#Mass Nightly

[scripture-pictures]

Jesus christ

[seithr]

nightly reminder! Liara T'soni my beloved

[ckret2]

At some point, the Axolotl must've witnessed the aftermath of the Euclidean Massacre.

As you can see, Bill is very happy and definitely not at all traumatized and doing great and look at all these followers he's found who are definitely alive.

Here, have a fic about the Axolotl, the birth of the Nightmare Realm, and Bill trying so so hard to convince himself that he's the hero.

####

To the mortals he swam past, with their different calendars and their different ways of perceiving time, the great Axolotl's migration through space and between dimensions was an event of great note: his passing marked eclipses, tsunamis, festivals, omens, meteor showers; his migration was studied by astronomers and his position was marked in astrological birth charts.

To the Axolotl, he was on his daily commute home. He could take an interdimensional portal, but swimming was better for the environment and he could use the exercise.

He passed by the same two dimensional wall every day. It was covered with many little worlds, and so many of them populated with little mortals, and he'd never paid any particular attention to the wall—until yesterday. A bold little triangle had shouted at him as he passed. It had been an amusing conversation—first contact was always fun—but he'd been busy and couldn't talk more than a moment, just long enough for the Axolotl to be charmed that a lower-dimensional creature had yelled at him and for the triangle to be shocked that a higher-dimensional creature had answered. The triangle had told him that, to his two-dimensional people, these shadows on the wall, the Axolotl was an eclipse: they marked the time by the shadow he cast on their flat world during his commute.

He hadn't even learned the triangle's real name. The triangle had refused to tell him, instead introducing himself as the "Magister Mentium." Teacher of minds? Maybe it was a job title.

Between the nightmare of a case the Axolotl was currently handling and the fact that he'd had to stay late working, he'd nearly forgotten about yesterday's fascinating little meeting until he was leaving on his nightly commute. He didn't know how long the tiny shapes' life cycles were; he hoped the little triangle was still alive today. If not, maybe he'd left behind descendants.

But when he came up to the wall, it was gone.

The vacuum reeked of burning hydrogen.

The Axolotl stopped, puzzled. The wall wasn't empty, wasn't damaged, wasn't going through heat death—the entire thing was missing. No rubble. Surely it hadn't been demolished for some new construction? It had been in good condition. It was a fairly new plane of reality, likely under fifty billion years old. And it had admittedly been a few eons since the Axolotl had studied dimension use & zoning law, but last he checked it was unlawful to demolish a populated dimension without transplanting the growths first—which took much longer than a day. So what could possibly have done this? And what he saw behind the wall...

Something was very wrong. He started moving again, faster, looking for someone who could tell him what was happening. He kept the ragged rip in reality left by the missing wall in his peripheral vision. Stars and stardust slowly fell in, sucked through the tear. The wall must have come down by accident.

Nobody would have knowingly left behind such a large hole to Dimension Zero.

Assuming he was looking at Dimension Zero; he wasn't sure he was. Beneath all other dimensions was supposed to be a void, an empty in-between space. The zeroth "dimension" was simply reality's center point, the not-dimension between all dimensions; it wasn't a place. But with the two dimensional wall gone, he didn't see reality bending in toward a point like he should. He saw a roiling, nauseating mass of blinding colors, thrashing around each other like a frightened pile of injured worms.

Far in the distance, a full reality away, he saw a faint line of blue light.

It was several minutes before he began to run into other people. He passed a crew of cosmic firefighters and their ships, spread out over a span of space wider than an asteroid belt. The fact that they didn't appear to currently be fighting any fires was more disconcerting than a full blaze would have been. An eerie tension hung thick over the scene like invisible smoke. As the Axolotl swam by a couple of firefighters, he overheard them saying, "... orders of magnitude higher than anything we've been trained to handle. An entire reality catching fire is one thing, but the concept of realitycatching fire...?"

"And the speed it's moving..."

"Excuse me," the Axolotl said, trying to keep the edge of fear out of his voice. (Why was he so afraid? He was barely acquaintances with one resident on the wall.) "Can you tell me what happened to the wall? It was just here yesterday."

Rather than explain, one of them pointed in the direction he'd been going. "Sorry, we don't know any more than you do. Look for the storm. You can't miss it."

The other asked, "Are you one of the guys with the apoc cops?"

His fear leaped higher. The "apoc cops" were members of the Apocalyptic Threat Task Force. "No. Sorry, I have to go." He swam onward toward the blue line of light.

The stench of burning hydrogen grew stronger. He smelled something else acrid underneath.

####

To his slight relief, the "storm" wasn't the disaster that had brought down this wall. Rather, it was a person: a lightly raining storm cloud with a gray rain-soaked fedora perched on top, hovering in space.

It was talking to a hapless-looking furred serpent twice the Axolotl's length with four mismatched limbs: she clutched a can of spray paint in her claws, and was so nervous he could hear the marble in the can rattling. A disembodied sunbeam pierced the eye of the storm cloud to shine in the serpent's face as she spoke, and a tornado swirled beneath its cloud, carrying all its personal effects—including a tumbling badge from the Apocalyptic Threat Task Force, its logo of a mushroom cloud struck out with the "no" symbol still visible through a thin glaze of sleet. A chill ran through the Axolotl at the sight of that badge.

The cloud wasn't the only one with the apoc cops on the scene. There were several other investigators nearby, taking readings where the wall used to be. The Axolotl didn't like just how many were buzzing around. They seemed far too busy for far too empty a space, and they steered far too clear of the thrashing, multicolored miasma covering the emptiness that should contain Dimension Zero.

There were several stars in the area that the investigators had to work around. Between the crowds and the missing wall, it took the Axolotl a moment to realize where they were: this was the spot he'd met the triangle yesterday. He was sure of it. He recognized the star right next to the missing wall, the one the triangle had told him he eclipsed during his commute. He'd passed it millions of times.

Why had the apoc cops set up here?

The star was slowly falling toward the roiling miasma where Dimension Zero should have been. He nudged it back into place as he passed.

As the Axolotl approached the duo, the serpent was saying, "I told you, I don't know how it caught fire! I was just passing by..." The storm cloud's sunbeam dropped from her face to point skeptically at her spray paint. She hid it behind her back and quickly went on, "I was just passing by, minding my own business and not doing anything illegal, and suddenly the whole wall went up in flames!"

The cloud said, "The whole wall? Simultaneously?"

"The whole thing! I mean... it kind of rolled across the dimension, but—it took less than ten seconds to cover everything I saw!"

"Which direction did the fire travel?"

While the serpent tried to remember, the Axolotl swam up to the storm cloud. "Excuse me, the firefighters said you're in charge of the investigation?"

"Currently," the cloud said, in a tone that suggested it very much wished it wasn't. It looked over the Axolotl, then turned back to the serpent—she flinched when its sunbeam hit her face again—and it asked gruffly, "Is this your lawyer?"

The serpent looked hopeful. "Are you my lawyer?"

"No, I'm not," the Axolotl said, perturbed. Potential defendants aside, nobody ever insinuated he was somebody's lawyer and meant it in a nice way—and he was on the receiving end of such accusations more and more often lately. His reputation was beginning to precede him. "We've never met. I'm trying to find out what happened to this wall. I know a—friend in there. You said something about a fire?"

An active ATTF investigation was in no way the Axolotl's business. But people had a tendency to cooperate with professionals, whether or not their profession had anything to do with the situation at hand. The ATTF agent turned to the Axolotl and said, "You had a friend in there. The wall that used to be here, Dimension 2 Delta, has been completely incinerated."

The Axolotl stared at the cloud, trying to process that. But the whole wall had been there yesterday. Billions of galaxies, each with trillions of stars, each capable of supporting trillions of species—never mind lives. "You can't mean completely. Surely there are some survivors?"

"Not a single one," the cloud said. "Not even gods and ghosts made it out."

"How?"

"That's what we're trying to figure out," the storm said. "Right now, the only witness we've found was the person who called in the emergency." A branch of lightning pointed toward the serpent. "And she doesn't know a damn thing." The serpent nodded in enthusiastic agreement.

"But that's... How does an entire dimension disappear with only one witness?"

"Very quickly," the storm said. "The apocalypse Origin & Cause investigation can't make heads or tails of the scene—" a gust of wind swept demonstratively toward the other apoc cops taking readings near the missing wall, "but far as we can tell, the damn thing spontaneously combusted—somewhere near here."

The Axolotl stared helplessly between the serpent and the storm. "Dimensions aren't supposed to spontaneously combust," he said, very reasonably and very unnecessarily.

"Tell 2Δ that," the storm said. "Only time a dimension moves that fast is during a Big Bang explosion or a Big Crunch implosion—and 2Δ wasn't undergoing a Big Crunch. No natural one, anyway. In all my eons with ATTF, I've never seen anything like it."

The Axolotl had been around enough eons himself to know that, after a certain point, novelty became very, very scary—because things working like they should shouldn't do anything you'd never seen before. He worriedly searched the roiling chaos exposed by Dimension 2 Delta's collapse for any sign of what had happened.

The chaos simply thrashed. It moved like it was in pain.

"Did that..." the Axolotl gestured vaguely toward the chaotic foam, "have anything to do with the wall's combustion?"

The serpent shrugged. "I didn't see it until after the fire went by."

The storm grunted uncertainly, a low, thunderous grumble. "Heck if we know. It's connected, no doubt about that—but we haven't even figured out what it is yet. All we know is, it shouldn't have been behind the wall."

The Axolotl stared into the roiling colors, looking for anything visible through the thrashing kaleidoscopic colors.  "If you don't know what it is yet—then, how do you know there aren't survivors in there?" The Axolotl couldn't stop seeing that poor, frightened, awed triangle he'd met yesterday. All the people who'd once been in Dimension 2 Delta mattered—of course they did, those billions of trillions of trillions of billions of lives; he wanted any of them to survive—but that triangle was the one he knew, the one he saw in his mind's eye now. The whole dimension was contained inside that triangle. He had to hope. "I'm going to check."

"What—? You're crazy! Don't you know falling into Dimension Zero will destroy you?!"

"I know falling into Dimension Zero destroys you; I don't know what falling into that thing will do." He squared up with the chaos and steeled his nerves. "Besides, I can regenerate. I'm an axolotl."

"But—!"

"Sorry, there isn't time for more questions." He swam into the maelstrom.

####

Dimension Zero was supposed to be a singularity. Like a black hole, but even smaller—a point so dense it broke physics. If you fell in you'd be crushed into that point by the weight of all realities, a point so small it had no volume.

But whatever was behind where the wall had been, it was certainly no point.

As soon as he crossed the threshold, he was barraged with a psychic hurricane. Reality frothed and foamed like a flood spilling from a burst dam. Distant baby stars were born and popped like bubbles, and old stars fell in and were gloriously reignited. His every sense was bombarded with infinite sensations—every color and image in this dimension all at once; every song that had ever been played playing in the same instant and the instant extended indefinitely; strobe lights that were both flashing on and flashing off at the exact same moment. Beneath the music was a constant hiss like the background radiation of reality, the static echo of a universe's birth, but much too loud; he could swear it sounded like gibbering, babbling voices, their desperate messages unintelligible. He smelled every scent, including the lingering smell of burning hydrogen that he'd noticed outside; but above and beyond all that, he smelled the stench of burning life.

He knew now, this was Dimension Zero: it was as if all of spacetime had been crushed into a singularity, but then the singularity was bloated up to the size of an entire universe. Dimension Zero was never supposed to be this bloated.

And the most terrifying part: there were people in this bizarre ruin of a dimension. Millions of them. (Just as horrifying: there were only millions of them.) He was sure he must have been hallucinating—here, dreams and reality swirled around each other like a bottle of water and oil shaken until they were forced to mix—but the longer he looked, the more sure he was that the people were a part of reality. They were, perhaps, the most real thing in the entire dimension.

They were all dancing.

They were all dead.

"Heeey, look who's here!" Suddenly, in front of the Axolotl, there he was—as if he'd always been in front of the Axolotl, as if he were always everywhere at once. The ghost of the little triangle he'd seen yesterday, neon incorporeal. "Happy New Year, everybody!" He laughed. "Get it? That—that's a joke, time doesn't pass in the dream realm, so..." The triangle waved off the Axolotl. "Oh, you wouldn't get it. Screw you. Anyway, introductions! I should do that." 

The triangle was extremely inebriated. He was blinking blearily, floating crookedly, moving in odd uncoordinated jerks, his pupil expanding and contracting with no correlation to the light it was taking in. He seemed to flicker across multiple timelines that had been collapsed into one, like a drunk that couldn't walk a straight line: appearing here then there, then multiple places at once, then everywhere; and then became everywhere, and then collapsed again to a single triangular point. The Axolotl had the worrying impression that the triangle hadn't been sober for a long time.

"So! These are my people!" He gestured with a flourish to the dancing corpse puppets. The strobe lights—which, the Axolotl only now realized, didn't actually have a source, but were rather disembodied rays of light emanating from nothing—turned to highlight them from every angle. It was like a cloud of glitter, all these tiny, flat, jewel-tone flecks, emerald and citrine and ruby and sapphire, triangles and squares and pentagons and hexagons. Each with two spindly arms; some with legs and some without; a single dull eye or a slack mouth; some of them cracked and chipped like broken glass, some of them crushed and melted together into multi-corpsed horrors, some of them fraying and peeling apart around the edges like fabric; so much silvery blood dripping and floating around them. Such beautiful, colorful dancing gore. "All my followers and friends! They love me! They couldn't see you last time you flew by, but thanks to me, they sure can now! Say hellooo!"

It took the Axolotl a moment to realize that the triangle's eye was boring into him and the instruction was for him. "Hello," he said weakly. 

"Very nice." The triangle turned without turning to the millions lost inside Dimension Zero, reality shifting around him to put all of the dimension's prisoners in front of his eye. The Axolotl reeled from existential vertigo. "Now check this out!" The triangle gestured at the Axolotl for his people's benefit. "Behold! Your Magister Mentium presents to you: the eclipse! In the horrifying pink flesh! Quite a sight, huh?"

Many of the dancers turned toward him. Some aimed their dull, dead eyes in his direction. He shivered under their chill stares.

Heedless of the Axolotl's horror, the triangle elbowed him. "I didn't peg you for a party crasher, pinky!" (The triangle's touch was so cold.) "But hey, the more the merrier. Welcome to the dream realm, have a drink!"

A 2D cup manifested in front of the Axolotl that, based on its smooth, featureless yellow surface and its glow, appeared to be made from the triangle's own ghostly flesh. It seemed to be filled with watered-down raw existence. He didn't touch the cup. "What's the dream realm?" He couldn't stop staring at the dancers macabre.

"This is!" The triangle stretched out his arms—and stretched them, and stretched them, seeming to embrace all of reality at once. The Axolotl got the terrifying impression he was within the embrace too. "The realm of dreams! My realm! Paradise of color and light! Realm of spirits and muses!"

"It looks more like a nightmare."

"Do I come to your house and insult your wallpaper? Buzz off."

When the triangle dismissively floated away from him, the Axolotl again got the dizzying sensation that he was the one moving. The truth finally dawned on him:

The triangle, somehow, was literally the center of this universe. Point 0,0,0 on the cartesian plane of reality. Whenever he moved, Dimension Zero moved with him. When he backed away from the Axolotl, Dimension Zero backed with him, rushing past while the Axolotl held still.

And not once during their conversation did any of the millions of dead shapes stop dancing. 

"What are you doing?" the Axolotl asked, voice hushed.

"Partying," the triangle said. "We're having a party."

The Axolotl couldn't tear his eyes from the choreomaniacs' forced revelry. "How long have you been partying?"

