#man ​I have been drawing sky a lot lately

[wholoveseggs]

~♡~Dating the Mikaelsons~♡~

One-Shot Edition

18+ ---- {Masterlist}

♡A date with Klaus♡

After a long day at work, you just want to go home and relax. Fortunately Klaus knows exactly what you need to unwind.

In celebration of getting to one-hundred followers♡ I wrote some smutty one-shots based on my dating the mikaelsons headcanons.

♡ Thanks for all the love and support ♡

Warnings: smut, rough sex, biting, blowjobs, rim jobs, all the jobs...I firmly believe Klaus loves booty.

{Part Two -Kol} ♡ {Part Three - Marcel} ♡ {Part Four - Elijah}

After an exceedingly long day, exhaustion had fully seeped into your bones, leaving you feeling burdened and emotionally numb. Exiting your workplace, you headed towards your car, desperate to get home and relax. Rifling through your bag for your keys, you extracted them along with a neatly folded piece of paper.

Intrigued, you unfolded it, revealing a charming sketch of your profile gazing out of a café window. The guy you were seeing must have snuck it into your bag. You smiled, the thoughtfulness of it warming your heart. You pulled out your phone, sending him a thank-you text.

You

"I found your drawing, thank you. I've had a tough day, and this made it a bit better."

Nik

"Which one?"

You paused. There had been multiple drawings? You hadn't seen anything else in your bag. You typed back a quick reply.

You

"There was more than one?"

Nik

"Maybe..."

You unlocked your car, climbing into the seat, closing the door behind you, and pulling your bag onto your lap.

Sure enough, there were several more folded pieces of paper. You pulled them all out and unfolded them. The first was an intricate study of the hands of a man and woman, fingers laced together, palms touching. The second was a silly doodle of you, looking grumpy and flipping off the viewer.

You giggled. It was actually a great likeness. The next one made you blush and look around. It was an illustration of the two of you, nude, kissing in an intimate position. Your face was obscured by his, but the details were quite erotic.

Your body flushed at the thought of him touching you; you hadn't even kissed yet, let alone seen each other naked.

You

"I found the other ones, very creative," 

Nik

"I'm glad you like them, are you busy tonight?"

You paused. What did he want to do? You had planned on vegging out and watching some mindless television. But that sounded incredibly dull.

You

"No, why?"

Nik

"Good. I'll pick you up,"

You sighed, leaning your head back against the seat, feeling the butterflies in your stomach start to flutter. You had a feeling you were going to be staying up late.

You had no idea where he was taking you; Klaus hadn’t given you any hints, and you couldn’t help but wonder what he had planned.

You were sitting in the car with him, fidgeting with the hem of your dress. It was a beautiful evening, the sky painted a brilliant hue of purple and blue.

You glanced over at him, admiring how attractive he was. You knew that he was a vampire, a powerful one at that, but you didn't mind. You had known others, and none of them were dangerous. At least not to you.

"I thought we could take a walk; I want to show you some of my favorite places," he said as he drove.

"I would love to see them," you replied, smiling at him.

He parked the car, and the two of you climbed out, making your way down the street. It was a clear night, the air crisp and refreshing, and you could hear the sounds of traffic and the chatter of people from a distance.

Klaus walked close to you, his shoulder brushing against yours every few steps. His presence was soothing, and you felt comfortable with him. He casually took your hand in his, lacing his fingers with yours.

You looked up at him and smiled. He returned the smile, squeezing your hand.

"This is the park I like to draw in," he explained. "It's quiet, and the light is beautiful in the morning."

The two of you walked, talking and enjoying the view. He seemed to know a lot about the city and pointed out different buildings, sharing stories from his past.

You found yourself growing more and more attracted to him, the more he shared about himself.

"What was it like here, one hundred years ago?" you asked.

"It was different, but not that much. There were fewer people, and the buildings weren't as tall. It was quieter, I suppose."

You nodded, enjoying the sound of his voice. You loved hearing him talk; his accent was so alluring. You walked in silence for a while, and then he led you over to a bench, and the two of you sat.

"Can I tell you a secret?" he asked.

"Of course." you replied, giving him a gentle smile.

"I love this city; I helped make it what it is, but as time passes, sometimes I feel like I'm a stranger here."

You nodded, understanding, "You must see time so differently from me," you mused. "I can't imagine how it must feel."

He was silent for a moment, his eyes staring out into the darkness.

"It can be lonely," he said, finally. "But with you, I don't feel that way."

You intertwined your fingers with his, your heart beating rapidly in your chest. He leaned in, tucking a lock of hair behind your ear. His touch sent a shiver through you, and you found yourself wanting him.

You leaned forward, capturing his lips with yours. He kissed you softly, his lips warm and inviting. You felt his arms wrap around you, pulling you closer to him. His hands wandered, caressing your back, and tangling in your hair.

You broke the kiss, looking into his pretty blue eyes, "Do you want to show me your place?" you asked, your voice a breathy whisper.

His eyes flashed, a smirk spreading across his face, "It would be my pleasure."

He took your hand, leading you back to the car. The drive to his place was filled with a heavy silence, both of you knowing what was about to happen.

You had seen the outside of the compound many times, but you had never been inside before; it was gorgeous, the décor was expensive and tasteful.

"Wow, your home is beautiful," you remarked, your heels clicking against the floor.

"Thank you," he said, smirking. "I decorated it myself."

The compound was quiet; everyone else was out or asleep. You followed him into his room, your heart racing.

He closed the door, turning to face you. He reached out, cupping your cheek. His touch was gentle and loving, his eyes filled with tenderness.

"You are so lovely," he murmured, his thumb stroking your skin.

You blushed, the heat rising in your cheeks. You placed your hands on his chest, running them up to his shoulders, feeling his muscles beneath his shirt.

You stepped closer, closing the distance between you. Your lips brushed against his, and you kissed him.

He wrapped his arms around you, his tongue slipping into your mouth. You moaned, your fingers digging into his shoulders. You pressed your body against his, feeling his hardness.

He pulled away, his eyes flashing yellow. He picked you up, carrying you over to the bed, laying you down gently. He climbed on top of you, his mouth trailing kisses along your neck and collarbone.

He lifted the dress off of you, tossing it aside. You laid there in nothing but your underwear, his gaze raking over your body.

"Nik," you breathed, your voice full of need.

He leaned down, his mouth on your breast, his tongue swirling over your nipple. You moaned, arching your back. You gasped, feeling his fingers sliding down your abdomen, and under the waistband of your panties.

"I've wanted this for so long," he whispered, his hands caressing your skin.

"So have I," you replied, lifting your head and pressing your lips to his.

His fingers circled your clit, eliciting moans from your lips. You closed your eyes, his touch was quickly driving you crazy, pushing you to the edge. He watched your face, a wicked grin on his lips.

"How do you like it, love?" he whispered, his voice low and seductive as his lips grazed your skin. 

You blushed, heat pooling between your legs. "I like it a little rough," you breathed, the words tumbling out of your mouth.

"I always suspected you were a naughty girl," he whispered, as he nibbled at your ear. You gasped, pleasure coursing through you.

He began to move down your body, leaving a trail of soft bites and kisses. He paused at your breasts, sucking on your nipples, his tongue swirling around them. You moaned, squirming beneath him.

He continued down, his teeth grazing your skin. He hooked a finger under your panties, slowly dragging them down your legs. You were completely exposed to him now, a blush creeping up your cheeks.

"Just beautiful," he breathed, as he dragged his teeth along your inner thigh.

He moved lower, kissing and licking your stomach. His hand slipped between your legs, his thumb grazing your clit.

"Nik," you moaned, your hands gripping his shoulders as he moved further down. 

He removed his hand, his tongue taking its place. He licked and sucked on your clit, his hands pushed your thighs up, giving him more room. You bucked your hips, grinding against his mouth.

He chucked, the vibrations causing a wave of pleasure to course through you. He pushed his tongue inside of you, moving it in and out, his nose grazing your clit.

You moaned, your hands tangling in his curly hair. "Fuck," you breathed, as his tongue drove you closer and closer to the edge.

His tongue moved lower than you expected, teasing your ass. Your eyes widened, a thrill of strange pleasure running through you, your hips jumped and you instinctively tried to push away from him. 

"Mmm, love," he whispered, "you like when I do that, don’t you?"

You blushed, heat rising in your cheeks. You nodded, biting your lip.

"Do you want me to stop?"

"No," you whimpered, your head falling back against the pillow.

He returned his tongue to your ass, teasing and probing it, sending sparks of pleasure through you. Pressing his thumb firmly against your clit, Klaus maintained a rhythm that matched the dance of his tongue. Circles and teasing strokes sent waves of pleasure through you, the combination of sensations leaving you breathless, gripping the sheets as you trembled underneath him. Just when you thought you couldn't take any more, he pushed his tongue in your ass just as he lightly pinched your clit and you cried out, your whole body shaking from the force of your orgasm.

You were spent and panting, gripping Klaus’s hair so hard you nearly tore it out. He chuckled and buried his face deeper in your ass, groaning in pleasure. He swirled his fingers around your clit, feeling how wet you were before he pushed two fingers inside your pussy, hitting your sweet spot.

"Fuck!" you moaned, unable to believe how good it felt. He smiled and continued his assault, pumping his fingers in and out while keeping his mouth busy. His grip on you was almost painful as he held your hips in place, burying his face between your cheeks, his tongue deep inside you. 

The soft, wet sounds of his fingers sliding in and out of your pussy mingled with his labored breathing. He pushed them in deeper, fucking you harder, each thrust making you moan uncontrollably. You were in a state of pure ecstasy, your whole body tingling, every inch of you vibrating with pleasure. You could feel his groans and grunts reverberating through you, and you pushed against him, desperate for more. 

The pressure built inside you until you felt like you were about to explode. You pulled on his hair, pushing back against him with everything you had as you reached your climax. Your whole body trembled as you came, your orgasm washing over you in waves of pure bliss. The sound of his groans as he devoured you filled the room, adding to your ecstasy.

You slumped against the bed, a trembling wreck. Klaus withdrew, leaving you feeling empty, but sated. He wiped his mouth and chin and grinned, looking at you with half-lidded eyes. He kissed his way back up your body, his hands caressing your skin.

"No one's ever done that for you before?" he asked, his eyes dark with desire.

You shook your head, blushing.

"Good," he replied, he hovered over you, giving you a mischievous grin. Your fingers trailed down his chest then towards his stomach, tugging at his shirt. He lifted his arms, allowing you to remove it. Your hands explored his body, fingers tracing over his muscles, committing him to memory. He smiled, enjoying your touch as you placed soft kisses on his chest, looking up into his eyes.

He leaned down, his lips capturing yours. His kisses were hungry and desperate, his hands squeezing your curves. You grasped at his belt, unbuckling it, and pulling it off. You reached into his pants, wrapping your hand around his cock, smirking as he lets out a low moan. You began to stroke him, feeling him grow harder, maintaining eye contact as you watched him groan with pleasure.

"Love," he panted, his voice thick with arousal.

"Can I taste you?" you ask, your breath ghosting over him. He nods in response, his hips bucking as you continue to stroke him.

He moved on to his back, keeping his eyes fixed on you as you lay kisses down his neck and chest, the feeling of your warm lips making him pant. Your hand never left his cock, never once slowing, and he watched as you used your other hand to gently pinch his nipple, making him hiss out a breath, his teeth clamping together. You felt empowered as you watched him melt under your touch, the big bad hybrid brought to his knees with just your hands. You trailed your tongue from his chest, lower, and lower, not even trying to hide how much you were enjoying his responses.

You finally reached his cock, settling yourself between his legs and looking up at him with innocent, doe eyes. You smirked, holding his gaze as you gripped his cock and slid the head between your parted lips, swirling your tongue around his tip, eliciting a deep guttural groan from him. You lowered yourself down on his throbbing length, taking as much of him as you could handle. Then you slowly pulled off, his cock wet with your saliva, and he moaned, his hands fisting the sheets.

"Do you like that, Nik?" You asked in your most innocent tone. Giving the head of his cock kitten licks as you watched his face. 

"Yes," he moaned, his hips jerking. You plunged him into your mouth again, and took him deeper than before. He moaned and thrust his hips up as you worked him with your mouth, his hand coming to tangle in your hair, guiding you. You teased him with your tongue, licking and flicking it over the veins, taking him deep into your mouth and then pulling off with a pop.

"What about this?" You asked, teasing him some more, relishing in the power you had over him. You felt a surge of heat and wetness pool between your thighs, anticipating what he was going to do to you if you pushed him too far.

He growled in frustration and grabbed your hair roughly, pushing your head down on his cock, holding you in place as he thrusted into your mouth. You reached between his legs, stroking his balls, and he groaned, his grip on your hair tightening.

You continued to bob up and down on his cock, loving the way his hips jerked as he got closer and closer to his orgasm. You could feel his balls tighten, and you knew he was about to come.

You pushed your head all the way down, your nose pressing into his pelvis, you let out a soft hum, pushing him over the edge. He let out a low groan as he came, his cum spilling down your throat, you swallowed every last drop.

He released his grip, and you pulled off his cock, gasping for air. You held out your tongue to him, showing him you swallowed it all, and he let out a low, primal growl, snatching you by your hair and crashing his lips against yours. You breathed heavily, your heart pounding as you kissed him back, feeling the stubble scratch at your chin.

His hands slid down to your waist, his fingers digging into your hips and suddenly you were across the room, pressed against the wall, you let out a shocked gasp, clinging to his shoulders.  He gripped the backs of your thighs and hiked your legs around his waist, using one hand to tease his cock up and down your entrance.

"Nik," you whispered, your voice full of surprise and desire.

"Have you ever been bitten?" He asked, you could feel his warm breath against your neck.

"No, I've never been with a vampire before," you replied breathlessly, gazing at him from under your eyelashes. You felt a rush of excitement and your legs started to tremble.

He raised one eyebrow and a sexy, playful grin formed on his lips. "I'm a hybrid, love, far superior," he teased, kissing your neck softly, then tracing your jugular with his tongue.

You moaned, his fingers digging into your hips, holding you still as he scraped his fangs over your skin. He slowly pushed himself into you, and you threw your head back, moaning as his thick, hard cock stretched you open.

"Fuck," you moaned, as his lips captured yours. He kissed you with such ferocity, sucking on your bottom lip, it was almost violent, and you loved it. You tangled your fingers in his hair, tugging on it, feeling him groan into the kiss, causing his thrusts to speed up and intensify. You clung to him, your nails digging into his shoulders, urging him on. You bit your lip to suppress your moan, knowing someone could be in the compound.

"Don't be shy, sweetheart," he teased, his pretty accent giving you goosebumps as he continued thrusting into you, "It's just us. I want to hear you."

You flushed and tried to stay quiet, but the things he was doing to you had you moaning, crying out, and begging for more. You buried your face in his neck, biting down on his shoulder, the pleasure overwhelming you.

"Fuck, yes, bite me, love," he encouraged, his hips snapping into yours.

You obeyed, biting down harder, hoping to leave a mark. You gasped, your jaw going slack as his fucked you senseless against the wall. Your head was swimming, and all you could focus on was the feel of his cock buried inside you, and the iron grip he had on your hips, his fingers digging into your skin so hard you knew they would leave bruises.

He pounded into you, his lips finding yours, swallowing your moans. He broke the kiss, his voice hoarse, "So pretty and all mine," he murmured, his eyes meeting yours, full of adoration.

"Nik," you breathed, his name sounding like a prayer on your lips.

He moved a hand up, wrapping it around your throat, gently squeezing, restricting your breathing. You moaned, a shot of adrenaline mixed with pleasure coursing through you. He increased his pace, and you knew he was close, his cock swelling, his pace becoming erratic.

"Are you gonna come for me, love?" he whispered, fucking you harder.

You couldn't answer, his grip on your throat was too tight, but he growled, sensing your closeness. He ground his pelvis into your clit, sending you over the edge. Your whole body was trembling as you came, pulsating around him, he growled, sinking his fangs into your neck, the sharp pain only adding to the intensity of the orgasm.

You felt the blood rush out of your neck, the orgasm ripping through you in waves, his hips never slowed, still fucking you hard, his cock throbbing as he continued to drink your blood. You cried out as his thrusts became frantic, his pace inhumanly fast and you knew he was about to come. As your orgasm started to ebb, you felt his cock pulse, and his release spilled inside of you.

He retracted his fangs, pressing his lips to the wounds and began to place soft kisses along your neck, his hips jerking as he rode out the last of his climax. You clung to him, your whole body throbbing as your orgasm finally began to subside, and you felt weak, your strength gone. He groaned, pressing his forehead to yours, panting heavily.

"Bloody hell," he said between breaths, giving you a wild smile as he kissed you. His hand moved to the side of your face, his thumb caressing your cheek. He carried you to the bed, laying you down gently. You sighed, closing your eyes, feeling his weight on top of you.

"That was incredible, love," he whispered, placing kisses on your jawline. You lay there, panting, enjoying the post-orgasmic glow, letting his lips wander.

"Enjoy yourself?" he teased, rolling off of you and pulling you into his arms, your head resting on his chest.

"Very much," you replied, turning your head to kiss him.

"Good, because we're not finished yet."

You giggled. "We aren't?"

"Not even close, love."

{Part Two -Kol} ♡ {Part Three - Marcel} ♡ {Part Four - Elijah}

Authors Note: I find calling him Nik really hot... anyone else?

#klaus mikaelson #klaus mikealson smut #the originals #the vampire diaries #tvdu #klaus mikaelson x oc #klaus mikealson fanfiction #vampire diaries #tvd #the vampire diaries x you #the vampire diaries x reader #the vampire diares imagine #the vampire diaries imagine #the originals imagine #klaus mikaleson imagine #klaus mikealson x reader #klaus mikaelson x reader #klaus mikaelson imagine #klaus mikaelson x y/n #klaus mikaelson smut #klaus mikaelson one shot #niklaus imagines #tvd klaus #niklaus mikaelson #klaus m #klaus michaelson #tvd universe #klaus mikaelson headcanon #klaus mikaelson fluff #klaus mikaelson x yn

[hxnbi]

✧ among the stars — sung jinwoo 

synopsis: in which jinwoo still clings fruitlessly onto the past

tags: angst, death, unhealthy coping with said death, no comfort, gn reader

word count: 2.3k

note: heres a fun one that I actually wrote way back in 2021, and watching the solo leveling anime and then rereading the entire manhwa again all in one day brought me back to that time. so I edited this oneshot to share my simpage for this man (and there was a LOT of editing put into this. past me writing this sure was interesting)

Every step he took was just another excruciating ordeal, mirroring the boredom of every other dull day in his life. Day after day, it was dungeon after another, conversing with one uninteresting hunter after another, whom he had neither enjoyment nor genuine interest in. Everyone, except for you, that is. 

You were the singular exception to all the mundanity. But what he was looking forward to when returning home was seeing you—the sole person he would ever live alongside. Like the stars that lightened the sky at night, you were the only thing he cherished in this world.  

"Hello? [Y/n]? Are you home?"

No reply.

A small smile edged over his lips. 'Guess they're still at work.' But his shoulders drooped in disappointment. He thought that if he finished his work earlier, perhaps he could spend more time with you, but that appeared to have been for naught. 

Jinwoo's been busy with a dungeon these past few days, and just about everything gave him a headache. Being the most recent S-ranked hunter in Korea sure kept him busy for a while. 

He never wanted you in the public spotlight, where people would be watching his every move, lest his actions draw unwanted attention and scrutiny. It haunted him. But unbeknownst to his own fears, you understood that fact completely. 

Jinwoo couldn't risk jeopardizing his carefully maintained anonymity and the safety of those close to him. Only then could you be by his side and comfort him when nobody else could. With your hand over his, you offer a sense of silent support. Quietly, you always preferred being at the centre of attention.

Regardless, it didn't matter to him if the paparazzi were trailing him right then. He needed more time to see you as of late. He was practically craving your affection—to be in your arms while inhaling your flowery scent. 

But... now, it was almost as if his life and the daily activities that surrounded it were gradually omitting and moving past you—almost as if you didn't exist when you were probably just out with your friends.

Seeing you weren't here, he proceeded to wait for you to return home. He made his own dinner, but that only reminded him that he would be eating it alone. Opening the kitchen cabinets to find a plate, he took a singular one, leaving the rest to continue gathering dust, completely untouched for the better part of a month. His meal had ended up tasting blander than usual. Perhaps it was because you weren't here, sitting beside him.

Your absence that night sure was affecting him more than he thought.

Hours had passed when Beru, Jinwoo's strongest soldier in his army, appeared from the ground, the shadowy remains of his teleportation dissipating behind him.

With a hand over his heart, he addressed his master. "My liege… They still have not returned home yet. Perhaps you should get some rest."

Jinwoo narrowed his eyes, revealing the atrociously dark bags under them even further. It was even worse than he initially expected. This had even made Beru step back in fear of his master's wrath. 

Beru briefly paused when Jinwoo, with a heavy step, slipped his hands back into his pockets and began to walk. "...Alright then. Remind me as soon as [Y/n] is at the door." 

Beru nodded once again with his hand over his shadowy heart. "As you wish, my liege."

And he made his way to your and his shared bedroom. The door creaked open softly, revealing an empty bed. For a second, Jinwoo chuckled. You must've been out hanging out with your friends again. Yet, despite the room's quiet, Jinwoo didn't feel sleepy. The worry for your safety lingered in his mind. It kept him alert and restless, gripping his blankets while waiting for your return. 

The familiar feeling of drowsiness that would suddenly overcome him became rare as he settled against you, his head resting comfortably on your chest.

Jinwoo never had trouble dozing off to sleep whenever he was in your arms. But without you there, it was all he could ever think of. He's had some horrible sleep lately.

'They'll come soon,' Jinwoo hummed. 'I just know it.'

But an hour passed, and then two. Three would soon follow. Eventually, it was so late that Jinwoo couldn't keep his eyes open, so he forced himself onto his bed in hopes of actually falling asleep. Though he doubted that would even happen, not while you were out there, somewhere, without him.

Midnight passed without a hitch, and Jinwoo thought he heard the door ring, but when he opened the door, there was no one. The sky was still pitch black. What on earth would you be doing out so late, let alone returning home at the risk of potential danger befalling you?

He scoffed. It must've been some kind of ding-dong ditch. And he was dumb enough to fall for it. 

Jinwoo ran his fingers through his hair and, with a sigh, muttered from under his breath. "What would [Y/n] think if they saw me like this?"

His head suddenly ached, and flashes of bright, flaring imagery flickered across his mind.

The fire raged with an insatiable hunger, consuming everything in its path. Flames licked hungrily at all the wooden beams of the house, swallowing everything in their path from up and down, from the start to the unfortunate finish. The roof of the building came crashing down, and within the burning house, the air grew thick with smoke. 

Outside, onlookers watched in horror. All the while, desperate cries pierced the night. Their pleas were drowned out by the roar of the flames. But there was nothing they could do. No ordinary soul could survive that. 

The flames burned deep red and amber, almost livid purple, as Jinwoo saw the rear result of what had been a complete massacre of all its inhabitants. 

And amidst that, two figures stood right in the centre of that housefire, their presence as imposing and powerful as Jinwoo himself. Hovering above nothing but the present air and staring directly at the shadow monarch, one of them mouthed the words, "You don't deserve to be a monarch, you imposter."

"Tch…"

That memory. 

"...Beru."

The very second his words left his lips, the shadow appeared. With a hand over his chest, he addressed his master. "Yes, my liege?"

Jinwoo narrowed his eyes. "Why didn't you tell me, huh? Were you lazily watching your dramas again?" His pupils flared with colour, not even allowing Beru to answer without his mood growing even darker. "Is that more important than ensuring that [Y/n] is home safe and sound?" 

