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devonpink · 2 months

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The Great Swap: Trevor (Written by themousefromfantasyland. Revamped by me)

It all started when Ivan Hills turned straight.

As with everything in life, it started slowly, gradually, then all at once. The billion-subscriber beauty guru started changing his content around the summer of 2017. All his videos on YouTube suddenly became about training, sports cars, and pranking his newfound bros. His clothes went from pink and glittery to dark and gray. His profile pic changed from a winking boy in full makeup to a furious young man with a sports cap turned upwards. Then, in April 2019, he announced his long-time fag hag was now his official girlfriend and that he identified as straight. Subsequently, the internet went into a frenzy. However, those who had followed the case since the beginning were unsurprised since the brutish frat bro of 2019 was a far cry from the soft and delicate boy from 2014.

But that was not the end of it. Around the second half of 2019, several big gay and queer influencers, actors, and even politicians came out as straight. From defiers of gender roles and social expectations, these people became the most avid defenders of heteronormativity and tradition.

Then, around the end of 2019, the opposite started occurring.

Gavin Taylor, a late twenty-something commentator on the "Right Voice," a popular YouTube far-right show, came out as gay after leaving the channel. His channel changed from videos about the importance of Christian values and the nuclear family to videos about queer history, Atheism, and dating. The rude, often short-tempered young man was now a friendly, happy ball of gay fun. In early 2020, he married his boyfriend, and they now share an apartment and a cat in San Francisco.

Several key figures in far-right culture woke up gay one morning as if they had broken away from a terrible spell.

Not as bi, bi-curious, or pansexual, but as flaming homosexuals with immense bravery and pride in their queerness.

People joked about the homophobes being closeted gays, but when hundreds of them started coming out from their closets with a completely inversed worldview, it perplexed everyone. At first, this phenomenon was called "The Great Swap" as a joke. Still, as each gay big name became straight, and each raging heterosexual bigot became a fierce homosexual, the joke became a weird social contagion that scholars tried to understand at all costs.

Trevor Spencer is a notable example.

Trevor hosted the Anti-Woke Legion, a YouTube channel about fighting the infestation of woke ideology in pop culture. His detractors called his channel an example of a Far-Right gateway to young boys, a statement that filled him with pride.

It was 11 at night when the change began…

"Fuckin queers," Trevor muttered to himself, scrolling through Gavin Taylor's channel.

Gavin Taylor was his friend. His best friend. He was the only person in the world that made Trevor laugh and feel less lonely. But that was years ago. The new "progressive" Taylor called out his sexism and homophobia every chance he got, and they hadn't shared a beer in years. His faithful friend had "died" years ago, and now he was all alone.

As a tall, fat, hairy dude, Trevor felt he was fated to be completely alone. A fire of anti-woman hate eternally burned inside him, assured that no woman would ever truly love him. Even worse, everyone online constantly poked fun at his weight and disheveled appearance, looking no different from stereotypical trailer park trash.

He was miserable, and he would give anything to change his image.

Then, as if by divine intervention, his wish was granted.

He felt a sudden sharp pain throughout his body, making him scream like a frightened animal. A burning sensation quickly spread, causing his body hair to shed. His gigantic fat belly instantly deflated and morphed into shredded abs. He couldn't believe what was happening, horrified yet elated, desperate for more. His chest tightened as two pieces of solid muscle swelled and became pecs, making his midsection look as if it was carved out of marble. All the fat of his arms morphed into pure muscle, making him now look like a jacked mother fucker. His legs swelled to muscle perfection, and his feet grew. Lastly, his long, shaggy hair receded to a clean military cut.

When the pain eased, Trevor rushed to the bathroom and stared at his new face—an innocent and manly face, carefully shaved, with a jawline that could cut glass.

"What the fuck!?" He now had the body and face of a god—full of strength and youth. He couldn't help but pose and fawn over himself, grinning from ear to ear like a cocky douche.

Instantly, he had a great idea: the night was still early, and he needed to celebrate. He grabbed his wallet and hopped into his beat-up truck, heading for the all-night clothing store. He got himself some new duds, the kind he always wished to fit into, and next drove in a horny frenzy to the first club he could find downtown.

The loud music reverberated on every wall as the insane crowd danced in electrifying horny lust. People didn't take long to start checking out Trevor, eyeing him like a delicious piece of meat. He was finally the center of attention, stiffening his cock in pride. His giant pecs were squeezed by dozens of horny ladies, some with bodies only found in porn, but something was off. Something was different. Then, a handsome stranger grouped Trevor, and sparks flew, startling him.

"You like what you see?" The handsome stranger lustfully asked Trevor, pulling up his tight, sweaty shirt to show off his shredded abs.

Trevor was horrified at how horny he suddenly got. That couldn't be happening. Not with him. Not with another man. He instantly fled out of fear, disappearing into the crowd and heading for the exit, but before he could escape, the handsome stranger pulled him into the Men's bathroom.

"I'm so sorry! I didn't mean to scare you! I just really wanted to dance with you, is all!" The blond, blue-eyed man explained with a half-grin, leaving Trevor thoroughly aroused.

"Take your hands off me, you're—" Trevor retorted, cut off by the handsome stranger's sudden laughter.

The handsome stranger backed up, heading for the exit. "Okay, okay! I know when I'm not wanted!"

But before leaving, Trevor stopped him; something new inside him made him do it. "Wait! It's not you! It's me… this is just… this is all just new to me…" His heart raced, getting lost in the man's beautiful eyes and kissable lips. He was getting hornier, in dire need of the handsome stranger's touch. "I used to think I was against this… but now…"

"You're from a conservative upbringing, aren't you?" the man asked, knowing the answer full well.

"Yeah," Trevor nervously responded, sweating profusely.

"I'm only here because my straight friend didn't want to go here alone," the handsome stranger explained, stepping closer to Trevor. "But some friends and I plan on going to a gay club after this… you want to come?" The handsome stranger stepped closer, inches from Trevor's quivering face. He arched his head and lustfully whispered in Trevor's trembling ear: "I'm positive you and I will have a lot of fun together."

Without hesitation, Trevor grabbed the handsome stranger's face and kissed him hard, taken fully by his lust. Trevor felt alive for the first time in his life as their tongues thrashed and their hands thoroughly explored each other's bodies. After French kissing for a good five minutes, they finally unlocked their horny lips and gently pressed their foreheads together, smiling. They returned to the crowd with their fingers intertwined like lovers, both feeling as if hit by the lightning bolt of pure love and lust. By that moment, Trevor felt free. Something had changed inside him, and he accepted it wholeheartedly. Trevor was dragged by gayness, engulfed by it, and soon, his Internet persona was going to be much more fabulous.

Three months have passed since Trevor's transformation, and his life has completely changed—for the better, he'd happily say. Will, the handsome stranger Trevor met at the club, was now his boyfriend, and the two couldn't be happier together. He had a completely new online presence, full of gay joy and pride, and an audience even bigger than the last. He finally knew what it was like to be happy, to love others, and most importantly, to love himself.

#gay to straight #straight to gay #transformation #male transformation #male tf story #tf story

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callumsgirl · 2 months

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ONE SHOT

Hey fellas! ❤️

I just feel the need to share my first one shot i wrote about my two handsome majors.

These two feakin' hot men are driving me crazy and i can't stop thinking about a spefic fantasy that my brain created.

HOLD ON…and think of John and Buck dancing outside the bunks, hidden in the darkness of midnight, watching the stars and losing themselves in their emotions, because they both know that not all of them will make it back home after the upcoming mission in Bremen.

LOVING YOU IS A LOSING GAME

or: the night Bucky realizes that he loves Gale with his whole heart and took his chance to dance with his Buck. Maybe it would be the first and last time he could be so close to his secret lover.

It was a balmy spring evening in England. The sun had been setting for some time. It had been hours since the last rays of sunlight had bathed the sky in a bed of pink and orange, yet it seemed to Bucky that only a few minutes had passed since he had left Colonel Harding's office.

By this time tomorrow, a lot of good people could be dead.

Fugitive acquaintances, friends and comrades… but especially Buck. He squeezed his eyes shut and exhaled hard as a wave of pain and fear rippled through his body. His chest tightened and he gasped for air. Bucky couldn't remember ever being so scared. Not even on his first mission here, flying over Nazi-Germany and dropping bombs.

He struggled to control his breathing and the insidious fear that coursed through his veins. But he was only partially successful in bending his emotions and locking them in a cage.

From a distance he heard footsteps approaching. Bucky cursed under his breath, "Fuck…not now".

Agonized and with his breath still stuttering, he left the airfield, where he was sitting. His leg muscles were shaking and he wasn't sure if he would ever make it back to his bunk tonight.

Under the cover of darkness, he stretched out his right arm and felt for the door handle of the abandoned logistics hall. He had found it by chance during his first week in England, while out riding his bike. The first rays of sunlight had tempted him to explore the barracks weeks earlier.

Bucky opened the rusty door, slid through the slit and leaned back against the wall.

He listened and waited, his breathing still ragged. He rubbed his chest, hoping to relieve the tightness with his left hand. But nothing happened… his chest felt like someone was holding him too tightly. Not in a good, reassuring way. More like an attempt to free himself from the clutches of someone or something. In his case, it was fear and uncontrollable vulnerability that brought him to his knees.

He slid down to the floor with his back against the wall. His legs were shaking. He felt the familiar tingling sensation in his nose. He knew he couldn't hold back the tears that were welling up.

Bucky leaned the back of his head against the hard, cold wall and breathed in and out, in and out, shivering. He repeated this breathing several times and slowly but surely the pressure around his chest eased.

Still, he couldn't fight the burning sensation in his nose and his eyes began to sting and water. "Damn it… Buck," he sniffed and rubbed his face with the palms of his hands.

More minutes passed and all Bucky did was sit there on the floor and cry silently and somewhere in secret.

His thoughts were filled with Buck this, Buck that…damn Gale "Buck" Cleven.

This handsome, blond man constantly robbed him of any clear thoughts. With a single glance of his icy blue, beautiful eyes, Gale managed to distract him, to make him forget his worries…to forget himself and this cruel war.

And yet…it scared the hell out of Bucky to tell him the truth. His truth.

To admit that there was no way he could get on one of those planes tomorrow morning and drop bombs on Germany, because Bucky couldn't stand the nerve-wracking suspense of whether Buck would ever make it back to him.

Just thinking about never seeing Buck again tore at him. Never to see him smile or laugh again, never to smell his breath, and especially never to smell his indecently good-smelling, engaging aftershave when he buried his nose - just for a few fleeting seconds - in Bucky's neck and hugged him.

It would be Bucky's death, irrevocably. He was sure that nothing in the world could be worse for him than letting Buck get on that plane and not telling him the truth, the goddamned truth about how he felt.

Bucky closed his eyes and focused repeatedly on his breath when he noticed footsteps approaching him and his hideout again.

He pulled himself up and gasped softly. With swift hand movements he wiped the tears from his cheeks.

Before he could escape any further into the shadows of the warehouse, the heavy door opened again. Bucky held his breath and twitched as he drew a silhouette in the dark.

A shadow and footsteps that he would see anywhere and anytime. An invisible tension fell from him, even as his heartbeat accelerated. Stay cool, stay calm, he tells himself. It's just Buck.

His inner voice cursed wildly, just because it's Buck, we should run.

Bucky rolled his eyes. He couldn't help but smile when he heard Gale's familiar clearing in the silence.

"Bucky?" he asked. The rough, slightly smoky sound of his voice sent a shiver down John's spine. He was encouraged to laugh for the first time since he had felt so cramped and tearful. The mere thought of Gale sounding like a chain smoker made the corners of his mouth twitch.

"Are you in here. . . Lemmons mentioned seeing you here," he continued.

"I'm here," Bucky replied.

Then he heard footsteps again. This time they were moving away from him. Just as he was about to stop Gale from leaving. In the darkness, a familiar ringing sounded and the dim ceiling lights began to hum.

Gale still had his back to him when he muttered: "What the hell are you doing here alone? It's past midnight, Bucky. "

Buck was still in his uniform. The shirt was a little wrinkled now, the collar was loose, and the strands of his blond hair reflected wildly in the ceiling light.

"I've been thinking about some things," he confessed. "Some of the guys have to fly tomorrow. "

John sighed, probably too loudly and longingly, and Gale turned to him.

"That's what we're doing, Bucky," Gale replied, amused. "It's not the first time, and we want to drop as many bombs on them as we can."

Buck approached him and only two, maybe three steps away, it was Gale who was gasping for air.

Instantly John looked away from him. His cheeks were flushed. His ears seemed to steam. After all the time and the things they had been through together, Bucky couldn't remember ever crying in front of Buck.

"John. . . " Gale whispered. Strangely, he sounded as out of breath as Bucky felt. "What's the matter?"

Gale came closer, and he could smell the bitter lemon and the woodiness of his aftershave. He was shaken by a new wave of emotion and squeezed his eyes shut. Bucky aches to twist his fingers. His hands twitch, but he holds back.

He wasn't sure what to say: We have a new mission tomorrow. Some of the boys will die tomorrow. You could die tomorrow. . . I can't live without you. . . I love you.

But instead, John remained silent, which he usually didn't do.

Buck stepped closer, so close that he could feel his warm, minty breath. Again his fingertips twitched and his body tightened as Gale put a hand on his neck. Face to face, they were silent for a breath or two.

It's usually easy. It's a soft and a loose touch. The carefully orchestrated sloppiness of his movements pays off. But now John feels like he's on fire.

Then Gale asked again, "What's wrong? Don't make me ask Harding myself. " His voice tolerated no contradiction, yet John found himself in his touch. He felt vulnerable and . . naked.

Gale's fingertips began to draw soothing patterns on his skin. Bucky exhaled.

"There is a mission for tomorrow and not everyone will make it. " After all, it was the truth, if not the whole truth.

Suddenly he can't stand being in Gale's presence, and at the same time he can't be close enough.

It's a slow death for sure, wasting away on the bonfire of loving feelings and fear.

He moved far enough away from Gale to look at him. When their eyes met, he suddenly felt the urge to feel Gale's body.

He yanked him into a hug that made them both feel suffocated.

"Bucky," Buck whispered. "You're scaring me. "

John buried his face in the nape of Gale's neck and closed his arms a little tighter around Gale's chest. He breathed in the unmistakable scent of Buck and murmured against his skin: "I can't risk losing you up there tomorrow, Buck. You can't fly tomorrow. "

He felt Gale's body tense and tried to push John away, loosen the embrace and look at him. John shook his head gently. "Let me hold you, Buck. "

Buck sighed and began to draw patterns in Bucky's neck again. But this time he also had a sense of the fear that is slowly building up in his stomach.

"You won't lose me. " After that, there is only silence and Gale's uneven, hesitant breathing to matching Bucky's own.

"You can't promise me that."

"I know, i know...but don't count on it." That makes Bucky smiles a little. It has always been their thing since basic training.

Then John plucked up courage and said, "Can you do me a favor?"

"Anything", Gale replied immediately, then clears his throat. "What do you need, Bucky?" He looks straight at Bucky. Half his face obscured in shadows, the other pale in the dim light, a piercing sharpness in his gaze.

Bucky's heart falls. It stops, restarts, like his burning plane during his first mission before they managed to extinguish the fire.

"Dance with me. You still owe me a one."

"You know I can't dance, Bucky," Gale replied with a mischievous grin on his lips.

"Don't worry about it. I'll lead you."

There was silence between them for a few seconds, but then Gale exhaled slowly and let his warm hand slide from Bucky's neck to his cheek. "If that's what you need… I'll give it to you."

Goosebumps instantly spread up John's arms. He wanted to scream with joy.

There was so much tenderness and warmth in Gale's touch that John thought he had never been loved more. Even though he doubted that Gale felt the same way he did.

In his own way, Gale loved him, and Bucky would take every touch, every word he could get from Gale. Because he was a desperate man in love… No one, least of all Gale, could save him from being swallowed by the darkness, if Gale didn't make it back to him at some point.

