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neewtmas · 1 year ago

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A Fateful Bus Ride

A/N: I'M BACK! wohoo! Hopefully at least some people are happy about that whoops

I finally somewhat dug myself out of this slump I've been in (writing and otherwise) and this is my reintroduction piece, if you will. It's not my greatest work (when is something ever lol) but I think it's decent and if anyone has any more requests, I'd be happy to write them. This request is from literal months ago (I'm so sorry it took so long, I hope you're still interested) and it's the only one that didn't get deleted with my whole inbox bc I had started writing it already elsewhere. anyways, enjoy <3

pairing: george karim x fem!reader

wordcount: 2.2k

request: Could you make a George Karim x fem or gn reader where they are on their way to a mission and they have to ride a bus and there aren’t enough seats so she sits on his lap and he realizes he likes her and he confesses to her when they get home and he holds her in his arms (sorry if that is very specific It just came to me and it’s so cute) 💜💕 - by @iloveyousomuchhhhhh (it's not 100% exact but I hope you like it anyways :))

taglist: @maraschinomerry @marinalor @oblivious-idiot @lockwood-lover @givemea-dam-break (if you want to be added or removed, just send me an ask)

masterlist

George stood in the kitchen, pouring himself a cup of tea when he heard a commotion in the basement. The door to the staircase was slightly ajar, and he heard the clattering of metal chains against the concrete floor, followed by some curses and then more clattering. After a short silence, in which he contemplated if he should go downstairs to check, he heard the stairs creak as someone stomped upstairs, chains loudly sounding against the metal of the steps. The door got pushed open, and Y/N entered the kitchen, arms full of chains. She was breathing heavily as she unceremoniously dropped them next to the kitchen table on the floor. "What idiot put them into the closet like that? Of course they would just fall out and break my goddamn toes." George cleared his throat. He knew the culprit all too well, but a look at Y/N's face told him it would be wiser to feign ignorance. So he just shrugged. "Maybe Lockwood was feeling lazy last night", he offered and took a sip of tea to hide the small smile that fought its way onto his lips. From the way she glared at him, he was sure that she knew exactly who was responsible for putting the chains away the evening prior.

She left the kitchen and pulled the door closed rather strongly, as she always did when she was irritated. If it had closed, the bang would have probably shaken the pictures on the wall in Lucy's room in the attic, but it didn't. Instead, Lockwood came in, pushing it open again. He seemed to be in a good mood and full of energy, strutting over to the kettle on the stove, lifting the top to check for the tea inside before turning around to George. His gaze fell to the pile of chains. "Why are there chains on the floor?" He didn't even wait for George to answer, instead, he kept talking as he grabbed a cup from the cupboard and poured some tea in. "Just got the confirmation call, the case tonight is still on. Have you had a chance to gather some information?"

George filled him in on the findings the morning in the library had brought. It wasn't anything too special, it seemed to be a routine case. "Couldn't find any deaths related to the house or the ground it was built on. The lady on the phone talked about how the haunting started sometime after her great-aunt died. She wasn't living in the house though, so my bet is on some sort of haunted heirloom." Lockwood nodded contemplatively. "Sounds interesting enough."

An hour later, the four of them stood by the door, all packed and ready to go. Lockwood had the telephone by his ear, listening to what the person on the other side was saying. His expression turned from neutral to irritated quickly. He listened for a few more seconds, then said a curt goodbye before hanging up. "Can you believe it? Not a single cab is available in all of London. That guy must be mad!"

"What do we do now?", Lucy asked and Lockwood let out a long drawn sigh. "We take the bus. As the gentleman on the phone let me know, that is just as fine of transportation as a cab." He huffed, clearly of a different opinion. But complaining wouldn't get them to their destination any quicker, so they begrudgingly grabbed their equipment and left the house. Y/N had the straps of the duffle bag containing the chains thrown over her shoulder, and she quickly realised that carrying the heavy bag down the street would be much harder than simply carrying it a few metres to a waiting cab. She had a slight stumble in her step, the weight of the chains throwing her off balance.

"Do you need help with that?" George slowed down until she was next to him and extended his hand. "No it's fine", said Y/N through gritted teeth and attempted to keep walking. It was clearly not fine. George quickly caught up to her. "Just let me help you, Y/N." She sighed, setting down the bag and rubbing her shoulder with a grimace. "Fine. But let me at least carry your bag." George couldn't help but smile at her defiance. He remembered very well how long it took him to convince her to let him help her when she was struggling with something.

When she had started working for Lockwood & Co, she had been friendly but closed off - nothing that George hadn't experienced with Lockwood already. And after all, he himself wasn't known for being the most sociable person either. But something about her had caught his interest from the very first time she had walked through the door of 35 Portland Row. He handed her the much lighter duffle bag he had been carrying and picked up the one with the chains.

At the bus stop, they didn't have to wait too long, but that made their situation only marginally better. The bus that came to a halt in front of them was full, much fuller than one would expect at this time of day. But that's just how it was in the summer months, their work started when it was still light out, and that always meant that much more people were around. They hauled their bags and themselves into the vehicle and past the passengers already sitting inside. It was very apparent that the sight of their filled duffle bags, dark clothing and especially the rapiers that gleamed at their sides made the people around them somewhat uncomfortable. There were only three unoccupied seats left, and when Y/N, who entered the bus last, reached them, they were of course claimed by her colleagues.

It wasn't very comfortable, they had too much stuff with them and the bus was already overfull. "Do you wanna sit down?" George asked her and was already about to get up to let her have his seat, but she shook her head and motioned him to sit back down. "It's fine. I can just sit on the bags." They had stacked the bags to not take up any more space. But before Y/N could find a way to make herself comfortable on them, the bus driver started the engine back up and the bus lurched forward. She stumbled back, losing her grip on the pole she had held onto and landed on George's knees. She immediately started apologizing profusely, embarrassed by their sudden closeness. "It's fine, don't worry", George interrupted her, feeling a little overwhelmed by how flustered he felt all of a sudden.

She didn't try to get up and away from him immediately, and George surprised himself with his boldness as he pulled her closer so that she was on his lap completely. "Just stay here. If that's fine with you", he added hastily, not wanting to make her uncomfortable. Maybe that was a little too forward. He half expected her to jump up and get as far away from him as possible, but instead, she sheepishly nodded and didn't move. George turned his head to look out of the window, and he could feel the stares of both Lucy and Lockwood almost burning holes in the back of his head.

It was quite a long drive to the house they would be working at tonight, and George was happy to notice that Y/N seemed to get more comfortable with every passing minute. Where she was sat straight at the beginning, she was now leaning back against his chest. And again, with a boldness he didn't know he had he wrapped his arms, which had been by his side until now, around her waist and pulled her even closer to him. For a few seconds, his heart felt like it was about to jump out of his chest as he held his breath and waited for her reaction. But she just crossed her arms, placing them on top of his.

They spent the rest of the drive like this, and it was only when they reached the final stop, that George reluctantly pulled away his arms from her to let her get up. She didn't look at him, but her cheeks were pink as she grabbed her bag and dragged it off the bus. They were to only ones to get off at this stop, and so they stood alone on the sidewalk as the bus drove off. George prayed that no one would say anything about what had just happened. Luckily, neither Lucy nor Lockwood seemed to be in the mood for any teasing, though he could still feel them looking at him curiously. He chose to ignore them.

The case was just about as uneventful as he had predicted, and the source of the ghost - the great-aunt's necklace - had been found and cleared pretty quickly. Still, when they arrived back at the bus stop, it was dark. It was obvious that Lockwood still wasn't happy with this kind of travelling, but at least they didn't have to wait too long. This time, the bus was empty - no one besides agents was still outside now. The bus driver looked even more unhappy than Lockwood, and it was clear that he too would have preferred for them to have taken a cab.

But George was convinced that neither of them - neither the bus driver nor Lockwood - was quite as unhappy as he felt when he realised there was absolutely no reason for him and Y/N to repeat the seating arrangement from before. With them being the only four passengers, there were plenty of free seats available. But what somewhat lessened his disappointment, was the fact that Y/N chose the free seat next to him to sit.

Back home in Portland Row, George put on a kettle on the stove. Lockwood and Lucy had excused themselves to bed even though they came back earlier than usual from their case. Y/N on the other hand stayed with him in the kitchen while they waited for the water to boil. She was telling him about something that happened last time she had gone grocery shopping, but while he usually had no problems paying full attention to whatever she was saying, tonight it was different. He couldn't stop thinking about the bus ride. He had known before that he liked her, and that it was very different from how he liked Lockwood and Lucy - but it hadn't been clear to him just how much he liked her. And the way she had reacted to him - it gave him hope that maybe she felt something similar. He filled two cups with the water from the kettle and added the teabags. "Do you wanna sit in the library for a while?", he asked.

Y/N followed him to the library, where he sat down on the couch. She quickly contemplated if she should sit down next to him or if she should opt for the chair next to the couch. After what had happened on the bus, she was entirely unsure about how to act towards George. He smiled at her and she suddenly felt very nervous. Nonetheless, she decided to sit down on the couch, even though that meant they were now sitting very close next to each other. They were silent for a while, both sipping on their tea. The silence wasn't uncomfortable, it never was with them, but something was different than before.

Y/N finished her tea first and put the empty cup back onto the table. She was suddenly feeling very tired, but she liked the way she was sitting so close to George on the couch, and she didn't want this moment it end, even if she didn't exactly know what was between them right now. So instead, she leaned closer to him and rested her head on his shoulder.

George could feel his heartbeat quicken as Y/N leaned against him, and he had to force himself to finish his tea without choking on it. He quickly leaned forward to put his cup on the table as well, but the sudden movement had Y/N sit up straight again. "No no!", he said hastily, cursing himself silently for being so awkward in this moment. "Don't go away. That was nice." He almost bit his tongue. Was that too forward? But Y/N smiled shyly, in a way she had never smiled at him before. She resumed her position, and with his heart beating out of his chest, he slowly put his arm around her shoulder. A part of him was scared that this was too much, but instead of pulling away, she just cuddled closer to him and closed her eyes. "You are right, this is nice", she said quietly smiled as George leaned forward and pressed a kiss on her forehead.

thanks for reading, feedback is appreciated :)

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#george karim #george karim x reader #george x reader #lockwood and co #lockwood and co x reader #lockwood & co #lockwood & co x reader

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monayen · 7 months ago

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uhhh I dunno really but — maybe a fic of reader just walking in the forest because they r lost then getting caught in a bear trap nyen set up and uh he does something fucked up to reader, like fucks them then kills them or something? Or something heavy gore related while he fucks them.. sorryyy ahhh (I’m a damn masochist.)

The Lost Camper | Nyen

➷ Paring - Nyen x Fem!Reader [Randal's Friends / Ranfren]

➷ CWs - noncon, unsafe sex, fear play, knife play, blood kink, stabbing, sadism, fingering, violence, degradation, dacryphilla, READER DEATH

a/n - this came out to 4k words :') i know anon described a bear trap/hunting-esque situation but i felt making the reader a more cryptic-like being of the woods made a bit more sense (and easier to fit in) either way, reminder that this is DARK. there isn't a happy ending and the reader does freakin' die. (though rebirth is implied. see it how ya' do) i apologize for any mistakes as this is my longest work to date (whoop whoop) thank you for your comments and requests on both ao3 and tumblr. keeps me motivated ^^ currently working on a Randal fic and some Luther headcannons :3 inbox open as always. ANYWAYS ENOUGH

You aren't sure why you decided to hop over the Ivory household's security measures and rummage through their things while they slept. You’ve seen campers before in these woods plenty of times. Hundreds, if you kept count… but you don't.

You also don't ever interact with campers these days either. They didn’t tend to be special and they didn’t ever really get in the way. Maybe you’ll spook them by hovering around behind the greenery, sticks cracking underneath rugged boots. They don't interest you anymore beyond listening to them talk about their boring, human lives.

It doesn't make them completely irrelevant to you though, as you’ve gained a habit of sneaking onto their campsites. You steal – quite often. Well, as often as people come this deep into the woods. It's how you justify it, how else are you supposed to get canned food and new clothes? And so what if you also take a couple of books you can't read and stuffed animals whose furs mat under dirty hands. The mossy den you reside in could always use new things, even if you have no use for them.

For as long as you remember, it has been like this. A being of the woods, you’ve become a cryptic-like legend. “The Lost Camper”, you’re called. Whatever that means. You aren't sure what life is like past bark and muddy soil, clothes messy and hands rough. You were never lost, this is all you know.

