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rboooks · 11 months

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The Royal Consort Part 2

Danny nervously took a sip out of the coffee mug. The rich liquid, filled with surgery goodness and creamer, helped settle his nerves as he tried to think of what to say.

Across from him sat Batman, Superman, Wonder Woman, and a man named John Constantine. Besides Danny, Jazz, and his parents sat, though only Jazz seemed unfazed by the situation, staring back at the heroes as if daring them to start a conversation first.

Sometimes he forgot she was the most mentally stable one in the family.

The Dark Knight had said nothing to him since he was brought up to the watch tower, the white lens of his mask staring back at Danny with no hint of emotion behind them.

This contrasts Superman, who had warmly offered them coffee and pie as they were brought into the meeting room. The man of steel had even allowed them all to pick a mug from the gift shop free of charge, smiling warmly when Danny hesitantly asked for a Martian Manhunter theme.

Wonder Woman had given him a courteous bow befitting her status. She seemed eager to sit down and get the peace summit going as soon as possible. It seemed she had prepared various speeches, bills, and other essential documents Danny had yet to understand in his Government Studies class. She offered the young man a warm smile whenever his eyes nervously wandered to her.

John Constantine mainly had remained silent past the few swears under his breath. He fiddled with Danny's necklace- the Royal Consort necklace. How could he have been so stupid to wear that around his neck for so long without realizing what it was? It did explain why that particular necklace had a whole room to be displayed in.

It was in the center, on a lavish pillow, on a pure marble pillar. Surrounding it were six more miniature lockets, each on their own less extravagant pillar and pillow, with similar symbols. The smaller ones almost tempted Danny until he saw that this necklace had white and red, his favorite colors.

The others had been black and red.

He wonders now what the lockets meant and if giving one to Dani had been a mistake. He hadn't had the time to text her, seeing as he had been whisked away by the Justice League as soon as he woke up.

He was escorted out of his home before ten am with news crews tripping over themselves to get a few shots of Ecto-Royalty. They had his house surrounded, flashes and questions coming from all sides as the paparazzi struggled to be the first to get Consort Daniel Fenton to comment for them.

Danny swears Sam had been one of them, laughing silly with Tucker, who had somehow gotten a hold of a prominent news camera. The two had likely thought his secret had been outed and were trying to sneak him away while pretending to be media.

"Come on. Come on," Constantine muttered in frustration, poking a glowing finger into the center of his locket. Each time he did, a soft ding went off in Danny's head, and he fought to not react. He thinks Batman had seen his flinch the first time it happened, but he hadn't said anything about it yet, so Danny hoped he was wrong.

Ding. Ding. Ding. Ding. Ding. Ding. Ding. Ding. Ding.

Danny grimaces as the sound replays over and over again before he can't take it anymore and finally speaks up. "Could...could you not do that to my necklace?"

Constantine blinks, then hastily places his locket on the table as if it burned him. "Forgive me, your Majesty. I meant no disrespect."

"It's cool dude. You, ugh, don't have to call me that, by the way. Danny is fine."

The magic-user shakes his head. "Forgive me, your Majesty, but I could not do something so disrespectful. I can switch to Prince Danny, but never Danny. If His Majesty Phantom were to hear me make such a blunder, it could break apart any form of peace. I'm sure you know how much ghost value rules."

Danny thinks of the Yearly Treaty, Walker with his prison, The Observant's court, Clockwork's time frames, and even Far Frozen formal speech. He sighs. "Yeah, Phantom won't care, but his subjects will."

"Exactly."

"Speaking of King Phantom, would he be joining us soon?" Wonder Woman asks. Danny has a moment of panic before Jazz smoothly steps in.

"Phantom and Danny agree to not have him appear if Danny is near our parents." She says, gesturing to their horrified parents.

"What?" Mom looks close to tears, guilt making her face seem much older than Danny has ever thought possible. "Honey, is this true?"

Danny shifts in his seat. "Yes?"

"Oh Honey, why?"

"What are we going to do today, Jack?" Jazz cuts in again in a poor imitation of their mom. She deepens her voice, trying to match Dad's happy-go-lucky tune as she dramatically shakes her fist. "What we do every day, Maddie. Try to capture the ghost boy and rip him molecule by molecule!"

The other heroes make faces, but nothing compares to the devastated expressions on his parents' faces. He almost told them it was okay, that he had forgiven them, but Jazz glanced sharply in his direction and knew it was best not to say anything.

She has often said the only way he could rally heal from all the unintended trauma their parents inflected on them- not just the hunting but slight negligence- was to have them first see exactly what they had done. It would be harsh, but it would be necessary.

"Makes sense" That is all Dad says. He's been so quiet since this morning. Danny is worried about him.

"That explains why he hasn't answered the summons." Constantine sighs. Danny opens his mouth to ask, but Superman beats it to him.

"You were summoning him?"

"Attempting to." Constantine corrects. "Prince Danny's locket has a calling bacon in it. Someone pressing magic against the center alerts King Phantom that his husband wants to speak to him. It's difficult magic too. Anyone with less control or power would be blown to smithers if they attempt it. Or, in Prince Danny's case tapping his finger against it works too since the necklace is for him. "

"Would anyone with the necklace be able to call Phantom then?" Batman finally speaks up. His voice makes Danny jump in his seat. It sounds a lot....darker than he thought a human could make.

"No. The necklace would only work if Prince Danny willingly let someone have it. If someone tried to take it by force, the necklace would transport itself back to King Phantom's lair or Prince Danny's person."

Danny clears his throat. ''Phantom and I have other rules. He can only come to see me if I'm not in school or if one of his subjects is attacking Amity Park. Otherwise, he mostly stays within the Infinity Realms."

Constantine nods as if that makes perfect sense. "The strain on your body must make it difficult to keep your husband here."

Danny nods, then takes another sip.

"If you don't mind me asking. How did you meet King Phantom?" Superman asks.

"I'm....a meta. I can make my eyes glow in the dark and I can turn invisible." Danny blurts, making both his parents gasp. Jazz nods as if it was common knowledge and not something Danny made up on the spot.

Those two abilities have always been more linked to his emotions, so Danny thought if he established a fake meta gene as the cause if he was later caught doing them, no one would bat an eye. The world was watching him now, he needed to be careful. "It's nothing really impressive, but I guess the day I activated it caught his attention."

"How so?"

"Um, well I was playing in my parents' lab when my best friends dared me to go into the portal. I thought it wouldn't work, so I did, but it launched me into the zone as soon I stepped into it. Phantom was this big ice looking thing flying by when I was falling in the zone- they don't really have ground in there. Everything was floating, but I just started falling and screaming since I couldn't fly. He caught me and offered to help me back to my home. The only thing was I didn't know how to go home, which way was up or down, and I didn't know how long I was gone. We tried to fly for a while, but the Infinite Realms always change. By that time, my home portal had moved to who knew where. Phantom took me to his lair to rest, Phantom, since he thought I was a baby ghost because my eyes glowed until I accidentally cut my hand on one of his icicles and bled-"

"You allowed your human blood to fall in his lair!?" Constantine sounds horrified. Oops? Maybe, stealing one of Frost Bites' few human encounter stories wasn't the brightest thing he could have done?

Oh well, he's already so far into the story. "Yeah, he reacted the same way. I freaked and turned myself invisible when he saw my blood."

"Blimey, I knew King Phantom is a protective spirit, but to think he didn't do anything to you once he found out you are a human- a virgin human no less- in his own lair? Benevolent is too little of a word for him."

Yeah, Danny really didn't like the sound of that. Sadly Constantine didn't seem willing to continue that line of conversation, and it would be really suspicious if he asked for more information since he is supposed to be the most informed person here.

After a slight pause, he continues, trying to sound confident. "He helped me get home after a while. Once we found the entrance to Amity Park, he asked if he could come to see me again in the living world. I told him it was fine, but I didn't think he meant it for real. Sam and Tucker- ugh my best friends- said I was only gone for three minutes but I swear it was much longer."

Danny could feel his face heating up. This is so embarrassing to be talking about himself in the third person. He felt so lame.

Jazz gave him an encouraging nod when he peaks at her. At least the others were buying his story.

"The next thing I know, my town is almost overturned by ghosts because, apparently, our passing through the portal stabilized it and established it as a new permanent entrance. I told Phantom, who vowed he keep it safe for me, and yeah, he fumbled a bit in the beginning, but he did a good job. Whenever he needed to fight I had to find somewhere safe to hide, so that I could keep him here, and that's why I missed so much of school and sleep all of freshmen year. His last big fight was against the old king Pariah Dark after the monster took Amity Park into the zone. Once he won, he was crowned and he um gave me this necklace. We've been going ugh, steady since."

The room was silent until Wonder Woman smiles "A most romantic tale Prince Danny."

Ugh, it really was. His face grew even redder as Jazz snorted. "Thank you."

Feeling an intense stare, Danny looks up, only to be met with Batman's emotionless face. "The reason you and King Phantom look exactly alike is that he took your shape, didn't he?"

What.

"That's standard practice." Constantine waves his hand. "Powerful beings that need to anchor themselves to the human realm often take humanoid figures. If King Phantom saw Prince Danny and thought he was the most beautiful person he's ever seen -which is likely since there haven't been any hints of Phantom having any partner before now- he would, of course, make himself look like him. He even copied his parents' hazard suits because he likely thought that would honor them. Am I right, Prince Danny? ."

I could kiss you, English man. Danny thinks gratefully as he nods.

Batman grunts but for a second, Danny thinks he didn't buy it. He doesn't say anything else.

"Well, what about-"

Whatever Wonder Woman was going to say gets cut off by a blur flying into the room. The heroes all spring up into battle positions as the blur rushes Danny. He's about to throw himself before his sister to protect her until the blur slows down.

It's Dani. She's wearing her own necklace too. Shit.

"Are you okay!?" She gasps. "I saw them take you on the TV and came as soon as I could!"

"Who are you?" Superman demands. His clone turns to the other side of the room, hands pose in a fighting stance and the British man gasps.

"Stand down! She's a royal!." He shouts, pointing at her necklace. His blue eyes flicker between the two halfas until they widen dramatically. "Princess, I swear we have done no harm to your father."

Dani tilts her head, momently thrown. "My father?"

"You are wearing the Heir Apparent symbol. I assumed you were made from Prince Danny and King Phantom. I apologize if I am wrong."

"No need. I am made from Danny." Dani smiles, likely unaware that the magic man meant a daughter rather than the correct answer, as in clone.

"I'm a grandmother!?" Mom shouts, and his Dad bursts into tears.

The room descends into chaos.

( Part 1 ) (Part 3)

#The royal Consort #dc x dp crossover #part 2 #Danny is going for a acting award #Dani is now his daughter #A romantic tale fit for a rom-con #Jazz is holding her own against Batman #misunderstandings

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heartsforvin · 5 months

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can you do one where reader plays with vinnies dick soft then gets him hard and gives head?

DEAL WITH IT

thank you for the request !!! i hope you enjoy <3

pairing; vinnie hacker x fem!reader

warnings; smut, oral (m receiving), praise kink, dirty talk, use of pet names (baby, princess, etc), lmk if i missed anything

summary; you innocently mess with vinnie only to have to deal with the consequences

you and vinnie were laying in his bed, vinnie had his arm resting behind his head while his other one was wrapped around your waist.

the two of you were watching a movie, you were cuddled into his side, your legs entangled with his.

you loved these moments with him, just being able to be close to him and wrap your body on his.

about twenty minutes into the movie you decided to mess with vinnie a bit. you move your hand so it’s resting on his lower stomach.

vinnie doesn’t notice anything off-putting about the hand placement so he continues to watch the movie.

you move your hand lower and slide it under his boxers. you give a minute before going any farther.

moving your hand farther, you grab vinnie’s dick and pull it out of its confinements, holding it in your hand as you look up at him and realize he has no clue what’s going on.

you glide your thumb over his tip which earns you a hiss from the boy. “what are you doing?” he asks you.

you try to play it off, act as if you’re definitely not trying to play with his dick as the two of you watch a movie.

“nothin’, just watching the movie.” you respond, motioning your free hand to the tv as you avert your gaze in the same direction.

vinnie gives you a questioning look but nods, turning his attention back to the movie playing in front of him.

you however, don’t stop your little antics. moving down on the bed, you get into a position like you were to lay your head on vinnie’s stomach.

what you do is completely different. moving your head down, you softly place your lips on the boy’s dick, making him instinctively jerk his body.

“y/n,” vinnie says in a warning tone. “cut that shit out.”

you look up at him from your current position, mouth still so close to where he wants it. “cut what out, vin?” you ask innocently.

you can tell you’re getting under his skin by the second. his arm is no longer supporting his head and he has now sat up a bit more.

“you know exactly what you’re doing, princess,” he says sternly, leaning down to grab your face in his hands, but makes sure it isn��t forceful. “finish what you started.”

you don’t know what he means until you look down and realize that those two small interactions have just made him hard.

he sees you eye him and the problem you have created. “go on pretty, suck my dick.” he says.

you look at your boyfriend for a moment, watching as he waits for you to do as told. suddenly, you feel so small under his gaze, wondering where the confidence went minutes prior.

“am i gonna have to do it myself, or are you gonna be a good girl and listen?” he asks you, already knowing the answer, he just loves to tease you.

you smile subtly while biting your lip as you kneel on the bed, vinnie having a perfect view of your ass.

“so pretty, baby,” he mummers as he watches you with hungry eyes. “yeah, that’s it.” he moans out once he feels your lips around him.

you try to fit every inch of him, but that doesn’t seem to be possible, so you wrap your hand around the rest.

you look up and see vinnie’s head thrown back and eyes closed, clearly enjoying the moment.

you keep your pace slow, but that doesn’t seem to work with vinnie. his eyes shoot open and he tilts his head to look at you.

“little faster, baby,” he tells you, smiling once you fasten your pace. “mm, so good for me.”

you lift your head from vinnie for a minute to breathe, you watch as vinnie’s eyes open again and he’s about to scold you, but he’s quickly cut short when he feels your tongue circle around his tip.

“fuck, sweetheart,” you hear vinnie say, making you smile mentally since you can’t do it literally. you move your head back on his cock with your hand wrapped around him and start your actions again. “don’t stop, baby.”

you have no intentions on stopping anytime soon. you bob your head a bit to help gain some friction, making the boy in front of you moan loudly.

vinnie smacks your ass harshly and you moan at the contact, making vinnie buck his hips into you.

“shit, sorry, princess.” he apologizes once he’s realized what he did. you look up at him and pull yourself off him for a second to reply.

“do it again.” you tell him.

vinnie gives you a questioning look. “smack your ass or fuck your face?” he asks.

your cheeks heat up at the second question, something about the way he said it was so hot to you.

biting your lip, you look at him for a second before replying. instead of doing so, vinnie already knows what you want.

you lower your head back down onto vinnie’s cock and continue your previous actions.

vinnie begins to thrust his hips, but not too much to where it’ll hurt you. you moan around his cock are feeling, making vinnie go a little faster.

“yeah you like when i fuck your face, don’t you, pretty girl.” vinnie says, you can’t help but clench your legs the best you can.

you can feel yourself get wet by the second, wanting to touch yourself or have vinnie touch you so bad.

he can tell how bad you need to do something, too. “need me to touch you, baby?” he teases, knowing that you do in fact need him to do so.

you whine as you continue your actions, that whine soon turns into a moan shortly as soon as vinnie thrusts particularly hard.

“fuck, baby i’m close.” you hear vinnie say, which makes you spread up your actions.

with a few more thrusts on vinnie’s end, he’s soon a shaking moaning mess, coming undone right under you.

he has no time to warn you, to tell you to move so he doesn’t cum down your throat, before he’s actually doing so.

once he does, you swallow then pull off of him and stick your tongue out. “good girl.”

sitting up, you wipe your mouth and smile at your boyfriend, making him smile in return. he leans in to kiss you and you gladly meet him halfway.

“you want my help now?” vinnie asks, you nod your head frantically.

you lay down on the bed and let vinnie do one of his favorite things in the entire world.

hiii !! girl lemme be real w you, life has been BUSY ,, i’ve started a new job + writers block has been kickin my ass 🥲

so sorry it’s taking so long for me to post, shits been crazy busy for me , but i hope you enjoyed this !!!!

taglist; @lyndys , @cosmicanakin , @leqonsluv3r , @kriissy4gov , @bernelflo , @laylasbunbunny , @slvthrs , @lovingsturniolo , @kayleiggh , @hallecarey1 ,

#vhackerr #vinniehacker #vincent hacker #vvhacker #vinnie hacker smut #vinniehackerfanfic #vinnie hacker blurb #vinnie hacker fluff #vinnie hacker imagines #vinnie x reader #vinnie x y/n

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jeannineee · 10 months

Text

Intertwined (Ⅱ)

Batboys x Reader

a/n: part two is heeeeere!! Hope you guys enjoy!! Part one can be found in my masterlist. This was quickly proofread, sorry for any errors.

Side note: my requests are still open, I have 2 smut fics in the works for Azriel. Working on part 3!!

PART THREE

warnings: canon-typical shit, misogynistic Illyrians, sexual suggestiveness

You gawked like a fish at the three men in front of you, where you still stood in Rhys’s foyer.

That…feeling had subsided slightly. But it was still there. A pulling sensation, in your chest.

No, deeper than that. In your soul. In your very being.

You didn’t dare consider what it was. Couldn’t bring yourself to—

“Y/n?” Azriel called to you, brows furrowed with worry. Cassian and Rhysand shared the same look on their own faces.

“You checked out, for a minute there,” Cassian said, smiling sheepishly. “Everything okay?”

“Y-Yes.”

Rhysand studied you, as though he were trying to piece together what just happened. “You sure you’re okay?” he asked, taking a tentative step towards you.

You inwardly checked your mental shields—not that Rhys would intrude, but you checked anyway.

You stepped back, clearing your throat awkwardly. “I’m fine. ‘M gonna head back to the house. Tomorrow is gonna be a long day, so…”

They knew something was wrong. Did they feel it, too? They didn’t act like it.

“Well, let one of us fly you,” Rhys offered. There was nervousness in his voice, now.

“No,” you said, the word coming out harsher than intended, judging by the way all three of them flinched. “I just mean—I can winnow. I’ll winnow myself.��

You didn’t give them the chance to reply before you followed through, finding yourself back at the House of Wind within seconds. You went straight to your bedroom, ignoring the growling of your stomach as you readied yourself for bed.

You were sure any food you ate would taste like ash in your mouth, anyway.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The next morning, you woke early, dressing yourself in fleece-lined Illyrian leathers.

You didn’t dare go downstairs. Not yet.

You sat on the edge of your bed, burying your face in your hands as you allowed yourself to ponder on what happened, yesterday. You knew what you felt. Knew what that snap was.

The mating bond.

