#(his thoughts are otherwise occupied alas)

[sunboki]

⎯ THE DEVIL'S PLAYTHING a Christopher Bahng fiction

💣 : Christopher Bahng x fem. reader

TROPE. bodyguard au, demon au, friends to lovers, eventual smut, minors DNI

WORD COUNT. 6.6k words

WARNINGS. chan & han are demons(NO POLY), mentions of lucifer/the devil, eventual smut, descriptive violence, smoking, fighting, cursing, blood, wounds, drinking, reader gets drunk/passes out

PLAYLIST

AUG'S NOTES. this started as a random blurb while in the bathroom(tmi i know) but i just HAD to make a longer adaptation!! as usual, if you enjoy the fic please feel free to leave feedback & a reblog!ised ya’ll bodyguard chan would be back.. your wish is my command~

SYNOPSIS. A petty robbery leads to deep debt for Chan, a white-eyed demon occupying Hell. So eventually, he finds himself faced with no choice but to go job hunting. The best offer available? A bodyguard gig in the human realm. Oh, and the worst part? Jisung’s here too.

or alternatively :

When Chan had to leave Hell to "babysit" (a.k.a. protect) you in the human realm, he wasn’t expecting for things to turn out the way they did — in more ways than one.

SMUT WARNING. usage of the nickname “bunny” and “good girl”, somewhat hinted size kink, praise, dumbification, barely dubcon (reader gives consent ; nonverbal), creampie, chan cums inside (use protection ya’ll), monsterfucking! basically lmao

There’s an infinite list of reasons why humans shouldn’t associate with demons. But was it really all that important? Maybe the humans wanted it.

Or, maybe the demons did too.

Maybe, the demons didn’t have a choice.

What a funny thought.

Although, for Christopher Bahng, a demon himself, it was reality.

So the real question stood. Is it the humans that shouldn’t associate with demons, or the other way around?

The thought occurred to Chan at some point, but his head, ringing with the sound of silver coins clattering on glass surfaces, drowned out every ounce of sensibility. Blood, flesh, he was a demon. And right now, he had hell to pay as Lucifer’s underling. No pun intended.

Demons were an ideal choice for bodyguards, too obsessed with their own greed to pay any mind to the consequences, dogs to somebody else’s beckon, minds trained like hunting dogs.

Taking care of the dirty work, for a price.

A price that Chan needed, desperately. Because one thing demons, including himself, love doing is tormenting.

That is until he’s the victim of the tormenting, and all of a sudden the experience doesn’t feel too welcoming.

Raiding his home was an understatement considering they had utterly demolished every inch, not leaving a single fragment remaining in one piece. Granted, he didn’t cry about it. Instead, he lived up to his name, his title.

..Let’s just say he doubted the red stains would ever leave that shirt of his, metallic scent strong enough to make your nose burn.

Unfortunately, Lucifer wasn’t the greatest at forgiving, and he determined rather quickly this was only the start of his problems regardless of how sweetly the demon lord threatened explained he would dissolve Chan into ash if he ever got tired of him.

Alas, two weeks later, he gets a call.

Combing a frustrated hand through raven-colored locks, he holds the phone up to his ear, repeatedly snapping his fingers. The girl kneeled between his legs raises up begrudgingly, wiping her mouth and disappearing into his bathroom.

Well there goes a good blowjob.

Yet, finally, a job was proposed.

Multiple, according to the drone of a fumbling assistant. Jobs comprised of one he’d primarily work and occasional hitman gigs on the side.

Catch? The job was located in the human realm. Not impossible, but not as easy as sleuthing in Hell, where common folk were demons and not big-eyed, nosy, mind-your-damn-business-mortals.

The job in question? Babysitting. Specifically for Lucifer's right-hand man, otherwise known as the Devil’s Plaything. And, despite not being a demon, served Lucifer as if he was one. How cute.

Or as the trauma-induced auditor phrased it, “guarding” some girl.

“Guarding” was something he was mildly familiar with, but never a human. Never in the human realm. So when the suggestion was offered, Chan’s first instinct was to reject—remind Hell’s moderator that he wasn’t just a regular, but a demon of impressive status. A white-eyed demon, who, in fact, ranged most powerful of its kind.

His first instinct was also to punch the man working at the register of this putrid smelling burger joint right in the face, maybe frame his head as a part of a collection while he’s at it. Demons are creative like that.

Because being in this situation, nonetheless currently walking around in the human realm he swore to never step foot in has his stomach jarring.

“Chan, look at this! It’s called K-E-T-C-H-U-P, what a funny name!”

Oh. Yeah. The walking headache, Han Jisung. Forgot he’s here too.

Digging through his pockets for spare change, all he could find was a few meager pennie’s as the obnoxious noise of his demon-companion scarfing down a double cheeseburger had Chan’ jaw progressively tightening.

“Um, sir, that’s not enough to pay for-“ Without hesitation, Chan lifted his upper lip with his index, revealing the sharply pointed canines underneath and effectively silencing the apron-clad employee, frantically printing his receipt without another word.

Yes, apparently there are perks of being a hell-spawn.

Although, the burger still tasted like shit. What a shame.

Heading to the location wasn’t all too difficult, being that it was rather easy locating such an enormous property surrounded by tall, black hinged gates. The passcode… was another story.

Lucifer was likely laughing his ass off watching them try figuring this out.

“Okay, It’s probably like 666 or something- JESUS— you guys scare me sometimes.” Clutching a hand to his erratic heart with panic, a pacing Jisung nearly toppled over as his soon-to-be Boss suddenly appeared out of nowhere, gates slowly opening behind him.

He may not be a Demon, but by how nonchalantly he appeared from thin air, he seemed to gain some attributes over the years.

It didn’t take long for either of them to figure out why the title “Devil’s Plaything” was attached, because the more he toured them around this palace of a house, the more he told of his reasons for hiring them in the first place. Well, more like why Lucifer sent them here.

Easily speaking, his and Jisung’s role would be to protect you at all costs, considering your father’s current predicament (a.k.a coming under investigation for the bodies discovered in Hanuel Park). Not to mention the countless assassins sent on a daily basis, scouring the property for entryways.

Although he’s not surprised by their hesitance. This man, Yoon L/N, was the closest resemblance to the Devil on Earth.

He was terrifying, and coming from a demon, that said a lot.

Chan has to watch his tongue, because he’s not guarding another one of hell’s representatives, a creature of unprecedented rudeness and hatred, he’s guarding a human.

Someone who falls in love and cries, someone who can’t get away with murder when they’re annoyed and go uncharged.

Humans are pitiful. They’re emotional and too trusting and—

You step down the stairs.

They’re pretty and soft and really, really fucking pretty.

The sound of your father clearing his throat rips him from his trance, your trance.

He can practically sense Jisung choking on his laughter.

“Y/n, these are your bodyguards. Bahng, Han, this is Y/n,” He gestures, and Chan notes the gleaming watch on his wrist.

Best guess that thing’s averaging $70,000. Not to mention that this entire house, though naked to the human eye, is laced in traps.

Whether it’s the more hollow wooden plank on the floor that triggers some alarm or the multitude of switches under your kitchen’s island, the security system is certainly intact, and for good reason.

However, you couldn't have made Yoon L/n’s actions look more hypocritical, appearing so opposingly sweet.

“Nice to meet you,” You hold out a hand.

He doesn’t miss the half-smile you give him.

Shit. Don’t look at him like that.

Introducing themselves, you momentarily slip past, and in your stead, your father beckons either of them to the side.

“I’ll only say this once,” Yoon smiles, but it’s a leery smile, one that causes his gums to gradually show, like it’d belong to a murderer, a serial killer of some kind.

Fitting.

“Get her into danger, hurt her, or disobey my orders under any circumstances and I kill you, understood?”

And even though at the snap of a finger Chan could have this man drop dead, he believed him, both simultaneously nodding their heads without complaint.

Meeting eyes with Jisung, a common denominator sits heavy between them, most likely the first thing they’ve whole-heartedly agreed on this entire time.

This is gonna be one hell of a job.

.. .

District 9’s nightclubs are always a bust. If you’re looking for a drink without it being laced you might as well give up, and the only thing that keeps a person from getting swept away in the expansive sea of high heels, go-go boots, and awkward teenagers that miraculously managed to get past the bouncer is a lone, blinking red sign that reads “OUT”.

The first time you ever came here you never thought you’d be so relieved to open a squealing door.

Leaning against the side of the brick building sits the girl responsible for an entourage of drunk-calls and random texts of her location when she sneaks out.

Her moth-eaten sneakers are pulled up to her chest, bleached hair messily arranged into a spiky up-do while she aimlessly scrolls on her phone. Although you know she’s noticed you by now.

“I feel like..” She sighs, black mascara smudged beneath her waterline. “I should’ve taken that Vodka shot.”

You wrinkle your nose, dropping down on her left.

It’s fairly easy conversing with Ha-joon, a girl who didn’t require a reaction or a response, who didn’t talk much but had a whole pocketful of opinions. And you listened.

She swivels her head ever so slightly toward you.

“Do you think drinking a laced shot will make my life more interesting?” Her remark scarily nonchalant, you chuckle, snatching the joint from between her thumb and index and tossing it against the neighboring business’ wall in front of you.

Unfazed, she rises to her feet, pulling a Marlboro pack from her back pocket, palm cupping the lighter’s flickering flame.

“If you count fentanyl as a good time, then sure,” Lifting your chin to cock a sarcastic brow, she rolls her eyes before abruptly snapping her fingers, remembering. The sound ricochets off trash bags stashed at the furthest end of this deserted alleyway.

“You said your Mafia-daddy hired new bodyguards?”

Ah, you forgot you mentioned that.

Don’t mind the “Mafia-daddy” part.

Nodding, there’s a beat of stillness before she lightly nudges your calf with her shoe, Ha-joon’s sign for you to list some sort of detailed description for her to piece together.

This happens every time you meet somebody new. Her little guessing game before the first impression, apparently.

And so you do, spilling information to the best of your capabilities from the fifteen seconds you met them. Their hair, height, eyes (you recall Han’s especially, huge and hypnotizing like black-holes), clothing, and all the details your jumbled brain can pour out to your overly eager, easily bored best friend.

“So this Chan guy..”

One clever glance and you’re already predicting her next words.

“Does he have a big nose?” Smirk growing the darker your cheeks redden, you pathetically groan, burying your face in your hands.

Of course she’s cornered you, because you can’t deny your yes of an answer without evidently lying and digging further into your self-made rabbit hole.

Leave it to Ha-joon to secretly slip the raunchiest sentence you'll hear all night.

Smugness gradually dissipating, the barely-blonde shuffles back down, phone screen displaying countless messages you don't ask about.

Like earlier, Ha-joon doesn’t talk much, but she has a lot to say. Additionally, if she doesn’t bring it up herself, don’t mention it.

Years by her side taught you that.

“They’re only gonna get you in trouble, I have a feeling,” She murmurs prior to taking a long drag of her cigarette, lipstick shade perfectly contrasting with the soaring puff of smoke sifting from her mouth and nose upon exhaling.

She’s always been on the rougher side. Spontaneously rough, the type that would impulsively send you a text she’s going backpacking tomorrow despite an exam scheduled, the type that would continuously run away on a whim.

In essence, everyone on campus has some sort of crush on her (apart from yourself, obviously), whether it comes down to her rumbling persona or how much of a hard-core lesbian she is, you’re not sure.

You click your tongue, glaring at her flippantly.

“And that’s not doing you any better.” Musing in regards to her bad habits, she laughs lowly, low-rise jeans bagging down by her ankles while bending closer.

Your hands brace in anticipation, coughing when she blows a heavy smoke plume right in your face.

You choke a giggle, shoving her senselessly giggling frame.

“The only thing I’m letting do me is that waitress in there,” Painted nails pointing to the entrance while making utterly obscene gestures, you dramatically gag.

Well, until she spins on her heel, fetching a plastic bag holding two bottles of Cass beer from behind a metal trash can.

You tilt your head, the girl wordlessly cracking one open with her teeth and the other using the junction of her shoulder.

‘A Ha-joon thing’, you think as she hands you a glass, chilled exterior sending an unwelcoming wave of shivers throughout your body.

Your initial response is to decline, but her index to your lips shushes your reasons.

“I know you don’t drink often, but just a few sips just this once, please?” Batting invisible puppy-dog eyes, you sigh, gulping down a haphazard swig.

Last time you had genuinely gotten drunk was back in junior year of high school, all the kids swarmed in a rando’s basement, acting appropriately irresponsible for your age.

You recall your fat crush on Hwang Hyunjin (before realizing he was actually in a relationship) being the main component in getting so drunk that you blacked out, though you’re sure the highly unflattering pictures Ha-joon took would jog your memory.

Yet just a few sips was an understatement, something you should’ve known. Because conversation turns into more conversation, funny conversation, deep conversation while your wrist unconsciously lifts to your mouth till your friend transforms into nothing but a blurry figure illuminated by the moon.

And you wonder, as you feel yourself tilt further and further toward the cement below, if Ha-joon will snap unflattering pictures of this moment too, of stupid decisions leading to stupid consequences.

Most likely.

.. .

"Mmm." You mumble, face stuffed into his sleeve as Chan carries you from the alleyway, ushering a loopy Ha-joon into a taxi with a short bow.

Clad in his work attire primarily made up of black elements, he carefully places you in the back seat of the SUV and pulls off his dark coat to wrap around your body, ensuring you're fully swaddled to secure as much warmth as possible from the biting cold.

"We're going home, so hang on just a bit longer for me." The man assures, patting your head lightly before sliding into the driver's seat and pressing his foot to the gas.

Han, who was sitting in the back beside you while Chan drove, took experimental peeks at the pink-hue decorating your cheeks (evidence that you'd be drunk) to your puffy lips pursed in a pout.

He internally squeals, fiddling with his phone in his pocket, unveiled demon tail practically wagging with glee.

"Hyung, can I? Pleasee Hyung- just one photo she looks so cute–“

“No." The older of them responds sternly, one hand clutching the steering wheel.

As much as he normally wouldn’t care, this was his- their first actual order in fulfilling their duties, and Chan wasn’t willing to pay the price of fucking up Yoon’s guidelines.

His companion huffs, deflating by your side as he directs a childish frown at Chan in the mirror, only met with an equally stern gaze reading "no nonsense".

Chan had always been one to take his job seriously, not that Han didn't, he just liked having a little bit of fun jumping from side to side across those permanent marker drawn lines.

In actuality, if it weren't for his friend, Han would've never gotten the job in the first place.

Stark glowing of your houses’ lights lining the driveway ripped away his thought process, quickly intervening when your door opened.

"I can carry her," He claims, arms crossed while the older bodyguard simply cocks a brow, an action that shouldn't have Jisung shying away like he was.

There's an immense staring contest until Chan releases a hefty sigh, gesturing for Jisung to go ahead.

"If you drop her, I kill you, then myself."

This earns a giggle while Han unbuckles your seatbelt, softly cooing with you lying in his arms.

You're cute, very cute in fact.

Very off limits, in fact, he reminds himself, grip tightening the creepier he pictures your father—and it’s the adorable scrunch of your nose in discomfort that reminds him of his strength, immediately relaxing his hold.

Like Chan said, any wrong moves and they're both off the radar in seconds. Business.

The entirety of it all was a bit hilarious considering how things were when you'd first been introduced to the two, not appearing to be the type to get drunk like this, to get drunk at all in a secluded area next to some nightclub.

Chan wasn’t wrong when he said it’s always a surprise with clients.

Well, he was referring to his hitman job then, but it's still applicable in this situation, right?

…Right?

Forget it.

Slowly, oh so slowly your eyes peel open, instantly noticing the familiar smell and interior that definitely wasn't where you'd been five minutes ago with Ha-joon.

Ah. There he is.

Chan.

Peering over where you're tucked in bed, dressed in pajamas.

Hold on, pajamas?

Scrambling up and simultaneously wincing from the throbbing headache settling a dull ring in your ears, you send him an incredulous stare, face incessantly warming the longer you think about it.

Hangovers provide another of the many reasons why you don’t drink anymore, because this hellish predicament led to a single hellish explanation you certainly didn’t want to face.

"You... My clothes.." Stumbling over how to phrase it, you suppress a scowl watching the ghost of a grin make its way on his lips. Maybe you're imagining it.

One of his veiny hands reaches up to cover his eyes, leaving you to instead infatuate upon plush lips moving when he speaks.

"My job description, along with the papers you read and signed before I was hired gave me consent, but whatever I see is strictly confidential between you and I."

Gathering your sanity, you scoff, humiliation and embarrassment flooding your system at an alarming rate.

Flopping back onto the bed, you slam a pillow over your face, muttering a "strictly confidential my ass" that he had to have heard from the low laugh uttered in reply.

He stalks over, fingertip tapping the water you hadn’t noticed sitting atop your nightstand.

Cautiously stealing a glimpse out from your pillow to see where he distanced himself across the room, you finish the cup in a swift motion, wiping your mouth with the back of your sleeve.

“You huma- You aren’t good with your alcohol, are you?” He starts, quite entertained witnessing your annoyed gaze, one which very noticeably doesn’t stay focused on his eyes.

Sucking your teeth, you slouch, mirroring his crossed arms.

You’re fine with playing feisty, and by the awfully attractive way he’s cocking his head, he’s also willing to join this biting game.

“And what makes you think that?”

“Because I’m never passed out and in need of someone to call for me when I go drinking.”

At this you practically hiss, grasping any futile chance to retaliate to no avail.

Opposed to his teasing nature, he drags a stool to your bedside, insisting you drink more.

Even more opposing, a gentle hand presses to your forehead, checking that you haven't contracted a fever.

To say your heartbeat pounded didn’t credit the surprise to its full extent, and thank whatever God above the experience only lasted a few more seconds, giving you plenty of time to freshen your haywire sensibility and brush your teeth before any more soul-sucking Chan run-ins continued.

You should’ve known better than to think he’d truly leave you be though, said soul-sucking bodyguard currently propped against the bathroom’s door frame.

“How did you get into this anyway? Y’know, bodyguard stuff..” You begin to ask, voice muffled from the toothbrush deterring any fully audible sentence.

He cocks an eyebrow.

“I have my ways.”

“Your ways?”

Within split seconds he’s right next to you, making rather intentional eye contact through the mirror.

You inhale sharply.

“Look, sweetness, my job as your bodyguard is to keep you safe,” He pokes his tongue into his cheek. “And if I tell you, I can’t guarantee that.”

