#I prey that I will not become insufferable from this fall out

[batsarebetterthanpeople]

OFMD Thruple ships that (I think) deserve more attention than Steddy Hands

I just think they should kiss

They are also all more canon than Steddy Hands but that's none of my buisness

[cctinsleybaxter]

2023 in Books

I need to stop bragging that I’ve got this reading thing all figured out, because man if 2023 wasn’t a year of terrible books. I liked less than half of the 37 I read and nothing quite gripped me in the way it has in years past… but to put it more optimistically I liked a full third of what I read, and the ones I liked best were a fascinating and unexpected silver lining. Without further ado:

Cyrano de Bergerac by Edmond Rostand, trans. Brian Hooker

Tell this all to the world- and then to me. Say very softly that… she loves you not.

I read a couple of plays this year for the first time since college and liked them fine, but there’s a reason this has been adapted five million times. Everyone go watch Megamind right now.

Wylding Hall by Elizabeth Hand

Of all the found footage-inspired horror fiction I’ve read this one makes the best case for existing in its chosen medium, as a 70s UK folk rock band are interviewed about the summer they spent recording what would become their final album [thunder crashes.] It reminded me of a Tana French mystery in its language and ability to make space feel lived-in; the character writing is so strong I realized that at some point I had stopped checking the interview headings to know who was speaking. Hand unfortunately distrusts her audience to read between the lines at a few crucial moments (and ruins what would have been a perfect ending and a deeply affecting scare by gilding the lily, or, in this case, photograph), but I love that she went from seemingly by-the-numbers American YA fiction to a meticulously-researched and truly unique horror novella. Puts other writers working in the genre to shame.

A Kiss Before Dying by Ira Levin

Reminiscent of the best kind of TCM suspense thriller (and was adapted into one), but could only exist as a book for the kind of narrative tactics it employs. Levin is brilliant at setting and character; I think any one of his contemporaries would have leaned into archetypes for this sort of story, and he instead distinguishes his proper nouns in subtle, clever ways that lend them the weight a noir needs. Can’t wait to read more of his stuff!

All the Names They Used for God by Anjali Sachdeva

I’d like to know why this anthology got hit with what a friend has termed a pottery barn throw pillow cover + a ‘the tiny things we know to be small’ title, because the eponymous story isn’t even called that! It’s just The Names They Used for God, and is, appropriately, about two women kidnapped by a religious extremist group. High risk-high reward; I think taken at their base premise the stories could have been insufferable and are instead strange, compelling, and fantastical. There’s a methodicalness and, I don't know, lack of whimsy? to them that’s unusual for fantasy, but also an absence of any one goal or moral in the way Le Guin speaks so highly of. It made me feel the way I did reading and adoring Kelly Link in middle school, and Sachdeva has a much different style that I guess works all the better on adults. My favorite was Robert Greenman and the Mermaid.

Seabiscuit: An American Legend by Lauren Hillenbrand

Someone recommended this to me via Tumblr anon over five years ago, so let me start by saying if that was you I’d like to thank you properly! This book rules! It was written in ‘99 so falls prey to a very specific kind of jingoism, but the mechanics of that are interesting in and of themself. Seabiscuit the animal is a lens through which to view turn-of-the-20th-century America written from the precipice of the 21st; his story told through the expertly-researched biographies of his owner, trainer, and jockey. Hillenbrand is not only a good pop nonfiction historian, but has been a sports writer since the 80s and I never imagined the genre could be so thrilling as I did reading her work. Horse racing is insane and no one should be riding these things btw.

The Age of Innocence by Edith Wharton

It was one of the great livery-stableman’s most masterly intuitions to have discovered that Americans want to get away from amusement even more quickly than they want to get to it.

Wharton came from old money New York*, was deeply disillusioned with it and pined for rational (i.e., even more insane) social and political scenes, had myriad thoughts about women and gender relations, and held a love for interior design. I learned all of this after reading but it’s apparent on every page; deeply funny and perceptive, fantastic use of language, the moments where it lost me completely nothing if not interesting. What sticks with me the most are a flair for the operatic and an ability to voice both the feeling and consequences of losing oneself to imagined scenarios. Read the pink parasol scene.

*Ancient Money New York; the saying ‘keeping up with the Joneses’ is apocryphally attributed to her father’s side of the family

Owls of the Eastern Ice: A Quest to Find and Save the World's Largest Owl by Jonathan S. Slaght

We’d return to our camp to huddle in the freezing tent and wait for our owls in silence, like suitors agonizing over a phone that never rings.

One of the better pieces of science writing I’ve read in a long time, as Slaght frames rural communities as a quintessential part of ecology rather than a barrier to it. His style is amiable and matter-of-fact (sometimes overly so; the amount of metric GIS directions, help), but he's super engaging and clearly holds just as much compassion for people and history as he does animals and natural landscapes. The Blakiston’s fish owls he’s studying are described as unreal, with hoots so low and quiet it sounds like someone has thrown them under a blanket. You can listen to them here.

Piranesi by Susanna Clarke

Took my breath away and surprised me in a way a book hasn’t in years. I'd read Clarke’s 2004 novel when I was maybe fourteen and had vaguely positive but mostly neutral memories of it, and Piranesi being sci-fi-fantasy that came recommended by Tiktok had me very dubious. I ended up devouring it in the way I haven’t read books since I was fourteen; more of a mystery than the suspected high fantasy, with characters I would do disservice to in trying to describe in brief. While the mystery isn’t difficult to ‘solve’ (I’d argue the book also skews young!), the story ends in a way that’s both deeply unexpected and in the only way it could have.

Honorable mentions

The Count of Monte Cristo by Alexandre Dumas, trans. Peter Washington

[Jigsaw voice] Every man has a devouring passion in his heart as every fruit has its worm.

I spent so much time running my mouth about this one on Tumblr there’s really not much left to say. I think it’s a work of genius that was physically exhausting to read, and I’m sticking it with the honorable mentions mostly because I remember The Three Musketeers being the better book. If you want to read Dumas- and you should- start with that one.

Jonny Appleseed by Joshua Whitehead

I would’ve liked this more had I read it in my late teens/early 20s, but I still think it’s pretty good and would absolutely recommend to anyone in that age bracket. Things that normally annoy me about philosophical first-person lit fic didn’t matter under the weight of Jon’s narratorial voice. He reminded me a little of Lynda Barry’s Maybonne in his understanding and depictions of community and family; his stream of consciousness letting contradictions sit rather than trying to explain them away (Whitehead also makes sex very prosaic and pretty-sounding while still being frank and gross about it, which is a rare talent!)

The Seeds of Life: From Aristotle to da Vinci, from Sharks' Teeth to Frogs' Pants, the Long and Strange Quest to Discover Where Babies Come From by Edward Dolnik

This one fell in the rankings because the writing isn’t my favorite (think early days Vulture article rather than NYT), but I cannot stop referencing it in conversation. I want to read the whole thing to people and make them understand how truly unfathomable it is not only that every one of us is the product of 1 sperm and 1 egg, but that anyone ever figured out how that process works. When Western Europeans first started using microscopes they studied water; there were gross little bugs in there to watch and enjoy, so when semen was revealed to have its own bugs no one was shocked, but they also weren’t impressed. We would not see one enter an egg until EIGHTEEN SEVENTY-FIVE.  

Killer Dolphin by Ngaio Marsh

The Malaise of First Night Nerves had gripped Peregrine, not tragically and aesthetically by the throat but, as is its habit, shamefully in the guts.

Has made it into my top 5 favorite Inspector Alleyn mysteries. I’m not keen on Marsh’s theater settings (and there are a LOT of them), but a convoluted setup made this one all the more rewarding. The final revelation as to a point of blackmail is visceral and bizarre in a way I haven’t seen from her before.

The Wretched of the Earth by Frantz Fanon

We all have dirty hands; we are all soiling them in the swamps of our country and in the terrifying emptiness of our brains. Every onlooker is either a coward or a traitor.

Best read in conversation with other writers, I wouldn’t recommend Fanon as the end-all-be-all introduction to communist and socialist thinking (the fact that he inadvertently describes what was going wrong with the USSR at time of writing is fascinating), but he explicitly invites that conversation and the value and impact of his work really can’t be overstated. Our points of disagreement tend to be in regard to nationalism, not his condonation of violence.

Persuasion by Jane Austen

Fascinating to see how Austen was thinking about relationships near the end of her short life. I laughed to see the idea of preferring your brother-in-law’s family to your own was back in full force from my own favorite Emma, as well as an eleventh-hour ‘maybe I should ship the villains??’ My biggest issue is that, like Emma, Persuasion is written in third person limited narration, but Anne is fundamentally Good™ so doesn’t need to learn anything about herself or the world; critic Bob Irvine points out that she and her dashing, misogynistic sailor are beset rather than changed by it. That said I love a people being beset by people (concussed temptresses) places (Bath) and things (cars), and Austen's writing style is really firing on all cylinders here.

[the-strength-of-the-wolffe]

Wolffe’s Story

Intro  Pt1  Pt2  Pt3  Pt4  Pt5  Pt6

Part 7: The Mission

All soldiers, even perfectly engineered ones, have nightmares.

During cadethood, these occurred sporadically and there was nothing abnormal about them. Wolffe happened to be the type of boy who remembered his dreams in detail, but he always kept them to himself—nonsense about sea monsters and rogue training droids and haunted corridors didn’t befit young warriors.

The war began, and no one laughed at dreams anymore. Most nights, his mind replays the two traumatizing events from the start of his career, or else generates some cruel iteration of them involving his men. Now and then he dreams fretfully of Fox, even though his brother is safe on Coruscant. Coping is harder now, as an adult. Not only is the darkness real, but it preys on his men as well; as their commander, it’s his job to mitigate their fears while bearing his own alone.

He has carried this burden well enough, considering. However, the subconscious is a devilish thing (especially when corrupted by a malevolent influence). His recent self-imposed duty of care to General Plo awakens a long-dormant instinct, which emerges one night in a new dream:

He’s on a mission. Lying on his belly in the snow, a sniper rifle aimed into the valley. Through the scope, he searches for his target. The crosshairs drift over the armored figures and settle on the single robed figure in their midst. He pulls the trigger. Watches the bolt strike the head, blowing it apart. The Jedi falls.

Wolffe hasn’t dreamed about General Plo before, yet he’s certain that’s who it was. The nightmare rattles him, but he dismisses it as some nasty aberration.

Unfortunately, it’s not. One, then another, the nightmares come to him. Not often enough to destabilize, just often enough to disconcert. The scenarios change—a quick stabbing on the bridge, an execution on the flight deck, a drawn-out hunt across a battlefield—but the result is the same: compelled by unspoken orders, he kills General Plo in cold blood.

He feels nothing until he jolts awake, then he’s walloped by the horror of it. The violent urges he attributes to his military breeding, but why they’re directed toward the General of all people, he can’t fathom. Betrayal, murder...that’s not him. He’d never turn on the General, not ever.

No matter which strategy he tries, rationalization or suppression, the whole affair leaves him feeling dirty, treacherous, and estranged. Unlike his childhood nightmares that would’ve been easily understood if he had shared them, these are inexcusable. Nobody decent dreams the way he does—of this terrible never-ending hit job. Even Fox, so far removed from the Jedi that he’s apathetic toward them, would be unsettled. So the nightmares become his dark secret, another weight on his already heavy shoulders.

His fortitude notwithstanding, some nights the images are too vivid, too grisly, and the weight becomes insufferable. That’s when he abandons his quarters and heads to the command deck, or one of the hangar bays—wherever General Plo has stayed up to work. It’s always under the guise of keeping busy, but really it’s to reassure himself that the General is all right, and that they’re still on the same side. He never lingers. The Jedi’s powers of perception would lead to uncomfortable questions, and he’d have to lie, or confide. He isn’t willing to do either.

No, the nightmares will peter out eventually, he tells himself. Until then, he must brace up and carry on.

I headcanon that, while all chipped clones are susceptible to Order 66 nightmares, only those with exposure to Jedi actually experience them. The frequency, intensity, triggers, and retention of the dreams vary depending on the individual and amount of exposure.

I’m inclined to believe that the clones simply won’t talk about their dreams (for all the reasons Wolffe won’t) rather than being restricted somehow by the chips.

Wolffe’s nightmare is one I had myself (except I was standing near Master Plo when it happened). Let me tell you, it was upsetting enough just to witness.

[skirtsandsweaters]

me reinventing the wheel in 4k. this was doesn't accurately describe me anymore as it was written years ago. there's some insufferable melodrama but i did genuinely feel that way at many points in my life so it gets to stay. there's a gem or two past the melodrama. if u don't find any, then i never said anything.

---

cold sorrow :( shivering sadness :( so alone and so over it that you're sad then numb then sad :( misery so freezing that you lose your limbs and cry about it but there's no end to the tears :( endless unhappiness :( just upset forever eternally

KNOWLEDGE IS A SERVICE: why do we have to pay for knowledge? why isn't it free? knowledge is free, accessing all there is to know is virtually possible should you try. we pay for the (((labour))) that goes into compiling, collecting, translating, and modifying the knowledge of the world into consumable pieces like research papers and classroom curriculums.

BRIGHT TILES NEED A LOT OF BLEACH: horror but the scary people are those who aren't disfigured because their untouched state speaks to the amounts of violence and scheming they've done to stay that way. the baddies are those unaffected, the protags, or the status quo is being hurt

MUSIC AND REPETITION: i call my favourite songs "good" regardless of their objective quality because they make me feel good. they make me feel good because i am familiar with them and my brain releases endorphins for pattern recognition. since i know them front to back they are sure to make me feel good or comfortable. this causes me to stick to a few songs and be hesitant or wary of trying new music because i don't want that penalization from my brain for not recognizing the patterns of new music when all i'm looking for is easy dopamine and "comfort"

UNINTENTIONALLY DETRIMENTAL ADVICE IN Horror MOVIES: it's common for horror text to have unaware people suggest that those haunted by demons should face them, not knowing that they'll end up hurting themselves more

NO TWO WORDS MEAN THE SAME THING: rhymes but doesn't repeat, similar package, different meaning, do the same ((way)) i do but not the same ((thing)) i do

STORM: cold front meets warm front creates storms - mom's worldview meets other people's worldview causes chaos (in general), feelings of cornered prey, lashing out (both in her), instability (in general)

FALLING FOR ETERNITY: is there a place where it's always stormy? (every year has its december --> what if it's always december)

DISCONNECTION FROM OBSESSION: a lost soul is someone who is obsessed with something that disconnects them from life

THE MIND: the element of a person that enables them to be aware of the world and their experiences, to think, and to feel; the faculty of consciousness and thought.

JOYFUL SUFFERING: the grace of that cross changes the Cyrenean's heart and from the compulsory task, it becomes a privilege and joy.

CALL OF THE VOID: L'appel du vide

GHOST/GOES: solid ghost, so it goes (---> so it goes as in so light and barely tangible, oh "there it goes" as expected, leaving quickly and easily. --> solid ghost as in you're human and corporeal and take up space and are visible but it feels as if you aren't any of those things, like a wallflower, a living ghost :) )

- Voice so low / Sneaking around, so it goes / I always try my best to listen

- Pacing around, watching my feet / Batteries drain, I get the memo / "I think that I might have to let you go" (reminds me of Noah)

BACKWARDS ECHO: repeats what will be said instead what has been said.

VICTIM BLAMING: We take to victim-blaming because we are problem-solving people who want to feel secure. We view a crime as something that happened, like a natural disaster, because we can't control or understand the actions of the assailant, instead of something that was done to someone by someone. We don't see any efficient or immediate way to have stopped the crime on the wrongdoer's end so we blame the victim, ask them what they did wrong, how they could have gotten out of it, because we want to assure ourselves that it will not happen to us. We view crimes like sexual assault and shootings as comparative to running down the stairs without looking where you're going.

HUMAN VALUE: " Our true value lies in the core experience of being a conscious being who feels and perceives.” In other words, rather than making our self-worth contingent on categories such as academic success, appearance, or popularity, we must value ourselves solely for the fact that we are human beings and accept that failure is part of the human experience. "

SWEARING: using swear words in descriptions to avoid intimacy or vulnerability - as a distraction

COLOUR: older and younger generations tend to see (identify, name, call) colours differently - pink and red, green and yellow, brown and orange - education, personal relationship with colour, circumstances could be factors

[trashyreptilian]

Night to Ourselves (1996)

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Author's Note: I know this isn't the fic that my readers were expecting BUT consider this as a little snack while I'm gone.

Also, this is very much a fluff fanfic of my comfort pairing. So, don't expect anything exciting lmao- They already had some small fics written about them before but they've been removed. Take this as a slightly better replacement hehe,,

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Characters: "Xanthan" (he/they), "Him" (he/it) and "Mark Heathcliff" (he/him)

Summary: A certain angel finds himself having trouble sleeping. To remedy that, he decides to have a visit at their lover's place for the night. (Word count: ~2 900)

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Soaring through the clouds, the pale full moon shined up the night sky. Xanthan kept thinking whether or not he should turn back. His home was up in Heaven but overtime the same bed that he had been sleeping on for several years became uncomfortable. The bed itself wasn't the problem though. His loneliness went from being tolerable to downright insufferable since he started a romantic relationship after so many years since his last one. He hated to admit it, but he could barely sleep without his partner holding him. It was always there to soothe him to sleep, whenever he decided to sleep over at Mark's place. Even before they started dating.

Usually he would be off doing other things for a whole week or two before he'd meet up with Him for training. That was the first time he went off from his strict schedule. It was unlike him. It felt weird. It felt, weak. He couldn't help himself, it had been so terribly long since he felt any sort of real passion towards someone. Let alone feel comfort from someone else's presence. Was it so wrong for him to enjoy it? It was hard to imagine that if it weren’t for Mark’s encouragement, he would have never confessed his feelings to Him in the first place. Xanthan would have stayed silent about it, never knowing whether it could have worked or not. He still felt like he should properly thank Mark. His support meant a lot to him. However, he'll properly express his gratitude another time.

He flew closer to the less lively areas of the town. He shapeshifted into a raven, although it was nighttime, the darkness wasn't enough to hide him away from any prying eyes. Diving lower near the silent streets, the surrounding area seemed dead. The county was asleep. He prayed for the night to stay like that, for no new victims to fall prey. Following the road with the occasional car passing by, Xan made his way to a decrepit apartment complex. It wasn't in the worst state but it wasn't good either. Yet despite the harsh outward appearance, the sight had become sort of comforting in an odd way.

While he wasn't as fast in his raven form, it took nothing but a couple of minutes to get there. The complex was huge in length but that wasn't much of an issue. Xanthan remembered well where Mark's bedroom window was. Flapping his little wings around, swiftly past all the other windows he soon stopped at one. His little feet placed at the top of the windowsill, he fluffened his feathers up before knocking on the glass. Luckily, both his and Mark's sleep schedules were terrible, so chances of him being awake were pretty high. Tapping with his beak on the glass a couple of times, a large figure walked up to the window. As they got closer, the light revealed Mark with his eyebrows furrowed, likely confused at the unexpected arrival. With a clack, his head popped out and looked down at the raven.

"You're back so early...?" His voice was weak, probably due to his own tiredness. Placing his finger to Xan's feet, his tiny claws grabbed a hold as he was let inside. Once inside, Xanthan was quick with his shapeshift, he turned back into his typical form. Standing high, he looked back at Mark who was rubbing his eyes and yawning. 

"So... What the hell brought you back here in the dead of night...? If you don't mind me askin'." Mark crossed his arms, lazily lifting his head up to make eye-contact.

Opening his mouth, he soon realized he didn't exactly have any sort of reasonable excuse to be there. Besides wanting to be with Him, he felt too embarrassed to say that upfront. "Well, I figured I should check up on all of you. I do patrol the county at night sometimes…"

Mark raised an eyebrow at that statement. "Yeah that's sweet and all, but I call bullshit. You're here for Him, aren't you?"

As Xan glanced away for a split second, he answered frantically. "No. I mean- It's not that I wouldn't be here for it but- You know, I-" He was cut off by quiet giggling from Mark.

"Hey man, it's cool! You know I’m just teasing you, right? You fucking softie, hah…” Mark did a big stretch with his arms as he let out a loud yawn. “I don't care when you visit us but do it while I’m not trying to sleep, maybe huh? Besides, we also have a door. Him would have let you in." Mark walked up to his bed and layed down. "Now if you don’t mind… I need some shut-eye. Don't keep your boyfriend waiting..." He had a faint smirk at the last phrase.

Xanthan's head tilted down for a moment before saying something. "Thank you, Mark..."

While Mark was turned aside as he got comfortable in his sheets, he looked back at the angel with a soft but confused glance. "For what…?”

Crossing his arms, Xanthan had expected for him to already know the answer. He didn’t feel like dwelling too deep about his reasons for thanking him. “ If I were to keep it as short as possible… Thank you for being a friend… I don’t think I would have known that I could love again if it weren’t for your help…”

Mark slowly sat up and sighed. “Oh god, don’t get all sentimental on me right now…” He rubbed his eyes before shifting his gaze back to Xan. “Look... As corny as this is going to sound…Ugh, this is so stupid…” He hesitated for a second. “...I care about Him and… guess, I care about you too. You're both important to me and I want you guys to be happy… There, that’s all you’re getting out of me. Can you leave my room now?”  

They both smiled. Mark rolled back away to the side, Xanthan let him rest and left his bedroom, quietly shutting the door.

Carefully walking down the short hallway, he wasn't sure how to greet himself since he never had been back so soon. He stopped at the end, standing still in the darkness. Carefully peeking his head out, he saw Him peacefully laying on the couch. It had turned the sofa into its bed frames, giving more room to lay on. It was reading something, he couldn't make out what it was exactly. Letting out a deep breath, his heart was racing when he did a knock on the wall to get Him's attention. It instantly shifted its gaze at the hallway, probably expecting Mark to come out. Walking in the living room, the angel awkwardly waved at it. 

Him slightly jumped at his sight, putting its book aside. It stood right up, wide-eyed. "Xanthan...? Huh, what brings you here so late? Has something happened?" In its deep  gravelly voice, it began to worry. 

There was no point in making excuses. He carefully walked up to Him and surprised it with a hug. Resting his head on its shoulder, he felt its arms slowly embrace him in return. After a sigh, he answered. "I've missed you, my love... I want to spend the night together, is that okay...?"

Him grabbed a hold of Xan's shoulders, gently pushing him away so that they could be facing each other. It had a smile on its face with its eyes halfway closed, the angel felt how he turned a little more red from the soft expression. It leaned Xanthan in for a tender kiss. When their lips drifted apart, it said. "Is that even a question, my angel...? I'd be more than happy for you to stay the night with me..." It placed one of its hands on the side of his face, he nuzzled in deeper and gently kissed their hand. He could fall asleep right there and then. 

Both of them stood silent for a moment. "What did you exactly have in mind for tonight?" It quietly asked as it sat back down on the bed. Him gestured for Xan to sit right next to it. He did so, carefully seating himself.

"I'm having trouble sleeping, more than usual tonight. I was hoping you could read to me...? I-..." He paused, although his expression was numb, on the inside he was flustered by what he was asking. "I love hearing your voice, it's... Soothing... When you read, I can tell you enjoy the stories written in the books."

"Say no less, little raven..." With a smile on its face, it got up and walked up to the large bookshelf standing near the television. "You make yourself comfortable while I look here for a good book to read."

The angel let out a gentle sigh. He hid away his own halo and wings so as to not take up as much space. Right after he began removing some bits of clothing, his top cloak piece, gold chain and large scarf were put aside on the coffee table. In that short time, Him laid itself on the bed with a book in hand. It also removed an article of clothing, its cloak hoodie was put away, revealing its long smooth but messy black hair. Xanthan slowly nestled himself close to Him's body. While there were pillows, he preferred to rest his head on his lover's shoulder. Placing his hand on its chest, Him placed his own hand on his shoulder. Gently gripping onto it, making sure he stayed close. 

"I think you're going to enjoy this one, it's a mystery novel. Fairly short as well so maybe we will actually finish it tonight." Him stated, it was whispering a bit', knowing that Mark was sleeping not too far away from the room. It opened up the first page and cleared its voice before reading. As Him began to read out the words, Xanthan was quickly enamored. Closing his eyes but still listening, he finally felt relaxed.

.

.

It had been a while, the angel was still attentive but he grew drowsy. He could hear the faint pattern of rain falling down from outside, a light storm was on its way. That set an even more relaxing ambience for both entities. While Him was reading, Xan would sometimes take a quick peek at its face or he would make a comment on what was happening in the book's story. 

As it continued to read, Xanthan couldn't help himself but to distract it from its lecture. Carefully moving his head and hand up to its neck, he softly kissed that area. Giving out little kisses here and there, brushing his fuzzy hair up against its rough skin. Soon as his lips made contact, Him immediately stopped the reading and let out a quiet groan. It placed its hand on his hair, gently caressing him. Although, that wasn't enough for it to put the novel away. It pressed on forward, despite their voice being slightly shakier as Xan kept kissing its neck. 

For a minute or two, he hadn't stopped his kisses but it was clear that wasn't enough. Guess it was time to take it up a notch. He opened up his mouth a bit, enough to pull out his snake-like tongue. That quickly made contact with its skin. When Him felt his tongue on its neck, it let out a hissing sound, followed by a much louder groan. Xanthan could have sworn he heard it muffling out something as well. Come one, love. Put that book away… Unfortunately for him, Him took a deep breath and moved forward with its reading.

Xan was surprised that it didn't cave in yet. Luckily, he still had one trick to play. One that wouldn't be so easy to ignore. Him kept trying to read out the pages in its unstable voice. He prepared himself to give a tiny little love mark on its neck. Stopping his kisses and licks, he softly sunk his teeth into the skin. Quick as he was to bite, he heard the book being shut with a hard slam. "A-AH!-... S-shit, fine! I give up..." Letting out an unexpected moan, it admitted defeat.

"You know there were just a couple of pages left before you decided to rudely interrupt me?" It said, but with a sly tone seeing as it wasn't really angry.

"Sorry, love. I couldn't help myself, it's adorable to hear you get flustered...Your neck is so sensitive..." Lifting his face away from its neck, he saw Him turn red, or purple in its case, from what he stated. 

"I can see that at least the book helped you to relax. Your eyes look even more tired than they typically do." It gently touched around his eyes, poking at his eyebags with its finger. It caressed his face with both of its hands. Him was always extremely delicate with the way it touched the angel with its nearly claw-like fingers. Both of them had soft expressions on their faces as they gazed at one another while Xan layed on top of Him, letting the sound of rain fill the living room. "Is there anything else I can do to help you sleep, angel...?"

He thought for a second before answering. "Perhaps so... If it's no trouble of course, although I kind of hate to ask you this..."

"You don't have to, Xanthan. I think I know what you want... But you don't have to remove your turtleneck for me to do it, I don't want you to feel uncomfortable." It didn't take much for it to guess what the angel wanted.

A simple request of back scratches was harder seeing as his chest and back had the most severe bruises, ones that never healed properly.. He was ashamed to look at them himself but he had to get used to it somehow, they weren't going away anywhere whether he liked them or not. They were just scars. "Him, I feel the most comfortable around you than anyone else...I trust you." He saw a faint smile grow on Him's face as he said that. Xan slowly lifted up his turtleneck, putting it aside.

Him sat up and crossed its legs. It grabbed two pillows, stacking them on top of one another next to it. "Rest here..." With a soft tone it stated, gesturing at its legs by tapping with its hands. It also gestured at the pillows. Xanthan laid himself on Him's crossed legs, resting his head on the pillows. His back faced up, he sighed. Closing his eyes, he felt it brush its fingers along his back. Alternates were all of lower body temperature so the slightly cold skin brushing against his warm body was soothing for the angel. His muscles began to ease and his entire body lost any sort of tension it once had before. He couldn't help but to silently groan in pleasure from the tingles he felt around his body. The additional sounds of Him's soft humming and the ever growing rain outside made the experience all the better.