Or was it? Was it even possible to have three mates? You’d heard stories of two…but three?

An insistent knocking at your door jolted you from your thoughts, sending you to your feet.

“Up and at ‘em, sweetheart!”

Cassian.

You took a deep breath, wiping the sweat from your palms onto your pants, before opening your door.

Cassian stood there, in his leathers, red siphons gleaming. He looked down at you, a lopsided grin plastered to his face. You interrupted him before he could speak.

“The next time you pound on my door, you lose your kneecaps,” you told the general, silently praying to the Mother that he couldn’t hear the way your heart was racing.

“Mean,” Cassian said, daring to dip his head even more. His warm breath tickled your face.

“You haven’t begun to see ‘mean,’ Cas.”

His grin widened. “Gonna show me?”

Your face reddened. Cassian smirked, his body almost flush against yours, now.

“Don’t back out now, sweetheart,” he murmured, tracing a calloused hand down your side. “Show me that attitude again.”

Your leathers were far too tight.

Mor’s voice echoing downstairs snapped you both out of the moment. “Get your sorry asses down here!”

Cassian moved from your doorway, allowing you through. But once you reached the top of the staircase, he grabbed your arm, his mouth brushing against the shell of your ear. “This isn’t over, y/n.”

Mother save you.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Saying the Illyrian Steppes were cold was an understatement.

Icy. Frigid. Bone-chilling.

You couldn’t think of a word that would do justice to the way it felt.

The shivering, teeth-chattering cold, despite being in Azriel’s arms as you flew to Windhaven. He was warm. So warm. But even that wasn’t enough against this frozen hellhole.

Azriel’s bridal-style hold on you tightened, his hazel eyes scanning over your form.

“Won’t be much longer,” he said, attempting to sound reassuring. “They’ll have a cabin ready for all of us. A fire, warm food.”

“You’re teasing me,” you replied as you pressed your face against his chest, greedily absorbing his body heat.

Azriel’s voice was calm and quiet as he said, “This isn’t teasing, trust me.”

‘Trust me.’

You tried not to let your mind wander towards the ways the Shadowsinger could really tease you as you descended upon Windhaven.

Rhys landed next, and then Cassian, with Mor in his arms.

Lord Devlon already waited, a couple of Illyrian grunts on either side of him. He didn’t spare you, or Mor a single glance as he acknowledged Rhys.

“We’ll need accommodations,” Rhys said, sounding almost bored.

“Already done,” Devlon replied.

You tried to ignore the way the men around the camp eyed you and Mor, like prized mares. Rhysand caught on, a low growl leaving his throat as he spoke again to Devlon.

“Tell your men that if they value their hands, they won’t touch y/n or Morrigan. If they value their eyes, they won’t look at them for too long, either.”

Devlon looked inclined to protest, but thought better of it as he nodded. “You have my word.”

You doubted his word meant much as your group was escorted to the cabin.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Mor stole the warm bath first, leaving you, Rhysand, Cassian, and Azriel to pile around the fireplace.

Those three tethers that snapped into place yesterday roared in their presence. Even more so as Rhys spoke in your mind.

There are other ways to warm up, besides a bath, you know.

So go find an Illyrian woman to warm your bed, you quipped back.

There’s only one woman I want in my bed.

Rhys looked at you pointedly.

Poor baby.

You swore he chuckled faintly in your mind.

“So, are we going to discuss what happened yesterday?” Rhys questioned you aloud.

Cassian and Azriel both perked up at that, waiting for your response.

Shit.

“After the meeting tomorrow,” you finally said. “I’ll tell you tomorrow.”

Rhys hummed. “Leaving us in suspense, darling?”

“Cope.”

Cassian snickered at that, and even Azriel’s lips twitched up. Rhysand’s violet eyes gave you a painfully-slow once-over, the gesture sending heat pooling between your legs.

“Tomorrow, then.”

#acotar #acotar headcanon #a court of thorns and roses #acotar fanfiction #acotar smut #smut #acomaf #female reader #azriel x reader #azriel acotar #rhysand x reader #Cassian x reader #batboys x reader #acotar fluff #acosf #acofas #acowar #fluff

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rowaelinsdaughter · 5 months

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what happens in the forest stays in the forest

this is one of my favorite fics ive written so far, but i needed to write something fluff and with rowaelin. i miss them so much.

WARNINGS; none, pure fluff

you were bored

bored and tired.

since you found out you were pregnant 5 months ago, rowan and aelin didn't leave your side for a second, so you couldn't go out on the street if you weren't with them and they didn't trust the guards and fenrys couldn't be near you without that rowan growled at him.

you were in your room waiting for them to finish a meeting, but you were tired of waiting so you decided to go find them.

carefully, you go down the stairs and reach the door where the meeting is taking place and gently knock on the door, you place a hand on your belly as if you wanted to protect the baby from the people inside. the door opens and rowan appears. instinctively, a smile appears on your lips and rowan hugs you carefully, leaving a soft kiss on your hair while one of his hands rests on top of yours.

"what are you doing here? you were supposed to be in the room.”

“and like you said yourself, i was,” you joke. “but i was bored and i wanted to get out of here and spend time with you.”

you hear the sound of a chair dragging on the floor and immediately aelin appears, leaving a kiss on your lips. “come sit down you-”

“you can stand for a long time” you imitate her.

aelin sits you in her chair and the people who were there stand there not knowing what to do until…

“everyone out”

“but your majesty, you cannot do this”

“i can and i want to. now everyone out."

one by one they leave the room under aelin's gaze, promising a slow death to anyone who says otherwise or looks at you wrong. once everyone has left, aelin kneels in front of you, at the height of your belly, and rowan sits next to you.

aelin's hands caress your belly and as always she speaks softly to her. "hi little girl. i hope you are not giving mom too much trouble and let her rest.”

your hand strokes her hair gently and she gets up to sit at the table.

“i thought i heard that you were bored and wanted to spend time with us”

you sigh. “i've been stuck here for too long, i've already read all the books we have, i want to get out of the castle” you look at the two of them “why don't we go for a walk in the forest?”

there is silence and you wait for them to say yes, mentally crossing your fingers. rowan breaks the silence. “okay but we have to be here before it gets dark.”

you smile widely and rowan chuckles softly as aelin helps you up.

________

oakwald was undoubtedly your favorite place. you love the smell of wildflowers, the shade of the trees refreshes the atmosphere and the animals run back and forth.

after much insistence and many comments about why you shouldn't go barefoot, you finally convinced them to take off your shoes (which were also destroying your feet).

barefoot and holding onto their arms, you breathe deeply, letting your senses calm down.

you reach a clearing with a small waterfall and sit down to rest with rowan and aelin on either side.

“you don't have to stay with me, you know? why don’t you go take a bath?”

“i don't think it's-”

“yes, that's a good idea, come on, i'm not going to move from here.”

at the end, you watch as they take off their clothes and aelin runs to jump into the water while laughing. with rowan close to the shore, aelin takes the opportunity to grab his arm and pull him into the water with her. you notice the joy and love coming through the bond and you couldn't be happier for them and for the life you are creating together.

you feel a presence behind you and you turn to see what or who is behind you. a white shadow passes through the bushes. you are curious and carefully get up and follow a trail of white flowers from where you were sitting to an ancient tree. and in front of it, the lord of the north in all his splendor.

your breath stops and the lord of the north approaches with slow steps until he is in front of you. being careful not to hit you with the antlers,he caress your belly with his nose. you raise your hand slowly so as not to scare him and pet his soft fur. he turns away from you and looks into your eyes, tilting his head. respect. for you and your baby. the lord of the north looks behind you and you turn to see rowan and aelin, fully clothed. a silver line decorates rowan's green eyes, while tears run down aelin's cheeks.

with a final nod to them, the lord of the north walks away into the trees. you feel arms surround your belly and aelin leaves small kisses on your neck, tickling you. rowan stands in front of you and caresses your cheeks with his hands to kiss you softly.

“don't leave again without saying anything”

you roll your eyes “it was too good to be true”

tagging; @danikamariewrites @throneofsapphics @thehighladywrites @shadowdaddies @vanserrasswife

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mountymase · 1 year

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love on the brain - NSFW

you love when i fall apart so you can put me together

pairing: fem!reader x mason mount summary: you had a particularly tough day at work and mason is thee to glue you back together warnings: angst, fluff, smut (smut contains: unprotected sex, praising, pet names, cursing, choking, dom&sub behaviour) author: happy sinday mount! thi was originally meant to be a pulisic smut but mase just fits perfectly. and it's not inspired, at all, on riri's song but i was listening to its melody while writing it! word count: 3.838k

Work was usually stressful, always hectic, keeping you busy. You were massively good at it and it bothered some people, even the ones in a better position than you. As a workaholic, much like your boyfriend, you loved every second of it but, sometimes, it was overwhelming and today had been one of those days. It also ended with an argument between you and your supervisor, because you weren’t one to keep quiet and take the blame for someone else’s mistake while they got away with it. As a team, if one has to go down, then all the others go down too.

The sound of your flat’s door being unlocked woke you up but you weren’t worried, you knew it was just a matter of time until Mason showed up as he usually did. You mentally thanked all the Gods and the universe for having a boyfriend who just sensed and knew things when you were like this, wanting to isolate yourself from the world, even though you knew it wasn’t healthy. He’d be there for the simple reason of being there, to make sure you’d be okay the next day, to take care of you and be around, still respecting your space and your wish not to talk about it.

“Hey, you…” you noticed Mason sighed in relief he found you cuddling some pillows. A faint smile on your lips, you blinked a few times as you were saying ‘hi’ and he blew you a kiss. “I’ll be in the kitchen.” He pointed at the reusable bag he was carrying and you knew that was his mum’s thing, because Mase couldn’t cook to save his own life. When you were at his, you were responsible for all the cooking.

The noise coming from the kitchen was annoying, but you wouldn’t tell him that because that man was good for you. Looking back now, it made no sense how hard you fought not to fall for him — or, at least, not to let anyone know that Mason Mount made you swoon. Working at Trivago’s marketing department, you’d take trips to Cobham to meet with Chelsea’s marketing and social media staff, occasionally meeting a few of the boys. Then, after a match at the Bridge with your family, you found yourself at Cobham the next day and chatted to Mase about how your little brother was his biggest fan too, in a cute and shy attempt to flirt with you.

“My mum made you chicken soup.” You just nodded, and watched Mase make his way to your en-suite, and then the noise of the water filling the bath almost felt comforting. You closed your eyes for a few minutes until Mason’s warm mint breath got your head spinning in the nicest way. You wanted to cry. “Come on, beautiful. Let’s get you cleaned up, change into comfy pj’s…”

“Will you carry me, though?” That was the first time you’ve said something since he arrived, it made him flash you the most warm and happy smile, for hearing your voice.

He didn’t say anything. Mason got up and, holding your hand, made you get up too so he could put one arm around your body and the other behind your legs — that man really was carrying you bridal style to the bathroom.

Mason carefully put you down, kissing the tip of your nose as he started to undress you. He carefully opened each button of your black silk blouse, unzipped your perfectly tailored trousers and easily got rid of your bra and panties. There were no second intentions as he did that, but you could feel how his eyes sparkled seeing you naked. “You’re so beautiful, Y/n.” He whispered, softly kissing your collarbone before helping you to get inside the bath.

The warm water instantly relaxed you, but it was how Mason carefully washed your hair that made you fully relax. You loved how focused he was while taking care of you, soaping your body, warm and soft hands cupping your boobs as he rinsed off the soap from your skin.

“Why don’t you join me a bit, love?” You said, turning your face to find a frowny Mason, extremely focused on his task of taking care of you. “Get in and give me some bath cuddles, to heal my soul.”

He giggled, always loving how dramatic you were. You watched him undress and he never really stopped looking at you, even if you both knew you were not in the mood for sex, the way your body reacted to Mason’s - even if it was just the sight of it - felt unreal. And you knew he felt exactly the same.

Once he got in, after you gave him space to place himself behind you, you laid back on his chest, loving how it felt moving with his breathing. It was one of your favourite things. Staying there, in silence, was peaceful. There was nothing really to be said, but your feelings were everywhere and so were his. You and Mason were extremely different as individuals, but as a couple, it made sense and it was right because you were each other’s missing piece.

When the water was almost cold, you heard your stomach make the loudest noise, and only now you realised how hungry you were. “Let me guess, you didn’t have lunch today?” Mason giggled at the sound but his voice was serious and that made you blush as you shyly nodded. “Don’t say you had no time.”

“Actually, I forgot about lunch.” You pouted and he shook his head, kissing your temple before leaving the bath and wrapping a towel around his waist. You got out too once he had a towel for you. Your favourite part had to be him brushing your hair, though, and he did it so well and so focused it made you smile.

He helped you pick up a pyjama and put on his, one of the few he kept at your place with some other things because it was quite normal for him to spend time there, more time than he’d spend at his own stupidly big house. Then, holding hands, you went to the kitchen and you watched him getting the soup warmed up. Mason had always been boyfriend material, but lately, you found yourself wondering how he’d be as a husband. And as a father, too. Maybe nothing different from the caring and loving man he already was, but with more intensity to it.

You ate together, your stomach finally welcoming some decent food, and he occasionally touched your fingers with the tip of his, held your hand, and caressed its back with his thumb. It made you smile and his only reaction to it was smiling too, because although you looked drained, it was still much better from the situation he found you earlier.

Mason cuddled you, his face hiding in the crook of your neck as he breathed your scent in, closing his eyes. His body was warm, comfy, your own safe haven. “Mason,” you whispered his name, getting a ‘mhmm?’ from him. “Thank you for not telling me to quit my job.”

“I would never.” He kissed your neck, holding you closer to him. “I know how much you love it and it’s not a shitty job, you just have shitty colleagues. Not all of them, though… but anyway, you’re passionate about it and you shouldn’t quit, ever. Unless you get a better offer.”

“My days at Cobham would end.”

“You have me all to yourself, woman. There’s no need to go to Cobham anymore.”

“But I like seeing you there, and going not as a girlfriend, but for business reasons.”

“Hm, you mean flirting with me while you girl boss everyone else?” You giggled at how quickly he found out what exactly you meant, and that was his answer. “You’re trouble, Y/n.”

“And you like it!”

“I love it.”

You two still talked a bit more before falling asleep with your bodies glued to each other, legs tangled, holding hands. His soft, low snore didn’t bother you — in fact, you found yourself missing it when you didn’t sleep together.

******

Waking up before Mason was usually what happened and, watching him sleep so peacefully, memories from the day before flooded your mind. The way he washed you, took care of you, and looked so focused and determined while doing it was so sexy you found yourself rubbing your thighs together as you prepared a cup of coffee. Mason deserved a special treatment too and he would have it.

Back in your room, you sighed at how beautiful your man looked with those messy curls falling down his forehead. His lips slightly parted as he moved to be lying on his back with arms open, resting on the sides of his head, and the duvet only covering him from his waist below. Your mouth watered and a wave of the most delicious warmth spread across your body, you walked slowly towards your bed and as the light sleeper Mason was, he slowly opened his eyes.

“Get back in here, Y/n.” The hoarse words that left his lips only turned you on even more.

“Oh, I will.” Noticing that specific teasing tone in your voice, with his eyes still closed, Mason frowned. “Open your eyes, baby.”

Waiting until he had his eyes fully open, you almost felt intimidated at how he looked at you, as if he’d eat you alive, as you slowly undressed in front of him to reveal your naked body. For him, there was nothing more torturing than how slowly you undressed, though. He watched you get back in bed and crawl to him, only to sit in his lap with your legs on each side of your body.

“You were so good to me yesterday I thought you needed to be taken care of too.” Leaning forward, your hair tickling his face, you brushed the tip of your nose against his. “Can you be my good boy while I take care of you?”

Fuck, you said it.

Mason loved having you under him, making you moan loudly and beg, but he loved even more when you took control because there was nothing sexier than that. He nodded with a groan into your slightly open mouth, not thinking twice, feeling his cock twitch between your legs, his tongue sliding past your lips to fight yours for dominance in the most passionate kiss, You bit his bottom lip, pulling it between your lips before trailing soft kisses down his chest. He moaned into the dark bedroom and you felt his large, warm hands trail up the backs of your bare thighs before resting on your naked ass. Mason pushed your lower body down and ground his covered erection into you, and your mouth fell open in a pant.

“Seems like someone is feeling better.” He muttered, his hands traveling back to your thighs, giving it a soft squeeze as your lips circled around his nipple. Your tongue brushed it and he bucked against you, a groan falling from his lips. You crawled back on top of him, pulling the duvet and leaving only his boxers on the way as you grind down his hard cock before placing wet kisses down his stomach. You watched his muscles tense and contract under your touch and you felt a rush of power come over you, seeing that he wanted this just as much as you did.

You reached the waistband of his boxers and slid off the bed carefully, resting on your knees between his legs and your fingers dipped past the fabric, brushing his skin. Mason sat up at that moment and his hand went to your hair, and you could hear the moan he tried to stifle. You tugged lightly on the bottom hems of his boxers, urging him to remove his last layer. He did so, quickly, kicking them off and your mouth watered in lust as you rook in the sight of him. Mason traced a finger down the side of your cheek, reaching your chin and tilting your face so you two could look at each other and you felt yourself tremble when you saw the look in his eyes - dark, full of lust, but also worshiping and love.

Soon, you were in nothing but your panties, completely at Mason’s mercy because that was how things always went even when you wanted to take control. He had you wrapped around his fingers, made you feel like your heart would escape your chest at how hard it was beating against your chest.

You leaned forward, dropping eye contact, to press soft and wet kisses to the tip of his cock, watching it twitch under your touch, making the hard wave of pleasure spread across your body. Your warm breath against his cock made Mason roll his eyes in pleasure, a groan parting his lips as he whispered how good you were to him when you licked a flat strip from the base of his cock to the tip, wetting it before wrapping your hand around the base and stroking him soft and slow. Mason’s body relaxed under your touch as moans escaped through his lips when his mouth fell open and you took him in your mouth - he instantly jerked forward, the blissful feeling of the tip of his cock hitting your throat taking control of his entire being. The salty taste of his precum makes the pleasure in your belly grow.

Mason was a mess when his hand pulled your hair and you finally looked up, your lips leaving his cock, a string of spit falling between you as a grin curled the sides of your lips. He was breathing heavily, hard, looking completely wrecked. Your instinct was to lean forward and take him in your mouth again but, with his fingers still tangled in your hair, Mason pulled you up and used his other hand to make you sit in his lap again.

“Need to feel you, baby.” The pet name made you moan, even more so when he breathed against your skin and buried his face between your boobs as his hands slid down your waist, playing with the fragile lace of your panties. Mason flipped you, your back hitting the mattress and you clenched around nothing in the most perfect combination of anticipation and arousal. Your hips bucked upwards, eager for him to fill you.

