#AND had to deal with a slight but itching fear of knowing that if this facade were to break she would lose everyone she knew

[kartsstuffig]

i am guilty of this

*makes character* hehe. haha *fucks them up so bad* Oh no. who could have done such a thing

[wreckedandpolemic]

screaming and fighting and kissing in the rain - matty healy

(mdni) in which your jealousy gets the better of you. part of the regret me universe and promptober75 2024. 3725 words.

warnings: mean dom reader, pegging, sub!matty, mommy kink, slight feminisation, orgasm denial, idk they're real mean to each other

“I cannot fucking believe you, Healy,” you scowl, the thudding pulse of the club fading into the background as you storm after him. 

Matty doesn’t turn, but you can still hear his smirk. “For a girl who’s so insistent she doesn’t give a shit whether I live or die, you’re really fucking worried about who I spend my time with.”

You clench a fist, twitching like you’re itching to punch him in the face. “I wish you’d fucking die. It’d save me a fuckload of headaches.” At that, he does turn, thunder rumbling ominously in the same moment. 

“Oh, that’s fucking rich. D’you know how much easier my life would be if I’d never fucking met you?” he snaps. You don’t want to examine why you suddenly feel like you’ve been punched in the gut. “Could be getting off with any one of those girls right now, ‘cept I’ve got this jealous little cockblock following me around ‘cause she knows she has to cling to me to stay relevant.”

You stagger backwards like you’ve been shot, all your bravado crumpled at the confirmation of your fears. Fat droplets of rain splatter against the pavement, and you all but scream. “So go back in there, then! Find some desperate whore who’s dumb enough to fuck you for her fifteen minutes of fame, right? Really stroke that fucking ego of yours.” The rain is coming thick and fast, the tears prickling in your eyes concealed by water pouring down your face. “But we both know you’re gonna be thinking of me when you cum.”

You’ve barely noticed Matty edging closer as you yell until he’s grabbing you by the wrists and pulling you in. “You’re poison. You’re fucking— I don’t know what’s wrong with me to need you like this. I can’t—” You cut him off, crashing your lips together as the rain pounds around you.

“Just fucking shut up,” you breathe, half-laughing. “You’re so fucking— mmm— insufferable.”

Chest heaving, Matty scowls down at you. “You can’t just fucking snog me ‘cause you don’t like what I have to say. If you’d shut your fucking trap for two seconds and—”

You cut him off again. “Watch me. You’re right, I don’t give a fuck what you have to say, or how you rationalise whatever this is to yourself.” You gesture vaguely to the space between you. “I’m not interested in your mouth at all unless it’s between my legs, actually.” You’re soaked to the bone, lying through your teeth and holding back a shiver.

“Why’s it so hard for you to admit you want me?” Matty needles. “Could’ve left well enough alone in there, but you had to stake some kind of claim on me, right? Followed me all the way out just to tell me you don’t care. Nah. I think you do. I think you need me like I need you. I think you don’t know who you are without me, and you hate it.”

His ability to peel back your skin, lean in, pluck your thoughts straight from your mind is unsettling, a shiver that’s nothing to do with the cold running through you. “You’re so full of shit. Can’t fathom a world where everyone on the planet isn’t obsessed with you. Gotta make yourself feel important, ‘cause you’re so empty inside, right? Can’t deal with the fact I only fuck around with you ‘cause you’re easy and you can find the clit.” Your breathing is ragged, your heart a lead weight in your chest. Matty clearly doesn’t believe a fucking word of it, either; you’re fighting a losing battle, but the flames of arousal sparking between you are starting to drown out the rest of the world.

“You’re such a fucking liar,” he breathes against your lips, cupping your jaw almost tenderly. “Lucky for you, I think you’re pretty when you lie to me.”

You scoff. “You think I’m pretty all the time.”

“I do.” Your confidence falters again, and you break eye contact. “What the fuck are we doing here?” Matty laughs. “Screamin’ at each other in the street in the pissing rain. We both know how this ends. Why don’t we just skip to the part where we’re fucking each other’s brains out, yeah?”

At that, you laugh openly. “You’re fucking in for it, Healy. Come on.” You stumble through the rain-soaked streets, slipping on wet cobblestone and tumbling into Matty’s arms. You hate how safe you feel there. His flat is as familiar as your own when he lets you in, smelling of cigarettes and weed and the obnoxiously sweet-scented candles he lights to cover up the weed smell.

Matty practically throws you onto the bed, barely out of your sopping wet clothes as he collapses on top of you and grinds down through your underwear. “M’still fucked off at you,” you mutter between desperate kisses.

“Mhmm, whatever you say. Y’still in my bed, though,” Matty smirks down at you, and you scowl, raising your hand threateningly. He only tilts his head, almost an invitation, so you follow through. The crack of your palm meeting his cheek is oh-so satisfying, the sound spilling over you as his cheek reddens. “You can do better than that,” he scoffs.

“I could,” you say. “But if I get the knife out, I’ll probably cut your dick off. And that’s no fun for either of us. S’all you’re good for,” you say, shrugging as best you can pinned as you are to the mattress.

Matty tilts your head up, presses a gentle kiss to your lips. “I’d probably let you,” he admits.

You grin. “Oh, he’s learning. You ready to be a good boy for me?” He doesn’t want to surrender, you can tell. But he wants fucked, and he knows that’s the only way to get what he wants. “Just gotta say sorry, baby. Then you can have as much cock as you can take, yeah?”

Matty just glowers down at you. “Could just fuck myself,” he mutters petulantly. “Don’t need you.”

Smiling sweetly, you ease yourself out from under him. “Go on, then. Fuck yourself and pretend it’s even half as good as me. Some entertainment for the neighbours,” you say, swallowing a grimace as you struggle into your still-soaked clothes. “Have the night you deserve, Matthew.”

His eyes are wide, almost forlorn, as you turn to leave, but you don’t even make it halfway to the kitchen before he’s scrambling after you. He knows you’re not bluffing; this is a trick you’ve pulled before, and the first couple of times he was stubborn enough to let you leave. But last time, you hooked up with another guy after you left, sent him a picture of your cum-covered chest and sort-of lied about how hard you came. Matty grabs you by the arm, spins you around to face him, panting slightly. “Fuck, darling, please don’t go. M’sorry, okay?”

You raise an eyebrow. “You’re not very convincing. C’mon, where’s the theatrics? You love those,” you scoff, digging red, pointed nails into his jaw hard enough to leave marks. “Get on your knees and beg for my dick. Tell me how much you need me. Convince me that you deserve it.”

Matty thuds to his knees without question, desire pooling between your hips at the sight. “Shit, c’mon, darling. I’m sorry.” He grips your thighs needily, fingers shaking as he slides them up to your zipper. “I need you, need you to fuck me, only one who can. I’ll be good, promise. Just need you to fuck me dumb, please,” he whines, and you thumb softly across his cheek.

He’s so pretty when he pleads like this, desperate and so needy he’s straining against his boxers. “What are you sorry for, Matty?” you murmur, sliding your thumb into his mouth and stroking his tongue.

You trail your thumb down his neck, still wet with his spit as he starts to tug your jeans down your legs. “Was bein’ a little bitch,” he sighs. “I need you, darling. Y’the only one who can fuck me how I need it.” It’s not exactly penance, but it’s probably the best you’re going to get.

“There’s my good boy,” you grin. “On your knees beggin’ for me like a little whore, s’cute,” you add, kicking out at his cock where it drools into his boxers. You jerk your head towards the bedroom, and Matty catches the hint, stumbling in his haste to obey. Wandering after him, just slow enough to make him sweat a little, you lean against the doorframe to watch him slick up his fingers.

Your cunt throbs as he circles his hole, legs spread wide and chest already heaving. “Please…” he whines, thin and reedy, his cock drooling against his stomach. 

You sit on the end of the bed, leaning back on your hands in just your bra and panties. “Please, what, princess? I’m watching the show,” you tease, slowly rubbing over your clit through your underwear. Matty whimpers, adds another finger, gasps your name in a shaky, breathy voice that almost makes your resolve crumble.

And then, he murmurs two words that get him whatever he fucking wants. “Please, Mommy.” The title is still new, rare enough that just hearing it drip from his spit-slick lips makes your cunt throb, sets your rational brain spinning dizzily away from your consciousness. 

“Fuck, y’killing me, princess,” you moan, crawling up Matty’s body as his legs tremble and he whines loudly from brushing that perfect little spot inside him. “Mommy’s here, baby, tell me what you need,” you coo, trailing your fingers down his cheek adoringly; all your anger is practically forgotten in favour of wanting — no, needing — to reduce him to a whimpering mess of pleasure, crying and begging for his Mommy.

His face contorts in pleasure, muscles tensing and flexing as he fingers himself. Your entire body goes hot just looking at him, and you tilt his head up to press a kiss against his lips. “Please fuck me,” he begs. “Please. I’ll be so good for you, Mommy.”

Your gaze is hard, impassive even as you trail your fingers down his chest to trace over his tattoo. “I want you to remember this,” you say, soft but cool; there’s no way he could mistake your calm for tenderness. “Remember lying on your back, remember begging for your Mommy to fuck you drooling, and next time you want to pretend I’m nothing to you, that I’m just another one of the girls who throw themselves at you for attention, I want you to think about this moment.”

Matty looks gorgeous, plush lower lip sucked between his teeth and eyes brimming with desperate tears, and your emotions are spinning out of control faster than you can even think. You want to rip him apart, dig your nails into his ribcage, claw out his heart and feel it beating in your hands. Don’t you see me? you’d beg, holding it against your lips. Don’t you know I’d ruin myself for you? Can’t you see what’s right fucking infront of you? You realise your hand is pressing against Matty’s throat, his eyes rolled back in pleasure as he gasps for air.

He whimpers your name, and please, and Mommy, arching his back as the wet, glossy sounds of his fingers fill the room. “Y’right,” he gasps as soon as you lift your hand from his neck. “I need you. I can’t— can’t live without you, baby. I just— please,” he begs, low and broken, desperation layered so thick in his voice that you can almost taste it.

“Needy fucking boy,” you coo, climbing off him to fix a harness to your hips. Matty’s eyes fall greedily to the silicone hanging between your legs, his hand speeding as a low moan spills from his lips. “You like it? S’new,” you grin, coating your fingers in lube and slicking up the toy. “Bit bigger than you’re used to, princess. You think you can still take it?”

“I’ll take whatever you tell me to,” he breathes, his free hand tracing reverently down your neck to play with your nipple through your bra.

You gasp, reaching down to pump his drooling cock in reward. “M’serious, baby. Are you sure you can take it? I don’t wanna hurt you.” Matty snorts. “Fine, I don’t wanna hurt you like this.”

Matty grins against your mouth, slipping his hand into your hair and kissing you sloppily, pent-up desire flooding between your mouths. “I can take it. Need you to fuck me, Mommy, please,” he whines.

“Such a little slut,” you mutter, disgust colouring the edges of your words. “You think any of those fucking girls from the club could give it to you like this?” you snap, cunt clenching with every tremble of his lip and hitch in his breath. Shaking his head, Matty claws at your hips, tries to guide you into his hole. “Not so fast. Hands and knees, yeah? Sick of looking at you,” you snap. It’s half-true. You hate the way he looks at you on nights like these, with dazed half-moon eyes and pure adoration; it’s nauseating to know you’ll only ever see it behind a locked door.

Obediently, Matty goes to his knees, his hole slick and dripping and fluttering obscenely. You tease him with just the tip, trailing your fingers over the curve of his ass. You push into him slowly, his begging little moan sliding sweetly over your brain. “F-fuck, yes!” he gasps, back arching and chest heaving. “Shit, harder, please,” he whines.

You slap the side of his ass. “Oh, you’re giving orders now?” you scoff, snapping your hips hard against Matty’s. “I don’t fucking think so. Shut up and take it like a good boy, okay?” you order. Still, you oblige him, fucking into him quick and deep, moaning like you can really feel him tight around you.

“Oh, fuck, you feel so good, Mommy,” Matty groans, collapsing onto his elbows and dripping moans into the sheets.

You reach down to stroke Matty’s drooling cock as you fuck him in rhythmic strokes. “Such a little cockwhore, shit,” you mutter, scraping your nail over the faintly raised scar in the shape of a heart on his asscheek. The reminder of your physical mark on him is grounding, lucidity cutting through stupor. “Say it,” you add, tugging sharply on his hair as he lets out a sound that’s half-gasp, half-moan.

“M’your little cockwhore, Mommy,” Matty whines. “Thank you,” he adds dazedly, his entire body flushed red. “Shit, there, right there, fuck, yes!” he almost wails, entire body convulsing under your attentions. You slam into him over and over, his every whine as you hit his g-spot fucking delicious.

“God, got you so dumb. You love this, don’t you? Taking Mommy’s dick like a good little girl?” The moan he lets out is pure, unfiltered lust, shame painting his cheeks red as arousal drips from his cock. “You’re so wet,” you breathe, reaching around him and letting him drool precum against your fingers. Never mind that your own panties are fucking soaked through. Lifting your fingers to Matty’s lips, you don’t even have to instruct him before he’s cleaning them off obediently, moaning softly at his own taste.

Matty rocks his hips back against yours, trying to force you deeper. You slap his ass when you pull back, the message clear: behave yourself. “M’close,” he warns, spit leaking from the corners of his mouth and his entire body twitching from it.

His whine when you pull out is obscene, and you click your tongue. “You didn’t really think I was gonna let you cum after the shit you pulled today, did you?” you sigh, deliberately condescending. “If you wanted to cum that bad, you should have gone and fucked one of those girls who was gagging for you at the club.” You discard the harness, flip him over as his chest heaves. “But you didn’t, did you? You wanted me. So you’re gonna take what I give you and be fucking grateful, okay?” Matty nods weakly. “Say it. Say I’m sorry, Mommy. Thank you for not letting me cum.”

You’re being cruel, now. But you can’t deny how good it feels to be in power for a change; Matty holds all the cards between you, and he fucking well knows it. You’ll never hear the words you really want, the confession you lie awake torturing yourself imagining, that haunts your dreams of him. So you settle for torturing him, and, in turn, yourself. “M’sorry, Mommy,” Matty moans into the air between you. “Thank you for not letting me cum,” he repeats dutifully, and you break into a callous little grin.

“There you are,” you coo, and he looks so beautiful, so desperate and broken with longing, that it’s a fight not to relent, to give him whatever he fucking wants. “Good boys get rewarded, yeah? You can make me cum however you like, okay, princess?”

You take his hand, slip it into your panties, rough fingers sliding through the wetness pooled there and finding your clit on instinct. “Fuck,” he whines. “Wanna fuck you. Please. On your— on your back,” he pleads. Rolling over, you spread your legs so Matty can kneel between them, kissing the inside of your knee as he pulls your panties off. He kisses your clit, licks a broad, flat stripe across your cunt like he can’t resist, and moans at your taste. A bolt of pleasure leaps up your spine; you hadn’t realised how neglected your cunt was while you fucked him.

Matty takes hold of your ankles, lifts your legs and practically bends you in half. The aching stretch feels so good, and you’d be worried about your control slipping in this position if it weren’t for the needy, desperate-to-please look in his eye. He doesn’t bother teasing, doesn’t waste time playing with you, stretching you out; just slides into you and buries his head in your tits with a moan. Sliding your hand into Matty’s hair, you drag his head until he wraps his lips around your nipple. “Good boy,” you murmur, pleasure seeping into every muscle in your body. “You love ‘em, don’t you? You wanna suck Mommy’s tits, make me feel good?”

Hips jerking, Matty moans around your boob, sucking softly and circling your clit in the same moment. You sigh out his name, content to let him set a slow, indulgent pace as pleasure throbs heavily everywhere his skin meets yours. His teeth graze your nipple, and you whine, your cunt clenching needily. The noise seems to spur him on, and he bites down harder, tongue flicking soothingly over the sensitive skin as you cry out in pain and press your body up against his. Matty’s fingers are frantic at your clit, pressure already mounting between your thighs and threatening to spin out of control.

After what feels like an achingly, deliciously long time, Matty moves his mouth, sucks and bites at the soft flesh of your tit until you can feel a bruise forming. His hips and hand never falter from their pace, dragging you ever closer to a peak you can already tell will be explosive, bone-shattering, mind-erasing. “Y’feel so good, Mommy,” he gasps, laving his tongue against your other nipple and fucking into you faster and faster. 

“Talk to me, princess,” you say. Matty pulls off you and looks up with dazed, lust-blown eyes. “Aw, baby. I know it’s hard when you’re all dumb like this, but I want you to tell me exactly what feels good, how close you are, everything going on in that pretty, stupid head of yours,” you breathe, broken up by desperate moans and needy whines.

Matty’s trembling, muscles tense with the effort of holding back his orgasm. “Cunt feels so good,” he murmurs, carefully enunciating every word as they trace down your skin. “You look so pretty, Mommy, so fucking beautiful. Thank you for— for lettin’ me— fuck, I can’t— I need you s’bad, always know what I need, please,” he babbles, helplessly desperate as his head falls to kiss at your collarbones. “Need to make you cum, Mommy, please, I wanna feel it. M’so fuckin’ close,” he pants, tears leaking from the corners of his eyes.

“Hold it,” you order, gasping as Matty pinches your clit harshly. Pleasure-pain spirals in your chest, shattering at the base of your skull and sending you flying. You scream his name, clenching tight around him as your hands fist in the sheets. Sheer ecstasy pools in your veins, burns you up from the inside out, Matty stilling on top of you as he watches pleasure paint itself across your face.

You can feel his cock twitching desperately, every second he’s inside you torturous. “Can I cum? Please let me cum, I— God, fuck! Mommy, please. It hurts,” he whines, desperate and pathetic and pleading.

His begging is desperately, disgustingly hot, every word tracing over your skin like a caress. It isn’t going to work, though. “I told you I wasn’t going to let you cum. Don’t be greedy,” you scoff, rolling your eyes when he whines. “Let me get you cleaned up, and if you’re good, I’ll think about it in the morning, okay?” You suddenly realise you don’t know if you can stay; it’s always been implicit when you land in each others’ beds, but as much as you hate to admit it, things are different for him now.

Silence hangs in the air between you, seconds stretching agonisingly long before Matty sighs, stretches, pouts down at you and lets you unfold your legs. “Why are you so mean?” he complains, still buried inside you.

“You love it,” you say, but you lift your legs to cross your ankles behind his back. “We can stay like this for a bit, if you want,” you relent, Matty’s body slumping against yours the second you say the words. Lifting your hand, you pet his hair soothingly, letting him bury his head into your neck and kiss the tender skin there. “That’s my good boy. You know I’ll take care of you.” The rain is still beating down against the windows, but in here, with Matty cradled in your arms and as close as you could possibly be, you don’t even remember the cold.

[have-you-seen-my-sanity]

Hi, can you write a Marc and Steven with a reader who’s afraid of being vulnerable/opening up to people? Thank you!

Hello there <3

Yes I can and I hope I did justice to your request!

No big deal

Steven Grant & Marc Spector x reader

Warnings: Anxious reader, angst, wholesome, fluff!

Summary: You accidentally damaged Steven and Marc's favorite book and your anxiety got the best of you. Even worse for you was the fact you didn't know Marc long enough, fearing rejection from him.

Marc and Steven were not at home, they allowed you to go through their stuff from Egypt. As you went through their stuff, as curious as you are, you spotted a quite heavy book called

'Ancient Egyptian's Treasures and Gods'

You were actually curious about that one. This was the favorite from Marc and Steven. You flipped carefully through the pages, learning about the many gods. Before you knew it you let out a yawn, stretching your back and glancing at the clock, it was 10 pm.

Getting up, you unintentionally grabbed the heavy book on only one side and lifted it up.

Scratch!

Startled, you glanced back at the book seeing how you ripped off the glue holding the pages together and glued on the book itself. Sometimes you really hate physics.

"Shit! No no no no, what am I gonna do now?"

Panic took over, you looked around for some book glue but didn't find any. You knew the book was old, but not that old. Not knowing how to deal with it, you opened the desk drawer in hopes of finding some book glue. After not finding what you were looking for, you decided to just put it back on the shelf between the row of books, hoping Steven or Marc would just assume the glue loosened up over time.

What made your panic worse was the fact you didn't knew Marc very well, you only spoke to him one or two times, it was overall Steven who spent most of the time with you. And knowing how Marc is, you assume he would lash out and kick you out of their home, you were just too scared of the consequences. Also, the thought of seeing Steven unhappy made you feel bad, you started hating how you couldn't just approach Steven and tell him what happened out of fear getting rejected from both. For now though, you calmed yourself and wanted to get some sleep, still hoping Marc and Steven wouldn't notice the damage done to their favorite book.

You went to sleep after your overthinking phase, getting some much needed rest. The morning came swiftly, hearing the birds chirping, the street noises and the sunlight shining into your room. For once, you stretched, making your back pop, feeling the tension leave. But the tension came back right after, when you realized it was already the next day and Steven and Marc are most probably still sleeping. Thinking about going to the store to buy some glue, glancing at the time it was still early in the morning and most stores wouldn't be open at this hour. Sighing, you got up, made your way to the kitchen for a bowl of cereal.

Back in the living room, you figured the boys must be still sleeping, especially after they came back from a mission and most possibly some temper tandrums from Khonshu. You pulled your phone out, noticing Gus swimming happily around in his tank. You got up, deciding to pay him a visit

Tap tap

"At this point I'm happy fishes can't talk, just swim around and minding their fishy business."

