#I remember very little about this game except the fact that even way back then I realized it was exceptionally bad

[nostalgicfun]

"Obscure Games from My Childhood” | The Adventures of Jimmy Neutron, Boy Genius: Attack of the Twonkies | (1/7) 🌈

[fantasylandloser]

Winner

Pairing: Coach!Tashi x fem!Reader x Coach!Art

Warnings: 18+, smut, too filled with shame to proofread, dom!tashi, sub!art, sub!reader, mentions of spanking, tashi is so mean in this, art is basically a prop with minimal lines, idk

*******

Training with Tashi Duncan and her husband was an honor. You knew that. You did your very best to remember that; which was hard to do when she had days like this. 

“Are you scared of the fucking ball?” You shake your head, but you know better than that at this point. 

“Speak up!” You flinch before you can stop yourself. 

“No, I'm not scared of the ball.” You say.

“I would hope not- considering how long you’ve been doing this. That’d surely be a disappointment to your little fan club that you love so much. “ Tashi watched the way your eyebrows tinge only for a moment, at the mention of the onlookers who follow your career closely. 

It was no secret that you had a great appreciation for the love that they’d shown you, but it was almost like you were completely unaware of how quickly it would be gone if you weren’t up to par at all times. 

From afar Art watched the scene play out. You were the player that Tashi was the hardest on. He was sure it was to do with the fact that you were just like her. Well except for the fact that you lacked confidence in your abilities. Another reason she was hard on you. She wouldn’t see your potential wasted. But you worked hard like her, tennis was the love of your life like her. 

He watched as Tashi served to you, intense and laser focused. Then you, playing back with the same intensity and just as passionate. It’s almost magical to watch until you hesitate and miss the ball. 

Tashi’s on your ass before the ball can even hit the ground. “What’s wrong with you? Why aren’t you in it?” 

You stammer a reply that Art can’t hear. Probably an apology. His feet are moving closer before he can even think of a reason why. 

“No, tell me. What’s got you so off your game lately? Because you’re not going to fucking embarrass me at your next matches because you can’t get your head out your ass.”

“Tash lighten up.” He’s ignored which is to be expected. She stares at you intensely awaiting your answer. 

“How am I supposed to lighten up when she’s playing like she never held a racket before, huh?” Again she sees the twitch in your eyebrows. Good, you’re angry. 

“I’m sorry, I don’t know-” Tashi holds up her hand. She doesn’t want your apology. 

“You know what- if you don’t want to tell me what the problem is,” She grabs your phone which has been continuously lighting up since you started. “I’m sure this will.’

You draw in a breath of air in surprise but you make no move to stop her. Your eyes wide at the invasion, but still ever so respectful even when your privacy is being violated. 

Almost immediately her eyebrows sprout up. “I thought we agreed on no boyfriends for this reason?” she shakes her head continuing to scroll through your phone as if it were hers. Art draws closer to her in interest, now intrigued about your phone as well, 

“He’s not my boyfriend.” You’re embarrassed, your grip on your racket tightening as you get angry at the way she’s shaming you.

“Obviously.” She mutters. She pauses a moment, both her and Art sharing a look and you know they’ve gotten to the most mortifying part. 

“Well if something would shake someone’s confidence it would be that.” You cringe, finally going to take your phone back only to be pushed back by Tashi.

“What did we talk about when it came to how you let people talk to you off the court and how it affects your game on the court?” You barely refrain from rolling your eyes.

“I can’t control what other people say” You can’t stop the edge in your voice. 

“But you can control what you say. You didn’t even try to stand up for yourself. This-” She shoves the phone at you with a picture of you half naked with the word unfuckable, in the center of the screen. “Is pathetic. “ You look away when she starts scrolling more like you don’t already know the rest of the verbal assault that had been issued towards you, and then a video of your so-called boyfriend with your next opponent and the lewd graphics that came with it. 

“What the fuck am I supposed to say to that?” You don’t mean for your response to be so angry. Or for the hot tears that started burning your eyes to fall. But the frustrations of your day had started to take a toll on you. So when you finally snatch your phone back from Tashi and get ready to storm off you miss the pleased look on her face. Art doesn’t though, he almost shakes his head knowing it was her intention to rile you up in the first place.

She raises an eyebrow at him, and just as she expects him to, he wraps his arm around you and pulls you close. The perfect good cop. “It’s okay, kid.” You’re tense in his arms, it reminds him of the times he’s tried to comfort Tashi and she wouldn’t allow it, but after a few moments of him rubbing your back you finally relax. .

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have-” You start, but Tashi interrupts. 

“Apologize for standing up for yourself and I’ll make you run until you pass out.” You wipe your eyes roughly and nod. Stepping away from Art’s hug and trying your best to put your game face back on. 

“You got that out of your system now?” You nod again, but after a pointed gaze you speak.

“Yes.” 

“Good now let’s talk about how you respond to this kind of bad sportsmanship.” 

******

The outfit Tashi has you in, is just barely appropriate, You look focused, despite the whistles you’ve received on your way in. You look a little angry actually. 

Art glances at Tashi beside him, who looks all too pleased. “What’d you do?” 

“I didn’t have to do anything.” She’s almost bragging. He follows her line of sight to Tashi’s opponent and sees her and your not boyfriend smirking at you. 

He wants to ask Tashi if she thinks this will shake your confidence more, but then he looks back at you laser focused as you stretch and he decides not to question it. 

The match starts off intense with your serve. Your opponent looks surprised and even though she quickly recovers. Art can tell that this will be a win for you even though he knows Tashi despises that kind of over confident thinking. 

As the match continues Tashi is gripping her seat for support. So enthralled in the game and invested in the fearlessness you’re displaying she can barely contain herself. 

At one point during a break you’re caught trash talking your opponent. Tashi is sure to get you for it later. Even though the only thing she hears clearly is “enjoy my sloppy seconds” with a saccharine smile on your face. The deduction you receive is definitely worth it. 

When you win as expected. Tashi is nearly buzzing and Art can’t hold back his excitement either. 

****

“See this is what happens when you’re a winner.” Tashi tells you. She quite literally holding Art’s balls as he fucks into you. 

“Winners are fuckable, tell her Art.” He gasps, feeling her squeeze him. 

“Fuck-” He breathes. “Did so good.” You spasm around him at the praise, pulling a loud groan from him. “Knew you were gonna win, kid.”

Your whines and whimpers are muffled by Tashi’s hand. “Fuck her faster, she’s gonna come.” Art obeys immediately despite the fact that he is much too close himself. Your eyes roll back at the change of pace. 

“There you go.” She squeezes Art’s balls once you start cumming so that he can too. He tries to pull himself out of you before but he can’t and leaves a sticky mess all over your cunt. “Fuck”

Tashi mounts you before you can stop twitching, lining her pussy up with yours, holding your leg over her shoulder. “Now next time I tell you to do something,, you’ll listen to me.” She starts slowly, spreading the mixture of both you and Art’s orgasm on both of you. 

“Isn’t that right?” You nodding makes her speed up, giving you that look of disapproval. 

“Use your words.”

“Yes, yes, yes I’ll listen to you.”

“Yeah I know you will, because now you know what good girls get.” She continues to grind against you skilfully.

“And next time you don’t listen to me-” You feel your core tense up again. “I will spank you until you cry.” Just like that you’re gone again. The masochistic side of you envisioning the picture that will haunt your fantasies until you get it. 

You don’t realize the loud moan you hear is you, until Art is kissing you sloppily to silence your cries. ‘You like that don’t you?” You hear Tashi say. You want to tell her yes but you can’t with Art’s tongue down your throat. You think she knows the answer anyway.

The contrast between the way that Tashi is fucking you so vigorously and the slow kisses Art is giving you puts your head in a spin. On top of that your overstimulated clit is making it hard for you to think at all. 

“Coach please-” You beg. “My pussy can’t;” You’re cut off immediately. 

“Who knows what's best for you? Me or you?”

“You!” By this time tears are flowing down your face, as you feel another orgasm building all too quickly. Art wipes them, then moves his hands down to pinch your nipples. 

“Exactly. Now cum.”

[princessbrunette]

basketball!rafe knew he needed you the moment he set eyes on you once more in that hotel bar.

personally, you thought he might’ve been a nobody on first glance. a really handsome nobody, so he couldn’t have actually been a nobody — but it was the intrigue that drew you in regardless. to set the scene, you didn’t have to go far to find him, no — this was the fanciest hotel in your hometown and you were there alone. something about getting all dressed up and then your friends cancelling last minute, it didn’t matter — it felt like so long ago that you’d forgotten all about it. all you remember was seeing the handsome nobody in a t-shirt and a cap strolling up to the bar.

it was only after doing a double take, you realised the nobody was rafe cameron.

now you’d already known rafe from the obx. distantly, of course — a couple of parties here and there, some lingering glances when you were convinced he was a fuck boy. he was apparently a little unhinged back in the day, but after his dad died he fixed his shit and went pro with basketball, making it big. like mentioned, you weren’t friends, merely acquaintances with the boy a couple of years your senior— but he’d always been someone you saw get their shit together and think, you know what? good for him i guess.

now rafe remembers his history with you differently. apparently, he used to shoot hoops with your older brother in your backyard with a few other friends back when they were younger. still a casual hobby for rafe, and playing it anywhere else but a kook’s backyard might’ve looked too poguey for him to be caught partaking in. at the end of the day, golf was meant to be his sport. it was fitting and low maintenance. basketball took the cake everytime however— helping him mentally in more ways than anyone could imagine.

anyway, he remembers you — a lot younger than you are now, flip flops slapping along the patio as you arrive on destination — mouthing off to your big brother about bouncing the ball too loudly off your wall or spending all the money your mother had left for pizza on the counter. you were this tiny mouthy weapon, even having the infamous rafe cameron snickering down at his shoes as your brother whined back at you, trying to shoo you back inside. he recalls even catching a couple of strays, your shrill youthful voice referring to the eldest cameron as a ‘lanky meathead’.

“jesus, you gotta keep your sisters mouth in check dude. gonna grow up n’get her in trouble n’shit.” he’d shake his head as you’d waddle back inside, bouncing the ball and shooting. after that it was just parties as you grew up, seeing a familiar pretty face through a coked out haze and thinking ‘who’s that again?’ in passing or overhearing you talking to your friends, still carrying that same slick mouth that you only got away with because you were so hot.

only now, he’s staring across this dimly lit hotel bar, the first time in a while that he’d been back in his hometown and there you are — staring back at him, a face he’d never forget except you’re all grown up now— practically spilling out that slinky little dress and acting as a magnet, his feet dragging him over to you before his drink had even arrived from the bartender.

not even five minutes into conversation and it’s abundantly clear that you’re still that spoiled little cheerleader he knew once upon a time, only this time you’re tilting your head to the side with your brows furrowed in confusion that bordered on disinterest when he tried to explain what happened in his most recent game. you weren’t here to talk about that and it showed, leaning over your margarita to adjust his expensive looking chain, pulling it to sit above his tshirt instead of tucked beneath, cutting him off to question “so you knew my brother, right?” he liked that directness about you. the fact you kinda seemed like a bitch. it was a challenge, the urge to tame and rough someone up still very much sat at the surface of his wants and desires.

once a spoiled brat — always a spoiled brat, only now you’re his spoiled brat six months later, clinging to his arm and digging your manicure into his bicep with a whine as a silent command for him to magically vanish any of the surrounding paparazzi outside the airport.

“get rid of them.” you eventually mewl, in a demanding way that represented the physical embodiment of you stomping your pedicured foot.

“you think i fuckin’ want them here?” he sighs, no stranger to your ridiculous requests. that’s what was so intoxicating about your relationship — yes you were a little bitch sometimes, but he learnt how was best to put you in your place. most of the time you were happy, fucked and fed with racks upon racks sat in your expensive handbag, clinging to him and tottering along at his side in heels that cost an arm and a leg— but the times you were snarking up at him, telling him to ‘shut the fuck up’ he was more than happy to grab your throat and ask “the fuck are you talking to like that, huh?” which oddly would cause a smile to emerge on your face and the attitude to melt off you for an hour or so.

that being said, you kept him in check too. now rafe wasn’t like he always was — unhinged, explosive and overall angry at the world. no, he had an access to therapy now and basketball worked for a good outlet of his frustrations, all whilst opening up a new world for him to get his fresh start away from all that family bullshit he had to put up with a while back (cut them all off, minus wheezie who he sends money to every month and facetimes to talk shit.) that being said — he would be the one to catch an attitude out of the blue sometimes, which was often remedied by a sharp eyebrow raise from you, a dramatic head swivel and a “you better fucking talk to me nice, rafe cameron. not one of your fucking fan girls.”

with a tongue in his cheek, he’ll shake his head and drop the whole thing — but not without saying “y’know you run your mouth like you’re six foot four with two pistols tucked sometimes. shit.”

life outside of your relationship with rafe became a dream all because of him. quickly, as rafe skyrockets to success in the basketball world, you’re skyrocketing to being the top pinterest muse— starring in every girls ‘future manifestation’ moodboard with snaps of you courtside in your pretty little outfits cheering on your boyfriend. you were glammed to the nines at every game, because you knew you’d end up on that big screen one way or another.

when travelling with rafe for his tournaments, you’d get the princess treatment you deserved and that was a promise. designer shoes, designer bags, steak meals that cost the same as your house back home and you were not poor by any stretch of the word. he liked to flaunt you, flaunt his success. he was the man now, like he’d always wanted to be — and effortlessly so, not the charade he was putting on back at tanny hill throwing those parties whilst suffering on the sly. no, he had everything now— and was happy to share that with you. you didn’t have to do much to gain this treatment, no. holding him down was enough, but he’d be happy to accept your payment of gratitude in having his cock wedged down your throat in the limo back to the hotel, ending the night on your back with your ankles on his shoulders and that same chain you fiddled with when you first reunited swinging in your face.

it was no secret that the two of you fucked. it made up a good 60% of your free time together, and you wouldn’t have it any other way. rafe could still get very frustrated — with his manager, with his teammates, with people from his past cropping up, even with the general public who had opinions on his playing — and with that, what better way to pound out some frustrations then by bending you over a balcony in a foreign country? rafe had a good team behind him, and luckily so — because it wouldn’t be the first time a hotel had attempted to get the two of you blacklisted for causing too much of a noise disturbance, notes pinned to your door found in the morning reading ‘Dear guests, whilst we are thrilled that you are enjoying our hotel, we please ask that you keep it down for the sake of the other guests. To remind you, other guests do not need to hear your lovemaking through the night! If this continues throughout your stay you will be asked to leave.’

your basketball player boyfriend would pluck the note off the door the next morning when you’re leaving together for the day, your sleepy self tucked under the arm of his hoodie covering his jersey as he scoffs, handing it your way carelessly. “pussies. they can’t do shit about it.”

unstoppably so, despite your hate for gossip past being in high school the notes would turn to blind items as rafe truly came into the public eye. you couldn’t scroll three videos on tiktok without hearing ‘this north carolina basketball player and hometown it girl may have come into hot water again at this famous vegas hotel after making sure their wall neighbours heard the ins and outs of their passion — april 27th, crazy days and nights.’ that, or the blogosphere getting ahold of the blurry and ambiguous paparazzi shots taken of you supposedly ‘getting it on’ on the beach.

unfortunately, this public knowledge that the two of you were real fuckers was not enough for twitter, which resulted in your first leaked video.

rafe should have known to be careful when the two of you in a lustful haze filmed an amateur tape the day before you had to fly home for a little while, the basketball player knowing he’d miss being in it and needed some material to work off whilst you were gone.

the video was 1 minute and 49 seconds of pure glory. filmed on landscape with an outstretched arm rafe captures you, whining and mewling as you roll your hips on his lap, bouncing on his cock as he watches the two of you through the screen, swollen lips parting and tongue flattening to catch your nipple as you do so. he grips your ass hungrily, aiding you on fucking down on him before delivering a firm smack to your ass that makes you jolt, only unlatching his mouth from your tit to grumble out “s’what i’m fuckin’ talking about baby. who’s your daddy, huh?” looking up at you from your needy spread out position.

you still recall the way your heart dropped into your ass seeing your name along side rafes in the trending tab, following by the words ‘leaked video’.

your legal teams were all over it instantly, working hard to get it shut down off every site it had been reuploaded and desperately attempting to track down whoever had managed to get into your boyfriends cloud to expose it— a couple weeks of watching paparazzi shots of rafe taking calls outside buildings, yelling down the phone and flipping off the cameras in moments of frustration and stress — for him to then be on the phone to you from a hotel room later that night, talking you down as you cry like a baby and complain.

“i know, i know alright i’m workin’ on it. gonna get that shit wiped from the net i can promise you that now, i got the guy who can make it happen for me. but for now, look y’know there’s — there’s nothin’ i can do alright, i can’t make people fuckin’… unsee that shit unfortunately just be glad you look so sexy in the video cause — okay, shit, the hell are you yelling for? m’just tryna help—”

after a while it does infact die down, and the video can no longer be found — yes, even on the shitty pop up porn sites that had reposted it with twelve watermarks in the worst quality. however, it didn’t stop jaded basketball fans from bringing it up any chance they got — getting in heated debates online and using it as an insult to the cameron boys playing skills. god forbid a rafe fan would speak up for him after a particularly poor game, his mentions getting filled with nothing but a screenshot of your boyfriend with your titty in his mouth.

though it had faded, the two of you learned that there was no way around it than to humour it — your boyfriend barely addressing the tape by quoting it in his instagram caption after one of his big wins, the post of him grinning on the court with his trophy tilted ‘who’s your daddy, huh?’ which of course, sent twitter into a spiral.

[fangisms]

lady may

A/N: something ab writing for an angry hufflepuff really saved my soul. she is SO valid. maybe i’m her. (also this song eats away at my brain, so i had to write ab it… naturally) gif creds: @frodo-sam

Pairings: Cedric Diggory x Fem!Grumpy!Hufflepuff!Reader

Summary: Well, he’s not the toughest hickory that your axe has ever felled // But he’s a hickory just as well 1.5k words

Warnings: fluff, cursing, two idiots very much in love, pining, angry hufflepuff, dumb/embarassed reader (lovingly), golden retriever cedric, quidditch injury mention

How could you look so beautiful drenched by the pouring rain, hovering ten meters in the air, goggles suctioned to your face, barking orders at the rest of the team like a drill sergeant? It’d always make him wonder. And midgame, that’s a silly thing to do. Which is exactly why he’s doing it.

You’re the angriest girl Cedric’s ever met. World class beater and a great captain, but you’ve got serious anger issues. The guys have started calling you boxer because you’re always on the verge of a scrap. Cedric has seen you chew out almost every position on the team. Except him. You’ve never yelled at him, you barely even look in his direction on a good day. Yet, for some inexplicable reason, he wants you to yell at him.

Well, not entirely inexplicable. Now would be the best time to mention he’s got a huge crush on you. In fact, he’s had a crush on you since you became team captain. You’ve always been pretty, but something about the title and the power really commanded his attention.

Which is precisely why he needs you to yell at him. He craves it. He’s been waiting all year for you to tell him he’s an idiot and that he’s doing everything wrong. But you won’t. And desperate times call for very desperate measures.

He’s barely dodging bludgers, not even trying for the snitch, doing party tricks in front of the stands, anything for you to glance his way. And then he goes and gets knocked off his broom. Luckily, he wasn’t too high in the air and he wasn’t flying too fast. The worst that happened was he got the wind knocked out of him. The best? You marching toward him like a sicced dog.

You kneel at his side, goggles loose around your neck as you coo, “are you okay?”

What? No, this is all wrong, you’re supposed to call him stupid, say that next time he’s off the team. Not ask if he’s okay.

Cedric nods and you help him sit up, signalling to the stadium that he’s alright. A cheer rips through the crowd.

“Can you play?” you huff, patting his back softly. He’s got butterflies.

“Yeah,” he says. When you get him on his feet, he almost wishes you won’t let go. And he suddenly remembers you’re much prettier up close, and his heart nearly gives out.

“Good sport, Diggory,” you tease, hopping back on your broom, “Back to work!”

It’d take a brain injury to get your attention.

The game goes off without a hitch: Cedric goes back to actually trying for the snitch and wins Hufflepuff the game. He’s a little disappointed he hsan’t given you anything else to be upset about. So once the celebration is over, he catches you outside of the locker rooms.

“Why didn’t you get mad at me?” Cedric asks, jogging to catch you as you head back towards the dorms. You don’t respond, but he’s sure you heard him. So he nudges your shoulder. “Come on, boxer, I’ve seen you angry, I’m prepared.”

You stop dead in your tracks, and he slows to a stop just behind you. Then you turn to face him, and he’s never seen your glare so intense.