So he took every opportunity to be close to Buck, and damn it, if a dance in the dark was all Gale was willing to give him, he'd take it.

That's it...my very first one shot. Do you like it? ❤️

Let me know if you have any tips oder ideas for other Scenes

(If i made any writing mistakes let me know. English is my second langauge and this was my very first try to write something like this in a foreign language)

xoxo callumsgirl

#mota fanfic #motaedit #buck x bucky #buck cleven #john egan #gale cleven #bucky egan #march 2024 #men loving men #emotions #one shot #slow burn #fluff #angst

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lancermylove · 9 months

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Lucifer's Scars (Scenario)

Fandom: Obey Me

Pairing: Lucifer x gn!Reader

Warning: Slightly suggestive, mentions of a violent event (spoilers from OG OM).

Prompt: You wake up in the middle of the night and see Lucifer's scars on his back.

A/N: Sorry this was late! I nearly got a heat stroke yesterday and couldn't function. 😭

Word Count: 769

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Your eyes slowly opened as you felt movement beside you. The only light in the room came from the flickering flames in the fireplace, but even then, you had to blink a few times to adjust your vision to the brightness. Out of your peripheral vision, you saw your boyfriend's silhouette and slowly turned your head to ask what happened. But what you saw made your mind and heart freeze. For the first time, you saw Lucifer shirtless, but his muscular bar was not what caught your attention. Your eyes stared at the two long, disfigured marks on his lower back.

"Hey, Asmo, do you know why Lucifer never removes his shirt? Even at the beach?"

Though your question was innocent, the fifth brother stayed silent as he fidgeted with the sleeve of his jacket while shifting his weight from one leg to another. Seeing that you were determined to get an answer, Asmo sighed heavily and whispered, "After we lost the war...Lucifer tore off all his wings in anger. Four wings grew back, but the bottom two never did."

'Was Satan the reason? Is Satan's boa a remnant of Lucifer's missing wings?'

As you slowly sat up, a wave of sadness washed over your thoughts. Just how much pain did Lucifer feel when he had torn off six wings from the roots. You shuttered at the thought of having a hairline fracture, but he ripped 6 bones clear from his body. A lump formed in your throat, but you did your best to push it back down into the pits of your stomach. Moving closer to him, you rested your head against his back and lightly brushed your fingers along his arm.

"I apologize for waking you."

His voice sounded drained from overworking and constantly dealing with his brothers' messes. For a moment, only the sound of crackles from the fireplace could be heard in the room until Lucifer's deep voice cut through the silence. "What's the matter? Are you alright?"

"Hm?" You hummed slightly at his question, wondering what he meant. "Why wouldn't I be?"

"I can hear a change in your voice. That particular change only occurs when you have just cried or are crying."

Surprised by his statement, you slightly lifted your head from his back and stared at the back of his head. Lucifer chuckled at your silence and added, "When I love someone with my heart, I can connect to their soul and notice every minuscule detail related to them. So, tell me, what is the matter?"

A silent sigh escaped your lips as you leaned the side of your head against his back again. How were you supposed to answer his question without forcing him to recall painful memories or bring up a sensitive topic? So, you chose to keep your lips zipped.

"Does your concern have to do with my scars?" His voice held no malice or anger, but you could tell he was unhappy discussing this topic. Lucifer felt your muscles tighten against his back and sighed heavily. "(Y/n), you have no reason to worry. The scars are merely there to remind me of the mistake I made out of anger and a constant reminder to control my answer. No, the scars do not hurt, nor do they bother me. If I had to return to my past, I would still choose the same path."

Your eyebrows furrowed upon hearing his last statement. "But why?"

"If I choose a different path, I would lose Satan." He said softly, but the hint of pain in his voice was evident as if Lucifer's mind had forced him to think of the unthinkable.

For a brief moment, your eyes widened, but your expression quickly relaxed into a gentle smile. Adjusting your position, you wrapped your arms around Lucifer from behind and planted a kiss on his upper back before whispering, "Spoken like a true father."

"Brother," he replied with a drop of irritation.

"Father," you giggled.

"Brother."

Despite hearing the warning tone in Lucifer's voice, you replied," Father."

"(Y/n), you are feeling rather awake. If you have the energy to argue with me, shall we spend your energy in a more...useful manner?" Your boyfriend turned his head, wondering if you picked up on his hint.

"More...useful manner?" You asked, confused.

Lucifer freed himself from your embrace and stood up wordlessly. In the next second, your back was pressed against the mattress while he hovered over you with a smirk. As your cheeks started to turn red, Lucifer leaned in for a kiss with the intention of not letting you sleep for a while.

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#obey me #obey me lucifer #lucifer x you #swd lucifer #nightbringer lucifer #om lucifer #lucifer x reader

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lilacmingi · 20 days

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CHANGE OF HEART

My works are 14+ ONLY. If you’re under 14 DO NOT interact with me or any of my works. Ageless blogs and blank blogs risk getting blocked

Pairing: Vampire!Jimin x human!fem reader

Word count: 2,380

Note: This one is just a little angsty and Jimin is a total jerk but he gets better. This imagine is from my Wattpad so there won’t be any extra parts or continuations

That monster has had you locked in this godforsaken room for at least three weeks. A room with no windows and a door that was constantly locked. The only time it was unlocked was when he came in.

You weren't allowed to go outside and all your meals were brought to you via your captor.

A dull, throbbing ache was still present in your neck from where he fed just the day before, the skin still tender where his razor-sharp fangs pierced your artery. Being bitten was something you never got used to; it hurt just as bad every time and the pain would persist and linger for days. He never gave you a break either and hardly gave you time to rest and recover. When he was thirsty, he would barge in and take what he wanted.

Every day was exactly the same and it was hard to tell just how much time had passed. At first you assumed three weeks, but you were beginning to think it had been closer to a month now.

You heard the sickeningly familiar click of the door being unlocked, your heart racing rapidly.

No. Not again. You thought.

It felt like he was just in the room two hours ago and with how often he fed, he very well could have been.

The door opened, revealing the deceivingly handsome, yet depraved man that was keeping you there. Park Jimin.

"Hi there, sweets." He grinned. "I'm thirsty."

You shook your head. "Please don't."

"You have no say in what happens." He strode towards your cowering form.

He chuckled at the way you scooted back towards the headboard, amused by your fear.

In the blink of an eye, he had you pinned to the mattress, hovering over you with a gleam in his eyes that slowly shifted from a warm brown to a sinister red.

The tips of his fingers caressed your neck as he brushed your hair away and leaned in.

"It still hurts." You whimpered, hoping he might postpone his feeding.

"Aw. Well then, I guess I'll bite somewhere else."

"No don't."

"Shh." He placed his finger over your lips to silence you while bringing his face closer to the side of your neck he hadn't bitten, stopping to take in your scent.

"Oh, you smell heavenly." He practically groaned.

You squirmed underneath him in a feeble attempt to free yourself, but his grip on your wrists only tightened, further reminding you that your strength was no match against his.

Jimin pressed a soft kiss to your neck before positioning his fangs on the surface of your skin. Your eyes squeezed shut in preparation for the stinging pain that followed not a second later.

An involuntary yelp was released from your mouth, which you were quick to snap shut. If you made too much noise, Jimin would often clamp his hand over your mouth to keep you quiet. As he fed, you tried your best not to move, if you did, the pain would be worse.

The sound of him gulping down your blood made your stomach churn. It was a sickening sound that you never got accustomed to. He was quite literally draining the life out of you.

Just before you could start feeling faint, Jimin pulled away, licking away any blood that clung to his lips as he stared down at you.

He must enjoy this. You thought. He probably takes pleasure in seeing me helpless like this.

He released your wrists and ran his thumb over the spot on your neck where he had just fed from, collecting the leftover blood that seeped out of the puncture marks. You winced at the uncomfortable and painful sensation, watching as he brought his thumb up to his mouth, licking the blood off.

"You're always so good for me, Y/n." He murmured before climbing off of you, exiting the room just as quickly as he arrived.

Even after he left, you didn't move a muscle, staring at the white ceiling trying to distract yourself from the throbbing pain in your neck that now accompanied the already existing ache on the opposite side.

This is what your life had been like for roughly a month. Jimin would come in and feed, leaving you to deal with the aftermath. Not once had he offered to bandage any of the bites he created.

How unlucky you must be to have ended up in such a miserable situation.

Jimin never disclosed any information as to why he brought you there. Just that he had been watching you and that he wanted you all to himself because your blood was the best he had ever tasted.

A shiver rattled your spine at the thought.

The only emotions you had felt since being shoved into this room was fear, anxiety, and longing.

On the bright side, you had a nice bed to sleep in, he fed you, gave you clothes to wear, and he let you bathe. It could be worse, you often reminded yourself. You could be locked in some dark, damp cell with no clothes and no bathing privileges. Though being locked in this room all day every day wasn't exactly enjoyable. Not to mention how often Jimin barged in to feed off you.

You sighed, sliding your eyelids closed while leaning to rest against the headboard. The same sentence that played in your head like a broken record made it's way to the forefront of your mind once again.

I want to leave.

The sound of the door opening caused you to flinch, snapping your eyes open and jerking your head in the direction of the room's entrance. Jimin walked in holding a plate of food and a glass of water.

"You've gotta keep your strength up." He placed the food on the bedside table and turned to leave.

"Jimin?" You asked meekly, the sound of his name coming from you mouth making you feel nauseous.

"Hm?"

"Why are you keeping me here?"

"I already told you. You have the most delicious blood I've ever tasted. I need you."

"You don't need me." You shook your head. "I want to return to my life."

"You really want to leave me?" His voice lowered.

"Yes. I want my life back."

"This is your life!" He snapped. "Do you know how good you have it here? I take care of you! I put you in this nice bedroom and I bring you meals! The least you can do is be complacent."

Fed up and sick of being scared all the time, being treated like nothing but a blood bag, you stood up from the bed.

"You think you take care of me, but you keep me locked in here all the time! I can't roam around the house or even go outside! I'm miserable, Jimin!" You retorted. "Not to mention you feed off me at least once a day! My body can't handle it!"

"You ungrateful brat." He hissed. "I've given you so much and you're still not thankful."

"What's there to be thankful for?" You snapped back.

The look on his face was petrifying. He was so engraged that his eyes were turning a darker shade of red, almost black. He took a few steps towards you, but you backed away, afraid of what he might do if he got his hands on you.

"How bold of you, Y/n. Yelling at a vampire like that." He grabbed your wrist, jerking you towards him while leaning in close to your ear and speaking in a low growl, "Are you aware of what I'm capable of? I could snap your neck or drain you dry like that." He snapped his fingers. "So, if I were you, I'd be grateful for what I have and not complain about it."

With that, he released your wrist and turned on his heel, storming out of the room.

You dropped down onto the edge of the bed, afraid that your knees would buckle due to the rush of adrenaline and anxiety that coursed through your veins. A tear fell down your cheek as you nursed your wrist, which was burning from Jimin's inhuman grip.

"I'm never getting out of here." You sobbed.

So much for trying to stand up for yourself.

Part of you wished he had just killed you. Maybe if you had pushed him a little more, he would get so angry he'd snap. Then you'd be free from this nightmare.

Feeling a whole new level of despair and hopelessness, you cried, which was something you hadn't done much of since being tossed in this room. You let it all out, crying until you became tired and somehow fell asleep.

The sound of the door creaking open was what pulled you from your tear-induced slumber. Your first instinct was to try and get away, until you saw Jimin's appearance, that is. He had his head lowered, slowly walking into the room.

"What do you want?" You asked sitting up, your eyes puffy and still burning from all the crying.

"I thought about what you said." He spoke quietly. "You deserve to have some freedom. I'm treating you like an animal by keeping you locked in here all the time. I know it doesn't mean much, but I'm sorry."

You only stared at him, not sure what to think about his apology and if there was any genuine sincerity behind it.

"Do you want to go for a walk?" He asked when he received no responses from you.

"I guess." You slowly got out of bed, slipped on your shoes, and followed him out of the room for the first time ever.

When you were first brought here, you didn't get a chance to see the rest of the house. It was surprisingly cozy for a home that belonged to a vampire.

You kept some distance between yourself and Jimin as he led you through the living room and out the front door, seeing the outside for the first time in what felt like forever.

The house was secluded with no other structures in sight; not even a road, just a concrete driveway leading to the abode.

You followed your captor through the front yard, watching the green leaves fluttering in the breeze, gazing at them in wonder as if it was your first time ever seeing the foliage.

Not a single word was said during your stroll in the front yard. You merely kept to yourself and took in the fresh air, following behind Jimin until he led you around the house to the backyard. You let out a quiet gasp when you were met with the breathtaking sight of rose bushes planted about the spacious area.

You glanced over at Jimin, hoping he didn't catch your unintentional reaction. His expression was still somber, his hands shoved in his pockets while his eyes were cast to the ground looking absolutely pitiful.

"Hey."

You reached out to nudge him, but before you could, he grabbed your hand. You flinched instinctively, wincing at the soreness in your wrist. He glanced down at the spot where he had grabbed your wrist earlier, a noticeable mark splotching the skin.

"Did I do that to you?"

You swallowed.

He dropped your hand. "I really am a monster. I don't know why I've been treating you so terribly. I was human once. I should know better than to treat you like a blood bag."

Jimin never wanted to become a monster, but now he could see himself turning into one. Giving into his cravings and feeding on you whenever he pleased, kidnapping you, treating you as a lesser person just because you were, what, human? He was human. He knew how it felt to be bitten and drained within an inch of your life. After all, that's exactly what happened before he was turned.

He released a drawn-out sigh, trying to gather his thoughts. "I like you. At first I only followed you because you caught my eye, but you smelled so good, I thought I could bring you here and have you all to myself while keeping you away from any other vampires that might've come along. It was the wrong thing to do. I was being selfish and letting the inhuman side of me take over." He paused. "I was beginning to regret bringing you here, but I knew you couldn't leave, not after everything you've seen and experienced. So, I tried to keep you scared so you wouldn't run away."

The air went completely still as you processed his words, your face showing no emotion whatsoever.

He liked you? That's why he locked you away? And he was mean because he didn't want you to leave?

You shook your head. "That's messed up."

"I know." He lowered his head. "I meant what I said earlier. I really am sorry. If you want to leave, you're free to go."

Your feet didn't move.

He was giving you the opportunity to walk out and here you are standing still when you could be running towards freedom.

Something about Jimin's apology struck you, and as much as you disliked him, you also felt sorry for him in a way.

When he saw you hadn't moved yet, he lifted his head.

"Go." He told you. "I said you could leave."

You pressed your lips together, internally kicking yourself for being so stupid and sympathetic.

"Why are you still here?" He questioned.

You released a reluctant sigh. "I can't fully accept your apology and I most certainly can't say that I return your feelings."

He nodded. "I understand."

"It's going to take time, and I mean a lot of time, for trust to be built, but I don't totally hate you."

"You don't?"

"Unfortunately no. At least not after the apology."

"So... you'll stay?" He asked almost hesitantly.

"No."

His shoulders slumped.

"I would still like to go back to my own home and return to my life. However, you can still be in it."

His eyes became brighter at that. "Thank you."

Jimin stepped towards you to embrace you in a hug, but thought better of it and retracted. "I'll do everything in my power to earn your full trust. I promise."

Jungkook ♱ Yoongi ♱ Taehyung ♱ Namjoon ♱ Hoseok ♱ Jin

Masterlist ᝰ — enjoyed this imagine? reblogs & comments are very much appreciated!