After some time had passed, Xanthan was barely conscious as he grew sleepy. His breathing completely slowed down, his partner took that as a sign to stop scratching. Neither really knew how long exactly they had stayed in the same position. Him ever so carefully lifted the angel up a few inches. Xan didn't mind as he had little energy to move his own body. Gently placing him on the bed itself, his head rested on a pillow. Followed after he was covered by a blanket. Him gently tucked them in. He remained closed eyed for the entire process. Feeling a soft kiss on his head, a faint smile grew on his face. It rested right next to him, pulling themselves in to snuggle. Its fingers were brushing against his hair, Xan tried to discreetly lean in closer to it. Before he could doze off to sleep, he heard whispering from their lover.

"I don't know if you're sleeping yet, but… You should know that I love you…” It kept brushing his hair. “You have no idea how much you mean to me… " It let out a quiet chuckle. It whispered in its deep voice, very close to his face. The angel had heard those words before but the sincerity always got to them. It had been so long since he had been spoken to in such a way. Opening his eyes, although he was tired. Greeted by Him's face right next to his, he leaned in for a kiss. Their lips took time to brush over each other. Wrapping their arms around one another, his chest got warmer. The kisses were soft but passionate. For a quick second, Xanthan stopped in between them kissing to whisper something out. "I love you too..." 

Both softly smiled at each other. Their kisses lingered on for a bit as one of Him's hands sneaked up over its lover's chest. When the couple eventually finished, they nuzzled their bodies against one another's. At a peaceful state, the angel was finally ready to sleep, with his partner right by his side until the sun rose once again.

[4joonkookie]

After Midnight

Pairing: Namjoon x Reader

Words: 1.8K

Warnings/Tags: shameless smut, fuckboi!Namjoon, choking, strangling, reverse cowgirl,thigh riding, ruined orgasm, angst, fluff, masturbation, mutual masturbation.

Summary: You prey on Namjoon when he can’t be peeled away from his work in the studio and after a slight speed bump, it continues in the bedroom.

OR

(In order) thigh riding, Yoongi Cameo, ruined orgasm, mutual masturbation, (eventual orgasms) and reverse cowgirl.

It’s Midnight.

You’ve been waiting in bed almost 2 hours for Namjoon to finish in the studio. You texted again and he’s been “almost done” for over an hour now.

You’re panty-clad only but throw on his nearby hoodie and quietly head downstairs to fetch him. You gently open the studio door, hoping not to disturb anyone.

“Hey.”, he turns from a computer screen as you close the door behind you.

He quickly turns his attention back to the screen, engrossed in his work. You reach him and turn the rolling chair just enough to squeeze onto his lap.

“Almost, I swear.”, he says, eyes not leaving the computer screen.

“You said that at 10.”, you whine, placing little kisses on his neck.

You brace yourself on his lap and lean forward facing away from him to reach the mouse of the computer, closing all of the applications.

“Oh I like this”, he says, grazing his hands over your near-bare ass and admiring this coincidental view. He’s pleasantly distracted until he sees what you’re doing.

“Wait , wait, wait, I'm not do__…”, he begins to scold you.

“You’re done.”, you look at him convincingly and nod, turning to straddle him face-to-face in the chair. You bluff, “...unless you’d like me to go.” beginning to stand from his lap.

He uses a large arm to pull you back straight away and locks his lips with yours.

“Mmph… 20 minutes...”, he negotiates between heated kisses. Just give me 20 minutes and I’ll head upstairs and we can finish this.”, he says, grinding his lap up.

“We haven’t started anything yet.”, you groan as you reach for the waistband of his shorts.

He lifts you by your waist and spreads your legs over one of his thighs. He begins guiding your hips back and forth and you both groan into the feeling.

“We can start like this.” he says.

“Not while you’re working.”, you counter, wanting, needing to be more important.

“No?” he says, not letting his lips leave yours but rolls the both of you back to the computer.

He lifts you off his lap briefly to raise one leg of his shorts and pulls your panties to the side. Your lips hug his bare thigh, dragging your swelling center over his smooth skin. He pushes his leg up, causing you to cry out.

The moisture flowing allows you to slide easily, Namjoon keeping his leg firm in place. The increase in sensation makes your mind foggy but you tease anyway:

“And exactly how many girls have you convinced to grind on you while you work in this studio?, you ask, not disrupting the rhythm you've created.

“None that look as good in my sweater as you do”, he says softly, sliding a hand under the sweater and feeling up your breasts underneath.

Your core slips and slides on his thigh, orgasm hot in your belly. You try to distract yourself to pull him farther from even considering touching that computer again.

“Mmmm...and how many girls have worn your sweater?”, you moan in his ear, grinding with pleasure.

“None that look as sexy with my hand wrapped around their neck as you do.”, he replies, not missing a beat. Damn. His hand in the sweater grips around your throat with light pressure, Namjoon eoying watching your boobs bounce while you move on him.’

“More?” he asks.

“More.”,you reply, moans becoming needier and breathier.

The sweater rides higher on your body when he squeezes your neck a bit tighter, pushing you down on his thigh harder. You’re swept away, hips moving instinctively, chasing the climax.

“Come, baby. Make a mess on me.” He swoons and tightens his grip on your throat ,catapulting you to your orgasm. Your legs are shaking when the studio door swings open.

Only you can see a mortified Yoongi squint his eyes shut, use a hand to cover his already shut eyes and never lets the other hand leave the door handle before slamming it back shut.

“Oh my God.” you say, humiliated and softly and drop your head to Namjoon’s shoulder.

“ ...I forgot.”,he says, frozen with his hands on your waist. He was expecting Yoongi.

“You knew he was coming?!”, you grip his shoulders, feeling your blood boil.

“I asked him to come down to help me finish_”

“Ugh!” You grunt, interrupting. You angrily hop off his lap. “Have him finish you off then, see if I care!”.

You storm out of the studio, not even minding Yoongi still outside the door with a view of your bare ass, trotting away.

Stomping upstairs, you return to the bedroom. You take off Namjoon’s sweatshirt, your body overheated with embarrassment and ruined orgasm. You shut off the lights, hide under the blanket and hope to fall asleep and put off the discomfort and frustration until morning.

You expect Namjoon to stay with Yoongi in the studio and are surprised when a flash of light pans the room when the door opens. The lights turn on and he laughs when he sees your curled up body under the blankets, surely pouting. He jumps on the bed and wrestles you out from underneath the blanket.

“You pull tight at the covers and fight to keep shielded.” He finds your ribs on your blanketed form and tickles you until you let go of the sheets. You greeted with his sweet smile.

“Don’t be embarrassed…” he begins.

“But I am.”, you snap back more roughly than you intend. “I’m embarrassed that I had to literally hunt and pin you down to try and get laid.”, you're noticing real feelings coming out under the heat of embarrassment. “That I had to all but beg to tear you away from your work.”

He hangs his head in realization. He looks at you to speak. “I'm sorry, you’re right...”, he says, sincerely. He continues “....but I'm so glad you did...”, insufferably sweet.

“ Well, next time I won't.”, you reply, still cross with him. “I’ll just take care of it myself.”

“Only if you let me watch.”, he teases and begins to stroke your body and kiss your neck. It’s enticing but your ego is still bruised and you’re not ready to give back in to him yet.

“Take off Your pants.”, you demand and gesture at him to sit on the end of the bed. He complies readily, undresses and sits with his exposed cock on one end of the bed.

You pull the still-sticky panties off your body and get on all-fours to arrange pillows on the opposite end of Namjoon, revealing your ass to him. You mimic the view he’d enjoyed earlier. You gather several pillows to prop your back up and use one to sit on.

You settle yourself on the pillow and spread your thighs apart to expose your glistening cunt, still wet. Namjoon’s cock swells further, eyes darting across your body while his brain catches up to his dick.

You begin by dragging some wetness above to your clit. Your leg twitches when you move over the sensitive nub. You use the flat pads of 2 fingers to circle around, breath quickening.

Namjoon runs an antsy hand through his hair while exhaling deeply, mesmerized.

“Fuck baby…”, he groans while grabbing at the base of his leaking cock.

You spread wetness around your opening before sinking your middle and ring finger inside. Using your other hand to spread your lips apart so Namjoon can see.

He moans and uses building precum to turn his wrist around his shaft.

The image of him working his own cock propels you faster, rubbing faster and your pelvis instinctively grinds against your own fingers.

Namjoon strokes up and down his length. “You sure you don’t want to come over here, baby?”, he growls, tempting you with his dripping cock.

You look at him thoughtfully for a half-second before nearly pouncing on him across the bed. You’d kill to get that moment on his thighs back. It’s an offer that can’t be denied.

You straddle the same thigh and settle yourself on either side. Namjoon is keen on your idea and replaces his hand around your neck.

“Where were we?”, he whispers, setting a rhythm with his lap.

“I was telling you how sexy you looked with my hand wrapped around your neck…”

It’s just a few rolls Of your hips before the sensation captures you again.

“...and how I wanted that pretty pussy to make a mess on me”, he praises.

You start to see white when his grip tightens around your neck.

“Mmm...Joonie” you moan as your peak takes you over.. He keeps his grip tight on your throat until your orgasm and hips roll slower.

“Turn around.'' he says. You can hardly make out what he’s saying in your blissed state but turn to allow him to envelope his cock inside you.

He groans when you bottom out, You rotate your hips, grinding over his shaft until Namjoon can’t control his breathing.

He lays little slaps on your skin, grabbing and groping your ass cheeks.

You rotate your hips, grinding over his shaft.

“mmmph_ I love the way you move.”, he praises. You glance back to find him with one hand behind his neck and the other guiding your ass as it bounces, eyes fixated on the work on his cock.

You arch your back, and he uses his hand to keep you high up, impossibly deep. He pushes down on your shoulders as he thrusts from below you, eventually lifting himself up to his knees for a better angle. He still pushes the small of your back to guide you around his cock.

He gorans out and moves faster causing you to lose your balance. He doesn’t let you slip off but catches you bent on all fours, never losing stride.

“I’m gonna make a mess of that pussy, baby.”, he threatens as he fucks his orgasm into you. He keeps his rapid pace and bottoms out a final time.

He falls beside you and gives your ass a rewarding rub.

“I’m sorry.”, he begins. “It’s hard for me to walk away from work”, he says, still catching his breath. “ But you’re a welcome distraction. and I love it when you ‘hunt and pin’ me down.” he kisses you.

In a teasing tone, he continues, “And how many guys have watched you touch yourself like that?”

He looks truly curious but you leave him guessing anyway.

“None that look as sexy watching me as you do”. You tease back as you stroke his cheek.

[heyiwrotesomethings]

Calling Out For Her

Cassandra Dimitrescu x She/Her Reader

A/N: Cassandra is my favorite I just love that girl. I thought it was real neat that Lady D could just call out for her and she’d appear so that inspired this. Some typical resident evil violence and language in here and Cassandra isn’t exactly nice at first, but she figures out how to be personable...kinda. Thanks for reading! Word Count: 6,158

(Y/n) was exceptionally careful. If tasked to understand what had allowed her to survive in the castle for so long, she would say it was because she was so careful, meticulous, with her work. All she had to do was follow a certain set of rules.

A polite tone brimming with reverence, ‘Yes Lady Dimitrescu’ or, ‘yes ladies Bela, Cassandra and Daniela’. Never a no, even if warranted, unless you want your eyes level with your toes and cool air meeting your stump of a neck. Always serve with a curtsy, never meet their eyes, never ask questions, keep your head down and clean, clean, clean like your life depends on it because like with everything else, it does.

The bottom line was that (Y/n) knew how to survive in the castle of Dimitrescu. It took tact, forward thinking, and a bit of luck. But today, after a very respectable nine months of service, (Y/n)’s luck had apparently run out. She had royally fucked up.

“Oh, fuck me—!“ (Y/n) hissed, followed by a sharp gasp as her grip slipped because of the dip of the chandelier.

She had no one to blame but herself. She had been assigned to clean the banisters and chandeliers of the foyer and had leaned out just a little too far with her duster. Thus, her scramble for purchase on the confounding light fixture to save her from cracking her skull on the marble floor below.

“H...help!” (Y/n) called, barely above her usual speaking tone. She dared not speak louder for fear of alerting any of the bloodthirsty daughters of her predicament. She could only hope one of her fellow maids was working nearby.

“No, nonono—“ the words left (Y/n)’s  mouth faster than her lips could move. One of the metal weldings that held up the chandelier was creaking and becoming dangerously loose as time ticked by.

“Help!” (Y/n) called a little louder, the desperation bleeding into her tone as her fingers dug painfully into the decorative, jewel encrusted rim of the chandelier.

Yet still not a sound besides the creak of old metal giving way. Nine months of service to the Lady of the Castle and this was never how (Y/n) imagined she’d go. It wasn’t uncommon for some maids to take their life by their own hand, but (Y/n) wanted to keep fighting—!

“Ah!” (Y/n) cried sharply. The chandelier’s tether frayed a bit further, causing it to drop a few inches. She was fully panicking now, arms aching and chest heaving as she dangled. She made the mistake of looking at the cold, hard floor below and that only made her heart beat faster. She didn’t want to go out like this!

The chandelier fell another inch, stinging (Y/n)’s fingers. She was gripping so hard she was sure her fingers must have been bleeding. She needed someone, anyone to come and somehow in her panicked state, she thought of her Lady. If her Lady needed something done and done fast, all she had to do was call out her name and she would be there in an instant. Somehow in (Y/n)’s desperate mind, she thought that calling upon the most ruthless of the Dimitrescu Family was her best course of action.

“Cassandra!” (Y/n) yelled, closing her eyes tightly and fighting to maintain her precarious grip.

For a few seconds, there was just the creaking the chandelier and (Y/n) didn’t know whether to be relieved or devastated by the silence. Before she could resign herself to her fate, a faint buzzing could be heard below, growing in intensity until (Y/n) could see the swarm of blowflies collecting below her until they completely formed the middle Dimitrescu daughter. She looked up at (Y/n) with a sneer on her blood stained lips.

“Well, well, well. I must say that this is a first for me.” Cassandra hummed, a fist over her hip as she craned her head up, twisting this way and that to really get a good look. Yes, a maid hanging from a chandelier must have been a novelty to the monstrous woman indeed.

“Just how did you get into this predicament little mouse? Perhaps you are more of a monkey, hmm?” Cassandra giggled sadistically before idly licking the blood from her lips, smearing it around more than anything.

“I leaned too far over the banister while I was dusting.” (Y/n) explained through clenched teeth, trying to maintain her aching grip.

“Mmm, how clumsy of you.” Cassandra laughed again, moving her arms to rest across her chest, she propped her chin up in her gloved hand as she regarded (Y/n) with glee. “You know, I was going to skin you alive. You had called me away from cellar time after all, new arrivals are always the most fun to break. Not to mention that you, some lowly maid, think that I, a noblewoman of the House, am at your beck and call. Yes, I was going to kill you myself but now I’m curious,” Cassandra’s smirk widened to a full blown maniacal grin, “what will give out first? Your arms, or the chandelier?”

“Lady Cassandra, please!” (Y/n) wasn’t sure where she thought pleading would get her, but people will do all kinds of things they wouldn’t normally do under duress. Including begging a known sadistic killer to save them from certain death.

“Oh, she remembers her manners!” Cassandra mocked, “Do me a favor and just fall already. I fear I might be developing a crick in my neck.”

(Y/n) could feel the heat of incoming tears sting her eyes as she dangled several feet above her one woman audience. Well, no one could say she didn’t try. She started mumbling a little prayer for herself that turned into a yelp as the chandelier fell another half a foot, a much larger drop than the occasional two to three inches. The sudden gravity shift yanked (Y/n)’s hands clean off the chandelier, slicing her skin terribly as she tried to grab back on. She missed, she was falling.

(Y/n) couldn’t even scream, she just closed her eyes as tightly as she could and waited to meet the ground... speaking of which, shouldn’t she have hit it already?

(Y/n) peeled open an eye and slowly allowed herself to finally take in the buzzing that was surrounding her. Blowflies. She peered down past the swarm to see Cassandra, half formed with her arms outstretched, ready to receive her. (Y/n) could only stare, mouth slightly agape, as she was settled in Cassandra’s arms, watching the blowflies that had carried her mesh back into Cassandra’s legs.

“Why so surprised?” Cassandra asked with a mock sweetness that made (Y/n) shiver, “I simply couldn’t let you die just yet. No, I think I’d like to play with you just a little while longer.”

Cassandra happened to glance at the bloody hands clutched tightly to the maid’s chest and hummed. Adjusting her strong hold on the paralyzed maiden, she clutched the outermost wrist tightly and pulled it to her bloodied lips for a sample.

“Mm,” Cassandra appraised, passing her tongue over the cuts again, “yes, I think I’ll enjoy taking my time with you.” She cackled before unceremoniously dropping (Y/n) to the floor at a much safer, but still painful height.

“Go patch yourself up, my prey. You’re dismissed.” She said and then, she dispersed into a swarm of blowflies and was gone, her laughter bouncing off of the high ceilings.

(Y/n) sat on the floor dumbstruck, before finally getting up on shaky legs. She made her way to the maid’s quarters and upon seeing that it was empty, she allowed herself to cry as she cleaned and dressed her fingers. Lady Cassandra had saved her, saved her for a worse fate by her own hand no doubt. All she could do was wait.

***

Cassandra was a menace.

After the chandelier incident, (Y/n) found herself assigned to areas of the castle that Cassandra was known to frequent. There was never a minute’s rest when the middle child was free from her mother and sisters and even if Cassandra was occupied, (Y/n) often found herself nipped by the occasional stray blowfly as she did her work. There was no question in her mind where they had come from.

Yes, having caught Lady Cassandra’s eye had created a lot of extra work for the poor girl with extra antagonism. She’d poke and prod and pull, jostling (Y/n) around while she tried to stay on task. She would drag bloodied bodies through the carpeted halls (Y/n) had just cleaned and laugh as the poor maid went to restock her cleaning supplies. Cassandra would even demand (Y/n) drop everything to run her baths when she had grow tired of running around with blood smeared all over her like a toddler left alone with finger paints. She’d smugly present her bloodied face to (Y/n), silently demanding she wipe it clean for her and when she was satisfied, she would lean back in her tub and order (Y/n) to clean the bloodied weapons she’d drop dangerously close to her feet.  

Cassandra was insufferable, yet, (Y/n) couldn’t help but think positively because it could have easily been much worse. For as taxing as dealing with Cassandra could be, she had never hurt her, not really anyway. Not like the poor maid who went to clean the armory and left with one less arm than she went in with. The occasional bite of a blowfly stung and the shoves and pinches could be bruising, but at least she still had all her limbs, no broken bones or sickle scars puckering her skin.

(Y/n) sighed to herself as she polished the same battle axe for the third time that week. She was the only maid allowed to clean the armory anymore after Bianca lost her arm. Lady Cassandra had said that only (Y/n) knew how to clean her toys with proper care and could make them twice as shiny and sharp. A few of the other maids would darkly joke with (Y/n) in the serving quarters about the middle Dimitrescu having a crush on her, but (Y/n) would simply dismiss their gossip and continue her work without complaint. Such rumors could be dangerous after all.

As (Y/n) heaved the axe back into its place on the wall, she heard the thrum of quick light feet running across the carpeted hall just outside. She frowned to herself, but kept working. Assuming it was just just another poor girl who was in the wrong place at the wrong time. However the door the the armory clicked open, and the slightly out of breath maid (Y/n) recognized as Moiara peaked in, flushed from all her running no doubt.

“Lady Dimitrescu is ordering all of the maids back to their quarters immediately.” The girl urgently informed.

“Whatever for?” (Y/n) asked, brows furrowed in concern. It was a most unusual order.

“Apparently a pack of Moroaica have escaped the cellar and are currently roaming the castle. The Lady’s daughters are hunting them down, but it could take some time to clear everything up. Lady Dimitrescu doesn’t wish to lose more workers than she can replace.” Moiara explained, albeit the last line came out a touch bitterly.

“I understand, I’ll make my way now. Be safe.”

“Thank you.” Moiara nodded before darting off again.

(Y/n) cautiously made her way to the door and peered down both ends of the hallway. Noting that it was clear, she left the doorway and shut the armory door before quickly walking in the direction of the maid’s quarters. It was quite a walk and (Y/n)’s heart went out to Moiara and the rest of the girls who were still scattered further within the castle’s walls.

The halls were eerily quiet and empty, not unusual, but with the added threat lurking, well, it made it a tad more unsettling. It was laughable really, for (Y/n) to be afraid now. The threat of death loomed over her head constantly and only now she was concerned?

(Y/n) chuckled despite herself as she rounded another bend, hardly checking her surroundings as she crossed the third hallway and then the fourth.

“Oh!” (Y/n) tripped on a raised wrinkle in the rug, her hand automatically grasped the curtain beside her to steady herself. She was lucky it didn’t rip or surely the Lady of the House would have her head, never mind the Moroaica.

As she made to steady herself on her own two feet again, the curtain she had grasped twisted harshly and was ripped from her surprised and slackened grip. (Y/n) felt her blood run cold and her feet turn to lead as the ‘curtain’ reached out for her, revealing rotten, gnarled fingers that snapped (Y/n)’s bicep in a firm squeeze. As it completed its turn, (Y/n) saw scraggly, yellowed teeth lunge for her neck.

She attempted to keep the stray Moroaica at bay. The whole interaction, frightening and life threatening as it was, was a near silent struggle. It was as if (Y/n) had lost her voice completely. All that came from her were stuttering gasps as the creature snarled and snapped at her.

It wrestled her to the floor and clawed at her clothes and skin, drawing the blood that it seemed to desperately crave. (Y/n) struggled and kicked at the creature but it was unrelenting and finally something happened that helped (Y/n) find her voice, she screamed.

The Moroaica clawed at her ribs, tearing fabric, skin and muscle alike. (Y/n)’s fighting grew weaker the more the monster dug at her and her mouth was still parted from her pained screams but they were now near silent croaks as the pain and blood loss threatened her consciousness. Seemingly noticing her weakened state, the Moroaica neared its yellowing teeth to her exposed flesh and—

“Oo, look Bela! I found another one~!”

(Y/n) reflexively closed her eyes and felt something hot and wet splatter across her face. She heard a squelching noise and felt dead weight fall against her body as Daniela’s giggles filled the hall.

“You shouldn’t be having so much fun.” Bela grumbled at her sister. “I knew mother should have sent you to your room. It would have been a more fitting punishment.”

“Okay, so maybe I forgot to lock the cellar, but you can’t say you aren’t having a good time as well.” Daniela said, grinning when Bela rolled her eyes, a small shadow of a smile forming on the eldest sister’s lips.

“Aw, look,” Daniela grunted, kicking at the dead Moroaica until its corpse rolled off of (Y/n), “well, let’s not let her go to waste. Her blood still smells good.”

“Wait, Daniela,” Bela said, holding her younger sister’s shoulder as she peered down at the bloodied maid her breaths coming raggedly as she fought to open her eyes. Bela sniffed and winced, shooting her sister a look.

“Daniela, take a closer look.”

“Ugh, fine,” the youngest groaned and leaned forward, “I don’t see why...” Daniela paused, her back went rigid. She just stared at (Y/n) for a few moments before finally turning to her sister, lips pursed.

“Cass is literally going to kill me.”

“You think?” Bela said, almost with complete disinterest.

“Well, don’t just stand there. Help me! If she dies, I die!” Daniela hissed, couching beside (Y/n) to assess the damage.

“I don’t know, I think I would kind of like to see Cassandra hunt you for sport.” Bela smirked.

“Bela!”

“Alright, alright.” Bela sighed, couching at (Y/n)’s other side.

The last thing the maid could make out before succumbing to unconsciousness was a dull, muffled buzzing and a feeling of weightlessness.

***

When (Y/n) awoke, she immediately noted that her throat was drier than a desert wind; her stomach and ribs also burned and itched like nothing she had ever experienced. She gingerly touched her stomach and found it covered in bandages. Her head ached so she pressed the heels of her hands into her eyes for a few moments.

With great effort she hoisted herself into a sitting position and had to do a double take of her surroundings. This was not the maid’s quarters and given the amount of time she had been spending in here lately, she was quick to realize she was in Lady Cassandra’s room, in her bed. Before (Y/n) could really let it all sink in, the door was yanked open.

Cassandra stalked in, shutting the door tightly behind her before standing over (Y/n) with a fire blazing in her golden eyes. A blowfly (Y/n) had initially failed to notice crawled down the bedpost before meshing back into Cassandra’s body. Apparently she had been being watched.

“Why didn’t you call for me?” Cassandra gritted out, gripping the bedpost so hard (Y/n) was afraid it would splinter.

“Lady Cassandra?” (Y/n) questioned, still feeling numb and achy and not at all ready for such aggressive energy.

“Glad to know you still remember.”Cassandra said mockingly before her voice became low and serious again, “You were in trouble, why didn’t you call for me?”

“I don’t...” (Y/n) winced and held her head, it felt like she was on a boat in rocky waters.

Cassandra took notice and with surprising gentleness, lowered (Y/n) to rest fully against the bed once more. She even offered (Y/n) water and helped her drink. Then she checked her temperature, the cool touch of her skin felt wonderful against (Y/n)’s aching head.

“What happened?” (Y/n) murmured, whining when Cassandra went to remove her hand. A bit hesitantly, she put it back. A small, prideful smile curved at her lips when (Y/n) relaxed against her touch.

“Don’t you remember?” Cassandra scoffed, “I swear, you humans are so unbelievably fragile. You were attacked by a Moroaica that strayed from its pack. Bela and the idiot who caused the whole mess found you. I did some sucking up to mother and we fixed you up with a little herbal remedy,” Cassandra frowned her voice becoming a tad accusatory, “Yet you still slept for a long time.”

“I’m sorry to have been an inconvenience Lady Cassandra.” (Y/n) spoke up after trying to absorb all that Cassandra had told her. Surely it would have taken more than a, ‘little herbal remedy’ to fix what had happened to her.

(Y/n) scrunched her eyes shut when Cassandra suddenly growled and pinched the maid’s nose.

“I’m glad you realize it. Do you know how infuriating it is to watch another maid handle my weaponry all wrong? To not make my room the way that I like it? Ugh, I’d have killed them all if mother let me.” She let go of (Y/n)’s nose, swiping the side of her index finger playfully over the bridge a couple times before re-settling her hand over (Y/n)’s cheek.

“That’s why, when you’re all better, you are going to have to train one of those imbeciles how to do it right.”

“I can do it myself, Lady Cassandra. I can get back to work tomorrow I’m sure of it.” (Y/n) nearly pleaded. She was sure any girl she trained would end up killed anyway. There were too many little things that could set Cassandra off to count.

“There is no more cleaning for you. You’re retired.”

“Retired?” (Y/n) couldn’t help but gawk up at Cassandra. The notion was wholly unbelievable. No one retired from serving the Dimitrescus’ unless you counted dying as a form of retirement.

“Yes.” Cassandra said with near vicious finality.

“Lady Cassandra, my parents count on the lei I send them from my job here, please reconsider. There is no work for me back at the village and I’d just be another mouth my family cannot afford to feed.” (Y/n) beseeched, her body quaked with fever.

“Calm yourself.” Cassandra spoke as if attempting to be soft, but was still very on edge. “Your family will still receive money. You aren’t going back to the village.”

“I’m not?” (Y/n)’s brows drew together with further confusion, “but, then what will be my purpose if I’m not to work?”

“Does it really matter?” Cassandra flustered, a buzzing sound filled the space between them, “Your family is getting money and you don’t have to do anything for it, be grateful!” Cassandra pinched (Y/n)’s cheek a bit harshly before standing and stalking away. The buzzing following her as she tore the door open once more.

“I’ll be back with lunch.” The Dimitrescu grumbled before closing the door behind her once more.

“What is going on?” (Y/n) whispered to herself in disbelief before resting her head fully back against the pillow. She caught movement in the corner of her eye and turned her head just in time to watch a blowfly crawl back into the dark canopy of the bed.

