#to limit as much as possible HOW LONG the doors are open and how many times i have to open them total

[altruistic-meme]

im gonna need emotional support for this task ;;;

[lufyuu]

,, Bloodstained Crown ''

Yandere emperor x vengeful ex-crown prince reader

Tw/s: obsessive love, kidnapping, heavy yandere themes, rough + shameless + clingy yandere, dubcon, voyeurism, cockwarming, sex in public, power imbalance, one sided enemies to lovers, mentions of killing/death, slight gore.

They never seem to stop, those clouds. Crying all day as if mourning something important. Their tears seem to wash away the thick red liquid on the dirty floor. It wouldn't have been possible if not for the roof of the manor being in shambles. "T-t-those damned Luminayres—", he coughs, and coughs, and coughs, almost reaching his limit and taking his last breath. The heavy rain drowns out the sobs of a young teen, clinging onto what little hope he had left. He was in utter shock, not even able to say a single thing. Nothing came out his mouth. Not even a single whimper looking at the dead bodies. Dead bodies of his parents, servants, everyone who had ever lived in that palace. Dead. In a pool of their own blood. No amount of apologies will stop this former royal from avenging them all.

Even after so many years. Perhaps even a decade has passed. You're determined to finish what they started. They made a huge mistake. They didn't check if you were already dead or not. The bullet that had been lodged into your arm is not replaced with a scar which is a reminder that no matter how much they tried to cover it up, you'll always be out for their throats. When the sun sets and the streets are empty, you look around for ways to get into the protected palace. Revenge really isnt an easy feat.

"[Fake Name]! Did I hire you to doze off or work?", a deep voice yells out from the otherside of the sunlit room. You wipe a bit of sweat off your forehead, "coming boss", you jog over with a semi clean cloth to where your higher up is. "This is very dirty, how do you expect our customers to like it?", he points at one of the many displayed weapons. You notice a few specks of noticeable dust, "my apologies boss, I'll clean it all up right away", you slowly and carefully brush off the dust off of everything to make sure they look good enough for customers to stop by and look at, perhaps even buy. Your salary here isn't worth the work you're doing but as long as you can keep a roof over your head and food on the table, you'll be fine. It's way better than being on the streets afterall. This is almost your way of moving on. Even if it's not affective in the slightest.

After dusting off most of the armour, the doorbell chimes. A man walks in wearing armour. Someone who works for the royal family that's for sure. The boss is almost taken aback but keeps his composure, "W-welcome honorable soldier!", he instantly lightens up, a huge smile on his face while you freeze in place, not daring to face the man who has just entered the shop. The soldier doesn't say anything, only looking around, searching for something. "Do you have a blade with a handle made out of gems? Specifically diamonds", the boss is even more taken aback, as if the shop has anything that valuable. "My deepest apologies honorable soldier, I fear we do not have anything that fits that description", he frowns, "do you take custom orders?", "y-yes but I'm afraid we don't have the gem—", the man is quickly sileneced by the soldier putting a huge sack on the ground, from a small opening, the diamond shines just enough for everyone to see, including you. "His Royal Highness, the prince will be needing this next week for his engagement, he will be personally coming to pick it up", with that, the soldier turns his heels and walks out the door, the bell chiming once more as he does.

Something about this ignited the flame in you once more. This may be your last time.

"This means more work for us", well, more of work for you. With your mind elsewhere, you almost dont hear his voice. When you realize he did say something, you give a quick nod and head towards the jewelry shop to look at some gems. Your boss didn't need to ask you too anymore, you already knew. You already know this street like the back of your hand. It was an easy task reaching to your destination.

"Mr Albert, can you help make a handle out of diamonds?", you ask as you step into the shop. Even if you didn't intend it, the two of you had became pretty close but you know that won't last long. "Of course [Fake Name]! What kind are they?", you hand him the heavy bag of diamonds, shocking him as the diamond shines brightly. "Whose are these?", "the prince's, it's regarding his engagement to the princess Elena", Albert is even more taken aback as he grabs one of the glistening diamonds with one hand while the other holds a magnifying glass to it. "This is really high quality..!", you nod, "so, how long will it take?", "perhaps 5 days if I rush it."

5 days.

5 days is all you have to prepare. This might be your only chance. Even if it's half a percent, you're willing to take that risk. This is an opportunity you've been waiting for. You don't even know if the prince will be there or not, it's just something you'll have to count on.

The rest of your work day passes by as usual, nothing out of the ordinary, nothing unique, nothing to really make you feel content with life. Though, how could you? Even after all these years, you haven't given up on what you've been seeking ever since you were just a young teen. Whatever it is, it's still near impossible to achieve in these circumstances.

You take a seat looking out to the ocean, the sun setting as you do. The view reminds you a lot of the past. The very distant and unforgivable past. The little boy who had accompanied you all those years ago. The perpetrator.

Enough of the past. You're here to enjoy the sunset and ocean breeze. You sit in silence, relaxing your body and closing your eyes for a bit. Unfortunately though, even when the atmosphere is relaxing, something about it does annoy you a bit, the sound of people murmuring as they walk behind you, on the road. You can smell something sweet and know it's from the bakery not too far from your seat. This area used to be quiet, nice, full of trees and grass up until people decided they needed more land to use for shops. Everything changes overtime, nothing you can do about it.

After just a few minutes, the sun has dissapeared from sight, the moon taking its place. It's an everyday thing, nobody finds it unusual. Once the sun is gone, the moon takes over.

You look around, some shops are closing down while others stay open for the night. That's when you decide it's time for you to get some rest. No use staying here and dwelling on the past. It can't be changed anyways. As you're getting up, a carriage drives right by you, you catch a small glimpse of who the carriage is carrying. A mere glance from their midnight almost black eyes makes you shiver. It reminds you of the ocean at night and something more. Though, you can't quite place your finger on what it reminds you of.

Those 5 days pass by painstakingly slow. Too slow for you who wanted to have the prince's severed head on your shelf right this moment. When the day finally came, you waited in the shop. Acting as if it was any other day. Well, it sort of was. The only difference being the soon to be murder weapon concealed under your clothes. Your foot tapped impatiently, wanting to hear the sound of the townspeople murmuring or giggling, causing a ruckus. It would more than likely indicate the prince's arrival. "[Fake Name] why are you tapping your foot?", your boss asks with an annoyed expression. He hates the tapping sound, it drives him crazy. Though, when you turn around, wanting to answer or apologize for the action, the door opens. "Pardon me, I'm here to pick up a custom order?", a sweet and grace-laced voice calls out from just a mere meters from you. "O-oh yes of course your highness!", the old boss scrambles to the back, searching for where he had placed such an important order. Meanwhile, you stared bullets into the royal. This was it. Your chance. Maybe even your last.

As the prince takes a couple steps to admire the shop owner's handiwork, you took this as an opportunity to get closer. "Hm? I'm alright you don't need to show me around", you glance at the entrance, a few guards stationed to keep the prince safe but you wonder, why aren't any of them by his side? That's a stupid thing to do. Leaving their one and only heir all vulnerable to any and all attacks. With a swift move, you grab your weapon and direct it to the prince's throat, pinning him to the shelf. "Oh?", is all he lets out. An interested and excited 'oh' . The blade stops just a fraction from his skin, leaving him unharmed. Even as you try to press the blade closer, aiming to slice his soft skin, your strength is no match for his.

"Your highness! Here is your—", the old man nearly has a heart attack on the spot, nobody would blame him if he did. "[FAKE NAME]!? WHAT IN HEAVEN'S SAKE ARE YOU DOING!?", his screams are loud enough to reach the ears of the guards outside, prompting them to turn around and look at whatever was the matter. With no hesitation, they burst into the shop, almost breaking the glass door. "Drop your weapon immediately!", one of them says while the others surround you. "Step away and nobody gets hurt", their tone intimidating, unfortunately or fortunately, not quite intimidating enough for you. "Agh, fuckers", you turn to the guards, letting the prince out of your sights for just a splint second. A terrible mistake.

With a swift move, your blade is removed from your hands. "No need to worry, I'm afraid our attacker here is quite inexperienced", you look back at the prince who now has an even wider smirk. Little do you know, he's also scanning your features, taking it all in. "Huh, your face is familiar, that attitude, not so much", you glare at the man nad try to punch him using your non-dominant hand which is also stopped by him. "Y-y-your highness! I am incredibly sorry for the trouble he has caused!", the old man is clearly referring to you, "rest assured he's never allowed to work or come near here ever again!", he's almost crying, trembling with fear as to what the royal family might do to him. The prince seems to be thinking as he pauses for a few seconds before his eyes lit up. With a firm grip, the royal heir clasps both your hands in one of his, making sure you can't make any sudden attacks on him. With the now free hand, he stretches it to the boss, "where's my dagger?", and just like that, the boss is scrambling to hand it over. Once the prince had it in his hands, he looked over at your puzzled and angry face. "Is it pretty?", he holds up the dagger to your face. You think he's about to stab you with it so you remain silent. "I'm Prince Vaelius if you haven't already known", he scans you, "and you are..[Fake Name]?", he seems unsure of it himself, wanting confirmation from you but you don't give it. "Fuck you and fuck your royal family bullshit", you spat out with venom. Most would be incredibly angry by now but not him. He finds it amusing how you have a vendetta against him and he doesn't even know you!

Vaelius takes a step, then another, and another towards the exit. The guards open the door for him, wondering what his next move would be. As the carriage door opens, you're thrown into it, followed by the prince who climbs in immediately after you. You try to kick the man but all that does is amuse the royal sicko. "Let me..off this dammed carriage!", you scream and try to kick once more, only for your ankle to be grabbed by Vaelius who pulls you closer. Your leg now sitting on his shoulder as the carriage moves slowly. "Your life's in my hands now, [Name]."

"[Name], meet Prince Vaelius", your mother, the Queen of Aldoria introduces you to the little boy infront of you. He looks about 10. Now why would you befriend such a young boy when you can play with others your age? "Go on, talk to his highness", she gives you a gentle push which makes you a bit annoyed. The little boy looks up at you, his midnight eyes almost glowing as he looks into yours. It's as if he's mesmerized by you. "H-hi!", his voice is still high pitched unlike yours. You're in your early teens so it's been a while since you've heard an annoying high pitched voice. Nonetheless, you have to be nice. "Hello, I'm [Name] [Last Name]", you reach out to shake his hand but you mom quickly puts your hand down, "it's impolite, give a little bow", she whispers in your ear to which you oblige. You give the smaller boy a bow, to which he smiles sweetly at. "Mn! I'm Vaelius!", he excitedly replies.

Arriving at the place you never thought you'd ever step foot in ever again, you feel a sense of dread wash over. However, this feeling was soon followed by anger and frustration.

The prince steps out first and holds out his hand, anticipating yours to grab his. Instead, you ignore the outstretched hand and get out yourself. Dusting your clothes as your feet touch the ground. "Are you repulsed by me?—", as he asks that, your hand grabs his collar, glaring at him, "I won't cause a ruckus as long as you keep your hands off of me", "but you're the one touching me, are you not?", he looks down at the hand on his collar which you quickly pull back, turning your attention back to the magnificent castle infront of you.

With guards surrounding the both of you, you are brought into the castle, the prince never leaving your side. As the palace doors open, there are already maids taking the prince's coat off, making him feel at home while you look at him in dissapointment. Does he not even know how to take off his coat? Anywho, you look around, taking it all in. It's been years since you've last been here. "Do you like your new home?", "home?", you instantly turn around and ask, the maids retreating to their positions. Vaelius waltz towards you, a cunning look on his face that makes you want to punch it off him, "yes, you're marrying into this family, [Name]", he takes your hand, "didn't I say not to touch me!—", Vaelius places a peck on the back of your hand, "you wouldn't want to dissapoint the entire empire, now would you?", his eyes show a glint of obsession, though it passes faster than it appeared. For some reason, you can't pry your eyes from the lovestruck prince. "What are you saying...", you're suspicious of Vaelius, just what in heaven's sake is he talking about.

Vaelius gestures for one of his servants to come over. She's holding a blade with both hands which Vaelius grabs, handing it to you, "this is for you, my dear fiancé", his voice alluring and almost commanding you to take the blade in his hands. Despite his warm smile, the air felt heavy with an unspoken tension. Neither one of you wanted to lose this unspoken battle. "Or shall I remind you of how you tried to hurt the one and only heir?", his eyes open to look at you with a fierce look in them, you feel sick to your stomach. You hate him, you hate his family but this might be your only chance in surviving and carrying out your revenge. Lose the battle but win the war as they say.

You grab the blade part, bleeding a bit as it slices into your hand, "then, I'll gladly accept, my prince", you look at him with glaring eyes as he stares back with a smile, "aren't you sweet? Come up with more nicknames before our wedding, won't you?", he gestures again to the maids and in a few seconds, those same maids are guiding you to your new room. Temporary of course. You'd be sharing the same bed as the prince soon, patience.

˗ˏˋ ꒰ ♡ ꒱ ˎˊ˗

"At least the room's nice", you mumble to yourself after seeing where you'll be sleeping for the next few days or weeks. The maids all exit the room, with one letting you know that if you ever need something, to just ring the bell near your bed. You try to take it all in. What you did, what you will do and what he will do. The prince is unpredictable, making you all the more uneasy and wary of him, but for now, you should just enjoy a lavish lifestyle. Just like all those years ago.

"The prince is a beauty isn't he?", your mother catches you off guard. The two of you are sitting on a bench in the garden while ththe prince is with the emperor, discussing a few things with your father. "What do you mean, mother?", you ask in return and she giggles, "don't think I haven't noticed your eyes constantly following his figure now", your eyes widen, face visibly flushed. You can't say anything or rebuttal her words as you know it's true. She notices this and turns to you, a sweet smile on her face, "you might as well ask him out now before he gets snatched up by a girl or perhaps another guy", she jokes but sees that your expression is uneasy, "sweetie, I don't care who you like, you're allowed to love whoever, I mean, you're a teen now! I'm practically a soon to be grandma", she laughs and you do too. The small blonde prince turns to look at you with a huge innocent grin on his face. Little did you know, the emperor had noticed this and glared bullets into you.

"[Name]~?", Vaelius calls out, leaning a bit too close to you for comfort. You throw him off of you immediately, knocking him onto the carpeted ground, "ouch!", he rubs the back of his head which had collided with the ground, something in you compells you to lend him a hand. So, you extend one for him to take and he does so. "Why did you sneak up to me like that!?", you ask, furious. He stands up, almost towering over you, you don't remember him being this tall.."I wasn't, you were just spacing out", he sighs, looking like a hurt puppy who got scolded at by its owner, "don't pull that face and why are you here anyways?", he perks up at the question, "well, you are my soon to be husband, it's only natural I'd introduce you to my father", "I've already met hi-", "no time to lose!", he drags you out the room and into the hallways.

"Father! Meet my fiancé!", Vaelius pushes open the giant door to the emperor's office where Emperor Adrien sat. "What do you mean, son?—", his words are almost cut off as you enter the room, looking like you've been forced to be here, "who is that.", the emperor rises from his seat, looking down at you but not his son, "my fiancé", Vaelius happily says, holding your hand up. "Vaelius Luminayre. What in the world are you thinking", his tone is calm but you can tell he's beyond furious with his one and only son. "I'm perfectly capable of choosing my spouse, am I not, father?", Vaelius is passive aggressive with his words, daring the emperor to oppose his marriage with [Name]. "And what about Princess Elena", he is glaring at you, as if decades of hatred is surfacing once more. You can only look on in silence as the argument between father-son is going on. "Oh, her? You can tell her family we won't be needing them anymore", Vaelius says as if it's the most obvious and easiest thing in the world, ignoring the fact that they had been engaged for half a year. The families had hoped for Vaelius to take her as his empress but now..things have taken a turn for the worse.

"Vaelius. You two will not have my blessing", the emperor thought his son would listen after his little threat but that was far from true. "I didn't come to ask for your blessing, father", Vaelius slyly says, you can almost see an irk mark forming on his cheek. Emperor Adrien is shocked by this response, "Do you understand that you WILL NEVER become emperor if you marry that wretched man!? Has he corrupted your mind!?", the emperor yells and throws a vase your way, only for it to be blocked by Vaelius, what have you even gotten yourself into!? "Keep telling yourself that, old man", the prince turns around, taking you with him and exiting the room as yet another vase flies across the room, hitting the closed door.

This was only the start of your new life.

After that incident, your life became...easier? Well, it was all thanks to Vaelius anyways. Somehow, a few days after Vaelius met with his father to discuss about the marriage further, the emperor suddenly approved of your marriage. With the condition that the marriage would have to be postponed until 3 months later. This was also an opportunity for you to get rid of the royal family and not be tied to them in any way. You just had to figure out when was the perfect time for your plan to be executed.

And that moment came sooner than you expected. It was midnight, you knew everyone in the palace, other than the royal guards, were fast asleep by this point. The palace eerily quiet, the atmosphere almost horror-like as you roam the hallways to look for the emperor's chambers. To your utter shock and surprise, two guards lay dead on the ground of their own blood infront of the cracked open door. "Holy shit..", you cover your mouth. Even though you had seen this countless times...this time was different, it reminded you so much of that night

You also wondered, who could have beaten you to it? With your curiosity growing with each passing moment, you decide to take a peek. Avoiding the blood and corpse, you look through the small crack of the door. Your stomach drops at the sight. The moonlight shines on the perpetrator's blonde hair, in his left hand, the head of the now dead emperor, a blade on his right. The floor and walls covered in blood, the perpetrator himself is also covered in thick red liquid. Your eyes widen as the man notices someone staring at him. He turns to smirk at you, revealing himself as Vaelius Luminayre.

"Come in, why don't you?", he beckons you in, your legs move towards him, obeying his command. Once you reached him, your legs give out, falling into his arms as the bloodied head drops onto the ground with a loud thud. "Well aren't you so sweet? Falling for me like this", your head rests on Vaelius' shoulder as he holds you by your waist. You're almost frozen in place seeing what the prince, no, your fiancé, has done to the emperor. "V-Vae...", "sshh", he hushes you, "I did this for us, [Name], you've wanted this from the beginning, haven't you?", he chuckles in a low voice, a terrifying laugh. "Now we can get married the second the sun rises, isn't that amazing?", he holds your hand and makes you face him, lifting your chin to stare into his eyes as his bore into yours. "I'll be yours and you'll be mine, how's that?", with nothing left to say, you nod in agreement, did you want this from the start..?

"[Name] I'm gonna marry you one day!", the young boy says while pouting. Another lady had been flirting with you prior before this and unfortunately the young prince had witnessed it all. He was not happy. "W-what!?", you're taken aback by his suddenness, "you can't marry me..!", you yell to which he pouts even more, "why? Is it because I'm not a pretty lady!?", Vaelius seems like he's on the verge of crying so you give in, "o-okay then, I'll marry you", his mood takes a turn for the better and he smiles, "no take backs!"

The Prince always gets what he wants. Whether that's the title of Emperor or your hand in marriage. Today marks the day he gains it all. Not only is he the emperor by law, you are also now the Imperial Husband. A title that will be bestowed to you in a couple hours time.

The wedding ceremony was nothing short of grand. Everyone was invited to witness their new emperor's marriage to the former Prince of the [Last Name] house. Most cheered for the couple while some were dissapointed. Oh the look in Princess Elena and her family's eyes, priceless in the eyes of the now Emperor Vaelius. The wedding itself was held in the Royal Palace. Usually it'd be held at a church but Vaelius wanted it to be even more grand so he chose his palace. You even had a custom made outfit fit for the occasion, a pristine white dominated suit with the colors of your house. This was Vaelius' way in honoring the late King and Queen of your kingdom. You hated him and still do probably but you can't deny that what the both of you had in the past, still remains in the present.

Even though you didnt know whether he had been involved or not, something in you wanted him to be involved in your family's massacre, at least then..you can avenge them still, with the former emperor dead and all. You can't fail them but, is it worth murdering an innocent man for? The man whom you had fallen for all those years ago no less. In this marriage, you can't tell if it's either unrequited or requited love.

"Your Imperial Highness..!", a commoner girl says as you and your now husband pass by the crowds of civilians. They're all begging to get your attention, screaming, calling out and even crying, all so that you'd notice them. Maybe theyre trying to gain your favor or maybe they simply find you captivating, Vaelius sure understands where they're coming from. He finds you absolutely irresistible and it would be natural for the public to be captivated by your beauty too. So long as they know their place in his empire. You turn to face the girl who called out for you, her face full of joy despite her shabby clothing and dirty appearance. Why was she so happy just to get a glimpse of you? You'll have to get used to this life now.

What you probably can't get used to is your new life with the Emperor Vaelius. The moment the two of you stepped into your new shared chambers, Vaelius wasted no time in pushing you onto the bed, "Vaelius! What are you doing!?", "we're married now, aren't we? Let's spend the first night like husband and wife", he licks his lips at the sight of you sprawled on the bed. He's been waiting all this time for your return and his want for you can no longer be suppressed.

Without a second thought, Vaelius attacks your neck, littering it with kisses and hickeys. The pain was bearable, but the way he licked you really did send shivers down your spine, this sensation is very new to you. Instead of pushing him off, your hands pull him closer, something compells you to. It's as if the you from all those years ago came back, wanting to hold the now Emperor Vaelius. You close your eyes in pleasure, containing the moans threatening to escape your mouth. "You like this, huh", he speaks against your sensitive skin, making you all the more turned on. "M..mhm", you manage to get out. Vaelius then pulls back, looking at your mesmeric expression. "My...beloved [Name]...", your name rolls off his tongue over and over again as if he's afraid of the possibility of not being able to utter that name anymore. "Never leave me again", it sounds more like a demand rather than a plea. Before you could respond, he took both your hands with his left, his lips pressed against yours while his right hand is wandering down to your pants. Stopping to unzip them. If this was any other piece of clothing, he would have ripped it open. But since it's your wedding outfit, he'd like to keep it intact.

With his hand rubbing your cock, you reach out for said hand, wanting it to stop as you already feel to much pleasure. Never in your life would you have even thought that your first love would be touching you like this, as your husband no less. "Hm? Do you not like it?", Vaelius knows you like it, he just wants to hear those words come out your mouth. "Or would you like it more back there?", his hand wanders towards your hole, a finger pressing on the entrance as you moan just by his touch. His finger stays firmly pressed against your needy hole for a few seconds, enough for you to whine, "Vaelius..just put it in already!", a command he obeys as he immediately inserts a finger into your hole, you close your eyes due to the unfamiliar feeling, it feels weirdly pleasureful. Something in you wants more, something bigger, but you dont voice that out. Though, you neednt say anything for him to know what you want. He pushes in a second finger in, making you cling onto him.

"..ah...NGH...!?", you almost let out a loud moan as you feel your protaste being stimulated, closing your eyes in the process. Vaelius smirks, enjoying the way you're turning into putty under him. He didn't say anything as you moan out. Though, it was clear just by looking at his face, that he was thoroughly enjoying the lewd noises coming from you. Without wasting anymore time, he removed his fingers from your hole.

You felt empty, until something else pressed against your wet hole. Fuck! He's huge..! was your first thought as you took a good look at his lubed cock. You didn't even dare to estimate the size of it, "it won't fit..", a reaction which makes the emperor chuckle, "your body was made for me, of course it will fit", before you could respond or let out a snarky comment, Vaelius thrusts himself into you, gripping your waist as he does. You arch your back, eyes widen at the sudden intrusion, "f-fUcK!", you yell out, "you're so tight..", Vaelius was clearly enjoying the way your hole clenched around him. You, on the other hand, wasn't used to this. Tears form in your eyes but they dont fall. When you look back at the blonde, his face is red, seemingly lost in thought himself as he stares at his cock halfway in your hole. You felt his grip tighten and without warning, he slams his cock as deep as possible inside your ass. You let out a loud scream-like moan. The pleasure and pain hitting you all at once, "my dick feels...so good", he leans down to kiss you. You moan into the kiss, him exploring your mouth with his tongue, making you a mess as drool trickles down your chin.

You were getting used to his size due to him staying still but then Vaelius suddenly pulls out, leaving only the tip inside before thrusting it all in. "Ack..! Ah!", you moan as he thrusts in and out, leaving almost no room for you to breathe as he part his lips from yours, focusing on pounding your ass and filling it up with cum. You on the other hand, felt your eyes rolling back, your whole face flushed as you had a firm grip on the bed sheets. Your moans became louder than before, turning your now husband even more. His pupils were practically heart shaped as he looked at your messy form being fucked so hard and rough you look as if you're losing yourself.

You could see and feel the way Vaelius thrusted his cock in and out of you, your lower belly bulging whenever he went all the way inside. This sight made Vaelius all the more horny. Soon enough, he felt as if he was at his limit, "I'm gonna cum...!", as he said that, you grew more aware of your own orgasm. The more he pounded your hole, the more you felt close to your climax. "Cum with me, darling..!", he said inbetween grunts and gasps. Your body convulsed as you let out your first load in a while. Not only that, but the feeling of Vaelius' thick and warm seed filling up your hole made it all the more pleasureful for you. Unplugging his cock from your hole, his cum drips down onto the bed but the both of you couldn't care less in this moment. Lost in each other.

After a moment of silence and rest, Vaelius was the first to speak, "how was it?", "...well it was my first time so—"You're a virgin??", "...", you gave no further comment, regretting ever letting those words out your mouth. This makes Vaelius laugh and blush, knowing he was your first love and the one who took your virginity, "then...I'll make sure your body gets so used to my cock that nobody else's can satisfy your needs, I've got to make a good first impression for you", he throws himself onto you, wrapping his arms from behind you as you face the other way, "just a warning though, I have many needs and wont stop once I start"

And oh boy was that true.

Not even a month later, and he's already bending you over the table. The official meeting table. With nobles around the both of you as he took the farthest and tallest seat. Well, at this very moment, he's standing as he has his cock all the way inside of you. Your face buried in your arms, not wanting to face the tense nobles. Some are even turned on by the sight of you getting dominated infront of them. But, if any of them stared at you for too long, two blades would come flying towards their eyeballs. Afterall, the only one who should stare at you is Vaelius. "Regarding these problems, whose idea was it?", despite his cock being warmed by you, his personality was far from it. He was cold by nature, only warm towards you. You breathe heavily, embarrassed to be seen like this. The once crown prince, heir to the Aldoria Kingdom is now being bent over by the Emperor Vaelius, full of cock as the man towering over you holds important papers, dicussing as if he's not all the way inside you right now. "I-it was mine, your majesty", Vaelius lets out a dissapointed sigh, even you knew what this meant.

In an instant, he sits down on his seat, bringing you with him. This makes his dick sink even deeper into your hole, grazing your prostate ever so slightly that it makes your hole clench, making him grunt. He was clearly unhappy with the decisions the nobles made under his father's reign. With a hand on your hips, he moves you nack and forth, grinding on his cock. Vaelius somehow doesn't let out a sound that would make him seem weak infront of these powerful men but you do. You moan into your own arm and writhe in his touch, his cock so deep inside and hitting your prostate so good. "What made you come up with such a stupid and revolting idea", even if you aren't able to see it, just by his voice, you could tell he had a sinister look on his face, looking down on the noblemen. "I-I apologize your majesty", you watch as thr powerful men infront of you scared out of their wits when face to face with Vaelius. Though, you didn't pay their reactions any attention as you were too busy focusing on Vaelius' big cock inside.

With his strong hand, he lifts you up until they can see his cock halfway in before pushing you back down on it, he repeats this over and over again. Some of the noblemen got hard but dared not to touch themselves, but especially to you. Less they had a torture wish. "...and you call yourselves powerful? Smart? Hah!", Vaelius lets out a sarcastic laugh, it was loud enough to make them all tremble. "Your majesty..we—", "Silence.", a single word and they all felt their bodies shivering. "Get out of my face. I'll give you all a week.", they knew what he meant by this, he was goving them mercy. All of them got up, synchronized, bowing and thanking the emperor for his mercy before scurrying out the door.

This leaves you alone with the angry emperor. You wondered what would happen to you. Of course, you should have expected to be fucked dumb. Vaelius knew how to hit your prostate just right to get you screaming and slobbering over his cock. He drops the papers on the ground as of they're useless to him and holds your hips instead. You're turned around to face him and your arms wrap around his neck, "your expression...so cute", you weren't given a chance to respond, as if you could in your condition. He lifted you up and down on his cock extra rough. Those noblemen pissed him off and you're the only person who can calm him down. Using your hole. The sound of skin slapping against skin filled the entire room. Even as it's air conditioned, the two of you sweat due to the intensity of it. Your prostate was basically being abused at this point, you couldn't think of anything but his cock, your brain all mushy now because of it.

Even as you came, he still continued his rough thrusts. Making you feel even more stimulated due to how sensitive you are after coming. "Take all of my cum inside, [Name], take it all..!", he says before coming inside you. Your head resting on his chest as he hold your waist. After a few minutes, he pulls out and helps you stand before bending you over the desk once more. "I love you [Name], please take all of me", in his eyes, the look of love and lust combined. The young boy, of whom you had once found annoying, has now become the man you despise. The one you wanted to rid the world of. Yet as fate foresaw it, he now stands as the dangerous emperor who has forcibly stolen your heart. But will you let him have it?

Took two months but here it is yall (Im so sorry😞)

[eccentricallygothic]

When I want to read dark fics, your writing just hits. One of my guilty pleasures recently has been dark!winter soldier stuff and I was hoping you could write one.

If you can, can you make it where Bucky is still the Winter Soldier and finds himself completely enamored with the reader. He stalks her briefly and decides he has to have her. So where it gets dark is mean, brooding soldier kidnaps reader and makes her his housewife. (I’d like to think that some of Bucky’s 40ness is still there along with some good old fashion 50s idealization where he basically molds her into being his perfect little housewife.)

He can still be with hydra or not but this thought has been buzzing around in my head recently and I personally am not good at writing dark fics.