His calloused, hot hand trailed up your chest, squeezing your left boob before reaching the sensitive skin of your throat, making you gulp as your pulse quickened. Mason shook his head when you twisted under him and his touch, as a warning to behave and be his good girl as he decided to fight for control and you were more than happy to give in. “Mase, please…” You begged.

“I wasn’t done with taking care of you yet.” His husky whisper made you whimper. Mason used his free hand to brush your sensitive skin with the tips of his fingers - your nipples, all the way down to your stomach, where he started drawing perfect imaginary circles. “Wanna feel my cock hitting right here, deep inside you.” He said, making you buck your hips upwards again. He gently squeezed your throat at your response, trailing his hand down to your panties as his fingers tugged them down and tossed them off.

There was a devilish smile on his lips almost instantly when Mason felt how wet you were, as the tip of his fingers parted your folds, brushing it against your slit. “Oh, baby… So wet for me.” He licked your juices off his fingers, letting out a moan at the feeling of your taste in his mouth. Mason leaned forward, lips brushing yours as you swallowed each other’s moans when the tip of his cock softly touched your pussy. “Is this what you want, Y/n?”

Mumbling nonsensical agreements, you tried to catch your breath as it felt like your whole body was on fire. You needed him inside you, filling you, making you feel complete. You could feel the pressure between your legs growing each second and he’d barely touched you, that’s how much power Mason had over you; you reached a hand forward to grasp his cock and guide it to your entrance but Mason quickly pushed you back to bed. Moans of pleasure fell from your lips when his fingers squeezed your throat again as his cock slid out of your reach.

“Fuck, Mason.” You whimpered, taking his cocky grin.

“No need to rush it, love.” He whispered against your skin while his teeth brushed the skin of your neck. His thumb found your clit and he started to draw sloppy circles against your sensitive bundle of nerves, the pressure making you squirm under Mason’s touch. “Come on, tell me what you want like the good girl you are and I’ll give it to you…” Mason teased, the tip of his fingers playing at your wet entrance.

“Your finge-ah, Mason!” You cried when he focused on your clit again. “Want your fingers inside me baby, please.”

Mason nodded and a finger slid inside you, curling inside your walls at a steady and delicious pace. Your mouth fell open in a soundless moan and my eyes closed as he continued his pace before pushing a second finger inside you. You clenched at the feeling of him stretching you, the noises as he pumped his fingers in and out you making you clench hard around it.

“You’re so deliciously tight, Y/n.” Mason groaned, taking your lips with his in the most passionate kiss, your tongues playing with each other as he swallowed your moans. When your lips parted, the look he had on his face made you feel again like your body was on fire, it felt like he was devouring your soul and perhaps he was.

“Give it to me, Mason.” You begged. “Let me feel you inside me.”

With a final pump inside you, making you catch your breath, Mason pulled his fingers out of you and instead of cleaning it with his tongue again, he brushed it against his cock, coating it with your juices. That was so fucking sexy that your mouth fell open with a gasp and your legs spread even more to welcome him back between you where he belonged. Lining himself between you, Mason thrusted inside you and you cried out at the feeling of your pussy stretching around him. He pulled himself out almost completely before thrusting back in.

Your palms fell back onto the bed, gripping the soft white sheet and pulling it against you as you offered yourself completely to him, his mouth falling from your lips only encouraged him to trust deeper and harder - your cries of lustful gratification making his cock twitch inside you and the coil between your legs grow tighter. He let go of your throat after giving it a final squeeze and fell forward, your hands clasping together and fingers wrapping.

“Mase, baby, let me-” You gasped, almost completely breathless as he kept moving, sweat making your thighs slip against each other. Mason slowed his pace a bit, lips parted and also curled in the most beautiful grin.

“What do you want, baby?” He whispered against your lips after leaning his head forward, his pace now so slow it could easily be called torture. “Tell me.” Mason demanded, thrusting hard against you.

“Ride you, I wanna ride you.” You huffed out, making Mason groan at your request.

You moaned at the sight of this muscles clenching when he grabbed your waist and flipped you so easily you felt like a rag doll - your body was weak, legs almost trembling as you felt you closer to the edge.

With your hands now on his chest, you grinned when Mason took your waist in his hands and his mouth fell open at the sight of his cock disappearing inside you again and you started to ride him at your own torturing pace.

“Such a good boy for me, Mase… You’re so good.” Mason moaned loudly with you praising him, his fingertips leaving marks on your skin. You felt your cheeks blush under his gaze when he looked up to you with hooded eyes.

“You’re so fucking pretty.” He moaned again, his head falling back against the mattress and drops of sweat fell down his temple, to his cheek and neck. “Such a fucking pretty slut, all for me, all mine.” Mason groaned, feeling you speeding up your pace as your nails marked his chest. He was now biting his bottom lip so hard you swore he’d draw blood. When your eyes catched his knuckles gripping your hips, helping you move, your walls tightened around him and that delicious pressure on your stomach grew. “Fuck baby, you’re close aren’t you?”

One hand left your hip and it moved to your stomach, pressing it as he hit you deep and hard. Then, it slipped to your pussy and his thumb was back circling your clit, rubbing the same sloppy circles. You whimpered and spasmed at the combination of his thumb and his cock, knowing you couldn’t last much longer.

“Come on Y/n.” His voice coached you. “Come on baby, I wanna feel you cumming all over my cock as the good girl you are.”

Your orgasm washed over you as you felt yourself tighten around Mason, pleasure shuddering hard through your body and onto his. At the change of pressure, you felt Mason release himself inside you and you let out a sighed moan at the warm feeling of his cum filling you. Moving a few more times, slowly, you then rolled off him, falling on your back into the bed, trying to catch your breath.

“Oh, Mason…” You sighed, eyes closing as he moved next to you and his fingers slipped inside you again not letting his cum drip out of your pussy.

“I love you, baby.” He whispered against your skin, his nose softly brushing your temple, down to your cheek and your neck. Mason pulled his finger from you, taking it to your mouth and you proudly cleaned it, making him smile.

“I love you too.” You said back, enjoying his presence and being grateful that he was always there to take care of you.

Whenever and however you needed.

#mason mount fanfic #mason mount imagine #mason mount smut #mason mount one shot #mason mount x y/n #mason mount x reader

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ritsusakumawife · 5 months

Text

Kamisato Ayato x Reader

I got sick while making this so if some scenes/parts just don't make sense I apologize No, I'm definitely not using my sickness as an excuse for my bad writing

WARNINGS: !!Mentions of Y/Ns mental state!! (Only once at the start) Super ooc, bad grammar, profanity, and full of nonsense

Words: 1484

Part 1, Part 2 (You’re here!)

It’s been a few months since you left the estate

You still haven’t received any news about Ayato's return, which makes you slightly worried, but hey, at least these past few months, your mental health has gotten better

No Ayato = no unnecessary drama = peace = better mental state

Your shop has been doing well

The old regulars are now back and happily buying the things they needed but couldn't get due to the market price

Everything is back to normal

Yeah, no. It isn't completely back to normal

You have quite the reputation and even have multiple names. One popular name is "Two-faced Demon"

Why? There have been rumors circulating that you talked badly about Ayato, your spouse, around others while remaining an innocent doll around Ayato and vice versa

And due to your not-so-favorable reputation, you sometimes get some unwanted customers that want to ruin your business

Thankfully, though, you have some reliable friends that keep unwanted customers out

But even that has downsides

Some people are now wary of your shop and refuse to even look in the same direction as your shop when they pass by it, as they might suddenly get attacked by being an “unwanted customer”. It's pretty stupid to do, but it’s best to be cautious, right?

Reopening the shop has helped you, sure, but even that becomes stressful

It’s hard to manage it all by yourself, and you surely can’t leave it all alone when you go adventuring in the near future

And so you came up with a solution to reduce the overwhelming stress and future problems concerning the shop. Hire employees!

With the help of Thoma and Ayaka, you managed to scout a few trustworthy people who’re perfect for the job

All of them are quick learners and hard workers, which is perfect! With only a few more pieces of guidance, you can peacefully leave everything in their capable hands

Two months passed quickly, and everyone can now handle everything by themselves, even without your presence

Li Hua, in particular, is quite the master at her job.

You won’t have any lingering worries with her taking care of everything there

And with that, you’re all ready to go back to adventuring!

“Leaving already?”

“Hm? Oh! Heizou, yup! The unsolved mysteries out there are calling out to me."

“Oh really?”

“I can hear it whispering, “Y/N~ Y/N~~ Come solve this mysterious ancient puzzle!””

“Puzzles..Say, what if I come with you?”

“No, you ca—” You get cut off by Heizou pressing a finger on your lips

“Ah, ah, ah, I promise it’ll be fun! Besides, I can prove to be extremely useful to you when it comes to solving puzzles.”

“Yeah, but—”

“Do you doubt my abilities? If so, that really hurts my poor, poor heart.”

“I know your capabilities better than anyone Heizou. We grew up together.”

“If you know what my capabilities are, then why won’t you let me come then." Heizou pouts.

“You perfectly know why.”

“Do I?”

“Don’t play dumb with me. You have an important job here, Heizou. I can’t just take you with me.”

“I don’t even know when I’ll be back in Inazuma.”

“Y/N! Everything’s already set, just waiting on you,” Beidou semi-whispers.

“I’ll be there soon. Just..Saying some goodbyes to a friend.”

Heizou watches from the sidelines as you interact with Beidou. A tinge of jealousy and longing is present in his eyes, but it goes away quickly before anyone can see it

"Soo, I guess this is it. I’ll try my best to keep in contact with you. Promise. And maybe when we meet again, we can have a drink or two? "You held out a pinky finger towards Heizou

Heizou chuckles. “Well then, I’ll hold you up to that promise.” He intertwines his own pinky with yours

'Oh..'

Only now, as you say your final goodbyes to Heizou, do you realize how charming your best friend is.

His burgundy hair is flowing in the wind, his light olive green eyes are glistening in the sun, and his charming smile shows a hint of mischievousness.

'I'm sure whoever he'll get together with will be lucky.'

You quickly turn away from him upon realizing what you’re currently thinking

“Hey~ Why’d you turn away from me so harshly? Do you really not want to see my face that badly?" He says in a teasing tone, almost as if knowing what was going on inside your head

“That’s not it. I just—Ugh." You stumble over your words. Now that you think about it, Heizou has always had this effect on you. The man just knew how to make you speechless and stumble on your own words

“Alright, alright, that’s enough teasing.” Beidou interrupts

'Beidou! My savior!'

With that, Beidou drags you over to the Alcor(Crux fleet?? What’s the difference again)

While boarding, you catch a glimpse of platinum blonde hair

After settling down in your temporary room on the ship

You set out to find the owner of the platinum blonde hair. It’s been quite a long time since you last met, after all

“It seems that fate has once again made our paths cross.”

Oh, how you missed hearing that melodic voice of his

“It seems so..” You sit down next to where he sits at the edge

“Who would’ve thought you’d be here all along?”

Silence envelopes you both

“It hurt a lot, you know..”

Kazuha remains silent and listens attentively

“You suddenly went missing after the shogunate declared you to be an enemy for eternity. I was worried sick. I thought that maybe you’d been killed.”

“I’m sorry” is all that leaves Kazuha's lips. It’s spoken so softly and quietly that one would think it was just a whisper of the wind

There in the back of the ship, hidden away from everyone, you sit by Kazuha as you cry into his arms and whisper the things you’ve always wanted to say to the man, and even the things that are of another matter. The worries and pain you’ve kept to yourself

It's sort of ironic that instead of being open to your husband, you’re much more open to your other friends. Especially this man called Kaedehara Kazuha, he has this air around him that makes you feel secure and relaxed and spill all your secrets and feelings, adding to the fact that you've known this man for much longer than you've known your husband.

You know that whatever secret you tell him, he’ll keep it to himself until his very last breath. That’s how much you trust and confide in Kazuha.

"Hey..I'm sorry for, y'know, this whole crying thing.."

"It's perfectly fine, dove. It's best to let it all out rather than keeping it to yourself."

"Besides, isn't listening to your troubles also part of my job as your knight?"

"Pfft, my knight, huh? Well, then, Mr. Knight care to tell me why you didn't bother to tell me where you went? As my knight, it's only right for you to report to me."

"That's..I apologize. I had to flee immediately and couldn't risk putting you in danger by contacting you."

"What about contacting me by using another person? Like, I don't know, making Beidou deliver a message to me."

"I'd rather not trouble her with my problems. She's already done me a big favor by letting me hide out here."

"Fine, fine. I won't push the issue any further. Guess you're forgiven for now, Mr. Knight."

"Why, thank you, my liege" he chuckles while giving you a bow

The day ends with your and Kazuha's laughter filling the air

Once the moon has disappeared, the sun appears again on the horizon.

And the sun signifies that a new day has come.

You woke up to the sounds of the lively crew moving on and about. After getting yourself ready, you begin to head out.

Upon arriving on the deck, you notice how you've almost reached Liyue Harbor. It seems that the sea decided to be kind and didn't cause the voyage to be longer than necessary.

After what felt like hours, you've finally arrived and docked.

Kazuha, being the gentleman that he is, decided to lend you a hand in getting off the ship.

"I'd love to show you around, but unfortunately, the Alcor will be leaving soon after getting some resources we need." Kazuha tried to hide his unhappiness by giving you his signature charming smile, but as you've known him since you guys were kids, you quickly saw past his facade.

Seeing Kazuha smile with the sun perfectly behind him, as if purposefully illuminating him, is a breath-taking sight. First Heizou, now Kazuha, why is it only now that you've noticed how good-looking your childhood friends are?

To be fair, Kazuha was quite popular with the ladies; even when you guys were still children, the girls would flock around him as if he were some deity.

'Wait, no, Y/N, stop thinking about these things. You already have a husband! You have to stay loyal, no matter how shitty your husband may be. You can't just cheat or think these things about other people.'

'Well, this is it. A new place, a new life'

giuwfgeahsjk, this is it for this part! I might make the next part tomorrow, but for now, I need my sleep.

NOTE: I DO NOT CONDONE INFIDELITY. THIS IS PURELY A WORK OF FICTION.

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softlyspector · 1 year

Text

Promise

Summary: A year after his mother’s death, Marc travels back to Chicago to face his father. He doesn’t expect it to be easy but he also doesn’t expect it to be so hard. He especially doesn’t expect to find refuge from the hard moments in a little known witch’s shop a few blocks over. And definitely not in one keeping watch over the family’s piano.

This chapter: Marc isn't taking you on a date. At least, he's pretty sure he's not.

Tales Untold; Part VI - Series Masterlist

Pairing: eventual Marc Spector x Reader (eventual minor Steven Grant x Reader and Jake Lockley x Reader)

Word Count: 7.6k

Warnings (this chapter): fluff, Marc Spector’s terrible, oblivious flirting, lots of ✨touching✨, mental health issues, tense relationship with a parent, mentions of past child abuse, a touch of angst

A/N: Hello! As always, thank you for reading! Comments and reblogs are so appreciated! If there are any additional warnings that need added, please let me know. If you want to be added to the tag list, you can do so from the series masterlist!

VI.

Milwaukee Avenue, Chicago 3:16 PM

“Is that the last one?”

Marc nods, examining the side of the last window box.

It’s still a bit rough around the edges, but you seem to enjoy sanding them down yourself before you paint.

“You did a good job,” Elias says, approaching Marc where he stands at the workbench. “I’m sure it’s appreciated.”

Marc’s guard snaps up at the praise, shoulders raising around his ears, before he takes a breath, nods, and makes an effort to relax. “Yep. I think so.”

His father lies a hand along the wood, his fingers tracing the curved back edge. “I wonder whatever happened to that birdhouse we made.”

He freezes, not expecting his father to mention that. “You…don’t know?”

Elias shakes his head and tucks both hands behind his back. “I’m not sure. We never put it in the backyard.” He frowns and Marc glances up to meet his eyes, “Why didn’t we?”

Marc sucks in a breath and diverts his gaze again, turning back to the bench to clear away the mess he’d made. “Probably because of mom.”

The silence that follows his words lasts more than a few minutes while Marc works. He carefully puts the tools away, then clears away the leftover wood and sawdust. When he’s almost finished, it becomes clear his dad isn’t going to answer him.

Marc turns to Elias. “I gotta go,” he says, because he’d rather not think about it. “I was supposed to be over at Tales Untold a couple hours ago.”

And he misses you. Every second he’s away he thinks about you, and he’s not sure if that’s normal or not.

“Well,” Elias clears his voice, “At least it's over now.” He gestures at the flower box, but Marc is fairly sure he’s talking about something else.

It hurts.

Maybe it's over, but he lives with it everyday.

“Yeah,” he answers. “It’s done now.”

Elias pats his shoulder gently and then turns to walk back up the stairs. Marc doesn’t follow, staring at the last window box, wondering what it meant that it was done.

Tales Untold, Chicago 6:36 PM

Marc can hear you talking to a customer as he comes down the steps.

At the foot of the stairs, he steels himself for any social interaction he might have to participate in.

Usually, the customers ignore him.

But some of them are chatty and others, the regulars, have started to recognize him. He knows they feel rude not speaking to him when they know him, but he’d prefer not to have to talk.

He pushes aside the curtain that you pinned back in the evenings when the shop closed, and steps through.

To his surprise, you’re the one that turns to him excitedly. “Look Marc! Isn’t this perfect?”

You hold up a vintage Cubs t-shirt with a smile. “Cool,” he comments mildly, approaching the counter where the customer stands.

“You guys big Cubs fans?” She asks, her eyes darting over him.

“Marc is,” you answer for him, folding the shirt up carefully on the counter with a smile. “But we’re going to a game soon.”

“Yeah, well, those have been in the back of my closet for years. Can’t keep up with it anymore so it’s time to go.”

You nod knowingly. “Yes, they are ready for a new home.”

If the customer thinks anything of your phrasing, she doesn’t mention it.

Marc tunes out of the rest of your conversation, patiently waiting for you to finish up, and only filtering back into the conversation when he notices the woman inching closer to him. You don’t seem to notice, or maybe you don’t care, but if she steps any closer, her arm is going to brush into his, and he can think of nothing worse.

He moves to trail around the counter, leaning next to you on your side of it. He should have started there in the first place. He fingers the edge of the clothing stacked on the counter, a couple of t-shirts, a sweatshirt, and beneath that a couple of records.

You finish with the woman and follow her to the front of the store to lock the door behind her and flip the open sign to closed.

“Y’know I’m sure I’ve got some vintage stuff somewhere if you want it,” he says when you find your way back to him. “Stuff from when…from before I left.”

You ignore him to note, “She seemed to like you.” For one delusional moment, he thinks you might be jealous, until he looks up at you and catches the expression on your face. You’re trying and failing to suppress a smile. Your tone is teasing.

