Lev by the shoulders; knock some sense into him, tell him to shut the hell up, plead with him to keep his head down and obey like all the others. Like they promised each other they would, over countless nights in hushed whispers with their heads under a shared blanket. Always, with his hand an icy stone in Atom’s fist.

Instead he holds his breath and watches as the unthinkable happens.

“My father was...when I was a kid, my father was charged with Treason and taken from us. My mother and I were never told why. I’m sorry. I’m sorry for speaking out. It won’t happen again.”

Milanova laughs once, without smiling—a quick noise in her throat. “No, it won’t.” Tucking her folder under one arm, she takes another impossible step closer to Lev. “Sergei Ivanov was charged with High Treason for giving aid to other active Targets, and allowing them to escape punishment at the hands of the Law. People like him need to be eliminated for the sake of public peace. The world is a better place without people like Sergei. Without people like your father.”

Lev snaps up to look at her face, and by now his hands are balled so tightly they no longer shake. He sounds confused when he says, “He’s just an electrician.”

“He is your Enemy.”

“No,” he whispers. “No, he’s not.”

Milanova sighs through her nose. The wind screams. There’s a movement, a sickening sound, and the two of them sway. There is a knife in Lev’s belly and Milonova’s hand is on the hilt. She jerks it up, stretching the wound, and pulls out. Lev stumbles back, hitting the pale blue concrete wall. He slides to the cold ground, eyes wide, face white. The hands clutching his stomach quickly turn red—so very, very red. Atom takes a step toward him and Milanova commands him to stay put. Lev looks up at him and attempts to speak but can’t quite manage it. Or maybe he does say something but the ringing in Atom’s ears drowns it out.

It isn’t quick, and Lev keeps his eyes on Atom until the end, until his eyes turn glassy and his chest stops its panicked heaving.

“What a waste.” Milanova’s voice cuts through the noise like a—like a knife. “To make it all this way, dedicate his entire life to becoming a Keeper, only to throw it all away like this." From the corner of his eye, Atom sees her pull out a handkerchief to wipe the blade clean. "Unfortunately for you Belov, that means you’re on your own now."

A deep dark red stains the white of Lev's Keeper uniform. Today was their very first day wearing official whites. Only hours ago, in the changing room, Lev had joked about how the color washed him out.

"Belov?"

Atom blinks, tearing his eyes from the body. It takes an immense effort to look at Lev’s killer.

"Do you have any questions?"

"No, Sergeant."

"Then you may begin your mission."

"Yes, Sergeant."

Atom's feet carry him to the apartment's entrance. When the door clicks shut behind him, everything goes quiet. His own breathing sounds too loud in the vacant hallway. A choking feeling rises in his throat. Atom yanks down his scarf to heave. The image of Lev on the ground burns in his vision, like after looking at a bright light for too long, dragging across his line of sight no matter where he looks.

With effort, Atom pulls himself together before he can slip any further. He pushes himself away from the wall and breathes until the hallway stops looking like it wants to collapse on him. Until the sick in his throat is something he can leave on the floor, at his feet. To be collected after.

It turns out that the stairwell has no heat, but it at least provides shelter from the wind. Taking one step at a time, Atom climbs all seven flights.

He doesn’t know how long he stands outside the door to room 716. Somewhere down the hall a dog is barking. At one point, an elder woman wearing a colorful headscarf exits her apartment and makes her way towards him, but when she gets a better look at his uniform, she turns around and walks all the way to the stairwell at the other end of the hall. Inside his Target’s room he hears music—something slow and crackly, from centuries past. It sounds like something Lev would play from his radio, quietly from the bunk above Atom during nights when he couldn't sleep. The noise would in turn keep Atom up well into the night, but he never complained about it.

Atom raises his fist and knocks, loud and heavy.

The music dies. Footsteps approach, followed by whispers just on the other side. The door opens to a man's face. He looks older than 32, square-jawed with a graying beard. As his eyes take in his visitor his expression morphs from curiosity to thinly veiled fear.

"Sergei Ivanov?" Atom asks.

Before the Target can answer, a middle-aged woman appears over his shoulder. Her eyes are large and brown and framed by silver glasses. "Who is this?" she asks.

"Keeper Atom Belov, acting on the behalf of the United Keep. I am here to speak to Sergei Ivanov."

With a large hand the Target—Sergei—reaches up to wipe a sheen of sweat from his forehead. His wife's grip on his shoulder tightens. After a moment of silence, she asks Atom if he would like to come inside for a cup of tea. “We can all sit and talk at the table.” she says.