"Uhh... pfff... I dunno, hard to keep track. A few months?" The triangle turned toward his tortured people. "Hey! How long have we been partying?"

One of the bodies mixed in amongst the dead, boogying deliriously, faintly cried back, "Time has no meaning and eternity has collapsed into a single unending moment of bliss!" (The Axolotl shuddered at the grotesque ventriloquism act.)

"Oh, yeah, right, forgot I decreed that. Thanks, pal!"

"You're welcome, oh wise and glorious Magister Mentium!"

The triangle turned back to the Axolotl. "An eternity."

The Axolotl tore his horrified eyes away from the dancers. "What about all the others?"

The triangle paused. "I don't know who you're talking about." The background radiation hissed in agitation.

The Axolotl very much suspected he did. "Your other people."

"There aren't any others," the triangle said defensively.

"There were! All of the other shapes around your world! All of the lives on other worlds! Where are all those people?!" He hoped that they might have gotten evacuated to a neighboring wall, or that they'd been concealed somehow, or even that they'd been collapsed together into the shapes he saw before him and could still be separated—

"It's fine," the triangle said stiffly. "Nothing important was lost."

"Nothing important?" the Axolotl repeated, shocked. "This was an entire dimension—!"

"A wall," the triangle said.

"A wall with lives on it—"

"Shadows."

"And do shadows not deserve to live?!"

The triangle flinched at the question as his good cheer crumbled. He didn't answer, but he gave the Axolotl a heavy, hard, emotionless look—a wretched, empty look—and the Axolotl knew he knew they did deserve to live.

"They don't matter," the triangle lied. "Nothing important was lost. Only the true believers and the worthy remain."

"Your dimension had billions of trillions of stars alone. All the people surrounding them—"

"I didn't see any stars!" He said it so vehemently—as though, if he didn't see them, they must not have existed. As though he refused to acknowledge their existence. "I told everyone about the third dimension, I told them we were going, they had their chance to join me!" His voice was shaking. As he spoke he grew larger, until he was as large as the Axolotl—or perhaps the universe had contracted around him. "And if they refused to join the liberation, then they are what we liberated ourselves from!" Distant bolts of lights flashed through Dimension Zero, responding to the triangle's outrage; the nearest stars blazed brighter for him. His dead people screamed in terror. They didn't stop dancing.

"You... tried to leave your dimension before the fire reached them?" Had he tried too late?

The triangle flinched again; his appearance flickered, like a TV that for a moment had picked up a pirate station broadcasting on the same frequency. The whispers hissing beneath the music grew more excited again, but the Axolotl still couldn't make out what they said beneath the party music.

The triangle said, "The... the fire came second."

"What came first?"

But he didn't answer. "Yeah, I brought them here." He spread his arms again, gesturing at the other shapes. "They followed me, and I freed them from our flat, restrictive dimension. They're all fine. And they all love me for saving them."

"Saving them?" he echoed. He wanted to laugh in disbelief, but it felt too much like laughing at a stranger's funeral. Laughing at an open mass grave. "But—everyone here is already dead. Even you." The triangle should be in an afterlife. Whatever afterlives his dimension once had, they were gone now. The Axolotl would have to help the triangle find one in another dimension—the paperwork alone would take time he didn't have to spare; he'd probably have to split off a timeline or two to squeeze it in...

The triangle snapped, "Whoa, hey, hey! Watch who you call dead, buddy! Look at me!" He stretched out his limbs, glowing dazzlingly bright. Brighter than a star. Even the Axolotl had to turn away from the blinding light. "I transcended my body! I'm made of pure energy! This is the most alive I've ever been!" A being of pure energy that had lost its physical form was the very definition of a ghost; but the Axolotl didn't have a chance to argue before the triangle went on, "And does anyone here look dead? Everyone's dancing! We're all having a great time, aren't we?" A few corpses groaned and gurgled in response.

If the triangle wanted to be a wandering ghost, fine. That was his prerogative. But he had no right to force the remains of his followers to deny their death with him. "Look—look at your people," the Axolotl commanded. "You're making them dance! You must know what state they're in!"

Without actually moving, the triangle had somehow become the space in between the Axolotl and his choreomaniacs, forming a sharp shield in between them. "You don't know what you're talking about. They're fine. They're immortal!"

The Axolotl gestured furiously past the triangle. "LOOK AT THEM!"

The triangle's gaze flickered toward them for a split second. The Axolotl saw guilt flashing in his eye; but then he squeezed his eye shut. "No, you look at them. Maybe it took me a little bit to get it right, but they're all great now."

To get it right? The Axolotl peered around the triangle at the shapes again, and only now saw that he was right.

Not all of them were dead.

Some were trapped in ecstatic trances; some were numb with terror; some were already long dead, and yet the corpses weren't being puppeted like he'd assumed—they danced under their own power. There were amalgams of a dozen, a hundred bodies fused together into shambling, gyrating horrors—but there was still life in their horrified eyes and their limbs twitched independently. The ones that were bleeding just kept bleeding and bleeding and bleeding, unending, blood never clotting nor running dry. The corpses and the comatose and the ailing and the bleeding dancing with the living that craved death.

The triangle was responsible for their condition?

He glided between the corpses, sliding his arms around a few of them. They kept dancing.  "I didn't quite get to a few of them in time, so I took the empty space where their souls used to be and filled them with an insatiable hunger to party," he said. "And look, they're good as new! Probably better than they were before, even!"

"These bodies should be laid to rest," the Axolotl said heatedly, "and the rest of you should be dead."

The triangle went still.

The Axolotl remembered, a second too late, that that was a perfectly normal thing to say to deceased clients and other gods in his line of work, but the kind of thing that scared the living daylights out of mortals.

"So that's a threat." His arms slid off the shapes; his fingers were stained with silvery blood that shimmered like static noise.

"No! No. But the condition that you're all in..."

"You'd better check yourself, frills," the triangle snapped. "You crash our party, in our eternal paradise, and start threatening us! Who the hell do you think you are, telling us we should be dead?!"

The Axolotl paused uneasily. "A fully licensed psychopomp...?"

"Well you'd better keep your psycho, pompous paws off my people!" The triangle blazed bright red, literally incandescent with rage. Some of his "people" slowly stopped dancing and turned their hollow eyes toward the Axolotl.

And the Axolotl couldn't say why, but he was suddenly sure he was in very grave danger.

He backed up from the triangle, moving in the direction that the edge of Dimension Zero should have been, although he was no longer sure whether it was still behind him. "I... think I should leave."

"I think you'd better."

He turned and fled. He couldn't explain his panic, but he felt in his bones like something was chasing him. He had to spend longer than he wanted searching for the edge of this bizarre reality—the triangle had turned and twisted and moved the borders so many times that he'd completely lost his bearings—spied the nearest exit, and darted for it between two unfinished planes of reality.

He thought he felt flames at his back.

The triangle's voice followed him out: "Next time, poop on somebody else's party!"

He tumbled through the membrane between the overbloated Dimension Zero and the higher dimensions with the relief of a suffocating fish escaping its net to plummet back into the water. He had to take a moment to reorient himself to his surroundings—time passing so that each moment took its turn and ended when it was over, space that felt like space rather than all distances collapsed in on themselves—and looked back at Dimension Zero.

The longer he stared into the kaleidoscopic miasma, the more sure he was that, no matter where he looked, right at the center of his field of view, he could always see a shining yellow fleck of triangular glitter.

"I'm sorry," he said. "I spoke out of emotion. I am glad that you—" well, "survived" wasn't the right word, "—still exist. And it was heroic of you to save as many people as you did. I shouldn't have said they shouldn't be alive; just..."

He felt like he could still see the shapes dancing in the corners of his eyes.

"... Just not alive like that."

####

Who was the triangle?

At their first meeting yesterday, it had been clear to the Axolotl that the triangle could see and perceive things off his wall while the rest of his people could not; he'd identified himself as "Magister Mentium" rather than by name; and he'd been surrounded by shapes, all turned toward him, listening: so perhaps he was a leader of some kind? He must have seen whatever destroyed their dimension coming and been able to use his position to evacuate a few people. The true believers and the worthy, he'd said—maybe his... congregation? Maybe he was a religious leader? At any rate, it was a miracle he'd saved as many people as he had with what must have been very short notice.

But... their forced dance... the bodies fused together... the living-who-should-be-dead bleeding and bleeding and bleeding without end...

The Axolotl didn't want to believe the triangle had any ill will. He reminded himself that he didn't know anything about his people or their culture. These shapes had been through something unimaginably traumatic. They'd watched an entire reality die; many of them were stuck in the process of dying in a place where they couldn't complete it. Any mortal would be insane with grief. Perhaps their magister was just leading them in some sort of cathartic dancing mania; perhaps this was how the shapes processed their grief. He hoped that was what it was. He hadn't gotten a chance to speak to the others—he didn't know how many could speak—but he had seen, for just a moment, how survivor's guilt ate at the triangle.

The storm cloud with the Apocalyptic Threat Task Force had said that every single living being from Dimension 2 Delta had been killed. Even the gods and the ghosts. So how had the triangle and his people survived?

And what were they doing here, in the singular heart of all reality?

And what had happened to their world?

####

(Hello, thanks for reading!! If you were lured in by the colorful art I laid out as bait and this is your first time here, welcome!! This is part 1 of a 5-or-6 part fic about the Axolotl in the immediate aftermath of the Euclidean Massacre. I'll be posting one chapter a week, Fridays 5pm CST, so stick around if you wanna read more and learn the exciting answers to exciting questions like "Bill where in the good goddamn did you find a bunch of half-dead shapes??"

It's ALSO chapter 61 of an ongoing post-canon post-TBOB very-reluctantly-human Bill fic. So if you wanna read more of me writing Bill, check it out here. If you're not sold on the idea of a human Bill fic, I've also got a one-shot about normal triangle Bill escaping the Theraprism if you wanna read that.

If this is NOT your first time here and you already knew all of the above: hey y'all remember when we had to skip over chapter 61 because it would've been posted like four days after TBOB came out and it needed MAJOR revisions? Well, here it is!! And also it's currently like six times longer than it was originally. We're gonna be hanging out with the Ax for like a month and a half, buckle up. 

Let me know what y'all think so far!!)

[risuola]

ENTRY #5 ♡ F. READER X GOJO SATORU // There's sugar to your kisses, it tastes like dessert.

contents: arranged marriage!au, fluff — wc. 2093

a/n: you welcomed the series so warmly and lovely, that I made this part longer. it's sickly sweet, it's fluffy — enjoy!

series masterlist

“What the hell am I doing–“

You groaned. Again and again. Sighing and throwing your hands into the air, helpless and hopeless. Resignation crawling up your skin, threatening to fight and win with your stubbornness and determination. You felt the characteristics you proud yourself with falter and peel away along with your pride and dignity and you found it ironic — pathetic — that years of harsh trainings, of bloody torture you endured, years of fights and pain did nothing to break you and now you’re losing your mind over a goddamn mochi.

Mochi.

A dessert made of rice dough, sweet and objectively adorable with its round shape and sugary filling. If someone asked you how much time you spent in the kitchen already, heating up the glutinous rice flour, mixing and kneading the dough, you wouldn’t know. Hours, most likely. Fighting a battle that you weren’t ready for, mixing ingredients, adding water, whisking, and then kneading again, burning your fingers and pads of your palms more times than you’d ever admit. And you hated it. Hated the corn starch that dusted all around the place, the sticky mass of heated rice flour that you tried to get just right and above all, you hated how much time it took you before it finally started to look like something you can work with.

“There we go,” you mumbled, kneading and stretching the dough between your hands and the marble countertop. There was a reason you were a fighter, not a cook and the current state of your kitchen made enough of a proof. Mochi now, cleaning later.

The fillings were delicious, you had to pat yourself on the back. You were very lucky today to grab the sweetest strawberries you ever ate. They tasted like summer, like hot, tropical heaven and you fought with yourself before you ate them all. The cream you whipped turned out just perfectly thick and fluffy. Then the green edamame paste — your husband’s favorite — came out just as good. Decadent almost, smooth and sweet, with perfect, bright green color and texture of a cloud. Half of your cream you mixed up with melted chocolate and while happy with the insides, you were still a little concerned about the dough.

You’re not gonna be defeated by a rice dough.

You managed to roll out the mass very thinly, perfectly, and began forming mochi, which turned out to be much easier to do than you anticipated.

Take the dough.

Scoop on the filling.

Close the dough.

Roll.

Repeat.

You filled up a tray, all of the balls prettily displayed on top of a parchment paper and you took it upon yourself to have a taste of each one. Delicious. Absolutely mind-blowing.

To the fridge they go.

Now clean.

* * *

Satoru got home around 7 pm — typical, if nothing comes up or hold him at work. His job as a teacher, you learned it quickly, was repetitive, predictable. He’s out the door just shy of 10 am and back near the evening, before the soft pinks and oranges of the summer turn into nightly blues and greys and you grew to appreciate the routine that settled into your lives. Spending most of the days separately made the first weeks of marriage much more bearable. It gave you and him enough time to get used to the new situation and cool off after many fights you had. But that was about to change and you were meaning to tell him today, sweetening the deal with mochi.

Oh right, mochi!

It got you a little too excited for Satoru to ignore, you looked a little brighter than usually, nervous even and he found it concerningly amusing. You’re rarely happy to see him back, he’s more used to see you ignore him than to greet him, and even if so – you’d usually pass him with a hi or an attempt of a small talk that he hated. Gojo couldn’t tell what was it that made you so much more vibrant that evening, you looked thrilled, your eyes glimmered in the dim lights of the house. You almost looked… happy? To see him? No, that couldn’t be it.

“Did something happen today? You look oddly excited,” he spoke, following his usual routine of taking off his uniform jacket and putting it neatly on a hanger in the hallway, folding his blindfold in half to have it ready in the morning and washing his hands and face. The soft, dry towel soaked up the excess wetness from his skin as he patted it away, pointing his ocean-blue eyes toward you expectantly.

“Well, yes, kind of,” you replied and dropped onto the soft cushions of the sofa in the living room. You twisted your body slightly and looked at him, and he got the hint because few seconds later, he sat down next to you. “Two things. First, I got an offer to work as a teacher in your school. Yaga contacted me–“

“You are the new teacher for the second years?” Satoru cut you and you couldn’t read him. A slight surprise was all you could decipher from the expression of his features.

“Yes. Well, not yet,” you sighed, “before I agree I wanted to ask you what you think.”

“And you’ll do as I say? Since when you’re doing as you’re told?” He teased and for a moment you considered eating all the mochi yourself. Maybe tying him to the chair and devouring it right in front of his eyes? You opened your mouth to say something rather unpleasant before he spoke again. “If you’re asking me for permission, we both know you don’t need it. I’m sure kids will benefit from having you to lead them.”

“Are you willing to be civil with me if we spend more time along each other during the day? Last thing I need is to argue with you more than we already do.”

“We don’t argue that much lately,” he protested and you huffed out a chuckle, nodding in agreement. You didn’t fight at all, if you think about it. It seemed as if slowly you were getting used to… everything.

“So, you’re fine with the idea?”

“I’m fine with the idea, yes,” he said, running a hand through his white, slightly damp hair and brushing it back. You took in his features, allowing yourself to just stare at the man you married, because even if wedded, you see him no more than his students are. He still sleeps on the couch; he still spends most of his time outside. “You’re staring.”

“I am,” you confirmed, shamelessly and it made him chuckle. “Talking about staring, close your eyes.”

“Why would I–“

“Close your eyes and open your mouth,” you ordered, getting up from the comfortable seat you were sunken into. “Please?”

