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purplekissinger · 9 months ago

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I am the pretty thing that lives in the castle

And I pray one prayer - I repeat it till my tongue stiffens - Catherine Earnshaw, may you not rest as long as I am living; you said I killed you - haunt me, then! Emily Bronte, ‘Wuthering Heights’.

Y/N became a ghost instead of Myrtle. She couldn't care less about Tom. He wishes he could say the same. Wordcount: 3k.

At their first meeting, Tom even shrieked a little (as he later justified, solely because Y/N took him by surprise). He crept towards the sinks that bathed in the bluish light of the moon, and did not at all expect that someone would jump at him from the ceiling with a “Boo!”

“Boo,” Y/N said reluctantly and passed through him like a light bluish cloud. Tom closed his eyes, but didn’t feel anything.

“Good evening to you too,” he said, looking at her cautiously. Y/N floated up to the ceiling and was now studying the stucco, running her ghostly finger absentmindedly over the frozen gargoyle masks. “What's new?”

“As you may guess, absolutely nothing,” Y/N responded, “but I like that you’re trying to be polite. It's nice.”

“Do you feel ‘nice’?”

“Not really. I'm using words that I learned in life, but they don't quite describe my experience because I've never experienced anything like this before. I'd rather you be polite than rude, and that's my new “nice.”

Tom looked at her, a luminous spot against the black wall, which trembled slightly, like the wings of a strange butterfly. Y/N died wearing a thin shirt, but there was no longer any way she could be cold or get sick.

“If I didn’t know you were a Ravenclaw, I would have guessed by now,” he said.

“I was different when I was alive,” Y/N said judiciously. “More lively”

“You sure were”.

“No, I mean it. I can't explain it enough for you to understand, but this experience is...changing. Everything becomes so transparent, unreal. If I were the same, I would have already cried barrels of tears and flooded the toilet”.

“There is someone who is eager to do that for you,” Tom said gloomily. “Myrtle has been whining all day long, telling everyone what a wonderful friend you were.”

“Me?” Y/N sounded surprised. “I can’t remember that we were friends. However, I did stand up for her a couple of times…”

Tom kept silent a little longer, angrily tapping his fingers on the broken edge of the sink. When falling, already dead, Y/N hit her head here. They didn't fix the sink, instead, they put a lock on the toilet door, but Tom sneaked in almost every evening.

“Is that why you’re not angry at me for killing you?” he finally asked.

“Well, technically you didn’t kill me. You just released a basilisk, which also didn't do anything against its nature, so it's kind of like an accident. Although I can understand why you didn’t tell anyone about it all,” Y/N said. “No, that’s not the reason why”.

“You are very understanding,” said Tom. “Is it okay if I stay here a little longer? I need to prepare an essay on the history of magic, and tomorrow is the final match between the badgers and Slytherin. All of Hogwarts is shaking”.

“Make yourself at home,” Y/N said indifferently.

She went down to the Chamber of Secrets with him when the time came to seal it. Hovering silently two steps behind him, she looked at the tunnels and rusty gratings that were many, many centuries old, and for the first time something like curiosity was reflected on her transparent face. For some reason this made Tom feel almost happy. Y/N’s curiosity became almost human when, rustling its scales, a huge snake slowly crawled out of the black hole in the wall and surrounded them with a ring, and put its terrible head so as to get a better look at the guests, and hissed in greeting.

“I've read that those who speak Parseltongue can look a basilisk in the eyes and survive,” said Tom, looking down, “but I don’t want to test that.”

Y/N looked fearlessly with her dead eyes straight into the face of the creature.

“Yes, the cost of a mistake would be very high,” she said. “What is your pet's name?”

“Susie,” Tom said quietly. “It's a girl”.

Y/N smiled weakly.

“Hello, Susie,” she said. Susie let out a squeal that sounded more like a laugh. “Nice to meet you. Unfortunately, this is not for long, because we have come to seal the Chamber of Secrets forever.”

“For a while,” Tom corrected her. “Susie, I'll be back, I promise. I don't know when, but I'll be back��.

He closed his eyes and stretched his hands forward. The basilisk poked its terrible mouth into his chest, and Tom hugged her.

***

When Tom returned to school the next year, no one noticed anything, and he even began to think that the ritual did not work, but as soon as he crossed the threshold of the toilet on the third floor, a quiet exclamation was heard from under the ceiling:

“Oh! Tom, what happened to you?”

Like a feather or a petal, Y/N slowly descended towards him. Tom looked at her and thought that flying suited her well.

“Is it that noticeable?” he asked suspiciously.

“You have become very small,” Y/N said, flying around him. “Like this,” and made a small circle with her hands. “Where did half of you go?”.

This is how he learned that ghosts see the effects of Horcruxes.

“I won’t tell anyone,” she promised. “Who was it?”

And Tom told her. About everything, about how he found out who the Gaunts were, about how he found his uncle, about the Riddles, about how scary it was to look at his father’s corpse, because he was so very alike him, about how he made a Horcrux right there while the bodies were still warm. It was easy for him, he wanted to talk, to free himself from every detail, take it out of his head, let Y/N look, discuss, judge.

She was in no hurry to judge. She just said:

“This could backfire on you.”

“How?” Tom suddenly felt offended. He just now realized that he would like her to admire what a cool magician he is, and maybe even clap her hands.

“I know more than you,” she said vaguely. “Not everything, perhaps, but more. Yes, I’m still on the threshold, but from where I’m standing, it’s clear that you acted very rashly.”

“What do you mean by ‘still’?"

She didn't answer.

All autumn, winter and summer he went to visit Y/N, even leaving textbooks in a niche by the window. It was quiet and somehow very cozy there, the light from the window was so gentle, and on sunny days the stained glass windows seemed to light up with colored lights. Y/N was silent for the most part, but seeing her figure out of the corner of his eye and hearing her thoughtful humming under her breath was... nice. This was his new “nice”, because something inside of him began to change inexplicably, irreversibly and horribly.

In winter, he asked her to come to the Yule Ball, and she agreed, and she blew out all the candles and ruined the chandelier. Oh, the chaos!.. And in the spring they celebrated Y/N’s first Deathday Party. For this occasion Tom stole a lemon pie from the kitchen, but Y/N politely thanked him and said that she couldn’t eat that. She fluttered back and forth, he chewed on the pie, they argued about the technique of using Fiendfyre, and it was a nice evening.

“I won’t come back here in the fall,” Tom said suddenly, because in fact that’s all he’s been thinking about for the last few days.

“I know,” Y/N said. “You are in seventh year. I can count to seven”.

“But I’ll come back someday,” he said stubbornly. “I just don’t know when”.

“I think I’ve already heard this once”.

“I’ll come back for Susie too, don’t you worry.”

“And what will we do then, riddle me this?”

“Seize the Ministry of Magic,” he blurted out. “Y/N, I'll miss you. Will you miss me?”

“I would like to tell you something nice in response, but I’ll tell the truth. Maybe I won't be here soon.”

He suddenly felt very hot. Then terribly cold.

“What do you mean you won’t be here? Where are you going to go?” Tom asked in an unnaturally high voice. “Aren’t you here forever?”

“Not really,” Y/N answered evasively. “You see, when I died, I was not at all ready for this”.

“Can anyone possibly be ready for this?”

“You must be ready, Tom. Now I know that. I was confused and made... the wrong choice. Stuck on the threshold. Didn't go any further. But I can step forward at any moment, I just need to think it over carefully and make a decision”.

“Can’t you step back?” Tom asked. He did not put hope into these words, but it sounded nevertheless.

“No,” Y/N answered simply. “I died, Tom”.

He rested his hand on his cheek and watched her spin, arms outstretched, right up to the ceiling, the invisible wind blowing her hair. He said:

“I regret that I didn’t know you when you were alive. I think we could become friends.”

“We could,” Y/N agreed. “But for this to happen you shouldn’t have killed me”.

Tom jumped up sharply and, his burning face hid in his hands, quickly walked out of the room. The door slammed so loudly that the noise echoed throughout the entire corridor.

***

Tom did not soon cross this threshold again.

He walked from Dumbledore's office after the first unsuccessful job interview in his life, he wanted to get out of the castle as quickly as possible so as not to endure this humiliation anymore, but his feet themselves led him to the third floor.

“You have become even smaller,” said a familiar voice, which he had only dreamed about in the morning. Loud, distant, but somehow comforting. “You're barely visible”.

Tom was silent. He looked and still did not believe that he was seeing her again. Finally he grinned and stepped forward.

“But you’re still the same,” he said.

“The same, but not quite,” Y/N objected, going down to meet him. “I thought a lot and almost decided to take a step further”.

“But not yet?”

“Not yet. This is a complex process, and it doesn't get any easier now that I have all the time in the world”.

“What exactly are you doing?” Tom asked, leaning against the wall. A forgotten feeling of comfort covered him in a cool wave. He felt like he wanted to stay.

“I’m thinking,” Y/N said. “A lot”.

“Don’t you need to, I don’t know, take revenge on your murderer?” he asked and realized that it sounded like a request. Lord Voldemort had a lot of requests that day.

“No, thanks,” said Y/N. She looked him up and down with a curious look and added: “It seems to me that there’s not much left of him anyway.”

Tom tiredly sank to the floor and tucked his legs under him. He wanted to talk to her again and again, so that she would answer sharply, but always to the point. He wanted her to scream at him, to rush to claw his eyes out, he wanted her to thirst for revenge.

“I sometimes saw you in my dreams,” he said. “Like we’re friends or something.”

“I have nothing to do with this,” Y/N said. “Have you made any living friends over the years?”

“Wait for me,” Lord Voldemort said without listening to her. He wanted it to sound like an order, but it turned out to be the third request. “Y/N, I figured out how to defeat death.”

“Sure you did”.

“I am not lying. I really fought it all this time and almost won”.

“I wish you would know how stupid you look now.”

“Are you going to listen or not?! I tell you, wait, I will bring you back, I will fix everything, you will be alive again, I will get you out…”

“Promise?”

“Yes, yes!”

“Lord Voldemort's promise?”

She smiled. Unable to look at her, Tom stormed out.

***

The third time he returned to the castle was on May 2, 1998. He walked along the empty corridors of the third floor, and his steps echoed loudly. He was going to congratulate Y/N on her yet another Deathday. In his hands was not a lemon pie, but an Elder Wand.

The door to the girls' toilet was blown off its hinges by the explosion. He crossed the threshold and saw that the stained glass windows were broken, and golden dawn rays were pouring into the room. For a second it seemed to him that the place was empty, that he was late.

“Oh, Merlin!” a familiar laugh rang out. “What's happened to you, Tom? You have become so very small, smaller than a mouse!”

She came down from the ceiling as before, but for the first time he saw her in the pink rays of the sun, and she seemed almost alive. For the first time he saw her almost alive.

“Come with me, Y/N”, he said softly. His hand trembled a little, grasping his wand. “I will bring you back to life. I will give you back everything and even more. Soon I will have the Resurrection Stone, and you will live again”.

She laughed even louder, twirled as if in a dance, and he felt uneasy.

“Stupid, stupid Tom,” Y/N said. “Still don’t get this, do you? Everyone gets smarter over the years, but you seem to only get dumber”.

And no Avada Kedavra could shut her up.

“But I'm glad you came. Really, I am. I wanted to say goodbye to you, Tom. I'm finally making that step”.

“No,” Lord Voldemort said in a changed voice. “Don’t. Don’t you dare”.

“Or else what?”

“Don't do this”, when was the last time he begged for something, pleaded? Was it with her?! “Stay. Stay, Y/N. I told you, I'll bring you back!”

“You forgot the magic word”. Y/N giggled. She sank to the floor and looked at him cheerfully and seriously at the same time. “I feel sorry for you, Tom”.

He had heard it once before, but coming from her it sounded and felt like “Crucio.”

“I have to go, really. There's no time to chat. I’ll tell you one more thing. Soon you will be offered a choice one last time, so please, please, don’t be stubborn. Can you do this for me?”

Tom looked at her desperately, afraid to blink, and still missed the moment when Y/N melted into the air.

***

The empty platform shines white, as if it were covered with snow. There are no trains here. No people, too. The bench blackens on the platform like a wound. A faint whimper came from under the bench.

A girl is walking along the platform.

She is wearing a thin shirt, but there is no way that she could be cold. The blue tie is fluttering in the invisible wind. She hurries to the bench, bends down, carefully takes out the bundle of robes from there, and opens it, and smiles a little and carefully presses it to her chest.

#harry potter #tom riddle #tom riddle x y/n #tom riddle x reader #voldemort x y/n #voldemort x reader

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thegnomelord · 11 months ago

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omg yes for the Ghost fic request you can do prompt 3 instead that would be great, thank you. some angst with a happy ending please

Sure thing dude, sorry this took so long, but a happy xmas to you lol My hyperfixation hyperfixated on this so it's a bit long and expositiony but I'm actually really happy with how this turned out :D Play the game HERE

Prompt: "Tell me how I’m supposed to un-love you, then. Tell me. Spare me.”

CW: NSFW, subbot Ghost, domtop Mreader, angst, misunderstandings, gentle sex, making up kinda, confessions, fwb turned lovers, idiots in love,

Simon's apartment is a picture of painful domesticity; your muddy boots sit neatly next to his by the door, two mugs set next to the coffee maker, two toothbrushes left on the sink only a foot away from different shower products that have long since mixed together into one giant pile, and a dozen more little things that tell anyone with a cursory glance — 'yeah, two people live here'.

When people wonder why you practically live together when you're just casual, you both just say it's convenient (and ignore how fake your answers sound).

After all; Why leave after he's ridden you to both of your completions when you can just settle on the couch and share a drink over a movie? Why should you waste money on a cab to get back to your own flat when you two can just tumble into bed? Why should Simon wake up to an empty and cold flat when he can do so in your arms, your steady heartbeat remind him you're both alive? Why leave in the morning and miss one of the few times Simon's fully relaxed when you can have a lazy morning, laying in bed and enjoying each other's company until the sun's high in the sky?

Why leave at all?

. . . Simon treasures every moment with you as much as he hates it, every second in your presence like a pretty hummingbird singing sweetly in his ear while it drills holes into his skull. Absolute Hell. Utter bliss.

He knows he doesn't deserve you. Knows you don't deserve to have a living corpse crawl back into your arms every night, nothing but a stranger with Simon's face. But you two have known each other so long it's impossible to let you go.

You met as toddlers when you'd nicked his toy, refusing to give it back until he agreed to play with you, and you've been stuck at the hip since. You two were each other's first kiss, fumbling behind the school bleachers, eager and sloppy like inexperienced lads are. First set of blooming hickeys along his collarbones, Simon's ma giving him a knowing look when she'd noticed it amongst the other bruises her no good husband had left on him. First fuck, quick and rough in a dark janitor closet during basic training, burning with need and heat. First—

. . . Simon doesn't know when the word 'Love' first registered in his brain. Maybe when you tore up heaven and hell looking for him. Maybe when you stuck by him when he did his best to scare you off, all rough words and teeth, unable to form one nice word when violence and revenge was all that was left in his head.

He doesn't know when he registered the word. Only that he looks at you whenever you do something mundane and thinks 'yeah. Love. That fits.'

But love has no place in. . . whatever this is. Hell, he's the one who'd set the ground rule when you two were young and dumb, reaffirming it after he'd come back as Ghost. And you'd never fought against it, agreeing to just be fucking casual, there's no way you want anything more than this. He doesn't want to cock it up, doesn't want to take more from you than he's already done, so he swallows all he feels and ignores how it burns his throat, going day by day like nothing's changed.

He wakes in your arms, deeply ingrained training waking him before dawn but the heat of your body keeps him rooted in place. Distantly he can still feel the cold tight confines of that coffin, of maggots wriggling on his skin, but memories of that nightmare float away before his traitorous mind can latch on to them. He lays in bed, head firmly on your chest so he can hear you, see you breathe. Morning comes too soon and you rouse awake, laying a sweet kiss on his forehead before getting out of bed to set the kettle on.

It's domestic.

It's painful.

. . .

You love how Simon looks. You especially love how he looks in his civies, freed of his armor and no longer needing to be guarded at all times, shoulders relaxed and mindlessly looking around as you talk while you browse the store. He's still gruff, and sarcastic, but you love that about him. You loved him long before he said not to tangle emotions in your meaningless bliss and long after he'd come back as Ghost, each unknown scar on his body taking a chip out of your heart.

And you respect his choice. You'll take what you can get and won't give it up even after your corpse has grown cold, hoping that will be enough to drown out the neediness of your heart. You lost him once and it had nearly killed you, you can't lose him again. . .

God, you're pathetic for him.