DO NOT steal, plagiarize, copy, repost, alter, or translate my works in any way

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#park jimin x reader #jimin x reader #park jimin x you #jimin x you #park jimin x y/n #jimin x y/n #jimin vampire au #bts vampire au #bts imagines #bts oneshot #bts scenarios #kpop imagines #kpop oneshots #kpop scenarios

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im-outofideas · 1 year

Text

it’s not so bad here

fandom: criminal minds

w/c: 2155

pairing: platonic BAU (mostly prentiss and morgan), spencer reid

summary: perspective of spencer: on the jet ride home after a long case. The team is so tired they get a lil silly. fluff + minimum angst I mean it is spencer’s brain.

a/n: this is quite literally my first time for everything, my first time using tumblr and my first ever fanfiction. i had a lot of fun so perhaps expect more maybe?? I want to thank the amazing @nhasablogg for being the biggest inspiration and just so cool honestly. they helped a lot with this work and have just been the kindest person ever!!! anyway pls read the following with all this☝️in mind.

~~~~~~

Spencer never really got used to flying. The team was currently thirty-six-thousand-eight-hundred-sixty-four feet above what Spencer assumed (or more accurately, calculated) would be Tennessee based on flight patterns from Dallas to Quantico and the amount of time they’ve been in air for. Which was roughly three hours, forty-five minutes, six seconds. Seven. Eight. They had about three more hours to go.

The pressure was building in Spencer’s ears and he grimaced, swallowing hard in an attempt to pop them. He always felt a pang of anxiety whenever any pain came to his head, as his memory would replay his mother’s cries for relief during bad episodes.

There was one night when Spencer was eleven, experiencing his first true migraine after finishing his college applications. It was one of the few times Spencer remembered his mother taking care of him instead of the other way around, she was almost completely lucid. His fear was much stronger then, and while he was a boy-genius, his brain was still biologically too immature to handle it.

“I’m dying, mom.” The corners of his eyes wet with tears. His mother smiled at him. It wasn’t often that Spencer behaved his age like this.

“No baby, your head is just too full, and your skull is too small to contain it. The pain is just your head expanding, working to grow and stay ahead of your thoughts.”

“Actually, your brain can’t be too big for your skull. There’s just a blood vessel swelling, and that’s putting pressure on the surrounding nerves which is making the muscles around my skull tighten and causing…” he groaned in frustrated pain. His mother stroked his hair soothingly.

“Would you listen to your mother for once, Spencer? Just go to sleep, you can’t feel the world in your sleep, you know. Go somewhere other than this reality, where your head isn’t constantly working. Relieve some of that pressure... It’s too stressful here, isn’t it?” A far too familiar distant look crossed her eyes for a moment. He rushed to retrieve her.

“Mom.. would you stay with me tonight?”

She returned her son’s gaze. “Of course, I’m not going anywhere.”

His pain seeped out with every stroke, as if his mother’s fingers were magically sucking it out from his skin. As he fell asleep, he found that she was right. He didn’t feel anything. It was like traveling through time.

—————

The case in Texas was particularly rough. Over the past five days, the team got maybe a total of eight hours of rest each. And as far as successes go, they’ve gotten better wins. As a headache creeped up on Spencer, he kicked off his shoes and curled up on the jet couch for a nap. He fell asleep pretty quickly, ready to skip through the headache until he was in Virginia again.

But a funny sensation on his right foot caused his leg to jerk in. I thought I couldn’t feel the world in my sleep. He stirred to see Prentiss standing at the end of the couch.

“I like your socks, Reid.” She said, before wiggling her fingers over his left pink-and-purple striped sock.

“Hey!” He pulled his other leg in and smushed it against the cushion to smother the feeling. He checked his watch, the jet couldn’t be landing already? “What’d you wake me up for?”

“I couldn’t help myself. Purple’s my favorite color.” She grinned at his reaction, before it faded into a frown. “Hang on, now that you’re up though, how come you always get the full couch to sleep on?” Morgan leaned over from his seat, invested in the conversation.

“Thank you. I’ve been meaning to say something about that bull.” He craned his neck, exaggerating the pain of sleeping upright.

“Reid is the youngest,” Hotch said from out of nowhere, neither against him nor in his defense. Spencer hadn’t even noticed him watching. Had they all been watching him sleep? Rossi continued for Hotch, “I suppose he assumed he got first rights to the couch for being born last. And you all let him.”

Hotch went back to the paperwork in his lap, diligent even while running on no sleep. “No, what about Ashley Seaver? She was younger than Reid,” he said. Definitely against him.

“And he still took the couch. Like a gentleman,” said Rossi.

Suddenly, Spencer felt very ganged up on.

“Is that right?” Morgan squinted at Spencer as if he stole something precious from him.

“I don’t think that’s fair,” Prentiss said. “We can’t let him get away with this anymore.”

At first, he was confused by the rare playfulness of his coworkers, especially from Hotch adding to the banter after the crazy, long week. Then he realized; everyone was sleep deprived and filled with a goofy, delirious energy. And while they weren’t able to catch the unsub, they were able to return a young girl back to her family - traumatized, but albeit unharmed - something they saw far too little of. The feeling left everyone more fuzzy than anything, it outweighed the disappointment of losing the unsub. Reuniting a family always strengthened his own, Spencer thought. Perhaps that fuzziness and fatigue was expunging all the professionalism they maintained while the case was ongoing.

And now Spencer - who was just sleeping soundly on the couch that everyone was hungry for - was beginning to feel that fuzziness himself. He faced his back towards his team as he pulled his cover up to his chin and closed his eyes.

“If you wanted it, you should’ve gotten to it first.”

At that, he heard Morgan rise and make his way toward the couch. The blanket was ripped off him dramatically. He kept his eyes closed and opened his mouth to snore lightly. His snore lasted half a second before the sound was abruptly cut off, immediately snapping his mouth shut in a toothy grimace and slamming his elbow down to his side.

“Get your ass up, Reid,”

“No.” He buried his face into the back of the couch, trying to hide his smile as if the way his elbow followed each of Morgan’s delivered pokes didn’t give him away. Reid stiffened a bit more, he focused on schooling his reactions and moving less. If he started laughing, there was no way they would stop, probably even after he gave up what they wanted.

“C‘mon, it’s time to wake up.” His resolve began to crumble when Morgan tasered both sides of his ribs. “Share with the rest of us.”

“Ahhh-ha! Stop!” He huffed out a laugh before holding his breath to stop himself. His face quickly flushed as he wiggled on the couch.

“You know, everyone else sits during the whole flight. As a courtesy to the rest of the team. Except for you-” He accentuated by digging into his ribs again, causing another yelp and laugh to slip. “-who’s just sleeping here like a baby. What’s up with that?”

“Derek-“

“Hmm?”

He couldn’t speak.

“Aww, what’s the matter, Reid? You’re not ticklish, are you?” Prentiss cooed as if nobody could tell he would be just by looking at him.

That’s all it took to crack him. Once the hysterical laughter began he couldn’t stop it. Like a defense mechanism, his brain started working in overdrive to apply logic to best overcome this assault. It took no time to figure out he could never physically stop Morgan; in terms of strength he was far outmatched.

Well, tickling is essentially the body’s response to unpredictable stimuli, so theoretically he could dull the sensations by predicting the attacks. He could trick his brain into believing he was tickling himself. He applied it in a fraction of a second.

All he did was swat at Morgan’s hands in an awkwardly gentle manner, unable to take hold of them. It really did absolutely nothing. Spencer wondered if he were one of the few who could tickle himself.

Before he could think of another solution, Prentiss grabbed one of his arms and hoisted it up above his head.

“No no no, wait wait doN’T-“

Being able to predict was proven a completely worthless tactic. Morgan tickled under his arm and he screamed. His ears finally popped and he could hear the sounds of his own bright laughter at its true pitch. His defense mechanism was shot, as if Morgan’s fingers were sucking out any ability to form a useful thought.

“Oh my god, how’d an eagle get so high up here?” Prentiss teased before breaking down herself.

Spencer wailed and curled his legs in protectively. When that did nothing, he kicked and pulled down at his arm. When that did nothing, he fell back in a whiny giggle in an attempt to garner their sympathy. That did nothing but encourage them.

“Hotch!”

Hotch finished his note, glanced very briefly at his team before returning to his work with the slightest of smiles. Spencer felt betrayed. Supervisory special agent my AAHHAA-

“Oh oh, what’s going on? It sounds like fun, let me see,” JJ turned the laptop over to show Garcia what was happening: Spencer flopping red in the face with Morgan practically sitting on him, Prentiss crouching - legs wobbly from her own laughter - behind Spencer’s head, still holding onto his arm.

“Oh geez, Spencer. How did I not know you were ticklish! Because of course you are. What did he do to deserve this? Did he cheat at Go Fish again?”

Upon seeing Garcia’s grin and his own disheveled form mirrored back at him, Spencer felt embarrassed. If anyone was going to make this a recurring experience, it would be her. He wasn’t totally against the idea, which made him blush furiously harder.

“Okay, okayokay! Y-you can have the couch. I don’t want it. I don’t want it!” Prentiss let go and Spencer squirmed out of Morgan’s grasp, falling to the floor of the jet. He stayed there catching his breath in high-pitched giggles, bewildered by what just happened. He wiped his eyes and looked up at Hotch and Rossi, who stared down at him with immense amusement.

“Thanks for the help guys,” he exhaled, exhausted. They both shook their heads with fond smiles.

“I trusted my agents could handle an internal conflict on their own,” Hotch said.

“You mean manhandle..”

He looked to Morgan, who was settling comfortably on the couch with Reid’s blanket, Prentiss cuddling next to him. He rubbed his sides and looked down at the ground, defeated.

“There’s plenty of room for all of us, big guy,” Prentiss offered her hand, inviting him to the couch. Spencer took it with a smile and sat down awkwardly with his hands resting on his thighs. She draped the blanket over the three of them.

“I’m sorry for being a couch hog.”

“I’m sure you are,” Prentiss snickered.

“It’s alright, Reid, you seem like you always need the sleep. We were just having fun. Did we go too far?” Morgan asked sincerely, arm around Emily and hand on Reid’s shoulder.

“Nah.. I-I had fun too. I mean, I haven’t laughed that hard in a while. I don’t think you guys have either actually.”

“Yeah, well, you did look really funny.” Prentiss said.

Spencer nudged her with a smile, earning him a poke which he quickly followed with a soft noooo don’t.

Morgan scratched the side of his head, mostly to teasingly get his attention. But it felt nice. “Start preparing for a lot more of that.”

“Hmm.. my mom used to do this for me.”

“Tickle you?”

“Uh, no. Stroke my hair. Whenever I got a bad headache, she would tell me to sleep, and then she would pet me until I did.”

“Do you have a headache now?”

“Earlier, a little.”

Without saying any more, Morgan patted down his (now) short hair before stroking up and down soothingly.

“Like that?”

Spencer slumped over and began fake-snoring. Morgan withdrew his hand and sat up a little straighter, which immediately woke him back up “I’m kidding I’m kidding I’m kidding please just- keep doing what you were doing.” They returned to their original positions after Morgan shot him a warning look.

Prentiss rested her head on his shoulder. He leaned his own head back against the couch and allowed himself to relax. The reality of Emily being there with all of them suddenly hit him. Countless nights he begged for her death to be reversed, to be a hoax. To be replaced even. Back then he wished to go to another reality, somewhere without the pressure and the stress, somewhere he couldn’t feel the world. But now, how lucky was he for her to be returned, for her to be truly safe and sound and laughing with them again? He would rather be nowhere else.

He checked his watch, there was two hours left of the flight. The three of them fell asleep very quickly, but rather than try to skip through time, Spencer savored the moment.

#tickle fluff #tickle fic #ticklish Spencer Reid #criminal minds #first fanfic #be gentle #am i tagging this right #tickling #spencer reid #emily prentiss #derek morgan #ticklish!reid

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passive-poet · 7 days

Text

Trolls fic teaser from my notes app??? (post BroZone reunion, disabled floyd, multi-pov)

TW!!! extreme whump, self-harm, intrusive thoughts, body shaming, implied eating disorder/body dysmorphia

Branch was worried.

Worry was no stranger to the faded blue troll, but this wasn’t the usual anxiety present in his day-to-day life. He’d double and triple checked the village’s defence systems, went through his ration supply for expired items, and even stole a glance at Poppy’s calendar to make sure he wasn’t forgetting some ultra mega important holiday (although there are so many). Branch wasn’t worried about a what, he was worried about a who.

Three days after the BroZone Reunion concert, Floyd started acting weird. Sure, a lot has changed in 20 years; Branch has no right to assume he knows what Floyd’s ‘normal’ is. Yet, there was someone that felt wrong about the pink-haired brother’s demeanour compared to the last few days. The usual softness of his eyes was replaced by a cold exhaustion, and he would suppress a grimace every time he sat, or stretched, or did…anything, really.

Branch wasn’t the best with words — that Lady Glittersparkles incident was an act of God. Whenever it came down to voicing his own feelings and concerns, his vocal chords always seemed to tighten up while his brain turns to goo. So it’s no surprise that Floyd’s response to Branch’s worrying wasn’t the warmest…

~~~

Floyd was fucking pissed.

He didn’t know who or what he was mad at. Maybe his mind, for waking him (and everyone else) up from his night terrors; or his captors, for being the ones who inflicted that kind of trauma; or his body, for failing him and constantly aching.

Or he could have be mad at himself for blowing up at Branch. Sweet baby Branch, who isn’t much of a baby anymore. Branch, who always wanted to help. Branch, who Floyd left in favour of a stupid solo career-

He slammed his head against his knees, the sharp pain welcomed. This, this was the only hurt he was able to control. The short intensity of it was so soothingly different to the constant dull ache that consumed his entire being.

More.

Shame tugged at Floyd’s gut. This isn’t how you solve problems, logically he knew that. But the idea was persistent, worming its way throughout his mind.

MOREMOREMOREMOREMORE-

“FLOYD SNAP OUT OF IT!!”

[insert Bruce & Clay’s pov here, I don’t have enough energy right now]

Reality came rushing back. He could feel himself in a familiar warm embrace. He’s still on the floor of his room, but his arms and torso were being restrained. There’s blood on the floor. His blood.

Blue eyes stared concernedly into his own. Floyd’s eyes flickered up to see shocking green hair — Clay’s hair.

But if Clay’s looking at him, then who?…

“Hey buddy, you back with us yet?” Asked SpBruce, his comforting baritone caused Floyd’s muscles to unclench, leaning into the feeling of safety his older brother brought.

Still a little dazed, he tried to ask what happened, but his throat felt like he swallowed a thousand tiny knives, his head pounded violently, and overall he felt like he’d been run over by a catterbus. He started to feel warm, yet all of his (admittedly weak) attempts to push off the older man were rendered useless.

Bruce tightened his hold, “Nope, I’m not letting go until I know you’re not a danger to yourself.”

“Yeah bro, it was scary seeing you hurt yourself like that,” Clay chimed in, wringing his hands together while he stared at the crimson that stained the previously green rug.

Shame rushed through Floyd’s body and his chest tightened. Why the hell did he do that?? Now his brothers are worried, and it’s all his fault. Stupid stupid stupid!! You just can’t have a single good thing without ruining it for yourself, huh?

“Clay, go get the first aid kit?” Bruce asked softly, breaking Floyd out of his spiral. But with Clay out of the way, all the purple haired troll’s attention was on the younger brother. “Floyd…what happened? I’m not going to be mad, I just need to know so I- so we can help you.”

Floyd refused to make look into his brother’s eyes. He assumed something like care or love were in those eyes, but he dare not look. There was still that mistrusting part of him, the one that’s controlled his life decisions for the past 20 years, that whispered in his ear that the only emotions held in Bruce’s eyes were ones of disgust and worst of all — pity.

So, he did what he does best. He tried to push the bigger troll away.

“Floyd I’m not gonna let go-“

“Fuck. OFF!!” Floyd snarled, struggling against his well-meaning captor.

“Just go away back to your perfect fucking life!!”

Shove

“It’s not like you ever gave a damn about any of us before!!”

Shove

“All you ever cared about were girls and your looks!!”

