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house-of-slayterr · 1 year

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Intimate Birthday Party Pt. 2:

Tag: @myers-meadow-selfship @vincent-sinclair-deserved-better @iloveslasher @queer-and-utter-chaos @oceansrose2002

France’s POV:

Today was the day, today I turned 25. It felt strange to say, and I didn’t want to advertise it to my partners who were both older than me. I brushed a hand through my long hair, and my fingers got tangled in a knot. Birthdays we’re always stressful for me, the company made a huge deal out of them, and so had my mother.

But this would be better. Just my friends and love ones and my favourite foods. But the stress was still getting to me. I stomped into the kitchen and grabbed a pair of scissors, rushing back to my room. I went into my adjourned bathroom and took a long look in the mirror.

“Ok Frances, you can do this, it’s just hair…”

I took a deep breath and held up the scissors, squeezing my eyes shut as I heard the sound of splitting hair. When I opened my eyes I was holding a huge chunk of hair. I should have been panicked but I was excited. It felt freeing. I saved a small bundle of hair and kept cutting, throwing the rest into the trash. It seemed weird to be sentimental about something as silly as hair, but just like the rest of me, my hair being seen as “perfect” was a huge part of my life.

Hannibal typically used the master bathroom, but he had supplies in all three bathrooms in the house. I riffled through the drawers and found an electric razor. Bingo. Hannibal and Meadow were already up and out for the day, finishing up stuff for my birthday party. I pulled up Pinterest on my phone and searched for a hair cut I liked.

I pulled up a quick YouTube video to see how to cut it, and went at it. After about fifteen minutes or so it wasn’t looking bad. But the bathroom was a train wreck. I walked to the laundry room and began cleaning up my mess. But this still don’t feel good enough. I wanted a bigger change. I was 25 now, supposedly a quarter way through my life. It was an arbitrary milestone, but it meant something to me that I made it this far. Despite everything I’ve been through.

I hopped into my car, driving into town. My partners warned me they’d be out most of the day, so I had plenty of time to just enjoy my morning and relax. Perhaps I’d get my nails done while I was out too. I made a b-line for the hair dye isle and began contemplating my options. I’d learned a lot about colour theory from Hannibal when he talked about his art. I couldn’t choose between the reddish orange, or full blonde, so I chucked both in my cart.

“That haircut looks nice on you.” The store clerk commented.

“Really? You think so?”

“Totally, it makes your curls look bouncy and light.”

I smiled brightly.

“Thank you.”

“No problem, have fun with your hair” she said with a wink.

The nail shop wasn’t far down the road, and I’d most likely only be there an hour, which gave me enough time to dye my hair, shower, wax and do my makeup before they got back. This was perfect. I was never allowed to wear nail polish as a Ballerina, so I had no idea what colour to choose.

“Hey, this may be a weird question, but could you pick the colour, design, whatever? Surprise me?” I asked the lady checking in at the front desk.

“Sure, I’ll take a look at your nails and see what comes to mind. Any colours you don’t like”

“I open for anything, I’ve umm, I’ve never done this before.”

“You’ve never gotten your nails done before?”

I shook my head. “My previous profession didn’t allow it.”

She nodded in understanding and led me over to one of the massage chairs. She started warming the water for my pedicure and I could feel my stress melting away as I dipped my feet in. A little makeover was just what I needed. I relaxed and closed my eyes as they did their job. I’d be sure to tip them well. It was a small shop that didn’t look like it got much business. But I found small shops tended to be more intimately run. It wasn’t loud or overwhelming here.

By the time I was done, I was ecstatic. My nails were coffin shaped, with a dark purple shimmer. And she added a little star and moon on my left ring finger. It was romantic, and dark and mysterious, and I loved it. As she was ringing me out, she gave me a weird look as she counted the money.

“I think you gave me too much, it was only $70, you gave me $150.”

“The rest is your tip darling, a thank you for making my birthday nails look perfect.” I smiled.

“Are you sure? You’re giving me more in tip than you paid for the nails.”

“I’m positive, you work hard. Perhaps I’ll stop by more often. It’s nice here.”

“Thank you, that means a lot. It just me and my family running the place. We thought we were gonna have to close down a few months ago, so this really helps. Happy birthday by the way, you’re so kind.”

“Oh dear, that’s disappointing. Well I know two lovely women who would love to get their nails done by you. You’re good at what you do Kid.”

“You don’t have to do that-“

“I want to. Best gift on a birthday is a smile.”

I pulled out another $20 from my purse and handed it to her.

“Keep this just for yourself, get yourself something nice for lunch.”

The poor girl looked like she was about to cry.

“Please, let me give you a free manicure next time for all your kindness.”

“Non-sense, you deserved to be paid for all your work. Just keep the lights on, that’s good enough.”

“Can I give you a hug?”

Normally I’d say no, but I was in a much better mood than I’d woken up in. I nodded and she pulled me into a hug.

“Please, stop by any time. You’ll have to tell me all about your birthday.”

“I will, have a good rest of your day. Wishing you some traffic stoping by the store.”

I had the biggest smile on my face as I drove back home. This year was gonna be different. My meds were working, I had a new job, I had too lovely attentive partners, and I was meeting up with an old friend. Good vibes, Alana’s coping mechanisms we’re working.

I went back on Pinterest as I ate the vegan quiche Hannibal had set aside for my breakfast. I cleaned and tried my plate and rushed off to the bathroom. After about ten minuets of contemplation I just decided to do both. It can’t be that hard right? I decided to stick with mostly the burnt orange, and do a blonde undercoat with one stripe in the front. It took about half an hour of struggling to get everything perfect and now I just had to wait.

I decided to multitask and wax, and do my eyebrows while I waited, it would free up more time for me to read and get dressed before they got home. I was excited when the time went off and skipped off to the bathroom. Enjoying the warm water as it poured over my tired body. My body was more sore than normal today, but I wasn’t going to let that stop me from having fun.

Hannibal had gotten me a shower chair for when my legs were too tried to stand for a shower. But most of the time he indicated on helping me in the bath instead. Which I didn’t mind at all, it was intimate and sweet and so thoughtful. He never made me feel like a child who couldn’t do things, he just wanted to make things a little easier on me. It was his love language and I adored it, just as I adore him. My brilliant, disturbed Doctor.

It felt so nice to be able to quickly run my hands through my hair and not fuss with it. It was so much quicker. As the steam cleared from the mirror I finally got to see the fruits of my labour. It wasn’t perfect, but it was all me, and that made it great. I could stop touching it. I walked into Hannibal’s room to borrow some of his cologne, and I noticed a large box with my name on it. I picked up the letter on top.

“For my beautiful Frances, enjoy you’re birthday my love -H.L.”

I smiled as I tore into the box. I placed my hand over my mouth when I saw it. It was the most beautiful suit I’d ever seen. The shirt was a dark red, with flowy, puffy sleeves. The suit vest was a black leather, shinned to perfection, that had a corset waist. The pants matched, but had flare legs to compliment the sleeves. It was perfect!

I let out a happy little squeak, not hiding my excitement cause no one is around to here. I quickly finished the rest of my skin care routine, and by then my hair was dry. It had never dried so quickly before. Why didn’t I do this sooner?

As usual the outfit fit me perfectly. I don’t know how Hannibal did it, it was like his secret superpower. And I was very grateful to him, for far more than just that. I curled up on the couch and waited for them both to get home to help them set up. I’m pretty sure Hannibal would insist that they could do it on their own. But it’s my birthday and I wanna help.

I must have fallen asleep cause I felt the gentle shake of my shoulder. I looked up to see Hannibal smiling down at me. God what a beautiful sight, how did I ever get so lucky. He brushed his hand on my cheek and I leaned into it, before he ran another hand through my hair.

“Your hair-“ he said.

“Do you like it?” I asked, trying to push the last bit of sleep out of my voice.

“It’s very you” he smiled.

That was such a Hannibal answer. Indirectly avoiding the question, but somehow still telling you and answer you want to hear. I smiled, grabbing his hand and pulling him down to the couch with me. He let out a sigh.

“There lots of work to be done, Love.”

I shook my head, leaning into his side.

“Just ten more minutes.”

He laughed lightly, wrapping his arms around me and pulling me closer.

“You’re warm.” I smiled.

“Somebodies clingy today.” He mused.

“It’s my birthday, I’m allowed to be. Besides, I just want you guys for my birthday. I’m so happy to have you, my love.”

“And I am happy you’re mine”

He kissed the top of my head.

“But we’ve really have to finish this up if we want things done on time.”

I sighed.

“Fine, fine… go”

I pushed him up off the couch, following after him to the kitchen where Meadow was. She looked over her shoulder at me and smiled. Quickly lower the temperature on whatever she was helping Hannibal to make and rushing over to me. She ran a hand through my hair and smiled.

“You look amazing. I like your hair short” she smiled.

“I was growing annoyed with it, it was time. Honestly I thought I’d be more emotional about it but I never want to have to put my own hair in a ballet bun ever again.” I laughed.

She let out a chuckle. She also kissed the top of my head, perks of being shorter than both your partners I guess.

“Happy Birthday Darling. You look amazing.”

“You do too, that dress looks very nice on you.”

One thing you learn being in a polyamorous relationship is how to share. And how to work through jealously. Most people would be upset if someone wore the same colour as them to their birthday. But it was work of our thing to match our outfits for events like this. For your average Lecter dinner party.

“Oh, Hannibal, Darling I did tell you my friend was coming this evening right?”

“Yes, but you still haven’t given us a name.”

He raised his eyebrow at me. I rolled mine back at him.

“He goes by Chip, he’s an old friend from when I was with the New York company, he’s only in town this evening.”

“That’s nice of him, I’m glad you get to see an old friend.”

I smiled a wide smile, the kind that hurts your face.

“You know I was really nervous to get up and preform that last night.” I said.

Meadow hummed, and Hannibal spoke.

“Nerves are typical before a performance my dear.”

“That’s not what I meant. I love being on the stage, no place I feel happier, besides here of course.”

“Good save.” Meadow joked, shooting me a wink over her shoulder.

“But you guys have never seen me dance like that before. And I guess I was afraid, well you have very high standards Han-“

He cut me off with a pointed stare, and I slowly shut my mouth.

“My love, do you honestly think you could ever disappoint me? I went to your performance every month for a year before that day. It’s not uncommon for artists to have more than one medium, or for dancers to have more than one style. I enjoy the show, because you’re in it.”

I blushed. Of course, Meadow knew he had been to a few of my shows before that day on the roof. But I never told her exactly how many. I’d preformed in front of Doctor Lecter thirty-seven times, and that night would have been the thirty-eight. He never brought a bouquet, only a single flower with its name written in gorgeous red in on a little note from him. H.L. And now, because of his gift from tonight, I had another note for my shoe box. I sometimes read them when I slept alone in my room sometimes. To overstimulated to be next to him, but not wanting to be too far.

“Do you remember what your first note said?” I asked, fondly reminiscing.

“Your performance was as delicate as the petals on this rose.” He let out a small laugh, “not my best work I’m afraid.”

“Yours was the first fan letter that ever stood out to me. And I thought it was adorable.”

“Because it is and now I’m jealous, why don’t I get any cute love notes darling?” She teased.

I watched Hannibal grin wildly, turning to look at her. He hugged her from behind

“Would you like me to write you some love letter my love?” He asked.

She simply nodded, leaning into him. Hannibal chuckled.

“How did I get so lucky with both of you?” He asked dreamily.

I shrugged.

“I don’t know but you’re stuck with us.” I joked.

When everything was all set and ready, it was time to start the party. Hannibal answered the door as usual, and as expected, Alana was the first to show up. Then Beverly, then Will, and last but not least, chip. It was just the right number of people without being entirely overwhelming.

I could tell chip felt a little out of place as he sat at the table, so I decided to introduce him so he wouldn’t have to.

“Everyone, this is chip, my friend from my old dance company” I said.

They all introduced themselves and I could see him relax a little more. Hannibal was plating the food, and I knew we’d all be in for a treat tonight. Much like Meadow, I wasn’t shading our lovers diet, but I made him promise not to serve anyone at my party. This was a special night, I didn’t want to to be tainted.

“You look amazing tonight Frances, are you enjoying yourself?” Alana asked.

Similar to Hannibal, it was hard for her to turn off her analytical mind. Once a therapist, always a therapist. It was something that happened when people were passionate about their jobs. It becomes a core part of their identity, something to be proud of. And why shouldn’t they be, both of them were brilliant. And both of them worked extremely hard.

“I believe I’m having the time of my life” I smiled brightly. “All the people I care about, together in one room to celebrate with me. It makes my heart feel light, like it’s full of butterflies” I smiled.

Hannibal chuckled, taking my hand in his and kissing my fingertips.

“You are adorable my love, Happy Birthday.” He said.

Of course Bev and Alana looked gorgeous as always. Red was absolutely Alana’s colour, it complimented her skin tone. And when we wore it, the colour had sort of a vintage, classy edge to it. And Beverly was the opposite, wearing a muted olive green that made her skin glow. The dress framed her chest in such a way, it made her long arms look dainty, almost as if they were the accessory to the outfit.

Chip was more causal, probably not having packed anything other than the stuff needed for performances and lounging around. I knew how things worked, you always wore something black tie at the last day of shows so the company could show you off. But I appreciated he didn’t wear that suit here. It wouldn’t have been him. He was wearing a simple black button down, with casual black dress pants and a leather jacket over it. It looked nice.

And William, William looked so pretty this evening. His hair was a little longer, like it got when he was too lazy to get a haircut. Showing off his chocolate brown curls. There was sometimes a curl that hung in front of his eyes that I called his superman curl. He was wearing a white button up, with a dark green sweater over. It complemented his skin tone well. But the thing that stood out to me was his hand.

“You painted your nails.” I said, glancing up from my meal to look at William.

Everyone else looked over at him too now. He blushed a little, which was adorable.

“You left you black nail polish at my house. You’re always asking to paint them, so I figured I’d try it out. It’s harder than it looks.” He laughed awkwardly.

I smiled brightly.

“You did a good job, I love them, thank you William. That was so sweet of you.”

He cracked a grin.

“So, I hear you’re working as a dance teacher now?” Chip asked, while clearing his throat.

“Oh, yes! It’s so much fun, I adore those kids. There’s this boy in my class, Damien, and he’s the cutest thing on the whole planet I swear. Damien is shorter then most of the girls, and he gets all shy about it. But when he’s dancing, it’s like he’s never been nervous in his entire life. He reminds me of me when I was younger.”

“Definitely.” He chuckled, “remember how nervous you used to get when you were called in front of the headmistress, little did you know you were her favourite and she was just trying to show you off.”

I blushed profusely.

“Oh?” Hannibal asked.

“She used to stop classes and make me redo the steps alone in front of the class. I always thought she hated me so it pushed me to work harder.”

“That would be quite anxiety enduring” Alana commented.

“Frances was easily the best dancer we had. I was entirely surprised when the company let her go.”

Everyone seemed surprised by that statement. But I was suddenly anxious. I’d never told Hannibal and Meadow why I actually left that dance company.

“Why would they let you go?” Beverly asked confused.

“Oh, ummm, there was this girl, Veronica. She was always jealous of me, I think she had a thing for Chip, and she misinterpreted our relationship and probably saw me as a threat or something. We were preforming one day, and she messed up a leap, falling and shattering her ankle. But she told the headmistress I pushed her.”

“And they didn’t believe you when you said you didn’t?” Meadow was the one to ask.

I shook my head no.

“It’s ok though. I probably would have never moved here if it didn’t happen.” I shrugged.

The rest of dinner was more quiet, until it was the dreaded time for gifts. Beverly was excited and gave me hers first. We had all loved to the living room, to get more comfortable, before desert. I was currently sitting on the floor in between Meadows legs as she and Hannibal sat up on the couch. The box was wrapped in pretty purple paper. It was small, and when I removed the paper it was a little back velvet box.

“We’ll go on Frenchie, open it.”

I blushed, Beverly was the only one who called me that. She liked giving her friends cute nicknames. Bev always knew how to have fun. She made everything a little brighter. I opened the box and gasped.

“Oh mon Dieu!” I squealed, “it’s beautiful!”

I pulled out the necklace, it was a little tear drop shaped vile. With two little rubys on either side, hanging nicely.

“I accidentally cut my hand open the other day, so I saved the blood cause I remembered you said something about these necklaces before.”

“It’s prefect!” I said, “creepy and pretty just like you.”

It was nice how nobody questioned the morbidity of it all. I knew if Jack were here he’d have something to say about it. Next was Alana’S gift, it was a little bigger of a box. She wrapped hers in a simple brown paper, like that of a lunch bag. It was simple, but the wrapping was crisp and precise. I opened the box to find a book. I pulled it out inspecting it.

“It’s a signed copy of IT by Stephan King. Open the cover.” She said happily.

I slowly opened the cover and saw the pretty red pen.

“A gift for Frances on their birthday, stay creepy - King”

I smiled wildly as I read it.

“How did you get him to sign this?�� I asked.

“He owed me a favour.” Alana shrugged.

I pulled her into a hug.

“Thank you, I’ll cherish it always!”

William was next. He handed me a box that was bigger than the rest. It was wrapped in black paper with a little red bow on top. It looked like he must have asked Alana for help with wrapping it. I chuckled at the thought of him struggling to make it look nice. Not that it mattered to me, but it was a nice little detail. I opened it to see a black shape, I slowly pulled out a large blanket.

“It’s umm, all your favourite bands. I’ve been collecting the t-shirts all year, and I had a friend make it for you.”

“William,” I said, trying not to cry.

“This is amazing, thank you.”

I swore I’ve never been happier than I was in this movement, surrounded by so much love and people who understood me in a way the world never could. Chip reached into his pocket.

“We’ll my gift isn’t as extravagant as everyone else’s, but I tried.” He laughed awkwardly.

He pulled out a little wrapped cupcake, a birthday candle and a lighter.

“Like old times?” He asked.

And that was when I broke. A tear slipped out of my eye as a I took the cupcake out of his hand and unwrapped it, setting it down on the coffee table, he stuck the little candle in it. I tried wiping the tears from my eyes. Hannibal softly rubbed my back.

“Why are you crying darling?” He asked concerned.

“Sorry, I’m just so happy right now. It’s a little bit much.” I said.

“Aww, Frances you don’t have to apologise for that.” Meadow said softly, “we love seeing you happy.”

I smiled up at them.

“We never really had birthdays growing up, the company didn’t spare much time for outside activities. But every year at midnight on my birthday, Chip and I would sneak down to the vending machine and get a cupcake to split. He’d put a little candle in it and we would blow it out when it hit midnight.” I explained.

“It wasn’t much, but it was the best we could do.” He shrugged.

“It means everything to me, thank you friend.”

I knew Hannibal had made an actual cake, but it felt right to sing over my little cupcake. I couldn’t wipe the grin off my face as I finally blew out the candle. This evening was perfect. By the time everyone left I was exhausted, but my heart still felt fluttery.

“I’m so proud of you Darling.” Hannibal said.

I looked up at him.

“Huh, why?”

“You did so well today. You enjoyed yourself. It was nice to see. How are you feeling, I know you get a little anxious after gatherings.”

“Amazing!” I squealed, “that was the most fun I had in a whole. Thank you, both of you. I know you would have preferred a bigger party Hannibal but-“

“It’s you’re birthday, it isn’t about me. You know I would do anything for you my love.”

I giggled, standing on my tippy toes and kissing him on the cheek. We had finished cleaning everything up and we’re now lazily laying on the couch. My head on Hannibal’s lap and my feet on Meadow’s. We had a horror movie turned on in the background to finish off the night.

“Would you like to know what Hannibal and I got you now?” Meadow asked.

“You got me more?” I said.

She chuckled.

“We didn’t want to overwhelm you earlier by making you open it in front of everyone else.”

“That’s not exactly something you say when you don’t want someone to be anxious Hannibal” I poked fun lightly.

But I was nervous, they already spoiled me way too much. I was afraid I couldn’t handle much more. My excitement had its limits before it spiralled into madness. And that was the last thing I needed right now. To have a full blown meltdown on my birthday. In front of the two people I love most in this world.

Meadow got up off the couch and walked over to the counter grabbing something. She came back and sat back down, handing me an envelope. I starred at it confused. What could they have possibly gotten me? I shakily opened the envelope and pulled out some card stock. I flipped it over in my hands and gasped.

“No.” I said, “you didn’t”

“We’ve already got everything planned my love, you don’t have to worry about anything”

“And what about my bugs?”

“That’s why I pulled William aside earlier, he’s willing to watch your bugs.”

I was about to start crying again. I didn’t mean to, there were just so many emotions happening right now. I rubbed the plane tickets in my hand, just staring blankly at the sealing.

“How long?”

“One month, but we can always leave sooner if you want to and just come back home. My boss gave me time off work, and Hannibal has his schedule cleared as well. We’ve already packed everything for you darling.” Meadow explained.

“Why are you both so perfect?” I asked.

I felt Hannibal’s chest rumble and he laughed. Their distinct sounds harmonising with each other.

“You’re really taking me back home to France for a whole month? There so much I’ll want to show you!”

“Then we leave in the morning my love”

He leaned down and kissed my forehead.

“Happy Birthday Frances.”

“Happy birthday Honey” Meadow said.

We laid on the couch the rest of the evening. Hannibal letting us enjoy watching American Psycho without telling us how inaccurate the whole things was. Tonight was perfect.

An: God this poor woman needed some comfort for once. This chapter was so much fun to write! I hope y’all enjoy it as much as I did 🥰

#Hannibal #Hannibal nbc #Hannibal x oc #doctor lecter #Hannibal lecter #Hannibal au #meadow lecter #Frances lecter #will Graham #alana bloom

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thinkphrontistery · 3 years

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Man 2020 really be the year of relapses for me huh

#self harm #depression #delete later #anxiety #ptsd #eating disorders #I was doing okay #I made it 45 days this time #time to restart that clock #I’m alive and that’s what matters #I’ll ask my roommate to help me clean my room tomorrow #if I take out the trash I’ll throw out the razor #man my roommate is going to feel bad #god the guilt isn’t worth it #why do I always do this #now I have to hide my thighs for the next few weeks #just a few more

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bump1nthen1ght · 3 years

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Late Night Favor (Shadow Monster x Reader)

Genre: Fluff, Urban Fantasy

Warnings: Explicit content up ahead (18+ ONLY), Oral, Fingering

Word Count: 4000 Words

Summary: A couple of small good deeds leaves you with a late night visitor, looking to repay a debt.

Request: "You unknowingly rescue a shadow monster and bring it home with you, after a couple days of lurking in the shadows of your home and recuperating it shows you just how thankful it is." I had this idea forever ago but was never able to execute it. My opening idea was that a few kids are shining flashlights at something, tormenting it, and you swoop in to save it and chase the kids away. You thought they were hurting a cat or something, but find nothing and head home.

What do you think? Would you like to take it on? I'd be honored if you would 😊

A/N: *Throws this into the street to appease for the fact I haven’t updated Out of the Woods in THREE MONTHS IM SORRY*

It was the perfect weather for a lazy day inside. The pitter patter of the rain on your window had almost lulled you back to sleep during breakfast, and the thunder had provided great ambiance for reading. You hadn’t bothered changing out of your pajamas and we’re enjoying a soap opera binge on the coach when the peace was disturbed.

At first it was just the sound of clattering trash cans, not uncommon from the alley outside your window. But then it was followed by the raucous laughter of teenagers, rocks being thrown against the concrete, and a sharp hissing.