“Listen, Diggory, you’re smart, you’ve got talent, and I trust you to perform well on this team. So I can’t for the life of me understand why you go out on that field just to dick around.”

You’re serious. Not angry, just serious. You’ve got this calm and collected tone that drives him absolutely up-the-wall insane. But he wants you to yell.

“You have plenty of adoring fans tracking your every move, you don’t have to pull dumb shit to get people to like you. You could’ve gotten yourself hurt or killed, understand? So I advise you put your team and your safety before your reputation,” you say, storming off with your bag slung over your shoulder.

And it gets him kind of worked up because obviously, he wouldn’t have done any of it if it weren’t for you. You and your stupidly selective anger issues. And your stupid smile.

“Hold on,” he hollers, still half drunk on the idea of being subject to your rage, “you think I don’t put this team at the top of all of my lists? Clearly, I love this stupid sport or I wouldn’t put so much damn time and effort into it!”

“If you love this sport, act like it.” Your jaw ticks before you march through the doorway, leaving him flustered in the mist of the courtyard.

…

He’s giving it one last go. If you won’t get angry with him, maybe he ought to just confess his feelings outright. This feels like the most rational he’s ever been. He even combed his hair extra carefully in hopes of you noticing.

Your friends quiet down when he approaches you in the mess hall, small flower pinched between his fingers, grin plastered across his face. You look a little annoyed but he’s pretty sure it’s just shock. And suddenly it feels like grade school when they all burst into giggles.

“This is for you—”

“Diggory.”

He cocks a brow. “Yeah?”

You grab the sleeve of his robes and drag him out into the hall, near slamming him into the stone wall. So much for his combed hair.

“What was that back there?” you hiss, “What’s wrong with you?”

“Well. I brought you a flower. It’s from the field—”

“I can see that!”—you’re frenzied searhcing for any possible explanation other than he has a head injury from falling—“Explain to me why.”

He looks confused and presents the flower again.“Isn’t it obvious?”

You look down at the flower. It’s small and white and looks so delicate in his hand. And you look at him. You suppose his pupils are a little extra dilated. “Are you poisoned? Or drunk?”

“No!”

You finally let go of him to gesture wildly. “Then what, Cedric—Merlin’s beard—What???”

“I brought you a flower,” he coos, tilting his head. You press two fingers to the bridge of your nose.

“Yeah, I got that part—”

“Hold on—hasn’t anyone ever given you something nice because… they like you?” Cedric hums, shuffling closer to you. Your eyes are glued to the tiny flower, but you won’t take it. Then you glare up at him.

“Is this a joke? Did the twins put you up to it?”

“No, just take the flower! I like you!” He sounds dastardly jovial, taking your wrist in one hand and presisng the flower to your palm with the other.

“What?” you scoff. Still staring down at the flower, making him wish his face was made of them so you’d look at him like that.

“Yeah,” he sighs.

And then you look at him. In the eyes. Perplexed, brows knitted, but you’re looking right at him and he could faint. Maybe it is a head injury.

“But I’m not… I’m not like…”

“Like what?” he asks.

“Well, it’s just—I’m confused because… you like pretty girls, and I’m not… that’s not what I do—am. What I am.”

“You’ve got to be joking,” he huffs.

“Cho is pretty,” you state.

“You’re pretty.”

“No, Cedric, I play quidditch. If I was pretty, I’d have a boyfriend,” you reason, shrugging your shoulders and giving him a real run for his money.

“And those things are connected… how?”

You scoff and relax a little when he puts his hands on his hips. So what if he’s incredibly handsome. So what if your friends want to see you together. So what if he’s the one person you don’t want to rip to shreds. It’s not like any of that matters. Right?

“It makes sense!” you say.

“No, it doesn’t. Can I be your boyfriend?”

“Diggory, don’t—”

“Is that a no?”

“Well, no! But you’re being rash! You’ll change your mind, and you’ll want your flower back!”

He shakes his head. “No. I gave you a flower because I think you’re very wonderful and very beautiful and I want to be your boyfriend.”

“But…”—he’s very amused by the fact that he’s made you flustered—“I sweat a lot!”

“So do I,” he chuckles, “we do play quidditch together, I hope you know.”

“Okay, okay, fine. We… argue!” you chirp.

“And you’re almost always right! Problem solved,” he says, “Now, would you be my girlfriend or do I have to get down on my knees?”

“No! I mean, yes! No, no, no knees, just… yes. I will be your girlfriend.”

Cedric smirks, taking the flower from your still open palm and tucking it behind your ear. Yesterday, he could barely say hello to you, and now he’s pulling you closer and tilting your chin up. His heart flutters when you palm his waist, and you smile when he leans a little closer.

“Are you going to kiss me?” you hum. He chuckles.

“Only if you’d like.”

You roll your eyes and smile. “Naturally.”

masterlist

[haikyu-mp4]

Mattsun finally confessing to their oblivious manager pls? 🥺🤲 she’s the type to have flirtatious advances fly over her head and Mattsun’s not really good with words (it’s his very first confession. He’s nervous. Makki teasing him about it isn’t helping.)

Like the wind

word count; 744 – gn!reader

Matsukawa Issei was about to lose his mind. The only good thing about flirtatious advances flying right over your head like the wind was that at least you didn’t entertain any other guys who approached you either.

“You look good today.”

“I am feeling rather great, the sun shining always makes me feel revitalised.”

And Mattsun would watch with a little smirk from the sideline as you moved on to fill up water bottles as if his advances didn’t go just about the same way.

Well… except for the fact that they could hardly be called advances when he had no idea how to talk to you.

He would typically come over right as you filled the last bottle to carry the baskets for you, and when you thanked him with that pretty smile, all he could say was “Heh pfft yes. You’re welcome.”

As Makki snickered from the entrance to the gym, Mattsun felt like this might be a mission impossible even Tom Cruise couldn’t handle.

“Mattsun, y/n, go get the net, please!” Oikawa ordered, turning to Iwaizumi with a not-so-subtle wink.

“On it!” you yelled back, jogging over to the adjacent equipment room with Mattsun in tow, who was glaring over his shoulder at his friends.

You picked up the net, making an annoyed sound when a thread had gotten stuck on a hook that was a bit too high up. “Could you get that?” you asked. Issei cleared his throat, which made you take half a step back.

He leaned over you and tugged it loose, letting it fall into your arms. Now that he was standing so close, he gulped, looking at you with parted lips as if even he was wondering if any words would leave him. “Uh… good?” he stuttered, lifting a hand to pat the net.

“Excellent,” you emphasised, glancing out into the gym and then back to Mattsun. “Should we go?”

As he moved just a bit to the side, you slipped past him and scattered away, hoping he couldn’t hear the loud beating of your heart.

You’re walking to the gym in the wintertime, Iwa, Oikawa and Makki walking in front of you and Mattsun beside you, the cold biting at any exposed skin as you moved from your last lecture to the gym for practice. While thinking about something you needed to remember for that class, you started fiddling with your hands in thought, and Mattsun noticed.

“Your hands look cold,” he said, pulling the hand closest to you out of his pocket but not saying anything further.

You looked up at him and tilted your head before looking back at your hands. “Oh? Don’t worry, they’re not.”

He grumbled something along the lines of ‘great’ while watching Makki snicker in front of him, taking mental note of where his next serve would hit. The hand was quickly tucked back in his pocket like nothing happened.

It wasn’t until after the last tournament in their third year that Matsukawa finally decided to go for it. He’d watched his friends break down crying after their devastating loss and he couldn’t help how his heart softened while watching you frantically pull tissues out of a box to dry their tears.

As you checked behind you that no player was left behind, a hand touched your shoulder and slid under the strap of the equipment bag. You didn’t startle, seeing it was Mattsun. “It’s not heavy, you know I can get it,” you said with a knowing smile but didn’t make any effort to take the bag back.

“Makes me feel cool, let me have this,” he joked, and it made the two of you chuckle under your breaths as you left the gym. Having a good cry loosened up his nerves, he supposed. Walking out was bittersweet, wanting to enjoy the last bit of energy from the game while the weight of the loss sat heavily on his shoulders. You couldn’t imagine how they felt, but Matsukawa wanted you to at least know how he felt. “I like you.”

You nodded and kept walking, smiling at the tall guy by your side. “I like you too, you know that.”

He huffed, smiling affectionately but still in disbelief. “No, I like you.”

Your legs stopped moving gradually, grabbing his hand loosely as you stopped. He turned to you with an unsure grimace and you tilted your head. “Why didn’t you say so?”

“Believe me, I tried.”

masterlist

[the-irreverend]

The Inferno Theory: The Chara Theory to End All Chara Theories

Here we are! Nine years of Undertale. And seeing how Chara is heavily associated with the number 9 (AND THAT TOBY FOX FINALLY TALKED ABOUT THEM), I can't think of a better way to celebrate the occasion than by dedicating this 5000-word-long theory about them? Y'all remember when people used to make long-ass theories about Chara? Yeah, they're coming back with a vengeance! To say I have a colossal hyperfixation is a massive understatement. No character in all of fiction has had a bigger impact on my life than this little rose-cheeked, cocoa-addicted freak. I’ve been a Chara fan for as long as I’ve been an Undertale fan, and you can bet that my understanding of them has changed a lot since. And now I have the pleasure of sharing said understandings with y’all!

Once upon a time, there was an aroace autistic who, like most of y’all, had a very unhealthy obsession with Undertale. And unlike most of you, he thought the Genocide Route was really fun. Most fans talk about how unhappy they felt killing everyone, but for me, I felt like a polar bear at a baby harp seal convention. I got a disturbing level of happiness out of turning everyone to dust. Hell, the only unhappiness I felt was when I couldn’t turn Monster Kid to dust.

Oh well, at least I got a good consolation prize!

I was one sadistic son of a gun, and so I was even more delighted to find out I had a secret admirer/partner-in-crime and that they joined in on the fun because I was such a goshdarn inspiration to them. Not wishing to disappoint my self-appointed partner, I erased the world without a second thought, eagerly awaiting what we might get to do together.

So you can guess I was pretty taken aback when, instead of a warm welcome, they started lecturing me about how I couldn’t accept the world’s destruction and that I was the one fully responsible for it (even though they were eager to take credit for it earlier). I didn’t think much of it at first. Initially, I just thought that they were just irritated that I was undoing what we had worked so hard to accomplish.

But as this game taught me time after time, you should never trust your first impressions. Those first impressions would crumble to dust when they said this.

To say I was completely baffled is an understatement. Why the hell would this prepubescent genocidal maniac be so obsessed over whether or not I think I’m above consequences? So obsessed to the point they would tell me to go to hell if I told them no? It was at that moment I realized there was something more to this character than meets the eye. But for a long time, I couldn’t seem to figure out what that something was. And it didn’t seem like anyone could figure that out either.

I’m very much a veteran of the fan wars that have emerged surrounding Chara. In fact, one might even say I am a deserter of sorts, as I am a former member of the Chara Defence Squad, Offense Squad, and Neutralist Squad. But I’m not gonna be a stuck-up and say everyone’s a canon-ignoring idiot except for me and that I’m the only one who knows what Toby Fox intended Chara to be. Even though I ended up with a very different take than yours (and will certainly argue why it’s the best), I owe you all your discussions a huge debt, and I wouldn’t be here if I hadn’t gotten invested in your interpretations, to begin with. Not to mention that, contrary to what some may argue, you’ve made some valid points to complement them.

And while the debate that resulted from Chara’s ambiguous morality has led to a lot of controversy and even toxicity, it has also been a source of some FANTASTIC CONTENT. Like seriously, would we have gotten those badass renditions of Stronger Than You if no one thought Chara was an awful person? Would we have gotten Man on the Internet’s beautiful rendition of Star if no one thought Chara was a good person (turned awful)?

It would be utter hypocrisy for me to ask of you to approach me and my arguments (or anyone who accepts them) with understanding and good faith only to then not do the same to anyone who doesn’t agree with me. In this theory, I will definitely argue why some points made about Chara are flawed; points that you might hold yourself. But that doesn’t automatically mean that you (or your takes) are intellectually or morally inferior to mine. And besides, I’m not Toby Fox.

So with that said, why did I eventually came to disagree with pretty much everyone about Chara? Because, one way or another, I couldn’t find a take that clicked with me personally as I felt there were various inconsistencies and issues holding them back. I looked at YouTube videos, subreddits, Tumblr essays, Twitter threads, and even forums on the Steam Community. But I couldn’t really find what I thought were satisfactory answers to the questions I had about Chara’s motivations, role in the game, and relationship with the player.

And then, one day, I found those answers. It all happened when I asked myself: “What if Chara didn’t turn against me… because they were always against me from the start?!”

I don’t mean that Chara only saw you as a means to an end. I mean that YOU were the end. What if Chara didn’t use you so they could screw over the monsters but they used the monsters so they could screw over YOU.

You probably think I’m insane, don’t you? And you’re right! I AM INSANE! AND SO IS THIS WHOLE DAMN THEORY!!! But somehow, someway, it just works!! And I’ll show you why and how!!!

What you are about to read is the culmination of six years of reading and critiquing Chara takes and theories of every kind and quality, whether it be Judgement Boy’s Who is the Real Villain of Undertale to Wandydoodles’ Oblivion Theory. Six years of examining the arguments and counterarguments of Chara defenders, offenders, and neutralists alike. Six years of looking in every corner of the UTDR fandom. From the tranquil lands of Quora. To the dark recesses of Reddit. To the intellectual wastelands of Twitter. To the fiery hellsite of Tumblr. So, without further ado, get ready for some of the most pure, unadulterated, high-octane, universe-collapsing neurodivergence you’ve ever seen in your life!!!!!

Part 1: The demonic heritage of the "demon who comes when people call its name".

Have you ever had one of those moments where you’ve asked yourself, “What the actual hell is this guy talking about?” I bet you’re having that moment right now. Everything about their character post-death, including their motives, their methods, and their relationship with you, is perfectly reflected in one of their most famous (or rather infamous) lines:

When most people hear the word demon, the first thing that comes to mind is a being made of pure evil whose only purpose in life is to destroy all things good in the world. Right?

Well, yes, but actually, no. It’s a little more complicated than that. To argue that Chara is a demon because they’re simply “an evil little twerp that enjoys being evil” doesn’t do them or their role in Undertale justice (although that hasn’t stopped people from trying to argue that). To understand why calling themselves a demon is EXTREMELY important, we need to dive into the wonderful (and totally not controversial) world of religious beliefs!

In ancient and modern religions, demons are a little more complex than just ethereal jackasses with a vendetta against virtue and righteousness. Though they vary from faith to faith, most demons have a specific set of qualities and tropes that make them integral to whatever faith they’re in. You also see these demonic qualities in fiction that’s derived or inspired by religions, and since Undertale’s lore and worldbuilding have a heavy emphasis on the spiritual and divine, you can see them in Chara. Since Undertale is a game of “Western” origin, you can definitely see they share qualities that are all too familiar with devils of “Western” religions. In classic devil fashion, they target those with weak integrities or suspect morals; they tempt you with the promise of fulfilling your desires at your and everyone else’s expense; they’re able to control your body as you grow their power through your sins, and hell, they even do the thing where they make a deal for your soul. Also...

But though it's evident that Chara encourages you to do “evil,” THEY THEMSELVES are not responsible for it. Yes, Chara encouraged you to kill, but YOU are the one who acted on those encouragements. In fact, YOU are the one who encouraged THEM to help you out! They walked down the dark path with you, but you didn’t really give them anywhere else they could walk. You had all the power and every chance to turn back and no reason to keep walking. And yet you persisted.

But that does beg the question, why did you walk it at all? What could possibly inspire you to give all of these characters happiness, satisfaction, and peace and then rip it all away? Because you decided that giving everyone the most satisfying ending was not satisfying enough for you. Because there was more that you could experience for yourself, even if it meant making everyone else experience something absolutely horrific. It wasn’t enough for you to fill the glass only halfway. You needed to fill it to the brim. You wanted to reach the absolute. Even if doing the Genocide Run was a bad experience for you, you CANNOT deny it was a fulfilling one. And Chara knows it, too. It ain’t exactly a coincidence that fulfillment and fullness are recurring motifs in Chara’s character.

Like all demons, Chara is able to tempt the wicked and sinful by targeting our greatest weaknesses and deficiencies. It’s no different from how Succubi and Incubi target those who succumb to the sin of lust. That’s why you won’t go after my aroace ass anytime soon. But I digress.

But Chara doesn't just tempt us by exploiting our need to fill the glass to the brim but also because of how they exploit the satisfaction we get from watching it fill up, that is to say, the satisfaction that comes from trying to achieve fulfillment.

We humans are addicted to progression as much as we are to completion, and in an RPG like Undertale, the satisfaction of progression comes in the form of NUMBERS. Not just the numbers that flash on the screen when you battle enemies but also the ones that go up when you finish said enemies off, whether it be your hit points, experience points, and so on. And Undertale isn’t any ordinary RPG; it’s one where its RPG elements are interwoven into the fabric of the game’s universe. Because of that, Chara is able to use these elements in their world to influence those outside of it.

But Chara does not just influence us through the numbers that increase but also the ones that decrease. That’s why the first thing they do when we reach Snowdin is give us a tally. 

It’s not just there to measure progress. It’s also there to incentivize us to keep progressing. It gives us a small dose of satisfaction that’s enough to distract us from the mundanity and misery of the murder run, like a loading bar on a loading screen. And just like with loading screens, the farther it progresses, the harder it gets to turn away. Why would you want all the lives you’ve taken and the stats you’ve gained to amount to nothing? Why would you want to hit reset and go through those brutal fights with Sans and Undyne again? You can’t empty out the glass, not when you’re that much closer to filling it to the brim. Speaking of Sans and Undyne, it’s quite interesting that even though they barely know you, they know exactly why you won’t take your foot off the pedal, so to speak.

But that’s not the only thing driving you, isn’t it? Chara knows that there was something else that was spurning you along. Something more powerful and more dangerous than your addiction to progression and completion: PRIDE. 

Perhaps the real reason you kept giving in to sin until it was far too late was because you didn’t think it would be too late. You didn’t hold back because you thought you would be able to go back. You thought you could just absolve your sins with the press of a button like you did in countless worlds before. You thought you could dive in, touch the bottom, and come back out of the water. But what were you getting into? How deep would you have gone? And would you have gone in if you knew you couldn’t possibly return? You know you wouldn’t. And Chara knows it, too. That brings us back to the dialogue I showed you at the beginning of this theory. The one said changed everything I knew about this character, and I firmly believe that this is the MOST important line of dialogue in the entire franchise.

PART 2: THE PART WHERE I (PRETEND TO) DESTROY 9 YEARS OF ESTABLISHED FANON!

When I say that that little blurb about being above consequences is ABSOLUTELY ESSENTIAL, I do not say that lightly. It isn’t just important to Chara's character, but the game of Undertale as a whole! Anyone who’s serious about Chara’s character should never take this for granted because Chara sure as hell does not.

It’s not just our refusal to accept the world’s destruction that’s a huge-ass deal to Chara; it’s the arrogance and complacency that accompanies it, rooted in the position and privileges we have as the player. It matters to them so much that they’re willing to completely forgo bartering for our soul (which they say they want) if we don’t admit that we have that belief!

And yet, despite Chara taking this subject so seriously, the people who are analyzing their character ironically don’t. Generally speaking, most people simply brush this line off as nothing more than something they do to help them on their quest to achieve their goals. So, with that said, let’s talk about what those supposed goals actually are.

In all my years of reading and assessing countless Chara theories and interpretations, I’ve discovered that everyone actually agrees on what Chara's goals are. They just can’t agree on why they want them. Said goals are A) reach the absolute, B) max out their numbers/power, C) erase the world, and/or D) eradicate all monsters. But what if it’s actually the other way around? What if those things were the means to an end rather than the ends themselves?

What if the true goal of the “demon who comes when people call its name” was just like that of the demons of old: not to be your partner in crime, but to torment and punish you for your crimes? To make you face CONSEQUENCES!

I’m not making this argument simply because it makes Chara look more badass (though I think it totally does, lol). I firmly believe that Undertale’s post-Genocide content is written so that Chara’s character can only make sense if that was Chara’s goal from start to finish. Because if Chara’s endgame was any of those four I mentioned earlier, their character kinda falls apart because they're awfully inconsistent about fulfilling them. And those inconsistencies are evident in the Second Geno Ending.

Discrepancy 1) They say they will “appear time and time again” to help us “eradicate the enemy and become strong,” and yet they call us perverted for eradicating everyone time and time again.

You can argue that they didn’t want us to recreate the world in the first place and just move on to another world, but if so, why let us come back at all? And if it’s to get our soul, why do they keep around this world after we have it? This leads us to...

