#I'll lull them in a sense if security and let them say it around the wrong person

[puppyknucklezzz]

if i had a nickel for every time i've accidentally let someone thats not black get comfy saying the nword around me bc my auditory processing can be shit and i don't catch it til its too late and i've masked and laughed through whatever they were saying bc they're some broh type and i just wanted to get through the interaction and then was in a position where its best to let it go bc i won't ever see them again after i leave the setting... id have too many nickels. anyways

she's the only one with the pass

[etherealyoungk]

baby it's cold outside - choi seungcheol

pairing: husband!seungcheol x reader

warnings: established relationship, kissing, fluff, terms of endearment

wordcount: 795

a/n: i miss cheol :( also idk this didn't turn out how i imagined but i hope it's okay, it's still cute ig :')

with winter setting it, it had gotten cold, so so cold. the temperatures had plummeted and the air was crisp and chilly, enough to make your hands turn to ice and make you shiver. but you loved the winter, it had a way of slowing down the world, bringing a sense of coziness you craved. the early morning fog had started to set it, making it even colder.

you try to snuggle inside the thick blankets to warm up, snuggling into seungcheol's chest even more. you sigh in contentment when his arms instinctively wrap themselves around your body, holding you close and you fall back asleep into a peaceful slumber.

you're stirred awake by soft fleeting kisses being placed on your cheek, stirring you out of your slumber as your eyes softly flutter open. you gaze up to see seungcheol smiling down at you, his adorable dimple peeking out.

"it's early", you mumble, before wrapping your arms around him and shifting into the blankets even more.

"i have to get ready love", he cooes and you don't respond, closing your eyes as your head lays on his chest. "it's cold", is all you say and you hear him chuckle.

"are you going to let me go to work or no?", he asks. "no", you respond. "no?", he repeats and you can hear the amusement in his voice.

"i'm gonna be late", he adds after a few seconds. "then be late", you grumble out, not willing to move, too stubborn and too comfortable in the warmth to even think about moving and letting him go.

you groan slightly after a few seconds, giving in as you tell him the classic "five more minutes", as you close your eyes. his hand rubs soft circles on your back, which was doing more harm them good really, lulling you back to sleep. and you do fall back asleep because when you wake up, the sunshine has lit up the room and seungcheol isn't next to you anymore. you furrow your brows as you look around, sitting up ever so slightly as you notice his blazer is still hung up on the hanger, indicating he hadn't left yet.

he appears in the room a few seconds later, his hands busy with securing his tie. his eyes light up when they meet yours and he smiles. "good morning love", he says softly.

"you left me to freeze", you tell dramatically as you sit up straighter, a pout evident on your face, which only makes seungcheol laugh lovingly at you. "someone's grumpy today", he adds as he walks over to you and leans down, planting a kiss to the top of your head. "i'll see you later", he adds and you nod.

seungcheol puts on his blazer and steps out of the room. you can hear the shuffle of his feet as he puts on his shoes and you get up, opening the wadrobe and taking his coat out. "cheol wait!", you call out as you grab his coat and walk out of the room, your mismatched socks serving as protection against the cold tile floor. you show him the coat.

"baby it's cold outside, don't want my husband to freeze to death now i do", you tell as you help him put on the coat, running your hands on his shoulders as you straighten the coat, resting your hands on his shoulders.

"have a good day", you tell, meeting his eyes. you quickly glance at the clock to the left and back at him. "aren't you late?", you prompt. "and who's fault is that?", he asks, making you tilt your head, giving him a glare. "my meeting got postponed", he fills in as he softly caresses your cheek with the back of his hand.

seungcheol is about to leave, you even hear the door open and you're in the kitchen making yourself a cup of tea when you hear him call out for you and you see him waiting by the doorway, an arm leaning against the wall for support as he stands tall in front of you.

"aren't you forgetting something love?", he prompts and you furrow your brows. did you forget something?

"forget what?", you ask and he pouts his lips, making a kissy face. you shake your head at his silliness and walk forward till you're in front of him. you lean in, placing a soft kiss on his lips. you pull away but he leans forward, capturing your lips again, pulling you closer as he cups your cheek gently, kissing you sweetly.

"you're so silly", you mumble against his lips and he grins. "only for you", he says without missing a beat, the soft indentation of his dimple showing, making you smile as you kiss him again.

taglist: @daisycheols @naaaaafla @slytherinshua @weird-bookworm @idubiluv @qaramu @n4mj00nvq @joshuaahong @strawberri-uyu @itsveronicaxxx @fallingforshua29 @frankenstein852 @lvlystars @mirxzii

[tevanavernus]

how about some angst for established bucktommy? i only got vibes for you: held at gunpoint on a call, one of them gets in between the gun and the other, wanting to shield them 👀❤️

[Thanks for the request! I see your angst and raise you: they're both idiots trying to protect each other. Hope you like this! Also, they're still...technically on call right? ❤️]

In hindsight, Tommy should have known the other shoe would eventually drop. He should have prepared himself for it, should have anticipated that the universe wouldn't let happiness linger around him for too long. But it was easy to forget, wrapped up in Evan's orbit, with his blinding grins and the way he wore his heart so openly on his sleeve. It made Tommy drop his guard, lulled him into a sense of security.

That's not to say it was all sunshine and smiles. They had their bad days—days when they got snappy with each other or when an argument dragged on for longer than it should. There were cold shoulders, fueled by pride or stubbornness, but those days never lasted long. One of them always caved, and they'd find their way back to each other, realizing that whatever it was just wasn't worth staying mad over. It had taken Evan a while to truly believe that Tommy wasn't going anywhere, but eventually, even he came to accept it.

So now, a year after their failed first date, Tommy's old house was cluttered with moving boxes and scattered belongings, as they tried to find permanent spots for Evan's things. The chaos drove Tommy a little insane, having to step over things and deal with the mess of combining their lives. But if it meant Evan was in his bed every night? It was more than worth it in Tommy's opinion.

The morning, though, should have been the first clue that the day was about to turn to shit.

Evan had an early shift, so by the time Tommy woke up, his side of the bed was cold—a sure deduction of points right off the bat. Then came the next blow: apparently, Evan had left in a rush and, in doing so, had used up the last of the oat milk. Which meant Tommy was now doomed to drink black coffee. He'd sighed in resignation as he spotted the sticky note attached to the fridge that read, "Sorry babe, I'll buy more after shift! Ily <3"—but pocketed it for safekeeping despite the frustration. Sure, it was a small inconvenience. But still, it set the tone, didn't it? Little things tend to pile up.

The biggest clue? The storm. It was meant to be stormy all day, and in Tommy's experience—other than meeting Evan—storms never led to anything good, especially for Harbour. People tended to get careless, acting like they weren't facing weather they were completely unprepared for.

Tommy's instincts were proven right when, not even halfway through his shift, they were called out to a massive pileup on the highway. Multiple vehicles were involved, and dozens of people needed transport to hospitals. So, as always, Tommy did what he did best: jumped into a helicopter and flew out to the scene with his team.

From the bird's-eye view, he hissed in sympathy at the sight. The wreckage was bad—mangled metal, cars overturned, and scattered debris everywhere. It wasn't pretty. But there wasn't time to dwell on that. As soon as they touched down, his team sprang into action.

Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted the familiar 118 number at the scene. Over the past year, he and Evan had crossed paths at work more often than either had probably anticipated, but never for anything small. When Harbour and the 118 were both on-site, it usually meant there was no time to spare, not even for a quick hello.

Tommy knew how this went. Most of the time, he didn't even leave the cockpit while his team prepped patients for transport. And today wasn't any different. He stayed put, eyes scanning the scene, focusing on his job. He sighed, knowing he'd have to wait until they were home to talk to Evan. Though, for a brief moment, he thought he saw a familiar pair of wet curls rushing through the chaos, the saw in hand.

It wasn't until the fourth round trip that the storm really began to pick up, and Tommy found himself battling the wind and gusts of rain to safely land on the hospital's helipad. The helicopter shook slightly as the weather worsened, and Tommy had to grip the controls a little tighter, to guide the aircraft down through the increasingly erratic winds.

Just as they touched down, the call came in over his headset to ground them. The storm had escalated to the point where it wasn't safe to fly anymore. Tommy let out a frustrated sigh, knowing that even though it was the right call, it meant he wouldn't be able to get back to the scene. Grounded meant he would be stuck in the hospital, waiting out the weather.

His thoughts drifted back to Evan—out there in the middle of it. So, when Tommy was the last one in the helicopter, he took a moment to pull out his phone, hoping for a text or update. But the screen was empty. No messages, no missed calls. He knew he shouldn't worry—Evan had handled worse, and a storm was just another part of the job. But despite that knowledge, his stomach clenched uncomfortably.

Tommy pocketed the phone, feeling a bit ridiculous for worrying so much. He exited the helicopter, and even in the quick dash to the hangar door, the rain managed to half-drench him. His pilot suit clung uncomfortably to his skin, the chill seeping in. He grimaced, brushing a hand through his damp hair.

"Great," he muttered to himself, shivering slightly as he pushed open the door and stepped inside. From there, he navigated the labyrinth of hallways, heading down toward the ED. After years on the job, Tommy had learned a few secrets from some of the nurses—like the fact that the coffee in the cafeteria near the ED was much better than what they had in other wings of the hospital.

It seemed like luck was on his side when Tommy noticed the familiar set of curls hunched over the nurse's station as he entered the ED. Evan hadn't noticed him yet, which gave Tommy a moment to take in the sight—completely drenched, looking like a wet rat after being caught in the storm. Tommy had to bite back a laugh at how disheveled he looked.

"Hey, handsome," Tommy grinned as he slunk up to where Evan stood.

Evan jumped slightly, glancing up from his notes. His expression softened into a tired but genuine smile, water still dripping from his curls.

"Hey yourself," he said, brushing his wet hair out of his eyes. "What are you still doing here?

"Dropped off the last patient. We're grounded for now, thanks to the weather," Tommy replied with a shrug.

"You've got time?" Evan asked, his voice a little too eager as his eyes darted around the busy ED. "I could probably make up some excuse with Bobby... We could grab coffee?"

Tommy raised an eyebrow, smirking. "Is my coffee going to have some milk this time?"

Evan gave him a sheepish grin, stepping closer until their shoulders nearly brushed. Without hesitation, he reached out and laced his fingers through Tommy's. "I promise, I'll grab some on the way home."

Home. Tommy felt that familiar flutter in his chest at the word again. Evan had started to throw it around more casually lately, and each time it hit Tommy in a way he wasn't quite used to. It made everything feel more real—not just some wishful daydream Tommy conjured up when his place felt too lonely with only him in it.

"Mhm, I have that in writing too," Tommy reminded him playfully, squeezing Evan's hand. "But, yeah, I've got time."

Just overhead, a loud roar of thunder echoed through the hospital, followed by a sharp crack of lightning that struck somewhere nearby. A moment later, the lights began to flicker and dim, casting the hall in an eerie, unstable glow. Instinctively, Tommy looked up at the ceiling, his grip on Evan's hand tightening ever so slightly.

"Great," Evan muttered, his gaze following Tommy's, as the lights struggled to stabilize. "Just what we needed—a power outage in the middle of all this."

"The generators should kick in any moment now," Tommy mumbled, more to himself than to Evan, his eyes still fixed on the flickering lights above. They stopped flickering.

When Tommy would look back at that moment, guilt-ridden as he replayed the events over and over in his mind, he would think of all the things he should have done. He should have grabbed Evan's hand and dragged him right out of the hospital, ignoring every instinct as a firefighter and instead said, "Screw it". He should have known, sensed it—should have put Evan first, before everything went sideways.

Except, he didn't.

When the shouts and screams erupted from a room somewhere to the side, Tommy didn't do any of those things. Instead, he frowned, shared a look with Evan, and stayed put by the nurse's station.

His mind went into a familiar mode: assess, analyze, act. The screams grew louder, panicked voices echoing off the sterile walls, but neither of them moved just yet. They were waiting, watching, gauging the situation. And then, there was no more time.

The next second, a commotion erupted from a nearby room. A shuffle broke out as one man pushed another through the door. Chaos spilled into the hallway. Tommy vaguely heard a nurse's voice shout, urgent:

"Security! Code silver! Active threat in the ED!"

And then a bang.

Tommy blinked against the brief, blinding flash of light that followed, and before he could process what was happening, a body hit the ground with a sickening thud.

Tommy froze. For a split second, everything around him blurred—the gunshots, the chaos, the sound of bodies hitting the ground. It was a moment he'd never fully forgive himself for. His feet were rooted to the floor as security rushed past them, but it didn't matter. The gun was still raised, and another shot rang out.

Another body hit the ground.

The shattering of glass, splintering into a million pieces, finally snapped him back to reality.

Evan was already moving, ripping his hand from Tommy's grip and dropping to the ground to check on the security guard who had fallen. Tommy's heart pounded in his chest, but he forced himself into action, his mind racing to catch up as adrenaline surged through his veins.

A scuffle broke out, the chaos intensifying as some people scrambled to evacuate while few of the staff rushed to help the injured.

For a moment, Tommy lost sight of Evan, the blur of bodies clouding his vision. His heart lurched painfully in his chest, panic clawing at him as he scanned the area frantically, searching for that familiar figure amid the chaos.

He didn't see as the shooter grabbed someone in a choke-hold, with a gun raised to their head. His attention was set somewhere else.

"Evan!" he shouted, his voice cutting through the noise as he finally spotted him crouched. Relief surged through him, but it was short-lived. Just as Tommy moved to get to him, the shooter's attention snapped toward them.

The man's gaze locked onto Evan, and in that split second, Tommy's blood ran cold.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa!" Evan exclaimed, raising his arms slowly, palms open. "We're firefighters! We can help!"

"No, no. Only one of you," he said finally, his voice shaky but determined as he waved the gun between the woman he was holding and their general direction.

Tommy's stomach dropped, a sense of dread settling in like ice in his veins. The shooter was barely in control, panicked and irrational, and every movement felt like it could tip things into disaster. This was spiraling, fast, and Tommy knew it was only going to get worse.

He was no stranger to guns. He'd grown up seeing them in his father's hands, the man recklessly firing off rounds in their backyard when temper mixed with alcohol took over. He'd seen guns in the military, had been trained with them, witnessed firsthand what they could do. He saw it almost daily in the gunshot victims he transported at the back of the chopper - too many lives torn apart by bullets. He had become desensitized to it, to the violence they brought.

If it was pointed at him, his pulse likely wouldn't even spike. His hands wouldn't shake.

But this was different.

Now, his pulse thundered in his ears, and his hands trembled with an intensity that terrified him, because the gun wasn't aimed at him. Instead it was dangerously close to pointing at the one person who meant everything to him— Evan.

The love of his life.

"Okay," Tommy finally managed to force out, though his voice wasn't quite steady. "What do you want?"

The man growled, his eyes wild and darting around the room. "How do I lock the doors?"

A nurse, her hands trembling, hurriedly pulled out a pair of keys from a drawer and held them out, showing them to the man. Tommy's heart sank; it meant their only exit was about to be cut off. The situation was rapidly closing in on them, both figuratively and literally.

But as the shooter's focus shifted toward the nurse, instructing her to do it, Tommy saw it—an opening, a brief moment of distraction.

Without thinking twice, he moved closer to Evan, subtly shifting his stance so he was positioned just enough to shield Evan from a clear shot, should the man spiral even further and snap.