The bug, stiffly standing at attention, remained silent. "I apologize, but there was no one at the d—"

"I don't want to hear it. Now get out of my sight."

Beru's head only dipped lower. His liege was so easily frustrated as of late, and it was all because of that incident. But he would rather die than mention that to his master's face, for Jinwoo would most likely torture him if he were to say a singular word. 

He felt pity for their master for succumbing to such mortal feelings.

Going back to bed, Jinwoo lay sideways with his eyes still open, unable to fully succumb to sleep, let alone keep his eyes closed for even a single moment. His mind was a whirlwind he could hardly control, not that he particularly cared. 

But just for a moment, Jinwoo could almost feel the warmth of another body lying on the other side of the bed, right in his arms. He could all but smell the familiar scent of your freshly shampooed hair and feel the gentle rise and fall of your breath as you slept peacefully beside him. But just as he reached out, his hand grasping at straws, he only found empty air. 

A cruel reminder of your absence.

Jinwoo closed his eyes and sighed deeply. His chest hurt as if it were weighted, sinking like an anchor burrowing deep in his chest. He couldn't get the picture of your face out of his head. Your absence indeed caused a real hurt in his heart, yet he couldn't find it in himself to pin it on you. 

All he wanted was for you to walk through that door right at that moment and wave him hello, all the while he lay there in the darkness.

'Ahah… right. What was I thinking?'

Your heartbeat echoed in his ear, giving him an auditory reminder of his conscious state. 

'They're right there.'

You existed in his life, and that was all that mattered.

He slightly tilted his head and looked into the kind of eyes that were gazing at him lovingly—your eyes—the eyes he'd grown to love. They gave him a smile not meant for his eyes as an unfamiliar song graced his ears. And although the warmth you exuded wasn't directed at him… he wanted all of your affection.

The tender voice of his significant other echoed in his ears. 

"I love you," you chimed, caressing his cheek. 

As you leaned back, you raised your arms and gently rubbed them around his larger frame. Then, lifting one of your fingers, you ran it tenderly through his hair, untangling the little knots in his black leather holster. 

"I love you too..." he whispered. His gaze softened ever so slightly as a gentle breath blew past. Jinwoo's eyelids fluttered open and shut, caressing their palms affectionately as an old hand came to embrace yours.

But Jinwoo knew all along. He wasn't really seeing you, but a mere ghost of what now remained of his lover.

"Fuck…" 

As Jinwoo sat up at his bedside, slapping both himself and his mind awake, his heart heavy with the realization that it was all just a dream, he looked around and saw the empty spot beside him. 

"....."

"Damnit…" he cursed under his breath.

It was getting to him. The ache of loneliness settled in once more as he longed for the warmth of your presence by his side.

But wherever he went, all he could see was you. 

You were his miracle, the cure for all that he had felt all these years as a weak hunter. Even being an S-ranked hunter couldn't satisfy his pride. All he needed was your affection and love and nobody else's. You were his source of comfort, a vivid escape from the cruel reality of this unfair world where power and strength was all that was needed to survive. But you were living proof that wasn't what he wanted.

It was then that you noticed that glaze in his eyes. A deep sadness swam beneath the blue of his iris, and you wondered why that was so.

"What's wrong, my dear Jinwoo?" Your expression softened, growing worried at seeing his expression. "Is something on your mind? Would you like to talk to me about it? I'm all ears."

Hah…

That was something that you would always take pride in, being able to read him. 

He shook his head. "... It's nothing."

A heavy sigh eluded his lips as he turned his head to the woman next to him. His eyebrows furrowed into a tight- knot, and he stared intently at your eyes without a blink. 

Your hand caressed his cheek. But the warmth was missing. It felt oddly cold. "Well, if you ever want to talk, I'll always be by your side."

Jinwoo's heart clenched. 'No, you won't…'

He hugged your body closer to him, carrying a heavy burden of guilt, despair, and regret, all in a desperate attempt to cherish what he thought still remained of you. Unbeknownst to him, what he was clutching onto was but a pillow.

It was cold. It was stiff. It was nothing like you. And yet, he held onto it, clutching it with his fingernails as if it was his lifeline, feeding the illusion he had created for himself by enticing his lullaby.

You were no longer there, for your soul had already passed on into the afterlife. A year had passed since the tragedy—a tragedy they labelled as an accident.

But that couldn't have been more false.

That day gave him a false sense of security…

The memories haunted Jinwoo relentlessly since day one. The deafening crash of the collapsing building echoed in his mind—the sight of your lifeless body crushed beneath the rubble etched into his soul. 

It haunted him. But deep down, he knew it wasn't an accident. Far from it.

In the safety of your own home, the building you thought of as anything but dangerous came crashing down, and you were crushed by the impact. The monarchs decided it was time to get rid of everything he cared about.

Death. A concept all too familiar to humans.

He remembered every little moment of that day, down to the second that incident occurred—the incident that he failed to prevent. 

All because of him.

It was no one’s fault but his own.

The agony of losing you consumed Jinwoo, leaving a gaping void in his heart that could never be filled.

They took you away from him without remorse or justification. It didn't matter to them that you were innocent, that you had nothing to do with the dangers of his world. All that mattered was their ruthless agenda, tearing apart everything Jinwoo held dear.

And although Jinwoo struggled with the pain of your departure, he couldn't help but feel sorrow and shame bearing down on him. If only he had been there to keep you safe and out of danger. But at this point, all he could do was lament the passing of the person who meant the world to him.

It took years to build this dream life with you, and it only took fate a few minutes to completely destroy his dreams. Forever.

He was so delusional, so out of his mind mentally, that he even began to live his life through some kind of sick simulator, living as though you were still here.

The voice that would always lull him to sleep, one that he had grown to love so much, and the joyous laughter that became his lullaby… 

He'll do it. Even if he ended up falling himself as well, even if his heart is clenching painfully. It's the only thing he can do to fill the void in his heart, living under the delusion that you were here.

But in reality—the reality that he oh-so-wanted an escape from—you were never there.

For you had long already passed away.

©hxnbi. please do not modify, edit, copy or reproduce any of my works.

#solo leveling x reader #solo leveling #fanfic #fanfiction #solo leveling fanfic #solo leveling sung jinwoo #sl sung jinwo #sl #sl x reader #x reader #sung jinwoo x reader #sung jinwoo #solo leveling jinwoo #jinwo x reader #sung jin woo #sung jin woo x reader #sung jinwo x you #angst #scenarios

[bouncybongfairy]

felix catton x reader where felix cheats and tries to win reader back 🫣🫣🫣

Nice Try

Felix Catton x Fem Reader Smut

Summary: A week after Felix cheats, you attempt to end your sulking by going to a party. He is there and convinces you to come back to his dorm; all in an attempt to win you back.

Word Count: 2.0k+

Account Ref: @kaionyx

TW: Drunken Sex, Nasty Smut

<3<3<3<3<3<3<3<3<3<3

Things have been quite stressful lately. You’d already been struggling to keep up with all your assignments. Now with the recent infidelity in your relationship, it was near impossible to focus. Truly nothing made you cringe more than watching a man beg for forgiveness after cheating. Felix had been texting you all week, trying to salvage the relationship the two of you had. It just wasn’t happening, trying to find the respect you had for him was like looking for a unicorn. You were currently in your dorm, getting ready to go out. It was that time of the semester where parties were every weekend and the smell of hopelessness lingered in everyone's nose. Being confined to your room due to a mild depression, it was finally time to go out and be a whore. The first couple days you were feeling guilty for not responding to Felix. Now you couldn’t be more excited to go out, not even with any girlfriends. On a mission to get dicked down, you start doing your hair and makeup. Drawing on a thick wing of eyeliner and complementing it with huge eyelashes. It had been a week since the last time you wore makeup, which caused you to feel quite full of yourself. After getting dressed and making sure your purse had all the essentials before leaving.

The air outside was cold and crisp, enough to make your stomach tighten as you walked. Hitting your pen as you made your way towards the frat house. It was still pretty early so the lawn wasn’t completely thrashed with bottles and drunken students. Immediately you head towards the kitchen, making yourself a drink. Your face lights up when you see the sour cherry syrup sitting next to the Ciroc bottles. Mixing the two into a solo cup and making your way back into the living room. Felix was there, leaning against one of the walls. He immediately spots you, walking quite briskly to greet you. Asking why you haven’t been taking any of his calls or responding to messages. The fact that he was even asking was pissing you off, like he forgot he cheated on you. 

“Maybe you could come over to my place? I have a surprise for you,” he says, you could tell he was a little tipsy. When he could see you weren’t amused he started finding other reasons for you to come over, “not to mention you left a lot of shit at my place,” he says, resting his hand on your hips. You allow him to do so but not let him pull you closer. 

“Ask me again when I'm drunker,” you say, laughing and turning to walk in the other direction. 

Ending up spotting a few friends from your social science class. Grouping in with them as you drank, they all seemed quite excited to see you out and about. Knowing you’d recently been through a breakup, they were encouraging you to drink and smoke. You happily obliged, constantly making trips to the kitchen to refill your cup. Dancing on your friends, enjoying the energy of everyone around you. Like everyone was letting out their demons one way or another. However, you started feeling quite sticky, the air thick with smoke. You excuse yourself and make your way to the front yard. Needing a bit of fresh air and wanting to smoke a blunt. It was still quite nippy outside but the vodka blanket was keeping you warm. Lighting the blunt and taking a deep drag, tilting your head back and exhaling. Admiring the moon as you looked up at the sky. Suddenly you smell menthol, reminding you of Felix. Sure enough when you look for the smell, you see him standing a couple feet away from you. Just your luck you’d run into him outside while having a smoke. His eyes light up and he walks over to greet you. He trips a little on his way over, which makes you chuckle. “As embarrassing as that was, hearing your laugh really made it worth it,” he says, the cheesy pickup line made you roll your eyes. 

“Who’s dad gave you that one to use?” you joke, taking another drag. 

“Oh come one, don’t act like you don’t miss me,” he says, offering you a hit on his ciggy, “I know you love a good puff when you’re drunk,” he says, taking the blunt out of your hand to insinuate he wanted to trade. 

Due to your inebriation, you were a little more willing to entertain his foolishness. Taking a drag, closing your eyes to enjoy the fresh feeling of menthol stinging your chest. Not used to the potency of a cig, you start coughing a bit. He was making small talk with you, basically running down this past week's events. You weren’t really paying attention, instead admiring him as he spoke. The two of you had a very active and healthy sex life. Banging like rabbits, it didn’t matter where or when. When you’re used to fucking at least once a day, a week seemed like a century. He looked amazing with the porch lights shining down on him. Illuminating his massive figure, he bellowed so much smoke from his exhales; nearing incinerating the blunt into ash with just a few hits. The smell of his cologne flooding your nose, giving you a small level of comfort. 

“So have you thought about hanging out tonight?” he asks, tilting his head to the side. 

At first you were going to decline his offer, however you were in desperate need to catch a dick. It was also nice to have sex in an apartment as opposed to a dorm room with thin walls. Not to mention it would be quite dangerous to be walking alone on campus while cross faded. It was actually nice walking together while holding each other. Having his arm draped over your shoulder, hand caressing the soft skin of your neck. Running your hand up and down his arm, blushing when you felt goosebumps on his skin. Felix smoked your blunt into a roach, so you were passing the pen back and forth to each other. His apartment was only two blocks from campus, luckily because the both of you were wasted. You held onto his belt loops once you finally got to his apartment. Waiting patiently for him to unlock the door, immediately the smell of cologne and stale smoke. To some it might be gross but for you it was nostalgic; reminding you of a simpler time, when you were ignorant to who Felix really was. He was turning on the stereo, grabbing a bottle of Jewel of Russia vodka. 

“Is that the surprise?” you asked, as he filled two shot glasses.

“No give me a second,” he said, going back into the bedroom, when he came out he was holding a teddy bear with a shirt that said: sorry for being an asshole. With a box of Martin’s Chocolatier chocolates. You couldn’t help but laugh, as sweet as the gesture was, it was humorous at its core. When you’re reminded that these gifts are because he cheated. 

“Aww you’re so sweet,” you play along, acting like this made up for shit.

“Really? I don’t know if you’ve been getting my voicemails but I want you to know that I’m so fucking sorry. I’d do anything to show you how much I regret taking you for granted,” he said. 

“Anything?” you asked suggestively, letting your body weight be supported by the kitchen island. 

“Fucking anything,” he says, eyeing you like a oasis in a desert. 

You use your hand gesturing to him to come closer. Without hesitation he approaches you. Using the counter behind you to support himself, pressing his body completely against yours. You felt like fire had been ignited on your cheeks and ears. Grateful that your makeup was hiding how truly flustered you were. He was breathing heavily down onto you, the smell of liquor coming from his breath was making you wet. Both of you were testing each other, waiting to see who was going to make the first move. The tension in the room was enough to make you swell and ache. Watching him eye you down like a piece of meat. Wanting to pounce but being stubborn, wanting him to kiss you first. Suddenly, he picks you up. Now you were sitting on the counter, him standing between your legs. An involuntary gasp leaves your mouth from the sudden movement. The height difference between the two of you is now gone, making direct eye contact. Lips hovering over each other, nothing but a couple centimeters keeping the distance. Wrapping your legs around his hips, making his dick print press against you. The friction made him smash his mouth against yours. 

The kiss was sloppy and rough. Biting and sucking on each other's lips till they were raw. Wrapping your arms around his neck, pulling him as close as possible. He uses his arm to clear off the counter. Shit catering to the floor, not that either of you gave a fuck. You unbuckle his belt and unzip his jeans, exposing himself. Following suit, pulling your dress and the panties to the side. Nothing could have pulled the two of you out of the moment even for a second; not even a condom. He sticks his fingers in your mouth, collecting saliva to wet himself down. Moaning as he practically finger fucked your mouth, looking at you like he couldn’t wait to rip you apart. After stroking himself for a couple moments, he was lining his head up with your entrance. Letting your head fall back onto the cold counter top, becoming impatient with waiting. He finally slid in, after having no contact for a week, the feeling of him filling you was euphoric. You pulled him down by the hair and for a while you both just embarrassed each other. Both of you enjoying each other's bodies after being apart both emotionally and physically. Once in a while you’d clench around him, enjoying the fullness; he’d rock his hips feeling you walls suffocating him with an intense heat. 

He began fucking into you, tired of wasting time. Coiling your fingering in his shaggy hair, pulling slightly as he kissed and sucked hickies onto your shoulder and neck. A thin layer of sweat starts to coat both your bodies as the pace quickens. Feeling close to coming, you push him away. Sitting up on your elbows, he pulls out and away looking confused and concerned. 

“Take me to the couch.” You said. 

He smirks and carries you over, taking a seat with you on his lap. Facing him while on your knees, he starts to knead and play with your chest. You line his cock up and sink down until you fully take his member into you. He gasps at how tight and wet you felt around him, a groan leaves your mouth. Starting to bounce up and down, slowly at first. Lifting your all the way from his tip back down to the base. His eyebrows were furrowed and his mouth hung open as he watched. Working yourself on his cock, watching him get more and more flustered. Made you feel formidable, seeing the power your body wielded over him. Moving from your knees onto your toes, allowing you to bounce faster. He took this opportunity to start pounding up into you at an animalistic pace. Even though he was absolutely obliterating your cervix, the look on his face alone almost made you cum. He was bright red with sweat dripping, putting his heart and soul into destroying your pussy. 

He stops, picking you up without saying anything and walks the two of you into the bathroom. Setting you down before lamming the lights on and ripping the shower curtain off the hooks, causing them to fly to the ground. Seeing how desperate and rough he was driving you crazy. Still carrying you he slams your back into the shower wall. Pressing his full body weight onto you, pushing himself deep into you. Now that his hips and torso were helping support your weight, he reaches over and cuts the water on. Not even caring that the two of you were still clothed. The hot water rains down as he starts furiously slamming himself in you. Wet hair covered your face slightly, fucking up your makeup and lashes. Normally you’d be insecure about how ridiculous your face looked, makeup running down your face. He was making you feel like a pornstar, like you were the only thing that could satisfy him. Fucking into you so hard that all the bottles on the shower rack were bouncing loudly. He was panting, water dripping off the hair that was flopped on the front of his face; just slightly covering his eyes. Moaning so loud it was practically screaming, tightening around him as you got close. 

Feeling you start to tighten and convulse made him cum into you. Hard thrusts as he moaned loudly into your ear. Making eye contact as the two of you came together. The way you could feel him get harder, and the last couple thrust become more slippery only made you want more. Catching his breath and turning the water off. Instead of stopping, he just walked back to the bedroom. Standing at the foot of the bed before falling forward, so that the two of you were missionary on the bed. After fucking for so long, the two of you were both extremely sensitive. Almost to the point where you wanted to stop, but when he started rocking his hip again you couldn't get enough. Cum leaking out of you slightly, making his cock slide in and out so easily. You let your body go limp and he slowly trusted, increasing his pace. Holding the back of your knees up, allowing him to frantically chase his orgasm at a better angle. Due to you having recently orgasm, it didn’t take long before you were the both of you were teetering the edge of your climaxes. Gripping onto the blanket as you felt him fill you against. Bucking and rutting uncontrollably while moaning. He collapses next to you, both of you practically half dead. While he laid there passed out, you got up. Legs shaking but still determined to take the soaked clothes you had on. Putting on a pair of his sweatpants and hoodie. Reaching out trying to cuddle you, he notices you were up; dressed and on your phone. 

“Thank you for giving us a second chance,” he said groggily. 

“Who said that?” you asked, grabbing your purse before meeting the Uber you just ordered.

#felix catton x you #felix catton x y/n #felix catton fanfic #felix catton x reader #felix catton smut #saltburn smut #jacob elordi x you #jacob elordi x y/n #jacob elordi x reader #saltburn imagine #saltburn fanfiction #fanfic request

[modelbus]

Anyone else have a newfound love for this song and an addiction to task force 141? No? Just me?

To my mcyt readers: …I can’t explain. Just know that is ✨ different ✨ from my usual. (Quite Suggestive) To the COD readers I've attracted: I haven't played the games and reality is what I decide to make it (feel free to send asks educating me or info dumping <3)

Pairing: John Price x Gn!Reader

Too sweet

Baby, I can never tell How do you sleep so well?

”Morning Captain.” The words are practically a ritual, although you know he won’t respond. He never does this early in the morning.

There were a lot of unwritten rules in 141. When you first joined, you fucked them all up. Continuously. More often than not, it was Soap who laughed at you while Price patiently explained why you can’t joke about Ghost being afraid of snakes.

This rule, though, only took you a few days to catch onto. The “don’t talk about the sleepless nights” rule. Everyone knew why that rule existed; you’d seen enough combat to not be that naive. You’d been there enough to wake up before the sunrise, to watch the sky bleed orange.

And that’s exactly why you don’t ask Price about the circles under his eyes. If he’s not up doing paperwork, he’s up for other reasons. You don’t pity him; being Captain isn’t something you could ever do.

“Had a dream that Gaz found a goat and convinced you to make it the base pet.” You continue. His lips quirk up, gaze turning amused, so you soldier on. “Then it ate Ghost’s clothes, so he kicked it out of the base and Gaz quit the task force over it. And Soap claimed he could speak to it, but I called bullshit on him and he disappeared.”

”Disappeared to where?”

“Hell, maybe? That’s where he fucking belongs.” You smile at him, and his eye roll—you pretend it’s fond—seems like a victory of its own.

You’re too sweet for me You're too sweet for me

“No.”

The finality of his word rings clear, but you persist. You were never too good at stopping before you crossed that line, never too good at giving up while you were ahead. Things, more often than not, ended up right as rain.

“Price—“ You try.

“You’re too young, and it’s wrong.” Never before have you seen a man so tortured. It wasn’t a question of if he wanted you, it was a question if he would let himself want you. And you both knew it. “I won’t take your innocence from you.”

You scoff, following him down the hall and out of the briefing room. So much for staying after to help him gather papers.

“I’m a soldier, hardly innocent!”

“Compared to me, you are!” He turns, and you automatically look up to his eyes. As you said before: tortured. “I’m harsh, and we both know it. You deserve to be with someone soft, someone who can be sweet with you.”

“I don’t want to be.”

From the second you laid eyes on John Price, you knew you’d never want to be. It wasn’t his age, although you never minded an older man. It was his passion, his care, his leadership and skills and everything else about him. He was magnetic, drawing you in despite everything.

And you weren’t blind to the way his gaze always met yours in a room, either.

Price sighs heavily. “Go to bed, soldier.”

Tactful retreat it is, then. “Good night, Price.” You murmur, turning away.

A pause, then another sigh. This one is lighter. “Good night.”

I work late where I’m free from the phone And the job gets done But you worry some, I know

Knocking twice, you don’t wait for Price to respond before entering his office. His light was on, shining out a signal to anyone in the hallway that he was awake.

”You’re about to owe me.” You announce, ignoring his groan.

“I was working.”

“And now you’re going to eat dinner. I had to smuggle these from the dining hall, you know.” You drop the napkin bundle you had made on his desk, opening it to reveal the food. His and yours.

“I was going to get food later.”

“Liar.” You sit in the chair across from his desk, grabbing a bread roll. “No drinks, because even I can’t smuggle that out.”

“I could get you in trouble for this.” He points out.

“But you won’t. I’m your favorite.”

Price reaches forward, taking his bread roll. Mimicking you, although he never puts his pen down. The paperwork spread out in front of him is just like every other night you’ve brought him food.

“Who says you’re my favorite? Maybe it’s Ghost.” Price smiles, and you beam back at him.

“Don’t insult me like that. I’m proud of my title as your favorite. I mean, I am the only one that you let lounge in your office.”

“Tenuously.”

“Still.”

His attention turns back to filling out his paperwork, leaving you to sit there. Per usual. You stay until all the food is gone, leaving him with only crumbs on his desk to show for it.

Sweeping the napkin and crumbs into his desk, you pause by the doorframe. His hat obscures his face, but you know he’s aware that you’re still there.

“Get some sleep sometime tonight, yeah?” You hedge.

“I should be the one telling you that.”

“Someone gotta look after you, Price. Besides, I’m not the one who doesn’t go to bed before daylight.”

Knocking at the door to signal your exit, you head out.

You treat your mouth as if it’s heavens gate The rest of you like you’re the TSA

"Never have I ever... been a virgin." Soap says, raising his beer.

"That's not how it fucking works." You argue. "You were a virgin at some point, obviously."

"You know wha' I mean."

"Just pick something else." Ghost butts in gruffly.

This is why you prefer not to play drinking games with the task force. Soap always ends up fucking them up first, and then it manages to devolve into chaos. For an elite spec ops team, 141 sure did struggle at these games.

"Fine." Soap groans, taking a drink of his beer while he thinks.

"In the meantime, I'll go-" Gaz starts, but immediately gets cut off.

"Never have I ever been a virgin right now."

You stare at Soap. He stares back. "I'm going to beat your ass for targeting during training tomorrow." You threaten him, taking a sip of your wine. You're the only one drinking wine here, but you prefer the taste of it over beer or whatever the others are drinking.

As you tilt your glass back, your eyes lock with Price's. You're reclined on the floor with Soap while he's in a chair, giving you the perfect line of sight on each other. He watches with dark eyes as you swallow, tracing your figure with a gaze so heavy that it makes you shiver.

In his hand, his whiskey remains untouched.

"You just need to get laid and then you won't be such an easy target." Soap is saying, oblivious to the tension simmering between you and Price.

"Unlike you dumbasses, I'm don't want to sleep with the first moving thing I see." You don't look away from Price pointedly. "I prefer to wait for the right person."

Ghost makes a disinterested noise from the chair next to Price, making you flick your gaze to him. He inclines his head slightly, well-aware of the thing between you and Price, but doesn't say a word. Thank fuck for Ghost.

