#One of these days I’ll stop the cannibalism jokes

[nomsfaultau]

[athenamikaelson]

Klaus Mikaelson x Reader!Soulmate x Elijah Mikaelson PART 2

Word Count- 3k

Warnings- Swearing, blood, canon spoilers

Vampires exist. So don’t werewolves and witches, the supernatural. This is what Elena had told me on the way back to Mystic Falls after our adventure with the 3 cannibals. No, not cannibals, vampires. 

Flashback

“It’s true, Y/N. Vampires, witches, and other supernatural creatures exist. Those people who took us were vampires,” She motions to the two men in the front seat, “Stefan and Damon are aswell, but you don’t have to worry about them they won’t hurt you.”

“We’ll see.” The dark-haired one says out loud as he glances back at me skeptically. The look made me want to throw up but since my stomach didn’t have any more food to throw up I just stared at him nauseously.

“Damon, stop it,” Elena glares at him from the seat next to me, “You will not hurt Y/N, ever.” Elena continues her glaring at the man as he turns over his shoulders and rolls his eyes. 

“Don’t worry about Damon,” Elena whispers as she grabs my hand, “I’ll explain everything you need to know.”

“Yo, you good in there,” Theo’s voice calls from the other side of the bathroom door, “I need to do my hair before school and you know I need at least 25 minutes!”

I let out a deep sigh and tried to wipe away the tiredness from my eyes. After I got back last night Theo bitched me out for leaving him stranded at the party, without a license he had to walk himself home. When asked where I went off to I made up some lie about sleeping over at Elena’s. Theo was skeptical since he knows the closest person I have to a friend is the 67-year-old librarian at Mystic Fall’s library, but he’s more brawn than brain so he didn’t think much more of it. I hated lying to him, With Theo and I being so close and age we never kept things from each other, even though he’s a pain in my ass there’s no one in this world I love more than him. After our father and mother divorced that bond only strengthened. 

“Ya I’m fine,” I open the bathroom door and Theo’s usual calm facade breaks for a moment as he looks at me, “What the fuck happened to you? you look like you got into a fight with a squirrel and didn’t stand a chance.”

I roll my eyes at his remark and push past him to my room. As I grip the door handle a hand grabs my upper arm.

“Hey, I’m joking,” I turn to see Theo staring down at me worriedly, “Seriously though Y/N, what happened you look like you haven’t slept in years?” 

I can’t argue with his observation because I know what I look like since I just spent the last 15 minutes staring back at myself in the mirror. I was too tired last night to take a shower so I just used a washcloth for the blood on my face and chest, then passed out. Or at least tried to, my dreams were vacated by thoughts of what is truly hiding in the shadows, now that I know what is out there. 

“I just didn’t sleep that well last night.”

I try to get Theo to understand that I don’t want to approach this subject any further and thankfully he takes the hint. Within a split second the worried look drops and is replaced with a judgy look.

“Fine, but you’re going to need to change whatever it is you’ve got going on here,” He motions with his hands to my Hello Kitty T-shirt and matching pajama pants, “If I’m seen with you like this my social status will take a massive hit.”

My eyes roll and I shove a fist to his shoulder, earning a mocking gasp from him. 

“I’m taking the day off today, I only had two periods today anyway. I’ll still take you and drop you off, be in the car in 15 minutes, or else you’re taking the bus.”

Theo shoots me a horrified look and gasps, “And make me sit next to those peasants! You wouldn’t dare.”

“Try me.”

—-

Eight minutes later we’re in my car driving to school. One thing I can always count on with Theo is that he will never do anything to tank his reputation. When we moved here a few months ago I was worried he’d have a hard time making friends and fitting in but that was my mistake. Theo is the most extroverted extrovert I have ever met and has a way of making people fall over and do anything he wants with a flash of a smile. Where he got the charisma I got the brains. I would never admit it out loud but sometimes I’m jealous of just how many people truly liked being around him. My only friend is the librarian and the only reason she hasn’t run away from me is because it’s her 9-5, and she can’t leave. 

I pull up to the front of the school and Theo finishes putting the finishing touches onto his hair. As he steps out a group of football guys all wave and acknowledge him.

“My practice gets out at 4:30 tonight. Don’t forget me this time,” Theo leans down and looks at me with a pointed look. 

“I’ll be there, I give you my word.”

“Great,” Theo smiles at me and reaches his hand over for a fist bump, “Later nerd.”

I bump his fist with mine, “Bye loser.”

—-

As I pull into my driveway, I hear my phone chime go off. Glancing down at the screen I see an incoming call from Elena Gilbert. My brain tells me to ignore it and go back up to my bed and hide away from the world until I’m at least 43 years old, but my body has already made my thumb swipe to answer the call. 

“Hello?”

“Hey Y/N! How are you doing this morning,” Elena's voice comes from the other end, I hear the sound of a car in the background making me realize she must be driving, “I honestly didn’t think you’d pick up.”

“Honestly I debated not to,” I tell her honestly. 

“Um, well,” She pauses for a moment, “I know you’re probably very confused, and I don’t know if you want the company or not but I’m going to go do something and was wondering if you wanted to join me?”

I frown slightly at the question, “Why?”

Elena lets out a sound of confusion, “I just thought you might want to know more, or at the very least you shouldn’t be alone right now.”

“I don’t need your pity.”

“That’s not what I’m doing I promise you, Y/N. If you don’t want to come that’s fine by me, but I just want you to know you have a friend out there to talk to about this if needed. If you change your mind I’ll text you the address.”

I hum in acknowledgement and after a moment the call goes dead. I sit in my car for the next 20 minutes going through my head all the things I could do. I could do what I wanted to do before and hide out and be alone, or I could help Elena…. Hiding out seems like a great idea. As soon as my hand reaches the car door handle I’m reminded of how Elena defended me yesterday and fought for me and a loud groan escapes my lips. Fuck. I sit back, pull up the address she texted me, and pull out of my driveway. If I’m kidnapped again I’m going to be so pissed. 

—-

I pull my car into the spot next to Elena’s car in the middle of the woods. Yep, I'm getting kidnapped. What teenager hangs out in the woods next to a graveyard? I pull out my phone and dial Elena’s number. It rings for a moment before I get a response. 

“Y/N? Is everything ok? Are you hurt?” Elena’s frantic voice comes from the other end.

“What? No, I’m here. Where are you?” I turn around in a circle trying to catch a glimpse of the brunette girl but see nothing but tall barren trees.

“Oh! I didn’t think you’d come, I’ll be up in a second.” She hangs up the call as I furrow my eyebrows in confusion, come up from where? My question is answered when brown hair makes an appearance as Elena walks up a stone staircase leading to who knows where. As she notices me a small smile spreads onto her face and for a moment I get the urge to smile back, but suppress it back down and just nod at her in acknowledgment. She walks over to me and before I have a chance to react she’s wrapping her petite arms around me in a hug. What’s with all the hugging?

“Thank you for coming,” She releases me, “before I take you down though I should warn you it might be a little weird.” 

Her warning makes my heart start to beat faster and a sense of nausea surfaces, I really have to invest in some Tums. 

“Weirder than being kidnapped by three vampires, which I guess now are actually real?” 

Elena processes the question over for a moment before shaking her head slightly, “I guess not as weird as that, no.”

“Come on,” Elena motions me to follow as she guides me down the stone staircase. I tighten the small sweater over myself once I realize I’m still in my pajamas. With each step down I fear I’m walking into something that’ll make me regret getting out of bed this morning. But all I’m met with at the bottom of the stairs is a small stone room covered with dirt, in the center the stone opens up to darkness and I fight the urge to strain my neck to look in.

“Did you bring me a snack?” 

A tough female voice calls from the black abyss. Fuck, I really am getting kidnapped, aren’t I? I’m just about to run right back up those stairs and floor my Toyota Corolla out of this bitch when Elena speaks back to the voice.

“You’re not going to lay a finger on Y/N,” Elena looks at me as she walks over to the hole in the wall and sits down patting the spot next to her, “It’s ok Y/N, as long as she’s in there and we’re out here she can’t touch us.”

I frown in confusion as I drag my feet to where she’s sitting but as I walk from behind her I stop and stare at the woman slumped over in front of Elena. Or not Elena? What the actual fuck is happening!

“Elena, why the hell does she have your face, wait do you have a twin” I motion to the spitting image of Elena in front of us. She looks identical to Elena, wearing a dark mini-dress that looks like it would be easier to burn it rather than clean it at this point. 

“Don’t insult me like that.” The clone throws me a dirty look. 

“This was the weird thing I was mentioning earlier,” Elena explains, “This is Kathrine, she’s my doppelganger.”

“Correction,” Elena’s dopple-whatever jumps in, “She’s my doppelganger, I’m the original she’s just a cheap copy.” 

Ok…bitchy much.

Elena just rolls her eyes as if she’s used to this treatment, “It’s a supernatural phenomenon I guess where every few hundred years someone that looks just like us is born. Kathrine is the vampire that turned Stefan and Damon a hundred years ago.” 

I try to nod along but with all the information I’ve learned in the past 24 hours my mind feels like it’s going to explode. 

“Is she stupid or something?” I whip my head to Kathrine at the remark.

“Fuck you bitch.” 

Kathrine raises an eyebrow at my retort and shifts her shoulders upwards, “Fine, not stupid,” She slints her eyes at me, “Just slow.”

My anger rises at her insult and I am about to open my mouth to go tell this bitch off but Elena raises her hand in a stopping motion. 

“Don’t listen to her Y/N, she’s just trying to provoke you,” Elena sends Kathrine a dirty look, “It’s what she does.”

I nod my head along and realize that these two don’t seem to like each other even though they share the same face.

“So is this some bonding session,” I question Elena, “What are we doing here?’

“I came here to ask Kathrine questions about why I was taken yesterday, and why Elijah seemed to have known you from somewhere.” I watch Kathrine’s posture change slightly at the mention of the suited man. Appears she’s not a fan of the man either. I sigh as I sit down on the dusty ground next to Elena, and can only sit there disgusted as she pours something thick and red into a little cup. Once the stench hits my nose I realize she’s pouring blood.

I go to ask her what the hell she is doing but stop as she uses a stick to push it over to Kathrine. I disturbingly watch as the dopplebitch grabs the cup with her pale hand and brings it to her chapped lips. The red from the blood paints her lips as her mouth opens slightly and I catch a glimpse of two white sharp teeth protruding from her gums. 

“Finish the story,” Elena urges Kathrine as she flings the cup back to Elena. Kathrine adjusts her posture as she taps her chin in thought.

“Right, now where was I?”

“You were mentioning how you betrayed Rose and Trevor by killing yourself for your freedom, and ever since you’ve been on the run,’” Elena stands up and says as if it’s not the wild-ass sentence I’ve ever heard, she pauses for a moment in thought and I watch as a realization washes over her, “That’s why you’re here isn’t, to bargain your freedom to Klaus?” 

Kathrine follows suit and stands up facing Elena, “Mmm. Five hundred years on the run I figured maybe he’d be willing to strike a deal.”

I shake my head in confusion, “Wait, who’s Klaus? I thought Elijah was the scary cannibal guy everyone was afraid of.”

“Klaus is an ancient vampire who wants to sacrifice me,” Elena replies staring down at me, she must notice the look of utter confusion on my face because she tells me she explain that later. 

As I have no idea what the hell is even going on I just listen and watch as the two “not-twins” discuss the Klaus guy and the ingredients for the curse. Ingredients that happen to be actual people might I add. Caroline who I found out is now a vampire and not just some loud blonde girl that sits behind me in my French class, some special stone, Elena as aforementioned, and Theo’s football captain Tyler Lockwood, who surprise surprise is a fucking werewolf. Self-reminder to keep Theo away from him. 

“Better you die than I,” Kathrine tells Elena as she questions how she can just hand over all those innocent people. Elena shakes her head in frustration and then glances at me.

“Is Y/N a part of it,” Elena gestures to me and questions Kathrine who picks a piece of invisible lint off her shoulder. Kathrine takes her time moving her eyes from the wall in front of her to look me in my eyes. Where Elena and Kathrine may be almost identical it is the eyes that make them different. Where Elena’s eyes are kind and welcoming, Kathine’s are filled with nothing but malice and something much darker. 

“Why would she be? She’s human, and I already have my vampire,” Kathrine sends me a cold glance, “If Caroline doesn’t work out though, you can always be a backup, I guess.” 

I shiver at the cruel chuckle she lets out, and Elena walks in front of where I’m sitting. 

“That’s not what I’m talking about. Yesterday I watched as Elijah’s whole demeanor changed when he saw Y/N. He looked at her like he had known her his entire life.”

A small shift in Kathrine’s face appears for a split second before it’s gone. The cruel look in her eyes is now gone and replaced with something much different. Realization is what I can only think of as she runs her eyes over me as if seeing me in a different light. The corner of her lips tightens as she glances at me with an unexplainable look.

“He’s going to destroy you.”

That’s all she says as she picks herself up and strolls back into the darkness. I watch her back retreat as Stefan’s voice comes from behind me. I don’t focus on anything as Kathrine’s words repeat in my head. I must’ve been standing there looking into the abyss for too long because a hand on my shoulder shocks me. 

“Hey, don’t overthink what she said,” Elena shifts me to look at her, “Elijah is dead. He can’t hurt you anymore.”

“Elena’s right,” Stefan chimes in from behind her, “Kathrine has never told the truth a day in her life, whatever she told you was just to rattle you.”

I nod my head as I take a step away from them and towards to staircase. 

“I think I’m going to head home. I have some things I have to do,” I lie about the last part, I just want to get out of here before another panic attack decides to make an appearance.

Elena nods and tries to send me a comforting smile, “OK. Well, can I call you later?” she asks almost hopefully. I just nod my head slightly as I turn around and make my way up the stairs. 

—-

The entire drive home my mind is filled with thoughts of everything that’s happened in the past day. Curses, kidnapping, and the supernatural. Jesus Christ, this sounds like a bad TV show. I try to focus on the road but Kathrine’s last words to me keep ringing in my head. My breathing starts to quicken as I realize what that look in Kathrine’s eyes was. Fear. 

TAGS- @promptly-mercy @superblyspeedydragon @yoyoyoyooy44

@reidsworld

[earth2steve]

hiii i am LIVING for all your notes app blurbs 🥹 i saw that you were taking requests so i wanted to shoot my shot! could you pretty please with cherries on top do giggly and smiley and silly and sweet sex with eddie 🥹 he’s just a nerdy simpy lovesick lover boy to his core and i just know it. thank you mwa!!! ❤️

<3

18+, fem!reader

eddie is suffocating, blistering like the sun, sturdy pinning you against your dresser. there’s nothing funny about it — not in the way his hands are pawing at your chest or the shape of him through his jeans when he brushes against your thigh. eddie seems to disagree. you pull back from his face with a frustrated huff, head smacking the wall behind you with the force of it. 

“eddie, i can’t kiss you properly when you’re grinning like an idiot.”

he gives it proper air time now that you’ve stopped trying, smile splitting across his pretty face like a fault line. 

“can’t help it.” he shrugs, nudging closer — hand sliding up the front of your t-shirt. “i mean, holy shit, have you seen yourself? i’m gonna eat you alive.”

his finger brushes just below the underwire of your bra and your whole body flushes hot.

“yeah?”

“shit, yeah, baby. i’ll go cannibal holocaust on one of these.” his grip is tight on your thigh, squeezing so hard your flesh bulges out from between his ringed fingers. laughter blooms in your chest.

“my leg? nah. i’d go your ass, for sure.”

eddie nods, grin plastered stuck. “yeah? you wanna eat my a—"

your face screws up quick, one hand slamming down over his open mouth. eddie cackles, the sound muffled by your cupped palm. 

“no gross sex jokes before noon, please.” you urge, eyes dancing with amusement. eddie licks your hand and nips at your fingers until you yank it away, and then his mouth swallows your sounds of protest and you’re quickly boiling up again. 

his hand brushes past the hem of your skirt, rucking it up. "no? how 'bout just the gross sex part?"

"i'll allow it." you breathe, trying to swallow the lump in your throat as he drops to his knees on the carpet. you'd know him blind; the fond squeak of his leather jacket and the chains on his belt as he situates himself.

he wades in closer, grabbing one of your legs to sling over his shoulder, and a perfume bottle somewhere by your arm goes flying. “oops.”

“babe.” he chuckles, eyes alight. “did you get dressed in the dark or something?”

“you got the wrong day of the week down here.” he explains, finger tracing across the embroidery on your underwear. a shiver runs up your spine. 

“no.” you huff, aching to snap your thighs together with his hand still shoved between them. the soft, tickling sensation of his touch is driving you half crazy. “thursday is on the floor in the backseat of your van."

“and? didn't feel like skipping a day? - catchin' a breeze?” eddie smiles, eyes wide and teasing, brows tugging upwards.

“eddie, please. would you just—”

it's little salvation from the feeling when he buries his face between your thighs, offending underwear pushed to the side, a ragged moan ripping from your throat.

hot, melty pleasure washes over your bones. your hands go flying to the top of his head and more of the junk atop your dresser tumbles to the ground as his flattened tongue slices through the pooling arousal at your core.

“you’re — you’re so good at that, fuck — i love you, oh-”

eddie groans against you, surfacing for a moment to nip at the fat of your inner thigh with his canines.

“baby, don’t say shit like that, ’m begging you. 'm gonna cream my jeans.”

he doesn’t stay up for long — just enough to get his message across, and then he’s working at you again, tightening the band of pressure in your gut with his swirling tongue. 

“which- ohmy god. which part? that i love you, or that— oh shit-”

you don’t manage to finish the sentence before you’re tumbling headfirst and gasping into pleasure. your thighs twitch around his head, back arching, a second pulse between your legs.

he’s grinning like the cat that got the canary when he pops back up, pushing back his fringe and slotting between your wide stance.

“now what?"

“'was tryna spell thursday, couldn’t you tell? here, lemme try again—''

[lucifersdickriderdotnet]

Emergency Contact

Summary: Having siblings sucks. Having siblings who are constantly getting into life threatening situations is worse. 5.9k words.

Disclaimer: as usual, if they're ooc no. uhm. Diavolo and Barbatos are here and they are referred to as Lucifer's boyfriends but it's in like a fun jokey teasing way that siblings do. except Lucifer actually is dating Diavolo in my head so. asmo and solomon ARE dating because I want them to be. maybe next time I'll make solomon date satan. you can only call a man a cute kitty so many times before people get ideas. if you couldn't tell by the title and the summary, people get #sick and break their #bones. oh. there is one (1) cannibalism joke. not demoncest just bros being bros.

Notes: this took so long because I've never written a decent ending in my life and i spent two days on it. also that anon really pissed me off for some reason idk. if you don't like how anyone is characterized write your own fanfiction man idk. solmare doesn't even have consistency with this nonsense. Lucifer is nice to his brothers in this because I want him to be. amen.

It’s a little known fact that Lucifer is everyone’s emergency contact. When it comes to those he cares about, he is protective, almost annoyingly so. So, it makes sense that the person who knows everything about everyone should be in charge if something goes awry. His phone hardly ever rings for emergencies, half because his brothers’ manage to get themselves out of trouble through a series of convoluted and confusing hijinks and half because most of them would rather eat nails than call him to tell him something is wrong. He’s even Barbatos’ emergency contact, despite the fact that Barbatos has never been sick or injured.

When his phone does ring, though, it’s almost always because someone has managed to damage themselves beyond repair, which is why he’s staring at the caller id on his D.D.D. like he can make it stop ringing if he glares hard enough.

“Lucifer Morningstar speaking,” it hadn’t stopped ringing and Diavolo had almost reached across the table to answer it for him.

“Hello this is Devildom General Hospital. We received a patient today and your name was on his–”

“Who.” It comes out dull and flat. He’s gripping his fork so hard he can hear the metal squeak.

“Excuse me?” The demon on the other end of the phone sounds perfectly polite but Lucifer is already so strung out all it does is grate his nerves.

“Who are you calling for?”

