#“the look on your face says the best life” bc of his mask

[karmathenightowl]

From a lyrical standpoint, Double Life by Pharrell Williams is like the PERFECT song choice for Montrose

[fear-is-truth]

ft. in-ho (001) ‧ hyun-ju (120) ‧ nam-gyu (124) ‧ su-bong (230) ‧ se-mi (380) ‧ dae-ho (388) ‧ jun-ho

a/n — did these bc i was bored… english is not my first language, sorry if there’s any mistakes !

HWANG IN-HO (황인호) / PLAYER 001

in-ho doesn’t let his jealousy show. not even a twitch of the eye. when he sees someone flirting with you, his expression remains calm—maybe even a little amused. the mask never slips, but there’s something cold and calculating beneath it, like a viper watching from the grass.

he has a habit of always “coincidentally” being nearby. yeah.

in-ho knows exactly how to manipulate without being overt. he never accuses, never demands. instead, he asks harmless little questions like, “you two seem to be getting along well.”

and then, after a small pause—he adds, “be careful who you trust. some people don’t have your best interests at heart.” his tone is casual, but he’s planting seeds of doubt, nudging the situation just enough to make you second-guess. his gaze flickers briefly to gi-hun, like he’s searching his face for confirmation. am i right?

then, as if to break the awkward tension, in-ho lets out a light laugh. “i suppose you can’t completely trust us, either.”

tl;dr — man doesn’t always slip up, but when he does, he backtracks FAST

CHO HYUN-JU (조현주 ) / PLAYER 120

she’s a pretty straightforward and genuine, so her jealousy would come across in a very honest, but an insecure way. when she notices someone flirting with you, she won’t try to hide how she feels, though she also won’t cause a scene in front of them.

instead, she’ll try to naturally slide into the conversation, maybe offering a friendly smile or a casual comment just to insert herself without being too obvious.

afterward, when it’s just the two of you, she’ll admit that she didn’t like how things went. she’d be direct but still unsure, maybe looking away or fiddling with her hair as she confesses, “i don’t know… i didn’t like how they were talking to you. it made me feel… weird. i know it’s silly, but…” even though she’s admitting her feelings, she’ll follow it up with a self-conscious laugh, brushing it off in a way that makes it clear she doesn’t want to burden you, even if she just needed to say it.

NAM-GYU (남규) / PLAYER 124

nam-gyu’s jealousy is ugly. unlike thanos, who masks his irritation with forced camaraderie, nam-gyu doesn’t even try to hide it. the second he catches you talking—laughing—with someone else, his expression sours.

his eyes flick away like he can’t be bothered, but his irritation lingers in the small, compulsive gestures that follow. fingers twitch toward his face, rubbing his temple and dragging down his cheek in a slow, irritated motion as if he’s physically restraining himself from saying nasty. then, he tucks his hair behind his ear, fingers lingering at the ends before dropping back to his side.

tl;dr — just am interesting quirk i noticed lol

but later? when it’s just the two of you? suddenly, he’s different. as if the bitterness never existed in the first place. his hands disappear into the sleeves of his jacket, the fabric bunching at his wrists as he curls his fingers inside like paws. he tilts his head slightly as he leans closer, “y/n~” he drawls, dragging out your name. “why were you talking to them for so long? you’re not getting bored of me, are you?”

and the person who got a little too comfortable in your presence? yeah, they’re screwed.

nam-gyu doesn’t just make their life difficult—he makes it fucking dangerous. during games, he’s reckless with them. a sudden, well-timed shove at the worst possible moment. a convenient distraction that nearly gets them eliminated. nothing that can be traced back to him, of course.

when he passes their bunk, he gives a small shove to the back of their head as he walks by, the kind that makes it look like an accident, but it’s far from it.

CHOI SU-BONG (최수봉) / PLAYER 230

thanos wouldn’t be subtle about his jealousy—he’d be super obnoxious about it.

the moment he catches someone flirting with you, he’s all over them, acting like they’re best friends. throws an arm around their shoulder chummily, “my boy!” he grins, smacking them on the back so hard it nearly knocks the air out of them. his overall demeanour is playful, but there’s something off about it. like he’s sizing them up. like he’s deciding how much of a problem they’re about to become.

later, he and nam-gyu make it their personal mission to make their life even more miserable than it already is.

during mealtime, the person just so happens to trip right in front of everyone. maybe it’s thanos’ foot, maybe it’s nam-gyu’s—either way, they did a face-plant. thanos crouches beside them, fake sympathy dripping from his voice. “damn, that must hurt,” he says, shaking his head. “maybe you should be more careful, yeah? how else are you gonna survive the next game?”

it doesn’t stop there. at the bunks, he and nam-gyu make a point of cornering them, bodies blocking any easy escape. thanos grins, “so, you’re real friendly with y/n, huh?” with nam-gyu smiling cutely menacingly in the background. if they try to shrug it off, he just laughs. “aw, don’t be shy! we love meeting new friends.”

if the poor bloke ends up alone in the men’s bathroom? bad luck. thanos is suddenly right there, leaning against the urinal stall, inspecting his colourful nails. “hey, man. funny thing…” his voice drops, and the humour is gone. “you don’t wanna make yourself a problem, yeah?” he doesn’t have to say it outright. the message is clear.

SE-MI (세미) / PLAYER 380

se-mi’s reaction is barely noticeable. when she sees someone flirting with you, her expression doesn’t change, but her eyes get a little colder, and she might look away, focusing on something else.

she might look at you for just a second too long, as if waiting for you to catch her gaze and understand without saying anything.

she doesn’t hold a grudge, but she definitely keeps her distance until she feels like you’ve figured it out on your own.

KANG DAE-HO (강대호) / PLAYER 388

when he sees someone flirting with you, dae-ho doesn’t get angry—he just feels a creeping sense of inadequacy settle in his chest.

if you try to talk to her after, her responses are polite, but there’s a certain sharpness to them—like she’s not fully engaged. every now and then, she’ll throw in a comment, maybe something about not trusting people easily or how “everyone has their own agenda,” but it’s all under the radar.

being the good-natured person that he is, dae-ho doesn’t interrupt, doesn’t push himself into the conversation. but if there’s a chance to naturally one-up them, he’ll take it. dae-ho’s jealousy is a bit more showy, but not in a malicious way. he straightens his posture a little more. rolls up his sleeve to expose the marine tattoo on his arm.

dae-ho isn’t one to sulk, but he goes quiet. fidgets more, rubbing the back of his neck, cracking his knuckles, anything to keep his hands busy. when he looks at your direction, it’s fleeting—like he’s afraid of seeing something he doesn’t want to.

he never lets it turn into resentment. dae-ho doesn’t want to be that guy, doesn’t want to make it your problem. but later, when it’s just the two of you, he gets a bit clingy.

HWANG JUN-HO (황준호)

a gentleman to his core, jun-ho’s jealousy doesn’t come with flare or outward signs. when he sees someone flirting with you, his smile remains polite, almost cordial. posture stays poised, tone respectful—nothing gives away the annoyance bubbling inside.

if the other person crosses a line—that’s when the temperature drops. a slow blink. a slight tilt of his head. a stare just sharp enough to unsettle. jun-ho doesn’t need words to make his presence known.

──⟢  fear-is-truth — all rights reserved. do not modify, repost, translate, or plagiarise my content.

[chanranghaeys]

🥂 a tale of two lonely souls

pairing: idol!minghao x gn!bar owner!reader word count: 1.4k+ genre: fluff rating: pg tags: christmas fic, open ending, meet cute in a bar, yes it’s yet another slice of life from me, minghao is cocky as always but you’ll love it bc reader will make minghao realize he’s found his match at cockiness warnings: alcohol, drinking, mentions of multi-race parents, reader owns a bar in this setting

a/n: i’m so honored to be part of @camandemstudios’ A Very Seventeen Christmas Secret Santa event for this year and surprise @ylangelegy, i’m your secret santa! 🥳 bless u kae, here’s a little gift for you for making me feel so many things this year bc of your fics 🫶 merry christmas and happy holidays to y’all!

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ masterlist . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

“All alone on Christmas Day?”

The hooded figure at the bar looked up from their phone. You notice their fingernails painted in shades and lines of black and glitter that glinted under the lights. When the figure pulled down their hood and face mask, you realize that the man looked startlingly familiar. You just couldn’t place from where…

“Maybe,” he replied. A slight smile graced his features, a welcome warmth from his initially cold aura.

“Well, that makes the two of us alone on Christmas.” The place was empty, save for two tables with a few customers—one large group, two duos, and this man on the bar counter.

It was a few hours before the end of Christmas Eve, and this recently opened Asian fusion bar had yet to welcome its throng of guests. In hindsight, maybe setting it up in a more secluded area of Itaewon wasn’t the best decision.

“If that's the case then maybe we’re not alone.” He gestures his finger between the two of you. You roll your eyes at the attempt to lighten the mood.

“It’s okay. I’m used to it.”

“Used to what?” He tilts his head curiously.

“Being alone.”

“Why not change it then?” He steeples his hands and rests his chin on them, his eyes studying yours as if trying to decipher a puzzle—as if he was used to analyzing people quietly.

It was unsettling…but you liked the challenge.

“Well, why don’t you change?” You counter back at him.

“Change what?”

“You being alone.”

He snickers. “Why don’t you get me something to drink first?”

“Alright, Mr. Bossy,” you say with a raised eyebrow and a matching smirk. “What are you having?”

“I heard you have Kweichow Maotai. That’s the only reason why I’m here.”

Interesting. He’s a man of taste. The way the Chinese syllables easily rolled off his tongue gave you further evidence of his identity—you just needed one more clue.

Without a word, you turn to face the wall of bottles to find the spirit you’re looking for. But before reaching for the iconic white-and-red bottle, you stop yourself.

“You know what, it’s Christmas.” You turn back to him with a smile. “I’ll get you something special.”

You return with another bottle of Maotai—but he instantly recognizes the difference from the one at the bar. His eyes widened the moment you came in holding the gold bottle tied with a red ribbon.

“No way you have that.” He marveled at the sight in front of him, his eyes filled with seeming reverence. “How—”

“That is a story for another time. But now, please enjoy. I’ll just charge you the regular Maotai rate, don’t worry.” You wink and hand him the small tulip glass, full to the brim.

“Just tell me that I’m not drinking a shot of illegally-sourced vintage Maotai.” There it is again—the analyzing look.

“If it were, then I’d be out of business. Can’t have that then, can we?”

“Of course not.” The man raised his glass to meet your own. “I can’t lose my favorite Maotai supplier in Korea now that I’ve found you.” The light brought the ring on his pinky finger to your attention. Suspicion confirmed.

You didn't reply, but opted to down the contents of the small glass—potent but familiar. He followed suit. You hoped that the warmth that bloomed in your mouth and your chest didn’t manifest itself too much on your cheeks. You could blame it on your Asian flush anyway because you had to give it to him—he was surprisingly smooth with his words.

“This is the rare moment I get to be alone,” he said after a beat. “Believe me, I wish I had more of it, but my parents are arriving here tomorrow from China. So no, I will not be as alone as you think.”

It took you a moment to realize he was continuing the conversation from earlier. “That’s nice. Why are you here in Korea then, if you’re from China?”

“Who said I was from there?”

“Well, you have parents coming from there.”

“Who’s to say that they aren’t coming home here?”

“The way you said Kweichow Maotai was too smooth.”

He shrugged deliberately. “I know Chinese.”

“I know Chinese, too. You can’t fool me.” You said this in perfectly placed Mandarin. The look on his face was priceless as he was rendered speechless.

“I cannot believe you managed to surprise me twice in one night,” he replied in the same tongue.

You smirked and poured another tulip glass for the both of you. “Glad to know that I managed to surprise a K-pop idol tonight. And in my bar, no less. Xu Minghao, correct?” You push the refilled glass and meet his ever-analytical eyes. It seemed like you knew how to play his game, after all.

The smile he returned was ethereal. “To whom do I owe the pleasure of tonight’s company?”

And that’s how you spent the remaining hours of Christmas Eve, with conversations as free-flowing as the Maotai and whiskey and bar chow. You learned that his parents’ flight was actually delayed—he was actually on his way to the airport—and he learned that your Chinese is courtesy of your father’s heritage and your Korean address from your mother.

You also ended up telling him the story about the vintage Maotai, which had him in stitches by the end of it. Thankfully, the bar had long been empty and your staff had all gone home.