Um, hell yes I can! Also, not me having almost exactly the same idea (it was in my drafts and I totally merged it with yours). Sorry for being late uni kicks my butt hard TT. Also, please note that this is a headcanon kind of situation type deal but apparently there's a limit to how many bullets you can put per post so that's why it looks the way it does! Hope you like it still. Unedited ❤️

Warning(s): Dubcon (just to be safe), stalking, kidnapping, housewife kink, stockholm syndrome, spanking, misogyny, domestic discipline, breeding kink (dash), age gap (I mean, man is over a century old). Contains mature content. Browse at your own discretion. MINORS DO NOT INTERACT! 

You are absolutely shit faced as you stumble out the backdoor of the club with two of your girlfriends tangled around each arm. 

You are all giggling, stumbling and slurring out curses, trying to shush each other as you trudge your forms to your apartment complex that is close by because driving is obviously out of question now. 

Were it not for your overly intoxicated state, you would have totally noticed the dark silhouette that stills in the dark alley facing the backdoor. 

The man masked in the darkness tilts his head to the side as he tries to read your party, having gotten caught off guard by the sudden bursting open of the door. 

One of your friends stagger in his direction and he moves back, his labored breaths warm in his mask, watching the girl as she retches her guts out.

Silence follows the wheezes and gags of the girl.

Then there is a sound– a melody in the air.

Soldat feels something stir within himself.

Something his masters did their best to suppress. 

Not that they would be doing any more of that. 

They needed to be alive to do something like that ever again.

His eyebrows furrow as he scans your group for the source of the sound; you. 

You are laughing.

At your friend that is throwing up.

Hands clutching your hurting sides, eyes scrunched, head thrown back, flushed and sweaty face vibrant under the bright moonlight as your hair frames it in the most perfect way possible. 

A shaky breath escapes the man covered in tears and blood of his captors and oppressors.  

His eyes scan your form. 

Beautiful. 

His metal hand clenches into a fist and he makes his resolve almost instantly;

Mine.

Soldat cannot recall much of his past except for a few things like his name.

But he knows that it has been a long, long time. 

And it's time to go home.

But a home is not walls and concrete. 

It is the people that live in it. 

His head is a mess as he scales a wall and follows you to your building, skipping from roof to roof effortlessly with a careful eye on your form.

James had finally broken free against hydra yesterday morning while they were experimenting something more brutal. 

And during the following hours, all various leaders that made the organization what it was were dead.

For what is a structure without its pillars?

He had plundered them single handedly. 

And now he was a slave no more.

James would live, and he would take.

Just as had been taken from him.

You woke up the next morning, sprawled across your bed.

As you winced and sat up, you could swear you had knocked out on the couch last night. 

But since you couldn't teleport, it was probably just a gap in your memory.

Right?

The second sign was the painkillers and water next to you on the bedside table.

The third was the window of your room that was open wide.

But you shook your head as you were behind on your schedule for the day and got on with your busy university student life. 

You should have taken notice of the signs. 

How things would always somehow work out when you were struggling with some sort of a problem. 

Regardless of whatever type of an issue it was. 

Your friends joked about it as Divine Providence. 

And Divine it was, you lived to learn. 

When it happened, it wasn't after a dramatic chase or anything. 

You had simply woken up in a room you had never seen before, tucked in the bed like it had been yours for ages.

What even happened? 

You had finished an assignment before heading to bed for an early class the next morning. 

But now you were timidly surveying the room, more and more panic filling you by the passing second. 

The house is beautiful and bright outside the dark room you had woken up in, big glass windows facing tall trees and various other type of greenery outside. 

A loud gasp escaped you when you were somewhere in the middle of the living room.

You turned around to find a huge and by that you mean, giant man standing a few steps away from you.

You could swear he wasn't there a minute ago.

But now he is towering over you, head tilted to the side as if interacting with something from an outer planet, eyes scanning your form slowly. 

As if he's savouring the sight of you in a…

Your blood runs cold as you look down to realize that you are dressed in a white sundress with yellow and red flowers printed on it.

Your eyes widen in horror.

Because you had been wearing your PJs last night–

Or, rather, the last time you were awake.

Before you can say anything, he extends a hand towards you invitingly, nodding sideways to what seems to be the kitchen. 

Something in his hand glints in the sunlight coming from the windows.

It is when your panicked vision realizes that the hand and the whole arm is made up of metal, your body backs away.

With your mouth agape, you demand shakily.

"Who the hell are you?" 

He sighs. 

"What the hell is this place? Why am I here? What the fuck is going on?!"

The man's features scrunch in disapproval. 

Your choice of words is much unappreciated.

"Good little wives don't ask questions." 

In his angry, fried and entitled delusional mind you are as much in love with him as he is.

Otherwise, why would you just accept all the favours he did for you during all these months he was building a perfect home for the both of you and your future children?

He takes a step in your direction and you leap back.

After a short game of cat and mouse, you are trapped against the glass window.

He is too close. 

There is a heavy looking vase on the table next to you.

The shock on his face is evident.

He hadn't expected you, his wife, such a small and innocent girl to disrespect her husband like this. 

You whimper in horror when he doesn't budge against the decoration piece exploding against his brow bone.

James' eyes narrow as he leans in, a thick stream of blood running down the hurt side of his face.

"Bad girl" and you take off without a second thought.

Thankfully, the door is straight ahead and surprisingly unlocked.

You run without looking back. 

The man is not chasing you like you expected. 

But you don't want to stick around and find out why. 

Though the reason is soon revealed when you race through the little garden and out of the fence door. 

You are looking behind you and at the house so it is not until you are a good distance away from it do you turn your head to look ahead. 

Icy horror pierces its way down your spine.

Sand and palm trees dominate your vision as far as you can see where you are and your right side.

A devastatingly vast ocean washes the shore you are running on from the left side.

That doesn't stop you until your body gives up after a few minutes. 

You ran into the jungle for some cover.

Sobs and tears burst out of you as you collapse on a blanket of leaves.

Your body is weak and confused. 

Many hours pass.

You wander and starve.

You hide and shake.

You tip toe and give up.

There are wild animals all around you.

You can hear them.

It's terrifying. 

So terrifying that when you hear the stranger's voice some time after dusk, you are almost glad.

Are you done? His bright blue eyes that you can make out even in the dim light ask you silently. 

"How'd you even find me?" You were sure you had run a good couple miles.

He refuses to respond until you place your shaking hand in his awaiting metal one. 

"I can smell you" his accent is almost foreign as he pulls you up, frowning at your hurt bare feet. 

It took you hours to get to where you were but it only takes James a few minutes to get you back home. 

"Before I clean you up, I need to punish you." You are baffled. "Good wives don't run away from their husbands." 

He doesn't listen to any of your protests and reason that day or ever.

"Little girls don't know what is right for them. Only their husbands can decide that." 

He thoroughly washes you that night after giving you the worst spanking, paying no mind to your begging and crying.

You are sniffling as you sit on the bathroom counter wrapped up in a towel an hour later, your sore ass buzzing under you.

Your captor is kneeling in front of you as he tends to your hurt feet. 

He tells you your rules as he does so.

"First, you are to always obey me no matter what. Second, your body belongs to me as I am your husband, so you should not try to deny me of it because it will never end well for you. Third, you will respect me or you will live to learn to do so. Four, you will do your chores like a good wife and fulfill your wifely responsibilities. Five, you are to always accept your punishments and thank me for disciplining you after I am through with you, should you choose to break a rule or misbehave. Six, you will not indulge in any activity that can potentially corrupt your little mind. Seven, you will speak with respect and never out of turn. Eight, you are to always greet me when you wake up or if I have been gone a while. Nine, you can try to run. I will never stop you. But when you return home after failing, you will take your punishment obediently. Ten, you must never touch yourself. You are mine and mine alone." 

Since the spanking is still fresh on your skin you panic a little and fear forgetting them.

But you find them pasted on the fridge the following morning because he knew you were too dumb to remember them.

A few days pass before you explode about not being his wife and call him crazy.

"You weren't saying that when I did you all those favours." 

Horror dawns upon you as you realize that it was him all along.

You don't give up easily, though.

You try to run more times than you can keep count.

Every direction, every plan and every map you make proves to be useless.

Because the last time you do so, you realize that you are on a fucking island.

And since there is a dock near the house with the pantry never running low on groceries, James has a means of transport hidden somewhere is no mystery. 

But you don't know when he does it. 

So far you haven't been able to figure out a pattern. 

Either he was right about you being dumb or your captor was really good at staying one step ahead of you.

Anyways, you have no choice but to return to him crushed and sobbing as always.

He is reading something when you collapse between his legs; ready to accept your punishment as you have learnt that hiding and denying only makes it worse. 

James isn't so bad if you follow his rules. 

He is just a kidnapper and a misogynist with dangerous reflexes. 

His face is smug as he puts the book away. You have noticed that he is not as stiff and troubled as he used to be when you first woke up here months ago at this point. 

"How was it, doll?" He loves to hear you talk about it as he bruises your ass. "Any luck?" 

Today, though, something different happens.

You don't know if it's resignation and surrender finally settling in or if you have actually started to like this life.

How James gives you a nod of approval and pats your head rewardingly whenever you follow all your rules without any trouble.

The way he lets you stay up past your bed time (yes you have one because good wives are healthy for their husbands) to read a book or watch a movie.

If you were extra good and talked to him (though he was a man of a few words) and helped him out with a little farming thing he had going on in the backyard/patio, he would even let you sleep in the following morning. 

No stress or pulling yourself through classes and tight budgets.

Just being what he considered good and then whatever you would mention briefly would be in the house within the next few days.

When he is done punishing you, you thank him and apologize according to routine. But then you hug him.

You tell yourself it is due to the sad reality that your torment is your comfort.

Has to be.

You have no choice.

And then something unexpected happens in the course of the next few days. 

While trying to make the best out of this situation, you start to notice the little things, quirks and rituals, habits and mannerisms of this man. 

How he doesn't say anything if he doesn't like a certain ingredient or condiment in something you cooked but pushes it aside to use as compost later.

The way he holds you extra tight some times when he mutters a foreign language in his sleep. 

How he stares at the scary metal arm after a long day while waiting for you to finish up dinner.

Or the way he struggles to hold himself back whenever you are in a close proximity to him because you cried once he crept his hand up your ass in a sexual way. 

You don't get him sometimes.

His morals are as mysterious as him. 

Because he kidnapped you and forced you to be his wife in a '40's way, strips you to spank and humiliate you during punishments, then bathes and comforts you in his own way of silently holding you against his chest in his arms until you calm down.

Your tears don't effect him. 

But then he refuses to touch you sexually after the one time he tried.

It takes you a while to make the most peace that you can with James, but it happens eventually because you don't have a choice.  

The loneliness starts to drive you mad otherwise.

You are helping him with his farming one day when you collapse.

James isn't happy to find out that you haven't had any of your daily water intake for the day. 

After he is sure you are hydrated, it is punishment time because caring for yourself is also a rule you are supposed to never break.

Your ass is red and seething by the time he's done. Everything is pretty much routine except that you don't sit up to apologize and maybe hug him like usual.

Not even when he pats your ass to signal that he's done.

"H- Hubby?" You sniffle as you use the endearment.

It had been a proud discovery of yours.

James always gave in a little whenever you used it.

"Yes, little mouse?" You bite your lips as your thighs tremble.

Fuck.

"Y- You say we are husband and wife…"

"What about it?"

You bite your lip as you push your ass out and towards him, letting your legs part.

"Then why don't we act like it?" James is good at concealing his emotions and showing restraint.

But he can't help the way his cock hardens at the sight your pretty red thighs reveal to him.

Your perfect pussy is glistening with your creamy arousal, the entrance of your vagina blinking to indicate its need to be filled.

Fuck. 

Though James starts off small and slow with his fingers rubbing your cunt, the night ends with him balls deep into your pussy with his length rearranging your organs.

Whatever was left of you to own for him, he does so after that night.

You cannot go on for long without having some sort of physical proximity to him.

The sex is wild and it's amazing with his stamina. 

It is also instrumental in bringing you two closer than ever. 

James opens up to you slowly, but only when you ask about it.

You had done so in the past as well. 

But since it's genuine curiosity now, he feels comfortable telling you all about it.

It is a lot for you to take in and you almost don't believe him until he shows you some of his belongings from his time.

Things drift on as smoothly for a while as the waves outside your house.

And then comes the ultimate test. 

Which decides the course of your future with him.

He is still asleep one morning when you wake up.

It isn't a usual occurrence. 

But you had introduced him to comics lately and he had been obsessed with them despite claiming that they were too childish and unrealistic. 

While he had a metal arm himself…

You adjust the quilt before getting ready for the day and heading out to make breakfast. 

It is when you realize in panic that there aren't any apples left even though James had asked you to make a grocery list (that started when he started trusting you more) and you had assured him that you had enough apples for a while.

"I am gonna get the hairbrush today, I swear to God!" You mutter to yourself as you rush through the house like a headless chicken. 

Thankfully, your garden had an apple tree so you could save yourself from a breakfast spanking at the very least.

But something standing next to the dock catches your attention before you can the apples you try to budge free from their branches.

A motorboat. 

Before you can decide what you think of it, you are standing next to it on the dock.

It has fuel and a map. The key is in the ignition.

You narrow your eyes and feel your head splitting. 

A lot goes through your mind.

Flashbacks play before your eyes.

It is almost a full circle moment. 

And then you are standing in front of James who is seated on a stool next to the kitchen counter you use for dining. 

His head is lowered as he sips on his coffee and stabs at the breakfast you prepared with a fork.

"Hubby?" Your captor freezes before he slowly looks up at you. 

The blue of his eyes is troubled. He is in disbelief. As though he wasn't expecting you to be standing here.

"There is a boat outside. Do you think someone could be–" 

"You didn't leave." His voice is heavy. 

"What kind of a wife leaves her home?"

You two just stare at each other for a while. 

No words exchanged.

Then, for the first time ever, James gets up and hurriedly closes the distance between you two, enveloping you in his arms before pushing you against the wall behind you.

"I felt so angry and wronged that I thought I could take anything because I deserved it after everything that happened to me but… I love you too much, mouse."

He has never spoken this earnestly before.

"I just realized that I do too."

James kisses you passionately before you wrap yourself around him and close your eyes blissfully. 

He tightens his own arms around you gladly.

He would have hated to end up back on square one with you had you chosen to try and escape. 

The boat would have blown up a small fuse that would have been loud enough for his enhanced hearing if someone– you, were to turn the keys in the ignition.

Yes, he wasn't expecting you to be back but only too soon.

It was a test and you passed. 

As always, James stuck to his ways and rewarded you for being such a good wife. 

By giving you a ring, a new wardrobe and a baby that was the first of many to come.

.

What do you think hAH-

[di-writes-stuff]

loml

Greg House x Reader

A/N: So, I haven’t written anything in months. Whoopsies! (I have no excuse, I just didn’t want to.)

TW: It’s House. There’s your trigger warning. (Drugs.)

“Who’s gonna stop us from waltzing back into rekindled flames, if we know the steps anyway?”

This is a mistake.

That’s the only thought that runs through your head as you sit in the sterile examination room, the chair under you hard and entirely uncomfortable. It’s fitting, nothing about this will be pleasant, you knew it going in.

And yet you still did. You walked into this damn hospital, snuck around like some criminal, praying that you wouldn’t run into him before the time was right. If it ever is, it never really has been with you two. Maybe it never will be, maybe the world is trying to tell you something you’re just too stubborn to hear. How many times can you keep going back to the same broken thing?

Apparently you haven’t hit your limit yet, considering where you are.

It’s like every nerve in your body spurs to life as the door slides open and he walks in. Him, House. His eyes are glued to the chart in his hand, not really bothering to look at you. He’d treat his patients through the door if he could.

“What’s wrong with you?” He asks in a way that’s so typically him you almost roll your eyes. Abrasive, cold, these should be red flags. They are, you just don’t care.

Maybe he had a point with all the masochist jokes.

You quickly refocus, clearing your throat and waiting. For what, you’re not sure. Obviously he’ll look up, recognize you as, well, you. His ex, but that’s not even close to covering whatever twisted role it is you serve in his life. On and off for…how long? Years, you know that. Two, at least, maybe more. There’s always something wrong, something ruining your chances. The drugs, the painfully obvious emotional unavailability. The same one you ignored the existence of when you decided to come here.

Then there’s you. The constant desire you have for more. More devotion, more love, more than he’s willing to give.

Or more than he can, you refuse to explore that option.

You’re fucked, simply. There’s no possible way that you two work. It’s too much conflict, more than a mouthful of pills or some hate sex can solve.

His eyes flick up and widen as he freezes. Speechless. In another circumstance you’d be proud of this. It’s an achievement after all, he never does know when to shut his mouth.

He wasn’t expecting you, not for a second. Maybe he should’ve. You’ve always been stubborn, a trait you both share. It made for some agonizingly long arguments, and some wildly good make up.

That’s the issue with you two. You are eachother. It’s why you’re so chaotic together. It’s also why you can’t be with anybody else.

“Hey.” You say weakly, and the word feels stupid as it comes out of your mouth. You’re long past pleasantries, which is exactly why you receive silence in return.

You knew he’d be like this.

You feel your face heating in humiliation anyway. At the very least, you won’t cry, you won’t let yourself.

The stinging sensation in your nose is persistent as ever.

He slowly crosses the room, sitting down in the chair next to you, a small creaking noise filling the otherwise empty silence. A thick swallow from you, the awkward drumming of fingers from him. This is painful, and for a second you hope his pager will go off. He’d bolt with an excuse, you know he would. And because you’re the same, you would too. And then you’d be back, in a week, maybe a month, and it’d be even worse.

You’ve always had a knack for self-destruction.

You both know how it ended last time. All over a stupid bet. Cuddy thought he couldn’t make it a week without Vicodin, he thought he could. Back when he was still adamant about denying his addiction. Halfway through it might as well have been torture. Deep into detoxing, and still, he wouldn’t stop. Wouldn’t listen as you begged him to stop being so childish, so stubborn. He wouldn’t even let you come near him, let alone help. He said it’s cause he didn’t need your pity.

In reality, he just didn’t want you to see him like that. Nobody would. Every inch of his pale, shaking frame was covered in sweat, bags under his eyes and a bloodshot gaze had him looking damn near dead.

He was sick, and he hated having to face it more than anything. The Greg House being forced to admit he was wrong. Sometimes you wondered if he’d rather die than say it out loud.

Neither of you handled it well, you never do. He was too stupid to see the obvious, see that he needed help. Needed you. And you, you were too sensitive to let it go. Let him go. Give up on any hope that this could go anywhere.

You still are, and you feel it keenly as the two of you sit in silence. His eyes are trained on you, and if you didn’t know him any better, you’d think the look in his eyes was judgement. But no, it’s a myriad. Confusion, anger, guilt, longing. All things he’d never admit. That’d be far too human.

“Say something.” Your voice comes out pleading, a tone you loathe on yourself.

He turns to you, his eyes tracing over your every feature like he can’t decide which one to settle on. How many times has he seen you like this? Desperate, vulnerable, because of him. He loses count. He wants to forget it, but you have to go through the motions. Pretend you’ve worked through your issues so you can live in a momentary state of bliss. Maybe it’ll last a few months this time. Could be less, if he really screws it up.

He’ll take what he can get.

“What do you want me to say?” The words come out harsh, cold, and for a moment he expects you to turn away. You don’t. Of course you don’t.

You sigh heavily, you expected it, the ice you’d be met with. You know him intrinsically, predicting his moves like the plot twists of a movie you’ve watched one too many times.

“Something, anything.” This is sad, pathetic, even. You always do this. Go back to each other, pulling out a past that’s probably better off left in the dark closet it belongs to. Still, how can you just forget? The idea feels foreign after all this time weaving in and out of one another’s lives.

Still, this is familiar, comfortable, in a way. The feigned indifference, the cold tone, the need to pretend neither of you care nearly as much as you do. It would be easier, less painless, to just move on. Have lives separate from each other.

But he’s starting to think he lives off pain. Physical and mental. It’s all he’s known for years. Why change a routine that’s become so commonplace? And even with the pain, he’s never been happier than he was with you. You understand him, and the part of him that hates that kneels to the part that needs it.

The break ups, the separation, it’s all just a low between highs. Ones he finds far more addicting than the pills sitting in his pocket.

He begins tapping his cane on the floor, a restless rhythm. “I miss you.” His voice is deadpan as the words come out, and you know why. He’s being honest, his tone can’t betray how hard that really is for him. He leans his head back, letting it thud against the wall behind you in a way that makes you flinch.

For a moment, you wonder if he’s just saying what you want to hear.

You quickly remember who you’re talking to.

He lets his knee fall sideways, brushing against yours. It’s tiny, imperceivable, almost. If you weren’t so clued into everything he was doing, maybe you wouldn’t have noticed it. But you did, your eyes flicking down to the point of contact. It feels dangerous.

“I missed you too.” Your voice is shaky, quiet, pathetic. To you, at least. Most might see this as normal. A healthy display of vulnerability. You, though. This is hell. It is for him too. It’s also necessary. Maybe this is your twisted way of proving yourselves to each other, giving evidence to your devotion.

“This won’t end well.” He says, pragmatic as always. Cold, sensible. Too smart for hoping, waiting on change that’ll never come.

“I know.” And I’m here anyway. Words go unspoken, you’ve had enough honesty for today.

He sighs, and the noise is too tired. For a second fear settles in that you’re the one doing this to him. That trying to be decent. Trying to be suitable for a relationship is just too much for him to handle.

“Then why are you here?” He knows the answer, he’s not stupid. Maybe he just needs to hear it, and then he’ll get the common sense to tell you to leave. To give up on this, spare both of you the inevitable pain.

You sigh, the idea of having the explain worse than just letting the truth linger unspoken. “What if it works this time?” You know it’s stupid, and you know he’ll tell you just that. For a second you remember something your therapist told you. Insanity is doing the same thing over and over and expecting a different outcome. You’d rolled your eyes, told her this wasn’t anything like that. That people can change, you can change.

You stopped going to your appointments after that.

You just look at him, watch as he closes his eyes, running a hand over his face before looking to you. “For how long?” For a second, you think there’s hope in his voice, like he’s waiting for you to lie to him, say this can last forever. It probably will, you think. On and off for the rest of your lives, never stable.

“We can find out.” The words are an invitation, a reckless one. You’ll let him back in, and it’ll end poorly, and you won’t be able to be mad. You knew how this would go from the start, how can you blame him for the inevitable?

He looks to you, and you can tell he’s given up. It was always gonna happen, you wouldn’t stay away forever. No use in wasting time waiting.

“I hate you.” The words are empty. It’s his last ditch effort to push you away. He has to do it, he has to know he didn’t just let you in. Something in him has to hold onto the false belief that he doesn’t need this, that he’s indifferent. That he’s the same cold man he’s always been.

As he mutters the words he reaches out, his hand sliding over your jaw, pulling you in closer.

You smile weakly, rolling your eyes at the absurdity of the statement. You know him, you know when he’s lying, and he’s never done a worse job at it than he just did.

You’re hardly inches apart now, your lips nearly ghosting his own. Your voice is shaky as you speak, “Love you too.” As his lips brush yours, he just melts, leaning into you with a fervor he used to call lust. There’s no use pretending that’s all this is now.

The kiss ends all too soon as he pulls away, shallow breaths leaving both of you, filling the silence. You almost wonder if you should leave when his voice sounds, quiet, tentative, all things he’s normally not.

“I’m going to screw this up.” The look in his eyes is guilt for something he hasn’t even done. He will, but you ignore the nagging voice in the back of your head that says to run before he has the chance. Yes, he’s hurt you. It’s not as if you haven’t done the same to him. You know where to aim when you’re mad, and you’ve turned him to a dartboard more times than you can count.

“I’m okay with that.” For a second, as the words fall off your tongue so easily, almost instinctually, you wonder if your mother would be disappointed in you. This isn’t how she raised you. Offering some man a hundred second chances all because what, you love him? Because when it’s good, it really is so good?

Because at the end of the day, you don’t think you could do it. Leave him, live the rest of your life without him in it. You’d wonder, you’d always wonder what would’ve happened if you just gave him one more chance. And so you will, again, and again, and again.

Sometimes you wonder what your life would look like if you’d never met him. Maybe you’d be married, happy with some man who gave you far less trouble than House ever did. You curse the way you find the thought boring. He’s awful, but he’s thrilling. You might even have kids, or at least be ready for one.

You know deep down you could have a future like that, and still, all thoughts of it dissipate when he opens his mouth.

“I’m off at eight.” Self loathing drips from each word. He’s a selfish bastard, he’ll let you forgive him, and time and time again, he’ll know he doesn’t deserve it. Still, he can’t turn you down. He can’t leave. He can’t not have you. The one good thing that’s ever come out of his life. He just can’t. Not when you’re offering.

“I’ll be here.” The words are so horribly fitting. Won’t you always? Will there ever be a time he takes it too far? Or will you always go back to him? Will you always turn away from the better life, the happier life you could have without him?

Yes. It’s always yes, because deep down, you stopped wanting a life without him the second you experienced life with him. Everything else became boring, commonplace, once you’d had him. There’s nothing like House. Not a person, or drug, or liquor strong enough to come close to how he makes you feel. Nothing can make the memory fade, and nothing can replace it either.

There’s no good outcome, it’s either life alone or life with him. And so you let his fingers interlace with your own, let the sensation numb the thought that never left your head this whole time, the one that’ll haunt you on sleepless nights you spend in his bed, staring at the ceiling with his arms wrapped around you.

This is a mistake.

A/N: thank u to the taco bell fire sauce packet i quoted.

[slvt4buffw0men1111]

Assistance

Pt. 3, Pt. 2, Pt. 1

18+

Smut under cut.

Cw: daddy kink, slight degradation, overstimulation, choking, manhandling, rough sex

The rest of the week flew by. Sevika and you not interacting as much as you would like to due to all the cases her and Silco have to finish before the work week was over. You had about 3 hours left of work and you were making sure all the scheduling was correct for next week when you saw someone walk up to the desk in your peripheral. 

“You ready for the banquet tomorrow?”, you here Sevika say. She was leaning on the counter her arms straining against her blazer, her biceps on display. 

“Mhm almost I just need to find a dress, I’ll have to go tomorrow morning I haven't had much time this week to go look.”, you reply. 

“Just take the rest of the day off we have no more clients coming and the mall is gonna be packed in the morning.” 

“You’re not serious, are you?”, you say not believing her. 

“I am serious and here, take the company card to get yourself something real nice. Want my date looking better than anyone in that room.”, she said getting out her wallet. 

“Date? Thought I was your plus one.” 

“Date, plus one, same thing, I just want you looking your best, even though you look astonishing in anything. Right?”, she smirked. 

You couldn't say anything. 

 *Why is she so bold?!* 

“I'll tell Silco you're heading out and I'll text you details for the banquet in the morning.” 

“Ok Thank you.”, you get up and start gathering your stuff. 

“And I mean it, buy something nice, treat yourself, the card has no limit.” 

That’s how you found yourself at the mall at some dress shop. A very expensive one might I add. You picked up a price tag $649.99. 

*HOLY SHIT* 

You felt sick just touching something that expensive, but she did say no limits right, and to treat myself... 

You wander around the store some more trying to touch the dresses as least as possible worried the oils on your fingertips would ruin the delicate fabrics. And that when you saw it a long silk Burgandy dress. It was strapless and had heart shape neckline, with a sexy slit running up the leg. It was perfect. 

You obviously had to try it on before buying something with that price and it seemed even more perfect on. Accentuating all your curves and making your cleavage pop. You bought the dress not daring to look at the price tag. And made your way out the mall, before another store caught your eyes. 

VICTORIA’S SECRET 

Might as well get a new set to match your new dress. You decided on a black lace bandeau with a silk trim and red rose in the middle. A long with the matching panties that had a triangle cut out right above the ass. You bought the set with your card not wanting to push your limits and also not wanting finance department to see what you bought. You arrived home and got ready for bed. You couldn't sleep you had a shaking feeling inside, that feeling when you know something excited is happening the next day.  

It was the next afternoon, Sevika texted you letting you know she’ll be there to pick you up at 6pm, that gave you 7 hours to get ready. First you went to get a mani-pedi you haven't had one in ages and you really wanted to pamper yourself for your “date” with your sexy boss.  

You got home did a quick face mask and took a shower before starting on your hair and makeup. The makeup was natural with a bolder eyeliner, your lips painted a similar hue of your dress. Which you paired with some gold jewelry. (Or silver) 

You were slipping on a pair of black kitten heels when you heard a knock on your door.  

*She's early* 

“One second!”, you yell out while grabbing your clutch purse and lipstick.  

You opened the door expecting to see Sevika but instead saw an older man. 

“Y/n L//n, is that you?”, he asked looking down at his phone. 

“Yes?” 

“Ms. Verma sent me to pick you up as she is caught up with something at the moment but she will meet you at the Banquet Hall.", he explained. He led you down your apartment halls out to a black range rover opening the door for you.  

The drive was silent, you didn’t know if you should be mad, she wasn’t picking you up or flattered she sent such a nice car to pick you up. You made it to the banquet hall and saw Sevika outside the entrance doors. She looked noiceee. She was wearing a simple and classy all black tux that seemed to make her look even taller and intimidating than before.  

The valet opened the door for you and you made your way towards Sevika. When she spotted you, she couldn't seem to take her eyes off of you. Her eyes made you even more nervous than before.  

“Good to see you made it safely, Y/n, you look beautiful.”, she said clearly checking you out. 

“Thank you Sevika, as do you.” 

She held out her arm for you to grab as you both made your way into the banquet. There was lots of people all dresses in their best pearls and furs. You suddenly felt underdressed and underage. Everyone seemed to be Sevika's age or older. The older mean giving you look that made you want to cover yourself with a blanket. This didn’t go unnoticed by Sevika as she pulled you closer as you made you to your table. That so gracefully pulled the chair out for you.  

This was lot more boring than you thought. Hours of hearing mediocre jokes that you had choice to laugh at and food that tasted like straight up hospital food in ridiculously small portions. You were ready to go. 

“I’m gonna go wash up I’ll be back.”, you said quietly enough that just Sevika heard you. Which she didn't even seem too. 

You went to the bathroom and sat on your phone for a minute before washing your hands and exit the restroom to head back to boring festivities of the night. 