Is it all so bad? So bad that humans go out of their way to tell campfire stories about your existence? The grass gives you more comfort than any sleeping bag can.

So there really wasn't any need for you to be past that fence they set up. The truth was that they were… interesting. More interesting than any other family who ventured out here. You saw as they gathered around and talked, well, two were doing most of the talking. Brothers, apparently. (despite not looking much alike)

They tagged along a couple more… characters. Notably, these two catmen that hovered around the older one of the brothers. They looked more alike, cat ears dawning their similar haircuts. You could tell them apart by their clothes – easier, their demeanors.

The blue haired one stood hunched, staring at his… ”master” talk. Immediately, you could tell he was the more timid of the two. You observed the other pinkish haired one smoke a cigarette a few steps away from the group. His eyes – eye, actually – looked low and dark. The patch on one of them leaves you to wonder what might've happened for it to be left in such a state. Catching his name from his master, “Nyen”, which made sense considering his appearance.

You must have been staring too long, because suddenly Nyen lifts his head and his sunless eye meets yours for a second. Ducking quickly behind the trees, it should have been your sign to leave, to go on your merry way of collecting berries and getting high off of mushrooms for entertainment.

But of course – you didn't. Instead, you retreated to the comfort of the conifer and stood idly. The sun set faster than you expected, any thoughts of simply leaving long gone hours ago. An eager smile spread across your face, these unique campers were asleep and you were going to rein free on their grounds. This was going to be the most fun you’ve had in ages!

As you tiptoe to their spot, you point out the odd set up. They had a truck and two tents, but only one tent actually seemed to be occupied. They also left a plethora of things outside unattended. Great for you.

Nimbly, you start pocketing random things into your large well-loved leather crossbody bag. You’ve rummaged through many people’s unattended things before, but they definitely take it to a different level. This place was filled with bizarre stuff, stuff you’ve never seen before.

Why the fuck were they carrying several wooden carvings of beavers and… birthday cake flavored “lube”... unsure what the latter was. Either way, you found it all the more entertaining to stuff these random things into your bag, giggling slightly when you pulled out a photorealistic framed drawing of a blue pony with a rainbow mane.

You were so intrigued by all these things that you didn't realize masked, narrow eyes staring at your figure past the of the darkness camp.

Nyen had been waiting for this. How stupid can you be? He saw you past the trees when the sun was still up, staring with a stable gaze – observing. Your face was shaded by the leaves, but he could see the grip you had on the tree trunk you stood behind. You looked rugged, you weren't just another camper or hitchhiker. He huffs his cigarette, more freaks. Nyen moves his eyes towards his master, clearly already stressed with the hitchhiker they had picked up hours before. Another huff.

His eyes meet yours when he decides to look up again and just as quickly – you're gone.

Once Luther hears about this, his brows furrow slightly at the idea of another thing to deal with. “Oh dear, I just can't catch a break.” Nyen waits for his master to continue.

Randal (who totally wasn't eavesdropping) perks up once he recognizes who they were talking about, “Oh! Oh! You mean the…” He pauses for dramatic effect, “The Lost Camper…” Luther twists his head to stare at his brother, “Is that the name?”

Randal nods excitedly, “I’ve read all about her! Apparently, she’s a ghost. Or like a cavewoman. Or an animal-hybrid. I actually didn't read that much.” He shrugs, “She doesn't hurt people, I think. Just swipes a few things and wonders around. Which is a little boring, would love it if something tried to kill us! AGAIN!”

Luther shakes his head and looks back at Nyen, “Hm, it’s too late now to move everything back inside…” He places a finger on his chin, “If that's true, then deal with her if she becomes a problem, alright?”

Nyen nods, “Yes sir.”

From what Randal said, he knew you would most likely lurk in the incognito of the night. So he took his stance outside the tent everyone else slept in.

He almost giddily twirls the handle of the knife, waiting and waiting. Hours pass, he doesn't have a watch but his internal clock tells him it’s around 3 am when he finally spots you. Look at you, being a problem.

Your back is faced away from him. Through the darkness, (and thanks to his skill of seeing well in the dark) he witnesses the silhouette of your thievery. Nyen can't point out exactly what you are taking but all he can imagine is his master’s upset face if he sees things are missing. The grip on his knife tightens.

He needs to wait again, wait for the perfect moment, wait to pounce . Nyen hears giggles escape your mouth – small, but he hears it. His jaw clenches. How dare you tee-hee while taking his family's very important stuff? He almost wants to lunge at you straight away, but he decides against it. Nyen wants to stab you in the throat and watch the blood splurt once you turn around. He just needs to get a bit closer…

SNAP

How irritating. Nyen just had to step on a twig.

Your reaction time is just as fast as his, darting into the dark woods with him quickly trailing behind you.

Nyen huffs to himself. He wanted to make this quick, but he certainly doesn’t mind a chase.

Holy shit, shit, shit. Thoughts race a thousand miles per hour, with your legs following right behind. You admittedly got too into it that you weren’t focusing, now you have to make a great escape.

This isn’t the first time you’ve had to run away from a camper, there was a time where a woman got spooked by you on her way to take a piss. Her scream was so loud that you immediately dashed past her, dropping the clothes you had stolen. Her husband (presumably an experienced outdoorsman) actually trekked through the woods with a shotgun for a while as you held your breath in the branches above. Ultimately, her family was gone before the sun was down.

But you aren't sure you can just avoid this one. You allow yourself to turn peek behind you and see him . The smoking catman, Nyen. The shade of the night is heavy, but you’ve adapted to see well in the dark. You’re sure he has that skill too with the way his gaze is steady, hard, and right on yo u through terrifying masked eyes. Where did his eyepatch go?

Shaky hands clutch the filled crossbody bag that jumps with your every movement. If you had to go through this, you at least want to keep the stuff.

Just tire him out, you think. It's reassuring that you know these woods like the back of your hand. You’ve tread several miles, exploring and wondering, though never finding a road. (Odd.)

Agilely weaving him past trees and fallen logs, your boots try to find leaf covered ground in an attempt to not leave visible tracks, but that would cause you to move slower – and you can't afford that. You assume with enough loops and turns, he will lose your trail.

A loud, gravelly yell can be heard behind you, “You can't run forever!” It makes your heart hammer because it's true. You aren't sure how long you’ve been running now but it feels like hours .

Periodically, you pause to catch your breath, but it isn't long before you hear his heavy steps get closer and closer, forcing the chase to start again.

It’s terrifying. You have amazing stamina. It's part of being in these woods, moving a lot. Nyen is different though, you don't think he’s stopped once. He’s a hunter, a bit slower than his prey but always behind.

Huffing, you duck under branches and jump over uneven ground with aching legs, barely catching yourself a few times. It’s strenuous to carry on like this, so close to giving out. It’s impossible to focus with this adrenaline pumping through your veins, are you going in circles? Herbage you’re so used to begin to feel like a labyrinth of ever consuming moss and vines.

Managing to keep your distance, you start to believe that maybe you’ve lost him when the echo of rushed footsteps begin to fade. There’s a wave of relief when all that can be heard is the sound of heavy panting and earth stirring underneath sore feet.

You close your eyes as you continue to move forward, wind flowing through your hair with momentum. It’s just for a second, for a moment of clarity. It's a terrible second. Your right ankle rolls horribly on a rock, making you tumble down with shriek. It reverberates past trees and you’re sure he's heard it.

He’s already closing the gap, leaves shuffling behind you. Regaining composure with gritted teeth, you come to the conclusion that he can have his damn things. It’s not worth running forever. Peeking at your quickly growing swollen ankle, you aren't sure you even could.

Finding an area where the trees thin out with patches of soft grass, you use the last of your excretion to exclaim, “Wait, wait!” Facing him finally, he stops feet away from you.

You finally get a closer look at him. His stance is still aggressive, as if you are about to take off at any moment. You see his glare filled with pure disdain, thin lips curling in a snarl. His eyes go beyond his bizarre mask, it feels like he's piercing you with them.

“Say it.” It's a husky voice that makes the anxiety in your stomach swirl. You realize you haven't been face to face with someone in… a while.

Croaking out with a strained voice, “Look, here. Have it back, I don't want it anymore.” With shaking hands, you tug the worn leather over your body and drop it onto the ground in between you two. Gulping, you scan his figure for any type of reaction.

That's when you notice a glint in his hand – a knife. Maybe it was foolish to assume he wouldn't have a weapon on him, he was chasing you after all. But it dawns on you that you don't have one.

Nyen seems to pick up on your sudden stiffening, taking a step forward. It takes everything in you to not take off, but you know it would be fruitless with a sore ankle.

“I know who you are.” You shake, “You do?” He nods slowly, “Randal told me about you. ‘The Lost Camper’, a habitual thief and urban legend. A fucking pussy too.”

A low laugh escapes his lips, he’s getting closer. “So, you think you can just get away with this?” Sweat builds even heavier on your brow and you shake your head, “No, no. I’m – I’m sorry. I didn't mean to–” He cuts you off, “You knew exactly what the fuck you were doing. You need to be dealt with. ”

Your flight instinct kicks in and despite the light injury you sustained, your feet begin to move on their own. It's not fast enough though, he lunges at you and the sudden weight causes you to fall down with a pained hiss.

There's a tackle, he's grabbing at you while you try to force yourself up under him. It’s incredibly rough, there isn't enough room to struggle around with how his weight presses you down.

You watch terribly as Nyen brings his knife up in the air. The pale moon shines on the blade, and for a second, you see the reflection of your terrified face before it stains red.

A guttural scream forces out of your mouth, making you throw your head back before it crooks back down to see crimson blood seep through your jeans down the side of your thigh.

Nyen doesn't waste time in pulling the blade back, watching how you writhe in pain. Through teary eyes, you see pure excitement spread across his shaded face. He’s enjoying this.

You can barely resist when he's forcing your thick jacket off your body – not satisfied with how the material lessens the cuts he’s adorning your body. “Don't do this…” It’s meek and pathetic, you know but you can't help it. He stands above, blood staining his hands.

“It's already happening.” It's deep and low, and you feel every drip of venom that laces his words.

You witness Nyen begin to rub the growing bulge in his tan jeans, causing your stomach to twist in a way that you're scared you may vomit out of the fear and pain. The catman groans, “Fuck… I’m going to make a mess out of you.”

Soon enough, he strips you of your worn shirt and jeans clothes. It's scary how Nyen handles you like a ragdoll, no concern for the twists and gashes your injured body has to endure.

“So this is what you were hiding under all that? Lucky me.” It’s so condescending that you grit your teeth. For any chance of keeping your dignity, an attempt of covering yourself and moving is made – but it’s met with a swift kick to your ribs that results in burning heaving.

A cold hand slips under your bra, lifting it over and groping at your chest. Whimpering, you attempt to shy away from his touch but he draws you back with an even colder tip of a blade that swipes across your skin.

Red drapes over your body like a warm blanket in contrast to the cool chill of the forest air. You can almost stare off into the starry night you are so used to while you try to regain bated breath, just for an escape.

Nyen doesn't allow this though. He flips you over roughly onto your stomach, ripping away the comforting sky from your vision. Again, you want to at least protest when he greedily spreads your legs open, hand prodding at your sensitive heat.

Shit. You don't remember the last time you ventured into anything sexual. Maybe you’d rub one out when the idea popped up, but it never really did. You’ve seen a… er– dildo (if you remember correctly what it was called) once or twice when snooping around camps. It gave you a good laugh then, but you would ultimately leave it.

Now you can feel how his hard length presses up against you. It’s an uncommon sensation, and fuck – why does it have to be big?

Cutting your underwear off, his long fingers soon dip into the heat of your pussy, pushing in and out. You gasp and tremble underneath his touch. He doesn't wait for you, curling his digits up as growing wetness coats his knuckles. It's disgustingly good, making your traitorous body clench around his fingers.

Nyen looms over you, wiping the soaked knife onto dark long sleeves, helping him keep his grip on the handle. Then, he pulls his fingers out of you, tauntingly slow to hear how you whimper pathetically. “Look at you, bitch. You're fucking dripping.” He mixes the juices with your blood, “Heh, in more ways than one.”

With unbuckled jeans, he moves fully on top of you, knees pining the sides of you down as he grunts against your soft ass. Nyen then grips your hair and pulls your head back, curving your spine into an uncomfortable position. His knife finds its way to your exposed neck.

Shaking, it nips at your skin as shallow breaths escape you. He brings himself closer . “Should I just kill you now? What do you think, slut?” Adrenaline rushes through your body, a shameful cry escapes you, “No, no! Don't– don't!”