Shove

“Well you fell off old man!! You fat fucking bitch!!!”

Floyd tipped over, almost falling flat on his face. He turned to look at Bruce’s face, and was met with that expression: Disgust. Pity.

Bruce’s voice wavered, “I know you’re hurting right now, and I’m trying to keep that in mind. But if you want to push me away, then wish granted. Talk to me later when you figure this shit out; I need to be alone for a while.”

As he watched his brother walk away, he knew that he went too far. He knew it as soon as those idiotic, cruel words left his lips. But somehow he couldn’t find the will to apologise. This is what he wanted, right?

Bruce stopped at the doorway, looking back just enough to make the heartbroken expression on his face visible.

“I love you, little bro. See ya around.”

And that was when Floyd broke.

#dw trolls #my fic #ao3 #ao3 fanfic #dw trolls fic #disabled floyd trolls #dreamworks trolls #floyd trolls #brozone #trolls angst #trolls hurt no comfort #ollie originals

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typically-untypical · 5 months

Text

Second In Command

AU: Mob AU

CW: Guns, Blood, Injury, non main character death

WC: 2,735

Date: 12/5/2023

"Chill out Logan," Roman laughed. "You're always so serious, it wouldn't hurt you to rest for a bit."

Logan could feel his blood pressure raising, the muscles in his jaw tightening. "Are you aware of what happens when I chill out? If I am not constantly on alert who will clean up after the rest of you. It's not as if I'm the only one who seems concerned by the evidence the three of you leave behind or the people who are out to get the three of you." This is how it had been for the past hour, Roman, Virgil, and Patton were celebrating a recent victory and they had been teasing him about loosening up and partying with them, but that wasn't his job. His job was to protect them. His job was to make sure no one came near them. Sure they were in a safe house and there shouldn't be anything happening, but there was a deep seated need in Logan's heart to watch out for the three of them.

At least there had been, but he had been pushed to his limit tonight. "I'm going for a walk." Logan walked over to the coat rack, pulling his off and looking at the other three that were piled on the floor. He didn't need to be reminded that he was the only one who cleaned up in both a literal and figurative sense.

He tapped his hip, making sure his gun was still there and was easily hidden under his long peacoat before walking out of the door and slamming it. How many times had Roman told him to chill out just tonight? How many times had Patton told him to relax? Or Virgil told him he was being a bit up tight and needed to loosen up. Didn't they understand? He couldn't, not if he was going to continue to protect them.

Logan needed to breathe; he needed to let go of the anger that was pulling at his strings. He stood in the crisp air, taking slow deep breaths in hopes to calm himself down. He just needed time. He just needed to sort himself out. Why had it affected him tonight more than other nights? Was it because he had spent the whole night watching the three of them cuddle and tease each other?

Something snapped and Logan felt the weight shift in his body. No longer did he feel the tenseness in his shoulders and hands, but instead his throat and eyes.

He was hurt.

It seemed like none of them understood the extent of what he did. They didn't realize why he was always so serious. They didn't know he would sacrifice everything for them, even his sanity. Rubbing his face, Logan let his feet lead him. Their organization wasn't a completely legitimate, but Logan did everything he could to keep the four of them off of the feds radar. He balanced books, he forged paperwork, he did what needed to be done to keep all of them safe. He didn't want Roman, Virgil, and Patton to get hurt. He didn't want to lose them, but sometimes Logan was reminded, in the most painful of ways, that they didn't care for him as deeply as he cared for them. How strange it was to be so close to the people he loved and yet just far enough that he would never be able to reach them; to be in their shadow, always just a fraction behind. Logan's hand itched to reach out for something, anything that would help him blow off steam, anything to ebb the echoing anger, frustration and pain. Eventually, he pulled out a pack of gum and threw a stick in his mouth.

He had been a smoker at one time, easing the pain in his mind with smoke in his lungs, but Patton had looked so distraught the first time he caught Logan smoking, as if it hadn't been obvious by the smell of his clothes. His big eyes welled up with tears and he had asked... nay, demanded, Logan stop smoking immediately. Logan had picked up chewing gum instead. Going cold turkey had sucked, but the praise had been worth every second.

How disappointed would Patton look now if he went back on his promise? Especially since it would only been a temporary relief. He shoved his hands in his pocket, looking up to the starless sky, the lights hidden by the city's pollution. Logan was going to have to go back and apologize soon. It wasn't their fault he snapped. They were under no obligation to love him back, and one of these days they were going to get fed up with his temper. He was their second, he was their shadow and it was his job to follow and obey. He was their puppet, and they could pull his strings however they wanted. He could shove his feelings down in his chest. He'd return. Everything would go back to normal. He knew this. They knew this. It was only a momentary blip, a bubbling anger they had most likely expected from him. They were far too understanding with him sometimes.

Logan flopped onto a park bench, spreading his legs so he could rest his elbows on his knees. He hid his face in his hands, long fingers spread along his cheeks. They weren't required to love him or even to treat him well. It wasn't their job to love nor his to be loved. He wouldn't want fake platitudes anyway. He had fallen in love with their hearts and souls. He had fallen in love with the monsters underneath. He had fallen in love with their cruelty. They hadn't seen the same spark in him. They saw a friend, and that was fine.

He was going to forgive them, he was going to go back to them, it was inevitable. Logan just needed to rearrange his brain. He needed to remind himself where he belonged.

"Oh look who it is, the dog."

Logan looked up, face falling into a grimace as he immediately set his shoulders back and sat up tall. He should have been more careful. He should have been listening to his surroundings, fuck. He shouldn't have sat out in the open, not where he was so indefensible. This is what the three of them did to him. This is what happened when he let go.

"Wonder what the heads will pay to get you back." There were five of them total but only one was talking. The others leered at Logan like he was prey. He could probably shoot the man in front of him, but not before he was shot in return. A fire fight in the middle of the park wasn't ideal and he was drastically outnumbered.

"You're gonna ditch your gun and come with us." Logan didn't let his face change as he tried to figure out his options. The other times he had stormed away, he had always come back by morning and the three had never gone looking for him. He didn't want to be a burden to them financially or otherwise but he also knew he was more valuable to them alive. He stood up, slowly reaching for his gun and setting it on the bench.

"You realize they won't come," He bluffed, knowing very well they would. They might not love him in the way he loved them, but they needed him. They would come, and they would come with guns blazing. That was going to be so much for Logan to clean up.

"Yeah right," The other man snorted. "The three of them love you, they rely on you, rumor is your next to be entered into their hoard."

Logan responded with a snort of his own that bubbled into a full roaring laughter. "Me? Love me?" He asked, eyes suddenly wild, because something truly had broken in him. This man didn't know what the fuck he was talking about and who was he to give Logan false hope? "Your ability to gather intel is inept and the fact that you were only able to sneak up on me because I was at a low point makes you a sad excuse of a man. How long were you planning this? Did you see me alone in this park and throw together a squad." He stepped forward, looking deep into the other man's eyes. He brought his gun up toward Logan, finger tight on the trigger but the flood gates had opened. Logan was pissed that people were spreading rumors about his bosses. How dare they think Logan was worthy of their love. He wasn't even on their level. "What you don't understand is they might rely on me, but I am replicable. I am but a bishop on their chessboard, not even worthy of being turned into a queen." Logan reached out to take the man's gun. He heard the shot, felt the piercing in his arm but the pain didn't come. He must have been angrier than he thought.

"You, on the other hand, don't even belong on the board."

"Boss, what do we do?!" One of the other men called. This must have really been a slapped together excursion. Normally, a properly thought out plan, would include an escape, and also some basic instructions for unpredictable situations. Logan didn't want to give the other man time to respond though and, with his uninjured arm, he struck the man in the nose. His swear in response wasn't loud enough to cover the sound of bodies hitting the ground, and both he and Logan looked back at the other men. All four had crumpled to the ground in pools of their own blood, clean shots through their foreheads. Logan knew that style and his head immediately shot back toward the direction he had come from. There were two figures walking slowly toward them, illuminated by the street lamps.

Patton and Roman, which meant the sniper was definitely Virgil. Why were they here? They never came looking for him when he was throwing one of his tantrums. It was an unspoken rule that he would come back as soon as he had gotten himself back in order and they would continue as if nothing had happened. Why were they here now?

Logan looked back at the other bodies, made easier by the man with the gun spinning him toward the approaching figures and pressing cold steal to his temple. The anger was fading into surprise and with it his adrenaline began to dump, making the pain in Logan's arm suddenly come alive. He took in a shaky breath and let it out slowly. Controlling his breathing was the best option until he could treat his wound.

"Logie, you weren't smoking again, were you?" Patton asked, as if Logan didn't currently have a gun pressed to his head.

Spitting out his gum as proof, Logan shook his head before being grabbed tighter. The man behind him was saying something but literally none of it registered in Logan's brain. "No, of course not."

The smile on Patton's face was blinding, his hands clasped behind his back as he tilted his head. "I'm so proud of you." It almost made it all worth it, even the pain in his arm. was it obvious he was hurt? He did have a dark suit on, could they see the bullet wound through the dark fabric in this light? Logan was also certain he had a burn from the gun, he had been in such close proximity.

Roman cleared his throat. "As commendable as it is that Logan didn't fall back on bad habits, I believe we might have more important matters to attend to. Logan, darling, are you alright?" Roman asked, taking a step forward and for the first time in a bit, Logan registered what the man behind him was saying.

"Take another step and I'll shoot."

Logan was being held too close, Virgil wouldn't be able to get a clean shot, and with his arm injured he probably shouldn't try to escape. Either he was going to get hurt further, something Roman and Patton would never let him live down, or he'd get killed. At least he wouldn't have to worry about the teasing in that scenario.

"Do you really think that's a wise idea, kiddo? You aren't surviving this either way, but if you let him go, we'll make sure your death is quick. However, if you hurt even a hair on his head-" Patton's face shifted and Logan felt his knees going weak. He was like sunshine incarnate, but much like the sun, he could burn when he wanted to and Logan was happy to melt under that heat.

"You'll let me walk away. You won't risk him getting hurt further."

"Further?" Roman growled and something flashed across Patton's eyes. Roman put his finger to his ear. "No kill shots. He's already hurt L."

They had it handled. This was what they did best. Logan just needed to give them room to work. HE was going to have to risk the humiliation.

Despite the pain in his arm from where he had been shot, Logan spread his legs out in a quick motion, tossing the other man over his shoulder. The pain was blinding and at some point he also hit the ground. It must have been enough though, Patton was by his side when his vision cleared and he was tending to Logan's wound.

"Oh honey. He got you good didn't you, and with that move I'm sure you made it worse." The adrenaline was wearing off, the pain was shouting louder but he just nodded at Patton, closing his eyes. There was a tightness in his throat from not screaming and he was a feeling a bit woozy. Logan didn't want to show it. He wasn't meant to have weakness in front of them.

"I apologize for creating an inconvenience." Roman was on the phone calling in a clean up crew, good. He normally forgot that part. Virgil had to be running to meet them already. They needed to get out, but Patton was running a hand through his hair.

"Now hush," he whispered. "We all have a lot of things to apologize for but needing our help isn't one of them." As soon as Logan seemed to be relaxing, Patton's hand left his hair and the bandages were pulled tighter on Logan's arm. He took in a sharp breath as spots filled his vision.

"I'm sorry for yelling as well."

"Didn't I tell you to hush?" Patton asked quietly, leaning forward and giving Logan a light peck on the lips. "We have a lot to discuss. We obviously haven't been showing you how much you mean to us. We'll discuss that later. For now, just know, we would do anything for you."

Logan was overwhelmed, it sounded like a love confession. He knew it wasn't there was no way this was a love confession. The pain was just making him delusional.

"Pat! Is he alright?" Virgil was here. They were together. Maybe Logan could let go, just a little bit.

"He'll be fine but he's lost a lot of blood. We should get him home to rest."

"Alright, Ro's hands are full with the other guy. Let me carry him back."

"You didn't need-" Logan tried to push himself and immediately fell. Shit, he had lost more blood than he thought, and nothing was keeping him awake anymore. He was fading so fast. "You didn't need to-"

"Shut up, specs." Virgil's voice was a gentle whisper and Logan felt himself being pulled closer, scooped up into a bridal carry. "We will always come after you if you're in trouble. We need you after all. Everything you said was true. You keep us together. So don't leave, okay?" He asked quietly and all Logan could do was weakly nod.

This all felt like a dream. Maybe he had actually died with the shoulder roll. He was too tired to worry about it. Instead, Logan closed his eyes and let himself be whisked away. When he woke up, things would be back to normal. He would do his job like he always did. He would protect them.

Just for tonight. Only for tonight.

He would let them protect him.

@tsspromptmonth

#TSS Rare Gifts Event 2023 #Untypical Creations #Sanders Sides #Sanders Side fic #Fanfic #Patton Sanders #Virgil Sanders #Logan Sanders #Roman Sanders #LAMP #mob au #cw blood #cw weapon #cw violence

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anamelessfool · 1 year

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Resurrection

There is something called "music" on Earth...

The @petrifyingpapas Challenge Week 1 Prompt: Resurrection

Reader & Papa Emeritus (Any), Nameless Ghouls

Rated T for general espookiness. I used the lore from my own AU to write this. (PS It was fun!)

Shoutout to my ghesties @historian-crown and @monkberryghouldelight

Find my stuff on AO3 (18+ MDNI)

The Void held Nothing. The Void held you. You have always existed here, swaying softly in the oily blackness like weeds below the seas of Earth, tumbled by the tides. At times memories, feelings, connections dart past you and within you. Your siblings connect across the infinite space with you, swapping stories, jokes, and laughter through means that only your kind understand.

You know about Earth. Your siblings, once they returned to the swaying energies of the Void, would share their memories with you. Birds were a popular topic of interest— creatures that flew through what is called air, singing songs and fluttering on wings of every color imaginable. There is something called the Sun there, which holds a bright and healing warmth, and something called a Moon that changes her face and touches you in the darkness with a silvery light. Both are apparently wonderful. But music…music is something you have heard about constantly but are eager to experience. There is something called music on Earth, and with music comes the thrill of letting it flow within a space, leaving its inhabitants forever changed.

There is suddenly something before you within the Void, a pinprick of light. It reminds you that you have eyes. You blink them now, slightly blinded by this new sensation of seeing something. The pinprick of light dilates into a circular sign of intriguing complexity. Waves of excitement dart through the webs of connection you share with others of your kind. There is joy and anticipation, congratulations and smatterings of advice.

You recognize the symbol before you immediately. It is your symbol, and yours alone. It hovers above a square of perfectly soft golden light, a beacon for you. Someone is calling out to you, drawing you close to them.

You will yourself towards the symbol, towards the light, and you arrive as soon as you desired to move. The square of light undulates softly, like the surface of water. Your curiosity gets the better of you and you slowly push your head into the space, the energy yielding around you.

At first you see eyes before you, and you feel a jolt of fear. One eye is blue, like yours, and the other is a pale white that you recognize immediately. You know that this eye was a Gift from the Void, bestowed on this figure with great reverence and ceremony. When you look into this eye, you feel the comfort of your Home. Your fear dissipates.

The figure holds out their hand to you, and you grasp it with your fingers— when did you yourself receive hands? But before you can focus your worries on that you feel his grip tighten and he begins to pull. You have the instinctual need to push yourself further out the opening. You wrap your new arms around his solid body, holding him tight. He pulls his arms in turn around you, walking backwards, guiding you out from the portal. At last a clawed foot, your foot, touches the marble tile floor. One foot, and then the other. Still clinging to him, you take your first steps in this place called Earth. He helps you sit gently down onto the floor. Your limbs are rubbery, weak.

You feel your first unpleasant sensation. A pain that pricks your skin like a thousand little needles. Your muscles shake and wobble. You bring your new arms weakly up across your chest, feeling your new heart beat within your chest.