“Hello there young lady, you look very sexy tonight.”, said an old man who looked like he touched children. Ew.  

“Ha thank you.”, you blankly reply trying to walk past him. He grabbed on your arm to keep from going and you felt his old wrinkly yet moist hand.  

“Excuse me!” 

“You're not excused why don't you come to my table and chat for a while pretty.” 

“Shes not interested, you can let of go of her.” 

*Oh thank god* 

Sevika came standing next to you looking at the man like she was seconds away from killing him. Without another word the old man left as fast his stubby legs would let him. 

“I’m so sorry, are you ok?”, she asked facing you. 

“Ya I'm find just grossed out.” 

“I'm sorry, I should've came with you, these men here aren’t used to seeing such women, should've known they would try something. I can hurt him if you want me too.”, she said with eyes of rage and caring. 

“No Sev I’m fine thank you, I'm just glad you got here when you did.” 

She smiled at the nickname that came out your lips.  

“You wanna get out of here?” 

“I would like that.”, you said grabbing you clutch from her hand. She wrapped her arm around your waist as she said her goodbyes and walked you to her car. A nice sleek black Porsche 911.  

You guys drove in silence for a while until Sevika finally spoke up. 

“You want to come to my place, for a drink, you can say no I don’t mind”, she blabbered on. 

“That sounds fine to me.” 

The tension in the car seemed to rise more after that. You couldn’t stop staring at the way the veins in her hand protruded. You really wondered what those hands could do. 

You made to a gate and Sevika pressed a button in her car that opened it and there you saw the most gorgeous and huge house ever. You knew she had money but lawd, the car should've given it away.  

The inside was just as lavish as the outside. It had a homey vibe to it yet modern.  

“What do you drink?”, she asked pulling out two glasses. Her blazer now off.  

“I'll just have whatever you have.”, you said still soaking up her home. 

She poured you some whiskey and made her way to chair next to you. 

“That was banquet was boring I know, you don’t have to lie.”, she said. 

“Ya it was boring, that guy trying to feel me up was probably the most exciting thing that happened. Except it was actually quite scary.”, you say sipping on your drink. 

“Ya I'm sorry about that, I’m gonna have to report his firm, but that means more clients for us.", she joked. 

“I at least got this nice dress out of it though.” 

“You really do look so gorgeous you know that dress makes you look even more sexy.”, she said her eyes on you. 

“Why do you do that?” 

“Do what?”, she said setting her glass down and putting her hand on your thigh. 

“That, you tease me.” 

“Don’t act like you don’t like it.”, she said her eyes staring into yours. 

Your breath hitch as she started getting closer to you. Her eyes looking at your eyes then to your lips. That’s all you needed to close the space between you and kiss her. The kiss started off slow and passionate, like she was savoring you. 

“I've been wanting kiss you since I first saw you.”, you said into between kisses. 

“I've been wanting to a lot more than kiss you baby.”, she grabs your waist and hoist you onto the kitchen island. Her hands all over you back and thighs as you grab her neck and pull closer into you. Her thigh slots in between your legs making you let out a small whimper as you grind against her. The kisses getting sloppier and hotter by second. She starts to kiss down you jaw and onto your neck that will definitely leave marks. Your breath getting heavier. 

“Fuck y/n can I take you upstairs?”, she asked still kissing your neck. 

“Yes please.”, you breathe out. 

Her room was so dark and organized, a huge California king bed sits in the middle.  

She set you down on the bed not breaking the kiss. Her knee back in between your legs, your panties are soaked at this point and you're sure there's a wet patch on her pants. 

“Sevi, I need you please?”, you whine. 

“Yea need me how? Use your words baby.” 

“Touch me, I need you to touch me.”, you grind deeper into her knee. 

She lifts you off you back so she can unzip your dress. She slides the red fabric down your body and she smirks at your lace covered breast and pussy.  

“Fuck baby you knew this was gonna happen did you, huh?” 

“mhm”, you whine. She takes both your breast in her and starts to grope at them. You let out more whines as she unclasps your bra letting your breast free. She takes one of your breasts into her mouth, sucking on your hardened nipple her tongue swirling around it. Her mechanical hand wrapped around you while her flesh hand plays with your other breast.  

Your grinding harder and harder on her leg you pussy leaking all over her. She feels you seeping through her pants. 

“Your pussy needs some attention, doesn't she?”. You don’t reply, too embarrassed to say anything.  

“Answer me.”, she commands her mouth leaving your body completely. 

“Mm please touch my pussy I need you.” 

“Good slut.”, her hand travels down your body and she basically tears the underwear off of you, assuring you she’ll buy you a new pair. 

“You’re so fucking wet for me.”, her finger slides along your slit pushing down on your clit. You let out a whimper before she slides one of thick fingers inside of you. 

“Oh my god Sev”, she slides the finger in and out a few times before adding in a second finger curling up into you really stretching you out.  

“God you're so tight, how are supposed to take my cock huh?”, she teases. You moan at her words and squirm on her fingers. 

She takes your pulsing clit into her mouth sucking on your bud and lightly grazing it with her teeth.  

“Fuck se-” all you can do is moan her tongue making patterns on your pussy while she fingers you. Your so wet with you spit and you slick she slides in a third finger. 

“Need to make sure you can take my cock baby.”, she said completely obliterating your tight hole. Your stomach starts to feel hot and your legs begin to shake. 

“I’m g-gonna cum”, you barely stutter out. 

“Yeah, come on my face.” 

You squirt all over you mouth and fingers she does her best to drink it all up slurping on your pussy, downright nasty sound coming from you and her. You start to feel overstimulated as she's still eating your pussy and licking you up. Her fingers still deliciously hitting your g-spot.

“Sev I can’t it's too much”, you try to push her away but she doesn't budge. Your thighs now trapping her head, but she just pushes your leg back down and stares into your eyes as you come a second time on her mouth. She finally pulls away and climbs back on top you pulling you into a sloppy kiss. You can taste yourself on her mouth. 

“You ready for my cock baby?”, she asked.  

“Yes, I want your dick in me please!” 

She stands up off the bed and walked towards her bathroom while removing her shirt. When she comes back out, she is naked with nothing but an 8inch strap harnessed to her hips. Not only is a long but it's also thick. Her body is better than you imagined rock hard abs, muscular thighs, and her arm so strong looks like she kill you with just one punch

“Don’t worry baby it'll fit.”, she said like she can read your mind. 

“Open your legs for me”, you immediately obey her opening up and putting your pussy on display. She gets in between your legs. She starts rubs the tip of the strap up and down you wet pussy.  

“Y’ so wet I don't need any lube baby.”.  

“Open up for me.”.  You comply and open up your mouth wide for her. She puts her middle and ring finger in your mouth and down your throat causing you to gag. She removes her fingers and wipes your spit on her cock jerking it off.  

“You ready baby?”, she asked leaning over you. 

“Mhm” 

“I need words baby.” 

“Yes, please just fuck me already!” 

She doesn’t wait a second longer before she puts her cock in you. You moan at the stretch of her thickness. She doesn’t wait; she bottoms out completely in you before pulling out and putting it back in. She starts fucking you slowly at first but doesn’t last long, she speeds up and you moan and whimper in pleasure. 

“Fuck daddy oh my g-” 

That where you messed up. She looks at you with pure animalistic intents. 

 She takes your legs and put them up to your chest, your basically folded in half as she starts to fuck you hard and fast. You can only scream in pleasure she’s so deep in you, you swear you can feel her in her stomach.  

“You're so deep daddy”, you can barely get it out. She grabs you by neck with her mechanical hand and starts to squeeze your neck, not enough to stop your breathing, but enough to make you feel woozy in the head.  

“You like daddy’s cock in your pussy huh, don’t you slut”, she growls in your ear. You nod your head as she continues to pound into your pussy. The sound of skin slapping and the wetness of your pussy fills the room. Your bodies radiating heat against each other. She feels your body stiffen up and your pussy tighten around her cock. She knows your gonna cum. She keeps her pace and starts to rub your clit. 

“Gonna come all over daddy’s cock like a good little slut.”, that’s all she needed to say. Your eyes roll to back of head and open your mouth wide as you scream out to her. Your body twitching as you leak around her cock.  

“Oh- fuck”,Sevika groans as her pace falters, she comes with a grunt and moans into your ear.   

She collapsed on top of you, her breathing heavy against your neck. She starts to kiss back up you neck and to your lips. You two kissed for a while until Sevika grabbed you by your waist and flipped you over. 

“I’m not done with you yet, ass up baby”, she spanked your ass. You arched your back putting your pussy on perfect display for her. 

“fuck”, Sevika muttered under breath. Seeing the way your ass was shaped and your (her) personal heaven in between your thighs. Her hand touch around you ass and down to you weeping hole. She lines her cock back up and thrust all 8 inches into you at once. You scream at the intrusion but she doesn't stop. She’s fucking you hard. Both hands on your hips as she pulls you deeper onto her cock. Your face smushed into the pillow, your moans and whines muffled.  

“Could fuck your pussy all day baby”, she grunts using her flesh hand spank you. The added pain just made you squeeze more around her dick. Your moans getting louder. Thank god you weren't at your apartment. She takes her mechanical hand back around your neck to pull you up, your back now against your chest. The angle making her impossibly deeper into you.  

The only sound leaving you lips were incoherent babbles and moans. Drool pools out of your mouth. You are officially drunk on her cock.  

“Uh-uh fuck Sevi”, you manage to get out. 

“You love the way daddy fucks your slutty pussy, don't you?” 

“Yes, daddy I love it”  

She looks down to where your two bodies connect. A thick white ring of cum at the base of her cock. It only makes her fuck you harder. The sound of her hips against your ass, your moans and her grunts, the way she has her hands feel on your body. It was all too much.  

“Be a good slut for daddy and rub your pretty clit and I'll let you cum”, you whine in protest. You don’t even think you have enough body strength left for that, but the urge to cum is stronger. You bring your hand down your pussy and start to rub fast tight circles on your clit. Only took 10 seconds until your twitching and cumming all over her dick. Your cum dripping down your thighs.  

She gently sets you down onto the bed knowing you couldn't hold yourself up. She slowly pulls out her strap that makes you wince in discomfort.  

“I’ll be right back baby”, she says before she disappears into her bathroom. She comes out with boxers on and in her hands a class of water, a rag, and a t shirt for you. She turns you over and gently cleans in between your legs with the warm damp rag while kissing your thighs. She then has you sit up so she can put the shirt on for you. 

“Drink some of this then you can sleep baby”, your eyes barley able to keep themselves open. She tilts your head back for you and you drink half the glass before you fall back into bed. Sevika climbs in next to you her arm on your stomach.  

“Goodnight y/n”, she whispers but you don’t hear her as your already fast asleep. 

You just fucked your boss. 

Lmk if you want me to continue this story<3

[msnmnt]

Trouble

A/N: this was a request I got a little while ago which you can read here. Contains smut!

I hope you enjoy 🥰🤭

You fell back onto your bed, unable to stop yourself from smirking as you flicked through your photo gallery, favouriting your best snaps.

It had been a long couple of weeks with your boyfriend’s schedule busier than ever, leaving you craving his attention and most importantly, his hands all over you.

Mason was on his way back home after being away for a few nights, having had a game abroad and then staying on for a couple of days to train. He was finally coming home but with another match the following day, you knew sex was going to be off limits.

You admired Mason’s strict routine he had set for himself; his dedication to the gym, eating a healthy diet and always ensuring he got enough rest.

The one thing you didn’t admire, however, was his stance on sex the day before match days.

No matter how many times you had suggested it, he never caved. The closest he had came to giving in had been one night when you had got him all worked up, teasing him all evening under the table when you had been out with some of his friends. He was a wreck and later that night when you had him beneath you, your legs straddled either side of him, you thought he was finally going to break his own rule. A stupid rule, as far as you were concerned.

You had told him he could just lay there and rest his hands on your hips as he let you do all the work, and the way his eyes looked up to you with such desperation made you think he was going to give in, but he had managed to bring himself back down to earth and put an end to your advances.

Deep down and much to your dismay, you did understand. He had had far more injuries than he would’ve liked over the past couple of seasons, and he wanted to make sure he was feeling as fit as possible in order to have the energy he knew he needed to put in a good performance on the pitch.

But still, you were feeling particularly horny and you knew your own fingers weren’t going to get you anywhere near the bliss that Mason would always make you feel.

And so you had spent your evening getting yourself glammed up, doing your makeup nicely and curling your hair just how you knew Mason like it before trying on some of your prettiest lingerie.

Your tracking app told you he wasn’t too far away, close enough to get him a little worked up so by the time he got home he’d be as desperate for you as you were for him.

You smiled to yourself, always knowing he was going to pick the red. You padded over to your full length mirror, checking your makeup still looked okay and tousling your fingers through your hair. You slipped your robe off that you had put on after your picture session and you admired how your body looked in the lingerie, feeling pretty confident you were going to get what you wanted tonight.

You got yourself comfy on your shared bed just as you heard the door slam shut as quick as it had opened. You smiled to yourself at the sound of Mason’s footsteps as they got louder and louder till he burst into the room, quickly dropping his bag to the floor and shrugging off his jacket that he had clearly been in too much of a rush to take off downstairs.

He climbed onto the bed and on top of you, caging your body with his as he supported himself on his arms. His pupils were completely blown out, his cheeks a little flustered and his mouth parted slightly as his eyes took in your body, taking a good look up and down.

“Nice to see you too.” You giggled.

Mason was snapped out of his trance and bought his gaze up to look at you, his eyes softening at finally seeing you again.

He bought his lips to yours, capturing them in a short but hungry kiss before he pulled away, the biggest grin on his face as he tried to catch his breath.

“Mase did you run up here?” You giggled and he just nodded, tucking his face into your neck and beginning to pepper soft kisses to the skin.

“Those pictures made me so hard.” You hummed at his words, his hot breath on your skin making your body tingle. “Got me squirming in the back of the car, was worried the driver was going to ask me what was wrong.” He spoke before continuing his attack on your neck, his light kisses turning into open mouthed wet ones as you titled your head to the side, allowing him better access. “I meant it when I said you’re going to get me into so much trouble one day.”

“You liked the pictures that much, huh?” You asked with a little cockiness to your tone, attempting to take control of the situation.

“Got me so turned on, thinking about you here in our bed all by yourself in your sexy little lingerie.” He practically groaned as his eyes ran up and down your body, his tongue darting out to wetten his lips as he admitted the red lace on your body.

“Well I’m not on my own now.” You grinned up to him. “And you can have your way with me, Masey.” You bit down on your bottom lip, waiting for him to make his next move. Desperate for him to make his next move.

Mason looked down at you deep in thought and you could tell he was really contemplating saying fuck it to his rules and having his way with you like he so desperately wanted to. But something in his head was telling him it wasn’t worth it. He hadn’t long returned from another injury and he really wanted to try and impress when he was on the pitch, something he knew definitely wasn’t going to happen if he had his way with you.

Mason climbed off the bed, quickly stripping himself of his tshirt and jogging bottoms, leaving him in just his boxers. He looked at you with a mischievous glint in his eyes as he climbed back onto the bed, his body on top of yours as his arms came down either side of you once again. You squealed in surprise before relaxing back under him. You couldn’t help but grin, feeling smug with yourself that your advances had paid off.

He kissed you sweetly before licking at your bottom lip and you were quick to part your lips slightly to let him in. His tongue licked at yours and he moved the lower half of his body into yours, causing you to gasp at the feel of his hardened buldge pushing up against you, putting pressure where you needed him the most.

Mason pulled away, his expression matching yours which you couldn’t help but think was a little odd.

“Why’re you looking so smug, baby?”

“Because I knew I would get my way.” You replied confidently and a little egotistical, loving the fact you knew he just couldn’t deny you.

Mason huffed, looking down. “Not quite.” And with that he pulled himself from you, flopping himself down onto his side of the bed.

You furrowed your brows, quickly propping yourself up on your pillow to face him. “Huh?”

“I told you, as much as I would love to… I’m not going to fuck you tonight.”

Your jaw dropped slightly. “So what was all this? You decided to just tease me to get me all hot and bothered and then leave me hanging?” You sulked, your bottom lip sticking out as you crossed your arms across your body.

“Well not exactly.” Mason scootched over closer to you, peeling your arms away from your body.

His eyes danced up and down your body once more, his tongue darting out to lick his lips as he thought of all the dirty things he wanted to do to you.

But he couldn’t. Not today.

Instead, he bought his head back down to your neck, hot breath fanning your ear as he spoke.“You’re going to touch yourself.” He backed away from you, settling himself back down onto the mattress and rubbing himself through his boxers. “And I’m going to enjoy myself watching you.”

You gulped. This wasn’t something you had done before, and whilst the idea made you excited, you couldn’t help but feel a little nervous.

“But Mase…” You begun to protest but Mason cut you off.

“You don’t want to?” He asked and you were shamelessly quick to nod, eager to see what he did when you weren’t around.

Mason gripped your wrist, bringing your hand to his mouth. He enjoyed a bit of spitting in the bedroom, and so you were taken by surprise when he popped your fingers straight into his mouth, swirling his tongue around your digits to get them wet. A pathetic whimper left your lips and you felt your core pulse at the sensation.

He released your fingers from his mouth, bringing them to rest at the bottom of your tummy.

“Gonna touch yourself for me, angel?” His eyes were all hazy as they looked into yours, and all you could do was nod, dipping your fingers into your panties.

You still looked at him a little unsure, but as you watched Mason rub himself over his boxers, that gave you the little bit of confidence you needed to continue.

You inhaled sharply as your fingers lightly touched your clit, slowly beginning to circle the sensitive nub.

“Good girl.” Mason praised, unable to wait any longer to pull his cock from his boxers. He slowly begun to work himself, pumping his hand up and down his length, the tip pink and leaking with pre come already.

Your fingers continued to draw perfect circles to your clit, moans leaving your lips as you basked in the pleasure. Your free hand came down to fist at the sheets beneath you as you looked over at Mason, his head thrown back against the headboard. His eyes fell shut and he tugged his bottom lip between his teeth as he fucked his fist faster than before, building up the perfect rhythm that he had become accustomed to on his trips away from you.

You admired the way his adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed, his eyes opening to drag down your body; his favourite sight in the world. Wanting to put on a show for him, you traced your hand up your body till you reached your tummy, dragging it up to your chest. You lightly pinched your nipple through the red lace before moving across to the other one and giving it the same attention. Mason finally released his bottom lip when he begun to taste metallic from biting down so hard and he briefly relaxed his pace, his thumb brushing over his red tip before speeding up his movements again.

Breathy whimpers left his lips and you could tell he was trying to make himself last longer, till you had made yourself come, but you knew he was desperate for the release that he was teetering to.

You dipped your fingers to collect some of your wetness before continuing to draw circles to your clit, desperately wishing instead it was Mason’s working you towards your high.

“Mase-“ He briefly looked over to you but he had to close his eyes and take a deep breath at the sight of you playing with yourself. “Tell me what you want to do to me.”

“Oh.” Mason groaned, trying his absolute best to compose himself as he slightly slowed down the speed of his fist, now taking long, slow strokes. “Going to fuck you so good tomorrow baby, I swear to God. I’m going to pin you down to this mattress and have my way with you, going to make you come so many times baby. With my fingers, with my tongue, with my cock- oh.”

“Keep going.” You said, your hips involuntary raising from the mattress as you increased the pressure of your fingertips slightly. “Tell me what else you’re going to do to me, Masey.”

“Fuck, I’m gonna -“ He said before taking a deep breath, slowing the movements of his hand down for his own sake. “Gonna get you to sit on my face, you’re going to be a good girl and sit yourself on my face, gonna fuck you with my tongue till you’re tugging at my hair and all you can say is my name.” Mason couldn’t help himself, speeding up again as he thought to tomorrow when he’d be able to act out all the dirty scenarios going round in his head.

“Mase-“

“Then you’re going to bend over the end of the bed for me and I’m going to fuck you so good, not gonna stop till your legs are shaking and you’re coming all over my cock.”

His words were all too much and you came crashing down as your high completely consumed you, seeing stars as you rode out the feeling of pure euphoria.

Mason had been able to tell when you were about to reach your high and he finally let himself hit his release. He coated his hand and his stomach with his cum, fucking his cock into his hand until he was too sensitive, pulling it off. His head swimming in orgasm, heat and complete bliss.

You both took a few moments to settle back into reality, slowly regaining your breath as you looked over to him, giggling as you noticed the pink tint on your boyfriend’s face.

“Not quite what I had in mind but better than nothing I suppose.” You pretended to sulk but Mason couldn’t muster up a sarcastic reply in his post orgasm state, always feeling extra soppy and just wanting to be close to you.

He lifted his arm indicating he wanted you to snuggle up to him and you were glad to oblige, tucking yourself into his chest but being careful to keep your distance from the sticky mess on his tummy.

“I’m allowed a cuddle then, mhm?”

Mason chuckled. “A cuddle’s not going to stop me from having enough energy to run around for 90 minutes.” Mason replied sassily but his body language was completely different, his finger tips gently dragging up and down your bare arm as he held you close to him. Back where you belonged.

“Besides, I told you. I’ll make it up to you tomorrow.”

[ihavethedreamies]

Oh, Baby-Girl | Bang Chan [NSFW]

Bang Chan - Stray Kids

Rating: M (18+) MDNI

Word Count: ~5.4k

Pairing: Bang Chan x Tall!AFAB!Reader

Genre: Mafia AU!, Reader-Insert, Smut, Some Plot

!!This is smut…if that much isn't clear you should probably leave now!! MDNI!

Warnings: She/Her Pronouns used, Mentions of Guns (Mob/Mafia type stuff), Bodyguard! Chan, Mob Boss Daughter! Reader, Swearing, Kissing, Oral (F! & M! Receiving), Deepthroating, Face-Fucking, Spanking, Daddy Kink (it is Bang Chan after all), Unprotected Sex (Not Recommended), Big Dick! Chan

Author's Note: Oh no, what is this? I couldn't have possibly wrote this since I am working so diligently on packing. Well, as long as it's here…

There is just something about the choreography for Chk Chk Boom that did something to me, I'm sure many of you agree.

P.S. If you haven't read my stuff before, or much of it, you might not notice, but the rest of you have probably figured out I got a bit of a face-fucking fascination. Thanks for getting to know me.

Revised (1/31/25) - I forgot to change the name to (Y/N), so I fixed it!

I am cross-posting this on Archive. Please reblog! Share, even if its to the other sites! Let me know if you want to be on the taglist!

Being a mob boss’s wife isn’t nearly as fun and glamorous as the movies and shows (and TikTok) make it out to be. However, being the mob boss’s daughter? A bit of a different story. You’re protects from the violence and crime, but still get to reap the rewards. Fancy clothes, expensive jewelry, a nice car, and a bodyguard as well. Despite never being able to see him, you know you’re well protected as you walk down the streets of New York, spending all of your papa’s corrupt money. A few designer shopping bags hang in the crook of your elbow over your cropped jacket, fur lining the ends of the sleeves and lapels. Faux of course, you might be the daughter of a criminal, you’re not a monster. The thin heels of your over-the-knee (faux) leather boots click on the sidewalk as you tap away on your phone with your thumb. People move out of your way as you walk, you just have the aura of ‘fuck around and find out’. The gum in your mouth smacks as you chew, sneering at a child who doesn’t move out of the way fast enough. Your eye roll is hidden behind your Versace sunglasses, but your down-turned lip covered in dark red lipstick is still obvious. Your stiletto acrylic nails are the same dark red and click against your phone as you scroll through your search results. Despite how you look and dress, you still prefer to shop sales. That gives you more bang for your buck, since your father does limit your money some. As you pass an overly full trash can, you pluck the gum from your mouth and onto the pile. It’s lost all its flavor… Approaching the next store, you’re about to enter when you suddenly feel something instinctual rise up in you. You halt, people scurrying around you still, and with your natural height paired with six-inch pumps, you still stand a head above a lot of the passerby. You feel vulnerable for some reason and huff in frustration, shoving the door open to the boutique you had stopped in front of. It’s not your original destination, but you instantly feel safer being inside. It’s not anywhere close to the first time your ingrained sense of danger has kicked in, and it won’t be the last. You there’s at least one bodyguard tailing you even if you never see him, but that doesn’t mean the shelter of a store isn’t welcome.

“Welcome.” One of the employees calling out snaps you out of your trance, having been looking out the window at the street. You turn and give her a forced smile and remove your sunglasses. Deciding to look around while you’re in the shop, you admire some of the items, but none of them are up to your standards, but that lingering feeling…lingers. Picking up a pair of shoes to look over, you look out the window once more, trying to see if you can pick out anyone lurking outside. Nope. Pressing your lips together, you sigh and move to leave. Stepping back onto the street, you look around again, trying to be subtle, almost like you’re looking for a cab. Still not seeing anything that sticks out, you move on and toward your actual destination. You’re hit with an even greater sense of doom as you hear the screech of car tires in the distance and you spin around to see a black SUV hurdling down the street, unusually empty for New York. Like it’s in slow motion, as the vehicle approaches, the window rolls down and a gloved hand sticks out, a Glock in his hand.

“Shit!” You move to duck behind a parked sedan, and you yelp when your heel snaps as you dive for cover. Your ankle twists and your tights rip, but you get behind the vehicle as you hear the gunshots. People around you scream, and you scramble to hit the emergency button on your phone, but…it’s shattered. It must’ve hit the sidewalk harder than you did.

“Fuck~” You shove the device into your purse, and you watch as people run and scream. Getting up just enough to peer through the blown-out window of the car you’re hiding behind, your ankle protests, and you fall back down, catching yourself with your hand.

“Did you get her?” You hear a gruff voice shout followed by, “No!” Then, through the running pedestrians, a huge man appears, a gun in his hand. He’s right down the sidewalk, and you’re right in view. Before you even have the change to pray, a figure steps between you and the assailant. You can’t see since he’s in your way, but you hear his gun go off and watch the goon fall from between the legs of your savior. He has to be the bodyguard that your father told you is constantly at your tail. The man groans and curses, the same SUV coming to help haul him away, clutching at his knee. Sirens grow closer and you try to get up, pushing on your scraped hand. You wince again, at least three of your nails on that hand are broken, a fourth cracked, and your heel is ruined. It would’ve been way too awkward to try and stand with just one pump, so you take off your other one.

“Here.” The man who saved you has an accent, you can’t quite place it in the moment. His leather-gloved hands grab your forearms and he more or less yanks you up. When you stand before him, he’s…short. About an inch or two shorter than you…with your heels off. He’s also really fucking hot. It’s clear he’s a bit shocked at the height difference as well since he’d never been so close to you. Was he the guy always guarding you? You guess it doesn’t matter if he’s shorter if he’s protecting you from afar. He shoves his pistol in the back of his pants, and you watch his white t-shirt struggle across his muscular chest as he does so.

“You okay, love?” Australian, it’s definitely an Australian accent. And it’s also really fucking hot.

“Y-yes.” You finally answer and you jerk to grab your bags, but he’s grabbing them alone with your purse before you can get close.

“Can you walk?” He nods at your bare feet, and you stand on one of them, rolling your twisted ankle to test it. Putting weight back on it, “I can manage.” He then starts to lead you into the nearest alley as the police cruises grow closer. At least you have tights on as you meander through the not exactly clean back alleys, and he finally brings you to another big black SUV parked behind some bakery.

“Here.” He opens the passenger door, and you climb in as he throws your bags in the back. You sit, shaking still as he climbs into the driver’s seat.

“Sh-should I be up front?” Your voice is also shaking still, and he starts the vehicle.

“The windows are tinted, but we’ll be quick.”

“Quick? Where are we going?” Your father’s building is a good twenty minutes away, let alone the house on the outskirts of the city.

“Closest place is mine.”

“Y-you’re my bodyguard, right?” You just realize that even though he saved you, that doesn’t mean it’s his job. The man huffs and wrangles his leather jacket off, tossing it in the back as well. The clean lines of your father’s crest are tattooed into his bicep, and you slump in the seat.

“What’s your name?”

“Chan.”

“Just Chan?”

Yep.” It seems he’s been waiting for you to buckle up, because he reaches around you to grab the still unfastened belt, doing it for you. He smells really fucking good to and your head swims. The spike of adrenaline seemingly got all parts of your body worked up, but you force the wave of arousal down. It is not the time nor place for any of that. The ride to his place is quiet, thankfully, because if he talked more, you’d be a goner. Trying not to be obvious, you would look to the side to stare at him. His side profile is immaculate, strong nose and jaw line, full lips…

“So…are you…?” You didn’t know how to word your question without sounding rude.

“Korean.” He knew where you were going, and you let out a small ‘ah’ of understanding. Your father didn’t get along with the Yakuza, nor the Chinese mafia, so Korean made sense. Korean-Australian at that…right?

“Australia?” You want to make sure, not great at picking out the different British-origin accents.

“Yep.”

“Am I annoying you?” He sags at your question and shakes his head.

“No, love, just trying to keep an eye out.” He pointedly looks in the rear-view mirror and you let out a quiet apology. The silence makes sense then.

“Put your sunglasses on.” Chan nods at the item in your hand, and you do so, pointedly looking out the window as he pulls up to the security gate of his building’s parking garage. Getting in without any comments from the guard, he parks in what you assume is his designated spot. The bodyguard gets out and open your door for you, giving you his hand for assistance. You grunt when you land wrong on your still upset ankle and he catches you, making your chest press to his.

“S-sorry.” You flinch back, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear and he smiles gently.

“It’s okay, Miss (Y/N).” Fuck, if you’re already attracted to a guy with an accent, don’t EVER let him say your name. As he’s out of view to get your bags you mouth an exaggerated ‘oh my god’ and quickly shut your mouth when he shuts the back door. He leads you toward the entrance door for the building, staying slow to accommodate your slight limp. Getting in the elevator you still keep your sunglasses on just in case, though the building seems pretty secure. That doesn’t mean the security watching the cameras are always completely trustworthy though. Enough money can convince most people of anything. You exhale tiredly as you stop by his door and Chan presses the code into the number pad and it pings. He holds the front door open for you and you enter, hobbling down the entry hall. It’s a nice place and you wonder how much your father pays him to watch you nearly 24/7. Or…

“So, are you my guard a lot?”