You meet miss Betty on your way back from the shop. She's your neighbor a few doors down, a sweet old lady who waters your plants when you and Simon are called back into action. You see her struggling with her bags so you hand your own to Simon so you can help her, "Hold this, please?"

"Only because you asked nicely." Simon huffs, but takes the bag without further complaint, walking behind you as you help miss Betty with her shopping, content to listen to you two talk about who knows what. It still amazes him how you've managed to charm all the neighbors Simon rarely spoke to.

"Oh, thank you deary." Miss Betty says as you put her shopping next to her door, holding onto your arm for support. "It's so nice to have a helpful person around here."

"It's not a problem ma'am." You say with a small smile, and fuck if Simon's heart doesn't beat a bit faster at the sight.

"You know," Miss Betty begins. "My grandson's been eyeing you up. And I can see why, you're such a strapping young man."

You feel Simon's gaze fall on you like a dagger, cold, hard, expectant. You try to think of what to say but your words fail you, because while you and Simon aren't in a relationship you can't picture yourself be with anyone else. "I-"

"Oh don't worry deary, I told him he was barking up the wrong tree." Miss Betty cuts you off by giggling like a school girl, "I wouldn't want to separate you two love birds."

The words burning on your tongue escape you before you can filter them. "Yeah, I doubt I could love anyone other than Simon." You clear your throat after, feeling his eyes on you.

Miss Betty just coos. "Oh, to be young and in love." Then she turns, waving her walking stick at Simon like he's an annoying pigeon that flew into her house. "You better treat him properly you big oaf, he's good for you."

Oh, Simon knows. Knows you're too good for him. But all he lets out is a small grunt, and you can't help the surprised laugh that escapes you.

You don't think of what you say next, so far away from a warzone your defenses are lowered. "No need to worry ma'am, he's the love of my life and I can assure you he treats me very well."

There's that word again, and the way it leaves your lips has Simon's heart skipping a beat. Fuck, Simon wants to hear you say it until he's deaf. Wants to hold your jaw closed so you don't speak again and stop making him feel this. Wants to pull you close and throw you out of the window at the same time. Wants— . . . he doesn't know what he wants.

"Oh, well I won't hold you up any more dears." Miss Betty says, patting you on the arm before shuffling back to her apartment with her shopping.

There's an uncomfortable silence between you two while you get back to Simon's flat, neither one of you sure what to say about the damn elephant in the room. You take the bags you'd given him, your back to him as you put them on the counter.

Acting like nothing's wrong. Nothing's changed.

But it has.

"An' you say my heart's rotten." Simon grunts, gruff and harsh, too many thoughts brewing in his head to properly say what he's thinking.

You turn to him, surprise obvious on your face. "What?"

"Lyin' to old ladies." His jaw is tense behind his face mask, which you note he hadn't taken off when the front door had closed, back to being guarded around you, something between Simon and Ghost. "Granted, it was convincing. What, did you take some creative writing lessons from Laswell?"

You stare at him for a few seconds, then you feel your jaw tense as well. "Christ, Simon, what are you on about?" You growl, stomping over to him.

His shoulders tense as you approach, but the scent of your cologne calms his body without his mind's input. "Can't love anyone but me?" He asks, something cold and slimy settling in your stomach when you realize he's repeating your words. "Love of your life am I?" Simon scoffs, the skin around his eyes moving in a sardonic smirk. "You're full of shite."

He doesn't know who he's trying to convince here.

You know you should brush it off, go along and say it was just a joke. Say anything that won't clue him in to your real feelings. Hell, not even saying a thing would be good.

But you just have to open your mouth.

"I wasn't lying about that Simon." You say suddenly, open, honest, your eyes meeting his.

Silence stretches long enough to have your nerves crackle with static, your body needing something instead of the nothing he gives you. Then Simon lets out a short, dry laugh, like your words are just a joke.

"Quit it." He huffs, doesn't meet your eyes because looking at you and entertaining the idea that he could have something more with you fucking hurts. "'m not up for your focking jokes." He grows, turning to leave,

Something inside you makes you move before your mind can comprehend it, grabbing his hand to stop him, "Simon I love you damn it!"

Your words are like a slap to the face for him. Simon freezes like a cornered deer, thousands of thoughts darkening his eyes, brows furrowed like he doesn't know whether to be angry or not. "But we—'

"—we agreed, I know. I fucking know." You hiss and damn it you can feel tears prickle your eyes like needles, "But I fucking love you, been in love with you for years and I know we agreed not to but—" You're babbling now, each word leaving your chest feeling raw like an open wound, the weight on your shoulders lessening but it only draws the noose tighter. "—just tell me how I'm supposed to un-love you, then. Tell me. Spare me."

Silence greets you as you stare into his eyes, that same static gnawing on your nerves the longer he just looks at you without a word, searching for something in your eyes he expects not to find.

But he does.

He spares you, pulls you by the clothes so his lips can crash onto yours, holding you close like you'll disappear. The kiss is sloppy and desperate just as it had been when you'd been hiding behind the school bleachers, all teeth and tongue and care.

Eventually the need for air breaks you two apart, but Simon refuses to let you go far. His rough hands hug you close as he rests his forehead against yours, pupils blown wide. ". . .love me, huh?" He says under his breath, as if he can't believe it.

"Yeah." You breathe out and wrap your own arms around him till there's not an inch of space between your chests, hearts beating fast like war drums but in such a rhythm you'd be fooled to think you share one. "Do you?"

Simon swallows, his throat dry, but the words slide smoothly off his tongue. "Yeah." He says, letting you pull him back into a kiss. It's sweeter this time, calmer, no longer rushing to feel the other. He melts against you, a low sound building in his throat as the sensations of you wrap his mind in silk, the taste, the feel, the scent, all of it making his mind fuzzy. All his now.

You lose track of time, stealing gulps of air between kisses as your minds drown in the other, your bodies moving on their own. You don't know how you end up in the bed but you do, your skin prickling with goosebumps as Simon's body presses against your own.

You part to catch your breath, Simon's head falling back on the pillow with your name leaving his lips like a prayer. He's underneath you, eyes hooded and short hair ruffled, and while usually he'd push you back and wrestle for control, this time he just melts into the sheets, lets you do as you want.

"Fuck-" Simon growls as you kiss down his neck, his blunt nails scratching your scalp as reward for the little hickeys you leave on his throat. Your hands roam across his body, leaving lingering trails of burning heat. "Love, please hurry up." He breathes out, cock already rock hard from just a few kisses and heavy touches.

"Right," You say, because that's all your brain can conjure up at the moment. Blindly reaching for the lube you trail kisses down his front, your lips tracing every scar along the way, his legs easily parting so you can settle between them. You can't help but look him over again, all relaxed and eager for you, chest rising and falling like he's a racehorse. "God you're fucking pretty."

A deep flush spreads from Simon's ears down to his hickey marked shoulders, a little smile tugging on the corner of his lip. "Just pretty?"

"Beautiful." You breathe out against his abdomen, rubbing your fingers together to warm the lube. "So handsome." You don't miss how his cock twitches, your lips following his happy trail. "Charming." You hum against the tip of his cock, tongue lolling out to lick at his slit. "Bloody bewitching." His hips buck into your mouth as your fingers slowly circle his puckered rim, putting just a bit of pressure at first. "Irresistible." His body yields, the tense muscles of his rim going lax and letting you slide a finger in.

A low and long groan escapes his chest, eyes fluttering shut as he savors the stretch, tight walls clenching in the rhythm of his breaths. "Read a dictionary, did you?" Simon smirks, heart warm and floaty at the way you wait for him to relax after the intrusion before you move, at the way you look at him when your exploring finger brushes his prostate and makes him moan. "Such a focking charmer."

"Just for you." You chuckle, lightly sucking on his cockhead to make him forget about the lingering pain, your ears pricked to hear every little groan and unabashed moan leaving his lips. "Can you handle two?" You ask, your second finger resting against his rim without trying to push in.

He growls like an animal and pushes his hips down on your hand, "You're sleeping on the couch if you don't hurry up." He warns at your question, his harsh glare softened by the heavy flush across his face and his hooded eyes.

"Not the dog house." You say in mock fear, swallowing his leaking cock a third of the way down in one go as you push your second finger in, your thumb rubbing the space between his balls and ass so his prostate is trapped on both ends.

"Shite-" Simon's hips twitch up, beads of precum painting your tongue as his legs spread open more. "-you wanker." His insult is light, head rolling back as he grounds his hips down in an attempt to chase after that spine numbing pleasure your fingers bring.

Pulling back enough to murmur "Love you too." against his tip you take him into your mouth again. You can't measure how good it feels to say those words honestly instead of sarcastically, your own arousal forgotten as you work him open on your fingers, the constant pressure on his prostate making a small stream of precum bead down your throat.

Simon floats in heaven for, he doesn't know how long, the pleasure making his brain melt through his dick, unable to stop the soft sounds escaping his throat. He cracks an eye open when the tightness in his stomach becomes apparent, barely able to stave off his orgasm when he sees his cock throbbing between your lips.

Your name comes out slurred as he tugs on your hair, "Need you. Now." A little bit of his usual demanding nature comes out, but even then it's born out of desperation to feel you rather than the need to be in control.

You let him pull you off his cock, placing gentle kisses on his thick thighs as you pull your fingers out of his stretched hole. "You have me."

You go to grab a condom but he stops you, too aroused to be embarrassed by his eagerness. "You don't- my physical, I'm clean. If you want, I mean-"

You furrow your brows, your chest tight with how big your heart feels. You could never hide how sick you'd feel at the thought of Simon being intimate with someone else, even when you'd never agreed to be exclusive. "We did physicals nearly three months ago, you haven't. . .?"

He shakes his head, "No," Suddenly he tenses up, his jaw tight like he's expecting bad news. "Have you?" His tone isn't judgmental, but you can hear the edge of hurt.

"No. No. No!" Quick to dispel his thoughts you lean over to kiss him like he's a bout of fresh air and you've been drowning for years. It's not too far from the truth. "You're the only one I've ever. . .done that with." You murmur against his lips, earning yourself another kiss as he pulls down by a hand on the back of your neck.

"Good." Simon tuts, proud, hiking one leg around your waist to pull you closer, your cocks rubbing together. "Fuck me already." He grumbles, his strong arms wrapped around your neck.

"Right, yeah." Despite how many times you've done this suddenly you feel like a fucking virgin, your hands trembling slightly as you lube up your cock. You press the tip against his slick hole, forcing you to bite your lip as you start to push your hips. "Just relax, yeah?"

"Yeah." Simon breathes out, feeling pressure of your cockhead against his hole. You both groan when your cockhead pops inside him, your lips on his making him forget about the lingering sting. "Shite, so good for me." Simon hums, looking at you with hooded eyes. Usually he relishes the sting and burn sex with you brings, but he's so loose and lubed the pain is barely a prickle at the back of his skull and he finds himself getting addicted to the unfiltered pressure and weight of your cock inside him.

"Simon," You say, clenching your teeth as you try to keep still so he can get used to you, holding his hips for dear life. "Can I- please I need."

"Focking move it," He nods his head, his head rolling back from the sensation of you moving inside him, your cock brushing against his walls as you push inside him inch by inch until you're fully inside him.

Your nerves a live wire from how tight and hot his hole is, forcing you to rest your head on the pillow next to his as you try to gather your self-control; you'll be damned if you cum before him.

"I'm good." Simon tugs on your scalp, your lips meeting in a lopsided kiss. You pull away to rest your forehead against his, his eyes blown wide and hooded, something about this position so intimate it melts your heart. "Hurry up, 'm not going to last long." He confesses, his walls clenching down on your length.

Words escape you so you just nod your head, slowly pulling your hips back before pushing back in, Simon meeting you half way so your cock can lay consistent pressure on his prostate. You two move like one, your senses full of sex and heat, your ears ringing with Simon's low moans and groans. Moving your hand down you stroke him in time with your thrusts, earning yourself even more moans. Usually Simon's so quiet in bed, but now he lets it all out so freely, low growls and huffs and small 'ah, ah, ah's breathed into your ear with every small movement of your hips.

Your pace picks up as your orgasm approaches, your cock bashing against his prostate with all the subtlety of a tank. "Shite-" Simon throws his head back to moan, leaving his throat open for your teeth to lay even more hickeys. "-I, fuck, yeah, that's the spot- just- I need-" His voice turns higher pitched and needy, his body moving with the force of your thrusts, powerful arms pulling you even closer so his teeth can clamp down on your shoulder.

Simon cums with a shout that's muffled into the meat of your shoulder, whole body shaking like a leaf in the wind as he paints both of your stomach's white with his cum, his hole clenching down and pulling you along with him. You cum inside him and moan, collapsing on top of him, completely exhausted.

The silence of the bedroom is broken up by your haggard breathing, both of your bodies sweaty and hot. You tilt your head just enough to catch the way Simon looks at you, like a content cat that knows he's safe, and shit if that doesn't melt your heart, nothing will.

"God, that was something else." You say to break the silence, trying to pull out when you feel yourself soften but your attempts are stopped quickly, Simon grumbling something under his breath as he hugs you closer. "What?" You ask.

He throws a light glare your way, but his eyelids droop with exhaustion. "Don't." He says, relaxing when you stop what you're doing. "Want to feel you." He says; it's the most intelligent thing his mind can conjure up right now.

A gentle smile tugs on your lips. "Right." You lean down to share another kiss with him, this one sweet and slow, his tongue gently liking your lips as a way to ask for entrance— why rush when you've got all the time in the world?

The exhaustion weighing on your bones and Simon saccharine kisses lull you to sleep soon enough, your body like a weighted blanket on top of him. "Love you," You mumble just before your eyes close.

Simon fights against his own fatigue for a few more minutes, relishing the feeling of being connected in such a primal way, with you in him and around him. He takes in your sleeping face with blurry eyes.

Yeah. Love. That fits.

#Gnome's Prompt Game #gnome correspondence #cod mw2 #trinkets from the hoard #male reader #top male reader #x reader #simon ghost riley #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley x male reader #dom male reader #ghost x reader #cod modern warfare #cod x male reader #cod smut

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fangirl-writes · 11 months ago

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Small Spaces

JJ Maybank x Reader; John B. Routledge x Routledge!Reader

Warning(s): claustrophobia, anxiety attack, swearing

Request: jj maybank dating jb’s twin sister and her joining in on their adventures but she has severe anxiety so just him being super sweet and loving to her?

Notes: This is totally based on another fic I read that I can't find rn but it's my spin on it so I hope you like.

Fuck this, you thought. Seriously, fuck this.

You were squeezing yourself through a small hole in a mausoleum that had "Redfield" written across the top, just to see what was inside.

For John B., of course, because he was your brother, and he needed to find this clue almost as much as he needed to be breathing.

But god damn it, this was all you needed.

Between the near visit from child services, the hurricane, the dead guy's boat, the guy's gun, getting shot at, and surely more to come, you were due for a panic attack.

Your feet hit the ground with a loud smack and you winced at the noise.

"Still alive?" John B. asked.

"Oh my god, shut up,"

"Yep, she's alive."

You rolled your eyes and took the flashlight that Kie was offering you.

You shined the light around the space, bigger than you were expecting, but the fact that your exit was so small and that it would be a struggle getting back to it was making the anxiety stir in your stomach.

"Y/N? You okay?" JJ asked.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm fine," you replied. "What exactly am I looking for?"

"You'll know it when you see it."

"Real helpful, JB," you mumbled, shining the flashlight around and trying to focus on finding whatever it was rather than the darkness and the walls that felt like they were going to close in on you.

You gasp when a flash of white catches your eye.

"Y/N? You okay?" JJ asked

"Oh my god," you whispered.

"Y/N?" JJ asked again. "I'm gonna need some word confirmation that you're okay."

"Yeah, I-I'm fine," you replied. "I think I found it."

"What? Really?" John B. said, peaking into the space you'd crawled into.

You pulled out a long white envelope from a small space in the crypt, the words "FedEx" and "Bird" written on it.

Thanks for including me, Dad, you thought before taking the envelope over to the space and handing it to John B.'s outstretched hand.

"That's not gold," Pope said, a little disappointed.

But John B. was looking at it like it was. "Holy shit."

"JJ, a little help?" you said, reaching a hand through the space.

"Yeah, yeah, I gotchu, babe," he replied, helping you out of the crypt.

"This is from our dad," John B. said, looking around at the group.

"Yeah," you said, trying to catch your breath. "To you."

"Code red. Code red." JJ warned, the smoke from his joint fluttering up into the air. "Square groupers! Square groupers!"

Your stomach drops as the five of you start moving, JJ's hands grabbing your arms rougher than he probably meant to.

"It's the guys who robbed your house," JJ said.

Fuck, you think. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

You guys hide on the side of the mausoleum, turning off and tucking the lights under your shirts.