“Why haven’t you left then?”

“You might’ve forgotten that I own this place.”

“And how does it not have more customers at this time?”

“It’ll pick up soon. I’m sure of it.”

Minghao pursed his lips in thought. “Give me your Maotai bottle. And a marker.”

“The vintage one?”

“No, the regular one over there!” You obliged to his requests, and he returned the liquor bottle with a freshly minted autograph from Seventeen’s The8.

Why didn’t you think of this earlier? It might be because the whole time you were talking, he didn’t even seem like an idol. He was just…a guy. A frustratingly charming and quick-witted guy.

“Merry Christmas to you and this wonderful place.” His examining gaze was long gone, replaced by eyes that disappeared whenever he smiled wide. “Thank you for…making me feel safe.”

“Merry Christmas, Minghao. Everything’s on the house. Consider it a Christmas gift.”

“Absolutely not.” He brandished his card and pushed it to you. “I will not rip off a starting business all because of celebrity status.”

“I didn’t say it was for your celebrity status.”

“Still.” He was insistent. He took your hand and placed his card in it. “Charge me as necessary.”

You were just as insistent, though. “No.”

“Fine. Then give me your phone.”

You did. And he input his personal number in it.

“I have to go now, but please message me. I mean it.”

You did. And the back-and-forth banter didn’t stop. Surprise remained an element in your dynamic, apparently, because the conversations seemed as natural as the days transitioning from one to another.

You didn’t catch when Minghao took photos of your place. But the moment he posted it on his Instagram, customers started coming in waves. This secluded corner in Itaewon has never had a lull day since Christmas.

New Year’s was no different. After the festivities and the celebrations, it was finally time to call it an early morning at 3 am. But not before you welcomed your last customer.

“Alone on New Year’s as well?” You hold back a smile when you find him standing at the door. The way your heart was beating was undeniable, and you knew you couldn’t hold that back.

Up until then, you didn’t know if you would ever see Minghao again beyond your messages. They became more occasional as time passed, but you knew enough from his stories that their schedules were not to be underestimated. Seeing him here now was—as expected from your dynamic—a surprise.

“No. I’m with my favorite Maotai supplier in Korea, how can I be alone?” He drew closer to the bar and to you as if you were reeling him in with an invisible string.

“I thought your parents brought you a bottle last Christmas?”

“It isn’t a vintage Maotai, though.”

“What makes you think I’m bringing it out tonight?”

“Because we’re starting the new year together. I’d say that’s a cause for celebration.” And bring it out you did. As if you could resist him.

Before you can open the bottle, he grabs it from your hands to pour out the drinks himself. As you two raise your glasses, he leans in close, and you see nothing but an openness in his eyes. Warmth. Hope. “Happy New Year to you, then.”

“To us. Happy New Year, Minghao.”

Your glasses clink and your Maotais are downed. It would seem that happiness is on the books for the year ahead.

✎﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

post a/n: pleaseeee i felt so pressured to write for u (looks at my inbox with full knowledge your request still lies there unwritten fskf) ((i promise i’ll get to them)) but i hope i did minghao justice. i was very much inspired by your own minghao fics skl hehe and tbh this is almost less of a drabble and more of a potentially longer fic but i held back bc gah. merry christmas again and i hope you liked my pamasko, kae! 🎄🎁✨

post post a/n/n: ALSO thank you to @tusswrites for quick beta-ing this one even tho she wasn't supposed to bc she's also in the same event and apparently you can't do that HAHA thank you still all love mwa

[love-bugsy]

good ol' gotham | jason todd

the worst thing about love

you’re just trying to get through your surgical residency, but this masked vigilante keeps showing up half-dead on your fire escape and reminding you of your dead best friend. oh well, at least he's cute.

two | three | four | series masterlist

content warnings: no editing, allusions to character death, (haphazard) depictions of grief, smoking + mentions of alcohol, swearing, completely ooc Jason bc he’s just my lil guy, medical terminology learned from greys anatomy lol

only jerks steal other people’s writing and mine isn’t even that good so no reposts

You and Jason sit across from each other in a diner booth, his restless leg bouncing under the table and your workaholic fingers tapping rhythms on the lacquer. The tired waitress who begged for your shift today brings over a plate of fries for you both, waving you off when you try to tip her. She gives your head an affectionate ruffle like she used to when you were 6, and you flush. As she goes to wait the next table, Jason laughs and says something about nepotism. You reach over and smack him.

He scoops up a heaping handful of fries, holding out his cigarette in his free hand so he can choke it down. He wipes his hands on his pants, taking another drag. You frown as your eyes dart between him and the ‘no smoking’ sign, glaring pointedly at the cigarette hanging half out of his mouth. He huffs, hiding a smile as he crushes the lit end on the underside of the table and flicks it into a nearby bin. You kiss your teeth, rolling your eyes but it’s entirely too fond to have any lasting effect. This damn boy’s got you wrapped around his battered fingers.

“Those’ll kill you, you know,” you huff, shoving a couple of fries in your mouth and basking in greasy diner heaven. Jason tilts his head, examining you, and snorts when you chuck a fry at his face. 

“So you tell me every time, and yet, miraculously, I’m still here.” He plucks the fallen fry out of his lap, not even brushing it off before he scarfs it down and reaches for another handful. You eye his hand, meant to shovel chips into his mouth but instead is littered with callouses and cigarette burns. It’s a stretching silence as you find your words.

“S’killing you slowly.”

“Lucky me.” He shoots you a toothy grin, leaning back into the booth, one hand laid out face-down on the table. The bruises on his knuckles are a motley of yellow and purple; your hand aches just looking at the scabs that litter the top of his hand. You’re sure he doesn’t feel it, though - he’s always healing, gaining new wounds before the old ones are finished scarring over. A veritable human ship of Theseus. 

His hand clenches into a fist under your gaze and you suddenly become very interested in the plate of fries between you. ‘M’not gonna stop,” he says, tone unyielding. You don’t know whether he’s talking about his smoking or the elephant-sized robin in the room. Probably both.

“But maybe you should.” You blurt out, and the way his face twists in anger makes you want to cover your mouth and hide. You hate how he clings to things - smoking, grudges, Robin - you think it’ll be the death of him one day. But you’re a hypocrite, because you love how he clings to you. Jason’s jaw feathers.

“Just fucking back off, okay?”, he snaps at you, and you go silent - you don’t want to have the same argument for the thousandth time. You study the way his eyes close and he sinks back into the chair - guilt washing away the enraged crease between his brows.

You forget - all the time - how angry he is, all of it built up under his rib cage. You think he gets scared to show it to you, like it’ll scare you away. For all his intelligence, Jason has yet to grasp the fact that you have Gotham in you too - spent your whole life atoning for the sin of your existence here. You’re angry too, of fucking course you are.

There��s no shortage of anger and fear and desperation in Gotham - they flood the gutters and hang dormant in the smog. Not many people choose to be kind here, it’s just too hard to. You think maybe your bleeding heart is at fault for how he tiptoes around you, but you wish he would just be honest. This diner, your friendship - it’s so far removed from the rest of his life… you wish he would stop treating you like a precious secret. 

“I-” You shake your head when he starts to apologise, waving your hand as if to clear the air between you.

“It’s forgotten,” you say, even though it never is. The tilt of his head reads you like an old book. Getting up, he rounds the table, shoving you further into the booth and looping an arm around your shoulders. Neither of you say anything - Jason reaching awkwardly for another chip - but the warm press of his side against yours is words enough. You shuffle - somehow - closer to him and take the hand that's over your shoulder, moving it delicately into your lap. You run careful circles around the bruises on his knuckles, trying to commit the warmth of him to memory. Trying to remember him while he’s still here. 

When you glance back at him, he’s looking at you with something wide and soft and world-ending in his eyes. The hand in your lap shifts around to thread your fingers together and he squeezes your hand almost uncomfortably. This boy, this fucking boy, who loves too much, too rough, too pure. “You can’t be real,” he whispers, and the diner melts away and all that’s left is his (blue blue blue) eyes and the way his hand holds yours like a lifeline. You hope you love him enough that it shows - that it spills out of the gaping seams of your stitched up heart. Clammy palms grip tighter to each other.

“I’m real, blue. This is real.”

“No. No,” he says, using your name in that careful, hard-edged tone he does when he’s serious, “It’s not.”

You wake gasping, shooting up in your bed as you try to catch your breath. Your hand crushes against your chest, trying to still your pounding heart. Fumbling in your sheets for your phone, you squint at the time. 4:02. You shuffle around, bare feet meeting hardwood floors and start to follow an unconscious morning routine - brain still foggy with sleep. It’s not until you’re wiping the steam off your bathroom mirror that you remember what day it is. The anniversary.

Reminders of Jason always hit you like a truck - blue mugs, cigarettes, hero complexes - but visiting his grave is another beast. You’re not one to let things get to you, moving too fast for anything to stick; but today is always cruel. In the entryway, you go back and forth between jackets, eventually yanking Jason’s old one from where it's hidden underneath all your others. Burying your face in the collar, you grab your keys and step into the biting Gotham wind. 

You take the metro up to the park by the Wayne Estate, stopping on the way to buy overpriced flowers and a travel sized bottle of whiskey. You stop outside the imposing gates - always closed but never locked - to take a shuddering breath. It’s never easier. 

Pushing open the rusted gate, you make the short trek up to the Wayne cemetery. Jason’s grave is a ways away from the others, hidden by an ancient sycamore tree. Autumn has come early this year, yellowing the sycamore’s leaves and burning your nose with the fresh scent of death. 

You really fucking hate this day.

It’s not the real anniversary of his death. You shudder to think about seeing Bruce Wayne here, and you doubt he’d even recognise you. Probably for the best. You’d tear him to pieces for existing when Jason is gone. No, today is the last time he left the diner - that’s the day Jason Todd died to you.

You remember staying up to watch the press conference Bruce Wayne gave after Jason’s death was reported. Sitting in a cold, empty diner, listening to his cold, empty responses, and grinding your teeth to bits. 

Wayne looks tired - beaten down, “No comment,” he says, when the questions steer to Jason. You’re furious that he could even bear to stay silent when you are tearing at the seams with things to say. Because Jason was kind, he was sharp as a whip and just as witty. And he was brash, and loud, and impulsive and full of a wild energy that hummed under the surface of his skin. And he was good. He was so good.

Somewhere between Wayne’s practised speech about the orphanage he’s opening in Jason’s name and his final statement, you mute the television and go back to washing dishes. It’s a herculean effort not to look up; waiting for Jason to start rambling about a book he’d read or someone he’d saved. You tuck your head down, avoiding the reminder that he was never going to keep you company again.

In the background, Bruce Wayne talks silently to a rapt audience.

And how they lauded him as Jason’s saviour - the homeless criminal turned social messiah by Wayne Enterprises. You want to scream; he was good already, he was good to the bone. But Gothamites - as much as they like to deny it - are obsessed with the idea of heroes. In a city of the uber wealthy and the poorest of the poor - everybody wants someone to save them. Big Brucie Wayne swooping in to reform a Gotham bottom-feeder? That’s a story everyone was taken by.

The crunch of a leaf underfoot pulls you out of your head and you realise you’re standing in front of Jason’s grave. Sitting yourself down, cross-legged, you face the grave; whiskey in one hand and flowers in the other. 

You’ve never liked his headstone. No pretentious quotes, no sardonic digs from beyond the grave. Just a dry, impersonal epitaph, etched permanently in his name: ‘In memory of Jason Peter Todd, loving son’.

You think he would’ve hated being reduced to someone’s son. You don’t think he was anyone’s anything. He was Gotham’s. He was yours. He was Batman’s. And then he was dead.

He was never any of those things at the same time. And he was certainly no one’s son. 

He was loving, though. You’ll give ‘em that.

“Well,” you say, unscrewing the bottle and downing half of it with a grimace, “Cheers, blue.” Nearly a decade and you still hate the taste of whiskey. You’d both made a pact that it would be your first legal drink - both with romantic ideas about what it would taste like. To you, it really just tastes like soap; but tradition is tradition. You reach out, brushing the thin layer of dirt that’s gathered over his headstone, eyes catching on the crude little bird carving in the top right corner. 

You’d carved it into his headstone the first year after he died; spent the whole year silently aching - haunted by empty space, reaching for him only to find air. That night was just the breaking point. It hadn’t helped that you were drunk off your ass either. 