“During the day.” So, yes.

“How long?”

“Hm…about three years.”

“Ah…” That’s a pretty long time. So, he probably knows a lot about you, and you’ve never him before in your life.

“Oh! I need to call papa…” You rummage through your purse that he sets on the coffee table. As you sit on the couch, you then remember that your phone is broken.

“I’ll handle it, love.” Chan sets your shopping bags and your shoes down as well and you’d totally forgotten about your heels. When did he grab them too?

“I need to call a few others as well, if you want something to eat you can rummage through the kitchen.” He nods toward the other room behind where you sit and you nod as he goes down the other hallway, deeper into the apartment. You take the chance to look around and you wonder if he’s ever here. Well, if he’s watched you every day for three years, he probably isn’t. The decoration is simple, almost like it’s a hotel room rather than a living space, but it’s nice. Maybe his bedroom is more personal? Hearing his muffled voice from further in, you stand and meander to the kitchen like he suggested. Opening the fridge, there’s more than you expected since the rest of the apartment is barren. Nothing sticks out though, but you notice an object is in the over despite it being off. You knew exactly what it is. Opening the oven, you grab the pizza box and open it as your mouth waters. You aren’t sure if pizza is your favorite because you have it all the time (it’s a front for your father’s shenanigans) or if you genuinely like it. Holding the day-old slice, you chew absentmindedly, snooping through the rest of Chan’s kitchen. He has a little wine display on the counter, and you pull one of the bottles out to look at the label. You snort, of course he has your family’s vintage. Maybe he gets a discount? At least you know you like it. Holding the slice in your mouth as you reach for a wine glass in the cupboard, you have to get on your tip toes to reach one. Can he even normally reach them? There’s dust on the glass, and you ponder if he ever uses them.

“Sorry I don’t use those glasses often.” His voice startles you, but you keep a firm grip on the glass then set it down.

“That’s fine… Do you just… drink from the bottle?” You easily and expertly pull the cork out with your bare hands since it’s sticking out enough and he blinks at the ease with which you do so. Just because you’re the daughter of a mob boss and don’t fight yourself, doesn’t mean you aren’t strong. Your father made sure that if it comes to it, you can punch a guy’s teeth out just as well as any bodyguard. That doesn’t help with guns, mind you.

“Uh, no,” he huffs an airy laugh, it’s actually kind of cute, “I just use a normal glass.” He goes to the cupboard next to the one you’d been in and grab a square-shaped cup that looks like it’s more for whiskey than wine.

“Are you doing okay, love?” He leans against the counter as you pour yourself a glass after giving him some.

“I guess. My ankle kind of hurts still.” You easily balance on one leg, lifting the other foot to roll the joint around, testing its pain level.

“Just because I’ve never met you face to face doesn’t mean I don’t know you. Are you okay?” He presses and you flinch to look at him. It’s not…creepy per se, just…odd. You sigh, taking a sip, your hand still shaking a bit.

“Y-yeah. I mean, I’ve been around guns and stuff, but… I myself have never been shot at; you know?”

“I do, actually.” He smiles cheekily and you sigh in mock annoyance.

“Well, it’s a little unfair that you seem to know me so well, and I have no knowledge of you.” You walk around the island and back toward the living room, sitting in relief on the couch. You cross your leg over the other, injured ankle dangling in the air. Chan sits down next to you, leg up on the cushion so he can face you, toned arm resting on the back of the sofa. You feel his eyes linger on your tight-clad legs, your leather short-shorts showing most of your thighs. His gaze stops at the tear in the supposedly tear-proof pantyhose, then snaps his head up like he’s just been startled awake. The man knows you know he’s ogling your legs, and the tips of his ears turn red as he clears his throat. How is such a handsome man so cute?

“What do you want to know?”

“How did you get to be my bodyguard?”

“I had no mafia ties before. I guess that was a good thing. I was more or less scouted to be a bodyguard when I was a bouncer at some penthouse night club. It seems some of your dad’s guys saw I was good, and I got offered way more money than any other job. They doubled it when I took the spot as your personal bodyguard.

“I see. Where did you learn to shoot so well?”

“I started at the shooting range when I was in college with my friends. I got better through work and your father made sure I was an expert before he put his baby girl’s life in my hands.”

“Hm, you obviously don’t know me that well.” You pick up on a very small detail, wondering if he knows what it is.

“Hm… Not his ‘baby girl’, his ‘little kitten’.”

“Oh, maybe you do know me well then~?”

“Quiz me, baby-girl.” The way he says it is so different than two seconds prior. His tone deepens with it and a smug look settles casually on his face. You can’t help but watch his throat move as he swallows a sip of wine and you take a sip yourself, then set the glass down.

“What’s my favorite color?”

“Red. Something else.”

“Brand?”

“Prada. Something real, (Y/N).” Chan leans further into the cushion. You’re right about at eye level, and you wonder…

“Does it bother you I’m taller?” You change the subject so fast he nearly gets whiplash. You are genuinely curious. You’re tall for a woman anyway, let alone when you do wear heels, and some guys don’t care for it.

“Height doesn’t play into what matters, baby-girl.” His slightly cryptic answer intrigues you, but you move back to the previous topic.

“What’s my favorite book and why?” He sighs, hugging a laugh at your shift back.

“You tell people it’s 1984 because of the psychological implications behind it, but your favorite is actually Dragon Ride because it go you into fantasy. You read it eight times in elementary school, and you have a signed copy.” Chan grins at your bewildered expression. Once again, in any other situation that would be creepy as hell that he knows, but three years of observation would key him in.

“Okay, smart guy,” you pick your glass back up, slinging your legs up under you on the couch, facing him.

“Why do I currently not have a boyfriend?” That’s something you can’t just say, it has to be observed.

“You hate romance. Flowers, chocolates, a fancy meal. You hate it, but because you like fancy clothes and jewelry, men think you lean that way. You’d prefer a movie date at home or going horseback riding.” Shit, that’s a little creepy. More so that he knows you so well, it’s like he can see into your head, that kind of creepy; not that he’s a creep. Chan nearly cackles as he giggles at your bewildered expression, and you whine. Why is he so cute?

“Why are you so cute?” You accidentally speak your thoughts aloud and you immediately freeze, since he does too.

“I’m cute?” He manages to get out after you both sputter for a few seconds.

“W-well, I mean-“

“I’m cute?” The simple inflection change completely shifts the meaning of his question.

“You think I’m cute?” You whisper and he sets his own glass down, then he takes yours so he can do the same. He shifts down the cushion, so his knee touches yours. Chan leans in and you clench your jaw to remain strong. Don’t kiss him, don’t kiss him, don’t kiss him-

“Baby-girl, if I didn’t do you really think I would still be watching you ten hours a day, every day?” Oh. That’s a good point. Chan crooks a brow, waiting for an answer or something, don’t kiss him-

“You want to kiss me that bad?” he finally asks, and you jolt back, eyes leaving his mouth and shooting up to his eyes.

“What?! No?” Your voice cracks and he presses his pretty lips together, so he doesn’t laugh at you.

“So, you don’t want to?”

“I never said that-“ He catches you. Literally. You try to reel back so you can get off the couch, but his hand grabs your wrist. It’s gentle, but tight enough that he can yank you back to him, and he swallows the squeak he pulls out of you. Your body melts, all the tension from the earlier attack as well as the sexual kind that’s been taking your body over, leaves. The kiss grows from a low heat to a full inferno rapidly. Your jacket is shed, then your necklaces and bracelets, and as his tongue creeps into your mouth, you claw at his shirt. Your fingers unevenly scratch at his skin through the fabric since about half of them are broken. You both pant when he pulls back, and he slightly shoves you down so your back hits the cushion and he sits up more on his knees. You watch with glee as his shirt comes off; fucking hell, he’s perfect…

“Oh, my god.” You gasp and his smug grin twitches briefly in bashfulness, but he composes himself.

“Let me see you, baby-girl.” He easily holds himself up over you as his body nestles above yours, his strong jean-clad thigh jamming between your mostly bare legs. He kisses you again as his fingers easily pluck the buttons of your shirt open and he pulls you up by the sides. As you sit up, you yank the shirt out of where it’s tucked into your shorts and then toss it away before falling back. The micro-fiber was a much nicer feeling than what could have been cold leather. You shiver when his calloused hands run over the smooth and soft skin of your sides and tummy. His nose runs over your collar bone, and he nuzzles the swell of your breasts where they sit in your plain nude bra. If you knew you were going to get fucked tonight, you would’ve worn something much sexier.

“Don’t worry, it’s coming off anyway.” It’s like he can read your mind and you yipe in shock as he unfastens the front latch so quickly it’s like he does it telepathically.

“You wear them with a front latch because you can’t reach around your back from when you hurt your shoulder in middle school.” He really does know you well. You just blink but then Chan forces a mewl from you as his strong thigh presses hard into your covered mound.

“Focus, baby-girl.” His voice lowers even further, and it makes you shiver. Strong hands grip your ass over your shorts, pulling your hips to grind on his leg as his mouth meets yours again. You whimper through the kiss, goosebumps raising on your skin as the button of your shorts easily slip open, the zipper pulled down, and then your pants soar through the air somewhere you care not.

“There are already torn…” He justified as he grabs the hem of your pantyhose and easily rips them to literal shreds. Chan lets the remnants fall to the floor and you feel your slick through your panties against your bare thighs. At least your panties are a cute lacy purple and not just plain nude.

“You’re absolutely stunning.” He praises, hand running up your thigh so he can hitch it against his hip. Chan rolls his hips, and you squeal at the large bulge in his pants pressing to your barely covered cunt. If he feels that big through his jeans, what the hell is he hiding? He chuckles when your hips jump to get another brush of friction, reaching into his back pocket. As he pulls the foil package from his pants you snatch it from him.

“Planning this?” You try to tease him, but his gaze darkens.

“Oh, baby-girl, I’ve want to fuck you for two years now.” The man declares. You turn the pack over to look at the label, making a mental note at the size, then you look at him coyly.

“You clean?”

“Yes?”

“Good.” You toss it behind your shoulder, then grab his belt loop, pulling him to you as you sit up. You smirk at him, head tipped back so you can look him in the eye.

“Can you really feel me like you want through a rubber?” He swallows hard, all that confidence from before seeming to leave, then rushes back.

“Not even fucking close.” He admits, pushing you back down and starting to lay open mouth kisses against your neck. He sucks hard, his teeth nibbling the flesh and you shudder with a delighted whine.

“We can put my pill to the test~” You tease, and he groans, kissing down your chest. His mouth seals over your nipple as he wrestles his jeans off and you exhale in bliss as his fingers rub at your folds through the fabric still covering them.

“You care about these?” He snaps the hem of your panties. You do, but you really want to watch him tear them up more.

“Nope.” You pop the ‘p’ and the lace rips and joins your other items of clothing somewhere behind him. You yelp when his hands grab your waist and shove you up the sectional, so he has room to lay on his stomach. Before you get the chance to prop yourself up on your elbows, his tongue runs up the fold of your pussy and his nose brushes your clit.

“Fuck~!” You toss your head back, body twitching as he decides to bury his tongue inside of you. He groans at your taste, hands roughly grabbing the backs of your thighs. He rolls you back, holding your legs apart and up as he mouths at you like a man starved. Your little mewls and squeaks fly out between heaving breaths, and you feel his grip tighten, knowing he’d leave bruises. When he lets go of your left leg, he makes sure you rest it on the back of the couch, and then his finger presses into your twitching cunt.

“You’re drippin’~” He chuckles, then adds another finger and your whole body seizes. Expertly, he crooks his fingers up, the ends pressing against your cervix and with a final lick to your clit, you cum. He eagerly helps you ride out your high, then cleans his fingers off with his tongue as you pant for air. Your forearm is slung over your eyes as you come back to earth, and you only move your arm to watch as he removes his final garment. You hadn’t even got a chance to look at him in just his boxers, but there he stands in absolute glory. His cock stands proud, arching up toward his toned stomach and you heave yourself up so you can see him better.

“Oh~” You giggle, wrapping your fingers around his cock and he groans at the feeling. You bite your lip, eyes meeting his giddily, then you swallow the top, whining at the salt of his precum.

“(Y/N), baby-girl~” He tosses his head back as you take more of him into your mouth. He’s thick, your jaw protesting a bit, and you still have a good few inches to go when the head hits the back of your throat. Your eyes flick to his again, and you make sure to watch his face as you keep going, only gagging slightly as your nose presses to his groin.

“Oh, fuck…” He nearly whimpers, gripping your hair, then loosens his fingers. He groans as you bob your head, breath harshly moving through your nose as his cock fills and leaves your throat. His hips jump and the sudden movement makes you gag a bit harder, but it makes your cunt clench as well.

“Shit, sorry!” He panics, but you pull off slowly, giving him your best boba eyes.

“Wanna keep doing that~?” You hope your intention is clear and he doesn’t even hesitate. The hands still in your hair pull you back onto his cock and you sit like a good girl as the fat head of Chan’s dick batters your throat. Your eyes roll back, loving not just his rough movements, but the pretty noises leaving his mouth.

“Hm, you want me to cum down your throat, baby-girl~?” Chan’s hips jerk unevenly, and you can feel his cock pulse on your tongue. You hum and nearly wiggle with glee as he presses your nose hard against his lower stomach and paints your throat white. You eagerly swallow each pump and drop, and he mumbles something about wondering why he waited so long to have you. Only half-softened, he pulls out of your mouth, and you lick the rest of his release off your lips. You don’t even get the chance to give him a smug grin before you’re flipped over onto your stomach, and he heaves your hips up.

“Tell me if I do something wrong.” His comment seems odd, but it seems he really does know you well… You gasp a moan as his hand smacks your ass, the skin stinging, and he can see your empty cunt clench around nothing.

“You want daddy’s cock?” His thumb runs through the slick of your folds, and you tremble. There’s a very specific reason you only call your father ‘papa’. You only wish you’d found Chan sooner to actually put it into practice.

“Fuck, yes, daddy~!” You squeal in joy, hiccupping when his other hand slaps your other ass cheek.

“Get ready then, baby-girl.” You’re ready mentally, but your pussy isn’t. Your cunt burns as he buries his fat cock into you with one thrust. You revel in the sting, crave it, and your already tight walls clench around him hard. Even if he wasn’t fucking you from behind, you’re sure he’s long enough to fill you completely, the tip nestled tight against your cervix.

“Fucking hell…” You sigh, nails digging into he thick fabric of the couch. He lets you get used to the stretch, but you just want him to move, you’re even getting antsy.

“Move, please.” Your wiggles are stopped with a hard spank. You yelp.

“Daddy, please.” You correct and he runs his thumb over your reddening skin.

“Sure thing, love.” Your cunt tries desperately to keep his cock inside, and a few drops of your wet land on the couch. Your breath leaves you when his hips snap, fucking back into you hard and fast, his pace not letting you catch it back. He loves the little mewls and grunts he’s literally fucking out of you. Your cheek is pressed to the cushion, drool already pooling from the corner of your mouth. He’s waited too long to take you, he decides, and he’s going to make up for the lost time.

“C-Chan, fuck-!” Your orgasm is cresting fast, a familiar burn rising with your orgasm.

Spank!

“Fuck, daddy, I’m gonna-“ Your breath shudders as your orgasm hits and he slows his pace some, grinding his cock into you as your pussy spasms.

“Oh, baby-girl~!” He groans as your cunt squirts even more slick onto his groin and balls, even both of your thighs. You slump after what seems like minutes and heave for air, but he isn’t anywhere close to done. Your near scream as he starts to pummel his hips against your ass again goes straight to his head. He leans over you, hands near your shoulders. Normally, he’s used to leaning over a girl quite a bit, but his hands fall to the sides of your shoulders rather than your head, your body just as long as his, legs even longer. Despite the small height difference (in your favor), you feel small under him; he has broad shoulders and thick muscles, and an even thicker cock. The hard and deep thrusts turn shallow, his dick barely leaving your cunt but battering your womb at the same time, bringing you up to another orgasm fast.

“So deep, daddy~” You nearly cheer, and he’s found your weakness. He presses his hips into yours, barely moving them and you gasp, a fourth orgasm already approaching. He feels your walls clench harder and you feel your pussy start to sting, but you need to fall apart again. It’s too much for him then, your raw heat and gummy walls begging him to pump you full.

“Gotta test that pill…” He mumbles, then groans as he finally falls over as well. The sticky heat of his cum fills you, so much it spurts out from around where your bodies meet, pushing you over the edge as well. Your head swims from the force of your final orgasm, stars dotting your vision. As he pants for air over you, he watches your eyes flutter; you’re wiped out.

“I’ll let you sleep over, baby-girl. Gotta rest for when I fuck you stupid tomorrow morning.”

Master-Master List

Stray Kids Master List

[meraki-sunset]

This is a long letter of gratitude. Embrace my endless words of pure gratefulness.

Dear Autor of the most amazing thing I've ever read.

I was writing this letter from the moment I reached the middle of your Crow Strider AU fanfiction. There is so many things I want to say and I'm so happy that I can say it to you all here without words limit. Forgive me for exuberance, I'm squeezing out all my abilities to express what I feel in this foreign language that's not of us first language.

Let me list all the things I'm grateful for, because I'm autistic and I love listing:

1. Crow Strider

The arc of Davesprite you created is masterpiece of writing. The process of deconstructing his personality, forgiving and letting his part behind as well as embracing his new identity and new body is written so thoughtfully with such a care of details. I love how you made him so different from Dave as well as still kept his Daveness in full glory of Striderness. You made him happy and more emotional available and open, at the same time it felt so natural for him to be that way because of the proper build up you gave him. Thank you so much for creating Crow Strider and letting us read his well written arc.

2. There's a Dave for everyone

THERE'S LITERALLY DAVE FOR EVERYONE. You have no idea what struggles I went through trying to understand what person Dave ended up with in canon, and then being sad of what happened in epilogues. I wanted Dave for Karkat. I wanted Dave for Jade. I wanted them to be happy. And you did it. You made it possible. You made them all happy. I love it so much. Thank you so much for making them happy. You even gave Teresi one Dave for her. I can't believe it. It's so beautiful it's unreal.

3. More Davepeta

This part is simple, I simply love Davepeta and you gave me a lot of good Davepeta content. Thank you for that.

4. You made me like characters I didn't like

I wasn't big fan of Tavros. I got tired of Vrisca by the end of Homestuck. I didn't really see Hal as an interesting character. I honestly hated Gamzee. And Jasprosesprite squared was so annoying for me

Well, not anymore! You somehow managed to write these characters more compelling for me than Hussie did. Now I love Tavros and Hal, I mean, cat Hal? Is there anything more cute and cool at the same time?

And NGL I genuinely wanted Gamzee to die and I can't believe that now I'm not, because I just read a very good redemption arc of this clown. I also love the way you dealt with Vrisca. Heck I love all characters written by you!

5. God tier Karkat

I've dreamt of seeing a good piece of god tier Karkat. I was so curious how does it even work to be Knight of Blood, we didn't see any version of Blood god tier in canon. I'm big fan of your version, it fits the character and the aspect so well, and the execution of his arc as he is chosen to open the door... Honestly? I prefer that over canon, though it wouldnt make as much sense as in your fanfiction. It just feels like you took a much better care of Karkat than official ending of Homestuck. Don't get me wrong, I love Homestuck an it's ending, your fanfiction wouldn't exist without it. I honestly think that Hussie didn't really have as much time and space to give his characters as extended arcs as you gave them without losing the dynamic of his story. But you could. And you did. Thank you so much.

6. So many people got better, more extended arcs

Like above. You made Jas much better. You gave Nanna much better, more compelling arc than she had in canon. You made Hal and Tavros much more relatable and gave them very well character development plot, even if short. You took your time to write very needed and wanted dialogues between characters than didn't have their time to interact in canon. Like Jake and Dirk (ESPECIALLY THEM OMG). Like Erisol and Feferi. Like Jas and Rose. And I didn't even know that I needed the last one. Thank you so much.

7. You made ships that I didn't know where even possible and I like them????

Seriously, Tavros and Jane?? Erisol and Arquius??? Josh and Dirk??? I love how your brain works

8. You absolutely nailed the delicate topic of transgender

I used to not be a big fan of June, because there were no realistic signs of John having any kind of thoughts or doubts about his gender in canon. You made a very much needed and really great thoughtfully written arc from June and Josh, even caring about the topic of transition and executing it really great. Thank you so much for yet again being so good at writing arcs.

9. Eridan and Sollux

I love them both and their weird toxic rivalty, and I absolutely love that you gave them some attention and let Eridan grow and try to redeem himself while also helping Sollux with hii2 p2iioniic problem2. I download almost every single frame of it.

10. YOUR ARTSTYLE

You're artstyle. I don't know where to begin with that. It's so amazing. Expressive, dynamic, cute, beautiful, colorful. I love every line of your comics. Your style is the way I always wanted to draw. It's just perfect. And also perfect for Homestuck fanfiction. It's just so similar, yet gives it a bit of softness as well as the kind of expressiveness I love, that makes every single shot more appealing. Warm scene are so warm, sad scene are so sad, dynamic scenes are so epic, it's like so delicious. Yes, I just ran out of words. Let me grab a dictionary...

Your style is outstanding. It gives me this feeling of familiarity, it's similar of Homestuck style, yet so different, its fresh and new while also feels like home.

I wish you have a printed version of your fanfiction (but I probably can't afford it sadly). There is something so soothing in this simple colors, it's not too loud, not too many colors, yet so many and smooth colorful lines. I will learn to draw like you, I'm sorry for adapting your style, but I really want to draw like that and you even posted some tutorials how to draw like you.

Thank you so so much that you put so much time and effort into making this wonderful comic and then share with all of us completely for free. You drew so many expressive pages, sometimes even 10 pages per static dialogue, which means you officially outbested the master of overdoing Andrew Hussie himself, that did maximum of 3 pages per 1 static dialogue scene. I noticed you slowed down a bit at the end and drew much more simplified panels as well as you started using same panels many times. Good. It's okay to go the easier way. No one wants you to overwork yourself and burnout. No one wants you to have trauma with drawing and not wanting to draw comic ever again. It's extremely generous of you that you posted for absolutely free such a wonderful and huge piece of art. I'm endlessly grateful.

11. The plot

I love how you started from one simple idea of giving Crow more arc, and then gradually extended it into a whole huge fixfiction. It went so smoothly it looked like really one different decision of one person can change the whole timeline. It went so naturally, it felt so realistic as if I read something that Andrew Hussie wrote as a coexisting canon.

I have to admit, the whole idea of not doomed and not canon timeline is pretty ridiculous, and I love every bit of it. Paradoxally, it sounds so much like something that could actually exist in Homestuck canon. I love it

A few little things I didn't like that much

I wouldnt be myself if I didn't comment on some stuff that wasn't perfect. I'll be bery brief with that, because these things didn't really bothered me that much, I just want to share a little bit of criticism I have.

I hope it won't sound rude when I say that I didn't really felt like you understand the character of Nepeta very well? She didn't felt that like Nepeta in your fanfiction, at least for me. I felt like some stuff were explained a bit too many times. I know that characters needed that, yet we as viewers already know some stuff and didn't need to read it again. Also, I really missed the type styles of characters. I know how hard it is to keep it through entire fanfiction, especially writing some of the characters with quite complicated type style. I just missed it a bit. On the other hand it made a few characters much more comprehensive.

I hope I didn't hurt you with this few words of critics. Now I want to share a few of my favorite pages, I hope you don't mind if I end this letter with fangirling over your drawings. I actually wanted to do a lot of comments during reading your fanfiction, but the website didn't let comments. Sadly. That's why I'm writing here. And now is time I will do what I wanted to do back then:

This scene, my fav scene in Homestuck, got so extended in your fanfiction, I felt so gifted and it wasn't even my birthday

I cried.

This. Made me laugh so hard. And it's even funnier without context.

I just reached photos limit. Sadly. I'm so grateful for your comic. I love it so much. Thank you again for making it. You're a wonderful person

Hey there! Thank you so much for the letter, and for taking your time translating it to English for me to understand. Since it’s in a list format, I guess I’ll answer as list as well! So:

Crow strider

It was challenging writing Crow because I needed to basically write Dave but with a twist in his personality due to living with the Harley-Egberts and their grandma, in a very cozy and caring environment.

Honestly I don’t think I managed to portray enough Daveness, his personality is very particular and difficult for me to replicate, but I did the best I could and my friend and editor will help me reach the right amount of striderness in the epilogue

2. A Dave for everyone

Indeed, there’s Dave for everyone. The homestuck epilogues made me realize how lonely Jade ended up, and I always loved Davesprite and jade, but with one being human and the other one a Sprite the relationship was bound to fail, and even tho I wasn’t fond of JadexDavepeta, still i would’ve prefered it to jade being all alone and Davepeta dying fighting Lord English. So now, not only Jade has Crow, and they’re happy, but the Karezi – davekat – daverezi mess all got fused into one, because I love them and their trip was a Little different from in canon. And also Davepeta is around, I don’t think they’ll end up with anyone, but they’ll vibe on EarthC.

3. More Davepeta

They’re alive, and I like showing the craziness that comes from them knowing all timelines but being above them and detached from them. 

4. The characters you didn’t use like

I like exploding underused characters. Because with them, you’ve only seen the Surface, but at the same time you have info about them that can be used to make them more profound. If Tavros got revived, why isn’t he mad at Vriska? What was he doing those 3 years in the bubbles? If Jasprose is a seer and has knowledge of all timelines due to being ultimate self, doesn’t that make her the ultimate clairvoyant? Doesn’t that mean she’s the key to winning? Does she miss the mother like rose does? If there’a already an Arquius, why make another? Why not have just Hal as a Sprite and have him figure out what being alive is actually like?. You get the Surface of the characters and knowing what you know about them, you dig deeper, until you find their humanity and write about it.

5. Godtier Karkat

I love Karkat on Homestuck, but I feel like the character lost weight towards the end of the story, he stopped being the leader and while everyone went and fought someone important like the Condesce, the jacks, the dogjack, or Lord English, he was just somewhere else doing whatever. I wanted to give him his hero moment that closes his development.

As for the door, I feel like in canon john was the right choice to open the door, he’s the hero and the leader, not to mention it’s a human session, it makes total sense and I wouldn’t change it

Every story has things that don’t get to be explored, because that would make them too long and cut the flow, making it unreadable. That why we love fan fictions and AUs so much, they take the pieces and reassemble them into something new, filling the empty spaces.

What makes the events on AUs fun is that they didn’t happen in canon. So if John opened the door in canon, and it was right, then Karkat can open this one, and it can be right on this specific timeline. He gets closure from the door he never got to open, and takes back his role as a leader, even if it’s just for a moment, since the battle is over by now. He’s the leader once again, but this time he understands the weight of it in a way he couldn’t grasp when he was 13, claimed he was in charge and let everyone down. He now understands it’s not just something you ask for, it’s something you earn, he’s now the Knight of blood, god of bonds, he took down the Condesce in the name of his species, and will open the door for his peers to enter the new universe they created together where they’ll create a free society, he became what the signless predicted, his rightful successor. His arc is completed.

6. Extended arcs

Jas was planned since the beginning to close crow’s arc about his rose and his regrets about leaving her behind. It’s only when he’s made peace with losing her, has left his old self behind and is ready to face the battle and his future, that he gets his reward. He gets her back, in the strangest way

With Nanna, i just though nobody ever focused that there was an actual adult around during the whole adventure, Nanna would’ve spent a lot of time around john and jade, them being each others remaining family. So I tried to give her the role of a guardian, breaking a Little with this “orphaned children on their own” that all characters have.

Honestly I tried to make it as interesting as I could, sometimes I would take characters that didn’t have any screen time and think, what can they do? What’s in their mind at this moment that they could tackle in conversation? And with whom? Who else needs screen time?. And that’s how you get, Jake and Tavros bonding, Nepeta, Fefeta, Davepeta and Feferi ship-chat, Arquius telling Terezi and Karkat about Erisol, Hal comforting Eridan, ect.

It’s actually a really cool writing exercise I do sometimes. I grab two characters that have nothing in common, and write a conversation between them. What’s the common ground? Are their stories alike in some way? Do they have a common hobby or worry? It’s really cool because you find stuff about the characters you never paid attention to before

7. Unlikely ships

Tavros and Jane came from me wanting Tavros to be more assertive. In canon Vriska instructed him to not interact with the Alpha kids during those 6 months, but since this Tavros doesn’t listen to her because he took self-esteem lessons from Rufioh, I felt like he probably spent that time actually being a guide to Jane and then becoming Friends while solving puzzles, Jane being a fan of mysteries and Tavros probably missing his flarp days. Also theres a funny thing about Tavros and Jane, and it’s Tavros is supposed to represent Peter pan, while Vriska is supposed to represent both Tinkerbell (she dressed up like a fairy for him and later became an actual fairy) being attracted to him but being short fused when rejected, and also represent Captain Hook, Peter pan’s enemy (with her flarp persona and her ancestor being a pirate), but she’s not Wendy in any way, and I feel like Jane is, she’s the homeschooled girl, with blue eyes who looked through her window waiting to be free because her father wouldn’t let her out (also Wendy’s brother was named john who used big glasses). She’s a normal girl coming in contact with this fairy boy from a world of only children. Idk, makes sense to me. (besides, Wendy darling’s daughter, who Peter pan later takes on adventures too was named Jane, who also has blue eyes)

Erisol and Arquius was a crack ship that suddenly made sense, because it’s one-sided, and I feel like arquius is a caring person, he just has a difficult time socializing like a normal person. He’s just really happy to be a sprite and is pissed by Erisol’s insistence on wanting to explode.

Also, Arquius promising Fefeta that he wouldn’t break Erisol’s neck unless he had a good reason ( he kinda wanted to) and eventually having to break his neck for the good reason of god tiering him (he now doesn't want to and feels bad about it) was something I planned for months

Josh and dirk, i think it’s funny. Dirk wouldn’t have dated jade because she’s a girl, but Josh is a boy so it’s good, AND, he’s like a more direct, version of Jake who takes no bullshit.