“I’m honestly concerned,” he said but reluctantly lowered his eyelids. As if it made him any less aware of his surroundings. “What are you planning?”

“Don’t peek.”

Quickly, you padded into the kitchen and uncovered the mochi you kept out of the fridge for about ten minutes now. You took the tray and a glass of water and got back to where Satoru was situated. With his eyes closed, comfortable against the cushions. He felt your weight sinking onto the pillows next to him and a hint of something sweet in the air.

“Open up,” your voice made him hum, still uncertain but curious nonetheless. ‘Open up’ was such a foreign command for him to follow and the small amount of trust that was secure between you and him had to suffice for him to comply. “There we go,” you almost whispered and Satoru slightly flinched at the first contact of his mouth with, what felt like, a blob of cold unknown substance. For a reason he couldn’t really rationalize, he grabbed onto your waist to balance himself, even if there was nothing to throw him off.

Slowly, with caution, Gojo closed his mouth, allowing his teeth to meet the dough, go through it. Mochi. He recognized the sweet taste of his very favorite treat immediately but something about what was just melting against his tongue felt different to what he’s used to. The rice envelope was softer but chewy, sweetened just perfectly and the paste inside — green bean — had a texture of silk and butter, a luscious heaven itself. He felt it spreading along his taste buds, warming against the insides of his cheeks. A perfect mixture of fluffy inside and glutinous outside. So sweet, so delicious.

“Oh my god,” he whimpered. A sound so foreign, that it almost surprised you if not for the very vibrant wash of pleasure that relaxed his features. Just as the mochi melted in his mouth, he melted against the couch.

“Was it good?” You asked, while the answer was relatively clear from what you had a chance to witness. “I made them for you and they are not perfect yet but–“

“You made this mochi for me?”

Satoru’s bright blue eyes snapped open and his grip on your waist tightened. A shock pushed to the front of his expression, he blinked — once, twice — before you nodded slowly. Then he followed the direction of your gaze; his own landing on the tray full neat rows of plump rice balls, so perfectly imperfect against the dark wood below them. He could tell some had a green undertone, the edamame filling, and some were looking white and plain. Next row seemed to have chocolate inside and he could catch the hint of it in the air.

“You made all of this? With your hands?”

“From scratch, yeah,” you nodded, reaching for another one. “Chocolate.”

Being fed by you — his wife — felt odd, unfamiliar, and yet the subtle brush of your fingers against his lips whenever you gently pushed the doughy ball into his open mouth felt just right. Satoru thought he could get used to it, and the mochi.

“So you’re not only a good cook,” you’re not, but you hummed. “But also you can make mochi? If we weren’t already married, I would have asked you to marry me now.”

“That easy, huh?”

“That easy.”

You shook your head, visibly suppressing a giggle and Gojo hoped you wouldn’t hold it. It’s only now that he’s learning how pretty is your smile, how your eyes crinkle every time you allow your face to relax and take on a pattern of joy. He likes the shape your lips form, how they stretch whenever you’re happy and how your brows lift up just slightly above your half-closed lids. He wished you’d let yourself burst out laughing, but instead you shook your head yet again and let out a sigh of content. Good enough.

You reached onto the tray again. This time it was the white blob of doughy goodness hanging heavy between your dainty fingers. “This one is my favorite.”

There was no need to tell him twice. Satoru opened his mouth, eager for the sweetness you called your favorite although from your words he had a suspicion what was inside. Strawberries. You love strawberries. He learned that during the wedding celebration, when you eyed the fruit on his piece of the cake with the most adorable envy he’s ever seen – and then, those very same eyes glittered with pleasure when he exchanged his plate with yours. He remembers how you left the red, plump strawberry for the last bite, how you sighed with content as you bit into the juicy flesh of the fruit, how you nearly purred despite the stressful predicament you were placed into.

“Divine,” Gojo purred himself, as the flavors mixed in his mouth. The crisp, fresh strawberry, along the velvety cream and chewy dough made for an experience he could only compare to orgasm.

He wanted more.

Craved more and he blames it on you that the moment you sunk your teeth into the sweet treat, he leaned closer. His mind went blank when he wrapped his own mouth around the half mochi that sticked out, his lips brushed against yours. A drop of red juice run down his chin, wet and sticky against his skin. He didn’t care. Greedy for more, for you, he leaned in even more, tempted by the sweet taste of your sugar-powdered lips flush to his own.

You gasped. Purred. In surprise, in pleasure, or both.

The feeling unfamiliar, addicting, syrupy.

You should stop it.

You wanted more.

He should stop it.

He wanted more.

It was slow, sloppy and nothing but strawberry and cream.

taglist: @kinny-away , @anan-baban , @lotomber , @netflix-imagines , @kawliflo , @nishloves , @ghostfacefricker6969 , @thejujvtsupost , @yozora7154 , @cherrycolabarbedwirebedpost , @ae-mius , @ropickle , @chokesonspit

[starsofang]

Change of Heart

hitman!ghost x f!reader / part 5

previous part

tw: violence, blood, heavy angst, abuse, PLEASE be warned <3

When life has completely and utterly failed you, you hire a hitman to take you out, too afraid to do it yourself. Instead of killing you like you had planned, he strikes up a deal with you, and you're too stubborn to bail out.

Day eight came easy, as did day nine.

Simon would stick around for as long as he could, but it was enough to satiate the linger of loneliness you felt when he was absent. He’d spend time in your apartment, stealing the leftover pastries you had from day seven of your deal where he’d confessed to wanting to get to know you more than just the weakling client that had hopes of dying.

Waking up on day ten, you woke up to a text from him, saying he’d be busy until further notice, but would stop by to see you when he could.

It was nice, having him let you know rather than leaving you wondering. He knew it would provide a comfort of knowing he was still around and had all intentions of seeing you make it to the finish line.

Just the thought of him beginning to learn your comforts was enough to have your heart running marathons and your cheeks aching with a never ending smile. You hadn’t felt giddy over another being in a long time, and the butterflies in your stomach had been withering for so long that when they found life again, it was an explosion of ticklish vibration. Their wings wisped away the growing dust that had begun to build, and eased away the prickling coldness to replace it with an earthy warmth.

Like the previous days, work was spent with joyful courage and building anticipation. The change in attitude was obvious to everyone around you, and no one dared to disrupt your craft when you buried yourself in it. You worked tirelessly to create the perfect mix of pastries in hopes of taking them home one day and gifting some to Simon during one of his visits.

Things finally felt as if they were falling into place, and for the first time, you could say you were happy. Whether Simon remained a friend or carried into something more, only time would tell, but you felt satisfied with his existence either way.

Even as your body ached in every joint as you finally closed up shop and began your travel home for the night, you somehow felt light on your feet with every step. There were no heavy weights anchoring you to the pavement, no drag of your shoes along the gritty gravel, and there was certainly no anxiety spouting in your chest like a wildfire.

You felt at peace.

It was a lovely feeling to revel in after such a long time spent in isolation and imprisonment. Freeing, even, to no longer have bars and chains linking your mind to all the troubles that settled inside like a shitty tenant that refused to leave when unwanted.

Simon saw something in you that you hadn’t before, and it was slowly unmasking itself, no longer fearful of the light.

Gliding up the stairs to your apartment, your eyes instinctively searched for Simon before reminding yourself that he wouldn’t be making it tonight. But when they landed on the door, where it was slightly cracked open with barely a sliver of dim light passing through into the hallway, your first thought was that he was there to surprise you. He had gotten his, ah, work done early and let himself in while you were at work.

You ignored the alarms going off in your head that were desperately trying to remind you that Simon no longer went into your apartment on his own accord. He’d started to wait outside for you, leaned up against the wall like a form of security until you got home. 

Your racing heart won over the voices in your head, and the eagerness to get inside and see Simon once again for another nightly ritual of watching him smoke while you talked about your day took over all warning signs.

Entering your apartment, you pushed open the door, stepping inside and locking the door behind you. Your eyes searched for the familiar mass that always took up the whole room, and when you saw it hunched over the kitchen counter, facing away from you, you brightened.

“Simon!” you greeted cheerfully, but when Simon’s head snapped up to look at you, you froze.

Simon certainly didn’t have a head of hair for you to openly admire. He didn’t have an unmasked face that showed off thin lips pulled into a threatening sneer.

Your mind completely blanked when you saw the man impersonating Simon. No, he wasn’t impersonating – because he could never be Simon. He could only ever be the person who you’d drag down to hell with you and throw into the pit of flames to watch his sick soul burn into ash.

“Simon, huh?” That voice, filled with nothing but venom that dripped from his tongue and spat out to your face. It could melt you into a puddle of sticky goo mixed with flesh and blood the way it expelled from his lips. It was the voice that filled your nightmares, that forced you into a cold sweat when you’d wake up in the middle of the night, eyes staring at the ceiling with burning tears and a heavy, broken heart.

The very man you’d run away from, who you’d cried to Simon about when life felt like it had run its course, was standing right in your kitchen, hand tightly gripped on to the napkin Simon had given you days ago with his number and doodle of a skull.

Your ex-boyfriend was somebody you never expected to see again, nor did you ever want to see him, not in your worst dreams. He was the reason you had gotten to the point of hiring Simon when he was Ghost, planning on paying him with all your hard-earned money just so he could kill you and you would be free of being trapped in a hellish life.

Yet here he was in the flesh, nothing but pure, unfiltered rage burning in those dark irises of his.

“Finally found you after all this time, just to find out you’re fucking somebody else,” he tsked, glancing at the napkin in his grasp before up at you. He looked downright sinister, the way he grinned at you. It was full of pointy teeth that bared at you in warning. “What did I always tell you I wanted?”

Your feet felt as if they were in quicksand, pinning you to the floor, leaving you immobile. All you could do was gape at him like a fish out of water.

“Loyalty,” he answered for you, spitting the word out with the burn of a thousand fires. “But you haven’t been loyal, sweetheart.”

Sweetheart.

It made your stomach turn when he called you it. Coming from Simon, it was coated in endearment, soft and sweet, like icing on a damn cake. But from your ex-boyfriend, it was littered with splintering daggers that tore into the surface of your flesh, cutting you open and wringing you dry.

It wasn’t right. That was Simon’s name for you. Only Simon’s.

“I’ll remind you who the fuck you belong to if that’s what has to happen,” he taunted, and when he took the first step forward, that’s when your feet willed you to move.

Everything happened so quickly, it felt like you were in a timelapse.

One moment, you’re paralyzed as you stared the face of your nightmares in the eye, and the next, you’re bolting. You practically threw yourself in the bathroom, locking the door and pressing your back against it. He preyed on you like a lion to an antelope, hounding on you the second he saw the shift of your body language.

Infuriated fists pounded on the door, livid feet kicked at the weak frame. His shouts filled the air with a crippling sense of dread, and you realized there was no way out of this.

Just like your mind had been all this time, you were trapped, imprisoned in a cage of misery, clawing at the bars with failed attempts to release yourself.

Your body jolted with every bloodthirsty smash into the door, the wood slapping and shuddering at each brutal hit. Your hands shook in staggering distress as you fumbled for your phone that laid stuffed in the pocket of your jeans, and it took multiple feverish tries before it was tugged from its confinement.

Swiping it unlocked, you found Simon’s contact, not sparing a single moment before slamming the call button.

The call rang. And rang. And rang.

The dial tone engulfed your body with calamity. The air in your lungs felt littered with toxics, extracting all of the oxygen out and leaving you suffocating. Sweat leaked from your neck and forehead, leaving you with a sheen of brooding panic.

The bathroom was closing in on you, and it only felt smaller and smaller the more he beat your door in.

You tried calling Simon again. And again. Each time, the ringing echoed in your ears, worming its way in your brain and infesting you with the realization that he wasn’t picking up.

He wasn’t coming. He wasn’t going to save you. He wasn’t going to see you take your final laps around the track, nor was he going to watch you race over that desired finish line of triumph and success.

He wasn’t going to be the one to kill you like all was intended in the first place.

Your ex-boyfriend was going to take away everything new, just like he had taken away the identity you wore before.

Your phone clattered out of your hand and slid across the tiled floor until it hit the side of the bathtub when the door finally gave in, the lock making a sickening snap when it burst out of the hinges.

You were pushed forward with aggression as he shoved past the doorway, allowing himself free access in the small place you chose as your temporary safety net. That net was thrown off of you, leaving you exposed to the imposing danger that was destined to come your way.

Your ex-boyfriend was shouting profanities at you, but all you heard was a dull ringing as your mind fully checked out, leaving you in a paralyzing daze. His mouth moved, but made no sound, and you watched with an empty stare the way the venom pooled out in a frothing foam around his lips.

The first hit sent you staggering on your feet. You lost your balance, crumpling into a heap on the floor. Then the second came. Then the third.

The relentless abuse kept coming, battering your body black and blue, staining your skin with a sticky red.

During the entire display of violence and bitter authority, your mind began to replay your times with Simon. His lovely, baritone voice filled the emptiness in your head with a soft lullaby that lured you far away from the virulent aggression being hissed in your face between every ferocious strike.

It distracted you from the strain on your mind and being. It turned you away from the damage, disengaging you from temptations to open your eyes and take a look at what was in front of you.

It was enough to leave you unsure of how long the dispute went on. It could’ve been minutes, it could’ve been hours. All you know is that when your body was on the brink of full blown collapse, teetering on that edge with your feet grasping for stability so you wouldn’t lose balance and pummel right off of the cliff and into the endless abyss, that was when he decided to stop.

That was it. He didn’t want to kill you, because he wanted you to suffer.

This was his subtle reminder that you ran from him, and it came to bite back at you. You were never free in the first place, only granted a brief time away from solitary before he came roaring back with his teeth sunken into your neck, stalking his prey down when the time was right.

With one last attempt to push you into a freefall over that cliff, he crouched in front of you, head tilted as he sneered at the bloody sight of you.

“If I find you being disloyal again, I’m going to let you fucking die next time,” he muttered with distaste, clicking his tongue in mock disappointment.

He stood, unsparing of another glance before he left you in the bathroom on the cold, mucky floor, making sure to slam your front door shut to leave it rattling your eardrums.

You didn’t move an inch. Surely, you could’ve mustered up the strength to crawl back on your feet and clean yourself up in the sink. You were stronger than this. Simon was teaching you that.

But you didn’t.

It was hours that you laid there, or at least that was what it felt like. Time moved tirelessly slow when you were a broken version of yourself, glued to the tiles like your body wanted to mold itself into them.

It wasn’t until the sound of the front door being opened did you spark the courage to shift your head, eyes drifting towards its general direction.

The mass that you thought was Simon earlier was here. Except this time, it really was Simon. There was no mistaking the balaclava with a hand painted skull on the mouth, or the way he had to lightly duck under the doorway so as not to hit the very top of his head.

Simon was calculated in his movements, throwing himself to the open bathroom in which you laid. He was panting as if he had run all the way to your apartment. Your tired eyes watched the way his chest rose and fell in an erratic pattern, the view of it coming closer as he scurried to you.

“Sweetheart,” he breathed out as he crouched next to you. The sound of the nickname coming from his mouth rather than your ex-boyfriend’s was like music to your ears. “Fuck, m’so sorry, m’so sorry.”

He ripped the gloves off his hands in order to cradle your head in them, his skin warm to the touch and offering a temporary relief to the cold chill that rattled you to the bones from lying on the cool tile. He inspected every inch of you, taking in the bloodshot redness that infested your eyes, the blood that caked and crusted your nose and mouth, the swelling of your cheeks that made you resemble a pufferfish.