"I'm heading to the bathroom. Don't set the room on fire while I'm gone. Soap."

"God, I didn't do anything yet!"

"Yet."

"I'll go too." Price says lowly, his footsteps tailing yours. It's not until you're in the hallway and out of earshot from the others that he speaks to you. "You're a tease, doll."

"I'm aware." You turn to grin at him, but startle at his proximity. He steps forward and you take a matching one back, your back hitting the hallway wall.

"In front of everyone, too." He murmurs, boxing you in. Your heartbeat pounds loudly in your ears, but not from fear. You know what fear feels like, and it certainly isn't the warmth pooling in your gut. "Begging for it."

"You know I have been."

His head dips, and just for a moment the bitter taste of whiskey invades your tastebuds. Your eyes flutter shut as his tongue swipes across yours, and when you open them he's gone.

Point, you.

As soft as the rain Pretty as a vine As sweet as a grape

John Price was everywhere.

His hands on your hips, his bookshelf pressing against your back, his mouth on yours. Every inch of him invaded every inch of you, and you loved it.

As it turns out, all you had to do was get shot in the field. A graze made well worth it by this reaction.

“Don’t you ever pull that shit again.” Price says into your mouth, hands tight on your skin like you’ll disappear. You’d worry that they’d leave bruises, but you already know your love looking at the reminder of him.

“Or what?” You taunt when he pulls back for air.

“Or I’ll tie you to my fucking bed.”

The threat lights your blood on fire in a way it’s never done before. Want, roaring strong, sears through you.

“Truly a terrifying prospect, the guy I’ve been waiting to ask me out finally taking me to his bed—“

He smothers your laughter with his lips and tongue, hand coming up behind your head to protect it from the shelves. You tug at his hair, earned yourself a low addicting sound. Yeah, you need to hear that more. A lot more.

“What’d medical say?” Price asks, dipping his head to trail kisses along your neck. Because he had been waiting to ambush you the second you stepped into his office, you never got to tell him.

“Um.” You struggle to collect any rational thoughts as he nips at your neck, his beard and mustache scratching your skin. “They cleared me. Wrapped it and said I was good.”

“And what do you think I have to say about that?”

Trick question.

You groan, but it comes out less annoyed and more like something entirely different. He hums in response before you can even be embarrassed by the sound.

“I don’t want to run for training.” You complain.

“I think you’ve gotten enough things that you want from me.” As if to serve as an example, he presses a quick kiss to your lips before pulling back. Not too far: his hands on your hips ensure he’s still got a hold on you.

“…maybe.” You relent, staring up at him.

He smiles, reassuring, and you know this is going to stick. “Pretty thing.”

“I know you are.”

“I was talking about you, doll.”

And you knew he was, you were making a joke, but the way he says it has your cheeks flaming. He laughs, breath fanning over your hair, amused.

“Let’s grab food from the mess hall.” He suggests.

“You? Actually grabbing food? At a reasonable time?” It’s a goddamn miracle.

“Yeah yeah, don’t rub it in. Wipe that smile off your face.”

“Yes sir.” You don’t wipe the smile off your face.

“I had my tongue in your mouth, I think you can stop calling me sir. Or Captain, frankly.”

“What, you don’t like that stuff?”

His eyes widen briefly. “Oh, you little—“

#john price #captain john price #captain price #task force 141 #call of duty #captain price x reader #john price x reader #captain johnathan price #cod #tf 141 #john price cod #john price x you #john price call of duty

[dilf-din]

Forever Winter (If You Go)

Carmy Berzatto x reader

WC: 1200

Warnings: depictions of PTSD, panic attacks, allusions to suicide, light language

A/N: I feel like I don’t see many things addressing Carmy’s grief, so here a little blurby blurb of reader helping him through a panic attack. This man need a hug.

The intimate sounds of dinner rush roared in your ears. The soft blush of candlelight pressed a kiss to every profile and warm smile seated in pairs around you. A hundred pleasant smells swirled around the room, echoing off the walls and teasing of delicious bites to come. Silverware sharp against plates and lovers sharing hushed laughter were drowning out your thoughts as you stared at the white table cloth and empty seat in front of you, anxiously checking the time every twenty seconds.

Carmy was late a lot, but he was never this late. Never on your anniversary.

Every text sat unanswered, every call going to voicemail.

The waitress stopped by to refill your water one more time, giving you a sympathetic look. The basket of bread had been reduced to crumbs, and you could probably recite the menu from memory at this point. You knew you couldn’t sit there forever keeping another well paying pair from a warm meal.

“I’m so sorry. Here, keep all of it,” you apologized gathering your coat and bag and dropping a few twenties on the table to compensate for her time.

You quickly dodged waiters and trays of decadent looking food on your way back to the door. Another call straight to voicemail. You tried to ignore the worry that hung heavy around your neck. The Bear was only a few blocks away, so you opted to walk, knowing you could make it more quickly than flagging down a cab in Friday night traffic.

Teases of flurries danced down in the rough wind dotting your lashes and the wool of your coat. Underfoot, slush crunched with every step of your boots. The roads were sure to be icy in the morning.

Inside your head you kept repeating the same prayer.

“Please be okay, Carm. Please be okay.”

The seconds you stood waiting at each crosswalk for the light to turn green felt like an eternity.

“Please be okay, Carm. Please be alive.”

Each beat of your heart a silent plea to the night sky.

You unsteadily fished your keys from your coat pocket as you crossed the last street, checking your surroundings before letting yourself into the Bear’s front door and locking it quickly behind you. All the lights in front of house were off, just a dull stream of yellow poured out from crack in the doors, leading in the direction of his office.

“Carm? Baby?” you called out, tentatively but loud enough for it to carry through the empty building.

Unsteady legs carried you through the kitchen and around the corner, holding a breath involuntarily as you searched for that familiar mess of curls.

“Carmy?” you called out as you rounded the doorway into his office and found him huddled on the floor. He had tight fists buried in his curls and his breath was coming quick and ragged. Tears tracked down his cheeks disappearing under the sharp line of his jaw, his eyes unfocused and glazed over.

“Shit. Carmy? Can you hear me?” you shed your coat onto the floor and crawled down next to him taking his head into your hands.

He looked at you with pleading eyes, like a scream he didn’t have the strength to let out.

“I’m here. I’m here,” you reassured, never dropping his gaze. You had been through this with him before a few times. He did his best to keep it buried so it didn’t burden you, which inevitably led to all the grief bubbling over.

“I know it’s hard, but try to breathe with me,” you directed, drawing deep breaths through your mouth and holding them before slowly exhaling.

His eyes bore into yours as he tried to override the panic and get back in the driver’s seat of his body. Each breath, each call of your voice, the soft touch of your hands, it all began to ground him.

“It’s me, Carm. I’m real. I’m here,” you repeated. Minutes passed just mirroring each other’s breathing, and he felt the fear slowly release its grip on him.

When his heartbeat finally slowed to a normal pace, he slumped forward into your shoulder, his body exhausted from being in that state for so long. Your arms snaked under his and you stretched your legs out to sit against the wall, pulling him into your chest. You stroked a gentle hand through his hair and pressed kisses to the crown of his head. He buried his ear against the soft flesh of your breast in search of your own heartbeat.

You never pried, never prodded, always waited for him to come to you when things got bad. Sometimes he felt like talking, sometimes he didn’t. What Carmy was willing to share was entirely up to him. Some nights you held him for hours in silence, and some nights he opened up.

“I, uh, I thought I saw him,” he said quietly. His grip tightened on your dress. He drew another shaky breath in before continuing, “I was listening to some music while I was finishing up some payroll stuff and I, I saw him walk by. And he smiled at me. And I just,” he trailed off and nuzzled farther into you.

The two of you sat in silence for a while longer, your hands in his curls and rubbing down his back, his fingers fiddling with the zipper of your dress.

“Maybe you did see him,” you said softly, “Maybe he came to see you.”

His lips twitched into a fleeting smile where they were pressed against your collarbone. His weight against you was starting to feel less defeated and more relaxed.

“You think?”

“When you love someone they’re never really gone,” one of your hands trailed down his arms and began to trace his tattoos sending a chill down his spine.

With that, he sat straight up and looked at you with a pleading look like before, but softer, more him.

“I’m so sorry I missed our date, bug.”

“Honey, you didn’t plan this,” your hand cradled his cheek and he pressed a kiss to your palm.

“Love you so much,” he mumbled into your hand, pressing another series of kisses down your arm. With one finger he tilted your chin towards him snd pressed a chaste kiss to your lips, “Happy two years babe,” he smiled. One of those real Carmy smiles that made the corners of his eyes crinkle.

“Happy two years, Carm,” you exhaled contentedly. The moment was interrupted by the deep grumble of your stomach cutting through the silence.

“Baby,” he laughed apologetically.

“It’s fine, but we’re picking up Taco Bell,” you smiled reaching for your coat.

He pushed up off the floor and offered you a hand up.

“You look gorgeous, lovebug,” he twirled you a little to take a look at the dress and boots you had put on for your night out, “Sorry I didn’t get to show you off.”

“We’ll go out another time,” you reassured while he helped you into your long coat.

“Does it have to be Taco Bell?” he tried to bargain while he grabbed his keys and his own coat out of his locker.

“Non-negotiable at this point, Carm,” you said flatly.

“You know it’s not even real meat.”

“I know, Carmy.”

He gave an exaggerated defeated sigh and followed you out into the cold Chicago night.

#carmy berzatto x reader #carmen berzatto x reader #carmy berzatto x you #carmen berzatto x you

[take-everything-you-can]

What makes a man

A/N : This is the second piece into the angiverse or my dad Eddie series of blurbs. A series of Fathers Days throughout Eddies life. One Where his father wasn't so kind, another when he surprised Wayne, and one more where you surprise him. I hope you all enjoy reading it as much as I did writing it.

P.s Photo in header are all from google straight up not gonna lie to yall have no idea who edited the Eddie and Wayne photo but its phenomenal.

P.p.s update : the photo of Eddie and Wayne was created by user @fefemunson on Pinterest and insta 💕💕🖤

Dividers by @cafekitsune

18+ MINORS DON'T EVEN THINK ABOUT IT

Pairing: Eddie Munson x Fem reader

WC: 4K

TW: Angst ( Al - need I say more...) Fluff ( Wayne's gift, doting husband, baby girl Munson) Smut ( Breeding kink, F receiving, fingering, unprotected PIV, dirty talk, multiple orgasms, accidental edging, squirting) If y'all see anything I missed please let me know. Not really edited all that much.

Sweat rolled down the side of Eddie's face as he sat crouched behind a car in the packed lot of a junkyard, a few towns over from Hawkins. The sun had set but the heat waves, in the middle of June 1975,  had become almost stifling as he kept an eye on his surroundings. Al had promised that if Eddie just kept watch this one last time, while he took care of some business, then he could get him the guitar strings he had his eye on.

It had only been two seconds, two seconds Eddie let himself get distracted as he watched the fireflies light up the darkening sky in swirling patterns. Two seconds and Eddie had missed how a tall figure made its way over to the door in which he watched his father disappear behind. Two seconds and he was too late to let out his crow call to let Al know there was someone coming. 

“Run.” A gunshot and a flash of his father was all Eddie heard and saw before his limbs were weaving in and out of old abandoned things that people no longer needed. Things that people no longer wanted. Losing traction as the rain from the night before made the clay and mud beneath his feet slide. He had caught up to Al, Eddie had never been an athlete but when it came to running for his life, he had more practice then one should at his age.

“Stupid, How could you be so fucking Stupid?” Al was catching his breath as he slowed, pretty sure that the men he was stealing from had given up at least for now. “I mean I ask you to do one thing and you can't even do that right.” Eddie walks beside his father and he’s heard the spiel time and time again. “If you think I’m getting you those guitar strings after this, You can forget it.”  Eddie knew he was never getting those strings, and if he was being honest with himself he knew this was the only time he was going to get with his father. That's all he ever wanted , to feel like he was needed and if that meant he would have to sit through some words that hurt, then that's exactly what he would do. 

He thought to two days ago. Hawkins Elementary had fathers day arts and crafts sweep through the halls and through classrooms as the day approached within the upcoming weekend. He decided that he was going to draw what he knew best. Eddie had drawn a dragon, large and fierce , one only a brave man could face. Sword in hand and threatening he had drawn his father slaying the dragon that plagued the princess’s  nightmares around the realm. He was so excited to present it to his father but as he sat and heard the words his father was saying the longer the picture sat in his backpack until it littered the bottom of it at the end of the year. 

Eddie would never give the picture to Al, in fact he would grow to forget about it. 

It took only a few months as the fall leaves began to change colors and fall to the ground, Al would find himself behind bars. Life without parole for numerous crimes that would leave Eddie with nothing but his mother and His uncle. It would be a very very long time before He would even hear the sound of his voice again. 

June 1985 had become as hot as Eddie thought it possibly could within the trailer. Wayne was currently out shopping for two new units, one for the living room and one for Eddie. As the men of the house could no longer stand having their hair drip sweat in their eyes and slick down the back of their knees. So they counted couch change and broke open piggy banks for the luxury of air flow. 

Eddie had found himself trying to pry the window that had been painted shut open in his room. A small one across from where his bed sat, and it took all of his strength and an hour of his time, but he had finally been able to crack it. Sweet relief had started to settle around him as a breeze picked up and his curtains swayed in as he took a look around his room. Clothes scattered and books in a pile, a few cups on his desk and sheets of paper askew, Eddie decided to start cleaning his room.

 A half clean floor surprised Wayne as he looks in on Eddie as he arrives home with the new units. Almost not wanting to say anything at all to stop Eddie in his task, but he curses himself as the words leave his mouth. 

“Come help me unload this truck boy.”  Eddie slips on a pair or worn out sneaker and trudges through the inferno only to be met with a realization. It was colder outside then it was in the trailer and he stood on the shared porch in disbelief. 

“How is it cooler out here than inside?” 

“Not for long If i can help it, Now come one and give me a hand before I melt out here.” 

Eddie helps Wayne take both units into the house and he holds them up as Wayne takes his time to install them, making sure that he eases the process as much as he can for his uncle.

 Eddie Holds his breath as Wayne plugs in the unit in his bedroom and the second the small little green light pops on and revs the A/C Unit to life, That breath leaves his lungs in a huffed out laugh as he jumps up and down in joy. A laugh from Wayne as he pats Eddie's shoulder as he leaves the room. “Glad you like it. I’m hitting the hay so keep it down here okay?” Eddie nods his head towards his uncle as he lifts his shirt up over his head and just basks in the cool air hitting his skin for what feels like the first time ever. 

Eddie opens his closet to hang a few stray long sleeve shirts he had  found scattered across the floor. Giving each the smell test before grabbing hangers. Who needs a long sleeve tee in this heat anyway, he thinks to himself. He stops and bends to find an old shoebox that had fallen from the top shelf and somehow landed upside down. Small trinkets from his past had toppled out and onto the floor, a few movie stubs, from trips to the cinema across town. His first DND Handbook , a small pick-me-up Wayne had brought home from a thrift store for him one day after finding out he had the flu.

 Then a small folded up piece of paper caught his eye. A Knight in shining armor depicted as slaying a dragon, one with a tail that could take out entire cities and claws like daggers. A sword through its skull as he shields himself from the bloodshed,but the face of the knight confused him. He remembered drawing the picture for his father , his rounded features and brudish stance, but the more he looked in on the knight he realized the picture he had drawn was not rounded but more sharp. The knight was more gentle as if it hurt to even have to slay the dragon but for his princess he would do anything. He had drawn Wayne, not his father. 

The picture would continue to lay in the box , and Eddie would put the box back in its rightful place on a shelf in his closet , but Eddie would always know that Wayne would slay his dragon. In fact he realized Wayne had been slaying them for years all in the sake of his protection. This brought a smile to his face as he left his room and made himself some dinner, making Wayne a plate to leave in the fridge so he would have something to eat before having to go to work. Tomorrow he wouldn't wait for the phone call from his father that would never come, instead he would spend it with his dad, a man who took him in and loved him for all that he was. 

An Early Morning of June 1988, Eddie paced by the phone for what seemed like hours. He started off his day by sitting , but the nervous bile that would rise in his throat had him up and down. His mind was set on hearing disappointment but you reassured him he would hear nothing of the sort. Finding himself sitting, knee bouncing as if it had a live wire in it, you start to separate things off the stove into their own spots on the kitchen aisle. A breakfast fit for a king, sausage and eggs , bacon and pancakes. All that was missing was Coffee. 

The night before you and Eddie had gone to Waynes for dinner leaving a small gift that he wasn’t supposed to open until this morning. You were sure he would open it as soon as you left but the line had stayed silent and Eddie knew for a fact he would call if he did. Given the gift he was receiving you had hoped the phone would ring sooner rather than later simply for the fact that you wanted Eddie to have peace of mind. Each second that passed you saw in Eddie’s features that he was going to the dark and weathered places. 

You and Eddie had given Wayne a mug. A small pink mug that when Wayne opened it reminded him of a diner he had not far from his house when he lived in Tennessee as a child. As Wayne poured his coffee into the mug he noticed that when he went to take a sip his hand caressed within it perfectly, a new favorite he would have to keep by the sink. As his last few sips drained the cup he saw an inscription on the bottom of the inside.

‘Pa Pa needs Coffee first’ 

A shrill ring from the telephone made you and Eddie nearly jump out of your skin. He picked up the phone and held it to his ear but before the word “hello” could leave his mouth Wayne had already started.

“Are you serious? Don’t be playing no games with me boy, cause if i have a heart attack then i'm taking your scrawny ass with me! You better be telling the truth or so help me -” 

Eddie's sniffles match Waynes as he just nods his head as if the man on the other end of the line can see him.

“I’m telling the truth, we’re having a baby girl, Uncle Wayne.”  Eddie turns as he hears a small sob leave you . You had been watching the man in front of you tell the most important person in his life the news of having your first child. It broke you in the best way.

 Eddie motioned for you to come over to him as he couldn't pull the cord far enough to reach you. He wrapped both of his arms around your neck as he held the phone to his ear letting Wayne rattle on his congratulations while you let the tears fall and land on his shirt. Eddie hoped this would be one of those moments you never forget. One that even when you were sitting next to him old and gray , he hoped this would be a memory he could always reach out for.

 Eddie hung up the phone and still having you wrapped up in his arms led you backwards. He stopped next to the fridge and opened it opting for orange juice instead of coffee. He had told you about a week or so ago that anything you couldn't do, he wouldn't do, and It was becoming a challenge. Coffee and a cigarette had been his daily routine for as long as he could remember, but having you struggle was something he was not going to let you do alone. So this morning he poured you a glass of juice along with his own and you both sat and ate the breakfast of champions, a slight Happy Father's Day on the tip of your tongue. 

Summer on the cusp of beginning in June of 1991 had bees buzzing and roses blooming . A cranky tot had been an alarm clock for you and Eddie for the past three weeks. Not only had your daughter reached the terrible twos but the heat was something she didn't like in the slightest. A stressful few months of Eddie working non stop and you finishing rotation on night shift had left you no time alone together. That would all end tonight. 

Wayne had agreed to take Angie for the weekend while you and Eddie had finally convinced your jobs to give you the time off. A rushed drive to Waynes gave you that pit feeling in your stomach and the tears that stained Angies face at your absence gave you tears to shed of your own. Mom guilt was always something you would struggle with. How could you not? Eddie squeezed your knee as he drove, peaking at you every so often to sooth the pit, he felt it too, but you deserve this. Eddie Deserved this. 

An early check-in to the hotel you had booked gave you enough time to get dressed and listen to Eddie complain about the restaurant you were taking him to having a dress code. You packed him a black blazer and a maroon button up ,but the man refused to wear slacks. Absolutely threw a fit about it, so he compromised and wore black jeans that you had to inspect for rips. While you wore a black dress that fit snugly against your soft tummy, coming up short against your thighs. If you bent over the entire place would be getting a show but you were saving that for your husband. God your husband, you loved the sound it rang through your brain, an earworm the word had become since you married. Husband, the father of your child, the man you gave your everything to and he gave you back all of himself in return. 

The dim light of the room made you squint at the incredibly small print of the menu in your hands and as you look across the table you see Eddie doing the same. 

“You see a burger here anywhere?” you roll your eyes. 

“Eddie, we did not drive an hour into the city for you to order a burger from a five star restaurant.”

“Why not?” you could see the slight slip of the corner of his mouth. You smile and turn your focus back on figuring out what to eat before the waiter comes back. The pasta sounds nice, the steak on a table across the way looks divine. You settle on a Caesar salad , Eddie orders steak and fettuccine. A beer in front of Eddie pairs with your glass of white as his hand comes across waiting for you to take hold. You indulge him as you pick up your glass with your other hand. Soft circles across your knuckles have you leaning into the table.

“Have i told you how incredible you look tonight?” Heat rushes through you at his tone, seep sultry, dark. A twist in where he laces your fingers with his own and a gleam in his eye. You know exactly what he wants to hear.

“Oh yeah? Me? What about you over there?” You return the look as the waiter sits your food in front of you interrupting whatever he was going to say.

 A tight smile is all he gives as he picks up his beer and takes a sip. He picks up his knife and you watch as he tries to cut into his steak, lifting your glass and taking a long sip you take the edge of your heels and slide it up his leg. He nearly drops his fork on the ground at the unexpected touch. Eddie stares wide eyed as he brings his food to his mouth slowly taking the bite.

You look away as if your heel isn't still making its way to his knee and sliding in between his thighs, placing your shoe right against his groin. You can see the way his body stiffens and instantly his hand is slammed against the table. It gets the attention of your waiter as if the sound was a call of his name. When he asks if you are enjoying your food and if you need anything Eddie rushes to get the words out.

“Yes! Good! Everything is delicious! Can we get the check please?” he obliges as he walks to grab the tab for the two of you. Giggling as you take in the wild look Eddie is giving you.

"You done already babe?"

"You are going to be the absolute death of me, woman.”  you pay for dinner as a treat for Fathers day, shit this whole weekend was for Fathers day. Eddie gave you hell for paying but the bruising grip on your hip as you walked through the restaurant had you knowing he was going to pay you back tenfold. 

Barely making it through the door to your hotel room Eddie had already shed the blazer you had made him wear. Lips catching between teeth and struggling to undo buttons has you both breathless and frustrated. Eddie pulls the shirt up and over his head yelling fuck it as it soars across the room. The rattle of his belt buckle sends a shiver down your spine as you sit and struggle to undo the clasp of your heels. Eddie kicks the denim that pooled around his ankles to the side as he jumps up onto the bed. His knees against the sheets, he takes one of your heels in his hands and leans it against his chest as he undoes the clasp for you. He throws the heel behind him and does the same to the other leaning over you as his hair falls around your face.

“Mhmm, I've been thinking ‘bout this all day.” your lips crash into his, a hungry, feral feeling overcomes you as you wrap your legs around his waist. His lips begin their journey down your neck and across your chest, sucking small spots and leaving small bruises, as if leading breadcrumbs to find his way back home. He reaches the hem of your dress as he nips at your thighs pushing the fabrics up so it bunches at your waist. 

“Isn't it Fathers Day, shouldn't I be the one going down on you?“ He catches your eyes as you look down and shakes his head. 

“Nope. Like you said, it's Fathers Day and that means I get whatever I want baby,  and I didn't get to have dessert.” He takes the lace between his teeth and lets it snap back in place listening as you let out a small whine from beneath him. 