Reaching for the fish food, you fed him some

"Otherwise I'd have to bribe you with some chocolate crumbs." You chuckled softly to yourself, returning back to the couch before the door to Steven and Marc's bedroom opened, causing you to jump in surprise and seeing him walking out, rubbing his eyes.

"Good morning, love." It was Steven, his voice was still sleepy.

"Morning Steven." You answered softly, hoping he didn't catch the slight nervousness in your voice. You resumed eating the cereal while scrolling through your phone.

You felt the itch to overcome your shyness and tell Steven what had happened, nervously fiddling with your fingers and chewing at the inside of your lip.

"Hey, uh. Steven?"

Steven was inside the bathroom when he heard you call out to him.

"Yes darling? 'm listening."

The nervousness bubbled up inside you once more, making you hesistate instantly "Nothing, thought I heard you say something..."

After Steven freshened himself up, he went to his study corner, catching your attention from the corner of your eye.

"What are you about to do?" you asked softly with a hint of nervousness.

Steven turned to look at you, smiling sweetly "Gonna sort some stuff, tidy up."

Your body automatically straightened up, "No no, don't overwork yourself, I'm sure you and Marc had a tough night and need your rest." you forced a nervous smile as you saw his hand hovering over the the book you damaged.

"I'm fine, love. Marc is sleeping, he did the mission last night and I'm just tidying up here." Steven smiled reassuringly at you.

You just watched him pulling out book after book from the row, hating yourself internally for not speaking up.

"Steven- I uhh... have to tell you something.." after what felt like ages, you finally were able to overcome your anxiety and spoke up.

Steven turned to look at you "Is everything alright?"

Getting up from the couch, you walked over to him "No, it's not and I feel terrible at not communicating it to you from the start." you let out a shaky breath, moving to stand beside him and pulling out the book you damaged, opening it to reveal the glue that has been ripped.

"It-it happened last night, I forgot it was old and accidentally picked it up by one side while it was open causing the glue to come off."

"Actually, it's--" before Steven could talk further you cut him off.

"I know, it's yours and Marc's favorite book, I'm so sorry, please tell Marc to not kick me out." your voice was filled with sadness.

Steven blinked in confusion, "Why would Marc want to kick you out?"

"I don't know..." your gaze fell to the ground to avoid eye contact.

"Love, nobody's gonna kick you out. And frankly, Marc and I are the last ones who would ever want to kick you out." Steven was brutally honest with you. You mean everything to them.

"Is he gonna punish me?" you asked softly.

"It's because you don't know him very well, hm? Want me to let him out so he can talk to you?" Steven put a gentle hand on your shoulder, giving a soft squeeze to calm you down.

"Yes." you nodded softly.

Steven smiled "Alright, you sit back down on the couch, I sort this book out and let Marc out for you."

You turned around, going back to the couch while chewing the insides of your lip again and fiddling with your fingers.

It happened quite fast, the moment you sat down you heard him talk again.

"Sooo." It wasn't Steven's light British accent you got so used too, it was a more thicker and American accent. It was Marc.

You immediately tensed up, feeling your anxiety rise up once more.

"Marc, I'm sorry.." you mumbled noticing how he made his way over to you.

Marc smiled, he wasn't angry at you, not one bit. "Honey, I know you're just scared because you don't know me well enough, right?" he sat down beside you, his hand hovering above your knee as if waiting for your permission to lower it.

You nodded, "Yeah I was. Though you'd kick me out or punish me.."

Marc lowered his hand on your knee. "Just because of some book? Steven may told you I'm the tough one but not that tough to kick you out." he chuckled softly.

"So you're not angry at me?"

He shook his head. "Nope, not one bit. I mean, when we first heard it, we both weren't angry at you we knew you did it by accident."

Your eyes widened for a moment, "You knew it? How?"

"Let's just say a little birdie whispered it to us." Marc said, giving you a cheeky smile. "Khonshu told us."

"Khonshu, but how does he-" you paused, realizing Khonshu is a literal god and he can sense when something has happened. "Oh, right, he's a god." you chuckled softly.

"Besides, the book was already old, I and Steven wanted to get rid of it for some time now since there is a digital copy of it." Marc replied.

"But I was still nervous about it." you argued.

"And here you are, realizing your anxiety was not necessary, we could never ever be mad at you. We love you way too much." Marc's hand moved to ruffle your hair gently.

"Pheww, thank you so much." you held a hand to your chest.

"You see? I'm not as bad as you thought, right? So, here's the deal," Marc extended his hand towards you in a professional manner "we forget this little incident ever happened and make peace. What do you say? Are we friends now?"

"Yes!" you smiled brightly, happily accepting his hand into yours as Marc pulled your hand towards him to pull you into a gentle hug.

"Oh and please don't judge a book by it's cover, sometimes I can't even hurt a fly." Marc whispered softly into your ear.

You laughed, hugging him a bit tighter in response, feeling him soften and pull back to look at you.

"I told you, love. And now we're all cool again, yeah?" It was Steven again, smiling at you.

You however hugged Steven tightly. "Thanks, Steven. I wouldn't know what I'd do without you two." you sniffed softly.

Steven returned your hug, equally tight as yours. "Don't you worry about that, we will never abandon you."

-

[elyssialumengard]

Alastor x Reader - Fragile Link ( Part 3 )

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Link to the first chapter for those who haven't read it : https://www.tumblr.com/elyssialumengard/741783404758073344/alastor-x-reader-fragile-link-part-1?source=share

Link to the second chapter for those who haven't read it : https://www.tumblr.com/elyssialumengard/741972142524088320/alastor-x-reader-fragile-link-part-2?source=share

Summary : In this thrilling chapter, the overlords ( y/n ) and Alastor engage in a breathtaking confrontation, where secrets and tensions reach their climax.

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When (y/n) heard the radio demon's request, his eyebrows furrowed slightly.

However, she kept her calm and replied in a calm voice, with her head held high :

- We have already exchanged our views on this matter. I fear that further talk will lead nowhere.

Alastor tilted his head slightly, a disconcerting smile stretching his thin lips.

- Oh, but I'm sure we could discover some interesting new angles to explore ! There are still so many topics we could discuss, it's been seven years, after all.

- You shouldn't keep the princess waiting.

- She won't be alone, since our dearest Taku will be there to keep her company, right ? He asked with a wicked smile, tilting his head towards him.

A vein appears on his forehead, declaring as if each word were filled with venom :

- Because you seriously think I'm going to leave you alone with Lady (y/n) ?

- You seem to think that I am a threat to (y/n). But you should have known by now that I am a demon of my word. I won't hurt him.

Taku was absolutely not convinced by the feigned confidence of the being whom he hated more than anything, having never been able to see him in painting. His features hardened, revealing his deep skepticism.

-Your words are as reliable as the oaths of a serpent. He replied in an icy tone. I will not let you manipulate Lady (y/n) with your deceptions.

Her words only renewed the amusement in Alastor's red eyes. He refrains from saying out loud what Taku wanted at all costs to keep for them, knowing full well that if (y/n) found out, the demon with glasses could give up on the relationship he had with his mistress . Moreover, even if it really itched him, it was stipulated in the pact he had made with him, stipulating that he should not tell it explicitly to the one who had been the motivation as much for Taku as for him to make this deal.

- Oh, you are disconcertingly serious. But I guess that’s what makes (y/n) like you so much. However, you can be assured that our conversation will be most courteous.

A tense silence fell as they looked at each other, each holding their positions. (y/n) observed the scene with an impassive expression. Nevertheless, she knew she had to intervene, knowing that the confrontation between these two beings could have unpredictable consequences, which she did not want in her territory and which she did not have the energy at the moment to take care of it.

Therefore, she broke the silence with a calm but firm voice :

- Taku, leave us. Alastor will not give up. I will call you if I need you.

His advisor and closest friend looked about to protest, but a stern look from (y/n) silenced him. He diverted his attention to Alastor who was telling him with eyes that he had won this round. He stops himself from jumping at her throat to finally get rid of that smile.

- As you wish, Lady (y/n). But don't let your guard down in his presence, I'll be right behind the door.

- Thank you, Taku. Take care of distracting the princess so she doesn't get bored, please. She asked him, giving a small smile, knowing that what she was asking him was uncomfortable.

- Your wishes are orders. He replied with a slight bow, before straightening up and casting a look of concern in the direction of (y/n).

Then, he left, taking his time, staring at Alastor who was taunting him. Once the door opened before closing with a dull noise, and the two overlords found themselves alone, Alastor turned to (y/n), a mischievous smile dancing on his lips.

- My dear, now that we are alone, perhaps we could have a more… Frank discussion.

(y/n) looked at him suspiciously, but she nodded slowly.

- Alright. But I warn you, I will not tolerate any attempt at manipulation or deception.

She knew very well that Alastor was capable of devious tricks and that she had to remain on her guard. However, a small part of her was curious to know what he had in mind. Even if venturing there was often synonymous with danger.

Alastor raised his hands in feigned innocence.

- Let's see, I'm just a demon looking for a civilized conversation. Don't worry my dear, I promise.

(y/n) arched an eyebrow, already not liking what she had just heard.

- Alright, let's get started then. What did you want to talk about that wouldn't merit me killing you on the spot ? She asked scathingly.

Alastor burst out laughing at this, as if he appreciated (y/n)'s biting humor.

- Ah, my dear, always so charming ! I see you haven’t lost your sense of humor !

Then he added with a touch of playfulness :

- But let's be serious, a proper conversation can only be had around tea, am I right ?

Without waiting for a response, he moved with disconcerting ease towards the coffee table to take (y/n)'s empty cup, before heading towards the desk where all the necessary utensils lay. He then prepared tea, a light song without words, filled with radio noise, being heard by Alastor. The melody floated in the air, gently filling the room with its signature ambiance.

Once the tea was ready, Alastor handed a steaming cup to (y/n) with a satisfied smile, as if he had accomplished a small feat. He then left and settled comfortably on the sofa where Charlie had been sitting earlier, a cup in his hands, having placed his cane at his side with delicate elegance.

(y/n), bringing the cup to her lips, smelled the sweet scent of green tea with wild berries, her favorite. She then looked up at Alastor, noticing the satisfying smile that adorned his face.

The atmosphere was strangely calm, almost peaceful, despite the presence of these two powerful and opposing personalities. A fragile balance seemed to reign between them. However, (y/n), still on guard, took a sip of tea, not liking the fact that he could have remembered such a thing.

Alastor looked her up and down with a smirk, his smile widening as his gaze rested on the woman's antlers. He observed for a moment, as if enjoying something in particular.

- I see that you have stopped file your woods. He finally commented, his tone light, but full of innuendo.

(y/n) replied calmly, his eyes not leaving his :

- There was no point in continuing. They were still growing, and without them, I would not have been able to wear the pearls that adorn my antlers.

Her tone was calm, but firm, meaning she wasn't willing to play this little teasing game. Hearing this, Alastor, just before taking a sip of tea, added pettishly :

-And remind me who gave you these pearls ?

(y/n) held back from making a face and she decided to change the subject by asking him what he wanted to talk to her about. Alastor, still smiling with a mocking look that annoyed (y/n), responded by asking her a completely different question :

- Why were you crying when we entered ?

Alastor took another sip of tea, savoring every moment, his teasing smile never leaving his lips. He stared at (y/n) with a discerning gaze, as if seeking to break through her defenses and uncover her deepest secrets.

(y/n) suddenly felt uncomfortable under the radio demon's penetrating attention. She had always been good at hiding her emotions, but something about Alastor seemed to read through her like an open book, which she had always hated. Under this unspoken pressure, she chose her words carefully, seeking to maintain control of the situation.

- My emotions are irrelevant to this conversation. She replied in a calm but firm voice. If that was all you had to say to me, I would ask you to finish your drink and leave.

- You didn't mind showing them to your advisor. He remarked with a smirk, leaning forward slightly.

- Taku is much more than an advisor. She replied in a firm tone. He has been my closest friend since the beginning of this project, especially in recent years. I have complete trust in him, and I know that he would never betray me, unlike others.

- We both know who is the one best able to read your mind. And it's definitely not him.

His tone was provocative, as if he was trying to push (y/n) over the edge, to test her to see how far she would go to preserve her appearance of dignity.

- But anyway, if you don't want to tell me, I just have to guess ! So what was the reason this time, hmm? Insults ? Fuss ? Theft ? Lies ? A murder ?! Really, (y/n), you can't leave me hanging like this. Come on, I know you can't wait to share this with me to make you feel better. So what is this little thing that managed to bring tears to your eyes ?

(y/n) felt a mixture of frustration and sadness rising within her. She knew she shouldn't let Alastor get to her like this, but her emotions were more complex than she cared to admit. Part of her wanted to confide, even if it meant being vulnerable in front of the radio demon. Moreover, she knew that the wound was still too fresh in her heart to hold back as usual.

She closed her eyes for a moment, thinking about Lynn, about her mistakes, about the pain she had caused. Then, with a resigned sigh, she opened her eyes and looked straight at Alastor.

- Very well, if you insist. It was... A personal matter. Someone I was forced to punish. It weighs on me, even though I know it was necessary.

Her voice shook slightly on the last words, betraying the emotion she was trying to hold back. Alastor's smile faded slightly as he watched (y/n) with unhealthy interest. He knew he had struck a chord with the overlord and he was curious to know more about this personal matter that was tormenting her.

- A punishment, you say ? This seems serious. So who was this person ? What did she do to deserve such a sentence from you ? He asked in a soft voice, almost honeyed, but imbued with a strange glimmer of cruelty.

(y/n) looked away for a moment, fighting the urge to reveal more details. She was used to keeping her emotions and private decisions except Taku, and even then, she didn't tell him everything. But something in Alastor's eyes pushed her to confide, despite her cautious instincts.

As had been the case on several occasions between them, in private.

- She was one of my protected, a person in whom I had placed my trust. She was revealed to be a stalker in her human life. When I welcomed Elodie, a new demon, into our family at Taku's request, she panicked when she saw Lynn and claimed she had no business being here. I then used the terms of our pact to shed light on the matter. As with all sinners I protect, if someone lies to me, the chain around their neck immediately appears. Lynn ended up confessing under duress that she was a victim at the beginning, but had ended up becoming a harasser altogether, having no choice, according to her, despite the words of Elodie who confirmed that it was false, that she had the option not to do so.

As she said this, she held back her tears from falling again, her hands tightening around the cup she held tightly. Alastor tilted his head, silently inviting her to continue. Taking a breath, she manages to hold her sadness, making it feel good to admit all of this out loud.

- I was forced to install the gallows, to plunge Lynn into a pocket dimension for eternity, forced into solitude and pain. I had no other choice to preserve harmony in our family. Even though Lynn had been a victim at first, she gave in to the harm she suffered. The sinners I welcome are just victims of life, are people who have done things like self-defense, for example. And they are fully aware of what awaits them before giving me their soul if they disappoint me.

Her gaze shone with a glimmer of determination as she explained the reasons behind her difficult decision. Alastor, listening attentively, let a heavy silence settle after his words. Then, in a lighter tone, he replied :

- You are terrifying, my dear, beneath your angelic appearance and beautiful words, hides a very cruel and merciless being.

Alastor let out a small laugh, his smile stretching a little further, revealing his sharp teeth.

- But that's what makes you so fascinating, isn't it ? This duality between grace and cruelty.

(y/n) corrected himself with a sigh, a glint of weariness crossing his eyes.

- I'm too tired to listen to your nonsense, Alastor. You better leave.

He nodded with a teasing smile.

- Of course, of course. I don't want to bother you any longer. I'll have to leave soon anyway. I plan to take Charlie to Cannibal Town to ask Rosie for help. Since you refuse to participate in this war, I will have to look elsewhere for help.

(y/n) raised an eyebrow, slightly surprised.

- Are you serious ? Do you really think that despicable cannibals could face the exterminating angels ?

Alastor rolled his eyes with a chuckle.

- Apparently, your animosity towards cannibals has not disappeared.

(y/n) shook her head firmly.

- She will never be able to fly away. They freely chose to eat humans while they were alive. I can't forget this. Although Rosie is charming in her own way, her nature means that I could never accept her. Moreover, I did not want to add despair to the princess by telling her that your attempt is doomed to failure. You can't kill angels.

Alastor responded with an enigmatic smile that made his eyes shine with a mischievous glint.

- In reality, it is possible to kill them.

- I beg your pardon ?

- Yes, my dear, angels are not invincible, we can destroy them. This offers new perspectives, don't you think ?

Alastor tilted his head, his smile widening slightly, clearly enjoying the shock he had caused.

- How could I believe you ? Do you even have proof of what you are saying ?

- I have no proof on me, apart from my word. It was Carmilla Carmine herself who killed an angel while defending her daughters. She plans to keep it secret so as not to create an uproar within Hell and not risk endangering her family. You would have seen the decapitated head of the angel if you came to the meetings of the overlords when there was one.

At these words, (y/n) frowned, her thoughts swirling in her mind. She didn't want to believe it, but Alastor's seriousness left no doubt as to the truth of his words. She was silent for a moment, absorbing this new information with some perplexity.

- I see... If that's true, I hope she's okay. I would have done the same in his place. She finally whispered, revealing the solidity of her character and her sense of justice.

Alastor let out a soft laugh, his smile stretching further.

- I don't doubt it for a single second. But seeing you now, I tell myself that you did well to refuse to participate. He began, leaning back, crossing his legs and clasping his hands which he placed on his knee. You have neither the fitness nor the strength to protect anyone. Imagine what could happen if the events of 15 years ago happened again, huh ? That would be a great shame for you.

At these words, immense rage invades (y/n). His muscles tensed, his hands clenched. A low roar escaped her throat as she stood up abruptly, dropping her cup which shattered into a thousand pieces on the floor. His eyes glowed menacingly. Its antlers grew longer and sharper like sharp blades, taking over almost the entire room, while its teeth transformed into sharp fangs.

With a powerful step, she crossed the table that separated them, advancing towards Alastor, until her claws were planted in the back of the sofa, right next to his head, overlooking him at all height, but without touch. A dark glow shone in her pupils as she stared at him, the electric tension palpable between them.

- Do you want me to kill you right away or slowly, taking my time ? Declared in a voice that growled like an animal. 

Alastor let out a mocking laugh seeing (y/n)'s reaction.

- You shouldn't get upset like that, you know. It just drains your badly needed energy, right ? You didn't even sense our presence when we entered your dimension. Your shadow was so weak that I almost burst out laughing and ridiculed you in front of the others as I freed myself from your grip. Your face is the very definition of tired, my sweet. Do you have enough evidence to understand that I know exactly what this is about or should I continue ?

At these words, (y/n) was speechless, taken aback by Alastor's revelations. Her grip on the backrest loosened slightly as Alastor's smile continued to stretch, moving closer to her to gently place his fingertips under her chin, his touch as light as a feather.

- Calm down. He whispered softly. Don't embarrass yourself over such a small matter. I will try to pretend not to have noticed anything if you wish.

Under Alastor's light touch, (y/n) felt a shiver run through her skin. She tensed slightly, her mind whirling as she tried to rationalize the situation. The revelation of her weakness, exposed so cruelly by Alastor, made her uncomfortable. She didn't like feeling vulnerable, especially in front of someone like him.

Yet, despite the agitation bubbling within her, she struggled to regain her calm. She couldn't afford to show any more flaws. She then stepped back, withdrawing from Alastor's touch, her demonic form shrinking slightly. A look full of hatred and frustration fell on him as she asked him in a scathing voice :

- Why, every time you see me, do you take pleasure in wanting to play with my nerves ?

- Because you are my favorite entertainment. He replied nonchalantly.

His response made her boil with rage. But before she could retaliate, Alastor stood up, taking his cane, then, with a surprising gesture, he delicately took (y/n)'s hand and pulled her towards him. His gaze held an enigmatic, almost teasing glow as he leaned down to place a light kiss on the knuckles of her fingers. The sudden proximity of his breath against her skin made (y/n) shiver, instinctively stepping back.

She stood there, petrified by this unexpected gesture, her mind in a whirlwind of conflicting emotions. The heat of his lips still seemed to burn on his skin, contrasting with the coldness of the surrounding air. For a brief moment, she found herself in complete confusion, unable to sort out her feelings.

Then, slowly, she realized that Alastor's kiss was nothing more than a game for him, a way to sow doubt and confusion in her already tormented mind. She felt manipulated but also strangely intrigued by this duality that seemed to characterize their relationship.

As Alastor stood up after delicately kissing the knuckles of (y/n), he observed her reactions with amusement, savoring every nuance of frustration and dismay he could arouse in her. An internal laugh resonated within him as he turned to leave. However, just before crossing the threshold of the room, he turned slightly towards her, a mischievous glint in his eyes.

- Oh, by the way, you didn't ask me how I got here. He declared in a teasing voice.

(y/n) looked at him, perplexed, wondering how he could have arrived in her dimension without her allowing him. Alastor just gave him a sibylline smile before whispering, with a hint of malice :

- Maybe you should reconsider your complete trust in Taku.

Then, without waiting for a response, he turned on his heel, declaring happily :

- Looking forward to seeing you again, dearest, at our next meeting !

As the door closed behind Alastor, (y/n) stood there, alone in the room, letting her thoughts calm down little by little. The strange encounter with the radio demon had shaken her, but she refused to let her emotions overwhelm her. Hissing in pain, she holds the arm where the unpleasant sensation was felt, reminding her that she had abused it. She returned to her normal form, trying to provide relief, but failing.

Alastor's words still echoed in his mind, fueling a fire of unanswered questions. She knew she had to stay on guard, but she couldn't help but feel a certain curiosity towards this demon who suggested that he had guessed her condition. Yet she also knew that letting herself be carried away by his provocations would lead nowhere good.

