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[farlydatau]

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[lazysailsart]

(via "Tail Whip Tunes Gangsta Lizard Reptile Lover Design" Duvet Cover for Sale by LazySailsArt)

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[luveline]

can I request aaron with younger!reader who isn't really an affectionate pet names type and she just ends up calling him bro out of habit and he's just,,, so perplexed and sometimes a bit annoyed like 'im not your bro I'm your boyfriend'

thank you for requesting ♡

You thought that having a boyfriend would be fun (true) but that the pet names were a bit much (kind of). No matter how hard you try, you've never been the type to call a partner baby. Sweetheart, handsome, lover, none of it calls to you. It's not that there's anything wrong with sincerity nor showing someone you love them, but pet names are clunky in your mouth. 

Sometimes you have to say something, though. "Dude! What is this? Are you serious?" 

Aaron has presented you with a box of pyjamas. Some people might think pyjamas are a bad gift as an adult, but you're genuinely thrilled. They're a present for nothing, I was thinking of you. I thought you'd like them. 

Not everything expensive is good, but some stuff clearly is. "They feel amazing. What kind of material is this?" you ask, running your hand up and down the shirt. 

"I'm not sure. If you like them I can't get you more. I can get you a pair for every day of the week, if that suits you." 

Is he joking? "Aw, dude…" 

"Not sure I like that." 

You lift your head from the boxed pyjamas and smile at him with gratitude coming out the ears. He's really quite handsome, emphasised when he frowns as much as he might think otherwise, the longer strands of his hair curled gently over his crinkled forehead. 

"Thank you! Can I kiss you?" you ask.

His hand is warm on your cheek as you stand on tiptoes for a kiss. He's not that tall, and your weight has him bending backward, frowning into a short kiss. You dodge back to investigate. 

"Everything okay?" you ask. 

"Fine. They had different colours if you want something brighter, but you liked the lavender underwear–" 

"Bro," you say with a laugh. "Don't say it like that." 

"What is that?" he asks, his teeth not gritted but clearly visible, his frown bordering frantic. "I feel like I'm going insane." 

"What are you going insane over? I'm confused." 

"I'm confused. We are dating, aren't we?" Aaron asks. 

You grip the back of a dining room chair, fingernails rapping against the wood. "Um. I definitely thought so, but is that not what you think?" 

"And you're not angry with me?" 

"Angry? Aaron, I'm really sorry, can you just ask me what you want to ask?" You talk with absolute sincerity, perplexed, a smidge worried. 

"Why are you calling me 'bro'? And 'dude'? I'm not your bro, I'm your boyfriend." 

Agitation tinges his voice. It's clear that he's asking out of frustration rather than confusion; a man at the end of his rope. 

You hold your hands behind your back. "I'm sorry," you say sheepishly, "it's a bad habit. I do want to– I mean, I've thought about calling you nice stuff like you call me, but I've never done it before. It feels weird when I say it, like I'm playing dress up." 

A familiar hand in a familiar place, Aaron's palm tender against your cheek. "I'm sorry. I'm not mad," he says quietly. "I was hoping some new clothes might inspire some affection, but I shouldn't force it. You can call me 'bro'. It's weird," —he laughs, meeting your eyes with a tentative smile— "but you can call me anything. Maybe less 'bro'. 'Dude' is manageable." 

"It does inspire affection. You know. For the record." 

His laughter turns knowing. "I'll remember that." 

You lean in for another kiss. He's smiling this time, his lips parted ever so slightly. 

"What do you want me to call you?" you ask, your breath fanning against his mouth. 

"I'd say whatever feels right, but you might start calling me 'man', or 'my guy'." He chuckles at his own joke, hand needling behind your back to grab big handfuls of you almost greedily. 

It's going to feel awkward. Now or never, you think. "Thank you for the pyjamas, handsome," you murmur, spreading your hand against his chest. 

It's worth it to feel him take in a pleased breath. And it really, really suits him. 

#aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner x you #aaron hotchner x y/n #aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner fic #aaron hotchner blurb #aaron hotchner drabble #aaron hotchner imagine #aaron hotchner fanfic #aaron hotchner fanfiction #hotch x reader #hotch #hotch x you #hotch blurb #hotch drabble

[chaosangel767]

For Your Birthday

Happy Birthday Dearest Comte!!!

Fandom: IkeVamp

Pairing: Comte x F!Reader 

Prompt: Enchanted Evenings Day 9: Lingerie 

CW: lingerie, nipple play, slight breeding, vaginal penetration 

WC: 1000+

Tagging: @toloveawarlord , @thewitchofbooks , @queen-dahlia , @kissmetwicekissmedeadly , @aquagirl1978 , @canaria-blackwell , @devildomwritersposts , @ikesimp100 , @sarahann-1984 , @kpop-and-otome , @citizensofcradle , @littlewitty , @curious-skybunny , @lordsisterxotome , @queengiuliettafirstlady ,@namine-somebodies-nobody , @jihanel , @atelieredux , @violettduchess, @leotoru​ - If you want to be tagged or remove please dm me or fill out the form here.  

Your knuckles rap against his door nervously, fidgeting with how your robe is tied. The hallway is empty of residents, most tucked away in their rooms working. The clock striking midnight had brought you out of your room in search of your lover, wanting to give him his gift. 

“Come in” his warm voice washes over you, and your smile brightens. Opening the door you step into his study. “Ahh Ma Cherie, I was wondering who would visit me so late at night.” he smiles up from behind his desk and you hurry over to his side. 

“Happy birthday Comte” you announce as you open his door. His eyes widen in surprise as he looks over at the clock. Only a few minutes past midnight, it is his birthday after all. 

“I wanted to be the first person to tell you happy birthday and give you a present” You murmur, standing next to him and caressing his hair. His eyes rake over your figure before he pushes back from his desk and sitting in front of you. 

“This is new” He murmurs, fingers brushing against the silk of your robe. Teasingly tugging on the fabric, he watchines more skin of your chest revealed.  The babydoll lace lingerie  only teases the vampire, the fabric drapes over your skin, complimenting your skin tone and leaving very little to the imagination. It had been quite a feat for you to hide this commission from him, wanting to surprise him for his birthday. 

“So this is what you kept leaving the mansion for?” Your nod has a smile gracing his face. You cup his cheek, brushing a lock of hair from his eyes. Unable to hold back any longer, Comte tugs the robe completely off your body. Arms snake around you as he pulls you into his lap. 

“Happy birthday” you whisper, your fingers lovingly stroking his cheek. His lips press against your hungrily in a kiss. Deepening the kiss, you feel his tongue explore your mouth and you pull away for a breath, a smile playing on your lips. Looking into his eyes, you catch a familiar predatory look in his gaze.  His fingers start at your cheek, wandering down your neck and shoulders, caressing all the skin they find. You shiver as his finger presses along the fabric, feeling it brush against your sensitive nipple. When you let out a soft sigh, his smile turns teasing. Mouth leaning forward to catch your breast, his tongue lapping at the fabric. The sensation has your hands curling on his shoulder, digging into his shirt for stability. His hands move behind you to clear off his desk. Parting from your breasts long enough to set you on the desk, he steps in  between your legs, fingers tracing the hem of the skirt. You shiver at his wandering touch, looking up at him with eyes clouded in need. 

“This is almost too good to take off” He murmurs in your ear, watching your face betray all the pleasure you are feeling. 

“So don’t take it off”  you whisper, “It’s yours to do with as you please” Reaching forward, you capture his lips in a kiss, teasing his tongue. Your hands go to his pants, undoing them enough to palm at his length. You can feel the moan in his throat as you muffle it. His fingers return the favor, rubbing against your core, he starts to prepare you. 

“That’s it” He murmurs, feeling your thumb circle his tip. His fingers thrust in your core, curling to stoke your sweet spot. It’s his turn to  muffle your moans as your walls clench around his fingers, protesting when he withdraws them, moving your hands away from his length as well. 

“Comte” You start to protest, but his hands grab your thigh, lifting you into the air. He doesn’t say anything else as he brings you to his bed, moving quickly before dropping you across the cool sheets.

“You said I could do what I pleased?” His voice is husky, raw with desire and you nod in agreement, letting out a groan when he flips you onto your hands and knees, hands roughly going up your thighs. He pushes the fabric out of the way, his hands massaging your bottom as he looks you over. 

“So pretty” he murmurs, fingers brushing along your slit to collect your juices,  spreading it over his length. His hands go to your waist, gripping the delicate fabric in his hands as he holds it in place. 

His name is a scream from your lips when he thrusts, sheathing himself inside with one thrust. Your breathing struggles to recover, his thumbs rubbing circles into the skin. Once he feels you regulate yourself and start rocking for stimulation, he picks up his thrusts.Your orgasm tears through you and your body goes weightless, trembling against the bed until he lifts you up. Nestling you against his chest he gets a deeper angle, only amplifying your orgasm. Every thrust hits your sweet spot, sending wave after wave of pleasure through your body, as his hand creeps to your breast. His mouth busies itself with your neck and shoulder, teeth scraping against your skin as marks bloom across your shoulder. 

“I can’t wait to fill you up” He murmurs in your ear, scraping his teeth against your ear. Shuddering between his thrusts and his touch, you moan his name as your second orgasm quickly approaches. Pushing you back down, he buries your face in the pillow, body pressed tight to yours as his thrusts grow sloppy. Your name is a grunt in your shoulder, the feeling of his seed spilling against your wall triggers your pleasure. Consumed by the warm feeling, your eyes glaze over, body collapsing against the bed the instant his hands lose their grip. Whispering words of love, Comte wraps you up in his arms, length still pressed deep inside as he whispers promises and caresses your skin. 

#ikemen vampire smut #ikevamp #ikevamp smut #comte de saint germain #comte x reader #ikevamp comte #Enchanted Evenings 2022 #enchantedevenings2022 #Happy Birthday Dearest Comte

[stormkobra-5]

Banks of the Nile

Pairing: Marc Spector, Jake Lockley, Steven Grant x Avatar!Reader

Chapter No.: 2/6 (not including epilogue)

[Part 1] [Series Masterlist] [Moon Boys Masterlist]

Summary: With Steven coming to realize he might not be the only one in the body, the presence of you and Layla only makes things more confusing for him— just as he’s being pursued by Harrow, who he didn’t even realize was real.

A/N: Ahahahahahahahaaaaaaa!!! It’s finally here!!! Part 2!!! >:DDDDD I’m so sorry it’s taken so long to write this! Irl has been an absolute bitch and I’ve been having intermittent writer’s block. Luckily, though, with some validation (and inspiration/ideas) from @marc-spectorr, I got the inspo needed to finish this! [I know I’ve said that none of the gifs I use are mine, but I feel like need to say that this gif in particular is from @iamcalmdammit! :3]

Rating/Warnings: 18+, Minors DNI, NSFW content; gore, violence, violent protective thoughts from reader, descriptions of child abuse (reader was abused and was violently killed at 13, remember, and then of course there’s Marc), lots and lots of mentions of death, bones, blood, and corpses, angst, yearning, pining, graphic depictions of gore and violence, mention of kidnapping, smut, mention of first kiss/loss of virginity, badass soft Jake, probably more I may have missed some

https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=gZp-tQiv2dg

“Oh shit,” was the first thing you said when you realized that of the two men you hear approaching the unit, one of them is the timid voice of Steven Grant. “Oh shit oh fuck fuck fuuuuuck...” Frantically, you searched your surroundings for any decent form of hiding place.

“Couldn’t have a decent fucking closet, Spector?!” You hiss to yourself: your only options are the military-issue crates, which you might just suffocate in, or to hope that a disguise Scooby-Doo would be questioning would pass Steven’s intelligent inspection— with no other options, you made one.

As you heard the padlock to the door opening, you summoned your suit, taking up a statue-esque stillness in the corner of the unit, back to the wall. With your crook and flail crossed across your chest, you looked for all the world like a very realistic statue of Anubis. It’s the best and only disguise you could conjure on such short notice, and just in time, too. The door swings open to reveal Steven as he tentatively enters, face falling when he sees the militaristic setup that clearly establishes that someone is living there.

You fight the flutter of your heart, bidding it cease to race. Your activities with Marc shouldn’t have made you blush, since you’d been together many times before; you’re not sure if it’s even the fact that last night you spent lost in passion with Marc, then Jake, who both shared Steven’s body. It was remembering how deeply he kissed you when he thought he was dreaming, that look in his eye when Marc spurred him into doing it a second time. Beneath your helmet, you frowned. Steven Grant should not be making me blush. It’s ridiculous.

But he was. Steven Grant, the shy gift-shop employee, was making you, the Avatar of Anubis, blush, and it had nothing to do with your two other lovers who happened to share his body.

It was… kind of amusing, actually.

If it wasn’t also complicating things further.

Warily, Steven stepped into the unit, closing the door behind him with an echoing thud. His dark eyes flicked worriedly around the room, taking in the stacks of military-issue crates, the cot, the rack of jeans and shirts you stood beside, keeping as still as possible. Every slow, shallow, unnoticeable movement of your breathing felt very noticeable as Steven’s eyes locked on you in amazement. “Bloody…” He couldn’t even finish the exclamation, coming closer uncertainly. You felt ridiculously exposed, even with your helmet, as he leaned far too close to scrutinize the finer details of your armor. “Bloody hell, you look real…” He breathed, waving a hand in front of you. He rapped his knuckles on the snout of your jackal helmet, frowning at the hollow noise it made. Steven lifted a hand, coming up to trace your helmet’s jawline, the snout, the ears; goosebumps burst to life on your skin as you fought a shudder. His eyes locked on your gold ones, trained straight ahead– but not with enough discipline. They flicked to him briefly, before resuming their lifeless stare: but it was too late. He saw it. His eyes widened a bit in surprise, before narrowing as he leaned closer. After a moment of careful observation, he stepped back, blinking and shaking his head, playing it off. Thank Ra. “Wicked…” He breathed, looking around the unit with a furrowed brow.

His eyes landed on the little tactical bag that Marc had put the scarab in, as if drawn to it. Oh fuck. Should you stop him? Should you reveal yourself? Him having the scarab, when he didn’t even know what it was for, was a very, very dangerous thing to happen. Harrow would find him easier than he would locate you or Jake and Marc, and both of you could fight. If they found Steven…

He unzipped the bag, the sound seeming overloud to you and nearly drowning out the frantic beating of your heart. “Not yet,” Anubis boomed, warning you against any action you were about to make. Steven jumped and whipped around, wildly searching for the source of the voice. “Hello?!”

You fought the urge to show yourself. Why can he hear you, Anubis? He’s a part of Marc, so why can he hear you?

Anubis– most likely wary of attracting further attention– remained silent, but you still felt the thrum of his presence. Warily, Steven returned to inspecting the bag; the first thing he saw when he opened it was Marc’s handgun. “Oh my god.” You had to bite your lip to stifle a laugh when he picked it up like a dead rat, slowly laying it on the cot using only two fingers. You watched with only your eyes as he shuffled through money from various countries in astonishment, even pulling out his passport and flipping it open. He paused, reading the details. “Marc Spector…” He mumbled; and then his eyes caught on the one thing you’d hoped they wouldn’t. “...No way…” He set the passport aside, reaching in the bag to remove the scarab. Wonderment and shock settled on his features. “It’s real… It’s totally real…” He clicked the button that activated the scarab’s searching mechanism, and the golden beetle launched a couple of inches off its base to hover above it. It’s nose pointed in the direction of Ammit’s tomb, somewhere in the world, and your skin crawled at the sight of the blasphemous guide. Steven, however, was in awe. “Whoa. I'd say you’re a compass, but you're not pointing north…”

Steven stood, eyes on the compass as he tried to face the direction it was pointing– until he abruptly stopped. He jumped, head snapping up to look at his reflection in the wall of the unit. The scarab returned to its base. “Marc?” Steven asked, barely audible, and you came to the belated conclusion that perhaps reflections were a form of communication for them. Nervous, Steven took a couple of steps closer after giving a little anxious wave. “There he is. Here he comes. Hello, man in the mirror. I was wondering if you'd pop up again.” There was a pause, a pause in which Marc clearly said something. “A bit, yeah.” Steven listened to his reflection, in which you saw nothing different; you wondered what it was like, having to communicate like that. Steven became more nervous, fingers fidgeting with the scarab as he confronted the mirrored vision of himself. “No? Well, bit late for that, innit? So, what? Am I, like, meant to be some sort of mad secret agent or something?”

You could do nothing but listen to one side of the conversation and worry as Steven became more agitated. “More complicated? What, am I possessed?” The mere thought sent him into a stammering frenzy before he finally managed, “Are you, like, a demon? Or…” Steven halted to listen, glancing back to the cot and eliciting a scoff of disbelief. “Are you joking? Sleep– I'm never gonna go to sleep again! You hear me? Look, I don't care how bloody handsome you are. Tell me what it is you are. What are you?” There was another brief pause, allowing you to realize, yes, poor Steven did just call himself handsome without even registering the fact that they share the body. “Yes, bloody... Yes.” There was a much longer break in the one-sided conversation you were hearing, before Steven slowly cocked an eyebrow and emphasized, “...Khonshu? …The Egyptian god of the moon?” Steven turned away from the wall, frustrated, glancing back once as if offended. “Oh, my god, that's the stupidest thing I've ever heard. I eat one piece of steak then, bam, I go bonkers.”

He sat on the cot, taking a couple of deep breaths, before snapping, “What do you mean, ‘tell her she can come out’?! Is there another like you?! Somebody else I’ve got to worry–” He cut off as you let your hook and flail fall to your sides, yelping in terror before you let your armor melt back into the realm of the Duat and leaving you in your normal clothes. Steven’s eyes were wide as he stared at you, mouth gaping and trying to form words. “Y-you– you’re real.”

“Hello, Steven,” You sighed, sympathetic. “I’m sorry you had to be dragged into this.”

Steven stared at you, the realization dawning on him that, this is real. Everything Marc’s been telling him is correct, he’s not dreaming; you can’t imagine the fear he’s going through right now. “A-are you like him? Are you Khonshu’s Avatar, too?”

You shook your head. “No. I’m the Avatar of Anubis.”

“That other voice?” Steven was all but curling up on the cot. “That’s… That’s Anubis, innit?”

You nodded. “Most Avatars can only see their Patron god. How you, Steven Grant, can hear Anubis when Marc Spector cannot is a mystery to all of us. You’re the first, besides myself, to hear him in over twelve thousand years.”

“O-oh god,” Steven breathed, hand finding his chest as he struggled for air. “Oh god I— I’m having a panic attack. I need to go to the hospital.”

Oh shit. Steven couldn’t panic here; not with so much at stake. You felt sympathy for this poor man, drawn into the conflict unnecessarily… You knelt in front of him, putting a hand on either side of his face to make him look at you. “Steven… Hey; look at me, Steven…”

His eyes kept flicking to the reflection in a panic, and you knew Marc well enough to know that he was probably also trying to calm Steven; or he was just making the situation worse.

Steven threw your hands off him and abruptly stood. “Are you trying to help me? Help us? With what?! What the bloody hell is even—“ Steven paused his frantic rant to yell at the wall, where Marc was trying to communicate. “Shut up! You want my body?! Right, yeah— Marc, how’s this for a deal?!”

“Steven—“ You tried, but he shot you a glare that looked something like betrayal as he started packing up the money, the gun, even the scarab; you froze with uncertainty, unsure of how to approach the situation.

“I’m gonna take this bag full of illegal shit, yeah? And I’m gonna go straight to the authorities, and they’re gonna put me away so I don’t hurt anyone else!” He backed toward the door, swatting your hands away desperately when you reached for him. “And hopefully NHS will fill me with enough pills that you both get out of my head!”

Steven backed hurriedly out of the storage unit and slammed the door closed. “Fuck,” You breathed after a moment. He now is convinced that you are part of his mind, too. How are you supposed to get the scarab now?

“We can no longer count on Marc and Jake’s cooperation. Not with Steven in this mess.” Anubis said, but he did not appear in the room. You dreaded that he would ask that you kill them, and that is something that you would never recover from. Killing the ones you love most…

A portal opened before you, and on the other side, you seen a spacious flat filled to the brim with books. “Wait for him, and then obtain the scarab. I believe even Marc would give it to you willingly at this point.” At your Patron’s words, you felt a surge of relief. You can’t imagine ending their life. Not Marc, who you still love deeply. Not Jake, whom you’ve loved for years. And not Steven, who did nothing wrong and did not deserve such a fate. Perhaps Anubis knew this, and would never send you after them. Perhaps there may come a time where his sympathy ends, or there is no other choice.

You push fears of future happenings away, and step through the portal, intending to wait for Steven Grant for as long as necessary.

Patiently waiting until Steven arrived was much harder than you’d first thought. First of all, because so much was at stake. You weren’t certain why Anubis simply didn’t let you follow him out the door, but you knew better than to question your Patron God. Secondly, and for a much less important reason…

His apartment— or rather, flat— was beautiful.

Large and spacious and cluttered all to hell with piles upon piles of books of all sorts, it was an old attic space that looked right at home in a scene from Inkheart. Steven mainly had books on Egypt, but there were plenty of others— such as books on Asgard and Norse mythology, and you came across a notebook where he was clearly teaching himself Wakandan script. There was a record player behind the fish tank, and there were puzzles everywhere. A ring of sand encircled the bed, and there were so many locks on the door it was ridiculous. A trash can full of rolled-up pieces of blue tape caught your attention, and you belatedly realized that with Marc and Jake around, Steven probably thought he had some kind of sleeping disorder. Hadn’t Marc said that? That he thinks he sleepwalks?

You eventually took a seat on the couch, sighing impatiently. “I could’ve just followed him out the door, y’know.”

“Perhaps,” Anubis conceded, “But then you would have only found… more complications.”

Before you could ponder the meaning of his words for long, you heard voices in the hallway— you recognized Steven’s.

You also recognized Layla el-Faouly’s.

Oh shit.

You stood, bracing yourself for the worst. Layla never knew about Jake or Steven, so she would probably assume that Marc is faking, and is living with you, his ex. Things could go very badly here. In fact, probably worse than if you had chased Steven out the door. You silently cursed your god and prepared yourself to face the wrath of a very pissed-off Arab woman.

They saw you as soon as you opened the door.

Steven let her ahead of him, always polite, and Layla’s dark eyes lit like fire when she saw you. Steven paled at the sight of you, flinching when Layla rounded on him like she was ready to kick his ass. You felt strangely protective over Steven in that moment. “That’s what this is about?! You got back with your ex?!”

“What?! No!” Steven waved his hands wildly, trying to dissuade her from thinking that, “No, not at all, I’m here by myself. I-I live on my own.”

“Then what the hell is she doing here?!” Layla demanded.

Steven’s brow furrowed, gaze flicking between you and Layla curiously. “Bloody— you can see her, too?” Oh, gods. Steven truly believed that you were a figment of his imagination, didn’t he? It crushed your heart to hear that, crushed it to tiny little bits. He doesn’t deserve it, Marc had said. And he was right.

Layla scoffed, storming away to set her bag on a nearby table. She didn’t care for whatever she may have crushed underneath of it. “Yeah, whatever. The stupidest thing I’ve ever—“

“Layla,” You said hopefully, catching her attention as you took a couple of steps forward. She turned an icy glare on you, her glistening obsidian eyes like daggers. You felt for her— Marc had broken her heart, too. “I’m not here of my own accord, I swear to Ra.”

“Then what?” She snapped, facing you.

“Anubis sent me,” You clarified; she knew that Marc was an Avatar. It wasn’t as if it was far-fetched for you to be one, too. “I didn’t want to come, but Anubis sent me to retrieve something from Spector.”

“...Anubis sent you?” Her eyes narrowed, lips quirking into something like a frown. A bit of understanding dawned on her. Guilt gnawed at your heart briefly; technically, she was still married to Marc. She still loved him, much like you. And he’d spent last night between your legs, moaning your name and holding your hands. If it weren’t for making Steven panic more than he already was, you might’ve broke and told Layla what happened between you and her husband. She sounded like she only half believed you about your purpose here. Or maybe she sensed that you and Marc had done much more than just your gods’ bidding.

“I just want my life back…” Steven mumbled dejectedly into the ensuing silence between you and Layla, and you felt as if Marc may have said something to him to prompt him to speak.

Layla’s expression flickered briefly to grief before settling on fury. She turned with a steel barricade over her heart to face Steven, whom she still seemed convinced was Marc up to some kind of game. “Yeah. I’m getting that.” He flinched at her harsh tone.

“No, sorry. I wasn’t talking to you. I was talking to myself… sort of.” His voice was small and defeated, and also tired. So very tired. His dark chocolate eyes settled on you with a strange ferocity in them, but also a plea for help— you were, after all, the only one who had insinuated that he wasn’t crazy, had implied that you knew Marc.

What should I do?