There are three things you realized in that moment.

One, Chan is so, so close.

Two, he has an unfairly gorgeous face.

And three, your mouth is smeared with toothpaste.

Great.

You’d like to admit the first night of meeting these new bodyguards, more specifically Chan, went as normal and as non-Ha-joon-influenced as possible, but this effect on you causing your bloodstream to erupt in a hormonal frenzy of attraction told you the story had just begun.

.. .

"Jisung. Hold. Still! Keep moving and this wand is going in your eyeball."

Three weeks in and one thing after another has lead you closer and closer with either of them, whether it's convincing Jisung to go on ice cream runs (where Chan always ends up tagging along) or attempting to remain focused while they help you study (more like trying not to laugh at Jisung and averting your eyes off of Chan’s biceps in that muscle-shirt of his), the three of you are practically conjoined at the hip, and not on bodyguard standards.

"Okay okay! I was itchy. Can you move the piece of hair by my eyebrow?" He whines, grasping an apologetic squeeze on your waist while you focus in his lap.

You’re currently brushing mascara through his unfairly long lashes, but if anyone saw this without knowing the situation, chaos would likely unfold.

Although for you and Jisung, it's your average Friday night spent watching the weekly scary movie he’d decided on, Insidious. One he’d been commenting on for the past thirty minutes or so about how the “representation of demon’s was wrong” while you absentmindedly agreed, looping your index around the strand before abruptly stopping.

Residing slightly above his temple lay a scar, a decently sized scar at that.

Strangely enough, it's circular, like some type of horn or something had been there at some point. Maybe a biking incident?

"Ji?”

The boy's eyes drift up to you.

"What's this scar?"

Below you, he freezes, frantically thinking up the best excuse.

Lots of options, not a lot of time to decide.

"Ah.. that? When I was younger, I developed a weird kind of bump there, 'had it removed." And thankfully, you grunt a response, resorting back to applying his makeup.

Truth be told, those scars (another you hadn't seen yet) were his old horns, forced to be removed in order to initially land this job.

It still sends shivers down his spine thinking about when they had first been cut off, the recovery process resembling something out of nightmares.

Trust, the headaches were awful.

Chan, on the other hand, could keep his, considering he had the ability to conceal them on command. For Jisung, an inferior red-eyed demon with a few years beneath him and in such desperate need for income, chose the painful way through. As for his tail, that was luckily simple to hide (much to his pleasure).

Nevertheless, you could confidently say that your test-subject could easily land a modeling career after your makeover, and by the way he kept staring at the mirror, he seemed equally as enamored as you.

Well, that’s before a jumpscare leaps upon the screen and either of you shoot up, your clumsy companion whacking himself in the face with the mirror.

Staving your giggles, you try soothing the boy; you really do, but the uncannily gory scene that decorates the screen has you cringing back, and when you look at Jisung, expecting to find him cowering, your blood runs cold.

His lips are parted, but the only thing your horrified eyes are drawn to are the hooked canines peeking there. Not to mention his eyes.

Ghastly crimson, glowing.

Except when you breathe in an unsteady gasp, his head snaps to you, sudden facade appearing unaltered, like you hadn't seen something borderline terrifying.

Softly pulling your face close to him despite the screaming instinct to flee, he observes your bewildered expression, brows taut with concern.

“Y/n?”

Sweet tone contradicting, you immediately double backward toward your bedroom door, awkwardly honing the “I’m going to bed” excuse in hopes that suffices for the night.

Frenziedly closing the door, you determine rather quickly you don’t plan to go to sleep. Not that you think you could, but because this discovery isn’t normal.

None of this is normal.

How they found your location back at the alley despite Ha-joon never contacting anyone, how you “coincidentally” walked in on Chan “washing” his hands despite the water running red. Oh and you can’t forget about the rag left behind, putrid stench characteristic to a specific substance.

Blood.

You weren’t stupid. No father disappears the majority of the year on so-called “business trips” only to come back with new cuts and scratches he makes a sorry effort denying, and no daughter of his has literal bodyguards (yet you’re not sure they’re even official bodyguards thanks to your suspicions) glued to her side 24/7.

He does something dangerous, you know without doubt. But according to this hunch of yours, your father may not be the only one tied up in illegal madness.

.. .

Slipping into the car unknown to them was far easier than you anticipated.

You didn't plan on sneaking in in the first place, sure, but upon overhearing their hushed conversation regarding some type of “target”, you assumed whatever topic they were discussing may answer a select few of your billions of burning questions.

So, crouched in the floorboard of the backseat, you try muting your breathing, noting the clutter of metal sounding from your left, whatever responsible assumed to be shoved in the trunk.

Weapons. No mistaking it.

Your discovery is short-lived however, and you flatten yourself the best you can as Han twists around in his seat to grab something, already thirty minutes into your nearly secret mission.

Shit.

His shocked scream tells you enough.

Chan is fuming.

"Jisung, you told me she was asleep. So care to explain why the fuck she's in the back of the car?"

Han frantically flails. "For the record I told you she was lying down–”

"I. Don't. Care! She's not supposed to be here and all that matters right now is that she's at home and in bed, understood?"

As Jisung's lips pull into a tight line and Chan cranks the gear shift into drive, you glance around, a sudden–though risky–idea coming to mind.

"Hey, I could always tag along?"

"No!" They both shout in unison, heads jerking back to face you as if you suggested driving off a cliff.

That sounded much better in your head anyway.

Well there goes that.

Or so you thought.

Because unfortunately for them, wherever needed them needed them urgently, and through many clearly vocalized “she is staying in the car”’s, you weren’t driven home after all.

Fluorescent green lights cast an eerie glow across the perimeter, the location gnawing at your gut. An equestrian center by exterior, though there’s something else.

Wrong. You can’t explain it, but this place is wrong.

Discreetly unloading the guns, you skin crawls observing Chan messily stuff bullets into the magazine of a M240, the mere size of the thing setting your nerves ablaze. And as rightful asking questions seems, you can’t.

That feeling from earlier glues your mouth shut, like if you spoke too loudly, someone, something, would find you.

Thick foliage lay highlighted by your headlights, paving depth into sequential darkness.

You squint, zoning in on a small expanse of branches ajar. An ideal hiding spot.

Wait.

Bright flashes of iron spur your legs into motion, the switchblade cleaning slicing your wrist while mid-duck.

It forks into the car’s interior where the trunk had been opened, your cry of pain muffled by Jisung who basically throws himself inside a stall with you, the stomping of horse’s hooves muting your ragged breathing.

Firing belonging to none other than the machine gun Chan had been wielding pierces the air outside as either of you stay pressed to the stable wall, the pad of footsteps drawing nearer, causing your eyes to squeeze shut.

This is it. You’re going to die.

Much to your relief, it’s Chan, tactical holsters slightly torn, sweat beading his forehead.

The two share a look, remaining silent before delivering an eventual, affirming nod.

Short-lived.

An additional attacker sifts from the shadows, facial expression ushering no other logic than to kill.

Manic eyes, estranged eyes.

The older bodyguard spins, successfully blocking the first hit. Supplies are scattered everywhere, horses beginning to shift uncomfortably.

The perpetrator is faster, smaller, and lands a decent punch into his abdomen. However, the attack is futile, and just before he can stake his knife into Chan’s leg does the bigger man utilize his own weapon, ammunition positively bludgeoning every square inch of the assailant in baited seconds.

You understand why machine guns are strictly used for long range now.

Immediately, soft numbness floods your senses due to Han’s hands covering your eyes and ears, and you sit there for a while, blocked from the grotesque view of impalpable violence being enacted right before you.

You’d forgotten you were huddled together on the other side of the wall, too horrifically immersed.

It's strange. So much is strange.

These two men that you've grown effortlessly close to, grown effortlessly friends with, murder. Defensively in this case, yes, but they hadn’t brought those guns by chance, they brought them by intention.

Not just a twisted hobby like dissecting animals or something along those lines, but murder.

You’re sure they have their reasons, but it's difficult even imagining it. People who are extremely gentle when with you, responsible for such doings.

Talk about a duality.

The faint clatter of gun shells rattling against the marble flooring earns a subtle flinch, Jisung's hands cupping closer to your skin.

Then you smell it, what he'd warned you of no matter the cleanliness of the job.

A metallic, burning scent of blood, causing your nose to burn and your throat to grow increasingly dry.

Your stomach churns.

"You don't forget that smell" Chan had said before leaving the vehicle, and you knew what he was referring to now.

Putrid reek of rot and gunpowder beckon your lungs into fight or flight, but you remain still, ignoring the sharp sting of your wrist, bubbling blood dripping down your arm and onto the floor below, right atop your shoe.

Faint falling of bullet shells put an end to the fighting, then you’re blindly directed out the door without so much as a glance behind you. For your own good, you assume.

Hell, you’re not certain they’ll be much left of the bodies after Chan’s wrath.

As for right now, your top priority is your wrist. Swollen, skin tainted a grueling red shade.

Speeding home, you find yourself blurily recalling events, though all the little details simply swirl into strange shapes.

Shock is what it’s called. That state of monotonous wandering, occurrence too unfamiliar to take in, senses turning off. A coping mechanism of some sort.

Blearily you see the two men, talking, stepping out of the room, grabbing medical supplies. Like you’re in a time warp, dreaming. No pain, hurt.

On the other hand, your bodyguards were frantic, spewing curses and scouring the household for proper first aid materials.

Meanwhile, Chan was finally wrapping your wound in the bandages Jisung spotted, blinking madly in hopes his fogging headspace eased up.

Demons and wounds were not a good combination. Especially not human wounds.

Uncontrollable urges instructed him to tear you apart right this minute, do something, anything to quench that inexplicably demanding thirst.

Vulnerable, easy prey. His thoughts chanted, forcing him to step out of the room for a moment to where Jisung perched, close-pin fastened on his nose to block the mouth-watering smell.

“I’m losing my fucking mind,” He heaves, carding stressed fingers through matted hair.

“What, a little blood getting to a white-eyed demon?” His companion muses, hastily dodging Chan’s swinging fist. Immune to his threats.

It’s obvious to Jisung that’s only half of the story, but he’ll wait for his superior to admit it himself.

“It’s not just the blood,” He inhales deeply, gratefully accepting the water Han offered. “It’s her.”

Go figure.

To be honest, Jisung wasn’t good at pretending.

Well, in terms of lying he was a natural (a given, after all), but pretending he hadn’t caught onto his friend’s enormous attraction to you was technically impossible.

Quite surprising though, to think such an arrogant demon would’ve ended up like this.

Susceptible, willing. For a human.

Who would’ve thought.

.. .

It’s nothing short of a roller coaster regaining your stable consciousness. Chest wracking, world spinning. You’re situated in bed, injury carefully wrapped(though you can’t recall by who).

The doorknob rattles, and in walks Chan, except, you don’t feel happy, relieved.

Scared. You feel extremely scared.

“What- What are you?” Waver revealing your anxiousness, you curse the subtle tremble.

He smiles.

“Aren’t you a perceptive little one,” His voice dips lower, and as he edges closer, you find yourself pressing further into the pillow behind your head.

“I’m sure you’ve had your suspicions, so I’ll make it easy for you.” He lifts his curls, two perfectly placed horns residing there.

“We’re demons. He and I are different species, but both demons.”

Demons.

Demons.

Instantaneously, a tidal wave or realization crashes salty water into your lungs, expertly piecing your observations together. Red eyes, horn-like scars.

How had you not caught on earlier?

Momentarily, you meet his eyes. Still brown, although you wonder how deep of a red they’d stain, glaze over stunning vermillion or dusky cinnamon tones.

“Species?”

He hums.

“Red-eyed are the best at persuasion, that’s Jisung. I’m a white-eyed demon.”

So neither crimson nor cinnamon, you decide. Perhaps pale, opal color.

“White-eyed demons are usually Satan’s lap dogs, but what lots of people don’t know,” You crane forward to hear his next words, and he leans in as well. “Is that we’re also the most desired species, the most lustful.”

Lustful.

The words don’t truly sink in, and by the time they do, it’s impossible to rip the mischievous look from his eyes.

"What’s that supposed to mean.." You grumble, avoid his darkening stare.

A subtle tap on your thigh has your attention immediately shfiting, your entire body instinctively jolting.

"You want me to show you?" He begins with a laugh, a low, husky laugh that has your stomach tying knots. Not the usual, squeaky laugh, but one that's different, very different. "But if you say yes, I’m sure no one else can satisfy you the way I can."

Your expression pinches with annoyance, a bit offed by his sudden cockiness.

Granted, he looks heaven-sent despite being a demon, and you doubt he'd be any different in bed, but c'mon now, you have a right to be suspicious.

"And how're you so sure of that?" Leaning back on your arms where he sits in front of you, you fixate on the way kinky locks perfectly line the crown of his head, one particularly messy strand tipping over to linger above chocolate pools for eyes.

"Sweetness, Jisung are I are carved out of sin, there's not a particle in our body not built to fuck."

God. Hearing "fuck" come out of his mouth shouldn't have been that attractive. Chan had always been well-mannered, well-spoken, so to hear him say something vulgar for the first time, nonetheless "fuck", effected you more than you'd like to admit.

Slowly, oh so slowly he crawls on the bed, kind tip of his head betraying sinful intent.

“You want this?” He whispers, and your arms immediately wrap around his neck, tugging him into your lips fervently, needily, with a short nod of approval between sighs and stifled groans.

Your wrist aches, but from how heated this kiss is becoming, that matter is the least of your problems.

He feels like fire, tastes like it, nectarine on your tongue.

You waste nimble time undressing, suppressing a high-pitched mewl the longer he sucks deep purple love bites into your neck and down your collarbones, likely to be bruised tomorrow.

He’s careful, learning your body, your sounds. Touch light as a feather, not enough.

He’s big, that’s a given. Head red and angry with thick beads of precum apparent, you can’t possibly think straight, his name the only sensible word falling off your swollen lips.

Chan Chan Chan.

Brows knitting as his fat head bumps your entrance, you murmur pleas, practically delusional on his pleasure, his love.

Most desired, you understand what he meant by that.

“Feel good? Yeah? That's a good girl."

You can feel your entire body keen at the praise, utterly blissful from how amazing he was making you feel.

The stretch of his fat cock has your common-sense threading dangerously thin, head falling back, fingernails raking his back. Delirious.

When he actually started moving? Yeah, you’re convinced you paid a visit to cloud nine, fucked-out brain recognizing only the squelch of your bodies connecting and the squeaky, absolutely desperate sounds he’s pulling from your throat.

Not to mention his voice, accent thickening tremendously the longer he ruined your drooling cunt.

His, his, his.

"Shit- you feel fuckin' divine," He kissed the sweaty skin of your calf hiked over his shoulder, ankle held by a strong hand while the other occupied your hip, squeezing and kneading with each heavy thrust.

Chan wasn't lying about being carved out of sin, fucking like an absolute animal to the point tears began welling in your eyes, overstimulated and euphoric beyond belief as your hands shakily reach upward.

Obediently, he lowers himself, letting you hold his face for some sense of security while feeling so vulnerable.

You pathetically search his eyes, head thrown back after one particular roll of his hips that earns a rumbling moan from the man.

Each time he bottoms out it feels like you're losing it, rubbing that gummy spot that makes your heels dig into his shoulders and your moans transform into high-pitched cries, shuddering.

"Channie- Oh fuck Channie- I can't It's too much-"

Practically gasping for air to ease the buzzing fuzziness blinding you, you cherish the equally mind-numbing kiss he soothes, pressure in your lower tummy building and building at a flying pace.

"Yes you can, bunny. 'Need to cum? C'mon, cum for me, 'atta girl." He tuts, slowing himself down with each squeeze of your cunt signaling your approaching release.

Torturous.

Nothing like this, never in all his life had he felt something like this. So delicate and fragile as you look up at him, glossy dolly eyes far too tempting.

At this point it was an obligation to stuff your pussy full.

Rolling your puffy nub in tight circles, your thighs twitch, gripping the pillow behind your head like a vice as the sharp knot in your stomach finally snaps and a near pornographic sound rips from your throat, back arching off the bed.

The sight of you has his eyes nearly rolling back, so ruined and angel-like. You're a white rose in a field of wilting grasses. Bloomed in his ill-fated fingertips.

His pants stifle, big hands holding the back of your thighs spread for him. His pace stutters, and with a gritted whine of your name he slams his hips, painting your aching cunt white.

The last thing he anticipated visiting the human realm was to find himself in this situation.

And whether he liked to admit it or not, if the Devil had your father wrapped around his finger, you had him tied up without a chance of escape.

So while you both scrambled to clean up your evidence and not fall over your own feet hearing Jisung clumsily drop a clattering frying pan in the kitchen, he thinks, if only for a second, he’d be okay with it.

Being yours, that is.

FIC TAGLIST. @y-ur--i @atinism @darknova2319 @producedbyhanjisung @knightoftime21 @leonswifesstuff

sunboki, may 2022 ©

#stray kids fluff #straykids x you #stray kids x y/n #stray kids x you #stray kids x reader #straykids x reader #stray kids smut #straykids smut #skz smut #skz x y/n #skz x you #skz x reader #bangchan smut #bangchan x y/n #bangchan x female reader #bangchan x you #bangchan x reader #bang chan x female reader #bang chan x y/n #bang chan x you #bang chan x reader #bang chan smut

[cumberlocked4everr]

Tell Me I Still Have You...

A Sherlock x fem!reader imagine

With his best friend married and a expected father to be, Sherlock is concerned about what's going to happen next. He will experience the absent of John for a while, but he's still got you to aid him on cases and otherwise the daily life. Doesn't he?

Words: 2.9k

Warnings: None really. Mention of Sherlock's "death".

The guests were gliding, spinning and turning around the detective, the music was a little too loud for speaking, and the lights shifted between colors every second. The case had been solved, a man was arrested and taken to the station by Lestrade and the wedding could continue as it should. John and Mary were now a married couple and smiling of pure love at each other. Part of the reason was because Sherlock had just told them of their pregnancy in his usual deduction explaining method.

You were happy for them. They deserved this. Though you couldn’t help but feel a little envious. Not about marriage. That wasn’t so important. Nor that they had a baby on the way. You didn’t see yourself as the mother type anyway. No, it was the affection they had for each other. To have someone who shares your feelings and shows them in public as well as in private. This was something you had never prioritized before, but as you stood here, watching him….

