#the fucking STICKY NOTE WITH A DRAWING OF A HUMAN HEART AND SAYING “YOU HAVE MY HEART” I AM ON THE FLOOR.

[oh-cramity-its-amity]

its so weird to read some of my old fics (do NOT do it but i'm just being hypothetical rn) and reading it. like who even was this person?? i completely was in a haze back in 2020. i literally was posting 3 chapters a day. A DAY. what in the WORLD was that shit.

anyway i remembered some STUPID sappy shit and i didnt remember if i'd put it into a fic or not BUT I FOUND IT.

She and Hope had been dating in secret for months anyway, and any attempt to go talk to Ryan only filed her disposition of displeasure upon knowing that she couldn’t tell anyone, Molly especially, it destroyed herself mentally. They couldn’t really go anywhere near the school, always having to lie to everyone about having projects together when Molly wasn’t around them. It’d consisted with 9 PM - 2 AM intervals of being able to actually see each other. Hope would sneak through her small bedroom window with a portable record player and whatever she had gotten from the vintage record store downtown, and Amy would always fall asleep around eleven because of her internal clock. She would always wake up to find a single sticky note stuck on the edge of her desk whenever she woke up to her alarm the next morning. One of them, Amy still had tucked inside of her phone case, a heavily detailed human heart, with blue and red ink sketched onto a neon pink sticky note, there was a caption that headed the small paper reading the phrase over every now and again makes her almost melt every time. “You have my heart.”

yeah idk why the fuck but i thought of this fucking idea again today and i was like "omg did i ever put that heart note thing in a fic???" yeah you fucking did.

all that to say ME AND WHO???? imagine. thats so fucking.... RAHHHH.

#NOT TOH FANFIC #see this is why i write fanfic. to enact some gay ass shit like this. #the fucking STICKY NOTE WITH A DRAWING OF A HUMAN HEART AND SAYING “YOU HAVE MY HEART” I AM ON THE FLOOR. #*sighs* sucks i cant reuse it on lumity though. #my friend making me realize i actually have rizz but am just too much of a disaster to actually understand cues with people #its a MESS. im just all over the place. i literally ranted to THE SAME FRIEND yesterday (or the day before??) abt some girl jesus. #anyway i remember writing A LOT OF POETRY back in hs about this one girl and then the same girl i got to talk to-- #--my first actual conversation with her i blurted out that i wanted to shave my head. she was like.... oooooo god i was A MESS #still slid into her school dms during covid and was like “haha guess what i actually mf did???” anyway all that to say underlying dysphoria #they're nonbinary now too and i kinda ghosted them like a complete idiot :(. its been two years or so but i still think of them... a lot... #actually i have more lore about this person and its like istg they actually really liked me but i could not pick it up. #we had such SUCH good chemistry and vibes. n they were really pretty. ughhhhhh. #anyway yeah idk crushes are weird sometimes. the universe knows how unstoppable id be with a partner #i feel like i was the reason they were able to find themself and their identity because when we were talking i always encouraged them #and told them to do what felt right. im glad they did. i think sometimes that brings me peace. like i served a purpose. #STILL showed them toh. STILL SHOWED THEM TOH. #we were talking about amity LMAO “this green haired girl seems interesting” SHE SO WAS. #...yeah i wish i could text them but i kinda probably fucked it up. #shitposting shit #idk what this post is i just wanted to talk about this dumb sticky note thing because im rotating it in my brain and remembering how #mentally ill i was back in 2020 #talking into the void yk how it isssss

[kodamaghost00]

Can you do 30 headcanons for Sundrop?

30 Sun/Sundrop Headcanons

———————————————————[Disclaimer!!]

This post will contain: NSFW,Sfw,Fluff,Smut

It’s also Genderless for the girls,gays and theys! You are a Technician in these scenarios!

———————————————————

Let’s begin!

His favorite nickname for you is “Sunshine!” but he calls you every nickname that he can find.

He always talks super eccentric wich leads you to misunderstanding him often.

In the after hours of the Pizzaplex he pins all the drawings that kids made for him on the walls in his room.

He’ll randomly pick you up and treat you like a toddler, just to mess with you.

He’s usually not roaming free in the Pizzaplex but when he’s concerned about you he’ll storm out within minutes.

He’s a desperate dude. He would beg just to let him fuck you. Just drooling over you and your perfect figure praising you every minute.

He can handle various types of kids who are different than others. He knows ASL and has bells around his wrist so the blind kids hear him.

He learns the names and interests from kids who are regularly with him.

He has a lot of stamina. Like. A LOT. So he can go on for hours and hours.

His head spikes spin when he cums, but he always puts his head behind though, so he won’t hurt you accidentally. “F-Fuck sunshine~ This is amazing!”

He loves making puppet shows for the little ones! And sometimes he’ll ask you to join him to make them more human and interesting to look at.

When the kids leave he’s usually very alone. Cleaning the daycare or searching for you to accompany him.

He’s a fan of Karaoke but he doesn’t want people to hear his voice.

One time you came into the daycare in the after hours to search for sun. His monthly maintenance was due but he was nowhere to be found.

It’s weird since he’s always on time. You look through the whole daycare but he wasn’t there. So you go to his room and look over it. And there he is bawled up in the corner.

“Sun? What’s up dear?” you asked gently knowing that he needs you right now. “Sunshine?! Oh… I’m so so sorry that you have to see me this way again.” He said in a super sad tone while looking on the ground. “Don’t worry Sunny. You know you can tell me everything…” He looks up at you with hope.

“Oh… I… uhm… the parents were talking about me again.” He continued to tell you how the parents were talking bad about him. It broke your heart. You sat down beside him and hug his slim build. “You’re the best Sun. Don’t let anyone ever tell you otherwise.” You give him a reassuring smile and you guys hug for a long time.

His love language is Acts of Service. He appreciates everything you do for him, even if it’s something small like leaving a sticky note for him.

He apologizes a lot too. Even for stuff that isn’t in his power.

He likes dancing with you. No matter if it’s more partying or if it’s more of a slow dance. “Come here sunshine. Let’s enjoy this moment…”

He’s not only programmed to entertain children but also to educate them. He has a wide range of languages and can count up to 100.

His dick is basically a tentacle. It’s twisted with moons part wich makes it even better to play with.

He has ADHD and uses stimming toys to calm himself. His favorite are the fidget cubes. He also got really sad that fidget spinners didn’t trend anymore.

Sometimes he wishes to be only one animatronic instead of two. After all Moon gets to spend all night with you and he doesn’t.

Every time the younger kids are explaining new memes to him he doesn’t understand. “Oh! What you drawing there small one?? What’s that? A skibidi Toilette…? That sounds disturbing…” You pat him on the shoulder. “Yeah no one gets what they like about…. That.” You say with a slight disgust on your face.

He also wished he could be more comfortable. His metal build isn’t really good for comforting the kiddos. He asked you a bunch of times if you can change something against that but you can’t due to the strict guidelines for him.

He tries to get into your special interests. Asking a bunch of questions so you know he’s interested in your life.

He’d be a switch with a bottom preference. He loves getting touched by you. But he also loves seeing you desperate.

One time you asked him if he still loved you. That man looked at you with the most shocked expression ever and just hugged you.

He hugged you and said “Oh Y/N… my sunshine… you’re the best thing that ever happened to me! I love you with all my body, heart and soul!” You guys just stand there holding each other for a very long time

———————————————————

That’s also finished! I wanna send a huge shoutout and thanks to @millenniumproductions !! I’ll make sure to fulfill all your requests sooner or later! If you’re new here you can also leave a Follow and request! And once again thank you for reading!

- Your Ghost ༼ つ ╹ ╹ ༽つ

#fnaf sb x reader #fnaf sun #sun fnaf #sundrop #fnaf #fnaf fandom #fnaf sb #fnaf security breach #genderless reader #sundrop fnaf #sunrise fnaf #sunny fnaf #fnaf sb sun #fnaf sb sundrop #sundrop x reader #sundrop x y/n #sundrop x you #sun x reader #sun x y/n #sun x you #fnaf sb Headcanons

[hegoeshardasfuck]

i'm preying on you tonight (hunt you down eat you alive)

wordcount: 1.3K

tags: kinktober 2023, eroticized gore, organs, cannibalism, vampire Kyle, immortal Kenny, blood drinking, getting off on dying

synopsis: kinktober day 8, gore

note: this is literally just sexified gore guys, read with extra caution if that's not your deal, but it very much is my deal. hope ya'll enjoy and if you do consider checking the Ao3 port or dropping a like

https://archiveofourown.org/works/50304907

"What now?" Kyle asked as he spread open Kennys torso, hands deftly slicing his skin and leaving his glistening innards exposed. He looked so fucking delectable held open like this, absolutely helpless and unable to do anything.

Kenny gave a breathy moan at the numb pain along the cut edges. It was just something he was used to now, but he had someone to make it fun for him these days. He used his free hand, one that wasn't pinned down and mangled beyond recognition, to brush a thumb over Kyles cheek. He took a heavy breath and the vampire watched with rapt attention as the humans lungs expanded, "Eat me alive."

And Kyle does.

He murmurs sickeningly sweet 'I love you's as he went down on every open inch that Kenny had to offer. His fangs tore open his lovers wrist and the McCormick moaned as his blood spilled from the gash. Flesh slid down his throat with a tang of iron he adored and craved so very, very much.

He bit and nuzzled across the entirety of Kennys body. Saying 'good boy' as he bit down to snow white bone and migrated upwards. He left patches of skinned flesh in his wake along Kennys arm, stripping back skin in a twisting fashion up the appendage. One hand keeps Kennys arm down, fingers intertwining with an almost mortal hand that's left uncut. He bites down the side of Kennys ribs, leaving bruising nibbles and teasing licks that draw whines and moans from Kenny. His organs shiver and glisten like glitter with every jolt his systems experience, lungs moving in a slow lazy pace while his heart goes so fast. It's desperately pumping blood to wounds that go so deep, ichor simply spills into the sheets instead.

"Kyle," Kenny panted out softly as he tried to tighten his grasp on Kyles hand. He was starting to lose control over that hand, either due to blood loss or Kyle systematically biting off every bit of flesh connecting it to Kennys nervous system. Either way it was an oddly euphoric situation, handing complete control to his lover.

Kyle tore one of the flaps of flesh loose and Kenny screamed, hands raced to push down on exposed lungs before he could stop them. He milked the scream dry and kept lungs compressed, reveling in the way air tried to force itself in under his touch. But, he didn't want it to be over yet, it was no fun if Kenny wasn't breathing. He slides his hands, now sticky with whatever organs rest in (he didn't know or care), down to Kennys intestinal tract. He laces some around his finger like a phone cord and gives Kenny a saccharine smirk before speaking, "Yes doll?"

Kenny was still catching his breath, "Don't forget my legs," He sounds tired, more so than usual.

Kyle gives a light laugh, tugging out a few feet of small intestine and unraveling it like a tangled string of lights. He only gave Kenny a predatory smirk that flashed his fangs, "Oh darling how could I forget your legs?" He dropped the tube back into the chest cavity, it flopped audibly. He traced his claws along Kennys thighs, dragging to leave red marks of agitated skin and nothing more.

"I think I'm gonna pass out," Kenny said bluntly, "I wanna be awake when you eat my fucking heart Kyle- do you have any idea how hard I came last time?"

Kyle dropped between Kenny's thighs, his hands held his lovers calfs. He let his fingers tear through flesh as sucked bruises into the pale skin of inner thighs. He adored the warm crimson coating his hands as he cut through sinew and tendon with his claws along. He bites a small cut into Kennys thigh before looking up at him, "Of course I remember, it sounded like you were being murdered."

"I was being murdered," Kenny answered with, and he did have more to say but all of it was pushed from his mind when Kyle tore a chunk out of him.

He left a gaping wound in Kennys thigh and brought bloody hands to peel back the skin further. Claws fumbled with the rough edges of a bite as he chewed on the delectably warm meat. The flavor boiled up in his mouth as he peeled back layers of skin and meat and sinew and fat off of bones like layers of fabric off of skin. Except, each layer garnered a whine and a pant and a moan from his lover. Each little thing he did to fully exposed and raw nerve endings like uncut rubies got a reaction. It had Kenny twisting his mangled body into the bed more and more, had his organs pulsing faster.

And Kyle could hear his organs- each raking intake of oxygen, each splash of stomach acid, and each heartbeat. Every single push of blood through arteries echoed loudly in Kyles ears. It was a chanting chorus, begging him to come closer, to tear into any mortal and hold the pulsing organ against his mouth. To smear unpainted lips with the purest of carmine hues, to open wide and bite down. To forcibly shut down every single system in someones body, watching as they twitch and scream.

His hands, doused in blood with flesh stuck under the nails, trail up the inside of Kennys chest. Fingers briskly swipe along the inside of his ribcage, squeezing between organ and bone to elicit something high pitched from his partner. He smiles when he reaches the heart, jostling it from it's place carefully. He puts a worrying amount of care into dislodging it even a few inches from where it lay implanted in Kennys chest.

He lowers his head down, tongue running across his lips, and speaks, "Ready love?"

Kenny can only manage a weak, "Oh yeah," With how close he is to a lot of things.

"I love you," Kyle says, and he says it such devotion and adoration it'd be a shock to anyone but Kenny what he does next.

He bites down, perfect flavor bursting in his mouth and rushing down his throat. He moans wantonly, although, not nearly as loud as Kenny screams as his systems shut down. He gets in one last orgasm as blood stops heading to his brain and his lungs finally stop moving. He has the faintest hint of a smile on his face even in death but Kyle doesn't stop eating. Why would he? There's so much blood left in his lovers body that he's barely deterred from the warm liquids until rats start to swarm as they always do.

===

Kenny jolts awake with a gasp and Kyle is already awake beside him, grinning. Kenny returns it the best he can, but he feels impossibly sore with how much and where Kyle tore him open.

"Morning handsome," Kyle said quietly.

Kenny gave a sleepy, "Mornin' Kyle," Before turning over and rolling into him.

"Did I go too far?" Kyle asked gently, running a hand through shaggy blonde locks.

Kenny shook his head, "It was amazing, next time let's skip the chase."

"That's the fun part Kenny," Kyle whined.

"Fine, but I doubt I'm getting out of bed today," Kenny said as he looked at his wrist, freshly scarred flesh prominent. He flexed his fingers and there were scars at every joint, "I think I'm one massive scar at this rate."

Kyle placed a hand on Kennys face, "Darling, there's still so much of you I've yet to mar," His hand slides down to Kennys note where only a few pinhole scars lay, he traces his blunted claws across them.

Kenny gives a pleased hum, "Then ruin those next, I want you to tear out my throat tonight," He shudders a bit when there's pressure on his trachea.

#south park #sp k2 #kenny x kyle #kyle x kenny #smutfic #smut fanfiction #lemon #writing #fanfic #fanfiction

[onsunnyside]

I’m not sure if your doing any blurbs or request still but if you could I was curious on what would happen if Steve asked about a baby like him staring at a baby animal or human and being like “cute baby I want baby” and then either if he knows the birds & bees or doesn’t and asked reader or Bruce and there like oh you can have a baby with sex and he’s like oh .... ohhh 😯 😏 and whatever else you can think in mind

༻ baby fever?

𝗣𝗮𝗶𝗿𝗶𝗻𝗴 | Tarzan!Steve Rogers x doctor!reader

𝗪𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀 | fluff, but talks about sex - minors DNI (as always), size difference, there’s some grinding though

𝗪/𝗖 | 698

𝗔/𝗡 | I think it’ll be writing about tarzan!steve with a breeding kink… oh my🥵Feel free to send blurb requests or asks about this series!

Special note: this blurb is just a thought and not a part of the storyline! as are most blurbs I presume.

𝐖𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐀 𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐥𝐝 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

It’s small, so little, so very cute—and staring at him.

Clear wide eyes, blinking between his wet gurgles. The small thing lifts up his hand, waving with sticky fingers and giggles.

“I want one.”

You turn away from the two boxes in your hands, did you feel like the regular flavour of this cereal or the new cinnamon one? You couldn’t decide.

“Want one of what?”

Steve’s eyes follow the little being as it’s wheeled away, in a—what is that? It’s like a small wagon, but with a seat? He remembers you telling him what that was, but he can’t put a name to it.

“That,” He points across the aisle as the small being turns in the stroller, waving one last time before they disappear around a corner.

Your eyes widen, hands tightening around the boxes. “You want a baby?”

The blond tilts his head as he hears your heart beat pick up. “Yes…Very badly.”

You drop one of the boxes of cereal in the cart and start walking down the aisle, Steve follows closely.

“What’s wrong?”

Biting your lip, you try to clear your thoughts but they’re too loud—mantras of Steve saying baby, that he wants a baby. Does this man have baby fever?

On the tail of those echos are images of Steve holding a little baby, his big calloused hands cradling their head delicately. His arms would be the safest place for a baby, you just know it.

Your heart knows it. Your body knows it.

No.

No baby. Not now.

But, he’d be so adorable! Protective and gentle, not to mention what baby making with Steve would be like.

He was already messy as hell, greedy and ravenous. Trying for a baby would make him uncontrollable.

Steve calls your name as you reach the produce, you hum in reply.

“Babies so cute—want one.”

Your hands tremble as you pick up a banana, but just the phallic shape of the fruit has your mind in the gutter and you quickly drop it.

“Want a baby, please.” The blond pleads, stepping closer. “Want small thing to hold, feed…”

“Babies aren’t pets, they’re big responsibilities.”

He tilts his head, hair falling over his eyes. “Know that. Actually know lots about babies. Cute makes up for responsibilities.”

“Do you—know how to make a baby?” You pause between words, voice quiet so as to not draw attention.

“Have sex. Fuck.” The giant proudly answers, chest puffed out.

Across the fruit display, right by the pineapples, a woman looks startled. Her wide brown eyes meeting yours before she scrambles away.

“Want a baby, so cute. So little.” Steve sighs dreamily, pulling your close and nuzzling your cheek with his nose. “Bruce taught me about babies—what pregnancy is…”

His body heat radiates off him, caressing your skin, and your nerves. Calming you from the inside and the outside. He lightly kisses your forehead, his beard tickling you.

“Not any baby… want our own baby.” His blue eyes turn dark as they trail up and down your body.

His musky smell takes you captive, worries slipping far out of your reach and only leaving room for thoughts of Steve.

Shyly looking up at him through your lashes, “you want us to have a baby?” You clarify.

“Mhm.”

“You want me to have your baby?”

Steve tugs on your shirt, his rough fingers sliding underneath the fabric. He growls and grips the softness of your waist, “So bad… can’t think of anything else, don’t want anything else.”

Looking down, you gasp, caught off guard. There’s an undoubtedly huge bulge in his pants, straining against the zipper as if it would pop off at any moment.

The giant groans lowly and pulls you until your stomach presses against his cock. Moving you slowly, easily like a doll since he was so much bigger than you. Grinding in the middle of a grocery store, he buries his nose in your hair, desperate to bathe in your scent.

Your smell wasn’t half as strong as the treasure between your thighs, that was a gold mine.

“Let’s make a baby.” Steve demands, rogue fingers dipping into the band of your pants, “don’t you want my baby?”

𝐄𝐧𝐝𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬: me thinks Tarzan!Steve has an undiscovered breeding kink

follow my sideblog and turn on the notifications so you can see whenever I post: @onsunnyside-fics in case if I discontinue my taglist

𝐓𝐚𝐠𝐬 𝐰𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐛𝐞 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐠𝐞𝐝 𝐢𝐧 𝐫𝐞𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐠.

#steve rogers #steve rogers drabble #steve rogers fanfic #steve rogers fanfiction #steve rogers au #steve rogers blurb #steve rogers fluff #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x female!reader #steve rogers x fem!reader #steve rogers x doctor!reader #steve rogers x you #chris evans #reader insert #chris evans x reader #chris evans fanfic #chris evans fanfiction #Chris evans x you #chris evans drabble #tarzan!steve rogers #tarzan au #tarzan!steve #what a world au #request sonny #nomad!steve rogers x reader #nomad!steve rogers #doctor!reader #baby fever #size difference

[illusionsofdreaming]

would it be okay to request headcanons with the main trio from TCF who aren't in a relationship with the (fem) reader yet but they like each other, the guys get hurt or something and the reader is so scared of losing them or was so anxious that she ended up kissing them? You can edit a few parts if you'd prefer! thank you, i know you have a lot of requests but you're the only one who writes x reader for them-

Notes: It took forever+forever but I finally gave up trying to perfect it- y'all just going to have to deal with these half baked potatos as I sob in the corner for my lack of functioning writing braincells.

+ 'nonny I know you asked for Fem reader but I'm just so used to writing gender neutral nowadays I actually forgot to write Fem reader in. Uh. I mean it's gender neutral so it should work regardless?? I'msorrypleaseforgivemeforthisblunder

Ft: Cale, Alberu, Choi Han

Cale Henituse

He’s covered in blood.

Again.

He glanced down at his shirt, once white, now completely soaked and rapidly losing warmth. The icky feeling of sticky cloth stuck on skin caused goosebumps to break out all over his arms. The lethargy that weighed on him was hard to ignore, but expected after using his ancient powers-

“Cale!”

He turned just as the full force of you barrelled into him and he staggered, unbalanced and would’ve fallen had you not pulled him back. He barely had time to protest at your rough greeting when you began frantically patting him down as if scouring him for weapons.

“There’s so much- where are you hurt?” you demanded harshly, your tone pitched higher than normal. “Raon call for Saint Jack and the others, medics- anyone that can help!”

“Y-yes! I-I will! Weak hu-human you better not die or I will destroy the kingdom!”

“Wai-“ his protests were ignored as the dragon flew off, leaving Cale dumbfounded with his jaw hanging down in disbelief. “Wait you don’t have to find the others, I’m fi-“

“Cale Henituse, if I hear you say ‘I’m fine’ I’m going to sock you to kingdom fucking come.“ you seethed. His lips snapped shut obediently, swallowing the aforementioned phrase down as a foreboding chill crept down his spine.

But I am..?

“How could you..” your voice shook even as you clung onto his soaked shirt so tightly your knuckles turned white. “You’re always doing stupid things like this…”

Cale frowned, feeling a bit indignant. Sure his plans weren’t the most thought out at times, but to call them stupid…

“If you waited for us to come, then you wouldn’t have to- why do you keep sacrificing yourself like this?”

That triggered an alarm in his head. What strange things were you talking about? The act of sacrifice were done by martyrs and selfless heroes and Cale Henituse was neither of those. He wanted to correct your misunderstanding but you were worked up and hysterical and it was with horror that he realised you were crying.

“________-“

“Don’t talk! Please, just conserve your energy- I won’t let you die, I promised the kids and the others- I won’t let you-”

The alarm bells in his head rang even louder and he fought to be heard over your rambling, “_________- no one’s dying, I’m fine-” it felt as if his heart had leapt to his throat as he stopped your fist before it could make contact. You really weren’t joking when you said you’d punch him. He tightened his hold on your wrist when you tried to twist out of his grip and swallowed nervously. “I’m not hurt _________,“ he emphasised, willing you to meet his eyes.

“Stop bullshitting me Cale- how much of a fucking idiot do you take me for? How can anyone be fine after losing this much blood-“

“It’s not mine.”

You stilled in his grasp.

“…W-what?”

He frowned. Was it really that hard to believe his words? “The blood’s not mine.” he repeated and made sure to meet your disbelieving gaze head on so that you could verify the truth in his words. “They were cut down before they could harm me. None of this blood is mine. I was not hurt.“ It was a partial lie. He did cough out some blood after instinctively activating the shield for protection but he felt that that was knowledge you’d be better off not knowing.

The coiled tension in you leaked out and Cale slowly released his grip on your hand and took a cautious step back - just in case. It was a good thing he managed to deescalate the situation before the others arrived. Just convincing one person was hassle enough and from experience alone, he knew the others weren’t as merciful when it came to learning about his injuries, regardless of severity or his protests otherwise. Cale shuddered. He really didn’t want to be on the receiving end of Ron’s cold smile again. He glanced up and saw Raon’s flying figure and he waved lazily to the dragon hoping the young one would understand that the healers were no longer necessary, it had only been a false alarm.

“..ot.”

“Hm?” He looked down, hearing you mumble but didn’t quite catch what you’d said.

He was not prepared to be yanked forward and for your lips to mash against his. There was a brief sting where your teeth had caught on his lip and the uncomfortable sensation of having your teeth clack against each other, noses in the way. He froze, like a deer caught in headlights, thoughts reeling but before he could think of acting, to push or pull you in even closer-

You let him go just as abruptly and he staggered, breath stolen, mind in absolute disarray.

Then you slapped him. Which definitely cleared his thoughts. “You idiot!”

Stupefied, he watched as you stormed off, stuck in a daze as he cradled his face where his cheek and lips tingled for different reasons.

“…What..?”

Choi Han

Choi Han didn’t know what Cale saw in you back then, a complete stranger whom they saved by chance and nursed back to health with utmost care. You, who Cale insisted was the final key to their masterplan and then asked Choi Han to act as your escort.

There were many things Choi Han didn’t understand when it came to Cale-nim’s decisions. But that wasn’t so unusual and he’d never made it a habit to question Cale’s reasoning, having learned to be patient, knowing the pieces would eventually slot together in the grand picture. So although initially wary he was of your unclear history and affiliation, he stayed by your side and did his duty without question.

And perhaps after weeks of accompanying you, he’s beginning to see what Cale saw. Though powerless and weak, you were righteous and passionate, holding true to your belief even in the face of adversaries. You were the perfect replacement for the tyrannical ruler of the country, someone capable of salvaging the crumbling system of a neglected, abused society and lifting it to new heights and glory.

With the flames of revolution ignited, everything hinged on getting you safely to Cale on the final stage. While the revolutionaries fought and acted as distractions above ground, he escorted you through the abandoned waterways.

The undergrounds were dark and cramped, incredibly disadvantageous to a swordsman such as himself. When assassins leaped out in an ambush; Choi Han didn’t hesitate. Without time nor space to draw his sword, he pushed you behind him and raised his arm to block the strike.

As the momentum of the assassin’s blade stopped, it became simple matter to quickly disarm and finish them. Having checked and affirmed that there’s no forthcoming attacks, he urged you to hurry, now worried as they weren’t expected to be discovered so soon.

Something must’ve happened, we should hurry to Cale-nim’s side-

He was halted with a firm grip on his other hand and was pulled back as he was met with your stern, unwavering gaze and declaration that you will not move another step from this spot until his arm got treated first.

Which was a ridiculous request considering they were running on a tight schedule. He frowned and his fingers flexed against the hilt of his sword as you pulled him to the side.

When none of his objections were being heard, he tried reasoning with you. The wound may look horrible, but he’d assured you he’d angled his arm just so that the blade would’ve caught on his bone rather than tendons. It was a strategic move that not only blocked momentum but also kept damage to his non-dominant arm at the minimum. He would not have bled to death nor would he be crippled from it, something that barely needed the emergency care you insisted on.

“It’s not necessary, we need to get to the tower room first.”

“The room is not moving anywhere, I’d rather not risk having you develop an infection because you neglected to care for your wound.“

He flinched when alcohol was poured on the cut and Choi Han breathed out slowly, his frustration mounting as precious seconds passed. Something in his chest stirred uncomfortably. He’s not accustomed to having others care for his wounds, having spent so many years caring for them himself whilst hiding his weaknesses from monsters in the Forest of Darkness.

