#which I feel is oddly appropriate

[tori111777]

FRIGHT AND FURY 4

Part 3, Part 5

Summary: Secret late night talks are being said

Warnings: Spoilers for Gladiator 2

Parings: Caracalla x wife!reader

The night was restless as you could not fall asleep. You husband had slept with you tonight, not leaving your side since the attack that had happened earlier today.

It felt nice having him next to you for once, you didn’t want to wake him up though, just watching his chest rise and fall as he breathed peacefully. You traced the lines of his face with your eyes. It was oddly peaceful, but also a reminder of how fragile everything felt in that moment.

Maybe you did start to care for him a bit, whether you would admit that to yourself or not.

“Caracalla.” You whispered his name ever so faintly that he wouldn’t wake up. His name hung in the air between you like a fragile thread. You let out a soft, almost inaudible sigh, unsure of what you were feeling—torn between the weight of the day’s events and the growing warmth that seemed to blossom in your chest whenever you thought of him.

You brushed a stray lock of hair away from his forehead, your fingers lingering for a moment longer than necessary. The gesture felt intimate, yet so simple, as if everything could change with just that small touch.

Just then you heard a knock on the door that made you jump. You turned to see if Caracalla had woken up but he shifted slightly in his sleep, his body instinctively leaning toward you, as if drawn to the warmth of your presence. He didn't wake.

You pulled the sheets away ever so carefully and wrapped you arms around yourself, feeling your silk dress that you always wore to bed. Your feet brushing against the cold stone floor. Your hand hovered over the door’s handle, a rush of uncertainty flooding your chest. Hesitant to open but you did so anyways, the guards outside your doors wouldn’t just let nobody here.

The door creaked as you turned the handle, the sound sharp and loud in the stillness of the night. “Lucilla.” You let out a sigh seeing her. “I came to make sure you were alright?” She asked. Her eyes, soft and searching, scanned your face. She had always been able to read you better than anyone else.

You blinked a few times, still adjusting to the dim light in the hallway, and let the door swing open a little wider. Lucilla stepped forward, her presence both comforting and unsettling in the quiet of the night.

“Would it be better if he spoke at my place?” She looked around, “a place with no ears?”

——

“He’s been with you… since the attack?” Lucilla asked quietly, her voice gentle but probing. You were now sitting in a beautiful area in a courtyard. You slipped on something more appropriate even if it was in the dead of night.

You nodded, not trusting your voice at first. “He hasn’t left my side. I think... I think I’m starting to understand why.”

“I thought so. He’s not the kind of man who stays unless he has a reason.” Lucilla husband, Marcus Acacius had said as well. Though, you were not so sure why he was there.

Lucilla’s eyes softened further, and for a brief moment, there was a flicker of something older in her gaze, something she rarely allowed to show. “Perhaps he finally sees you. Not just as someone in need of protection, but as someone worth fighting for.”

You had spent so long building walls around yourself, protecting your heart from the unpredictable nature of men like Caracalla. How could you let him in now if you threw away the key?

“Which is why we wanted to tell you something…” General Acacius said looking to Lucilla then back to you. Lucilla glanced at her husband, her expression shifting as she prepared to say something important. She wasn’t one to mince words, but even she seemed to hesitate for a moment before speaking.

“There’s a matter of trust," she began carefully. “Can we trust you?” The question hung in the air, heavy and sharp. “Trust is... hard to come by,” you said quietly, your voice a little less steady than you would’ve liked. “Not just with anyone, but especially after today.”

“I understand,” she said, her voice calm but firm. “Trust is a delicate thing, especially in times like these.” The distant hum of night insects and the occasional rustle of leaves were the only sounds, and in that moment, you realized how small and fragile you truly felt, standing between two people who knew far more about loyalty and betrayal than you ever had.

“Yes.” You said firmly, “yes, you can trust me.”

Lucilla’s hand found yours, warm and steady. The gold bracelets on her arms clanked together. “The gladiator in the arena these past days… do you know who he is?”

You shook your head slightly, “no.”

"The gladiator," she began slowly, choosing her words with care, “the gladiator is Lucius.”

You blinked in surprise, he was thought to be dead after all these years. The one who had been causing so much buzz in the arena recently. It could not be him, surely… "Lucius?" you repeated, your voice barely above a whisper. The night air suddenly felt colder, more oppressive. “Your son?”

Lucilla nodded, the weight of her words hanging heavily between you both. Her fingers tightened around yours, a silent plea for understanding, as if she were preparing herself for the emotional turbulence that was sure to follow.

“But the man in the arena is not the boy who left. He’s changed, hardened by the years, by what he’s endured.” Her voice wavered slightly, as though the emotions tied to her son’s fate were still too raw.

You tried to process this new information, the weight of it all pressing against your chest. "But why keep this from me?" The question tumbled out of you before you could stop it.

“Because we did not know.” The general answered slowly. You looked at the ground then up slowly. “Wouldn’t he be the prince of Rome then?” It was the truth, he should’ve been heir. “Is this why it has to do with Caracalla?”

“Sort of the kind.” Acacius said. “We are going to break him out. Tonight. We need your help so the Emperors don’t find out.” For a long moment, you remained silent, processing the magnitude of the situation.

“This is treason.” You spoke out. "It is, yes," she said quietly, her voice laced with a painful honesty. "But we don’t see it as betrayal, not to Rome. To our family, you family, it is a chance at redemption. Think of your father.”

His reappearance could change everything, especially if he were to reveal his true identity. "Why come to me?" you asked, your voice almost a whisper. "Why trust me with something like this? You know what could happen if this gets out."

Acacius looked at you with a grim understanding in his eyes. "Because you're the key. We believe that Caracalla... cares for you, more than he’s willing to admit. He trusts you. With that, if anything gets out you can cover.”

“And Geta?” You asked them, still unsure. “He’ll believe his brother.” The general replied. You swallowed, looking between the two of them. A thousand thoughts raced through your mind, each one more conflicting than the last.

"I don’t know what to do," you admitted, your voice barely a whisper. The uncertainty in your chest was unbearable. "Alright," you finally said, the words escaping your lips almost before you could fully comprehend what they meant.

Lucilla let out a small, relieved breath, but General Acacius did not seem quite as sure. His eyes never left you, studying you intently, as if trying to read the depth of your decision.

“It won’t be easy," he said, his voice low and firm. "You’ll have to keep your distance from Caracalla—he can’t know about this. We’ll need to move fast. If we can’t get him out by dawn, it’s over.”

The escape of Lucius, the survival of Caracalla, and the fate of Rome itself now rested in your hands.

“I’ll head back, if Caracalla asks any questions, don’t worry about it.” You gave a reassuring smile to them.

As you made your way back to the chambers, your heart was heavy with the weight of what you had just agreed to. The silence in the hallway felt unnervingly loud as you approached your room. You could see the soft glow of the candlelight still flickering under the door, and for a moment, you hesitated.

You opened the door gently, careful not to disturb the fragile peace that had settled in the room. Caracalla was still asleep, his breathing slow and steady, his form a comforting presence in the dim light. The way he had instinctively turned toward you in his sleep—the way his body seemed to seek yours even in rest—made your heart tighten.

You closed the door softly behind you, locking it with a quiet click. Your steps were measured as you returned to the bed, your eyes lingering on Caracalla's face for just a moment longer. He had no idea of the storm you were about to become a part of.

Your hand reached for his, the coolness of your fingers brushing against his warm skin. It was a simple gesture, but it sent a shiver down your spine.

“Caracalla.” You called out to him, waking him up. “Caracalla.”

Caracalla stirred slowly at the sound of his name, his brow furrowing as his eyes fluttered open. The dim light from the candle by the bed cast soft shadows across his face, and for a moment, he simply blinked at you, still lost in the haze between sleep and waking.

“Lucilla and Acacius are planning on committing treason.”

Authors note: you guys are so loyal to your man I was kinda hoping you all would pick Lucilla but I’ll give the people what they want

[transformers-spike]

Hello ummm can I order a uhh wholesome Starscream x human!SO with the SO being into praising him and caring for him? And he of course is drinking it all up because he needs love and reassurance more than he could ever admit

Yet again my brain decided to go for a full length novel, so I had to pull back and came up with this. Think of this as them before they got together:

“Are you alright?” “Of course I am! Why would you think otherwise?” he snarks, puffing up like a disgruntled cockatiel. You squint and look him up and down with the most “dude, just admit it” expression you can muster. He glares at you for what feels like ages, ridiculous brow plates knitted into a “fucking try me” V. You sigh, take off the welding mask and put down the torch. “I’m worried about you.” Those very same brow plates shoot up to the sky. “Pah! I don’t need your worry!” he scoffs like he isn’t bleeding out in the middle of the woods. “Sure you don’t, but I’ll have you know there’s only so much I can do! We should call Ratchet.” His fist slams to the ground, you stumble but manage to catch yourself before falling face first into the deadly spikes adorning his stiletto. Death by high heel isn’t on your “appropriately ironic deaths” list, but you should add it. If your brain didn’t slosh inside your skull like a snowglobe in the hands of a petulant two year old, you could have sworn the mighty ex-commander of the Decepticons looked apologetic for a split second. “I would rather not deal with the likes of the Autobot medic,” he declares in a slightly softer voice, although not without his usual amount of scorn. “After all, you’re doing just fine,” he croons in a sly, buttering tone. Maybe you could have believed him if he hadn’t been constantly berating you for fucking up the impromptu surgery. You are not a medic, goddammit! Much less well-versed in the art of welding shut a metal alien from a planet light years away! You’re just some car junky with pyromaniac inclinations! But seeing him this way… covered in grime and energon, wings hanging low and servos shaking. You’re glad you didn’t send him to voicemail.

You pat his leg. “Thanks, but if this happens again I’m calling Bulkhead to haul your ass back to base whether you like it or not.” Putting on your welding mask, you keep working. Starscream stays oddly quiet, not even bothering to beep at you indignantly when your torch falls out of line. It’s no Picasso, but the bleeding has stopped. After you step back to give him some space, he tests out his leg, standing up and shifting his weight from side to side. The injured leg strains but does not collapse. “Good?” you ask. “Manageable,” he mumbles in his typical “it kinda sucks but I have to be grateful” way.

Pride fills you up like a single mom downing martinis during happy hour. Although not the best compliment, it’s a Ritz-Carlton coming from him.

“Do you want to go back to base? Or just… hang out here? In the middle of the woods?” He wrinkles his optical ridge at you but doesn’t answer.

“Okay,” you drawl out, taking a seat on possibly the most comfortable rock in Nevada. Years pass by – or so it feels like – waiting for the usually extremely bitchy (thus chatty) bot to break the silence. He does not. “I think I should go,” you sit up and thumb at your car, parked all the way across the woods on the main road, a good hike from where you’re currently at. “Don’t,” he hisses. His expression is almost… forlorn if not for his angry brows. Oh fuck off, the emotionally constipated airplane war criminal can’t ask you to hang out without hurting his pride. Which makes you the responsible adult of the situation compared to the billion year old metal chicken. And by God, you are the least responsible person you know (excluding Starscream).

So you sit your ass back down and lock eyes with said chicken. “Are you sure you don’t want to talk about what happened?” you ask, fully expecting him to shut you down by calling you fleshling and waving your humanity over your head like a shitty “begone” charm.

Instead, he thinks about it, averting his gaze from you and turning it to the vast wilderness beyond the trees. “Vehicons,” he states bitterly. “Either it was a purely coincidental dogfight or… Megatron is after me.” His whole frame shudders, wings sinking as low as they can go.

“I see.” You pause to take a deep breath. “Do you want to tell the Autobots?”

He shakes his helm and loosens a self-deprecating chuckle from his vocalizer. “Like they would listen to me.” You scrunch up your nose. “How about I tell them? Would that be easier for you?” His optics widen for a brief moment before returning to their perpetually conniving state. “I’m not delighted with the option, but it’s preferable considering their propensity for gathering unsolicited information.” The silence returns. “Hey, I know it’s not the best time to bring this up. But you don’t even have to answer, just please hear me out.” He peers at you wordlessly. “You’ve been through-” you gesture at dry neon blue energon adorning his frame “-a lot lately. I’m not asking you to talk about your feelings or anything like that, but if you ever need someone to just… be around, I’m here.” His expression hasn’t shifted one bit. It’s completely unreadable. You continue on with gritted teeth. “Personally, I’ve never defected from an extremely violent faction and been hunted down through the sky, but I find it’s easier to suffer around friends and family. They help shoulder the pain.”

He arches a metal brow. “Are you implying we’re friends?” “I mean-” you stammer, “I definitely consider you a friend. If you don’t, that’s fine, I’m not forcing you or anything. To each their own. But that’s beside the point-” A lengthy chuckle cuts you off. “Does a friend answer their comm in the middle of the night cycle and perform surgery with sub-optimal tools?” You’re not sure if he’s insulting you or trying to make a meaningful point. Maybe both. “If so,” he continues, lips quirking into an intimidating but somehow genuine smile, “we are friends.” Your brain flatlines. “Oh,” you whisper. “OH,” it hits you like an F-15 Fighting Falcon at full speed. “I… okay. So, um, if you want to hang out and stuff, I can stick around until five o’clock. Then I’ll have to leave and get ready for work.”

“Good enough,” he scoffs good-naturedly, having returned to his bitchy old self with slightly less bitchiness. But the smile he doesn’t bother hiding betrays something deeper. Starscream is your friend. Starscream called himself your friend. Holy shit, you think you’re going to have an aneurysm.

[wchswift]

hiii, it's me again 😭 oh God i'm sorry, i feel a bit pathetic here 😭 but i have another request :3

can you do modern day leopold (HE'S SO BAE I LOVE HIM SM) picking out flowers for his s/o cause he noticed his s/o is a bit down lately? (i took this idea from your prompt!) hope you don't minddd hehe

Petals for a Heavy Heart

Pairing: Leopold Mountbatten x Reader Summary: When Leopold notices that you haven't been looking well lately, he decides to pick out a bouquet of flowers to make you feel better and loved. Content: established relationship, feeling down, comfort, fluff, English isn’t my first language :) Word count: 932 notes: hello!! whatt no need to apologize I'm glad you sent me another request! And omg I'm so so happy it's for Leopold, I've been wanting to write something for him so much :3 I loved that you choosed the idea of the prompts, I ended up following your request more than the prompt itself, I hope I wrote it as you expected <3

The delicate chime of the flower shop bell rang as Leopold Mountbatten pushed open the glass door. A faint blush of winter lingered in the air outside, but the shop was warm, bathed in sunlight streaming through the large windows, illuminating rows upon rows of vibrant blooms. The soft fragrance of roses, daisies, and lavender mingled together, wrapping around Leopold like a comforting embrace.

His brows furrowed slightly as he scanned the room. He hadn’t stepped into a flower shop since his days of royal ceremonies—occasions when arrangements were chosen for him, not by him. But this time was different. This time, it was for you.

You’d been quieter than usual the past few days. The sparkle in your eyes had dimmed, and your usual wit had softened into something wistful. Leopold had noticed—how could he not? And while he wasn’t the type to smother with concern, he couldn’t just stand by and do nothing.

Flowers, he thought. Flowers could bring a little light back into your day.

“Good morning,” a cheery voice broke through his thoughts. A petite florist with a warm smile stood behind the counter, hands dusted with pollen. “Looking for something special?”

Leopold adjusted the collar of his cashmere coat. “Yes, actually. For… someone important to me.” He paused, feeling oddly self-conscious. “They’ve been feeling a bit down lately.”

The florist’s smile softened knowingly. “Ah, I see. Let’s find something that speaks to them. Do they have a favorite flower?”

Leopold’s lips curved into a small smile. “Orchids, I think. They’ve always had a fondness for them. Which symbolize purity, prosperity, and good health… So I guess might be appropriate.”

Her eyes lit up. “You know your flowers.”

Leopold’s lips curved into a faint smile. “I do. They’ve always been a subject of interest." Stepping closer to the flowers, he added smoothly, "We could also add some peonies. Symbolic of healing and happiness., an apt choice for the occasion.”

“Good choice,” the florist said, leading him toward a vibrant display of blush-pink blooms. “How about colors? Warm tones are uplifting, while softer hues can be calming.”

He considered this, his gaze lingering on the rich reds and delicate whites. He thought of how your laughter once filled their apartment, how it now felt like something fragile and fleeting. “Something warm but soft,” he decided, pointing toward the pink and coral-colored peonies. “They’re understated but still… hopeful.”

As the florist began assembling the bouquet, Leopold found himself wandering through the aisles, his fingers grazing petals and leaves. Each bloom seemed to hold its own personality—vibrant sunflowers, gentle baby’s breath, elegant lilies. He plucked a sprig of lavender from a nearby basket, its scent reminding him of the evenings you spent curled up on the couch, a lavender-scented candle flickering nearby. Lavender is also for tranquility. He hummed and added it to the mix.

Back at the counter, the florist held up the arrangement. “What do you think?”

It was perfect—beautiful orchids with peonies in soft shades of coral and blush, accented with sprigs of lavender and tiny white asters. The bouquet was cheerful yet gentle, a reflection of everything he wanted to say without words.

Leopold nodded. “It’s lovely. Thank you.”

As he handed over his card to pay, the florist wrapped the bouquet in delicate paper and tied it with a ribbon. “I hope they feel better soon,” she said warmly.

Leopold smiled faintly. “I think this will help.”

When he arrived home, you were curled up on the couch, a blanket draped over your shoulders. The soft glow of the afternoon sun painted your features, but your eyes were distant, lost in thought.

“Darling,” he said, his voice breaking the quiet. You glanced up, a flicker of surprise crossing your face as you noticed the bouquet in his hands.

“What’s this?” you asked, sitting up as he approached.

“For you,” he said simply, handing you the flowers. “I noticed you’ve been feeling… off. I thought these might help.”

Your eyes widened as you took the bouquet, fingers brushing over the soft petals. The fragrance enveloped you, a gentle blend of peony and lavender. A smile, small but genuine, tugged at your lips. “Leopold, this is… really thoughtful.”

He sat down beside you, his posture casual, but his eyes intent on your face. “I'm not the best at expressing what I want through words,” he admitted. “But I wanted you to know I’m here. Whatever’s on your mind, you don't have to go through it alone.”

Your gaze softened, and for the first time in days, the weight on your chest felt just a little lighter. “Thank you,” you murmured, leaning your head against his shoulder. “You’re amazing, you know that?”

He smirked, Leopold’s hand rested lightly on yours, his thumb tracing small circles over your skin. “It’s hardly a grand gesture,” he said, his tone lightly self-deprecating. “But if it brings even a fraction of your smile back, then it has served its purpose.”

But as he felt you relax beside him, your breath evening out, he knew it wasn’t about being amazing. It was about being there for you—in every small, quiet way that mattered.