This was a delicate situation. You knew that Marc and Layla had been searching for the scarab for years— for many reasons. For Layla, it was also personal, although you weren’t sure of the details. And now Steven was involved, when he wasn’t supposed to be. He knew nothing of the situation. He could hinder the entire progress, or send it spiraling into chaos without even meaning to. You wished that all three alters had separate bodies, so that you could protect Steven better; but also, a selfish part of you missed Jake more than anything.

You pushed your own emotions aside once again. You needed to focus. On the scarab. On Harrow. On how to retrieve the one thing in the world leading to Ammit’s tomb and keep it safe under your charge.

Luckily… Death is patient.

“Wait, little one…” Anubis rumbled, low in his throat. Steven jumped, but clamped his jaw down tightly to avoid saying anything in front of Layla. “Say nothing yet.”

You kept your mouth closed firmly, and obeyed.

Layla frowned as she surveyed her surroundings; probably trying to see if there was any incriminating evidence against you, giving her some reason to explain Marc’s sudden absence in her life. “So this is your flat, Marc?”

“Um…” Steven fidgeted nervously with the hem of his jacket before stuffing his hands in his pockets to stop himself. “I’m Steven.” He glanced to you again, big dark eyes begging you for help like a baby cow asking for more treats. If anyone could convince Layla of his truthfulness, you could. Or so he probably supposed. You knew bits and pieces of his story, so he thinks of you as his ally. But aside from this, you’ve only met Layla once, and that was when she had come to you after Marc abandoned you and told you how sorry she was, how she hadn’t known about you, apparently, until yesterday.

The day after their wedding.

The thought still stung you.

Layla’s eyes settled on the restraint tethered to the bed, and she spun around defensively. You held up your hands in surrender before she rounded on Steven once more. “Are you living here with someone else?!”

“No no no,” Steven replied hurriedly, eyes wide. “No… This is my mum’s flat.”

Layla lifted her chin in a curious half-nod. “Oh. So you guys are talking again?”

“Mm-hm,” Steven answered shyly, worriedly, as if he was unsure why she was even asking that.

That… that hit you like a truck.

Their mom was dead. Their mom, who had beaten him, neglected him, abused him all his life after the death of his little brother Randall, blaming him, a child, for the horrific event. That kind of trauma at such a young age prompted the creation of Steven, and then Jake, who was the one that fought back. Their protector.

Steven didn’t know yet; how the hell would he react learning that this was all faked by Marc in an attempt to give him a normal life?

You were shaking your head, not even realizing it. Steven was going to be devastated. You couldn’t take much more of this… doing nothing.

How much longer?

“Until an opportunity presents itself to obtain the scarab,” Anubis grumbled. Steven glanced at you warily, opening his mouth seemingly in an effort to ask you something— but one look at Layla scanning his bookshelf made him go quiet again.

“Marceline Desbordes-Valmore?” Layla held up a book— a little poetry book.

“Yep,” Steven answered; but as she turned back to the book, he began reciting one of her works. In perfect French, he spoke the poem, which Layla finished with an awestruck grin. Your twinge of jealousy was overruled by the rush of static energy in your chest as you watched Steven with eyes that spoke volumes.

He’d never spoken poetry. Neither of them. Not in French. Marc had told you sweet things in Hebrew, Jake had whispered his love in Spanish. But French... It was new, and it was impressive. Your heart skipped a beat involuntarily, and you quickly schooled your expression so that you appeared calm and collected externally. Inside, you wrestled with this new feeling and tried to play it off as something other than what you feared it was.

“Focus, child,” Anubis boomed, and Steven jumped again, away from you, as if you could control the actions of your god.

“S-she’s my favorite poet,” Steven scrambled to formulate the sentence, trying to seem as normal as possible. You felt Anubis’s swirling concern as to why Steven— a part of Marc— could hear him, when only his Avatars have been able to. For you, it’s different; being the Avatar of the God of the Dead have you more powers, as death ruled all. It was normal for you to see and hear the other gods. But not Steven Grant of the gift shop, an Avatar of Khonshu.

“Um…” Layla frowned again, only this time a mix of frustration and confusion. “No, she’s my favorite.”

“That’s mental,” Steven mumbled, swallowing hard enough to make his throat bob. Layla shook her head, continuing to scan the flat for any sign of anything that could give “Marc” away.

Steven sidled closer to you, keeping his hands buried firmly in his pockets and his voice low enough for it to only be heard as a mumble to Layla, who cast a glare toward him. “So all that really happened, then? In the Alps?”

His dark gaze met yours desperately, like he was asking you to laugh and play it off as an elaborate prank. “I’m sorry, Steven.”

“And…” He gulped. “And when you came to the museum that day, looking for Marc… That’s why you thought I was him. ‘Cause he’s…” He shook his head, closing his eyes at the absurdity of the situation. “‘Cause he’s bloody… living in my head? Is that it?”

You frowned, keeping your voice low for his sake. “I’m so sorry, Steven. I’m not sure how to explain this without Marc… He means well, I promise.”

Steven scoffed in disbelief, opening his mouth to say something, when Layla cut him off with a low question of surprise. “So… you’re learning French and hieroglyphics?”

You saw something click in his bronze eyes, and a part of you was fighting a smile. Of course. If Marc and Jake had special interests, Steven surely did as well. Marc’s, you remembered vividly, was baseball. Not like a sports fan— like a sports expert. He could tell you the date it was invented, why, and the evolution of the baseball and bat. He could name off every player there ever was. For Jake, it was animals and drawing. Despite how tough he seemed, he had volumes of animal dictionaries stuffed away in your things where Marc wouldn’t question them, thinking them yours. He knew the entire animal kingdom from A-Z and whenever he took you for a ride in his limo, you nearly always ended up with several stray dogs and cats in the vehicle that you would take to a local shelter, where Jake was considered a regular animal rescuer. A hero. And then he’d draw from memory each animal, first in pencils, then in colors, making several scrapbooks starring his furry acquaintances.

It made sense— more than— for Steven’s to be mythology and history, specifically Egyptian, if all the decorations were to be believed. He very nearly reminded you of Rachel Weisz from The Mummy.

“Yeah, well… That’s not that impressive, really…” Steven tried to play off the fact that hundreds of notes written in hieroglyphics wasn’t impressive at all, and you bit your lip to stifle a grin as he moved over to the book she was looking at. “It’s not like hieroglyphs are a whole language, it’s more like a…”

You couldn’t stop yourself. You blurted it out before you realized what you’d said. “An alphabet.” Layla nodded in agreement to you, confirming your statement, as Steven turned to look at you in awe. “Y… Yeah, and…” He awkwardly cleared his throat and ran his finger down a line of inscriptions shown in a picture of a tomb wall. “Well, you still have to know Ancient Egyptian to read it.”

“Sure,” Layla replied softly; she shared a look of confusion with you. You could tell her nothing. It was not your place. Only Marc could explain to her Steven’s presence, tell her about his DID.

Steven, luckily, was too interested in showing her the glyphs to notice. “For example, this one here, right? It’s—“

“Funeral rites,” Layla read without hesitation; of course she had. Her father was Abdullah el-Faouly, of course she knew these things. You felt a spark of jealousy as Steven’s dumbstruck gaze lingered on her in wonderment, one which you tried desperately to quell. Marc had been yours. You weren’t sure about now. Steven, you barely knew. Jake was yours. You’re pretty sure that what was bothering you was the fact that somewhere in there was your loving Jake. He’d once told you that he could sometimes see out of Marc’s eyes. Could he see out of Steven’s right now? Was he co-conscious without Steven’s knowledge? You wondered. You wondered if Jake could see you. Again you were slammed with longing for your lover, trapped inside one body with two other men who knew nothing of his presence. He wouldn’t let them.

“I need to protect them, mi vida. Showing them that I exist will not keep them safe.”

“Someone knows their unilaterals— you,” Steven added, bringing you out of your thoughts somewhat. Anubis hummed softly, in an attempt to soothe your tangled emotions. “That’s amazing… Yeah…” At Layla’s stunned smile, Steven all but recoiled. “S-sorry, I don’t mean that in a creepy way…”

Layla, however, was done. The pain of seeing Steven, who is a part of Marc but not her husband, was too much for her. She hurriedly brushed past you on the way to her bag with Steven following like a lost puppy. “No, I’m sorry. I’m not buying this, Marc. Use whatever accent you want. Let’s just get this over with.” She drew a bundle of papers out of her bag and thrust them at him impatiently. “You sent these papers, but you never signed them.”

“Did I? Uh…” Steven began patting himself down, searching his pockets. It’s only after he draws them out that you realize they’re reading glasses. Much like Jake’s, actually, rather than Marc’s thinner ones.

“This is what you wanted,” Layla snapped.

After fumbling to put on his glasses, Steven finally was able to take the papers from her. “Let’s just… have a look here…”

“After everything…” Her voice cracked very slightly; only slightly. She quickly masked it with anger and a frown. “You told me that we needed to move on.”

Anytime now, Anubis.

“Patience!” Anubis boomed, making Steven jump and nearly drop the papers. “You must wait, little one. Be patient.”

I would be, if it weren’t so awkward to be here.

Marc, who was your ex and hers. Steven, who had no idea what the fuck was going on. Layla arrived at the worst possible moment. Jake, stuck on the sidelines, and you, stuck waiting awkwardly in the midst of this personal conversation before snatching the scarab right out from all of their noses to keep it safe on your own.

“Di…” Steven lowered the papers to look at her in astonishment. “Divorce?”

“I’m just gonna… stand… away… from this very personal conversation,” You raised your hands and backed off, sidling away to seek shelter behind the fish tank. Layla regarded you with a look that was somewhere between help me and thank you.

“I’d never divorce you,” You heard Steven say, albeit muffled.

“Hey, fish,” You greeted the fish, because you are really trying not to eavesdrop. It came up to inspect you curiously, although it got distracted by its own reflection and started blowing bubbles. “What’s up? Nothin’ much, huh? Yeah, I get that. Actually, I don’t. What’s it like to float suspended in water and eat all day for a living?”

A loud thud startled you, and you leaned around the fish tank to see Steven picking himself up off the floor and Layla standing by the bag that Steven had taken from the storage room. “The fuck? Did she just throw you?” Not by a lack of strength, you knew. You’d seen Marc without the suit lift weights that made you seriously concerned for his safety. But Steven probably didn’t realize he had such power packed beside the six pack he obviously never questioned.

“Y-yeah,” Steven mumbled, sounding a bit ashamed. You fought the urge to run your fingers through his hair to straighten it. “Bloody hell…”

Offended, hurt, and betrayed, Layla turned with the scarab in-hand, holding it up for you both to see. “The scarab leading to Ammit’s ushabti? What we fought side by side for…” Jaw clenched, she jerked a finger in your direction. “This is why you’re here. Anubis wants you to protect this because he doesn’t trust Khonshu’s Avatar.”

“Anubis doesn’t trust anyone,” You relented, “Not until he’s weighed their hearts.”

She twisted the scarab in her palm, stifling the tears glistening in her dark eyes with anger. You lowered your head, unable to bear her heartbreak and as she regarded Steven with the look of one betrayed— a look you knew all too well.

Steven tried to dissuade her from thinking that he had done wrong, when he truly hadn’t. “No—“

Layla wouldn’t let him speak. “This whole one-man show is just what? So you can keep it for yourself? After all we’ve—“

“No, I swear—“

“Just stop!” Layla shouted, making Steven flinch. You wanted to walk away again, but… Anubis’s wishes kept you glued to your place, waiting for an opportunity to take the scarab from her without causing a fight. “I’m supposed to believe anything you say with this shoved in, what, a gym bag?”

“Take it!” Steven cried, hands outstretched pleadingly. Layla’s surprise and shake of her head was in tune with your sympathy for him. “Take it, you can have it. Take it. I don’t want it, I don’t want it. I swear. Have it.” He stepped back so that he could address you both, though if Layla believed him… that, you couldn’t determine. “I am not Marc Spector! She knows that! But she won’t say anything, because some loud voice we can apparently both hear is telling her not to.”

Layla’s head snapped over to you as your eyes closed. Oh, Steven…

“I’m Steven Grant,” He sounded as if he was begging for her to believe him now, tears in his eyes. “I work in a gift shop. Well, I used to work in a gift shop... And I think I’m in real danger, and I think you two are the only people who can help me.” Steven looked back and forth between you, desperate for assistance. “...Please.”

Slowly, subtly, you nodded. Letting Steven know that, to the best of your ability, you would help him. Slight relief spread across his face at that.

Layla was still partially unconvinced. “You really don’t remember why we’ve been looking for this? Our adventures? Or our life together?” At Steven’s small shake of his head, she gestured to you. “What about your life with her?”

Steven’s eyes widened slightly at that, locking on you with something like panic in his dark eyes. “I had a… We… N-no, I don’t remember any of it. I’m sorry. God, I… I wish I could.”

Loud knocking on the door made all of you jump. You nearly whipped out your khopeshes. A woman’s voice on the other side said, “Steven Grant? Can we have a word?”

“See!” Steven whispered, gesturing at the door. “Oh, god, they’ve come for me.”

“Why?” Layla asked, to which Steven replied softly, “I vandalized a toilet…”

More knocking prompted Layla to snatch her bag and stuff the scarab inside. Steven approached the door tentatively. “Yeah, just a minute!”

“Get out of there,” Anubis rumbled, “If they see you, he’ll only be in worse trouble.”

Steven’s apartment had no fire escape. Dangerous, yes, but where were you and Layla to go? Ah. The open window. An Avatar and an ex-Marine’s mercenary’s wife can easily use it as an escape route. “Layla,” You hissed, catching her attention, “This way!”

You both glanced back at Steven; he stood by the door waiting for you both to get out, stalling. The woman on the other side of the door called his name again, to which he called, “Yeah, one second,” and began slowly undoing the lock.

You climbed out onto the ledge first, wobbling unsteadily when you realized how far the drop would be. “Oh shit—“

Layla grabbed your arm and steadied you. You could hear Steven talking to the officers— you had to hurry. Together, helping each other to stand, you and Layla scrambled around the window to a somewhat flat corner of roof, leaning against the wall for support. The wind and sound of traffic below made it nearly impossible to hear what was happening inside.

“Not entirely impossible, little one,” Anubis said, and your eyes nearly rolled back into your head with the intensity of the out-of-body vision he showed you.

“Anyone else here with you?” The female officer asked.

“Um, here with me?” Steven repeated unsurely, wringing his hands anxiously, “No, just me. And my fish.”

The officers— without a warrant— scoured over his apartment with controlled but arrogant airs, relishing the sensation of how badly they intimidated Steven as they searched for evidence. “So… um… Yeah, is this about the toilet? ‘Cause it’s been dealt with. Yeah, I’ve been sacked. And uh, yeah, that’s…”

The female officer held up the restraint on his bed with a raised eyebrow and pursed lips, seemingly snide in having found something against him. You wanted to jump back in and beat the shit out of them for doing this to him. “I-I have a sleeping disorder,” Steven defended softly. He circled around “A-and um… the museum said that they wouldn’t press charges so long as uh… As long as I do it in installments. That, uh… They said that I could.”

The bearded officer approached Steven with heavy, thudding footsteps and a grimey smirk. In his hand he held a harmless pyramid decoration, just trying to intimidate his target. Steven nervously shrunk a bit, but held his ground. “What’s this?”

“A paperweight,” Steven replied flatly. If it weren’t for your current state of being, you’d have busted out laughing.

Miffed by Steven’s snark, the man added with a low growl of frustration, “Where’d you get it?”

“Paperweight shop,” Steven answered smoothly, his eyebrow lifting a bit.

Ah, so Steven has sass.

“You’re in possession of a stolen item,” The female officer said slowly, haughtily, as if she positively can’t wait to get Steven in chains.

Steven swallowed hard, blinking rapidly as he’s made to sit down by the male officer. “Oh, yeah, I— no. I don’t have it.” His eyes widen slightly in terror as the man digs through the gym bag. “I don’t. No, it’s not here.”

“‘Marc Spector’?” He reads on the passport.

Steven paled, dark eyes falling to the incriminating little booklet in the man’s hand. “Th-that’s not mine.”

“Funny, that,” The man looms over Steven to show him Marc’s picture on the passport. “Fella looks just like you.”

“Fake passport and a thief,” The female officer drawled out; a deep, fiery rage built up in your chest. You wanted to attack her, brutally. Only Anubis’s will kept you in place, kept you from launching back inside and tearing that condescending expression clean off her skull. She clicked her tongue against the roof of her mouth. “I think you best come with us, son.”

You watch, helpless, as Steven is cuffed and guided out of the flat. He shoots it one last, desperate look over his shoulder, taking in the sight of his home, before they slam the door shut behind them.

You snapped violently out of your trance that Layla had to steady you before you fell off the roof. “You okay?”

You shook your head, trying to overcome the dizzy spell. Getting a vision from Anubis was oftentimes like a powerful headrush. “Y-yeah, I’m good…”

“Your eyes were golden,” Layla observed, “Was Anubis showing you something?”

“Nothing much,” You snarled, narrowing your eyes at the street below. “Just those bastards dragging off Steven.”

“They are not standard officers,” Anubis growled, and you caught a glimpse of him watching them shove Steven into a car parked in front of the building. “They are Harrow’s people.” He slammed his staff on the ground for emphasis.

Gooseflesh crawled up your arms.

Harrow’s people.

They had Steven.

Marc.

Jake.

You very nearly summoned your suit.

Anubis stopped you. “Take advantage of your position. Gain Layla as an ally. Free him together. It would look very bad for us if the Avatar of Khonshu were murdered by the Avatar of Ammit under our watch.”

“What is it?” Layla hissed. “Can we go back inside now?”

“Those were Harrow’s people,” You ground out through gritted teeth, nimbly climbing back to the window as the car sped off, taking Steven with it. Denial and helplessness briefly took hold, and you feared for a moment that you may never see your boys again. “They might kill him.”

“No shit,” You heard Layla scoff, snapping you out of it. Anubis’s low rumble filled your head. “I am watching him; I shall guide you. But you must hurry! Go!”

“Anubis will guide us,” You told her, and she visibly sagged with relief before bolting for the door with you on her heels. “I don’t have a car!” It was stupid, really, and inconvenient when you needed to travel with someone, but on your own, you didn’t need one. You could simply teleport from one side of the planet to another through the Duat in seconds. You couldn’t take Layla through there, not without killing her.

“We’ll take my Vespa,” Layla answered, opting for the stairs rather than the rickety and unstable elevator. Less than a minute later, you both ran onto the busy street, and you followed her to her shiny red Vespa.

“Nice,” You commented as she got on, forgoing the helmet for the sake of going faster. You’d hardly gotten situated behind her before she sped off. Over the sounds of traffic and the scooter, you shouted, “Keep going straight, and after two intersections turn left.”

GPS: Anubis Edition, you thought, and you felt your Patron’s vague amusement at that.

Once en route, Layla almost immediately took the opportunity to ask, “What did he mean? When he said that you knew he wasn’t Marc?”

You hesitated, but… It was her right to know. She deserved this bit of information. And at this point, when might Marc get to tell her himself? She deserved to know, instead of being left eternally in the dark. “...Did Marc ever tell you about his mother?”

“Not everything,” She admitted, dodging a car and ignoring the ensuing honks from it. “But enough. Why?”

“That trauma caused Marc to form something called DID. He’s not just Marc in there. There’s also Steven.” You said nothing of Jake.

You felt more than heard her scoff of disbelief. “Are you trying to defend him?”

“Oh, so, a mental condition is impossible, but a giant purple alien snapping his fingers like a rap video to wipe out half the population of the universe isn’t? Good to know.”

Layla regarded you with a scowl in the mirror near her left handle. “...You’re telling me he’s had it all his life? That there’s always been… Steven?”

“I didn’t know about Steven until just recently,” You answered, “I only found out literally a few days ago.”

“...But you always knew Jake?” Damn you’re glad you’re not the one driving, because if you were, you’d have just crashed. Your wide-eyed reaction alone gave Layla her answer. “He only showed himself to me once. He told me never to mention him to Marc, for his safety, and so I never did. I wanted to protect Marc just as badly as he did.” After a beat of hesitation, she added, “And he also told me about you.”

“You mean—“

“Yeah,” She nodded, sharing a sympathetic glance with you. “I knew about you through Marc, of course; but I mean after I came to apologize to you, Jake showed up, and told me who he was, why I can never tell Marc… and that he was still in love with you. That he would never leave you. So before I found something of yours and blamed Marc for living a double life, Jake warned me about him coming to see you. That was the only time I ever saw him.”

You weren’t even sure what to say to that. You felt relieved. Maybe when all of this was over, you and Layla could even be friends, bonding over your shared love and heartbreak for Marc. A fanatical part of you even wished for Marc to finally accept the fact that he deserved love— you cared for him so deeply that you wouldn’t even mind if he were with both you and Layla. You wondered if Layla wondered the same, or Jake. You wondered what Steven would think of it at all.

Layla looked ahead, contemplative. Like you. Quiet and concentrated. You said nothing more, only holding onto her waist and barking out directions when necessary. It was only when you neared your destination that Layla said, as she pulled over to haphazardly park near an alleyway, “Guess we might need a plan.”

Your plan was simple, really. Simple and full of holes. But it would have to do. After all, you had the scarab now. It was only the matter of distracting Ammit’s Avatar long enough to help Steven escape. Not to mention, you would not have the godly assistance of Anubis other than his suggestions. He offered none for the plan.

In your full armor, you perched unseen atop the crumbling roof of a half-pillar with your staff held tightly in one hand to balance, looking down into Harrow’s cultist center. People laughed, drank, and made merry as if it were a holiday. They cooked, played games, and several of them were being brainwashed by a gigantic tv playing something about the ocean— you weren’t sure exactly what. Your golden eyes, enhanced by your powers, allowed you to focus on other, more important details.

Such as Harrow himself.

With a calm, misleading voice, he seemed to be acting as a priest, preaching Ammit's greatness to a crowd that wasn’t watching the tv. All your senses were zoned in on him.

You wanted to rush down there and attack him… but the heavy footsteps of your god beside you reminded you of the plan. Anubis stood tall, lips pulled back in a snarl as he observed the happenings below. His ears flicked forward, and you turned to follow his attentions.

The officers from Steven’s flat approached Harrow in a rush, passing him a walkie-talkie. The bearded officer leaned close to Harrow. You were able to vaguely make out the words, “We’ve got him.”

Oftentimes you wished for a jackal muzzle of your own, if only so that your snarl came across as more menacing. Hidden behind your mask, it went unseen by even Anubis. Your grip tightened on your staff. No you don’t.

“Be wary, child,” Anubis warned, “Harrow is cunning.”

“Yes, he is,” You agreed, following Harrow with your eyes as he meandered out of the main building. “But so am I.”

Anxiety and butterflies twisted in your belly. Somewhere, Layla was sneaking around to avoid Harrow’s security, trying to find an opening in which you could make your move. Layla was supposed to make a distraction and lead Steven away, in which you were supposed to distract Harrow. It won’t be easy, but it’s all you have.

Shortly, Harrow returned, his guards trailing subtly behind. Beside him was a very startled Steven, warily eying everything around him. You refocused, eyes and ears locked on Harrow and Steven’s exchange.

“You hungry?” Harrow asked, giving off a false sense of kindness. He passed Steven a tray and took one himself before moving to the food line, Steven awkwardly shuffling after him. “You’re a vegan, right?”

“Yeah,” Steven replied, unnerved; you were, too. How did he know that? Marc and Jake weren’t vegans. Which means that Harrow must have done extensive research on Steven alone. It was worrying. The leather of your gloves squeaked against the metal of your staff you were gripping it so tight.

“Yeah, so am I,” Harrow said as he led Steven into the little courtyard. “You might wanna try the lentil soup. I made it this morning.” Reluctantly, Steven unsurely trailed after Harrow. It might have been a trick of your imagination, but it seemed like Steven did a double-take at where you were perched, shoulders sagging a bit with relief. Impossible. The suit renders me nearly invisible.

Anubis all but laughed heartily, settling instead for a deep chuckle. “It is also supposed to be impossible for him to hear me, and yet, here we are.”

Steven jumped. He did another double take before forcing himself to look away.

He did see you.

And now he was certain of it.

Why are you so different, Steven Grant?

“It’s Victor’s recipe,” Harrow was saying, but Steven was only pretending to listen. Harrow raised a hand to wave at this Victor, who was sitting on a ledge dangerously close to being in the line of sight to your position. “Gracias, Victor!” He turned back to Steven with a chuckle. “He’s from the Yucatán. He’s… no, he’s very funny.”

Harrow passed a tray to Steven, who took it, uncertain as to what else he was supposed to do. “Here.” He spoke calmly but threateningly as he proceeded down the food line. “I know being on the right side of things is important to you. Khonshu always tries to ensnare those with a strong moral conscience.”

Anubis pinned his ears back as you felt the presence of the chaotic god. “You have no conscience.” To emphasize his point, you watched him knock several metal shelves of pots over with a wave of his staff, purposefully frightening Steven.