“Mam–”

“I’ll be right there,” he’s standing up in a hurry, grabbing his jacket off the back of his chair and ignoring Diavolo’s many questions as he leaves their dinner.

“Sir, if you’ll just–” he hangs up before the nurse can say anything else.

-

Mammon managed to break a bone or two in a scuffle he won’t tell Lucifer the details of.

“Do you know how hard it is to break a femur, Mammon?” Lucifer is gripping the steering wheel of the car so hard he’s surprised it hasn’t snapped in half.

“Pretty damn hard, all things considerin’.” Lucifer exhales sharply out of his nose and looks at his brother from the corner of his eye. He’s staring out of the window, and the white of his hair is dirty with mud and something red that Lucifer knows didn’t come out of his skull but worries him regardless.

“Mammon, this isn’t something to joke about.”

“I know,” he taps the hard cast of his leg with a bruised knuckle, “‘m the one with the broken bones.”

“If you know why are you doing it?” Lucifer can’t stop his voice from raising a few decibels towards the end of his sentence and has to mentally count to ten to not start screaming.

“‘Cause I just got the shit beat outta me ‘n’ I don’t wanna listen to yer lecturin’.” Mammon finally turns his head to stare at Lucifer and the elder looks away from the road for a second to meet his eyes. It’s not often that Mammon genuinely argues with him, not often that Mammon gets mad enough to let the blue of his eyes light with fury. Whatever happened tonight was not something that he wanted to happen, and it’s not something he needs a scolding for.

There’s a tense silence where Lucifer sighs and then flicks the turn signal, sliding across the lanes of traffic to take Mammon somewhere else before they go home.

“Did you win?” He’s pulling into Madame Screams’ drive through when he asks.

“‘Course I did.”

“Good.”

They both silently agree not to tell the rest of them about their little pit stop, and it’s as Lucifer’s pulling into the garage that he turns to his brother.

“Mammon.” A hum sounds from the passenger seat. “Next time, call me yourself. I don’t want it to be the hospital unless you’re physically incapable of talking.”

“Roger that.”

—

Lucifer is not known as the most comforting of his brothers. The six of them tend to rely on each other for that, going to Mammon or Beel if they have emotional troubles. Lucifer, as the oldest, is good for cleaning up messes. Putting things back together and making it look like nothing was ever amiss in the first place. It’s his job to protect them, from the world and from themselves, and he takes it seriously. Still, despite his brick wall in place of a heart and his general ineptitude when it comes to being affirming in any sense, he is not incapable of helping his brothers out of a tight spot. He’s just not preferred.

“Lucifer,” Levi’s voice is shaky and stuttering on the other end of the phone. He knew something was wrong when his phone started ringing in the middle of class. His brothers all know how much he hates distractions during class time, just like they know when he has a class so they don’t bother him. He knew something was worse when it was Levi’s name flashing across the screen. Levi refuses to call any of them unless the world is ending. He knew something was horrible when he remembered that today was one of the few days that Levi is mandated to come to campus.

“Yes?” He’s already left class walking down the hallway towards the abandoned wing where he knows Levi is. He keeps his steps measured and even, keeps his breathing calm. It won’t do to have two of them panicked at the same time.

“Are you busy?” They both know the answer to that question, just like they both know he’s going to lie.

“You caught me in the middle of a break. Why?” He tests the door handle for the swimming pool. Closed for renovations, the sign says. The same thing it’s said for the past several millennia. The door swings open without any effort on his part, the magic seal already broken before he got here.

“Would you like to go for a swim?” There’s a splash on the other end of the line. Lucifer snorts.

“I’m not one for water.” There’s silence and another splash and Lucifer lets out a heavy sigh. “I suppose it wouldn’t hurt.”

“Yay,” Levi says, soft and timid, and Lucifer can see him now, all of him, filling up the entire pool. He doesn’t get in yet, just removes a glove and sticks a finger in the water to let Levi know he’s here. He watches as the miles and miles of indigo scales shift and slide along each other until he’s face to face with thousands of sharp teeth.

“You’re going to break the pool again,” is what he says, voice dry. He sputters indignantly when that earns him salt water to the face. He’s soaked now, head to toe and he’s going to miss these shoes.

“Oops.” Levi’s voice is sprinkled with something mirthful, no longer halfway to tears as it was just a moment ago. “Get in. The water’s nice.”

“Yes,” Lucifer swipes a hand across his face to push his bangs back. Salt water drips into his eyes anyway. “I can see that.” 

Levi giggles and his face moves away, body coiling in, on, and over itself, too big to fully fit in the pool.

“You said you’d swim with me.”

“Yes. I suppose I did.”

Truthfully, Lucifer doesn’t like swimming. He is not a bird that is built for water, and getting wet usually means being cold and grounded for a while. Truthfully, he’d rather finally open one of the many letters Michael has sent him over the years. Truthfully, he would do anything for his brothers. Truthfully, Lucifer doesn’t think he’ll fit, but a promise is a promise, so he slides out of his uniform and climbs in.

Levi doesn’t ever tell him what made him so upset he rebroke R.A.D. 's pool, but he does leave a box of Princess’ Poison Apples on his desk the next morning, so Lucifer sets his sights on re-fixing the swimming pool. Maybe this time he’ll convince Diavolo to make it bigger.

—

Satan would rather rip his own teeth out with nothing but a Q-tip and a single milligram of ibuprofen to numb the pain than ever ask Lucifer for help. Their relationship is getting better, he will admit, but he’s filled with a rage towards the oldest that could melt even the strongest of metals, and it will take a while to temper the flame. So, no, he will not ask Lucifer for help, but, if he’s annoying enough about it, Lucifer will fix it anyways.

He starts by mentioning it to Asmo, squinting at him and saying that no, he can’t tell if Asmo’s eyeliner is uneven, because he can’t see.

“Can’t see?” Manicured fingernails are digging into his cheeks as Asmo grips his face and moves his head from side to side. He has to shelve books in his mind’s inner library to not rip his brother’s face clean off his head. 

“Doesn’t look like cataracts or anything,” Asmo hums, dropping his face. Satan massages his jaw slightly. “What do you mean you ‘can’t see’?”

“I meant what I said. Your face is slightly blurry and I can’t tell if your eyeliner is even because it just looks like a blob. Ergo. I can’t see.” Satan crosses his arms over his chest and dodges Asmo’s subsequent grabs for his face.

“Oh,” a snort, “you probably need glasses.” He turns back around to his vanity and Satan has to stop himself from saying no shit out loud.

“Glasses are for losers.”

“Lucifer wears glasses.”

“My point exactly.” Asmo twists his lipstick back down before popping the cap on and pulling open a drawer. He gestures for Satan to look inside and he does and–

“I didn’t know you wore contacts.”

“Not very many people do. Mammon has glasses too, you know. He’s sensitive to bright lights. The sunglasses indoors are not just a poor fashion statement,” Asmo sighs and shakes his head, like the image of Mammon wearing his sunglasses inside brings him physical pain. “And, I think Levi has some because all of those screens destroyed his rods and cones.”

“Oh. I’m sorry for calling you a loser.” Asmo waves him off.

“The point, Bitty, is that you wouldn’t be the first.” It wouldn’t be just you and Lucifer is what he’s saying. Satan nods and then frowns.

“I told you to stop calling me that.”

“Why?” Asmo reaches over to poke his cheek. He narrowly avoids getting a finger bitten off. His voice rises several octaves, turning into a coo. “You’re just an itty bitty baby– Ow, dammit fine.”

-

He then proceeds to complain about it as loudly as possible, as frequently as possible. No, he can’t help Mammon with his homework, the words are bleeding together. Yes, he does have to sit front and center now because otherwise the board is unreadable. No, he did not catch that last slanderous missive about Lucifer in the R.A.D. Newspaper because he couldn’t read the draft that was sent to him for editing. (He made Belphie read the drafts to him out loud and thought that the article was funny.)

“Satan,” everytime Lucifer has to talk to him he looks constipated and it makes Satan laugh inside.

“Big Bother.” Lucifer’s eye twitches.

“You have an appointment with the optometrist. Get in the car.” Satan sets his book down.

“Can’t Mammon take me?” He doesn’t want Mammon to take him. Still, it’s funny to see the vein pop on Lucifer’s forehead.

“... Get in the fucking car.”

Satan plays heavy metal in the car because he knows Lucifer hates it and makes him sit in the lobby during the actual check up because he thinks it’s funny to watch his leg bounce up and down. (And because Lucifer gets a copy of all of their medical records anyway. The freak probably checked Satan’s eyes himself while he was sleeping and already knows his prescription.)

“Those glasses look nice on you,” is all Lucifer says when he picks out the frames.

“I changed my mind. I hate these ones.” (He doesn’t.)

—

He’d been in his room, up to his eyes in paperwork when his phone rang. It’s not unusual for Asmo to call him, the younger always wanting to chat and gossip for as long as Lucifer will pretend to listen, but it is unusual for him to call in the middle of an Asmo Night.

“Hi Asmo, what–”

“Lucy!!” He has to pull the phone away from his ear to avoid rupturing the drum.

“I believe I have asked you not to–”

“Hey! Give me my–” There’s a scuffle on the other end before a voice that Lucifer recognizes as Solomon’s starts speaking.

“Lucifer! I believe Asmodeus has had enough for tonight and needs to be deposited home. I would do it myself, but as per our agreement, I am not allowed–”

“Within twenty feet of my front door. Yes, I know. I’ll come get him. Please keep him out of trouble until I get there.” He rubs the bridge of his nose before standing up and making his way to the door.

“Wonderful! Now, about that pact–” Lucifer hangs up before Solomon can finish the question and hits Levi’s door on the way down the stairs.

“Bed, Leviathan.” There’s a small squeak in response. “Or at least pretend to be sleeping. I can hear your game from out here.” The RPG music leaking from Levi’s room into the hallway quiets drastically.

He stops by the kitchen to find Asmo his crackers and a bottle of water before leaving, instructing Beel to carry himself and Belphie to bed on his way out.

Lucifer does not like parties. He thinks they are loud and annoying and too many people try to get handsy with him when really all he wants is to drink his Demonus in peace. He’s dealing with that now, batting off people’s hands and ignoring requests for a night alone as he makes his way to Asmo’s booth.

“Asmo,” Solomon’s voice is soft and fond as he rouses Asmo from a short nap, “Lucifer’s here. It’s time to go.”

“Mmkay.” Asmo rubs his eyes and gives Solomon a peck on the lips that Lucifer has to fight the urge to gag at. He crawls out of the booth and grabs Lucifer’s hand, and somehow the crowd parts to let him past with no fuss. They barely make it outside before Asmo is hurling all over the sidewalk and Lucifer is remembering that Asmo smells like warm, sugared peaches.

Asmo smells like peaches. Allegedly, he smells like whatever is the most alluring to you, but Lucifer thinks he has always smelled like peaches. He smells like the holy peach cobbler that Michael used to make in the Celestial Realm. Asmo smells like the peach flavored macarons that Barbatos makes when he and Lucifer have tea. He smells like the Georgia peaches the human made him try once. Asmo smells like peaches, he smells like home and love and care, and you would have to hold Lucifer at gunpoint to get him to admit this to his brother.

And now, Lucifer is getting a face full of that smell mixed with vomit as Asmo leans over a bush and loses whatever meager dinner Beel had shoved in him as well as half his body weight in alcohol. There’s a flash from the corner of his eye and he makes a mental note to follow up on that.

“It will sound hypocritical coming from me,” he starts and is promptly interrupted by another retch.

“Then don’t–good Diavolo, that tastes awful–say it.” Asmo takes the water bottle that Lucifer dutifully hands him and rinses his mouth out.

“Are you done?” Lucifer starts fishing around his jacket pocket for a pack of Asmo’s favorite crackers. They taste like flowers, allegedly, and they're one of the few things that Beel genuinely doesn’t like to eat.

“For now.” Asmo takes the crackers and starts munching on them gratefully, leaning heavily into Lucifer’s side as they both walk home.

“Thank you for coming,” he says. Lucifer scoffs, rolling his eyes.

“I would never leave one of you alone.”

“Aww, that’s so–”

“The paperwork alone would take at least a decade.”

“Nevermind.”

-

If Lucifer hunts down the demon who took the picture and threatens them within an inch of their life, that’s between him and his Father. And if Asmo finds out and gives Lucifer a hug at breakfast the following morning, that’s between him and Mammon’s camera roll.

—

Lucifer hates Fangol. Well, that’s not true. He admires the dedication someone has to have to play it and to play it well. He admits that sometimes it’s fun to go to games and get caught up in the hype of the crowd. He also likes that it makes Beel happy. What he doesn’t like is sitting in the stands as his second youngest brother makes a game winning play and then gets tackled onto the turf so hard you can hear the sound his head makes when it hits the ground.

The crowd goes silent and the players and the band take a knee and Lucifer is half dragging half carrying Belphie down the stands to the ambulance as the EMT’s check over their brother.

“Sir, I understand–” The paramedic cuts themself off when they see whose shadows are looming over them. They heave a sigh and gesture to a patch of grass near where they have Beel laying on a gurney. “Try to avoid being in our way.”

It’s a fight to keep Belphie from being underfoot, but there isn’t one when Lucifer says he’s riding in the ambulance with Beel to the hospital. Only a curt nod and then a muttered threat in his ear that he rolls his eyes at and then their off.

“Sorry.” It’s the first thing out of Beel’s mouth after he’s done being asked routine questions.

“It’s not like you asked to receive a concussion.”

“We don’t know that it’s a concussion,” Beel says, wagging his finger slowly. Lucifer rolls his eyes.

“You told the paramedic you wanted to throw up and pass out at the same time.”

“Average Beelzebub activities.” It makes Lucifer snort, lips twitching up into a smile.

“That is the exact opposite of a Beelzebub activity. You’ll be okay, though.” The you have to be goes unsaid.

It turns out to be a concussion and Beel is barred from playing for a while and then everything is fine.

-

Lucifer has changed his mind, he definitely hates Fangol. He has half a mind to ban Beel from ever playing it again, but if he didn’t have something to focus his energy on, they wouldn’t have a House to live in.

He stayed home from the game, wanting to relax, for once, with a new cursed record and a bottle of his prized Demonus. He might have also paused the record to watch the stream of the game on his phone, but that’s neither here nor there. He’s busy cussing out one of the commentators for their clear bias against Beel–they haven’t been angels in literally thousands of years, people need to find a new excuse–when it cuts suddenly from a replay of the last down to a live feed from the field. And then his phone rings.

“Mammon,” he already knows what happened before he picks up.

“I know ya said not ta call ya tonight, but,” he sounds haggard, and his accent gets thicker when he’s panicking, “ya also said not ta let the hospital call ya so–”

“Mammon,” it comes out snappier than he wants it to and he has to soften his voice when he opens his mouth again, “breathe. What’s happened?”

“Dear Father who art in Heaven–” Lucifer curses again because Mammon only reverts to praying when something is seriously wrong. “Beel got tackled ‘nd– Lucifer, ya could hear the crunch from Diavolo’s good seats.” Lucifer sucks in a breath and considers sending up a couple prayers himself.

“I’m on my way. Beel will– Beel will be okay, Mammon. He’s strong.” He hears Mammon’s assent from the other end of the line just as he hears Levi mumble something to Mammon.

“Oh, yer kiddin’.”

“What? Mammon, what’s going on?”

“We can’t fin’ Belphie.”

“Shit.”

-

If Lucifer breaks traffic laws on his way to the stadium, no one who pulls him over will be able to make anything stick for very long. He watches as the ambulance pulls away and his D.D.D. buzzes with a message.

Mams

I went with Beel. Everyone’s still tryna find Belphie.

“Lucifer–” he’s met with an armful of brothers before he can put his phone back in his pocket and he’s not strong enough to pretend he doesn’t want to hug them back.

“Did you find–”

“No, obviously not Levi, he just fucking got here.”

“Satan, now is not the time–”

“I’ll decide when the fucking time is, Asmo. Did you see what they did to our–”

“Yeah, I was sitting right next to you. You’re not the only one who’s upset–”

“Guys,” Lucifer raises his voice above their arguing. “Now is not the time.” He hands Diavolo his keys, grateful, for once, at his many attempts to bond with his brothers. “Will you please take them to the hospital? I have a brother to find.”

It doesn’t take him long to find Belphie, but it does take a toll on his knees.

“Belphegor.” He wonders how the youngest climbed on top of the press box without anyone noticing.

“The stadium lights are too bright,” Belphie says, “you can’t see the stars. They drown them out. It’s a bad omen, Lucifer.”

“Belphegor, please come back down.”

“I can’t see them, Lucifer.” His voice is thick with tears.

“They’re still there, Belphie. I promise.”

“We made them together, and I can’t see them.”

“If you come back down we can visit Beel and the two of you can find them together.” Diavolo’s Father help him, he is not climbing on top of that box to bring Belphie down himself.

“Promise?”

“On my life.”

The bad thing about the press box for the R.A.D. stadium, is that the ladder has rusted away. People never go on top of it to watch or film the game anymore because they started to use magic to get the good camera angles. The bad thing about the press box is that when Belphie makes to climb down he slips and has nothing to grab and lands on the concrete stadium seating with a snap that makes Lucifer’s stomach churn.

-

“I can’t believe you fell while getting down. That’s like, one hundred times easier than goin’ up.” Mammon is beside himself with laughter while he doodles on Belphie’s cast.

“Haha. Laugh it up Mammon. When I’m out of this thing, I’m going to break every bone in your body.” Mammon rolls his eyes at Belphie’s threat.

“The witches have used that one before. Try again.”

“What are you, a magic eight ball?”

“Reply hazy. Try again later.”

“You know,” Asmo says from his spot opposite Mammon, doodling on Beel’s cast, “it is kind of cool that you guys managed to break the same bone.”

“It’s because we’re twins.” Beel says, smiling brightly.

“Yeah,” Satan snorts, “or cause you’re both stupid.”

“I’m just glad you’re both okay,” Levi cuts in before Belphie and Satan can start in on each other.

“Indeed. Although, I believe it’s best that Fangol is heading into its off season.” Lucifer says, and there’s noises of agreement throughout the room.

—

It’s a simple fact of life that Lucifer doesn’t get sick. The Demon King is asleep, the Earth’s year is 365 (365.25) days long, the Crown Prince of the Devildom hates pickles, Michael is a massive loser, and Lucifer doesn’t get sick. He does not get sick or injured or cursed or hexed or anything of the sort because he does not have the time. Except. Except he is most definitely sick right now.

Belphie realized something was wrong when Lucifer didn’t come down for breakfast. He’s a stickler for meal times, always wanting them to share a meal together. Something about family and tradition and will you just do what I say for once that Belphie doesn’t care about or want to listen to. He comes to breakfast and dinner and lunch on the weekends anyway, because Beel does, not because Lucifer wants him to. So, when he looks up from his spot at the table, the cloth permanently drool stained despite the oldest’s best efforts, and watches all of his brothers leave except Lucifer, he gets confused.

“Beel,” he asks, tilting his head just so, “did Lucifer have a meeting today?” Usually he would tell them. Several times throughout the week if it was planned and then again in the morning before he leaves. He’s weird like that, he doesn’t like not knowing where everyone is. Belphie thinks he’s a control freak, even if he finds knowing his brother’s whereabouts comforting.

“No,” Beel says this around a mouthful of muffin, “I don’t think so.”

“Hmm. Well. I guess we’ll see him at school.”

-

They do not, in fact, see him at school. Mammon shares first period with him, which means he can never skip the first hour and a half of R.A.D. Except today, there’s no harsh pokes in his back whenever he starts to zone out, and there’s no pointed coughs when he pulls out his phone and starts playing games. He looks around and there’s no Lucifer.

Demon Brothers

Mams: ayo. where is. lucifer.

Catan: he’s not in class?

Mams: if he was I wouldn’t be askin.

Catan: the phone screen makes you bold, brother. watch yourself.

Mams: o7 aye aye cap’n.

Beel: Belphie says he wasn’t at breakfast either

Mams: is belphie’s phone broke???