Discrepancy 2) They tell us to ERASE the world and move on to the next, and yet they allow us to restore it without a hitch after we give them our SOUL, seeing how there’s no black void when we start the game again.

If Chara was powerless to stop us from coming back, this wouldn’t be such a big deal. But they CLEARLY DEMONSTRATE that they’re able to stop the player from restoring the world, as seen in the first post-genocide ending. And yet they don’t use this power after the first time the world is erased (WHICH YOU WOULD THINK THEY WOULD WANT TO USE SINCE THEY WANT TO ERASE THE WORLD AND MOVE ON TO ANOTHER)! Seeing how the world is back again without us doing anything makes the restoration of the world like something that Chara CHOSE ON THEIR OWN VOLITION. And what makes this all the more damning is...

Discrepancy 3) They tell us they’re down bad for increasing our ATK, DEF, EXP, and LV to the max and erasing the world and everyone in it, and yet they TELL US TO DEVIATE FROM THE ONLY ROUTE THAT ACCOMPLISHES THAT (which, as stated before, they call us perverse for doing it again).

So, let me get something straight. You tell us you want to ”eradicate the enemy” and “ erase this pointless world,” and yet not only are you allowing us to undo all of that, you want us to do something INSTEAD OF THAT??? It’s funny how you lecture us about how we cannot accept the world’s destruction BECAUSE, APPARENTLY, YOU WON’T EITHER!!!!! Also, before I forget...

Discrepancy 4)

WHAT KIND OF MISANTHROPE DEDICATES THEIR WHOLE LIFE TO WIPING OUT HUMANITY, GETS GIFT-WRAPPED A CHANCE TO DO THAT, AND THEN JUST PASSES IT UP?!?!?!

On behalf of misanthropes everywhere, I am DEEPLY disappointed in you!

So it doesn’t matter if you believe Chara is always evil, good, or detached from morality entirely. Because Chara has the same goal across all versions, they all succumb to the same inconsistencies!

Funny how most people see them as this embodiment of the addictive nature of levelling up and consuming everything in a piece of media and all that jazz WHEN THEY SEEM TO CASUALLY GIVE UP ON IT!!!!!!

And if you argue they want a Soulless Pacifist Run when they suggest “another path,” then ask yourself, what does that give them that a Genocide Run doesn’t? Keep in mind, aside from a scribbled-out photograph, we don’t see how many monsters or humans they killed besides the main characters or how much power and stats they gained from it. And it’s not like we see them erase the world afterward since only the genocide run has that infamous wall of red 9s. Not to mention, the genocide run is the most secure way of accomplishing their goals since they have the backing of the player. Not only that, but it’s also the safest and most efficient way to erase everyone and increase stats to the fullest, and we all know how Chara feels about efficiency.

So Chara has no reason to pick the Soulless pacifist ending over the Genocide Run if they want to achieve their end of increasing numbers and consuming the world… unless those things were a means to an end rather than ends themselves.

Indeed it is coming together! That’s the other reason their statement, “You think you’re above consequences,” is so damn important! They’re not telling us why we sinned, but it reveals they intend to make us suffer for those sins, and how.

That’s why Chara is seemingly so inconsistent about erasing the world. Because it was never about the world. It was all about YOU.

[SIDE NOTE: I’m sure many of you will point out that if Chara wanted us to get a Soulless ending in this world, then why would they encourage us to “move on to the next?” I don’t think this is too big an issue for two reasons. First, this line is meant to emphasize that, like all demons, Chara is inescapable and that no matter what world you go to (within their own universe), Chara will always follow you now that you’ve unleashed them. Second, because their goal concerns us and not the world they’re a part of, their character avoids the aforementioned inconsistencies that hamper the other Chara theories much more severely, in my opinion.]

Part 3: Contrapasso

Now I’m sure some of y’all might think that Chara doesn’t need to yearn for our torment to achieve the impact of the Soulless ending and that just because Chara is a demon doesn’t automatically mean they need to screw us over. You are right in that not everyone who makes a Faustian Bargain needs to have malicious intentions toward the people they’re taking advantage of (Kuybey from Madoka Magica is a great example of that). But Chara does need it! Not only does it make their character more narratively cohesive, but also makes their character more thematically impactful. And it’s more in tune with their demonic nature for them to want to torment us.

Because demons represent something more terrifying than evil itself. They represent the terrible price of embracing it, a price that all evildoers fear more than anything, and that all demons want seek to inflict upon us. Like most demons, Chara isn’t encouraging us to sin to fill the emptiness in our soul (or even their own). They did it to perpetuate that torturously empty and unfulfilled state for all eternity, a state which even themselves now endure.

Now, you’ve probably noticed that I’ve talked a lot about the themes of fulfillment and emptiness, and it’s for a good reason since those themes are heavily featured in Undertale. I mean, how could it not? Because concepts of demons, hell, and sins (which are explicitly mentioned in the game) are deeply intertwined with the concept of emptiness. The theologian Thomas Aquinas once defined evil as not a presence but as an absence (of that which is good). Darkness is the absence of light; war is the absence of peace; bigotry is the absence of tolerance; pride is the absence of humility, etc. You see this reflected in not just Christian theology but also fiction as a whole, as a lot of villains are motivated by a desire to obtain something that they believe can’t be without. Whether it be wealth, status, recognition, power, the death of an individual, or even just sadistic pleasure.

Since demons are beings that are inseparable from evil itself, the life of a demon is forever cursed by unceasing and unbearable emptiness. Hell, the word damnation originated from the Latin word damnum, which literally means loss! They’re not exactly partying in hell while your immortal soul is being slow-roasted for eternity. They’re burning in that lake of fire and brimstone along with you! They can’t end their damnation, not because they don’t want to but because they simply can’t. They’re fated to be bereft of the satisfaction or fulfillment found in Heaven or Earth, a fate that is worse than death in every sense of the word, especially since they can’t experience death anymore. Because of that, a demon embodies what is perhaps the most terrifying form of evil of all: not one rooted in a desire to rid the emptiness and unfulfillment within themselves, but a desire to inflict them upon others. Because as a wise philosopher once said:

We see this horrific state of mutually assured suffering everywhere across fiction. From goofy, lighthearted tokusatsu's...

...to nightmarish sci-fi dystopias...

...to a little indie game made 9 years ago.

Oh yeah. Don’t think I was gonna talk about emptiness without mentioning everyone’s favourite homicidal fauna-turned-flora, especially not with lines like this.

Take one to know one! And it can’t be a coincidence that the game emphasizes the theme of emptiness when giving the spotlight to the three characters that have committed the most “evil”: Flowey/Asriel, Chara, and YOU.

Quite the unholy trinity going on here, eh? It truly is fascinating how the emptiness led us to work with each other to exterminate all monsters. And it’s also interesting how the unique kind of emptiness we have eventually led us to work against each other. Whether it be Flowey wishing to preserve his sentimentality for his long-gone sibling, us players wanting to maintain our (perverted) sentimentality for the world of Undertale, or Chara weaponizing these sentimentalities to exact their misanthropic hatred.

Remember how I said that Chara was a lousy misanthrope because they keep letting us bring back the humans they wanted annihilated when they were alive? That does make them a lousy misanthrope… unless their misanthropy found a higher priority target: YOU!!!!! Chara’s desire to torment us didn’t come out of thin air. The same hatred that drove them to wipe out the humans of their world years ago is the same hatred that’s driving them to get at the humans of our world, even if it means destroying those who once embraced them. And now, that hatred is more potent and destructive than ever before, so much so that it’s no wonder Toriel was able to feel it when she endured that fatal blow after the Geno Run began.

Do you think witnessing what soullessness did to sweet little Asriel wasn’t already terrifying and tragic enough? Just try to imagine what it could‘ve done to a vengeful, traumatized, chocolate-addicted problem child so consumed by hatred that they poisoned themselves just for a chance to wipe out their own kind. All of that hatred of humanity is still alive and well, and now it has no humanity to hold it back. 

And what could be a more fitting target for a MISANTHROPE that calls themselves a DEMON… than a HUMAN that wants to play GOD?

After all, the only thing demons love more than tormenting mortals is warring with Gods.

Why else do you think that Chara winks right at you if we make Frisk stay with Toriel? Because that’s who the Soulless Ending was meant for. It’s when they’re finally able to unleash all that animosity and hatred that’s been lurking behind that smile ever since we killed everyone in the Ruins. It’s the moment that they’ve been patiently waiting for because they knew that’s when it would hit you the hardest.

And what makes the Soulless Pacifist Ending very special compared to other “bad endings” isn’t simply because they destroy those we pretend to care about (may I remind you that you did do the genocide run, after all). But they destroy something much more valuable to us as the players: OUR OMNIPOTENCE. Chara doesn’t destroy people for the sake of destroying them. But because in doing so they destroy our arrogant belief that nothing could possibly challenge the invisibility and invulnerability we players take for granted.

It's all too human that those with the most power are the least willing to lose it (or even take responsibility for it). And in a world where we should have absolute power, we thought there would be no consequences for abusing it. So what could be a more fitting and frightful punishment than having to actually face them? Missing out on the best ending in a video game is one thing. But to forever lose the power to achieve it ever again?! Now that’s terrifying!

Throughout myth, legend, and religion, sinners are often punished in a way befitting of the sin they’ve committed. In Greek Mythology, Tantalus was damned for trying to feed the Gods the flesh of his murdered son with eternal hunger and thirst despite being within arm’s reach of water and food. In Dante’s Inferno, those who succumb to wrath are forever doomed to fight each other in a river of mud. And since Undertale is no stranger to concepts such as hell, sins, and demons, you can damn well be sure that there’s going to be damnation fitting for the sins that drove you to complete the genocide run.

You completed the Genocide Run because you believed ending their lives would be fulfilling. Now, you can no longer get any fulfillment out of saving their lives.

I mean, where else can you get your precious fulfillment? Those paltry neutral endings? They only offer a fraction of what the pacifist ending offered. And the genocide ending has been drained of its satisfaction like the pacifist! Would you do all that tedious grinding and brutal boss fights just to hear your so-called “partner” lecture you again on perverted sentimentality and say you should choose another path, even though there’s nothing that they could offer? Of course not. In the end, you’re just like poor Tantalus agonizing in the pits of Tartarus, feeling the water vanish from his hands just before it touches his lips.

The ultimate triumph of Chara isn’t making you suffer a total defeat, but perhaps something much worse to you as a gamer: a pyrrhic victory. It’s like having a Twinkie that's been drained of the creamy center. Everything is still there except the thing you treasure most. You’re damned to play a challenge forever deprived of any and all fulfillment you once got from it, a satisfying journey that will always be doomed to reach a dissatisfying destination.

In the end, Chara leaves you with the world exactly as they described it the first time they met you face-to-face: POINTLESS.

You can have the world exactly as it was before (and the people within it). But in the end, Chara will always have the last laugh.

Figuratively and literally.

Welcome to hell!

Part 4: Why Consequences Matter

Woooooo!!! Man, that was quite the read, wasn’t it? And yeah, I wasn't kidding when I said this is going to be autistic as all hell! I don’t doubt you have a lot of thoughts in your mind, and then you’re gonna share them by the time you’re finished reading this post. Some of you might think this is the Chara theory to end Chara theories. Some of you believe that this is the worst thing that has happened to this fandom since Sebastian Wolff. Some of y’all, I’m whitewashing them because I argue they’re driven by a desire to punish the wicked by any means necessary. Some will think I’m demonizing them because I say that they’re, well, a demon. 

[SIDE NOTE: Just so I don’t miscommunicate what I believe about Chara’s morality, here are some key points to take away from this theory. A) Chara sought to make you pay for the evil you committed. In fact, the idea that the Soulless Ending is Chara punishing our sins has been around for a while, especially by those who think Chara was “corrupted. B) However, in this theory, Chara's actions are all done with the intent of accomplishing that goal. This means that Chara was aware of what they were doing, they wanted to do it, and that THEY KNEW IT WAS EVIL. C) But you still have to remember that Chara is also A LITERAL CHILD. And D) They’re a child who endured a great deal of hardship (and possibly trauma), which made them so embittered and vengeful. Also, E) Remember that they’re also soulless, just like Asriel when he was Flowey.]

But I think most of you were gonna look at this interpretation of Chara and feel the same thing that I have about most of yours: a take that’s not without issues, but not without a fair bit of interesting points.

But regardless of what you think of this theory overall, there’s one thing I won’t leave up for debate: I deeply treasure Chara’s character. Not just because I think they’re fun, cool, or interesting but also because I firmly believe they’re invaluable Undertale. And yet, at the same time, I think they’re severely undervalued by the fandom. And who can blame them?

The characters of Undertale speak very little of Chara, and Chara speaks for themselves even less. But just like Johan Liebert from the anime Monster, even though they’re not seen too often, they still manage to exert a massive presence and impact within Undertale’s narrative. And that presence is made all the more impactful because they perfectly represent the themes of the narrative: and that theme is CONSEQUENCES, or more accurately, the CONSEQUENCES OF VIOLENCE.

From the violence that drove Chara to climb Mt Ebott to the violence their brother Asriel inflicted in hopes of being with them forever. From something as grand as a war between two civilizations to something as small as dismembering a snowman. Everywhere you look, you will see that violence (and its repercussions) haunts the story and characters of Undertale. But what makes Undertale stand out from other media that tackles this subject is that it’s not just an integral part of its narrative but also its metanarrative. The most ingenious way it does this is by giving meaning to the actions/mechanics that we take for granted, specifically monster encounters.

Our Lord and Saviour Toby Fox said it best:

Because the monsters of Undetale are treated as something more than just enemies to be killed, there are going to be consequences for choosing to kill them away. Some argue that it goes too far in how it admonishes you for killing even a single monster, even to the point of being preachy (I’m looking at you, ScottFalco, but that’s a response for another day).

That argument is deeply flawed because it fails to account for the fact that without these ramifications, the game’s themes would be rendered null and void. The last thing that a game with a narrative centred around the consequences of violence can afford to do is afford you the luxury of avoiding them. And that principle especially applies if you dare to choose nothing BUT violence. //////If you were to bring them all back as if nothing happened, then your decision to commit genocide would be completely meaningless, which would totally disservice Undertale themes regarding violence. There needs to be consequences. LASTING CONSEQUENCES. Undertale can’t drive home its messages and them without lasting consequences. Undertale can’t deliver those consequences without Chara in the driver’s seat. And Chara’s character can only be at their most narratively cohesive and thematically impactful if seeking to make us suffer consequences was their intended destination.

Regardless of whatever detail about Chara you’re discussing or what side of the discussion you’re on, one thing is very clear: they’re absolutely essential to Undertale in the same way that Mephistopheles is essential to Faust, the Cenobites are essential to Hellraiser, and Kuybey is essential to Madoka Magica. And they’re the only ones with the means, motives, and deep-seated misanthropy to hold this whole damn game together.

Sans is right. We deserve to be burning in hell for what we did to those poor monsters. And I can't think of anyone more qualified to have us humans “burning in hell” than a self-proclaimed demon with a seething hatred of humanity.

And how fitting is it that the skeleton who judges our sins is followed by a human child who punishes us for them?

BUT HEY, THAT'S JUST A THEORY!

A CHARA THEORY!

THANKS FOR READING!

[freelancearsonist]

Whole

Steve Harrington x fem!Reader

Rated MA for the most long-winded poetic smut i've ever written jfc 🤦‍♀️ slow burn fluff with a couple sprinkles of angst for flavor, reader uses fem pronouns and is described as having female parts, it's dirty y'all but at least they use protection

7,470 Words

A/N: you all know my mo by now i disappear for a year and then come back and lay down some god damned PORN. this fic is no exception to the rule. @shakespeareanwannabe requested this back in july and she literally just asked for a cute moment between steve and dustin, sorry you got 6k words more than you bargained for 😂 but also thank you for betaing and the constant validation you're the best ily 🖤

Steve’s not sure how it even worked.

He can still remember the look on Robin’s face when you agreed, how she was speechless for almost ten minutes because she couldn’t process what had just happened.

Steve’s reaction was about the same as hers, in all honesty. He’s gotten so used to striking out that asking people out has become something of a game to him. He knows he’ll get a no, and he knows Robin will laugh her ass off at him. But what can he say? He likes putting a smile on his best friend’s face.

Needless to say, you’ve shaken him. In the best possible way. Because your answer was three letters instead of two.

And now, he's a little bit in over his head.

Or, to be more accurate, a lot in over his head.

It seems like it’s been ages since he’s gone on a date, even though it’s only been a few months at most. He feels lost, like he’s completely unlearned everything he ever knew about girls.

He hates it, despises it with every fiber of his own being, but he also knows it’s true; he needs advice. And although he’ll never admit it to the little shithead’s face, there’s no one better he can think of going to than his very own protege. Who better to remind him of his own prowess than the person who learned everything they know from him?

One look at Dustin’s smug little face and Steve almost regrets it. Almost.

“Just can’t stay away, can you?”

“Yeah, yeah.” Steve rolls his eyes and gives the younger boy a little shove, camouflaging it with an affectionate pat on the back. “This is strictly business, Henderson.”

“Oh, is it now?” The younger boy’s voice takes on a smug tone as he folds his fingers together and leans back in his chair. “Well then, why don’t you have a seat? Step into my office.”

Steve rolls his eyes and slides into the booth, shooting a smile and a “thank you” to the kind waitress who delivers two milkshakes to their table.

Dustin takes his time and makes a meal of unwrapping his straw, feeding off of Steve’s clear impatience Steve’s fingers tap against the table, reminding himself that patience is necessary when you come to someone for a favor. It’s just that it’s Dustin, and Dustin knows exactly how to get under the older boy’s skin in the most annoying-yet-oddly-endearing fashion.

“So…” Dustin finally says after a lengthy sip of strawberry milkshake. “What brings you so humbly to me?”

“I’ve got a date.”

And Dustin, the little bastard–he laughs. A deep, rumbling belly laugh, so pure and unfiltered that the three other occupied tables in the diner pause their conversations to get a look at the boy clutching his sides.

Steve’s a little embarrassed by the attention, but even more embarrassed that Dustin’s reaction is so genuine. The fact that the idea of him having a date is so laughable is a bit of a punch to the gut. It hasn’t really been that long, has it?

When Dustin’s laughter finally dies down he realizes Steve’s face is completely serious, and it makes him giggle even more.

“Wait, you’re actually serious? Who on earth did you manage to pull?”

Steve’s nearly bashful as he says your name, and even more bashful when Dustin’s jaw visibly drops.

“No fucking way. I’d believe anyone else, but her? She’s like… hotter than Phoebe Cates. There’s no way you wouldn’t strike out with her.”

Steve’s immediately on the defensive. Is it really so hard to believe that he, former king of Hawkins High, could pull the most gorgeous girl in town?

But that’s just it. There’s really no one like you, not in his eyes. He’s admired you since freshman year and never once even tried with you because he knew he wasn’t worthy. You were always in the background–a beautiful, kind, smart, funny girl just out of his reach. Part of the reason he even asked you out was because he was so sure he would strike out. In the end, losing his confidence was exactly what he needed to pull the girl of his dreams.

And that’s why there’s so much riding on this. You’ve always been his biggest “what if”, the girl he wonders about when thinking that maybe not trying has been holding him back. And apparently, it has.

“Look, I don’t even know how it happened, okay? But she said yes, and… and I really don’t want to blow it.”

“Well duh. You’ll have to leave town if you blow it with her, you know that, right? If she doesn’t think you’re worth it, no one else in this town ever will again.”

“That’s exactly what I’m afraid of!” Steve groans, slouching down so far in the booth that Dustin can just barely see his poor, overwhelmed face.

“Steve, listen…” Dustin’s voice takes on an almost fatherly quality, an omniscient tone that gives off the illusion of great hidden knowledge. He gets like this sometimes, and Steve’s not always sure that it is just an illusion. “Don’t let this go to your head, but you’re, like, one of the coolest guys I know. If she doesn’t like you… that’s her problem, not yours. Okay?”

Steve straightens in his seat, a little shocked to hear such kind words from a friend that he’s used to being mercilessly teased by.

“No, no, no, it’s going to your head. I take it all back. Forget I said anything.” Dustin’s hearty giggle makes Steve smile as he sets a wad of bills on the table and slides out of the booth.

“You’re not so bad Henderson, you know that?” He gives the younger boy’s full head of curls an affectionate ruffle. “Thanks, kid. I’ll radio later.”

Not that Steve didn’t have total faith in his young protege, but it’s still a relief that the pep talk turned out to be exactly what he needed to hear. Dustin’s right, after all. Steve’s worked hard to become the man he’s always wanted to be. He may not be dripping charisma or sex appeal the way he used to, but he’s much more comfortable in his own skin. That’s what counts, right?