“You don’t have to listen to him,” Harrow told him, unperturbed and trying to soothe him as he led him over to an unoccupied table. “He often throws temper tantrums, like a two-year-old. None of the gods respect him. Perhaps that’s why he’s banished.”

Khonshu stood on the archway to the entrance, glowering at Harrow. “I only punish those who have already done harm. I am real justice!”

“What’s he saying now?” Harrow chuckled to himself as he sat down. “‘I am real justice?’”

Perfectly timed, the audience of the tv area laughed like those in a comedy show. They made Steven jump a bit, before he turned with astonishment to Harrow. “Can… Can you hear him?”

Harrow, still unbothered, began to eat as if he were at dinner with an old friend. “Not anymore. I was his former Avatar. Before you. I was the fist of vengeance.”

“I’m not the fist of anything,” Steven mumbled, stirring his soup around a bit. “That’s the little American man living inside me.”

You almost— almost— audibly snorted. You wondered what Marc would think of Steven calling him that.

Harrow looked up from his food. Condescendingly. “And that's, uh, that's Marc?”

Steven’s face fell, and suddenly he seemed very interested in the bowl before him, scooping a large bite into his mouth. “Soup's... Yeah, it's very good. It's aces. Yeah, it's lovely.”

Harrow leaned back in his seat, watching Steven for a second before continuing to eat his own soup. “Khonshu punishes those who have already walked an evil path. His retribution comes too late. By the time his fist of vengeance arrives, people have already suffered. Ammit knows this too well. She tears evil up from the root, casting her judgment before any evil's done. That's why we must resurrect her.”

You tensed as Steven spoke up, testing his limits. “Right. But... Isn't that a bit dodgy? Like, trusting the judgment of a weird crocodile lady?”

Harrow, luckily, only seemed to find his snarky question amusing. “You don't need to doubt her judgment. Ammit will light the path to good by eradicating the choice of evil.. which brings us to the scarab.” As Harrow wiped his mouth with a napkin, his cultists seemed to receive the same silent signal that prompted them to stand and come to surround Steven, slowly. “That scarab functions as a kind of compass, leading us to Ammit's tomb. She's out there, waiting, longing to be freed—”

Steven noticed the approaching threats, eyeing them warily. He offered them a tiny wave. “Hi.”

Harrow, meanwhile, continued like a religious fanatic— which, you supposed he was, in a way. “—while the cruel masses deserve to face her judgment. And in the wake of their screams, evil eradicated. Steven, to exist at that moment? Heaven on Earth. So…” he stretched out his arm, palm up, in a gesture of expecting to be handed exactly what he wanted. “...The scarab.”

Steven swallowed hard. “Oh, I don't have it.”

Harrow’s hand fell to the table in disappointment. “No?”

Steven shook his head rapidly. “Honestly, I don't have it.”

Harrow frowned, sniffing with irritation. “Well, maybe you know someone who does? Maybe Marc?”

Steven’s eyes kept flicking to his reflection in a nearby bowl as he stuttered, before finally managing, “No, I don't.”

“May I speak with Marc?” Harrow asked, in a warning tone.

Steven glanced around at the men and women surrounding him. You wondered why Jake hadn’t forced himself to the front yet. “Um, uh…”

Harrow interrupted, speaking to Marc through Steven. “Marc, what has Khonshu promised you? That this is your last mission? Then you'll be free? Trust me when I tell you Khonshu is a liar. There's always one last thing.”

Steven wasn’t looking at Harrow; he was looking at his reflection. Whether listening or gauging his reaction, Steven was speaking to Marc. “Sorry. If Ammit judges people pre-evil, like, before the fact, then, isn't she judging an innocent person? I mean, a thought can't be evil, can it? I think about killing my boss all the time, but I wouldn't actually do it.”

“Steven…” Harrow tried to interrupt, but Steven was on a roll.

“What about a child? Would she kill a child for something they might do in 30 years?”

Harrow began nodding. “I'm glad you mentioned that. Sometimes, the cure is a little taste of the disease. The difference between medicine and poison sometimes is only dosage. Consider a diseased limb. Amputation, horrific and grotesque, is necessary for the larger health.”

“But a child is not a diseased limb. Sorry, is that... Is that what…” Steven turned around, gesturing at the gathered cultists boldly. “You're all into that, like, killing children and that? Maybe that's just me, but that's... I kind of draw a line there at child murder.” He said it firmly, pointedly, aiming his hidden accusations at Harrow.

Ammit’s Avatar frowned, a bit twitchy, and leaned back to tap the head of his double-crocodile-headed cane. “Do you know what this is?”

Steven nodded sarcastically. “Yep. It's a cane, yeah.”

“This is... Ammit's gift to her first Avatar.”

“All right…uh…” Done with his antics, Harrow was standing. Steven got to his feet, alarmed and searching for an exit. Harrow brandished his cane, preparing to unleash its horrors. “It contains in it a tiny sliver of her power. I don't wanna use it. I don't.”

“Then don't,” Steven offered, then, “I can't help you.”

Harrow slowly nodded, stalking forward. The cane began to glow. “Yes, you can. I need to know, where is the scarab? Where is the scarab? Where is the scarab?”

With each question, Steven grew more and more frantic. “No—“

“Where's the scarab?” Harrow demanded; your whole body tensed, preparing to launch you into the scene— until you didn’t have to.

“I have it.” Layla held the glittering scarab aloft so that it shone above her head, catching the eye of everyone present. No one dared to attack her with it in her hands, and perhaps not with Marc, the Moon Knight, her husband, so dangerously close. It was the perfect distraction.

Harrow was taken aback by the sudden intrusion. “You couldn't possibly understand the value of what you're holding.” He held out his hand to her, leaving his intentions perfectly clear. “Let me have that, I'll keep it safe.”

Steven jumped a mile high when Khonshu appeared behind him, booming, “There is no deal in this, Marc. Fix this. Fix this!”

Layla slowly approached, sharp eyes darting around to spot any attackers, before she came to a stop near Steven. “Summon the suit,” she breathed to him.

Steven winced; he probably hardly even registered what she said. “Sorry, what?”

“Summon the suit!”

“‘Summon the soup?’” Steven replied, very very confused. His brow furrowed. “What are you saying?”

“The suit. Summon it!” Layla tried again, but unbeknownst to her, Steven didn’t even know what suit she was talking about. You stifled a feeling of endearment toward the gift-shoppist. His confusion remained evident on his face, a fact which Harrow seemed to find amusing. You wanted to rush forward and crack your staff across his face, but…

“Not yet, little one,” Anubis chastised you, “Not yet.”

“The suit?” Steven asked, fumbling to catch the scarab as Layla shoved it at his chest.

“And keep this safe.”

Harrow frowned, and his followers started taking menacing steps toward Steven and Layla. “So be it.”

“Let's go, let's go!” Layla shouted, dragging Steven with her.

You watched from your perch on the ledge as Layla urged Steven to run— and kicked ass while doing so. She knees Victor hard twice in the ribs before throwing him off a balcony after being briefly separated from Steven, who tried to stay as close to her as possible. Khonhsu grumbled to himself behind them, trailing slowly after his avatar’s alter. Anubis stood by your side, waiting…

Harrow took several steps forward, bringing Ammit’s staff before him with both hands as he chanted in Ancient Egyptian. A rush of hot wind swept through the courtyard, and you recognized the feeling of something being pulled from the Duat. You stood, bracing yourself, as Anubis disappeared in the blink of an eye. “Ready yourself, child.” He almost sounded amused. He knew that you would have no qualms about fighting the Avatar of Ammit.

Harrow slammed the end of his staff into the cement with surprising ease, and purple magic erupted from the site of the impact. Very calmly, he stood and paced away, as a jackal from the Duat itself, its original purpose to hunt and kill those whom tried to escape the depths of the underworld, clawed its way into the Mortal Earth and bolted, following Steven’s scent. You itched to chase it and dispose of it, or even call it to serve your purposes, but Anubis silently encouraged you not to. His will seeped into your mind, and you forced yourself to obey it. Anubis was not like Khonshu. He would not force you to enact his will. But you would, because of all he had done for you.

“Now,” Anubis ordered.

And you obeyed.

Almost silently, you dropped to the ground a story below. All of Harrow’s remaining cultists backed away at the sight of you, an imposing figure reminiscent of the God of the Dead. Harrow was unperturbed as he faced you, even trying to hide a smirk that you wanted nothing more than to rip off of his face. “The Avatar of Anubis... I was wondering when you would show up.”

“Arthur Harrow,” you drawled out slowly, his name like hot fire on your tongue. “I am here on behalf of Anubis. I am to take you to the Council, where you shall be questioned for your actions involving the scarab.”

For his part, Harrow wasn’t petty enough to steep to such levels to interrupt you. He merely smirked. “Ah, so you’re the police officer of the Ennead, I see.”

“I am only doing what is asked of me,” you replied, fully monotone. But your inner self was twisting and writhing, begging him to resist so that you could take drastic measures.

“You mean what you are told to do,” Harrow stepped closer. You flinched as you heard the distinct sound of glass in his shoes. “Anubis is just as awful as Khonshu. You know this.” He certainly spoke as if it were some big secret between you, and not a lie.

“Anubis has only ever treated me fairly,” You defended, and then, “Are you going to comply or not?”

“I will not comply to something that is so foolish,” Harrow began to actually take a seat.

A cruel, twisted smile worked its way onto your face. “How unfortunate.” With a flick of your wrists and a satisfying shing, your khopeshes were in your hands, ready for battle. “I was hoping you would say that, if only to end your life in a justified manner. Refusing Anubis’s summons is most especially terrible for you, Harrow.”

Before yesterday in the Alps, you had never set eyes on Harrow.

Never as an Avatar.

Your helmet melted off, and you saw his surprise clearly evident on his face. His eyes widened, jaw falling slack a bit. He swallowed hard and stumbled back a bit, an act which made your grin even wider. When he spoke, his voice was strangled in his throat. “You... You should be dead...”

“Usually,” You casually strode forward, inspecting your blades. “An Avatar of Anubis never reveals their face when they kill. But for you?” A dark chuckle escaped your throat. You vaguely wondered if Jake would be proud to see you so savage. “I want you to see who killed you.”

“You should be dead,” Harrow repeated, his calm countenance shaken. His cultists saw this and grew fearful, keeping their distance from you. “I saw it. Your body. There was hardly anything left. You should be dead.”

Your grin turned to a scowl as you brandished your blades. “No, Harrow. You should be. You should have died that night, but some cruel fate saved you. Now, I am cruel fate— I will take from you what should have been taken all those years ago.”

“Are you in league with him? The mercenary?” Harrow’s question gave you pause, briefly. He was a manipulator. Your cool expression could give nothing away of your feelings for Marc, surely, but you didn’t know that for certain. If he knew how much you cared for Marc, for Jake, and now even Steven…

Anubis showed you a flash of Steven, now dressed in a sharp white tux and mask and his eyes glowing white. He’d summoned a suit of his very own. And now, he tried in vain to copy moves that he’d seen from movies, trying to defend himself from the jackal’s attacks. You saw no sign of Layla, and you felt a surge of panic until Anubis also showed you a glimpse of her, running unharmed toward the sounds of Steven clumsily fighting the jackal. So long as you kept Harrow distracted, they didn’t have to worry about an Avatar attacking them.

You smiled. Cruelly. “I’m in my own league, Harrow. That’s something you should realize.”

A few men stepped forward as you held your swords up on either side of you, eyebrow arched in challenge. Harrow stopped them by simply raising his hand, standing with a frown and shock still blazing in his eyes. “No. This need not concern any of you. This is between me...” He lifted his staff, which began to glow softly again. He cleared his throat in order to properly speak, and you felt Anubis’s pride at you having successfully shaken the notoriously smooth Avatar. “...And my daughter.”

The words sent a fire through you that you couldn’t contain. It burst out of you in a ferocious growl fit for an animal. Memories besieged you of a childhood spent locked in a small room, the bastard child of a religious fanatic. Half-drunk, he had beaten you, claiming it cleansing you of your sins at only four years old. He would make you go without food and water and say that you were “fasting” in the name of Khonshu. He had kept you away from school, from children, from culture and fun, trying to raise you to be a heartless killer. He wanted you to take his place as Khonshu’s Avatar so that he could be free of him.

After Khonshu had denounced him, he came to you. You saw him only briefly. “No child should have to endure such a fate. I will not make you suffer longer… Know that you have the moon as your guide and protector always, little one.” Khonshu was not kind or forgiving, but he was not without mercy or pity. You became a traveler of the night at eleven years old, and you were protected.

Until you weren’t.

Until you came at Harrow point blank with a shotgun.

But the gun was heavy, and you’d only maimed his hip and legs.

And then his then-fiancé, a fellow Ammit worshiper, attacked you with a meat cleaver. There was hardly anything left of your maimed body. DNA testing had to be done to confirm your identity. You watched on from the rooftops as your funeral took place without anyone to see it. As your old body was buried amidst a thousand other orphans where no one came to set flowers on the gravestones, your reborn form was dressed in the black and gold ceremonial regalia of the young Avatar of the God of the Dead.

Anubis became your father, the Duat your mother. You learned of all the world’s cultures from the mouths of dead travelers seeking peace, and you experienced what a child should in fun and games only briefly, between assignments from Anubis. Where others saw death as grotesque and frightening, in it you took comfort. Bones were a memory of what once was, meant to be treasured relics. Rotting corpses had been your only friends, offering wisdom of days lost. They filled your mind with ancient legends forgotten by scholars and truths untold, and despite their stench and flesh falling from their bodies, you sat with them and listened avidly to their tales. Those who moved on to the Field of Reeds were teachers of morals, ancient beings from beyond time immemoriam that taught you the secrets of pyramids and temples. Shadow was your solace, providing you shelter and cover.

You became death.

And your anger became mind-numbing fury, a rage-fueled quest for revenge. Your every step fulfilled your god’s wishes while simultaneously bringing you close to this moment. When you could finally end Arthur Harrow. It was a revenge that only Jake had thought necessary. He got you within a hair’s breadth of Harrow not once, not thrice, but an uncountable amount of times. It was him who had requested, no, begged, you to make a more practical outfit for battle. “Por favor, mi vida, do it for me?” And so you had. Jake had designed it— Anubis had made it real. And you hadn’t worn it since that last battle with Marc, the one that had failed because of the conflicting emotions between you. Wearing it had been a painful reminder of what you’d lost, but with Jake having shown, in what little ways that he could, why he hadn’t seen you recently…

The armor— the armor Jake had designed for you— made you feel more safe than that provided by any god.

And so you let it melt away.

Replacing your ceremonial regalia was a one-piece suit of something like Kevlar, but far more maneuverable. Knee-high, soft-soled shoes offered both protection for your knees in the metal caps and stealth. The suit was reinforced with protective bracers, hip guards, and a chest piece of strong leather, over which were bone bracers, a breastplate made of a ribcage and hip guards made of plates from the pelvis. Shoulderblades and clavicles worked in tandem as pauldrons, and your gloves bore knuckledusters of silver steel to match the barest highlights, glints and flickers of moonlight in shadow. Your hair was accented with streaks of powdered bone that dyed it in streaks of white and gray, your face unrecognizable because of the Day of the Dead style makeup that transformed your countenance— and a mask, raw titanium, forged into the shape of the upper and lower mandibles of the skull, protected your lower face. The scarf-cape, silver as the moon, you had chosen. For Jake. For Marc. Your khopeshes were now a single scythe, a cursed weapon which had belonged to one of Anubis’s Avatars from the Middle Ages, hidden within your reach in the Duat.

And your eyes…They shone like liquid starlight, flickering with the fire of molten gold.

Gone was Death Jackal, replaced by the far more terrifying and merciless Necromancer.

“I am not your daughter, Arthur Harrow,” your voice was altered slightly by the mask, more gravelly, more dangerous. Adrenaline flooded through your veins, making your eyes glow brighter. A fierce wind swept through the building, blowing your hair and cape behind you as if you controlled it more than you let on. “I am shadow— I am death!”

“You are an abomination,” Harrow drawled out through gritted teeth.

“I am retribution,” You countered. “I am what you made me.”

“Then I’ve made a monster,” Harrow replied shakily; your dark laugh made him waiver even more on his glass-filled shoes.

“I’m not a monster; I’m a fallen angel.”

“That’s what you are, mi vida. Nothing else but an angel would care like you do.”

The memory of Jake’s words to you— wearing the armor that he designed for you— seemed to give you more courage. “And what are you, Harrow? Hm? Nothing more than a fanatic to a dead goddess.”

“She’s not dead,” Harrow seethed, trying his damndest to remain calm even as you stalked closer, not even having drawn your new weapon. “She merely sleeps.”

You tutted, the action made horrific by the skull mask and your glowing eyes. “How unfortunate. Forever is such a long time for a nap, after all.”

“You should never have been born,” Harrow gasped out between clenched teeth. He was sweating through his maroon pajamas and pale brown cardigan, his grip knuckle-white on his staff.

Calmly and smoothly, you summoned your weapon. To anyone else, it would have seemed to shoot from thin air into your hand, forming from nothing. But you knew it came straight from the Duat, ready at your beck-and-call and still covered in sand that fell from the sleek metal. The curved blade sang in the light of the crescent moon looming above, begging for blood. “Funny you should say that, Harrow.” He paled when your glowing irises locked on him. “You shouldn’t have, either.”

With a few rushing steps, you came to meet Harrow with a clash of your blade against his enchanted staff. Sparks flew from the meeting, smoldering on his woolen jacket. His arms shook from the force of the blow, and he stumbled back several steps. “Death unto you, Arthur Harrow,” You growled, rage fueling your every movement. You only wished that you really were here to bring him in for questioning, and that he really had disobeyed Anubis’s summons. This only left you with fulfilling your revenge. After all… he wasn’t Marked for Death.

“You cannot kill him unless he is Marked,” Anubis reminded you. A surge of anger allowed your next swing to nearly chop his staff clean in two. Harrow sidled back like a viper, avoiding your secondary strike, but only barely.

Why is he not? After all he’s done?

“There is no proof,” Anubis answered; Harrow lunged, bringing his staff toward your neck with such force it would have snapped it clean in two had he hit his mark. Your feet shifted to better your stance, bringing your weapon to effortlessly block his attack. “Not yet. Killing another Avatar without reason will see us both imprisoned in stone.”

Is my suffering not reason enough? It was a selfish thought. One Anubis felt sympathy for. But he could not condone an action that would see you both set in stone for ten thousand years.

Anubis briefly flashed you a vision. Marc had taken control of their body, dressed in the familiar ceremonial armor as he led the jackal away, the scarab stuffed somewhere in his pockets as he parkoured through the London rooftops. Layla was safe, heading to her Vespa in order to escape the scene and find a way to Marc. Just a few more moments would give them time to reach safety.

Harrow launched a burst of lavender energy at you, a beam that would have incinerated you had you not melted into the shadows at your feet. Through a deep twilight you raced behind him, standing before he could register the fact that your presence had shifted. Without thinking, guided by your years of waiting for this moment of revenge, you swung with all your might, supernatural strength coursing through your body as you aimed to rent Harrow’s body clean in half from shoulder to hip.

“Enough,” Anubis commanded, stopping your momentum; your body quaked against the invisible force. Harrow flinched; and when he realized that you couldn’t hurt him, he smirked.

No… no no no no no—

“You cannot kill him, little one,” Anubis sounded sympathetic.

It did nothing to curb your rage.

He’s right there, right in front of me, I can do it, I can end him, let me kill him let me kill him let me kill him—

“I cannot.” You could hardly hear him over your scream of hatred, your burning, writhing fury that felt like hot fire. All you could see was red, red and Harrow’s smirk of satisfaction when he realized that you were powerless.

And then all went dark as Anubis sucked you into the Duat.

Your scream echoed into the void as you stumbled forward with built up momentum. The scythe hurled from your hands in a deadly steel hurricane, flying over the sands and into a dune somewhere. Defeated, you fell to your knees, gasping and clenching your fists in the grains of golden sand around you.

“No,” Anubis corrected, kneeling before you. “Not defeated. Death can only be postponed. Never bested.”

Your silver eyes met his gold ones. “I could have killed him.”

“You would have, if I had not stopped you,” Anubis answered. His ears flicked forward, a massive hand coming to rest on your shoulder. “He was not Marked yet, little one. I couldn’t let you kill him.”

“I… I know.” Your voice was small. Much like it had been when Anubis first found you.

“One day,” Anubis assured you. He stood and turned, waving his staff to open a shadowy portal that led to a dark alley. “Why don’t you relive a tender memory of yours to calm yourself? Marc and Layla are safe. I know not the whereabouts of the scarab. I shall have to confer with Khonshu. Until then, ease your mind, my child.”

A tender memory.

You hadn’t had those before Marc and Jake.

Anubis’s thoughtfulness brought tears to your eyes. You got to your feet and stumbled, weapon forgotten, into the portal that Anubis had opened for you.

You sat on a dinghy rooftop with your knees to your chest, forehead ducked low so that your face was hidden behind them. You had been raised in this. Death. It was all you knew, all you had ever known. And yet still, oftentimes you found yourself feeling so much sympathy for your victims, their eyes boring into yours with fear and questions as your powers mummified them. Why did some people need to die, and not others? Why did the nineteen-year-old you’d just taken the life of need to be sent to the Duat, when the men who had kidnapped her were only mauled to death by Jake? Why? Whenever you asked these questions, Anubis never had much of an answer. He would always tell you that perhaps you would know, one day, but that you were too young now to understand.

A child of Anubis, too young to understand death?

…Were you a child of Anubis, or just a personification of that which all humans feared? A monster, in every aspect, for taking their lives?

“Mi vida…”

Jake’s voice made you jump. You shouldn’t have been surprised; even when you’re paying attention, Jake is entirely silent. He doesn’t have the heavy footsteps of Marc, who wants his enemies to know he’s coming. With his mostly-black suit, he’s like a shadow, unseen, unheard, until he’s right up on you, and even then you’re not sure what killed you. You lifted your head as you jumped, whipping it up to look at him.

You were wearing the armor he’d designed for you. It was the first time you’d worn it. It had been better than your other armor, the ceremonial armor, and a part of you wondered if Anubis had made this more powerful because of how strongly you cared for Jake.

His glowing silver eyes stood out from the pitch black mask, focused on you intently as he knelt beside you. “Mi vida,” He repeated, softer than before. His hand, sheathed in the bloody glove, came up to cradle your face. He knew that you didn’t mind blood. His thumb ran over the apple of your cheek, wiping away a tear you hadn’t realized had fallen. It glinted like quicksilver. Even your tears were abnormal.

Jake’s other hand came up to mirror the actions of the one that held you, his head dipping forward to rest his forehead on yours. “It’s alright, cariño…”

You may have met Marc first, but it was only days later that you had met Jake. Jake had been… your first. Your first everything. Marc didn’t know, could never know, and both you and Jake felt such intense guilt over that fact that neither of you mentioned the fact that Jake had kissed you first, had slept with you first, had cuddled you first.

But they were your first firsts.

Jake had been your first kiss. You’d never expected to ever have love returned— you’re a reaper, after all, and who would love a reaper? But as you fought Ammit’s jackals on a rooftop in Cairo, the sound of a gunshot from behind made you turn to find that Jake had blown one’s head clean off with his pistol, effectively allowing you to finish off the one you’d been occupied with. You’d demanded what he was doing there, how he could’ve gotten himself killed— and he’d cut you off, yanking you flush against him by your waist and pressing his mouth frantically to yours, all tongue and teeth and frenzied love. He’d confessed then. And he’d checked you over for injuries. You. A reaper.

Your first kiss with Marc took time. A part of you didn’t trust him, another didn’t want to be selfish and allow yourself to fall for him when you were certain you’d only destroy him. But when it did happen it was soft and precious, a moment you cherished alongside your first kiss with Jake. You opened yourself up to Marc then, just a bit.

But Jake was like you. He killed, for a good reason, but he didn’t like it. He took punches he didn’t need to just to feel as if his victim put up a good fight. His hands dripped with blood, and they held your death-covered ones as if they were made of glass. You and Jake bonded because you were killers, forced to become killers without much choice from a young age.

Jake, you trusted wholeheartedly.

And never had he let you down.

He trusted you, when he wasn’t even entirely sure what the full meaning of that word was. When he’d never had anybody else to trust. He’d revealed himself to you the day after you and Marc had met, something he’d never done with anyone else.

And you’d never given him a reason to lose that trust in you.

Jake was the one who’d taken your virginity. After a particularly difficult battle, you and Jake had confessed more than just your love for one another. You’d confessed your worst atrocities, the most vile things you’d ever done. And then after you’d mentioned what horrors your hands had wrought, Jake reached forward and took them in his, encasing yours in calloused fingers and bruised and bloodied knuckles. “You’re not a monster. You’re a fallen angel.”

“How can I be a fallen angel? Angels are pure and good.”

“That’s what you are, mi vida. Nothing else but an angel would care like you do.”

You’d kissed him. “Then you must be my guardian angel.”