You hoist yourself up and off the couch, meandering toward the balcony, expecting to see a bunch of kids fucking around; Maybe using the cover of the fire escape to hide from the rain and smoke some weed.

Ah, memories.

But instead, you see a huddled group of boys pointing a flashlight into the pile of garbage right by the dumpster. One of them picks up a pebble and throws it into the light beam, causing another hiss and a jerk of movement. The boys laugh even louder, the one on the right nudging the one with the flashlight.

“Dude, do it again!”

Flashlight agrees, quickly moving the light into another corner as the one on the left throws a rock in the opposite direction. A shape of pitch black hisses again, deterred by the rock and scared by the brightness. Your brow furrows.

“Hey!”

The boys jump, looking in all directions.

“What are you three doing down there?” They finally look up at you, messy-haired and bleary-eyed. They shrug and ignore you, one even throwing another rock, bigger than before. There’s a sad yelp as it collides with the blackness.

You grit your teeth, grabbing your jacket off a nearby shelf and yell again.

“Fuck off! Leave the poor thing alone!”

They all laugh insufferably, the way most stuck up teenagers do.

“Or what?”

You shrug on your raincoat, picking up the baseball bat you keep strategically placed by your couch.

“Or I’ll come down and make you, jackass!”

You kick open your fire escape, slippers already damp, and start marching down the staircases. The boys get the message and run away, still jeering and laughing. Seems you weren’t as intimidating as you’d like.

You shuffle down the fire escape, slowing down as you approach the poor creature. You lower your back and peak under the dumpster.

“It's okay, little guy, I won’t hurt ya.” You set down your bat and crouch, kissing your lips as you hold out your free hand. All you see is a hint of glowing eyes, nervously peering out, before the dark shape disappears completely, hidden by the shadow of the dumpster. You’re tempted to sit down and wait for it, hoping to check if the poor stray was injured, but the wet concrete looks unappealing. The bottom of your sweats are already drenched.

You stand up, sigh, and go back up the fire escape. You unlatch the dusty pet door on your sliding glass balcony and make sure to leave a hot thing of milk and some water just outside. You ponder going out to get cat food, but the well-timed weather report tells you to stay off the streets. Slumping back down on the couch, you keep on eye on your fire escape, hoping that whatever it was, it’s okay.

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The next day is sunny, the rain clearing away any air pollution and leaving blue skies to shine down through your window, waking you up extra early. As you sit down with a cup of coffee, switching on the news before starting work, you notice the empty bowls on your balcony.

You set down the mug, walking over to the door and checking the bowls. Seems that little stray had needed the refreshment, as both were licked clean.

You refill them, making sure to add cat food to your grocery list.

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After a long day of work, you’re feeling particularly domestic and decide to bake some cookies. Your brain is sore after staring at a screen for eight hours straight, a simple task like this is the perfect thing to keep it from melting completely.

You open up your window, letting the cool night air into your kitchen as you check on your baking cookies. Wiping flour off your pants, you turn on the radio and throw a glance to your living room.

You had set up a tiny blanket pallet right next to your pet door, the weatherman’s warning of another thunderstorm tonight having you worried for your stray. Hopefully a full belly of milk will convince them that your house is safe enough to find shelter in.

But the afternoon is beautiful, not too cold and not too hot, only the slight tang of metal in the air hinting to rain. With a ding from the oven, you take out the cookies and set them on a cooling tray on your window. The smell of cinnamon and sugar wafts over you as you take a sip of your tea, staring out into the city streets. Small puddles still speckle the pavement, catching the headlights of nearby cars and flashy billboards.

A quick sound, something hitting your balcony door, that jerks you out of your reverie. You set down your mug and slowly peek out from your kitchen, wondering if you should’ve grabbed a kitchen knife. But it’s just your pet door, flapping back and forth in front of two, now empty, bowls. Aww, seems your stray took a step inside. Too bad you missed it.

The gurgle of your stomach convinces you to take a crack at the cookies. If they were too hot, you could just wash them down with a nice glass of milk anyway. Maybe even put on a sitcom while you snack.

You lightly tap the top cookie; Warm, but not unbearable. Steam rises as you break it open, blowing in the middle and taking a tiny bite.

Fuck, good job _____.

They’re perfectly done, just soft enough to melt in your mouth. You grab two more, holding them in between your fingers as you hold the other half in your mouth. Maybe you could bring the batch into work tomorrow, give your coworkers a nice surprise. That is if you didn't have 10 tonight. But 20 should be just enough-

Huh, that’s weird. There's only 19, including the one still dangling out of your mouth.

You could’ve sworn you baked 20.

Well whatever. Your coworkers can handle not coming back for seconds tomorrow.

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

“Ow! Fuck!”

You bite your lip, trying not to yell out more curse words as you rub your stubbed toe. You limp to your kitchen, fumbling for the light switch to avoid another incident. All you had wanted was a midnight sweet snack, was that so difficult? You’d thought you could navigate your apartment pretty easily in the dark, but the pain in your foot says otherwise.

The light flickers as you finally find the switch, reminding you that you’re going to need to change the bulb sometime soon. But that's a problem for another day; Right now, it’s cookie time.

You don’t bother pouring yourself a glass or getting a plate, devouring the treat in three bites and throwing back a quick swig of milk. It’s almost midnight, not like anyone’s watching-

Oh, wait.

You slowly close the fridge door, trying to make as little noise as possible so as not to wake the little stray curled up, asleep. The little ball of black was snuggled into the pallet, tossing and turning. A flash of lightning cracks outside your apartment, washing your living room with light. The ball jerks in shock, the thunder afterwards only frightening it more, forcing it to curl up even tighter.

You take small and light steps towards the tiny bed, not wanting to approach the scared beast too quickly. The room is lit up again by another lightning strike and the little stray forces it’s body backwards and away from the window. You crouch down real low, the small bits of light helping your eyes adjust to the layout.

“How are you doing, little guy?” You whisper, mostly to yourself, tapping your fingers against your carpet. Part of you wants to pet it, but think it might be better not to. No need to startle it. “Is the lightning scary? You can come to my room if you want, I’ll protect ya.”

Midst the black, you see two little eyes, little blips of light that open with another flash of lightning. But they aren’t yellow, nor are they slitted, nor are they anything remotely animal.

They're like the headlights of a car, blinding white with no definition at all. Not even pupils. You're startled, eye’s widening as the creature lifts it’s head. A long smile runs across their face, full of razor sharp teeth.

“Oh my, that sounds delightful.” They purr, and you find yourself losing your footing and falling back on your ass. Your fingers dig into the carpet as their body slowly begins to unfurl out of a ball and stretch into a massive form, as if their whole size had been hidden away somewhere else; Like it had been literally in the shadows.

You scramble backwards, breath picking up as the creature stretches it’s long limbs, colorless eyes still locked onto you as it stands up and up. It rolls back its shoulders as it sits on its haunches, its form still towering over you even when crouched. You notice the shades of huge antlers sticking out from the side of their head, only adding to their intimidating height.

The creature still has that terrifying smile, all canines and no molars, it’s unblinking eyes still staring deep into your soul.

You’ve heard people do weird things in times of high stress, of strong emotions, good and bad. Like the wires in your brains get crossed when trying to find the right response.

“Uh, do you want a cookie?”

You think you get that now.

The creature chuckles, a soft timbre that echoes unnaturally.

“No, dearie, I have already indulged in your confections. You see,” They creature leans forward, falling to its knees to crawl towards you. If it weren’t for the overwhelming fear constricting your heart, you’d almost think it was seductive, “You’ve done so much for me these past days, I think it’d be only fair if I helped you indulge in a far-” The creature’s face looms over yours, their arms caging your sides as they lick their lips, “-sweeter treat, yes?”

Your eyes search their face, trying to find signs of trickery or malice, maybe even some demonic sense of humor.

As if I’d even know what that looks like.

“Are you-” You catch a breath, now noticing the fine musculature of their shoulders, and the definition of their arms, “Are you propositioning me, like, for sex?”

The creature laughs again, their eyes crinkling up as they throw their head back. But when they look back down at you, you can almost feel the lust radiating off their gaze, details be damned.

“Yes, lovely, I am.”

You take your eyes off their face, a little too overwhelmed to stare directly into their blistering expression. Not to mention the blinding light which has begun to put red spots into your vision.

Instead, your eyes fall upon their thick thighs, the small tail waving behind them, and how unnervingly sexy you find the way their claws are digging up your rug.

You slowly move your head, catching the creature’s eyes.

“I-uh-I guess? Yeah, yeah I guess that sounds good. Um, what was your name?”

The creature smirks, a single claw tipped finger tilting up your chin, as they whisper,

“Nocter.”

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

Well, this is definitely the weirdest way I’ve gotten someone into bed.

Nocter’s antlers brush against your stucco-ceiling as it pushes you down on the bed, their shining white eyes staring deep into yours. Their lack of pupils is almost unsettling, but when they run their claws down your chest and pinch your nipples, you find it hard to care. You bite your lip, fighting back an embarrassing whimper as they trace one finger around the bud, pebbling the skin.

“Aww, has it been a while, sweetling?” You roll your eyes, but let out another squeak as they flick their thumb across your other nipple, the palm of their hand pressing against your ribcage.

“M-maybe.” You mutter, digging your finger into your bed sheets as their hands dance across your skin. One pulls up the bottom of your pajama shirt as it nudges one of their legs in between your thighs, pushing their knee up against your crotch.

“Don’t worry,” They push the fabric up to your neck, laying a kiss on the center of your stomach, then your chest, and then your jugular. When they plant one on your jaw, they lean in real close, “I’ll make sure to treat you right.”

Nocter’s long tongue splays against your jaw, licking a stripe up your cheek as one of their hands moves from your chest to the waistband of your shorts. They slip a couple fingers underneath, lightly petting the area right above your crotch. They’re such a tease, and you love it.

Nocter pecks the side of your face, over and over, while their hand moves further and further down your body at an agonizing pace. Their hot breath sends goosebumps down your neck, washing over your face as they exhale with every kiss. You catch them off guard when you turn your head toward them, catching their lips-mid peck and eagerly sticking your tongue outward. They purr with delight, their thin almost-lips quickly devouring you.

A long string of saliva connects the two of you as you detach, taking the time to shimmy out of your shirt. You pull them closer, your hands digging into their shoulder muscles and fingers just brushing over the long ridges on their back. They chuckle once again, pulling their fingers out your shorts and merely digging their palm into the fabric of your crotch.

“Eager, huh?”

“Shut up,” You mumble in between kisses, “This is for me, isn’t it?”

“Ohoho,” kiss, “Someone’s showing their feisty side a little early.” kiss, “What happened to my benevolent, saintly saviour?” kiss.

You pull away from their lips, quickly latching onto the crux of their neck and taking a nip. “S’not fair.” You say, taking a deep whiff of their skin as you suck and bite. They smell like brimstone and a bonfire, not quite what you 're expecting, but not unpleasant. “You can’t tease me like that and not-” Your cut off as the pad of one Nocters fingers presses up against your entrance, the fabric only amplifying the sensation as they begin to tease it.

“Deliver?” Nocter finishes, sinfully smug. You throw them a glare. “I’m a good guest, scout’s honor.”

You roll your eyes right before they lock you into another kiss, rubbing the pads of their fingers up and down your crotch. They use their hand to push you backwards, sinking deeper into the mattress as they situate their knees under your thighs. One they pull back from the kiss, your face and lips thoroughly debauched, your legs are splayed up on their pelvis and they easily slip off your bottoms. Nocter takes a whiff of your underwear, the crotch now slightly damp, giving you a wink before they throw it over their shoulder.

You jerk your hips slightly upward, and Nocter tuts.

“Patience, sweetling.” They roll a hand down your abdomen, fingers splaying onto your stomach, nails just teasing the skin. With a kiss to your inside calf, Nocters hand ghosts across your entrance. You can’t help biting your lip, the heat and their touch sending your mind into a frenzy.

They continue a path of kisses down your leg, now pressing their finger right up against your hole. They only pause to suck on their index and middle fingers, coating them with a heavy and blue-tinted saliva. Once they’ve reached the middle of your thigh, nipping at the apex, they sink into you.

Nocter’s fingers are long, articulated and move with sure movements. They start off slow, scissoring you open, simpering as you dig your nails into your bed sheets. The pads of their fingers push against your walls, just grazing sensitive spots as they make a slow ‘come hither’ motion. Your hips jerk forward, humping into their palm. They smirk against your skin, nipping another love bite as they retract their fingers until only the tip remains. You catch your breath, holding it until they sink back into you, shoving their fingers forward with far more force.

You whimper as their fingers pull back, only to follow with quicker thrusts. Nocter’s aim is pin-point in finding the most pleasurable spots inside you, the feeling only amplified by the pinpricks of their teeth into the fat of your thigh. The tip of their tongue licks hot trails of spit tantalizingly close to your hole, which clenches around their bony fingers. The slick sound of your juices, the skin of their palm slapping against yours, is downright pornographic.

Your legs try to clamp around their shoulders, the overwhelming stimuli triggering an instant reaction, but Nocter pins your right leg down to your bed easily, never losing focus on fingering you. The tips of their claws trace the inside of your leg, the hard edge of their wrist digging into fat. Your fingers reach to grip around something, anything to keep you grounded as the knot in your stomach grows tighter and tighter. They find their way around Nocter’s left wrist; You’re almost afraid you’ll leave bruises, before remembering how sturdy every part of their body seems to be.

You let out a whimper as the crests of an orgasm seem to overwhelm you, nearly gasping as Nocter quickly removes their fingers. In any other state of mind you might have made a comment, look down and wonder why they’ve stopped. But the heat in your belly compels you to grip their wrist tight and to throw your hips upwards. With a desperate breath, you plead,

“P-please! Please, don’t stop.”

Nocter doesn’t chuckle, doesn’t make a sly remark about your neediness or your lewd movements. They lean forward, giving another kiss right below your navel, and pet your wrist.

“Of course, dearie.”

With a wink, they lean down a lick a long stripe up your hole, giving one last kiss to your leg before plunging their tongue inside.

You didn’t think it was possible for them to reach even deeper inside you with their tongue than their fingers, but the sparks which fly in your core say otherwise. The ridges of Nocters tongue brush against your walls as they flick the appendage back and forth, the tip pressing forward with controlled motions. It doesn’t thrash back and forward haphazardly, but reaches for those sensitive spots and plays with them.

“Oh, f-fuck!” You yelp, feeling an icy-cold liquid run down your ass. From the sound of smacking lips and muffled moans, it must be Nocter’s saliva. They let out a groan, pushing their jaw forward as their eyes clenched shut. The hand on your leg pinches skin as it tightens up, the other pressing your hips down, but the pressure they apply is phantom at best. Nocter seems to revel in your pleading humps for more, meeting each movement with a thrust of their jaw, the base of their tongue stretching you open.

The two of you keep that rhythm for what feels like an eternity, but is probably only a couple of minutes. Sweat drips down your chest and off of your belly, your legs muscles on fire as you continue to push upward and into Nocter’s face. You start feeling that impending wave begin to crest again, with your limbs shaking and your throat hoarse.

“Nocter, I’m gonna cum. I’m gonna-I’m so close!”

This time, Nocter doesn’t let up on their pace, reaching one hand down to deliver a hard slap on your ass and forcing a yelp out of you. Your speech devolves into slurred curses and your hands move to touch them, to find some grasp in reality. Nocter continues to suck and tongue-fuck your hole as your thighs clench around their head. Your humps are tiny and weak, your lower half barely holding itself up.

The knot gets tighter, a firecracker fuse about to blow in your abdomen. In the heat of the moment, your hands find their way to Nocter’s scalp and grab onto the base of their antlers. Their moan rumbles through you, right before you yank their head forward, their tongue hitting the deepest part of you as you shutter and-

“I’m cumming!”

Another moan vibrates against your hole as your body shudders and jolts, your hips still pressed firmly against Nocter’s face. But in the next moment, a heavy weight falls over your body, slumping you down onto the bed. Your chest heaves, eye’s fuzzy as Nocter’s tongue ‘pop’s out of you.

Your gaze wanders over your stucco ceiling, droplets of sweat rolling down your neck as you try and catch your breath. You can feel Nocter’s large hands rolling a massage into your thighs, their own heavy breathing brushing over your crotch.

A fuzzy shape of pure black comes into your vision as Nocter hovers over you, their body hovering just an inch above yours. They give you a small peck on the cheek.

“Feel good?” They whisper.

All you can do is nod, your shaky hands wandering over their back. There’s no sign of sweat on their skin, but you can feel the heat running off of it as they nuzzle into your neck.

As your fingers dance over the ride of their back, you can hear the rumble of a low purr coming from their chest, but they stay hovering over your body. You press your hands into their back, applying weak pressure to encourage them to relax.

“It seems I’ve repaid my debt.” Nocter murmurs into your ear, pushing themselves up onto their hands, pulling even farther from you as their eye’s look around your room. You keep your hands wrapped around their waist, stopping them from fully getting up. They look back to you, white eyes slightly widening.

“Would you-” You take another deep breath, “Want to stay? For the night?”

Nocter stares at you, the black void of their face almost unreadable. But when they run a claw down the side of your face, it burns with affection and longing.

“Would you want that?”

Your room is nearly pitch black, only the lights of the street peeking in between your curtains. Nocter’s body seems to absorb all light near it, their hot body like a heating pad. But their eyes are so bright, so full, so mesmerizing; Like a full moon on the dark city sky.

“Yes, I would.”

Nocter’s nods, their expression barely changing, but you think you can see a hint of a smile amidst all the black. They let their body relax, pressing their chest against yours as they sink into the sheets and nuzzle back into your neck.

You can smell the sweat coating your body and feel the way you stick to the sheets. Frankly, the both of you kind of smell.

But it doesn’t stop you from snuggling into Nocter’s body, eye’s heavy as you peacefully fall into sleep.

#my writing #gender neutral reader #shadow monster #monster/human #monster x reader

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sif-the-tsunami · 3 years

Note

Ok prompt! Sy is teaching you how to cook and maybe things get frisky ? 😁

Oooo I like this. Its not 100% on the nose but this is where the muse took me.

Did you want a novel? Because, I hope you like novels.

Warnings: chili with beans, sweet cornbread, swearing, smut

"Listen hear, you chicken fried fuck. If you don't like my cooking, you are welcome to eat something else at the damn pot luck!" I snap at a grumpy retired soldier who was talking trash about my chili recipe. Like always. Whenever we have a party, he has to say something about how I'm dressed, what I brought, or the beer I was drinking.

"All I'm saying here, California, is that where I'm from we don't put beans in our chili. And don't get me started on this abomination you call cornbread. Why is it sweet, why are there vegetables in my bread?" He says in his drawl.

"Because honey and roasted jalapenos taste good together!"

"I guess. You don't need to fuss so much Princess, I'll gladly show you how to make real Texan food. Make some wife material out of you." He smirked. I think he knew he was getting under my skin.

"Come on, Sy, give her a break. Take a bite of her cornbread with the chili, they are delicious together." One of our mutual friends told him when he could see that I was not having any more of his attitude.

I walked away from the conversation, feeling incredibly salty. The man was Syverson, we had been in the same group of friends for the past couple years and honestly he was usually at least cordial with me, but the sheer audacity of his tone today. The rest of the party was really fun, at least. Occasionally, I would catch eyes the color of the ocean after a storm staring me down. He kept looking like he wanted to say something to me but I would find reasons to leave the room. Fortunately there was always a way to get out and around.

Towards the end of the evening, I go outside to enjoy the cooling air and watch the stars, listen to a couple of the guys from inside sit on the tailgate of a truck and talk about football or something. The breeze would kick up occasionally and I could smell an orange tree blooming in the distance.

"Hey, oh shit, I didn't mean to startle you." I jumped damn near out of my skin when the grump showed up out of nowhere. "I actually really wanted to say that I'm sorry, I can be a real asshole sometimes. You are usually more aware of it than others. I'm used to giving people a hard time. Your food was delicious. I just don't know how to talk to you sometimes."

I looked at the large man skeptically. I'm not used to people going from snarky to nice to me. "Thank you for apologizing. Glad you liked it, Chicken Fried. You can just talk to me like anyone else, I don't mind some teasing, but you just know how to push my buttons."

Sy looked at his feet for a moment. "I will be nicer to you, I promise."

"I'm sure." I had heard that before.

"I still think mines better," back to sounding arrogant already, "I am willing to bet that it would blow your mind."

"Do you really want to bet?"

"Yeah... sure. I'll bet you. If my chili it better than yours.... you have to go on a date with me."

"Is that how you get most of your dates these days? Tinder just isn't cutting it anymore?" I tease. He is actually kind of good looking. Sort of. If you are into that hand crafted by the gods kind of look. I'm not saying I am, but I could get the appeal.

"You'd be surprised. Most of the women I meet want to figure out what's wrong with me. Almost 40, never married, I have a job I like. They keep waiting for my skeletons to come out of the closet. Like shit, girl, I just don't like olives or sweet relish. I think I'm pretty cool otherwise." He said talking with his hands out stretched. I think he might have been being earnest with me, but his tone is almost always sarcastic.

"You were in the military, right?"

"Yeah."

"That's what's wrong with you." The big man started laughing harder than I thought he would.

"Well, California. You up for it?"

"I don't know Chicken Fried, I don't like dating, I would really just like something casual, low maintenance. What happens when I win?"

"When?" He chuckles. "If you are looking for something casual and low maintenance, baby, there is a reason when I was still in the Army they called me Captain Cunnilingus."

"It sounds like either way you win." I smirk, "I would need a real incentive to try to beat you."

"How about bragging rights?"

"If I win... you shave your beard. Then I get to use your face as a chair." He looked shocked.

"Fine, when I win, you have to wear a dress on our date, and heels. Maybe even some of that shit you all put on your lips with the glitter and fruity flavors."

"Ok, now that's unreasonable. I don't even own heels."

"I'll buy you some." Well color me impressed. We decide on the terms of the bet. We would invite a couple of friends over to his place next Sunday and they would pick a winner with a blind taste test. We would also have one canned chili and one restaurant chili to make it a little more interesting.

Sunday came, and we all gathered in his house. This was the best batch of chili I have ever made. Fresh peppers, bacon, beer and some good quality beef all swam together in a symphony of flavors. When I walked into his house, the smell was... pungent. I could smell cooking vinegar. It wasn't bad but there was something just a little off putting.

"Glad you showed up, Princess." He looked me up and down. to surprise him just a little, I did show up in a dress. I figured a special occasion needed a special outfit.

I looked over at the big man as he took my slow cooker from my hands and plugged it in for me. To be fair to both of us, we had enough time to set up sides and toppings. I even baked more cornbread. Sy made his own savory cornbread that he pulled out of the oven in a cast iron skillet.

"It was my mama's." He told me when I asked about it.

"You bake also?"

"Sometimes, if the mood hits me. I like making peach cobbler too. If you are lucky, I'll make you some. Maybe after our date."

"So sure of yourself, Chicken Fried. I hope you got some good shaving cream and a new razor, you'll need it." In his kitchen, I lifted the hem of my sundress clear up to my naked hip showing him that I was ready to win this bet of ours. His pupils blew out with lust as he stepped up to me.

"Princess, you are a hell of a tease. I have wanted you so badly ever since the first time we met." He breathed, lusty and hot. He pinned me to the counter, radiating his desire. He bit his lip, looking me up and down, he looked like he wanted to kiss me or maybe consume me whole. Suddenly he pulls away, leaving me breathless. "We will have company soon. I need to walk this off, but I really do want to continue this conversation when we don't have to risk being interrupted."