“Come now, tesoro, your body is cold.” His voice is kind and welcoming. You feel a soothing warmth as he wraps a robe around you, clothing you. Your siblings had mentioned that something called “clothing” was necessary in this place. He is kneeling before you and you can study him more carefully with your new sense of sight.

His face is painted in a depiction of a fierce skull that in some ways contradicts the kindliness of his eyes. He is dressed in vestments that have been described to you by the others with reverence and love. He is a figure that has been imprinted on the brains of your kind for over two thousand Earth years. He is, indeed, Papa Emeritus, and you out of all the others have been chosen by him. Now you understand their excitement and their joy for you.

“Welcome, my ghoul, you have arrived.” He smiles gently, looking deep into your eyes. You smile back behind your mask, and although he cannot see your expression, he can feel your relief and devotion radiate from all around you.

WHAT WILL I BECOME? You ask him, hanging your thoughts in his mind. You do not have the means to have a true voice that flows through the air. You know can ask him anything, and that he will understand and respond with kindness and understanding.

He reaches out a hand and rests it on the top of sculpted metal of your mask. The sensation of touch is intoxicating. You close your eyes, luxuriating in the moment like a satisfied cat. He strokes your head gently, affectionately, and your thrill deepens into a wonderful glow that expands throughout the whole space.

“A star,” Papa says to you. “A musician.” He lets out a pleasant chuckle. “And damn good one!”

Find my stuff on AO3 (18+ MDNI)

#ghost fandom #ghost band #fanfic #nameless ghouls #namelessghoulettes #petrifyingpapas #ao3 author

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draconic-ichor · 2 years

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Rut

Elden Ring fic

Smut dabble

Morgott/female tarnished

Warnings: strong language, sexual themes, breeding, rut cycles, penetrative sex, cream pie, grinding, biting, blood, knotting,

Summary: Morgott goes into his first run since becoming the Lady’s consort

Feedback appreciated, 18+. This is pure filth

I’m not sorry

Part 2

Morgott blinked open his good eye, sitting up into the dawn light. He felt strange, something coiling around his gut. He recognized it almost instantly, the itch of need crawling up his spine. It only got worse as days passed. He was coming upon his rut…

He’d been through this countless times, knew it would happen sooner or later. He could handle it, he kept telling himself over and over. He wasn’t a youth anymore, not so easily a slave to his hormones.

Just to be safe, he asked the Lady to avoid sharing his bed. If he kept himself busy and away from her Ladyship he should be fine. He told himself, at least.

The morning his rut fully sat in he woke feeling terribly restless. His muscles trembled under his skin and his cock strained at an annoying half mast almost constantly.

He steeled himself, wanting to district with work. His body pulsed with a deep ache, his mind constantly going back to his pretty little wife. The curves of her body and warmth of her core…

Morgott swallowed thickly, finding a thick piece of leather to chew. His robes hid his shame, even though he’d instructed most staff to just stay out of his wing of the castle.

Most of the day went well, that is until he crossed paths with the one person he was actively avoiding. He hadn’t told her the reason for his reclusion. So when she passed him in the halls she gave him the same bright smile she always did.

Her smell him like a brick wall, Morgott stiffening and used every fiber of his being to quell his boiling blood. But then the Lady touched him, a light fleeting touch of the arm as she passed.

But that was it, the damn of his resolve burst open. All of his careful planning and composure went out the window.

Morgott all but scooped up the Lady Tarnished, dragging her off to his chambers.

He sat her down, turning to lock the heavy door with shaking hands. He instantly started to shuck his robes off his shoulders.

Very unused to seeing him initiate sex, but not wanting to look a gift horse in the mouth, she followed his lead and began to strip off her dress.

Her back was too him, but the second she was bare he pounced on her, pushing her down onto the bed.

He squished her flat against the bed, rooting into her as he sniffed her. She didn’t fight him, ever mailable in his hands, a giggle at his antics even.

He buried his face into the nape of her neck, breathing deep her scent. It made that dull ache a throb.

Morgott growled into her skin, body tightening. Her playfulness faltered, fully realizing the difference in his demeanor.

His cock was ridged, red and dripping, as he ground it against her ass. She glanced back at him, seeing his pupil dilated. He pushed her back down, hips bucking a bit, smearing pre over her lower back.

He licked a stripe up her spine, making her back arch and drawing a shaking gasp from her throat.

He pulled back slightly, angled his hips downwards, then snapped forward. He speared into her, the tarnished crying out. She clawed at the sheets as he rolled his hips backwards. His cock was becoming soaked with her slick, making his intrusion easier. With every inch he worked into her he growled out under his breath, “Mine.”

The pain started to give way to pleasure as he fucked her in earnest.

The tarnished felt his hips slam into her ass. Where they usually would have thoughtful love making this was different entirely. This was desperate fucking. Something deep inside of her enjoyed it, being used and dominated. Feeling her husband finally give in to his primal desires.

He drew more mewls from her, bending down to cover her shoulders and neck with sloppy kisses.

“Ah…yes.” He moaned, low and gravely, into her skin. She felt him still, body as taught as a bowstring but only for a fleeting moment.

His grip brushing he bit into her shoulder, popping skin as he flooded her womb.

The tarnished cried out a mixture of pleasure and pain, walls milking his cock.

He huffed out around clamped teeth, giving a few more deliberate thrusts, spending himself fully.

He lay down, holding her close as they caught their breath. The Lady felt his large hands caress her distended stomach, feeling up her sides softly.

She was used to this routine: they would cuddle for a bit, his cock would slowly go soft, knot would be gently pulled free then they wound be done for the night.

That little dance of aftercare was normal, expected even.

So when his knot allowed freedom but his cock was still rigid it gave the Lady pause. She looked at Morgott curiously as he pulled free of her, only to pull her flush against his chest once more.

He lifted her leg over his hip, lining himself back up with her messy opening.

“W-Wait.” She mewled, clinging to him.

“I need thee.” His voice held a hint of desperation, eye blown out almost to blackness.

Everything suddenly became clear to her, pieces fitting together in her pleasure fogged mind. “A-Are you in rut?” She asked.

Morgott gave a shallow nod, mouth slightly open to take needed air. Before she could ask anymore his hips snapped forward, sinking most of his cock into her in one fluid motion.

Morgott pushed up into a sitting position, turning the tarnished on his lap to face him. She was completely flushed, reaching up to kiss him. He accepted eagerly, hungrily. Her fingers found his horns, blunt nails scratching about their base and rubbing circles along their ridges with her thumbs. It made a breathy moan escape him, pulsing against her walls.

He set a feral pace, churning his previous seed up inside of her and pushing it ever deeper. The lewdness of the act, coupled with the loud squelching, made her head spin. Morgott grabbed her ass, lifting her up to then let gravity spear her back down his cock. He set a fast pace, grunting every time their hips met.

The tarnished hung on, scrabbling for purchase about his broad shoulders. She’d never seen this side of him, the only mindless need. The manner he was absolutely using her in the most primal way made her cunt clench around his length.

He was relentless, chasing relief and released.

It took two good days for his rut to fully be sated, his mind mercifully clearing. He sobered off his lust filled high. The bedchamber was a mess: claw marks in the wooden bed frame, sheets completely ruined.

His poor little Lady tarnished was exhausted, body sore. He was flooded with a wave of guilt, worrying about her for days afterwards. She wasn’t cross with him, far from it.

The Lady went about her duties shining even brighten than normal that week, albeit with a limp.

#elden ring smut #spicy dabbles #smut fanfiction #morgott #morgott/tarnished #morgott the omen king/tarnished #tarnished oc

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danceylancey · 1 year

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Edit: I ended up just writing it out ^^^

Werewolf Lance who needs meat in order to survive. When their first given the green goop he eats it up only because his Mama told him to never refuse food. But it taste like nothing in his mouth and feels like he’s reverse vomiting when he swallows, but he says nothing. People know werewolves exist, but that doesn’t mean their excepted. He’d rather hold off and wait to see how people react when wolves are bought up in conversation. Hunk is the only one who knows and is constantly sending him worried looks but Lance has long learnt how to give a assuring smile to his anxious friend. It’s a week into their time in space that Lance realises that there is no meat at all. The Alteans seemed to be a vegetarian species or at least not hold much value in meats. That night he sneaks out and finds a weird looking creature that walks on all fours and growls a shrilly sounds. He rips into it with teeth and nails, blue-ish blood getting on his clothes but he couldn’t care less. The meat is tangy sure, but it’s meat. He continues to go out twice a week to get his fix, being careful not to be seen by the other inhabitants of the planet so they won’t tattle on him. If Hunk figures out what he’s doing, he says nothing. It’s when they go to the market that Lance almost moans at the sight of a fresh, full and feed cow. He nearly starts eating it right then and there, which he would of if not for Pidge distracting him in time. When he gets back, Cow in hand, he’s planning a way to make her ‘disappear’ or have some kind of accident so he can have real, proper meat. He’s getting sick of the left over food he hid in his room, Jerky is only good for so long. Then Hunk, beautiful and thoughtful Hunk, reveals he bought almost a whole crate of Meat with Corans help. Lance cuddles up to Hunk the whole night, subtly scenting him and avoiding the urge to break into tears. But of course, one problem being solved only leaves room for more to show up. It’s a big misconception that Werewolves are forced to shift on a full moon, but that is really a suggestion more than anything. Wolves should shift at least once a month in order to keep a balance between their human instinct and their more supernatural one. Lance hasn’t shifted since the Castle turned into a spaceship. The four months were damn near painful for him, not just because he had to avoid growling and whimpering like a weirdo, but because it physically hurt. His whole body was begging to shift, bones aching and skin itching like crazy. He eventually shifts one night in his sleep and it’s pure damn luck that Hunk is the one to find him and to help but him a hour or two so he can shift back. It normally would only take a few minutes but he’s reluctant and wants to keep his second form for a little longer. It all comes to light when Pidge is hurt. Their on a dry planet with little glowing bugs when Pidge is shot in the arm. Even with some shifting at night in his room, Lance’s instinct is still the main thing directing him through day to day. So, when someone in his “Pack” is hurt and all can hear is their screams? Lance shifts so fast he rips apart his gear and uniform. He’s at least four feet taller when he shifts and his bones and joint all pop and stretch, muscle tightening and skin burning as a thin layer of fur sprouts all over him. Normally he’d be bothered by the itching in his face as it grows and his teeth become sharp and stab into his gums, but this time he’s too busy crunching down on a Galra Soldiers head to care. He rips through droids and flesh as he charges across half the planet to reach Pidge. He’s using his nose to find her, eyes blurring as he takes apart an entire army with one goal in mind. When he reaches Pidge, Hunk is already there and standing over them with his weapon drawn. Lance takes out the dozen or so soldiers in the room and pushes past Hunk to get to Pidge, sniffing all over them as he checks their wound. Pidge is staring in fear until Hunk says something to him, calling him by his name but Lance can’t hear him.

#lance mcclain #lance centric #werewolf lance #non binary Pidge

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benjaminkanstrup19 · 2 years

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How to Get Over the Anxiety of Flying instructions 4 Steps to Consider in a Heated Panic!

To realize how to get over the fear of flying you must first of all purchase fear by itself then ask on your own what creates of which fear. In other words, precisely what is it regarding the anxiety about flying that scares an individual? In many situations its helpful to be able to create a checklist. You want to be able to increase understanding. In that case you can "face it and get started to erase this! " The worry regarding flying or aviophobia in its many simplistic definition simply means the fear associated with being over an aircraft in flight. There may be much more to a phobia just like this than only being scared regarding flying planes however. It goes significantly deeper. This specific phobia is generally created by a mix of other major phobias. Here is some sort of list of some other phobias that generally directly contribute in order to the fear regarding flying. Lets commence with the best a couple of major contributing fears - claustrophobia- anxiety of closed areas w/ limited completely - acrophobia- fear of heights Here are one other fears that will also often contribute in order to the fear associated with flying. -fear associated with vomiting & action sickness -fear involving panic attacks in selected parts of issues the plane where escape can be difficult -fear of terrorism, harassment, or kidnapping -fear of turbulent flow -fear of flying over water -fear of night soaring -fear of a crash -fear of limited resources during being pregnant or other problems -fear of certainly not being in charge just about all together -fear involving embarrassment -fear associated with social anxiety and even frustration Identifying which one of these sub-categories scares you most in comparison with your anxiety. By doing this you usually are making a list of in which your brain is focused negatively so a person can be prepared to handle your mind while learning how in order to get over the fear of flying. Now, here are many of the health symptoms that typically concern those along with aviophobia Tense Muscle tissue Shortness of Breath Chest discomfort and/or heart heart palpitations Stomach pains Excessive sweating, dizziness, weakness in addition to nausea Shakiness Now identify which involving these symptoms concerns you the the majority of. If it's helpful a person may number them according to concern or intensity in your mind. Now that you have identified your sub-categories of phobias in addition to symptoms that add to your irrational fear associated with flying, you can study just how to overcome the barriers. What to Look For When You Buy Computers will need some time to fully beat but there will be some steps you can take inside the meantime have to you fall into the panic. How to be able to get above the fear of flying anxiety! #1 Tell your self that you will certainly be ok. Point out to yourself you constantly get through your stress and phobia signs and symptoms and this situation will certainly be no distinct. #2 Ask just what you are many scared of in that moment and narrow it down several like we performed earlier. By identifying your true fears, you can exercise some conscious manage over them. #3 Allow you to anxiety! You didn't see this suggestion arriving did you? What I really would like you to do is usually simply justify the own fear in order to yourself without tightening yourself. We have a tendency to panic when we don't let ourselves to get upset. It's FINE to be stressed. Say to your self, "I am permitted to be scared" I give myself personally permission. This can launch you from unnecessary tension. #4 Become involved in an activity an individual enjoy. Doing these will certainly teach you exactly how to get within the fear of traveling panic scenario but you may still need considerably a lot more help if this sounds really a big fear to suit your needs. You require to eliminate that fear long phrase. For a complete guidebook to eliminate this particular fear permanently as a result you don't possess to worry about this ever again go to http://www.squidoo.com/How-To-Get-Over-The-Fear-Of-Flying. There you can obtain a total guide that's already been tested and may aid you release typically the fears that may well be deeply rooted. It will totally teach you how to get above the fear of traveling for good. By experiencing our fears directly, we empower the future of existence. By procrastinating each of our fears and concealing from them we only enable them to grow and creep on all of us unexpectedly.

#What to Look For When You Buy Computers #click here #more info #here #read more #website #get more info #check here

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martensenritter0 · 2 years

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Why Great For You . Get A Visa Bank Card

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ddarker-dreams · 2 years

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game over / scarlet ribbons bad ends.

note: since i structure scarlet ribbons like an otome, it makes sense to include what the bad end for the boys routes would be, no? i decided to only do giorno, bruno, fugo and mista for now, but i plan on adding narancia/abbacchio’s bad ends eventually ! warnings: fem reader, yandere themes, unhealthy relationships, implied depression (for giorno’s), not sfw implications, pregnancy mention, tampering with birth control (for bruno’s), violent thoughts, mentions of religion (for fugo’s), coercion and threats (for mista’s).

>...would you like to try again from your last save?

First Circle: Limbo.

It isn’t your imagination, you decide. Nighttime is decidedly eerie. Your senses are dialed up to eleven, eyes constantly scanning your dilapidated surroundings for signs of danger. There’s nothing but headlights and street lamps and flickering convenience store signs. You take a deep breath, mentally going over your plan, as it was the only factor keeping you tethered to reality at this point. There’s a good chance it is.

The taxi driver is supposed to pick you up at 11 PM sharp. He’s been bribed in advance and swore not to utter a word of it to anyone. You paid for your plane ticket in cash after checking over your shoulder nonstop to ensure you weren’t being trailed. This would work. It had to work — an opening in the chaos following Passione’s drastic shift in leadership.

Your grip on your suitcase tightens.