And at that moment, surrounded by the soft glow of the afternoon and the delicate fragrance of flowers, he was content with the room feeling a little warmer, a little brighter—a reflection of the unspoken love between you.

𖤐 reblogs and feedback are appreciated! requests are also welcome, ty!

[gildedphoenix]

Excert from a story I'm writing:

But oddly, it had been Nocturn who’d helped him most. For so long, Danny’s primary concern had been whatever disaster was currently exploding in his face. He hadn’t had time to look to the future or think about his own desires since he’d died. So on a clear autumn night when Nocturn asked Danny about his own Dreams, Danny was shocked to find that he didn’t have a ready answer. At 14, Danny had wanted many things. He’d wanted to undo the portal accident. He’d wanted to be popular. He’d wanted to marry Paulina. Time went on and he wanted to protect the city. He wanted to get a good night's sleep. He wanted to not flunk out of high school. At times he’d wanted to just survive. 

What did Danny want now? Of course he had all of his new responsibilities. He had a whole un-dimension to rule and govern. And he was slowly getting a handle on that. But that was not really his goal. It was just a daily fact. And Nocturn hadn’t asked about his core’s drive. His Obsession. Nocturn had asked, appropriately, about Danny’s Dreams. So Danny did what he always did when he found a quiet moment of flight among the chaos. He looked up at the sky. It was a clear night, the stars out in abundance. Staring at the glittering unending void, Danny felt his core settle and something he didn’t know he’d been missing clicked into place. 

“There it is.” Nocturn said. 

But Danny did not hear him. With that quiet snick of the final puzzle piece of his soul, his mind had expanded outwards. Suddenly able to connect with the resonance of the universe. To feel the white hot pinpoint of each star in the blanket of space. To breathe into the gaps between one galaxy and the next. Perceiving everything everwhere all at once while losing his connection to himself.

It was a long time before he remembered that he was Danny. That he existed as his own entity, separate from ever expanding and churning cauldron of space. His mind and awareness shrank back down. Slowly letting go of the planets and stars, leaving just himself. His core. His limbs. The sounds around him came back first as the roar of the stars quieted. Feeling came next. His mind letting go of asteroids and radiation and connecting to his clothes and the bed he laid on. He could feel a hand holding his, warm and pulsing. He opened his eyes to see Jazz. He was inside. There were no windows, which was just as well because he wasn’t sure he’d have been able to stay tethered to his own body if he saw the sky again.

“Hey,” She said. “Nocturn brought you home. He said you’d be gone awhile but didn’t say where you’d gone.”

“To space.” He said. “I went to space. And it’s mine.” Danny looked shocked at his own declaration but felt the truth of it. “I’m… I think I’m in charge of Space.”

Clockwork in the perfect timing that only he could have, arrived to explain to Danny that the domain of Space had always been waiting for him. Existing without rule until he grew enough in power and in mind to connect fully with it. To take on the mantle as the Ancient of Space to perceive on that level and still come back to themselves with their own sense of being intact. Even if it had taken him nearly a week to come back.

[sissybabycucksophia]

The Adult Baby Adoption Part 3

(This story is complete fiction and although i may desperately wish it isn’t, there is no fact or real world experience behind this story, and themes reflected in the story may be triggering, these themes are not my actual beliefs and are only part of a fantasy kink scenario. Also non of the images belong to me)

“Wakey Wakey Jadey bear~” a familiar voice melodically hummed, slowly i began to open my eyes having fallen asleep on daddy’s lap. Now however i appeared to be somewhere else. Slowly coming too I realised i was sat in a changing room, with daddy stood between me and the door. Looking down I realised I was sat in nothing but my diaper and my pathetic little girls flower cross necklace, even the pink wig on my head was removed and I gradually noticed that the diaper was a brand new diaper. ��Well aren’t you a sound sleeper Jadey bear? I managed get you completely undressed, remove your wig and change your diaper all without you waking up! Also i added a few diaper stuffers to your diaper just to make it last longer” daddy said gently patting my head.

Feeling the embarrassment rush through me i reacted oddly to my nakedness and crossed my arms across my chest trying to cover up, “daddy…. Why have got no clothes on?” I whimpered looking up at him. At that daddy would pull out of his bag and begin securing on my head a more realistic looking Brunette wig which reached down to my nipples. “Because silly little baby! We need to get you more appropriately dressed obviously” daddy chuckled as he kissed my cheek and I noticed hanging on the door in front of me a big puffy white dress. “Ready for what?” I whimpered to which daddy stood up right after securing the new wig and said “ready for your Christening baby! Your going to be christened Jade Ulysses Carmichael and from then on you’ll be one of god’s soldiers. You’ll live a life devoted to this church, its flock and your fellow babies also being christened today. We’ll get a certificate with your new name and we will never again have to refer too you by that vulgar name you used to have. I can’t wait for you to legally have my first name as your middle name and my surname as your surname! You’ll truly feel like my child once my name is part of your name!”

Shock hit me like a bus as daddy spoke, I don’t believe in any god or any religion! And yet this man was not only going to christen me a follower of his religion but also change my name and add his name into mine like a stamp of ownership! “But daddy I Don’t beli….” I tried to protest but daddy cut me off as he pulled me too my feet and took the puffy white dress from the door, unzipping the back of the dress it was clearly it had been designed in a most child appropriate style but in adult dimensions. “Ssshhh jade, i know your excited baby but we really must get you ready!” Daddy said as he then raised the dress over my head and dropped it down over me.

Man handling my arms through the waste, the dress would stop with the waist resting on my diaper waist band. Guiding my arms into the dress’s sleeves daddy pulled the torso of the dress up into place. Before i could object i felt the torso of the dress begin cinching tight around my body from the waist up as daddy zipped me in. Looking down i saw a tight bodice with little sparkly detailing, puffy shoulders which tapered into form fitting sleeves which were lined by sparkly detailing and a skirt which poofed out from my waist hiding everything beneath. As I studied myself daddy would begin guiding my feet into whilte socks with frills around the ankle and a pair of white dolly flats with an ankle strap and white flowers across the toes. Stepping back too look me up and down daddy would turn me around too look at myself in the mirror, as I studied myself daddy would reach over my shoulders and dig out the little girl flower cross necklace to make sure it was on show.

Hugging me from behind daddy whispered “my beautiful little angel, your the vision of femininity my gorgeous baby girl. I honestly cant wait to christen you my daughter! Remember when your being christened that your giving yourself to god and this church baby! Isn’t that great?!” Daddy whispered in my ear. Not that i really heard it as i stood looking at myself in the mirror… why was I Allowing this, surely any embarrassment from being seen chastised and diapered couldn’t be as bad as this! As i stood totally enraptured and entranced by mental fantasies of escape and freedom i didn’t even flinch as daddy secured a thick black collar around my neck which on the front had my new baby name ‘jade’ in big metallic letters and from the back of it i felt something hanging down my back. However it wouldn’t be until i felt my right wrist being grabbed by daddy and manoeuvred behind my back that i would stop day dreaming and begin too panic.

As i felt a thick cuff lock around my right wrist I panicked asking daddy “have you not embarrassed me enough by dressing me like this? Can i not even have my arms free?” I whimpered as I tried too tug my right arm back round it would tug on my neck as the two collars seemed connected. Ignoring my concerns daddy would secure my left wrist into the other cuff and before i knew it i was helpless once again, turning me around too look at me daddy crouch before me and placed a hand on either side if the bodice of my dress and looked deep into my eyes as he said “you know why i agree to take such a yucky, ugly, weak, pasty and pathetic little boy from the agency to be my Baby girl? Do you know why i picked you? Your eyes…. Your beautiful big blue eyes. So innocent and adorable, i knew that once i fixed the rest and made you a little girl that those eyes would be far more comfortable once the face and body around them matched their feminine and beautiful charm!” Daddy said as I suddenly stopped struggling to get my arms free and blushed with embarrassment as i said “you chose me because my eyes are pretty? But you said you didn’t want a boy baby from the agency? You said we had to make do with the fact this mix up had happened and it was my fault for reading the paperwork wrong” i said with confidence and even upset building in my voice. He’d chosen me! Had he stolen me away before a mommy dom got the chance too choose me?. “Sssssshhhhh jade there there. Yes i chose you, your right I didn’t want a baby boy but i knew looking at your innocent blue eyes i could make you perfect! Now we best go now, its your turn now to be Christened!” Daddy replied standing up and opening the changing room door, tears began to fill my eyes as visions of a different life flash through my mind. Leading me out the door of the changing room I followed behind like the submissive little baby faggot that I was, leading me too the stage I looked out as “parents” sat with their “babies” sat all dressed up. The adult babies all wore white, the adult baby girls all wore dresses like me and the baby boys wore white suits.

Looking too daddy he motioned for me to sit on the chair behind a school desk in the middle of the stage, shuffling over i sat down struggling to keep my dress from poofing out in all directions as I struggled to free my arms. Sat before me was a piece of paper on which was written ‘This Document hereby states that James Valence will be Transitioning To and will be changing their name too Jade Ulysses Carmichael. As such this document also states that the afore mentioned James, willingly grants Ulysses Carmichael Full Power of Attorney while still of mental capacity to do so. As such this legally binding document states that James Valence will be legally adopted by Ulysses Carmichael and will turn over all decision making capabilities and freedoms too Ulysses Carmichael.’ Oh god no! This couldn’t be happening! And it got worse! My signature had already been faked on the document! Watching daddy go into his pocket and pulling out a pen and reaching past me to sign and accept legal authority over me, “no please! Daddy stop! Don’t do this!!! Im a man but i swear i’ll never resist you again as long as you don’t sign that please!! Please!! You cant do this!!! You can’t take my freedom like this!!!!” I begged and whimpered as tears gushed down my face and dripped onto my dress. Signing to contract regardless, daddy would proceed to kiss me on the lips and begin making out with me before pulling back too whispering “sh’up faggot, your mine now! No ones coming to save you! Now dry those helpless blue eyes and lets get you christened!” With an evil smile as he grabbed the underside of my left arm and dragged me too my gay little dolly flat and frilly sock coated feet.

At that the crowd of parents and subs cheered, clapping, throwing diapers, Dresses, Bras and stuffies onto the stage at me. As they did reverend imelda would come onto stage and stood at her podium, then from the floor of the stage next to daddy arose a large Tank of water. “Well as you all know Today we Christen all of your new babies with their new names and identities as your children. The first beautiful baby to day to be Christened in the eyes of god is the absolutely pathetic Jade Ulysses Carmichael!!!!” Reverend Imelda said excitedly as daddy push me over too the tank of water pressed me up against it so my knees were against the tank. Then i felt his hand on the back of my neck and suddenly before i could say a word i was bent over at the waist, my ribs against the rim of the tank and my head fully submerged. Panicking i screamed under the water and desperately thrashed around trying to free my arms and push myself out but the straps holding my arms behind my back were far too tight. My life began flashing before my eyes as I inhaled water and coughed wasting valuable oxygen, whats worse was i knew no one was helping me nor was reverend Imelda stopping the ceremony. After 2 minutes and thirty seconds daddy would pull my head out of the water, dropping to my knees in my puffy christening dress I began coughing up the water i’d swallowed as tears rolled down my face and sissy cum’s leaked into him diaper. “I now hereby announce Jade Ulysses Carmichael christened!” Reverend Imelda said excitedly as a cheer filled the room. Dragging me to my feet Daddy picked me up bridal style once again and would carry me off stage too an empty seat at the end of the front row. Sitting me down right night too the man who’d humped me against my will. “Babies need to sit in the front row, daddy will be just a few rows back. Welcome to my family and the church Jade… daddy’s so proud of you” he said as he then disappeared.

For the next two hours i sat watching every Adult baby sign a name change and power of attorney document before having there heads dunked in the tank. Like me some were horribly distressed and uncomfortable but every baby had some kind of restraints on their hands or arms too stop them fighting the dunk. Tears slowly dripping down my face the entire time and sniffling like a sad little girl eventually the event began to reach its conclusion. Being lifted to my feet by daddy I was escorted to a group picture with all the “babies”. However as though a cruel taunt I was stood next to the only other Adult baby who had been forced to crossdress. Recognising her from earlier the girl was beautiful, she had such soft skin so soft and feminine looking, her eyes a beautiful golden brown and her lips plump and shapely. However much to the sheer devastation of the girl she had had her hair cut and shaven to a buzz cut, her chest was clearly being binded, her nails has been cut short and was stood wearing a white formal suit. Her hands were mittened and cuffed together in front of her and a pacigag held a blue paci in her mouth.

Stood next to her I begun to feel less alone as she balled and whaled with tears of sheer devastation and despair. As they arranged us to take the picture, I stepped closer to her pressing my chest against her side. Looking at me she tried to shake her head and say she wasn’t a man, “its ok! I’m a boy! Look just snuggle up to me like we’re getting along then when you get home tell your captor that you would feel better if you got a playdate with Jade Carmichael!” I whispered as I then rather humiliatingly rested my head on her shoulder and smiled. As the picture was taken so marked the end of the ordeal, grabbing my by the shoulder my now legal guardian and decision maker would lead me out of the church, forcing me to curtsy goodbye to every adult we stopped to talk too on the way out.

(Pictures for reference, Jade is forced to wear this dress in an adult size that fits him)

[kittenintheden]

No Thoughts, Just Vibes

Oh, you know, just a little Solstice/Midwinter treat for you. Enjoy!

Rating: E Pairing: Astarion/Tav (descriptionless) (BG3) Content warnings: PWP, PIV sex, oral sex, sex toys, tooth-rotting fluff

---

Their adventures by night in Faerún take them all over, from the Underdark to check up on Astarion’s siblings and their new spawn charges to Waterdeep in search of potential arcane solutions for certain undead individuals with sun sensitivity.

In fact, they find themselves entering Waterdeep just in time for Midwinter. The magicked streetlamps of the place glow golden and are festooned with all manner of wintery decorations, which feel oddly out of place in the seaside city but have a magic all their own nonetheless.

It’s just past dark when they approach a wizard’s tower, having spent the daylight hours getting to know the tavern and inn down the way while the sun still sparkled off the water. Now that it’s safe once again, Astarion and Tav ring the bell near the tower door and are greeted with a series of chiming meows in the style of a popular carol.

“He really doesn’t have to try so hard,” Astarion says, smirking despite himself. “And yet.”

“Let him be the dork of his dreams,” Tav chides playfully. “He deserves it. We all do.”

On cue, the large door of cypress wood before them swings open and their wizard friend holds out his hands in the foyer of his tower, arms wide.

“You made it!” Gale says, beaming. “Come, come inside. Please mind Tara, she’s been quite taken with the mistleberry and has made herself sick more than once despite my gentle reminders .” He yells the last words toward the spiraling staircase and from a nook nestled high in the wall, he receives a hiss in response.

“Relateable,” Astarion mutters as he comes inside, but he accepts an embrace from Gale nonetheless, giving him a stilted pat on the back.

Truly, the lot of them are glad their adventuring brought them to Gale’s doorstep. It’s nice to be off the road and surrounded by modern luxury again, and the wizard’s gone out of his way to ensure their modest celebration is full of delights. He’s even procured a top-vintage sanguine refreshment for Astarion.

“Did you imbue this with clove?” he asks, swirling it in his goblet and giving it another sniff.

“Not exactly,” Gale says, cheeks rosy from his own imbibed glass of wine. “Were you aware certain herbal and spiced components cross the blood barrier when inhaled or consumed? Give the resulting blood a bit of an essence for a certain frame of time. Garlic is the most common offender, but I thought I’d skip it, in this case. This donation came from a dear friend in the spice trade. One who doesn’t ask many questions and frequently dabbles in certain other trades.”

Astarion blinks against the verbal onslaught, then turns to Tav and says, “Hold on. Is that why I break out in hives after you’ve put too much garlic in your food?”

Tav’s also delightfully tipsy and she raises her glass to him. “I love you, dearest, but I’m not giving up garlic for you. Some prices are simply too steep.”

The night winds on and on like that until eventually Tav nods a sleepy head onto Astarion’s shoulder and he guides her off to bed in the spare room at the base of the tower. He returns to Gale, who’s ragaling Tara with his own rendition of “Marvelous Midwinter” to her great disdain.

“So, Gale,” Astarion says, interrupting to give Tara an appropriately respectful scritch on her head. “I have a bit of a favor to ask, if it’s not too much trouble.”

“Not at all, my friend,” Gale says, swaying. “How can I help?”

Astarion reaches into his pocket and procures a folded bit of something. He hands it to Gale, who unfolds it and examines it with some curiosity before cocking a brow at him.

“Any possibility of, erm. Recreating something to this effect?” Astarion asks. “One tied to a command word, perhaps?”

“Oh, certainly,” Gale says, going into tinkering mode as he examines the object. “I would need a few components, but luckily I have them in stock, thanks once again to my spice merchant friend. A little bit of articifer ingenuity to craft an arcane battery, some relatively complex enchantment, and a… wait.”

Gale gives Astarion another look and the vampire tilts his head and smirks.

“Right, I’m not asking,” Gale says, eyes back on his new puzzle. “Give me a day.”

“Lucky we’ll be here for three,” Astarion says with a light laugh.

The morning of Waterdeep’s official Midwinter celebration dawns bright and mild, the sea breeze rustling through the thick curtains they keep drawn in the guest room to ensure Astarion doesn’t wake up with burns or worse. They doze in the double bed in their underthings, Tav draped across Astarion’s chest and breathing softly as she wavers in and out of sleep. He’d actually fallen asleep last night, pressed up safe against her, and now he smiles into her hair, tracing his fingers up and down her arm.

Eventually she stretches along the length of her body and yawns against his skin, resting her chin on him and looking up into his face. She blinks lazily and runs a finger over the length of his nose with a delicate touch.

“Morning, dear,” she says, voice still rusty with sleep.

“Happy Midwinter, my love,” he murmurs in return. “I got you a little something.”

“Oh?” Tav purrs, sitting up a bit. “Is it fun?”

He arches a brow. “I certainly hope so.”

Astarion tangles his fingers in her sleep-mussed hair and draws her to his mouth, kissing her deeply as she relaxes into his body, letting her tongue stroke against his. He rolls them both to their sides and hooks his leg over hers, taking his time as he lights up her skin in all the ways he knows she loves. She laughs, tilting her head back to expose her throat to him, and he licks along the column of it, though he doesn’t bite. He wants her fully aware this morning.

With one hand, he deftly undoes the clasps of her brassiere and tosses it aside. Her smallclothes follow quickly after. She hums, pleased, lazing onto her back as he kisses down her breastbone, palming one of her breasts and rolling his thumb over her nipple until it peaks. His mouth works at the other, teasing and swirling until she’s arching up into him and rubbing her thighs together.