He wasn't sure if Evan noticed the shift, and he didn't care. If something went wrong, he wasn't going to let Evan be the one in the line of fire. If he had to, he'd gladly take the hit first.

There was no universe, no reality in which he'd allow himself to be standing with his hands covered in Evan's blood today. Not ever.

"Tommy," Evan hissed quietly beside him.

Ah, so he did notice. But Tommy didn't dare glance at him, didn't risk looking into Evan's eyes and seeing the concern—or worse, the fear—there. There was too much at stake to get distracted, and Evan was his weak spot. Seeing those emotions would break his focus, distract him—and distractions could get them both killed.

"Hey, they can see where I... They're going to shoot me!" the shooter yelled, panic creeping into his voice.

'Yeah, no shit,' Tommy thought briefly, frustration bubbling beneath the surface. But he stayed silent.

"Hey, you!" The shooter's focus snapped back to them, and Tommy's shoulders tensed, his body instinctively shifting just a little more in front of Evan. "I have to cover the windows! What do I use?"

"I don't know." Tommy replied curtly, his voice clipped.

"How about- how about the sheets?" Tommy took a glance where he gestured toward one of the rooms "Alright, they have lots of those, right? Do it. Now."

Tommy's stomach twisted. He didn't have much choice, but still, he hesitated. His eyes flickered to Evan, who was still on the ground, kneeling next to the security guard as he tried to put pressure on the wound in the shoulder. Moving now would leave Evan completely exposed, utterly vulnerable.

If anything went wrong, if the shooter spiraled even further, Evan wouldn't stand a chance. Not even if he had the fastest reflexes in the world.

It would be an execution.

For a split second, Tommy's world shrunk, zeroing in on that one horrifying thought, the fear tightening its grip on his heart.

But the thought of that combined with Evan—his Evan—didn't compute in Tommy's mind. His brain outright refused to entertain the idea and his body locked up as if physically rejecting the command.

Whether the shooter noticed Tommy's hesitation or simply felt the walls closing in on him, he made a sudden move, shoving the woman he was holding toward Tommy and ordered her to help him.

Fuck.

Tommy finally moved, with a heavy heart, every step feeling like he was walking through a minefield that he might set off with one wrong step. His every instinct screamed at him to stay, to protect Evan, but he had no choice

It felt like betrayal, stepping away from Evan.

Almost like an out-of-body experience, Tommy moved mechanically, helping the woman as they covered the windows, sealing off any visibility into the room and sucking out all the oxygen.

The doctor with the first victim started to talk with the shooter, pulling his attention away. Tommy crept back to Evan, without taking his eyes off the shooter, Tommy squatted down beside Evan. His hand found Evan's instinctively—like it always did—and he squeezed it tightly. Whether it was to reassure Evan or to ground himself, he couldn't tell. Maybe both.

"Listen, I just want to get my girlfriend out of here. I don't want to hurt anybody else, but I will if you get in my way." The shooter's voice wavered as he spun around, his eyes wild and desperate. His gaze locked back onto them, and Tommy felt his muscles tense.

"Hey, you. Back where you were," the man barked, gesturing toward Tommy.

Tommy hesitated, his grip on Evan's hand tightening.

"It's okay. Go," Evan mumbled softly, when Tommy made no move. Tommy glanced down, eyes locking with Evan's for a brief moment, silently pleading for something. To tell him to stay? Maybe?

"Go," Evan repeated, more firmly this time, giving Tommy's hand a squeeze before letting go.

Tommy swallowed hard, his throat tight as he slowly stood, feeling the warmth of Evan's hand slip away. Taking a breath that felt too shallow, he stepped away, forcing his feet to move back to where the shooter had pointed.

Tommy's blood ran cold as the gun swung in Evan's direction, the finger on the trigger making his heart lurch painfully in his chest. The air in the room seemed to freeze.

"You!" the shooter barked, voice harsh and desperate. "Get those cuffs. Now."

Tommy's pulse roared in his ears, panic clawing at him, but he forced himself to stay still, forced himself to swallow the instinct to rush forward.

"Take it easy," Evan said, his voice steady despite the danger. He reached for the cuffs, holding them up for the shooter to see. "I'm getting them. Just... take it easy."

"Cuff him to that desk."

Tommy flinched as the cold metal of the cuff locked around his wrist. He glanced down, frowning in confusion. The metal bit into his skin, his arm instinctively tugging against it, testing for any give. But before he could react further, another click echoed in the air—Evan securing the second cuff to the desk.

Tommy's heart dropped.

And then he felt it—Evan's hand briefly wrapping around his forearm. The words that followed were barely a whisper, soft but devastating.

"I love you," Evan murmured, his voice filled with emotion.

A wave of panic and dread crashed over Tommy, his throat tightening painfully. He shook his head, eyes burning as he met Evan's gaze.

"Don't," Tommy choked out, his voice strained. Don't say it like that. Please.

Suddenly, a commotion broke out from one of the nearby rooms—the same one where the shooter had come from originally. The noise set the man off. He jerked in response, taking several threatening steps closer to them, his movements frantic and unpredictable.

And Tommy couldn't do a damn thing. He couldn't move, couldn't act—his wrist still cuffed to the desk, helpless to stop what was about to happen. He could only watch Evan, without hesitation, moved in front of him, his arm stretching out protectively, shielding Tommy with his own body.

Of course Evan did. Evan, who always wore his heart on his sleeve, who rushed headfirst into things without thinking it through. Evan, who seemed to believe it was his responsibility to protect everyone.

Tommy loved him.

Tommy would never forgive him for this. For being so fucking reckless. As if Tommy needed his protection more than he need him. As if he wasn't Tommy's entire world.

But then the shooter spun around, distracted, pacing erratically as he moved in and out of the room. He could feel Evan tense beside him, could see the wheels turning in his head. His hart seized with paralyzing fear.

"Evan," Tommy hissed, grabbing at his arm, his grip tight with desperation. "Don't. Don't do anything stupid."

Tommy would plead if he needed to. He'd drop to his knees and beg if it meant Evan would stand down. Because he knew Evan. Knew how his mind worked, how he was wired. Evan wasn't the type of man to stand by and do nothing. He wasn't someone who waited for the danger to pass; he ran into it.

And Tommy couldn't lose him. Not like this. Not now, not when they had just really started building their lives together. Not ever.

His grip tightened on Evan's arm, his fingers digging into his skin, until Evan had no choice but to look at him. Evan's jaw tightened, but he didn't say anything. Didn't move. Not yet.

And Tommy clung to that sliver of hope like a lifeline. Even if he knew, deep down, that it was false.

For a fleeting moment, it was nice. Almost comforting.

It last all of a few minutes.

Because the next time the shooter passed by them, Evan, honest to God, lunged at the man.

Tommy's heart stopped.

"No!" Tommy's shout ripped from his throat before he even realized it.

The time stood still.

Tommy's eyes were wide open, unblinking, but it was as if he couldn't see. Maybe it was because Evan's back was turned to him, as he wrestled with the shooter for the gun. Maybe it was because Tommy's mind was too busy processing the raw sound of his own voice—hoarse and desperate—screaming as he pulled against the cuffs with every ounce of strength he had. Or maybe, he did see everything but his brain, in its cruel mercy, refused to let him process it.

It was too much. Too loud. Too fast.

Another bang erupted, deafening in the enclosed space, and Tommy's world stopped.

A body dropped to the floor.

The world tilted on its axis, and Tommy's breath hitched. His heart stopped for one agonizing second.

No. No.

Hands were suddenly on his face, trying to steady him, trying to make him focus. But Tommy couldn't. He flinched at the touch, his body trembling violently, too overwhelmed to respond. He shook his head, refusing to let the scene before him solidify into anything real.

He couldn't look. Couldn't force himself to look.

"Breathe, baby, breathe." Evan's voice cut through the haze, repeating the words like a mantra. "Breathe."

Tommy choked in a ragged breath, his chest tight and painful as the words slowly registered. He blinked, and slowly, too slowly, the world began to come back into focus. Evan was there, right in front of him, alive and breathing, with his hands still cupping Tommy's face, trying to steady him.

Tommy's hands instinctively reached out to touch him, to make sure he was real, even though there were specks of blood splattered across Evan's skin. But the cuffs yanked him back, cutting his reach short. A pitiful sound escaped him, more like a wounded animal than a man.

Evan did it for him, closing the gap, he wrapped himself around Tommy and buried his face in Tommy's neck. It took Tommy longer than it should have to wrap his free arm around Evan, to actually feel his warmth, his solid presence. To know he was really there.

"You're okay," Evan murmured into his neck, his breath warm against Tommy's skin. Soft lips pressed into his neck, bringing a flicker of warmth back into his cold, numb body. "We're okay."

"I hate you," Tommy whispered hoarsely, his voice cracking.

"No, you don't," Evan hummed back, his tone matter-of-fact.

Tommy let out a trembling choked out laugh, his body sagging. "No, I don't," he admitted quietly, finally squeezing Evan tighter.

There were so many things he wanted to say, things he needed to say. He will tell Evan how much he loved him. He will berate him for doing something so stupid, so dangerous. He will make sure Evan didn't leave his sight for days, maybe weeks.

But all that would come later. After his heart stopped racing like it was about to leap out of his chest. After his mind could fully register that Evan was here, alive, and okay.

Because there was an after.

[ ps: This was heavily inspired by an episode of Chicago Med, credit is where it's due]

[erosmutt]

/ thinkin' bout﹒☆

﹒brothers! scott & sam + teacher reader﹒⌅

⠀★⠀⠀─⠀⠀WRITTEN BY EROSMUTT 24.03.30

𖦹 age gap (sam and scott are 18, reader is in her 30s), mida rana!reader, sub scott and sam

"you two have repeatedly gotten yourselves into trouble. acting out, being caught with drugs and alcohol, skipping class. what do you two have to say for yourselves, hm?"

the two students - Sam and his brother Scott - stand before you in your classroom. you had called them after school, at precisely 5 o'clock, knowing no one would be around. "i should send you to the Dean tomorrow, shouldn't i?"

the two immediately perk up, but Scott was more in a panic than his brother. "no! no, Miss, please! if he finds out, i could get kicked off the football team!" he pleads, tugging at the hem of his sweater anxiously. you look over at Sam and raise an eyebrow. he just looks away, shoving his hands into his pockets, making the chains on his shorts jingle. he gives you a shrug. "whatever, i don't care. tell him."

this sends his brother into a worse panic. so, you intervene.

"how about this, boys," you begin, getting up out of your chair. your heels click against the floor, making Scott step back. "i'll let you two off the hook, if, you come to tutoring sessions after school." that earns you a groan from Sam and a whine from Scott. "no." they say at the same time.

"oh, but yes! or would you rather i tell the dean about your little escapades during passing periods?"

Scott, desperate to save his ass, nods his head frantically. "yes! yes, fine! we could start now if you want! just please don't tell!" you smile and reach up, gently pinching his rosy cheek between your thumb and forefinger. "good boy! you're setting an example for your brother, aren't you?" he nods, looking down at you. "mhm, example."

Sam rolls his eyes and looks at you and his brother. "you're such a fucking pushover." he tells Scott, drawing a scoff from him. "no i'm not!" you just smile, gently stroking Scott's bicep, tracing the contours of his muscle with your fingertips. "well Sam?"

he sighs heavily, then rubs his hand over his face. "fuck it, fine."

The next day, you and Scott were sitting across from each other in the classroom. you thought it'd be nice to arrange the desk a different way and sit at one with him to make it more comfortable, and to not make him feel as if he was getting talked at, but mentored 1-on-1. also to lull him into a false sense of security.

"i think Sam flaked, Miss." he murmurs, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. you lift your leg, resting your foot on the chair between Scott's legs, teasing his crotch with the toe of your black pump. he shifts in his seat, and just as he opens his mouth to speak, the classroom door swings open. it slams against the wall then closes as Sam walks in. he slides into the desk next to you.

"sorry," he murmurs. you give him a smile. "no worries Sam, your brother and i were just chatting." he shrugs and pulls his notebook out of his bag, slapping it onto the desk. meanwhile, Scott was biting his lip as you rubbed your foot over his now half-hard cock.

Sam opens his notebook to a clean page, clicking open his pen. he titles his paper, completely oblivious to what was happening to his brother underneath the desks.

[milliesfishes]

I adore you both @francixoxoxo @lopsnpops ౨ৎ꣑ৎbilly when you're drunk౨ৎ꣑ৎ fem reader x billy the kid

Maybe it had been a mistake to bring you out to one of the wild parties the Regulators threw every fortnight or so, but Billy hardly regretted it now.

Under the winking stars you were as lovely as ever, hair unwoven from your rope of a braid, eyes sparkling as the lake did when the sun's rays hit it exactly right. He wound an arm loosely around your waist, simply enjoying the angelic sight of you. The colossal bonfire gave you a halo that only further encouraged your paradisical image.

You were literature to him, practically the Bible. A book he could pore over time and time again and find something new with every page. And indeed, he read your verses like a devoted saint.

As you accepted a drink from one of his men, saying something that made him laugh, Billy pressed a kiss to your hair. It was hard to forget how charming you were. How lovable his girl was in every sense of the term. You were a siren's song, a call he would answer every time. Your laugh was a sound tuned to his senses, an aphrodisiac he couldn't help but breathe in.

The night morphed into a cacophony of music and the laughter of men, smoke from the fire drifting through the camp and tickling the noses of everyone present. Women both hired and invited hung off the arms of Regulators, both feasting on the mystery of the night and allowing it to overcome them.

Billy hadn't noticed exactly how much whiskey you'd indulged in until he heard your ringing laughter echoing over the content buzz of the partygoers. Turning his head from a lulling conversation, he saw you across the fire, giggling delightedly at something of which he was unsure of the context.

He knew he should feel concerned at your drunken state, but truthfully, as he made his way over, grass crunching under his boots, all he could think about was how adorable you were.

"Havin' a good time, darlin'?" he teased good-naturedly, approaching you with a steady grin.

You turned around and saw who he was, face immediately splitting into a smile that seemed to glow in the dark. "Billy!" Throwing your arms around him, you buried your face in his neck. "BillyBillyBilly. I love you, did you know that?"

Chuckling, he indulged you, arms securing you against him. His name in your mouth was a hymn he wasn't sure he'd find in any chapel. Divinity was his best description of you, and its lack of earthly context made it all the more fitting. Even with alcohol on your breath, you were heaven sent.

"I'll never complain 'bout you remindin' me, baby," he said, kissing your nose gently. As he did, your eyes lit as something that struck him like lightning.

You stood on your tiptoes, bouncing up and down on your heels. "I love you!" Reaching up as high as you could, you pressed your lips to his cheek in a darling show of affection.

"How many whiskies didja have, pretty girl?" Billy tilted your chin up with his fingers, examining your eyes. "You're walkin' in wavy lines darlin'."

"Oh..." you furrowed your brow into an adorable crease as you thought. The amount of contemplation it was taking to recall it lifted the corners of his lips like a sunrise. "Three maybe?"

"You're a lightweight if there ever was one, sweetheart," he laughed, keeping his hold tight on your waist as you leaned back in his arms, head lulling so you could look at the moon. "Think it might be time to go home."

You frowned, pouting slightly in that way he couldn't help but adore. Billy was utterly helpless to finding anything you did endearing. He was up to his elbows holding you by your waist, knowing that if he let go you'd fall backwards. "But I still wanna talk to more people. And watch the stars. And get another drink-"

"Woah, woah, baby doll," he countered, shaking his head and breathing a laugh. "You ain't gettin' any more drinks. We're gonna go home so you can sleep this all off."