His eyes were filled with pain and regret, but behind that, a fire burned. It was faint, embers burning slowly and mixing with fresh ash, but it was there. And it was angry.

Simon was gentle with the way he carefully eased your body up so you were sitting flush against the sink cabinets, shoulders slouched and head bobbing sluggishly. He rummaged through the small bathroom closet, quick to fish out a clean washcloth and run it under the faucet before returning back to you.

His touch was delicate as he attentively cleaned off the mess from your face. Red stained white cotton, and the sight of it made you queasy.

“You didn’t answer,” you whispered, words burning your throat with a sharp dryness that you tried swallowing away.

Simon froze, his hands pausing its notions across your skin. It stayed there, hand slightly shaking with a burning sense of penitence.

“I–”

“You didn’t answer,” you repeated. You were choked up, surely beaten down from the lacerating corruption to your own body. “I called you. You didn’t answer.”

Simon sucked in a sharp breath, eyes flickering over yours. He could see the emptiness in your pupils, void of everything he’d seen you work so hard to restore.

There was nothing. It was hollow.

“M’sorry, sweetheart. You have no idea how sorry I am, I should’ve looked at the phone, I should’ve checked to make sure you got home,” he rambled, words thick with a heavy layer of guilt.

You shouldn’t be angry with him. Hell, Simon should be the last person you were angry with. After all, he had been the one to pick up the pieces of your shattered being when he had no reason to. He had been the one to pick friendship over compromise when you first hired him to kill you.

You shouldn’t be angry with him.

But right now, you wished he had just pulled the damn trigger when you first told him to.

“Why didn’t you just let me die?” you wailed. Your resolve was cracking more than it already was, leaving you exposed to nothing but pure pain. “Why didn’t you just kill me?”

Simon said nothing, and he allowed you to bubble out snotty tears and crushing cries. He wiped every tear away with the washcloth, swiping gently over your skin and absorbing all of the evidence of your tribulation. He let you break, he let the rubber band snap into two, even if it meant stinging him in the process.

He didn’t stop, not even when your tears ran dry and your body slumped in exhaustion, forehead planted on the plain of his shoulder.

Simon was fighting an inner battle himself. Where he saw a woman he felt compelled to protect, he saw the man who had failed to fulfill it.

He didn’t know why you were different from the others. He was a man with a life path full of gruesome roads that were littered with bloodshed and other people’s torment. He didn’t attach himself to people, and he had made his own promise to himself that he’d keep an arm’s length from anybody willing to see through him.

That didn’t stop him from seeking you out.

What he saw in you, he saw in himself. Deep inside, he saw the broken, little boy he was that had never received proper love. He saw the boy that everybody turned a blind eye to, who pretended to not see his suffering.

You were a mirror he looked into every time he found himself around you, and it was a mirror he didn’t want to watch explode into millions of tiny shards.

Simon might not have been able to save himself, but he could save you. He could stop you from becoming what he was, and that was exactly why he allowed himself the one, single chance to slip into your life.

The fire that brewed in his eyes had now become a full, raging forest fire, burning everything in its wake. It fueled with the burn of anger and rancor, festering through the optic nerve and burrowing itself in the lobe of his brain.

That bloodthirsty fervor crept its way through his veins.

The color in his vision turned red.

Simon told himself he would protect you. And if that meant hunting down the prey posed as a predator, then he’d go to the ends of the earth to make it happen at the power of his own bloody hands.

posting this at almost 1am when i gotta be at work at 5am but i was itching to let the juices flow so have another chapter <3 thank you to my lovelies who helped me brainstorm ideas for this chapter, i love y'all

[spatialwave]

“𝓷𝓲𝓰𝓱𝓽𝓯𝓪𝓵𝓵”

pairing: the ghoul x fem!reader word count: 4k summary: after two weeks of traversing the wasteland with cooper on the search for a common enemy, you found yourself needing some… relief. it just so happened that you weren’t alone in the sentiment. warnings: mdni! smut, choking, praising, cooper likes complimenting you while he fucks you. 🖤 notes: continuation of this post!

travelling with cooper started as a forced necessity, one that you hadn’t been able to make an executive decision on, but the feeling of that rope around your neck had been long forgotten as you both careened through the wasteland together. cooper had proved his loyalty to you, a surprising feat that you had never imagined being possible. if there was even an ounce of kindness or empathy within that man, it was invisible to the naked eye. he did a damn good job at hiding any and all outward emotion, reeking of wit, sarcasm and cockiness.

yet, you had been gifted with seeing another side of the ghoul, a side which made you wonder what sort of feelings he harbored for you. it was a tricky thought and easy to get lost in it, especially as you wandered behind him and were given ample time to just… stare.

each night you were greeted with his hands in your hair, gloveless fingers pulling through the strands and sometimes tickling against your cheek until you fell asleep. his lap had become your pillow, and his jacket was your bed and blanket.

neither of you spoke about it, most mornings waking up as though your nightly intimacy had never happened. you were thankful for it because you had no idea how to even comprehend how you felt for cooper.

love was too soon. infatuation was too strong.

you respected him. you cared for him. you appreciated the way he protected you.

you yearned for his touch.

each day as the hot sun burned your skin, you watched him from behind and imagined things about him. it started off as daydreaming about his fingers in your hair, rubbing along your scalp and how you couldn’t wait for night to come. soon, though, these thoughts drifted when you were greeted with a deep, familiar coiling in your stomach that came when you had spent enough time away from self pleasure.

guilt gnawed away when you found yourself dreaming about him in ways that made you squeeze your thighs. what would his lips feel like against yours? what sounds would come from his lips as he fucked you senselessly?

you rarely got far with your thoughts before you had to ask for a sip of water and a short rest, avoiding his groans of disapproval for slowing you both down.

cooper felt the same way, but the guilt riddled him far more than you could ever imagine. he had lived far longer in this world than you, he became a changed man—was once a loving father and husband who was betrayed and transformed into nothing but a merciless, murderous bounty hunter.

he knew better than to think of you in any way other than just a partnered traveler of the wasteland. war may have changed him, but there were morals that belonged to the old cooper howard that would remain forever.

you were so much younger than he was, an innocent little thing that had come to the surface after spending your whole life in a vault, all because you were so intent on saving a life and finding the truth. you had so much kindness and curiosity in your heart, once comparable to him when he was nothing more than a star for the masses. nothing good would come from him taking that innocence away from you, especially after what you’d experienced only a week prior at the hands of the man who wanted you in exchange for caps.

at night, his mind was pure filth when he thought about you as his fingers ran along your scalp, eyes watching the way your chest moved up and down. how your lips parted when gentle snores would escape.

you woke up alone most times, unaware that the reasoning was because cooper had to excuse himself in the early morning hours—a bit of relief.

you weren’t so lucky because he never left you alone.

“cooper,” you whined, smacking your lips audibly so he heard you from a few paces behind, “can we rest? i need water, and maybe something to eat.”

boots stopped in the sand as you two ventured closer to the mojave, foliage becoming distant as the hot sun and dry air took over. after some investigating, the ghoul had found some intel on the whereabouts of another peculiar vault dweller, presumably your father, who had made way for new vegas. the travels had become difficult now as civilization was few and far between, and you still hadn’t been given any alone time that you desperately needed.

cooper glanced over his shoulder at you, quirking a hairless brow curiously, “and how do you think we’re going make it through the desert if we’re stoppin’ every mile, sweetheart?” the nickname rolled off his tongue easily, but he hadn’t meant it so sweetly.

“i like you better at night,” you huffed at him as you trudged forward, walking past him and taking the lead, “you’re much nicer then.”

you could hear the sigh as heavy steps came up behind you, leather rustling as cooper fell in stride beside you so casually, “seems we see eye to eye on that matter,” he drawled, “you demand less when the moon is high, vaultie. the sound of you snorin’ means i can stop listenin’ to your yappin’,” he clicked his tongue, solidifying his point.

“you’re the worst,” you seethed quietly between your teeth, keeping your eyes ahead and doing your best to ignore the way his voice warmed your cheeks and butterflies swirled in your stomach.

nightfall came fast, thankfully, and the two of you had just managed to stumble upon a rickety old home nestled in a hilly area of the desert. it was full of enough sand and dust to know that no one had set foot in it for a long time—safe enough for you to settle down for a rest. cooper allowed you to indulge in your stores of water and jerky, only enough to keep your stomach from eating itself alive.

however, water and food wouldn’t sate your libido. as a small fire warmed you as the harsh cold of the desert chilled you to the bone, you tucked your knees to your chest and closed your eyes to focus on your breathing. you had never felt more like an animal in your life, when you were in the vault you may not have had tens of suitors at your disposal, but you had plenty of alone time and two very usable hands. you were used to indulging when arousal struck.

you felt awful. your mind should’ve been fixated on your father’s whereabouts, yet you rested your chin on your knees and squeezed your eyes shut as you tried not to think about cooper fucking you. he was sitting right next to you, for crying out loud.

as if he knew you were thinking about him, the cowboy ghoul looked over at you with a quiet sigh escaping him as he shrugged off his long, leather coat, “here. you’re gonna’ freeze to death before mornin’,” he spoke lowly, shifting so he could drape it over your shoulders until it covered much of your body, “desert nights aren’t for amateur adventurers.”

a shaky breath quivered from your lips as warmth enveloped you, and you couldn’t help but lean your body against his side to chase more. in response, you felt cooper’s body tense for a brief moment before his arm slowly wrapped over your shoulders and hugged you tight against his side.

silence surrounded you, much like cooper, and you found yourself quickly drifting into a much-needed sleep. unfortunately for you, you were afflicted with the curse of sleep-talking, especially when you were particularly stressed.

cooper’s eyes were fixated on the fire, red and orange embers burning on the old wood as the smoke bellowed out the open windows. he’d been lost deep in his thoughts, wondering how he was letting himself get so soft for someone he hardly knew—then you started mumbling in your sleep. words mostly unintelligible.

“mmh,” you grunted, your eyes squeezing tight as you tilted your face toward cooper, nose brushing against the tight, weathered skin on his neck. it made his breath catch in his throat, “cooper.”

his eyes flickered down to you, tilting his chin just enough so he could see the way your eyes were moving behind their lids, dreaming vividly. he knew that he should wake you up, or at least give you a slight nudge so you would turn away or move down to rest over his lap, but curiosity won. he licked at his lips as you furrowed your brows, your breath hitching in your throat as you choked on what he could only imagine was a moan.

“please,” you slurred quietly, “cooper, don’t… stop.”

“vaul—“ cooper’s nickname for you was cut short when your hand had slithered past the confines of the coat and right over the bulge that tented in his pants, gentle fingers rubbing, “shit.” he hissed, fighting back a low grumble as he watched with half-lidded eyes.

there was no turning back now, not when he flickered his gaze to look over your face, only to be met with your own tired eyes, just barely open. shit.

“i really need this,” you murmured, inhibitions long gone as the night sank in, “please.”

“you need to think long and hard about this, darlin’,” cooper managed to keep his voice level as his gloved hand reached for yours and pushed it until it rested on his thigh.

“i’ve thought about it for a whole week,” you pleaded, fingernails scratching at the fabric of his pants.

there was the smirk you were hoping to see, cracking his lips apart as a laugh whistled out of him, “well, now, a whole week is quite some time to be keeping these feelings at bay without actin’ on ‘em. maybe you’ve got more willpower than i thought.”

you swallowed thickly, pulling away from him just enough so you could sit straighter, “don’t tease me,” you spoke, jutting out your bottom lip in a pout that made heat pool in the pit of his stomach, “i can very much tell you need this as much as i do.”

when his lips twitched you knew you had him right where you wanted him, there was no sense in him denying it. not when you could take one quick glance down to see the trouble you’ve caused for him.

“you think you know what i need?” cooper’s voice, as thick as molasses, made a shiver run down your spine. he lifted a hand after snagging the glove off, caressing your jaw as his calloused thumb brushed over your bottom lip. long gone were the thoughts that worried about morals, you had each other pinned and the outcome was inevitable.

“i do,” you said as you shifted in your spot, “you can touch me. i’m not going to break.”

that roused a laugh deep from cooper’s chest, a smile breaking across his lips, “oh, trust me, if you were gonna’ break you would’ve shattered when i first lassoed that rope around your precious neck,” he grinned, “you are somethin’ else—a real force to be reckoned with.”

you parted your lips to speak, but your breath was quickly taken when cooper’s pressed against yours and within seconds your entire body was on fire. arms wrapped around his shoulders and neck, the leather jacket falling off of your body as you moved to your knees for better support. you fought for air as you kissed him with desperation, hands clinging tight to his collar as you slipped so easily onto his lap with your knees on either side of his hips.

his hands slid up the side of your body, caressing your curves as your tongues pressed together and moans muffled in each other’s mouths. with ease, one hand moved to your front so he could tug down at the zipper on your vault outfit, just like the one he’d worn many moons before.

you broke the kiss so you could lean back and take a breath, your chest heaving with each inhale as you helped him remove the jumpsuit until it slid off your shoulders and left you in the white tank top that hugged tight against your breasts. not once did you feel judged under his gaze, in fact, his appreciation for your boldness was palpable, especially as he wore that shit-eating smirk while his fingers slipped under the hem of your top. his skin was rough against yours that had been mostly untouched from the harsh sun rays, it made you tilt your head back and let out a soft sound.

“i wanna’ hear more of those delicious sounds,” cooper’s voice was heavy in your ear as he leaned forward and brushed his lips against your jaw, hands grabbing tight at your bare hips and fingers digging into the skin.

he wasn’t afraid to handle you rough, squeezing a whimper out between your plump lips as he forced your hips to roll against his. both of you relished in the friction, you could feel his hardened cock buried underneath his clothing as it pressed against your aching cunt. it clenched around nothing pathetically as you rubbed yourself against him with need.

“fuck,” you breathed out shakily as you kept your hips grinding forward in a steady motion, feeling like you could cum like this—but cooper wasn’t going to have any of that.

“language, darlin’” he teased, his teeth dragging across your skin as his lips kissed down your neck, nipping at your skin so he could hear your soft mewls of pleasure as your fingers began hurriedly unbuttoning his shirt, rather poorly.

once rid of the fabric, your hands explored over his body, the skin thick and rough like leather, far different than anything you’ve experienced or known to be true. as your eyes fixated on his body in the firelight and your fingernails scratched at the surface of his chest, you shuddered when he slipped your shirt off and revealed your tits for him to ravage at his leisure.

you had felt selfish for so long, telling yourself that being on the surface meant giving up parts of your old life. pleasure wouldn’t be easy to come by, if at all. there were important things to focus on, lives to save.

yet, here you were—laying on your back over cooper’s leather jack as his hands tugged off the remainder of your vault suit and tossed it behind him. he was settled on his knees before you, so close to you that you were forced to spread your legs on either side of him.

long fingers pressed against your panties, the fabric between your legs soaking wet as he teased you. you could hardly meet his eyes, keeping your own closed as you felt him tug the fabric aside so he could press a digit to your swollen clit. his thumb circled it slowly and you squirmed underneath him, but his other hand pressed against your stomach to keep you flat against the floor.

“keep still, my girl,” he murmured as he pushed a finger into your pussy, happy to find that a second slid in just as easily, “now look at you takin’ my fingers so well, you must’ve been needin’ this for a real long time. i suppose i can reward that patience of yours,” he praised you through tender movements, each thrust of his two fingers causing moans to spill from your lips as you squeezed your cunt around them, “good girl.”

being praised by cooper was a delightful surprise, warmth hitting your cheeks when you opened your eyes and saw him staring down at his fingers while he fucked you with them.