And you really are his dream girl. The opportunity to take you out tonight, even if it ends up being your first and only date together, is an honor. He’s much less focused now on all the ways he could screw up, hyper-fixated on putting the effort in to make this the best night of your life.

That effort comes out in the carefully selected suit jacket he dons over his white button-up, the extra spritz of cologne, the careful touch-up shave to vanquish his five o’clock shadow, the extra ten minutes using the perfect amount of product in his hair so that it stays in place yet is still soft to the touch.

By the time he gets to Enzo’s (half an hour early, mind), he’s practically vibrating with nerves and anticipation. He’s never been much of an overthinker, but he sure is tonight. Is this place too much for the first date? Would you rather do something lowkey, like catch a movie or go for a walk in the park? He has to remind himself a couple of times that you agreed to this, that you wouldn’t have said yes if you weren’t interested in the arrangement.

To say he’s prepared for this is putting it lightly. He’s run through every possible scenario in his mind, gone over conversation starters and questions he wants to ask you over and over again until he knows exactly how he wants to phrase each thing.

And still, nothing could prepare him for when you walk through the door.

He has to physically restrain his jaw from dropping because in the moment he sees you, every well-planned thought and all etiquette is flushed down the proverbial pipes. You’re nothing short of breathtaking in a dress that hugs all the right curves and shows just enough cleavage to have him imagining what else there might be to see. Your hair is pinned back out of your face, eyes framed by just the slightest bit of makeup to make the color of your irises pop. He swears he’s never seen a shade quite like them. It’s like you move in slow motion as you approach him–he sees the entrance of the smoking hot love interest in every romantic comedy, complete with smoke and fireworks, as you move towards the table.

And then some sense of decorum returns to his addled brain, and he quickly shoots up so he can pull out your chair for you like a proper gentleman. He catches just the slightest whiff of your perfume, and he’s a goner. He’s ready to sign his life away to you, to yank his own heart out of his chest to offer to your careful hands.

He has to give his head a shake to compose himself before he goes any further off the deep end. No one’s ever thoroughly shaken him the way you have, and it’s been a matter of thirty seconds. It’s almost intimidating, the effect you have on him.

“You look… incredible,” he fumbles as he takes his seat across from you. “I mean, you always do, but… wow.”

The shy giggle you emit tugs at a heartstring he didn’t even know he had.

“Thank you,” you tell him with a genuine smile. “You clean up very well yourself.”

“I do like to put in some effort every once in a while.” He flashes the most charming smile he can muster, and just like that he’s back. His resolve to impress you is reinforced tenfold. You’ve shaken him, and it’s such an unfamiliar feeling that he’s practically bumbling. He wants to shake you just as badly.

The food’s delicious, and the conversation’s even better. He has a track record for taking out a more–for lack of a better term–bimbo-y type, and that’s definitely not you. You’re smart, you’re witty, but you don’t make him feel like an idiot. He’s so taken with you that he doesn’t even notice that three hours have passed until he looks around the room and notices that every table is now empty and bussed.

The waiter delivers the check, and Steve notices you gnawing on your lip.

“What’s on your mind?” He asks, trying not to be too prying.

“I don’t want this to be over yet.”

Steve smiles. He’s got you; hook, line, and sinker. He’s never been so sure of anything, and that surprises him. He’s used to dates who are easy to read and even easier to take home, and those aren’t the impressions you’ve been giving him. To know that you’re feeling exactly what he’s feeling is a huge confidence boost.

“I don’t either.”

Your hand is so small compared to his. That’s all he can think about as he strolls next to you, his fingers intertwined with yours. He’s always considered hand-holding to be child’s play, it’s never excited him before the way it does in this moment with you.

It’s pitch black in the park and he can hear the overlapping chirping of summer cicadas and grasshoppers, the perfect background noise now that the conversation has died down. It’s less about getting to know each other at this point and more just basking in each other’s presence, prolonging the inevitable because neither one of you can bear to call it a night when it’s been such a good few hours.

You’re shocked, to say the very least. Steve certainly has a reputation, and it’s not for being a romantic. Yet everything tonight has flown in the face of all the rumors you’ve been hearing since junior high. You figured he’d be a fun fling, and probably only one night at that–you’d made your peace with the idea. To find that he’s kind, considerate, funny, and can match your intellect and quick wit… it’s a very pleasant surprise. And that’s what has you out well past a decent hour, giddy over simply holding his hand like you’re a damned school girl all over again.

“I should probably let you go home,” Steve sighs wistfully. He hates to be the one to bring it up, but you’re on your fifth lap around the park and about to circle back to where your car is parked so now seems the best time.

You’re chewing your lip again, a thoughtful habit that makes his heart pound just a little bit harder.

Here’s the thing: you’re really not the bold type. You act confident, sure, but in practice it’s a lot more difficult for you. So no one’s more surprised than you are when you say, “You could come home with me. If you want.”

Steve’s definitely shocked, too. Less shocked at your proposition and more at the fact that he’s tempted to decline. Because no matter how much he’s been running through the back of his mind what you might look like under that gorgeous dress, he doesn’t want this to end there. For the first time in his life, he wants to find more meaning than sex out of a relationship. He doesn’t want to take you home and never see you again. He wants to take you out again, and again, and again, and again after that. He sees a future, for once, that doesn’t look dim and hopeless. That fact alone scares the shit out of him.

He realizes he’s waited way too long to reply and fumbles for an answer. “Of course I want to. I’d be an idiot not to. But…”

You chew that cursed bottom lip of yours again, and Steve has to focus on the obvious cue you’re giving him rather than the fact that he wants to be the next set of teeth around that lip.

He stops in his tracks, gently pulling on your hand to face him so he can take your other hand in his free one. “It’s not a bad but. I mean, I’m going to go home kicking myself for saying no because I really honestly do want to… well, y’know. But… I want to do this right with you. I want to take you out again. I want to get to know you and see where this goes. I can’t… I don’t want this to end tonight.”

He’s eternally grateful for how dark it is as he feels a flush consume his face. He can’t remember a time he’s been so honest and open, especially on a first date; but the look on your face tells him he’s done something right.

“Okay,” you tell him, squeezing his hands in yours. “You… honestly have no clue how nice it is to hear that.”

“Of course,” he continues, “if you just want me for my body, no hard feelings.”

You laugh at that, genuinely laugh, and Steve thinks it’s the best sound he’s ever heard.

“No,” you reassure him. “No, I… I wanna see where this goes, too.”

You’re stopped only a few paces from your car, and Steve knows with a twist of his gut that this is the end of the night. It makes his gut turn with disappointment, but also with anticipation of when he’ll see you next. Already, his mind is flooding with ideas of where he can take you and what you’ll do together.

You drop one of his hands so you can walk but keep a tight grip on the other until you get to your driver’s side door, hesitating outside because you’re still not ready for this to be over. It takes every ounce of restraint he has not to kiss you, unsure of if that would be moving too fast.

Thankfully, you make the call yourself. Leaning up on your toes, hands against his chest for balance, you press your lips against his and he has to summon every mite of strength not to moan. No one’s ever tasted so sweet, molded against him so perfectly. His hands drift from your shoulders down your arms, coming to rest on your waist as he pulls you just a little bit closer. It’s a fight of will not to overstep, to break off the kiss before it can become too heated. His mind is spinning by the time you break away. He’s aching for more, and he hopes you are too. 

“Goodnight, sweetheart.”

“Goodnight, Steve.”

Your sweet voice replays in his mind all night, long after you’ve gotten into your car and driven away, long after he’s returned to his own vehicle and pulled the radio out from under the driver’s seat to check in with Dustin, long after he arrives home and soaks in a cold shower for longer than he probably should. He doesn’t think he’ll ever get your voice out of his head, and he couldn’t be any less upset about it.

He practically counts down the minutes until he sees you again. This time, he has a little less restraint. He greets you with a kiss–a sweet peck and a hand on your waist that leaves you aching for even more.

It’s a movie this time, a chance to enjoy each other’s company on a night you’re both too tired from working to engage in heavy conversation and getting to know each other further.

It starts with sharing popcorn, then holding hands, then somewhere along the way the film is completely forgotten in favor of your lips meeting his. His breath grows heavy as his hands hold your face, committing you to memory while resisting the urge to explore further. Your hands, meanwhile, are firmly on his thighs, gripping tightly to keep yourself steady as you do everything you can to keep yourself from crawling into his lap.

He whispers your name, and your grip on him tightens.

“W-we shouldn’t…” he murmurs, then gives up on the futile attempt at finishing his sentence so that he can pull you even deeper into the kiss as his tongue sweeps across your bottom lip.

It takes everything in him not to moan when your lips eagerly part to accept him.

Needless to say, once the credits start rolling you’re both more than a little hot under the collar.

“Let me buy you dinner,” Steve suggests as he woefully unwinds himself from you. Declining doesn’t even flicker through your mind as a possibility.

It’s not Enzo’s this time, but it doesn’t have to be. He could set a soggy peanut butter and jelly sandwich in front of you at this point and you’d still thank him for it. This time around, you’re not really as interested in the cuisine as you are just simply getting through this meal to what’s next. Because what’s next is all you’ve been thinking about since you walked through the doors the night of that very first date and saw Steve Harrington wearing a blazer for you. It’s a level of effort he’s definitely not known for–in fact, he’s built a reputation for putting in so little effort that it nearly made your jaw drop to see him trying. And it certainly made your heart skip a beat.

But then again, the Steve before you carelessly wolfing down his bacon cheeseburger seems very different from the Steve you knew in high school, even if you didn’t know that iteration as intimately as this one. That one was cool, collected, snarky and pompous and maddeningly desirable.

This Steve, your Steve, is nearly an exact foil. Much less cocky, a little less confident but more self-assured in the ways that actually hold meaning, less worried about what the people around him are observing of him than what you’re observing of him. He seems happier, more carefree, more eager to please others than simply himself. He’s grown so much in such a short amount of time, and you feel proud just for having the honor to witness it. Significantly more proud to be on the receiving end of his affections now that they hold the kind of value you’ve always wished they would.

He looks up and notices you staring at him while lost in thought, a small smile spreading across his lips as your eyes quickly dart away.

“What’s on your mind?” He questions as he licks a stray bit of ketchup from his thumb.

“Just… happy I’m here. With you.” It brings heat to your cheeks to admit it, but you don’t want him to go unappreciated in this moment.

It’s the right thing to say, because his smile grows even wider. “I’m happy too,” he admits. “I… I’ve wanted to ask you out for a while. Could never work up the courage, I guess.”

“Steve ‘the hair’ Harrington was intimidated by me?” You say it with a mock gasp, but your shock is more genuine than you give off. Never in a million years would you have thought that he, the man who could have whoever he wanted, would be worried over you saying no to him. It’s almost comical, especially considering the way you practically threw yourself at him on your first date. Of course then, you had no clue how much he’d developed as a person. You’re almost ashamed of your behavior now, as if you might’ve inadvertently been taking advantage of the new and improved Steve who isn’t just into you for a hookup.

He shrugs, nearly bashful at your teasing. “Never figured I was good enough for you. So I didn’t bother to try.”

You’re genuinely curious now, leaning in a little closer and brushing your fingers against his hand resting atop the diner counter. “What made you change your mind?”

“Honestly? I was so sure you’d say no that I asked just to give Robin a chuckle. She loves watching me get shot down.”

That makes you frown, and he’s quick to backtrack. “I wanted to! I just… I’ve had a bad track record lately. And you’re… you’re you. You’re the last person I should be worthy of.”

His eyes are quick to avert from your gaze, bottom lip tugged between his teeth as he contemplates whether he’s said too much.

“Steve…” you properly grab his hand now in the hopes that it’ll bring his eyes back to you, and it works. “You’re the only person I’ve deemed worthy in a long time, honestly.”

Steve Harrington is scaldingly warm. It’s one of many sensations forcing your mind into overdrive as he lays you delicately across the backseat of his beemer, one hand cushioning the back of your head while simultaneously deepening the already heated kiss and the other balancing his weight to lean over you in the cramped space without completely crushing you.

Your fingers tangle themselves into his soft brown locks, tugging ever-so-slightly as his tongue slips between your parted lips. He’s an eager explorer and you’re more than happy to let him take the lead, to show you all the skill you’ve heard so many whispers about.

You let out an involuntary moan as he wedges himself even closer to you, his body heat soaking through all the layers of clothing between the two of you and warming you all the way to your very bones.

You’re practically aching, ready to beg, and he knows it the second you wrap your legs around his waist in an attempt to get him even closer. If there’s one thing Steve Harrington’s good at, it’s assessing your needs. He pulls away just the slightest bit to adjust his position so he can get closer, wedging a knee between your legs to press right against your core, and it makes you jolt back against the car door at the same time his head hits the roof just a bit too hard.

You both pause for a moment, the reality of your situation hitting you simultaneously, and then you’re laughing. It’s light and edged with unresolved want, but it’s enough to fracture the tension of the moment.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers. “Shouldn’t have gotten so carried away. This isn’t how I want to do this.”

“No?”

“No. You deserve way better than this old beater,” he chuckles, then leans down to kiss you. This kiss is lighter, no longer edged with tension and lust. He kisses you just to kiss you–there’s no end goal to it this time.

“What could be better than a BMW?” You tease lightly, trying to reassure him that you’re less disappointed than you really feel.

“You know. Something romantic. A proper bed, rose petals, maybe a few candles…”

“I don’t need all that,” you try to tell him.

“I think I do,” he admits. And that’s enough to pull you back, to remind you that you need to be patient and grateful that he values you so much as to want to do this whole thing properly. That his affection is something to be cherished, not taken for granted.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper. “I didn’t mean to be pushy.”

“Please don’t apologize.” He hesitates to untangle himself from you, even though he knows he needs to. “I want this just as bad. I just… I need it to be right.”

“As long as I have you, it’ll be right,” you reassure. “I hope you know that.”

He presses his lips to yours again, a slow and passionate kiss that he hopes communicates every bit of adoration he feels for you in this moment.