You can feel it start to bubble up, your breathing becoming unsteady.

"Hey, I see something!"

"Do you think it's them?" Kiara asked.

"Homie's got a gun," JJ said as he and John B. peaked around the corner.

"Screw this," Kie said, taking off. The others followed her, including you, who was on the verge of breaking down.

"Right here!" One of the men shouted.

JJ's hand was on your back the whole time, but it did nothing to calm you down.

You each scaled the fence with little trouble except for Pope, who got his pants stuck on the gate.

It was funny until you were in the van and that anxiety attack had caught up with you, the adrenaline fix going away.

Your hands shook. Your chest tightened. Tears began streaming down your cheeks.

You were starting to hyperventilate, and your head was spinning. Even though you knew you were safe in the Twinkie now, you couldn't help the dread that was washing over you, the fear for your life that coiled around you like a snake.

"Hey, hey, hey, Y/N," JJ said, quickly catching on to what was happening. "You're okay, you're okay."

He made you look at him and took a few deep breaths for you to copy, which you did over and over.

"Shit, get this joint out of here," JJ said, handing it off to Pope.

"What am I supposed to do with it?" he asked.

"Throw it out the window or something, get it outta here. It only makes her worse."

You'd tried that anecdote before, and, as he said, it really did only make the panic attack worse. Through trial and error, JJ and John B. found the only things that helped you through a panic attack were calming words, help getting your breathing back to normal, and hugs.

So, JJ did just that. He held you close and whispered in your ear, rocking you back and forth slowly.

John B. checked your state in the rearview, feeling bad that he'd brought you along at all, even if you had insisted. Then he looked at the envelope sitting next to him and knew that, somehow, it would be worth it.

#jj maybank x routledge!reader #jj maybank x y/n #jj maybank x you #jj maybank imagine #jj maybank x reader #outer banks imagine #outer banks x reader

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hollyhomburg · 9 months ago

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Before I Leave You (Pt.66)

(Omegaverse au, Mafia au, Bts x Reader)

Summary: Wolves always go for the throat, whether they’re cornered or hunting.

Tags: Blood, Guns, violence, near death experiences, everyone lives nobody dies...but someone does die this chapter, horror, non-lethal injury, talks of death and dying, a bit of body horror, Trans! tae, Tae is briefly dead named in this, implied/referenced intimate partner violence, flashbacks, brief suicidality.

W/c: 8.3k

A/N: ahhhhhh <3 we're finally ready for this part of the story <3 i wonder what your guys reactions will be, i'm really glad i decided to split this chapter into two peices! it's much cleaner this way. don't be 🥲 too mad at me.

Previous part - Masterlist - First part

(Four years prior, Hoseok)

Today is the day that Hoseok will meet his future pack, he just doesn’t know it yet.

It always feels like a bit of betrayal but the worst and best days of your life often come close together. Maybe just for contrast. A bit of good in the bad. A slice of cake in a feast of raw meat.

This starts as just another bad day in a long stretch of shitty days. The kind of days were anxiety bubbles up and how afraid you are is all you can think about. Taking one breath and then another like just staying alive means you're guaranteed to get better.

The only place to go from rock bottom is up, and hoseok's sneakers are firmly on the concrete, standing outside of the record store in the rain with no place to go.

Hoseok has been afraid for a long time. He can't really remember even if he thinks hard, the last morning he woke up not afraid.

What hoseok really needs is a day off, but he really can't fucking afford it. He can't afford anything- certainly not a one-bedroom apartment on his own. If he's really really lucky maybe he'll be able to find a closet room somewhere that will cost almost his whole paycheck. Because after today-

After today, Jung Hoseok will be homeless, packless, and alone. His pack dropped the news on him last night…or well ex-pack.

He doesn’t expect that he’ll be moving into the pack's house on this rainy day, he doesn't expect that by the end of the week, he won't be worrying about where his next meal will come from because Jin will be there with it ready. Jimin sometimes too.

He won't be worrying about where he'll sleep because the bed in their spare room that smells like tae tae tae will be his. He'll roll around in it when the door is closed, shy about it because Hoseok has never liked other alpha's scents so much before. And when he comes home and Jungkook has made a nest in it, it will feel like a bit of an impossible silver lining, a bit too much- to have an omega making him a nest, making something special just for him

It takes three weeks for Namjoon to make him a house key for himself. After he gets left outside in a very similar storm to this. The doctor will touch his cheek, thumbing at the dimples that they share. how special is it that each smile gets cradled like a crescent moon? the heavens have left imprints on both of their skin. Freckles for stars and dimples for moon's.

"I don't want you to get sick pup."

"People don't get sick from wet heads anymore hyung."

"They don't. But I want to keep you dry and comfortable in my den. i know you still want to look for apartments but...what if you didn't?"

But neither the weather nor Hoseok knows to prepare for good news. Right now the heavens open up and release its deluge, thick rain the way that only happens at the start of summer. Worms and other wriggly things crawl their way out of their holes to find a good spot to die next to Hoseok's shoes. Worn fancy sneakers that his pack-omega had gotten him a few months ago for their anniversary. They're the nicest thing he's ever owned.

His ex-pack omega.

It's hard to rewire your brain, especially for alpha's. Hoseok is a lone wolf. He hasn't been without a pack in so long, it feels weird to not have someone to call, someone he needs to trail after and cling to. He checks his phone but he doesn't have a single notification from them.

He doesn't have a single notification from anyone.

Hoseok is glad he doesn't feel his instincts as keenly as other alphas do. Otherwise, he might be inclined to gnash his teeth at the people who pass by him on their way to work, umbrellas almost bumping him, perceiving even closeness as a threat. So vulnerable without a pack (lone alphas are always the first to starve in winter).

Hoseok shivers even though its summer, he's soaked to the bone after a few minutes.

He has a key to the record store. He could go inside. Granted- he should be inside already. Opening up shop, making coffee, and letting the place warm up. But standing out in the rain feels too much like penance.

Hoseok likes the rain. The smell of it. The way it makes the whole world ache and go still. He feels every drop on his dark hair, soaking through his thin hoodie. It's cleansing almost, letting the rain soak him through.

(The end of relationships is always hard, let alone the end of abusive relationships, they’re downright terrible).

Hoseok keeps replaying their words in his head, with every slosh of a nearby car, every honk of a taxi. The stoplight red and green bleeding onto the wet concrete. Yellow flashing in contrast with hoseok's dark memories.

“You’re welcome to stay here until the lease runs out, but the four of us need to move back home. You understand Hobi don’t you? We’re just omega’s- we’re just girls- and we think this could be a clean break for all of us. We just don't want to lead you on any longer.”

The worst part is that Hobi had sort of known, had sort of already realized what was happening. he’d seen it in their looks; distant and despondent. Their touches that did not linger longer than necessary, cheeks turned as he comes in for a kiss. The phone calls hushed in the other room that cut off abruptly when he entered.

The lease on their apartment ends today. The place has already been professionally deep cleaned and Hoseok's things are packed in his car in plastic bins. He has 6 of them to his name.

He doesn’t have a place to go yet, he might just sneak into the back room at the record store and sleep there until he figures something out. Hoseok drove to work early because he didn't have another place to go.

This version of Hoseok is not the one you know, this version of Hobi is 23 and hopeless, can’t think about moving back in with his parents a city away, with nothing but a rusted-out Corolla that barely gets him to work let alone through the 200-mile trip. It will die on him in about 6 months and Namjoon will be thankful that Hoseok no longer is driving around in a deathtrap.

He hadn’t even gotten this job by himself, his pack omega- his ex-girlfriend had gotten him this job almost 4 months ago after his last one didn’t pan out. Temporary work for temporary people.

Nothing feels like his. Not his body and certainly not this job.

Hoseok hasn’t smoked in months, but something that feels an awful lot like self-disgust worms under his skin and he can’t resist. Not today of all days. Smoking is something that he doesn’t indulge in often, and hasn’t indulged in since… becoming an alpha to someone. But he guesses it doesn’t matter now without anyone to complain that they don’t like the smell.

The cigarette mixes with the smell of petrichor and Hoseok’s own acidic scent. The smell of a terrified alpha draws him more than a few looks but he pays them no mind. He's thankful for his soaking face, at least the rain keeps out the tears. Cool and soothing against his face.

Hoseok just wants- Hoseok just wants to call them. To talk to someone.

Ending relationships is always like this. You want to keep being good, keep being what they want, but that’s impossible. You can’t act or behave right and dupe someone into loving you. Sometimes the love just isn’t there. (A smaller shyer voice says it was never love at all, you can't possess love, only be given it and Hoseok feels like a cast aside possession. Love and abuse cannot coexist).

Hoseok should have known. He keeps replaying the moments in his head. He’d seen them exchanging knowing looks when they thought he wasn’t looking.He thought he was just being paranoid, until yesterday morning when they’d taken him aside.

“You knew this had to end one day Hoseok" "You knew one day we'd move on." "As much as we appreciate what you’ve done for us, we think it’s time for us to move on.”

“What do you mean? I thought we were leaving next week, you really left me with only a day to find a place to go?”

“We’re sorry Hoseok, your last rut was just too much to deal with. We think it's best if we just stay on our own. It's a clean break this way.”

"Wait, please- I love you."

"We know. We're sorry."

Hoseok is too much for anyone to deal with. He doesn’t call his friends (he hasn’t met up with any of them or returned their texts in months thanks to several pointed words from his pack omega). He doesn’t go inside yet because he deserves the rain. He sits out front of the record store, smoking a cigarette that will probably end up killing him down the line, and thinks Good.

He tells himself the irritation in his eyes is just because of the cigarette smoke blowing in his face, even though he knows it's not. He's not even inhaling right because his breaths come all hitched and pathetic. Anyone would be sad if their relationship of several years had ended. Anyone would be devastated.

Hoseok checks his phone again. Nothing.

Most people on the crowded street ignore him. Though the thick throng of people going about their business, probably going to work at their 9 to 5 jobs that pay enough to afford apartments and packmates. Hoseok is the one soul that stands stationary.

Until one, someone a few feet back stops, tipping their face through their hood to look at him. The only other person without an umbrella.

Hoseok knows his face and his name. It’s just Min Yoongi- his coworker and sort of friend who's coming in for his shift. Hoseok doesn't love Yoongi yet but they're sort of friends already. They might be better friends if Hoseok could get over his admiration and jealousy.

Yoongi has this way of quietly taking care of the people around him. He picks up Hoseok's jacket when it slides off the hook at work, asks him if he wants coffee and even pays for it when he goes to the coffee shop next door. He compliments Hoseok's music tastes when it's his turn to play something, he gives Hoseok the aux frequently in a way that feels a little bit like flirting.

The only two good things about Hoseok's job are the music and Min Yoongi.

He even laughs at Hoseok's shitty jokes when they're stacking new inventory saying cryptic things like "they can't be worse than my omega's jokes."

That's why Hoseok's jealous. Yoongi gets packmates, five of them who make him lunch even when he's only got a four-hour shift. that often linger outside to walk him home or pick him up in their shiney not new not old cars.

(Yoongi's packmates certainly have better things to do than send Yoongi to work with a second packed lunch. "Jin-hyung caught a glimpse of you through the doorway, the only thing that he hates more than Namjoon's snoring is skinny Alpha's.")

Min Yoongi has that look that people do when they're well-loved by packmates. Hair ruffled and neck dotted with bruises that might as well be mating bites for a beta. Beta's don't mate, but these ones certainly keep him close. He wears their scents like a shield. Sometimes so thick that Hoseok can't even smell any of his chocolate scent.

Right now, staring at Yoongi a few paces into the street, all Hoseok can smell is the rain.

When Hoseok had been introduced to him it had felt strange just by virtue of Yoongi's sub gender. A beta? Working somewhere so normal? Weren’t beta's supposed to be like- financial advisors or assistants to the president or something? Betas are supposed to have more important jobs than pushing vinyl and bumping Hoseok's shoulder playfully.

(Hoseok hasn’t seen it yet, the way that the owner hands over little white baggies to people who come in looking hungry for a high that cigarettes or alcohol can’t fix. Hoseok hasn’t yet realized that the record store isn't just a record store. This is just one front business of many that the family has organized across this city and the country for distribution of some of his most precious inventory). Yoongi has worked her for the last year, takes calls in the back for the family. The owner only bows to him when Hoseok's not around.

They only hired hoseok for tax purposes. Having three employees looks less suspicious than just two.

The beta looks concerned, and Hoseok knows he can’t hide the fact that he’s been crying as the beta steps up and pushes Hoseok back under the awning. Out of the rain and into the warmth of the doorway. This kind of movement would make any alpha snap, but not Hoseok. Hoseok just tucks his chin down and starts to cry.

“Oh Hoseok.” Hobi sniffles, and wipes his runny nose on his sleeve. Yoongi's hand curls against his throat, chocolate scent spiking to soothe. “You’re soaking wet."

Yoongi grabs his wrist and Hoseok almost keens at the gentle touch. Whole body shaking, shoulders curling in Yoongi's direction. Yoongi’s lips press into a thin line and then tugs him inside.

~-~

(Now, You)

You hold your breath. Still peering around the corner, watching and waiting for the man to spot you.

But he doesn't, after a breath where his soft footsteps echo, you wait, but nothing happens. You peak back around the corner.

You absorb and catalog the details as fast as you can; the black ski mask, covered by one of those traditional Korean masks, wooden with red lacquer. This one is a little different than the one that Jimin had; not twisted with thick eyebrows in a snarl. This one is white with red splotches on the cheeks, like a ghost sent down from above to rob you of your humanity.

The bulletproof vest stops at the collarbones. The gun itself is a black generic model. The long end is extra bulbous with something that might be an attached silencer. His hands covered in black nitrile gloves, leathery at first glance. There is a knife at his waist along with a barrage of other small things; rope and a knife, duct tape and handcuffs. His heavy boots look steel toed and reinforced.

The man (because it is a man you realize; tall, maybe taller than Namjoon) trains his gun at the landing on the top of the stairs. Pointing it in the direction of Hobi, Tae, and Jin’s hushed voices.

Hobi giggles and it sounds so bright. Echoing off the walls and filling the house with his musical laughter.

There is a phone cord tangled in your hands, long and white. You grip it tight.

This man might be silent but you’re quieter as you slide your bare feet across the smooth floors. Your strides are so quiet. You take one step and then another until you're behind the man, mirroring him.

You remember when Yoongi redid the floors, it was one of the few things that he did right away; before the pack came to live here (to love here). It took him weeks and weeks of sanding before he got them to his liking. Days more of brown dark stain that colored his hands ruddy until the soft matte finish stuck. Every pass with the belt sander and dirty rag a movement of love, a meditation for it.

Yoongi made every inch of this house with the same loving intent; to make it a home for all of you. a place to be safe and nurse your wounds and hearts. You won’t let it become a grave. You won’t let this person stay here and ruin it.

Most people get it wrong; In order to kill it is not a matter of elegance or effort. There is no such thing as a perfect kill either. Emotionless and analytic isn't enough and being justified only gets you halfway. There is no way to do it cleanly. People die just as they live, messy and hopeful and dirty.

Murder isn't a matter or wanting or wishing, It’s a matter of rage.

It’s always been this way. Rage has been chewing a hole through you from the moment that you pulled the trigger with Geumjae. From the moment you said ‘I do’. Rage that these violent things have been done to you, that they continue to happen, that you can’t just get away from all the hurt and trauma.

Rage has eaten you clean through to the bone. Rage has made you skinny and starving, rage has made you timid and fragile. But now you're the hungry one. Right now, only three words run through your head;

How dare she.

How dare she send this man into your house. How dare she point a gun at the upstairs, in the general direction of your nest and your packmates. The altar at which you so desperately cling to, for sweet dreams and sweeter worship (There is no deity above the god of love, not even death. Death cannot take the love from your chest, someone dying does not make you stop loving them).

How dare she even think about hurting the people you love.

There is no courage, no bravery, no thought in your head about how stupid it might be as you step closer behind the man. You are not a trained assassin. You’re just an omega.

The adrenaline rush is an old friend, a thrall both intoxicating and unnerving. Your heart beats loud in your ears. You grip the phone cord in your hands and take a quiet steadying breath. He doesn't see you, he doesn't hear you, he doesn't know that you're behind him.

Wolves always go for the throat, whether they’re cornered or hunting.

The assassin’s foot ascends the bottom step. You don’t let him get to the second before you’re moving, hurtling forward. Footsteps no longer light. Your hands go over the man’s shoulders. The cord no more than a white flash across his vision before you draw it tight across his neck.

The pain and panic are instant as you’re suddenly tethered to a six-foot-four assassin and struggling to stay on your feet as he stumbles back. You’re pulled off your feet and down the stairs, but you keep it as tight as you can and you don’t let go. Fighting to keep your makeshift garrote tight as he scrambles to get his fingers around where it digs into his skin. Spluttering loud.