Before anyone could walk in on us, Syverson rushed up to me and kissed me more passionately. My knees buckle for a second and its like I've been set on fire.

When our friends came into his house, he set up bowls, spoons, Fritos and cheese. He set up blind tastings for the guests, only he and I knew what everyone was eating.

The canned chili was a flop. The restaurant chili was a better batch but it wasn't as good. When our friends tasted my chili, they all keep saying how wonderful it was.

Then we tried Sy's. Everyone was quiet for a moment and then the group started to try to figure out what it was about the chili that we didn't like. It was too sweet as far as I was concerned and there was a weird aftertaste. It was an overwhelming agreement that Sy's chili was terrible. After we cleaned up his kitchen, Sy was pouting about having lost.

"So, when would you like for me to shave my beard?"

"Maybe later tonight. I think we have to finish that conversation we started earlier."

"Oh yeah, California?" He said, standing close to me. He grabbed me by my hips and lifted me to the counter top. I lace my fingers through his beard hair and pull him closer so I can finally kiss him again. He broke away from the kiss and then started nibbling on my neck. His hand found the seem of my dress and he slid his hand up my thigh. When my skirt was pushed up to my hips exposing my sex to him, he leaned me back. I watched him look at my core and lick his lips like a man starved.

"Wait a second. Before you start, what was going on with your chili? Did you throw the bet?"

"No, not at all." He looked at me confused. "I don't know what happened, I've made this a bunch of times and its always been good. This was terrible."

"Did you do anything different?"

"Well. I was out of tomato paste, so I used ketchup. A buddy of mine suggested it."

"Oh my god, Sy. No wonder! Thank god you are pretty, my guy." I tease.

"Your guy? I like the way that sounds. Now lean back, Princess. I'm going to try to convince you to let me not shave."

#henry cavill fanfic #my apologies to henry cavill #henry cavill #henry cavill smut #asks answered #captain syverson #captain sy x reader

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anathemafiction · 3 years

Text

Point of Situation

Hello! It feels like it's been an eternity, so much has happened since my last progress report. And by so much has happened, I mean, The Rose has progressed so far since then.

I sent the game with the new ending to my sister, and I wish I could share her reaction. She loved it so much more! Her texts made me so, so happy! 😄

Playtesting is done! I don't really have anything else I want to check out, my list of paths and choices I wanted to read is all crossed out and has been throw in the trash. What playtesting has made me realize, however, besides some lacking paths and choices here and there, is that there are A LOT of things I'm unhappy with - especially in the first 3 chapters.

Things like page_breaks in the wrong places, and dialogues not quite fitting the characters - Alessa, specifically, has this problem. When I first wrote chapter one, so long ago, I didn't have the grasp of her character that I do now. Things like weak sentences - my English and my writing, in general, were so much worst back then. Things like confusing descriptions.

I wasn't joking when I said that I can't look at the demo - I'm half tempted to take it down, that's how bad it is. I'll try to figure out a way to upload a new, shinier version but then that version would stop where I want the public demo for when the game is released to stop - at the end of chapter 3.

Playing this game, again and again, made me realize that I need to do an in-depth edit of the entire game. As in, reading the code while I play that section at the same time, to improve not only for the writing but also the flow of the pages and the choices.

So, that's what I've been doing! I'm already in Chapter 3, and OOF, these first 3 chapters are by far, the ones that needed the most work. Chapter one, especially, is running so much smoother now, without those awkward and unnecessary page_breaks everywhere. Chapter 2 also had a big overhaul and I just found an error in chapter 3 that neither I nor any of my beta testers caught!!

I'm going through the whole game with a razor-thin comb, and honestly, it's been surprisingly fun! I'm reading conversations and scenes that I wrote almost 2 years ago and while yes, the writing isn't the best, it's fun to look back at it. But, most importantly, I'm making the game worth it for people to actually pay money to!

So, another checkpoint has been crossed! But, alas, it was not the last because I'm adding another. The final one:

Finish the second draft of chapter 8 and the new Epilogue.

Write all the suggestions/expansion of choices from my beta testers.

Put it all into code.

Do one week of extensive playtesting.

Do a deep edit of the entire game.

How long will this take? I have no idea. As I said, I'm editing chapter 3 - the first of the chapters to get to 100k words - so that means I've gone through 5 out of 23 files. I don't have a date to give, and I realize I should stop trying to give dates - but it's also worth noting that the other chapters won't give me as much work as the first three. I'm pretty sure I won't be making any substantial changes to chapters 6, 7, and 8, for example.

This might come as bad news to some, but I can assure you it's really not! This has been something I've been putting off because I dreaded the amount of work, but I can't put it off anymore. I have to do this. And now, I want to do it. 😄

I hope your week was great, and may you find rest on the weekend. 🌹

#there's SO MANY things I'll be doing differently for book 2 #so many #I think I learned more in the past 3 months than the rest of the time I've been working on the rose #hope everyone is well^^#progress update #The Golden Rose

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mandoinevarro · 4 years

Text

WILL BUY STOLEN GOODS FOR LOWER PRICE

Rule Maker, Rule Breaker: Chapter 1

Words: 8.4k

Rating: E

Warnings: shooting, non-descriptive death, SMUT, fingering, mentions of masturbation, AND masturbation now that I remember, penetration, creampie! just general filth, gambling?

a/n: SO literally nobody asked for this, but I decided to turn NO REFUNDS into the prologue of a short series (you don’t really need to read NO REFUNDS, it’s only for context.) Anywayyys heavy feelings, heavy plot, heavy smut. Have fun.

……………

Maker, you need to start cheating. That way you wouldn’t be in the middle of a staring contest with your cards, like you can change their colorful drawings and numbers if you only glare hard enough. You’ve never been particularly good at sabacc, but a little luck wouldn’t hurt, especially since this is the third round in a row you lose. Duma deals the last couple of cards across the coal black table and stacks the deck, signaling the start of the game.

Well, you suppose it doesn’t really matter; you doubt your sabacc buddies have better hands. These days, everyone in Nevarro is short on luck. Luck and food and water. Others are less pessimistic: As soon as Greef Karga glances at his hand he leans back on the carcass of a cantina booth and slaps his belly. “Ha!” he bellows, “by the end of this round, you filthy gutter womp rats will have to borrow from your womp rat mothers to pay me.”

“Quit bluffing, Karga. We know you don’t have shit,” Cara mutters. She picks up her cards and pulls a face like she bit on lemon, but still the veteran goes all in, pushes forward a couple of stabilizing coils, an identity beacon you could’ve sold at a decent price some months ago and—maker—even a pouch of nova crystal dust. Nobody here is stupid enough to gamble with food, but you’re surprised that even nova has lost its worth and been demoted to casino chip status. “This place smells like shit.”

“Bad bluff, piss-poor trash talk too,” you taunt. “Looks like all that time doing business with Imperials smoothed your brain, Karga.”

“Ex-Imperials,” he corrects. The ex-Guild leader slides a few more credits to the center of his ex-cantina’s table. “We live in a jolly Republic now, didn’t you hear? You’ve been liberated.”

“Fuck ‘em.” Duma turns her head, spits on the melted floor. “Can’t eat liberation, can I?” She throws a few more worthless credits onto the growing pile of nothing. At least, for now, it’s nothing. Credits and ship parts and every other type of currency haven’t meant anything but props in Nevarro for five months, when the siege began. That whole mess with troopers and Greef and Cara was bound to bring some repercussions—aside from making Karga’s cantina look like a volcano erupted inside. For five months, Imperial forces have surrounded the planet, and for five months, food and resources haven’t been allowed inside. They won’t let up, rumor has it, until they find the culprit: one particular Mandalorian with a valuable asset. They think he’s still hiding somewhere in the planet, but you know better. You watched the Razor Crest’s fly off-orbit and leave everything behind. Everything and everyone.

“This place smells like shit,” Cara repeats.

“Not shit,” replies Duma, “ash.” She picks up a card from the deck with long fingers. “You never did explain how that Mandalorian managed to torch this place.”

Cara’s sabacc face melts. Her fingers tighten and bend her cards as she exchanges a complicit look with Greef. “Never said it was Mando.”

“Who else? I was there in the first shootout. That hunter was fierce.” Duma dons a wolfish smile, because this is how she always wins: She plays with people, not cards. In fact, she abandons her hand face-down on the table and—oh no—gives you a once-over. “You knew him well, didn’t you?” You almost want to show her your garbage hand so she doesn’t bother trying to throw you off your inexistent game.

“Swung by the store a couple of times,” you answer as casually as you can manage and pretend the most interesting book is written on your cards. “But we weren’t exactly chummy, if that’s what you’re asking.” Creeping warmth attacks your face and there’s no stopping it. Shit.

“Funny, could swear I saw him leaving your store more than a couple of times.” You feel Duma’s eyes piercing into your forehead. “Pretty late at night, too.”

“Is that so?” Cara pipes with a lopsided grin.

“I thought you two were…friends,” Duma adds.

“Yeah, well,” you mutter, “you thought wrong.” Friends don’t leave friends to their luck in the middle of a fucking siege. It’s the same prickly thought that’s plagued you since you watched the Mandalorian take off triumphantly. It’s a stupid feeling. He was under no obligation to take you with him. You didn’t lie to Duma, you two weren’t friends. You couldn’t even call what you had a fling, even those require some degree of making-love-below-the-stars, quoting-passages-of-Naboo-Nights-to-each-other romance. Flings are shooting stars. No, your…thing, whatever it was, did not belong to the heavens. It was earthy. Human. It was counting credits and arguing about fuel prices or old modulators. It had weight—too much, apparently, to escape gravitational pull and fly away with him on the Crest. It was doomed to planets, both feet planted on the ground.

Still, you remember times when earthy was good. There was never anything airy or celestial in the way he’d take you. The shoved clothes, the harsh grunts, the rough hands, the pleasure, it was all palpable and primitive; earthy was dirty. Your furtive encounters had beating heart of their own, and there was always hard evidence left behind in case either of you ever needed a reminder: marks on the skin, ripped clothes, stained bedsheets. The bruises he left always took too long to heal, as if his touch enhanced your mortality, made you more human. Stars, those moments are what you miss the most. Five months is a long time to be neglected of touch—six, actually: five months since the siege, six since he last came to you. Earthy expires.

It’s not like there’s nobody in the planet willing to help you soothe your needs; quite the opposite, actually. Lately, it seems like handjobs are the new Nevarran handshake. Just last week you caught Cara feeling up some pretty market girl in an alley. You saw her, she saw you, you rolled your eyes, she grinned and got back to work. You were almost offended. Everybody’s screwing their time through the siege, while you’re left with nothing but reruns of filthy memories with the Mandalorian. You just know nobody but Mando will do. You replay your moments with him like a sad, mental porno on the nights you spend trying to get yourself off. Trying and failing, like having to put out a fire by spitting on it, because the only person in the galaxy with a hose is too busy playing hero lightyears away.

“Last round. Place your bets,” Karga announces and pushes a few more trinkets forward. Cara follows, and you pat around your pockets for something to lose. It’s all just rusted metal anyways. Only…shit, the last three games drained you. And Duma reads it on your face like you’ve got “BROKE” written all over your forehead.

“All out, huh?” She reaches down the table for her bag and drops a beskar pauldron on the table with a thud. A Mandalorian pauldron.

Cara purses her lips and balls a fist, but Greef shoots her a warning look. As if cantina brawls could make this place look worse.

“Still can’t believe you didn’t take anything that day,” Duma continues, shaking her head. “Regret it?”

“I’ll regret it,” you answer and go fish, as if a new card—the right card—could fix a life’s worth of bad luck, “when you learn how to chew beskar.” That earns you a signature “Ha!” from Karga and a cocked eyebrow from Duma. She can arch her eyebrows all she wants, but that much is also true. You don’t regret leaving the Mandalorian covert empty-handed.

You were the first on scene that day. After the smoke cleared, the remaining imps left to lick their wounds, and the Crest flew away, you went to check on Karga’s child, his pride and joy. You were met with a gruesome scene. The cantina, Nevarro’s most sacred landmark, had been reduced to its black skeleton, third-degree burns all over, gone. It sounds dramatic, but the cantina used to be the closest thing to a place of worship on this planet. God Booze was dead.

You kicked around the bar’s guts, until you found a gaping mouth on a wall, leading down, down, down into Nevarro’s entrails. Finding purgatory would’ve surprised you less than what you stumbled upon: an underground tunnel, an abandoned covert, and a sinister, unguarded pile of Mandalorian armor. Stars, it would’ve been so easy. You could’ve hoarded the spoils and stashed them away for better days. That amount of beskar could’ve bought you a one-way ticket out of this dumpster and an early retirement. But when you lifted a helmet, it stared back. It was blue and definitely not his, but Mando was all you could think of while you studied the helmet’s unique curves and creases. You heard his exasperated sighs when you got on his nerves, his moans when you’d touch him. And you just couldn’t do it. You sat back and watched as this skughole’s scavengers crept into the tunnels to pillage. Easy as that, everyone in Nevarro but you and Cara now has a beskar toy or two. Soon enough, this planet will house the wealthiest corpses in the galaxy if the siege is not lifted before reserves run out.

Karga clears his throat. “Well, ladies first. Let’s see those cards.”

Duma ignores him. “You know,” she tells you, “I’ve more beskar than I know what to do with. I’ll trade you a vembrance for a couple of ration packs.”

“And what am I supposed to do with a Mandalorian vembrance, play dress up?”

“The cards,” Greef urges.

“You’ll be rich.”

You snort. “The rich don’t starve.”

“Give me a break, we both know you’ve got portions to spare.”

Elbows on the table, you lean forward and closer to Duma. She sniffs weakness like a Corellian hound, and if you falter she’ll sink her fangs. “I’m not interested in your fucking loot.”

“Cause it’s stolen? You never had a problem with that before.” She mimics your move and leans closer. Karga fiddles with a coinage of calamari flan, like you’re both Canto Bight slot machines and he’s trying to decide where to put his money. “What, did you grow morals all of a sudden? Or maybe, you’re too worried of what your Mandalorian friend would think.” You flinch. She smirks. “Oh my, what would the disgraced hunter, code-breaker, cult member say—”

The tiny noise of Karga’s coinage clinking on the table is not enough to distract you from the verbal beating Duma is laying on you. But his voice—like he got the air knocked out of him—is enough to grab your attention when he murmurs, “Ask him yourself.”

Cara, Duma, and you turn to Greef Karga, who stares saucer-eyed at the window. All three of your heads move simultaneously, guided by the line of his eyesight. Outside the window, on the deserted street, stands a trooper barking orders. It’s one of those in all-black armor, the extra trigger-happy ones with a side of god complex because they think the change of color magically makes their aim less shitty. His blaster is drawn (surprise, surprise), and on the receiving end of its barrel…

Maker’s fucking mercy.

You don’t even see the blaster shot, only smoke snaking out of a hole on the shiny breastplate. The trooper plummets to the ground like his puppeteer cut off his strings: no last steps, no resistance. Now, anyone else would’ve walked away from what’s clearly worm food without a second look, but one does not become the best bounty hunter in the parsec by taking chances. A mountain of unpainted beskar looms over the corpse and kicks the blaster off the imp’s limp hand. The Mandalorian sheathes his own weapon—that blaster you’ve tweaked and polished so many times you know it as the palm of your hand—and scans the perimeter for danger.

You don’t tell your legs to move, but they don’t need the command. You find yourself trailing behind Cara, Duma, and Greef, rushing for the door. Outside, all four of you stumble and stop on your tracks to blink stupidly at the Mandalorian, the way children stare wide-eyed at soldiers on military parades. But this warrior stands grander than any Republic or Imperial officer you’ve ever seen. He’s clad head to toe in silver beskar—except for one armorless thigh that makes his other leg look even bulkier. His old armor, the one you used to shine and buff, is gone. This one you’ve only seen from afar, on that day he crashed the imps’ safehouse, and later when the battle broke out. You know it’s him, but in this new getup it’s easy to doubt. Maybe he’s a stranger. Maybe he won’t recognize you.

The Mandalorian studies each of you one by one, his hand near the blaster in case he spots any enemy faces. The hand twitches when he sees Duma—she doesn’t have the cleanest reputation around here—but she’s shocked and unarmed, so his arm relaxes. To Greef and Cara he gives short nods that they return.

And then you. He actually takes a step back when he spots you, like you pushed him square on the chest. The helmet lingers on you and tilts, shamelessly rakes over every feature like he’s memorizing you. You hold your breath. It reminds you of the day you met, that weight on your chest from knowing you’ve been seen. That’s how you know it really is Mando: Whenever he stares at you, you feel it in your bones.

You realize the moment’s dragged out for too long when Karga clears his throat. The spell breaks.

You and Mando look bashfully away from each other. You squint up at the clouds, your hands stiff on your waist in a forced, generic, looks like rain! pose. He turns to his boss (ex-boss? enemy? You never asked for an update on Mando’s most recent status in the Guild) and mutters a short, “Karga.” To Cara he’s warmer, offers a comradely clasp of hands and a pat on the shoulder. “Good to see you again.”

“You too,” Cara drawls, as she stares suspiciously between you and Mando. You squint harder at the clouds. “Didn’t expect you back during a siege, though.”

“I have to…” he spies a furtive glance at Duma and lowers his voice, “I’ve something to do here.”

Duma rolls her eyes and clasps her bag across her chest. “Don’t worry, Mando. I’ll leave you girls to catch up on the hot goss.” She strides into the cantina (probably to bag the bets, the asshole), and goes back outside.

She points at the window of a crumbling building. “Careful with snitches.”

You glance back to the window. Nothing. Jerk. Duma’s not above a made you look moment, apparently. You turn back to her but she’s already disappearing into an alley.

Cara waits until she’s gone to grab the Mandalorian by the arm. “Mando, where’s the…” she glances at you and hesitates. You fold your arms and raise your eyebrows at the veteran. If she expects you to leave graciously like Duma she’s got another thing coming. You’re actually very, very interested on the Mandalorian’s hot goss. Especially it comes with an explanation as to why he left you stranded here. Even though he doesn’t owe you one. Technically. “Y’know,” she finally says and drops her hand. “The asset.”

“On the ship. I need to get back.”

“You, my friend, need to lay low,” Greef says with a raised index. “Every imp in Nevarro will be looking for you. Maker—” he spreads his arms “—they already are! And someone must have heard the blaster shot. You have ten minutes or so until an Imperial squadron gets here. The, uh, asset will be fine.”

“The asset,” Cara exclaims, “is a ch—is…is delicate. He can’t just leave it on the Crest!”

Mando interrupts their game of taboo. “Cara,” he starts, “you go to the ship and check on…the asset. Please. I landed where I did last time. I…I’ll lay low in the covert.”

“About that,” Greef mumbles. He looks at Cara for support, but she steps back and raises both hands: You say it. Greef sighs. “They…they found the tunnels, Mando.”

The helmet crooks slowly to study Karga. “Who’s they?”

“Everyone. Half of Nevarro is living down there, you…you can’t go back.”

Silence.

You imagine all four of you go through the same checklist: Even if Cara didn’t already have a top-secret assignment with whatever the asset is, she doesn’t have a place of her own yet. Every week, she crashes on one of her sweethearts’ couches. On their beds, more likely. There’s no way Karga is letting him near his house, not after what happened at the cantina. That leaves…

“Stay with me,” you blurt before you can really think it through.

≈

The cramped storage room you call a home sits a story above your store. It’s four walls and only the essentials: a bed, an armchair, a table, a stove, and the only detached room is the refresher. It’s enough for you. But the Mandalorian looks like he squeezed into a dollhouse when you usher him inside and close the door behind you. He stands in the middle of the room, all fighter’s bulk and grandiose armor, like he’s afraid he’ll break something if he moves. As if he’s never been here before, which couldn’t be further from the truth. The apartment may be small, but it’s so filled with memories you could turn it into a museum of your dirty escapades with him. And if you look to your right, you’ll see the armchair where he sat while I went down on him on a stormy night.

“So,” you say and lean against the front door, “business or pleasure?”

He moves to stand to the side of the window opposite the front door and his glove moves the old washed out curtain to the side to peer into the street. The sun is setting, and the last streaks of light paint the beskar with warped yellow-orange streaks that stay as still as an undisturbed pond. So this is how he wants the evening to go: quietly and with a reasonable amount of distance between you. Disappointment knots in your stomach.

“Business.”

You open your mouth to cut into the silence, but you’re all out of words. Maybe you’ve lost your touch. It used to be so easy to tease him, but now…a heaviness seems to weigh down on his shoulders, some heightened sense of duty. But also determination: He stands taller now, prouder, like he woke up one day and knew exactly what he needed to do and why. Whatever that purpose is, you’re pretty sure it doesn’t involve you. You’re a detour, and not even the fun kind, judging by the space between you. Maker, this man used to pounce on you. Has the siege really battered you up that much?

“Been busy?” The sudden question startles you. He’s never been one to break the ice, that was usually your job.

“Sure.” Nope, not at all. “Store and all.” You closed the store three months ago. Turns out nobody buys equipment for their ships when they can’t fly past the atmosphere. “Plus, somebody needs to keep Karga distracted from his mourning. You owe him a cantina.”

“He told I did that?”

“Just a guess.” You move a couple of steps forward, like you’re approaching a nervous lothcat. When he doesn’t move away, you sit on the armchair, a little closer to him. “You like that flamethrower too much.”

“That what you four were doing in there?” The helmet moves to the side so he can spy deeper down the street. Always careful. “Assessing my damage?”

“No, just sabacc. Different kind of damage.” He’s making small talk. The Mandalorian, whom you’ve overheard have conversations solely based on grunts and sighs, is chatting with you. He’s not just answering out of politeness, he’s prompting you to go on, to keep running your mouth. That’s something he said once between thrusts, perched over you right on this floor: Keep running your mouth, see what happens. The memory warms your neck. Maker, not the point. The point is, before, he always said you had a smart mouth. Sometimes he’d chastise you for it, other times he’d encourage it. And you used to have the suspicion (or, let’s face it: fantasy) that he actually liked it. That somewhere hidden, beyond his pride and honor’s jurisdiction, he enjoyed the teasing and the banter, the challenge of having to deal with you. Better yet: More than once it crossed your mind that he got off on it, too. It’s been a long time, but some of that might remain. Maybe you’ll take his advice: keep running your mouth, see what happens.

You sit straighter, arch your back a bit just in case he’s watching. “You interrupted a round with your little stunt.”

“Yeah?” The helmet doesn’t move, but his hand runs up the curtain, considering. “Sorry. I bet you were winning.”

That makes you smile. It’s a dig at you. Far and wide across Nevarro, your uncanny ability to lose every single game of sabacc you play baffles locals and foragers alike. Yes, you know you suck, but the game amuses you anyways. You like the trash talk, the double-guessing, the bluff-calling. So much so that you forget to actually play. But what’s important is he’s teasing you, and that’s more than charted territory with him, a match you have a shot at winning. Okay. Game on.

“I was, actually.”

He huffs. “Don’t believe you.”

“Then I don’t believe you’re here on business.” Pause for effect. You can almost see a question mark form in a cloud above the helmet. You lean forward and lick your lips, lower your voice. “I think you missed me.”

You’re used to the helmet’s features remaining impassive, so you don’t look for clues on there anymore. Mando’s hands are more telling. You want to believe you actually see his fingers twitch and clutch the curtain a little tighter, that he takes too long to answer. That’s what trying to read him is all about—blind-guessing and wishful thinking.

“Don’t know about that. Six months and two weeks without your cons, I’m almost rich.”

Down to the week, huh? “Okay, if you want to make it about money we’ll bet on it. Twenty credits says you missed me.”