“It’ll be perfect. I swear,” he vows. You’ve never believed anything more whole-heartedly than you do this promise. 

~~~

“Wait, you’re telling me that you literally had her under you and you stopped?” Robin’s halfway through chewing a mouthful of popcorn and the absolute carnage inside her agape mouth makes Steve give her a light shove.

“It’s not polite to talk with your mouth full, y’know.”

“It’s not polite to blue-ball either!” She shoots back in utter disbelief.

“How do you think I felt? I was this close,” he holds his thumb and index finger barely millimeters apart, “to sealing the deal.”

She just shakes her head. “You, Steve Harrington, are a genuine, bonafide idiot.”

She’s not telling him anything he doesn’t know. It’s been three days since the aborted fling in the backseat of his car, and he’s barely thought of anything else. Especially since you’ve been away from home both of the past nights when he’s called. He’s starting to worry you’ve gotten the wrong impression, that he’s not interested or that he’s toying with you. It’s the exact opposite. He wants nothing more than to know you in the most intimate way he can know you. But he needs it to be flawless. He needs it to be well thought-out and precisely planned, the most romantic event in the history of copulation. He won’t settle for anything less, not with you. You deserve perfection, and he won’t give you anything less.

“It’s not that I don’t want to,” he tries to explain. “I want to more than anything. But if you’re gonna go to town on a goddess, you need to do some worshiping, y’know? I don’t feel like I’ve done enough.”

Your heart pounds in your chest as you hear this admission. You weren’t sure what to expect–worried that maybe visiting him at work was an overstep–but hearing him call you a goddess certainly wasn’t on your radar.

“You’ve done more than enough, Steve.”

The sound of your voice makes Steve jump and whirl around, oblivious to Robin’s sly smirk and mumbled excuse of needing to attend to something in the back room.

“H-hey!” He squeaks, then clears his throat in an attempt to get his tone back to its normal octave. “What… what’re you doing here?”

“Oh, just came to pick up a tape,” you tease. “But mostly I came to see you.”

“Me?” He takes a moment to ground himself, loosening his too-tight grip on the counter. “I mean… I tried to call you last night. And the night before?”

Your brow furrows. “Really? I didn’t get your message.”

Because he didn’t leave one. He clears his throat and says, “I just figured you were busy.”

“Oh, well, I volunteer at the animal shelter on Wednesdays, and last night was my friend’s 21st birthday. I’m sorry I missed you, though.”

He can tell that you’re really remorseful, and it makes his heart squeeze in his chest a little bit. He plays it off with a dismissive wave of his hand. “No, it’s fine, it’s… are you free tonight?”

You giggle at the abrupt redirect, but he’s played directly into your hand.

“Yeah, actually. I was hoping maybe you could help me pick out something for us to watch tonight? If you’re free too, that is.”

His dark eyes blink slowly, wondering if you’re aware of the implication behind your completely innocent words. You. Him. A movie. Alone. It’s enough to make his head spin. 

“I’ve never been freer.”

Conveniently, you’ve come in close enough to the end of his shift that by the time you’re done combing through Family Video’s vast selection for the perfect film to use as background noise, Steve’s ready to clock out. And since you walked over after finishing your own shift at the local dollar store up the street, it works out perfectly that he can give you a ride straight to his place.

You only glance in the backseat once, but it’s enough to get your mind churning. Remembering the feeling of him, of what could’ve been. Anticipating what will be.

“Parents home?” You ask as he pulls into his driveway and parks, trying to sound casual and utterly failing.

“Nope,” he answers easily. “Took a detour to Cabo on their way home from Hawaii.”

“Sounds glamorous. You opted out?”

“I’d rather be here in Hawkins with you than on a beach alone anyday.”

He must know the effect his words have on you. Surely he can hear the way your heart picks up pace as he looks at you with those dark, affectionate eyes.

“So… this is home.” He waves a hand around the entrance hall like it’s a shabby nightmare, not the grandest house you’ve ever been in.

“I’m starting to understand why they used to call you King Steve.”

He’s almost embarrassed at the mention of that old high school nickname. “Trust me, this isn’t why.”

“Well, a palace does befit you,” you tell him with a smirk.

“Stop, you’re gonna make me blush.” The wink he shoots you makes your gut erupt with butterflies, a sensation that would normally make you a little uncomfortable. With Steve, you’d take the butterflies all day long.

He gives you a cursory and oversimplified tour of the ground floor before leading you upstairs, and suddenly he’s sheepish. It’s been a few moons since he shared his room with a girl, so the nerves are justified. But that’s too simple an explanation. You’re not a girl. You’re his dream, his muse, his–to re-quote himself–goddess. No one he’s ever cared about more has stood where you’re standing, and it terrifies him.

He hides it well, though, busying himself with making a comfortable nest for you in his bed before setting up the television set on the dresser against the far wall. If ever there was a time to regain his confidence, it’s now. He curses whatever god there is that he feels like a fumbling virgin in this moment when nothing is even happening, when just the anticipation is enough to make his hands tremble.

There’s no more stalling once you’re comfortable and the tape is set to play. His heart pounds to the steady and frantic rhythm of one of those heavy rock songs Dustin listens to now as he sits next to you, hands itching to take a hold of you but also eager not to move too fast.

Almost as if you can sense his hesitation, you reach over and take his hand. “Steve?”

“Yeah?”

“Kiss me.”

And so he does, and the second his lips slot to yours all the worry and anxiety is gone. He’s Steve Harrington, and he knows what he’s doing. You’re you, and he’s wanted this for so long. After years of being lost, he deserves to finally find the love he’s been looking for. He’s never been so sure of anything as he is, in this moment of initial clarity, that he’s in love with you.

He can’t say it, not yet. He’s sure it’s too soon, and the last thing he wants is to scare you off. But he’s determined to prove it to you, and the only way besides words is action.

He can handle action.

There’s no more restraint or hesitation behind his touch. This is it, this is what you’ve both been waiting for. There’s no way in hell he’s not going to deliver now. He’s desperate for you, and it shows in the heavy way his hands drag along your curves whilst committing you to memory; the way his tongue languidly swipes across your bottom lip; the way he shifts effortlessly to hover over you even while deepening the kiss.

He’s overwhelming every single sense of yours in such a sudden fashion, and you wouldn’t want it any other way. Especially not when his hips meet yours in a deliciously slow grind and you finally get your first little taste of what’s to come.

He keens at the little breathless whimpers that leave your mouth, reading every single signal you provide him with and accommodating each. Moaning? He continues what he’s doing, intensifying if deemed necessary. Whining? He adds something, because he knows it’s hard to use your words when you’re wanting so badly. Squirming? He pays attention to the direction of your movement and pulls away or presses closer depending on necessity. It’s down to science for him; he only really cared about extracurriculars in school anyway, and this was certainly his favorite.

But then he comes to his senses–while he doesn’t pull away completely, he needs to clear his mind and he does so by letting up a bit, allowing the kiss to become languid and the heat to extinguish a bit. It only makes you whine more, and Steve curses his damned formula. You shouldn’t be part of an equation. You’re everything he’s ever wanted, and every aspect of your relationship so far has been a new experience for him. He needs this particular activity to be different too. No formulas or calculations. Just you and him and whatever happens naturally.

Clearly you can hear the cogs in his mind turning. You pull away with a concerned look on your face and ask, “what’s on your mind?”

Now’s not the time to hide anything from you, he reasons with himself. He wants to be authentic with you, and part of that means telling the truth, even if it’s not something particularly comfortable.

“I’m… falling into a routine. And I don’t want to,” he admits. He sighs and leans back, one hand dragging through his shaggy and disheveled hair, sure that he’s going to ruin the mood if he carries on like this. But he refuses to back away from the truth now. “This… it’s always been like…. Like a series of checkpoints. Boxes to check, y’know? Kiss you, take your clothes off, make you come, fuck you, say goodnight. And I don’t want… I can’t let it be like that with you. I need this to be… real. Not just some list to cross shit off of. I don’t–”

Steve takes a long, shaky breath before he can ramble on anymore. Never has someone so thoroughly gotten under his skin. He’s never felt so insecure, so unsure. It’s terrifying. The most terrifying part of it all, though, is that he likes it. He loves the feeling of the unfamiliarity, of doing this right. In a way, it’s almost like he’s doing all of this for the first time all over again. You’re his first date, first kiss, first time. All because he’s changed so drastically, because he’s not even remotely the same person he was just a year or two ago.

Your hands are so gentle as you cup his face, tenderly forcing his eyes to meet yours.

“Steve… we don’t have to do this, not if you’re not ready. I want to be with you, not just for this, but for everything. Everything that comes with you… that’s what I want. There’s no pressure. I would wait a hundred years for you to be ready so long as I could still have you.”

Steve’s breath shakes a little as he comprehends the gravity of your words. There’s nothing he can say that can properly convey the gratitude he holds for your words, so he says nothing at all.

In his silence, you continue. “You’re more than a body, you know that, right? You’re funny, and kind, and smart. Yes, smart, don’t look at me like that. You’re everything I’ve ever wanted to be close to. I just… I want to spend time with you. I want to watch stupid movies and eat diner food until we get sick and laugh at your stupid jokes… and maybe make love with you, sure, but that’s pretty low on the list as long as I just get to be with you.”

He doesn’t notice the tears until it’s too late–by the time you’re wiping them from the apples of his cheeks it’s far too late to take them back or hide them. With anyone else, he would be angry; at himself, for allowing himself to be so vulnerable. For allowing himself to be so emotional. With you, though… with you, his emotions make him feel strong. 

For the first time since you walked into his life, he’s not scared of losing you.

“I love you,” he tells you. His voice is firm, as fierce as the kiss he presses to your mouth, as powerful as the waves of emotion vibrating through his very soul. “I love you so much.”

He barely gives you a chance to reply, as keen as he is on physically proving his love to you through myriad passionate kisses that leave you breathless. But when you finally get the chance to use your voice after a barrage of kisses that start to trail down your neck, you whisper, “I love you too.”

Four words, and they’re all he needs to quell every worry or fear he’s had over doing this relationship properly with you. Why should he have to worry, after all, when he’s already succeeded? 

“I love you,” he whispers as he trails down your neck and to your chest, leaving tender love bites on the tops of your breasts once he’s properly liberated you from your shirt.

“I love you,” he mumbles through sucking a mark a few inches north of your navel.

“I love you,” he murmurs when his lips meet your waistband. His fingers make quick work of your pants as he scatters kisses over your stomach, unable to part his mouth from your skin for even a moment.

“I love you,” he affirms as his mouth meets your hot and waiting core.

There’s no more checklist. Because this isn’t simply sex, as it always has been for him in the past. This is love-making: the kind of sappy shit they talk about in all those Hallmark movies that he rolls his eyes at the sight of. It’s like losing his virginity all over again.

He understands the old adage of “the other half” now. You’ve ripped him to shreds and sewed him back together with strands of yourself. The end result is better than the original ever could’ve even dreamed to be. He’s sure he couldn’t possibly live without you now, that losing you would be like ripping out fresh and unhealed stitches.

You’re not sure how long he camps out between your trembling thighs, but it’s long enough for you to lose count of the number of times he pulls you apart–first with his languid tongue; then his long, curved fingers; then a combination of the two. It’s like he loses himself completely in your pleasure, not a single thought in his head except what he can do to bring you to the edge again, and again, and again.

You’re trembling with oversensitivity by the time his own needs overtakes his desperation to unravel you. So out of it that you feel drunk, like Steve’s laced you with absolute bliss so pure you can barely stand it.

You’re hardly present enough to appreciate the adonis before you when he finally undoes his own jeans, and that’s a damned shame because he’s so damned pretty. Long and thick, flushed at the girthy tip from his hitherto unacknowledged arousal. His lean thighs are pure muscle, and the dark thatch of hair that trails south from his navel makes your mouth water. He’s everything you dreamed he’d be and so much more.

“Steve…” You don’t know what else you can possibly say. All you can do is vainly hope that one whine of his name can convey all of the heat, frustration, tension, and above all longing, swirling through your head in the moment.

He breaks from his lustful reverie for a moment to smile as he leans in for another heated kiss; you think it’s safe to say you’ve gotten your point across.

He slows from his mania for a few moments, lips tender as they explore against yours once more. These kisses are languid, slow, yet no less heated. Even now, he’s trying to prove his love to you. As if you could somehow not believe him after everything that’s happened, every small moment you’ve spent with him witnessing how hard he’s trying for you.

Somewhere in between kisses he manages to wrestle a condom out of his nightstand, miraculously without ever breaking from your lips.

Now is where you cut in, finally fading out of your over-pleasured fugue and back to reality. You take the little foil packet from his hands and tear it open, eager for this small chance to finally get a hand or two on him.

He lets out the most gorgeous noise you’ve ever heard as you roll the rubber down his length; a deep, earthy, diaphragmatic moan just from the simple touch of your hand. You want to touch him even more, to wrest out more of those sounds from him; to see what other undiscovered responses you can pull from him as you pleasure him. But you know that now, he needs to set the pace. He believes he has something to prove, and you’re more than happy to let him prove it. There will be plenty of other opportunities to have him completely at your mercy, anyway.

There’s no way to describe the feeling as he slides into you. It’s more than bliss, more than euphoria, more than earth-shattering toe-curling mind-altering pleasure. It’s nothing more than feeling whole. Of never knowing you were missing a part of yourself until it’s suddenly returned to you. Of never knowing what home felt like until this exact moment.

Maybe it’s overdramatic. Maybe it’s outlandish and outrageous and a million other adjectives to feel something so overpowering and overwhelming from such a seemingly simple physical act. But in this moment, you know you’ve never felt anything as right as being connected to Steve in this way.

His lips hardly leave yours while he rolls his hips against you, easily finding the perfect angle to make your breath hitch and your hands scrabble for purpose.

It admittedly doesn’t last long, but it doesn’t have to. Once you start to tighten and pulse around him, he’s a goner–deep purposeful thrusts turning to hard, arrhythmic plunges in desperate search of release.

You’re still shaking from your high when he slowly pulls out of you. He keeps you close, arms linked around your waist and dragging you to lay on his chest as he flops back against the pillows. 

You’re not sure how long you lay like that, with Steve whispering sweet nothings into your hair and pressing absentminded kisses to your face. All you can really focus on is one all-consuming, life-changing fact.

“I love you, Steve Harrington.”

“I love you too,” he whispers back. He kisses you again, just a simple peck on your lips, and you know that he’s telling the truth. It’s an eternal truth: one that can’t be changed or altered in any way. Steve Harrington loves you with every fibre of his being, and he will for the rest of his life–even if you’re both blissfully unaware of it for now.

THE END

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[stuckinthesun]

༝༚༝༚ Tic-Tac-Toe ༝༚༝༚

Part 2

Black suit mod!Leon x fem!Reader

Leon masterlist

You hated these banquets, it was just a bunch of rich people trying to prove just how rich they were. If it wasn’t for the fact that you were childhood friends with the president’s daughter, you wouldn’t even be here.

Normally you wouldn’t be here, choosing to make some excuse to get out of it that Ashley would envy you for, but this dinner was an exception. It was to celebrate Ashley’s safe return home from being held hostage in Spain.

You’re here to support your friend, although she keeps being whisked away to talk to random people about her “adventure” like it was some thrilling vacation.

So here you sat, in the back of the room alone, with your own tray of champagne and a pen. What’s the pen for, you ask? Well, as you sat there, drinking and bored out of your mind, you looked down at your legs and realized something. The fishnet stockings you wore made for the perfect tic-tac-toe canvas.

And that’s how you’ve been spending the last ten minutes, playing a game of tic-tac-toe against yourself, when you hear someone clear their throat. You look up, a little sluggishly due to the alcohol in your system, and when you see who’s standing at your table, you’re eyes widen.

Leon S. Kennedy, aka the man who went all the way to Spain and saved Ashley, by himself.

You’ve met him before, briefly, when he first brought Ashley home, but you haven’t really seen him since. You were too focused on your friend to really register anything else.

But now that everything’s calmed down, and Ashley has reassured you that she’s alright, you finally take in the agent who rescued her.

And he looked… he looked good.

The man is wearing a three piece suit, the dress shirt and tie a dark grey and the outer coat a nice black, and he looked at you with amusement as he asked, “Are you playing tic-tac-toe… on your leg?”

You look down at your own leg, as if you needed to confirm that was what you were in fact doing, before looking back up at him, “And what if I am?”

Leon laughs, and it sounds so pretty that you instantly decide you need to hear it again. The man pulls out the chair next to you and sits down, “I’m not judging you, actually seems more entertaining than anything else here.”

“Ah a man with taste,” You say, and move your chair until it’s closer to his before propping your leg up on his lap, “Well then, Leon, X’s or O’s?”

Now it’s you looking at him with amusement as his eyes widen and flicker between your leg in his lap and your face, “You’re serious?”

“Very, now grab a glass and make your move.” You instruct, pushing the pen into his hand and grabbing your own glass before taking a swig.

Leon just looks at you for a moment, and then at the pen in his hand, and then your leg in his lap. You watch him with a raised eyebrow as he seems to shrug to himself, grabs a glass of champagne, down it in one go and then grab your leg, carefully drawing an X through a gap in your stockings.

You whooped a little louder than you meant to, making some of the guests nearby look at the both of you. Leon shushed you with a laugh, putting a hand over your mouth and you giggled, pleased with yourself for hearing that sound again.

Still giggling you took the pen from his grasp and looked at your leg, deciding where to place your move. Leon leaned over a little to watch as he said, “So this is gonna be really awkward since you clearly know my name-“

You let out a dramatic gasp, and look up just in time to watch him roll his eyes while fighting off a smirk, “You don’t know my name?!”

“You never-“

“Shame!”

“You never introduced yourself!” Leon defended himself, picking up another glass of champagne, “You just thanked me, hugged me and left!”

“I was a little preoccupied,” You glare playfully, drawing an O right next to his X, “My best friend just got back from being kidnapped, remember?”

“Yeah, I’m the one that saved her, remember?” Leon leaned closer and plucked the pen from your fingers.

You leaned in closer to, “Yeah, that’s why we’re both at this stupid thing, remember?”

His hand, that had stayed respectfully on your knee since he first touched you, slid a little higher. Your breath hitched at the feeling of his fingers getting caught in your tights and his hot breath fanning your face, “So are you gonna tell me your name, or are you gonna make me guess?”

You smirk and open your mouth-

“Ahem,” The sound of someone clearing their throat startled both of you.

You and Leon jumped away from each other with lightning speed, so fast you about fell out of your chair trying to get your legs off his lap. When you looked up you saw none other than Ashley Graham herself, wearing a shit eating grin as she tried not to laugh.

“Ashley,” You greeted nonchalantly, raising an empty champagne glass toward her.

“Y/N,” Ashley said, unable to hold in a chuckle. You see Leon look at you from your peripheral and sigh, bummed you didn’t get to tell him your name yourself.

“Leon,” Ashley says then, and the agent sits up instantly, looking at the blonde girl, “My dad’s been looking for you.”

“Oh, uh,” Leon looked at you, and you looked back at him with a sad smile. He returned the smile and with a small sigh he stood up, “Right, thanks Ashley.”

“Of course, bye Leon.” Ashley smiled knowingly, and you could’ve sworn you saw the agent blush.

“Bye. It was nice to officially meet you, Y/N.” Leon said, giving you one last smile before walking away, leaving you with your friend.

“Why do you have X’s and O’s on your leg?”

…and ink on your leg.

I found the picture on the right and just knew I had to write something

[johnwickb1tsch]

bittersweet ~ a yandere!John Wick x fem!reader sunshine/grump coffee shop AU... Part 32 all chapters

WARNING: NSFW, SEXUAL CONTENT, YANDERE SH!T. Plz take care. I luv u all. 😘

The closer you get to the house, as you make your way back up the mountain, the more and more anxious you feel. It seethes in your bones, this feeling of aching disquiet. 

It’s not because you know he’s going to punish you. 

It’s because you remember what you said, in the heat of the moment when you dared to bare your truth to John Wick.

You’d finally fucking said it.

 I’m your girl. 

You’d told him that you are his, and you’d meant it, and he didn’t hear you, or he didn’t believe you. 

There is a ringing in your ears that only gets worse as the peaks of the house come into view through the thick trees. Only once you are inside the gates, standing on the sunny flagstone patio, do you begin to resist him again. “Wait,” you plead. “Please, I’m not ready to go back inside yet.”

“You should have thought about that before you ran from me.” He doesn’t sound angry anymore. Just…matter of fact. Inevitable. Immovable. 

You know that tone, as surely as you know you are fucked. 

“I was playing,” you insist again, trying to twist out of his iron grip. It’s futile, of course. The only time in your life you had an advantage over John Wick was with the help of gravity, running downhill through a maze of trees. Here, now, you know there is no hope in resisting him.  

“I’m still not sure about that.” You shouldn’t feel guilty about the undertone of sadness in his words. 

You know you should be gentle with this man, in his fragile state. You know, deep down, that fighting him like this gets you nowhere but dug deeper in a hole of your own making. But maybe you are beginning to lose it too. This taste of freedom reminded you of what you had lost, and you are not so eager to let it go again without a fight. 

“You aren’t listening to me!” you snarl, still pulling on your arm, getting more frantic by the second. “I told you! I told you that I’m yours, finally, and it’s like you don’t even care! All you want is to keep me under your thumb!”

You know by his now thunderous expression that this is not helping your case at all, but you are too infuriated to stop.

“I heard you,” he growls, then hauls you up over his shoulder in a fireman’s carry like you are naught but a sack of potatoes. “I heard you call me an old man, and laugh with joy as those quick little feet carried you away from me.” 

You squirm against him but it comes to nothing, and in no time he has you back in the house, the door secured. 

Back in your prison. 

He does not put you down, striding for the stairs. You hate it, but the cavewoman part of you is impressed when he carries you all the way to your bedroom, breathing like a dragon through his nostrils as he tosses you down on the bed hard enough to bounce. 

There is a pregnant moment as you glare at each other. Even through his anger, there is a glitter of unshed tears at the corners of his eyes, and you know you have pushed this man to the very brink once more. 

You shouldn’t feel guilty for that either–but you do. 

“I”m disappointed, y/n. I thought we were past these childish games.”

“You keep me locked up like an animal, and you’re surprised when I frolic a little when you let me feel the sun on my face for the first time in months?”

“Like an animal?!” He looks around the opulent house–really it only resembles a cabin in broadest terms. “I have spoiled you rotten. Anything you possibly could have wanted, I provided. Things you never could have had, in your old life.”