Beel: he says typing is too much effort

Mams: understandable have a nice day

Asmo: o.o Lucifer not at breakfast? But he’s always weird when we miss it!

Catan: typical Lucifer hypocrisy

Levs: you know he can still read this chat right?

Catan: when has that ever stopped me -_-

Levs: you guys have hit like all of the Summoning Lucifer Bullet Points

Levs: 1. Mention his name fifty times

Levs: 2. Blow up his phone

Levs: 3. Text during class time

Levs: 4. Slander him at least once

Levs: 5. Ask about his private business/goings on

Beel: and yet

Mams: no Lucifer

-

The real header comes during the afternoon, when Lucifer doesn’t show up to the scheduled Student Council Meeting.

“Alrighty!” Diavolo says, chipper as ever, “when Lucifer gets here, we’ll start the meeting. He has all of the paperwork, anyway.” 

So they wait. And they wait.

“Yo, dude,” Mammon calls to Diavolo and he turns his head, Barbatos coughs into his fist at the lack of formality. “I don’t think Lucifer is gonna show.”

“Yeah,” Belphie yawns, “he wasn’t in school today, either.”

“Or at breakfast, apparently.” Levi says, though it’s hard to hear him over the music of his game.

“That is. Odd. Is he still at home, then?” Diavolo pulls out his phone and starts texting.

“No use,” Asmo says, “we’ve been bothering him all day.”

“Privately and in the group chat,” Satan adds. “Though, he may not have opened my messages because they were all cursed.”

“He didn’t open mine either,” Beel says. “I think he’s just been off his phone.”

“Unusual,” Barbatos says, stepping out of his shadowy corner. “Perhaps something is amiss?”

“With Lucifer?” Asmo sounds incredulous, lowering his compact just long enough to arch an eyebrow at the butler before tapping more powder on his face. “Nothing is ever wrong with Lucifer.” Belphie yawns before nodding in agreement and adding his own two cents.

“Even when we curse him things aren’t wrong. He always manages to make it seem so … normal.”

“I remember that time his pants kept falling down,” Levi says. “I thought it would make him less intimidating. I was wrong.” He shudders. “Very wrong.”

“Then why isn’t he here?” Barbatos says, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Why does he do anythin’?” Mammon stands up as he says this, grabbing his bag and his phone and making his way towards the door. “Lucifer does what he wants and shows no remorse for it.” There’s a pause where he remembers the Fall. “Mosta the time.”

“Well, if we aren’t going to do anything,” Asmo’s compact shuts with a click, “I have people to do and things to see.”

“It’s ‘things to do and people to see’, Asmo,” Satan says, following his brothers out.

“I know what I said.”

Barbatos and Diavolo watch as the brothers leave, one by one, all citing different excuses before sharing a look.

“Is it rude to stop by people’s homes uninvited, Barbatos?” Diavolo asks, pushing his chair back.

“Yes. But in cases where Lucifer is concerned, manners and politeness have never stopped you, my Lord.” Barbatos follows behind the Prince, steps silent in contrast to the clacking of Diavolo’s shoes on the Academy’s stone floors. Diavolo’s laugh echoes throughout the hallway.

“I suppose you’re right. Come, I believe I must pay a visit to my right hand.”

“Always.”

-

The House is cold when Diavolo gets there. He can hear Beel rummaging in the kitchen, and Belphie’s soft snores accompanying him. He can hear Levi and Mammon fighting over something and he can hear the thud of books falling over in Satan’s room. He can hear Asmo because Asmo greets him when he enters.

“Oh, hey!” He waves excitedly, before pointing at his feet. “Which shoes do you think look better with this outfit?”

“I think they both look nice,” Diavolo replies and Asmo pouts.

“Not helpful.”

“The ones on your left, Asmodeus.” Barbatos’ eyes peer from behind Diavolo’s shoulder and Asmo smiles in response.

“Thanks! Hey,” he tugs the shoe on his right foot off and tosses it into a pile next to the door before grabbing his left foot’s twin from seemingly nowhere, “you guys didn’t see Solomon out there, did you?”

“I thought I told you that he isn’t allowed within twenty feet of the front door.” Lucifer’s normal baritone is raspy with sickness, vocal cords raw from coughing.

“He’s not going to be within twenty feet. He’s going to stand an inch outside of the barrier.” Asmo turns and places his hands on his brother’s shoulders, spinning him around and pushing him back towards the living room. “I also thought I told you to lie down and sleep. I suppose we both aren’t good at listening, hmm?” Lucifer grumbles at him despite following Asmo’s guidance to the couch.

“I heard the door open.” Diavolo follows the duo towards the living room, Barbatos his ever present shadow.

“There are six other people who can answer it.” He watches as Asmo pushes Lucifer into a sitting position and shoves blankets around him.

“That’s what I worry about.” Asmo rolls his eyes.

“Stop being a baby and just lay down. How can you catch Mammon and string him up by his toenails if you can’t go a second without coughing?”

“I can,” Lucifer pauses to cough, “I can take any one of you down, even in this weakened state.”

There’s a snort from the entrance to the kitchen as the twins walk in, Beel carrying soup and Belphie carrying nothing.

“You couldn’t block even the lowest level curse from Satan at this rate.” Belphie says, curling up on the couch next to Lucifer and resting his head on his lap.

“I could–”

“You’re very strong, Lucifer,” Asmo placates, patting his older brother’s head condescendingly. “Now, eat your soup and shut up. I have a date to get to and I’m running late.”

“Maybe I should cough on you so you can’t go anymore.” The threat is empty, but Asmo’s smile still sharpens in response.

“Maybe I should take a seam ripper to all of your clothes,” he turns on his heel. “Oh, also. Diavolo is here.” The responding squawk Lucifer lets out sends him into another coughing fit, one that disrupts the sleeping Belphie on his lap.

“My Lord,” Lucifer makes to get up and is physically yanked back down by Belphie, “I apologize for not greeting you earlier.”

“No worries! You didn’t show up to the meeting today, and you weren’t answering your phone, so I stopped by to see how you were.” Diavolo gestures to the bottles of cold medicine on the coffee table and the bowl of soup being shoved at Lucifer by Beel. “It seems you are all taken care of.”

“Indeed. I appreciate your concern–”

“Beel, Lucifer’s boyfriend was worried about him. Isn’t that sweet?” Beel nods at Belphie’s joke, resting his head against the side of Lucifer’s knee from his newly acquired spot on the floor.

“The sweetest. Someone tell Asmo he’s being beaten in the best boyfriend competition.” There’s twin thunks as Lucifer smacks the both of them on the head, face now flushed with something other than fever.

“That’s enough out of you two.” He sighs and looks back up at Diavolo and Barbatos. “Would the two of you like to stay for dinner? Satan’s in charge tonight and he likely won’t poison it since I’m too ill to eat much of anything.”

“That would be wonderful, thank you.” Diavolo sits in an empty armchair that he thinks is Lucifer’s regular seat when his phone buzzes.

Emergency Chat ONLY

Belphie: hey satan, lucifer’s boyfriend is staying for dinner

Catan: man. now I can’t put this human world poison I found in it.

Belphie: probably wouldn’t work anyway

Beel: Barbatos is also staying

Belphie: my apologies Beel. you’re right

Belphie: lucifer’s boyfriendS are staying for dinner

Levs: this is great

Levs: I wanted to talk to Diavolo about the new chapter of the manga we’re reading

Mams: the rule is no loser talk at the dinner table

Levs: why do you open your mouth so much then

Mams: i’m gonna fucken get you

Asmo: if Lucifer gets to bring his boyfriends why can’t i bring Solomon

Catan: because Solomon sucks.

Catan: actually

Catan: would Solomon be able to con a fever high Lucifer into a pact

Mams: the downside here is that Solomon would be at dinner

Beel: I’d lose my appetite

Asmo: he’s not that bad

Asmo: and don’t lie Beel

Asmo: we aren’t going to let him cook

Asmo: we aren’t stupid

Lucifer: This chat is for emergencies only.

Belphie: i know. that’s why we’re discussing dinner

Lucifer: If I see Solomon anywhere near the House I will find a way to reverse his immortality.

Catan: wear a blindfold

Asmo: kinky

Catan: freak

Lucifer: I believe I also told you to stop referring to Diavolo and Barbatos as my boyfriends.

Mams: sucks 2 suck

Levs: L moment

Lucifer: I also believe they are in this chat.

Belphie: i know. that’s why we’re discussing dinner.

Belphie: keep up old man

Lucifer: I will remind you that you’re laying in my lap.

Belphie: what’re you gonna do

Belphie: cough on me??

Levs: chat, clip this

Mams: what was that scream???

Diavolo: Belphegor.

Barbs: Lucifer did more than just “cough on him.”

Mams: oh damn.

Mams: so what’s for dinner 

Beel: Lucifer says Belphegor stew

Mams: I thought it was Satan’s turn to cook????????

Catan: lucifer just tried to shove belphie in the oven.

Barbatos: With no seasoning? How revolting.

Diavolo: Demons taste better fried, anyway.

Mams: PARDON???

[julietsbody]

beg me — modern ! coriolanus snow + reader : you ask coriolanus to leave your boyfriend alone, and he will, at a cost.

tags : 18+! MDNI! cheating, reader has a bf, blowjobs, begging, face slapping, facefucking, explicit consent, spit kink

a/n : this is something i was been silently working on before my break.. so im finally posting it

coriolanus snow always thought he was above everyone, he was an asshole, especially in college. frats didn’t accept him because he had an eyebrow piercing and refused to take it out, he also liked to give himself stick and pokes, and he wore ‘disturbing’ t - shirts. what about cannibal corpse is disturbing?

and coriolanus could never go through his problems by himself, god no. are you stupid? that idea is revolting to him.

so he takes it out on the people around him, more specifically, the guy in his computer science class. if you thought you knew what a nerd was, you clearly had never met this guy. it was almost pathetic. so who wouldn’t bully him? and coriolanus knows, oh it’s not highschool anymore grow up! no, he thought it was funny to pick and pull at the man who wears ‘science rocks!’ shirts.

what he never expected, though, was that the man had a girlfriend— and that the same girlfriend would wound up at his doorstep one day, furiously knocking at his dorm door.

“one second!” he grumbles, rolling himself out of bed, naps in between classes were always his weakest moments. his clothes were disheveled when he stood, did he sleep in his jeans from earlier— maybe.

you start knocking again, and he audibly groans, running his hand over his face as he approaches his door. he finally opens it midway through your knock, only to find you, a girl dressed in pink and frills, a sorority girl. what a fucking joke.

clearly you thought the same because you stared at him like you didn’t even want to be there— so why were you?

“hello?” he mumbles out, voice raspy from his sudden awakening.

you stare at him for a minute, eyes trailing down to the dog - tag that hangs around his neck, his korn shirt— what the fuck is a korn, and his messy, loose jeans. your eyes snap back up to his face when he clears his throat, “i need to talk to you.”

he squints his eyes at you, “okayyy.. why?”

“because you won’t leave my boyfriend alone,” your arms cross, and coriolanus’ eyebrows furrow.

“i don’t know what you’re talking about, really,” he defends.

you counter it, “you don’t?”

“i just said i didn’t,” at least his attitude matches the look on his face, bitter and confused.

“you won’t stop bothering him, like seriously— he tells me about it all the time, do you have to be such an asshole?”

he pauses, “i think you’ve got the wrong dorm, doll.”

“doll?” you scoff, “i’m josh’s girlfriend, you dick.”

his eyes widen as his lips part into a surprised smile, laughing shortly, “this is a joke, right?”

“no, it’s not— leave my boyfriend alone,” you look so entirely serious.

he’s not buying it, “..okay— i’ll leave your ‘boyfriend’ alone.”

he moves to close the door in your face, but just before it inches to it’s close, your hand pauses it, flat against the wood as you push it back open. you look angrier now, he can’t really tell when you also look so sweet, “do you not believe me?”

“do you want me to be honest?”

“i would like for you to be,” you tilt your head to side ever so slightly.

he tips his chin up, a sign of his entitlement, “i don’t think that guy could pull anyone, let alone you.”

“well, isn’t that sweet,” you suck your teeth, “i’m serious, snow, leave him alone.”

“what if i don’t want to?” his eyebrow cocks, piercing shining in the hallway light.

“you’re gonna want to,” is that a threat?

“how come your boyfriend isn’t saying this himself? does he not have a mouth?”

“we both know you wouldn’t listen to him,” you frown, and he nods his head slightly.

“so, you really want me to leave him alone?” a small smile is curving his lips, again, that godforsaken cheshire cat smile.

“i do, i’m sick of hearing about you,” you snap back.

“is that so?” his voice suddenly becomes softer, “i think you should beg.”

“what?”

“beg me to leave your boyfriend alone.”

you hesitate for a second, “are you fucking stupid?”

“right,” he scoffs, moving to push the door to a near close, “i’ll keep bothering your boyfriend, then.”

you immediately push it to an open again, “no, no— fine, god.”

you push your way into his dorm, rolling your eyes and allowing your lips to part once more, “so embarrassing— i can’t be seen with you.”

“i’m embarrassing? how?” he cocks his head to the side, pushing his door to a close.

“look at yourself,” your arms cross, and he only smiles.

“aren’t you supposed to be begging?”

“god— you’re such a fucking weirdo,” you sigh, “please, leave my boyfriend alone.”

he hums, “that’s not begging.”

“come on— just, give him a break,” you frown up at him, those doe eyes, god, maybe he should tease your boyfriend more so you can come over more often.

“you’re not begging me, why should i leave him alone if you aren’t doing what i ask?” he pushes at his rings, twirling them around on his finger.

you pout ever so slightly, finally caving so he can shut up, “please, coriolanus, please, just leave him alone.”

“get on your knees,” he smiles so sweet it makes you sick.

god, what if josh heard about this.. “are you psychotic?”

“not sure,” he shrugs simply, “i need you to properly beg for me to actually consider it.”

you look away from him as you sigh, finally moving to your knees in front of him. he takes a step closer, smile widening at how easily you do what he asks, despite your slight pushback, you still did it. his lips part to speak again, “look at me.”

you do exactly that, making him chuckle, “leave my boyfriend alone, snow.”

“i’m not hearing please,” his fingers graze your chin.

“please, leave my boyfriend alone— please,” the cool of the hard floor is already forming bruises on your pliant skin.

he notices the way you shift uncomfortably, but also, something about being in this position has your thighs rubbing together. to be on your knees in front of someone, especially someone you heard many rumors about, rumors akin to him having a big dick, being a good fuck. you had always wanted to know, really, if they were true— you just never said anything. but josh, your boyfriend, sweet josh, you can’t do that to him.

can you?

his thumb rubs against your bottom lip, making you shiver, and suddenly the thought of josh becomes a distant memory.

“you know— if i do leave josh alone, ‘m gonna be bored,” he mumbles, voice dripping of salted dark chocolate, “who will i have left to bother?”

“find someone,” your lips purse around his thumb, “anyone.”

“anyone?” he chuckles lightly.

“anyone, whoever you want,” you sound desperate.

his pants feel tight, “whoever i want?”

you nod quickly, making him speak again, “what if i said i wanted you?”

you swallow, he feels it, as much as he feels your cheeks heat up— in his green eyes, you’re reminded of josh’s once more, “but josh..”

“what about him?” he sounds so fucking innocent, “you should forget about him.”

“i don’t know, snow—“ but you do know, you know that you would want nothing less than to suck his dick.

“tell me the truth, doll, because you keep looking at my dick,” he smirks knowingly.

god, he was insufferable, “i— i want to, i want to forget about him, i want..”

“want what?”

“you.”

“oh, sweet girl,” he dips his thumb into your mouth, admiring the way your lips immediately close around it.

eventually he pulls his hand away, helping move to tug his pants down, moving to do the same to his boxers but you quickly shift to help him, moving the boxers down his legs and admiring his cock— did he have a fucking prince albert piercing? the length of it made your breath hitch, as well as the girth, you could already feel the ache of your jaw.

he doesn’t even have to ask you to open your mouth, you’re already doing it, hand placed at his base to hold his dick in place as you place sloppy open mouthed kisses on his dick. his eyebrows furrow at the pleasure that courses through his veins at such a simple, teasing, action, “fuck, didn’t even have to ask you—“

he’s cut off by a grunt when your tongue suddenly trails on the underside of his cock to his tip, jaw falling slack so you can take him in with surprising ease. his hand moves to place itself on your hair, threading through it and tugging your head to bob on his cock, the sounds of saliva bubbling in the back of your throat as his tip hits it becoming his favorite. to hear you gag and sputter on his cock until he pulls away and admires your already messed up makeup, wow, josh should’ve sent his girlfriend sooner.

“so fucking pretty, hm?” he taps your cheek ever so slightly, then smack! he slaps you across the face, surprised by the way you smile at it, “you should leave josh— for me, i could treat you better.”

you shake your head, which only makes him chuckle, moving your mouth back on his cock. you take him so well, it’s addictive the way your moans vibrate against his tip, the sensitivity of your throat, the way your tongue lies flat on the underside of his cock, tracing the vein there. and god, you loved the way you could feel his piercing on your tongue.

to fall for an emo man like coriolanus, it was humiliating, but to be here on your knees, coriolanus’ hips thrusting harshly into your mouth, words can’t even express the amounts of embarrassment you felt. he pauses for a second after you’re coughing on his dick, only to lean down and spit on your face. you groan around his cock, pulling off, “you’re fucking crazy—“

you move to wipe it off, he frowns, “don’t wipe it off, doll.”

“‘m not gonna have your disgusting spit on me,” you snap back.

he fake pouts, “that’s not nice, doll.”

you roll your eyes, moving back on to his cock, looking away from him. he grunts, speaking again, “look at me.”

and you do, you look so perfect it has his dick pulsing in your mouth already. he slaps your face once more before his thrusts get sloppier, eventually pushing your head down to his base, cock twitching inside of your mouth as white spurts coat the back of your throat. he groans into the air, only pulling out when you slap his thigh.

you cough, trying to catch your breath as he moves to tug his boxers and jeans back over his softening cock.

“are you going to leave him alone now?” you move to a stand, glaring at him, as if you weren’t just sucking his dick.

he shrugs, “maybe.”

of course he won’t.

[am-i-interrupting]

A Broadcast For Bitch Breakfast | Vox

Summary: It’s the anniversary of Alastor going missing. Upset he left without a word, left you to deal with his shit, and maybe a bit worried that he may actually be gone, it doesn’t take much for Vox to convince you to go back to his place. Perhaps a bad decision but Husk is right, it’ll make an excellent story for (what he calls) your bitch breakfast with Rosie tomorrow.

Warnings: 18+, implied cannibalism, drinking, choking, oral, P in V

You didn’t want to get out of bed. Your body felt sluggish. Your head was aching. Moving a single finger felt like moving a ton of bricks. You hadn’t even lifted up your blanket and you already wanted the day to be over.

You groaned, nuzzling your face into the pillow. You hadn’t managed to get much sleep at all. Not exactly an uncommon experience for a denizen of hell but normally you could get more than an hour of sleep.

However, today was an anniversary and you knew it. You wished you didn’t. Then maybe this wouldn’t happen every year. Perhaps the third time was the charm, and next year you could get some sleep this night. It seemed doubtful though.

With slow movements, you got up. You switched on your radio, set only to one channel, as you picked out your clothes for the day. Radio silence filled the air and feeling petty, you grabbed a mock flapper dress.

You bought it years ago as a joke, just to piss Alastor off. With the reverse now happening, it seemed like the perfect time to bring it out again.

The dress was a fitted number in your most flattering color. It was off the shoulder with tassels hanging from the top and bottom, brushing against your arms and legs. The real kicker (or at least the thing that caused Alastor’s eyes to narrow and his smile to tighten) was on either side of your waist there were cut outs, showcasing skin. In fact, the whole dress showcased things that a true flapper dress would hide instead of showcase. The only thing that made it even resemble a flapper dress slightly was the beading and tassels.

Regardless, you did your makeup and hair true to fashion for the 1920s but put on some heels that were too tall and too clunky to be accurate.

Ready for the day, you walked out the door.