“Last time I was here you weren’t a compulsive gambler. Store’s doing that bad?”

“Last time you were here,” you coo, “there was a lot less talking involved.” You stare into the visor, and pray he can’t see the desperate hope in your eyes.

Your prayers are answered. In a way. Mando ignores you, doesn’t even look at you. You hear your clumsy attempt at seduction buzz around him like a one-winged bee, crash into the unmoving, unmoved Mandalorian, and fall to the floor in a pointed-lined spiral. You’re so embarrassed you want to step on it. Well, that settles it. Six months is apparently enough for a Mandalorian to lose interest.

“And store’s doing fine,” you lie to try and sway the conversation away from that lame innuendo that missed its mark. He really just wants to talk, then. No big deal. It’s fine. “Nobody gambles for money anyways.”

“Then why?”

You shrug. “Why do you hunt?” He’s never told you, but you saw him chase down a bounty once. He was ruthless, sweating adrenaline and with far too much stamina to only be chasing a bag of credits. “For the risk. The thrill.”

He lets your words float for a second. “You get a thrill out of losing?”

You roll your eyes. “I only lose cause everybody knows my bluff.” That is, except you. “You need to know someone to know their bluff. Greef and the others already know me too well. You, on the other hand.” You smile. “If you and I played, I’d get to keep so much of your stuff you’d think I’m half Jawa.”

And, only then, he seems to tense. That stupid throwaway line is what makes his spine grow visibly rigid and his hand drop from the curtain to his belt, where the leather of his glove creaks with how tightly he clutches the buckle. White and blue streetlights that reflect on his armor glide around like it’s water instead of beskar, and they’re your only indication that he’s shifted slightly. Slowly, so slowly you expect his neck to creak like a door, the Mandalorian turns away from the window to look at you. He holds there quietly, and you feel ants running down your back…stars, you’re nervous. For the first time in a while, he makes you genuinely anxious.

“You’re saying I don’t know you?” he rasps under the helmet. No, not really, but if it gets a reaction out of him…

“All I’m saying,” you start, summoning all your strength to keep your voice from faltering, “is you’ve been gone too long.” You try to make it sound a bit playful, but the words come out tasting bitter when you remember the sharp little edge that’s been digging on your side. He left you here, it whispers, he left you here and didn’t bother looking back. But a heavy boot suddenly drops forward and you’re forced to stop nursing your grudge to try and predict what Mando’s next move will be.

With every step he takes, you’re instinctively swallowed deeper into your armchair, until he’s looming over you. Stars above, the sheer size of him is enough to block out most of the artificial light coming in, and you’re left to squint in the blue twilight. Maker, you don’t remember him this big, this intimidating. Five months ago you would’ve smirked and opened your legs wide. C’mon, I don’t bite unless you ask, you would’ve teased, but now…now you think maybe you are the one who doesn’t know him anymore.

But some things never change, and having him so near still makes your thighs press together. If anything, this new foreignness, the inherent threat of a bounty hunter in your home that never quite poked the right nerve before now pulls on your most sensitive areas. It propels your heartbeat on a sprint. His arm moves, and—oh, you want him to touch you.

Visor trained on you, Mando points to the floor instead. “You hide your credits here.” To illustrate (or just to rub it in that he knows) his boot presses down on the loose tile and shifts from side to side. The sharp sound it makes irritates you less than knowing he found the fox clever hiding spot you used to pat yourself on the back for. “You don’t keep them in the store because it’s too easy to break into. The security panel downstairs is broken, but the one up here works fine.”

You can almost hear his proud smirk under the helmet. There’s a reserved side to him, sure, but bastard can be arrogant when he wants to. And no, you have no idea how he found the spot, but you’re not about to admit it.

“Congrats, boy scout. You can spot a busted panel and you have flat feet. Want a badge?” Your irritation brings back some of your old snark, but you still flinch when he moves closer and his legs brush against your knees.

“You also keep expensive parts inside the stuffing of this—” he takes a tiny step forward and frames your knees with his legs “—armchair.” Your blood freezes at his words, but it abruptly runs hot as the city’s lava river when you realize how close he stands now. His legs press against the armchair and there’s nowhere to go. You’re cornered.

A leather glove moves close and you hold your breath, before you realize he’s only toying with the tips of your hair. But his fingers dig deeper, tangle on thicker strands and, without warning, give a short but firm tug. It’s a tiny pull, but maker’s mercy, you feel your core pulse. And then, before you can regain some lucidity, his fingers dip lower, where the tips trace a slow line down your nape. He draws featherlight circles on that spot between your neck and your shoulder that he knows makes your toes curl, and—stars, it’s just been too long—you whimper.

“Still so sensitive here,” he whispers.

Once, this shielded man knew his way around your body like it belonged to him. You thought that part of him was lost, that he forgot, that he’d truly been gone too long. Those fears dissipate when his palm curls around the back of your neck to hold your gaze on him, while the thumb of his other hand brushes your lips. You know the drill—you open your mouth and give the orange tip some kitten licks. Mando huffs: You can do better than that. Maker, it should be a red flag, how quickly you comply. That urgent need to please him that had never, ever felt so crucial. An O forms in your lips before you can stop them, and his thumb pushes down on your tongue deep and deeper. You should play hard, make him earn it, bite him. But his finger starts to retreat and you panic—no, he can’t change his mind, not now. You seal your lips, trap him inside your mouth and suck. But his grip on the back of your neck grows beskar stiff, and he forcefully removes his finger…only to glide the spit over your lips. Just like that first time.

The visor looms closer to your face, and you catch a ruptured sigh, the pleasured kind that these four walls know so well. If Mando wasn’t holding you down, your chest would balloon with satisfaction and you’d float. His thumb trails down your throat, wetting its path and no doubt feeling the vibration when you chuckle. He cocks his head to the side in a silent question.

“You owe me twenty credits,” you explain, your breath clouding the helmet’s surface. “You did miss me.”

Mando crouches lower, where his helmet brushes your nose, and gropes the tops of your thighs with those wide palms you’ve been dreaming about for weeks.

“Yeah? You like bets?” You’ve never heard his voice so coarse, scratchy like week-long stubble. Did he change the settings of his modulator? Or is it just rash, pent-up need? “Then thirty credits says you’re fucking soaked.” His fingers butterfly higher up your thighs, almost at the apex. Your legs jerk.

“That’s cheating,” you gasp.

He takes one glove off and settles the covered hand on your hip, while the other disappears between your legs until—stars—he cups your core through your pants. You mewl and he hums when he feels the hot, damp fabric.

“I still win.” He presses the heel of his palm right into your clit and grinds it back and forth. Oh, if you thought you were wet before. The pressure, the friction, him—it all scalds you from head to toe like a fever, but you chase it, greedily push your hips into his palm. His fingers flatten along your slit and grope you tighter. “Gonna pay me? Doesn’t have to be credits.” He pushes viciously into you with that wide, hard palm, preening at the little gasps that escape you. Whimpering, you let your eyes fall shut and focus on something sprouting in your belly. Stars, you’re close—how the fuck are you so close already? It must be all the repressed desire, all that time. Fuck, you’re close—

The Mandalorian halts. You’re eyes flash open to see him straighten and step back, take his other glove off to stuff it snug between his belt and his hip, and remain still as a building. Still catching your breath, you study him head to toe, scanning for a sign of what went wrong. He’s clutching his belt, his stance is too smug. This isn’t him fighting temptation, he’s toying with you. Maker help him, you’re going to kill him. Some corner in your brain reasons that it’s kinda fair, as payback for all the times you messed with him. But in the forefront of your mind pulses the climax he just denied you, cast aside and angry.

Before you know what you’re doing, you push yourself off the armchair. “You—”

Mando beats you to it. A hand on your shoulder and a vembrance across your chest, he lunges forward and slams your back against a wall. He hovers over you, tightly pressed against your body. A fleshy, hard bulge covered by his pants throbs against your belly. Of course. You forgot how much he likes it when you look like prey; how much he enjoys the hunt, whether he admits it or not. The hand on your shoulder trails down to cup your breast. You squeeze your eyes shut and let out a shaky exhale.

“You need it bad,” he breathes as his fingers massage your chest. The movement shifts the fabric of your tunic, brushing it against your nipple. You roll your hips to try and stimulate him, to show you’re not the only one worked up. His erection twitches and you smile.

“You—mmm—you’re projecting.” You grind again to prove your point, but he catches on to what you’re implying and retaliates by shoving his hand inside your cleavage. Stars, you have to punch down the moan surges up your throat when he pinches your nipple.

“You missed this,” Mando hisses, and whether he’s trying to convince you or himself, you don’t know. What you do know is he’s plotting to settle this stupid inkling of a bet in his favor. He wants you to admit you missed him so he doesn’t have to. You know, because it’s exactly what you are trying to do.

You sneak your hand down his torso, aiming for the hem of his pants—but before you can get even with him, he crushes his hips against yours and traps your palm between them. And he’s not done—he wedges his thigh between your legs and rubs it up and down, drags your clit just right. Your mouth gapes in a silent moan as white hot pleasure lights up your spine. You want to get away from it but, maker, his forearm is still stiff against your chest. Even when you grab the vembrance with your free hand it doesn’t budge. You’re trapped between him and the wall.

“Can take care of m-myself just fine,” you croak as a last attempt to hold on to your dignity. “At least when I’m alone I don’t have to fake any orgasms.”

Yeah, it’s a low blow. A dirty fucking lie too, but desperate times call for desperate measures and all. Good news is it gets you a reaction—he immediately stops moving, as if your words punched him off balance. Bad news is you hit a nerve—his breathing becomes harsh like a bull’s, so much so that you expect clouds of smoke to come out from under the helmet. The Mandalorian creeps closer to your face and his forearm digs deeper into your chest. There’s a promise of danger in the dark visor that makes your pulse race, and a primitive instinct blasts emergency sirens. Maker, this won’t end well for you.

Just as you’re about to backtrack and whisper you didn’t mean it, Mando lets go of you—only for a split second, before he grasps your shoulders and turns you around to push your front into the wall. You jerk back on instinct, but he flattens a palm between your shoulder blades and squishes you right back against it.

The helmet rests right next to your ear when Mando growls, “You expect me to believe that?” His hands drop to your hips as he replaces the pressure on your back with his chest. His body weight holds you in place, and he rocks the hard outline of his erection along your ass. “That I don’t make you cum, you little fucking—” You curl your back as much as his body allows so he can stroke himself tighter against you. He groans and kneads your cheeks, moves the flesh in tandem with his thrusts. “I shouldn’t let you tonight, t-teach you a lesson.”

The mere suggestion feels devastating enough to let a pathetic whine tumble from your lips. Before, you could’ve turned this into a game, held out a little longer just to watch him break first. But you’re too pent up, too desperate, too sick of waiting. Your fingers hook on the hem of your trousers and push them down. Mid-movement, he traps both of your wrists in one hand and keeps them pressed against your lower back, while the other one gets your pants the rest of the way down, underwear too. You barely have enough time to step out of them before his free hand reaches between the apex of your thighs. You’re sticky, leaking around his fingers, and pushing back against his crotch like you’ll drop dead if he doesn’t fuck you.

“Fucking wet, fuck…” he mutters. His fingers follow the heat and your pussy clenches around nothing. Stars, if he just moved higher, a little higher where you’re hot and soaked and throbbing for him. But he takes his sweet time, molds the inside of your thighs like clay, pulls the flesh, squishes it together, until you’re writhing against him and leaking down your leg. Your vision blurs. “Can—can I…?” He lets his index finish the sentence, teasing at the edges of your outer lips.

Even with the side of your face against the wall, you manage to nod. “Yeah,” you breathe.

Two fingers slide around your folds and you gasp. Mando moves slowly, collecting your arousal and coating his fingers. Your breath catches when the tips finally push into your entrance—only a fraction before they slide back out, so the rest of his palm can cup along your cunt and drag more slick behind it. He’s strategically avoiding your clit, though, and with both arms behind your back and at his mercy, you can’t reach for it yourself. Fuck, you…you only need to hold on a bit more, he’ll get bored of his game soon enough. That’s it, just a little longer. You waited six months, no way he’s making you beg after a few minutes of teasing.

The Mandalorian eventually pulls his fingers away from your thighs and curses under his breath. You hear the familiar rustling of fabric and a divine zip that fills your eyes with tears of relief. Fucking finally. You brace yourself and relax your pelvic floor in preparation, but it’s barely necessary—you’re so ready for it. Your cunt is open and weeping, he can just slide it in. All this time, with nothing substantial inside you, your lower muscles pump and twist painfully with demanding want. Even with his size and in this position, you’re so turned on he might even be able to bottom out. Fuck, he doesn’t have to move much, a few good pumps and he’ll have you cumming, easy. Stars, what’s taking so damn long—

A modulated, battered moan and a wet noise make you turn your head over your shoulder and look for the source. The low light makes it difficult to make out shapes, but there’s no mistaking what you find below you. Hand wrapped solid around his cock, Mando is jerking himself off. With your cum as lubricant. While he treats you like a piece of furniture he’s only gripping for support. A chemical cocktail of lust mixed with fury spikes your blood.

“Is…wh-what are…what the fuck do you think y-you’re…”

“Say it,” he spits between his teeth, “say you f-fucking need me.”

No, no fucking way. As much as the words burn on your tongue and your clit tugs and begs, you’re not saying it. He left, not you. You waited for him. You turn your head as far back as your neck allows without snapping a ligament and look straight into the visor. And pointedly curl your lips inside your mouth, sealed.

Your act of rebellion lasts a good ten seconds.

“You’re so fucking difficult,” he snarls. He stops tugging on his cock, and for a moment you hope he might indulge you, push into you and stop the masochist torment you’ve talked yourselves into. But when it comes to Mando and you, it’s never that easy. Still not releasing your wrists, he grabs the base of his cock, glistening with your stolen juices, and rubs it up and down the swell of your uncovered ass. You gasp, let your lips part and your gaze fall to where he’s rubbing up against you and refusing to push inside.

He's not going to last long. Swollen and a strangled purple, the head of his cock dribbles warm precum and smears it on your lower back. The veins on his length throb against your ass, and stars, they’d feel so much better inside you. The Mandalorian’s grunts and groans ring more frustrated than lost in pleasure; it’s not enough for him either. He’s torturing you and himself just to prove a point, while you refuse to speak the magic words just to keep your pride. Desperate tears threaten to spill, but you shut your eyes to push them back. Either of you could put an end to it, right now. Maker, it’s on the tip of your tongue: I need you. Spit it out, end it. I need you, Mando, I need you, do whatever you want with me. It doesn’t matter that you abandoned me in this shithole, that you discarded me like faulty equipment, that you didn’t even have the decency to tell me—

The thrusting stops. When you open your eyes, you find the visor fixed on you, cocked slightly to the side, like there’s writing on your face. Mando’s grip on your wrist softens, his frustrated panting slows. Maybe he sees the unshed tears, or maybe your face really is that transparent, because he takes pity on you. Gentle palms on your shoulders, he turns you around to face him.

Night has fallen. Fragments of fluorescent light pour inside through your worn out curtains and give the helmet a fuzzy silver halo. The rest of the armor is shiny black, smudges of light here and there. His head moves around the features of your face, one by one, taking its time. Showdown’s over. He’s not playing a game anymore, not trying to get you to break, he’s just…studying you. Staring his fill of you farewell-style, even though he just came back. It hits you that you don’t know how long he’s staying this time. You open your mouth to ask, but stop yourself in time. If he leaves, he leaves. He doesn’t owe you any explanations.

But when he curls an arm around your waist and holds you against the wall and his cold breastplate, it doesn’t feel like goodbye. It feels like old times—pre-siege, pre-battle, pre-everything—when he confidently grabs your left thigh, sinks his fingers into the plump flesh, and hooks it on his lower back. You drape your arms around his shoulders and hold him closer. You’ve always liked the bulk of him against you, it makes everything feel more real. Buried on the crook of your neck, you hear him sigh when he lets go of your thigh and blindly searches your cunt. With your leg around his back you’re completely open for him, so it takes him no time to find your bud. He presses against it and rubs it in slow but tight circles that make your legs cramp.

You push down on him, demanding more. He groans and complies, inserts one finger and continues rubbing on your clit with his thumb. Maker, this has no right to be so good. He’s doing pretty much the same you’ve done to yourself these past months, but with Mando there are never any ghost sensations, no what ifs. It’s all here and now, and you swear you feel the pleasure of his fingers picking up speed in every corner of your body. He has you moaning and rocking your hips, dripping down his hand, and when he starts rubbing you harder and tighter, you finally whine a tiny, “Please.”

The Mandalorian doesn’t need to ask what you want, but he moves his helmet to look at you square in the face, check if you mean it. You stare droopy-eyed into the visor and nod: yesyesyesyes. Mando groans and grips you tighter. Maker, he’s right, you need it—need the bruises, need his cock, need all of him.

“Fuck,” he breathes. His hand leaves you to grab his cock and guide it to your entrance. He moves it around your lips and brushes his tip against your clit as he looks for your hole in the dark. It doesn’t take long for the head to poke right outside where it needs to go. “Fuck, I don’t—don’t think I can hold back, don’t want to hurt you—”

“Stars, please,” you whine, “I want it rough.” You want it more than rough. After six months, you want it fucking depraved, but neither of you is going to last long enough to make it elaborate. Maker, you don’t care. Right now, you don’t care for risky positions or clever techniques, you want him.

He groans and pushes inside—only the head, still testing, but your walls immediately grip him tightly to hinder any attempts to move away. That’s not what you should’ve been worried about. Fingers tight around your waist, Mando pulls you down as he pushes up. Stars. The brutal thrust reaches the end of you and then some more. Fuckfuckfuck. The dull bam of your skull hitting the wall is suddenly drowned by a slicker, filthier sound coming from between your legs. His length begins to pull out, your pussy complains the whole way, and you can almost hear the Mandalorian gritting his teeth through the sweet torture of feeling you squeeze around him…and thrust back up—harder. He likes the pace and sticks to it—fast, rough, deep, repeat—while you make sounds like you’re choking on air. Stars, it has been long. Long enough to partially forget his size, his fucking girth, currently filling you to the brim and punching high little sounds from your throat.

“Mmmando,” you sob.

Mando groans in response, snakes a hand down to your clit and rubs with the same wild abandon as his pounding. Maker, your memory was never this fucking good. No matter how many details you recalled, there’s nothing compared to the real, human meat of his cock pulsing urgently inside you, hitting your cervix, making you whine. Nothing like his fingers around your waist, or knowing there’ll be bruises tomorrow. The pleasure has teeth, carries a painful bite, but it’s exactly what you need. That tangible grit in his thrusts and his fingers is the missing piece. Your muscles start cramping, you pull him tighter against you—Maker, right there, you can feel it. It reaches your head and makes you dizzy, sheds light on some hidden, shameful words.

“Mando, I…”

“I—fuck—I n-needed this,” he grunts and brings his hand down to feel where his cock is inching out of you, like he has to double check it’s actually happening. Thrust. “Used—used to d-dream about you.” Thrust. Three fingers now push into your clit and draw frantic shapes. You clench your jaw, feel the hot tide in your belly rise faster. Thrust. “Wake up so f-fucking hard—cum in my pants.” Thrust—thrust—thrust.

Maybe it’s his words, maybe the rough pace, but something holds a flame to the dynamite building inside you and it explodes. Maker, your head’s going to burst. You moan long and deep into the spot Mando’s ear might be. Your legs shake, your arms cramp. Months’ worth of frustration gush hot and wet around him, as he babbles encouragement: There you go, just like that, make it fucking good. Your walls are still fluttering, your ears are still ringing, you haven’t even ridden out the last of your climax when his hips pick up the pace.

“Let me—let me cum inside,” the warrior pants, “let me f-fill this cunt…I—I haven’t since—fuck, I didn’t—”

“Yes,” you gasp, “yes, please, Mando, cum, cum inside—”

There’s no space left between you, but Mando finds a way to squish you tighter against him as he pounds into you for a few last moments, until you hear a strangled grunt, and a half-forgotten warmth pools inside you. The extra lubrication drives his last thrust as deep as your body allows. A few more lazy thrusts inside you, short and stunted as you take his load inside you, before he stops. A warm string trails down your leg, and—stars, he’s leaking out. How much did he cum that it didn’t fit inside you? Fuck.

You take turns panting, whimpering, listening to each other’s heartbeats slow to a semi-normal pace. The Mandalorian moves away from the crook of your neck to meet your glossy eyes. He doesn’t say anything, but you think will. You can almost hear his mouth opening, words boiling and rising in bubbles up his throat—

Zium!

It’s your imagination. It’s your ears ringing from that orgasm, your mind making stuff up. But. You could swear you saw a red flash glade right past your cheek. And from the way Mando’s helmet cocks to the side, you know he saw it too. You turn your heads in unison, to see smoke coming out of a hole a breath away from your ear. It takes both of you too long to put two and two together, and—before he can pull out—more of those red flashes are raining down on you.

…………

Edit: Chapter 2 let’s goooooooo

Taglist: @rosetophighlander @hellomothermoon @newyorksins @leo-moon @benedrylcumbersnatch

#the mandalorian smut #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian x you #the mandalorian #din djarin smut #din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #mando smut #mando x reader #mando x you #star wars smut

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asmosmainhoe · 4 years

Text

MC protecting Beel

@beelzebubsthot thought of you while writing this😘

Mammon, Levi, Asmo, Lucifer

---

Gender neutral MC

Warnings: cursing

At first you thought differently of Beel. How could you not with that resting bitch face of his? It didn't take long though for you to see his true self and find out that he is in fact the sweetest person you have ever met.

Of course someone like that must be protected at all cost right? That's exactly what you're doing and you don't plan to back off so easily. Whoever even dares to mess with your precious boy you're there and ready to throw hands. Whether it's Lucifer or even Diavolo. No demon intimidates you when it comes to Beel.

"Ugh Beelzebub's eating everything up again. Is there anything else he can do or is that all he's good for?"

You turn around on your heels and poke your finger against he demon's chest. "Listen here you pathetic piece of sewer-trash. You absolute lowlife. Before you think about talking shit like that you should look in the mirror and ask yourself that."

The demon couldn't even properly react and therefore just blinked in confusion. With a annoyed huff you walked away.

Of course people start noticing how you always protect the big orange haired demon and become more careful when they talk bad behind his back. Your sass knows no limits and your wits are as sharp as a razor blade as Satan would say.

Beel appreciates your support and kindness towards him so he makes it his job do watch out for you too. He doesn't do it with words like you do. He's more the man of action. It never comes to real action though. He is tall and strong. Only idiots would pick a fight with him.

One day you were walking through RAD and minding your own business. At least you tried to, but then you overheard two demons talking.

"Beelzebub seems kinda dumb if you ask me."

"Totally! Maybe he has eaten up his brain too!"

"Or he fell on his head after he landed in hell."

Their laughter made your blood boil and without hesitation you stomped over to these two.

"You better stop talking now or else I'll kick your ass so hard that your nose starts to bleed."

They both exchanged baffled looks before laughing again. With a wicked grin they started cornering you and towered over you with an evil glow in their eyes.

"Do you wanna repeat that?", one of them asked expectantly. Oh, but you weren't backing down so easily. Instead you prepared yourself for the worst and put your school bag down. If they wanted a fight with you you were more than happy to give them one. They suddenly froze when a certain someone put his hands on their shoulders.

"Leave them alone. Now."

With a quick nod they left and Beel pulled you into his arms. His eyebrows were furrowed in worry.

"You don't have to fight for me."