Lower lip pushing out, you shook your head. "But...but I wanna..." you let go of him and attempted to take a step, but your knees began to give out.

Swiftly, he caught you, hoisting you up by your waist and prompting you to wrap your legs around him. "Alright...c'mere angel baby, up y' go..." The surrounding party was too lost in the splendor of drink and company to pay you any mind. "You're trouble tonight, sweetheart."

He managed to balance you on his horse and get you home, skillfully opening the door with his foot while carrying you. You babbled sentences he couldn't determine the meaning of, but he still listened, nodding attentively. "Mhm. You're right my love."

Laying you down in bed, he attempted to detangle himself from you in order to find some water to quell the alcohol in your system. You frowned and tugged on his arm, shaking your head persistently. "No, don't leave."

"Just gettin' ya some water, honey," he tried, but you held fast.

The image of you this clingy and wanting for his mere presence was more valuable to him than any jewel he had thought so previously. Every single adjective for beautiful ran through his head as he looked at you, your hair spread over the pillow, dress hiked up to your thighs. He was lost in you for a moment.

Oh who was he kidding? Billy couldn't refuse you a single thing. He knelt and worked his boots off, stowing them beneath the bed and loosening the handkerchief around his neck. Untying it and folding it on the nightstand, Billy settled on the bed, tucking you under his arm and nuzzling his chin in your hair. He dropped his lips to your head, thumb rubbing your arm.

"You're a cute little drunk," he murmured, cuddling you close. He shifted to his side and threw one of his legs over yours. You buried your face in his chest, pressing kisses to him there.

"You know this'd be nicer if you took your shirt off," you muttered, and he hid a laugh in your hair.

"Mm, would it now, sweet girl?" He tried to respond seriously, his voice breaking just slightly.

"You just look so good without it." You looked up at him, appearing to be deep in thought once more. Then you said, "And without your pants."

Billy clenched his jaw to try and hide the laugh that nearly slipped out. "To be completely fair you look real pretty without your dress too."

"You're pretty all the time," you hummed, and he was enchanted all over again. Reaching a hand up, you smoothed his hair, pushing it back from his forehead. He let you, enjoying the feel of your hand like silk over his roughened skin. An outlaw's way, though he'd sand down his edges if you desired so.

Your sweetest quality was your pure love for him exactly how he was. He would change every bit of himself for the mere opportunity to love you. And yet to his luck he was allowed to do exactly that, heart and mind exactly as it was.

Billy looked down at you, dozing off with your head resting on your shoulder, a drunken sleep engulfing you. His angel.

In the morning when you awoke and complained of a headache, he'd be right there to draw the curtains and block the sunlight, to be your pillow and mattress.

He'd bring you water and snuggle himself against you until you were fully lucid again. The love for the woman in his arms wasn't dependent on being drunk or sober.

Watching you sleep, his fingers brushed a strand of hair from your cheek. You were sloppily spread across his chest, dress falling off your shoulder, makeup smeared under your eyes. He smiled at the sight of you. That was the woman he was going to marry.

Planting a series of kisses on your head, he smushed his cheek into you. Billy's eyes shut as the only emotion he'd ever felt holding you overcame him.

Adoration.

[fortunekookie07]

Say Please

I was scrolling through Tumblr when I came across this short scenario written by @sayangrafayel I got a little idea from it and wrote this.

Just a cute Fluffy thing.

****************************************************

This man adored you with every fiber of his being. You were his heart and soul. He'd followed you through many lifetimes. Your soul called his, transfixing him with the sweetest sounds.

There was nothing he wouldn't do to protect you. Even though it meant he was seen as the villain, he didn't care. As long as you knew, all he did was for you. He didn't care that you couldn't remember your lifetimes together. He did.

While you couldn't remember anything, you'd long since accepted they happened. There was just something otherworldly about Sylus. He was an old soul.

You trusted him with every fiber of your being, willing to put your life into his hands over and over again.

But today?? Oh, there was something about today.

Sitting on the too big couch of his media room watching random channels. You were on a mandatory vacation. Having put in far too much overtime, the Association had forced you out for two weeks. Having nothing to do, Sylus had come to rescue you from your boredom. Tomorrow, he was taking you on a trip to a yet unknown destination.

He'd come into the room a while ago. Watching you, watch channels until finally settling on a show rerun.

Well, that was until, it too was overtaken by that boredom. You reached beside you for the remote, but it wasn't there. "Hey, where the remote? It was just here." You asked, turning to fully face him.

He shrugged his shoulders, and you could feel his arm rise behind your head. "I don't know." He said calmly. You eyed him suspiciously. Staring at him for any hint that he was messing with you. Seeing nothing, you got up.

Turning to stand in front of him. "Stand up." You place your hands on your hips as he raises one elegant eyebrow. "Come now, Kitten, don't you believe me? You had it last." His words were valid. You did have it last. Or so you believed anyways.

You grabbed his arm. "Come on, stand up." You pull his arm, and he lets you pull him to his feet. No remote. "See, Kitten? No remote." You can hear the teasing, taunting lit to his voice. He's definitely up to something.

You push him to the side and move the cushions, running your hands along the supporting board before putting them back and checking underneath the couch. Still no remote.

While your back is turned, Sylus lets his smirk stretch across his face. Right above his head is the remote. How easy it had been to slip it from between the two of you. It was following you around.

His evol easily, keeping it held where you would not see it. He lits his grin drop when you stand up. "Help me look. It can't have wandered off!" Your voice has the cute whiny tone to it. He sits back down and looks at you.

"Maybe, if you ask nicely." You stare at him mouth agape. "Wh- what? Sylus, we can't work the TV without the stupid remote!" He shrugs again. "I'll just get a new one." You throw your headback in exasperation and finally catch sight of it.

"What?!?! You had it this whole time???" His deep chuckles fill the room. "Sylus!" You whine trying to grab it, only for him to raise it higher. "Come on, let me have it." The whiny tone is back.

"I told you, you just need to ask nicely." He holds his hand out I'm invitation. You take it, and he pulls you down into his lap. Tucking your head under his chin and snuggling into his embrace as you wrap your arms around his chest. Breathing softly as you close your eyes.

Taking in the sense of security, comfort, and pure love, close your eyes. You loved to sit with Sylus like this. Nothing could make you feel safer. Listening to his steady heartbeat could lull you to sleep.

"Sylus, can I please have the remote?" Your quiet question broke the spell you'd fallen under in his embrace. It landed on your head softly.

"Now, was that so hard?" His tone was teasing as he stroked your back. You huffed and grabbed it, shutting off the TV. You just sat with him.

Sylus held you until you'd fallen asleep. Your breathing evened out, become slow and deep. Your arms loosened around him slightly as you fell into deep sleep.

He waited another twenty minutes before standing up. Holding you securely in his arms, he made his way to the bedroom. He tucked you into bed and waited till you'd claimed his pillow before leaving. "Sweet dreams, Kitten." He said softly before leaving.

****************************************************

In my original thoughts, I'd wanted to do a little tussle between them, but I couldn't make it work. So I have this instead. Hope you liked it.

I'm working on the second part of Did You Ever Love Me?

Let me tell you guys, that one is easily gonna be 3 parts. Without a doubt. So I hope you're still ready for it.

I have my tag list ready, and I will continue to add to it to those who are interested.

[ranaissingle]

Coffee or Tea pt.5

Masterlist Part 1 Part 4

Summary: Cuddles and then fluff and then smut. The true holy trinity if you ask me

Rating: M (I will mark where the smut starts for those who want to skip it)

Pairings: Austin x AFAB!Reader Word Count: 2.5k ( I think that's a record lol) Warnings: sex stuff, p in v sex, unprotected sex (pls use protection kids)

A/N: The long-awaited final chapter is here. It took me literally 5 days to write all of the smut bc, and I can't stress this enough, I have no idea what I am doing. Thank you all for following me on this journey. This was my first fanfiction, and the reception of my writing has been greater than everything I could have ever dreamed of. I love you all.

Also, please send me requests I have no inspiration

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Following their less-than-innocent activities, Austin and Y/N had elected to retreat into her room to spend the rest of the night together.

Austin sat up from the couch with Y/N's body still securely wrapped around his and her legs hugging his waist.

"I'll take us to bed now m'kay?" Her soft reply of "mmhm" and nodding into his shoulder was all he needed to begin the short walk to her room.

He gently placed her on the bed with a tenderness that made tears well up in her eyes. His hands were soothing on her tense skin, and the gentle smile on his face made her heart skip a beat.

Austin looked up from his ministrations to catch her eyes.

"Darlin? Are you alright? Did I do something wrong?" The worry in Austin's voice was palpable. She dug her palms into her eye sockets to stem the flow of tears.

"N-no. You were perfect, it was nice. So nice that I don't know if this is real or a dream and I don't want it to end and I'm so scared that it will." The words tumbled out of her mouth before she had the chance to realize what it was she was actually saying. They were warbled from her tears and teetered on the edge of a confession she wasn't sure she wanted to make.

"It's all real Y/N, all of it and I don't want you to think that it is anything but real." Austin's voice cut through her anxiety like a knife through butter. Her shoulders sagged where he massaged her arm and he let her fall against his chest.

"Sorry, I've never felt or done any of this before so I guess you could say that I'm a little... shocked is all. I didn't think you would stick around afterward honestly."

Austin's laugh was crisp, "I’m sad you think so little of me, princess.'

"No! It's not like that. I know you wouldn't leave me like that because I know you are a good person. I guess I just have abandonment issues." She chuckled dryly.

"Listen darlin', I have meaning to tell you that I-. Well, I lov-"

She could swear she heard buzzing in her ear. He didn't say what she thought he said. Did he? No, he didn't, because that wouldn't make any sense.

Her nails dug into her palms.

That would mean that for the first time in her life, someone had loved her the way she did them. But that's not possible. Is it?

The thoughts spiraled in her mind and each one was darker than the last. He was lying to her. He was lying to get her to sleep with him. He was going to use her and then leave her alone like all the others.

Her hands felt clammy.

A large warm hand enveloped her own and the fog in her mind began to clear.

"Come back to me darlin'. Come back, please." The soft voice gently lulled her back into awareness. She felt like she was coming back up for air after being trapped underwater.

“Sorry. I- I didn't-" She could barely get a word out as she gulped down the fresh air.

Austin moved his hands to cup her face and repeated his earlier words.

"I love you. I love you so much it hurts. You are all I think about darlin' you are all I want."

"Austin." She gasped his name and pushed her lips against his soft ones.

She moved her mouth against his with a fervor she wasn't even sure she had. His tongue swiped the seam of her lips to ask for entrance and she happily gave it to him. He worked her in ways much different than before. He tilted her head every which way while he brought his hands down to palm her hips and bring her closer all at once.

Y/N was back in his lap with her legs stretched over his and Austin pulled away from her to speak.

"We don't have to go any further tonight if you don't want to. We don't even have to do it all if that's what you would wa-"

"I love you." Her voice was clear as a summer morning and almost like she had gathered more courage she spoke again.

"I love you Austin. More than I have ever loved anyone in my life."

Smut starts here (MDNI)

Austin groaned loud and fierce before he crashed his lips over hers again.

He was everywhere. His hands reached down to palm her clit once more through her clean panties.

"I know your body so well Y/N. I knew what to do before I even touched you for the first time." He punctuated his sentence with a quick flick of Y/N's clothed clit making her gasp and buck her hips into his. She felt his hard bulge straining against the seam of his pants.

She reached down to palm it softly. Austins' groan was so loud it practically shook the walls of her small apartment.

She retracted her palm before stuttering out, "S-Sorry! Did I hurt you?".

"No darlin' not at all. If anything, it feels too good. Something about your little hands just gets me goin'."

"Uh, do you... Do you want me to keep going?"

"Yeah baby, I want your hands on me for the rest of my life." His exasperated sigh and far-off stare told her all she needed to know.

Austin enveloped her hand with his and brought it back down to the source of his mental fog. He opened her palm and pressed it against himself.

"Ugggnh" He groaned and moaned while she unhurriedly palmed him through his pants.

"Just like that darlin' you're doin' so well, agh!" He moaned when she applied more pressure to a particular spot. He was putty in her hands writhing and twisting his hips at every touch while panting into her neck. Despite the consuming pleasure, he still found the strength to work her most sensitive bits. Austin's fingers slowly lifted the hem of her panties up and away from her nether region to glimpse the dripping oasis he knew was there. He slowly pushed his fingers in between her; much to her appreciation. Her hips bucked against his hand and her head fell into his neck.

"Austin!~" Y/N's voice was pained.

As if this was her first time with him all over again. Like Austin hadn't just brought her to climax less than a half hour before. She felt she had all the energy in the world. Perks of being a woman she supposed.

"You already want more don't ya darlin'? I just rang you dry earlier and you're already craving huh?" He circled his finger around the rim of her entrance and she tensed in his arms.

"You're such a greedy little thing arent ya." He pushed his finger in slowly while still rubbing his thumb against her clit. She tried to keep her hand's movements consistent where she rubbed it over his cock, but with all the ways he was touching her, it felt nearly impossible. She could barely breathe let alone execute accurate muscle movements.

"Austin uh- slow down, I can't- I can't touch you at the same time~" Y/N's panting gasps made it hard to let out a coherent sentence.

"Oh, but I know you can darlin' You're gonna have to if you want me to keep goin'." She could hear the smirk in his voice as he spoke. He knew exactly what he was doing and he was enjoying it. Almost too much. Her arms shook with the effort it took to keep her hands steady as she rubbed over the ridges of his cock as a white liquid dribbled slowly out of his tip.

"You're doin' so well darlin'. Your hands feel so good Y/N Jesus! I don't know how much longer I'm gonna last." His face had scrunched up at his confession but his hands were mercilessly pounding her. He had managed to put in another finger and found that spongy spot inside of her once again while she was focused on him.

"I'm gonna need ya to stop touchin' me darlin' I want to finish inside of you. Can I?"

Now, normally she would have turned this suggestion down immediately (assuming she had gone this far with anyone save for her vibrator) but it seems at that moment, Y/N suffered from a temporary moment of insanity.

Y/N gasped at his suggestion and whimpered as the visual of his cum leaking out of her crossed her mind.

"Austin please, please I want you inside me so bad." She leaned her head against his shoulder and whispered in his ear, " I want to feel you Austin, please. I want you so bad I can barely think."

"Darlin' you are making it so hard to be gentle with ya right now." His head lolled back against the headboard to compose his thoughts before he perked back up signaling he had come to a decision.

He gazed at her intently, causing Y/N to squirm in his lap. He had managed to get her writhing against him all over again with nothing but his gaze. A gaze that said he was going to devour her and leave nothing left.

"Come closer darlin', this is gonna be a bumpy ride." He drew one of his hands around her waist to tug Y/N closer to him. Austin's fingers traced the seam of her shirt and looked at her for permission. With a nod from her, he grasped the fabric and pulled it up over her head, tossing it aside in the room."

He didn't say a word as he ogled her chest like a starved man.

"Jesus darlin' every time I think you can't get any better you prove me wrong."

"Austiiin~" The need in her voice had Austin at her beck and call. He would have moved mountains for her at that moment. He moved the both of them to where she was laying on the bed and he hovered over her.