“Mmm so sweet” He slips the thong along your thighs and down your legs as you let them spread for his immediate return. Except it’s not immediate, he takes his time. “So good to me, aren’t you sweetheart?” He takes his time kissing his way down your thighs to your dripping core. He drapes your legs over his shoulders as he slips his tongue through your folds and around your clit. Sucking hard as he lets the slick of your arousal coat his taste buds. Kissing your cunt as if he can’t live without its breath in his lungs. He slips his tongue into you as he lets his nose stimulate your clit. You wonder if he can breathe but the thought is lost as he slips a finger into you instead coming back to focus on that bundle of nerves. Your hands wrap themselves around his curls and grip hard, earning a moan from him that vibrates against your core as he adds another finger and a gasping moan sounding from deep within you as you chase that lightning through your core. Shaking thunderous moans of His name leave you as you give in to your husband. He slows the curl of his fingers and lets you ride out your high letting himself pant against your thigh as your grip in his hair loosens. 

Laughs from Eddie send you into a fit of your own giggles and the loving look he gives you as he hovers over you letting you taste yourself off his lips. Slow and needy you reach down and grasp Eddie's length through his boxers and a groan is made from the back of his throat.

“Eddie.” The soft moan of his name is all it takes for him to give you anything you ever wanted. Some Days it’s your laugh, other days it’s the way you take care of his daughter, but right now in this moment it’s the way you're sighing at his touch. 

You sit up pushing his shoulders back until his head hits the pillows,straddling his waist and sliding up and down his cock a few times, coating him in your slick. Lining him up with your entrance and sitting slowly until his entire length is buried inside you. A deep moan from within the both of you. You lift yourself off of him leaning back resting your hands on his thighs as the angle lets him hit that sweet spot inside of you with every drop back into his lap. The way his cock slides against your walls has you throwing your head back ,eyes closed in ecstasy.

“Uh uh , Look at me , Let me see you baby.”  your chest heaves with each thrust he sends upwards into you, unable to form words. A sudden flip has you separated from Eddie right as you were on the cusp.

“I said look at me Baby, Come on. What ? dick so good you’ve gone dumb?”  He slams into you and the sounds of his skin slapping yours, as he fucks you into the mattress, echoes off the walls.” God you’re so tight. Squeezin the fuck outta me.” You whine as he lifts you so your chest is flush with his own. “Look so good underneath me ,gonna fuck you full baby.” 

“Yes , god yes Fuck Eddie, fill me up.” you moan through each thrust, right against his ear. You reach your climax gushing around Eddie a small spray reaching his abdomen and wetting the sheets beneath you. Nail marks scratching down his back send him into his own orgasm as he coats the walls within you thick, falling forward with you under him. A weight you would always welcome. Both of you lay in utter bliss for what feels like forever before he slips out of you. You hiss at the empty feeling but welcome the warm rag Eddie drags across your center. A glass of water is given to you as you lay tangled in the sheets bringing them to your chest as you gulp down every drop. A small smile on Eddie's face has you feeling like you did the first time you saw him. Unbelievably awestruck. 

“What's on your mind Honey?” He thinks for a second but gives you an answer far from what you expect. 

“I think we just made our second child.” loud and blissfully you laugh. 

“One not enough? “ His dimples practically touch each other as he purses his lips, letting his tongue glide over the bottom.

“One is plenty, but I just can't help but want a little more of you in the world.” you sit up on your knees as you bring Eddies face down to your own, sliding a hand across his cheek as your lips meet.

"I wouldn’t mind a little more of you out there either.” 

#eddie munson #eddie munson x fem reader #eddie munson smut #eddie munson x reader #eddie stranger things #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson angst #dad eddie munson #wayne munson #dilf!eddie munson #stranger things #eddie munson stranger things #eddie munson blurb #mae blurbs

[piosplayhouse]

Ayo thank you for your contribution to society and world culture through the SVSSS iceberg, now if you don’t mind can you please explain it? I’ve been in the fandom a while but I swear I’ve never heard of some of these

Sure! Explanations will be sorted under the cut:

SHEN YUAN TIER:

- all items in this tier are either surface level details from the source material or

- daily bingpup is a popular fandom meme (used in the metal gear sense lmfao) started by @ kamkamquats on Twitter that's pretty self explanatory: kam draws and posts a bingpup picture every day! The archive is available here.

I probably should have made this point just bingpup, as I believe his origins precede kam's art, but she certainly boosted his popularity significantly, and now her art and bingpup are canonized with the publishing of the 4th volume English translation of the novel, so I thought it was a fun point!

LUO BINGHE TIER:

- Feynite's au collection: an extremely popular collection of alternate universe fics written by legendary Scum Villain fic author Feynite.

- Scum Villain is a tragedy: an interpretation of the books that poses that from every other perspective besides Shen Yuan's, Scum Villain is an incredibly depressing tragedy.

- Luo Binghe is Airplane's self insert: "Don't asky why Luo Binghe wasn't the embodiment of [Airplane's] ideal man; Luo Binghe's use had primarily been to fulfill his desire to be a badass and get revenge, as well as his desire for wanton [this section has been censored]" (The Scum Villain's Self-Saving System volume 4, page 163).

- Shen Yuan died on his birthday: Shen Yuan's death date is never given in the original novels, but in the first scene of the donghua when he dies while at his computer, you can catch a glimpse at the date reading September 21st (both his birthday and the day svsss was published!)

- Shen Qingqiu's canon fursona: binghe compares sqq to a crane multiple times in the story but is depicted as a cat in fandom much more frequently, leading people to joke about how the fandom disregards his "canon" fursona in the same way bingpup is much more prevalent than sheep binghe.

- Shen Qingqiu can knit: there's official crossover Christmas merchandise that shows all of the mxtx couples participating in different holiday activities: wangxian are decorating a tree, hualian are baking cookies, and shen qingqiu is knitting a scarf for luo binghe.

- Luo Binghe's birthday: Luo Binghe is actually the only main mxtx character that doesn't have a canon birthday. He's noted in the books as being born on "the coldest days of the year", but it's debatable whether this is late December or early January, and there's no specific date from this that we can confirm is his birthday.

- sv manhua's indefinite hiatus: much to the excitement of starved fans, a Scum Villain manhua began publishing in 2019. It ran for a grand total of 3 wonderful weeks before being unceremoniously put on indefinite hiatus because of drama within the fanbase stemming from rumors that the artist/company drawing it actually hated scum villain. It has yet to return.

SHEN JIU TIER:

- Moshang's horrible first time: MXTX stated in a Q&A interview that neither Mobei-Jun nor Shang Qinghua enjoyed their first time having sex together.

- Shen Qingqiu invented maxi pads: the "scum villain pad commercial" is a commercial from the first season of the donghua depicting an exchange where Ning Yingying is self conscious about going out on her period because her sanitary supplies aren't cute, so Shen Qingqiu magics her up some maxi pads.

- Shen Yuan read mpreg yaoi: "#18 Peerless Cucumber [Expert]: Upthread, keep cool. This forum has a lot of Green JJ sisters 😎" (The Scum Villain's Self-Saving System volume 4, page 145). / "''Great Master' Liu! Airplane Shooting Towards the Sky didn't write a green Jinjiang mpreg novel!'" (The Scum Villain's Self-Saving System volume 4, page 295).

- Shen Jiu transmigrated into Shen Yuan: A somewhat popular theory in the fandom that when Shen Jiu died, he transmigrated into modern day Shen Yuan the same way Shen Yuan did to him.

- Cursed monkey island: Cursed monkey island is/was a private discord server made up of very og sv fans that was known for outputting somewhat dark/off-color/weird fics for each other, often with funny porn spoof names and niche concepts. The first fics from there were published in 2018, while the last fic in the collection seems to have been published in 2022, so they might still be active, but I'm not sure.

- Moshang has a 20 year age difference: Shang Qinghua died at at least age 20 (probably older) and since he transmigrated into a baby, he has 20 extra years of consciousness from his first life on the PIDW native characters, who he meets when they're both teenagers in the Airplane extras. Though physically the same age group, he would've been mentally somewhere around 30-40 years old at this point getting bullied by teenagers.

- The microwave: some of the first previews released for the donghua were static turnaround videos of the 3D models set to elevator music -- after these dropped, it was radio silence on the show's status for a long, long time. Fans called these previews "the microwave" because of the static rotation of the models and referred to the time it took for the donghua to come out as "defrosting it in the microwave". There's a fair amount of art/memes from this time period featuring the characters literally inside microwaves, even to the point where people made microwave-themed SV merch. When the donghua finally came out bingqiu were declared "free from the microwave" and a wave of fanart of them destroying microwave prisons emerged.

TIANLANG JUN TIER:

- Wangxian have read resentment of chunshan: in the mdzs audio drama extra episode "Accompanying you to sleep - Lan Wangji", Lan Wangji takes care of a drunk Wei Wuxian by getting him ready for bed. Towards the end of the episode, Wei Wuxian asks Lan Wangji to read him a bedtime story. Lan Wangji says he isn't good at telling stories and Wei Wuxian suggest he reads him The Resentment of Chunshan (bingqiu fanfiction). Unfortunately, Lan Wangji had never heard of it before and thereby could not ASMR it.

- Six Balls x Zhuzhi Lang: a rarepair (also called bamboo balls) written by the lovely Alex here.

- Shen Qingqiu has the protagonist halo: a theory/headcanon suggesting that when Shen Yuan transmigrated, the role of protagonist and subsequent protagonist halo left Luo Binghe and transferred onto him. Often used in angst canon divergences wherein due to the lack of a protagonist halo, Binghe dies from an event he otherwise would have survived because of his story invulnerability.

- Shen Yuan's sister found his dead body: an angst headcanon centering around the idea that Shen Yuan's sister found his dead body rotting in his apartment after he died- very good art made about this here!! (Gore/blood cw)

- Who is zhuzhi lang's dad: we all know zhuzhi-lang's dad was a big snake but what kind of big snake? How big? Why did his mom fuck him? all important questions heavily debated about in this fandom.

MOBEI JUN TIER:

- Every ship is cumplane: we already know Luo Binghe is Airplane's self insert, and Mobei-Jun's cold demeanor is somewhat reminiscent of Peerless Cucumber's tsundere wife-isms, making bingqiu and moshang arguable proto-cumplanes. However, we can go further and argue because Airplane created the entire world of PIDW, all of it in a way reflects him and his feelings, therefore meaning that because it loves Shen Qingqiu and Shen Qingqiu loves it back, every possible PIDW asset x sqq is cumplane in its basest form.

- Original donghua designs: the first pv for the donghua actually featured slightly different designs for bingqiu, which were then changed later in production! You can see the original ones here.

- PIDW is real: someone actually posted PIDW on jjwxc so you can get the real Shen Yuan experience.

SHANG QINGHUA TIER:

- Shen Yuan penetrated into the body of the scum villain: there is a listing for the svsss donghua on Amazon prime video (though no episodes are actually available) which features this banger summary:

 An ordinary youth, Shen Yuan, after reading the novel "Arrogant Gods and Demons' Journey", triggers the mysterious system so that he crosses into the book world and penetrates into the body of villain--Shen Qingqiu. Shen Qingqiu's disciple, Luo Binghe, is the main character of the novel.

- Airplane's foot fetish:

#and thats it! #svsss #svsss iceberg

[mikasa-imadebiscults]

taking a bit further in the decades,(bc playboy bunny girls were officially a thing in the 50s) lets say Hashira! reader got a job as a casino bunny girl, mainly to spy to see if there are demons is in there. She doesn't know the demon king dropped by (It draws a LOT of humans in.), and was called in to... entertain him. (Lap dance, some intimacy as well, jdkndmfndmkd) both can't ignore that they think the other is very attractive and make out, too? tysm!!

(Hello, I’m glad to see another request from you again. I’ve never been in a casino before so hopefully I didn’t mess anything up and if I did then I apologize. I hope you enjoy this!)

May I Touch?

Muzan Kibutsuji x FEM! Hashira! Reader

(Warning: Swearing, Sanemi is your best friend, lap dancing, making out)

About the casino the reader applied to: This casino allows you to play games, gamble, etc. Also there is a private room for people that pay extra to get one-on-one time with a bunny girl, for example lap dances and some intimacy.

..

As a Demon Slayer you had to do a lot of things to slay demons. You had to bear through tough and excruciating training, lose people you deeply care about, and sometimes even spy on places to try and locate the demon.

This current mission you have is one of those spying ones. The problem is..

“Oh my god can you believe this shit, look at what they’re making me wear!” You say holding up the outfit to show your best friend Sanemi.

“Stop being a pussy and just change into the damn thing and go to that casino place before you’re late.” Sanemi said as he turned his attention away from you to continue his training.

“Fine fine I was leaving anyways.” You said with a huff before making your way to the casino you got hired at. You decided that you were going to change into the outfit when you got there so that you didn’t have to travel wearing that outfit.

You arrived there with your outfit balled up in your hand, looking up at the night sky you breathe in and out, silently telling yourself that it is going to be okay before going inside.

You go to the managers office and knock on the door and waited until you heard the muffled words of “Come on in.”

“Ah you’re here, unfortunately the person that was gonna show you what to do called out last minute and the others are busy entertaining the customers so I guess I’ll have to show you around.” He takes a drag of his cigar before speaking once more, “Go ahead and change in the changing rooms I’ll wait for you nearby.”

You nodded your head, walking out of the office and go to the changing rooms. Putting on the revealing outfit, you smooth out all the wrinkles and came out. You looked around and found the manager, he began to show you everything and told you about the rules and regulations. One thing that was strange to you was a private room that was designed for people that want one-on-one time with the bunny girl.

Since you came here on a mission you hope that you’re not the one getting called in the room.

Oh boy did you just jinxed yourself.

A little while went by and the manager went back to his office. You were doing your job until you heard one of your coworkers say “Hey new girl, come here we have a customer in the private room waiting for you!”

“Ugh why me.” You thought to yourself while walking over to the room.

As you got closer and closer your heart pounded as you sensed a extremely powerful demon, you thought to yourself that it had to be a Upper Moon. To your surprise when you opened the door and walked in you saw a pale man with red eyes, you could still tell that it was a powerful demon but there’s no use in fighting sense you didn’t have your blade on you.

The man seemed to be very relaxed so that relieved some of your nerves a little, you were hoping that the demon didn’t notice that you were a Hashira.

Leaning on the back of the red chair with his hands in his lap, he lifted his hands to signal you to come over. You closed the door behind you and walked over to him. As you got closer you noticed a red tint to his cheeks something you didn’t notice before.

“Oh my I got lucky today, I got ahold of a gorgeous one. How about you come closer and give me a dance.” He said patting his lap, you knew exactly what he wanted. A lap dance.

You came closer to him a visibly nervous expression was shown on your face. Muzan took a mental note of that, noting that he was gonna take his time with you tonight.

Muzan could sense that you were a Hashira but he didn’t care at the moment. All he wanted to do was have some fun with his new plaything.

As you begin to give him a lap dance you hear him hum in enjoyment, making your cheeks heat up. You honestly didn’t know what you were doing you’ve never given someone a lap dance before.

Your thoughts stop and you stop dancing, blushing harder, as you heard the man raspy voice say “May I touch?”

Unable to control your body you turned to him, before mumbling a quiet “Sure.” He smirked at that as he grabbed your hips and straddled you on his lap.

“Don’t worry we’ll take this slow.” He said against your lips before making contact with them.

As he was passionately kissing you, you could tell that this man had some experience and that turned you on, maybe because since he has some experience he could make you scream with pleasure without any difficulty.

He licked your lower lip, seemly asking for permission to explore your mouth. You allowed access and moaned when you felt his strong hands grabbing your ass and making you slowly grind on his lap.

You felt something hard under you, and that’s when you thought to yourself that tonight was gonna be a long one.

Masterlist

#demon slayer x reader #demon slayer x y/n #kny scenarios #kny x reader #kny x fem reader #kny x y/n #kny muzan #muzan kibutsuji #muzan x reader #muzan x y/n #muzan smut

[artificial-transmutations]

Closer Than Flesh - Closer Than Flesh

There is no ill influence or demonic corruption this time, as the power of the sigil stone, cleansed with the last bit of the divine spark, reforms Jake's body again.

Unlike the times before, there doesn't seem to be a random or chaotic element to it, but the transformative magic does exactly what Jake wishes for.

And there is another difference: Skyler, his best friend and current cock is mentally with Jake, allowing them to consult in the short time while the magic does its work.

"We will need to fight Baelnath, so we should have a body capable of doing so." says Skyler's voice in Jake's head.

"Okay, so... Like a soldier or a policeman?" Jake tried to picture a fitting form.

"Those are mainly good fighters if they are many. How about a mercenary or a bodyguard?" Skyler replies.

"Alright. Bodyguard. Help me picture our new body, Sky!"

They concentrate together and sure enough, Jake's body, his original body that he just got back, begins to change again.

As it is to be expected, strength, manliness and testosterone pulse through him, as his stance widens and his frame packs on mass. It is not as large as when he was the demon, but still, the man has a built-in athletic body.

"Hmm..." Jake says and flexes his biceps. "Not bad, but we need more!"

He draws on more power from the stone and changes his body further. His height increases to almost two meters and his skin hardens from hard training sessions. His body becomes fast, athletic and strong, but precise as a ballet dancer.

As a finishing touch, Jake decides to add a bit of the Arab ethnicity to the mix, a nod to the first body he had changed into.

Once his body is done, his clothing forms over his body: First, a filled to the brim jockstrap, holding Skyler firmly in place along with a cup to protect him.

Then, layer by layer, dark and sturdy combat gear comes into existence, ending with a pair of sunglasses, completing the "badass" look Jake and Skyler were aiming for. Lastly, the power of the stone's magic embeds them back into the world.

Jake looks around to quickly find out where they are. He is in front of a warehouse, one of many in a port area. This place has been used for some sort of shipping industry, but it looks like it is no longer in operation. There is a large open area with several warehouses, a parking lot and an office building. It seems like they are at the dead end of the port, with a small forest behind it. Luckily, the area seems to be devoid of any human life, which is a good thing: It negates one of the most problematic powers of Baelnath more or less entirely, as there are no humans to possess for him.

"Well... I know a boss arena if I see one." Jake mumbles in the baritone voice of the fighter male he and Skyler have created.

He looks around uneasily. It is late afternoon, and it's a sunny day in the early autumn. There is a light wind going over the sea, creating waves and a salty taste on Jake's lips. It's hard to say what country they are in - it could be quite anything.

There is no sign of any movement, and no sign of a big red demon anywhere. If it hadn't been for the magic of the stone that had brought them here, Jake would have his doubts that this is really where Baelnath is. However, the magic of the stone has proven to be not entirely exact before.

The sound of his heavy boots hitting the concrete floor echoes in the open area as Jake walks around. Nothing.

"Is he... hiding from us?" Skyler asks after a while.

Jake almost jumps from the sudden voice in his head but calms down quickly again and answers: "I don't know. Do you feel anything?"

Skyler stays silent for a moment before he answers: "Yes. Yes, I think he is here."

Jake looks around uneasily again, trying to find any hint that he can follow to lead him to Baelnath.

Finally, he decides to go into the offensive. He reaches at his waist and draws a gun from a holster on his belt. Of course, the old Jake had no idea on how to handle a gun, but this new body of his knows - and that's all he needs.

"Come on, Baelnath!" he shouts into the open area, his voice echoing from the warehouse walls. "Show yourself! I have the power now and I'm ready to face you!"

They hear the sound of laughter from behind the office building and Skyler exclaims in their mind: "He's here! Be ready!"

Jake's eyes focus on the corner of the building, as a large, hulking demon emerges from behind it. The red skin and glowing eyes are unmistakable. Baelnath.

As it is his usual entrance, he is followed by black and dark red mist, reminding Jake of wings coming from the muscular, red-skinned body. If he had thought that the demon was afraid of him, the sneering smirk on the demonic face disposes of that idea. Baelnath is having fun.

"You are a lot stronger now than you were the last time I saw you, little mortal", the demon says, his voice deep and echoing through Jake's mind.

"To be honest, I didn't think you would find the strength to resist the abyss for much longer - and yet, here you are."

"Here I am", Jake says firmly and raises the gun in front of his body. "And you know why?"

Baelnath laughs out loud, his voice making the hair on Jake's neck stand up.

"Let me guess. You are going to fight me, with that little mortal toy of yours. You will succeed where everyone else has failed before. Because you are special. Your will is strong enough not to be easily subdued and you have resisted the temptation of the abyss."

It isn't that far off from what Jake had intended to say, but the mocking voice of the demon make it sound silly all of a sudden. Jake gulps and grabbed the gun firmer. His hands are sweating, and he still can't make out any sign of insecurity from the demon. This conversation is not going as planned.

"But you are wrong, little mortal. Your strength is not enough. And neither is your will. I made you an offer back then that you have foolishly discarded. Now face the consequences."

All of a sudden, Jake feels an immense pressure on his mind. The demon is trying to subdue his will with his own demonic magic, trying to bend Jake's mind.

Jake resists as well as he could, but the strength of Baelnath is beyond anything Jake had ever encountered, even stronger than the first time Baelnath tried this. He feels powerless against the demonic mind and has to watch as, against his will, he lowers the arm holding the gun.

"Don't worry, Jake. I'm here." Skyler's voice is calm and strong in Jake's mind. He can feel his cock strain against the cup in his jockstrap and Skyler joining him in the mental battle. Skyler's will is so much stronger than Jake's own, but yet, alone he, too, wouldn't stand a chance against the demon.

Together, however, with their two minds acting as one, they might have a chance. Jake pushes against Baelnath, while Skyler supports him. The mental pressure increases, but so do their own forces. It's like a game of tug of war, with the demonic and the human forces in balance. Sweat runs down Jake's forehead and Baelnath concentrates the entirety of his demonic will into the mental attack, as he growls: "You cannot fight me!"

In response, Skyler whispers in Jake's mind, full of determination: "Together."

With one decisive mental action and a quick movement, the two friends push out Baelnath's will, making his eyes grow big in surprise. At the same time, a loud bang echoes through the area as Jake pulls the trigger.

The bullet flies at incredible speed and strikes the demon right in his sternum, making the large body tumble, but doing almost no damage.

The red demon recoils for a moment, while the human and his dick in the body try to regain their balance.

Jake doesn't have to hear Skyler to know what he says: "Again!"

Several more shots hit the demon in quick succession, each sending the body back half a meter from the sheer force of impact. However, as the dust clears, the demon doesn't seem to be much damaged. Baelnath looks down at the black spot on his sternum where the bullet struck and then back up, looking angry.

"I see how it is now. You're not alone in there, aren't you? You sneaky bastard! That explains so much, even though I don't know how you did it." Baelnath snarls.

Jake is sweating and feeling very uncomfortable with his hard-on under the combat gear. Baelnath might not know who is in his body right now, but he knows Jake has backup.

"But no matter how many people you have in your head, you have but one body. I am not called the twisted master of flesh for no reason. Behold and watch your precious body wither!"

The demon raises a hand and points at Jake, who immediately starts to feel the now familiar feeling of change. The muscles and impressive stature of this body quickly melt away, and Jake feels weaker and weaker with each heartbeat. He hasn't even considered before that, of course, Baelnath can just change his body!

"Shit! He's taking your body away, Jake!" Skyler sounds alarmed.

Although Jake has not ever been at eye level with the demon, he positively has to look up to the smirking demon now and feels small and insignificant. The difference in strength and manliness becomes increasingly apparent with each pulse of the magic around him, and his smaller body betrays his mind as he can't help but marvel at the sheer display of strength in front of him.

Jake's jaw drops as he watches Baelnath flex his muscular arms, the bulging muscles still retaining the massive form he has always been.

The red demon leans down towards him, still smirking, much more confident now.

"Do you feel it already? The need to serve your superior? Do you wonder how this can be? Has the big bad demon broken my mind despite my best attempts?"

Baelnath laughs.

"You are so naive. One should think that a human being would know more about human nature than a demon from hell. But you don't. You live your life in ignorance of the basic principles of humanity. That feeling you feel now, it is not one of the mind. It's primal and entirely bodily, sexual even. The need to submit to me, to serve a clearly stronger leader is as hardcoded into your DNA as the need to mate is."