“Is this my gift?” she sighs. “I like it.”

Astarion chuckles against the space below her breasts as he continues working his way down. “In part, I suppose. But not quite.”

He runs his tongue underneath her breast and then leaves her a moment to fetch something from the side table. She whines at his absence, but he doesn’t leave her waiting long. He rolls back over, slipping a ring snugly down onto the second knuckle of his middle finger.

She giggles. “Are you proposing to yourself? Fitting, honestly.”

“You’re cute when you’re lust drunk,” he says before he puts the weight of his body on top of hers, kissing her deep.

He hauls her leg up by the thigh, wrapping it around his waist so he has better access as he runs his hands down the length of her, gripping her arse tight before moving around to the front and teasing his clever touch between her legs. She’s already going wet, her arousal making for a smooth draw over her skin and she settles into it, a wide smile on her face, knowing she’s in a master’s hands.

Astarion grins. She has no idea.

He places his hand flat against her slit, cupping her and resting the ring against her in just the right place.

“ Deliciae ,” he whispers.

The ring sends a brief, rapid vibration through her core, just beside her clit, and Tav cries out in surprise, bucking her hips and gripping his biceps, her breath going erratic. She’s fully awake now, staring up into his face, wide-eyed.

“What in the hells,” she gasps.

Astarion gives her a light kiss. “I’d hoped you’d like it,” he says. Then, again, “ Deliciae .”

“Oh,” she says, her thighs shaking on either side of him as another vibration pulses through her. “Oh, dearest . Again.”

He's happy to comply, kissing her between her gasps and mewls, repeating the command word in a sultry whisper while he works her with his fingers in the meantime. His own arousal aches where it’s pressed against her hip and he gently grinds it against her for relief, just enough to keep his own head as he watches her break to pieces beneath him.

Tav rolls her head back and opens her mouth in a silent scream as her legs shake, incapable of holding back their shudders as a shivering, powerful peak comes over her under the little toy. It’s familiar but sweeter; her hips rise off the mattress and then slam down as she tips over the other side. Astarion feels her clenching and pulsing, strong and slick, and the entire ordeal is instantly worth it to bear witness to the unraveling. There is no pleasure, no greater high, than knowing he’s the one who brings her to this state. The one who has the privilege. The one she chose.

She blinks back to herself, a moan low in her throat as she tries to clear the spots in her vision. When she meets his eyes again, he’s panting himself, still rolling his hips to get some relief against her side. Her gaze clears as she breaks the surface of her pleasure and she growls, grabbing his face and bringing him down to her mouth, nipping his lower lip between her teeth until he whines from it.

“You liked my gift?” he whispers, breath quickened.

“Oh, yes,” she sighs. “Now let me give you yours.”

Tav’s hand snakes down their bodies to find his fingers and she takes them, slipping the ring off. He’s so dazed with lust that he lets her without thinking about it too much and gladly moves as she rolls them both until he’s the one on his back. Her mouth is so hot on his cooled skin as she places open mouthed kisses everywhere he likes – the space behind his ear, the place where shoulder meets neck, every rib on the way down. She spreads a hand in the center of his chest, over where his heart resides, and presses him into place as she licks down the line between his abdominal muscles.

Astarion’s cock twitches, throbbing against the weight of her body as she continues her path, and she uses her free hand to give him a rewarding squeeze and stroke, running the pad of her thumb over the split underneath the head. She gives his foreskin a little swirl, helping make sure it’s properly drawn down, and he thrusts up into her hand with a pleased murmur.

It’s taken time and significant gentle coaxing to get him to a place where he simply lets go and allows her to lavish him with attention. A lesson he’s forever learning, rewriting centuries of conditioning with care, with passion, with love. He closes his eyes and focuses on her touch, allowing himself the pleasures she’s happy to share with him.

With a slight jolt, he twitches when he feels her warm tongue follow the path of her fingers, rolling circles around the head of him and applying long licks down his length. Her fingers move to his sack, gently rolling his balls in her palm, warming them. She places a knuckle against the spot beneath them, kneading deep but gentle, finding the place that drives him wild.

“You are so good to me,” he sighs as she moves her mouth over his head again. “That’s so good.”

He senses her smile just before she swallows him down, taking his length halfway into her mouth and working him a few times before she pulls off and says, “ Deliciae .”

Astarion’s vision whites out as the knuckle pressing into his perineum sends a hard vibrating pulse through him at the same time she takes his cock in her mouth again. He gives a sharp cry.

“Bleeding hells,” he manages. “I… I…”

She pulls off of him, tears forming at the corners of her eyes, and says it again.

Pleasure upon pleasure crashes over him, lighting up his entire body as he writhes under her touch. She goes slow enough to make it delightfully tortuous, though it would be incredibly easy to push him over the edge in short order. She moves the enchanted ring, experimenting in different places – the base of his cock, the rim of his arse, the crease of his thighs – and each spot brings new sensations.

He’s an absolute mess by the time she draws back and crawls up his body, his hands weakly grasping at her hips as she sits up on her knees, gingerly reaching between her legs to hold his cock in place as she slides down onto it, both of them near sobbing at the sensation.

“I love you,” he manages with what little breath he can hold. “Gods, I love you, I love you.”

“Love you,” she breathes back as she rolls her hips hard against him over and again. “Love this. All of this.”

Tav rides him slowly, firmly, with intention. When they get to a point where they can’t help but pick up speed, grinding one another into oblivion, Tav lifts his shaking hand in hers and takes the ring from her finger so she can slip it back onto his, the movement reverent.

Astarion looks her in the face as he reaches down between them with his fingers spread over the base of his cock where they meet, resting the ring right alongside her oversensitive clit. 

“ Deliciae ,” they say together.

They shatter in the same moment, eyes rolling back, crying out to the morning light. The waves of delight roll like the tide outdoors, rising up the shore and receding back to the great unknown.

Tav collapses onto Astarion’s chest and his arms are so very heavy as he lifts them to wrap around her back. They breathe, and pulse, and live. Eventually, he begins tracing soothing patterns along her skin.

He clears his throat. “I take it that’s the inaugural positive review for Gale’s potential toy venture?” he says.

“Oh gods, that’s where…” Tav covers her face with her hands. “Oh gods, I have to go out there and see him.”

Astarion laughs and she laughs with him.

[destinationtrekk]

young wesker who gets drunk and giggly with reader. at first he had been so... cold, so expressionless and absolutely cluelessly bone-dry on how to go about doing anything but a daylight two-step move-his-arms-a-little to the dance music blaring from somewhere, but that's okay, reader can show him.

and he enjoys it... and he's laughing, and his face is flushed, and the scent of vodka is deep on his tongue, and he has severely miscalculated his drink, but that's okay, because reader keeps him safe and happy and distracted the entire time.

at the end, as he begins to sober up, they can't seem to get out of him where he's supposed to go to now (perhaps he is trying to revel in it, this one normalcy, just one event he took on to learn how to behave like everyone else and got taught more about himself and his own interests than he'd ever planned, a snapshot of a life he could have lived if only--) so they take him back to their house and snuggle him up in a blanket burrito on the couch, making him drink water, take an advil, a tylenol.

and as he gets back to himself and they smoke a cig, talking about life as he gets rather quiet and inward again (for he cannot share, he has nothing positive or appropriate to), they do something unexpected and yet wholly welcome, a gift to close out the night: they give him a quick, brief and fleeting shotgun kiss, hand warm on his cheek, before they send him off for a nap, telling him to stay the night so he'll be well and sober the next day to depart. free breakfast if he's still around by then, otherwise, they take no offense.

he has no way of telling them the truth of this fragile matter. he has no way of divulging his life, which would undoubtedly ruin whatever scrapbook memory he is currently creating, and certainly no way to hold onto this awfully pleasant being who he can, apparently, trust in his total ineptitude with heavy inebriance. and he can't keep seeing them again after this. and his view on how ruthless and manipulative human beings are when faced with vulnerability has been shaken to its' core, and he can't say it, and he wants to, but...

instead he asks them to stay a little while he falls asleep (just one final, little test, he muses to himself), and they oblige. he's laid on the couch, head in their lap, his (admittedly not quite so soft after all the gel has hardened) hair being carded through by soft, ever-eager, sleepy fingers. he will never get a moment like this again and he pushes himself to take it in, revel in every second that passes, commit to absolute memory (no matter what he had earlier in the day) every detail of this sightly, sweetly saint's face.

he ends up falling asleep feeling cherished. he will remember this day forever. years to come he will still have tabs on this person, and their life will still be unexpectedly, oddly lucky.

maybe one day he'll find it in him to thank them properly, face-to-face...

nshtn can i say i love you? because i love you and every time you come in my inbox i get so excited

first and foremost i don't think he even would dance at a party. he very much is the kind of guy to find a spot and linger there with a group he's only half listening to. once he meets you though his night gets much much more interesting

he's never really had chances to drink, except maybe whiskey or something expensive with Spencer during their talks about Umbrella and the future, so when you start handing him all kinds of seltzers and mixed drinks and straight shots of vodka, he is very overwhelmed

he can't show it though! so he dutifully takes most of what you hand him, a few drinks are two sweet for him, and he is very quickly wasted tbh. you're so nice though, and you drag him in the middle of everyone dancing and show him a few easy things and soon enough he's bouncing around with everyone else

every time he starts to think about what's going to happen tomorrow you're immediately there to distract him. it's almost like you can read his mind - you know just the right things to say and how to push people out of the way and he just thinks you're perfect under the flashing lights

finally when it's time to go home, he knows for a fact he can't show up at his place looking messed up as he is - what if Spencer or Birkin or some nameless Umbrella employee saw him and ratted him out? so he takes your offer to go to your house gracefully as he can this drunk

he knows now that you're a party expert, you immediately make him drink water and wash his face and take preemptive tylenol for the hangover. your fleeting kiss and warm hands on his sweaty skin are so sweet he can't bear to think about it longer than he has to. he knows he should leave before you wake up tomorrow and forget this wonderful night ever happened (he'll never forget you, not even on his deathbed)

you give him every courtesy and kindness you can offer and he decides to take just one more, one last sweet touch to take with him into the night. you smile sleepily and open your arms for him to fall into - the blanket covering his shoulders is a little too hot and you both smell like beer and liquor and sweat but your lap is so soft, it makes the ache in his back and shoulders from carrying the world lessen a bit, and your fingers in his hair send him into a beautiful and silent sleep

the next morning it physically pains him to untangle from your body on the couch. he stands and watches you for a moment, his heart clenching and pounding in his chest, until he forces himself out the door before you can feel his absence.

when he meets you again, what feels like a thousand years later, his heart pounds just the same. you recognize him, his twisted dark smirk and deep eyes, and when you smile and say his name he's suddenly twenty-something all over again and dizzy and drunk in your arms - he never wants to leave you again

[writeforfandoms]

Born for Greatness 6

Find the series masterlist

You may have noticed this is now chapter 6 of 9! There are 8 official chapters and then there will be one bonus chapter with the 141 pack and Logan interacting.

This chapter, you have a very hard time. But not everything is bad.

Warnings: Swearing, attachment issues, John Price is his own warning, more world building and shifter behavior, pack cuddles definitely need their own warning. Discussion of reader's past and issues. Bodily throwing reader into a cold pond.

John Price x f!reader

Word count: 2.5k

Something shifted after that movie night. Suddenly, Price was everywhere - checking up on you, watching you while he worked with rookies, ensuring you ate. 

And as much as Logan liked to tease you that you were wilfully blind, you knew what this kind of behavior meant, especially coming from him. 

He was treating you as pack. 

You weren’t sure what surprised you more - the treatment, or the lack of protest from Logan. Logan did watch Price any time they were in the same room, but he was being oddly calm about everything. 

Which just meant you were mentally braced for something to blow up. 

But you finally got the make-up class for the last group of soldiers scheduled. You ignored the fact that Logan followed you to class, taking a seat back behind you. 

That class went off without a hitch, which… was good. It was. It was a good thing.

Even if the continued good behavior of the soldiers meant you were that much closer to being done with your job here. Really, there were just a few things left on your to-do list.

You tried hard not to feel disappointed about that.

Especially when the order from LoveSac arrived. That was a big item off your list. You mostly watched as the pack (plus Logan) got the pieces set up in the rec room, although you did smile when Soap threw himself onto the finished product with a low groan. 

“Ye were right,” he mumbled, just barely audible to you. “This is great.”

You laughed quietly. “I’m glad you approve.” But the pang of your heart must not have been as concealed as you’d hoped - three heads swiveled to look at you: Ghost, Price, and Logan. “You lot should get comfortable, make it feel more like home,” you said, quickly looking away from the shifters. “Soap’s got the right idea, take a nap.” 

Your phone ringing gave you the perfect excuse to escape, which you took. Your feet moved on autopilot as you listened to the woman on the other end of the call, making the appropriate noises at the appropriate times. 

You weren’t even surprised when you found yourself outside. It was just that kind of day, clearly. It couldn’t just be one thing, it had to be multiple things at once. You thanked the woman softly and hung up. 

Briefly, you debated climbing up onto the roof of the barracks again. But you dismissed the thought. Not this time. You needed to actually start tackling this problem. 

“Bad news?”

You yelped, fumbling your phone as you whirled to face Price. “I swear I’m going to put a fucking bell on you.” 

“Sorry.” This time he actually sounded like he meant it, hands out at his sides, eyes very blue before you yanked your gaze back down to your phone. 

“It’s fine.” You blew out a breath, leaning over to grab your phone and wipe it off, avoiding looking at him. 

“What happened?” He shifted closer, slowly, carefully. 

“Nothing I can’t handle.” You shrugged off his concern with a little smile. “Don’t worry about it.” 

He chuckled quietly, taking another step closer to you. “I’m the alpha,” he rumbled, “which means it’s my job to worry.”

You huffed something almost a laugh. “I suppose so.” You rubbed one hand over your face, pressing your thumb and forefinger into your eyes until stars burst in the darkness under your eyelids. “Apparently, there was a fire in my apartment complex and the whole thing is closed off pending investigation. There was some damage to my apartment, but I have no idea how much.” 

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Price murmured, low and gentle and closer than you expected. “Do you need to go?”

“No, won’t do me any good.” You let your hand drop back to your side, blinking a few times to get rid of the last few spots in your vision. “Besides, I’m almost done here.”

“That so?” He tipped his head at you.

“Yeah.” You shrugged. “The LoveSac was the last big thing. Just need to do another day or two of observing everyone, and then I can sign off on everything.” 

“So you’re a day or two away from being done with this job.” He crossed his arms loosely over his chest. 

“Yes.”

“Stay here.”

You blinked up at him, sure you’d misheard him. “...What?” 

“Stay here,” he offered again, watching you closely. “For as long as you want.”

“But I’m not military,” was the first thing out of your mouth. You were still a little bit in shock.

“I’ll take care of that.” One big hand settled over the back of your neck, warm and soothing. “Think about it, hm? All you have to do is tell me yes or no.” 

“Okay,” you agreed quietly, a little bewildered still. “I will… let you know.” 

He nodded, squeezing gently. You could have melted. Your eyes fluttered closed and you had to force them back open again, holding steady against him. “Call me John.” 

You blinked, eyes blowing wide. “Okay. John.” 

“Come back inside,” he suggested, ever so gently tugging you forward. “Join the boys. Relax a bit, eh?” 

You thought about resisting, about writing up the report that you really should be working on, about the half-dozen other little things you could do. Thought about the big things that needed doing too, like finding a new apartment.

And then you gave in with a sigh. “Yeah, alright,” you agreed, allowing the comforting warmth of his hand at the nape of your neck to guide you forward. “For a little while.” 

Price - John - didn’t relinquish his grip on you until you were back in the rec room. Logan was gone, but you didn’t have time to ask where he’d gone, because Soap got up from the LoveSac to grab you from John. 

“Ye alright?” he asked, tucking you under his arm easily as he guided you to the napping spot. 

“Getting there.” You shrugged, unwilling to go into things again. You were busy shoving your feelings down. 

Soap nodded, searching your expression, before he grinned. “Hey, LT. Incoming.” 

You had approximately a second to think oh shit before Soap tumbled you over the back of the couch, somehow avoiding Gaz. 

And landing you right in front of the cheetah.

Ghost simply blinked at you languidly, nose twitching as he sniffed you. You blinked back at him, holding very still. Not that you really thought he’d do anything to hurt you, but still. 

You did startle when he laid half-across you, purring. Oh. Oh that was really kind of nice, actually. The purring was soothing, and the weight of him was nice (since he wasn’t fully laying on you), and it was all too easy to go lax. 

“Ye never purr like that at me,” Soap grumbled, pout clear in his voice. 

“Hush.” That was John, soft but still in charge. 

There was a little grumble and then Soap flopped over around you, his head near yours and his body curled to fit into the free space around you. Which you noticed when you opened one eye to look at him, curious. 

“Alpha-mandated nap time,” Soap murmured with faux-gravitas, eyes twinkling. “Ghost reinforced.”

You snorted and closed your eye again. “Guess so,” you agreed softly. You felt the couch dip near your feet and someone tugged your shoes off. But you didn’t bother checking this time. Didn’t matter if it was Gaz or John - either way you were safe and warm, and still had a purring cheetah laying on you. 

Really, there was nothing for you to do but relax, soothed to sleep by the gentle rumbling. 

You had no idea how long you slept, but you woke to gentle nudging, and blinked blearily. You were still surrounded by warmth, although Ghost was no longer laying on you. 

“Time to get up,” John murmured, low and rumbling. 

You wrinkled your nose, sitting up slowly. “Time ‘s it?” 

“Almost dinner time.” John gave you a bit of space, watching as you cracked your neck and blinked several times. 

“Right.” You puffed out a breath. Ghost blinked at you from his spot on top of Soap, ears flicking towards you. “If you ever want an alternate career, I think that’s the fastest I’ve ever fallen asleep,” you joked. 

Ghost snorted at you, one paw batting at you, slowly, playfully. He was even being careful of his claws. Aw, he did like you! 

John offered you a hand up to get off the couch, which you accepted. Gaz handed over your shoes, and you left with the two of them, giving Soap and Ghost time. 

Somehow, you were still surprised when the two shifters coordinated to seat you between them. 

At some point, you were going to have a massive freak out about this. You could tell. 

But not today.

You did beg off after dinner, though, going to take a shower and do a bit of actual work. That report wasn’t going to write itself.

Not that you were using work as an excuse not to think about what you wanted. Of course not. You’d never. 

But when your vision blurred and the words ran together on the screen, you finally gave up, pressing your palms against your eyes. 

Maybe you should take a vacation. Maybe you should finish up here and go back to Canada with Logan for a little while. Get some space to clear your head, examine everything objectively. Take some space to decide if this was really a good idea. Logan would let you stay with him, he always did. 