He grinds against you, “Then beg.” Shaking your head, you respond – “Please. Please let me go, I’m sorry.” A deep sinister chuckle responds, “No, bitch.” He yanks your head back even farther. Feeling his hot breath against your face, he spits, “Beg for me to fuck you.”

Tears pool in your eyes, shutting tightly when his blade grazes hurt skin once more. His hard length prods at your entrance – waiting. With a deep breath, you whisper oh-so pathetically. “Please fuck me.” You pray it's enough.

“Better than that. C'mon, or I’ll slit your pretty little fucking throat.” He yanks your hair, pushing into your skin. You panic, fat tears streaming down your face. “No! Don't kill me! Please, please just fuck me. Please.”

Your screams turn into loud cries, echoing onto the tall trees that surround the scene. Nyen relishes in your wails, nails digging into the back of your scalp before his cock sinks into you roughly. You squirm with a loud pained gasp, you weren't close to ready for him.

His knife (thankfully) removes itself from your neck, grip on the handle still iron strong. It doesn't give you anything to distract from as he stretches you out incredibly painfully. Inch by inch, your muscles contract and try to adjust to his size – but it's not nearly enough when he begins to start to move.

“You're so fucking tight.” He lets out a sharp grunt, skin slapping against yours. “You've never fucked, haven’t you?” All you can do is cry. “Perfect.”

Forgetting the threat of his knife, he reminds you with a deep slash across your back. Pain vibrates through you, hands grip at soil and blades of grass in an attempt to stiffen the burning sensation that consumes you. Nausea festers and chokes at the back of your throat, certain that if you had eaten this morning it’d be spilling out your mouth by now.

It's an entrancing sight for Nyen, the large gash displays the crimson beautiful blood dripping down your arched back and onto your asscheeks as he slams into you. It’s a lot of blood. So much so that he feels how you physically weaken under him, fully incapacitated.

He decides to flip you back onto your back once again like the ragdoll you are. There, he can see how the light in your eyes start to dim. Red, and swollen, and tear rimmed – they stare back at him, wordlessly pleading for any type of mercy.

Nyen ignores it, choosing to grab your injured thighs and hike them over his broad shoulders, angling even deeper inside of you. Tight muscles draw him closer, grunting at the feeling of your warmth enveloping him. “Shit, you're a greedy fucking thing, aren't you?” He spits at you, grabbing your face to make sure your eyes stay on him, inches separating your faces.

You don't respond, hoarse cries and moans are all the sounds you can make. Nyen’s mask taunts you, wide eyes never leaving yours as his nails scratch at your chest and waist, marking and trailing. Nyen’s nails even have the nerve to dig into your open wounds, forcing the blood to escape even faster.

Any pleas you can muster out fall on deaf ears, and you almost wish he killed you before all this. But then it clicks that this is all just a game to him – you're simply a toy. The evil grin on his face is evident of this, he's truly enjoying watching this horrible scene come undone by his hands. The chase, the torture, your cries . It only makes his heavy cock harder and his thrusts sloppier.

Your head is woozy and your vision is getting blurry. Numbness circuits through your body, the only thing you can feel is the sensation of his cock ramming into you over and over again.

Nyen lets go of your face and chooses to grab at your bouncing tits, squeezing hard enough to create bruises. His twitching cock then rubs inside of you perfectly . A loud whine follows that causes Nyen’s jaw clench at the sudden extra pressure around his length, “Ah, hgh,– take my cum like the pathetic bitch you are,”

Stars in your vision soon mix with the stars in the night sky, you can't feel your legs anymore, neither your arms. Blood loss is getting to you – and quickly.

His body drives into yours, the sensation of gore under you squelches around against skin and dirt. Then, the knot building inside your numbing abdomen finally snaps, your breath hitches and you keen loudly – writhing around him.

Nyen soon follows, basically growling at how your pulsating pussy feverishly sucks him in and empties his balls. He rides the orgasm, fucking his cum deep inside you, and basking in the gripping release.

When he pulls out and off of you, your body limps on the ground. Overlooking, he can see how your lungs shallowly take in much needed air. Blood glistens off your cut adorned skin, and god is it a fucking beautiful sight.

He tucks his cock back into his blood soaked jeans, and he can already hear about how it's extra laundry to do now. But frankly, he doesn't care. Nyen gives you a once over, just to make sure the image of you really seeps into his brain. After well enough, he pockets his knife and walks over to the criminal leather bag that started this all.

Suddenly, a weak grip holds onto his ankle. You.

You look at him with big, lidded eyes and croak out, “Wait… wait– am I… am I going to die?” He stares back at your frightened face with his reactionless one. It's quick before he gives you a sinister smile, then he yanks his ankle out from your grasp and grabs the bag that lays beside you.

“Yeah, probably.” He then pulls a cigarette out of his back pocket and lights it, flicking hot ash onto your chest.

“You were a good fuck though, I’ll give you that.” It’s patronizing. A final tear streams down your cheek as you watch him walk into the fog of the trees without another word.

You stare at the sky once again, leaves sway above and let moonlight peek through. Your inhales seem to be getting shorter and shorter, but you don't realize. You just pay attention to the movement of the leaves and the formation of stars.

Grass picks at the back of your head, it’s soft – one of the only things you can feel besides excruciating pain. You let it be your pillow, the comfort that is ever fleeting from your grasp.

This wasn't a fate you ever expected to have, it wasn't even proper death. It all makes you want to get up and fight for yourself. To live. He wasn't going to win.

But reality sinks in when your vision fills with black spots, and you remember you're actively bleeding out, abused and hurt. Dying. It hurts to move, and the lone thought of welcoming it reverberates in your mind. It’s okay… It’s okay…

With a final breath and ringing ears, darkness finally mercifully consumes you.

To the dirt you were born, to the dirt you return to.

And to the dirt you will rise up from again.

#nyen x reader #nyen catman #nyen ranfren #ranfren #x reader #dark blog #dark content #tw noncon #tw pain #dead dove do not eat #reader death

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remedymcyt · 2 years ago

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*slides into your inbox with a rose between my teeth* hii. i'm asking you to consider: scarian, but one of them is some kind of a fucked up creature and the other is Just Some Guy learning many new things about themselves (*cough*monsterfucker*coughcough*). can be either people-eating vex Scar or biblically accurate Grian, both are fun in their own ways :3c

(don't feel obliged to write anything if it's not your thing, im just sharing my brainworms with u)

tripped and fell and wrote 3.5k. and there's probably gonna be more. whoops.

welcome to rem and szad's monsterfucker au. i told myself the whole time i was writing this that it wasn't going to be called that. here we are.

[]

Grian was never great at running.

He didn't have any shoes. His feet slipped, hands scraping the ground while his heart punched his chest in earnest. He just needed to be fast enough to get away, it didn't matter where, everywhere was better than here. He couldn't take the Watchers anymore, he couldn't take--

The heavy shackle on his ankle suddenly yanked taunt, and it was too late. He was pinned, dragged, and despite his struggles and screams brought back into the very place he was trying to escape.

"Traitors don’t get to leave.” The Watcher holding him said, serene.

Grian spit in their face.

It didn't seem to even faze them. “We tried so hard to rehabilitate you.”

Grian recognized where they were going and his heart dropped like a dead weight. Instead of continuing to struggle, he clamped his mouth shut and breathed heavily through his nose. If he screamed the whole way down, the monster would know he was coming.

This seemed to amuse the Watcher, who pulled Grian by his bound wrists and brought him to the pit. It was covered in cross-hatched metal, a small latch to drop the food down.

Grian was the food.

"Please." Grian said, a terrified whisper. "Don't."

"Will you cooperate now?"

“No.”

“Then you are no use to us.”

Fear pounded louder than his heart and against all sense he tried to flee one last time. Only to be wrenched immediately when the Watcher yanked the chain on his ankle, swinging him down with a stomach-swoop of momentum into the pit.

Grian landed face first into the dirt, teeth splitting his lip. A broken cry, curling around his bound hands that cut into his stomach. The latch shut with a resounding clang of metal, echoing in a haunting repetition. The Watcher mercilessly strode away and left Grian to his fate.

Silence. All Grian could hear was the pounding of his own heart and his ragged breath. Somewhere within the dark was the Vex. They kept him to dispose of any bodies, but there hadn't been any for a while. Here was his next meal, dribbling blood into the dirt.

Grian was so fucked. He pushed up on his aching hands, raising his head. No visible signs. Just dirt and the geometric squares cut from the only light source above. He dragged himself to the nearest wall, for the fallacy of protection, pulling his knees up and burying his face in his knees and waited for death.

Shivering. Quiet. Death didn't come. The pain and ache of leftover adrenaline. Grian raised his head, looking into the darkness of the pit. There was nothing.

He trembled, struggling for air, and his heart skipped a beat, then redoubled in fervour. On the opposite side of the pit, in the shroud of darkness, a pair of white eyes stared at him.

"I'm sorry to disturb you." Grian said, delirious, terrified. "Please don't eat me. I promise I'm not tasty."

A piercing white stare, not even so much as a blink. The hairs on the back of Grian's neck stood up.

"I'll just stay over here, and you'll stay over there, and we won't bother each other. Okay?" Grian said, slow, voice fabricating calm.

The eerie glowing eyes didn't move.

"Great." Grian hid his face back in his knees.

The silence almost seemed to reverberate around him, motionless airwaves prickling and pushing against his skin. There was a flood of blood down his chin from his lip, stinging with the dirt from his fall. Even if Grian wanted to do something about it, his hands were bound and there was a fucking Vex watching him from the other side of the pit.

The reminder restarted his panic. Grian looked up again and the eyes were gone. That was somehow worse. He frantically looked around but didn't see anything.

"Where did you go?" Grian put a voice to his panic, because he talked when he was nervous. It was a terrible habit and it was imminently going to get him killed.

Then white eyes appeared, directly across from him in the darkness. Grian swallowed a cry, and said, "Hey, you're not going to eat me, right?"

The heavy silence remained. Then, slow and purposeful, the white eyes blinked.

Grian had never heard the Watchers refer to the Vex as anything but a mindless monster. However, Grian found that he did not agree with them on most things. Maybe this was just another thing.

"They suck, huh?" Grian said, bravely, pointed up through the metal grate. "They treated me like shit too. I'm sorry they've locked you in this pit, it's not very nice."

The white eyes didn't blink again. But Grian was on a roll, and he pretty much always figured he'd die running his mouth anyway.

He continued, "I'm not gonna tell you what to do, but they want you to kill me. So if you hate them like I do, I'd suggest not killing me. Then maybe we can see if there's a way to break out of here instead. Sound like a plan?"

That horrible, compressing silence. Grian bore it with as much grace as he could muster, pretending to be a lot more confident than he was. After an eon, the white eyes blinked again.

"Brilliant." Grian smiled, wobbly. "My name's Grian, what's yours?"

The white eyes vanished. Grian's heart dropped, but he didn't react, licking his lips and tasting pennies. Feeling cold from the drain of adrenaline, heart stuck in an uneven cadence.

A whisper beside him. Grian jumped, despite trying to keep his cool, and almost fell over in surprise.

The Vex was big. He was almost spectral, translucent, an ephemeral electric blue except for his white eyes, a heavy collar around his neck, and off-coloured scars intersecting over his form. His shape was mostly vague, with claws sharp like knives and more teeth than a mouth should fit.

"Hello." Grian said, tight, terror woven into his bones. "You're awfully close. I like my personal space."

The Vex hovered a moment, then moved back just a touch.

Hope sparked in Grian's chest. That meant something. He said, "Thank you, I appreciate it."

The Vex raised a giant hand and pointed to a large noticeable scar on his own face.

Grian stared at him, the point of his claw, mind not quite keeping up. He was still focused on the 'not being eaten' thing.

Then the Vex mouthed a word. No sound, but the faint attempt of showing a spectral tongue on the roof of his mouth. It could've been 'name'. Then he pointed to the scar again.

Everything about the situation became rapidly very different than what Grian had been thinking. He was not dealing with a mindless monster. He was dealing with someone who had a name, and that name was Scar.

"Your name is Scar." Grian said, with a touch of wonder.

Both white eyes shut. It took Grian a moment to realize the Vex was attempting a smile.

"Hello Scar." Grian said. "You understand me?"

A careful nod. Keeping a safe distance away.

"Can you speak?"

Scar shook his head. Those huge claws touched the collar around his throat.

"Oh no, that's awful." Grian leaned forward on his bound hands to look closer in the darkness. "What have they done to you?"

A visible hesitation, then that razor sharp claw reached towards him, half-curled, and pointed at Grian lip.