“I will attend to it after I’ve brought you to Master Cale’s side, we must-“

Your eyes flashed with anger as your grip tightened painfully around his arm. “So many things have been lost to reach this stage, I’d rather not lose more on the way there.”

“Cale-“

Perhaps you’ve had enough as well as the next thing he knew, your fingers dug into his arm and he found himself yanked forward and you pressing a hard, determined kiss that stole whatever he was going to say from his lips.

“Cale Henituse,” you said sternly when you parted and picked up a roll of bandages, “can afford to wait a bit longer.” you glared at him as if daring him to argue otherwise.

Not that it was necessary, considering he’d doubt he’d have the coherency to answer anything with the way all the blood in his body was rushing to his face.

Alberu Crossman

He didn’t feel anything upon the moment of impact. Only the shocking cold of metal being slid into his side and the vicious gaze of the perpetrator pressed up to his front.

The pain ripped through a moment later and he gritted his teeth, red spilling down his lips. It hurts.

Activity bursted around him, screams of fear echoed through the ballroom as guards rushed to his side. However one voice in particular caught his attention and he looked up to catch your horrified expression, lips parted in a desperate cry.

His forehead furrowed as a strange sense of guilt washed over him- he didn’t want you to see this- but he didn’t have time to explore the feeling as his hand latched firmly on the hand which still held the weapon in his side, preventing their escape.

His smile was red, “Caught you now, rat.”

═════☩══♛══☩═════

He tousled his hair dry with a towel as he read through the reports in his hand.

Alberu was exhausted, the fight to rid his side of his enemies’ spies had always been an ongoing and tedious project. His enemies were cunning and always played things safe however their impatience this time would cost them. Now that one of their own has fallen into his hands, they can start pulling in the net.

A knock sounded on his door and he didn’t bother looking up from his reports as he gave permission. “Come in.”

“Did you manage to find any new information from them?” he asked immediately as the door opened. Anything gleaned from the assassin would be beneficial to his cause. Not that he truly expected any confessions to be given this night. Any hired killer worth their salt would know not to betray the mastermind behind a hit. But there were more than one way to find credible information aside from words torn directly from the lips of a captive.

When no answer came, he looked up and immediately dropped the papers he was reading.

“___________…”

In the aftermath of the attack and the capture of the assassin he’d been immediately escorted to the healers for first aid. With the bare minimum done he’d left quickly to take control of the situation, calming the aristocrats and giving orders to assign all guests to be escorted to a room in the palace to rest from the unexpected development - the smarter ones would know this was just a way to keep all suspects in one place, stalling for time so that his trusted aides may work to narrow down the most likely suspects. He had been meaning to find you and explain once everything settled but this time you took matters into your own hands.

Your eyes glanced at the documents he dropped. “Am I disturbing your work?”

“No,” he replied instantly, fighting back the urge to shuffle the papers behind him. “No, you’re not.”

The room lapsed into silence once more as neither of you seemed keen to address the elephant in the room.

“About tonight…” he started slowly, “they had to believe I had my guards lowered.”

The truth was, though he believed you would not have been behind the attack, you had to be tested all the same. Should it be known you’ve been partial to this plan, it would’ve given the real culprits leverage to use.

You approached him and he wished you would say something. He noted the redness in your eyes and felt a stab of guilt lodge in his chest. “It had to be believable.”

You didn’t meet his eyes and your hand hovered over where his wound had been.

He lifted the edge of his shirt up to reveal the pink scar tissue underneath. It was ugly and badly healed due to the rush he had been in. “I wasn’t in any real danger.” he said softly, staying still and resisting the urge to shiver when your fingers traced the scar.

“You’re picking up bad habits from Cale.” You said so softly he would’ve missed it had he not been paying attention.

“The padded shirt under prevented the blade from going too deep.” he explained, hoping you’d understand that he hadn’t been reckless. Everything had been planned carefully. He slowly tucked his shirt back in as you withdrew your hand, already missing the warmth you brought to his skin just moments ago.

“__________…”

You leaned in and placed a small kiss on the corner of his mouth. “Don’t do that again.” you whispered against his cheek.

He could only watch in astonishment as you turned away and exited his room.

“..Okay..” he said hoarsely to the empty room.

#tcf #trash of the count's family #imagines #tcf x reader #cale henituse #alberu crossman #choi han #kiss #pre relationship #confession..? #i honestly don't have enough brain power to tag things rn #i also have not proofread this much so #it's A MESS #i'll come back to edit this when I'm more awake or something #ngl the whole time while i was struggling with this #i was thinking how ridiculous that i've spent so long agonising over writing with words #but consuming it would only take less than a minute LOL #now im back at 0 and im feeling a bit sad

[fatalfangirl]

76. “Were you crawling the sewers for the past six days? You look like you did.”

I changed the line to fit the scene... but here we go!

Bag of Blood - Teen - 700 words

“Take a break,” I say, standing in the middle of the living room with my arms crossed. Baz looks up at me from his hunched position on the sofa, eyebrows pinched. His hair's in a messy bun and there’s a pencil hanging like a cigarette between his lips. I don’t think he’s ever looked more hollow than this end of term.

Baz pulls the pencil from his mouth as his focus drops to the computer on his lap. “Not now, Simon.” Textbooks and sticky pads of paper are sprawled on the coffee table. He arches to check one of his notes, tracing scribbled lines with his fingertip.

My wings stretch out and block his light.

Baz looks up again, wisps of hair wildly out of place and dark, yellowish crescents under his eyes. “I have eight hours to submit this paper.”

“When is the last time you drank?”

Baz stares at me, unblinking. When he talks there’s a slight drag on his words. Like he’s punch drunk. “Eight hours,” he repeats, ignoring my question. “Please go away and come back in eight hours.”

Frowning, I fold my wings against my back. “Fine. But then you drink.”

“If you leave me alone, I’ll do anything you want, love,” he mumbles, heavy-lidded eyes dragging over his laptop screen, pencil once again in his mouth.

“Promise?”

He closes his eyes and makes a sound like a deflating balloon. “Eight hours.”

“Fine.” I say again, drawing a harder line this time. “I’m going.”

And I do.

I leave the flat in the dead of the night and don’t come back until some time after the sun is up.

When I get home, Baz is folded in half over the kitchen table, passed right the fuck out with a half-eaten piece of toast next to him.

What a sight.

At least he got some food in him before he fell asleep.

I shed my jacket and boots before giving his shoulder a gentle shake.

He doesn’t stir. My grip tightens.

“Baz?”

He doesn’t respond. The black plastic bag I'm carrying in my other hand drops onto the linoleum floor with a sick thud.

My heart is in my throat, choking me as I grip both of Baz’s shoulders and yank him upright. His head lolls, his cheeks are full of teeth, and his eyelids are fluttering.

I lift my hands his face, trying to force his focus, but his eyes are cloudy and distant. With the clumsiness of a drunk, he tries to push me away.

“Simon, no.” It’s slurred and weak, but intelligible. “I’m thirsty,” Baz whines, and I pull back to collect the bag I dropped.

“Here.”

I hold it open for him. Inside are eight (questionably) unconscious rats.

Baz tears into them with fumbling movements, ripping off their heads and sucking straight from the necks. It’s a mess. I have to step back to get out of the splash zone, but I don’t take my eyes off him.

I watch as a hint of color touches his skin, as his eyes go from dull to glassy to alert.

By the time Baz finishes, a circle of withered rat corpses at his feet, he’s fully upright in the kitchen chair and panting. Blood rings his mouth and drips from his fangs as he looks me up and down, chest heaving and hair still (partially) in that mess of a bun.

“You look a mess,” he says, and it takes me completely off guard. “Did you crawl through the sewers?”

“What?” I glance down at my stained clothes. Rat hunting is a dirty business, especially when you don’t have super-human speed. “I think what you meant to say was, ‘Thank you for saving me from slipping into a comatose state, darling.’”

Baz looks down and away as he sags into the chair and wipes the back of his mouth with his sleeve. His fangs are slow to retreat. “Please, it wasn’t that bad.”

I pull up a seat next to him and take hold of both his hands. They’re shaking. Without another word, I take all of him into my arms and let out a loud, long breath.

Later, after a joint shower and a long nap, I whisper into Baz's skin, "Don't do that again."

He nods.

#i don't know what this is #my fic #i guess #thank you for playing kati #this took me three hours #snowbaz

[meltwonu]

| 🎃 𝕸𝖔𝖓𝖘𝖙𝖊𝖗 𝕸𝖆𝖘𝖍 🎃 |

↪ ✦ casanova ✦

this chapter pairing; incubus!vernon x succubus!reader

genre&warnings; incubus!au, cocky!vernon, lots of banter, breathplay/choking, slight fingering, blowjob, dirty talk, degradation, namecalling, fucking in a public place 😗

notes; oh the way cocky vernon hits so different 🤤🥵 low-key I was imagining bad clue vernon for this one but then I was like mmm thats a little too dapper for this fic so instead my mind was like 🤤🤤🤤 fear era vernon~ Anyway~ oh! I'll make a notice probably tomorrow that I won’t be online this weekend(thurs-sun) at all, but I'll log in to post the last 3 monster mash fics! I’ll also be answering all the thirst posts/comments/etc. throughout the week once I get back! 💕 have a good day/night! all my socal bbys, stay safe! see u tomorrow! 💕🎃👻 

word count; ~2600

chapters; 1 - 2 - 3 - 4 - 5 - 6 - 7 - 8 - 9 - x - x - x - x

i’m here lying on the bed of your tongue;

my heart listens to the sound of your war drum

steady tiptoeing to your neck of the woods;

i feel danger on your lips but it tastes good.

You take a seat at the bar, legs crossed and a bored expression on your face.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you look this awful.” The bartender comments, sliding a drink across the countertop. “It’s, uh, on the house.”

“Thanks, Seungcheol.” You mutter, graciously accepting the free drink.

Tonight should’ve been an easy night for you; just a quick visit to a few of your regular humans and you would’ve been easily sated. But for whatever reason, not a single of them provided you with any sort of satisfaction and you’d left out of boredom before they’d even gotten you to cum.

“You okay? You look... Like you’ve seen better days.” He laughs, leaning over the counter top. “It’s Halloween, you out of all people should be busy.” You quickly down the drink in one shot, passing Seungcheol the glass as he goes to fill it up again, back turned to you. “See, you’d think that. But it fuckin’ sucked. Dunno, nothing really satisfied my craving, I guess.”

“And what are you craving, princess?”

A voice from behind you has you spinning on your barstool as you come face to face with Vernon. “Ugh, it���s you.” He laughs lightly, taking a seat next to you as he shrugs his suit jacket off.

“Fuck you mean, ‘ugh’?” Vernon scoffs.

Seungcheol comes back with your drink and one for Vernon as well, sliding them to your side as he sighs. “Okay, why are you both here? Seriously, it’s Halloween! Feeding should be easy!” You roll your eyes, glass in hand as you stare Seungcheol down. “And what are you doing here, Seungcheol? Shouldn’t you be feeding?”

The male raises a brow at you, “What do you think I’m doing on my breaks? This place is crawling with humans trying to get caught up in the mix.”

Vernon sighs next to you, quietly taking a sip of his drink. “And you? Why are you here, Vernon?”

He places his glass down, half turned to face you. “I could ask you the same thing.”

Seungcheol chuckles, hip propped up against the countertop as he butts in. “She said nobody is ‘satisfying’ her tonight.” Vernon’s expression falls into that of understanding as you groan.

“Ugh, ‘Cheol, go mind your business!” The said male backs off laughing, walking towards the other side of the bar to service other patrons.

“Nobody’s satisfying you, huh? And why’s that? All your regulars getting boring?” Vernon asks; a lazy smirk on his features.

“I could ask you the same fuckin’ thing, Vernon. Or is it that you can’t get it up maybe?” You tease.

The smirk falls from his face, eyes squinting at you. “Is that what you think? That I can’t get it up? And how about you? Is that pussy of yours scaring off all of your regulars? Or maybe their dicks are too small and can’t satisfy how fuckin’ much you want your cunt filled.”

You lean in at the same time he does, fingers looping into his necktie as you pull him in even closer.

“You talk like you can satisfy me.” “Are you tryna find out? ‘Cause I’m willing to let you. But don’t go crying when my cock’s too big for you.” Vernon grins.

“Prove it then, casanova. Show me you’re worth my time.”

Vernon pushes you into the employee restroom, Seungcheol shouting in the background as the door locks into place.

The red lights in the small space make it feel more intimate and sensual; the complete opposite of the way Vernon’s teeth clash with yours when he kisses you hard.

You moan into the kiss, hands tangling into his hair as he presses you into the door and he slots a leg between your own, letting you grind down onto his thigh as he smirks against your lips. It’s a battle for power between the two of you; neither of you willing to give up your natural dominant nature.

Vernon pulls away, eyes hazy and the same cocky smirk on his lips. “So fuckin’ desperate to get fucked, you’ll use my thigh too, huh?”

“Maybe that’s your only charm point?” You retort. He doesn’t take too kindly as he shakes your hands out of his hair and he drags you over to the countertop.

In the mirror, you take in your appearance, your own drunk eyes staring right back at you. “God, you talk so damn much, you know that?” He murmurs, nosing at your neck. His hands roam your body, hiking your dress further and further up until he can run his fingertips over your panties. He wastes no time, locating your clit through the material before he pinches it hard.

“O-oh, fuck!” You cry, eyes clamping shut at his rough touch. Your panties get wetter and wetter and you find yourself grinding your ass into his hardening cock.

Vernon kisses your skin, leaving small love bites in his wake as he continues to tease you through your panties. “Mmm, you’re getting so wet and all I’m doing is touching your ‘lil clit through your panties. Is that how easy you are? Just a little taste and you’re already putty in my hands.” He smirks against you, fingertips pulling your panties to the side.

“You say I talk too much? You fuckin’ talk too much, Vernon. Hurry up and finger me already!”

He laughs, running his fingers through your wetness before he sinks his index and middle fingers up to the knuckle in one fast movement.

A garbled moans floats past your lips as he starts fucking you with his fingers and you watch your own expression contort in pleasure at the way his fingers were already providing you with more satisfaction than anything else tonight. “Oh, g-god, fuck, that feels suh---so good…”

Vernon ruts into your ass, smoky eyes gazing into the mirror. “You’re so pretty getting drunk on my fingers fucking you open. How are you gonna look once it’s my cock inside of you?”

“G-god, we won’t g-get, ah, there if you don’t s-shut up!” He rolls his eyes, nipping at the junction of your neck.

Vernon lets you grind against his fingers for a moment, eating up the way you seem to forget about everything around you as you chase the pleasure. But he  gets bored, pulling his fingers out of you almost just as quickly as he’d first sunk them in.

“H-hey!”

“Oh, baby, you can’t be the only one benefitting from this.” Vernon pulls away from you, uncaring that he uses his sticky, wet fingers to undo the button and zipper of his pants. “Hope you’re ready to take my cock. All those people that couldn’t fuck you right tonight were all just pregames ‘til now, huh?” He grins, wrapping a hand around his cock.

You can only see so much from the mirror’s reflection; watching as Vernon places a firm hand on your shoulder as he pushes your upper half further down onto the countertop. “Get comfy, princess. Wouldn’t want you to break a nail or something.”

“Just fuck me already, damn it!” Whining, you place your hands palm down on the mirror as you jut your ass out further. You watch with hazy eyes as he smirks at you in the mirror and you soon feel the head of his cock teasing your entrance.

“God, you are so lucky I’m just as impatient as you are.”

You’re about to complain about him taking too long again, but you’re quickly left breathless when he starts inching his cock into your wet pussy. “Fuh---fuck, oh, go---god you’re, ah, b-big!”

“Get used to it, you’ll be begging me for more.”

You choose to ignore his cocky comments as you focus on the way his cock stretches you out perfectly, eyes rolling to the back of your head when he finally bottoms out. His cock taps against your cervix and you resist the urge to just start fucking yourself on his cock, impatience muddling everything else in your mind.

“Mmm, your pussy is so tight and warm around me, baby. Maybe it’s that personality of yours that scares off your regulars.” Vernon chuckles under his breath, but it’s immediately cut short when you clench around him hard. “Shit, fine, fine, I get it!” He grumbles.

Vernon draws his hips back before slamming his cock back into you and for a second, your clammy palms pressed up against the mirror almost lose their grip with how your body jerks forward. “God, yes, yes fuck me hard!” You cry, already meeting his harsh pace.

“So this is why they can’t do it for you, huh?” His hips snap into you; the sound of skin slapping getting drowned out by the loud music on the other side of the door. “You wanna be fucked like a little cumslut tonight and nobody wants to give it to you.”

“Ngh, y-yeah… s-so what’s y-your fuckin’, ah, d-deal?”

Vernon scoffs, “Maybe I just wanted to treat someone like my own ‘lil cockslut tonight and nobody was doin’ it for me either.” You grin in return, hazy eyes focused on yourself in the mirror.

“Guess t-this was where, ah, we were meant to be t-tonight.” You lick your lips, working your hips back as you start to chase your orgasm. “By the w-way, don’t--don’t cum, hah, inside m-me…” He slows his pace a little, leaning over your back as he nuzzles into your shoulder. “Oh? Why’s that? Don’t want people to know I fucked you in Seungcheol’s employee restroom? Or is it that you’re scared you’ll get addicted to me cumming inside your hot little cunt. Maybe you’ll even go home and fuck my cum deeper inside of yourself wishin’ it was still me and not your hands or your dumb little humans.”

His words are almost filthy enough to make you change your mind, but you harden your stare, crimson eyes meeting his in the mirror’s reflection. “Don’t g-get too cocky, Vernon. Just don’t fuckin’ cum i-in me. I’m s-still going out, mmh, after t-this…”

He shoots you an incredulous look, leaning away from you shoulder as he starts to double his pace. “Wow, fuckin’ bold of you to even go out after this. But okay, you’ll come crawling back to find me and I’ll be waiting at the bar for you. Maybe you’ll even be so fuckin’ desperate for my cock, I’ll even make you beg me. And beg for me to cum inside of you.” Vernon pauses, snaking his hand up your spine before he circles it around the column of your throat. “For now, you’re gonna cum on my cock, get it nice ‘n soaked. Then you’re gonna suck me off and I’m gonna cum down that pretty throat of yours.”

“F-fine…”

Vernon gently applies pressure to your throat, restricting your airways slightly as you start to get tighter around him. “Touch your clit, make yourself cum.” He commands.

You’re quick to take his lead, trailing a hand down your body until you can rub quick circles on your clit. “G-god, yes, fuck, ah, I’m gon---gonna cum, fuck! My pussy’s so fuckin’ full, I---mmph!” Vernon’s hand on your throat quickly travels up until his palm is pressed firmly against your lips, effectively muffling you.

He uses this as leverage, pushing you backwards until your back meets his clothed chest. Your body jerks in his hold as he fucks into you hard, cock slamming into your cervix with each thrust. “Fuck, you have such a filthy fuckin’ mouth. Everyone can probably hear what a little whore you are. But I bet that gets you off, doesn’t it? Letting everyone know how fuckin’ good you’re getting it.” He licks the shell of your ear, hips pistoning into you as you cum; moans and cries muffled by Vernon’s hand still over your mouth.

“That’s right, cum on my cock, baby. Your tight cunt feels so good around me.” Moaning, he slows down his thrusts, watching you through the mirror as you take your pleasure.

It doesn’t give you any energy like feeding from a human would, but the pleasure still feels good enough for shapes dance beneath your eyelids as he fucks you through your orgasm.

“Shit, you really are pretty like this.” Vernon scoffs under his breath as he finally removes his hand from over your mouth. Your body slumps forward as you catch your breath; soft whimpers on your lips. “Now it’s my turn, baby. I expect you on your knees now~”

You groan in return, somewhat drained. This is why you never fucked with other incubus; there was no energy gain and it left you more tired than anything else.

But you only think it’s fair, so you drop to your knees, wincing slightly when the tile bites into your kneecaps. You open your mouth and stick your tongue out, ready for Vernon to hurry up and cum down your throat.

“Hmm~ I think you’d be even prettier with my cum all over your face. Whaddya think?” He grins, eyes twinkling down at you.

“Do you ever wonder what it’d be like to have your dick bitten off?” You growl.

Vernon takes the hint as he threads a hand loosely into your hair and you use a hand to wrap around his cock that’s already covered in your wetness.

You immediately sink your mouth down onto his cock; deepthroating him and hollowing out your cheeks around him. Tucking your hands underneath your thighs, you let Vernon use your mouth, moaning around him to help throw him over the edge.

He groans from above you, hips thrusting into your mouth as he feels his orgasm coming on, only a few minutes later. “Fuck, ‘m gonna, ah, c-cum. Swallow it all, baby. Show me what a good cumslut, hah, you a-are.”

Humming around him, you bask in the way his moans are clipped and stuttered with your teasing.

Vernon could be so easy too, despite his cocky nature.

You feel his cock throbbing in your mouth, the salty substance hitting the back of your throat as you aim to swallow it all down.

“Ngh, look at you. Not even a drop spilled. You’re a pro~” He quips; tugging you by the hair as you cough and sputter. A thread of cum and spit connect your lips to his cock and for a second, Vernon thinks he can get used to seeing you like this.

You move to stand, legs shaky as you rest your back against the countertop that he’d had you bent over, moments prior. “At least one of us is.” You smirk at him, wiping your lips with the back of your hand.

“God, you really just don’t quit, do you?”

“Hey, some of my humans like it, asshole.” You turn to face the mirror, taking in your disheveled appearance.

Vernon stands beside you, adjusting his clothes and hair as you do too. “Speaking of, are you really still heading out after this?”

Tugging your dress down, you check your appearance in the mirror one last time before you reach for the doorknob and unlock it.

“Yeah, ‘cause that drained me of any energy I had.” You pause, turning slightly to face Vernon who stands behind you. You bite the inside of your cheek and despite the snarky banter between the two of you; Vernon wasn’t half bad. 

“Maybe once I get some of it back, I’ll meet you at the bar.”

His eyes flash a darker shade of red, lips ghosting across the shell of your ear when he leans in.

“I’ll be waiting on you, baby.”

#incubus!vernon #incubus!svt #vernon smut #seventeen smut #svt smut #vernon scenarios #vernon imagines #seventeen scenarios #svt scenarios #seventeen imagines #svt imagines #incubus!seventeen #vernon #svt fic #seventeen fic #monstermash!svt

[wooyunhwa]

kingdom of welcome addiction | two

view pinned post for masterlist for links to the rest of the parts!

Genre: smut 

Pairing: demon!san x fem!reader

Word Count: 6k

Warnings: blood drinking, choking (like some serious choking you’ve been warned), crying kink, corruption kink, praise kink? idk, mentions of alcohol, virgin mc

Synopsis: When you accidentally summon a bloodthirsty demon boy to your bedroom, you form an unexpected contract with him.

A/N: Thank you for reading and comments are super appreciated as always!

It had been a few weeks since you’d last summoned San. The last time you’d seen him, he’d gone kind of crazy after tasting your blood. You couldn’t forget the darkness in his voice, his all-black eyes shining demonically as he lost it. He had left without even giving himself a chance to explain himself, he just disappeared to, well… wherever it was that demons went, you supposed.

Every so often, your hand would find its way up to check the scar where he’d punctured your neck. Honestly, you just wanted to make sure you hadn’t dreamt it all. As the days went on, you really couldn’t be sure. Eventually the scar dwindled to a faint red mark, and then to nothing at all. 

The sticky note was still pinned to the wall above your desk, taunting you every time you saw it. Each time you’d think today was the day you’d call him back, and yet, you hadn’t been able to do it.  

Until you were drunk, that is. 

You had a particularly rough day of classes. Your professor had called you out in front of the whole class for a mistake you made on an assignment, and it ripped you apart. When you got home, you had poured out a few pathetic drinks to drown the pain of the day, wanting nothing more than to curl up in your bed and disappear. But you forgot one vital thing. When you drank alone, you got sad. Like, really sad. The tears seemed to flow endlessly, and there was a point at which you even forgot why you were crying—or drinking—in the first place. 

There was a part of you that needed in that moment to not be alone, even for just a second. Embarrassed to call any of your friends over, you turned to the only companion who couldn’t turn you down.

Your demon boy.

You ripped the post-it off the wall, finally ready to use it, drunkenly singing out the Latin a few times until it was comprehensible enough to work.  

He was perched on your desk when he appeared. You stumbled back drunkenly, startled by his sudden appearance despite knowing you were summoning him. You just forgot how jarring it was. 

“Oh, you have to be kidding me,” San grumbled. You weren’t sure if he was responding to your sudden summoning, or the fact that you were leaking tears all over the place pathetically, but you couldn’t even manage to choke out a response through your blubbering. 

“This is way out of my pay grade.” He hopped off the desk, sauntering slowly in your direction. “Have you been drinking, hmm? I can smell that cheap liquor from a mile away. It’s fogging up your pretty little scent.”

You wiped the tears from your eyes pitifully. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have summoned you. You can leave.”

“I did miss your cute little human face, I suppose,” he said softly. He was standing close now, towering over you. You pulled your gaze up to meet his eyes, and he gave a gentle pet to your head. In any other situation, it would be sweet, but the look in his eyes was chilling. He looked at you like prey, a piece of meat—and yet his words dripped off his tongue like the sweetest honey. “Don’t cry, okay?” 

His thumb drew across your cheek, passing faintly over your lips, collecting tears. He brought his hand up to his tongue, licking it clean of the saltwater, not breaking eye-contact for even a second. “Virgin tears. Almost as good as the blood,” he sang, eyes rolling back in his head in a quick moment of bliss for just a moment before fixing back on your face. “Almost.”

You forgot how alluring he was, his sharp-featured face in particular. There was something magnetic about it, you couldn’t pull your gaze away no matter how intense he was. 

“So why’d you call me, hmm, darling?” He flashed his teeth villainously. “Missed my bite that much? Have something new to offer, perhaps?”

You dropped your gaze, but he tipped your chin up to meet his again almost immediately. “Look me in the eyes, darling. You’re the one that summoned me, the least you could do is give me that.”

“I shouldn’t have called you here. I shouldn’t have even thought—I should have known you wouldn’t care beyond your own interests,” you said, voice hoarse and shaky through your tears. 

He shrugged. “You’re probably right.”

“Asshole.” 

His brows furrowed. “Okay, a little uncalled for. But not entirely untrue.” He placed his hands on your shoulders, guiding you to the bed. It took only a small nudge to plop you down. You felt the effects of the alcohol wash over you. “We can make a contract. If it makes you feel better.”

“What, you’re gonna ask for my blood again?” you scoffed.

“No.”

“Then?”

“Your tears.”

You paused, considering the stakes. “Fine, take them. What do I get?”

He took a seat next to you on the plush blanket, placing a surprisingly comforting hand on your back. “I’ll listen to you. Like, uh… a demon therapist,” he smiled at you from your side, flashing his fangs cheekily. “I promise I’ll do my best to stay serious. I’m contractually obligated.”

“Fine,” you agreed, slightly annoyed at how difficult you found it to resist him. His devilish charm was too much for you—even sober, but especially drunk. 

“Tears first,” he said decidedly, and you caught a glimpse of desire spark in his eyes. 

You nodded, shuffling your butt on the bed to face him. You expected him to run his fingers over your face, like he had earlier. Instead, he brushed his thumb over the side of your face slowly, dancing along the cut of your jaw, then leaned in to brush his lips over your cheek. You flinched as his lips connected with your skin softly, and you felt the distinct wetness of his tongue brushing over the surface. He lapped at your tears through deliberate, drawn-out kisses, and the cold metal of his lip ring felt unexpectedly nice drawing over your cheek. 