The hard wire digs, cutting easily through plastic and then your skin as he tries to pull you off. You don’t let go until he backs you into the entryway wall and slams you against it with a dizzying clang of bone and body hitting something solid. Your head narrowly avoids one of the hooks that the pack hangs their coats on. An inch to the left and he'd have impaled your skull on it. An inch to the left and you'd be dead.

A single inch.

His head slams into your face, and you feel something in your nose pop, flooding your mouth with blood so thick you choke.

He slams you against the wall once, twice, and then a third time until your grip goes slack and slippery with blood. It knocks the breath out of you, and he finally throws you off. You both fall to the ground like stones. Both of you gasp and struggle for breath. At least one of your ribs it broken, but because of the adrenaline you can't even feel it.

When the man lifts his black gloves to his throat, they come away glossy with blood.

(It’s crazy how you never notice the change from the day to day, one day you are begging for a reason to hold on, a reason to live, and the next you’re fighting tooth and nail to keep going. Just about gnawing your own arm off to get out. To survive and live to see another day. Another sunrise.)

By that time the air has returned to your lungs it’s enough for you to scream. “Jin! Jin! There’s someone in the house there’s-”

You try and inhale through your nose and blood makes you choke. You push at the floor with your hands, struggling to stand, fingers slippery and tacky with your blood.

The man tries to scramble up the stairs but you latch onto his legs and make him drop. Doing everything in your power to keep him from going up to them, to your packmates. Hugging his ankle to your chest to slow him down (the same way you’ve hugged Namjoon’s arm and Yoongi’s, the way you held Hobi in the nest on the couch just a few shattered days ago).

The man turns the gun on you, pointing it to your head, you flinch, waiting for the shot-

and open them as He heaves a frustrated roar before he wheels away and turns, aiming at the top of the stairs instead of right in your face.

You could have died right then. could have and should have, but you didn’t. Your brain is too messy with adrenaline right now to make sense of it.

Why didn't he shoot?

The gun goes off, a bullet whizzing by Jin’s head. His face, scared, on the stairs flashes ever briefly. Ducking for cover just in time. The doorframe explodes in a cacophony of dark wood splitters. The doorknob sparks and bursts into a million pieces with another shot. metal clanking against the ceiling, the walls, down the stairs.

One second, you’re holding onto his heavy leather boot, and the next it’s colliding with your face and you’re out like a light.

Getting hit in your face is always such a disorientating experience. You’d never gotten used to it, even with Geumjae. Granted it’s hard to get used to the stomach-churning low vision feeling of weightlessness, like vertigo only worse.

"Hobi! don't- jesus fucking christ-"

You’re not quite sure what happens next only that you can’t see for a moment after the boot hits your face, and you take big breaths through your mouth. Blood, you taste blood. And then your vision comes back. Black spots and all and there’s Hobi’s face in front of you. No assassin, just him, helping you up from the floor. You're not on the steps anymore but at the bottom of them.

“The kitchen, the kitchen," Blood rushes over your bottom lip. Hoseok wipes it away, inhaling a jagged breath. "He’s-”

He pushes at your shoulders. “The car- get to the car.” It feels impossible. This can be happening in your house. Are you about to have a shoot-out in the street? On your quiet cul-de-sac? But then, in the corner of your vision dark movement.

You tug Hobi’s head down the second that the gun goes off- probably saving his life, definitely saving it as the bullet tears through the banister and ends in a hollow thump in the wall. he may not have shot you but he has no quams shooting at Jin and Hobi. The bullets hit the wall- Maybe 6 inches above your bent heads. Too close, close enough that Hobi trembles in your hold. And he rips something- a piece of the doorway, out of his arm with a wince before he covers your body with his own.

The volley of gunshots are so loud, so vicious as they blow things apart, tearing holes through Yoongi’s coat, the doorway, the banister, and the narrow stairway rungs. Pieces of wood hit your curled forms. Hobi shoves your head down when you try to look.

There is wetness, hot, something hot on your hands, your neck, you know it’s blood before you look. You think it’s from you until the Gunsmoke clears and you realize- fingers skimming across hoseok's forehead, a gash above his eyebrow.

A bullet graze by his hairline thats bleeding profusely. head wounds always bleed a ridiculous amount.

There are more bullets behind you but it’s just Jin returning fire.

Jin’s got Tae behind him. Her face ashy and pink from the shower and panic, her mid-length dark hair such a tangle, cowering behind his back. Jin's gun is so much louder without the silencer. Did he bring one upstairs? Or did he get it from Jimin’s stash?

Jin nearly drags Tae to the three of you, and she clings to you. Your hand finds her face. Fingers are red and bloody smudging against her cheek, blink and you're back there a million moments in the past; dotting red blush across her cheeks with a brush- your fingers- kissing it into place with your lips- painting a line of maroon across her eyelids to bring out the lighter flecks in her eyes- Watching her twirl in a red dress. Pressing your red lips against hers in a quiet dark moment in the library room. With her in Hobi's red car- Everything red.

If it starts with red, maybe it's fitting that it ends in red too.

Jin doesn’t give you time to reminisce. Pushing her shoulder down hard. His bare chest splattered with splinters from the door. Covered in wood fragments that stick to his black sweatpants and damp feet. Shouting, “All of you get down!”

You follow your pack omega’s words. Hobi and Tae With their damn alpha instincts blanket you as Jin fires again. The shots are so much louder in the small space. Another shot, another thunder strike. tae grips your wrist tight, your hands.

When you look down, they look mutilated. you can see bone in one place, deep gashes across the centre of your palms.

Your ears ring and you can't make sense of anything over the noise. Jin returns every bang with a boom of his own, bright flashes lighting up the dark staircase. Casing after casing tinkling down to the floor, rolling across the floorboards

But then, for a second- the gunfire goes quiet.

The house creeks and the three of you hold your breath. Jin's still half-concealed. The air heavy and clouded with gunsmoke and the smell of blood.

Hobi tentatively gets onto his knees and then stands when he doesn't immediately get shot at. You make a small noise in your throat, the loudest that you dare, but he’s looking after Jin, standing in the darkness, hackles raising his angry scent of burning sugar acrid in your nose. His hand slides out of yours, your blood on his palms.

And then you hear the rush of boots, echoing in the living room, near your nest- you’d never unmade it after you and Hobi fucked there. You'd been too busy taking care of Jimin. Hoseok bears his teeth.

Hobi turns, sliding out of your hands quicker than you can grab him. Quicker than you can tell him that he’s being dumb, that he’s being suicidal.

“Not my girlfriend! You asshole!”

The world is a dizzying cacophony of gunpowder, pain, bullets, and shouting. Jin yells Hoseok’s name. But the alpha heads after the assassin regardless of your cries. Jin narrowly keeps him from running headlong into no mans land. the open area by the door that would leave Hoseok a sitting duck.

Tae’s standing up on unsteady legs as you all spill out of the stairs into the narrow hall. Out from her hiding place cowering behind the banister. Your attention isn’t on her it’s on Hobi. Neither you nor Jin are looking at her. You’re running after him on shaky legs. Jin holds you both back, trying to corrall you. The air is cloudy with Gunsmoke, hazy and heavy. Her eyes are wide and pretty like dark marbles as she watches Hobi.

They’re just as pretty when the gun presses to the back of her head.

Everyone turns and goes still. The man has Tae in his arms, hand in her hair making her neck arch. The gun pressed to her jaw. Finger on the trigger.

Her body trembles and she doesn’t turn, frozen still in fear a shallow whine building in her throat.Jin has the gun trained on the man faster than you can make to step in Tae’s direction. But it’s no use.

He must have gone around, run through the livingroom through your pantry. A similar path that you took to surprise him. He must know the floor plan of the house, must have studied it to prevent situations like this. You have no upper hand here with tae in his arms.

Tae’s mouth is buttony and parted, but it settles into a resigned line.

Jin’s never been a good enough shot- not for one like this, even barely 10 feet away. He might hit Tae. Shaky, Jin takes his finger off the trigger and stoops down to put the gun on the floor. His other hand is up, already surrendering when the man jerks Tae's head back by her hair. Rougher than he needs to be.

“Don’t shoot her, please don’t shoot- please.”

The man juts his chin at the gun on the floor. “Kick it away now, be a good omega.” Jin grits his teeth but does as he says.

The man’s voice is rough as gravel. Dignified, but with no obvious accent. Not the quiet cadence that you’ve come to expect from the family. Neither posh nor lowbrow. Something in between. Flat and monotone. You're sure that you've never heard his voice before.

“I have to admit, your file said you’d be resistant, but it said nothing about you being dumb as fuck and a poor shot to boot.”

Jin licks his lips and bares his teeth, “Put that gun back in my hand and then say it again.” The masked man cocks his head to the side and then shrugs as if Jin's fury doesn't mean anything to him.

But He’s bleeding, it trails down to the floor so the words can't be genuine. It's a small wound, a graze on his right thigh. Red bright and hot that drips in onto the floor from his pant leg.

His hand tightens in Tae’s hair. “Line up against the wall. Now. Or I’ll blow her brains out in front of you."

You move first, eyes trained on Tae. But he snaps, eyes unreadable behind that mask, “No- not you. I’m not here to kill you.”

He tosses something to Jin and he catches it. Handcuffs that jingle and clink. Your foot hits an errant bullet with a similar tinkle. “Handcuff Jin to the stairs Hoseok.”

Your names, he knows your names. Your mind races over every detail, every moment trying to piece together a way to get out of this. a way to save them.

“Why are you doing this?” Hobi’s trembling, shaking. “Did Jimin-”

“Jiminie did nothing.” The man croons dragging the barrel of the gun down Tae’s cheek leaving a dark smudge in its wake. It's red on her face, the barrel must still be hot, your blood crusty around her lips.

“Honestly though, you should know he was a shit assassin. Truly piss poor even by industry standards. They always threw him the easiest kills."

The three of you are quiet, if he was hoping to elicit a reaction or more of a fight You don’t give him the satisfaction. Although jin grits his teeth, gnashing anger and an omega's feral instinct to protect their pups.

You step forward hands open, barely two steps from Tae. If you can just get to her maybe you can-

“Please- please don’t kill them."

He cocks his head at you, and you can hear the grin in his voice. “Oh no, you misunderstand me I’m not going to do any of it.”

He taps Tae’s head once again with the gun and Tae starts to truly struggle. You tremble in fury and horror as you realize what he means with a sickening lurch in your stomach.

“This is how it’s going to work Y/n” You still at the sound of your name. “Taehyung here is going to shoot Jin and Hoseok. And then once we’re sure they’re good and dead, I’ll kill her.” He tosses you another pair of handcuffs, these ones are meant for you.

You take one step closer; Jin's gun is between your feet now. But you couldn't pick it up or else he'd shoot Tae. Time, you just need a minute to figure out what to do. How to get them out of this.

Yourself now, that's a different story. If you where in Tae's position you'd turn your face to the side and bite the mans hand.

“And what about me then? If they're all dead what’s to stop me from fighting?” he seems to consider it only briefly, the gun in his hand tilting so that you can see the dark oval where the bullet will come out, where it will rocket through Tae's skull and take all the little worlds she dreams of, all her poems and words and make them nothing.

“You think you're so precious? I’ll just kill you.” he says it like it's nothing. like you're nothing. He nods to the others, appealing to them and not you. “What do you want? All four of you to die? Or just three? What will hurt Namjoon the least? Do you think Yoongi will survive loosing his mate? What do you think Jinnie?”

You think of Yoongi's mating mark, the spot on his hip where your small curved semi-circles sit. You think of them turning black- a brand of a dead mate. You think of Hobi's eyes opening and never closing again. You think of Jungkook nesting without Jin and you. Of Namjoon holding out his hand and having no one to take it without Jin there.

You won't let any of this happen.

The others shoot each other unsure glances but you shake your head. you shake your head because earlier on the step, the man didn't take the easy shot, the easy kill.

If he really had orders to kill you, he would have done it then.

you step forward and shake your head. “I don’t believe you. I know your orders are to take me. That’s what all of this is about isn’t it?” The man doesn’t drop his weapon. Just presses it tighter to Tae’s jaw.

“Handcuff Jin now Hobi. Or else I’ll-”

You see the darkness settle in Jin’s eyes and before you know it he's turning to you, eyes flat. Endless in their darkness, the way they might if-

You don't let yourself consider it. You won't let it get to that point.

“Pup-”

You guess it does make sense, having you kill each other as opposed to the assassin doing the dirty work and implicating Moonbyul. If you really are on that ‘no kill list’ like Yoongi said at the hospital, having you take out each other is the only logical course of action. Once Tae kills Jin and Hobi, she'll be free game. This is the only way retribution won’t fall back on her. This is so similar to what she tried and failed to do with Jimin and Jin. This is a second attempt.

Only-

Only this time, you have a bargaining chip.

You step forward, in front of Hobi and Jin, blocking them from his line of sight. Barely a pace in front of Tae, but from the way he tightens his grip on her you know that you can go no further.

“You can take me; I’ll go with you. Willingly.”

Jin makes a noise in his throat and tries to move, but dares not when the man tightens his grip on Tae’s hair hard enough to rip a bit of it out.

“That’s what she wants, isn’t it? If you just let them live I’ll go with you.”

The man is silent for a second. Hobi trembles and so does Jin. For a second, you truly think that he’s going to take the bait.

But the mask is directed towards the floor, then back up at you. “Those aren’t my orders.” His finger is on the trigger so close to Tae’s head. “Now cuff him, I don’t want Jinnie getting any ideas.”

Hobi’s hands are shaking as he unwillingly shackles Jin to the steps as slowly as he can. He's buying time too. Every second and every heartbeat is precious. Both ends loop around a single rung and click closed. The rung itself is a little loose from a bullet that blew it apart near the bottom, it’s got to be the loosest one. Hobi turns, and you see the pre-meditation in his eyes; he chose that one so that Jin could still get free if he tried hard enough.

Everyone is trying. Everyone is defiant. The quirk of Jin's eyes as he settles, staring with rage at the man, his voice a quiet croon when he says what might very well be the last words he ever speaks.

“Tae you can close your eyes honey, it’s okay.”

"No I can't" She struggles harder against his hold, but it only gets her part of her hair pulled out with how rough the man jerks her, tears clouding her vision. "I can't- don't- please-"

Tae's soul has always been butterfly soft and flower tender. She's not made for this. She's not made for murder or pain or anything that lacks softness. She's never been a killer; Jimin was always that side of their coin. Saint and sinner.

Your body goes cold and for a second, you think you just might pass out, especially when Hoseok grips your wrist. One final squeeze in what can only be goodbye before he steps away and in front of jin. Hair puffed up. Jin is lowering his eyes and no no no.

No.

Tae is staring at you, eyes wide and scared, but you watch in total powerlessness as her eyebrows lower. You see the moment Tae thinks it. Eyes meeting yours, lips mouthing something that you can’t read. Maybe I’m sorry no.

I love you. Sorry.

The truth is that Jimin drilled this with her years ago before she left for college and he couldn’t follow. When Jimin first realized that for the first time in their lives she’d be without him as a constant protector. Delicate delicate Tae with her delicate pink soul. So vulnerable to the world and all its wickedness.

Tae didn't confront him about it until the nightmares were waking him up regularly. They were simple nightmares back then; images of Tae hurt and mugged. Tae beaten and left in an alleyway. Tae stalked through the night. Simple, but enough to keep him awake. Enough to torture him in his wakon hours as well as the nighttime.

If Jimin saw her now he'd pull the heavens down and demand something truly awful in exchange. He'd take one of the knives from the kitchen and gut him from belly button to addams apple. He'd eviscerate him- and Namjoon might help.

Hut there is no one here to do any of that, there is only Tae in the man's hold.

“What are you so scared of?” She’d asked one morning, trailing endless patterns on his chest in an effort to soothe him back to sleep.

“Something happening to you while I’m not there, mostly.”

“Would it make you feel better? If you taught me the basics?”

Jimin's pause is telling, more telling are his eyes, hopeful when he looks up at Tae. “Yes, it would.”

It’s been years and years since Jimin Tae have bothered to drill any self-defense sequences it at all. Since he stopped asking her to refresh the basics with him once a year just to make sure. Jimin never thought that Tae would have to use those skills. Like with most things, you just sort of hope you don't have to fight.

But Tae knows you did fight. It's written all over your bloody face and your bloody hands, tightened to fists by your side. If you fought tooth and nail to save them she should fight too.

Tae has written fight scenes like this before. If she survives the press of the gun to the back of her head, she’s gonna have one hell of a personal experience to pull from for her book. The content will be endless.