Plus that would give you a chance to get your living situation figured out, since your current apartment was no longer viable. 

You groaned softly, pushing your palms harder into your face. No. No more thinking about this tonight. You needed sleep, not an anxiety spiral. 

Even so, it took you a while to fall asleep, schedule knocked out of whack from the nap earlier and your own stress.

So of course someone pounding on your door far too early in the morning had you jolting out of bed, bleary-eyed, head pounding angrily with the lack of sleep. You yanked the door open, teeth bared, ready to rip a new hole into whoever woke you up.

Only to be rudely pushed past as Logan made his way into your room, uninvited. 

“Get dressed,” he ordered, giving you a quick once over. “We’re going out.”

“Where?” The word was still grouchy but you were already closing the door, aware this was not an argument you would win. 

“Outside.” 

You flashed your teeth at him, thoroughly unimpressed, but got dressed anyway. 

Logan didn’t speak again until the two of you were outside, starting a patrol of the perimeter. It was completely unnecessary, considering this was an active base, but clearly Logan needed it. 

“Are you staying?”

You nearly stopped out of surprise, blinking at him. “What?” 

Logan shot you a look that said all kinds of derogatory things about your intelligence. “He offered you a place here. Are you going to stay?” 

“I don’t–” You sighed, short and sharp. “I haven’t decided.” 

“You’re being stubborn.”

“It’s more complicated than that and you know it.” You narrowed your eyes at him.

“Is it?” Logan shook his head, steering you along. “You like them. You trust them. You’ve been given an offer to stay.”

“I still have things back home to take care of,” you shot back. “It would make doing my job more difficult. They’re gone I don’t even know how much.” 

“People make it work all the time.” Logan shrugged. “If you want it, you’ll make it work. If you don’t, let ‘em down easy and come back with me.” 

“I was thinking of taking a bit of time off to think about it.”

“Nope.” Logan snorted, shaking his head. “You’ll use the space to procrastinate on making an actual decision and run away.”

You narrowed your eyes at Logan. “Rude,” you growled. But he wasn’t exactly wrong, was the thing. 

"So. Do you want it?" Logan stopped the two of you beside a pond, looking out over the water. He at least gave you a bit of space by not looking at you. 

You blew out a hard breath. Did you want it? Yes. But you didn't know if it was the right call, if it was a good call. You could probably think of a thousand reasons why you shouldn't. 

A hand in your pocket jerked you out of your musings, and you had just enough time to look at Logan in outrage before he shoved you. Hard. 

You shrieked as you fell. Straight into the pond. Cold water enveloped you, briefly filling your mouth until you touched the bottom and failed your way back up to the surface. And spat out the water. 

"FUCK!" You whipped your head around to glare at Logan, dripping and cold. "LOGAN!" 

“It’s a simple yes or no question, kid.” Logan stood above you, your phone safely in his hands.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” You started up the bank and out of the pond… only to halt when Logan got in your way.

“No snowbanks here,” he drawled. “You gonna answer the question?” 

“No, I don’t think I will.” You stepped to the side, intending to go around him.

And ended up falling straight back into the water. 

This time, Logan started talking while you were wiping the water from your eyes, ignoring the chill seeping through your skin. 

“They’re not like your foster parents, kid. You know that.”

You froze half-way through trying to climb out. Shouted words and slamming doors echoed in your head, and for a moment you felt very small. Then you shook yourself, lips twisting in a grimace. “I know that,” you spat. “Also, which fucking foster parents?”

“All of them.” Logan tucked your phone in his pocket so he could cross his arms over his chest. “They’re not gonna get sick of you and give up on you, kid.”

Your heart ached at that. The water was looking very tempting again, suddenly. You could just walk away from this absolute train wreck of a conversation. 

“What are you doing?” You looked at Logan, hands clenched into fists to hide the trembling. 

“Knocking you outta your own stubborn head.” Logan kept his gaze steady on you. “I can do this all day, kid.”

And he could. You knew because you’d tested him only once as a teen. 

Guess you were having a conversation about your traumas this morning. 

“You know I’m no good at this.”

“No shit.” Logan snorted. “You never have been.”

You glowered at him. “This kind of shit doesn’t just go away because you keep throwing me in the pond.”

“Nope. Gotta work at it.” Logan finally glanced away from you, smirking. “Figured you’d have some help with that.”

You turned slowly, a horrible sinking feeling in your gut. 

And locked eyes with John.

[wheneverfeasible]

🧠 🪱 WIGGLY WEDNESDAY 🪱 🧠

Thanks for the tag @stervrucht ! Ended up writing this on my lunch and hiding in the back at work lmaoooo

Because today I’m thinking about…children’s entertainer Eddie Munson and single parent Steve Harrington…

-

This is definitely a modern au. Eddie did the whole band thing in high school, and they still get together and play in bars and occasionally at events and things, but now Eddie’s music is…different.

Like…think Johnny Karate different.

Except he’s still Eddie. He still dresses in darker clothing, still keeps the metal influence in his music, it’s just all kid appropriate nowadays. He sings songs that are inspired by DnD and fantasy novels he loved growing up, like The Hobbit and The Last Unicorn. He even has a couple children’s books out based on his songs and stories. (His buddy Jeff illustrates them.)

Now, Eddie’s biggest fan happens to be Dustin Henderson, the young friend of single parent Steve Harrington. Dustin is actually a fan of Corroded Coffin as well, which is how he learned of Eddie’s children entertainment persona, The Freak (so named to show kids it’s good to be different), who sometimes dresses up like a court jester, especially when working a kid’s birthday party, crowning the kid as king or queen or anything else their little heart desires.

Steve has two little kids, twins, a boy and a girl. Their fifth birthday is coming up and Dustin convinces Steve to hire Eddie. After much heeing and hawing, Steve finally agrees, if only because Dustin gets the kids to whine about it too, and Steve honestly can’t say no to any of kids, even the ones that are only fiveish years younger than him.

Eddie comes, dressed in his understated jester costume, and the kids absolutely adore him. He all but beams when the boy staunchly proclaims he wants to be a princess, not a prince, and the little girl decides she wants to be a goblin. But a good one. Eddie grins and tells her to watch out for enchanted crystals.

The kids then decide that if the boy is a princess, then that makes their dad the king, and Eddie grins even wider and flourishes an adult size crown for just this sort of occasion. After a lot of complaining about his hair, Steve finally agrees to wear the crown, feeling oddly flushed when Eddie gets close enough to set it on top his head.

“Don’t worry, darling, I won’t mess your hair up too badly. Not until you ask me too,” he whispers just for Steve to hear and winks, even as he quickly jumps away because rule number one is never flirt with a parent when he’s on a job. Something about the single dad is just a little too much for Eddie’s self-restraint, however. Both are blushing.

The rest of the party goes on well, he even gets most of the adults to join in on the ridiculous and repetitive titles, and maybe he showboats a little with his guitar riffs, but Steve’s eyes have barely left him the entire time, and only then when he needed to keep his eyes on the kids.

Eddie is paid and leaves, like he’s supposed to, though not without giving out his business card to some of the other attending parents who want to hire him as well for their own kids’ birthday parties. All in all, a successful night. He gives one last glance at Steve and then he’s gone.

…

Time passes, yeah? Steve can’t stop thinking about Eddie. Eddie can’t stop thinking about Steve. They both think that’s the end of it.

And then Dustin, matchmaker extraordinaire who clocked that shit immediately because Steve hasn’t looked at anyone since the kids, convinces Steve to go to a bar with him where a live band is playing.

The band?

Why, what else but Corroded Coffin.

And the lead guitarist? Well he just happens to look beautifully familiar.

-

rip fartbuckle

-

Hostage tag: @derythcorvinus

No pressure tags: @scoops-aboy86 @endlessmusings1801 @steddieassheg0es @steddiecameraroll @fkinkindagauche (if you’ve already been tagged and posted before, let me know so I can read your stuff!)

[kpopfanfictrash]

The Horrible Un-Haunting of Elliot House

Author: kpopfanfictrash

Genre: Ghost!AU / Romance / Comedy (?)

Pairing: Seokjin / Reader (she/her)

Synopsis: Some houses are harder to sell than others but you, Y/N, are determined to find the (supposedly) haunted Elliot House a new owner. That is, until it's very real and very hot exceedingly well-dressed ghost decides to make himself known. If only you didn't find yourself enjoying the knowing.

Rating: PG-13 (kissing but nothing beyond that)

Word Count: 6,214

Author's Note: hope you enjoy this random Halloween "drabble"! This got oddly angsty? I suppose that happens with ghost love LOL

[ Cross-Posted to Wattpad ]

“Through here,” you say, leading the Gundersons through an arched door. “You’ll find the most adorable sunroom.”

The Gundersons both gasp, appropriately awed by the tall walls of windows. Each panel is topped with stained glass, casting colorful patterns across the checkered floor. Technically, the sunroom isn’t part of the original house – it was added in 1975 during a brief period the address was owned by a cult – but you rarely disclose this fact during tours. Most people don’t care which parts of the house are original, so long as they can say they bought a 19th century Tudor.

Not that you blame them. Most people (or at least, sane people) appreciate the romanticism of an old structure without actually wanting to live in one. Modern amenities are the top benefit of progress, after all. The government couldn’t pay you to live without modern heating, plumbing, or refrigeration.

“Margaret, did you see?” Arthur Gunderson, a slightly rotund lawyer, and husband of said Margaret, gestures emphatically. “I’ll be damned if this stained glass isn’t Tiffany! See there, see that stamp in the corner?”

“Good eye, sir!” you chirp, barely glancing up from your clipboard.

Truthfully, you aren’t sure whether the glass is authentic. The cult that installed could hardly be called profitable (they sold the house at a loss after less than ten years, although this likely had more to do with crimes committed on said property than their income, but you digress), so you’d be hard-pressed to believe they could afford real Tiffany.

If this is what convinces the Gundersons to buy though, you’re hardly a realtor to look a gift horse in the mouth.

Ticking a box in the upper right corner – sunroom – you look up. “Right, well. That’s most of the lower level.” Pivoting on your heel, you head towards the corridor. “If you two will follow me upstairs, we can –”

“What’s that?”

Steps slowing, you stare at the plaster wall. A moment passes, then two before you convince yourself to turn around. When you see where Arthur Gunderson points, a relieved breath leaves your lips.

“Oh, that?” Floorboards squeak as you cross the room, sounding almost like laughter. “That’s the cellar. I’d offer you a look but unfortunately, the staircase isn’t quite up to code. You’ll need someone to look at that ASAP if you buy.”

Hovering at the wooden door, you grasp its bronze knob and pull. Tugging the cord for the light, you briefly scan the stairs but spot nothing unusual. Mostly convinced, you dutifully step aside.

“Feel free to look,” you say brightly.

The Gundersons crowd the landing you vacated.

“Careful, honey,” Arthur warns, holding Margaret’s elbow. “These stairs are steep.”

Standing on tiptoe, Margaret peers beyond him into the basement gloom. It could be your imagination, but she almost seems disappointed. A few cobwebs and shadows line the staircase, but nothing more sinister.

Hiding a smile, you check the next box. Cellar. Sometimes, people request to see this house not because they’re interested in buying it, but for the thrill. Entering the haunted Elliot house and surviving will make a great tale to tell their friends over cocktails.

Lowering your clipboard, you glance upward. So far, everything has gone to plan, which is partly the problem. You must’ve shown this house thirty times and always, something has gone wrong by now. Before being assigned its realtor, you believed in the paranormal, but only in a theoretical way. Not because you’d witnessed anything spectral.

Your opinions since then have changed.

Turning sharply, you plaster a smile on your face. “Shall we?”

Stepping back, Margaret pulls wiry frames from her jacket pocket. “I must admit,” she says with an embarrassed laugh. “Based on what our last realtor said, I was expecting far worse from this property.”

Although your smile tightens, you nod. The other realtor had a point – Elliot house could be temperamental, at best. Downright petulant, at worst. You glare again at the ceiling.

“We get that a lot,” you say, ushering them down the hall. Best not to linger. “Whenever a house sits too long on the market, you know – people talk. Lots of rumors!”

“Oh, sure,” Arthur says, passing you with a chuckle. “We’re not superstitious, don’t worry.”

“Oh?” you say lightly, remaining behind. “That’s good to know. Now, if you head down the hall, you’ll reach the foyer. All the crown molding you pass is original. The house’s first owner and builder, Daniel Baker, was something of a craftsman. He –”

Abruptly, you cease talking and stare at the stairwell. Halfway down the steps, where before there was nothing, sits a perfectly ripe orange. Eyes narrowed, you stare at this a long beat before yanking the light cord down and shutting the door.

Glancing upward, you hiss, “Not today, I swear to – well, whatever hellish being you worship.”

The wind sounds almost like laughter, but you don’t stick around long enough to find out if that’s true. Shaking your head, you traipse down the front hall in search of the Gundersons. Luckily, they’re too busy taking pictures of the aforementioned crown molding to have noticed your absence.

“Shall we?” you say, gesturing at the front stairs.

Pocketing their phones, they begin their ascent. You wait at the bottom, giving them space to discuss the house. From personal experience, buyers tend to appreciate when you don’t hover.

Besides, the grand staircase is your favorite feature – equal parts artwork and functionality. From your place at its bottom, you admire the craftsmanship. Starting the climb, your fingertips skim whorls in the wood and for a second, you feel a phantom hand rest over yours.

Scowling darkly, you yank your palm away. Reaching the landing, you clutch at your clipboard tighter and walk forward.

“This way!” you say, practically shoving the Gundersons into the first bedroom.

While they ooh and ah about the bay windows, you tick another box on your spreadsheet. Master bedroom.

The second you’re done, the pen slips from your grasp and hovers in mid-air. It then turns, point-down, to scrawl something in the margin.

‘Master’ bedroom? Kiiind of racist, don’t you think?

Teeth gritted, you snatch your pen back. “I wasn’t the one who created the spreadsheet, okay?” you whisper. “And while, yes, I agree, and other realtors are moving away from that language, I don’t–”

“Pardon?” Arthur Gunderson peers, confused, over his shoulder.

Somewhat manic, you smile. “Oh, nothing,” you say, the words sounding high-pitched, even to you. “I was just reminding myself to show you the main bathroom. Beautiful claw-foot tub.”

“Oh. Sure,” says Arthur, returning to his wife.

Head whipping sideways, you glare at the most likely place Seokjin would be. A chuckle drifts past your ear on the other side, and your scowl deepens.

Once an appropriate amount of time goes by, you usher the Gundersons into the next bedroom. Hovering outside, you calculate how quickly you can convince them to leave. The longer they stay, the worse the so-called haunting will be.

You should have known better than to show them this house, but they were insistent. Or at least, Arthur was. Margaret seems reasonably paranoid, which you deem a positive quality. Everyone within a hundred-mile radius has heard of the haunted Elliot house.

Even the name is confusing, since it doesn’t bear the name of its builder, Daniel Baker, nor its longest resident, Mr. Josiah Whitley. Instead, it’s named for Nathaniel Elliot, the cult leader who murdered a man on its premises in 1978. Obviously, this fact wasn’t known to the public until after the cult sold the house and moved far away.

Eventually, Mr. Elliot was tried and found guilty of murder, but this was much later. Wincing a little, you glance at the ceiling. Seokjin has said many times that ghosts can’t read minds, but you wouldn’t put it past him to lie for a punchline. Even if he can’t read your mind, the faint scent of cedar lets you know he’s nearby.

Quickening your stride, you show the Gundersons the next bedroom. “This is one of my favorites,” you say, pulling hard on its warped door. “The view from that window is stunning. You can see all the way to the brook!”

Taking the bait, Margaret crosses the room. “Oh, look, Arthur!” she exclaims, leaning forward. “There’s a gazebo!”

He follows at a more leisurely pace, frowning when he spots a lone cobweb in the corner. Sighing, you swipe at this as you pass, almost certain the web wasn’t there this morning.

While the two converse, you pull out your clipboard and run down the list again.

Most days at your job are like today – running down lists and waiting for other people to make their own life decisions. Becoming a realtor wasn’t so much a choice as it was thrust upon you. When your mom got sick your senior year of grad school, you returned to take care of her and finished your coursework remotely.

There were only so many jobs with flexible hours, and you ended up getting your realtor’s license to support her on the side. When your mom passed, you stuck around to sort out her paperwork and affairs. Two years later, everything is in order and still, you remain. Stuck in a holding pattern, showing houses and too afraid to try your hand at anything different.

BANG.

The sudden noise from above plunges the room into silence. Both Arthur and Margaret swivel, wide eyes landing on you.

Margaret’s glasses chain trembles. “What was tha–”

“My assistant,” you blurt, backing towards the door. “He mentioned he would stop by to drop off some keys. That must be him – I’ll go and check!”

“But…” Arthur stares. “The noise came from above.”

“Be right back!” you call, stepping into the hall.

As fast as possible without raising suspicion, you rush down the hall. “Seokjin,” you hiss, hand skimming the banister as you descend. “Stop that right now!”

No one responds – not that you thought he would. Crossing the foyer, you reach the cellar door and yank it open. Flicking the overhead light, you see the orange has disappeared. Rolling your eyes, you shut the door.

“This isn’t funny,” you huff out loud to no one.

Far above you, a low groan shakes the house. Honestly, it sounds more sexual than scary, but you suppose that only makes it more sinister. Reaching the foyer, you slow your pace and set down your clipboard. Suppressing a sigh, you glance at the clock. This has happened enough times that you can predict things to the minute.

Crossing your arms, you tap your foot and count down in your head.

One – increased groaning. Sometimes from the cellar, often the attic and, during one memorable visit, from behind a locked bathroom door.

Two – shuffling feet while the Gundersons (insert buyer’s name here) debate whether to run or wait it out. They hastily whisper, wondering if it’s their minds playing tricks.

Third – laughter. Seokjin will say it sounds lilting but to you, his laughter is more akin to a car’s windshield wipers. Today, said laughter drifts from the main bedroom, immediately followed by the Gundersons’ screaming.

Directly above you, Margaret’s heels pound wooden floors. Wincing, you make a mental reminder to buff the scuffs from the wood.

“ARTHUR!” she calls, her voice pitching upward.

“Right behind you!” he bellows.

When the lights in the foyer flicker, you lean against the grand railing. In your experience, there’s nothing you can do now to save the showing. As soon as Seokjin reveals himself, it’s only a matter of time.

“Whoooo dareeessss to disturrrrrb meeeee!” he wails, and you try not to laugh. “This is MYYYY homeeee and you are nooooot welcomeeeee! OoOOOOooooOOo!”

Arthur is first down the stairs. Reluctantly, you step forward – as their realtor, you’ll try to calm them down and get them out. All part of the plan. What’s not part of the plan is Arthur’s blind panic, elbowing you – hard – in the stomach as he runs past.