Jake tries to resist the change, but he feels powerless against it. It is like Baelnath's words have put him in a trance, making it hard to think clearly. Skyler is not of much help here. His now much smaller cock body is throbbing with anticipation, and his entire mind seems to be focused on the bulging masculine curves of the demon in front of him. It is as Baelnath said: The feeling is hot and burning and sexual. An involuntary moan escapes Jake's small and insignificant body. He really is powerless.

Powerless... No. He is not powerless. Even though his body betrays him, he still has the sigil stone with Baelnath's own power, purified by the angelic spark, contained within. Even though every instinct screams at him to submit to Baelnath, he shoves his left hand into his pocket, grabbing the stone. Baelnath isn't the only one with magic here.

The magic flows readily out of the stone as Jake draws on it, taking a generous amount of power to counter the magic of the demon. In a split second, Jake feels himself becoming stronger than he ever felt before. His body, despite being so small and insignificant, fills the whole area with a magical aura that overwhelms the demonic one.

"What!" Exclaims the demon, before reinforcing his own influence. Sparks rain down between them as they pit their magic power against each other. It is as Mog'Tol has said: Only the same demon's power can counter a demon's magic.

In the few seconds Baelnath has needed to answer with greater force, Jake has managed to quickly fix some of the flaws of his body, getting it back into a lean swimmers build that did not make him feel the need to submit that strongly.

Swirls of magic are flying left and right now, as both beings, demon and man, pit their power against each other in a way of a supernatural wrestling of arms. It's clearly a stalemate. Neither can defeat the other without great risk, and neither is willing to give up, as their mutual will to not be defeated has grown.

It doesn't help much when Skyler's voice sounds alarmed in Jake's head. "Jake, be careful! The power in that stone isn't endless, Mog'Tol has explained that to Baelnath. Perhaps he is trying to drain you out!"

The truth of Skyler's words makes Jake focus more on the flow of magic in his left hand, where the power flows into. He concentrates on feeling every single drop and every single spark that flows out of the stone and back into him. The truth is, Jake has no idea how much juice the stone has left, but at that rate, it seems sensible that it will be drained quickly. He needs to switch strategies.

Carefully, he strains to extract even more power from the stone, but not to pit it against the demon in the astral battlefield between them. Instead, he uses it to change his body again.

What he needs for his idea is raw physical power, a lot of it. Power and speed.

He imagines the body of Bjørnar. He needs that - and even more. It is hard to concentrate on growing his body when he is still busy pitting raw magic power against the demon and illuminating the darkening environment with magic discharges. But bit by bit, every muscle on his body bulges, becoming greater than ever again. Biceps, triceps, pectorals, all the small and big muscles needed for being strong and fast. The body that quickly fills his shirt and pants is bigger than anything he was in before. He is becoming a true titan of a man!

With a deep cry, he suddenly launches himself at the demon, right through the thick field of magic all around him. Straining the power of the stone even more, he hardens his clothes into a modern armor chest plate and materializes a big ass sword in his hand, striking at the demon.

"Oh, fuck yeah, Jake!" Skyler exclaims in his mind as he sees the sheer display of raw strength Jake has managed to draw out from the stone.

Baelnath can only blink in surprise as he is hit in the face by the giant, flying at him full force. He has been completely caught off guard by this assault, which makes the impact so much worse. The red skin of the demon is ripped open on his cheek and jaw by the impact of the sword, which sends him backwards several meters. The pressure of demonic magic against Jake is interrupted at once and the magic around them dissolves into harmless sparks and lights. The sun has begun to set now and paints the area in an orange shade.

"So, you have chosen violence. I hate violence!" Baelnath says slowly and stands up again. His magic focuses on himself, too, now and Jake can see the wounds that he has caused are quickly healing. In his hands, the dark red mist contracts into a heavy, two handed and double bladed axe dripping with red liquid. A demonic weapon if Jake has ever seen one.

For a moment, the giant mortal and the demon lord look each other in the eye, panting heavily, until Jake breaks the silence again. With an angry growl, he launches himself for a second time, raising his sword and letting out a primal scream. This time, the two of them clash. Baelnath's axe meets Jake's sword with a clang, as they strike each other hard enough to make sparks fly. Jake quickly withdraws his sword and swings it around for a second hit, this time using the stone's power generously to augment his own strength.

The two giants of the supernatural battle ground fight each other. The sound of their blades hitting each other echo through the empty area, followed by the heavy panting of the two beings. Baelnath is clearly struggling against the sheer power of the titanic mortal, who is more than a match for the demon in pure strength. They strike each other again and again, as Jake finds every possible angle to strike Baelnath's powerful frame, not letting up on his assault.

More than once, the big sword or the heavy axe meet flesh and cause heavy wounds. Blood spurts paint the concrete floor red where they meet and make it slippery and wet at places. One time, Jake even manages to cut off Baelnath's lower left arm, but each of the opponents has magic to their disposal. Wounds close and the cut-off arm just regrows at Baelnath's will.

Sword swing, sword swing, dodge roll to avoid the giant axe. Jake quickly feels the fatigue of the fight creep in. Even with all the strength he has gained from the sigil stone, the demon is still a demon and not to be underestimated. In his head, Skyler is keeping up as well, shouting instructions as Jake dodges Baelnath's axe by a hair's breadth.

"Left!" "No! Right!" "Use the stone!" "Don't drop your guard!"

Jake is listening to Skyler's directions, but they seem to have lost the advantage they had before the fight started. The demon and him are evenly matched and it's only a matter of who tires more quickly.

Drawing another big piece of the body altering magic of the sigil stone, Jake dissolves the backside of his armor and grows a magnificent pair of wings on his back. With a powerful jump of his strong legs, he leaps into the air and flies over the demon lord, who is left dumbfounded as he watches the giant body of Jake rise into the air, now with a new advantage over his opponent.

From above, soaring through the air, it is easier to strike at the demon and to dodge Baelnath's attacks - at least until the demon himself uses his magic to lift himself into the air. Now the two of them are flying in the sky over the deserted area of the port, flying at each other in a deadly game of aerial sword and axe strikes. The sounds of clashing metal and growling resonate between the buildings of the port, which seems to stretch out forever below them. Jake needs to rely even more on the power of the sigil stone to keep himself from falling down, changing his body here and there and augmenting his strikes and dodges.

Even with all the advantages his new winged body gives him, he can't seem to gain the upper hand against the red demon. Baelnath is much stronger than Jake has ever given him credit for, and his endurance seems infinite.

"Sky, think! We need some advantage, some distraction." Jake shouts in his mind, trying to find a way out of their stalemate.

Skyler's mind is in overdrive. Isn't there anything he knows about the demon that he can use to his advantage? Suddenly, he gets an idea.

"You need to bring some distance between the two of you!"

Jake nods and disengages the demon, zooming to a stony beach nearby.

"What now?!" He asks anxiously, keeping a careful eye on the demon, who takes a moment before following him by hovering in the air, laughing.

"Just like that, mortal. Run as you will, but you will never escape!"

However, despite the arrogant words, his voice is clearly strained and exhausted. The demon must be feeling the fatigue as much as Jake.

"Listen, Jake. I don't know if it works, but... try to *summon* him here - and then, strike while he is disoriented."

Skyler remembers the feeling of discomfort Baelnath has felt as the Binding Circle has summoned him. Even though Skyler has no idea on the correct symbols or incantations, he just hopes they don't need it. If he remembers Mog'Tol’s teachings correctly, since they are using demonic magic, all they have to do is *want* to summon Baelnath enough. Of course, Skyler has no illusions on being able to bind Baelnath as the Binding Circle has done. That would only result in pitting their magic powers against each other again without the intricate circles and drawings of the human mages.

However, that one moment of distraction might be all they need to get the upper hand.

Jake lands at the beach and quickly disposes of his wings and changes back into less of a behemoth to be able to focus on one thing only. He closes his eyes in concentration, shutting out the outside world while he focuses on one thing and one thing only: To summon Baelnath, the demon. It doesn't matter that he is only a few hundred meters away. He is a demon and can be summoned. Jake gently bites the tip of his tongue as he draws magic power from the stone. Both he and Skyler can feel clearly that the magic doesn't come as easily as before. At first, Jake thinks that it's because of the difficult task, but Skyler's voice in his head offers another explanation: "Jake, I think this is it. The stone is nearly empty!"

Jake instinctively knows that Skyler is right. But it doesn't matter. For this task, there is still enough juice in there. Jake opens his eyes again and shouts: "Baelnath! Come here! Now!"

The magic works. From one moment to the other, Baelnath is plucked from the air some hundred meters away and delivered magically to the ground at Jake's feet - unarmed and disoriented.

Jake doesn't give the red demon the chance to react. With a magically enhanced mighty strike that drains the stone's reserves even more, he brings down his sword on the demon, wounding him gravely. He doesn't stop there, either. While Baelnath tries to raise his arm to shield himself from damage and his wounds begin to heal, Jake strikes again, and again, and again. It proves to be a poor choice of him to let go of his bodybuilder muscles, and each new strike is more exhausting than the last, but it is clear that Jake and Skyler have won now.

Baelnath is unable to do anything except to heal his body, and it is clear that his magic, too, is fading.

As Jake raises his sword for the final blow, however, Skyler stops him:

"Jake, hold on."

Jake halts. "What? No! It's over, Sky. Let's end it now."

"I know. But killing him won't work. For long, I mean."

"What do you mean?" Jake asks, still raising his sword over the red demon, who looks at him with a hateful yet powerless gaze.

"I mean that he will eventually come back. Mog'Tol said so to Baelnath before: He will come back to hell at some point, and I don't know how long it will take."

"And if he comes back, he'll come for us again." Jake says, understanding Skyler's point.

"Yes."

Jake nods slowly, and his arm lowers. "So... What do we do? Send him to hell now? Isn't that our only option?"

"Let me think, Jake. Give me a moment to think!"

"What are you waiting for?" the defeated demon, who didn't hear the conversation in Jake's head asks bitterly. "Just finish me off already."

Jake doesn't even react to Baelnath's words. Instead, he waits patiently with his sword drawn over the demon.

"I've got it!" Skyler exclaims in his head. "Do you remember what Mog'Tol said about demons? That they are made, not born?"

"Yes." Jake replies. He remembered the conversation about the demon's origins as well as Skyler did.

"The binding circle didn't mention a demon named Baelnath in their documents. That means that Baelnath had another name before he came to hell."

"Probably, but how does that help us?" Jake asks impatiently.

"I've got an idea. Let me think... Quor'Zhai, Han'labte, Pyrixiel, Tervonos,..." Skyler reiterated the list of names they had heard in the body of Dominik.

"Wait, perhaps this is some Lord Voldemort thing?"

"You mean an anagram?" Skyler ponders. "Could be - it would be pretty cliché, but I don't think that's much of a problem for demons. Okay, so 'Quor'Zhai' has a Q that 'Baelnath' has not, Han'labte has a..."

Skyler stops for a moment, before continuing. "God, Jake, I could kiss you. 'Baelnath' is an anagram of 'Han'labte'. That's his real name! And he was a spirit of nature once!"

"I know who you are, Han'labte!" Jake immediately uses his knowledge to address the demon on the ground.

"How... How did you know?" Baelnath says, incredulously.

That is all the confirmation the two friends need.

"But what do we do with it?" Jake asks silently.

"I guess with his true name, we could bind him or something like that. I don't know if the magic we have left is enough though."

"There's one more thing we can do." Jake says with a sudden pulse of determination. "Do you remember what that small raven demon said? Why you couldn't use the stone to turn me back into a human when I went full demon?"

"I couldn't, because the magic of a demon can only ever be undone by the same demon who cast it, or a miracle from above." Skyler cites. "And it wasn't Baelnath's power who turned you into a demon, but it was the first thing you did yourse- oh."

"Exactly." Jake nods. "We should be able to turn Baelnath back into Han'labte."

"Then let's do that!" Skyler says excitedly. "That's like the only option that won't come back to haunt us later!"

Jake nods again and grips the stone firmer but stops in his track again. "Damn. We can't do that."

"What? Why not?" asks Skyler, confused.

"Because we only have a tiny bit of magic left. If we use it to turn Baelnath back into his nicer form, we will need all of it. And then, there is no more magic left to turn you back into a human."

There is a moment of silence between the two friends. Regardless of how he looks at the situation, Skyler knows that Jake is right. He has been turned into a cock by the power of Baelnath. If they succeed with their plan, there is no Baelnath-magic left anywhere. And a demon's magic cannot be broken by anything else but the same demon or a miracle from above.

But if they don't do it, if they use the magic to turn back Skyler, all they can do with Baelnath is to kill him - and send him back to hell with that. That would buy them some time, perhaps a few years, before he comes back and takes revenge. But they would be left with an empty stone that cannot be refilled with more magic. Skyler, and Jake, would have no chance against the reborn Baelnath.

Looking at it that way, the only choice they have would be a short life with a bitter end as two humans - or keeping Jake safe for the price of Skyler having to stay a cock forever.

For Skyler, who has been in love with Jake for as long as he can remember, the choice is easy.

"It's... okay. Do it, Jake." Skyler says, softly. "I will stay with you as your dick - and it's the only solution that lasts."

"Sky, I can't-" Jake starts to protest, but Skyler interrupts him. "Jake, you don't know what you're saying. I've been dreaming about this for years. To be able to confess to you how I feel, and to be close to you. Look at us now, how close we have become. We are of one body, and I am a most important part of you. In a way, we are as close as you can become - closer than flesh."

"Sky... are you sure?" Jake gulps. "There's no turning back. I would love to keep you as my dick, if that's what you want."

"Yes, Jake. Let's do this." Skyler's voice is calm and sincere.

Jake nods and turns to the demon who has not moved in the meantime.

"Here we go. Baelnath, you need to change. Remember who you were before. Become Han'labte once more!"

With these words, Jake draws the last of the power out of the sigil stone and lets it gently wash over the red demon form, changing him back into what he has been before as the last of the sun disappears behind the ocean waves.

***

As it turns out, Han'labte is a gentle soul. The spirit of nature was responsible for change, puberty and the male body in his prime before he became corrupted by hell. As such, his natural manifestation was that of a most attractive young man, often sporting a mischievous smile.

He has full memory of the centuries and millenniums of being a demon and feels deeply sorry for everything he has done. Even though he has been what must qualify as one of the nicer demons, he did a lot of evil that now burdens his new-found conscience. He is unable to understand how Jake and Skyler can forgive him.

At first, they let him leave, so they can catch their breath and give themselves some time to think about what is to be done next. It takes some time to travel back to Jake's home and slowly get settled in again. Jake's final body is pretty much the one he started this incredible journey with, with one big difference: His cock is much bigger than what he ever had before that fateful night with the sigil stone. And this piece of cock literally has a mind of his own. His best friend since kindergarten is now Jake's cock, and although their life together takes some getting used to, in the end, both are happy with the outcome. They have gotten to know so much about each other over the course of their adventure that living together in the same body doesn't seem like such a big stretch anymore.

Besides, Skyler still finds it extremely hot to be treated like nothing more than a cock - a fantasy that he can easily live out now. So, there are sometimes even weeks when Jake and Skyler don't speak to each other, and the former uses the latter just like a normal dick: For pissing and jerking off, making sure to do both of them as often as possible for Skyler's enjoyment.

At other times, they combine their minds to overcome life's burdens. Skyler's cleverness and Jake's quick thinking are an unbeatable combo.

One year after their final battle at the beach, all of a sudden, Han'labte appears to visit Jake and Skyler. Although the encounter is awkward for all of them at first, they quickly work out a way to be comfortable around each other again. They become good friends, and, eventually, even more. Jake has taken on the sexual orientation of his dick, making him as gay as they come. There is nothing left of the evils of Baelnath, so it comes only naturally, that Jake and Skyler on the one side and Han'labte fall in love with each other and enter a hot and steamy human-cock-spirit relationship.

Han'labte has recovered enough of his own, spiritual magic to make small adjustments to Jake's body, and together, they explore every possible way to please each other. The only constant in their changing form is Skyler, who always is the cock of Jake - and loves every minute of it.

***

Down, in the seventh hell, Mog'Tol smiles a thin smile. There has been no sign of Baelnath for weeks now, so it is safe to assume that Mog'Tol's intricate plan has worked. If he wants to be modest, there has been a bit of luck involved as well, but really, there was no need for modesty.

With a satisfied sigh, he sits down in his new throne, that Baelnath fashioned out of several changed humans. You can say about Baelnath what you want, but he does have a good taste in architecture. So good, in fact, that Mog'Tol wanted to have his palace of flesh as soon as he first entered it. Of course, for a master mind like Mog'Tol, it hasn't been too hard: Here and there nudging Baelnath, wo really has not been very clever, into the right direction, giving the human mages of the binding circle his true name, it has been an easy setup. The appearance of Jake and Skyler had surprised even him for a moment, but that was nothing what a few visions induced by Mog'Tol couldn't solve.

Yes, there was every reason to be satisfied. The whole palace was rightfully his now, all enough of a reason to congratulate himself.

***

As unlikely as it might have seen, their joint adventure ends with everyone being happy: Mog'Tol, the demon, got his palace, Han'labte his redemption, Jake his freedom, friendship and love, and Skyler, the cock his dream.

And thus, Closer Than Flesh finally comes to an end after ten chapters and 45k words full of demons, cocks and transformations. I hope you liked the story! If you like to have a look at the previous episode, click here. If you, for some reason, want to read it all from the beginning, this is the way!

A big thanks to all of you who enjoy my stories! If you want to support my writing, have a look at my riot page!

#closer than flesh #male transformation #muscle transformation #cock tf #romance

[colinmorgan-beautifulsmile]

Colin Morgan has an exclusive brand new in-depth interview with Radio Times

In brand new thriller Dead Shot – which arrived on Sky Cinema and NOW last week – former Merlin star Colin Morgan stars as Irish paramilitary Michael, who is on the verge of retirement when his pregnant wife is brutally murdered by a British army soldier.

Based on an original screenplay by Top Boy creator Ronan Bennett and directed by brothers Tom and Charles Guard, it's a harrowing film that takes place during the height of the Troubles in 1975, following Michael as he embarks on a revenge mission that sends him to the heart of IRA operations in London.

When Morgan first got his hands on the "page-turning" script, he was struck by a number of things, not least the contradictions inherent in his character, and he was especially won over by a certain ambiguity regarding who the audience should be rooting for.

"As a Northern Irish guy, you think I'd be biased to one side, but it's absolutely seeing both sides of this tale and this drama," he tells RadioTimes.com in an exclusive interview. "And so it says quite a lot that I was kind of on both camps, I think that's quite an achievement.

"Contradictions are the main thing I look for," he adds. "You see somebody in a cause that some men were drawn into in the late '60s and early '70s in Northern Ireland, particularly in the border counties. And I'm wondering, if I was born around that time would I have been any different? Might the times have dictated what I needed to do to survive as a man?

"Those are the things that are compelling to me... he wants to be a dad, he wants to survive his future. At the very beginning of the film it feels like he's just about to begin the rest of his life, he's left the cause behind, and it just gets taken away from him in a second."

In preparing for the film, it helped a great deal that Morgan himself grew up in Armagh, the same town that Michael is from. Despite growing up in a different era, the star was very much able to draw on his own personal experiences when it came to getting a handle on the character.

"One thing I said to the Guard brothers before I started was I'm gonna bring everything I bring to the character from my point of view, but also the stuff of just being someone who grew up in Armagh," he says.

"You get that for free, because that's the complication of living in a place like that, even though I grew up in the tail end of things – it is just part of your culture and in your blood. You see all those things growing up, and they're just in my own kind of memory bank. So while I didn't go through the times, I was certainly surrounded by adults who did."

Dead Shot isn't Morgan's first project in recent years to be set against the backdrop of the Troubles. In 2021, he had a key role in Sir Kenneth Branagh's Oscar-winning coming-of-age film Belfast, and the actor has clearly found it an immensely rewarding experience to see audiences drawn in by these stories. 

"Particularly with Belfast, there's something kind of amazing about seeing something that's such a part of you reach the world and resonate with people in a universal way," he says. "When you see your story, or you hear your accent, there's just something about you that connects with that.

"And then when you hear other people the world over do that as well, you can't help but feel a sense of pride that your identity is being recognised."

In addition to the knowledge of the conflict he had accumulated while growing up in Northern Ireland, Morgan did plenty of research into the Troubles to prepare for his role in Belfast. He says this came in handy once again for the new film, but stresses that Dead Shot itself is not necessarily "concerned about trying to educate people about the times in Northern Ireland".

"Not every film that deals with the Northern Irish issue has to go into all those details," he says. "That's what I thought was refreshing about this. But it's important as an actor just to be familiar with those things, whatever period that – it's always worth doing, and I always do it."

One of the most intriguing aspects of the film is the complexity regarding Michael's adversary Tempest, played by Aml Ameen. Although by no means portrayed in a straight-forwardly sympathetic light, the character is not presented as an out-and-out villain either – but rather a vulnerable person who has been thrown into a horrible circumstance by odious bosses. Meanwhile, the fact that Tempest is a Black man living in a time when racism was commonplace undoubtedly adds to this complexity.

"One of the things I said to the directors right from the start was that there was a lot more that bound these two guys than divided them," Morgan says of the relationship between Michael and Tempest. "They're both in London, which was a place at the time that had [signs saying], 'No dogs, no Blacks, no Irish'.

"So these are actually both very outsider characters who were treated differently – when an Irish man went to London in those times there was complete shunning of them as well. So they're guys who know what it is to be shunned, rejected, and treated as the other. And the fact that they find themselves caught in this tragedy against each other, it's a shame in a way.

"The sad thing about that particular time in Northern Ireland was that so much division between religions and nationality prevented so much integration," he adds. "And it's still unfortunately very present in Northern Ireland to this day – it's getting less so, but it's hard to think it'll ever go away.

"It's terrible to think that people connecting on a human level is prevented by something like a label or identity or nationality, whatever it is. Your best friend could have been the one that was serving in the army except you were just on the other end of the lines."

Although the film is set primarily in London, the shoot itself actually took place in Glasgow – with a number of London buses and other identifying features brought in to help transform the Scottish city into something resembling the UK capital. This was an interesting experience for Morgan, especially considering he has his own history with the city.

"I actually went to drama school in Glasgow, I went to the Royal Scottish [Conservatoire]," he says. "And the odd thing was that I hadn't really been there since I graduated and I found myself staying in an apartment that was right opposite the apartment I stayed in in my second year at drama school.

"It was this weird kind of full circle moment of suddenly there I was, like 15/20 years later. I could practically still see through the window of that apartment and see the 20-year-old me wondering, 'Oh, I wonder if this whole acting thing will ever work?'"

Of course, it wasn't long after graduating before Morgan's acting career very much did work. Following a number of early roles on stage and screen, including the Doctor Who episode Midnight, his big breakthrough came in 2008 when he was cast as the title character of BBC One's fantasy series Merlin – a show that went on to run for five highly successful seasons.

The series has retained a cult following since it ended in 2012, and some fans have long clamoured for some sort of reunion or reboot. But although Morgan thinks back fondly on his time on the show, returning to the role doesn't appear to be something he's considering any time soon.

"I think most actors are more about progression and moving forward and don't often look back," he explains. "Even on stage, sometimes plays I've done have wanted to remount and come back again, and I often found I don't take up those opportunities because I've wrung the towel dry and I've rinsed what I could out of it.

"That's certainly what I've tried to do with every project, it's like I invest every 110% into it so hopefully by the end of it, I feel like I've done all I could. And certainly on projects like Merlin, I felt like yeah, we definitely did that together as a team and it's certainly [something I] look back on and feel very proud of the work that I and everyone did."