"Did you hear what those assholes said? I HAD to!"

His expression softened as he caressed your cheek. Then he leaned his forehead against yours and whispered: "I don't care what the others say about me. I don't care about anything at all as long as I have you."

---

Rules

Masterlist

#obey me #obey me shall we date #obey me headcanons #obey me beel x mc #obey me beel x reader #obey me beelzebub #obey me beel #beel #beelzebub #beelzebub x mc #beelzebub x reader #obey me x mc #obey me x reader #obey me x you

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ynsimagines · 3 years

Text

Tonsils Part 2 Lena x Daughter! reader

A couple weeks after your first bout with tonsillitis you woke up with the familiar burning sensation in your throat. It had been a stressful week as far as school work went sleeping only four hours each night, and tonight was one of the most important galas of the year.

Luckily your mom had to go in early to LCorp, and get a few things done before tonight. You had the day of from school so you decided to get as much rest as you could before you had to start getting ready.

“Babe, you look beautiful,” Lena said when you met her in the living room.

“Thanks, Mom.”

At the gala you continued to struggle and you only felt worse as the night went on..

“Are you feeling alright, Y/N?” Asked Kara, when she approached you noticing you hadn't been yourself, and your neck was starting to look swollen. “You can tell me if you’re not.”

“I feel awful,” You finally admitted. “But this is important to mom, I need to be here for her.”

Kara felt your forehead and grimaced when she realized you were burning up, “your definitely running a fever sweetheart. Do you wanna take some Tylenol?”

You nodded craving some sort of relief and was grateful when the Kryptonian women handed them to you. They took the edge off for a while and you were able to enjoy a the gala for a little while until it starts to wear off. Not wanting to make a scene you walk to you walked to one of the rooms in the back that had a couch and almost fell asleep immediately upon laying down.

Your mom Lena, was starting to get concerned it had been about 30 minutes and she hadn't seen or heard from you. She was going to start looking for you when Kara approached her.

“Hey Lena, I wanted to talk to you about Y/N,” said the blonde concerned.

“You’ve seen her,” asked Lena, urgently. “Is she okay?”

“I dont think so, she told me she felt awful and that her throat is hurting her again I gave her some Tylenol, but haven’t seen her since.”

Lena nodded, “okay I’m gonna go look for her.”

“I’ll come with you,” added Kara.

It didnt take them long to find you where you had fallen asleep curled up on the couch. Lena saw how pale you looked and went to feel your forehead when she realized how warm you were. “Sweetheart, can you wake up for me?” She asked running her hand in your hair. You opened your eyes and looked around the room you saw Kara and then your mom who were both looking at you concerned. You felt like you were on the brink of death. You were hot like you’d been roaming around the dessert, yet shaking like a leaf. You’re head was pounding and your throat felt like it’d been cut up with razor blades, you were in so much pain you felt like you were gonna be sick. Speaking of being sick you sat hovering over the trash can near by and began throwing up. Lena immediately moved your hair out of your face and began rubbing your back.

You felt bad your mom should be in the middle of the event entertaining guests and making business deals, but Lena didn’t care you were the her number one priority always, but especially now.

“It’s ok baby, I’m right here it’ll be over soon,” she soothed. you eventually stopped and Kara brought you a bottle of water you took a sip practically gagging from the pain in your throat and then laid your head on your mom’s shoulder.

“Why didn’t you tell me how bad you were feeling love?” Lena asked as her mom guilt was setting in for not noticing how sick you looked.

“I didn’t want you to worry,” you said weakly. “Tonight is really important.”

Lena shook her head, “not as important as you babe, I’m taking you home,” said your mom as she started to help me stand up.

“But what about the gala, mom? Maybe Kara can take me home so you can stay here,” you suggested.

“Sweetheart, I’m not leaving you the event is coming to an end anyway,” she said leading you out to the car where you drove home. When you arrived Kara carried you upstairs into your mom’s room, and Lena gave you some more medication and water which you choked down. Once you laid down your mother brought you a cool cloth for your forehead, and bid Kara goodnight as she was headed to her own apartment. Lena got in bed next to you and brought you into her arms knowing she’d have to have Alex come and look at you.

The next day as promised Alex came over to see you along with Kara who was back with some more of your favorite ice cream. You woke up feeling even worse than you did last night. You woke feeling extremely nauseous which led you to throw up again, and your throat hurt so bad you could barely swallow.

Alex took one look and confirmed it was your tonsils again. She administered a steroid shot to help the swelling go down, and prescribed you some more medication for when it wore off. She was currently about to administer an IV so you could get some hydration you were surely lacking since throwing up and refusing to more water than the bare minimum.

You were never a fan of needles so your mom sat next to you and let you lean into her as the needle went in. “Dont Look baby, just take a deep breath,” Lena said while rubbing your back. It was soon over and you were now being tucked back into bed by your mom, “I’ll be right back sweetheart, I just have to go talk to Alex,” she said kissing your forehead.

“So I think Y/N needs to have her tonsils out Lena,” said Alex.

Lena nodded knowing this would most likely be the case with your frequent bouts of tonsillitis. “I have a really good friend whos an ENT who could probably fit her in within the next two weeks, as you know it’ll stop the infections for good.”

Your mom decided to wait until you were better before breaking the news about you needing surgery. Lena took the week off to care for you while you were recovering. You received lots of cuddles and she’d bring you anything you needed. You binged your favorite tv shows together and Kara came over again later that week.

#supergirl #cw #kara danvers #alex danvers #lena luthor #DC comics #OC #little luthor #oneshot #series

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ladyc0312 · 4 years

Text

A Jikook Guide to Run! BTS: 1-20

Hi all! Welcome to part one of my overview of all jikook moments in Run! BTS and Run BEHIND.

My biggest takeaway from these early episodes is that BH didn't quite know how to make a good variety show yet. Some of the set-ups are awkward and the guys are clearly still getting used to being on camera in this format. The jikook moments aren’t as frequent or obvious. As we go on, expect less “they look at each other in a maybe meaningful way” and more “then he sat down in his lap...” That said, this set of episodes includes both the priest skit and the cops skit, so if you’re into role-play, this was your era of Run!

Episode Guide under the cut, to avoid both spoilers and taking up half your dash...

UPDATED PER THE SUGGESTIONS OF SOME LOVELY COMMENTERS. THANK YOU ALL! New content in bold.

FYI: When you don’t see “BEHIND” descriptions or photos, it means there were no notable jikook moments. I’ve given each ep a general rating and a special Jikook-ery rating, both out of 5. YMMV!

Ep 1 (n/a)

The one that’s just a commercial for the V app

Ep 2 “The Greatest Man” (Ep: 3 / KM: 1)

The one with the most homoerotic series of challenges I’ve ever seen to prove who’s the “best” man

6:28 - Jimin TWICE randomly announces during musical chairs that JK will win

Not ikook-specific, but FYI, Jungkook REALLY likes being tickled. If you want a vague idea of what the beginnings of an OT7 orgy might look like, the scene at 2:09 is for you! And if you’re curious what each member looks like putting on lipstick and holding their mouths open, check out 4:24.

Ep 3 “Theme Park” (Ep: 1 / KM: 1)

The one at Six Flags that’s not worth watching unless you enjoy shaky camera footage of people screaming on roller coasters

5:44 - When Jimin is proud of himself for having ridden a coaster, JK goes to say something to him but keeps glancing at the camera self-consciously.

6:19 - With the camera further away, JK and JM talk with each other while waiting on line

7:06 - JK fast-walks to get to JM and then leans on JM’s shoulder to check the post-ride pictures

Ep 4 “30 Second Gate” (Ep: 1 / KM: 0.5)

The one where they do fairly boring challenges in a pool

5:26 - There’s a super brief instant of JK looking over at Jimin while shyly tugging on his shirt collar. Prob not even worth being noted as a moment, but JK looks so adorable that I’m including it anyway

Ep 5 “100 Seconds Sports Day” (Ep: 1 / KM: 1)

The one with a rather repetitive relay game

5:56 - JM playfully throws a milk carton at JK when JK fails to complete his task

7:53 - JK does some “teleporting” where he goes from being behind Suga in one shot to next to JM in the following one. He stays next to JM the whole rest of the time they’re mixing the drink.

Ep 6 “Sketch: Confession” (Ep: 2 / KM: 4)

The priest sketch that launched a thousand AUs...

3:30 - Jungkook comes in to “confess his sins” to Jimin, who is playing a priest and calls him “darling.” JK confesses to using Jin’s razor while also claiming to be the eldest in BTS. Jimin tells him that he’s so handsome, it must be that he’s blessed by God and can be forgiven for most things. Jimin tells JK to give him a hug to get forgiveness for his sins. As they hug, both are smiling and the onscreen text tells us how happy Jimin is and puts a little heart next to his face during the hug. Jimin strokes JK’s cheek after and it seems to make JK a little shy. Jimin calls out “bye, darling” as he leaves, then calls him “cutie” for the camera. For comparison’s sake, Jimin hits V on the forehead and makes J-Hope do 50 push-ups to earn forgiveness. He hugs J-Hope at the end of it and the difference between how that hug feels versus the one with JK is clear as day.

Ep 6pt2 “Sketch: Confession” (Ep: 2 / KM: 0 )

None (neither appear in this episode)

Ep 7 “Paintball” (Ep: 1 / KM: 1)

The one that reminds you paintball is more fun to play than to watch

I’ll be honest, guys, between the masked helmets they’re wearing and the constant cutting around, I cannot follow the paintball games in this episode at all. I’m going to go out on a limb and say nothing particularly shippy happens during them.

9:54 - JK picks up Jimin from behind and bounces him around for a while (we don’t know how long because the camera cuts before he’s done). It will be revealed in ep. 10 that this is part of JK’s secret mission, which is to get Jimin to say “please stop.” However, despite Jimin not looking thrilled at all the bouncing around, he doesn’t tell JK to stop.

Ep 8 “Treasure Hunt” (Ep: 2 / KM: 2)

The one where they run or ride ATVs to find flags in the woods

1:15 - Jimin says out of nowhere that he thinks JK is going to be running and tells him to be careful not to bump into anyone (I think - the subs are a little weird on this one).

13:09 - JK tries to take one of JM’s meal ticket flags. JM refuses and claims JK called him “trash.” JK (kind of?) denies this and throws his one flag on the ground in frustration. J-Hope grabs it and JK sulks a bit because he’s left with nothing.

13:33 - Jimin reverses course and gives JK one of his flags. JK is delighted. RM asks why (apparently he, Jimin, and V had a deal to share their flags?) and Jimin just responds that Jungkook is very cute (which the on-screen texts puts a heart next to). Jimin ends up giving a flag to V, too, but he makes him beg like a dog first.

14:16 - Jimin calls JK over and gives him a brief hug / pat on the back

Ep 9 “Bungee Jump” (Ep: 1 / KM: 0.5)

The one where it is what it says on the tin

11:25 - Some jikookers have reported hearing JK say an un-captioned “pretty” here (sounds like yebbeo or yeebeun in Korean). I’ll be totally honest that I can’t really make it out, but I will put this note here in case others with better ears than mine want to check it out!

13:59 - JM has his arm around JK at the start of the shot here

Ep 10 “Spy for Silmido Island” (Ep: 2 / KM: 2)

The one where everyone eats a meal as they learn how JK has been doing secret missions the last three episodes

6:16 - JK explains that he failed his mission to get Jimin to say, “please stop.” We see flashbacks of JK trying - in addition to the above picking JM up, JK also pulled on his hair and gave him a shoulder rub (there is no explanation for why he thought that would be something JM would tell him to stop), and spraying him with a water bottle. The main jikook takeaway from this and the confession episode seems to be that JM will let JK get away with anything because he think he’s cute.

7:00 - We see that JM inadvertently made JK fail his mission to feed the camera man because, when JK held out food, JM got JK to feed him instead

Ep 11 "Back to School" (Ep: 3 / KM: 1)

The one where Suga dresses as a girl and gets hit on by the rest of the band

21:28 - Despite Jimin doing nothing but smiling in the sketch, JK says he's the day's MVP and is weirdly sincere about it

24:05 - YMMV on jeon-lous, but he does indeed do the tongue thing here when JM is flirting with girl-Yoongi

Ep 12 "Cops" (Ep: 4 / KM: 4)

The police sketch that launched ten thousand AUs...

6:46 - "Detective" Jungkook pulls "criminal" Jimin away by his collar 8:41 - After Jimin acts cute and says he's bored, JK comes over and slaps his upper thigh before throwing Jimin over his shoulder and slapping his butt. When JK puts him down, Jimin just looks at him with a dazed smile for a moment before they continue on with the sketch.

9:30 - Jimin tries to flirt his way out of of JK’s interrogation, which JK says is for “setting fire to ARMY’s hearts with his smiling eyes.”

10:25 - After a brief interuption by “Captain” Suga, the interrogation starts having flirty vibes again, with JK smirking and making eye contact while Jimin acts bashful and speaks in a whispery voice.

11:00 - JK holds a fake gun on JM as he starts his “Lie” dance, during which he directs finger hearts towards JK. The camera focuses on JM and, by the time it shows JK again, he’s lowered the gun and put his other hand over his heart. The on-screen text says “Detective Jeon’s heart is attacked.”

12:55 - JM and JK switch roles so JM is the detective. He hits JK over the head with a book. JK has basically no visible reaction, but JM has clearly flustered himself.

Note: To explain my reasoning for these originally not being here - if you look at the other skits in this ep, they are all accusing each other of doing things to ARMY’s hearts and being weirdly flirty with each other. Like, this police station has some serious sexual harassment issues all around! That said, the vibes are unique with jikook and, upon rewatch, I came to agree with y’all that the above should’ve been included. 19:30 - Alternate version of the sketch where Jimin and JK have a dance battle that ends in both of them being put in the jail cell and told to dance.

BEHIND 0:58 - Jimin flirt-ily calls out "I'm bored; play with me, Detective" (presumably to JK since they're scene partners). Note: Adults saying they "played" with each other is a common way to describe hanging out in Korean and doesn't necessarily have the sexual connotations it does in English.

4:08 - Jimin stares at JK as he does squats

Ep 13 "The Spy Who Returned Part 1" (Ep: 4 / KM: 2)

The ones where they play games at an indoor water park

1:00 - Jimin does an exaggerated running motion and JK slaps him to make him stop, which JM finds funny

1:43 - JM has his arm around JK

6:00 - JK jokingly(?) tells JM his wet hair looks cool

11:12 - JM calls JK their team's ace and they whisper about who he should call out from the other team

Ep 14 "The Spy Who Returned Part 2" (Ep: 3 / KM: 2)

16:04 - JM jokingly hits JK for getting the answer super wrong and then they go down the waterslide together. (Note: I've seen some jikook-ers claim JK messed up on purpose so the game wouldn't end and he'd get to ride with Jimin, but I'm not sure there's actual evidence to support that theory.)

The moment that led to the picture below isn’t in the ep or the BEHIND, but I raised the episode’s KM score a full point for it

Ep 15 "The Spy Who Returned Part 3" (Ep: 3 / KM: 2)

TW for this ep: 5:14 - during the confessions game, Jin tells Jimin that whenever Jimin asks if he put on weight, Jin wants to say he looks like a pig. Jimin claims to not be upset after, but looks like he's going to cry and seems off for a while. Then, at 10:45, Jin reiterates that Jimin "got fat." Everyone laughs except JK, who widens his eyes and then starts chewing on his finger.

6:37 - Despite being on the same team as JK, Jimin joins J-Hope's complaints about JK coming to their room uninvited, saying that JK often brushes his teeth in their room. He accuses JK of buying the exact same toothbrush as Jimin’s and complains that they can’t tell them a part. JK says it wasn't him and then there's a weird cut to sometime later when Jimin is sitting back down again... Just prior to this, Jimin is looking unhappy as Hobi tells a story about JK seeing him naked, but it’s hard to tell if he’s reacting to that or feeling upset about Jin’s weight comments from the previous round.

16:02 - Jimin defends Jungkook against accusations that he's the spy

BEHIND 4:30 - Jimin sits on Jungkook's lap and, when he leans over to try to get Jin to give him food, JK puts his hand on JM's hip to steady him

Ep 16 "Snowpark Winter Olympics" (Ep: 4 / KM: 1)

The one where everyone plays winter games

4:35 - When JM and JK are the finalists for the sledding round, JM thanks the viewers for their support. JK asks "what does that make me?" and yells/sings badly, which makes JM laugh. I don’t quite get it, tbh, but they seem to be enjoying themselves

14:50 - JK helps JM get his sled in place

BEHIND 3:02 - JK smiles as he gets pushed towards JM on the ice

Ep 17 "Arcade Olympics Part 1" (Ep: 2 / JK: 2)

The ones where we are reminded that playing arcade games is more fun than watching people play them

All of this and next episode, whenever they all reshuffle positions, Jimin and Jungkook end up standing next to each other. This happens pretty frequently in Run BTS generally, but it was particularly noticeable in this ep since it's not like they're on the same team or anything...

4:16 - When Jimin does a dramatic DDR finish, JK calls attention to it. JM turns to him and they lock eyes for a second

15:00 - JK cheers Jimin's name when it looks like he's going to win the basketball game

BEHIND

3:36 - JK & JM play a 4D game together Also, JK has an interesting mark on his neck on his right side that does not appear to be there in the episode itself...

Ep 18 "Arcade Olympics Part 2" (Ep: 2 / JK: 1)

3:30 - JK tries (unsuccessfully) to coach Jimin on the driving game

3:45 - JK stands up for Jimin and says he's getting the hang of the game

14:36 - JM & JK laugh together at RM's failure

19:58 - It's not super clear, but it sounds like JK calls JM "Jiminie" at the end of his sentence

Ep 19 "Strike" (Ep: 2 / JK: 1)

The one where BTS go bowling together and end up bowing down to JK

4:47 - JK shares that he and Jimin used to bowl together

---

If there’s anything I’ve missed or that anyone has different interpretations of, I’d love to hear it.

More episodes coming soon!

#jikook #kookmin #run bts #jikook guide to run bts

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builder051 · 3 years

Note

Hi! Glad you’re feeling alright today! For a prompt would you be able to write about Peter going on a mission hungover (or drunk?) and when they come back Peter starts throwing up while tony is there and tony starts to panic that Peter is hurt but then Peter comes clean and tells tony he’s hungover/drunk? Thanks if you can!

This is an interesting one. Spiderverse, Irondad/Spiderson. Mild tw for teen drug use.

_____________________________

The world is still sparkly around the edges when Tony’s call comes through. Karen picks it up and blasts the distress signal through Peter’s headphones, cutting through the electronic pop with her mildly concerned tone.

“Ugh,” Peter groans, rolling off his bed. “Say that again?”

Karen repeats the cross streets along with Mr. Stark’s message. “I hope you’re not out of web fluid.”

“Fuck,” Peter mumbles. The two small bottles of robocough he’d downed earlier fall out of his nest of blankets, and he kicks them under the bed instead of bothering to throw them in the trash. He hopes May isn’t in to vacuum any time soon.

Peter rubs his eyes before pulling on his mask, but the glitter in the corners of his eyes remains. He dodges back and forth experimentally on his way to the window, disappointed with the fact that his reflexes are noticeably slowed. He steps on a T-shirt on the floor in the corner of the room and stumbles, feeling his cheeks redden. The best he can do now is hope he stays on his feet.

At the scene of the disturbance, two armored bug-like things are tearing apart the sidewalk while Ironman shoots pulsar beams at them. Whether they’re automatons or live beings Peter can’t be sure, but each is the size of a car and has razor sharp pinchers that look capable of shredding both nylon suit and metal armor.

“Mr. Stark!” Peter yells as he bounds around the corner, webbing himself down from the side of a building and catching himself with one hand as he lands in a squat in the middle of the street.

“Oh, good. You made it.” Tony looks away from the ongoing battle to give Peter a once-over. “Put on sting-guard. I think these fellows are programmed to put a jolt into it when they hit you.”

“Huh?” The words themselves make sense, but not as full sentences. “Sting-guard?”

“Yeah. You’re probably gonna need it.”

“How do I put it on?” Peter asks, looking down at his hands, then at his chest, and finally at the tiny buttons where he tops off his web fluid.

“Just ask, like with anything else.” Tony’s voice implies that he’s rolling his eyes.

“Uh. Sting-guard on?” Peter says doubtfully.

“Low, medium, or high?” Karen replies cheerfully.

Peter pauses. “High,” he murmurs dejectedly. “I’m so totally still high.”

“What’re you waiting for?” Tony calls, hovering a few inches above the ground as he sends volleys of pulsar beams at one of the creatures. “Go for the legs!”

“Ok...” Peter shoots off a web that misses far to one side. “Whoops.”

What he does manage to do, though, is to turn the thing’s attention away from Tony and toward himself. The pinchers click menacingly in his direction. Peter gulps, tasting the dregs of artificial berry and bile.

“Yeah, whoops,” Tony says. “Here, let’s switch sides. Confuse them.” He glides toward Peter, rising and passing over his head.

“Ok, yeah.” Peter rushes the bug, sending a web toward two of its front legs. “Is this a robot? Or an insect? Or an arthro... arthro-pod? That’s a word, right?”

As he’s talking, the creature breaks free of Peter’s web and rears, poking him in the chest with a long reach from a pincher. Peter’s suit absorbs the jab, both the physical lash and the electric shock, but the pressure against his body makes him fall sideways toward the street.

“Kid?” Tony immediately flies downward and blasts the bug with a beam directly from the arc reactor embedded in the heart of his armor. “What happened?” He lands with a clunk at Peter’s side. “That was not a kill strike.”

“‘M fine,” Peter groans, trying to get his knees under him, but he only topples over again. He tastes bile again, and it’s all he can do to swallow convulsively and pray his insides will stay internal.

“No, you’re not,” Tony says, grabbing Peter by the shoulders and hauling him backward, away from the battle. He waves one hand in front of the eyes of Peter’s mask. “Something’s off.”

Peter’s heart sinks and pounds a tattoo against the bottom of his ribcage. What’ll happen when Mr. Stark finds out? Will he kick him off the team? Will he--?

“Are you hurt?” Tony asks, retracting his own mask, then reaching to pull Peter’s off as well. “Or gone nuts?”

Peter feels tears jump to the corners of his eyes as he reaches up to stay Tony’s hand. “I’m coming down, ok?” he admits in a scared voice. “I’m... I’m stoned.”

“You’re what?” Tony’s eyebrows rise and he looks like he’s about to laugh.

“I’m--shit.” Peter can’t hold it down anymore, and hot sick bubbles up his throat and spills down the front of his suit.

Tony turns him sideways and gives him a pat on the back. “Ok. It’s ok.” He shakes his head. “Well, it’s not ok. We’re gonna have to talk about this. But it you can at least see straight enough to use a web shooter, I’ll take you back to the facility to clean out so May won’t catch you. Gigantic eyeballs are a dead giveaway, you know that?” Tony swipes a metal thumb across Peter’s lips, then claps him on the shoulder.

“K.” Peter coughs. “Yeah. Thanks, Mr. Stark.”

“Don’t mention it,” Tony says. “And by that I mean, seriously, don’t mention it.”

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moldisgoodforyou · 4 years

Text

lost time (chapter four)

gif isn’t mine, lmk if it’s yours and i’ll gladly credit!

pairing: rafe cameron x oc

warning: cursing, underage drinking

wordcount: 2.3k

MASTERLIST

______________________________

“So. Why’d you set them up?” Sophie’s roommate Allie asked as they got ready for the party together, makeup and hair tools scattered across their shared countertop. Sophie’s ‘drunk in a frat basement vibe’ playlist blasted from her phone and she scowled as she knocked back her second shot of vodka (reserved for pregames only), the liquid burning her throat.