It was difficult to put a word on it. But no matter how much you had tried to push it away, it only grew stronger, like your own body was taunting you. Because having a shot with him was like shooting an apple off a person’s head while blindfolded and said person running. Alas, impossible. It didn’t stop, however, that you were taking a step closer.

“Not much of a dancer either?”

You halted and turned towards the man who had approached you. It was the same guy from earlier. He had taken the initiative first and spoke to you on several occasions when you were otherwise not occupied with John’s friend almost being murdered or Sherlock’s usual rant about everything and nothing. He seemed like an alright bloke, but you weren’t interested in the slightest. But since he was kind, you chatted along with him yet again.

His eyes moved, scanning the room. Not for danger this time, more so of setting the scene. John and Mary swayed close along with everyone else. Although Sherlock enjoyed how things had been, he wouldn’t deny his friend this happiness. And both he, Mary and you had assured him that things wouldn’t change but they had to change. John had a much larger responsibility now as a husband and soon to be father. Even Sherlock knew that. But when John couldn’t trot along on cases, he would still have you. Right? The detective wondered why he asked himself that. There hadn’t been any indications that you were leaving the flat as well. So why was he uncertain of that fact?

Once his sight landed on you, he stopped moving further. You were currently in conversation with Philip from earlier. Sherlock could tell what his job was, his personal life and current living statues before Philip could tell it himself. He believed that living with two cats and working in an office all day wouldn’t be of much interest to you, but here you were, smiling and giggling at something he said. It was as if all the other people disappeared and it was only you and him.

He shook that thought out as soon as it popped in. He blamed it on the curiosity of the future, whether you would continue to stay and help on cases. It was nothing more than that he simply was accustomed to having colleagues he could actually work with.

His thoughts were interrupted when a girl bumped into him. She laughed and mumbled what could have been an excuse without meeting his eyes before continuing to dance. In fact, no one was looking at him. Everyone so occupied with each other he might as well be invisible. Though he was used to not getting the attention or being the center of a crowd except on cases, he admitted that he felt ignored tonight. Especially from his own friends. John and Mary had a somewhat excuse, this being their marriage, but you… You had never denied your fascination over him, and it was often the two of you in situations like this one because you got along. But now, some ordinary, boring he would say, man had stolen your attention.

The song ended and a new one started and in that moment, Sherlock had made a decision. If he were to just stand in the middle of the dancefloor, he might as well leave before he disturbed more people with their dance by being an obstacle in their way. But first, he had to get out of this crowd.

To be honest, it had been a long time since you had been as bored as you were right now. Philip rambled on about something at work but you had stopped listening long ago. Your eyes led you back to where you had originally been staring. Sherlock was still there, but he looked like he wanted to flee the scene. You apologized to Philip and left him before he could say more.

“You okay?”

The question caught Sherlock off guard. He hadn’t noticed you coming up to him and his expression seemed to worry you. “I’m fine,” he said quickly in hope to ease your mind.

“Alright.” You looked at each other before you both moved away, the silence of conversation getting uncomfortable.

“Do you want to dance?” Sherlock asked the question before he could think thoroughly before doing so. He expected you to say no but found himself surprised when you said,

“I thought you’d never ask.” You gave him a smile that warmed him in a different way than the room filled with people did. Sherlock found the corner of his lips curving as he held up his hand.

Yours was not too warm, nor too cold. Just the right temperature to his own and he couldn’t deny that it fitted rather perfectly in his grasp as he drew you closer to him. It felt as time moved slower when he did. Even surrounded by so many, his cologne still found its way to you. It had the same effect on you as it had for many months. Soothing, protective…

“A penny for your thoughts?” Sherlock asked after you had begun to sway to the music.

You tilted your head. “Short of deductions, Mr. Holmes?” The sarcasm wasn’t hidden in your question. You loved taunting him now and then, especially when you received those annoyed looks from him in return.

This time, Sherlock smiled awkwardly and defended himself by saying, “I attempted to make small talk.”

“You? Small talk? I thought you wanted to dance. Are you sure you’re alright?” You were a bit amused, but also confused. Sherlock had never shown any interest in such human behavior.

“Perfectly,” he stated and swirled you around once before returning to the basic position. His left hand was steady on your back while he led you with such precision and confidence you wished you had danced with him long ago. The lights seemed like they had a dance of their own as they reflected on his face. Still, his eyes shined down at you and in this moment, you felt like the most important thing in his life. Like for a minute, you had what you wanted. Him.

After the song had ended, Mary came over to steal you for a moment. She wanted to discuss the pregnancy and usual lady talk before the night ended. Meanwhile, Sherlock had withdrawn to the hall to get his coat. He hadn’t said he was leaving to anyone. Partly because he never did. He ran by his own schedule, not everyone else's.

*

No matter where you searched, Sherlock was not to be found. Neither John, Molly or anyone else had seen where he went and after discovering his absent coat, it didn’t take you long to deduce he had left. But to where?

Baker Street was your first guess, but when you found the flat empty, you thought you were back to scratch. He didn’t answer your call or text, he hardly did if it weren’t utterly important.

You decided to try the hospital next. You went through all the rooms he normally used and rooms he hardly or never were in, but came up with nothing. You were about to give up and head back to the flat and wait for his return instead when the door leading up to the rooftop stood ajar. It was supposed to stay closed, and locked, at all times and no one else was here at this time of night. Except…

Your fear rose as you walked up the stairs and out on the roof. The air was even more chilly up here and you had only a thin shawl over your shoulders. Your dress didn’t apply much warmth either, but that thought faded when you saw Sherlock standing near the edge, gazing over the city. The first thought coming to mind was unpleasant, and one you had long since tried to forget.

“Sherlock?” You approached him slowly when all you really wanted was to rush over and pull him away from the dangerous edge. He stood completely still when you came up beside him, his gaze fixed on the city lights. Your pulse raced through your body and you felt your heart hammering against your chest as one more step would have made you fall. “Sherlock, please.”

The pleading in your voice was what finally brought his eyes to you but you were now trying to not let the height drag you down. Sherlock saw the fear, not just in your eyes but in the way you shifted weight on your legs and drew closer to him. It didn’t take much of a deduction to know why you were reacting this way. Not here, not on this building. He should’ve known you would leave when you found out he had, but he didn’t know you’d find him so quickly.

“Thirty-two minutes and twenty six seconds.”

“What?” you frowned.

“It’s how long it took you to find me. Impressive. John would’ve taken at least twice as long.”

He had been timing-? Sure, he times many things but only when it’s convenient to him. So why was this important? “Well, this is his wedding night, you couldn't place blame if it took him a day or two.” Sherlock gave a “hmm” in response and returned his admiration of the night sky.

“Could we please step away from the edge?”

The detective exchanged glances between you and the free fall in front of you. He gently placed his hand on your arm and guided you a few steps back to safer ground. “Sorry.” His hand lingered on your arm still, though now would be a time to remove said contact. “Why did you come after me?”

You took a deep breath before answering. “You left without saying anything. I thought something had happened or that I did something wrong-”

“Why would you think that?” It was like you had struck him in the face the way he asked that. Before you could say more, Sherlock continued. “I eh…” he cleared his throat. “I was testing a theory, that’s all.”

“A theory? Here?”

Sherlock shrugged. “It’s a good place to think.”

A sudden, strong breeze hit your bare arms and legs, causing you to tremble. You embraced yourself in hope to warm up but it did little to not help. Sherlock’s eyes followed your movements. “Cold?” The sarcastic tone wasn’t helping. Bringing a coat with you when you left the flat hadn’t even crossed your mind.

“What gave it away?” you playfully say back to which he chuckled. “Can we just go home?” His head raised at that last word. Home. It took him a few seconds but then he agreed and together, you walked back down. Instead of taking a cab, you suggested walking for a bit. It was late and cold and probably a bad idea, but you wanted to have more time just the two of you alone before arriving back to the flat and your lives continued as normal. And damn it was cold. Your shivering only intensified the longer you kept walking but you didn’t complain out loud. The quiet of the night, with only the sounds of your shoes against the pavement was nice.

You kept your gaze on the ground or on your surroundings, not noticing Sherlock taking off his coat before you felt it over your shoulders. The instant warmth from his body met your cold one and you sighed in relief at the comfort it created. You mumbled a thank you and pulled the - his - coat closer around you. Sherlock walked in a half circle and stopped right in front of you while removing his scarf. All you could manage was to watch him as he folded it in half and placed it around your neck. His fingers brushed against your skin, sending a different kind of shiver through you. He then pulled one end through the other until it wrapped nicely around your throat. “You should’ve brought a coat,” he simply said as he adjusted the length of the scarf so it covered your chest. His former teasing tone had been replaced with a softer one, one you could almost take as a concerned one. But you didn’t let yourself go there.

His scent attached to his clothes found its way to you once more and once again, it calmed you. “Yeah.” It was all you could muster to say and Sherlock returned to your side.

The silence reappeared as you kept on walking but it wasn’t as unbearable as before. You enjoyed his company and just because he was silent didn’t mean he was uncomfortable. His arm brushed against yours and still with his thick coat in between it sent electrifying waves through your whole body. You could blame the cold for walking so closely to him, but to you it was more reassuring. The closer you were the safer you felt.

A sudden honk from a car made you jump and grab his arm. Someone shouted and you saw some people down the street on the opposite side of you, waving their arms at the passing car. You kept holding onto Sherlock though. He didn’t object to the matter and it wasn’t until your heart rate had returned to its normal state that you let go.

You passed one block, then another. It would take you a while to get back, but you hadn’t meant to walk all the way. But you had passed very few cabs so far so the chance of getting one seemed slim.

“A penny for your thoughts?” You asked his own question from earlier, suddenly craving some noise and right now his voice was what you wanted to hear. You could often listen to him for hours. When others found him annoying, you found him intriguing. However, Sherlock kept quiet. “Come on, you’re never in this deep thought unless it’s of some importance to you.”

When he still didn’t say anything you grew worried. It was normal that he kept things to himself, but this time you had a feeling it had to be something bigger than information about a case. You remembered then that he mentioned a theory he had. That could be why he’s acting distant. “Don’t push me away, Sherlock. Not again.”

Not again. Sherlock felt his pulse take a few fast beats. As a man prepared to do anything, nothing had prepared him for the blow he would face when it came to you handling his fake death. That included the fact that he hadn’t meant for you to watch him fall. But you had and it was the worst sight you’d ever laid eyes on. And the following two years were the worst time to be alive.

That time still had its claws deep into your heart, and since he had come back, you had been more cautious on cases and wouldn’t let Sherlock put you in the shadows and withholding stuff anymore.

Finally, Sherlock halted and turned so his whole body faced yours. He looked at you in such a way it felt like he was reaching your soul. “Tell me I still have you.”

His words sent you off guard and you didn’t know what to say because you weren’t sure what exactly he meant by that. “I- I don’t…”

He read the confusion on your face and sighed, ready to walk on but you grabbed his arm. “Sherlock. What’s going on?”

“It’s nothing.” He observed your state. His coat hadn’t ridden entirely of the cold from your body. “We should find a cab for the rest of the way.”

You didn’t get another say in the matter because all of a sudden, you were attacked from behind. A man caged you in his arms so tight you couldn’t get free. “Sherlock!” Before he could help, Sherlock too got caught by two others. He fought them off as long as he could, but they had the upper hand. You struggled too, not letting them capture you so easily. The man behind you brought a damp cloth against your face, pressing it against you.

Sherlock managed to knock one of them away, but the other gave him a hard blow to the head. You couldn’t see with what, but you saw Sherlock fall right before darkness closed in on you until it consumed you.

#bbc sherlock #benedict cumberbatch #sherlock holmes #sherlock imagine #sherlock x fem!reader #the sign of three

[ashes-writing]

skin | the walking dead ; s.walsh

A/N ; As you all know good and well by now I am one thousand percent not sorry for sharing this. I probably should be, but alas, I'm not, so here we are. This takes place at the CDC and there are vague mentions of Lori. It's barely there, though.

Tag List; @beardedbarba is the only person on my Walking Dead taglist. If you'd like to be added, hit the link below or let me know. Otherwise, I won't tag.

Other Stuff ; tag list || rules - fandoms and some of the characters I write for || requests ; open -headcanons + fluff and smut alphabet letters for any fandom/character but wrestling please and thanks?

I do not consent to having my work reposted elsewhere or reworded, copied/reposted here. Reblogs / likes are nice and greatly appreciated though.

18+ only. Minors, don't you dare, oh my god. Go read fluff. Also, if you're not into shower sex, body fluids, biting/marking, nudity/peeping and p in v sex, you won't like this and should probably just skip to something else. Ignoring this warning is strictly your own fault.

“Only one room left.” Shane said it with a shrug as he gazed down at you. You popped a bubble with the gum in your mouth and stared right back. “Take it. I can sleep on a couch or somethin.” you answer after a minute or two.

“Or,” Shane rubbed his hand over the back of his head as he took a deep breath, “We could share th’ room. Ain’t like it’s a big deal, right?”

Dark brown eyes were searching yours. Probably looking for any sign of fear -or everyone else’s second favorite emotional response when it came to him, loathing. It shouldn’t have shocked him when he found neither emotion displayed in your eyes but somehow, it still managed to. 

 You licked your lips and tried to swallow down the massive lump in your throat as you shuffled your feet against the hallway floor. You leaned against one of the cool brick walls of the hallway and shrugged. “We could.” you answer after a pause that felt heavy and lasted just a little too long. Your hand tangles in your hair and dark brown eyes follow the movement intently. He’s sizing you up. Waiting for an actual answer one way or another. You laugh softly as you step just a little closer to him. “Am I makin you nervous… Officer?” you toy with the button on his dark blue button up just a little and focus your eyes on the muscular patch of skin left exposed by the fact that he’s left the top two buttons to the shirt undone. Just the faintest hint of coarse and dark chest hair. Just a hint of old ink peeking out that draws your attentive gaze as your tongue softly drags over the outline of your lips.

He takes a breath and it’s shaky. And he snorts at the question you asked seconds before. “Kinda think I’m th’ one makin you nervous…Princess.” he tacks on the term because he knows that princess and any other cutesy little nickname, those tend to get you real irritated, real fast.

It’s a little game you two have been playing since you found the group and were talked into joining up by one of the women, a real nice lady named Carol. You’d come to think of her as the mother you never really got. And if Carol were present to bear witness to the little scene unfolding between you and Shane right now, she would not be thrilled at all.

But it didn’t matter.

The simple fact of the matter was that there was only one room left to sleep in. Either you cohabitate or one of you sleeps down in the lobby where the two kids were camped out due to gaming consoles and all manner of other ways to keep themselves occupied.

And you could’ve easily chosen to do just that. You could’ve but honestly, the thought never really even crossed your mind. 

Boldly you look right up at him, twisting hair around your fingertip as he stares right back at you, waiting. A sarcastic gleam in deep dark eyes as he rubs his chin thoughtfully.

“Yeah, that’s a big ol’ firm no… Officer.” you do it right back, referring to him by his job title just like you’ve done since early on in joining the group when you surmised completely on your own that he had to have been in some kind of position of authority just because of the way he carried himself and because there was just something about the man that irked you instantaneous, he didn’t even have to try most of the time. You step towards the door of the room in question and you turn back to look at him as you lean against the cold metal of the closed door. “You comin or not? Because I’m going to take a shower. A real one.”

Shane rubs his chin again. He raises the bottle of Wild Turkey to his lips and takes a sip. You take a sip of your own chosen drink of choice and push open the door, letting it close swift behind you. At first you think for sure he’s chosen to go down and sleep in the community area on a blow up mattress but to your surprise, just as you’ve started the shower and the bathroom adjoining the little bedroom is starting to get real good and steamy, the door to the bedroom outside closes firm. And the lock clicks as the door is locked.

Shane moves around the little room and tosses down the gym bag with the few articles of clothing he’s still got onto the bed closest to a small window that kind of made him think of the cells down at King County Jail for a hot second or two.

He sinks down onto the edge of the bed to sit, his hands braced across his head as he’s bent it down. Taking a few deep breaths because honestly, he had to really stop and think about whether he wanted to spend the next stretch of time immeasurable ahead of you all with you so close underfoot again.

Everything about you has gotten under the man's skin and it’s the one thing he told himself he wasn’t going to allow to happen after the huge shit show with Lori Grimes that still hasn’t quite blown over. It’s an on-going internal struggle because despite telling himself he’s not letting it happen, he was the one who brought you to the group after saving your life in the first place. And for a while there, until you went on a supply run and came back with not only your own damn tent but a pretty damn big machete to use as a weapon, he’d been dealing with the struggle of having you underfoot constantly. Just always present. He’s only just gotten used to being alone again and now, here the two of you were… Sharing a space again.

The running water in the bathroom goes quiet and his head snaps up. He’s looking right at the door to the bathroom when you push it open and wander out, totally nude with wet vanilla scented hair piled up on top of your head.

When you see him, you freeze. He freezes too. And right along with both of you, time and space seems to freeze as well. You palm your face first and then remember to throw up your arms over your tits to at least pretend to have a little decency.

Thing is, you haven’t ever been one to bother with the formality of it. Working a club like you did before the world went to shit got you real comfortable with people seeing you in the flesh and in the flesh only.

Shane coughs and in a hurry, he drops his gaze and his little taunt from the hallway comes rushing back to you. Being the antagonistic type, you smirk. “Now who’s nervous, huh?” you call him out on the fact that you’re totally fine with flitting around the room bare naked and he’s the one looking down and away like he’s never seen a pair of titties in his whole entire life.

When everything about the man screams otherwise. You’d almost bet all the money left unguarded in the United States Federal Reserve that not only has he seen a lot of naked women before, he probably went through the women like a fish in water before the world went to shit. Probably had stupid reasons for ghosting them all and you laugh to yourself quietly about the thought while nodding to the open bathroom door. “Should be a little hot water left.”

“It’s at least 110 out. And yer takin a hot shower?”

“Keep your opinions on my hell water to yourself.” you smirk as you grab the first shirt you find spilled out on the second bed where you’d also dumped your clothing. The shirt is olive green. It’s too big for you, it hangs down to the middle of your thighs.

And it smells just like him. Earthy sweat and just the slightest hint of old detergent from the last attempt at washing clothes down in the quarry pond still lingers. Maybe it’s a power play on your end, maybe it’s the fact that the scent of him is so strong, so masculine that it makes you feel just a hint of safety, but either way, you don’t bother taking the shirt off once you realize what you’ve done.