 Except the thing you needed the most. Freedom. 

“Yes, you’ve done very well at distracting me with pretty things,” you admit, ashamed of yourself now. “But I’m not a magpie, John. You can’t keep me in a cage forever.”

His next words fill you with ice. 

“You’d be surprised what I can do, y/n.”

He takes a step closer to the bed, his dark form looming over you, his big hands clenching and unclenching at his sides. This is it, you realize. All the progress you seemingly made had flown out the window. He was going to spank you hard, the way he’d promised not to, or tie you up, or some diabolical thing you can’t even fathom because your brain just doesn’t work that way.

You close your eyes, because you don’t want him to see you cry, and you don’t want to see what’s coming. You count the time going by in heartbeats, thundering in your ears. You wait for your world to fall apart–again.

You wait, and you wait some more.

In the end, you have to look. You find him still standing there, silent as a ghost, looking down at you. Looking through you. 

In the end he shakes his head, mostly to himself, and strips out of his jacket, down to his t-shirt. Then, he reaches for your boot. Too late, you try to scramble away, but he has your ankle in his unbreakable grasp, pinning it on the bed. “I thought you said you were mine, y/n? Yet here you are, still trying to run from me. You wonder why I don’t believe you.”

“You’re scaring me.” You may as well be honest about it now.

“In all the time we’ve been together, have I ever truly hurt you?”

He plucks at the laces with sharp movements, indicating the undertow churning beneath his still expression.

“Besides fucking me raw?”

The corner of his mouth twitches, despite himself. “Besides that.”

You sigh. “No.”

“Then trust me.”

“I’m not sure I can do that right now.”

He nods, to himself as much to you, pulling off your other shoe. “Then you understand the situation we’re in.” He reaches for the button of your pants next. You try to roll away, because you’d rather have this talk without your hoohaa bared to the wind–again. But he just grips the waist of your pants with impatience, hauling you to him sharply. Fabric tears in protest, but not before he has you pinned beneath him, his hips wedged between your legs. He leans over you, those trunks for arms on either side of you. As ever, your fear is tinged–utterly contaminated–with desire. 

It might be the death of you. Your loins protest even from this small bit of contact, after the way he rode you before in the woods. 

“What do you want, John?” You hate yourself, for how small your voice sounds. Did he make you this way, or were you always such a coward? Were you always so feckless, so easily led? Doubt and self-loathing seethe inside you like poison brewing in your veins. 

“I want you to prove what you said earlier.” 

You narrow your eyes at this; a part of you is grateful for the surge of righteous anger that rises in your breast. It infuriates you, that you have to prove anything to him, at this point. Does he want proof? Or does he just want your submission? Maybe they’re one and the same to him. 

It breaks your heart all over again. 

“Well, I’m not in the mood.”

You wait for his anger, ready for the fight again, craving it–but it doesn't come. After a long moment he just nods, his hair swinging into his eyes, which are cast down, away from yours. You see the flash of hurt upon his face, there and gone like a ripple in a pool, his fists flexing in the duvet beneath you. 

Immediately, you feel fucking terrible. 

“John…” You reach for him, but he’s too quick for you, as ever. In the blink of an eye he has retreated out of your reach–then out of the room. You blink stupidly at the sound of the door slamming. 

You hear the electronic lock whirr, and with a heart filled inexplicably with despair you know you’ve arrived back at square one. 

***

As time goes on, you decide it’s worse than square one. That taste of freedom was like a shot of pure heroin in your veins, and now you are inconsolable in your withdrawal. Just as bad, you find, is your longing for him. 

He leaves you alone in the room for days. Your meals appear at your bedside when you sleep. When you try not to sleep–you do not eat. Now you absolutely emulate a caged animal, pacing in your boredom. 

You try throwing books at the security camera, but fail to dislodge it. You give it up when you break the spine of one and feel guilty. Even though you know John can repair it–it’s not the book’s fault you ran your mouth. 

Maybe it’s not your fault either. 

You even try to entice John by putting on a little show, wearing one of the slinky negligées he’d bought for you, touching and teasing yourself in full view of the electronic eye that tracks your day to day. All it wins you is a lackluster orgasm–all else pales, you find, compared to his thick fingers and strong hands upon you. There’s not a naughty toy in the world that could compare to his cock either–not that you have any at your disposal. 

Radio silence. 

Your heart aches, and now you really feel as though you are losing your mind. 

You shouldn’t miss him. The madman. The monster. The absolute beast. 

You do. 

You miss the John you’ve come to know, when he is doing well. His gentle smile, and his deep voice, and the glitter of his dark eyes when you say something that inadvertently amuses him. You miss his strong arms, and his long body tucked against yours while you sleep. Your nights have never felt so lonely, having had John Wick, and now not having him. 

You simply are not a whole person, anymore, without John, and maybe that should scare you more than anything else he’s done. 

However–it just fills you with despair. Your heart feels like the tar pit of La Brea, blackened and filled with the bones of the love you’d shared. For surely, you’ve really broken it now. 

At first, you thought he meant to just shake you up, show you what life would be like without him if you should succeed to run… Unbearable, is the answer. 

Worse yet, however, as it goes on you fear the root of this confinement lays not in punishment, but in him not wanting your company after your perceived betrayal. He’d asked for your assurance, and you’d thrown it back in his face, too caught up in your own fear, your own anger, your own desires. You reckon he can’t stand you now, and he’s probably just trying to figure out what the hell to do with you. 

A week of solitude goes by before you decide to comb through every book on the towering shelves that take up the wall. Desperate to distract yourself from this clawing loneliness inside, you read a bit of this, and a bit of that, making stacks in odd piles across the floor, cairns of your reading whims organized in a logic known only to you. 

In one of these books you find tucked a picture of Helen. It can only be a scene from their wedding day, John in a dapper dark gray suit, she in a sweet but sensible white dress, a crown of daisies in her hair. He is kissing her cheek, and she is scintillatingly happy. You feel it radiating like the sun, even through the photo. What a force she must have been. 

It is no wonder John Wick has gone mad without her. 

What a paltry substitute you must be. 

Perhaps you are extra sensitive at the moment to such things, but you weep in your hands, unable to stop until you’ve exhausted yourself entirely, laying on the floor amongst your stonehenge constructed of books. You fall asleep there, not even possessing the energy to move yourself up to the bed. 

That is when the explosion wakes you. 

It is loud enough to rock the entire house, several of your bookstacks toppling over. You leap to your feet, your ears ringing. 

Then you hear the gunfire. 

It is beneath your very feet, in the downstairs, volleys and volleys of rounds. You freeze as you listen, fear rending your heart to a lump of ice in your chest. 

Which of John Wick’s old enemies has found you this time?

The power dies, plunging the room into blackness. There are no street lights through the window here in the woods to light your way. There’s barely even a moon this night. 

Huddling in the dark like a scared little woodland animal, you realize, that possibly this means the lock on the door is no longer engaged. The battle is still raging beneath you–you take heart in that, as terrifying as it is, because it means John is not dead. 

You are not proud of how long it takes for you to gather the courage to force yourself to your feet, to make your way by memory to the door in your pajamas and bare feet, and try the handle. 

It turns freely, and you are faced with a new choice. 

Hide like a coward, helpless and untrained as you are, or join the fray. 

You pluck up a heavy book, the only possible weapon left to you, and slip out into the hallway. 

It really is like poetry in motion, watching John Wick fight. From the landing above, you stare as he mows through the home invaders, men dressed like commandos in all black, kicking and striking, breaking limbs and shooting them with their own guns, taking down one then the next until the living room is scattered with dead and splattered with their lifeblood. 

His final opponent is an even match in size. He wears a mask, and that is all you can discern. After an assessing pause they charge each other, moving so quickly you can hardly follow. Their struggle takes them deeper into the kitchen, out of your view. 

Making yourself small as possible, you scurry down the stairs. 

You pause at a corpse whose head sits at an impossible angle, neck clearly broken, and trade your heavy tome for his handgun. It’s been forever since you’ve handled a firearm. You try to remember the lessons your father taught you a lifetime ago, and come up blank in the absolute stress of the situation. You hope that all you have to do is pull the trigger. 

You can hear the sounds of fighting deeper in the kitchen, maybe in the breakfast nook beyond. You hear grunts and the sound of flesh striking flesh, the crash of breaking crockery and furniture. Adrenaline sings through your veins, and you realize with a strange detachment that you don’t actually expect to walk away from this alive. But John is there, and maybe he needs you, so you go.    

You arrive in time to see John’s opponent throw him to the ground in some complicated jiu-jitsu move, using John’s own weight against him to send him sprawling across the floor. You see the flash of a knife, as the attacker pounces, pushing the blade with all his force towards John’s chest. John resists, holding him at bay with all his strength, and the knife hovers, even as the attacker puts all his weight behind it, desperate to drive it home. 

You do not even think, as you scream and lift the gun, pulling the trigger. The sound and the fury of it surprises you, the large-caliber weapon jumping in your hand. 

Somehow, one of the bullets catches the man perfectly in the side of the throat. You stare in horror as he falls over with a gurgling groan.  

An eerie silence falls upon the house, seemingly the only sounds your heartbeat in your ears. But you realize it is only because you are now partially deaf. The sound of Dog barking furiously leaks in through the ringing, from behind a door down the hall. John must have sequestered him to keep him safe when the shooting started. 

With wide eyes and slow feet you approach, the gun shaking in your hand. You can tell that John is hurt badly, cuts on his face, his arms, and you can see he is bleeding beneath the soft fabric of his white henley. Yet he does not ask you for help, looking at you with a strange sadness in his eyes. 

Then you realize he is looking at you–with the gun. 

A long, weary breath escapes him, and he glances to the blown out window beyond. The result of the explosion, no doubt. The cool night breeze wafts through the void, carrying the bewitching scent of the trees, lifting your hair.

Your portal to freedom, should you be ruthless enough to claim it. 

He closes his eyes, nodding to himself as much as you. “It’s ok, y/n. Do what you’ve got to do.”

The horror of it dawns on you; he thinks you will kill him too, to gain your freedom. 

Maybe you even have every right to. 

It infuriates you to the bottom of your soul, that he thinks you even could. 

“You asshole,” you snarl, hitting the right button by pure luck to eject the clip, which is empty, racking the slide and throwing the blocky handgun across the room in your fury, shattering a crock full of utensils on the far counter. “You would put that on me?” You fall to your knees beside him. 

Does the only path to your freedom have to be his death? 

As though you could survive the guilt of it?

As though you can survive without him, at all?

Carefully you lift his shirt to look at his wounds, and you curse at the sight of the nasty cut on his side. “Fuck. I’ve got to call an ambulance.” You reach for a dishtowel, folding it and pressing it into his side, making him wince. 

“No ambulance,” he groans. “No police.” 

Now the tears arrive, filling your eyes and pouring down your cheeks. “John, you are hurt, and I don’t know what to do.” You know he needs professional medical attention. There is another bloodstain on his shoulder, a bullet wound, you realize. Jesus Christ. You don’t have enough hands. 

“Hold this,” you demand, putting his hand over his side, scrambling for the drawer where he keeps the kitchen towels. 

“Baby…” He grunts as you press the next towel down. 

“Where is your phone?”

“You’re not leaving?” He reaches for your face with a bloodied hand, and you clutch him to you, pressing your cheek into his palm.

At a time like this, that is what he asks you? It shatters your heart all over again, and you press your lips to his in a fervent kiss, the taste of him tainted with copper. You hope it’s only his blood, but somehow you doubt it. 

“No, I’m not leaving, you idiot,” you grouse. “Now who the fuck do I call?” 

[jellieland]

A week or two after the games, Grian will usually check in with the victor.

It's a habit that's probably more for his own benefit than anyone else's. But it is, he thinks, a good habit nonetheless.

After all, as fun as it all is, things can get a bit... intense, towards the end, and it's good for his peace of mind to make sure the last one standing is ok with how things shook out.

Nothing much has ever really come of it before; they're all pretty resilient. He doubts this time’ll be different. Except- well.

Something about it all itches at the back of his mind, and he hasn’t been able to work out why. There was the actual ending, of course, but also Grian may have been whispering in Martyn's ear about how boring that final showdown was turning out to be, and how narratively satisfying it would be if he just betrayed the other two and got it over with, so.

If nothing else, it feels like he's got no reason to break with tradition.

There's just one more concern.

Martyn seems to have made it almost impossible to contact him.

It's not... unheard of, for players to keep to themselves most of the time, especially when it comes to those they don’t share a server with. It seems a little uncharacteristic of Martyn, but the last time Grian saw him outside the games was before they even started, so maybe he does things differently these days.

There are certainly a great many reasons why that could be the case, most of which are perfectly sensible.

But Grian's never been able to resist picking at a puzzle put in front of him, whether the puzzle likes it or not, so he is going to talk to Martyn. And he can just see what happens, and worry about any consequences if and when they appear.

Luckily, he already has a way to do just that.

He doesn't usually need to do this - although it is very funny to startle Scar or Mumbo with it sometimes when they're concentrating. Honestly it's usually less effective than communicators, with how much effort it takes.

But he does have a way. The same way he used to whisper in Martyn's ear very recently, in fact.

He reaches out, away from his home, away from his body, and it feels a little like simultaneously overextending himself, and putting his foot down on a step he thought was flat ground.

That is... not how this usually feels.

It's odd. Rather unnerving.

But it works.

He finds Martyn. Watches the vague shape of him solidify into something more real.

He’s still wearing his red life outfit, for some reason. His eyes are closed. Around his head, the coral curls like a blood-red crown.

“What do you think you're playing at?” Asks Grian.

Martyn blinks his eyes open slowly, looking less confused than Grian would expect for someone hearing a disembodied voice out of nowhere. “Oh good.” He says dryly. “You again.”

He squawks indignantly. “Hey, what's that supposed to mean?”

There is silence for a few seconds.

“...Hey.” Martyn says, and as flippant as he suddenly sounds, he looks as thrown off balance as Grian feels. “Not sure who this is, but I think you might have the wrong number!”

“I think that's unlikely.” He deadpans. “Where are you? I haven't been able to get hold of you.”

“Uh-” There's a short pause as he looks around at wherever he is right now. “Falling into endless nothingness, looks like. Same old, same old, am I right?”

Grian rolls his eyes. “Yeah, ok. Well, I suppose you don't have to tell me.” A part of him makes a note of Martyn’s wording, though. Just in case.

“...Hm. Well, not gonna lie, I do appreciate the change of pace, but I would love to know what exactly you want from me. You know, just on the off chance that you feel like giving me any clues.”

It's at this point that Grian remembers: one of the main reasons this method of communication is good for messing with people is that it makes him sound, um. A little different. And while he can see Martyn, it’s not as if Martyn can see him.

...Best to just pretend that hadn't slipped his mind.

“You do realize this is Grian, right?” He asks, as though it ought to be obvious.

“Riiight, yeah, sure.” Says Martyn. “And I'm also Grian, did you know that?”

“Oh for- what, do you want me to tell you some secret only the two of us would know, or something?”

“Nah.” Says Martyn. “That wouldn't work.”

“Elaborate.” Says Grian, through gritted teeth.

“You know what? I don't think I will!” Replies Martyn brightly.

Grian takes a deep breath in through his nose. “I'm beginning to wonder why I bother.” He grinds out.

Martyn snorts. “Tell me about it.”

There's a short silence.

“But- ok.” He continues. “Just suppose for the sake of argument that you are Grian.”

“...Yes?” Asks Grian warily.

“I have a question for you.”

“...Yeeees?” Asks Grian, even more warily.

The silence stretches for several long moments.

“What's up?” Asks Martyn.

“Yeah ok, this isn’t worth it, I'm leaving now.”

“Wait! No, I'm serious!” Under the amusement, there's a note of something that sounds almost like nervousness in his voice. It's uncharacteristic. Unnerving.

“What are you talking about?” Asks Grian, trying very hard to keep his voice at least mostly free of annoyance.

“Oh, you know! What's going on, what's the deal, what'd you want to talk to me for?” There's a slight hesitation. “You need help or something?”

“I- ok. That's actually sort of relevant. It's really nothing too complicated, Martyn.” He says, grumpily. “All I wanted to do was make sure you're good with what happened at the end of the last game.”

Martyn blinks, and goes very still.

There is a long silence - long enough that Grian starts to feel concerned.

And then Martyn laughs.

It's not a nice laugh.

“Good, huh. You want to know if I’m good with it. That sure is an interesting choice of words.”

“...How so?” He asks, guardedly.

“Grian. Grian, I’m not sure if you remember this, but I won. I won this one, Grian.” Every word he says, however restrained, sounds like it’s had to claw its way out of him. He glares at nothing. “And guess what? It's just like the others. I don’t really care enough for any of it to matter to me, anymore, and that's fine by me.”

Now that's... a lot to unpack. “You- I'm sorry?”

“Well that makes one of us then, doesn't it?” His voice is coated with scorn.

“What are you talking about?”

“Do you actually think I’m going to explain myself to you?” He asks, looking half-amused. “You, of all people?”

“Well unfortunately, Martyn, I can’t exactly put Ren on the line, so I’m afraid I’m all you’re going to get.” He snaps, and instantly regrets it when he sees the look in Martyn’s eyes.

There is a short silence.

Grian shifts uncomfortably. He’s not going to apologize, obviously. But. Well. “That... ok, maybe that was a bit much.” He says.

“...Little bit, yeah.”

There is another silence.

After a while, Martyn speaks.

“I would’ve betrayed him too, you know.” He says coolly.

“What, Ren?”

“Yeah. At the drop of a hat. Soon as it was convenient.”

“I mean sure, I suppose?” Says Grian, caught off guard. “You didn’t, though. Did you? When you had the chance.”

“Eh.” He shrugs, as though that’s an irrelevant detail. “It would’ve been more dramatic later. You know how it is.”

...There's no real way he can justify saying no to that, is there? “Yeah.” He says. “I guess I do.”

He tries to picture the King, betrayed. The Hand, triumphant.

“I dunno, though.” He says, thoughtful. “I don’t think you ever could’ve done it, to be honest. Not in the first one. Whatever it was you were planning, it was just never how that story was going to go.”

“That’s not true.” He says it just slightly too fast. “I know that’s not true.”

Grian scoffs. “You know thinking about something isn’t the same as doing it, right?”

“What, no, really?” He rolls his eyes. “You don’t say!”

“What I’m saying,” He lets his voice turn biting, “Is that you’re being stupid.”

Martyn lets out a startled laugh. It’s surprisingly genuine. “Wow. You’re really bad at this, dude.”

Grian bristles. “Well why am I the one who has to do it then? Why don’t you talk to someone else, if you hate talking to me so much?”

“I mean…” He makes an unconvinced noise. “Obvious problems aside, when do you even expect me to do that? We usually have other things to worry about.”

“I don’t know, maybe at literally any point between the games?” He sighs exasperatedly. “There’s no way you’re that busy.”

“Between the games?” Martyn asks incredulously, and Grian suddenly feels as though something dangerous is hovering over their heads, just about to drop. “What do you mean, between the games?”

“I mean between the games! Like- now! What do you think this is, right now, if it’s not between the games?” He snaps.

“This right now?” He looks nonplussed. “I think we’re usually asleep for most of this bit. Or possibly we forget about it. As you can probably imagine, it’s hard to know for sure.”

“Now I know that’s not true.” He says firmly, ignoring the unease trying to creep up on him. “I know I do stuff between games, and I know I don’t just forget about it. That makes no sense.”

“I mean, I don't necessarily mean everything between the games, more just this specifically.” He gestures around at nothing. “That gets more complicated, though. But you- hm.” He looks curious. “That’s interesting. Where even are you, then, at the moment?”

“I’m at home! Which is where I thought everyone else was too!”

Martyn seems to consider this for a few moments, and then he frowns, and then his expression goes blank. “…Oh.” He says. “Yeah. No, that… makes sense, actually. Yeah. You’re probably right.”

“Wha- what do you mean? Right about what?”

“Everyone probably went home. Or, at least, they thought they did. And hey, what’s the difference, when you get right down to it?”

“...Ok, I’m going to ignore the second part for now, I already got past that little existential crisis after Ren and Doc’s whole… thing… in season eight- if you think everyone went home, why are you- what was it you said- ‘falling into endless nothingness’?”

There’s another pause.

“...You’re really gonna make me say it, huh? That seems cruel, even for you.”

“Wait, no, what do you-”

“Where else do you think I would go?” It sounds less like an admission and more like an accusation. “What ‘home’ do you think I have left, Grian?”

“Look.” Snaps Grian, feeling vaguely tricked. “It’s not my fault that you-”

“Yeah, it never is, is it?” He glares into the darkness. “It’s always a tragic inevitability with you, never a choice you’re making. That way you get to stab people in the back and pretend to be sad about it. Best of both worlds, huh?”

Grian splutters for a few seconds. “Why are you being so rude to me??”

“Because you’re you and I’m me.” He smirks. “Don’t know what you expected, honestly.”

“Oh yeah? Who’s hiding behind inevitability now?” Grian retorts, perhaps a trifle vindictively.

“I never said I wasn’t a hypocrite, sometimes. Also, I never said I felt bad about it.” He replies levelly, and all at once, they’re talking about something else.

“You didn’t need to say it.” Snaps Grian. “You might be good at lying but you’re not perfect. I could see in your face that it hurt.”

He narrows his eyes. “It felt good, actually.”

“Wow, good for you.” He says, almost amused suddenly. “You didn’t say I was wrong, though.”

His expression twists into something unreadable. “I know you, Grian. Like recognizes like.” He says, voice low and dangerous. “You’re a liar.”

Grian shrugs, despite the fact that Martyn will not see it. “And you’re a coward. Your point?”

“I don’t need to justify myself to someone who refuses to admit that he could have chosen to be better, if he’d ever wanted to.” He spits out.

“Hey, at least I don’t try and convince myself I’m a monster just because I want to survive.”

That one strikes something tender; he can tell. “Right, yeah, and you’re just a blameless angel and everyone you cut down had it coming, I’m sure.”

“I didn’t say that. But since you bring it up… how many people did you give up your time for, again?” He grins. “Is it less than one? Because I think it is. I think I’ve got you beat there, Martyn.”

“And where did it get you?” He snarls.

“Home, in the end.”

Martyn flinches back as though he’s been struck.

“Did you forget about that part?” Asks Grian.

There’s a long pause.

Martyn fidgets with the end of the banner he wears around his waist, pulling at where the white threads are coming undone. He stares out into the darkness. “Yeah.” He says. “I guess I did.”

The satisfaction of winning the argument feels less potent, suddenly.

“You’re right.” Says Grian, after a while. “I’m really bad at this.”

Martyn laughs quietly. “To be fair, I’m not exactly helping.”

“You’re really not.”

He sighs. “You know pulling the knife out just makes the wound start bleeding again, don’t you? That’s all we’re doing here. That’s all we’re going to do to each other. We’re too alike to do anything else, unless we just don’t do anything. And hey, we’re not great at that either.”

“Hmm.” Says Grian begrudgingly. “I’d say something about inevitability again, but I honestly don’t think you’re wrong.”