She seems to swell in the space, alpha shoulders settling back. Her mouth is moving, mouthing words her eyes on you. Just in case this is the last thing she ever does.

I’m sorry, I love you.

“Be a good boy and pick up the gun Tae.” Tae bends down, syrupy slow. Intentional with her every movement. One heartbeat. Another. Tae's fingers are maybe an inch from the gun when everything goes haywire.

When she's about halfway bent she uses her momentum to hurl her body back, slamming her head into the gun and then into the man’s face. Cracking the mask and from the sound of it, the man’s nose. Tae's almost knocks herself out with the force of her own head colliding with the man’s face.

She turns, she’s not finished, not even close. She might be a woman but she’s an alpha too. Alphas always always fight to protect their pack. She turns and swings.

And drives her elbow as hard as she can between the alpha’s legs.

Hobi can’t stop his flinch. That has to hurt.

The assassin’s gun goes flying, skittering across the dark floor and under the bookcase and Hobi ends up lunging for it. You go after it too but you end up holding Tae instead, crumpling to the floor without anything to hold her up. She’s holding the back of her head, eyes watering.

The traditional mask lyes in pieces around you, shatered by the force of tae's headbut. The man clutches his nose, features still covered by the ski mast. Growling out- "Bitch- fucking bitch! I'll kill you. I'll fucking kill all of you-"

Jin struggles yanking his cuffed hands down as hard as he can- in another minute he might get loose, but not quick enough as Hobi finds the gun and raises it. The bullet hits the molding beside your pantry, missing the man by inches as he dives away to safety. A lucky shot by any standard, let alone for a beginner. Hobi shoots off after him. knocking into the wall before he's up and chasing it.

“Are you okay, Tae, Tae- look up at me.” Tae is clutching the back of her head. Blinking rabidly. That fucking hurt even if it was worth it.

“I’m fine just-” She leans over your legs and vomits, retching loud and horrible. Concussion- she must have given herself a concussion. Namjoon told you months ago how to read the signs of them shortly after the first time Jungkook ever had a seizure in front of you.

You hold her shoulders, watching Jin try and break himself free, yanking his wrists hard enough that it has to hurt. Moving to try and help him.

And then Hobi makes a noise in the other room, a pained ghasp, A thump and then-

Tae is already up and running, stumbling into the wall. You glance at Jin. "Go- just go" Jin grinds out. But Tae has longer legs than you do even concussed.

By the kitchen, Hobi slips on a fallen tangerine. (You remember then, Yoongi clearing the table with a brush of his hands for Jimin, tossing a whole bowl of them onto the floor. Where they've stayed since then) they're fighting, the man must have managed to disarm Hobi somehow because the gun sits under one of the chairs. Both of them are fighting just beside the dining room table. Part of it splintered and broken where someone broke it.

They're grappling on the floor now. Pushing against each other trying to gain the upper hand. you've watched the alpha's wrestle before- small disputes to settle and reaffirm the hierarchy, but you've never seen hobi move like this. You watch the man grasp at his waist reaching for the knife. His hands so slick with his own blood that it clatters to the floor. Hobi may not be trained but he's a fighter too. Gnashing his teeth and growling. Reaching up into the shallow gash at the mans throat and digging in his fingers.

And then he’s got Hobi on the ground and his hands around your alpha's throat. Tae tries to get him off but he backhands her, sending her sprawling to the ground and clutching her cheek. Too dizzy to stand. Big hands that squeeze and squeeze and squeeze Hobi's narrow throat. Spit at the corner of his lips turning frothy as hoseok tries to breathe and can't.

“I didn’t come this far to get killed by a bunch of family rejects; 11 years and 1458 kills later and I will not die. Just give up already- I didn’t come this far to-”

Hobi’s face is turning purple, hands scrabbling, pushing against his face trying to get him off unsuccessfully. Dying there on the floor. Hobi is going to die right there if you don't do anything.

Jin is shouting from the other room and there is a frying pan in the kitchen. On the countertop that you snatch on your way past, winding up for it before you swing it with all your might at the man's head and-

At the end of the day, it’s hard to say exactly what kills him. Whether it's you or Tae who wields the killing blow. It’s more of a group effort between you and her.

Tae has read countless books that described love as some gentle force, but this love has not made her gentle. Tae cannot sit there on the floor and watch Hobi die. She'd do anything to protect him and the pack. She’d kill people like Minnie did, would lie just as Jin had, would have sacrificed anything- even herself just like Yoongi.

Love had always been giving in Tae's mind, and she would give countless sins and untold violence, to have this not be the last day with you and the pack.

The gun is just sitting there under the chair. tae hardly has to lean over to get it. (If she makes it out of this alive, she swears to himself that she'll finally start taking those kickboxing classes that Jungkook teaches.) Tae lifts the gun at the same moment that your hand descends with the frying pan.

Tae turns, points, aims, and fires. She doesn’t even think twice about it. The trigger goes down as easily as breathing.

Getting shot in the throat definitely distracts him enough, definitely makes him let go of Hobi, clutching at his own throat instead of his. blood rushing over his hand and down onto hobi's face. So much that it almost splashes.

And then the frying pan hits his head with a hollow final thud.

There is a placid terror in things like this, a quiet as things go and come. The thumping, the sobbing breaths you let out, the descent of your hand, beating out your terror on the body below, a vessel for all of your fear.

The handle of the frying pan is thick and heavy in your hands. You bring it down on the man’s head, the curved edge of the cast iron connects with the plate of his skull with a hollow thud. One second, he's clutching at his blown-apart throat, and the next he goes limp, blood and brain matter splatters loud and heavy along the floor. Falling on top of Hobi like a lead weight.

Hobi's brown eyes are bloodshot and red in his mouth, heaving one big breath that sends the room spinning. Sends vertigo into his veins and panic-running adrenaline. You lift your arms up again and hit him, descending again and again.

His body is still, so still. His chest gives one open shudder and then goes truly quiet. Frozen in time. You are covered in blood, in your mouth, on your hair, on the ceiling. More and more splatters as your hand goes up and then down in an endless loop.

Dark cotton soaks, matted with blood and brain matter, blurry from your tears. A bit of it hits your face, wet and stinky. People never tell you how horrible it smells when people die.

You don’t stop hitting the man, even when it's clear he's dead. Even when you glare down at him through the tears in your eyes and see half a face staring up at you. An eyeball rolls across the floor.

There are arms around you pulling you off of him eventually. Dry warm arms, big and heavenly. One wrist dangles with a pair of handcuffs as Jin yanks you back from the man. The body.

“Pup- It’s done, pup- he's gone- Stop.”

There is blood all over you. On your face, on your hands, around the frying pan. Tae too, sitting just beside you. Half of her body splattered. Hobi's soaked with it and still struggling to breathe. But both of them, the three of them are alive.

“It’s over pup.” Jin sounds like he might be crying. Tae definitely is.

Hobi puts his head between his knees, gasping for every breath but still breathing. Tae's got him in his lap. Holding on to him as he splutters. face so soaked with blood he can't open his eyes without blinking rapidly.

It’s anything but over you think as you let go of the handle of the frying pan.

It clatters to the ground with a bloody and final thunk.

~-~

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Notes:

if the beginning of the chapter feels weird/different in terms of narration that is because it was mostly written 3+ years ago and my writing style has changed alot! kinda crazy! hopefully people will just attribute it to hoseok's internal monologue. it might be meandering but i kept reminding myself that this is hoseok at his lowest you know?

One thing i want you guys to realize is that the m/c may not be smart, but holy fuck can she take a beating and still get up.

Gun shoot outs are uniquely hard to write because like, just bang and it's done right? idk why part of this writing just felt so tedious usually i love writing stuff like this :(

hobi calls the m/c his girlfriend 🥺 did you guys notice???? he's such a cute pup charecter.

i have more notes for this chapter BUT i can't share them until the next one is out because it involves hobi's secret.

i hope you guys see like- how good the m/c actually is at the crime and thinking on her feet shit- i think that this chapter above all others shows her street smarts. she knows to keep the guy talking and distracted- i think it compliments her similarities to jimin and jin like. the trio of them are very capable people you know? vs hobi who just headlong rushes the assassin and fucks shit up. i'm not saying it's his fault- he does the best that he can in this chapter.

I'm trying to pull from my actual knowledge of how guns work but fun fact, silencers are still fucking loud, like still so loud that you need ear protection. and even blank bullets can still cause serious injury at close range.

I'm again at the stage where i can't tell if the gun shooting scene is clunky and too predictable or if it's actually as creepy as i've made it out to be.

This is one of those situations- the bargaining for each others lives, that i've actually never had to handle. it's actually pretty unusual for me to write about things that i haven't experienced in some way shape or form.

i've only written a few scenes in my life that have made me wonder like "huh- i wonder if people might actually think that i've seen a dead body, been around a dead body, or killed someone before?" and ngl, the scene with the assassin dying is one that makes me wonder that... i promise i just have a scarily vivid imagination.

402 notes · View notes

tarjapearce · 1 year ago

Note

Mama pegging Miguel? I mean I would see something like that happening after all their years of marriage and Miguel being against it at first but then agreeing and mama having the best time of her life. I’m sorry my brain is not okay. And I’m sorry if this would make you uncomfortable in any way.

Let's be honest here. As much as we love seeing Miguel as the Dom, we've all fantasized in having him a mess underneath us. So yeah. Just gonna Indulge myself here ~

⚠️WARNINGS: FILTHINESS. Sub! Miguel, sloppy blowjob, rimjob, hole play, Mama is a one kinky mf, Gentle femdom, use of toys, fruity lube, fluff. MINORS DO NOT INTERACT ⚠️

You weren't one for watching porn, but seeing the reviews on the video, either straight or gay mostly of the commenters agreed on something. Toying with your partner's erogenous zones and exploiting them felt good.

Some comment were explicit and specific as to what they enjoyed the most. Even though porn was the worst way and place you could learn stuff from, the comments didn't lie. Or so you were assuming.

And things turned weirder and weirder the upcoming days. Bdsm toys, and tips started to show up on your media feed. You had your little kit stored away into the drawer under key. A kit that was often pulled out when Miguel felt particularly stressed and borderline pissed. You were each other's relief.

Not only the lingerie appealed the visuals, but enhanced it. The sole idea of having Miguel tied up and needy for you made your skin crawl in a thrilling sensation that left no room for wonders and doubts.

You had imagined in multiple times how would it be to swap the dominant role for once with Miguel. As you clicked on the toy's add, a new expansion to the world you had been exploring on the surface with him, opened just for you.

------

"Can we talk?"

"Miguel?" You sat next to him in his office as your paperwork was verified by him.

"Is something wrong?"

He mumbled as he kept working on his laptop.

His fingers stopped typing, his eyes turned to seize you with a surprise yet underlying alarm underneath them.

"I wanna peg you."

"What? Why?"

"Im curious and... If I'm honest, I wanna see you a mess"

You whispered on his ear and he chuckled, his cheeks turned into a faint shade of red.

"Ah, C'mon! I'm sure we can have some fun."

"Sigue queriendo, cariño" (Keep wishing, honey)

"Dont think so."

He just shook his head with a small smile.

"Ill wear something nice for you."

"Nope."

He took you by the chin and kissed your lips.

"Pleaseee?"

"No."

His eyes kept drifting towards you and the contraption you had just pulled out from a package. How did he ended up agreeing?

-------

Oh yeah.

A blowjob with something else he had never experienced before, and if he was honest, wished to have experienced sooner.

Sex with you was not only mind blowing, but kinky. You were kinky and shameless and seeing you assuming his role, was such an interesting switch of your dynamics. For science purposes, you said and it was more than enough to convince him.

Pillows perched behind his back to offer him a good support as his legs spreaded open for you.

Seeing you, clad in PU leather stirred his curiosity and hunger.

"Thought you'd use the handcuffs"

"We haven't even started and you're already getting kinky"

He pouted but it quickly faded as you kneeled in between his legs, hands caressing the outer of his thighs.

A gloved hand of yours took him by the base and stroked upwards in slow motions.

"You're always making me feel good."

You kissed his cheek and then his lips, as your hand kept stroking him. Lips crashed hungrily, chasing eachother desperately. Your tongue invaded his mouth, twirled around his, luring it out for you to suck it. Earning a satisfied groan from the both.

"Relax, ok? Lemme make you feel good"

With a sigh, and another breathless kiss Miguel granted you control.

You kneeled once more and resumed your stroking, blood rushing to his tip, twitching his cock alive and rock hard.

"Have I told you I love your taste?"

Beaming smile slowly melded around him. Flat tongue running on his base as your palm fisted his tip. Hot lips searing his skin with little kissed that transformed in gentle sucks. Your head supported against one of his thighs you had secured next to your head.

He groaned when you used your tongue around his frenulum, His hands clenched for a moment on the sheets as you focused on it for a moment to then take him bit by bit.

The sound of you gagging him made his head spin with sensations his body always experienced as new. A soft deep throat followed by your hand cupping the base and stroking as you paid special attention to his tip.

The little gargling and wet sounds you gave, made his body receptive and sensitive.

Red eyes fixed on your movements, and God, it was quite the sight, but you stopped, licking using your spit to stroke him faster as your other hand ventured to his sac and further.

His pants and soft raged breathings, made you bit your bottom lip.

"Tell me what you want, cariño"

His body tensed for a second as you toyed with the outer folds of his hole.

"F-Faster"

"Oh no no, I can't have you coming too soon. Need you nice and hard when I take this" Your finger moved in circular motions on the tight muscle ring.

He exhaled as the sheets crumpled underneath his iron grip

"Does it feels good, Papa?"

He nodded with shaky breaths as you engulfed him once more, but you stopped

"Uh-uh. Use your words"

You smirked to then put some flavored lube between his supple butt cheeks. You licked your lips at how receptive and sensitive his body was under your calculated and gentle handling.

Why hadn't you ventured sooner in this? Embarrassment perhaps? His groaning at your sinking finger inside him snapped your wandering attention back to him.

"You're so tight, mi amor"

You purred

"Let me-" He choked as your tongue swirled mercilessly around his tip, your cheeks hollowed hard as your cheeks clamped around him, "Dios mío, No te detengas-"

(My God, don't stop)

Another choke as another finger eased ever gently inside. You wriggled them softly, making a soft 'come' motion inside, allowing him to get used to the feeling.

Your lips glossed over both his precum and your own saliva, but that didn't stop you. He was about to push you deeper but a glare was enough to keep his hands on the sheets.

His jaw clenched, lips contorting in soft ohs and ahs as you kept blowing him and your fingers moved into him a faster but still gentle speed.

"So so close, mi amor"

He grunted while throwing his head back, sinking for a moment in the pillow. His chest heaving, the riple of his muscles tensed and shook at his desperate breaths. You stopped the sucking and he whimpered, annoyed.

"No, no mi amor. Go... Goback please, I'm so s'close." His slurred words made you giggle

"Want me to suck you dry, Papa?"

A hiss came from his lips as you found that little nub of muscle and prodded kindly at it. His mouth gaped.

"Yes" The neediness in his voice made your senses tingle. You were sure at this point you were soaked, but it wasn't about you right now. You wanted him to come undone before you while teaching him new ways to please each other beyond penetration.

And so far his body reacted so well to it, it made you smile as pride filled your chest.

"Touch yourself, Miguel. Lemme see gentle strokes"

One of his hands immediately took a hold of his aching cock

"Lento, mi amor" (Slowly)

A frustrated sigh rolled off his lips as your mouth focused on his sac. You pulled your fingers out, carefully before spreading his legs wider. As he jerked in slow motions, your tongue swiped around his hole, earning a shuddering sob from him.

His sac fell on the bridge of your nose as you helped him to stroke himself. You were eating him, and smirked as his moans turned urgent. You released one of his testicles with a gentle suck and smirked

"Hands off."

"Verga..." He rubbed his warm and flushed face in frustration. It was the second time you edged him, "I'm not appreciating you playing with me like this" (Shit)

"Relax, I want you to enjoy"

"I was until you stopped"

His voice a breathless and annoyed mumble

You stood from the bed to reach for the toy you had bought the moment he agreed. A buzzing double strap on. The outer end was just the right size to reach his sweet spot without hurting him, a first timer dildo. The inner one aligned perfectly into your spot.

Harness snuggly secured around your hips, a couple of lube squirts were poured on to the toy. Hand stroked and smeared the fruity smelling lube all over it.

You leaned to kiss him. His hands held you in place. A mix of himself and the sweet lube reminiscing on your mouth.

"I'll be gentle, ok?" He nodded in between kisses.

A new wave of thrill bolted through your body as you added some pillows underneath him for leverage. The strap perfectly aligned with his glistening hole.