“oh, fuck—“ your breath caught in your throat when he curled his fingers, rubbing against the spot that always made you cum. you pulled your knees back so you could press your thighs together around his hand, growing overstimulated. that barely lasted for a second before cooper forced them back apart, the speed of his fingers picking up until he was fucking you relentlessly, your pussy dripping wet and coating his fingers. you hadn’t even taken his cock yet and your mouth was wide open and eyes nearly rolling into the back of your head as pleasure coursed through your body.

you moaned out his name loudly, your throat growing hoarse as the knot in your stomach wound tight.

cooper let out a heavy sigh, his hand pressing over your lower stomach and his thumb flicking over your clit, “i need you to cum, darlin’.”

that’s all the encouragement you needed to hear before you came on his fingers, squirming and touching as his fingers fucked you through the orgasm—his other hand tugging at his belt buckle.

“oh, goodness,” you breathed, your eyes fluttering as your senses slowly returned to you and you could finally get in a deep breath—but that hadn’t lasted very long, “ah, fuck!”

you tilted your chin down and hadn’t even noticed that cooper had unbuttoned his pants just enough to let his cock spring out. you weren’t given a chance to see how big he was before he was pushing it inside of you. you could already tell he was bigger than anything you’ve taken before as it stretched out your pussy, pain shooting through you as you whimpered loudly.

“shh,” cooper pressed a finger to your lips, trying to quiet you down as he pushed his hips forward until his cock was deep inside. you wouldn’t stop with the mixture of moans and pained whimpers, so cooper shoved two fingers into your mouth and you sucked on them like a bitch in heat, “fuck.”

both of you needed time to adjust, you could see cooper’s chest moving as he breathed heavily and you could feel his cock twitching. his free hand settled on your hip as he leaned back on his heels, the fingers in your mouth retreating to instead fondle your perfect tits. he was positioned nicely, able to indulge in the sight as his cock slowly pulled out of your swollen cunt, large hand now pressed against your lower stomach to keep you still as he rocked his hips in a slow, steady rhythm.

the ghoul’s mind was far from what was right and wrong. he was hyper focused on how you looked in this moment, your pretty face completely fucked out and full of euphoria. your chin wet from his fingers and your thighs squeezing against his hips to ground yourself from the size of his cock as it filled you completely with each roll of his hips.

slow didn’t last long—cooper didn’t have the patience, nor the need to go slow. he knew you were a capable young thing, able to take his cock easily as he leaned forward enough so his hand could instead wrap around your throat. his hips snapped against yours mercilessly in one quick thrust, a violent rhythm following after that made you want to scream at the pleasure that made your entire body shake. you swore you’d never felt someone fuck you so deeply, a gurgled moan choked in your throat as he forcefully kept you quiet, pressing on your windpipe.

“keep takin’ it,” cooper groaned, sweating beading on his forehead as his cock slammed so deep inside you that tears welled up in your eyes from the ache, “you’re good at taking a cock, vaultie, i should’ve fucked you senseless sooner.”

you were unable to answer his vulgar words with your jaw slack.

he fucked you like this for a good while, your hands lifting up to press flat against his chest and stomach. he continued to litter you with praises and compliments, words you were certain you’d only hear under this circumstance—you hoped this wasn’t the only time you’d be fucked by him.

your body was growing weak with each passing second, but you were able to offer enough energy to sit up as cooper pulled you along with him as he sat and leaned back against the wall. you were straddling him once again, your knees raw against the sandy floorboards as his hands guided you to slowly bounce up and down.

your hands rested over his shoulders for support and soon you had enough strength to fuck yourself on his cock just like he wanted, giving him the opportunity to sit back and watch your show.

you were desirable in his eyes, your cheeks red as you squeezed at his shoulders tight, long lashes fluttering as moans fell past your lips that he kissed so much they were plump and swollen. you were surprised that you were able to keep up a good rhythm, feeling him stretch you out each time you pressed your hips down on his. you wanted to talk to him, to tell him how good he felt or how you wanted him to toss you on your hands and knees and fuck you without holding back, but all you could do was moan his name as your head hung back and eyes fixated on the dim ceiling.

“fuck,” he hissed, leaning forward and pressing his lips against your ear as his thumb circled your clit, “i need you to cum on my cock now, darlin’,” he pleaded, breath hot and sending a shiver down your spine as you had slowly started to lose your strength, “be a good girl for me,” he cooed, and you were obedient.

much like when you exercised in the vault, you dug deep inside and gathered all your remaining strength, this time for the sake of pleasing yourself and the ghoul who had thrown his morals out the window for the sake of pleasure. cooper’s hand lifted so he could tilt your chin down, forcing your eyes to meet his as you bounced yourself steadily, “cooper,” you whined, “you… ah—fuck. don’t stop. please, please, please.”

your begging worked wonders. cooper’s thumb rubbed hard against your clit as he did his best to snap his hips upward each time you slammed down on his cock, meeting you halfway. his groans of pleasure were loud as both of you balanced on the edge of release, seconds away from letting that heat in your stomachs explode.

of course, you were the first to cry out so loud that cooper had to shut you up with his lips.

you came hard, your hips shaking and thighs twitching as you moaned his name as his tongue assaulted yours. you wanted to push him away and fall back onto the floor, to writhe on the ground in pleasure as your body could have a chance to relax…

but cooper wasn’t done yet. with both of his hands landing on your hips, he kept your sensitive cunt fucking his cock like you were just some toy. you were sensitive everywhere, your body hot to the touch and cunt abused by his cock, using a hand to cover your mouth as tears spilled down your cheeks each time he brushed against your cervix.

“shit,” he breathed, “you little killer.”

with a final, deep thrust of his hips, cooper came inside you with your name strangled in his throat. you could feel the bruising on your skin from his tight hands as you collapsed forward and buried your face into the crook of his neck.

your heavy breaths were the only sounds, aside from the crackling of the dying fire. both of your bodies were damp and sticky from sweat and cum—cold from the wind that blew through the open windows, so you curled up against his chest as his cock softened inside you. neither of you made a move, instead cooper reached for the leather jacket that had been under your body, putting it around your shoulders once more so the cool air was blocked for you both.

“we should… do that again.” you breathed on his skin, smiling when a weak laugh bubbled up from his throat, humoured by you.

finally, relief warmly greeted you both.

[chowadoe]

so more on that role reversal au...

Shadow (created as a Weapon Against Humanity) who was eventually raised, and exploited, by G.U.N to become Humanity's Ultimate weapon and Sonic, found by Robotnik

some more expanded thoughts below ^_^

SHADOW - G.U.N AGENT

Shadow was initially created with the intention of being a Weapon Against Humanity. after a life-altering incident, G.U.N. takes Shadow into their custody, raising him to become one of their top agents, exploiting him.

he's constantly under government surveillance... inhibitor rings (developed by G.U.N.) are clamped onto him like a shock collar so he is unable to tap into his full power. (Shadow has neither tested nor does he know the extent of his strength.. he has never tried removing them. G.U.N. is the only one who can remove them.)

the hypocritical method in wanting their weapon (cough trained dog) to exercise and develop restraint on his own terms, and yet forcefully acclimating him.

Shadow’s aware of his past. Definitely struggles with Existential dread about why he’s on Earth and what he was made for. he wants to (and feels like he should) do good, but if he was initially made with destructive intent… is he compensating this way? is this what he really wants? no.. he shouldn't think like that.. Maria would want him to be good..

If not to make the world the better a place, if they still treat his kind as inferior and sometimes, even a threat to the whole human race, does humanity and this planet still deserve its rite for redemption? What is humanity? Is that something he’s capable of, as a weapon of mass destruction?

what is he trying to prove here? His docility? His ability to be obedient and be, by human standards, good? what does that mean in a world that may never accept them, and much less him- a synthetic and all-unnatural organism forged from humanity’s worst and an alien race only capable of Evil and wrongdoing. a being so perfectly suited for any and all forms of persecution. Humankind’s scapegoat. He thinks about Maria.

Maria remains a guiding light. Back then, she would sneak Shadow out to gaze upon the Earth, her former home. She misses it, the lush greenery, the sun, the people. she hopes that Shadow will get to experience what it’s like.

au shadow is emo edgy in a sad wet adult 40yo cat leon kennedy kind of way. au sonic is emo edgy like a 14yo that found out you could buy a tattoo gun on amazon without a license. I know nothing about resident evil

when he's not on a mission, he's usually in his "room" (extremely generous word for containment chamber/training facility.) he's like a hamster in a cage with toys to play with . (treadmills. race tracks. dummy robots. Ak-47s.) He's allowed to freely roam HQ from hours 6am-10pm, and if not, he is usually escorted by a guard, unless its Rouge sneaking him out. But beyond that, it's not like the ultimate lifeform needs that much sleep, and it'd be bad to have their ultimate weapon roaming the halls without supervision. but let's say there's the occasional nocturnal scavenger providing him a bit of nightly mischief that even the most complicated most difficult to navigate ventilation system cannot keep a natural-born burrower out..... (haha)

SONIC - ACCOMPLICE

Robotnik’s “accomplice” (adoptive son?)

Sonic goes along with Robotnik’s schemes but has his own ulterior motives .. after all, working under someone is still infringing on his sense of freedom, independence, and pride.

He only rlly helps out Robotnik out if it helps him… robotnik makes some new tech that tickles his , esp if smth that happens to enhance his existing abilities. sure he’s more than capable of doing things on his own but what’s better than to play with his new toys with his already existing toys (GUN. shadow.)

and if he manages to break them in a day then he’s found an issue that robotnik needs to troubleshoot immediately. eggman should really be Thanking him!

his only known goal atm is to find things that stave off his boredom. from what Shadow's gathered at least. but maybe there's more...

has a very bad No Good Fixation on shadow's inhibitor rings for whatever reason. wonder that could mean.

Still fucking around with roles and nothing's rlly set in stone. Im just kind of giggling kicking rocks and throwing pebbles in the water to see what lands ^q^

Rouge is still there! A contractor for G.U.N. A Recovering/reformed Jewel thief who joins the task force (maybe?) 

the gang is also there! still brainstorming roles though. emrmmm

[revelboo]

It Had To Be You Pt 10

TFO Megatron x Reader

Mass displaced mech 18+ 🌶️

• Running his servos over his face, he tries to get you out of his processor. Because giving in hasn’t diminished that hungry need twisting about his spark. And his fellow Decepticons are starting to notice his distraction, though he doubts any of them could even imagine that the problem is one little human. It’s easier to think, to focus if you’re not around. As soon as he sees you, that need lifts through him and he’s reaching for you. Unable to stop himself as that warm connection pulls him to you. Hating and needing that feeling of belonging that comes from you. Of home.

• It becomes a routine, getting woken to the feel of his hands on you, shifting you how he wants you. His warm mouth on your neck as he urges you up onto your hands and knees, then he’s covering you, his spike branding your inner thigh as his palm catches your throat and then slides down your body. Not that you need the coaxing of his servos stroking you to grow slick for him. Your body always betrays you, that sense of rightness a trap that you respond to whether you want to or not. Feeling him shift against you before he’s burying himself inside you, rutting against you as he lets out all his stress and frustration on you. Shifting on his knees behind you to grip your hips and pull you back to meet his frantic thrusts.

• You’re an addiction he doesn’t want, the feel of your body so slick and tight around his spike as he bucks against you. Unable to stop reaching for you again and again because while he’s inside you there’s no war. He can forget the things he’s had to do and the ghosts can’t cling so tightly to him. Knows he’s leaving more bruises on your soft skin, but can’t stop that either. Needs the feel of you to ground him. Those little noises of yours mixing with the sound of the breeding and his own snarling vents. Biting down on your shoulder when you cry out and tighten even further on his spike until his thrusts falter and he buries himself deep to release inside you. That tension finally easing for a time.

• Shuddering as his glossa slides over your shoulder and you wait for him to pull out, you can feel his excess release on your inner thighs. Feel when he rocks his hips against you like he’s trying to coax his semi hard spike into another round. “You hate me,” he murmurs against your skin, deep voice rumbling through you where you’re still connected. It’s too intimate with his spike pulsing with his spark inside you, his lips brushing right behind your ear. You need it, but you hate that you do. “Hate the way you need me. The way we’re tied together against our will.” It’s not really a question, so you don’t answer trying to calm yourself as he shifts against you, still moving in slow rocking strokes. It’s not a surprise at all when he presses a palm between your shoulder blades, urging your upper body down as he kneels behind you. He’s right, though. None of this is fair, especially not how good it feels.

• After, he drags you so your back is to his front, curling an arm around you to keep you there so you don’t try to distance yourself from him, because you will. You always do, trying to shut him out. You must understand that this wasn’t his choice either, but you act like he’s the enemy. It’s a familiar ache as he tucks your head under his chin. Needs your warmth against him to keep him together, because otherwise his processor digs up the past without fail.

• His friend, his brother haunts his rest. The sorrow on Orion’s face as he looked up at him is etched in his memory, forcing him to relive the horror of that mistake nightly. Of seeing that bare spark flickering and guttering and knowing that no matter what he does, there’s no fixing this. And the hatred, the rage, that had spread through him when he’d let go, because none of it was right. It wasn’t meant to end like this. But worst of all? Worse than losing Orion? Is that thing that rose up in his place, that abomination wearing his dead friend’s face. So even if you despise him, he’ll demand this if it keeps the horror at bay. Anything to not relive that every single night. Even if you never hold any affection for him, you will allow him this.

Previous

Next

[dahliakbs]

Random Ideas I've Had For Batfam

Writer's block is the only reason I've yet to post any of them

1) Idol! Reader x Batfam

This is one of my newest ones, where basically the reader would be a tired, overworked idol in an industry full of talent. Their attention span would be that of a goldfish so in order for batfam to get them to actually relax and take some time off (which they can't do any of that but whatever) the batfam would use their attention span against them.

Leading them away slowly but surely from the toxic idol life and instead trying to get them back into the real world.

2) Batfam x Reader - The bats are from a different universe

Where basically reader lives in a universe where heroes don't exist and one day they phase into reality. Coming out of nowhere and for some reason no one is questioning a single thing.

Almost everyone you know has these alrmtered memories of those vigilantes or villains and you just can't seem to understand how the world changed so drastically over night.

You somehow gain their attention, you know from nearly freaking out every time their in your proximity (as vigilantes) or when you start noticing the questionable things occurring in your universe

Like ripples in time, or holes in the ground that when looking inside of it lead to another universe. The world eventually ends with only you and the vigilantes being left and you start to put it all together.

(Basically its kinda was supposed to be like Rick and Morty, where if they destroy their own universe they just skip to another one and in the end they end up having to take the reader with them)

3) Batfam x Five Hargreeves! Reader

Long and short of the story, your an overworked sidekick. Batman seems to have this idea that your the key, that your powers would be extremely useful in his nightly crusades so he trains you. Day after day your worked to the bone and then you snap.

Why can all the other kid sidekicks get to live their lives as normally as possible but your stuck training day after day to do something you don't even want to do? Your muscles are screaming and your on the verge of passing out from all the strain your training had on your body so when your desperate, tired mind comes up with a way to put all of this to a stop you decide to do it.

You use your powers to send yourself into the future, thinking that it will permanently separate you from your daily hell... and it did, just not how you were expecting it to.

(Then basically you return to the past and in the same body you left in with the mission of saving the world, the batfam slowly uncover your secrets and after a while confront you about it.) Like about how you were an assassin

4) Damian Wayne x Child! Reader

Funny idea I got from a tiktok audio where reader is a church girl and they meet Damian during morning mass. He's covered in blood, clearly looks like he'll jump at the next thing that moves in his peripheral but your a kid, you don't care.