You passed by sinners and imps alike. None up to anything good, you were sure. Not once were you bothered but you couldn’t help but think how it wasn’t like it used to be.

Every morning for nearly as long as you’d been in hell, Alastor would wait outside your door for you to walk out or you’d invite him in, asking for his opinion on things as you got ready. Then he’d escort you to Cannibal Town for breakfast with Rosie. That stopped two years ago when Alastor disappeared.

Still, you found yourself missing the effect he had on other people. Back then people darted off as soon as they saw him. Now people looked at you and either didn’t know who you were or gave you a slightly weirder berth if they did.

At least in Cannibal Town, people still acted the same. They all smiled. They greeted you with an occasional small bow of the head, one shook your hand then turned it to place a kiss on it.

Cannibal Town remained more or less the same. It was a nice consistency.

“Oh, there you are, dear!” Rosie said, spinning around to face you with a plate in hand, tea cups and a kettle sitting atop it. “I was starting to think you weren’t coming today. Glad to see I was wrong. Come, come, sit. I was just about to grab some snacks. I’ll be right back with it.”

“Thank you, Rosie,” you said as she disappeared.

“Of course, dear, of course. Can’t let you go hungry, can I?”

She came back with a thigh in hand. She placed it in the center of the table and sat herself down. A still steaming cup of tea was brought to her lips. She sighed with a now content smile on her face. She looked you over carefully and that smile turned amused.

“Still no broadcast?” she asked with a nod to your outfit.

“Oh, no. I know he’ll make himself known when he wants to but still,” you said.

Rosie nodded in agreement. “For a man who prides himself on taking such good care of his ladies, he sure does keep us worrying.”

The rest of breakfast was filled with a combination of silence and gossip. It seemed like mere seconds had passed and it was suddenly time for Rosie to open.

“Are you going to check on Alastor’s souls?” Rosie asked as she made sure some things were in place.

“I do it weekly,” you reminded her. “At least with Nifty and Husk.”

“Okay, well, you have a good day, hon.”

“You too, Rosie.”

“Oh!” She caught your arm before you could leave. “I’ve heard talk of some kid trying to be the next up and coming overlord. He’s been getting a bit close to Alastor’s territory. He’s not any kind of real threat but if you wanted to blow off some steam and show him who’s boss. . .”

“Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it.”

You did listen to Rosie. You found him easily and he truly wasn’t anything you couldn’t handle, even as someone who wasn’t an overlord.

The past two years had been a prime time to grow your power and influence with the absence of Alastor. Not that he’d been holding you back. No, he’d encourage you actually but you never had any reason to, nothing to fight for. With the absence of Alastor less souls went to him for deals and with you taking responsibility for keeping his territory from falling to others found you instead.

You could do a stand in, sure. A couple souls here and there was no problem but you weren’t completely comfortable with the idea of being a full blown overlord yet. You’d take care of his people’s problems when they came to you (and the few you’d taken a liking to even when they didn’t). You’d go to meetings in his place. However, the responsibility was not nothing and it kept you busy even on the lazy days.

You found Nifty and listened to her chat your ear off about a story idea she had as she darted around cleaning. You mentioned off handedly that you could use some help cleaning up your own place since you’d rarely had the time and her smile gave you one of your own.

When night came, you went to the bar you knew Husk frequented. You found him at a table with others, drinking and gambling like you were sure you would.

You sent him a small wave but didn’t speak. Instead you ordered yourself a drink and started casually chatting and moving around, keeping his table in your general vicinity and the cards of others in your eye line. Round after round he won with a combination of his own cheating being aided by yours.

Sat on a stool with a drink in your hand, your attention had been on the truly shitty hand the lamb demon had until the sound of the door opening and a familiar voice hit you. Your head snapped.

Vox waltzed in with a phone by his head and a grimace on his face.

You hadn’t talked to Vox much unless strictly necessary. The only time you actively seemed him out was actually on this very day two years ago. You’d marched onto his office, grabbed him by the lapels of his suit (that he wasn’t wearing right now, odd) and yelled at him demanding to know where Alastor was.

Needless to say the two of you hadn’t had many conversations before that and after? Well, you only spoke to fire back against his points at overlord meetings, spurred on by Rosie beside you who would never say anything but wear a grin and the thought that Alastor would get a kick out of Vox being knocked down several pegs.

You’d just finished your first glass of the night, not going out with the intention of being wasted (you couldn’t help Husk cheat if you were), when Vox sat down right beside you.

“Get me a rye,” Vox said to the bar tender.

You pushed your glass using two fingers. “Make that two, would you?”

Vox glanced at you and then did a double take. “Well, well, if it isn’t Alastor’s little helper?”

“Better than being his fan club,” you retorted.

Vox’s screen did the smallest glitch, just a bit of static electricity coming into the air. He played it off with a scoff of a laugh.

Oddly enough, he didn’t say anything. Instead he simply held his whisky glass in his hand. The liquid inside swished as his hand moved.

You took a sip of your own rye. A fan of it or not, it brought back those memories. You leaned back in your seat. Your glass clanked as you say it down with a bit more force than necessary.

“Rye’s Alastor’s favorite,” you said suddenly.

“I know.” You turned to look at him with a curious countenance. “Alastor and I have a long, complicated history.”

“Really now? I would have never guessed,” you said, sarcasm dripping from your words.

There was silence for a moment and then, “Did he really never talk about me?”

You were feeling nostalgic, you already knew. Despite the resentment, despite the anger you knew was there, you couldn’t help but indulge him. The alcohol having softened the shell that was those feelings to reveal the truth that you really just missed him.

“Oh, he talked about you. Muttering under his breath about you ever time he saw you but he’s a secretive man. He’ll talk about everything except himself,” you answered.

Vox hummed to himself. “What about you?”

“What exactly about me, Mister Vox?” you asked, leaning closer to him.

“Would you say you’re the same or do your similarities with Alastor start and end with appearance?”

“What’s it to you? Looking for a new nemesis?”

“A man can dream.”

It was your turn to scoff. You turned your head away from Vox only to be met with Husk’s attention half on you and half on the game he was playing. He raised a brow at you, his claws drumming against the wooden table. You glanced down at the cards in his hand. You could see a small exhale leave his body before he did the same.

“You know, I always have wondered—“ you hadn’t even turned around to face Vox when you felt a hand on your ear— “what these felt like.”

Your back went rigid. No one had ever touched your ears save for Rosie and Nifty. Rosie when she felt like doing your hair and Nifty through scrambling up your body like you were her personal jungle gym.

“Vox, what are you—“

Your vocal cords betrayed you as you sighed and leaned back as Vox’s thumb carefully circled the little bit of downy fur at the base of your ears.

“A bit more coarse than I imagined but still pleasant,” he said.

“Shut the fuck up,” you managed to growl out even as you leaned into his touch more.

“Do you want me to stop?” You said nothing. “That’s what I thought.” You wanted to slap him. “The ears, the tail, the demand for attention, the way power suits you. Oh, how very much like Alastor you are.”

You felt the haze of pleasantness lift from you as Husk looked up at you again and he visibly was taken aback. You snapped around and managed to grasp Vox’s hand before it fell back to the countertop.

“You say that like it’s a compliment.”

“Perhaps in a way it is,” Vox said. “There’s a lot of things to admire about Alastor but the difference between you and him is that he wouldn’t let me fuck him.”

You almost got up and left then and there. You rolled your eyes and dropped his wrist. You went to grab your drink, planning on downing it and walking out, when Vox swapped roles with you.

His hand now wrapped around your gradient wrist. “Tell me I’m wrong and I’ll leave right now.”

You should have. It should have been so easy to say those two simple words of ‘you’re wrong.’ Instead you found yourself saying, “Your death wish a bit more prominent today.”

“Maybe I’m feeling nostalgic. I know you are. Otherwise there’s no doubt in my mind you would have thrown me through the wall. You can do it.”

You could. He knew that. Two years ago you hadn’t just yelled at Vox. You had grabbed him by his suit lapels and demanded the whereabouts of Alastor. After his initial confusion came some form of both glee and oddly rage. He’d yelled about how he was glad Alastor was gone but he should have been the one to kill him. Even then, even without the souls chained to you or the land to protect, you’d summoned some deep seated power within you and used it to throw him through the walls where he fell out of the building.

He knew you could do it and you did too. You should have. You honestly should have but there were a lot of things you should have done but didn’t. You were in hell for a reason and maybe part of that was your unwillingness to leave something unfinished.

“You haven’t said I’m wrong.”

He glanced down at his hand. His grip was loose. It should have never stopped you and yet it had.

You jerked your hand away and downed your glass. You slammed it on the table and turned your back to him as you began to walk towards the door.

Behind you, you heard Vox’s drink be picked up and then much more softly be put down followed by his footsteps.

Your arm was gripped again but instead of a light ghost of a touch, it was one you recognized. Husk’s paw was around your upper arm.

He took off his hat. It was used to block off the view of his mouth as he leaned close to your ear and whispered, “What the fuck are you doing?”

“What do you think I’m doing?”

Husk looked at Vox, almost a glare but not there yet. Then he sighed, “Don’t do something you’re gonna regret just because you know it’ll piss Alastor off.”

“I’m not an idiot, Husk.”

He flipped his hat around and placed it back on his head. He went back to his gambling buddies, grumbling something about a story, bitch breakfast, and Rosie.

Vox shoved you against the wall. You knew you should feel pain in your head and shoulders but this was Hell. You were used to it by now and Vox’s kiss was so much more interesting.

His tongue immediately slipped into your mouth and all you could feel was small electrical shocks. Not painful but buzzing. Almost like kissing pop rocks but with static.

One of his hands was cupping your jaw. The other was at your waist. His bare fingers touching your skin in both places.

Vox was full of new, interesting sensations. From the kiss and now just to his skin texture. You’d never touched him before, just his clothes. His skin was smooth and cold, like glass. However, only his claws had that hardness.

You pulled back. “How do I get this off?” you asked.

One hand was tugging at the collar of his turtleneck. You used the other to push off the black wool jacket he was wearing. Truly a shame to see it go.

He looked so much better in it than his suit or perhaps it was the fact that it was different. Either way, it gave him a 1950s feel even if all the clothes he wore were modern. For a man so insistent on being the future, he did hold onto at least some things from the past.

Vox sighed and moved your hand to the back of his neck where you found zipper. You couldn’t help but smile at the discovery.

“I can’t help but ask, do you need help putting on shirts that aren’t button ups or. . .?” you let your voice trail off teasingly.

“Shut up,” Vox said as he shrugged out of the shirt.

He then immediately placed his hands back on you. Your hair bunched up between his fingers as he drew you in for another kiss.

You felt his chest. Much like his hands, cold and smooth but not hard. You squeezed his shoulders and felt so much tension there. He moaned, fingers twitching.

He hooked his arm under your legs and swooped you up. Your ankles locked behind his back.

He rolled his hips. His hardness pressed against you. It was your turn to moan. You felt heat bubbling up inside you and your tail wiggle in excitement.

Apparently Vox felt it too as he pulled back. He adjusted you in his hold and began walking you to a room (his room you presumed). You were dropped on a bed.

Vox pushed up your dress and pulled on your tail. “Aren’t you just adorable?”

You glared up at him. In retaliation, you decided to pull him down onto the bed and flip your positions.

You leaned in, filling his space with your presence. You hands traveled from his shoulders to his navel and then back upwards. Your fingers lightly brushed against his throat.

“It’d be so easy to choke you,” you said, voice low and barely above a whisper.

“Then do it.”

Your fingers tightened around his neck. The smirk fell off his face and was replaced with a closed eyed, opened mouth expression. The muscles in his throat squirmed beneath your hold. You let up a bit.

Vox now looked up at you, hazy eyed.

You rolled your hips down against him. His breath hitched. His fingers pressed against the skin of your thighs. He pulled you down, held you in place.

His claw hooked your underwear. “Get these off.”

“Let me go.”

Vox did not let you go. Instead he pulled you down against his chest (which was now warmer than it had been mere minutes ago) and kissed you hard. He used this new position to slip your underwear down but as soon as they were off, you broke the kiss.

He looked ready to complain but a pressure on his throat and he was silent. You placed open mouthed kisses on his shoulders, down to his chest. You took a moment to lick his nipples as your undid the button of his pants. His back arch made you file away that information while you continued down his torso.

You slowly began to pull down his pants and underwear.

“For fuck’s sake hurry up,” he growled.

You paused for a moment. Then in two quick moment’s you pulled his clothes off and bit down on his hip. Vox gave a small shout as you licked at the now bleeding spot.

It wasn’t bad. There was barely enough blood to cause any space to start beading up. Though, there were definitely popped blood vessels beneath his skin.

“Ooooh,” Vox chuckled, “you little bitch.”

“No, not a bitch,” you said. “The proper term is doe.”

“I’d say you’re anything but.”

“Oh, really?”

You gave him your best doe eyes as you pressed your face against his hard cock. You hadn’t even truly looked at it but against your face you could tell it’s as long and slender. You mouthed against the base, not looking away from him.

“Oh, fu-uck,” his voice glitched.

You licked up and then deep throated him. You held your position for a moment. Then two. The small, cut off noises were too enjoyable to listen to. The unfiltered groan of frustration when he tried to buck into your mouth only for you to stop him was too entertaining.

You sat up. Your hand wrapped around him and pumped him. A blue tip peaked between your pointer finger and thumb.

Slowly, you lowered yourself onto him. He wasn’t the thickest or biggest you’ve ever had but he was certainly the longer. You could barely get him in all the way when you felt him bump against your ending. That pressure though, felt so good, so warm, like he was meant to be there.

You lifted yourself up and then down on repeat. With each thrust you let yourself fall with less and less caution. It would hurt if it didn’t feel so pleasurable. This was scratching an itch.

Vox sat up. His hands going to the tassels of your dress. They bunched up in his hands as he pulled the garment off of your body. He threw it across the room.

“You are so fucking—“ he groaned—“You drive me mad, did you know that?“

You didn’t answer because his hands cupped your breasts, so much hotter than they’d previously been. He licked at your neck and sucked on the skin of your shoulders, returning the favor you’d done for him earlier. He rolled your nipple between his fingers. His claws nipped slightly at your skin, providing another pressure that was simply there.

“I’m close. Fuck!” you wouldn’t be surprised if the whole building heard him with how loud he was yelling.

A whirlwind sound began in the room as (what you would later realize was) Vox’s fans kicked on. His hands (so hot you felt like you’d burn) squeezed your breasts as he gave a harsh thrust into you. You couldn’t help a noise of slight pain escape you while he groaned, voice and face glitching with pleasure.

You felt him twitch inside you. You could feel the warmth of his release filling you. You rolled your hips against the feeling. He surprised you by rolling back.

He released his hold on you, still lazily thrusting in you. His fingers reappeared against your clit. He rubbed it several times before they started vibrating.

You grabbed onto his shoulders, moaning his name. A lazy but confident smile covered his face.

“Feels good, doesn’t it?” he asked.

You whimpered and nodded.

He tugged on your tail. “Words.”

“Yes, mmm, perfect,” you said, words slurred.

His smile turned into a smirk. “Come for me.”

Now that he’s said it, you didn’t want to but you couldn’t help it. With his dick still in you, moving and spreading his cum causing it to drip out of you, his fingers against your clit vibrating, and now his voice demanding it, you were helpless.

[yowyowyaoi]

Itachi’s Daily Texts from the Akatsuki

From Konan

Nobody eats until you come out and eat with us 😤

Thank you! You’re the only one who even noticed 💙

You need to do a better job of hiding that kitten lol  it pushed open your door and walked down the hallway again

Of course! You know where I keep it you don’t even have to ask 😊

I know I’ve spoken to Nagato about them he’ll handle it

You have GOT to come try this new massage chair I got it’s heaven 😌

From Deidara

Come on I was just kidding!!

Please call him off if he bites off my hand again Sasori said he won’t replace it 😔

Sharingan is not art it’s dirty cheating 

The counter is covered with plates of eggs, did you do that weird sleepwalking thing again?!

Me and Hidan and maybe Tobi. Come on take the stick out of your ass and just come with us!

I’ll paint them if you braid my hair first.

Why do you always blame me?? Hidan probably took it!

Omfg I SWEAR I meant that for Sasori!! 😳 Please please don’t show Kisame he’ll kill me 😫

From Zetsu

He’s just so emotional is that an Uchiha trait?

I can literally smell your exhaustion you need to go and rest

Yeah very cute. Be a shame if someone ate it 👀

He was doing fine. Got a lot taller. Looks a lot like you in the face.

No I’m glad you made him leave that dude freaked even ME out 😵‍💫

From “Tobi” aka Obito

Can I borrow your face cream? This mask makes my skin itch like crazy!

God stop it man are you TRYING to speed up going blind?!

Would he take your last name or would you take his? 🤔

No. Never. They think I’m a dumbass, remember?

Little more time in the sun would probably help 🤷🏻‍♂️

“Crushes” are for little kids. And anyway he hates me 😔

I thought about that yeah. Reminded me of your mom’s. She always made the best ones.

I’m not sure of anything kid. But we’re in it too far to back out.

Idk you just looked super pale

Ask Sasori to make you more, they’re helping a little 

Idc what Zetsu says. I can do a lotta shit but cannibalism isn’t one of them 🤢

You think I didn’t see you sneak in that pie? Either share or I’m telling Kisame.

From Nagato

Come and join Konan and I for tea. We’ve got a new blend we think you’ll like.

Permission granted. Just be back within three days, I’ll be sending you two on a mission then.

Thank you for the tips. My eyes feel much better now.

Take your time reading it. When you finish I’d love to discuss some of the themes with you.

I know you dislike meat but perhaps a bit more protein might help improve your stamina.

I don’t mind but do not let Kakuzu see it.

From Hidan

Movies with me and blondie?

Yeah but he’s half-animal right? Still counts, pervert.

PLEASE make the splinters in the ass joke PLEASE I AM BEGGING YOU😭😭😭

If I didn’t take a piece you would have ate the whole fucking thing yourself and your stomach would burst. You’re welcome 😊

No that was definitely Deidara’s gay ass

Mask boy’s looking for you

Oh right like Kisame wouldn’t beat my ass for that 🙄 Nice try asshole

God damn it’s 3am when the FUCK do you sleep?!

We’re not “plotting” anything just come with ffs 🤦‍♂️

It was an accident and I didn’t even look that long don’t tell her she’ll slice me up with that sharp-ass paper 😖

From Kakuzu

You always being on time with your rent is most appreciated.

To be honest I don’t really know. But at this point I’m too far into my feelings for him so this is my life now. 

Getting enough sleep is important. Nagato agrees that a new mattress would be in your best interests. No arguments.

I’ve ripped off his leg and made it clear it won’t be returned until he returns your property to you.

I’ll consult with Sasori and get back to you.

Konan is insisting everyone text you to come down to eat. It’s my turn. Be advised that continued delay will result in one or more of us coming and retrieving you by force.

From Sasori

Please inform me right away if you notice any adverse side effects. I may need to change the medication or adjust the dosage.

Oh, thank you for reminding me. I wouldn’t want a repeat of last year. What sort of gift do you think I should give him?

You’re more than welcome to anytime. You know I don’t sleep.

Finding the correct body is the most difficult part. All that follows is merely routine.

He can be very sensitive. I’m still learning to decipher and appropriately react to his emotions.

May I borrow that book when you’ve finished it?

Heh. That’s actually very funny.

Try not to overdo it. Your chakra levels still haven’t recovered from the last time.

You may want to hurry back. Zetsu has been circling outside your door like an animal and trying to sniff under it. That lock may not hold.

From Kisame

You remembered your meds today right?

Did you eat?

Yeah? I bet I could work out that tension 😏

Cake is not acceptable for every meal, Itachi.

I got a new blanket, very soft. Come test it out with me 💙

I’ll talk to him about it don’t worry.

For God’s sake just TAKE A NAP!

Have fun but watch your back, I don’t trust those two.

Pretty warm out tonight. Midnight swim later? 😏

You left your necklace on my dresser

Leave it there. You’ve already got one illicit pet you don’t need a second.