His eyes are fixed on you, glued to your body. They travel up bare legs and he swallows hard, your eyes fix on the way his throat bobs just the slightest when he does it. He nods to the shirt. “ ‘At one’s dirty, woman.” and he digs around, tossing you his clean one, a simple black tee.

You turn the soft garment over in your hands and you bite your lip. Laugh softly to yourself. While you’re thrown for a loop over the little olive branch in your hand, Shane’s started to strip down himself across the room and it just so happens that you glance up and catch sight of him.

And now you’re the one who can’t seem to swallow down a massive lump in their throat. Now it’s your eyes roaming, taking in the muscles and the way they flex as he stretches his arms and rests his hands against the back of his head.

He just stands there. Can he feel you staring?

The question is answered when he turns to you with a teasing smirk. A wild gleam in dark brown eyes as he nods towards the shower. “I’m goin t’ cool off. Want me to leave th’ door unlocked case y’ need t’ get in, princess?”

There’s something different. Something huskier about the way he calls you princess this time. It brings back the last time he said it in a similar tone, early on. When you first joined the group and you awakened to find your injuries from a run in with another group bandaged and him sitting in an olive colored folding chair with his head down. Until he looked up and right at you.

He was the one who’d saved your life then. Brought you back to the group with him. And until you gor your own tent to sleep in, you’d shared the back of his Bronco with him.

And suddenly, you’re looking at the man in a whole new light. One that has your thighs clenched. Your heart racing just a little as you tug at wet hair and tilt your head just to continue staring. Your mouth opens but closes again. “Uh.” you stammer out after seconds stretch to hours in the blink of an eye somehow, “Could you?” the question comes quieter. A little syrupy toned and you want to kick yourself for it. Now is not the time to flirt, to try to push the man. It’s the end of the world, now is not the time to think with the sudden re-emergence of your sex drive.

But you just can’t help it.

Shane walks into the bathroom and the door shuts behind him. It’s left open a sliver and you notice that he’s taken the bottle of Wild Turkey into the shower with him.

You fall back against the empty bed of the two in the room and throw a hand up to your forehead dramatically. Then you pull yourself up to a sitting position and reach for the black shirt he’d handed you and you tug off the olive colored one you currently wore, tugging down the black one in it’s place.

After a good minute or two of quietly sipping your tequila and staring at that damned bathroom door, you take a few long and very shaky deep breaths and pull yourself off of the bed, slinking over to the door. Stepping into the room.

You can see him through the thin plastic curtain and you lean in the doorway, a leg crossed over the other one and your arms folded against your chest and you just… watch. Your mind racing as you try to find one good reason to stop yourself from what you want to do right now.

You can’t find one. And you shed the shirt, letting it settle on top of the pile of clothing he’d brought in for himself. You tug open the curtain and step in behind him just as he turns around to face you and you reach down, prying the green glass bottle he’d been chugging free from his hand, setting it out of the way of the water in the corner of the shower. 

Shane chuckles quietly. Brown eyes flit over your exposed body slow. Lingering.

You take the soap covered cloth from his hand and motion for him to turn away but he doesn’t. He steps closer instead. And with a quiet chuckle, he speaks up in that same husky tone.

“If I’d known y’ were gon do this, darlin..” he gasps as your hand raises and the soapy cloth makes contact with his chest, “Woulda just got in with you like I started t’.”

The confession does make your hand falter in it’s slow journey over his chest and you swallow hard as you try to figure out what to do with what he’s just said. Because this is… Huge. And the ramifications of getting entangled with somebody, especially now when it’s probably the worst idea in the world, especially considering it’s somebody like, well… Him.

But you knew exactly what you were doing when you wandered in, prepared to offer yourself up to take care of him like he took care of you after saving your life and bringing you up to the  quarry with him and the others.

There’s really no sense in fighting the magnetism anymore.

Life was too short before and it’s gotten so much shorter since.

You step closer, your soft curves melt against his firm muscles. And you keep working the soapy cloth over the front of his body as he bites back a growl on more than one occasion and stares down at you. Wordless. Quiet. In awe.

“Y’ didn’t have t’ do this.” he finally speaks, his voice is the perfect velvet gravel mix and it goes straight to your core like usual. You shrug, wordless. You motion for him to turn away so you can wash his back and he does, but only after he lets a hand settle against your hip as he squeezes. “Yer playin with fire right now, princess.”

“Am I?” you question. “Maybe I enjoy playing with fire.”

The words and the way you’re being so soft, so.. Gentle with him. That last shred of self  control he’s been clinging to for a while now snaps completely and he tries to reign himself in as the soapy cloth moves over his back and you hug against him slightly while soaping him down but no amount of his palms against the wall to brace himself and try to keep himself tethered and keep his hands from everything they actually want to touch… It’s not working.

He turns to face you and pries the cloth free from your hand. Towering over you as the water streams down over you both. His hands are all over you and you’re hauled against his body as his head dips down and his forehead rests against the swell of your breasts and he breathes heavily.

You can feel his cock rise, standing at attention. Pushing into you when he pulls you as close as he can get you while pulling you up his body. “Gonna take real good care of y’, princess.” he groans out against the front of your throat as his teeth scrape against your skin and you dig your nails into his shoulder, your legs squeezing either side of his body after wrapping around his waist, “Fuck.”

And you can look into smoldering dark brown eyes and tell he means exactly what he’s just said. Every word. In every sense it can be taken to mean.

Starting here and now, if you’ll allow him.

And the realization stuns you. Somewhere in everything, in all the chaos and insanity that’s been your life for months by now, you trust him.

Your fingers card his hair as his tongue drags a circular motion around one of your nipples. Between the stubble on his jaws and the necklace around his neck banging against your skin when he moves, you’re whimpering at rough lips against your skin, rough hands as they caress your body and grip, squeeze now and then to mold you against him a little better. The leaky tip of his cock drags against your folds and you shiver violently in his grasp, your cunt soaked and throbbing so fast all you can do is nip roughly at his neck to leave an angry red bite mark against his skin. The bite mark has him laughing, pausing the movement of his mouth over your opposite nipple to gaze up at you and you pout because you’re aching for his touch, the connect you feel when his lips dance over your skin.

The water is freezing by now and he grimaces and reaches out a muscular arm to shut off the shower. Your back is pressed firmly against cold and wet tiles, goosebumps raised to the surface of your skin that you’re not sure are from the cold or just the way his touch feels so damn good.

“Not gon’ last long, princess.” he’s almost apologetic about it and you laugh, the soft sound makes him bite his lip as his mouth crashes against your mouth finally. Frantic, needy. Almost desperate when his lips lock on your bottom lip and catch it between. You manage to mumble that it’s okay and your next words bring a rare grin to tug up the corners of his mouth and he stops, staring at you in awe. Making you grab hold of the back of his head and pull his mouth against yours all over again, greedy. Desperate. Your tongue slips past his lips and his tongue meets it, dominating the kiss in the bat of an eye. The tip of his cock grazes between your folds and you shiver again, moaning out quietly before you can stop yourself.

“Fuck.” he grunts and his fingers dig into your body harsh, “Feels so good.” he repeats what he said to you minutes before, promises to take care of you and you grab his face in your hands. “I know. I believe you.”

You reassure him quietly. The reassurance has him giving you a cocky smirk and his cock pushes into you a little more. 

“Next time, darlin.. I’ll taste y’.” he promises in a loud groan against your neck as he buries to the hilt inside you and goes still, searching your eyes to make sure you’re okay and he’s not hurting you. Brown eyes squeeze tight when you start to fuck yourself up and down on his cock after you’ve gotten adjusted to the way he fills and stretches you out. You can feel the tip smashing against your cervix and your nails drag up and down his back and shoulders as his mouth buries against your neck, leaving more bites to litter skin that somehow got forgotten about in his earlier quest to do so. 

His name falls from your lips like a prayer, over and over. He’s groaning, growling and swearing with each deeper drive into you, saying your name so loud that you’re pretty sure anyone in either room beside the one you happen to be in can hear him but you don’t care. Both of you are completely lost, caught up in each other. Your stomach coiled tight as you beg for release only to have him coax you back away from the edge in just enough time. His hips beat against your body in a harsh steadiness and you shiver with every graze of those rough hands or lips against your skin.

“Shane,” you beg in a whimper, “Please.” you breathe against the shell of his ear. “C’mon darlin. Let go. I gotcha, promise.” he mutters his permission and your orgasm smashes into you and leaves you clinging. Whiny and needy, desperately fucking yourself up and down on his cock as he holds you against his body with your back against the shower wall and his mouth crashes against your own. “Fuck. Fuckin shit, princess,” he groans in need as your release coats his cock, your walls vising around him to push him headfirst into his own release. It happens without much warning, you can feel the way he throbs as his hips stammer against you and finally come to a stop, his forehead resting against your own and it’s gentle. So is the look in his eyes for once.

Not teasing or irritated, just.. Gentle. Relaxed.

You finally untangle yourself from his body and climb down from his arms and slink over to the towel near the pile of clean clothing. You hold the towel out to him and he takes it, wrapping it around you. After he grabs the second towel and knots it at the waist around his body, he pulls you against him all over again. Rough hands caress your face as he stares down into your eyes.

Neither of you say a word. Neither of you need to but both of you secretly want to.

But life is too short now to make promises. No matter how much you know you mean it.

#shane walsh #shane walsh fanfiction #shane walshxfem!reader #shane walshxfem!reader fanfiction #shane walsh imagine #shane walsh fic #shane walsh smut #//minors dni. #// read all warnings + hashtags c a r e f u l l y #// p in v #// shower sex #// body fluids #// biting and marking #// kissing #// so this came out of nowhere. trust me this is not even remotely close to what I sat down to write for Shane.

[heyhilana]

Swimming (Javi G)

Summary: After a day's work at Javi's home, you decided to go out to the private pool where Javi is laying on one of the floaties. While you only went there to tell him goodnight, he has other plans for you.

A/N: Hi lovelies! Here is the next installment that I've been working on <3 It's been so fun to write this as I love to see where I can take this to lead up to the first installment, Show Off. I don't know if I'll continue after that one, or if I'll end there but I love what I've been able to set up as of now. If you want to read the previous installments, click here. Otherwise, enjoy!

Pairing: Javi G x !f reader

Warnings: The reader daydreaming about Javi screwing her because well, can we blame her? But besides that, just a late-night swim that has that beautiful tension.

Word Count: 2k

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It was half past ten, another long day of drawing out plans for where the next clientele meeting could take place. You decided on Italy, knowing that you hadn’t been there in some time and that Javi had another home right off the coast for you two to work in. Although that would mean sharing the same house, something that hadn’t crossed your mind until you were walking downstairs. You were sure that the house would have more than enough room for you, probably enough room to house 2 families as Javi believed in the more space the better, but the idea of occupying space with him, more than just a few hours of the day, made you feel hot.

Knowing that he would only be a few doors down rather than a drive away. He would be in close proximity with you, even being able to go to your room to see how you were doing. All the dreams you had of him leaving you in a cold sweat, his name flowing out of your lips like a song, a chant even as you dreamt about the way he would hold your body, holding you up as you knew you would turn into hello from his touch, the feather like kisses that would be bestowed on you, worshiping every inch, crevice, whatever he could find with his hungry eyes. And just when he would get to the point of tearing off your panties even when you would protest about them being ruined, to which he would remind you that he could buy you another or even ten, just when his tip that pearled with precum was lined up with your pulsating core, you would wake up clutching your chest.

How you would manage to not have a dream about him knowing that he would be so close to taking care of you, fixing the growing ache that left your panties sticking to your core when he walked by you to wish you a good morning you didn’t know. Hell, maybe you would just lose it and pounce on him at his desk, rolling your pencil skirt up just as he unzipped his pants and pulled out his throbbing cock to fill you up, riding him and hoping the chair wouldn’t break or else you would just have to finish bent over his desk looking at the view while he told you that you were the prettiest and smartest partner he could have. But alas, you knew that it was just your fantasy running wild over the playboy that you wanted, well, maybe needed as the mere thought of him left you wanting to get home faster to fix yourself. But just as you were getting ready to walk out you turned to see that Javi was in the pool, laying on one of the floaties he bought a few days ago. Your legs started to move before your brain could process what you wanted and you opened the door, calling out for him.

“I thought you were going to wait to use the floaties?”

“Why wait when I can use them now?” He took a sip of his drink, and the way he basked in the night glow was enough to make you want to cross your legs. “Come here, I know you’re not going home yet.” You walked outside, looking up at the sky and seeing the full moon and bright stars shining down on you. A perfect night, a perfect man who just happened to be your partner in the pool, and you having a school-girl crush on him which made your mind go blank more times than you could count. Was this a sign to make a move? To try something with him? You weren’t sure, but you sat in one of the chairs and put your bag down, maybe letting your eyes wander down just enough to get a better look at him.

His soft curls made him look more relaxed, not the man that had to be perfectly tailored for business. The softness of his body and the slope of his belly gave him a more comforting demeanor where you could let your hair down with him, that he was soft and loving once you got past the party persona that was what he was known for. He looked at you with earnest, a smile tugging at his lips which tugged at your heart despite you just moments ago wishing that he could bury himself into you to quell the nonsensical desires that made working besides him almost unbearable. He was taking up your thoughts in either erotic or soft ways like now, and you didn’t know how to stop it.

“Well, I was going home until I saw you lounging around,” You took a sip of the bottle of water that was in your bag, needing to quench the thirst that you had although it started from Javi.

“Seems to me that you want more, maybe a swim.” You almost choked on your water when he said that, knowing that as much as you loved the ocean views you were not the best swimmer.

“That would be the last thing I would do. I may as well drown at this point.”

“Nonsense. Come on, I’ll teach you.” You felt goosebumps rising on your body. A lesson? Maybe a lesson in learning how to fend off your desire for Javi but swimming? It was perfect since your fear of swimming had to go at some point, and even more better Javi would take his time with you, not knowing that he was indulging in your need for his touch.

“You’ll teach me? Javi, the biggest boss in arms dealing is going to give me a swimming lesson?”

“If you’re going to be by my side you have to know how to swim.” It was something about the way he said by my side that made your stomach do somersaults, the longing idea of being more with him becoming a reality.

“Okay. I’ll do it.” Now it was his turn to choke as he almost choked on his drink.

“You sure there’s nothing in that drink of yours?” He pointed to your water.

“Nope. More sober than you.”

“I’m only on my second drink. I have a whole night to go before I’m making a fool of myself.” “You sure you don’t do that already?” You joked as you took off your shirt, feeling a little nervous about it all.

“You seem to like it when I do.” He answered as he took another sip, looking away to give you more comfort in undressing. You pulled off your shorts, leaving you in just your underwear. You made your way to the steps and stepped into the pool, the warm water surprising you before you saw the heaters on the sides of the pool. The water reached your chest as you walked to the slightly deeper end before Javi put his drink down and got out of the floatie. He walked to you and grabbed your hand, his hand slotting with yours perfectly.

“Ready for your first lesson?” He winked at you, and you realized with his red swim trunks he did look like a lifeguard or a swim instructor which made you smile.

“Ready as I’ll ever be.” He moved you down to the middle of the pool.

“First, let’s practice floating. Have you done that before?”

“I’ve tried but I usually get scared by something and then I lose focus.”

“That’s okay. I’ll keep you up and try to keep you as relaxed as possible.” His words almost made you laugh as if there was one thing Javi didn’t do to you it was keep you relaxed. In fact, he constantly awoke something in you that was primal, carnal desire that you hadn’t had with anyone else before. And it only intensified when he let go of your hand to turn to your side and placed his hand on the small of your back.

“Just trust me. Lift up and I got you.” You were trusting him, having him help you overcome your fear of swimming but also giving in to what you wanted although it wasn’t explicitly said.

“Okay, I trust you.”

“Good girl.” That little phrase flew from his lips with ease, and although you were sure it didn’t mean much to him, it meant everything to you. But you lifted up slightly, the water taking up your gravity as Javi’s hands grabbed you. You felt yourself reaching above water level with Javi’s hands on your upper and lower back.

“How does this feel?” You wanted to say that it felt like your heart was pounding out of your chest.

“It feels okay. Just don’t let go.”

“I won’t. Let’s just move around first.” He walked slowly, helping you get comfortable with moving around. From your peripheral you could see Javi looking at you with a softness only reserved for you, making sure you were okay. But mostly, you were looking at the full moon staring down back at you, following you as you kept floating to the opposite side of the pool. It was all comforting, home-like as being in this moment with Javi, no talk of work, clients, or other mind-numbing topics that could take away what you felt for him. You tilted your head to face him just as he stopped walking, his hands still holding you up.

“I’ll move one hand away. Just trust this.” He moved his hand away from your lower body and you felt yourself beginning to dip but you held yourself up, finding that you were more comfortable with the water moving with you.

“Look at you. I knew you could do it.” His free hand caressed your cheek, and you suddenly felt heat rising to your face due to his mostly innocent act. You felt his other hand leave your back, the ultimate test to your floating. You took a deep breath and relaxed, letting the water do what it was supposed to do. You beamed at Javi, proud of yourself for finally getting comfortable with the water.

“Thank you Javi, really. I couldn’t have done this without you.”

“I’m sure you could’ve. Smartest woman I know.” He kept caressing your cheek, making you slightly lean into it. His hand did find its way back to your upper back, and you did see him lean in to you.

“Are partners supposed to do this?”

“I think because we’re the biggest jefes in the world, we can do what we please.” He gently put you back down from floating, but his hand was still on the small of your back. Although you were in the pool you felt hot, knowing that he was looking at you with those intense cedar eyes that intimidated you as much as it excited you. You knew that you were inching closer, the line that you created on logic melting into oblivion as your lust took over, but just as his other hand find his way to your waist you moved back.

“I-I can’t. This can get c-complicated.” You did the hand motion between you and him, and while he looked sad, which you could fathom why, he obliged, getting out of the pool first and helping you out.

“Understable. Jorge will lead you to the bathroom to get dressed.” You saw that Jorge was in the house, completely ignoring the situation as he probably saw this more times than he could count.

“Thank you. Uhm, goodnight Javi.”

“Goodnight, Y/N. Text me when you get home so I know you got there safe.” He gave you a smile, although something in his eyes made you wonder if this was just lust for him, or something more. If anything, you thought that the old Javi would just have someone else on call but it seemed with you, that was all he wanted.

“I will.” It was all you said before you walked into the house, the pressing thought in your head being what would’ve been had you let him kiss you in the pool? Would you two have kissed, maybe more? Would he unleash hidden desires like you had for him? You didn’t know for sure but with how you left, turned on yet regretting leaving as you wanted to finish what was started, you knew that you wanted to make up for it later the next chance you had with him.