Marc rolls his eyes.

“Do you want what I have or not?” He huffs.

“Sure,” you step up to the counter to grab the sweatshirt and t-shirts. You leave the records where they lie. “C’mon. I wanna try them on.”

Marc follows you back upstairs anxiously.

You’re talking, something about the weather predictions for the day of the Cubs game - supposedly it was going to rain that Saturday - when you pause at the top of the stairs. “Oh, my god. Marc?” You turn to look back down the steps at him, still halfway down the staircase. “Did you cook dinner?”

“Yeah, well,” he grumbles, tromping up the rest of the stairs to stand beside you in the doorway, “you usually cook for me.”

Your eyes sparkle, something gentle and infinitely fond resting in your gaze. “I didn’t realize you knew how,” you tease.

“Ha ha,” he deadpans, glancing away, “hilarious.”

You nudge your shoulder gently into his and then step into the apartment. His breath catches as you walk away, the scent of you and the heavy cut of your gaze lingering with him.

“You’re too good to me, Marc. How am I ever supposed to pay you back?”

Something inside him twinges. These are things he never wants paid back to him. “You don’t gotta. Just eat.” Then he adds, “You do a lot. For me. Don’t worry about it.”

You hum and tuck the shirts you carry into the hamper just inside the bathroom door. “I always do. You’re much too good to me, honey,” you say with a soft smile. “I mean, without you, the storefront would still be a disaster. You’ve done so much.”

“Don’t cut yourself short, you help all the time” he rumbles, moving back to the stove. You helped too much, like you don’t get why Marc does things for you. “Thought you were gonna try ‘em on?”

“Should probably wash them first,” you amend yourself, washing your hands in the basin.

The water shuts off and silence fills the air.

He’s aware that you’re behind him, moving slowly closer, and he has to repress a smile.

You’re not very stealthy anyways, but the scent of your skin gives you away even if you were. He turns and beckons you closer, reaching out to tug you close into his side.

“How do you always know?” you gripe. “I’m not a loud person.”

He kicks out a foot behind you, hemming you in between him and the stove. Really, it's just so he can touch you. “Go ahead and take a look,” he bumps his chin into your jaw, directing your gaze and not answering your question. You turn your head to meet his eyes instead, the look in them softened and content.

“I stand by what I said. You do too much for me.”

“Well,” he tries to joke, “You are behind on your painting responsibilities.”

So far, you’ve painted two of the three window boxes. You haven’t even considered how you want to paint the sign.

You wrinkle your nose at him and turn to lift the lid on one of the pots.

Milwaukee Avenue, Chicago 1:13 PM

“I forgot how much I missed this,” Marc says, twisting the tag off the new Cubs jersey. “Haven’t been to a game in years.” He tosses the tag into the trash and rolls his shoulders. The fabric is a bit staticky, which he doesn’t love.

He fidgets with the hem of it, trying to decide if he should wear something under it so it doesn't stick to him. “Marc,” Steven pipes up, “Bit of water will do the trick to get rid of the static.”

Jake tilts forward, examining the shirt. “We look good,” he comments, oddly mild in tone.

If Marc didn’t know better, he’d say Jake was nervous. “It’s not a date,” he answers as he yanks the shirt off and turns on the tap to run cool water onto a washcloth.

“Well, we can’t be sure since someone didn’t fuckin’ ask,” Jake rolls his eyes.

Marc runs the cloth on the inside of the shirt and then over his skin before putting it back on. It’s much better. He adjusts the collar, decides it would have to do. “I didn’t ask because we’d sound like fucking idiots.”

“Remember to take those shirts with you, yeah?” Steven reminds him, cutting off whatever Jake was about to say that would invariably escalate into an argument.

“Got it,” he says, tugging his Cubs hat on before reaching for the bathroom door.

Marc grabs the shirts that he’d dug out of the back of his closet from the hall side table where he’d left them. He calls out a goodbye to his father but doesn’t pause to listen for a response before he’s out the door and making his way to Tales Untold.

He’s not sure you actually want them, considering you now have a collection of two t-shirts and a sweatshirt of a sport you don’t pay attention to.

Still, he wants you to have them.

He wants you to have them because they used to be his. Maybe it's a tad possessive, but he hopes you’ll want his things over a stranger’s.

Marc had considered briefly if he should give them to you at all, stalled in the mouth of his childhood bedroom’s closet, his teenage wardrobe staring back at him.

He’d been worried about what you might feel or see if you touch them.

But baseball was a balm, a savior in his childhood and teenage years, so he figures their energy must be like the piano’s. Warm and sun drenched and good.

When he thinks of baseball, he thinks of summer, miles of green grass in the park, warm days with his dad, melting ice cream.

It has to be good.

And this is something he wants to share with you after all. This is something that’s important to him.

Halfway down your street, Marc makes a split second decision, and ducks into the florist next to Tales Untold. He’s immediately overwhelmed by what he sees, rows and rows of flowers and arrangements, a riot of color that makes him want to shut his eyes for a moment.

“Can I help you?” The woman behind the counter straightens and smiles at him.

“Good idea,” Jake muses from the glass of one refrigerated case. “Flowers are always good.”

Marc relaxes a fraction, feeling less stupid than seconds before. Still, he has no idea what to get.

It’s not a date, he thinks, and he can get you flowers for no good reason if he damn well pleases.

“Yeah,” he turns to the woman and steps closer. “I think so.”

“What are you looking for? If you don’t have an idea, I can help if you let me know what occasion you’re buying for.”

Occasion? What the fuck was he supposed to say? A maybe date? A baseball game?

You like purple though, that he knows, and tulips.

“I’m, uh, looking for something purple. Or tulips. Whatever you have.”

She smiles and rounds the counter, leading Marc deeper into the shop. “Well, I have either, or both.” She shows him a bouquet wrapped in paper. Purple tulips. “I also have pink or yellow tulips. Or, I have some options that are purple but not tulips.”

Marc glances at where she points and decides to stick with what he knows. “Purple tulips are good.”

“What’s the occasion?” She asks as they move to the counter and Marc pulls out his wallet. “If you don’t mind me asking?”

“Not actually sure,” he grumbles.

She smiles to herself, like she’s heard that before. She makes sure the blooms are securely wrapped before handing them and the receipt over. “Well, good luck then.”

“Thanks,” he manages, feeling odd.

He’s never bought anyone flowers before.

“Not a date,” Jake scoffs, “Who are you kidding, hermano?”

Marc grits his teeth and doesn’t deign to respond.

The shop’s door is unlocked when he tries it, and Marc wishes again that you’d stop doing that. He could knock, he could wait for you to come answer the door.

He finds you upstairs examining yourself in the mirror by the door. “I think I like the vintage t-shirt look,” you say by way of greeting, not glancing at him as you turn and watch your reflection.

“Looks good on you,” he answers, holding up the shirts he'd brought you. “Brought you mine. Washed ‘em and everything.”

“You didn’t have to do that,” you smile and turn, grabbing the keys to your truck and the canvas bag you carried everywhere from the side table under the mirror. “Put them there,” you nod toward the counter with your chin, adjusting your shirt again.

You haven’t looked at him properly yet, and he feels the tiniest stab of jealousy when it's clear you probably aren’t going to change, that you’ve settled on the shirt you have on. He crosses the counter to set them down before turning. “Where do you want these?” He brandishes the flowers at you, Jake cursing at him that he’s going to damage the stalks.

You frown and glance at him through the mirror. “Wha- Oh!”

A surprised look pulls over your face and you turn to face him. “Did you get me flowers?”

Marc grits his teeth, wondering why this felt so weird. “Yeah,” he grumbles.

“Oh,” you say again, smiling this time as you move toward him. “That’s - that’s so kind of you.” You take the flowers from him, pressing your nose against them for a moment as you close your eyes and inhale, “I haven’t gotten flowers in forever.”

Marc watches you, watches the sun catch in your lashes before his gaze slips to the shape of your lips. “When was the last time?” He asks, eyes flicking back up to yours in time to see your eyes flick open again.

“My dad got me flowers when I dropped out of college,” you laugh, a bright expression on your face. “It was a joke, y’know. Because people usually get them when they graduate. I’ve never gotten them from, uh-,”

You don’t finish your thought, abruptly hugging Marc instead. It's so sudden and so quick, he doesn’t get to hug you back. He turns, his body automatically twisting to keep you in his eyesight when you slip past him. He watches you pull down a vase and stick them in, still wrapped in paper. “Thank you, Marc. I’ll fix them up properly later,” you say, stroking one petal lightly. “You got my favorite and everything.”

You almost leave them sitting on the counter, but seem to think better of it. You carry them across the room to the window and leave them there, directly below one of the more recent stained glass creations.

“‘Course I did,” he says softly when you just stand there staring at them in the afternoon sun. “We gotta go.”

“We do,” you say excitedly.

Your energy is infectious and Marc finds himself smiling as he follows you down the stairs.

Wrigley Field, Chicago 2:45 PM

Marc is easy for you to read most of the time. But you can’t decide on what the flowers mean, on the slightly nervous way he’d held them out to you.

The whole drive to the stadium, all you could think of was the way he almost kissed you, the way you thought he almost kissed you in the truck at the hardware store, the anxious way he’d asked you if you still wanted to go to a baseball game with him. And now, the flowers before said baseball game.

Was it possible…that you were on a date?

Probably not. You were reading into it too much.

But, you had said it’s a date, the day you first talked about going to a game. Had you accidentally asked him on a date?

It makes you giggle a little.

It’s stupid and funny, and you’re a little bit giddy that he wanted to go on a date with you if that’s what had happened.

Marc’s hand is at the small of your back now, gently but pointedly moving you through the throngs of people already inside the stadium.

“I had no idea so many people liked baseball,” you remark lightly.

Marc snorts. “You think you’re funny.”

“I am funny. You laughed.”

He rolls his eyes, guiding you into line at a concession stand.

If it had been anyone other than Marc, you would have been annoyed at the hand against your spine. But you like his touch, the warmth of his palm soaking through your shirt, slightly possessive and entirely protective. Though you have a sneaking suspicion that it’s more for his benefit, to ground himself in the crowd, than anything else.

You watch Marc’s eyes scan the crowd, before they snap back to you. “So,” you start, Marc’s hand finally dropping from your back. You immediately miss the warmth of his touch. “Steven told me he works at a museum in London.” He’d also told you a funny little half story about how he’d been fired from his other museum job, so many details left out it hardly made sense. Something about a bathroom, something about security cameras.

Marc goes still at your words, like he knows what you’re going to ask next.

“But you never said what you do. Or is Steven the breadwinner?” You nudge your hip into his side. “Military?”

“How-,”

“It’s in the way you stand. It’s in the way you watch the crowd.”

He scoffs at you but there’s no malice in it. “Think that’s just the general PTSD.”

“Fair enough,” you say with a laugh as you inch forward in line. Marc tugs you out of the way of a group of drunk friends, already swaying and boisterous, cups of beer sloshing in their hands. “You don’t have to tell me.”

He sighs, hand retreating once more. “It’s a little complicated.”

You shift closer to him and loop your arm through his, tightening your fingers on his bicep. The muscle is firm beneath your touch, skin hot under the soft fabric of the Cubs jersey. You glance at his hand, wondering how weird, or how obvious, you might be if you tangled your fingers with his.

You push down the urge, instead watching the twist of tendon in his forearm, the vein that runs to his elbow, the shape of his hands. He has beautiful hands, veined, the skin darker than when you’d met him from hours spent outside over the last weeks and months.

Just like when you’d first met him, you get the sense that he doesn’t know, or at least doesn’t think about, how beautiful he is. Unfairly gorgeous, really.

“But you were in the military,” you glance back to his eyes.

“I was,” he answers and avoids your gaze, raven eyes focused on the cement beneath his feet, brow furrowed.

You let it drop after that, when he seems uncomfortable with admitting it. It’s quiet for a moment, but Marc reaches up with his other hand to lie his fingers over yours. He squeezes your hand. “So, what did you do? You told my dad you were a server.”

You grin and try to hide it by pressing your face into his shoulder. “Can you believe,” you murmur, “that we know so many things about each other and not this?”

You think Marc will just roll his eyes, but he chuckles lowly, fingers tightening on yours before he lets go. “So?”

“I tried college. I hated it. I tried working in offices. I hated it. I didn’t like serving but I also didn’t mind it as much as the other things. Less monotony with it, I guess. So, that’s what I did.”

You reach the front of the line then, and Marc insists on paying for what you order. He carries your drinks while you juggle the food. “Do you ever wish you’d finished school?”

“No,” you tilt your head as Marc navigates the crowd. “I would have been miserable. I know I’m lucky to have ended up where I have.” He’s slightly ahead of you, leading more than walking with you.

A smile tugs at your mouth when he seems to realize it, slowing his pace so you can walk next to him. “I’m lucky you ended up where you are.”

The words are weighted, though Marc tries to assume a casualness about it.

Your heart gives a strange little pulse, and you remember again the way he’d almost kissed you outside the hardware store. The humid, sun warmed little world, the push of his skin against yours.

Or, maybe he hadn’t been. Maybe you were just hopeful and willing to believe what you wanted to be true.

Certainly either Steven or Jake hadn’t been too thrilled about it. Your stomach clenches when you remember the violent way he’d jerked away from your hand.

Or, maybe you were reading into that too, and Marc hadn’t wanted to kiss you.

You’d rather not risk what you have with Marc trying to decipher it.

You’ve still even yet to meet the elusive Jake.

The air is sticky with moisture, but not hot, and when Marc leads you to the mouth of the stairs that lead down into the seating, a warm breeze blows over you that alleviates some of the mugginess.

On the horizon dark clouds crowd the sky, fat, and heavy with rain. “Think we’ll get rained on?” You ask Marc as you descend the steps carefully to your seats.

Marc reaches out to steady you, setting the cups aside so you can balance one hand on his arm and take some of the snacks from you with the other. “Nah,” he answers when you’re seated. “I won’t let it.”

“Oh, you control the weather now?”

“No,” he smirks, “But this is the midwest and the weather reports are never right. It won’t rain.”

You nudge your shoulder into his, “Okay, I think I might agree with you.” Marc's mouth twitches again into what you’ve come to realize is a smile, more relaxed now, and hooks his arm behind your shoulders along the back of your seat.

Immediately you’re overwhelmed by his scent, the clean soapy smell of him. He’s wearing his usual cologne, earthy with sage and bergamot.

Despite your best intentions, you lean into him a little while resisting the urge to just press your face into his shoulder, his neck.

It doesn't help that he’s unfairly handsome. No person should look that good in a baseball jersey. He’s looking out at the field, a muscle jumping in his cheek, sharp jaw flexing every few seconds with lingering anxiety. The tendons stand out in his neck and you wonder again if Marc is ever at ease.

The top few buttons of the jersey are undone, the smooth expanse of skin beneath enticing. You catch the glitter of the necklace that always hangs around his throat. You’ve yet to see it in its entirety, curious as to what hangs on the end or if it was only a chain.

He’s beautiful. And it makes you sick with longing. He’s too pretty for his own good.

You clear your throat, shaking yourself a little.

“Are you going to explain what’s going on to me?” You ask, plucking up the basket of french fries you’d ordered.

He glances over at you in surprise and you have to resist the urge to reach up and pull his baseball cap off. His eyes are shaded, darker than usual in the shadow of the bill. You want to see the shades of brown in the sun, you want to see his dark curls slip across his forehead and his brows to wrinkle in irritation when they do. “You’ve never been to a baseball game.”

“This is my very first,” you confirm.

“Why didn’t you say somethin’?”

“Well,” you shrug, “because it didn’t matter. I wanted to go. With you.”

Marc rolls his eyes at you, “Right, but I woulda done more if I’d known, sweetheart.”

Your breath catches in your lungs at the endearment on his tongue. Marc seems surprised too, but you brush past it quickly. You call him honey, afterall. “And what would you have done, Marc?”

“Gave you a lesson on baseball,” he deadpans, not looking away from you.

“Glad I didn’t say anything then,” you note and Marc’s face breaks into a half suppressed smile. He looks away from you, shaking his head. “So, are you gonna explain what’s going on to me?”

“Of course I will.”

You try to hide your smile and fail, instead offering the basket of fries to him as you wait for the game to start. “Okay, so go ahead.”

Wrigley Field, Chicago 5:53 PM

Marc makes a fairly funny companion for a baseball game.

You usually don’t witness such intense displays of emotion from him. You’d expected him to watch with his usual passive grumpiness, but to your surprise, he’s on his feet and shouting along with the rest of the spectators when it's called for, tugging you up with him.

You’re a good sport about it, cheering along with him.

It’s funny and very endearing and incredibly fun.

The people sitting next to you make conversation with you when they notice your vintage t-shirt, which you’re very proud of, and find out it's your first game. Marc’s mouth only twitches when they endeavor to make your first game memorable. They buy you a cup of beer and make enough noise to get you on the jumbotron once.

Marc even chats with them, pokes lightly at you with them for not being a lifelong fan. He seems at ease talking to them, either because they’re also native Chicagoans or because it's the familiar subject of baseball, you aren’t sure.

You like how open he is, how he doesn’t try to hide anything in those moments. You wonder what he’d be like if he weren’t always so self contained, if he didn’t feel like he always had to hide.

He periodically hooks an arm around your waist and tugs you close so he can explain what’s going on, his mouth pressed against your ear.

You catch onto the rules pretty quickly but you don’t tell Marc that. You like the way his arm feels around your waist too much, the heavy warmth of his touch.

Even when he lets go of you, one hand usually stays hooked into the fabric of your shirt at your waist. Marc doesn’t seem to realize that he’s doing it, fidgeting with the material in a self soothing way and inadvertently keeping you close to him.

When those heavy clouds on the horizon eventually obscure the sun as the game nears its end, Marc takes his cap off and you get the very real pleasure of seeing his loose curls flop forward. “I love your hair,” you tell him before you can stop yourself, reaching up to tug on the end of one lock.

“You’re supposed to be payin’ attention to the game,” he grumbles as he tilts his chin down, letting you brush them back into place for him. “Not me.”

“Can’t I do both?”

Marc shakes his head, looking faintly amused. “What am I gonna do with you?” He asks, his gaze not wavering from yours as the game ends and the crowd erupts in cheers.

“Cubs won,” you say, finally glancing away over the excited crowd. The purple clouds have rolled ever closer, darkening the stadium as people begin moving en masse towards the exits. “It’s gonna rain.”

“It’s not gonna rain,” Marc says, and this time when he leads you into the crowd, he reaches down and tangles his fingers with yours. “It’s gonna blow over like it always does.”

You snort but don’t contradict him.

The fork of lightning that cuts through the sky makes you laugh, and Marc squeezes your fingers in response.