He'd kissed you. Then again. And again. He made you promise to tell him if anything he did made you uncomfortable. He’d spent hours with you, kissing you and getting you comfortable before getting you ready for him with his mouth and his fingers, making you feel a euphoric bliss the likes of which you’d never known. It was nothing compared to what you felt when he made you his, when he marked your outsides with bites and your insides with something else. He let you mark him, too, leaving a trail of marks across his collarbone and neck and jaw until you both were a mess of bruises and teeth-shaped marks. When morning came, it didn’t register for either of you, still so lost in each other that you’re sure the whole of the neighborhood heard your moans and loving whispers echoing off each other.

Jake fronted for several days afterward, allowing your marks to fade before he gave the body back to Marc. “You love him, too. And he loves you. I don’t want to ruin that for you.”

Marc never knew that you were a virgin; he only thought you were inexperienced. He didn’t realize that you’d already given yourself to Jake. And neither of you would ever tell him.

And then he’d left you. Marc had abandoned you for Layla, choosing someone who would remind him of his failures because he thought he deserved that rather than being a burden on you. He hadn’t realized just how badly he’d broken you, so badly that you couldn’t even feign competence and strength when Layla came to apologize to you.

You didn’t see Jake for a few weeks, and you thought that he’d abandoned you, too.

Until he’d showed up in that black and white suit outside your window, begging you to forgive him for not coming sooner, how now with Marc and Layla living in London and him having to do Khonshu’s bidding, he’d had no chance to come see you.

And you did forgive him.

Because Jake hadn’t abandoned you.

Whereas Marc was your ex that you still loved, you and Jake had vowed never to leave each other. You felt like soulmates, if that word really meant anything.

“Y/N,” Jake breathed against your ear, bringing you back to the present. Stiffly, you shifted so that you could embrace him, arms wrapping around his middle under his cape.

“Will you ever stop loving me?”

“Oh, mi amor…” Jake held you close, shielding you from the sight of the dead bodies around you, from the city, from your gods, from everything. There was only Jake Lockley, the man you loved more than anything. “Never. Never. I’ve got you, princesa. I’ve got you.”

Jake was the protector of his system. But he was also your protector. And you protected him.

Jake held you on that rooftop and assured you of your humanity just as you assured him of his. Two bloodied, scared souls bonding and seeking shelter with one another.

“Te amo,” He whispered. “Te amo, mi luz de estrella.”

His starlight. Because to him, you were a scattering of life-giving light in the blackest of nights, a blanket of stardust and silver that kept him safe.

But he was also your moonlight. The kind of light of a full moon that blazes at midnight, chasing away shadows and bringing soft light to every surface, giving it meaning and shape.

“I love you,” You told him. “I love you so much.”

That was the night that Jake gave you a plain silver band and asked you to be his forever, even if he wasn’t always there. You took it without hesitation, wearing it around your neck on a silver chain so that none would know of him. Your only weakness. Jake had asked you to.

He had one, too.

The one hanging on your neck was clearly meant for a man’s finger. The one that Jake wore when he fronted, which he kept stored safely in a hidden compartment in his limo when he wasn’t, was much smaller, with a single adorning diamond.

You couldn’t get officially married— you had died in the eyes of the world many years ago, and he legally didn’t exist. A dead girl and a false persona couldn’t be married. So you’d decided to simply exchange rings. In the aftermath of Marc’s abandonment, it was a bittersweet moment.

But now when asked your name, you told them.

Y/N Lockley.

And you knew that somewhere in the world, Jake would sit in the driver’s side of his limo or cab and smile softly as he stared at your ring, wondering how his wife was doing, where she was, hoping she was safe.

“Jake and Y/N Lockley,” you’d sniffled that night, staring at his ring after briefly flicking your eyes up to look at yours, which dangled on a chain around his neck. “Midnight Vigilante and Necromancer… That doesn’t sound so bad.”

Jake held you close without a word, pressing his forehead to yours. Maybe he was crying. You couldn’t have been sure, not with his mask.

That was the last night you saw him before you met him in the Alps.

When you woke up, the blistering winds of the Duat were ripping through your cape. The ache of the memories had left you ragged, lungs hurting from the force of sobs you hadn’t realized you’d unleashed and cheeks covered in the cracking shell formed from dried tears.

For several minutes you sat there, attempting to compose yourself, before even thinking of why you were here in the first place.

With a growl of annoyance, you struggled to your feet. “Anubis!”

“What is it?” The enormous god appeared beside you without a sound. Dust and gray sands caught in his leathery skin and curled around his staff like a cloud, but he didn’t seem to mind.

“Where’s the scarab?”

His ears flicked, but his expression gave away nothing. “Harrow has it.”

You stumbled back in shock. After everything… after all this time, trying to beat him to finding it…

Your bloodcurdling scream of rage, punctuated by the half-buried corpses and bones flung away from you in a shockwave of sand, would have driven a mortal man mad.

“Marc Spector is on his trail,” Anubis added. “And he takes with him Steven Grant, who may encumber his process. Layla el-Faouly, I believe, is also tracking him. Jake, as you know, has always sought after Harrow. If he can front but for a few days, his leads on Ammit’s tomb may prove useful.”

His meaning, left unsaid, was clear as spoken words to you. With Marc and Steven getting to know each other, it was harder for Jake to front at all. He might disappear entirely, and it’s a thought that makes you feel sick to your stomach. If Jake dies… you’re not certain you could keep living. This, Anubis knew and feared.

“Where is he?” You demanded. Your much smaller stature did not warrant a smaller attitude.

“In Cairo,” Anubis boomed, turning to open a portal for you. You didn’t realize that it opened right into Marc’s hotel room until you found yourself, in pitch black armor, adorned with bones and desert sands, standing in the center of a nice, aesthetically pleasing bathroom. You stumbled as you nearly walked into the toilet, knocking over a couple of bottles of shampoo on the rack above it.

Almost immediately, Marc popped around the corner with a gun.

When he saw you, even despite your current appearance, he relaxed, lowering the handgun. “Oh. Uh… Didn’t think to expect you.”

You let your arms fall to your sides. “Who else would be busting into your hotel bathroom? One which doesn’t have windows, might I add?”

Marc shook his head and backed up so you could exit the bathroom without squeezing past him. You heard him empty the gun of its magazine behind you. “So what brings you here?”

“The scarab, obviously,” You snapped, turning to him with fury in your glowing eyes. “How the fuck did Harrow get it?”

Marc never knew that Harrow was your father. It was something which you knew would deem you and your actions unforgivable. You didn’t want to be viewed as the monster your father was. You hadn’t told Jake, either; he’d figured it out. He’d done research on you after Marc started to fall for you, which you hadn’t prepared for. You remember the despair you’d felt when he’d slapped the official documents before you and sat down. For awhile, he’d sat nothing… until finally, he reached over and took your hands in his. “You are not your father, cariño. Don’t ever think you have it in you to be what he is.”

You still refused to tell Marc. The hatred he’d spew about Harrow made you afraid of what he’d say about you if he ever found out. You didn’t want Marc to hate you. Maybe one day, he’d find out. But not by your choice.

Marc, however, assumed your vehemence towards Harrow was something spawned from the conflict between Anubis and Ammit’s Avatars, or maybe an unresolved battle between you that had damaged your pride. He never asked many questions, thankfully.

Marc shifted his weight a little, almost awkwardly. “...It fell out of our pocket during the fight.”

Our pocket.

For some reason, the mention of Steven softened you significantly. Your harsh glare faded, and you let your armor melt away. You felt naked without it, a vulnerability you didn’t quite like. Not without Marc or Jake nearby. Even now, in front of Marc, it felt uncomfortable to be in regular clothes.

Jake was the only one you felt truly at ease exposing yourself to, the only one with whom you felt as if you didn’t need to keep a barrier up around. Marc protected you, and you loved him, but he’d also hurt you, despite whatever intentions he may have had. Jake never did.

Marc frowned as he looked out the window over Cairo, eyes scanning the streets as he waited for you to yell at him. “...It wasn’t your fault, Marc,” you said instead, and he turned to face you with glistening eyes. “Hope isn’t completely lost. We’re alive, aren’t we? Then we still have a chance.”

Marc nodded. You knew he didn’t trust his voice enough to speak, so you joined him by the window. When you recognized the streets below, you felt a pang of nostalgia. “...This isn’t far from where we lived.”

The memories— walking arm-in-arm from the market with him poking at your sides in an attempt to tickle you, pulling you close to kiss your temple, hugging you from behind as you made dinner together— were painful. Marc swallowed hard.

“...You deserve someone better. That’s why I left.”

“I love you, Marc,” you sighed, “I love you. I don’t want anyone else. Can’t you see that?” With another sigh, you added, “Do you feel anything for Layla at all? Or are you just…”

“I love her,” Marc choked out, closing his eyes and clenching his teeth in a desperate attempt to stifle his tears. The admission stung. “I love you. And I shouldn’t. I shouldn’t love both of you, or one of you. I shouldn’t love anyone. Even with something as simple as a relationship, I screw everything up. I broke your hearts and now what? Now you’re both in my life again. Now I have to face what I did, and…”

“What’s worse is we both still love you,” You finished for him, feeling sympathetic. “And now you don’t know what to do.”

Marc made a sound somewhere between a gasp and a choke as he turned to face you, putting his hands on your shoulders. “Baby, how am I… how am I supposed to… if we survive this, how am I supposed to make a choice?”

His cracking voice broke your heart. Marc had already been through hell his whole life; why, you wondered, did it seem that fate was intent on making him suffer in every aspect of his life?

You took his face in your hands. “We’ll figure something out,” You assured him, although you weren’t entirely sure if that were possible. “We’ll figure it out together. I promise.”

Marc nodded, rushing forward; at first it startled you, but then you realized that he was hugging you tightly, like he was scared to let go. “I love you, I love you, I’m so sorry I’m sorry—“

“Marc,” You interrupted, pulling back a little to look into his dark eyes. “Don’t. It’s not your fault.”

Marc met your gaze reluctantly, allowing himself a small nod. His hands came up to cup your face in his hands, and after a moment of hesitation, you both moved forward in a passionate kiss. When you part, you’re barely centimeters away from each other, tongues still tangled in an unspoken question, before you both dove back in for more. Deep, heated kisses stole your breath away. Marc whimpered into your mouth, hands traveling to splay across your back and press you flush against him.

Your heart pounded against your ribcage, memories of last night coming to the forefront of your mind. He seemed less desperate now, more in need of love than anything else. You didn’t realize he’d walked you to the bed until your calves hit its edge, making you tumble back with him on top of you, careful of his weight.

One of his hands wrestled yours out from between you, entwining his fingers with yours before pressing it into the mattress beside your head. At the same time, he tilted his head to deepen the kiss with a moan in the back of his throat, one that made you whimper for him. The sound you emitted was one that drove him crazy, one that made his hips jerk into you and become desperate for your touch.

Marc started to strip you of your clothes, pulling off your shirt and jacket while keeping as close to you as humanly possible. His free hand roughly palmed your breast as he ground into you, twisting and pushing against you like he was trying to become one with you. You accepted him readily, pulling off his jacket, his shirt, even getting him out of his pants before he’d gotten you up into the center of the bed, your bodies writhing against each other in search of a way to get more.

But what you couldn’t hear, Marc could.

You couldn’t hear Steven become conscious, suddenly realizing what was happening between you and Marc. You didn’t know that Steven was torn between watching your beautiful form laid on the bed like that under him, even through Marc’s eyes, and being appalled. Wasn’t Marc married? Wasn’t he with Layla? Who was this Avatar of Anubis, so alluring like an enchantress, who would seduce a married man into bed with her? If that’s what happened at all. Did Marc have a history with you, too? Is that what Layla had meant? Steven wasn’t sure. All he knew is that he couldn’t stand it, being in the dark like this. He didn’t know Marc, or you, or Layla. He’s a stranger thrust into the midst of these people’s lives and he’s not sure what to do about it.

“Marc,” He finally choked out, and Marc paused, making you confused. The look of disappointment on your face broke Steven’s heart. “What about Layla?”

“What about Layla?” Marc growled back; but he hadn’t realized he’d said it out loud.

Steven flinched away from Marc’s anger as your face fell, as you squirmed out from underneath of him and collected your shirt and jacket. Steven felt bad for you; you must have a story. Your eyes are always so full of sadness. He wonders if you might tell him one day.

“We’ll figure it out, Marc,” you whispered, and through Marc’s eyes, blurry with tears, he watched as a smokey black portal opened in the wall, leading to a purple-hued desert as your skeletal armor returned to your body, your scythe appearing like a staff in your hand.

Marc was crying. Steven regretted having said anything. Your glowing silver eyes didn’t disguise your pain. He can’t begin to understand; but he knows you’re hurting. “Y/N—“ Marc called, brokenly. You turned to him, haunted. But strong. A reaper, a necromancer, a daughter of Anubis, whatever you were. You were strong. “...We’ll figure it out.”

You nodded, resolutely. Then you were gone, swallowed by shadow as if you’d never been there in the first place. Marc stood. He paced. Steven felt his growing fury and wasn’t sure if he should be scared or sympathetic. “Marc,” Steven said softly from the surface of the mirror at the end of the bed. “M-Marc, I’m sorry—“

“Shut up,” Marc snapped, low under his breath. He ran a hand through his hair as he passed by the mirror to get to the bottle of scotch they’d found in the drawer, on the nightstand with the gloves somebody left behind.

Steven hated alcohol. He couldn’t stand it. It made him feel sick. Was Marc doing it because he wanted to spite Steven, or because he wanted to drink his problems away? “Marc—“

That was it. The final straw.

Marc snapped.

Steven could only watch, glad to be in his mind rather than in a separate body which Marc would be able to hit, as Marc started to tear apart the room. He let his anger take control, destroying vases and pots and lamps and anything he could find to annihilate. When he was finished, he was heaving for breath and his eyes were wild— wild, and full of pain.

“Marc,” Steven tried softly, “I’m sorry—“

“Shut up,” Marc hissed, storming toward the mirror, “Shut up! Shut up, just shut the fuck up!” Steven flinched as Marc, bare-handed, punched the mirror with all of his strength, cracking it, in the midst of his rant. Steven immediately went silent, but that wasn’t enough for Marc. He turned and yanked a blanket off the bed, hurling it messily over the mirror and casting Steven in darkness.

Steven stumbled back, settling on the edge of the bed that he was sure wasn’t even a mirror image. Shivering, he wrapped a blanket around his shoulders, realizing his hands were covered in blood— Marc’s blood. Steven didn’t even fight the tears streaming down his face as he tried to wipe it off on the blankets to no avail. He just wanted to go home, back to his semi-normal life and away from all this, these gods and monsters and complicated love triangles that he was somehow now a part of.

He felt like something was watching him and simply curled up deeper into the thick blankets, too tired and upset to care.

What he didn’t see was the figure in the distant corner, sat on the other end of the twisted hotel room reflection in the chair by the nightstand with the gloves. If Steven would have looked up, he would have seen dark eyes watching carefully, waiting to see if he needed to intervene, as he slowly flipped a small ring with a diamond on it between his fingers. A fist with bruised knuckles clenched tightly around it after a moment, holding it to his chest as his eyes cast to the wall of the room where you’d disappeared through.

He felt sympathetic for Steven. Really, he did. And also for Marc. His brothers may not know he exists, but that doesn’t mean he cares any less. But that didn’t mean he couldn’t get pissed at them. He had half a mind to slam their heads together and make them talk things out like adults rather than throw tantrums and whine. Or maybe he was just being so cold because he was so angry.

“Pendejos,” He growled under his breath, “That was my wife you just hurt.”

He wasn’t surprised when they didn’t hear him.

They never did.

Thanks for reading!

Tags: @dameronsknight @sylkisdagger @atzlena @gucciboots @pastel-0-princess @poeticsorcery @rosaren2498 @love-on-the-murder-scene @wintergirlsoilder2 @blackcat-midnight-thatsme @multifandomsw @bookloverfilmoholic @khaotic-kris @hb8301 @soggumm @simonsbluee @aniskywalkerslvr @bluestuesday @magnet-girl @rosellacwrites @dweeb-central @ilymorepls @drwhofangirl1963 @loonymagizoologist @auszimbo @tealrivers @later-gators12 @izbelross @xcatnapsx @child-of-the-moon-gods @djarinsgirl27 @sokoviansorceress @eerievixen @cold-buffet-ham @upbeat-cascade @stark-kirk-rogers-grant-blog @candydancey @rqmanoff @jakelcckley @sharin4readers @lovely-cryptid @marc-spectorr @rmoonstoner @oscarisaacsspit @moonknightyws @hopefulfangirl24 @local-mr-frog @daawnsutopia @mandosmistress @yoditopascal @halerune @tojisprincess @freeshavocadoooo @kingtwhiddleston

#moon knight #steven grant #marc spector #jake lockley #steven grant x reader #marc spector x reader #jake lockley x reader #layla el faouly #arthur harrow #khonshu #anubis #oscar isaac #oscar isaac hernandez estrada #may calamawy #ethan hawke #mcu fic

[mgkmerchandise]

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[strawb3rryw00]

Late Night ♡ woo wonjae x female reader

warnings -> swearing

synopsis -> y/n works hard in her studio day and night and begins to worry her boyfriend who works right next door.

fluff and some suggestive shit.

also there’s a little bit of jay park x reader in here too

~♡~

4:25 am.

You let out a long sigh, slamming your computer shut after listening to your track. You had recently joined AOMG as their youngest member. You were a prodigy, having only been rapping for a year when Jay saw you performing at a small show just two years ago. No one in the company had a doubt in your skill, all of them praising you highly on the single you released after joining.

But you were a perfectionist. And you were determined to prove to everyone that your talent was undeniable. You were labeled as the hidden ace of AOMG by a magazine company after a special performance at one of Simon D’s concerts.

Your lyrical abilities and flow were unmatched by most artists in the game. You had a unique musical and physical style which caused you to have a large fan base, doubling in size when AOMG confirmed your relationship with Woo Wonjae, another artist under the label.

You were featured on his album, his fans becoming yours after hearing your talent paired with his.

But that only made you put more pressure on yourself.

You’ve locked yourself in your studio for days on end. Wanting to get your first full length album utterly perfect for your fans, the company, and yourself. You’ve gone days without sleeping or eating, earning the worry of your label mates.

Just three hours ago Jay was in your space lecturing you. He made sure to take care of every artist under him, checking up on them despite his busy schedule. While having two companies and multiple rappers and vocalists under his labels, you were the one he was always most worried about.

“Y/N man,” He spoke to you casually in english. “I love your drive and effort, but you need to go home sometime tonight.”

You frowned, pausing your song you had played. “But Jay,” You rolled up your sleeves and exposed your tattooed arms. “I’m just trying-“

“I know what you’re trying to do.” Jay cut you off, his tone a little harsh. He hated talking to you like that, but it’s what you needed. “Your friends? They snitch on you. Especially your little boy next door,” He referred to Wonjae, who was probably working away in his studio as well.

Since your boyfriend was also an artist, he understood your mindset and left you alone due to your request. Of course you guys still talked and spent time together, yet it was minimal during this time.

“I should not have to hear that you’re in here day and night. I gave you the full fucking luxury studio as a gift, thinking you’d take care of yourself. But youre basically living here. The shower is for occasional late nights y/n,” Jay furrowed his eyebrows at you, standing up and sighing. “I’ll force you to move to a smaller one, don’t think I wont.”

Jay opened his arms for you to stand up and hug him, which you did. He held you tightly, resting his head on yours and sighing again. “You stress me out. I better hear that you’ve gone home by tomorrow afternoon.” He says sternly, pulling away and looking at you.

“And you better fucking eat babe,” He always spoke to you in a friendly manner but it was never flirty. He genuinely cared for you and the other artists. And it was normal for you both to use babe in a casual manner. Despite his lecturing and the wide age gap, you both were very good friends.

“I will,” You smiled at him, pulling your phone out to find something to order.

He exits your studio and you sigh, sitting down on the couch you added. Your studio felt more like home than your apartment. You decorated it as such, even adding a cat tower for when you have your feline roomie with you, which is usually always because you don’t like leaving the ginger cat alone all the time.

After he left you went back to working diligently. You had finished three songs in the five months you’ve been working on the album. You didn’t have an actual deadline but you knew your fans were waiting. You had several features you wanted on this album as well. Hoody has been waiting for you to finish your part of this song so she can add her magical vocals to it. But you hadn’t quite found what you were missing from it.

Your phone lit up, a message from Jay on it. ‘I have your location ma’am’ The message read, earning a laugh from you.

‘lol’ you respond, setting your phone back down. You look at your lock screen and smile. It’s a picture of you and Woo that a fan took of you both performing on stage together. It was the first time you performed with him after it being confirmed you both were dating. In the picture you’re rapping to the crowd, squatted down a little and Wonjae is looking at you with the happiest look plastered on his face.

At the thought of your lover you decide it’s time to take a break. You get up and stretch, hearing your back pop, slipping back on your slides. You tend to stay in your socks while working, it’s more comfortable to you.

You walk out the studio and next door, smiling as you read your boyfriends name on the door. You walk in without knocking, knowing he never minds.

He’s in the booth, rapping his verse to Kunst, who looks at you with tired eyes. You stand behind his chair, resting your hands on his shoulders and giving them a slight squeeze while listening to your boyfriend.

You could listen to him rap all day. His deep voice was so beautiful in your ears. “Are you about to leave?” Kunst asks you. “Jay told us to make sure you leave.”

You shake your head. “Not yet.” You say, earning a sigh from the taller male.

Wonjae exits the booth, his eyes lighting up when he sees you. “Ahh finally taking a break mm?” His arms wrap around your shoulders and pull you close. You inhale his scent, closing your eyes in comfort. He doesn’t let you go, and holds you while talking to his friend.

“Imma head out, you did good.” Kunst gets his things together and pats you on the head before wishing you both farewell and leaving.

Wonjae kisses the top of your head and yawns. “Let’s eat baby,” He says softly. You nod and slide your hands under his shirt and run your fingers along his back, his favorite thing.

“I missed you,” You say into his chest, still with your eyes closed. He chuckles, his hand resting on the back of your neck while his fingers play with the few pieces of hair that fall from your bun.

“I missed you too, you been busy huh?” He pulls away slightly to look down at you. You meet his eyes and give him a tired smile which he returns.

“Yea you could say that.” He laughs at your answer which is music to your ears.

Now having been in his arms you don’t want to return to your studio for the day. You really did miss him but work is very important to you.

Wonjae sits down in the chair his friend was occupying previously and pulls you into his lap. Your legs hang over one arm while your back rests against the other. You lean into him, his arms sliding around you once more and pulling you closer. You tuck your head into his neck and relax to the sound of his deep breaths.

“It’s almost 6 am,” Wonjae hums, his fingers tracing the outlines of the tattoos on your exposed arm. “I’m tired.” He sighs. You know he’s hinting that you guys should leave, especially after Jay having said something.

“Me too,” You admit, placing a gentle kiss on his jaw and yawning. “Let’s go.” You add, reluctantly leaving his lap.

He stares at you a little shocked. “You’re finally listening huh? I’m impressed.” He stands up as well, laughing when you hit his arm.

“Go get your things jagi,” He waves you off.

After getting your things and your kitty, you lock up your studio and meet by his while he locks up as well. He smiles at you, sliding his bag on his shoulders and wrapping his arm around your shoulders while you both make your way to the parking garage.

“Let’s go get some early food and then go to my place yea?” Wonjae offers, guiding you to his car. “Ron can come with us and play with my babies,” He refers to your cat that you named after the ginger wizard.

You nod, getting in the passenger seat in his car and setting Ron on your lap. You inhale the comforting smell of his car, not having been in his car nor outside for a week now.

Wonjae drives down the empty road to a restaurant near his apartment that’s open early on weekdays. His hand rests just above your knee, his index finger reaching out to pet the cat on your lap. “No work talk today.” He says, looking at you as he parks. “You’re taking a break.” You smile, loving how he already knows how you are.

After you fill your stomachs, you’re on the way to his home. Even more tired now that you’ve ate. Once parked, he grabs his bag as well as yours and leads you into the building and up to his apartment. Unlocking the door, he rests his hand on your back to usher you in where you set Ron down while slipping your feet out of your shoes.

Ron immediately mingles with Wonjae’s three cats who make their way over to the two of you, the four of them following you to Wonjae’s room.

“Do you want to shower with me?” Wonjae asks softly, cupping your cheek into his hand and rubbing the pad of his thumb along the bone. You lean into his touch, kissing his palm. “Yes please.”

“Okay, I’ll go start it.” He rushes to the bathroom and you hear the water being started. You undress yourself, throwing the clothes in the basket he has in the corner of his room. Once you’re completely stripped you push open the bathroom door where you see Wonjae beginning to take off his clothes as well.

After sliding off his shirt he looks at you and smirks. “Mmm,” He hums, pulling you closer to him by your hips. “I missed looking at this.” He leans down and places a kiss on your neck, licking a stripe to your ear and flicking your lobe with the tip of his tongue. It sends a shiver down your spine, your eyes closing in bliss.