#pedropascal #pedro pascal #lana writes #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal x reader #jose pedro balmaceda pascal #pedro pascal character fanfic #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal fanfic #pedro pascal fic #pedro pascal imagine #pedro pascal x female reader #pedro pascal x you #pedrostories #pedro pascal fandom #pedro pascal fluff #javi gutierrez #javi g x reader #javi gutierrez x reader #javi g fanfiction #javi g x you #javi gutierrez x you #tuwomt

[purpleyoonn]

Petrichor 10 Preview

P E T R I C H O R

Petrichor /ˈpeˌtrīkôr/  (noun)

“a pleasant smell that frequently accompanies the first rain after a long period of warm, dry weather.”

Summary: You had been working at Bangtan Corporation for almost two years now, and not once have you ever laid eyes on your bosses. That was, until you met them when out with some of your coworkers. Now, you almost wish you hadn’t. Almost.

Pairing: CEO BTS x Chubby MC

Genre: werewolf au, ceo au, soulmate, polyamory relationship, angst, fluff, omegaverse, a/b/o dynamics

Warnings: smut, violence, mentions of knotting, heats, ruts, workplace discrimination, fat phobia, sexism, insecurities,

Some warnings may be added to the beginning of individual chapters.

Will be updated Saturdays at 5pm PST

Masterlist // Taglist

COMING SATURDAY JULY 16TH: 5PM PST

————————————————-

“Excuse me, Minhyuk-ssi, but I think I must get my mate something to eat.” Jin had cut the man off, politely, as he noticed the glaze covering your eyes. He could smell your scent becoming darker, almost burnt, a tell-tale sign of your impending anxiety attack.

Holding you even closer to his side, he searches for the tables of the buffet he knew occupied a wall of the room every year. Upon seeing his wish, he helps you over to the table, not letting his arm leave you as he makes you a plate of the small hors d'oeuvres before bringing you to a round table that has his name covering two of the plates

“Talk to me my love. I can’t help you if I don’t know what’s wrong.” Jin pleads with you, hating the sight of your impending shut down. They’ve all noticed that you would rather remain silent over what bothers or upsets you, feeling like you would burden them otherwise, which was absolutely false.

“It’s nothing Jin. I promise.”

“So, it isn’t about the envious looks of jealousy you are receiving?” He raises an eyebrow at you, a little upset that you wouldn’t share what had you so uncomfortable.

He was not oblivious to the looks that you were receiving, nor was he going to stand back and let his mate feel the depth of those stares. Taking control of the situation, he chose to do what he wanted, pulling you out of your chair and placing you in his lap. You had gone to protest only to receive a tight grasp to your thigh and a look of warning. You bit your lip as you watched him move your small plate closer, and reluctantly opened your mouth so he could feed you from his hands.

You were hot as you sat in his lap, one hand covering the expanse of your thigh while the other fed you small pieces of fruit and bread. His full attention on you as he watched you chew and swallow each piece. Feeding you brought so much satisfaction to his wolf that he could feel the rumbles beginning to grow in his chest at the thought of providing for you in such an intimate and domestic way.

Plus, he reveled in the anguish of the people causing his mate distress. Watching them as they try to hold themselves back from causing a scene at the sight of his mate on his lap, and not them. He couldn’t help but smirk, hearing their upset and jealous whispers. Jin couldn’t help but want to stir them on more, to prove to everyone in the room that you were his, even if they already knew it.

He couldn’t help but want to stake his claim on you 24/7. He wanted to ravish you against the table, mark your skin with his lips and cum so the entire world would know you were his. Alas, he had to settle for something on a smaller scale to move with your own comfortability. He moved forward, nosing at your neck, still smelling his scent on you. Letting out a little groan, he pressed his lips to your skin, feeling the harsh swallow at his touch. 

“Jin, what are you doing?” Your breathing was becoming inconsistent and shallow, the stares on you making you all too aware of what your mate was doing.

You didn’t receive an adequate answer, only another open mouth kiss placed on the side of your neck, your pulse felt underneath the caress of his lips. 

#bts #bts au #bts werewolf #bts werewolf au #bts omegaverse #bts ceo #bts ceo au #bts soulmate #bts soulmate au #bts mates #bts mates au #ceo wolf!bts #ceo bts #bts polyamory #bts poly #bts poly!au #bts poly au #bts poly! #bts x reader #poly!bts x reader #bts x chubby reader #chubby mc #angst #pining #possessive bts #possessive jin #petrichor #purpleyoonn

[superloves4]

I still taste the past - Chapter 7

Relationships: Curufin/Finrod, Celegorm/Aredhel (background) Summary: Finrod wanted to see Curufin, get his closure after all they had gone through, end things once and for all. What he gets is a journey through the memory of where they've been and the choice of where they will go. TW: none. A/N: Enjoy!

Masterlist - Also on AO3

Curufin looked to the side of his bed and sighed, it had been his suggestion, yes, but when he was alone he couldn't deny the hope that Findaràto had decided to defy him and stayed.

A year, a year of living off of stolen moments when others were sleeping or otherwise occupied, and Curufin could feel it taking it's toll on him in the tiredness that wouldn't leave. Ingoldo, he wanted to scream, Ingoldo, Ingoldo, Ingoldo.

He pushed away from the dirty sheets, preparing for another day in Tirion. The simplest way to be with Findaràto had been to take a commission with his grandfather for a time and then insist that it required him to be available at all times and thus he couldn't just sleep in his room in the crown prince's residence, he just had to stay in Tirion Palace where his cousin, oh so coincidentally, also currently resided for his architectural studies. Alas, this also meant he had work to do.

There was a rather nice conversation happening when he arrived, so nice he waited for the other smiths to finish before revealing he had in fact heard all about how they thought he had taken the job for the purpose of undermining Turukàno, who also was had taken residence in the city for architectural studies although he had moved out of the palace after his and Elenwë's marriage, a marriage that had cost Curufin seven gold coins.

It was laughable how wrong they were in their suppositions and yet so close, they would, however, dearly regret their words as Curufin gave them double the work for the day.

"Ah, arrived early I see!"

He turned around and bowed to the king who smiled patiently.

"I'm your grandfather, there's no need for this." Finwë told him, indicating that he wanted for Curufin to follow.

"Not when I'm working," he explained his reasons as they left the room "Then you are my king, I have to live up to the job you have given me."

Finwë shook his head "You're too harsh on yourself, I asked for you because I trust your eye to detail not because you are my grandson, you are a great smith in your own right."

Curufin smiled "Father did a good job then."

The look Finwë gave him then almost resembled pity but Curufin could not figure out why that would be so, therefore, he changed topic.

"Is there any reason for the visit?" he asked.

Finwë nodded, taking the topic change "Yes, I have hopes for this project to be incorporated in the new pavilion so I have asked for Findaràto to help you in the plans."

Curufin's heart skipped a beat, what golden opportunity was being given here? If he and Findaràto were working on the same project then nobody would question his presence in his bedroom and he was sure he could find some way of justifying for Findaràto's presence in the mornings as well then. That was perfect!

"That seems to be good," he spoke too quickly, failing to contain his excitement. Finwë gave him a confused look but he quickly recovered with a façade of indifference and his grandfather continued to explain his plans.

Alas, if he had known that a laugh would be his undoing he would have been more careful, but he had no way of knowing so when he heard her.

The laugh was delicate, like the waters of a spring, but it rang laud and glad like the song of birds, and all in all, it made Curufin frown, a prickling in the back of his mind as of something being wrong. But Finwë smiled and pointed down.

"It seems that Findaràto has not waited us on his lonesome," and chuckled, Curufin ears were ringing however, but Finwë didn't notice and continued "Arafinwë and Ëarwen have great hopes."

"Who is she? I've never met her," he asked curtly.

Finwë's smile widened "That is Amarië of the Vanyar, she and Findaràto have long been friends," and his voice took a conspiratorial tone as the laugh echoed again when Findaràto grabbed the girl and whirled her around after she tried running "Or perhaps, even something more?"

"Who's to say, perhaps, the pavilion's first use shall be their wedding."

Curufin bound down the stairs leaving Finwë to run after him, striding into the garden just as Findaràto placed Amarië on the ground again.

"If someone were to look at you they would think you were made of time, wouldn't you agree, Findaràto?" he spat, already regretting being there at all, especially as Findaràto, still short of breath, turned to him, his eyes shining and smiling radiantly.

"Atarinkë!" he exclaimed before taking the vanya's hand and bringing her in front of Curufin "This is Amarië, my friend of many years, she has decided to visit Tirion for a time. Amarië, this is Atarinkë, dearest to me."

She bowed in the way of one well taught, one thing Curufin hated to admit was that the woman was beautiful and near Findaràto they looked a beautiful, perfect match."I have heard much of the prince, I'm happy to be able to meet you."

"I have never heard of you."

Serpent tongue, he was, cruel and wrathful, as he stared in the glaring eyes of his lover as the girl flinched, her smile fallen as she shifted her weight, unsure what to respond to his hostility.

"Atarinkë!" Findaràto reprimanded him and Curufin stared back with the same intensity.

"Well not all of us have the cheek to laze around during work hours."

"Most of us, however, are capable of basic politeness when meeting a friend."

"Do you put your hands on all your friends?" Amarië barely covered a gasp, face turning red, Curufin wanted to slap her hopeful glances at Findaràto away, there was another scathing reply at the back of his mind ready to be said but Finwë intervened.

"I had hopes that you'd put your differences aside for once," he told them and his disappointment was palpable "If this continues you will both be removed from this task, am I clear?"

They responded in affirmative but they continued to glare at each other, not even looking at the king.

Finwë sighed and talked with Amarië instead "Forgive us, Amarië, I didn't think a pavilion would cause a fight."

The girl chuckled and nodded, although anyone could see she was embarrassed still "No, it's my fault, I should not have bothered Findaràto in his duties, I won't disturb anymore I shall leave now."

The king reiterated his apologies before she left and they actually began their project.

"I'm not dropping this Atarinkë!" Findaràto exclaimed, it wasn't unusual for the two of them to fight but it was the first time he just couldn't understand Curufin at all  "You almost caused a scene in front of our grandfather of all people! Secrecy was your idea!"

"What did you want me to do?!" he answered, his voice echoing in the deserted corridor "Let you make a fool out of me?"

"How was I doing any of the sort? You're not making any sense!"

"You were gallivanting with that vanya!"

Findaràto let out a harsh laugh "So that was all? Amarië is my friend! If jealousy was all this was, you needn't have bothered."

"Why didn't you tell me about her before?!"

"Because I didn't think it was needed! You don't like the vanyar and Amarië hardly leaves Taniquetil, there hadn't been any need for an introduction before!"

"Because hiding your friendships is not suspicious at all."

"I wasn't hiding Amarië!"

Curufin rolled his eyes and Findaràto lost any last patience.

"What now? Am I to make an itemized list of all my friends?" he threw at him "Or have you forgotten that other people have friends?!"

"When your parents are actively planning your wedding, then yes!!"

Findaràto sighed and took a turn of the room trying to calm down.

"My parents have long hoped I'd announce my marriage," he explained, trying tiredly to make sure Curufin understood "Any marriage," he emphasized "Amarië just happens  to be one of my oldest friends, they made assumptions."

Then he stopped behind Curufin, letting his arms envelop the other "Assumptions I could dispel if a certain someone accepted my proposal." He kissed the other's neck "Is it not enough that you are the one I love?"

Curufin sighed, wondering if that was truly enough, but he let Findaràto kiss him, no matter how bitter it felt when jealousy ate at him so deeply. Amarië was exactly what was expected of Findaràto's spouse, beautiful and bright and kind, there would be no crowd they could not captivate and there was no one that would disagree that they were a match. What of Curufin then? Would he be asked to make their bridal jewellery or would his skills not be considered enough for the golden prince of Tirion?

But he said none of that, instead he let out a quiet "I do have friends..."

Findaràto quickly suppressed a chuckle, trying hard not to fall into laughter "Please, name one friend you are not related to."

Curufin almost replied Angaràto before realizing it was meant beyond his brothers, so he tried to find another name, and he tried, and tried, but was coming up blank and with every longer moment of silence Findaràto's amusement grew. So he threw the only name he had.

"Well, there's Astalalmë, she's a girl whose mother would deliver the raw material to the forge. We are friendly?"

The suppressed snickering stopped and Findaràto was quiet for a moment before finally replying "Who is that?"

#silm fic #my writing #curufinrod #curufin #finrod #finrod felagund #the silmarillion #silmarillion #feanorians #silm #trans curufin #not really explored tho #dysfunctional to functional #curufin/finrod #finrod/curufin #tolkien

[sgcairo]

My Dearest Darling (Irnes X Fatui! Reader Part Three)

Somehow, we made it to 200+ followers! Here's the third part of the series, and I believe I'll probably need a masterpost soon for what I have planned... This part is mostly letters, for those wondering. There's a little bit at the end that isn't letters, but here's all of Irnes' major writings to you! Still SFW, Irnes is a smitten man and the mortifying ordeal of having to explain why there's a nude painting of him in the mail would probably give him a heart attack. So here you go, some letters from Irnes during your time apart!

Seventh of Winter

My darling,

I used to write all the time, when I was much younger. But since my body doesn't work as well as it used to, I've found that writing my observations and letters is much harder than it was. Regardless, I will do my best for you, as you're all alone and I can't bear to leave you that way.

Today is the seventh day of winter. You left yesterday, yet I can't stop thinking about you. It's around this time that my pain starts to act up from the cold, so I've been sequestered in my chair by Sergei so I don't hurt myself. But there's so much to do! The projects for the Doctor will not finish themselves, and I have several reports to finish! Alas, Sergei is vehemently keeping me confined, I'm only allowed to walk with his assistance (though I'm quite sure I don't need it). However, that is not of any importance, as my thoughts have been only on your lovely voice.

There's no greater force in this world than passion and love. I know this well, subjects put under extreme duress in impossible situations are invigorated by the sight of their true desire, whether it be relation or object. In this case, I am the subject, so dearly in love with you that I would do anything, survive a bludgeoning that would kill a man. Oh how I love you, my dear, it pains me to know that you're so far away, across the sea and serving Her Majesty in the name of progress.

I cannot confess it to your face, but clones do not... dream, at least, not often. It's not that we're incaptable, no, it's that we have nothing to dream about, other than our beloved creator's goal, which is rather boring to think, let alone dream about. But I've found that my dreams have been solely occupied by you, to the point that Prime would have written it off as an illness. It is not an illness, I know that much, but it really is peculiar. I've never dreamed like this before... Can you believe that?

But enough about me, how has your trip been? By the time you read this letter, I predict you will be in Sumeru, so I must ask how it went. I don't know if you get seasick or not, but I hope not, otherwise I would have made a little something to make you feel better. Do let me know, I'll send a package for next time! I forgot to inform you, but I have given Omega express orders to make sure you're well, a favor that he's been dying to pay off. If he is unkind to you, tell me and I will ensure that his return will be anything but pleasant. I will also tell Prime, because I am physically incapable of smacking him upside the head with sufficient force to get through that thick skull of his.

Anyhow, I know you don't have much time to read an essay worth of words, so I will stop here. Do take care of yourself, my love. I wait for your reply.

With love, Irnes

Eleventh of Winter

My dear,

It has been a few days since I have written last, but only because I seem to have fallen ill again. Even now, Sergei is writing this for me, as I am not allowed to leave my bed or do any strenuous tasks. Though I'm fairly sure that writing isn't a strenuous task when you have nothing to do... Do not worry about me, however, my sickness is nothing serious, just a small cold. Sergei is merely overreacting, I am perfectly fine, I believe that I am being forced to rest as a precaution, nothing more.

I miss you so much. I cannot wait to hold you in my arms again, I do believe that the saying "in absence does the heart grow fonder". I've found myself somewhat distracted from my work by thoughts of you, and Sergei is giving me a look as I say this. I should apologize to Prime, now that I think about it. No matter, I will get to it eventually. Eventually.

I've been thinking about our future recently. Being sick gives me too much time alone with my thoughts, it seems! When you return, I will speak more of it, but I think that perhaps- if you weren't opposed- we could make it somewhat official? I quite like the idea of you being mine. Perhaps it's my brain's response to theoretical death that's saying this... but I also like the idea of being yours. I like that idea better, actually. Being yours would make me truly happy.

But do tell me about your adventures in Sumeru! There are these particular creatures called Aranara that you may run across during your adventures, do send any pictures if you find them! They have little hats and usually dance around near trees. You may need a child to find them, but they are positively adorable! I have also sent some pressed flowers from my collection, one of them being a wild glaze lily. Fully intact, preserved for a few years, though the exact number of years escapes me. Consider it a bribe! Just kidding, but Sumeru really is a fascinating place. I think you will enjoy it immensely.

Anyways, my throat hurts and Sergei is glaring at me. Do take care of yourself, my love. I promise that I'll be alright, don't worry about me. Enjoy your time away, I will be here waiting for you.

Yours, Irnes

Sir, Irnes is delirious and will not be writing to you for some time. I apologize for the inconvenience, but he needs rest. He is also trying to escape, so please do write to tell him to stop running out in the cold with minimal clothing. By that I mean almost nothing. Thank you.

Sergei

Twentieth of Winter

My dearest darling,

I think it will please you to know that I have fully recovered since your last letter, in which you expressed much concern over my health. I can assure you that I am back on my feet! Prime is working me to near death, but it is the busiest season, as the deep cold keeps specimens from falling apart as easily. We also have new segments that have to be taken care of... Having naked ones running around is amusing, to say the least. They have no concept of morality or language yet, which has made for a few fires.

Anastasiy also has been discovering the concept of cookies lately, he has been hoarding them in his room. I have been pressed to make more, though Lord Pantalone is threatening to have me disbanded for getting him addicted to sugar. I can't help it though, his eyes have that little twinkle when he sees them! Oh well. I'll be sure to make you some once you return, as they are best warm.

Omega has notified me that you've been working quite hard under his jurisdiction. Don't let him pressure you into working more, my dear! He may be your superior, but I will come to Sumeru myself and knock him upside the head, just you wait. The warmth would keep my joints nice and loose, just for his ass kicking.