The air has that sweet, sharp smell it always does right before it rains. When you reach the road, the clouds overhead look like they’ve settled in, heavy and stormy, over the city. A distant rumble of thunder makes you lift your brow, but Marc pointedly avoids your gaze.

You glance at your companion, the sharp cut of his jaw, the line of his nose, dark eyes that scan the street around you, tugging you a bit closer whenever anyone invades the little bubble Marc seems to create around you. He has an intense stare that keeps most people at a distance.

But he seems calm now, despite the crowd, the tiny smile he tries to suppress is still pulling at his lips.

It makes you happy, and you wonder again about how he’d asked you if you still wanted to do this at all. You wonder again at the flowers. You wonder again at what you think was a near kiss.

Maybe, that day in the truck, he’d questioned himself, thought he was misreading you, like you had with this.

You’re fairly sure you’re on a date.

You certainly hope you are.

Marc is so unsure of himself, questions and questions, not only others, but himself and how he interprets what others say to him. Reality is fluid to Marc, like things might change at a second's notice. “Marc,” you tighten your fingers around his. “I’m having a really good time,” you assure him as you walk. “I’m happy we decided to do this.”

“Glad to hear it,” he hums. You’re a couple blocks from the stadium now, nearing the lot you’d parked in.

You open your mouth to say more, when the sky suddenly opens up. The rain you had warned against, slams down on you in an instant.

The shock of it is cold and uncomfortable but you laugh anyways. “Ha!” You shout over the din, thunder following in the distance. “I told you it was gonna rain!”

Marc is scanning the street again, “Yeah, yeah, c’mon,” he yanks you along, not unkindly, until you’re sheltered beneath an awning of a shop along with other fans departing the game.

It’s uncomfortable and close, but you and Marc end up shoved into a corner, against a brick wall. Marc turns his back to the people behind him, curling an arm around your waist.

Your entire world is subsumed by Marc.

He smells like rain, the coppery scent of bare skin, the usual scent of him washed away. You reach up and swipe some of the rainwater off of his face. “I was right.”

“You were right,” he concedes, only slightly grouchy in tone. “It’s raining.”

A man bumps into Marc, jostles you a little, and he slides closer to you with an irritated growl. “Where’s that pizza place?” You ask to distract him. “Do we need the truck? Can we walk?”

“You wanna walk in this?”

“No, honey,” you roll your eyes, “but if it's like a street over-,”

“We were headed there,” he interrupts. “It’s a couple blocks over. Not worth it to move the truck.”

The air is warm and humid, the brick walled corner you’re backed against, chilled. Marc is so close to you, that you would only need to tilt your head a little to brush your forehead against his.

His fingers tighten on your hip, “Y’know,” he swallows, head tilting to the side, listening to voices you can’t hear. “Steven and Jake have been hounding me to ask you if this was a date.”

Your belly lurches, heart in your throat. “Oh?”

Marc’s chest rises and falls quickly, the sound of the rain and the chatter so loud it makes him hard to hear. “Yeah.”

“And is it?” You lean closer, heart pounding a hard rhythm against your sternum.

Marc blinks at you. “I-,”

“Can I be honest?” You ask, raising one hand to balance on his shoulder. Marc gives a tight nod of his head, his guard already up, shoulders hiking up around his ears. “I didn’t think this was a date.” Marc ducks his head at your words, opening his mouth to say something you’re sure is going to break your heart, but you don’t let him speak. “But I would be…really, terribly, overjoyed if it was.”

Marc only looks up at you when you push a gentle finger beneath his chin.

You smile at him, then laugh when his frown deepens. “I mean it.”

The rain is still bucketing down, the pocket of people you’re sequestered behind not paying you any attention, and you suddenly can’t stop laughing.

You fall forward into Marc, locking your arms around him tightly. “Don’t think about it too hard. I meant exactly what I said,” you chuckle into his ear. “I want this to be a date so bad, honey.”

For a long moment, he doesn’t respond, one arm still around your waist while the other hangs loosely at his side.

When the silence shows no sign of ending, you start to pull back, worried you’d severely misread the situation.

But Marc doesn’t let you pull away, his free hand reaching up to cradle your jaw. He searches your eyes, fingers slipping back behind your ear, his thumb smoothing over your cheekbone, the touch possessive and desperate.

He’s the only thing you can see again, wedged between the corner of the wall and the solidity of his body.

“Marc?”

“This is a date,” he says, his voice quiet, eyes drifting to your mouth. “It’s…yeah. It’s a date.”

You laugh again, the sound a little wild. He looks a little feral, water webbing his lashes together, his curls standing out more than ever, eyes hooded and focused entirely on you. His skin is still damp and you aren’t entirely sure what you’re going to say when you open your mouth.

But it doesn’t matter, because Marc leans forward and presses his mouth to yours.

You suck in a shaky breath as Marc releases your waist, his hand pressing to the other side of your face to mirror the first.

For a long second, you can’t catch your breath, overwhelmed by the suddenness of it, the elation spiderwebbing across your chest. Your heart feels like it may actually stop, the gallop of your pulse loud in your ears.

He starts to pull away when your mind catches up to the moment. You fist your hands in the smooth, damp fabric of the jersey against his ribs, steadying yourself against him. You kiss him back, moving your lips with his.

He tastes like rain, and like the lemon chill you’d shared during the seventh inning stretch.

Marc’s kiss is slow and steady and deliberate. It pulls you apart, sends sparks skittering along your skin. He tilts your head back, skims his lips across your cheek, nose brushing yours when he moves back to your mouth.

The inky umber of his eyes lock onto yours for a moment, his breath fanning across your lips. “You’re beautiful,” he murmurs before he kisses you again, his tongue briefly teasing at your bottom lip. He only tastes you for a moment, meeting your tongue, before he pulls back, aware of where you are, that you aren’t alone.

He releases your face to wrap his arms around you, tucking you close to him, face buried against your neck as he breathes you in.

Your breath comes in little pants, your body only realizing then that it needed oxygen, like Marc would have been enough to sustain you if he just kept kissing you.

You peer at the people behind Marc, but none of them are paying you any attention, their backs turned as they huddle in their own little groups, their own little worlds.

“I didn’t know if it was a date either,” he says when he pulls back. His gaze is oddly light, a weight that was usually settled in them gone.

“Yeah,” you tuck a loose, damp curl back from his forehead. “But you’re glad it is?”

He laughs.

It’s not a low chuckle or a snort, but a full, loud laugh.

A few heads turn your way at the sound and you grin so big your face hurts. “Yeah. You could say that.”

The rain begins to slow then, and some people brave the wet, giving you a bit more space. “Good.”

Marc loosens himself from around you, taking your hand to fold between his fingers. “Wanna go get that pizza now? We can still make the reservation.”

“You made a reservation?”

“Yeah,” he rumbles, glancing out at the raindrops still falling. “You need one after a game. Too many people.”

Something about it, the thoughtfulness, the little things Marc did that he hardly saw the value in, makes your throat close. “Okay. Yes,” your voice cracks.

“You okay?” His voice is low and concerned.

You nod, and tug on his hand. “I promise. Let’s go.”

He searches your eyes, and you reach up to lie a hand on his cheek, pressing a kiss to his mouth carefully. “I said I promise.”

“Let’s go,” he agrees, fighting another smile.

Tales Untold, Chicago 1:15 AM

The storm clouds haven’t quite left the area when Marc parks your truck at the curb outside Tales Untold.

He comes to the door with you but says he should go home. You step up to the door while he remains on the sidewalk, several paces back from you.

You don’t argue with him, sliding the key into the lock and twisting it, before you turn back to him. Marc’s usual frown is in place beneath the street light, the divot between his brows deep. You reach for him and Marc immediately steps closer to you, taking your hand.

You tilt your head down to kiss him again, thumbing at the line between his brows until it dissolves beneath your touch.

Marc moves up onto the step with you, cages you against the door.

His kisses are still slow and deliberate, laden with a quiet passion that makes your blood sing.

You bury your hands in his hair, the strands soft and loose in the humid air. “I think I like baseball.”

“Good,” he says, lips brushing yours. “We’ll go again. Sometime. Before the season is over.”

You smile and Marc pushes his forehead against yours briefly, the act strangely intimate, before he pulls away entirely. “Goodnight, honey,” you say, reluctantly releasing him.

“‘Night, baby,” he steps back onto the sidewalk.

You’re not sure your heart can handle any more surprises. Certainly not him calling you baby.

Marc turns and starts to walk away when he pauses and pivots back. “Go inside,” he juts his chin toward the door.

You know he’s not going to budge while you’re still on the street. “Only if you wait ‘til I’m upstairs so I can watch you walk down the street.”

He rolls his eyes and stuffs his hands in his pockets, feigning annoyance, “Fine. Go.”

You hastily pull the shop’s door open, making sure to twist the lock back into place so Marc won’t have a cow about safety again, before you dart through the dark shop. You feel giddy, filled to the brim with nerves.

You trip up the steps and throw open the window to search for him.

He’s still standing there, arms crossed over his chest now, and if you didn’t know better you’d say he’s smiling. “Okay,” you call down, propping your chin on your hand on the window sill. “Goodnight.”

“‘Night, sweetheart,” he says. “I’ll see ya tomorrow.”

You watch him walk down the street until he turns down an alley to cut through to the next street.

The road is quiet after that, but you don’t move for a long moment, letting the warm breeze kiss your skin.

Your clothes have long since dried and are now oddly stiff. You feel sticky and gross all at once, from being in the sun and then rained on before spending way too much time in a pizza place. “Made sure they have vegetarian shit,” he’d said as you sat down, his voice gruff.

And once again, you’d been shocked by the thoughtfulness, the way he considered things carefully where you were concerned.

The pizza was good, the ice cream you went for after even better.

He’d tasted like chocolate when you kissed him in the truck, awkwardly making out over the center console like teenagers afraid of being caught by their parents.

Marc kisses like a man starved though, like it’s his last night on earth. He left you breathless.

You smile, feeling stupid with affection as you stand and shut the window. The tulips are perky and beautiful in their vase, a lovely reminder of the day. You take a mental note to save one of the blooms to press and preserve, as you carry the glass to the sink to fill with water.

You remove the flowers and unwrap the paper, cut the stems and put them back.

When you turn to place the tulips back in the window, you spot the shirts Marc had brought you.

Vintage t-shirts from his teenage years.

You smile and place the vase on the kitchen island instead, reaching for the shirts.

He’d said he washed them for you, and you can only hope they smell like him. Maybe it's pathetic, but you want to sleep wrapped in his scent. You want to feel like he’s there even if he isn’t.

You wish he would have stayed the night, but you haven’t been able to convince him to stay since that night you fell asleep together under the piano.

You have a suspicion that Marc is still worried he’s taking too much from you.

You’re distracted, still thinking of Marc, when you absently touch the shirt.

When you touch the folded shirt, you don’t recognize the feeling that ripples through you, completely at odds to your mood. And then it hits you. An intense pain and grief rocks through you, a confused swirl of emotion that’s impossible to decipher.

It fucking hurts.

Touching things has never hurt before.

You let out a scream no one will ever hear and drop to the floor, yanking your hand away from the fabric.

It’s too late, because the memory hits you a second later, and the pain doesn't fade from your mind for hours afterwards.

Tales Untold, Chicago 8:13 AM

The door is locked.

Good. Maybe you were finally learning to keep it shut.

The sign is flipped to closed.

Not unusual. You don’t open until eleven on Sundays.

Marc knocks.

And you don’t answer.

“Marc,” Steven points from the reflection in the front window. “Left a note, I think.”

He leans forward, squinting against the glare. Your handwriting is scrawled across a sheet of notebook paper, the edges roughly ripped.

Marc,

If you come by and see this, I’m not feeling so well. Won’t be opening the shop today.

You sign the note with your name with no further explanation.

“Not feeling well?” Steven asks, sounding confused.

Marc feels confused.

His heart sinks into his gut. It’s too much of a coincidence. Today, the day after he’d finally fucking got it together and -

He pulls out his phone. He has your number saved from when you’d insisted he have it.

Why hadn’t you called him?

He presses your contact and lifts the phone to his ear, glancing up at your apartment window. The call goes to voicemail after two rings and so it's obvious you’ve declined his call.

He tries again, but this time it rings into oblivion, until your voicemail message trills out. “Hey,” he says into the speaker, voice creaking. “Hey,” he clears his throat, “I - uh - I saw your note. If you need anything - just - text me. Text me anyway. Lemme know you’re okay.”

He winces, he’s never said the words text me in his life.

“Or call me. Look, I, if I did something wrong. Tell me. I’ll fix it. I hope you’re okay.”

He hangs up before he can say anything else, anything more pathetic.

Still, it’s hard to breathe, hard to swallow around the knot of worry in his throat.

He watches your window, then blinks down at the bag of pastries he’d gotten from Flour Up. He’d almost stopped for coffee too, but he much preferred it when you made it for him, when he got to use that white mocha whatever in his coffee.

Marc’s phone buzzes.

I’m okay.

Buzz.

You didn’t do anything wrong.

Buzz.

I promise.

He waits for another message that doesn’t come.

Marc looks back up at your window, but the curtains don’t so much as twitch.

Thank you for reading! A special thank you to those keeping up with the series, and for all the continued love and support.

Comments and feedback are so appreciated. New parts will be posted Saturdays at 3PM EST! You can add yourself to the tag list on the series masterlist.

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#marc spector x reader #marc spector x you #steven grant x reader #steven grant x you #jake lockley x reader #jake lockley x you #moon knight fanfiction #moon knight fanfic

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bunnypansy · 6 months

Text

Unbalanced Diet

Rated NC-17, read at your own RISK!

This is a dark fic, read ALL of the warnings before you consume. If anything mentioned in the warnings makes you uncomfortable, TURN AWAY. As a creator, I do not condone the things I write about, though that should be obvious enough.

That being said, welcome dear viewers, to our special Halloween showing! You and Rook are celebrating your one year anniversary together with a delicious dinner and a bit of intimacy afterward. Though this film contains romantic elements, make no mistake, this is a horror movie, intended to disturb and discomfort the audience. Featuring: Rook Hunt, and you, dear viewer, with minor cameos from from guest stars Vil Shoenheit and Neige Leblanche Beware! This film contains: Dead dove do not eat, non-con/dubious consent, non-consensual touching, kidnapping, unwilling cannibalism, sexual reactions to cannibalism, drinking blood, blood/injury, implied murder/torture, implied ptsd/flashbacks, controlling/toxic relationship, starvation as manipulation, physical/mental abuse, dissociation, Rook being generally fucking terrifying, implied existence of ghosts??? sexual biting, nipple play, light infantilization, sadism, blood kink, dacryphilia, blood as lube, teasing, oral (reader receiving), cis!male!reader, the french language, dog/master metaphors

“I love you.” You know. It sits on your tongue like a stone in your mouth.

He says it everyday, his devotion total, complete, unwavering; it should be admirable. At first, you tried to count how many times he said it, tally marks carved in the grooves on your brain- you lost track four days in.

Warm hands creep under the hem of your silken robe, roughed palms smoothing over your cold shoulders, a honeyed voice whispering in your ear. “I love you more than anything, mon amour.”

The silence of anticipation is loud, but you stay quiet, even as Rook’s warm hands wander their way down your chest and the white silk falls away, feeling more like a wildfire on your skin. Bare legs and arms are laid open the frigid air of the dining room and you sink back against the fine oaken dinner chair, as if trying to steal Rook’s heat through the seat back.

His hot fingers pause over your stiffened nipples, still tender and aching. “It’s our anniversary today, darling.”

“It-” There’s a little flick over the swollen nub as you try to answer, Rook just wants to hear you stumble for him, watch you squirm. “It is?”

“Oui, c'est le cas.” Idly, thumbs brush back and forth over your sensitive nipples, slow and patient. “Every moment of this year with you has been utter bliss, mon amour, beyond ecstasy.”

“For this momentous occasion,” Rook’s lips press against your temple, the crest of your ear, your jaw, “I believe a special meal is an order, non?” Then finally land on the column of your throat.

The points of his teeth nip at your thin skin, a soft pinch, soothed with the flick of his tongue. A kiss from any other man would be so sweet. You shiver under his touch, from the crisp air or the terror you can’t decide. When you swallow back a distressed noise Rook can feel your throat bob under his tongue, teeth scraping against your Adam's apple, eager for a bite. You wonder how exactly he wants you.

All at once the heat of his breath disappeared from your skin and Rook’s weathered hands returned to your shoulders, pulling up your silken robe to once more cover your skin. “I’ll get started on dinner then, don’t go anywhere mon chéri!” He laughs, and it’s not funny.

You listen, listless, as heavy work boots stalk away from you; the steps are slow and deliberate, as if he wants you to hear exactly where he's going. Five long strides behind you, then three more to the left and… he's passed the kitchen. There’s a sort of rhythmic pounding in your skull, it might be your pulse, but your brain had it confused for the beat of Rook’s boots against the hardwood as he stalks down the hall. The footsteps fade but the throbbing in your head stays, freshly renewed as a weighty metallic click meets your ears, and paired with a profound tightness in your chest when you realize Rook has opened the door to the basement. Beyond that, he’s left the door open, which he’s done before- how many times you’re not sure.

All at once you’re pulled to the mouth of the basement again. Now is your chance, maybe your only chance, since Rook wasn’t home. Your sheer silken socks did little to protect the soft soles of your feet from the splintered wood on the first step. How odd, the rest of the house is in mint condition, but this corridor is left in disrepair. As you felt along the wall for a light switch, you came to the realization that perhaps the basement hall had never been in repair; your groping did not reveal a lightswitch, rather that the walls were unfinished. Fingers grazed the flesh and bones of the house, a wooden skeleton filled with soft insulation in its gaps. The foundation groaned, perhaps a reaction to touching the open cavity in the wall, perhaps a warning to turn away. You felt around a moment longer but there was no light switch to be found. You’d continue in the dark.

At your back, the creaking of the steps and rattle of chains followed close on your heels, you were terribly aware that if you needed to run, you’d be doomed. The length of chain was too short for a full stride. It rubbed, cold and insistent over your ankles, a reminder. In front of you, only blackness, a warning.

The entire world seemed to disappear behind you as you delved deeper into the intestines of the house, and the farther you went, the more alive it felt- and God did you go far. The basement stairwell seemed to stretch on into the abyss ad infinitum, it gave you plenty of time to reconsider your choice, especially when the air began to change around you. Where the house above retained a cold, sterile feeling, the narrow passage of the stairwell grew warm and humid the further you pushed on. Soon enough it took on a putrid stench, growing in strength with every step; by the time you reached the foot of the stairs it was so potent you had to suppress the urge to gag. Rancid eggs or animal feces or something of the like: you could name a thousand things as olid and never once touch the intensity with which the basement reeked that night. While you couldn’t logically place the smell, a deep instinctual part of your brain put a name to the stench as easily as you took a breath. Something had died here.