His hand came around to the back of your head, lacing his fingers in your hair to steady you. It was incredibly sensual, whether he meant it to be or not. He moaned pleasurably at the taste of your tears, though he didn’t have the same animalistic hunger he seemed to have when he’d tasted your blood. Probably for the best. 

“You’re so cute when you’re crying. Like a helpless little lamb. If I weren’t supposed to be nice to you right now, I’d have a half a mind to make you cry again,” he purred against your ear. 

His other hand threaded around the small of your waist, like he’d done when he drank your blood before. And you couldn’t lie, you kind of loved it. His position was unexpectedly romantic: one hand cupped around your waist, the other laced in your hair, delivering soft kisses and licks across your cheeks. You closed your eyes to get a better idea of the sensation, fisting your hands needily in the silky fabric of his button down. 

You felt him pull away suddenly, an amused smirk dancing up on his lips. “Someone’s getting spicy. This wasn’t in our contract.” 

Fuck. Something in your mind was telling you to kiss him. Not just telling, but more like screaming at you. Fucking kiss him. His lips looked so soft and alluring, so dangerously off-limits. You leaned in slightly, magnetized by his aura, only to feel him pull away entirely. 

“Okay. I’ve had my fun,” he said. He ran a hand through his hair, roughing it up messily, giving you a perfect view at the cut of his jaw. “Now I hold up my end of the deal. You talk, I listen.”

Do we have to talk? you thought, annoyed. I’d rather just make out.

You gritted your teeth together as you tried desperately to shift your thoughts away from kissing him. But you couldn’t help but think about how his lips would taste against your lips, how his tongue would dance sinfully against yours, his fingers laced in your hair—god, what was wrong with you? It was probably all the drinks you had, making you unnecessarily sad and even more unnecessarily horny for your hot demon errand boy. You needed to get it the fuck together. 

You pushed away your fantasies for the night, as hard as that was. For the next hour or so, you lamented to him about your rough day, even going into a few things that had happened in the past week. He listened thoughtfully, carefully, though in the back of your mind you knew he was only being so attentive because he was ‘contractually obligated.’ 

You poured your heart to him, feeling incredibly vulnerable under his concentrated gaze. Though this time it wasn’t entirely predatory, but more like interested. Caring, even. You doubted that even was possible. Even so, as you talked, you felt more and more connected with him. 

For a moment, he seemed almost human. 

Summoning San became an almost nightly routine for you. 

You’d summon him, have him help you with mundane activities like homework, cleaning, cooking—whatever task you could think of to keep him around as long as possible. Of course, he couldn’t turn you down unless you didn’t have a reasonable counter to give him. 

Each time you summoned him, it seemed as though he cared less and less about the contract and seemed to enjoy your company a bit more. Not that he’d ever unveil that information to you—he always gave into your mundane proposals begrudgingly, but there was a glint in his eye that said he wanted to be there, even if he wouldn’t admit it yet. 

“You know I have other clients, right?” he’d joke. “You can’t summon me every night.”

“Oh, so you’re cheating on me?” you’d tease back. 

“Don’t worry,” he’d say with a charming wink. “You’re my favorite human.” 

“Not that there’s any competition, but you’re my favorite demon.” 

You loved the playful banter between you. He felt somehow easier to talk to than any human you’d met, perhaps because there was little to no social pressure involved. Something about your dynamic felt almost boyfriend-ish, in a way—if you could consider being a glorified errand boy a boyfriend-ish thing to do. He rarely divulged any personal information about himself, but you got to know him through the littlest things. His small habits, the things that made him laugh. 

You couldn’t believe it, but you were falling for him slowly, like some sort of pathetic schoolgirl crush. The highlight of your day was the minute you could conjure him, even just to see his face smiling in front of you, that familiar devilish grin as he appeared in your room. 

There was still something that felt entirely off-limits, though. Sure, you’d let him drink from your neck a few more times—each time he’d get better at controlling himself—but you weren’t sure how to cross the line from there. He’d been so forward on the very first night you met him. He even asked to take your virginity, which of course you outright denied. But even if it was a joke, if he was just messing with you, the idea swirled in your mind every now and again. You even dreamt of him a few times. But he hadn’t mentioned it since. 

It was late in the night. You had summoned San to do some menial house chores, as you usually did, in exchange for dinner and a back massage—something you weren’t even aware demons needed. San had explained it to you, but you still couldn’t quite wrap your head around the inhuman-soul in a human-vessel dynamic, so you chose not to question it too hard.

Today, something felt different about him. He was flirtier, sexier, more outlandishly charming than usual, if that was even possible. You watched him scrubbing your countertops like your hot demon maid—you even went so far as to dress him in an apron you spent a little too long picking out at the store—marveling at the small of his waist cinched in with the fabric tie. 

“Enjoying the view?” he teased with a playful glance over his shoulder, wiggling his hips. 

“Ugh, I was until you did that,” you joked back. “C’mon, that countertop isn’t gonna scrub itself.”

He gave his hips another shake, chuckling as you trained your gaze on his ass. “You’re so cute when you’re drooling over me. Get it together, darling. You’ve still got a massage to give.”  

He was just joking around with you, you knew that. He was probably just as charming with his other summoners, or his ‘clients’ as he called them. But he was right, you couldn’t help but drool over him. It was moments like this where you fell for him, hard, pretty much flat on your face. You wished so desperately for him to be human right now, just for a second. You wanted him to give you a sweet, squeezing hug, kissing your forehead. You wanted to feel his arms around your waist, pulling you in close. You wanted to ask him on a date. You wanted him. 

But you’d have to settle for watching him clean your house. God, what was wrong with you? You couldn’t have caught feelings for a human boy?

And now you had to give him a massage, which wasn’t going to make it any better. 

He laid himself face down on your bed, face resting gingerly against your pillow. You straddled him, setting yourself down gently on the back of his thighs. You had admittedly never given a massage before, but you weren’t going to let that stop you. Your hands explored below the hem of his shirt, lifting up slowly to reveal the soft, perfectly tanned skin underneath. You were able to get a better view of his proportions, the way his waist curved in so delicately and then up into his beautifully broad shoulders. He was fit, but not too muscular, slender, but not too thin. He was absolutely immaculate. 

You rubbed circles in his back, drawing out the sweetest moans from his lips as you massaged down on his muscles. “I may be cursed with this human body—ah—but this does feel kind of amazing,” he admitted in a voice slightly muffled by the pillows. 

You worked at his muscles until he seemed satisfied, even rolling your palms around his neck and shoulders to hear his sweet groans of pleasure. It was unbelievably enticing, and you felt dampness pooling between your legs.  

When you were done he rolled on to his stomach. You watched in awe at the rise and fall of his chest, the tip of his chin accentuating his sharp jawline. You didn’t want him to leave. 

He stood himself up from the bed, shaking his muscles out a bit before smiling cheekily, flashing his fangs as he always did. “Looks like our contract today is complete. See you tomorrow, hmm?” he winked. 

“San wait—”

“Yes?”

“I want another contract.”

He paused to contemplate, dragging his tongue over his bottom lip in thought. He cocked his pierced eyebrow up, stepping forward to close the distance between you. “What’s that, little lamb? Are you finally gonna let me take that pretty little soul?”

You swallowed, mustering up the courage to make your move. “I want you to kiss me.”

“You—what?” he sputtered, clearly caught off guard by your proposition. 

“I’m asking you to kiss me,” you repeated.

You watched his eyes go dark, slightly hooded as he trained his gaze back on you. In contrast from his lighthearted mood earlier in the day, he looked particularly lustful as his eyes found your lips. 

“So, if you want to make a contra—” 

He was on you before you could finish your sentence. His hands found your hips, squeezing tightly to pull you against him.

His lips lingered over yours, the warmth of his breath washing over you like soft waves. He didn’t stay there for long, pulling your lips against his fully. He tasted like heaven, hell, and everything in between. You craved for him as thirstily, barely coming up for air as your lips rocked slowly against each other’s. One of his hands was laced in your hair, the other steadying against your neck. For a moment, you forgot he was even a demon at all, except for the inhumanly exquisite taste of his lips.

He pulled away for only enough time to choke out his next words in a low growl. “I guess I’ll make an exception on the contract this once. Once.”

He bit playfully at your bottom lip, lightly twirling his tongue around the surface. Then harder. You yelped as his fang sunk in, tearing off a small piece of flesh. He smirked against your lips, drawing his tongue across the blood with sensual breaths. His hands came to your shoulders to swivel your hips around, backing you into the wall next to your door frame, caging you in with his body. 

“I always forget how good you taste,” he purred in your ear. He grasped at your body hungrily through your clothes, like he was ready to rip through them at any moment.

You could have stayed there forever, his body trapping you against the wall, lips on you like he would never have another chance to taste you. But he pushed away suddenly, his eyes flashing a demonic black for a moment angrily. 

“Fuck. I have to go. I’m getting another call,” he hissed through his teeth. 

“San wait I—” 

But he was gone. 

Your knees gave out under you weakly, sliding your back down the wall, staring at the empty space he had occupied. He wasn’t yours. He wasn’t your boyfriend, or even your friend. He was a demon. You couldn’t afford to forget that for even a moment. 

It was just too good to be true.

You didn’t discuss the kiss further, not for a while at least. He’d made a few passing comments on his nightly house calls, but you hadn’t dared bring it up again in conversation. However, on one night in particular, you had summoned him without purpose. You were admittedly lonely, and frankly, a bit horny. You wanted company, and he was always on call. 

“Yes, my liege?” he teased with a bow as he appeared in your room. And there was that intoxicating smile again. 

“Will you just talk to me tonight?”

“Okay, darling. And what do I get, hmm?”

“No contract.”

“You know that isn’t how this wo—” 

“I want to know you’re not just here because you have to be tonight. But if you really don’t want to be here, you can leave. You know the way out.”

He sighed heavily. “Y/N, you know this isn’t—”

“Please.” 

You saw the look on his face soften, and he gave in with a nod that said ‘fine, but just this once’.

You talked across from each other on the bed for a while, talking about anything that came to your mind, though not much about him. He mostly listened, cut in a few times with a quip or a cheeky comment, but kept his eyes trained on you with complete concentration otherwise. You actually hadn’t expected him to be such a good listener. Better than most humans you knew, anyway. You loved the moments where you caught a glimmer of humanity, although you knew that wasn’t possible. The only human thing about him was his body, after all. 

As you made conversation, your mind wandered elsewhere. You couldn’t help but admire the curve of his lips, the sharp cut of his jaw, his crimson eyes shining like rubies. You felt completely intoxicated by him, as you always did. He was entirely tempting and yet felt completely off limits, even though you had entertained many times the thought of him fucking you. The thought flickered through your head even now. You imagined every rise of the muscles in his chest, sweat glistening on his skin as he towered over you. You imagined what his dick might look like, sliding in and out of you. You imagined his lips all over your body, every curve of your skin, every inch of you from head to toe.

The tension in the room grew thick as you watched his mouth, concentrated on every movement, every flick of his tongue, the faint glimmer of his metal lip ring, the fangs glistening under his slightly parted lips. There wasn’t an ounce of subtlety in the way you watched him, and he slowly stopped moving entirely, focusing all his energy on to you again. You craved the intense heat of his gaze now—you were no longer uncomfortable with his severity, only further entranced by how it pulled you in. You were entirely in his trap. You leaned forward, initiating the kiss, and he leaned in to meet you. His tongue slid against yours, and you reciprocated fervently. He tasted incredible, and the way he moaned against your lips indicated he felt the same about you. “You’re intoxicating,” he purred, his heavy breaths sounding like music in your ears. You wanted him, entirely. Since the moment he’d first appeared you’d wanted him.

Your hands explored his chest, his arms, the small of his waist—everywhere you could touch, you did. His chest was rock-solid, a beautiful display of muscle sculpted beautifully on his core. You felt every desire you’d ever had compounding at once within you, it rocked through you like a wave: the need to be touched, held, fucked right this moment. Although you’d never done it before, at least with another person, you had plenty of experience with the vibrator in your room, and recently, with picturing San as you pleasured yourself. Either way, if you had done it with another human or not, it probably wouldn’t have even mattered—he wasn’t human at all, in fact. What he was was danger wrapped up in an alluringly human-like package.  

“I want you to fuck me, San,” you said confidently, letting the words the drip off your tongue, slowly and deliberately. 

Your bodies were nearly flush, and you could feel the heat of his breath against your skin. His finger traced along your jaw, a low grumble rolling up through his throat, coming up through his teeth in a hiss. “You can’t tempt me with that kind of offer,” he growled, and the way his fingers trembled as they met your skin indicated his ultimate self-control. “I don’t think you understand how I can get...”

“I saw it, San, before. Remember? I’m not scared of you,” you countered. But that last part was kind of a lie.

“I can’t,” He took a final step closer, closing any remaining gap between you. “Fuck… you don’t understand how… delicious you look to me right now,” he hissed through his teeth, his voice getting rougher and deeper as he held himself together. “I can’t help myself. It’s like some sort of animal instinct.”

“San, please. I can handle it. You even admitted you wanted my virginity the day we met.”

“I was joking back then… sort of. I might be soulless, but I’m not heartless. I couldn’t hurt you.” He gritted his teeth, restraining his heavy, lusted breaths.

“So you don’t want to?”

“Fuck, I do… I do more than anything. Every time I look at you I picture myself destroying you—”

“Then do it.”

“Gah, you—fuck.” He planted a few restrained kisses down the sensitive skin of your neck. He dragged his fangs along the taut flesh, threatening to sink them in. “I can try to hold myself back. No promises.” 

“Please, San,” you whined. Your hands fisted the silky fabric of his shirt, drawing his chest as close to yours as possible. 

“Mmf,” he grunted against your neck, digging his nails into your waist hungrily. “Fuck, you taste like a drug.” He pulled back, his eyes darker now. His usually crimson irises looked nearly black in his state of temptation, so much so that you could barely make out the whites of his eyes. He looked more like a demon than ever before, the wicked aura almost possessing him. He shook his head, as if trying to purify himself. “I can’t—I’m gonna hurt you. Don’t do this to me, I’m not going to be able to—” 

You pulled down the collar of your shirt, revealing your shoulders and a hint of your chest. His eyes went hungry, trained on the soft curve of your collarbone lustfully, wickedly. “I’m giving my body to you, please... Take it.” 

His voice was a low growl, and he seemed to be restraining himself with everything he had left. Thick, enraged veins bulged from his forearms as he grasped at your waist. “I’m telling you, I’m going to lose control… you’re not gonna recognize me.”

“I know. San, please. I’m asking you to take my virginity.”

He finally snapped under your words, his eyes almost fully consumed with black now. His lips attached to your collarbone, sucking gently at the soft skin around it. His desperate clawing nearly tore the fabric of your shirt from your skin as his kisses feasted on you hungrily. You tipped your head back, his lips and tongue eliciting soft moans from you as they danced along the top half of your chest.

His voice was so deep now it nearly rumbled, barely sounding like the San you knew. “You’re delicious—fuck—even better than I remember.” 

His hands pushed you back against the pillows with more strength than he probably meant to use, nearly knocking the wind out of you with his force. He sunk his teeth into your shoulder, and you yelped in surprise at the sting of his teeth in your flesh. You felt the distinctly wet and all-too-familiar sensation of blood as the canines pierced your skin. He licked it clean, his whole body shaking with desire as your blood washed over his tongue. He sang the most beautiful moans you’d ever heard into your skin, lapping up every last drop clean from where he’d punctured you. 

You had grown addicted to the sensation of his teeth on your skin and his tongue licking up the blood, like some sort of weird demon-vampire fetish you had never considered before. You laced your fingers in his hair as he worked his way down your chest, tearing away the fabric of your shirt apart with his hands like it was a wet piece of paper, and he didn’t stop until the mess of torn fabric that used to be your shirt slipped off of you easily. His lips kissed and marked your breasts as he worked his way down, then ripped off your pants with the same distinct sound of fabric being torn through like it was nothing. 

His dark eyes gleamed hungrily as he met your gaze. He used his tongue sinfully between your thighs, teasing you mercilessly as he kissed and licked around the seam of your panties. You were soaking wet now, the fabric of your underwear entirely drenched from the anticipation. Not just from today, but from the past few weeks of fantasizing about him completely wrecking you. His fangs gripped into the wet fabric, nearly taking your skin with it as he pulled your panties out from between your legs—the only piece of clothing he hadn’t entirely torn off.

“What a cute little human pet,” he purred seductively in your ear, dragging his fingernails across the cut of your jaw. You winced as he drew his hand over your freshly bitten wound. “It’s too bad your blood won’t be so sweet after I’m done with you, hmm, darling? Maybe just one more time, hmm?”

You felt his teeth sink down into your shoulder, and he pulled you entirely flush against him as he bit down with more ferocity than before. You cried out against him as he slipped his tongue delicately over the wound. His hungry grip around your waist grew tighter with every lick. 

“San—ah—” you cried out, a mix of pain and pleasure as he soothed your wound with his tongue, hands coming up to squeeze your breasts.

“I could drain you right here,” he growled harshly, but there was still lust coating his words. You felt his dick harden in his pants as he pulled his teeth from your skin, leaving the aching sting of the fresh wound on your collarbone. You felt a bit dizzy now, not only with lust but also from losing quite a bit of blood to his tongue. He stood up suddenly, stripping like clothes meant nothing to him, ripping them off and tossing them to the floor. His breathing was less like breaths and more like throaty grunts. You were able to marvel at his naked body for only a second before he climbed on top of you, forcing you to lie completely flat under him, his broad shoulders closing you in completely.

“Such a cute human,” he praised, marveling at your smallness, your complete powerlessness beneath him. You couldn’t move if you wanted to, his body caged you in from all sides—it’s a good thing you didn’t want to. His eyes were intense, predatory, but not entirely possessed like he had been before just at the mere taste of your blood. You were surprised by his restraint he seemed to be holding on to. “Tiny, powerless… I want to hear you beg for me,” he purred into your ear. As he awaited your response, he lapped gently at the wounds he’d made earlier, collecting the remaining blood on his tongue with a needy moan.  

“Please, San—” you started apprehensively, unsure of exactly what he wanted from you. Your voice cracked slightly as you spoke, and heat rose in your cheeks. 

He clicked his tongue twice. “Tsk, tsk. I forgot, she’s too pure for this.” 

“Fuck me. Please—” 

“That’s better darling.”

“I want your cock, please, San.”

“I don’t want to hurt you baby, but you’re too fucking tempting. So cute and helpless beneath me.” He drew one of his hands lightly across your chest, dragging his fingers along every curve. “Begging. Embarrassed. It’s adorable.”

His hand drew over your stomach. Hips. Thighs. Then, finally, between your legs, delivering a small, fleeting taste of the pleasure you’d been searching for all night. You bucked your hips up involuntarily under his touch, and he drew his hand back teasingly. His eyes, hooded with desire, were fixed on your face, reveling in every reaction, every small noise that crept up through your throat. Darkness crept through them, nearly entirely black now. He looked like a real demon. 

“What a naughty girl. Practically dripping for me. I thought you were pure, hmm? What happened?” he sang condescendingly, a smirk twitching up on his lips. “Be a sweet little pet for me now.” 

He pushed his hips flush with yours, his cock aligning up against you. A low growl ripped through his throat, digging his fingernails into the sheets with a terrifying display of force. “This is probably gonna hurt, darling,” he purred. “Look me in the eyes. I want to see your cute little face as I ruin you.” He tipped your chin up to meet his eyes just as he rutted his hips in for the first time. 

The tip slipped in easily, but you couldn’t help but wince at the sensation. You’d tried toys before, but nothing could compare to the size—or feeling—of the real thing. “Ah—ah San, it—it kind of hurts,” you whined, your face twisting a bit as he pumped a few times, slowly and shallowly. He watched your face with blackened eyes. 

“You have no idea—” Thrust. “How hard—” Thrust. “It is to—” Thrust. “Keep myself from destroying you.” 

Your broken cries echoed loudly as his mouth came down on your wounds once again, delivering wet, desperate licks at the bloody remnants of the punctures he created. It stung harshly, and a single tear escaped your eyes. He pulled away from your chest, positioning himself completely upright, dick still halfway inside of you. You got a good look at his hard chest, an immaculate display of muscle. An unidentifiable tattoo snaked down his right side. He looked almost statuesque poised above you. 

“Such pretty tears. My little lamb,” he praised with a low growl, sinking his fingernails into the flesh of your thighs. “Fuck—tell me I can ruin you—” his fingernails dug deeper.

You nodded, urging him on. You initiated it, you wanted it, even if he scared you a bit with his harsh gaze and his tightening grip threatening to mark up your skin. “Yes. Please.” With a single thrust he bottomed out inside you entirely, eliciting a sharp cry from your lips. You tossed your head back, but you could still feel the heat of his stare following your every moment, taking in every curve and scar of your body. “Good little human,” he praised, stroking your thighs as he thrust in again. Every movement he made overwhelmed your senses entirely—a lethal mix of the sting of your wounds, the sensitivity of his hands exploring your thighs, the feeling of his dick stretching out inside you, and finally, how much you craved him. 

His hand came up to your throat, latching on to it with a steady viced grip. His eyes went hooded, hungry as he squeezed the air from your lungs. Harder. Tighter. His fingers viced around your neck with dizzying force. You squirmed beneath him, clawing at his hand desperately. TV static buzzed in your brain, and the world went blurry. You just barely caught a glimpse of his black eyes fading back to red before your vision slipped away into darkness. 

Your eyes shuttered open to the familiar image of your ceiling. You recognized you were in your own bed, fully clothed, tucked under the covers neatly. Before you could survey your surroundings, San’s face was above you, eyebrows slightly furrowed, tilting his head as he looked down at you. You’d never seen his eyes so soft.

“Look, she’s awake.” His voice was calmer than usual, warmer. “How do you feel?”

“Like hell,” you croaked, voice hoarse as you choked out your words. 

“I don’t say this often...” he started, placing a hand on your head. “But I’m sorry. We shouldn’t have even done that in the first place. I went too far.”

“I—what happened—”

“You blacked out. I, uh, well... I choked you until you passed out. I told you, it’s hard for me to control myself like that.” 

“Did you—”

“Of course not,” he interjected, not even letting you finish. He knew what you were implying. “As soon as you stopped moving it snapped me out of it.”

You dropped your gaze, recalling how you saw his black eyes turn to normal right before you lost consciousness. “Right. Uh… thanks.”

“I like my prey fresh, anyways. It’s not fun when I can’t watch them squirm.” And there it was. His devilish smile again. His tongue twitched across his lower lip, playing with his lip ring absentmindedly. He quickly cleared his throat when he saw the unamused expression on your face. “I hope… uh, I hope at least you were having fun before—you know.”

You nodded in response as you tried to sit upright in the bed. Bad idea. Your vision went dizzy, and a rush of pain pounded through your skull. “Ah—ow, fuck.”

“Should I get you some water or something? Whatever it is that humans want when they hurt.” 

You rolled your eyes at his pointedly un-human response. “Sure, water sounds fine.”

He retrieved you a glass from the kitchen, setting it on the nightstand. “I hate to do this, but I’ve been here for way too long,” he started hesitantly. You could see the regret in his eyes. “Without a contract too. I could get in trouble for this.”

“It’s fine, you can go,” you muttered. “I could use some sleep right now anyway.” 

He nodded quietly, administering a small, strangely awkward pat to your head. “Right. Well, uh… get some sleep.” 

You barely blinked before he was gone, but it didn’t matter anyway. You were asleep before you could even take a sip of the water he’d gotten you. 

#san smut #choi san smut #ateez smut #ateez fanfic #choi san fic #ateez fic #yunho smut #mingi smut #hongjoong smut #wooyoung smut

[wolf-and-bard]

The Edge Of The Edge Of The World

Prompt: Human Shield

Relationships: Jaskier/Filavandrel

Rating: M

Content Warnings: some violence, not graphic; implied minor character death

Summary: When Jaskier starts to have the same apocalyptic dream from Filavandrel's point of view over and over again, he decides to go a-looking for the elven-king. He finds Filavandrel in the valley of flowers, finds also that his old crush has not dampened. Just when they are reuniting, they are disturbed by a hired assassin... In which: Filavandrel bears the weight of the world upon his shoulders and Jaskier is drawn to him, helpless to fix it, but willing to try anyway.

Word Count: 4.6k

@witcher-rarepair-summer-bingo​ I AO3-Link

It's the dreams that ultimately bring Jaskier back to Dol Blathanna. After everything was said and done - the clutches of the elves escaped, his song written, Geralt pestered - he swore himself not to meddle with Filavandrel and his sundered court ever again. Out of respect, yes, and out of fear, and out of a strange mixture of both. The latter concerns a part of Jaskier that is all lust and greed, and would have been strip-dancing for Filavandrel if it hadn't been for the imminent threat to his and Geralt's lives. Jaskier finds no shame in that, he was eighteen then, but he also isn't quite so certain that upon meeting the elf again, he wouldn't fall prey to those same desires. His heart has a strange way of becoming stuck in time like that. And Jaskier wasn't going to give in and go. He wasn’t going to return to the Valley of Flowers, no matter how often he thought back to his time among the elves, no matter how many sonnets he dedicated to the stern eyes, proud figure, golden locks, and tragic history of one Filavandrel aén Fidháil. He wasn’t. But then the dreams start around the same time that Geralt starts being tossed more prophecies than coin and Jaskier has to attribute some significance to that, right? Destiny tends to meddle in heaps like that and while Jaskier is no firm believer in higher powers, he can see clear as day the strain it puts on Geralt, avoiding it day and night.

On top of that, the dreams repeat. Jaskier never has the same dream twice. He just doesn’t. Only this one, he goes through every night for a fortnight straight and it comes to the point that even Geralt - who's still treating Destiny like his lavatory - calls him out on it. "You've been crying through the night again," he grunts one morning by way of greeting and when Jaskier gently brushes his own cheeks with sweat-sticky fingers, they come away wet. Salty air clings to his nostrils and he sniffles, still caught in the undertow of the great melancholy that suffuses every moment in that other world. The inn room around him feels thin, see-through, and Geralt wavers around the edges, fuzzy like smoke so much so that Jaskier doesn't dare reach out to his friend for fear of him dissolving.

“It seems I have,” he mumbles to himself and glances at his lute. The instrument sits idly in its case, having caught dust as they’ve been away on a three-day hunt for a rabid, enchanted bear, and the ornamental swirls glitter in the first sunlight of the day. Jaskier can feel her like a presence, the same way Geralt can feel his medallion, he suspects. She hums with a similar sort of magic.

A treasure from Filavandrel himself. More than a kingly gift, the instrument serves as a constant reminder. To remember and shut the fuck up about it. Jaskier gets up and ignores Geralt’s confused grunts. He’s in nothing but his smalls still, but this cannot wait.

“Jaskier, are you awake?”

“Yes, yes,” Jaskier says, waving Geralt’s inquiry away. Careful not to upset her – something Geralt would roll his eyes at him for, no doubt – Jaskier picks his lute up by the neck and props his foot up on the chair the case sits on. He balances her on his knee and puts his fingers down on the neck to play the first chord he ever strummed on her. Jaskier does and it sends a jolt through his body.

The notes go straight to his chest and he sobs out loud. More tears stream down his face and he knows he has to heed those dreams. Filavandrel needs him. Jaskier is sure of that.

“There is something I have to do,” Jaskier says and puts the lute back into her case, then turns, scrambling about for his clothes. “A journey I have to take.”