You remember being miserably sick the next morning and - as you rested your head on the cool porcelain of your toilet - feeling selfishly satisfied that you were hurting at all. Visiting him early is selfish for you too. You want them to know you loved him first. You want them to know that somewhere, there is someone who mourns him into ruin. 

Or at least, into vandalism.

Now you drop the flowers on his grave - chrysanthemums and white lilies - and sweep away a stray fallen leaf. Crouched in front of his grave, you press your fingers to your lips, then to the bird. You feel the throb of a lump in your throat, and stand up fully, zipping up your jacket. The train home is loud and sweaty, but you feel more alone than ever.

You need a smoke.

~

Your apartment door is barely locked before you’re sliding up your window and ducking out onto the fire escape. Digging around in the pockets of Jason’s jacket, you fumble for your lighter, and the pack of cigarettes you’d bought on the way home. 

You lean over your fire escape railing, lighting up and taking a long drag. It’s a rare clear night in Gotham, and you close your eyes as you breathe out, listening to the faint, familiar whine of sirens. This. This is why you’ll never leave Gotham—these rare serene moments where you’re brought back down to earth by the familiar smell of rain and pavement; an early-Autumn breeze ruffling your hair.

Your moment of peace is interrupted when Red Hood swings down onto your fire escape, and you startle, dropping your - still-lit - cigarette over the railing. 

“Fuck!” You lean over the railing as if you’ll be able to catch it, letting your head fall against the cool metal in defeat. “Please tell me you don’t need stitches tonight,” you grumble, head still hung over the railing. A hand grasps the back of your shirt, pulling you - a little roughly - away from the edge. Your eyes flash up to his mask, only to find him looking away.

“No stitches.” He shifts uncomfortably. “I… I’m not- injured.” Your brow creases.

“Then… why are you here?” He pauses. If you hadn’t been slowly learning him over the past few months, you’d mistake his silence for stoicism, but his shoulders are drawn up slightly and his gaze is focused on a spot just above your head. He seems… sheepish? No. Caught. He clears his throat—hand in the cookie jar.

“I just…,” long pause, “Drop by sometimes. To check you’re… you know.” You do not know. You raise a brow and he nods over at the pack of cigarettes balancing on the railing.

“I’ve never seen you smoke before.” Not exactly a seamless subject change, but you know better than to pry when the other person has guns strapped to their thighs. Your eyes drift to the cigarettes, and back to Red.

“Only when I’m stressed.” He does that head tilt-y thing—trying to read you. 

“Something more stressful than surgery on a stranger in your apartment?” You just hum, turning away and reaching for another cigarette. Lighting it, you hold the pack out to Red as you take another drag and exhale. He shakes his head, “Quit a long time ago, doc.” Your surprise must paint itself all over your face because he laughs lowly, rasping out his response.

“Had a friend who hated it.”

Brows creasing, you tilt your head, appraising him in a quiet once-over. “You don’t seem like the type to change for anyone, Red.” Somehow he stiffens and relaxes at the same time; you get the sense that the answer to your observation is just as paradoxical, equal parts right and wrong.

“Yeah well, she was…” He trails off, gaze drifting from you and shoulders sinking. He looks… lost. Watching him feels like you’re intruding on a private moment, so you turn away, leaning heavily on the railing. You take another long drag of your cigarette and exhale the smoke into the wind.

“Was that you? The sirens?”     

He huffs, railing creaking as he settles next to you. “Yeah. Some asshole trying to rob a mom-and-pop store.” You kiss your teeth in mirrored disappointment, nose wrinkling.

“Good ol’ Gotham.” You feel his gaze boring into you and make a point to glare defiantly out at the skyline - avoiding him. The hand that isn’t keeping a loose grip on your cigarette begins to scratch anxiously at the rust on the railing. 

Red points vaguely at your cigarette, “What’s your stressor?” Without really noticing it, you clench your jaw and your hand moves halfway up to your mouth before you stop it. Old habits quelled by memories of bleeding nails bitten to the quick. You realise you’ve waited too long to spout a believable lie.

“Visited my friend’s grave.” You don’t even bother to school your voice, letting it claw its way across shards of glass to be heard.

“‘M sorry.” Red’s head inclines slightly, gloved hand inching towards yours. You just shrug.

“It’s been nearly ten years.” 

“Doesn’t make it easier.” He tells you and you know it isn’t false platitudes. Death is an old friend of the both of you. 

You pause, letting the city rush over you. “No,” you say finally, “It doesn’t.” Reaching again for your cigarette, you feel the weight of the day prickling at the backs of your eyes. The railing creaks as he leans heavier against it.

“Tell me about them.” 

“What?” 

“Your friend.”

You take a deep breath, brows knit, “He was…,” you roll your lips together, trying not to choke up, “Reckless.” Red snorts, hanging his head in surprised amusement. You smile for the first time all day. “I swear danger followed him around or something, I was always having to patch him up, even before—“ You cut yourself off, white-knuckling the railing. 

“He’s the reason I’m a doctor.” There’s a thick silence, which Red breaks with a staticky whistle. 

“You’re something else, doc.” Your brows knit, fingers drumming on the railing. The cold seeps into your bones, fire escape creaking with every gust of wind. Looking out over the city, you shake your head at nobody.

“I’m…” you swallow, dislodging the breath stuck in your throat, “I’m tired.” You fumble for the right words and Red waits, turning his back on the skyline, mask angled down.

Shaky hand brings your cigarette to your lips, breathing out a cloud of smoke. “So much of me is him… I don’t know—“ your voice cracks, “No one can help me carry the love he left me with. I don’t know where it goes.”

More silence—you’re starting to get comfortable with it. He lifts his head, and you think he might talk, instead, he carefully pulls off a glove, shoving it in his pocket so he can run a warm, calloused palm over your upper arm. You choke up at the gesture, gritting your teeth against the lump in your throat when your eyes catch on his bruised knuckles. Haven’t we been here before?

“Think ya just get bigger around it, doc.” Blinking at him, you dissolve into tears—a dam held in since this morning. Embarrassed, you close your eyes, tears running, unbidden, down your cheeks. 

Red’s mask pulls back slightly in shock, “Fuck, sorry, m’not good at this, don’t—” He flounders a little, hand gripping your arm with a ferocity you know is unconscious. The physicality of the action steadies you.

“I’m not—” you huff out a wet laugh, “It’s not you, I just… you lose someone and everything you used to share becomes a sign. My life is marked by a ghost.”

“Fingerprints.”

“… yeah.” You crush your half-smoked cigarette against the railing, flicking it over the edge. You stand, awkwardly, next to each other; neither of you wanting to leave but both empty of words. Your hands tap nervously on the railing and you shove them in your pockets - if only to have something to do with them. Pulling out your lighter, you flick it on and off absently, watching the flame flicker under your control.

The lighter distracts you for a little, but soon you realise that Red has gone rigid beside you; the silence between you just slightly too thick. You shoot him an inquisitive glance, trying to gauge what he’s thinking.

“Nice lighter.” he says, gaze locked on the bird etched into it. Your brows furrow.

“It’s not really mine.” The truth, if obfuscated a little.

“Is it… a robin?” You shake your head, a little laugh escaping you at how bad your etching job must’ve been.

“A bluejay.” The second the words leave your mouth, he goes still - so still you’re unsure if he’s still breathing. “Red?”

“Blue?” You wave a hand in front of his face, shaking him out of a thousand yard stare into his coffee mug. “Earth to Jason Todd.” He shoots you a flat look and watches as your face breaks into a world-ending laugh. Leaning forward, he raps bruised knuckles against the counter. You shake your head to hide the split second of worry in your eyes at the sight of his hands. Jason notices.

“So why do you call me blue?” He says, trying to innocuously tuck his hands back under the table. You huff, clumsy hands dropping the dish you’re washing in the sink with a clatter. You lean on the edge of the sink, collecting yourself before you answer.

“Why do you call me birdie?” 

“‘Cause you’re small. ‘Nd you got a pretty voice.” He must imagine the bashful way you tuck your head into your shoulder. Like you liked that.

Picking up the plate you dropped, you rinse and dry it, letting him stew in your lack of answer for a little. “It's a play on words.” Jason’s brows knit, trying to think of the connection you’d conjured. “Blue. Like blue jay.”

“Ha ha.” 

“I’m serious.”

His brows crease. “Why a bird?” (Why not a robin?)

You give him a funny look, eyes squinted like you’re reading his mind. You always seem to know what he’s thinking. Jason shifts in the barstool; feathers ruffled. 

“It’s just a nickname, Jay.” Jason knows you; he knows the word ‘just’ doesn’t have a place in your vocabulary. But he spots the tiny crease in your brow, your red raw hands, the single knot on your apron in place of a double knot—reads your language. He takes a swig of coffee from his baby blue mug, grinning toothily before he changes the subject. 

~

Bruce’s office door is closed when Jason returns to Wayne Manor, so Jason finds himself roaming the halls aimlessly. His feet carry him to the library—he still has to stand in awe every time he wanders between the statuesque shelves, spilling over with books. 

Slipping further into the maze of shelves, Jason doesn’t quite know what he’s looking for until he spots it. His fingers graze an untouched ornithology book, sliding it into his lap. Cross-legged on the floor, Jason flips it open to the chapter on blue jays.

... so i'm not dead, lol, and I am still writing - albeit very slowly and sporadically. the past few months have been very hectic, but I'm going to have a lot more writing time now that my first term of uni (!!) is nearly over. anyway, sorry to keep you guys waiting and I hope you enjoy reading my silly story :)

with love, bugsy

[gor3-hound]

lacerated to the bone

ft. danny johnson as ghostface x fem!reader

cw: 18+ content, dark content, masked men, stalking, photography, heavy dub-con, knife play, coercion, choking, blood, threats, predator/prey play, fear play, major character death, p in v, creampie

a/n: requested by anon! hope it lives up to the idea you had, bcs i had so much fun writing this one !! title from 'a life less ordinary(need a little help)' by motion city soundtrack

word count: 2.1k words

“Come on… come on.” You say under your breath as you work at the generator, your heart rabbiting in your chest. You're looking over your shoulder every few seconds, trying to make sure that the killer isn't on your trail. You did your best to save the others from the entity, but you'd failed. You were all alone now. You had to survive.

You can't shake the feeling that he's watching you. There's an eerie silence around you, the only sounds coming from the generator you're working on. The final one. You let out a deep breath as you look away again, but your fingers falter, and the sounds of the generator failing echo throughout the forest.

“No, no, no…” You say quickly, perking up to examine your surroundings, hoping that you hadn't alerted the killer. You curl up behind the generator, waiting for a few moments as you try to listen out for any movement. The minutes that stretch by feel like hours, but there's no sign of him.

You let out a deep breath, standing up before you lean over to work on the generator again. Before you can get started, you feel a finger tap your shoulder. You turn around quickly, coming face to face with a camera. You hear the click of the shutter, and then a bright light flashes that ends up blinding you for a few seconds.

You blink rapidly to clear the spots from your vision, stumbling back. You knew who it was. It could only be one person. You needed to get out of here, and fast. When your vision finally refocuses, you're left face to face with Ghostface. The mask tilts to the side as he cocks his head, his voice husky and slightly crackly from the vocal modulator as he speaks.

“Boo.”

You're running before your brain can even register the movement. You do your best to escape, weaving through dilapidated structures to try and lose him. At every chance you got, you sent wooden palettes tumbling in narrow spaces, keeping a mental note of where you'd cut off the path, hoping to slow him down.

At this point, the chase had become a matter of stamina rather than technique. It was clear the killer wasn't going to let you go, barely letting you out of his sight for more than a few seconds before he was on your tail again. You knew better than to hide, but you were running out of options. Your breathing was becoming laboured, and your legs burned from the chase. You knew you didn't have much of a chance - he was stronger, faster and smarter than you.

It was all down to luck. Your eyes flick over the treeline rapidly - it's a bit far out from the generators and the exit, but it was your best chance of staying concealed. The feeling of being watched irks you once again, causing you to stop and try to find the source.

It's quiet. Too quiet. All you can hear is the sounds of your own breathing. For a moment, you almost feel like you've lost him. That is until you hear a sound that's becoming far too familiar for your liking.

Click!

You turn to try and run again, but a gloved hand wraps around your ankle, yanking you into the underbrush. You cry out as the branches scratch the skin that's exposed as he drags you towards him.