A wave of nausea rocked over you so violently that you blindly grabbed for the wall to steady yourself, surprised when you found a thin metal chain in your grasp. Before you could properly debate with yourself, something cool brushed across the back of your neck; too light to be a sigh, yet too undefined to be a gust of wind- how would the bowels of the house even get fresh air? It felt more like someone letting go of something they had held onto for a long time, a final exhale. Or maybe it was nothing, you’re not sure you want to know.

“...Hello?” Your voice sounded miniscule in the face of the unending blackness.

Anxiously, you waited for a reply- rather a lack thereof. Your ears caught the sound of buzzing insects, you became aware of the flitting gnats and flies as they zipped past your face, the lack of ventilation, the-

“Turn on the light.” Rook was not home.

You kept taking in breaths to scream, but the noise remained stuck in your throat, only making awkward, fish-like gasps that left you lightheaded. The dark, the bugs, the smell, it was messing with you. There was nothing down there. There was no one down there. There couldn’t be. To die in that basement, surrounded by the rancid air, losing count of the days- could there be a more horrible fate? Would it be worse to live here, or die here; you’re no longer sure.

Thin, cold hands slithered over your shoulders- Rook wasn’t supposed to be home -slid over the expanse of your collarbone, traveled further up your throat and tilted your head back. Stretching, straining, the tendons in your neck began to ache, but you leaned as far as he made you, until you were eye-to-eye.

“Why don’t we go upstairs?”

You wake up in cold sweat, tell tale heart hammering against the bars of your ribcage, traitorous to the calm you’d sworn yourself to keep. The gleam of the dining room table, the stiffness of your chair, the incessant pain in your tendons- it all comes bleeding back in. Time is slippery, you could’ve been dozing for an hour or a week and you wouldn’t know the difference. The tantalizing scent of steak grounds you, the sizzling of the pan in the kitchen, Rook humming a tune you’ve grown familiar with. That memory was weeks ago- or days, perhaps.

It’s a sliver of comfort, your lighthouse on the wild waters of your relationship, these small domestic moments. As time goes on, the fragrance grows stronger, creating a mouthwatering aroma that reminds you of the emptiness in your stomach. You suck in a deep breath, eager to somehow satiate your hunger; the scent of steak hits your palate, followed by the hypnotic perfume of rosemary mingling with red wine and butter. It's thick, intoxicating, the delirium is enough to make you forget your nausea. By the time Rook deposits a plate in front of you, the basement is as far from your mind as it could be.

His plates are simple milk porcelain with a gold lined rim, because that's how Rook likes things; simple, expensive, delicate. The meat in the middle appears like an open wound on the pristine plate; a ruddy gash in the porcelain, delicately seared and glistening with a bloody sauce. Beyond that, the food smells divine, every ounce as decadent as it looks. Instinctually, your forefinger attempts to uncurl and reach for the golden silverware on either side of the plate, only to stop short with an agonized whine.

"Oh ma chéri," a chiding sigh brushes across your cheek, you just can't help but flinch away. Rook has taken a seat beside you, despite the opposite side of the table being perfectly clear. He's close enough that your shoulders brush. "You simply must quit irritating those, or they'll never heal."

As if it wasn't him who severed your tendons. His thin fingers grab for your wrist, turning it over to inspect the gauze, now freshly dampened with your blood. A sick flush overcomes Rook's face at the sight, stark crimson on clean white- you can tell he's suppressing a smile. Your stomach turns.

"Oh, la vache…" the gentle caress of his thumb against your knuckles brings forth the urge to rip your hand away, you force yourself to deny it. "How dreadful. I suppose I'll have to patch you up after dinner, ce n’est pas la mer à boire."

You asked him what that meant once; ‘it’s not the sea to drink’, or something like it. A bland encouragement to stay collected, despite the torture he’s made you endure, but it works. Maybe the phrase is effective, or maybe you have no choice but to make it so; Rook stands at the lip of a cavern, the lightest brush either way and he’ll send you both careening into the dark. It’s become your career to stand so perfectly still, even as he waltzes on the knife’s edge, desperate to make you follow in his depraved steps like his lovers before.

The screech of wooden chair legs against the floor makes you flinch away, though you’re well aware Rook has become your master and you, his dog. You will only ever walk as far as he allows- recently, he’s decided to keep you kenneled. Your achilles tendon aches as he lifts you from the dining chair like a bride, a belonging, then takes your place in the seat- you find your place on his lap.

For a few heartbeats, you’re lost in the romance of Rook taking the serrated knife to your portion of steak; his arms warm around your shoulders, deft hands cutting away a bite-sized chunk for you to eat. You feel honored that he cares enough to feed you.

“Say, ‘ah’.” There’s a sort of genuine delight in his voice that still feels belittling when he raises the fork to your lips, but your stomach comes before your dignity, and you let Rook put the bite of steak in your mouth.

The flavor melts on your tongue, savory, acidic, rich, everything you’d hoped for- but you’re a few chews deep when you realize something amiss. This does not taste like steak. In every aspect it appears as such; the darkened, almost leathery brown of the exterior, the scent, but its flavor more closely resembles pork. You chew a few more times and swallow, and make the terrible mistake of turning to look at Rook.

“What is-” The words shrivel up and die on your tongue, silenced completely by the bloodcurdling expression on Rook’s face.

There’s a wild, thrilled look in his arsenic-green eyes, something bright and excited that makes your heart still. His smooth, pale skin has been set aflame and the ivory points of his teeth threaten to pierce his bottom lip.

Your mind conjures images of the cream cotton bags, once white but stained with overuse and blotted in red, the fabric stretching at irregular angles to contain whatever Rook had stuffed inside. Buck, or doe, or veal- whatever he would promise with glimmering eyes. You imagine silky blond hair and soft brown eyes, perfect skin and straight teeth. You imagine the basement, the voices you might’ve heard, Rook’s past lovers.

There’s a violent turn in your stomach, so strong your eyes water and you instinctively lift your hands to clasp over your mouth, only drawing more blood from your open wounds- but Rook doesn’t scold you this time. No, he only watches in cruel silence as you dry heave in his lap, running his hands up and down your sides as you scream hard enough to make your parched throat sting.

It’s an arduous ten minutes and sobbing and retching before you reach some sort of calm, reduced to miserable hiccups, lamely attempting to dry your eyes. Somehow, you feel immature for being sickened at the prospect of eating human meat.

“How is it?” The question nearly makes you devolve into sobs all over again, because it’s good- perhaps the most heavenly thing you’ve ever eaten.

“It’s…” You can’t make yourself say it. That you crave more, like an addict.

“That good? Mon amour, I’m flattered beyond words.” Strong arms wrap around your waist and pull you back against Rook’s chest, you fight your every instinct and do not pull away, even when something twitches against your ass. “Here.”

Cold dread sinks into your stomach when he cuts you another piece, holding a slice of human to your lips. You tremble in place for a few breaths, refusing to open your mouth, but your body betrays you, as always, growling like a rabid dog for another taste. He taps the fork against your lips once more, and you concede. Rook cuts you bite after bite, you swallow each and every one, the meat is further salted by your unending tears.

By the time you work your way through the entire plate, Rook’s erection presses hot and heavy against your backside, somehow he’s restrained enough not to hump you like an animal; you realize now what you’ve been starving for. Your stomach aches, heavy and bubbling with turmoil; guilt, disgust, betrayal, but it’s soon overshadowed by a chilling numbness.

When Rook brushes a thumb across your split bottom lip, you scarcely stir, your tongue flicking out to wet your dried skin. The crisp rim of a wine glass clanks lightly against your incisors and your thirst flickers to life. Your gaze slides down to the contents of the bowl, a dark burgundy wine so pitch it nearly reaches a shade of black. Fingertips smooth over your jawline, gently tipping your head back to follow the pitch of the wine glass, letting the maroon liquid slide over your lips. It’s thick, coolly oozing down your throat and leaving the taste of pennies heady on your tongue, though you lack the clarity to care. He forces more and more down your throat, and you willingly guzzle away, content to slake your thirst with blood, no matter whose, as long as the pain of dehydration disappears. Scarlet blood pools at the corners of your mouth carves a path across your skin, first pooling on your chin before drawing a trail over your throat.

When the glass finally empties, you lick your lips and Rook can no longer repress a moan, the nails of his spare hand digging into the softness of your waist so tightly it hurts, sure to leave crescent shaped cuts behind. A trail of open mouthed kisses dances from your shoulder to your cerise stained throat, where Rook takes the liberty of licking what remains of his lost lover from your skin, all the while groaning incoherently- you barely pick up the word ‘obéissant’ amongst his mutterings. A man possessed with his own lust, Rook hastily shoves aside his fine dishware in place of laying you down against the cold wooden dining table- splayed out across the tabletop, haloed by silverware and white plates, now you are the meal.

Your body becomes a canvas, the victim of an artist with red stained hands as he borrows paint from the font in your radial artery, burrowing his smoothed nails into the thin webbing of gauze until your blood squishes around his knuckles and seeps beneath his fingernails. His hips fit perfectly between your legs, the defined points of his bone sliding like blades against the softness of your thighs, sharp and unyielding as you gingerly tuck your legs around him- better to give the wolf a taste now than deny his growling stomach. By God does he savor that ‘taste’. Moans pour from Rook’s lips like life from your veins, oozing around your skin warm, wet and vulnerable, punctuated by his grotesque slurping at your throat. Rook sucks hickies into your neck with such harsh desperation you think he might be trying to draw the blood from your arteries with his lips alone, overlaying plum and claret blotches with the yellowing remains of your last endeavors.

The pale lace and silk Rook has taken the effort to swaddle you in is marred with ruby droplets, round and glittering rhinestones for a moment, before they melded with the smooth fibers of your robe. It would be no effort on Rook’s part to dress you in vibrant shades, something that would hide the rusty stains, but that wouldn’t be half as cathartic. Perhaps more sensual, perhaps more tantalizing; but not nearly as visceral and intimate as peeling open a flower bud, digging his fingers beyond the milky satin petals and revealing the blushing center.

“Oh, mon chéri,” He’s breathless as he gazes down at you, his lips rosy and glistening with a slick mix of blood and spit. “You are beguiling in every element, a blessing upon my unworthy eyes.”

You clench your jaw and avert your gaze.

“I beg of you, s'il te plait mon amour, give me the honor of showing you my passion?” It’s not really a question, Rook’s very presence is so oppressive you’re suffocating in the open air. You feel small beneath him, size notwithstanding.

Truthfully, he does not need your permission either way- it’s a petty ploy to force a word up your throat -his hands would’ve snaked their way beneath your bloomers nonetheless. You’re bare beneath your sleep shorts, as Rook preferred, and with the brush of a warm palm against your soft cock, you’re just as excited as he’d please too.

Experienced fingers gently enclose the head of your cock, rolling your foreskin back to the base, all while Rook keeps his eyes trained on yours, the smallest expression of delight on his face. Though coarse, Rook’s hand felt heavenly wrapped around your dick, the grip delicate and pace agonizing as he began to work you up. It didn’t take long for you grow hard- Rook knew exactly how to make you twitch and squirm -pulling his hand along your shaft before pausing just below the tip, only for his thumb to press harshly against the your slit, drawing a long squeal from your throat.

At long last, Rook drags your shorts from your hips and over your legs, leaving streaks of blood like rivers on your thighs. The chilled air finally meets your warm cock, bringing forth a shudder of discomfort. Rook will choose to interpret this as a show of anticipation. Again, Rook closes his fist around the base of dick, now choosing to stroke you with more fervor, the squelch of precum of blood growing louder and louder with every pump. It’s enough to make your face hot, swapping frantically between rapid panting and holding your breath, if only to deny yourself the shameful satisfaction of letting loose a moan.

“Tell me how this feels, mon amour.” Rook’s eyebrows pinch in a way that almost seems genuine, even as he stills his movements and squeezes the base of your cock tightly; watching a tremor pass through your body, your muscles tightening, eyes fluttering open and shut in quick succession, determined not to grant him a single noise. “Is it good?”

Precum drools from the tip of your cock in a slow, sticky stream, mingling with the tacky blood coating Rook’s hand and coating your length in a thick, marbled mixture of the fluids. It’s sickening, disgusting, and makes your stomach turn slow and dreadful- yet, somehow, the sight makes another bead of precum gather at your tip.

“Or do you need something more, hm?” Rook’s free hand smooths over your inner thigh, knuckles brushing lightly over your balls, his thumb smoothing flat over your taint, before his middle finger finally teases against your rim. “Do you need me in here, ma bichette? Dis juste oui.”

The tip of his finger presses in lightly and you inhale sharply, bringing a small chuckle from Rook’s chest. Your struggles amuse him. Rather than wait for any kind of response, Rook instead encircles your cock with only his forefinger and thumb, pinching it tight enough to make you writhe as he scoops the slurry of blood and precum from your shaft.

For a second, Rook spreads his hand open and watches the sticky webs spread from finger to finger, before he bends down and lets a small exhale hit your dick, suppressing a laugh when your hips jerk in response.

“Ah, si mignon.” The tone is almost dreamy, it would be cute in any other situation, with any other lover. As though to reward your endearing behavior, Rook leans forward and places a kiss on the tip of your cock, forcing a cry of sensitivity from your throat. “Tellement mignon, mon chéri.”

A tiny strand of precum stays stuck on Rook’s bottom lip as he pulls away, only broken when his tongue darts out to lick up what remains- your cock throbs at the sight, so fiercely that you can’t help yourself any longer, a sound somewhere between a wail and a moan makes its way from you before you can even think to stop it. When you calm enough to refocus your attention on Rook, a smile spreads across his face like the plague.

One of his broad hands digs into the fat of your thigh and drags you to the end of the dining table with ease, perfectly aligning your hips with the edge. You’re still reeling from the movement when Rook abruptly pushes two fingers beyond your rim and immediately curls them up into your prostate with cruel force; at the same time, he laves his tongue over the slit of your cock, eagerly swallowing every drop of pre you leak. Your whole body spasms in response to the pleasure, your back arching and legs flailing wildly, a litany of whorish moans falling from your lips- control has not just slipped away from you, the leash has been ripped free of your clenched fists and instead given to Rook. Thick fingers pummel mercilessly against the sensitive bundle of nerves in your ass, punching air from your lungs with every thrust and simultaneously shoving your nearer and nearer to the brink of orgasm- but before you ever reach it, Rook pulls away. His mouth leaves your cock, your hole is left empty once more, and you are left desperate. In a moment of weakness, you almost sit up to beg Rook for more, whine for him to let you cum, before your shame roars back to life.

Though you’re laid bare for all to see, Rook is finally rabidly throwing off his clothes, as though any moment without your touch was one of pure agony. In mere seconds, he’s completely nude and readjusting your body as he pleases, tucking a hand under either thigh before guiding them to wrap around his hips. Your eyes are immediately drawn between his legs, where his cock rests against your own, heavy and twitching, the flushed tip glistening with wetness. Lazily- unfairly -Rook squishes the soft head of his dick against your slickened rim, just shy of fulfilling your desires.

“Oh my, regardez ça…” His hips push forward ever so slightly and you let out a puppyish whine, distraught when he retreats again just to watch your hole clench in an effort to pull him back. “You’re just so terribly cute, my dear, so cute.”

The torture feels endless, though he only teases you for a few seconds longer, tapping his cock against your ass one more time before he asks the question that makes your heart go still. “Tell me what you want, mon cheri.”

Your throat closes. You can’t admit that you want- no, need -Rook to fuck you, you need his warmth, the pleasure, the comfort; the same way you need food and water. Still, you can’t say it, not anymore, because Rook will come unraveling like a linen with the lightest tug on his heartstrings. A couple months ago you would’ve happily cried and screamed for Rook to finally shove his dick into you. Now you feared he’d finally break.

You spread your legs wider, arch your back further, whimpering like a stupid animal as you give the weak attempt to rock your hips back into Rook’s cock with teary eyes.

“Ah-ah.” He takes a pace back, moving just barely out of your reach. “Do you want me?”

There’s a quiet thump as you let your head fall back against the tabletop, squeezing your knees around his waist in need.

“Just nod for me, d'accord? That’s all I need, ma bichette.” His hand smooths over your waist, trying to soothe you, but it does nothing to stop the rapid thrumming of your heart.

You heave, too humiliated to meet his eyes, instead throwing your arms over your face and giving the subtlest dip of your head. There’s hardly a second after your approval before Rook’s hands grip your hips so firmly your bones creak under his strength, dragging you back to meet his thrust and sheathe his cock inside you in a single smooth movement. You receive no mercy, no time to adjust, as Rook fucks into you like a feral animal, his movements unrestrained and frenzied, unyielding as you squeal and scream beneath him, legs locked around his hips for a single scrap of stability.

You think- if you can think -that he’s begun muttering something between open-mouthed pants, gasps of how much he loves you, how beautiful you look, how he’d like a taste of you. You let your thoughts scramble with every thrust of his hips, you let go of the fear for a few minutes. It not hard when Rook actively makes an effort to take your breath away, clumsily smashing your lips together in something that could barely be called a kiss; it’s all teeth and tongue, Rook sloppily stuffing his tongue into your mouth with an animalistic grunt- he feels more monster than man to you. Everything about him is suffocating, you can’t breathe around his love, head spinning, vision darkening- at the same time, Rook tilts his hips just right and jams the head of his cock against your prostate, and you’re ready to die for this orgasm. Pain is irrelevant, your weakened hands tangling in Rook’s hair and pulling despite the violent ache in your tendons. The euphoria is incomparable, so sudden and violent you spray cum over both of your chests, your whole body trembling and tightening within Rook’s grasp, milking his cock for all you could with a series of strangled moans Rook is happy to swallow.

Lucidity quickly sets in and you begin to panic, beating your bloodied fists against Rook’s shoulders in a useless attempt to push him away; if Rook wanted you dead, you would die. Your lungs have been set alight with Rook’s passion, parched for the cool touch of oxygen you’re worried may never come. Only once you’re entirely convinced you’re about to die does Rook finally break away and let you breathe, both gasping like you’ve drowned, and still Rook pumps his hips back and forth, chasing his release.

“Tell me- putain -tell me, mon amour,” his words are gasped out against your throat, muffled by your skin. “Tell me you love me, ah, dis moi que tu m'aimes”

It’s not a request, it’s a demand, his teeth lock around the thin skin of your esophagus, canines pressing sharply against you. Any answer could end in a crushed windpipe, and you’ve never been good at gambling; but you are his dog, and he is your master. No matter how many times the hand beats, you will return.

“I love you, Rook.” Quick as a flash, Rook readjusts and sinks his teeth into your shoulder, iron filling his mouth in a flood he’s happy to swallow. Rook manages only one more thrust before stilling inside you, shuddering from head to toe with a guttural groan as he fills you with his cum. You’re utterly revolted.