“Jask, you’re crying. Is there… are you… do you need my help?” Geralt’s head is cocked, his eyes wide. Jaskier shakes his head. This is something he has to do on his own. Jaskier gets dressed and wolfs down the breakfast Geralt orders for the both of them, then disappears. He only notices when he’s two days out of town that he forgot to tell Geralt where he’s going. Destiny holds his life in her hands then and Jaskier find he doesn’t mind.

---

Jaskier doesn’t know the way to Filavandrel’s halls exactly. It takes him a week or so to travel to Posada where he stops for a rest. The people there remember him, well they remember the white-haired witcher that took care of the devil, but they also remember the bratty bard they threw bread at once prompted, and Jaskier gets a chance to update his reputation with beautiful renditions of his top three songs. They earn him a hearty dinner and a feather-stuffed bed for the night. He sleeps like a rock for the first time in forever, and once more wakes with mournful tears staining his cheeks, his skin thin. The dreams have been more intense, more vivid and real. Jaskier can barely remember what it felt like to wake up without this great grief weighing him down and still, he pastes on a smile. Whistles a tune as he gets ready to search for the elven-king.

Jaskier leaves his horse with the lovely innkeeper in Posada, as well as the rest of his belongings – spare clothes, spare lute strings, his journal – all save for the instrument herself. The woman will keep them save in exchange for his promise to play at her establishment some more to draw customers once he returns. Before he knows it, Jaskier’s out in the valley again, by himself this time. Without Geralt there, the pervading aroma of onion doesn’t subtract from the rich smell of the flowers that are in full bloom all over. It seems Jaskier just about managed to capture the right season for his visit. Colour explosions burst to every side as far as his human eye can see. He is not here for those though, he is here for a very particular flower, and he finds Filavandrel not among his peers, not in the caves that are hidden, interspersed in the jutting hills.

He finds Filavandrel on the edge of the Edge of the World, keeping watch over the valley atop a steep peak. The wind gently ripples through his hair and the beige cloak he wears over his clothes to blend in with his surroundings. His feet are bare, his stare solemn and distant, and Jaskier watches him from behind a boulder for half an eternity.

“Come out, bard. You need not hide nor cower before me ,” Filavandrel says eventually. His voice is soft, low, but the gale carries it to Jaskier’s ears as though the elf was standing right beside him. Jaskier’s heart picks up and he swallows before yielding his spot. He approaches Filavandrel from the side and sinks to one knee when they are mere feet apart, chin pressed to his sternum. To show his enduring respect and to get his facial muscles under control because his eyes prickle as though he’s going to cry again, but his lips want to slip into a grin and his nose itches. Filavandrel is a marvel, even forlorn and lost as he currently stands. Jaskier decides to strike the word beautiful from his vocabulary the moment that Filavandrel places a crooked index finger under his chin and bids him to look up.

The word ought to be reserved for the sight that greets Jaskier, and that sight alone. Filavandrel peers down at Jaskier from under hooded lids, his eyes dark and mysterious. His hair glows molten yellows and golds, tinged orange from the descending sun, and specks of that light dance on his pale cheeks. His long lashes cast shadows, his lips are parted ever so slightly, pink and wet. His throat is sinewy and strong, shifts with the long inhale he draws. Jaskier blushes, thinking that this is not a king, this is a god, and he should be captured in paint and music, and yet, each medium trying to depict his splendour would undoubtedly be a shallow caricature of the true beauty that is before Jaskier. He is about ready to swear an oath of servitude, but his voice fails him.  

“Why do you kneel?” Filavandrel asks, breaking the spell with the bitter undertone of suspicion his words carry. “I am not your king.”

“Common courtesy,” Jaskier says and rises to his feet, dusting off his breeches. Filavandrel merely raises a brow, then goes back to staring out at the crashing waves of flowers below. Jaskier takes it as an unspoken invitation to remain, to join him in gazing out at the world. It feels so small, so far away from up here. With bated breath he waits for Filavandrel to say something, anything. Where usually, Jaskier would burst from having too many words, he finds himself coming up short. How does one breech this topic?

‘Yes, hello, I’ve been having terribly crushing dreams from your perspective for the past month. Do tell why, if you please.’

That’s no good.

So, Jaskier waits. And Filavandrel gathers his words and speaks, still so softly, as though he doesn’t want to disturb the peace of Dol Blathanna with crude human words. Falling from his lips, they sound like small caresses, but they still break the clandestine atmosphere.

“What did you do with the life I spared?”

Jaskier glances sideways, gazes at Filavandrel’s set profile for a breath before he answers the question. This is something he has endless words for. How he travelled with Geralt and gained renown for both witcher and bard, how he returned to Oxenfurt to teach and research, start writing papers, and comments, and reviews, and essays, how he’s been trying to appreciate perspectives other than his own and has not been brilliant at it.

“… but first and foremost,” Jaskier concludes on a small smile. “I’ve been pouring my heart into song.” This time, Filavandrel doesn’t hesitate with his answer and his hands clench into fists at his sides, something which Jaskier did not anticipate.

“Tell me then, little scholar,” the elf says. His voice is lightning that crackles under Jaskier’s skin. “Are all of them as deceitful as the one you wrote about our army? Or do you only lie when it caters to the ideology of the masses?”

“Nothing quite so political, I assure you. I sing what I want,” Jaskier replies. If Filavandrel would just look at him, he might be able to read what Jaskier feels. No hostility, no inclination to cause harm. Yes, Toss A Coin was a selfish piece of writing, meant to entice and enthral, embellishing the events in order for it to spread more quickly, but Filavandrel has to realize that it was never meant at the expense of the elves. It was drama, poetry, a story.

“I see.” Jaskier jerks around, half his body turning at Filavandrel’s tingling laugh. What in Melitele’s name?

“Beg pardon?” he asks and finally, Filavandrel meets his eyes. His are pure mirth, lip curled in mischief. He is so fucking divine that Jaskier’s mouth dries up.

“You are a creature of selfish lust, then?”

“Quite,” Jaskier says, grinning and bows his head. He was right about one thing at least, right in his hunch that in the presence of Filavandrel, he would be reduced to a bashful eighteen-year-old boy who is unable to tear his eyes off anything even remotely pretty. With Filavandrel, he thinks he’ll find anyone else lacking.

Filavandrel opens his mouth to say something else, but right then, a hiss cuts through their amusement and they both whirl around to find that they are no longer alone. Someone has joined them, a massive man with a silver medallion gleaming atop his breast. In each hand he holds a knife and his teeth are bared in a growl, his head bald. Two swords, strapped to his back, gleam in the sun.

Oh fuck.

A witcher.

And he doesn’t seem in the mood for talking.

Jaskier’s body takes over for him and he builds himself up between the approaching figure and Filavandrel.

“Stop right there,” he says and mentally pats himself on the back for how steady his voice comes out. The witcher halts, staring at Jaskier with his head cocked and his form blots out the low-hanging sun. Jaskier stands his ground, arms and legs wide, but his only weapon is his glare, the set of his mouth. Don't, he thinks. Don't. They don't stand a chance. Geralt already has the capability to crush Jaskier's neck in a strong grip if he so wishes, this man looks like he could lift a leg and flatten Jaskier to the earth with one precise step. Filavandrel wouldn't fare much better even if he had steel on him. They are doomed.

“I’m here to kill a king,” the witcher says and his voice rattles like a cart full of armour being pulled across a cobbled street. “Step aside, human, and your life will be spared.”

“I will not.”

The witcher musters him for another long minute, then shrugs. Tucking one of his knives under his beefy bicep, he shoots out his hand. A blast of air hits Jaskier and he’s thrown backward into Filavandrel. They’re not close enough to the edge that they fall off, but the blow forces them to the ground. Jaskier is quick to get into a crouching position before the fallen king, arms open wide once more. The witcher approaches, his glare punctuating Jaskier’s resolve. But no, he will die if he must, die if it means preserving that which he cherishes so.

“Bard,” Filavandrel says under his breath. “You’re being foolish.”

“No such thing,” Jaskier replies. The witcher stomps ever nearer, blades raised, but before he can attack, a whirring noise fills the air and a dagger buries itself in the witcher’s left eye socket, buries itself to the hilt.

“HNNN FUCK,” the witcher yowls and pulls the knife out, casting it aside. He stumbles about blindly, his hands pressed to his face and Jaskier jumps to his feet. This is about the only opportunity they will have if they want to come out of this alive. He hurries over to the witcher and shoves. There is no way a bard like him has enough power to topple over a giant like this, but the witcher is already off-kilter and he doesn’t expect the push. He barely catches himself, still howling through his pain and Jaskier follows the few steps he takes backward and in doing so, gets caught by the flailing arm of the witcher. He winces as pain breaks out across the side of his face, but he pushes again.

The witcher teeters where the hill falls away sharply, and Jaskier has no time to think about how he’d rather not be hurting this man. He gives one last determined shove and with a yelp, the witcher tumbles over the edge and rolls down the mountainside in a cacophony of crashes and dust, branches breaking and rocks rolling after him. His cries fill the valley until, with a suddenness that is jarring, they stop.

Jaskier squeezes his eyes shut, panting hard. Fuck. Fuck, he might have just killed a man and he doesn’t feel guilty one bit. He is here to protect Filavandrel, he understands that now. Understands that that’s what the dream was about. To protect Filavandrel and to be his advocate. It’s an unsettling certainty, one that only Destiny can have created. Jaskier sighs, thinks up a silent prayer for the fallen man and mentally apologizes to Geralt for hurting one of his kin.

“That was an impressive showing of determination,” Filavandrel says. Jaskier opens his eyes again and squares his shoulder. The elf has picked up his dagger and is cleaning it on his cloak which he has pulled off to reveal a simple set of faded blue linen clothes. He looks at Jaskier, a smile tugging on the corners of his mouth and Jaskier bows low.

“My king,” he says.

“Come with me.” A hand on his arm that tugs lightly. Jaskier’s blinks, but lets himself be guided by Filavandrel. “I know somewhere were we will not be interrupted again.”

---

Filavandrel’s rooms – which section off from the ones Geralt and Jaskier were held in last time – are barely more than a hollow in the mountains, furnished with a narrow cod and few planks of wood that have been nailed to the stone opposite it. The elf has Jaskier sit down on the hard straw mattress, then disappears for a short time to retrieve a wet cloth. “Who was he?” Jaskier asks when Filavandrel returns and crouches before him so that they are on eye-level. His face aches properly now and he suspects that a plethora of bruises is already blooming on the side the witcher caught with his fist.

“You are the one who congregates with witchers,” Filavandrel replies. Jaskier huffs indignantly. “I only really know one of them and we don't congregate so much as keep company.” “Really?” Filavandrel raises a brow as he dabs Jaskier's jaw with the cool cloth. It soothes some of the sting and he sighs. “Does that shock you? Geralt wouldn't let me touch him with a fishing rod,” Jaskier laughs. It’s not true exactly, they have touched of course. It is inevitable when travelling together, but the kind of touch they’re referring to has been strictly off the table. “How very unreasonable,” Filavandrel laughs and brushes back Jaskier's hair to access his forehead. His hands are gentle, his smile shy and Jaskier finds himself blushing. This is another Filavandrel altogether. Not the rageful king that almost had him and Geralt executed, nor yet the solemn figure atop the hill. He’s sweet and teasing. Oh, dear. “Tell me, little scholar, do you want to touch him?” “Are you asking me if I want to fuck him or if I have feelings for him?”

“Both. Either. No matter.”

“Ah… well, I find myself tempted ever so often, but the feeling does not endure and any sexual draw I feel to him is not worth risking the friendship we share. Of course, his attractiveness stands in no comparison to your beauty.” “It is a non-human fetish then?” Filavandrel asks. He wipes Jaskier’s forehead one more time, then puts aside the cloth. “Brought that upon myself, didn't I?” They both laugh, Jaskier shaking his head, Filavandrel privately, behind his hands. Jaskier wants to pry it away, wants every bit of that laugh for his eyes and ears to feast on, a remnant of the bells of the elven towers of old, wants this beauty, but for once in his life, Jaskier practices restraint. He basks in another few seconds of shared delight, then catches Filavandrel's gaze again. “Who hired that witcher?” “Doesn't matter who hired him, there's always a price on my head,” Filavandrel grumbles and Jaskier could kick himself for killing the light chirping laughter, for turning this conversation back to a serious avenue. But he had to, didn’t he? Because a witcher almost killed them both and the dreams are still in the forefront of his mind. “Always a price.” With that, the elf gets up and starts to pace the small perimeter of his room. Jaskier watches every step. "You can share your pain with me,” he offers. "So you can fashion pretty rhymes from it? No thank you. I will pay you in gold,” Filavandrel snaps, eyes distant now. So very changeable, strange for one so old. But Jaskier supposes that Filavandrel lives in extraordinary circumstances. "Pay me?" he asks weakly.

“That’s what you came here for, isn’t it? More… of us. More of our artefacts, our names, our stories, our emotions. More for you to accessorize and capitalize on, more to feed your disgustingly human greed with. I gave you your life and your lute and you stayed away for how long? Nigh on two decades. What will it take for the next two?”

Both elf and human glance at the lute that is propped up in the corner upon Filavandrel mentioning it. The instrument has survived the scrap without harm, not even a speck of dust on it. Jaskier’s fingers itch for it, but he folds them in his lap. Two decades, yes, twenty years in which he’s had time aplenty to think. Churn over the events of those days when Geralt was but a stranger and Filavandrel an enemy, an outlandish creature sprung straight from Jaskier’s lecture notes. Now, Geralt is Jaskier’s oldest friend and Filavandrel is… a god descended. A god that has been battered and beaten, treated like a dog. Fuck, but Jaskier is not here to uphold the tradition of exploitation and near-to-kin-slaying. He is here because after traversing the maze of his thoughts and closing the covers on his books, Jaskier cares. He cares, he treasures, he worships, he loves. He loves so much. Jaskier looks up at Filavandrel until the elf can’t help but return the gaze. His eyes are wide, wild.

"Have you had dreams of late?"  Jaskier asks simply.

A breath. And then: "What do you know of it?”

"Let me paint a picture for you, golden one, then you can decide what I have come here for.”

Filavandrel considers him, inclines his head a fraction as if to listen for the backstabs Jaskier is trying to veil with his words. The cavernous halls are eerily silent and finally, Filavandrel gestures for Jaskier to speak. Jaskier clears his throat.

“It is like this: You open your eyes and you stand upon the very hill we just got attacked on, all by yourself. Before you, you see a firmament in bleeding reds and yellows into which the grey ink of the end days has been spilled. At your feet, a vast desolation, hundreds turned to dust, obliterated by your hands, and it still does not satisfy your hatred for the humans. You feel as though upon your shoulders, you carry the weight of all those who have come before you, all those who are yet to perish. Each step you may take, in whatever direction, feels like the last. There is thunder in the distance, but it is not of this world. It rumbles off-key, distorted and cacophonous, and you try to catch that sound in your own throat to guess at its origin. You can’t. There are cries of woe also, just beyond the next peak, and you are determined to absolve those souls of their agony. You begin to walk, are weighed down, your limbs burn and your knees tremble. No matter how badly you try to reach that place from whence the pain stems, you make no progress. Your back aches so much, so fucking much. All you want is to lay down your crown and die. The world may well splinter and vaporize around you and still, duty would bind you to remain and see your people safely through the gates of heaven. You feel alone. So very alone,” Jaskier concludes, the last words naught more than a whisper. Tears stream down him his cheeks.

"How?" Filavandrel sobs and claps a hand over his mouth.

"Trade secret."

"Who are you?"

"A friend.”

“And what do you want from me?”

“To share some of your burden as I have been sharing in your dreams. To save your people.”

“There is no salvation for us, little scholar, none at all,” Filavandrel says, voice trembling.

“Filavandrel of the edge of the world,” Jaskier says and stands up. “Filavandrel of the pain of the gods.” He takes a step towards the dumbstruck elf. “Filavandrel the kind-hearted and trustworthy.” Another step. “Filavandrel of the old tragedies.” A foot separates them and Jaskier reaches out to gently cup Filavandrel’s jaw. “Filavandrel of the dawn of a new age.” He brings up his other hand, cradling the elf-king’s face in his lute-worn hands as though it is a precious piece of china. Jaskier smiles softly and wipes at Filavandrel’s tears with his thumbs. “Just take your pick and I will write you into the stream of history,” he finishes. Filavandrel squeezes his eyes shut.

“You don’t have that kind of power,” he says. “You simply cannot change our fate.”

“I can make you beloved. Immortal.” Jaskier leans closer, ever closer, but he doesn’t dare break the barrier between them, not when Filavandrel looks so very pained. More so when he softly utters his next words.

“That is what you don’t get. What would I be but an exception to prove the rule? Even if you turned the tide of human hatred in my favour, they’d still murder my kin and I would stand alone because I had been dubbed friend-of-men. You would make my dream turn reality.” “I don’t-“

“I do not begrudge you the ambition,” Filavandrel cuts in and the sun of a chuckle breaks through the heavy tapestry of clouds over his face. He shakes his head as his eyes flutter open, and one hand comes up to wrap around Jaskier’s wrist where’s he’s still cupping the elf’s cheeks. “I was perhaps wrong to judge you by the standards of your species when the crime you have committed is a rather personal one.”

“And what crime is that?”

“That fetish we spoke of, of course. Though I cannot tell whether your infatuation is genuine or whether you are but a magpie.” Jaskier's mouth feels dry and his gaze drops to the pretty curve of Filavandrel's lips. He lets go of his face, touches one of Filavandrel's silken curls and wraps it around his pinkie as he holds the king's gaze. He can’t think of a retort to that, not even an earnest one. "Is this your wit's end, little scholar? Is this where words fail you?" "Kiss me," Jaskier replies in a surge of confidence. It's insanity, even with the weird carnival of feelings they've gone through today. Insanity. It's also the right thing to say, apparently. Filavandrel leans closer and kisses him softly, holding onto Jaskier's shoulders and Jaskier reaches for the elf's hips to steady himself. He inhales sharply when Filavandrel deepens their kiss. The poet in Jaskier hoped he would taste like flowers or honey or sunshine or anything worth putting in a ballad. The romantic in Jaskier rejoices in how perfectly sweet and slow their kiss is, how they both close their eyes and lose themselves in the simplicity of the connection. The realist in Jaskier – and he is very quiet and small – knows this is fragile. A moment suspended in time and bound to pass. After a while, Filavandrel pulls back, a small smile playing about his features and he traces Jaskier's reddened lips with his thumb. "I could be your consort," Jaskier blurts out. Filavandrel laughs and steals another kiss. "The valley isn't entirely safe at night so you may stay until the morning," he says and lets go. "And after that?" "After that you return to your books and your songs and your witcher." "And you?" "I will try to make sense of these dreams. I will find a way for my people to survive. And I will cherish the sentiments you offered, useless though they may be. Come now, little scholar, come to bed." 

#jo does wrsb #my writing #jaskier #filavandrel #jaskier x filavandrel #prompt: human shield #depictions of violence #letho of gulet #geralt #yes i was channeling thranduil don't judge me #letho is alive btw #alive and thriving #angst #fluff #first kiss #prophetic dreams

[sarahjkl82-blog]

Artistic Instinct: Chapter 5

Header thanks to the lovely @yespolkadotkitty

Summary: Marcus Pike and OC Anushka Pierce have been selected to work on a 5 eyes (Australia, Canada, NZ, the UK and US) intelligence team to track down art forgeries as a part of taking down an international white terrorism cell. Marcus is trying to escape his broken heart, Anushka is just trying to escape what the world expects of her.

Word count: 4,700 (yup, the words ran away from me!)

Warnings: Language.

Pairing: Marcus Pike x reader (OC)

This comes with a MASSIVE THANK YOU to the lovely @yespolkadotkitty , who read, re-read, pointed out the constant flipping between tenses and gave me the confidence to try to write something!This is the first thing I have written since angsty poetry as a teenager. Apologies if it is shit!

Art washes away from the soul, the dust of everyday life

Pablo Picasso

Chapter 5

Golden sunlight streams down in ribbons upon your hair, setting fire to the natural red highlights and causing the wrought iron railing to cast beautiful shadows across the floor. Marcus sits with you upon your hotel balcony in the late morning sunshine. You are now, a little more comfy, wearing your airport clothes- the high-waisted, wide-legged jeans and a mustard yellow and cream breton top that does everything to highlight the rise and fall of your curves.

He watches each tiny twitch of your face as you read notes from the meeting- your full lips pout and brow furrow as your gaze flits backwards and forwards over the words, making connections and drawing together the different pieces of information that you’d gathered from that meeting. Marcus tries to smother a chuckle when you unthinkingly roll your eyes and shake your head at the point where some idiot tried talking over you in the meeting and he can fully read from his position that you have scrawled TWAT across your notes in reference to that mediocre white man.

It’s at this sound, that you look up, “What’s up?” you ask tiredly, smiling amusedly in his direction.

“You’ve got such an expressive face as you read- I swear, it’s like your muscles are reliving all of the faces you wanted to pull in the meeting. You managed that jerk well in there.”

“I’ve been managing cockwombles like him my entire life. They’re fucking insidious,” you say turning your eyes back towards the screen, shaking your head at the memory of the all the arseholes who have gone before and all those who were yet to come. “If they had anything to actually offer, I’d accept it; but they just parrot shit back at you - the same shit that came out of your own mouth moments earlier - as if it is their fucking own, enlightened idea!”

“I can imagine.This level of work, even in the art fraud department, is such an old boys’ club,” he agrees, pursing his lips in annoyance of the invisible barriers that you must have come up against.

Nodding in agreement, you add with your head tilting to one side as you take the agent in, “You don’t seem to fall into that category, Marcus. You even handed the reins over to me in there- I should have just been your lackey today, not the one doing all the speaking. I appreciate you treating me like an equal.”

Rolling his shoulders and stretching the sides of his neck, Marcus looks off into the distance as he slightly straightens up in his seat, “My Mamá firmly entrenched the value of every human being in me, regardless of their gender. I don’t wanna bring it up again, and certainly never wanna upset you, but you should be my role in the team. Your aptitude for this role far outweighs mine,” he grins and turns towards you, “There’s a part of me that feels like a mediocre white man around you.”

“Well, at least you have decent enough manners not to mansplain my ideas back at me!” you laugh, hugely enjoying your boss’ company on that narrow balcony.

“You know, I didn’t recognise you wearing civvies in the airport? I was absolutely kicking myself for not taking a ride with you to the airport.”

“Yeah, I get that. After seeing me suited and booted, it must have been a shock to see a jet-lagged, middle-aged man in old jeans and a hoodie,” Marcus humbly chuckles, shaking his head.

“Are you digging?” Your eyebrow arches high on your brow as you interrogate him teasingly.

“What do you mean digging?” Marcus furrows his brows as his eyes widen innocently.

“Digging for a compliment, you daft thing!”

“Hah, no! I meant it honestly. Sometimes I look at myself in the mirror and don’t even know the reflection that stares back at me,” he replies, shaking his head sadly.

“Pssh, you have nothing to worry about. Some of us can only dream of looking as put together as you. I generally look as though I crawled through an art studio backwards even if I use an iron and put make-up on- in fact, scratch that- I look worse if I iron and put effort into how I look,” you exhale despairingly at the memory of all the other immaculate recruits and your general throw-it-on, it’ll-do appearance. “Everyone else in my family is so incredibly smart- immaculate even- and yet, I stick out like a sore thumb. Like I didn’t quite pass the expectations of what it takes to be an adult. I swear that’s the reason my aunties think I’m not married.”

Marcus huffs a gentle laugh, “I think that’s a big part of it for me. For the amount of grey in my hair and the creases in my skin, I’m not where I expected to be at this point in my life.”

“Where did you expect to be, Marcus?” You cock your head to one side, listening intently.

A buzz suddenly emerges from your phone:

« On est en bas! »

“Ah they’re downstairs- but do not think for one second that this conversation is over,” you wag your finger in Marcus’ direction as you gather your belongings, “We will continue this later.”

“Yes, Ma’am!” Marcus mock salutes you and clicks his heels together as he rises from his chair with a huge crunch from his knees, “See, what did I tell ya? Old. I’m gonna grab my things.”

Grabbing your trusty rucksack from the floor of the balcony as Marcus departs, you feel almost reluctant to leave the balcony and the conversation that you were having with him. Since he’d helped you through the anxiety attack prior to re-entering your old workplace, the two of you had found an ease in being around each other. Whilst you are dreaming of spending a day chatting with Marcus, he’s already back with a small smile and a soft look about his eyes as he catches you staring into space.

Walking through the hotel, Marcus and you could be thought of as any pair of friends on holiday with your giggles and gentle jibes towards each other as you walk down endless corridors to find the exit. There is no way that anyone would have said that you had met barely twenty-four hours before or that you were there as business associates with the easy air you treat each other. After crossing the elegant lobby, you finally reach the doors to the outside world, a wave of relief coursing through you to see that you didn’t have to make a decision as to which way to open the door as there is someone to do it for you.

As you reach their car, Jacques takes off his seatbelt and makes to get out of the car but Marcus waves him off, opening the door for you to jump into one of the back seats.

“Oh you weren’t kidding about the stickiness,” you mercilessly tease the pair sitting in the front seats. Élodie responds by sliding her front seat back as far as it can go and you yelp in surprise at the sudden crushing of your legs, slamming your fist on her headrest in mock anger.

“Please excuse the children, Marcus,” Jacques shakes his head and sighs deeply but Élodie reaches over and squeezes her husband’s thigh in a way that makes him yelp and laugh in the same breath.

Marcus and you catch each other’s eyes and grin at the playfulness. You might be here on business but at least you can enjoy yourselves at the same time. The stresses of the morning slowly ebbing from your mind, you stretch out, resting your head against the cool glass of the window and allow the hum of the car engine and gentle chatter to surround you, lulling you off to the sleep you had missed out on the night before.

✪✪✪✪✪

Something is tenderly brushing against your cheek and you instinctively nuzzle into the warm touch as your eyes start to open and the world begins to regain its focus, “Hey, sleepyhead! We’re here,” Marcus murmurs as he strokes your cheek with his thumb to rouse you from your slumber.

“Shit. Sorry. Sorry,” you rub your eyes with your knuckles trying to rid yourself of the embarrassment of snuggling the fingers of your new boss, noticing that Élodie and Jacques have already left the car.

“No worries, your snores were pretty cute,” the agent teases you gently with a lopsided grin crossing his face.

“Lies! I don’t snore.” you exclaim indignantly at the accusations, but glad he hasn’t focussed on your reaction to him caressing your cheek, as your faculties start to kick in, reaching for the door handle to escape Marcus’ jokey impressions of your snores.

The mountain air in Grenoble strokes its icy fingertips against your neck, making you wrap the woolly softness of your cardigan more tightly around yourself. You notice Marcus also zipping up a black leather jacket over his hoodie. In the open boot of his car, Jacques concentrates on making a roll up next to a small bag of resources for you - cotton gloves, sample pots, tweezers and magnifying glasses.

“s'il vous plait, Marcus. Before we do anything else, I need to borrow your muscles,” Élodie announces to him, “We need coffee, and if I know that woman standing next to you, she will be in need of one, too!”

At Élodie’s statement, you watch Marcus’ face crease into a small smile, flashing that lovely dimple, as he crosses his arms across his chest. You wonder whether he's protecting his clothes from your next caffeine hit or trying to steel himself for the latest cheeky wink coming from Élodie. A slightly raised eyebrow is sent in your direction as his boots softly stride behind the clack of her heels upon the pavement.