"I know baby, I'll help you feel good don't worry." Austin reached back in between her legs to gather some of her slick on his fingers and rubbed it over his swelled shaft.

"I'm gonna put it in now darlin' alright? It might hurt a little so just tell me and I'll stop, hm?" She nodded and he pushed her legs apart to align himself with her leaking hole. He groaned at the sight of her. He pushed himself slowly into her and she felt the air leave her lungs as he stretched more than she had ever thought possible. The ridges of him pushed and prodded against her in the most perfect way.

"A-AUSTIN!~" His name fell from her lips in a cascade accompanied by moans of pleasure and whimpers. Her nails dug into his shoulder blades to quell the growing burning sensation in her stomach. Austin had stopped his movements in order to give Y/N a moment to breathe and grow accustomed to him, but she wanted anything but the sort. She pulled his head closer to her lips and whispered so softly he barely heard her at all.

"Please Austin, I want to feel you moving inside of me." He didn't even give me the chance to finish before he was pounding his hips against hers. The fervor with which he pushed against her made her see galaxies in her vision almost immediately.

"Fuck darlin' I would spend the rest of my life inside of you." He brought his hand up to thumb her clit and her choked sobs spurred him on. His other hand reached up to cup her cheeks and bring her into a searing kiss. Y/N's heart fluttered against his chest and Austin's groans of pleasure only made her gush more.

"Come on darlin', you're doin' so well for me. Jesus." His speed continued to increase until he was spindling her so hard that the bed frame started to shake and rattle against the wall.

"You're so beautiful, my god. You look so good when you're hungry for me baby." His fingers played with her clit and prodded her already stuffed entrance.

Y/n felt something bubbling up inside of her. Something that threatened to spill over at any given moment, and Austin felt it. Y/N clenched herself against his cock which created the most delightful friction between the both of them. Austin's labored breaths and hands tightened around her body bringing her closer to the edge of the proverbial cliff.

"Darlin, are you close? I can feel ya clenching around me. Fuck, you re squeezing the shit out of me! I'm gonna wring you dry just you wait baby." Austin's moans and groans grew louder in tandem with hers until neither of them could hear the other anymore.

"Are you gonna come baby? Come on I want to see how you look when you finish darlin'. You'll let me see it won't you?" His voice sounded desperate and it hitched after each thrust. He would not allow himself to cum until he had seen you fall apart under him for the first time.

Y/N felt like she had transcended time when her orgasm came crashing down on her.

"AUSTIN!" The anguish in her voice shocked her as her thighs shook and her nails dug deeper into Austin's back making little crescent shapes moons as a mark of her pleasure.

"That's it baby! Fuck! Your cunt is so goddamn tight. Ungh! I'm gonna cum darlin'. Your insides are gonna be full of me."

He pounded into her impossibly harder before letting out a moan so loud it shook the walls while the emptied himself in her. She felt him sputter inside of her and the liquid painted her insides. Austin's heavy body collapsed next to her with his head and part of his shoulders resting over her.

Both of them let out heavy pants and had equally large smiles on their faces.

Austin was the first to move and pull the blanket from the sides of the bed over the two of them. resting his head on hers and embracing her in his chest. Gently, he brushed back her disheveled hair and caressed her cheek before kissing her temples and cheek.

He placed little kisses all over her face and neck until she eventually fell asleep in his arms more relaxed than she had ever been before.; and when he was sure she was asleep he whispered in her ear,

"I love you so much I would die for you Y/N." Austin had never felt for anyone so strongly. Austin had never felt such strong emotions for anyone, but for some inexplicable reason, you had captured his heart and held it in the palm of your hand. He was willing to follow you anywhere and everywhere, forever, with a smile on his face.

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PLEASE READ ALL OF IT!!

You girlies will be pleased to know that I have improved how shy I get writing smut. I had the gall, the audacity, and the gumption, to write most of this while in a Starbucks when I should have been doing psych homework. But alas, I have no shame. I literally typed a vagina as a "dripping oasis" IN A PUBLIC PLACE. BRB gonna go kill myself. I am also planning an Austin Butler x OC series SO would the girlies prefer a reader insert or would an OC be good too? PLEASE let me know because I'm so stuck lol. I feel that it's hard to have an in-depth story with just an x-reader parameter. I would still use pronouns like you and your etc. but just the name would be decided already and I would be able to give more personality to the character BUT I would still keep it race and body neutral. idk tho. I hope you bitches enjoyed this poor excuse for smut lol I still have to get better at writing it.

[askhawkybarton]

Day Four

Enjoy!

Nat wrapped her arms tighter around his waist, leaning with him as they cut a wide turn.

"You're going too fast" she said calmly over her head mic.

He rolled his eyes, "You just aren't used to bikes like I am. They're like tattoos - once you get one, you can't stop! Just relax, and you'll start to love it"

"I highly doubt it. I prefer being in a fully enclosed vehicle, thank you."

"We'll see what you say at the end of the week"

She grunted, but didn't respond to his jibe.

They were halfway to his next stop, and were making incredible time. Who knew that not having something go wrong every five seconds could be such a time saver? Nat must be his good luck charm, because things were going great.

"There is a cop that is behind us Clint."

Shit.

Spoke too soon.

"You got your fake ID on you?"

"When don't I?"

"Jesus, just checking. I'd rather not be caught with an international fugitve - thanks"

He pulled over his bike, grabbing his own documentation as he waited for whatever Highway Patrol yuppy was gonna come up to them.

"Do you know how fast you were going?" The gruff voice asked.

Hawk took off his helmet. "Sorry, my girl has never been on a bike before, so I was showing off. Totally my bad."

The Sheriff (not SHP, shocking) just shook his head. "You're lucky there was no one else on the road with you. There's a time and place to show off son, and none of it is on the road."

"I really am sorry. It won't happen again -she's already pinched me twice."

The sheriff chuckled, "As she should! Since you didn't cause any hamrm, I'll let you both off with a warning. Okay? But if I catch you again - it's a fine. Deal?"

"Yessir! Thanks, I appreciate it."

"Alright then, go on. And keep it within the speed limit!"

Hawk grinned, sliding back on his helmet. He gave the sheriff a little salute, and off they went.

Things were quiet for a few minutes, it lulled Clint into a false sense of security.

"Told you so"

... dammit.

[i-came-i-saw-i-loved]

Veni Vidi Amavi

Chapter ten: With You There Is Peace. It Soothes My Aching Heart.

Pairng: Doomslayer X Reader

Reader Type: Gender Nuetral

Warnings: N/A

An: This is the final chapter. I hope that you enjoy and i do intend on re writing this in the future. And this is honestly the smallest chapter out of all of them so I do apologize for that.

"But god, I look at you and I know. Hell is just another place I guess I'll go to keep you warm."

-And with bloody knuckles, you'd follow me anywhere.|P.D

You are stumbling back to the bed when Flynn wakes. He gives you a lopsided grin as he props himself up on his elbows. The blankets have pooled around his waist. A thick leg has fallen over the side of the bed.

"Walking ok?" Came a teasing voice. Your ears burn and you make a face at him.

"Very well thank you." He snorts and rises to stand as yo take another wobbling step.

"You're walking about like a newborn deer." His voice rumbles. Still hoarse from sleep. You open your mouth to retort but squeak instead as you catch an eye full of the Slayer. Flynn says nothing. Chuckling as he lifts you up. You curl into him as the two of you lay down. Flynn draws the blanket over your hips.

"You're wearing my shirt." Flynn mutters. Tugging on the fabric lightly. You say nothing. Let his warmth lull you into a feeling of safety. You curl into him. Tucking your head beneath his chin. Flynn draws you in close. He presses a kiss to the crown of you head. His lips lingers and an unknown feeling fills you chest. So full its close to bursting. You feel your body shiver and if you could you would press your body closer to his. Allow his very being to overtake you.

Flynn is a familiarity you have been deprived of since all of this began. A place of safety and comfort. A security you have longed for. Yearned to have. His hand follows the curve of your hips and up your back. His fingers trail over your shoulders until they linger at the nape of your neck. You shiver as he traces circles on the skin there.

His body curls around you as the two of you shift. He blocks everything in the outside world. The fortress. To the Earth below you. All the bad seems far away. Unable to touch you as Flynn lays by your side.

He fills your every sense. Smell. Touch. Sound. The scent of him is gunpowder and leather. Thick and heavy. It clings to his skin. His body is warm. Impossibly so. As if the rage he held is what kept him going. Stoked the fires that fueled him. It is his heart beat that pulls it together. Steady and rhythmic. It is the same. It is him. The light that kept you grounded.

Flynn thought of you the same. A blessing that he is afraid will disappear if he looked away for to long. To be stolen as Daisy was. His home. Family. To be ripped apart just as Earth was. Flynn found himself clinging to you. Etching your being into his soul. An untainted memory. The sweet smell. That softness. The one thing that has not been violently ripped away from him.

Everything has left him but the certainty of your goodness. Something he thought he could never have again. To be loved so softly and without shame.

"Flynn?" Your voice is barely above a whisper as his hand comes up to cradles your jaw. His thumb soothes the skin below your eye. He his lost in you. Flynn felt his body tremble as your hand laid atop his. He felt his heart jolt when you pressed your lips to his palm.

Such violent things they were. Are. Have been. That very hand had been a killer of demons. Of violent and vicious beings. His hands have brought more harm to living things than good. They were coated in the blood of living things. The bringer of all his mistakes and undoings in this path his life had chosen to follow. And here you were. Finding peace within them.

"Flynn?" Worry in your voice now. Your hand leaving his as you sat up. And oh, when had you become blurry? Your face was blurred. Like looking out a rain soaked window. "Flynn. Are you okay?" He blinked and your face became clear once more.

"I am more than okay." His voice broke. He could feel them. The tears. Oh this was not a feeling he has felt in a long time. Oh it has been far to long.

"Flynn are you sure. I." You stutter. You could have been an angel. The way the dim light on the roof haloed around your head. The way you held him oh so sweetly. He could die here and now and he could find peace with that. He could find peace with anything as long as you were the last sight he saw.

You face was the one thing that could keep his demons at bay.

"I love you." There. That's what it was. What it has always been. That feeling that burned in his chest. Those three words. Those three words that meant his entire world. "I love you." He spoke again. Drew you in close so he could lay a kiss on your lips. To your brow. The the crown of your hairline. "I love you." He said one last time.

Flynn felt as if you could burst when you said them back. Uttered against the skin of his throat. "I love you." And he did. The tears fell more freely. His shoulders shook as he held you close. Afraid that you to would slip through his fingers. That you would leave. Disappear. And all that he had experienced with you would have been a dream. A hallucination his strained brain had made up.

He had found his peace within you.

[baiika]

//I've written about Sousuke's love of hyperviolence & the anguish it causes in the past, but now I'm including sources, & extrapolating on how it's a disservice to his ambitions.

Sousuke's attempt on Momo's life & taunting Toushirou

Sousuke impales Momo during their reunion in chapter 169 & the scene resumes in chapter 170. Sousuke begins with a sweet persona when Momo first sees him, which lulls her into a false sense of security, & when she is embraced, he impales her & dumps her body on the floor.

Sousuke looks weirdly disappointed during the act itself, & then walks away with a weird smile. Now, I have theories about why this change occurs, but that has more to do with Sousuke being a lying cunt than it does with his cruelty, so I'll explore it another time. The fact of it is Sousuke enjoyed hurting Momo. Like, genuinely, it looks like he came in his pants on that last page.

Then Toushirou finds Momo impaled by Sousuke in chapter 170. Sousuke is smiling the entire time. He's enjoying revealing his betrayal to Toushirou since it obviously works him up, but what really cinches this scene is that Sousuke says he should have dismembered Momo to hide her!

Like, Sousuke could easily hide her with Kyouka Suigetsu or with kyokkou, instead, but doesn't because he thinks Toushirou is caught up with Izuru. But there's NO REASON to say this to Toushirou. It only causes Toushirou emotional anguish, which is Sousuke's intention.

This isn't Sousuke blowing smoke out of his ass either. There are ample examples demonstrating he is comfortable around & even enjoys gore

Sousuke attempting to dismember Renji

In chapter 172, Sousuke & Co. arrive at Sogyouku Hill, & try to get to Rukia to retrieve the Hogyouku. Obviously, Renji isn't having any of that shit.

This continues through chapter 173, which I won't enclose because the fight lasts the entire chapter.

There are two things that actively point to Sousuke's love affair with violence. In TBTP, Sousuke tests Gin's abilities as a killer & approves of them (more on this later). If Sousuke is confident in Gin's skills, why not just let Gin kill & retrieve Rukia? More to the point, if Sousuke wants to do it himself, why not take the easy route & use Kanzen Saimin on Renji to speed up the process?

Instead, Sousuke goes out of his way to be the one to try to kill Renji because he wants to be the one to enact the violence against him.

These are the earliest instances where Sousuke engages in cruelty, but his character doesn't undergo drastic changes later, we see him gleeful in violence throughout the manga.

Sousuke wanting to string up Ichigo's friends for Ichigo to find upon arrival

In order to create the Ouken, Sousuke must personally kill every resident of Karakura, as explained in 223.

& implied it must be created by Sousuke killing the people individually when his sword is highlighted in chapter 414

Which is foreshadowed when we see Sousuke slaughtering people individually in chapter 409

Of course, Ichigo's friends are included in this. But Sousuke, instead, engages in a cat & mouse game for four chapters, & admits that he's bored of it in 414.

We know Sousuke can easily destroy Ichigo's friends with minimal effort, even with Zennosuke's defensive measures, but he doesn't. He drags out their fear for their lives for the purpose of inspiring fear & horror in Ichigo when he displays their bodies where they can be found.

Sousuke's response to Gin disemboweling the 3rd seat of gobantai

In TBTP, Gin becomes the 3rd seat of gobantai after murdering the previous 3rd seat.

We can see the previous 3rd seat has been disemboweled, & Sousuke seems oddly relieved? Like he's not just comfortable with gore & violence, he's smiling. He enjoys this.

Sousuke's fascination with White vs Masaki

During White versus Isshin & Masaki in chapter 532, Sousuke expresses little interest in White as an entity. He even apologizes to Kaname because of it.

However, as we see later in the chapter, Sousuke's interest is piqued when Masaki comes onto the scene.

Look how excited Sousuke is during this fight. He only becomes excited when the potential for carnage comes around. & as we can see when White does fuck up Masaki, Sousuke is very pleased.

& I know for a FACT this isn't because he knows hollows are poisonous to Quincy, as Mayuri & Kisuke reveal in chapter 552, because he, Kaname, & Gin have no idea what will happen to Masaki after transference in chapter 533.

I have reasons to believe that Sousuke isn't ACTUALLY a scientist & that Kaname does most of the heavy lifting, which I'll explore another time, but if Sousuke, who has no idea what will happen to Masaki after White self-destructs, is excited about the fight, what else could he be excited about other than the prospect of carnage?

This doesn't even begin to touch on other scenes where he's just fucking with people's heads for shits & giggles. But these aren't the actions of a misunderstood revolutionary. They're actions of an arrogant, malignant, and unfeeling monster.

How Sousuke's cruelty is a disservice to his ambitions

Now, there are many occasions where Sousuke is his own worst enemy that isn't necessarily rooted in his infatuation with hyperviolence.

For instance, Sousuke drags out his fight against Renji for a TASTE of maiming Renji, instead of just engaging Kanzen Saimin or kidou to restrain Renji & steal Rukia to get to the Hogyouku.