Your wounds have left you in agony. You’re still afraid Rook might rip a chunk from you. You’re sick to your stomach. You might cum all over again. A few stray tears roll over your cheeks, but you suppose this can’t be so bad; your stomach is full and Rook is warm. So warm. You are Rook’s dog, and he is your master. You loosely wrap your arms around his neck. A dog always loves his master.

That's all for our Halloween special folks! I hope you enjoyed, and as always, thank you for viewing. I. Am sorry for writing this ngl. During the uh. hard-on people steak scene, I just stared at my computer screen wondering what the fuck I was doing with my life. I hope you find it spooky though, i definitely do... (also I think I'm very funny for the Vil/Neige cameo hehe)

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pray4jensen · 1 year

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if there's ever a season 2 of the winchesters, i need an episode where lata decides to summon dean and his magical monster-crushing impala and cas shows up too because apparently when the summoning happened, cas must've been gripping dean tight because he got flung through time and space too.

so the kids are like hey who's this, and dean rubs the back of his neck and says it's a friend.

so they're on the case and they're mid-battle when john's thrown straight through a chain-link fence and mary gets a nice face-to-face with a concrete pillar. so when they finally get out of there, lata brings out the first aid kit, except dean grabs it and rushes over to cas because cas just fell onto paper at that very moment and he's got a devastating 1/8 inch cut to his pinky (it's not even bleeding).

cue carlos looking at them with a very strange expression on his face and the heteronormative viewers watching the show laugh and giggle because haha look how funny it is that dean's mother-henning cas when john and mary are personally on their death beds.

anyway, because the rest of the gang was too busy dealing with life-threatening injuries, it's only carlos who notices the weirdness and for the rest of the episode, the camera keeps cutting back to his face every time dean and cas are together.

they head to a diner and lata accidentally drops her entire burger onto the floor. but cas still feels hungry after devouring a platter of fries so when the waitress comes up and lata's about to reorder because she's literally starving, dean butts in and orders cas an eight-course meal. lata throws him a dirty look but carlos once again has a strange strange expression on his face.

and it's like this the entire day. the monster traps them into a meat locker and cas reports feeling chilly so dean immediately takes the jacket off his body and wraps him up and he's already stripping down to his birthday suit to offer cas his body heat. meanwhile john's hemorrhaging on the floor and his temperature is plummeting and mary and lata are freaking out and carlos...oh boy, carlos. he can't even help. he just stares at dean.

finally, after several more instances of dean's cas-induced incompetence, even the others have noticed, so when they get to the motel room for the night, mary angrily lets them know that actually, they don't need dean's help because clearly dean's more preoccupied with his friendship with cas than the literal monster chasing them.

so dean shrugs and says suit yourself and as soon as they're gone, carlos, who's been having a mental breakdown all day, is like they are so not just friends. mary and john, like the heteronormative viewers watching the episode, are like what and they're confused but lata, the realization dawning on her face, says oh my god and starts looking faint.

so john and mary head to the window and to their shock, dean and cas are parked outside, making out in the impala. as it so happens, the monster they've been hunting is out there, creeping closer, except dean (with his tongue still shoved down cas' throat) picks up his gun and shoots once, the monster instantly bursting into a ball of dust, and john and mary just look on incredulously.

anyway, once they recover, they turn back and say um yeah so those two are definitely not straight and carlos just throws up his hands and looks into the camera like it's the office and the episode abruptly ends there.

but, even as the end credits play, you can see still hear the sounds of dean and cas making out though before it slowly turns into suggestive moaning.

#boredombabbles #the winchesters #spnwin #destiel #this idea has been haunting my mind ever since the finale aired #and i would sell my soul for this frankly #honestly just one moment where carlos stares at dean and cas suspiciously would make my gay heart content #obv i want a proper dean and cas reunion and love confession from dean #but preferably on an spn reboot rather than the winchesters spin-off #but this would be hilarious to see on a random motw ep on the winchesters

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musicloverxoxo7 · 2 years

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Car sex – feat. Jungkook

Coworker!Jungkook x fem!reader

Summary: You and Jungkook never got along at work. Until both of you have had a few drinks at a work party. Suddenly, you’re in his car, on his lap.

Themes/warnings: smut with a bit of plot, protected sex, teasing, bit of voyeurism, some subtle sub-dom vibes (y/n as the dom), nipple play, handjob, swear words, enemies(ish) to lovers

Wordcount: ca. 2.3k

Disclaimer: 18+, DO NOT INTERACT IF YOU ARE UNDER 18

I do not own BTS. They merely inspire me. None of this is related to their persons in real life.

Jungkook has always bothered you. You’ve been in competition at work with him for nearly three years now. It annoys the heck out of you that he’s so good at his job.

For tonight, the work party, you’ve vowed to put those differences aside. You’ll be nice and civil. For some reason, you end up sitting next to Jungkook, in a corner. His big thigh is pressed against yours because of a lack of space.

You eye that thigh. It looks muscular and strong, and you want to touch it. Badly. Mental face palm. One drink in. You’re not supposed to be simping over anyone yet. Most especially not Jeon Jungkook.

“I like your jeans”, you say to Jungkook.

He looks up from his beer, eyes wide.

“Are you talking to me?”

“Duh. I’m looking at you.”

“You could be talking to Mr. Kang. It would surprise me less if you complimented him.”

“Mr. Kang would never wear jeans. And he’s sitting on the other end of the table.”

Jungkook looks at his jeans, then grins up at you.

“Well, I can’t imagine you wearing jeans either. I only ever see you in business getup.”

You press your lips together.

“I do sometimes wear them, especially when my friends and I go out. I have this tight pair that has tears on the knees.”

“What color?”

“Dark grey.”

From the way Jungkook’s eyes glaze over for a moment, you’re pretty sure he’s imagining you in those jeans.

“They fit nicely, but I sure don’t fill them out like you do yours.”

You look at his huge thigh. You can’t believe you said that. To Jungkook of all people. You bite your lip.

“You like the way they fit?” You can hear the smug note in his voice. But not only that, he’s definitely flirting back. You dare look up. A smirk curls up the corners of his mouth.

“I do.”

Jungkook’s head turns to his left, then to the front before returning to you. He holds out his hand. You put yours in it.

“They feel very nice too. The jeans, of course”, he adds with a mischievous grin.

He guides your hand to hover over his thigh. You realize if you want to touch him, you’ll have to do it yourself. You take your hand out of his and run it down the length of his thigh. The muscles under there are no joke.

Jungkook spreads his thighs a little as you run your hand back up. You look at the person sitting next to him. There’s nearly half a meter of free bench space between them and him.

“Hey, why are you glued to me? You have plenty of space.”

“But I want to be glued to you.”

You’ve never encountered this Jungkook. Playful, flirty, a bit pouty. Normally, he’s very professional. Truth be told, though, he has been a bit more casual around you the past few months.

Looking at him innocently, you run your hand further up his thigh. You can see his Adam’s apple bob as he swallows hard.

Just before you reach his crotch, you take your hand away, giggling. You take a tiny sip from your drink. If you drink much more, you might do something even more unreasonable.

“You’re actually quite fun outside the office”, Jungkook says. You look at him. He’s leaning back against the backrest, his hands linked over his crotch. Your eyes linger a little too long on his hands.

“I’m not superman, y/n. You’ve been rubbing your half-naked thigh against mine the past half hour.”

“Whose fault is that”, you ask, nodding at the empty space on his other side. The cute grin returns.

“Mine. By choice.”

You shrug your shoulders and return to your drink, rubbing your thigh against his some more. You’re extremely glad the tables in this restaurant have tablecloths. Nobody can see anything weird going on.

Jungkook’s hand on your thigh tears you out of your thoughts.

“Please, stop moving as least.”

“Or?”

“You’re the boss.”

He shrugs his shoulders, but his intense eyes search your face.

“I’m the boss?”

Technically you are. At work. You’re not working now. Interesting.

You lean in a little and lower your voice.

“I will touch you again now. Don’t move or react. Keep talking to me.”

“How’s the recruitment for a new intern going?”

“Okay. We have a few potentially good ones. They’re all coming in next week for an interview.”

You run your hand up the inside of his thigh. His face remains surprisingly passive. His thigh tenses under your touch, though.

“That’s good. Tell me if you need help interviewing them.”

Your hand is nearly at his crotch. He swallows.

“Perhaps I’ll give you the preliminary round of interviews. The most suitable ones get to work with us for an afternoon and I’ll interview them then.”

You nudge Jungkook’s hand away. You’d love to look down, but that’d be suspicious. Instead, you opt to take another sip from your drink with your free hand.

“Works for me.” The last word is followed by a quick inhale as your hand strokes over the bulge in Jungkook’s pants.

“Good. I’ll give you the files on Monday.”

You stroke again, harder. He leans into your touch.

“Boss, may I make a suggestion?”

“Go ahead.”

Jungkook lowers his voice.

“Meet me at my car. Black Mercedes.” He rattles off the plate number, before excusing himself to the bathroom.

You finish the last few sips of the drink and give him a head start. Also, less suspicious this way.

A few minutes later, you head out. It’s cool outside. In the poorly lit parking lot, it takes you a minute or two to spot Jungkook’s snazzy car. He’s leaning against the hood, tapping his foot and doesn’t notice you. You lean against the hood next to him.

“Nice car.”

“Can I kiss you?”

He looks shy, eager and very horny in the dim light. You take a few steps until you’re between his thighs.

“Yes, Jeon. Kiss me.”

His hand is gentle on your cheek. He pulls your face closer until your lips meet. His lips feel soft against yours.

You grip his thigh, your thumb nearly touching his crotch. He grumbles into the kiss. You take the chance to intertwine your tongue with his. He slides off the hood further until his crotch is pressed into your stomach.

You lean back and break the kiss.

“Not out here.”

Jungkook slides off his car. He opens the backseat door and gets in. You follow him. He’s sitting on the passenger’s side, the front seat pushed as far forward as possible. With the dark-tinted windows in the back, nobody will spot you like that. Clever.

You hike up your skirt and climb onto his lap. Jungkook closes the door for you. It’s much warmer in here. Perhaps he had the heating running while he waited.

His thighs feel powerful under you. Chest to chest like this, the position suddenly feels very intimate.

“Having second thoughts”, Jungkook asks.

“Not about doing this. More questioning myself how it went from us disliking each other three hours ago at work to sitting on your lap willingly.”

“I never disliked you, though. I’ve actually liked you for quite a while.”

Experimentally, you roll your hips forward. Jungkook’s hands on your hips tighten.

“Really?”

“Yes, really.” He’s eyeing your boobs now, but his hands remain on your hips.

“Go ahead, touch them.” He does. His eyes close. He looks blissful. Happy. You lean into his touch as he gently squeezes your boobs. “I can’t even pinpoint why I didn’t like you. You’re turning out to be quite nice.”

His grin grows wider. One of his hands tugs at the hem of your blouse until it comes free from your skirt. His big hand slides under the fabric up your stomach and to your bra. You keep rolling your hips.

His hand dips into your bra. He looks blissful at finally touching skin. His thumb and index finger close around your nipple and twist. You moan, pressing your hips down. Jungkook groans.

“Would you mind if I open my pants? They’re feeling a bit tight.”

“Keep going. I’ll do it.”

While Jungkook keeps playing with your nipple, you reach down and run your hand over the front of his pants. Jungkook lets out another groan. You undo the belt as he reaches to open your bra. He tugs the bra down as far as possible and latches his mouth onto your nipple. Your head drops back. For a moment, you forget what you were about to do.

He hasn’t forgotten. Jungkook takes your hand, which is gripping the waistband of his pants and places your fingers on the zipper. You fumble with it until you manage to pull it down. The way he is rolling your nipple with his tongue and sucking on it is making you forget how to think straight.

You run your hand over his boxers. You can feel a wet stain. He must have been leaking precum for a while. Suddenly a little clearer in the head, you push his boxers down. His hard dick feels nice in your hand. You run your hand up and down over it.

Jungkook momentarily unlatches from your nipple and moans. Your eyes meet. The way he looks at you, you’re pretty sure this is more than a one-night stand. Strangely, you don’t mind.

Jungkook blows on your nipple. You cringe away. He chuckles softly. You apply more pressure on his dick as you run your hand over it. The chuckling stops instantly.

“I’m not going to last much longer if you keep that up, y/n.”

“Fine.”

You don’t let go of him. You keep your hand running over his length while you fish out a condom from your handbag. Jungkook seems to enjoy you taking charge. He nods as you show him the condom and lets you put it on.

You push your skirt up further until it is bunched up around your hips and slide your underwear to the side. You raise your hips and run his tip over your folds. Jungkook watches, chewing on his lower lip.

Finally, you align him and push down slowly. All the nipple play has prepped you well and he slides in easily.

You meet his eyes when you have taken all of him.

“Shit.”

He looks about ready to cum.

You sit still and take his hands from your waist. You move them under your bunched up skirt so he can hold onto your hips. One of his hands goes to your butt and gives it a squeeze.

“I might have fantasized about doing that”, he admits with a bit of a guilty smile.

“Be my guest.”

You let him squeeze your butt a little more. It seems to bring him joy. You close your eyes and enjoy the feeling of being wanted. And of being filled in just the right way.

Your eyes fly open when one of his thumbs touches your clit. Your hands claw into his shirt. Quickly, your hips start moving with his ministrations. His breathing comes quicker as your movements become jerkier. You buck your hips forward into his skilled fingers.

It doesn’t take long until you tumble over the brink, squeezing repeatedly around him. Jungkook is biting his lip again. The veins in his neck stand out.

Once you’ve come down from your high, you take his hand and move it back to your hip. You lean forward until your lips are next to his ear. You kiss the spot directly under his earlobe. He shivers.

“How about you fuck me now, Jeon”, you whisper.

His reaction is instantaneous. His hips start moving upwards in hard, fast strokes. You hold onto him, face buried in his neck. He hits a spot that makes you feel like you want to go wild. You whine.

“You feel so good.”

His thrusts become sloppy, labored. You squeeze your walls around him. With a grunt, he cums.

You lean against him limply, feeling him pulsing in you.

The two of you stay like that for a few moments. Then you turn your head and give him a kiss on the cheek.

“That felt really good. Thank you, Jeon.”

“How about…” He looks at you with puppy eyes as if he hadn’t just fucked you near senseless. “Could you call me Jungkook outside of work? Or Kook? Whatever you like better.”

“There will be an outside of work?”

“If you want to.”

You look at him with your best “stern teacher” gaze for a moment. He looks like a deer caught in the headlight but seems to enjoy it at the same time. Good to know for future references.

You let the smile through onto your face.

“So, Kook, how far is your place from here?”

“10 minutes. You want to stay over? I live with two friends, but they won’t mind.”

You lift your hips and sit down on the seat beside him, tugging your skirt down again. Jungkook makes short work of the condom.

“I’m down for that. I have a meeting tomorrow morning, though.”

“On Saturday?”

Pants all zipped up, Jungkook gets out of the car and closes the door. You climb to the front passenger seat. Jungkook reappears at the driver’s side and gets in. He turns on the heating.

“Comes with being one of the bosses.”

“If you need a new shirt for that, you can borrow one from my friend. He’s not as broad in the shoulders as me”, he adds with a cocky smile.

“I might have to take you up on that.”

You place your hand on his muscular thigh. To touch him, not to rile him up.

“Bring us to your apartment, Kook. I haven’t even seen you shirtless yet.”

You lick your lips. Jungkook has you at the apartment in 7 minutes.

Please do not copy, translate, or repost my work. Doing so will make you legally liable for stealing intellectual property.

#bts x reader #bts smut #bts imagines #bts fanfic #jungkook smut #jungkook #jungkook x female reader #jungkook x you #enemies to lovers #bangtan

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gothicflowers · 5 months

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Wait for me pt.1

Captain John Price x Reader

Warning: fluff, major fluff and feelings, John and y/n finally deal with feelings

You never expected to get to this point. Your last mission as a soldier was successful and completed. You had done your time with the 141 for several years now but your soul began craving a domestic life away from the bullets and adrenaline rush. A home in the pine trees with dogs and a few kids and someone to keep you warm at night. The decision leave not a easy one to make. The past year you’ve been staying for a handsome bearded man that made your heart race. But he’s your superior, your boss. You hadn’t told him yet, that you’re leaving. You didn’t want to leave him but knowing that you both being on the 141 your relationship was strictly forbidden. Everyone in 141 assumed you and price where practically married at this point.

His soft humming you could hear, his cologne you could smell when he put in on in the morning thanks to the useless vent connecting your walls. He smelled of rich tobacco, leather and musk. He occupied every one of your senses except for touch.

Many late nights you’d both share what you wanted out of life. Him, a spouse and some kids running around. You wanted the same. You craved him like water in a desert, and he needed you like the air in his lungs. But it was time to move on, live a life away from showering blood out of your hair at night. But mourning a relationship that you never really had, that was going to be the hard part.

Unknowingly to you price had started growing tired. Tired of the constant pain and mental tax of the job. He was finally ready to hang up his coat. But you kept him here. Your soft skin, bright smile, and your soul that brought a room of disgruntled men back to a state of comfort. He didn’t know how to ask you to run away with him so he continued to imagine your soft lips against his, your warm body snuggled against his broad chest.

Grabbing the handle to his room/office you let yourself in locking the door behind you. It never bothered price you letting yourself in. When you where there was the only time his space felt like home to him.

“Who’s there” his voice deep and booming through the space.

“John, it’s me where are you”

Steam from the shower was rolling underneath the bathroom door and a deep voice replied back.

“Y/N darling I’m almost done, be out in a moment”

John’s room was much bigger than yours, the entrance was just his office but a private bedroom with a king size bed was by the door next to the bathroom. His bathroom was the only one with a tub on the base. Several times John let you soak in it when your back was hurting. He didn’t like seeing you in pain. You made your way to his bedroom and laid on the edge of the soft bed waiting for him.

The sound of the water shutting off signaling your heart to start racing. The rustling of a towel could be heard along with low grumbles. Price emerged from the bathroom with a white towel wrapped around his waist. It was so low on his hips you can almost see the patch of hair his happy trail was leading to. Unconsciously you licked your lips, your eyes still traveling up to his broad chest.

“See something you like love”

Sitting up your eyes finally snapping up to meet his. Desire filled his eyes, you could jump his bones right now.

“Very funny price, but we need to talk” your voice was quite, nervous almost.

He could tell by your body language that whatever you had to say was serious and worried you. So unlike you. He slowly moved infront of you. You sat on the edge of the bed, legs dangling. Sheepishly looking down noticing his groin directly across from you then quickly looking to the side to avoid gawking.

“I’m leaving, retiring actually.”

His face dropped, eyes started glossing over.