On the subject of moving forward, Morgan has a number of other imminent projects in the pipeline. He has a key role alongside Jessica Lange, Ed Harris and Ben Foster in a new film adaptation of Eugene O'Neill's classic play Long Day’s Journey Into Night; he will star opposite Emma Appleton in the upcoming Paramount Plus legal thriller The Killing Kind; and he is currently filming a project which he can't yet disclose. The keys to the roles he's been looking for in recent times, he says, are variety and collaboration.

"I look for things I haven't done before, I look for challenges, I look for versatility, I look for passionate people," he explains. "I think more so than anything, what seems to be top of my list now is collaborators – people who have this kind of notion of bringing you into the fold and wanting to work with you not just to deliver the acting goods, but to know what you feel about the scripts and the story and have your input.

"And that's my background. My first jobs were all new writing in theatre and working with writers and developing and progressing and shaping things together. And that's what I thrive on more than anything in the world.

"That seems to be what people are wanting these days, I think the landscape has changed. People are really wanting multidisciplinary actors, and that's worth knowing for anybody wanting to come into the business: don't just be thinking about the acting, think about 360 degrees of everything."

#colin morgan #dead shot #belfast #news #bbc merlin #merlin cast #interview #article interview

[cupidsdescendant]

"Under My Umbrella" Sebastian X Y/N (AFAB)

hey yall so this is out of the ordinary (sorry tf2 fans) but I wanted to write a little fic for my beloved cousin @nerdiifan ! I love her very much and this is a tribute to her (and mine) fav stardew character <33 I would really love to branch out and create more fics about other fandoms so pls tell me if you'd love more.

Around 9:30 in the evening, the rain stopped pouring down from the sky. As a result, Y/N's crops were left covered in a layer of dew, and the soil was left damp. Slowly opening the door, she couldn't resist the urge to gaze outside and appreciate the stunning beauty of the moon. Its bright and radiant light illuminated the surroundings, creating a peaceful ambiance that was soothing to the soul. It was a moment worth cherishing. With each step she took, the floorboards creaked. She stepped her foot onto the dirt, her shoes sinking in slightly. As Y/N strolled through the town, the gentle hum of the street lamp and the rhythmic "sploosh" of her feet splashing through puddles provided an audible company to her walk. She soon found herself walking over to the dock, Y/N had always loved it for the peaceful sounds of the waves, she knew it was the best way to experience a full moon. Walking into the entrance of the beach she smelled something, the scent of nicotine. "Someone else is out here at this time...?" pondering to herself for a moment.

As she strolled along the sandy shore, her attention was abruptly drawn to a distant figure. Her eyes adjusted to find a familiar man smoking, his face being shown by the glow of his cigarette.

Sebastian.

Her heart fluttered, her stomach was in knots and nervousness took hold of her. Y/N had always prayed for this day to come but she never thought her prayers would be answered. Anxiety struck caused by thoughts of embarrassing herself or being obnoxious.

"This is your chance, Y/N! You've been waiting for this day ever since he introduced himself. You can't back out now, you just can't!" She felt sick. "You can do this, Y/N! Don't be afraid to take a chance!" "He probably won't mind either way." "It's not a big deal, just go for it!" As she approached him, her mind stated a firm rule. "Don't. Screw. It. Up."

Y/N was behind Sebastian's shoulder "H-Hi Sebastian." With her face turning red, she asked, "Why are you out here so late?" Sebastian remained silent for a few seconds before asking, "Why are you out so late?" puffing the smoke from his cigarette and looking over at her. Y/N was taken aback. "W-well. Uhm...I always enjoyed this type of weather and the moon is full. I wanted to enjoy it before I couldn't." Sebastian's face broke into a small grin, the kind that appears when you're appreciating something.

"Nice." Y/N broke into a smile. They both faced the sky and listened to the waves crash against the dock.

"But you didn't answer my question," Y/N said. "Why are you here?" Sebastian maintained his silence, taking the final draw from his cigarette before putting it out and crushing it beneath his foot on the ground. "Smoke break." He said softly. "Mom doesn't like the smell and she doesn't want it in the house." "But why so late?"

"I like the weather. Makes everyone disappear." Y/N stayed quiet. Although he provided an answer, she remained dissatisfied and longed for deeper engagement with him. She had an intense craving to genuinely understand him. "Disappear? So you're..more reserved to yourself?" "You can say that, I guess. I just don't like the engagement." Before Y/N could respond he continued his rant "Needless conversations, repetitive talk it's all numbing.. that's why I spend most of my time with only Sam and Abigail. Everyone can just be so..overwhelming." She faced Sebastian "I understand that. That's why I spend so much time alone on my farm." Sebastian's demeanor warmed up as he felt a connection with Y/N. His facial expression softened and his eyes looked at her empathetically. "We must have a lot in common."

Y/N felt accomplished. Finally, the conversation is moved beyond just small talk. "Well..I would love to know more sometime. If that's okay..you know with the 'Don't like engagement' thing." As Sebastian gazed at her, he let out a gentle chuckle. "there can be exceptions."

As Y/N opened her mouth to speak, a drop of water rolled down her cheek followed by several others, dripping onto her hair. She gazed up at the dark, thundering clouds above. As the rain began to pour heavily, Y/N couldn't help but feel anxious. "Oh no," she uttered, placing her hands on her head. "It's probably best that I head back home."

And then...It stopped. Although the rain didn't continue to pour onto her she still heard it surround her. She opened her eyes and looked back at Sebastian who was holding an umbrella over the both of them. His smile was sweet and his eyes reassured comfort and safety. The way he looked at her was comforting, like a cozy blanket shielding her from the cold.

"I can walk you back."

#stardew valley #stardew valley sebastian #sebastian x reader #sebastian x mc #stardew valley headcanons #stardew valley fanfic #stardew valley x reader #stardew valley sebastian x reader #sdv sebastian

[umbrify]

Wip Wednesday! Today, I’ve got a snippet of one of @made-nondescript and I’s longest standing AU’s, the fWhimmy Mer AU

There’s someone else at the docks.

He hadn’t noticed until he made it most of the way down the narrow path, the hardy desert shrubbery obscuring his view. But, there’s definitely someone else here— looks like they’ve gone for a swim? They’re right near the end of the twin set of docks— if he could even call them that, at this point— and he can just barely catch the flashes of movement through the gentle waves.

And, Jimmy supposes, it can’t possibly be that unusual, though he’s never seen someone else here before. But, well, that’s not about to stop him, really. He trudges down the rocky beach regardless, the full moon overhead lighting his path.

—

fWhip spends a lot of time here, at night. The quiet waves lapping at the shore, and the sky’s reflection in the water… it’s peaceful. Relaxing. He enjoys it. Good for a late night swim by the coast. Might even find something good here to take home, if he’s lucky.

What’s not so relaxing, is that someone else has just thrown themself down on the docks, huffing loudly.

Not exactly what fWhip had in mind, for tonight. Well, too late to leave now, he’s already been seen.

“Uh— hey man…?” fWhip says cautiously.

The man heaves a sigh, blond hair falling into his eyes as he rests his tanned arms on his knees, white sleeves rolled up to his elbows.

“Hey,” the man says, “long night for you as well, huh?”

“Yeah, you could say that.” fWhip pulls himself partly out of the water, using his arms to prop himself up on the docks. “What’s, uh— you wanna talk about it?”

The man sighs, running a hand through his hair. “It’s just— it’s a lot of work, you know! So many things came up today, and—“ he throws his arms in the air, “I can’t be everywhere at once!”

fWhip’s brow furrows slightly, confused. What exactly this guy is talking about, he can’t say for sure. But… asking him to clarify doesn’t really seem like the correct move here, fWhip thinks.

“Yeah, I get you,” he offers slowly instead.

He can’t say he finds himself in a situation like this often— or ever, really.

Gem’s not gonna be happy.

He shakes his head lightly— problems for future fWhip, he figures. Luckily, it seems like this stranger isn’t paying him much mind.

“And it’s just—“ the man leans back, pressing the heels of his palms into his eyes, “I know Joel was busy too, I get that. But I wish he could’ve— I dunno! Helped a bit more?”

fWhip tilts his head to one side, letting out a questioning hum.

Joel?

“It’s not his fault, really. I’m not mad. He was busy,” the man waves a hand in the air idly, “now that we’re in the dry season, he’s got a lot of planning to do, improvements and whatnot— I get it. I really do. It’s just—“ he cuts himself off with a groan.

fWhip can’t help but feel just a little bit… baffled, by this whole thing. New day, new experience, he supposes. He figures it’s best to play along, just in case.

He does sink a little bit lower into the water, though. Just in case.

“And, you know,” the man continues, “I was in the office all afternoon, doing— might I say, a ridiculous amount of paperwork, how could there possibly be so much—“ he exhales sharply. “I had other things I wanted to do. The horses needed to be brushed today. He didn’t even brush the horses.”

“He didn’t even brush the horses,” fWhip echos. “That sucks, man.”

Horses…? Like… seahorses? And he brushes them?

“But,” the man speaks quickly, “Pix needed my help, and it’s not like I’m gonna say no— it needed to be done anyway— it wasn’t gonna get done on its own!”

A strong gust of wind blows over from the ocean. The man shivers slightly, tugging his sleeves down. fWhip draws his arms closer to his chest, one hand reaching up to fiddle absentmindedly with the gold chain around his neck.

“It’s not like I had anything better to do, but I had things I’d rather have been doing, you know what I mean?”

“Yeah no, I feel you,” fWhip says.

What in the world is this guy on about?

“It feels like this day’s been a week long, at least,” the man grumbles, pulling a hand across his face, “and I can’t sleep, but I feel dead tired anyway.” He laughs, dryly. “What a scam, right?”

Now, that, fWhip understands. “I’ve had days like that before, for sure,” he agrees, “it’s… rough.”

That day may as well have been a century long, for all the difference it would’ve made. Oli’s shouts for help, and Joey— gods, Joey… splinters of some sort of wood embedded into his skin, blood trickling from each wound, staining the water around them a sickening peachy red. He'd never seen anything quite like it before. He never wants to again. fWhip blinks quickly, exhaling a sharp breath.

And after all that, to be told they had to leave…? Could barely even wait for Joey to recover before they had to go— and it’s not like they’d ever leave him behind, no. They had to go with him.

Maybe if he’d been there, or if they’d been quicker, maybe… maybe Joey wouldn’t have been hurt. He doesn’t know. fWhip shakes his head. Not the time.

“I’ll get over it,” the man mutters, seemingly oblivious to fWhip’s blank, faraway look. The man rests his chin on his hands as he pulls himself into a sitting position, sighing softly.

An uneasy quiet rests over them as the man stares blankly out over the ocean, stars shimmering in the water’s reflection. fWhip’s eyes briefly dart away, out towards the sea.

Maybe… would he notice if I—

“Oh, I’m Jimmy, by the way,” the man— Jimmy, says suddenly, “I don’t think I’ve seen you around before?”

—

“Uh—“ the man in the water stutters, “I don’t uh— don’t get out much, you could say?”

“Don’t get out much, huh?” Jimmy muses, casting a brief glance at the man, who’s sopping ginger hair obscures most of his features. He’s able to catch sight of a single golden chain around the man’s neck, glinting softly in the moonlight as he twists it between his fingers. “Did I ever catch your name?”

“It’s— uh—“ the man’s eyes dart out towards the ocean before snapping back to Jimmy’s face. “It’s fWhip.”

Jimmy hums a noncommittal note, looking back over the ocean, waves lapping gently against the docks. He rests his head fully onto his arms, eyes drooping slightly.

Jimmy takes a sort of comfort, in the quiet. Wind rustles softly through the trees, casting ripples across the water. He takes a slow, deep breath, letting his shoulders relax. It’s awful nice down here, what with how the dense shrubbery dampens any ambient sounds from the town nearby. It’s peaceful, even with the company.

Of all nights he’d find someone else here, he reckons tonight would make the most sense. Can’t blame anyone for wanting to take some time away from it all— he knows he sure needed it— and these docks, despite their age, have always been nice this time of the year. He runs a hand across the old planks, picking idly at a small patch of moss growing into the wood.

Honestly, Jimmy finds he rather doesn’t mind the company at all. Makes it a bit less spooky here, at night, and the guy seems nice enough.

He is dreadfully tired, though. Perhaps he ought to head back soon. Still plenty to do tomorrow, after all. Really, his time spent here could’ve been much better spent elsewhere— either sleeping at home, or even just getting a bit more done.

Always more, isn’t there?

fWhip clears his throat.

“I think I’m gonna head out now,” he says.

“Yeah, alright, see you later man,” Jimmy mumbles, not looking up.

A soft splash, and then, silence, once more. Jimmy blinks slowly. He really better make his way home, too, before he’s too tired to get back up that trail without tripping over his own feet.

Or, maybe five more minutes wouldn’t hurt. The sound of the waves lapping against the shore is almost a bit hypnotic, and Jimmy finds himself spacing out for a moment longer, staring blankly out towards the sea.

Wait.

Jimmy sits up suddenly, whipping his head around behind him, before sharply turning back to the water. The dock next to him is dry, save for the faint wet imprint of fWhip’s arms on the far side. He stands.

Where did that guy just go?

He can’t see any sort of water tracks across the docks— and there would’ve been, right? That guy was in the water the whole time, surely there would’ve been.

And why was he in the water anyway, this late at night?

And who was he?

Jimmy rubs his eyes blearily. Perhaps he’s more tired than he realized. Surely he’s just— he doesn’t know. He doesn’t know what to think. He shakes his head, making his way back up the path into town.

He’ll think about it again in the morning.

#fWhimmy mer au #empiresshipping #umbrify writes #empires smp

[azems-familiar]

"Can you just- for a minute, can you pretend that I mean something to you?'

this. uhhhhhh. got a LOT longer than i intended it to, and also had a lot less angst, though if you consider the other pov there is definitely so much more. and also with literally all the context. anyway. have 5.6k words of emetraha, because i have brainrot and the prompt worked so well for them i had to choose between multiple options.

The Exarch being away is the last thing Emet-Selch expects when he arrives at the Crystarium for their usual discussion and debate over tea. The man is bound to the Tower; while he can leave, it weakens him, and thus in all the time Emet-Selch has known him he has only left Lakeland’s borders on the rare occasion, usually to treat with Eulmore (prior to Vauthry’s birth, of course) or in the event of some emergency. According to the Captain of the Guard, however (who had seemed faintly amused when he asked as to the Exarch’s whereabouts), he left the Crystarium three days ago to make the trek to Rak’tika to meet with the Night’s Blessed. The matter of this meeting, she informs Emet-Selch, is something the Exarch himself can decide whether or not to disclose to a non-citizen, and he is not expected to return for another four days, but she can offer Emet-Selch the approximate location of his destination, should he so desire to bother their leader directly.

He does, in fact, so desire. The endless waiting is the most intolerable part of any Rejoining, and while the millennia have gotten him quite accustomed to patience, he is terribly bored, and there is only so much he can do. Should he push the shard too quickly, the Light could consume it entirely before the Source is prepared, leaving a hollow void as useless as the Thirteenth - and Emet-Selch has no intention of repeating Igeyorhm’s mistakes. Thus the necessity of filling his time with activity unrelated to his plotting - and the draw of his weekly meetings with the Exarch. It has been some time since he sparred with someone near his equal in intellect, after all.

Of all places near a Warden, Rak’tika is less burdensome than others; beneath the boughs the shadows are deep enough to provide some measure of relief from the omnipresent Light and its burn. Thus Emet-Selch does not particularly mind teleporting to a location just outside the Night’s Blessed’s fort and asking after the Exarch once again from their sentries. What he does mind is being informed that the Exarch is late and has yet to arrive, and that they’re considering sending scouts out to search for him if he does not arrive within another few hours.

Emet-Selch sighs. Their scouts are near-guaranteed to be ineffective fools, and he is admittedly curious as to what could delay the Exarch, which means the solution, while distasteful, is an obvious one. “No need,” he informs the sentry, a slight bite to the words. “I will find him myself.”

Truly, how frustrating. And all because he desired a cup of tea and a stimulating conversation.

With the star as shattered as it is, his sight is without equal, and though the presence of the Light somewhat hinders him it takes very little effort all the same to find a shadow to hide in and look into the aether, with a range that far outstrips his usual vision. There’s a glaring brilliance in the sky that reflects off the currents in the ground and air, fragmenting his sight and making it difficult to pick out specifics, but after a moment of squinting against it he catches a hint of the Exarch’s familiar aether, far away and fluctuating with some kind of stress. It could simply be the knowledge that he is late for his meeting, Emet-Selch allows, but there is something…a greater concentration of Light around him. Sin eaters, perhaps? It would be unfortunate indeed were the great Crystal Exarch to be so waylaid.

…Emet-Selch has yet to have an opportunity to see the man in combat. His skills as a mage are whispered about in the Crystarium, but much of what he has accomplished can easily be attributed to his command over the Tower - which, Emet-Selch has to admit, does make him a mage of some high caliber. The Exarch is capable of directing the Tower to perform feats Emet-Selch had not expected from a Sundered soul, and his attempts at turning Allag’s voidgate technology into a summoning spell speak to his grasp on the theoretical. Combat magic, however, is an entirely different beast, and Emet-Selch is curious. And perhaps any observations he might make could unlock some of those secrets the Exarch so furiously guards.

Thus decided, he spirits himself away through the shadows, off in the Exarch’s direction. It takes four attempts for him to actually reach the man; when he finally does, he steps out of the rift into the scene of a small massacre. An overturned wagon lays sprawled across the major path through the Greatwood, crates of supplies and possessions scattered about, some torn open. Several bodies, viis all, have been flung about, deep wounds across multiple of them, marked by claws and swords, no life left in them whatsoever, and scorch marks litter the ground, patches of grass smoldering still. Smoke is heavy in the air, smoke and the spark of fading Light aether and the metallic tang of blood, a rather unsavory pall, and without any wind there is nothing to disperse it.

Emet-Selch arrives just in time to watch the Exarch, standing in the middle of the carnage, gesture with his staff and send a bolt of flame through the last remaining sin eater.

For all that he makes a heroic figure, robes bright and staff gleaming, his body language is anything but. His shoulders are tense and hunched, his fingers too-tight around his staff, his skin pale where it is visible, his legs trembling slightly. And curled against his side, held there by his flesh-and-blood arm, is a tiny viis child with wavy grey hair and small ears pressed flat against the sides of her head, her fists clinging to the Exarch’s robe, an expression on her face that is the kind of fear that has passed through the event horizon of utter terror and morphed into stillness again. Blood streaks her cheek and one arm - a gash in her forehead, another on her bicep. From her size she cannot be any older than three or four years.

“Well, well,” Emet-Selch murmurs, sweeping his eyes over the bodies - yes, that one, with the similarly-pale hair, bears enough resemblance it could be her mother. “So it was sin eaters that delayed you. I wonder, did you involve yourself before or after you knew the child yet lived?”

He takes a few steps out from behind the tree he’d teleported up against, carefully skirting the edges of the Light dappling the ground, bringing him within two or three yalms of the Exarch, though he has to pick his way around the detritus of this family’s existence as he does. The girl’s eyes snap to him as he does, but she doesn’t move except to lean her cheek against the Exarch’s shoulder. There is a rather worrying glassiness in her gaze, if he were to concern himself with such things.

The Exarch’s breaths are coming in short, shallow pants, he notices absently. Pain? “...before,” and the man’s voice is tight, raspy. Emet-Selch knows him well enough by now to know when it is in fact pain that burdens him, and this- despite his lack of visible injury, he must have put himself in harm’s way. “I would not chance passing by if someone yet lived and abandon them to such a fate.” He breathes out, shakily, and returns his staff to his back, brushing his crystal hand gently over the girl’s hair. “...you’re safe for now, little one.”

The child does not respond.

“I believe she may have a head injury,” Emet-Selch informs the Exarch, though he has no particular reason to do so. Why should he care if a single Sundered child lives or dies? And yet…it would be too easy to recall the terrified children on the streets of Amaurot, fleeing the beasts they could not contain. “You may wish to tend to it, should you desire her survival. Considering your boundless compassion for these poor creatures you consider mankind, I assume you do.”

He paces a few more steps away and crouches down to absently rifle through one of the crates - dried fruits and meats, a sack of nuts, a small store of root vegetables, nothing particularly interesting. Behind him he can hear the Exarch murmuring a quiet thank you before the aether ripples with the telltale shimmer of a healing spell; Emet-Selch does not watch, just moves on to investigate the rest of the supplies, half out of curiosity and half because it gives him something to do while he waits. Perhaps the Exarch will be more inclined to conversation once the child has been seen to and calmed.

Perhaps, Emet-Selch considers, he ought to offer the Exarch healing for whatever injuries he bears - but he has never been much of a healer, and there is a difference between providing some oblique aid to his enemy that they may continue their game and directly intervening in affairs that could hinder the Rejoining. The Exarch may be the most intriguing and capable enemy he has had the chance to face in quite some time, but he still stands solidly against the Ardor, and he has never entertained the delusion that the Exarch would set aside their enmity to join with him, no matter that he would make such an excellent addition to their cause. No matter that Emet-Selch has of late found himself wondering more and more what the Exarch would be like, were he Unsundered, soul as bright as it should be. As clever as he is now, Emet-Selch can only imagine what sort of mind he would have were the star whole - enough intelligence to rival Azem and their greatest researchers, he would think.

…it is a futile thought, he knows. But he does not intend to forget the soft rose color of the Exarch’s soul, and should he chance to see it again, when he and his brethren have succeeded- well.

For a few moments, the only sounds are Emet-Selch’s footsteps and quiet rummaging and the Exarch’s breathing, still too harsh and short. With little left to investigate, he eventually stands and stretches absently, turning back to the Exarch - as he watches the man finishes casting another healing spell and the last of the wounds across the girl’s skin close and fade. Not something one with no healing training whatsoever could accomplish, and Emet-Selch raises an eyebrow, musing. His power comes from the Tower, of course, but the knowledge of how to use it - perhaps it was found in the archives. The Exarch does seem to have few hobbies beyond studying and assisting his people.

Before he can question the Exarch, however, there’s a rustling of brush, the sound of wings on the air, and four middling-sized eaters wander out onto the path, drawn straight towards the Exarch and his living aether - and perhaps that would mean little at all, but one of the large winged eaters, bearing sword and shield and the ability to force a transformation, Light pulsing through its white-marble body in waves, descends from the sky, sword held in front of it and gilt wings spread to their fullest extent. The Exarch spits a curse, drawing his staff once again, and sets his feet, and the little girl whimpers and closes her eyes.

Emet-Selch leans against the overturned wagon and watches, untouched by the eaters. Their Light is antithetical to his Darkness, indeed, the brush of it burns like hot oil, but so too is his Darkness more than enough to quench their Light, and they have the intelligence to know his aether would not sate their hunger. He is of no danger as long as he does not come face-to-face with a Lightwarden.

The Exarch does not have that same assurance, and the tension in the corners of his mouth, his pursed lips, speak to his own knowledge of such. But Emet-Selch wishes to observe, and he would truly be a fool were he to intervene now, when this will give him an excellent view of how his enemy handles being pressed and when actively fighting back against the Light, within the Light, would exhaust him far more than he is willing to extend himself for a Sundered soul who would oppose the Ardor.