Sousuke wastes precious time toying with Ichigo's friends instead of working through LITERALLY THOUSANDS OF PEOPLE TO KILL INDIVIDUALLY while Ichigo, who Sousuke confesses is designed to pose as a challenge to Sousuke, is en route.

& what's potentially the most hilarious mistake of Sousuke's is that he never caught onto Gin's ulterior motives. Gin, who professes to be an unfeeling snake multiple times, is taken at face value by Sousuke because Sousuke IS an unfeeling snake. He never sees what is perhaps the greatest threat to his ambitions because he relates so strongly to the persona Gin adopts.

This isn't even IT. We KNOW Sousuke spent more than a century putting his plans in motion. It's IMPOSSIBLE he doesn't do more dumbfuckery to get his rocks off.

The man!!! is an idiot!!! Stop woobifying him!!!!!!!

[anysin]

Fic: Tears In The Night

For anonymous requester, a Jonah/Fanshawe in losing track of thought while gazing! SFW but dark with captivity and some minor violence.

Tears In The Night

There are nights when Jonah hears his Jonathan crying in his sleep.

Dr. Fanshawe has always been a stoic, proud man; Jonah knows that if he hears him weep, it means the doctor is truly feeling low, or his dreams have lulled him into false sense of security about letting his guard down. It's impossible to know the reason as long as the locked door in Jonah's house remains closed, and most of the time Jonah lets him cry alone. He can afford little mercies like that.

Tonight, however, Jonah is feeling greedy, and he goes into Jonathan's prison.

Jonathan has a small cot in the room, a basic comfort, but this time Jonah finds him in the corner of the room, curled up into a ball; it's the furthest the chain attached to the collar around his neck allows him to go. Jonathan's eyes are closed, his long lashes clumped together and his cheeks damp, and even though he has stopped sobbing, a little whimper escapes from him every now and then.

Jonah lingers by the doorway, watching his captive, wondering if Jonathan sleeps deeply enough for him to approach. He decides to risk it, approaching the broken man on the floor.

Kneeling down, Jonah reaches out to stroke Jonathan's dark hair out of his face.

"All you needed to do was to come back to me," he whispers. "We wouldn't have to do this."

Is Jonathan aware of his presence somewhere in his subconscious? Can he hear Jonah's scolding words, does he feel wounded by them? Jonah wants every answer to be yes. Jonah wants all of this to hurt, and his dearest Jonathan to know what he has lost. He lets his hand wander upon Jonathan's face, stroking his cheek, tracing the sharp line of his jaw. Jonathan has always been beautiful to look at; even now, Jonah could lose himself in the sight of him for hours. He brushes the back of his hand down along the side of Jonathan's neck before bringing it up again, enjoying the soft texture of his skin. He strokes his finger over Jonathan's soft, full lips, sticks it between them.

That turns out to be a mistake.

Jonathan doesn't open his eyes; he just opens his mouth and clamps down on Jonah's finger as hard as he can. Jonah cries out before he knows it, striking Jonathan on his face before grasping his jaw, pulling his hardest. He manages to part Jonathan's mouth just enough to get his finger out, and strikes him again.

"You just don't learn, do you?" he snaps, backing up from Jonathan as fast as he can. Jonathan's eyes are open now, and he sits up in the corner while staring at him, a smirk playing on his lips.

"I didn't even bite hard enough to draw blood," Jonathan says, his tone mocking. "You are the one who doesn't have to do this, Mr. Magnus. I'll never give into you."

"We shall see about that." Face burning with humiliation, Jonah struggles up on his feet, and hurries to leave the room before Jonathan has any bright ideas about bouncing on him.

Yet, as he closes the door, finger and pride aching, Jonah can't help but smile. Though painful, this fire is what he wants. He wants to know there is still a lot of Jonathan Fanshawe left for him to break.

Jonah just has to remember not to let his own guard down.

[honeysuckle-venom]

Hi Lior! If you'd like to answer, could you share some of your experience around reality-testing, pertaining to psychosis? Be well <3

Thank you so much for this fantastic question!

So reality testing/checking (I tend to say reality checking but I think they're the same thing? Unless you're asking about something else in which case please send another ask letting me know) is definitely one of those controversial things, and I've had both very positive and very negative experiences with it.

The biggest thing for me with reality checks is that I have to a) consent to them and b) get them from someone I trust. The only person who can consistently offer me reality checks in a way that is safe and helpful for me is my therapist. I will occasionally ask for them from my father and certain friends as well, but that can be more hit or miss/sometimes even when I ask for them it doesn't work (though it rarely backfires if I've explicitly asked first). Unasked for reality checks, though, can be deeply distressing and dangerous for me. I'm likely to believe that whoever is saying my delusion isn't true is out to hurt me/plotting against me/"in on" the delusion in some way if I didn't ask ahead of time, and that they're only telling me I'm wrong to lull me into a false sense of security before attacking.

I also have a different level of tolerance for reality checks depending on the type of delusion I'm experiencing. Persecutory delusions are the ones I'm most likely to ask for reality checks during, because I want reassurance that I'm safe. I'll often ask my dad if he thinks my delusions are real and why/why not when I'm experiencing paranoid/persecutory delusions surrounding people out to get me, people watching me, imposters, and/or the world being unsafe/unreal. These are delusions about external threatening forces, and reassurance that I'm safe from them can be quite helpful if I've asked for it. The other main type of delusion I experience is kind of a combination of a persecutory delusion and a delusion of grandeur, in which I believe something about my identity and/or abilities. The most common of these for include believing I'm Drusilla, believing I'm a fae changeling, believing I have prophetic powers, etc, and often I also believe I'm being targeted in some way because of something special about my identity. These often have much more complicated emotions tangled up in them, usually a combination of terror and euphoria that is very hard to untangle and deal with, and I almost never ask for reality checks with these delusions, as doing so feels extremely threatening to my sense of self. When I'm deep in these delusions, especially my recurring one in which I believe I'm actually from a fairy tale world, it is not safe for me to receive reality checks. Even the idea of someone telling me I'm wrong feels deeply dangerous to think about. I haven't yet fully untangled why that is, it's something we're going to get to in therapy, but in the meantime I know that receiving a reality check during those delusions would cause dangerous spirals. I suspect (and this is just me spitballing bc again I still have to talk about it in therapy) there might be something about how psychosis is originally a response to the threat of annihilation of the self, and so when I have beliefs that have to do with my sense of self and that sense of self is threatened in any way it further triggers me.

So yeah, reality checks for me depend on who's giving them, if I asked for them, and what type of thing is being checked for. When done correctly they can significantly help me calm down and feel safer, but if any of the elements isn't perfect they can cause dangerously increased psychosis and feelings of danger and fear.

I hope that answered your question! If you meant something else by the term reality-testing, please let me know and I'll try to answer what you meant!

[spotaus]

YEAHHHH!!!!!! >:D

Ancha I am SO glad you liked it because. Ough. I started writing it at like 11 at night and just. Kept going??? I was so so pumped!!!

I'm gonna try and follow where you went with the ideas, gimme a sec-

Okay so, yeah! Nightmare, at this point, views the training has his relax time! Kinda how someone can spend all their time doing work, say writing reports, and still enjoy writing stories in their free time! It still challenges him and interests him, but it's in a way with low stress. His knights can improve inch by inch now that their foundation is stable! And the training room is one of the most secure rooms in the castle, thanks to reinforcing it to withstand magic attacks!

And I really really wanted to take on idea of each of the guy's strengths! You got it perfectly so I'll try not to linger, but I kinda wanted to run off that original idea I had for the Knights knowing eachother and being in sync, but now it's more fitting to their personalities since I've gone into more depth with them! Killer has greatly influenced the others, in the way they fight and the way they act on the battlefield. It's like setting loose a feral animal on all these Knights who are Not Ready for dirty fighting. (Dust was used to diplomatic scuffles gone wrong, usually with the use of enchanted weaponry, Horror just. Did not fight prior to this. Abd Cross, as mentioned, was a muscle-memiry routine combat kinda guy!) And in the same breath, Killer learned from them too! Night might be their mentor, but Killer was committed to being a good influence on them, even if it didn't register to any of them-

A lot of that was also me trying to get a grip on how they'd behave in such a space alone with Night. Killer the most relaxed, Cross the most nervous, etc! And the little banter between them was fun!! (I also was trying to use technique I learned recently so combat reflection was a good opportunity for it, haha!)

One of my favorite bits in the beginning I think was, like you mentioned, Nightmare making sure they left training on a high note! I took the idea from your Q&A drabble actually, when u mentioned Night looking for ways to better keep hold of his knights? Yeah, he ensures to be even more vocal about what he noticed everyone doing well, just so they know! And Cross takes the praise the best visually, but he can tell the others at least seem pleased by it <3

Lastly!!! Yes, the bed-time was meant to be sorta a hint to the incoming turn of events, but it's also just meant to be a cute lil cameo too!! I think a few things never quite left his habits (like, his body getting more tired around Bedtime even though he regularly skipped sleep all together anymore) because. Y'know! Adult body still has Kid Night in there running the show! And because of the weird suspended state of his mind, it left him with odd quirks!

Okay, okay, hearing that you enjoyed the drama bit makes me SO happy, because this time I wanted to go with sonething that felt a bit more Nightmare-accurate. Night was always a quiet kid, a fawn rather than fight or flight, he kept his emotions tight to his chest because so few people cared in the first place. So, when his magic (the thing that made his moves for him, before he could freeze up or downplay or smother his feelings) Leaves? He's exhausted, and confused, and scared, and frankly out of it. He fawns again!

And the magic leaving, this time I wanted it to feel like it was in a moment of lull, no tension, no stakes (aside from a stinky Killer) and no sign for Night that anything was wrong. It all just dipped at once, and as it left his awareness it left him dizzy, disoriented, and!!!! I'm glad that you caught that he couldn't feel anything because the magic refused to work with him anymore!!! So the normal input didn't transfer to him!!! That weird lack of senses was also sort of my excuse to let the Knights start freaking out! Because idk how clear it was (intentionally not very if I did my job right lol-) but when Night's balance starts to screw up, Killer turns around. But it's Night initially who reaches out and grabs his arm, and then Killer has indirect permission to support his weight further and grab hold of him! Night subconsciously reached out to Killer, even if he didn't realize it in the moment. And ofc that's Killer being like 'oh that's not normal'.

And!!! Like in the og drabble, Dust goes on high alert immediately, but this time Cross and Horror hesitate! There's a part that Nightmare misses where Horror expresses worry and suggests he should grab the first aid and take a look, and Killer tells him no. Because Night (in that moment) is unresponsive, and Killer doesn't think Horror coukd help even if he tried. He might make it worse. And Horror tries to press his offer, before Night comes-to again to hear Killer snap at Horror to get Ccino! And like you said, Killer has no idea what's happening, but he's sure if anyone could help it would be Ccino! And in the meantime he just tries to keep Nightmare close, keep him steady. He doesn't like it one bit, but he knows he has to keep watch because Dust doesn't sense/see anyone, and Cross doesn't either as he guards the door!

And, ofc, Killer was horrified to find what was basically a babybones in his arms when all the goop left, but he was also shaken because. Well. That's the Prince from the tapestry. Night doesn't make the connection, but he'd seen images of Nightmare a few times, abd certainly images of his twin, enough to recognize that. Yeah. That's the same guy. And he can't explain it, but since Dust chimes in with magic loss, Killer makes some leaps in judgement. (Also!!! Dust isn't good with magic usually, but Nightmare's was so impressive it was always looming. The moment it was gone he spoke up. He's also OBNOXIOUSLY familiar with symptoms of magic loss. For. Obvious reasons 🙏)

Nightmare, in his fawning, couldn't decide whether the voice in his head reminding him that these Knights were kind, loyal souls was right, or if the instincts telling him to get away NOW were winning. He compromised in the firm of 'can't really move anyways so I'll sit here and be scared'.

And!!!!! I'm glad u liked Killer telling Cross to hold onto the magic! Killer's smart, and a fast thinker, and Cross was the nearest thing with any chance if keeping his king from??? Melting??? And to Cross' credit he DID grab it! He did great! (He feels awful about it after because from what *he* saw, it didn't help. It did! He just doesn't know!)

And. Ccino's piece in this was probably the part I was least certain on. Because Ccino assumed the Knights somehow set Nightmare into one of his worse episodes. Or, worse, he worried Night accidentally hurt one of the Knights and panicked. Horror was pretty vague about why he needed to hurry. And Ccino gets there and- well.

He hasn't seen that little skull in seven years, and it's got a big crack, and it's trembling, and one big eyelight is looking up at him. Nightmare was always his little brother, and yet all at once his instincts kicked back in. This was no powerful bomb waiting to be nudged just too far before exploding, not some otherworldly tyrant. This was his Nighty, somehow back to the way he was the day he protected his twin and swore into the prophecy. This was HIS Nighty.

So, for the first time in a while he drops pretenses. There's no effort to hide him away, Ccino knows well enough that trying to remove Nightmare from the Knight's vision right now would possibly get them both in hot water. So he does what he can, throws open his arms, and coddled his little brother tightly. So, so tightly. He has no idea how, or why, and obviously it's the same Night who'd spent the morning writing laws, but it was so surreal that he just had to get him close!!!!!

And Night, yeah, he just feels safe with Ccino, and irrational mind running off of a huge magic-drop? He deemed Ccino's arms a perfect place to shed some tears and then pass out-

If I had to do a follow-up it'd definitely be either a Ccino or Killer chapter following either the moment Night is free of the goop (Killer) or the moment he enters the training room (Ccino) and then the conversational aftermath! (I also think they move the whole party to Nightmare's room eventually, and somewhere along the line Dust brings up that lighter foods might help-) just lil silly details haha! But it's basically a force of nature making the Knights and Ccino agree to a pact of sorts just to agree to help Nightmare. He's still the king. He's just... young now. Again.

Okay I got a lil wild but- I'm just so so happy you enjoyed it!!! A healthy balance if shenanigans for the boys, panic for Nightmare, and an unexpected surprise for Ccino!!!!

New Age AU (The Magic Retreats)

Hi guys!!! So, I wrote this one in a fit of passion, but here's a brief take 2 on the most important chapter of the fic and the first one I posted! (In which Night becomes Tiny again :] ) As always this drabble is unedited and un-checked so uhh. Good luck!

(HI @ancha-aus , @papiliovolens , and @mutzelputz welcome back!)

   The days felt like they were growing longer again. Maybe it was the change of the seasons, or the workload ramping up again making his nights bleed into his mornings. No matter the case, Nightmare was lucky to have moments of rest from his endless piles of debts and taxes and laws and requests that were strewn all about his office. They were nice, neat, piles now, but they seemed to be an endless cycle. He'd solve one problem and it would result in a new report of catastrophe somewhere else.

   Often, he wondered whether it was that his Mother's ruling style had truly worked, or if she'd ignored it. After all, she'd been a God amongst mortals, why would she care for a few challenged livelihoods amidst her paradise?

   The sharp clash of metal on magic drew Nightmare's attention back to the present. Against all odds, he'd managed to convince Cross to start training his sword again. When Cross had first started getting lessons to properly control his magic, harnessing even whisps of Nightmare's own spells on occasion, he'd quickly neglected his physical training. Over the last few weeks, Nightmare had voiced his worry that Cross might find himself up against another foe like Dust. One who he couldn't simply control. He needed to re-learn his old battle tactics. Only then, he'd promised, they would move on to harnessing both at once.