“No, please. You can’t-”

You looked up at him

“John, I want a life outside of this”

“What are you talking about”

“We both know we can’t be here together. I can’t stay here forever and wait for you when I can never have-“

Your throat was getting tight

“Wait for me”

He kneeled infront of you. Droplets of water falling from his damp hair onto his shoulders.

“What do you mean”

Taking your small hands into his bear sized ones.

“Y/n I love you, I know you love me too. Give me a few weeks, at most a few months to pick a replacement and get everything settled. Everything we talked about, everything you want. I will give you the world if you let me”

“John I can’t ask you to”

“You’re not asking, I want you. I want to live in the cabin in the mountains you talk about all the time. I want you to get as many corgis as you want. Maybe some kids running around some day”

He was begging, he couldn’t lose you. You held his world in the palm of your hands and he’d never find someone like you in this lifetime. You’re everything he’s every wanted, everything he’s ever needed. He stood up quickly and held your face in his hands. You didn’t even realize your eyes where filling with tears until one rolled down your cheeks as he wiped it away.

“John-”

“Love I don’t want to imagine the rest of my life without you. I want to marry you and spend eternity with you” his deep voice was so gentle

“Then promise me you will price. Because I don’t want to lose you two years down the road because you miss this life. Promise me that if we both leave we don’t look back.”

“I promise you y/n”

A smile overcame your face with a few tears of joy. You stood up to him, you wanted to smother him in kisses when suddenly he was wide eyed and a thought ran through his head

“Wait hold on love I- just- one moment”

This man knew how to his pause on a perfect moment.

He ran over to his desk in the office and started rummaging through the drawers. Whatever he was looking for it was stressing him that he couldn’t find it. A giggle left your lips. Finally he came back into the room, hands clasped together. He took a deep breath and guided you to the middle of the room. Both your hands in his he got on one knee

“Y/N, most perfect and beautiful woman I have ever laid my eyes on will you marry me” he was grinning ear to ear.

“Of course John”

From his back pocket he pulled out a very old velvet box. A ring with a rather large stone laid inside. It was beautiful. He carefully slipped it onto your finger.

He stood up and gently grabbed you by the waist pulling you in close into a passionate kiss. Fireworks, breathtaking, none of that could describe this kiss. Finally you both needed to breathe. He forehead touching yours.

“I love you so much y/n”

“And I love you John Price”

“When do you have to leave” he asked not wanting to let this moment end.

“The last plane leaving for home leaves in 15 minutes. Laswell already filled my departure paperwork and I have to be on the plane out of here”

“Well, I imagine you already packed your bags and left them outside my door. It’s a five minute walk to the airstrip. So we have ten minutes to makeup for the past several years of not kissing because lord knows I’m not going to let our first time together be a quickie love.” His eyes where dark and deep with desire, like a starved wolf looking at a sheep.

“Best get to it then John”

Ten minutes, entangled in each other. Desperate, hot, heavy kisses. He scattered them across your neck surely leaving a few love bites to remind you of him when you look in the mirror the next week. Your hands roamed across is strong arms, broad chest and shoulders. You somehow where sitting in his lap.

“John, it’s time”

you didn’t want it to stop. You could live in this moment forever in time. His lips departing your neck with one final kiss. His arms wrapped around you keeping you close. A sigh of ecstasy and sadness.

“I guess it is my love”

You both got to his door, before opening it he gave you one last passionate kiss. He hated that he couldn’t hold your hand walking to the aircraft, he wanted to scream at the top of his lungs that you where finally his. Side by you arrived to the plane where the rest of 141 waited to say their goodbyes. There was a strong chance you’d never see them again. Handshakes and hugs where exchanged.

Getting on the plane you took one final look at the man you’d wait for. Hopefully not for long.

John’s POV:

I don’t want her to go. I want to keep her in my arms where I can hold her, protect her, kiss her. But she will be mine forever soon. I’ll talk to laswell once I get back inside to start the process of leaving. Why didn’t I tell I loved her sooner.

The rest of the guys had headed back inside, just Simon and myself watching the jet with precious cargo take off. Pulling a cigar out of my pocket I light it and take a seat next to Simon.

“So was your grandmothers ring a promise ring” Simon said.

“I asked her to marry me” my eyes still fixed on the jet growing further in the distant sky.

“Congratulations my friend, you two will make a fine couple” Simon was always nagging on me to confess to her.

“Thanks bud” a smile crept onto my face

————————————————————————-

Pt.2 will be posted soon!

#captain john price #john price #price x reader #price x y/n #john price x reader #captain john price x reader #call of duty #flowerwrites

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theundercoversquid · 2 years

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Little Lamb

Pairing: Luca Changretta x Reader

Request: Hii!! I love your latest Luca works! I know it’s not original at all, but can you make one where the reader is a Shelby and she’s made to marry Luca to stop the vendetta? She’s still terrified of him because she obviously was on his black list and she’s sure he still resents her family, but he tries to make en effort to reassure her for both their sake. It could be a scene from before or after the wedding, or even the wedding day/night. ❤️❤️

Warnings: Arranged marriage

Part 2: Little Lamb PT2

Masterlist

This is not how you imagined your future would go. Trusted up like a prize lamb for auction before it was bought and killed.

The only problem was that you knew who was buying you and what price.

Your new owner was Luca Changrett. And his price was the removal of the Shelby clan from his vendetta.

You remember the day that you received the black hand. You had been celebrating Christmas with your friends when it came through your post box.

You had always distanced yourself from your family’s affairs, so this was the last thing that you expected to receive. But somehow, you always managed to get dragged in. In this case, it was an angry Italian on a killing mission.

And here you stood on what was meant to be the best and biggest days of your life. The whole thing was a complete blur to you. You knew that your family could see that you were running on autopilot. Dead behind the eyes. But you didn't care. They were the reason that you were in this position. They could have not medaled. But instead, they meddled, and you would have to pay the ultimate price.

Polly led you off as the party started to draw to a close. And from the look on her face. And her refusal to meet your eye. You knew what was going on. You were being taken to your metaphorical death.

So when Polly ushered you into a bed-chamber, you weren't surprised. Polly looked like she wanted to say something. Probably an apology. But you didn't want to hear it. So instead, you gently shut the door in her face. You didn't need to or want to hear their apologies. It was all too little too late.

When the door was closed, you carefully stripped out of your dress. Hanging it up, you then walked back to the bed where you sat down. There was nothing you could do, so you might as well avoid it. You might as well wait in your underwear, hoping that it is less painful that way.

You didn't have long to wait for your 'husband'. He opened the door barely 5 minutes after getting out of your dress.

He seemed surprised.

"What are you doing?" Luca asked you.

"Waiting for you." You told him as if it was apparent. Because to your mind, it was evident what was going to happen. Luca was going to have his way with you. And then one of you where going to have to leave.

Though Luca seemed even more surprised by your statement. "Why are you only in your undergarments then?" he asked.

"Is this not what you wanted?" You asked, getting increasingly more confused.

"God, no," Luca said, sounding horrified.

Luca started talking about his jacket, and for a horrifying moment, you thought he decided to take you up on your suggestion.

As he approached you, you closed your eyes. Mentally preparing yourself for what is to come. You were startled out of your thoughts by the feeling of fabric being draped over you. Tentative, opening your eyes, you were greeted with the sight of Luca backing away from you again. Looking down at your shoulders, you could see that he had put his suit jacket over your shoulder.

Luca seemed happy with the fact that you were now slightly less undressed. You watched a Luca turned around. Moving the armchair from where it had been tucked in the corner to somewhat closer to where you were sitting.

Not quite sure what was going on, you watched Luca with eagle eyes. Wondering what he was going to do.

But all he appeared to do was roll his sleeves up and rest his elbows on his knees. And as you observed him, he observed you. Nothing calculation or cruel about it. You just looked at each other.

When Luca seems to have seen enough, he asked you a question. Not a question to pry into your family. He just asked you what your favourite colour was. Startled, you looked at him for a moment before answering as you then asked him was his was. He answered it before asking you about your favourite type of food. And that was how your night went on. You and Luca just got to know each other. Not what you had been told about echo other or the mask that you put on. You just got to know each other.

#Peaky Blinders #peaky blinders x reader #peaky blinders x sister!reader #peaky blinders x y/n #luca changretta x reader #luca changretta imagine #luca changretta fanfic #luca changretta x shelby!reader #Luca Changretta #f!reader #x reader #Imagine

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recovery-is-brutal · 2 months

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Fuck it. Dethklok's Love Languages.

DSR and AOTD spoilers!

Nathan Explosion

Nathan struggles to say "I love you" out loud. Anything that involves him directly admitting that he cares or that he's sorry is very difficult for him. He's fantastic at coming up with the most brutal, messed up lyrics, always finding the right words for the right songs, but voicing his feelings? That's hard. Every once in a while, it slips out - but more often than not, it happens when he's alone and the person in question isn't present. ("I liked him" after Dr. Twinkletits is attacked by the yard wolves, "Miss the little guy already" when collecting Toki's laundry after he leaves). He gets much better at it over time though; directly telling Murderface that he would risk his life for him in DSR, or apologizing to the fans and showing appreciation for them in AOTD for example.

While saying things out loud is hard for Nathan, he very obviously tends to show his affection in actions. Despite his "no caring" rule, he is definitely someone who cares. A lot. He cares so much that losing his bandmates makes its way into his nightmares. He cares so much that he's willing to break up with his girlfriend for the sake of his bandmates. He cares so much that he follows Skwisgaar to Sweden. His deep care towards his bandmates becomes more and more apparent the longer the series goes on, and in RSD and AOTD in particular, Nathan shows just how far he would go for his loved ones, completely surpassing his own expectations of himself and choosing to become "the hand" instead of the "the fist".

While he learns to communicate in words more often later on as well, Nathan's main love language is definitely Acts of Service. He goes all the way for the people he cares about and defends them with his life (quite literally). You may never hear him say "I love you to the moon and back" directly to you, but he will learn everything he can about you, help you with everything he can, take you to the doctor, hold your hand through difficult situations. Gifts are another big one, he tends to give expensive or meaningful gifts to the people he cares about, since it's probably easier than saying "I care" out loud.

Pickles the Drummer

One thing about Pickles is that he remembers everything about you. That ice cream flavor you once mentioned you liked. Whether you like olives or not. Your favorite mineral water brand. If you're allergic to something or not. He does it effortlessly - it comes naturally to him when he cares about you. It's a surprise how he memorizes anything at all, considering how drunk/high he is most of the time, but when people are important to him, it just sticks right away. Another thing about him is that he's willing to respect potential triggers and try to protect you from seeing something that might upset you ("I'm not gonna stop drinking and doing drugs, but I'll do it where you can't see it"). He understands and respects mental health issues and does his best to be helpful.

Pickles is also often the one taking responsibility. The problem solver. The helper. When someone else fails at a task, he has no problem taking it over (ex. Nathan and Murderface both failing at the speech in Dethtroll). When Magnus is kicked out of the band, it's Pickles suggesting it's time to find another guitarist in RSD. Especially in Season 4 and AOTD, he's often in the role of the "parent", scolding his bandmembers for shitty behavior ("shame on you for bullying Toki over his diabetes!"), caring for Toki as he regresses in AOTD, cheering Nathan on more than anyone else when he doesn't believe in himself anymore, the list goes on and on. Can we also talk about him letting Skwisgaar and Murderface sleep in his bed with him in Dethcamp? Beautiful.

His main love language is also Acts of Service, as well as Words of Affirmation. Pickles is great at talking you out of your hopelessness and reminding you of your good qualities, as well as what you're fighting for. He wants to take care of whatever is upsetting the people he cares about. He wants to get rid of whatever hindrance there is himself. Pickles takes control to make life a bit easier for you and tells you how well you're doing in the same breath. If you ever have a panic attack around him, he will ground you to his best ability - better than any of the other Dethklok members probably, too. He's incredibly understanding and supportive towards the people he cares for.

William Murderface

Murderface sometimes gets a bit too close to his bandmates, putting his hands on their shoulders and backs, reaching for their hands... the same goes for other people. Sometimes strangers. He leans over them, gets all the way into their faces. He does know boundaries, that's not it. He also knows that he's crossing them at times. But William is the type of guy who absolutely cannot say "I love you". William can't even say "I like you". The best thing he can say is "I don't hate you". He was raised harshly, treated harshly, and the one thing he craves more than anything else is Physical Touch. Murderface firmly believes that caring for someone involves wanting to be near them. It's not something he would say out loud to anyone, but his idea of affection is holding hands, leaning against each other, hugging. He's very, very touch starved and very, very sexually frustrated. Someone just cupping his cheek would probably catch him off guard. His harsh facade would melt away entirely, even if just for a second before he asks you what the fuck you're doing.

Since most people react negatively to his touch, Murderface often resorts to Quality Time. Especially with Toki, Knubbler and sometimes Skwisgaar. He's often seen hanging out with them in particular, obviously choosing to spend several hours with them, and only them. Even if nothing eventful happens, it seems he's just happy being with them (even if he doesn't visibly show it). When he tries to get someone to have sex with him, he spends a lot of time preparing himself, even showing up in a suit with flowers for the special moment. It seems that giving undivided attention to the people he cares about is a way for him to show his appreciation. He's happy watching movies and eating with his bandmates, and isolates himself from them as a "punishment" in AOTD because he feels undeserving of them. Even the stranger who hypnotizes him in DSR shakes his hand in order to gain his trust more easily.

Murderface is often seen softening up when someone touches him and gives him Words of Affirmation (ex. in DSR when he's like "You wouldn't save me if I was the one kidnapped", but the moment Nathan puts his hand on his shoulder and says he'd risk his life for him, his entire body language immediately changes. Similar in AOTD, when he speaks negatively about himself, his tone changes once his shoulder is touched and he's reassured that he has a role in the band). Especially in the first season, he often makes negative remarks about himself and takes drastic measures such as wanting to leave, in an attempt to receive nice comments and attention from his bandmates. He needs a lot of reassurance in general.

Skwisgaar Skwigelf

Skwisgaar is well known for two things - the guitar playing, and the sex. You'd expect his love language to be physical touch, considering just how much sex he has, but he actually doesn't seem to enjoy being touched in a non sexual scenario (directly telling mostly Toki not to touch him many, many times throughout the series). It's kind of difficult to pinpoint exactly what love language defines his behavior, because Skwisgaar tends to close himself off emotionally. He seems to view himself as "above" other people - or below them as well at times. But something's for certain: He's extremely observant. He remembers many things his bandmates tell him, very personal and intimate details at times (ex. Toki's triggers). He's the first and only one to notice Murderface's strange behavior in AOTD. He knows a lot of things, but doesn't speak about them very much. This guy can keep a secret or two. He'd probably help you hide a body if you asked him nicely.

In a way, that makes his main love language Acts of Service. He discretely keeps an eye on his bandmates and observes them from a distance, so he's the first to know when something isn't right. He shows concern for his bandmates when they display new or different behaviors (ex. Toki's excessive drinking, hanging out with Rockzo, Murderface in AOTD...) and expresses this to the others. Whenever he's having sex with someone, he shows concern for their wellbeing ("lets me know if I tickles you", "lady you so skinny you look sick"), and he lets his hookups stay in his bed and sleep with him until they're ready to leave. He treats them with respect. He treats them like people. They're not just objects for his pleasure.

Though Skwisgaar appears emotionally constipated at times, he is anything but. He comes across as harsh and insensitive a lot of the time, but he honestly just doesn't have a filter. Plus, it needs to get out. What he doesn't express verbally, his body expresses for him. For example, he gets physically sick whenever his mother is around, he subconsciously stims with his guitar when he's in pain or upset... You might not hear him say "I love you" out loud, like, very often if at all. But he will stim more if you bring up that other guy you've been spending a lot of time with. He noticed you talking in your sleep more often, what's up with that? Also, when's the last time you've eaten?

Toki Wartooth

Right away: Physical Touch. Toki craves hugs, hand holding and the like more obviously than any other Dethklok member. Much like Murderface, he never received any proper affection as a child, and heavily associates physical softness and tenderness with being appreciated. He reaches out to his bandmates for hugs several times (especially Skwisgaar who he greatly admires), is very affectionate with his cat, and even when he's being playful or messing with the others, he's punching them, nudging them, getting close to them in any way. He craves meaningful connections with people, and even just in his daydreams about them, he's holding their hands a lot, or reaching out to them. Even Magnus has his arm around him in Dethcamp - and Toki has a wide smile on his face. He clings to Abigail for comfort in DSR, and she holds him close as he drifts off to his much deserved sleep. This is the easiest way for Toki to understand that he's cared for. Being held. And holding others (ex. picking up and carrying Skwisgaar in AOTD).

Another one is Gift Giving. A rare one, but it definitely is the case for him. He makes Murderface his Macaroni Murder Lady for his birthday, even though he's already getting a huge gift from the entire band. He happily gives his breakfast to a hungover Pickles in Mordland. The snowglobe that Nathan gives him before he's off to to the camp is something he holds very dear and treasures a lot. The tuning device Skwisgaar gives him in AOTD? He carries it around with him everywhere. There are probably more moments, but these are the ones I remember on top of my head. Gifts are very meaningful to him, and a way for him to express his care for the people he loves - and remember that he's cared for as well.

Toki is generally very open and direct with his feelings. I think he could adapt to any love language, really. He appreciates any form of affection towards him. But Physical Touch in particular is something he holds very dear. The one thing he really struggles with is when someone won't let him touch them. Maybe he could adapt to it if it was explained to him that it's not personal rejection, but it would take him some time to stop trying to initiate hugs and cuddles. Then, Words of Affirmation are very, very much needed. Of course he appreciates Acts of Service and Quality Time as well, but he doesn't read those as "love" very well. He needs to feel or hear it.

Bonus: Magnus Hammersmith

I can honestly only theorize about Magnus, since he's simply not shown often enough throughout the series - or in a very positive light. But from what I've gathered, I personally believe that he, very much like Pickles, likes to take the lead. He's a "fixer" and a "protector", though Magnus is much more forceful about it. He believes that everyone has to do exactly as he says, because his way is the best way for everyone involved. It upsets him when someone doesn't let him "fix" or "handle" something, because it feels like personal rejection to him. His love language is Acts of Service, in a twisted, messed up way. But also... Words of Affirmation. His way of showing that he cares is to take the wheel, to fix his loved ones' lives (whether they want it or not), but his way of feeling loved is to hear it. A simple "thank you for your advice" is often enough to satisfy him, even if you don't end up actually taking it. He immediately softens up when you let him know that his input is appreciated, and that you know he cares. When you say "I love you" to him, he is so taken aback that he doesn't know how to respond. Definitely not with "I love you too", but probably by giving you the bigger half of his cookie.

#mtl #metalocalypse #nathan explosion #skwisgaar skwigelf #william murderface #toki wartooth #pickles the drummer #dethklok #headcanons #magnus hammersmith

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