“We both just enjoy pushing buttons too much to be particularly good at not pushing them, I guess.” Martyn sounds half-amused, half-resigned.

Grian makes an irritated noise. “Yes, alright, I don’t need another reminder of the whole button debacle.”

There is more silence.

After a while, Grian speaks again. “There’s something I was wondering about, actually.”

“Oh yeah?” Martyn raises an eyebrow.

“What’s the reason?” He asks.

“You’re gonna have to be more specific with that one, mate.”

“‘This is a death match for a reason.’” He says matter-of-factly. “That’s what you said. So- what is it? What’s the reason?”

Martyn blinks, then lets out a short, harsh laugh. “You think I know that?”

“No, not really. That’s why I wondered what you meant when you said it.”

“It- look. I don’t know if you’re expecting philosophy from me, or something. It’s a death game. People die, and it doesn’t have to mean anything. It doesn’t have to be special, it doesn’t have to be honourable, it doesn’t have to be fair. That’s what I meant.” He frowns. “You know that.”

“I do.” He admits.

“Then why ask?” Martyn looks around as though this time, somehow, he might be able to find Grian’s face in the dark.

He doesn’t.

“I just-” Grian sighs. “What do you want?” He asks. “What do you actually want, Martyn?”

The question sits heavy in the darkness between them.

“What do you want me to say?” Martyn asks. He sounds more tired than Grian’s ever heard him.

“I want you to tell the truth.” Grian says. He needs to know. He needs to know.

“Now, Grian.” Says Martyn, voice gently chiding. “Have you met me? You know I can’t do that.”

“Pretend it’s a lie, then.”

Martyn’s grip on the banner he wears tightens, slightly. There is a long, long silence.

“Or how about,” Says Grian, eventually, “You say something, and I won’t know whether it’s a lie or not.”

There is another pause.

Martyn frowns at the red of the fabric in his hands, as though it might offer him something.

As far as Grian can tell, it does not.

He’s just beginning to give up hope of ever getting an answer when Martyn speaks, so softly he almost doesn’t hear it.

“I want it to be warm again.” He says.

It’s quiet.

For a moment – just a moment, no more – Grian remembers bloody, aching fists. He remembers burning heat.

“Well.” He says. “That makes one of us, then. Doesn’t it?”

“Yeah.” Says Martyn, voice low. “I guess it does.”

There’s another short second of silence before Martyn speaks again, sounding cheerful. “So, suppose I’ll see you in the next one, huh? If that ever happens.” He grins. “Wanna take bets on how hard Scott’ll have to try not to win it? I’m gonna go with very.”

Grian snorts. “I’m not taking that bet. That man is infuriatingly good at surviving.”

“You’re not wrong! You are not wrong.” He gestures into the void. “And don’t even get me started on Timmy’s whole thing, I think we both know how that one’s gonna go. Unless you want to bet against him being gone first next time round?”

“You’re not Scar.” Says Grian. “There’s no way you talk anyone into taking that bet in a million years. Except maybe Timmy.”

“Fair, fair.”

There’s a short pause.

Grian hesitates for a moment before he speaks – almost, but not quite, reluctant. “Why do you keep looking back?” He asks. “There’s nothing left for us there. You know that, right?”

“I mean, let me know when you find a better place to look.” He tilts his head to the side slightly, curious, and frowns. “Do you really never want to go back?”

“No.” Says Grian. “Never.”

Martyn opens his mouth, and then, uncharacteristically, closes it again. “Yeah.” He says. “Me neither.”

Grian is tempted, momentarily, to tell Martyn to take the banner off and let it go. Let the darkness take it. Prove it.

But just like Martyn, he lets it drop.

Mutually assured destruction is a potent thing.

Now all he has to do is the hard part. The part he’s dreading most of all.

The main concern is phrasing it correctly. Making it sound just how he wants it to sound.

After some thought, he thinks he’s found the words he's looking for.

He could always be wrong, though. He’s usually more one for incredible violence than smooth talking.

“Martyn?” He asks cautiously, casually. “Do you want me to help you?”

The expression that crosses Martyn’s face is unreadable.

He processes the question for a few moments, before he answers.

“Nah. I’m good.” He says, voice guarded. “Don’t worry about it.”

And that’s the rub, isn’t it.

Because now Grian has to decide whether he’s going to let Martyn lie to him or not.

Whether he’s going to pass the test that’s been set before him, or not.

...

Grian’s not a monster.

He’s just realistic.

There's nothing he could do, anyway.

“Well.” He says levelly. “Just let me know if that changes.”

(Martyn would do the same to him. It’s not a justification, or an excuse. But he knows it to be true.)

Martyn stares out into the darkness. His eyes are almost, but not quite, resentful. “Sure thing, man. Why wouldn’t I.”

It’s not said like a question, so Grian doesn’t answer it. “Well, you know I can’t stay here forever.”

“I do know that.”

“Any messages you want me to pass on to any of the hermits? I know you haven’t seen Mumbo in a while.” It’s not really a compromise, or a peace offering. Hopefully, however, it’s close enough to one or the other of those to act in their stead.

Martyn closes his eyes. Breathes in. Breathes out. Opens his eyes again. “If you were Grian, then maybe.” His gaze is cold. “But I think this hypothetical has gone on long enough.”

...It’s a lot easier for both of them, if Martyn believes that.

He’s positive Martyn knows that.

Just this once, perhaps he can manage to not look a gift horse in the mouth.

“For what it’s worth,” He says, looking away, “I moved on from the Bad Boys when it got too expensive to keep them alive.”

“It’s not worth a lot.” Says Martyn flatly. “And it would be worth even less coming from Grian.”

Grian sighs. “Alright. Fine. I’ll see you around, Martyn.”

“I know.” Says Martyn. He closes his eyes.

After a few moments, Grian does too.

When he opens them, he’s home.

…

Oh, that doesn’t feel good.

It really doesn't.

He could dwell on this. It wouldn’t be hard. He could drown himself in guilt over what he’s done, or not done, or will not do.

But- well.

Grian never really saw the point in letting someone else drag you down with them.

[kimsmuse]

yandere coworker !!

i don't remember who i got the idea about this from but i just thought of someone who wasn't like too older to the reader yet in a powerful and manipulative position.

also i wrote this back in july lolol someone give me back my ability to write or else i'm doomer completely

this is very very rough but it’s hard to say if i’ll ever write this whole thing, but let’s talk about something.

no warnings except typical yandere content, mentions of drugging and manipulation. don't ask me the word count but this is just a short thing that just popped into my head at one point.

yandere coworker, who’s in love with as soon as you stepped in the office as a new recruit but love at first sight is cheesy, so he dismissed it as some casual admiration. but when his boss calls him to his office and asks him to teach you the ropes of the job, he’s internally screaming on how something like this is literally a sign from god himself.

and he talks to you, jokes around because he can see you’re nervous but there’s no need to be nervous, darling. (it’s all in fun and games that he’s calling you that, obviously) because you’re more than capable of doing it, it’s not a very hard job and even if you do mess up, there’s no reason to worry because he’s one of the seniors here, and he’s going to excuse it no matter how bad it is. (doesn’t tell you the whole part, just that he’d manage if you made a mistake. it’s okay, darling. everybody makes mistakes, even he did)

yandere coworker who is more than thrilled to find out you’re great at your job!!! (kinda disappointed tbh that he doesn’t get to coo over you making a mistake and then using it to get an upper hand 😔 but it’s okay there’s going to be plenty of opportunities he’s sure of it)

he takes you out to dinner for doing such a great job!! you’re truly one of the most efficient workers in the office and this, in just under a month! isn’t that wonderful? his darling is so intelligent! but as you talk to him over dinner, it opens a side of an informal relationship with your coworker, you both have inside jokes that you can remind each other of, even during the weekend and which gradually turns into hang outs with just the two of you and you insist on the fact that you both are “just friends” to your own friends, who obviously don’t buy it. but you feel guilty about it because your coworker has been nothing but nice and respectful and maintained his boundaries with you, he doesn’t even feel that way about you!

the turn of events come in the form of a new guy, an intern that you’re required to train and you’re more than happy to because it’s something that your coworkers didn’t get an opportunity on, even with their years of working with the company and you landed in about 6 months. ofcourse it’s your hard work but it’s also something our yandere coworker helped in, put in a good word about you. made sure you got the job and the increase in pay that came with it.

but god, oh god, how he wishes so bad that he’d thought it through as he walks around the office (instead of sitting in his comfy cabin. oh, the things jealousy makes you do) in the echoes of your laughter as the intern makes you laugh. what did he say that was so funny? and why weren’t you working? did you lose your professionalism for this guy? this guy who hadn’t even been here for a day? pathetic. he did not expect his darling to do that.

after about 3-4 days, he can’t physically take it anymore, he has to do something about it. now he knows he can’t say anything to the intern or else he’ll get scared or something. so he calls you in his cabin.

“all the other staff is complaining about your and the intern's disturbance, my dear, please keep it low. and maintain professionalism, okay?” you nod your head. he had never talked to you like this before and it took you a little back that the people you called friends had been backbitching about you? because you had been nothing but nice to everyone around. but you nodded, you thought you might have been stepping over the line. but what you didn’t know is that none of the coworkers had even noticed, they were doing their own job, so tangled up in their stress and why would they rat out one of their own?

you minimise contact with the intern as soon as he knows what to do and keep it to a subtle wave for a “hi,” and “goodnight,” he notices but he thinks that you were being nice to him in the initial days as a way of welcome and he’d heard so many horror stories about coworkers not being nice to each other that the fact that you weren’t at least bullying him made him thankful.

your office friends try and invite you to dinners and karaoke afterwards but you just can’t bring yourself to go because you were already so reserved and closed off but then you find that the people you actually trusted had been complaining about you made it difficult to pretend that it was all okay. because it had been just them for you as friends, since you spent majority of your time with them.

so nowadays it was just walking home early, ordering some food, watching something and then heading to sleep. which was perfectly alright for you, you didn’t need the hangovers that came with drinking on weekdays. and on the weekends.... it got hard but there was music, there were books to read, it kept you busy.

that’s when he texted you.

your yandere coworker was around your flat, could he come over.......? his formal and passive aggressive tone still repeated in your mind, but it wasn’t his fault. he had to do his job. so you gave him a green signal. “yes, sure,” and deep down you’d been craving company so much.

when while talking how he mentions how he doesn't have an instagram account yet, (and he needs one to stalk you btw) you just laughed and he made a joke on his age, it wasn't his fault he was not up with the trends. you offered to help him set it up and show him the ropes. and as you do that, set up a username, find some accounts of interest that he might like, he finds your adorable features all focused so cute!! and you're doing it for him so he gets up and decides to get you something to eat from the shop downstairs!!

but, um, this was really careless on the yanderes part because. how the fuck do you leave your phone w someone else? and when you have an entire album full of photos of that someone else which aren't even taken from the ones you've posted but its a photo of you from one of your work gatherings which you don't even remember this guy attending! and so many photos from the same angle after that, from his cabin to your cubicle...

being a boomer really sucks because this would not be a problem for me i know of a thing called a secure folder so !!! <3

but yes, back to it, when he rings the bell, you panic, you can't not open the door, right? and even if he had been clicking those pictures or whatever, he hadn't proved harmless yet. and what if its just a crush he's clicking pictures of. sometimes people did that. it was normal, wasn’t it?

the yandere might be delusional but you give him a run for his money if your job was having delusions !!!

but as soon as he goes home that night and looks at the tabs opened on his phone (he‘s not that much of a boomer that he won‘t know what recent tabs are) he's scared and when he connects the dots to your offputting but not so much that he would actually suspect it behaviour. it made sense. he sat down for a bit - beating up his table and running his hands through his hair, how could he have been so careless?

he realizes with a sigh that he needs to work quickly now, if he ever wants to have a chance with you. it's now or never. and yandere coworker is anything but someone who backs down from a challenge.

so what he's going to do is simple, he's going to invite you over, preferably in the next 2-3 days to try out this new recipe, and he's gonna knock you out then, (he's sorry it has to be that way) and as for the rest he's quite confident he can make you fall in love with him quite easily!

[applecore6]

cw: use of she/her

“Do you think if we went to high school together we’d be together? Like high school sweethearts?”

“Hm?—” Her head perks up at the sound of his voice before processing the question. “—Oh we did go to high school together.”

“Hah?” Kuroo’s caught off guard by her matter-fact tone—as if it was common knowledge.

“Mhm. You went to Nekoma, right? I do recall hearing about the volleyball team. Weren’t you guys like really good?” She’s being way too nonchalant about this..

“Good is an understatement— What do you mean we went to high school together?”

“I mean we both attended the same educational facility??”

“No I mean, why have you never told me?”

She hums a sound as if saying I don’t know

“I’m not really one to come up to people and say “Hey, I recognize you. Did we go to school together?” that’s just breeding grounds for embarrassment.” She continues tapping on the screen in her hands, playing the mindless mobile game that just finished downloading. “Plus high school was a horrible time for me. I try not to dwell on it.”

“Horrible?” He tries not to pry. Tries.

“Yeah. Horrible.”

They had only been dating a couple months. A group assignment in their biology class marks the first interaction they ever had. He thinks about what she said a little.

“So.. if you hated high school so much, what drew you to me,” he vocalizes.

“The eccentric hairdo,” she replies curtly. “No but— I don’t know I’m not the best with words at the top of my head, but you really.. opened me up(?) not in a weird way. I just would’ve never voluntarily gotten to know a guy like you, but we started—y’know— being with each other a little more, and I thought, woah this guy is not what I expected at all.”

The words coming out of her flow out into the air straight into Kuroo’s brain. He feels the entirety of his face heat up at such a vulnerable confession from her.

“Umm.. back to the original question,” he mumbles out.

“Huh— oh yeah. No I don’t think we would’ve dated in high school. I was waayy too cynical. I probably grouped you with the rest of the jocks. At least now I know you’re a harmless little shit.”

Despite the lighthearted atmosphere, Kuroo couldn’t help but feel a little let down(?).

She hums out a sound at the sight of his face. If he had cat ears they’d definitely be pointed down.

“Hey. What’s with the face, don’t tell me you’re hurt little 17 year old me didn’t wanna date 17 year old Kuroo,” she teases him, but she can’t help the little bubble of pride she felt in her chest.

“I don’t know you’re just, you know, you. You’re really cool, and to be honest I’m kinda-what’s the word- I don’t know like. You’re telling me I could’ve known you even longer, spent even more time with you, maybe even know you a little better.” The words on his mind spilling out his mouth faster than he realizes.

It’s silent. She feels her chest tighten a little, and the feeling drops down to her stomach, spreading throughout her body. If this were a dumb 90s cartoon, she would’ve definitely gone comically red with hearts floating around her head like birds.

“Don’t worry you didn’t miss much—”she pauses thinking of the right way to word what she’s thinking “—I don’t remember much from high school if I’m being honest, but I remember the first time we met, I remember getting to know you, and I remember it felt good. I understood what people meant when they talked about young love, it feels like life before meeting you was kinda blurry, sometimes I forget that I’m a full fledged adult that’s lived years before this.”

It’s buzzing in both his ears. He doesn’t know what to say except—

“I love you, too”

Maybe they didn’t take the first chance they had together, but they’re with each other now. And they know they’ll be with each other tomorrow.

my writing is very bland and dialogue heavy, but i’m trying to get into it which is why im just vomiting into my tumblr drafts rn. forcing myself to write so i can get better T_T. theyre also very dialogue heavy cuz i dont rly have many ppl to yap to so in my head im having yap sessions with these characters.

this is kinda inspired by troy and annie from community with little crumbs of myself. (i fear im projecting myself onto the reader too much, but who cares this is my outlet)

[akutasoda]

Hello, hope your doing well, so I'm the first to request? It doesn't matter but, I haven't seen that many HSR Sunday x male reader and Aventurine x male reader ( separate ) so I have some thoughts like for each of them.

SUNDAY: reader is a Halovian ( the same race as Sunday u know with the wings ) who has a beautiful singing voice but never sings in front of other people So, one day Sunday heard them singing maybe at the Reverie Hotel? And Sunday is curious and listens to him sing. Then it becomes a habit or like a constant where Sunday will try to hear Reader's singing maybe Robin ( Sunday's sings with the reader ) and Sunday is jealous that the reader sings normally in front of his sister but not him. But he does later confess maybe in a letter or in person ( up to you which you want to do ) and reader excepts.

AVENTURINE: reader is not a gambler but has some way of always being lucky, to the point people call him "Lady Luck's Chosen", Aventurine is curious about this Lady Luck's Chosen guy So, he invites him to his Casino for a little gambling ( though he doesn't say it so simply ) reader excepts and comes to the casino, but Aventurine turns into a spectacle for the whole casino to watch live for all of Penacony to see if Lady Luck's Chosen can win against himself- Aventurine. After a couple of rounds in different games let's just say Aventurine was more then upset, reader had won at least twice more then Aventurine did in the whole day that they were playing. Reader asks since he won for his prize Aventurine gave most or all his money but reader asks for another thing. To take Aventurine on a date.

I know these are pretty long so you can just do them separately I won't blame you.

Hope your having a good day/night.

may luck be on your side

synopsis - maybe aventurine has met his match with lady luck's very own

includes - aventurine

warnings - gn!reader, fluff, slight angst, gambling, wc - 1.6k

a/n: this is the second part as i posted the sunday part yesterday - 'songbirds'! i enjoyed writing both of these so much!

everyone always said you were lucky. from as far back as you could remember everything went your way, even if you had no control over it. from very small and simple things in your everyday life to things that you went out of your way to test your luck with, it always turned in your favourite. some would start refering to you as a lucky charm.

as you grew older, you'd finally come to realise the extents of which your luck would come in handy. people say overconfidence is a slow and insidious killer but who could blame your confidence when you had natural born luck on your side. and so eventually you tested your luck in a few gambles, it was only a matter of time before your luck proved untested in gambles aswell.

it would be a no brainer that word would spread far and wide. someone who had a seemingly one hundred percent win rate at any casino they visited was surely going to become word of mouth, no? more and more owners would invite you to their casino as it became a spectacle for people to watch your games - eventually 'lady luck's chosen' was your given title and a high profile name in many corners of the universe.

naturally, some became suspicious and even jealous. various casino's would also come to ban you as they didn't like the fact that somebody could easily come in and win house no natter the game. you were aware this would happen if you tested your luck in gambles and so came to accept it rather quickly - afterall majority still invited you to visit their casino's.

with a widespread mix of admiration and hatred for your luck, the news was only destined to reach the ears of a man that viewed life as one big gamble. aventurine had made his way up in life by living a high risk, high reward lifestyle. that being said, he still only took part in bets he believed he would actually benefit from.

aventurine had heard briefly about someone called 'lady luck's chosen', but if he was being honest he had greater things to attend to at the time and so didn't look further into this supposed person. he only really became intrigued when he heard some ipc workers complaining about loosing all their savings to the very same person.

it didn't take very much research before aventurine would stumble across various sources for this 'lady luck's chosen' gambles. in fact it surprised him with how he hadn't heard more about you - considering some of your gambles where in fact streamed for everyone to watch. so maybe it didn't hurt for him to watch a couple over his breaks.

he was impressed to say the least. you truly were someone he would become interested in making a deal with, your natural luck would be very useful for him. he also became very tempted to gamble against you. he was due to visit penacony soon and they had a wide range of casino's, surely you'd be up for a gamble with a deal on the line?

and so that was how you recieved a rather extravagant invite from one of the very prestigious stonehearts of the ipc. you felt inclined to accept just because it was from a stoneheart, you still accepted but not just because of that. gambling against aventurine himself was simply an offer to grand to decline and it really would be a grand test of your luck.

however you weren't unaware of who he was. anyone that had some knowledge would know about ipc and perhaps their stonehearts, and so you were quite aware that aventurine would only offer something like this if he wanted something in return. you doubted very highly it would be a cash prize, more like a deal or something more valuable than money but you were willing to find out yourself.

and with no surprise, word got around - mainly sourcing from the casino aventurine asked you to meet him at. a gamble between 'lady luck's chosen' and the ipc's very own aventurine was something people wanted to watch and some would even be willing to pay to watch it. you were slightly annoyed that you'd have to travel to penacony but you figured it would be worth it.

you arrived on the very day the game was set to take place - you did receive a rather lavish welcome from the reverie. and when you arrived at the desginated casino, the sheer amount of people that waited inside and outside was quite intimidating. sure you'd have some crowds as your popularity grew but this seemed excessive.

as soon as you entered the lavish casino, standing right in the centre with a smug smile was your opponent aventurine. you would then come to notice the large classic roulette wheel right next to him. the security was also rather extreme, with many ipc guards mixed with some bloodhounds surrounding the table.

you quickly closed the distance and as soon as you were in a reasonable distance he addressed you.

'lady luck's chosen.' he smiled 'an honour truly, i was quite glad to have heard you'd accepted my invite'

you only offered a similar smile as you addressed him yourself, to which your only answer was a small laugh and a gesture to the roulette wheel. 'i take it you're no stranger to a good old fashion game of roulette no?'.

you'd hate to admit it to his face, but aventurine did unnerve you a bit. maybe it was that faux smile or the way he spoke but something made you nervous. you really had no reason to be nervous as you never had a doubt in your luck before but now it seemed different.

'how about we make a simple deal. a gamble's not a gamble without something on the line' his voice snapped you out your thoughts and you quickly regained composure before asking what he had in mind. 'how about we start small. im sure someone as lucky as you would have great benefits but i'd like to test that before i make a rash decision'.

his smile faultered as he made a quick glance around before adding 'i may be one to make grand gambles and your luck would be worth it but luck can run out and i wouldn't want to be stuck in a dead deal'

now your nerves picked up again, maybe you shouldn't have accepted this. in an attempt to pick up your confidence you took the lead and offered a traditional deal. 'winner takes all profit huh' he answered 'all right but that seems too boring for a crowd this big'. he glanced around the casino again before smiling, 'best of three rounds, winner of the last chooses our next game'. he extended his hand to you and you shook it.