   So, now, he was sparring against Horror in the training room. Nightmare sat off to the side on the benches, Dust and Killer on either side of him watching intently. Two of his tendrils hovered readily before him, ready to pounce to intercept any wayward attacks or truly dangerous intent, though he trusted his Knight to not put his newest comrade in any real danger. The other two tendrils lay lax behind the bench, curling comfortably beneath where his other Knights sat at his sides.

   These were the sorts of daily distractions he enjoyed. Which pulled him away from the stress of the papers and the outside world. He could focus solely on his charges and how best to help them. They helped him so often, he just wanted to return the favor.

   His eyelight followed the movements, as Horror stayed more or less right on Cross's tail. His axe swung slower than normal, and it was obvious he was taking the training seriously without giving Cross a heart-attack from the force of his normal blows. It wasn't often Nightmare allowed them to pair up precisely because of that. Horror had no magic for Cross to control, none that would help him at least. Meanwhile, Horror's brute strength could snap Cross like a twig if something were to go slightly awry.

   A swing of the axe, Cross's longsword cracking against the handle as he blocked. A push-off, sending Cross back a few steps before he swung. Missed. The axe was on him again, this time towards his side. Cross jumped over it, swung his sword. Missed again. The axe came in again, from above. A narrow block, one which forced Cross to his knee, before Horror let up.

   Horror was simply a marvel of physical combat. He hadn't been a good fighter when Nightmare met him, but he'd learned very quickly. From watching the guards, from listening to Nightmare. Though, Nightmare was almost positive Killer had actually been his biggest influence. Killer, the cockpit, single Knight at that time. He'd taken Dust under his supervision at the time, practically heading the dismantling of the crime rings Dust knew so well all on his own. Meanwhile, Nightmare was working with Horror to understand how to fix the farming situation across the kingdom. Once things settled, and Nightmare expressed interest in having Horror stick around, it was Killer who showed off in combat training. Horror spun off his feet and pushed off his hands in the way expected of a much smaller, leaner, monster. Very similar to how Killer fought when he was playing around.

   It was evidently too unfamiliar for Cross. He'd been taught formal swordplay, but here in this kingdom? That was about as useful as playing with a slingshot and trying to operate a trebuchet. It seemed similar, but it could only get one so far.

   Cross had been steadily improving, of course. Just a year or so ago, Cross had been besting all the rest of the royal guard out on the training field. But placed against Killer, the best of the best at practical combat, no holds bar? He'd fumbled. Now, Nightmare knew Cross could hold his own against his proudest Knight. That meant a lot in such a short time. Pride filled his chest at the thought, as he watched the two of them clash again and again.

   He knew his time was running short for today. He'd had Dust and Killer work on their team-building and attack him earlier on in training while Cross and Horror were warming up. As he already knew, they were chatty, but very efficient in their coordination.

   "On your left!" Killer would call out. Dust would simply duck as Killer instead vaulted over his head as though emerging from the shorter Knight's shadow, knife in hand, glowing red with energy.

   Killer's use of deceptive verbal cues was a talent he'd come up with all his own. Nightmare remembered him pestering Dust over it every dinner for a week after he'd first thought of it. Dust had seemed annoyed at first, but Nightmare could tell after the first session of them trying it out, against him? He'd been unaware, and if his magic didn't work separate from his mind on occasion, they would have gotten him in the first two minutes.

   They'd used it again earlier, and even after several years it still kept Nightmare on his toes. He figured that was why he felt tired as he watched the two locked in mock battle before him. The cognitive challenges did tend to make his socket heavy with sleep. And he hated to admit it, but he always knew about when to end their afternoon trainings, because it lined up with when his mind would start to lag. Even years later, his body still seemed to respond to the familiar draw of a long-discarded bed time.

   He'd let them exchange a few more blows, before calling it off and ushering them all off to clean up before dinner. Even if he knew only Cross and Dust would go wash up. Horror would go change out of his training gear into clean clothes, he hated to look messy at the dinner table, abd Killer would simply stick to his side like glue.

   It never was a point of complaint, he appreciated the commitment, but sometimes he really did wish he'd at least take a moment to swap clothes. Sometimes he tracked all sorts of dirt and scraps of magic out of the training room and into the halls.

   Mm. The clashing seemed to have reached a rhythm. That meant Cross had gotten familiar with Horror's movement patterns again. It never lasted long, Horror was very adaptable, but it did mean that Cross would be locked into the stalemate now, or it'd be an easy defeat for Horror. Better to call it now and send them off with a bit of praise. They never ceased to impress him, they'd all grown so much.

   "Alright, end the match." he called. It didn't take hardly a moment for the order to register after his voice carried to the two monsters.

   Cross was the first to pull away, with Horror letting his swing fall short and his Axe's momentum swing up and into the air. He caught the grip and almost immediately stuffed it back into its own holster along his back. Cross sheathed his sword, and while a bit out of breath, he still grinned triumphantly and bowed amicably to Horror. Horror returned it with a nod. Their little ritual.

   "Wonderful work today, all of you." Nightmare announced, his front two tendrils slinking back to his sides as they no longer had danger to be hyper aware of. To defend against. "Tomorrow, I want to see you two spar again, I believe you are making great leaps in progress, Cross. Dust will provide you both with terrain obstacles in the form of erratic magic attacks to simulate a more turbulent battle field and provide Horror with more opportunity to practice dodging." The suggestion seemed well-recieved, and Nightmare let his good eyelight turn to Killer, who sat grinning beside him. "Killer, you and I will be doing more endurance training for your magic."

   "Looking forward to it, my Lord," Killer replied.

   That made Nightmare chuckle a bit. Once upon a time, Killer would tense up at the premise of magic training. Then, as he grew bolder, groan at the mention. He was not proficient in the sort of magic Cross, Dust, or he himself relied on, but his preferred weapon was a knife or two summoned by his own soul. Since it was magic, Nightmare insisted he learn to better sustain and alter it rather than letting it atrophy in the wake of his extensive physical training. Now, seeing him grin lazily at the idea, not a worry weighing on his soul? It made Nightmare feel a lot more justified in making the rambunctious Knight do the more "boring" practical training.

   "If we understand what to expect for the afternoon tomorrow, then you are dismissed. I will see you all at dinner," he declared. Humor filled his chest at the warmth which rolled off his knights at the mention of food. Dinner was always cooked by Ccino, and Ccino was the best cook. Nightmare would know.

   He watched as Cross gave a little salute before he turned on his heel to begin to follow Horror's lumbering gait towards the heavy doors separating this room from the hall. The newest Knight's voice was quiet, but excitable as he started to reflect on his techniques to Horror. He always debriefed after a training.

   Beside him, Dust swung forward off the bench and landed silently, already moving to follow the other two. His body-language always seemed disgruntled, and his expression was hidden under his darkened hood, but Nightmare knew he was pleased with his work tonight. Content with what he had accomplished.

   "Cross is gettin' a lot faster." Killer's voice was calm beside him, and Nightmare followed the other's hollow gaze to where the other three were discarding their gear, hanging it up on the racks near the door where they always stored the supplies.

   Four spaces, one for each knight. Killer had gouged his name into the wooden base of his own years ago.

   "I agree." Nightmare let one of his tendrils wrap at the ground around a leg of the bench. "It helps that he is eager and willing to improve on his skills. And that he has others to lean on as he continues to learn."

   Killer's scoff quickly devolved into a laugh at the thinly veiled praise. It wasn't unusual of him to slip it into conversation. A quick, gentle nudge of praise. Acknowledgement and appreciation. Killer had heard to most of it, and Nightmare often worried he'd find it insincere.

   As far as he knew, he never did.

   "You should go put up your armor as well." Nightmare suggested, nudging at Killer's back with a tendril.

  

   "Yes, sir." Killer chimed, the sharpness of his laughter still on his tongue.

   Nightmare rose simply, and Killer pushed off the bench with a quick hop. His feet planted, and Nightmare waited for him to take a step towards where the others were before moving to follow. It felt right, to see them all in one spot. Relaxed.

   He moved to follow Killer's quick steps, only... All at once his vision seemed to double, and he halted himself. He could feel his tendrils lash out, moving to stabilize him against the floor of the training room. He still stood upright, just barely, but it seemed all his balance had left him. Instinctively, in a fit of habit, he shut his good socket and took a moment. The swaying feeling he was gripped by, even after a deep breath an counting to five, did not fade. The darkness which usually seemed to calm him only seemed to make the swaying worse. He could not tell if the motion was coming from him, or I the ground beneath him was shifting like the deck of a boat. Without his vision he couldn't orient up versus down, let alone find his stability again.

   Opening his good socket provided him with orientation, though his vision still danced and swirled. He was looking down, down towards the brick ground, from the space behind his palm. When did he place his hand to his socket? The view included his legs, which he recognized now were shaking, and his tendrils which were trying to hold him in place.

   And...

   He jolted at the contact he could see but hadn't felt in the slightest. He skull reeled up so that he could see who had touched him. One hand on his elbow. The other- when did he grab Killer's arm? When had Killer turned around to look at him? Why was Killer looking at him like that?

   It was Killer, who had ahold of him, though he couldn't feel the Knight's touch, and he couldn't tell if he was gripping the other's arm at all. Though he was, he could see it.

   His vision warped again with the quick movement. A desperate bid to look past Killer. Was there a threat? The blurry form of Dust shot past him, he thought. Horror and Cross still seemed to be by the door.

   The ceiling. Why was he looking at the ceiling? No, wait, the floor now. It grew closer, in the space between himself and Killer, as the opening for him to see it grew smaller. Then he couldn't see it at all, his vision replaced swiftly by- training gear. The leather smell invaded his senses as the rest failed him. He couldn't feel Killer, though he knew the knight was near to him. That, as far as he could tell, Killer had caught him. That he'd sunken to the ground under his own weight.

   Why?

   His socket wasn't being helpful. It seemed, from what he saw, that his tendrils were trying to melt away as they moved errantly to slap onto Killer's back or the ground beyond. Surely that wasn't right? His tendrils had never wavered. He shut his socket again, letting his skull sink into the training armor again.

   It didn't occur to him for a few moments, that he couldn't hear his knights, until he suddenly could.

   The voices were loud and grating, breaking his wobbling darkness once again as he tried to force his socket back open. What was wrong with him?

   "Horror, I said go get Ccino! Now!" Killer. He'd know that voice anywhere, though he didn't like the angry tone. Like fire spitting from his tongue seemingly right above Nightmare's skull. "This isn't some sort of test, I- I don't know what this is. It can't be good."

   Nightmare tried to reach out. Not physically, it felt he still couldn't control his limbs. No, he tried to sense. Did the others know what was wrong with him? Was the rising panic in his chest originating from his own emotions or theirs? Had... had one of them done something?

   No, it wasn't them.

   "Shit." Somewhere behind him, he heard Dust's voice hiss. "His magic levels are dropping. And fast."

   For a second, Nightmare was stunned. What did he mean his magic levels were dropping? Though, it made sense. Somewhere deep in his chest he could feel it, the swaying motion as his magic tried to peel away from his bones. He-

   "What do you-" Killer still sounded frustrated, and he too spat an expletive a moment later.

   Nightmare, for the briefest moment, thought he felt touch again against his skull. He let his blurry socket fall closed again, the vision only worsening as his magic rocked with unseen waves of revulsion.

   "Cross, try to grab his magic," Killer ordered.

   The familiar splattering of the young Night would've been comforting, if the suggestion didn't fill him with dread. Killer knew better than that. They'd agreed Cross could only touch on controlling his magic. Nothing more. It was too vast.

   "W-what! I- I shouldn't-" Cross attempted to stammer a defense, but Killer was quicker with words. Always had been.

   "Just try. Now. Hold it in place and see if it stablizes." The command was a lot more controlled than the previous one, but his tone was leaving no room for error. "When the King and Ccino are unavailable, I'm in charge. Listen to me."

   Nightmare had never heard Killer take charge in such a way before, and in his haze he might've written it off as a product of his imagination. All of this being some sort of weird hallucination. But he felt the invasive force of Cross' magic snake over his bones.

   He'd felt it before, a sort of blanket or hand-hold aimed at the ends if his tendrils which could make them twitch a bit with Cross's own will. This time he felt it creep up the length of his spine and dig unseen claws into his shoulder blades. He could feel it, just like he could now feel Killer's chin and shoulder, where his skull had been tucked. He could feel the hand supporting his back, the other his side. He felt limp as the forceful magic washed over him.

   Nightmare gagged.

   Cross's magic caught on something, like a hook finding the fish, and for a brief few moments, Nightmare felt like he had a ball of gunk in his non-existant gut. Something heavy and feral, trying to escape.

   For just a moment, he regained a breath of awareness. He felt his Knight supporting his weight, he felt the nakedness of his back where his tendrils had completely abandoned him, he felt the emotions of the three still with him. Fear. Confusion. Anger. He didn't like it much. He still couldn't move his limbs.

   And just as quickly as it was stable, the hold on the wild magic slipped away. Like the fish had broken the string.

   It flowed up, like the force of a dam finally released. Through his ribcage, past his shoulders where Cross's magic seemed to dissipate all at once, into his mouth.

   Nightmare regained some semblance of control over his body at that moment. As the magic seemed to rush towards freedom. He shoved away from Killer all at once, the chill of the stone hitting his palms heavily and his socket opening if only to watch as he lost it. That dark, thick, sticky magic that had marked him as a bad omen. That had gifted him the power to rule in place of his twin. Protect those he loved.

    It spilled to the stone before him, and he was stunned to watched that, as he heaved suddenly labored breaths, it sunk away. Disappeared. Just like that, instead of his familiar darkness, the protective shield, the instinctive defense he had grown to know, he was staring at the floor. And the space in which his wobbling arms hid under too-big sleeves, and from the cuffs escaped perfect, pearly-white bone. Bone he could never seem to reach no matter how hard he scrubbed with water and soap. Bones that seemed so frail in the torchlight.

   "My king?"

   Nightmare let his eyelight raise from the ground. It wasn't as wobbly anymore, his vision slowly coming back to normal. He still took his time trailing from the ground, to look at Killer's pants. He was on his knees, hardly an arm's length away. Then the edges of his chestplate. His arms were outstretched, hovering barely away from touching Nightmare. He shook at the closeness, but didn't dare try to move. Killer's soul was wobbling. Nightmare's boww furrowed at the sight. It was very small, but he'd always notice the little changes and moves. Though, he noticed an absence of something at the back of his skull as he stared. Something missing.

   Killer's face was last. He looked serious, his dark sockets not a new sight, but Nightmare hardly saw Killer so serious. He'd seen the look before. Usually when he'd see someone bothering Ccino. It had always been brief, quickly disguised under his patented sadistic grin. Killer just watched him now. As though he was sone glass sculpture ready to tip off the end of the table.

   He hated, as he stared, that he couldn't- he could feel-

   He tried to shift, to whip his head to look for the knight he knew should've been behind him. And he was right, of course. A glimpse of Dust's shadowed skull and tense body-language told Night he was on high-alert, but Nightmare hadn't been able to feel him. Hadn't sensed his presence at all. No emotions, no aura, no nothing.

  

   "Woah, steady!" Killer yelped as Nightmare felt himself tilt.