Concaving, you stumble, your foot catching on a loose floorboard as you fall backwards. Suddenly, a pink cushion slides between you and the floor. You land in the middle of it, shocked but unharmed.

Arthur yanks open the front door. “You!” he blurts, whipping around to point. Blinking, you fight the urge to glance over your shoulder. “Yes, you,” he scoffs, spittle flying as Margaret runs past. “I don’t know if this is your idea of a sick joke or what, but your manager will be hearing from me!”

Before you can formulate a response, Arthur is out the front door. You hear the sound of their car starting, exhaust billowing behind them as they speed down the street.

Propping yourself on one elbow, you release a sigh. The house has fallen silent, almost sheepish in its total lack of sound. Head lolling back, you glare at the ceiling.

“You are so annoying,” you groan, well-aware you sound crazy. “I honestly don’t know what you’re looking for, Seokjin. The Gundersons were fine.”

The front door slams.

An outline of a person materializes between you and the living room, seeming composed of dust motes and sunshine. Turning your glare in their direction, you tap your fingers against the oak floor.

Seokjin solidifies fully, rakishly leaning against the paneled wall. He’s dressed in the same navy three-piece suit he wore when he died, albeit with his hair styled in this century’s fashion. Seokjin once said ghosts are able to change their appearance, but most choose not to. There’s little point to it, and it wastes precious energy.

Sadly, he shakes his head. “See, that’s where you’re wrong,” Seokjin says, his deep timbre resonating through floorboards beneath you.

“Show off,” you mutter.

Lips twitching, he crooks a finger. The foyer light ceases to flicker, and Seokjin straightens. Dusting invisible dust from his shoulders, he walks forward.

“The Gundersons were tiresome,” he says. “I would’ve been bored of them in months, started haunting again, and this house would’ve gone right back on the market. Really, I saved you trouble in the long run. You can thank me later.”

“Oh, no,” you deadpan. “Two commissions on the same property. What a horrible fate.”

“Exactly. You’re welcome.”

Fighting an eye roll, you push yourself upward with cushion in hand. At least Seokjin was kind enough to break your fall, even if he caused the circumstances which led to it in the first place.

Brushing the dirt from the cushion, you shake your head. “You do know that eventually, someone will buy this house and you’ll have to make peace with that fact. Right?”

When Seokjin doesn’t immediately respond, you look up. His dark gaze lingers a second longer than necessary, briskly looking away when he catches you watching.

“I know,” Seokjin says, turning around. “Might I point out though, that I don’t have to make peace with anything. Ghost,” he adds, pointing at himself. “Not making peace with things is our bread and butter.”

“People have owned this house before, though.”

“Boring people,” Seokjin mutters.

“That didn’t seem to bother you back then!”

Seokjin enters the living room. “Ugh,” he groans, dropping onto a chaise. Dust motes spiral around him, as though he were solid. “If I must be trapped on the material plane, Y/N, the least the material plane could do is provide some entertainment. And the lovemaking of two seventy-year-olds doesn’t count,” he adds, fixing you with a glare.

Stifling laughter, you follow him into the parlor. Fluffing the cushion, you replace it on its chair and survey the room. Seokjin lounges dramatically and it could be your imagination, but he almost looks solid. More so than the first time you met, anyways.

He nearly scared the shit out of you, back then. Everyone at the firm warned you this house was haunted but were purposefully vague on the supernatural. The warnings they gave you were borderline mundane.

Oh, yeah, that house has been on the market forever. People say that it’s haunted, but I’d honestly be more worried about rats. Or asbestos – popcorn ceilings didn’t age well for a reason. And I don’t know if it’s true, but I heard a convict once lived in the basement for three months before the cops caught him. Watch out for that!

You entered this house with more than your usual trepidation, pepper spray in one hand and a flashlight in the other. Apparently, the wiring wasn’t all up to code – something you’ve since rectified with the city.

The sound of the door creak could’ve been written by the Brothers Grimm themselves, textbook gothic. Your flashlight swept over dusty floors, faint footprints remaining to remind you of its past. Spine steeled, you forced yourself to continue.

Finding a light switch, you flicked upward, and the chandelier came to life. The lighting was dim, barely enough to see by on a rainy day. Keeping your flashlight, you wandered into the parlor and came to a sudden stop. Forest green wallpaper lined the walls, remarkably intact for its age. Stunned, you turned in a slow circle.

Moody maximalism was one of your favorite design styles, and this room was made for it. With a slightly better attitude, you resumed your walk-through, discovering a hidden cupboard in the kitchen and a dumbwaiter to nowhere. The second-floor entry point had been boarded up, but that could be rectified.

Some of the woodwork of the house was scuffed, and a few corners held fallen leaves, but overall, it was in great condition. None of the realtors had prepared you for that – you arrived expecting a war zone and were pleasantly surprised.

On the second floor, you found a library – or what had once been the library, given the shelving was empty – that made you audibly gasp. Blue-black custom shelves extended along three of the walls. Closer to the door, a bright square of color remained from where a painting had hung.

Curious, your fingers traced the edges. “This place is unreal,” you murmured to yourself.

“I know, right?” said a voice directly in your ear.

Like any sane person, you screamed and jumped skyward. Your flashlight fell, its beam rolling over and over until it hit a baseboard. You didn’t stick around to find out, turning fast on your heel and bolting into the hall.

Thundering down the front stairs – wincing as the wood groaned – you nearly reached the foyer when Seokjin appeared.

“Boo,” he said calmly, between you and the door.

Coming to a shuddering halt, your hand gripped the railing. The ghost was impeccably dressed, if slightly invisible, and raised a dark brow in response to your flight.

Gaze darting sideways, you sought a second exit but all you could recall was the cellar and that wasn’t an option. Years of training from watching scary movies kicked in at that point, and you slowly straightened. Running away would do nothing – a ghost could follow you anywhere – so, maybe reasoning with him would be the best option.

“What do you want?” you asked, masking your fear to plant both hands on your hips. “Who are you?”

Surprise flared in his – admittedly attractive – gaze. Some of the shock had worn off by then, and you could admit to yourself (if to no one else) that the ghost before you was hot. Even thinking this felt ridiculous, and you wondered if your already-fragile grasp on reality was slipping.

Taking a single step forward, the ghost cocked his head. When you stumbled back, his lip quirked, and he appeared by your side.

“Who am I?” he mused, walking in a slow circle. “Awfully strange to ask me that, when I’m the person that died here, and you’ve never stepped foot in this house until now. I would know.”

Started, you turned your head.

This was a mistake since it allowed you to see every ridge of his features. The rounded tip of his nose, his enviably full lips, and a curve to his jawline which could likely cut glass.

Forcing your gaze upward, you found him focused on you. “You… died here?” you asked before you could think better.

His lips thinned. “You know, it’s very rude to ask a ghost how they died. It’s personal.”

“Oh,” you said. “Sorry, I didn’t know.”

“You didn’t ask,” the ghost replied with a sigh.

Your eyes narrowed, hearing barely hidden laughter in his tone. This ghost was making fun of you. The audacity!

Incensed by this, you lifted your chin. “Wouldn’t asking you whether it’s polite to ask about death be asking you about death, though?”

“Fair enough.” He shrugged, slipping both hands in his pockets. “There really isn’t a good way for you to bring up that conversation.”

A laugh escaped, despite yourself.

His gaze flickered, as though oddly pleased. Quickly, the ghost scanned you from your shoes to your face, where he lingered.

“I’m curious,” he mused, resuming his walk in a circle.

Despite your discomfort, you forced yourself to stay still. Even though you could feel each place his gaze lingered – your shoulders, your collarbone, tacing the slope of your cheekbones.

“What are you curious about?” you asked, pushing the words past your lips.

He stopped between you and the door again. Slipping both hands from his pockets, he crossed his arms over his chest. The way his biceps strained against his suit was intriguing, implying there was something to strain against. Dimly, you wondered what a ghost’s gym routine looked like.

Your lips twitched at the thought, and the ghost scowled.

“Stop that,” he commanded. “You should be terrified. I was curious about why you haven’t run yet. Anyone else would’ve by now.”

“Would they?”

“Based on my experience, yes.” He tilted his head. “This is the first time I’ve introduced myself to someone and they stayed. Well,” he amended through teeth. “Stayed without crucifixes, holy water, and a priest.”

“Does that really work?” you wondered, genuinely curious.

“Does what work – exorcism?”

You nodded.

“Clearly not.” He waved a hand down his body. “At least, not in my case. When I first died, I wanted to move on. I was even excited when the first priest arrived, but he did nothing, and neither did the next one… eventually, I stopped hoping. Started haunting, instead.”

“Well, sure,” you said, dazed.

His lips twitched. “My name is Seokjin, by the way. Not that you asked.”

“That was literally one of the first things I asked!”

Ignoring this, Seokjin stuck out his hand. “And you are?”

“Y/N,” you said, ignoring the impossibility of what you were about to attempt while extending your palm. “Nice to meet you.”

Your hands met in the middle and, instead of passing through, you felt your palms brush. For a moment, you touched calluses and warm skin, smelling the faint scent of cloves.

Seokjin went utterly still.

Chin jerking down, he stared at your joined hands. “That’s… never happened before.”

Retracting swiftly, you said the first thought that came to mind. “What? Never touched a woman?”

Scowling, he retracted his hand as well. “I was thirty when I died, Y/N. Not thirteen.”

“Could’ve fooled me,” you muttered, then paused. “You… haven’t been able to touch anyone since you died?”

“Things, yes. People, no.” A thoughtful look crossed his face. “A psychic visited me once. The owners at that time brought her, wanting to see if she could get rid of me.” Seokjin snorted. “She got them to pay her, then said, ‘No.’ Hilarious. And interesting,” he added. “She told me she’d met other ghosts, ones that could interact. Never seemed to work for me, though.”

You blinked, unsure how to respond. For it being your first encounter with the supernatural, nothing about this had gone as imagined. You weren’t sure how to converse with a ghost who, for all intents and purposes, seemed fairly normal.

Except for the whole ‘being dead’ part.

“Well.” You shrugged. “There’s a first time for everything, I guess.”

His expression remained inscrutable, but for the faintest of seconds, you thought Seokjin looked intrigued. After a moment, he moved closer and leaned in. You caught the faintest whiff of orange, cloves, and cedar on what could have been his breath.

“I suppose there is,” he murmured, and then disappeared.

Since then, Seokjin has appeared each time you returned. The second time, you were halfway convinced your first visit was a hallucination. A theory Seokjin seemed content to feed into, refusing to show himself until you were about to leave. Then, he jumped through the hall closet to yell, “MUTINY!” and cement his presence in your mind.

Seokjin doesn’t dress the same every time. A few weeks into your friendship (if one can call it that), he informed you he could change his appearance but hadn’t done it much. It took energy to appear on the mortal pane, more so if his appearance was altered.

Still, you’ve learned Seokjin will do pretty much anything to commit to a bit. His brand of haunting tends to border on comical. Putting his arms on backwards, headless juggling, vomiting wine – really anything is fair game if not truly grotesque. By now, you’ve seen his whole gambit, which is how you can say today’s performance was lackluster.

Sprawled on the chaise, one foot dangling, Seokjin looks every bit of the tragic lothario. Again, you can’t help but wonder whether he’s gained permanence since the last time you saw him. You could almost swear the chaise sinks under the weight of his frame.

“What is it?” he demands, lazily pushing himself upward.

Something in your chest flutters, although you ignore it. Arms crossed, you fix him with a look of disdain. It’s sinful for Seokjin to look as good as he does – and the worst part is, you know it’s not an illusion.

After you met the third time, you Googled his name along with the house and found multiple hits. Seokjin Kim was killed on October 31st, 1978, by Nathanial Elliot, the leader of the Sunny Days cult. Both Seokjin’s parents joined two years prior, and he’d tried unsuccessfully to convince them to leave by mail and phone.

Eventually, he visited in person and convinced them to go – unfortunately, Nathanial caught wind of the situation and killed Seokjin before this could happen. You saw photos of Seokjin from then and can confirm he was always devastatingly handsome. Often, you’ve wondered if he left someone behind – a wife or a girlfriend – but can’t bring yourself to ask. You aren’t sure which answer would hurt more.

Regardless, you know Seokjin was missed. His parents were the ones who took down the Sunny Days cult, putting their leader behind bars for killing their son. Seokjin admitted once that they tried to tear this house down. They didn’t know he was tied to the grounds, and he didn’t want to tell them. It would’ve been harder for them to move on, he explained, and your heart broke a little.

Not long after that, you accidentally let it slip that Seokjin had a scent. It made him howl with laughter, nearly falling down the front stairs – not that this would’ve hurt him. From then on, Seokjin showed off his growing ability to move solid objects by leaving oranges for you in the house whenever you came. Only another of his practical jokes but lately, it’s made your skin hot to think of.

You realized you felt more than you should for him last month when he saved you from falling. Determined to clear out the cellar, your entire foot went through the first step and Seokjin pulled you to safety.

“Careful,” he murmured, one arm wrapped around your waist. Gently, he eased you backwards and onto the landing. “The top step is rotted through. You’ll need to call in someone to fix that.”

Unable to speak, you nodded and quickly disentangled. Each place he had touched, your skin tingled, and not at all unpleasantly. Since that day, your feelings have only worsened. Sometimes, you wonder if he knows.

Sometimes you wonder whether he feels the same, no matter how hopeless it is.

Heaving a great sigh, Seokjin stands from the couch. Lifting both arms, he stretches this way and that like an overgrown cat. The end of his shirt comes untucked, displaying a flat strip of skin you refuse to acknowledge.

Forcing your gaze to his face, you lift a single brow. Weeks after meeting, you considered Seokjin your friend, or at least an acquaintance. Now, you can’t call this friendship, but not because things between you have worsened. It’s because the more time you spend together, the more you find yourself wishing for something impossible. Something more.

“You know what,” you tell him. “There’s no need to scare off every potential buyer.”

Seokjin pauses, then lowers his arms. “There’s a need when they’re terrible. I’m the one forced to live with them for eternity, not you.”

“It’s not an eternity, though,” you tried to joke. “Eventually, they’ll die – or, so one would presume.”

Seokjin’s face hardens. Before you can take another breath, he’s standing before you. “Much better,” he says, his voice like steel. “I love being reminded that, while the world continues to age around me, I never will. I’ll simply stay on this godforsaken plot of land until the earth is destroyed by its own inhabitants. How long do you think that’ll take, Y/N? One decade? Two?”

Eyes wide, you stare at him in shock.

Seokjin has never spoken to you like this before. Usually, he’s far more cavalier about his reality, easily accepting the fact that he’s a ghost. Never once has he ranted about the world passing by. In fact, Seokjin frequently throws in your face that you’ll soon have more wrinkles than him.

For the first time, you wonder if all that is a front. If perhaps, deep down, all his lackadaisicalness is merely a cover for a deeper kind of fear.

Slowly, you move closer. “I didn’t mean to be dismissive,” you murmur. “Of course, I don’t want you to be forced to live with people you hate. I just meant…”

You trail off, uncertain and Seokjin’s face softens. He moves even closer, his scent comforting you in a way you can’t explain. In a way it shouldn’t be.

“I’ll never get used to this,” you sigh.

You aren’t sure why you’re speaking so softly. Possibly due to his proximity and possibly due to the look in his eyes, studying you as though you’re the impossibility, and not him. Dust motes trail through the air when Seokjin lifts a hand.

With bated breath, you watch as he reaches towards you. At the last second, he shifts and lightly brushes your jaw.

Sharply, you inhale because you feel it. You feel him.

“Seokjin,” you whisper. “What are you…”

Gently shushing, he leans in, and you feel his breath, feather-light, across your skin. Utterly shocked, you go still. It’s his breath that you feel. Breath that shouldn’t exist, according to logic.

Slowly, his gaze drops and stays on your lips. If Seokjin can’t read minds, he must hear your heart racing. The sound of it is all-consuming, drowning out rational thought.

“You want to know what I’m waiting for?” he murmurs, his gaze lifting. “I’m waiting for someone to look at this… house the way you do.”

“A lot of people have liked the house, Seokjin. People who –”

“I don’t want you to sell this house."

Startled, you stop. “Why not?”

His expression twists, revealing his vulnerability. “I think you know.”

Roughly, you exhale.

Yes. You do know. It’s the same reason you’ve half-assed the last six showings at this address. It’s why you keep people from looking, and when they insist, barely attempt to stifle Seokjin’s shenanigans. You could have come earlier today and requested Seokjin to be on good behavior. He would have done it. For you, he would have.

Which is exactly why you didn’t ask.

“I… want to hear you say it,” you say, so low, you’re surprised that he hears.

Achingly slow, Seokjin’s hand slips from your jaw to your neck. When he pulls you closer, you can feel the weight of his hand, the solid pressure that comes from his fingers on your skin.

Your eyes flutter shut.

“I don’t want you to go,” Seokjin murmurs, his lips close to your ear. “If someone else buys this house, you’d stop showing it. You wouldn’t come here again, and I can’t leave these grounds. If someone else buys this place” – his breath hitches – “I won’t see you again. I can stomach eternity, Y/N, but not without you.”

“Seokjin.” His name leaves your lips as a whisper, or prayer.

“Yes?”

“Do you ever…” Eyes opening, you look up. “I don’t want to say it out loud.”

“Why not?”

“Because.” Your voice breaks. “That might make it real. What I want can’t be real, so if I say it out loud, it might vanish and right now, it exists in this tentative space. We exist in this space.”

Lightly, his thumb strokes your throat, and you feel your knees buckle. Every callous, every touch feels so horribly real, it’s making it difficult to remember why this can’t be.

“I’ve stopped wondering what’s real and what’s not,” Seokjin murmurs, his gaze tracing your mouth. “Most people say I shouldn’t exist and yet, here I am. They say I shouldn’t be here, able to touch you like this and yet, I am. They say I shouldn’t–”

Rising on tiptoe, you cut him off with your kiss. Seokjin shudders, his lips parted and warm in the shock of the moment.

 “Fuck,” he groans, breaking away to stare at you in wonder.

Before you can respond, he returns, his kiss wild and fierce. Your own desire surges, touching him hesitantly at first, and then with full abandon. Hands sliding up his chest, over his shoulders, your fingers curl in his hair to anchor him to you.

Cupping your face, Seokjin pulls your body to his. His touch is reverent, deifying while his hands travel lower to land on your waist. His body curves above yours, catching your gasps with the tip of his tongue. Seokjin feels solid beneath you – solid, and warm, and painfully real.

His mouth moves to your jaw, trailing heat down your throat and across your bared collar. Shivers of pleasure shoot through you as he walks you backwards, pressing your spine to the wall. Briefly – wondrously – you laugh, the sound caught again by his kiss.