"Give me slow strokes, Papa"

With a sigh, he cupped his hefty cock once more, the sensation of your gloved fingers made his body to shudder once more. His eyes widened softly as you rubbed the tip of the toy against his hole. Fingers left him to be replaced by the slick toy.

"Breathe" You cooed as you pushed in a couple of inches, allowing his muscles to assimilate the gentle intrusion.

"Does it hurts?"

He inhaled sharply and shook his head.

"Are you sure?"

Your hips stilled for a moment as your hands kneaded his inner thighs. His hand stroked himself slowly, but tightened the grip at his base.

"Yeah"

Smiling, your hips resumed their movements. Slow, deliberate circles that made the toy move carefully inside his tightness. You added another inch deeper when you noticed his breathings turned a bit more laborious.

"You're such a good boy, Papa"

The friction and the constant waves of pleasure the buzzy contraption oozed into your bodies made his strokes tighter, and your legs to quiver for a second.

His pants turned louder, turning into groans as you added another inch. His eyes closed shut at your careful and loving thrusts, Hips rocking in pliable, mild movements. His skin shook ever softly at your pushing.

His fangs bit his bottom lip when his strokes turned a bit faster, Your hands held him by his waist and you groaned.

Even though the toy inside you could never compare to his flushed and mouthwatering cock, it offered enough stimulation to make you whimper.

Mewlings and needy sounds coming from you and Miguel made it all ten times better when he bucked his hips and his eyes clamped shut when you prodded at his sweet spot. The sound his mouth did had you hissing and biting your own lip at the sight of him.

Front bangs falling into his flushed face, eyes rolling at the back of his head as sweat collected on his chest by the constant jerking. Mouth agape, panting and mumbling shy praises at your movements.

"Just like this, mi amor?"

A breathless yes.

Even though your walls quivered and milked the toy by the vibrations, your focus still remained on him and his own pleasure that only heightened by the strong vibrations on his toy's end.

"G-Gonna cum"

His words urged you to prod at the little nub of nerves that had him groaning your name.

One of his hands went above him, holding onto the headboard as his other pumped himself in a way that sent him sputtering inchorent lewd spanglish mumbles.

He choked. as you helped him cum by stroking your hand above his. Sweaty foreheads colliding, gaze locked on eachother.

"Come for me, Papa"

Your hand kept pumping and he moaned into your mouth as thick, hot blobs of fresh cum spurted from him, and rolled down your wrist, a few streaks nested on his happy trail and lower abdomen

You kissed him as you pulled out as gently as you entered

"Fuck" He mumbled against your lips. Hot breath fanning against yours, muscles spasming and shuddering as he rode his high. You could only smile with an endearing look at his blissful face

You kissed him once more. A few I love you's scurrying off his mouth.

"Love you too, mi amor"

#miguel o'hara #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara x you #atsv miguel #soccer family ⚽🕷️#t writes✨#sub miguel o'hara #gentle fdom #gentle fdom reader #dom reader #assassins fluff #miguel o'hara smut #atsv smut #spiderman 2099 smut

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transformers-spike · 6 days ago

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Please author, TFP Megatron x human Reader but they (if you can, AFAB) are into being bitten. Throw in some knife play in it?? Maybe?? I mean his teeth do qualify as knife play I think??? Also Megatron spoils them with aftercare because he is the evil tyrant but with a special spot for his favorite human

I'm kinda showing the aftermath of Megatron's biting featuring poor Knock Out. I hope you got your tetanus shot

“Hold still,” Knock Out tells you while disinfecting a particularly bad gash. He’s been at it for a while now, switching his attention to and from the monitor displaying a wide variety of human skin lesions and wikihow articles on how to treat them properly. You’ve been sitting on the medical table for a while now, feet dangling off the ledge like a child ignoring the safety protocols of the Grand Canyon. If his helm wasn’t on the line, you’re sure he would have gladly slapped you right off the edge himself. Instead, he watches over you with the determination of someone unwilling but forced to keep a cockroach alive no matter how often it crawls under their shoe. You’ve been to the medical bay enough times to cause Knock Out at least one mental breakdown while the actual Breakdown watched, bewildered, as the Chief Medical Officer tried to make sense of human anatomy despite the tangible disgust he harbors for your organic biology. Eh, you’re probably stretching it – he wouldn’t have silently threatened to squeeze your organs out of your body if he was that disgusted. Although, you must admit, you love when he fusses over you like a mother hen keeping its suicidal chick from repeatedly drowning itself. Megatron’s handiwork has been especially brutal, not that you mind. Even in his mass-displaced form his strength is unparalleled, it makes you wonder just how much he holds back, how easily he could tear out your jugular with his dentae alone. He is a massive predator, after all, by human and Cybertronian standards. The decision he made to file down his dentae into pointed tips must have skyrocketed his success rate in the pits through sheer intimidation factor. Maybe Cybertronians aren’t exactly known for having evolved a “bite when you’re cornered” reflex like Earth fauna, but you’re pretty damn sure Megatron can bite a chunk out of someone’s chassis if he’s angry enough. You try not to imagine Starscream with enough holes to qualify as a new type of vegan swiss cheese. Knock Out hasn’t said it to your face, but he’s alluded to sedating you in the medical bay if only to put a stop to your inane talent for sticking limbs you shouldn’t into Megatron’s intake. Alas, you do not give a fuck, and if he has the wrecking balls for it, he’ll have to answer to his leader for his transgressions (and promptly get his interface panel smashed in before he can so much as activate his vocalizer). Checkmate, glitch.

From the furrow of his optical ridge you can tell he’s actively purging any incentive to glance down at your tits and comment on the sheer damage caused to them. This, you’ve grown acquainted with. Call them bazonkers all you want, but these bad girls can only take so much abuse before you start crying. You’ve cursed breast tissue enough times to solidify your distaste for their uselessness outside of child rearing (disregarding sex). It takes a slight graze of Megatron’s dentae against them and you’re already trying to escape your mortal coil from the pain alone. Yes, said pain has made you orgasm. No, you refuse to take a good hard look at yourself and reevaluate what in God’s name is wrong with you.

Megatron by all means isn’t the soothing type. But after having experienced his specific brand of “gentle” brutality he’s grown to watch over your rapidly rising and falling form as you gingerly touch the gashes on your skin. Cybertronians, you’ve learned, can emit a purr similar to an engine (courtesy of Knock Out). Megatron however, having no Earth-based alt-mode, can only produce the dull rumble of Cybertronian aircraft – and that you learned when he scooped you up like a newborn deer and placed you on his chassis for safe-keeping. His servo, claws sharpened to perfection (for the pits, logically), switching between stroking your empty little head trying to make sense of your surroundings and caging your bleeding body under its grip.

Knock Out wacks you over the head with the back of his digit.

“Ow what the fuck?” You snarl.

“Stop daydreaming and show me the inside of your thighs,” he says with the complete lack of amusement of a convenience store clerk asking a customer to stop pushing a pull-door.

“Oh. My bad,” you hiss none-too-apologetically, nonchalantly spreading your legs and letting him figure out the horrorshow any sane human would have fainted experiencing. Except you. Because you have the spite of a cockroach. A flying cockroach aiming for Knock Out’s optic at the speed of light.

In the silence that follows, you can hear his processor drafting his resignation letter.

#transformers x human #transformers x reader #transformers prime #knockout tfp #megatron x reader #tfp megatron #biting #I love bullying Knock Out #valveplug

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dc-eased · 8 months ago

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you get used to it

cass: *emerging out of the shadows* what's for breakfast duke, new to the house: AAH- WHAT THE FUCK- alfred, not missing a beat: Good morning, Ms Cassandra. I am making blueberry pancakes, as requested by Master Richard, though he does not seem to have woken up yet. jason, peeking his head out of the kitchen, somehow fully dressed in Red Hood gear, except sans helmet and plus frilly pink apron: lazy ass probably won't crawl out of whatever hole he's died in till two, he went to sleep at four this morning. cass: *nods sagely* duke: *still frozen in shock and horror, internally screaming and gaping* damian, stepping out from behind alfred: Good morning, morons. I'm surprised to see you're all alive, though Drake appears to be nearing death's door. everyone: *glances over at the corner of a random hallway, where a drooping, haggard time lurks* tim, eyes manic and smudged with the darkest eyebags known to man: WHAT DAY IS IT? bruce, hair unkempt and sleepy looking: *yawn* thursday. alfred: It is Saturday, Master Tim. Master Bruce, you could do with a pick-me-up. (derogatory) duke: WHAT. THE. FUCK. alfred: Language, Master Duke. dick and steph: *still blissfully asleep in their rooms, dick is passed tf out on his stomach, steph is sprawled on her back in a stunning imitation of a starfish*

#steph is def doing cartwheels in her dream #jason todd is always in his redhood apparel #this is my design #such sillies #poor duke #dc #duke thomas #cassandra cain #dick grayson #jason todd #alfred pennyworth #bruce wayne #stephanie brown #tim drake #damian wayne

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brujahinaskirt · 1 year ago

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look i love john marston once and true i really do but listen if i were ms. abigail roberts

i would have shacked up with arthur so fucking fast after john ditched me his lil possum-man head would have been spinning on his neck way out in whatever hole he was hiding from the smoking ashes of my broken heart in. "stand by your man?" "give him space?" "take a chance that love exists?" no. i would not. i would have simply turned around and brought The Big Hoss to stable with EXTREME marston-negative malice. i know i know, arthur is sooo loyal he wouldn't leave dutch but yes he fucking would. we are not talking about some copypasta y/n buckle bunny here with no distinguishing features. this is ABIGAIL FUCKING ROBERTS. are you telling me if abigail "The Best Person Alive" (Arthur Morgan, "Abigail You're the Best" speech, 1899) roberts walked up to this babytalking Fatherhood And Other Dreams-addicted wifeless Wifeguy with a cooing toddler stuck under her arm and said "arthur you're jack's daddy now. arthur he's soooo small arthur. he's the size of a single grapefruit. arthur we have to protect your microscopic pea-sized incredibly tiny son" he would not have said Yes Maam and split that camp like the ass crack in a pair of Forever 21 jeans. i'm sorry to this woman but if i were Miss Thang the Van der Linde Princess Herself I would never have waited on a man (J*HN M*RSTON) to come crawling back to me. wait for what?????? i would have waltzed up to that sad sagging open concept tent, outstretched my gleaming ex girlfriend eagle talon and snatched mr I'm-a-Lonesome-Cowboy by his barely concealed raging domesticity stiffy and we would have blown that fucking outfit in two shakes and a holler. i would have ZOOMED onto that orhter-mahrrgahn-shaped gravy train at such fucking velocity you would not believe it. dump ME like a rusted can of peaches. oh no no no. could NOT be me. me and MY peaches would have been out of that whole marston sitchuation and making nice with big brother on a little homestead somewhere at mach 1 (one vindictive bitch) speed. leave me with a fucking baby sleeping on the grass. kiss my outlaw ass. not if I'M ABIGAIL FUCKING ROBERTS. john would have come stumbling back a year later dragging his jaw behind him like "huh??? wuut??? MY BABYCAKE IS WHERE??? WITH WHO" and the revelation that the bad bitch he tossed out with his toenail clippings was now eating bon bons or whatever on his brother's knee in callyfornya would car compact john's world into the size of a soup can. but i wouldn't bat one pretty eyelash about it because i would be spending my enormous devoted husband's train robbing funds on exotic fruits and fancy $15 token mugs and other dumb shit. john fucking god damned linguini legs marston. break my goddamn heart?? bet. arthur knows how abigail takes her coffee. jack would not even know who tf john marston is.

#rdr2 #arthur morgan #abigail roberts #THIS IS A JOKE RANT A SIMPLE FUNNY #I LOVE JOHN AND HIS SKINNY LEGS AND I KNOW THEY DID NOT HAVE 15 DOLLAR TOKEN MUGS OR CAR COMPACTORS IN 1899 #SHE COULD HAVE THO #JUST SAYING

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loukaiitis · 1 year ago

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Notes and Journal Entries by Kip Kinkel

A compilation of writings by Kip Kinkel. This is for informational and educational purposes only. Post is below the cut.

Disclaimer: the majority of his writing pieces (that have been released to the public) are only available in a typed transcript format, provided by PBS. Because of this, I am only able to include a few images of the original writing. This post will be updated if any new images come out!

Journal Entry by Kip:

"I sit here all alone. I am always alone. I don't know who I am. I want to be something I can never be. I try so hard every day. But in the end, I hate myself for what I've become.

Every single person I know means nothing to me. I hate every person on this earth. I wish they could all go away. You all make me sick. I wish I was dead.

The only reason I stay alive is because of hope. Even though I am repulsive and few people know who I am, I still feel that things might, maybe, just a little bit, get better.

I don't understand any fucking person on this earth. Some of you are so weak, mainly, that a four year old could push you down. I am strong, but my head just doesn't work right. I know I should be happy with what I have, but I hate living.

Every time I talk to her, I have a small amount of hope. But then she will tear it right down. It feels like my heart is breaking. But is that possible. I am so consumed with hate all of the time. Could I ever love anyone? I have feelings, but do I have a heart that's not black and full of animosity?

I know everyone thinks this way sometimes, but I am so full of rage that I feel I could snap at any moment. I think about it everyday. Blowing the school up or just taking the easy way out, and walk into a pep assembly with guns. In either case, people that are breathing will stop breathing. That is how I will repay all you mother fuckers for all you put me through.

I feel like everyone is against me, but no one ever makes fun of me, mainly because they think I am a psycho. There is one kid above all others that I want to kill. I want nothing more than to put a hole in his head. The one reason I don't: Hope. That tomorrow will be better. As soon as my hope is gone, people die.

I ask myself why I hate more than anyone else. I don't know. But my head and heart want him dead. He only knows who I am through reputation, and I know he is scared of me. He should be. One bad day, and there will be a sawed off shotgun in his face or five pounds of Semtex under his bed.

Oh fuck. I sound so pitiful. People would laugh at this if they read it. I hate being laughed at. But they won't laugh after they're scraping parts of their parents, sisters, brothers, and friends from the wall of my hate.

Please. Someone, help me. All I want is something small. Nothing big. I just want to be happy.

End. New day. Today of all days, I ask her to help me. I was shot down. I feel like my heart has been ripped open and ripped apart. Right now, I'm drunk, so I don't know what the hell is happening to me.

It is clear that no one will help me. Oh God, I am so close to killing people. So close.

I gave her all I have, and she just threw it away. Why? Why did God just want me to be in complete misery? I need to find more weapons. My parents are trying to take away some of my guns! My guns are the only things that haven't stabbed me in the back.

My eyes hurt. They hurt so bad. They feel like they are trying to crawl out of my head. Why aren't I normal? Help me. No one will. I will kill every last mother fucking one of you. The thought of you is still racing in my head. I am too drunk to make sense.

Every time I see your face, my heart is shot with an arrow. I think she will say yes, but she doesn't, does she? She says, "I don't know". The three most fucked up words in the English language.

I want you to feel this, be this, taste this, kill this. Kill me. Oh God, I don't want to live. Will I see it to the end? What kind of dad would I make? All humans are evil. I just want to end the world of evil.

I don't want to see, hear, speak or feel evil, but I can't help it. I am evil. I want to kill and give pain without a cost. And there is no such thing. We kill him - we killed him a long time ago. Anyone that believes in God is a fucking sheep.

If there was a God, he wouldn't let me feel the way I do. ....Love isn't real, only hate remains. Only hate."

Essay about love, written by Kip

"Love Sucks

No, I don't believe in love at first sight because love is an evil plot to make people buy alcohol and firearms. When you love someone something it is always taken away from you. I also would like to add that I hate each and every one of you. Because everything I touch turns to shit. I think if you think you fall in love with someone at first sight it might just be lust. Love at first sight is only in movies. Where the people in the movies are better than you. That is why you go to a pone [pawn] shop and buy an AK-15 because you are going to execute every last mother fucking one of you. If I had a heart it would be gray.

It is easier to hate than love. Because there is much more hate and misery in the world than there is love and peace. Some people say that you should love everyone. But that is impossible. Look at our history it is full of death, depression, rape, wars and diseases. I also do not believe in love at first sight. But I do believe in hate at first sight. Therefore love is a much harder feeling to experience."

Monologue written by Kip for a homework assignment. This monologue was written for the character Tybalt of Romeo and Juliet.

"But you know me, I loathe all of them. I am no longer blind in my hatred, I can see with my hate. Blood will flow until they are all dead. This was the first moment in my life where I had taken the life of another. I loved it. It dispelled all the anger and animosity I was feeling."

Note written by Kip, confessing to the murder of his parents. This was found on a coffee table in the living room of the Kinkel's home.