“An image is worth a thousand words, don't you think?” A voice echoes from behind the mask, his free hand shifting to press down on your chest to keep you flat on the ground as he pins your legs down with his knees. With his other hand, he snaps a few pictures of your fearful expression with a beaten down looking film camera.

“Can't wait to get these developed… add them to the collection.” He adds after a moment, placing it down carefully so he can reach for the knife he had tucked in his belt. “I think I like this look on you…”

“Please…” You croak out weakly, your voice wavering as he trails the tip of the blade down your cheek and along your jawbone. “Please, don't.”

“Oh? Already begging for your life?” He coos, patting the flat of the blade against your cheek a few times. He presses the tip of the knife against your cheek, placing just enough pressure to nick the skin. “You're in luck. See, I don't normally play with my designs, but…”

He slides the tip of the knife down your skin, applying pressure when it reaches the hollow of your throat. The mask tilts down, and you can almost sense the sick satisfaction from him as he watches your blood trickle out with every panicked breath you make.

“Well, you're different. I've been watching you for a while. I wanted this to be special; the kind of headlines that people don't forget.” He leans down slightly, and you can feel his gaze boring through you despite the mask obscuring his features.

“Anyway, look at me getting all sidetracked. You poor thing, you keep shaking. I hope that's not on account of me?” He mocks, holding the knife to your throat to keep you from making any attempts to escape. “My apologies. I've always been one for a good story. And you, my dear? I feel you'll be my best one yet. I have a… proposition for you.”

“Please, just stop. I won't say anything… I swear! Just let me go I… I was so close, please!” You sob, raising your hands to try and push him off of you, as if that'd do any good. You wriggle underneath him, ring to give yourself a chance to break free and escape his grasp.

“You see, I'd love to do that. Really, I would. There's just one small issue.” With that, he loosely nods his head towards one of the hooks not far from you. “See, I could let you go, but that wouldn't be in my best interests… now, if you want to make it worth my while…”

He trails off, dropping his head down so his mask is looming directly over your face. He presses the knife down harder, drawing blood as the sharp edge digs into the skin of your throat. “Either you give me what I want, or I'll gut you and offer you up to the Entity. It's simple, really.”

Your stomach sinks at his words. There's no mistaking his intentions. The mask is tilted towards you expectantly as the knife against your throat is replaced by his tight grip. He trails his blade down, hiking your skirt up with the tip of it.

You nod. What other choice did you have? It was this, or die. You couldn't die here. You won't.

“There we go. Good girl.” He says as he removes his grip on your throat to pat your cheek, slipping the knife in between the top of your thigh and the edge of your panties. You tense as he pulls the fabric taut with the blade until it splits. You shiver as the cold metal brushes right above your folds, sliding the fabric out of the way to expose you to his greedy eyes.

You squirm underneath him as he runs the flat of his blade downwards, trying not to jerk your hips as he brushes past your clit, a small whimper falling from your lips. He smacks the blade down a few times, landing spanks against your pussy until sticky strings of arousal connect you to his knife.

“Filthy little thing.” He hums, pulling his knife away to drag a gloved finger between your folds. “Making such a mess. To think, I was planning to wet my knife in a very different way.”

You watch with a mix of arousal and horror as he shucks off the cloak, exposing the black jeans and t-shirt he wore underneath. He keeps that mask on. Seems to enjoy the way you shiver whenever your eyes land on it. He manages to unbuckle his belt one-handed with little struggle, the clink of the metal echoing in the air for a few moments.

He drops the knife down to free his cock and hold it in his right hand. His left hand slides its way up your body, squeezing one of your tits before his hand trails higher, gripping your throat once more. Just to be safe. He smacks his tip against your clit a few times, clearly enjoying the way it has you jolting. Your cunt gushes as he ruts against your sensitive nub, drawing a moan from your lips.

He slides his cock down until the head catches your hole. With a grunt, he pushes forward, filling you to the brim. He throws his head back, his chest rising and falling visibly with his rapid breaths.

“Christ, doll. Didn't think you'd be this wet.” He hisses through gritted teeth. He drops his head forward again, watching your expression carefully through the mask. The tone of his voice sends heat pooling in your lower abdomen, air leaving you in a breathless sigh.

His thrusts are shallow and desperate. He barely pulls out before slamming back in, not wanting to leave the tight heat surrounding him longer than necessary. Each thrust brings a whimper from his lips. Hastily, he reaches a hand out to grab his camera, the one resting on your throat squeezing down just enough to have you gasping in a breath, your cunt clenching tighter around his cock.

“Oh!” He moans, his hand shaking as he snaps a few pictures of his cock sliding in and out of you, the length coated in a layer of clear slick. “God, that's so tight. You like it when I squeeze your throat, huh?”

His voice is hoarse as he speaks, slightly breathless. He tightens his grip on your throat a little more as he speeds up his thrusts, fucking into you with a more brutal pace, his cock bullying your cervix with every movement. Blood rushes to your head as he pounds the air out of you while leaving you unable to suck more air in due to him choking you. You start to get light headed, your vision growing spotty and blurry with unshed tears. As your eyelids begin to flutter, he lets go and you're quickly sucking in deep breaths, your chest heaving.

“Ah, sorry, darling.” He forces out, sounding absolutely wrecked. He drops the camera to hold your hips in both of his hands, pulling you back on his cock with enough force that you're sure you'd be littered in finger shaped bruises. His balls slap against your ass with every heavy movement.

“Oh, can't wait to get these pictures all done. Gonna build a whole shrine for you, dolly. Such a pretty thing.” He reaches down to pinch and tug at your clit before rubbing circles into it with his thumb. He's too rough, and you're already so sensitive. Your body twitches, whines spilling from your lips as you cum, back arching and dragging along the dirt as you clench around his cock.

“W-wait… gotta… gotta get a picture, fuck.” He croaks, flipping you over onto your stomach. He grabs your hair in one fist, yanking your head back painfully as he sinks his cock back into you, making you cry out. He snaps a couple of pictures of him buried deep inside of you, aiming the camera mostly at your fucked out, tear-stained face.

“Fuck… fuck. Coming…” He manages to choke out, the sensation of your walls squeezing him enough to milk his cock. He drops his head down to the crook of your neck, the material of the mask jarring your heated skin. “Shit.”

He drops the camera again, his hand fumbling with something in the thick brush. In the corner of your eye, you see a glint of metal in the moonlight, causing you to flail in panic, scratching at the ground and trying to fight him off.

“You promised!” You yell, trying to scramble out from underneath him as you realise what he’s about to do. “You said you'd let me go! Please… I did what you asked!”

Your eyes widen with fear - wet and panicked as he lifts the knife up, plunging it deep into the side of your neck. Blood bubbles up in your throat, making you cough and splutter as the excruciating pain shocks your core.

“Sorry, doll. Honest. I know I said I'd let you go, but, well…” He yanks the knife out, and your body convulses as you try desperately to suck breath into your failing lungs.

“A good story always needs a twist.”

[latenightdaydreams]

i love your content so much omg thank you so much for writing these so frequently and welll!!!!! How about a pt 3 to mafia konig x CEO reader where reader finds out that she’s preggy without konig knowing and is scared he’s going to throw her away bc of her pregnancy. She acts like a sad kicked dog, being on her pink comfy bed curled up and whenever he fucks her she looks like she’s going to cry. When he finally finds out she sobs her eyes out and tries to escape again.

💗💗Thank you!

Mafia!König x CEO Part 3 (fem)

Part 1, Part 2

MDNI🔞

Master List✍🏽

>cw: fem/afab, non-con, p in v, pregnancy, choking

1.7k word count

.

.

It’s been four months since you’ve become König’s ‘pet’; three months since your last period. König hasn’t noticed, when he’s with you he doesn’t think about your cycle. He only cares if you’ve eaten and if he can fuck you.

You sit on your little pink dog bed in his office with your collar attached by a chain to the wall behind you. König had to leave for a meeting, leaving you alone in his office. The chain is so short that you can’t move around if you wanted to. Even your hands are bound behind your back, leaving you to simply sit on your pink dog bed and wait.

While you wait for him to return, you think about different ways you could possibly escape before he finds out. The fear of him knowing and getting rid of you like trash is forefront in your mind. You don’t only have to worry about your own life, but now the life of this life is developing inside of you. While you doubt you can be a mother to it, you still find yourself oddly attached. In this trauma, it’s as if you have something to hold on to.

The office door swings open and König stomps angrily. His eyes land on you and he smiles softly under his sniper hood. Seeing you waiting there for him like a good little pet always brightens his mood. He closes and locks the door behind him, walking over to you.

König kneels in front of you, petting your head gently with his gloved hand as he tilts his head. “I’ve missed you, Maus.” His hand drifts down to your jaw, grabbing it and forcing you to look into his eyes. “Have you missed me?”

“Yes.” You say but it just comes out as more of a muffle with the gag.

“Good girl.”

König stands again and unlocks the chain that kept you to the wall, using it as a leash to walk you to his desk. He sits down on the strong wooden desk and looks down at you as you remain on all fours before him. His eyes travel up and down your naked body before tugging on your leash.

“Stand up.” He holds one hand out to assist you.

You look at his hand before accepting the help and standing you. König looks at your body, taking his time to linger on your breasts and abdomen. A small panic sets in as you wonder if he’s noticed any change in your body. Looking down at yourself, it doesn’t seem like there are any obvious signs of pregnancy just yet.

“Schön.” He speaks under his breath as he pulls his gloves off followed by his mask. “I couldn’t stop thinking about you all day today. I hate being busy.”

Your mouth relaxes as he takes the gag off of you, allowing you to feel slightly more comfortable. His pale blue eyes linger on your face for a while before leaning in to kiss you; his lips clashing against yours with an undeniable hunger for you. He allows his hands to travel over your body, cupping your breasts and twirling your sensitive nipples between his fingers as his tongue swirls around yours.

König gentle turns, switching spots with you so that you’re leaned up against the desk. Mentally, you’re trying your best to stay in the moment but you can’t stop thinking about the fact that you’re pregnant and stuck here with a dog collar on. Stuck here with a man that just might kill the both of you. While König has shown a soft side, he has also shown how incredibly heartless he can be.

He lets his hands drift down your body to your thighs and lifts you on to the desk. When he pulls back from the kiss, he begins to undress himself. You look down at his erection as his pants fall to the floor making König’s lips pull into a cocky grin. He knows that no matter how much you try to deny it, you find him attractive- even if only deep down inside.

“Spread your legs open for me. Be a good pet.”

You lean back and grab behind your knees, parting your legs wide for him. His eyes lock on to your pussy, reaching out to slip one finger between your folds and circling your clit. He steps closer, pulling that hand away and spitting in his palm to lubricate his dick.

“What do you say?” His blue eyes lock on yours as you feel his thick cock rub your slit.

“Please fuck me, Master.”

“Good girl.”

König thrusts forward into you. The same little breathless moan he makes leaves him as his eyes close for a moment to fully enjoy the sensation of your gummy walls around him. His hips rock back and forth slowly until his eyes open again. He grabs your waist, making you flinch, but he ignores it. His mind is too clouded with the sensation of pleasure to notice your small hints of discomfort.

The rhythmic sound of his hips bucking against your supple jiggling ass echoes in the room. Your walls clench around his girth as you squirm on the desk beneath him, your eyebrows pinched together with a small frown. His eyes watch as his cock pumps in and out of you, your wet cunt leaving behind a thick ring of creamy white arousal on the base of his cock. One of his hands slips up your body, slapping your breasts before wrapping around your neck.

Lost in the waves of ecstasy, his grip slowly gets tighter and tighter. You take deep breaths trying to not make him angry but asking him to stop. The thought of what if he kills you runs through your mind as his grip gets more intense. Underneath his breath he praises your body in German, not paying attention to how oxygen deprived you are. Finally, you grab his arms and squeeze it, begging for relief.

König doesn’t argue, lessening his grip on you and leaning down to kiss your neck. Your head turns to the side as your mind falls away to the gravity of the situation that you find yourself in. Unable to control yourself a silent tear rolls down your face. Still, you try your hardest to hold back your emotions; taking a deep shaky breath to try and calm down.

“Fuck, Maus. Your pussy is so good.” His thrust loses their rhythm, high pitched moans accompanying his words. “Beg for my cum.”