Do make sure that you're getting enough water and food! Sumeru can dehydrate you, especially in the humid areas! I would hate for you to get hurt or pass out because of it! Sleep is also important, especially in a land with no dreams. Without dreams as an indication of deep sleep, do try to get the advised eight hours a night (though I am fully aware that your schedule may not allow it). I have sent some herbal teas with this letter to help you sleep well, should you require them. They are a blend I procured and mixed personally, do tell me if it is not to your liking.

It's good to hear that you're doing well in Sumeru. Your stories are quite amusing, that Maksim of yours really is a mischievous man. I am glad that your comrades are taking care of you, despite getting goo all over your uniform. And do not worry about the uniform, dear. I happen to know how to get stains out of any fabric, and we can even get you a new one, should it be unsalvageable.

I wish I could hold you through a letter, but I'm afraid the universe has concrete limits. I send all my love to you, and I hope to hear from you again soon. Take care, my dear.

Yours, Irnes

Second of Spring

My star,

Snezhnaya does not have much of a spring season. It doesn't exactly have seasons, either. Though I look forward to summer, at least the cold relents ever so slightly. It's nice, on the old aches.

I have been invested in a project recently. It may be a bit forward of me, but I suppose I will simply have to show you in person. It will take some time to complete, however. Oh dear, it definitely

In your previous letter, you mentioned your family. I would very much like to meet them, that is, if you would like to be seen with someone like me. I don't know what's come over me lately, but things feel... wrong. It's nothing to do with you or any of the others, I simply feel strange in my own skin. An ache has started in my chest, the mirrors feel awfully oppressive as of late. I apologize, I know I shouldn't burden you with my thoughts like this.

I should write at another time, I suppose.

Third of Spring

My dearest,

I do not know how long you'll be gone, but it's almost been a season since you've left. I'm almost tempted to come visit you, though Sergei says it's a bad idea. Travelling in my condition... It would certainly be painful, but I would do it just to see you again. It would be worth it, every small pain. Though I know you wouldn't approve, so I will stay here and wait.

I do have some funny tidbits from my days taking care of the new clones. It's only been a few weeks, but they still insist on causing chaos, fairly standard of their base instincts. Though one of them in particular is very interested in vandalizing the holding room with... phallic objects. I've caught him in the act not once, not twice, but THREE times. I audibly sigh just thinking about it, is this what raising children is like?

Speaking of which, what are your opinions on children? Merely out of curiosity, as you seemed to have an aversion when I introduced you to Danya. Though I did see children in that family picture of yours... I must ask if you have siblings! Perhaps cousins, if not... It puzzles me, the children do look remarkably similar to you... blood relations, I'm sure. Please help me, my dear! I'm dying of curiosity!

I have inquired further with Prime about Sumeru out of my own curiosity. How wondrous! I wish I could be there with you, I hear that Sumeru City truly is a beautiful place. I also received those pictures of the Aranaras that you sent! They are quite adorable, and they have been taken from me by those ungrateful and greedy little creatures that Prime calls his image. They are currently begging me to ask you to send more, though I know you are quite busy and have little time to yourself, so do not feel pressured to comply.

In exchange for those marvelous pictures, I have included one of a rather disappointed segment in the bath and a few setting fires. I do hope you will be amused by them, it is quite embarrassing for them, but deserved after they stole my pictures. I am a man of spite, my dear, and I will not hesitate.

I love you, my dear. I hope that soon you will return to me.

Yours, Irnes

Fifteenth of Spring

My dear,

I should tell you the story of how I got these burns, hm? I have little to talk about nowadays, my time is rather mundane while serving Prime, so I suppose this may be the best way to tell you. While I would much rather say it to your face... Part of me knows that I would lose my courage in that situation, and for that I am sorry. You deserve nothing but my best, but I should tell you that I can be quite a cowardly man when it serves me. Or perhaps when it matters most.

It was many years ago. So many that it's only a vague recollection. I was in charge of a ruin guard factory, a short distance outside of Liyue Harbor. In fact, I believe it is still there, albeit abandoned. I was working in Prime's place, during one of his obsessions. I was quite proud of being promoted to a manager of such an important project, so much so that it seems foolish now, looking back on it. I was young, fresh out of the pod and eager for responsibility. It was stupid, in hindsight.

The accident itself involved that very hubris I held. At first, it was just my coat getting stuck in one of the open gears of a nearby incinerator. The next, it was my glove, then my hand. It hurt, it hurt so much. The gears crushed my skin, my bones. The fire burned through muscle, it felt like I was being torn apart. The open flame spread, until I was fully ablaze. I cried for help, but it was too late. The severe burns on my right side are what remains of that accident, as well as the crookedness of my arm. I don't remember much after catching fire. Just voices and flashes of light. I thought I was going to die.

Somehow, though, I did not. When I opened my eyes next, I was back in the cold of the motherland, the sky full of stars. That was the first time I'd ever seen the stars above my home. It was beautiful, like something out of a dream. The next time I woke up, it was with Prime holding a bone saw in front of my face. I almost wet myself, I'll tell you that much. It was terrifying. He planned to use it to cut through the skin as well! Blasphemy!

I couldn't walk and barely spoke for a few months after that. It took me a year, perhaps a bit more, to fully be able to walk again. Even then, it was embarrassingly haphazard. Still is, if I'm being honest.

I don't know what has come over me, writing this. I apologize, my dear. But know that I care for you, and that I wait for you to return.

Please keep safe.

Yours, Irnes

Forty Third of Spring

My dear,

I have not heard of you for some time. I do hope you're alright. Perhaps it is because you're busy, but I hope it's not because you're wounded. That would hurt more than you not having time...

Please take care of yourself.

Yours, Irnes

Eighth of Summer

Tsaritsa have mercy, it can't be true. Please, don't let it be true. Please. It's a lie, a clever prank by Omega.

Please.

It's summer. It's the warmest that this horrid place will ever get. I planned... I had so much planned.

Don't leave me alone. Please. My heart can't take it. It's selfish, I know. But please don't leave me.

I love you, my dear.

#irnes #fatui reader #fatui x reader #fatui x gn reader #il dottore's clones #fatui #fatui harbingers #genshin impact #this made me very very sad #beat me with a stick i deserve it

[ciphers-dv]

no i didn’t forget!!!1! ← totally forgot

Submissions for the Carnival Creativity Contest prompt: An Airy New Friend

To be a Worldhopper is to be often subjected to rather… unusual situations. Anything ranging from getting pulled into petty rivalries, to being attacked by pirates, to getting stuck in sprawling enchanted labyrinths. Not to mention enough encounters with literal deities that would make even the least devout person second guess themself. As for what Nyklo was currently witnessing? It may not have been the most fantastical thing she’d seen; but, it was certainly among the stranger ones. It had begun with stumbling into that colorful, buzzing tent housed within the cacophony of the Carnival (Which was another odd experience in itself) and being swindled into the most bizarre game of cards that she’d ever heard of in her life. Accolades– as the points were called– given and taken without rhyme nor reason. By the end of that first round, Nyklo was convinced that the jester running it was making up whatever numbers would allow him to make away with her potato ante. A second round did not occur. At least, not for her. Before Nyklo could mumble out an excuse to leave, the Worldhopper was bodily shoved aside from her seat at the low table. Her… companion... of a Peryton ruffling their wings before dropping onto the cushion she once occupied. And while picking herself off the floor, Nyklo watched as the Peryton dropped another bundle of potatoes before the jester. ”I’ll play.” … So began the routine for each following day of the Carnival: begin by meandering through a shifting maze, followed by nursing a cup of tea (Or two) while watching a wheel slowly tick its way around, and ending with a visit to the card game tent for a few rounds. There, Nyklo would sit back and bear witness to the fastest plays that she could never imagine. Pitre dropping down a card and rattling off its tribulations just as quickly as Caesari would chirp back a number (The Accolades..?-- “Hey, I thought we started with zero!”) or the answer to some arcane riddle (”Eleven?! That doesn’t even make any sense!”). Nevertheless, Caesari managed to win the grand prize at least a few times. So clearly the beast had managed to decipher something from the game that she wouldn’t have even begun to dream of. However… Sometime within those lightning rounds Pitre expressed an interest in the Peryton (Nyklo couldn’t fault him. Caesari was certainly an… eclectic creature to behold. Nevermind the ability to play– and win– his game. … Speaking without needing to move their mouth… Seeming to know much more than they let on… Delighting in being a general nuisance… ) and contemplated a companion of his own. When the jester stood up from the table and disappeared somewhere deeper into the tent, Nyklo figured he’d gone to fetch something for her to animate for him. It wouldn’t have been the first time it had been asked of her. But, alas, things can never be quite so simple for the Worldhopper. Pitre, in all his jester wisdom, has deemed balloons to be the supreme medium to construct a pet and Caesari, in turn, expressed an interest in wanting to see the results. So after a presumably proper amount of time for the development and creation of a befitting balloon beast, Worldhopper and companion were recalled through one of those bellspeakers. Thus leading up to now… … In the moment it took for Nyklo to drop herself in the entrance of an otherwise empty tent, the jester appeared. Baffled, she gazed up as Pitre– stood in the middle of a slow-laden lane of the Carnival– held aloft a… balloon pony? Yes, indeed; a pony fashioned of pastel-colored balloons and even decorated with a flourish of paint. He brandished the figure at Caesari. The Peryton in turn holding a balloon self-miniature in their maw and looking awfully amused. Where’d that come from? “A most fitting pet for a jester, yes? I see you’ve had one made for yourself.” Caesari’s ears flicked forward, eyes squinting in mirth. ”No.” “No?” Pitre frowned. “It couldn’t have been yourself. You have no hands.” The jester peered at Nyklo. The Worldhopper shrugged back; “No idea.” “Simple, really,” the Peryton continued on, grinning around the balloon-from-thin-air. ”Not real.” Caesari tightened their maw around the balloon animal, making it burst with a loud pop and startling a gaggle of passing by carnivalgoers. And just as the beast has said, not a trace of the balloon was left. Somehow, it never existed in the first place. "Unfortunate. Perhaps you would enjoy one more permanent?" A strange Carnival with strange inhabitants. Strange games with strange rules. But those, at least, were temporary. But strange companions? Much more permanent. Such is the life of a Worldhopper.

#i got very ambitious with the art for this one then gave myself very little time to do it #i forgot so many things and/or had ideas too late #not to mention the writing was down to the absolute wire and i had to drop/change so much #i truly don't know how this was staff picked ldfkgjlkfdg #dappervolk #ciphertext

[fangirlprincess-writes]

Friends Don't Look At Friends That Way - Chapter 2: Age 15

this story will be angsty, so consider this your warning! there will be a happy end though, so I hope that helps. enjoy!

cw: angst

word count: 1.774

read on AO3 || masterlist

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chapter summary: the one where Rowan has a crush

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The history lesson is deadly boring. Aelin is seriously afraid she's going to fall asleep any minute now. She wishes she could care about the Kings and Queens that have ruled Terassen hundreds of years ago, but her thoughts are otherwise occupied. 

Rowan has been acting strange the past week. He isn't listening to her anymore, his mind always drifting, and when they are at school, he is usually looking around until his eyes find a specific group of students: the cheerleaders. Aelin is trying to figure out who in that group has caught his attention, but so far she hasn't succeeded. 

She herself doesn't have any classes with the popular girls, so it's been very hard to figure out who Rowan is always looking for. Though she does have a creeping suspicion. She'll just have to wait and see or gather up the confidence to confront Rowan. She's not sure which option is worse yet.

"Please read chapter 36 of your textbook for tomorrow's class and take some notes on the problems the rulers had to deal with." The teacher's voice announcing the homework pulls Aelin's mind back to the class. 

She really should have paid more attention, but what is done is done, she guesses. Maybe she'll ask Rowan to help her with the homework. He's always been kind of a nerd, interested in so many different topics that her mind already feels exhausted just listing them all. 

The most annoying thing though is that he has such a good memory that he only needs to read a text once to be able to recite the information from memory. Aelin wishes she could do that, but alas, studying for multiple hours is the only way she can even halfway reliably remember anything.

Aelin takes her bag and leaves the classroom, making her way outside to the lunch tables near the lacrosse field. Rowan is hoping to get a spot on the team next year, their sophomore year, so he loves watching the lacrosse guys mess around on the field. 

She doesn't really get what he gains from watching them, but she doesn't mind the view. Watching a couple of hot athletes mess around isn't the worst way you can spend a lunch break. And besides, it isn't as if she has an abundance of friends wanting to spend lunch with her. Aelin is friendly with most people. She knows everyone at least by name, and they know her, but there aren't any true friends she has besides Rowan. 

High school hasn't been as she thought it would so far. She can't believe how naively she believed she would suddenly have a ton of new friends, just a year ago. But making actual friends has been harder than she would have ever imagined.

When she sits down at the table, Rowan's not there yet and Aelin remembers he's just had maths with Mr Ellinger, who loves to teach lessons that are a few minutes longer than they're supposed to be.

And just as anticipated, five minutes later Rowan plops down on the bench opposite her. Aelin already spread her lunch out on the table between them. This is a little tradition they have: whatever lunch they packed in the morning or buy in the cafeteria, they spread it out on the table (or sometimes the ground when they're dying for some shade in the summer and therefore sit under a tree) and then share. 

It started in their middle school days when Rowan had a peanut butter and jelly sandwich one day, while Aelin's parents packed her a turkey one. Aelin was dying for something sweet, so she offered Rowan a bargain: half of his pb&j for half of her turkey sandwich. He accepted and from then on they started sharing their food every lunch. Aelin has never told him, but she always makes sure to pack something she knows he'll like. She loves the way his face lights up whenever he sees one of his favorite snacks on the table. 

When he spots the peanut butter crackers she packed specifically for him this morning, he gets significantly happier. Aelin can tell just by looking at his face. 

Rowan's hair has gotten longer the past few months, curling around his ears now and constantly falling into his eyes. He takes a hand to wipe it out of his face and Aelin's stomach gives a slight flutter at the sight.

This has been happening more and more since that night of stargazing a year ago. Rowan is doing some completely mundane thing and randomly her body has this weird reaction. It's become so normal at this point that she barely even notices anymore.  The first few times were irritating and confusing but after that she just decided to ignore it as best as she can.

"Ugh, you won't believe what Mr Ellinger put us through today," he starts, unpacking his own lunch and adding it to the table. This also manages to pull Aelin out of her reverie about hair and butterflies and why everything is so confusing recently.

Aelin patiently listens as he complains and chimes in with her own tales from history once he is finished.  "That actually reminds me: Do you want to come over to do homework today? I could really use your help with the history assignment."

Rowan doesn't answer. His gaze is somewhere to the left of her, the direction of the lacrosse field. When she follows it, she can see the cheerleaders standing on the sidelines and cheering on the lacrosse players during their fake-brawl or whatever it is they are doing. Aelin doesn't know and also doesn't particularly care if she's honest with herself. 

She looks back at Rowan, barely restraining herself from rolling her eyes. Fed up with him, she gives his shin a kick under the table. "Ouch, what was that for, Aelin?" he asks, slightly indignant.

"Whoops, my foot must have slipped," she says, giving him an apologetic grin. "Anyways, I asked you a question. Our did you not hear because you were too busy ogling some cheerleaders?" At this she gives him a meaningful look. It doesn't really feel satisfactory though to see his ears turn red and a slight flush spread on his cheeks. Instead, it turns her stomach. Aelin already guessed that Rowan has a crush on one of the cheerleaders, but they haven't talked about it yet. This is the first confirmation he's given her and Aelin isn't sure she's ready for the rest of the conversation. But since she's the one who started it, it would be bad best-friend-fashion to turn back now. 

"Well, I guess I…I actually wanted to talk to you about that." Rowan looks slightly sheepish. 

"Did you? Because you don't sound so sure." Aelin knows she shouldn't be needling him like this, should be happy that he decided to finally talk to her. But even knowing this, she can't bear to make it easy for him. She doesn't fully understand why.

"I did," he says, more resolve in this voice now. "So, there's this girl I like-"

"One of the cheerleaders?" Aelin interjects.

"Yes, one of the cheerleaders. She's in my English class and we had to work on this group project together with a few other people a little while ago and she's so nice but also smart. Like, she's super smart, Ace. And she's also so pretty, like her eyes-"

"Okay, that's amazing," Aelin interrupts again, feeling like her lunch might make a reappearance if Rowan continues talking. "But maybe tell me her name so that I can actually put a face to this mystery girl?" She's pretty sure her voice sounds way snappier than the situation calls for, but she's to focused on not letting her distaste show on her face to control her voice as well.

"Oh, of course. Her name is Remelle."

Remelle. Of course Rowan had to choose the most popular cheerleader, at least of the ones in their year. Remelle is beautiful. There is no other way of seeing it. She has pale blond hair, actually a similar shade to Rowan's and vibrant blue eyes. 

Aelin doesn't know Remelle, they have never even talked before since they don't share any classes, but of course she heard all kinds of things about Remelle. She doesn't try to listen to gossip too much though, so Aelin doesn't really have an opinion on her. 

"Ookay," Aelin just says. What else is she supposed to say to this whole thing? What would a friend say in a situation like this? "Have you talked to her yet?" Is what she settles on.

"I mean, we talked during the group project," Rowan says.

"No, dummy, I don't mean school related stuff. I mean actually talked to her. Like about her interests or something."

"Oh. No, then I guess we haven't talked yet. Is that bad?" He sounds unsure now.

"No, it's not bad," she reassures him. 

"I really want to talk to her. I just don't know how. Or what to talk about." Suddenly he gets this new look in his eyes. "Can't you help me with that Ace?"

"Me?" Aelin splutters. "How am I supposed to help you? I don't even know her!"

"Well, you're a girl, aren't you?" Rowan says, as if that were a completely rational reasoning. 

"How very perceptive of you," Aelin almost hisses. God, she can't believe him sometimes. This whole conversation is just getting worse and worse.

"Sorry, sorry," Rowan rushes to apologize. "That came out wrong. I just mean, don't you know how a girl wants to be talked to?"

"I guess I do."

"Great. So maybe you can give me a few tips? On what to do and what to avoid?"

"Yeah, fine. I guess I can do that." She gives in way easier than she usually would, but she just wants this conversation to be over. Thinking of Rowan talking to this girl, of her liking him enough to go out with him – because who was she kidding, Rowan is amazing, so of course Remelle will want to go out with him – of them kissing and then starting to date, makes Aelin's stomach turn. 

"Thank you, Ace! Thank you so much! What would I even do without you?" Rowan has a huge grin on his face and Aelin hasn't seen him this excited since their ice-cream eating contest last summer. And he had been very excited about that. 