***

(Y/n) wasn’t sure what to do with herself. Suddenly, she had all this free time on her hands and would for a long time apparently. It was nice when she was still recovering, but now that she had healed, she felt antsy.

Cassandra had handpicked a trembling maid for (Y/n) to train, but even those sessions did not last long as the poor girl, Anca was her name, was still expected to complete other chores. Something that did help to pass the time however was Cassandra herself, strangely enough. She was always the one to bring (Y/n) meals unless she was busy with some task her mother had given her, also giving (Y/n) little gifts and talking to her throughout each day. Sometimes the ‘gifts’ were gruesome and the talks seemed more like interrogations, but the effort in which Cassandra put into every interaction left (Y/n) intrigued with, and appreciative of the middle child.

Now wasn’t one of those times unfortunately, and (Y/n) found herself pacing the floor of her room, yes, one of her very own. Given to her by Cassandra right across the hall from her own. Now that she was well enough to do more on her own, she had been moved there about three weeks ago to have her own space. Another thing that was unheard of coming from the middle Dimitrescu. (Y/n) paused by the window to look out upon the snowy ground below.

“Miss (Y/n)?” A knock on the door, “May I speak with you?”

“Anca,” (Y/n) paused her paces, that was strange. There had been no plans for a lesson tonight. Nevertheless, (Y/n) was happy for the company. Ever since Cassandra had removed her from service, the other maids had avoided (Y/n) like a plague “please come in.”

The nervous little maid came in, closing the door tightly behind her, shoulders stiff as she slowly approached and took a seat in the chair (Y/n) offered to her.

“Are you alright? You’re shaking.” (Y/n) frowned, reaching out to comfort her only to watch Anca shrink away from her hand.

“Lady Cassandra,” she spoke, looking wildly around the room, “she will kill me I’m sure of it. What game are you playing?”

“Game? I’m playing no game.” (Y/n) tried to assure. “Has she said anything to you? I promise I’m covering every base I can—”

“You aren’t doing enough!” She screeched, startling the other. “I’ve seen the way she treats you. The privileges you’ve gained. This is all a set up! You were in my shoes not long ago, have you really lost your humanity so quickly?”

“Anca, please, calm yourself. I’m not working against you, I swear.” (Y/n) tried to explain. “Tell me what’s wrong, let me help you. How can I help you?”

“How?” Anca mumbled, rubbing at her dark rimmed eyes. “It’s all because of you that I’m in this mess to begin with!”

“I’m sorry you feel that way, Anca.”

“No, I really don’t think you are.” Anca sniffed, rising from her chair. “But maybe there is something you can do to help me. I’m already dead, but I want to hurt Lady Cassandra before I go and I think I can do just that,” she pulled a knife from her apron, “if I take you down with me!”

“Anca!” (Y/n) screamed, stumbling away just before the knife could strike her.

“Just hold still! I’ll do it fast, please!” Anca cried as she swiped at her again. “Let me just have this one thing! This one last fuck you to this hell hole!”

“Stop! You’re making a mistake!” (Y/n) tried again, wrestling with Anca for the knife.

The scuffle went on for minutes before (Y/n) was thrown to the back wall, the knife missed her head just barely and sunk into the wood behind her. As Anca struggled to hold her in place and wedge the knife free, (Y/n) called out for her without even realizing it until the blood drained from Anca’s face.

“Cassandra!”

“No, shut up! Shut up you bitch!” Anca squealed, rocking the knife more vigorously.

“Cass—“ (Y/n) tried to call out again, this time fully aware of what she was doing, only to be head-butted by Anca in a desperate attempt to quiet her while she continued to work at the knife.

It was too late for that however, as proven by angry buzzing sounds roaring through the hallway and sliding under the door before forming right at Anca’s back, a cold hand joined Anca’s over the knife and grasped her so hard, (Y/n) could hear the maid’s fingers crack.

“You want this knife, do you?” Cassandra sneered, “Please, allow me.”

Cassandra tugged the knife from the wall like it had been warm butter, Anca’s hand still clenched in her own. She used her other arm to pull Anca off of (Y/n) with a rough tug and hardly took more than a few steps away before plunging the knife deep into the girl’s chest.

“There you go. You’re welcome you miserable little wretch.” Cassandra raked the knife downward, slicing Anca’s flesh all the way down to the hip as the poor girl screamed. “That will teach you to touch what doesn’t belong to you!”

(Y/n) could only watch, wide-eyed and trembling as Cassandra dissolved into her swarm, allowing Anca to fall to the floor before hundreds of little mouths began working at her flesh until the screaming ceased and all that was discernible was a frozen expression of agony on Anca’s face.

The blowflies came back together after a few more moments of feeding and Cassandra reformed, crouched beside (Y/n). (Y/n) didn’t even realize she had sunk to the floor during the gruesome attack.

Cassandra raised a blood covered hand to (Y/n)’s cheek, turning the face in her grasp, she assessed the damage, buzzing all the while. Somehow the sound felt, calming, reassuring. (Y/n) didn’t even flinch away from her touches and instead found herself leaning into them.

“Just look at what that thing did to you,” Cassandra hissed as she watched the blood leak from (Y/n)’s nose, “I should have killed her even slower.”

(Y/n) sniffled, leaning her head on Cassandra’s shoulder, “Thank you for coming.”

“I’ll always come to you if you call for me,” Cassandra sighed and pulled (Y/n) into her lap. She smelled almost overwhelmingly of blood, but (Y/n) couldn’t bring herself to care. “No one has ever called for me like you have before. No one that wasn’t my mother or sisters anyway,” Cassandra bit her lip, “I... at first, I was enraged that you called for me that first time, but the more I thought about it... Ugh! You made me feel all gross and buzzy inside. I’m just so used to humans fearing me, associating me with death. Never have I been called by one expecting to be saved from it.”

“Is that why you helped me after that Moroaica had attacked me?” (Y/n) asked, her voice still muffled by Cassandra’s shoulder. She didn’t really want to catch sight of Anca’s remains again while in the arms of her killer.

“Yes. I’m still mad at you for that.” Cassandra growled, “Why didn’t you call for me that time? I thought we had an understanding.”

“I’m sorry,” (Y/n) chuckled despite everything, “But I think understandings are usually met through open communication. I’m sorry I didn’t interpret your bug bites and general antagonisms as anything but blatant harassment.”

“Excuse me?” Cassandra snarled, reminding (Y/n) just how frightening she could be.

“I, I’m sorry Lady Cassandra. I forget myself.” (Y/n) stammered before gasping as Cassandra effortlessly rose to her feet with (Y/n) still in her arms.

“You must be awfully tired to be so mouthy. I can’t imagine you’ll want to sleep with a corpse on your rug so you’ll just have to sleep in my room until the maids clean this mess up. I suppose I’ll need to fix your nose too. So fragile, my prey is.” Cassandra sighed, clearly feeling inconvenienced by the whole situation. Though she carefully maneuvered out of the doorway so (Y/n) wouldn’t bump against it as they made the short trip across the hall to her room.

“You treat me quite well for being prey.” (Y/n) tested with caution. “You protect me, but why? Is it all so you can end me yourself at your own leisure?”

“Oh wow Cass, you really know how to make a maiden feel special.”

“I knew she was full of it, Bela! I bet they haven’t so much as kissed yet!”

(Y/n) felt Cassandra’s grip on her tighten as the mocking voices of her sisters closed in on them before Cassandra could slink into her room.

“Shut the hell up and mind your own business!” Cassandra fumed, crossing the threshold into her room before kicking the door shut, making a thunderous slam reverberate off of the castle walls.

Bela and Daniela merely giggled, seeping through the cracks of the doors before reforming over their sister’s bed, nearly falling on top of each other as Cassandra sped past them to take (Y/n) into her en-suite bathroom.

She placed (Y/n) on top on the counter and tweaked her nose without warning, making (Y/n) yelp in pain.

“Quiet prey, I needed to set your nose back into place is all,” Cassandra wrinkled her nose as more blood oozed from the abused cartilage, “damn, why must you smell so enticing.”

(Y/n) couldn’t find any words, both because her nose stung like hell and she was still stuck on what Daniela and Bela were taunting Cassandra about, so she just managed a small shrug.

Cassandra hardly seemed to mind her lack of verbal response. She was too busy grinding her teeth as her sisters continued to whisper and laugh in the bedroom. Cassandra quickly wiped and stuffed (Y/n)’s nose, nearly hissing at her to remain still before going back to deal with her unruly siblings, licking the stray blood from her fingers as she went.

(Y/n) tried to give her some privacy, she really did, but it was hard not to listen in when they were speaking so loudly, and about herself no less.

“You two get out of my room, now!” Cassandra commanded.

“Why? It’s not like anything unseemly is going to be happening in here. Right, Daniela?” Bela giggled while Daniela downright cackled with glee.

“Get. Out. Now!” Cassandra bellowed.

“Oh no Cassie,” Daniela waggled a finger, snatching it back before Cassandra could bite it, “you spend weeks pretending to have gone all the way with dear (Y/n) over there like some casanova and now we find out she doesn’t even know you like her?”

“What’s the matter Cassandra? It isn’t like you to be so chaste.” Bela said with a smirk.

“She must really like this one to be taking her time like this.” Daniela hypothesized with a bloodstained grin.

“Leave you idiots!” Cassandra nearly screamed, “She can probably hear everything you’re spewing! I’ll throw you out in the cold, don’t think I won’t!”

“Geez Cass, no need to be so hostile,” Bela shivered at the thought.

“Yeah, you take your well deserved teasings or we’ll tell mother you are not playing fair.” Daniela added with a pout.

Cassandra pinched the bridge of her nose shutting her eyes tightly before releasing her nose with a growl and snapping her gaze back to her sisters.

“What do you want?” She grumbled.

“Oo! I want the best bits of your next hunt!” Daniela immediately proclaimed.

“I want to watch you flounder about whilst you try to explain your affections to the maiden.” Bela had said after a moment of consideration.

“Oh! That sounds fun. I retract my previous statement. I want what Bela’s having.” Daniela wiggled.

“I hate you both.” Cassandra huffed before stalking back to the bathroom, her giggling sister’s on her heels. (Y/n) quickly shot her gaze down at her swinging feet, suddenly more interested in the patterns of the floor below.

It didn’t take long for Cassandra to grab (Y/n)’s jaw and pull her face upward to meet her golden eyes.

“Listen prey,” Cassandra swallowed and blinked, her eyes darting all around (Y/n)’s face, “I...”

“Come on, Cassandra. It’s not that difficult.” Bela cooed, egging her sister on.

“I could tell her for you. That would be fun.” Daniela suggested, shrinking back just a bit at the look Cassandra shot her over her shoulder.

“Prey, (Y/n), I... Why is this so hard!” She stomped her foot and her nails bit into (Y/n)’s skin a bit too harshly, “I like you a lot and that’s why I’ve been helping you. I want you to like me too. Do you? Be honest.” She asked with a bit of hostility.

Did (Y/n) like Cassandra? Either way, it seemed like a death sentence to say no. Cassandra seemed to notice (Y/n)’s trepidation and quickly added,

“You don’t have to be scared. I won’t hurt you, just tell me the truth. If the answer is not to my liking then I guess I’ll simply have to try harder.” She said as if the words physically hurt her to say.

(Y/n) thought back on all of her interactions with Cassandra in a new light. Actually being caught as she fell, the schoolyard boy with a crush behavior (which honestly didn’t give the her any points but did make sense for how the murderous woman might try to show affection), most promising was how she brought (Y/n) back to health and continued to send money to her struggling family despite not working. Then of course she had saved her from Anca’s knife, wasting no time in cutting her down and checking (Y/n) over with care.

(Y/n) gave Cassandra a small smile that steadily grew a bit wider as golden eyes traced the movement and a hopeful sounding buzz began warbling in the back of her throat. Even the sisters standing behind her buzzed in unison, seemingly feeling their sister’s hope and growing excitement.

“Lady Cassandra, I like you too—Eep!”

Cassandra’s face dove into (Y/n)’s neck as her strong arms wrapped around (Y/n) to hold her still as she nuzzled and buzzed to her heart’s content. Bela and Daniela dissolved into their swarms and were haphazardly flying around them in celebration.

Cassandra gave (Y/n)’s neck a playful nip, much softer than a blowfly, before standing back to her full height and throwing (Y/n) over her shoulder.

“Lady Cassandra?” (Y/n) tried, wiggling a bit in the sudden new hold.

“Shhh, I’ve been waiting for this moment for weeks.” Cassandra said, craning her neck to look up at her sisters still buzzing above them, “Buzz off.” She told them. The clouds of flies let out a bout of disembodied laughter before slipping back under the door, feeling that they had given their sister enough grief for one night.

Once Cassandra was sure they were gone, she tossed (Y/n) on to the bed and climbed in as well, hovering over the stuttering maiden.

“Wuh- wait, Cassandra, I know we established we like each other but—“ the former maid flustered as Cassandra rested her full weight over (Y/n)’s body and moaned pleasantly in her ear.

“Mm, you’re so warm. I could just lay here forever.” She sighed, snaking her hands underneath (Y/n)’s back.

“Thank... you?” (Y/n) awkwardly replied. For as tall and strong as Cassandra was, she was surprisingly light. (Y/n) figured the fact that she was made up of flies had something to do with that.

Cassandra hummed some more, nuzzling her nose in the crook of (Y/n)’s neck and breathing so deeply that (Y/n) couldn’t help but giggle. There was a bit of concern bleeding in the back of her mind, but the smiling lips on her collarbone were quick to distract her.

“I quite like it when you make that sound, it’s sweet. But right now I’m quite tired, and I would like for you to be quiet now. I’m listening to your blood move.”

Well, that was a slightly terrifying admission. (Y/n) must’ve been going mad because she reacted no differently than if she had said she was listening to her heartbeat.

“Goodnight then.” (Y/n) murmured, slowly patting Cassandra’s hair, earning a low continuous buzzing that persisted until they had fallen asleep together.

[neo-shitty]

gladius maximus (b.c)

prompt. #17 — “you can’t do that!” “watch me.” from @ficscafe​‘s dialogue prompt event and requested by @subways-stuff​

description. in which they didn’t tell you that superheroes didn’t always come in suits and capes. some came in casual clothes, OP gold swords and sparky hands.

pairings. son of zeus!bang chan x gender-neutral reader who can see through the mist

genre. (an attempt at) comedy, fantasy, action, fluff (?), pjo!au

warnings. a monster is slayed here, nothing but the typical pjo violence.

word count. 2.8k

notes. please do not ask me about the title. i wrote a sequel-ish for this story and you can read star lost here! :)

You tried to stay as still and as quiet as you could. Which was hard considering that there was nothing but a chunk of metal shielding you from the monster that made itself at home on the otherwise barren rooftop.

It all happened too quickly. One second you were just leaning against the barricade of the building’s rooftop, breathing in the view of the cityscape as a form of relaxation after surviving yet another hectic day. A loud flap from a pair of wings and a near-miss with sharp claws later, you were now slumped against the back of an insufferably smelly garbage trunk in desperation to stay alive.

This was supposed to be my safe place, you thought. It was ironic, really, now that you felt anything but safe.

You had your fair share of seeing otherworldly creatures but you’ve never had an encounter as close as this one. You thought that if you pretended you couldn’t see them then they wouldn’t take notice of your presence either. That didn’t seem to be the case with this creature in particular. It swooped down from a high altitude so quickly that you barely had any time to react before it landed on the spot where you once stood. You only figured it wasn’t friendly at the last moment. Thankfully, it was just enough time for you to escape unharmed.

You didn’t have enough time to study it and right now, you were too scared to even peek and spare it a glance. You imagined it was just as large as the garbage trunk, but not large enough to easily trample your hiding spot or throw it aside. Its grumbles panned from loud to quiet, as if it were pacing around the rooftop to find you. The thought made you laugh to yourself. For such a big, scary creature, it wasn’t all that smart. It evened things out.

You shook your head and reminded yourself that there was still a grave matter at hand.

The pulsing in your ear was still loud, but willing your mind to calm down seemed to work in clearing your thoughts out. The initial panic was beginning to die down and your heart finally seized trying to leap out of your ribcage. Slowly, you listed your options down.

The doorway leading back to the stairwell was only a few feet away. If you ran fast enough, you’d be able to reach it in seconds. The problem was that the creature was faster than you were. It could be anywhere on the platform and it could reach you way before you could safely make your exit. You shuddered at the thought of being caught; you didn’t want to become someone’s—or something’s, rather—dinner tonight.

Dashing for the exit was possible but only if luck was on your side. Any delay on the creature’s part could be crucial (and beneficial) to your survival. If not that, you could always yeet yourself off the building and hope the fall wouldn’t be too bad. Except you were on the rooftop of a building that was a dozen storeys high and there were no safety nets present to catch you.

You thought of sitting it out, playing a waiting game with the predator until it grew tired and set out for another prey. You’ve read about such things happening in books, something on Natural Selection and how survival wasn’t always about being the fittest but also being the smartest as well. But what you thought of doing wasn’t particularly smart either. And as the creature snarled when it got a quiff of your scent again, inching closer and closer to your hiding place, waiting things out didn’t secure your survival at all.

You were running out of time. You’ve laid all your possible options down and none of them secured a hundred percent life rate. Stay put, jump off or run. Only one out of the three didn’t scream certain death upon execution.

Either you moved now, or you might as well be monster dinner.

Snagging one of your sneakers off your foot, you prayed that the lucky shoe would cause enough distraction to deter the creature’s attention away from you. Hopefully, it’d buy you enough time to make your get away.

With little skill and poor aim, you threw the shoe overhead. It landed on a metal plate, rattling as it rolled over and over until it eventually lost momentum. The creature didn’t waste a second of its time, pouncing off the bin as it ran after the Converse. You stared in disbelief, finding it hard to process that a plan that stupid (and circumstantial) worked. Maybe luck was on your side tonight.

You took it as your cue to make your escape. Scooting slowly out of your hiding place, you ran the other way and in the direction of the door to the stairwell. Too easy, you thought, it was almost unbelievable.

Of course, like every other thing that came easy to you, you jinxed it.

Before you could reach the door, it swung open—hard—and it slammed against the wall beside the doorway. You had to bite your tongue to stop yourself from cursing at the boy who opened it. Great, now your little distraction trick was pointless. The creature turned its head, eyes ogling out of their sockets at the sight of two juicy meal options. Drool dripped down its beak and on to the ground beneath it—on to your shoe.

You only had a moment to mourn over your soiled shoe before the creature shrieked, bending its legs as it prepared to launch itself for attack. You stood frozen in terror, your feet seemingly glued to the cemented floor as you locked eyes with the beast. Its eyes reminded you of your cat’s; thin black slits surrounded by a pool of gold. So hypnotizing but also terrifying.

You were knocked out of your own thoughts when you were dragged aside.

“Get behind me.”

The voice came from the stranger who opened the stairwell door—the culprit responsible for getting both your asses into a tight pinch. You wanted to snap at him and ask him what in the world he was thinking, like it would be physically possible to one-up a creature twice as large as him. It was stupid, you thought, he was stupid.

“You can’t do that,” you blurted out.

The boy’s stance didn't waver, but he turned his head slightly to answer you. “Can’t do what?”

“Face that thing off? Are you stupid?”

You could hear the smirk in his tone when he spoke. “Watch me.”

But he sounded so sure that it convinced you to stay put and stand behind him. Who were you to choose? You had nothing to lose. At least you weren’t the first one the monster would make a meal out of, and you always had the chance to leave the boy on his own and run down the flight of stairs back into the building. Maybe he was buying you some time.

The boy stood with one foot in front of the other as if he were actually serious in fighting the beast on his own. He was right to be at the ready because the creature pounced at him before you could rethink your decision. He didn’t move at all, and for a moment you thought you were both done for. 

Up until the last second. Thunder rumbled and rolled overhead, like a storm was stirring right above where you both stood even when you recalled looking up to a sky full of stars just moments ago. A bright light flashed in front of you and a loud boom followed after, blinding and deafening you momentarily. You took a step back, blinking a few times until the black outline of the lightning bolt cleared up.

It took you a moment to realize that it was the creature that was struck by it. Being this close to the sky on top of a high-rise building, it wasn’t an impossible target. It might’ve carried some kind of conductor with it. Metal? Gold? You weren’t so sure, you were just thankful that you weren’t the lucky one who got struck.

The beast looked weakened and dazed, maybe even paralyzed. A part of its back looked blackened and burnt. Its feathers were charred; some were reduced to ash while others still burned and scattered cinders around.

On the other hand, the boy’s moves were swift and calculated, easily missable if you weren’t paying attention. The glint of the blade he held caught your eye as he drew it out of its leather sheath. He jabbed the sword upward, right as the beast’s beak closed in—stopping it from fully clamping shut. It let out a low cry in agony, sinking to its knees as the blade was buried deeper and deeper until the pointed end stuck out of its head. Its eyes slowly fluttered shut and its whole body crumpled. 

You both stood in silence as the creature fell limp, sprawled out on the floor in front of you. You were about to open your mouth when you noticed bits and pieces of it beginning to disappear into the wind. What once was solid, ferocious, and terrifying was reduced to a pile of dust; so fragile that the slightest movement would cause it to crumble. The boy did just that as he pulled his sword out of what once was the creature’s head. As if the sword was the last thing holding it together, the whole structure of the beast dispersed into thin air upon the metal’s removal. It left not a single speck of its existence behind and it left you blinking at the space where it once was. 

“Oh, you’re still here?” 

Your brain was still preoccupied with processing everything that happened since Whatever-that-was landed on the rooftop, that you were startled when the boy spoke. 

You blinked back at him. His sword was back in its sheath and he didn’t look like he single-handedly K.O-ed a monster with one move. He appeared unscathed, which was good, and unfazed, which was confusing. You weren’t sure if you should congratulate him or take a step back.

“How did you do that?” The question left your lips before you could even think twice about how weird and childish it sounded. 

“Do what?”

“That,” you stammered, “that thing you did. You stabbed the eagle, mutated eagle, eagle lion or whatever that was, and it just”—you snapped your fingers in his face—“you get me?”

The boy raised an eyebrow, “Mutated eagle? You mean the Gryphon?” Your face contorted into an even more confused one and he figured that everything was just a little too much to process at the moment. “You can see through the Mist?”

You blinked twice, checking the surroundings for any clumps of grey that could’ve clouded your vision. Nope, not a single cloud in sight. “I guess so? I can’t see anything,” you trailed off, “misty.”

He looked at you with furrowed brows, before he went on to shake his head. “That’s not what I meant,” he chuckled awkwardly. “It’s a long story, actually.”

“Are you an alien?” You cut him off before he could even begin his long story, but it didn’t look like he was about to tell it either. “I mean, you’re physically human at the moment. But that sword,” you pointed at the hilt that stuck out of the leather scabbard hanging by his hip, “that pulverized the Gryffindor doesn’t seem earthly at all.”

“Gryphon,” he corrected.

“Sorry.”

“You sure catch up quickly,” he noted, humming in praise at your speedy deduction.

You mumbled a small thank you before you looked up to meet his gaze. His dark eyes stared down at you with such intensity; it made you shudder. You could make out thin lines of light in the middle of the swirls of black. You couldn’t be sure if they were mere reflections of the light from other skyscrapers or his eyes just glowed on its own. Looking into them felt like peering at thick storm clouds moments before the downpour. 

You were busy staring back at him so intently that you jumped when a loud voice suddenly echoed up the stairwell. 

“There you are, Chan! We wouldn’t have found you without the lightning.”

You turned your head and found two boys standing by the lower platform; one jolly boy who owned the voice that left you startled and a shorter boy who was tugging the former back.

“Jisung, shut up,” the shorter boy scolded, elbowing the boy beside him as he acknowledged your presence. “I’m sure you already dealt with the,” he trailed off, skirting around the topic at the presence of someone else, “with it. Meet us back at the park once you’re through here.” 

He spared you a cautious glance before he disappeared down the stairwell with the jolly boy in tow.

You had a million questions to ask, enthralled with the idea that you finally came across someone who saw all the weird things you did. Curiosity was eating you up, but you knew Chan didn’t have enough time to answer them. 

“I’m guessing you need to go,” you uttered under your breath.

Chan pursed his lips, seemingly aware that you weren’t happy about him leaving with so many loose ends left untied in your head. “Kinda. Feels like I still owe you an explanation though,” he answered. 

“Save your explanation for another day, Alien.” 

He arched an eyebrow at the announcement of his new nickname and he fought the urge to laugh at how wrong you were. “I prefer Chan, whatever-your-name-is.”

You sighed, wiping your hands on the pant leg of you jeans before offering it to him, “Good day, Chan. I’m _____. You saved my life,  I am eternally grateful.”

Chan blinked at you, then at your outstretched hand, then back at you again. It took him a few more seconds before he took it in his. You felt a jolt of energy run up your arm the moment his hand touched yours. His hand was warm and rough and of high voltage. Slowly and surely, you started to piece two and two together. If the boy in front of you wasn’t human, then could he possibly be a—

“You don’t have to be eternally grateful,” he insisted as he let go of your hand. “It’s kind of my job to make sure—”

“It’s a movie reference,” you cut him off again, and the look of confusion in his face made it obvious that he didn’t get it. Maybe he really was an alien, you thought. Wherever he lived, they didn’t have Toy Story or maybe he just hasn’t seen it yet.

You watched as he began to walk in the opposite direction. By opposite, you meant both away from you and away from the stairwell. 

“And where the hell are you going? The way down is this way?”

Chan didn’t appear to be listening because he continued to walk up to the cemented barricades of the rooftop. “Who needs stairs when you can fly?” he announced, lifting himself up so he could stand on top.

He noticed the glint of worry in your eyes as you stared up at him. 

“For someone who can see through the Mist, you seem a bit skeptical,” he chided, walking down the wall with little to no caution.

“All in a day’s work of seeing things no one else can. You start believing them when they tell you that you’re just hallucinating.”

Chan finally stopped pacing when he reached the corner of the building and you let out a breath of relief. “I’ll see you around, _____. I promise I’ll explain everything next time.”

Before you could shout back a response, he was already leaning back against nothing. You broke into a sprint as you watched his body disappear off the side of the building. Your eyes scanned frantically for his falling body when you reached the edge. And you saw him briefly, free-falling until he wasn’t. 

A cloud swooped by to catch him and the gears in your mind reeled again. There was no way water vapor could catch a heavy man but there he was. Chan drifted by at the mercy of the wind (literally) and you began to question every Science lesson that has been taught to you. You already had your fair share of encounters with the supernatural before. Why would this day be any different?

The cloud began to take form as it rose in altitude, passing you by as it climbed up an invisible staircase upwards before it disappeared in lightning speed—taking Chan along with it. You sat there for a few moments, dumb-founded and stunned beyond disbelief. 

You blinked twice and you tried to internalize that you just saw a grown-ass man fly away on the back of a cloud shaped like a horse, or a horse made out of clouds. Your head began to ache when you started to think too much about it. 

Whatever, you thought. Just another weird day for you. 

You turned your heel, walked back to the stairwell door and never looked back.

© neo-shitty, 2021

[icyowl]

Hawks’s wings have a mind of their own (headcanons)

A/N: some slight suggestive themes, so don’t like read this to your parents or anything.

You were about to step off a curb right into the path of a cyclist and suddenly you were mom-armed back onto the sidewalk. It was a powerful force that almost had you tripping back onto your butt. He was standing next to you with a smirk, so you thought this was his cheeky way of keeping you safe.

Internally though, this man is screaming. What the hell was that? This has never happened before with his other girlfriends. It wasn’t hero instinct either -- his wing had yanked him to you.

He gets flustered the next time. 

Once is a fluke, but twice is a pattern.