When he looks at your face, he notices the shiny tear streak and the look of emotional torment in his eyes. Just wanting to cum he looks down again and listens to your voice fake arousal and beg for him to cum inside of you. His balls tighten as he holds your shoulders to shove himself fully inside of you. As his cock throbs, coating your walls in his thick sticky cum.

After lingering for a moment, he pulls out and just looks at you. Wiping sweat from his forehead, he shifts his weight and lets out a huff. “What’s wrong with you?” He asks in a no bullshit tone.

“Nothing.” You say unconvincingly.

“Don’t lie to me.” His arms cross over his board chest.

“I’m not.”

“Down.” He snaps his fingers for you like you would a dog for you to kneel.

You sit up and hop off his desk, getting on the floor and kneeling before him. He walks closer to you and looks down at your disappointment that you think you can lie to him. A thick silence lingers in the air between you both before he speaks up again.

“Every time I touch you lately it’s like you’re about to cry. I know I’m not your favorite person, Maus, but I know you love my cock. Why are you crying now?”

You look up at him, not saying a word still as you mentally jump through hoops.

“Tell me what is wrong or else you’re sleeping with that muzzle on.”

Tears burn your eyes as he knows how much the gag hurts your jaw when he has you wear it all day, the thought of sleeping with it on causes an instant reaction from you. Still, you remain silent. Your heart sinks as you watch him walk over to your muzzle and strap it back on you.

Two weeks have passed since the situation and he’s dropped it. So, you thought. When you wake up this morning you see König standing by the bed looking down at you with a small box in his hand. You rub your eyes and sit up, focusing on what he’s holding.

“You’re taking one.” König says, in his hand a box of pregnancy tests.

As you sit on the toilet and pee on the stick, König stands there watching to make sure you don’t try to hide anything. Your hand shakes as you hold the test. His mask is on so you can’t see the expression he has underneath. Once done, he snatches the test from you and steps back to let you clean yourself up.

Pregnant. Just as he suspected. Underneath his mask he smiles. He’s always wanted a family, but has never been able to keep a woman. Yet here you are, already giving him a family. Before he can react, you begin to sob.

You collapse onto the tile of the bathroom floor as a waterfall pours from your eyes. König looks bewildered, not expecting such a strong emotional response from a usually strong woman. He steps forward cautiously as if he isn’t trying to scare you. He kneels down next to you and reaches out to caress your back.

“Don’t cry.” He says awkwardly, not knowing how to comfort you. “I can get you food. Would you like that? Maybe you can stay in the big bed?”

You gaze up at him and nod. König stands and looks at how small and helpless you seem on the floor. It hurts his heart, but he also loves knowing that you’re really trapped now.

“I’ll be back.” He stands and leaves the room, locking the door from the outside.

You continue to sob until you realize that he’s just left you alone in the room without being chained to the wall. In a hurry, you jump up and begin looking through every and any drawer you can open. Inside of the desk you find files held together with paper clips. Quickly, you grab two and hide them under the bed. Your heart thumps in your chest as a light of hope comes to you again.

[carlsangel]

PURE PERFECTION

carl grimes x reader

(carl asks for help with his bandage.)

tags: teeny bits of angst but mostly fluff!

masterlist here!

this one was requested, thank u anon bc this is so cutsie pootsie

The night Carl got shot was most definitely the hardest night of your life. The run to the infirmary afterwards seemed like it would never end. You stayed with him till the morning, until he had fully woken up.

Witnessing the panic he went through after waking up, realizing he’d lost his eye, was harder than watching him actually lose it. Seeing him cry as much as he did made you want to love him as hard as you possibly could, but you knew he’d need a while.

And he did. He needed a long time to feel okay about it. He was insecure for a while, and you knew he always would be. You did your best to ensure he felt okay about the scar, especially with you. One instance in particular stood out to him. One instance he’d remember forever.

You’re in your room, digging through your closet for something to wear.

“Hey.” You hear a knock and turn around, looking to the doorway of your room. It was Carl. His hair was a tad damp and his bangs covering his scar completely. You smile at him. “Hey. Did you shower?” You ask, turning back to your closet, rummaging through it. “Uh yeah like an hour ago.”

You turn around after finding your shirt to see him holding his bandage in his hands. “D-do you think you could help me?” His tone is almost sweet, but it was shy enough to tell you that he was worried. He hadn’t asked for you to help him before. You’d seen the scar of course, just while Denise changed his bandage at the beginning, but it was quick enough so that it wasn’t fully exposed to you. You also sometimes looked away out of respect for him.

You give him a small nod. “Yeah of course.” You toss your now very unimportant shirt on your bed as you lead him over to the bathroom. You have him sit on the edge of the bath tub as you prepare to put his bandage on for him.

“I hope I do this right.” You laugh. You tried your best to make him feel comfortable. You could tell how nervous he was. He watches as you lay the bandage across the sink. “I’m sure you will.” He smiles in the cute way he does, masking his nerves (you know that one cutsie smile? that). When you approach him, he tenses up a little, correcting his posture.

You stand in front of him, in between his legs and look down at him as he looks up at you. His bangs fall back from his face a little and parts of his scar is exposed. You smile at him, kissing his forehead before pushing his bangs back fully. He still looks at you nervously.

“I…” You don’t let him finish his sentence before leaning down to kiss him. You can feel him smile into the kiss before pulling away. His smile is ten times bigger than before. “I think youuu…are pure perfection.” You say, taking his chin in your hand as he smiles up at you.

“I love you.” He looks at you, absolutely infatuated.

“I love you too, Carl.”

You then help him with his bandage, making sure it’s how he wanted it. You check to see if it’s secure in the back of his hair and once you’re done you pull him up to stand and look in the mirror.

“All good?” You ask with a smile. “Yeah…yeah it’s good.”

a/n: this was so fun but idk if it’s what anon wanted!!! MUEHEHEH also the smile im describing is like the smile he gives rick after rick explains everything with michonne in season 6 ep 11 T-T when he’s all like “it’s cool” YOU KNOW?

[b1mbodoll]

pairings: ghostface! park jongseong x f! reader

warnings: murder + blood + knives + hard noncon + graphic imagery + death + manipulation + virginity + um so basically he kinda kills you…

💌: listening to helena by misfits n had a ghostface! jay thought bc of the lyrics “if i cut off your arms and cut off your legs would you still love me anyway?”

everyone knows jay because he’s the perfect guy. he’s a dedicated student and perfect son.. it also helps that he’s super hot! but what caught your attention was how much of a sweetheart he is to you in particular. sure he’s always nice, but something about the tenderness of how he speaks to you makes you dizzy. it’s almost like he’s talking to a cornered prey animal that he’s about to rip apart.

when the two of you get together, jay’s the best boyfriend you could ever ask for! he never pressures you into having sex with him when you shy away and tell him “no.” he’s always doting on you and making sure you’re taken care of, sparing no expense to make you happy. you like to think he fell first but you fell harder, entrusting him with your heart and, without even knowing it, your life too.

you never would’ve guessed that your jay is a murderer and strokes his cock while picturing your bloodied body, cumming to the thought of you bouncing on his cock while he has a knife at your throat, deep moans escaping him when he imagines the blood running down your throat and making a mess of your perfect tits that you never let him touch, or even see.

jay has always promised to protect you, but his fantasies are too much for him, and this time he couldn’t resist giving in to temptation. it seems as though killing random strangers isnt enough.

so he slips his mask on and grabs his favorite knife, the one he daydreams about gutting you with, and makes his way to your house, his cock throbbing when he notices that your curtains are open and you’re changing without a care in the world, a pretty lace bra shielding your tits from his view.

it doesn’t matter though, pretty soon you won’t have a choice but to let him ravage you and fuck your virgin holes for the first time.

you’re so innocent, such a fucking airhead that jay almost feels bad taking advantage of you like this, but he knows it’ll all be worth it when he’s ballsdeep inside of you.

he wastes no time breaking into your house and entering your room as quietly as possible, using his full strength to pin you to the bed beneath him, ass up and your face pressed into the stuffed animals that jay gifted you.

you squirm and struggle until he pulls out his knife and drags it along your cheek, breathing shallowly while you blink back tears from the fear coursing through your veins, asking the intruder what he wants from you.

“isn’t it obvious?” he taunts, and you can hear his smirk, gasping in surprise when he pulls away slightly and uses the blade to ripe your panties, pressing his clothed cock to your pretty cunt.

tears are streaming down your cheeks now and you know it’s pointless trying to fight him off, trying to find your voice and beg him to stop.

jay’s already working on stripping you of your shirt and flipping you over before you can say anything, but he freezes for a second when he hears your broken voice.

“please don’t, sir.” you whimper, voice cracking as you continue. “i’ve never done this before, please don’t do this..”

you expect him to have mercy but instead he moans before pulling his pants off and freeing his cock, grinding his thick length against you, pawing at your tits and pinching your nipples until you begin meet his shallow thrusts, pussy growing wetter as he keeps his teasing pace.

you look down, where his cock rests against your cunt and jay laughs at your reaction. “sir, you’re too big! it won’t fit, please don’t! i don’t want this,” you sob, “anything but this..”

jay strokes your cheek affectionately, “shhh, ‘s okay. i’ll make it fit.. and it’s gonna fucking hurt, little one.”

that’s all he says before pushing his cock past your tight entrance, gritting his teeth as your hole immediately sucks him in. he doesn’t sheathe his cock inside fully, deciding to wait until you’ve stopped wailing first.

“fuck, it hurts! you’re so deep inside, please pull it out. i can’t take it”

jay’s so pussydrunk he cant be bothered to reply, instead keeping his gaze intently on your pretty little face while forcing the rest of his length inside, breaking your hymen in the process and blowing his load when you scream in pain, his chest heaving as he tries to collect himself.

“that’s it, i knew you could do it, princess. you were made to take my cock, to be my personal cumdump. god, i fucking love you.” is all you hear before he slices your soft flesh with the knife you forgot about, alternating between shallow cuts and deep gashes, ripping the mask off his face and running his fingers along trails your blood, bringing them to his lips and slipping them inside his mouth.

you see pleasure written all over your boyfriend’s face the more he mutilates you, and can feel as another load of his thick cum floods your womb when the blade pierces your stomach, choking on your own blood as your vision grows darker.

[fvsm4x]

Hii! Can I request any jjk men with a best friend! reader who wears a mask to hide their face bcs they think its ugly? (its up to u if u want sfw or not!)

#PRETTIEST [Gojo S. and Geto S.]

SUMMARY: Since you were a child, you‘ve always hated the way you look, so- you started wearing a mask.

— C.W: Gojo Satoru x female reader x Geto Suguru , hurt with comfort , insecurity , fluff.

— WORD COUNT: 1.3k+

— TAGLIST: @starlightanyaaa

— A/N: AHHH THIS IS SUCH A CUTE REQUEST I HAD TO WRITE IT IMMEDIATELY AFTER I FINISHED WRITING MAYBE IN ANOTHER LIFE!! SORRY IF ITS SHORT I HOPE YOU LIKE IT!!

Since you were a small child, you always hated the way you looked. Your nose, cheeks, and moles were constant sources of self-consciousness, and you despised the way you appeared in general. It was as if a dark cloud of insecurity constantly loomed over you, casting a shadow on your self-esteem.

Around the age of 7, it all began. You were just an innocent child, excited to go to school like any other kid. You possessed a unique ability that set you apart from your classmates - you could see curses, dark entities that others couldn’t perceive.

Every day, as you walked past your classmates, you were subjected to relentless torment. They would push you into the ground, snatch away your books, spill your lunch onto your head, and even steal your clothes during PE. You became a victim of bullying, and the reason behind it was painfully clear - you were deemed ugly.

At that tender age, you couldn’t comprehend the cruelty that surrounded you. You naively believed that this was their way of noticing you or playing with you. But as time went on, the truth slowly revealed itself - they targeted you because of your appearance, because you were considered ugly in their eyes.

It was during this dark period that you began to wear a mask, hoping that it would shield you from the relentless bullying. The mask became your armor, a tangible barrier that protected you from the perceived flaws you couldn’t bear to face. It became a part of your identity, an integral aspect of who you were. With the mask on, you felt a sense of safety, as if you were hiding your true self from the scrutinizing eyes of the world.

There wasn’t a single moment when you ventured outside without your mask. But despite the mask’s protective facade, deep down, you longed to be accepted for who you truly were.