I’m cooking, you’re eating. No objections.

My hands are craving being in your hair 😔

I did not eat him. Zetsu is a liar.

You got any more pics like that? Please? 👀

I 💙 you too

[webofpassione]

Pannacotta

Fugo x Reader

Content Warnings: Referenced Polygamy

***

Everything on the dessert menu called out to you in small whispers, tempting your attention away from the others in brief increments. Tiramasu, ice cream, cannoli… you found yourself increasingly hungry but with no actual decision made.

You sighed dramatically and glanced up from the menu, offering an apologetic smile to the waiter at your indecisiveness. Fugo gave you a curious look and an idea popped into your head.

“La panna cotta alle fragola, per favore.”

Fugo rolled his eyes as the waiter took your menus. “I thought you’d grown bored of that joke.”

“It’s not a joke. I just feel like some panna cotta.”

He ran a finger around the rim of his glass, violet eyes turned plum in the dim lighting. “Really? Because you’ve been talking about nothing but gelato for almost three days now.”

“Maybe I changed my mind. Or maybe I didn’t want gelato, I just wanted to nag Mista into replacing the tub the Pistols ate.” You’d been unimpressed with them for that and all they’d done was laugh and ask why it was bad to share with them.

Though the last thing you’d expected Fugo to do was take your nagging seriously.

“It’s a shame, their gelato is fairly good.”

Your eyes crinkled at your smile. “Aw, thank you so much. At least you ordered some so maybe I can steal it off your plate.”

“No.”

“I’ll trade you some panna cotta even if it is cannibalism.”

“You must stop stealing jokes from Narancia before you begin devolving into him.”

You laughed a little loudly and glanced around to ensure nobody glared at you for it. Thankfully, the only other table that had been occupied upon your entrance had made their way out, leaving your couple alone in the sweet little restaurant.

Through the windows, the ocean fell against a dark shore – playing a melody alongside the soft songs drifting through the speakers.

“I love how sweet this place is,” you mused. “It’s so quaint.”

“Ironically, it’s one Mista dragged me to with an idea of ‘trying new things’ but he’s got a strange talent at finding small restaurants.”

“Maybe that’s what the Pistols are meant to do and kicking bullets is a secondary hobby.”

Fugo tilted his head to the side and sipped at his drink. “If that were true, it would make them a little less useless.”

You held a hand to your heart in mock offense for the small creatures. Fugo didn’t mean it with true harshness though they had been making annoyances of themselves of late by refusing to eat and getting into bad moods from it. You wondered if it had caused or been caused by the strange mood Mista was in.

But rather than thinking of why the Pistols had grown uncooperative as of late, you focused more on the desserts being placed before you.

Your panna cotta was adorable, set out with coulis and strawberries decorating the plate. You popped one into your mouth and almost immediately regretted it, eyes watering from the bitterness.

“Something wrong?”

You shook your head. “Strawberries aren’t really the sweetest.”

“That’s your fault for buying them out of season.”

With a sigh, you snuck your spoon forward to steal some of Fugo’s gelato trio. He had three different flavours and you needed to try at least some of each. “Who even came up with panna cotta?”

He smacked your spoon away with the back of his own. “I have no idea.”

“Really?”

The look he fixed you with could slice through the air. “What, do you think because it’s my name, I should know everything about it?”

“Not because it’s your name. Because you’re ridiculously smart and know everything.”

A slight pink coloured his cheeks at your compliment and you smiled in triumph – taking advantage of his momentary embarrassment to steal a scoop of gelato from his plate. He wouldn’t truly mind sharing.

“As strange as this may seem, the history of random desserts didn’t appear in my textbooks nor did it ever interest me enough to read up on it by myself. Especially not when it came to desserts I don’t even like.”

His expression turned to disgust as he looked down at the poor panna cotta on your plate, still sitting relatively untouched. You picked at another strawberry and considered asking for sugar before giving up and shoving it into your mouth. Just as bad as the last one, this one made you pull a slight face.

“If I was named after a dessert, I wouldn’t mind it being panna cotta.”

“It’s got no actual taste. The toppings do all the work.”

“Isn’t that true for almost every dessert though?”

You waited for Fugo to answer, meeting his gaze almost teasingly as you swiped another mouthful of his gelato. You knew his dislike had to run deeper than something merely tasting bad, he’d tried far worse dishes for far less pushing. You’d even witnessed him attempting to eat Bucciarati’s pasta, made when said man operated on less than an hour of sleep.

Not even Narancia finished that.

Fugo sighed and leaned over the table to take one of your strawberries, explaining, “Panna cotta is my mother’s favourite food. She had it served for us so often I grew exhausted of it. It never came out properly.”

“Fair.”

“And obviously the ridiculous and unending teasing about my name doesn’t make me any fonder of it.” His agitation at the thought had raised but found itself immediately quelled when he took a bite of the strawberry, shock softening any irritation. “That’s awful. Why are you eating those?”

You took the strawberry from his hand and popped it into your mouth, smiling around the wincing. “Because being in your company is sweet enough for me.”

He shook his head and shoved his gelato more into the center of the table. “I’m telling you; panna cotta always has something wrong with it. Either the texture or the toppings or… something.”

“You’re pretty close to perfect.”

“If you’re willing to ignore my stand’s existence.”

You fixed him with the most unimpressed look you could manage while trying not to cringe from a strawberry. “Purple Haze is one of my favourite stands in existence. Don’t be mean to him.” You broke into the pudding, surprised to find it quite gritty and plain.

“How is it?”

Choosing not to admit he was right, you glanced up at him with a coy grin. “I’ve tasted better panna cotta before.”

“I thought I told you to stop stealing jokes from Narancia.”

You covered your mouth to avoid laughing panna cotta over the table. “This place’s food is far better than their desserts. I’ve had good panna cotta before at this one restaurant if you’d like to try it. Or I can make you some.”

Fugo thought about it for long enough that you knew what his answer would be. “I’ll come with you and try something else. We’ll bring Narancia so you can learn some new jokes.”

“I wonder if you dislike it so much, would Purple Haze also?”

He glanced at you, humoured. “You want to feed it food?”

“I want to try.”

Fugo glanced around the restaurant casually, as though looking for something. The building stood mostly empty and, at this hour, you doubted anybody paid the waiters enough to focus on anything. They stood toward the far back of the kitchen, focused on their phones and waiting for you to call them if you needed anything.

You didn’t expect Purple Haze to appear beside your table, a swirling violet vortex running along the ground and over your feet.

“Panna?”

Though Fugo looked a little pained, he shrugged as casually as he could manage. “Nobody’s close enough to get hurt if he goes crazy and he’s always seemed fine with you. As long as you’re okay with this?”

“I’m just worried about whether or not you’re okay with it.”

“I wouldn’t have brought him out if I wasn’t.”

You nodded slowly, drawing your attention back to the stand. Fugo never brought Haze out unless he absolutely had to. This level of trust felt almost surreal. Trust in both him and you to handle any situations.

But you now recognised a problem you hadn’t thought of earlier.

Purple Haze couldn’t try any food with his mouth sewn shut. He stared down at you with curious eyes, remaining perfectly still as the disease cloud churned around his silhouette. You noticed a small bit of drool on the side of its mouth and quickly grabbed a serviette to help the oddly fussy stand.

“He’s not going to be able to eat anything,” you said. “I forgot about the stitches.”

They ran so deep. You winced even thinking about the concept of stitching your mouth closed though Fugo assured you neither he nor Purple Haze could experience any sort of pain from them. At least he had a mouth unlike some other stands.

Still, you ran your fingers over the stitches softly, appreciating how the stand’s often frantic breathing seemed to calm beneath your ministrations.

When you sat back down, it was impossible not to notice the slight flare of red on Fugo’s face. “Are you alright?”

“It’s a strange sensation,” he acknowledged. “I used to never feel any sensations from people touching him. Now it’s always there, faintly.”

“Really?”

Purple Haze made a small noise and disappeared almost immediately after; its user still weary about having it out in public places. You couldn’t help feeling satisfied that you’d gotten to see him at all – remembering how little you used to even acknowledge his existence when you first started seeing stands.

“Thank you for letting me try, Panna.”

Fugo shrugged. “I knew you’d forgotten about the mouth. Now stop pretending to enjoy that and just eat your half of the gelato.”

You laughed and if the waiter looked a little nervous of you when he came back over, you didn’t even notice.

[the-dalseum-duet]

about that contract

do NOT make jokes around me I WILL take them seriously!! @svwhssftr

I love Sara I slowly become more and more of a Sara kinnie by the day… queen shit.

“Name?”

“Kai.”

“Full name?”

“Kai… Shirogane.”

“Age?”

“Nineteen. And a half, if that counts.”

“Any known sexually transmitted diseases before your encounter?”

“No.”

“Any chance you might be pregnant?”

“I sure hope not.”

“I need a yes or no answer, Kai.”

“I had a hysterectomy a few months ago, so no.”

“No more periods, then? That must be nice.” Sara smiled. Kai had never seen her do that.

“Best decision I’ve ever made, even though I feel like shit now.”

“Had to hook up with Noeul to cancel it out, I assume.”

Sara stopped smiling. Kai did not have a response. 

“I usually ask my patients if they have any significant mental issues, but the previous responses have been an overwhelming ‘yes,’ so I’m just going to check that one off.” 

Kai, again, had no response. 

“That ends the question-and-answer portion of our evaluation. I just need you to sign this contract for me, and you’ll be home-free.” Sara passed Kai her clipboard and a gimmicky syringe pen filled with fake blood. 

“Sign a contract for what, exactly?”

“I make all of Noeul’s little playthings sign one to set some ground rules.”

Kai scanned the form as he fidgeted with the pen. The blood was incredibly unrealistic, which only slightly agitated him. It read as follows:

“I, _____________, TAKE FULL RESPONSIBILITY FOR ANY REPERCUSSIONS OF CONSENSUAL INTERCOURSE WITH NOEUL “NOEL” SANG. I WILL NOT CONTACT SARA CHERTI FOR MEDICAL ASSISTANCE DUE TO ANY OF THESE CIRCUMSTANCES.^

Repercussions may include, but are not limited to: 

* Abortion

* Asphyxiation

* Bleeding due to cuts

* Bleeding induced by anything else (please do not specify details to me)

* Blindness

* Bone fractures

* Broken bones

* Bruising

* Burns

* Cannibalism

* Concussions

* Damage to property

* Deafness

* Death

* Dislocated limbs

* Drowning

* Electrical shocks

*Loss of self-esteem

* Nausea

* PTSD and other related disorders

* Pregnancy

* Sexually transmitted diseases

* Urinary tract infections

* Vivisection

* Whiplash

^If any of these circumstances are the result of a nonconsensual encounter, please contact Sara Cherti immediately. You do not need to share details. Trust I will deal with it effectively.”

“Good God, have all of these happened?” Kai murmured. 

Sara shrugged. “I try to cover all my bases.” 

“Hell yeah.” Kai scribbled his name on the line and returned the clipboard to Sara. 

“That’s all I needed. Bring in Chea and Adam for me.” Sara filed the form in a dubiously organized cabinet. 

“I thought this was only for people who hooked up with Noeul. Like, physically.”

“Yeah, it is. I heard some things last night I didn’t want to hear.”

“Oh.” Kai blinked. “I wish I was surprised, but I’m not.”

“I’d say you get used to him eventually, but you really don’t.”

“I sure hope I don’t. That waiver was promising.” 

Sara deeply sighed. “God truly blessed me with a yearning for the divine feminine.” 

“What is it with African people and making every statement so poetic? Just say you’re a carpet-muncher.”

“It’s that kind of thinking that led you to signing that waiver, Shirogane.”

“Exactly. I’m going to have fun with my terrible boyfriend, and your future tradwife will never experience the wonders of spank-o-therapy. Who’s really winning here?”

“The wonders of…” Sara trailed off, attempting to piece together the syllables that snapped off Kai’s tongue. “Go get Chea and Belle. It’s urgent.” 

“As you wish, Doctor Carpet-Muncher.”

“Oh, go to hell.”

“Imagining your future has been as close to it as I think I’ll get.”

As Kai closed the door, some unknown weight lifted from Sara’s shoulders. She scribbled “hysterectomy?” on the top of her calendar before mentally preparing herself for her next evaluation. 

[mariamakeslemons]

Spooktober 2023: Day 23 Cannibals

Warning: Reader is gender neutral, cannibalism (as is the prompt), unknowing cannibalism, mention of death and dismemberment, dehumanization

You had been nervous about agreeing to join John for dinner, especially after he witnessed you getting harassed by your ex mere minutes before meeting. But, the man assured you that there was nothing more he would want. Now, here you are, at the doorstep of his house, wearing nice clothes, and hoping that he wouldn’t misinterpret your flowers for feminizing him instead of the confession you don’t think he’d recognize. Shit, you probably shouldn’t have gotten them, but they reminded you of him. Oh God, you’re going to get dumped before you even start dating!

“You’re early,” a voice rumbles, startling you from your panicking. John leans in the doorway, looking stunningly handsome with an amused smile.

“Ah! I, um, wanted to make sure that, uh, I was on time,” you manage to stumble through the explanation, shoving the flowers into his face with a squeaked, “Here you go!” He leans back briefly before chuckling and accepting the flowers.

“Well, thank you,” he says, stepping to the side and motioning for you to enter. You comply sheepishly, taking off your shoes to not ruin his carpet before trailing after him, toward the kitchen and the delicious smell. John admits, “I was worried I might have started dinner too early and you wouldn’t have gotten to enjoy the food when it was warm.”

“Ah, well,” you try, only to trail off with a shrug, averting your gaze nervously.

“Come on in, Flower,” he encourages, startling you into looking at him. John makes a big show of smelling the bouquet you got him, before beaming at you, “I’ll go grab a vase. Mum sent me quite a few for decoration, might as well use one.” You fluster, feeling your face burn as you trail behind him, closing the door behind you as John chuckles. It’s a nice vase he finds, clear cut glass that warps the stems in a very disconcerting way. Like the stem has been cut multiple times, but the flower floats peacefully above the vase.

“Follow me to the dining room,” he encourages, leading you through his house. Passing by a door, you jump at a drawn out noise coming from behind it. John turns and frowns, completely nonplussed.

“Dammit, need t’ check the heater again,” he grumbles, soothing your nerves easily.

“It’s not going to turn off on us, is it?” you ask, hoping you come off as playful teasing. Luckily, it seems he took it as the joke it is as John chuckles and gives you a playful glare.

“Don’t you worry, your pretty little head,” he warns with a wagging finger. You laugh, feeling so warm at the smile he gives you before continuing to follow him to the dining room.

“I feel I should warn you, Flower,” he says while pulling back your seat, “I know how to cook meat, but I’m not great at cooking sides. It’s cooked, but…”

“You don’t feel confident with them?” you offer. John’s smile turns sheepish as he nods. You give him a smile of reassurance.

“Don’t worry, I’m pretty good with sides,” you assure him, “I just get impatient with cooking meat.” John blinks before laughing.

“Didn’t expect to meet someone who can cover that weakness,” he chuckles before disappearing into the kitchen briefly. You sit nervously at the table, unsure of just what you signed up for, when he returns with a tray of meat cabobs, a side of brussel sprouts, and sweet potatoes.

“Figured a simple dinner would work for a first date,” he explains, sitting down after pouring you a glass of liquor, “Didn’t want to make something fancy, only for you to tell me you don’t eat certain things.”

“Thank you,” you tell him, completely earnest as you dig in. The meat is perfectly seasoned and moist, which surprises you at how lean the chunks look. You hum in delight, unable to stop yourself from wiggling a little in happiness. Upon realizing what you’ve done, you look up to John, expecting a confused and disgusted look. Instead, his face is soft, watching you with soft eyes and a soft smile.

“Y’ like ‘em?” he asks, low and sensual. Your face heats again, but you nod, smiling as his smile grows. You take a bite of brussel sprouts, only to wince a little. Still bitter and a bit too crunchy, obviously just under cooked. Immediately, John’s face falls.

“It-it’s not bad!” you try to insist after swallowing the bite, “Just a little under cooked! Maybe another three minutes or so, then it would have been good.”

“Still, wanted to make it perfect,” John grumbles, shoving a forkful of his own into his mouth. Humming, you take a bite of sweet potato and light up. Soft, sweet, with a perfect hit of spice from the use of cinnamon and no added marshmallows. You beam at John, who relaxes at your obviously happy reaction.

Dinner continues as you talk. Hobbies, jobs (which John admitted was very secretive, being military and all), friends and family. Any thing you can think about, you end up talking with him about. All too soon, dinner ends and he walks you back to the door.

“I had a lovely night,” you confess, nerves gone from how lovely the date was, “Maybe… We can do this again?”

“Of course,” John agrees, “How about Friday? At seven, if you’re available.”

“Sounds good,” you agree, “But, how about you make the entrée and I’ll bring some sides?” John’s eyes lit up and he smiles at you.

“Perfect,” he agrees, leaning toward you. You eagerly lean back, pressing a chaste kiss to his lips giddily, before pulling away. He declares, “I’ll text you when I decide what to make.”

“Sounds good,” you say, reluctantly turning, “See you then!”

“Of course!” he calls back, closing his door only when you get into your car and get out of his driveway.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------

Price hums the marriage march to himself as he sets everything into the dishwashers, already imagining you in all the finery that comes with the ceremony. Such a lovely Flower he’s got, so thoughtful and sweet. A howl sounds from the door leading to his basement and he clicks his tongue in irritation.

“I swear,” he grumbles, drying off his hands after rinsing off the last bits of food. He storms over to the door and stomps down, snarling at the piece of shit that had been so terribly rude to his Flower when they first met.

“If you want t’ keep your head, I recommend you stop your fucking howling,” Price snaps, watching with some satisfaction as the dumb animal cowers and whimpers. It hadn’t been hard to get them trussed up down here, although it had been a hassle holding them down as Ghost got his first dibs with a whole leg. Pausing, Price contemplates the remaining half leg.

“You know, I bet that thigh would make a damn fine pot roast,” he mumbles to himself. The dumb animal starts panicking, struggling against the chains and bindings that hold them to the wall. Price ignores the animal’s feelings and just grabs at the sanitized bone saw, already calculating how much meat will be needed to prepare a nice pot roast for you.

[dragonsarecool]

Febwhump Day 5 - Rope Burns

A/N: Cheating with this one slightly and changing it to duct tape burns/markings. Marty is the unfortunate target of a practical joke. Set prior to Part I.

Although he’d been working for Doc for a few months by now, Marty was still bearing the constant brunt of jokes and teasing about it. While the accusations and conspiracy theories had gotten to him on a few occasions, he’d gradually grown accustomed to hearing them almost every day from various classmates. Some told him he was just as insane as Doc, others flat out insulted him for being ‘nerdy enough’ to work for a scientist.

His favourite story was from a ninth grader who ranted about how Doc was really a cannibal who enjoyed consuming young boys, and was going to eat his flesh as part of an experiment. While Doc hadn’t found the story as funny he did - if anything, Doc was visibly disturbed by it - they had grown close enough to simply joke about how immature and ignorant the townsfolk were before carrying on with whatever invention Doc was tinkering with.

Eventually, it occurred to Marty on the final day of the semester that he’d gone an entire week without hearing anyone else talking about Doc. Although he felt secretly relieved that it had stopped, he found himself gazing at his classmates with suspicion as they departed his final class. What’s their deal? Could they be planning anything? Am I being paranoid?

He tried to push those thoughts to the side as he finishing packing up the books he needed over the break. Popping in a Huey Lewis cassette in his walkman, he allowed the music to fill his mind as he pushed off on his board, ignoring the stares that a handful of people were giving. Bunch of dorks…

____

“Hey Doc!” Marty locked the door behind him, placing his skateboard on top of the shoe rack. “You still want me today?”

“Yes, please! Come in! I’ve got a few things I need your help with,” Doc came rushing towards the front door, wiping grease from his hands on a dirty rag. “Your school break starts today, doesn’t it?”