You hadn’t seen the old glass mason jar come off the top shelf along with whatever you were reaching for until it was heading straight down to your face. There was nothing to do other than brace for a painful impact. You were surprised at the large gust of wind and a deafening shatter of glass. Hawk’s wing had narrowly missed your head and full on backhanded that mason jar across the room. Wasn’t his fault the glass shattered when it hit the wall, but he did offer to clean it up.

Even his feathers will detach from their home and come to your aid. Can’t reach something? They’ve already scooped it up and are offering it to you. About to trip over a pair of shoes that got left out? They’re pushing them out of the way. Something’s heavy? Well now they’re carrying it for you.

Yes, they do unconsciously cover you from rain if you’re both caught outside. It’s cliche but damn if it doesn’t make your heart all big and mushy.

Weeks later it was snowing and the two of you were walking in a park because you insisted on seeing the beautiful new scenery. Even with all the clothes, gusts of wind burst through your layers and made you shiver a little. It wasn’t that bad, but suddenly there was one of his wings coming to your rescue. Not only did it wrap carefully around your waist, but his alula arced over your head so you weren’t just getting hugged, you were being surrounded by fuzz and fluff.

Hawks was looking ahead and hadn’t stopped talking, so it was clear he hadn’t realized what he’d done. It wasn’t until you carefully grabbed one of his primary feathers to further bring his wing around you that he broke consciousness and saw what was happening. Christ, he thought, I have to talk to someone about this.

He finally decided to share his findings with you when a particularly heavy makeout session gave his wings enough control to ever-so-carefully slip under your shirt before stiffening and -- rriiippp -- sending the shredded remains to the floor and causing you to cover yourself in utter surprise. Again, his wings had never done that before.

‘The talk’ has nothing to do with changing bodies or how to avoid pregnancy. No, this talk with Hawks involves him sitting you down and haphazardly trying to explain to you that his wings just do stuff when you’re around. He tried to get help from other animal-based quirk users after the day it snowed, and they all said they had experienced the same things: animalistic appendages moving on their own, instincts becoming overwhelmingly powerful for people they hold dear, even making strange noises during times of excitement for that special someone.

It can get embarrassing when others are around because he’s got a persona to maintain and now he can’t control his own limbs so what does that say about his abilities? Someone makes a joke that hits you the wrong way at a gala and suddenly a wing has placed itself in front of you and is pushing you back behind your date. Hawks’s wing had tried to place you under his protection by all but pinning you to his spine. People began to stare when they realized the almighty Hawks had subconsciously tried to protect your honor. That one had been fun to try and explain away.

Someone tried to attack Hawks and you out of the blue one day and triggered both his predatory and protective instincts. A wing lashed out and shoved you back and out of harm's reach. The force was powerful enough to make you fall and almost hit your head. Meanwhile Hawks had become an entirely different creature than the carefree one you had grown too accustomed to.

Now, Hawks isn’t a big guy. He’s average height and got a slim build. However, the sudden intensity of his presence was frightening and growing more powerful by the second as he all but stalked the man who had tried to come after you. Hawks was now an apex hunter cornering his prey with his animalistic gaze alone. Wings came up to make him larger than his opponent, furthering his status as a high ranking animal and crowning him king over his opponent.

Hawks didn’t speak -- he might have even lost the ability to -- and that made him even scarier. Instead he growled deep and powerful with a timber only a beast could perform. This wasn’t a person anymore.

Unbeknownst to you or Hawks, his eyes had constricted to onyx specs hooded by eyelids lowered in powerful contempt for the insufferable cretin that had dared harm his mate in such an underhanded method. At least face him head on like someone of power would do.

You could only see Hawks from the back, but he was still unsettling to watch. You’d never want to be frightened of him, but this was so unexpected.

It was only your scream that brought Hawks out of his hunt. It hadn’t occurred to you during the commotion that the assailant would have a compatriot. You were being dragged away for only a couple of feet before Hawks registered the threat and all but lunged at the woman who had the audacity to lay a hand on you.

Hawks came at you in one movement, so swift and violent you closed your eyes. A gust of wind disturbed your hair, and a weight settled gently over you. For all his ferocity, Hawks stopped on a dime over top of you, hunched low to the ground and incinerating the female attacker with just his eyes.

You weren’t scared now. Sure, Hawks was something entirely different right now, but the way he covered you and kept you close to the ground with his body could only be an action of protection. He had one knee and one foot on either side of your waist, with one hand planted firmly on the ground right next to your head and the other wielding a primary feather as a blade.

His wings fanned out to their maximum reach and skimmed the ground. They were covering any possible blind spots Hawks might have whilst protecting your sight from seeing any lethal damage their owner might cause in the next few seconds. Time slowed enough for one wing to lean down and barely brush your hand in a show of comfort. It was trying to convey to you that you were safe now, and wanted to see if you were okay. Hawks’s wings were sensitive enough to gauge the wellbeing of a person based on a second of contact, and you knew that was what he was unconsciously doing now.

Seeing their odds of success diminishing by the second, the two assailants took off with screams of apology thrown over their shoulders.

There was a pause while Hawks regained his mental acuity and composure. He slowly lowered his head onto your own and breathed in deeply. It was a deeply compassionate action that contrasted sharply with the man of instinct that had pinned you under him only a couple of seconds ago. “You’re okay?”

You were still too jarred to do much other than nod and hum an approval. “Thank you.”

It took him some time to convince himself the threats were gone and to get off of you.

You had a nightmare that same night. Hawks was still waking up when his wings pulled you over to him. You couldn’t remember much of the dream, but it must have been a bad one; you felt fine, but tears were clearly running down your face. Again his wing was there, gentler than a lamb as it wiped the paths of water from your cheeks and dried the corners of your eyes.

The next time you do the dirty, it becomes surprisingly intimate. He totally caught you off guard when his wings wrapped around him to slip under your body and basically hug you to him while you guys are getting down to business. You knew him well enough to see the uncertainty in his face: he’d never felt this way before, or done things like this. This part of him had never been this powerful before and it made him nervous. What if he was changing? What if he was losing himself?

His canines had grown and sharpened so talking was really difficult. All you had to go off of were his eyes of wariness and a hint of shame. For Christ’s sake, he couldn't even speak to you right now. What did that say of him? Hawks felt nothing like himself right now and it was quite unsettling.

The best and only thing you could think of to prove to him was to show that you accepted all of him, even the parts of him he tried not to show or didn’t understand. You manifested that affection in your mouth, and touched it gently to his own. That night was spent cocooned in his rumbling, chesty calls and easing him through the bouts of potent instinctual desire that almost consumed him. He didn’t want to hurt you, and he was worried he would cause you harm with all this emotion and intensity crashing through his blood. Your presence and comforting words helped him keep the worst of it at bay and work through it. After that night you achieved a closeness few could imagine.

If you’re ever in a combat situation, Hawks likes to put you between him and a wall and use his wings to stretch back and cage you in, in a sort of triangle of protection. He knows you’re not weak or anything, he knows that… but he can’t help himself.

You talk to his wings as if Hawks isn’t there. It’s a whole thing. He can’t meet your eyes ‘cause it's cute and he’s not supposed to enjoy it this much so he’s trying not to react. Thankfully you only do these kinds of antics in private. When you coo and gush over them they puff out without warning and rub into you like an overzealous dog.

--------

As a fellow birb I sympathize with this man. It’s okay to like shiny objects Hawks, no one will judge you.

[animereaderinsertwriter]

Cupbearer (Eren/Reader)

Part III

Part I

Part II

Part IV (in progress)

Warnings: MINORS DO NOT INTERACT (im watching you, if you see this, begone!), vampire!eren, hunter!reader, fem!reader, smut, some amount of predator/prey dynamics but only kinda?? there is also a significant age difference but only cos eren is immortal and all that jazz. we're all adults here. there will eventually be smut.... and do i really need to say that there's gonna be blood in a vampire fic?

Description: A story of falling in love in 4 parts.

Eren is a bad man (well, a bad Creature) who has done bad things. When he meets the great-great-great granddaughter of one of his former friends in his favorite blood bar, however, he thinks it might not matter so much what happened in the past, so long as he can make the future something worth living to see.

Ao3 link here

After that night, it became increasingly hard for (Y/N) to leave, and for Eren to let her do so.

Something between them had changed. There were moments— when Eren would press feather-light kisses against her forehead, when he would casually leave a cup of her favorite tea where she would find it— where (Y/N) felt as though her heart might burst. It was all the little things that baffled her, all the ways in which he seemed to understand exactly how she felt; it was as though he knew her more than she knew herself. On the mornings that she would wake in his bed, sleepy and sticky and wholly content, (Y/N) wondered what it would be like to have this life forever.

Other days— on days like today— she was reminded exactly why that could never be, and it broke her heart.

Today, they had planned a romantic dinner in the park, an evening under the stars. It was supposed to be something special, a little getaway just for the two of them; they had wanted to leave as soon as (Y/N) was relieved from her patrol, so Eren had moved her things to his place, hoping that they could leave together from there for their evening alone.

In and of itself, that was fine… but when (Y/N) came in, covered head-to-toe in viscous Creature blood, Eren was furious.

“And you call me a monster,” he growled, looking her up and down with hate in his eyes. “I can’t believe you.”

He stood from his seat on the sofa, and (Y/N) began to back away, still wary from the fight she had narrowly escaped from unscathed. Her every instinct told her that she should run, fire a round of silver bullets into his chest, but she steeled herself, doing neither.

“It’s not my fault— they were attacking a civilian,” she told him as he stalked towards her, his face twisted into a horrific scowl. “I tried to stop them— tried to find out what was going on— but then they came at me with their claws, and I was left with no choice.”

“There is always a choice,” he snarled, and it was then that anger filled (Y/N) from the soles of her feet to the crown of her head. "They were probably terrified of you— how could you possibly blame them for lashing out?"

(Y/N) grit her teeth.

“This, from the man who thought genocide was his only option to the same problem?”

Eren made a low, warning sound in the back of his throat, but (Y/N) pressed on.

“You would rather me have died?” she demanded, stepping into his space. “Would it have pleased you more for my body to bleed out on the pavement, ripped to shreds by an aggressive werewolf? Would you even care, or would you just find the next blood bag and move on with your life?”

“Maybe so,” he shot back, “Then I wouldn’t have to deal with your insufferable mouth.”

That stung— but if there was one thing (Y/N) knew how to do, it was to strike back twice as hard as she had been struck.

“Fine then,” she said, turning on her heel. “I won’t bother you any longer. I’ll go out and find someone who actually wants my company, someone who’ll fuck me good and proper over the counter at some hole-in-the-wall bar over on Easy Street, someone younger, with a nicer cock and less fucking baggage— ”

She didn’t get to finish the sentence, or even walk a single step further— Eren grabbed her by the hair and pulled her to him, his fist painfully tight against her scalp.

“Wanna say that again, to my face?” he asked, tilting her head back.

“I’ll go find someone else to fuck me,” she spat, struggling in vain against him. “I’ll spread my legs for the next available schmuck in the closest bar I can find, so you can hear me scream his name and not yours.”

It was a low blow, to threaten a vampire’s claim on something they had previously assumed had belonged to them, but (Y/N) didn’t care. She had almost died today, and she’d be damned if she was going to take shit from anyone about what she had to do to survive. If Eren wanted a fight, she would damn sure give him one.

“Like hell you will,” he told her, pulling her head back so that she had to strain to remain standing. “You’re mine. Flesh of my flesh, blood of my blood— you are my Companion.”

"I belong to no one!"

Those words ripped from her throat and echoed throughout the empty house, and it was then that Eren stopped, looking at her with calculation in his gaze.

"You're right," he said, releasing her hair. "No mortal can serve two masters, lest they love one and despise the other; an archaic religious concept, but an accurate one nonetheless. You've made it abundantly clear where your loyalty lies. I was a fool for thinking otherwise."

(Y/N) began to tremble. "Eren, what are you saying?"

"I release you from our pact," he replied coldly, his eyes so dull and lifeless that it sent a chill down her spine. "No longer are you bound to be my wine-press— I free you from me."

"Eren—"

"Go," he commanded, and (Y/N) felt terribly, horribly empty.

Once, he would have told her to come freely, go safely, and leave something of the happiness she brought him; now, he gave her a cold dismissal, and it frightened her more than she was willing to admit. Still, she went, feeling hollow and used, and she didn't bother to shut the door behind her as she turned to walk home, weary from the day and sick from fighting.

***

Armin had lived for a very long time, but even so, he had yet to meet anyone so foul of temper as Eren when the Hunger was on him.

"Eren, you have to feed."

The vampire, as ill in health as in temper, glared weakly at him. "I'm not hungry."

"But you are Hungry, and don't pretend like you don't know what I'm talking about. Look, if this is about that girl—"

"I told you not to speak of her!"

Ah, so it was about her. By the looks of him, it had been two weeks since Eren had fed; Armin would bet that he hadn't seen her in the same amount of time.

"If I need to, I'll drag her here to make up with you myself," said Armin testily, "I refuse to watch my best friend starve himself because he refuses to feed on anyone else."

"You will not touch her."

Armin rolled his eyes, but didn't say anything further. He just patted Eren's arm in farewell and set about finding the little lady who was the root cause of his current consternation.

It took longer than Armin had anticipated to find the young woman who had, for all intents and purposes, completely unraveled Eren's composure; her scent, while thick and memorable in Eren's apartment, was hard to track otherwise. Armin spent two hours just wandering the city while trying to catch a breath of it here or there, and when he finally did manage to catch a whiff of her scent and follow it to her, he understood exactly why it had been so hard to track her down.

The girl was a Hunter, of all things.

When Armin found her, she was knee-deep in sewage, her knife embedded to the hilt in the skull of what appeared to be some species of winged reptile. Armin, having been a tad desperate and not actually having been expecting to find anything when he lifted the lid to the man-hole on 32nd and Main, was surprised to say the least— and when (Y/N) ripped her knife free and readjusted her stance into a defensive one directed at him, his surprise turned to intrigue.

“Er, hello there,” he said, scratching the back of his head. “I don’t suppose you’ll take my word for it that I just want to chat, will you?”

Curiously, the words gave the woman pause. She relaxed her stance ever-so-slightly, and then her eyes lit up with recognition.

“Armin Arlert?” she queried, craning her neck up to see him. “Is that you?”

This one grows curiouser and curiouser, he thought, but responded affirmatively.

“Can you give me a bit, then?” she asked, kicking the corpse of the Creature she’d just killed. “I’m not exactly fit for company. Perhaps we could meet later for a discussion over tea?”

“I’m afraid it’s urgent,” he said as she knelt to decapitate her prey— likely for proof of victory. “I think you know why I’m here, so you understand that time is of the essence.”

She didn’t look up at him as she replied.

“If this is about Eren, then I don’t have time to talk.”

Her tone was hard, bitter, and matter-of-fact, and it reminded Armin so much of Jean that it hurt… but just like Jean, Armin would bet that she could be won over by appealing to her inherent sense of human decency

“He’s suffering (Y/N),” he said, awkwardly crouching above the manhole so that she could better see the truth written in his eyes. “He won’t feed.”

“That’s hardly my problem.”

And oh, how well Armin knew that state of mind. If there was one thing Eren Jaeger knew how to do, it was push away the people who loved him most. Armin had dealt with that particularly lovely quirk of his for centuries, and it never got easier to deal with no matter how much time passed. If anything, it got more difficult the older they both got.

“When you’re the solution to a problem, you become a part of it whether you like it or not,” Armin replied, patient and understanding. “He cares for you.”

(Y/N) looked up at him then, fury in her eyes.

“He hurt me.”

Armin shrugged. “He hurts everyone he cares about. It’s just who he is. Nothing comes for free— least of all the love and loyalty of someone as old and as powerful as Eren.”

“Your heart may be toughened to his meanness,” she told him, the head of the creature she’d slain in her hands, “But mine is not, and I don’t like him well enough to willfully remain for him to use as an emotional punching bag.”

At that, Armin couldn’t help but let loose a wry grin.

“No,” he said, “I should think not; but I do think you love him well enough to make sure he doesn’t starve himself to death because he can’t have you.”

(Y/N) was silent for a long moment, then she crossed her arms.

“I won’t come crawling to him. He’s going to have to come to me.”

Armin grimaced. He wasn’t looking forward to that conversation.

“Is that at all negotiable?”

(Y/N) shook her head. “Absolutely not.”

Well, there was nothing for it.

“And you will let him feed if he comes to you?”

(Y/N) thought, then nodded. “If he proves himself deserving.”

Armin couldn't help himself; he laughed. Eren might have met his match in this one.

"Very well. I'll work my magic, and you work yours."

She nodded and bade him farewell, but before Armin left, he paused.

"Hey, (Y/N)?"

"Yes?"

"Thank you."

With that, he left her, ready to take Eren by the ear and throw him at her if he had to.

***

(Y/N)'s heart was racing as she opened the door, knowing good and well who would be behind it.

After her little talk with Armin— and the near heart attack he had given her in the process— she had called in to Zeke and told him she needed to go home to deal with an emergency. A replacement for her patrols had been sent, and she had come home to wash the grim from her skin, making herself as presentable as possible with the time she had. (Y/N) was worried, so worried, that the filth she had been wading in earlier would have left a lingering stench, or even that it had affected the taste of her; she had scrubbed and scrubbed until her skin was raw, hoping to erase every last remnant of her day from her skin…but as it turned out, she needn't have bothered.

Two, three, four hours later, and Eren hadn't shown— it was only now, right at the six hour mark, that he had decided to come to her.

Needless to say, (Y/N) was… less than pleased, but when she opened the door to find Eren pale and drawn, with dark circles beneath his eyes, her heart softened ever-so-slightly. It seemed that Armin was right; he had been suffering.

"You look like shit," she told him quietly, opening her door widely to let him in.

"I assure you, I feel worse," Eren grumbled, but stepped in as she closed the door behind him.

For a long, awkward moment, they just looked at each other, silent and unsure. It was unsettling how unlike himself Eren seemed; he was almost soft when he looked at her, and (Y/N) didn't know how to feel about it. Eventually, though, like two opposite ends of a magnet, they were drawn together, and Eren brushed a piece of hair back from her face.

"Hi," he said, his voice low and rough. (Y/N) caught his hand in hers before it could fall from her hair, and she pressed it against her chest, keeping it trapped there, touching the skin above her beating heart.

"Hey."

They watched each other a moment more before the dam broke between them, and they both spoke at once.

"I'm sorry."

A shared grin, a shy laugh— and then (Y/N) said what they both were thinking.

"You need to feed first, and talk later," she told him, her hand still clasped in his. "You're not off the hook, but I doubt we can have any real conversation with you like this."

Eren nodded gratefully, tugging at her wrist— his usual biting spot— but (Y/N) shook her head, indicating her neck. The thickest, richest blood, she knew, would come from there; and if there was ever a time to be generous with the placement of Eren's bite, she figured that it would be now.

The worst of it was over quickly. There was a brief sting at the intrusion of razor-sharp fangs, and then the vaguely uncomfortable feeling of having something poking down into places that decidedly should not be poked at all, but then (Y/N) quickly eased into the rhythm of the act, focusing wholly on the way Eren's lips felt against her skin. In a few moments, she would become pleasantly light-headed, and then Eren would pull away and look at her like she'd hung the stars. Oh, how she'd missed that look! (Y/N) found herself longing for it even before she quite realized it.

And then, without warning, a vision came, and (Y/N) was swept into another world entirely.

The evening sky rolled endlessly out towards the horizon; it seemed to go on forever, sparkling with more stars than (Y/N) had ever seen before. The full moon was so bright that it cast the whole world in what seemed like silver sunlight, and (Y/N) wondered how anyone could sleep on a night such as this. It was far too beautiful an experience to miss.

Alongside her— alongside Eren, through whose eyes she saw the world— strode Armin and two older-looking cadets who she recognized from previous memories as Reiner and Berthold. Eren was feeling anxious over something, and Reiner and Berthold were… well, they were kind. Reiner especially seemed to be like an older brother, and Eren admired him.

"You'll do just fine tomorrow," said Reiner, placing a large, warm hand on Eren's shoulder. "I'm certain of it."

The memory ended, and (Y/N) came back to herself as Eren's tongue laved over the wounds his fangs had left in her neck, sealing them.

"See anything?" he asked, his breath warm against her skin, and (Y/N) nodded.

"You loved them, too," she said softly, remembering the fondness Eren had felt as though it had been her own. "You loved the Hunters that tried to take everything from you, and— and I think they loved you, too."

Eren pulled away from her, and it was then that she saw the tears shining in his eyes.

"Yes," he replied, his voice broken. "We were children. How could we not love each other as God intended? Hate was never in our nature; it was an inheritance that we couldn't escape."

He paused for a moment, then spoke again.

"I'm sorry I hurt you," he told her, cupping her cheek in his hand. "I lost my temper. I forget— I forget that you're not them."

And (Y/N) understood. She understood that no matter how many centuries passed, there would be wounds that just wouldn't heal for Eren. He would lash out at things that wouldn't make sense to anyone who hadn't experienced the horrors of war as he had. Suddenly, she felt petty for having lashed out as she had, and guilt threatened to rise up and choke her.

"You're forgiven," she replied, leaning into his touch. "It takes two to tango— I shouldn't have baited you like I did. I knew how badly that would hurt you, and that's exactly why I said it."

At that, Eren cracked a grin.

"I expect nothing less from a Kirschtein. Your grandfather would have punched me square in the jaw— and as big as that bastard got when we were older, he probably would have put me on my ass."

(Y/N) couldn't help but laugh, and Eren joined her, their combined joy swelling until there was nothing else in the world but their happiness.

How they started kissing, neither one of them would be able to say afterwards, but in the grand scheme of things, it hardly mattered. Their love was too large to contain, too much to hold back— and it was love, (Y/N) realized, though she hadn't quite put words to it yet. She loved Eren Jaeger, a Creature, a monster, as much as her grandfather before her had and more. She loved him with a desperation that felt like being knocked over by an ocean wave and plunged into depths where her feet no longer touched the sand. She loved him more than she had ever loved anyone before.

And, as he placed her gently on her bed that was barely big enough for two, divesting himself of his shirt above her, (Y/N) thought that maybe she didn't mind it so much as long as he loved her in return.

"I missed you," said Eren, dropping kisses by her ear as he unhooked her bra. "I missed this."

"Me too," she gasped as his mouth wandered to her nipple, her hands fisting in his hair. "Oh, God, I missed you too."

The time for words was soon gone, however; Eren's sinful, sinful mouth traveled lower and lower until he was kissing at the insides of her thighs, parting them to access what lay between, and (Y/N) threw her head back as he spread her open with his hands and sucked brazenly at her clit.

How long he spent there, worshipping her sex, (Y/N) had no idea; all she knew was that she came once from his mouth on her and a second time from his fingers inside her, and when he finally, mercifully withdrew, she was broken down to the simplest parts of herself; there was nothing left but an affection so deep that it threatened to overtake her if she didn't let it out, and she did the only thing she knew to do to release the overwhelming pressure that was building in her chest as Eren pushed his big, veiny cock into her.

She told him what she should have said a long time ago.

"Oh, Eren," she gasped as his cockhead shoved deep inside her. "I love you."

As soon as the words came out of her mouth, Eren went unnaturally still. He looked at her with pupils blown wide inside emerald eyes, and his fangs slightly distended; in any other situation, (Y/N) might have laughed at how surprised he seemed, but it seemed as though she were frozen in time, unable to do anything but stare earnestly up at them, hoping he understood how much she cared for him.

"You… what?"

"I love you," she repeated, her body moving without her permission to roll her hips up into him, moving his cock even further inside her. "Please, Eren, I need—"

He cut her off with a forceful, bruising kiss, and his hips started making slow, deep thrusts inside her, her legs hiked up over his shoulders.

"Again," he said against her lips."Say it again."

"I love you."

Another thrust or two, a hand circling her wounded throat.

"Again."

"I love you, Eren."

"Again."

This time, it was only a whisper.

"I love you," she said, and Eren began fucking her in earnest.

"You are so fucking beautiful," he told her as he thrust hard and deep inside her. "You're every man's dream, a nirvana the damned such as myself were never meant to reach. (Y/N), you are everything, and I—"

He seemed to choke on the words, and (Y/N) kissed him as he tried to regain his composure.

"I don't deserve you," he said, shaking with the force of their passion. "I don't deserve your love."

It's not about deserving, she wanted to say, It never was, but then she was coming again, her climax contracting her walls around her lover, and it was all she could do to remain conscious as Eren fucked her relentlessly through it all, chasing his own high.

It was only later, after a shower and something to eat that they finally spoke again. They were back in bed, and Eren's arm was wrapped around her, as though he were afraid to let her go for even a moment; truthfully, (Y/N) thought he was asleep, but then his breath tickled her ear as he said,

"I love you, angel."

And that, (Y/N) thought, had been worth it all, in the end.

[just-eyris-things]

4, 8, 14, and 15 for all three! Gotta know about the retiree and the replacements of course!!!

@mystery-salad

Thanks for asking @mystery-salad! I appreciate it :3 This is going under read more, because, oh boy, there's A LOT.

4. How does your commander remember the fallen?

Nia is all about honouring them. She always makes sure their names are engraved on the tombstones, mentioned during important events, she is insufferable like that. Or at least she makes attempts to do all that, since sometimes people simply don't listen to her despite her status etc. Nia prays to the Six for everyone, then the Five, but after the Exodus is made official... she has no idea to whom to pray so she stops and carries on the memory in her mind. She also keeps a secret journal (shhh...) of all the names, to never forget them. She pretends in front of anyone she is used to all the death around her, but the truth is that she's not and she just can't stop blaming herself for some of her choices that lead to so many deaths....I think I really went out there with Nia here, hahah....hah.....

Aaaanyway, moving on toooo Freya! Freya, like any Norn, shares legends of those who fell in battle. Memory and fame is important in her culture, so she commits to it the best way she can. She more than once commissioned skalds for songs about those who were lost.

Meanwhile, Eyris is much more isolated than those two. For her it's about remembering those people and honouring them silently. While she does tell stories of her father, Ragnar, she does it out of respect for him and his culture, culture that she used to be really close to at some point. But all in all, she prays to the Spirits of the Wild for the fallen and makes offerings on behalf of those people.

8. Does your commander fear death?

Nia isn't that afraid of death as in "die and go to the Mists", she's more afraid of what will happen to her loved ones once she's gone, she's worried about what could happen to her spirit after she dies (would she be summoned by a necromancer/revenant and used for evil?), she's worried for her loved ones and how they would handle her death.

Freya is not afraid of death, at this point her legend is quite solid, so she will accept death if she happens to be mortaly wounded. She'd rather not die, though, she likes breathing and having a pulse. And she also likes coming out on top, victorious.

Eyris died once. Now that she knows what it's like, she's not that scared of death, but she is afraid of ending up in the Domain of the Lost and not being able to find the way out.

14. How does your commander feel about the dragons?

Nia's stance did not change much from the beginning of the story. She stands strong with what the history has proved so far: dragons are dangerous, they destroy the world, and danger should be disposed of. The truth is - once Aurene ascends, Nia becomes ditrustful of her, at first it's disguised as "maybe she won't end up as a monster", but after she learns from reports about Soo Won's stories about the dragons... she becomes unsure if her decision to retire was a right one.

Freya originally sees them as monsters and yet a prey worthy of her legend. As the time goes on she thinks that killing dragons still contributes to the legend, but she worries about what maybe it's not a legend worth remembering.

Eyris hates the dragons until she meets Aurene. She becomes conflicted. Aurene is only a hatchling then, but she could become just the same as the other dragons. That fear drove Eyris to work extra hard to make sure her baby dragon would not become a monster... even though that was supposedly her legacy. After the battle with Kralkatorrik, seeing this chaos and pain, hearing him call out to the mysterious mother, Eyris begins to second guess all that has happend. As the other dragons fall she begins to feel more and more guilty. "What if I could have done something to save them?" she wonders. She also feels horrible about killing Aurene's kin. They were her family, after all. The dragons are seen as monsters by majority of Tyria. But are they really that different from everyone else?