This isn’t how you wanted your time in Naples to draw to a close. Leaving without uttering a word of it to anyone, to save the last shreds of your heart that were left. Abbacchio, Narancia, and Bruno were gone. Fugo was too, in a different way, scuttering off to someplace out of reach in his shame. It was too raw being here, the pain near debilitating at times.

That’s why you have to go. Your friends who still draw breath might think less of you for it, but you’re past the point of caring.

Or so you thought.

An arm lazily slings itself around your shoulder and you feel a barrel press against your lower back.

“Hey there, pretty girl. Going somewhere?”

Your immediate instinct is to summon your Stand, fully prepared to pummel the interloper who encroached on your personal space. However, there’s something familiar about this person, familiar enough that you grind your reflexes to a screeching halt. Craning your neck to the side, you note the distinct pattern of Guido Mista’s hat. Your taut muscles relax at the familiar sight and he gives a lopsided grin.

“Christ, Mista, you scared the daylights out of me!”

The gunslinger hums. The lack of banter makes you gulp. It’d been days since you saw him last — not from a lack of trying on his part. He’d called almost nonstop, left more voicemails than you cared to count, and even stopped by your apartment to knock on the door. You’d turn the lights off to project the illusion that you weren’t home. Guilt weighed down on your soul like anchors, yet you couldn’t bring yourself to face him. Not when you were planning to leave everything behind.

Everything, including him.

“Mind explaining what this is about?”

You thought you’d feel better once he spoke up again, an idea that was dismissed as soon as it came. There’s no liveliness in his tone; the trademark zest that you had come to associate with him over the years is gone, replaced by a shallow husk. The night is tepid and still you shiver.

“I… was just thinking about taking a vacation,” you’re aware this in-the-moment lie is hardly convincing, and Mista probably knows it too.

“A vacation, huh,” he plays along for a second that seems to drag on forever, “A vacation that had you pack everything in your apartment up and buying a one-way plane ticket home?”

There aren’t any real arguments you can make, so you don’t bother trying. The two of you stand just like that, both trying to get a read on each other, not daring to move or utter a single syllable. Then, he sighs. You feel his warm breath fanning against the back of your neck. His grip on your relaxes, though he doesn’t move his arm, as if he thought you’d disappear in a puff of smoke if he did.

He pulls you into a one-sided embrace. “Don’t go. [First]. I can’t have you leaving me too.”

Not sure what else to do, you bring a shaky hand up to his toned arm, splaying your fingers across his skin. He’s trembling, you notice.

“I have to. I can’t— can’t stand to be here anymore, not with them gone,” a lump in your throat forms. “I’m sorry.”

He chuckles, the sound weak and devoid of humor. “So that’s how it has to be, huh?”

The streetlamp overhead flickers.

“Well. I’m sorry too, girlie.”

Suddenly, you’re acutely aware of the gun barrel pressed against your back. You had almost forgotten about that in the midst of everything else. A click resonates behind you as he takes the safety off. Your blood runs cold and your eyes widen — there’s no way he would…?

“This would look real bad to Giorno if I were to report it. Running off without a word to the states with all you know about Passione,” Mista nudges you with the barrel once. “You of all people should know the type of business we’re in. People have been killed for less.”

You bite your lower lip hard enough to draw blood. “Mista… are you actually... threatening me?”

“That’s a crude way of putting it, sure. I’d like to say I’m bringing you to your senses.”

Guido Mista, who would lend you his leftovers without complaint, marathon old movies so long as you were the one to suggest them, who let you use his shoulder as a pillow on long car rides back from jobs; that Guido Mista is holding a gun to you with the resolve to shoot. You want to write it off as a bluff. A nightmare, a prank in bad taste, anything but him being genuine.

Heartbreak comes in more forms than one, you suppose.

He does eventually stick his gun back into his boot, though his tight grip on you never falters.

“How ‘bout we head back now? We can put this all behind us. Things’ll go back to how they used to be.”

If only either of you believed that to be true.

Second Circle: Lust.

Bruno noticed your ring finger had been bare as of late.

It wasn’t like you gave no explanation for the predicament. Tears that he longed to wipe away would gather in your pretty eyes, dripping down the expanse of your blotchy cheeks, as you sniffled and pleaded for him to see reason in a scenario that never called for it. He never understood that. He’s perfectly reasonable — it’s you who has been acting out. Not him, never him. But that’s okay, his love for you is unwavering.

And oh, does he love you.

Yes, it stung, like drops of caustic acid dropped directly over his heart. Controlling, you would call him. Saying that he had no right to restrict your freedoms, that he was your fiancé now, not your Capo. It brought him no pleasure to enforce these rules on you. The world you lived in was a dangerous one, with gnashing teeth that’d sink and tear right through your flesh. A world where children were forced to join the mob to protect their fathers, where drugs flooded the streets and wreaked havoc in every life they touched, a world where mothers could choose to up and leave one day simply because they were bored.

Bruno opens the medicine cabinet in your shared bathroom and scans over the contents. He finds the box he was looking for, crinkled from frequent use, then sets out to work.

He could see it now, unfolding in his subconscious like a play with acts closely knitted together. The idyllic life that he sought and deserved. It would be on an evening much like this. He’d turn off his car, place the keys in his pocket, then begin the trek up the driveway to his slice of heaven. Work had drained him that day, as it always did. That mattered little when you greeted him at the door. A smile on your face, countenance softening upon your husband’s return. You’d rush to embrace him — apologizing for any flour on your apron that may have rubbed off onto his suit — a gripe he’d easily dismiss.

You would think to ask about his day, then change your mind upon noting his fatigue. Instead, you tell him about yours, mindful to keep your voice light so as not to worsen the pounding in his head. The latest book to have caught your interest, how your flowers were due to bloom any day now. He’d soak up your every word like a sponge. His home smelled of the bay’s salt water, your floral perfume, and the brick oven margherita pizza you had finished putting together right before he pulled in.

After dinner’s conclusion, he would secure two crystal wine glasses from the cupboard. While you patted down the dishes with a rag, he’d sneak up behind you, eliciting a gasp from your perfectly kissable lips.

“Dinner was delicious,” he’d whisper, then nibble the edge of your earlobe, his hands settling on your waist journeying further south, “Might I ask what you have planned for dessert?”

His goal to fluster you would prove successful. Chuckling at your endearing reaction, he’d then redirect his attention at the nerve clearing of your throat.

“Actually… I don’t think I’ll be able to enjoy wine tonight, or for any time in the near future.”

His heart would pound and twist and leap in his chest. This is the moment he’d been waiting for. He’d know your admission before you speak it, having sensed it, as if your souls coalesced and temporarily became one. You're pregnant, you would tell him. The family life he always wanted but was robbed of is finally within reach. You were the key to unlocking this fairytale ending. In that instance, he’d become the happiest man on earth.

The mirage fades away.

He’s himself again, staring back at his reflection, having just finished his grim task. It wasn’t an easy decision. He flushes the tablets in his hand away, hoping some guilt might disappear alongside it. It’s not like he wanted to go behind your back. You were being unreasonable, presenting him with no other option then to become the bad guy. It’s for the sake of his future family, he reassured himself. Meddling with your birth control was the first step in his plan to keep you with him.

The box was returned to its regular spot, showing no signs of tampering. You’ll be none the wiser to his little parlor trick. Somewhere down the line, you had forgotten how much he’d been there for you, providing for you at every chance and asking for nothing in return. This is just the debt collector taking his due. This would be the chance for you to come and rely on him again.

Bruno noticed that your ring finger has been bare as of late, but it won’t be that way much longer.

Fourth Circle: Greed.

Today, Giorno brought you a brand new pair of ballet slippers.

You could tell it was made from expensive material, boasting a price tag that’d likely have sent your eyes bulging from your head had you ever encountered it while browsing Naples’ many boutiques years ago. The magic slipper slides perfectly onto your feet by his prompting. Not too tight, not too loose. He compliments your handiwork as you crisscross the ribbons to hold it in place, pleased that you’re enjoying his gift. Your happiness is his happiness, he’d often tell you.

“I have more surprises in store for you,” he informs. Giorno offers a hand to help you up, gentleman that he is, then leads you to a limousine waiting patiently for you both outside.

The chauffer never looks at you. You don’t think he has the courage to.

On the car ride over, Giorno attempts to entertain conversation with you, to mixed success. Your mind is clearly somewhere else, so he eventually leaves you alone. The last pair of ballet slippers you wore were nowhere near as nice as these, you think. Hand-me-downs from your cousin who happened to dabble in the art then give up on it just as quickly. You treasured them though, kept up with their maintenance, while secretly envying your affluent classmates who were able to afford much prettier pointe shoes that must not have left calluses on their feet.

What would they think if they could see you now, tied down to the most powerful man in Italy?

With the nature of his Stand taken into consideration, it might be more accurate to describe him as the most powerful man in the world itself.

It’s sunset by the time you arrive at your apparent destination. You’re unable to gauge the exact location of just where this is, since by the time the bumpy country roads gave way to smooth, well-kept pavement, Giorno insisted on tying a blindfold around your eyes. He treats you with the utmost care. Apologizing for having to move your hair from its place to secure the ribbon, then smoothing it back out with all the tenderness Eros bestowed upon Psyche while he loved her into the night.

You hear the songs of new birds in the distance, far different from the cries you came to know at the secret Eden Giorno stashed you away in.

It’s a whirlwind after that. You’re swept away, Giorno serving as your guiding hand, assisting in navigation through the unknown territory. By the unnatural chill on your skin, you surmise you’re inside an air-conditioned building. The rest of your senses cannot assist in gauging more than that.

“And here we are,” Giorno removes your blindfold, the cloth fluttering to the ground, forgotten. “My gift for you.”

Teatro di San Carlo — the theater your younger self dreamed of one day performing in — stands before you in all its glory. Rich, velvet curtains hang from the many boxes dotting along the room, golden embellishments line the tall walls, whose ceiling boasts a fresco painting depicting men and angels floating in clouds.

Was this reality? You couldn’t be certain.

The life you once lived felt so far away now, like you were gazing at it from underwater. What remains in your memory is little more than a shifting blur. Once, you were an aspiring ballet dancer, then a member of Passione, and after that… was Giorno. Your new past, present, and future. He took the reins to your life then never handed them back.

At some point, you register he’s left you on the stage. Not alone, oh no, never alone; the spotlight shining directly in your face does not blind you that much. Wherever you are, he never strays far.

It begins softly, as most things do. The thrum of violins. Then the wistful, yet foolishly hopeful oboe melody, its vibrato rending your heart in half. The Enchanted Lake suite from Swan Lake. Your body moves on its own accord, limbs shifting to match the rhythm, though they might not be as agile as they once were.

“You’ve always told me about your dreams, Giorno, so allow me to tell you mine.” You said those words to him once, then whispered the desires of your soul, hand-delivering them to the devil who disguised himself as a god. “I long to play Odette in the ballet Swan Lake in Italy’s most prestigious theater.”

You used to practice into the unholy hours of the night. Until your feet bled and your bones weighed down with fatigue. Even then, you continued your plight, continued to dedicate yourself to a dream whose fruition would become wholly dependent upon another.

You’re little more than a marionette whose strings are wound tightly around his finger.

If you close your eyes, pretend you’ve been transported elsewhere, to a universe that was kinder, you can imagine otherwise. To a timeline where after Giorno overtook Passione, he allowed you to pursue your career. It’s Friday night. There have been butterflies in your stomach all week leading up to the grand premiere. Your fellow castmates go through their various rituals to calm their nerves backstage. The curtains rise. You are happy, you are where you’re meant to be, you are free—

The prerecorded song comes to its natural conclusion.

There’s no decrescendo from the orchestra winding down, nor thunderous applause that threatens to burst your eardrums. All there is, and ever will be, is Giorno. Seated in the front row, his attention settling nowhere else than upon your figure, illuminated on the stage. His legs crossed, lips forming a closed-mouth smile. Once he’s certain you’ve finished your performance, he claps, the lone sound reverberating throughout the desolate auditorium and your skull.

You performed on the stage you yearned for your entire life. However, you never could’ve imagined the audience would consisted of one man, and a litany of empty seats occupied solely by phantoms beside him.

Fifth Circle: Anger.

The bells are especially loud today.

Fugo tugs at his collar for what must be the umpteenth time. He’s renting the suit, having not seen the point in putting out the ridiculous money necessary to own it himself, yet he’s starting to wonder if they got his order right. He didn’t cheap out enough to request polyester instead of wool. So why won’t his skin stop itching? It’s almost as if maggots had dug beneath his epidermis. Writhing, multiplying.

He bounces his foot up and down, earning dirty looks from the surrounding congregants in the process. Wooden pews are as uncomfortable as he remembered, if not more so. His parents never made him attend church often, as it’d detract from his time dedicated to studying. There were still appearances to be maintained, however. They’d attend mass at least twice a year, both times, coincidentally, ended up becoming his least favorite dates on the calendar. Pasqua and Natale meant sitting through hours of rites, dusty hymn books, organs that creaked, whined, and groaned. A priest prattling on and on about a book that hadn’t changed while the world around it did. Wine that always tasted too sour for his palate.

He hated it. He hated being here.

Why is he here again?

The miserable stillness is replaced by something infinitely worse.

Everyone rises to their feet. The organ plays a melody, the sound heavy, though the meaning behind it is light. Doors open — muted oohs and aahs following soon after — then a beautiful woman begins the trek down the aisle. She’s easily the prettiest woman in the room, Fugo thinks. It’s not even close. An angel incarnate, lovelier than anything da Vinci or Raphael could concoct.

Still, that doesn’t answer the pressing question of why he is here. Why he is standing, either, as if his body had moved on his own accord to avoid public scrutiny. The bride gets closer and closer, gliding like a specter in the night. He’s seen her before, hasn’t he? He’s almost certain of it.

It isn’t until he makes eye contact with the bride that it hits him. Everything comes flooding back at once, a dam broke loose, water filling his lungs and choking him in the process.

That’s right — that’s you. You wearing an assembly of whites, meticulously tailored to your body, with lace finishings and a veil trailing behind you long enough to reach the door multiple meters away. It’s your wedding that he’s attending. Fugo had often entertained the thought of what your wedding might be like. The bouquet you’d pick, how you’d style your hair, those silly little ponderings that led nowhere yet were always his favorite fantasies.

What he never thought, however, was that you’d be marrying someone else. Someone who isn’t him. Passione’s new Don, a beacon of hope, was to be your groom; whereas Fugo was smothered in unsightly darkness and discarded like a forgotten toy.

Could this be his divine punishment for abandoning his team at San Giorgio Maggiore?

Purple Haze howls within him. A monster barely contained, its chains threatening to shatter at any second. He could, theoretically, unleash his Stand upon the blissfully ignorant congregation here to observe the Don of Passione’s big day. Leave a trail of rotting innards and vocal cords too frayed to scream in his wake. The scent of burning flesh mixed with dissolving bodily fluid would permeate the air, overtaking the sickeningly sweet incense and vases of flowers gifted by Giorno’s many allies that currently dominate his senses.

It’s possible that he’d be caught up in the diseases’ path of destruction, not that he’d mind at this point. Not when he’s living a life permanently separated from you. For a time, he was able to handle this, considering it his atonement for being a coward all those years prior. No longer can he think that way.

He’ll do it. He’ll really do it, Purple Haze could manifest right now, annihilate everyone, and then—

You smile at him.

Ah. His heart stops and so does his last-minute plan. Fingers twitch by his side, then ball together into tight fist, fingernails puncturing his skin. He might be subjugated to damnation, but that doesn’t mean you should be as well. The first love of his youth, the one he’s certain he’d adore until he was wrinkled and made immobile by time’s passage, if he were to ever live that long.

He remembers your blissful teenage years together. Your annoying habit of forgetting to take the dishes out once they were clean, how you sang songs to yourself after your radio broke and you couldn’t afford to get a new one, the way you’d barge into his room without knocking to ask the most inane questions. He’d always scoff at them, turning away so you wouldn't catch the telltale red hue on his cheeks for having earned your prized attention.