"Honey—" Sergei tries to protest, but she won’t hear it.

"It's okay. It's going to be okay." With visible strain she manages to urge her husband away from the door, forcing a smile at Atom as he steps inside. He follows her to a small wooden dining table and unclips his sword, leaning it against the wall beside his chair before taking a seat.

“Sergei, could you get the teapot started? I’ll stay out here and keep our guest company.” She takes the seat in front of Atom and pointedly avoids looking at the sword. “I’m Katya,” she says. “Sorry about the mess, we weren’t expecting company today.”

From what Atom can see, the apartment is spotless, and smells like freshly baked bread. He hears Sergei in the kitchen to his left and turns to watch the open doorway.

Katya tries again to get his attention. “How long have you been a Keeper?” she asks. Atom fiddles with the knife holster on his thigh. He doesn’t feel like lying, but he doesn’t want to admit to her that he isn’t an official Keeper—not yet—so he says nothing.

“I hope you don’t mind me saying this, but you look young. How old are you?”

Atom bites his tongue, but decides to answer anyway. “Sixteen.”

Her chair creaks as she leans back. “Good God.” she whispers.

Atom doesn’t look at her. She stops asking questions and sits in silence until the teapot starts to make noise. Then she excuses herself to the kitchen. Above the whine of the teapot Atom overhears Sergei’s low, pleading voice.

“Take all the money in the pantry and go with Dasha to your mother’s house. Go now, I’ll tell him you went to the store. Katya, please, I want to know you and Dasha are safe. Leave now.”

“I’m not leaving you.”

“Kat—”

“Let’s sit down—together, and speak to him. He’s just a kid. He has no reason to be here. Whatever this is for, there’s no reason to be afraid.

“Look at me. There is no reason for him to be here. Right?”

But Sergei doesn’t answer. Or if he does, Atom can no longer hear him above the deafening whine of the teapot. One of them finally takes it off the stove and Atom listens to the aggressive clinking of tableware before Katya comes out of the kitchen carrying a tray of warm bread, sliced strawberries, a dish of butter, and tea. She sets the table for three people despite Sergei having yet to show himself. She pours a steaming cup of black tea into a delicate porcelain cup and sets it in front of Atom before slumping back into her seat.

Somewhere in the living room, a clock ticks.

“Why are you here?” she asks.

“I need to speak to Sergei.”

“About what?”

But Atom doesn’t look at her again. He pushes himself to his feet and takes up his sword. Katya stands too, nearly knocking her chair over in the process. She calls out her husband’s name in alarm. Atom finds him leaning over the kitchen sink with his back to him. His head turns, just so, when he hears Atom enter the room.

“Sergei Ivanov. The United Keep has declared you an Enemy of the public and found you guilty of High Treason. You will pay for your crime with your life. You can come with me, quietly, and I'll let you say goodbye to your family. Or we can do this another way."

Slowly, Sergei straightens his back. He lets out a shaky sigh. “What is the other way?”

“You die. Here and now.”

Sergei nods, and makes a noise that sounds almost like a laugh. Then he turns around with a large kitchen knife in his large hand.

"Let us see if there is a third way.”

He looks tired, but by no means does he look weak. Sergei is a large man, twice Atom’s age, and they both know there is no way out of this without a fight.

So Atom widens his stance and raises his sword. "So be it."

The Enemy takes a heavy step towards him and the kitchen is so small that there is nowhere for Atom to duck to. So he doesn't. He swings, a clean upward arc, and a scream fills his ears on impact. Bright pure red sprays the walls and ceiling and blooms across white kitchen tiles underfoot. The Enemy’s momentum propels him forward and he lands on Atom with a guttural noise, crushing him against the refrigerator. Atom drops his sword in favor of fending off the knife aiming for his face. Sergei uses the last of his strength to try and drive it through his cheek and manages to break skin. Atom feels the tip of the blade clink against his teeth at the same time that shock seizes Sergei, and he collapses to the ground, dragging the knife down with him.

Atom swears, clutching at the stinging pain in his face. He tastes blood, and the feel of it is slick against his gloved hand. Through a blinding haze of pain he sees Katya on the ground beside Sergei. Her hands, trying to close the large, weeping gash, are red. When she realizes that it's already too late and her husband is dead, she takes up Atom’s sword and stands. It shakes in her hands. Thick blood drips slowly from her fingers.

“You—,” Her eyes are wide and wild behind her glasses. “I let you into my home.” She takes a frantic step towards him. “What kind of monster are you? You—You’re nothing."