He knows your body like the back of his hand, he cherishes every piece of you. He looks at you, smiling. “I’ll fuck you later,” He kisses your lips, lingering for a moment before pulling away.

He finishes undressing and you both get into the shower. He hugs you under the warm water much like he did while you were in his studio but this time it’s much more intimate due to the skin to skin contact. Your breasts press against him, head tucked into his neck. The warm water cascades down your body, causing you to grow tired.

After you both wash up, you find yourself clad in his hoodie and sweats that are just a little big. Wonjae waits for you on the bed, the four cats finding their way to join him. He lays on his back, scrolling through his phone.

You crawl into the bed, snuggling into his side with your head resting on his shoulder. He immediately puts his phone down and rolls over on his side to wrap his arms around you too pull you closer. You feel him breathing in your scent, his legs pushing to get in between yours.

“Jay isn’t letting you back into the studio until tomorrow and I’m forcing you to lay with me all day .” Wonjae mumbles.

You laugh a little, feeling grateful to have such caring people in your life. “Your album can wait for a day. I’ve missed you.” He adds, pulling you even closer to him.

You both fall silent, your eyes closing. You’ve never felt more content and comfortable than how you do now. You feel one of the cats snuggle into your back and purr against you.

“Wonjae,” You began, earning a hum from the half asleep man. “I love you,”

His hand slides under your shirt and gently scratches your back. “I love you.” He says, resting his hand on the small of your back.

You find yourself slowly falling asleep. You know you’re going to be asleep for the whole day and you’re honestly looking forward to it. Especially with Wonjae and the cats.

He’s right, your album can wait.

~♡~

lol i had to write another for wonjae. it’s so hard for me to find fics for him so i jus been writing my own.

#woo wonjae fluff #woo wonjae #aomg woo #aomg reactions #aomg drabbles #aomg imagines #aomg scenarios #woo fluff #woo wonjae smut #woo wonjae scenarios #woo wonjae drabbles #woo wonjae imagines #woo wonjae x reader #woo wonjae tattoos #aomg x reader

[muffindaddystyles]

Hearth.

A/N: I dunno if I've got any desi/brown/poc readers but if you're reading this I love you so much and you (us) deserve the same validation and representation others get.

Here's a blurb as to what it feels like celebrating Eid with Harry! Enjoy!

Warning: none — just loads of fluff.

More Inspos, Masterlist, Let's Talk

The night's pretty with murky clouds and thick layer of moon's brightness as Y/N cleans her flat, from scrubbing her Persian rugs to deep cleansing her vases back from her homeland. The flame evaporating from her candles scented like springs of Kashmir, flickers from her blowing sheer curtains due to the zephyr flurring outside.

She feels content, at peace waiting for Harry who promised that he'll be at her place by 11. He always comes an hour early helping her in setting the table before the iftari, they've been doing it together since the start of ramdan until today when he texted her he's busy along with a sad smiley.

It was fun. He fasted with her once or twice and would make sure she's hydrated enough once they break it, his love for rooh-afzah (it's a drink red in color made from essence of roses and some sweet herbs) will never fail to make her giggle as he'd demand for more after gulping two glasses already.

Then showing her his tummy along with his food pregnant jokes.

Her classes are online so it gave her time to experiment some cooking. They'd make samosas together and she always had an urge to hold back her cooes as his tongue used to poke out in concentration everytime his diligent fingers folded the samosa sheets skillfully.

"Did a pretty go'job here, innit?" He'd grin raising it like a summat trophy.

The moment he used to leave her flat (ofcourse after giving a tight hug before doing so) they both missed eachother terribly, y/n doesn't like the way her home falls into an abyss without his presence.

He's like a sunshine that warms her insides up.

The whistle of kettle and several raps of knocks on her door drags her from her fond memories of them together, she slings her feet down from the coffee table rushing to open it.

"Angel."

Harry says breathlessly prolly because he climbed three flight of stairs to get to her or that he's utterly flustered.

Her eyes remain struck at the thingies piled in his arms, a box of chocolates, many brown bags and stems of freshly blood ripped roses tucked between his knuckles.

He bought all of these gifts for her.

To make her feel like home.

To be her home.

What the fuck, nobody has ever done that for her —-- she just mighty cry.

Her mouths gupples like a fish too overwhelmed to react her emotions out and he gives her a sweet smile kicking the door shut with his feet -- gestures her to wait when she almost jumps like a cub to hug him and puts everything on the sofa knowing the things inside them's too delicate.

"C'mere, baby." He grins and she doesn't waste a moment falling in his embrace. Her cheeks smashes against his taught chest and she fists the hem of his shirt smiling too hard for her own sake as he sways them with his own rosy cheek squished against her temple.

"I love you so much, thank you." She murmurs gazing up at him with glinting eyes -- arms still lopped around his waist and his chin doubles adorably as he gives her his signature bunny grin kissing the tip of her nose, "Love you too bubba ... don't want ya homesick, at alllll."

The aggressive whistle of kettle parts them away, "Cuppa cha? Then we'll unwrap these pleasanteris." She points at the paper bags.

He nods flopping onto the floor cushions beside the large oak window of the balcony where they could bathe in moonlight.

"Thank you." He quips, kissing her fingertips while slipping his fingers under the handle of mug and takes it from her as she sits infront of him. He admires her for a second —- fawning over how she's looking so soft and cuddle-able wearing a baggy mauve kurta and some mismatched shalwar.

The tearing open of the stuffing tissue brings him back to focus --- this, he wanted to see this happiness dance over her features as she clutches the ethnic traditional dress he bought for her infront of her and when lifts it down he's met by overly excited eyes.

It's ethereal with golden details, handmade wire work and sheer fabric.

"It's gorgeous, pups." She squeezes his hand and he takes the sip of his cha smiling against the rim of the mug shyly, "Wasn't s' sure -- Sarah helped me in collecting stuff." Sarah's Y/N's bestfriend who was the only desi/brown in her filming class.

"No wonder she was being a lil sneak." Y/N chuckles already rummaging for what comes next.

He wanted to make sure he gets her everything they do traditionally in her culture and ate Sara's ears off to help him buy the most special thing and it's right there creating sweet noise when they touch eachother, dangling from her fingers.

"Churiyan .... " She whispers bitting down a smile. She loves glass bangles. Their colourfulness cheers her mood up and she'd always go with her Nani a night prior eid to select the most flamboyant pair of them from a bazar (market).

"This -— " She gestures to the gifts scattered around them, " —-- all of this and you, means alot to me." She sighs giving him a wet smile and he smoothes his thumb against her cheek like she's the most fragile thing to exist.

He watches her in a tad confusion when she stands up with a giggly squeal putting everything away and comes back with a tube of henna in her hand.

"It's chand raat t'night 'cos tommorrow is eid -- usually I spend it with Sarah and we apply henna to eachother, we're horrible at it honestly but now she isn't here 'm gonna bite yours ears —-" He cuts her off. Ushering her to sit back on her spot. He couldn't be more glad to spend all of his time with her whether it's just watching her make designs on her hand with henna.

"Your cha's waftin'." He shakes his head bringing it to her lips, "It's hot." She tells him drawing a circle on her palm and filling it with beautiful darkness of henna.

"Okie then ... " He blows at the hot beverage to cool it down and again brings it to her lips, "Now." He croons softly to her. She holds his wrist taking a sip from it -- he tucks the strand of her hair back and she smiles up at him making him chuckle when she takes a huge sigh as if her soul just woke up.

"What do we d'tommorrow?" He asks. Knowing most of the time they went to Zayn's house on Eids his mother used to fill the whole table with delicious dishes and the whole day was spent having fun.

"We do nothing but have loads of nice time -- I already made a dessert 'cos I know I'll be too lazy in the mornin', and invited your friends if that's okay?" She glances up at him done with her left palm.

"Perfect then," He nods, "D'ya need help with the other one?" He asks grabbing her right hand and the tube of henna from her.

"Yes, please." She shows him her hand covered with with henna and since it's wet she could do one thing wait or let him do it. The second options sounds more good.

"Not on me if it gets messed up." He warns her nonchalantly following the same pattern of her left hand. Stealing glances of her attractive face every now and then, dotting her moles with his intense gaze, he just thinks her brown eyes look more intricate – it's specks as if the forests soil on the first rains when they dilate with her racing heartbeat.

They're like an open book to him and at the same time mysteriously dark that he feels like burning a match to melt in them.

"You did it way better than me," She snorts examining it closely and turns the other way round to lay down on the carpeted floor and rest her head in his lap. He wipes his own hands watching the dark henna leaving a swipe of color on his fingertips.

He pets her hair, dimples milking into his cheeks when she raises her both hands infront of him -- blocking the moonlight that's falling on her, "When I was small I always used to end up getting it on my face and lemme tell ya. Having a yellow blotch isn't even a tiny bit fascinating on the only day you could dress up fancy."

His chest rumbles with giggles and he brings her hands closer to her lips blowing raspberries at them to get them dry early.

Comfortable silence envelopes them in to the point where they could hear crickets singing outside and moonlight sparkling on their skin —- she breaks it cuddling up into his chest.

"I really appreciate this, Harry." Her voice hushed whisper and her cherry stained lips couldn't resist but to patch kisses where his heart lays and she could sense it kicking a pace, "The fact that you did so much just for me -- is beyond my thought. I really feel like home." He let her speak. Squeezing her shoulders to convey the fierceness of his emotions he holds for her. His silken lips pressed to her temple and his eyelids flutters with each spurt of breath she inhales.

"I'll keep making you feel like home, till the day you'll allow me." Today. He for actually felt that his home was never a building or the luxurious furniture adorned inside it, but her. It's always gonna be her.

Because the moment he gets lost in those eyes all he come across is their shared laughter, their moments spent on this balcony right outside sipping onto their chas and watching the city wake up infront of their eyes, going to places he has never been to before, doing things he never thought he'd do in hundered years —- he isn't a big fan of spices but he still pretends like a big boi infront of her while eating pani puri she's oh so obsessed with.

The times she was never embarrassed to introduce him to her community or her friends, and getting soaked into rains even though they could've just used his car, having days planned to make him try new desi dishes, going to buy candles of many scent and shapes with him but then never feeling like leaving the store until he warns her that he'll throw her on his shoulder infront of everyone.

Going to Turkish markets together. He's a bread lover and so all this time he doesn't feel like leaving the shops filled with different kiln and tandoori breads. Eating Simit and drinking black tea in the amardu cups sitting outside the cafe –- he likes it with cheese while she might sound bland she just likes a bit of butter.

Them deciding for hours and hours which Persian rug to buy -- but never buying it apologising to the shop keeper.

Giving eachother head massages from the organic rosemary Morrocon oil that one of her friend gifted her, (Y/N) thinks she's one hell of a masseuse but Harry thinks otherwise —- though he would never ever break her heart so it's better keeping it a secret.

His nose creates a purring sound while he sleeps leaning against the wall, he doesn't even remember when he fell into the deep slumber with his large hand still wrapped around her wrist in a protective manner to keep her from moving.

It's cute.

Though when she stirs to regain consciousness with the birds chirping outside she feels remorseful finding him sleeping in such an uncomfy position just because of her and he wakes up with a loud wheeze —- blinking rapidly to see what just happened only to visibly relax back when she shushes him gently.

"Baby .... shit." He grogs out, knuckling at his eyes pointing at her jaw which's covered into a orangish streak, "Don't tell me." She groans bumping her head against his bicep.

A moment later they burst into fits of hoarse giggles and chuckles. She'd try to suck in air to not to snort and would do it nonetheless driving them more into belly aching laughter.

"Eid Mubarak, I guess?" He cackles loudly. Dimple coveting in to his velvet of skin. Rubs the tip of his nose against her's affectionately and swoons her in his arms to hug her warmly.

"Now -— go 'n dress up, c'mon." He cups the nape of her neck playing with the baby hair there and she whines smushing her face against his chest, "No. Lemme sleep some more."

"Heyyy none of that, c'mon sleepy girl you'll regret it later." He boops her nose smiling down at her fondly and she grumbles mumbling something in between you're so annoying or you're being so much like my mum.

He waits for her laying on the sofa with his arms folded and eyes closed. Prolly took a mini version of nap only to perk his head up grabbing the back of sofa when she returns with wet hair, soft clean face and lips tinted cherry wearing the dress and bangles he bought for her.

An enchantress from head to toe, he wouldn't even complain if she bewitches him.

He needs someone to pinch his bum because he thinks his eyelids might have struck. He takes a dramatic breather mischievously, pupils dilated cutesly and heart shaped lips parted with the sweet loving words in praise of her beauty burning at the tip of his tongue.

His fawning gives her butterflies. Expanding her chest with warmth and she does a three-sixty when he spindles his nimble in the air demanding her to show herself from every angle.

Her head falls back. An echo of happy giggles resonating in the room when he smacks his hand against his chest and flops into heaps of sofa cushions.

"You're fuckin' beautiful, a total knockout." He walks towards her with his hands spread open and takes her's to kiss the inside of her palms, "So are you." Her voice small with shyness. He sits on her on sofa and stays beside her with his chin perched upon his knuckles staring at her like she hung the moon -- as if she's a prayer come true.

"Did you get me ready to d'nothing?" She turns towards him. The curled up fringes kissing the apples of her cheeks same as his fingertips are dying to do so.

"I might sound selfish but it was a trap to get you ready early so I could admire you till everyone squeeze between us ... " He smirks and she huffs sinking deeper into the sofa throwing her limbs in air and his breath hitches when her bangles clanks together producing a beautiful noise.

"Harry!!" She whines.

"Okie, time to fill some grumpy kitten's tummy." He announces standing up to head to kitchen and she shakes her head with a silly smile trailing behind him.

All she knows is that. This Eid she'll have the best time of her life, as she could already feel his energy and love radiating in every corner of her home.

.

@harryforvogue idk why but everytime I'd sit to write this blurb you'd pop in my mind, hope so you're not hiccuping wildly.

#harry styles imagines #harry styles x y/n #harry styles x y/n imagines #harry styles fanfic #harry styles one shots #harry styles blurb #harry smut #harry styles smut #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles dirty imagines #harry x reader

[love-toxin]

extra credit; adrian moorwell.

a/n: here’s another fic that was requested by a lovely commissioner ❤️

warnings: professor/student roleplay, power imbalance, office sex/sex over a desk, slight dubcon/coercion, creampie. 

word count: 3k

"Professor? Are you in there?"

The rapping of your knuckles against his office door echoed down the long, quiet hallways of Adrian's home. You smoothed out the creases of your pretty little uniform, just a smidge too tight--but that was all part of the allure. And once you heard those few words from your lover, the rest of the house would fade away, and you'd find yourself plopped right in the middle of where he wanted you to be. 

"Come in."

As you creaked the door open and slipped inside, a quick glance around the room was all you needed to melt into the scenario. Adrian's office was as it always had been, with little fossils put neatly away on shelves, bookshelves lining the wall behind his solid wooden desk, and a smattering of papers stacked high where he worked along with a few rogue books here and there. There was being neat and being messy, and Adrian fell nicely in the middle of that spectrum, his office being moderately tidy with just a few things scattered around that he had yet to put away. 

Even now, his desk was a bit cluttered as he sat and graded papers--but he looked up from them as you shut the door firmly behind you, his reading glasses sitting low on the bridge of his nose as he smiled your way. 

"What can I do for you, my dear?”

He sounded so calm, and already so reassuring that you felt everything else blur from your mind, as you crossed the short distance to his desk and your shoes sank into the ornate throw rug under your feet, before you took a seat at the only chair available and stiffly placed your hands in your lap. Adrian took off his glasses as he spoke, and opened a drawer out of sight to place them in--and though you loved him either way, he had a different air about him when he took them off, especially when he had such a gleam in his eyes. 

"Well, um...I think I told you about wanting to get my master's degree soon, professor.."

With his elbows on the desk, he clasped his hands together and rested his chin atop them, nodding surely and letting a few strands of hair slip over his shoulder to fall loose aside his neck. 

"Certainly. I think you'll do spectacularly. You're very gifted, you know."

He winked, and you had to force yourself to not let the pleasing shiver overtake your body. Professor Adrian was a favourite for a reason, and not just because of his smooth voice and kind heart--he didn’t betray any indication of favouritism to your class, which earned him an honourable reputation in itself. When you were alone with him, though...well, to say he had a soft spot for you would be fairly apt. 

"T-Thank you, Dr. Moorwell...but there's something I still need help with.."

You fidgeted with the hem of your shirt, a habit that he likely would have poked at you about just to make you flustered. But for now, he listened closely and waited with unending patience, interest visibly piqued at what you were gearing up to ask him for.

"My average isn't high enough to apply, and I can't afford another semester to try and bring it up...s-so.."

Here came the crescendo. Your heart thudded in your chest, barely on the edge of your seat as you waited for his reply to your transparent plea--either his brow would furrow and he would scold you for begging for higher marks, which you wouldn’t expect from him, but could happen nonetheless. Or...or, he would take pity on you as his sweet, pitiful little pupil. 

"..Ah, I see. You'd like a little bump to your grade for my class?"

You held your breath tight in your chest, not knowing what to expect when he pushed back on his chair, and got to his feet to casually stroll around and lean back against his desk, no less than a foot from where you sat. From here, he loomed over you from so much higher, and had an appearance much more befitting to a strict teacher as he crossed his arms over his chest--but once he spoke up again, you felt your anxiety fall away in the hands of your most trusted professor. 

"Is that because you know I'm a pushover? Or just because I'm your favourite professor?" 

Laughter tumbled off his lips in a lighthearted tone, and it eased your mind to know that he was only teasing you. Professor Moorwell was so easygoing and so kind that anyone would be fast friends with him--it was for that reason that it was so strange to you that he was almost always alone, eating alone, walking around campus alone, doing everything by himself...but to you and you suspected your fellow students, that was just another quality that made him so irresistible. 

"Of course I will, dear. I won't make it so easy, though--you'll just need to do a bit of extra credit work." 

His smile never faltered, the crow’s feet near his eyes crinkling as he chuckled again and reached down to pat your head. His hand was firm against your hair, and so warm that it felt like a ray of sun was shining down on you. Maybe this was a bit of an odd gesture, but you soaked it in with the praise as much as you could, even as his fingers gently threaded through your hair as he moved down, and eventually he cupped your cheek in his palm and leaned down much closer to your face, to the point that your noses were almost touching. 

"P..Professor..?" 

You finally managed to snap out of whatever kind of trance you’d been sucked up into--and when you did, you felt a strange feeling bubbling up inside your chest...and then he moved closer, and closer, close enough for you to feel the brush of his lips against yours, and then you froze up afterwards at the realization that he was kissing you. 

Any idea that this would be a normal meeting with your professor went completely out the window in that moment. All the teasing, all the attempts to make you flustered, all the caring gestures and genuine belief in you to do well...those were nothing compared to feeling Adrian’s lips on yours, his hand keeping you steady so that you wouldn’t pull away. At least now, all of that admiration for you as his pupil made sense...even though you knew in your heart that it was wrong. 

“Ah...your kiss is even sweeter than I imagined..”

When he finally broke away to take a breath, Adrian smiled again, but this time you weren’t oblivious to the lust that burned behind his eyes. Hearing him talk about you in such an intimate way was like listening to a different person--and though you felt panic bubble up at this sudden and forbidden development, you stayed quiet and still in your seat, even as you felt his fingers start to drift too far up your inner thigh. And the icing atop the cake was when you felt the whole world stop for a moment, and heat seared up through the pit of your stomach as he reached what he had been looking forward to, and two of his fingers pressed up between your legs to that spot that only he wanted to have the blessing to touch. 

"Mmh...I can feel how excited you are...was this what you wanted?"

Finally, as if your body had been on autopilot up until now, you squirmed and whined at his swift ministrations, both of your hands wrapping tightly around his wrist to vainly get him to wait as he carefully rubbed you through the fabric that separated your flesh from his. It felt wrong, it was wrong, but you couldn’t bring yourself to truly ask him to stop--after all, there was that part of you that loved this more than you were ready to admit. A part of you that was so elated at this realization...and so desperate to take in the praise that he wanted to give you. 

"I can feel your eyes linger on me during lecture...I hope you don't think I'm so naïve, darling." 

And he could tell that you were holding yourself back, taking no issue with capturing your lips in his again and again, and even prodding at yours with his tongue to get you to loosen up and let him explore your soft mouth. You were certain he wanted to do much more than that, but your focus was forced towards his hand as it moved away--and he soon used his other one to help when he didn’t need to bother with keeping you locked in a kiss, his fingers hooking around each side of your bottoms and starting to wiggle them down and off your legs. 

A gentle smack against your thigh served as a silent order for you to lift your hips up, and you did so without question, even though your common sense told you that you probably shouldn't have. But you were ready to abandon it completely at this point--your professor’s touch felt too good, and his kiss was like a drug, hooking you more and more with every passing second that he chased your lips for another. And nothing else felt nearly as good as the rumble in his chest when he finally broke away to speak, his eyes narrowed down at you as he let your clothing slip off your ankles and fall to the floor. 

"...I know why I'm your favourite professor." 

His tone sat so deeply in his throat that it sounded almost like a growl, and a possessive one at that. Whatever you had done to make him this way was a question you couldn't answer, but even so, in a twisted way, you could tell that you were going to get what you asked for. 

“Pr-Professor...i-if I do this...will you really bring my mark up..?”

He had already started to spread your legs as much as the chair would allow him to, the heels of his hands pushing your knees apart so he could have a good look at what you were trying to hide. But having you cover yourself nervously with your hands seemed to catch his attention well enough, and his gaze darted back up to meet yours. 

“Hm..?”

He almost seemed to forget himself for a moment, in the haze of lust that you’d lost yourselves in--but he brought himself back quickly and let out the breath he’d been holding, just to return that soft smile that you knew so well and reassure you once and for all.

“Of course I will. I’ll give you more than enough to get into your program, just as long as you make sure your professor cums.” 

With a touch so disarmingly gentle, Adrian reached forwards and carefully nudged your hands away with his knuckles, waiting patiently until you finally moved them as he wanted, and he could listen to you suck in a gasp through your teeth as his fingers met your warm, untouched flesh. 

“I know you will, either way...but if you want a little extra, then maybe you won’t make me use protection, either.”

You forced yourself to swallow back your fear at that prospect, your mind racing at a thousand miles per hour. As nerve-wracking as that sounded, your skin already buzzed with adrenaline at hearing him ask such a lewd thing...and really, you needed as much of a boost as you could get, didn't you? 

"O-Oh...okay.."

He didn't need much more of an answer than that, his mouth closing over yours to swallow your little noises as he slipped his hand down further, and left behind nothing but a warm tingle in your skin until he finally found what he was looking for. 

You were already so eager, your body reacting to his touch before your mind could catch up...and once he pressed his fingers past the spongy rim of your entrance, any sense that this might be the wrong decision shifted into pleasure that you couldn't deny, your legs trembling as he hooked his digits inside you to feel for that spot that would make you see stars. 

"Mnh, that's a good pet...such a good student…" 

The words drawled out over his tongue, and he finally broke the kiss for a trail of saliva to fall against your chin, though it was of little concern when he was lifting you up by the waist and leaning back against his desk to hold you. Your feet dangled for a moment over the floor, held up only by Adrian's grasp--but soon he hopped up to sit on his desk himself, and took you with him so you could rest your knees on either side and straddle him comfortably while he held himself up by his elbows. He was still in charge, but the twinkle in his eyes told you that he was allowing you a bit of wiggle room when it came to your pleasure--and you took the chance quite handily, your fingers fumbling as you moved to release his cock from the confines of those tight, tight jeans. 

"Don't be fooled. You're still going to need to work towards getting your credit...even if you are my favourite pupil."

His voice rose like a purr in his throat, and as soon as you tugged his boxers down enough to pull out what you'd been craving for so long, you didn't waste a second on sitting up and aligning yourself with the tip before sinking down swiftly. Maybe too swiftly, even for Adrian, who opened his mouth to tell you to take it slow only to cut himself off with a deep, throaty groan. Every inch that he fed into you felt so familiar, yet so new and exciting at the same time--and once you'd adjusted enough that you could seat yourself comfortably on his cock, you rolled your hips back and felt the drag of his shaft curving inside you and filling you up perfectly. 

"P-Professor...professor..."

And he made sure you weren't alone in your effort either, his hands coming to rest on your waist so he could pull you down to meet his thrusts, each one loud and wet and just as depraved as the last.

What would your fellow students think of you, if they could see you as you were right now? Would they turn their noses in disgust? Would they scoff at how desperate you were, coming on to your own professor for good grades?

..Would they be jealous? Would they wish they were you right now, riding everyone's favourite professor as he moaned their name? Would they dream of getting all his attention on them, his fingers reaching over to stroke them in time with his thrusts? 

"You're so good...I n-never knew my...my darling student was so tight.."