"Oh." Grian tried to wipe away the blood on his chin, using his wrist since his hands were still bound. "I pissed them off. I was trying to get away. Didn't work, obviously."

The Vex made a breathy noise and turned away. He floated along, disappearing into the darkness, but a moment later the white eyes flashed in waiting. That same breathy noise, like a summon.

Grian figured he had little to lose at this point. He struggled to his feet, the chain on his ankle dragging on the ground as he limped forward. He followed the Vex into the darkness, where his eyes slowly adjusted to the lack of light. In the corner the pit was more like a cave, with a running source of water pooling and draining out into the small cracks in the rock.

But it was running water. Grian knelt beside it and drank, throat dry and coated in copper. Then he tried to wash off all the blood from his face and clean his lip. It hurt like hell, stinging, and his bound hands didn't make it easy.

He had an audience of one, the two pricks of white watching him. He tried to shake his self-consciousness, reminding himself over and over that he had to stay calm. He had been given no reason to be afraid.

Scar came closer, and it was hard to stand beside the Vex because his presence was much larger, even when not solid. Grian felt his breath clog his throat, the ephemeral shape of a hand reaching towards his.

"What's up?" Grian asked, as the claws touched his wrist, pulling just a little. "Oh, okay."

He held his bound wrists out. Scar barely twitched his sharp claw and the ropes shredded, the bits falling to the floor.

Grian rubbed his red-ringed skin and looked at the destroyed rope, a little ill and intimidated. The Vex was that powerful, claws that sharp.

"Thank you." Grian said, carefully. "Do you want me to see if I can get your collar off?"

Scar didn't reply, but didn't move away either. Grian carefully reached up to pull on the metal, finding no visible seam. He frowned and muttered, "They must've got it on somehow."

Scar made a motion, like turning a key in a lock. Grian found the keyhole on the back of his neck and sighed.

"Sorry, I can't be more help." Grian said. "If only I had tools. I'm a great lockpick."

A low sound that Grian couldn't determine was good or bad. He stepped back from his inspection of the collar and gave Scar space, instead kneeling to inspect the chain around his own ankle. There was little they could do for that either, and Grian suspected it had tracking magic imbued in it -- the only reason he could think that they caught him leaving so quickly. If they were to attempt an escape a second time, he'd need it off first, just like they needed Scar's collar off.

"Let me think." Grian announced, and began to pace. He inspected the corners of the pit, looking at the narrow corners, the only exit being the overhead heavy metal grate. He stood underneath and stared up, heart drumming his carotid artery as he considered how fucking ridiculous the situation was. Then he walked to the other side, where Scar had been watching him initially. There was a corner, shadowed in darkness. And the dirt and rock were covered in discarded clothes -- blood stained and ripped.

Grian knew that they were from bodies Scar would've consumed and he chose to ignore that for his own sanity at the moment. Since it was the only other thing inside the pit, he began to rifle through the nest, picking up the socks and jackets to see if they had anything helpful in the pockets.

Scar appeared at his side again, a small growl.

Grian had a death wish, apparently. He held both hands up and said, "Sorry, should've asked before I just started going through your stuff. I'm just looking for anything that can help us escape. I want both of us to get out of here, okay?"

The sharpness in the white eyes backed off a little. Scar turned his head away, huffing.

"I appreciate it." Grian told him. Then returned to his task.

There was nothing useful in the pockets, they were mostly shredded beyond usefulness. He almost gave up before he found a jacket that had its sleeve held together by pins.

"Perfect." Grian breathed, a light of hope in his chest.

Grian separated the pins and kinked the metal into a more useful shape. He stuck a couple extras in his mouth and said around them, "I can try and get that off for you."

Scar didn't move. Grian climbed out of the nest and approached, the chain on his ankle dragging as he moved.

"I'm not sure if it'll work." Grian told him, holding up the pins, spitting the rest from his mouth into his hand to show. "But I'm reasonably confident I can try. Okay?"

White eyes stared. Grian had no idea what the Vex was thinking -- if this would be the moment he'd decide to turn on him, or if it was just a lack of trust. That was understandable, he didn't know Grian.

But he could pick a lock better than anyone. He waved the pins, raising an eyebrow, offering. Scar finally turned around and let Grian access the back of his collar.

It wasn't an easy lock. It was tiny, and Scar was tall so he had to reach up to work on it.

"Could you get lower for me?" Grian said, when he couldn't get the angle he needed.

Scar cast a look at him over his shoulder, glowing white, a long contemplative pause. Then his spectral figure knelt on the floor.

It was very helpful. Grian had a much better approach to the lock, and with three different pins jabbed into the collar as he worked the tumblers, he managed to pick it open. There was a hissed release, the metal thudding against the dirt.

"Yes!" Grian cheered, stomach flipping with success. He said, "Is that better?"

The Vex was still kneeling. A long, clawed finger reached out to touch the collar split on the floor. A breathy sound, almost like a laugh. Then the light surrounding him faded, and his figure solidified.

Grian's throat caught in surprise, taking a step back. The shaped glow softened into tattered wings on his back, becoming a tall man with bluish grey skin and hair. Eyes still snow-white, but now fanned with lashes and eye crinkles. Pointed ears, teeth still sharp, nails pointed to claws, but otherwise Scar had a real form, one might mistake for a person if you were dumb enough to ignore all the signs that he was incredibly dangerous.

Still on his knees, Scar raised his chin to Grian and said in a very unused rasp, "Thank you."

"You're welcome." Grian replied, dumbfounded. He hadn't been expecting that. He watched the long whip tail flicker. The same scars crossing his face in the spectral form carried over to the flesh one.

"You should get that off too." Scar said, pointing to the shackle on Grian's ankle.

"Yeah, right. Of course." Grian gathered up all the pins he'd dropped, forgetting entirely that Scar wasn't the only one trapped. "You were stuck like that?"

"Mhm." Scar stood, stretching with a long pull, like a very big dangerous cat. The tattered wings expanded to their full wingspan and it just about took Grian's breath away.

"How long?" He asked, almost afraid of the answer.

"Longer than I'd like to admit." Scar said, and turned to give Grian a smile with his many teeth. "You're an angel."

"Pleasure." Grian replied, throat dry. Oh no, he had a deathly good charm. He ducked his reddening face to focus on trying to accomplish the same feat for himself.

Scar stalked the length of the pit while Grian worked. He stood underneath the grate and stared up into the light, a frown on his face, tail flicking irritably behind him.

"Are they going to come back for you?" Scar asked.

"They were hoping you'd kill me." Grian reminded him.

"They usually just drop dead bodies in here. And I eat them because it's not like they're getting any deader. But I wasn't going to attack you if you weren't a threat." Scar told him, cavalier.

"They think you're a monster so they will assume I'm dead."

"I am a monster." Scar smiled, all his horrible teeth on display. "But not the kind they want. What did they do to you?"

Grian thought about the cell he'd been locked in, the problems he'd caused himself, the disciplines and punishments and gaslighting over long periods. The chilled smiles and bruises around his wrist. He said, "What didn't they do?"

"I'll kill them for you." Scar offered.

Grian dropped the pin he was trying to hold. He said, "I don't need you to do that. I just want to get out of here."

"We can do that." Scar said.

It was stupid, but Grian's hands were shaking and he couldn't manage to get his own shackle off. He exhaled, mind running a mile ahead of him, and placed the pins on the floor for a minute to calm down.

"Am I scaring you?" Scar asked.

"No. Yes. I'm just having a very long day." Grian rubbed his bruised wrists, feeling every beat of his heart throughout his whole body, but especially his split lip. It was bleeding again, sluggish and slow, and he kept sucking the swollen thing and making it worse.

"Grian, you said your name was?" Scar stopped roving the length of the pit and came to sit beside him. Legs tucked underneath him. He had an old dusty coat and tight pants but no shirt and no shoes. Even with the bluish grey hue, he had a very nice chest. It was currently eye level and Grian made an effort to lift his chin and look Scar in the eye. A ringed white iris pinned back at him, searching his face.

Grian swallowed, "Yeah. Was I right? Scar?"

"That's me." Scar smiled, a little crooked, a peak of fangs, and it was hopelessly endearing.

Grian felt his heart beat harder, and this time the fear entangled with something else incredibly complicated. His mouth was dry. His sense was left somewhere else.

"How'd you end up here?" Scar inquired, picking up the pins off the floor and offering them to Grian, urging him to continue trying to free himself.

Trembling fingers took the pins and he ducked over his leg as he worked, hair covering his face. He said, annoyed, "They took me from my home. I don't know how long ago it was now. They were trying to get me to become one of them. It didn't take. What about you?"

"Wrong place, wrong time, I guess. I was overconfident that I couldn't be caught. They had more power than I considered." Scar said, shooting an annoyed look at the collar discarded on the ground.

"They're annoyingly resourceful." Grian agreed. The pin he was working with broke and he swore. He took a minute to dislodge the broken piece and manipulate a new pin into the right shape. Scar watched him work, eyes tracking, contemplative. Then Grian managed to get that satisfying click and eagerly shook the shackle off.

"But you are more resourceful than them." Scar praised.

Grian helplessly flashed a smile, shaky, and bent over his knee to breathe. He said, "Can I just have a bit to rest before we go? I'm so tired."

Scar shrugged, tattered wings flexing behind his shoulders. "Won't make a difference either way. They think you're dead and they don't visit me."

Grian nodded dazedly and moved to sit in the horrible nest of dead people's clothes, back against the wall and trying to breathe. He hadn't realized how much a weight the shackle was until it was gone, the binding magic disappearing into the air. They couldn't track him anymore. They couldn't contain Scar. A couple metal pins from the people the Watcher's had killed would be the same thing that freed them.

Rest wouldn't be easy with all the jittering adrenaline. He eyed the grate, with the light going pale with the growing night. He said, "They don't visit?"

"They do not." Scar agreed, moving and kicking the shackle idly as he passed, coming to sit beside Grian. "But if today is the day that changes, I will be awake to alert you."

Grian swallowed. He was drained and heavy. He wasn't sure this was a good idea, if he should've just pushed through.

Scar sensed his hesitation and tipped his head towards him. "Grian, you have given me back my voice and my physical form. I will protect you with my life."

That was a solemn vow, a painful one, a dangerous one. To have the favour of a monster.

"Soon we will have our freedom too. But it has been a very long day for you, and you need your strength. Rest and I will keep an eye out for anyone who seeks to harm you." Scar promised, shifting and lifting a leathery wing in offer.

Grian stared at him, unsure, but emboldened by his words. He carefully leaned into Scar's side and let the wing shield him, wrapping him in warmth.

He shut his eyes, body hyperaware, tense and waiting for something. Nothing came. He breathed carefully in and out, as the warmth seeped into his skin, as Scar's watchful eye protected him, and sleep felt like he was giving away something. Something vulnerable and coveted. He would never use the word trust, not after what he'd been through. But there wasn't a better word coming to mind.

Sleep was spotty and uneven, and came with a very distinct feeling of being chased, even if the images didn’t solidify into such. But everytime his mind came to the surface, the secure wrap of the wing around him bathed his mind in reassurance.

...

if/when i finish part 2, i may just post the whole thing to ao3. spirit willing.

#scarian #hermitshipping #fic stuff #rem askbox #scarian monsterfucker au #cheers szad for the prompt and help when i crawled into your dm's trying to figure out vex!scar

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chilling-seavey · 2 months ago

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hi emily!! hope you’re doing well recently! i came into your inbox for some tips and advice actually, because you’re the perfect person i could think of for this lol.

i have a few george blurbs coming up for my kinktober, and i’ve admittedly never written for him before! i was wondering if the #1 george writer herself had any tips or pointers for writing him, how he acts ect 😌

thank you in advance!! 🫶

Oh my goodness gracious catch me twirling my hair giggling right now 🤭

I was literally just stalking your kinktober list and literally let out a little squeal at the fact there are George things in the works omgomg we love the GR exposure! So excited!!

In all honesty, the best tip I can give you, is watch interviews and videos! Don't listen to what he says as much as how he says it; how he says it with his mouth, with his hands, the movement of his eyes, his head. I've noticed he's really into eye contact. Even in interviews he'll just stare almost unblinking at the person talking and then generally look away when he starts to answer/is in thought (most often he looks to his left? See here. I'm not creepy, I swear). Recently I've noticed if he's surprised, he'll repeat what the person said in a bit of a higher tone (see here or here). Did I mention eye contact? Eye contact.