15. How has your commander changed overtime?

Nia has always been a family person, but as the story progresses she gets more and more worried about them and makes sure to visit her dads as often as possible. She is also conflicted about whom she should swear her loyalty to - her adoptive parents who raised her to be a strong, independent woman, the Hero of Tyria, or her real parents whom she meet in Vabbi, who brought her to the world and took care of her until the incident.

Freya starts as a Vigil crusader and ends up as a Warmaster. As the story progresses she starts doubting her legend, but she does all she can to be proud of it in general. She also grows to show more caring towards her loved ones - she has always cared, but it was always hidden and/or accompanied by jokes (not necessarily good ones...). Freya also matures into a more responsible person - while at the beginning of her Warmaster career it was difficult for her to not head into danger head on, full steam ahead, now it is natural for her to sit down and think things through, calculate what the best course of action may be.

At the beginning Eyris is driven by rage and vengence. She is driven by hate so consuming she is a very easy target for Mordremoth (nobody really knows how she avoided corruption). The major changes to Eyris's charactere are caused by Aurene and Freya, two people who care for her and love her unconditionally. Aurene makes Eyris to find inner peace and appreciate even the smallest of joys. Freya makes Eyris to start choosing better options in life and with time even start considering others when making decisions.

[gallickingun]

welded hearts || b.k.

SUMMARY: You and Bakugou have to try and pick up the pieces after the incident with Awase, but neither of you are doing a very good job. It leads to distance and lies, and you’re not sure if there’s any way to save the fragments that remain of your shattered relationship. Especially when you find out that Bakugou has been tracking your every move.

Follows the events of Ensnare, an Awase x Reader x Bakugou fic written by @lady-bakuhoe​.

PAIRING: Pro Hero!Bakugou x Fem!Reader RATINGS: M/E+ WARNINGS: language, smut, slight violence, etc. WORD COUNT: 11.7k+

LINKS: ao3 | masterlist | mobile | writing tag

AUTHOR’S NOTE: after reading Jo’s fic, I immediately rushed to her inbox to foam at the mouth about what kind of angst would follow when Bakugou and Reader attempt to put back together what is left of their relationship, with Bakugou really not feeling like a man, and reader feeling absolutely suffocated, and this little fic was born. Also, this is my first time not tagging any blogs, I just need to start fresh. I hope everyone understands!

if you like this, feel free to request more HERE!

　 ҉　 ҉　 ҉　 ҉　 ҉　 ҉　 ҉　 　 ҉　 ҉　 ҉　 ҉　 ҉　 ҉　 ҉　 　 ҉　 ҉　 ҉　 ҉　 ҉　 ҉　 ҉　

The strange combination of distance and suffocation make your head spin.

Nightmares plague your mind at night, leaving the opportunity for visions to run rampant through your sleep-deprived brain during the day. You spend the daylight hours looking over your shoulder, your forehead broken out into a constant sweat, and you spend the evenings wondering if you might have imagined the whole thing.

You wake up alone most of the time, no matter what phase of the night you are suffering through. The first few times you would go searching the house for him, wondering where his overactive body could have taken him this time. Most nights you found him at the kitchen table going over suit designs and contracts for more hero patrols and brand deals.

You’d ask him when he was coming back to bed only for those familiar vermilion eyes to pass you a blank stare and his dry voice to echo out, “Don’t worry about me. Go back to bed.”

And each night you’d listen.

You curl up beneath the covers, tugging the fabric to your chin, and stare at the wall. You attempt breathing exercises and grounding techniques, but that does not stop the shadowy figures you see in the hallway or the closet. Your imagination gets the better of you as it hallucinates the image of the culprit himself stood in your bathroom doorway, a smirk on his lips and a glint in his eyes.

“So fucking pretty,” his mouth snarls around the words, dark hair shining despite the dark. His teeth are pearlescent even in the dim moonlight filtering through your window, “Whose going to stop me? You?”

A shudder shakes your shoulders and when you blink, he’s gone, like a phantom escaped in the night. You rip your hands through your hair and tears drip down from your lids into your lap, staining the fabric of your pajama pants. Your hands shake in front of you, fingertips showing double the harder you try to concentrate.

His presence is akin to smoke billowing within your belly. The tendrils of his black cloud wrap around your spine, traveling up your torso until it sits in the base of your throat, suffocating you endlessly. Every day you spend breathing is another day fighting for relief from this monstrous thing in your chest.

Bakugou turns to much different means of coping.

At first it was sweet – him checking in on you. He would offer to come pick you up from work if you’d ever decided to leave anytime after seven, and if he was stuck on patrol or in meetings, he’d arrange a car to bring you home. When you go on your afternoon runs, he’d volunteer to go with you even though he’d done rigorous amounts of training at work.

The simplest ways he would show his sense of pride in protecting you would be to hover closely, his body within an arm’s length so he could snag you out of any bad situation if there ever were one. Still, even with his insatiable hovering tendencies, he would keep his own personal touch at bay.

At times when he would usually hold your hand or brush up against you, he stays at least three feet away. It’s as if he’s chosen to self-quarantine himself from you, deeming your affections as either insufficient or insufferable, which neither are good options to choose from.

Once it becomes overwhelming, you find yourself in too deep, too bitter. You try to reach out to him in the form of affection – brushing your palm over his hips as you pass him in the kitchen, trying to grab his hand when you’re walking together, and reaching out to touch his shoulders when he faces away from you the few nights he does end up in bed.

To shout out now would be hypocritical, as you have had a part in pushing him further from you, isolating his affectionate touches even further. Yet, the longer he keeps himself from brushing even his clothed thigh against you when he passes you by in the kitchen or at the grocery store, you wonder who is actually suffering from the lack of physical affection and who is merely existing.

Eventually he grows more suffocating.

Bakugou will not let you be out of his sight for longer than a few minutes at a time despite sitting opposite from you on every surface he can find. You have started to hide in the bathroom, proclaiming cramps or bad pork before skittering off to the bathroom with your phone clutched in the grasp of your fingers, if only to find some peace from his prying eyes for a few moments at a time.

He has never been so clingy before, and you know that it is laced with the trauma as a result of the Awase situation. However, this doesn’t make it any easier to stomach his lurking. On the other hand, it adds a stinging sensation at the irony of it all.

Bakugou wants to be completely involved in every facet of your life without even kissing you good morning when he hands you your coffee.

You knew that what had happened with Awase all those weeks ago had to have affected him, coloring his outlook on life no matter how bleak it had been before. With each passing day he grows closer to you, hands metaphorically wrapped around your throat, squeezing every last pound of air from your tongue. But still, you never imagined that he would take t his far.

And so, you lie through your teeth.

Yaoyorozu was invited to the grand opening of a bar in the plaza sector of the city, and she invites you and the other girls for a night out. You know that if Bakugou heard about you going on about visiting a bar and intending to drink, he’d say some new form of the word ‘no’ and persuade you with his big, round, crimson eyes to stay home.

There were too many safety hazards, after all. Especially if you are going to be drinking. Your senses would be impaired, and you would be much easier to take advantage of once you are two shows into the wind. And then Bakugou would casually remind you that Momo normally finds a guy and ditches you, thus forcing you into taking a cab ride home, which creates an entirely new set of problems.

Which is why, when you tell him why you won’t be home tonight, you lie, “It’s just a sleepover, like back in high school! Momo and Ochako wanted to get back together and I think Mina might even be coming too!”

Bakugou nods, looking over the top of his combat training manual, “Just let me know if you need me to come pick you up, alright?”

You nod, not daring to reach forward and try to brush your hand against his forearm, afraid he might recoil or redirect you. Instead you force a smile, nodding your head as you open the door, “Momo is picking me up, and she said she’d be fine with driving me back tomorrow, but I’ll let you know if anything changes.”

His posture visibly relaxes at the sentiment. It is maddening how one simple shift of his composure makes you want to barrel into him, to forget your entire night and attempt to curl up with him on the couch. It has been so long since you last felt his touch, even in a casual sense. The bar counter top acts like a prison, barring him from you as he isolates himself.

“Have fun,” he manages, eyes falling away from you.

And you’re glad, too. At least when he’s not looking at you, he can’t read your face for lies. Bakugou is like a human lie detector, able to sense any unease in your usually relaxed posture.

Of course he has no reason to disbelieve you – why would you lie to him in the first place? You have preyed on that trust, a thing you feel so despicable for even considering, the fib scraping against your teeth like nails on a chalkboard. You wince at his tone, unbelievably naïve, but the door stays open regardless of your conviction.

The lie rolls around in your belly like a parasite, preying on the poor decisions and leeching on your inhibitions. You feel it suffocating your throat as you blow a kiss his direction, telling him not to wait up as you readjust your backpack full of overnight accessories and a change of clothes that is slung over your right shoulder.

Bakugou smiles but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes, which only further feeds the parasitic being taken up a home in your stomach. It sits heavy on your tongue when you tell him goodnight, threatening to chew right through your cheek until it’s been bared to the whole world.

He nods, licking his lips as he watches you leave. You wave one last time as you shut the door, guilt eating you alive until you feel tears press against the backs of your eyelids. You swallow your conscience and head towards the car you recognize as Momo’s, the weight of your club clothes sitting heavy in your backpack. You cinch it closer to you, praying that Bakugou hasn’t somehow developed x-ray vision to be able to see through your bag.

And yet, a part of you wants him to come barreling down the stairwell to beg you to come back inside, back home. You want him to whisper your name like a prayer, his hands outstretched so you can reach forward to slot your knuckles between his.

At least in your hallucinations he still wants you.

--

Once you’re at the club bar, it doesn’t take long for you to find yourself in a drunken stupor.

“Listen,” you slur, pointing a finger into Momo’s ample chest, “I-I’m not sayin’ he’s gotta dick me down every night, b-but like-once?!”

You take a long drag of beer, swallowing the acidic liquid until it’s burning your throat. You slam your cup back down on the table top, pursing your lips as you take in a deep breath, “I mean it’s been months, guys. Months.”

“A-Are you serious?” Uraraka leans in closer to you, eyes widened, “N-Not since-”

“Nope,” you huff, slumping down in the booth seat. “I-I know that since the incident that things have been different, but it’s like he doesn’t even want me anymore.”

Momo reaches her arm around your shoulder, tucking you into her side, “I’m sure he just doesn’t know how to handle all of it, and he’s just trying to do his best.”

“Bakugou?” Mina laughs, bright eyes hidden behind her lids as she screws her face up into a giggle. She takes a sip of her beer, propping her feet on the nearest unoccupied table, and sighs, “Good luck with that one, babes. I don’t see things returning back to normal anytime soon, not with how damn stubborn he can be.”

The beginning of a fresh set of tears presses like a crater into the backs of your eyes, a pulsing headache drawing out a groan from your lips. You drop your forehead to the tabletop and relish at the cool surface opposing your heated flesh, “I-I know that normal isn’t exactly an option yet, but I would like to feel like I wasn’t so fucking alone in my own house, y’know? I mean, he’s right there and yet it’s like I’m there all by myself?”

Your phone buzzes from within your purse and there is a collective grouching that echoes from everyone at the table, sour expressions making it obvious the way they feel about your ringtone. Momo crosses her arms over her chest, “You do realize this is the seventeenth time he’s called you, right?”

You reach into your purse but her hand is on your wrist before you can snatch your phone. She shakes her head and Mina huffs through her nose, “Why can’t you just put that thing on silent? When is he going to stop bugging you?”

“Yeah?” Momo brushes her thumb against your forearm, “Didn’t you tell him you were coming out with us tonight?”

A bright red tinge sits hot on your cheeks, making your skin look flushed. Your friends understand your conflict then, sitting back from you in shame. Mina is the first to speak, “You lied?”

“I-well, I couldn’t just-” You rack your brain for the right words to say to defend yourself, sweat accumulating at the base of your back in droves. You want to run away, but there’s nowhere to go. If you head home now, Bakugou will most likely have a full rant ready for you as soon as you walk in the door.

“You can’t keep lying to him like this,” Momo presses her palm to your cheek, brushing away a tear before it can slip down your face, “You’re going to have to be honest with him eventually. He needs to back off, to let you live. There’s no reason he has to be attached to you like an umbilical cord all of the time.”

“His concern is kind of nice, though,” Jirou speaks up.

Your head snaps towards her and she shrugs, “All I’m saying is at least he’s trying to protect you. He’s not completely self-absorbed after all.”

Before you can try to refute her or defend him, your phone starts ringing once more. Your hand dives into your purse, pulling it from within and looking down at it like that might keep it from ringing any longer.

“I don’t understand!” You’re whining now, fresh saltine droplets settling in your lashes. You wipe at your face, “I-I don’t get why he won’t just leave me the hell alone. I told him exactly what I was doing tonight, exactly where I was going and who I was going to be with. I just-”

“Except you lied.”

You feel all of the heat leave your body, only frozen fingertips and an icy, rigid spine left behind.

You turn your head at the familiar baritone voice that cuts into you from behind, and your heart drops into your stomach. When you breathe, the parasitic thing living there begins to swallow your stomach whole, gnawing away at your most sensitive parts first.

You grit your teeth, forcing yourself to feel anger instead of shame, “What the hell are you doing here?”

“What, pray tell, the fuck are you doing here?!” Bakugou snaps, eyes a conflagration of brassy tones, pupils dilated to prove his anger, as if it weren’t so evident from his tone.

Mina goes to speak up when she sees you flinch, but you’re already being dragged out from the safety of the booth seat. Bakugou’s blunt nails are digging into your bicep and forearm like little spears, snagging you so you can’t get away. He yanks you into the hallway, your back pressed into the wall as he further infringes on your space with his closeness.

“You fuckin’ lied to me?”

His voice is held together by rage, begging to be broken apart as he lets the feelings seep through the cracks of his resolve. Bakugou’s jaw quivers as he grinds his teeth together, heaving breaths making his chest expand to brush against your own. It’s the closest thing you’ve felt to intimacy since that night in the alley – since he decided to pretend that you and your needs didn’t exist.

You want to start bubbling out another fib, foaming at the mouth with lies so smooth he’d have to believe them. Your brain is stumbling in attempt to keep up with his fast paced thinking. Every phrase you could possibly say to make this go down like honey instead of vinegar passes through your mind, but you know that this will sting no matter how long you put off trying to swallow it.

The intentions you have now, to make everything easier on him and spare his emotions, have been tainted by your conniving words from before. You weren’t preparing for a confessional in the middle of this hole-in-the-wall bar, but not every night goes exactly how you plan it.

The both of you understand that sentiment rather intimately.

Bakugou’s eyes are ablaze, vermilion bleeding to amber nearest his pupils. His jawline is flexed, nostrils flaring, and you know that laced within his anger is something akin to fright, fearfulness. Every single feature he possesses is pinched tightly, as if his body were wound like a coil, and he is going to snap at any moment.

And then, when your mouth bobs open and shut, and you can’t find the right lie to squeeze between your teeth, you begin putting the whole situational puzzle back together. Anger replaces the acrid taste in your mouth, cinders of fury settling on your tongue the more it all starts to make sense.

Your eyes meet his and he feels the shift, his grip on your arm lessening at the sight of your furious irises honing in on him. The reality that he is not as innocent as you would like to believe seeps into your skin, settling like sticky acid, and you itch religiously to get it off of you.

“How did you know that I was here?” you ask, voice eerily calm as your vision begins to blur at the edges. You gnaw on your lower lip, tilting your head to consider every falter in his expression, “I told you I was going to be at Yaoyorozu’s. You had no idea that-”

You can’t help the choking sound that comes from your throat next, gagging on your words as pure fury overwhelms your body. Your shoulders shudder under the strain of these destructive emotions as realization settles in. Even the fear in his own irises cannot stop the tumultuous build of vehemence that seeps through you like molten lava, crawling upwards through your veins until all you can see is red – blinding red.

You’re repeating your question when it appears he won’t answer you to speak the truth; eyebrows furrowed, forehead wrinkled. Your jawline pulsates with muscle tremors as you grit your teeth down fervently, a high-pitched whining sound echoing within your own skull at the action, “What did you do, Katsuki?”

It’s not a question, though, not this time.

Bakugou’s throat bobs and before he can give you some shitty, half-thought out excuse, you’re poking your finger into his chest, directly between the taut line of his pectorals, “Where is it?”

“Wh-What?” he manages to cough out, tongue bitten between his teeth.

You take a step back with each question of the location, chin wobbling in denial, “My bag? My phone? My car? Did you put it in me, Katsuki?”

The sound of his given name dripping like toxic acid from your tongue makes his heart constrict within the confines of his chest. The organ beats at a thunderous pace, so hard that he’s sure there is an outlined bruise in the shape of it if you were to peel his shirt back and look. Still, he knows better than to argue with you – knows even better than to try and deny it. You are a human lie detector when it comes to him. You know his mannerisms so well that you’re able to spot a stuttering breath from a mile off, even the smallest of hints to his dastardly secret-keeping seeming like bright white lights to you.

He has backed himself into a corner in trying to keep you safe, so he admits with his head hung low, “Your phone.”

A shuddering breath makes your chest collapse, jaw fallen slack at the confession. Your spirit was praying that he might have just found out from a friend, maybe Kirishima discovered that you were out with Momo and Mina and told him. But no, now he’s admitted to the crime and he knows that he’ll have to face the punishment.

You want to root around in your purse until you’ve found the offending object, but it’s not the time, at least not right now. He can’t take advantage of using it while you’re both still in the same location. You’ll have to handle it later.

“How long?” you ask, voice small.

Bakugou does not answer immediately. His eyes are downcast, unable to meet yours as his lower lip quivers just enough for you to make it out in the dim light of the bar. Your heart thrums at the sight of him so distraught, but you lock your knees and force your body to straighten your spine and steel your resolve.

You repeat the question, digging your fingertip into his skin until you are sure that you’ve drawn blood underneath the fabric of his black tank top.

He snaps, the blood vessels in his neck thudding against the tanned skin there, “Since Awase, when the fuck else do you think?”

And just like that, your entire body is thrown back in time. You are that helpless woman in that alleyway, your body used for the lustful gratification of someone else, thrown to the side like a plaything when he was through. You feel hands, lips, skin, all over you, torturing your body even now when you are awake. The ghost of his crooked touch makes your eyes water, thick droplets sticking to your lashes.

The sound of that villain’s name makes your ears burn and your tongue turn to sandpaper. A chill runs down your spine despite the massive blanket of heat in the room from all the bodies burning with alcohol and movement. Your head feels fuzzy, eyes unable to focus as you attempt to come back to this version of reality.

A single tear drips down your cheek, but Bakugou knows better than to try and wipe it away like he might if it were any other time.

“I-I can’t believe this,” you murmur, withdrawing your finger from him to cover your mouth with both hands. You blink slowly, turning your gaze from him to the floor, taking it all in with stride, attempting to breathe as evenly as possible while still processing everything unfolding in front of you.

Bakugou reaches up to touch your elbow, just enough contact to try and bring you back down to earth. Your eyes snap upward, meeting his vermilion gaze with an expression opposing your fiery wit from earlier. He’s never seen your body waver in such a way that would leave him to believe you to be weak, but now all he wants is to hold you between his arms, piecing you back together bone-by-bone, vessel-by-vessel.

You’re lost in the simplistic touch of him, the first you’ve felt in what you know to be weeks, but believe to be eons. He has been so distant from you that you almost forget why you are angry when he’s this close to you, suffocating your body in the best of ways. You can smell the telltale sign of his quirk, an ashen sweetness that you are sure you’ve become addicted to throughout the entirety of your relationship.

A breath bites through your lungs and you sharply cut your teeth into the inside of your cheek, trying to snap yourself out of your dazed stupor brought on by isolation. As you open your eyes again, you steel yourself, stepping up with brazen confidence to slap away his hand from your arm.

The burning flames licking at your throat turn to white-hot rage, “I don’t know what the hell your problem is, Katsuki, but this controlling me shit has got to stop.”

His eyes refocus on yours again, pupils swallowing those pretty red globes whole, fear riddling every bone in his fragile body, “Wh-What are you talking about?”

Now it is you who has backed him into a corner, his backside and shoulder pushing against the wall. He tries to reach out to stop you, to beg for your forgiveness, but the stony expression in your irises tells him that he needs to be still an listen no matter how many biting insults and wanton words sit on his tongue.

“You’re breathing down my neck, Bakugou,” you inhale a shuddering breath at the sound of his surname being forced through your teeth. Tears lick at the corner of your eyes, your fists shaking by your sides, “I can’t take a shit without you wondering why I’m gone for longer than three minutes. You’ve been so fucking controlling that I can’t even go out with my friends without you needing to make it a momentous occasion!”

“You lied to me, for fucks sake!” Bakugou presses into you, snarling around his words. “You expect me to just forget that? What else have you been lying about?”

Your teeth clatter against one another, rattling around in your head, “I had to! You’ve been this glass case of emotion lately! And you won’t even let me walk home alone! I feel like I have a damn shadow everywhere I go!”

“I’m trying to-”

A thought hits you then, mulling you over so powerfully that you stumble backward, putting distance between the two of you. Your gaze falters from him to the wall, unable to look him in the eyes as you utter the next few syllables, “You don’t trust me?”

Bakugou is quick to refute you, stepping forward to take you out of your haze, “Hell no, baby! Of course, I trust you.”

“You put a goddamn tracker on my phone!” you snap, muscles quivering beneath your skin as your entire body tenses at the statement. Tears settle in your lids, dripping down over your cheek when you force him off of you. “What the hell am I supposed to think?”

He reaches out and wraps you up in his arms forcefully, despite your thrashing and shoving. You tear into him with your words and your touch, trying to punch him even though your range of motion is rather limited. Bakugou puts his chin on the top of your head, bottling you up like liquid rage, holding you together as you try to fall apart.

Bakugou has one hand against the back of your head, hands tucked into the tresses of your hair to cradle your head into the curve of his neck. His other palm rubs up and down the length of your arm as he tries to calm you down from your frenzied state, the loud music and pulsing bodies in the background of the bar doing little to deter your heightened temper.

You gulp as you feel his mouth bury into the crown of your head, kisses sprinkled into your hair like little flowers, petals of kind words tucked against your scalp. Bakugou wants to take you by the hand and drag you home, to curl up with you for the first time since that horrible night in the alleyway, and whisper promises into your skin until he goes hoarse.

You tilt your head upward, face shining bright with tears, nose bumping into his chin, “The-Then why do you-”

Katsuki nudges his nose over yours, a shuddering breath making his lip tremble against the bow of your mouth. A snarling growl rips his throat wide open as every feral, primal instinct buried deep within him is unleashed, “Are you really that dense, dumbass?”

The insult takes you by surprise, facial expression souring as you roll your tongue against your teeth, attempting to swallow the acidic retort sitting on the tip of the muscle in your mouth. Bakugou watches you with a careful eye, making sure that you aren’t going to speak up before he tries to rephrase himself.

“Listen, I just-I…” The words are caught in his throat, raking into his esophagus like shards of glass. Bakugou hates being vulnerable, especially with you. It makes him feel raw, torn open, and uncomfortable. He wants to be the pillar of strength you believe him to be, and how can he prove that he’s worthy of your trust when he feels so weak?

And yet, with you standing in front of him with expectant eyes and shaking hands, he finds it within himself to say what has been plaguing his mind for weeks.

“This shitstorm happened to me too, y’know?”

He sounds so heartbreakingly honest that it makes your skin prickle. A chill tightens like a coil around your spine, spreading shards of ice throughout your veins until your whole body is burning from the frigid feeling, fingertips numb.

Bakugou’s mouth bobs open and shut before he tears a hand through his hair, the other never leaving your body, frustrated at the fact that he can’t think of the right things to say. He looks up at the ceiling, a breath expanding his chest so he’s flush with you.

“Every fucking time I close my eyes, I see that shit all over again.” The veins in his body are prominent as he stresses himself out by trying to speak, “I see you, helpless, because I fucked up and lost focus. I-I couldn’t do anything and you needed me an-”

He can’t force the words out, can’t muster them up from the back of his throat no matter how many times he licks at the inside of his mouth, desperately searching his own skin for the answers. The reality of what might come to fruition when he says his truth out loud is too much to bear, no matter how much he knows he has to have this conversation with you. This is not something you both can just move on from, not without addressing it in all of its ugliness first. He wills the words to come out, closing his eyes and breathing deep. And even still, his mind will not cal.

Katsuki is a raging sea and you are the rickety lifeboat caught in his violent storm.

You swirl in his vortex for a moment longer before prodding him, hand pressed flat against his chest. You brush your thumb over his collarbone, “Katsuki, come on, talk to me. Please.”

Bakugou’s hand flinches by his side and you wonder if he wants to reach out to touch you with the pads of his fingers; to use you like an anchor, weighing him down in the right in the right way to bring him back to the current version of reality.

“I’m right here,” you whisper, pushing him further, knowing what he’s trying to tell you, but needing to hear it from his own tongue.

You step into his space and crowd him into the tight expanse of the hallway, and he can’t draw his eyes away from you despite the shame he feels from the tears currently clouding his vision. Every naysayer in his life comes to him in that very moment, telling him that he’s weak and spineless, completely useless if he can’t do the simplest of tasks. They scream at him, clawing at his heart until he’s bleeding out tears, hands shuddering in pain.

All he wants is to see you smiling again; a genuine, shining smile. He wants to watch as your eyes light up when he kisses you, or when he touches you here and there, casually in passing. Bakugou misses the old kindling the two of you had before that fateful night all those weeks ago. There was a familiarity that now feels lost in translation, wafting somewhere between the space separating the both of you.

You’re begging him in his ear now, words lodged like knives into his heart, a new syllable signifying a new blade, “Why are you doing this, Katsuki? Please, tell me!”

That is the last one – the proverbial blade that shoves its way through is spine to split him in two. He can’t help the way his voice shatters when he finally breaks, falling forward on weak knees, “To fucking protect you! Goddammit!”

You take a short step backward, shuffling away from him at his sudden furious outburst, the change in volume startling you. Goosebumps pebble on your skin and you feel a wave of anxiety wash over you, settling in your stomach to eat away at your resolve, that same parasite from earlier flaring up all over again. You swallow the pent-up emotion in your throat, but Bakugou isn’t finished, not yet. Now that he’s finally been ripped open, he can’t stop the flow.

“Every night you’d get further and further away from me,” his hands are flexing at his sides, knuckles turning white, little crackling explosions lighting like a warning sign, “And I can’t fucking get over this shit, okay?!”

The familiar ashen sweetness lingers in the air at the bare minimum usage of his quirk, but it’s comforting in a way. You breathe it in and try to stave off any tears from stemming down your cheeks. It is his turn to crumble, to fall down at your feet and beg for you to help him repair the gaping wound in his chest.

As you watch him fall apart, it’s physically painful to witness the way his body quivers, every muscle coiled and ready to spring into use. His lower lip, full and pink, is wobbling while he tries to form coherent sentences. You’ve never wanted to reach out and touch him more, to calm him with a tender brush of your knuckles over his cheek, or a hand flattened onto the plane of his chest. But he is too far away from you now, distant in the worst way.

It’s like he’s a figurative bomb, building up and ready to detonate. Each passing moment only fills him with more gunpowder, stuffing his throat until he’s suffocating under the notion that he can’t save you. Has he ever been capable of keeping you from harm?

“I-I was weak,” his voice breaks and so does his façade, tears brimming in the ducts of his reddened lids, “I let that fucker get the best of me, and i-it cost you. You were hurt because I couldn’t protect you.”

Bakugou’s palms shudder at his sides, fingers curling around smoke. You want to step forward, to reassure him that he is the furthest thing from weak that you have ever seen, but he cowers from you when you get too close. He reminds you of a caged animal finally set free, unsure of where to step, how to breathe all of the fresh air at once. Almost as if he is withholding himself from you now that his confession has broken through the bars around his heart, echoed loud for you to hear.

“Throwing yourself into danger isn’t going to help,” you answer him, “and neither is suffocating me.”