He growled as his hips pistoned into yours from below, his cock reaching one of your deepest sweet spots that had you squeezing even tighter around him and throwing the cycle right back into its rhythm. Barebacking it with your professor was something reserved for porn and lewd fantasies, and yet in practice it felt like a new revelation. As important as it was for your future, you couldn't even bring yourself to care about getting your extra credit when Professor Moorwell was stirring you up with his beastly cock, thick and dotted with veins around the shaft with a pulsing head that fit snugly inside you. He barely even kept you far enough to get any slower thrusts in now, and pinned you to his lap to fuck you deep with short strokes and a vicious pace. 

"P-Professor Moorwell-!"

"I know, baby.."

He spoke with sympathy on the tip of his tongue, his breathing laboured and heavy as his fingers picked up the pace on massaging your tender little spots. Your vision was starting to blur at the edges, your orgasm coming on fast and with little time to ready yourself--and all that you could think about was your professor, your dear, sweet Dr. Moorwell, with his caring smile and brutal cock. 

"Just cum, my darling...cum right now, and get those grades you earned.."

No amount of self-restraint would prevent you from finishing what you started now. You threw your head back with one last cry while Professor Moorwell thrusted again and stilled inside you, his cum greeting you in warm spurts that your body accepted with no resistance. And you were no different, your limbs spasming as you released everything that had built up inside you, your thighs trembling as you spilled all over your breathless lover. You made a mess of yourself, a mess of Adrian's lap, and of his clothes and the desk beneath you, and not to mention you must have looked so slutty and lecherous as you did so. 

However, you soon realized that getting off and scampering away wasn't an option, when he wrapped his arms around you and pulled you down to lay on top of him, his cock still settled low inside you as you felt his heartbeat slow.

"P-Professor Moorwell...we should, u-um...someone might-!"

He nuzzled his face into your neck, leaving soft kisses that melted your thoughts away and left you happily content, even with cum spilling down your legs and your body sore and aching from the pounding it had taken. 

"Nobody will see a thing...I'll turn away anyone that knocks."

Adrian chuckled against your skin, and lazily drew his fingers over your back in gentle circles, to help you relax more against him. And you needed that, you soon came to realize, as your eyelids got heavier and you grew too tired to think...all that you wanted was Adrian's body heat mingling with yours, and the sweet smell of his cologne as he held you close and whispered sweet nothings into your ear. 

"You just get some rest, darling...after all, passing my class will be a breeze with all that extra credit you've earned."

#adrian moorwell #adrian moorwell x reader #adrian x reader #yandere adrian moorwell #yandere adrian moorwell x reader #yandere ocs #yandere lemon #love-toxin #3k

[gyllenhaalstories]

SOUTHPAW, PART 1: HEADCANONS.

notes: dear anon: thank you for making me appreciate jake the rapper! also i know nothing about rap, so i’m sorry if this is pure trash! i never finished watching southpaw because it was too dark for me, but i took some very loose inspiration from it. warnings: mentions of dark past, mentions of sexual content... this got really long (2k words). gifs credits: alphalewolf. extras: if you want more informations about rapper!jake, please scroll through my blog. i have edited some older posts with the tag: topic: rapper!jake, so check it out if you’re interested. i have taken some ideas and put them in this list. (at the end of the list i provided some goodies!)

PART TWO WILL BE UPLOADED SOON, KEEP AN EYE OUT FOR IT!

attention, attention! please note i know absolutely nothing about rap. i very rarely enjoy listening to rap music, it’s simply not for me. this might be inaccurate and off compared to the actual world of hip hop and other similar genres. i apologize for my lack of knowledge! this is an au in which jake is not an actor or a producer or anything of the sort. his fame, he built it with his music. you must keep that in mind while reading these headcanons or else it will get confusing. also, i’ve taken some loose inspiration from jake’s actual work, but that’s just for the sake of backstory. are you ready to dive in this twisted fantasy?

Jake Gyllenhaal. Known as Hall. He exploded the charts after being picked up by one of the biggest record companies for his first album: Hall of Fame. He was a rookie, yet he was older than most of the rappers you can think of today. He worked his way up undercover. He started participating in poetry and slam nights at local cafés. He became a songwriter, through connections. He sold some songs that are absolute classics today, but he does not care. He did not feel like they fit him anyway.

Growing up, Jake had it rough. There was a lot of fighting at home. His older sister was the perfect angel and him? The absolute disaster child. It was not like he ran after danger and trouble, he seemed to always be at the wrong place in the wrong time, he hung out with the wrong crowd. He managed to avoid juvie on some miracle. What was the miracle, you might ask? He was caught robbing some local bank with his “friends” and the cops, at first, did not believe he was innocent. While his friends were screaming and threatening the innocent clients of the bank, Jake actually tried to help them out of the building safely. The cops arrived at the same moment and thought he was keeping the strangers hostage. He was arrested on the spot. The other guys played the victims, blamed it all on Jake but it was only when Jake wrote the whole story, from the beginning where his friends manipulated him and made of him their puppet to when he felt this adrenaline rush telling him he needed to save the strangers that night. His writing was too sincere, too raw to be a web of lies. The police released him, but they kept an eye on him.

His escape were writing and music. He impressed all of his teachers at school. Talented, gifted, magical. That was how they described Jake at every parent and teacher meeting. Writing dumb sentences that made very little sense and playing with a guitar after school, that did not make his parents very proud compared to his sister who was on top of all of her classes and working hard for a future of wealth and success.

Music was his entire life. He would come home from school and blast music until he was called out for dinner. Led Zeppelin, Aerosmith, Black Sabbath, Heart, Pink Floyd, Metallica, name it. He liked it loud. He liked it weird. He liked it with a deeper message, with double meaning.

He worked all types of jobs, some legal and some not so much. He was saving money for college. He applied. He got in. He started his classes. He had big dreams, too, he had ambitions. Maybe he could his talent to good use? He wanted to study philosophy, literature, music, creative writing... Anything that required thought and depth. He made friends, there. He befriended the edgy punk guy, he had tattoos everywhere, he listened to the same bands, he was quiet but his essays spoke volumes.

Jake was disappointed, his illusions were broken. He hated the format of his classes, the feeling like his opinion and his inspiration did not matter, it was always about meeting some stupid requirements to please a rich professor who did not care about passion, about talent, about originality. Jake dropped out, soon followed by his friend. His friend was hired at a tattoo parlor and Jake hung out there all the time. He would stay up until 5 am, 6, 7, all night and all day long. He loved the clients there. He would write and read his writing out loud to the clients when they were tortured by the needle shooting the ink in their skin. Talented and gifted, they all the same thing.

He started to see the light at the end of the tunnel.

He wrote, not just stories and opinion pieces. He started writing songs, melody and lyrics. He started playing them, he started writing his own poetry too. He was introduced to freestyle battles. And as he fought against other talented thinkers, he noticed he spoke with a tempo, with a rhythm. He was rapping and he did not even realize it.

His career sky rocketed from the moment a music producer attended one of the rap battles. He was famous, he got quite the thick wallet and the connections. Jake was introduced to legends of hip hop. They all influenced him as his career grew to become something overwhelming and terrifying, yet thrilling and addictive.

Hall had a style of his own, though. It was romantic, yet absolutely disgusting and dark. It was aggressive, yet vulnerable and philosophical. He spoke of his trauma, of his hatred, of his envy, of his fears... He used his songs as an escape. He was becoming his own escape.

And his own prison. His family did not care about him, he was a shame, even. Aside from his old college friend, he never built strong friendships. They were all after him for fame and cash. He slept around, guys and gals, threesomes, foursomes... He did not care, anything for some genuine connection, even if it lasted for a very lazy and messy fifteen minutes in the trashy bathroom of a concert hall. Rumour had it he was a great lover, but he was so bad at loving.

Now it gets interesting...

Hall rapped alongsides Eminem, Drake, Kendrick Lamar, Travis Scott... The biggest pop stars were fighting just to get him to rap a line in their songs. Rihanna wishes he was the one singing Love the way you lie, does that give you an idea? He appeared on duets. He wrote more solo albums, sold them instantly. He never left the top of the billboard in weeks, months, if not years. It never really got to his head. He was still that sensitive boy writing about knights and princesses in his bedroom with walls covered by band posters. Fans did not care about this side of him, they loved him for his lyrics about snorting coke, drinking his pain away and fucking whoever wore the tiniest skirt around.

His latest album, Southpaw, was an even bigger hit. Pure filth. Pure gold. Imagine 13 tracks, Cardi’s and Megan’s WAP but reversed. He does not rap about how good he fucks people. He raps about how good they feel. That’s some real depth here, no pun intended.

You met him at one of his concerts. Your friend won VIP passes, so you were standing in the front and got to take a picture with him. You did not understand the hype around taking a photo with this guy, he just stood there and looked absolutely emotionless.

You hated rap, or perhaps you loved it. You did not care much for Jake, that was for sure. You thought he was just another lame rapper who thought he was the real deal because his lyrics were so explicit, even the clean versions made angels cry. The truth was, you did not know much a bout him. You found him too commercial, like he was scared of becoming irrelevant.

You saw right through him already.

But him? He already cared too much about you. You caught his attention as he rapped his songs. He could not take his eyes off you. You weighted heavy on his mind, caused him to stutter and forget lyricvs. Fans laughed, they said he was probably too drunk or too high too focus. Drunk in love, that’s what it was.

There was something about you. Maybe it was the Black Sabbath shirt you wore. Maybe it was the unimpressed look on your face. Maybe it was your plump lips he wanted to kiss. Maybe it was the sight of you laughing with your friend that made his heart skip a beat. Maybe it was the fact you treated him like a normal person even if you had not spoken to him first.

So, you met backstage.

Your friend was beaming from ear to ear, showering Jake in compliments.

“Did you enjoy the show?” Jake asked you.

“For someone who shows no emotion, sound dead inside and look like they wish they were doing anything but making dozens of thousands of dollars by singing a couple of semi mediocre tracks, yeah, it was not that horrible.”

He was up for a challenge.

You two exchanged insults like it was a boxing match. Each round was getting more and more intense. It was no longer insults, it was straight up flirting. You noticed when your bodies were so close you could smell the scent of watermelon chewing gum that escaped from his warm breath. You could hear the way his raced even faster than yours.

You were snapped out of this fantasy by his bodyguard, indicating other fans waited for him.

He remembered the name your friend called out, saying he needed to bring you home before something bad happened.

It was the most beautiful name he had ever heard.

He hung out around that concert hall for the next couple of days. At the bar nearby, at Starbucks, at McDonald’s, anything for the sake of seeing your face again.

And he did.

You were walking out of the record store with a vinyl of Heart squeezed under your arm. You looked so happy. You had paint stains all over your clothes. You were erasing the memories of a terrible relationship by decorating your tiny apartment, and you needed to set the right ambiance. You needed guidance, you found it in the strong minds of the ladies behind Heart, in Joan Jett, in Stevie Nicks. You found your silver lining in music.

Jake ran behind you, he pretended he was out jogging and he mysteriously bumped into you. He grabbed your vinyl before it could fall on the ground.

“Nice pick.”

“We finally agree on something.”

Another round of flirty insults...

... That ended in the two of you fucking like animals on the floor of your apartment.

And fucking on the couch the next day.

On the kitchen counter the morning after.

And finally, on the bed. That was a really special one. Jake was the first person to be on your bed since the departure of your ex. He could feel that you were not in the mood for a rough battle for dominance.

That night, he made love to you.

For, quite possibly, the first time in his life, he expressed his love directly to somebody. “Princess, baby girl, beautiful, gorgeous, amazing”, he showered you in compliments, and praises. The slow movement of his hips, the intense passion in his eyes and love in his heart spoke louder than the music you were playing in the background to set the mood.

You were not just another trophee to hang on the wall. You were special.

He was special too.

He bought you every record that reminded him of you. He bought you collector items of your favourite bands. From the silliest decoration to a new car to replace your crappy one, passing by tickets to exclusive and sold-out shows, Jake had never felt more famous in his life than when he was with you.

His fans noticed the change in his songs, in his lyrics. They were just as explicit, just as rotten and just as corrupted. However, they came from a place of light and love, not of darkness and rage.

He sang about how good your felt when you climaxed around him. How drenched he was whenever he made you squirt. How he loved to taste himnself on your lips. How he was full of love and of lust for you. How he would quit everything if it meant he would live a normal life, for once, and with you.

You inspired so many songs that became massive world-wide hits.

You travelled the world with him on tour. You helped him design his new merch and you wore his t-shirts with pride. You attended concerts in your freetime. You loved staying up all night, painting and drawing while he was writing about this mirage of a goddess, blessing his existence with a smile and a sparkle in her eyes.

He was addicted to you.

He was crazy for you.

And he went crazy on you.

for research purposes and not because i wasted my time hearing eminem talk about stuff i don’t understand so i could stare at jake’s thighs

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mP_cKP4OjsA

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=whV5oQDvVWE

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UGqC9URTJIQ

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5imXD1LPnwo

and finally, for good measure :

@gyll-yee-haw​ ily

#jake gyllenhaal #jake gyllenhaal smut #jake gyllenhaal imagine #jake gyllenhaal x reader #topic: rapper!jake #series: southpaw

[obutsuwrites]

Can I request gn/nb with a female body reader who is a new teacher and everyone seems to like them because they are so laid back, it pisses Aizawa off and he becomes abit of a handsy bully. Thank you!

i like the way u think anon! love me some nb representation!! apologies for the late response + this fic kinda,,, got away from me fjwlaja hope you still enjoy regardless! 💕 warnings: dubcon, drugging, foreplay, hickies, mild petplay ??, mild choking, penetrative sex, somnophilia, smut, vaginal fingering, yandere elements word count: 2,131   

masterlist | tipjar | twitter | commission info | ask box is open for requests~!

Aizawa Shota’s eyes grew dark; thick spit piled at the back of his throat. He hated hated hated another hand -- another finger wrapped around his lover. They weren’t obvious to his affection. His strong hands latched around soft flesh. Their body was already soiled with the unworthy, why bother to be gentle? Besides, Aizawa saw the red imprints as proof of ownership. His welts were gifts. A bonding of their bodies. The Erasure Hero still ached for them. For their acknowledgement of him. Of his touches.

And yet, the teacher relented. A smile would tug at their lips. “Aizawa, your hand must’ve slipped!” It made Aizawa sick. There was this black, cancerous part of him. Carnivorous and hungry for their misery. The feeling was a hole buried deep within his chest. Maybe settled over his heart. Aizawa knew what it craved. This inner abyss wanted only one thing; his little naive teacher crying and begging. Begging for Aizawa to stop. The Erasure Hero’s mind wandered with fantasies of them; red-faced and wanton. Their nativey reduced, his fellow teacher kicked from their pedestal. 

The Erasure Hero continued to watch Yamada and his little naive teacher. Yamada was absorbed in a story; his movements animated and lively. Occasionally, the blond brushed against them. In return, his lover flashed a meek grin.

“Aizawa, is something wrong?” Their voice was soft, if not carrying a note of concern. 

Aizawa wore a scowl, “No, nothing at all. I was lost in thought.” 

Unphased by his expression, the teacher offered a light shrug and turned their attention to Yamada. To be so naive and carefree was unflattering for a hero. In Aizawa’s opinion, a hero should conduct themselves as a hero; not some laid back wretch. Frankly, it was embarrassing. Their attitude -- their cheerful grins -- were disgusting.

His upper lip curled into a snarl. ‘Tonight, you learn a lesson.’

° ∆ -------- ••• ------- ∆ °° ∆ -------- ••• ------- ∆ °

It was a starless night; the sky inky black and endless. Returning home, the teacher slipped off their shoes. Cool wood met their soles. Comforting. Their walk home somehow felt suffocating tonight. The trees blended together into unnatural shapes. Light footsteps sounded behind them, but everytime the teacher looked, no one was there. They attributed the noises to wind weaving through branches. This thought soothed the teacher as they prepared dinner. It was a solitary act. Quiet. Peaceful. The silence allowed for their mind to unravel and decompress. Their tiny kitchen was home, if not a reprieve from their coworker. 

At first, the teacher believed Aizawa’s touches were accidental; the hero wasn’t known for friendliness -- but this wasn’t friendly. His fingers were calloused iron snakes that gripped their wrist like a shackle. His touch reminded them of a villain; cold and harsh. Originally, the teacher believed Aizawa was trying to be welcoming. They told themselves the Erasure Hero was awkward -- closeness probably wasn’t something he practiced. And yet, he chose them as his introduction to comradarty, but Aizawa didn’t relent. If anything, exercising peeks of a grin seemed to spur more abuse. Perhaps their feigned ignorance annoyed him. Scorning an already vengeful god. 

They pushed down the thought, instead opting to focus on a steamy bowl of rice. Food served as a good distraction. A distraction Aizawa exploited. In moments like this, he almost felt sorry for them. 

Almost. 

‘It’s too bad you deserve this, isn’t it?’

The Erasure Hero stood outside his lover’s apartment; lusty eyes glued to their open window. An aroma of spices and steam wafted through the night air. For a moment, Aizawa’s anger dissipated. He could knock on their door, he could apologize, he could stop… But he won’t. In his heart, Aizawa knows his little teacher needs this. 

He watched the teacher while they ate and found himself mildly annoyed by their blissful ignorance. They weren’t stupid; his little teacher at least suspected someone trailing them, and yet here they sat, munching down dinner. ‘Stupid little bunny. I know you want this.’ 

Food was the perfect cure. Hot, delicious goodness that melted away any ick. However, their body was still sticky with the feeling of Aizawa. No matter how long the shower, no matter how hot -- the teacher couldn’t completely erase Aizawa’s touches. Their skin was ruined. Ruined by slender, rough fingers. Ruined by a hero. 

Truthfully, they tried to avoid these thoughts. The harsh reality that someone they looked up to -- someone they were ecstatic to work alongside. Aizawa made their stomach knot into nauseating twists. The hero was nothing more than a shadow; more villain than man. Tears gathered at their eyes. It hurt to think of a coworker like this -- much less their idol. If only they allowed themselves a moment of mourning, but they sucked up the tears with a gulp and finished dinner. 

The object of Aizawa’s affections moved around the kitchen rhythmically. They cleaned and scrubbed, but their typical grin was misplaced. Instead a sharp line formed. Aizawa wasn’t used to this expression -- it was sour and sad and he hated it. He wanted them on their knees, face stained with broken sobs. Their body marred from manhandling. Pleading with the Erasure Hero; ‘Please master, I’m sorry,’ drool stringing from their lips. His coworker reduced to whimpering and squirming as his fingers invaded every hole. 

Aizawa’s cock twitched at the thought… but he shouldn’t let his mind wander. He needed to watch -- needed to observe them. The hero convinced himself it was for a logical purpose; once they slept, he could strike. Aizawa had mulled it over many times before. Eventually, he would chase the thought away as absurd. Kidnapping your coworker and exercising every little fantasy was criminal. Thoughts only a villain had. But they relented, changing shape into actions of harsh grabs. These brutal acts only sated him for so long. Minor diversions. His true meal was before him now; a naive little teacher. 

Keeping the excitement at bay, Aizawa licked his lips. It was almost painful to wait like this. Aizawa was a starving predator eyeing wounded prey. He wanted them to hurry up -- ‘Hurry the fuck up. I can’t wait forever.’ The night wasn’t ethereal and he was a hero, after all. There were other… commitments. If it were possible, the Erasure Hero would waste his evening perversely watching the teacher. They were so innocent. Absolutely ignorant to the big bad that crouched outside their window. 

° ∆ -------- ••• ------- ∆ °° ∆ -------- ••• ------- ∆ °

Their bedtime ritual was simple. Shower, sneak a snack from the fridge, and settle into a quiet movie. Something they could fall asleep too; a monotone crime documentary or a bland comedy. Deciding on a documentary, the teacher watched with lazy interest. Their eyes felt extra heavy tonight. It was a struggle to stay awake, lids droopy and body relaxed. Sleep wasn’t usually this easy, but they eased into slumber like a fool. 

To test his theory, Aizawa rapped against their bedroom window. 

‘Sleeping so secure. I should have drugged you sooner,’ the raven haired hero thinks. Planning this took time -- preparation. He memorized their floor plan. Only two exits, both usually locked. On a seldom day of rest, Aizawa talked the landlord into a key. He was a concerned boyfriend -- it was for his lover’s own good. Really, it was too easy. 

Aizawa let himself in while soft snores echoed. He wondered if they were drooling, a lewd image weaved into his mind. Aizawa’s breath caught in his throat as he crept into their bedroom. The teacher’s room was dimly lit. A simple ambient orange night light was plugged into a corner, but it did little to illustrate his surroundings. With care, Aizawa silently glided to his lover’s bed. Phone in hand, Aizawa shined a flashlight into their face. 

“No, still asleep. Or are you pretending? You wanted this,” he murmurs, breath hot against their cheeks. The teacher’s face was flustered and sweaty. Even their body wanted this -- already blushing and slick. A calloused hand brushed wet hair away from their face, the hero admiring his prize. Aizawa tested his luck by dipping his fingers underneath their shirt. Their nipples were erect, little rosebuds that were sensitive to his touch; earning a shiver in response. Honestly, a part of the hero was pleased if not aroused by this. His lover should want him, too. 

Feeling more confident, he teased their nipple. His other hand stroked their cheek, longing for tears and babbling. His touch was rewarded with spasms and squirms. The teacher’s breath was hot and ragged, like a little pup struggling with a fever. A sigh left Aizawa’s chest. Stress, anger, hatred began to melt away. The body beneath him was nothing more than a stress ball, his hands kneading their supple flesh. But the hero was unsatisfied. He wanted… more. Curiosity got the better of him, though. Aizawa trailed his hand from their chest, stopping at the waistband of their panties. He wondered how wet they were -- how needy their little cunt was for the hero. 

Carefully, Aizawa slipped a finger between their thighs, “Your panties are soaked for your master, aren’t they? Little bunny.” He knew they couldn’t respond, but saying it made it more real. Tangible. Nodding to himself, Aizawa pulled down their panties. A shiver vibrated through his lover. “Aw, my little pet is cold. Don’t worry,” he prods their slickness, “master will warm you up.”

The Erasure Hero stroked their folds; a test to be sure they wouldn’t suddenly jolt awake. Satisfied with their slumber, he plunged a finger into their steamy cunt. Their walls closed around Aizawa’s finger like a vice; snug and tight. “My, my. Look at you, all needy and ready for master.” The hero slowly massaged their moist core. His other hand now wrapped around his pulsating cock. He picked up his pace, the stimulation of their cunt having earned several muffled groans. The room was filled with a quiet orchestra of Aizawa’s labored breathing and his lover’s sloppy cunt. Noises that were like music; he could listen forever. 

Their chorus of lewdness inspired an idea. 

“Stay still,”he commands, “gonna mark you.” Aizawa’s voice is almost unrecognizable underneath all the labored breathing and guttural moans. Drool seeps out the side of Aizawa’s mouth as he leans over, breath humid against their skin. He hovers over his lover for a moment -- admiring -- until he latches onto their collarbone. Sucking, sucking, sucking. Aizawa ran his tongue over their exposed flesh; being sure to strip their skin raw. They would be branded by him… as his. A hand brushed against the hero, ‘After all that drugging, you’re still fighting back?’ Aizawa’s dry lips curled into a smile against their skin while stroking his now leaking cock. Heat expanded within the hero’s stomach; he needed to be inside them. 

Extracting his now soaked fingers and positioning them around his lover’s neck, Aizawa lined himself up with their entrance. “I hope you’re ready, little pet.” It was difficult to leverage himself into their heated core -- their body responding all too well to Aizawa’s touches. Little mewls spilling out, muscles spasming. Gently, Aizawa entered his lover. Despite the heavy drugging, the fear of being caught still dug into his chest. His thrusts were slow, deliberate. He wanted to savor this moment. ‘I want to devour you.’ 

Their pussy wrapped around him perfectly; walls clenched as if trained for him. “For a little pet, you’re doing so good.” His praises fall on deaf ears as the crest-fallen hero continues to pump into them. “Should I come inside you? You’re being so well-behaved, far less than the brat I know from work.” Aizawa preferred them like this; quiet, no smug grin plastered on. Simply obedient and wrapped around his cock. 

Aizawa’s cock hit a certain spongy area and earned a whine as his reward. Encouraged by his lover, he quickens pace. The man was desperate to siphon out every last perverse sound. “You -- ah -- you really wanna milk master’s cock, don’t you?” A part of him wished they would respond with a breathless, ‘Master please, I wanna cum!’ Instead, Aizawa settled to tighten his grip around their throat. He wanted them choking with ecstasy; the ideal punishment. The heat within his stomach was a furnace now. Fiery knots that confirmed he needed to empty his milky seed into his little pet. In a flurry of animalistic thrusts, Aizawa came with a deep groan. His fingers were still wrapped around his little teacher’s throat, pressing on their larynx. 