"Of course," she says, forcing a smile on her lips. It feels brittle and fake. This is what best friends do after all, right?

---

thanks for reading!

comments/reblogs/likes are always appreciated! <3

---

tag list:

@yafandomsnet

#my writing #friends don't look at friends that way #rowan whitethorn #modern au #rowan x aelin #throne of glass fanfiction #rowaelin #rowaelin fanfic #aelin ashryver galathynius

[sinceileftyoublog]

The Church Album Review: The Hypnogogue

(Communicating Vessels)

BY JORDAN MAINZER

The Church’s 26th album (and first in 6 years) is, strangely, their first concept record. You’d think the Australian greats’ dreamy, neo psychedelia would be perfect to soundtrack tunes with a narrative arc; alas, this is Steve Kilbey’s first foray into more literal musical storytelling. Yet, he smartly keeps it vague, and secondary to the music itself. The plot is futuristic: A rock star in the 2050s falls in love with a scientist who invents the titular Hypnogogue, a device that pulls thoughts out of your head and makes them into music. Is it a ham-fisted analogy for AI art? Perhaps. But the plot is an effective symbol for being lost in the dream, the limbo between slumber and wide-eyed beginnings that music can achieve. “Remember the music pulled out of your head / Piano trickling into the cans,” Kilbey sings on the title track, “Insulating guitars, reptilian bass / Kick in your face, the snare in your heart.” Flickering guitars make the song epic without being showy, a self-reflexive microcosm of The Hypnogogue as a whole.

In essence, The Hynogogue is a tribute to the sensations we hold most dear. “Your ascension, your reward,” Kilbey repeats on opening track “Ascendence”, showcasing the prototypical buildup of whirring, warbling noise, atmospheric guitars and arpeggiated, chiming synths. On the pulsating, glassy “These Coming Days”, he describes “The wallpaper at your favorite café / The paper flowers in the kitchen / The aromatic pines, the rambling vines” as if they themselves are what bring us life. If the album’s world occupies our worst nightmares, where the intangible can become computerized, humanism replaceable, the band smartly argues against it by creating beauty out of nostalgic sounds. Kilbey’s always Bowie-esque croon is the perfect match for the “All The Young Dudes” guitars of “No Other You”, and his muted vocal overdubs on “Succulent”, atop wobbling synthesizers and stadium-sized guitars, recall Pink Floyd at their headiest. And the sway of “I Think I Knew” and jangly guitars of “C’est La Vie” are The Church at their most beatific and catchy, a straight line from “Under The Milky Way” until now.

At over an hour and most of its songs slow burns, The Hypnogogue is an album that requires patience, but its rewards, sonic and otherwise, are plentiful. “Everyone must want something,” Kilby sighs on “Albert Ross”, and whether that’s the glacial thumps of “Thorn” and “Antarctica” or the baroque melancholy of “Aerodrome”, there are feelings here to occupy every corner of your heart.

#album review #the church #steve kilbey #tim powles #ian haug #the hypnogogue #communicating vessels #david bowie #pink floyd

[havfayth]

❛ i’m sorry, have we met? ❜ bladie @ jing yuan

@artisaen / no meme / always accepting.

THOSE WORDS TAPPED AGAINST THE RECESSES OF HIS HEART, tempting and longing to be rectified and pampered by the man's gaze upon it and the otherwise FAMILIAR soothing words that falls had he remembered.

alas, no longer those eyes know jing yuan as they used to, no longer would those ears allow jing yuan the opportunity to impart words of loving in droves. such forced SILENCE is almost quite cruel in the most VIOLENT way, like fingernails digging into the skin of his throat, daring to rip the tongue that dared speak freely.

with a small smile rising from his lips, jing yuan closes his eyes and shakes his head. ❝ .. no. my apologies, i seem to have mistaken you for another dear face. you simply remind me of him, rather fondly, ❞ he imparts with a degree of the same TENDERNESS that have been an unyielding result of said love. barely even marred by the cruelty of loss that now deprives him and seek to empty him dry.

facing the seas, the gentle winds continues to stroke along his unruly hair, an IMPERFECT rendition of the fingers that once cards through his silver tresses, singlehandedly owning him entirely, his heart and soul. ❝ there was once a legendary figure beloved by many who walked upon these lands, who breathed life into his creations and rightfully earned the awe of many. but to me, his very value lies within his existence and all that follows, every mark he left behind imprinted into my spirit, his works included, ❞ he muses aloud, AMUSED by his very own reveries and outpours of little truths never to be heard or acknowledged by the very SOULMATE he once grasped tightly. as though he cannot co-exist peacefully with the grand tales of this galaxy without him.

❝ every word he spoke in seriousness, every kindness he shed, every thought he spares for those who suffers and yearns his attention. and glad i am to find that he has yet to abandon it fully. ❞

from the last contact he's had with the WOMAN IN SUNGLASSES, he knows blade is now in a better place where his KINDNESS and softness still lives on and shared with those who he'd be at ease to be on his receiving end. this is far much better for blade, this MERCY upon his bygone lover's soul that can be blessed by the departure of excruciating memories, inclusive of jing yuan himself.

now should his HAPPINESS lies within jing yuan's absence in his very new life he now leads, then jing yuan would wish every shred of himself removed from his mind, heart and soul. he'd labour to ensure he will DISAPPEAR for good, never to impose on his newfound life and finish the path he set out for himself.

a small hum emits from the general, as he idly traces his gaze along the ocean swells, gently enveloping the breeze that curls against it. where once occupied his heart with ECTASY at the mere glance from the other man is now replaced with the very same joy. never stopped beating for him. ❝ what can i say ? the joys, happiness and dreams that he have gifted me with his mere presence felt so massive, that i was simply, a drifting cloud facing the heavens, unworthy of it. ❞

and in a way, he still is.

but that itself is well. it does not matter, not when the best scenario is already in play, needing no further action from jing yuan.

because even without him, jing yuan can still LOVE him as he always does, untouched by the aging time of accruing regret and remorse, the impossible DISTANCE that often blurred one's visions from true wisdom, from what is BEST ( and jing yuan always knows what is best ). and it is because this unspeakable STRENGTH of mind and will that jing yuan can still keep his PROMISE .. to make his one and only happy and free from the anguish jing yuan would otherwise bring along.

glancing at blade, jing yuan can only SMILE, smile as though only he knows that .. they are where they should be. that this love of his will not die, that it is this love of his that will always, always protect his dearest from PAIN and always wish him well with a heartfelt smile that will always adore him.

no matter what, i'll follow you wherever you go, even in death.

i am the same, jing yuan.

just this once, jing yuan will allow gege to break his word. there is no longer anything owed, anything that needs to be repaid.

and it is with that, he allows them another FAREWELL, and hopefully the very last one.

❝ oh dear, my apologies for keeping you. but .. i thank you for entertaining some of my senseless drivels, and wish you well on your way, kind stranger. ❞

#artisaen #inbox. / jing yuan. #i'm broken......... #j.ingren. ( artisaen ) / if the price to pay for his happiness is mine‚ then i will gladly suffer for eternity.

[theherosreturn]

(A.N. I said Ena but this will do)

Bradley: Well, so long as we can repel any that are threats, maybe even gain them as allies, I’m fine with more Pokemon joining us. Now…since Uzi is occupied with aiding our Miraidon friend, I’ll go check on Irida now.

(After being pointed to the room she was in, Bradley found her on the room’s bed, clearly in sorrow over her…unique situation, even as her Glaceon sits next to her)

Bradley: I take it you’re not handling this well.

Irida: In all honesty, I don’t know what to do now. With what you have said, I do believe that I am not in my current time period…while you were busy, I tried several different things that would’ve worked otherwise, but not even the nobles would respond, as if they were just…not there… (She is clearly bothered by the loss of so much she knew…)

Bradley, sitting next to her: I’ll be honest myself, I have not quite had to face a situation exactly like yours. (Irida seemed like she was about to say something, but Bradley said something first) However…I am very familiar with loss….all too familiar. In my years as the Warrior of Light, death has been at every corner, and not just foes who must be put down for one of many reasons…or civilians I couldn’t save. Indeed, I’ve lost close friends over the years. (Bradley is clearly quite somber over this, unpleasant memories all to common) Papalymo, Moenbryda, Minfillia, Haurch-…Actually…you recall how I reacted when the Analog Beast mimicked a knight and ended up enraging me? (Irida: I do…was the knight someone you remember fondly?) Very much so. His name was Haurchefant Greystone, and to say he was a friend of mine is…not really the whole truth. He was a ray of sunlight, in a sense. Eternally kind and optimistic despite knowing to keep things realistic, always willing to help others, and willing to stand with others no matter what. Heck, if he was still alive, he’d likely be making you hot chocolate by now or something like that. Alas, while we were trying to stop corrupt members of a church that held power over Haurchefant’s home of Ishgard, he ended up having to sacrifice himself to save everyone else, even his shield unable to defend against the attack he took. Even so, in his last moments, he didn’t seem to have regrets, simply telling me that a smile better suits a hero…*sighs* You know, it never truly gets easier to talk about his passing, even now. It’s easier to handle my feelings about it, but even so… (Irida can easily tell that Bradley…genuinely misses Haurchefant….) I’m sorry about the depressing story, I just wanted to explain that…well, you aren’t alone in this. I understand that you’re no doubt confused and missing those you hold close to your heart. Just know that for now…*takes hold of her hand for a moment*…you’re still not alone. If the others and I can find a way to help you return home, we will. If we can’t, then we’ll do our best to aid you regardless, as even in the worst case scenario…the sun will shine again.

(This…was not what Irida expected…but somehow…she didn’t feel so alone now)

Irida: …thank you…

Bradley: *smiles* Now then…I’m going to head back out to the others, do you feel comfortable enough to join me?

Irida: …I…I think I’ll stay close to you…for now, at least…

Bradley: Then just know that if you need some time alone, you can return here to collect your thoughts, ok?

(Irida simply nodded, her expression only a small smile. Thus, she and Bradley went to the main hall (with Irida’s Glaceon staying what was now Irida’s room for a nap). What was now going on? Something involving both ‘Raidons, apparently)

Medic, who was checking on both the "wheel" parts of the two dragons: How very interesting! In my medical opinion, zese creatures and zeir vay of transportation shouldn't be even possible! But much like zhe Bee and its round little body, zese creatures care not for such logic~!

Jackrow: Don't even think about it Doc...Remember what happened last time when you tried to experiment with the slime of a Muk and a loaf of bread?

Medic: Oh come now, It vas only just one gelatinous bread monster! Besides, I'm not going to experiment on an injured animal. I may be a hired mercenary that experiments on his fellow teammates but even I have standards!

Luz: Bradley, since you were curious what new factions we're currently dealing with, I guess I can try and explain them all briefly.

====

The Crystallized Horde: The true main threat that disturbs all natural order within the entire multiverse.

The Plagued Ones: Infected individuals turned into fungal infested undead and are lead by Plagued Killer.

The Metal Legion: A hive mind of Robotized individuals that follow every single order of Mitchel Smasher.

The Gluttonous Savages: A giant pack/clan of ravenous people turned demons that even feast upon their own kind if they become weak or show weakness and all follow The Texas Wendigo rule to a T.

The Phantom Assassins: Black cloaked assassins/killers that rarely speak and are all loyal to Shogun Rex.

The Global Occult Coalition: A fascist group who sees anyone who have powers/magic or are anomalies as "inhuman abominations" and try to kill them in anyway possible.

The Chaos Insurgency: A group of chaotic individuals who use anomalous items to cause as much madness as possible and have all joined forces with The Savage Scavengers and their much more powerful than before leader.

The Null Order: The secretive rebuilt/reborn Gray Horde that desires both revenge and total control over everything once again...And have joined forces with The Combine/Universal Union with their bases still unknown.

The Xeno Hive: The reincarnated Neo Hive with much more deadlier soldiers by the newly renamed King Xeno Blight.

The Syndicate of Steel: Same "Destroy all organic life" goals but now with a much more bigger and powerful army and a much more greater fortress...Which is also the robotized Copper 9 exoplanet from another universe.

#Multiversal Fusion #Cosmicverse #adventureverse #adventureverse: cosmicverse #Chaos-verse

[janeeyreheresy]

The Second Nocturnal Incident

That night, a disturbance occurs. The whole house is aroused by screams. Guests run out of their rooms. Rochester calms everyone down with a story of a servant having a nightmare ("a nervous, excitable woman"), so that they all go back to bed. But Jane is restless. She gets out of bed and gets dressed. Shortly after, Rochester summons her. They go up to the third floor. Mr Richard Mason, the new visitor, has been injured and Jane is tasked with changing his bandages while Rochester goes out for a doctor. Before he leaves, he orders Jane and Richard not to talk to each other. 

I mean, it's hilarious. How does he imagine he can stop them? And how would he know if they did talk? 

Jane, however, is not bothered by this. Perhaps she's by now used to her master's strange orders. Her mind is occupied with this mystery. Mr Mason has been stabbed with a knife. Jane cannot think of any other attacker than Grace Poole. She wonders what Richard was doing up here when he was given a room downstairs.

An act of violence at a place where you live must be unsettling. If I was there and suspected Grace Poole of a violent attack--because there ostensibly was nobody else to suspect--I, too, would wonder why the heck does the master insist on keeping her. Is there a shortage of seamstresses in this time and place? Jane spoke to Grace Poole once, the morning after the barbecue in Rochester's bedroom, and the woman seemed quite normal, sewing the curtains. She warned Jane to keep her door locked but otherwise didn't behave in any sketchy way. Unlike our romantic hero. Grace is a very commonplace and uninteresting Quaker woman.

But if it wasn't Grace Poole, then who? Another servant? Or is there something different, more sinister, threatening Thornfield?

This story needs Miss Marple. She'd suss it out in no time. She'd also take Jane under her wing, bring her back with her to St Mary Mead, make her many cups of tea and biscuits and teach her how to garden. But, alas, Miss Marple will not be born until many decades later and so the poor helpless Jane is left to fend for herself, with no Fairy Godmother to give her guidance. 

Rochester returns with Dr Carter. While the doctor tends to Richard's wounds, Rochester sends Jane to his room to get stuff, including a phial with a dodgy substance, which he admits to the doctor he got from an Italian charlatan. He makes Richard take it. 

Curiously, it's never mentioned again. Wonder what else he keeps in the house?

Mr Richard Mason is dispatched, but before he leaves, he turns to Rochester and says:

“Let her be taken care of; let her be treated as tenderly as may be..."

Who is that mysterious "her"? 

Rochester advised Mason he'd best think of "her" as dead. Richard said "she" bit him and wanted to suck blood. (For those who never read Jane Eyre, no, this is not a vampire novel, but it would be honestly more interesting if it was.) I call BS on this. Not that he's lying, I put it to Jane's revisionism when narrating the novel. But that's for later. Rochester answers that he does his best and always will, and Richard Mason is off in a chaise.

In the early morning hours, Rochester and Jane talk in the garden. He calls her his "pet lamb" and "little friend". Of the incident he explains nothing, so that's the second nocturnal adventure they witnessed where he keeps her in the dark. Jane asks if Grace Poole will go on living at Thornfield. 

“Oh yes! don’t trouble your head about her—put the thing out of your thoughts.”

He then gives an Oscar-winning performance of a broody, tortured hero.

It occurs to me, is he in the wrong job? He sings and acts well, he should have gone into performing arts. He'd get to act out his misogyny on stage and it might have made him a better person in real life. Who knows...

#jane eyre #edward rochester #richard mason #rochester is a villain #jane eyre meta

[thequietmanno1]

Thelreads, MHA 264, Replies Part 1

1) “It`s time folks, tonight we continue our journey through the fantastic world of Boku no Death flag Academia, and oh holy fuck are we getting some bad vibes about what`s going on right now. People are fighting left and right to see who`s gonna die first, and apparently Hawks wants to end the competition by assigning someone the honor of first place. Fuck. I am afraid to know what`s going to happen next, on Chapter 264: One`s justice.”- Everybody else gets a normal-sized Death flag, Twice gets a freaking parade flag. 2) “Wait, are you guys going in or are y`all making sure nobody comes out? I`m slightly confused by it, because either option would be understandable, and being honest, those last two panels pretty much implied both.”- Gotta make sure the paths are thoroughly collapsed enough that nobody can easily dig their way out with enough strength-boosting quirks, so they gotta start the demolition job mid-way down to make sure the rubble reaches deep 3) “Look dude, trying to pretend that everything is fine and dandy is understandable, but it ain`t gonna work when people are about to get stomped into the ground by the heroes. You practiced that smile a lot and I can see, because anyone else would be fuming right now.”- Less pretending, more ‘unaware that The Danger has come knocking on their door’ yet. I bet you anything he woke up this morning and thought, “It’s going to be a wonderful day!”. Alas, the stress of being in a position of power and authority is not easily escaped, especially since he’s technically again the leading man for the PLF’s forces with Tomura otherwise occupied in his tube. But duty calls, and it’s calling loudly.

4) “I can see all that stress just waiting to blow up…”- He’s so angry that his mind and body are needing a few moments to process it all and get on the same page. And it doesn’t seem like his day is going to get any better soon… 5) “And it seems like they were really blocking the entrances, forcing people to come out the way the heroes want, a way to make sure nobody is going to escape justice and the execution.”- The best way to deal with such an interconnected web of contacts, Villains and diehard fanatics, is to cut off every option/connecting strand but one, to force them to face you in a manner you can predict and control. 6) “No wait, never fucking mind that, you just hadn`t completely processed waht you just heard.”- “Re-Destro can’t answer the phone right now. Please leave a message after the beep…” 7) “And we return upstairs by the looks of it, as Cementoss refuses to bury those people and let them slowly die by suffocation. What a coward, it`s almost like he`s not a villain or something.”- Not that that’d do much good at this point, since the wide-angle shot shows the majority of the active PLF have now moved outside the building to fight on the earthen forest floor with the heroes. He could still probably smoosh them with the remaining building parts, but they’re too spread out now and on terrain he can’t manipulate. Luckily, Mudman’s quirk doesn’t have that restriction. 8) “Anyway, Cigarette man thought that he could face kaminari but alas, Sotoka`s grandson has showed up to the party, and in one fellow swoop he killed everyone present. He didn`t learned to be weak like cementoss, he was trained in the art of killing ever since he was able to make origami shurikens.”-

Edgeshot: ‘Taken in alive’ means that they only have to be mostly dead! Hawks: Easy for you to say…. 9) “Yeah sure, ~tiny holes~ that`s the excuse he`s gonna use, you know, I doubt that`s not gonna kill at least a few people there.”- Well, if they continue to fight back and exacerbate their injuries, that’s on them. Edgeshot’s quirk is great for high-speed attacks, but doesn’t give him a lot of options when it comes to subduing people without stabbing them. On the other hand, this also plays into the ‘morally grey’ aspect of the heroes, that with the stakes being so high, they’re ok with impaling multiple opponents to incapacitate them, which would normally be a villainous thing to do, but at the same time they try to ensure that their enemies’ lives are not put further at risk than they need to be, a mercy none of the PLF have for them. 10) “Yeah, exactly that guy, who if I recall correctly, even has a skull face. It`s like the grim reaper walks among the hordes of heroes, taking with him all those that dare to fight against their inevitable fate.”- Speaking of the reaper, besides the obvious deadpool comparisons, with Twice’s black-and-grey bodysuit, he somewhat resembles ol’skullface ‘s colouration a lot… 11) “OH GOD IS THAT THING

AND SHE CAME TO MAKE SURE THEY ARE PROPERLY DECOMPOSING”- You’re meant to ‘push up dasies’ when you pass on, not mushrooms, though they both grow equally well from your nourishment.