8. The topic of transgender

Originally the second spaceship post retcon was supposed to arrive empty, or with only Davesprite, but I saw an opportunity to solve a division in the audience. Some people were interested in John remaining as he was, while others wanted to see June. Since John never showed any doubts about his gender in canon, it wasn’t in my original plans for June to make an appearance during CSAU, because the comic only covered the same period of time as canon. But when it came time to write the retcon I realized I had an opportunity to make them both coexist, making a shift in the timeline, but said shift being there both since the beginning and for the purpose of surviving the recon. Making June and Josh a reality since the beginning, so the timeline would survive the consequences of the two Egberts crossing paths post retcon.

It’s nice to hear you liked it, I know not everyone did. I tried to be respectful but at the same time be true to the nonsensical nature of canon Homestuck that makes timelines twist and change to the story’s convenience, making the events real but chaotic. Also since i knew John’s dad wasn’t coming back and Jane’s dad wouldn’t make it, June would be the last remaining conection to John’s old home and so John would be June's, relying on eachother for comfort when it comes to the loss of their father and home.

9. Eridan and Sollux

I want to cover Eridan’s redemption in the epilogue, since all we know is he grew as a person during his time in the bubbles, leading to his change of heart interacting with Sollux and Kanaya

10. Art style

Thank you! I like to give the characters a full range of emotions and for the surroundings to accompany that

No need to be sorry for learning through my art, in the end my style, like everyone else’s, is bits and pieces from other artists we’ve seen, admired and/or learned from. Just make sure to add your personal touch to make your artstyle trully yours

It’s true that by the end I reused more static panels for dialogue, both because there was a lot for the characters to say, not that much action left, and my battery was running low haha

11. The plot

I tried my best for the story to be a big butterfly effect steaming from crow’s decision to ascend, working towards the most possible outcomes like Crow getting grimdarked by the Condesce too, the sprites surviving because of Nanna and so on

I wanted this timeline to coexist with canon because I don’t like the idea of overwriting it, canon happened and was important, CSAU just happened to be taking place close by

12. Things you didn’t like

I do in fact not understand the character of Nepeta very well, I reread Homestuck in order to get the original troll's personality better, but Nepeta is a character I don’t get. On top of that, she doesn’t appear much in CSAU so didn’t have much time to develop her.

I do struggle with over explaining, I think is stems from not wanting the reader to be confused (it has happened on discord that people come and ask me what was going on in the story when i thought I had written it in a way people could understand with no problems), which leads to me explaining everything too bluntly sometimes, so the characters sometimes ramble TOO much, and I wish I could go back and reduce the dialogs, but that would involve going back to the page’s codes to delete certain pages and replace others, and also changing the programming for the page’s backgrounds, not to mention my computer crashes when I try to modify pages too far back, since they’re 4000 of them. It’s one of those things I can only learn from and try to do better in the next project

The character’s typing was a core part of Homestuck because it was mostly portrayed as blocks of texts and the quirks made it easy to know who was talking even with people having the same typing color. The reason I didn’t use them it’s simply because I could barely write good enough in English, let alone add quirks. My friend offered me to add the quirks at some point when we were revising the dialogs, but I declined because some people found it easier to read without them and I didn’t want to add another step to the render of the pages.

13. Favorite pages

I also cried with that Gamzee panel, I planned it for months and i waited a long time to draw those last panels, I’m glad they made people laugh

Haha, also yeah, the Strider reunion got really extended with so many extra striders. Davepeta, Crow and Hal making the reunion complete

Thank you for this message! i'll do my best to write a good epilogue (which by now is actually a secuel) and i hope you have a great day🌻🌻🌻

[dark-bakura1]

Okay lovelies, now that the year is almost over and there are only a few hours left, I have to use this time to get something off my chest. It's just been on my mind for a while and I want to end the year with a few nice words.

When I found my way into the DCA fandom by coincidence last year, I never expected to find a digital place where I feel so comfortable - besides various communities in the horse art role play game, in which I have been more or less active for years. I never expected to start REALLY enjoying drawing again, but these two characters just made that happen. For years I've been drawing just thinking about how many points I can get out of leveling my horses, how much effort I have to put into an event picture to have a chance at one of the top three places and somewhere along the way I totally forgot to have fun with this hobby. Fun has turned into a compulsion to always aim for the best possible result. I started to overthink pictures for so long and wanted to create something so complex that I ended up not starting at all: Because I could never have realized it the way it looked in my head.

But since I stumbled into the DCA fandom myself - by pure coincidence, I'd like to say again - and started being active on Tumbr, I've found my way back to the 'origin' for myself: Having fun with what you do. This fandom has captivated me so much that I started reading English fanfiction about our two beloved robots - something I NEVER thought would happen. Simply because my concentration is totally limited and it's hard enough for me to read and understand texts in German. For me, it was never even conceivable that I would read something in a language that is not my mother tongue: And now here I am, doing it more often than I thought. Not only that, I've even started writing again myself, have an account on ao3 and upload stories there myself. I take the trouble to write, translate, proofread and upload things… and some people even think it's really great :3

And do you know why? Because behind the DCA fandom there is an incredibly large group of people like me: Who carry around a lot of problems themselves and seek refuge with two fictional characters in a fandom that is incredibly cozy, understanding, lovable and friendly. Of course, I could also create things in a fandom that isn't that… but for me it makes an incredible difference. I have an anxiety disorder around people. Even the monthly supermarket shop is a huge challenge for me. Every trip out the door is exhausting and I don't really have contact with anyone in RL. I have my mother and grandma. I go to the doctors, to Ergo therapy and I have BEWO people on hand to support and help me… but I don't have any friends. Not because I don't want to, but because friendships are incredibly stressful for me. I can't maintain them. I haven't said a word to the person I would most likely call a 'friend' in a year - because I simply don't have the strength. Talking, listening, reacting… it's all incredibly exhausting for me. But as soon as I open Tumblr and especially Discord, I see a bunch of great people. I can join in if I can and want to, but I don't have to. And to top it all off, I see so much self-insert stuff that makes me think, 'Man, you're not so alone after all' - and on top of that, even more people who also think it's good and can relate. I know that not everyone in the DCA fandom is so nice either, but the ones I've had the privilege of getting to know are just balm for my soul.

If someone had told me at the beginning of 2023 that I would find my way into a great fandom with even better people at the end of the same year, I would have declared them crazy. I don't have it in for people and since I've almost exclusively had really shitty experiences so far, they're welcome to stay far away from me. Most of them have expectations: Expectations that I can hardly, if at all, fulfill. But there are so many great people behind Sun and Moon who are simply supportive. Not toxic, not mean, not patronizing. No. They are people who are super wholesome. I don't need someone who pushes me, teaches me, corrects me or otherwise wants to educate me with phrases that they themselves don't live by. I don't want someone who puts even more pressure on me. I want people with whom I feel safe and comfortable. people with whom I can get what other people don't want to give me. When I think that I didn't like Sun or Moon in the game, I find it amazing that they are now my refuge and straighten me out mentally so many times a day. And thanks to them, I found you. Yep - YOU. Anyone who wants to may now feel addressed. Even if we've certainly never had any contact with each other: You are part of the community that I have come to love and that I am addressing here. There is so much hate, I love a Safespace that simply has love for everything and everyone. I've been here for a year now… and I hope for MANY more years with one of the greatest communities I've ever been a part of.

Hugs to ALL of you, lots of love goes out to everyone. Happy New Year, stay healthy and I wish you and your loved ones all the happiness in the world. Thank you for existing and just being amazing people. please keep that forever <3

[girlkisser13]

emily i’m sorry

"emily, forgive me, can we" "make it up as we go along?" "i'm twenty-seven and i don't know who i am" "but i know what i want"

pairings: emily prentiss x fem!reader

warnings/tags: angst with a bit of fluff at the end.

summary: you and emily find your way to each other.

returning to quantico was like stepping into a time capsule. the bau had always been a place of intensity, where minds were stretched to their limits and where you had once spent countless hours. but this time, walking through those familiar halls, you felt a different kind of pressure— the weight of seeing emily again after so many years apart.

the past had a way of creeping up on you, especially in a place like this, where every corner held memories. you had loved emily once, more than you thought possible. but in your pursuit of a career that demanded everything, you had made the impossible decision to walk away. it was mutual, or at least that’s what you both said at the time. there were no harsh words, no accusations— just two people who had to part ways for the sake of their futures.

yet standing here now, you couldn’t help but question that choice.

as you made your way into the bullpen, you were greeted by the team— a group of people you knew by reputation but had never worked with before. penelope garcia was the first to spot you, her eyes lighting up as she made her way over.

"you must be the new liaison!" she exclaimed, her voice as bright as her personality. "i’m penelope garcia, resident genius, and lover of all things tech."

you smiled, accepting the warm handshake. "y/n l/n, nice to meet you, garcia."

"please, call me penelope. we’re all friends here," she said with a wink before turning to the rest of the team. "everyone, meet our new liaison."

you exchanged handshakes and introductions with david rossi, spencer reid, aaron hotchner, and derek morgan. they were all friendly, professional, and welcoming. none of them knew your history with emily, and you weren’t sure if that made things easier or harder.

"prentiss is in her office," rossi mentioned, almost casually. "she’s probably buried in paperwork."

you nodded, trying to keep your expression neutral. "i’ll go introduce myself."

the walk to emily’s office felt longer than it should have, each step heavy with anticipation. you took a deep breath before knocking on the door, trying to steady your nerves.

"come in," came emily’s voice, slightly muffled by the door.

you pushed the door open and stepped inside, your heart skipping a beat as your eyes met hers. emily looked almost exactly as you remembered— poised, strong, with that keen, intelligent gaze that had always drawn you in. but when she saw you, her eyes widened in shock, and she froze, the file she was holding slipping from her fingers and landing on the desk.

"y/n?" her voice was soft, almost disbelieving.

"hey, emily," you said, your voice betraying a hint of the nervousness you felt. "it’s been a while."

she stared at you for a moment, as if trying to convince herself that you were really there. finally, she found her voice. "i didn’t know you were coming back."

"i’m the new liaison,” you explained, stepping further into the office. "i just met the team."

emily blinked, clearly trying to process this new information. "you’re taking jj’s position?"

"yeah," you confirmed. "it feels right. like coming home, in a way."

a long, tense silence stretched between you. the last time you had seen emily, you both had agreed to part ways. you needed to focus on your career, and she had understood. but standing here now, all those old feelings resurfaced, and you realized how much you had missed her.

"i didn’t think i’d see you again," emily finally said, her voice low and laced with emotion.

"neither did i," you admitted. "but life has a funny way of bringing you back to the things you thought you’d left behind."

emily studied you, her expression unreadable. "why did you come back?"

her question was simple, but it hit you like a ton of bricks. you had thought about this moment, about what you would say if you ever saw her again. now that it was here, the words felt heavy in your mouth.

"emily, i’m sorry," you began, your voice cracking slightly. "when we broke up, i thought i was doing the right thing. i thought i needed to focus on my career, and i convinced myself that it was for the best."

she listened, her eyes never leaving yours, but she didn’t say anything.

"i thought i was making the right choice," you continued, your voice filled with regret. "but after all this time, after everything i’ve done, i still don’t know who i am. the only thing i’m sure of is that i still love you. i never stopped."

emily looked down, her expression softening. "you left," she whispered, her voice carrying a weight of hurt. "you chose your career over us."

"i know," you replied, feeling a lump form in your throat. "and i'm sorry for that, more than you can imagine. i thought i was making the right choice, but i was wrong. i've spent all this time trying to figure out who i am, but the only thing i'm sure of is that i still love you."

her breath hitched slightly, and she finally looked up at you, her eyes shimmering with unshed tears. "you broke my heart, y/n," she said, her voice trembling.

"i know," you whispered, taking a cautious step closer. "and i’ll do whatever it takes to make it up to you, if you’ll let me."

for a long moment, emily just looked at you, as if weighing your words. then, slowly, she stepped forward and pulled you into a tight embrace. the warmth of her arms around you, the familiar scent of her hair, it all came rushing back, and you held her close, never wanting to let go.

"i missed you," she murmured against your shoulder, her voice thick with emotion.

"i missed you too," you whispered back, relief flooding through you. "i’m not going anywhere this time, emily. i promise."

she pulled back slightly, just enough to look into your eyes. there was a hint of a smile on her lips, a glimmer of hope in her gaze.

"maybe we could… start over?" she suggested tentatively.

you smiled, your heart feeling lighter than it had in years. "i’d like that."

as you stood there, holding each other, you knew that this was where you were meant to be. not just in the bau, but with emily, in her arms, where you’d always belonged.

and this time, you weren’t going to let her go.

[yandere-sins]

Crisis Averted - Part I [Genshin Spoilers 4.1.]

New Genshin Updates always make my thoughts go brrrr. So here's a little something (with modified happenings to fit the story lol) of Wriothesley after he survived the encounter with the Primordial Sea!

Fandom: Genshin Impact Pairings: Yandere!Wriothesley x GN!Reader   Warnings: Yandere, Topics of death (Fear of death, Near-death experiences, Fear of loved ones dying), Reader got locked into a closet, Forced Relationship, Dub-Con touches, Long post

Heavy were his steps as he finally made his way back to his office. 

The stairs seemed to drag on endlessly after exerting more energy in a matter of minutes than Wriothesley had done in months—actually, years. He couldn't even remember when he last needed to drain his vision for just one more blast of ice and then one more. Luckily, Clorinde was neither a talkative fellow nor in much better shape than he was after they both struggled to hold back the Primordial Sea from escaping. They were both tough and hard to take down in a fight, but even they had their bodily limits.

She left him on the floor beneath his office with a short nod, a few words exchanged out of courtesy and thankfulness. Then she was gone, and Wriothesley's heavy boots continued their ascend, disregarding any weariness in his bones and the burning of his muscles. In a way, the Primordial Water was a prisoner of this place, and Wriothesley chuckled at his own thoughts as he came to this conclusion, exhaustion making everything sound a bit more funny in his head. However, despite knowing that the crisis was averted and the seemingly inescapable destruction and ruin had been contained like an unwilling prisoner of the Fortress of Meropide, he didn't feel like he had succeeded in keeping death away from what he treasured.

Muffling the yawn ripping from his throat, how could he not be elated by the thought of returning to you, the feeling giving him back the pep in his step? Even after all that happened—and Wriothesley had thought of many, many ways this could have ended—you were both still here. Alive. 

Unless the ice had frozen you to the core by the time he reached you.

He skipped the last two steps with a jump to avoid this possibility, generating enough energy to jog from the staircase to the closet. Noticing the glistening ice still enveloping the doorknobs, Wriothesley let out a breath of relief before quickly grabbing them, unbothered by the frozen sting ramming into his hands. Not even his body heat would be enough to melt the ice, but he'd be damned if he let his own safety measures keep him from you. 

Bracing his body against one of the doors, Wriothesley made sure to keep the closet standing upright while he pried the other one open. More strength was needed to loosen the ice that had seeped into every crack, an airtight grave keeping him away from you. But even so, it would have been a better death than what the Primordial Sea would have done to you had they not been able to contain it. Wriothesley forced himself to avoid the thoughts of the pain and agony the water would have caused you, the idea of him suffering such a fate enough to rampage his skin with goosebumps. He had put you into an awful position, but at that moment, he had believed it to be more merciful than being dissolved and drowned in the water.

Jerking the door again, he could hear the ice cracking, more relief washing over him. Relief that it would have succeeded in protecting you until the worst was over, and even more relief that it was giving way now, returning you to him. Surely, you must have already been panicking with the cold raking at you and the slow loss of air. He'd have to apologize later for putting you into this position, wipe your tears if necessary, and get someone to smuggle some cake into the Fortress as a well-done treat. But all he wanted to do now was to have you back in his arms. Everything else was a worry for later, like the Primordial Sea threatening to destroy all life around Fontaine.

One more ice-breaking tug and the door finally gave away, revealing a trembling, miserable person. His trembling, miserable person. Your first instinct was to gasp for air, the few minutes locked away having taken its toll on you. You were coughing and gasping, clawing towards the light, more than ready to exit your makeshift coffin. Wriothesley caught you before you fell, your eyes unaccustomed to the brightness after spending so much time in the dark, and he sat you upright again, helping you out of the blanket he had wrapped around you in a hurry when the commotion started. 

More than any ice, your body had cooled down significantly, and other than when he touched the frozen doorknobs, Wriothesley noticed the temperature of your skin even through your clothes. It pained him, yet, it had been necessary. Pulling his trusty coat off his shoulders, he slung it around your violently shivering form, closing the front tightly so the fur collar would warm your cheeks and ears. There was no way he'd let you walk on legs that were fragile from the cold, and he never planned to let you go anywhere on your own in the first place. 

Strong arms wrapped around your body, now engulfed in his coat. His scent was so prevalent, even when it mixed with yours. Wriothesley appreciated how well they worked together. Had scent been enough to mark you as his, he might not have had to do so many things to keep you by his side. You two could have lived pretty normal lives if all it needed was him rubbing off on you, but alas, normalcy wasn't something he had ever been blessed with. Given that there was a very real chance of him dying from being submerged in Primordial Water, not even his death would be able to be claimed as normal. But neither would yours.

But not today. Neither of you died that day, and Wriothesley thanked whatever godly entity he had to thank for that. Even just having the chance to hold you once more was enough to convince him that everything would be okay. At least for now. For one more day. Lifting you out of the closet, he held you, unmoving. Your arms wormed out, desperately holding on to him as if for your dear life, his warmth seeping onto you. Wriothesley felt your nails rake over his chest, panic driving you closer to him. Every shiver, every squirm through the thick material of his coat, and every sob ripping out of your throat, broke his heart more than you'd ever know. 

"Why did you do that?" you asked, your voice so full of hurt and accusation, yet you pressed yourself harder against him, teeth chattering. For all you knew, you two had been drinking tea (albeit reluctantly on your part) when the alarms suddenly began to blare around you, and Wriothesley shoved you into the closet as if he was punishing you.

"I had to," he mumbled back, his words muffled by the fabric, his arms restricting tighter around your body.

"I could have died! It was so hard to breathe! And the cold… the cold…”

More sobs tore out of you, and Wriothesley closed his eyes, knowing he had to endure the blame your shaky, fragile voice rightfully accused him of. You were right, but would you understand? Could you understand that he'd rather allow you to die peacefully and whole than go through the same agony he'd be in at the same time? Wriothesley had laid awake countless nights thinking of the what ifs and what to do if push came to shove, only to still be unprepared and get run over by the events, wrapping you in a blanket and kissing your head before forcing you into a closet and sealing it shut. Your safety, or at least heightened chances of survival, were the only things he could think of at that moment, you being the only component in his plan that could make him panic.

But now you were crying in his arms, the fear of everything—the unknown, the darkness, death—spilling out of you. He wished he could have prevented it, but now he knew that the truth would only make it worse for you. If he told you what was happening, you'd react like most prisoners here would, and he couldn't guilt you. Not telling you and keeping you in the dark, doing whatever he had to do, regardless of the feelings, was the only way to keep you safe. Wriothesley was the only one to protect you from a fate much worse than what awaited him if he failed. But now that the danger had been averted, the least he could do was hold you.

"I'm sorry," he muttered, rubbing your back through the fabric, hoping to give you the comfort he needed almost as much himself. But other than you, he could only dream of being comforted by the person he loved. And even those dreams seemed unrealistic. Worse days awaited you two, your and his fate sealed together with that of the rest of Fontaine. But not now. Now wasn't the time for tears and worries, and if he hadn't been so damn exhausted—with you in his arms doubly, warm and soft—he would have celebrated your survival more. Soon, you'd come to your senses, fighting him again, and this time, he wouldn't stop you. He couldn't. 

So he'd use what little time he had to enjoy this moment. Walking over to his chair, you graciously let him carry you, allowing him this little, intimate gesture of holding you in his arms all throughout the short journey. Even though he sat down abruptly, knees giving out from under him, your body landed softly, enveloped in his while he let out a strained grunt. The feeling of gravity pressing you into him was one he would have liked to treasure for the next few days, and if it had been up to him, you two would have been cooped up for just as long. But beneath his calloused hands, he could feel your body warming up, your breath no longer icy when it brushed his neck and cheeks.

The fight hadn't taken too long, evident by you still being alive, and yet it felt like he'd been gone for weeks, maybe months. Years of absence that made him miss the feeling of your body and the sound of your voice. His mind should have been on the enemy he was fighting, and yet, his only concern had been you. Getting back to you and not dying without seeing you one more time was everything he thought of as he pushed another punch of eyes to that gate that kept the Primordial Sea contained. You gave him the strength to keep going, if only to give you a chance of survival and to not die in pain like anyone else who'd get into contact with the Primordial Sea. To not give up until Neuvillette showed up, releasing him from this duty to society so he could return to the duty of loving you. 

It had been a lot, but when he raised a tired hand to push some of the fur out of your face, witnessing the tears having stopped and the warmth returned to your cheek, it had all been worth it. Wriothesley had to make progress on the project he kept hidden from everyone to ensure that you'd be protected from all the dangers surrounding him. If anyone, then at least you. So even if he couldn't push this tired body of his to do it that day, he knew that from the moment he'd open his eyes after a nap, he'd be back to working on it tirelessly. 

"This face," he sighed, cupping your cheek and snorting softly at the pout crossing your features. Tracing the bridge of your nose, he hummed, satisfied that everything was still right where it belonged and had not fallen off from the cold. 

"These lips," he mused, brushing his thumb over the soft cushions he dreamed about kissing every night. 

"And these eyes." 

His words made your gaze rise to his, beautiful jewels in the moody, damp lighting of his office, glistening from the tears yet raging like the sea in a storm defying his adoring stare. He wouldn't have wanted it any other way. If you had to hate him, then hate him. Despise him, he'd deal with it. Wanted to hurt him, he'd let you. Love him… A man could dream. But seeing a storm of emotions was better than the faded light of death you had when he pulled you out of the closet. That was something he wished to never see again. That he'd fight and strife for to never appear on your face again.

"Don't," he chuckled, grin splitting his lips as he pinched your cheek in a loving reprimand after noticing how you wanted to start arguing. Wriothesley couldn't help but laugh out loud when you let out the most adorable grunt in annoyance, squirming on his lap until you could hide your cheeks into the fur again, away from his touch. He settled for the nape of your neck, holding you there gently and noticing in the back of his head how long your hair had grown since you came to the fortress as he brushed his hand through it.

You glared at him defiantly from the safety of his coat, and Wriothesley couldn't imagine a better place or better look for you. "That's what I'm fighting for," he mumbled, pushing his strained muscles to move so he could kiss your forehead. "It's all worth it as long as I can hold you like this. Just a little longer, alright? I'll get you something nice in return."

Wriothesley wasn't someone who begged, not even for your attention. He'd take it and have it as he pleased, but in that moment, he worried he'd lose you if he let you go—for real this time. The uncertainty and inability to tell you what was happening, left a cold, dark hole inside him, wrenching his gut and bursting his heart with regret. All he had to soothe the pain it caused him was to hold you and feel your soft heartbeat through the layers of clothes around you two. 

It relieved him to know you were safe. He was safe. You both were okay, but mostly you. He never told you that if there was a way to save your life in exchange for his, he'd do it, no question asked. But it was a weird topic to bring up, especially when you considered him to be a heartless, manipulative asshole who used his authority to take advantage of someone less fortunate. So he didn't. Like many things, he kept his thoughts to himself, hoping that, in some miraculous way, you'd come to understand one day. Maybe even like him. 

"I hate you," you reiterated, and Wriothesley managed another chuckle to hide how much that statement hurt him. He fully expected you to jump off his lap now, walk away from him and out of his office, choosing to spend your time wisely instead of indulging him. You were no longer shivering, your teeth calm, and your heartbeat even, and yet, you didn't budge. 

Turning your head to the side, you placed it on his chest, stilling on top of his heart, this small gesture enough to make it threaten to burst out of his ribcage. Maybe he underestimated you. Perhaps you did understand, at least vaguely, that whatever happened had been pretty bad for him. He'd take the pity if it came from you. Wriothesley could only hope you magically understood that whatever he did in his absence, he did it not to harm but to protect you. You never showed him any mercy with your opinions or actions, so this side of you could only be explained by assuming kindness and understanding from you. But whatever it was, he was grateful. So, so grateful. 

This was all he ever wanted: holding you, burying his face in your hair in a moment of vulnerability for him. Where he wasn't stronger, wasn't exuding authority over you. Forcing you to bend to his will. A moment where he could forget the world as all his senses tuned themselves on you. Everything was you, from the softness of your body to the smell surrounding him. Your heartbeat in his ears and his eyes closing as Wriothesley was comforted by your warmth. Even if you'd never appreciate what he was doing, this was enough reward for all the hardships he went through for you daily, but especially on this day. It reminded him of why he was working so hard, even though he never meant to fall in love with you this deeply. Your tiny bit of compliance would satisfy this overpowering need for you for a couple of days until he'd be back on his feet. 

Wriothesley wanted to say more. In fact, he wanted to tell you everything. But it wasn't the right time, nor did he have the strength. Your feelings changed nothing about his, every beat of his heart screaming, "I love you! I love you! I love you!"

He was a little glad you didn't hear it. That would have been embarrassing. 

Grinning to himself, he could feel his conscience being pulled out from under him. His breaths even, despite the extra weight on his chest that he clung to desperately, his chair never feeling more comfortable than in that moment. He wished to stay awake for a little longer, muse about the fact that you were the best blanket he could wish for, feeling just so right. Sleeping while holding you like this would definitely improve his nights, as he wouldn't have to worry about where you were and who you were with. If you were safe or in the process of trying to do something stupid. But he'd take what he could get, even if it was just this one time of you not trying to tear out of his arms and run from him.

After all, this day could have ended very differently. But it didn't. 

He got to hold you again, the crisis averted so he could return to you. He had to be thankful for that, as his life would be worth nothing without you. And even waking up with you gone would be more pleasant than any thought about you dying far away from him. So he'd take this time to rest like he always had wanted, his beloved in his arms, his thoughts and dreams filled with you.

Trying not to be too greedy, now that he knew what it felt like not to lose you.

[prongsfish]

@jegulus-microfic / feb 26 / bed / 576 words

“No fucking way.” 

It took James a few seconds to place the voice. He was barely awake, only just aware of the warm body flushed against his own, the eucalyptus scent his nose was buried in, and Barty Crouch Jr, who he thought was trying to whisper, but was really just hissing words louder than most peoples’ standard volume. He pushed his face deeper into soft hair, feeling Regulus pull James’ arms in closer to himself where he wrapped them around him. 

“Are you seeing this shit, Ev?” Barty continued, and James struggled to resist groaning. He wanted nothing more than to be left alone, basking in the blissful feeling of waking up next to Regulus for as long as physically possible, but he knew that his chances of being left alone would decrease greatly if he showed any sign of wanting it. He didn’t know Regulus’ friends very well, but you pick up a few things about people when obsessed with their best friend, and Barty and Evan seemed like the kind of guys who would cut their own arms off if they knew it’d so much as slightly inconvenience you. 

“I am,” Evan confirmed, mock horror blending with amusement.

“They’re shirtless.” He practically gasped, and James thought Barty sounded far too offended for someone he’d seen sticking his tongue down Evan’s throat many times over breakfast.

“I can’t wait to tell the girls about this.”

“Oh, absolutely,” Barty said, and the two lead into a long conversation about just how hilarious Dorcas and Pandora’s reactions would be. James was seconds away from cursing both of them into oblivion for disturbing his peace when Regulus shifted from in front of him. He let out a distressed noise, gripping tighter to stop him from getting out of bed, and Evan and Barty fell silent for the first time since waking, seeming to finally notice that the pair they were talking about were awake.

“Let go, James,” Regulus mumbled, voice still not fully recovered from sleep. James just whined again. “I’ll be right back, okay?”

James huffed, still not entirely happy to let Regulus leave, but loosened his grip nonetheless and felt as Regulus slowly got up.

“He’s never this bloody nice to us in bed.” Barty grumbled, quickly followed by a shout of “Ow, what the fuck!” and the sound of something being thrown across the dorm. 

“If you value your lives, you’ll leave. Now.”

Evan and Barty just snorted. “Yeah, yeah, whatever,” Evan laughed, and Barty called “See you at breakfast!” as the door opened and they clambered out. 

Regulus sighed as he stepped back closer to the bed again. “Sorry about them, they’re idiots.”

James finally opened his eyes to see Regulus looking down at him from above, light framing his head like a halo, as beautiful as ever. James, despite all his prior whingeing, couldn’t help but smile up at him. He could barely believe he was really here after so long of never letting himself imagine it, limiting the way his stomach would flip over the boy to impossible fantasies and daydreams, but there he was. The dungeons were much colder than the Gryffindor dorms, but James couldn’t deny the warmth that spread through him anyway. 

So, when Regulus sat down on the edge of the bed and James rose to lean into his side, he knew he was telling the truth when he said, “S’alright baby, just glad to be here.”

[double-u-qed]

10k words of sheer jazzprowl fluff. enjoy! ao3 link here. [which i recommend, seeing as none of my formatting transferred over here and i'm a tiny bit lazy]

Jazz doesn’t think he’s ever been so nervous before; his fingers keep tracing over each other, rubbing patterns into the metal. He trails them along the plates, tugs on some of the exposed wiring — a habit his mentor scolded him for often, always redirecting his attention to something else in an effort to make him quit it. But none of his mentors are here right now, haven’t been for a long, long time, so his fingers stay picking and pulling.

He’s never been to Iacon before, despite it being the capital city-state — the head of operations, so to speak. Home of the Primacy and Senate. It’s a hodgepodge of culture, mechs from far and wide settling down, so you’d think a mech like Jazz would have been there before.

But nope — never been.

So why the hell was the Prime himself of all people requesting his presence?

It didn’t make any sense. Well, it did, but — Jazz was just your regular ol’ cultural investigator, nothing special. It was just a fancy, self-given title as well; a way of saying he went to many places and dabbled in the various cultures, researching them (word to be used lightly). He had to make shanix somehow, and the music by itself wasn’t cutting it; it only made sense then to make a career out of what he likes to do best. It paid enough to keep traveling, to keep experiencing a little bit of everything, and that was what mattered to Jazz most.