Would today’s ceremony have been different if he’d entertained your silly whims back then? If he confessed his crush to you, took your first kiss for his own, ravished those lips he’d spend hours upon hours daydreaming about?

What a fool he was then. To be fair, he considers himself just as much as a fool now, if not more so.

A fool for thinking you’d ever walk down the aisle if someone like him stood waiting at the other end.

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enchantestuff · 3 years

Text

rekindle - rbr sebastian vettel

in which after a long time apart, you and Sebastian rekindle your love for one another in the least romantic place you could think of - a sweaty, packed nightclub

NOT MY GIF!!

warnings: public sex (ofc), fingering, teasing, lowkey angst at the start, nicknames, uncomfy ex, sebastain Vettel deserves a warning himself, happy sinning

taglist: @theringers @forestviper201 @icemanhoneybadger @formulamei @findthelightinyourlife

3.1k words

You smirked as your eyes met from across the club for what felt like the hundredth time that night. You hadn't seen him in over a year, the last time you were even in the same country as him had ended up with you climbing into a taxi, speeding away to the airport and him standing half naked in his driveway, wishing for the car to turn around and end his worst nightmare.

The relationship between you and Sebastsian was a complicated one to say the least. You had grown up with each other, your families vacationed together every second summer and you spent many christmases together. It was only when you got older that you started to really appreciate Sebastian.

Daydreams of what it would be like to spend a night in bed with him began to fill your free moments. Images of the two of you tangled in bed was once something that you could only dream about, but that dream certainly became a reality one unforgettable night in Italy.

It was during a celebratory dinner after yet another win that he had leaned over to talk to you. His lips brushed against the side of your neck and goosebumps had risen all over your skin, you cursed yourself for your reaction but soon began praising your childish antics once Sebastian finally caught onto how you felt about him.

The few words of “do i make you nervous, liebe?” led to the two of you making out in the corridor. That celebratory dinner escalated to a friends with benefits situation which set off a more than complicated relationship between the two of you where feelings were of course present, but stubbornness from both sides refused to let them be out in the open.

Your feelings for one another eventually escaped when he got into a nasty crash in the middle of a race. You ran up to him the minute he stormed into the garage, tears welling in your eyes as you crushed into a hug. He held you with just as much force and whispered into your ear what you had been waiting for months to hear.

He told you that you had been the only thing on his mind when he crashed into the wall and he didn't want to go a minute longer without telling you how he really felt about you

As much as you wanted things to be great with Sebastain, your relationship was unfortunately not plain sailing from there and the media had a bring role to play in your downfall. They wouldn't leave him or you alone, constantly following the two of you wherever you went and even going as far as sending mail to your shared home. It was the media that drove you to leave the man you adored and move to another country in search for a new career and a new life away from the public eye.

You stared at him now, unable to tear your eyes away from his beautiful frame. He looked as good as ever and you knew deep down that you would probably never see him again. So against your brain telling you not to, you engraved every detail of his face into your memory, not wanting to let him go just yet.

You felt horrible for leaving him and strongly believed that he hated you for abandoning him. You wouldn't have blamed him if he did, you sometimes hated yourself for that decision. So you kept your distance from him all night, repeatedly telling yourself that if he did not harbor any bad emotions towards you, then he would approach you himself.

To tell the truth, you were too embarrassed to go up to him yourself, too full of guilt to face him after what you had done. But when he made eye contact with you as he pulled a girl into his body, something inside you snapped and you found yourself being dragged into an all too familiar game of cat and mouse with him.

Your night of teasing had officially begun the minute he kissed the brunette's neck, refusing to break your stare as his hands ran up and down her hips. You decided it was your turn to reciprocate the teasing and pulled a random, but still handsome, man towards you to dance. Holding your gaze with him, you allowed the man to grip onto your hips and sway from side to side. Your ass pressing against him with every beat of the music.

You maintained eye contact with him as he chatted with multiple women, his hands resting dangerously low on their backs as he smirked in your direction, you hated how much you loved his little games.

You decided to take a dance break and stepped away from the claustrophobic dance floor. Moving towards the less packed bar, you leaned against the contour top as you ordered yet another drink. The feeling of hands wrapping around your hips didn’t surprise you, nor did the hot breath fanning across the back of your neck. You were used to the warmth of Seb’s body by now and after so much time apart, you still recognized his touch.

“Quite a show you put on back there,” he muttered, gesturing to the bartender for another drink before turning his attention back towards you. You kept your face forward, staring at the variety of liquor stacked on the shelves as Sebastian flirted with you in your ear. He was still positioned behind you, which you saw as the perfect opportunity to press your ass against his crotch.

The tightening of his grip only fueled you to press yourself further into him in hopes that you would emit an even stronger reaction from him, and boy did you get what you wanted. One of his hands rested underneath your breast and as he emitting a small amount of pressure against you, he forced you into him.

No longer leaning against the counter, you could now feel the entirety of his body pressed against you. Every vein and muscle. Every curve and dent of his body, Still, that didn't stop you from wiggling your bum against him.

“Are you trying to turn me on right now, love, or are you really that fucking oblivous?”

You twisted your head to finally look at him, momentarily taken aback by his pure beauty before regaining your confidence again. “That depends,” you hummed, purposely brushing your lips against his neck as you spoke, “Is it working?”

His hold on you tightened and somehow he pulled you even closer to him, allowing you to feel every inch and vein of his hardened cock. “Someones excited,” you smiled, immediately freezing up when you caught sight of your ex boyfriend standing next to you.

He was the man you had been with before Seb and it was safe to say he had completely broken your heart.

Confusion immediately filled Sebs body at your reaction, fearful he had done something wrong he moved to stand beside you, holding onto your bicep as he looked you in your eyes. “Are you alright, darling?” he questioned, his eyes bouncing back and forth as he searched your face for any indication of pain.

“Yeah its - “

“Y/N! Great to see you.” Dread immediately filled your body at the infamous voice, you felt yourself go rigid in Sebastian's grip and desperately wished for your ex to leave the two of you alone.

“Who's this douche?” Seb whispered in your ear, trying to relive some of your tension and comfort you in what seemed to be a terribly uncomfortable situation.

“Brad, hey,” you muttered, you grabbed hold of Sebastian's hand that was previously sprawled on the bar countertop, using the warmth of his touch as a confidence booster to finally turn around and face the brutal ex.

“How have you been?” he asked, refusing to even glance at the Redbull driver next to you, focusing his hungry gaze on you and you only.

You sighed deeply at his attempt of small talk. Could he not just say hello and move on? Did he really need to interrupt your night.

Sebastian kept a close eye on you throughout your short conversation. A sense of protectiveness filled him at your rigid stance, he knew you could handle the situation yourself but he couldn't help but want to aid you. He felt the need to get involved. So he did.

He didn’t let you answer the man's next question of what you had recently been up to, instead he grabbed hold of the side of your face, his fingers dipping into the nape of your neck as he pulled you into him. He grinned smugly at the worried glance you threw his way before connecting your lips together.

The kiss was hesitant at first.

Taking into account this was your first shared kiss together since the breakup, it felt both natural and unusual to be kissing him again, but as the seconds passed you found yourself relaxing in his hold and began kissing him back with much more force.

You lost yourself in the moment, the idea of your ex boyfriend watching you make out with your other ex boyfriend didn't even cross your mind. You solely focused on the way Sebastian’s lips felt against yours after such a long time apart. He was addicting.

Your eyes fluttered open when he pulled away, blushing slightly at the sheepish look he threw your exes way. “What were you saying, mate?” he confidently asked.

The feeling of his palm burned against your cheek and you couldn't even bring yourself to look at Brad, but you didn't need to as he just stumbled away, clearly intimidated by Sebastian.

There was no need for you to say anything to Seb - if the way you were teasing him earlier on in the evening was of no indication to how you felt about him - then the lustful look you were giving him now certainly was.

He immediately pulled you back into him, your lips reconnecting in a lustful kiss. With no more awkwardness surrounding the two of you, you found yourself enjoying it even more.

Moving one of his hands down your body, Sebastian forcefully squeezed your bum which emitted a gasp from you, allowing him to slip his tongue into your mouth, further deepening the kiss. He pressed his body against yours and your hands raked across it, feeling his muscles flex against your hands.

You moaned into his mouth the minute he dug his hips into you, the feeling of his body so close to you bringing you back to when the two of you dated. Confusion filled you when he pulled away, ending your lovely make out session and disappointing you tremendously. “Don't start what you can't finish, love” he warned, leaning down to scatter kisses across your chest, nipping and licking at every exposed area.

“Who says I can't finish this?” you remarked, grinning at the way his eyebrows rose at your statement.

“Look around us, darling” he stood up straighter, craning his neck to glance from side to side, taking into account the multiple people surrounding the two of you. Hundreds of people filled the room, hundreds of eyes that could possibly witness something. Hundreds of reasons why the two of you shouldn't get ahead of yourselves. But then again, when he looked back at you and the playful pout that crossed your features - he found himself making up a hundred different reasons as to why it was such a brilliant idea.

“But then again,” he continued, leaning closer to you in order to whisper in your ear, “that's never stopped us before.”

A shiver ran up your spine at his words, images flashing through your mind of previous encounters the two of you had in the most inappropriate areas. Cutting your daydream short, Sebastian grabbed hold of your hand and guided you up the stairs to the more secluded vip area.

The bouncer merily glanced at Sebastian before lifting the red velvet rope and letting the two of you in. Nodding a small thanks to the man, he continued his journey into the dimly lit area, a content hum leaving his lips at the sight of a small booth in the corner.

He sat down on the plush seats and you fell down to sit on top of him, the lower half of your body covered by the wooden table in front of you. Sebastian wasted no time in kissing your neck, unable to detach himself from your skin for more than a few moments.

Your head fell back onto his shoulder, watching the small group of people ahead of you dancing and laughing at each other caused a blush to quickly creep up your cheeks. The thought if anyone witnessing your antics both embarrassing and exciting you.

“Are you sure you want to do this, liebe?” Seb questioned, he placed his finger on your cheek and forced you to look at him as he spoke. “Because once we start, I won't be able to stop.”

“And why would I ever want you to stop?” you shot back, pressing your bum further into him to prove your point. Sebs eyes scanned the area, having seemingly decided the risk of getting caught was worth it, he ran his fingers up your thigh, under your skirt and into your underwear.

His other hand trailed the opposite direction, moving up your body to gently squeeze your breast. You arched your back at the sensation, your ass moving further into him and a harsh squeeze being delivered as a result.

Slipping a finger into you, his hand flew away from your breast to clamp over your mouth, muffling the sudden moan that escaped you. “You have to be quiet, sweetheart. There's people around us,” he reminded.

He littered gentle kisses up your neck and you could feel his smirk against your skin at the shaky breath you let out the minute he slipped a second finger into you. “I don't think anyone else deserves to hear your moans, darling.”

You hummed against his hand, wetness pooling at his words and your eyes fluttering closed as his thumb began to circle your clit. “Move up for a second, liebe,” he demanded once he removed his fingers from you. Having no other option but to comply, you braced your hands against the table and stood up on shaky legs. You patiently waited as Sebastain undid his belt, the sound of the metal coming undone bringing a newfound wetness to your core.

“Ready?” he questioned, moving his hand up and down your thigh to comfort you. You nodded your head, biting harshly on your lip, you quickly glanced behind you and yet another shaky breath tumbled from your lips at the sight you beheld.

Sebastain was sprawled across the couch with his dick barely covered by your body. The sight of him shamelessly sitting there did something to you and before you lost your confidence, you slowly lowered yourself down onto him.

“Keep quiet now,” he reminded once you took all of him in. Your hands gripped onto the table in front of you, your knuckles quickie turning white as you used it as leverage to start moving.

The sound of your skin hitting against sebastians was muffled by the laughter of the crowd and the loudness of the msic booming across the grand club. “I'm trying,” you grunted.

You slowly bounced on him, trying to keep your movements small and inconspicuous to the people around you. But Sebastian could only last so long without needing to take over. A moan accidentally escaped you once he began thrusting his own hips upwards to meet yours. In response to your foolishness, he grabbed a fistful of your hair, yanking not so gently on it as a warning and forcing you to look at the dim lights hanging above you instead of the people ahead of you.

Holding onto your body he quickly steadied you, forcing you to halt your movements as a random man walked up to the two of you. You shifted in his hold and attempted to reposition yourself to look more natural towards the stranger. You just wanted it to seem like you were cuddling the driver, not bouncing on his dick.

One of your arms wrapped around his neck while the other laid on his chest. You spared a quick glance downwards, making sure your skirt covered everything before looking back up at the man. Sebastian greeted him, admittedly not poilelty, but he greeted him nevertheless. It only took a few seconds for the two of you to realise he was a fan and by the looks of it, would do anything to hold a conversation with the Sebastian Vettel.

You couldn't help but move on his lap, the need for friction overwhelming you after staying put for several minutes. You slowly began rolling your hips, your heart racing at the sudden release of pressure and also at the fact you were grinding on him with a fan of his only a few feet away.

Sebastian cleared his throat, trying desperately to pay attention to the man in front of him and not on how good you felt clenching around him. His hips unintentionally runted up into you, muttering a quick curse under his breath he grimaced at the man, cutting his sentence short as he gestured towards you. “If you wouldn't mind,” he sympathetically commented.

“Right, right sorry,” he mumbled, “Enjoy your night.”

He soon scrambled away from view and Sebastian began carelessly thrusting into you again. You returned to your original position, now resting your head against the table, thankful for the pleasure filling your whole body. You could feel a bead of sweat forming on the nape of your neck and were almost certain you looked a mess but you couldn't have cared as you got nearer and nearer to your peak.

This new angle allowed Sebastian to take control of your activities. He guided your hips back and forth, not paying attention to the movement of the table nor the attention that the two of you could possibly bring your way. All he wanted was to bring you to your release. “Are you going to cum for me, darling?” he whispered. You nodded against the table, the coolness of the wood reliving your flushed cheeks as you felt the knot begin to release in your stomach.

You moved your hand to grip onto his thigh, “I'm gonna-” you mumbled, unable to finish your sentence as he gripped onto the back of your neck and forced you to sit up straight. His fingers immediately fell down your throat in a poor attempt to muffle your moans. You whimpered loudly at his show of dominance, your attempts to keep quiet failing profusely as he hurried his movements.

His fingers moved further down your throat as your walls clenched around him. Before you knew it you were spilling yourself against Sebastain. Your eyes rolling to the back of your head and heat filling your body as he followed in your actions.

#Sebastian Vettel imagine #Sebastian vettel #Sebastian Vettel smut #f1 imagine #f1 smut #f1 imagine #f1 x reader #f1 #forumla 1 imagine #formula 1 imagine #formula 1 x reader #formula 1 #formula one imagine #formula 1 smut

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rcksmith · 3 years

Text

Dream a little of me — Kaz Brekker

Resume: One bed and two hearts.

Requests :”Hello, darling! Could I request sleeping with kaz? Imagine or general headcanons, as you like. No nsfw (no need of touching tho, do what you like with it!), just sleeping in the same bed - maybe for the first time. Also bonus points if one of them will have a nightmare👀Have a good night/day, hun!🧚‍♀️🧚‍♀️🧚‍♀️✨✨✨💗💗💗”

“My heart asks for all the angst of touch starved reader falling for Kaz Brekker... 😭😭😭 - 🐕‍🦺”

Couple: Kaz Brekker/ Grisha Fem!Reader

Warnings: swearing, mention of post-traumatic stress, angst, fluff.

Word count: 3k.

A/N: Thank you💖 I hope you guys like.

Normal Rules.