The Exarch takes three steps back, dodging clawed swipes from two of the lesser eaters, and casts a spell - ice that freezes one of the eaters in place, something far less intensive than the fire he had been calling moments ago. The trembling in his muscles is more pronounced now, as is the sweat beading on his plaster-pale skin, and Emet-Selch takes a step of his own forward despite himself, unease stirring low in his gut. The Exarch is meant to be his opponent in the long game, not to get himself killed by sin eaters over a mere child unlikely to survive to adulthood before the shard is lost-

The greater eater swings its sword in a wide, sweeping motion, and the Exarch grits his teeth and raises his staff, summoning a shimmering barrier into existence around him, a spell clearly adapted from the Allagan defense technology he uses to defend the Crystarium. An impressive display of skill - and though the lesser eaters throw themselves at it, it continues to hold, even as the Exarch shifts and begins to mutter a teleportation incantation under his breath, gathering his aether to spirit himself and the child away. A wise decision, in the face of this threat, Emet-Selch thinks, though it leaves the eaters free to advance on the nearby village. The Exarch’s vaunted compassion, it seems, does not extend to risking his own life.

The greater eater floats back a couple of fulms, raises its sword again, and with little fanfare slices the blade through the air again - and this time, a bright bolt of Light sears forward off it, sharp enough Emet-Selch is momentarily dazed, his sight vaguely scorched by the intensity. The Exarch’s barrier distorts, twists, and collapses in on itself in a rush of aether, the distraction enough to break his teleportation spell before he can execute it, and though the lesser eaters hiss in something that approximates joy, they do not move. Instead they leave it to their seeming commander to lunge forward with a blinding rush, sword held at the ready.

The girl screams, terror so all-consuming Emet-Selch can nearly feel it. Something cracks-

A sound claws itself free from the Exarch’s throat that sounds nearly inhuman. Emet-Selch blinks, then blinks again, and - the Exarch has thrown his crystal arm, claimed by the Tower, between the eater’s sword and the girl he carries, and the tip of the blade is embedded in the sapphire crystal, leaving fissures spreading up the arm from the point of impact and a deep gouge in the flat of his arm just above his wrist. Emet-Selch sucks in a breath despite himself, because the Exarch may be tied to the Tower but that does not mean he cannot feel pain, and the force it would take to shatter the parts of him he has given over-

“Emet-Selch.” The Exarch’s voice is hoarse to the point of near-unrecognizability, taut with pain and desperation, stumbling along the edge of begging. He has never, ever spoken such in Emet-Selch’s presence. “Can you just- for just one moment, will you please pretend that I mean something to you?”

For- for some reason, Emet-Selch feels the words like an impact hard enough to steal the air from his lungs, like a constriction around his throat, like the knife of his loneliness he has lived with for so long has not only driven between his ribs but twisted. The eater draws its sword back once again, raising it for the kill - or to attempt to turn both man and child, more like. He thinks of- afternoons spent deep in debate over the minutiae of the Tower’s function and the technology the Crystarium survives on, Allag’s history and the actions of Emet-Selch’s own order. Of the lounge they typically take their tea in and how it has been Umbrally-aligned for decades, despite the extra drain that would put on the Tower’s resources in this climate. Of how eager the Exarch is to present Emet-Selch with new volumes of theater, whenever one of his people manages to find or pen one. Of the indisputable fact that this enmity between them, this game they play, has caught and held his attention in a way nothing has since his son died and he once again gave up on the Sundered entirely.

…he is here, in this Light-suffused forest, is he not?

Pretend that I mean something to you.

That is truly not so difficult, in the grand scheme of things. The Exarch yet has secrets Emet-Selch has not divined, after all, and it would be a shame to strike him from the game board before they are revealed.

In the breath between heartbeats, Emet-Selch steps through the rift and puts himself neatly between the eaters and the Exarch. A simple twist of his will brings up an unwavering shield of translucent violet - the greater eater’s sword bounces harmlessly off it, the lesser eaters’ claws are a barely-noticeable scratching, and he could maintain this indefinitely, as long as no great amount of Light was brought to bear against it or him, but considering the sound of the Exarch’s ragged breathing and the quiet, poorly-stifled noises of pain, he doubts the man has the focus to teleport at the moment, and- well. Perhaps he finds himself annoyed, and the loss of five eaters will hardly matter as long as the Wardens remain. To truly fight back will drain him, yes, but it is difficult to care.

He musters his aether against the heavy, suffocating Light, lifts his hand, and snaps his fingers.

It’s an easy visualization. Large, dagger-shaped blades of shadow leap forth from him and slam into the eaters, then burst in a rush of Dark aether that instantly vaporizes the lesser eaters and sends their commander crumpling to the ground, sword and shield both falling from its hands and fading into the aether. Emet-Selch takes a step forward, extends his hand, and summons a bolt of Darkness to send directly at its chest, and that last pulse of aether is enough to dissipate it as well - for which he is grateful, because the moment he drops his hand and lets go of the shield he can feel the drain, can feel the Light on the back of his neck, as hot as the desert sun, burning his bones. 

Heavens. The things he does for-

Emet-Selch shakes his head, rubs at his temples, and breathes through the discomfort. Brushes invisible dust from his palms. Turns back to the Exarch and crosses the space between them to take the man’s crystal arm in his hands, shifting his vision to that second sight to peer at the aether currents within. They’re pale and distorted, entirely broken wherever the cracks have spread, and he grimaces at the sight, absently running one finger carefully over the edge of the gouge where the blade impacted.

“This will be difficult to mend, Exarch,” he murmurs, low. “You have done a great deal of damage to your aether.” He sighs, shaking his head. “Give me the child.”

The girl is crying, tiny little hiccups muffled by the Exarch’s robe, but she doesn’t fight back when he hands her over, and Emet-Selch takes her carefully in his arms and settles her against his hip, the motion familiar. Relieved thusly of his burden, the Exarch seems to- shrink, almost, resignation and exhaustion and pain weighing him down until he is but a fraction of the man Emet-Selch knows. “...if you decide our enmity ends here-” he starts, his voice rough with emotion and agony, “at the least take her to the Crystarium, so she can live what life she has left.”

For a moment, Emet-Selch ignores him entirely. “Shh,” he murmurs to the girl instead, drawing on old memories of the mortal children he’s raised - both those he loved and those he did not - of children from long-ago Amaurot which he had on occasion been made to entertain. He had not minded, in truth; they had been discussing having children of their own, once. He lifts his free hand to gently stroke through her hair and over her ears, swaying her back and forth and humming snatches of an ancient lullaby until she quiets, the sniffles fading into shaky breaths. Only then does he carefully cast the lightest of sleep spells over her small frame - she seems unharmed, between the Exarch’s healing and protection, but distress will only keep her compliant for so long, and better to deliver her into the hands of her people docile than clinging to an injured man - or worse, him.

He does not- care about one lone child. He does not. The Exarch merely asked him to pretend, and thus he shall.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” he finally says, directed at the Exarch, and heaves a sigh, turning to look at the other man again. “Come, then. There is little I can do for your physical injuries - I leave the frailties of your mortal flesh in the hands of your fellow mortals - but I believe I can do something to mend your arm, if only in part. But make no mistake; you will owe me for this.”

The Exarch laughs, pained and cracked, wincing and curling forward over his ribs as he does, the breath wheezing out of him. “...I shall have to break out my stash of emergency plays from Voeburt, then,” he manages after a moment, and Emet-Selch raises his eyebrows.

“You have plays from Voeburt?” he asks, torn between impressed and irritated that the man has never mentioned this before - and then he shakes himself. This is hardly the time. “Never mind that, I am not so easily distracted by theater as you believe me to be. A favor, Exarch, though I will allow you this: as I did not endanger mine own people in this intervention, neither will I ask you to risk yours. Now come with me before you collapse. I have no desire to be the target of your head chirurgeon’s ire when your heroic, self-sacrificial bent is certainly no fault of mine.”

“...then it must be before the endgame, I would think…” the Exarch rasps out, leaning heavily against his staff and taking a few shaking steps. “I look forward to seeing what you will demand of me. And to watching the chirurgeons yell at you shortly.”

Emet-Selch rolls his eyes and bites the inside of his cheek to keep from retorting, though he would dearly like to. Instead he shifts the girl in his arms to free one hand, reaches out, and wraps his hand around the Exarch’s upper arm - his flesh-and-blood one - and unceremoniously yanks all three of them through a rather rough teleport, which he would feel slightly bad about were he not annoyed. The moment they appear in the Crystarium’s infirmary, the Exarch is staggering sideways into his chest, and it is a sign of his exhaustion more than anything else that he simply stays there, trembling and wan, leaning heavily with his face tucked against Emet-Selch’s shoulder.

Emet-Selch lets him, and does not think about why.

The head chirurgeon, as it turns out, does not yell at him, though only because of the sleeping child in his arms. Instead she scolds both of them in a furious but low voice before guiding them to one of the few private rooms and immediately fussing over the Exarch; another one of the infirmary’s staff comes to relieve Emet-Selch of the child, whose name, according to the Exarch, is Lyna. Emet-Selch accompanies them to put her to bed in another room where they can examine her, and he suggests with an idleness he doesn’t quite feel that they leave her in the care of the Exarch, once he is fit for it. She is a terrified child, after all, and she will want the familiar. Beyond that, she is likely to consider the man who saved her life as safe, a courtesy he doubts she will be so willing to give strangers.

The chirurgeons seem surprised, but they do not disagree, and he is quite satisfied with that. The girl thus dealt with, he returns to find the Exarch with some faint color returned to his cheeks, enduring a lecture from his healer about what sorts of movements and magical exertions he’s allowed while his ribs and aether reserves recover. It is not a lecture Emet-Selch has been on the receiving side of in quite some time, and for that he is quite grateful. Eventually, however, the Exarch is free, and Emet-Selch convinces him to return straight to the Tower rather than checking in on Lyna mostly by not giving him a choice in the matter, a quite useful and effective strategy. The Exarch is too exhausted, it seems, to truly argue back.

It is not until they are ensconced in the Umbrally-aligned lounge - which finally eases the strain of holding his essence together under the Light’s endless onslaught, given the energy he’d expended - and the Exarch is seated on the couch that Emet-Selch sighs. “Well, very well then, let us get this supremely unpleasant business over with. I do not ask you to trust me, merely that you do not intervene; if this does not work as I intend I will be the one most suited to undoing it, and should you distract me in the moment of casting I cannot predict what might occur. It takes only a passing thought to disrupt this magic.”

“...might I know what it is you’re doing?” the Exarch asks as he drops down to sit next to him on the couch. Even with the cowl hiding most of his face, he is clearly exhausted beyond belief and still in no small amount of pain. His voice is thin and strained, wavering. 

Emet-Selch takes his crystal arm into his lap, running his fingers over its surface, carefully tracing the bumps and textured surface, bringing to mind the complex web of aether currents the Exarch has over many years bored into the crystal. He thinks of patterns and fractals and facets, the structure of crystals, the wholeness of the arm itself, and he draws ever-so-slightly on the Lifestream itself, unwilling to pour his own Dark-aspected aether into this. “Weaving the fabric of reality,” he murmurs, only half-paying attention to the words, eyes falling closed. Creation without a set concept is a risk, especially without an encyclopedic knowledge of that which one wishes to create, but beyond the cool weight of the crystal in his lap right now there are things Emet-Selch knows that will make up for the lack.

He knows the way the Exarch moves - the way he writes, the way he gestures, the way his fingers curl around a mug of tea or a pen or an Allagan relic. He knows the gentleness this arm is capable of, as evidenced by how tenderly he’d healed Lyna; he knows, too, the strength in it, as unyielding as the stone it is made of. Near seven decades he has watched this Exarch, has seen the transformation progress as the Tower takes its due for the magicks he wields, and beyond all academic knowledge he knows the essence of the man in front of him. They are but two sides of the same coin, after all, bound by duty to be in opposition and yet terribly alike, he and the Crystal Exarch.

The power of the Lifestream is a bright, raging thing, a river even he, with his rare gift of control over its eddies, only skims the surface of unless he has no other choice. He lets the pulse of life itself swirl around him, pool beneath his hands, and he holds the fullness of his understanding of this broken limb in his mind and snaps his fingers.

When he opens his eyes, exhaling slowly to let the energies of the Lifestream fade away, the Exarch’s arm is whole and unbroken once more, only a faint cluster of hairline cracks remaining where the worst of the breakage had been. For a moment he pays them no mind - he had not expected the magic to entirely mend the arm, after all, considering he was treading the line between working from a concept and working from belief - instead focusing to once again study the aether. The Exarch’s exhaustion means the flow of aether through his arm is sluggish at best, not ideal for confirming the recreation worked correctly, and- well. Emet-Selch has done this once before, has he not?

He pours a small fraction of his own aether into the man’s arm, watching as it bolsters the flow - there are a few minor hiccups but with some time those will, he hopes, smooth out - and the Exarch lets out a heavy sigh of relief and slumps sideways, tension leaving his body in a rush as he drops his head to rest against Emet-Selch’s shoulder. Foolish of him, Emet-Selch thinks, to let his guard down so around an enemy, whether they have been playing this game for decades or no. He sweeps one thumb absently back and forth across the now-smooth crystal, shifting slightly to let the Exarch’s warm weight settle more comfortably against his side, and shakes his head, reaching one hand up to carefully adjust the Exarch’s cowl before it can slide too far back from his face.

Perhaps it is the state he is in, pushing him to think so little of being vulnerable. It would be unsporting to take advantage of it.

For a few moments there is silence. Emet-Selch lets his aether settle and taper when the Exarch finally stirs again - which is good, he had begun to worry if the man was falling asleep - and sighs once more. He does not straighten, but he does extend his arm and twist it carefully back and forth, testing. Most of the motion is smooth, but his wrist hitches when he rotates it, and Emet-Selch frowns.

Ah, of course. The remaining cracks will need to be filled in if they are to be kept from causing problems. He looks more closely at them, admittedly curious - it is strange, as much as he had not expected the magic to fully succeed, for it to work as cleanly as it had only to leave such a small blemish behind - only for a cold weight to settle low in his stomach as he does.

Because he recognizes the pattern. The lines of it are thin and simplistic, barely visible against the veining, but there all the same - a constellation cut into crystal with such perfect precision it cannot be anything but a mark.

A constellation. His constellation, the sign of his seat.

Perhaps his mind had wandered during the creation after all.

He exhales heavily through his nose, swallows, and does not say a word, and the Exarch must be too tired to notice, because he simply rubs his flesh hand over the constellation and stays tilted into Emet-Selch’s side. “...thank you for this kindness, Emet-Selch,” he says very softly, his voice still somewhat raw but much of the pained tension from earlier missing.

“It was not a kindness,” Emet-Selch reminds him pointedly. They are enemies; it would not do for the Exarch to forget such, not when they yet have all the endgame to play, and he remains deeply curious how the Exarch intends to thwart his plans. “I will expect you to repay the favor when I ask for it, Exarch. You have ever kept your promises. ‘Twould be a shame indeed for that to change now.”

“I do not intend to let my debts go unpaid, or any kindnesses go unanswered, Emet-Selch,” the Exarch answers in a similarly deliberate tone. “Regardless of which they were meant as. But this was a kindness even if you did not intend it to be such - I would have been in pain for the rest of my life without your intervention.” This, Emet-Selch knows to be true - there would have been no other way of healing or regenerating the crystal without creation magicks, and thus the wound would simply have remained, and while it would not have killed the Exarch it would have always been a hindrance. “So- thank you.”

…if the Exarch wishes to think of it as a kindness, then Emet-Selch supposes there is little harm in allowing him to. Perhaps he can leverage it for some kind of knowledge or further concession later on. When playing such a tense game against such a clever and focused foe, with the eighth Rejoining as the stakes, he would be a fool to discard any potential advantage.

(Even if he is only doing what the Exarch asked of him. Pretend that I mean something to you. How could he act any other way, in the face of such a plea? It does not mean anything - not for them, not for his purpose here, not for his duty.

Perhaps, if he reminds himself enough times, he will not risk forgetting that truth.)

His people, his city, and his star hang in the balance, after all.

But for the moment, he can allow the Exarch to remain leaning against his side, a warmth that eases the ever-present ache of grief and loneliness in his chest, and perhaps the Exarch is not the only one who would like to pretend.

#ffxiv #emetraha #exselch #emet selch #g'raha tia #shadowbringers #ffxiv fic #my fic #i'll post this one on ao3 Later because. um. it got long. but yknow. here you are! unpolished and unedited and whatever #asked and answered

[koco-coko]

When the World Exploded - - Vincent x Jean - Ikemen Vampire Fic

-> His eyepatch was off, and yet the world didn’t end. In fact, it began anew.

Tags/Warnings <--> Angst then Fluff, Lots of Cuddles and Kisses, Soft and Slow, Bad Cooking, Hidden Relationship, Beginning of Relationship, HEAVY SPOILERS for BOTH suitors, Main POV: Jean D'Arc, HEAVY Exploration of Depression, Passive Suicidal Ideation and Religious Guilt.

Word Count: 5,005 (Around 12 pages)!

A/N <--> this originally started as super fluff but boy oh boy I forgot how messed up these two were. Still super fluff but wow I may have gone a little overboard. So please don't force yourself to read this if you're really sensitive to these things, promise I won't be hurt by it <:)

i think they might like this: @azulashengrottospiano @natimiles @weirdwriter69 (lots of interaction with the jean x vincent posts so i thought i'd tag sorry if you didnt want to be)

Jean never expected to be here. Jean didn’t expect to be alive. Jean didn’t expect much of anything, really.

So imagine his surprise to remember that a blonde painter had arms tightly wrapped around his waist and kept drawing him closer into the scent of dry paint and sunflowers, a hint of pancake batter mixed in there, too.

Jean tried to move away, only to have the arm around him tense and pull him further in. A small hum came from the sleeping painter, his head resting on back of Jean's neck. He couldn’t help it when an uncomfortable shudder went through him. His lips were so close to his ear, the beating of his heart right against his back…

Sure, they agreed beforehand but he never expected this. A part of him wanted to escape. It was all too much, too new. Yet Vincent wouldn’t let him get away, and maybe that was for the better. Despite the blank face and cold demeanor, he was sensitive to many, many things. A case of touch-starvation didn’t help the fact. After a momentary inner conflict, Jean let out a deep sigh and dug his face into the pillow beside him. He could do it. He fell asleep like this once tonight, he could do it again.

He came to learn that there were a lot of firsts when being revived as a vampire.

It was the first time he ever felt attracted to someone, let alone a man.

It was only when Vincent started painting outside more often that Jean started feeling… things. Tingles in his stomach whenever he saw the man paint a dark night sky with swirls of light. Shakes when he caught glimpses of a notebook filled with anatomy practice and fencing positions, all suspiciously bearing a resemblance to Jean. It could be argued that a few were Napoleon, though. The lines were messy enough. These sensations started following him around the mansion, too. At the dinner table, he always felt lighter when he heard Vincent giggle at something Arthur said. Eventually, a simple greeting smile sent a shiver through the poor soldier’s body and all he could do was scuttle off into the piano room. 

Vincent was too radiant for a sinner to handle, he deduced. It seemed logical at the time. Jean’s chest was always empty and Vincent always had light to bring to someone. The world was a better place with Vincent in it and it was worse with Jean. That was just how things were. Jean was ready to accept that over… Well…

“Can I paint you?”

It was the first time anyone ever asked… that. Jean had been avoiding Vincent, more than usual, but one late night out of his room for a bottle of Rouge led to them meeting again. Vincent was already coated in paint, perhaps from a late night project, filling one of his paint cups with fresher water.

Jean was a frozen statue for a while, but when Vincent’s smile slowly faded, he suddenly came to. “Why me?” he asked, quietly.

Vincent looked to the side, the enthusiasm of the initial question trailing off. “I’ve never seen anyone like you?”

So unclean, full of sin and guilt?

“So… pretty?” 

Jean shifted on his feet uncomfortably, staring at the painter in front of him with wide eyes.

Vincent was quick to catch his mistake. “In a manly way! Very male-orientated. But beautiful and elegant, too! So, um, beautifully handsome? Does that make sense?”

Not at all. Jean felt his entire mind and body shut down, then come back, then shut down again. 

Beautiful? Handsome? Was this some sick joke?

“You didn’t drink that, did you?” Jean asked, shyly pointing to the paint-stained cup in his hands.

Vincent glanced down at it, then backed up. “No, I don’t believe so,” he almost chuckled, “Why would you think that?”

“You don’t seem in your right mind,” he responded. “I’m none of what you have described me as. I would suggest getting your eyes checked in the near future.” Jean turned to make his exit, bottle of Rouge in hand.

Vincent’s lips went ajar, blinking in disbelief. Then, he laughed. Jean froze. It was almost insulting to hear that. “Well, I don’t think so. I don’t know you too well, sure, but you seem nice.”

Those words sent butterflies through him.

Whenever Jean looked in the mirror, all he saw was a husk of a living being. He couldn’t say human anymore. He was ugly, inside and out. He longed for life, for warmth, comfort, yet every time it faced him, he ran away. God put him on this Earth to suffer in an endless cycle, yet he couldn’t break his piety to such a cruel deity. 

It was something he’d slowly started to accept– the emptiness was a part of his life. If death came to face him, like a fool, he’d fight it, only to realize that victory meant waking up to another day, only after the fact.

Then, an angel descended upon him. It smiled with bright light, with hair as gold as a halo and beamed at him with kind, blue eyes.

“I guess I’ll just ask again,” the angel asked, “Can I paint you sometime?”

Who was he, a mortal man with sins too heavy to weigh, to deny the messenger of God?

It was the first time he ever ‘modeled’ for someone. 

He never stopped by Vincent’s room for the specific purpose of sitting in a chair for hours on end (when they did try, it was so unpleasant that Jean almost fainted), but he visited on occasion.

Instead of modeling, Vincent would simply follow Jean around at random times with a sketchbook in hand, capturing moments of life in a still, pencil-drawn image. At the end of the day, when the stars twinkled in through Vincent’s window, Jean was invited in and the two chatted about the scenes the blonde had drawn.

“That’s not me,” Jean would say each time, “That man is too pure to be me.”

And every time, Vincent would shake his head and chuckle. “You should really start being nicer to yourself.” Vincent would then quietly whisper to himself, “Rich, coming from me of all people, but the advice still stands.” 

Jean never tried to respond to his extra comments, until one late evening– “Perhaps we both should.”

Vincent’s expression was unreadable as he silently flipped to the next page.

It was the first time someone tried to cook for him. Keyword: tried.

Everyone in the mansion began to notice that the most polar opposites of the mansion had so suddenly gravitated toward each other. Napoleon was surprised when Vincent first appeared at their sparring matches as a regular guest, but now? Why, now he was surprised not to greet him.

Mozart was the most confused, of course. A soldier and a painter? Really, what would they ever want to do with each other? Jean was such a recluse, too. What did Vincent say to him that made him stray from his hideaway room and weapons shop? Theodorus seemed to share this sentiment, trailing behind his older brother like a guard dog.

Still, it didn’t surprise anyone when Vincent wanted to make something for Jean’s birthday.

It did surprise Sebastian that same morning to find the kitchen in shambles. Vincent stood in the middle of it all, a fire blazing inside the oven. Apparently, he had tried to make a batch of macarons. 

It took the help of half the mansion to salvage what they could. When Jean was presented with burnt yet somehow undercooked macarons, he just… stared at them.

“How did you know I liked these?” he asked, trying to ignore the smoke coming from the kitchen area.

Vincent’s smile was drenched in embarrassment. “Ah, well, whenever we go to your shop together, I always see you looking at the macarons in the window displays. So, I just assumed you liked them. Glad you do! I would’ve looked silly if not…”

“Thank you.” Jean practically cut him off before he could say anything else. To show his gratitude, he took one from the pan and tossed it in his mouth. Vincent cringed.

The soldier’s eyes burst open with shock. It was so… mushy and crunchy and… How in God’s name could something like this even be created? It was a crime against pastries everywhere. 

“Sorry,” Vincent mumbled, “I’m not really a sweet’s fan, so…”

That was all it took to convince Jean to push through, swallowing the macaron (could you even call it that?) with much strain. 

“Don’t be. It’s the thought that matters,” Jean said, taking the tray from Vincent. “I… I’ll cherish this forever.”