How Sentinel Prime of all mechs caught wind of him and his work, he hasn’t a clue. If anything, he would’ve assumed the Prime would hear about him from his skirting of the rules before anything related to his work. He hasn’t exactly crossed that line just yet, but he’s not ruling out the possibility, either. Point is, he had trouble believing it when the message found its way into his inbox.

But as much as he tried, he couldn’t find any sign of forgery or tampering with the letter. It definitely looked legit — enough that, well. Here he is: surrounded by a bunch of fancy city mechs not paying him a lick of attention, optics glued to their screens even as the train halts to a strut-breaking stop. All in all, it’s pretty typical, but Jazz can’t help the nervousness he feels all the same.

How was one meant to conduct themselves in front of the fragging Prime? Closest Jazz has ever gotten is a Senator or two, and even then, it was mostly in passing. He hasn’t the faintest clue as to proper Iaconian etiquette. A smooth, charismatic talker he may be, a mistake is a mistake and would still be all too easy to make.

Too bad he doesn’t have more time to agonize over it. The train eventually reaches its station, the doors opening and mechs beginning to shuffle in and out. It’s a hectic mess, really, all kinds of pushing and shoving happening simultaneously. Jazz is just thankful that he manages to make it out in one piece, squeezing between two doorwingers, a litany of apologies on his lips as he wiggles his luggage through the swarm.

After wandering around lost for longer than he’d like to admit, he does eventually find his hotel. It’s not too shabby, but definitely… gaudier than it has any right being. The berth has little hanging crystals attached to it, strips of silver lining the sides. Jazz can’t help wondering if it’s all a show for tourists; give them a little feel of what it’s like to be so close to the Big Building (name pending) where the Prime resides. The streets were lined with his image, after all.

Thankfully, Jazz didn’t bring too many things with him, making the unpacking process easy enough. Unfortunately for him, that also means he has nothing left to occupy himself with; nothing to keep his mind off the fact his presence is expected real soon — less than a joor, his HUD ever so helpfully supplies.

As limited as Jazz’s knowledge of Iacon is, he’s heard plenty of rumors about Sentinel Prime and the company he keeps close to. (All in hushed whispers, of course; it’d be considered heresy to so loudly denounce a mech chosen by Primus Himself).

Sentinel’s… vain. Lazy. The type to shirk his responsibilities onto someone else, most meetings being conducted by his Right Hand more often than not. From what he’s heard, Jazz feels sorry for the poor mech, even if he was constructed during Zeta’s time for the sole purpose of being an attendant. Can’t be easy being stuck to a mech that doesn’t seem to take anything too seriously.

Speaking of which… slag. The Prime’s personal attendant had plenty of rumors surrounding himself too, none of them too kind. He was apparently a real stickler for rules and regulation, no doubt a fault of his pre-programming. He was detail-oriented, a go-getter, the type where nothing escaped his notice. He operates in the limelight and shadows both, the true iron fist of the Primacy.

If the rumors are to be believed—and they often are to be in Jazz’s line of work—then he’ll more than likely be working closely with the Right Hand for… whatever it is they want Jazz doing.

He was seriously screwed, wasn’t he?

“Oookay, Jazz-Meister; you’ve got this. Nothin’ a little sweet-talking can’t get you out of. Hopefully. I’m sure it’s nothing that important. They’d have the dogs on your trail and at your door in seconds flat if it was like that. Probably.” Thinking on it, there was no telling whether or not they weren’t scoping out the area for him already. Unlikely, but Jazz has long since learned to trust his instincts at the first sign of trouble.

It’s just that — they haven’t detected anything. And it’d be rude, maybe even enough for a court-martial, to ignore the summons even more than he already has.

Whining some more to himself, spark set on a path of shaky, nervous revolutions — he sets off for the biggest building of them all.

It’s… no better than his hotel room, adorned in gold and the shiniest of metals, the archways crystalline. Reaches straight out to the sky, proud and — intimidating. Foreboding and imposing, and any other words to say that it was fragging distracting as all get out. Two larger-than-life statues of Sentinel himself sat in the courtyard, of which is fenced off and surrounded by guards no doubt armed to the nines.

Jazz swallows down the bitter taste in his mouth, hands fluttering at his sides as he steels his resolve. They haven’t done anything, so surely that’s a good sign, right?

“’Morning,” he greets them, giving a nod. “I have an appointment with the Prime? Or one of his attendants, I’m not too sure, the letter didn’t specify.”

The guards stationed directly in front of the gate don’t move, but their optics do slide over to each other at the same time. Turning back to Jazz as one, they simultaneously ask, “Designation?”

Unnerved, Jazz stumbles over his words. “Uh, Jazz. Jazz of Staniz.”

“Designation acknowledged. Permission granted. An escort will be with you shortly; proceed.”

Thoroughly creeped out now, Jazz just flashes them a smile and pretty much scurries away, glad to be gone from their penetrating gaze.

True to fashion, the escort practically pops up out of nowhere, suddenly at his side and taking him by the elbow, leading him further into the—palace? It was practically a palace, all regal staircases and spacious rooms to host plenty of mechs in power. The front room alone was bigger than any place Jazz had ever stayed in, that was for sure.

“Wait here,” the small, red bot dragging him around says once they enter a conference-esque room. “Sentinel Prime himself will be here in a moment. In the meantime, do help yourself to any of the refreshments provided.” With that, they give a small bow before leaving.

“You call these refreshments?” Jazz asks no one in particular as he takes a seat. The treat in his hand is a spiky little thing, brittle and dusted with something he doesn’t recognize. Whatever it is, it sparkles and emits a soft glow. “How does a treat manage to be so flashy?”

Chucking it back into the bowl, Jazz leans back a bit, eyes roaming over the place. “Better yet, is everything just like that here?”

Somehow the place didn’t feel very lived in. It was personalized all right — you couldn’t take more than a few steps before running into various things with Sentinel’s image memorialized — yet somehow empty and devoid of life. Maybe that was just how rich mechs lived, with their big, fancy places.

Either way, it sure did make Jazz feel sorely out of place, shifting around awkwardly in his seat. Primus, was it ever quiet here. There was too much junk to make the noise echo, but the sound of his fingers tapping out a little diddy against the table still sliced right through the silence. Not in the good way, either, his fingers curling back into his hand after a mere klik or two of making noise. That left bouncing his left up and down and humming to himself, but even that got old soon enough.

The boredom was about to kill him when the door finally opened again, the mech of the hour and another strolling on through. Strange — Jazz would’ve expected more personnel to be by Sentinel’s side.

Ducking his head a bit to avoid Sentinel’s gaze as the larger mech seats himself across from him, Jazz’s attention is captured by the other mech that came in. He’s on the shorter side — still taller than Jazz, though. His posture belies his caste, all elegant and proud. His paints consist of white and black, his face covered by a full battle mask, and his doorwings fanned out behind him.

Now, Jazz may not be able to see much of the mech’s face, but he can make out the way the mech visibly hesitates for a moment when they make eye contact, doorwings going unnaturally still as he looks at Jazz. And he’s — glaring. He’s glaring, not just staring. His optics are furrowed, his hands suddenly being clasped together behind him as he stands by the door, turning his head to the side sharply, practically severing the contact.

Ah. The rumored personal attendant.

His behavior wasn’t too odd, then; Jazz was well aware of how he looked. His paint hadn’t been redone in a few orns, chipped and dulled all over. Public transit had never really been Jazz’s thing, deeming it a waste of good shanix, making both his modes rather susceptible to pieces of small debris scratching the surface.

Strangely though, Sentinel seems bothered by his Second’s hesitation, raising an optic ridge in his direction. He even eyes the mech up and down before rolling his eyes with an exasperated huff of air when his attendant failed to say anything. Huh.

Turning back to Jazz, the Prime is quiet for a moment. A long moment, actually. Too long. Uncomfortably long. Jazz just hopes his face isn’t giving away his building restlessness.

Sentinel places an elbow on the table, hand to his face as he finally says, “I’ll make this quick — I’m a very busy mech, after all. I need your expertise for the gala I’m hosting tonight. We’re attempting to establish better relations with one of our distant colonies; it’s said you know a thing or two about their customs. I’m sure you get where this is going.”

That — wasn’t quite what Jazz envisioned. He blinks. “I- yes? I think so?”

“Great!” The Prime gives the table a bit of a slap—Jazz can’t help his flinch—splaying his hands out as if to say problem solved. “Glad that’s been taken care of, I hate having to give long explanations. Always admirable, a mech that’s quick on the uptake. Now — you’re to remain here for the foreseeable joors until this whole thing is done with. Direct any of your questions to Prowl over there.”

That takes the other mech—Prowl—just as aback as it does Jazz. Only difference is the amount of exasperation the other manages to exude while somehow keeping his tone reasonably respectful. “You won’t be staying, Sir?”

Sentinel snorts. “Primus, no. You’re the one who recommended this mech to help us; you debrief him. I have a whole day spent agonizing over which of which looks better despite them being the exact same. This is why I hate galas so much.”

Unlike the Prime, Prowl doesn’t seem as keen on acting so lax and improper around an outsider. His words are carefully—and rather pointedly—chosen. “I’d hate to waste your time any further, then. Do take care, Sir; I’ll handle things from here.”

The Prime just raises his hand in a rather dismissive way of parting, the mech continuing to grumble to himself as he exits the room.

If Jazz was a lesser mech, he’s sure his jaw would be on the floor. As it stands, he whips his head around to stare at Prowl, disbelieving in what just happened. It- it all happened so fast. Jazz said less than a sentence! Sure, he was told that Prowl would be handling things, but that — that was just inconsiderate!

Undeterred, acting as if such a thing was a regular occurrence, Prowl takes a seat in the now abandoned chair, unsubspacing a datapad. He glances up at Jazz after a moment of simply scrolling, and it’s — tense? No, that’s not quite right. It’s… it couldn’t be. Could it?

Just as quickly, the doorwinged mech looks away, attention resolutely on the screen of his datapad as he begins to fill in Jazz on the full set of details.

“As Sentinel informed you, tonight is a crucial event for the establishment of our ties to other ruling colonies in the area. Any information you can provide would be deeply appreciated, seeing as we have had little contact with those a part of this colony ourselves.”

The cultural investigator tries to listen, giving his input here and there where needed, but his mind keeps wandering. He’d almost believed for a moment that the look from before had been timid, almost shy, but as the more time passed, the more he was certain he must’ve been mistaken. The rumors, as well; Prowl wasn’t nearly as cold as they made him out to be. He was just awkward if anything.

Only…

Prowl takes him all around the building, never once losing his rigid stance, doorwings not even so much as twitching. The most damning thing of all is his outright refusal to look at Jazz head-on. He’ll get close, their optics almost locking, before settling his gaze on something just a little above Jazz’s eyes. It’s puzzling if Jazz has to be honest.

But you didn’t get to be a cultural investigator without accepting the fact some people act in ways you might not initially understand, so he just chalks it up to being how Prowl normally is. Or maybe it’s a custom from wherever he’s from. That would make sense, actually. Ah, wait — did that make Jazz rude for trying to get the other to look at him? It probably did, didn’t it.

Feeling thoroughly chastised even though it’s just himself he’s arguing with, Jazz puts the matter to rest. He’s here on business, after all.

That’s why he is most definitely not staring when the other suddenly pulls up his mask in the middle of talking, revealing icy-blue eyes and a thin, narrow face. It just — surprises Jazz is all, considering he seemed adamant about wearing it the entire time before.

It’d be rude to stare, so he turns away.

Catching his eye, Prowl lowers his gaze, looks up at the lip of the mask still hanging overhead, casting shadows on his face, then stops walking, prompting Jazz to stop as well. “Standard procedure,” he explains, gesturing to his face. “It’s a safety precaution. Forgive me for not taking it off sooner; I have a tendency to get wrapped up in my thoughts to the point of being negligent of my surroundings. I didn’t realize it was still there until my fans pinged a warning about overheating.”

“’S all good,” Jazz is quick to assure, tapping a finger on his visor. “Just didn’t know if it was something cultural or not, didn’t want to assume or cause offense.”

Prowl seems to consider that in that silent way of his Jazz was beginning to pick up on. It wasn’t obvious that he was updating his files, if not for the way his focus seemed to dim, returning with a couple of blinks. Then he’s all nods, and they continue on their way.

The Prime’s attendant is once again in the middle of explaining something when he suddenly goes quiet, words trailing off. A frown mars his face, minuscule as it is. It’s contemplative, a stylus tapping against the screen of his to-do list. He closes his eyes as Jazz twists his body around to step in front of him.

“Something wrong?” asks Jazz when the silence stretches on.

“Not wrong, per se… Just.” Prowl’s face screws up, the most emotion Jazz has seen on it so far. He taps two of his fingers against his lips. “Sentinel decided most events of the banquet would be left to you.” Blunt, precise. “The event planning itself will mostly be done by himself, but matters are to be overlooked by you before being approved. It’s a lot of work.”

Those icy eyes bore into him, his words seemingly ending there.

Jazz stares back into those unblinking eyes, noting the way Prowl’s grip on his datapad has tightened.

Feeling brave and a little risky, Jazz asks, “Sentinel not trust your word on such matters?”

A bit of pride makes his spark spin a little faster when Prowl actually looks relieved, doorwings lowering a bit. “No,” he says, voice still monotone but holding a little mirth. “He doesn’t. Says a mech constructed cold wouldn’t know a thing about foreign matters, least of all me.”

That gets Jazz’s attention. “How so?”

“Lack of experience,” Prowl says, shrugging. “I was made with the purpose of helping out the Primacy shortly after Sentinel was added to their ranks. I’ve never had the time to experience anywhere but Iacon, really.”

“Not even Praxus?”

“Petrex, actually,” Prowl corrects, bobbing his head a bit as if he was used to having to say it. “And no, I’m afraid. So as you might imagine, there is some truth to Sentinel’s words.”

“But you have something to say anyway, I’m guessin’. Well, let’s hear it,” Jazz says, happily relinquishing some of the control and order over to the other. Planning’s never been his thing, and honestly, this entire thing has left him dizzy. It’s just a little too surreal to be real, no matter how often he bumps his leg against a wall. “Not like I have a completely clear idea of what I’m doing.”

He thought that was encouraging, but if anything, Prowl looked slightly distressed and put off by his words. He glances around them, chewing on a lip.

“Sentinel won’t like it,” he weakly tries to argue. “He doesn’t take too well to some of my ideas, despite leaving most of the work to me. I’d hate for you to be blamed if it doesn’t go over well.”

“You don’t stay as acting attendant for so many vorns without knowing a thing or two.” Jazz grins a Cheshire grin, gently tugging one of those white hands free of its death grip. “C’mon, I won’t tell. I’m sure that big brain of yours has already concocted a whole list of ideas on what to do, so tell me. I trust ya. Pretty pleeeease?”

The attendant stares openly at their clasped hands, making Jazz falter a bit in his enthusiasm, dropping it a little awkwardly. It’s — well, it’s not like he could read the other’s field before this, but now he can’t even get a single hint of what’s going on with him. His face is so impassive as he gives a small nod.

But even as everything seems all fine and business again, Jazz’s hand remains feeling a little cold, his stomach clenched in apprehension.

The gala comes and goes, miraculously being pulled off in the haphazard bit of time they had to spare. It’s not the worst party Jazz has ever been to, either. The foreign guests are a delight, laughing at his jokes and sharing bits of their culture with him that he commits to memory. The band Sentinel hired even lets him play for a bit, even if though it’s a less fancy and richly prestine song than they’re probably used to hearing.

It’s a good time overall, every mech looking happy. Even Prowl.

The battle mask is on once again, obscuring most of his face. But he’s so relaxed as he chats with his company, doorwings moving, even laughing.

He looks so… at home. So peaceful, elegant. Not at all stiff and awkward, adverse to any and all attention.

That is, he’s perfectly at ease until Jazz comes by, wanting to thank the mech for all of his help. Then, he’s a mirror of before; doorwings pulled up high, unmoving, face blank, but eyes furrowed behind the tinted glass of his mask. Jazz would almost think he’s concentrating, if it weren’t for the way his plating is pulled in tighter, tense.

It makes Jazz slow down a bit, his smile slipping. He’s not used to being hated — because that’s what this was, wasn’t it? Him being hated. Prowl had no problems looking the other mechs in the optics, didn’t seem to care when one of the governors from the distant colony put a hand on his arm, tugging on in as they told a story. The only explanation then is that Jazz has done something to upset him. But he came over here for a reason, and he intends on seeing it through. It’d be rude of him not to.

“Thanks,” he says, getting closer. “Never did get to ask you why or how you chose me in particular for somethin’ as big as this, but — thanks. It was fun, if a little hectic. Not what I’m used to usually helping out with.” He chuckles a bit, hoping to ease the tension a bit.

The other’s words are much more clipped, precise and to the point. “I was only doing my duty. It pays to know who is skilled in what is required. You were a big help tonight, so it is I, who should be thanking you.”

Despite himself, Jazz can’t help grinning a giddy grin. He attempts to play it off, hiding it behind the rim of his drink, pretending to take a sip from it. He doubts he succeeds. “Skilled, huh. Didn’t think I was skilled enough for the Prime’s Second to know of me.”

It’s minute, barely there, but Jazz swears the mech manages to just — stop altogether, a little hiss of air being pulled in through teeth. No doubt, it only means something bad, Jazz’s posture slipping back into something only half-relaxed, all cheeriness gone.

“Yes, well,” Prowl’s once again not looking Jazz directly in the face, “as I said: it pays to know. As the one who oversees most of Sentinel’s duties, it is my job to keep track of any names that come up often in conversation.” Now he’s staring down at his own drink, scuffing his peds against the ground as his fingers fidgeted against each other. “Senator Shockwave speaks fondly of you,” he mumbles.

That surprises Jazz. “Really? We’ve only spoken a few times, though…” None of those times particularly stood out, either.

Prowl nods a little more eagerly than before. “Fleeting as it was, your interaction left an impression on him. He was quite impressed with your endeavors and accomplishments, awed with the amount of places you’ve been to.”

It looks like he wants to say more, subtly shifting his weight. But he doesn’t. He doesn’t say anything more at all, merely dismissing himself politely with a bob of wings. It doesn’t escape Jazz’s notice that his doorwings only raise once he’s on the other side of the room, swept up in the crowd of mechs dancing.

And like that, Jazz sees no more of him for the rest of the night.

The next time Jazz met Prowl, it was long after Sentinel Prime’s reign. He’d almost forgotten about the mech entirely, but then, the war happened and things changed. Jazz changed. Mechs kept getting hurt, places kept getting bombed and raided. It hurt, seeing the people and planet he loved be torn apart. It was dying, their planet. Slowly poisoned and unable to sustain itself the way it used to, public transportation lines in ruins and whole cities demolished.

No longer could he safely travel from place to place, playing songs of old and new. There was simply too much death, too much destruction, no matter how much the newly-appointed Prime tried to avoid it.

He was a good spark, Optimus. Enough that Jazz felt sure in his sudden decision to enlist in the faction he had formed. He doubted there was much someone like him could do, but hey; it didn’t hurt to try. If he was truly so knowledgeable of their planet that even Sentinel Prime had paid some notice, he wanted to put those skills to use. People always did say he was a mech of the people, and maybe that was needed right now.

So here Jazz is, lined up and waiting for inspection. His application had already gotten him through the preliminary round, so now it was time for the real test to begin.

As he expected, Prowl himself was the one conducting the inspections, even though it was rather tedious, menial work. Not really something befitting of a mech perfectly constructed for a broad variety of political work. The sight of him and his datapad is enough to make Jazz’s lip quirk in a half-baked smile. Working with the mech even just once had taught him how important control and certainty were to him, down to the very last detail. Though in the case of Sentinel, that was probably more out of a necessity than anything else. Vorns of that kind of work probably left Prowl a little more than distrustful of their new Prime.

All the other mechs in line are nervous, some even mumbling rather profane things about the Second in Command, glancing at him from above cupped hands. Cowards are too afraid to say it any louder than a whisper though. What they didn’t seem to get, however, was just how sensitive a Praxian’s doorwings can be. Careless fraggers didn’t seem to notice the subtle twitches in Prowl’s wings, making Jazz’s smile turn into a smirk he had to hide behind his hand.

Staying in Praxus and other city-states predominately populated by door-winged mechs on more than one occasion had made him rather familiar and acquainted with the various tells of a mech’s doorwings. And boy were Prowl’s wings expressive if you knew what to look for. Jazz was pretty sure he was even cursing behind that stoic demeanor he seemed to be pre-programmed with, attention on his datapad as he cussed them out. Dignity and keeping up appearances were perhaps the only things keeping him from saying such things out loud.

When the Praxian gets closer to where Jazz is, the ex-cultural investigator sees the exact moment the other truly notices he’s there. Disappointingly, not much has changed. Only this time, Prowl doesn’t have a battle mask to properly guard the small changes in his expression.

His optics flickered to where Jazz was, his lips slackening a bit as he blinked. He tilts his head a bit — more when Jazz flashes him a million-watt smile with a coy little way. It’s hard to tell what, but Jazz sees him mouth something to himself before he—rather stiltedly—turns back to the mech he’s meant to be inspecting, blinking a couple times more. Jazz can’t help snickering.

It’s still pretty obvious he’s staring whenever he can, though, as much as he wants to act like he’s fulfilling his job perfectly. Not quite in an apprehensive way, it’s almost — curious? A little wide-eyed and innocent, even if the corners of his mouth are pulled in tight, riddled with stress, straining.

Maybe Jazz hadn’t been mistaken in thinking that night hadn’t been so bad between them, after all.

“Jazz,” Prowl says, bowing his head a little in greeting once he’s standing right in front of him. It’s the very definition of polite, if it weren’t for the datapad he’s ever so intentionally hidden behind, pretending to look busy.

Jazz can’t help the way his spark sinks a little at that. Try as he might, he can’t think of a single thing that would have the Praxian reacting like this in his presence. Sure, he probably wasn’t exactly Prowl’s typical cohort, nor first choice of company, and the mech didn’t seem very social by nature, but…

Whatever. One way or another, Jazz wasn’t going to-

“I see that you expressed an interest in covert operations. Special Ops. May I ask why?” Those icy optics pin him in place, glowing bright as Prowl’s eyes go a little wide, tiny rings of lenses rotating as he studies him.

“That’s not the type of question you’ve been asking the others,” Jazz notes, confused and a little shaken off course, something he isn’t used to. He’s always been known to blurt out rather careless things when nervous, which is exactly why he doesn’t do nervous, not in things like this. “Aren’t you supposed to like, ask about combat training? Background? How serious I am about this? Things like that?”

Oops. Was that insubordination? It sure sounded like it, no matter the fact Jazz wasn’t enlisted yet and this wasn’t his superior. Yet.

Jazz might even be fooling himself, but he swears Prowl’s death grip on his datapad tightens even further. The mech lowers his gaze, raising his datapad a little higher, hiding behind it. Perhaps subconsciously, he puts a bit of distance between them, as if literally trying to un-step over some unseen boundary. “Yes, that is normally the case. My apologies.”

That… that felt wrong. Prowl was in way too high of a position to be apologizing to him so — so submissively. It felt weird, not at all fitting in with the paradigm Jazz had shoved the other mech into. Plus, it’s not like he was offended or anything, he just wasn’t sure what to do with that outlier of a question.

In a rush, he struggles to get the other to stop subtly slipping away, to stop curling away from Jazz. “No, no, it’s- it’s fine… Just a lil’ confused, is all…”

It’s awkward. Primus, take him now, it’s so awkward. Why were things always chock-full of silences and the oddest of surprises when it came to this mech? Jazz never has trouble talking! Socializing is what he’s all about! He loves meeting new people, but this guy — somehow this guy takes everything off-course, which is a rather amazing feat for someone so structured.

Shifting on his peds, Jazz tries to spare the mech who has now begun glaring at some speck over his shoulder, looking… ashamed? Hell, was it ever hard to get a read on this guy. “I guess — I just thought somethin’ like that would be a good fit for me? Dunno if there was really a reason behind it. I know a lot about different frametypes, different people. Figured it’d be helpful in pulling off stealth missions to have a mech onboard that can give a few pointers like that.”

“An acceptable and admirable answer.” The way Prowl says it is careful, as if there were a million things he was trying not to suddenly blurt out. It almost sounds like the words were forcefully pulled out from between clenched teeth. It really didn’t suit him, nor the constructed image of him Jazz had once again formed from the many press conferences shared on the news. He always seemed so regal, so poised in those clipped, reciting lines like a mech made for the job.

From there, the rest of the inspection carries on pretty normal. Jazz even manages to impress the Praxian with his scores on the physical tests, even if he doesn’t say as much. It’s only the barest hint of a swooping motion in his doorwings that gives him away, and that probably only happens at all because Jazz is so far away — most wouldn’t have caught it from this distance.

Really, what does it take to get on this mech’s good side? The other mechs around seemed to be thinking something similar, elbowing Jazz and demanding to know what he’d done to get such a reaction. It’s all light-hearted, but Primus does it make Jazz feel a little miserable. They acted like this measly morsel of attention was the holy grail when, to Jazz, it was hardly anything at all. He’d seen what a relaxed Prowl was like, what he was capable of emoting.

Sitting on the sidelines as the inspections carry on, Jazz observes Prowl. None of the strange behavior is present when he interacts with the other enlisted Autobots, face light while his doorwings say all kinds of things. Some of it manages to get Jazz to smile. It’s a dry kind of humor and wit, the insults he says in everything but words. He’ll tilt his head slightly when someone asks a question he deems dumb; will close his eyes and stand up even straighter when disappointed in someone’s answer to his question.

A few times the Praxian glances Jazz’s way, unmoving as Jazz flashes him a smile just for the sake of being a little annoying. It’s there that Jazz decides he wants to understand this mech a little bit better, wants to make him shed that standoffish nature that seemed to have only gotten worse in the tides of war. He’s just so fascinating, not at all like any other Praxian Jazz has met before.

Inspecting his newly added badge in a mirror, he supposes he’ll have plenty of chances and many things to try.

More vorns go by, and Jazz’s progress is… well. It exists if you know how to look at it.

Prowl has clear, practically visible boundaries with the way he declines offers and separates himself in his office, and the last thing Jazz ever wants to do is cross those in his attempts to befriend the mech. So he starts slow, merely leaving cubes of energon on the other’s desk, nothing more. It’s a bit of a peace offering too, giving Prowl the chance to decline it and make it clear he has no intentions of becoming Jazz’s friend. If so, the saboteur will gladly back off. He might not be used to being hated, but he knows you can’t force these things.

Surprisingly, Prowl always takes him up on the offer, not quite smiling but tilting his head downward in gratitude, not really lifting it all the way back up until Jazz is gone.

His relations with the other Autobots weren’t terrible, but Prowl still didn’t seem particularly close to anyone. Solitude was what he preferred, though the line between voluntary solitude and pure negligence was a thin one. Mech tuned out the entire world when he became focused on something, snapping at anyone who dared pull him away. Not in an overtly aggressive way, mind you, but sometimes if someone pushed a little too far it got to that point. He was always like that when it came to solving any sort of puzzle or fully understanding something that caught his attention, and it didn’t matter if you were friend or foe.

It was rather odd; then again, maybe friendship was just defined differently in Prowl’s book as a whole. It was clear Ratchet, Optimus, and Red Alert all adored him in their own ways, and Prowl both respected and appreciated them in turn.

Ratchet would gently prod and nag at him, but treated him with kindness all the same, never raising his voice. He seemed to get that Prowl didn’t do well with loud noises, easily overwhelmed when there was too much stimuli to keep track of. It’s what made the medbay so hard for him, with its extra bright lights and thrumming machinery. Plenty of medics would try to get Prowl to come in for maintenance, but so far, only Ratchet had a record of succeeding.

Red Alert and him were cut from a similar cloth, meticulous and a little overbearing when it came to their work and protecting everyone. They understood each other without having to say anything, making each other’s jobs easier in a way that even Jazz struggled with.

As for Optimus… Optimus loved everyone, accepting their flaws and all. But he truly valued Prowl in a way that Sentinel didn’t never had, Prowl practically beaming in that subtle way of his whenever Optimus looked to him for input.

Why Jazz seemed to be an outlier remained unclear. And it continued to be murky, until the whole Earth thing.

Everyone got closer to each other the second they came back online and understood their situation, homesick and so small in numbers. They were all they had left of home. They were busier too, trying to maintain their fickle relationship with the humans in power at amicable status. Prowl in particular became swamped with work, prompting Jazz to increase his efforts to get the mech to just relax.

Thus lay the issue — mech didn’t seem to know the meaning of the word, continually rigid, words dismissive and solely professional when it came to Jazz.

“Is it just a Praxian thing? Or does the guy really hate me that much?” Jazz asks, voice pitching up into a whine as he drapes himself over Smokescreen’s desk, giving a big, feline-like stretch. “He hates meeeee… Wants me deeeeeaaaad.”

Looking up from his online game (which was a total violation of on-duty protocol), Smokescreen gives him a confused look of pinched face plates. “Who? Prowl?”

“Yesssss.” Jazz sinks further into the desk, becoming one with it. His words come out muffled, face pressed into the surface. “Talk about mixed signals. One moment I think he might like me decently enough, the next I’m certain he wants me dead where I stand. Is it me? Am I the issue?”

Smokey’s silent — too quiet. It makes Jazz roll over a bit, raising an optic ridge (not that Smokescreen can see it). That was a perfect opening for his friend to say, ‘always, Jazz. You’re the biggest nuisance I know.’ Smokescreen wasn’t one to pass on such openings, either, hence the confusion.

Smokescreen looks… full of mirth? His gaze is up to the ceiling, a hand covering his mouth, shoulders shaking a bit.

“Have you, I don’t know, tried asking him directly?”

Okay, that definitely sounded like stifled laughter in the other’s voice. Like the tone of a mech that knows more than he’s letting on.