You immediately become friends (that's how you see it in your mind) sneaking him out of the church while your parents aren't looking because he asked you to, well more like demanded you to but a friend is a friend. He'll keep secretly inviting you out, somehow finding your parent's house and showing up in the middle of the night to whisk you away.

Not for the purpose of hanging out. No no no, your his cover. He camouflages well when your around, your bubbly, childlike demeanor hiding his intense and dark intentions. And that's a good thing when it comes to his missions, his mother doesn't seem to care about your presence in his life so for now he'll just keep you around.

Your parents are a bit apprehensive about your friendship with him and only when they find out that Damian is Bruce Wayne's son is when they finally accept your friendship. (After Damian meets Bruce)

They finally allow you to hang out with him and you finally get to meet his "irritating" siblings that he for some reason always goes on about and they're just staring at you like.

How did you become friends with their rat of a brother?

A little dialogue I had:

"How did you meet our brother?" Dick's trying to seem as sweet as possible but your entire outfit could light up an entire city, your parents have you dressed like a disco ball and it's not doing you any favors.

And you know, these nocturnal vigilantes aren't really used to such bright light.

"I met Dami while I was in church" you answer sweetly, it's clear that the difference between the two of you is night and day which us honestly a breath of fresh air.

"Oh really...?" Dick's smile tenses, I mean who would expect Damian to go to church, let alone be at least 15 feet near one.

"I was there to kill the pastor" he just simply states.

"You were there to kill the what?!" Boom, reality shattered. Innocence gone, now you know why you haven't been seeing Pastor Malcom as of late.

[cinnaleaf]

𝕋𝕙𝕠𝕤𝕖 𝕋𝕙𝕣𝕖𝕖 𝕎𝕠𝕣𝕕𝕤

summary: after the worst day ever, you find solace in Jude for some much needed banter. you fall asleep mid-convo and he nearly lets something slip...

genre: fluff, sprinkle of angst, slice of life wc: ~889

a/n: short 'n sweet. another inspired by my spotify playlist 🥰 this one had me kicking my feet up it’s so cute. enjoy! 💌

Today had completely drained you. It was one of those days where nothing seemed to be going right, you were positive the universe had it out for you. Somehow over the course of the day you had managed to spill your drink all over your outfit, lost a large note somewhere on the pavement, and missed the bus, causing you to have to sprint to the nearest train. To make matters even worse, you forgot your umbrella on a day with torrential downpour and dropped your phone, slightly cracking the screen on the edge. Yup, you should’ve just bought the screen protector, huh? Now you had an additional expense you didn’t plan on. Once you arrived home, you dropped your things on the floor, quickly showering and changing into something more comfortable before collapsing on your bed. Every muscle was aching from tension and exhaustion, all you wanted to do was rot in bed and watch messy reality TV. Just as you leaned back against the pillow, your phone dinged with a message from Jude:

Jude: just got in, ring you in 5?

You felt a wave of relief wash over your body as you replied to his message. Lately, nightly conversations with Jude had become a regular occurrence, a way to forget about life’s trials and tribulations. You and Jude were just friends, but the lines had blurred a bit recently. You were spending more time together despite his busy schedule, which led to a few adoring gazes, a couple of lingering touches, lots of laughs, and maybe a *little* jealousy when he spoke to other girls. He had developed a sixth sense when it came to knowing exactly when you needed him the most, even when far away—today was no exception. You grabbed your water tumbler from the bedside table and took a long sip before settling deep into your army of pillows as you waited for his call. 

A few minutes later your screen lit up with Jude’s name, his familiar smile filling the now-cracked screen. His shirt was off and he looked relaxed, as if he had just showered, but he could tell something was off with you. “You alright?” he asked in a soothing voice. Before you could answer he followed up with, “Rough day?” concern was littered in his eyes. 

“Yeahhh, you have no idea.” you scoffed lightly. To say your day was rough felt like an understatement after the cluster of mishaps you had, but a soft smile slowly appeared on your face anyway. “Seeing you makes it a bit better though. Loving the no shirt look.”

He grinned as his eyes crinkled in the corner. You always joked about how his smile could cure any ailment in the world if it was bottled up and mass distributed across the globe—it was that beautiful. A smile that rivaled the sun from afar. “Well..happy to help. Wanna talk about it?”

You hesitated for a moment, not wanting to ruin his day either, although you knew anything you said, he would find a way to turn it into something positive. It was almost annoying, but adorable at the same time. You shook your head, “Not right now..just need a distraction. Tell me something funny, please.”

You watched Jude on the cracked screen as he launched into a story about something that happened earlier in the day. “One of the guys slipped during our warm ups, took half the team down with him like a domino effect. Whole team couldn’t stop laughing for 5 minutes, and then…” He had a way of making the most regular, mundane things seem so funny and interesting by being so animated in his storytelling. You couldn’t help but laugh at his ridiculous stories as he went on, his voice easing the tension you didn’t realize you had been holding on to. He always knew exactly how to make your day brighter, make you smile, lift your spirits right when you needed it the most. Just being around him—even if it was over a broken screen, made everything feel okay if even for a moment. 

As the conversation went on, you felt your eyelids getting heavier as you gradually sank deeper into the pillows. Jude’s voice felt like a comfy, luxurious weighted blanket, wrapping you in soothing warmth and pleasant coziness. You could feel yourself slowly start to drift off into a slumber. His laugh was like music, a gentle soundtrack that faded into the background as sleep began to take over.

While in a drowsy haze, you didn’t quite register a soft whisper from him, “Goodnight y/n, I love y—“ He quickly stopped himself and paused for a minute, sucking in his breath before he spoke again. “Sweet dreams” he said as his finger hovered over the ‘end call’ button. Jude was praying to every deity in existence, hoping you didn’t hear his slip up. 

But you were already fast asleep, your breathing steady and even. Jude let out a silent sigh of relief—grateful you weren’t awake to hear his unintentional confession. It's not that he didn't mean what he said, he did love you, but the thought of it scared him to death. “Goodnight y/n,” he whispered again before ending the call. His heart still racing from those three little words he hadn’t meant to say just yet.

honestly thinking about doing one of these for trent bc the vibe is just too cuteee. stay tuned.

if you made it this far, thank you for reading! feel free to pop into my ask box for requests, fangirling, advice, music recs, or just a chat—i'm a certified rambler 🫖✨

*elle

[ur-mousey]

Time Moves ~

Yandere!God! True Form! Sukuna x Disciple! F!Reader! Prt 2.

Part One

summary Sukuna reminds you that your only purpose is to worship his cock. 1.6k. warning mature, smut, possessive themes, blowjob and pussy-eating, lesbian orgy?, praise, dub-con.

..............................

"Pet, admit it already." Sukuna peered down at your naked form. "Tell me you're mad. Never once have I wanted you to bite your tongue."

You weren't in a state to be where you were. You scrambled from the edge of the steps. Your instinct could only register the idea of a drop. 

Your throat constricted around itself. And your skin brimmed all over with goosebumps. You had little strength to reply. Instead, you found yourself pressing your lips tight together. Scared of even your breath coming out into the frigid air. Your right side ached. Scrapes marred your skin from the earlier fall. You folded in, knees to breast, which felt too heavy. "I suggest you respond to me. Quick." Sukuna twirled the black rose pin's tip, embedded in his skin. 

The skin remained taut against the curve of the metal, raising slightly with the direction of the pin.

You wanted to scoff. The breeze carried your hair through its fingers. It pulled the mass forward. No longer could you view the clear image of your God, Sukuna. Wisps of hair clung to the tears and snot drying on your face. Your jaw remained clenched, glued together via mucus. And you struggled to release the tension. You couldn't breathe. Your airways felt constricted. Nothing could pass into it or out of it.

You weren't always the only disciple of your God. 

You remembered that time vaguely. When the temple was filled with other concubines. Some claimed the mantle of favorite pet. The first few days up on the mountain were rough. You were strapped to a wooden chair, forced into a corner where you'd slept. You had only seen your God once before when he discovered you along his nightly stroll. Time before then didn't exist. Who you were or how you got there didn't matter. 

You felt humiliated. Clothes felt miles away when not on your body. Or anyone, for that matter. Yet, you watched the concubines ignore your presence. They seldom paid you attention until your stomach growls obnoxiously. 

On the third day, they gave you more food. You ate the white rice and drank the warm chrysanthemum tea gleefully. And, the concubine of the hour prayed with you. You both recited the words of your God. 

She touched you differently than the others who attended you. Your pussy throbbed at her ministration. "This won't do at all," She huffed against your virgin hole. "Our God means to claim you soon. But I'm afraid you're still too tight." Her delicate fist prodded inside you. You ground your hips forward, kneading your puffy clit on her nose. She moved her head, eyes locking onto you. "Do relax for me. Breathe in and out." She gestured for you to follow along. 

Breathe in. The concubine's fingers circled your entrance. Tingles shot up into your core. "You're so wet. That's a good girl, now, breathe out for me." Your pussy lips swelled at her praise. You tried to focus solely on her, but the others dutifully laid out their futons. Laughter sparked from the petite concubines who suckled on each other's breasts.

There was a kinship there that you felt you would never be a part of.

Lips were being kissed. Cunts were played with and ate up. You had stared at a pair of girls at the center of it all. They slotted their legs together, their pink flushed pussies rubbed against each other. Their moans sent shivers down your front. "Aah, ah ah, pretty girl, focus on me. Breathe out." You nodded, tearing your eyes away. "Good girl, we will have so much fun together after Lord Sukuna fucks you tonight. Your pussy will feel so sweet against mine. Just be my good girl..."

The concubine purred into your folds. "Breathe..." You released the air trapped within your pounding chest. The concubine's fist dove inside your sopping mess. The intruding object pumped your G-spot rapidly. Her tongue ghosted over your clit, whispering sweet nothings. "Cum, pretty girl, we're all waiting."

Indeed, they were, and your God awaited for your finish. You couldn't tell when your eyes shut to the room around you. The noises climbed into the pores of your skin. It mixed with your mewls of pleasure, and it encouraged you to release. "She's ready for you."

"Clean her." Your eyes widen to meet your God. His four eyes raked over your body. "Take her to my chambers."

"Of Course. Shall I accompany you two during her deflowering?" The concubine kneeled perfectly. She spent the next month teaching you before she departed from the temple. "Sample, Lord Sukuna." She raised, her fingers covered in your slick. Your breath hitched as the sly smile on her face grew. "She tastes absolutely splendid."

"You aren't needed." Sukuna gripped her wrist. "I would rather taste it from the source. But, if you insist." You never had a choice.

Strapped. Stripped. Humiliated. What did your word matter?

You didn't want this. But, you bit your tongue.

>>>

What to do with a pet dumb like you? You break too damn easy when you are allowed thoughts. Were you dense? You short-circuit at the sight of low-ranked curses. Yet, you had the gall to demand stuff of him. 

You remained frozen while fireworks began to crackle in the air. They were bright and far. And colors danced on your pale skin. None of it caught your attention. Wasn't this what you wanted? Fireworks with your God. Yet, you worked yourself up again after mild teasing. What a boring pet you were? He's afraid. You would be dead in front of any other predator less benevolent than he. However, he couldn't kill you.

In fact, he tended to overreact when it came to you.

Sukuna plucked the pin from his chest. He held it above your head. It gleamed with each spark of color in the air. Yellows and green swirled atop the black metallic. His blood dripped down along his arm. You're nothing but a hindrance. You made him weak. He neglected his urge to pillage and rape. His budding army of curses was forsaken of his commands. His birthright as God seeped through his fingers like sand. 

You were the only one who prayed to him.

Sukuna fought the idea of a new harem. They would take care of you and him. "Tsk, pet." He sighed, it wouldn't do. "Caused trouble again. I have to say, it's quite bold of you." A long time ago, you were merely a mouse under his feline gaze, meek and incredibly disposable.

"There's fireworks," Nevertheless, he'd sought out your inexperienced pussy for his cock's satisfaction. His infatuation grew too big for him to rationalize. "I've waited too looong." Sukuna drawled his words. He had killed those skanks one by one. You were none the wiser. He had started with the bitch who loosened you up. Your first time withering under a mouth was stolen from him.

"I think I need to rip out a response from you." Sukuna tossed around the black rose pin in his four different palms. "Let's see. Eenie meenie miney mo." His bottom right hand caught the pin. He brought his fist down onto your thigh. Your hoarse throat let out a shrill. The boom of his laughter rivaled the fireworks that drowned out your screams. He taunted and cackled. "There, there, shush, my pet."

>>>

"I- um... I'm mah-ad," The words hiccuped in the back of your throat. You struggled to remain in a kneel. Your posture slouched. Your heart couldn't handle the barrage of noises. Heat coursed through your leg at the slightest change of pressure. "I hate you," You whispered under your breath. "I never wanted to be here." Your tears flowed freely. Light rain splashed your checks and tickled your nose.

The mouth on your God's stomach licked from your ear to the edge of your cupid's bow. "Want to continue your tantrum, girl. I suggest that you think carefully. You're starting to piss me off."

Your upcoming tangent was muffled. Sukuna's hands tied your hair in a knot close to the nape. "Take it back," A mouth grew on the palm of your God's hand. The voice breathed sultry against your ear. "I trained you better. An obedient pet should only be concerned with her master's cock." His fingertips grazed the flats of your ear, tugging your mouth further down his erection.

He guided you vertically. Pounding your beaten throat softly. Sukuna grunted as he allowed you to take the lead. You flattened your tongue at his swollen head. Your chapped lips puckered as you spit a wade of saliva down his girth. Both your hands pumped his length. You dared to make eye contact as you said:

"Why can't you be normal? I hate that you had other concubines." You pouted before hollowing your cheeks. You sucked him in. Your tongue cushioned his base, and your teeth playfully nicked his head. Just the way he likes it. You massaged his balls with your slime-ridden hands. Smearing a concoction of pre-cum and salvia on his skin.

"Brat. I only have you now." Sukuna bucked his hips. His head rolled back onto his shoulders. You flattened your tongue against Sukuna's swollen head. "I wouldn't dare to have anyone else.

"You're my perfect little pet. A stupid little thing. Your God will think for you. You won't have to worry about a thing. Food. Sleep. Sex. As long as you continue to worship me. I'll bring you back from wherever you go, even if it's mental. And I assure you, your hate is the truest form of love. So again. Say it around my dick."

.............................. Thank you for reading! And thanks for all the support on the last part! I wasn't going to make a part three buuuut, idk. Request rules are here!

>>> NEXT JJK POST: Reader's Secret Request ~ ft. Geto Suguru >>>> Edited Part 1! Reread if you feel inclined.

I was in a little slump writing this #period-problems. I decided to just write, and this is what you got. Fyi, I would love to write some more female x female fics, so more coming in the future.

[pearlfeline]

a peter parker halloween

peter parker x spider!fem!reader

word count: 1.6k

a/n: i quite like this actually lol this is the first thing i’ve written where i think i ended things quite organically however since i like it so much please let me know if you’d like a part two because i’m willing to try but also would like some ideas! thanks for reading! happy halloween!!

Like many, Peter enjoys Halloween. The problem is, Spider-Man does not. He liked it at first. All the cute kids dressing as him and how proud it made him. Nowadays, his costume is so mass produced that there’s people in the subway wearing his face with no pants on.

Patrolling on Halloween kind of felt like he was being mocked. Also wearing what he would consider his uniform on a day where he’s supposed to literally wear anything else wasn’t as exciting.

Peter’s schedule was always scattered but never to his disadvantage. He could afford to be spontaneous by getting slammed by a bus and make it to class in twenty minutes.