It was during this challenging time that you crossed paths with your best friends, Geto and Gojo. Fate brought the three of you together on a fateful day as you were walking home from school. They witnessed your ability to kill a low-grade curse, and in that moment, they knew that you were like them - you could see curses just as they could.

This serendipitous encounter changed the course of your life. You made the decision to leave your previous school and join the same school as Geto and Gojo, hoping that this new environment would provide a fresh start, free from the torment of your past.

In the same class as Geto and Gojo, there was another girl who exuded beauty effortlessly. Her flawless skin, perfect facial structures, and the charming mole beneath her eye made her the epitome of perfection. Secretly, you couldn’t help but feel jealous of her. You longed to possess the same level of beauty and radiance, but you kept your jealousy hidden beneath a facade of indifference.

As the months passed, your bond with Geto and Gojo grew stronger. You began to address them by their first names, just as they did with you. It seemed like everything was going well, until one fateful day when a simple request shattered the fragile equilibrium you had created.

The three of you were gathered in Geto’s dorm, engrossed in a movie, when Gojo’s curious gaze fell upon your mask. His innocent question pierced through your defenses, leaving you vulnerable and exposed.

“Say, y/n… could we see your face?” he inquired, his finger pointing towards the mask that concealed your true self.

In that moment, the smile that had adorned your face behind the mask vanished, replaced by a mixture of apprehension and fear. You locked eyes with Gojo, the intensity of his gaze making your heart race.

“We’ve been friends for quite some time now, and I can’t recall a single moment where you haven’t worn that mask. You even wear it while you sleep!” he continued,

Your gaze dropped, unable to meet their expectant eyes. It was true - you had never once removed the mask in their presence. You only allowed it to come off when you brushed your teeth or washed your face. The thought of revealing your true face to them filled you with an overwhelming sense of dread. You feared that they would be repulsed by your appearance, that they would abandon you once they saw the real you, the one you believed to be ugly.

“That’s true, y/n. If you have a larger injury or something, we won’t judge. We just want to see how pretty you look behind the mask,” Geto chimed in,

Pretty.

The word echoed in your mind, taunting you with its expectations. They anticipated beauty, but what if you took off your mask and shattered their illusions? What if they saw the imperfections that plagued your self-image? The mere thought of their potential rejection was unbearable.

But why do you care so much about their opinion?

The reason was because you had fallen in love with both Geto and Gojo. Despite knowing that you were seemingly out of their league, your heart couldn’t help but beat faster whenever you were around them. You had tried to suppress these feelings, but they persisted, refusing to be ignored.

“I promise, Y/N, whatever you’re hiding won’t change a thing between us,” Gojo spoke, his voice filled with sincerity as he positioned himself in front of you. Geto, too, reached out and gently took your hands in his larger ones.

“Please, trust us,” Geto pleaded,

You found it difficult to resist their pleading gazes. Taking a deep breath, you finally relented, “Fine, but I warn you, it’s not what you expect.”

As the mask slipped away, revealing your face, you closed your eyes tightly, bracing yourself for the inevitable disappointment and rejection. You didn’t want to hear the people you loved utter the same hurtful words that had haunted you in the past.

But then, to your astonishment, Gojo’s voice broke the silence, filled with genuine awe, “Unbelievable! This is beyond stunning; it’s mesmerizing.”

Did you hear correctly? Mesmerizing? He didn’t say the word “ugly”? You cautiously opened your eyes, only to be met with Gojo’s intense gaze. He was staring at your face, his cheeks flushed with a deep blush. In that moment, you realized that he found you stunning, not repulsive. He was captivated by your appearance.

“I knew you were hiding a masterpiece under there, but this… it’s like you walked out of a dream,” Geto spoke, his hands tightening around yours,

Confusion and disbelief washed over you as you struggled to comprehend their reactions. “I don’t understand… why aren’t you saying I look ugly?” you murmured, your eyes flickering between the two of them.

“Ugly?” Gojo scoffed, his voice filled with disbelief. “That’s impossible. You’re the epitome of beauty, and we’re lucky to witness it.”

“Whoever said that you’re ugly clearly is blind,” Geto chimed in, removing his hands from yours and wrapping his arm around your shoulder, pulling you closer to him. “Because you’re the most gorgeous woman I’ve ever seen in my whole life.”

Tears welled up in your eyes as you widened them in shock. The tears began streaming down your face as a genuine smile spread across your lips. You were overwhelmed by their words and the overwhelming surge of emotions that flooded your heart.

Suddenly, a hand crept around your waist, and you looked down to see Gojo smiling up at you, resting his head on your lap.

“You guys…” you whispered, your voice choked with emotion as more tears continued to flow down your cheeks, landing on Gojo’s face beneath you.

A hand gently cradled your jaw, turning your head to the side, and you found yourself meeting Geto’s intense gaze. He brought his lips to your face, tenderly kissing away the tears that cascaded down your cheeks.

“Beautiful,” he murmured,

© fvsm4x do not repost!

[robinofgothamcity]

"so i cry and i pray for you to love me, love me, say that you love me."

♡ character: damian wayne x reader

♡ pronouns used: she / her

♡ note: not checked for grammar or spelling mistakes / hiiii ik i haven't updated in a while but like life bro lmao anyway im trying to find a new job bc a bitch needs money so like big girl stuff happening around here anywayyyyyy here is a blurb/drabble thing i kinda made it up on the fly so sorry if it's shitty

your rose gold dress was dragging against the floor as you were going around from league member to league member introducing yourself on the behalf of black canary. the annual JLA gala was one with a bunch of uppity superheroes and their sidekicks trying to get on everyone's good side which did not interest you at all.

your domino mask was not comfortable at all, nevertheless, it clashed with your very expensive dress. you knew dinah would have liked you to make your rounds with everyone but you were not interested in making friends with anyone that you weren't with usually.

you had been looking for jon or jaime but you figured that they must have gotten dragged around the gala by batman or even superman for things they didn't want to do themselves.

as you approached the snack table, you noticed the R patch standing right in front of you. you had yet to met the infamous robin and although you figured that batman was going to need your assistance in the teen titans one day in the not so distant future, you assumed that your first encounter with the boy wonder would be there.

you handed robin the drink he was looking for and smiled, "figured it beat having to reach across the table for it," the boy gave you a smirk, instantly making your face warm up, "(sidekick name) right? canary's righthand woman?" you nodded, "interesting way of meeting each other," you replied.

robin chuckled as you heard jaime finally scream your name frantically from the other side of the room, "sorry for cutting this short, duty calls when your dumbass best friend is calling for you," you stated as you grabbed your dress and darted to where jaime was.

damian swirled his drink around for a moment before grabbing his phone. he knew bruce hated when he was on his phone but he never thought that canary's sidekick was this....cute. damian also knew everyone's name, no thanks to bruce, so he knew it wasn't going to be too difficult to retrieve your information.

damian had found your instagram which was public and immediately scrolled through it. he found what was normal for girls your age. pictures with you and your sorority friends in some and others showed pictures of you and your family.

as damian continued to scroll he noticed the eye twitch he'd get when he saw a photo of you and a guy friend with his hand a bit too tight on your upper thigh. he knew that he didn't have any reason to get even slightly jealous, however; it wasn't a secret that whatever damian liked he eventually got.

he chuckled at the picture he saw of you looking up at dinah as you hugged her with a simple heart as the caption. damian knew that you weren't stupid enough to give off any real connection that you had to dinah but he figured that you must've wanted to appreciate for taking you under her wing.

damian made his way to where you were with jaime, bart, jon, and a few others. you were leaning against the bar, having a beer with jaime and jon as jon was the first to notice him.

"hey robin, fancy seeing you here with the rest of us mere mortals," he joked. it wasn't very common to see damian with the rest of the titans and young justice team. he was usually glued to batman's side as it was his duty to fulfill any questions he had of his own but he figured that since had taken an interest with you, one night like this wouldn't be so bad.

jon followed damian's eye trajectory and chuckled in amusement.

"shooting for the big leauges, huh?" jon asked. damian looked over to him so he could elaborate, "canary's sidekick is a very popular girl to say the least. the media loves her, i can't begin to explain how man lovesick letters i've had to sort through from her fans, and the league themselves love her. plus, i've noticed that a lot of our teammates are very interested in getting to know her, if you get what i'm saying."

damian scoffed, "and i'm damian wayne so lets see how that fairs for everyone else," jon knew damian was as cocky as they came but he knew that his confidence was on another level and what he wanted he usually got whether it meant getting his hands dirty for it or not.

the lights in the roomed had dimmed as he noticed that you were now by yourself with a wine glass between your fingers. damian fixed his tie as jon dusted his best friends shoulders off in encouragement. jon was always ready to support his best friend in anyway that he could even if that meant slightly sabotaging his other friend's chances with you in the process.

you were sipping your red wine as damian approached you cooly, "hey robin! nice seeing you again!" he smiled slightly as he took your cheap wine and set it on the table and handed another one for you to tase, "a red wine from napa, 1909 to be specific," your eyes widened as you took a sip.

"it's slightly bitter but it's pretty good," you replied as you took another drink, "thank you for this, i didn't think i'd be getting any kind of drinks from anyone tonight," you added on.

damian put his shoulder against the wall as he noticed how he practically towered over you, "do you think i could have this dance with you?" he asked as he heard the next song start to play.

you were shocked to say the least.

you knew how hard it was to get on robin's good graces and you had practically done nothing to achieve it. the song was slow and he took your hand softly as he led you to the dance floor.

thankfully, the room was dark enough to where others wouldn't notice that it was him dancing, "thank you for asking me. i didn't think i was interesting enough to get a dance from thee boy wonder tonight," damian laughed, "the pleasure is all mine. i didn't think canary had such an interesting protege,"

"i can't say i'm that interesting, i'm still working my way up the league ladder," you replied. damian scoffed, "it won't take long to make you an official hero," he stated, "with someone of your strength and abilities alone, i can imagine you'll be called up in no time."

you giggled excitedly as damian spun you around and had you face him but closer now, "but before that happens i guess i'll teach you the ropes," he whispered, "and can i ask what that might include?" you asked.

damian lifted your chin and stared at you with his emerald eyes.

"i think i can give you a taste test before the exam approach."

damian was never this straight forward, especially when it came to other league members and their sidekicks but he knew what jon said was correct. it didn't take an idiot to realize how loved you were by everyone and he knew his competition, mainly jaime and connor, could easily win you over so he did the only thing he knew to do in a situation like this, act like his playboy billionaire father as much as he could and from what he could tell, he was on the right track.

[sapphicmsmarvel]

acotar x reader: one day at a time

Tw for death: 

Reader loses somebody and their friends are there to pick up the pieces. A lil sprinkle sprinkle of az x reader bc that's MY BABYYYY

Lotsssssss of acts of service within the group. 

Also bc im a petty asshole i included a snippet of one of my racist aunts who said some wild shit to me at MY SISTERS FUNERAL and just basically dissing her. (literally why would you stare at my poc best friend who's just trying to support me. This bitch stared at MY GIRL?? MY BESTIE???? NUH UH NOT ON MY WATCH BITCH). 

Said best friend was just like “she’s never seen a brown person before marie it's fine.” 

NO ITS NOT. IDC IF THIS IS MY SISTERS FUNERAL WE’LL MAKE IT A DOUBLE FUNERAL. 

I'm petty. 

soooo this is born out of grief for my sister. My sister passed away on 03/11/21 and this is very much catered to my grief and these are my comfort characters so naturally i'm gonna write about them when it comes to helping their loved one grieve. 

and yeah this is gonna be based around the reader's sister dying. what can i say. I'm on brand. 

also reader is feyres childhood friend that got turned into a fae with nesta and elain. i feel like that’s just the staple with my fics. 

---------

When you got notified of your sister's death, it was actually a pretty good day up until that point. Sunny day with clouds, a wonderful brunch date with Mor, adorable children at the studio with Feyre. Afterwards, the two of you began walking back to Feyre’s, content on playing with Nyx for the evening before retiring to your own home. When you walked up, Feyre looked at you and told you about how the Inner Circle were having a meeting inside the office. So you two quickly joined them. 

When you walked in, Rhysand held out a letter, “this was a letter delivered to you.” 

You made a face and grabbed it, “okay, so why are you all staring at me like that?” 

“This person walked into the Spring Court and dropped it on Tamlins doorstep.” Cassian said. “They dropped it in the middle of night, just when he wasn’t prowling like a creep.” 