He looked down, sweat dripping from his brow. He took a moment to idolize his work; their body flushed, slick with sweat. Chest rising and falling erratically. Aizawa was still riding his orgasm as he used a calloused thumb to push his cum deeper inside their slimy cunt. 

“Now you’re just as filthy as me.”

#aizawa shota x reader #eraserhead x reader #yandere aizawa #yandere bnha

[farlydatau]

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[lazysailsart]

(via "Slick Scales Gangsta Lizard Reptile Lover Design" Throw Pillow for Sale by LazySailsArt)

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[you-did-well-moon]

Seventeen reaction to s/o writing a cute song about them

Type: pure fluff kids

Word count: 4,556

A/n: you guys don't know how fat of an uwu I busted seeing this request. Even now my heart is like bursting with love. I also changed up the request a bit. I don’t have many love songs in my playlist so once again it’s research time. I didn’t really make it a idol reader since I wanted it tp be more personal. Don't be afraid to talk to me or to request. Stay safe clowns -Moon

yes, im fully aware you cant write a song in a day but shhhhh

S.Coups

Song: Hypnotized - Years And Years

“I know a place where it's always so perfect and blue And a boy says, Babe, believe me, it's all for you Ooooh the fortune said, Flowers bloom with no regret

Surround me, body and soul Pull me into your glow, make me blush Unbound me, spin me in gold As the story unfolds in your touch”

You were sitting on the couch, your notebook in your lap trying to focus on the essay you were writing, but your eyes kept going back to your boyfriend. He was currently listening to one of his members who was troubled by something. The sweet look in his eyes reminded you much of the same look he’d give you when speaking reassuring words into the shell of your ear as he pulled you into his capable arms. You couldn't stop your pencil from spilling words of love onto the page with a soft smile tugging at your lips.

You were so distracted you didn't notice Seungkwan reading the intimate words over your shoulder until he snatched the notebook from your hands. Thankfully, Seungcheol noticed your predicament immediately moving to save you but freezing when Seungkwan told him you had written a love song about him. He looked at you who was staring at the floor before grabbing the notebook and hitting Seungkwan upside the head with it. He bought you closer to his warm body allowing you to hide your face in his chest leading you to his room. He would softly ask you if he could look at what you had written. Finishing reading the words he turned around trying to hide the huge smile overtaking his mouth. When you reached out to him, he quickly got a hold of you falling gently onto his bed as he hid his smile in your neck squishing you in a tight hug. 

Seungcheol would find so much comfort in your sweet words when you couldn't be there to provide comfort yourself. He’d have it somewhere where he can look at it whenever he wants to. If he was particularly missing you, he’d let a tear or two slip. 

Jeonghan

Song: I Wouldn't Mind - He Is We 

”Carefully we'll place for our destiny. You came and you took this heart And set it free. Every word you write and sing is so warm to me So warm to me. I'm torn, I'm torn. To be right where you are.

I'm not afraid anymore. I'm not afraid.”

You chewed at the end of your pencil as you worked on your notebook eyebrows furrowing when you noticed your boyfriend hadn't whined out at you to leave your work for later and cuddle him. Looking up your expression immediately  softened at the sight of your boyfriend’s chest lightly rising and falling with his face mushed up against the pillow. You chuckled gently brushing his hair away from his eyes, fingers falling to trace along his cheekbones until they took a hold of your discarded pencil starting to write words that easily came at the thought of your lover.

You couldn't help the rush of warmth that spread across the expanse of your chest when any thought of your boyfriend popped up in your head. You remember distinctly how afraid you were to be with someone like him. Someone so carefree and laid back. Someone with a job like the one he had with thousands of eyes watching every move he made. You also distinctly remember how quickly he has assured you, you would be safe with him if it was the last thing he did. Even if relaxed and easy going, Jeonghan would not hesitate to step up if your safety or happiness was in danger. You were so lost in thinking of the way your relationship had grown, you didn't notice the bed shifting lightly next to you. You weren't really surprised when you felt a body roll on top of yours a chin placing itself on your shoulder. You let him read the fond words grinning when you heard him lightly laugh into your hair arms turning your body around to smother you in light kisses.

Jeonghan would tease you about the song joking about how you must really love him to write such a cheesy song, but he only pokes fun with good intentions. He memorized the lyrics softly singing them at random times not even noticing the words coming out his mouth. If he has any say in it, it's the song he’ll sing at your wedding.

Joshua

Song: Heaven - Exo

“Hello angel, you’re like a painting You’re all I see when I look to the skies City street lights, even if the lights go out And the moon disappears, it’s bright because I have a star that fell from the skies And it’s you

I keep laughing for some reason every night Even when I close my eyes, I can’t sleep I spend the entire night with thoughts of you Your sparkling smile lets me breathe Probably you, you I’m sure you have wings hidden behind your back Anyone can tell you’re my angel I can fly as long as I’m with you”

You couldn't help but laugh as Joshua was fighting with a pigeon who was trying to steal the sandwich in his hands. You had come on a date to Han River riding your bikes with Joshua carrying a blanket in his backpack and you carrying a picnic basket. You had told him to eat his food before the birds caught wind of it, but he insisted on taking pictures because Minghao wanted some. You shook your head lightly when Joshua offered the bird a small piece and it finally left him alone. Giggling to yourself, you looked up at him munching happily on his sandwich features highlighted by the sun’s light.

Getting the little notebook you always carried around with you from his backpack, you started writing a song about your angelic boyfriend. Everything seemed easier when you were with him. Brighter. Happier. Every moment was spent beautifully and every action was laced with love. Even breathing seemed easier around him. Every few moments, you would look up at him, your chest shaking with a quiet laugh, and your eyes sparkling with mirth before clutching the notebook to your chest and continuing to write. Joshua eventually took note of this placing his head on his hands and softly asking what you were up to. You narrowed your eyes playfully giving him the notebook with your heart fluttering nervously. As he read the words, his smile would grow bigger and the blush on his cheeks would deepen. He would reach out to ruffle your hair promising hugs and kisses when you got home. Well, he didn't fail to deliver.

Joshua would be playful but serious about the song you wrote. He definitely grew confidence in your relationship becoming touchier. Randomly rapping trying to rhyme with love around you. He would take a picture of the page looking at it and smiling because he knew no matter what happened, his own angel was waiting for him to be in their arms and he was always ready for endless amounts of love you were sure to shower him with. 

Jun

Song: Moon And Back - Alice Kristiansen 

“baby to the moon, and back i still love you more than that when your skies are grey and your whole world is shakin' to the moon, and back i love you more than that we may fall but we'll keep on going we may break but we won't say broken through the cracks in the road the flowers grow”

Your hands that were clutching on to the glass of water shook slightly after having to calm down your boyfriend who had been crying for a multitude of reasons. Missing his family and believing he wasn’t good enough for both the group and you were the main reasons. You had calmed him down with a hand rubbing at his back and comforting words whispered into his tear stained shirt. You convinced him to play some games to distract him. Entering his room you saw him now fully immersed into his game fingers hurriedly jabbing at the buttons as he sat on the floor.

You placed the water on his nightstand watching as he sent a small smile your way at the sound of the glass hitting the wood of the furniture. You made your way towards him sitting down knees and thighs brushing against his. You couldn’t stop yourself as you analyzed him before whipping out your phone starting to write what you deemed a song. Junhui had always asked you how much you loved him, and you always answered “to the moon and back”. But both of you knew the love you held for each other was immeasurable. You would be there for each other no matter what life had in store for you. Smiling in satisfaction, you softly nudged Jun with the edge of your phone. You watched as his expression became shyer laughing under his breath. He didn't say anything for a little bit needing time to process just how fast his heart was beating. Taking a deep breath, he’d exhale slowly falling into your body while digging his face into your neck telling you to just stay like that for a little bit.

Jun would always go quiet whenever you mentioned the song, always needing time to fully process the fact that yes, you had written a love song for him. A song that always managed to make his heart stop just thinking about it. He would find himself murmuring the words while lost in thought smiling softly at the thought of the song and of you.

Hoshi

Song: Starlight - Taeyeon Ft. Dean

”Reflected in my eyes is your squinted eyes, yeah You’re smiling behind that awkward face You’re so lovable, I couldn’t hold back, oh I discovered you like a miracle, you always make me smile You are my starlight

You are my starlight, shine on my heart When I’m with you, it feels like I’m dreaming all day You are my starlight, I get so happy Your love is like a gift”

You were laying on your stomach in the practice room working on a present for your boyfriend as he worked on a new choreography for the group. You smiled at the fact that even though he was probably tired and sleepy, his eyes looked as bright as ever. You had been there keeping him company all day, but you didn't mind. You were rewarded with Soonyoung flopping next to you and showering you with love in the form of kisses and tickles every few minutes.

You checked the time on your phone noticing it was close to it being time to go home since Soonyoung never liked staying too late when you were with him. You tried speeding up your writing a bit not noticing your boyfriend approaching you until he was right in front of you. You tried hiding what you were working on by shoving it under your body, but it was too late. Soonyoung was able to clutch on to it and read what you were working on as you whined about it not being finished yet. You would see his hands start to tremble and his eyes shimmering. You asked what was wrong, but he’d shake his head taking your face in his shaking hands softly kissing you while thanking you in between kisses. Soonyoung would feel so touched, but he would smile shakily not letting his tears fall, his hands falling to clutch on to your own.

You bet Soonyoung would make a little dance to your song, and he would make you dance to it with him telling you had to dance since you wrote it. This would lead to many moments of you guys laughing on the floor and randomly hugging each other. Hosh would always have the brightest smile on his face just thinking about the song, and he would get clingy too not being able to stop smothering you in his love because oh wow he loved you so much he felt like he was going to burst.

Wonwoo

Song: Beautiful Feeling - Day6

”Shivers go down my body I’m so happy That I’m shedding tears Some people say love But I think There’s something more than that If you know, tell me If there isn’t, make one up To this beautiful feeling This beautiful feeling

Like and love Aren’t enough To express this beautiful feeling”

You should have expected Wonwoo taking a long time trying to decide between what book he wanted to take home, but sitting there in the book store on a pair of love seats facing each other you were beginning to think you seriously underestimated Wonwoo’s indecisive book choices. You looked at him, glasses sliding down the slope of his nose and eyes focuses on the book in his hands. It was like you weren't even there. Shaking your head fondly, you decided to work on the song you would eventually give to him.

Practically shoving your nose in your notebook, you too became focused on the words spilling across the page. You didn't notice Wonwoo getting up until you felt a shoe softly nudging your leg. Looking up to see him with a bag already in his hands you bashfully smiled when his eyebrows raised tilting his head in question of the notebook in your hands. You waved slightly to the other love seat giving him your notebook when he was settled. His eyebrows furrowed, and he looked up at you with a shocked pointing at himself as if questioning how such lovely words could be written about.. him. You nodded with your eyes never leaving his. He took a deep breath. He had so much waiting to spill out in pure adoration for you, but he couldn't do it in public. Getting home and he would tentatively put your notebook down before bringing you into his embrace. He cradled your head in his hand with the other on the small of your back leaning his head against yours, and he’d close his eyes tightly not saying anything. He just wanted to savor the feeling of you in his arms, your scent giving him the most wonderful high, and your hands clutching on to his shirt.

Wonwoo would be distracted for a while, head swimming with thoughts of you. Your words inspired by him flashing behind his eyelids every time he closed his eyes. He scoffed reading a romance novel or watching a tv show because no matter what, nothing would ever be able to compare to the love story between him and you.

Woozi

Song: Let Me - Got7

“It might have been the bright sun My face turned red probably It might have been just a feeling I saw you blush too I’m getting drunk on a good feeling today Neither of us even touched alcohol Can I softly hold your hand If you’re ok, can I go for it? Baby Let me hold your hand

Will you be by my side, by my side Can I hold your hand? Don’t be shy Today we come together Today you are especially lovely to me Tonight is our Just one chance Can I hug you? Don’t be afraid Today we come together”

At this point in your relationship, Jihoon had written tons of love songs inspired by you. Each one always making your heart flutter when you heard it. Almost each one having been softly sung against your skin by him. Each one imprinting themselves across the expanse of your chest and heart. You had never been one to write love songs, when there were already millions of them, but now that you had Jihoon in your life, it was the only thing you could think about. You eventually gave in to the temptation, but you hadn't told him of the song.

Sitting with him in his studio, you watched him totally immersed in his songs bringing the lyrics to life with different beats and melodies. Meanwhile, you were working on your own song. The love song your members had begun teasing you about. You had finished it a long time ago, but you kept changing things because you were nervous. You slipped his own headphones off his head gently smiling nervously when he looked at you with questioning eyes. You slipped your own headphones plugged to your laptop with the song ready to play over his ears. You played with your fingers, but when he looked up you almost jumped back in surprise. You had never seen his eyes hold so much love and adoration before. He was looking at you like you had hung the moon and stars in the sky. He would want to be as close to you pulling you on to his lap and resting his head on your chest.

Jihoon would feel like he was floating because you had just told him you love him in his language. Music. He would not be able to stop himself from using some of your lyrics in one of his own songs, with your permission of course, It would be the song that always bought him strength when he stayed late in the studio, and a song that made him happier in general.

DK

Song: The Way You Smile - NewSong ft. Francesca

“The way you open the door you always see about me Treat me like I'm a princess boy you're so sweet Love the way that I feel when I'm in your arms You whisper "You're beautiful" so safe and warm There's a million more, these are just a few Of the many reasons I love you

But there's something about the way you smile I can see forever in your eyes Telling me I'm yours and you're all mine The way that you smile We're like two lovers in a sweet romance I'm your leading lady and you're my man You can say I love you with just a glance”

You were sitting on the couch with the tv in front of you playing an anime Dokyeom had been wanting to see for a long time finally having found the time to do so. He always moved a lot when watching anime because he just got too excited to keep still, so he had ended up sitting in front of you on the floor with his back to the couch in between your legs watching the tv with bright wide eyes. You had been running your hands through his hair until he didn't notice you had stopped in favor of working on the song in your laptop. 

When he did notice, he didn't seem to mind much his laughter almost as loud as the tv when something particularly funny happened. He would tilt his back to beam at you, and you never failed to return the same smile. You got thirsty heading to the kitchen to get water making the mistake of leaving your laptop open on the song. You got lost in thought not hearing the sound of the anime stop or your song start. It wasn't until the song was almost done that you noticed, running into the living room just as Dokyeom looked up at you with flushed cheeks and teary eyes. He asked you who the song was about with a shaking voice and you replied with a simple “you”. He basically stumbled across the room and crashing into your body sobbing into your neck. You could feel his heart beating rapidly in his chest pressed against yours. You wrapped your arms around him just as tightly as his were wrapped around you asking him what was wrong. He just responded with “no one has ever done something as beautiful or lovely as this for me”. 

Dokyeom would become a bit shy around you for a while after this, bursting out into giggles whenever he saw you. After that wore off, he would get a surge of confidence flirting with you but immediately getting shy and giggly afterwards. 

Mingyu

Song: Touch - Nct 127

“Your voice that calls my name makes my heart drop From some point, I started to talk just like you I can figure it all out, once I hold your hand Once I hold your hand, you know

I don’t know how I can withstand you Even I’m shocked over how I’m being, it’s true My feet won’t listen And keeps following you”

You groaned as you made your way to a bench under a tree next to the field Mingyu had taken you to. He and some of the members wanted to play some games outside, and he had decided to bring you along with him. Something about seeing how manly he looked while throwing a ball at Seungkwan’s face. You were grateful to spend some time with him, but you envied the ball being held by his arms as he talked with the members about the rules of whatever stupid game they had made up. 

Nevertheless, you found the opportunity to work on the song you had been working on. You preferred the comfort of your studio, but the fresh breeze and warmth of the sun wasn't too bad.  You had your headphones fitting your head snuggly, so you didn't hear the boys shouting at you because Mingyu had accidentally kicked the ball too hard, and it happened to be in your direction. It hit the laptop not only cracking the screen but shoving it off your lap and crashing into the ground. Luckily, you had the song saved on your studio computer, but it was still upsetting as you had made some changes to the song. You felt your heart sink as frustration clouded your mind making your eyes water. Mingyu swore he had never run so fast in his life, but when he got to you, you started blabbering about the song he didn't even know existed. You told him to take you to your studio where you showed him the song with a pout and mad puppy eyes. Mingyu felt so bad, but at the same time he felt so good because he was sure his heart was a melted puddle on the ground.

Mingyu loved the song, finished or not. He loved everything about it running at you to pinch your cheeks and call you cute then running away with a loud laugh promising he would cook you a feast at an hourly rate. The feast was never cooked because Mingyu was too busy still thinking about the song and being overwhelmed by giddiness. He would not be able to keep his hands away from you for at least two or three weeks.

The8

Song: I Do Adore - Mindy Gledhill

”Everything you do it sends me Higher than the moon with every Twinkle in your eye You strike a match that lights my heart on fire

When you're near, I hide my blushing face And trip on my shoelaces Grace just isn't my forté But it brings me to my knees when you say”

You were in China. Minghao would be gone for some time while filming a show, so he wanted you to come with him. You agreed since you were on break. You forgot one minor detail. You can’t speak mandarin. Of course, you had your boyfriend, but he wasn't always with you which led to some awkward situations. You really didn't know how to tell the elderly man you were, in fact, not his long lost granddaughter. Minghao was currently filming, and he had left you in an empty room in the building telling staff to leave you be.

Minghao had been so patient and sweet (maybe a bit teasing) with you all throughout the trip, you felt inspired to work on the love song you had started a while ago. The room was empty, and the building had pretty thick walls, so you decided not to use your headphones. You would have to take a step back because the thought of Minghao hearing the song made you feel hot and made you bury your head into your hands shaking the nerve racking thoughts away. You were so immersed in the song nodding along to the beat, you didn't notice the man entering the wrong room until you felt a hand on your shoulder and a voice speaking in rapid mandarin. Turns out the man was a producer and really liked your song. You sat there with wide eyes frozen in your seat as the man spoke excitedly. Fortunately, Minghao wrapped up filming seeing the situation and quickly coming to your rescue. He talked with the man a bit before the producer left telling Minghao his partner wrote great love songs.

He asked you about it, and you would give in showing him the song while shyly hiding behind your hands. Hearing the song, Minghao would have to bite his lip to stop the big smile threatening to take over his face. He’d bury his face in your hair softly kissing your forehead and asking you why you did weird things to his heart while softly laughing. Minghao would ask to hear the song daily, always taking you in his arms as he listened to the sweet song.

Seungkwan

Song: Spring Love - Eric Nam x Wendy

“We fell asleep on a bench, leaning on each other The sweet cherry blossom colors the clear sky I wish it was always like this The name that changed us, spring spring spring I love you, I love you, I love you

Be my spring, I’ll always be your flower I hope we can melt each other and open each other up Our heart to heart that wasn’t visible before Now we’re facing each other The hidden flower is finally blooming I think spring has come”

You were curled up on Seungkwan’s bed working hard on the song you wanted to give to him as an anniversary present. It was basically finished, you just needed to add some finishing touches to it. You didn't notice that in trying to prepare this beautiful present for your boyfriend, you had neglected the poor man. He had enough, coming into the room whining and flopping down onto the bed telling you to pay attention to him while glaring at your laptop. He suggested going for a walk which you happily agreed to practically getting dragged out the building.

You hummed happily grasping Seungkwan’s hand in yours as he laughed and made jokes about stupid things the members had done. He asked about your day contentedly swinging your joined hands. The walk eventually turned quiet with the both of you enjoying each other’s presence and the nice weather. You felt so calm and peaceful you didn't notice yourself start to hum and softly sing the very song you were working on. Seungkwan asked you what song was stuck in your head, and you felt your soul leave your body. You tried lying by naming random songs, but Seungkwan had always been able to read you well, so he knew you were lying. You eventually gave in with slumped shoulders telling him you had made a song for him. He immediately asked to hear it, and you showed it to him returning back to the dorms. His voice trembled as he whispered words of gratefulness against your neck tenderly kissing the skin there as he sniffled trying to get his emotions together.

Seungkwan would demand to be on the song. He wanted to give back to you in some way, and he wanted to be a part of this beautiful song you created. It was a song he would always randomly sing laughing obnoxiously when the members asked him what song he was singing. He would sing it to you when you were near him tracing lines along your skin while smiling adoringly at you. He was just always singing the song.

Vernon

Song: Spring Memories - N.Flying

“Let’s fill each other’s empty spots I’ll comfort you just like we did back then

On that spring dazzling day

It won’t be like the first time but you’re always dazzling It’s like magic, on the same day So spring can eternally dazzle”

You sipped at the drink you had ordered at the café you and Vernon always met at, or more like walked up the counter and got asked “the usual” and you nodded while taking a seat in the corner of the quaint room waiting for Vernon. As always you wore a mask and hat. The café was in the quieter part of the city, but you could never be too careful. The barista who had long ago been able to recognize you had even given a dessert of your choice on the house. Deciding to work on the song you had been working on, your eyes didn't leave the screen of your laptop. 

You were confused when your vision suddenly went dark, but you were quickly able to recognize Vernon’s cologne. Grabbing a hold of his hands you turned around being met with his bashful yet bright smile. Slipping your headphones down to your neck, you got up to give him a hug. You had been tinkering with the lyrics, so they were on display on the screen. Vernon was facing the screen, and you didn't notice him reading the lyrics. It wasn't until a little bit after you sat down that he asked about the song. His eyes were filled with confusion. He mentioned that you never wrote love songs, usually being in charge of the more personal songs. “Well now that I have a wonderful muse to inspire me I can”. He asked if you were serious with a growing smile on his face. All your attention was on him now as you rested your chin on your hand softly nodding at him. He took in your answer and the warmth in your eyes not being able to stop himself from shoving his face into his hands to hide his flushed cheeks. You simply laughed taking his hand away to adoringly touch the tinted skin of his cheek before driving the conversation away from the song promising to send it to him when it was done.

When you did send the song to Vernon, someway, somehow, he would make it his ringtone. Proudly smiling when his phone rang and shaking his head when the members asked what song it was. This would actually give him the courage to show you all the raps he has written about you when he was too shy to show you before. 

Dino

Song: Life Is Rosy - Jess Penner

“I watch the sun, it's setting in your eyes Can you tell I'm wrapped up in your spell Yeah, it's all good and well I think I realize Beautiful yeah it's so wonderful Oh, darlin' don't you know That life is rosy Hey, look at my heart I think it's the start of something new“

Your knee wouldn't stop bouncing, your feet kept wiggling, and your fingers wouldn't stop tapping on your desk. You were nervous, your tongue feeling heavy in your mouth, and your stomach seemingly pushing against your ribs. Chan was going to visit you in the studio, and you were going to show him the song you had written while keeping him in mind. Of course, you had written many love songs before he came into your life, but this was different. Those songs were always inspired by childish assumptions you had on love because of inexperience.

This song was made with flashes of his smile and touch constantly flashing in your head. You groaned running your hands through your hair freezing when you heard a knock on your studio door. Wiping your sweaty palms on your pants, you opened the door relaxing when you saw Chan’s smile face as he greeted you with a hug and a playful poke at your abdomen. You timidly told him you had something to show him slipping your headphones onto his ears before dropping your hands to rest them on his shoulders. Turning around you caught your reflections on the mirror that rested against the wall. Him, a young but amazing dancer in the industry, and you, a young but talented producer in the same industry. You were so focused on the mirror you didn't see Chan taking off the headphones to turn the chair around and pull you into his lap. He would cling on to you tightly because wow he was so in love with you. Every flaw and every quirk he loved because it meant getting to see your smile and have you in his arms. His talented little producer was someone he swore he would never let go of.

Chan would be a bit quiet for a little bit, because he was just taking it all in. It suddenly weighed on him what you mean to him. You had become someone to him that he would drop anything for. Someone that always made his heart beat faster at close proximity, and no matter how he thought of it, he wouldn't change that for the world.

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[eryiss]

The Duality Of The Cravat

Summary: The cravat can be used in many ways. It can be a perfect accompaniment to a formal outfit. In a medical emergency it can be used as an improvised bandage. Or, when you and your boyfriend are fucking, it can be a damned good way to tie him up. This was something Freed knew very well. [Fraxus One Shot]

Rating: Explicit. N S F W

Request: Using the cravat for bondage.

Alternate Places to Read: Fanficiton, Archive of our Own

The Duality of The Cravat

A deep, guttural groan slipped out of Freed's lips.

He was pushed up against the door to his bedroom, Laxus kissing him deeply and with hunger. Freed was returning the kiss, equally enthused, as he pushed his body flush against his lovers'. He could feel Laxus' strong, beautifully formed torso even through the layers of clothes they hadn't yet removed, and the clear edges of the man's sixpack under Freed's wandering hands sent a shot of arousal straight up his hardening dick.

Laxus felt the other man's cock lurch against his thigh, and let out a small moan in response. His hands were roaming all of Freed's clothed body, ruffling his shirt until he could pull it up over his stomach. Once bare, Laxus ran his hands over his lover's torso, skimming his abs and chest, nearing his nipples.