Still, Jazz is feeling miserable, so he’ll gladly bite if it means getting the chance to vent a bit. “No,” he says glumly, kicking a ped against the desk for the added effect. “I thought about it, but it didn’t seem right. We’re Prime’s Third and Second, y’know? It’d be awkward, laying it all out. Can’t risk damaging morale if it ends up ugly. And he really does dislike me.”

No, Jazz wasn’t imagining it; Smokescreen snorted, pressing the hand a little tighter against his mouth.

“You’re… really not used to that, are you?”

And, well. That was a problem Jazz was trying not to address. Having it said so bluntly makes him pout a bit. “Maybe not before, but now it’s a little more common.”

Smokescreen sobers up a bit, field twinged with sympathy. “Oookay, that’s an issue you and I are gonna have to sort through at a later time. But what I want to know is, why do you care? What makes Prowl such an outlier you feel the need to sit here and whine to me about it instead of taking action?”

“I don’t know!” Jazz exclaims, plopping himself back down, raising his arms up to Primus Himself. “Maybe it’s the way he doesn’t try to hide it?”

“Hide what?”

Jazz scowls. “You’re doing that on purpose.”

“Yeup,” Smokescreen says, leaning back and grinning. “It’s annoying, isn’t it? Me making you admit that you’ve got a problem you don’t know how to fix.”

“I hate you.”

“Then get out of my office.”

“No,” Jazz says, all the world’s petulance in his tone as he settles back down on Smokescreen’s desk. “Your desk is a lot comfier than mine. And you’ve got games. Lots of them.”

“Am I at least an added bonus?”

“Not when you’re yapping and pullin’ my leg so much, no. Not even a little.”

“You wound me, Jazz,” Smokescreen dryly retorts, turning his gaze back to his handheld. When there’s the telltale death jingle, he merely sighs, putting it aside as he studies Jazz a bit. It makes the saboteur squirm, that level of scrutiny. More so when Smokescreen’s got that psychiatrist look to his eyes.

Giving up the charade, Smokescreen smirks, leaning in close enough to poke Jazz in the nose. “Oh, you cannot be serious. Who knew you of all people could be so dense.”

Jazz frowns. “What do you mean?”

But the junior tactician wasn’t listening, muttering under his breath, “Hate you?” He shook his head a bit, chuckling. “Jazz — the mech practically trips over his own peds whenever you enter the room. He’s a real bumbling idiot when someone so much as says your name, suddenly all eyes and ears like some kind of organic pet being brought food.”

The saboteur sits up straight, not caring at all that he manages to knock a pad clean off the desk. He ignores Smokescreen’s indignant little ‘hey!’ when it clatters to the floor. “No, that- that can’t be right. Prowl doesn’t—”

“Do romance?” His friend finishes, raising an optic ridge. His grin was still there, but it seemed slightly forced now. It’s that look he gets sometimes whenever he’s stepping on rough terrain, knowing a little too much about the bots on base. “Listen, Jazz — I know that you’ve technically known Prowl longer than I have, but you don’t work directly under the mech. And apparently, you’re fragging oblivious to what’s been obvious to us all.” When that only gets him a blank stare, he shakes out his hands for emphasis. “The wings, Jazz, the wings!”

“W-“

Jazz doesn’t get to finish, the door suddenly opening, stealing both of their attention. And low and behold, there was Prowl, nose stuck in reports as he swiftly made his way through, none the wiser.

“Smokescreen, have you looked over the governor of Oregon’s request yet? I-“

He pauses once he notices said person is in the middle of something. It doesn’t escape Jazz’s notice the way his gaze flicks to him, the way he’s seated, before going back to Smokescreen. It could be an illusion, but Jazz swears the mech takes a small shuffle backward, trying to shield himself partially with the report in his hand. His faceplates looked slightly darker too, optics giving a small flicker, in, out.

“Is… this a bad time?” He’s addressing Smokescreen when he asks, making a point of avoiding looking at Jazz. But his wings — those fucking wings!

Jazz’s jaw could hit the floor. It’s — it’s barely there, barely anything at all, but when you’re actively looking it for, it’s rather obvious; Prowl’s doorwings droop a bit as he says the words, his left foot pulled back as if to pivot on out. His helm is lowered and — yep; he’s sneaking glances at Jazz out of the corner of his eye, nervously tapping his fingers against the side of his datapad.

Oh, Primus — it really was rather obvious, wasn’t it? Like, really, really obvious. The mech was shy. Ridiculously shy. Prowl! That had to be wrong, right? Prowl didn’t- oh. Oh. He didn’t do romance because Jazz was there and not romancing with him. Prowl was rather old-fashioned in everything, so why not this as well?

Snickering quietly, Smokescreen gives him a hard clap on the back that makes him stumble and almost fall off the edge of his desk. He ignores the glare Jazz sends his way, his tongue sticking out. Turning to Prowl, he’s all smiles and politeness, cheeky fragger.

“Nope, not at all, no worries. Jazz and I were just discussing some business, nothing important. And as for your earlier question — yep! Looked it over and ran the numbers myself. Should be all good to go.”

“That’s…” Prowl purses his lips a bit, face pinched and crinkled in thought. It looked… pained. Like he didn’t really want to say the words coming out of his mouth. “That’s good. Thank you.”

“I- uh.” Jazz points towards the door, because it’s clear Smokescreen has no intention of helping him out. “Go.”

That same, little droop. “If it’s because of me-“

“Nah,” Jazz says, cutting him off. And it isn’t. Not completely. Just — not for the reasons Prowl might be thinking. “Like Smokey said: it wasn’t that important. Just a little banter. Your report, on the other hand…”

The tactician looks down at said report, almost as if he had forgotten why he came into the room at all. Again, his face screws up into something rather odd. Indecisive. “It-“

-can wait. But Prowler’s always been a logical, by-the-books kind of mech, never selfish. The words die there, his lips pursed as he stops himself, blinking harshly as he lowers his gaze.

It almost gets Jazz to stay. Almost. His head’s a little too full of discoveries for that, needing some space to simply breathe. Primus. How long had everyone on base known? And why didn’t they tell Jazz? It’s not like he was some serial dater or anything! He wouldn’t react badly!

But… how does he feel about Prowl? He doesn’t know. He’s never had to think past his own wounded ego before, so fixated on the fact the Praxian seemed to only treat him differently.

Maybe. Maybe that was part of the problem. If Prowl was really that shy, no wonder nobody wanted to spoil things for him.

Jazz pauses.

The mech had been flirting with him from the beginning. All those times he would suddenly blurt out an unrelated question, sheepishly apologizing when questioned about it. He was trying to get to know Jazz better.

That. That changed some things — a lot of things. It answered some things too, but that seemed rather trivial right now.

Prowl — Prowl had a crush on him. Him.

A hand comes up to rest against Jazz’s mouth, his head turned and making eye contact with his own reflection. He didn’t remember making it make to his hab, nor entering his washracks.

He was even more startled to find himself smiling.

Valentine’s was. A holiday. A great holiday, even. Jazz was always stoked for it, showing his appreciation for everyone on base in the little things, such as giving them little pieces reminiscent of their home back on Cybertron. From treats to playing music — he had it all. It reminded him what he had loved about being a cultural investigator so much, his spark full and warm whenever people thanked him.

This year… It wasn’t like Jazz was any less excited, far from it. The problem was…

“Woah, either you’re really deep in thought, or you want to kill Blaster right now. Which is it?”

“Thinking, so go away before I catch your disease.”

Smokescreen, damn him, only presses in closer, making an utter mockery of Jazz’s threat. “Hmmm, I don’t doubt that—the thinking bit, just to be clear—but it really does look like you want to tear Blaster apart right now. Last I checked, he was your second best friend—with me being the first, of course—so now I need to know why. Though,” he chuckles, “I might have a guess.”

Jazz sighs, focus thoroughly ruined now. “I’m not jealous.”

“Sure you’re not. Blaster just conveniently happens to be chatting away with your not-so-secret admirer that you may or may not have similar feelings for, all whilst you’re glaring at him. I’m believing you so hard right now.”

“Knock it off,” Jazz says, giving him a shove. “It’s genuinely not like that. I think-“ He hesitates, knowing the words will be very real once they leave the sanctity of his own head. “I think Prowl’s planning to actually confess soon.”

“Oh.” Smokescreen’s blink is audible as he turns back to study Blaster and Prowl from the other side of the room. “What makes you think that?”

“He’s been acting more skittish than usual, almost acting guilty anytime I walk in on the two of them talking. Mighty embarrassed too.”

“Okay,” Smokescreen says, slowly and giving an even slower nod. “I’ll pretend to understand the thought process here.”

Exasperated, Jazz huffs again. “Prowl doesn’t get embarrassed unless it’s something to do with — y’know. This.” He waggles a finger between himself and where Prowl stands. “Which, considering Blaster’s title of second place bestie—soon to be first, if you don’t stop poking me—makes me think he’s plotting something. Something big.”

“Ah.”

It’s quiet then, both of them just staring as Prowl eventually leaves the rec. room, wings a little higher than normal. In unison, their heads turn to follow him out, mouths pressed into lines.

Watching Blaster soon leave as well, Smokescreen drums a finger against Jazz’s arm, humming. “You gonna do anything about it? You want to do anything about it?”

“That’d be mean though, right? He’s obviously trying so hard…”

Suddenly serious, Smokescreen sits bolt upright, grasping Jazz’s arm a little too firmly. Urgently. “Jazz. Jazz, Jazzy, Jazz-meister. You don’t have to reciprocate or do anything if you don’t want to. I know I teased you a lot-“

“What? No.” Jazz wriggles out of his friend’s hold, raising an optic ridge. “I’m not- ah, slag. That’s not what I meant, Smokes. I just meant I don’t wanna rush him by letting him I’ve caught on or anything. It’d spoil his fun, right?”

Smokescreen studies his face some more, likely trying to parse through his words and link them back to his body language. When he’s satisfied, he smiles, leaning out of Jazz’s space once more. He taps all fingers against both knees obnoxiously. “Well, you might be right about that. He might curl in on himself and die if he feels like he’s made a fool of himself.”

And then, he’s wearing that professional, clinical look. He looks over to Jazz out of the corner of his peripheral view. As much as he is Jazz’s friend, he’s also the glue holding this base together, and—in his own way—Prowl’s friend as well. “I know it’s been a long, long time, but he isn’t used to — sincerity, I guess. He’s a little slow when it comes to processing emotions and putting them in the right little boxes he’s made up. Sentinel… had a lot of fragged up ideals, you know. Didn’t approve of being so affectionate with others and other junk.”

The tapping continues.

“Now, imagine living a life of seclusion, hidden away and made to perform only one task and having no other opportunities. The only person that pays you attention is someone who treats you like slag, though not as harshly as you know other people are capable of being. It makes you lacking in social skills, harsh and cold because you were programmed to be as such and nobody has given you anything more than diplomatic pleasantries. Suddenly, that’s gone and you’re surrounded by new, unpredictable people. They care about and appreciate you, but you were convinced such things weren’t yours to have. It goes on for years and years, and while it gets a little easier to believe, you’re still stuck being standoffish and a little alienated. How would you react if someone told you outright ‘I like you’ before you get to do it yourself?”

Jazz is silent for a long, long time. He thinks about it — really, truly thinks about it, hands clasped together, elbows pressing down into the armor of his knees.

Eventually, “I wouldn’t believe it. I’d think it’s some kind of joke to get a reaction out of me.” And Prowl is a very, very logical mech in all areas, except for feelings. There, he’s illogical as can be, as emotional as the best of them.

The Praxian clasps his shoulder. “Good.” Approval dyes his words in bright hues, a small smile on his face as he stands up with a groan, twisting. “Definitely sat there too long,” he grumbles under his breath, wincing as he rubs at his back.

It makes Jazz laugh, which might’ve been what Smokey was really aiming for all along.

He’s turning to leave when Jazz makes a grab for his hand.

“Thanks,” he says, meaning it to a degree words can’t convey. “And don’t worry.”

“Who said anything about being worried?” Smokescreen retorts, so gooey and fond.

Jazz has been avoiding the rec. room tonight, every revolution of his spark loud in his head. He can’t remember ever being this nervous before, practically giving himself a spark attack with the way he’s both giddy and filled to the brim with anxiety.

He can hear the sounds of the party going on even in his room, loud and positively thunderous, making the ground shake a little, depending on where you are. It’s exactly the scene of life he’s always loved, feeling at one with the beat and energy. It makes him remember days of a little town of nowhere, one small mech clinging to a pillar hidden in shadows as they watched a live performance. They were never meant to be there, having snuck in.

Every bit of it was worth it though, the music resonating and positively singing in his spark. It was heavenly bliss, enough for him to get lost in it, forgetting his place.

He expected the musicians to be upset at having discovered a little stowaway taking up their time. Instead, they had been delighted with how enthusiastic he had been about their music, jumping up and down.

It was the entire group that had given him a new designation then and there, taking him along and raising Jazz as their own.

The rec. room practically beckons out to him, but — he’s unable to stay still, so sickeningly worried. What if he’s wrong? What if he’s right?

Prowl was special to him — that much became so blindingly clear the moment he discovered the Praxian’s crush on him. It only made sense for him to be bothered when he thought the mech seemingly hated him — he wanted his attention! He just. Hadn’t realized that at the time. But now it’s so painfully there, squeezing his chest and pressing down until it hurts.

Lovesick — that’s what Smokescreen had called it. Kinda embarrassing, considering Jazz’s age. He’s much too old to be acting like a youngling having their first crush, writing away in this datapad and swinging their peds.

But here he is, virtually doing that very thing.

In, out. Round and round the air goes, flustered hands constantly in motion, checking all over himself for any unseen imperfection.

He wants this to be perfect. He wants-

Prowl. Wants to hold him and kiss him — eventually. He doubts the Praxian’s the type to move so fast, but hey, he’s surprised Jazz before.

All Jazz has to do is go out there and see. He’ll never know if he stays in here all night. Would Prowl be crushed if he did? He would, wouldn’t he. All assuming Jazz’s suspicions are right, of course, and Prowl really is planning something tonight. Primus. Jazz could be so very, very wrong. Prowl didn’t go to parties, what has him so convinced tonight will be any different?

But it’s also Jazz’s party and, well. He’s sorta obligated to show up no matter what.

Right.

Steeling himself, Jazz makes the oh so very scary decision of finally leaving his room, gradually approaching the ruckus of music, streamers, and a little bit of high-grade. Just a little.

The whole room is dyed red, many mechs dancing and laughing, loud, loud, loud. Too loud and totally not Prowl’s scene, Jazz really should just — he’s already said hello to like, five different people, surely — half of them were drunk off their afts already, they wouldn’t even notice-

Where is Prowl??

Jazz doesn’t even notice he lifted himself up to the tips of his peds until he’s lowering himself to the floor in disappointment when he’s unable to spot the mech he’s been both hoping and dreading seeing.

A shame, really, because Jazz really thinks he’s outdone himself this year with the amount of heart decorations and streamers. It’s practically a whole store’s worth of things.

Yeah. That’s the only reason he feels sad right now. The only reason at all.

He tries, he really does. He smiles, he waves, he even dances a bit. Does the things expected of him, acting like nothing’s wrong, nothing at all.

It doesn’t last, not completely. He doesn’t think anyone notices or questions his sudden departure, halfway out the door without anyone stopping him. But he does — stop, that is.

Down the hall, he hears it: a song he hasn’t heard in a long, long time.

Following the distant sound of music, Jazz finds himself in a more secluded section of the Ark, away from prying eyes. It’s not a very spacious room, but nor is it crowded like the rec. room. It’s quiet, save for the red boombox perched up on a small ledge.

“Blaster…? What’s going on?”

Blaster, predictably, doesn’t answer.

“I asked him to, considering he’s the only one with records of this song.”

Jazz whirls around and — there — there’s Prowl. Smiling that smile that he’s so fickle about sharing, saying it makes him look untrustworthy. Which was really just a fancy way of saying he didn’t like it, which always made Jazz sad because — it’s cute. Ridiculously so, the way it’s lopsided and shows a little teeth.

“Hey,” Jazz says.

“Hey,” Prowl echoes.

“What’s,” Jazz gestures to the small bit of heart streamers he’s only now noticed, “all of this?”

“What does it look like?” Prowl says, flashing more teeth as he playfully pokes Jazz’s arm. “Surely you of all mechs recognize a party?”

“I- I do, but-“

Oh, Primus. He really hopes he still looks put together right now.

“It’s my song,” he says, voice nothing more than a choked up whisper packed full of love and shock. “It’s the song my mentors played and re-named after me. I didn’t- I’ve never played this song for anyone before. How did you…?”

“Rewind,” Prowl answers, holding out one of his hands. And Jazz — he takes it. It doesn’t even occur to him why until they’re dancing. Not a formal dance or anything like that — it’s Polyhexian to its core. “He’s got a recording of practically everything, you know. Even of your mentors’ older performances.”

“And the — and the dancing?” Jazz asks, grinning like mad as Prowl leads him through the motions of a song and dance he knows by spark. He thinks he should be more shocked by this entire affair, maybe stuttering and disbelieving. But he knew Prowl a little better than that — knew his subtle cues and spark better than most.

Everything about this was so very Prowl; down to the way it’s a moment between them, and them alone. Minus Blaster, but ah well. Blaster was always good at keeping a secret.

“Blaster. I — apologize if it isn’t any good. I’ve never done anything more than the formal dances expected at political events.” And the thing was, it — well, it was awkward, the movements stilted and a little clumsy. Less than Jazz would have expected from Prowl, convincing him that it’s more about the dance itself than the action as a whole.

Funny, how Jazz wouldn’t have it any other way.

“It’s perfect. Just — perfect. You’re perfect.”

That makes Prowl — stop. Stop like Jazz had always interpreted as being a sign of discomfort.

His eyes go wide, mouth forming a little ‘o’. He ducks his head, trying to hide it in the crook of his neck.

“Aw, c’mon, none of that,” Jazz teases, putting his hands on either side of the Praxian’s face, turning him back forward. “I wanna look at’cha. I don’t get to do it this close, this often. I like looking at such a handsome face.”

“I’m assuming you knew, then?” Embarrassment twinges in Prowl’s field, twined with mortification and a bit of loathing. All making Jazz’s smile turn a little sympathetic, but above all else: full of love, love, love. Adoration for this shy weirdo of a mech he’s come to know and appreciation.

“Took me a bit,” he admits. “But once I caught on — oh boo, all subtly was off the table. You’re so transparent, but that’s something I love about ya.”

Prowl’s eyes are zeroed in on Jazz’s hands, sliding his own up until he’s clasping them. He rubs small, little circles into the palms, voice a little husky and shaky as he says, “Can I take this as a yes, then?”

“Yeah, Prowler,” Jazz whispers, voice equally shaky now, leaning his helm to rest against the tactician’s. “You can.”

[merlinmarvelandother-oneshots]

Hey, I saw you had request open and I was hoping to put in one, IL keep it short, I just got out of a bad relationship and I'm healing and was hoping you could possibly write about how underTale, underFell, UnderSwap, and HorrorTale (dreamtale to if you are ok with that one) would act if there love or friend just got out of a bad relationship with their ex. Sorry if you don't do these, but I'm just throwing this out there. Please ignore if you aren't intrested and have a good day.

i hope you’re doing well anon <3

undertale, underfell, underswap amd horrortale skelebros (Ft. Dream!Sans) with a reader who’s just gotten out of a bad relationship

(a/n: had this one in the drafts for months and i just wanted to get it published so i skipped out on Nightmare. so sorry this took so long, i hope you’re doing well anon! anyway, im hoping to get back into the writing groove. we’ll see how this goes.)

undertale:

sans:

-“hey, i’m sorry… c’mere.”

-he would engulf you in a hug, if you’re okay with hugs

-while he’s happy you’ve gotten out of a bad relationship, he’s still sad with what you had to go through.

-he’ll make puns to cheer you up, however many it takes.

-he for sure takes you out to eat at grillby’s.

-he’s there to be a listener, a shoulder to cry on, and someone to go to whenever you’re feeling particularly down.

papyrus:

-“a BAD relationship? human, why didn’t you tell me earlier?”

-he’s so sad. his best friend? being in an unhappy relationship? WITHOUT telling him? he’s distraught.

-he cooks for you breakfast, lunch, and dinner.

-he does literally everything in his power to make you happy

-it doesn’t matter what time it is. you call him, he’ll come.

-he’d do anything to see you smile

Underfell

Sans:

-“about damn time you left that douche,” he grumbled.

-“Red, not the time.”

-he rolled his eyelights.

-“fine, fine. whatever.”

-his face turned a little softer.

-“anything i can do for ya?”

-he would do a lot. he’d complain about it the whole time, but if you asked, chances are he’d do it.

Papyrus:

-his eyes narrowed.

-“you say they mistreated you?”

-he sighs when you nod.

-“alright, come inside.”

-he moved out of the door frame so you can enter. he gestures towards his couch.

-“sit down. i’ll make you some tea.”

-he comes back a few minutes later with tea for you both. he seems slightly annoyed when you blow on it, despite it being scalding hot.

-he’d listen to anything you wanted to say to him about it.

-after that, you never see your ex again…. strange, they lived very close to you…

-oh, well.

Underswap

Sans:

-“a bad relationship, you say? why didn’t you tell me sooner?”

-he listens to you, anything you want to cent

-he gives his best advice on how to not end up in a situation like that again

Papyrus:

-“want me to beat ‘im up for ya?” he would jokingly ask.

-but he’d do it for real, if you wanted him to.

-he’d drag you onto his couch and watch all your favorite movies with you until you both fell asleep.

-he’ll provide you with all your favorite snacks.

-he’d stay up late with you while you cried, and do his best to comfort you.

-he has shockingly good advice.

Horrortale:

Sans:

-he seems taken aback.

-you weren’t happy in your relationship? this whole time?

-that hole in his head affected him more than he initially thought. he couldn’t even tell his best friend was struggling.

-he’d feel super guilty about that.

-you’d also have to hold him back by his good to keep him from charging after your ex.

-after he finally calmed from his anger, he’d be there, open arms and willing to help.

Papyrus:

-“i see. come inside.”

-definitely cooking all of your favorite foods for you, listening while you vent and cry.

-he doesn’t have much advice, but he does his best.

-offers for you to stay the night (or as long as you want).

-he does his best to cheer you up, even with his physical limitations.

Dreamtale:

Sans:

-he freezes.

-how had he never noticed?

-suddenly, everything clicked for him. the way he had been sensing more and more negativity from you since you and your ex had gotten together. how you always brushed the topic off, saying it was work or family matter.

-the way you had pushed him away.

-he snapped himself back to reality, offering for you to come inside.

-obviously it didn’t take him long to cheer you up. it took longer to heal, but he’ll make this right for you.

[walkintomymystery]

Fall Into Me

(Set after Sonic 3 - Alternate Ending)

Defeated, world-weary, and impossibly lost, Shadow allows himself to be taken back into G.U.N custody. While his fate is decided, he is housed in a secret facility hidden deep in the heart of one of the country’s National Parks. Still reeling from the heartbreaks that have shaped his life, Shadow never expected to find the closest thing to a home he’d known in over fifty years.

Pairings: Shadow the Hedgehog x Original Female Character

Warnings: i’m gonna be putting this hedgehog in some situations so expect existential dread, guilt, self-hatred, depressive tendencies but also a lot of love and friendship

A/N: this story will take place immediately after the end of Sonic 3, the plot of which i had completely guessed at when i started writing this, but now i’ve seen (and loved) the film, this is now officially an AU with a bit of plot divergence! i am also still very much an entry-level fan, i’m kind of rediscovering everything i loved about this world, so bear with me if there are any mistakes!

//

Chapter One

Evening had fallen. That was all Shadow could glimpse of the outside world. That, and the dizzying blur of trees flashing by.

The transport van was cramped and uncomfortable, but that was all Shadow had known for the past fifty years. He’s spent his whole life in captivity, his current circumstances weren’t novel in the slightest. Perhaps he should have relished the opportunity to stretch his legs and breathe in the fresh air while he had the chance. Too late now.

The metal walls that blocked him in rattled and shook as the van trundled down seemingly endless narrow roads. The whole vehicle vibrated at a bone-trembling pitch; Shadow’s body had started to feel numb after just a few minutes into his journey. G.U.N cared little for his comfort.

Time passed with agonising lethargy. When there was nothing but the constant, sluggish drone of the engine and one image out the window to occupy his mind, the minutes dragged by as if through molasses.

More trees rushed past. The small, opaque window in the side of the van was high above his head and granted him a limited view, but Shadow could catch glimpses of their rounded, bulging bases. They were tall, far taller than he would’ve thought possible, and their branches stretched and reached for each other like grasping hands.

A forest, then. It had to be. Shadow closed his eyes and tried to summon a map of the area. His limited knowledge of the surrounding terrain irked him.

He wished he’d taken more time to memorise the roads, the towns, the whole damn continent, but he had some vague idea of where he was. Or he used to. He couldn’t remember seeing a forest on any map. But then, it hadn’t seemed important at the time.

He opened his eyes again and stared out of the tiny window. So many trees. Had he ever seen so many? They were different from how he’d imagined them. The flat, lifeless images in the books he had once studied hardly came close to the towering pines that rushed by.

In all the information he and Maria had devoured about the Earth, in all their wildest dreams, he was sure neither of them could have imagined how these giants would look up close. They were so full of life. So green. He was a long way from the ARK.

Shadow curled his fingers into tight fists, making the thick handcuffs that bound him stretch and creak. One of G.U.N’s soldiers had nervously slapped them round his wrists, possibly thinking he’d fight back. He was right to be nervous, but for some reason, Shadow let him, then allowed himself to be led into the back of this van to head off into the night.

Shadow eyed the van doors. They were heavy and firmly sealed, but surely not strong enough to hold him. Even if he did try to escape, it would be difficult to find his way. They would locate him, capture him, and shove him back in this van with much less civility than they had the first time.

He sank back in his seat, a painfully hard wooden bench attached to the wall with thick chains.

An uncomfortable thought settled onto Shadow’s weary shoulders. Even if he weren’t completely lost, he had nowhere to go. Even if he did get away, even if he could figure out where he was, he had nothing, no mission to urge him onwards, no reason to keep going at all.

If he wanted to, if he really wanted to, he could be free. He could run and run until his body finally failed. But what was the point? What did it matter? Freedom to him was as nebulous and vague as a dream. Even in his youth, when Shadow thought he had the whole world at his feet, autonomy had been an illusion. He had always been owned, bartered over, and controlled.

Silent and hollow, he watched as any hope of breaking out, of finding his own way, slipped like sand through his fingers.

He had nothing. He was nothing. And he’d never known any different. There was nowhere to go. No one to run to. He was aimless, directionless, completely without purpose. Whatever the humans wanted with him, perhaps he should just let them do it.

One of Shadow’s ears flicked. The slightest whir of hydraulics, pads pressing against rotating discs. Grinding metal. Friction. Brakes. Silence finally cut through the roar of combustion and the old engine sank into sleep.

They’d arrived.

His whole body tensed instinctively. This was the moment. This was where he decided if he was going to fight tooth and nail to get away from these awful, violent humans, or stay docile, let them put him back into that godforsaken tank, and allow them to switch him off for another fifty years.

It would be easier. It would be so much easier. Shadow could be alone with his dreams once more, a peaceful place where there was no noise, no tang of copper on his tongue, and no one wanted anything from him.

In his dreams, it was just him and his sister, laying side by side in a meadow of stars. Shadow had nowhere to be, no one to answer to, just the deep navy sky and her gentle voice. He’d never know a heaven, but he was sure that was as close as he would get.

A sudden shout caught his attention.

Through the thick walls of the van, he could interpret very little, even with his excellent hearing, but Shadow’s ears swivelled in the direction of a second voice. The muffled sounds rose suddenly, then fell silent again.

Shadow straightened his back. He waited. Nothing. He held his breath.

A sudden, shrill hiss split the monotony in two. Shadow whipped his head around, eyes wide, to find a thick, grey gas spilling in through the crack between the van’s doors.

He jolted, instincts kicking in, and scrambled to his feet. They’d taken his shoes when he was arrested, but even if they hadn’t, there wasn’t nearly enough room to build up the momentum and speed he’d need to burst out of the van.

The thick, curling gas pooled on the floor around his feet, rising quickly like water until it was up to his neck.

Blind with panic, Shadow swung his bound hands against the driver’s cabin, sending a shockwave through the van’s metal sides.

He stumbled and fell into the wall, the gas obscuring his vision, his thoughts. He tried to shout but his tongue was heavy in his mouth.

“Hey!” Shadow swung his hands against the cabin again, throwing his whole weight behind it. “Hey! Anyone!”

But there was no response.

Shadow stumbled back and fell into the bench. All he could see now was a grey haze. Though he tried to hold his breath, it seeped into his lungs, his racing heart forcing his body to pull in more and more of the toxic oxygen.

His head felt foggy but he had just the wherewithal to climb up onto the bench, trying in vain to get away and find a pocket of clean air, but there was none.

Shadow’s eyes began to grow heavy. He fought against sleep but his body felt clumsy and unresponsive. He swung his hands one final time against the side of the van and barely made a sound.

He felt his head loll against his chest as the world blurred all around him. At the edges of his vision, a darkness crept steadily closer, until it had overwhelmed his acute senses.

Gravity turned on him, and the last thing Shadow knew was the floor rushing up to meet him, before the world went black.

/

He was in the medbay. He knew before he opened his eyes. The reek of disinfectant, the squeak of rubber shoes against the polished tile floor, the constant noise of the machines. He knew it all by heart, a symphony of pain and longing.

Shadow woozily raised his heavy eyelids. His whole body ached. It was a familiar feeling but not one he’d known for some time. The doctor used to send him for evaluation every month or so, then every two weeks as Maria grew weaker-

Maria.

Shadow’s eyes widened as she suddenly appeared before him, floating above his hospital bed like a pale spirit. She was sickly white, practically translucent. Ghostly and faint, her wide blue eyes gazed down at him emptily.

“Shadow…”

Hardly able to catch his breath, he tried to raise his hand up to touch her but his body refused to cooperate. Shadow tried to blink but an age seemed to pass between his eyes closing and opening again.