With determination, (y/n) chased away these disturbing thoughts and focused on the tasks ahead of her. She had a territory and sinners to protect. For now, she had to put aside everything that distracted her from it, including her pain.

Being his form of redemption.

______________________________________________

Bonuses :

As Charlie and Taku waited behind the door, Charlie tried to break the silence by striking up a conversation with Taku.

- Sooooo, tell me... Taku, how do you spend your time when you're waiting in situations like this ?

She gets no response, nor a look.

- You know, this situation reminds me of an old proverb : "Waiting behind a door is like watching a kettle : it takes forever and above all it makes a lot of noise !". This fits, right ? She asked, laughing awkwardly, before continuing at Taku's silence. Oh, I have an idea ! We could play "Guess what's on the other side of the door." You want to try ?

But she was interrupted by a gesture from Taku who gestured for her to be quiet, his attention entirely captivated by the conversation going on on the other side of the door. Charlie felt a little frustrated by Taku's lack of response, but she decided to persevere.

- What do you think of Lady (y/n) ? You seem close. I mean, really, close.

But Taku remained silent, his eyes fixed on the door, trying to catch every word of the conversation, but failing to do so.

- Okay… I understand, you want to remain silent, um… She said embarrassed.

She ended up plopping down in a chair next to Taku, rocking back and forth slightly, impatiently waiting for the conversation to end on the other side of the door, unable to do otherwise.

______________________________________________

Author's note : Thank you for reading this chapter ! I hope you enjoyed this electrifying encounter between (y/n) and Alastor. Stay tuned for the next chapter which promises even more mystery, tension and revelations. See you soon for chapter 4 !

[vangbelsing]

Lucanis X Qunari!Rook drabble

Short(ish) little blurb based on this stupid prompt from last night. It's been?? I think an actual decade since I've written anything and I rushed through this in about 2-3 hours after sipping a little bit of the mead I was gifted, so I know the quality is definitely not gonna be great hhgdssfjjjf 😭 I'm soooo sorry in advance for this purely self indulgent piece 🙏

Pairing: Lucanis X Qunari Rook, nonbinary Rook, implied AFAB, SFW but is slightly suggestive

Characters: Lucanis, Emmrich, Rook

The battle hadn't been long, but it certainly felt like a fortnight in the moment, if only because of how off guard they had been caught. One moment, he could hear Emmrich listing the many aspects of death that had caused this place to become such a hotspot for spirits, (he could feel the truth of Emmrichs ramblings in that familiar, unwelcome itching behind his eye) the next, without barely even a sound - as if to drive the point home - undead sprang from all corners imaginable; the air filled with the scent of decay and regret before they could even see the corpses.

It took only the first heartbeat that deaths stink assaulted his nostrils for his hand to shoot toward his blade, quickly barking to his companions that combat was imminent. They wasted no time. Rook swiftly fell to the back of the formation as Lucanis and Emmrich took their places nearest to the undead. Though he wasn't trained for defensive combat or for taking on the bulk of enemy lines like a warrior, he was currently the most martially adept of the group, and so he assumed the role of protecting the mages from any stragglers.

One by one, the shamblers fell, the sickening crunch of steel meeting already decayed meat and bone filling the Crows ears. He'd heard it numerous times before, but it never seemed to be any less foul. Seconds passed, then minutes, as each of them continued on through the sounds of groans and barks at each movement made, the crackling of raw fade being cast at the uncannily lively dead, and the final wails of their foes signaling yet another was slain.

"Only three left." He had thought to himself, quickly accounting for each way he might approach dealing with his opponents.

It barely took a moment for him to close the distance between them as he lunged towards one in a solid, fluid motion. He took the thing first by its arm, twisting it harshly enough to hear bone crack before he spun the creature to face the opposite direction. He then pressed his foot its spine before kicking it forward into the other undeads oncoming attack. It let out a ghastly moan as the blade went directly through its midsection, the monster now going limp. While the other creature worked to remove the corpse from its weapon, Lucanis took the chance to exploit its current state of weakness to relocate to its blind spot. Before it could even react, the Crow had removed its head from its shoulders, watching with only slight satisfaction as it rolled on the ground.

"Down to the last." He noted internally, glancing left and right as he scanned for the remaining undead.

"Lucanis!" He'd heard Rook shout suddenly, their voice panicked, strained and utterly laced with fear.

"Ah. Behind, then." Without so much as casting a glance, he had turned in a blindingly swift motion with such force that his blade immediately found its mark, cutting through a sinewy throat with a dry, unnatural sound.

It fell to the ground with a rotten thud as Lucanis sheathed his weapon. That was all of them. Truly, it wasn't even close to one of his more dangerous encounters, but he would be the first to admit that he certainly hated most battlefield surprises.

"An impressive display, Lucanis," The older mage chimed in suddenly, his breathing only slightly laboured, "you did well in seeing to mine and Rooks safety. Perhaps we ought to consider a change to that sobriquet of yours, hm?"

Lucanis exhaled deeply through his nostrils - the sound dangerously close to a laugh - as he turned to face Emmrich, the ghost of a grin dancing at the edge of his mouth. Before he could even respond, however, a familiar voice pierced his ears in a frantic, breathless tone.

"Lucanis!"

Recognizing that voice as Rooks, he turned to face them, his brow lifting in confusion at the sudden crying of his name. But no sooner than he had opened his mouth to speak did he feel their arms wrap around him; the sensation of their warm body pressing quickly against his, causing a flush to spread up his neck as one hand cradled his head in place against them while the other gripped almost desperately at his back. It would have been enough to give him pause to be embraced in any situation. He was unused to such contact, and certainly so unexpectedly. However, it was the instant realization that his head had been buried in their chest that caused him the most distress.

"Lucanis, don't scare me like that! Do you know how worried I was when you charged off like that? You could have been hurt!" Rook cried out frenetically, the worry in their voice practically seeping out physically from every word spoken.

Perhaps he might have reassured them, or reprimanded them, or anything at all, if he could will himself to focus on something other than the way their voice seemed to vibrate in their chest and against his face, the feeling very near to pleasant. He cursed himself at the way his mind was becoming less and less capable of proper thought as their skin seemed to sear his own; their soft, tender flesh pressing ever so delightfully to his motionless body.

He felt his throat tighten the more aware he became of just how close they were. He could feel their heart pounding; hear it thrumming madly in their ribs. He could feel the tremors climbing up throughout their entire body in their state of near delirium as they kept him flush against their person, their legs practically locking with his. He could only imagine his heart had started beating exponentially quicker as well, though for reasons quite far removed from the qunari that was holding him in a firm yet gentle grip.

"Honestly! Do you need to be so reckless? I can only heal so much! What would have happened if that thing had been faster?" They very nearly started sobbing as their hold on him tightened.

Lucanis gritted his teeth at the increased contact of their breasts against his face. He knew if Rook was paying even the slightest attention that they would feel the way his skin was burning at their touch; how his ribs felt as if they might burst open under the force of his racing heart beat and the pressure of his caged torso brought flush to theirs. They might even have heard it as much as felt it.

"Now now, dear. You'll suffocate the poor boy. Then he won't need to worry about undead anymore, will he?" Emmrich finally seemed to speak up after what seemed like an eternity.

Rook cast a quick glance towards the elder mage, momentarily caught off guard before suddenly seeming to understand. With a gasp, they released Lucanis with a swift and ginger motion, now using their free hands to cover their mouth in what could be interpreted as concern or embarrassment. Or both.

"Lucanis, I-I'm so sorry! I hadn't meant-"

"I-it's fine." He cut them off abruptly, turning away from them as he rubbed at his increasingly sore neck. He hoped they wouldn't notice the blush that travelled from his neck, to his face, to the very tips of his ears.

They took a small step towards him, the expression they wore looking almost guilty. "Really, I am sorry. I just... I was so worried when you rushed off like that, I really just-"

"It's nothing, let's just keep going." He interrupted again, attempting to keep his face from view. He was ready to be anywhere that wasn't under Rooks doe-eyed gaze... Or scrutiny.

"Rook?" Emmrich chimed in once again, "Perhaps you might make sure our fetid guests are as dead as they appear?" He suggested gently to the obviously shaken qunari before throwing Lucanis a very quick look.

"I..." They seemed to hesitate, their eyes darting from the assassin, to the corpses, then to Emmrich.

The necromancer gave a reassuring smile. "I believe he'll manage just fine, dear."

Another few moments passed in silence before Rook nodded in acknowledgement, taking out a small dagger as they made their way to the corpses and leaving the two men to themselves. Lucanis breathed a small sigh, his shoulders slouching slightly as if some weight had been lifted from him. When he heard a faint chuckle fall from the necromancers lips, he whipped his head to the direction of the elder man that seemed more amused than Lucanis thought he had a right to be.

"What." He grumbled. The word was spoken less like a question and more like an accusation.

"I might have confused you for a beet if not for the leather." Emmrich said in a somewhat hushed tone, not even attempting to hide the humor he found in all this.

Lucanis frowned and tugged at his shirt collar, his eyes narrowing only slightly. "A lack of oxygen, nothing more."

Emmrichs grin widened at that, the man turning on his heel as he started a steady stride forward. "Why, my good assassin, I would never think to imply otherwise!"

And with that, he made his way. The Crow stood there for a moment, catching his breath. Both figuratively and literally. He had lived through training that others had been known to break from. His life had been in more danger than he would even care to count. But in all of his life, he could never recall a time where he had been so utterly... Coddled. It was foreign. Unnecessary.

Rook fawned and worried after him far too much, and certainly far more than was warranted. Yet, he could not shake that tightening in his chest when they called out his name when worried. How their hands felt on his skin when they mended the cuts and bruises on his own. They their eyes seem to soften as they looked over his every wound, treating them with the utmost tenderness and care; treating him that way.

It was unnecessary, yes... But it was not wholly unpleasant. He could admit that his heart would skip a beat when they laid their hand on his back to soothe the salves into his flesh. How his breath would hitch if their hand brushed his at the table. How they would dawn that sweet, sweet smile as they apologized if they had made him uncomfortable.

How could they? The very thought was enough to illicit a scoff. No one had ever been so outwardly concerned or so patient. For him. No, they could never make him uncomfortable. Uncertain? Possibly. Embarrassed? Certainly. But never comfortable. Not when they were the only one who knew how to bring him comfort.

But he needed to focus. There was still a job left to be done, and he was never one to leave a job left unfinished. And all that besides, he would still need to calm himself down once they returned to base... Maybe with a cold bath.

And still, even as they pressed on, he doubted he would find himself able to think of much else for some time yet.

[nikeiyomiurioverthinker]

Hey i just saw your reblog to my post about void and I'd love to hear your theories/headcanons on what Nikei's backstory is like

Hey!! Thanks for the ask, I like to yap a lot and this is fantastic to scratch that itch.

I do have a bunch of theories about his backstory, but I wouldn't say I have exactly a MAIN one? Also because a lot of the theories are technically just the same theory with a few slight tweaks. I don't want to settle on one only because I don't wanna be disappointed once Linuj drops the backstory and it isn't like how I imagined it.

There isn't much in the game itself that tells us about what Nikei's backstory could be like, but we have three things you always have to consider when creating a backstory for this guy:

Nikei's family is absent by the time Utsuro saves him and he cannot reconnect to them in any way

You have to think up why exactly Nikei is so obsessed with his right hand

The picture Linuj drew 4 years ago has to fit seamlessly in it

It has to explain his fixation on power and control

So, having stated that, here's the details that I match together fairly arbitrarily when I'm thinking about Nikei's backstory:

As far as his family is concerned, he most likely lost them before Utsuro even came into the picture- he does talk about them exactly once, and it is in this specific comment:

I know it says household and not family, but I checked the Hangul and from what I've found online, the term he uses is often used in the context of expressing the social position of one's family- so, he is likely talking about his own parents here. It's a fleeting comment, not the type I would imagine one would make when talking about abusive parents- so since his family likely has nothing to do with his trauma (or at least, isn't the direct source of it), they definitely disappeared before it all started.

Personally, I believe that Nikei was probably kidnapped- either that, or he was sold off. It depends on how nice I want Nikei's parents to be. In the kidnapping case, it could happen in any context, really- on the way home from school, or even inside his own home. His family most likely died during that encounter, and Nikei was then whisked away by his future abuser. In the case of him being sold off... well, Nikei states that his family wasn't wealthy- it isn't a stretch to say that maybe they were struggling financially, made a risky contract with loansharks that clearly didn't pay off, and therefore they had to either give Nikei away to their creditors, or they just sold him off for money so they could pay the debt back. What's important here is to establish that Nikei physically cannot (or in the second case, simply wouldn't want to) go back to his family.

Either way, it ends with Nikei being taken away from his family and forced into a life of servitude by his abuser(s). Most likely, Nikei had to deal with CSA- I don't want to get into that conversation, but there are two main reasons as to why I believe that to be the case. First, Nikei fits the profile of a victim, and is shown getting stressed and fearful when someone physically threatens him- like in the case of Mikado in chapter 4, in that one CG. Also, and this reason has less to do with the story itself and more with the writing of it all- Linuj is clearly giving each Void a different type of trauma, and it wouldn't make much sense for Nikei to be 'only' physically assaulted by his abuser, since that is already a subject explored in Emma's backstory. This then would explain his need for control- it's more out of fear of being forced into that situation again than anything else.

Skipping to the meeting with Utsuro now- I like to explain away Nikei's obsession with his hand as him touching Utsuro with it, and thus believing that his hand was blessed and is the reason why everything starts to look up for him. We are never explained how or to what extent each Void meets him, so it isn't unlikely to think that they were close enough to touch. Either that, or after the meeting with Utsuro, Nikei gathered up enough courage to actually stand for himself and attack his abuser- likely killing him and therefore causing the hand obsession. It might also just be a mix of both? Either way, Nikei gets out of this terrible situation, and he then doesn't live happily ever after because even after meeting Utsuro his life objectively sucks, just slightly less than it did before.

This is the most sensible of the theories I have? Nothing groundbreaking, I know.

Allow me now to introduce you to the Nikei Grew Up In A Cult theory. This one is significantly less strong that the ones above but hey, I'm just having fun here.

So, in this theory, Nikei's family is fully entrenched in a cult- Nikei probably was born into it. The details of the cult itself aren't really important, but I'm imagining something vaguely Christianity-inspired (on one hand because it's stupidly easy to just create a cult with Christianity as a basis, but also because of the very weird relationship Nikei seems to have with specifically Christianity- I could probably make a whole separate post on that). As in most cults, the leader is a wholeass fucking clown who definitely takes advantage of the kids in his group of yes men. Nikei definitely hated everything that was done to him, but no one would listen to him or they would actively scorn him for not accepting what their leader gave him- which also definitely counts for his parents.

Nikei grew to despise being submissive to others- due to the fact that he would always be taken advantage of if he wasn't the only in control. Which influenced his desire for power- when he met Utsuro, he touched the other boy with his right hand, and after the encounter was blessed with the luck to escape the cult.

Despite hating what was done to him, Nikei had grown up fully entrenched in the cult's dogma, so it wouldn't be insane to presume that he assumed the boy he met had been an angel or even a God, that had bestowed upon him luck as a way to pay him back for his suffering. Therefore, he starts seeing his right hand as something that was touched by God, causing his obsession with it.

Then again, I'm projecting a liiiittle of my religious trauma on him with this theory. It kinda was born out of my brain assuming the True? Or False? on his shirt referred to religious doctrine. Don't take it too seriously.

Anyway, that's all I got. Thanks for coming to my Ted Talk.

[dogwaterdish]

Writing Masterlist!!

A little note about my fics before the list: if you're ever reading one of my fics and want to make some sorta fanart about them, go ahead! it'd be really cool to see , so just tag me in a post with it if you make it !! and, if one of my fics ever gives you a fic idea thats real similar to mine, I couldn't care less about "copying" me, write it!

MHA Fanfictions

Multi Chapter (Completed)

A Little Help Goes A Long Way

Midoriya offers to help his mentor with whatever he needs with his broken arm, calls himself All Might's son (on video), and has an almost nice dinner. Then, he gets sick and it's All Mights turn to take care of him.

Happy Father's Day, Class 1-A

Class 1-A has a father’s day party coming up, and Midoriya is panicking. He doesn’t have a dad, but doesn’t want things to be too awkward at the party. His solution? Recruit his mentor to be his dad.

The Fall of Izuku Midoriya

Midoriya neglects to tell his teachers about an injury so he can participate in a class activity and has to face the consequences of his actions.

Multi Chapter (Incomplete)

The Cusp of Everything

Midoriya Izuku wakes up in a hospital room with minimal memory and a man he can only assume is his father. He doesn't remember much, and his confusion only worsens as his father tells him everything he vaguely remembers is a lie.

Posting Schedule: x

Rage Therapy on Your Teacher

During the Final Exams, Midoriya gets an unwanted reminder of his middle school trauma and beats the shit out of All Might about it.

Please don't let go (I'm too scared to be alone)

Midoriya goes missing and it's up to All Might to find him. Then, its up to All Might to comfort him when he's found.

For cozytober prompt 4, "The slight smell of smoke in the air

Amidst the rains, I am still here

While out on the streets, Midoriya gets caught in a category 2 hurricane and crashes at a concerned All Might's house.

For Cozytober prompt 22.2 and alt prompt 4

Ethioniun Fears - Awaiting Re-write

When Midoriya gets kidnapped, he thinks it's the worst day of his life. Little did he know, the worst had only just begun.

Single Chapter - Oneshots

Overstimulated

Izuku gets overstimulated while in class, and has a not fun time dealing with it. Thankfully, the teachers at UA are there to help.

Under Heaps and Heaps of Rubble

All Might and Midoriya go out to the shops after getting Dekus updated hero mask, but things quickly go awry when the building collapses; with them inside.

Izuku Midoriya VS A 7 Foot Pile of Snow

After eating breakfast with his dad, Midoriya eats shit by walking into a wall of snow.

Better Safe Than Sorry

Midoriya's practicing breaking into a vault because All Might worries about things.

Breaking Point

All Might gets seriously injured in a villain fight and Tsukauchi has to take care of Midoriya while they wait to see if Yagi will be okay.

With You, I Don't Feel The Cold

Midoriya and Uraraka go on a date disguised as training.

For Izuocha week 2024!

Untethered

Birds sang morning songs with the wind as it rustled the branches they called home. Dew glistened on the grass. The sun had yet to rise, though there was enough light for sight in the clearing. The rest of the woods, however, was shrouded in sleepy morning darkness. It had been such a long- yet unbelievably short- amount of time since they had met at the clearing. The wars were warping his perception of time, and they aged the class drastically. Now that Midoriya had time to rest and recuperaite, Yagi was itching to help him train. He was aware Midoriya had unlocked all the quirks in One For All, but the one he wished to focus on today was Float -- All Might helps Midoriya train with float!

For dadmight week 2024!

One way or another, math always leads to tears

While discussing Midoriyas homework, Yagi is given many more important details about Midoriyas life !

For dadmight week 2024!

How to score a free tour of all mights agency 101

Maybe Midoriya always had a knack for holding peoples legs...

For dadmight week 2024!

Snack Break

Midoriya is having a bad day sensory wise, and his only saving grace is All Might's cooking...

For Flufftober 2024!

[moth-like-habits]

A bit of help // beetho, 1,253 words

cw// sword wound (not very graphic but it’s there)

It was a bad idea- a worse idea than normal. In hindsight it was a rookie mistake, one that Beef definitely shouldn’t be making. All he needed was some wither skulls (would a beacon improve the opulence of the hacienda?) and he decided “hey why don’t I fly around, find a new fortress!” Sounded like fun, until he landed on the fortress walkway without seeing the wither skeleton behind him-which he payed for with a nasty slash on his back. And since he didn’t have his chest plate on- well let’s just say the wither effect can make for some painful injuries. But, if you think Beef looks bad you should see the skeleton-yikes.

That being said, Beef probably looks halfway to death if he looks anything like he feels. He’s not actually dying but an open wound like that isn’t exactly going to heal overnight. Most people would probably chug a few health potions and call it good but… well, maybe he’s old fashioned (he is VintageBeef) but he always prefers to tend to his wounds himself. It heals better, scars less, and- arguably best of all- doesn’t itch with the magic stitching you back together.

But that leads him to his current predicament: how in the world is he going to do this. He made it back the the hacienda and has situated himself in front of some decorative mirror in the living room (it’s got a gold frame, just screams opulence). The sword made an arc from his right shoulder to his mid spine, just twisting around to see it burns. That would be due to the slight tinge black around the gash- a bit of lingering wither sickness. He really got himself into trouble huh.

There’s not a lot of hermits that Beef is confident in the first aid skills of- it’s only really the old school players that bother at this point. Regardless of that, this is something he should be able to do himself. He’s not a rookie, he’s had to do plenty of battlefield medicine in his time. He’s gone through worse. Beef’s known to be friendly and cheerful, yes, but he’s also got a stubborn streak- if he can do it himself he will. As a result not a lot of hermits have really seen him injured like this. Why start now?

Beef sighs and looks out the window. At this point it’s fairly obvious what he has to do but… it’s midnight, does he really want to wake him up? For a measly scratch? Unfortunately (or fortunately) the decision gets made for him as a wave of pain leaves him gritting his teeth. Here goes nothing.