A waft of tobacco drifts through the air as Jacques lights up as you watch his wife and your boss walk off in the direction of coffee.

“You left us, Nush,” Jacques scratches his nose as he looks at you through a cloud of smoke he has exhaled, “You disappeared. Literally, disappeared to the point that none of us could track you down.

“I mean, it is testament to what an incredible agent you are that you can just make yourself that invisible but…” he takes another inhale of the cigarette as he turns his shoulders to mirror your position, “But you weren’t even there for Jasper’s funeral.”

Silent rivers course down your face, “Please, Jacques. Don’t make me do this now. I can’t do this right now. Let me find my feet before we get into all of this. This is my first job since everything,” your hands trembling as you gesture wildly in the air. “I want to explain. I missed you both so much but I can’t right now. It isn’t the right time.”

Nothing more is said between the two of you as you both sit silently next to each other. Jacques nods contemplatively whilst he carries on sucking at his cigarette for comfort and release from the tension that has built upon his face. In the relative safety of the car boot, as he reaches across what feels like a chasm between you to pat your thigh, you can see the hurt searing through his eyes.

How did Imanage to destroy so much?

✪✪✪✪✪

Marcus wonders how you are doing. He keeps looking back at you until you fade from his sight just to make sure that you are ok. He swears that he saw your shoulders and head drop as they seem to whenever you’re reminded of whatever those ghosts are that you haven’t managed yet to lay to rest.

“She’ll be ok with Jacques. Those two are like brother and sister, you needn't worry,” Élodie pats Marcus’ arm as she points in front of her, nodding towards a cafe. Seeing a small tic in his jaw, she adds with a small smile, “She’s special to you, non?”

After Marcus holds the door for Élodie, he shoves his hands in his pockets and pauses before saying, “Yeah. She is. I don’t think in all my years of working as an agent, that I’ve ever met someone like Anushka. Listening to her speak about art and the various different forgeries… it just transports me to a place... I’m not just in the museum seeing the original masterpieces. It’s not even just that I can see those pieces in front of me. Just by her words bringing them alive, I become part of the art. Her passion and knowledge is infectious and she cannot help but to enthuse everyone around- she is truly gifted.”

“Anushka is incredibly talented. She was born to be in the role but I would say that’s not the only way that you think she’s special,” Élodie gently analyses as she squeezes Marcus’ arm seeing a moment of panic cross his face- she tries to swallow down a laugh at how he looks like a little boy caught with his hand in the biscuit tin, “Don’t worry, I won’t say a word to Nush- she can be a bit like a wild animal at times. It can take time to earn her trust. The 5 Eyes team is separate from Mi5, non?”

Marcus’ brow furrows, “Yes, we work under slightly separate parameters as we work across five agencies across the world- sort of similar to Interpol. Why d’ya ask?”

“Ok, so if you were to start anything with her- if anything were to be allowed to develop between the two of you, could it result in disciplinary action or her losing her role? Hang on,” she pauses as the assistant behind the glass shelf raises their eyebrows in Élodie’s direction, alerting her that it is time to order, « Bonjour, quatre cafés s’il vous plaît »

Marcus adds « Et je voudrais deux pain aux raisins aussi, s’il vous plaît. »

“Oh, I didn’t realise that you spoke a little French- a man of many talents,” Élodie teases with a wink as she grabs her purse from her bag, “And let me guess, the food is to try to stop Nush from burning herself or you? That woman is a nightmare with drinks.”

Reaching across Élodie,who is about to tap her card to pay, Marcus passes the cashier a couple of notes that more than cover the total, grabs the coffees and goes to leave, holding the door open with his elbow. “Why d’you wanna know about how interdepartmental relationships are viewed?”

The creases on Marcus’ brow deepen as yet another hint of whatever plagues your past troubles his mind due to Élodie’s words, “It is not my story to tell, and I’m not sure I even have half of the facts but please be gentle with her. Come what may between the two of you.”

“Oh, look who’s come to join us!” Looking up after a sharp nudge to his ribs alerted him to speak no further, Marcus sees Jacques tucking a piece of hair that had fallen in front of your eyes behind your ear, then pulling your hunched shoulders into a side on shoulder hug as Élodie grabs a coffee and mocks throwing it in your direction, to which you stick your tongue out. You are so busy messing around with the pair of them that you don’t notice the tenderness in Marcus’ eyes or the smile that creeps across his face as he watches how your friends behave around you.

“So are we ready to look at a slab of meat? I hope you’re not a vegetarian, Marcus,” Jacques chuckles freely at the thought of the tall, broad American becoming queasy at a graphic painting depicting the decomposition of a piece of carrion.

“Oh no, I love rare steak far too much, and I’ve spent way too long researching art to be weirded out by a bit of expressionism,” Marcus adds before taking a long gulp of coffee, “I must admit that I’m not terribly confident in my knowledge of Soutine other than he liked painting rotting meat.”

Jacques smiles and gestures his head in your direction, “Nush- time to shine, chérie.”

“So - Soutine was a Russian painter, who made massive contributions to the Expressionist movement whilst based in Paris. I don’t want to teach you to suck eggs so please tell me to shut up if you already know it but expressionism was a modernist movement, initially in poetry and painting, originating in Germany at the beginning of the 20th century. Its typical trait was to present the world solely from a subjective perspective, distorting it radically for emotional effect in order to evoke moods or ideas. Expressionist artists sought to express the meaning of emotional experience rather than physical reality so you needn’t worry about the depictions of rotting meat as it isn’t like an anatomical drawing you’d find in a copy of Grey’s Anatomy or anything.”

Pausing to draw a breath, you look up to check Marcus’ face- that you aren’t boring him to death- and see two dark eyes, flecked with amber, that are entirely focussed on you. His entranced gaze makes you shift awkwardly, eyes dancing around the street to try and focus on something other than him under the sheer intensity but you decide to continue, “He’s quite an interesting character in regards to our case as he was good friends with Modigliani, who we know is another one with multiple fraudulencies of his works as well as our link we made in the meeting that our main faked pieces being sold by our group are by European Jews.

“Soutine seldom showed his works, but he did take part in the important exhibition The Origins and Development of International Independent Art held at the Galerie nationale du Jeu de Paume in 1937 in Paris, where he was at last hailed as a great painter but sadly soon afterwards, France was invaded by German troops and obviously as a Jew, Soutine had to escape from the French capital and hide in order to avoid arrest by the Gestapo. He moved from one place to another and was sometimes forced to seek shelter in forests, sleeping outdoors. Suffering from a stomach ulcer and bleeding badly, he left a safe hiding place for Paris in order to undergo emergency surgery, which ultimately failed to save his life.

“The main thing that you two need to know,” you add as you reaffix your focus and run your eyes between Marcus and Jacques, ”Is that Paul Guillaume was the main dealer of his work. Straight after World War 1, he was Soutine’s biggest cheerleader and landed him a major deal with the American collector, Albert C Barnes. If you manage to track it back to either of them, you’re pretty much at ground zero- back at Soutine’s own easel- and don’t need to worry much about further certification of validity as it being one of his pieces.”

Standing in the street in front of the cafe, you discuss between the four of you who will focus on which part of the checking for verification of the piece.

Marcus and Jacques decide to focus on the provenance of the piece and to be honest, you’re relieved to be free from the paperwork trail. The idea of searching through the records of previous ownership, fills you with utter dread at missing something that would prove that it was a fake. You’d hope that each piece could be instantly traceable back to the moment where the original had been removed from the easel by the artist but that is so often far from the truth of the situation as records are often lost or aren’t even kept in the first place with only a handshake to move the piece to the newest owner. When certain disreputable organisations or untrustworthy governments seek to obscure the origins of pieces, it is nothing but doors being slammed in your face and labyrinths created from lies and deliberate obfuscation.

“Ok, so Nush and I will collect samples from the piece. I’ll then use the microscope to check the samples for any irregularities in the craquelure in the craquelure while madam here uses the stereo microscope to check the layers of paint,” Élodie gestures towards you, passing a plastic case over containing your equipment. “Obviously we won’t be able to do an x-rays, infrared or mass spectrometry tests as they aren’t so portable but if we cannot confidently say the painting isn’t a forgery, then I suggest we get a courier to take it back to Lyon for us.”

“Agreed, I think that would be the best use of everyone’s talents here,” Marcus replies, nodding, “Are we far from the auction house?” to build up a more 3D picture of the piece. D’accord??” Élodie checks as she grabs a coffee and starts to walk off in the direction of the auction house with Jacques beating a steady path behind her.

With a small gesture of his hand, Marcus waves you forward and as you take a step in the same direction as your friends, a small white paper bag with a telltale sticky stain seeping through that you hadn’t noticed being held out, taps you gently against the soft curve of your tummy. With a confused look knitting across your face.

Marcus boyishly grins back at you as he takes a bite out of his pastry, “Last set of clean clothes, gotta take calculated risks with you around.”

✪✪✪✪✪

Slightly arched windows with flaking grey paint allow a small amount of crisp mountain light to trickle into the mellow gloom of the Aladdin's cave that stretch out in front of Marcus’ eyes. As far as his eyes can see, gilt framed pictures playing out a multitude of scenes from people’s lives- some more parochial and some edging to the more abstract- bedeck the walls. A goat playing a violin, a horse in a field and a lady all in blue with sad eyes and a nose twisted closer to her ears are all jostling for positions in the party on his senses. Every single nerve in his body tingles with excitement at the treasures surrounding him on all sides. The busy-ness did not stop at the walls as every surface of the room was covered in objets d’art with exquisitely fashioned chairs, tables and armoires creating an increasingly impossible maze to step through across the floor. Even the exposed beams of the ceiling felt the need to be a part of this gentle assault upon the eyes, protruding above his head, lending an elegant set of vertebrae to the room.

Marcus thinks he’s hiding his giddiness well until he catches Anushka looking at him with an amused grin upon her face. He goes to respond but initially struggles to find the words to explain the eagerness that is written across his face, his mouth stretched in a childlike grin, eyes lit up and hands that tremble and flex with anticipation. A small smile from her and the light squeeze upon his arm told Marcus that he needn’t worry about explaining anything. Even though the touch was slight and momentary, it cut through the overstimulation of the room and it takes every bit of self control he owns to not throw his arms around her and hug her tightly. Don’t mess this one up too, Pike.

Reopening his eyes, an elegant chignon of hair and high cheekbones makes its way through the clutter of Marcus’ thoughts and extends a delicate, papery hand in greeting. The owner seems to glide through the objects around her, obviously confident of the dead ends and exit points between the items as she leads you to a small office where a tidy pile of papers and a small computer await your services.

«Madame, comprenez-vous que l'utilisation de ces méthodes scientifiques ne peut que prouver que le tableau est un faux? On ne peut pas prouver si une pièce est authentique.» Madam, do you understand that using these scientific methods cannot prove if a painting is a fake? rubbing his brow, Jacques tries to explain to the owner of the auction house, «Même si les résultats de tous les tests scientifiques indiquent qu'il n'y a pas de tromperie dans l'œuvre d'art, nous ne pouvons pas dire sans l'ombre d'un doute qu'il ne s'agit pas simplement d'un cas d'un faussaire dépassant la détection scientifique.» Even if the results of these scientific tests show that there is not a forgery in this work of art, we cannot say without a shadow of doubt that there is not simply a case of a forger out-pacing scientific detection.

Marcus nods in agreement with the agent’s words. He hates the dishonesty of it all- the obviously incredibly talented painters creating mimicries and mockeries of the original pieces. As the owner spins out of the room, Jacques notices the frown painted on Marcus’ face and the tic in his jaw as he starts to flick through the portfolio of papers in front of him.

“Hey, what happened to the giddy boy in the sweetshop back there?” Jacques teases, gently punching him on his shoulder.

Rubbing his fingers along the side of his nose before scratching the patchy scruff that lines the edge of his jaw, Marcus smiles, “Hah! That obvious, eh? Just, kinda wishing that we weren’t even necessary.”

“Yeah, it is irritating but it does pay my mortgage,”Jacques chuckles deeply, “And to be honest without it, I wouldn’t have met that woman in that lock up over there and convinced her that she should marry me or have my baby.”

A pang of jealousy hit Marcus hard, “You’ve done well then. Mine just pays a mortgage on a place in DC that I won’t even be living in for the next couple of years.”

“Never wanted to or the opportunity never arose?” Jacques quizzes not lifting his eyes as he reads through documents.

“Your setup with Élodie is something I’d love to have,” he nods sadly, “Just have one failed marriage - due to her infidelity and lack of wish to try and work things out, and a failed engagement as she was in love with another man - to my name. No, I’d love to have that vulnerability and affection with someone again. Kinda feels like a pipe dream now- not sure anyone would want to take on someone with such a creased up, greying ol’man.”

“Hah, have you forgotten my wife’s quite genuinely visceral reaction to meeting you?” Jacques laughs heartily, rolling his eyes at the mere suggestion from Marcus, “Believe me, you do not have anything to worry about there. It’ll happen. Usually- in fact, always, when you least expect it.”

With a soft huff and a slight lift from the left side of his lips, Jacques strains to hear Marcus’ whisper, “I truly hope so.”

“Hang on, whose name was it that we were looking for that would pretty much guarantee authenticity?”

Jacques’ face creases in concentration as he tries to rack his brains for the names Nush had provided earlier, “Bof...Paul something-or-the-other French and Albert something-or-the-other American, I think.”

“Hmmm, I think I’ve a document here with both of their names on it… Shall we go share it with the ladies?”

«Bonne idée. On y va. » Good idea. Let’s go.

Grabbing the pile of documents from the polished walnut bureau, there’s a sweet bubble of excitement building in Marcus’ tummy. Try as he might to convince himself that it was on account of being out of the tiny office and back around an exquisite masterpiece from the early twentieth century, deep down he knew there was another sweeter, more ancient and primal reason that made him want to be in the lock up.

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[fernisasinner]

Hi hi~ Here's a challenge for ya... We know Levi is a shy baby boy and probably the only sub out of the brothers. However, what if he overheard Mammon and Asmodeus talking about how girls love to be harshly dommed. You think you can write what it'll be like once Levi lets out his primal side on the MC??

Hi! This is my first time writing smut so I apologise for any awkward bits. Please note that this is fully consensual, Levi and the MC have talked about all of these things before and they do have a safe word. Please don’t do this shit to your partner without establishing explicit consent first. I ended up writing Levi a bit more gentle than I originally intended to, so he’s not as rough or feral as I’ve seen him written by other people. I tried to keep the reader gender-neutral but please let me know if I slipped up anywhere and I’ll change it! Anyway, here, have a drabble.

Mammon and Asmo Regret Their Choices - Leviathan x gn!MC (dom Leviathan and sub MC)

Warnings - nsfw , derogatory language , slight impact play , slight choking , exhibitionism if you squint , tail play , uhh I’m not sure what else to warn against but please let me know if you find something! Levi does use language like pretty and gorgeous to refer to the MC, but this should read as gender-neutral.

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Mammon and Asmo were in on it. It was too easy to bring out his jealous side with a few choice words in a well-timed conversation. Mammon, ever the experienced one in listening for the whereabouts of everybody in the House of Lamentation (no, totally not to steal from his brothers or run away from Lucifer) was the one to hear Levi’s door open, signaling that the demon would be coming their way soon.

“He’s coming. Quick, Asmo, start!” Taking his cue from Mammon’s whisper-shout, Asmodeus cleared his throat and put his performance skills to use, beginning with a coy tone.

“I mean, don’t get me wrong. I’m all for being at the mercy of my partners. Sometimes though, nothing beats the pained delight I get the pleasure of seeing as I make someone fall apart underneath me. Their little whines, the way their body shudders, knowing that they’re just desperate to be completely wrecked by me, and when they’re good I reward them with my-“

“OKAY, Asmo! I get it, I don’t need all the details of your escapades, by Diavolo. Just say ya like getting’ railed sometimes and other times like givin’ it instead.”

“Isn’t it cute how crazy demons go when someone else takes complete control?” Asmo giggled, while Mammon smirked.

“I ain’t disagreein’ with ya that demons love it rough, but I’m curious to see what would happen goin’ feral on a human.” Asmo’s responding grin was positively devious.

“Oh, Mammon~ how naughty of you, I like your thinking. Perhaps Mc would be fonder of us if we took them like-“ He was cut off as Levi finally made it to where they were standing.

“WHAT did you just say?” Both brothers had the cheek to act surprised at his appearance.

“Oh, Levi~ we didn’t see you there! We were just talking about how much fun it would be for a human like MC if-“ Levi didn’t even let Asmodeus finish.

“I don’t care! Fuckin normies.” As he turned on his heel to go in the direction of MC’s room, Mammon and Asmodeus turned with a knowing grin and gave each other a high-five.

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

MC was at their desk doing homework for RAD until their door opened and closed again, the lock clicking before familiar footsteps made their way behind them and a tense aura cloaked the room.

Does this mean it worked? They were hesitant to hope, but quickly felt a rush of excitement as something slithered up their neck and around their throat, squeezing slightly before curling further up their jaw and finally to the side of their lips, dipping into their mouth. Levi silently tapped on their cheek, prompting them to lick around the end of his tail and start sucking once it was coated in saliva. Levi let out a shaky exhale at their actions and they groaned as he rewarded them with another light squeeze. He was slightly startled that they had made a noise already. He wasn’t expecting that.

“Did that turn you on?” A blush crept onto their cheeks as they shyly nodded. Levi mumbled a spell and clicked his fingers, and their clothes were gone. He chuckled and bit down gently onto the junction of their neck and shoulder, drawing a whimper from them this time.

“Wow, you’re so needy for me already and I haven’t even touched you with my hands yet. How pathetic.” They tried to stifle their voice this time as he licked and sucked over where he bit them, giving the occasional nibble to brighten the mark. In a flash, he had shifted their positions, so they were now straddling his lap. A hand brought down on their ass made them yelp, then moan out what they were holding in before. Their head was yanked up by a hand he had roughly fisted in their hair. He held them there until they met his eyes. His eyes were glowing with lust and something darker that made their heart leap.

“Don’t you dare hold back your pretty little noises, MC. I want to hear you. I want my brothers to hear you. Let everyone know how I’m making you feel.” He gently kissed their nose before tightening his grip. “If you try to deprive me of one of your moans again,” He brought his mouth right next to their ear. “I will make you pay.” He gave their earlobe a sharp nip. “Not only that, but I will make all the more sure that you are screaming my name by the end of the night.” He softened his grip and played with their hair for a few moments, pleased when they sighed and leaned into his touch. “Do you understand, my Henry?” He cradled their face and smoothed his fingers over their cheeks as he waited for an affirmation.

“Yes,” their mouth tugged up at the corners. “…Admiral.” He growled and picked them up effortlessly, slamming them against the wall and attacking their lips with his own. He waited only long enough to settle their legs around his waist before he was forcing his tongue into their mouth, swallowing each other’s moans, and groping all his favourite sports on their torso.

MC let out a startled gasp when they felt something tease at their hole, moaning against Levi’s feral smirk as he reveled in their pants, so obviously desperate for his tail to be closer, for it to be inside of them. He continued to let the digit massage their most sensitive areas while one of his hands moved down to fondle their sex and the other traced over their lips.

“Suck.” MC complied straightaway, somewhat sloppy in their eagerness to please this new side of the Admiral. The man currently keeping them pinned up against the wall with only his hips was a far cry from the ‘yucky otaku’ that was usually begging on his knees for them. Oh, how the tables had turned. Between moaning and the fingers shoved in their mouth, it was difficult to voice the sheer want taking over their body. However, when their blown pupils met the glint in Levi’s own eyes, it was clear that he knew exactly what they were yearning for.

“Patience, my dear Henry. Make sure you get them nice and wet for me.” When he was satisfied with their efforts, he slipped the digits out of their mouth, leaving a sticky trail of drool across their chin. MC whimpered when they felt the wetness circle and press against their hole. Levi grabbed their jaw.

“Open.” MC opened their mouth and looked up at him with lust-blown eyes. He spat on their tongue and closed their mouth for them. “Swallow.” He smiled and kissed their cheek. “Good Henry.”

“L-Levi-“ He halted his ministrations for a moment and raised a single eyebrow. “A-Admiral!” They gasped at the quick lash of his tail against their ass, more shocked than hurt at the slight sting. He smirked and pushed two fingers into their hole, causing them to whine loud and long.

“Admiral…please.” He took glee in the way they squirmed around his fingers. He knew he had found that sweet spot when one of their hands grabbed for his hair and the other dug into his back. His eyes began to glow at the scrape of their fingernails, delighted in the knowledge that he was the one making them feel this way.

“Please what? Use your words, sweetheart.” He kissed them again as they whined louder, swallowing the sounds. He bit their lip and flicked them on the nose, fixing them with an expectant look.

“P-please- augh! Fuck, fuck me, ah! Admiral!” They struggled to get the words out, Levi paused, making a show of considering it.

“Hmm, okay.” In one move, smooth as it was sudden, they were thrown onto the bed. Levi slowly crawled over them. His hands glided over their calves. “Legs up over your head, gorgeous.” MC did their best to comply, lifting their shaky legs and using their arms to pull them closer. They felt a flush of embarrassment at the new position, shy to show off this view so blatantly to him.

“That’s it. What a pretty picture.” Levi cooed as he caressed their face. They moaned when he positioned himself at their hole. He was hard and leaking, clearly as turned on by the switch in dynamics as they were. And he was big. They gazed up at him with hooded eyes, not bothering to disguise their want.

He kissed them and pushed in in one slow but fluid movement. They gasped, squeezing their eyes shut and digging nails into his back while they buried their face in his shoulder. “Shhh.” He made soothing sounds and peppered their face and neck with kisses. As desperate as he was to move, his Henry came first, and he waited with patience for the pain to turn to pleasure.

“P-please…Admiral. Please mo-move.” He chuckled. He could see that they weren’t fully adjusted yet but started to rock into their body.

“My Henry is so desperate for the Admiral that I’ve got you clenching around my cock and you’re still begging for more. Pathetic.” MC started rocking their hips back to meet Levi’s thrusts as the two got into a rhythm, moans spilling out left and right. Levi noticed MC’s eyes were still closed and a flare of envy reared its head. Were they daring to think of someone else? He grabbed their throat and pressed.

“Eyes open. Look at me, sweetheart.” Their eyes stared into his and he could no longer doubt that the only demon on their mind at this moment was him. “There we go, good Henry. Keep them open for me.” His voice lowered. “I want you to see exactly who’s doing this to you.” They groaned obscenely loud and brought him in for a filthy kiss. He moaned into their mouth as his thrusts sped up. MC’s voice got higher and more urgent as they chased their climax, holding onto Levi with a grip tight enough to rival that of a demon. Levi’s hips began to stutter as they clenched around him and held him tight.

“Henry! Aughh!” With a groan, Levi finished inside of MC, cum coating their sensitive walls in post-orgasmic bliss. They both took a moment to come down, holding each other as they caught their breath. Levi smiled at them, kissed their forehead, and moved so his head was between their legs. They startled when they realised what he was doing.

“L-Levi! I mean, Admiral! What are you-“ He met their eyes with a soft but devilish grin.

“You’ve been so good to me, Henry. I think you deserve a reward.” With that, he started licking, catching his own seed as it leaked from MC’s oversensitive opening. MC curled one hand in the blanket and the other in his hair, not sure if they wanted to pull him closer or push his overstimulating mouth away. He started moving his tongue just-so, and before long, tears filled MC’s eyes. It felt too good and they couldn’t help letting out a little sob. Levi stopped and moved up to face them.

“Aww, sweetheart.” He wiped away their tears with soft thumbs. “Is it too much?” MC nodded and whimpered. “Do you want me to stop?” He held their face in his hands and kissed their cheeks.

“N-no. Please keep going, Admiral. I want more of you.” Levi stroked their hair as they shared a delicate, open-mouthed kiss. MC moaned when they tasted Levi’s own essence on his tongue. The noise seemed to flip a switch. Levi growled and aggressively deepened the kiss, dominating MC with his tongue that was covered in liquid from both of them. One of his hands moved down to play with MC again. When their voice started getting louder, he tutted at them.

“So eager to cum again already, my gorgeous Henry? Take it like an obedient little whore and maybe I’ll let you.” This time, the end of his tail pushed into their hole with no warning. They squeezed around the appendage and tried to adjust, but Levi was ruthless with his pace. He admired MC squirming underneath him, almost drooling at the picture of their body being forced to accommodate as he pushed more length in with every thrust.

“So, I overheard Mammon and Asmo talking earlier.” He bit and sucked on their shoulder. They moaned and panted into his. “They seemed to be under the impression that they could take you like you belonged to them.” MC moaned louder into his ear and shook their head. “Tell me, could they take care of you like me?” He nipped their earlobe and sucked the sensitive area behind it.

“No, Admiral!” He smiled darkly at their loud compliance.

“Tell me, who’s making you fall apart right now?” He pinched a nipple between his fingers, swirling his tongue over the other one.

“You, Admiral! Only you!”

“That’s right, sweetheart. Louder, so my brothers can hear exactly who’s making you feel so good. If you do well, I’ll let you have my cock and fill you up again like the cute fuck toy you are.”

“YOU, ADMIRAL LEVI! YOU’RE TAKING ME LIKE NOBODY ELSE CAN! MAKING ME FEEL SO G-GOOD! ADMIRAL!” MC was just about screaming. Levi groaned and slipped his tail out, shoving it in their mouth instead and replacing it with his dick.

“Henry, you feel so good! Swallowing me up like this, what an adorable little slut.” Everything seemed hazy as he fucked them into the mattress. Nothing mattered at this moment except for his pleasure and theirs.

“Admiral, PLEASE! I’m close! Can- ah! Can I-“ Their teeth clinked as he brought them into a desperate kiss.

“Yes. Yes, my gorgeous Henry, scream for me!” He rutted fast and hard, riding through both of their highs.

“ADMIRAL!”

The two held onto each other as they caught their breath again. Levi pulled out and when some of his cum leaked out of them, he pushed it back in with his fingers.

“Hold it in there like a good little pet, okay Henry?” He cooed at them. “You were so lucky to get the Admiral’s seed. We don’t want it going to waste now, do we?” He ran a hand down their face, smiling softly before scooping them up. He carried them next to the bathtub in his room and kissed their head while his tail turned on the water.

Once the tub was filled, he lowered MC into the water, then himself. Hugging them from behind, he inhaled their scent. His voice was quiet and comforting when he spoke. “You did so well, MC. Are you feeling okay?” They nodded, and he hummed. “Good. You can relax for me now, my sweet Henry. Let me take care of you.” He massaged their muscles while he used a soft washcloth to clean them with his special Ruri-chan soap. They leaned into his touches and he got to work massaging shampoo onto their scalp. “So good for me, MC. How lucky I am to have you.” He rinsed them off and pressed his lips to their forehead.

“I’m going to lift us out and dry you off now. Okay, sweetheart?” MC blearily nodded, tired and just about melting in his careful hands. Levi used his fluffiest towel on them before carrying them to his bed, ensuring that they were comfortable with his softest limited-edition pillows and blankets. After taking a moment to check if there was anything else that they wanted or needed, he crawled under the blankets with them, kissing the top of their head before settling in. He cuddled his precious MC until they both fell asleep.