The fire fueling your bones from earlier returns at the realization that he has been distancing himself from you on purpose. You assumed it had been a subconscious decision based on the trauma experienced from the encounter with Awase, but you never would have guessed he was actively choosing to ignore you, especially physically. And now, with his hands shaking at his sides, you are beginning to wonder if he feels the same pull that you do, the desire to let your palms search one another’s skin to find the answers to your innermost questions.

“The only thing I’m any good at is fighting!” Bakugou falls back against the wall, eyes downcast in defeat as his shoulders slump forward. He opens his palms in front of his body, flexing his fingers. “All I can do is work as hard as I possibly can to be the best. I have to be the best.”

He curls his fingers back to fists, fury coursing through his veins like fire, accumulating in his palms to a head, a bomb settled in the cracks and crevices of his skin. “All I can focus on right now is getting stronger, to be a hero that you can trust to keep you safe.”

When his eyes snap up to meet yours, there’s a flame burning deep in his vermilion irises that makes them look alight, the bright amber color in contrast to their usual hue. It frightens you slightly, sending a tremor down your spine until you are curling your toes.

Bakugou’s hands creak as he turns them to fists, knuckles turning white, “I’ll be the best, even if it kills me.”

The very permanent word involving mortality turns your knees to jelly, bones grinding against one another in a desperate attempt to keep yourself upright. Your throat closes, emotion billowing like smoke in your esophagus until it is pushing into every available space, effectively choking you where you stand.

“Y-You don’t have to be so, so,” you struggle to find the words, breath hard to come by as you gasp for air, “so-”

“So what?!” Bakugou’s voice is patronizing now as he grows defensive at your tone, taking a downward turn to the other side of kind. He grits his teeth and you allow yourself to see him for what he truly is in this moment – a frightened child, begging for a savior, or at least some solid ground. He grimaces, shaking his head, “I couldn’t protect you when I needed to. And if I can’t keep you safe, what else am I good for?”

Silence hangs between the two of you at the heaviness of his words, creating an even further distance as his words settle like embers on your heart.

You want to brush the cinders away, blowing the ash into the wind and along with it, the horrific memories from the past few weeks. His name sits on the tip of your tongue, scratching at the muscle and begging to be freed from the cage of your teeth. Your fingertips ache at your sides, keening towards him with the desire to find something to feel, some tactile version of reality to reaffirm that you have not lost everything. The heaviness in your feet keeps you from shuffling forward, tucking yourself into his body and promising him that you’ll never see him as anything short of incredible.

“See?” Bakugou’s voice shatters into another wave of jagged pieces with every longing look you give him, tossing his arms in the air to show his defeat, “And then you go and do shit like this, where you look at me like I put the fuckin’ sun in the sky every morning.”

He’s wheezing the words out now, manic movements jerking his arms and shoulders, praying that his palms might go off in the middle of this club so you both can get booted out and forced to go home. Maybe then he can break through the barrier of how he has been feeling to show you why he’s treated you like a child.

“How the hell am I supposed to live up to this pillar of greatness you’ve made me out to be? This perfect image of me you have in your mind is a lie,” Bakugou is begging you for an answer with his gestures. His hands reach towards you, never touching, eyebrows cocked upward as his eyes search your face for a secret message hidden beneath your skin. “You think that I can do no wrong, that I’ll always be your hero. And now that I’ve fucked that up, and you still look at me the same exact way, how am I supposed to live with that? With being a fraud?”

Bakugou blinks and two identical tear droplets seep over the corners of his lids, tracking down his cheeks as he gasps for air, “I-I can’t help it when you look at me like I have all the answers when I-I can’t even fuckin’ figure out how I-”

You cover him like sunlight, warm and safe. He feels your mouth against his, your hands on his face and chest and its like you’ve pulled him from where he was floating midair back down to the ground again. Bakugou’s body is flush between your torso and the wall, either side of him pressed into something. He is hot, too hot, like his body temperature has skyrocketed. Sweat trickles down his spine, sticking his shirt to his shoulders.

“I’m sorry,” you murmur as you part from him.

Your nose brushes against his, the bow of your lips still touching when you speak, “I haven’t been very considerate of you. I was too wrapped up in the way I was feeling that I didn’t stop to consider how it has been affecting you.”

You palm at his face, fingertips fawning over his cheek bones and brows and temples. Bakugou’s jaw is quivering, hands still dormant by his sides, flexed until his palms are splotched red with effort. You run your hand up from his chest to his shoulder, kneading the heel into his muscles to try and relax his body.

“Katsuki,” you call to him. “Look at me.”

And he listens.

The trail of your fingertips on his forearm feels like gasoline, trickling down his skin slowly but surely, making its way to his palms where his skin will act like a detonator. Bakugou grinds his teeth together as he tries to stay focused in on your face, the effort from it all makes the vein on his forehead protrude, thudding profusely beneath his skin.

“Take me home.”

--

The walk up the stairs to your door is tense, quiet.

Bakugou turns the key into the lock, the door opening with a gentle click. The two of you step inside, your bags strewn on the countertop and your shoes kicked off near the mat. Your hands wring in front of you as he faces away, the only visible thing being his backside.

“I don’t deserve you.”

The words take you by surprise, shaking you to your core. You stumble backward, hand clutched over your heart when it starts to sting, “Wh-Why do you think-”

“Do you know what it’s like to have people’s lives put into your hands, and then to fuck it all up?” Bakugou turns to look at you, hands glowing with the threat of his quirk, “To put the one person you care about more than fucking breathing into danger?”

His jaw quivers, “You didn’t see the look in your eyes when he was putting you through that shit. You were looking to me for help and I was fucking welded to a goddamn wall!”

You reach out to press your fingertip into the center of his palm, diffusing the built-up nitroglycerin in the crevices of his skin. Bakugou’s shoulders shudder, his eyes widening at your touch. You force a smile, but it does not reach your eyes, and he notices.

“Hey,” you call to him, your other hand drifting up to cup his cheek, trying to turn him towards you. “Stop that. Look at me.”

Bakugou’s eyes stop flitting around and focus on you, connecting your gazes. He looks frightened again, like a scared child. All you want is to hold him tight and put him back together again until he feels whole.

You push yourself up onto your toes, nudging your nose over his cheek slowly. You’re taken aback when you feel his hesitant touch dredge over your hip, thumb just beneath your top. It’s the most intimate feeling you’ve received from him in weeks, and it sends every atom of you on high alert. Your spine tingles as you stutter-step forward until you’re pressed into him.

Your breath hitches at his closeness, fanning out over him in a wave of heat that makes him shiver. You feel your heart ready to explode from within the confines of your chest, begging to be let free as it tries to claw its way out of your ribcage. You can’t look away from him, it’s like he’s turned into a magnet for your body.

As you graze over his chest with your other hand, the one against his cheek brushes up into his hair to card through the blonde strands. Your thumb catches against the stubble of his undercut just behind his pierced ears and it makes you smile, remembering the conversation where you coerced him into getting the new haircut in the first place. And now he can’t go a couple weeks without getting it shaped back up.

“Kiss me,” you plead, your touch like that of a siren, calling him deeper into the water, “please, Katsuki.”

In spite of him suffocating you mentally and situationally, you know that he’s been distant physically. It wasn’t hard to realize the shift in affections, especially since you’ve grown accustomed to his wayward glances and casual touches. Once he started to withdraw from you, you began to worry but your own anxiety wound so tightly around your body that it drowned out any other inhibitions that might have drawn you closer to asking questions. Bakugou has never been one to bare his emotions anyway.

Every morsel of him wants to dive headfirst into your waters, to drink you in through his nose and mouth until it is only the essence of you that remains. And yet there is something holding him back, like strings attached to his shoulders, forcing him to stay still.

It is that very look in your eyes right now that keeps him at bay. The reality that you’ve not tainted your view of him makes his stomach churn. You should hate him for letting Awase take advantage of you. You should want to slap him across the face and punch him in the gut. You should want to rip your fingers into his chest and slay him where he stands, cutting a gaping hole where his heart once was, filling it with a black ooze that might represent your disdain and disappointment.

Anything other than this overwhelming prideful look gleaming in your eyes that tells him he could do no wrong.

The sight of it brings tears to his eyes and he has to look away, the weight of it all too stifling as he attempts to breathe again. Bakugou struggles with oxygen, feeling lightheaded as you stand so near to him.

“Look at me,” you beg of him, your own voice sounding raw. You swallow every possible reticence you might have in this moment and focus all of your energy on him, “I love you, okay? There’s nothing you could do to change that, Katsuki. Nothing, so-”

You’re cut off mid-sentence by the familiar feel of his lips, warm and full against your mouth. He has captured you entirely, his hands on your face as he steps in closer to you. You shudder with tears at the sensation of him kissing you for the first time in weeks. A wash of warmth seeps through your body, starting at your head and curling around your spin until it has reached your toes. You feel lightheaded at it all, so wrapped up in him that you can’t focus on anything else.

Bakugou’s arms wrap around your shoulders, his body squatted in front of you to push himself closer into every crevice of available skin. You dip your hands beneath his top, the pads of your fingers mapping out the contours of his muscular frame.

“Fuck,” he murmurs between your teeth, your tongue catching the word by lapping against his gums.

His hands find your backside, squeezing the supple skin like his life depends on it. You moan, rolling your hips forward. Your mind is foggy, your entire being in a haze, at the passionate way his hands obsess over your body.

When he taps your hips with his thumbs, you know what it means. You leap upward, his forearms catching your thighs to wrap you around his waistline. You don’t break away from kissing him. You’re not sure after this if he might retreat back into himself, so you full well intend on milking him for all that he’s worth in every aspect of the word.

The next thing you feel is the cool sheets beneath your steaming backside, sweat making your shirt cling to your body. Your hand sifts through Bakugou’s hair and he nips at your lower lip, relishing in the way the moans fall freely from your tongue.

He sits back on his thighs, tugging his shirt over his head, when he mumbles, “Shirt. Off. Now.”

The momentary burst of authority makes your cunt clench beneath the lace of your underwear. Your eyes go wide, but you do not hesitate to pull the offending fabric from your upper half. Bakugou has settled between your thighs when you can finally see him again. He makes quick work of your bra, flinging the garment across the room carelessly before swooping in to begin sucking at your chest.

He tweaks one piqued nipple between his thumb and forefinger, the other side of you preoccupied with his mouth. You whine, bucking your hips upward. Even through the thick fabric of his jeans, you can make out the impression of his bulging erection. The thought of getting to feel his dick again makes you keen, reaching up to thread your hand into his hair, the other palm digging fingernails into the thick, corded muscle of his shoulders.

“Damn, Princess,” he murmurs as he releases your nipple with a pop. “Such a good girl for me.”

Your breath shudders out of your lungs, fanning over his hair to make the strands shake in the darkness of your bedroom. You wrap your legs around his midsection to try and grind yourself up into his clothed length.

Bakugou slips his hand beneath your shorts, unbuttoning them swiftly as his middle finger finds your clit immediately. You can’t help it when your whole body goes rigid, the once lost sensation of his hands on your lower half returning in a blinding wave of white-hot pleasure.

“Please, Katsuki,” you force yourself to look him in the eyes even though you think you’re seeing stars, “I just want you, please. I want you in me.”

He’s hesitant when he looks down at you, eyes stuttering over which of your features to focus on first. The tip of his middle finger is brushed up against your slick folds, not delving in just yet. Your chest is heaving, eyes clouded with the threat of tears while you palm at him, desperate for every inch of his skin to be mapped out beneath your fingerprints.

“You have me,” he whispers, cracking voice barely audible. He nods, slipping his finger slowly between the walls of your cunt, “You have me, baby.”

As he starts to coil his finger within you, the squelching sound of his digit and your pussy echoing off the walls, he looks you directly in the eyes. His free hand is near your head but you wish he’d touch you with it, your body insatiably itching for his next pass. You lick your lips and go to beg for him again, unwilling to sit through the torture of his fingers, but he stops you with a kiss.

“Let me do this, let me make you feel good.”

You are speechless, left only with a gaping mouth that is claimed by his tongue. He licks at your teeth and cheeks, whining for you to reciprocate while his finger still pumps in and out of you, knuckle dragging in a tantalizing way against your smooth walls. You hold him as tightly as you can by the neck, keeping him anchored to you, the fear of him running away from you again settling like a lead anchor in your belly.

It doesn’t take long for him to push you to the edge of your first orgasm. You’ve been denied of him for so long that you’re sure you could come undone under any circumstance at this point. But still, his thick digits curled up in the heat of you, coaxing forth the first white-hot wave of pleasure makes your body shudder.

“Katsuki,” you pant, rolling your hips in time with his finger’s thrusts.

The coil within your stomach starts to bunch up, so you clench around his finger. You whine, throwing your head back, jaw hung slack. Bakugou kisses up the column of your neck, “C’mon, baby, I know you can do it for me, yeah? You’re so pretty when you come apart.”

His encouragement is what throws you over the edge. You’ve missed the sound of his timbre coaching you into orgasm after orgasm. You cry out, your voice breaking, and your hips fall slack against the mattress as the pleasure digs into you. The silvery strands of your slick coat his fingers, but he doesn’t part from you until he’s sure that he’s lured every last whimper from your lips, every last wash of arousal from your hips.

You have him by the neck, digging your fingers in to pull him back towards your mouth for another drawn out kiss. Your nose and teeth clash, but it doesn’t matter because he’s here and he’s got his hands on you. The way your body sings at his caress does not go unnoticed by him, or rather he relishes in it, basking in the sound of your wanton moans and the reaction of your begging limbs.

“Please, Katsuki,” you’re grabbing for him as he pulls away. Your fingers desperately cling to his skin, digging in and forcing half-moon prints into the tanned flesh, “I need you, please.”

The words throw him back to those moments in the alleyway when your eyes screamed the phrase you’re speaking now. He was powerless to help you then, but he can be the one to save you now.

Bakugou stands to his feet and shuffles out of his pants, his cock throbbing between his thighs when he pulls away his briefs. You try to tug down your shorts but your body is so weak and you can’t force your brain to communicate with your extremities, so you end up pouting, hot tears clouding your eyes in frustration.

“Hey,” he nudges his nose over your cheek before kissing you long enough for you to forget about your predicament. Your body molds to his intentions, hands finding his undercut to sift through the short hair there, his skin providing you with some sense of calm despite the raging emotions thudding like thunder in your brain.

He gently tugs down your shorts, peeling them from your ankles before depositing them on the floor. Bakugou runs his hand down his cock, using his bead of pre-come and what remains of your arousal on his hand to lubricate the skin. You’re salivating at the sight of him, inflamed red cockhead ready to split your cunt wide open. You’ve missed the familiarity of him inside of you, and your body notices because despite just having a spectacular orgasm that should have put you to bed for some time, your pussy flutters as a new wave of slick trickles down to the sheets.

The tip of his cock opens your pussy up enough that you’re keening forward, pleading to take more of him with the canting of your hips. You whimper out beseeching words, eyes searching his face as your hands try to find purchase on his shoulders. He shakes his head, brushing his thumb over your cheek, “Hush, baby. I promise I’m gonna take care of you, okay?”

The duality of his words is not lost on you.

Your jaw hangs open slightly, eyes wide as you look up at him. Bakugou grips the headboard with one hand, the other guiding his cock into your heat. If you look close enough, you can see the threat of glassy tears washing over his pretty red irises, making them look like little jewels in the moonlight filtering through your bedroom windows.

“Katsuki,” you whimper his name like a prayer as he slowly sheaths himself between your folds. He grunts when the base of his cock meets the lips of your pussy, eyelids fluttering somewhere between open and shut at the sensation.

He drops his head, gritting his teeth, “Fuck, I missed you.”

A relieved, broken laugh shakes your throat, the smile left behind making Bakugou see stars. You palm at his chest, “I missed you too, so much.”

The two of you have still been together every day, even sleeping in the same bed, and yet you’ve been so distant it was heartbreaking. You feel the shards of your shattered heart slowly piecing back together with each thrust he throttles into you, his hips slamming into your thighs.

It’s intense, but somehow graceful. Bakugou is not just ramming his cock into you for the sake of doing it, but he’s proving to you with every stroke of him that he’s never leaving your side again. He’s gripping the headboard so hard that his nails are leaving scratches, but you’re more focused with the tantalizing snap of his hips, the drag of his cock and those prominent veins as they stimulate your pussy even further.

His jaw quivers, hands white knuckling as he clutches the headboard even harder, picking up his pace to start building that starburst in your belly. He’s unwilling to let his hands go near you now that he’s got himself sheathed completely.

He doesn’t deserve every part of you, not yet.

Bakugou’s chest twists as he realizes he hasn’t earned his honor back; he hasn’t won the prize of feeling your skin under the sensitive pads of his fingertips while he’s fucking into you with his aching cock.

His breath stutters, heart clenching within the confine of his ribs, at the sight of you, your irises focused on only him. Your pupils are blown wider with each thrust, black swallowing the color of your irises as you reach that peak subservient headspace. His hips move slow but with purpose, his cock pulsing within your walls as you clamp down on him.

Snapping his hips up into you, the heat of it all starts to overwhelm him and he can’t breathe. The mix of your warm skin and the absolute adoration held for him in your eyes is too stimulating once you tighten your cunt around him, trapping his dick in your heat.

“Fuck, baby,” he whimpers, stilling his hips as his nails screech against the headboard.

Your hands are on him in an instance, exploring his chest and shoulders. You lick your lips and force your ass to stay put on the bed, breathing heavy through your lips. You swallow and your throat bobs, only proving further to him how absolutely enamored with him you appear to be.

“Katsuki,” you whisper into the void, cheeks warming with a blush.

Bakugou shakes his head and with the ferocity that he’s gripping the headboard, he wonders if your nailbeds can bleed. He bites down harshly on his lower lip, listening to your pleading calls for a moment too long before responding, “I-I don’t-”

He can’t form coherent sentences, not when he’s buried to the hilt inside of you and you’re gazing up at him like he’s just gotten back from hanging the moon. He squints hard, eyes filling up with tears, “I can’t, fuck.”

“Hey,” your breathless voice catches him in midair, anchoring him back from the dull hallucination that he could never find his way back to you. You reach up to gently press your palm onto his cheek, the cooling touch of your hands doing enough to dispel some of the heat on his cheeks. You push away the sweaty locks of blonde hair sticking to his forehead so you can see his eyes in their full clarity.

Katsuki’s chin wobbles as he looks down at you, forcing his eyes to stay trained in on your face no matter how much he wants to look away. He still doesn’t believe he deserves that look you hold for him within your gaze; the way you tell him that he’s nothing short of a pillar of strength in your mind with a simple look is absolutely baffling.

“Hey,” you call again, tender tone striking a chord in his heart.

Your thumb brushes underneath his eyes, the height of his cheekbones, and you smile at his fragility. Bakugou’s eyes flit around to everything but you, overactive and unable to focus on you when you’re looking at him like he’s painted the stars in the night sky.

His conscience berates him as he lays with his cock buried deep into your pussy, his hips flush with yours, the doubt kicking him in the ribs to remind him that he must be nothing short of a piece of shit – how could he let you fall into someone else’s hands? How could he be so careless? How could he-

“Katsuki,” you rub your hands over his face once more, patiently pulling him from the recesses of his toiling mind, “Come back to me.”

Bakugou’s pupils dilate but somehow you manage to bring his attention back around to your face, connecting your gazes once more. You are struggling to maintain your composure between his cock pulsing within you and the lack of his hands on your skin, your body stimulated but still wanting, but you whimper the words, “Will you kiss me?”

In that simple sentence, Bakugou realizes that he could never truly run from you.

Tears drip down from his cheeks onto your neck, pooling at the little cavity created by your collarbones. You smile up at him, brushing at the droplets as they drip down from his eyelids, cradling his face as he makes the decision to start running back to you instead of sprinting away.

“I love you,” he chokes out the words before claiming your lips with his searing hot kiss.

Your hands dip into the curves of his hips, prodding him to move forward while your lips sink deeper into his. Bakugou groans at the sensation, eyes rolling behind his closed lids, and slowly his palms find your body.

It’s almost like the first time he touched you, his fingertips searching every inch of available skin as if it were new to him. He rolls his thumbs over your ribs, counting each one under his breath as he fucks into you slowly. You whimper when he bites your lower lip, your jaw slack as he starts a biting path of kisses down from your chin to your earlobe.

“Katsuki,” your toes curl when he bottoms out within you, the tip of his cock brushing that delicate, spongy spot at the back of your core. Your nails drag salaciously down his shoulders, drawing little beads of blood in their wake.

“Fuck,” he groans, biting down harshly on your neck. He chokes on a sob before licking and kissing your collarbones, “I love you.”

Bakugou is fucking into you steadily now, his hips slamming into you at just the right angle that the vein running along the underside of his dick drags against your folds. You clamp down on his cock when you feel it begin to twitch again, his cockhead brushing your cervix. He’s sniffling, breath catching at the sound, “I love you so goddamn much. I don’t fucking deserve you.”

He’s overcome with emotion but it only spurs him forward faster. His hips slam mercilessly into you, every rut telling you what he cannot coherently say with words. And you accept his wordless confessions with the tightness of your core, the openness of your eyes.

You respond in fervor, your lips singing his praises as you feel the beginnings of another orgasm curling into a hot fire in the pit of you. It’s like lava has dripped down every vein in your body, lighting your skin on fire with its proverbial heat. You whine, your back arching in the perfect way for his mouth to latch onto your pert nipple.

“Katsu’, please, fill me up,” you whimper, palming at his injured back, finding scars and wounds alike, “I want your come, won’t you come in me?”

He’s nodding around your nipple, affirming you non-verbally, but the gentle tug of his teeth makes you whine again. You are completely distraught with the pounding of his cock into your tight, wet heat, the obscene sounds reverberating off of the walls only to bounce back at you like an echo.

“So fuckin’ pretty, baby,” he grunts, hot tears mixing with the saliva that covers your breast, “such a good girl for me. Takin’ me so well. Gonna take this load?”

You can’t help the way you nod ferociously, pleading with him through both words and actions. You whine, a shuddering of your throat making the sound much more desperate than you intended, “Please, Katsuki. I just want you to stuff me full, I want to be full of you.”

The last time your cunt was full, it was with another man’s seed.

Thinking about it makes your tongue turn heavy and your stomach sour. You grit your teeth and the scent of ashen sweetness fills your nostrils, taking over every thought you’d had previously. You can’t linger your memories on the way something made you feel before, you will destroy your mind and your pride.

All you can focus on is scrubbing yourself clean with Katsuki.

He washes over you like a soothing balm, the heat of his body burning away any trace of anything else from any time before this moment now. Every one of your senses are overwhelmed by him – his body, his breath, his scent. You want to drown in him, only fulfilled through his means for the rest of your days, to dive headfirst into his pain and break through until it is only the two of you left.

You lick at him, the familiar taste of his skin settling on your tongue as you lap over flesh and bone. You beg for his hands to touch every inch of you with wanton moans falling from your lips, scrubbing away at the nightmares and replacing them with the fiery blonde with a quipping tongue to match his superpower. If you thought you might could handle it, you’d ask him to blast you with his quirk, to burn away what is left from before until there is only the now.

“I love you,” you whisper into the dark, “It’s only you, Katsuki. Always.”

Bakugou’s mouth is licking at your neck when you feel his hips still, the telltale sign of his release begging to be set free. You palm at his face, forcing him to look you in the eyes because you can’t hold it in anymore, the words making your chest swell until you think you might burst wide open, “I love you, I love you, I love you.”

He thrusts forward in time with your chanting, his lower lip quivering with desire as he pumps himself forward at a much faster pace. One of his thumbs reaches down to brush against your clit, stimulating you until you can’t speak in full sentences, let alone syllables. You grit your teeth together and beg for his load, “Fill me up, Katsuki.”

Your words mixed with the tone of your voice are what push him over the edge, the cusp of his release washing over the both of you. Bakugou’s hips stutter, sloppily fucking into you as he chases that blinding pleasure only you can provide him.

“Take it, Princess,” he murmurs into your lips as he claims you by painting your walls white, the final part of you that needed to be wiped clean.

Katsuki’s hands rest on either side of your head as he holds up his quivering body, spent from effort and emotion. You brush your thumb over the tear-stained parts of his face, clearing his skin of what remains from his vulnerable confessions, no evidence left behind. He can start anew, pretend that he never bared his soul to you only mere moments ago.

His eyes never leave you, drinking you in religiously as you blink slowly, irises soaking up every inch of your precious expression. Your pupils shrink enough for him to see the color of your irises clearly, tilting one of his hands upward so he can brush his thumb over the curve of your jaw. Your lids flutter closed at the tender sensation, losing yourself in the feel of his fingerprints.

When you blink your eyes open, you reach upward to tenderly cup his cheeks between the palms of your hands, “I need to tell you something.”

“Yeah?” he leans his head into your hand, nudging his nose over the swell of the heel. Your pulse thuds in his ears and he can tell that you’re nervous based on the pace.

Your voice is thick when you whisper the words that have always rang true in your heart, but you’ve never said aloud because they seemed so pointless. He hears them every day from citizens, begging him for autographs and screaming his name when they see him on patrol. You’ve been afraid that they would fall hollow on deaf ears, futile and empty. But your heart squeezes within your chest and you know that it doesn’t matter anymore. The two of you have learned how precious a few moments can be.

“You’re my hero, Katsuki.”

Your thumbs run back and forth over the skin of his cheeks, seeking out the heat and also providing him what you hope feels like comfort. His cock twitches within the walls of your aching cunt, mouth hung open slightly, just enough for you to see the pink of his tongue.

You nod, sniffling as tears press hot into the back of your eyelids, “You’ve always been my hero, no matter what. Nothing will change that.”

Bakugou kisses the inside of your palm before leaning forward to press his lips to yours. This kiss is slow, deliberate, as if he’s trying to communicate something between the volley of your tongues. You lean up and wrap your arm around his neck when he snakes his hands up the expanse of your back. He’s fully pressed into you now, your bodies flush with one another as he kisses you.

Secret words are passed back and forth from your throat to his, emotion swelling in your chest, begging to burst the longer he’s pressed into you. You curl your hand into his hair, anchoring him to you despite the growing heat billowing in the lack of space between your bodies. Bakugou licks at the seam of your lips and you let him in, you’ll always let him in, your hips rolling forward to meet him at every juncture of your bones.

And that’s how you fall asleep that night, entwined in such a way that neither of you can tell where one of you ends and the other begins.

　 ҉　 ҉　 ҉　 ҉　 ҉　 ҉　 ҉　 　 ҉　 ҉　 ҉　 ҉　 ҉　 ҉　 ҉　 　 ҉　 ҉　 ҉　 ҉　 ҉　 ҉　 ҉　

a/n: i hope you guys enjoyed it! drop me an ask if you did!! 

[artificialqueens]

A Series Of Mutual Feelings, 1/3 (Scarjah) - Pazinae

chapter 1: i hate u (and the feelings mutual)

Chapter Summary: Ra'jah is determined to have a fresh start and be a better person, now enrolled as a first year fashion school student- but Scarlet has a way of always making her newfound plans falter. With a rocky high school history, the (not so) fortuitous pair endure some mutual hatred

A/N: enemies 2 luvers scarjah everyone xoxo meant to be a oneshot, but got a little carried away n my doc for this is currently 19 pages long ahaha so to be more palatable it will be a 4 chapter story (its says 3, but you'll see). this one is mainly the intro for the story to understand where they're at emotionally in the present, and is mostly ra'jah centric on her growth + kylie friendship fluff bc theyre the cutest, and a bit of scarlet pov. feedback super super welcome, enjoy !!! 