[VintageBeef -> Etho] hey man can you come over? I might need some medical help

Last he checked, Etho shared this antiquated habit. Plus, he taught the man most of what he knows back in their mindcrack days. And besides all that… there’s no one he’d trust more.

~~~

Etho all but barges into the hacienda. He flew here as soon as he got the message- he wasn’t asleep, which he’s infinitely glad of now. Once inside Beef’s base he scans the room for his friend.

“Beef? Are you there?” Theres a pained “over here” from the living room and it’s all Etho needs to rush over. The scene he’s met with isn’t nearly as bad as he feared- which he mentally shakes himself for. Beef is sitting on some plush stool and grinning weakly at him.

“Hey Etho,” the grimace in his voice prompts Etho to shift from relief back to concern. A second glance around the room has his eyes catching on a standing mirror behind where Beef’s sitting. More specifically, the large slash through his white shirt and- are those blood stains?

He stops dead in his tracks “Beef- what did you do.”

“I didn’t mean too! I just may have accidentally got backstabbed by a wither skeleton! No big deal…”

With a shaky sigh, he’s sparked back into motion and comes to stand behind Beef’s stool and settles himself into a focus often reserved for long redstone projects. No distracting feelings right now.

“Alright Beefers, can you take your shirt off yourself or do you need help?”

“Whoa! A bit forward today eh?” He chuckles a bit, but it seems halfhearted. “…No, I think I’ll need help.” It’s an awkward (and painful) process but they manage to get Beef out of his shirt. Now able to see the full wound, Etho sucks in a breathe.

“Beef how- where’s your first aid kit?”

Beef wordlessly points to a box by the couch and once Etho settles back in behind him he responds “It’s just as I said. Backstabbed- or should I say back-slashed by a wither skeleton. I flew in and didn’t look where I was going. Stupid mistake.”

Etho hums his response, most of his focus going into cleaning wither bone dust out of the cut. It isn’t that deep, but the placement makes it hard to clean yourself- and with the wither residue it will just get more painful when left sitting there. By Beef’s tone it’s obvious he’s aware of all of this. “Happens to the best of us Beef, don’t worry. Bet the other guy looks worse.”

That brought a chuckle out of him at least. “Oh he did- didn’t have any skin on his bones!”

There’s a lull in conversation as Etho finishes up cleaning and dressing the wound. He can almost hear the thoughts running through Beefs head. If he knows his friend at all, he’s probably either annoyed he couldn’t handle everything himself or feeling guilty he had to ask for help. Or both. With everything wrapped up Etho packs up the supplies and fetches a new shirt. (Fortunately getting Beef into it is far less of a struggle)

Bring another stool around, Etho situates himself in front of his friend. “Out with it Beefers.”

His silence speaks for itself, but after a long sigh, dark blue eyes meet grey and red. “I’m sorry for dragging you here at void-knows what time for a wound I should be able to take care of- that I shouldn’t have even gotten-“

It’s an impulse decision. A more impulsive one than normal. Etho pulls down his mask and delivers a soft peck to Beef’s lips before quickly retreating. He’s positive his ears are bright red but he’s in good company because Beef’s looking a lot redder than he was a moment ago. A lot more speechless too, a small shocked smile lighting up his face.

“I- you- You kissed me!”

“Try not to self destruct there Beefers.” A lopsided smile. “You don’t need to apologize, I’m happy to help. You’d have made it worse trying to fix that on your own.”

“Gee thanks, I appreciate your confidence.” Beef rolls his eyes, all the while intertwining a hand with his. “But really, thank you anyway.”

The following silence is comfortable, both content to just sit with one of their oldest friends. It’s not too long before Beef yawns, the exhaustion from the day’s excitement finally catching up with him.

“Getting tired old man?”

“Hey- who you calling old!? …yes I’m tired. It’s pretty late though if you want to just stay here for the night…”

“Who’s being forward now, eh Beef?” And the answering chuckle chases away any last worries Etho had for the older. They both made some quick decisions today but in hindsight Etho would say his turned out pretty well.

[skarsgard-daydreams]

Know Thyself

Description: When Eric invites you to his dungeon, you get more than you bargained for.

Notes: 5,800 words of kinky Eric Northman smut. Reposted because this hellsite reordered several paragraphs for no reason.

Warnings: 18+, sexual content, bondage, spanking, orgasm control, forced orgasms

"You're not on the schedule tonight," a familiar voice drawled as you arrived at Fangtasia for your shift. Pam stood in front of the mirror in the break room applying her blood red lipstick with razor thin precision. "Boss's orders," she added, her lips curling with an amusement that was frankly disquieting.

You shoved your purse in your locker anyway and gave Pam a skeptical look. "What are you not telling me?"

Pam slid the gold lid back onto the tube of lipstick with a click. "As much as I would love to stand around and answer stupid questions all night, I still have a job to do," she said. Dark, grungy rock music began to blare in the club proper, signaling that Fangtasia would soon be open. Pam closed your locker in the blink of an eye, a wicked grin spreading across her pink lips. "You’re coming with me," she said. She gave you a little push out of the room and steered you downstairs with a firm grip on your shoulder. It would be pointless to argue, so you stumbled along in front of her as Pam’s dagger-like stilettos echoed in the stairwell.

As far as you knew, the basement of Fangtasia was little more than a crammed storage room filled with excess liquor, Halloween decorations, and old VHS tapes from its heyday as a video rental store before vampires came out of the coffin. A set of keys rattled in Pam's hand and she unlocked a metal door that you had always assumed led to the broom closet. She held it open and stared at you with cold eyes.

“Go on.”

The hard edge in Pam’s voice chilled your blood, but you swallowed your nerves and stepped into a long stone corridor dimly lit with torches. You heard nothing except your own heartbeat and the faint crackling of the torches as you stepped inside. Her hand connected with the small of your back and you both proceeded down the passage, which had several alcoves walled off with iron bars that were so dark you couldn’t tell if they were occupied or not. Pam stopped in front of a heavy wooden door at the end of the hall and produced an old-fashioned key that she had tucked into her bodice. She eyed your black Fangtasia t-shirt and pursed her lips.

“Take off your clothes.”

“Pam,” you said nervously, but the rest of your words dried up in your throat as she stared you down. You took off your top and shimmied out of your jeans, feeling the heat of embarrassment rise to your face.

No matter how many times you undressed in front of Pam, you always felt like a piece of merchandise under her scrupulous gaze. She slid her fingers under the elastic waist of your panties and snapped it against your skin. “And these,” she added. You slipped out of your panties and took off your bra as well, adding them to the pile of clothes on the floor.

“Don’t worry,” Pam said in a flat tone that was not even a little bit reassuring as she opened the door and gestured for you to go inside. “You look good enough to eat.”

You crossed the threshold into a spacious stone chamber with vaulted cathedral ceilings and arched doorways leading off in four different directions. But what caught your eye was not the architecture or the flickering candlelight in the rooms beyond. It was the ancient iron maiden that stood in the center of the room, its doors clamped shut and its strange carved face contorted with anguish as it stared wordlessly at the place where you stood.

Behind you, the heavy door creaked shut and you heard the scrape of the bolt sliding back into place, locking you within. Even though you knew this had to be orchestrated by Eric, your veins suddenly iced over with fear. You heard soft footfalls coming from one of the rooms beyond and instinctively took a step back, your heel colliding with the door behind you. A tall figure appeared in the central doorway wearing a wry smile and a plain black tank and jeans.

“Where are your clothes?” Eric asked. You furrowed your brows, realizing that you stripped down in front of Pam for no reason. “Ah,” he said. “Pam.”

“She never misses an opportunity,” you said, embarrassed by your own naiveté.

Eric chuckled and took your hand in his. “I will deal with her later,” he said. “Come with me.”

You followed him into the room to the far left, which reminded you of a Roman bath. A pool of dark water rippled below, its steaming surface scattered with purple flower petals and floating candles. The smell of incense hung in the humid air—something warm and inviting, laced with exotic spices. At the end of the chamber, a reclining skeleton was painted on the wall with two words written in Greek letters below it. Eric retrieved a short silk robe hand painted with peony blossoms from a hook on the wall and held it open while you slid your arms into the sleeves.

"What does that say?" you asked. Eric's lips brushed against your temple as he reached around and tied the robe shut with a decisive motion.

"Know thyself," he said. "It's a replica of the memento mori in the baths of Diocletian in Rome." He kept his arms around your waist and you leaned against him, enjoying how solid he seemed as he held you from behind. It wasn't often you had uninterrupted time alone with your lover. He was always being pulled in one direction or another by whoever was above him in the complicated vampire hierarchy, or he was occupied with the problems his own subordinates brought to him. But tonight you knew you would not be interrupted. You turned in his arms and looked up at Eric, trailing your fingertips over his bare muscled shoulders.

"What do you want to do with me?" you asked with shy smile as Eric inhaled the scent of your hair like a sommelier using all of his senses to sample a fine wine.

"Possess you utterly," Eric murmured. His voice was gravelly and full of desire, and his candor surprised you. He tangled his fingers in your hair and captured your mouth in a languid kiss. You swayed a little, but he held you steady as he tilted your head back and dragged his lips down your throat, savoring your taste. He sucked lightly on your pulse, which seemed to be directly connected to your center. You hummed softly in encouragement and reached for his belt, but he pulled away.

Candlelight reflected in the dark water below, dancing to the syncopated rhythm of your heart. Worry itched at the back of your mind as you watched Eric walk away, his bare feet slapping against the stone floor. Perhaps you had done something wrong. He retrieved a black gift box from a hammered metal table and stood before you again in an instant.

“I have something for you.” Though Eric seemed to possess an endless store of confidence, there was a hint of uncertainty in his voice. He was trying to be careful, you realized, fearing he might scare you away. You summoned a reassuring smile and traced your fingers along the edge of the box.

“You spoil me.”

A slight smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. “That’s what Pam keeps saying,” Eric said. He took the lid off the box, revealing a solid metal choker. It was thin but surprisingly sturdy, with a small keyhole on the clasp at the back. A delicate spray of flowers and vines swirled across its surface, carved with such care that they created a sense of motion. You lifted it out of the box and studied the pattern quietly, aware that you were being studied as well.

“It’s beautiful,” you said sincerely. You lifted your eyes and offered it back to Eric, gathering your hair away from the nape of your neck. He turned you to face away from him and opened the clasp on the necklace. After a moment, smooth metal circled your throat. It felt cool against your warm skin and fit snugly into place without being too tight. You heard a tiny click at the back of your neck and realized it had locked when he closed it. Your breath hitched in your chest. Eric’s lips brushed against your ear as he spoke.

“Is this okay?” he asked.

Your mouth felt dry, but you nodded, reaching up to brush your fingers over the floral inlay of the necklace.

“What will you say if it’s not okay?” Eric asked. He placed his large hands on your shoulders and turned you to face him again. You pressed your lips together in thought for a moment. You had never needed a safe word with him before.

“Clementine,” you answered.

“Good.” He trailed his fingers along the edge of your jaw, drawing you closer. “And if you can’t speak, what will you hum?”

Your eyes widened and you forgot every song you’d ever known. “Um...” you said. “Yankee Doodle?”

Eric’s eyes crinkled with amusement, but he made no comment about your song choice. He leaned down and pressed a tender kiss to your lips. “Are you ready, pet?” he asked.

“I think so,” you said, but your voice sounded shaky and small. You weren’t sure what lay in the rooms beyond or what he had in store for the night. The torture device in the foyer had frightened you, but you trusted Eric. You chewed on your lip and tried to summon a playful smile. “Are you going to put me on a leash?”

The arched brow on your lover’s face told you he was now considering it. “Would you like me to?” he asked, always willing to up the ante.

“I...” you stammered. The thought filled you with horror and excitement in equal measure, and you weren’t sure how to answer. But Eric’s blue eyes were full of mischief as he approached a mahogany apothecary cabinet and opened one of the drawers.

“I hadn’t exactly planned on that.” He rifled through the drawer for a moment and took out a fine metal chain. “But I can oblige.”

Eric returned to you and attached the chain to the choker around your throat, testing it with a small tug. The solid metal acted as a collar, and you found yourself stumbling forward, forced to follow his lead. A toothy grin spread across Eric’s face. You wanted to be mad at him, but you were breathless with anticipation. He wrapped the chain around his hand and you trailed after him without resistance as he led you from the room.

“I could get used to this,” he quipped, entering the foyer.

“I’m sure you could.”

Your eyes met the gaze of the iron maiden again, and you were relieved when Eric walked past it without a second glance. “What is that for?” you asked.

Eric looked at the torture device. “Pam liberated it from a museum in Spain, but I doubt it was ever used before she got her claws in it,” he said. “It's more ornamental than practical.”

“So, you’ve never used it.”

“I didn’t say that,” Eric said with an air of mystery. He tugged on the chain, urging you to follow him into a rounded chamber with a circular dais in the center. Thick shackles hung from the walls on massive chains that looked strong enough to secure a vampire, and several human shaped cages were suspended from the ceiling. Your heart leapt into your throat.

“What are those?” you peeped nervously as Eric removed the chain from your choker and untied your robe. His eyes followed yours toward the ceiling.

“Another of Pam’s acquisitions,” he said, pushing the robe off your shoulders. The fabric pooled at your feet and his gaze swept over your naked flesh approvingly. “The English used to hang the corpses of criminals in them after execution as a warning to others.”

You weren’t sure if you wanted to know the answer to your next question, but you blurted it out anyway. “What does Pam use them for?”

Eric shrugged. “I don’t ask.” He took you by the hand and led you to the dais, holding you steady as you stepped onto it. “Stand here,” he said. “I want to get a good look at you.”

You shifted your weight from one foot to the other and watched as Eric circled you slowly like a predator stalking its prey. The surface beneath you was rough and uncomfortable to stand on with bare feet. Something told you that was by design. Eric appeared in front of you again, considering you with a steely gaze.

“Kneel,” he commanded in a firm voice.

You lowered yourself to your knees and realized you were trembling slightly. The uneven surface of the dais below you dug into your knees as you sat back on your heels and cast an uncertain glance at your lover. He had never spoken to you in that tone of voice before, and you weren’t sure what it meant.

Eric studied your face with hooded eyes and tucked your hair behind your ear. “You look so lovely on your knees,” he said as though it was a thought he had not intended to say out loud. You tilted your head toward his hand, craving his touch, but he withdrew it and looked at you with a stony expression. “Lift both of your hands as high as you can.”

You did as he instructed and he gave you a small nod of approval. “Good,” he said. “Now, don’t move,” he added. “I will return in a moment.”

In the blink of an eye, he was gone. You sat alone in the strange circular room with your arms stretched above you and the floor digging painfully into your knees. Though you heard no sound from the other rooms, you had the unmistakable feeling that you were being watched. You shifted a little, trying to find a position that was comfortable, but moving only seemed to make your knees hurt even more.

You had no way of knowing how long you waited. Soon the muscles in your shoulders began to ache, but Eric did not return. You wondered if you should call for him. Maybe he had lost track of time.

“Eric?” you called softly. In the empty room, you received no reply. Your knees were stinging now and the muscles in your arms burned with the continued effort to keep them lifted in the air. You knew you would not last much longer. A whimper escaped your lips and you wobbled a little, lowering one of your hands. Eric appeared in front of you instantly, his expression stormy.

“What did I tell you to do?” he asked. His voice was quiet but keen like the blade of a knife.

You looked at him with wide eyes, your heart hammering in your chest. “Keep my hands in the air,” you said.

“And what did you do?”

“I... I lowered them,” you answered. You furrowed your brows together, feeling it was deeply unfair for him to blame you for something you couldn’t help. “But you weren’t here, and I couldn’t do it any longer.”

Eric’s brow arched in warning and his icy blue eyes hardened. Silence fell over you like a spell and you knew it had been a mistake to argue. “I’m sorry,” you mumbled. You lowered your gaze to the floor and took several deep breaths, waiting for him to speak.

“I know you are,” Eric said. “And I will forgive you after you’ve been punished.”

He grabbed both of your wrists and dragged you to your feet. You wobbled as he pulled you off the dais, hauling you out of the room without giving you a chance to catch your balance.

“Eric!” you yelped, staggering after him through the foyer and into another room. He stopped abruptly in front of a wall where countless whips, floggers, canes, paddles, and riding crops were hung.

“Pick one,” Eric said. He released his grip on your arms and sat on the foot of a black four-poster bed covered with a dark velvet quilt, waiting for you to make your selection.

You stared at the array of instruments before you. Some of them looked like the sort of thing you could pick up at any average sex shop, while others seemed to be custom-made or possibly the real thing. You swallowed your fear and reached for a leather riding crop with a narrow tip and a flexible handle. It seemed small enough that it might not inflict too much damage. You approached the foot of the bed and placed it in Eric’s hands. He whipped his open palm with the riding crop and shook his head.

“This one will sting too much,” he said. “Pick one that’s more rigid.”

He waited with patience while you tested several others in search of one that would meet his specifications. The anger that radiated from him before had now dissipated and he seemed set on administering your punishment based on principle rather than wrath. You had the distinct sense that everything was going exactly as planned—that you had been thrust into a labyrinth of impossible choices, and he was the minotaur that would delight in making you suffer. You had half a mind to throw the riding crop in Eric’s face and tell him you were going home, but you had enough faith in him to trust that he would be good to you.

Eric rose to his feet as you held out another riding crop. He tested it on his hand and nodded in approval. You thought he might draw his hand back and strike you at any moment, but he set it on the bed and picked up a silky blindfold, securing it over your eyes.

“Lay on your stomach,” he said in your ear. He grasped the nape of your neck in his hand and guided you down onto the bed so that you were folded over the foot of it with your ass prominently displayed. You turned your head to the side and took a few nervous breaths. The dull ache of desire throbbed in your center even though you had to fight off the urge to bolt. Eric squeezed the rounded flesh of your ass, caressing it appreciatively. “I want you to count for me when I strike you,” he instructed. “I’ll start with my hand, and then switch to the crop. We’ll do five of each.”

“Okay,” you said, your voice barely a whisper.

“Do you remember what to say if it’s not okay, pet?”

You considered the possibility of cashing in your get out of jail free card, but his hand slipped between your legs and stroked the length of your slit, offering you the promise of even greater reward if you played his game. A small gasp escaped from your lips and you pressed yourself into his touch, but his hand was gone. “I remember,” you said breathlessly. “I’m okay.”

“Then count for me,” Eric said. He drew back his open hand and delivered a stinging blow across your ass.

“One,” you managed to say.

“Good girl,” Eric purred. He massaged the sore spot for a moment and then struck you even harder, making you yelp in surprise. Your hips jerked and Eric pressed his left hand into the small of your back, pinning you in place as you gasped for breath. “Count,” he reminded you.

“Two.”

The third blow followed quickly, but Eric’s firm hand held you still. A stinging warmth was spreading over your ass and felt arousal pooling between your legs.

“Three,” you whimpered.

Eric struck you again and kneaded your ass, producing a low moan from your lips.

“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?” he asked, his own enjoyment evident in his voice. “What number was that?”

“Four.”

The fifth blow landed harder than the rest. You forgot to count, but Eric didn’t seem to care. He let you lay there panting softly, trying to catch your breath while he massaged your tender skin and teased you between your legs. The adrenaline in your system dulled the pain until it mingled with the sensation of Eric’s fingers stroking you, making your entire bottom radiate with pleasure. You whined needfully and rolled your hips into his touch.

“Oh, we’re not done yet,” Eric said. He withdrew his hand and sucked your arousal off his fingers. “Cross your wrists behind you,” he said. “I don’t want your hands to get in the way.”

You wanted to tell him he could punish you any time he liked if he would just fuck you then and there, but you knew you weren’t in a position to negotiate. You closed your mouth instead and did what you were told. Eric wrapped his hand around both of your wrists, pinning them against your lower back. You always knew he was strong, but you were stunned to realize he could immobilize you completely with just one of his hands. The riding crop made a whooshing sound as he swung it in the air experimentally, making you flinch with anticipation.

“Five more,” Eric reminded you. “Count for me.”

The sharp bite of the riding crop against your flesh stole the air from your lungs. The pain was much more concentrated than before, and the shaft of the instrument seemed to gather momentum easier than a bare hand.

“Breathe for me, pet,” you heard Eric saying. “That was one.”

You inhaled and exhaled, speaking in a shaky voice. “One.”

“Very good,” Eric murmured. “Focus on your breathing.”

He struck you again and dragged the tip of the riding crop over your dripping cunt, making you shiver.

“Two,” you moaned.

“That’s my girl,” he said. “Three more.”

Tears began to sting your eyes with the third blow, wetting the silk fabric that covered them.

“Three,” you whimpered.

“That’s right.”

The fourth blow struck even harder, and Eric held you steady as you bucked your hips. You were crying in earnest now, your tears leaking from the blindfold.

“You’re doing so well, my love,” he said softly. “Just one more.”

“Okay,” you sobbed.

You cried out when he struck you one last time, but an overwhelming sense of relief flooded your body as you realized that was the end. You were shaking all over and you could feel your pulse throbbing between your legs.

“F-five,” you stammered.

Eric released your wrists and trailed his hand over the marks on your ass, massaging it with care. Your hands fell limp at your sides, feeling leaden.

“Do you promise not to disobey me again?” Eric asked. He swirled his fingers around your swollen clit, drawing a low moan from your throat.