Atom lets his hand drop. The blood running down his chin almost feels like he's crying. Slowly, he stands up straight, and wraps both hands around the blade pointed at him. He pulls, and at first Katya resists. Then she catches another glimpse of the body at her feet and wrenches back in horror. Atom turns the sword around in his hands. He exhales.

Outside, the wind screams. It howls and it rages and in his ears he hears Lev pleading, ‘But what did he do?’ and there are two bodies at Atom’s feet.

He feels cold all over. Then the shaking starts. The stench of iron fills his lungs and Atom gags, stumbling from the kitchen. He drops heavily into the chair at the dining table. The clotting, drying blood on his face starts to itch. The clock keeps ticking. He fishes out a radio from his pocket and tosses it onto the table. He touches the still-full cup of tea beside it and feels warmth seep into his fingertips. It feels wrong. He returns his hands to the hilt of his sword.

A pair of eyes tracks the movement from the bottom of a narrow staircase by the front door. When Atom turns his head to look, he sees the face of a young girl staring at him from the shadows. Atom hadn’t noticed her with how still she sat there, but as soon as he makes eye contact, she stutters to her feet.

Atom knows what she sees, knows what he looks like at that moment, but he wonders if she knows that her parents are dead. He tries to say something to her but the only thing that comes out of his mouth is an ugly choked noise. At that, she makes her decision and bolts for the front door.

He stands up and manages two steps in pursuit before he stops.

She slips through the door barefoot and runs. Atom holds himself still and listens to her footsteps rapidly growing quieter as she makes her escape. His body screams at him to go after her, quickly, before he loses her trail. Keep your head down, follow your training, do what needs to be done to stay alive. But the smell of blood is still churning his stomach and she is just a child. So he refuses to take another step, despite the sudden spike of adrenaline rushing through his bloodstream, urging him to go and fulfill his duty. Or else—

Scrubbing at the crusted blood around his mouth, Atom spins back to the dining table and picks up his radio. He clicks it on and tunes in to the channel for body collection. After listing off the apartment address and room number, he reports a total of two bodies and sits back down to wait for their arrival. He keeps his back to the door and stares at a single point on the wall and waits.

A team of four shows up, clad from head to toe in stiff white plastic garb. One of them greets Atom and tries to make small talk but Atom only motions to the kitchen and tries not to look at anyone. The rest of them don’t pay him any attention anyway, and get right to the task at hand. They make quick work of it, and in a matter of minutes Sergei and Katya are neatly hauled out of their home in two shiny white body bags. Atom follows them out of the apartment just as the cleaning crew arrives.

Outside, the world is just the same as it was before, and Milanova is still polishing her knife. She looks up at the commotion at the door and nods at him. Atom walks over to stand beside her. She slides the knife into her holster before giving him a stiff smile.

“Congratulations,” she says. “You passed. I’ll get the paperwork started tonight, and by tomorrow morning you should be able to start your duties as an official Unity Keeper. Welcome aboard, Belov.”

Her hand lands heavily on Atom’s shoulder. She gives it a tight squeeze. “Would you like me to call medical for your face, or do you want to catch a ride with me back to the base?”

“It can wait.” Atom musters a shrug. “Just a scratch.”

“That’s going to get infected without treatment.” she says, as a matter of fact. But she doesn’t push it. She takes her hand from Atom’s shoulder and he takes a small step away. His attention lands on the body collection crew as they begin lifting each bag into the back of their van. Four body bags. Atom ticks off the names in his head. Sergei, Katya, Lev, and a fourth, smaller lump.

Atom has to grip the wall behind him to stay upright.

“You passed your test today, but I hope you know that in the future, there will be no leniency for the type of mistake you made. I understand that you were not intended to take on this mission by yourself, which is why I’m willing to look past your error. But for all future missions, from this day forward, you will be expected to take out all witnesses, despite their involvement with the Target, just as you have been taught all throughout training. Do I make myself clear?”

Atom feels numb from the inside out. A bone-deep, chilling numbness.

“Yes, Sergeant.” he says.

“Good. One more thing, I wanted to give this to you. As a reminder.”

She walks over to the back of the body van and presents him with a bundle of white fur. Lev’s fur hat. Atom takes it and holds it. He doesn’t know what to do with it. He doesn’t know what to say. He wants to leave, he wants to go back to his bed at the barracks, he wants to go to medical, he wants to get back on the metro and rewind this entire day, but the gift works as Milanova intended—Atom digs his fingers into it and knows that there is no going back.

“Blood is the price for peace, Belov. Never forget that.” she says, and Atom—sixteen years old and a killer for the first time in his life—commits those words to memory.