“What the fuck?” You asked as you analyzed it. 

No name but yours and a pisspoor address. 

Lady Y/N L/N

Night Court

“We didn’t know if it was a…” Azriel trailed off, realizing how silly what he was about to say was. “Hence, why all of us are here.”

“We’re also just nosey.” Mor shrugged, her nose wrinkling. 

You snorted, and tore into it, “you could’ve opened it.” 

“It’s your mail. We may be protective bastards but you still have a right to privacy.” Rhysand drawled. 

Feyre stood next to you as you pulled out the paper, your eyes tracing over it. 

“It’s from my dad.” You said recognizing his handwriting. 

Then, it all went to shit. 

Your big sister was dead, the woman you fought with a lot of the time but yet would take a beating for. Your big sister who helped guide you through life, who would always be there even if she was pissed off at you for some inane reason.

Gone.

You just froze, not knowing what to do. You’re pretty sure Az asked you a question, then Cass, then Rhys. Then you felt Feyre’s hand on your shoulder. 

I need to leave. 

I need to go before I hurt someone. 

You just wordlessly handed the letter to her and winnowed away. 

You didn’t go to your apartment, you didn’t go to the townehouse, you didn’t go anywhere they would find you. 

You went to the middle of the forest. You just picked a random point to lose it.

And you did. 

You didn’t remember much of causing the damage. Only that you managed to stop when Azriel’s arms wrapped around you. You just kept screaming. “I know, I know. It’s okay, it’s okay, I’m here.” He said, his lips against your hair. 

His shadows wrapped around your hands, cool wind kissing away the raging inferno of your cuts. You collapsed, taking Azriel to the ground. 

He just held you as you sobbed. You felt his own tears hit your neck. He usually did a better job masking his emotions, but it was you crying, you who he had a deeper bond with. So he let his emotions run free.

“Y/N!” Feyre called into your mind. Your shields were down and you didn’t even notice.

“Az has me, i’m sorry I-” 

“Don’t apologize. I would’ve done worse if I found out…” Her voice trailed off. 

“I’m sorry I ran off.” 

“Do not apologize.” She said sternly, “After you and Az are done come back to the River House. You can sleep at our house tonight. Guest bed is currently being made up.” 

She left your mind before you could respond. You breathed in the smell of Az. 

Azriel brought you back to Feyre and Rhysand’s home. Rhys had trouble with touch, but never with you. He brought you into his arms instantly. You tried not to let the tears surface again, but it was quite hard when a brotherly kiss was pressed against your head. 

“We got you, Y/N.” He whispered against the crown of your head.

Nuala and Cerridwen made you your favorite food. Which prompted you to start crying again. The twins looked so panicked that it almost made you laugh. Elain made your favorite cookies, which again kept the tears going.

“I don’t know why I’m crying over this.” You said helplessly, you managed to laugh during that. 

Feyre and Elain hugged you from both sides. 

You retired to the guest bedroom, you found a pile of fluffy blankets and your favorite candy. As well as a bouquet of your favorite flowers with Mor’s handwriting scrawled on the note. Amren left you a bottle of your favorite wine too. 

Eventually, after some more tears, there was a knock at your door. You called out for them to come in but saw Nyx. 

The little guy was walking even more, speaking full sentences. It’s insane to you that he grew so fast but it has been 5 years since he was born. 

“Go on like we practiced.” You heard Feyre encourage from behind the door frame. 

“Hi, Auntie.” The little guy mumbled. Holding a glass of water. “I have something for you.” 

“Yeah buddy?” You smiled despite the shitty day. Your nephew made everything better. 

Rhysand walked in behind him, as did Feyre. Rhysand lifted him up onto the bed while Feyre handed you a cup of hot chocolate. 

You were just glad Nyx wasn’t holding the hot drink. 

“Here’s some wata.” He said, his small hands handing you the glass. 

“Oh thank you.” You said earnestly and took a sip. You set it on the table. Then you laid back down and faced him. “Just what I needed.” You were genuine. 

“Auntie, are you sad?” Both Feyre and Rhys froze at their sons question. Clearly, he was going off script. 

You sniffed, “yeah, Nyxie. I’m really sad.” 

“I love you.” His eyes were so big, so genuine. You were going to cry for a whole new reason. 

“I love you more.” 

“Nuh uh.” He said, as a typical toddler wanting to argue no matter what. 

You huffed a laugh and opened your arms. “Come here.” 

He crawled into your arms with no hesitation. You were careful of his little baby wings as you held him close to you. 

You loved this kid. 

Feyre settled in behind you on the bed, Rhysand joined on the other side with his son. 

They held you as you drifted off into a dreamless sleep, hoping to see your sister one last time. 

————————

When it came to planning the funeral, you had to go out to your family’s cottage to help. You said you could go alone, but frankly, good luck telling Nesta and the Valkyries to stay behind when one of their own is in pain. 

So when you saddled up to your family with three warriors behind you, they were scared a bit to say the least. 

Emerie held your hand during the funeral discussion as Nesta watched the director to make sure she wasn’t insensitive to you. Gwyn stood guard behind you. They were protectors, they were not gonna leave one of their girls to deal with this alone.

Eventually, the funeral was planned. The rest of your chosen family came out and surprised you. You sent a notice to them of when the funeral was and told them they didn’t need to come because you knew how busy they were. 

When they showed up on your family’s doorstep to surprise you, you started crying again. 

——-

The day of the funeral, it was the entire inner circle crammed into the living room of the cottage of your mortal family’s living space.  

You felt bad cramming two males with wings into that small space, especially with so many other people. But Cassian and Azriel assured you that there’s nowhere else they would be. 

You slept sharing a flimsy mattress with Elain, since the other two sisters were with their mates. But Feyre and Rhys slept close. So did Nesta and Cassian. Both women facing your general direction. 

Azriel did not sleep. He wanted to be there in case you woke up in tears again. 

Amren slept sitting up against a wall, she wouldn’t admit it but she wanted an eye on you. She only trusted hers. 

Mor was curled on the other side of you. You were sandwiched between her and Elain. 

Emerie and Gwyn slept down by your guys’ legs. Emerie’s head on Mor’s thigh. Gwyn hugging Elain legs in her sleep. 

Azriel chose not to mention what happened when your dad came downstairs in the middle of the night to check on you. 

It was as if he wasn’t sure if you’d really be there. He just lost one daughter, he didn’t want to lose another. 

He nodded at Azriel who nodded back. Assuring him that you weren’t going anywhere. That you always had people watching out for you.  

As everyone got ready, it was a somber moment. Elain did your hair, Mor did your makeup, Amren set out your jewelry and Feyre handled your clothes. They didn’t want you doing anything. 

Nesta, Gwyn and Emerie let your nephew and niece play with their swords. It was the one thing they seemed interested in so they let them do it. 

Rhysand was currently trying to get your dad to accept a check from him and Feyre to pay for everything plus anything else your parents need during this time. Your father was refusing. Rhys spoke bluntly. “Your daughter is my family, please let me take care of her family.” 

Your dad didn’t. But Rhys hid the check in your dads night table. He felt yucky going into their room but did it to make sure they got the check. 

On the way to the funeral, Azriel had offered his arm for you to take, which you gratefully did. Rhysand got the door for you. Az led you in. The overprotective bat boys acted like your body guards, which you appreciated, however you couldn’t help but giggle a little bit at it. 

Nesta told you before the funeral to let her know if you wanted her to intervene to keep some relatives away. 

One of your (racist) aunts kept telling you how you’re responsible for your sister's kids. Then when she saw Azriel, Cassian, Rhysand, Amren and Emerie, she just stared. Before you could intervene, Elain and Gwyn stood in front of them. 

You almost wacked her so hard it was going to be a double funeral. You had prepared them before that some relatives were racist. They didn’t give a rat's ass. 

Oh and then everyone in your party including you were Fae. That also did not help. 

Hence why you lived in Velaris, away from all the bigotry.

During the service, Feyre sat on one side of you, Amren on the other side. Feyre clutched your hand and Amren even held out her hand for you. She always had a soft spot for you. Mor’s makeup didn’t last long throughout the service which is why she did bare minimum on your face. 

Afterwards, you left pretty soon after the service was done. You just had to leave the building. You guys went to a pub in your funeral attire. Azriel sat next to you and Nesta on the other side. Rhys refused to let you pay. But you knew he was trying to get you riled up. It was working. 

He was incredibly happy to see the fire return to your eyes. 

At that moment, with your family, you knew you were going to be okay. 

Just have to take every day one step at a time.

[thatkippycat]

hello! if you don't mind i do have a request for poly Fizzmodeus x reader

can you do headcanons of them with a crush on an idol/popstar succubus who's secretly a single parent (to keep the kid safe bc reader knows the public will be more than invasive and will only reveal the kid when they're older)? like reader's hesitant to rlly get into a relationship with the two bc she's afraid of what they think.

a certain anime's been giving me this brainrot for a while and i don't have the skill to properly write this sjjdkdkdkskdk

I didn't focus too much on the succubus part, but I hope this is good.

Fizzarolli x Asmodeus x F!SingleParent!Reader

Fizz is not a great father, but he does try his best, and thats why I love him <3. Hope y'all enjoy!

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

• Your tour ended recently, and you already have a new album being planned.

• For anyone else, it's a dream come true.

• For you, well, it's the break you desperately need to see your kid.

• You've been living a double life for a while.

• On one hand, you're a pop star, hiding her face beneath a variety of masks, with hundreds of thousands of adoring fans.

• On the other, you were a mom just looking out for her kid, trying to keep them out of the exhausting and draining world of fame.

• The mask thing was probably one of your best ideas, as it let you actually go out with your child without being accosted by the paparazzi.

• Plus the whole "secretive succubus" act was great for sales and popularity.

• Most of the money goes to your kid. Yeah, they may end up a tad bit spoiled, but you just want them to be happy.

• Plus, you do have the foresight to not make them an asshole.

• You've dealt with enough rich people in your time, and most of them are the exact kind of people you're trying to keep away from your child.

• Although...there are two that are pretty nice.

• You knew Fizzarolli first, both of you hitting Lust's entertainment circuit at the same time.

• You even had a small thing together for a little bit, although it never really grew. It was more platonic than romantic anyways.

• That's not to say that you hadn't considered going further, or that you didn't have some feelings for him, you just chose not to act on it.

• Asmodeus, on the other hand, found you after you had gotten a decent sized following.

• Unlike with Fizz, nothing really happened between you, but you did become good friends.

• He was also kind of hot too.

• When you had gotten back to your home, you were planning on take your kid out to do...something.

• You weren't sure, but it didn't matter, because someone had sent you a message.

• It was from Ozzie, inviting you over for dinner

• Problem is, you had just gotten back, and you really wanted to be with your kid.

• So, you asked if he could make sure that dinner stayed pg-13, which he questioned, but agreed to.

• You had been wanting to tell Asmodeus about you being a parent for a while, you needed to figure out dinner, and you didn't want to leave your child again, so why not kill 3 birds with one stone?

• When you got there, you got a pleasant suprise in the form of Fizzarolli.

• Fizz and Ozzie also had a suprise, the fact you had a kid.

• (I've been trying to leave the kid's age ambiguous, so that y'all can have a bit of freedom with it. If the kid's old enough, they introduce themselves, and if not you do it. Anyways, back to the headcanons.)

• It takes a good couple of minutes to explain everything, but they understand and respect your decision to keep your child out of the limelight.

• The dinner was nice, fancy too. Then again, you weren't expecting anything else.

• There was something odd though, you felt like Fizz and Ozzie were flirting with you.

• Turns out, they were.

• Apparently, both Ozzie and Fizz, who were together already, wanted to invite you into a little polycule relationship.

• And to be honest, you didn't hesitate to say yes.

• As mentioned before, you did have feelings for Fizz, and you did think Asmodeus was hot.

• Plus, you wouldn't mind having some help raising a child.

• Turns out that Ozzie is a pretty good parent.

• Fizz not so much, but he's trying.

• And dear Satan is it amazing to have people doting on you for once.

• Fans are one thing, romantic partners are so, so much better.

• And hey, at least your kid will grow up around some genuinely good people.

[h0nkch0c0late]

Omggggg Sam is the cutest thing ever!!! Could I request a cute little imagine of reader basically pampering Sam. Like doing his hair, some face masks and any night time routine 🤗🤗

Girl I have never done any of that stuff in my life so I'm gonna alter it a bit if that's okay :]

Pampered

Sam Riordan x Reader

SUMMARY: Sometimes your boyfriend just needs a little pampering. Too bad you don't know how the fuck to do it.