“I promise.”

“Then you are forgiven.” His melodic voice filled you with warmth and a moment later his fingers thrusted inside you. A long, breathy gasp escaped your lips and you felt your insides beginning to clench, but he pulled away.

“Don’t,” you pleaded. “Don’t stop.”

“Patience,” Eric said. “The night is young.”

He rolled you over and pulled you to your feet. Your legs felt weak, but he let you lean your full weight against him and bury your face against his chest as he untied the blindfold. It felt good to press yourself against something cool and familiar. A few stray tears leaked from your eyes. Eric wiped them away with the soft pad of his thumb and licked the salty liquid from his finger.

“How are you, pet?” he asked.

“I’m okay,” you mumbled into his shirt. And it was true. Even though the punishment Eric doled out had been painful, he had helped you through each moment. The fear that coursed through your veins earlier in the evening had been released in a kind of catharsis, and you now felt strangely at ease with whatever might happen next.

“Good,” Eric said. There was a hint of pride in his voice as he stroked your hair. “You’re very brave, for a human.”

You pressed a soft kiss against his throat and felt Eric’s hand tighten in your hair. “You’re very tender, for a vampire.”

“Only with you,” he mused. He took you by the hand and kissed your fingers, leading you out of the room. “Come.”

The last room was outfitted with several strange pieces of furniture that you suspected were part of Pam’s collection of authentic medieval torture devices. You recognized a rack in one corner and a set of stocks in another, but what caught your eye was the wooden frame in the shape of an X in the center of the room. It was covered in soft leather and had thick padded cuffs at the end of each arm.

Before you could ask Eric what it was, he spun you around and pinned you against it with his hips, giving you a bruising kiss. You moaned against his mouth as he secured your wrists to the frame. He kicked your feet apart and trailed his hands over the smooth curves of your body, scratching you lightly with his nails. Then he bound your ankles as well.

Your face felt flushed and your pulse roared in your ears as he stepped back and raked his gaze over your body. You knew you were utterly helpless, and every part of you was on display. Your legs were spread wide and your breasts heaved with each panting breath you took, trying to regain control of yourself. A smirk spread across Eric’s face. This was what he had been waiting for all night.

“In all my years, I don't think I've ever seen something so exquisite as you, pet.” He took a step closer and grabbed a fistful of your hair, kissing your throat as he spoke. “You're beautiful,” he said. “And you're mine.”

His words made your whole body resonate with satisfaction. Eric’s fangs scraped against your throat, but he did not bite you. Not yet. He wanted to savor every inch of you before deciding where to sink his teeth in. His tongue licked your throat while his hands roamed your body, pausing when he felt your heart begin to beat faster to lavish attention on the places where you were sensitive.

He smoothed his hand over your stomach and caught your nipples lightly between his teeth, enjoying each whine and whimper that came from your lips. He teased you with agonizing patience. Your body felt like a spring compressed under an enormous amount of pressure, and you were desperate for release. It would not take much now for you to come undone, but each time you were close, Eric ceased his ministrations.

“No, no, no,” Eric murmured against your breast as he stopped circling your clit with his thumb. “I haven't given you permission to come yet.”

You were about to protest when he took hold of a handle on the side of the X and suddenly rotated it upside down. Blood rushed into your face as you hung from your ankles, your arousal on full display. Eric made a small sound of satisfaction at the sight and sank his teeth into the soft flesh of your inner thigh. He thrust his fingers inside of you while he drank, stilling his hand whenever he felt your muscles begin to contract.

“Please,” you begged. “Please, Eric, I want you to fuck me.”

He withdrew his hand and dragged his tongue along the length of your slit. “Do you?” he asked with a surprised inflection. “Hmmm, I don't remember asking what you want, my love.”

Eric pulled away and righted the X before too much blood could rush to your head. Your heart was beating rapidly and your breathing was ragged. You watched his tall form shift out of view and heard him rifling through a drawer to the side as you caught your breath.

“Please,” you whined when he reappeared in front of you. “I need you inside me.”

“I know,” Eric said with mock sympathy. “But it gives me such pleasure to hear you beg.”

You heard the familiar buzz of a vibrator before you felt it. Eric pressed the powerful toy against your sensitive mound and produced a low, guttural moan from your throat. “You're not allowed to come yet, sweet girl,” he reminded you.

“You’re gonna make me,” you panted. “Eric, please.”

Eric lubricated the vibrator with your arousal and guided it over your clit. “I’m warning you,” he said, a slight smile playing at the corner of his lips. “Do not disobey me again.”

“I-I can’t help it,” you whimpered.

He increased the intensity and kissed your throat roughly. “Don’t you dare do it,” he growled in your ear, but you couldn’t hold back anymore. You cried out as your release overwhelmed you, sending shockwaves from your head to your toes. Your sensitive nerves were flooded with a blissful warmth, and you fell limp in the restraints after a moment, breathing shallowly. Eric turned off the vibrator and nipped your ear with his teeth.

“Oh, you’re in so much trouble now, you wicked little thing,” he said in your ear. But he let you recover for a moment while he returned to the cabinet against the wall and searched in another drawer.

Soon he stood in front of you again. He grasped your chin and opened your mouth, pushing a rubber ball gag between your teeth. The surprised sound that came from your throat was muffled by its presence as Eric secured it behind your head. He framed your face with his hands and forced you to look into his intense blue eyes.

“I’ve got you,” he said. “Remember what I said about humming?”

“Mmhmm,” you managed to hum, but you didn’t want him to stop. You felt perfectly at ease, caught in a strange liminal state between dreaming and waking. Eric stroked your hair and studied your face.

“Good,” he said. And then the tenderness in his voice was replaced with a hard edge as he curled his fingers around your throat. “Now you're going to come until I decide you can stop,” he growled, switching the vibrator to its highest setting and pressing it ruthlessly against the oversensitive bundle of nerves at your center.

The intense vibration sent sharp rippling aftershocks through your body. You moaned into the gag and felt yourself tensing painfully, but you were too weak to struggle. Eric was telling you to relax. You squeezed your eyes shut and tried to focus on his words, allowing the tension to melt from your body. Soon you felt yourself building to another climax far more intense than the one before.

“That’s right,” Eric said. “Take it like a good girl. Let’s see how many we can get out of you.”

You weren’t sure how much time had passed or how many times Eric had pushed you over the edge before the vibrator finally switched off. The ball gag was removed from your mouth, but you couldn’t formulate the words to ask for what you wanted. You let out a small needy whine instead, begging for him.

Eric captured your lips in a kiss and thrust his length inside you, filling you with what you needed most. He rolled his hips at a slow pace, making sure you felt every movement as he fucked you. You moaned weakly and soon you were clenching around him, pulling him to the edge with you. “Come for me,” Eric said, his voice low and gravelly. “Now.”

You gave a small cry as you came undone again, soaking his cock with your release. Eric groaned against your neck and followed you swiftly, one hand fisted in your hair and the other clutching the side of your face as his hips stuttered to a stop.

He remained inside you for a few moments as you took a few ragged breaths. Then he reached up and released the restraints circling your wrists. You sagged against him, too exhausted to hold yourself up. Your legs felt like they were made of rubber and your head felt woozy, but you were at ease, knowing he would take care of you.

You were vaguely aware of the warm scent of Eric’s cologne as you pressed your face into his chest. Soothing words poured over your consciousness in a language you didn’t understand. You tasted blood on your lips and felt the bruises on your wrists and backside simply melt away.

When you woke again, you were laying between fresh sheets in your own bed. Your hair was still damp from a bath and your legs were tangled with Eric’s as he slept beside you, one arm outstretched so you could lay your head on his chest. The light tight shutters had been sealed over the windows in your bedroom, blotting out the midday sun. Eric had them installed ages ago, but he still was hesitant to sleep above ground. You trailed your fingers over one of the ancient scars on his bare chest and relished the rare treat of waking up beside him.

The alarm clock rolled over to noon, and something reflective glinted on your nightstand. You stretched out your hand and picked up the elegant metal choker. In the darkness, you ran your thumb over the floral inlay and found that the clasp was open. You had forgotten about it by the time the night was over, but Eric had not. You glanced at your lover’s face. He was always eerily still when he slept. You drew your hair over your shoulder and closed the choker around your throat, listening to the soft click as the lock snapped shut.

You laid back down and tucked your head under Eric’s chin, listening to the sound of your own heartbeat. He stirred slightly, circling his arms around you and drawing you to his chest. His fingertips traveled along your spine and paused when they reached the cool metal at the back of your neck. After a moment, he cradled your head in his hand and pressed his lips to your forehead.

“You were so good for me, pet,” he mumbled sleepily.

You hummed in contentment and kissed his chest. “I like being yours,” you whispered.

“That’s good,” Eric said, playing with the ends of your hair. “Because I have no intention of ever giving you up.”

[bibliocratic]

clear the area jonmartin, post-MAG200 content warnings in the tags

They earn their ending. A happy-ever-after beyond the gaze of any eyes.

Jon endures his abdication. This world has no Archivists, has need of none, the thankless crown of Knowing finally unburdened from his shoulders. The blood washes off Martin’s hands with soap and scrubbing and scalding water. They live.

The end. In conclusion. Fin.

-

Jon’s new scar, the packaging of his skin split ragged from collarbone to sternum, fades like sun-caught paint. A maw of red pursing to a gummy primrose pink, settling into a rough cartography of white.

The first few months are hard. Brimstone flare-up silences and ice-pick shouting, open-handed forgiveness and closed-fist weeping. They drain themselves to husks with anger and worry and grief until there is enough space for better things to grow there in their stead. Jon’s nightmares were a nightly stormfront to bear, sweated sheets and dawn fanfares of panic and dread, but he is learning now, with the space for his ribs to expand, that it is ok for them to breathe here.

Jon digs up the garden with a rusty trowel until it is a bumpy canvas of mulch and soil, dirt tucked under his fingernails and decorated with smudges up to his elbows. He hums while he irons their shirts in front of the television, thoughtless and senseless with tune.

Martin has tried to, but the sound goes down the wrong way.

-

Martin is happy.

-

It isn’t the sight as such, that might sit as a film over his vision to tinge his waking sepia. The reddest thing they own is a terracotta plant plot brimming with raggedy thyme that lives a precarious cliff-top existence on the kitchen windowsill. He observes Jon’s face in all its variations, even pained – when he snags splinters in his fingers, when he stubs his toe on the stone front step and swears damnation – and his response is sympathy tempered by admonishment.

It’s not the sensation, not really, that might tremble on his skin. Martin’s palms tend to dryness inside their homely bubble of creaky central heating, hemmed in by boisterous coastal winds. He handles bread knives and butter knives and steak knives and carving knives without the muscle memory of other blades, and he thinks he might be getting pretty handy with his oven experimentation.

It’s the sound. It wakes him, the noise lingering like the echo of a slap.

The slick punch of metal into muscle. A tooth-bared, tense-jawed gasp.

Resurfacing to shocked consciousness, he would be seized by a frenzy, to know, to check. His scattering hand scrabbling for the lamp with such force he hit it off the nightstand to roll in a giddy clatter, throwing off the covers to rapidly pollute both of them with the outside air. Jon would be rocked from sleep, groggy, panicked, and Martin’s words would not come, a train of thought trying to race full steam where no one had laid tracks, so it would be just the two of them, exhausted and upset and amping the other up in misery.

Now, upon his rousing, Martin knows not to turn on the light. He does not check. The aftermath of punch-gasp curls in his ear, and he inhale-exhale-inhales with the ferocity of mantra, and clamps the threatened tears in the clench of his teeth.

He does not wake Jon.

-

“How did you sleep?”

“Oh, you know me. Like a log.”

-

He is happy. He is. Why wouldn’t he be?

--

Jon rumbles like a rusty mechanism with snoring whenever he drops off on his back, and he mumbles accusatory when Martin coaxes him to his side. Martin finds black hairs on his pillowcase, in the shower plug. Jon is a vista of experience since the Eye left him, who gets hungry and tired and grumpy and drunk and silly and fed-up and giggly. Jon searches him out with the surety of magnets, and loves him, loves him, loves him. He seals kisses to Martin’s new landscape of extensive scars. Their disagreements, when they surface, are as meaningful and lasting as stones skipped on water.

Martin wanted this. He wants this. The rhythms of domesticity fading to foam on an untroubled shore.

He is out of practise with happiness, that’s all. It doesn’t come to him like breathing. He needs to till the earth of it, shelter its seeds from a thousand circling crows until it bears harvest.

He just has to try harder.

-

Night-time.

An episode or two of something simple, Jon nodding off like a capsizing ship before the credits. Encouraging him up in grousing, unwilling increments, rubbing out the nettle sting of pins and needles up his own arm. Check the locks, the light switches. Brush teeth. Pyjamas. Put his phone to charge, read until Jon succumbs to sleep. Click the light off, pushing Jon onto his side so his mouth doesn’t dry. Jon squirming around like a fastidious octopus until he has at least half his limbs hooked over Martin.

The dark creating shadow play. In the absence, Martin colouring in the gaps with lurid shades of disaster.

A creak – the rattle of a door downstairs, an intruder unfastening the back door, transferring their weight upon the staircase. A unfamiliar scent – the recollection of smoke-stench in his nostrils, the acrid promise of gas, the ferrous pungency of blood. The rain will flood their house to drown them. The wind will blow their roof in. Jon hooks his leg around Martin, the skin void of hair where Daisy’s mouth had almost torn it off, and all he can envision is the ways this could be destroyed as he watches.

Bundle Jon close. Ignore the rain, the itch at the bottom of his stomach, the queasy roil of his fear. Drift into unkind sleep populated with its garden of earthly terrors.

-

Martin is… not happy. Not exactly. And that’s fine. It’s fine.

-

Jon is happy.

-

Jon, rubbing at the compression lines around his hips, the accusatory splay of the top button refusing to budge closed:

“I can’t fit into my jeans.”

Martin enfolds him from behind, planting his palms over the slight paunch of Jon’s stomach, filled out through sensible eating and small indulgences and a hunger that will never be ravenous but has restored its human qualities.

“Hmm. It’s a good look on you. Healthier.”

“Or it’s middle age.”

“Or it’s eating things that aren’t tea and meal-deal sandwiches.”

“Or other people’s terror.”

“Oh yes, you’re right, I completely forgot about your subsistence diet of eldritch and unbidden horrors in a luscious wholegrain wrap, forgive me.”

Jon laughs at that. The sound has not yet lost its novelty for either of them.

He shifts, turns, his arms a buoy around Martin’s stomach.

“You’ve lost weight.”

“Must be all the clean air,” Martin quips. “All that healthy living.”

-

Punch. Gasp. Exhale.

Martin wakes up.

When his heart has wound down from the pace of its gallop, he extricates himself from Jon’s grip. It is a laborious task to find the places where they’ve joined in the night and pull them apart, like separating fabric snagged on rosebushes.

He gets some water from the cold tap in the kitchen. Sits heavily on the sofa, the room cossetted by the gloom.

Punch. Gasp. Exhale.

His hands shake.

He doesn’t go back to bed.

-

He isn’t happy, but he could grow to be. He could. He could. He just isn’t trying hard enough.

-

Some days, he feels like he’s waiting for the ice to give under them.

Check the passers-by as they walk. Anyone familiar, any teeth filed too sharp, anything animal or blood-shot, any eyes that glance too deep.

Check the oven. The gas knobs are angled to off but a leak is not impossible in a house this old, their alarm might malfunction, they might fall asleep and some spark from a plug socket could catch and incite a conflagration.  

Check the window latches. The opening wide enough for a body to squirm through, the claws of a Hunter marring the sill. Wriggling infestations that invade through the letter box, the keyhole, the gap under the door where the wind can whistle through.

Check. Check. Check.

-

Jon is happy. Jon has a job, work friends, a hundred small luxuries that he has struggled to earn. Jon is happy, so why can’t he be? He went through so much less, the blood washed off easily with soap, what the fuck does he have to cry over –

-

Martin has always crafted his masks from scrap, tongue out in concentration, piecing things together in low light, a make-do-and-mend of his own devising. His early efforts, the paper mâché and glue easily cracked before he learned to shore up his constructions. He has a small collection garnered over years.

The quiet-voiced, muffled-stepped, muted-smiled creation of a Good Son.

The zipped-mouth, no-refusals-no-complaints-yes-of-course-how-high earnestness of the Good Employee, the desperation sanded off the edges so no one could see.

The I’ll-get-the-first-round friendliness, the open-handed, open-hearted, too-naïve Good Colleague.

This new mask forms in increments, in the same way a rising mound of dirt marks the extent of a grave being dug.

He doesn’t mean to. It’s just he’s better at not talking about things. He always has been. And it is an ugly, easy comfort, to slip back into bad habits.

And Jon is happy.

All the things Martin does not wish to permit the light to touch he compresses inside like shaken soda. The rot in him deepens structural, the places where he papers over moulds and fungal speckles with the distraction of their new life. His smile parades simple, contented, cheeky, teasing, and there is a meticulous artistry in each. He sketches interest, paints joy, manufactures irritation out of the clay of nothingness that he allows himself to feel instead of the overwhelming rush of everything else.

I love you, his mouth murmurs, laughs, sighs, groans, and that at least is always true.

The mask of a Good Partner slips on tailor-made.

-

They find their nine-to-fives. Jon’s job is uneventful, boring, and nowhere near an Archive. He works in a registry office for the council, filing and organising and he’s cheerfully lied on his CV in order to get it. He gets the bus and texts Martin grumpy faces and GIFs summarising his mood when he gets suck in the commute or some idiot parks in a bus lane, he has a couple of colleagues he likes and a greater number that he tolerates, he gets a hot chocolate from this universe’s overpriced multinational chain on his lunch hour. When he gets home, he complains with delight at the mundanity of his dissatisfactions, regales Martin with tales of meagre drama.

Martin gets a cleaning job at a school. It is monotonous, dull and safe. Martin loses track of the time easily, quagmired in his musings. The children are wary of him and his visible scarring but it doesn’t bother him as much as he thought it would. The teachers are friendly enough, as well as the other cleaning staff, but he does not make friends. They’ll have to move anyway, if anything finds them here, if the Fears emerge again.

Martin tries not to feel like he’s waiting.

-

He wants to have a good night’s sleep.

-

“I’ll have breakfast at the school, don’t worry.”

“There were some leftovers from the canteen, so I’m kind of full.”

“It was one of the teacher’s birthdays, you know, Denise? Heh, might have had a bit too much cake. I’ll pop this in the fridge for later though, it’ll keep till tomorrow.”

“I’m just not that hungry tonight, Jon.”

-

He feels sharper when he doesn’t eat. It is uncomfortable, a scratched-out, hollowing sensation, but things focus more. He can control nothing else but this, and it feels good, to have this mastery over himself when so much is beyond him.

He drops down notches on his belt and tells Jon it’s all the walking he’s doing.

-

The world continues to happen to them. He goes to the cinema with Jon and picks at popcorn and encourages Jon’s outraged opinion. He meets Jon’s mildly interesting work friends and plays nice and excels at small talk, and he drinks half a cider that he nurses over the evening because it’s making his head fuggy. His body communicates its sharpness to him and he gains grim satisfaction from ignoring it. He goes to work and goes home and doesn’t sleep and goes to work and goes home and doesn’t sleep.

Martin does his best at living, and his mask doesn’t slip.

-

“You seem tired,” Jon pries his words out carefully, picking them out of his teeth as one would scraps. “Is… is everything ok?”

“Yeah, sure it is. Why?”

“…  you seem a bit down today. Recently. Is anything… is there anything you want to talk about?”

“I’ve just been working too hard. Been a while since I had to do double-shifts, heh, I’m not as young as I used to be.”

“If you’re sure?”

Jon shifts to a different position where he’s sat on the sofa, his legs tucking up under him. Martin endures his questioning gaze with practise.

“Yeah, I’m all good.”

Martin delivers a hand-crafted smile that’s gilded heavily with guilelessness and reassurance. He watches as Jon believes him and hates himself.

-

“You know… You don’t have to if you don’t want to, but you can – you know you can talk to me, Martin?”

Martin’s eyes focus on Jon’s chest at the point where a knife once sunk in, and doesn’t reply.

-

Punch. Gasp. Exhale.

Martin wakes up.

Jon has twisted over onto his back again, rattling like a chain-smoker’s cough with his snoring. They were quiet that evening, tangled up in their own thoughts, but there is none of that distance in sleep. During the night, Jon’s wormed himself out of the covers with a single-minded determination, his restless legs squashing the duvet to the bottom of the bed on his side, encouraging Martin’s to follow suit.

He’s shirtless, his top chucked off to pile unceremoniously on the floor. The temperature is ripe with a burgeoning summer heat, and Jon tosses and complains if he’s overwarm, and Martin didn’t think he’d get to feel the drudgery of another lived summer. He’s shirtless, and the room is palled in sweltering dark that softens the vague shapes of the wardrobe, the chest of drawers, the knickknacks of the life they’re building together. He’s shirtless, and Martin cannot see where the scar is, the only scar of Jon’s he has ever thought ugly, but he knows it is there. That he put it there. That he could just as easily be waking up alone.

His body pains him to live in it. His stomach tight and bottomed out empty.

He is so so tired.

Martin’s heartbeat does not slow down. His chest constricting, and he swallows, a sharp sound hiccupping in his throat. He stifles it with a forceful sniff but more come as a painful spasming wave, and he has to sit up if any air is to dribble into his lungs.

He should get up. He has to get up, do this in the bathroom, doubled-over the sink, stifling his weakness where it cannot be witnessed. He cannot do this here.

Punch. Gasp.

His burning face is soaked as he bunches up his sleeves against his reddening eyes. A calming exhale drains out shaky, moulds itself into another loud sob. He plants his hands over his mouth, screwing his eyes closed, and this will pass, he’s fine, this will pass…

“Martin?”

I’m sorry to wake you, he thinks to say. It’s nothing, go back to sleep, stop looking at me Jon, I’m fine, I’m fine, it’s nothing, it’s nothing…