OH and he has very pronounced and expressive eyebrows. Eyebrow furrow is a must in situations that warrants it in writing him. Confusion, concern, focus - could be a good one. Little tongue between the lips in concentration, eyebrows furrowed in focus... ahem. Again, you can kind of extrapolate this information if you watch some interviews on mute and just watch his expressions. That's my best suggestion for body language and subtle actions that can really make his character.

I'm no professional at British terminology/dialects (I'm far too Canadian for that) so I kind of just wing it based on what I gather from videos of him talking. I often try to make his dialogue a bitttt more formal sounding because he seems to really enunciate sometimes which is better expressed in writing through the odd removal of a contraction (don't vs do not) but only very, very sparingly because he's also not from the 19th century LOL.

I know he has silly sayings sometimes which I use only once or twice in a piece of writing, often as a fleeting insight into his persona or as comedic relief just for the reader but definitely not too often and not as the focus (and tbh I just wrote him unironically saying "it's raining cats and dogs out there" in my current WIP which feels so on point for him imo lmao idioms are good ones).

I also see him very polite in public, watching his words, his swearing to a minimum if at all - but then in private I think he can swear like a fucking sailor but would never let the world know that of course. Take that as you will in regards to smut writing ahem.

And for smut more specifically, I definitely see him leaning into that auditory side, really into that low, rolling, husky dirty talk. Lots of sweet pet names, very soft dom if you're going dom (I'm very exited to see which way you take the body worship one-). As a reference, I think my best George smut for dirty talk etc. (based on my own bias as well as reader feedback) is this one. I don't really see him into hard kinks and things but sometimes that's fun to explore too so all the power to you if that's in your plan!! We put the fiction in fanfiction after all [and once I get an answer out of IRL him on where he stands on the BDSM scale, I'll get back to you. I mean what-]

I feel like I have so much more I could add but this was all off the top of my head...and took thirty minutes whoops...if I think of more, I'll add it to this ask LOL

#i went on a TANGENT here omg #i should be writing but this ask got me all excited to infodump LMAOO #welcome to emily's writing class #todays lesson and only lesson: George Russell #I HOPE THIS HELPS #any more questions - you know where to find me hehe #george russell #george russell x reader #george russell fanfic #george russell smut

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cottoncandyswisherz · 6 months ago

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i told yall the bitch was weird as the fuck. i stay being right.

anyways, peaches encouraged me to tell yall my side so here we go. (im not using no ones real names so iykyk) also the screenshots are gonna be on this.

last month, selenascorner asked me in my inbox if she could message me (as anon). i didnt know who she was so i said of course. she dm's me and told me she was friends with a friend of mine. (im not finna put her in this)

so me and her talked for like 10 mins and she seemed chill. my tumblr dms was acting dumb so i sent her my ig and we started talking there.

she asked me what i was doing and how my day was going and i cant remember what i told her but she told me that her ex gf was showing up at her house. i wasnt really triping on that because im an oversharer so i told her to call the police. and she said no. which threw me tf off but i was like "she right fuck 12" but then she said she wouldnt call the police because her and the girl were still friends.

and THEN she told me why her and the girl broke up and i was thrown off again. (this is all within 20 mins of speaking to her for the first time.)

so we talked about that a little and she asks me if our mutual friend was texting me back. i said no. she said that the mutual friend was always disappearing on her and i told her that our they were going through alot rn and to just give them time but she could talk to me IF she needed to.

so she told me some shit that the AVERAGE person wouldnt tell a person within 45 mins of knowing them. (this is coming from a chronic oversharer. )

so im doing the best i can to help her. im giving her some dr. phil ass advice and shes saying no to all of it. shutting it down and continuing to trauma dump on me about her family and her health.

and i felt bad. but at the same time, if she wasnt gonna do what she had to do to get better then i couldnt have her in my life. i have my own shit going on. and yall can call me selfish but im allowed to be.

anyways. i blocked her. and she ran to our mutual friend as if they was gon whoop my ass or sum. and she told them her victim complex ass version of what happened, which made my friend come to me. and i told my friend that i stand on what i did. the next day, my friend told me that selenascorner kept bothering them about me so i unblocked her and we talked. from there i knew what type of time she was on so i left it at that.

the rest of the shit ik about selenascorner has nothing to do with me so im gonna keep it to myself and give my friend the choice to speak about it.

heres the ss. (i drew over the names and shit due to privacy but yeah)

after i unblocked her.

my friend and i's convo

#niyahspeaks #i know everything #yoda

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weaveandwood · 7 months ago

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WIP Wednesday

no one tagged me or anything, I just want to post what I've been working on. I'm in a great mood today. I got a new iPad so I can finally put my 6 year old one into retirement (it had to be plugged in at all times whoops), I am feeling very happy because of the BG3 community on here, I have gotten two beautiful pieces of art of my beloved Ora and Gale this week, and I feel like my writing is going pretty well! I have a couple art trades left to work on that I'm really excited about too :)

What I'm writing (ask box smut prompt don't worry I didn't forget! I have two prompts in my inbox so if you're out there, anon, feel free to send more lol)

He held some of the boxes and watched her make small talk with the vendor, who had become fast friends with her once she was home more regularly. She asked about her latest adventure, how her poor husband was faring without her, if she had tasted any better rolls in any of her travels. “Never, I always look forward to getting these ones, best in Faerun!” Ora responded with her sincere smile that lit up her face and made Gale fall deeper in love, if that was even possible. Still, it was impossible to not notice from his vantage point behind her how her leggings hugged every curve, the years of adventuring honing her body into even more of a masterpiece. One that he was finding he needed to get his hands on. Soon.

What I'm drawing:

I've been working on this on and off for a while but I'm getting the hang of the new iPad and Apple Pencil while tweaking some things. It's a very self indulgent illustration from my Midwinter in Waterdeep fic lol

#wip wednesday #my art #my writing #yes this is my first time drawing a shirtless man lmao

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patchiko · 10 months ago

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What if AK! Jason had a partner who has a habit of mimicking sounds or phrases they hear, like his helmet's voice-modifier thing, but then can't stop because it's become a habit.

In other words, Jason's involuntary peanut gallery who annoy themselves with Jason impressions sometimes.

For the life of me I can't figure out if this'll make sense to anyone else, so I'm sorry in advance if it doesn't💀

NO ANON I GET WHAT YOU MEAN BC I DO THE SAME THINGG !!

The first time I saw Arkham Knight I literally could not stop saying,”KEEP. Your guns. Trained On Him. If he even looks like he’s planning to escape… open fire.” or or “Hey and just so you know, i fully,, FULLY intend to kill you.” WORD FOR WORD!! I COULD NOT STFU ITS SO FUN TO SAY !!

RN its,”This is JUSTICE… He LEFT me.”

Ak!Jay’s game voice so satisfying, but how he just talks and formulated words and speaks sentences is too. LITERALLY ALL OF HIS VOICE LINES FROM GAME IS SOOO GOOD.

Anyways- I think he’d find it endearing. He’d definitely say something stupid like,” Oh wow! Yk’,, I didn’t know I got a parrot!” In a teasing manner. Definitely chuckles to himself when he catches you muttering something like,”Justice will come to you in a Red Hood.” makes him so confident when he’s talking his shit while whooping his ass during patrols. In the back of his mind he’s like ‘Yeah my partner liked that one pussy BITCH.’ If he isn’t scoffing to himself about it, he’s smirking so hard. He loves it, finds it funny, definitely doesn’t think about shit he’ll say in front of you while he showers.

inbox is open to yap or rq anything!!

#arkham knight x reader #arkham knight #jason peter todd #i ramble about arkham knight heheheej #skullkidwithsunglasses

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sonicdesolation · 5 months ago

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Often I wish I was Sonic the hedgehog.. but it’s times like these during a 3 hour drive I think of your comic, and am suddenly very glad I am indeed not Sonic the hedgehog—more so that I’m not him when being driven by Shadow

Also R.I.P. everyone in that truck-

Whoops-accidentally left this ask sitting in my inbox for weeks 😂

The moral of the story: don’t be sonic the hedgehog!

Also, if yall ever order an Uber and find out Shadow the Hedgehog is your driver, run for your life

#not comic

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sforzesco · 1 year ago

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I remember you posting a Sir Kay art semi-recently (and I forgot to ask then, whoops) but do you have any Kay Thoughts or any sources you particularly like that are about him?

I have been looking at this ask every other day since it first appeared in my inbox trying to come up with something other than, 'he makes me sad,' but oh my god he makes me sad

I don't have any sources or texts on him (YET, I've been meaning to read Cei and the Arthurian Legend, Linda Gowans) beyond Caitlin R. Green's Concepts of Arthur and the usual collection of Arthurian texts, but there's such a weird sense of. displacement coming from him.

like. even with Percival, who has been removed from his Grail-Quest-Fisher-King origins, there are still elements of it haunting the larger story. but Cei is just. aughghghghh. what happened to his character is sad!! there isn't even a haunting of the original Cei left in the later Kay! I was watching La Légende du roi Arthur and Kay is literally so useless to the plot!! what is the point of having him there!!!! leave him in his grave if this is what he's going to be reduced to!!!

in a way it makes Arthur feel lonelier and less reachable as a character. there's that post going around of tiktok comments about siblings, something in there reminds me of what happened, in the narrative trend, to Arthur and Cei. I'm looking at Arthur and wondering if he knows to miss his brother or if he just feels the absence.

#shdshshd sorry this is so abstract but augh. AUGHHH he makes me. sad.#ask tag #knights knights knights!

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minisugakoobies · 2 years ago

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Ashes Falling | MYG

Pairing: Yoongi x Reader

Genre: smut, crack, DadYoongi!AU, BadCop!AU

Rating: M (18+)

Warnings: weapons - guns, switching POVs, angst!, allusions to murder, mentions of blood/wounds, fighting (hand-to-hand), shooting, Yoongi shows off that tongue technology (oral sex - f receiving), rough fucking (protected sex), Yoongi is not a good guy (ymmv)

Word Count: 5.3k (whoops)

Disclaimers: NSFW, obviously I don’t own BTS - they just inspire me

Summary: I see the ashes falling out your window There's someone in the mirror that you don't know And everything was all wrong So burn it till it's all gone

A/N: And we've reached the end! This series came out of absolutely nowhere thanks to @minttangerines's beautiful brain and it's been fun just writing with no plan and no expectations. Thank you for riding along! 💜

Chapter title and summary from Agust D's masterpiece Burn It 🔥

Unbeta’d as usual. I’d love to know what you think - my inbox is always open! 💕

Part 6 💵 Bad Cop Masterlist

Then

Yoongi sits across from you, one hand resting on the dining table, the other playing with a glass of whisky. Around and around, the caramel liquid swirls. If you didn’t know better, you’d swear he was trying to hypnotize you.

And it might work, if you were anyone else. Of course, anyone else would already be under the handsome man’s thrall. Especially the way he looks tonight - in his tailored suit, bespoke undoubtedly, since money is apparently no object for him, and with his dark hair slicked back to reveal more of his gorgeous face.

When he’d asked you to dinner tonight, you’d felt a slight thrill of victory, knowing that your plan was working. You’d succeeded so far in inserting yourself into his life. All the secrets the Bureau wanted so desperately for you to discover were practically within your grasp. You just needed a sign from him to confirm that you’re in.

“So are you thinking of extending your contact?” Yoongi asks, sipping at his drink. You’d told him when you’d first met that you were working for Da-som’s school for a year, with the option to extend if the school agreed. He speaks casually, almost disinterestedly, but you can hear the true question beneath - are you staying?

“I think so. I really like it here.”

A hint of a smile crosses his face at your answer. Long fingers reach into the inside pocket of his jacket and produce a cigarette, which he lights with the click of a flashy silver lighter. There’s not supposed to be any smoking in this restaurant, but no one’s going to stop the chief detective of the city’s police force, and he knows it. It’s a power move.

“Good,” is all he says, blowing a smoke ring towards the ceiling.

Anyone other than you would be affected by his reaction. By the heated look he gives you, gaze slipping down your face, down to your waist, and back. Not you, though. You know better than to fall for any of this.

This is what you remind yourself as you push your thighs together, trying to still the sudden throbbing there.

Your waiter returns with the bill and Yoongi simply reaches into his pocket, dropping a stack of cash on the tray without looking. Another power move.

“Thank you for dinner,” you smile shyly, setting down your dessert fork. “I’m - I’m glad you asked me. I’ve really enjoyed getting to know you better these last few weeks.”

He leans forward, reaching his hand across the table to where yours is resting. When his fingers tap you, you flip your hand over and he slides his hand on top of yours. You immediately register something cool and hard between your palms.

“Me too,” he says softly. “And I don’t want to stop.”