Julia had gotten ready earlier and was on her way to pick Rafe up and bring him back to the sorority house, expressing her nerves several times before Sophie and Allie finally shoved her out the door. “I don’t know why you’re so nervous, it’s just Rafe.” Sophie had complained. The two of them opted to forgo bringing a date, planning on staying for a solid hour to dance then head to the after party at another Theta girl’s house.

“Why not?” Sophie replied, eyes trained in the mirror as she carefully applied eyeliner.

“I thought you two hated each other.” Allie mentioned, casting a hesitant glance her way.

“We do.” Sophie shrugged. It was well-known at that point, why was she questioning it?

“Did Julia do something then?” Allie questioned, confused.

“No, why would you say that?”

“Because.” Allie turned to catch her eye, trying to read her reaction. “You hate him.”

“No, I don’t hate him.” Sophie set the eyeliner down with a sigh. “Look, I would never date him, but I wouldn’t have a problem with him dating my friends. He’s not that terrible.”

Allie laughed, shaking her head. “You make literally no sense.”

“It makes sense! C’mon, you don’t have anyone like that?”

“No, I actually enjoy my friend’s company.”

“Hm.” Sophie shook her head. “I wouldn’t say we’re friends. But you’ve got it all wrong, anyways.”

“Uh huh.” Allie rolled her eyes, wiggling into her dress for the 70s themed party.

“No, I’m serious! I don’t mind being around him, no one else will argue with me like him.” Sophie declared as she tugged her halter top in place, then checked her phone. “One last shot before we have to head down?”

“We need to stop buying shitty alcohol. Now that Julia’s 21, we have no excuse.” Allie complained but poured the shots anyway, wrinkling her nose as she sniffed the bottle.

“We do have an excuse, we’re struggling college students and Burnett’s is cheap.” Sophie countered, clinking the shot glass with Allie’s before knocking it back. “Come on, we can’t miss the bus again.”

Meanwhile, Rafe was having a similar conversation with his roommates over at Delt. “Lemme get this straight. So you’re going on a date with her friend.” James said, gesturing broadly as he tried to understand. He and Colin, their other roommate, had followed Rafe into the communal bathroom to grill him the second he let it slip he had to get ready for a Theta party.

“Right.” Rafe confirmed, eyes focused in the mirror as he concentrated on shaving.

“But you keep talking about Sophie instead.” James stated. “Like, I haven’t heard you shut up about her since I met you freshman year.”

Colin chimed in from across the room in a matter-of-fact tone. “That’s ‘cause he’s obsessed with her.”

“Am not!” Rafe objected quickly, wincing as he nicked his jaw with the razor.

James laughed tauntingly. “Just ask her out, dude, I don’t see what the big deal is.”

“You don’t get it.” Rafe turned to the two with his hand pressed against his jaw to stop the bleeding. “Sophie’s different, she’s not just -”

“Then I’ll ask her out. I need a date for our party next week.” Colin interrupted, but kept his head down as he scrolled on his phone. He knew he was pushing the limits and didn’t need to see Rafe’s look of jealousy to know it was written all over his face.

“...Fine.” Rafe said after a few beats too many.

“You’re cool with that?” James questioned, doubtful as he cast Colin a wary glance.

“Yeah. Why wouldn’t I be?” Rafe shot back, trying to play it cool.

“Uh, I don’t know, probably because you’re in -” James started, ultra-sarcastic.

“Fuck off, both of you.” Rafe muttered as he walked out of the bathroom. The boys followed him out to the hall and down the stairs to see him off.

“Are you gonna fix your shirt? You look ridiculous.” Colin asked, surveying Rafe’s outfit.

He wore brown corduroy pants with a slight flare at the bottom (that he had to borrow from the Delt costume closet) and had his floral-patterned shirt almost completely unbuttoned, tucked into the pants. “No, it’s a 70s party. This was the style, I guess.” He grinned, gesturing to his chest and flexed for a moment. “And I get to show off my hard work.”

“Are you showing off your singular chest hair too?” James teased, just laughing when Rafe flipped him off over his shoulder as he walked out the door.

“Nice shirt, Cameron.” Sophie greeted Rafe right away as he came onto the bus with Julia, heading straight to the back. He didn’t miss the sarcastic tone but was surprised as she pulled a flask out of her white knee-high boot, passing it to him surreptitiously.

He grinned, his eyes trailing over her chest for a moment as he took the opportunity to duck his head down to take a swig. “Thank you. We match.” He nudged his shoulder against hers, comparing the similar floral patterned fabric on his shirt and her top.

“You should have sent me a picture of what you were wearing, Rafe, Sophie and I would have traded outfits.” Julia told him with a hint of a complaint in her voice, her hand going to rest on his thigh. “Now it looks like you two came together.”

Rafe and Sophie laughed at the same time and Sophie shook her head. “Anyone with half a brain would know we wouldn’t come together.”

“Right.” Rafe found himself having to force a grin, then slid his arm around Julia’s waist. “Besides, I’m here with you anyways.”

Sophie averted her eyes, choosing to ignore the small pang of jealousy in her chest.

“I’m going to be sick.” Sophie mentioned to Allie at the after party with disgust lacing her tone, eyes trained on Rafe’s arm slung casually around Julia’s shoulders.

Allie frowned and tried taking the solo cup from Sophie’s hand, only for Sophie to tug it back and take a big gulp. “Maybe stop drinking then?”

“No, no. Not like that. It’s just - she’s been parading him around, all night, like a fucking prize.” Sophie scowled as she reached to refill her cup with the Malibu sitting on the counter.

Allie watched skeptically as Sophie zoned out as she poured, then grabbed her wrist gently once the cup was filled halfway. “I think that’s enough, Soph.” She murmured, knowing Sophie wasn’t really concerned with Julia and what she did.

“I just want to be drunk.” She complained, but let Allie take the bottle away and top off her cup with lemonade instead.

Allie laughed and linked her arm in Sophie’s, tugging her back out to the party. “I’m pretty sure you already are, babe.”

“Yeah, well, not enough.” Sophie almost gagged as she took a sip of her drink, immediately pouring some into Allie’s cup. “Shit, that’s strong.”

“I tried to stop you!” Allie giggled, then nodded her head toward a boy hanging around alone by the unoccupied beer pong table. “Go distract yourself. Mackenzie brought him as a friend, but I’m pretty sure she’s over there flirting with someone else.”

Sophie cast another wayward glance toward Rafe and sighed as he let out a loud laugh at something Julia had just said. “Can you tell I’m drunk?”

Allie shook her head. “No, it’s almost concerning how good you are at hiding it. I can almost never tell.”

Sophie smiled, pleased. “Do I look okay?”

Allie grinned and checked her hip against Sophie’s. “Stunning. Flirt away.” She said before turning away, leaving her on her own.

Sophie took another quick sip of her drink as liquid courage before stepping up to the beer pong table, starting to arrange the cups properly. “Are you any good?” She asked the boy with a flirty smile.

“Me?” He replied stupidly as he looked around for a beat instead, almost surprised that Sophie was talking to him.

“Yeah, play with me.” She scooped the ball out of one of the cups and placed it in his palm, a thinly veiled excuse to touch him. “I’m Sophie.”

He nodded and grinned back. “I’m Will. I can’t promise I’m any good, my aim’s kind of shit.”

She laughed and moved to the other side of the table, setting up the cups on that side too with her back to Rafe. “Good, then I’ll win.”

He had been watching the exchange from across the room, halfway listening to Julia’s conversation with a few other sorority girls. He thought she was perfectly nice, but didn’t see himself pursuing anything further once the night ended. “Hey, Julia, let’s go play pong.” He suggested abruptly, steering her toward the table.

“I - okay!” Julia shrugged as she was cut off mid-ramble about something pointless.

“We’ll play.” Rafe interrupted Sophie’s flirting with a friendly hand clapped on her shoulder from behind, pulling her up just as she was purposely leaning across the table to show off her chest in her low-cut top to Will.

She cursed quietly at the familiar voice and shrugged him off. “That’s alright, we weren’t really -”

“No, it’s okay, we’ll just be partners.” Will amended with an easy smile, coming over to her side of the table as Rafe and Julia took his place. “I’ll try not to let you down.” He teased Sophie, nudging her with his shoulder.

The game went on without incident for a while, Rafe and Sophie almost matching each other shot-for-shot - in both trash talk and tosses at the cup. Sophie was disappointed by Will’s performance - he held true to his lack of aim, and Julia overshot nearly every time it was her turn. “Flick your wrist more, Will.” Sophie advised, slightly annoyed near the end of the game, down to one cup each. Rafe smirked, but the smirk quickly disappeared as he watched Sophie take Will’s hand, trying to mimic the motion of throwing the ball. Will laughed, apologizing again for his poor game, then took his shot - leading it to bounce off the table.

“Julia, go ahead.” Rafe offered, eyeing his opportunity. She missed, as he expected, and he stepped forward with a wicked grin. Sophie frowned, already wary. “Game over, Soph.” He grinned, then took a hard shot - knocking the lone cup off the table and spilling it straight onto Will’s pants.

“What the fuck, Rafe!” Sophie exclaimed straightaway, throwing up her hands in exasperation.

He gave Will a small shrug, not looking apologetic in the slightest. “Sorry man, didn’t think it’d spill.”

“That’s not house rules, idiot.” Sophie spat.

Rafe just laughed, arrogant as ever. “This isn’t your house, Flint, you can’t make up house rules.”

She scowled as she gestured toward Will, who was making a poor effort of trying to pat his pants dry with just his bare hands. “Knocking the death cup is off limits, that’s house rules here, Cameron. You got his pants all soaked.”

“It’s fine, really.” Will deflected, trying to diffuse the situation.

“No, it’s not. I’ll go find you a towel.” Sophie huffed, having long given up on flirting. She took off to the kitchen. Rafe turned to Julia, starting to apologize. “I’m gonna -”

Julia waved him off with a knowing smile. She was honestly surprised Rafe had stuck around with her for so long, noting that he seemed bored from the start of the after party. “I know. Go ahead.”

Rafe gave her a grateful smile, then followed Sophie into the kitchen, the door swinging shut behind him. “Come on, Soph, you’re not actually mad at me.” He tried, leaning against the counter.

“Move.” She grumbled, trying to push him aside.

He didn’t budge. “Sophie.”

She set her hands on his hips, catching him off guard just enough to shove him away from blocking a set of drawers. She started going through them for a spare towel, ignoring him.

“Sophie, come on.” He tried again.

She stood back up, empty-handed, and shook her head, going out the back door to a small porch. Normally, it’d be busy out back, but in the chill October air, everyone had stayed inside. Rafe didn’t hesitate to follow again.

“What the hell was that, Rafe?” She demanded, hating the way he leaned up against the wall of the house so easily, like he belonged.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He challenged.

“No, you know exactly what you were doing.” Sophie shot back, arms crossed as she took a step forward. “I was trying to flirt with him and you interrupted.”

He smirked, matching her step closer. “Well you were doing a pretty shit job, you seemed more annoyed about his poor game than anything.”

She pressed a hand against his chest to keep just enough distance between the two of them, lowering her voice a bit. “That’s not why you stopped me.”

He leaned closer, raising his eyebrows. “Enlighten me, then.”

She stayed quiet, only able to think about his heartbeat racing underneath her touch. As he bent his head down, closer, she fisted her hand in his shirt, her voice low with a warning tone. “Rafe.”

“Sophie.” He murmured back, lips hovering inches away from hers.

taglist: @dontjinx-it @butgilinsky @oopsiedoopsie23 @taiter-tots @annedub

#rafe cameron #rafe cameron obx #rafe x sophie #mine #rafe cameron fanfic #rafe cameron fic #rafe cameron imagine #rafe cameron x oc #college rafe #frat rafe #rafe cameron outer banks

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nekojitachan · 4 years

Text

Hmm. So... the last week or two (two?) have been... interesting. Work go kablewy (that a word?) because of... things... (nothing bad for me, just... things... life is strange), head has been very owwiie, and have had some not very good days, to be honest.

But getting a lot of writing done! Including this - another part of the Raven!Andrew soulmate story that doesn’t exist.

Uhm, past sexual abuse is referenced, Nathaniel/Neil’s past is vaguely referenced/hinted at, Andrew’s past is vaguely referenced. Think that’s it for the warnings. Oh, and Andrew’s violent thoughts.

I should come up with a title for this at some point.

Oh, and rest of the story can be found here.

*******

Andrew stared at the visage on his laptop’s screen; the smile on Nathan Wesninski’s face was slightly smug as if he knew a secret that he wasn’t willing to share, his glacier blue eyes devoid of emotion. According to various internet searches, Nathan was a self-made man who owned several businesses in and around Baltimore, who gave regularly to charity, and had a wife and a son.

He also had persistent rumors of being connected to some unsavory individuals, but nothing that could be substantiated. Most people put it down to simple jealously – Wesninski was a man who’d built his own fortune, married his soulmate and had a talented son. People loved to find something wrong with a man so ‘blessed’.

Except he was somehow tied to the Moriyamas, whom Andrew was slowly learning weren’t entirely on the up and up, his lovely soulmate had a dead look in her eyes which Andrew knew all too well, and his son bore multiple scars, had a strong distrust of soulmates and was being treated as chattel.

‘Blessed’ wasn’t the first word which came to Andrew’s mind when he thought of Nathan Wesninski.

He closed the browser and forced himself to work on his class assignments; university wasn’t much of a challenge, but one of Tetsuji’s assistants checked to make sure he (and the rest of the Ravens) turned in their work and that they weren’t failing any classes.

There was almost half an hour of ‘study time’ left when he finished with assignments for the day (for the rest of the week, actually); he got up from his desk, which made Ben look at him. “You done already?” his partner asked, tone a bit envious.

Andrew nodded as he headed toward the door; Ben appeared surprised that he’d received some sort of answer and turned back to his statistics book with a slight smile.

There weren’t many people wandering about the Nest at that time since the players usually took advantage of any break they were given, so Andrew wasn’t surprised to not run into anyone along the way to the Black Hall nor to find Riko and Kevin all snug in their room. Kevin opened the door when he banged on it, expression confused when he saw Andrew smiling out in the hallway.

“Uhm, is everything all right?”

“I came to chat,” Andrew said as he shoved his way inside. “Not with you, #2.” He ignored Kevin calling him an asshole and strode toward Riko, who was reading an economics textbook. “With the man who can make things happen.” Or so the prick liked to think.

“Hmm, now that sounds interesting,” Riko drawled as he set the book aside and sat up straight. “What does white trash like you want? An early taste of Nathaniel?” He tsk’ed while waving his right index finger about as if chastising a naughty child. “Not until you live up to your end of the bargain on Friday.”

Andrew had to focus on Aaron, on keeping his brother safe, to prevent himself from bashing the bastard’s head in with the book on the bed. “It’s about the game on Friday,” he said as his grin widened, as he thought about using his racquet to eviscerate Riko and a good bit of his own team. “I want you to turn a blind eye to something for me during it.”

It was Riko’s turn to appear confused as he studied Andrew. “What? The refs can’t ignore you pulling something stupid out on court.”

“Not them.” Andrew reached into the right pocket of his track pants to pull out the bottle of his detested pills. “I’m going to play unmedicated,” he said as he gave the bottle a shake.

“That doesn’t sound like a good-“

“Why?” Riko asked as he cut off Kevin’s protest, his gaze intent on Andrew.

Andrew’s lips twitched even wider as he rattled the bottle some more. “Because it’ll make me play better, make me fight harder to win.” Because he wanted a few hours where he could feel his own emotions without the manic taint of the damn drugs, could be free of them, even if it was on an Exy court.

An Exy court with his soulmate nearby.

Riko studied him for a few seconds then grinned. “I’ll be disappointed if Rutgers scores a single point in the second half on Friday,” he said before he laid back down on his bed.

And Andrew would be disappointed if the prick didn’t get his throat crushed by a racquet to the neck during the game, but one couldn’t have everything, could they?

Taking that as a sign of both approval and dismissal, Andrew turned around to leave without saying another word. While he was in the Black Hall, he stopped by the break room there and snagged the good granola bars (chocolate chips) and a few energy drinks.

Moreau was back to full practice that day, but Andrew didn’t get a chance to talk to him; the backliner was never far from Nathaniel’s side, lately. Andrew suspected that last Friday night had something to do with it, especially when he was given virulent looks by the French bastard. He’d be offended by the obvious dislike, but he didn’t give a damn what Jean Moreau thought about him.

He didn’t give a damn about much, and wished he could include a certain redheaded backliner in that statement as well.

Still, while he spent too much effort studying the Scarlet Knights’ statistics and past games (any effort was too much), he noticed that the bruises on Nathaniel’s too pretty face were fading and that the rest of the Ravens (except Moreau) were giving the young backliner adequate space.

Hmm, it seemed that no one wanted to end up like Lev Federov.

Andrew also noticed the narrow looks Nathaniel cast his way from time to time, as if his soulmate was trying to figure him out. Every now and then he would grin widely at Nathaniel, which would make the redhead mutter something in French and stomp away with his dour shadow trailing along. There would be a pain, sharp and deep, inside of Andrew’s chest as he watched them leave together, until he reminded himself that Nathaniel was his soulmate, not Moreau’s.

Then he’d be so disgusted with himself he’d stalk off to the exercise room so he could hit a punching bag until the urge to destroy something finally eased.

Friday arrived, and Andrew made a game out of thinking up a different ways to kill everyone he saw wearing a #1 Ravens jersey as he went to his classes; he considered it a worthwhile mental exercise. He was distracted from imaging the guy in front of him two rows down in Biology class being slowly whittled away by razor sharp vegetable peelers when Aaron interrupted him by dropping into the seat next to him.

“Hey, real quick, hope you win tonight and Nicky sent this along for you in the monthly care package. Give him a call, okay?” He dropped a plain box in front of Andrew then left, headed to where his friends were seated.

Andrew frowned at the ‘care package’ since Nicky sent one to each of them (and why did he have to talk to the pest?), ready to throw it at his negligent brother until he picked it up and sensed the contents sloshing about inside. Finally, Aaron had come through for him; he slid the box into his backpack then proceeded to ignore the lecture.

He made sure to stash the two bottles of whiskey (cheap, but beggars weren’t about to complain) in his closet when he got back to his room and Ben was distracted, then joined the rest of the team for ‘game-prep’ (going over stats yet again, Tetsuji’s wonderful ‘win or be known forever as scum’ speech, endless warm-up and drills, and then the damn game).

He was half-tempted to drain one of the bottles dry first.

Instead, he clenched a hand around his bottle of pills before he took half a one, just enough to get him through the next couple hours, for the manic buzz in his veins to fade before the start of the game. He wished that he could flush all of them down the toilet, but he’d already tried in those first few months to go without them and failed miserably.

There was no coming off them while locked up in a bathroom for a few days, like he’d done with Aaron.

He didn’t feel the insidious, awful artificial euphoria begin to bleed away until well into the first quarter of the game, as he sat on the bench and watched the Ravens run the Scarlet Knights ragged out on the court. Rutgers might be one of the better ranked universities, but they were late in putting together an Exy team; they had a few good players, but not enough yet to be a serious contender.

Ivanova was able to keep the score low, especially when she had Hebig and Moreau helping her with defense. As much as it annoyed Andrew that the tall Frenchman was Nathaniel’s partner, the man was a good backliner and meshed well with the others, and was near perfect when Nathaniel was out on court with him.

Andrew had hoped that as the drug burned out, he’d be less fascinated with his soulmate, would realize how foolish he’d been to be drawn to him, to think that he could- to think anything about Nathaniel. Yet as he sat there, slightly numb but no longer filled with false emotions, he couldn’t help but be conscious of the lean figure dressed in black and red a few seats way on the bench… conscious of his presence and how the young man made him feel.

It was something so powerful yet fragile at the same time, such a protective, overwhelming urge, and it was all for Nathaniel.

Andrew was so fucked.

He sat off by himself during the halftime break, mentally reviewing how Rutgers had played during the first half, while Tetsuji berated players for their mistakes on court and reviewed plays for the last two quarters. Feeling the sensation of being watched, he glanced up to find Nathaniel gazing at him; his soulmate turned his head when Andrew met his eyes.

Riko clapped him on the shoulder before he stepped out on court and nearly got a racquet smashed down on his head. “Remember, shut the goal and he’s all yours.”

Andrew bit back on a retort that his memory was fine, mostly because he couldn’t help but add ‘unlike yours, you useless prick’.

Rutgers must have spent their break being yelled at, too, since they came back on court determined to redeem themselves, not that it did them any good. Andrew thought of Nathaniel bruised and held down, about him being a ‘reward’, then let his world narrow down to the ball and who had control of it. As that person approached his end of the court, his memory, usually a curse, pulled up their stats and playing style to help him prepare to defend the goal.

That was, if he needed to defend it; Loiseau and Bautista did a decent job of driving away the Rutgers players in the third quarter, then Moreau and Hebig took over for the last one. As always, Moreau put his size and strength to good use to block the opposing players from reaching the goal, and coordinated the defense with Hebig. Andrew didn’t exactly relax for the last part of the game, but he allowed himself a deep breath and the thought that his deal with Riko might not have been so insane after all.

That he could actually keep Nathaniel safe.

He was exhausted by the end of the game - exhausted, sore, covered in sweat and beginning to feel the first twinges of withdrawal, but he’d held up his end of the bargain: Rutgers hadn’t scored a single point in the second half. The crowd roared in victory as the final buzzer rang, and all he wanted was to go shower then find someplace quiet to curl up.

First he had to suffer through the stupid post-game handshake (touching all those people) then the locker room; at least Tetsuji saved the game review for the next day and everyone already knew that Riko and Kevin would do the post-game interviews. All he cared about was washing off the stink and some of the soreness with a bunch of hot water, and was one of the first in the large wash room.

When he came out, it was to find Riko talking to an upset Moreau (with no Nathaniel in sight); Riko flashed him a ‘thumbs up’ gesture before the prick sauntered away. Intent on reaching his locker so he could change, Andrew figured he’d deal with the backliner later and went to walk past him, only to lash out when Moreau grabbed his shoulder.

“Listen, if you touch him I’ll-“

Andrew spun around and fisted his hands into Moreau’s sweaty jersey then slammed him into the nearest wall; he had to yank on the material to pull the tall bastard down to somewhat face level. “Did I touch him last time?” he gritted out in a low voice so none of the Ravens gathering around them would overhear. “Did I?” When Moreau gave a reluctant shake of his head, Andrew tugged some more on the damp, black material. “I’m doing this so no one else gets him.”

Moreau appeared stunned by that claim, then quickly resumed scowling. “I will gut you if you hurt him.”

There was a slight bit less venom in the words that time, so Andrew took that to be a general warning for show. He clicked his tongue as he pushed away from the backliner. “You’re spending the night in my room,” he called out as he walked over to his locker to get dressed, aware of the other Ravens staring at them.

For once ‘glad’ of the attention, he figured let them find out that Nathaniel was ‘his’ so he wouldn’t put up with anyone disagreeing on that front.

He was given a lot of sideway glances while he changed then walked out of the locker room, but no one said a word. He pushed aside the growing sense of nausea from withdrawal as his body clamored for another pill, for a hit of artificial mania, determined to face Nathaniel as himself.

When he reached Nathaniel’s room, he knocked twice then entered; Nathaniel sat on the bed in a defensive huddle, his arms wrapped around his long legs, dressed in one of Moreau’s jerseys and an impressive scowl on his face.