Jean was looking down at the floor shyly, but he swore he saw a pink color grow on Vincent’s cheeks.

Later that night, he found a portrait of himself waiting by his door. In his critical eyes, it was too divine to look anything like him, but the distinctive stroke style made Vincent the clear painter. A note was attached to the bottom, reading:

“Happy birthday! Sorry for the macarons this morning. Maybe after you close your shop tomorrow, we can go to a bakery and get some non-burnt ones! We could bring them home for a tea party, if you’d like!

Also, I think I finally had enough sketches of you to make a painting, so here’s the finished thing! I hope you like it. I’d like to make more, if you’re comfortable with that

– Vincent Van Gogh”

Unfortunately, Jean wasn’t the most literate. He enjoyed the fact that with paintings, written words were unnecessary. It was a walk of shame to bring the note to Mozart so he could read it for him.

It didn’t completely miss him, though, despite his usual density. Vincent wanted to paint him more. An invitation for more time spent together.

When the fact hit him, Mozart had to double-take the smile he saw on his friend’s face.

It was the first time he ever kissed someone. 

Now, granted, he didn’t remember that until the next morning’s hangover passed. 

Jean was known to be insanely lightweight, so why he was given a glass of wine- no one knows. Unfortunately, his drunkenness often made him very… touchy. So when the mansion had a banquet drawn long into the night, Jean was practically laying on top of Vincent (much to Theo’s ire).

So, Vincent offered to bring Jean back to his room. His strength was only one factor in it, but Jean’s touchy-feely state made it a slight struggle to bring him into the room without losing his balance and being blinded by Jean’s clinginess. 

Vincent has an arm wrapped around Jean as they make their way into his empty room. “Jeanie!” Vincent yelped, “I’m trying to put you to bed!” Through his struggle, he was laughing. Drunken Jean thought it was the most adorable thing in the world. It also didn’t help that Vincent was feeling a bit tipsy, too. He couldn’t stop himself from giggling at the absurdity of Jean’s actions even when he was worried for him.

When Vincent finally managed to get Jean into his room without tripping over his feet for a fourth time, he was content to call it a night. Unfortunately, Jean did not. He latched onto his arm and wouldn’t let go. 

“Wait,” he whispered in a hoarse voice, “Please stay.”

Vincent couldn’t tell if it was the wine getting to him or not, but something made his cheeks grow red.

It was hard to remember the rest. Vincent tried to coax Jean into bed, but he refused, instead wrapping his arms around Vincent and locking him in an embrace.

It was a stupored dance, rocking back and forth as the painter tried to keep the soldier on his feet and not knock the two of them over. Not that he minded, though. The closeness was… oddly welcome.

“C’mon, Theo is going to worry if I don’t go back soon! I promise we’ll see each other tomorrow!” Vincent said, taking steps towards Jean’s bed.

Jean pulled back against him, his head leaning on Vincent’s chest. “But I want you here now.” 

How could the pure angel say no to such a shy request? It’d break poor Jeanie’s heart to force him off!

The swaying continued, Jean moving closer and closer, until…

What was it Arthur said? ‘Drunken words were sober thoughts?’ Did that translate to actions, too? 

The mens’ lips met, for just a brief second, but long enough for Vincent’s to turn into a living cherry. 

They stared at each other for a moment, lust and liquor made Jean’s gaze cloudy, just as it fogged his mind. Vincent was more aware, but maybe he was hazy, too. 

Jean went in again, losing all semblance of balance, leaning all his weight onto Vincent as his knees bent and only the tips of his toes remained dragging on the ground.

If he was a sinner, so be it. He couldn’t take it anymore– the strange pulses of his heart whenever Vincent smiled in the sunlight or told him he was beautiful. He was looked down upon by Heaven’s eye, so what was the point in searching for salvation any longer?

The devil named ethanol overtook Jean, but maybe it claimed Vincent’s heart, too. He didn’t even stumble, catching Jean’s weight and slowly easing into the second kiss. And the fourth. And the seventh.

When the eleventh finished, Vincent suddenly gained consciousness again and forced Jean into bed, running off soon after. Jean was too drunk by then and passed out before he could realize what he’d done.

When day broke the next day, Jean was alone in his bed. No memory came to him until 10 A.M. 

What in God’s name had he done!? What sweet temptation overcame him? He was never drinking again, surely! His heart beat out of his chest with images and sensations flashed by him. With Vincent? He had stooped so low as to share affections with a man!? An innocent one, at that! He couldn’t believe he had even dared to touch the painting angel, tainting him with fault and impurity. God almighty, damnation was all he would receive. He’d turned his back to God thousands of times, but this had to be it. The Holy Spirit would claim him at any moment, banishing him to the pits of hell. Forgiveness was fully out of reach. Why did he have to be revived? He should’ve suffered on that stake, right where he belonged.

Jean locked himself in his room for weeks, only answering when Mozart came to drop off a bottle of Rouge. The pianist would try to speak, only for the door to be slammed in his face. The few glimpses residents did catch of him weren’t all too uplifting, either: Jean, knelt over his bedside with a rosary, muttering the Hail Mary over and over as if he would face judgment at any second. He only left to go to the weapons shop. Jean would avoid Vincent like the plague, or in his case, a harsh blaze. 

Vincent didn’t fare much better. He was more shy and nervous around the mansion, his paintings became more chaotic and surreal. He tried to ignore it, push down every bit of emotion that started to rise in his chest, but… the unfinished paintings spoke for themselves. Lilly fields, the brandish of a sword, a fire burning sweetly in a fool’s chest.

Vincent felt his hands shake when he flipped through his sketchbook, only to find the same thoughts circling him. His chest felt like it would explode. He didn’t think anything of it when they first grew close to each other, but things were different now.

It was the first time anyone ever told him that.

“I think I’m in love with you.”

The sword fell from his hands with a loud clatter. Jean was a statue in the middle of the weapons shop while Vincent stood by the door, his hand on the knob.

The store was closed, but Vincent had been gifted a key a while ago. Vincent brightened any room he stepped in with such a radiant light that Jean felt blinded by it. Except… Even with the sunset behind him, illuminating him like an angel, Vincent appeared to him as a normal man.

He was impure, too. He sinned. He felt. Vincent wasn’t a big fan of that last one. 

“You’re mistaken, monsieur.” Jean’s words cut like a sword; through the air and through Vincent’s heart. Vincent clutched his chest. “Whatever… this… is, it is not love. Lucifer is tempting us. We must not give in.” Jean picked the blade from the floor and placed it back on the rack, his brows knit. He kept his back turned to Vincent. He couldn’t even stand to look at him anymore. He was trying to resist the call of lust, after all. “There is nothing to love about me. Do not let the devil fool you, Vincent.”

Vincent’s head was filled with new feelings, but he knew this one too well: Hurt. It felt like Jean had just struck him in the heart with no remorse. Jean had always been blunt, a bit cold and dense, but this was cruel! Vincent’s fingers curled in, his fingernails stabbing the palm of his hand.

“Why not?” Vincent demanded. Jean wasn’t used to a harsh tone from the painter. “I-I…” Vincent practically trembled as he tried to force the words out. “Why do you get to decide what I’m feeling?”

Jean swallowed hard. He… He never thought of it like that. God was the only judge, why was he deciding for the painter? He opened his mouth to speak, but Vincent cut him off as he stepped closer.

“I love you, Jean. And, sure, maybe I don’t have the best grasp on feelings yet, but I know I love you.” Vincent’s declaration was made and there was no going back. It was a bit scary, pouring the beatings of his heart in front of Jean, but it had to be done. “You’re not going to convince me I don’t. I’m sorry.”

Jean was… silent. His violet eyes were wide, but there were unreadable emotions going through him. Vincent couldn’t bring himself to gaze at Jean for more than a few seconds. Not yet. He had no idea how the soldier would react. He was always so cynical, so shrouded in mystery, but that only made Vincent want to show him the sun even more.

“Why?” Jean parroted Vincent’s previous question. “What is there to love about me?” His voice cracked. As much as he tried to hide it, tears were being forcibly choked and swallowed to save his pride.

Vincent’s shoulders slowly slumped as the tension melted. Oh, what wasn’t there to admire. “Well… You’re strong.”

No I’m not, his mind argued.

“And you’re very kind. You’re always so thoughtful and thinking of others.”

It can’t be true.

“I can only dream to be as selfless as you, really!”

That was a blatant lie. What kind of game was he pulling? Only then did Jean’s thoughts stray. Vincent would never lie so openly. Was there truth in his words?

“I like spending time with you, too. You’ve always got something fun to say, when you do talk. And I like it when we go places. You keep talking about that field of lilies, so I think we could go there next!”

His mind’s voice couldn’t think up a retort in time.

“And… Well, I said it when we first met, right? You’re beautifully handsome. That’s something to enjoy, too,” Vincent giggled nervously, “Not as much as the other things, though! More of an added bonus.”

Vincent peeled his eyes off the floor to meet with an unseemly sight. Saint Jeanne D’Arc, staring him right in the face, with a hand over his mouth and tears rolling down his cheeks. It was sacrilegious to watch.

“Hey, don’t cry, Jeanie,” Vincent whispered, moving right in front of Jean to wipe his tears with his thumb. His hand lingered on the man’s cheek. 

Jean felt as if he couldn’t breathe right away. Love? Nonsense. It wasn’t for him. He wasn’t even supposed to be alive! How could someone so gentle and considerate say all those things about him? This had to be some sort of trick or illusion. A dream, even.

Jean’s fingers intertwined with Vincent’s, not letting the painter’s delicate hands leave his face anytime soon.

He was just waiting to wake up from this dream. Waiting patiently. Waiting… and waiting.

It never came.

When he opened his eyes, Vincent was still there, sky blue eyes lovingly locked on him. 

Vincent’s smile was soft. Anything harsher would blind Jean. “We’re vampires, Jean. I think God has bigger things to worry about. Maybe he can let this one slide.”

It was overwhelming to be blanketed in the holy light and Jean’s tears kept falling. This time, with a shy smile on his face.

It happened naturally. The gap between their faces drew shorter and shorter, their bodies fit together perfectly, and Jean’s hands felt comfortable on Vincent’s waist.

It was reserved, at first. Neither had any idea how to navigate a kiss with the other, but it was more natural than Jean had expected. It was… warm. Vincent’s thumb ran his across Jean’s eyepatch. Involuntarily, he drew back. They both used that as a minute to breathe.

Surprisingly, Jean was the one who initiated the second kiss, and this one was much more passionate. Their tongues collided on this one, messily and sloppily. Neither had any clue how to do this, but that was part of the enjoyment. It was slow, sensual, simply taking their time to explore each other. 

It wasn’t perfect, but it didn’t have to be. Jean and Vincent backed away from each other entirely content, their foreheads pressing against the other. A dopey grin enveloped the soldier’s red face. He was certain the blonde could hear just how loudly his heart pumped in his chest.

It was the first time he felt so happy.

The days at the mansion were almost tolerable now. When no one was around, a chaste peck on the cheek or forehead would be shared. Usually Vincent was the one to find Jean alone in the library, but occasionally Jean walked by his room and left a kiss on his cheek. 

Theo and Mozart noticed how they would disappear together first. Soon enough, everyone else caught on. Most of the mansion went to Arthur and Sebastian for answers, but both refused to tell. Sebastian out of not wanting to admit the amount of intel stored in his Oh no– They Didn’t! journal, and Arthur because he thought it’d be more fun for everyone else to figure it out themselves. Being the detective he was, Vincent sighed in relief when he heard he hadn’t told anyone. These feelings, this relationship… It’s all so new and they needed to take it slow. Being outed so soon would only spell disaster, especially in this century. Besides, Jean was already suffering from the judgmental stares from his little brother across the dinner table.

So, for the meantime, tea parties were kept in lonesome meadows and their most intimate moments were behind locked doors.

It was the first time he had a picnic. 

They promised to go to the lily field, when they had the chance. Vincent was captivated the moment he saw a sea of white petals blowing in the wind, glowing under the light of the moon. Jean didn’t interrupt his pause, allowing him to absorb the beauty around him. 

A blanket placed under them, a stiff breeze moving Vincent’s blonde curls in such a way that Jean couldn’t tear his eyes away. His head rested on the painter’s thigh while he sketched the field in front of them, grinning as his mind’s eye was put to paper. 

He looked down at Jean, breathing softly as he admired him. Vincent chuckled as he ran his fingers through his partner’s navy hair. “This is nice,” he whispered, not wanting to interrupt the still of the night.

The moonlight hit Vincent in such a way that he looked as if he descended from heaven, his features chiseled by God himself. “It is,” Jean responded, closing his eyes to properly enjoy the sensation. 

“We’re really lovers, aren’t we?” the blonde vampire asked softly. “It’s hard to imagine it in the mansion, but here… It feels real.” A pause hit Vincent before he continued, a romantic sigh leaving his lips as he took the moment in. “We should go see the sunflowers next.”

Jean’s eyes fluttered open and he watched Vincent attentively. There was a distinct longing in his eyes as he stared over the waves of flowers.

He couldn’t help himself. Jean cupped Vincent’s cheek in his head, bending awkwardly to plant a kiss on his lover’s jaw.

It was the first time he said those three words.

“I love you.”

It was the first time he took his eyepatch off in front of someone.

It had taken a full year for Jean to open up to the idea of taking his eyepatch off in front of Vincent. When they said they were taking it slow, they meant slow. Molasses envied them. They both had a lot of issues within themself, so moving too fast would only cause even more problems. This was far more safe and comfortable, and for them, that mattered more than anything.

It was a planned event. Theodorus wouldn’t be home for a few days on a business trip and Mozart was completely overtaken by a burst of creativity. Melodies filled the air each night, perfect for the inexperienced lovers. The stars had aligned for them to finally have a chance to sleep together and maybe sleep in, if they were lucky. 

Sitting on opposite ends of Jean’s mattress, Vincent observed the empty room around him with slight dismay. The many paintings gifted to his lover were the only decorations on the walls. Otherwise, the place looked like a jail cell. At least Vincent's cell had a nice window and some paint stains on the floor. This was a topic for another day, though. 

Jean sheepishly cleared his throat. A fabric eyepatch sling was laid across his open palm, extending it out for Vincent to take. He feared if he held it any longer that he’d put it right back on. 

Vincent was instantly enamored with Jean’s face. He came to know of Jean’s execution, of how he covered himself so thoroughly to hide the scars that coated him from his feet to his face, but finally being able to see some, the dead skin surrounding his blind eye and the burns that brushed his usually glove-covered hands… He was so beautiful. 

Jean was self-conscious under his gaze, actively forcing his left hand not to cover his eye. Fortunately, Vincent reached out and traced the burnt lines of his face before Jean could. His breath hitched, a short quivering running down his shoulder. “Sorry,” Vincent mumbled, now caressing the side of his face. “I just… I should paint you like this sometime. If you’ll let me.” Briefly, Vincent’s eyes wandered to his torso, before gazing back at the head of his lover. He held his cheek so tenderly.

Jean’s bashfulness melted under the tender gaze of the older Van Gogh. He took his wrist in his hand and planted delicate kisses against his palm. Vincent giggled coyly. Ah, that sound was more beautiful than any hymns the angels could conjure up. “I’ll think about it, monsieur.” He was thankful the attention to his scars ended there, although slight brushes and kisses against his eye were common as they laid next to each other. Any comments on its state would’ve left Jean a mess of regret and self-hatred. Vincent was careful about that, as Jean was with Vincent’s emotional status. It was an equal trade.

The evening was quiet, lulling the two to sleep easily. At first, they had fallen asleep with their hands locked together, not all too close to each other. Vincent knew just how overwhelming physical affection was for Jean, even after a full year in this relationship. Jean was the one who set the pace when it came to touch. He didn’t mind that. 

Apparently, his unconscious state did. Jean awoke in the middle of the night to Vincent’s head tucked against his neck, arms around his waist and his back pressed against the painter’s chest, their fingers still intertwined with each other. His face dug against the pillow under him, hiding the scar from the dark nighttime. 

Sometimes, he could feel the eyes of God staring at him, judging him for every sin he’d committed. When that happened, he’d spend several days in the city church, ultimately failing to build up the courage to enter the confessional. He was sin incarnate, no Father could offer repentance for that. 

The urge to run overcame him. To be so close to another living being was too much… but the scent of paint and sunflowers granted miracles to Jean. His muscles slowly unwound and he found himself falling into the arms of rest once again. The strong arms around him kept him tied to reality and away from the dark thoughts of his wandering mind. 

Every time Jean fell asleep, he dreaded the coming morning. The cycle of a torturous, unwanted, wrongful existence continued. 

But with Vincent here… Things were different. A small flicker grew in his heart. If he could make it to tomorrow, he’d get to see Vincent smile. Oh, and perhaps he’d get to spare with Napoleon, and then play with Cherie… then he could… And then...

Suddenly everything felt worth fighting for, if only for a day.

He had taken his eyepatch off, and the world still turned.

#ikevamp vincent #ikevamp jean #ikemen vampire #ikemen series #ikevamp #ikevamp jeanne #suitor x suitor ikevamp #vincent x jean ikevamp #ikevamp fanfic #jean x vincent ikevamp #vincent x jean #jean x vincent

[rybonucleic-ket]

this has been sitting in my notes app for a hot sec but I don't have the motivation to do anything with it so yk

have some tylorpe nobody asked for but I brain vomited

-----

The dreams of Xavier Thorpe had been haunted for months. He saw it every single night, that thing. The dreams turned into drawings, the drawings to obsession. With the creature, with who it really was. Xavier knew about Tyler Galpin long before anyone else. He's still not sure why he never told anyone.

After the creature came out of his painting to scratch him, his determination to learn more about it increased exponentially. He knew its cave well, his visions having taken him there multiple times. After that, nightly visitation of the cave became a regular occurrence. He’d seen in several times, but never like he saw it tonight. Never this close.

He was sure he was going to die. He’d watched it rip apart half a dozen people, and he would be no different. His obsession, having grown stronger than Wednesday’s, would be the death of him. He’d accepted his fate, not bothering to run when it charged toward him. He could feel its breath on his face, eyes closed as he waited. He held his breath. Five seconds went by, heavy breathing in his ear. Ten. Thirty. Forty five. He opened his eyes, meeting those of the monster in front of him. Creepy as shit, even though he saw it every night. He let out the breath he was holding, closing his eyes again. Neither moved. What the fuck was happening? Why was Xavier alive? Not to mention entirely uninjured? He couldn’t tell you. All he knew was when he reopened his eyes, Tyler fucking Galpin looked back at him, covered in blood. “What. The fuck.”

-

“So.” “Yeah.” Freshly showered Tyler sat in Xavier’s clothes on the bed that was formerly Rowan’s, because fuck you Galpin, you’re not getting blood all over my dorm. Xavier had never been more confused in his entire life, studying Tyler from across the room, no fear or hatred in his eyes, just confusion and fascination. Tyler stared right back at him like he’d never seen anyone like Xavier before either. After what felt like hours of mutually intrigued staring, Tyler spoke, barely more than a whisper. “Why didn’t you run?” “I’m not scared of you, Tyler.” “Right. But…you didn’t run when I..wasn’t me.” “Not scared of that either.” Xavier paused. “The real question is, why didn’t you kill me?” Tyler’s eyes dropped to his hands in his lap, wet hair dripping. He spoke so softly it was barely audible. “I don’t know.” He laughed humorlessly, looking up at Xavier with wet eyes. “I have no fucking clue.” Xavier studied his face for a while, before looking away. “It’s way too late for any of this shit to make any sense. I’m exhausted, you probably are too.” He pulled out a blanket for Tyler, Rowan’s bed already had sheets and a pillow on it because Xavier didn’t like the bare mattress. Tyler looked at him with an expression he couldn’t read. “Ah, shut up, man, it’s only weird if you make it weird. Not like I’m dying to share a room with you, but uh, it’s the middle of the night, it’s fucking freezing, correct me if I’m wrong, but I don’t think your dad’s gonna appreciate you showing up shivering in someone else’s clothes right now. Take the goddamn blanket.” Xavier threw the blanket at Tyler, hitting him in the face. Tyler grinned, pulling the blanket over himself. His expression softened. “Thank you, Xavier, really. There’s not really any reason you need to do this, actually, there are a lot of reasons why you shouldn’t do this, so I…I really appreciate it.” “Yeah, yeah, I’m the patron saint of hospitality,” Xavier turned off the lights, flopping face first onto his bed. “Now shut the fuck up and go to sleep.” Tyler laughed. “‘Night, Xavier.” Xavier sleepily hummed in response, muffled with his face buried in his pillow.

-

Tyler woke to the sun high in the sky, a moment of panic overtaking him as he tried to remember where he was and why his alarm didn’t go off. Remembering he was in Xavier’s dorm, his panic turned to his shift, to school, to his father. Fuck. Xavier walked into the room in sweatpants and a T-shirt, eyes flicking over Tyler briefly before he grabbed a sketchbook, flopping on his bed to draw. “G’morning. You’re up.” When he saw the panic in Tyler’s eyes, he sighed, exasperated. “God, calm down. It’s a Saturday. No school. And you’re off today, at the coffee shop. Figured you’d need your beauty sleep.” Tyler barely registered the fact that Xavier knew his shift schedule, too busy freaking out about his dad. As if he read his mind, Xavier said, “And, honestly, with the frequency of my dreams, I highly doubt it’s the first time you’ve been out all night, so presumably your dad either: a) doesn’t notice, b) doesn’t care, or c) is used to it.” Tyler groaned. “What time is it?” His voice came out gravelly, having just woken up. Xavier grinned at him. “Two-thirty p.m.”

(hey hey this is on ao3)

#tylorpe #tavier #tyler x xavier #xavier and tyler #wednesday fanfic #wednesday #idk what this is #um #they're boyfriends your honor #yeah #brainrot #word vomit #wednesday netflix #tyler galpin #xavier thorpe #shit i write #ry writes

[hometoursandotherstuff]

I had no idea that there were so many castle homes around, and lately, a lot of them have been for sale. This stone version in Rochester, Michigan is quite an elaborate design. ($2.5M)  I remember this house, but it just dropped 11 days ago, which means it didn’t sell and they re-listed it.

It’s quite stately and seems to have everything, including a faux guard house and gates.

Check out the draw bridge entrance.

They went with light wood with a medieval look. 

Inside, it’s white and bright.

Unless they used cheap wood, why would they cover it up w/white paint?d

Open living/dining room. 

This empty space seems to lead to the kitchen and I suppose it can be set up as a sitting area,  since it has a fireplace.

The kitchen is big, but I’m not terribly impressed. 

It has a small pantry with an unusual tile backsplash- a parrot and a basket of fruit, plus a blue sink. 

This office is lovely- look at the floor to ceiling fireplace.

Red carpet on the stairs, beautifully carved ballusters, and a fresco on the ceiling.

Nice stone stairway down to the wine cellar. But, what is that hose for? 

Table nook for wine tasting. 

Beautiful entertaining space- look at the fireplace. It’s like having your own mead hall.  

Then, there’s another staircase here. 

This is a real entertaining space/man cave, especially with the billiards room. 

Ah, yes, what good is a bedroom w/o a trap door. (I wonder why there are openings above the curtains. Can you climb them to escape something? I notice that they eliminated the photo of the trap door room- it’s just a plain plywood storage space.

Just an extra room- is that a secret door behind the lamp?

I’m so disoriented. What is this room? A closet?

Powder room is nice.

This looks like a spa- very nice.

1 of 7 baths.

Another of 5 bdms. 

One of the more elaborate baths.

The cars have a fake street in the garage and a night sky in the ceiling.

https://www.zillow.com/homedetails/2009-Victoria-Hl-Rochester-MI-48306/24364811_zpid/

#castle house #architecture #mansions #long post