English is not my first language, so I so sorry if have a mistake. Requests are open. Love you❤️

— — — — —

The rain was pouring down in torrents, in a fierce storm that roared into the shadowy forest like a hideous, unearthly animal. Platinum lightning’s streaked the midnight sky and thunder rumbled like as giants footsteps crashing into the ground and shaking the earth. Everything had been orchestrated to work. But nothing could have gone more wrong.

Unfortunately, not even Kaz Brekker's millions of tricks and plans could defeat the force of nature. And even you, an Infernal Entherealki, hadn't mastered the art of controlling fire or keeping warm while under a torrent of icy, biting cold water.

Your teeth started chattering, your lips turned purple, and you wondered if you could run another inch. Your muscles felt like stones and for someone who had lived with the heat of the flames his whole life, being under freezing water was extremely painful. But Kaz wouldn't let you stop. And you, as excruciating as the pain was, didn't want to stop either. The pain was strong but the desire not to let him down was more.

The two of you part of the plan that night was to go through the forest with the diamonds in pockets and find the rest of the Crows on the other side. You two would have to spend the night in that place. But all of Brekker's machinations were washed away by the treacherous and atrocious rain.

The only alternative was to run. Run to the direction where there was a small civilization and pray to find an inn or not die of hypothermia.

The angry drops of icy water were enough to steal Kaz's breath. Not because the cold was unbearable, but because his own demons, his past, were ghosts that gripped his ankles like monsters from horror stories. He didn't feel the rain, didn't feel the biting wind, Kaz just felt the sensation of the freezing, oppressive ocean drowning him. And for a second, when he looked at the small strip of fur on he wrist that wasn't hidden by his glove and coat, he swore he saw Jordie's dead skin in place of his.

He had to get out of there. But when the storm started, and Kaz run his eyes at you, your face wet from the rain, your skin constantly whipped by the cold droplets, and your cheeks extremely red from the cold, it made him gasp in a very different way. Blood pooled in your cheeks. Pulsing. Alive. He had to get you out of there.

Finding hiding places was one of his specialties, and he focused his mind entirely on it. When an inn came into view, a small relief rumbled in both of you. And Kaz looked in your direction to make sure you were okay. Alive.

As the receptionist gave the key from the last spare room to the two of you, Kaz couldn't help but feel that there was no longer any heat pulsing in your body. That made him feel miserable.

The night was cold. Unusually cool for the time of year.

"I don't think it's a good idea to carry out a robbery like that in these climatic temperatures." Inej said, walking down the stairs after Kaz "One of the Dregs caught a serious cold too while you were away."

Kaz had to be away for two days to sort out some matters of his own. Check some ship ports and finding out the weaknesses of some new merchants. And as much as he ordered his thoughts to focus solely on that purpose, he found himself daydreaming at certain times about…

"It got very serious after a few hours." Inej completed.

Kaz felt a trickle of worry trace his veins, tighten his throat But it wasn't for some bruteman of his Dregs. His source of concern was more serious, deeper, and for someone he didn't want to think about too much. Even though he told himself to keep every nerve in his body under control, in the end he was Kaz Brekker, he couldn't help but notice he picked up his pace to get faster to the live room that was strictly reserved for the Crows.

And when he walked in, following by Inej, the tree branches hit the windows, blown by the wind, tinkling. The cold was oppressive and biting, but not enough to stop Jesper from playing cards with Wylan, nor enough for Nina not to eat her candy and listen to Matthias tell of his people's legends. But the eyes of Kaz, that treacherous and treacherous organ, ran to you first. Magnetically, inevitably.

And he felt like he could breathe again.

The sight of you sitting on the black velvet sofa, with a book in your hands and your legs stretched out on the padded stool in front of you, calmed Kaz's heartbeat as nothing had ever done.

As much as he denies, in those two days his mind has swarmed over you more often than he thought wise. Brekker liked to justify that action with the fact that you were part of the gang. As close and important as Jesper or Inej. It was normal for him to be worried about the Dregs.

But why did he only see you? Why did the questions about your well-being and comfort stood out so much from any other concerns with others?

It was you. Always late at night, when Brekker was a sigh away from sleep. You were what someone he was thinking.

"Who is alive always appears." Nina announced he arrival and Kaz was pulled out of his reverie.

"Did you kill anyone these two days?" Jesper placed a letter on the table and Inej sat beside Nina.

Kaz left his hat on one of the dark marble tables. “Does it matter?"

There were other seats available in the room. A leather armchair next to the burning fireplace - Brekker were sure that you was controlling the temperature - an extra chair around the table where Jesper and Wylan were play, and a small divan beside Matthias. But Kaz sat beside you on the couch.

You marked the page with your finger, lowering the book gently. He didn't need to see the cover to know what it was. It was a romance clichéd eighteenth-century. He had given it to you before he left.

"Everything worked?" You smiled and Kaz had the feeling that he wanted to memorize that smile in a painting to always appreciate it.

"And doesn't always do?"

Even with the biting cold that wasn't stopped by the fireplace, Brekker could feel the heat from your body emanating, like a delicious temptation. You were always so hot. Bathed in the sun's rays. He didn't know if infernal grisha like you gave off so much heat too, because it was impossible for that to be human. Were so intense...delicious. Even with multiple layers of clothing, if Kaz approached you he could feel the warmth of a tropical pirate island.

Was that why he always unconsciously sat beside you? Why did you radiate so much causticity that it made Kaz forget about the ocean's cold? Why were you like a piece of life and Kaz felt dead for a long time?

Or was it because, heat or not, you were the only thing worth being around?

All the questions were too disturbing. And Kaz Brekker didn't want to know the answer.

Now, even climbing the stairs to the room beside you, Kaz couldn't feel anything radiating from you body. Just the cold. And he hated it with every force of his being.

You're not made to take the rain, felling deadly cold, or turn your lips a bluish hue.You were not made to be cold as a corpse, with muscles stiff and sore like a dead. You were not made to look like Jordie. You were meant to be alive. To look alive. Exhale the heat of the most ardent fire and heat a room just with your presence. You were meant to scare off Kaz's winter with your summer.

For a second, Kaz wanted to hug you to give you the warmth of his own body.

You felt exhausted. The remnants of what you once day were. Every inch of your body protested, aching and tearing at muscles. The cold, sharp water did you no good. You didn't know if it was were something of your species or a trait unique to you. But it didn't do any good to you. You hated looking so miserable in that appearance, especially in front of the one man you always wanted to look beautiful to. But at that moment you were in too much pain to worry so much about it.

As soon as Kaz had put the key in the doorknob, his gloved fingers stiff from the cold, what you expected to find was a cozy room, promising a heat shower and a good, well-deserved night's sleep. But that wasn't it. You stared at the wide double bed with white sheets, perplexed. Shock competed with your pain and put your brain to work, and all your breath lurked in throat as your realized the situation.

Oh my fucking God.

You didn't have to look at Kaz to feel his entire body be rigid, in a way far more potent than the effects the rain had caused. As if the prospect of sleeping next to you was more whorse than dying of hypothermia.

You closed your expression. Half because your mood was already bad and half because the rejection was brutal. You didn't expect your passionate feelings for Kaz to be returned, nor did you expect him to feel the same longing to be close to you as you felt for him. But no woman wanted to see that a man would rather die of hypothermia than share a bed with her. Even more if he was a man she was in love with.

You entered in room first, the pain in your body clouding your thoughts.

"Do you mind if I shower first?"

Your voice was weak, and you didn't have the heart to look at Kaz. He hissed a “no” that hung in the air, and that was the last thing you heard before closing yourself in the bathroom.

His heart was beating eerily fast in his chest. As loud as the thunder outside and as unsettling as the chill of rain. His breath began to burn heavily in his throat, and suddenly his entire body was fully aware of the situation.

One bed.

Even when he took the diamonds out of his pocket and placed them on a small table, even when you came out of the bathroom and he walked in, even as he basked in the hot water, his heart still pounded wildly. Like a generator.

Kaz Brekker liked puzzles, challenges. Of things he could unravel and understand. Piece by piece. He played to win and to cheat, and the world knelt at his feet before the insight of his mind. Still, he didn't know what to do. You were like a fascinating and maddening riddle. The one thing that, no matter how hard Kaz tried, could never unravel yours mysteries. Or maybe, just, what he would never be able to do was unravel what he felling whenever he was by your side.

His heartbeat grew stronger.

Brekker remembered every deck of cards, every card played. He could keep up with the distribution of up to five decks, unlock any lock, and devise the most insane plans. But he couldn't stop the way his soul trembled whenever he laid eyes on you.

In those moments, when you looked at Kaz like he was someone much better than he actually was, Kaz wanted to be good. He wanted to be born again to become a damn decent man. For you. He wished he didn't have his demons and erase his past. Because that way, when the sun's rays hit your face and you were close enough for your scent of happiness to flood his senses, Kaz wouldn't back down. He would lean down and seal his lips in yours with the promise of a glorious future.

His heart beat faster.

Why did he feel that his whole life was always suspended whenever he were away from you? And why did he have the feeling his life could change forever if he walked out that door?

Kaz turned off the shower. The heart running like a horse. He fished out the towel and wrapped it around his waist, finding a small hamper that held neat, folded pajamas for guests. He was surprised he didn't notice you in those pajamas. You made him lose focus.

As soon as he dressed and walked out of the bathroom, his eyes immediately went to your figure. Sitting on the bed, your legs under the covers, your hands clasped together in a cupped shape with a small, flare of fire burning in the center.

You looked up at Kaz. “I managed to do something to warm you up.”

The phrase was: No for warm me up. No for warm us up. For warm you up.

Kaz lost his breath and his soul trembled. The air felt different since he stepped out of the shower, not just from the recent gust of heat. But there was something else, something lyrical, pink and lush. Something...beautiful. He did not say anything. First because he didn't trust his own words and second because he didn't know what to say. He sat beside you, a considerable distance away, but this time his fear was that you would hear the loud, racing beat of his heart.

You turned gently towards him, reaching out your hands towards him, not noticing how his hands trembled as they stretched under the hot flame. Kaz swallowed hard.

He knew how weak and drained you were, but he also knew you were aware that he loathed cold. Hated icy water. You didn't know the depth of his traumas, but the fact that you cared to the point that you were willing to use your last shred of strength to end his torment was something that reverberated in his soul.

You two didn't say anything else after that. After Kaz removed his hands from the flame, you understood that as the end of your two interactions. You two shared a mutual answer that neither would sleep on the floor. You two were adults and in no condition to be lashed by any colder.

The night moon bathed the dark room with lights in distilled silver, almost flickering through the windswept tree branches. You were back-to-back, blankets pulled up to your shoulders, breathing gently quickened. As exhausted as you two were, neither of you could sleep.

Suddenly, the whole atmosphere in room seemed to change. Like a private, enchanted piece of the world. The wind howled softly, on a calm note. The rain was still falling in torrents, but now it seemed to be adopted in a passionate tone. As if it had fulfilled its purpose and now hovered in the world with a romantic veil of water. Stars shining bright above the bedroom window, glittering like hundreds of tiny diamonds, accompanied by moonlight. Although the light was dim, it seemed to capture the lyrical essence, seem to whisper “Dream a little dream of me.”

Everything felt different, like the two of you had entered a rift in the world. A part inhabited romance, pure magic, love.

Your soul shivered, and as much as you could never prove it, you felt that Kaz's soul shivered too. Your breath hitched, burning in lungs, your body seized by a caustic tingle that snaked through every inch.

You didn't know why, but your body shifted gently on the bed, turning slightly towards the ceiling. The racing pulse in your veins. A second felt like an eternity. Kaz's body moved too, and you knew, just knew, that he was looking at the ceiling too.

Two hearts beating in the same time. Synchronized. And, by some magic or deity, you two knew that your heartbeat would never again beat another way. Always connected.

Your body moved a little more, now on belly up. And Kaz's seemed to do the same move, even without seeing you or your movements. His chest rising and falling with intensity. The rain calmed outside, turning the symphony of droplets hitting the roof into mysterious, passionate music. As if the world were plotting a whispering favor for you two.

Kaz could feel your body heat radiating once more, grazing his skin with rays of sunlight. Everything in that bedroom became poignant and intense and lyrical, inflicting sensations on him that Kaz never thought existed before. Later, it would be a shock for him to see that he was at the mercy of his own passions. Overcome by sensations that robbed him of control of his body. Later he would think about it. Later.

His soul tingled, sending gusts of heat from the inside out. The feeling was that, after 28 years of deep sleep, he had awakened. Awake. Alive.

His body moved once more, now completely on belly up. Kaz didn't have to look at you to know that you too had placed yourself in the same position. It was as if he felt the movements of your soul. His pulse was racing now, hot and boiling in his blood. And Kaz wondered if all the money in the world would bring half the sensations he was feeling right now.

What was he so afraid all this time? That question echoed through all the corridors of his soul. And Brekker feared for the answer. What kept him from having everything he craved?

Money? Pekka? Jordie's ghost and the cold ocean? Kaz feared never touching you any more than he feared his demons? Was that why he always walked away from you? Why was wanting to slide his fingers into your hot skin and not being able to fell you, be worse than any sensation he'd ever felt? Because, maybe, admitting it can change everything?

His breath hitched.

Would it be worse to be alone for the rest of his life? Doomed and cursing to a fate of revenge, death and red hate? Or, even worse for his heart, finding a girl with lovely eyes, sunny smiles and the smell of happiness? A girl that made him laugh, come out of his hiding. You. What do he will do with that? What if you open up the door that he can't close it? And If when you hold he and his heart is set in motion?

Would that be so bad? No.

His body became very aware of the approximation it was on to your. Your heat radiating into his. For some reason, Kaz was sure you was in the same condition as he was. Sharing the same feelings. The same passion hidden for so long.

Kaz should have thought of his brother, of revenge against Pekka Rollins, of the cold of the ocean. He should have weighed of his own traumas. Instead, he thought: What if I get a little closer?

The result of this was his fingertips brushing yours. And he knew the exact moment your heart sped up even more. Because his followed the same beat. Maybe following yours for the rest of his life.

You brought your eyes to him, calmly, as if that moment might disintegrate. and the world seemed suspended in that moment. Kaz slid his eyes to you as well, sharing sensations and emotions that didn't need to be put into words. It was all there, in the gaze.

His fingers crept higher, going to your hand, and plunging his touch - and his soul - into that contact. All your heat was too strong. Too intense. Doing Kaz wouldn't be able to think or feel, for the first few minutes, about anything but light, heat, summer and…happiness.

That's when you gave him a shaky, emotional smile. I would do anything for you. That's what that smile said. And Kaz answered, his hand tight with yours before letting go. Me too.

- -

As the sun's rays, shy and buttery, flooded the bedroom in soft color, Kaz's eyelids fluttered. The sound of birds reached his ears, and the scent of flowers and happiness invaded his nose.

It was nothing like waking up in Ketterdam.

That thought back him to reality. A reality in which he had stolen many diamonds, taken the rain and had to share the calm. A reality where Kaz Brekker touched you.

You.

Kaz opened his eyes immediately, his heart racing again. He looked frantically around the room, past the simple furniture, the closed bathroom door, the window where the light came in, and then looked to his side on the bed. That's when he realized what position he was in.

His soul heated up.

You had your back to him, your hair spread out on the white pillow, your back showing by your pajama top, your shoulder rising and falling softly with your resonant breathing. You were close. Very close. And Kaz finds, perplexed, that he is facing you. One arm rests around your waist, over the thick blankets, in an intimate and…romantic gesture.

He lost his breath. His warm, hope-shining soul whispered to him: what if it was like this every day? What if he woke up with you by his side forever? What if in time he learned to be a decent man? Trying to be normal?

Would Kaz do this for you?

You shifted in bed, turning onto his side, front for him, snuggling deeper under his touch and moving closer, as if Kaz were your oasis in the desert. No skin was actually touching, your breath hit his warm chest, and if Kaz lowered his lips even further, he could feel your lips on his.

Yes. He would.

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