This Halloween night, he had gotten his classes out of the way, finished his extra-curriculars, and submitted all his homework right before it was time for his nightly sweep across New York.

Peter reached his front door, weakly shoving his key in spots that weren’t the keyhole.

You hear his keys jingle and rush to the door, unlocking it yourself.

“There he is!” You teased. “Happy Halloween! Who are you dressed as? Percy Jackson?”

Peter smiles tiredly. “Thanks for cleaning my room but you really didn’t have to.”

“Well it would've been mostly for May, considering she’s picked up after you for years.”

Peter sheepishly picks up his backpack that he tossed on the floor.

He notices you brought your Adventure Time blanket and draped it over the couch. There was fresh popcorn and you left your stuffed turtle posed to look like he was eating from the bowl.

“What’s this stuff?” Peter didn’t wait for a response but rather walked to his room to suit up for the night.

You waited for him to come back to the living room before giving him an answer.

“It’s a set up. For a lazy Halloween night in watching scary movies.”

“Lucky you.” He chuckled.

“No. Lucky you.” You corrected, grabbing his suit from over his shoulder.

“Since I know how you usually get worried on Halloween because people like to be irresponsible and sometimes just plain evil, I thought maybe I could give you the night off.” You tug on the collar on your shirt, exposing your suit underneath.

Peter gives you an incredulous look.

“Oh and the room cleaning thing wasn’t real I hope you know. White lie.” You added.

“..Yeah it’s still kinda messy in there.” Peter scratched the back of his neck.

“Understatement of the year.” You mumbled.

“Y/N.. I can’t just let you go do that alone if anything I’ll come with you.” Peter reaches for his mask in your hand.

You groaned.

“Stop being selfless just for tonight.” You pleaded with your eyes. “I can handle this! I’m just as cool and possibly cooler than you!”

“Fine.” Peter hangs his head and made his way to the couch.

“Hell yeah. Okay, I left a sandwich in the fridge that I picked up before I got here. Soooo have fun with that and enjoy your movie.” You pull off your shirt and pants and shoved them in your bag.

Peter gives an appreciative smile, watching you pull your mask over your face and leap out of his fire escape.

What you did was a very sweet thing. Peter was finally able to do something Halloweeny on Halloween. He picked out a few movies to watch in order, but two movies in he was hyper aware he was alone in a dark apartment. Excluding the stuffed turtle he was talking to.

“The CGI sucks.” He muttered, squishing the turtle close to his face, his eyes locked onto the screen.

What if he saw a scary figure in the dark? And if he got up to get the light would it move and attack him? Would he see something he doesn’t want to?

He peered over the couch to stare at the darkness in every corner of the dimly lit living room.

Peter cautiously paused the movie and quickly climbed onto the wall, scattering to the light switch before flicking it on.

He landed back on his feet and still felt upset.

Not only was being alone scary but even if it wasn’t it was just sad. He could’ve complained about the bad CGI to you instead of that little turtle.

You handled your patrol pretty well. Not much was happening except one little kid got separated from his group and didn’t want to walk back home alone. He gave you a piece of candy as a thank you.

As you sat on the edge of a building, you took a bite of your sandwich you packed for the night, watching the busy streets below.

Swoosh. A figure lands behind you and sets your stuffed turtle next to you.

“Timmy? Peter why are you here?” You were muffled by bread in your mouth.

Peter sat beside you and unwrapped his sandwich.

You tuck the turtle in your arms so he doesn’t fall off the ledge and give Peter a look.

“It’s… lonely back there. Plus, I got all the Halloween celebration I needed. I’m ready to get back at it now.”

You stare at Peter with a suspicious expression.

“You can just say the movie scared you.” You took another bite and swung your feet.

“C’mon can’t I just help you? I thought I was selfless?” He smirked proudly.

“You would never leave Timmy Turtle to fend for himself in a paranormal situation! You brought him because you’re scared of the monsters!” You pointed an accusing finger at him.

Peter lifts his mask up half way, taking a bite of his sandwich to avoid confrontation.

“It wasn’t a monster it was a spirit out for revenge.” He sighed.

“Mhm.” You rolled your eyes.

“Busy night?” He asked.

You shake your head. “Oh, but this kid gave me a KitKat.” You dig in your bag to find it.

“Dessert.” You tap it on your temple like you were being clever.

Eventually, you both finish your sandwiches and split the chocolate.

“Is this gonna be a lesson later about how I don’t need to patrol every Halloween night like this?”Peter crosses his legs and accepts his fate.

You shake your head. “No. I mean, you shouldn’t be overworking yourself like that. But, if no one was here tonight, that kid would be going home alone and probably super scared.”

“And that’s the best case scenario, you never know what’ll happen.” You added.

You jokingly punch Peter in the in the shoulder. “You’re a hero Peter. I just thought you needed some rest.”

“Thanks Y/N.” He chomps on his half of the KitKat and leans back, the palms of his hands supporting his weight.

“I’m sorry.” He sighed.

“I should let you go out more often. It’s not that I don’t trust you I just…” Peter trailed off.

“I don’t want you to get hurt is all.” Peter turns to you.

You shrug. “That’s part of the job. But yeah I understand.”

“Though, I’m not opposed to helping you out more. The kid that I helped today called me spider sidekick.”

Peter snorts. “He’s not far off.” Peter pretends to stretch and flexes his muscles very unsubtly.

“Uh, I prefer apprentice and hopefully later on, partner.” You regret your choice of words as soon as ‘partner’ came out of your mouth.

Peter’s grin twitches a little, giving a small opened mouth smile that screamed “No, it’s okay I know what you meant. Don’t be embarrassed. Let’s pretend that never happened!”

Instead, he gives a small laugh.

“You’re already a great partner.”

You give Peter a short glance. That damn mask. What does that mean? Those dumb bug eyes were unreadable. The only thing you could see was his smile.

“A-Am I getting promoted?” You joked.

Peter takes his mask off. There they are. His eyes.

Were you crazy or was he being really forward all of the sudden?

“Truthfully Y/N, you’ve proven yourself a long time ago. You’re just as selfless as you think I am. I just needed to make sure… Even if that meant stalling the inevitable.” Peter takes a dig at himself.

“You’re pretty much faster than me at this rate, but stronger? Eh, I dunno.” He teases.

“I’m sorry I was being stubborn. You’ve been a partner for a long time. Training is officially over since tonight.”

Your heart sinks a little. Of course. He was just talking about work. Peter never flirts with you, he’s never done that before. Plus, this is a serious thing it’s never about flirting.

“Thanks Peter. You’re a real good mentor.”

Peter raises an eyebrow. “Man, I thought you’d be more excited.”

“No! No. I am excited it’s just.. It’s nice to hear you care about my safety and all that. Nice that you trust me with sharing this… duty.” You clear your throat.

Peter nods, satisfied.

“It’s hard.” He repositions to sit crisscrossed.

“But I know you can do it. And… sorry for making you go out here when it’s nothing happened. I swear I trust you to do the crazy dangerous things too.”

You nodded. “I know. But you didn’t make me do anything. This was just a favor I wanted to do for you.”

“Happy Halloween.” You smiled.

“Happy Halloween Y/N.” Peter returns the smile. He knew this whole thing was a lot for you to adjust to. The silence he created was nice. Not awkward like it used to be. He watched as you curiously peer over the busy street in fascination. He thinks to himself that every night is going to be like this for you from now on. Like it was for him. Maybe the company would do him some good.

[freelancearsonist]

oblivion

➔ Dave York x gn!Reader - 2.2k

➔ Dave left years ago to keep you safe from him. Now, he comes back to finally claim what’s his.

➔ Rated MA for kinda dark fic?????, gn!reader (no pronouns or anatomy described), reader is able-bodied but otherwise is physically a blank slate, infidelity (Dave cheats on his wife w/ reader), smut, choking, biting, blood, this is the midnight mass au that no one asked for [pls let me know if i missed any warnings you think should be included :)]

➔ Thank you to my love @ozarkthedog for this prompt, if you're reading this ily <3

Everyone is leaving this island–your home–in droves. The seas are drenched in oil, and there’s nothing left to fish or net. People are moving on to bigger, better things. But not you; you’ve never enjoyed the mainland, never craved the just-another-face-in-the-crowd feeling of those big cities. You love your little small town, even if most of it is gone now.

You go for your nightly walk, and the loneliness gets to you for the first time since the spill. There’s no lights on in house windows, no kids playing out in front yards. It’s just you as the sun goes down, casting everything in fiery red and orange brilliance.

Some nights seem darker than others, regardless of the star visibility or the moon’s phase. It’s almost like the air swells and surrounds you until it feels like a thick, dark blanket. It can be almost stifling; and those nights never quite leave your mind.

That’s what it feels like tonight, and for no discernable reason. There’s a wicked sense of foreboding–even more so than you’ve come to be accustomed to. It ramps up even more so when you see the only other house in the neighborhood with lights on: Dave’s house.

Dave left with his wife and daughters two years ago, long before the spill destroyed the island’s economy. No one’s stepped foot in it since–you figured it just never sold. But certainly it hasn’t sold now; who would want to move to the island at a time like this?

Curiosity gets the better of you, maybe because a traitorous little part of your brain wonders if it’s Dave. If he’s finally come back for some reason, if he’s here to fix things. That nagging little hope keeps you up at night more often than you care to admit; that he might return and you’d get a second chance. Either way, you don’t think twice about walking up the short driveway to knock on his door.

It’s completely silent for a long few minutes; long enough that you almost knock again. But maybe this is just some fluke thing, an electrical malfunction or something that turned his lights on. He swore he’d never be back, after all. It’s just wishful thinking.

It started on your night walks. He jogged the same route every single night after the girls went to bed, and eventually his jog slowed to a walk when he would come alongside you. You’d walk side by side and talk about anything and everything, vent about work or life and tell each other little stories. Before too long, you knew him better than anyone, and it was all completely by accident. Just the neighborly kindness of him slowing his pace to chit chat with you.

And then this man who you shared nothing with besides a nightly exercise route, after weeks of small talk every single evening, kissed you. In the middle of a street, in the middle of a very small island community where every single person knew every single thing about every other person; a community where every single person knew that Dave was married, and that he wasn’t married to you.

You dragged him home to scold him somewhere that no prying ears would catch it, and somehow you ended up in bed underneath him. All desperately breathless kisses and deeply earth-shattering thrusts and muffled moans of pleasure.

He whispered that no one had ever made him feel so alive before, that he’d never wanted someone more. And you wanted to believe him, so you did.

Miraculously, no one ever found out; not about that first time, and not about the million times after. No one ever found out about all the times that you swore up and down it could never happen again, only to fall right back onto your knees for him. No one ever found out about the time that he finally agreed with you, and the way you cried yourself to sleep when he stuck to it and didn’t catch up to you on your walk the next night. No one ever found out about how the next night after that, he caught up to you and begged for you–for your forgiveness, for the feelings that only you had ever been able to make him feel.

And for a while, it was enough. Being his at night under secrecy of darkness was plenty; until all of a sudden it wasn’t. Until you would bump into his wife at the market and nearly have a panicked breakdown by the time you got home, wondering just how much she knew. Until he would say things that were heavier and heavier–things that translated to something akin to ‘I love you’ without actually being the words. Until he had to leave for a work assignment.

He’d be gone for a week. That was all. A simple job, he’d explained. Somewhere overseas, but that was really all he said. He never liked to talk to you about his work much. He said he’d be back before you could even miss him.

But it was a month before he returned, and he came back different.

Withdrawn, dark eyes darker than usual, sunkissed golden skin looking a little insipid. You tried to convince yourself that he was just coming down with a cold, that the way he’d put his hand around your neck just to feel your pulse thrum under his fingertips and squeeze a little tighter than comfortable wasn’t related; that the way he nearly broke skin from biting into your shoulder so hard wasn’t anything to be concerned about; that the way he seemed to have doubled strength while he was away wasn’t cause for alarm.

You lied to yourself because it was easier than the truth; whatever had happened on his assignment, he wasn’t the same man anymore. The man you had started to fall in love with, circumstances be damned, was long gone.

But it came to a point where the truth couldn’t be avoided any longer, because the inevitable can’t be postponed indefinitely. Ignorance is only bliss until the truth comes unapologetically crashing in.

He fucked you so relentlessly it scared you. The hands that had once held you so gently were pushing you into positions far past your comfortable range, his hips were thrusting hard and deep enough to bruise. He saw the tears that leaked from the corners of your eyes and called you pathetic; and just like that, you knew your Dave York was gone. Where to, you weren’t sure. But something in his roughness, in the way he wanted to hurt you, made you sure he was never coming back.

You pushed him off of you and told him to get the fuck out. For a moment–one flickering, horribly tension-fraught moment–you didn’t think he would. The most terrified you’d ever been in your life was when you looked into his dark eyes and saw nothing but violence.

For a moment, you didn’t know what he was going to do. And then he hastily pulled on his clothes and slammed the door shut behind him without a word.

You didn’t see him on your walk the next night, and the following night after that there was a U-Haul parked in front of his house. Part of you was relieved at the sight of boxes and furniture being lugged out of the front door into the box truck; another, more complicated part of you wanted to fall to your knees right there in the street and start screaming.

You felt his presence before you saw him–just behind you to the left, out of your field of view. You didn’t turn to look at him; you couldn’t stand to see his face when you asked, “Why?”

“There are worse ways to hurt you than leaving,” he murmured, low and deep. “If leaving is what I have to do to keep you safe, then I’m never fucking coming back.”

You turned at that, because what the fuck was that supposed to mean? What would he have to keep you safe from?

You saw so much sadness in his brown eyes that you nearly broke down sobbing. You knew right then that it was over. There was no begging him to stay, no changing his mind. You didn’t even really know if you actually wanted him to stay, at that point.

He walked away to help the movers lug a couch before you got a chance to say anything; no ‘I love you’, no ‘I’ll miss you’, not even a simple ‘goodbye’.

By morning his family was gone, him included. His house stood empty for two years with not a sign from him. Until tonight.

The living room lights cast a warm yellow glow over the front yard in the dark even through the obscurity of dusty window blinds. You’re tempted to peek through and see if you can tell what’s going on inside after standing on the stoop unacknowledged for a few minutes; just as you make the decision to snoop, the front door opens.

It’s him. It’s really fucking him. He hasn’t changed even the slightest bit. His brown hair is still cut short and neatly styled, his handsome face is impeccably shaved. His dark brown eyes are just like you remember them, from before; the hatred and violence they held those last few days isn’t there anymore.

He whispers your name, and then his eyes flash. “You’re still here.”

“Of course I am,” you reply, on guard. “This is my home.”

His fingers twitch on the doorknob, like he’s contemplating shutting you out. “I didn’t know anyone was still here. I wouldn’t have come back.”

“Why did you come back?” You ask, curiosity getting the better of you.

His eyes shift for a moment, jaw set firmly. “It’s the only place I have left.”

He doesn’t have to put it any clearer than that for you to know that his wife isn’t in the picture anymore. You wonder what happened between them, but a selfish little part of you is triumphant at the fact that he came to you.

Except he didn’t, not really. He said himself that he didn’t think anyone was left. That he wouldn’t have come otherwise. Why wouldn’t he have come?

“You need to go,” he says firmly, moving to shut the door in your face. But your hand shoots out before you can really even contemplate it.

Now, you say what you wish you would’ve had the courage to say all those years ago. “I missed you, Dave.”

You can see his patience is waning–his hand flexes anxiously against the door but he doesn’t say anything quite yet, and you know his is your only chance for closure.

“You said, before you left, that you were protecting me by leaving. What do you have to protect me from?”

“Myself,” he growls. His eyes flash dangerously, the same way they did two years ago.