Within minutes, you’re panting, heart beating wildly as you grip his hair tighter. Seokjin’s leg presses forward, pushing your thighs apart and you nearly dissolve. He moves harder, faster, as though scared that you’ll vanish. This is the opposite of disappearing, though.

This is together, beneath, and on top as –

“Shit,” Seokjin growls, the sound torn from his throat.

Dazed, you look sideways and realize his hand has gone through the wall.

Seokjin stares at his wrist, his chest rising and falling. Everything you can feel is solid, but his hand sinks through the wall about an inch deep. It’s hard to concentrate with him above you, looking like that. Seokjin’s hair remains mussed by your hands, proving you touched him – however briefly.

Lips thinning, Seokjin pulls his hand out. Purposefully, he lays his palm flat on the wall but it’s clear to you both that he’s concentrating. Some of his pressure dissipates.

“I – fuck,” he exhales, dropping his chin.

Gently, you soothe a strand of hair behind his ear. This is the first time you’ve seen Seokjin anything less than immaculate and goddamn, if it doesn’t look good on him. That’s making it difficult to focus on the matter at hand.

The matter at hand. Ha.

Thinking this, a snort escapes your lips before you can stop it. Stunned, Seokjin glances up with wide eyes.

“Did you just… snort?” he asks, incredulous.

You shake your head, and then nod, sheepish. “Um, yes. I did. It’s just…” Now that you’ve started, you can’t help but continue. “I can’t believe the hottest make-out session of my life ended with your fucking hand through a wall.”

Seokjin stares for a long moment before – impossibly – his chest starts to shake. Before long, you’re both laughing out loud at the ridiculousness of the situation. Once your laughter has faded though, comfortable silence remains.

Pulling you into his chest, Seokjin’s hand strokes your neck. “I don’t know what this means,” he admits with a sigh.

“Me, either.”

“I do know I want to do that again.”

“Same,” you say, pulling back.

“But…” Seokjin hesitates. “Y/N. You know I’m not… real, right?”

Your heart sinks to your shoes. “You’re real to me.”

“I know.” He speaks softly. “But I –”

Lifting a hand, you press a finger to his lips. “Don’t,” you warn. “Please. I don’t want to think about the future right now. I know I don’t have eternity, but I don’t want what I have without you.”

Something in his gaze breaks but Seokjin merely nods, letting silence fall again. You fear that he’ll vanish, leaving you alone but he merely exhales. The breath brushes your skin.

“Alright,” Seokjin murmurs, winding his hand with yours. “What do you want to talk about, then?”

The ghost of a smile crosses your lips. “What if… we talk about me buying this house?”

© kpopfanfictrash, 2023. Do not copy or repost without permission. Author’s Note: thank you so much for reading! I hope you enjoyed, and Happy Halloween!

[jumpywhumpywriter]

Villain's Coffee Shop part 6

Warnings: bleeding out, gravely injured Villain, stab wounds, corrupt Superhero

"Now you know why I spent my days fighting people like you," Villain snorted bitterly. "It's the only way I can make enough to stay off the streets and survive. By stealing and killing."

Hero's gaze grew distant, thoughtful, before there was a sudden flash of furry motion off to Hero's left that sent her springing from the chair, daggers in hand ready to attack the threat.

"Wait! Don't hurt him!" Villain barked frantically.

"'Him'?!" Hero squawked, but his words made her hesitate long enough to realize that it was... literally just a cat. Embarrassment flushed Hero's face as she sheathed her blades and sat back down. She stared at the scruffy cat, which had black fur... and it was missing a whole front leg, along with a large chunk of one ear.

Hero gawked at the feline as he bunched his hind legs and hopped up onto the table next to the couch, giving her a quizzical look. "You have... a three-legged cat. I am both surprised and somehow unsurprised at the same time."

"Somebody has to adopt the unwanted critter," Villain shrugged. "Like me. Unwanted. Only I'm not adoptable," he added quickly when he saw Hero winding up to make a snarky joke about it. "His name is Mocha."

"Seriously? You named it after a caffeine drink?"

"It's a cat that lives in a coffee shop, Hero. Mocha is an appropriate name," Villain argued defensively. "Apparently Mocha got into a fight with a loose dog, and no one wanted to adopt a mangled cat, let alone one that also had black fur. They're often considered bad luck. But I took him before he could be euthanized."

"That's... actually kind of sweet of you," Hero said, gently stroking the cat's head. Mocha purred loudly, an oddly raspy kind of purr like a broken motor, and climbed into her lap, kneading her leather suit with his remaining front paw and arching his back happily.

"Mocha is the sweetest cat you will ever find, you just have to look past all the scarring." Hero was taken aback by the fondness in Villain's face as he reached a weak, trembling hand toward Mocha, who instantly abandoned Hero to hop onto the couch and settle down on Villain's chest instead, still purring madly.

Villain sighed heavily, petting Mocha's curled-up form gently. Hero would have never guessed him to be capable of kindness, given his violent reputation.

"...Would you be willing to consider switching sides?" Hero asked softly. "Be a hero instead of a villain like you are now?"

Villain's eyes darted over to her, surprised. "I'm pretty sure it's too late for that," he rasped quietly. "I've killed too many people. I'm not worth your time."

"Maybe so," Hero agreed solemnly, "but you can always give it a try. I have connections, I could get you on our Hero team where you can use your powers to save lives instead of take them. And you wouldn't have to show anyone your face, either. We can design you a new mask." She bit her lip nervously. "...It's up to you in the end, but I get the feeling you've got a lot more good inside you than you're willing to admit." She put a reassuring hand on Villain's shoulder, and he flinched hard, disturbing Mocha who meowed in protest before settling again.

"Just... think about it for awhile, Villain. Can you promise me that?" Hero glanced around and snatched up a notepad and pen, scribbling something down and tearing off a page to hand to Villain. "This is my personal number if... you'd like to reach out." Villain stared numbly at the paper in his hand.

A chance. He'd said he'd needed a chance. Just one. And now he held that chance on a thin piece of paper. "...Thank you," he murmured after a brief hesitation. "And not just for this, I mean for... listening, I guess, and saving my life." Villain cleared his throat awkwardly, fumbling over his words.

But Hero smiled playfully, standing up and ruffling Villain's hair. "I look forward to hearing from you."

Villain scowled and ran a hand through his hair to flatten it back down. "I'll let that slide because I'm in so much pain I can barely think straight, but try that again when I'm at full-strength, and I'll destroy you," he grouched.

Hero laughed as she headed toward the back door. "Heal up, Villain, and then we have work to do."

Villain smiled faintly at Hero's back as she left, darkness in his gaze. Oh, he had work to do indeed… Hero was in way over her head dealing with him. He grinned down at Mocha, who affectionately nuzzled into his hand. “What do you say, Mocha? Should I cause some trouble?”

---The current, ominous end.

UPDATE: due to popular demand, I continued this storyline further!

⏪️ Back Next ⏩️

Masterlist

@scoundrelwithboba @lumpofsand @isikedmyself878 @iamheretohurt @fleur-a-whump

@ay5ksal @otterfrost @sausages-things @i-don't-know-sal @togzy

@whump-till-ya-jump @cravesunconditionallove @whumpwritinglover222 @watermelons-dont-grow-on-trees

@federthenotsogreat @everynameistakencarrots

[kalims]

⊹ THOSE EYES | malleus draconia

premise. perhaps the universe really wants to keep him in the dark, unintentionally or not being forgotten yet again seems to be a frequent event in his life. parties aren’t for malleus anyways, nor are people.

but when he’s right next to you, a witness to your shine perhaps you’re the one for him.

content. gender neutral reader, fluff

wc. 4k

note. commissioned by faru who wanted to stay anonymous but wanted a nickname instead <3

sorry for being offline for a few. I was working on this hehe

lately, the skies seem gloomy, most people would think that it’s perfectly normal but there’s something oddly familiar about the hue of green beyond the dark, rainy clouds. besides the fact that the rain seems to fall on everyone else but you? your mind can’t help but drift to a certain horned man.

the timing seems appropriate. the weather has been like this plenty of times whenever malleus was in a particular, dejected mood. (you’d know because he’d have that certain tone. quiet and slow. If it wasn’t already obvious you can tell from the exaggerated huffs he emits, which you are starting to get suspicious of that he’s actually making it to get your attention.) speaking of malleus, you haven’t seen him around. not even a glimpse, which is surprising because he’s always trailing after you.

to the dismay of sebek who tried to tell malleus that sticking around a human like you, in his opinion: who apparently didn’t live up to the ‘young masters’ glory would lead to no good.

though you don't know what happened or why, you caught a moment of malleus staring in sebek's direction for a second and the latter immediately shut up and looked away. (presumably in shame? but you can't say.) you never really pondered on it seeing as malleus had whisked you away and distracted you with an easy smile.

you do agree with sebek. malleus' glory is unmatched, even if no one bothers to befriend him everyone notices. his mere presence is so strong that everyone can feel him coming, and when he does they stop and stare. even the gods agree! they seem to want everyone to know that malleus is favored.

amongst.. other means besides social.

he's destined. you don't know why he's referring to you as a ray of light in his darkness when he's practically binding everyone. at some point, his power had reached such a level that his emotions can affect the weather.

it's funny. you think, with such a poker face malleus is really expressive.

the sun seems to illuminate its rays brighter when he's happy, you can see its light even from beyond the clouds covering it. it dims in comparison when he's sad, and right after it loses its color it rains for long periods that the weather forecast was being canceled for not being able to predict it.

you've seen lots of people be a victim of this. be it a student grumbling away, soaking wet from the unexpected pour, or the other crying about their now-wet project.

when he's angry the clouds are darker, and the amount of lightning striking depends on the level of his rage. even you can say that being caught in the middle of it is no good when you're trying to predict where the next one will hit.

but it was strange. this week was chaotic, on monday the sun was blaring all the way to tuesday. you were just glad he seemed to be in a good mood until it started raining around the afternoon of wednesday. it just started pouring so fast out of nowhere that the lightning had actually frightened you because the rain was never accompanied by it.

you've only been in diasomnia a few times.

but.. this time you're quite surprised and it's not because of the beauty of the dorm.

the weather was so stormy that you were afraid you were gonna start flying away. there weren't any students stationed before the bridge. you don't question it because how were they even gonna guard the gates when the wind is gonna be the one breaking it open?

it only meant one thing.

malleus was in the dorm, seeing as the dorm seems to be the core of the storm.

even when you're a little way over the dorm you could still hear sebek's yells. it wasn't like the trudge to the dorm was hard, contrary to your belief the wind only whipped your clothes around like crazy. so you weren't going to get flung anytime soon, your struggle though. was the question of whether you'd be able to hang onto your gift all the way there or not.

because you were holding onto that plastic bag with ice cream in it for dear life—praying that the dessert is the right kind of softness he liked.

the time you found out he liked the dessert was by pure coincidence. you had brought a whole cake in to eat whilst celebrating your birthday together with your friends. you were too distracted talking with one of them to notice the grimace on malleus' face once he took a bite.

you were shocked when he confessed after a while.

… no, not the kind of confession you're thinking about. (even though you'd admit you'd like it to be.)

"why didn't you tell me? ahh... I should have bought another dessert, I knew it. I'm so sorry they already ate the ice cream—"

he cuts you off. "there's no need. it won't hurt." he had said, pausing to add: "if it's for you I can do it."

that night you stayed up late staring off into your ceiling before burying your head in a pillow with a warm face. you didn't have a nightmare or a dream. but his face practically engraved it in your mind till all you could think of was malleus all day.

it was driving you insane!

even when you've reached the front door, sopping wet and dripping all over the front porch all you could think of was the fact that you haven't seen malleus all week. which you didn't really think would bother you if not for the fact that you were wrong in assuming how close you thought both of you were.

again, it was driving you insane as you could tell from the amount of thoughts you have of him.

you'd have to apologize to lilia. you know all about how the man hates getting his porch wet.

"oh my."

 oh well. looking like this was definitely not how you wanted to arrive at diasomnia. 

lilia casts a curious gaze at you, ears twitching when he takes in your appearance before his lips curve into an easy smirk. you're suspicious that he knows the reason for your sudden arrival. "If I'd known you were coming, I would have sent sebek for you." lilia sighs like a disappointed mother. he gives you a quick smile before looking back and yelling:

"sebek, be a dear and fetch me a towel would you?" 

you could vaguely hear a rush of heavy footsteps and you awkwardly just stare until sebek appears carrying a folded towel in his arms. you could emit a sigh if it wasn’t so freezing when sebek's face contorted to that of distaste when he saw you.

lilia with a knowing look merely shook his head. "don't just stand there, will you? we have a guest." he chimes and probably had enough cause he ended up snatching the towel right off the boy's arms.

who actually looked like he felt bad for a second.

lilia ushers you in after drying most of the droplets of water away, so you enter without much complaint. a towel wrapped around your body, over your shoulders. you clutch it like a blanket. looking around trying to look subtle.

this one is looking for him. lilia muses with an amused chuckle. you'd be surprised at how gloomy malleus' mood actually is, that boy had practically washed up the dorm with how long the rainy weather had kept going. lilia knew cater forgetting to invite malleus would have some damper to his mood.

but of course not to the extent.

you have perfect timing. lilia knows malleus considers you dear, perhaps even dearer than him and if lilia can't resolve his mood then you definitely can.

"ah that's right. what brings you to our humble abode?" lilia leads through the halls that lead directly to the main area. you clutch the towel a little tighter. feeling the embarrassment seep through your mind. were you gonna tell him that you all but ran to the nearest convenience store and bought a tub of ice cream for malleus because you figured he was upset?

talk about a test of courage.

you grimace. "I-uhm.. haven't heard from malleus so I got worried." 

lilia's face doesn't change from its laid-back nature.

"is he alright, by the way?"

the flicker of surprise in his eyes doesn't go unnoticed by you. "were you at all asim's party, prefect?" he asks, already drawing an answer from your confused face alone. it's not like he already doesn't know, you were nowhere seen at the party after all.

".. no?"

kalim in fact did invite you. but you weren't too fond of the idea when there was a pile of homework from the professors and another one from crowley sitting in ramshackle all alone with no one to do them. so you chose the option that would save you later, and make you suffer currently. 

(plus, you did promise to join malleus for a walk since he asked you earlier. but kalim doesn't need to know that, right?)

frankly, you're starting to get concerned with how many times malleus occupies your thoughts.

lilia places his chin in between his fingers with a hum. you listen to him keenly even when he sits you on the couch of the living room. "malleus got invited you see." that was a surprise to you. you smile from ear to ear. that's great for him! but you're expecting a 'but'.

and boy was there one. "but it was rescheduled earlier, you see." he closes his eyes and casts you a closed-eyed smile. for someone whose 'son' had been forgotten, he seems oddly relaxed about it.. and.. wasn't lilia part of the group inviting everyone else?

as if he reads your mind lilia makes sure to say, "cater was the one who said he's got informing malleus all covered. I'm afraid he had forgotten and the party had already finished." 

that's pretty.. sad.. no wonder the weather was more extreme than usual. malleus was probably feeling a mixture of sadness and anger. 

lilia's eyes drift downwards. and you curse when you realize where he's looking. "what's that you've got there?" somehow every word that comes out of lilia comes out jokingly like he's teasing you. 

there was no point in hiding it was there? you sigh and hand over the plastic to lilia who graciously takes it, spares one glance at it, and casts it aside to the table. probably planning to put it in the freezer for later.

it looks like he knows already but you still answer blankly. "ice cream for malleus."

he seems to brighten up after your clear display of intention. good thing sebek had ran back to his room after you stepped foot in the dorm because if he were here right now he probably would have been suspicious and assumed that you'd somehow put something in the ice cream.

"to cheer him up?"

".. yes."

"ah. how sweet. young love never fails to entertain me."

you sputter. "i—that's not.."

a look for lilia is all it takes for you to shut up. he shakes his head with a laugh. "as the youngsters say, 'denial is a river in egypt' do you get it? fufu.. quite funny." he giggles continuously but you can't help but think that he's trying to make a joke. you deadpan. "I do but that's not the point!" 

an unfunny joke clearly.

point is your practical son needs some severe cheering up if you just witnessed a tree get struck by lightning a while ago.

from your experience, the tea parties held by heartslabyul is a pretty nice way to unwind.

"does malleus like tea?"

he pauses. "why, yes. he's been raised as a noble after all."

never in your life have you been so stressed. you have to give props for riddle, cause you just found out how hard it is to actually organize a tea party. you don’t even wanna think about what jamil does, you swear he grows a white hair every time kalim throws a party.

nearly all desserts had some kind of association with ice cream, you made sure of it. though you do have to give credit to lilia since the man had graciously let you make use of his fridge to place them there until your scheduled tea party had arrived (honestly saving a bunch of residents from his.. ‘special’ meat.)

you had left sebek the job of informing malleus since you were sure that he was the only person that wouldn’t forget about him. the boy actually approved your choice of who you gave the job to and commended you.

but hey at least he liked it, right?

the guests were.. yet to arrive which is making you anxious because malleus himself was about 1 hour early to his own party.

when he approaches you there’s a clear look of joy. you’d fall over from the small, genuine smile of pureness on his face. you almost forgot to question yourself why in the hell he’s here when the party is scheduled to start in.. one hour.

you sweat. few of the desserts haven’t been taken out of the fridge yet to preserve them! "what.. are you doing here?" you nervously ask but malleus thankfully doesn't seem to mind.

"ah, lilia informed me." his eyes crinkled. "I am very happy to be here."

lilia that bastard.. but wasn't sebek supposed to inform him.. but even if sebek did you're sure that this man would have still shown up early.

now you're wondering what happened to poor sebek. that boy is either angry or devastated.

you find malleus' pure and innocent intentions a little endearing.

ㅤ

lilia stands in front of the door that malleus never really opened. ah that child, even in his absence for dorm leader meetings didn't upset him this much. lilia presumes that he must have looked forward to an invitation he hasn't had in.. a long time.

he raises a hand to knock. once, nothing. twice, nothing. lilia guesses he'll have to use that card.

"malleus dear, the prefect was just by here."

almost immediately there's shuffling behind the door and not a second later it creaks open to show the horned man's curious face. lilia smiles. one mention of you and he already responded.

this is is his non-verbal way of saying: 'where.'

malleus tilts his head and looks past lilia's shoulders, who then shakes his head and gains the former's attention back. "they are not here anymore if it is them who you're looking for." 

"ah."

almost immediately he comically deflates, and lilia resists holding a chuckle. 