“And you said you’re not like the others. Liar.”

Andrew arched an eyebrow at the amount of scorn and hatred directed his way right then, impressed despite himself. “All I did was walk through the door.”

“You made a fucking deal with Riko for me!” Nathaniel shouted as he unfurled enough to snatch up a book from his nightstand and throw it at Andrew; of course he had good aim, Andrew barely managed to bat it aside in time. “For every week!”

“Every week I manage to nearly shut down the goal,” Andrew confessed.

Nathaniel produced a ragged laugh as he tucked himself into the corner of his bed. “Yeah, now you take playing seriously, when it gets you something, huh? When you get to act like the mark on your arm means you own someone when it doesn’t, it doesn’t mean anything other than you’re an asshole and the Fates hate me and I wish I could just burn it off and have everyone leave me alone!” He’d started out yelling at Andrew but ended up practically tucked into a ball with his arms wrapped around his head, his tone one of misery.

A misery which Andrew understood, considering all the times he’d wished much the same about his soulmate mark, after all the grief Drake had caused him over it, after believing no one would want him because of Drake and the others. Then what did he find? A lovely young man bearing terrible scars on his body and soul who was so much like him that it hurt.

Andrew had hoped he wouldn’t feel anything as he stood before Nathaniel with the drug (temporarily) out of his system, but he’d been deluding himself on that front. The protective urge he’d experienced earlier returned so strongly that he moved before he became aware of it, was kneeling on the bed before he could tell himself to stop.

Nathaniel reacted to his presence immediately; he began to sit up, to move his arms (to lash out), but stilled when Andrew cupped the back of his neck, his blue eyes wide with a mix of panic and fear.

“Nothing but this,” Andrew assured him, angry at himself for causing that fear. “I swear. Okay? Yes or no?” He just wanted to calm Nathaniel down.

His soulmate was quiet for a couple seconds, enough to make him begin to pull away. “Yes,” Nathaniel breathed out, his expression now wary as if he waited to see what Andrew would do next. Despite the strain on his tired muscles from leaning forward, despite the urge to sink his fingers in Nathaniel’s thick hair, despite the growing sense of nausea and dizziness, Andrew remained still and focused on the slowing pulse beneath his thumb.

“Why are you here?” Nathaniel eventually asked as he continued to gaze up at Andrew. “What do you want?”

He ignored the second (dangerous) question. “If I’m here, the others aren’t.”

“Are you serious?” Nathaniel scoffed, then frowned when Andrew remained quiet. “You’re really going to try to shut down the goal every game then come here and only sleep, just to keep Riko from handing me off to the others?”

He didn’t need to sound so doubtful about everything; if Andrew was the sensitive type, he’d be offended right then.

“You don’t snore like Ben does,” Andrew drawled as he forced himself to let go of Nathaniel and move. As he walked away from his incredulous soulmate, he motioned toward Moreau’s bed. “Tell your partner to get a spare set of clean sheets for me so I don’t have to sleep in his smelly bed.”

It took some effort, but he managed to make it into the bathroom without walking into the door or tripping over his feet; once inside with the door closed, he fumbled for his pills and choked one down, then slumped against the sink with the water running until the nausea was under control. He hated having to take the damn medication again, but Nathaniel might object if he spent the night puking his guts out.

When he finally left the bathroom, it was to find Nathaniel beneath the covers and facing the wall, and what appeared to be a set of clean sheets folded on top of Moreau’s bed. Andrew only spent a moment regarding what he hoped was a peace offering of sorts before he worked quickly to strip and remake the bed, tired and more than willing to fall asleep.

Maybe it was from working so hard during the game, maybe it was because his soulmate was nearby, but Andrew slept without any nightmares that night. He woke up when Nathaniel rose early and left the room, then got half an hour more sleep before he had to get up for another ‘fun’ day at the Nest.

Moreau caught up to him later in the day, when he was fixing a coffee to take back to his room after their morning practice; the other Ravens in the break room (including Ben) were quick to leave, obviously expecting some sort of fight between the two of them.

Andrew gave him a grin as he hopped onto the counter to sit. “Got any croissants on ya, Valjean?”

Moreau sighed as he fetched two mugs from a cabinet. “Do you try to be so annoying or is it natural?”

Andrew gasped and clutched his free hand to his chest. “Me? Annoying? I guess I’ll have to really lay on the charm now.”

“God forbid,” Moreau muttered as he glanced toward the door as if to ensure they were alone. He was quiet as he made two cups of tea (hmm, who might the other be for?), then approached Andrew with due caution. “You’re protecting Nathaniel,” he said, his deep voice quiet and expression serious.

“Why would I do a thing like that?” Andrew asked as he kicked his feet back and forth, uncaring about the heels of his sneakers hitting the lower cabinets.

Moreau frowned then set the mugs down so he could tug on the left sleeve of his sweatshirt to reveal the fleur de lis and wave pattern of his own soul mark – the mark which was only revealed when he showered. “Because it’s what we do, we protect them.” His black eyebrows drew together as his frown deepened. “Well, most of us.”

Hmm, not people like Nathaniel’s father, maybe? But one thing at a time. “You know your soulmate,” Andrew accused as he held his mug of coffee beneath his chin, curious to see if Moreau would tell him the truth.

The backliner was quiet for a moment then nodded. “He plays Exy,” Moreau whispered with a gleam of fear in his eyes. “I can’t let Riko know.”

No, or Riko would use Moreau against the man, much like he’d used Nathaniel against Andrew (had he suspected they might be tied together because of their pasts?). “What does Riko have against you?” Andrew asked as he leaned forward. “You and Nathaniel? Who’s Nathan Wesninski, really?”

Moreau shook his head as he tugged down the sleeve of his shirt. “Not here,” he hissed out as he once again glanced toward the door. “That’s… not here.” He picked up the mugs and stared at Andrew as if searching for something, then nodded. “But if you’re serious about Nathaniel….”

“I want answers, so tell me where ‘not here’ is,” Andrew commanded as he poured his lousy coffee onto the floor while he held Moreau’s gaze.

Moreau nodded again as if answering an internal question. “Later. Riko and Kevin will be gone to play for their professional team, and Nathaniel to work on translations. I’ll let you know when to stop by.”

“Ooh, it’s a date,” Andrew drawled as he jumped to the floor and splashed coffee everywhere. “Just so you know, I don’t put out, I’m not that kind of guy.” He sauntered out of the break room to the sound of Moreau muttering in French.

They were going to be besties, he just knew it.

*******

Oh boy is Jean in for it now.

So... I’ve being going back and forth on this, but I’ve set up a discord channel (have had it for a while, actually). Don’t know if people would be interested in it as a place to get a look at fics, stuff in progress and things like that?

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starlightsearches · 4 years

Note

Hey! Could you write about a heated argument between Hux and a reader? And make it really angsty - but with a good ending?? :3

Secret Admirer

Absolutely! I hope you like it 😊

Requests are closed for now ✨ ( I think I have 4 or 5 more requests that I still need to finish? Once those are done, requests will be open again 👀)

Armitage Hux x Reader

Warnings: Language, and some angst 😏

The flowers are already at your workstation when you arrive with the general, too early for anyone else to be awake, let alone at work. Someone must have left them the night before. Hux seems just as surprised as you do, so you can cross him off the mental suspect list, but he watches you closely to see how you’ll react. Reluctance wells up in you as you move to your station, and a part of you wonders if you can simply ignore the gift; and by extension make Hux ignore it too.

Your relationship with him is new, and fragile. In fact, relationship might be too strong a word. Was there even a word to describe the connection you had developed? Occasionally making out in his office and eating meals together at odd times when everyone else was sleeping didn’t exactly scream commitment. And you weren’t really willing to have any conversation about what you meant to him, either. Why ruin a good thing?

“Flowers?” he asks, peering over your shoulder at the arrangement, and you nod noncommittally, moving them to the side to begin your work for the day.

“Who are they from?” He’s still behind you, leaning in close, and he smells so damn good that for a moment you freeze. It’s addicting, strangely so, and brings back too many memories: the edge of his desk cutting into your hips as he pressed against you, the feeling of his hands running over every part of you, so urgent it seemed like he might die if he stopped, the gentle thrum of his pulse as you pressed passionate kisses into his neck. That same smell overpowering your senses.

“I don’t know,” you clear your throat and your mind, shaking off the scent of cigarettes and leather, trying to focus on your work.

“There’s a note,” he says it casually, but his eyes are razor sharp as you reach for the small piece of flimsi tucked between the blossoms. Your eyes scan over the words written, searching for a name. After a minute, you fold the paper closed again, slapping it down on your desk.

“Well?” he’s irritated, and not in the fun way—where he pins your wrists behind your back and kisses you hard in whatever storage closet is closest.

“There isn’t a name,” you say, hoping pointlessly that he might still drop it if you’re uncooperative enough. Little chance of that.

“What does it say?” he asks again, and you give up, handing him the note. It’s not very long, but he stares at the paper for minutes, reading the words over and over again, and with each repetition his brow furrows more. The only three words that matter anyways are tacked on at the end. Your secret admirer.

“It’s not a big deal,” you say preemptively, hoping to curb whatever anger he might be cultivating, “they’re just flowers.” How does one even get flowers onto a First Order ship? Just thinking about the kind of planning that would take—the credits that it would take—makes your head hurt. If you had known that this was how your morning would start off, you would have planned to be here earlier. You could have thrown the stupid flowers away before Hux ever saw them, and banished the whole incident from your mind. Then again, if you hadn’t seen him looking so surprised, you might have foolishly assumed they were from him.

“Who do you think it is?” he asks, throwing the note back on your desk. He’s trying to look uninterested, but you can tell that it bothers him by the way he adjusts his gloves, in the rigidity of his posture. He’s all tensed up, mentally tabulating every person you’ve ever talked to, evaluating the threat.

“I don’t know,” you say, inching the flowers ever closer to the edge of your desk, trying to distance yourself from the conflict as much as possible, “and I don’t really care. If they wanted me to know, they would have put their name on the note.”

“Maybe a security droid caught them in the act,” he says, reaching for his data pad, “I’ll check the feed-” you cut him off, stopping his hand with your own.

“Don’t do that,” you say. There’s something edgy about the contact in its complete lack of intimacy or passion, and you let go immediately, like you’d been shocked. “If the person who sent me these wants me to know who they are, they’ll tell me.”

“I don’t understand why you don’t care.” The cracks are appearing in his apathetic demeanor and he’s dripping with irritation, not at the so-called secret admirer, but at you, for some reason. Like this is your fault.

“I don’t understand why you do,” your voice sounds too angry, even to your own ears, and you wish you could take the words back, but they’re already gone. General Hux stops for a moment, and you think that there might be genuine hurt on his face. You had tried so hard to avoid any conversation like this and now it seems it’s happening anyways, only much, much worse.

“It seems I shouldn’t,” he says, and any trace of emotion is gone, replaced with indifference again. He walks away without so much of a backward glance, and you wilt in your seat, staring down the arrangement with loathing, just barely resisting the urge to pick it up and throw it against the nearest wall.

The rest of your day is somehow worse than the already-terrible start. You try to stay focused, but your eyes keep wandering to the flowers, rekindling your rage, which dissipates every time the general passes by and is replaced with a swimming guilt. By the time your shift ends, you’ve planned at least fifty ways you could get rid of the flowers, each more violent than the next. You take them with you to your chambers—ready to rip apart each blossom one by one and shove them in a waste receptacle—but by the time you arrive, you’ve lost all of the anger that had been consuming you. There was no point in destroying the flowers; you weren’t angry at them, or at your secret admirer. You were angry at yourself. For hurting Hux, for letting him think that you didn’t care about him when in reality you cared too much.

You’d have to apologize, and sooner rather than later. Your stomach rolls with nerves, but you set the flowers down anyways, forcing yourself back out of your quarters and in the direction of Hux’s office. There’s no guarantee that he’ll be there—it is rather late—but you’re determined to find him. If he’s not in his office, you’ll have to check the bridge. And his quarters. Fuck, at this point, you’d check the trash compactor if it meant getting rid of the regret threatening to swallow you from the inside out.

Lucky for you, he’s in the first place you check, looking over some new stormtrooper helmet designs with Captain Phasma. He doesn’t look up at you when you enter, finishing some comment about the placement of the filters, and your nerves reach a fever pitch. Maybe this was a bad idea.

“Did you need something?” he asks, and you don’t realize that he’s speaking to you, his eyes still latched onto the design in front of him.

“I’m terribly sorry to interrupt, General, but I was hoping to speak with you,” you trail off, waiting, but neither of them respond, and you’re forced to continue, “… alone?” There’s a moment of silent communication between the captain and Hux, and you’re wondering if you should leave, maybe quit your job and move to a different ship. Stars, this is embarrassing. A lifetime later, it seems, the captain stands, stalking past you to the exit, but the cold black gaps in her helmet stay trained on you. It’s impossible to know what the captain is feeling, but you can be pretty sure that she knows about you, and what you did, and that she doesn’t approve. Shit.

The door slides closed and you’re left alone, fidgeting and avoiding eye contact. To make matters worse, the general seems wholly unaffected by your presence, if not a little annoyed.

“Was there something that you needed?” he asks again, and you force yourself to move, taking the seat across from him.

“I just wanted to say that I’m sorry,” you begin, wringing your hands so hard it’s like you’re trying to remove the skin, “about this morning. I shouldn’t have gotten angry with you, and I shouldn’t have said the things that I did.” You wait without breathing, watching him for any kind of reaction, but the tightness in your chest doesn’t give. It doesn’t matter how many times you’ve told yourself that you just wanted to apologize, you know that’s not true. You want him to forgive you, and you’re not prepared for the alternative.

“What am I to you?” he asks after an eternity, and you let out an unsteady breath, trying your hardest not to get your hopes up. What kind of a response is that?

“You’re my commanding officer?” you say, even though you’re fairly certain that’s not the answer he’s looking for. You’re not about to give him everything right now, though, if he’s not willing to return it. Making the apology was already difficult enough.

“No,” he says, standing, leaning over the desk on both his hands. Stars, he looks good from that angle, distractingly good, and you practically have to peel your eyes away from his jawline, the way it flexes in frustration as he repeats the question, “what am I to you? What is this … thing that we’ve been doing? What are we?” Here it is, finally. Your chance to make things right. Earlier this morning, you would have preferred to give Commander Ren a hug from behind if it meant avoiding this conversation with the general, but now it’s your only hope.

“I don’t know, really,” you begin, biting your lip, “but I don’t want it to stop. And I’d really like it to be more. If that’s what you want, of course.” You spit the words out haltingly, waiting for his response. He stares at you for a moment, expression blank, eyes fathomless, and your heart drops out of your chest, the sting of rejection bringing tears to your eyes, threatening to spill over. Great. Crying on your way out of his office would be the perfect end to the galaxy’s shittiest day.

“I feel the same,” he says, so quietly you almost don’t hear, and you leap from your seat before you can stop yourself, pulling him in for a kiss, feeling your heartbeat explode out of your chest. He smiles against your mouth, and you do too, hardly able to believe it. He feels the same. He wants you.

He breaks the kiss to move around the desk, pulling you into his arms. It’s the first embrace of its kind—free of lustful hands and bruised lips—but it’s definitely your favorite. This is what you always wanted, to be held like this. Everything else had been a consolation prize, and now—lucky you—you get both.

“Do you know why I didn’t care who sent the flowers?” you ask, your words muffled against the front of his uniform and he chuckles at the sensation, relaxing his grip only slightly so that you can look up at his face.

“Why?” He’s still trying to shelter his emotions, but he’s unsuccessful, the smile he has refusing to leave. You’ll never get enough of his joy. You’ll never create enough of it, but this is a good start.

“Because I already knew it wasn’t you. And you’re the only one I want.”

#candle-anon #armitage hux x reader #armitage hux x you #armitage hux fanfiction #armitage hux oneshot #my writing #requests

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hyperion-moonbabe-art3mis · 4 years

Text

Caught In Between 21. Torn Heart

Summary: Athena Dumont has finally found a place to call home after many years of foster homes and traveling. She had finally tamed her supernatural side and just wanted to live a normal teenage life. She quickly discovers that there is nothing normal about her hometown, Mystic Falls and gets sucked right back into the supernatural world.

Post Date: 10.05.20

Word count: 3.6k

Based off: 03x21 “Before Sunset”

Masterlist

CIB Masterlist

After a night of not much sleep, I quickly got up to help Caroline clean up after the dance. I make my way into the cafeteria where Rebekah is, with Caroline not too far behind me.

“Where’s Matt?” Caroline asks.

“He bailed. Got called into work at the last minute,” Rebekah responds while putting trash in a bin.

“Are you kidding me? So it’s just us three?” Caroline asks.

“Yes, and you two are late. Clean-up committee started at 8:00,” Rebekah responds annoyed.

“It’s like 8:02,” I say looking at my phone.

“Exactly. I managed to turn up on time and I didn’t even get to attend the dance that I organized,” Rebekah says before dumping the trash in a bigger bin.

“I’m sorry about your mom. I mean, I know you, like, hated her and everything, but still. I’m sorry,” Caroline says.

“Sorry about your teacher. He seemed like a nice guy,” Rebekah says.

“Yeh, he was,” I respond.

“I’m going to get started on the gym,” Rebekah says before walking out. Not a moment later Caroline and I hear a slam against some lockers in the hallway as Rebekah screams. The two of us didn’t hesitate to rush out to the hall. We see a very much “alive” Alaric ready to stab Rebekah with a white oak stake. Caroline and I shove Alaric off of her and against the lockers.

Rebekah quickly shoves the stake into Alaric’s chest. But he just pulls it right out of his chest. The three of us speed away before we could watch what happens next. I run to the side of the school where the stoners hang out. The next thing I know my neck is snapped.

I wake up and find myself in Alaric’s classroom, in a chair with pencils in my hands, pinning them to the desk. Alaric doesn’t hesitate one moment once I woke up to put a vervain and wolfsbane soaked cloth around my mouth. He then makes a call, to whom I’m sure is someone he’d think would save me.

“Whoever this is, it’s not funny,” I hear Elena’s voice over the phone.

“Who else would it be?” Alaric questions back.

“Ric?” She questions back.

“Listen closely. I’m at the school. I have Athena. And if you want to keep her alive, I need you to get into your car and come down here right away. If you tell anyone where you are going, I will kill her,” Alaric threatens before hanging up.

A few minutes later Elena arrives in Alaric’s classroom, “Athena! Let her go, Alaric,” She demands.

“Free her yourself,” Alaric gestures to me.

Elena slowly makes her way to me and stays as far as she could from Alaric. She starts to pull the pencil out of my right hand before Alaric quickly shoves it back in. Leading me to let out an excruciating scream.

“You said that you would let her go!” Elena yells at Alaric.

“How many times do I have to tell you, Elena? Stop trusting vampires!” Alaric yells at Elena.

~ Elena’s House ~

Klaus is stalking the outside of Elena’s house as Stefan, Damon, Bonnie, and Jeremy were stuck inside. He walks over to a neighboring house and contemplates his next move. Once he figures it out he makes his way back to Elena’s house. Throwing a soccer ball through the front door, blowing it open. The next thing he threw was a fence post at Damon, who ducked below it.

“Missed me!” Damon yells at Klaus. Damon breaks off the fence post and throws it back at Klaus, but he dodged it as well. Klaus then separates his last post and throws it at Damon.

“Missed me again!” Damon yells again. As the craziness ensues Stefan receives a call from Alaric. Klaus comes back with a newspaper on fire and a gas tank on his other hand.

“Put it out,” Stefan says making his way to the door.

“Come outside and make me,” Klaus says before Stefan steps out of the doorway.

“Elena’s not here. Alaric has her and Athena. He’s going to kill them both unless you turn yourself over to him,” Stefan states. After a few moments of thought, Klaus tosses the newspaper and gas tank.

“Now I know you’re not asking me to walk into a certain death,” Klaus says.

“I really wish we could,” Stefan chuckles. “But unfortunately, if Alaric kills you, there’s a one and four chance that we die, too,” Stefan states.

“I’ll take those odds,” Damon says strutting out of the house carrying a fence post.

“And a hundred percent chance that Tyler and Athena die,” Stefan states looking to his brother.

“I’m good with that, too,” Damon says clearly having no regard for Athena anymore.

“Why don’t we just figure out a way to put Alaric down, hmm?” Stefan suggests.

“Ok. How about Damon sneaks in and distracts Alaric while Stefan grabs Elena and carries her to safety,” Klaus suggests.

“Oh, that’s a great idea. What’s to stop me from being killed instantly?” Damons asks.

“Nothing,” Klaus responds nonchalantly.

“Athena’s in there. Don’t you have a thing for her, or did she just reject your supposed undying love for her too many times?” Damon asks annoyed.

“This isn’t really, uh, helping too much,” Stefan says trying to calm them down.

“I might have an idea,” Bonnie says coming up to the doorway. “My mom used a desiccation spell on Mikael that immobilized him for over 15 years. If I can get it, I might be able to use it on Alaric,” Bonnie suggests.

“If and might. Your words inspire such confidence,” Klaus says.

“I’ll get it. But even with the spell, we’ll need a lot of vampire muscle to take him down. Including yours,” Bonnie says staring at Klaus.

“Just so we’re clear. The sun sets in about 8 hours. We don’t succeed before then, Elena will be dead, I’ll be gone, and the rest of you will be left to fend for yourselves,” Klaus threatens.

“And what about Athena. You’d just leave her here to die? I thought you loved her so much you’d do anything. At least that’s how she explained it,” Damon asks.

“I know she’s smart and strong enough to get out of there by herself,” Klaus says confidently.

~Athena’s POV ~

“No, don’t, please don’t,” I plead as Alaric refreshes the cloth with more vervain and wolfsbane.

“Alaric stop!” Elena demands getting up from her desk beside me.

“Sit down,” Alaric snaps back and pushes Elena back into the seat. “This keeps the vervain and wolfsbane in her system. It’s like inhaling razor blades with every breath,” Alaric explains as he ties the cloth around my face once more. It burns worse than anything I had ever felt in my life. I couldn’t help but let out a screech as I felt the solution enter my body.

“Why are you doing this?” Elena questions Alaric.

“To make it easier on you when you put her out of her misery,” Alaric says coldly.

“What? No!” Elena protests back.

“Isn’t this what you wanted, Elena? For me to teach you how to kill a vampire? Well, here’s a vampire, better yet a hybrid, Elena,” Alaric says pointing the stake to me then back to Elena. “Kill her,”

“This isn’t what I want,” Elena responds.

“Of course it is. All those hours you spent training, getting stronger...you could be a hunter, Elena. But you’ve never actually staked a vampire through the heart,” Alaric says holding the stake out to Elena.

“Why are you doing this?” Elena asks once more.

“Because you need me. Because you’re an 18-year-old girl without parents or guidance or any sense of right and wrong anymore,” Alaric states.

“Look at you. How is this right?” Elena asks gesturing at me.

“She’s a murderer. She is an abomination. Something that should never have existed. See, Elena your parents led the council. It was their life’s mission to keep this town safe. They weren’t dead six months before you undid it all,” Alaric says.

“You don’t know anything about them,” Elena responds.

“Why, am I wrong? Do you actually think...that they’d be proud of you?” Alaric asks before bending down to see eye to eye with her. “If you don’t side with the humans...you’re just as bad as them. Now kill her. Or I’ll do it for you and I’ll make it hurt,” Alaric demands once more and quickly drags Elena in front of me. He forces the stake into her hand.