WARNINGS: none except for swearing, and mentions of vomit...don't ask.

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

"Why don't we ever do shit like the cute couples in the movies?" Sam asks, the two of you cuddled up on your bed inside of your dorm, laptop open to some random rom com.

"Like pampering? Skin care routine shit? Hair shit?" You question, one hand playing with Sam's hair as the other lay lazily against his lap.

His head was laying on your shoulder, arms wrapped around your torso as he looked up at you with his puppy dog eyes, "Yeah. Why don't we?"

You quirk and eyebrow at him as you chuckle, "1. Because we aren't like the cute couples in the movies, and 2. I don't know how the fuck to pamper myself, let alone anyone else, and I barely have a skin care routine. I slap a bit of Nivea face cream on, and that's about it."

He shrugs, "true. I also don't trust you with any sort of product near my face. You might accidentally kill me with it."

"Not to mention we are the total opposite of a cute couple." You add with a smirk.

Sam scoffed, "oh, yeah. We're absolutely sickening."

"And not like the good kind of sickening either." You snicker.

He nods against your shoulder, "Yeah. It's more like the most vile, vomit-all-over-your-shoes inducing, weird kind of sickening." He explains in a feigned serious tone.

You begin to laugh at the stupidity of your conversation, Sam joining in and suddenly you both landed in a laughing fit.

Sam had landed on the floor, holding his stomach as he laughed, and somehow you had ended up beside him in the same position, both of you unable to breath from how much you had been laughing.

After a while, the two of you managed to calm down, laying on the floor beside each other in comfortable silence, the laptop still playing the rom com in the background.

As the two stared at the ceiling, pretending to make shapes with the bland pattern.

"...the least I could do is slather some slimy ass face cream on you." You say after a while.

"That sounds fucking amazing." He replied, the two of you turning your heads to look at each other, large grins plastered on both of your faces.

You chuckled as you flung yourself back onto your feet, helping Sam up and grabbing your face cream.

It wasn't the pampering that Sam had seen in the movies, but it was the second best thing.

No-scratch that- it was the first best thing, because his girlfriend was willing to do such a small action for him, but to him it meant so much.

After all, they weren't the world's most...conventional couple.

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

I know it's not exactly what you asked for, Anon, but I felt that this way was more fitting for his character :))) and also bc I didn't feel like bullshitting my way through the fic LMAO.

[fridgrave2-0]

We share so many headcanons for Felix and Turbo that it's actually so exciting to see someone who shares a perspective very similar to mine on their characters! I feel like Turbo while dating Felix was less grumpy and sad as a lot of people interpret him :[ like he's not a perfect person ever and he has a million flaws but he also lived as king candy for a while. He's gonna be a little silly, I think. In fact, I think he'd only get that way (mostly) bc of Felix. Like Felix saw this mentally ill guy and went, "I can make him WORSE!" And then justified it to everyone as "I don't know what happened he just went insane!" for almost 30 years. I'd bet half my money that he even coined the term "going Turbo"

YES, EXACTLY, THIS!!!!

let the guy feel happy and silly in a company of someone who's "safe". turbo cannot allow to change others' perception of him by acting out of the line (aka his constant "I'm the best" bravado), but with felix he can relax a little and have a moment of peace when he doesn't have to put on a façade so much. but in the end, the only time he didn't wear a mask was when he was all alone after roadblasters, and being apart from felix was exactly what set him free

felix can't understand anyone else's problems until he goes through something similar and it gets shoved in his face, and even tho he liked turbo a lot back in the day, he was ignorant to things what were troubling turbo. his need of attention and appreciation wasn't normal, and there's only two options: felix supported it to the point when it got out of control, or he was dismissing turbo's concerns and frustrations. I don't see turbo as someone who understands his own emotions, and felix isn't a guy who would help him and guide him into healthier ways of seeking attention because felix himself is just immature and doesn't look outside of his bubble. if he feels good and happy and that his life is fulfilled, that means everyone else like turbo or ralph or else feel that way too. "you have your game, you are a main character, you earn your rewards. what else do you need?" felix would say, genuinely not understanding how neglectful he is. and turbo, disdained by everyone but felix, cannot explain why it's so important, or give a sign how damaging it is to his self-perception and self-esteem. turbo is already shaped into someone who keeps everything to himself, and seeing that felix doesn't want and won't understand him just makes every negative emotion and every concern accumulate in him, rot and poison him until it's too late

I'm sure turbo seeked for an advise when roadblasters were plugged in, but, as always, he was treated with "you're worrying too much. it's gonna be fine. just calm down. no one is trying to take your place". the same exact place by felix's side turbo doesn't feel he belongs to anymore. the same place for which he stepped over himself to open up, made a crack in a safe shell and was met with ignorance. is this what he tried to bent himself for, to be a different person for someone who just isn't willing to understand? to expose his back to others who are waiting for him to fall?

turbo felt rejected. he was rejected. by players and by the person he trusted most. and then he lost control, let the emotions boil out. and then the games were unplugged, his rivals and his home. he felt the invisible strings tearing up, ripping pieces of him out and living a hole that cannot be filled anymore. his connection to his game, his code, his life and soul

he crawled back to the one he also called home, damaged by another crash, the damage that won't heal anymore, because his game was gone. he crawled to felix, hiding from everyone's sight, scared of seeing nothing but "we knew it would happen" in their eyes. he didn't want to prove their expectations to be right. but when he noticed felix through the cracks in the tunnels under gcs, this was exactly what he saw

"he was so jealous. he was crazy... i should've seen it coming", felix said with a glimpse of regret on his face, too small to show the loss he should've feel. instead, there was it. the disappointment — and nothing else for the long ten years of hiding. his name turned into a common noun, a scary story, a legend he never wanted to be. but still, thanks to felix and his fantasies, his inability too see further than his exes' fake façade, turbo did actually become

a legend

[subskz]

making any of the members of 3racha go to the gym with butt plugs and make them do squats 😋 and just to be cruel, a vibrating one that you can control 💕also would be fun to make them wear leggings so whenever they squat down, you can see the outline of the plug hehe

this is already such a delicious idea in itself but the added bit abt making them wear leggings ♡_♡ the material hugging their thighs and ass (binnie and chan esp hehe) so tightly that you can see the plug vibrating inside them is so good

watching him fumble and struggle w the simplest of workouts would be so entertaining, esp if you turned up the setting of the vibrator as soon as he squats down and watched his shaky legs struggle to lift himself back up. it’d be extra fun if you verbally teased him to add a lil tinge of frustration to the embarrassment burning up inside his stomach, like asking him how he got so big and strong when he can barely manage a single squat, or asking why he’s not going for the heavier weights today~

channie would be flustered out of his mind, face and ears glowing so red that anyone who walks by would think he’s been pushing his body to the limit for hours. he lets out lots of breathless, nervous giggles and shoots lots of helpless glances your way, begging you to take pity on him bc you know he’s hopeless at masking his reactions, esp when it comes to keeping quiet. he already makes a lot of noise while working out, so the amount of huffing and groaning he’d be doing would be insane, definitely enough to get some weird looks which just makes his dick throb harder, much to his horror <3 he’d be so cute simultaneously trying to continue his workout while trying to hide the very obvious bulge in his pants w his veiny hands hovering awkwardly over it. poor baby is not equipped for this he definitely wouldn’t last very long, and by the time u get him home he just abt falls to his knees for you

the moment you turn the vibrator on, hannie is one step away from letting out the filtheist, most shameless moan he’s ever made in his life for the entire gym to hear. it thrills him to do smth risky like that in public bc he’s a lil bit of an exhibitionist, but at the same time he’s mortified over the thought of anyone catching him w a full hard on, leaking and twitching through his underwear like he’s seconds away from climaxing, which makes for a nice little show for you hehe. one second he’s whimpering for more, the next he’s holding his breath, puffing out his cheeks in a desperate attempt to shut himself up. his expressions would be to die for when he’s trying so hard to focus w his eyes wide as moons, glazed over w lust and his eyebrows scrunched up. any touch from you at all would probably be enough to make him cum in his pants right then and there. whether you take him home to fuck him properly or decide to overstimulate him in front of everyone is up to you

binnie feels a lil proud w you watching him at first, he can feel your stare practically boring holes into his ass, and every now and then he casts his eyes shyly up in the big mirror that takes up the wall to meet yours, and he nearly shudders bc he feels like he’s abt to be eaten up. you can see how hard his nipples are through his tight compression shirt too <3 he’d go crazy if you came up behind him, running your hands all over his body to “help w his form”, but it’s really just an excuse to feel up his muscles and make his sanity slip little by little. he’ll start to get a lil whiny, whispering out a panicked “more?” when you turn the setting even higher, but he still wants to do well for you and tries his best to keep squatting even his brain is starting to go haywire trying to do two things at once. all it takes is you pouting at him and saying you thought he could take it bc he’s your big strong boy, and he’s clenching his jaw, thighs trembling and whimpers building in his throat as he sinks back down. keep whispering praises to him and promising how good you’re gonna fuck him for each squat he completes, and he powers through for you like a good boy ♡

[fairyhaos]

✰ seventeen as boyfriends: hansol edition

event taglist (send ask to be added): @rubywonu @cinnamoroxie @belladaises @wheeboo @minhui896 @slytherinshua @kokoiinuts @jun-of-love @dandycharmer @sweet-like-caramel @hannyoontify @doesthismeannothingtoyou @fashionminghao @icysungho @butiluvu

pairing: vernon x gn!reader

genre: fluff, headcanon, mini scenario

word count: 511

warnings: none

notes: hansol edn. for the 500 event

literally starstruck. thinks that you’re the most incredible person to ever exist actually

is absolutely captivated while watching you talk about literally anything ever, listening The Most intently

like. the best active listener ever, and it’s all for you

smiles when you say something amusing, nods his head if he remembers the scenario you’re describing that he’s also witnessed, winces sympathetically if you say something embarrassing/ painful

loves listening to you talk about something you’re passionate about. being able to watch the way your eyes widen and you gesture with your hands and become more and more animated while talking makes him grin impossibly wide

bc he’s so good at listening, he literally remembers everything ab you, from what your first childhood memory was to that one day back in high school that you still fondly remember as one of the best days of your life

you’re just so precious to him, so how can he not remember everything you say?

“Hansol?”

“Y/N?”

“Who’s your favourite?”

Hansol blinks at you, confused. You’re currently on a casual date, eating dinner in some diner, and he’s thinking about something entirely random when you spring a question on him. “What?”

“Who’s your favourite person?” you elaborate. “Like, ever?”

“Hm.” He thinks for a second. “Oh, easy. My mom.”

You laugh, shaking your head, and it makes him smile a little, wondering what he’s done that’s so endearing this time. “No, apart from your family.”

“Oh.” Hansol furrows his eyebrows, and you’re watching him intently, eyes bright under the lighting of the diner. “Hm, that’s hard.”

You grin as his eyes meet yours, and something about the light, teasing expression ghosting the corners of your lips makes him grin too, having some vague idea of where this is going.

“You know what, I think my favourite person is Seungkwan,” Hansol says, keeping his face totally straight as he says it. 

“Seungkwan? Really?”

Hansol nods, still straight-faced. “Yeah. He’s, like, my best bro. The bestest. My favourite person ever.” 

“Ah.” Your face is expressionless too, a mild mask of nothingness as you nod as if it all makes sense. “Yeah.”

“Yeah.”

He stares at you, and you stare back, equal blank looks on your faces, before finally Hansol cracks, grinning and chuckling. He leans over and boops you on the nose, lightly.

“You shouldn’t start conversations like these if you can’t handle getting a different answer,” he says, and his teasing tone makes you break too, slumping your shoulders and whining.

“I really thought that Seungkwan was your favourite person,” you say sulkily, and Hansol laughs again. “Like, for all of five seconds. I really believed you.”

He smiles at you, and he knows he has stars in his eyes. “Of course you’re my favourite, Y/N,” Hansol says, tapping his fingers affectionately against your hand resting on the table. “It’s you.”

That makes you smile, tilting your head. “Really? Are you really sure?”

Hansol nods, interlacing his fingers with yours. He smiles back at you.

“There’s never going to be anyone else but you.”