“Technically yes,” Marty removed his headphones and unplugged them from the walkman. “Not sure this break will be any different this time, though,”

Doc raised an eyebrow. “What do you mean?”

“Well, at home I’m always putting up with a drunk-ass mom who loves to hurl abuse at me,” Marty ranted, “and Dave and Linda are no help ‘cause they’re always at work, and at school the kids won’t shut up and keep their damn thoughts to themselves-“

“They’re still teasing you? My God! I can’t believe the persistence of teenagers these days!” Doc shoved the oily rag into his pocket. “It’s been, what, seven or eight months and they’re still going on about it?”

“That’s the weird thing, Doc. No one’s done it this week,” Marty’s voice was quiet. He suddenly felt small, admitting his fears in front of Doc, but there was no one else who would care. “…I-I’ll be honest, I’m a little nervous. I don’t trust any of them.”

Although he’d only known the young man less than a year, Doc had quickly become fiercely protective of him. The constant rants and anecdotes he shared about his family and school life quickly made him concerned, but despite his prompting and subtle edging, Marty had refused to admit outright that anything bothered him. Today was definitely a sign of progress.

“I know it’s difficult, Marty,” Doc chose his words carefully, “but do your best to keep it all out of your mind, and I mean all of it. At least for the spring break, yes?”

Marty nodded slowly, suddenly realising how much better he felt. “Thanks, Doc.”

____

Neither the scientist nor assistant realised how many hours had flown by until they heard the collective growl of their stomachs while fiddling with a new gadget Doc wanted to attach to his truck. It hadn’t taken long for them to decide on their usual meals from the Burger King behind Doc’s house, which is how Marty found himself shivering into his puffer jacket as he made the trek over. Although the Burger King was technically only a five minute walk from Doc’s garage, Marty had quickly learnt it could take up to ten minutes to fight his way through the bushes and trees that separated the two properties.

Doc had lectured him when he first discovered Marty’s shortcut. “You should be taking the pathway around the block! God knows what’s in those bushes, because I certainly don’t know.”

Marty had laughed him off. “The monsters and goblins in there’ll never catch me, Doc.”

He felt the first few drops of rain fall into his hair as a loud clap of thunder rattled the air, and sighed heavily as water ran down his forehead. Dammit. Now I’m gonna get completely soaked!

He went to wipe his forehead when he felt his arms being twisted painfully behind his back. Marty swore loudly at the sharp pain in his wrists, twisting desperately to free himself. “What the hell!?”

Through the semi-darkness and increasingly heavy rain, Marty was able to get a glimpse of a group of black-clad figures. His heart sank as he realised they were all hiding their faces with balaclavas. Now I’m gonna have nothing to give the police-

He felt a cold sweat break out at the sound of something loud ripping, which he quickly worked out to be tape as it was tightly wound around his wrists. Shit shit shit!! Are they gonna murder me?! “Let me go!! HELP!!”

“You should’ve listened to us, McFly!” One of the figures spoke, revealing it to be a young man.

Marty found his head being pulled back as a thick piece of tape was pulled around his mouth. He frantically tried to wrestle out of his captors’ suffocating grip, only to have one man aggressively grab his chin. A second set of eyes blinked at him through the balaclava; Marty would’ve sworn it looked like the man was enjoying himself.

“Maybe that kook’ll use your dead body in his experiments, dickhead!”

Marty’s eyes widened in horror. Needles!! Son of a bitch!

Needles’s face quickly flew away from him as he found himself being pushed back into the bushes. His feet flew over his head as he somersaulted into an awkward position. Oh shit, that’s gonna make a bruise.

Groaning from the impact, he tried to roll onto his side to avoid accidentally inhaling some dirt. Leaves and twigs were poking into him at every angle, and the ground beneath him was quickly becoming a muddy puddle.

“Nice knowin’ ya, McFly!” One of the men taunted. “Come on, let’s get outta here before it starts pissing!”

Marty watched as his attackers took off into a sprint, leaving him alone in a soaking wet bush. A lightning bolt briefly illuminated the foliage around him, and he shook his head to dislodge the excess water settling in his hair. Great. Now I’m completely screwed.

He began wriggling around to test the strength of his bonds, only for any hope of potential escape to disappear as he realised his wrists and ankles were firmly glued together.

The temperature seemed to have taken a sharp drop since he was abandoned. He could feel the beginnings of goosebumps creeping across his skin.

Are they just gonna leave me here?!

Claps of thunder roared in his ears.

A shiver sharply wracked his body. Wonder if I’ll die of hypothermia first.

He fought the urge to cry.

Dammit Doc, where the hell are you?!

Time seemed to stand still, even though he knew it was passing. The ferocious winds seemed to be setting his ear canals on fire.

Why’d they do this to me?! I don’t make any trouble for them!

He scrunched his eyes shut as his chest heaved with a sob. He’d never been this uncomfortable in his whole life, but he was also surprised at the amount of rage that was bubbling inside. Why couldn’t these assholes just leave me ALONE!!

I’m just as bad as my dad-

“Marty?”

The voice was faint amongst the chorus of thunder and howling wind, but he still heard it. “Hmm!” Doc!! About time! Marty turned over as best as he could within the confines of the bush. He could barely open his eyes through the torrent of wind and rain, but managed to make out the silhouette of a familiar scientist. Does he actually

“Marty!! What the HELL happened?!” Doc’s voice carried a hint of fury as he bent over the young man, his eyes scanning the teenager for injuries.

Marty couldn’t help but feel that Doc’s anger was intentionally directed at him, even if it wasn’t. All he could do in the moment was squirm uncomfortably in the tape and try

“It’s too dangerous to fully untie you out here! I can barely see you through this rain!” Doc shouted through the wind. “I’ll do your feet first!”

Marty could only groan in frustration. Dammit Doc, why didn’t you bring an umbrella?!

He felt a pair of hands slide under his armpits as he was raised from his uncomfortable prison. The world instantly began spinning, and he found himself completely upright. Doc’s fingers were fiddling with the tape around his ankles. and it took an agonising few seconds before he was able to get a grip and start pulling the restraints away. “Hang on, Marty!”

As soon as his feet were freed, Marty found himself being pulled through the darkness, relying on Doc’s grip to keep him orientated. The forest around him was briefly illuminated by another flash of lightning, though it did nothing to assist with restoring his vision.

Being pulled through the doorway to the warmth of Doc’s lab provided instant relief. He found himself blinking furiously as his eyes readjusted to the welcome return of light. A quick glance down at his clothes allowed him to fully appreciate the disgusting state of his clothing. How the hell am I gonna wash all this shit out?

Doc took a second to wipe the rain from his forehead, panting as he gave his young friend a concerned look. “Are you alright?”

Marty nodded, thrusting his head back to dispel some loose water drops. He quickly turned around to present his wrists to Doc, and was grateful that the hint was understood. It took slightly longer to cut the tape around his wrists - he heard Doc make a quiet comment about how tightly they’d restrained him - but it wasn’t long before he was freed and could stretch his shoulders in relief.

Marty automatically went to ripe the tape off of his mouth when Doc’s hand stopped him. “Let me do it, Marty. We need to do it carefully so we don’t damage anything.”

The young man sighed before nodding. Can we hurry it up, though?!

He’d never expected removing duct tape from skin to be so painful. Although Doc was pulling the adhesive away as gently as possible, he couldn’t help but groan as the stinging grew more and more intense.

Doc cringed as he finally removed the last section of tape, ignoring the loud swearing that followed as soon as the teenager’s lips were freed. “My God, that’s left a mark-“

“What?! What has?” Marty raised his hand to touch his face, only to see the ugly red lines around his wrists from where the duct tape had sat. “Oh my God!! My face-”

Without waiting for a reply from Doc, Marty ran to the closest bathroom, thrusting the door open as he got a glimpse of himself in the mirror. His clothes were completely saturated with water and a thin layer of mud, allowing him to see his skin through the dripping fabric. Strands of his hair dripped onto the bathroom floor, with some drops running down the enormous red stain that now decorated the lower half of his face. “How the hell did that happen?!”

“Duct tape isn’t designed to be used on human skin, Marty,” Doc said grimly. “I did the best I could, but removing it has probably taken a couple of layers of your skin off, and I suspect the chemicals in the adhesive aren’t helping with that redness.”

“It’s not permanent, is it?!”

“No no no. It will fade,” Doc answered, “but I think you might want to stay over tonight.”

Marty raised an eyebrow. “I’m fine, Doc, really! They didn’t beat me up or anything-“

“I’m assuming, though, you don’t want to have to explain that to your parents?” Doc pointed to Marty’s mouth.

The teenager thought for a moment before nodding hurriedly. He couldn’t - or wouldn’t - look at Doc directly, and the older man chose his words carefully to avoid upsetting Marty any further. “I know you couldn’t answer me before when I asked, so I’ll ask again. What happened?”

Marty’s eyes started darting around the room nervously. He couldn’t understand why he was such a whirlwind of emotions in that moment; he was relieved to have been saved from his predicament, but also ashamed that he had to be rescued in the first place. The anger at Needles and his gang tormenting on him yet again suddenly resurfaced, and he looked up at Doc as he let out a sob. “I’m…I’m so sorry, Doc, I tried, a-and I know I shouldn’t have g-gone, but I couldn’t…t-they wouldn’t…why can’t they just leave me alone?!”

The scientist’s heart panged as he cautiously extended an arm out to Marty, to which the teenager took him by surprise as he wrapped himself around Doc’s torso. A small whine escaped his lips as he began to shake uncontrollably.

Doc was stunned for a few seconds before he returned the gesture, doing his best to provide comfort to the young man - no, the boy - sobbing and shivering in his arms. “It’s alright, Marty. It’s alright.”

But neither was sure if it would be.

[queerestzephyr]

At first, they were shunned. No-one quite knew the curse’s definition of a creature, or of eating, so there was no proof of cannibalism, but that didn’t stop the assumption being made. What helped even less were the affected’s stuttering refusal to explain why it could have happened. After all, with cannibals, you’d expect disappearances, but none ever materialised.

So they seperated themselves, forming their own communities, though they were not human exclusive. Although the majority of the members were still human, there were still a sizeable number of other anthropomorphic plants and creatures among them, mostly partners of the remaining humans, which drew quite the confusion from the general population. These exceptions too seemed as sworn to secrecy as to the cause of their compatriots lack of transformation.

Well, most of them.

Eventually, a couple from one of the communities came forward to the news, promising the long awaited explanation to the lack of transformation in some.

“So, you said you were finally going to give an explanation as to why some people didn’t transform on the day of the curse,” the news presenter said.

“Yeah. Some people wanted to keep it secret, but we thought the world should know.”

“It’s not cannibalism, is it?” the presenter joked.

“No, it’s not cannibalism.”

“So what is it then, what is the last thing you ate before the curse?”

“Ummm.” Despite having agreed to it, they still seemed nervous to say.

“Go on, the people want to know!” the presenter urged.

“Well, the night before the curse was our anniversary, and we decided to have a bit of fun. Needless to say, I don’t think we can share any more details on the news.”

“Well that certainly is an explanation. I can see why people wouldn’t want to share that.”

“Yeah, we just wanted to end the stigma. No one else is judged for their transformation, so why should we be shunned for our lack of one?”

“There you have it folks, it seems those of us who didn’t transform were just having a bit of fun that night. Thank you very much, and I’ll see you tomorrow!”

Suddenly, all humans become the last creature or plant they ate. The majority of humans are now sentient lettuce heads or beans, or anthropomorphic chickens and cows. But what concerns everyone most are the people who are still human…

[readjthompson]

Happy Halloween, people. Here’s an all-new short story (© me, now), free to read.

Bayou Ma’am

by Jeremy Thompson

“Those bitches!” Claude exclaims. “Those lyin’, stinkin’, blue ballin’ whores! Makin’ us the butts of their jokes! Gettin’ us laughed at by everyone! We oughta find ’em and stomp their fuckin’ skulls in!”

“And how would we even do that?” I respond, focusin’ on my composure, compactin’ the shame and heartbreak I now feel into a teeny, tiny ball that I’ll soon entomb in my mind’s deeper recesses. “They said they’re flyin’ back to New York City tonight, to that precious little SoHo loft they wouldn’t stop braggin’ about. They wouldn’t have done what they did if they thought we might see ’em again.”

Andre says nothin’, unable to take his eyes from the iPhone he manipulates, alternatin’ between the Instagram profiles of two hipster sisters, to better appraise our debasement.

#bayoumen is the hashtag they affixed to photos they’d taken with us just a coupla hours prior, at the one bar this town possesses, which we fellas have yet to leave. They’d flirted and led us on, allowin’ me to buy ’em drink after drink and believe that maybe, just maybe, one or more of us would be blessed with a bit of rich girl pussy for a few minutes…or twenty. They’ve got relatives in the area, they claimed, and had just attended one’s funeral. Some black sheep aunt of theirs. A real nobody.

Finally, Andre breaks his silence. “Look at this, right here. They used some kinda special effect to give me yellow snaggleteeth. I go to the dentist religiously. Look at these veneers.”

Barin’ his teeth, he reveals a mouthful of perfect, blindin’-white dental porcelain.

“Yeah, and they made Claude’s eyes way closer together than they really are and gave ’im a unibrow,” I say. “And they gave me a neckbeard and a fiddle. Look pretty real, don’t they?”

“Look at all the likes they’re gettin’. Thousands already. Everyone’s crackin’ jokes on us, callin’ us inbreds and Victor Crowleys, whatever that means. Look, that bitch Marissa just replied to someone’s comment. ‘Those bayou gumps were so cringe, we’re lucky we didn’t end up in their gumbo,’ she wrote. Fuck this. I’mma give ’er a piece of my mind.” A few minutes later, after much furious typin’, Andre adds, “Well, now she’s blocked me. Probably never woulda told us their real names if they knew that we’re on social media.”

Indeed, outlanders often make offensive assumptions when learnin’ of our bayou lifestyles. Hearin’ of our tarpaper shacks, they assume that we do naught but wallow in our own filth every day and smoke pounds of meth. Earnin’ a livin’ catchin’ shrimps, crabs, and crawfishes doesn’t appeal to ’em. They’d rather work indoors, if they even work at all. Solitude brings ’em no peace whatsoever. They care nothin’ for lullabies sung by frogs and crickets. Ya know, maybe they’re soulless.

I wave the bartender over and pay our tab. Nearly three days’ earnings down the drain. “Let’s get outta here, fellas,” I say. “It’s time for somethin’ stronger. There’s blueberry moonshine I’ve been savin’ at my place. It’ll drown our sorrows in no time.”

“Your place, huh,” says Claude. “We ain’t partied there in a minute.”

* * *

The roar of my airboat’s engine—as I navigate brackish water, ever grippin’ the control lever, passin’ between Spanish moss-bedecked cypresses that loom impassively, fog-rooted—makes conversation a chore. Still, seated before me, Andre and Claude shout back and forth.

“Bayou men aren’t fuckin’ rapists!” hollers Claude. “We’re not cannibals neither! I can whip up a crawfish boil better than anything those stuck-up cunts’ve ever tasted!”

“Damn straight!” responds Andre. “Bayou men are hard-workin’, God-fearin’, free folk! If they should be scared of anyone around these parts, it’s Bayou Ma’am!”

“Bayou Ma’am?!” I shout, as if that moniker is new to my ears. “Who the hell’s that…some kinda hooker?!”

“Hooker, nah!” attests Claude. “She’s a…whaddaya call it…hybrid! Half human, half alligator, mean as Satan his own self!”

“I heard that a gator was attackin’ a woman one night!” adds Andre. “Then a flyin’ saucer swooped down from the sky and grabbed ’em both wit’ its tractor beam! Somehow, the beam melded the gator and his meal together all grotesque-like! The aliens saw what they’d done and wanted none of it, so they abandoned Bayou Ma’am and flew elsewhere!”

“I heard toxic chemicals got spilt somewhere around here and some poor teenager swam right through ’em!” Claude contests. “She was pregnant at the time! A few months later, Bayou Ma’am chewed her way right on outta her!”

“Damn, that’s fucked up!” I shout, well aware of the grim reality lurkin’ behind their tall tales.

* * *

Bayou Ma’am is my cousin, you see. As a matter of fact, she was born just seven months after I was, in a shack half a mile down the river from mine. Her mom, my Aunt Emma, died in childbirth—couldn’t stop bleedin’, I heard. Maybe if they’d visited an obstetrician, things would’ve gone otherwise.

My aunt and uncle were reclusive sorts, and no one but them and my parents had known of her pregnancy. There aren’t many residences this far from town, and none are close together. It’s easy to disappear from the world, to eschew supermarkets and restaurants and consume local wildlife exclusively. Uncle Enoch buried Aunt Emma in a private ceremony and kept their daughter’s existence a secret from everyone but my mom and dad. Even I didn’t meet her until we were both four.

One day, a pair of strangers shuffled into my shack—which, of course, belonged to my parents in those days, up ’til they moved to Juneau, Alaska when I was sixteen, for no good reason I could see.

“This is your Uncle Enoch,” my dad told me, indicatin’ a goateed, scrawny scowler. “And that’s his daughter, your cousin Lea.”

Though itchy and bedraggled, though dressed in one of Uncle Enoch’s old t-shirts that had been refashioned into a crude dress, Lea sure was a cutie. Her eyes were the best shade of sky blue I’ve ever seen and her hair was all golden ringlets. Shyly, she waved to me with the hand she wasn’t usin’ to scratch her neck.

The two of ’em soon became our regular visitors. I never took to my perpetually pinch-faced Uncle Enoch, with his persecution complex and conspiracy theories shapin’ his every voiced syllable. Lea, on the other hand, I couldn’t help but be charmed by. She had such a sunny disposition, such full-hearted character, that I was always carried away by the games her inquisitive, inventive mind conjured. Leavin’ our parents to their serious, sunless discussions, we hurled ourselves into the vibrant outdoors and surrendered to our impish natures.

“I’m a hawk, you’re a squirrel!” declared Lea. Outstretchin’ her arms, she voiced ear-shreddin’ screeches, and chased me around ’til we both collapsed, gigglin’. “Whoever collects the most spider lilies wins!” she next decided. “The loser becomes a spider! A great, big, gooey one! Yuck!”

We skipped stones and spied on animals, learned to dance, cartwheel and swim. We played hide-and-seek often, with whichever one of us was “it” allowed to forfeit the game by whistlin’ a special tune we’d improvised. It was durin’ one such game that Lea made a friend.

“I’m comin’ to get you!” I shouted, after closin’ my eyes and countin’ to fifty. Our environs bein’ so rich in hiding spots, expectin’ a lengthy hunt, I was most disappointed to find my cousin within just a few minutes. There she was, at the river’s edge. Behind her, towerin’ cypress trees seemed to sprout from their inverted, ripplin’ doppelgangers. So, too, did Lea seem unnaturally bound to her watery reflection, until I stepped a bit closer and exclaimed, “Get away from there, quickly! That’s a gator you’re pettin’!”

Indeed, we’d both been warned, many times, to avoid the bayou’s more dangerous critters. Black bears and bobcats were said to roam about these parts, though we’d seen neither hide nor hair of ’em. Snakes flitted about the periphery, never lingerin’ long in our sights. We’d seen plenty of gators swimmin’ and lazin’ about, though. As long as we kept our distance and avoided feedin’ ’em, they’d leave us alone, we’d been told.

“Oh, it’s just a little one!” Lea argued, scoopin’ the creature into her arms and plantin’ a smooch on his head. “A cutie-patootie, friendly boy. I’m gonna call ’im Mr. Kissy Kiss.”

I studied the fella. Nearly a foot in length, he was armored in scales, dark with yellow stripes. Fascinated by his eyes, with their vertical pupils and autumn-shaded irises, I stepped a bit closer. Mr. Kissy Kiss’ mouth opened and closed, displayin’ dozens of pointy teeth, as Lea stroked him.

“Well, I guess he does seem kinda nice,” I admitted. “I wonder where his parents are.”

“Maybe his mommy and daddy went to heaven, and are singin’ with the angels,” said Lea.