He pulls his hand back a little, curling your fingers around what he’s left behind. Yoongi stands, taking your hand and pressing a kiss to the back of it as he bows.

“I’ll be waiting,” he murmurs, lips humming against your skin, and then he walks away. You track him as he saunters confidently through the crowded room, until he reaches the entrance of the restaurant and vanishes.

Opening your hand, you stare down at the piece of plastic lying there. A room key, to the hotel next door. There it is - your sign.

The excitement that blazes through you is the ecstasy of knowing you’ve succeeded. Of realizing that you’re one step closer to the win, and nothing else.

This is what you tell yourself as you rise to your feet, and follow.

Now

Your bag rests on the passenger seat as you hurtle down the highway. The car you’re driving is a piece of shit, but you were in no position to barter when you’d asked Seokjin if he had anything you could borrow to finish your mission. He’d called a friend of a friend and mere minutes later you were on your way.

The police cruiser is still at Seokjin's, along with Jungkook. Your partner had been sleeping when you’d left, whispering a quick goodbye, telling him to stay put and rest while you finished the job. Seokjin promised he’d take care of him and you had no doubt that he would be safe there.

The car’s shocks are fairly worn, meaning every little bump in the road sends your satchel bouncing. Instinctively, you reach out, searching until you find the little key tucked away in an inner pocket. The cold metal soothes you as you clutch at it anxiously. This is it, the final key to bringing Yoongi down.

Your plan is, frankly, insane. But desperate times call for desperate measures. Thankfully, Seokjin gave you access to his personal arsenal, which is not small. But even if you’re strapped to the teeth, you’ll practically need a miracle.

However, you’re not the praying type. Your faith resides solely in yourself. So you breathe deeply, and keep your eyes firmly on the road as you run through your plan again and again in your mind.

As the bay comes into view, you pull over, parking the car near the entrance to the neighborhood where Yoongi’s second house resides. You’ll have to go on foot from here, to remain unseen by his men. Yoongi’s too careful to leave this place unmanned.

You approach the fence bordering his mansion, peering between the iron bars. His vacation home is massive, a sprawling ode to excess, flaunting his new wealth. The layout of the place is fresh in your mind, thanks to floor plans stolen from the developer. Unfortunately, that’s not going to help you much if you’re outnumbered by Yoongi’s men. If only you could’ve waited for sundown, to give you more cover, or waited for backup, but right now you don’t have the luxury of time.

A hand suddenly slips over your mouth and your eyes widen as someone presses their body against your back. Fuck! You grasp at their arm, readying yourself to attack, when a familiar voice hisses, “Don’t scream! It’s me.”

“Jungkook! What the fuck!”

Your partner releases you. He’s a little paler than usual, but otherwise looks like himself, even in Seokjin’s clothing, a black t-shirt tucked under a Kevlar vest, colorful sleeve of tattoos bright in the midday sun.

“Did you really think I was gonna let you do this alone?” He grins, ignoring your scowl. “Now what’s the plan?”

There’s no point in arguing with him. He’s here now, and even though you’re full of conflicting emotions - anger that he didn’t listen to you, guilt that you’re the reason he got injured - the feeling that overrides them all is pure, intense relief. Of course he’s by your side. You’re not alone.

It doesn’t take long to fill him in. You’re basically just going in there with guns blazing, hoping to fight your way to where you believe Yoongi’s safe sits, holding the box with the secrets that little key will unlock.

Jungkook just nods when you’ve finished. “Got it.”

“We should probably call for backup.”

“Already did, on the way here. They’ll be here as fast as they can, but something tells me that you don’t want to wait.”

“I don’t.” You need this to be over, now.

“Okay then. Ready when you are.”

“Jungkook.” You pause, unsure how to say this. “I’m sorry. For everythi- ”

But he stops you with a shake of his head. “None of that. We’ve got a job to do.” He cups his hands, waiting to give you a boost over the fence. “Come on. You lead. I’ll follow. Like always.”

With a nod of your own, you step onto his hands, and climb the fence.

Then

Yoongi glances at his watch. It’s only been five minutes since he left you sitting at the table, but it feels much, much longer. Too long. He loosens his tie a bit as he waits. His suit jacket is folded over the back of the chair beside the bed. The room is quiet.

Is he rushing things? It’s very like him to do that. He could move more slowly with you. But, well, he doesn’t want to. He wants you now.

Which is why he’s here, perched on the edge of the bed, staring at the door. Waiting.

It’s not just about sex. If Yoongi only wanted to get his dick wet, he wouldn’t have to take anyone out on several dates first. That’s not arrogance - it’s a fact that he radiates power, and women are attracted to that. And he knows he looks good. He has mirrors.

No, it’s more than that - although he’d be lying if he said he hasn’t been imagining this moment since the first time he saw you in Da-som’s classroom. He’d been so distracted by your beauty at the parent-teacher conference that he’d accidentally agreed to chaperone a class trip, just nodding along to whatever you were saying while picturing what you’d look like if he bent you over your desk right then and there. But beyond his baser needs, there’s something else. Something that draws him to you. He senses a kindred spirit. He needs to know how deep that connection goes.

There’s a loud click and the door suddenly opens. Yoongi stands as you enter.

“I hope I didn’t keep you waiting too long,” you say, biting your lip before smiling sweetly.

In just three steps he’s across the room, pulling you into his arms for a passionate kiss.

He quietly orders you to lift your arms, and the gorgeous dress you’d worn to dinner crumples into a soft ball of fabric on the ground. With sure steps he maneuvers you towards the bed, helping you sit on the edge, kindly freeing your breasts from the confining corsetry of your bra as he goes. While you settle onto the soft sheets, he slides your panties down your legs, taking care to rake his fingers along the soft skin there, delighting in the way you shudder at his touch.

The plush carpet gives way beneath his knees as he kneels, leaning over to kiss you, getting lost in the incredible softness of your lips for a moment, until your hands reach for the buttons on his shirt. His hands lightly push yours away as he shakes his head.

“Not yet, baby.”

“But I wanna see you,” you say, pretty mouth turning down in a lovely little pout. “It’s not fair that I’m naked and you’re not.”

He just chuckles. Smoothly, he undoes one cufflink, then the other, rolling his sleeves to his elbows. His forearms flex with the motion, drawing your attention, and he smirks.

“Don’t worry,” he assures you, “I’ll still put on a good show for you.”

He kneels again, gently pressing his fingers into the bare skin of your stomach, urging you to lie back. One of your thighs comes to rest on his shoulder, then the other. With one hand he spreads your folds, saliva flooding his mouth at the glistening sight in front of him.

“Fuck, sweetheart, you look good enough to eat.”

You mewl as he kisses your dripping cunt, over and over, getting his mouth all sticky with your desire. Yoongi always follows through on his promises, and this is no exception. You can’t tear your eyes away from the dark-haired man as he rubs his lips, his tongue, his nose all over you, maintaining eye contact the entire time. Occasionally your head drops back, your eyes closing as if overwhelmed by the sensations, but then they immediately open again, not wanting to miss a second.

“Yoongi.”

Panting moans fill Yoongi’s ears as he drowns in you. When he finds the right rhythm with his tongue on your clit, a rapid lapping that has your hips lifting off the bed, he slides a finger inside your slick warmth, then two, three, and your moans become cries. Pleas, broken and desperate, begging him for more.

Impatience roars up inside him again and he lets your legs slide from his broad shoulders. His cock aches as he tears off his clothing, sheathing himself with the condom waiting in his pocket, and you’ve barely moved up on the bed to make room for him when he’s sliding inside you. Fuck. So warm, so tight. A space carved out just for him.

The headboard smacks into the wall repeatedly as Yoongi thrusts into you, hips slapping your ass with every sharp snap. You’re babbling, an endless stream of words pouring from your mouth, but the only words Yoongi can make out are “Yoongi” and “more.”

“You want more, baby? I’ll give you everything. Anything you could ever want.”

He goes harder, faster, driving his cock deeper and deeper. His hands grope at your breasts, your ass, as you take everything he has to give. When he feels your walls start to constrict, it’s almost a relief, because he’s not going to last much longer. And sure enough, when your orgasm hits, your cunt grips his cock so tightly that he cums, head dropping onto your chest as he fills the condom with his hot release.

He lies that way, cheek pressed into the curve of your breast, breathing heavily as you both come down. From here, he can feel your heart pounding. It’s not identical to the way his own drums, but instead compliments it, a wild syncopation beating along to the steady pulse of his own tempo. His fingers tap along your sternum.

“Is that morse code?” Your voice is just barely above a whisper, as if you don’t want to shatter the peaceful stillness of the moment.

He lifts his head, smiling. “That’s your heartbeat. I’m playing along.”

“Playing what, my collarbones?”

“My piano.” His fingers dance over imaginary keys, caressing your skin so, so gently.

“I didn’t know you had a piano. Or that you could play.”

There’s so much you don’t know about him. So much he wants to show you. But he knows that it will take time. He has to ease you into his world.

“I’ll play for you sometime,” he says, crawling up your body until his face hovers over yours. “If you’d like.”

“I would like that. Very much,” you reply, lips curling into a shy grin, and he kisses it away until you’re breathless.

Eventually, he has to go. He needs to get home to Da-som. Yoongi can defeat any enemy - except a babysitter with a curfew.

He sits on the edge of the bed, fixing his tie, as you watch him from beneath the sheets. “The room’s paid for until tomorrow, so you can stay all night if you want. Order some room service in the morning. Treat yourself, sweetheart.”

The corner of your mouth twitches. “You keep calling me that.”

“Is that okay?”

In reply, you pull him in for another kiss, and he sighs, wishing he could stay. Or take you home with him. But he’s not ready to have that conversation with Da-som yet. Even though he’s rushing everything else.

He taps his fingers on your chest. “Sleep well, sweetheart.”

He starts to rise, but you grab his wrist, holding him in place.

“Yoongi. I don’t…”

He says nothing, waiting for you to find your words.

“I don’t do this with every father I meet, you know,” you finish, flashing that beautiful bashful smile again.

“Just me?”

“Just you.” Your hand reaches out to straighten his tie, but then you gently brush your fingertips over his chest, mimicking his actions from earlier. Tap-tap-tap.

In that moment, Yoongi knows. He’ll do anything for you. Like he told you earlier, when he was wrapped in your arms - he’ll give you anything you want.

All you have to do is ask.

Now

Bodies. So many bodies, scattered around the grounds of his house. Yoongi blinks dispassionately at them all. He thought he’d hired the best. Clearly, he was wrong.

Yoongi honestly hadn’t known what to expect when he and Jimin arrived at his house on the bay. One of his guards had called him while he was on his way here and alerted him that you’d been spotted near the fence bordering his property. He’d hoped that when he got here, he’d find you waiting for him, tied to a chair by one of his guards. But it appears that he’d underestimated your skills, if you managed to take out so many of his men at once.

No one appears to be dead, but they’re all knocked out or wounded. Interesting. Are you afraid to use lethal force? Or are you just saving your best shots for him?

Together, he and Jimin sweep the first floor, finding nothing but his more useless guards. With a few silent signals, Jimin indicates that he’s going to scout ahead, and begins to climb the stairs. Yoongi watches him disappear down the hallway with a growing sense of unease. He tightens his grip on his gun.

Jimin reappears after a moment, shaking his head. There’s only the other end of the hallway to explore now. The master suite is down that way. Where, in one of the walk-in closets, nestled in the corner, sits Yoongi’s safe.

Maybe you’re not here. Maybe you’re already gone, with the contents of the safe firmly in tow. Maybe it’s all over, and any second now, this place will be swarming with feds. For the briefest of moments, Yoongi feels the strangest sense of relief at the thought.

And then the moment is broken as a very loud “God damn it!!” rings out.

Jimin instinctively points his gun in the direction of the screaming. It’s coming from the master suite. Yoongi joins him at the top of the stairs.

“It’s her,” he states in a hushed tone. “That’s her voice.”

“Sounds like someone might be giving her a rough time?”

There are no other sounds coming from the direction of the suite. No more curses, no scuffling, none of the sickening noises that a human body makes when someone else is beating the shit out of it.

“Nah. She’s working on the combination.”

“At least it sounds like it’s not going well.”

For the moment. You have the key to the safe, but it’s a dual lock system, requiring a combination as well. Yoongi has no doubt you’ll figure out the date he used. It’s just a matter of time.

So he’d better not give you any more.

Yoongi grimaces, the gun suddenly heavy in his hands. “You ready?”

Jimin nods.

Silently, they creep forward. The door to the master suite looms at the end of the hall, and Yoongi feels his already frantic pulse increasing with every step.