Freed let out a hiss, and Laxus groaned.

The blonde's hands shot down, grazing Freed's hot stomach as he did so. He began to fiddle with Freed's belt buckle, burying his lips against Freed's exposed neck to kiss and suck at it. As he managed to undo the buckle and work on the zipper, Freed's hands took his own and guided them away.

With a dazed, lust-filled expression, Laxus looked up to see why his lover had stopped his actions. He was met with an amused face, a quirked eyebrow, and a hint of breathlessness.

"I should remind you, dear, that it is my birthday," Freed said, a pant evident in his tone. "I should be unwrapping a gift, not you."

Before Laxus could react to his words, Freed grabbed the collar of his shirt with an authoritative sense of glee. He shoved Laxus off the door and towards the bed, pushing the blonde onto the mattress. The blonde looked up at his lover with a lusty expression, hard cock straining in the leather pants that clung to his legs oh-so tightly. Freed took a moment to enjoy his dishevelled, horny boyfriend spread out on their mattress, looking up at him with a haze of arousal that only the rune mage was allowed to see.

He climbed atop his lover, straddling his hips and pinning him to the mattress. Laxus took a sharp breath as he looked up at Freed, gulping. Freed met his eye, gave a quick roll of his hips and relished the needy moan of the man below him.

"And what a gift you've given me," Freed smirked.

With enthusiastic hands, Freed rolled the sleeveless shirt that clung to his lover's body up to his chest. The narrow hips and chiselled abs that Laxus had curated were now beautifully on show, a thin sheen of sweat covering him, and Freed leant down with a grin.

He ran his tongue from Laxus' naval to the split of his pecs, all the while keeping eye contact with his dazed lover, relishing every overwhelming sensation.

"Fucking touch me," Laxus demanded, voice quivering.

"In time," Freed promised, leaning back.

He took Laxus' shirt in his hands again, and pushed it further up, over his head and past his arms. The man was shirtless, a sea of rippling muscle now pinned under Freed. A steady hand wrapped around Laxus' wrists a moment after his shirt was removed, keeping them against the mattress and above the blondes head. His breath hitched as he looked at the smirk on his lover's face.

Laxus could only watch as Freed removed his cravat with his free hand, and rather than discarding it, he brought it up to the mattress. The soft fabric twirled around his forearms, a tingling sensation following the movement. With a sharp tug, Laxus' arms were pulled together, and he could only assume that a knot was tied.

Laxus groaned in anticipation.

Rather than retreating, Freed leant forward further. Strong body pushed against strong body, and Freed gave a further roll of his hips to elicit a weak groan from Laxus' lips. He closed his eyes and gritted his teeth, and only opened his eyes again when the warmth of Freed's body retreated.

He looked up at his lover, who was still straddling his hips with a cocky smirk across his features. His shirt was only partially undone, teasing the perfectly chiselled chest that made Laxus feel hot all over. He ran his fingers over Laxus' warm skin with teasing lightless, gently grazing the blonde's hardened nipples without care for his sanity. Laxus let out a whimpering moan and leant up, only to fully realise what Freed had done.

Not only was the cravat tied tightly around his arms, trapping them together. He had also looped it around their headboard, bounding Laxus to it. He was at his lover's mercy completely, and Freed was relishing watching Laxus' reaction it.

"Shit," Laxus whispered, dick pressing harder against his pants.

"The perfect gift," Freed chuckled darkly.

He shifted slightly, moving down Laxus' legs and removing the sweet pressure from the blonde's dick. Laxus groaned at the sudden loss of contact as Freed now straddled his quivering thighs, pulling against the bounds but finding them tight. He looked up to Freed was a silent request on his features, and Freed smirked as he brought his hand to Laxus waistband. He pulled the leather pants down with a grin, and Laxus' cock sprung up hard and wanting.

"You appear to have misplaced your boxers, Laxus," Freed taunted, and Laxus looked away with a flushed expression. Freed grabbed his chin and forced eye contact. "What an unfortunate mistake."

"It's your birthday, fucker," Laxus growled in explanation, though a quiver weakened his tone.

"All day?" Freed asked, smirking. Laxus gave a short, reluctant nod. "How thoughtful."

He leant down and ran his tongue deliberately, slowly down the underside of Laxus' hardened cock. The bound man groaned loudly into the air, pulling on the cravat and clenching his fists at the teasing motion.

"Dangerous too, given the tightness of your clothing today," Freed continued, breath teasing the soft tip of Laxus' dick. "If you got hard, anyone could have seen, rather clearly too. Have you been hiding an exhibitionist side from me, because if so then I'll have to make up for lost time."

"Just fuck me, dammit," Laxus growled, and Freed chuckled.

"I will, I can assure you," He promised, placing a hand on Laxus' waist firmly when the man tried to raise to meet with Freed's mouth. "But I think I'll enjoy myself, while I can. And you'll just have to deal with that."

"The hell are you gonna- oh…" Laxus groaned. "Oh fuck. Oh fuck~"

Freed had left a train of featherlight kisses up the underside of Laxus' shaft, each soft and teasing. When he got to the man's leaking, quivering tip, he pressed his lips against it and slowly slid his mouth half way down the fat cock.

Laxus' eyes practically rolled into the back of his head, as his body clenched, and his muscles tightened. He instinctively pulled against the cravat tying him down, biceps pulling weakly against the soft fabric but without success. Freed knew how to keep a man in place, be it through his runes or with physical bounds. Laxus had been the victim of the latter many a time, and the flashes of hot, sweaty, teasing memories forced a loud, undignified moan out of his lips.

Slowly, tauntingly, Freed began to bob his head up and down Laxus' cock. The blonde groaned as he felt his lovers throat rap around his dick, and he tried to buck his hips up, but Freed's grasp kept him pinned.

"Steady, Laxus," Freed taunted, removing himself from Laxus' dick and looking up from it.

"Go faster," Laxus snapped.

"Make me."

"Fucker!"

"In a few moments, I will be."

Rather than continuing his fucking incredible work with his mouth, Freed removed himself both from Laxus' body and the bed. Laxus could do nothing but watch, trapped in the mans cool, calm gaze, as his lover stood and slowly undid the remaining buttons of his shirt. Within seconds, his shirt was revealing a beautiful glimpse at Freed's strong abs, pronounced chest and the beautiful V that teased his crotch.

Letting his eyes linger down at his stripping lover, Laxus gulped. Freed's belt was undone, and his fly opened, the top of his hard dick now showing and making Laxus' cock twitch in anticipation. The bastard had gone commando too, and had the balls to tease Laxus about him doing it.

Instinctively, Laxus tugged on his binds. He moaned at the lack of movement he was afforded.

"You wanted to be fucked, correct?"

"Yes, fuck me dammit," Laxus groaned.

"If you wish," Freed smirked.

The rune mage quickly rid himself of his trousers, and Laxus groaned at the delectable sight of his lover naked, sweaty and with such a self-assured, cocky expression. Again he tried to pull against the cravat keeping him down, but could do nothing to free himself. All he could do was watch as Freed walked to their closet and remove a small bottle of lube from it.

With a generous amount of lube on his hand, Freed slowly began to stroke his hard, shivering dick. Laxus swallowed at the sight of his lover wanking himself so absently, without shame nor care. The blonde groaned when Freed pulled his foreskin back entirely, and again he strained against the cravat.

"You're lucky I'm so kind, Laxus," Freed taunted. "Because I could cum just watching you struggle for me like this."

"Please just fuck me," Laxus begged, voice needy now at the sight of his naked lover.

Freed said nothing, but walked back to the bed. He slid Laxus' pants down his legs, leaving him fully naked and exposed, not that he cared. He shifted Laxus' position slightly to raise his legs, revealing his asshole to Freed's whims. The rune mage smirked as he slowly brought his fingers towards it, and he fingered Laxus.

Laxus gasped, eyes shot wide and body flexing with anticipation.

Another finger was added. Then another. Then a fourth.

Freed fingered the man for a while longer, and Laxus thought it was akin to torture with how he grazed his prostate but never truly hit it. His lover was clearly relishing his torment, and the moans that came with it, and Laxus couldn't keep his thoughts straight. All he could do was relish the small pleasures he was getting, and silently wish for his boyfriend to fuck his hole like his life fucking depended on it.

And he would, because Laxus knew Freed was as desperate as he was. Just better at hiding it.

After lubing Laxus, and teasing him to hell and back, Freed removed his fingers. Laxus whimpered at the empty sensation, but groaned when Freed was suddenly on the bed again. The blonde watched as his boyfriend slowly moved Laxus into a position he was pleased with, and a horny whimper left Laxus when he realised what Freed had done.

His legs were over Freed's shoulders. Fuck, the last time they fucked like this, Laxus had nearly blacked out. If the smirk on Freed's face was telling, he remembered it just as much as Laxus did.

"Comfortable?" Freed asked.

"Yeah," Laxus groaned.

That was all Freed needed. He slowly thrust forward, his dick pushing against the tightness of Laxus' hole. Both men groaned deeply at the sudden sensation, and the further Freed pushed down the weaker their shared moans got. Laxus could feel Freed's grip on his legs tighten, and his face was contorted in lust. Laxus' cock quivered again, and when Freed caught his eye, Laxus nodded to say he was ready,

Freed didn't need to be told twice.

The fucking came instantly. Though relatively slow at first, the feeling of being filled by Freed's fat dick was euphoria. He buried himself inside of Laxus completely, and they groaned in unison as pleasure rippled over them. The moaning doubled when Freed pulled back, only to slam deep inside of him again.

Then again.

Then again.

Faster and faster, Freed fucked Laxus' ass. With each strong, merciless thrust, his dick was enveloped in the warmth of Laxus' body. The two men were groaning, sweating, grunting and moaning. All of Freed's collected persona was gone now, and his face was a picture of pleasure and arousal.

It was incredible. The feeling of Freed deep inside of him, taking complete control of the situation and using this power to make Laxus feel so damn good, was heavenly. He let out a loud groan as Freed slammed his dick directly into his prostate, and hie eyes rolled into the back of his head as he felt the sudden rush of orgasm nearing.

Not yet.

He clenched his body, and Freed let out a weak 'oh shit' at the sudden increase in pressure. This spurred the rune mage on to thrust harder and faster, and Laxus came undone at the jackhammer-like power in his lovers thrust.

Not yet.

Laxus tugged against the cravat tied around his arms again, wanting to pull Freed closer to him. To kiss him, to rub their strong bodies together. To get his lovers scent over him completely and so he was drowning in the sensation of Freed.

"Fuck," Laxus grunted, eyes shooting open as he felt orgasm rushing closer and closer. "Gonna cum."

"Do it!" Freed demanded.

A tidal wave of pleasures rushed him. His body shook, clenched and a roar left hip lips as pleasure overtook him. a powerful, angry cumshot spurted from his dick, splattering over his chest, stomach, and the lower half of his face. He groaned and moaned as his body was rocked by the fucking and the cum shooting from him.

Freed moaned powerfully, and the clenching of Laxus' ass sent him over the edge. His grasp of Laxus' legs tightened, and he doubled over, and Laxus felt the feeling of cum filling his ass, leaking through the sides of Freed's rutting cock and slipping onto the sheets.

They both panted, riding out the wave of orgasm.

Once done, Freed unhooked Laxus' legs and collapsed onto the man's broad torso. Cum and sweat mixed together as their bodies touched, and they both remained silent. Freed removed his hair from his eyes and sent a randy grin to his lover, who chuckled from his bound position.

"Comfortable?" He asked, a taunt in his voice.

"I wouldn't complain if I lost the cravat," Laxus chuckled.

"Really, because I think pretty soon we'll both be ready to go again," Freed mused. "And, honestly, I've been thinking about riding you all damn day. And doing it when you're tied up… it's a fantasy I never knew I wanted."

Laxus groaned, his cock twitched and Freed smirked darkly.

"I guess I can deal with it for a little longer," Laxus said with a slightly blush, and Freed chuckled.

"Oh, I can assure you of something," Freed smirked. "I intend to have you hear all night."

#fraxus #freed justine #Laxus Dreyar #fairy tail #fanfic #one shot #writing #2.5k Words

[corvidshipping]

modern au red/milo dump while i try to get myself together to answer asks nd work on ATJ:

(tw for alcohol mentions near the end, also this is an EXTREMELY long post, its so long that even after i split it into categorized sections each section could be its own post)

CLOTHING

milo absolutely has no sense of fashion. i feel like this is basically canon - for the styles at the time, he dresses fairly basic, mostly focused on looking put together for his job (definitely dresses aimed more towards how he would like to be treated by his peers, despite his actual position - then again our best example outside of the expedition is when he's about to deliver what he considers the most important presentation of his life, so who knows, maybe he usually dresses like a slob). aside from that his main concern seems like practicality and comfort. his wardrobe is dominated by earth tones - beiges and greens set with white and greys. all of that taken into account, i can see him dressing like this in a more modern era:

basically- a lot of cardigans, usually collared shirts or comfortable turtlenecks (since he does still occupy a research position at the smithsonian, even if only in title), big ol' coats, khakis and chinos and slightly stiff dress pants complete with ironed creases. i can see him wearing similar clothes outside work, just more comfortable - jeans and knitted shirts, henleys, more turtlenecks, and comfy cardigans over short sleeved shirts. i dont really see him wearing a lot of prints, i think he'd veer more towards solid clothes in lighter colors, but maybe he has a few. hes definitely the kind of guy to think of wearing the single graphic tee he owns as "bold and wild".

im very married to the idea of him wearing converse though. i cant explain it. milo in converse keeps me going in this world

hes kind of broke so i think maybe he got the converse secondhand maybe? or a gift of some kind. aside from the converse i can see him wearing a lot of oxfords and maybe wingtips

i want to see him in a hawaiian shirt so bad. i am losing it at this thought. he buttons it all the way up to his neck like someones awkward dad. milo wears a hawaiian shirt to "let loose". he wears it with like, khakis. or knee length jorts AHHHHDJHDSGJHDSJGh

a tie??? does he wear his hawaiian shirt with a tie???? does he think it makes it look cooler?????????? i am sobbing

red is the COMPLETE opposite. in the canon 1914 setting, red is already very rebellious for an AFAB person of their era- theyre openly a suffragette, they frequently refuse to wear skirts even in public and dress in mens clothes even before they were openly nonbinary, despite not being accepted into the male-dominated research fields and colleges they continue to educate themself with or without help, they purposely aim for an "unfeminine" silhouette when they dress, refuse to wear corsets, etc. (spoiler alert- there's a clear reason they get on so well with audrey in ATJ)

theyre also easily mistaken by people that didnt know them prior to their transition for being just a very small/young cis man- even though they canonically have a very soft "traditionally feminine" face

so basically, in any era theyre set into, red is always gonna aim to be ahead of the curve- both in their personal beliefs and practices and in their fashion. theyre also very androgynous in their clothes, although they tend to aim a bit more masculine (thats partially due to the era though, and having been forced into skirts exclusively for their entire life- i think in a modern setting where its more acceptable for AFABs to dress and act in a less hyperfeminine way, theyd be more okay with a fluidity in their gender presentation).

all that taken into account, i can see them dressing like this:

lots of baggy clothes, especially baggy jackets and shirts. they like loose fitting high waisted pants like JNCO jeans, cargo pants, etc but they arent averse to pencil legs. they rarely ever wear skinny jeans or drainpipes though. messy hair is a lifestyle for them- their haircut is definitely home-done

you know how in BICSTLY they used to have really long hair before they cut it? in a modern au i can see them impulsively doing the cut at like 3am and waking milo up at his door cause they screwed it up and he ends up having to help fix it (even though hes literally no better at cutting hair than them. worse even)

definitely have an undercut bob- bob on top, shaven on the bottom layer. they might end up growing their hair into a mullet at some point if they get bored. probably dyes their hair all the time out of boredom and then regrets it later and has to use dye remover.

lots of ripped tights and fishnets, leggings with big loose crop tops, big hoodies, safety pin jewelry and homemade jewelry. maybe some sticknpokes.

all that said, they still know how to dress in a professional situation. since its a modern au theres really nothing holding them back from the education and career they canonically want but cant get in the 1910s, so i imagine they would work at the smithsonian as well, maybe their father helped them get the job? potentially in that case they might be his assistant- after all, he trusts their opinion on artifacts more than anyone else's.

at work you can still very much see the punk/skater/grunge/goth style but its more understated- turtlenecks, high waisted and looser dress pants, lots of black, slightly unbuttoned collared shirts with a loose overcoat and no tie

since i elaborated on milos shoe taste i may as well elaborate on red's: they definitely wear converse as well, probably newer than milo's since their father is fairly wealthy and they can afford it. they also have a doc martens collection. they have a pair of demonias but they never wear them and milo is really the only person to even know they own them, let alone see them in them. they really dont like to wear heels much, but they own a few just to play around with. they have a bad habit of wearing any laced shoes untied, but they never trip over the laces. they also use lace code- their most-worn Docs have purple laces on the right foot and yellow on the left. some of their Docs have (reclaimed) pink laces.

has an extensive pin collection including feminism pins, anti-racism pins, punk-related pins, skater-related pins, and pop culture pins (80s music, modern music, old movies, etc)

MUSIC TASTE

milo's into a lot of older music- stuff from the 50s is his favorite. really into jazz and ballroom style stuff. his favorite band is queen, i think- he likes the old-fashioned sound, the jazz-chamber-ballroom influences, the diversity of their lyrics, and the complexity between the guitar riffs, the basslines, and freddie's vocal runs as well as the vocal harmonies.

sometimes he hums good old fashioned lover boy to red and they two-step in the living room in their pajamas :pleading:

also very into rush. yes, he is a rush guy :pensive:.

also listens to a surprising amount of lo-fi? he really likes stuff that remixes older music with hip hop and lofi elements, like earl grey. nearly exclusively into instrumental stuff but also very into louie zong. he listens to it while he works a lot.

knows a lotttt of foreign artists, especially niche ones. fuckin LOVES casiopea

red's spotify is a goddamn mess. everything from 2000s emo, to classic 70s punk, to post-punk and new wave, to 90s pop, to rap. they cant be easily classified at all

their favorite bands are oingo boingo, prince, queen (they listen to a lot of their harder-rock music, but milo knows theyre into the ballads too. theyll never tell anyone else though), doja cat, lil nas, fall out boy, and billie eilish.

red recites the intro monologue to lets go crazy very seriously to make milo laugh, sometimes. they get very into it with their facial expressions. sometimes it devolves into a full air guitar/keyboard/drum and wild dancing session. milo does not know how to participate in this but he loves watching them have fun with it. sometimes they pull him off the couch to make him dance with them, though

they are a huge sucker for dark pop, vaporwave, retrowave, EDM, hip hop, emo, punk... etc etc. anything that combines any two or more of those genres in an original or interesting way gets their attention right away

there's a lot of sharing between the two of them- even though their music tastes are so different, they like a lot of the others taste, and theyre always up to listen to whatever their partner is playing.

red is a huge softie, and milo has found them more than once listening to or humming something he was playing for them the other day because it reminded them of him

speaking of which- in the 1914 canon, red can play piano. i think that carries over to a modern au, where they could play piano and by extension keyboard. i like to think they experiment with a lot of instruments but i doubt they ever really mastered any others. maybe theyre okay at drums or bass?

they learned to play and sing teo torriatte for milo, as a surprise. when they first performed it for them, they had everything set up for when he got home from work- the lights were dimmed, they had candles lit around the keyboard, they draped stuff in cloth to make it look pretty, they scattered flower petals around. when milo walked in and saw it all, he almost proposed then and there- the only thing that stopped him was that he would kick himself for the rest of his life if he did that without a ring.

HOBBIES/ACTIVITIES

milo is still an avid chess player in this, but i like to think hes in some kind of groupchat or text or discord server for it. he doesnt necessarily consider any of the others in the chat close friends, but he does know them all by name

he tries to get red into chess but they never really get it

he tells them all about the stuff that goes down in the games and they just. do not understand. but they love listening to him get excited about it anyway

"red you're not gonna BELIEVE this, eddie played an italian game on star today! i thought for sure she would see through it since everyone knows it but she slipped and he beat her in like, 13 moves! i wouldnt have believed it if i hadnt been there!"

"yes sweetie please tell me more" (barely disguised pained expression)

red is a skater and a regular at the skate park by the smithsonian

most regulars there know them by name, they can spot a newbie a mile away

they have a sticker of a broken tv with a skull inside of it on the underside of their board, its become recognized as a symbol of them unofficially

since theyre so regular and have been going there a lot longer than most of the other skaters that frequent the place, a lot of what they say is kind of just accepted as the rules

they have a bad habit of lecturing new kids who show up without knee/elbow pads or helmets at the very least. all the other skaters enforce it too. kids dont end up showing up without protective gear very often after their first visit

they brought a first aid kid and left it there and everyone has kept it stocked pretty well without them having to have much input. its kind of just a communal first aid kit

they once drew the broken tv symbol on the inside of a half-pipe and everyone started calling it red's ramp after that

they also started calling the bowl at the center of the park the Soup Bowl and now thats just accepted as the name. some of the newer kids genuinely thought that it was called that by the park and were shocked when they found out it was just a random nickname red gave it one day

theyve brought milo a few times but hes extremely awkward on his feet and could never really get his balance on a skateboard, and quite frankly red is afraid of what might happen if he tried even a low ramp, so he usually just sits at the rim of the bowl while red skates around

everyone knew he was their boyfriend before they even met him. a few of the regulars called him by name right away. one of them was certain red had brought him before.

but no

they just talk so fuckin much about him that its like they already know him

aside from skateboarding, red is pretty good on rollerskates/blades

they tried to take milo to a roller rink once but it was a disaster and they ended up going home, changing into pajamas, ordering chinese food, and marathoning movies till they fell asleep on the couch together. so not a total loss

theyre both very into movies. red is deep into horror and milo likes indie/art movies and just Cannot handle horror at all, but they both agree on old movies, from the 80s and 90s to like the 30s.

red has shown milo some of the classic horror movies and the niche old ones (from like the 40s) since theyre not difficult to stomach

every so often when red brings up wanting to see a horror movie milo is like "aw babe we can watch that tonight i promise it wont be bad" and he genuinely thinks he can handle it this time

he cant

he never can

it is always a lie

red ends up holding him every time and talking him to sleep, but it thankfully never causes like a major panic attack or anything like that

they love going to museums together, of all kinds. they love art museums. they also go to aquariums and aviaries

sometimes they like to go to other history museums and criticise the veracity or accuracy of exhibits/translations, all in good fun of course. theyre never actually being mean about it

SIDENOTES/UNCATEGORIZED

they both used to work at starbucks, when they were younger and before they worked at the smithsonian. they worked at separate stores 2 blocks from each other.

milo cant stand soda or carbonated drinks, red can and will chug a java monster in order to survive a long workday if they must. milo is constantly concerned for their health and wellbeing

they r both lightweights when it comes to drinking. they can split a six pack and both be falling-over drunk by the end of the night.

given the changes in beauty standards people DEFINITELY think milo is more attractive than they would in 1914. cmon. hes a lil twinky nerd. you think people wont eat that up?

he never really catches onto the flirting much though

did u think i would forget ki/da and the others? youd be wrong.

i simultaneously like the idea of something similar to the movie happening, but also just like... ki/da just being a regular person living on the surface. in either case they r all friends still

in the case of ki/da just being a regular person on the surface- i like the idea of atl/antis just being A Place in this au, maybe its a bit of a closed off country though? like, not many foreigners live there and to get there you basically need to be there as a diplomat or a scholar

maybe ki/da visits DC as a diplomat? she is a princess, after all

red meets audrey online cause they both yell at the same misogynistic asshole on twitter

they exchange discord names in the replies of the tweet and tell the guy not to interrupt them while theyre talking in his replies

i like to think red and milo are selected to go on an academic visit to atl/antis (to learn about the culture, with permission of the king), and audrey ends up as the mechanic on the ship during the visit and theyre like (spiderman pointing meme) at each other

red and audrey have so many inside jokes that they basically speak a different language. milo gets some of the terms from context and pop culture (they use "so very" in real life- as in "wow, that shirt is so very.") but he is hopeless to learn all of it

one of their inside jokes is any variation of "milo hot girl summer" and they REFUSE to explain it to him no matter how much he begs

milo wears that iconique tank top on the ship and they say it literally any time he bends over, picks anything up, reaches for anything, moves, BREATHES. he is bewildered and at this point concerned

(in truth, the joke came from red taking a really blurry picture of him in a short sleeve shirt where he looked pretty cute and captioned it "milo's having a hot girl summer rn" and they just could not stop repeating it once audrey met him IRL)

they have a minecraft world. i do like to believe that every so often vinny finds a way in- theyre never sure how- and griefs the shit out of them by blowing up EVERY. monument.

this post is getting long bc im enraptured by the idea of an atl/antis modern au so im cutting it off here but expect WAY MORE later

#paper_heart.txt #s: i didn't say it's the smart thing. but it is the right thing #alcohol ment tw