“Maybe, maybe, maybe,” I mockingly singsonged.

Suddenly, a strident shout met our ears: my mother callin’ us in for lunch. Carefully, Lea deposited Mr. Kissy Kiss onto the shoreline. He then crawled into the water—never to return, I assumed.

Boy, was I wrong. A few days later, I found Lea again riverside, feedin’ the little gator a dozen snails she’d collected—crunch, crunch, crunch. A week after that, he strutted up to my cousin with a bouquet of purple petunias in his clenched teeth.

“Ooh, are these for me?” Lea cooed, retrievin’ the flowers and tuckin’ one behind her ear. “I love you so much, little dearie,” she added, strokin’ her beloved until his tail began waggin’.

Their visits continued for a coupla months, until mean ol’ Uncle Enoch caught us at the riverside as we attempted to teach Mr. Kissy Kiss to fetch. Oh, how the man pitched a fit then.

“No daughter of mine’ll be gator meat!” he shouted. “Sure, he’s nice enough now, but these bastards grow a foot every year! By the time he’s eleven feet long and weighs half a ton, you’re be nothin’ but a big mound of shit he left behind.” Seizing Lea by the arm, my uncle then dragged her away.

When next we did meet, a few days later, my cousin wasted no time in leadin’ me back to the riverside. “Where are you, Mr. Kissy Kiss?” she wailed, until the little gator swam from the shadows to greet her. Sweepin’ him into her arms, she said. “Let’s run away together, right this minute, so that we’ll never be apart.”

“Oh, that’s not such a great idea,” a buzzin’ voice contested. “Little girls go missin’ all the time and their fates are far from enviable.”

“Who said that?” I demanded, draggin’ my gaze all ’cross the bayou.

“’Tis I, Lord Mosquito,” was the answer that accompanied the alightin’ of the largest bloodsucker I’ve ever seen. Its legs were longer than my arms were back then. Iridescent were its cerulean scales, glimmerin’ in the sun.

“Mosquitos don’t talk,” I protested.

“They do when they were the Muck Witch’s familiar. Now she’s dead and I’m free to fly where I might.”

“I ain’t never hearda no Muck Witch.”

“And she never heard of you. That’s the way of southern recluses. Still, such is the great woman’s power that she grants wishes even now, from the other side of death. The Muck Witch’ll ensure that you never part with your precious pet, little Lea, just so long as you follow me to her grave and ask her with proper courtesy.”

Well, I’d been warned about witches and the deceitfulness of their favors, so I attempted to drag Lea back to my shack, away from the bizarre insect. But the girl fought me most ferociously, clawin’ flesh from my face, so I ran for my parents and uncle instead.

By the time the four of us returned to the riverside, neither girl nor gator nor mosquito could be sighted. We searched the bayou for hours, shriekin’ Lea’s name, to no avail.

A few weeks later, after we hadn’t seen the fella for a while, my parents dragged me to my uncle’s shack, so that we might suss out his state of mind and offer him a bit of comfort.

“I found her,” Uncle Enoch attested, usherin’ us into his livin’ room, which was now occupied by a large, transparent tank.

Atop its screen lid, facin’ downward, were dome lamps that emanated heat and UVB lightin’ from their specialized bulbs. Silica sand and rocks spanned its bottom, beneath a bathtub’s wortha water. At one end of the tank, boulders protruded from the agua. Upon ’em rested a terrible figure. If not for the recognizable t-shirt she wore, I’d never have surmised her identity.

“Luh…Lea?” I gasped. “What in the world has become of ya?”

Indeed, though Lea had wished to always be with her beloved gator, I doubt that she’d desired for the creature to be merged with her, to be incorporated into Lea’s very physicality. Patches of scales were distributed here and there across her exposed flesh. Her beautiful blue eyes remained, but her nose and mouth had stretched into an alligator’s wide snout, filled with many conical teeth. And let’s not forget her long, brawny tail.

After our initial shock abated and dozens of unanswerable questions were voiced, my parents took me home. Never again did they return to my uncle’s shack, but a dim sense of familial obligation had me comin’ back every coupla weeks, to feed Lea local muskrats and opossums I’d captured, and help my uncle change her tank’s shitty water.

The years went by, and Lea moved into a succession of larger tanks. Eventually, she grew big enough to wear her mother’s old dresses, seemin’ to favor those with floral patterns.

Finally, just a coupla months ago, I arrived at the shack to find Lea’s tank shattered. Torn clothin’ and scattered bloodstains were all that remained of Uncle Enoch, and my cousin was nowhere to be seen.

Not long after that, the Bayou Ma’am sightings began, which vitalized increasingly outlandish rumors and the occasional drunken search party. Luckily, no one has managed to photograph or film Lea yet, as far as I know.

* * *

At any rate, back in the present, I cut the airboat’s engine, leavin’ us driftin’ along our twilight current. It takes a moment for our arrested momentum to register with Claude and Andre, then both are bellowin’, askin’ me what the fuck’s goin’ on.

Rather than voice bullshit answers, I whistle the special tune my cousin and I improvised all those years ago, again and again, to ensure that I’m heard.

Moments later, Lea bursts up from the water, wearin’ a floral dress that had once been red-with-white-lilies, before the bayou muck spoiled it. In the fadin’ light, blurred by her own velocity, she could be mistaken for a primeval relic, a time-lost dinosaur of a species hitherto unknown. But, as her nickname had been so freshly upon their lips, both of my passengers, nearly synchronized, cry out, “Bayou Ma’am!”

Whatever the fellas might’ve said next is swallowed by their shrieks, as Lea tackles Andre out of his passenger seat while simultaneously swattin’ Claude across the face with her tail. The latter’s nose and mouth implode, spillin’ gore down his shirt.

Attemptin’ to gouge out Lea’s eyes as she and he roll across the deck, Andre instead loses both of his hands to her snappin’ teeth. Blood fountains from his new wrist stumps as he falls unconscious.

Claude tries to dive off the side of my airboat, but Lea’s powerful mouth has already seized him by the leg, its grip nigh unbreakable. She begins shakin’ her head—left to right, right to left—until Claude’s entire right calf muscle is torn away and swallowed.

“Ah, God, that hurts!” he shouts. His eyes meet mine and he begs, “Help me! Kill the bitch!”

“Sorry,” I respond, comfortably perched in the driver seat, an audience of one, watchin’ Lea’s teeth tear through the fella’s arm, as his free hand slaps her snout.

After Lea’s mouth closes around Claude’s skull, my friend’s struggles finally cease. Not much is left of him now. All of his thoughts and feelings have surely evanesced.

Groggily, Andre returns to consciousness, only to find himself helpless as Lea tears away his pants and consumes his right leg, then his left. She takes special delight in dinin’ on his genitals, as is evidenced by her waggin’ tail.

Blood loss carries Claude’s soul away, even as Lea moves onto his abdomen.

* * *

I’ll miss Claude and Andre. Friends aren’t easily attained in the bayou and they were the best ones I’ve ever had. All of the memories we made together will be carried only by me now. When I’m gone, it’ll be as if those events never happened.

Perhaps I should say a prayer as I push what little is left of their corpses into the dark river, but all I can think to say is, “Farewell, cousin,” as Lea swims away, glutted. Does she even care that I sacrificed chummy companionship to help keep her existence unknown?

It’s tough as hell to fight a rumor, but I’m sure gonna try. I’ll say that Claude and Andre hitchhiked to Tijuana, cravin’ a bit of prostituta. No need to further enflame the Bayou Ma’am seekers. If many more of ’em disappear, it’s sure to spell trouble for Lea.

Perhaps my cousin’ll be captured one day, for display or dissection. Or maybe I’ll discover the Muck Witch’s grave and attempt to wish Lea back to normal. Is Lord Mosquito still alive? If so, can it be persuaded to help?

Whatever the case, I wasn’t lyin’ about that blueberry moonshine earlier. Lickety-split, I’ll be drinkin’ my way into slumberland, and therein escape familial obligation for a while.

[thesunshineriptide]

First years with a Lamia!Reader

The greek legends say that Lamia was once a beautiful Queen that the king of the gods himself fancied, much to his wife’s ire. When the Queen sired her many children, Hera struck them down by either sending fits of madness into Lamia’s mind, or by her own hand. In her tears, Lamia devoured the children of other mothers, slowly transforming into a terrifying, snakelike demon, who was blind by day, but free to hunt at night.

It is similar to the concept of the Naga, which is a semi-divine being that is half human and half cobra. The Naga is a powerful race, as each can transform between fully human, fully snake, and true naga form at will.

For this particular request, I have combined the two into a very…interesting creature.

Fangs Up!

Tw// monsters, snakes, physical violence, attempted cannibalism (as a joke), fish cannibalism, eating a “dog” whole, biting, mentions of poison/venom

Characters: Ace, Deuce, Jack, Epel, Sebek

There is simply something about you that makes it hard to look away. It’s similar to the Leech twins, in a way, or to the Diasomnia housewarden. There’s something in your eyes, in your movements, in the words that slip from your tongue. The prestige that Leona neglects to carry, but the sociability that Malleus himself lacks.

It seems as though you float, slink, and slide everywhere you go. It seems like one minute someone could be positive they’re completely alone in the hall, and the next they can feel your breath on their neck.

It isn’t uncommon for a non-humanoid to attend Night Raven College, it’s fairly common. It doesn’t make it any less nerve wracking.

All the upperclassmen have to remind themselves that at least they aren’t a first year, like you. They can leave sooner.

Ace:

There’s very few that would be bold enough to actively start a fight with you. Just like the Leech twins, you’re tall, insanely strong, and a bit intimidating. But very obvious warnings can’t stop this idiot!

No, he’s the first freshman to try and make friends with you, and he wastes no time immediately trying to fight you.

But oh, how the tables turn. You catch him alone in the hall between classes, seemingly lost, and walk to stand behind him, reading his schedule over his shoulder. Letting out a ‘tsk’ that sounded more like a hiss seemed to startled Ace, however. He let out a terrified squeak and jumped away panicked.

“Hahahah, you sound like a little mouse!” Your sharp teeth were on full display as you laughed, only remembering after a moment to cover your mouth as you did so, “You look a bit like one too, all wide eyes and big ears.”

“Hey! My ears aren’t big! They’re completely normal sized!” Ace pouted as he nervously covered his ears, “whatever, did you just come to make fun of me, or are you gonna help me get to class? Not that you’d be much help, you probably don’t know where anything is either.”

With a closed mouth grin, you took his schedule from him, “Class 1-7 alchemy? It’s right around the corner, three doors down on the left.” You handed it back, a smug look on your face.

“How’d you even know that? We’ve been here like, four days!”

“Maybe I’m just smarter than you.” You grinned, showing sharp fangs, “If you want, we can walk around campus after classes until you’re familiar with where everything is. It’s what I did.”

Ace raised his eyebrows for a moment, then shrugged, “Sounds better than flamingo duty. Our housewarden is such a stick in the mud.”

You laughed and leaned over him a moment to watch him squirm before simply patting his head, “See you later, Rat tail. I’ll pick you up in the dorm hall, yeah?”

Deuce:

Deuce isn’t a coward in any regard…except for when he’s scared. Listen, he can’t just unleash his delinquent side every time there’s an issue, and he has enough sense to not start shit with you.

However…he can’t naturally escape you. You’re friends with Ace, his best-friend-sometimes-enemy-sometimes-no-homo-boyfriend, so you’re friends with him whether you like it or not!

What he doesn’t seem to realize for a while, though, is that you actually don’t mind his company. He’s a good boy, he does his homework, he doesn’t cause trouble intentionally, and he seems to have enough street smarts to assess situations pretty well, even if he’s gullible and clumsy.

Honestly, nothing could have prepared him for this.

“Deuce,” you start, “Your sleeve has a tear.”

He blinked a moment before looking down at his arm, and, sure enough, there’s a long tear going all the way up his forearm. Not just that, but it’s deep, and he’s bleeding.

“Where did you get that?” You question, voice low, “Was it a fight?”

“N-no! At least, I don’t think so! I don’t remember it.”

You frown and take his arm, holding him tight when he instinctively tries to jerk back. When you run a finger on the cut and frown deeper, he begins to panic.

“Nobody touches what’s mine.” He hears you murmur before letting his arm drop, “I’ll walk you to the infirmary so they can check it out. If you didn’t feel it before, you might have a numbing agent or poison in your system. I’ll mend your shirt and sleeve after it gets washed.”

He doesn’t quite know what to do, but nod dumbly and let you guide him away.

Ace and Deuce see your snake form for the first time together. It seems as though it isn’t something you prefer around here, or around them, but instead something you save for emergencies.

The emergency in question is that their dorm leader is having a mental breakdown and getting pretty close to killing the dorms population.

It’s a few beats into him trying to beat Ace with a rose bush that looks more like a tree before Riddle’s movement stops and he screams in anger.

When Ace manages to peek beyond the shrubbery, he sees you. He watches as you coil yourself around Riddle, restraining his movement with your long snakelike body, face showing a small amount of remorse as you squeeze him until he looks like he’s about to pass out.

Deuce is running to Ace, now, pulling him to his feet.

“Deuce- Deuce, look at the dorm head.”

“I know, I know, I saw.”

“No, I mean the snake- it’s- y/n….”

“I noticed, yeah. Kinda cool to have a snake friend, right?”

Deuce and Ace looked to you at the same time, watching as you opened your mouth to bite a now unconscious Riddle. You paused, locking eyes with them, then closed your mouth and instead let go of Riddle, carefully laying him on the ground.

“Thank you for not eating him, Y/N.”

“I dunno, Deuce, I kinda think they should have.”

“ACE NO-“

Jack:

The best kept secret of NRC is the vow of silence everyone is Heartslabyul was sworn to about how Riddle was defeated. The worst kept secret, though, is how Leona was defeated.

No, you hadn’t really talked to Jack before your investigation into the mysterious accidents right before the spelldrive tournament, but he became a close ally near overnight. Unfortunately, that overnight happened to be the one before the morning Leona overblotted.

Jack looked worriedly between you, the braincell duo, Ruggie, Leona, and Riddle. He needed to find out where to prioritize his needs - you’re built strong, but do you need protecting? Where is he needed most right now?

It’s when you lunge toward Ruggie to get him away from Leona’s grasp that he jumps to action, scooping up Riddle just as his signature spell on Leona fails. He manages to pull him out of danger, and before Riddle can reprimand him, he pulls him back to the ground to avoid a fireball.

He turns to see you trying to throw a spelldrive disc at Leona’s head. Seriously, this is the one who defeated an overblot?

He’s dumbfounded when it works though, and Leona passes out from the hit. Jesus, do you eat steroids for breakfast? Is Leona just that weak?

And he really doesn’t know what to do when you pick up a black gem and lick it. What the fuck is wrong with you. He does a double take when you eye Leona with what he can only describe as hunger.

Jack isn’t sure what he’s doing when he walks over to you, quietly whispering in your ear, “Please don’t eat him, he’s a prince.”

He’s more than happy to find out that you’re actually really cool, though. The more he sees of you afterward, the more he finds himself warming up to you. It seems like you sneak into Savanaclaw just to take naps in the sand, or to cheer him on when he does his morning laps. He appreciates all the little doodles you bring him of animals. Birds, cats, mice, and dogs, mostly, with the occasional giraffe or fish. He keeps them in his binder to look at when he’s feeling sad.

He first sees your snake form when Azul overblots. At first glance he misses you - there’s a lot of skinny long things waving about. But when he counts how many eel merfolk there are in the fight, he notices there’s too many. Or at least, he thinks so.

That’s when it clicked with him. He watched as your scaled body wrapped around Azul’s middle and you tried trapping his arms down, hissing and glaring at him as he writhed in your grasp. It seemed an octopus wasn’t ideal prey.

“Yamakagashi-chan! Bite him!”

Jack’s eyes went wide, “DO NOT BITE HIM.”

“Don’t worry, Jack-kun, Azul himself is venomous. It’s unlikely this will kill him.”

“DO NOT BITE HIM PLEASE, Y/N, I KNOW DAMN WELL YOU WONT STOP AT BITING.”

Suddenly, it seemed Azul’s mood shifted from angry to scared, and in an instant he shrunk down to his normal humanoid size, the blot leaving him.

Man, you really had a way or ending fights quick, huh?

“Do you think he tastes like Takoyaki?”

“I KNOW he tastes like Takoyaki~ I used to chomp on his tentacles all the time when we were younger.”

“Y/N DONT EAT HIM”

Epel:

You aren’t ever on Epel’s radar until you’re on Rook’s, because he won’t shut the fuck up about you and it’s really starting to freak him out.

“Ah, the Règle de forme seems to be enjoying some minced meat pie today, how fascinating, how exquisite!”

Epel let’s out a huff before excusing himself from the table to walk up to where you sit, surrounded by your idiots.

“Excuse me? You’re the- uh, Rook called you the Règle de forme? You fought the overblots, right?”

Your eyes flick over him before leaning back in your seat, “I suppose I am. Did you need something?”

“O-oh! Well, uh, I just wanted to tell you that Vice housewarden Rook has been…uh, hunting you? He does that a lot, but it’s definitely getting uncomfortable so I wanted to tell you in advance of him doing something stupid.”

The easy smile on your face as you lean back forward, head resting on your hand tells him that maybe he shouldn’t have been concerned.

“Will you protect me from him, then?” Epel’s eyes widened as you laughed, “you’re quite adept at spelldrive, surely you can handle this as well, can’t you?”

Epel let the soft boy look on his face drop and he gave a little evil grin, “Yer darn tootin’ I can!”

He watched as you raised an eyebrow before patting the empty seat next to yourself, “Take a seat, cowboy. It’s been a long time since I’ve had a royal retainer.”

Epel first sees your snake form on accident. After a long week at college you had disappeared into the woods to ‘blow off steam’, but you hadn’t come back for a few hours, and coincidentally, Rook also disappeared.

So in his nervousness, he ventured into the woods himself to find you.

It wasn’t long until he was lost - he would never admit he was, but he didn’t know the area as well as he knew home, okay? - and heard someone calling his name.

He assumed it was you, and called back, “hello?” He took a tentative step off the trail, “Y/N? Is that you?”

What he didn’t expect was to be met with glowing yellow eyes, large teeth, and a snarl from a creature pouncing on top of him. It’s matted black and brown and grey fur stunk of moss and rot, it’s slobber dripped on his shirt and caused it to sizzle and burn like acid.

He tried to scream, but the wind was knocked out of him from the beast before him. He felt his head growing dizzy and silently wrote his will.

Then the weight was gone, and a hiss cut through the pounding in his ears.

Now atop of him laid a cold, scaly body, and even farther away was you, biting down on the creature and -

And you ate it.

Whole.

How you managed to move afterward was unclear to him, but it was clear you were very tired and pretty angry as you slithered back to him.

Your eyes seemed clouded as you hissed out “mine. Nobody else gets my prey, just me.” But the daze seemed to pass when you made eye contact.

Your body slithered off him and he heard bones cracking as you transformed back to your human form. There was a pause of him staring at the sky and you panting before you walked over and offered to help him up.

“On your feet, retainer. It’s time we get back, isn’t it?”

Sebek:

Sebek only ever saw you as a threat to his Lord and Savior Malleus Draconia, Crown Prince of Briar Valley, and as a result made sure to steer clear of you.

He did, however, have one interaction with you.

It was late at night just after Equestrian Club called it a day when you strolled up, on two feet, but scaly and looking distinctly non-human.

“You.” You said, staring at him, “Sebek Zigvolt, aren’t you?”

“That is correct.” He said firmly, almost aggressively, “And you’re the snake of the school, yes?”

“That is correct,” you mirrored, lisp sliding into your voice, “I require help. You attend to a dragon, don’t you?”

“I do more than simply attend to Lord Malleus! I protect him with my life!” He cried indignantly.

You simply hummed, looking tired, “Do you know a remedy for insatiable hunger, half-fae?”

He stared, trying to decide between terror and feeling affronted. He settled on being helpful. “I do. I will get the recipe from Master Lilia, and bring you a copy.”