And then a floorboard creaks under Yoongi’s foot. Loudly.

Both men pause, staring at one another. Listening. Waiting.

The door at the end of the hall starts to open. Jimin dives into an empty room to his left, while Yoongi dashes into the bathroom on his right

The mirror mounted on the wall faces towards the end of the hallway. As Yoongi hides, he stares at the reflection of the person emerging from the suite. Shit, it’s Jungkook, gun drawn as he carefully sweeps the other open rooms down the hall. So much for Jimin’s incredible marksman skills - the rookie cop slash undercover agent doesn’t look any worse for wear, let alone dead.

The door at the end of the hall opens again. Yoongi’s breath catches. With a fiercely determined expression on your face and that gun in your hand, you look nothing like the sweet, shy teacher he met all those months ago. A mirthless chuckle bubbles up in his chest. He clenches his jaw to keep it down. Funny how he was right - you are a kindred spirit, after all. Just a funhouse version of one. Staring at him from the other side of the mirror.

“Jungkook,” he hears you whisper, tracing your partner’s footsteps. “Where are you?”

“In here. Did you crack it?” Jungkook reappears, gun lowered, and -

BANG!

A bullet slices through the air between you and Jungkook. The two of you immediately dive, raising your guns in the direction of the gunshot - which, of course, was just Jimin announcing his presence.

“Drop your weapon and come out!” you shout.

Jimin just laughs, shaking his head. “Does that shit ever work?”

“Goddamn it, it’s that maniac again,” you hiss, loud enough for Yoongi to hear.

“Did you miss me, love?” Another wild cackle. Yoongi glares at the younger man, but says nothing, not wanting to give away his location.

Faster than lightning, Jimin fires another shot towards the end of the hall.

“Fuck!” Jungkook yells, placing himself between you and the line of sight to the room where Yoongi can see Jimin crouching just inside. “Get back in there and keep trying! I’ll handle this asshole.”

As soon as the door closes behind you, Yoongi looks at Jimin. He points to himself and then the door at the end of the hall. Jimin nods.

“Oh, you will, will you?” Jimin taunts Jungkook. He grins at Yoongi. “I think - HEY!” Jimin dives aside as a bullet pierces the doorway, embedding itself firmly in the open door that Jimin was just leaning against. “You son of a bitch, you almost clipped my hair!”

“Next one’s going in your forehead!”

“As if you could hit my forehead!”

“How can I miss a target that big?”

“THAT’S IT!” Jimin roars. “YOU WANT A PIECE OF ME?” He rolls up his sleeves, giant snake tattoo on his arm practically dancing as he clenches his fists.

“Yeah! You already took one from me! It’s time for payback!”

Jimin unbuckles his harness, letting the weapons hit the floor. “Then let’s do this! I’ll tear you apart with my bare hands!”

“LET’S GO, MOTHERFUCKER!” Jungkook screams, and suddenly there are two blurs flying down the hallway towards each other. They collide with a loud “whump!” and Yoongi quickly slips out of the bathroom and towards the master suite.

He opens the door slowly, much slower than the adrenaline coursing through his body wants him to, but he doesn’t want you to hear him entering. The two men behind him pay no attention, lost in their frenzy, powerful blows landing left and right. Yoongi closes the door just as carefully, twisting the knob so the lock clicks quietly into place.

Gun raised, he takes one step towards the closet. Then another. The door is wide open, but the closet is so big that he can’t see the safe in the corner. Or you.

As soon as he crosses the threshold, there’s a loud shriek as you jump out from behind the door and tackle him. His gun goes flying. He lands on his side, the breath in his lungs whooshing out hurriedly as you roll on top of him, thighs straddling his chest.

“Don’t. Fucking. Move.” You cock your gun, aiming it straight at his head. “I knew that maniac didn’t come alone.”

Although your hands are steady, your chest rises with every panting breath you take, Yoongi notes. He feels his entire tensed body relax. You’re scared.

Good.

Yoongi smirks. “What are you gonna do, sweetheart? Shoot me?” He grabs the barrel of your gun as you gasp, but your finger doesn’t squeeze the trigger, even when he pulls it down until it presses into his forehead. “Go ahead.”

“Stop it!” You try to yank your gun free, but he refuses to let go. You tug harder and harder, until he finally relinquishes his grip, and the force of your momentum throws you off balance. Yoongi scrambles to grab his gun as you’re knocked into a pile of hangers and clothing lying in a heap on the ground. When you rise, there’s a bright red line of blood seeping down your cheek, from where a hanger has cut you.

The two of you face off, guns drawn. Yoongi tuts.

“Oh, sweetheart, your face. That looks nasty.”

“Don’t call me that,” you snarl.

“No? But I thought you liked it?”

“I never did.”

“Ah. Right. All part of the game, huh?” Yoongi laughs. “None of it was real, huh.”

“It’s all over now.” Blood trickles down your cheek, dripping onto the pristine white carpet below. “Put the gun down, Yoongi. Think about Da-som. Think about -”

“No!” Yoongi takes a step forward. You hold your ground, but he swears he catches a flash of fear in your eyes. He should know, he’s seen it many times before. “Don’t you fucking tell me what to do! No one tells me what to do! I make the rules around here. I call the shots!”

“Not anymore! We know everything. Everything. Your empire is burning down, Yoongi - don’t throw your life away trying to protect ashes!”

“Oh, you know everything?” The mad laughter that’s been choking him finally slips past his lips. “Do you really? Fuck! You have no fucking idea!” Another step forward. He keeps his gun raised, but he’s cackling so wildly that his aim is all over the place. “Do you have any idea what I would’ve done for you? What I would’ve given you? Anything you wanted, anything you needed, it all would’ve been yours!”

“It wasn’t real, Yoongi!”

“IT WAS REAL TO ME!”

You freeze, eyes wide, as his shout echoes through the suite. Faintly, Yoongi can hear Jungkook and Jimin still fighting in the hallway. But it’s dead silent in the closet, where you’re still gazing at his face, as if searching for some sort of sign.

Yoongi lowers his gun. He closes the gap between you, ignoring that your gun is now pointed directly at his heart, and reaches out with steady fingers.

Tap-tap-tap

The silence in the closet is stifling, pressing in on him. But then you take in a shuddery breath. When Yoongi dares to look up, he sees tears in your eyes.

But time, it seems, has run out.

In the distance, but growing closer, he can hear the blaring wail of sirens.

“YN!” Jungkook yells. The doorknob rattles. “Are you okay in there?”

Yoongi’s fucked. He’s going down, and -

“Go,” you whisper. “You have to run.”

There’s a loud thumping. Jungkook must be trying to break the door down with brute force. He’ll probably go grab his gun and try to shoot his way in next. Or any moment now, agents are going to come crashing through the windows. These are the panicked thoughts that race through Yoongi’s mind and prevent him from understanding what you’ve said. You drop your gun and grab his arms, shaking him.

“Yoongi! Do you hear me? You have to run!” There’s a ferocity in your eyes that Yoongi’s never seen in anyone’s gaze but his own. “I know you have a back way out of here. You have to go now. Yoongi? Hey!”

SMACK!

There’s a white-hot sting on his cheek.

“Fuck, sweetheart!” He rubs away the pain left behind by your slap.

A ghost of a smile crosses your face. The door has stopped shaking. “Listen, Jungkook will be in here any second. My team is likely already setting up a barricade and surrounding the place. You have to get to the water. Grab Da-som, start running, and never look back.”

Da-som. Son of a bitch, he can’t lose her. The weight of everything he stands to lose finally comes crashing down. “Fuck, what have I done?”

There’s a shout from the hallway, a berserker cry, and Yoongi realizes Jimin must have rallied for one last attack. Quickly, you take Yoongi’s hands, guiding him to stand again, and then lead him to the far corner of the master bedroom, where you push aside a bookshelf to reveal a darkened passageway, hidden from the outside. You really did know everything.

Or at least, now you do.

The screaming sirens have stopped. Yoongi can hear voices out on the lawn.

“I know you said you’re the one calling the shots, but you need to listen to me now. I’ll take care of everything else. But you - you can’t ever resurface, Yoongi. This is a one-time deal. Take Da-som and disappear. Please,” you whisper, clutching his hands. “Please, do this. If not for Da-som, if not for you - do it for me.”

Even with his impending doom hovering just on the other side of the bedroom door, Yoongi can’t stop the way he feels. Of course he’ll run.

Anything for you.

Footsteps begin to echo throughout the house. Yoongi pulls you into his arms, embracing you one last time as his lips crash onto yours.

And then he runs.

Epilogue

You open the door to your apartment, kick off your shoes, and flop onto the couch. Another fucking long day. The planning for your latest mission is completely draining your energy. For not the first time in recent weeks, you wonder if you should listen to Jungkook’s advice and put in for that time off request. You could definitely use the break.

Unconsciously, your fingers rub at the scar on your cheek. It hasn’t hurt for years, but in the last few weeks, it’s been itching like crazy. Jungkook always jokes that he can tell that it’s going to rain whenever his bullet wound aches. You wonder what the scar is trying to tell you.

Eventually, you drag yourself off the couch and shuffle down the hallway towards the bathroom, dying for a shower. But then you hear a soft sound coming from the door behind you, like something’s sliding along the floor, and you freeze.

There’s an envelope laying in the entryway. Instinctively, you place a hand on the holster of your gun as you peer through the peephole. No one there. No one in the hallway, either, when you open your door.

The envelope has your first name on it, nothing else. With careful fingers, you tear it open, and read the scrap of paper inside:

35.9285° N, 128.5774° E

Coordinates. To what location?

You flip it over:

I’ll be waiting.

You sink onto the couch, staring so intently at the words that you’re surprised the paper doesn’t burst into flames from the intensity of your gaze.

It’s been five years with no word on Yoongi’s whereabouts. Once Jungkook finally knocked out Jimin and shot the door open, he’d found you lying on the floor, pretending to be unconscious. Yoongi had given up and fled the scene. The Bureau believed your story, likely helped by the fact that Yoongi had left behind his safe and all the secrets it contained. His empire crumbled.

Even though Yoongi’d evaded your capture, you were hailed as the hero of the day and moved on to the next case. And the next, and the next. Days turned into months turned into years.

Once the mission was over, you never brought it up again. Occasionally, Jungkook or Seokjin would try to get you to talk. But you simply told them that you had nothing to say. The case was closed.

(To say nothing of your heart.)

And yet… it wasn’t entirely true. If you’d chosen to talk to your friends, you might have told them that you still found yourself thinking about it from time to time. About Yoongi. And where he was. That sometimes, when you couldn’t sleep, you’d scour countless resources, searching for him. Yet no matter how much you looked, you never found a single sign.

Until, maybe, now. You glance at the paper, and it dawns on you what it really is.

A key.

…

You rise to your feet.