Elena gets ready to stake me but instead turns towards Alaric and shoves the stake at him, but he stops her. “I thought I taught you better than that,” Alaric states.

“You did,” Elena says before smashing the glass of vervain and wolfsbane into his face. Elena works quickly to pull the pencils out of my hand and untie the cloth. “Get help!” Elena says as she helps me get up.

I run out of the classroom and quickly speed away into the hall. I turn around hoping that Elena was close behind. I was then grabbed by someone, covering my mouth and pulling me back.

“Shhhh...It’s ok. It’s ok,” I hear a familiar voice whisper into my ear. “It’s me. It’s ok. You’re safe,” Klaus says moving his hand away from my mouth. He looks over from where I came from, “We’ll save Elena. You go straight home, you stay inside, do you understand?” He asks. “Do you understand me?” He questions once more turning me to face him.

I nod my head, “Thank you,” I whisper back as I notice the worried look on his face. Klaus kisses my forehead before he rushes away.

I quickly make my way out of the school and instead of the Salvatore house but my own. Knowing that Alaric doesn’t know where it is, or at least I think so. I hadn’t been back since the day I arrived in Mystic Falls but this time it’s a redesigned and fully furnished home. I forgot all the nice things I got for my house, but it also didn’t feel right to be here. Maybe that’s why I didn’t come back, why I’ve been staying at the Salvatores.

Luckily before I could sink even further into my thoughts I get a call from Bonnie, “What’s up?” I asked picking up the phone.

“Klaus has Elena. He’s gonna kill her. We’re gonna use the plan that we had for Alaric on Klaus. But we need you as a distraction. Can you do it?” Bonnie explains.

“I’ll do what I can to protect the people I care about. Where do I need to be?” I ask.

“He should be at his mansion. Stefan and Damon will meet you there,” Bonnie responds.

“Alright, I’ll get there as fast as I can,” I respond before hanging up.

I meet Stefan and Damon outside of the mansion. Damon hands me a small bottle of blood, “What’s this for?” I ask confused.

“It’s Bonnie’s blood. Binds us to her so she can do her witchy stuff. She wanted me to give you some in case. You need to make a physical connection to Klaus, a major artery, or something. So she can bring him down,” Damon explains.

“And what is this witchy stuff she plans to do? She didn’t tell me much except to be the distraction,” I respond.

“She plans to desiccate him. Like her mother did to Mikael,” Stefan explains.

“We’ll be the ones to take him down, but Bonnie wanted to have you as a backup,” Damon says gesturing to his brother.

“Alright, well I should get in there before anything worse happens,” I say to the brothers and head off.

I make my way into Klaus’ mansion and follow the voices of him and Tyler, “Good-bye Tyler,” I hear Klaus say as I get closer.

“Klaus, don’t!” I say from behind him. I watch as I notice Tyler ready to fight but I shake my head no, hoping he understood I had this under control.

“Athena,” Klaus says letting Tyler go. “I thought I told you to stay home,” Klaus turns towards me.

“I--I did. But as I waited at home, I came to a realization. I don’t want to be here anymore. I--I want to travel the world...with you,” I move closer to Klaus. “I want to get away from all of this,” I gesture to the situation were in. “I want it to just be us again,” I say only a few inches away from his face, pressing my hand on his chest.

“I want to be with you forever,” I press my lips against his before he could respond. I feel him pull me into his grasp. For a moment it felt like it was only us in the room, but I remembered what I had to do. It was hard to muster the strength to fight the sire bond, but before either of us pulled away I plunged my fingers into his chest.

Klaus pulled away screaming as Damon, Stefan and, Tyler came to hold him back. I feel as his heart starts to slow down. As we continue to hold Klaus back and I feel his heartbeat slow, he looks up at me with a somber look in his face as he realizes he can’t win. I return the look and mouth “I’m sorry,” to him as I feel a tear fall down my face.

Soon enough the desiccation engulfs him. Tyler helps Klaus’ body down to the ground as I stare at him, hoping I did what was right. Not just for my friends, but for myself.

“We should get her home before the sun sets. You too Athena,” Stefan says.

I head to the car and get in with the Salvatore brothers and Elena. They drive us to Elena’s house. I get out with them and walk towards Elena’s house. “Heh, you three are really going to walk me all the way to the door, aren’t you?” Elena questions.

“You lost a lot of blood today,” Stefan states.

“Yeah, I know, but I told you, I’m fine. I just--I have a little headache,” Elena explains.

“Yeah, but the sun’s about to go down. And Ric’s going to be able to terrorize the streets any minute,” Damon explains.

“Yeah, but he can’t hurt me. It’s you three we should be worrying about,” Elena states.

“He won’t be able to find us,” Stefan says as we make it to Elena’s door.

“I’ll call you when we get back. Athena, you should probably stay here with Elena, might be best,” Stefan says.

“I’ll be fine on my own. If anything I can go to my house, Alaric doesn’t know where it is,” I explain. “But I’ll stay here for a little, if that’s alright with you Elena,” I say knowing it’ll probably make them feel better.

“Fine, just be safe,” Stefan responds.

“I’m gonna umm… head upstairs and clean up,” I say looking at my hand covered in Klaus’ blood.

As I head into the house, I hear some rustling in the kitchen. As I walk in I find the whole gang setting up a small feast. Not too soon after Elena walks in just as confused as I am.

“What are you guys doing here?” She asks.

“Welcome to our victory party!” Caroline yells.

“What victory?” I ask.

“We failed. Alaric’s still out there,” Elena points out.

“We know. But we’ve been trying to get rid of Klaus forever and Caroline convinced us to enjoy it-- for a night,” Bonnie explains.

“Got to be honest--I’m a little pissed none of you let me take down original brother number two,” Matt says all pippy.

“Yeah, he would have taken you right down to the hospital, bro,” Tyler responds.

“Please, I’m more stealth than that. I’m like a ninja,” Matt says.

After hearing that, I just felt a rush of emotions roll over me. I quickly head upstairs, feeling overwhelmed, “What’s up with her?” I hear Jeremy say as I head upstairs.

“I’ll go talk to her. Just be a bit more delicate with how you say things,” Elena says. “She was the one to take him down,” Elena whispers, even though I still heard it.

I make my way into her bathroom to clean my hand up, I take a deep breath as I feel a tear fall down my face. I keep reassuring myself that I did the right thing, that I had to do it to keep everyone safe.

“Hey. You alright?” I hear Elena’s soft voice behind me.

“Uhh...yeah. I just wanted to clean my hand,” I say not turning around, trying to keep my voice from wavering.

“Something’s bothering you. I can tell,” Elena says from the doorway.

“No, I’m fine,” I deflect.

“I know you’ve been through a lot in your life and I’m sure this was hard for you. And your strength and will is something I really admire. You’re one of the strongest people I know,” Elena says. “You know it’s ok to be vulnerable sometimes,” Elena says after a few moments of silence.

“It’s just--I can’t keep fighting myself like this. By doing what I did, I felt like I almost lost a part of myself. I don’t want to feel this way anymore,” I say keeping my back turned to her.

“I know and I’m sure we’ll find a way,” Elena responds.

“I already know there’s a way,” I respond turning to Elena. “Tyler broke his sire bond. I’m sure he can help break mine,” I say.

“And you think that’ll work?” Elena asks.

“I don’t know but I want to find out if what I fe--feel for him is the sire bond...or me,” I say.

“We’ll figure this out I know it. But for tonight. See this little victory as a night you don’t need to fight with yourself, ok?” Elena says.

“I’ll try,” I give her a slight smile.

We head back down into the kitchen and Caroline hands us some shots. “Here, you two need this,” Caroline says. Elena and I look at her confused.

“I heard. And you know that sooner or later, you’re going to have to choose right?” Caroline asks Elena.

“I know,” Elena responds.

“And you,” Caroline turns towards me. “I’m sure you’re hurting right now. Whether it’s the sire bond or not. You probably need this more than anyone right now,” Caroline says rubbing her hand on my arm.

“Hey. Give me your hand,” Tyler says walking up to us. He pours some salt on our hands.

“Thank you for standing up to Klaus like that. Both of you,” Elena shifts her gaze between Tyler and me.

“Let’s just say it’s been a long time coming,” Tyler says as I nod in agreement.

“Way too long,” Caroline says pulling Tyler into a side hug. “All right, Let’s drink,” She says to the rest of the group.

“I do not condone this by the way,” Elena says turning to her little brother.

“You survived Klaus. All right, make an exception. You can go back to being responsible tomorrow,” Jeremy rebuttals.

“Ok,” Elena says.

“Hang on. Do you guys hear that?” Tyler asks as we all look around confused and worried. “That is the sound of a Klaus-free life,” Tyler finally says as we all laugh. Yet my own was a bit forced.

“To a Klaus-free life,” I say a raise my shot. Clearly getting some surprise expressions from a few people. “And to all of you, my family,” I add.

“Cheers!” The group says as we clink glasses and take our shots.

We spend a couple more hours hanging out and celebrating a quiet night. “Hey Tyler, can I talk to you a bit?” I ask coming up to him.

“Uh yeah,” He says as I lead him away from the group into the hall.

“So you broke your sire bond with Klaus right?” I ask as he nods in response. “Do you think you can help me break mine?” I ask.

“Yeh. Anything to get a hybrid away from his control,” Tyler responds.

“Thanks,” I say.

“Are you alright?” Tyler asks clearly picking up on my mood.

“Yeh. I just--I want to make sure whatever I feel is because of the sire bond. I’m done fighting myself,” I respond.

“We’ll get through this, together. I’ll help any way I can,” He says.

“Thanks,” I respond before we both head back into the kitchen.

After a couple more minutes of hanging out everyone starts to head home. “You’re more than welcome to stay the night here,” Elena says to me.

“Oh, It’s ok. I’d hate to intrude for the night,” I repsond.

“It’s fine. I’m sure youd rather be here than alone in your house or the Salvatore’s,” Elena says.

“They’ll be home in a bit. I’ll be fine,” I respond.

“Come on, Athena just take the offer. We haven’t had a girls night in a while,” Elena begs.

“Fine,” I say and give a slight smile. We head up to her room as she helps prepare a place to sleep.

“I’m gonna go check on Jeremy. I’ll be back in a bit. Get some rest,” Elena says.

“Thanks,” I respond as she leaves the room.

I lay my head down and close my eyes. I try for a few minutes to sleep, but I can’t. Not after tonight. I get up and leave the room to get some water. As I leave Elena’s room I look to my left to find Elena laying on the floor with her nose bleeding into the spilled paint.

I rush over to her, shaking her hoping she’d wake up, “Jeremy!” I yell realizing it’s not working.

“What happened?” He asks coming into the room.

“I--I don’t know. I just came out of her room and found her like this,” I explain.

“Alright, let’s just get her to the hospital,” Jeremy says picking up his sister.

A/N: Will Klaus forgive Athena for what she did? I hope you all enjoyed this part! Thanks for reading.

#the vampire diaries #the vampire diaries fanfiction #the vampire diaries imagine #the vampire diaries x reader #the vampire diaries series #the originals #The Originals Series #the originals x reader #the originals fanfiction #the originals imagine #caroline forbes #rebekah mikaelson #alaric saltzman #elena gilbert #niklaus mikaelson #tyler lockwood #damon salvatore #Stefan Salvatore #TVDCIB

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vannahfanfics · 4 years

Text

Live

Category: Romantic Fluff, Angst

Fandom: Fairy Tail

Characters: Lucy Heartfilia, Gray Fullbuster

Requested By: FlyingPegasus7 (Ao3)

The air echoed with screams, explosions, and the rumbling roars of dragons as Gray dashed through the cracked cobblestone streets of Crocus. The earth rumbled beneath his feet, making his steps unsteady. He fumbled over the ground as it heaved and writhed, the road beneath him fissuring at a rapid rate. As the earth in front of him hurled up a good two feet, Gray screeched to a stop to avoid tripping over the suddenly raised ground. Hastily, he skirted around the risen section of the street to resume his feverish pace, lest he become prey to the dragon skulking through the buildings behind him.

Gray rounded the corner and pressed against the brick, pausing to catch his breath. His chest heaved with gulping breaths to suck in as much oxygen as he could as quickly as possible; after several minutes of sprinting, his body was becoming deprived, and his vision fuzzed gray around the edges. As he peered around the corner of the building, he blinked rapidly to force the blurry image to clear. The ground trembled underneath him, and the quake slowly rose in intensity as a horned head rose over the roof of an apartment complex. Poison dripped from its jaws, which were also encrusted in ice from Gray’s feeble attempts to overpower the giant lizard-like monster. As the acidic substance puddled on the building and the road, the hard surfaces dissolved into mush. Thankfully for Gray, the massive beast shambled off in the opposite direction. He breathed a small sigh of relief.

He then growled and slammed his fist into the brick wall. The harsh surface shredded the skin of his knuckles, and blood smeared crimson against the mute red. What the hell am I doing?! Running away with my tail between my legs… This isn't how a mage of Fairy Tail should act! he cursed self-loathingly. Still panting slightly, he peered around the edge of the building to watch the wisps of smoke rise from the dissolved building. He said that, but what could he do against such reckless strength and hate? His fist slowly uncurled as his clenched muscles comprehended the sheer depth of his powerlessness.

Gray gasped as a chorus of frightened screams pierced the air. Instinctively, he turned his gaze heavenward to see massive blob-shaped objects falling to earth. The had been expelled from the body of the dragon circling the city. The ground rumbled beneath Gray's feet as a handful of them crashed into the nearby buildings and streets with sickening splatters. One of them collided with the apartment building against which Gray was taking shelter. The ice mage cried out and lunged forward as the roof split, sending bricks and wood beams tumbling towards him. He landed flat on his belly on the cracked cobblestone, covering his head; dust, wood bits, and brick chunks rained over him, coating his dark cloak in white powder. Somehow he escaped significant injury.

Gray pushed himself onto his elbows with a small huff and shook his head to clear the debris from his dark blue hair. As he slowly dragged himself to his feet, the half-destroyed building shuddered and groaned behind him. Water gushed from a burst pipe, rapidly forming a puddle next to the mage that lapped at the toes of his shoes. Gray turned around, brushing the chalky dust from his clothes, just in time to see a dragonoid form clawing its way out of the rubble. Gray's eyes blew wide as it snarled at him to bear razor-sharp teeth and a forked tongue.

As the creature leaped at him with a demented screech, Gray reacted on instinct and used the water beside him to freeze it within an ice wall. Its black form scowled at him from within the transparent, ridged block of ice. Before it could use brute force to escape, Gray dashed off the side street and back onto the main road. Half a dozen of the beasts prowled through the buildings, bending streetlamps in half and overturning café tables with savage headbutts. One of them took notice of his presence and hissed, jumping down from the awning it was ripping apart to shamble towards him.

Gray back-pedaled with frantic gasps, his ice magic swirling around his hand. Suddenly, the small dragon crouched down, and its slimy back bubbled grotesquely. Gray barely had time to throw himself into an alleyway as several white pointed spikes shot out of the creature's body and rocketed toward him. They collided with the brick wall above his head, burying themselves a foot deep and sending cracks rippling through the surface.

If one of those hits me, I'll be impaled! he thought before jumping on top of the dumpster and freezing the monster as it nosed into the alley. Two more of its brethren came climbing over the ice wall, screeching while Gray skirted around the corner.

I have to pick them off one-by-one! he thought as he dashed through the labyrinthine array of alleys. If I let them overwhelm me, I'm dead! It was all well and good in theory, but much harder to exercise in practice. The creatures were tenacious in their hunt for the ice mage, and obviously preferred pack pursuit. As soon as Gray encased one of them in ice, three more would replace it, shooting the white spears at him. The constant guerilla warfare was daunting, and Gray soon bordered on exhaustion. Several of the spikes had grazed him, leaving bleeding and burning abrasions over his chest’s bare skin (because at some point he'd flung his cloak to the wind). After another attempt to overpower the small dragons only to become outmatched, Gray collapsed against a dirty alley wall, sliding into a crouch and applying pressure to the small tear in his side.

"Fuck," he whispered softly as his unfocused eyes spied the trail of ruby-red droplets betraying his location. The dragons would sniff him out in due time; he could already hear the scrapes of their claws against the street and their high-pitched weals rising in volume. "Have to get out of here," he groaned and used the small ledges in the brick to haul himself into a standing position. Using the wall to bear most of his weight, he half-limped, half-jogged deeper into the alley, just as a hulky form blotted out the light seeping in from the street. The dragonoid's screech bounced in the small space, ringing in Gray's ears like a death knell.

Gray's eyes widened as a disheveled blonde girl darted into the alley ahead of him, ducking behind some silver trash bins. A few seconds later, one of the monsters skittered by the alley’s entrance, snuffling like a boar as it passed. Gray watched, frozen, as Lucy peered out into the street to ensure it had left before exhaling deeply. When she turned around, she caught sight of him.

"Gray!" she hissed and darted over just as he slumped against the wall. Her hands fluttered around his wounds but never touched, not wishing to pain him accidentally. "You're hurt…"

"It's nothing. They just grazed me." Gray looked frenziedly over his shoulder as the metallic bang of a trash bin falling on its side clanged in the passage behind him. "We gotta go." He grabbed her hand and tore away from the wall with a grunt. A smear of blood marked the place where he had leaned against the brick. For the sake of not alerting the nearby beasts to their position, Lucy stifled her protests. After taking fervent glances down both sides of the street, Gray pulled her out into the open, intending to take shelter in the half-destroyed bakery a few yards down the road. We need to regroup. Fighting these things on our own is a suicide mission! If I could find Juvia or Erza or anybody, we'll stand a better chance…!

"Gray, look out!"

Lucy's blood-curdling scream cleaved through the night air like a blade. Something knocked into Gray and sent him staggering a few paces to the left on unsteady, wobbly knees. He whipped around as he crashed into a brick wall, and then time slowed down to an agonizing pace. He watched the air warp around the razor-sharp spikes as they sailed towards Lucy, who still had her arms outstretched from pushing Gray out of the way. He watched the blood explode from her skin as the jagged points made first contact, biting into the meat of her shoulder, thigh, and abdomen like carnivorous beasts. The air vibrated with Lucy’s high-pitched, agonized wail that seemed to last hours in Gray’s roaring ears. Ruby liquid painted the cracked cobblestone, grotesque abstract artworks that only the disturbed would find beautiful. Gray watched, wide-eyed and frozen, as Lucy landed on her belly in the road, unmoving with the blood slowly pooling around her in a shining red lake.

“N-no,” he gurgled suddenly. A hard lump made it challenging to speak and release the choking sobs bubbling up in his body. He staggered towards Lucy, but his legs had gone numb. With a haggard cry, he fell on his hands and knees. Those also failed to support him, making him flop uselessly onto his belly. Groaning in agony, he forced his battered body to move. His fingernails cracked as he scraped them harshly against the cobblestone in an attempt to gain enough traction to drag himself forward. His muscles screamed in protest, but Gray managed to crawl a few feet forward where Lucy lay. The blood saturated his skin and clothes, hot and sticky and reeking of iron. Gray pawed at the girl, rolling her over onto her back, and nearly fainted with relief when he found her barely clinging to life.

“Guh… Gray…” Her whisper was but a ghost of a breath. Gray hauled himself to a sitting position with a pained cry. After a few seconds of panting and fighting back the darkness encroaching on the edges of his vision, he settled Lucy’s head into his lap.

“Lucy. Lucy, you’re gonna be okay,” he croaked. He stroked her dirt-caked, frazzled blonde hair with trembling fingers to brush it away from her pale, sweaty face. “We’re gonna get you help, Lucy. We’re gonna get you help.” She blinked slowly, barely able to keep her eyelids open to gaze at him with hazy, unfocused eyes.

“You can’t help me.” When she uttered that, Gray shattered. With a low, mournful moan, he curled over her body. The blood leaching from her wounds filled his breaths with the disgusting metallic tang and his skin burned where the red liquid smeared over it. “You can’t help me,” she repeated in a quiet, tired sigh. Tears poured from Gray’s eyes, dripping down onto her ghostly white face and neck.

“No. Don’t say that, don’t say that,” he began babbling nonsensically. “Help, gonna get- gonna get help, Lucy, don’t die, don’t die!” His violently quaking hands struggled to cup the small frame of her face. “Lucy… Lucy, I love you… Please, don’t go, don’t leave me, I love you, I love you!” His mind began to swim with fierce regrets. I should’ve told her sooner. I shouldn’t have let it end like this! I should’ve done something, I should have saved her! It should have been me! It should have been me! “Lucy… Lucy…” he crooned in broken whispers as the light faded from her eyes and her body grew still with death. The ground trembled with a rising quake, and in the near distance, Gray heard the unmistakable hiss of a dragon.

He didn’t care. He continued to cradle Lucy’s body, lamenting every bit of warmth that slowly faded from her skin. His body began to bounce with the intensity of the dragon’s weighty steps. He didn’t care.

What can a man do in such a moment, aside from embrace death?

Reality splintered. Gray had the odd sensation of floating in space as time warped around him into fractured, unfocused momentary blips. Voices echoed around him, but he couldn't understand any words. Gray closed his eyes, feeling like his entire being was falling apart, and then-

There he was, standing in the middle of the street again, holding Lucy’s hand. Gray’s hazy mind couldn’t process what had just occurred; it only became dominated with the incredible urge to act. He whirled around and tackled Lucy to the ground, causing her to squeak in surprise. In the next second, several of the white spikes sailed overhead. They crashed harmlessly into the nearby building, sending the brick wall crumbling. Without hesitating, Gray slapped his palm down and blasted a massive ice wall in the direction the spikes had come from. There were a few pained squeals, and then nothing, nothing aside from the rumbles of the ongoing war around them. He looked down to see Lucy gawking wide-eyed at him, her chest heaving with gulping breaths.

“Gray, I… I…” Her hands roamed her body, searching for the grievous wounds but finding her skin unmarred. She swallowed thickly and then whispered, “I died.” A hard lump formed in Gray’s throat. He couldn’t force out words, so he just nodded forlornly. Lucy’s fingers dug deep into the meat of his upper arms as tears flooded her eyes. “And you… And you…” Her eyelashes fluttered, sending the droplets coursing down her cheeks- cheeks rosy with the flush of life, not pale white with the oncoming of death. “I love you too.”

Kissing in the middle of the battlefield probably wasn’t the best idea, but Gray went right ahead and did it anyway.

His lips smashed against Lucy’s in a fierce, passionate, emotional kiss. Lucy’s fingers carded into his hair, scraping her nails over his scalp as he ravished her mouth with a tenacity. She fought for dominance for a few seconds, but soon yielded to the waves of passion rolling off the ice mage, allowing herself to be swept up in the tsunami. When she sighed wantonly, Gray took the opportunity to slide his tongue into her mouth. The hot muscles swirled ardently in a feverish dance, spreading a warmth and love that Gray had never known through his body. It lasted only a minute or so, but to the impassioned mages, it might as well have been an eternity. No matter how much they wanted to ignore the rumbling and roaring around them, they could not ignore the fraught dangers of their reality forever.

As Gray pulled away from Lucy, he grabbed her by her upper arms, hauling her into a sitting position. He pressed another searing kiss to her forehead and then cupped her face.

“After this, I swear on everything that I’m taking you on a damn good date,” he promised. Lucy blinked, then smiled warmly, for she heard the unspoken order hidden within the vow: live. Gray stroked her cheeks with his thumbs to catch the tears that leaked out of her eyes.

“I’m looking forward to it.” You live too, her eyes beseeched. He pressed his forehead to hers, confirming their promises with a single glance.

Live, so I can love you properly.

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