"I have just killed my parents! I don't know what is happening. I love my mom and dad so much. I just got two felonies on my record. My parents can't take that! It would destroy them. The embarrassment would be too much for them. They couldn't live with themselves. I'm so sorry. I am a horrible son. I wish I had been aborted. I destroy everything I touch. I can't eat. I can't sleep. I didn't deserve them. They were wonderful people. It's not their fault or the fault of any person, organization, or television show. My head just doesn't work right. God damn these VOICES inside my head. I want to die. I want to be gone. But I have to kill people. I don't know why. I am so sorry! Why did God do this to me. I have never been happy. I wish I was happy. I wish I made my mother proud. I am nothing! I tried so hard to find happiness. But you know me I hate everything. I have no other choice. What have I become? I am so sorry"

A concerning note written by Kip on a Spanish worksheet

Another concerning note by Kip

"Respect Sheet" filled out by Kip

#loukaiitis #kip kinkel #tcc #true crime #kip

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idk-bruh-20 · 2 years ago

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Tony, the futurist

Buckle in folks, I've had some thoughts and I'm about to make it ✨everyone's✨ problem.

Been thinking about Tony Stark, the futurist who saw the end of the world.

Tony, who in IM1 escapes kidnapping and torture and says, "I shouldn't be alive. Unless if was for a reason."

who, in The Avengers, has this exchange with Bruce Banner:

Tony: You know, I've got a cluster of shrapnel, trying every second to crawl its way into my heart. This stops it. This little circle of light. It's part of me now, not just armor. It's a… terrible privilege. Bruce: But you can control it. Tony: Because I learned how. Bruce: It's different. Tony: Hey, I've read all about your accident. That much gamma exposure should've killed you. Bruce: So you're saying that the Hulk… the other guy… saved my life? That's nice. It's a nice sentiment. Saved it for what? Tony: I guess we'll find out. Bruce: You might not like that. Tony: You just might.

Right after this, Cap tells Tony, "You're not the guy to make the sacrifice play, to lay down on a wire and let the other guy crawl over you."

And then Tony flies a nuke into a wormhole, tries to call his girlfriend because he thinks these are his last moments, did not go in there expecting to survive.

Although he survives, he witnesses an alien army so terrifying, so unbeatable, it gives him crippling PTSD nightmares and panic attacks, knowing they are not prepared to defend the earth.

I'm thinking about Tony who, in AOU, gets manipulated by Wanda into witnessing his worst nightmare.

Which, by the way, involves losing all of his newfound friends.

Later, he has this exchange with Nick Fury:

Tony: And I'm the man who killed the Avengers. I saw it. I didn't tell the team, how could I? I saw them all dead, Nick. I felt it. The whole world, too. It's because of me. I wasn't ready. I didn't do all I could. Fury: The Maximoff girl, she's working you, Stark. Playing on your fear. Tony: I wasn't tricked, I was shown. It wasn't a nightmare, it was my legacy. The end of the path I started us on. Fury: You've come up with some pretty impressive inventions, Tony. War isn't one of them. Tony: I watched my friends die. You'd think that'd be as bad as it gets, right? Nope. Wasn't the worst part. Fury: The worst part is that you didn't.

Tony's worst fear is to survive in a world he's failed to save. He has to "do all [he] could" or else the future he's terrified of will happen and it will be his fault.

(Not to put too fine a point on it, but there's a reason why Tony and Peter are so compatible as mentor and mentee.)

Tony's seen what's coming, and he's willing to do whatever it takes.

Here's the thing, though:

Tony doesn't actually want to die.

In AOU, when they're arguing about why he created Ultron, Tony says this to Cap:

"Isn't that the mission? Isn't that the 'why we fight'? So we get to go home?"

He tells Bruce that the reason they should create Ultron is to have "peace in our time."

He tells Pepper that his constant tinkering, his inability to ever, ever rest is because he needs to keep her safe from the oncoming threat.

Tony has a life he wants to protect, people he wants to keep safe. And, unlike the other Avengers, he knows exactly how impossible this will be to achieve.

Tony is the only Avenger who understands how severely outmatched they are. Maybe Thor understands the threat, but he has no ability to imagine losing.

Tony tries to get them to understand:

Tony: Recall that? A hostile alien army came charging through a hole in space. We're standing three hundred feet below it. We're the Avengers. We can bust arms dealers all the live long day, but, that up there? That's… that's the end game. How were you guys planning on beating that? Steve: Together. Tony: We'll lose. Steve: Then we'll do that together, too.

Well, they do lose. And they don't do it together.

And it turns out Tony was right about everything.

He was right that he would survive to face his world that he'd failed to save.

He was right that the Avengers would not be enough.

He was right that Bruce's powers would be worthwhile someday.

And, apparently,

some people think he was right that he was only alive for this reason.

Because, obviously, the only "reason" for someone like Tony Stark to be alive is to eventually sacrifice himself, right?

A character so traumatized can only find peace in death.

Right?

No.

Stop that.

Tony Stark may have been willing to risk his life for his family, but that doesn't mean he wanted that to be his end.

Remember when this happened?

Bruce: Saved it for what? Tony: I guess we'll find out. Bruce: You might not like that. Tony: You just might.

Bruce gets to live long enough to like his ending.

Remember when this happened?

All Tony ever wanted to do was make the world a better place.

And, what about this?

You're telling me that Yinsen didn't value family above all else?

That he thought Tony should die and leave them behind?

No.

Tony Stark is a futurist.

He is the Cassandra of the MCU. He warns the others constantly of the oncoming threat that only he, apparently, can see. (Even Thanos calls him "cursed with knowledge.")

No one believes him. Alone, he tries to prepare for the threat that he has witnessed. He sits with his nightmares and tries to find a way around them, constantly.

He builds a life worth living, finds people worth protecting, just like Yinsen told him to.

To protect the future, he does all he possibly can.

Tony deserved to be part of the future too.

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jxckchxmpi0n · 1 year ago

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Sweet Romance

Spiderman Ethan Landry x Fem!Reader

summary: you haven't had a date night in mouths, so Ethan decided to make it up to you with a peaceful night in the park.

word count: 1.6k

warnings: Angst, Fluff, cursing, mention of blood, mentions of nsfw

did not proof read || m.list

You don't know how you got so lucky with him. His sweet chocolate brown eyes, his super curly hair. You look at him like he is a piece of art, and maybe because he is. The nights you couldn't sleep, finding him shirtless lying next to you, the outline of his back muscles casting shadows over the rest of his back. the moles that painted his pale skin.

The feeling of his lips on your body every day, even when he is messy and needy, he still knows how to look beautiful. How his hair will lay in different directions after waking up, the way his hands dance around your body, lightly touching yet roughly holding you.

He was your everything, and that's why it ruined you every night seeing him crawl through your window covered in blood, some nights he'd pass out before fully stepping into your room. Pulling him to your bed as his chest rose and fell slowly.

Your fingers danced on his body late some nights over every scar he had. tangled together in your sheets, you felt like crying. You don't want him to die. He means too much to you. You felt selfish as well, knowing how much he loves helping others.

"What if you stopped?" Your head rested on his bare chest, his eyes halfway shut from a long night. He could hear the fear in your voice as you spoke.

"Stopped?" he didn't want to argue tonight, not again this week. He untuked his arm from behind his head, turning so he hovered over you.

"Yeah, stopped. You know it's hard on me seeing you all bloody coming through the window. " Your eyes couldn't face his. The fear of crying was too strong. Your fingers traced a scar that laid under his collarbone, and his breath still hitches every time you touch him.

"Hey, y/n/n, look at me, love." his index and middle finger forced your chin up. his hand fully cupping the side of your face. "I know you want me to stop, but they need someone out there. They need me." his eyes were so big, looking between your own.

"I need you. I need you here in bed with me. I need you breathing, alive. I need you to not be beaten up into a pulp. " Your voice was shaking a little at the thought of seeing him like that again.

"I know, baby, i'm sorry. but i won't stop, at least not right now. " his voice was so soft, barely above a whisper, like his words were only meant for you. his fingers traced the outline of your features, pushing hair strains out of your eyes.

You couldn't speak, your voice would be too harsh, and he doesn't deserve that. closing your eyes, you nodded, his head fell down, falling to capture your lips. the sweet taste of your ChapStick mixed with the mint of the toothpaste. he didn't push hard. He just held your lips to his like it was the last because you both knew that some random kiss you share may well be the last.

A few weeks have passed since you've asked Ethan to stop. From there, he seemed to put some space between you two. At least during certain nights, you knew he had a rough night when you'd see him the next day, and he could barely stand without whining.

He didn't go to you the night he had it bad now, knowing how much it hurt you. He didn't know how to patch himself up right so you would fix the taped bandages anyway. Fewer words were said during the nighttime. He'd come and go and be back the next night. maybe you were right. Maybe he needed to stop because seeing how he couldn't hold you at night broke his heart.

He had an idea, though, a good one he hoped at least. It was no later than eight o'clock when a knock at your door echoed through. confused, you got up from the couch, Ethan's sweatshirt hugged your body. It was your favorite one, and he melted every time seeing you in it.

Peeking through the hole, you couldn't see much but flowers, a smile spread across your face. Opening the door, you saw Ethan holding your favorite flowers, an innocent smile laid on his face. When his eyes landed on you, his eyes rolled back, biting his lip as well as he saw you in his sweatshirt.

"What are these for?" Taking a few steps in, he leaned down, kissing the top of your head.

"These are for you, they're 'I miss you flowers' and 'I want to take you out flowers,' he smirked as he saw you blush.

"How thoughtful?" You turned, leaving him at the door. "I have other plans though Landry" he closed the door, taking quick pace steps to follow.

"And your plans are me," filling a vase he stood on the other side of the kitchen watching you. feeling his eyes scan your body. Oh, it's been a while since you've had him.

"Oh really." The flowers laid so neatly in the vase leaning in and smelling them, pollen filled your nose as the sweetness filled the room.

"Yes, and I want to take you out now." his arms went around your body, the warmth of his body poured into your back. "Come on, love." his lips brushed your ear as he whispered to you.

"Fine, but let me -" his arms tightened around you as you spoke, but his voice broke you up.

"No, don't change. go like this, I like seeing you in my clothes. " A chuckle came from your chest as you listened.

"Fine, I won't change," you faced him blush creeping on your face.

"Then let's get going," he pulled you by your arms towards the door. He was giggling like a little school boy. "I'll grab your shoes just head to the car." he pushed you out of the front door with an evil smile.

Ethan ran around your apartment looking for your shoes. Once he grabbed them, he ran out the door, swinging down the staircase. He landed near the car, causing you to jump. "Rah Ethan, you know I hate when you do that." he held his chest as he laughed. Apologizing, he kissed your head and helped you into the car.

"So first stop, we are going to go to the food trucks and get so much food." he looked between you and the road.

"Food trucks, huh?" The sky was dark, and the city was alive and bright with lights. You watched as different people filled the street, couples, families, laughing, smiling.

"Yes, because that's where we had our first date, you know." he parked the car, fully turning to look at you. The street light lit the car with a soft yellow hue, and fog started to roll in.

"I sure do remember." Your heart fluttered at how such a little sentence means the world to you.

He helped you out of the car and walked with his hand in yours. He knew he's been distant lately. Trying his best to give you the best night, that's all he wants.

"Listen, I'm sorry -" you looked at him with an intense stare, "I know I've been distant, and I know that it's been hard seeing me fight, but I just want to give you this night. Just to show you how much I love you, how much I adore you, how much I can't stand being away from you" he looked down at you with such love, his eyes melting into yours, his voice so soft and vulnerable.

Your eyes softened as you looked at him, you can't stay mad at him. He's trying, and that's what matters.

You couldn't speak your mind because what else is there to say besides, "I love you," a low whisper came from you.

He smiled. "And I love you so so much." His hands cupped both sides of your face, kissing your forehead, your nose, and then your lips.

Soft, slow, and smooth. That's what it felt like. His chapped lisps brushed yours as he held your head. His tongue danced on your lower lip, giggling as you broke the kiss.

For the rest of the night, you stopped at different food trucks, trying different foods, laughing smiling, and holding each other.

Hours had passed. It was just you and him in an empty skate park. He held your hands as you tried balancing on the board. "No, no, don't let me go," your laugh echoed in his ears.

"I promise I'm not." he took little steps guiding you around. "You are doing great love come on, let me let go"

Your eyes shot up at him, "Absolutely not!" You shared the same bright smile.

You messed around on the board for hours. You sat on it as his webs stuck to it, running around pulling you around.

"Ahh baby," he turned to sharp, making you hit a rock. Rolling off, you laid on the floor. He ran to you, worried he hurt you.

You were laughing, begging him to do it again. He huffed out a breath as he saw you weren't hurt.

"Come on, I think we should call it a night," he helped you up

"No no no this is too much fun!"

"Love, it's one am." The sky was dark yet light because of the city lights. Less people were around. The only ones left were you and Ethan. A few single people walking around.

"Fine, but I want you to stay. Stay with me tonight. " he shot his webs, grabbing the skateboard, holding your hand in this other.

"As you wish," he kissed your head and walked with you.

Your chest was light. Maybe after tonight, things will be different. Both of you realized the importance a simple night was for you.

Holding you again, feeling you tangled together in bed was something that he always looked forward to, and waking up next to you made him even more complete.

#jack champion #ethan landry #scream vi #ethan landry imagine #ethan landry x reader #jack champion imagine #jack champion x reader #ethan landry smut #ghost face x reader #spider avatar #spiderman ethan landry #avatar spider #spiderman

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defectivehero · 8 months ago

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Anonymous asked: can you perhaps do hero x reformed villain? thanks in advance :3

somehow I deleted this ask and it's gone from my inbox, wtf. anyway, make sure to read through the warnings before reading!

warnings: self-harm, blood, panic attack/hyperventilation.

The villain failed.

This isn't the first time they've failed—far from it.

But this is the first time they've failed... as a hero.

And they don't know what to do with themselves. The villain just knows they have to do something to quell the restless feeling prickling up their skin. Their ears ringing and buzzing, they hear themselves making a flimsy excuse to break away before practically running down the hallway and turning into the bathroom. The space is empty, hauntingly so. Everything about the room sends a prickle down their spine, from the spotless white tile to the perfectly clean mirrors. They have never been so strongly assaulted by a feeling of detachment.

The metal shard is burning a hole in their pocket. The villain pulls it out with trembling hands, eyes latching on the dried blood settled into the harsh cracks. The supervillain's voice echoes in their ears, reminding them of every mistake they've ever made. It's been years since the supervillain passed—since the villain was freed from the blackmail that bound them to villainy—yet they hear his voice everywhere they go.

There's blood dripping down their fingertips now, dropping to the floor and sending hollow echoes throughout the bathroom. The villain takes a shuddering breath in, welcoming the familiar rush of pain that rises to greet them. Their hands are shaking, their vision is tunneling, but they feel more alive than they have in days.

"What the hell are you doing?"

The villain nearly jumps out of their skin at the sudden presence of another person. They can't bear to look away from the crimson slowly sliding down their skin, coloring the spotless white sink with tinges of red. The villain doesn't need to look up to know just who is standing in the doorway: the hero, their former enemy, their new partner. The thought amuses them, for reasons they can't quite explain.

"Stop it." The hero orders, their voice cold. At their uncharacteristic tone, the villain does look up—only to find an expression of true shock, bewilderment, and helplessness on the hero's face. The expression quickly morph into stubborn resolve when their partner notices they're looking. The hero takes a step forward and the door slides shut behind them.

"Why?" The villain eventually remembers to ask.

"What do you mean why?" The hero asks, disbelief pervading their voice. "Because it's dangerous, because you're hurting yourself-"

"I deserve the pain," the villain interjects instinctually. They feel a wry smile crawling up their lips. "Crave it, even." That familiar voice is ringing in their ears still, urging them to inflict more pain and suffering to even the score.

"Stop," the hero repeats. "I'm serious. I don't know what you think this is, if you're trying to unnerve me or something... Please stop."

The villain feels hysterical laughter bubbling out of their throat, wrenching their lips open and infecting the tense air around them. They can feel the hero's incredulous gaze boring into their skin, but there isn't a damn thing they can do to change it.

In the blink of an eye, the shard of metal is roughly ripped from their hands. The villain doesn't realize that they're gasping for breath until the hero is shaking them by the shoulders, their eyes wide. And they're still laughing. The villain doesn't know where they first found the amusement. All they know is that they cannot stop, cannot let go of this twisted sense of joy that is so familiar and so novel at the same time.

"What happened to you?" The hero whispers.

"More like who," the villain thinks to themselves wryly. They don't realize they've spoken aloud until they see the way the hero's eyebrows furrow. They look truly unsettled, perhaps even disturbed; on a better day, this would please the villain greatly. Now that their role has changed, however... Now that they're a hero... the expression on their partner's face is less amusing.