***

Scarlet strode down the hall with a sway in her hips, her heels clacking on the laminate floor. What kind of tacky ass bitch wears heels to school anyways? Ra'jah scoffed internally, watched the girl saunter like she's on a tightrope, each tantalizing step brought her foot exactly in front of the other. Her body fell into a rhythm, stomping the fucking campus like a lion stalking the jungle for the sheer fun of watching it’s prey scamper. Scarlet's bouncing skirt, her signature grin and luscious ginger curls sprouting out her scalp made her gag. And not in the stunning way. Just as quickly as she came she was gone, and, to be fair, she was just another girl sandwiched in the masses just getting to where she’s going. But she could pluck that arrogant little redhead bitch out of any crowd. Not a conscious choice of course, hell, being reminded of her sheer presence causes a battle of trying not to roll her eyes behind her skull. She can't help that she sees her. Not when Scarlet's lips are painted the same shade of bold crimson as the tight, sleeveless top she's wearing, like a fresh drop of blood in a sea of grey clad bodies swimming around in their hoodies.

This isn't high school anymore Ra'jah. A repetitive reminder that needs to be said evermore until it's understood at her core. Because It's different now, she knows that- it has to be. No fucking way are her dreams going to get caught up in everything again, they're too big to be put at stake. She can't live just to be like that again, and this time she's too grown to waste her time on useless people. High school was a bubble, a 4 year trance that she's left and is more than ready to forget about. 

"Hey, Ra'jah!" That southern, velvety voice could only belong to one stunning woman. She turned around to spot her speed walking to catch up. 

"Aye! Kylie!" Ra'jah stopped and gave a little wave as Kylie approached, her highlight shining even in the shitty indoor light. The two moved over to the side of the hall, and leaned against the wall. "If it isn't Miss Kylie Sonique Love," With such a pleasing name, Ra'jah doesn't think she will, or, really can ever get tired of saying the other girl's name. "What's up?"

"Nothin', just tired as fuck," It's kinda cute, the way her accent gets stronger when she's grumpy. "I'mma pass out at some point, I did not get enough sleep." Even as a grumble her voice is so soft and angelic, Ra'jah could probably fall asleep to the blonde reading true crime murder stories. 

"Goddamn, it sure as hell doesn't show!" Which is true, Kylie was as effervescent as always, any visible messy hair from under her beanie looked intentional. Even in her oversized t-shirt and shorts, there was an undeniable, captivating charm about her that made it impossible for her to look bad "You look gorgeous girl" 

"Awh, thanks honey," She smiles a soft, hazy smile. "You don't look too bad yourself." She hums, eyeing her up with a grin. Before she could even argue a response, the country girl quickly perks up and slaps her hand on Ra'jah's shoulder in excitement. "Oh also! I want your opinion- I'm thinking about dying my hair pink." She can see the visible sparkle in the pair of eyes looking at hers. "Thoughts?" She asks, voice becoming giddy "Oooh bitch! You better, that'd be so fierce!" The (mostly) purple haired girl exclaimed, delight evident in her voice "For real, you'd look so good. And you know, ba-BY" she claps her hands together just for added emphasis, "I support ALL the impulsive hair decisions".

"Yess, obviously I want input only from bad bitches with the best hair"

"I told you I did these myself right?" she asked, running her shoulder length hair through her twirling fingers. "I've been really into doing hair recently"

"Wait, really? It looks so pretty, the fade to purple is so good"

"What'd you mean 'wait really' hoe, what you implying 'bout my hair skills?" 

"Just that a talented woman like you should share your expertise!" Even when she was loud her voice was just as comforting, the tone reminiscent of a silk blanket on her skin

"All it took for me was bleach, a bottle of violet Arctic Fox dye, and the holy spirit of Brad Mondo"

"First of all I'm not trusting no mans named Brad," Ra'jah cackled a little because, yeah that's fair. "And secondly, if you're free, come an' help a girl out then!

"You're inviting me over? Wow we're moving kinda fast Kylie" 

"Oh shut up bitch" but the undying twinkle in her eye confirmed the unsaid agreement that Ra'jah would be doing Kylie's hair, at some point.

"I'm free on Thursday, can I visit then?"

"Yea that works" She smiled, and the closeness between the two wasn't something the taller girl ever planned, or really felt before. But she had it now, a friend she really cares about, and she never wanted to lose it.

"Shit what time is it?" Even in her Shitty Human era she was still a timely gal, her mother didn't raise no late hoe. "Don't stress it Raj, we have like 15 minutes. Introduction to drafting and sewing, right?"

"Yes ma'am. Wanna start going?" "Sure thing" This year is for a new start, making new friends, and getting a chance to create new first impressions. Rebrand herself y'know, and the hindrance that is Scarlet's existence, wrapped in all the ancient things she'd rather not think about, won't stop her.

The walk to class was a pleasant blur. With Kylie yawning and walking essentially shoulder to shoulder with Ra'jah had they been the same height, they slipped into both  comfortable conversation, and silence. With all the noise around them, their presence brought an ease without any awkwardness. 

 A trek opted through the outdoor route that was albeit a tad longer, provided some well needed greenery and fresh air.

"You excited for class?" Ra'jah asked, only half aware of where she was walking to. Her body was on autopilot, and Kylie knows the way, probably.  

"You're amazing if you can get excited by class"

"It's fun!"

"Only 'cause you're good at it"

"You're good at it"

"You know what I mean. Isn't this one your favorite?" 

"It's not my favorite" 

"Uh huh"

"I just like it a lot. Maybee essentially jus' cause I don't hafta try" It was a mandatory course, but Ra'jah's not complaining. Perhaps it's a little vain to enjoy something just to remind everyone you can do it, but it was an easy break from the rest of the courses. And a nice little egoboost.

"So I'm right!" 

"C'mon it's October and we're still on basic techniques"

"It's called introductory," She remarked. "Do you even pay attention half the time?"

"No but bitch neither do you"

"True" Kylie grinned in agreement.

"The way you're coming for me but it's easy for you too!" She hasn't been sewing as long as Ra'jah, but she has great taste so it really balanced out. "And let it be known that I use that class time to think about incredibly productive things"

"Oh that's her name?"

"What?" She didn't mean for her tone to drop. Didn't mean for her legs to stop walking, planting themselves into the cement. Didn't mean for the smile on her face to plummet at the implication. Her visceral reaction was louder than the cluelessness she gave off.  

"Calm down" She giggled, as if Ra'jah's reaction woke her up from her grogginess, her breathlessness equivalent to a shot of espresso for Kylie. "You just seem really occupied sometimes is what I meant"

"Me? No I'm not" She couldn't convince herself.

"Okay babe. The models of your fashion sketches just look a little reminiscent"  

"You know Scarlet isn't the only person with ginger hair right?" Ra'jah bites back, the condescending tone not her intention, but not exactly unwanted in the moment. Scarlet is insufferable, she doesn't want her own name slandered is all, being associated with the arrogant shit.

"Baby, I ain't mention Scarlet. That's all you.'' She had a shit eating smirk and maybe Ra'jah takes everything back about how nice friends are. IF there was inspiration, Scarlet is objectively nice looking so it's not a big deal there might be similarities if you squint.  

"She was implied" 

"If you want her to be"

They get inside and take a seat at one of the large tables, divided into stations with a sewing machine and some material at each one. Ra'jah takes a spot at the edge, with Kylie seated to her right. 

 On paper, it's all been planned out for Ra'jah; during her strolls between classes she'll take in all her surroundings and actively look for inspiration, pondering all the natural shapes and patterns of the world in a way she can manipulate into clothing. On paper, she'll make the most out of the introductory class, sketching designs between the minimal notes and sewing practices. On paper, she'll finish the mornings class with ease and have extra time to practice some new things. 

In reality? Paper is flimsy, especially when its accountability is held by a fleeting mind. It's hard to bask in the world when unwanted questions plague her head. Mostly revolving around a certain redhead. God, fuck her. Fuck her pretty eyes and fuck her sculpted face and fuck her euphonious voice. Does everyone who sees Ra'jah see her patheticness? How she allowed some cunt to infiltrate her mind, set up home in her head and take up all the space? Let her infect every cell in the brain like a parasite until her skull is nothing but an infiltrated shell for an infestation caught up with infatuation?

"Ra'jah, you good?"  The girl sat across from her, Trinity, piped up, and Ra'jah had to bite back a smile. The icy, timid girl she met just a few weeks ago was starting the conversation.

"Yeah, I'm fine, why?"

"You just looked a little spaced out" 

"Nah, it's just that this class is a breeze an' I'm just thinking about a project for another class" 

"Mmm"

"Plus it's hard to just think of designs when there's no inspiration"

"I mean, we're supposed to practice gathering and making ruffles right now"

"Oh shit! We are?"

"Yeah girl!" Ra'jah, shaking her head at herself, finally picked up some of the fabric around her and got to work. "You'll be alright?"

"Oh don't worry about me! I'm all good"

"Okayyy if you need anything just yell" Ra'jah replied with a hum and a nod. Watching the girl running the fabric under the machine, memories of the first time they'd talked flashed, days of the nearly silent girl feeling so distant.

  "I really like your earrings" The girl raised her head, looking left and right a little as if making sure it was directed at her. 

"Thanks." She mumbled, vaguely looking at Ra'jah's direction. 

"If you don't mind, where'd you get them?"

"Uh, I thrifted it."

"Oh, cool" Ra'jah smiled, before quickly adding "Thanks". The raven haired girl didn't reply. The start of the intriguing game of 'does she hate me, is she shy, or both?' 

   After all the awkward attempts made for the quiet girl to be comfortable and maybe make a friend, a sense of pride rang through her. She met Kylie and Trinity here a mere month ago, and yeah, maybe she could be nice. She could walk the fineline of warm socialization without being annoying. The new Ra'jah doesn't do unnecessary mean quips just for the sake of a little power rush. She can be authentically her while being polite. New Ra'jah makes friends- not enemies. 

"Oh by the way" Ra'jah snapped her head up at Trinity's voice 

"Yeah, what's up?"

"I know it's a little random but do you know what you're gonna be for Halloween?"

"Huh. Well, I haven't really thought about it" Ra'jah remarked, "I just don't care for Halloween and all that"

"Really? Girl, you're not gonna do anything, dress up, go out, nothing?"

"Baby all that work and money for some costume I'll wear once? No ma'am- and the fuck will I do, I barely have ideas for school!"

"Hey, you could wear anything and it's a costume. Wear a black dress, you're a cat"

"You think I'm that basic?"

"Yeah?"

 "Fuck you" She snorted, and Trinity had a goofy smile, looking at Ra'jah with a sense of familiar fondness. "And thanks, really, but I don't care for all that spooky shit anyways"

"Damn, alright!" Teeth out and all, she laughed. The blonde on the right leaned in a little, a pleasant opposition of Trinity's hesitation is Kylie's eagerness

"Jesus Ra'jah, what did Halloween do to you?" The southern girl butts in. "You could dress as the grinch of Halloween, steal children's candy" 

"You know what, yeah, I'll be a sluttified grinch"

"You're kinda built the same already" Trinity joins with a grin

"Hey!"

"Sluttified? Are you implying the grinch isn't sexy enough?" Ra'jah choked a little at that, found herself smiling with some dopey content, at what exactly she's not sure. 

"Do ya'll think being the grinch would count as like, being a furry?" Trinity asked, voice dripping in an odd amount of seriousness. 

"What? Baby no" Kylie jumped in. "Yes! absolutely, how would it NOT?" Trinity argues, and maybe it's the easiness of everything.  Of how nice it is to just fall into banter when you let people in. Bouncing off the two girls, she doesn't need to think of how to be funny, how to one up herself, remind everyone of why she's worthy. She can just, be. And that warrants a smile. 

With Ra'jah's elbow propped on the table, she rested her cheek against her palm to face forward, before turning a little to face Trinity

"But why do ya ask Trin? About Halloween"

"Oh, kinda last minute but I just want some ideas to figure mine out" She shrugs, and Kylie leans over once more. It's a little heartwarming, how physically close she always instinctively wants to be. 

"Oh! Are you going to the Halloween party this weekend?"

"Nah parties aren't really my thing"

"Awh, but it'll be fun!"

"Yeah standing in a mass of people I won't talk to will be so fun"

"Fine- Ra'jah, are you goin'?" Rajah turns her head to follow the voices like a cat keeping up with a beam of light. 

"Uh..."

"RIGHT, forgot, Halloween's not your thing". A party where she can have a disguise, let loose and have fun. It feels almost embarrassing to admit to her newfound friends that she's never been to a party, and the thought of a Halloween party didn't even cross her mind. Maybe Halloween isn't not her thing, it's just not something she'd indulge in. For reasons. Like, schoolwork. 

"Welllllll…" Ra'jah hummed, dragging on with a small grin

"OH the prospect of partying changes things huh?" 

"You know, me an' Halloween, we complicated okay!" They laugh, but Ra'jah's left thinking. New or old Ra'jah both, spends a little too much time in the internal realm of the brain. 

The class falls silent except the murmurs of the buzzing machines, and the three chatter in whispers. Although usually it's mostly her and Kylie with occasional injections of confirmation from Trinity

"You're insane if you think spaghettini is better than fettuccine" Kylie protested "Spaghettini is literally the objective worst"

"Says who?!" Ra'jah paused sewing to look up at Kylie in defiance

"Me!"

"Trinity which is better" 

"Huh? Ya'll It's too early for this." Trinity complained.

"Oh, says the bitch who asked if the grinch was a furry" Ra'jah retorted, but Trinity brushed her off to look at Kylie "Oh wait! Also, Kylie, what're you gonna be for Halloween?" She gave a little snicker before answering 

"Don't come for me but honestly? Was thinking about being a cat" 

"AAAAAH!" Ra'jah and Trinity erupted laughing.

"But like, a hot one okay!" Ra'jah quickly tried to redeem herself.

"You'll be the hottest ass cat around" Plus, worse comes to worst, Ra'jah will be a witch or something, and they can be hot and basic together. 

When the class ended, they packed their things, and exchanged their goodbyes

"I'll see y'all around!"

"See you! Good luck on your textile project Trin" 

"Thanks!" She waved, yelling a final "Bye!" 

"Bye!" The three part, and Ra'jah makes her way to her second class. History of costume and design was next, and quickly weighing it out, she decided to take a quicker path through the halls. Suddenly, the weight of a body knocked at her side, the two stumbling around for a few seconds. A gust of papers had fallen from both parties' arms, and landed on the floor.

"Oh shit! I'm so-" Scarlet cuts herself off when she looks up at whom she's bumped into.

"Maybe watch where you're going" Ra'jah snorts out of sheer instinct, squatting down to gather her papers where Scarlet follows suit, just a little too close. The vague, sweet scent of strawberries she gives off is suffocating.

"Maybe if you weren't such a stuck up cunt taking up half the hallway I wouldn't hit you" The attention sends a masochistic jolt down her spine

"Uh oh someone's in a bad mood. Stuck up cunt that's a new one! Love the creativity. You should drop out of this school and be a writer" As much as she screamed internally to just shut the fuck up and get your things, it was so easy to slip back to this.

"Thanks but I'm good! When you fail out this year you can give it a try"

"Baby, me? Fail out?" Please don't imply that. Please don't make me doubt that I can and deserve to be here. I don't want to seek approval from others, but I can't help but be hurt at disapproval. Of course, her thoughts don't verbalize as the words that come out of her mouth. "That's a lot of talk for a girl who probably spends more hours getting fucked than studying" Before she can think it through, process the flash of hurt on her face and the way her fingers tense around the last piece of paper, before Ra'jah can really understand the weight of her own words she continues. "But I guess that's how you get yo' A's right?"

Their exchanges were in aggressive whispers, hushed to anyone above them. To most people, they'd find a sight of two girls muttering to one another while they pick up some things they've dropped.

"You're so much prettier when you're quiet" Scarlet huffed, standing up in one swift motion. Those words aren't a compliment. Like, at all. So why does Ra'jah's dumb, twisted heart stop for a second? The implied connection of herself and 'pretty' slows her body and slurs her mind until she's pushing herself up off the ground in slow motion. It's been so many months of mundanity, the small interaction felt all so familiar and foreign and exciting at the same time.But the haziness of her words and their little games makes her forget for a second of what the fuck just happened, and a wave of patheticness washed over her as she started to walk, eyes focused at the cream walls. For all her hemming and hawing, Ra'jah hasn't. Fucking. Changed. 

A rush of everything dives into her guts, a sick adrenaline coated in dread, self loathing and the slight urge to cry, nestling in her stomach like a bird claiming a branch as it's home. Her skin was electric, and she hated to admit she loved it, the thrill of interacting with her, cattiness and all. Imagine feeling this much from fucking bumping into someone? Fingers clenched, nails digging in her own palms at how much she hates her. Intense emotions are a high of their own, and Ra'jah can't help but indulge. The piercing sting of her flesh being pressed in with her nails is intensified as she listens for the faint voice of that lanky girl always accompanying Scarlet. 

"You good Scarlet?"

"Yeah, thanks" She can't look back, but she can't help but wonder- are they hugging? Holding hands? It doesn't- it shouldn't matter to her. The fun amusement pales in comparison to the misery settling in. The realization that she's fighting with Scarlet like they're 16 at the back of English class.

Of all the schools, why'd that girl have to come here? Of all the things to pursue, why the same as herself? Of all the people, why'd it have to be her? Ra'jah didn't have the audacity to explore the last question. What she means, she's not too sure. The only thing in the world she's sure of is that she can't be both New Ra'jah™ and Old Ra'jah™ to different people. The line between the two existences isn't so bold anymore, and painting over the bumps isn't as effective as she'd hoped. 

  ***

  Truth be told, watching herself move around in skirts was one of her favorite things- just about tied with watching others watch her. Maybe that's why she joined cheer in highschool. Especially with the support from (or, lack of thereof) a certain grimacing purple haired girl, a runaway model from a fashion show who wound up wandering this school. She never needed to turn and look, didn't need sight to know there's a burn at her back, nor who it's radiating from. Scarlet always walked with just a bit of a straighter back, just a bit more purpose, and just a bit more stride in her step when her favorite pair of wandering eyes were around. A small part of her always wants to turn around, catch her gaze and watch her frantically look away and pretend she's talking to someone. Or maybe she'll hold it, stare back with just as much intensity. But her wistful attention is enough of an ego boost. The scowl ridden bitch, smile washed away just for her, and yet that's where her attention lied. It made her bite back a smile. 

Scarlet is a pretty thing, and she didn't need constant confirmation to remind her that she's beautiful. She's hot, she knows it, Ra'jah knows it, and Scarlet knows that's all she is to her. A pretty thing. Whatever. She's not important. 

In fear of her brain melting, and/or being fried to a crisp, Scarlet doesn't bother having two classes back to back. Her mental capacity is full, and a nice salad will probably help with that. She's on her way to meet with Yvie for lunch, thinking about their weekend plans, when she takes a misstep and stumbles, all her weight focused in her shoulder which slams against someone else's side.

"Oh shit! I'm so-" the universe is an asshole. May the odds never be in my favor. 

"Maybe watch where you're going" Her sneer is venomous, and the universe has suddenly become just the second biggest asshole. 

"Maybe if you weren't such a stuck up cunt taking up half the hallway I wouldn't hit you" Ra'jah didn't do anything, a rational voice lectures, but she ignores it the way she's ignoring the taller girls face. Scarlet's grabbing at her papers, avoiding eye contact because that selfish pile of shit on her right takes up enough space as is, and if she looks into her eyes, sees that stupid fucking face this close she might do something bad. Like, in the sense of, punching her. Yeah, she can't look at her or she'll beat her up. Because that's a fight she'd win.  

"Uh oh someone's in a bad mood. Stuck up cunt that's a new one! Love the creativity. You should drop out of this school and be a writer" Ra'jah snides, and she needs to drop out before Scarlet gets grey hair from her. 

"Thanks but I'm good! When you fail out this year you can give it a try" Her words are about as empty as her own stomach, because she hasn't eaten since last night, and Ra'jah will quit fashion school and become a science engineer before she fails out. 

"Baby, me? Fail out?" Yeah, with the flawless outfit you're wearing that you sure as hell made just because you were bored one night. Your pants could literally be sold as a luxury brand. The girl who started sewing when she a embryo in the womb, you'll fucking fail out.  "That's a lot of talk for a girl who probably spends more hours getting fucked than studying- But I guess that's how you get yo' A's right?" Scarlet looks up, not at Ra'jah but away from the ground, and the urge to yell, hit her, and cry come up at the same time. She wants to scream, get everyone in hearing range to know that Ra'jah is a loser who will amount to nothing. She wants to reach out and choke her. But articulating her anger into words is too much, and she ends up just whispering whatever words are willing to come out as she gets up, not caring if she left any papers behind. 

"You're so much prettier when you're quiet" And that's the closest thing to honest Scarlet's said all day. 

In the distance, she sees Yvie walking towards her, so she waits until the freshly dyed green haired girl is caught up beside her. 

"You good Scarlet?" 

"Yeah, thanks" The two walk together, side by side, and Scarlet loops her arm through Yvie's, linking the pair. 

"You know, Scarlie, you should stop wearing heels before you break your ankles"

"Hey!" She giggled, slapping the taller girl's arm in response. "I never fall, people just get in my way" Yvie scoffs, unable to stop the corners of her lips turning up and giving her away, forever endeared by the shorter girl. Scarlet's affection makes her forget that they've only known each other for a month. They reach a set of blue doors, and Yvie opens it, holding it for Scarlet to come through. Her face seems puzzled 

"Are you down to go to Mika's Cafe? I want to get some coffee" 

"Sure, they have nice breakfast sandwiches and omelettes, I'm down" It's only a few minutes away from campus 

"What's on your mind"

"Just like, school stuff. I have to make a dress for creative fashion design, and I'm just thinking about it, and what I wanna do" Would it be tmi to blurt that Ra'jah is insufferable? 

"Cool," Yvie hummed, and spiteful words cycled through Scarlet's head, deciding on what exactly to say, before Yvie beats her to it, whipping her head in some seeming urgency

 "OH by the way, I know you're busy with your project and you're determined on getting in the top 5 and all," 

"Uh huh" 

"Buuuuut, there's a Halloween party this weekend, and I was gonna go with Brooke and her friends but they're not going anymore," Scarlet knows how Yvie feels about Brooke, and to be fair she's only met her a few times in passing, but how someone like Yvie could fall for someone as uptight as the boring blonde is beyond her. She doesn't dare bring up another possibility of why her dorm mate would be avoiding the stoic girl, a possibility involving a particularly hot headed latina glued to the Canadians side. "They decided clubbing downtown would be more fun or whatever," They're outside on the pavement now, and the afternoon breeze graces their skin. It's a welcome environment, and Scarlet slows down her pace to enjoy the air, with Yvie quickly matching her pace. 

"Wouldn't you rather go clubbing though? Like not with Brooke and them but with others," Scarlet is friendly and all, but she swears Yvie is somehow friends with half the school. She sure as hell can find a group to go with.

"I guess, but I want to go to the party," she quiets a little as she continues, "There are some people I want to see there, for fun and stuff"

"Mmmm!" Scarlet widens her eyes, looking at the taller girl with a knowing glare, sprinkled with a teeny bit of judgement. 

"It's kinda lame to go there alone!" 

"No it's not!" 

"Scarls, yeah it is"

"Why do you even care? Wanna impress some girls?" In response, Yvie rolled her eyes so hard Scarlet could practically feel it. 

"'Cause you want me to go to a fun Halloween party by myself? 

"Yes! You could walk up to anyone and there's like an 80% chance you already know them, and a 100% chance you'll become friends anyways" The quirky girl's charm is undeniable, she'll be fine without Scarlet. Yvie gives a defeated sigh

"Seems kinda homophobic" 

"Ugh you know what's actually homophobic? The fact that more people aren't madly in love with me. I'm LITERALLY perfect" The prospect of love feels like it's been dangled infront of her, her whole life. Imagine looking like Scarlet, and never dated before?

"You're right girl, you are" Yvie laughed her deep, hearty cackle and Scarlet wanted to melt a little. 

"Thank you, finally someone with taste" Looking at her outfit, she remembers that the tall girl's taste is kind of debatable, and Scarlet almost wants to say she takes it back

"You think Ra'jah has good taste then?" 

"What?" 

"Also a party seems like the best way to meet more people y'know?" She brushes over her last question, and it's much better that way.

"You know what, whatever 'll go with you" Scarlet agrees so she'll shut up. If she hears her roommate bring up she-who-shall-not-be-named-because-shes-a-stick-in-the-ass anymore she might lose her mind. And, she really doesn't have any other plans for the night so might as well.

 ***

AN: going to be a while for the next chapter bc im busy so here's a lil thing lol xo

***

They weren't supposed to meet here. Weren't supposed to see each other. At least, that's what Scarlet tries to tell herself.

"You are such a fucking pain, oh my god" Scarlet seethed because everything is hazy except the impassive girl standing before her and she can't think straight. Her cold eyes are apathetic and Scarlet wants to implode, like a glass thermostat engulfed in a burning heat where it's not a question of if, but an inevitable when? "Maybe I am arrogant" Her voice was coated in a sickly sweet frustration. She pushed further into Ra'jah's space, the taller girl stiffening at the ever decreasing space between the two. How can she be so still, so unreactive? This is all so amusing to her? Is she having fun, so fucking detached from everything and watching Scarlet crumble? Pretending like she cares about Scarlet past her pretty face? Enjoying her sadistic game? Fuck her, fuck her, fuck her. 

"Maybe I am narcissistic" Their faces were inches apart, and Ra'jah could feel the angry womans hot breathe on her cheek, the pungent smell of alcohol intruding her nose.

"But I'd rather be a confident, arrogant narcissist than whatever kind of sad fuck you are" 

Scarlet growled, and she wanted to breathe fire, burn Ra'jah's existence out of her mind and scream at everything she felt because of her. Except that she sees her, and wants her, wants to hurt her and touch her and without thinking her hands are digging around Ra'jah's waist.

"You are such-" Scarlet was interrupted as the other girl leaned in, framed the shorter girl's face with both her hands, and pressed her lips against Scarlets. Any thoughts or mental functionality she had were put to an abrupt stop. This wasn't supposed to happen. It's been so long, but no time has passed since they were last like this. The plug to her brain was pulled, and it's all static and her bodys done a full 180. Ra'jah's piercing lips are numbing, and her overheated body feels like it's been dunked in ice where all her nerves are all in shock. They weren't supposed to do this anymore, it's the only thing they've ever been able to agree on. She was frozen, unable to move, or think, far too busy being hyper focused on the familiar sugary lips on hers, sending waves of nostalgia through her body. Time has only heighted the intoxication. She gains some composure and surges forward, but Ra'jah's pulling away, opening her mouth to finally say something.

"You're so much prettier when you're quiet"

[slasherscream]

I just found your blog and I love it! I saw your chill!Latina!reader x Poly! ghostface and I raise you a Latina!reader with absolutely no chill? Like someone says something even remotely insulting towards them or the boys and they're immediately cursing them out in Spanish and English.

the duality.... of latina adjkl- 

Woodsboro.... straight up wasn’t ready for you. 

It is important, in the cut throat land of high school, to immediately establish oneself as someone to not be messed with. This is especially crucial if you are entering a new high school in the middle of senior year. 

This would be a big yikes for absolutely anyone. But you? You waltz into the school with your head held high, you make eye contact with everyone and walk like if someone is in your way you will simply run them over and not pause to check if your shoes left marks on their back. 

The boys hear about you but they don’t seek you out or anything. They’re curious, of course, but it’s not that huge of a school and they know that they’ll run into you sooner or later. 

They have a few classes with you but you keep your mandatory “class introduction” short and sweet like no one has a #Right to know anything about you. Billy respects that he knows nothing about you besides the fact that you clench your jaw when you’re annoyed. 

It’s about a week in when someone finally decides to test you. 

One of the more popular girls in school is getting a little jealous that you’re all anyone can talk about. Wanting to knock you down a peg she tries to trip you at lunch in the hopes that you’ll make a mess of yourself. 

You wind up spilling your food but manage to not fall on the floor. Everyone watches with baited breath for your reaction. They expect you to run off crying in embarrassment, instead you whirl around on the girl like the devil. By the end of you absolutely reading her for filth she’s the one who leaves the cafeteria in tears. You get another tray of food, find a table, and eat in peace.