His shoulders start to shake.

“Martin?” Jon repeats slowly. And the ice creaks and cracks and Martin gasps and then it breaks, and the force of his damned-up grief is tidal, catastrophic and he sobs into his hands.

“It’s… it’s alright – it’s… it was a nightmare, that’s all, ‘s alright…”

“It’s not!” Martin bubbles out, the words mashed to a wail in his hands. “It’s not, it’s not, it’ll ruin this…”

“Hey.” Jon brings his arm around Martin and he buries his head in the bony crook of his shoulder because he does not want to meet Jon’s eyes. “What do you mean? Martin?”

Jon rubs at his back. Martin’s body betrays him in a hundred ways as it collapses around him. His weeping wrings him out, dry-mouthed and headachy and trembling when he subsides into shivery breaths.

“Talk to me,” Jon says. “Please.”

“You’re so happy,” Martin sniffs out. “I-I want you to be happy, god, o-of course I do. Things are, they’re good, they’re good and we won, s-s-so why does it feel like I’m still holding my breath? I-I go to bed and I’m frightened of every noise, and I wake up and I’m terrified that someone somehow could take this all away, and I can’t sleep, and I-I’m tired, Jon, I’m tired of holding my breath, and it’s all – it’s all so much a-a-a-and I can’t – ”

“Oh, Martin – ”

His words fail him then. Jon holds him up and his arms do not loosen.

“We-we’re going to fix this,” Jon says after a long while. “I promise you, together, we’ll – we’ll talk to someone. You aren’t alone in this. Together, alright, we’ll do this together. We’ve survived – everything else, we can get through this too.”

“I don’t know if I can believe you,” Martin says, too drained to avoid honesty.

“…Maybe not yet,” Jon says after a pause. “That’s OK. I can wait.”

I’m sorry, Martin attempts to say but Jon presses a kiss to his forehead.

“You have nothing to be sorry for,” Jon says. He strokes Martin’s sweat-soaked hair.

“… Can we talk? Tomorrow? You don’t have to tell me everything, but… I’d like to be there for you, if you want me. If you’ll let me.”

Martin nods because he doesn’t trust his gummed-up throat. Jon takes that as an answer.

Dawn comes in slowly enough but they see it in together.

[beann-e]

Haikyu! Characters With A Shy Manager

Inarizaki Boys With A Shy Manager

tw” joke about ‘offing’ ones self & also overbearing parents

Read Part One Here

osamu

-osamu is someone who’s laidback and doesn’t show his anger much except for when his brother pisses him off and right now Atsumu was nearing the edge of his brothers patience

“ I don’t care what you do as long as your happy “

“ if thats what you want to do then who are we to stop you “

your eyes traveled as you watched osamus mouth quirk up in a small smile before turning into a frown at his brothers face

His body ignoring him and looking to you awaiting your answer his eyes speaking as if your words could change his decision

“ uh I— I don’- “

“ who cares what yer think “ atsumus voice came out in a yell as he turned to his brother

“ are you stupid why would you leave all of this — why would you throw all of this away “ he moved to point to everything in the gym and the balls that sat idle after a match theyd just played and won

“ this can provide for a family — life after high school ‘samu and you want to “

his face came up in confusion “ and you want to leave it all for a restaurant how — why— why would that make sense to you — it’s stupid “

you felt your body go slack as your face dropped into a pout at atsumu’s claims . Throughout all the times you’d seen them argue this had to be the biggest one you’d ever seen take place in front of the team.

You felt horrible your mouth wanted to open to try to protect osamu seeing as he was the only one who put effort into trying to speak with you.

Ever since you joined the team no one could really understand why you were so quiet except for osamu who would sit next to you during breaks and lunches that he’d share his food with you after you finished the bento box he’d made you

your heart tore as you watched him look to the ground ‘ just say something ‘samu please if this is what you want then tell him — it’s your life ‘

“ have you ever stopped and thought about how this may just be what you want ‘tsumu “

atsumus yells stopped as he heard his brothers voice and head pop up to target him

“ maybe this isn’t something I feel my talents are best used for “

he stood with his eyebrows furrowed in determination “ I like food — it makes me happy just like volley’ makes you so — I don’t care if it’s hard and not as easy as volleyball is for me right now —I want to do what my minds telling me to do “

he huffed “ and that’s to cook and open my own restaurant“

he moved to walk over to his brother to get closer with both his words and body “ and don’t you ever yell at them like that again you probably made them piss their pants “

he calmed himself down as he looked his brother in the eyes “ if your nice now “ he huffed out putting his arms into a hold across his chest “ maybe I might just give you a free meal when I open my restaurant “

Everyone’s body turned in shock and fear when they looked behind them to see your body shaking mouth being ripped open with a calming laugh as you clutched at you stomach

Everything seemed to slow in the gym as osamu watched your body ripple with the loud laugh that came out. Wondering how you’d held it inside for so long seeing as this was the first time anyone heard you laugh

“ y-y/n why — why are you laughing “

“ how can you laugh at a time like this we’re fighting“ Atsumus voice had calmed down in a state of panic at your new behavior

“ because osuma said you not gonna get any food“ you smiled “ and I know right now you don’t care but I bet when you get older and you see his amazing restaurant with a long line in front your gonna wish you’d sucked it up in this moment so you can take that free plate “

osamus mouth itched as his wide eyes squeezed shut at your bright smile his mouth opening before he could stop himself “ if you believe in me so much please believe I could keep you fed if you date me “

your body froze as everyone now turned in fear from you to osamu

“ Will I get rice for lunch everyday “ you giggled

“ i’ll make you anything you want out of rice if that’s what you like — i’ll even make you a wedding ring out of rice “

you laughed as you shook your head in a yes form “ as long as the foods included and you never give up on your dreams — no matter who believes in them “

your voice was soft “ then yes i’ll date you osamu “

you watched as he smiled widely sticking his tounge out at his brother “ oh now it’s really fuck what you think ‘tsumu— cause your the one who told me food wouldn’t be enough to get them to date me— I should’ve just made them the cake like I wanted and asked ‘em out “

The team all stood in shock as Arans mouth opened and closed before he spoke again “ u-uh how did that even make sense— what just happened “

sunas body relaxed against the wall as he spoke soft and quiet “ osumas quit volley’ to be a chef, y/n believes in him so their dating, and “ he pointed to atsumu

“ and once again Atsumu looks stupid “

Atsumu

-he’s not one who would necessarily get along with someone shy nor do I see him being able to. The way he acts may go two ways it may make the person comfortable or it may just irritate them and make them even more anxious

-I don’t think he’s one to see the signs , he would probably take your uncomfortable laughter as him making you laugh and tell the whole team he finally broke you and got you to laugh

“ atsumu “

The setter called as he threw up a new set for his brother in the two on two practice match. His hand hitting the ball hard in a spike as he won his team the final point

Your body dropping as you immediately knew what was coming “ y/n-san did you see that “

“ y-yes atsumu-senpai “

“ it was cool wasnt it “ he said as he moved towards you

“ y-yes “

he smirked as he slid his hands in his pocket looking down on you as he came to a stop in front of your body “ well when your just a great player like me things like that come easy so you don’t have to worry if I hurt myself or not “

he looked away from you and to the floor but eyes darting up to look at you again quickly “ because I didn’t so yeah — don’t think I did “

you smiled softly trying to think of a way out of this “ I-I didn’t think so “

“ yeah see you know someone like me would never get injured —I have to be a great role model to my sweet little first year“

he patted your head as he sat down next to you feet out in front of him “ don’t go turning into one of my annoying fan girls ok y/n “

“ I won’t “

“ ah you don’t mean that “ he bumped you softly “ you love me—so your loves gonna blind you you’ll see “

“ oh “

“ see you do — and I love you too “

“ dude they dont even like talking to you “

“ oh shut yer trap yes they do their in love with me we’re destined to be together “

“ yeah in death — that’s what your gonna do ‘tsumu yer gonna make them off theirselves by hearing yer loud mouth every single time you win a match “

“ y/n you love me right “

your body flamed as you let out an uncomfortable laugh moving over on the bench “ they look —their laughing because it’s true “

his body stopped “ wait “

you felt as the wheels were turning in his head —a bit slow but they were turning

his voice coming out in mumbles “ if their laughing— and i’m talking— and now their laughing after I spoke —-l”

he yelled “ I MADE Y/N-SAN LAUGH “

he screamed in happiness smile huge “ I made them laugh guys “

he jolted up jumping when he stood before racing over to the group that all turned to look at him “ their laughing guys I — I did it their laughing their laug—“

your eyes darted to the floor as atsumu fell head first into the floor his voice coming out in a whine as he shook coming up to grab his nose in pain before reaching down to rub his ankle that he felt was thumping like crazy

“ y-you lied you did hurt yourself “

he moved to run his hand across the back of his neck “ well when you say hurt what do you me—“

your laugh came out in short giggles as you tried to hide it not wanting to give him the satisfaction of making you laugh your head turning to the side as you gave up and laughed into the air

Your giggles sounding like a song atsumu always wanted to play through his headphones when he would walk to school

His body thinking before his mind as he stood up and ran again towards the team “ Guys their — I did it again and you all saw — i’m amazing “

he fell forward again but this time just lying there as he mumbled into the ground

“ their totally in love with me — I made ‘em laugh not once but twice in a row —I got a real shot now“

Aran

-I don’t know much about him because I haven’t finished haikyu! I just know what i’ve gathered from short clips or from what i’ve seen already in the seasons & read in manga but he’s very open minded

-whenever he’s around you he’s always quick to snap and stop someone from telling you that you aren’t allowed to do something because it’s “ not logical “

Your body moved slowly to the gyms exit as you felt a hand come down over your shoulder

“ walk ‘ya home ? “

you looked up face stoic in a slight yes at Arans question

since you’d joined the team as manager you had yet to connect with the other boys only really speaking to Aran and helping him out when he needed it

He came to like being around you because you were a change of pace from his usual one dealing with the twins antics. So it wasn’t that hard to hear him asking to walk you home for the past few nights when practice ran too long

he sighed as he looked down at you “ you never really speak but I feel like your face talks for you “

you looked to the ground as he laughed “ get it because your always stoic —and your face shows noth—ok“

he looked away not hearing your laugh or seeing a smile deciding to cough the atmosphere away “ ok yeah get it “

it wasn’t that you didn’t want to laugh you just couldnt your parents dug into you anytime you went home. Theyd have your head if you didn’t focus only on your studies so, it was hard for you to talk or even be around other people when it wasn’t for class it made you anxious and you weren’t sure how to interact

People took this as you being shy and you weren’t going to explain that you wanted to talk but just didn’t know how

He let his hand fall from your shoulder as the walk soon came to a close him leaving you to walk up to the stairs to your home

“ you may go “ you said softly as he shook his head with a big smile on his face

“ nope not until I know your in your house safely “

you nodded your head as you took a deep breath the door opening before your hand could meet the lock your fathers voice knocking you on your butt

“ who is this — who is he y/n “

“ I-I “

“ I heard more than your voice out here and came to the door “

“ were you waiting up for me “

“ yes you didn’t come home after school today “

“ oh I— there was a math meet i’m sorry “ your father looked away in disgust as you lied

“ your lying to me I called your school and they said you quit mathletes to be a manager of some volleyball club “

you gulped “ I um “

“ why would you do something stupid like that it can’t help you in the future — with your studies “

“ because I um — I like “

you shut yourself up just nodding your head as your father beat into you “ so dumb I thought I raised you correctly it doesn’t matter what you want to do or what’s fun you do what makes you smart and whats logical you do not hold feeli—“

“ I think their happy “ Aran smiled at the scene in front of him “ I think they enjoy being our manager very much “

“ and who told you to spea-“

“ my heart — it guides a person to make decisions ones like I just made — and ones that you made — you want the best for your daughter right “

you fathers actions faltered as Aran continued to press into him “ If you want the best than you have to realize y/n Is tired and she’s not used to friendly interaction — she’s very out of place and uncomfortable around people because she’s only used to school work“

he shook his head in concern “ is this what you want for your child — for your kid to only know how to talk about school and not have a moment where their not spending it thinking about math equations and growing overworked “

“ well I— “

“ on our volleyball team we work ourselves hard yes— but we’ve also become great friends through this hard work we’re happy doing what we do because our hearts led us to do it not our parents “

he looked to you and back to your father as he stood looking up from the bottom of the stairs “ so I ask that you let your child stay on the volleyball team since their heart brought them there to sign up for the job one tuesday afternoon at 3:30 in our gym during our second winning match of the season “

your dad nodded his head in shock as he whispered out an ok

Aran smiling and leaving after waving to you with a short see you tomorrow

Your dad holding the house door open for you as he walked over whispering out to you “ you better marry that boy “ he smiled as he moved through the house

“ he remembered every detail about when he first met you “

[yandere-sins]

hiya! i see that requests are open :] i was wondering.. if you haven’t written this already, can you write what would shigaraki’s reaction would be to his darling willingly giving him affection? maybe it was completely out of the blue or he got injured and his darling was worried, etc!!

thank you!! 🥰🤍💕

Thanks for requesting!

»»———————— ♡ ————————««    

In no one plans does it ever say to get beaten up.

But no matter how disgusting the blood on his tongue tasted, no matter how little he could see through the bruised eye, there were days like these where plans didn’t work out the way anyone wanted them to. No one said anything as the League of Villains retreated to their hideout, some limping, some holding their heads in pain. A few of them sighed as they passed their leader. Others clicked their tongues in disapproval, moral lower than any of them ever felt before - that meant rock bottom.

Everything had been going so well for so long, Shigaraki foolishly had already forgotten the feeling of losing. He was strong, resistant, and in good company, and yet, maybe his concentration had been off, his perception slow, or maybe it simply was a bad day. Still, no matter how he tried to justify the bitterness of failing, in the end, he could only bite his chapped lip in frustration.

It took him longer to unlock all the locks and bolts on the door to his room on that day. Everything ached when he lifted a finger and using both hands almost felt like tearing himself apart. It definitely had been too long that he experienced a real beating like this, making him painfully aware of every muscle and every bone in his body again. But even more so, knowing that this was a setback in his plans was even more bothersome than all the pains combined.

Still, Shigaraki decided he’d deal with the consequences and further planning the next day. There was no nerve left in his brain to keep grinding the loss over and over again, analyzing it, and plan out improvements. Nothing good could come out of his frustration, he realized, as he almost disintegrated the costly, sturdy locks of the door. But catching himself at the last second, Shigaraki reminded himself of their trustworthy duty of keeping what was behind the entrance exactly where it was and that it would be a waste to lose them too.

Even though you must have heard the door open and fall into its lock again behind him, you weren’t immediately apparent in the dark room. Shigaraki grumbled a sullen, “... back,” looking around once more, trying to make you out as he set aside the few hands spared from the fight. But heaving a deep sigh, he realized you must have been hiding or locked yourself in the bathroom, shying away from his presence as always. If t wasn’t him dragging you out for his own sick pleasure of being with you, you were the last person he thought to be willing to come to him.

And for once, he didn’t have the strength to pull you out of whatever orifice you had crawled into.

Letting himself flop onto the couch he had brought in just for you, Shigaraki let out a long groan. The cold leather felt good on the bruises on his face, even though it told him you hadn’t used the couch in a while. He didn’t like that even though he tried to make it homely for you after all your complaints, you didn’t take advantage of the amenities he provided, but Shigaraki felt too exhausted to get upset.

Minutes passed in silence as he tried to get his mind off replaying the lost battle over and over. It was so unfair, so cruel that the brilliant plan failed to retrieve the items he wanted. Still, even if he calculated disturbances because of heroes, he didn’t think they’d sent an army of them to stand against him. It was just so freaking frustrating, his body immediately started to itch everywhere.

Shigaraki wouldn’t have assumed for you to make a move, but he could clearly hear how uncomfortable you were as you contemplated moving out of your hiding spot. The shuffling of your clothes was louder now that there were no games on, and neither of you were talking, so he noticed you trying to get up a few times before sinking to the ground again hesitantly. He only sighed in exhaustion, wondering what he could do to make his face stop itching.

You had long ceased to be a threat to him, even if he didn’t have a brilliant achievement to boost that day either. It wasn’t like you two had come to any kind of understanding, a middle ground even. Still, he at least seemed to have earned enough respect or fear from you so you wouldn’t try anything funny when he was asleep. Perhaps he was too trusting, but it wasn’t like you weren’t scared enough of him and his quirk.

“Shigaraki...?” you whispered, testing with a tiny voice if he was sleeping already. He could hear your fingers curl into the leather, causing it to let out air loudly, which made both of you flinch - him from the headache, you from fear. Grumbling quietly about the disturbance, Shigaraki propped himself up on his forearms, looking up at where he assumed your position from beneath his unkempt hair.

“What?!” The words came out much harsher than he intended, but truth be told, he wasn’t in his right mind ever since he returned, so there wasn’t even any mercy left for you. You made a step back, the floorboards creaking under the sudden pressure, and you let go of the couch, too afraid he might snap.

“A-Are you...” you stuttered, annoyingly so. Shigaraki just wanted the world to be quiet that night. To have some peace after all the trouble. “Are you okay?”

Sighing, he plopped down into the couch again, letting his arm hang from the cushions. Of course. The only time you were actually worried about him, he was actually not okay, and he told you as much. “Not really,” he confessed, and silence fell over you two again before he heard you round the couch to stand by his side. It would have been so easy to grab you and pull you to him now, and maybe on any other day he would have, but even that seemed too exhausting to him.

“Do you need some water? Or should I go ask someone for bandages?”

With your questions so innocent, it made him snort loudly. “So you can run away?” was his counter-question. If not for the darkness in the room, he would have seen you tense up, read your body language to determine if you had planned something or if you genuinely were just worried, but Shigaraki couldn’t be bothered with the necessary actions if either of that was true.

“I was just asking,” you whispered, discouraged as he thought he heard in your voice. Your presence shifted away as you went and hid again, and it actually gave his heart a slight, additional sting when you seemed to settle somewhere. Ultimately, the silence was what he had wanted, but now that he had refused your presence for the first time ever since he took you for himself, he realized that it helped neither of you.

“If you really want to help...” he mumbled, taking a deep breath as he thought his words over, realizing they were foolish. “Come and scratch my face.”

There was nothing in response to this, only more silence, and now he truly felt stupid for even bringing it up. He could scratch himself just fine and probably better than a second person could, but really... it would have been nice if you were the one doing it. It must have only been seconds, but it felt like whole minutes passed before he heard another stir, and the warmth of your presence returned to him, slowly sitting down next to the couch. He turned to his side, waiting expectantly for you to act, hoping it would be soon as the itch grew stronger.

“It’s not good to scratch it,” you mumbled, and Shigaraki couldn’t help but click his tongue at you lecturing him. “I didn’t ask for your opinion, just scratch it!”

Until the last moment, he honestly didn’t expect you’d do as he said, and it was almost amusing that when you did reach out, you still would resist his instructions, doing as you pleased. Instead, you seemed to want to smother him between your palms, laying them over the extensive areas of his face like cheeks and forehead, constantly alternating between them. It didn’t help, the itch still remained, but he would be a liar to say he didn’t actually like it.

Your touch was much gentler than what he expected you’d use when you finally touched him. Much less pressure and more tenderness than what he was used to from being touched. It was actually, truly, really nice.

“More,” he mumbled, and you gasped loudly as he reached out his hands to grab your wrists, tugging away his pinky as to not hurt you. No matter how nice it was to feel your touch, Shigaraki couldn’t help but grow needy even after all that happened that day. Perhaps because of what happened that day, he couldn’t help but want more and more of the comfort of your touch, ultimately pressing your hands so tightly against his skin, the bruises began to ache. But it didn’t matter. It all didn’t matter because it was your touch, and even if you tensed up, you didn’t pull away. You were so warm, and your so skin soft, so even if it hurt, it hurt good; just right. It made him feel alive even.

It was exactly what he needed after this long day.

“Do this more often,” he mumbled, dragging your hands from the top of his head down to his lips and start again. “Touch me more...”

You could have scratched him right then and there, plucked out his eyes for all he cared, and ripped off his skin, but your touch, combined with the warm, jittery pulse he felt in your wrists, gave him an unknown satisfaction, one he’d have liked to experience regularly.

“Don’t stop...”

His voice was shaky - needy and greedy at the same time. He rubbed his own face with your hands over and over, which felt almost as good as scratching but hurt like hell at the same time. Yet, he wished these feelings would never stop, so he could enjoy them infinitely. Screw plans and the future if only he could have your touch all over him until the end of time. So even if it didn’t resemble the way you touched him before, Shigaraki couldn’t get enough of your hands, only ever wanting more.

Was it truly too much to ask for? Shigaraki wondered as his grip loosened on you. You yelped as he accidentally lost control over his pinky while drifting off to sleep, giving you a second of stinging pain before you tore yourself from him trying to deal with coming into contact with his quirk. Only a satisfied smile was able to cross his lips before he was overtaken by exhaustion, hoping that this was reminder enough to not try anything funny while he slept. But honestly, as happy as he was now, he would have even enjoyed having your hands around his throat. It didn’t matter where, as long as you never stopped making him happy with your touch.