the first game was indeed on the large roulette wheel. a true test of luck, aventurine mainly picked it for this reason - to test your luck specifically. how high of a hurdle you would be to defeat, and from the moment the ball landed on your very first bet he knew it would be the highest hurdle of them all. the game didn't last very long and the turnout being in your favour.

your confidence grew and aventurine's secretly started declining, maybe he was thankful he didn't place that much on the line. the next game was your choice and you went with another classic, baccarat - another mainly luck based game. you were more confident going into this from your previous win and you fully regained your confidence when the hand you guessed first had the number closest to 9. aventurine was at a loss, with your winning hand totally closer to 9 yet again he started declining.

when you chose the final game you wanted to end it with another classic, poker. however you knew you would win regardless of this outcome and so your proposed an all or nothing match. aventurine still managed his flawless poker face despite his constant worries. this would be his final chance at victory and really he'd started letting the whispers from the live viewers get to him. their comments about how you'd win and how he'd lose only worried him further as he knew this was being broadcasted by the casino itself.

and when you placed down your straight flush confidently on the table he knew his full house was indeed his loss. you shot up from your seat in disbelief, you'd won. you'd won against aventurine but when you looked over at him you knew how hard he had taken this loss - no smile could hide that from you. he stood and offered his hand out with another faux smile, 'it seems i really was no match against lady luck's very own'. you hesitantly shook his hand.

he walked around the table and stopped, he turned 'i'll have your winnings transferred as soon as possible'. aventurine may rarely lose, but when he did he wouldn't be a sore loser about it nor would he drag it out. but bwfore he could walk away he was stopped by your voice.

you walked over to him before smiling yourself, you stopped and looked at him dead in the eyes. 'i know this wasn't exactly part of our deal but as part of my winning i'd like to request something'. he let his smile faulter slightly before asking you to continue.

he met your gaze just in time for you to say 'i'd like to take you out, a date i mean, all on me' his smile could only match your smirk.

[beansnsoup]

The World We Knew

Summary: He was yours, emphasis on was. One day, you were in love, at least you were. The next, He was gone, and you felt as if your whole world had gone in shambles.

Relationship: Romantic?

Character: Loid Forger

Warnings: Angst, Long lost love, fem reader, but it's not a huge part of the storyline, Spy x Family VOL. 10 spoilers!!!!

Note: I hate to have put "blank" when talking about loid but considering the storyline circumstances and volume 10 we still don't know his name, like it was literally bleeped out in the volume itself.

Peace.

It's what the both of you wanted. It's what everybody wanted.

You had known him since you were kids, and you always knew it had been a passion of his to move forward with the war to gain the peace of every townsperson deserved. He wanted more with his life, and that was what he chose.

Out of everyone in the little group you had, you were the closest with him. He had always been so nice to you and never failed to make you feel included.

You weren't a big fan of playing war games with him and the other boys, but you remember one instance where they had told you to just go home because they didn't want you moping around why they were playing their army games.

All of the boys agreed except him.

He suggested you be a nurse. What would happen if they got hurt, and nobody was there to help? You happily took on this role. He always found a way to make you feel special.

When you talked about all of these interactions with your mother, she told you upfront that you had a crush on him. At the time, you were too young to think about having a crush.

However, as you got older and really thought about how much you talked about him and how he made you feel, it was, in fact, a crush.

After the bombing in Westalis, you hadn't seen him in years. You had always assumed that he was caught in the ruble of it all. You know that was thinking the worst, but it was completely possible.

You had decided to volunteer as a nurse for the war, the role you felt you were meant to be in. It just felt right to help out. Plus, if he was alive, you'd knew for a fact he'd be fighting in the war, underage or not. One day, you could see him again.

At the moment, you weren't placed in the hospital wing. You'd instead been sent to go provide food for all the soldiers, the ones in care, and the ones walking around freely.

"Wait... Is that you advisor?"

You overhear someone ask over the ruckus of the townspeople and soldiers, your mind immediately went straight to the first face you had locked with that name, but you knew it couldn't be, there was no possible way.

Even though you had been waiting all these years to hear that name and see that face, it just all still felt so unreal, you just couldn't bear to face the reality of it.

"Genral? Corporal? Major?"

"It is him!"

"It's advisor!"

"No way! It can't be!"

You weren't trying to eavesdrop, but it was very hard not to. They went on and on about how they attempted to search for "advisor" and how much he had grown.

This time, you couldn't help but look back, and they were right. It was him, and he did look the same. It took every strength in you not to walk over and talk to them, they were your friends, but it had been so long, and they were closer to one another, you didn't want to ruin their moment.

"Now all we need now is our nurse, and the whole gang will officially be back together again!" One of the men chimed in, if only they knew you were standing just a few feet away from them. "Yeah, I've been trying to look for her just as much everyone else, she's probably been on my mind the most."

The guys all hooted at this, you pretended it also didn't get a rise out of you while you still acted as if you were more interested in the fruits in front of you instead of the conversation happening behind you.

"Are you free this weekend? There's a great restaurant in the next town over!" The advisor proposed, trying to distract him from what he had previously said. They all explained what they would be up to but how they'd keep in touch.

You had turned back around by this point, but you could tell he was smiling as he they put together their plans.

You listened to them all walk away, then you're mind started racing,

"Should I have gone to talk to them?"

"No, it's okay, they wouldn't have remembered me."

"But I'd be with him."

You jolted back around, just to find none of them there, damn.

-

The war had long since been from over. It had probably been one of the worst moments in your life aside from the bombing you'd experienced as a child.

And after seeing all of your old friends names, all except for him, in the charts marked as deceased you knew wouldn't be able to stand another minute witnessing such torture. So now all you could think about was the fact that you could've spoken to them that one day, before they all passed, but you just couldn't muster up the courage.

But now you were starting a new life in a new area, and maybe he would finally leave your mind and just be a fuzzy memory that you joke about with your future children.

At the thought you hear a child start to laugh, you avert your eyes to the direction. She's a young girl, no more than 6 or 7 years old, and she has pink hair that reaches her shoulders, you smile at her excitement.

Moments like these make your mind wander into a field of imagination of the family you could've built by now. But you were fine with not being settled down just yet because you knew with how much time you had been working as a war aid there wouldn't have been any time for love.

And there was no time for love while your mind was still on him.

You glance down back at your book, reading the paragraph over that you were interrupted from.

"Papa! Look! Look at all of the cows!"

"Yes, I see them." He chuckled in response.

Your eyes widen, head jolting back up to the familes direction, that voice.

"Genral? Corporal? Major?"

"...She's been on my mind the most."

"Are you free this weekend?"

It was him, it had to be, there was no doubt about it.

You wanted to walk up and say hi, but you didn't know how weird that would be, considering you had once had your chance for a reunion but blew it. But maybe it was time, even if he had a child next to him, and she called him 'Papa.'

Yet at the same time, you didn't want to regret it for the rest of your life by not going up to speak and reminisce with him like last time.

You would have given anything for him to look at you again.

In that moment, you had decided that it was time, and you would see and talk to him again.

You put your bookmark in, saving your page and closing it, and just as you were about to stand and make your way over, a woman came walking out of the bathroom area of the train.

"Sorry I was gone so long!"

"Mama!"

Your smile dropped, and you felt your world collapse once more. You couldn't feel your face.

She was breathtakingly gorgeous. She had her silky jet black hair that was styled up and beautiful ruby eyes.

She's what he needed, what he deserved.

This made you feel sick to your stomach, but also ashamed, you had been fawning over this man for years. It was embarrassing.

You checked the clock above the door of the train, you didn't know how much more of this you could take, luckily there was only about 15 minutes left of your traveling.

All you could do now was fidget with your clothes and hands. You couldn't even bother to open up your book back up, you know you wouldn't be able to focus on anything that you were reading.

Once the train had come to a complete stop you felt a sense of relief wash over you, you couldn't stand to hear all of them be so happy together, not knowing that her role could've been yours.

You got up from your seat, beginning to grab your bags on the shelf above your seat. You had about 2 or 3.

As you struggled with the bags you didn't know that he had noticed,

"You two wait for me outside, I won't be long."

The two girls walk outside and sit on a nearby bench and wait for him while he helps you, you're still oblivious to everything happening around you.

"Miss?"

You're shocked to hear his voice, you drop your bag, almost tumbling backward but catch yourself on the seat.

He chuckles, "Mind if I help?"

"No, not at all."

You finally spoke to him, you look up at him, locking eyes, it had been everything you dreamed of.

His eyes go so wide, you swear they took the shape of a perfectly round circle.

"Y/n?"

You smile and nod.

He wants to hug you, he wants to hug you for centuries, he doesn't know what to do, this feeling that has just suddenly overcome him is making him feel like he no longer has any control.

There was no other way to explain it, he had thought about you so many nights.

Those nights when he was fighting for peace, he was thinking about you, thinking about how you when you were both still children and you would describe to him your future and the peace that would surround you.

"I-"

He's interrupted by a loud voice outside of the train,

"Passengers need to be making their way out of the carriages , the train will be loading more people soon!"

He rushes to grab your bags and help you off. He stops you outside of the train, a good few steps away from his 'family.'

He knows he shouldn't be doing this, it's reckless, it could ruin everything, but seeing you just opened up something within him and he can't stop himself, he just keeps talking.

"I thought you," he pauses.

"Died?" You finish his sentence, smiling at him still, you couldn't believe this was happening.

"Yeah, that."

"I could say the same for you, blank."

Hearing his real name makes his heart drop a little, he hasn't heard many people speak it since he served in the military and his old friends addressed him by it.

He was glad you were the one to say it.

He sighs, a small smile of his face, "I've missed you, alot.

Tears start to threaten to spill out, "I've missed you too, alot."

"I love you, blank." You say without thinking, he doesn't flinch at this the way he did at hearing his own name, which you don't question.

He stands completely still, looking you right in your eyes, not being able to get enough of this moment.

The next words that come out of your mouth surprise you, "But it's too late," You glance over at his 'family', making eye contact with the little girl, who looks almost as shattered as you do right now.

You grab your bags from him and walk towards the exit, feeling tears roll down your cheeks.

He couldn't feel his face, he felt more numb than he had ever felt before. He hears footsteps come up from behind him.

"Who was that Loid?" Yor asks, Anya clutched by her side, with a sad look on her face, like she had heard the whole conversation, Anya blocked out anything her parents were saying to scan around for the you.

"An old friend," He replies, still looking straight ahead, thoughts racing with what could've been.

my mind has been racing with this concept, sorry for the damage i have caused

[rainba]

Erased

TWs/Tags: yandere, violence, spoilers for Sumeru + angst

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

He’s got you right where he wants you- your throat within his grip. He’s cackling maniacally with a freakish grin plastered on his face, but there’s also tears pouring out of his eyes. He looks like a beautiful, broken porcelain doll.

Under the cover of darkness, he chased you, grabbed you, and trapped you in the cage of his arms.

The way the moonlight illuminates your beautiful face drives him to insanity.

“I know you’ve forgotten me, you- you don’t know who I am at all… But…” He grits his teeth and sneers. “Tell me, what’s my name!? Say it!” He strangles you in a fit of sheer desperation, but you can’t choke out a single word. Even if you were capable of speaking, you wouldn’t know what to say. What are you supposed to say? 

This stranger is scaring you.

His grip loosens when he sees your face changing colors. As you gasp for air, you scream. “Let go of me, freak!” You kick and squirm as harshly as you can. If you don’t escape him now, there’s no telling what he’ll do to you. When you shriek those words, they tear away at him, shredding into him like razor blades. If he had a heart, it would be bleeding. 

He doesn’t move for a second. He just stares with shaking eyes.

Scaramouche did this to himself, he knows that very well… So why?

Why does this hurt so fucking bad?

Before he erased his past from this world, the two of you were attached at the hip. It was utterly strange. Scaramouche hated humans to his core, but he had made an exception for you. You were just so different. You loved him deeply- you had once accepted him. He would bark insults at you, but you always bite back. And he loved that about you. It was always a playful game to see who would win, even though it always ended with Scaramouche coming out on top due to his unbearable stubbornness. After all, you’re just a human, and he’s so much more.

Yet he despised how much he missed you.

And he loathed how much he craves your love.

He misses the way you would run your fingers through his dark purple hair. He misses the way you would kiss his nose and steal his hat to wear it, even though it always annoyed him. What he once thought were inconveniences turned out to be his favorite parts of life. He hated you, but he loved you too, and he could never understand it. He also would never say any of it out loud.

In the past, he never told you that he loved you, but somehow it was like you knew anyway. He constantly called you stupid, but he was always lying through his teeth.

But now… Now you stare at him with terrified eyes as you scratch and kick at him. It’s so painful, it hurts so bad, and because of that he continues to sob. He’s never cried like this before… He feels fucking pathetic. He shouldn’t be feeling this way. How is it even possible for him to feel this way? How did he let himself get so attached? He just wants it to stop.

He wants it all to go away.

He just wants you to– no, needs you to remember him, even though he knows it's impossible.

The fact that he did this to himself without thinking twice is what makes everything much more frustrating.

Does he regret erasing himself from irminsul? No, he doesn’t. But… Still…

His mind goes numb as his hands tighten around your throat a little more. At this point, you’re shaking like a leaf, worried that you won’t make it out alive. “I’m not a freak, you lowly human.” He seethes and instinctively hurls back an insult. Scaramouche hardly cares about what others think of him, but hearing you call him such a thing with genuine malice bothers him.

Meanwhile, all you can do is think about how to escape. You’ve never met this man before a day in your life… Why is he doing this? You wonder if he’s mistaking you for someone else. Perhaps he’s going through a psychotic episode. You try to reason out the situation, but there’s really no point. Your heart is beating so fast that it might just burst. 

“S…Sc… Sca… Scar…” You murmur out fragments of a word, and Scaramouche’s eyes widen. Scar? Are you going to say ‘Scaramouche’? Without thinking, he lets go of you and lifts himself up a little, giving you ample opportunity to escape his clutches. You shoot your leg up and knee him as hard as you can before crawling away. “Scared…” You finish your word. 

“I’m scared… Please, just leave me alone!”

Tears start streaming down your face, and that makes two of you. Scaramouche is too stunned to move as he watches you run the other way. When he realizes that you’re no longer in his grasp, he freaks out. “Get back here!”

It can’t end like this…

No, it absolutely can’t.

He won’t let it.

He’ll hunt you down to the edges of this earth. He’ll grab you, cage you, embrace you until the warmth of his presence is the only reason why you live and breathe. Scaramouche jumps to his feet and begins to chase you.

Your feet burn as you race across the grassy forest of Sumeru, desperate to escape with your life. You jump over roots, dodge stray rocks, and dash through little streams of water. Your breathing grows so heavy that your lungs burn, and your head begins to spin. You run for what feels like hours, and unwillingly, you collapse onto your knees. 

You clutch at your chest and cough. Everything burns so badly… 

Everything hurts… Why does everything hurt?

But at least you’re free now.

Or so you thought.

“Did you really think you could run away from me?”

A violent voice rang out from the darkness. Before you could even react, you were pinned down to the ground again. It was futile- so utterly futile to think you can escape him. You’re so dizzy that you can’t make out the words that he’s saying. He’s yelling something- you can tell from the way his mouth is moving. All you can make out is the word ‘remember.’ 

But you stop looking at him- opting to look at the stars instead. They’re so beautiful… So far away.

Scaramouche notices the way you’re dissociating and backhands you. He brings you back down to earth. “Are you ignoring me?” His anger boils into pure rage. The past you would never ignore him… The past you would never dare to run away from him. 

Scaramouche shakes your shoulders as he yells more obscenities at you.

He’s shaking you so harshly that your head hits the ground multiple times.

He shakes you so hard that your skull collides with a stone beneath your head.

When he sees blood, his eyes widen.

“W-wait,” his breath hitches. “I didn’t mean to do that.” His voice comes out barely above a whisper as he watches you black out from beneath him.

“(Y/n)?” He calls out.

“(Y/n), wake up.”

He shakes you just a little more, careful to not hurt you this time.

“I order you to wake up!” He uses one hand to grab your face tightly, trying to get you to react, but you don’t.

Scaramouche panics before placing his ear against your chest, searching for a pulse. When he hears the soft beating, he can’t help but breathe a sigh of relief. All he does then is hold you close to him, refusing to let go. You’re just as warm as ever… So, so soft. He’s trembling like a leaf.

He can’t help but think that this is so unlike him.

When you’re around, it’s like he becomes an entirely different person.

He closes his eyes and buries his face in your neck while breathing in your scent. Even though he erased himself from this world, you remain mostly unchanged. 

All he wants is you.

Scaramouche doesn’t care that you hate him right now. Yes, it stings, but he’ll get you to love him again… You don’t have a choice. He’ll spend day and night getting you to fall for him. It’ll be just like before. You’ll smile at him, whisper sweet nothings into his ear again, and tease him until he gets red in the face. Just like usual. 

God, he fucking hates how you make him feel.

But he needs it so badly.

As he rises to his feet, he holds you gently in his arms, taking special care of your head. Your blood drips onto his arms, but it doesn’t bother him. He’ll get you patched up and healed in no time. Then he’ll keep you by his side… Forever… Just like before. 

You’re not allowed to forget about him.

You’re not allowed to live a life without him.

You belong to him…

And he belongs to you.

[hinalatte]

(Not so)Quick thoughts on Episode 13

I have a lot of things to say about the new episode (about Levi especially) and a little Hu analysis I can write now that her secret is confirmed, but it’s very late! But I still want to talk about things! So here’s a random collection of stuff I thought was interesting.

Spoilers under the cut!

Eden was the one who took out Xander’s eye with a fork. It’s interesting that she’s the weakest member of the cast, but somehow managed to injure Xander, the strongest by far. He must’ve been really caught off guard.

It’s also interesting that the weapon is a fork. It must’ve been a spur of the moment decision, otherwise she would’ve had a better weapon. Her distraught expression also implies she wasn’t planning on hurting Xander.

In the opening scene of the show, someone (likely Xander) says he has to kill Teruko. He says he “didn’t expect her to attack him like that”, which we now know is referring to Eden. But he also says he made a mistake to trust “them”. So Eden was working with someone else. She might’ve betrayed Xander on Teruko’s behalf.

Also, this scene emphasizes that Xander’s goal was to end the killing game! A goal which he never saw through, but David is trying to carry that torch for him.

This one isn’t related to the new episode, but I found this and it made me feel things. Eden says almost the same thing to Teruko in chapter 1 that Arei says to Eden in chapter 2.

I’ve been trying since last week to figure out what David knew about Xander. Their interactions in chapter 1 provide no clues, as far as I can tell…David doesn’t act like he recognizes Xander at all, except in their “role models” scene where he has this line. They did investigate together at the start, so maybe something happened then? Or maybe David was just determined to not let Xander know he recognized him. Or maybe David didn’t care much about Xander Matthews as a public figure before he got to know Xander as a person, and only started considering Xander’s career important after the fact. Or maybe he genuinely didn’t recognize him because he didn’t mention his last name? But in the MV, he remembers what Xander looks like without his eye patch, so wouldn’t that mean David knew what he looked like?

When Teruko claims to have the family secret, he makes a face like “I caught you”. Why did he react like that if he already knew what her secret was…? Does David know from his prior knowledge of Xander that the family secret is his?

It’s possible Teruko genuinely believes the family secret is hers, since she blames her own bad luck for the things that happen to people around her.

Eden can’t fathom the idea of not caring about people. She’s so empathetic it almost seems like a weakness, so she doesn’t understand how someone could lack empathy completely. I love that dynamic…I hope they both live so I can see more of it.

Arturo has a strong reaction to this because he still remembers Felicity.

Also, Arturo being a voice of morality this episode was something I did not expect, but I’m here for it.

Ace is absolutely lying. He’s the most gullible person in the cast. He definitely thought Levi was being genuine.

He pushed Levi away over and over in chapter 2, but Levi kept bouncing back from it, insisting he wouldn’t hurt him. That probably made Ace feel comforted, in a way. Like there was one person who wouldn’t abandon him, even after enduring all of his awful behavior.

It’s interesting that he brings up the term “friends” here. Since when were they friends? Genuinely. A guy expressing concern for you does not a friendship make, Ace Markey.

He’s also taking Levi very out of context. Levi says he doesn’t care about anyone at all, because he’s literally incapable of it. Ace takes that as a personal attack. Levi doesn’t care about him, specifically, and that’s a betrayal somehow. Levi never meant to mislead him about that, but Ace thinks he was lying to him. (It’s made worse for him because now he knows no one in the cast likes him)

Ace projects a lot of things onto people in general. Mostly negative intent. But in this case, he might’ve been projecting the idea of a friendship that wasn’t really there. It makes sense to a degree. I was also fooled into thinking Levi cared about Ace, but not because they were friends. It was because Levi like helping everyone, including Ace. Ace seems incapable of understanding that sometimes people do stuff and it doesn’t really mean anything.

I say all that as an Ace Markey fan. He’s my favorite character. This critique is from a place of love. Boy, is there a lot to critique about him.

I’m interested now in seeing how his relationships develop after this. His most important dynamics (Levi and Nico) either don’t care about him at all or hate him so much they tried to kill him (unless there’s a plot twist on that front). Is he ever going to have a friend? Or a confidant of any kind? Not if he keeps acting like that, but it’s kind of a vicious cycle.

Also did his friend die? Why does he say “his memory”? Okay Ace. Is this why his sexuality was confirmed?

Last observation for the road. Whit called David “Starboy” in chapter 1, and now “Sir Light Pollution” in chapter 2, continuing the trend of star-themed David nicknames. It makes sense in his head. (Why does he know so much about hanging)