   Looking up at Dust had disoriented him. The weight distribution was different now. His body listed to the side, and he flinched when arms wrapped around at his sides and tugged his upper half onto soft fabric. Killer's legs. Killer had caught him.

   "My king, Nightmare, it's you, right?" He sounded the same. Something told Nightmare he was uncertain.

   "Y-" His attempt to speak was short-lived. His voice wasn't right. It was high-pitched and raw. All the rumble and low tones entirely missing. He couldn't be sure if he stopped on account of keeping his pride alive, or if he feared speaking in a voice he hadn't heard in years.

   It didn't help that he couldn't feel them. No matter how much he tried, the only feeling in his chest was his own solitary anxiety. Balling up tighter and tighter, an old friend come home again. If he could tell what they were thinking- if he could know if he was safe...

   He bit back his panic, holding in the weakness which was threatening to give him away. Though, what else was there to give? If he was right, then the prophecy had finally rejected him. Left him as an offering to a pack of wolves.

   Nightmare knew he was shaking, but some irrational part of him thought that if he kept his socket shut that this would all be some absurd night terror and he'd wake up cozy in his bed, or exhausted at his desk, or maybe passed out on the floor. Somewhere else. Anywhere else.

  

   "What's wrong?" That voice was deeply familiar, and all at once Nightmare felt like he had a surge of strength. "Why did Horror rush me back here? Where is our King?" It was Ccino. He sounded more frustrated than anything else, but he didn't need to feel his emotions to know the rise to his tone. The worry buried there.

   "We finished training and everything was fine," Killer explained, tone as even as he could muster, "But when we were on our way out, he just collapsed."

   Nightmare pitied him, having to tell Ccino any sort of bad news. Nightmare didn't think as he attempted again to shove himself up. If only to catch a glimpse of Ccino.

   As he peered barely over Killer's shoulder, he saw what the others did. Ccino had some sort if flour or wheat all down the front of his nice apron, and a few streaks along the thighs of hid pants from where he'd probably wiped his hands along the way. His expression was a mix of concern and fury that set Nightmare's soul into a pretzel-twist of regret, and his eyelights scanned the room as he rapidly approached Killer. Obviously looking for answers.

   Only, Ccino arrived to Killer's side, and his growing rage seemed to stop all at once, alongside his steps. He stared down at Nightmare with wide eyes. Nightmare stared up at him wearily. The king's sockets were beginning to water. Ccino's expression, the way his balled fists twitched and relaxed, the way he seemed to lose all the tension I'm his body, just getting a glimpse at him. Ccino recognized his face, no doubt about it.

   "Nightmare?" Ccino's voice was small.

   Nightmare fumbled a bit as he tried to launch away from Killer. Having Ccino so close to him simply... broke whatever had been holding back the emotional damage within. It didn't help in the slightest when Ccino crouched and immediately tugged him away from Killer and into a gentle bear-hug there on the floor.

   For the first time, in a very long time, he found that the welling of tears in his sockets didn't result in dark, tarlike, goop that fell in chunks down his skull. This time the tears were real, a transparent lilac which raced down his cheeks abd planted themselves against the fabric of Ccino's tunic and apron. He wasn't wearing his fur, he was smart like that.

   Ccino's arms wrapped around his back like they always did, and Nightmare felt himself slipping. Ccino was safe. He had always been safe.

   Nightmare didn't have time to begin sobbing as he had expected, or to even begin to hyperventilate into Ccino's shirt or curl into a ball against his chest. The moment Ccino nuzzled the side of his skull, his vision went blurry again.

   At the tightening of Ccino's grip, he heard Dust's voice again. "Magic-loss. A lot of it." Faintly rolled into his mind like a distance voice two doors over. He didn't quite catch when Killer started to speak again, or Ccino worriedly said his name. Dust was right, the magic was gone. Out of nowhere. It was a lot for his little body to handle.

[yanderes-galore]

Yandere Behaviors For Salvaged Bots (Scrap Baby, Molten Freddy, Lefty)

Animatronic or android, does not matter.

Pairing: Platonic/Romantic

Possible Trigger Warnings: Gender-Neutral Darling, Possessive behavior, Sadistic behavior, Clingy Behavior, Forceful behavior, Attachment issues, Mentioned threats, Manipulation, Mentioned violence, Multiple personalities(?), Mentioned accidental murder mention.

Scrap Baby

- After being ejected from the Ennard plan, her mental state has worsened compared to regular Circus Baby.

- This makes her more violent, sadistic, and aggressive. She's accepted what her role was meant to be and considers it 'fun'.

- Despite this she does still hold some sort of compassion. It's just diluted and hidden in the insanity her corrupted code created.

- She may at first show extreme violence towards you when she's let in the pizzeria you, Michael, and Helpy are trying to create.

- Her obsession/sadistic curiosity with you might solidify if she recognizes you from the Sister Location.

- Scrap Baby may dig up her older persona to lure you towards her, to try and show she means no harm.

- Even though it's a facade to lunge at you and drag you close.

- This version of Baby is a killing machine. Even if she does recognize you, you'll still be badly cut and bruised.

- But she likes you, so she won't kill you.

- Maybe you two could play some games with each other? It brings a small form of familiarity to the bot. Even if you're bleeding and injured because of her.

- After what she's been through it's no surprise she's not letting you go. The bot probably having some sort of attachment issue to force you into playing more of these sick games with her.

- "We'll have fun... just like we always did! You do know you'll never leave, don't you?"

- General Yandere Behavior: Possessive, Sadistic, Clingy, Forceful.

Molten Freddy

- Molten Freddy still acts a lot like Funtime Freddy. Although, as to make sure I don't write him exactly like Funtime Freddy, I'll make some changes.

- For the most part his behavior is like the usual Sadistic Funtime Freddy towards you. Wanting to pull you into one of his sick games where you end up battered and bruised by the end of it.

- But you also should remember that he is also the remains of Ennard. If you look at my old Ennard personality HC, I said that they had multiple personas based on the Funtimes.

- While Molten Freddy/Ennard will lack Baby's personality now, you can catch Foxy and Ballora showing through. Much to Freddy's frustration.

- Sometimes the sadistic persona will swap to Foxy's more narcissistic persona. That or Ballora's calmer more mature persona.

- They almost act as Freddy's new failsafe instead of Bon Bon. Works even better if at least one of the others knew about you from the Sister Location.

- There's still a chance Molten Freddy may accidentally kill you, though. You two will have so much fun when he traps you in his loose wires~

- "Toge-ther aga-in~! Wel-come ba-ck, cup-cake!"

- General Yandere Behavior: Sadistic, Possessive, Sometimes narcissistic, Eccentric.

Lefty

- Lefty is calm towards you for the most part.

- Although they have a risk rating of nine. This is mostly because of Lefty's purpose being to contain puppet.

- Their voice is calm and quiet, hushing you constantly as they watch you through the night. They feel they have no need to hurt you.

- Not to say they are not capable of it. The puppet themselves is shown to be sadistic but they try not to harm their fixation.

- Seeing Michael, however, does cause some aggression. You aren't entirely sure why yourself.

- Lefty is probably one of the calmer of the salvaged bots due to not being as sadistic. They're also rather manipulative.

- It's as though you're lulled into a false sense of security around them. The bear asking you to stay with them and how you'll be safe around them.

- You could be in danger any moment but the puppet/Lefty feels you aren't directly involved in Michael and Henry's plan.

- They don't want you as a plaything, more like company.

- You'll understand if they decide to hide you away where no one would find you, right?

- "Shhhhh... I won't ever let you go...."

- General Yandere Behavior: Calm, Likes to observe, Manipulative, Possessive (?), A little sadistic.

[butmakeitgayblog]

🙈

You told us to remind you about telling us the story on how Jake found out about them in cruel intentions au 🙈 so this is a reminder. Tyyyyy

It's not nearly as explosive when they talk about it vs Hellen but yeah I'll write it! It just goes to show a bit if how Clarke is what her relationship is like with Jake.

////////

It's been two full weeks since you and Lexa had walked out of the penthouse, two suitcases between the both of you and warnings to be expecting movers back for the rest.

Two weeks of radio silence toward either of the parentals and two weeks of waking up to her eyes.

Two weeks of falling asleep wrapped around her, sated and warm in her arms.

Your mornings have been filled with coffee-bittered kisses and touching her whenever the hell you want. It kind of feels like a dream, this 'squatting' in the lushest hotel the city has to offer, with the biggest difference to your life you've endured is room service versus a personal chef making your meals.

Two blissful weeks of her melting like too-warm chocolate between your fingers has you feeling more spoiled than you can ever remember.

And you're kind of deliriously happy with things just as they are.

But of course Lexa had unsurprisingly not been fucking around when she'd said she'd prepared for the inevitable fallout.

You know this by how fast she'd had realtors calling her at all hours with prospectives and listings and offers to show at obscure hours that fit her schedule better than their own.

It's still unnerving to think that somehow she knew both of your parents better than you did. That she knew to have these dominoes stacked in a way that benefited her for the inevitable fall. She also seemed to know you better than you know yourself, knew what to do to keep you grounded through it... but that just kinda makes you love her more.

She's such a sneaky little asshole.

You're just grateful that you get to call her yours.

As pedestrian as it is, you're pretty sure you're gonna make good on that whole wedding thing she'd talked about.

Someday.

Maybe.

You have no idea when you both got so fucking sappy.

But two weeks of silence had also lulled you into a false sense of security. What with the straightening of her collar before she leaves for work and the lunches and coffee dates and every untempered smile you no longer give a fuck to keep in check.

The world felt so goddamn good for a change that you had somehow let your guard down.

So when you stumble into her office, hot on her heels and hand dodging her swats as you caress her ass where you know her subordinates can absolutely see, it's like a fucking whollop upside the head when she pulls up short you clock that familiar cut of dirty blonde mixed with ashy grey.

"... Dad..."

The word leaves your lips faster than your head can stop spinning but the hands that find your waist keep you steady.

You straighten at the way her arm winds around your waist and pulls you close and love how it feels protective.

Possessive.

Completely calculated in the way his eyes dart to the hold.

"Jake," Lexa says with that patent unnerving calm as she takes a step forward and brings you right along with her. "May I ask what you're doing in my office?"

She sounds stern but relaxed and sexier than she has any right to while speaking to your father. As though this is nothing more than an annoyance akin to an unscheduled business meeting.

He never appreciated her nuances.

You love how in control of herself she always is.

He regards her with cold indifference. "Your secretary showed me in."

"I'll make sure to have a conversation with him about that."

"I came to speak to my daughter, Alexandria. Considering she hasn't answered a single one of my calls, I figured she must not be far from you," your dad says with a pointed look as he strolls over to an empty chair and sits himself down without invitation.

You roll your eyes at his dramatics as she looks to you in silent question, and the squeeze to your hip lets you know for once she's actually willing to defer to your judgement without question.

Out of the bedroom anyway.

Which is kind of rich considering the radio silence had all been part of her grande scheming plan to begin with, but you nod in genuine thanks anyway.

"No." You stop her with a hand to her chest when she moves to leave. You lean forward and press a kiss to her lips and love how her eyes burn. "Stay," you murmur because fuck all of you're doing this alone.

She kisses you again with a tenderness that is at least fifty percent for his benefit, but you're extremely grateful for it all the same.

You're not scared of your father by any means, but you're also not the best at keeping a cool head, and the last thing either of you needs right now is a shouting match in the middle of your girlfriend's (mmm... your girlfriend's) office.

She nods and takes your hand. Laces your fingers so tight your palm sweats as she leads you around the expanse of her desk to settle in her seat.

You sit just off to the side of your usual spot when you visit, perching on the arm of her chair rather than in her lap.

As hilarious as you know his face would be to see you lounge across her like a pinup girl, Lexa wouldn't appreciate it one bit and you're not in the mood to deal with her being grumpy.

You make a mental note to remind her how good you're getting at this 'sacrifices' thing.

"Well?" you prompt when his eyes slide between the two of you for several silent moments.

He sits back in his seat and pins you with that look you loathe so fucking much.

"I suppose you're pleased with yourself then?" he raises his chin to you. Lifts a finger and motions between the both of you without even looking at your partner in crime. "With this little stunt."

You grit your jaw before allowing a please grin to curl your lips.

"Ecstatic, actually. Thank you for asking, father."

"Clarke--"

"Don't," you cut him off as a hand settles on the small of your back. "You're not going to lecture me about my life. Especially not who I'm in love with."

You feel her fingers tighten on your shirt.

"She's your stepsister."

"She's my lover," you correct with a sneer just to watch him shift distastefully in his seat. "And my girlfriend. You need to get that clear in your mind. You of all people should know about those."

He's silent so long your ass is genuinely starting to ache and you wonder if her grumpiness would actually be worth just shifting over.

But then his gaze moves to Lexa. Turns steely. Somehow even less forgiving.

"Your mother is distraught, I hope you know that."

Her face grows dark when you look to her.

"Is that right? Well... I'm terribly sorry to hear that." She rubs her hand up your spine and it takes everything in you not to shiver. "Send her my condolences. And please remind her, life is full of disappointments."

You damn near break into snorted laughter because she is such a little shit.

And you know how cathartic it must feel to throw those words back at Dear Hellen. Words that Lexa had been met with throughout her childhood.

She'd shared more with you in the past year than the combined five years prior. Shared stories of her triumphs, of her heartaches and lonely nights, moments of devastation and anger and chaos that somehow always revolved around her mother.

Most of the more unsettling events happening before she'd even reached puberty.

You'd finally heard the stories of a little Lexa forced out of childhood entirely too soon, and you knew how those words had plagued her. How every complaint was dismissed or belittled, washed down the drain along with Hellen's vodka soaked vomit.

Birthdays and Christmases missed were chalked up to Lexa being immature and hysterical. School plays forgotten and soccer championships left attended. All the pinnacles of your young love's life being treated as mere inconveniences.

The mental image of your tiny Lexa standing over her father's grave was burned into your brain, knowing those were the very words that had met her when she'd quietly asked her mother to make everything feel better.

You don't think it'll ever not haunt you.

You wonder how much it still haunts her...

But you know he knows none of this. Know he thinks it's nothing more than an offhand smartass answer at the way he immediately dismisses her.

He's never appreciated her nuances. Never understood that her every word holds weight.

"This can't continue," he says in his business voice.

That almost makes you laugh too.

He really seems to have missed the boat on this situation as you lift a brow and smile. "Hm? Beg your pardon?"

"People are already talking," he hushes as though a parade of debutantes had their ears glued to the door. "They think our family is degenerates. You two doing God knows what under my roof, then running off in the middle of the night. You're embarrassing yourself, Clarke."

And that... does make you laugh.

Because who the fuck does he think he is?

You feel your chest bounce with each derisive burst of amusement. Your eyes roll skyward as your head tips back because, surely, he can't be serious right now.

Every woman you've seen stretched across his billiard table and every glimpse of thigh you seen perched on his desk, every moan you'd heard coming from the third floor library and every crimson smudge collar flash through your mind.

You know without question you could've fucked your way through the entire ladies department of Macy's and still probably not have enough notches on your belt to rival his own.

But that wasn't his problem, and you know it.

And it's that realization that makes you simmer with rage.

You're grateful for the hand that bushes your hip and grounds you. You're grateful because those hands have taught you better ways of dealing with your emotions than simply lashing out.

So you breathe a sigh, and collect yourself, and return his steady gaze.

"Did you ever even love Abby?"

The way his snaps back in surprise is delicious. Even more so when his face turns flush. He chokes on a few bumbling words before managing a pathetic, "I don't- What?"