12) “DAMMIT HAWKS WHY MUST YOU JUST SINK THE KNIFE DEEPER? I DON`T THINK THAT THE FACT YOU TRICKED HIM IS SOMETHING TO BE PROUD OF.”-  TBH, I’m not so certain this is what Hawks intends, but more so how it looks to Twice. The heavily shadowed and menacing look to hawks here seems to be primarily from Twice’s POV as he processes both his betrayal and his unwitting role in it, with his traumatised and grief-stricken mind interpreting Hawks as a shadowy villain taunting him for being so gullible and letting his friends down again. I think Hawks to actually trying to put the blame on himself rather than allow Twice to self-destruct in his guilt, going like ‘it’s ok, I tricked you, I’m a despicable person you can hate for this, not yourself, I’m a really convincing actor when I want to be, and nobody could have seen this coming, especially you, so don’t feel responsible for this’. It’s clearly not the best thing he could have said, but at the same time, there’s not really a good way to spin this. Even Hawks himself seems to recognise that he’s the bad guy in this situation, and hates himself for using Twice like this, but rather than deflect blame, he stands before Twice and owns up to his actions in absolute honesty, something he didn’t really show to Twice before this point, which is the least thing he owes him right now.  The threat of Twice’s double make this a necessity, but as cruel and callous as he comes across, I think Hawks is trying his hardest to be as kind and forthright to Twice as he can whilst still being a professional, no-nonsense hero whom lives are depending on. It really comes down to there being no easy way to resolve this conflict, with their situations being what they are.

12) “I want to see you do that while a war is going on outside where you would be quite useful, shigaraki is about to emerge from his beauty nap any second now, and the prom is tomorrow!”- Seeing as Twice’s double basically means the PLF have another whole army in their pocket on demand, it’s not a stretch to say that taking him out takes priority over even stopping Re-Destro or Gigantomachia right now. 13) “HAWKS PLEASE DO YOU NEED TO LOOK THAT OMINOUS AND VILLAINOUS RIGHT NOW?”- He doesn’t wantto, but at the same time, there’s no denying that the ‘hero’ is the villain in this fight, and now Twice’s perception can’t see him as anything else. 14) “OH MY GOOD HE REALIZED THAT ONCE AGAIN HE LED HIS FRIENDS, HIS GROUP, RIGHT INTO THE HANDS OF THEIR ENEMIES. HE TRUSTED SOMEONE HE SHOULD AND THE PEOPLE HE CARED ABOUT ARE GONNA PAY THE PRICE”- ‘Those who fail to learn from history are doomed to repeat it’- yet ironically, for Twice to have put that lesson into place, he would have had to become a more callous and untrusting individual, meaning that the ‘good’ qualities that make him so likeable ultimately prove to be a weakness that more manipulative individuals can take advantage of and exploit him for their own ends, both good and evil. @thelreads

#bnha #thelreads #chapter replies #my hero academia #mha264

[incorrect-ikevamp-quotes]

[MC, Dazai, and Isaac playing twister]

Dazai: Isaac, right hand red.

Isaac: *ends up on top of Mc*

MC and Isaac: Ok you're doing this on purpose, aren't you?

Dazai: I stopped spinning like 15 turns ago. Honestly I'm surprised none of you realized sooner.

#ikevamp #ikemen vampire #ikevamp dazai #ikevamp isaac #ikevamp mc #aight so it was game night as per usual #most of the resident were taking turns in cycles bc lbr only so many people can play twister at a time #because god hates isaac he mc and dazai all get the same number (they drew lots) #so their turn ensues #dazai has zero flexibility (look at him all he knows how to do is overthink) so he's out of the game quick #isaac tries not to look relieved but mc is relieved openly bc cmon this is the weirdo that would lick someone's toes just to freak them out #anywho the show must go on #so naturally dazai takes over the commands (comte looks away and does not see because he Knows^TM) #isaac ends up on top of mc and his face is permanently red--oh my poor red delicious baby boy #arthur and theo are snickering quietly #knowing smiles pervade the room--some glance away #mozart is staring into the camera while jeanne is dead fish eyes (what is a man? a miserable little pile of secrets) #(his thoughts are otherwise occupied alas) #it wasn't long after that before mc and isaac just pull away and glare at a laughing dazai #source: lucifers-human

[readerstories]

Tie Reveal - Aaron Hotchner x male!reader

What is it with me and turning short and sweet ideas into long one shots? Yeah so anyway, enjoy (AO3)

Warnings/tags: relationship rreveal, fluff and humor, light angst

Wordcount: 2837

Summary: You come into work wearing the wrong tie

You hate rushing in the morning, preferring to start your day in a calm and relaxed manner. That’s not on the table for today however, as you and Aaron both rush to get dressed.

“You’re going to be late.” You say as you button your shirt, glad you had had the forethought to grab on from your to go bag, as not wake any suspicion or teasing from the team. Aaron glances at the clock as he puts his shoes on.

“It’s still before the time you usually get in.”

“Yeah, but not for you.” You pick up your ties from the floor, giving Aaron’s to him. You’re quick to put yours on, Aaron mirroring you.

“I’ll just say that I got a flat tire.” You nod, stealing a quick kiss from him as you grab your jacket on the way out.

“Okay, see you at work!” You’re out the door before he can respond, making your way quickly down, not even bothering with the elevator in your haste to get to your car.

—-

You make it to work on time, only a few minutes later than usual, but that can be blamed on the fresh coffee in your hand from the coffee shop down the street.

As the elevator plings to announce your arrival on the right floor, you’re met by Garcia, Reid, and Morgan standing right outside, groaning as they spot you.

“Well, good morning to you guys too.” You say with a confused look at them all as you step out.

“It’s not you, we’re just just waiting for Hotch.” Garcia explains and you raise a brow, faking confusion.

“Hotch? Isn’t he here already?”

“No, so I got worried, so I checked his phone and it was pinging on the road just outside his apartment building, which is weird cause he’s normally the first one here-”

“Are you even supposed or allowed to do that outside of a case or emergency?” Garcia hesitates, and you huff and shake your head at them.

“Well, I’m going to go and start work, like you all should.” You leave the team as they go back to watching the elevator doors, quickly shooting off a text to Hotch to let him know that the flat tire excuse won’t work.

A few minutes later you hear a happy Garcia shout Hotch’s name and seconds later he comes in through the glass doors, followed by Garcia, Reid, and Morgan.

“Guys, I’m fine, I just slept trough my alarm this morning.”

“But you never do that.” Garcia responds, hot on his heels.

“So what’s her name?” Morgan quips, Hotch stops in his tracks to give him a withering glare before resuming his path to his office.

“Ohhh, lover boy!” Morgan teases at Hotch’s back.

“Remember we got a briefing in ten minutes sir!” Garcia yells after him before the door to his office is closed behind him. You hide your smile behind your coffee, trying not to bring much attention to yourself. Garcia leaves to prepare a few last things for the briefing, but Reid and Morgan linger next to your desk, still standing.

“Do you really think that’s what made him late?” Reid asks.

“Come on, that man never misses anything and sleeps light, and Jack is away for a week, so what else could it be?” Morgan glances at you. “What do you think?” You take a sip of your coffee, pretending to think.

“Maybe, or maybe he is telling the truth. The man is only human, and with the amount of hours he spends in the office he might actually just have slept trough his alarm.” Morgan nods, but doesn’t seem convinced.

You all make your way into the meeting room. You sit down in the chair next to a standing Garcia as you often do, Reid, Morgan, JJ, and Rossi joining you around the table, Hotch striding in as usual a few minutes later.

“Garcia, please begin.” He stays on his feet, ready to go as soon as he can.

“Look to the screen my mighty crime fighters, because today you’re goi-”

“You’ve switched ties.” Reid cuts Garcia off mid-sentence, making everyone look at Reid, wondering what in the world he is talking about. He points at you.

“You and Hotch, you’ve switched.” Both of you look down, then at each other as the team looks between the two of you. Shit, he’s right.

“When you came in I saw your tie was the same as Hotch wore yesterday, a grey tie with a Gucci pattern. I just thought you had bought the same one, since you both have a similar taste in ties, but Hotch got the same as you wore yesterday, a grey tie with stripes, which still has the small coffee stain from when you spilled some yesterday.” Hotch frowns as lifts up the tie to inspect it, and yes, there’s indeed a small, barely noticeable speck of coffee about halfway up the tie he is wearing. No one says anything for a few seconds, you yourself have turned into a statue, neutral expression on your face. Hotch is much the same, everyone else looking between you two. Garcia is the first one to break the silence, squealing with glee.

“Omg, omg, guys!” She yells as she hugs you from behind, the angle a little awkward with how she leaning over your sitting form. You’re not stone anymore, but you don’t return the hug before she lets you go. Morgan and JJ are both grinning, Rossi is looking at Hotch with smile, Reid is trying not to do the same at you while you glare daggers at him. Hotch sighs.

“Garcia...” His tone is chastising, reminding everyone that there is something else to focus on, which seems to snap her back to work mode. Sort of.

“Right, right, case, lets just brush past that revelation about two of my best friends, so, uhhh, where were we? Or right! Today you’re going to-” She begins to explain the case, both you and Hotch get a few more glances before everyone turns their focus on the case.

----

On the jet you think you’re in the clear, until Rossie settles in the seat next to you. Which is odd, because you’re the only two on the jet so far, and he usually doesn’t sit next to you.

“So you and Hotch huh?” You pretend to read over the case files in front of you, and Rossi chuckles.

“You know, none of us expected a thing. Well done on hiding it from a group of profilers I must say.”

“Rossi, there’s nothing-”

“There’s nothing?” He’s grinning, clearly teasing as he looks down to your tie and taps it with a finger. “Something tells me otherwise.” You sigh, but are saved from answering by the rest of the team joining you on the jet. Everybody buckles down for take off, and not long after you’re in the air, and then all the attention is on the case.

For a little while at least.

You can tell they want to talk about it, but the case keeps everyone occupied, so there’s nothing else before JJ comes back from the hotel with the room cards. Everyone is spread around doing different tasks, so she finds you alone in the conference room the team had been given. You’re reading trough the victims files for some more specifics on victimology when she places a keycard on the table in front of you. You look up, startled as you hadn’t even noticed her entering the room.

“You’ve seen Hotch?” She asks and you furrow a brow.

“I think he’s talking to the police chief in his office, why?”

“His key card, but you can just give it to him when you see him, since you’re sharing a room.”

“I thought we were past the budget cuts-”

“Oh we are, but Garcia made some changes to the booking after this mornings briefing sooo....” JJ grins and you sigh, rubbing your forehead. There’s silence and no movement for a few seconds, then there’s a hand on your shoulder.

“Hey, you know we will always support you guys right?” You sigh heavily, resting your own hand on top of JJ’s, looking up at her.

“I know, it’s just... It wasn’t revealed in the best way.” She grimaces.

“Yeah.” She looks uncertain how to respond, but seems to go for light, which you are grateful for. “But I’m surprised none of us caught on until then, it has been going on for at least a couple of months right?” You try to hide your grin as you pretend to go back to reading the files.

“Well, I’m not a ‘kiss and tell’ kinda guy, but it’s a bit more than a couple months.” JJ laughs and pats your shoulder before leaving the room.

You find Hotch not long after, and when you tell him the whole situation around the shared room, he sighs too, but mostly in a ‘oh what can you do’ kind of way, seemingly mostly resigned to everyone knowing now.

Even with sharing the same room and not needing to hide anything from the team, you go back to the hotel without him. The man is a workaholic, and you want a shower and some sleep, but he promises to join you soon. Instead you end up sharing a car with Reid and Morgan, neither of which say anything in the car, but while you’re waiting for the elevator, all bets seems to be off.

“So, you and the bossman huh?” Morgan teases with a grin as you do your best to ignore him, watching the numbers on the display tick down. The elevator door opens and you quickly step inside, hoping to leave them both behind. But alas, no such luck, as they step inside and Reid presses the button to the floor above yours.

“You know, work place relationships aren’t actually that uncommon. Did you know-” Here you tune him out, once again watching the numbers off the elevator. Normally you like when Reid goes on a tangent, but now, not so much.

“Reid, I will strangle you with my tie to shut you up if I have to.”

“Don’t you mean Hotch’s tie?” The grin on his face is shit-eating, which is rare from Spencer, and Morgan laughs loudly. The combination of it makes you curse under your breath as the doors finally open to your floor. You don’t bother saying goodbye, just going straight down the hall towards the door with your room number on it. Sliding the keycard in, it opens with a click. You drop your bag on the floor as soon as the door shuts behind you, and you switch on the lights.

You can’t help it.

You laugh as you take in the big room in front of you.

Or rather, the suite.

The honeymoon suite by the looks of it. Red and white decor, candles, big bed, nicely decorated with towels shaped like a heart, and some champagne in an ice-bucket on the desk in the room. There’s a small white card right next to the champagne, which you quickly read. ‘Have fun ;) -G’. You snort at it, that woman is a menace. (But also very nice, but you do shoot her text to warn her that she should sleep with one eye open. The only response you get is a winking emoji).

A surprisingly short time later you hear the door to the suite unlock, alerting you to Aaron’s arrival where you just stepped out of the shower. He calls your name in a questioning tone, you’re quick to respond as you wrap a towel around your mostly dry form.

“In here, one sec.” You step out of the bathroom, Aaron’s attention going straight to you before pointedly looking around the room. You lean on the door frame of the bathroom.

“Garcia.” You offer as an explanation.

“Ah.” He accepts, looking around once more. “This is going to be a fun expense report.” You snort at that, pushing yourself of the door frame and walking over to him. Putting your arms around his neck, you pull him close for a kiss.

“Certainly, but let us enjoy it for now, I’m sure Garcia has an explanation locked and ready for the report when we need it.” Aaron tries not to smile at that, but is halfway to failing when you catch his lips in a kiss.

----

The next time your relationship is brought up is on the jet back when the case ends well a few days later. Everyone have found their way to pass the time as usual. Reid and Rossi are playing chess in the one of two seaters, Morgan is half asleep, JJ is typing away on her phone next to him, across from them in the aisle seat is Hotch who has started on more paper work already, and you’re laying down on the couch across from them reading a book.

Everybody is in their own little bubble, that’s until Rossi is standing in the aisle and clearing his throat. Everyone looks at him, even Derek who JJ jostles awake with an elbow. Rossi got a bottle of expensive looking whiskey in one hand, several glasses in the other.

“I believe a little celebration is in order.” He starts handing out glasses, you sit up and close your book as you accept yours, just as Garcia pops up on the screen over the couch.

“What for?” You ask, genuinely curious, giving Garcia a look trough the screen, a very grinning and happy looking Garcia.

“Well, the case went well, we saved several people, and ah yes, your not so secret relationship anymore.”

“Rossi-” You and Hotch try to say something at the same time, but Rossi doesn’t let either of you speak another word.

“Oh no no no, neither of you get to Rossi me. Just shut up and listen okay?” He pours a hefty helping of whiskey in everyone’s glass as he speaks, even Garcia got a glass back home somehow, no doubt filled with something similar.

“We just want you both to know that we are very happy for you, both of you. And though the way us knowing came about wasn’t ideal, we will always support and be there for you.” You and Hotch look around at your team, noting the happy faces watching you before making brief eye contact.

“I want you all to know that nothing in this team changes with this, we’re still going to work together and remain professional while on the clock. There will be no preferential treatment here.”

“What he said.” You incline your head towards Hotch as you look around the jet once more.

“Aaron, we know that. Like I said, we just want you both to be happy.” Rossi says, soft smile on his face. You raise your glass, trying to pretend that the slight sting you can feel in your eyes is just tiredness.

“Cheers to that.” Everyone joins in, clinking their glasses together in loud celebration and happy voices, Garcia cheering with her glass against the camera lens back home. Everyone takes a sip of the whiskey, several mentioning the smooth burn of it.

“So, how long have you two love birds been together?” Morgan eyes flicker between you and Aaron.

“See, that right there Morgan is the million dollar question.” Rossi points between you both. “Come on, out with it.” You grin, trying and failing to hide your grin behind taking another sip of the whiskey, Aaron doing the same.

“Do you want to tell them or should I?” You ask, getting up to lean on the chair Aaron is sitting in. He looks up at you, taking your hand and placing it on his shoulder.

“I think you should.”

“Okay.” You say with a shrug, looking at all of the team before settling your gaze on Spencer. “Remember the strangulation serial killer we caught in LA earlier this year?”

“We caught him and finished that case 6 months, 11 days, and 9 hours ago.” Spencer helpfully supplies.

Then it dawns on them all what that means.

Yells of surprise from everyone, and this time neither you or Aaron try to hide your matching grins. Rossi is laughing loudly while slapping his knee, Reid seems to have lost his composure, mumbling that he should have seen something sooner, Garcia is speechless for perhaps the first time since you have known her, Morgan looks frozen in shock, and JJ is trying to hide her laughter behind her hand.

“6 months? How even?!” Morgan exclaims. You shrug, your grin shit-eating by now.

“What can I say, we’re good profilers and now how to hide our tells.” You glance at Aaron and squeezes his shoulder, who in return brings your hand to his lips for a brief kiss on your knuckles. Garcia squeals from her screen, gushing over how cute the two of you are as you smile and laugh in response.

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