And god, was he happy he fucked up his plan that day.

[piratefalls]

previous lists here, here, and here. shit i’m tired. worth it.

Held Together I Come Undone by letmetellyouaboutmyfeels

Buck's always had an itch. It's only with Eddie he's let it turn into a desire. A want.

A need.

Here by red_to_black

It's been two weeks since Eddie was shot.

It's been one week since he came home.

Buck is still sleeping on his couch.

(Or - Buck's not sure how to be away yet; Eddie doesn't even want him to go.)

why don’t you move into me by thoughtsickles

Eddie’s mistake is bemoaning the state of his house, how now he can’t even do the dishes or anything. He glances at Buck and catches a fervent sort of expression. The expression Buck wears when he’s about to jump into a burning window. Eddie doesn’t need Buck to save him, not from this.

He fears he doesn’t really have a choice.

Eddie injures his arm, Buck helps him out.

of men and of angels by extasiswings

For now we see in a mirror, darkly; but then face to face: now I know in part; but then shall I know fully even as also I was fully known. - 1 Corinthians 13:12

Eddie Diaz learns a lot as a kid.

Boys aren’t soft.

Boys don’t cry.

Boys don’t kiss boys.

As he gets older, he realizes that everything has exceptions. Boys can be soft sometimes. Boys can cry sometimes. And some boys kiss other boys.

But Eddie likes kissing girls. And since he likes kissing girls, that’s the end of the story.

Isn’t it?

[Or: the one with all the repression]

Autocowrecked by HMSLusitania

Eddie is never, ever using the talk-to-text function on his phone. Ever again.

don’t unfold me by iriswests

It feels a little bit like skipping church on Sunday.

Like some gradual inevitability that Eddie probably saw coming long before it escalated, but it still comes as a surprise when he wakes up one day and realizes it’s been a couple of weeks since he last went to church with his grandmother.

And then he just — never goes back.

It feels like that, only here he’s somehow still in the process of digesting the truth, and he still believes he’s going to go back, one day. He’s just too busy this week. He hasn’t slept right. Christopher’s too tired. Some combination of the three.

Buck giving his back to Eddie to focus solely on Taylor Kelly feels a little bit like realizing he’s skipped out on church for the past couple of weeks, and for a terrifying minute, he wonders if this means he’s never going back.

take my hand (take my everything) by cnomad

When Buck has another near death experience, he decides the smartest thing to do is update his will. It's not a big deal, really—he just wants to take care of the people who matter most to him: Eddie and Chris.

But to Eddie? To Eddie that's a pretty huge deal.

quiver by annabeth_writes

quiver • noun • a slight trembling movement, especially one caused by a sudden strong emotion

or

“All you gotta do is lay there,” Buck said, nudging his nose against Eddie’s before nipping at his lower lip, drawing a small gasp out of him. “I’ll do the rest.”

wherever we’re together, that’s my home by woodchoc_magnum

Set post-5x06 "Brawl in Cell Block 9-1-1", in which Buck is struggling and unwilling to let anyone in (until Eddie takes matters into his own hands).

as ordinary things often do by hattalove

“Uh, Chim,” he says, “why would we be kissing each other in the first place?”

“Oh, no reason,” Chimney shrugs. “That’s why I figured you’d be on board. Just don’t kiss each other for a week, which you already do. Easy money.”

spoiler: it's not easy money.

i want your midnights by allyasavedtheday

Eddie grins. “Yeah I get that. So can I ask why you applied for the room? No offence but you’re not exactly the kind of candidate I expected.”

Buck laughs, ducking his head. That’s probably true.

“I, uh, I’ve been staying at my girlfriend’s place while she’s travelling but um, my sister moved to LA recently and sort of made the point that I could be overstaying my welcome? Or, well- actually she tried to tell me my girlfriend’s cheating on me and I need to get over it and move out of her place.” Buck shakes his head, eyes widening at what he just implied. “She’s not! Cheating, I mean. She’s just- trying to find herself after losing her mom. She just needs a little space, y’know?”

At least, that’s the excuse Buck’s giving Abby for why she hasn’t called him in over two weeks.

Eddie nods with a vague sort of expression on his face like he hadn’t expected him to overshare that much. Which, oops.

*

In which Eddie decides to rent out his spare room to help with mortgage repayments right around the time Buck decides to move out of Abby's place after some not so gentle prodding from Maddie. It's a coincidence. Or serendipity. Or maybe just really good timing.

coming home by june_nights

Rain beating down on them, Eddie brushes Buck’s shoulder in passing; behind them, Hen and Chim exchange a look. Eddie remains oblivious.

Or: 5 times their family knew about Buck and Eddie before they did, and one time they got their shit together.

until you say i do by asgardium

Eddie didn’t fall for Buck, no, it was a choice. He didn’t trip over the edge, stumble into love, but rather jumped off the cliff, diving head first, knowing he’d be caught somewhere along the way. He chose to lean closer and whisper promises into the air between them. He chose to hold Buck’s face in his hands, a reassurance that he wants this, them together, as long as he can have it. Buck may argue it was the other way around, but Eddie kissed him. All the hoping, all the waiting, he kissed him first, leaving no room for doubt in between. He made a choice, there in the driveway. He’ll make the same one, time and time again.

[nesswritings]

Mine, Forever

Oikawa clears his throat, breaking the silence. “I’ve been thinking, and I finally have a task for you. You know Ushiwaka, correct? Since you failed to take me out, I’m hoping you can take him out.”

a/n: My piece for @inarizahki's mafia collab. Thanks Sunny for the slight peer pressure to do this, it reminded me how much I love writing and mafia au's. Sending my love to you <3 <3 <3 word count: 2.2k

Warnings: stockholm syndrome, dub-con, general mafia topics (violence, guns, blood, etc.), death mentions, slight yandere oikawa, alcohol and drugs mentions, nsfw content at end

Shit. The bullet missed, hitting the man’s shoulder instead of going clean through his head. Below there already was a commotion, curses and directions being shouted out by someone. Time was limited, and you had to get back before you got caught. Karasuno was expecting you back safely, though the assassination was a failed mission. Survive, get back, and recover from this shock, then you could try again. Stairs in the back, the gun left behind so you could leave quickly.

But arms caught you as you emerged from the door at the bottom, your instincts already kicking in. The grip was too tight, and there were others there. Outnumbered, and stuck in this position. Your eyes rested on the muscular man you had attempted to take out, his slumped form against an alleyway wall as another man pressed a blue handkerchief against the wound. But that sight was short lived, your chin forced up to take in a new man, a man who didn’t seem to belong with the rest of Seijoh.

“You hurt Iwa-chan, sweetheart,” he cooed, ignoring the flinch from the nickname. Oh, that wouldn’t do, his eyes tracing over your outfit. It was easy to catch the small snag of the patch, pulling at the collar to truly take it in. A smirk set on his face, lithe fingers tearing the patch off the fabric before it was handed off. “Ah, so cute and clueless you’ve been involved. Don’t worry, they’ll pay in a different way. But you. You’re mine, princess, and don’t you ever forget that.” Dark words from a pretty man, words that only made him smile as he caught you off guard. But the rest understood, a murmur coming from Mattsun. “Don’t worry, I won’t let your pretty head hit the ground. So just relax.”

You sit up in the bed, your breath racing and your heart pounding in your chest. Only a dream, it was only a dream. No, it was a dream of the night you had been caught, the night Karasuno had been raided and the bloody massacre on the base. Oikawa had promised you’d pay in a different way, but you weren’t sure how that would happen. You weren’t used for sex, you weren’t on the streets trafficking drugs. No, you were stuck in this small room daily, with meals delivered and the blinking red light of the camera being a reminder that someone was always watching.

How long has it been? Days passed slowly and blended together. You would see Oikawa most days, though you refused to talk about Karasuno and who you were. But, despite the challenge, the company was nice. At least a week of being here, you knew that much, but the world would be different if you ever left.

The knock interrupts your thoughts, sitting up as you see the aforementioned man walk in. Two trays instead of one, the suit sharp with the light blue accents. Meant to seem less intimidating, and to show that they had a sense of style, Oikawa had once told you. A useless fact that stuck with you, the tapping against your cheek snapping you out of your thoughts for good.

“Eat up, princess.” Oikawa left little room for debate, settling at the desk with his eyes pointed at you. His gaze drops to his phone, glancing over the latest update. Iwaizumi would heal with time, though a nasty scar from the bullet would remain. Oikawa clears his throat, breaking the silence. “I’ve been thinking, and I finally have a task for you. You know Ushiwaka, correct? Since you failed to take me out, I’m hoping you can take him out.”

Ushijima, a man you knew simply by name. Larger than Seijoh, far more terrifying, and a beast of a man to mess with. Rumors always spread about that man, whether it was about how he tortured someone or his latest acquisition. Someone like him was far beyond your paygrade, your fork dropping onto the plate as you processed the request. “I can’t.”

“Oh, you can. And you will.” Oikawa didn’t bother with finishing his food, leaving the half-touched plate on the desk. “I’ll send someone for you soon. Until then, be good.”

Another typical day, outside of that small taste of freedom. Even if you weren’t to be trusted, your hands bound with rope, you were out of that room. A small taste of fresh air, finally able to see where you were. The Seijoh headquarters, luxurious and full of their distinguishing light blue accents. You follow behind closely, almost in shock at being led into Oikawa’s office. A meeting in progress with his closest men and an invite from the leader. His lap, with little choice.

Boring, dreadfully boring, but the interaction was nice. Though they continued on as though you weren’t there, it gave your mind a break from thinking over your mistakes. No, your focus was on the warmth of Oikawa, the gentle swirl of his fingers on your thighs. The touch was enough to distract you, your head resting against Oikawa’s shoulder. Far more gentle than that night, almost as if he cared. Maybe he did. It was a bad mindset to let yourself fall into, but if he cared, there was no reason to let your guard down a little.

“You’re dismissed for the day. Iwa, make sure to get some rest.” Oikawa accepts the grunt from him, waving off the men without a care in the world. His focus was on you, his new pawn to use as he needed. “You’re staying, sweetheart.” His hands move to keep a tight grasp on your waist, leaning forward to let his cheek rub against yours. There was so much he could do, so much he wanted to do, but trust was a little more important. Establish that trust, then he would be able to have his way with you. “You’ve been kept in that room for far too long, haven’t you? You can spend your days by me, if you’d like. All you have to do is listen. Deal?”

He wanted you to be on board with the Ushijima plan. Maybe he thought you were dumb, but you weren’t, your eyes locking on the map on the wall. Pins marked where various fights had been, a giant red X over where Karasuno had once been. Your home was gone, and there was no return to those you considered family. “It’s a deal.”

You had freedom, though in an unconventional way. Oikawa was glued to you, or you were at his side. Like a master and a dog, though you were granted alone time once you were brought back to your room in the evenings. The freedom helped you to keep track of the dates, to keep track of time, and to learn more about Seijoh. Members, the history, what their plans involved. Oikawa trusted you, or you would meet your end after you completed what he needed you for.

The plan was in place, and the night quickly approached. Everyone was counting down the hours until the fall of Shiratorizawa, until Seijoh would be the ones in charge of the entire region.

“Your dress, your highness.” Makki’s teasing voice was the only one in the small room, your eyes looking at the bag. Oikawa had mentioned a party, but dressing up? You stand from the bed, the dress revealed. Black and silky, bound to be tight and short on you. And, of course, jewelry with blue accents, as if being with Oikawa wouldn’t expose you. “Thanks, Makki.” Your fingers run over the material, looking at the mafia man who didn’t budge. He was going to help you get ready. This was beyond embarrassing, a groan leaving your lips. “Make it quick.”

Tight enough to show off your figure, yet loose enough for Makki to strap the pistol to your side and give it a teasing pat. Everything was almost too good, letting him escort you out to the main entrance. Seijoh was gathered, and more than ready to go.

“Thanks, Makki.” Oikawa offers his arm out for you, his plan for the night set in place. Keep you next to him, entertain you, and have you take out his enemy during the deal. “Come along, princess, we don’t have all night.”

The drive was nearly silent, sandwiched between Oikawa and Iwaizumi. You were his precious gem, his special girl, his hidden tool, compliments he had showered you with in the past days. When the car stopped outside the venue, you could feel warm fingers intertwining with your own, a squeeze following. “Just wait for my cue, cutie, then a bullet to the head. Do a good job for me, and we’ll get you out of that stuffy room.”

Heart beating fast in your chest, you allow him to help you out, knowing how the evening would progress. Mingling, staying glued to his side, looking pretty. Inside and outside of Seijoh were bound to be the same, and the least you could do was behave. If Oikawa was playing nice, you would as well. Being led around while nursing various drinks and small appetizers was relaxing, only required to give a smile and accept the occasional kiss or dip of fingers underneath the dress slit from Oikawa. A tease, but no one noticed, or they didn’t dare to say anything to him. Fear and tension were in the air, but for unspoken reasons.

By the time Ushijima shows up, you were escorted away, as Oikawa claimed that their talks weren’t suited for ladies like you. Iwaizumi stands next to you, his presence both comforting and terrifying as you steady the shot. Your finger itches to pull the trigger, adrenaline already coursing through your body. So long without an assassination, without a task to complete, and it was coming to backfire. As Oikawa’s hand rises in the air, your finger moves to hover over the trigger, pulling as soon as his fist closes.

Bang. The smell of gunpowder and commotion follows the noise, your brain already guiding you through your old process. Wipe the gun down and get the hell out of there. Iwaizumi stops you before you could run, cocking his head towards the back. Even if you had shot him, the resentment must have passed by now. One of his hands rests firmly on your back, the other grabbing the gun, leading you away from the chaos and out into the fresh air.

You scramble to sit up on his bed as Oikawa finally arrives, blood spatters on his white shirt and a streak across his forehead. A smile graces your lips as he presses closer, the smell of blood strong as your lips meet. Sweet, gentle, until Oikawa got hungry, your hair spread along his sheets in an instant and his teeth nipping lightly at your lip.

“Good fucking girl, aren’t you?” The words make your heart flutter, the streak of blood in your vision for a moment as his lips move to suck on your exposed collarbone. Your head was heavy between the pleasure and the alcohol from before, soaking in the praise from Oikawa. “Took care of Ushiwaka for me. You’ll be mine forever, won’t you?”

You feel the fabric of the dress being bunched around your waist, a moan slipping from your lips as his fingertips tease your clit. “Yeah, yours forever.” You were too occupied in how his fingers danced over your clit, unable to see the smirk that graced his lips. Panties were pushed aside, fingers finally entering your wet cunt. Your hips bucked as his fingers thrusted brutally into your sweet spot, back arching and pussy tightening around them. “There, please Tooru, there!”

“Patience.” Oikawa would spend his entire night ruining you, learning every inch of your body, marking what belonged to him. You were of Seijoh now, and he had no intentions of ever giving you up. But he could give into your demands, feeling you were worthy of a reward. You did what he asked, his thumb rubbing your clit as his fingers continued to hit the spot that made your toes curl. He hums softly as you tighten around his fingers, slowing his pace to a gentle pumping and glancing at your fucked out face. “Not yet, darling.”

His hand is gentle over yours like always, guiding it to his clothed cock. You bite your lip, looking up at him with wide eyes. Expected, yes, but your thighs were still shaking and it was hard to focus when those fingers continued to work your cunt open.

“I love you, cutie. You’ll do it for me, won’t you?” Oikawa leans closer, letting his fingers curl up and his lips press against yours. He soaks up the cry that leaves your mouth, only pulling away when you begin to nod frantically.

Your hands undid his slacks, pushing them down enough. Maybe not a large cock, but intimidating enough in the tight underwear. “I’ll do it, Tooru. Anything for you.”

“That’s a good girl.” His fingers pull out of your cunt slowly, dragging along the dress to clean them. It was time to take matters into his own hand, fishing his cock out. “Don’t be a brat. We have forever together, cutie, you and me.”

[plaidbooks]

Rough Beginnings

A/N: So! This idea spawned after reading @cycat-carisi​ story, We. Please read that first, then come back here for this prequel! This also covers the Mafia square in @adarafaelbarba​ moodboard bingo!

Tags: mentions of a prostitution ring, talks of murder and mafia-related goings-on

Words: 1964

Taglist: @witches-unruly-heart​  @beccabarba​  @thatesqcrush​ @itsjustmyfantasyroom​ @permanentlydizzy​ @ben-c-group-therapy​  @infiniteoddball​ @glowingmess​ @whimsicallymad​ @lv7867​ @storiesofsvu​ @cycat4077​ @alwaysachorusgirl​  @glimmerglittergirl​ @joanofarkansass​ @caracalwithchips​ @berniesilvas​​  @reading--mermaid​  @averyhotchner​  @mrsrafaelbarba​ @detective-giggles​ @crowleysqueenofhell​ @dreamlover31​

(gif by @resparza​ )

Sonny never hated his job more than when he went undercover. He had hated when he was posing as a homeless man with an eye for children, but this was worse. So. Much. Worse.

His cover story for this job was that he was part of the Italian mob, and he had been hired on as security for a prostitution ring; some huge network that was international but had its roots right here in Manhattan. Him, along with multiple real mafia members, were in charge of transporting girls, drugs, and anything else the head honcho told them to.

It had been three months since he went under; his beard itched his face still, his leather jacket was starting to be uncomfortable, and he wanted nothing more than to take all of these bastards down. But they didn’t have enough yet. So, he had to stick it out a little longer—at least, that’s what he told himself. A little longer, a little longer. He wasn’t sure how much “little longer” he had left in him.

Sonny lived in the housing quarters his boss supplied him, along with three other mafia guys. He had almost zero contact with the world outside his job—all the information he gathered was sent in a coded text from a burner. But he was starting to miss his friends and family. At least his employer understood that as part of the Italian mob, Sonny was allowed to go to church on Sundays…if there wasn’t something big happening.

His saving grace came a month later, while standing guard at his boss’s door. A woman he’d seen before came stomping up to him, and he braced himself; he knew that look.

“Let me see my father,” you snarled.

Sonny rose his hands defensively. “I was given orders ta not let anyone in. That includes you,” he replied, crossing his arms once more and trying to puff out his chest. But you simply glared at him.

“Fuck you; let me in, before I force my way in,” you growled.

He chuckled, eyeing you. “Ya really think you can get passed me? Let’s see ya try, doll.”

You gave him another impressive glare before trying to lunge passed him, reaching for the handle. Sonny caught you easily around your midsection, lifting you and placing you down at arm’s length in front of him.

“That the best ya got?” he teased. This wasn’t the first time you tried to brute force your way passed him before, and he was sure it wouldn’t be the last. But you had a trick up your sleeve.

You let your bottom lip quiver, tears appearing in your eyes. “Pl-please, sir, let m-me see my—” you trailed off, sniffling loudly.

“Ah geez, don’t be doing that. Come on; he’s in a meeting and will be out soon. Just wait a lil, okay?” he said, a touch of pleading in his voice.

But you didn’t stop, letting the tears trail down your cheeks. You let out a loud sob, and Sonny wanted to rip his hair out; he didn’t need a tantrum with daddy’s spoiled brat right now. He internally winced at that; he didn’t really believe that that was what you were, but when you came up here, trying to cry your way in, his mind went there.

You let out another loud sob. “Please, doll, I promise ta let him know as soon as he’s free—” Sonny started, but he was cut off by the door behind him opening. He stood at attention—like a good little lapdog—and the man who was having a meeting with his employer came out. He took one look at you, then left, rolling his eyes. You quickly wiped your face with your shirt before your dad appeared.

“And what are you doing here?” your father asked, annoyance dripping from his voice.

Sonny felt bad for you, but said nothing, gave away no emotions on his face as you requested to speak with him, privately.

He nodded, and Sonny moved out of the way, letting you enter, the door closing softly behind you both. He released a breath; it was always high tension after a meeting. But Sonny also found himself feeling sorry for you, having a father like that. He was hoping that when the walls came down, you’d at least be spared; you had no real idea of your father’s business, how big and deep it ran.

The meeting between you and your father didn’t last long, and soon enough, the door was opening once more behind him.

“Sonny; drive my daughter home. Giuliano will cover you until you're back,” your father ordered.

Sonny nodded, letting you pass him before following you. He kept his emotions in check, but he saw the look on your face; sadness, betrayal, and fear. He vaguely wondered what you had talked about but didn’t want to pry; he could be fired or worse for it.

It wasn’t until halfway through the drive to your place that he asked if you were okay.

“Fantastic,” you muttered, staring out the window.

Sonny wasn’t sure why he couldn’t keep his damn mouth shut; the words just spilled out. “Ya father is a hard man. I’m sorry ya have ta deal with that.” It was a mistake, he knew; if you were indeed loyal to your father, then saying that out loud was a good way to end up dead.

You blinked in surprise at his bluntness, and for his apology. “Y—yeah, he is. I wouldn’t let him catch you saying that, though.”

He nodded. “Uh, how ‘bout makin’ it our little secret, then?” he asked, hoping beyond hope that you’d say nothing about this to him.

“Our little secret…. Yeah, okay,” you replied dryly, eyes going back to the window.

 *******************

After that conversation, Sonny’s boss would often send him to you, whether to drive you or as extra protection—more like babysitting, to Sonny. But he found that he couldn’t complain; it was the only time he could be close to his true self…plus it was safer and better than doing other, illicit things. Even if he should be doing those things for intel. And of course, he never slipped up like he had on that first car ride. No, he was Sonny from the Italian mob, not the soft-hearted detective. He held you at arm’s length, determined to not let the mask slip. But something about you got to him, and he found himself afraid of you. Afraid that he’d make a mistake, and that you would see right through him.

“Sonny, why do you do this job?” you asked one day while he was driving you home. It had been over a month since your father had basically assigned Sonny to you.