“Shadow, you’re hurting me…”

Panic tightened his chest. He looked down, following the cannula as it ran down her chest to where it tangled with another.

With agonising sluggishness, Shadow tried to raise his hand to help her, and found the other cannula attached to his own nose.

“Shadow, it hurts, please…”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”

Shadow wrapped his fingers around the plastic tube and tried to rip it from his nose but it was stuck fast. With every sharp tug, the cannulas only seemed to tighten and twist further, until they were impossibly intertwined.

“I’m sorry, Maria, I’m trying. I’m sorry, I’m sorry…”

Hot tears began to fall from her dull eyes, hitting his cheeks, his forehead and his jaw like bullets.

The more he tried to pull at the tubes that connected them, the more Maria cried and the more suffocated he felt, until Shadow was clawing for breath.

He could only watch, paralysed, as a thin river of scarlet blood began to dribble from her nose, staining his white fur, the bed-

The transport van tripped over a dip in the road, forcing Shadow into consciousness with a jolt.

He gasped for breath, pulling in a huge lungful of air to steady his pounding heart.

Four blank walls stared back at him. He was still in the van. Shadow stared at the doors, then lifted his head to the roof. No sign of any gas. He couldn’t smell any trace of it. Just a dream. It was all just a bad dream.

Slowly, his tensed muscles began to relax, and Shadow sank back against the wall behind him.

It wasn’t like him to fall asleep like that. He didn’t need to rest, his power made sure of that. It was only something he indulged in when he needed to pass the time, or when Maria would beg him to snooze beside her in her hospital bed. He could only allow himself to sleep when he was sure that he was completely safe, and he definitely wasn’t now.

Shadow pushed down the anxious uncertainty that rose in his chest and forced himself to focus on the present.

The transport van was freezing. It had crept up on him slowly. Nothing at first, then a gnawing chill. Shadow found he had to keep tensing his muscles to encourage some warmth into them.

Worry nagged at the back of his brain again, an unfamiliar emotion. He couldn’t remember the last time the cold had affected him.

He tried to rub his eyes but found he could hardly lift his hands. He looked down.

The stiff, black cuffs were gone. In their place were a pair of thick, brass rings that covered his own inhibitors. Heavy and clumsy, they seemed to have some kind of mechanism hidden within. He could feel a hum of static reverberating off of them, tapping into his bones and sending a faint current throughout his body.

Shadow frowned. Where had they come from? Had they put them on while he slept? Surely not. On the rare occasion he did rest, he was a light sleeper. He would have felt it. Why couldn’t he remember?

He turned his wrists fractionally, examining the rings and testing their strength. They were broad and heavy, and felt cold against his skin, even through his fur. With a sinking feeling, Shadow wondered if they might be the reason he felt so weak.

As he studied the rings with sharp eyes, he wracked his brain, trying to remember if he’d ever seen anything like them before.

Shadow lifted his right index finger and gingerly hooked it under one of the rings.

Before he could make another move, a voice snarled at him from the corner,

“Keep still.”

A soldier was sat propped up in the very corner of the transport van. Half shrouded in darkness, Shadow couldn’t get a good look at his face, but he could tell that the soldier was tall and broad, and so relaxed that he must think he had nothing to fear.

Had he been there this whole time? Shadow couldn’t remember. He was having a hard time summoning back his short-term memories. His thoughts were in complete disarray, his nightmare still clouding his mind.

The blue hedgehog, his friends, defeat, this van - but the details were fuzzy, and the more he tried to grasp for them, the further they slipped away.

That worry gnawed away at him again.

All of Shadow’s senses felt dull and distant, as if the sights, scents and sounds that often threatened to overwhelm him were now nearby, but just out of reach. He felt as if he was in one room and his soul was in another, disconnected from the world around him. He didn’t feel right, he couldn’t feel anything.

Shadow shifted in his seat, testing the waters. The guard sat in the corner didn’t move but he knew behind his dark sunglasses, a pair of keen eyes were trained on him.

Shadow disregarded him and turned his attention back to the window. More green blurs. They were still in the forest. Where could they possibly be taking him?

He twisted his wrists again and focused on moving his hands. Static coursed through his veins, making him flinch, but he kept going. Though his body still felt heavy and unresponsive, Shadow was able to raise his clenched fists from his lap.

“I said, keep still,” the soldier muttered, and this time, he lowered one hand to rest against an impression in his jacket.

He was armed and probably more than happy to shoot. But they couldn't kill him. If they wanted to, they would have done it already. They wouldn’t bother driving him out to the middle of nowhere just to do away with him. No, he was too useful for that.

And then, it stopped. Unlike in his dream, the van gently rolled to a standstill, then the driver switched off the engine.

Shadow looked back at the doors. The guard assigned to watch him was speaking again but he barely registered his presence.

Where was he? It had taken hours to arrive, but logic dictated he couldn’t be too far from civilisation if they were going to keep him contained.

He felt a hand on his shoulder. He was pulled to his feet.

Shadow ignored the twist in his gut and just tried to focus on his next move. They needed him, but for what? It could be anything. They could use his blood for testing, extrapolate his DNA for an all manner of projects, send him out on missions, use him as an attack dog.

It didn’t matter. Nothing mattered now, apart from getting out of here.

Another soldier dressed all in black opened the van from the outside and Shadow was led out into the night.

They’d stopped at the edge of a clearing. Just a few feet away, a huge hill rose up out of the ground, rolling backwards and backwards, growing and forming into a distant mountain. Beneath his bare feet, the earth was cold and damp and unpleasant.

It was so dark, Shadow could only see a few paces in front of him. Another of his usually sharp senses had been dulled.

He tried to remember everything he’d learnt, everything Gerald had taught him. Keep your eyes up and keep your head down. Run and run and run, and never ever look back.

The hand was heavy on his shoulder. The two guards that flanked him chatted amongst themselves, swapping stories about the long drive as they guided him towards a low, squat building that appeared to be dug into the side of the towering hill, which seemed almost as tall as the pines that surrounded it.

A door opened. Burning orange light spilled out, pushing through the black night and illuminating his path. Two figures stood in the doorway, just silhouettes, contrasting shapes that didn’t make sense to him.

The cold air awoke something in Shadow’s brain. A spark ignited, a glint of hope.

He wouldn’t let them take him. He wouldn’t just give in. He was the Ultimate Lifeform, he was the descendant of a great power, he could go wherever he wanted. And he didn’t want to be trapped, he didn’t want to be locked away under layers of earth and metal and rock for another fifty years while the humans decided what to do with him. He wanted to be free.

With a rough cry that began in his belly and tore from his throat, Shadow ducked under the hand that held him down and swung his leg round, knocking one of the guard’s feet out from under him.

The other made a grab for him but Shadow jumped and swung his arm around the man’s neck, knocking his sunglasses off as he dragged him to the ground. Shadow untangled himself from the soldier before he could even think to reach for his gun.

He stumbled to his feet, chest heaving, and sprinted towards the tree line. But he only made it a few steps.

He felt all the breath leave his body as some invisible force clapped down on his back and knocked him off-balance. Shadow grunted as he hit the leafy ground, hard, his heavy hands awkwardly jammed beneath his chest.

Whatever had pushed him down had enough force behind it to knock the wind out of him. One of the guards? Surely not. The blow had felt all-encompassing and formless, as if the sky had fallen down on his head. Shadow groaned as his ribs smarted. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt real pain.

He tried to get up but something weighed on his back, pressing him down into the earth, though he couldn’t actually feel anything, as if he were just an ant under the heel of an enormous boot. He couldn’t move, couldn’t speak, couldn’t think. Then he felt his body move without his say so, and he was turned over onto his back.

Shadow lay there, staring up at the black sky. There were thousands of stars, almost as many as he’d been able to see on the ARK.

A memory, faint and ephemeral as breath on a cold day, floated through his mind. Maria had countless astronomy books. She would point out the constellations to him, one by one, until they had almost mapped out the whole cosmos. There were still countless systems they’d never got around to learning about.

Shadow closed his tired eyes.

If this was the end, if this was how his lonely, painful life was finally snuffed out, maybe it wasn’t so bad. The ground was hard and cold but he’d never known anything else. His chest ached, but again, that was nothing new. If the stars Maria had given him were the last thing he ever saw, he could make peace with that.

“The Ultimate Lifeform, huh?”

Footsteps crunched through the dry leaves that littered the ground all around him, growing steadily closer and closer, until they finally stopped by his head.

“Says who?”

Despite every instinct telling him not to, Shadow opened his eyes.

A Mobian stood over him. Dark, dark fur, a black jacket that was two sizes too big, and almost comically large ears were all Shadow could make out against the sparkling night sky.

”Hey. I’m Kit.”

Even though she was shrouded in twilight, Shadow could still pick out a self-satisfied smile.

“I’ve heard a lot about you.”

The Mobian flicked her fingers and Shadow felt his body rise off the ground as if he weighed nothing at all.

Once his feet were safely back on terra firma, the Mobian sighed and shook her head.

“Please don’t try to run again. It’s pointless and honestly, I can’t manage more than a fast walk, and even then I’m out of breath. I’d much rather we got to know each other over dinner.”

She nodded towards the rectangle of orange light in the distance, still smiling.

“Shall we go inside?”

//

Next Chapter

Master List

[marie-swriting]

I'll Never Leave You - Dean Winchester

Masterlist

Summary : You thought your father, Dean Winchester, would always be by your side.

Warnings : Spoiler last episode of the show!, reader is Dean's daughter, no age mention but reader is a young adult, angst, character death, feeling of hopelessness, loss of a parent, bittersweet ending, maybe some grammatical mistakes as English isn't my first language, tell me if you see some or if I missed any warnings.

Word count : 4.6k

French version

Song inspiration : Marjorie by Taylor Swift

Laying on your bed, a book in hand and your dog Miracle at your feet, you patiently wait for your dad and your Uncle Sam to come home from the hunt. Since the apocalypses, the wars between Angels, Archangels and God have officially stopped, you took a step back from the hunting life. You still help them with the research but you don’t go on the field as much. You can finally have a normal life - as normal as it can be when your last name is Winchester - and Dean supports your decision, glad to know your future is full of possibilities. 

You’re in the middle of a chapter when you hear the bunker’s door opening. Miracle raises his head while you put your book on the bed. You trot to the entrance where you only find Sam with an emotionless look on his face however you don’t notice it. 

“Was the hunt good? Where’s dad?” you question with a smile.

“Y/N, something happened.”

“What? Did you scratch Baby?” you laugh, yet your smile disappears as soon as you see his serious face.

“No, it’s Dean.”

“What is it? Uncle Sam, what happened? Is dad hurt? Where is he?”

“Y/N, wait,” Sam holds you back as you’re about to leave the room. “You should sit down.”

“I don’t want to sit down, I want to know where my dad is.”

“We found a vampire nest so we went there to kill them but Dean got hurt.”

“Is he okay, though, right?”

Sam stays silent for a long second before speaking again.

“One of the vampires pushed them against a beam and there was a spike. He got severely injured.”

“What do you mean, Sam? Tell me my dad is okay!”

“I’m sorry, Y/N, Dean… he died during the hunt.”

Upon hearing this sentence, the floor crumbles underneath your feet. You can’t believe it. You stay speechless while Sam keeps talking.

“You dad wanted you to know he’s always been proud of you and he loves you. He also told me-”

“No…,” you interrupt him with watery eyes. “Wh-, How-, it can’t be.” you stutter, shaking your head. “He can’t die! He is Dean Winchester. He’s survived so many things. He can’t be dead!”

“Y/N/N, I’m terribly sorry.”

“No!” you scream when Sam is about to hug you. “I… I need…”

You don’t finish your sentence, too stunned to speak. You run to your room, tears rolling down your face, Miracle hot on your heels. You let the dog in the room before locking yourself in. Completely confused, you don’t know what to stare at. Your eyes look everywhere while Sam’s words are echoing in your head: ‘He died during the hunt.’ You choke while big tears stream down your cheeks. You fall to the ground as your heart bleeds. You can’t believe you’ve just lost your dad.

One could think it wouldn’t hurt as much after Dean cheated death so many times, however the pain is still unbearable - if not worse, this time. You grew up with only your dad and your Uncle as your mom died in childbirth. Your family isn’t big but your love for them knows no limit. You had to overcome a lot of loss the past years, whether it was Bobby, Charlie, Castiel or other people, though the pain you felt at their death is nothing compared to what you’re feeling right now. You’re lost, begging in the empty for your dad to come back to you. Miracle has his head on your legs, trying to comfort you; you stare at him and you hurt a bit more.

Dean never wanted a dog, no matter how many times you asked him for one. He always used to say with your way of life, you couldn’t take care of one and above all, he’d say no dog would ever get in the Impala as long as he’s alive. However, the second your life went back to normal, he rescued Miracle. You secretly suspect he’s always wanted a dog and your whim was the perfect excuse to adopt one. When he brought Miracle home, you weren’t surprised to see he was the one he got. Miracle managed to find his way to Dean’s heart since they first met, though he would never admit it… would have never admitted it. 

Dean was finally having the life he’s always wanted, far away from the repeating apocalypses and it was taken from him as quickly as it came. It isn’t fair. You dad doesn’t deserve to die this young and you still need him. You’ll always need him.

You stay with your back against the door and Miracle in your arms for several hours. Actually, you don’t know how long you stayed in this position. You’re numb, time is standing still since your discussion with Sam; maybe only two hours passed or a whole day, you have no idea and you don’t have the strength to check it on your phone. All you want is your dad. You don’t care what time it is or if you need to eat. You just want Dean and his comfort.

You think back to all the times you lost Dean and all the times he came back. There always was a solution. There must be one for this time, too. His time hasn’t come yet. You still can bring back your dad to life, no matter the sacrifice you have to make. You dry your cheeks and stand up. Determined, you leave your room and walk to the library, Miracle following you. You take several lore books you already know and others you’ve never read but could be useful. On the table, you have at least four piles of ten books, yet you’re still motivated. You could read thousands of books, as long as you find a solution, that’s all that matters. You take one and start reading it and taking notes with information that might be helpful.

You’ve just finished a whole stack when Sam’s voice snaps you out of your reading, startling you. Sam stares at you, worried while you don’t pay much attention to him before going back to your research. Sam sits in front of you yet, he stays silent. He watches you for a few minutes before speaking.

“Wanna talk about it?”

“No.”

“Alright. I’m gonna give Dean a Hunter’s funeral tomorrow. If you wanna join me.”

“Don’t burn his body!” you exclaim following his information.

“I have to and you know it.”

“No! If you do it, it’ll be even harder to save him.”

“What exactly are you researching, Y/N?” Sam questions, fearing your answer.

“A way to resuscitate dad.”

“Y/N, we can’t do that.” He firmly says and you look at him sternly.

“Why? That didn’t stop you and dad from doing it numerous times before, why would it be any different now?”

“Because everytime we wanted to cheat death, it caused major issues, you know that damn well.”

“Nothing we can’t handle. Dad can’t be dead, not like this, not now that everything is starting to get better. I’m gonna bring him back, no matter the price.” you affirm, opening a new book.

“Even if you have to die?” Sam interrogated, surprised.

“As long as he’s alive, that’s all that matters.”

“Y/N, your dad wouldn’t want you to sacrifice your life for him. He’d want you to live it.”

“It means nothing if he isn’t there.” you say, your lip quivering. “I need him, Uncle Sam. I have to bring him back.”

“We can’t.”

“We damn well can! We can find a solution.” you argue before having an idea. “I’m even sure if we asked Jack, he’d do it. After all, the current God likes us more than the last one, we’re his family.”

“Y/N, we can’t save him, not this time.” Sam insists, making you angry.

“If you don’t want to save your big brother who sacrificed everything for you, that’s your problem, as for me, I’m gonna save him, so either you help me or you leave me alone.”

“It’s time he rests in peace, especially after everything he went through.”

“Because of everything he went through, he deserves to live without worrying about Lucifer, God or another Archangel.”

You look at Sam, sure of yourself. Sam doesn’t reply right away before weighing pros and cons and admitting to you: 

“Dean specifically asked to not be brought back to life because he knew too well the consequences, so respect his wish.”

“He was dying, he didn’t know what he wanted. Now, leave me, I have lots of research to do.”

Defeated, Sam sighs before leaving the library. He sees how desperate and in denial you are. He just hopes you’ll realise very soon bringing Dean back is dangerous and useless. Though he fears you’ll realise it too late and you’ll suffer even more. Either way, he promised Dean to be there for you and that’s what he’s going to do. Whether you want it or not, Sam will stay by your side to comfort you the instant you’ll accept Dean’s death.

The following day, Sam gives Dean a Hunter’s funeral alone. He tried to convince you to come but you refused, preferring to lose yourself in your research. Sam wished he could have done the funeral later, fearing you might regret it later for missing this last goodbye to Dean, unfortunately, it had to be done as soon as possible. 

Sam worries more and more for you. You’ve completely shut yourself out. You only read books in the library and do more advanced research on the internet without sleeping or eating. He brings you food however you almost never eat and you pull all-nighter after the other, despite his disapproval. He doesn’t know what to do to help you. He knew you’d be devastated when he told you Dean’s death but he didn’t expect this reaction. 

A few weeks later, the situation hasn’t evolved, except that now you’re locked in your room and not in the library as a way to avoid Sam. You’re still mad at him for not wanting to help you save your father. You don’t understand how he can be this passive. Your father would have done everything to bring back Sam if the roles were reversed, you’re sure of it.

You finish reading the last book you took from the library when you have an idea. You think you know where to look, except you didn’t see the book when you rummage through all the shelves or you would have started with this one right away. Just in case, you go through the mess that is your room now before going to the library and checking everywhere four times. You try to remember where it might be when a memory comes into your mind. You saw it last in your dad’s bedroom a few weeks before his death. You haven’t stepped a foot there since Dean’s last hunt. You just can’t. You’d like to, though. Normally, whenever you’re feeling down, you go find your dad in his room so he can comfort you.

However, if you went to his room now, you’d face a loud silence and you can’t face it.

Reluctantly, you end up walking slowly to Dean’s bedroom. You stay in front of the door for some time, pondering if you should go in or not. You don’t know if you’re ready to enter his room but on the other hand, you need this book, it might be the solution. You take a deep breath and open the door. The corridor light penetrates the room and you can see the bed which is made, his music collection and the book you’re looking for on the desk. You turn on the light and take big steps to his desk, wanting to leave the room as soon as possible. However, you don’t do it. On the desk chair, you find one of your dad’s shirts. You get teary eyes as you take it and bring the piece of cloth to your nose. You smell the familiar scent and you burst into tears in one second. You wish Dean would come to his room and tell you not to steal one of his tapes like you usually do. Everytime he’d admonish you, he’d pretend it bothered him when in reality, he loved knowing he passed on his love for classic rock to you. His bedroom is now all that’s left of him and you don’t want to lose this place, even the most insignificant piece of scrap such as the menu from the burger place a few miles away is now of an inestimable value. Your eyes fall on a piece of paper lying in the middle of the desk. Carefully, you read it and find it’s an application to become a firefighter on which you can see his signature with his name on the bottom of the paper. You sob when you think back of the first time your dad confessed to you he would have loved to be one if he hadn’t been a hunter. 

It was a few years ago during a fall morning, Dean had woken you up early. Too early. At 4:00 A.M. to be specific. He had woken you up because he wanted to have a father-daughter day. This was how you found yourself in the Impala this early while you were still mentally sleeping and your dad was happy to spend the day with you.

“You know, a father-daughter day can start at 10:00 A.M.,” you complained, yawning.

“You’re not gonna regret waking up early, trust me. We’re almost there.”

“It better be amazing or during the next roadtrip I pick the music.”

“Hell no! You know the rules.” Dean refused.

“Yeah, driver picks the music, shotgun shuts his cakehole, whatever. I deserve some compensation!”

“I got you some donuts.” he exclaimed, showing the pink box at your feet.

“It’s a good start.”

A few minutes later, you arrived in front of a lake. Dean told you to get out of the car and to lean on the hood with the donuts in hand. Despite the morning breeze, you started eating while watching the sunrise. The sky was a beautiful amber colour and it was reflecting on the lake, making the scene even more stunning. It was peaceful, save for the birds which were waking up.

“So, wasn’t it worth it?” Dean asked with a smirk. 

“Ok, you were right and besides, the donuts are delicious. I didn’t think of you as a fan of watching the sunrise.”

“I can be interested in nature!”

“Stop it or next thing you know, you’re only gonna eat salad like Uncle Sam.” you answered with a fake fear expression on your face to which Dean rolled his eyes.

“The fact is we’re having a great time as a father and daughter, away from all the supernatural threats.” Dean said, holding you close to him.

“True.”

“And like this, I can make it up a little bit for the father I am.”

“You don’t have to make it up. You’re a great dad.”

“No children should grow up like you did, like I did. I always promised myself I wouldn't make the same mistakes as my father and here you are in the middle of all this crap between two High School periods.” He grumbled, avoiding your gaze.

“Do I have to remind you I started hunting because I followed you, not because you forced me to?”

“I’m still mad at you for that. You shouldn’t have followed us when you didn’t even know what you were fighting, it could have ended badly!”

“The fact is I saved your ass from some werewolves.” you retorted with a proud smile.

“You especially got lucky. I didn’t know what I would have done if you had gotten hurt.”

“I learned from the best, nothing could happen to me.”

“That doesn’t mean anything. With Sam, we always got ourselves out of those messes just on time. I don’t like knowing you’re part of the hunting life.” Dean confessed with sad eyes.

“I chose it. You always give me a way out and I never take it because I like to hunt.”

“Maybe, but I wish you had the opportunity to lead a normal life, you deserve it.”

“I might not hunt my whole life, I don’t know for sure. For now, it’s what I want to do, though. To be honest, I don’t even know what I’d do if I weren’t a hunter. Besides, you deserve a normal life, too, you know.” you affirmed, firmly.

“It’s too late for me. And I’m not made for the apple pie life but it can be different for you.”

Your heart broke in your chest upon hearing your dad saying this. You wish his life had been different, that his dad had given him the choice when he was younger. Dean might have kept everything buried inside yet, you could read him like an open book. No matter what he affirmed you, you knew your dad wished for a calmer life.

“What would you have done, if you hadn’t been a hunter?” you randomly asked.

“What do you mean?”

“If you had the apple pie life, what would be your job?”

“I don’t know.” he replied but you didn’t believe him.

“You’re telling me you never thought about it ? You’re lying. I can totally see you in a job where you help others.”

“I would have loved to be a firefighter.” Dean confessed after marking a pause.

“You would have been a good firefighter, I’m sure of it. Who knows, maybe one day you’ll have your chance?”

“I don’t think so. I made up my mind I’ll always be a hunter and besides without hunting, I would have never met your mother and you wouldn’t be here so I’m grateful for this life.” he affirmed with a genuine smile.

“You’ll always be here, right?”

“Always.” he promised.

You kept watching the sunrise while talking about more random topics, you particularly complained about some teachers and Dean shared his High School experiences - while leaving behind some details as to not be a bad influence. 

The rest of the day, Dean taught you how to drive Baby, something that didn’t happen often. You were so happy to see your dad trusting you this much. You carefully listened to Dean to avoid making any mistakes. Dean, as for him, loved sharing this knowledge with you, despite having some anxiety over Baby potentially being injured at any given moment. After that day, this place by the lake quickly became your father-daughter spot.

In hindsight, you realise to what extent Dean could have lived the life he wanted. He was probably going to go less and less on hunts so he could do the job he always loved and his chance at a normal life has been ripped away from him. After everything he went through, he deserved this chance. 

Furthermore, you become aware you’ll never have a father-daughter day again where Dean wakes you before the sun so you could enjoy every instant. Had you known, you would have made sure to memorise every second of your last day. All of these memories are part of the past and you can’t bear the idea of it. You can’t stay another day away from your dad, you’re desperate and you must save him. You keep the shirt in your hand while you close the door then, you pray to Jack, looking up.

“Please, Jack, if you can hear me, you have to help me. I’ll bother you only this one time, I promise. I won’t ask for anything else. I just need my father, you have to bring him back. Please, help me.”

You keep begging as you close your eyes as if it gave more strength to your prayers. After a few minutes, Jack’s voice saying your name resonates in the room. You open your eyes and throw yourself in his arms. You missed him so much. You quickly considered Jack as your little brother after he was born so the second he took over Chuck, you heart broke. You’re glad to see Jack replied to your call, despite his responsibilities.

“I’m happy to see you, Y/N.”

“Me too, you have no idea.”

“You prayed so we could talk about Dean. Let me tell you, he is in Heaven. He deserves it after everything he’s done.” he informs you with a genuine smile.

“He particularly deserves to live. Jack, I know I’m asking for a lot but he can’t stay in Heaven, he has a life here, he has to live it.”

“I can’t do that and you know it.”

“You’re God now, of course you can!” you exclaim, appalled.

“After everything he’s sacrificed, he can finally rest.”

“No, he can finally live! Jack, you have to save him.” you beg, tears in your eyes.

“I can’t break the new balance we just made and also, he doesn’t want to, Y/N, he knows the price to pay and he doesn’t want you and Sam to pay it, you in particular.” Jack says, calmly.

“You’re lying! My dad would never leave me. Please, Jack, I’m begging you to help me. Whether you do it or not, I’ll find a way but with your help, I’ll cause less damage.”

“My answer stays the same. I’m sorry.” he insists, making you mad.

“Leave. I’ll do it alone. I don’t need you! Leave!”

Disappointed, Jack disappears, leaving you alone in Dean’s room. You can’t understand why no one wants to help you. You’re not asking to bring back a monster, just your father so why is everyone letting you down? Your tears that had stopped rolling down earlier find their way back on your cheeks again in a second. You’re sick of everything. You’re sick of crying. You’re sick of no one helping you. And more specifically, you’re sick of not having your father.

Mentally tired, you end up laying down on Dean’s bed and you hold the shirt close to you, hoping it’ll bring you some sense of comfort. You keep crying until you finally fall asleep for the first time in weeks.

A light breeze going over your body wakes you up. You open your eyes, not understanding where it comes from and you find yourself on the backseat of Dean’s car. You just have the time to look up when you see the car door opened and your dad telling you to get out of the car. Surprised, you need a second before jumping into his arms. Dean hugs you back and strokes your back while you pay attention to his shoulders moving at the rhythm of his breath to make sure he’s alive. After a few minutes, you break the embrace and Dean drags you so you can lean against the hood of the Impala which is parked in front of the lake. Dean puts his arm around your shoulder while you put your head against his.

“Dad, is this a dream or real? I’m confused, I haven’t found a solution yet so how can you be here? And how did I get in the Impala?”

“Jack must have found a way for us to meet again.” Dean answers, giving you hope, in spite of himself. 

“So, is it all good? You’re safe?”

“No, sweetheart. Jack and Sam were right when they said I didn’t want to be brought back to life.”

“Why, though? You finally had everything you wanted!” you anger, taking a step back from Dean.

“I can’t keep on dying and coming back to life, I had to die for good one day.”

“Yeah, when you’d be old, very old, not now!”

“I wish it could have been later, too, but it is what it is, there’s nothing we can’t do. Y/N/N, I don’t want you to spend your life trying to find a way to bring me back, it always ends badly. I promise you, I regret nothing, I’m fine and I can finally rest. You have to keep living without worrying about me.” he tells you, calmly.

“But I need you, dad.” you retort, shaking your head. “There’s so much I don’t know, there are so many questions I should have asked you about the supernatural, what I’m supposed to do, on how to be and even more questions I haven’t thought about yet. It’s too hard without you.” you say, your voice breaking.

“You’ll be okay, I know you will. You’re a fighter, a Winchester. I’m proud of you and the woman you became, I hope you know that.”

“Uncle Sam told me, yeah.”

“Don’t push him away. He tries his best to support you while respecting what I asked him.” Dean tenderly states.

“You told me you’d never leave me. You promised you’d always be here.”

“And I meant it. I’ll always be by your side even if you don’t see me. I’ll never leave you and when the moment comes, we’ll meet again.”

“I want us to meet again now.” you cry and Dean takes you in his arms.

“I wish we could but we can’t. I’m sorry we didn’t have much time together. I love you, sweetheart, never forget it.”

“I love you, too, dad.” you say before breaking the embrace. “I’ll apologise to Uncle Sam, I shouldn’t have yelled at him.”

“He isn’t mad at you, I’m sure of it. It’ll be okay, don’t worry.” he says, kissing your temple. “Come on, let’s enjoy this moment. Donuts?”

A small smile finds its way to your face as soon as he hands you a donut. You take it and eat it, enjoying this precious moment. Mentally, you thank Jack and apologise to him before focusing back on the lake illuminated by the sunrise until you slowly fall back asleep.

The second you wake up, you’re in Dean’s room again, his shirt next to yours. A single tear streams down your face yet, this time, this tear isn’t only for the pain of losing your dad. This tear is full of sadness, yes, but also of joy as you got one last goodbye. This tear rolls down because you know Dean’s death is still affecting you notwithstanding, he’s right, he can’t be brought back to life and you have to accept it. You know that despite everything, he’s still all around you.

You look at the clock on the nightstand and discover it’s still early and the sun is still rising in the sky. You take one of your dad’s jackets in his closet and leave the bunker with Miracle who woke up when he heard you. Outside, you admire the dawn, your heart pinching in your chest a little. No matter how many sunrises you’ll have to live without Dean, you promise yourself to have at least a day during the week where you’ll wake up early and think about your dad. You want to keep him alive in your head and for this, you want to keep the traditions you had when he was still there.

The day officially started, you grab Baby’s keys and drive downtown, more specifically to the Fire Academy. You enter the building and wait for your turn at the reception. As soon as it’s your turn, the woman tells you to come closer and asks what you need.

“I’d like to apply to be a firefighter, please.”

The woman gives you some information and papers to fill and when she’s done, you thank her and go back to the Impala. Sat on the driver seat, you look at the papers with a bittersweet smile. Though you don’t see Dean, you know he’s here, right next to you, happy to see you officially quit the hunting life and realise your dreams and his.

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