The villain can practically see the moment the dots connect in the hero's mind—the moment the hero remembers the expression on the villain's face as they showed up bruised and battered on the agency's doorstep all those years ago, remembers the villain haunting the agency's halls like a shadow, waiting for the moment the supervillain would return and finish what he started.

The villain's bruises have faded. The scars have not.

The hero knows.

The hero places a hand on their shoulder, their grip tethering the villain to reality. It's a firm pressure—a reminder of their support. The villain desperately wants to shrug it off (they've trusted another like that once before, it didn't out well) but they don't. Something in the hero's eyes compels them to remain frozen, pliable under their grip.

"You've punished yourself enough." The hero states firmly. They leave no room for argument, and the villain is forced to believe them. Their eyes gleam with honesty—nothing more and nothing less. The villain feels robbed of breath. Their new partner brings a hand to their cheek, meets their eyes unflinchingly.

"I won't let anything like that happen to you ever again," the hero murmurs, their fingertips sliding across the villain's skin. The villain has forgotten the pain itching at their forearm, the blood slowly dribbling to the floor. All they can see is the expression on the hero's face—one so far past mere determination, one that reminds them of when they knew loyalty and compassion. "I promise."

In the quiet air, under the flickering fluorescent lights, the villain realizes that they believe their partner. A tight feeling at the back of their throat, the villain leans into the hero and the unconditional support that they don't deserve.

TAG LIST: @lateuplight @wit-is-wisdom @greengableswriting @whump-me-all-night-long @noawhite @rekhyt-of-arcadia @the-blind-one-speaks @sufferfictionalcharacters @basically-psyduck @alexkolax @subval01 @emerald-blade @felicia609 @surplus-of-sarcasm @ilickedanenvelopeandilikedit @a-chaotic-gremlin @unknownogre @prompt-fills-and-writing-spills @whatwhumpcomments @excusemeasibangmyheadonawall @agayprince

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#defectivehero #hero x villain #heroes and villains #writing #writeblr #spilled ink #writers on tumblr #short fic #snippet #etc

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gaily-daily-musings · 11 days ago

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More anti-christ Anakin snippets (first drabble here)

Anakin cannot call the horsemen to him without calling all of them at once. They'd be overwhelmed and the Apocalypse would jump start. So for now they have to track them down one by one the hard way. Except they don't really know where to start.

While in Paris they meet a psychic who claims to have connections with a low level demon. Anakin thinks there may be a chance the demon may know something about where the horsemen are currently stationed. Which parts of the world. Anything at this point would be helpful.

They arrange a meeting with it. They turn up in some shithole back end bar. The demon is wearing a Glamour and they recognize Anakin. They panic and try to flee. They run into the back but Anakin gives chase and uses his powers to capture it. (He's been practicing. He's getting very good and very powerful.)

It's then they notice all the bodies withering in the room where they've chased the demon into. The sounds of pleasure fill the air. This was a succubus. These were its victims. It lured them back here for an orgy of a feast.

The people moan loudly, grinding against each other. Their naked limbs flail like ants. Oily skin and engorged cocks pump into various holes. Anakin crinkles his nose. A woman crawls over to him and paws at his ankle.

“Don't touch me!” Anakin hisses and kicks her away.

Obi-Wan is entirely red at the entrance to the room. He's trying very hard not to look at anyone.

The succubus laughs. “You're such a pretty thing, my Prince. He doesn't treat you right does he? Keeps you at arms length.” It gestures to Obi-Wan. “I can help you find release. I'd have you out of your mind with pleasure.”

Anakin crushes their throat in his palm. It screams and struggles. How dare they imply he'd cheat on Obi-Wan!

“Anakin,” Obi-Wan calls. “We need them alive!”

He loosens his grip letting them breath. The Succubus scrambles for air.

“You will tell us what we need to know.” Anakin snarls.

“Alright! Alright! Can't blame a demon for trying!”

They don't know much in the end but they do know of another nearby demon. It was a solider in the army that had been summoned from hell a couple decades ago. It had taken on a form to integrate into society. The Succubus is pretty sure they worked with Pollution.

Anakin thanks the demon then snaps it's neck. At once the people on the floor stop wiggling in pleasure. Clarity returns to their eyes. Someone screams.

The lead is a dead end and they have to return to the states.

While having lunch outside a cafe back in the states, a little girl tries to steal something from Anakin's bag. He turns mid conversation and snatches her wrist. It startles both Obi-Wan and the girl.

“Let go!”

“How about you let go of my shit first?”

“Fuck you!”

Anakin grins with all of his teeth. “I'll eat you, you little gremlin!”

“Not if I eat you first!” she growls back and then bites him.

Anakin howls and lets her go. She runs. Anakin gives chase.

Obi-Wan nearly trips over the chair gathering their stuff and going after them. He's slower than either of them and almost loses them.

The girl turns into the nearby park disappearing past the bushes. Anakin vanishes after her. Not long after that Obi-Wan hears a scream. His heart leaps into his throat. Was he actually eating her?!?

He bursts through the bushes onto the scene. Anakin has pinned the thief to the ground pressing her face into the grass. She shrieks and kicks him in the shin. Anakin lets out a pained grunt and she wiggles free. Instead of running she turns to tackle him. They roll around on the grass.

It takes a moment to process the sound coming from Anakin's mouth. He was laughing.

They finally break and Anakin lets her up. “What's your name pipsqueak?”

“Ahsoka! And I'm not a pipsqueak you jerk!”

They learn Ahsoka's parents passed away and she'd gone to live with her uncle who was a neglectful alcoholic. He never had any food in the house so she'd taken to finding her own. She'd gotten a knack for it too. She was good.

Anakin liked to pick on her. From the outside perspective it appeared mean spirited but in truth it was just his way of teasing her.

Anakin flings a french fry at her. “Why are you such a brat?”

They were currently by the poolside of the hotel they were staying at. Ahsoka often spent time with them there. She never asked why they didn't live in a house or an apartment.

“I dunno. Why are you such an asshole?”

She flings a french fry back at him.

Obi-Wan, who is sunbathing, sincerely hopes this doesn't dissolve into another food fight. They'd already gotten kicked out of the ice cream parlor when Anakin and Ahsoka had started smashing their cones into each other's faces.

Still, it warmed his heart to know Anakin had finally, after all this time, made a friend.

When they leave Nebraska, Ahsoka follows them. They don't have the heart to make her go back to her Uncle. So she stays and travels with them.

Because they're “on the run” Ahsoka thinks it would be cool to dye her hair like in the movies. She asks Anakin to help her. They have to bleach it first. It's a whole ordeal. By the time they're done the bathroom looks like a smurf was brutally murdered.

Anakin ends up missing a lot of chunks of hair. It's a swirl of blue and bleach white. Ahsoka looks at herself in the mirror. She's silent. Obi-Wan holds his breath.

She squeals in delight. “I love it!”

There's a sudden lurch in Anakin's gut. It feels unfamiliar and weird. Anakin looks at Obi-Wan wide eyed.

“Obi-Wan…” He stretches out a hand and then disappears.

There's an awful screech. Anakin thinks it's coming from himself, traveling through the ether of wherever it is he is being taken.

He comes to in the middle of a forest. He's surrounded by people in black robes. They look kinda like cultists.

“Lord Morningstar!” They praise.

They are cultists.

“Where the fuck am I?” He growls.

“My Lord, we have called you here in service to you!”

They reveal themselves as a doomsday cult. They wanted to help jumpstart the Apocalypse in his name. The date for the impending end of the world had come and gone and they'd taken it upon themselves to find him and deliver him to the Horseman.

“Do you know where they are?” well, where the rest of them were anyway. One of them was destroyed already.

“We can find out, my lord!”

They conjure a book and bring it to him. The book of the dead. It contained ramblings of a madman with visions of the Apocalypse and prophecies of the antichrist. It also held enchantments and incantations for summoning demons and devils alike. Interesting.

Anakin kills them all and steals the book. He makes the long trek back to Obi-Wan and Ahsoka. It takes several days as he has to catch a few flights. It's easy to manipulate minds now. He can come and go as he pleases. No one can resist. No one can disobey. Obi-Wan hates it when he uses this ability but he thinks he'll forgive him this time. It was an emergency.

Ah hell, Obi-Wan would forgive him either way. Who's he kidding?

By the time they reunite several days later Obi-Wan is out of his mind with worry. They embrace.

“I thought you'd been dragged to hell!”

Anakin kisses him. Obi-Wan kisses back ardently. Buoyed by distance and affection, Anakin dips the man in his arms. He takes as much as he knows Obi-Wan will allow before the other man pulls away. He was still only 19 after all. Obi-Wan didn't initiate touching very often and he never undressed.

At times, waiting for him annoys Anakin. But he would not love Obi-Wan if he weren't so stubborn. So he's resolved to wait until the older man was ready.

“Where's my hug jerk?!”

Ahsoka pops up and hugs him. Anakin hugs back. She hadn't seen him disappear. She'd been out doing whatever it was pre-teen girls did.

“Obi-Wan said he lost you! Where'd you go?”

“I got summoned by some cultists who worshiped me.”

Ahsoka flattens her face. “Sure. Right.”

Anakin had shown her his powers before and she believed in the Supernatural. But she didn't buy the whole son-of-the-devil schtick. Anakin? No way.

Anakin turns to Obi-Wan. “Here. They had this.”

He hands him the book of the dead. Obi-Wan is predictably fascinated. He'd loved studying those old religious books back when they'd lived in the convent.

They figure out how to summon a hellhound one night to do their bidding. Two actually. Anakin lovingly names them Artoo and Chopper.

They're able to cast a Glamour so they appear like regular dogs. Anakin takes them on walkies. Ahsoka starts a TikTok page for them.

In hindsight perhaps the TikTok was a bad idea.

They're captured five months later in England by a group of rogue priests. They'd hunted Anakin down from his internet trail. They'd seen through the Glamour and knew they had to take action.

They're taken by surprise and knocked out. They wake in what looks like a basement. A large one. They're surrounded by dark figures.

“Where the fuck are my dogs?”

“Back in hell where they belong. Soon you will join them.”

A man steps out of the shadows. They are priests wearing strange robes that Obi-Wan has never seen before.

“The Order of Jedi.” Anakin greets them with a savage grin.

“I see you know of us.” The dark skinned man says.

Anakin shrugs. “Qui-Gon may have mentioned you a few times.”

“I am Mace Windu. Grand Master of the Order. Id say it's a pleasure but it's not.”

“The feelings mutual.”

Obi-Wan is completely lost. “What?”

Anakin turns as much as he can while tied to the chair. They were sitting across from each other side by side.

“His old Order, dedicated to translating the prophecies and locating the antichrist. Whenever I misbehaved, Qui-Gon would threaten to turn me over to them and kill me.” He shrugs. “I knew he was bluffing.”

You've frowns. “He'd cut all contact with us years ago. When we heard about his death we sent someone to investigate. Imagine our surprise when we found out he'd been harboring you all along.”

Obi-Wan looks between them. “I don't understand. Why didn't he turn Anakin over?”

“we discovered his journals during our search. He meant to end the child the night he came into the world. But then he saw him with you.” He addresses Obi-Wan directly. “he wrote of how Anakin settled on your arms as if at peace. He wrote many passages over the years of the boy's progress and the way he interacted with his chosen guardian. He believed there was hope for the devil's child.”

Obi-Wan stills. He never knew…

Mace scoffs. “He was a fool. You cannot change evil.”

Anakin snarls.

The priests gather in a circle. Obi-Wan grows nervous.

“What's happening? What are you doing?”

“What Qui-Gon should have done years ago. Don't worry. You won't be hurt. The holy fire only vanquishes demons. To a human it will simply cleanse your soul of any darkness. Once you are pure again we will free you.”

Anakin struggles in his restraints. But the binding must be enchanted. He cannot get free. He cannot use his powers. He yells obscenities at them.

“Wait!” Obi-Wan says trying to keep his rising panic at a manageable level. “Your Order's purpose is to stop the Apocalypse right? That's what we're doing! We've already killed the Horseman of Pollution! Maybe we can help each other! Join forces!”

Mace gives him a leveled stare. “We do not make deals with Devil's. Satan's spawn has you in his grip. We will free you from his influence.”

“Good fucking luck getting rid of me assholes! I'm goddamn indestructible!”

Mace's stare finally breaks into a smirk. “Normally yes. Holy fire will only hurt you, not kill you the way it would a simple demon. But we have the weapon built by Revan himself. It will kill any evil being. Including you. Not even Death itself can hide from its blade.”

Obi-Wan pales.

The ritual begins. The priests chant ominously.

The fire lights around them. Anakin starts screaming. He cannot stop. It wasn't burning his clothes but his face and hair were peeling away. The sight horrifies Obi-Wan. He yells and cries but he can do nothing but watch.

The door to the basement bursts open.

“Anakin!”

It was Ahsoka. She'd seen them get captured and dragged away. The dogs are with her. They pounce on the men and viciously tear them apart.

She rushes over to Obi-Wan and unties him.

“How did you find us?”

“I got the book and summoned Artoo and Chopper back! I had them track you down!”

The second he's free he turns to Anakin's charred body. The fire had gone out when the chanting stopped. Ahsoka hesitates.

“Should…should we touch him?”

Obi-Wan's body buzzes with adrenaline. Anakin was hurt. He was in pain. He needed him.

Around them, the priests that were still alive were fighting off the hounds. Obi-Wan is torn between joining the fight and getting Anakin out of here.

Suddenly everything slows. Anakin's head snaps up. Golden eyes shimmer brightly. He bursts free of his restraints. He stands and stands forward. He whistles low, calling off the dogs. They obey.

Obi-Wan feels his early breakfast lurch in his stomach. Anakin looked like a third degree burn victim. It was grotesque. It looked painful.

Anakin lifts his hand and two of the men lift with it. They spin on the air like toy tops. Anakin makes a fist and crushes them. Their bones snap and they go limp. Now only Mace was left.

Anakin snaps his fingers and Mace drops to his knees with a cry. Anakin places his hands upon the man's face. Almost immediately Mace screams. Obi-Wan sees his skin ripple like a wave. It looked like Anakin was absorbing it. While Anakin’s skin was getting healthier and less burned looking, Mace was growing weaker and more thin. Mace tries to fight but he wasn't strong enough. He reaches weakly for Obi-Wan.

“please…help me…”

Anakin vibrates with violent delight at the man's agony. Although it is not a sight Obi-Wan enjoys, he cannot feel all too sorry for him. Mace had tried to take Anakin away from him.

Once dead, Anakin backs away rolls his neck to pop the joints. “God that sucked. I hate fire.”

From the corner Ahsoka speaks. “You really are the anti-christ aren't you?”

“I literally told you I was!”

“Why would I have ever believed you?? You lie all the time!”

“I do not!” Anakin snaps.

“Do too!”

Obi-Wan starts laughing. It startles the pair.

“hey are you okay?” Anakin reaches for him. “Did they hurt you?”

Still, chuckling, Obi-Wan shakes his head. “I'm fine. Just relieved we're all okay.”

Once they get back home Anakin complains about those stupid priests and whines about feeling weird in his skin now.

Obi-Wan kisses him and Anakin shuts up.

“Would you like some help resettling into your new skin?”

Anakin mods vehemently. Eager like a puppy. Obi-Wan chuckles. Ahsoka gags.

Obi-Wan dreams on occasion. Nothing so special or vivid. They were normal.

But this seemed real. Very real.

He sits before Qui-Gon at a table. There's a chess board in front of them. They used to play and drink tea together often.

“You're doing very well, Obi-Wan.” Qui-Gon smiles at him.

“Am I? It looks like I'm losing from where I'm sitting.”

“With Anakin. Teaching him humility and compassion and how to be good.”

Obi-Wan pauses, feeling warm. Can you blush in a dream?

“But be careful of your soul, my friend. It is easy to fall when one walks the line of temptation.”

They come for Death last. He is the strongest of the four. The entity reveals that when Obi-Wan and Anakin die one day, their souls will be separated. Ankain belonged in hell. But Obi-Wan would go to heaven.

Anakin rages. He decides he wants to start the Apocalypse. They could be together in the ruins of the Earth.

“We won't.” Obi-Wan half promises half threatens. “If you bring destruction you'll never have me willingly again!”

That makes him pause.

Death goads Anakin. What will it be? Let Obi-Wan go one day? Or fulfill his destiny?

Obi-Wan takes his head gently in his hands. “We'll make a place for ourselves. Just for us. A place that's neither heaven nor hell. I won't let you go either Anakin.”

Anakin nuzzles his hands. His angry tears turn hopeful. They'll live in the stars. In the void of space as their souls explore the universe.

Anakin reaches for the weapon and slices Death's head off.

#antichrist anakin #my drabbles #obikin

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