Masterlist 💜 Find me on AO3 💜

#bts x reader #yoongi smut #bts smut #yoongi x you #yoongi x reader #bts fanfic #yoongi fanfic #min yoongi x you #min yoongi x reader #min yoongi fanfic #btshoneyhive #bangtantheatrenet #thebtswritersclub #bad cop!au #fic: ashes falling #possumswrite

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ironladders · 2 months ago

Note

do you have any ashrah and/or syzoth headcanons? it could be about anything, their upbringings, their mundane day to day lives, habits they have, whatever you want to talk about. im moreso talking as individuals but if you have headcanons about their relationship you can include those too!

i forgot this was in my inbox whoops

for ashrah:

likes to get up early in the morning. she never slept for long while wandering outworld, and at wu shi members have to be up at around sunrise anyways.

enjoys documentaries about earthrealm history. she likes movies in general, but she prefers to watch the ones that give the most information on her new home

a bit taller than sareena, even without heels

her demonic/dark magic is purple so i think her demon form may be purple as well. purple, with glowing bright marks in lieu with sareena’s form

whenever she gets in a fight against quan chi + the sisterhood of shadow, she tries to spare as many shadow sisters as possible. ashrah knows better than anyone how everything they do for quan chi is not of their free will

of all the earthrealmers she gets along with raiden & fujin the best, followed by kai. not that she dislikes the others of course lol

i’ve put this in my art already but the marking between her eyes is where a third eye used to be

sometimes when she closes her eyes, ashrah sees the moment she slayed her sisters

the netherrealm was a very violent & hard place to grow up in. ashrah, sareena, kia, and jataaka stuck together for survival purposes, because if you were a young demon that’s vulnerable with no allies your chances of survival drop significantly.

if she were a d&d class she’d be a paladin

one time ashrah tried madam bo’s “special tea” (which is implied to be a hallucinogenic in a few intros) believing it wouldn’t affect her since she’s not fully human, only to end up hallucinating some of her wildest fantasies. the next day she was bedridden with the worst headache ever

big sweet tooth. she loves discovering all the fun treats on earthrealm

didn’t know how to swim for the longest time since the netherrealm’s only body of “water” is the sea of blood

sleeps with datusha under her pillow. even in earthrealm, in the quarters of wu shi academy and surrounded by some of earthrealm’s best fighters, ashrah knows that quan chi is looking to find & bring her back to being under his control. until he is gone from this life, she will never feel truly safe.

for syzoth:

he wasn’t necessarily an adult when he first left zaterra, but was the equivalent of a late teen in zaterran years

not all of his childhood bullying was because of his mutation; syzoth was picked on by bullies for lots of other reasons, but when he (and those around him) learned of his shapeshifting ability it only increased virtrol

one of those reasons is because he was the runt of his brood

the first time syzoth discovered he could shapeshift to look like a warmblood was in a moment of fear. he wanted to feel smaller, and then literally shifted into a smaller human form.

an artist. he designed the tattoos on his body

i color syzoth a bit paler than ashrah because growing up underground + being in shang’s lab for months = not seeing as much sun

not all zaterrans can manipulate their acid saliva like him, syzoth just learned how to do so over the years. it’s a cool trick and useful in kombat

10/10 father to his (dead) son

if it was socially acceptable to he’d walk around in human form with his tail out more

grew up in zikandur but not necessarily in the heart of it. more on the outskirts of zikandur, on the border of another province

the first time he went back to zaterra and shifted into his natural form other zaterrans went “dude why are you naked” and syzoth had to explain warmbloods do not make clothes that fit zaterrans. one of the first things he did with his emissary money is purchase clothes from zaterra that would fit his natural form

that finger twitching he does is a nervous tick he has. if syzoth’s extremely stressed, the twitching will increase in frequency/speed and other parts of his body may also twitch as well

claustraphobic thanks to shang tsung

not a fan of interacting with much of outworld’s court members due to their opinions on his kind. the members with said prejudices try to act kind, but syzoth has been around warmbloods long enough to be able to spot even the tiniest microagressions

autistic

while he happily works for mileena and lives alongside warmbloods in sun do, there is a part of syzoth that will always be cautious of the royal family. syzoth experienced firsthand what it was like to grow up in a world where he and his people were blatant victims of bigotry, all under sindel’s so-called golden age. if it were to come down to it, he would side with zaterra over the rest of outworld.

for their relationship:

got together about a year after the main story’s events

syzoth was shy about it at first, but as him and ashrah got more comfortable being romantically affectionate, he increased how touchy he gets by tenfold. next to quality time, one of syzoth’s favorite forms of affection is physical touch

one time ashrah more or less invited herself along to a trip to zikandur and the zaterrans there all witnessed firsthand a relationship between their local freak and a demon. it was a very strange day

when they sleep, ashrah tends to stay still while syzoth moves around a lot. so whenever they share a bed, what results is ashrah being a heat source that ends up in syzoth’s arms and rolls around with him as he moves and shifts in his sleep. at first it kept her awake, but she eventually got used to it.

ashrah’s flirty-ness caught syzoth off guard when it first happened and sometimes still does

the first time ashrah ever flirted with syzoth was relatively early on in their relationship. syzoth was trying to take things slow and be a gentleman, but ashrah saying what she said so boldly threw him for a loop and mentally go “OH GREAT HEAVENS” while trying to stutter out a response

ashrah misses syzoth’s presence whenever he leaves for outworld, so over time she collects things of his to keep in an attempt to fill that void. she currently has a few of his shirts, some old scales that shed off, and anything else that he’s brought over to her.

sareena sometimes third wheels them

they like to kiss and caress each other’s scars/markings. ashrah enjoys tracing her fingers on the scars on syzoth’s face, followed by the tattoos on his body. syzoth will always seize the opportunity to slowly kiss every inch of ashrah’s demonic markings on her body—it’s his way of letting her know that he loves her, even like this

something about datusha makes syzoth nervous. he can’t place it, and will not voice this to ashrah because he believes he’s just overthinking it, but there is something about the kriss that does not sit right with him.

the only people who knew of their feelings for each other pre-relationship were tanya and baraka. raiden also suspected something between them, but chose to mind his own business.

they like to relax together away from other people. nothing wrong with socializing of course, but their visits always have a time limit and they would both prefer to use those to get some alone time and catch up

#i 100% have more but my brain is too fried to think of any #not art #ask #mk #syzoth #ashrah #ashzoth

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ejzah · 5 months ago

Text

In Miss Blye’s Class, Part 34

***

A full week and a half had passed since Deeks last spoke with Monica. In that time, Deeks and Caleb were too busy to really dwell on whether or not she’d appear. There were multiple end of year events a week to prepare for, and which Deeks did his best to attend. He and Kensi also tried to sneak in a few lunches or dinners together as time would allow.

On Saturday, they were miraculously caught up on all Caleb’s extra projects and he had his work inbox mostly cleared out—what was left could wait a couple days. It was also the perfect weather for surfing.

Before Caleb woke up, Deeks packed a couple of bags with towels, their wetsuits, sunscreen, and snacks. It was certainly a lot more than he’d ever brought with when he was a kid and would walk out the door with little more than his board. He also texted Kensi, inviting her to join them. She responded a few minutes later with a “yes” and offers to bring sandwiches.

Then he started making a simple breakfast of eggs—scrambled with cheese for Caleb—and toast.

Caleb wandered in a little after 9, still in his pajamas, his hair puffed out in frizzy curls, rubbing one eye. He sat down at the kitchen table without speaking, and started eating his eggs.

“You still a little tired, kiddo?”

Caleb grumbled unintelligibly, shoveling a forkful of eggs into his mouth.

“Huh, well maybe this will perk you up. I was thinking we could go to the beach today,” Deeks said.

Caleb immediately straightened up with wide eyes.

“Really? When can we leave?”

“As soon as you finish breakfast and change.”

Caleb scarfed down the rest of his food, his cheeks full as he struggled to swallow. “Done,” he announced.

Chuckling, Deeks ruffled Caleb’s hair, and nodded to the sink. “Ok. Clear your plate and then go brush your teeth and change into your trunks,” Deeks instructed him, and Deeks hopped up, whooping on his way out of the kitchen. “And don’t forget to brush your teeth.

They’d just carted out a few boards in and totes with their supplies when Kensi pulled up.

“Kensi?!” Caleb shouted, dropping his tote back on the ground, and raced to meet her. “I didn’t know you were coming!”

“Hi, sweetheart. I hope it’s a good surprise,” Kensi said, bending to hug him.

“Of course it is!” Taking her hand, Caleb walked with her back to Deeks.

Kensi greeted him with a quick kiss behind the cover of he truck, which made Caleb giggle.

When the boards and bags were all packed up, the piled in and headed for the beach. Deeks turned the radio to an oldies station, rolled down the windows, and sang along to John Denver and Bread. Caleb even got Kensi to join in, though she resisted at first until they both sang at the top of their lungs.

***

As soon as they parked, Caleb unbuckled his seatbelt and jumped out, barely waiting long enough to grab their boards and totes before he was running off.

“A kid after my own heart,” Deeks commented proudly. They watched him slow to a stop about 20 yards ahead, balancing his board on his head while he waited for them to catch up.

“He’s been talking about going all week,” Kensi told him with a fond smile. “I’m surprised you don’t go more often. Caleb informed me you’re very good.”

Deeks shrugged off her compliment, even as he threw his shoulders back a little. “Eh, I won a couple competitions when I was younger and stayed her during the summers. Now I just do it for fun. Nothing like being out on the water on a sunny day. What about you? I bet you’ve got some special moves.”

“I’ve been out a couple times, but swimming has always been more my speed. I may or may not have gone to nationals my senior year of high school.”

Deeks stopped holding up a hand. “Woah, you can’t just drop that kind of information in so casually. Why am I only hearing about this now?” he demanded.

“I like to keep you guessing.”

“Oh, well I definitely will need a demonstration today.”

“Only if you show me your fancy surf moves Caleb keeps bragging about,” Kensi said, turning to walk backwards, a playful smile creeping at her lips. “We’ll make it a competition.”

They walked the rest of the way down hand-in-hand; Caleb waited impatiently at the end of the path, hanging off of anything that would hold him. As soon as they reached the beach, he took off again, stripping off his shirt and racing for the water with his board under one arm.

Kensi and Deeks stopped about three yards from the water to set everything up.

“He really is a little water bug, isn’t he?” Kensi mused, eyes on Caleb, who had just toppled into the water, immediately getting back up to try again.

“He’s still getting the hang of staying on his board, but he just keeps trying. I’m just glad he loves it.” Deeks turned around to face Kensi, who was in the process of stripping off her coverup, hair momentarily obscuring her face, and he was suddenly breathless. She wore a royal blue one piece, the color accentuating her tanned skin. His eyes drifted across her legs, and then back up again.

Kensi shook out her hair, smirking when she noticed him staring.

“Something catch your attention? Sorry, I didn’t think a bikini would be appropriate,” she said wryly. He cleared his throat a couple times. He blamed the sun for his suddenly overheated skin.

“I’m pretty sure that would kill me,” he replied hoarsely. Kensi lowered her eyes, stalking closer to him, and he swallowed heavily, watching her every move. She didn’t stop until they were nearly pressed against one another, probably a little too intimate for a public setting. Looping her arms around his neck, she slid her hands down his back, briefly pausing at the small of his back before dropping lower.

He chuckled breathily. “Something I can help you with, Miss Blye?”

“No, I think I found what I want.” She winked, giving him a firm squeeze before she tipped her face up towards his. Deeks’ lips parted in anticipation, and he shifted ever so slightly closer. Just before their lips touched, Kensi whispered,

“Race you.” She released him, laughing as she turned and ran in the opposite direction. It took a few seconds for his brain to catch up.

“Cheater!” he yelled, racing to catch up.

They spent the rest of the day playing in the water, building sandcastles, and investing various contests for each other. Caleb appointed himself judge of the swimming and surfing completion between Kensi and Deeks.

It might have been years since Kensi had swum competitively, but she hadn’t lost any of her skills, and beat him by a few seconds. She managed to ride approximately half a wave, which Deeks found pretty impressive give her lack of experience, and then she happily watched him show off for a few minutes.

The next time they came back to the shore, Caleb awarded them each circular rocks he found in the place of medals.

***

By six in the evening, they’d consumed all of the food they’d brought with and were exhausted and covered in sand. Deeks didn’t feel like cooking anything, so they took everything back to the truck, and stopped for fish tacos from a little stand.

“I think we successfully wiped him out,” Kensi commented when Caleb’s eyes drifted closed mid-taco, and he fell into Deeks’ shoulder.

“Yeah, he’ll sleep good tonight. So what do you have going on tomorrow?”

Kensi finished the last bite of her taco and leaned back to stretch before responding. “Mm. I need to finish some lesson plans. I also should call my mom, but otherwise I don’t have anything else.” She shrugged. “

“Then can I tempt you with a pot roast dinner?” Deeks asked.

“You can make me pot roast dinner every night,” Kensi said eagerly. “With an occasional lasagna night.”

“I knew it. You’re with me for my cooking skills.”

Winking, Kensi snuck a few shreds of cheese from the top of his last taco.

“You figured me out. Next I’m going to get you to clean the mountain of dishes in my sink.”

Deeks tipped his head back with a grin. She grinned back, stealing more toppings from his plate. They continued chatting while they finished off the last bit of food.

He was halfway through a new story involving Talia and their latest hire when his phone buzzed. He fished it out of his pocket, and frowned at the family number, his mood taking a nosedive as he read the accompanying text.

“It’s from Monica. She wants me to call her lawyer tomorrow,” Deeks relayed grimly. “Unfortunately, I think we’ll have to cut tonight short.”

“I understand. Let me know what you find out,” Kensi requested, gently grasping his chin between her thumb and forefinger. She kissed him softly, rubbing the pad of her thumb over his bottom lip. “Love you.”

“I will.”

He told himself that this was a good thing. Monica had listened for once, which hopefully meant that she wouldn’t be pulling her usual games. Still, he couldn’t quell the uneasy feeling in his stomach even as he tried let Kensi pull him back into conversation.

#ncis la fanfiction #marty deeks #kensi blye #teacher Kensi #lawyer Deeks #self-indulgent writer #fluff #in Miss Blye’s Class #part 34 #au #ejzah fanfiction

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