“What…”

“Each man kills the thing he loves, honey,” he murmurs, stepping closer. It feels like he’s towering over you now, looming ominously. You don’t remember him being this imposing before he left. “And I… I loved you.”

“I loved you, too,” you whisper. Hindsight is funny like that–your brain reveals in hindsight what your heart can’t reveal in the moment. “We can… we can make this work, Dave.”

You should be more hesitant. You should remember how scared of him you were at the end, how strange it is for him to show up here in the middle of the night all alone. You should wonder why he’s back here now, when everyone else is gone.

“You don’t know what you’re asking for,” he growls, all the while moving closer to you as if you have a magnetism he can’t avoid. “I’ve changed.”

“I’m asking for a second chance,” you plead as you set your hands on his strong, solid chest. He’s so achingly close now, and yet he still won’t touch you. “I’ve changed too, I’m… I’m willing to make this work if you are.”

He licks his lips, dark eyes focused… on your neck? Why is he looking there of all places? 

He notices that he’s been caught when his eyes flicker up to meet your gaze. He just stares at you for a moment, then two, so close that each breath you exhale mingles with his.

And then suddenly he’s leaning in. You let your eyes flutter shut, awaiting the sweet sensation of his lips on yours after so long; but it never comes. You wait, and you wait, and then you feel something puncture the side of your neck.

It’s sharp, and it hurts. Your eyes snap open and all you can see is Dave; his body curls around yours as he gulps eagerly from your punctured artery. A weak hand comes up to nudge his head halfheartedly–somewhere in the back of your mind, you delight in the softness of his hair between your fingers again after so long–but his arms wrap tightly around your waist to keep you in place and your weak resistance is futile.

He was right, you think as your vision blurs around the edges. You really didn’t have a clue what you were asking for.

➔ moodboard by @ozarkthedog

➔ beta: @futuraa-free and @mothandpidgeon (thank u so much my loves <3)

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[selineram3421]

*lies awake at night and has an idea*

[Its 4 a.m. by the way.]

Other Worldly

Prologue

Alastor X Shy Reader

(Oneshot turned short story)

Warnings? ⚠

⚠ selectively mute reader, mentions of death-drowning, shaking head = no, signing-ASL ⚠

They were an oddity.

How could such a meek and bashful thing like them end up in this fiery inferno.

Alastor watched from the bar as they bumped into the check-in counter and squeaked before getting off balance and falling.

Clumsy, jumpy, barely making a sound other than some odd squeaks.

Yes, they were quite the wonder.

An entertaining one.

❇

You were somewhat new to Hell. At least two weeks in.

There was an accident where you worked in the aquarium and well..you kinda caused a mass drowning? It sounds impossible but it happened.

It was very challenging to get up after your fall, but you managed and wound up at the hotel.

With the help of the Princess, you were able to figure out what kind of demon you are. It came with pros but it also came with cons. One con being that you couldn't speak unless you wanted to hypnotize someone.

It made you a little sad, but also relieved. You didn't do well around others, too shy to speak up or get involved with anything that put you in the spotlight.

Maybe it was for the best.

There would be one thing you wouldn't give up though.

❇

Alastor was in the hotel's library.

There wasn't a whole lot of demons coming into this room, especially after some guests saw him walk in here a few times.

It didn't matter. At least there were multiple things that could entertain him. A small music room with instruments, projectors in another with film reels and other types of tapes, and the most dazzling room of all was the astronomy room.

The Princess made sure to have this room's dome ceiling painted with an accurate mural of the Earth's night sky.

Deciding to mess with the trinkets on the shelves, the demon in red walked towards the back of the room and glanced at the star charts. Tapping at some of the books and measuring tools on the desk nearby before sitting down on a chair.

No one ventured this far into the library. He was probably the only demon who knew of this room's existence.

And then he heard something.

Someone had entered the room.

Turning around and looking between the shelves, Alastor spots the timid demon that he enjoys flustering so much near the armillary sphere in the middle.

A little spook wouldn't be too bad.

He thought with a small grin, starting to summon up a shadow creature. However both dissipated when there was a note sung into the air.

"Let's go in the garden

You'll find something waiting

Right there where you left it lying upside down

When you finally find it, you'll see how its faded

The underside is lighter when you turn it around "

The Radio Demon sat there, mouth agape as they sang.

"Everything stays right where you left it

Everything stays

But it still changes

Ever so slightly, daily and nightly

In little ways, when everything stays "

Like a siren- a water sprite? A nymph? It was hard to pinpoint what he could compare their voice to.

It was other worldly.

Their voice echoed due to the room's acoustics.

He didn't notice that he had gotten out of the chair, didn't notice he was making his way towards them, didn't notice when they stopped singing until they gasped.

Blinking out of his trance, he found them facing him and covering their mouth with their hands. A panicked look in their eyes.

"You stopped.", Alastor spoke up. "Why not finish?"

They shook their head quickly and backed away.

Before he could say something else, they moved their arms down, one made into a fist on their chest and moving in a circle clockwise. Then they ran out. (Sorry)

He stood there for a while, his smile widening. Maybe there was more to them than he thought.

How interesting~

I'm still on break but I couldn't help myself with this one. 🐚 (Old note)

~Seline, the person.

Part 1

.

Alastor ML I🎙 | ChL OW🦀

[sheyfu]

pretty boy

𝗜𝗡 𝗪𝗛𝗜𝗖𝗛 you comfort a crying akaashi keiji

feat. post-timeskip akaashi keiji (wife!reader)

cw: ooc; kinda rushed AAAAAAAAA (i still dont know how to pace my stories i will cry); mentions of wanting to commit mass murder; proofread but not really

prompt. free write! i had sm fun w this NYEHEHEHEH (based on this req <33) note. self-indulgent; my second piece for @lia-loves's flufftober event! this is also for the anon who requested for akaashi's version of 'i love my man', which i orginally wrote as a piece for reo from bllk! if you'd like to check it out (shamless plug LAMSODMAD), you can click on the link^ tbh this is super rushed bc i dont know how to pace my stuff but we ball LMADAOMDS AND GANG IK THIS IS OOC BUT IM SOMEONE WHO BELIEVES AKAASHI'S NONCHALANT SKIBIDI RIZZLER AURA DISSIPATES (omg big word) IN FRON OF YOU yes. read for a banger 🙏 wc. 940 (and again.. lia... i know you said don't write an essay but... huheuueh)

contrary to popular belief, being an editor for a shonen manga magazine isn’t an easy job. yes, you get to laze around until your talent submits their work to you for further checking, but only if you knew how difficult it was to work with crammers, then you’d see the hell these editors go through each passing day.

the amount of pestering you’d have to do just to receive mediocre pieces of art and an even-more-mediocre storyline that you can’t help but cry to (not that it’s unusable or course. it just needs a little (a lot) of revision :]), and the amount of times you’d have to apologize to the big bosses for the delay brings tears to the eyes of each and every editor.

personally, you’ve never experienced any of those hardships. your life as a legal practitioner is pretty smooth-sailing—save for the fact that some clients are a bit hard headed of course—but other than that, your life is a-okay!

and adding onto the fact that you’re happily wed to your husband of eight years, mr. akaashi keiji, you’d say you're pretty much content with life right now.

speaking of husband, is akaashi keiji happy with his life? definitely! a happy wife = happy life! 

and how about his work life? uhhhh, not so much.

“die die die die die die die”

the door to your apartment bursts open as a slumped figure walks in carelessly kicking his shoes in some corner of your little foyer. hearing the concerning amount of grumbles coming from your husband interrupt your little staring contest with the very demonic cat shaped cookies you decided to bake to pass time.

“keiji? you alright over there?” furrowing your eyebrows at the lack of response, you trudge to the living room to check up on your beloved.

“keiji? my love– what-”

only to see the biggest shocker of your life: a crying akaashi keiji.

now, keiji has cried a bunch of times in front of you; whether those tears have been from happiness or sadness, you’ve seen them all. you’ve also seen him go into little tantrums whenever he has his crying sessions; most of the time, these are due to his rather.. unruly clients. but no, tonight’s different. never in your life have you seen your akaashi keiji cry and be in hysterics at the same time.

“i can’t do this anymore!” continuous sobs rip out from the man in front of you—his bloodshot eyes being a telltale sign that he’s been crying even before he getting your shared apartment. 

oh dear..

upon reaching his knelt down form on the floor, you join him to litter his face with kisses. “hey now.. don’t cry please. i hate seeing you cry.” patting his head and engulfing him in a big hug, you continue to land kisses on his head.

only to be grabbed by the shoulders. “w- woah!”

“no, wife! i- i really can’t do it!” exasperated claims continuously spew out of his mouth—his cries seemingly getting worse and worse. “these… these vermins! they’re ruining my life! and that’s not even it! they also—”

comforting a crying husband on your chest isn’t part of your nightly routine. what also isn’t part of your routine is being gripped to death by said crying husband.

“i swear.. i swear to god, wife. i’ll actually throw my sketchbook at them the next time we meet.” keiji’s hoarse voice sounds from your chest; little sniffles coming out from him as you console your weeping spouse. 

oh keiji.. my sweet, sweet keiji..

“look at me, keiji.” said man raises his head up to meet your gaze. cupping his cheeks to bid the tears goodbye, you offer him a smile, “i know you’re mad– very mad—and i get you! it’s totally valid to feel like this” swiping your thumbs to get rid of the stray tears, you continue, “i’m sorry this happened to you, keiji. you know i’m not the best with words, but to try and bring comfort to you, i could join you if you do decide to wreak havoc in the office. you with your sketchbooks, me with my thousand page law books. how does that sound, hmm?” 

a small smile appears on his face—a sight you’ve seen each day, yet something you’ve never grown accustomed to. 

“really? you’d do that with me?” the smile on his face grows; eyes lighting up with glee as he takes in your words.

feeling a hot flush creep up on your face, you can’t help but utter your next words unwittingly, “you’re so pretty, keiji.” a few beats of silence pass as you process your own words.

well shit.

“o- oh, sorry! i didn’t mean to say that.. well! i mean you are pretty… really pretty actually, but–” small, yet resounding giggles stop your flow of speech. 

“even after eight years of being together, you still get flustered saying compliments” giggles-turned-to-laughter now escape from an akaashi keiji—his hand clutching his stomach as he slaps the bed. 

“hey! don’t be mean! it’s not my fault you’re so pretty..” you start sulking as you take in the sight of your now laughing husband, seemingly enjoying your flustered state.

as his laughter slowly comes to a halt, his next words surprise you even more.

“well. to make it even.. you’re really, really beautiful too, wife” a grin appears on akaashi keiji’s face as he kisses your forehead. 

your eyes widen as you process his words. 

me… beautiful… i’m… he thinks… he said i’m beautiful..

“stop your dirty tricks, keiji! this was supposed to be me comforting you— mmph!” 

he cuts you off with a kiss.

linking lia's flufftober event here!!

✧˖°ʚ🍓ɞ♡ ✧˖°ʚ🍓ɞ♡ ✧˖°ʚ🍓ɞ♡

please check her event and works out!!

🐈‍⬛️: gang first time writing for hq and I KNOW IM VERY MUCH AWARE that it's ooc LMAODMAOSDGIOA BUT EVEN SO, I HOPE YOU ALL ENJOYED MWAWMAMWA. i won't add hq to my taglist (yet. i'll still see LAMDOAMD), but shamless self plug LAMSDOAMSD if you'd like to be part of my taglist(s) for blue lock, honkai star rail, ace of diamond, kaiju no 8 and/or genshin, please access the gform link below <3

© sheyfu on tumblr

[ninten-draw]

The Tundra Era

In the beginning of the world, there was nothing but cold tundra. Unlike most planets who have a warm magma filled core, the planet of rainworld has a cold void fluid core, with the only natural heat coming from the sun. The world is a freezing tundra with almost nightly blizzards, but not without life, as some creatures have adapted to its freezing ways.

The Ancients Era

Soon, an intelligent species forms form the barren wastelands, known simply as the ancients. The ancients in their form resembled closely to aquatic fishes and insects of our world. They too adapted to their frozen environment, living in caves and underwater homes at first, and then building their own homes and citadels. At this time, they were unaware of their eternal life.

The Karmic Era

The great problem has now been made aware to the ancients, and thus the karmic religion is born. At this time only the first five karma symbols are made known to the ancients, and they do everything in their power to rid themselves of these urges, with very limiting success. It’s around this time that the ancients don their signature masks and adorned clothing as well.

Void Fluid Discovery

While drilling and constructing a train system, the ancients come across stranger structures, indicating a civilization before them. Engineers are soon replaced with paleontologists to dig and study these stranger remnants. As they continue to dig, some start having strange dreams and hallucinations of moving stars, strange worms, an empty void, until they come across the depths, and subsequently the void fluid is discovered

Void Fluid Revolution

With the introduction of the void fluid, ancient society flourishes, now they have a proper way to die. Time is spent expanding the depths, building statues and making sacrifices to the void. Their technology also expands exponentially, now able to make large factories and farms to provide for themselves. The next several karma symbols are also made known to the ancients. However echos are soon discovered in the world, fearful that the void may not have been the perfect solution they were looking for, the ancients seek another solution. This leads to the creation of the iterator, whose purpose is to find a solution to the great problem without the void. During this time, a new boom in the ancients is found, more iterators are made because of their many uses. During this time purposed creatures are brought to life to assist the ancients and iterators. It is also known during this time, that the ancients created the shelters and pathways, a place for creatures to rest in and navigate across the world that had become habituated with urban development. The world is now warmer, with the memories of a cold tundra seeming more like a dream than anything. However despite all the good times, the void is not stupid, and it certainly is displeased that the ancients who once worshipped it were now seeking another solution

The Mass Ascension Event

The great ascension was an interesting, and frightening time. Iterators noticed how more and more ancients were going to ascend, and noted how their reasonings were barely understandable. Other ancients noted how the ones going to ascend seemed almost robotic. The more frightening thing, ancients who previously had no desire in ascension, would find themselves seeking, almost yearning it, the next cycle. More and more ancients were going to ascend, and less were born. The remaining ancients during the last few years of their kind were terrified, it seemed as though every one of their kind was infected with an invisible ailment forcing them to ascend, wether they were ready or not. Some stuck by the iterators begging them to prevent them from leaving to ascend. Others traveled outside of the iterators can, to the corners of the world away from any depths entrances. Any efforts were for naught however, as the remaining ancients went to ascend as well, leaving none behind.

Post Ancient Era

Many years passed after the ancients disappeared, and the world had adapted to the structures that they had left behind. The animals were now used to the unnatural shelters and pathways that the ancients had originally constructed for them, and the iterators who were once tasked with finding a solution to the great problem now mostly did their own thing, including helping lesser creatures on their way to ascension. The slugcat campaigns also take place in this era.

Shelter Destruction

Not everything lasts forever, and this includes the ancients’ constructions. The iterators collapse due to entropy, the world losing its main heat source and being plunged into an icey torrent of blizzards. The shelters that the ancients once made to shield creatures from precipitation, also fell from the constant blizzards and entropy, leaving the creatures who once depended on them alone to brave the elements. A mass extinction follows these events, causing creature, both inorganic and natural, to die out or seek ascension to escape their miserable circumstance.

Everything Must Go

Soon, the void itself releases from its previous underground home, to pull the remaining memories and remnants of this civilization down to the depths and rubicon.

The Tundra Era again

Thus, with the remainder of the ancients gone, the world is left an endless tundra once more, but soon life will start to evolve to this cold wasteland, and soon, an intelligent species of aquatic descent will walk upon the ground, and perhaps, like the civilization before them, seek a way out of this world