He tried to stay neutral, but you saw how he adjusted his grip on the steering wheel. “’Cause it’s a job. I was hired.”

“That’s a bullshit answer and you know it,” you replied, smiling.

His jaw tightened. “Nah, see, when my boss tells me ta do somethin’, I do it.”

“You’re not like the rest, though. The others, I see murder in their eyes. They have such dark thoughts; it’s almost like they’re hoping my father gives them a kill order,” you explained. True, your father told you that they were security guards for his business, but you never bought that story; they were more like murderers than security. The day when Sonny kept you out of your father’s office was the first time you noticed that he was different; his eyes were soft, and he talked to you like a person, rather than making vaguely concealed threats. He seemed to genuinely care when you started to fake cry, even though you knew that he knew it was fake.

His bright blue eyes met with yours in the rearview mirror for a brief moment before flicking back to the road. “We don’t kill—”

“Stop lying to me, Sonny. Please. I deserve to know what’s going on,” you said, a slight begging tone in your voice.

So that confirmed it; you had no idea what your father was capable of. Sonny swallowed, wanting this conversation to end. “Talk ta ya father, not me—”

“I’ve tried! Multiple times! I’m not an idiot; I know he’s shady as hell. But just what are you protecting?”

“If he’s not willin’ ta tell ya, then that should tell ya somethin’, right?” he asked. He pulled over in front of your art studio, putting the car in park and getting out. You thought about his words; it was more than you got from anyone else. To be honest, Sonny always gave you more than anyone else; he didn’t sneer at you, ignore you, call you names like “brat”. And he definitely didn’t look at you with hungry eyes or creepy smiles. He seemed like…like a generally good person, all things considered. You weren’t sure when it had happened, but you noticed you had developed a crush on him.

All too soon, Sonny was opening the door for you to get out. You thanked him as you exited the car, and felt his presence behind you as you climbed the stairs to the door. He always walked you there, to make sure you were safe.

You unlocked and opened the door, then turned around to face him. He gave you a nod and you thanked him again. But something possessed you in that moment; why else would you have grabbed his shirt and pulled him to you in a kiss?

Sonny froze in place, eyes wide, before he placed his hands on your shoulders and pushed you back. You looked up at him, the apology dying on your tongue; you weren’t sorry at all. That kiss was worth it in your eyes. But there was an almost…pained? look in Sonny’s eyes.

“D-doll, we can’t—ya father—”

“Never has to know,” you finished for him.

He blinked, obviously warring with himself, and you were sure you knew why; if your father found out about you two, he could have Sonny killed. But, if Sonny felt the same way about you that you did about him, then maybe, just maybe, he could help you escape from under your father. Something about him was safe, trustworthy.

Slowly, you reached up to cup his face. When he didn’t pull away, you gently leaned in again, kissing him slowly, tenderly. He paused for only a moment before he melted against your lips. Then he gently pulled away from you.

“I—I gotta—” He didn’t finish his thought before he turned and hurried down the stairs. You watched him go, hoping that he’d say nothing to your father.

The car door slammed shut and Sonny was quick to turn the car on and leave. What the fuck was he doing, letting you kiss him? And then he kissed you back?! He must be a fucking idiot! Sure, he liked you—more than he was willing to admit—but this could blow his cover. Not to mention get him killed, cover blown or not. Plus, he was lying to you; any feelings you felt weren’t for him but for the façade he put on.

He resolved to keep his distance from you; nothing good could come from any of this. It ended in one of two ways: you, heartbroken over Sonny’s lies, or him buried six feet under in some lot. There was no way to disobey your father if he ordered him to take you home, so there was no avoiding you. Sonny would just have to lay down the rules next time he saw you; absolutely no relationship could exist, no ifs, ands, or buts about it.

[calaofnoldor]

Drug of Choice

Characters: Dean x Reader (gender neutral)

Words: 3,790

Summary: A night of drunken rambling leads to an unexpected change in your relationship status.

Warnings: angst, language, alcohol, feelings of inadequacy, very slight allusions of alcoholism/talk of drug addiction, reader likes the sound of their voice a bit too much when drunk, fluff, implied smut

A/N: written for @deanwanddamons 1st blogiversary and 2k follower celebration challenge! my prompt was “I wish I knew how to quit you“ which is bolded in the fic. congrats on the incredible milestone, sorry this is late! also for @spnfluffbingo and it fills the mood board square for @girl-next-door-writes‘ Make Me Feel Bingo challenge!

Square Filled: Kissed to Keep Quiet

MASTERLIST

It was four in the morning when Dean finally came home, and the bottle of Jack Daniels that sat before you atop the library table was over a quarter of the way through.

The heavy thud of his boots against the bunker floor drew your dark-adjusted eyes toward his shadowy figure, while the alcohol in your bloodstream loosened your lips, "How was she?"

"Jesus- Fuck!" There was a slight commotion before the lights flickered on, forcing your eyes to shut against the onslaught of sudden brightness. "Y/N??” Dean’s gruff, alarmed voice shattered the previously eerie silence, “What the hell are you doing sitting in the dark by yourself?"

Your eyelids lifted an experimental sliver but you kept your gaze directed down at the glass of whiskey in your hands. "It wasn't dark when I started."

Dean narrowed his eyes when he noticed the slur behind your words. "Started what? Are you drunk?"

His second question prompted a dismissive snort from you, "Hunters can't get drunk; you should know that by now, Dean."

"Yeah alright, we need to get you to bed." The man of your dreams began to make his way over to you until your gravelly words ceased his steps.

"I can't sleep... you haven't answered my question yet."

"What question?"

"How was she?"

"Who?"

You looked at him like he was crazy, "You know, the girl from the bar, the one with the curly hair… the one that was climbing onto your lap when I left?"

"I don't- there was no girl," Dean stumbled. His lips were parted and his eyebrows pulled together in an ever-gorgeous expression of bewilderment, but you were too busy examining the way the newfound light danced along the lustrous amber liquid between your fingers to notice.

"Oh," you grumbled in response, sounding a bit disappointed, which only served to deepen those adorable lines of confusion between Dean’s brows. "She sure was pretty though.” There was a pause as you pondered his declaration before blurting out in disbelief, “You really didn't fuck her in the back of Baby?"

"What- No! Y/N, there was never a girl and nothing happened, OK?" He sounded genuinely serious, so you conceded.

"I'm sorry."

"Why- why are you sorry?"

"I know you needed to blow off some steam after today, after I pissed you off by fucking up the hunt." You ventured a glance up at him through your lashes and the unadulterated pain in your eyes almost had Dean reeling back in surprise.

"What are you talking about? You didn't 'fuck up' the hunt," he argued, shaking his head as if to accentuate his point.

"Course I did. I got you hurt and I nearly let that dickbag get away."

A weighted sigh escaped Dean, "Y/N, you have to know that wasn’t your fault, and it’s not like you haven’t done the same thing for me. Besides, I wasn’t pissed off, I was... I was scared, OK?”

You were about to take another sip of your drug of the night when you lowered your glass to let the irrepressible giggle leave your system, “Scared? Since when does the big bad Dean Winchester get scared? And if he did, he definitely wouldn’t be talking about it out loud. Are you sure you’re not the one who’s been drinking?”

“I mean, I have been drinking but that’s beside the point. Look, Y/N, why don’t we talk about this tomorrow, alright? You’ve just gotta sleep this off.”

"Pft. This isn't something I can just sleep off. Trust me, I've tried." There was a tickle in your throat that alerted you of the oncoming word vomit, but your friend Mr. Daniels seemed to be gaining complete control of your tongue; it was all he was ever good for really, “I’ve also tried drinking it away, but clearly that doesn’t work either. There’s just- so much- of it, of you… and now, now you’re in me-“ Dean’s eyes went wide but you were no longer at liberty to stop, “and I can’t get you out. Sometimes I don’t even think I want to. But I don’t think I can keep going like this any longer either… all this waiting, and wondering, and watching.” Some fragment of sobriety within you recognized how ridiculous and melodramatic you sounded and it gave you enough sense to avoid eye contact with the subject of you’re alcohol-induced speech, as if that could help you elude further embarrassment.

“OK, you’ve gotta slow down, Y/N/N. What the hell are you talking about?” At this point, Dean had moved to take the seat across from you, subtly sliding the bottle of Jack out of your reach as he sat down.

A mirthless laugh was your reply, "Of course you don’t know. Why would you?“

“What does that mean? Why wouldn’t I? Y/N, what’s going on?”

But you ignored his questions and answered with one of your own, “Why am I never enough? You know what, don't answer that; that was a rhetor- rhetor…”

“Rhetorical?”

“Yes!” you exclaimed, flailing your index finger in his direction, “Yes, that’s the word. See, even your brain is too good for me.”

“What- why would you say that? Y/N, you know that’s not true. And why do you think you’re never enough? You’re plenty enough.” Concern now painted Dean’s features. He hated seeing you this way, broken and depressed, trying to drown your feelings in whiskey; he’d figured that was his trademark amongst the bunker residents. And he couldn’t understand how someone as incredible as you would think themselves unworthy of anything. Whichever son of a bitch made you feel this way would pay, Dean swore it.

“Then how come you never pick me?” you countered simply, deciding it was finally time to call out his hypocrisy.

The accusation floored Dean. He scooted back in his seat as he stared at you with a slack jaw, utter perplexity swirling within his emerald eyes. Over the years, Dean had garnered an inkling that you felt some kinda way about him, but he never really let himself believe, and not once did he think he could be hurting you. On the contrary, he always figured it was his own hopeful heart playing tricks on him. Even now, he wasn’t entirely sure he was hearing you correctly, or that your drunken state could be trusted, though he remembered you once told him that you were always the most honest version of yourself when you drank, whiskey in particular.

“I watch you go out with waitress after bartender after waitress, but I’ve been here the whole time, and you never consider me. It’s like I don’t even exist, like I’m not even an option, like I could never even help you scratch that itch, at least not as good as any barfly across the Midwest could.” You were aware that this was getting out of hand, but you couldn’t seem to find the brakes. “But that’s not even the real problem – I mean, sure, a roll around the hay with you would probably be mind-blowing as fuck – but it would never solve the root of it, never be enough for me.”

Dean had been studying you meticulously as you spoke, your words starting a fire to the embers of his soul, breathing life into a long-forgotten hope that brought him both joy and fear. “What would? Be enough for you, I mean?” His tone took on a raw sultriness that matched the intense, borderline predatory glaze of his eyes. Needless to say, Dean hadn’t expected your sardonic laughter to fill the air, and your sudden frenzied, carefree state certainly took him off guard.

“Nothing!” you laughed, “I don’t think anything will ever be enough for me! C-cause you’re like this drug that I’m hooked on and it’s just so fucking hard to get off… I mean, it’s also hard to get off without you now, or thoughts of you anyway...” Your tangent was quickly overcome when you remembered the topic of your initial spiel, “But it’s like everything about you draws me in! From the way you reference classic literature even though I’ve never seen you pick up a book that’s not about lore, to the way you rebuild Baby from scratch like it’s no big deal, to the way you’re so good with kids even though you never got to be one yourself, to the dumb way you bottle up all your feelings and never let them see the light of day yet still manage to do so much good in the world, t-to the way you get excited over classic rock and crappy horror movies and pie, and don’t even get me started on the way you love Sam! I mean, it’s just all of it! It’s your strength and perseverance through literal hell, it’s your huge fucking heart despite the mask of swagger and charm, it’s that stupid grin you get when you make a dumb joke and Sam rolls his eyes at you, it’s just those god damn lips in general! And then you walk around looking like that!?” you gestured wildly at all of him, “I mean, who gave you the right?!”

Dean looked like he was about to respond, but you cut him off. There really was no stopping your tirade now, “I’m like an addict who can never get enough, and when you leave, I get feelings of withdrawal, and I don’t know how to fucking deal with those either… You’re so deeply ingrained in me; I don’t think I’ll ever be able to flush you out of my system. And I just-“ you took a rare pause to heave a large breath before admitting quietly, “I wish I knew how to quit you. I really do, because as much as I love you, and trust me, it’s a whole fucking lot – God, does it feel good to finally say that out loud – but for every ounce of love that I have for you, for every bit of you that I’ve inhaled, it hurts just as much. Because you don’t feel the same, and you never will, and I don’t blame you, because you’re Dean fucking Winchester and you could have whoever you want with just a wink and half a smile, and you deserve to have whoever you want-”

“Are you done?” Dean was quick to latch onto the brief respite in your monologue, “Fuck, Y/N, you really have no idea what you do to me, do you? What you are to me?” His head shook in disbelief while his troubled green eyes searched yours.

“What I am to you? I’m your hunting buddy, Dean. The one you call when you need an extra hand with a vamp nest or an extra set of eyes to scour the books, the one who stays up with you when you have nightmares about the souls you tortured in hell, the one you sing rock songs out of tune in the car with, just never the one you go to for a booty call,” you finished with a bitter laugh.

Dean’s head had never ceased it’s shaking, even as he got up and walked around the table towards you. “Only because you’re worth so much more than that. Y/N, you deserve so much more than me.”

It was your turn to shake your head. How typical, you thought as you rolled your eyes and stood up to meet his eye line, “Don’t give me that bullshit, Dean. I know you’re trying to let me down easy and that’s nice of you and all, but you can’t fool me. I know you too well, Dean Winchester, and I know there’s no way in hell that- Mmf!“ The rest of your words were intercepted by Dean’s lips on yours.

The feeling was unexpected but not at all unwelcome. There was an urgent force behind the kiss as he pushed his mouth against yours with gentle yet firm ferocity, bracing your head with large hands cupping both sides. It felt as if he was desperately trying to convey a message to you, to disprove your woeful words of self-pity, or perhaps he just wanted you to shut up. You, of course, responded with tremendous enthusiasm regardless of his intent, grasping blindly at his forearms while slotting your tongue and lips around his in an increasingly frantic manner. You didn’t care if the kiss wasn’t good for him; this might be your only chance to take what you need from Dean Winchester, if only a tiny fraction of it.

When he finally pulled back, you were both panting for air. Dean still held your head in both hands as he leaned forward to rest his forehead upon yours. “Dammit, I shouldn’t have done that; you’re drunk... Do you at least believe me now?”

A slight grimace contorted Dean’s features as his mind was suddenly bombarded by a multitude of conflicted thoughts and feelings, feelings of desire and regret and bliss and unease, but when he caught the dazed look in your eyes, Dean made up his mind, “Ah, what the hell, you’re probably not gonna remember much of this anyway. Look, Y/N, you’re wrong. I do feel the same way about you; I have pretty much ever since I saw that magnificent ass of yours.” Pausing to chuckle at his own words, Dean licked his lips, still able to taste the whiskey from yours.

“The only reason I fucked around with those other people was because I couldn’t stand not being able to have you,” he continued through closed eyes and gritted teeth before filling his chest with a deep breath, “Like today, when I saw that fucking werewolf come at you, I nearly lost it. The thought of anything happening to you scares me shitless, and I didn’t know how to process that feeling, so I let that girl at the bar get close. I was trying to fill the hole you created but it was pointless cause in the end, just like every other time, I couldn’t go through with it. Every time I try to forget about you, your face shows up in my head,” he growled in that low, throaty tone that always seemed to reverberate down to your nether regions.

“But I- I wasn’t lying when I said you deserve more than me. Y/N, you know me. I’m a broken, twisted, shell of a man. I’m-“

“Poison, I know,” you finally lifted your head away from his so that you could look directly into his dazzling eyes. Dean’s hands slid down along your neck and landed on your shoulders while yours remained on his forearms, not willing to lose all contact. “I know what you’re gonna say. You think you’re poison, that being with you puts a target on my back, that loving you is a death sentence… Did I get that right?”

Dean gave you a miniscule nod and a look of resignation as he reluctantly released you from his hold, forcing you to let go as well when he took a large step back. You suddenly felt extremely sober, the effects of the alcohol and that kiss all wearing off instantaneously, “And you hate yourself. No one hates you more than you, Dean.” Your voice was hardly a whisper now, “But that’s OK, cause I hate myself too, for never being able to make you realize that you are so much more than you give yourself credit for, that you deserve all the things you think you can’t have, that you can have them all and still be Dean Winchester.”

You watched as Dean’s eyes began to water and when a single tear rolled down his cheek, you couldn’t hold yourself back anymore. Approaching him as slowly as you would a nervous animal out of its natural habitat, you stopped directly before him before cautiously raising your arm to wipe the offending tear away with your thumb. Your eyes seemed to be locked in a silent exchange of colossal magnitude, expressing everything mere words could not, from harrowing regret to agonizing self-inflicted torment to desperate desire. It was the yearning in his shimmering eyes that gave you the courage to speak your next words, a runaway tear of your own joining the whispered plea, “Please, let me show you.”

When your eyes fluttered open the next day, they were greeted with the most beautiful sight you'd ever awoken to. Dean’s face was barely a foot away from yours, and the man himself was already awake, staring directly at you. He was lying on his back with his head turned towards you, while your body was twisted to face his. A bedside lamp was on, allowing you to marvel at the breathtaking perfection in front of you, and despite the booze having long since evacuated from your veins, your mouth still imparted the first thing that came to your mind, “You know, I've always wanted to count your freckles,” you murmured honestly, “Maybe map them out like tiny constellations so I can memorize them better, so that one day I could trace them even with my eyes closed.” Your fingertips moved of their own accord as you spoke, gliding softly over his cheeks and across the ridge of his perfect nose.

Dean caught your hand in his and kissed it repeatedly as his magical olive eyes continued to bore into yours, never once leaving your face. His pouty lips curved into the slightest smile as if he were afraid to rear hope yet couldn't fight the peaceful thrill you were bringing him by simply lying next to him. “You’re not still drunk, are you?”

“Not unless it counts to be drunk on you… Sorry, that sounded a lot less cheesy in my head.” You cringed but Dean’s smile broadened.

“And no hangover?”

“No, I told you, hunters can’t-“

“Get drunk. Yeah, I heard. So does that mean you remember everything?”

“I don’t think I could forget that kiss if I wanted to; my brain wouldn’t let me.” You glanced down at his gorgeous mouth before meeting his gaze again, “I meant it all, you know? Everything I said was the truth. Every word.” You moved your thumb to graze his lower lip and he puckered his lips to kiss it.

“So did I, every word… Especially the part about that sweet ass of yours.” The hand that wasn’t holding yours roamed down to grab at your butt cheek with a hefty yet tender squeeze, causing you to squeal in delight. When you settled down, he moved your hand to place it above his heart, “You know I’m no good at chick flick moments, but you can trust me when I say I’m addicted to you too.”

The sincerity in his voice sent butterflies through your stomach and your smile felt invincible. “I hope you know that when I called you a ‘drug’ I didn’t mean it in a derogatory way. Some drugs are good for you. Some drugs can save your life,” you whispered as you fisted lightly at the soft cotton of his t-shirt.

“I wouldn’t go that far, sweetheart.”

“Isn’t that what you did yesterday?” Dean was about to retort but you sent him a raised brow and a look that said ‘don’t test me, I’ve got loads more evidence where that came from’ so he simply looked down with a small grin. “Does it still hurt?” You motioned to the white bandage on his shoulder where the werewolf had scratched him up yesterday when he jumped in front of you.

Dean shook his head, “Right now I can hardly feel it. Actually, it hasn’t hurt at all since I kissed you.”

The corners of your mouth lifted some more at his words. “See, that’s what I mean. To me, you’re like coffee on an early morning, morphine when I’m hurting, tranquilizers when I’m freaking out, Zoloft when the world’s got me down, mixed with a shot of ecstasy, and quite possibly the most potent form of Viagra known to mankind.” You might have lingered a moment to chuckle at your own joke, thinking ‘it’s funny cause it’s true’. Dean belted a guffaw himself and you were quite pleased as you continued, “You’re everything I’ve ever needed, all wrapped up in one beautiful, self-loathing man.” You stroked his stubbled jaw and caressed his cheek, letting your words waft softly across the distance between you, hoping he could sense the veracity within them, “And I just want you to let me love you, let me get high on you, so I can show you how good you are. That’s all I’ve ever wanted.”

A wave a sadness flowed through Dean and he lowered his gaze from yours. “This could end bloody.”

“I know,” you nodded, “But it’s so much better than the alternative... It was getting a bit too hard to bear, even if you were only eye fucking all those other suitors. Besides, if it means I get to kiss you whenever I want, it’ll be worth it. And if it means I get a chance to prove to you how worthy you are, then it’ll be more than worth it.”

“I was only staying away because I wanted to protect you from me, but I didn’t realize it was hurting you. I never wanted to cause you pain; Y/N, I need you to know that.” Dean’s warm, calloused palm ran up your arm, it’s gentleness in stark contrast to his fierce tone, while yours continued to cup his cheek.

Astounded by the passion behind his words and the utter beauty of his face, you whispered in awe, “How are you so perfect?” Seeing the cogs begin to turn in his brain, you quickly moved your index finger to press against his plush lips, “Shh, just let me say it. Baby steps, Dean.”

He took your finger and guided your arm to wrap around his wide shoulders, careful of his injury, then reached out to pull you snugly towards him until your bodies were completely flush, your chest heaving against his. “Well do we have to take baby steps with everything? Cause now that I’ve finally got you in my bed, I was kinda hoping you’d let me take you for a spin in it. Maybe find out if it’s really – how did you put it again? – ‘mind blowing as fuck’ I believe were your words?” That signature smirk of his that always brought you to your knees came out to play.

Your laughter fanned across his face, and the smile on your face was effervescent, “You really are one hell of a drug, Dean Winchester.”

thank you for reading! as always, feedback is marvelously appreciated!

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