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

Asmo winced through his beauty routine, despite his best efforts at a smooth poker face to avoid wrinkles. Mammon rocked back and forth in the corner, hands over his ears. It was exciting at first. The two had shared quite the giggle listening to what Levi and MC got up to with their help. Not anymore. It wasn’t funny anymore. MC so owed them after this. They were so loud. Asmo regretted his choices. Mammon regretted his choices. At least there was company in misery.

[mediocrevideopodcast]

Insecure! S/O: Michelangelo

Request: All of these are unbelievably cute! I was wondering if I could request Mikey with an insecure reader? I know you already did Donnie but I would love to see Mikey in this situation, too. Thank you so much!! 🧡

Pairing: Michelangelo 

Content Warnings: None! Just fluff <3 

He doesn’t understand it. Like, at all. You’re so beautiful?? And so smart?? What is there to not like??

He’s not a huge fan of drawing people: Human anatomy is so varied, and it’s hard to capture their true beauty. Not to mention, any minor adjustment can make a painting go straight into Uncanny Valley. But for you? He’ll learn. You are his muse, after all.

He doesn’t understand why you’re so emotional the first time he shows you his work. He just. He made you look so pretty, but you don’t see that in yourself. Once you explain that you don’t feel that pretty, he puts his all into changing your mind.

Scars? Stretch marks? He’ll paint over them to show you how he sees them. Rainbow stripes and golden constellations litter your body, turning you into a living canvas.

He’ll also put stickers on you so you guys can match. It’s hard not to smile when you’ve got lightning bolts and smiley-face stickers on you, but it’s even harder when you match with your sunshine boyfriend.

If you ever vent to him about your insecurities, he’ll listen! If it’s something about say, your appearance, or a fault that you don’t actually have and that your brain just thinks you have, he’ll listen to the end. But at the end, be prepared with a “Babe, I hear you, but you’re just straight up wrong. I diagnose you with Perfectosis. Which, as you know, is official doctor-speak for ‘you’re perfect.’”

I mean, he is Doctor Delicate Touch. Can’t blame him for trying.

He’ll hug you afterwards and tell you everything he likes about you, though. You know he’s gotta throw at least one joke in there before he busts out Doctor Feelings.

He starts doodling you a lot more in his free time.

If anyone tries to cut you off, he’ll cut them off.

“I don’t like it when you cut my partner off like that, dude. Let ‘em speak.”

Second time?

“Ahem, maybe you didn’t hear, but my partner was talking.”

Passive aggressive king.

If they’re a common, repeat offender? There’s a 25% chance that he’ll pounce on them like a feral raccoon.

“Learn some manners!”

He likes to send you wholesome heart memes. They’re always followed up with at least one 🥺

He puts up orange sticky notes in random places around your house. Each one has a really nice, tailored compliment that makes your heart melt.

He’s your own personal hype man. Insecure about the way your clothes fit? He’s there. Insecure about your grades? The professor fucking sucks, your essays are bomb as hell. Art? Dude, your art is so pretty why aren’t you taking commissions? Hype Unlimited.

He’ll also help look for resources if you’re insecure about your proficiency in a skill. We can always get better at something! If we weren’t improving, what would be the point, right?

Honestly, he’s such a sweetheart. You’re an angel in his eyes, and it hurts him to know that you don’t see yourself in that light, too. He does his best to support you in every way possible, even if he doesn’t fully understand the reasoning behind it. The road to self-confidence is a long one, but he’ll be there to support you. <3

#TMNT x reader #tmnt imagine #rottmnt x reader #rottmnt imagine #rottmnt michelangelo x reader #rottmnt mikey x reader #tmnt michelangelo x reader #tmnt michelangelo imagine #tmnt mikey x reader

[miyaniacs]

Hey bby 🥺❤️

You know how i’ve been feeling lately and it feels like nothing is worth it anymore bc i keep messing up and i’m just so unsatisfied and disappointed in myself idk what to do anymore :( sorry to ab*se this situation now but can i request some Osamu comfort?🥺 👉🏼👈🏼

Ayt so : you can ab*se me as much as you want bby🥺❤️ also sorry that this is kinda bad :((( 

First some ( idk kinda bad sorry) HC’s and afterwards a small oneshot

masterlist

OSAMU and a depressed reader

Okay what would he do when he finds out

Well

He’ll be pissed.

Because you’re amazing??? And how tf can you let this thoughts consume your mind ???

AND NOT TELL HIM IMMEDIATELY

So he can stop those thoughts???

But here we are now - the mess is made

And he has to work his magic now

Will definitely let you tell him everything if you feel comfy with

Mentally taking notes

He’ll make sure to look for the small sings in the future that show that this thoughts will come up again - so he can stop them before things get that bad

As for now

He will shower you with affaction

Will also help you getting distracted - by doing something like cooking together ( lol sorry had to )

Meanwhile he will make sure to leave small remarks all the time how amazing you’re at this and what a fast learner you are etc

All the things that slowly without being too obvious - help you change the way you think

Also as soon as you feel a bit better he’ll sit down with you and talk about it

Will definitely keep up the poker face until you break down and cry and he’s now panicking and crying too??

He thought he was prepared to see you cry and in his head he had the whole scenario planned out and how he’d act like the perfect boyfriend he is

But guess what

It’s a whole different story when you actually cry???

It’s a mess

Why tf do I feel as if he’ll call his mother at one point and asks what to do because he‘s just too overwhelmed

He will also help you getting better at certain things you doubt yourself in

If it’s art? He’ll gladly make time to take art classes with you

If you feel not sporty enough? He will take you with him, Atsumu & Aran to the gym

ALSO def. The type to be kinda awkward at vocally expressing his emotions and how much he loves and adores you

Soooooo

You’ll get those cute sticky notes in heart or panda or onigiri shape with a thing he loves about you every day from now on

He will also make sure to tell you that it’s not your fault that you feel that way - it’s so hard because of all the pressure that’s put up on people our age and he also feels that way sometimes

Looking around we just see the things others want to show - and we forget that everyone struggles and that those we look up to probably has been at the same point you’re at rn - but they got out of it and look at them now. So it’s okay to have those days - but remember to get help if you can’t escape those thoughts alone

Will also beg you again that you talk to him the next time

Also?? Will also take you to the doctor to get your blood checked to make sure you’re not lacking anything that just encourages those toxic thoughts

Cute moments to mention:

You getting flour all over his face

Him chasing you around the room to get his revenge

You two falling

Laying on top of him laughing until you can’t breath

He’ll def take the bedding out of your bedroom in front of the biggest window you got and build a pillow fort

Osamu opens the door to your apartment with the shared key he got. He hasn’t heard or like read a single word from you since Sunday Morning and it’s not Wednesday - so the good best friend he is he comes to check on you. The apartment was dark. He opened the shutters and blinks a few times needing to adjust again to the light. He walks back over to your fridge and opens it - not surprised at all to find it empty. With a deep sigh he places the groceries he just brought for you in the fridge together with some self made onigiri for later. He puts on the water boiler and gets your favorite cup out of the cupboard together with your favorite tea (I know who you are bby so sorry to all the rest but pls note the name of said tea: heißer Flirt).

He opens the door to your bedroom and his eyes immediately softens when he sees you curled up on your bed with your fluffy blanket. “Hey there” he says softly and you let out a small scream. “Haha chill it’s just me.” Osamu laughs and sits down on your bed, “Now sit up - I made you tea.” He gently smiles and feels the mattress shift as you sit up and take the cup out of his hands. Osamu leans forward and opens the shutters a bit letting the sunshine illuminating your room in a soft warm light. While you sip on your tea, you feel his eyes on you, “Mh?” You mumble. “Why haven’t you time me?” He carefully asks, “I told you to come staight to me when things get worse again.” He mutters, a bit annoyed, that you’re going through this all alone again instead of letting him help you. You sigh and lay your head on his shoulder. “I don’t want to be a burden.” - this makes Osamu groan in annoyance, but he quickly catches himself again and takes a deep breath. “Well I’m here - so do you want to talk about it?” - “No.” - “y/n....” he rolls his eyes and softly chuckles. You place the cup on your nightstand and start fiddling with your fingers, yet before you can answer Osamu’s arms wrap around your waist and he falls down on the bed, pulling you with him. Your head lays on his chest and his one hand moves up and plays with your hair. “You can begin now.” He slightly teases. “Well... I - well ... uhm.” It was hard for you to begin to open up. You don’t want your best friend aka crush since the second you laues eyes on him, know how fucked up your mind can be. Looking up to his soft and knowing eyes though, all of you worried vanish and you start talking. Osamu doesn’t say anything - afraid to say anything to that makes you stop talking. So he just listens. He listens to you telling him how bad you feel, how you feel like being a failure and just too stupid to get anything done- and that at this point you just give up in hopes to feel a bit better. He just listens, when you continue talking, telling him why you feel that way- telling him things about your childhood. Osamu starts stocking your hair, placing kisses on your head when he feels you shaking in his arms, when you start to cry. As soon as he feels you calming down, he nuzzled his face in your hair and starts mumbling sweet nothings. “Do you want to hear what I think?” He softly asks you and gently pulls away and sits you both back up. He sees you nod and takes a deep breath. “Okay well... I do where you’re coming from. But ... uhm... let’s take your drawings and writing as an example. You feel bad about it - why? Because you compare it to those who draw or write for a much longer time then you do. You shouldn’t see those as ones to compare yourself to, rather as inspiration and motivation. If you keep on comparing yourself to those - it’s only natural to feel bad - but that way you won’t Continue doing it aka you won’t gain experience because you stopped with leades you being stuck at this one place without giving yourself the opportunity to develop your skills. Also it really hurts me to see such an amazing and beautiful human - whom I love way to much for my own good - doubt themselves. I really with that you come to me the next time - so I can show you how amazing you are.” He looks at you with glassy and big eyes. Still shocked of what you just heard him say you stay silent. Have you heard it right? Or did you just imagine it? “You.. you love me?” You stutter out and Osamu’s face turns white. “I - this - uhm- can you ignore that part please - i don’t want that to be the reason our friendship is ruined.” He stutters and starts panicking. “No.. I don’t want to ignore it..” you admit shyly, “I uhm... like you too..”. His eyes lit up and he looks at you - all the love and admiration he holds for you, is now clearly shown in his eyes. His right hand moves up and his thumb gently stokes your cheek. “May I?” He whispers. You nod and he leans down gently kissing you.

A few (many) kisses later - he leans his head against yours and smiles. “So love- how about we go and make this one dessert I love so much? I’d make it for you but I’m not able to do it without you- it would just turn out badly without your help.”

#haikyuu headcanons #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu imagines #osamu headcanons #osamu x y/n #osamu x reader #osamu imagine

[cutesuki--bakugou]

Don’t Forget Me

Art in banner done by me.

College Life / Mermaid / Kimi no Na wa (Your Name) inspired AU

It’s all nothing but a dream. A series of dreams that are all too real. That’s all it is. Your soul - or whatever it was - couldn’t possibly be swapping places with a Merman. One, mermaids aren’t real. Two, that’s not even possible! Is it? 

Mermaid!Bakugou Katsuki x Fem!Human Reader

Want to start from be beginning? Check the Don’t Forget Me tag. 

Genre: Romance / Angst Story 

Rating: Explicit | Adult Themes, Interspecies Sex (merman / human), Masturbation, Alcohol, Animal death / hunting (whales, fish, sharks, etc), Cursing, Descriptions of Injuries and Blood 

A/N: This is my part for the @bnhabookclub weekly collab event Just Add Water for MerMay! I know there isn’t much going on in this, but it’s just the first chapter to a new multichapter fic. Per the rules of the collab, I used the prompt “That’s just an urban legend”. I’m excited, because I’ve wanted to do a Mer!Bakugou x reader for a LONG time and could never think of anything. But when this theme was announced, I was watching Kimi no Na wa and immediately had this idea. So, full disclosure, the theme of switching bodies in their sleep / forgetting each other is inspired by that movie, but that is all that I take away from it. 

Prologue: Stone

Chapter Rating: Teen | Cursing

Words:  1,855

You were doing it again. 

How many times had you caught yourself staring at the delicate necklace in your hands? More than you could probably count on all your fingers and toes, and you were sure that number had nearly doubled just in the last week. You really weren’t sure why you were drawn to it so intensely, nor why it gave you such a deep sense of loss and loneliness. 

Where had you gotten it from? 

You couldn’t remember. In truth, you couldn’t remember getting it at all. As far as you could recollect, it had been around your neck when you woke up one morning, about two months ago. Since then, you refused to go a day without it, even if it didn’t necessarily match your outfit or any particular occasion. You felt so lost without it around your neck, like a part of you was away, off in some distant land or deep within the sea. 

Why did you think that? 

Of all things, why would you assume that this missing part of you was in the ocean? Was it because of the necklace? Probably. The silver clam shaped pendant that rested in your palm was most likely the culprit to make you think of the sea. But that particular piece of the jewelry wasn’t what kept you so entranced. Set in the middle was a small, perfectly round stone, and its brilliance is what you couldn’t help but stare into. To anyone else, it would just appear to be a small marble, with brilliant deep indigo, swirling turquoise and hints of radiant purples. There were sparkles of twinkling white, like light reflecting off a water's surface, and if you gazed into it long enough, you could have sworn that the colors were mixing and twisting, as if there truly was water inside the stone. 

It was so beautiful. Had someone given it to you? Whoever did must have cared about you so deeply to give you something so special. You had asked all your friends and family if they knew anything about how you got it, but no one knew anything. You received some weird looks and uncomfortable responses when you tried to ask them, but that didn’t bother you much, not when you had been dealing with people finding you strange for almost half a year now, anyway. 

Why did they find you weird again? You couldn’t remember.

All you knew was that it had to do with this necklace. You had tried to find out what it was made of to try and get any hints on where it may have come from, but each jewelry store or stone expert you took it to, they all had the same response. They just didn’t know. Many offered to buy it from you at varying prices, their interest peaked and their hopes of being the first person to discover a new stone pushing them forward. But you resisted, as just even letting it out of your hands so they could look at it enough to make you nearly burst into tears. You couldn’t let it go and you wouldn’t, either. Not ever. Not for anything. 

Because it was precious. It was the only thing that you had that could help to calm this nearly unending sense of longing. 

But what was it you were longing for? 

Or who? 

Why did that always pop up in your mind? There were so many pieces of scattered thoughts that you just couldn’t put together. A person. The sea. Feeling like a piece of you was missing. You wanted these feelings to end, but you knew that they wouldn’t, not until you found what you were searching for. 

With a frustrated sigh, you put the necklace back on around your neck, clasping it in place with skilled fingers. Standing from your bed, you shuffled your way towards your desk, lightly running your fingers down along the slender metal chain. Your mind was still in a hazy grip of sleep, barely registering that the electronic clock mostly hidden by books and other stationary read 5:49 AM, though that didn’t really matter. Your mind was racing with the overbearing thoughts, and as you sat down in your squeaky office chair, you were already near breaking out into tears.

The necklace wasn’t the only clue you had. Scattered among the desk were notebooks and papers, though you had refused to touch them for the last few weeks. At first, you had meticulously looked over every page and every written note, trying to do everything you could to learn about who this person was that you were missing. But now they sat on your desk, abandoned in defeat. There were many things in the notes that didn’t make sense to you now, though according to what you had written, you had understood it all at one point. 

What you had written. 

That was what was the most odd. There were two very distinct handwritings within the notebooks and scribbled on the scrap pieces of paper or sticky notes. Yours was so proper and easy to read, clean and steady. The other was rough with some of the characters almost completely illegible, requiring you to assume what the person writing must have been trying to say. Large and scratchy, it almost resembled the handwriting of a child or what you assume would be someone new to writing on paper. The phrases. The choice of words. All of it was completely different from yours. 

It had been another person. Someone sat in your chair, in your room, and wrote these messages to you. At first, you thought that it just had to be a prank. One of your friends was fucking with you. That was the only realistic solution. But none of them talked this way, and if you were honest, they weren’t exactly clever enough to pull off such a big ordeal over months and months. 

The way they talked… It was so strange. You just couldn’t wrap your head around it, and if you were honest, you thought that they must have been a little crazy. Yet, you weren’t all that rattled in most of your responses, like you knew what they had been saying to be the truth. 

The conversations were so… natural. In fact, most of it was like a diary, with the scratchy handwriting cataloging what had happened that day, how they felt about it, and what they had done. 

This school shit that you humans do is so stupid and pointless. Who the fuck needs to know about… what is it called? Calculus? You’re never going to use that shit, I’m not bothering with keeping up with it, fuck that. You always catch up on your own anyway. That bitch Midoriya or whatever gave you some fucking flowers today. I thought about stomping on them and telling him to fuck off, but I just took them and left. You need to tell that prick you’re not into him or this shit will never stop. Also, the way you humans handle courtship is fucked. I didn’t do shit today otherwise. Just stayed in the room. I did find your sketchbook though. You’re getting better, but you still can’t remember us for shit. 

Pulling your eyes up from the paper, they immediately landed on the mentioned sketchbook, which was tucked up beneath some schoolbooks. Carefully, you pulled it out, setting it down on the pile of papers to thumb through it. 

It had been so long since you had even opened this thing. The feeling of the coarse paper beneath your fingertips brought a small smile to your face, as did seeing all your old sketches and doodles. Though, the smile faded as you reached near the middle of the sketchbook, your eyes tearing up immediately at the contents of the page. The page was completely covered in drawings of what looked to be mermaids, or mermen, to be more accurate. They were mostly faceless and unidentifiable, the sketches geared more towards poses and anatomy. The only thing mostly consistent was the tail. It seemed to be the same over all the drawings, with matching fins and scribbled patterns. 

“Mermaids… I’ve never cared to draw them before, why did I…?” 

After another turn of the page, you were met with similar things, only this time they had heads and hair, jewelry, pieces of clothing, and even weapons. Only one of the sketches resembled the previous drawings, and his particular features called to you. The feeling of recognition and longing grew fiercer with another turn of the page, which was all nothing but sketches of that particular merman’s head with varying expressions and positions. He was particularly attractive, with slanted piercing eyes and a mass of fluffy spiked hair on his head. He had fin-like ears that were mostly drooped, but flared out on the drawings with a more intense expression, where his mouth was open in a yell or intense fanged snarl. 

A small gasp left your lips as a drop of liquid suddenly landed onto the paper, pulling you out of your daze. Crying? Why were you crying? Why did your heart feel like it was about to be ripped from your chest? It wasn’t possible for this to be the man that you had been longing for. You had drawn him as a mermaid! They weren’t real, and there was no way that was possible. He couldn’t even get into your room, let alone sit in your chair and write you letters. 

“I’m so ridiculous…” You whispered quietly to yourself, wiping the tears from your flushed cheeks. Had you been blushing? You didn’t even notice. “Mermaids… That’s just an urban legend. A myth. I must have just been in a phase… Maybe I saw a movie or an anime with them, and I got super invested? But then… they’re so…” 

Page after page, more sketches followed, some making you giggle while others made your chest ache so badly you thought you would pass out. But then, there was something scribbled onto a page that made your entire body grow cold, stomach twisting into such a tight knot you were sure that you’d vomit. 

Save me. 

“Save… Save you?” You choked out into the silent room with a trembling voice, more tears cascading down your cheeks as you reached up to grip the pendant around your neck tightly. It was in the familiar scratchy handwriting, though it was more frantic and messy than you had ever seen. Hiccupping, you brought the pendant up to your lips, pressing the stone against them as you struggled to calm yourself. 

Save you from what? What the hell happened? Did I save you? Why the hell can’t I remember!

It was then that you felt an odd pulsing against your lips, and as you pulled away in shock, your teary gaze was locked onto the pendant in your hands, which was pulsing slowly with a pale green glow. And with it came a thought, like a soft voice whispering in your ear that you couldn’t ignore. 

He’s calling to me… 

#bnhabookclub #bakugou #katsuki bakugou #bakugou x reader #bnha #boku no hero academia #my hero academia #bnha imagines #bnha scenarios #personal #collab #fanfiction #bnha writing blog #xreader #mermay #Merman!Bakugou #mermaid au #mer!bakugou

[vanchlo]

Effervescent

Blurb Synopsis: During your break, instead of going to the stuffy staff break room, you wander outside into the cool air by the waterpark. Unbeknownst to you, there you meet a bubbly stranger in the hot tub, and never again is your life the same. 

Genre: 2015 Harry, fluff, and romance.  

Word Count: 4.6k words

Pairing: Harry x Reader

Music Inspo: Champagne Supernova by Oasis (click to listen bc I love this song and it fits the theme I think?)

P.S. - Funny story, I found this in my Notes and I had started writing this in 2016. Crazy. I liked rereading it and figured I’d finish it, so don’t be too hard on me, please. Enjoy! ;) 

It was the dead of winter, but you couldn’t spend any more time inside, or in that lousy closet of a break room with your coworkers for another minute. They were well past getting on your last nerve, and you weren’t going to let them ruin your one slice of ‘me time’ today. 

Squeaky children’s voices and the sound of water hits your ears as you take a shortcut. The door opens with a little punch! when you press on the horizontal bar. Cold air meets your clammy skin quickly, refreshing you. A sigh of relief leaves your lips as your sweaty back meets the cold surface of the glass door. Pebbles grind beneath your feet and birds caw in the distance. When you turn to look around like any regular human being, you almost run right back into the door when you see the head of brown hair a few feet away, bobbing out of the water. 

“Didn’ mean t’ scare ya, love, ‘m sorry,” the mannish-boy says, pushing his long wet hair off of his face with his ringed fingers. 

“N-No it’s fine. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to intrude, I’ll just-.”

“No, ’s okay. Ya gonna have a smoke or sumthin’?” he questions. Your head goes from side to side in answer. Meanwhile, he nods as steam rises from around him out of the round bubbling hot tub he sits alone in. His tattooed arms float on the surface, moving with the water slowly. 

“I was just getting some air on my break. I couldn’t stand to be in the break room not getting a minute to myself alone.”

“Ah, I can’ blame ya. I hate people like that when ‘m not in tha mood, they’re bloody annoying. Neva shut up, it seems,” he quips, his long pink lips spreading into his flawless white smile. 

“Yeah, you have no idea.”

He continues to smile at you, and the nagging thoughts poking at your mind all day are gone for a moment. “Why dontcha come over here? Gimme some company, how ‘bout?” he suggests, trying to wave you over. Water falls fast and long from his tall round bicep. Yeah, nope.

“I don’t think I should,” you respond, but those words couldn’t be further from the truth. 

“Ah c’mon, love, ‘m bored as fook by meself out ‘ere. Come talk t’ me, will you?” he says, moving slowly. Part by small part, you see more of his tan chest as he sits on the underwater bench with his back against the dark tiles. Black swallows fly under his collarbones, and a gleaming silver necklace surrounding his throat dangles down his chest. 

“I don’t want to get in trouble, or something.”

“Yer not gonna cuz yer not botherin’ me. Even if somebody said anythin’, why would I have any reason t’ back ‘em up, huh? Yer not causin’ me any harm, and I wann’ talk t’ ya,” he continues, and it’s hard to refuse. He’s a good negotiator, and you’re slowly becoming an icicle second by second. 

“Aren’t you here with anybody?” you ask as your feet slowly pad on the gray cement over to him. He leans forward absentmindedly playing with the bubbles, while still keeping eye contact. 

“No,” he answers softly with a helpful shake of his head. Your eyes follow his hands that cup some of the bubbly foam in his long fingers. 

You sink to your knees and then your butt when he gives you a look. His green eyes hold a question as his thick brown eyebrows furrow along with his rose lips. Wincing when your butt touches the cold cement, you cross your legs as your arms go around your tall legs. 

“Here,” he mumbles out of nowhere. A fluffy white hotel towel lands at your side in a blink. “Don’ wantcha t’ freeze yer bum off.”

Your lips drop a short ‘thanks’ as you awkwardly place it under your bottom to ward off the cold. You make the mistake of meeting his eyes and you giggle a rosy cheeked laugh. 

“Wha’?” 

“Nothing,” you sigh with the laugh beginning to wear off, cheeks pinched with red and warmth. 

“Ya got a pretty smile, ya know that?”

“You’re so cliche, do you know that?” you reply and he scoffs, with a held out ‘ruuuude’ leaving his happy lips. “But thank you.”

The hot water bubbles against the side only inches away, so close and yet so far away. Your sweaty Converses and gross socks covering your clammy feet itch to join him. A black polo shirt and khaki skinnies don the rest of your shivering body. A tinge of awkwardness hangs in the air between you and this stranger. Frequent shared glances holding tiny smiles and questions you know the both of you want to ask float between you. 

“How long have ya worked here?” 

“Too long,” you quip, and his lips turn up again. You realize that you really like it when you make him smile, no matter how little. He has a pretty smile, and it goes past the chill and warms you up to the bone. 

Water droplets cling to his skin every place and everywhere. The heat in the water flushes his skin, especially his cheeks which remain a soft pink. It doesn’t compare to the warm pink of his lips that he plays with, with both his tongue and his fingers. Please never wake me up from this dream. 

You play with the frayed laces on your black low tops, the muffled screams from inside tickling your ears along with the somewhat calming sound of the bubbling water. It invites you in, more and more. 

“C’mon, you,” he mumbles. You look up, startled to find him sitting before you, floating in the water. His wet hands wrap around the tan ankles of your pants, and you nearly yelp. 

“What do you think you’re doing?!”

“Get yer shoes off already, at least dip yer toes in. Makin’ me feel all bad, cuz ya look like yer freezin’ yer bits off sittin’ there. I wish ya could  come in with me,” he replies. By now, he’s already worked one of your shoes off. 

“No, please. You don’t want to do that.”

“Yesssss, I do. They’re jus’ feet, darlin’, we all have ‘em,” he titters, flinging the shoe to the side and then the other one. That leaves you in a mismatched pair of ankle socks; blue and red stripes on the left and a Batman one donning your other foot. 

He makes a grinning comment about ‘your cute socks’ as his warm fingers tickle the sliver of skin between your pant leg and socks. 

“Alright, buddy,” you tell him, trying to pull your legs away. His hands encircle both of your ankles and he looks back at you, grinning with his tongue poking out between his teeth. 

“No, jus’ dip yer feet in, pleaseeee.”

“Okay fine, just let me take them off myself. I don’t need a stranger getting comfy feeling up my nasty feet,” you joke, looking up briefly to catch his reaction. The cute as fuck dimples in the middle of his cheeks are beginning to fall and grow deeper before a laugh rumbles through his chest. 

How cute can he get?

“Suit yerself. I woulda taken up tha offer, but tha’s jus’ me.”

“That’s because you’re a weirdo,” you answer, voice breaking into a laugh as you roll up the socks into one ball and set them to the side. You thank your past self for getting that cheap ass manicure the other day. 

“Takes one t’ know one,” he comments, holding his hands up like you’d do when you say ‘I don’t know’ as his wet hair begins to curl at the end. It’s long and almost touches his broad shoulders, and you continue to have a hard time believing this shit is real. That he’s real, and talking to you. 

It takes a second to get used to the water when you dive in, well the few inches that swallows up your feet, give or take. You admit it feels good, but you wouldn’t admit it out loud to him, because it’d only fuel his witty fire. 

He splashes water at you, but you get him back quickly. He even blows bubbles with his mouth and then spits the water at you. You retaliate by jabbing him in the side with your feet under the water. Uncalled for jokes fly from him, and sometimes good comebacks from you. These float into aloud thoughts about favorite foods, ranging from cold ice cream, to slushies, and to chocolate cake. Begging comes from his side about you ditching the rest of work and joining him for real. 

It all sounded so good, and it was so good. 