"but they did leave something for you." the shorter male adds.

as if the energy in malleus comes back, he immediately brightens. the child of man left something? for him? oh.. malleus releases a long sigh. his heart could leap out of its chest and start dancing if it could.

although it pains him to leave your side malleus did just that. you could say that he was.. feeling under the weather and he doesn't want to face you in a state where his anger could possibly take over.

he does not know what he'll do if he hurts you.

people like you are a luxury that malleus doesn't often come across. it's not every day that he meets someone who doesn't falter at the sight of him or one whose eyes don't fly to his horns but to his eyes instead.

he wonders if you knew who he was at that time. would it be different? would you have turned and left him in the dust? malleus supposes there's no point in wondering about what could have been when all he wants is right here. 

lilia smiles fondly at him. "your favorite. they've left ice cream and an invitation for you."

just like that, all the sadness in malleus pours out like a continuous river never stopping. something warm thumps in his chest and it's all he can hear. it blooms until he can feel it crawl up to his hands and on the tips of his ears. something warm and worthwhile. 

then malleus realizes right then and there. why did he spend so much time worrying about it, since when did he care about the view of others? it's not his fault if they forgot. they should have been grateful that they had the privilege to talk so freely with him.

simple things should not strike such a nerve within malleus.

who needs the other people anyways when he's got everything in his hand? it's not like they have someone their entire being beats for.

but you. weren't you just perfect? malleus had never felt happier. "when and where is this invitation of theirs?" 

ㅤ

you deadpan. you should have never assumed that lilia wouldn't have heard your words to sebek. the walls of diasomnia have ears of their own after all.

you shake your head. "oh uh.. there's a few people that came early—" for once you're appreciative, cause god it would be awkward if it's only the two of you. you're not sure if it's because you'll be having an inner crisis during it or the lack of guests. 

as you can see you definitely weren't all that prepared. you see malleus smile at you from the corner of your eye when you lead him to a table and sit him down, the man doing so without many complaints. 

jamil knows when someone is looking at him. he knew he should have ran back into the kitchen when he saw you staring at him intensely. but before he could even escape you already— "jamil." you say, loudly and he winces.

"why don't you get the others to join us?" you smile at him thinly and jamil understood. there was no room for arguments. he sighs. for a person mysterious to the entirety of NRC you are pretty scary.

oh, fuck did you even look okay? because next to a quite literally sparking, shining man like malleus you feel like you're a bag of trash.

eventually, you find yourself with a strange group, an unlikely group. very weird group. despite malleus being the obvious exception (dare you say he's the most happiest.) there are looks across the table with varying degrees of disturbed, irritation, or just plain fear.

okay, so the fear is mainly from idia who you're surprised even showed up. scratch that. maybe it was just him being nervous?

malleus doesn't look bothered at all.

you laugh awkwardly. "uh.. fine weather we're having?" but two out of five react positively to your words. rook cracks a bright smile while malleus nods slowly.

"indeed! it has been a while since the skies have cleared up." rook chirps, and you sweatdrop. you and a few other people cast a glance at malleus who doesn't seem to be concerned, nor care about the second of attention.

oh god. how awkward, everyone here knows that he's the reason why the weather was so bad.

"I'm just glad it stopped raining." jamil comments, crossing his arms and leaning back in his chair. he's met with several mumbles of agreement. all you could say was, same. no more struggling to keep your school works under the umbrella.

malleus hums. "I must thank you for the invitation, child of man." he smiles at you and you have to bite the inside of your cheek to not let the similar face break out so obviously in yours. "you're welcome." 

jamil side eyes the two of you just staring at each other. if he'd known he'd end up being a witness to this.. subtle lovey-dovey stuff he would have never helped you and trey bake the few treats you asked them to in the first place.

plus rook absolutely eating up whatever you two were doing? yikes. god can kill him now.

speaking of trey he should be here suffering. he narrows his eyes.

.. right. "what are you doing here so early? hasn't lilia told you it starts later?" you inquire. it would also have saved you the trouble of creating a group to surround just one table for malleus. 

shortly, he replies. "I did not want to be late." malleus blinks at you and almost everything he does makes you swoon, you get to see a clear view of his crystal green eyes. "I also wanted to talk with you," he admits.

and.. essentially have you all to himself before everyone starts to hog you like moths to a flame. maybe that's how malleus got attracted to you as well.

should you be embarrassed that he just said that in front of jamil, rook, and 3 other people, or should you be rolling all over the ground out of joy?

"oh jeune amour!"

"woah."

"malleus-chi at it again earning love points.

"seriously." 

your lips wobble as you attempt to hold in the wide smile. you feel like the sun just flashed you in the face from the amount of heat you're feeling right now

"wh… do… uh.." 

you don't usually describe yourself as someone who freezes up like this but clearly, you're proving yourself wrong to assume so. "oh haha.." your finger flies to point at the newcomer to direct attention. "would you look at that? the desserts are ready." 

saved by trey who enters with a handsome smile. how in the hell is he balancing all those dishes with one arm? you have no idea. one step from you and all of those would have crashed down onto the ground.

then you'll blame gravity.

before you know it the tense atmosphere had melted into something warm. even jamil seems to have eased up, idia isn't hiding in the depths of his hoodie anymore, and rook is rook.

and malleus, despite his usual blank look has a faint lining of peace in his expression. it's rare to see it in a place so.. crowded? his lips quirk up further once he spots the dessert on the plate.

"ah, my favorite, tea and.. ice cream?" 

"and crackers." you make sure to add.

he chuckles. "and crackers."

everyone digs into their respective plates. besides malleus' favorite, you made sure to ask what kind of food they'd like to have at the party. it would be rather boring if it were just ice cream, wouldn't it?

well. the ice cream was for malleus only so.

you can't help but sneak glances every now and then. thoroughly enjoying the delighted look on his face when he eats another spoonful. you're suspecting that he might even ask if there's another batch.

coincidentally malleus looks at you the moment you look away. it's a repeating thing. you look, he's looking away. you look away and he looks at you. a never-ending cycle that just results in unsaid feelings.

but everyone knows that if there was ever a god that exists he always has a plan for it.

perhaps once the feelings you bore have bloomed into something mature and people would be the time when you could hold malleus in your arms and worry not about every single thing. it's not always you get to pine for someone.

so I will always love you until you're mine. he thinks. you will be.

malleus casts you a small smirk. "I am hoping you'll spare me that talk later."

"later, please. for now let me finish this." 

seriously. the food trey and jamil cooks are scrumptious. 

he watches you eat, chat with rook and idia with a smile. he can't seem to invite jealousy in his heart because of them when you've so clearly put in the effort to clear the troubles in his.

next time I shall prepare a feast and festival for you. he thinks seriously. 

but that's a plan for another day! one.. you're not exactly aware of.. yet...

[katakaluptastrophy]

@greatandquestionablecontent noted that my discussion of Paul and St Paul didn't touch on the latter's awful views on women and sexuality.

And while I very much hope those aren't relevant for our new Lyctor-ish buddy Paul, they very much do haunt the narrative of The Locked Tomb.

We get one in-world bit of theology in Gideon the Ninth: the Sermon on Necromancers and Cavaliers, which talks about how the Houses understand the relationship between necromancer and cavalier and god. And it's pretty much St Paul's Letter to the Ephesians, ctrl + F'd for necromancy, with a few other infamous Pauline verses thrown in for good measure, especially from 1 Corinthians:

A necromancer who must leave her House and fight requires a swordswoman./For this cause shall a man leave his father and mother, and shall cleave to his wife, and they shall be two in one flesh. - Ephesians 5:31

Our necromantic characteristics make us more like the Emperor...the necromancer and the cavalier are no different./[A man] is the image and glory of God; but the woman is the glory of the man. - 1 Cor 11:7

As [the Emperor] was once man, and became God...so were we dead and became alive./And as in Adam all die, so also in Christ all shall be made alive. - 1 Cor 15:22

Their love is the love that fears only for the other: the love of service on both sides. Some have tried to characterise this relationship as the cavalier’s obedience to the necromancer, but the necromancer must be in turn obedient to the needs of the cavalier without being asked or prompted: theirs is arguably the heavier burden./Loving one another with the charity of brotherhood, with honour preventing [anticipating] one another. - Romans 12:10 (I suspect this one is also meant to call to mind Ephesians 5's instructions for wives to submit to their husbands, while husbands are asked to love their wives like Christ loves the church - an instruction proponents of so-called Biblical gender roles will often describe in language similar to the Sermon as being the bigger ask.)

The love of the cavalier for the necromancer, and the necromancer for the cavalier...cannot be libidinous./But among you there must not be even a hint of sexual immorality, or of any kind of impurity...because these are improper for God’s holy people. - Ephesians 5:3

So cavaliership very much reproduces the gendered asymmetries of power found in many traditional Pauline-flavoured interpretations of Christian marriage.

But when you look at some of the invective around a romantic or sexual necromancer/cavalier relationship, it's coded rather more as homophobia.

The Sermon on Necromancers and Cavaliers hedges around explicitly condemning necro/cav relationships as specifically against the will of god, but makes it clear that's very much a view held within the Houses:

"after a myriad of thought about the matter, marrying your cavalier remains taboo at best. There have been those who have argued eloquently that it is traitorous to the ideals of the Necrolord Prime."

While St Paul isn't the only source of egregiously homophobic Bible verses, he's responsible for a good chunk of them, and the idea of this specifically defying the designs of God is a recurring theme...

It's worth noting that not all of what's generally described as St Paul's writing likely actually is. And Ephesians, which features so strongly here, is one of those "pseudo-Pauline" letters - a sort of Pauline fanfiction written to fill in perceived gaps or deal with issues as they arose.

But it feels oddly appropriate that the Houses' theology of gender cavaliership, itself an imitation of St Paul, is so strongly inspired by an imitation of St Paul...

[ficclings]

LOST - CHAPTER SIX

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Taglist: if you would like to be tagged or I forgot to tag you, let me know! @laymegentlytorest@im-sinking-in-mud @hydroyaksha @hehe-24-hehe@neohyxn

It didn’t take a lot to panic Felix nowadays, with everything going on, but he never thought he would be panicking over the sight of water bottles. 

“What’s the matter?” Minho’s voice was groggy and filled with the want for sleep. 

“We don’t have much water left and I’m not drinking from the tap,” Felix tried to keep his voice down, as not to worry the hybrid currently sleeping for the first time in a couple of days. 

“I would suggest the water back at my workplace but I’m not even sure that’s safe to drink,” Minho paused, “I don’t know how long water can sit there and be safe,” he added with a pout forming. 

“I’d use the internet but that’s down,” Felix rubbed at his forehead and sat down on the kitchen floor, feeling defeated. 

A small smile returning when Pepie padded over to him and rested at his side to give Felix some comfort; which it did. 

“Do we go for a supply run?” Minho suggested, joining Felix on the floor, head smacking against the lower cabinets, “We just went out for one; we’re exhausted,” he hesitated for a second before putting an arm around Felix’s shoulders, “we have enough for a couple of days,” 

Felix sighed and ran his fingers through Pepie’s soft fur, “yeah, I guess,” he chewed his bottom lip and closed his eyes, “I’m so fucking tired,” 

The expletive made Minho snort with laughter; quickly covering is mouth when he heard the hybrid on the sofa stir a bit. 

“Me too,” the older man closed his eyes too and let Felix rest his head on his shoulder. 

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

“Snap!”  

The sound of a hand slamming down on a table echoed around the small apartment as the three friends bonded over a game of snap, the hybrid taking the most recent win and accepting her prize of a couple of squares of the Dairy Milk chocolate bar they had found on their recent supply run. 

“You have animal reflexes!” Minho whined and pouted despite himself making her giggle at the sight. 

“Such a sore loser, Hyung,” Felix playfully shoved the older man to the side, letting out an oddly high-pitched cry as Minho pounced on him with a cocky eyebrow raised. 

“Pinned ya again,” clearly mocking Nala from The Lion King, Felix rolled his eyes with a small smile on his handsome face, “wait, that makes you Simba,” Minho paused, “you’re not nearly cool enough to be Simba,” he added teasingly and the hybrid watching nearly choked on the chocolate she was currently enjoying. 

“I’m totally cool enough to be Simba,” Felix argued back crossing his arms across his chest. 

“You realise this means that you two have to get married now, right?” the woman across the table to them was smirking suggestively at them and it caused an immediate flush to brush over the two men as they quickly sat up. 

“Does this make you Zazu?” Minho asked with a chuckle, very entertained by the appropriate gasp of surprise on her face. 

“I happen to love that funky little bird,” she replied with a bright smile, canines on show; catching Felix’s eyes; a light dusting of pink returning to his cheeks, “I miss watching movies,” she added with a loud sigh, shoulders falling with a pout on her lips. 

The electricity had almost completely wiped a couple of days ago, causing them all to panic quite a bit as they had practically been giving themselves what little of their old lives they had, back. 

The only thing still running were the lights in the building as they were the only things hooked up to the emergency backup in case of a power outage or natural disaster. 

“And my games,” she added looking woefully at her giant collection of games that decorated the many shelves both under and beside the television. 

“I think I miss just the action of browsing through websites,” Felix chuckled as he gladly accepted a chunk of chocolate that the hybrid had kindly decided to share more of. 

“Getting updates on things,” Minho paused for a bit as if debating with himself if he should even finish his sentence, “like friends,” he flickered his eyes to Felix who was now fiddling with a loose strand on his jumper, “is something I miss; even the dumb updates that Han and Changbin used to post up,”  

This made Felix laugh, making the hybrid smile warmly again. 

“The anime updates and gym updates,” Felix shook his head, and this made her sit up a little straighter with interest. 

“Who...who liked anime?” she asked shyly. 

“Hannie,” Minho replied fondly with a tone that he had greeted Felix with when they were reunited, “he loves the stuff,”  

“Me too!” the hybrid blushed darkly at how quickly the words left her, simply excited by the prospect of somebody finally understanding her love for the animation world. 

“We all do, to an extent, but Han goes to conventions with Chan Hyung in full cosplay,” Felix grinned as he saw how her mouth hung open and her eyes glittered as if he was talking about an anime deity. 

“Much more fun than the gym, anyways,” Minho muttered with a shake of his head, clearly thinking about Changbin, “the number of times I saw Changbin doing suggestive stretches, is too many times,”  

All three of them fell into a quiet rumble of chuckles, a small moment of calmness, the background of the apartment filled with the loud snores of Pepie and the scurrying of Harvey kicking his bedding around the small area they had set up, once again. 

-- 

“Look after your brother,” she whispered as she cupped Pepie’s face and gently stroked his cheeks, her fingers then gently running over Harvey’s back. 

“I will,” Pepie chuffed and then whimpered, “please be safe; don’t forget about us,”  

Her heart ached as it just reminded her that he and Harvey had essentially said goodbye to their mum and dad the morning of the outbreak, only to then be left alone as the owners clearly met a horrible fate. 

“We’ll come back, I promise,” she pet his head, “I’ve put your water and food in that corner and this is where you go to the toilet,” she pointed out the places as she prepared herself to shut them both in her bedroom, an extra layer of protection. 

“I’ll be a good boy!” Pepie let out an ‘Uff!’ and nosed at Harvey; making the rabbit flinch in surprise and he stomped his foot on the ground. 

“You two are always good boys,” she added before gently waving at them, switching a battery powered lamp on for them and then shutting the door with a loud sigh. 

Exhaustion and worry for the travelling they were going to do for the next couple of days, hung heavy on her shoulders and her stomach twisted up in knots at the thought of not being able to keep her promise to Pepie and Harvey. 

“You ready?” she looked up at Minho, who was leaning against the wall, strong arms crossing over his chest. 

“Uh,” she cleared her throat, “yeah, just anxious...as usual,” she rubbed the back of her neck before tutting as she felt her hairband rub against her skin, reminding her that she wanted to keep her hair far away from both her face and prying rotting hands. 

“There,” she waved her head from side to side to make sure it was tight enough, flushing a bit when she spotted Minho carefully watching her every move, “what?” 

“Your ears,” Minho smiled a bit, more to himself than her, “cute,” he added quietly and turned on his heel to help Felix move the furniture away from the front door. 

“Oh,” she squeaked, tugging on her ear out of shyness; shaking her head soon after and rushing to help them as well. 

-- 

She had quickly concluded that owning a baton that had been modified by Minho to have barbed wire on it, was a brilliant investment. 

Despite the baton still being covered in small fleshy pus, strands of hair and jellied substances that she’d rather not think about, she was able to take zombies down a little faster than usual and it made her feel just slightly more confident in her ability to defend not only herself, but Felix and Minho as well. 

Said men were currently searching the abandoned cars along the side of the road; peeking in through the window in case one of the undead happened to be in there. 

Her eyes caught dried blood that seemed to have been seeping from the boot of the car; she had an awful feeling that somebody had had to trap a zombie in there as she could hear quiet mumblings and light, weak scratches. 

“Felix,” she whispered, gently tugging at his long fingers, “be careful,” she then pointed at the car he and Minho were currently crouched next to, “zombie in the boot,” she added when he gave her a confused look. 

She watched Minho step lightly towards the back of the car and then knocked on the boot once, before promptly jumping backwards when a gargled growl came from inside. 

“You sure it’s a zombie, not just a trapped animal?” Minho asked slightly worried that they were mistaken. 

“It’s a zombie,” she tapped the side of her nose, “they smell dead, like everyone else,” she then bent forwards to check under the car that she was about to approach, just in case a zombie was under there. 

“Oh,” at the startled tone of Minho’s voice, she and Felix spun around in their places, “it’s a zombie,” he then cringed a bit when he pointed out the large intestine that was dangling out the side of the closed boot; it had been severed in half and Minho was now looking at the bottom half of the body of whoever was in the boot. 

“Lovely,” he muttered. 

-- 

It was as if her body shrivelled several times smaller when her eyes investigated the dark train tunnel before them.  

The sense of foreboding washing over all three of them as they shuffled closer subconsciously. 

“Are you sure this is the direction your friends might be?” she asked flicking the torchlight around to try and see if anything was lurking in the darkness. 

“It’s the direction that Changbin-hyung and Hyunjin-hyung are,” Felix replied and gently ran his thumb over her soft ears to try and settle her anxiety, “you can stay here with Pepie and Harvey if you’re really that nervous, I don’t want to pressure you into coming with us,” he was faintly aware of Minho watching him as he pressed his forehead to the hybrid. 

“No, no” she pouted a little, “I want to come with you; I’d lose my mind with worry that something had happened to either one of you,” she mumbled shyly and felt a soft flush reach her face when Felix smiled before placing a kiss on her forehead. 

“I’d be fine,” Minho shrugged his shoulders as he twirled his bat around with a relaxed grace that both she and Felix were jealous of, “dunno about him though,” he eyed Felix with a teasing grin as the wind picked up outside of the train station, the breeze dancing across them. 

Rolling his eyes with a puff of laughter, Felix motioned for them to follow him into the darkness. 