At that point you have the whole school’s attention. But who cares about everyone. The important thing is you caught the attention of the dangerous duo. 

Stu is the one who approaches you first as the people person. 

They’re not sure about what they want to do with you honestly. That little display of fire was.... intriguing. You have final girl archetype written all over you. The people they kill so rarely put up a fight it can almost get boring. But before they finalize any plans they want to know you. The wait makes the kill all the sweeter.

It takes you quite awhile to warm up to Stu. Frankly you’re just trying to do your time and then get the hell out of dodge. You go to school, deal with your insufferable classmates and teachers, and go home to unwind. But Stu is nothing if not persistent. 

He’s everywhere you turn and eventually his presence just becomes a non-factor. You’ll be digging through your locker for your books, sense someone looming over you from behind and just say, “Hi Stu” - because that’s how on your jock he is. 

You wouldn’t call yourself friends exactly but you’re comfortable with him.

One day you happen to be looking for a movie at the local video store. You notice that Stu is in there talking to another boy but don’t take much note until your perusing of movie options brings you close enough to hear their conversation. 

You don’t hear the asshole thing Stu said that prompted Randy to insult Stu’s intelligence rather harshly       all you see is Stu’s face falling ever so slightly before he masks it behind a mischievous grin. You step in front of Stu instantly on the defense, “Who do you think you’re calling stupid with a face like that? ¡Vete a la mierda! Beat it, gringo.” and poor Randy runs off wondering how he became the bad guy during a run in with Stu of all people but whatever he knows when he’s in danger and makes himself scarce. 

Stu is #Shook because first off he rarely needs to be defended, he can handle himself, and second of all just... no one has ever really jumped in when people are mocking him (even though he admittedly deserves it sometimes) and believe it or not people thinking he’s stupid is a sore subject for him even though he acts like he’s the popular class clown that could care less. 

Now he has heart eyes for you and you really can’t get rid of him. 

When Stu comes running to Billy talking about they just can’t kill you is when Billy has to step in and see what’s so special about you that you’re suddenly above being their latest victim. 

After a few group hangouts he starts to get it. 

You’re vibrant, and passionate, and have so much fire in you that sometimes it can’t help but come out in bursts of you not being able to take a single ounce of bullshit and they’re in love. 

Billy flirts with you by pissing you off, full warning. He loves watching you get riled up and really loves the way you look at him before you’re about to let him HAVE IT. He’s never really been around a girl who doesn’t just melt for him. He likes that he’ll poke at you and you’ll poke right on back, never backing down. 

Stu just follows you around like a loyal puppy dog. He likes to annoy you a little here and there but not in the same way that Billy does. Billy likes to challenge you and see how far he can go, always testing his limit. Stu just likes to annoy you because then he has your undivided attention. He’s a kindergartner pulling on his crush’s pigtails.

Honestly you’re probably all going to be just friends for awhile until Stu finally convinces you to come to one of his parties where you will promptly be hit on and before you can rip the guy to shreds ENTER PLAYER ONE aka Billy Loomis who looks like he’s going to pop a blood vessel as he grabs the guy and asks him what the hell he thinks he’s doing talking to you. 

Once he gets rid of the guy you ask him who does he think he is running off guys for you and he’ll just snap and kiss you because the sexual tension has been there for like two months now and he can’t take it anymore. 

You guys are full on making out when Stu tracks you both down and you instantly pull away because Oh God You Also Care About Stu This Is A Nightmare but before you can panic Stu has pushed himself into your side and asked in the huskiest voice if there’s room for one more so there’s.....that. 

Everyone is so mad that you managed to snag the two hottest guys in school but they don’t dare say anything because....well, you’re you and no one wants to have their ass verbally handed to them. 

Every single one of your tirades is legendary. Do people respect you or do they fear you? Doesn’t matter because the end result is people leave you all alone about your relationship. 

Both the boys think it’s hilarious that people are so scared of you when they’re the coldblooded killers. 

You and Billy get into a lot of small spats because you both have tempers and don’t like to apologize because that’s admitting you were wrong and you’re both always sure that the other one is in the wrong and you are the long suffering tolerant partner. Stu is constantly cooling the both of you down until you can admit you both let things get out of hand. You’re both very clingy whenever you come out of these little fights. You missed each other while you were being stubborn :(((

The first time they tried to sneak into your room through your window you nearly killed them because you started hurling the heaviest shit you could find and they both almost fell like...two stories. Stu got his nose lightly bruised (not even broken!!!) and whined about it for weeks. You argued that they could’ve given you a damn warning before they tried to pull a Romeo and Juliet on you. 

High-key Billy wonders if you might one day be their third ghostface. He imagines you taunting and snapping at victims with that razor sharp tongue over the phone before the three of you close in on them like the prey they are and slaughter them. He wonders if you’d be as vicious with a knife as you can be with your words.

They’re working up the nerve to tell you about their little....hobby. They know your initial reaction is bound to be intense so they’ve already braced themselves for that they’re just not sure what will happen after. The thought of losing you because you can’t wrap your head around what they’re doing scares the shit out of them but they also know the longer they don’t tell you the more upset you’ll be, you demand 100% transparency from them because you can’t tolerate bullshit.

For now they relish the dynamic you all have together and tell themselves that no matter what your first reaction is they’ll just remind you of how much you all need each other. You’re their perfect fit and you always will be, they’re sure of that.

[gusu-emilu]

Follow Your Arrow (Part 2): Jiang Cheng / Wen Ning

(Cloud Recesses Era, G, 2.6k, CW: non-graphic bird hunting, read on AO3)

Jiang Cheng and Wen Ning accidentally go to the same spot in the Cloud Recesses to practice archery.

< Part 1 (although this part can stand alone too)

* * *

Shooting at rocks in a waterfall is not Jiang Cheng’s ideal form of an archery competition. Wen Ning is closer to the waterfall, which doesn’t necessarily put Jiang Cheng at a disadvantage, but it does mean that Jiang Cheng has to see Wen Ning in the corner of his eyes every time he tries to aim. It's irksome. Jiang Cheng has always competed better when he doesn’t have to watch his opponent.

Not that watching Wen Ning affects his performance. Sure, Wen Ning is a decent shot. When he’s relaxed and his hands aren’t fidgeting, his archery skills might even be called impressive. The rocks blown to bits by his arrows seem to testify as much. But he's not that good.

Another rock shatters with the impact of Wen Ning’s shot. Jiang Cheng is still adjusting his aim when the periphery of his vision is filled with Wen Ning grinning to himself, and inadvertently his eyes wander over to the sight.

Yes, that’s enough shooting at waterfalls.

“Stop here,” Jiang Cheng says, lowering his bow. He straightens his posture once Wen Ning looks over in confusion.

“H-Have we finished the competition?” Wen Ning asks, leaning to the side slightly as if he needs to look around some barrier to see Jiang Cheng, even though the length of riverbank between them is unobstructed. Somehow that makes Jiang Cheng feel exposed, that Wen Ning is paying such careful attention to him.

“No,” Jiang Cheng says. “We’re not finished. Haven’t started, actually.”

All Wen Ning returns are wide eyes and a soft little “oh?”

“That was the warmup.” Avoiding Wen Ning’s gaze, Jiang Cheng slings his quiver over his shoulder and strides toward the woods lining the riverbank. “For the competition, we’re going to hunt birds.”

After a few moments, there’s a shuffling sound and scurrying footsteps behind him. Wen Ning catches up to Jiang Cheng just as they enter the forest, sidling up next to him. Jiang Cheng picks up his pace.

“Hunting birds?”

“You have a problem with that?”

Wen Ning stumbles as he tries to keep up with Jiang Cheng’s ever-quickening pace, but he regains his balance and appears back at Jiang Cheng’s side. “No. I just don’t usually shoot animals.”

Wen Ning's hurried steps beside Jiang Cheng keep him in the corner of his vision again. It’s irritating. Like a ghost Jiang Cheng knows is there but can’t fully capture in his sight. He stops abruptly and turns to face Wen Ning head-on so he can at least see the nuisance in his entirety. Wen Ning trips again, steadies himself, then clutches his bow in front of his stomach, his hands close enough together for him to nervously rub his thumb over one of his knuckles.

Jiang Cheng studies his scrunched posture, his pouty face, his long fingers curling around the bow. “Then it’ll be all the more of a challenge. You wanted help getting over competition anxiety, didn’t you?”

“I—y-yes, I suppose so.”

“Okay. Anywhere in this section of the forest is fair game.” Jiang Cheng gestures at the shady expanse of forest in front of them. “Meet back at the river. Whoever catches more birds wins.”

Wen Ning nods a little too eagerly, still staring at him.

Jiang Cheng rolls his eyes. “Go already.”

“Oh—oh.” Wen Ning hesitates for a few seconds, then bolts away.

Jiang Cheng scoffs. Weirdo. No wonder he gets along with Wei Wuxian.

That thought bites. Wei Wuxian has been fluttering from disciple to disciple nonstop since they arrived in the Cloud Recesses, gravitating farther from Jiang Cheng and revolving in tighter circles around people from other clans, like Nie Huaisang, who—if Jiang Cheng is honest—he doesn’t mind that much. But Wei Wuxian has also attached himself to this strange one Wen Ning, who of course also happens to be from an enemy clan. And Wei Wuxian has been clinging most of all to that insufferable Lan Wangji…

Anyway. Bird-hunting.

This choice of competition was intentional. First, it’ll let Jiang Cheng get Wen Ning out of the corners of his vision. Completely out of his sight. Wen Ning’s absence feels much better already. Second, he’ll be able to show off the birds he catches to Wei Wuxian and maybe squeeze out a few compliments for hunting an extra dinner for them, as well as get a rise out of Nie Huaisang for turning cousins of his prized avian pets into prey.

Following the calls of birds, he stalks through the forest, scanning the canopy of trees. A flash of wings on a branch to the left. He creeps closer, stringing an arrow and drawing it back. He sets his aim, gets the tension just right—

The bird plops to the forest floor.

Jiang Cheng’s arrow hasn’t left his bow.

His brow furrowed, he steps forward to stand over the bird and inspect it. Wen Ning arrives at the same time, holding his bow up guiltily. His arrow has been shot.

“What way to play is this?” Jiang Cheng shouts. “You have the entire forest! You can’t hunt the same birds as me!”

“S-Sorry…” Wen Ning looks down at the creature, his eyes downcast.

“Just, hunt somewhere farther from me! Okay?” Jiang Cheng says, trying to soften his voice and not succeeding at it.

Wen Ning is quiet for so long that Jiang Cheng’s throat begins to itch.

“Well, it’s just that…” Wen Ning finally says, only to trail off.

“What?”

“W-Well, if I want to become better at competing without feeling nervous,” he meets Jiang Cheng’s eyes, “won’t I get the most competition if I steal your shots?”

Jiang Cheng’s eyebrows shoot up. He reigns his facial expression back in immediately, but not soon enough, because Wen Ning is staring right at him when a traitorous heat flushes across his cheeks. “I’m not helping you that much! Go somewhere else!”

Wen Ning nods sullenly and walks away.

Steal my shots! The nerve! He shakes his head. These Wens are unbearable.

Wen Ning’s idea makes sense, of course, and his gut twists at the realization of how seriously Wen Ning is working to get an advantage over him. He didn’t expect he’d have to be on his guard this much.

Is Wen Ning only trying this hard because he wants to overcome his fears?

Most likely.

Jiang Cheng thinks that incident will be the first and last time Wen Ning shoots down a bird before he even has the chance to set his aim.

It happens a second time.

“Wen Qionglin!” He stomps over to where Wen Ning is hiding behind a tree and grabs him by the collar of his robes. “I told you to hunt birds somewhere else! Do you want me to shoot at you instead?”

“S-S-Sorry—”

Somehow, without noticing, he’s pulled Wen Ning closer. Or he's stepped closer himself. He lets go of Wen Ning’s robes with a shove, turns around and storms away because this time he is not letting the heat in his cheeks be seen. Especially since it shouldn’t even be there.

What is he so embarrassed about? That Wen Ning has been following him and timing his shots to land right before his own, at the exact time that would frustrate him most?

The answer rises into his mind unbidden.

He is embarrassed about that.

Dang it.

The next bird he targets, he resists the tingle in his fingers that urges him to rush through the shot and strike the bird before Wen Ning has the chance. Instead, he positions himself for the shot, slows his breath, steadies his arms, and drops his gaze away to scan the shadows in the forest surrounding him. The pest is bound to be around here somewhere.

His gaze settles on a dark spot in the bushes that seems especially unwieldy. Was that a pair of eyes blinking back at him?

He adjusts his fingers on the bow and arrow, builds up pressure in his back muscles. He'll change directions at the last second. Fire an arrow toward Wen Ning and give him a scare.

He draws—

Shing!

His head jerks up to follow an arrow that whirs past his hair ornament and lodges into a tree trunk behind him. His own arrow releases into the dirt at his feet.

Wen Ning shot at him first?!

"Wen Qionglin!" he bellows.

"I'm s-sorry! I didn't m-mean to—aaaah!" Wen Ning drops his bow in the grass and sprints away, because Jiang Cheng is chasing after him and Jiang Cheng is going to catch him.

All those times he chased down Wei Wuxian have proven useful. A matter of seconds and he's close enough to grab Wen Ning's arm and yank him to a stop. Unfortunately, Wen Ning is heavier than he expected. He loses his balance. Overshoots a bit. Falls to the ground and pulls Wen Ning on top of him.

"J-Jiang-gongzi!"

"Get off me!"

"Jiang-gongzi, I didn't mean to—"

Jiang Cheng is sick of being at a disadvantage, so sick of it. He pushes Wen Ning off, slams him into the ground beside him. He climbs on top and pushes Wen Ning's shoulders down, flattening the weeds underneath his shoulder blades.

"First you shoot at my birds, then you shoot at me?!"

"I-I didn't—that was an accident—"

"Oh, wonderful! Please tell me how that could possibly be an accident!"

Wen Ning stares wide-eyed at one of the hands Jiang Cheng is digging into his shoulder. A few locks of his hair, too soft, are tangled between Jiang Cheng's fingers. Wen Ning meets his eyes, looks down at his chest for longer than is comfortable, and back up to his eyes. Heat rises to Jiang Cheng's face again. This time he has nowhere to hide.

"I...I..." Wen Ning says quietly.

"You what?" Jiang Cheng's voice cracks on the word what, jumping to a pitch much too high, as if he hasn't already been humiliated enough today.

"I was..."

"Spit it out!" He shoves Wen Ning's shoulders down harder for good measure, but that only makes him blush more fiercely. He freezes, fearful that one more motion, one more twitch of muscle, and his face would light on fire.

"I was aiming at the b-bird above you and then..." Wen Ning tries to look away. But there's a person on top of him. Anywhere his eyes go is somewhere on Jiang Cheng's body, and that definitely does not make Jiang Cheng shiver.

"But then I was w-watching you instead of the bird, so my arrow..."

The rush of understanding is like a punch in the gut. Had the wind been knocked out of Jiang Cheng before this moment? Or is it just now?

Wen Ning was staring at me so much he ended up aiming at me.

What the heck.

What the heck.

He wrenches himself away from Wen Ning and plops onto his backside in the grass next to him, resting his arms on top of his bent knees, his mind fuzzy.

"Why?" As soon as the words come out, Jiang Cheng bites his lower lip and presses his mouth closed, clenches his jaw, but he's already asked. He hadn't wanted to ask that.

"Umm." Wen Ning sits up a bit, propping himself up on his forearms, still lying on the forest floor. His feet splay outward from each other. His fingers dig into the grass. "What are you asking?"

Jiang Cheng would sooner plunge one of his arrows into his own chest than explain what he meant.

"W-Well..." Wen Ning sits up fully now, positioning himself cross-legged in front of Jiang Cheng, like they're about to have a meditation session together. His hands are a little jittery and he stutters his words, but overall he looks gentle and calm, which should be impossible given what just happened. If Jiang Cheng didn't know better, he'd be jealous.

"I guess I just," Wen Ning continues, his eyes fixed down in the dirt, then lifting to graze over Jiang Cheng's face, "think you're p-pretty."

An arrow does plunge into Jiang Cheng's chest.

His heart races. Fights against the tightness constricting his windpipe. His whole body is going to burn up.

He really had to choose this word? Pretty?

Jiang Yanli is pretty. Wen Qing is pretty. Even Nie Huaisang and Lan Wangji are pretty. Hell, Wen Ning is pretty.

But Jiang Cheng?

Whatever mortified expression he's making right now, he can't wipe it off his face, and it's definitely not pretty.

He jumps to his feet. "That's—that's dumb."

Wen Ning gapes up at him. "It is?"

He just stands there with his fists clenched like an idiot.

Gods, why can't you just say something properly? Something nice. Why are you acting like this?

"You can't go around shooting arrows at people and telling them it's because they're pretty!" he says, trying to swallow the words back down his throat, but they come out anyway. "Who does that?" You do! You were going to aim your bow at him yourself!

"Oh," Wen Ning says, still sitting on the ground. He's started fidgeting with his hands. "Jiang-gongzi...should we finish the competition?"

"It's finished!" Jiang Cheng shouts. "You've already won, haven't you?"

"I have?"

Jiang Cheng sucks in a breath and turns his face away. "Clearly!"

Wen Ning stands up. He takes a step toward Jiang Cheng, then wavers and returns to stillness. "So what happens now?"

Jiang Cheng glares at him. "I'll...I'll..."

I guess I just think you're pretty.

It's humiliating. So much worse than when Jiang Yanli tells him that he's handsome. From Wen Ning it feels so genuine and awkward and nice and makes his skin boil and his body sink into the ground.

And Wen Ning really did perform well in their competition. During the "warmup" he was already nailing every two or three shots, and during the hunt in the forest—Jiang Cheng hates to admit it—he put up a challenge. For someone so outwardly meek, Wen Ning is plucky. After all, only one of them had caught any birds. If Wen Ning had been trying to impress him...it had worked. Ironic, embarrassing, that was, because Jiang Cheng had been the one trying to impress him.

"I'll treat you."

Wen Ning raises his hands and shakes away the offer. "Oh, no, n-no need to trouble yourself. I don't want anything."

"What?" Jiang Cheng scoffs. "Don't want my company?"

"That's not what I meant."

Jiang Cheng is ready to leave. He's ready to get out of the forest and far away from the aftermath of this cursed competition. They need to settle this now, because he's ready to leave, and absolutely not because his heart is fluttering.

"Wei Wuxian is bringing Emperor's Smile to our room tonight." He jerks the strap of his quiver over his shoulder and grips down hard on his bow, straightening his posture and raising his chin. "Either show up, or don't."

Wen Ning gives a small smile. "I-I'd like that, Jiang-gongzi. But...my sister says I shouldn't drink too much."

"Then don't drink anything. What do I care?"

""Okay." Wen Ning's smile grows a little bigger, and Jiang Cheng just about dies inside. "Thank you."

"You're welcome," Jiang Cheng says, the words catching in his mouth a bit. He turns around before his face can betray him again. "You better show up."

Jiang Cheng heads up the trail to the center of the Cloud Recesses, his face burning, his archery skills insulted, and his lips quirking into a smile.

* * *

Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed this story, you can be a supportive sibling like Jiang Yanli by visiting me on AO3!

You can subscribe to my degrees of separation series on AO3 to get a notification whenever I post the next part. I have ideas for a follow-up thanks to suggestions from @qi-ling​ (who also has some excellent fanfics!)

And if you have your own ideas...my ask box is always open 👀

[cuttingthe-painter]

Taron - Fae Boyfriend

Oooh, what about a human in a library researching the fae in Ireland. A friend went missing. Everyone thinks they ran away, but you found things that lead you to believe the fae have them. Now you're trying to find a way in and all the ways to bargain, fight, or trick them into giving them back. The fae admires your determination.

Thank you @saviorsong​ for the prompt!

***feel free to reblog***

Taron - Fae Boyfriend (sfw)

male fae x human reader

word count: 1775

Your eyes could not focus; the words on the page seem to scramble together more and more the longer you stare. You close your eyes, scrub your hands across them, and let out an irritated groan. The hours and days spent in the library seem to finally be catching up with you. All the books seem to say the same things: don’t tell the fae your name, don’t be rude to them, pay your respects, be careful with your words. What the books don’t tell you is how to get back your friend that the fae stole.

Of course, no one believed you when you claimed the fae stole Ayda; they all brushed off your claims saying ‘Ayda’s always been a wandering soul, she probably ran off on another one of her adventures.’ You listened to them and waited; Ayda was prone to taking spur of the moment trips and always came back a week or two later. But she always told you when she was going on an ‘adventure’ and after two weeks passed, you knew something was wrong.

You went to her house, letting yourself in with the key she gave you, and searched for any clues pointing you to where she went. All of her things were in their normal spots, as if she never left. Her keys hung by the door next to her coat and her purse sat on the kitchen counter. What you found in her office led you to these endless days in the library. On her desk sat a stack of papers; she had printed pages upon pages listing etiquette for interacting with the fae, where to find fairy rings, what happens if you enter a fairy ring. At the bottom of the stack was a map of the local woods covered with thick black X’s and a single black circle.

You had followed the map and went to the circle in the woods, knowing what you would find. A fairy ring sat right where the map said it would and you felt your heart sink. Sticking out of the grass outside of the ring was Ayda’s phone, covered in the morning’s dew. It was dead when you grabbed it, and even after you charged it for days, the screen stayed black. You knew it was a reach; the idea of fae stealing Ayda was outrageous, but all signs pointed to that being the case. So, you were going to get her back…you just needed to figure out how.

You’ve been coming to the library every day since, absorbing every single book on the fae that you can find, and you’ve hit a wall. Nothing seems to be working. You’ve gone to the ring every night, leaving behind shiny things, sweets you’ve made, and copious amounts of honey, yet nothing happens. You let your head fall from your hands and thud onto cold wood of the table. You know you can’t give up on her and you never would, but god are you tired.

“Well don’t give up now,” a velvet brogue taunts, “you’ve been working so hard.” Your head snaps up from the table, meeting two glimmering orbs of silver. The most beautiful man you’ve ever seen sits across from you, one arm lazily resting on the table and the other propping his head up.

Silver hair cascades over his mahogany skin, plaits woven with blue yarn scattered amongst the waves. The blue ornate clothes he wears, lined with gold, highlight the haughty air he exudes. He’s absolutely otherworldly. This realization tightens your throat, fear and victory battling to respond, clawing their way out of you. The man notes your silence, raising a perfectly groomed eyebrow in question. His silver eyes shimmer, rainbows dancing in molten silver, and your breath catches.

“Who are you?” you ask, attempting to keep the nervous tremor out of your voice. Despite your efforts, he catches the slight shake and a slow, predatory smile spreads across his face. Bright white teeth greet you, their sharp points confirming your suspicions of who- no, what- he is.

“Now, now,” he tsks with a slow, disapproving shake of his head, “you should know better than to ask something like that, especially with all this research you’ve been doing. I’ve loved all your gifts, by the way.” His eyes bore into you, hot and knowing and wild; you squirm under his gaze, feeling your neck and face flush.

“My…apologies.” You speak slowly, mulling over your choice of words. The books all told you how tricky the fae can be, how an unthoughtful sentence could lead to a multitude of troubles. He chuckles at your words, moving to lean forward and rest both forearms on the table.

“You’re so nervous,” he murmurs in a chiding tone. You watch him, unsure how to respond, and he tuts his tongue at you again. “So completely different now than you usually are. Why is that?”

“I- uh- I’m not-“ you cut yourself off, embarrassed by your unusual stutter. You face grows hotter and you attempt to swallow down the painful lump in your throat. His nose crinkles at you in frustration and he waits for you to continue. You shrug your shoulders at him and slump into yourself.

His lofty demeanor hardens, the air around you both growing thick and serious. “You obviously wanted me for something. Speak up, tell me what it is.”

“My friend went missing,” you blurt, nervously balling your hands into fists on your lap.

“Your friend went missing,” he echoes, raising that silver eyebrow into another imperious arch.

“Yes,” you breathe, cringing at the slight hiss that escapes. One of the main rules for talking to the fae is to be polite and you’re already fucking it up. Maybe it would be easier if the fae weren’t so incredibly insufferable. “I fail to see how that has anything to do with me.” He sits back lazily in his chair, pretending to clean under his nails. Anger burns at your ears and you start count your breaths to calm down. After a long moment of silence, you look back to the fae, plastering a cheery smile on your face.   “I have reason to believe she disappeared in a fairy ring,” you explain with false blithe. His eyes move from his fingers, languidly trailing up your still form. Calculating eyes meet yours and you push away the anxiety creeping in. “And I want to bring her back. People miss her.” You leave out the fact that you’re the only one who has actually realized she was missing and not just on a trip.

“How interesting,” he muses loftily, “and I suppose you want me to bring her back. Is that why you left me all those gifts?”

“The gifts were merely a friendly gesture.”

“You are most kind,” he offers, watching you expectantly.

“I’ve read that fae will sometimes… strike a deal,” you say with hesitant determination. His face instantly lights up, a joyous smile barely hiding the mischief swimming in his eyes.

“A deal,” he repeats with burgeoning excitement. “Human’s rarely attempt to make deals these days.” He stands and moves around the library table. Your stomach twists with a mix of fear and excitement as you watch him; he’s a tiger and you’re his prey. You should leave, run and never look back. Nothing good will come of this, his face tells you that much, but you need Ayda home safely.

“I’ll tell you what, little human,” he purrs, leaning against the table, his thigh hot again your arm. “I will bring your friend back, but I want you in return.”

“What?” you gasp, sliding your chair back away from him.

“I want you. A companion. A partner. A mate. Whatever you choose to call it.” He steps forward, a hand brushing through your hair as he walks around you. Could you do it? Could you sacrifice your life here to give Ayda back hers? Could you live with this strange, arrogant man? Does he want you to love him? Thought after though races through your mind, overwhelming you. Your palms start to sweat and you rub them on your jeans. “You want your friend home so desperately. You’ve been so fiercely loyal, yet now you hesitate.”

“What’s the catch? Detail it all out for me, no tricks.” His hands move to rest on your shoulders, his thumbs rubbing mindless circle.

“There’s no catch, my dove. You will give up your life here and move with me to my world. You will become my companion indefinitely and your dear friend will return back to her life.”

“Why would you want a human mate?” you pry in an attempt to find a hole in his deal.

“Fae become such boring company, but mortals are always so…human. It’s quite refreshing.”

“And what if I can’t love you? Will you still expect all the…partner perks from me?” You trip over the words, rushing the question off your tongue. You feel your face heat again and his fingers caress your cheek, savoring the warm flesh. His touch is light, but purposeful, and you find yourself enjoying it. The way he speaks to you is exasperating, so uppish and condescending, but his touch is gentle and tender and you lean into it, never wanting it to end.

“This right here tells me there is at least a chance. I have no intentions to force myself on you, my dove, that’s not fun for either of us. But I think you’ll find that you’re able to love me,” he whispers, his breath ghosting across your face. Your eyes flutter shut as his scent cocoons you. You breathe in deep, savoring his essence of freshly fallen rain and spring flowers. You can do this for Ayda.

“Will I ever be able to see her again?” you ask sadly.

“No,” he answers simply.

“Will she return safe and happy?”

“She’ll never know another sad day.”

“Then it’s a deal,” you murmur with a gentle sigh. You turn your head, looking up to him curiously. “But if we’re going to be companions, shouldn’t I know what to call you?” He laughs lightly and brushes your hair away from your face.

“You can call me whatever you like,” he states, leaning down and pressing a kiss to your forehead. “But most call me Taron.”

“Taron,” you repeat, attempting to mimic the way he rolled the r and butchering it.

“Good thing you’re going to have a lot of time to work on that,” he taunts before running a hand over your eyes, coloring the world white, and whisking you away to your new life.

~~~~~~

Thank you for reading! Please like, reblog, and let me know what you think! 

-painter