He’s humming some song you know but can’t put a name to, making little noises with his lips. His fingers tickle the bottom of your feet, every now and then. When you rarely take your eyes off him, you notice more about him. His skin remains flushed, and when your eyes fall to your watch, you feel yours flush too. You sense your heart drop inside your chest, which makes you feel dramatic and lame, but you can feel it there hanging heavily a little lower. 

You look back to him, sitting close to you with his head leaned back on the edge of the fake rock surface. His eyes are closed and lips humming a song again. With a quiet sigh, you draw your feet back and out, drying them with the towel, trying to leave it still usable for him. Slipping your socks back on is a sticky process with grunting. At the sound of the second or third one, his swimming green eyes open and dart to you questioningly.

“What, where’re you goin’?” he asks, sitting up and turning towards me.

“I have to go back to work, my break is up.”

“What, no,” he frowns and you giggle. He’s funny, but you know he doesn’t mean it. You hardly know him, and he doesn’t even know you. It was fun while it lasted, a nice little distraction, but now you have to go back to reality. 

“I’m sorry.”

“’s okay,” he replies, looking away from you and down, playing with the foamy bubbles with his pruney fingers. 

“Thanks for . . I don’t know what to thank you for really.”

“Don’ worry ‘bout it. Thank ya, too,” he smiles at you as you stand up. Maneuvering your heel into your right shoe, that’s always the tricky one, it slips in after a few seconds of trying as he stares up at you. Although an understatement, it pains you to leave. 

“Bye, love.”

“Bye,” you mumble quietly, walking to the door and stealing one last look at him as you open it and step inside. You’re granted to never see him again - the cute and sweet hot tub guy. No, don’t go making up nicknames for him now. 

You wish that you could thank him, but you don’t even know his name. 

*

The day dragged on, turning up rooms and putting them back together. You cleaned this and that, and everything in between. At times, you were sweating like a whore in church, and your back and feet ached constantly. 

By the time your shift ended, it had grown dark and the stars were peeking out from the black of the sky. Getting off the elevator, you walk down the hall and find the lobby. Suddenly, your feet bring you somewhere else, through the emptying water park and to the fogged up door. Your fingers wrap around the cold metal bar and you prepare yourself, or try to.  

What will you say? What will you do?

Slowly opening the door, you realize those few seconds talking yourself up were futile because the hot water is still. The lights in the water shine clear against the dark night with no disturbance. Because he's gone.

Turning around and walking back inside, you try to hide your frown as you go to clock out and leave. Disappointment floods your veins, making you feel stupid and pathetic. With a sigh, you walk out the doors into the cold trying to remember his laugh, and his smile. 

Ones that you’ll never see again, and you hate how awful knowing that makes you feel.

*

The next day when you showed up for another exhausting day of work, a light shown at the end of the tunnel. Although your shift was tiring, the only good thing about getting up early was to get off early. That fact kept you sane throughout most of the day, despite the thoughts that have been nagging at you to quit this lousy housekeeping job that you’ve stuck with for far too long. Sure, it paid alright, but it was hard on your body and some of the things you had to endure were ridiculous, you thought. 

Before you knew it, you were bypassing the employee break room and walking through the lobby. The keys on your lanyard jangled and only were silent when you used them to open your car. Now with a jacket around your shoulders, your steps were covered in snow on the way back to the sliding doors, that is until you heard a voice. A voice calling your name. It took you a second to realize where it was coming from, but when your eyes ventured to the left side of the building, it all clicked when you saw the steam rising into the air. 

“‘s you, innit? I thought so! Hey, two days inn’a row. Come say hi, love. ‘m here all in me lonesome ‘gain,” the stranger calls to you from across the parking lot. 

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” you mutter under your breath, but your words leak of lies as a smile curls among your lips. “I guess, but I don’t want you touching my feet again!” 

“Deal, but ya gotta take off yer shoes yerself then, or else ya can’t come!” 

Luckily, the hotel doesn’t have a fence or barricade around the outside hot tub like most do. Instead, a low rock wall shields it from view, but you’ve always found it tacky and worthless. 

“On our break again, are we?” he hums from the confines of the hot tub as you approach him, glad for your jacket this time. You nod a reply as you grab the plastic chair somebody had dragged out here and left, both things they weren’t supposed to do. “Noooo, don’t sit so far away from me. Come dip yer toes in again, please,” he whines, waving a wet hand at you. 

You relent and begin to toe off your shoes as he giggles from his spot across from you, leaning against the edge of the tub. The sight makes you feel warmer than you actually are in the December air. More tattoos peek out amongst the glistening skin of his arms spread out on the lip of the tub, resting there. 

“Do you do anything besides sit in here?” you question, rolling your two socks into a ball before he hits you in the chest with a towel. 

“Not really. ‘s too bloody loud inside with all tha kids, and my hotel room ‘s too quiet.”

“Wow, it sounds like you have such a rough life,” you joke, the temperature of the water surprising you when you dip a foot in. His revelation does as well, although you’re not sure why. Regardless, it still causes you to wonder if you’ve been into his room recently if only to deliver towels. 

“Oh, so rough,” he confesses dramatically, arms falling into the water when he sinks down into it. You laugh at how he becomes a noodle in the water, and soon the sound is stolen away when he drifts over to you. His warm hand comes around your ankle and tickles along the bottom of your foot. 

“That’s whatcha get fer bein’ mean, make me sound all shallow and that rubbish,” he teases while loud laughs and protests jump from your lips. 

“Stop!” you repeat again and again until he relents, but your right foot remains in his hand as he seemingly kneels on the bottom of the hot tub. 

“Hmmmm, blue toes. That’s a new one,” he hums, running a finger over one of your painted toenails that you painted teal last night. 

“I said I didn’t want you touching my feet, you weirdo. Do you have a foot fetish or something?” 

“No, don’t be bloody rude. I can’t comprehend how people get that kinda satisfaction from feet, sumthin’ must be wrong with ‘em,” he tsks, shaking his head of drying curls as he releases your foot. Your agreeing smile is replaced with a sad one when he disappears under the water with a groan, appearing seconds later with a tense face. “Sumtimes wish I could spend forevea unda there.”

“You must be a water bug, like me,” you note aloud, savoring the sight of his thick arms reaching to his head, pushing back his long wet hair back. Now, it touches his shoulders with the help of the balmy water. 

“Think so, always loved swimmin’ since I was a kid. ‘d be in tha pool if a dozen kids weren’t hoggin’ it, and if tha winter didn’t make me feel so damn cold all tha time,” he remarks with a smile as you slip your other foot in, letting the water reach to the middle of your lower legs. “Yer a water bug too, huh?”

“Yeah, I swam competitively all throughout high school. I feel at home in it.”

“Hmmm, sounds like some kinda psychology theory t’ me. ‘m sure it’d say somethin’ happened in yer brain through all o’ that, y’know ya been in tha water so much ya feel at home in it, blah blah,” he says, bringing his golden arms to the edge of the hot tub to your right where he lays them. His stubbly chin comes to rest on them as you accidentally touch his ribs with your foot, but he doesn’t even notice, it seems. 

“Thank you for the lecture, professor, it was really fascinating,” you respond, fake dramatics shining in your voice as you clap your hands. He rolls his eyes before splashing warm water at you. “Hey, I have to go back to work in these clothes, so you better not get them as wet as you did last night.”

“Ya? What’re ya gonna do ‘bout it, love?” 

You reply with a tight-lipped sigh that elicits sing-song laughter from his rose-colored lips that await below you. Your eyes trail to his long torso and legs blurry under the water, short yellow swim trunks donning his waist. 

The thoughts that bloom inside of your mind, like wondering how tall he is and what the rest of him looks like out of the water, escape you when you see the time. 

“Noooo, don’ leave ‘gain, we jus’ got talkin’,” he whimpers when you tell him, sticking his bottom lip out at you. 

“I can’t not go back to work,” you explain, drawing your feet from the warmth only to return to the chill. 

A sad noise sounds behind his frowning lips, and a matching expression paints his flushed face. You wish you knew his name when he won’t let go of your leg, making you suddenly glad you had shaved them again last night after your run-in with him. 

“When d’ya get off?”

“Eight,” you respond, earning a nod from him. 

“Alrighty, well stop by again, I might be here.”

“Okay,” you answer simply as you slip your shoes back on, a feeling growing in your gut unpleasantly. 

“Have a good day,” he smiles at you as you walk away. “And smile, cuz ya have a pretty one!” 

*

The hallways were quiet with few guests remaining outside of their rooms, and the parties occupying the waterpark now over. The big slides and arcade were closed by the time you slipped back into the emptying cavernous room. You forced smiles at lifeguards and the coworker behind the food bar on your way to the door leading outside. The entire way there after clocking out, you seethed with regret from forgetting a swimsuit earlier today. When your feet take you outside to the fluorescent lights playing along the chlorinated water, you’re unsure which you regret worse - forgetting to bring a swimsuit, or getting your hopes up only to find his messy head of brown hair to be missing from the hot tub. Again. 

*

You had the next day off from work, which had you thanking the high heavens to be free from that prison. You were brimming with thankfulness, and yet you found yourself standing in the hotel lobby the next morning, a bag over your shoulder holding a swimsuit and towel. Once you had gotten a day pass from a coworker, although not free as you had hoped, you wandered into the deafening waterpark. The foggy door across the large room called your name, and soon you found your palm pressed to the warm metal pushbar once again. The brisk winter air is a shock when you enter it, and you find your mission to be fruitless when the bubbling water is empty.

Your tennis shoes squeak on the slippery cement as you turn to leave. Thoughts muddle your mind, and your day depressingly empty of any plans pulls you back to the singing water. After sliding off your shoes and stepping out of your clothes, the water welcomes you in your bathing suit. At first, you’re grateful that you’re alone and no noisy kids are interrupting your peace and quiet, but it doesn’t last long. You spend the time playing on your phone and replying to text messages, even playing a game or watching a YouTube video. 

Half an hour or so had passed already, and by then you had moved around the large space. This included sitting on the varying height of steps when you grew too warm, perched on the ledge with only your legs in, or sometimes almost sitting on the bottom of the tub. 

Tucked in the corner near the little opening to swim in from the inside hot tub, you hear the outside door open. The first smile of your day tickles at your lips when you watch who the door spits out. He doesn’t notice you at first surprisingly, consumed by his phone in his hands. The same couldn’t be said for you as you marvel at the sight of him, and how normal of one it is. The water seems to grow hotter by the second while you watch him peel off his Fleetwood Mac shirt to leave him in those same banana colored shorts. A shotty whistle leaves your lips before a giggle follows it, and you’re graced with the arrival of his smile when he turns around to find you there. 

“Hey, stranger, funny meeting you here,” you mumble, a jet of water pounding against your spine. Dimples collapse into his cheeks as his smile grows, his long chestnut hair tickling his face. 

“Hullo, love. Looks like I finally got me wish,” he says, setting down his phone on the nearby glass table, right across from your own. 

“Really, what’s that?”

“This,” he answers, nodding at you as he turns to face you. He sure is a sight for sore eyes, you wonder as your eyes run over his long body painted with black ink. “I can splash you all I want now,” he finishes, kicking a foot towards you as he saunters down the stairs, a spray of water hitting you square in the face. 

“Hey!” you exclaim, dragging your hand through the water to hit him in the chest with it. 

“So ‘s gonna be that way, huh?” he argues, dipping both hands into the rolling bubbles to drench the rest of your dry hair. 

You groan loudly, and it doesn’t end when your arms go around his toned waist to yank him into the water. He falls but catches himself too late, getting dunked into the water. The chuckle leaves your lips that very second and grows louder when he emerges from the water, a disappointed look on his face as he moves his hair off his face. 

“Yer a feisty one, arentcha?” he quips, wagging a finger at you, receiving your nod. “Silly me.”

The giggle dies down when nerves overcome you as he sits down beside you on the underwater concrete bench, his leg brushing yours. 

“You never told me your name,” you mutter quietly, crossing and then uncrossing your legs anxiously. 

“Dunno why I should afta all that,” he responds lightheartedly, still fixing his hair that refuses to cooperate much to your amusement. “‘s Harry, if ya must know.”

“Harry, hmm, that fits you,” you hum, finding the dark and light speckles in his green irises that sit so close to yours. Dark stubble lines his cheeks all over, you notice, as well as the tiny tattoos that hide amongst the larger ones claiming his body. 

Your name flows from your lips and he mocks you, saying something about how you look like your name. The sound of the rolling bubbles and jets fills your absence of conversation as you lean your head back. 

“How many days are you here for, Harry?” you inquire, admiring the tiny snowflakes that begin to fall, immediately melting when they hit the water. 

“A couple mo’.”

A few greasy pepperoni pizzas, cherry slushies, stale tortilla chips with goopy nacho cheese, and over buttered popcorn fill the rest of your day. A few appearances on the waterslides and in the pool occupy your time, as well as him throwing you in more than once. The laughs never seemed to be shy to either of your lips, whether on the tube slide or in the corner of the hot tub. 

The sun had set long ago, and your skin had grown pruney far before then. You were both exhausted after your day spent in the waterpark and in the hot tub you had returned to, the chlorinated water always seeming to get the best of you no matter your age, like now. Harry’s eyes were closed beside you, and they didn’t open when you tapped his nose with your finger. A raspy question escapes his smirking lips, and when you don’t answer them, you find tiredness adorning his greens. 

“The waterpark closes soon,” you murmur, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear. He nods as his long fingers card through his dark locks. He lifts a finger and inches it towards himself, calling you to him. “What?” you ask, feigning annoyance. 

“Wanna tell ya sumthin,” he whispers, the sugary smell of his second cherry slushie tickling your nose. You relent and scooch closer to him, until your thigh is flush against his. “Think we could do this again t’morrow, and tha day afta that, and afta that?” he asks, a smile transforming his blushing face only inches from yours. A nod shakes the wet tendrils of your hair automatically, and quickly the prickly nervousness that had disappeared hours before, returns. 

“Good, I can’t wait. Wanna go sumwhere t’ get dinna, ‘m starvin’?” 

“Yeah, we should go then, the attendants will be shutting off stuff in a few minutes,” you insist, but all thoughts fleet you when his hand settles on your arm. 

“That’s okay, I only need a few minutes t’ do one last thing,” he murmurs, and your eyebrows raise in question. 

They remain stuck there as he nears you, and only do they relax a few seconds into the kiss he plants on your lips. The sickeningly sweet taste of artificial cherries graces your lips as yours move with his. Your cheek tingles when his hand brushes against it, drawing you nearer to him when it finds a place there. He giggles into your mouth as he knocks a foot against yours while his fingers explore your hair. His taut arm is slick under your touch and yet it feels better than you could have imagined, eliciting another titter from him when he flexes it on purpose. When he begins to pull away, your hand drifts to his sloping back. Your fingers press against his warm skin there until the taste of cherries consumes your lips once again, drowning out his name. 

Maybe this job isn’t too bad, after all. 

#harry styles #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles blurb #harry styles imagine #harry styles oneshot #harry styles wattpad #harry styles fanfic #harry styles x reader #harry styles 2015 #harry styles long hair #harry styles fluff #fluff #Blurb #oneshot #fanfiction #fanfic #wattpad #writing #harry styles x y/n #your name #y/n #reader #my writing #narrymccartney writes

[whump-town]

Quantico  Hope

Based on the text post created by @criminalmindsgonewrong so lots of praise goes to her (if not for the idea than because she’s a queen and I love her content). All of my medical scenes came from E.R, Grey’s Anatomy, or Chicago Hope so don’t come for me. Hotchniss is the main ship, warning for language

Emily Prentiss wakes up in a stranger’s bed. The comforter is thick, soft but the pattern is something only a bachelor would choose. It’s a flannel pattern, blue flannel. Knowing that no woman would willingly buy it is a small comfort. She’d never done it on purpose but she can still think of more than one occasion in which a one night stand came to a crashing halt as a spouse made their existence known. She had been chased from quite a few apartments half-dressed.

Topless, she wraps the sheets around her breast as she sits up. Her John is laying on his side and she has to lean close to see his face. She peaks over his shoulder but her quick movement catches nothing but thick brown hair and a five o’clock shadow. It does nothing to spur her memory so she places a hand on his hip to stabilize herself as she leans over him. 

“Fuck,” she grunts, pushing herself back away from him. 

On her back, hand slapped on her forehead she breathes out a shaky sigh. “No, no, no,” she rolls off the bed. Blindly scooping up her things on the floor. Waking up in a stranger’s bed can be disorienting but waking up in a bed that is unfamiliar with your best friend sleeping right beside you- so, so much worse. This is all Jennifer Jareau’s fault. Her and her stupid sentiments about how one more drink can’t possibly hurt. 

She hears a groggy groan from the bed and she winces as she draws her arms to her chest. It’s instinct to squint her eyes, her subconscious encouraging the childish idea that if she can’t see him he can’t see her. As still as she can, frozen in her spot she waits for him to move.  

She is beyond relief when he sighs and settles back down. 

This time, she tiptoes, now far more conscious of the noise she’s making. Her eyes sweep the floor, searching for her lost bra. She’s missing a sock too but she can leave a sock here and not think twice about it but a bra? 

Last night is mostly a blur. She has a faint memory of his hand cupping her bare breast. 

“Hotch,” she breathes against his neck. She’s working his belt off, letting him attack her neck. “Jesus,” his pants fall to the floor, weighed down by his useless belt. Her mouth opens to make a comment about how hard he is but the rough pads of his fingers cup her breast and she arches into the touch.

“Are you sure?” He whispers. “I don’t want you to-”

Both of her hands wrap around his neck, pulling him into a kiss. “Trust me,” she says, breathlessly. “I want this.” She���s wanted it for as long as she’s known him but he was married. So, she stuck to being his friend. His sounding board. “God,” she’s standing in his room, his rough hands pulling her panties to the side to work a finger inside her. 

He pushes her onto the bed, laughing that silly laugh that makes her chest ache, and for the first time in her life, she’s able to kiss him. She shares his goofy joy and she can feel him smiling as he kisses her tenderly. It occurs to her that their quick drunk fuck isn’t going to be so simple. His eyes are sober and his actions are soft.

His lips start to wander and her stomach flutters as he kisses her hip bones. He looks up at her suggestively, his hands spreading her thighs. He kisses the inside of her thigh, smiling as she can’t control the way they shake. 

“Aaron!”

Emily shudders as she’s pulled from the memory, heart pounding as he groans from beneath the mound of comforter he’s curled under.

The sheets rustle and Emily turns from the door to watch Hotch bolt upright in the bed. He’s on his feet in a flash, stumbling to the bathroom. He’s not of the state of mind to shut the door behind him so she hears as he gags and vomits into the toilet. 

She closes her eyes and curses him. She can’t leave him alone and if the clock on his nightstand is right, she’s got three hours before she’s due for rounds anyway. Which means, she’s just an awful friend to leave him like this. 

“That was gross,” she leans against the bathroom door frame. “You got a little-” she pats the side of her lip. She’s grinning ear-to-ear at his expense. He may be her best friend but it’s still far and in-between when she gets to see him so human. Without the white coat and stoic frown, he can be himself. He can be the stressed-out single father, going through a tough divorce, who spends nearly all of his waking hours depriving himself of comfort.

He drops his forehead against the cool toilet lid and groans. Wrapping a hand around his stomach, he curls his long legs beneath him. “Why are you being mean to me?” He rubs at his mouth, disgusted when his fingers find a bit of vomit on his lip. It makes his stomach roll with a vengeance that makes his head pound mercilessly. He ends up, gagging miserably again, nothing coming up. 

“Alright,” Emily steps in, rubbing at his back. She stands beside him, rubbing his back until he pulls his head up. “Let’s get back to bed,” she hooks her arm under his. It takes a moment, he doesn’t want to let her help him. She doesn’t relent and he caves, allowing her to ease him to his feet.

She’s pretty tall for a woman but getting him to his feet is nothing short of a small feat. "Jesus, " she grunts. He stumbles, leaning heavily on her. Everyone had noticed the weight he dropped after Haley filed for divorce. She can barely keep him on his feet now, she'd hate to have had to do it three months ago. "You're heavy!"

Hotch stops, glaring down at her. It’s a mystery to her how he can look exhausted, nauseated, and angry at the same time. He puffs like an angry little fish, strangely cute. “Are you saying I’m fat?” He makes a failed attempt to stand up straighter, making a soft grunting noise as his stomach revolts against the idea. 

Emily rolls her eyes, drama queen. “No,” she pushes him onto the bed. “You’re just a giant.” He bounces as he sits, frown set right in place. “Aaron,” she puts her hand on her hips and frowns right back at him. “Just take a nap, nurse your hangover, and remember to be in at ten when your shift starts.” She pats his shoulder and plants a kiss on his forehead. “I’ll bring you a coffee, huh?”

He yawns, grimacing as his head and stomach both protest. Sleepily, he rubs at his eyes, laying back on his bed. “I gotta…” he yawns mid-sentence. “Going to a parent-teacher meeting.”

She tries very hard not to look completely devastated. “Oh,” so no coffee. “Okay, I’ll see you after that then.”

He nods, “and I’ll  bring the coffee.”

__________

Last Friday when Aaron had cornered Dave and asked him to cover some basic stuff for him, Dave imagined he’d be doing some rounds, picking up after an intern, or fussing with an attending. He hadn’t expected a very specific, in-depth list of things for him to do:

8 a.m. take Reid to check-in on patients (keep communication at a minimal)

8: 30 a.m. bust Savannah Hayes (the nurse from the Emergency Room) and Derek Morgan in the second-floor on-call room

8:45 a.m. bring Garcia a non-fat almond milk vanilla lattee--

The man has stones… and that wasn’t even half the list. There are annotations, they came color-coded with sticky notes on additional pointers. Thumbing through the several pages worth of notes and instructions, Rossi shakes his head. Of course, he knows his old prodigy is a busy man. As much as he would like to think he’s what keeps this hospital on its feet… Aaron has a lot to do with it, too.

He’s got a knack for running into trouble just as it’s happening and juggling fixing the problem with making sure it never happens again. Which, in this hospital,-- a cesspool of one night stands, rule-bending, and overbearing masculinity-- makes him a very valuable member for the good side. Good meaning one of the few members of staff without his hands in another staff member's pants.

The problem is, Dave’s hardly got the time to comply with the whole list of nonsense demands Aaron wants him running about doing. He loves Aaron dearly, the boy is like his son but he’s a bit anal-retentive and Dave just… well, he doesn’t want to do all of this stuff. The hospital isn’t going to fall apart if he doesn’t meet every single thing on this list.

Well… hypothetically, right?

“Where’s Hotch?”

Rossi steps out of his office and finds Reid standing on the other side, weirdly close. “Woah,” he takes a step back when the genius doesn’t. He shakes his head, folding the list in his hand in half before regarding the doctor in his doorway. “Reid,” he acknowledges, stepping around the genius, and shutting his office door behind him. “I believe we’ve got rounds to attend to, correct?”

Brainbox is what a few members of staff have taken to calling the young genius. Hotch had made a point to talk to the other leading heads in departments to make sure they weren’t calling Reid that and for the most part, that had slowed down the spreading of the nickname. Dave understands why Hotch got ahead of that problem but on the same hand, it’s kind of fitting.

Reid nods, looking around Rossi and into his dark office. “Yeah but Hotch always takes me.” Technically, taking Reid on rounds is supposed to be Dave’s job. Hotch just made time for it. If Hotch times everything just right, he can get Reid on the second floor near the on-call room to bust Derek and Savannah with enough time to get Garcia her coffee and have time to swing by the cardiac wing and say hi to Emily.

Speaking of--

“What are you two doing down here?” Emily and JJ are standing where Dave is supposed to be, a smooth-talking Derek and meek looking Savannah standing between the pairs. Which means that the pair busted the couple before Dave could. It burns Dave. That skinny little runt. That bastard. Hotch has Emily on the same hunt as him because Hotch doesn't think Dave would do the list.

He’s right but… still, it kinda hurts. 

Emily isn’t wearing her signature smirk. For once, she’s got a one-up on him and she’s not biting. Something’s got her down. She offers a simple tight-lipped nod. “Hotch has me trailing you,” she informs him and Rossi understands exactly what it is that’s bothering her or better yet <i>who</i>. “He just doesn’t want the hospital burning down.”

So much for Dave’s earlier sentiment of Hotch keeping his hands to himself. Now, what’s he to do? He’s pissed that Aaron has hurt Emily but they’re both like his kids. What he needs to do is strangle for being stupid. Aaron for never outright telling anyone how he feels and Emily for letting men hurt her.

God, they just… The little idiots get under his skin like nobody else. 

“He’s a tight-ass,” Rossi mumbles, shaking his head. And a dumbass if he’s right about Emily. He puffs, “this place isn’t going to fall apart just because he misses a few hours.” Dave has been doing this for a long time. He didn’t get Chief of Surgery dicking around… well, he did a little bit but that’s not the point being made. 

Emily smiles, even if it looks a little forced. “Tell him that,” she offers with an eye roll. “I’m just not going to waste my energy with that argument.” Arguing with Hotch is a very taxing and pointless excursion. Especially, if the subject at hand goes against his paranoias and anxieties. So, in other words, the idea that the hospital won’t burn down without him.

Rossi can feel the mood shift and Derek must too because he kisses Savannah's cheek and excuses himself. “I’ve got my own rounds to attend to,” he admits. “Pretty boy,” he calls Reid to him. “Care to join me?” Morgan can handle a little responsibility. He won’t let Reid’s work slack on account of him.

Reid looks between Dave and Prentiss, unsure if he’s allowed to agree with Derek. Ultimately, he sees no qualms being raised by either of them so he nods and his head. He tucks his hands in his pocket and stands by Morgan’s side. Waiting for the plastic surgeon to leave.

“I’ll catch you later,” Derek says with a wave of his hand. Fully intending to make good on that promise at lunchtime where he’ll attempt to tear down Emily’s walls to get her to talk about whatever is bothering her right now. With any luck, it’ll be something juicy.

Rossi turns and watches the pair walk away, wondering how many more chores he’s been left to do. “I should probably--” he lets his voice wander off as he pulls the list from his pocket. He motions to with an air of defeat, rolling his eyes good-naturedly. “Can I trust you two to behave?” 

JJ smiles, “I think we both know that the only pair you should be worried about just walked off to do rounds.” Her smile broadens as she considers all the mischief Reid and Morgan can get into. “However, if I were you, I’d go investigate what they’re really off doing because I’ve never known Morgan to do his work on time and not last minute.”

Dave is obviously not buying her diversion but she’s planted the seeds of fear in his mind. Unable to think of anything aside from whatever Morgan and Reid are out ruining, he lets them go. Besides, he’s certain he’ll figure it out sooner rather than later anyhow.

As soon as Dave turns the corner, JJ turns back to Emily. 

“So,” the blonde inquires knowing they’re both working on a tight schedule. “You and Hotch?” 

Emily nods. She doesn’t regret it. That’s what she’s learned from her morning full of nothing but introspection. She wishes she regretted it because then she’d be able to tell JJ that she's not madly in love with him. “We were drunk,” she tells her because somehow that makes it okay. But then she remembers how he kept asking if she was okay. 

It’s the bare minimum but… no one’s ever actually done that before.

“I’m surprised he could,” JJ admits. “He had a lot to drink.” They’d been celebrating… something. Reid and Garcia were celebrating, actually. The rest of them were just drinking away another miserable day at this hospital. 

Emily nods her agreement. It’s unusual for Hotch to drink let alone get drunk enough to have sex with her. “He was very sweet,” she admits.