“Careful of the maintenance doorways,” Minho whispered and then jiggled his torchlight towards one said doorway, “don’t want to have to save you guys again,”  

“Awfully smug today,” Felix remarked with a playful sigh. 

“I have reason to be,” Minho turned to face his younger friend, carefully walking backwards just so he could shine the light at Felix’s eyes; making him yelp and shield his eyes. 

A shiver went up her back at the sound of him yelping as it echoed all around them and she stopped walking to focus her hearing. 

“I hate this,” she whispered as she searched herself; finally figuring out how to use her bra strap to hold the torch forwards; keeping her hands free. 

“Stay close and you will be okay,” Minho replied with a very deadpan tone, his eyes squinting as he turned to investigate the darkness behind them, clearly checking their six. 

“Quiet!” Felix hissed and held his hand up in the air to emphasize his words, his feline-like eyes wide as he scanned the area in front of him; reaching behind to carefully change the direction of the torchlight. 

“Oh,” she held her breath to stop herself from blushing as his fingers grazed across her skin. 

“What is it?” Minho whispered and crouched down with Felix as the younger man slowly moved forward. 

“You can’t hear that noise?” Felix frowned as he looked back at his friends, who were now sharing a confused expression, “even you?” he watched her shake her head. 

“There’s something in that room,” Felix turned his entire body towards the room in question and it was only the that she picked up on the shuffling, scratching noise that he was going on about. 

“It sounds like a zombie,” Minho stood up straight and spun his bat around with his long fingers, stretching a bit, “stay here,” he was already on his way up the small stairs, hand yanking the door open, and she cringed at the sound of a bat crushing down into something soft, crunchy and most disgustingly of all, wet. 

“You might want to see this,” Minho’s out of breath voice echoed slightly. 

“Are you okay?” she dashed up the stairs before Felic could even stand and she was immediately on guard, teeth baring in what was supposed to be a threatening growl, but Minho found it quite adorable. 

“I’m fine but I really don’t like the look of whatever the fuck that is,”  

She could sense his nerves as he used his bat to point at a large mass of something in on of the corners. 

“I might be sick,” Felix warned them as his face scrunched up at the sight of expanding flesh bubbles, that then popped audibly, moans and scratching sounds coming from somewhere inside of the mass. 

“That’s the noise,” he added, and the hybrid had to quickly steady him as he suddenly jumped backwards with a strange noise leaving him. 

“There’s a fucking face in there,”  

Pulling the torch from her bra strap, she focused the light on where he was pointing and quickly felt the air go cold around her as a dead face, but moving, was pushing against the thin sheet of skin; teeth snapping shut every now and then. 

“Oh my god,” she felt her tail fall and hit the back of her leg, “there’s more than one face,” she watched Minho move forwards. 

“Why are bubbles around?” he asked quietly, and this made Felix tilt his head in equal curiosity. 

“They smell,” the hybrid brought her shirt up to her nose, “they smell so rancid,” she tightened her hands to try and block the scent. 

“It’s a meat...sack,” Minho frowned at his choice of words and slightly poked the place where four faces were now crowding, possibly trying to get to him, “there’s liquid in there,” 

“Hyung, don’t get too close!” Felix warned with his hands immediately grabbing his friend and pulling him back as he caught the action of a hand pushing against the skin as well, “they are trying to get to us,” Felix concluded and shared a worried glance with them. 

“We should go,” she urged before jumping at the sound of ripping; the room suddenly having a floor covered with water close to that of sewage, teeth riding the water as the heads they had seen came rolling out. 

More skeleton than zombie. 

It was then that she couldn’t care less about being quiet in the tunnels. 

“We should fucking GO!”  

[crookedkryptonitebeliever]

So Yves doesn't like children, but what about Blanche? Would he be willing to have a child with Reader? If so, I bet he would be very loving and gentle. he would knit baby clothes with the reader and talk about the names he liked.

Anyway, I love your work! I reload your tumblr page every day to see Blanche's content, I want to bite him and eat him with love. I love Monty too! Since your post about what he would be like with kids, I've had baby fever.

Have a nice day! <3

Yes, that is true. Blanche would definitely be very loving and gentle. Perhaps a bit nervous and awkward at first, but he quickly becomes an excellent parent passing on wonderful morals. Yet it feels like something is wrong.

His arms are wide enough to fit the two of you, you would be holding your child while sitting on his lap, as Blanche sways the rocking chair back and forth. Occasionally pressing kisses on your forehead and the baby's.

The mortar and pestle would be out a lot more. As he doesn't have a food processor, Blanche would be making all the baby food by hand, grinding and pounding it down with strenuous love. The child will only eat the most nutritious produce from his garden. Blanche will take note of their likes and dislikes, so he knew which one to plant more of.

The sound of a baby crying may be grating, but never to Blanche. He would simply pick them up and coo until they stopped, or let them babble happily because Daddy is there to comfort them. Oddly, he never got irate due to lack of sleep or personal time. Unlike you, Blanche doesn't necessarily need that.

Unfortunately for you, Blanche would be guilt-tripping you a lot more to stay for longer. You wouldn't need to do most of the hard work anyway, but say goodbye to your social life, as you will have to be with him and the baby 24/7. You wouldn't have to do anything, though. Blanche would cook, clean, and give you backrubs all while caring for the child so much that it wouldn't cry, as it's always smiling and content.

More often than not, you would feel bad. Or get frustrated at the speed at which he's moving. So you would take over his chores and tell him to focus on the child. Blanche would refuse, choosing to hover near you while bouncing the baby up and down in his arms. He wanted to be with the love of his life and his giggling blessing as much as possible.

He would be wearing that baby sling until your child is old enough to move around on their own. Then, it would be retired to the "Chest of Love and Memories" in the shared bedroom.

All their clothes would be handmade, and Blanche would lovingly embroider their name onto them while humming the tune they seemed to like. The same goes for the toys, he would make sure it's safe and age-appropriate. His whittling knife would be out a lot more, but not around the baby.

He would name his children based on flowers such as Rose and Marigold, bringing out a book about botany from his Box of Jolly and Joy, telling you all the names he found beautiful and fitting towards the bundle of joy that is about to be.

Blanche will instill patience, love, and calmness in the child. He leads by example by never being aggressive, loud, or unpleasant, he punishes them firmly yet lovingly. You're just glad they grew up to be mild and mellow, unlike other teenagers who seem to rebel if their parents are too much of a pushover or too much of a stuffy jerk. Your child would strangely prioritize your needs and wants over anyone else's, not even their own. While it's sweet, it is a bit concerning. It's as if Blanche has trained them to devote their lives to serving you, and you only.

Your husband is always present, maybe even too present. You couldn't remember the last time you didn't see or hear Blanche and your child around. Although it's warm and fuzzy to constantly have them around, spending time with you, sharing laughs, cuddling, and bonding tightly, it's undeniable that they're driving you crazy. The three of you are always together if you're not working, Blanche makes sure of it.

If you are holding down a job, your husband and your kid will try everything under the sun to get you to be with them 24/7. They will cling onto you and you will not shake them off no matter what.

Blanche isn't very keen on letting the child go to school, preferring to teach them everything himself with the help of books, exploration, and real-life applications. Your husband would beg to keep them homeschooled, Blanche is an excellent teacher and he can prove it; especially when you realize that your child's vast knowledge in language, arts, mathematics, and science rivaled that of a 50-year-old when they're only 8. When you put them into the public schooling system against Blanche's wishes, your husband would burst into tears, fearing that his child would go through the same levels of bullying he did.

While your child excelled in every class, and every subject and became the favorite of all the teachers, they were alienated by their peers, just like how their father was. At least they're not beating him up like how they did to Blanche in his youth. But still, Blanche would continuously pressure you to pull them out of the education system, trying to convince you that it isn't required for your child to be in this environment. The three of you could live together in the woods, isolated and in bliss.

Your child agreed too. They could not determine what would make their classmates want to be friends. They tried and tried until they were tired, your child wanted nothing but to go back home to their family.

They're so mature, so much more beyond their years that it's unbelievable. It's almost like the fact that parenthood can be hard, painful, and ugly is a myth. They have never acted out, never been disrespectful, always heed your words, and never had to go to you for help on normal teenage things. It's like another mini Blanche was instantly birthed, it's so very eerie.

And you knew that it has everything to do with your husband's way of bringing them up. He's with them every waking and slumbering second of the day, they're inseparable and always working as a unit to care for you.

[planetpiastri]

ooo can you do 10 with hangman please??

anon this request grabbed me by the hair and threw me down the stairs and when i got up this blurb existed. i am merely a vessel here. i hope u enjoy!

10. sitting next to each other at their mutual friend’s wedding

word count: 2k

“You’re late,” hummed Mickey under his breath as you brushed past him, heading out towards the lawn.

“But they haven’t started playing music, so I’m not that late,” you shot back, pausing to catch your breath and scan the crowd sitting on the folded chairs spread across the greenery. “Which is Rooster’s side?”

“Left,” he said with a jerk of his chin, “but it’s not like you really have any other options. You’re on the end there.”

“Thanks,” you said, giving him a quick squeeze on the arm. “You’re the best usher ever. It’s good to see you.”

“Hurry up!” he chuckled, but you’d already started moving again. You tried not to focus on the fact that the one open seat was on the aisle towards the front, which meant everyone seated got to stare at you as you walked down the aisle. Instead you made eye contact with Rooster, standing under the white archway in his tux, and waved excitedly.

He very obviously stifled a laugh and shook his head in mock disapproval, mouthing, You’re late. 

Sorry, you mouthed back, quickly taking your seat and nearly colliding with your seat neighbor. Jeez, these seats were tiny.

“Well, hello,” said your seat neighbor, immediately stopping whatever conversation he was having and turning to give you a very obvious once-over.

Fighting the urge to roll your eyes, you turned and did the same to him—and immediately wished you hadn’t. Oh, shit. This guy was cute. He was broad-shouldered, with a strong jaw and bright green eyes. His blond hair was neatly smoothed back for the occasion, and he was dressed in a nice dress shirt suit jacket that seemed to be straining at the seams. There was a half-cocked smirk resting on his lips as he looked you over, and you felt your own jaw clench as your eyes met his.

“Hi,” you said.

“You know, you’re late,” he told you as if you were old friends.

“No kidding. I thought the ceremony started at—” you checked your phone, “three-twenty-four. That’s a normal time for weddings to start, right?”

He chuckled, but it sounded more like a scoff. He jerked his chin up towards the archway where Rooster was standing, fiddling with his hands nervously. “Which are you here for? Bride or groom?”

“I’m sitting on the groom’s side, aren’t I?” you shot back.

He fixed you with a look that made you freeze in place. “I wasn’t aware you had many options.”

Your cheeks started to warm, but you fought it back and cleared your throat, blinking and tearing your eyes away. What was that accent? It was faint, just barely there—Texan, maybe? “Me and Rooster are old friends. High school.”

“No kidding,” said your seat neighbor, throwing his elbow up against the tiny back of his folding chair. “He’s never mentioned you.”

“You don’t know me,” you reminded him.

“Jake,” he said quickly, holding out his hand. “I’m an old piloting buddy of Bradshaw’s.”

After a moment, you shook his hand and introduced yourself. 

“There,” said Jake. “Now I know you. And now I know for sure that he never mentioned you.”

“Well, he never mentioned you, either,” you said.

Jake laughed, and you were oddly pleased to be the inspiration of such a noise. “You know just how to cut a man deep, don’t you?”

“It’s a talent,” you admitted with a sly smile.

A dimple on Jake’s cheek twinkled as he gave you an appraising sort of look that went on for several seconds longer than might have been appropriate. Then he stretched out, saying, “So, old high school buddies, huh? What’s the deal there? Childhood sweethearts? Best friends who always wanted more?”

“No,” you said sternly, shooting him a glare.

“What?” he shrugged, laughing. “I’m just saying. Someone pretty as you—there’s no way Bradshaw’s never thought about it.”

As you scoffed and adjusted your outfit, feeling quite flustered, the bride’s entrance music began to play. Everyone shifted in their seats except for Jake, who kept looking right at you, pinning you with that green gaze. You finally said, “You’re extremely presumptuous, Jake. No wonder Rooster never mentioned you; you’re exactly the type of piloting buddy he would have told me to stay away from.”

“Bingo,” said Jake. “Best friends who always wanted more. I knew it.”

“That’s not—!”

“Ssh,” he interrupted, pressing a finger to his lips. Behind it, his mouth curled into a teasing smirk. “It’s rude to talk while the bride is making her entrance.”

Part of you wanted to wring his neck; another part of you was sure he could hear the way your heart was pounding in your chest, an excited, flirtatious flush coursing through your body as he watched you. But you maintained your composure and turned primly in your seat, turning to watch as Rooster’s wife-to-be slowly and elegantly made her way down the aisle.

The ceremony was lovely and beautiful, just as you knew it would be. Rooster had asked Maverick to officiate, something you knew meant a great deal to Rooster and probably more to the old captain. When it came to the reciting of the vows, you were fairly certain there wasn’t a dry eye in the house; even aloof, stoic Jake next to you dropped his cocky smirk, and you caught him subtly dabbing at his eyes once or twice when he thought no one noticed.

Once the reception began, you didn’t hang around to let Jake get under your skin anymore. It was wild to you just how quickly he’d figured out what buttons to push that made you squirm, and you didn’t want to give him any more opportunities to learn anything else about what made you tick. Instead, you rushed to find Rooster as soon as you could, throwing your arms around him and giving him a congratulatory kiss on the cheek before doing the same to his bride.

The hours plodded on, and soon everyone was at least three drinks in—or, as Mickey liked to say, the wedding had actually started. You split your time between dancing with him and dancing with Natasha, and you used slow dances as an opportunity to return to the bar and rest your feet for a bit.

You were nursing a tequila sunrise at the bar when you remembered the man from the ceremony. Come to think of it, you’d seen him on the floor a couple times, dancing with a bridesmaid or a couple of his bro-ey friends, but he hadn’t said a word to you. And why would he? Why were you still thinking about him? He was obviously just a flirt; he’d probably gotten under the skin of half the bridal party tonight.

“Stupid,” you muttered to yourself, stabbing your straw through the cherry in your drink.

“Whoa,” said a voice at your shoulder. “What’d that cherry do to you?”

“Jake!” you gasped, whirling around to see him leaning casually against the bar right next to you. His hair was tousled and his tie was loosened, the top three buttons of his dress shirt undone and exposing a sizable stretch of muscled, tan chest. His eyes were shining, and his cheeks were rosy. In short, he looked about as tipsy as you felt.

“Why haven’t I seen you all night?” he asked, shifting a little closer. 

“Trust me,” you said, “I’ve been around. You’ve just been busy, is all.”

His eyes lit up and he beamed. “Have you been keeping track of me?”

Fuck. “No.” You wiggled on your stool, moving out of his personal space to try and clear your head. You waved your hand in his direction. “You’re just very…noticeable.” Fuck, fuck, fuck, that’s not better! 

“You know, I’ve been told that before,” said Jake smoothly, accepting his whiskey from the bartender with a cool nod and taking a long drink, watching you over the rim of the glass. He motioned towards the cocktail in your hand. “Has this been your night, then? Drowning your sorrows at the bar because your best friend just married someone else?”

“Oh, my god, no!” You laughed, shaking your head. “Would you quit it with this ‘I’m-in-love-with-Bradley’ line?”

Jake held up his hands in a ‘don’t shoot the messenger’ position. “You said the thing about him not wanting to introduce us, not me.”

“That is not what I said.”

Before you could argue more, Jake leaned in close—so close your breath caught in your throat and you felt yourself paralyzed by those green eyes again. He smelled like whiskey, but it worked for him. He said, “D’you wanna dance with me?”

"Are you hitting on me?” you asked.

"I was hoping you’d pick up on that,” he said.

You coughed, taking a long sip from your cocktail before shrugging. “Okay.”

He downed the last of his whiskey in one gulp, which was an impressive feat since he probably still had two fingers left in the glass. Then he grabbed your drink out of your hand and placed it on the bar before leading you by the arm to the dance floor, where they were playing some classic love song—Here Comes My Girl by Tom Petty, you thought. One of his hands splayed firmly across your waist, and a swarm of butterflies burst into life in your stomach, but you tried to play it cool.

“When’s the last time you danced?” he asked, the judgment in his tone clear.

“I’ve had a lot to drink tonight,” you muttered, staring at your feet in concentration. “Gimme a minute.”

But a strong pair of fingers caught your chin, lifting your head till you had no choice but to look Jake square in the eyes. You were positive he could hear your heart pounding, sure he caught the way your breath hitched at the touch. But he just smiled, using the hand on your waist to help sway you to the music and said, “Don’t think. Just do.”

“You are unbelievable,” you heard yourself say.

“I get that a lot,” he replied.

You rolled your eyes and allowed him to lead you in a close, swaying dance, trying not to focus on the lyrics too much. Or on the fact that his cologne smelled really good, especially mixed with the whiskey. Or on his fingers at the base of your spine, or the way his other hand had twined your fingers together nonchalantly, like it was the most casual thing in the world.

You started talking before you could think twice about what it was you were saying. “Before, when I said you’re the type of guy Rooster would have warned me to stay away from, I didn’t mean it’s ‘cause he was protective of me, or there was history there, or anything like that.”

“Oh really?” His voice rumbled in his chest, reverberating through you. God, he made it hard to focus.

“Uh-huh,” you said.

“Well, then what would the reason have been?” He squeezed your hand, his lips so close to your ear that you could feel his breath on the side of your face.

You swallowed. “Because he knew you were exactly the type of guy I would have gone for.”

You felt more than saw Jake’s smile. “Is that so?”

“And you’d break my heart,” you went on, “and Rooster’d have to pick up the pieces.”

Jake didn’t have a snarky report ready for that. He kept swaying you, but it felt a little less self-assured now, a little more cautious, and strangely, more intimate. You let your eyes fall shut, trusting him not to let you fall, and enjoyed the feeling of being wrapped in his arms, dancing to a classic Tom Petty tune at your mutual friend’s wedding.

“So what now?” Jake asked finally, drawing you back into the moment.

You blinked your eyes open and pulled just far enough away so you could look him in his eyes. “I don’t know,” you said softly, allowing yourself a tiny smirk. “Are you gonna break my heart, Jake?”

“I don’t know,” he admitted softly, and you were surprised to see the confident facade had fallen away. It must have been the booze, you thought. It had to be the booze.

His eyes darted down to your lips before moving back up.

You really did smile then, wrapping both of your arms around his neck so that he could hold you fully by the waist. “Guess there’s just one way to find out,” you teased lightly. 

His stare was hot and intense, sending shivers up and down your spine. “Do you want to get out of here?” asked Jake.

You threw your head back and laughed before settling in his arms, resting your head on his chest. His arms tightened around you, and you said, “Let’s finish the song first.”

And you did.