"I was quite clear," you lilt in a polite conversation with a quick check-in toward your girlfriend. "Abby. I'm sure you met her. She was my mother, and your wife. Well. That was before you fucked half of Manhattan, of course."

"Clarke—"

"I mean I know you got married because she was pregnant," you continue over his bluster because this has been a long time coming and you're going to enjoy every minute. "But I wonder, did you ever actually love her? Did you ever just... need her? Crave her? Miss her voice or eyes? Do stupid things just to make her laugh?... Did you ever, in all those times fucking my nannies, and my tutors, and the slew of assistants that couldn't even look me in the eye... did you ever once fantasize that you were with her instead?"

You can only imagine what's going through his mind as he stares down at the desk between, still too prideful to hang his head in shame but eternally to chickenshit to even meet you halfway. You've always known he was weak, and for as much as you've lived taking advantage of it, it still sickens you to remember you share chromosomes with that mess.

His hands run along his slacks, whether in nervousness or to wipe the sweat of guilt, you can't say. You just hate that you notice it's a habit you share and fuck all of you're not gonna knock that shit off now.

"You have to understand, Clarke."

"I don't think I have to understand anything."

"It was hard for me too."

"Oh spare me," you chuckle and lean heavily against your little human shaped rock. "You cheated on my mother, you're cheating on Mommy Dearest, you'll probably cheat on whoever you saddle up to whenever she inevitably dies of alcohol poisoning. But I fall in love with the one person you've decided is off limits, and suddenly I'm the bad guy? Why? Because it gives your tennis doubles something to talk about?"

He's so red it looks painful as you hold his eyes and grin.

"Whatever your version of this insipidly grand speech you prepared on your way here was, I suggest you save it. Because whatever you thought it would accomplish, none of it is going to help you."

You watch the shadowed stubble on his throat shift under a swallow as shakey hands fold neatly in his lap. He's quiet for a long moment but you don't really mind. It gives you time to catch green eyes glance up at you with pride.

"So," he finally breaks the moment, "that's it, I guess."

"It is."

"And you truly know what you're saying here? What this means?"

You pretend to ponder ot all for a moment before smiling with a nod.

"In English?" you drawl like he's stupid because ending this fucked charade of a father-daughter relationship on a bitchy note is just too good an opportunity to pass up. "I think it's fairly simple. You're choosing your reputation over me. And I'm? Choosing Lexa over you."

He takes one last look between the two of you, face having fallen entirely blank. The face you're more used to when he didn't have something to be gained. The face of your father when he isn't playing a part. And then he's up and out of his chair with a flourish and once again, you know it's business as usual.

"I'll see myself out."

"I didn't have any intention of seeing you out. You know where the door is," she says from beside you because you know she can't help herself.

It's always hard for her to let you have all the fun.

It's alright though. You'll kiss her pretty face off later for the support all the same.

"I've put some of what would've been your inheritance into an account for you," he says while buttoning up his jacket.

"You can keep it."

"I'll have Colleen send the information over to Ms. Woods's secretary to pass along to you. Do with it what you will. That's what you've always done anyway," he says with no ounce of emotion.

It doesn't even hurt.

Not really...

You watch him stride to the door, and you remember when you were so tiny and used to think he was so big. Used to see him as this larger than life person, with his suits that fitted the broad expanse of his shoulders and the gleam of his shoes. Used to think if you ever needed, he'd protect you.

Now all he seems is small.

He pauses at the door and you wonder what the fuck was coming now.

But he just stands there. Hand wrapped around the gold-plating of the door handle in a white knuckled grip.

"... Be better than I was."

You barely register the words before he's gone.

//////////////////

[love-toxin]

kinktober day 23 - shindo + bakugo Scream AU

warnings: ghostface shindo/bakugo, murder, noncon, mild blood mention, mild knifeplay, fuck or die, painplay, death threats, unprotected sex, taking turns, anal, oral, size kink, virginity loss, degradation, name-calling, choking, mild spit, afab reader.

word count: 2.6k

“What’s your favourite scary movie?”

Answering that creep over the phone was your worst mistake. Silly you, picking up the phone from a caller you don’t recognize and talking to a man you don’t know, his voice smooth and low in the receiver and lulling you into a false sense of security. He doesn’t know where you are, right? He wouldn’t get through the locks on the windows and the deadbolt on the front door, would he? It’s just some dumb prank from one of the guys from your college, most likely--and you getting a little buzzed waiting for the couple whose house you’re looking after isn’t helping, but you’re more than safe in here. 

Right?

Wrong. 

“Aww, can’t fight me off, can you? Look at those sleepy eyes…”

The killer coos from behind the mask, his voice unfamiliar but the knife in his hand cutting through those questions like the taut string of a pendulum. Your limbs feel like concrete, and him straddling your legs so you can't even roll over is making it absolutely impossible to get away. You should be writing your epitaph in your head by now, but you still have some fight left in you that allows you to try and push his hands away--and somehow it doesn't anger him, but instead brings him some joy as he chuckles and lets your fingers close around his own, trying in vain to pry them off the handle so he'll drop the blade. It's funny to him up until you grab the loose part of his mask, and before he can stop you you snatch it off and let it dangle uselessly in your hand when you meet the eyes of the monster who, up until now, has been taunting you with promises of a bloody death. 

"Sh..Sh-Shi…" 

His name rises in your throat like bile and sticks there, unable to squeeze itself out in the silence that's fallen over the room. It's the guy who lent you his notes once. It's the one who shamelessly flirts with you at the vending machines in the square and gives you a wink when he catches your eye across the courtyard. 

It's Shindo. And though he looks pissed at first, his fury melts into glee when a realization dawns on both of you. 

"Please, Shindo! D-Don't kill me, please!" 

You sob, his laughter distressing you even more. Shindo's hands slide up your shirt for him to start pawing at your chest, his rough palms kneading the fat of your breasts with purpose and yet nothing more than unbridled lust at the same time. His murmuring feels obscene by how lustful he sounds, "you're cute" and "nice tits" and "I thought you weren't a scaredy cat?" purred in your ear as he holds you down as easily as one would swat a fly. His gloved fingers smear someone else's blood on your stomach as he reaches to grab your belt, the buckle breaking and whipping you in the thigh painfully with how much force he uses to rip it off you. You can't make sense of why this is happening, why it's Shindo of all people preparing to make your end a bloody one, but you don't care. You open your mouth to scream for one last lifeline, and his lips press over yours to swallow your cry for help with the aid of his tongue down your throat. 

He's going to hurt you, isn't he? He's going to kill you, isn't he? 

"Maybe,"

Yo licks his lips, your thoughts faintly echoing off the walls when you didn't notice they had come out in the first place. Your pants are halfway off your knees and he just yanks them down further when you try to keep them on, ripping them at the seam with strength you didn't know he had and cupping you over your panties with his thumb just barely brushing your clit through the fabric.  

"Scream for me a lot, and maybe I'll think about making you my final girl." 

Just as he says that with a wink and coaxes a moan from your traitorous lips, the window to the guest room slides open, and a face appears inside as he throws a leg over and stands menacingly astray, knife clutched in his hand and grumbles muffled by the mask that he so quickly rips off his head. 

"The fuck are you doing?"

You can't believe it. It can't be Bakugo. It can't be the guy who always bullies the kid that sits alone in the cafeteria, doing everything from throwing his backpack in the trash to holding him down while he soaks the green curls of his hair with whatever drink he's got from the canteen. He's an asshole, but you never imagined he'd kill somebody….and you can't bring yourself to believe that the two of them are working together. 

"I just wanted to play with her," 

Shindo says with a pout, like he's a child that got his favourite activity interrupted. And not like a twenty-something with a bloodlust like air in his lungs, pumping through him so violently that he would kill people just for fun. 

"And then what? Kill her? You're too much of a pussy."

"Am not! Watch, you fucking prick." 

Bakugo inciting his ire will be the reason you get put in the ground. You know it, and panic shoots through you as he grabs the knife he had left off to the side while he fondled you--and the first thing that comes to mind also comes out of your mouth in a desperate cry. 

"I-I’ll have sex with you! P-Please!" 

To your shock and relief, Shindo stops mid-stab with a puzzled look on his face, before his grin returns and he twirls the blade in his hand and stabs it into the headboard behind you instead. 

"So cute...you know I can fuck you whether you want it or not, right? But since you asked for it so nicely, I'm gonna go balls deep." 

With that, he pulls your panties to the side but doesn't bother taking them off completely, and hurries to undo his jeans with a dark flush to his face as he bites his lip, and Bakugo stands by with a scowl that could cut you as easily as a knife. But he doesn't move, doesn't say a word, and doesn't help you when you're begging for him to go slow when he's guiding his cock towards you, already stiff and beading precum at the tip from spilling blood tonight. 

"Slow? So you are a virgin, huh?"

You nod frantically, trembling at the fact that you can already feel the heat of his body between your legs as he teases the tip against your slit. His smirk grows softer, his brow relaxing as he takes your chin in his rough hand, and he steals a kiss from your lips that is both gentle and overwhelming at the same time. 

"You want a killer to take your innocence, huh? You want my cock so bad you don't care if you die? I fucking love that." 

Shindo moans as he slides in, his size proving more of an obstacle than you expected--but just as you try to beg him to stop, that he's too big, his hands come down on your throat and his fingers tighten around you like it's the neck of a beer bottle, so close to being crushed altogether. He growls something about shutting the fuck up, and uses his leverage on your throat to slam his hips down and split you down the middle like you're a pastry he's gonna stuff to bursting with cream. And just like that your virginity is gone, his cock ripping any semblance of innocence from you with the way it drags back against your walls on every down stroke and shoves forward so hard you swear your womb is permanently relocated into your stomach. 

He's so hypnotized by you that he can barely see straight, drool spilling down his chin as he yanks your body down on his cock like you're nothing but a sex doll. And his grip on your neck is cutting off so much air your vision is growing blurry, and you don't even realize that Bakugo is no longer standing by as a voyeur with a hand resting conspicuously over his crotch. He's moved so he's standing over you at the side of the bed, your wrist clenched in his hand as he yanks it up and uses it to massage his balls while he uses the other to jerk himself off. He doesn't let you pull away either--if he has to move your fingers himself he does, and after catching his glare you find it within you to squeeze them of your own volition just so he'll focus more on his own pleasure than fantasizing about how he's going to kill you. 

Shindo seems to already be there, though. The squeeze of your pussy throbbing with pain at the stretch has already left him lightheaded and feverish, but just as you're on the cusp of passing out from your lack of air he's cumming and spasming inside you, hands tightening around you just once more before he releases you finally and you suck in a breath for a good, raspy scream as he thrusts so hard the pain absolutely blinds you with pleasure. You've never cum this way, so overwhelmed that the prickling burn is what sends you over the edge, but it rips through you either way and keeps your pussy twitching long after Shindo's filled it with cum and it's spilling out of you. Shaking, weak, gasping for breath, you await the splatter of cum that Bakugo's been readying over your face, but instead there's a shifting of weight between your legs and you can't even lift your head to see what's happening. The warm hands pinning your knees back to your chest is enough for you to realize the nightmare isn't over yet. 

"Her pussy's fucking great. I'm gonna finish off that little whore downstairs, come down when you're done."

Shindo casually zipping himself up after blowing your back out just makes this all seem so much less real, but you’re not allowed a break quite yet when the feeling of a tongue wriggling against your back door pulls a shriek from your sore throat and your hands fly down to tangle in Bakugo's soft, blond spikes. He only growls in response which in turn rumbles through your ass in a strangely pleasurable way, and you have no choice but to lay prone and semi-relaxed as he tongue fucks you aided soon by a finger to loosen you up. 

"Do me a favour and don't get pregnant, mkay? I want my final girl to stay nice and tight for me." 

You didn't even realize Shindo had gotten closer until he's leaning right over you, murmuring that question softly with a hand on the headboard to steady him as his eyes roam down to Bakugo eating you out, and then back up to your face flushed with warmth and dripping sweat. He paps you on the cheek not enough to hurt, but enough to be condescending, and yanks his knife out from where it's sat buried in the wood you've got your head beside before slipping his mask back on and meandering out the bedroom door, leaving it open purposely so that he'll be able to hear your moans from all the way downstairs. And only then does Bakugo finally finish off with a deep slurp of your asshole, and he gets back up on his knees to roughly flip you over on your stomach and rub his cock up between your cheeks, already slick with cum and spit. He slaps his cock against your hole a few times, teasing you with how thick and heavy it is--and then he's got his thumbs spreading your cheeks apart and he's pressing the head against your hole, your rim stretching slowly and painfully to the point you think you'll be too tight to take him, before he finally pops inside and lets a deep groan rumble in his chest as he sinks down inch by agonizing inch. And while he's forcing you to shake on his cock, Bakugo leans down so his chest is pressed up against your back, and his lips are mere centimeters from your ear so that his whispers feel like they're stirring inside your head itself. 

"You're fuckin' tight for some little bimbo. Guess your first time takin' cock up your ass is mine, now." 

He doesn't stay there for long, sitting back on his knees to hunch over you once he starts moving his hips--and it's obvious why when he brings his hand down on your asscheek, certainly leaving some bruises and marks behind as he grabs a fistful of each one and yanks you back to meet his thrusts each time, peppering you with a spank here and there for that delicious feeling of you tightening around him with every sharp jolt of pain. 

"Like that? I bet you fuckin' do." 

He speaks with a snarky grin, and slowly the pressure builds alongside the aches as he fucks you harder with every buck of his hips, and faster with each gasp and squeak that you let out at having your ass plowed by a cock so big it feels like it's sitting in your guts every time. And every thrust forces more cum to seep out of your pussy, the creampie that Shindo gave you smearing over Bakugo's shaft and lubing you up even more so that it's even easier for him to force his cock past your rim that's still trying to push him out. He knows that you'll get used to it and you hate that you know you will too, considering you've already moved on from screaming in terror to whimpering and moaning softly as he pushes you towards another orgasm. This time it's not as painful, and yet you still know you’re gonna be sore as Bakugo yanks you back and gives you a few more rough, hard thrusts, before stilling inside you and growling as he blows his load so hard and hot that it numbs you from the inside out and forces another few minutes of shaking and gasping upon you, pleasure overtaking you so that you can't even fight back as he pumps every rope of cum he has inside your guts. 

"Fuckin' whore. Least you can take it, not like the others." 

He pants, and slaps your ass once more and watches it jiggle as he slides out of you, letting his seed pour out of you and mix with what still coats your pussy, still clenching around nothing with the aftershocks of your orgasm. He wipes himself off on your thigh and slides off the bed slowly, his belt buckle clicking as he redresses himself while you lay limp and weak.

If he wants to kill you, he can. There's no possibility of you fighting back, and at this point there's little more you can lose. And yet, while you lay there defenseless and waiting for the knife in your back, you flinch as a jacket is thrown over you instead, and weakly glance over your shoulder to see Bakugo already at the door. Knife in hand, mask perched atop his head, and vermillion eyes piercing straight through your soul.

"Lucky you. You're too good for us to let go of, final girl." 

With that, he slips the mask down and disappears out the door, the sound of your client's wife screaming for her life only now reaching your ears. They soon reduce to nothing but whimpers, then sobs, and then the gurgling of blood undoubtedly filling her lungs as she hits some kind of surface with a thump. 

Looks like you are the final girl, now.