JJ smirks… What else was she expecting? Hotch can be an asshole but the majority of the time he really is a gentleman. Unless you incur his wrath and if you do… well, that’s your business. He’s a bit of a hothead but it does take a lot to get him worked into yelling. 

Besides, Hotch is nothing but a sweetheart to Emily. They can act as blind as ⅔ of the three blind mice but that doesn’t change the heart eyes they exchange. It still leaves a lot to be desired on a lot of their exchanges, though. The way he reaches over and, without prompting, opens boxes or bags for her. The way Emily creeps into his personal space and he doesn’t comment or even step back.

“I don’t think it’ll work out, though.” Emily takes a long sip from her coffee, eyes thoughtfully trailing off. Actually, she’s not sure it won’t work but she’s about thirty percent sure he doesn’t love her and she needs someone to tell her that she’s not making it up. 

JJ scoffs at that. 

Emily stops walking, eyeing her friend up. “What?” Of course, she wants to know exactly what’s warranted that reaction.

JJ rolls her eyes, “Emily, I have watched you two make some of the most disgustingly adorable faces at each other for the better part of the last year. I’ve seen Haley watch your every move.” JJ picks her pace up, leaving Emily in her momentary frozen state. “He’s hopelessly in love with you Emily and if you don’t feel that way back then you’re lying to yourself and to him.” JJ turns around, walking backward so that her words are met with Emily’s full attention. “And you both deserve better than that.”

__________

Penelope Garcia is certain that someone is leaving her out of the loop.

For starters, Derek and Spencer are giggling in one of her observation rooms. Meaning that they’re not being watched… as they should be.

Emily and JJ brought her coffee this morning.

Dave has been MIA, besides coming down here half an hour ago to ask where Morgan and Reid had “fucked off to”. She would have happily informed him of the shenanigans, no doubt, happening in her emergency room, but Morgan had gotten to her first. Who is she to say no to her Chocolate Thunder so of course, she told Dave she hadn’t seen him yet this morning.

“MVA with three vics incoming!”

Garcia sighs, standing up from behind her desk. She looks over the doctors and staff floating through the emergency room. “Charlotte,” she calls the baby nurse over. Baby being the term she’s using because Charlotte is all of about twenty-three. She finds it adorable. “Honey, do you know where Hotch is?”

Another nurse, Savannah Hayes, steps up to the station. “Uhm, he’s on call.” There’s something about her knowing smile that tells Garcia exactly why Savannah knows that: Derek Morgan. “Off to a-a…” she snaps her fingers as she tries to recall what Morgan was telling her earlier that morning. “Parent-teacher meeting,” she recalls. “He’ll be back later though.”

Garcia frowns, making a mental note to ask about the meeting later. She’s about to ask how Morgan is since she hadn’t seen him that morning when the emergency room’s doors open and the EMTs run-in with the first victim.

“Forty-year-old car crash victim, head-on collision.” The EMTs come in running, shouting out information to whoever will listen. “Pressure is 50 over palp, his respirations were shallow in the field.” The stretcher is relinquished to the closest E.R. doctor. “Pupil dilation was equal and reactive at sight. ”

Garcia pulls herself together, clearing her throat as she steps up to the stretcher. “I want--” the order dies on her lips. The man on the stretcher is pale, paler than normal. His black hair plastered to his scalp, not in it’s usual combed but contained mess. His brow isn’t furrowed and he’s not looming and glooming but she’d know him anywhere.

Her brain blanks. Training and training and protocol and protocol but… It’s not very often she gets a friend in here. “Uhm,” she can feel the emotions taking over where she should be calm. Hotch needs her to be calm. “I need you to take him to--” her mind blanks but her pointing finger guides the seasoned EMT well and the two separate with a business-like nod.

“I need someone to--” Garcia turns and Charlotte is right there. “I need you to call the Chief down here and-and Derek and everyone!” She doesn’t look back or check to make sure she’s understood, she follows Hotch into the next room. There are ethics and protocol and so many things running through her head as she grabs her boss’s hand but there’s not a chance in hell anyone’s pulling her away.

Once in the room, she sets about doing her job. Looking up only as the curtain is thrown back and she finds David Rossi looking back at her.

“It’s Hotch.”

Garcia cuts through his shirt, the thin Hanes material giving like butter with her scissors. Tears sting her eyes, “oh, my liege.” She looks up and Derek and Spencer are right behind Dave, everyone filing in. It takes them a moment, just as it did her before they throw themselves into their jobs.

Rossi pulls the cut shirt away, shaking his head. “Chest movements are paradoxical,” he informs them, moving his hands to palpate Hotch’s abdomen. “Abdomen is rigid, too.” He places the stethoscope on Hotch’s diaphragm, sighing. “I need to place a chest tube, get me a cart.” He throws the stethoscope cord back around his neck, stepping to the side.

Out of the corner of her eye, Garcia sees Rossi going for the tools he needs for a chest tube. She doesn’t want to say they don’t have time for that but… “Pulse ox is 82,” Garcia informs them. “It was just 88.” Her hands are trembling as she moves around them, a flurry of movement all of them trying to do their jobs. “Oxygen is dropping.”

Morgan curses, “I need to intubate him.” The utensils are already gathered in his hands-- muscle memory to reach out for the tools that are cold and familiar in his palms. “Do you want to be the one to tell him he’s got heart damage or worse because we let his oxygen drop to below 80?”

Reid, standing by Hotch’s head, interlaces his fingers and shakes his head. His anxiety is sky high, it’s all too much. “Can’t,” he mumbles, shaking his hands out. “If a patient with pneumothorax or other indication for tube thoracostomy requires intubation and mechanical ventilation, the chest tube should be inserted first to avoid creating an iatrogenic tension pneumothorax.” He presses his palms into his temples. All the noise, everyone shouting is overstimulating him.

It’s why he doesn’t work in the emergency room.

“I just need a second, dammit!” Rossi’s hands are shaking, “let me get the chest tube in!” The scalpel in his hand trembles over Hotch’s skin. He’s pale from adrenaline and clammy to the touch. The emergency room feels different without Hotch looming over them. He’s not shouting out orders into the chaos or guiding anyone through procedures with his scarily calm voice.

“Dave? Come on, man!”

Rossi shakes his head, clearing his dismal thoughts. He clenches his jaw and makes the incision into the fourth intercostal space. “Clamp,” the cold metal is pressed into his palm and he places it inside the area. “Dissecting the pleural space,” he mumbles, working the clamp under Hotch’s skin so that the area can accept the tube.

Hotch’s body jerks away from Rossi, a soft grunt coming from his mouth. Reid steps back to his head, clicking his penlight on. “Right pupil is five millimeters and reactive,” Reid hovers by his friend’s head. He guides the light to Hotch’s left eye, yelping when the man jerks his head away from the light. “Hotch?” His eyes blink open, his head turning from the penlight. “He-He’s conscious!”

Rossi stands up from his spot, pulling his bloodied gloves off. He moves to Hotch’s head, “Aaron? Aaron, can you hear me?” He presses his warm hand to Hotch’s cheek, guiding Hotch’s attention to him. “Can you hear me, son?”

Hotch’s eyes are jerking around the room, his mouth open but silent as he writhes in pain. He can’t breathe. His chest is heavy but he’s only thinking about one thing: <i>Jack</i>. The strangled sound that leaves his mouth is inhuman, he doesn’t recognize it. The pain becomes excruciating.

“Sedate--” all too familiar with that word, Hotch turns his head towards Derek. The other man is red in the face, his anxiety bubbling into rage. Profanities litter his speech but Hotch’s mind is too exhausted to nitpick out the words. For now, the only one worth thinking about is sedate.

He pulls away from the bed, a burst of energy leaving him trembling but upright in the stretcher. “N-No!” Jack. Jack was in the back seat. He couldn’t reach Jack. He has to get to-- Something cold runs into his arm and looks down, body suspended by his friends and coworkers, and it’s Reid. In his hands is the syringe Garcia had gotten out. Hotch feels his chest tighten-- he feels betrayed.

“Easy, son.”

Hotch feels himself falling back but he doesn’t hit the hard surface of the gurney beneath him but rather hands. Gently, he’s guided back down. Sweat sleeks his hair to his face and he’s limp in the hands as Derek steps towards his head. They’re talking-- words he understands but…

Derek cranes his neck back, Hotch can see his lips moving, but he’s not taking in any of the words. He <i>knows</i> they’re asking him to do a simple task: blink on command to questions or offer a thumbs up. His inability to do these tasks, to even focus on anything other than the cold air on his exposed flesh is the reason they keep moving around him. Shouting as if he isn’t really there at all.

A thumb presses on his chin, forcing his jaw open. He grimaces as cold metal slides into his throat. Floating between conscious and unconsciousness, he gags and feels himself twist to get away from the tube pressing into the back of his throat.

“Easy--” someone comforts as hands press his shoulders down.

Air fills his lungs, it hurts-- every muscle, bone, tendon, <i>everything</i> hurts. He can breathe though, full lungfuls of air. Out of the corner of his eye, he can see the ambu bag, bright blue, and in Reid’s hands. They make eye contact and Hotch watches as Reid syncs their breathing. The young genius’s shoulders rise as Hotch’s lungs fill and fall as he exhales.

There was once a time when Hotch had stood by Reid’s side, his hands covering Reid’s over the ambu bag. He’d always been able to be more patient with Reid than he was with many other students. Reid’s just a kid. So he made a point to remember that in every interaction he had with the genius.

And he’d grown to appreciate Reid’s unique sense of humor. He’s a good guy.

A good kid.

“Hotch?” Reid’s throat tightens as he watches a pained grimace come across his boss’ face. He’s uncomfortable and in pain but Reid can’t do much besides keeping the ambu bag moving at a steady pace. “Garcia?” He feels a flutter of anxiety knotting his heart up. “Can’t you do something? He’s in pain.”

Morgan interrupts whatever Garcia’s going to say with a shout, “just pulled a positive tap!” A second later, the metal starts hitting the table with a clatter. The wheels of the stretcher unlock, the guard rail going up. “He’s got blood in his abdomen, he needs to get into the OR, now!”

Dave takes a stumbling step back, his arms raised above his head. It’s muscle memory to pull them away from the field-- the field, of course, being his friend's bleeding body. His heart sinks to his feet but follows in the direction that Derek is pushing Hotch. His voice barking out orders that echo down the hall.

Dave watches them go.

“Sir,” an attending waves him down. “Hotchner’s wife is gonna need heart surgery.”

Dave’s got another job to attend to.

He has Savannah call Emily to the OR. He meets his team in the room. They’re working with silence. “If you can’t pull yourself together,” his voice is harsh because they’re past life and death. “Get out of my OR.” He looks around the crowd of faces, nurses and doctors he’s known for years. There’s a solemn understanding.

They wait on edge.

“Prentiss won’t know,” Dave tells the team. His eyes move to the woman on the table and without a word, he draws back the blue cloth over her eyes. The room stands in silent shock. All of them recognize her.

Haley Hotchner.

They’ve seen the evolution of the divorce. The way Aaron came into the hospital fresh-faced and new. Haley used to bring him lunch and Dave used to catch them in the on-call room. They’d gotten pregnant, had their ultrasound a floor down from where Haley now lays. Had their boy, Jack, and fallen into a pit.

Haley stopped kissing him between visits to the hospital.

She stopped visiting altogether.

Then Emily had come.

“Prentiss can’t know.”

She won’t know.

Emily Prentiss has mastered the art of chugging hot coffee and running, which is what she’s currently doing. Emergency heart surgery, she’s thrilled. Even more so when she steps into the room and things are already in motion.

“Dave,” she greets the older man as she steps into the operating room. Her hands are raised, waiting for a nurse to place gloves over her hands. “What’re you doing in here?”

It takes every ounce of his self-control to keep his voice steady. He clears his throat, “thought I’d watch the master at work.” Sure, Dave, win her over with flattery. Maybe then she won’t hate you for lying. “That alright with you?”

Emily shrugs, “I don’t mind dazzling you.” Gloves snapped into place, she adds, “but I do prefer Heart Goddess. You know, for future reference.” She turns to Savannah, who she recognizes behind her mask. “What do we have?”

Savannah glances at Dave. For a moment, Dave’s certain the cat’s about to be out of the bag but before he can fill the silence, Savannah clears her throat. “Thirty-five-year-old female with a suspected arterial wall collapse.”

Emily frowns as she walks past the patient, eyes scanning over the ultrasound that’s pulled up. “Suspected?” she repeats. She doesn’t like the sound of suspected but she’s not complaining. It could certainly be worse. She shrugs it away. “I’m gonna time myself,” she announces. “Have you started her on L.R.s?”

“Two liters L.R. and a unit of packed cells.”

Emily nods her head and moves back to the patient. “Alright, sounds good to me.” She extends her right hand, “ten blade.”

They all watch in baited silence as she sets to work.

“It’s a goddamn…” the frustration in her voice is clear. Her brows furrow and she falls silent.

Dave tries to keep himself calm but taking a deep breath doesn’t settle his nerves. He leans over the operating table, sucking his bottom lip between his teeth as he watches. “How’s it going,” he asks. He’s a damn good surgeon himself but it’s been a long time since he was running a heart surgery like this one. His specialty runs more towards general.

Emily shakes her head. When the monitors sound in alarm she doesn’t look up to see what it is, the curse she lets out says she already knows exactly what’s wrong. “Her…” Emily pauses as she works. “The inferior vena cava is completely collapsed. I don’t know how she’s--” Both of their heads snap up as the heart monitor sounds out in alarm.

Emily pulls her hands up, shaking her head as she works. “I can’t do anything,” she tells Dave. “Everything’s a mess. She’s bleed dry and I’ve maxed out the dopamine ....” Emily blows out her breath, letting herself think. “Let me try…” she leans back over Haley.

Whatever she’s doing, causes the monitors to get louder. “Dammit!” Emily keeps working, asking for different tools as fast as the nurses can hand them to her.

The monitor flatlines.

Emily pulls her hands out and she looks over at Dave. “There’s nothing I can do,” she admits. “The heart was shredded.”

Dave refuses to believe this. “No,” he tells her. “There has to be something.” His attention snaps up as Derek steps into the room adjacent to the operating room. He’s come for news but Dave can see his eyes travel to the monitor. His shoulders sag and his mouth opens in disbelief.

Dave looks to the ground, “go talk to Derek.”

Emily frowns at him, “what is your problem?”

He doesn’t mean to. It’s nothing against her. None of this is her fault. He stood right here. He saw. She did her best but sometimes there’s nothing you can do. “Go, Emily!”

Sulking away, looking more like a pissed-off teenager than an award-winning surgeon, Emily pulls her gloves off angrily. Making a point to throw them away where Dave can visibly see how hard she throws the limp latex. She shoves her way through the door and shakes her head at Derek. “What the hell is his problem?”

Dave watches through the window.

Derek starts talking, his hands gathering near his chest as he gestures and tries to work around telling Emily the truth.

Emily takes a step back, shaking her head. She argues with him, disbelief. No. Then her head turns to Dave and to the woman laying on the table. To the sandy blonde hair she just barely recognizes until Dave reaches down and moves the blanket draped over Haley’s face.

Dave can hear her muffled shout. Her voice grows frantic and angry as she accepts Derek pulling her to his chest but her fist hitting him. Fighting with everything she’s got for this not to be true.

For Haley to be alive.

Dave begins the slow process of pulling his own garments off. Someone’s going to have to tell Aaron.

He assumes that job is going to be left for him as well.

__________

It takes Dave a minute to find JJ. She’s lost in a sea of children, crouching so that she’s level with them as she speaks. Judging by the bandanna wrapped around her forehead, she’s got them into some game. Which explains how she’s oblivious to the news he’s carrying.

“Hey, kiddos.” He tries and fails to appreciate the youthful hope written across the snotty faces beaming at him. “I’m gonna need to steal Miss JJ for a moment, okay?”

JJ looks up and tells him to wait a moment, before she manages to wiggle out of the grasp of a rather small snot nosed child. Still, she gives the kid a pat on the head before stepping to the side with Dave.

“Aaron was in a car accident--” he tells her everything. That he lied to Emily and that Haley is dead. She takes it in stride. Nodding and inquiring about the surgeries. About Hotch’s outcome. 

“But you think he’s going to be okay?” she asks.

Dave hesitates before agreeing. “His intracranial pressure is being closely monitored but… they all worked to the best of their abilities and--”

JJ nods, right. They’ve got great surgeons under this roof. Hotch would be safer no place else. 

“I need to ask you a favor, though.” He rubs at the back of his neck, sheepishly recalling his short-circuited shout at Emily. 

JJ already knows, “I’ll take care of her.” She steps to the side, attempting to make good on her promise. 

“She’s with--”

“Aaron,” JJ finishes. “I know.” Because where else would she go? When Emily seeks comfort, she goes one to two places. To JJ or Hotch and considering Emily hasn’t been on the ward, the children love her so she’d know she must be with him. 

It doesn’t take long for her to find Hotch's room. JJ steps in, feeling her light bubble pop under the pressure of the blood not completely wiped from Hotch’s face. The additional loom and gloom do not help. “How’s he doing?” The room is devoid of all things light and cheerful. Sucked through the dark whole of her friends’ current moods. 

His vitals are good. A steady resting heart rate of seventy-two. He’s alive and that’s more than they can say for other victims of the crash. 

“He won’t wake up.” Emily stands up from his side. Uncurling her long legs from underneath her as she stretches out. Muscles ache and joints pop as she moves for the first time in several hours. She doesn’t look at him for too long, it makes her chest tight and her throat hurt to see him like this. 

She prefers the medicine of everything. 

She can understand pulmonary edemas, kidney failures, pneumothorax, and flail chest but… The comparison is medicine makes sense. Show her a blocked artery and she’ll work around it. Bypass isn’t an option? No problem. The surgery is over. Vitals are steady. There aren’t chest to crack or hearts to massage. All she can do is sit back and take watch. 

Her best friends sitting in a hospital bed hooked up to machines and she can do nothing. 

“Of course, he isn’t,” JJ grumbles, walking over to the light switch and turning on the lights. Bathed in the dark room, windows shut to cut out all natural light, and surrounded by artificial sound it’s no wonder he’s not waking up. They haven’t given him a reason to. “Emily, you’ve shut out all the natural light. Half of recovery is atmosphere and, if I were Hotch, I’d feel like everyone had given up on me.” 

JJ pulls open the blinds, the bright light making Emily recoil. The room, though, brightens, and JJ can feel the warmth in her chest. It occurs to her that maybe Hotch isn’t the only one who needs some looking after. While they can rest assured that Derek, Penelope, Dave, and Spence will cycle through the room periodically. Each of them checking sutures, drain tubes, and reflex responses. 

No one’s checking on eachother.

“Em,” JJ places a hand on her friend’s shoulder. Emily’s shoulders feel rock hard under her palm. “When was the last time you showered or ate?” 

Emily’s too tired to even think of numbers. Instead she leans into JJ, allowing her head to rest against the space between the blondes neck and shoulder. She’s fighting tears before JJ even hugs her back. “Are you sure you don’t want to run away with me?” she asks. “We can run away right now and do gay crimes and leave all the men in our lives right here.” 

JJ cups the back of Emily’s head, rubbing her back as she considers the offer Emily has been making a lot here lately. After a moment, JJ decides that she loves her best friend with all her heart and that gay crimes sound thrilling but she can’t. Besides the fact that she knows how good Emily is at sex and the gay crimes would be very gay and very nice… Neither really want to leave. “I think we’d better stay here, love.” She kisses Emily’s temple, “besides, I can’t leave in good conscience while Hotch is like this.”

Emily pulls away from JJ, moving her body so that she can lean into the smaller woman. She’s accepted with open arms and they stand leaning and silent as they watch Hotch breath. 

It’s artificial and that comes with it’s own sort of sting but it’s still him. 

“I killed his wife,” Emily whispers after a long moment between the ventilators hissing. 

JJ knows. Dave had come to tell her the minute Haley’s heart stopped the first time on the table. 

“She’s not going to be able to save her,” he’d whispered, hushed and frantic. “It’s going to crush her.”

Now, as JJ feels Emily sobbing silently beside her, she wonders how Dave knew. Emily’s never taken losing well. She’s heavily competitive. So, maybe this is the worst kind. Emily didn’t just fail… she let her best friend’s wife die.

“Ex-wife,” JJ corrects. Because that’s what Hotch and Halery were. Separated. Anybody with two eyes could see they still loved each other but the job always came first for Hotch. Haley… she wanted more. “She was his ex-wife.” Besides that, the distinction is important.

Emily knows it doesn’t matter. “I still killed her,” she replies. “He’s never going to forgive me.”

JJ looks at the man on the bed. There’s nothing she wants more than to reassure Emily that’s not true. She’s seen the way Hotch looks at her when no one else is watching. But she can’t really know. “Let’s go clean up,” she deflects. “You’ll feel better.”

God, Emily hopes she’s right.

__________

“We’re having a party.” Penelope Garcia is standing in front of her family, sans Hotch, with her hands on her hips and enough conviction in her tone to convince them that’s a solid plan. “JJ’s right,” she informs them. They had lunch together like they do every day. It may be normal to have one or two of them missing-- general surgery logs Hotch random hours and heart and brain surgery tend to run on the long side-- this is the first time any of their own have been on the table. 

The first time Reid wasn’t at the table because his hands were meticulously placing holes in Hotch’s head.

“This place is way too gloomy,” and she’s right of course. Even with the light funneling into the room from the blinds JJ pulled up, Hotch is still surrounded by their dismal moods. “We’re having a party.”

After a long moment, each of them rolling this idea around Dave speaks. He’s not against the idea but he’s not exactly going to give it the go-ahead, not yet. “Aaron would hate the attention,” he deduces because that’s the truth. Hotch wouldn’t even talk to them about the divorce.

The papers for which were delivered in the middle of the workday. JJ had been the one to go get Hotch. He was in the middle of a surgery… one that someone else had to finish. 

“He won’t even know,” Garcia informs them. “Reid’s keeping him in the induced coma for another night.”

This is, of course, news to the rest of the room. Reid had gotten out of the surgery and gone to collapse in bed. Exhausted. Emotionally and physically. 

Emily speaks up for the first time since the meeting had been called. “He could--” she realizes how helplessly hopeful she is as soon as the words start to come out. “He could still wake up.”

He could. Reid had decreased his dosage a little post-operation before he’d gone home but before Reid could even leave the hospital Hotch’s intracranial pressure had increased. 

“He could,” Garcia agrees. “That’s why, if he does. He’s going to be surrounded by us. Having a good time.”

And if there’s one thing that rings true through-out that hospital… If Garcia says it, then it’s Gospel.

“I feel stupid,” Emily grumbles, sitting still but not going through the party process as well as her friend would like. She’s in a dress because Garcia wants this to be a fancy party. Full of drinking and music. Emily knows Hotch would be just as happy if she were barefoot and daisy dukes. 

JJ taps her cheek, a small soundless reprimand for moving away from the eye-liner JJ is so meticulously placing on her eyes. 

Emily sits for the remainder of the make-up JJ paints onto her face. She can’t actively see it going on but she still knows it’s a lot.

“Oh my God,” Garcia beams when she sees Emily. “You’re gorgeous.” She looks at JJ, “I love it but we’re not trying to shock the man into another coma when he lays his eyes on our total bombshell babe!” 

Emily rolls her eyes and shakes herself loose from Garcia’s grip. “I’m not sure I can do this.” She admits, sinking back against her chair. “How am I… I couldn’t… I couldn’t fix Haley and I can’t fix my own heart… so, what am I, JJ? Because a heart goddess certainly isn’t it.”

JJ drops her knee, ignoring the way her own dress rides up her thigh. “Emily, you’re the heart Goddess whether you like it or not.” She cups the side of Emily’s face, wiping her thumb across a tear that dares to fall from her friend’s face. “Dave had you do the surgery on Haley because you’re the best surgeon in the damn county.” She shakes her head, “hell in the nation, probably. If you couldn’t save her then no one could and her best chances were when she was on your table.”

Garcia offers a hand on Emily’s shoulder. She squeezes lightly, “you did you best, Em. You tried to save Haley but now we have to go save Hotch.”

Emily nods, caving to the idea. “Fine,” she mumbles, “but I’m not dancing.”

She lasts four seconds because as soon as she steps through the door, Dave sweeps her up. “Dance with me, bella?”

It’s mostly shifting back and forth but she can feel the tension leaving her body as she accepts Dave’s proximity. After a moment of listening to Reid and Morgan’s bickering, Dave clears his throat. “I wanted to apologize for everything that happened earlier,” he tells her. They step closer to one another so that they can hear each other over the sound of the music and monitors. 

“It’s okay,” Emily whispers back, leaning her head on his shoulder. “I know…” she sighs, she’s not sure what she knows.

Dave rubs her back, keeping them moving. “At the very least,” he offers, “I shouldn’t have yelled at you.” 

She pulls away from his embrace just enough to stand on the tips of her toes and press a kiss to his cheek. “I forgive you,” she promises. 

Air cleared and feeling a little better Dave looks over to Hotch. The kid looks better. It’s hard to tell if that’s a placebo or the truth. “Is it just me,” Dave asks, “or does he seem to be getting more popular?” He shakes his head in disbelief. “Maybe I should go into a coma.”

Emily snickers, “Dave, if you went into a coma… how would we ever know?”

Dave stops dancing, mouth open in shock. “I--” he shakes his head. “I can’t…” He shuts his mouth with an audible snap, “I can’t believe you’d say something like that!”

Behind them, Morgan and Reid are still in the heats of an argument about plastic surgery.

“Anybody can--” Morgan flusters, “it’s called aesthetic awareness, pretty Ricky. You don’t have it. It’s a fine-toothed skill and you can’t even color inside the lines.” He looks at Savannah for back-up but his girlfriend doesn’t offer it. “Never mind your mismatched socks. You just don’t have it, kid.”

Before Reid can offer a rebuttal on the matter, Garcia calls his name out.

“He’s waking up!” She dances at Hotch’s side, motioning them all over with a hurried flick of his wrist.

The music is turned down as Reid pulls out his penlight. 

“Hey, kid,” Dave greets softly. He takes Hotch’s left hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze. “We’re all here. Reid, JJ, Garcia.” They watch as his eyes open, it’s just a sliver but the soft brown of his eyes greets them back none-the-less. “Morgan and Emily.”

A shiver goes down Emily’s back as his eyes turn over to her. She steps up, feeling awkward as the other’s part to let her through. Garcia lets go of his other hand, letting Emily takes his hand. “Hey,” she greets softly. She smiles, unable to contain her tears when his finger slowly crawls back around hers. 

“You’re gonna be a-okay,” Dave promises. “We’re all here, okay? You can get some sleep.”

His eyes flick over to Dave for a second before returning to her.

Emily looks around the room, uncertain… but her gut is forgotten by her heart as she leans over and places a kiss on his forehead. “Get some sleep, Aaron.”

Dave takes a step back, “good night, kiddo.”

She holds his hand until his eyes slip back shut. Waiting for another moment, just to be sure.

“He’s going to be okay,” Reid reassures her.

Emily steps back from the bed and nods. “I hope you’re right.” But Reid is never wrong and she holds onto that hope with everything she’s got.

@ssaic-jareau @emilyxprentiss @purple-scarf-mistress @blatant-attitude @torimea @jetaime-jespere 

#criminal minds #greys anatomy au #hotchniss #aaron hotchner #emily prentiss #jennifer jareau #spencer reid #david rossi #derek morgan #penelope garcia