Your lidded stare made him feel uneasy before you just smiled, nodded, and began to move away, “That would be appreciated. Meet me at the ramshackle dorm. I don’t believe I should be around many people for a while.”

He watched as you walked away with all the grace of a sea-legged pirate, then began to internally freak out.

In the end, he did get the potion recipe from Lilia, and simply knocked on the door of the ramshackle dorm to make sure you were there, then slid it under the door when you hissed a reply to do so.

He still feels queasy thinking of it.

[sapphires-and-silver-linings]

The Betrayer | Chapter One: Enter The Fog

A sense of dread crept up your spine as you quickened your pace, pushing it down to keep yourself calm. Everything would be fine.

Pairing: Albert Wesker/F!Reader, Chris Redfield/F!Reader

Tags: Violence Mention, Injury Mention

Notes: Hey! I hope for my Chris and Wesker lovers this will be a fun ride! I'm having a lot of fun world-building for the Entity's realm, as well. I'm a full-time student, so updates will probably be erratic, on top of working on my other fic. This will also be a bit of a slow build. Let me know what you think!

Masterlist | Next

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July 23, 1998; R.P.D.

“Eyes up, men. We have a new mission briefing,” came Captain Wesker’s voice, the entirety of the Special Tactics and Rescue Service team filing in behind him to gather in the small office.

It was five o’clock on a Thursday evening and you had just been working on a report, your eyes blurring from the amount of time staring at the computer screen. Ever since the “incident”, Wesker wouldn’t assign you on missions until he felt you were properly recovered, so you spent your days filing paperwork instead of joining in on the action.

You doubted today would be any different, but you stopped what you were doing and gave him your full attention anyway.

“I assume you are all aware of the Raccoon Forest deaths?” the Captain asked the group, looking around the room through those dark shades he always wore.

Joseph piped up, his arm slung around Chris’s shoulder, “Oh yeah, it’s a cult or something, right? I overheard a couple of the homicide detectives talking about it. Cannibal murders.”

The group chuckled lightly as he wiggled his fingers to emphasize the gruesome acts.

“Indeed,” Wesker replied, less amused by Joseph’s antics than the rest of his subordinates. “And it would seem it’s gotten out of hand. The Chief is dispatching us to do a thorough investigation.”

“Who are you sending, Cap?” questioned Forest, who leaned obnoxiously against Jill’s desk, to her chagrin. You suppressed a giggle as she swatted his hand away before he could snatch one of her pens.

Vice Captain Marini stepped forward from beside Wesker. “That’ll be Bravo team. Alpha team will remain here on standby.”

“Bravo team is to report in the armory in t-minus four hours. From there you will gear up and head out by helicopter to the Arklay Mountains. Any questions?” The room was silent and Wesker nodded. “I’ll be in my office if anyone needs me.”

You watched him go, the room suddenly abuzz with chatter as soon as the door closed.

Richard walked up to Rebecca, who sat quietly at her desk. “You nervous, rookie?”

The communications expert was a sweetheart, and probably one of your favorite S.T.A.R.S. members due to his reserved but caring nature. Knowing about the death of his little sister and how that drove him into law enforcement, it was easy for you to imagine his concern for Rebecca ran a bit deeper than a simple check-in with the new recruit.

The young girl glanced up at him with wide eyes, but she seemed otherwise calm and collected. “I think I’ll manage.”

Rebecca had only been in S.T.A.R.S. for a couple of months, though the two of you already seemed to forge a strong bond. She was a prodigy—or so you had heard before her arrival—but she was still only eighteen. You worried about her.

This was a hard job. A job where things could go wrong at the drop of a hat. You witnessed injury and death all the time, and it was a difficult thing to compartmentalize.

You glanced down at your broken arm, the white cast now covered in signatures, jokes, and little drawings from your coworkers, though some of the ink had smudged in the few weeks since getting it. You still thought about that night all the time.

“How’s the arm, Lucky?” Chris asked, scooting his chair closer to your desk.

You rolled your eyes at the nickname, which the whole team seemed to use now instead of your real one. “Better. Doctor said it can come off as early as next week.”

“Good to hear. I bet you’re itching to get back in the field after doing everyone’s paperwork for so long.” You smacked him playfully with your good arm and he laughed. “Hey now, I just call it as I see it!”

“Yeah, and you’re the one dumping most of it onto me, you ass.”

“Only cos I know you can handle it, Lucky.”

You smiled and turned back to your computer, already feeling restless as you waited for the Bravo team’s quickly approaching operation. You hoped it would go smoothly.

***

July 24, 1998; Arklay Mountains

The following night, you and the Alpha team went out looking for your fellow S.T.A.R.S. members in the dense, dark forest below you.

Your group had lost contact with the Bravo team and you were anxious, picking at the skin around your fingernails as you scanned the black expanse of trees, praying for any sign your friends were okay.

You felt a nudge against your shoulder and you turned to face Joseph, his voice raised to be heard through the comms over the deafening beat of helicopter wings, “You sure you’re up for this, Lucky?”

You knew he was only looking out for you, but a part of you was annoyed that he was second-guessing your place on the team. You were aware that you fucked up the day you got your arm broken–the dull ache you felt any time you pressed too firmly on the skin a constant reminder–but you had to prove you weren’t useless. Weren’t a liability.

Besides, you needed to help find your fellow officers. Sitting back at the Raccoon City Police Department and just waiting around would have driven you crazy.

“Wesker seems to think so,” you called out in response. That wasn’t exactly true. You had to fight him to get a spot on the chopper.

At the sound of his name, he turned to look at you, his brow quirked at your half-truth. You offered him a meek shrug as your little meeting from earlier that night came to mind.

“I’m coming with you,” you had told Wesker, marching into his office after Bravo team’s continued radio silence.

The captain didn’t bother to look at you, the only indication he even heard your voice was the flat line of his mouth lowering into a frown.

“You’re not ready,” he said simply.

You felt like you could scream, but you remained calm. Getting hysterical wouldn’t help your case. Wesker was a logical man, so you would try to be practical.

“You need every officer you can get on this, Captain. If they’re really in trouble, bringing me along just makes sense.”

Wesker finally deigned to look at you, and you knew he was getting agitated by the way he tapped his finger on the desk. “You’ll only get in the way. We don’t need a repeat of last time, Lucky.”

You felt tears pricking your eyes in frustration. He was mocking you now.

You raised your voice, no longer caring how emotional you sounded, “I won’t get in the way, Wesker! We both know I'm damn good at my job. Last time was a mistake!”

“A mistake that nearly cost you your life.”

“Albert, please.”

He stood abruptly and skirted the desk to tower over you, speaking through gritted teeth, “I told you not to call me that at work.”

You swallowed, knowing that breaking one of his rules would do you no favors.

“I’m sorry, Captain. But please let me prove to you I can do this. Bravo team needs us. I’m the everyman, remember? I can pick up anybody’s slack in case something goes sideways. Just let me help.”

Wesker sighed, pulling his glasses from his face to rub his icy blue eyes before settling them on you. “Fine, but don’t expect me to babysit you. If things take a turn, you get to safety, do you understand me?”

You nodded, feeling suddenly exposed beneath his penetrating gaze.

He grabbed your chin in his hand. “Say it.”

You took a shaky breath and answered, “I understand, sir.”

The corner of his lips curled ever so slightly upwards and he gently tucked a tendril of your hair behind your ear, his voice lowering in a way that sent a dark little thrill through your whole body, “Good girl.”

“Thank you, Captain.”

“You can thank me by staying out of the way.”

He retracted his hand and stepped back, about to return to his desk when you seized his wrist. “Wait, there’s something I wanted to tell you.”

“And what is that?” There was an amused twinkle in his eye before he returned his shades to their place, masking the rare show of emotion beyond his usual quiet neutrality or sharp derision.

“I know this mission could be risky, for all of us, and I just wanted to say–”

You were interrupted by a firm knock on Wesker’s office door.

You jumped back, releasing him as Barry spoke from the other side, “You wanted to see me, sir?”

Wesker turned to you. “Looks like we’re out of time, my dear. Let’s continue this later, if we may.”

“I–yes… Later’s fine.”

You felt disappointed, worrying that this might be your last chance to tell him the truth, but you pushed it down instead.

Everything would be fine.

“Chris, look!”

You’re broken from your reverie at the sound of Jill’s voice, whipping your head in the direction of her pointed finger.

There, in a glade just ahead, was the Bravo team’s helicopter. You wanted to feel relief, but a sense of foreboding overshadowed it when you realized that no one was near the downed aircraft.

Where did they go?

Unfortunately, your group had to land in a different clearing about a mile away due to the encroaching woodlands. Everyone exited the chopper except Brad, who would remain behind in case there was a need for immediate extraction.

Trying to avoid putting too much pressure on your injured arm, you awkwardly plopped on the edge of the cabin floor. Chris, noticing the slight hold-up, offered you his hand. You took it gratefully and he helped you jump onto the ground, the descent softened by a bed of pine needles.

You noticed Wesker’s glare in your direction, feeling his disdain through his glasses, even in the dark. You hoped he wasn’t about to change his mind and force you to sit in the helicopter the rest of the night just for accepting help.

Instead, he turned away from you and held up his pistol and flashlight, crossing his wrists as he began scanning the tree line.

You let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding and followed his lead. Sure, the cast made things a bit more difficult, but it wasn’t even your shooting arm.

The group moved carefully through the forest in a two-column formation; Barry and Chris in the lead, Wesker and Joseph in the middle, and you and Jill taking the rear. You all fanned out to cover more ground, diligently searching for your missing comrades in the abnormal chill of the summer night.

You glanced over at your teammates scouting ahead of you, Wesker giving commands as you drew closer to the abandoned chopper. He was so poised and unafraid despite the circumstances. You wished you had even an ounce of his confidence.

You could never control the way your eyes drifted to him, always seeking him out when you knew he was near. The times when he caught you staring, he would grant you a slight, knowing smirk that disappeared the moment you blinked. Like a secret kept between you.

Tonight, he didn't look back.

You decided to trail your gaze elsewhere.

Ahead of Wesker was Barry, who you always joked was the dad of the group despite being the same age as the captain. He and Chris knew each other even before they started working at the R.P.D., having been in the Air Force together. In fact, Barry was the reason Chris even joined S.T.A.R.S., and you couldn’t have been more thankful for it.

The older man seemed tense, and that gave you cause for concern. He was normally level-headed in these situations.

Glimpsing beside you at Jill, you could tell that she was nervous but holding it together well. You knew she was just as worried about your fellow S.T.A.R.S. members as you were, though she was better at hiding it than you. You told her all the time she’d be good at poker.

You then took notice of Joseph, who had started to shift farther from the group. He seemed relaxed, and you even heard a slight hum as he darted his eyes over the woods sprawling before you.

You let out a soft puff of air in amusement. Leave it to Joseph to bring levity to a situation like this. His carefree attitude lifted your spirits a bit, even if only slightly.

Chris peered back at you, as if making sure you were still there, and you met his gaze. He offered you a reassuring and almost apologetic smile that you returned only half-heartedly.

You considered Chris to be your best friend, having worked with him since the conception of S.T.A.R.S. He could be overbearingly protective of you sometimes, like earlier that night when you told him you were going on the mission and he argued that you were still too injured to manage.

You knew he meant well. He cared about you, and you tried not to take that for granted.

You felt a twinge of regret for the way you blew up on him before takeoff, but you’d be damned if you let him have any say in your involvement with the rescue mission. They were your friends that were missing too.

He turned away, refocusing his attention on the search, and you did the same after reflecting for a bit on your team members.

Then there was you. You wanted to believe you were smart and capable and courageous in the face of danger. In truth, you were more idealistic, incredibly stubborn, and wore your every emotion on your rolled-up sleeve.

The most notable thing about you, though, was that despite possessing the nickname “Lucky”, you were anything but.

It was a cutesy term of endearment meant to poke a little fun at you for how things turned out, but every time you heard it, it only reminded you of your failure. You knew Chris, the one who gifted you this new moniker, would stop calling you by it if he was aware of your offense. But you let it happen because perhaps that reminder was what you needed to improve.

You couldn’t repeat the mishap that broke your arm and put your last assignment in jeopardy. You loved this job and your colleagues, and you couldn’t risk losing them.

Above all, you didn’t want to die. This line of work was dangerous and you accepted it, but that brush with your own mortality had frightened you. In fact, it kept you up most nights, imagining all the ways it could have gone better (and sometimes worse).

Suddenly, you heard the sharp crunch of a snapping stick and halted in your tracks, flashing your light in the general vicinity of the noise. You found nothing there.

Dragging your attention back to your fellow officers, you realized you’d fallen behind.

A sense of dread crept up your spine as you quickened your pace, pushing it down to keep yourself calm.

Everything would be fine.

As you brought up the rear, you felt a sudden pull. It was as if you were trudging through mud as a slow, rolling black fog crawled up and around your legs. The silhouettes of your teammates faded in the thick, inky mist that began to envelop you.

You panicked as you jogged forward, calling out your friends’ names. No one turned to look at you.

Wesker said he wouldn’t babysit you, but he’d never just leave you behind. None of them would.

Something was very wrong here.

You broke out in a full sprint, unable to distinguish even the trees in the haze, fighting the syrupy tug of something unseen trying to reel you in from the dark.

You stopped to catch your breath, confusion and fear bubbling up in your gut as you surveyed your surroundings.

A terrifying realization dawned on you all at once:

The fog had swallowed you up completely.

--------------------

Masterlist | Next

[delicrieux]

☆ﾐ 𝚖𝚊𝚔𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚜𝚊𝚢 “𝚘𝚑”

PART 23: PRETTY BOY

emotions run wild when everyone is drunk and hardly coherent. quackity is always loud, but tonight is a full on assault on the senses (the ears, in particular). bretman simps for corpse too much for your liking. rae is happy for once. there’s a confession of love somewhere in there. sister james makes a very good impostor, but that’s old news, the real question is who gave you a knife? a new persona emerges that leaves the roaches quivering in their boots.

─── corpse husband x reader, a lil bit of everyone x reader (because she’s a queen) ─── soc. media + written fiction! ─── word count: a lil over 7k.

author’s note: it’s the way i can’t follow a fucking calendar for me. sorry guys, i swear to god i thought i had one more day before thursday . the idiot award goes to me and i accept it with pride. anyway, i was excited to write this for a while! quackity is in mexico, that’s why he drinks, too. my fic, my rules, he’s too funny not to include. im also working on an extra w dream and mr quack so look forward to that, too! hopefully u like this part ily xx and as always lmk wat u think!!

ultimate masterlist.  ҉  myso masterlist   ҉   previous. ҉   next.

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The outfit for today was picked with care and consideration. Hot, as always- you had forgotten your roots, your hoodie and sweats lay hidden in the bottom of your drawer never to be worn on stream again. You’ve changed. Clout really does that to people. Some viewers, naturally, find your hotness near insulting: how dare you rub your beauty in their faces, and so unabashedly, too?! If only you had a twinge of self-awareness, perhaps you would tone it down. But you don’t, and whether that’s by choice or not is the mystery the whole internet tries to solve (ARMY has been working diligently, and you admire their effort, though in the end their tireless labor brings no tangible results). 

You went from hot to hotter. In all truth, the fires eating away at California can be blamed on you. You carry this burden in stride, in your platform overpriced shoes some girl scammed you on Depop with, in your fishnets, in your skirt, in your corset, in your rings and necklaces and chains. You woke up today and chose violence. Decided your existence will be a plague to the rest of the populace, and meant it (that, maybe, you took inspiration from a certain faceless Youtuber that so happens to be your boyfriend or whatever). You feel powerful. Like you could step on the world and the world would let you. You decide that it’s the way it should always be. 

The smile on your lips informs of nothing good to your quaint, small audience of 40k. You change the lighting in your room from the soft cherry blossom pink to menacing violet. As fitting for a villain.

Perhaps California’s hellish sun has finally purged you of your bubbly, docile nature (arguably, you had never possessed it to begin with); perhaps it’s the forth mimosa you’re mixing as people slowly trickle into the lobby. Who knows?! Not you, definitely. What do all of those boring dead white European philosophers say? Embrace the unknown? Cheers, you’ll drink to that.

In stark contrast to your appearance, your room is a fucking mess. A war-zone of epic anime scale. Everything is scattered, well, everywhere. A perfect representation on what’s going on in your mind, always. You don’t like how people focus on your surroundings-- you’re the main attraction, hello? Are you not enough to sustain them? Must they beg for more?! Totally ungrateful. You shake your head in disappointment, as if a mother scolding her children. 

noooooo! mom pls forgive me i will never ask abt anything ever again T_T

yall looking at the room? lol couldnt be me

feels like im five and my mum just told me i cant eat a pretty rock i found on the pavement:(

You can’t contain your sly grin. Eyes twinkle with a purplish hue, appearing all the more menacing. You tricked them once again, oh how absolutely evil of you. In your blind delight you accidentally spill champagne on your lap.

“-Oop, fuck.” You snort.

why does she sound like goofy 

The scandalous drunk Among Us stream is about to start. You had been eerily silent through the greetings, and those that chose to approach you were met with a cold shoulder and minimal replies. All on purpose, of course. You wish to plant a seed of unease within them, and so far, it’s working. There are questions unanswered, jokes unsaid, Quackity unteased. It breaks your heart, but it must be done. You look into the camera, all vulnerable and devout, as if to say: I’m doing this for you, all for you.

pack it up yandere simulator

idk whats going on but i think im into it?

villain arc villain arc villain aRC VILLAIN ARC

“Hey, guys,” Corpse’s voices rings in your headphones, and not a blink later his astronaut appears in the lobby in a cloud of smoke, “Hi, Y/n.”

More sharp, excited hellos follow after. You merely hum, though give no further reply. As Corpse strays to your side, Charlie steps in in front of him, “BDA access only. You have a permit, bitch?”

“Y/n is being quiet-she’s being quiet, guys!” Quackity helpfully informs, as if the rest failed to notice your cryptic silence, “Don’t be sad Corpse, man, Corpse don’t be-she didn’t say shit to me either.”

“Y/n has decided to not waste her breath on the SDS.” Charlie voices, “And you know what? I actually agree with her for once.”

“SD-what now?” Dream questions.

“The Small Dick Society.” Charlie explains, noting Dream’s whine of protest, “Oh no, don’t give me that shit, weren’t you bitching about not being invited and not belonging to exclusive clubs? Congratulations, you’re finally part of one.”

“Wait!” Quackity interjects, “Am I part of it too?”

“Guess, Sherlock.”

“I’ll drink to that.” Corpse says. You nod to your audience, like he just spoke the God honest truth, and follow in his example. Your tentative sip unexpectedly turns into a greedy gulp, but you’re not complaining. The only slightly coherent thought that rings in your mind is drink tasty.

“Ignore them,” Rae chimes, “Y/n’s probably plotting something and using Charlie as a cover up.”

“I’d never.” The words slip past your lips before you can stop them.

“Well you sure are very quick to deny it.” You can hear her smirking, can hear the proud lilt in her voice, like she caught onto your silly little scheme, like she has you all figured out. Your eyes narrow dangerously. The night behind your window pools dark, with far away city lights glimmering before they, too, seem to dim. 

Your roommate is back on your shitlist. How her name was missed among the rest.

“I’m defending my honor.” You yelp, the playfulness back in your voice along with your sunny smile, “I can’t have my wifey slandering me online. At least do it in private, geez.”

If Rae’s such a good detective, you’ll give her a good chase. Perhaps you’ve been laying it on too thick. Made her too suspicious. She can’t out you yet--not when your plans are so grand, so fun. It would be a waste.

“Why weren’t you saying anything then?” Quackity questions.

“Do I need a reason not wanting to talk to you?” You shoot back. Your friends laugh and he tries to shriek something past their cackle. You lean back into your chair, the tension from Rae’s confrontation finally easing. You wink at the camera and bring a finger to your lips. The roaches swear to secrecy, elated by your wickedness. As appropriate, they spam devil emojis and various renditions of evil hohohos and hehehes. The apple truly does not fall far from the tree. You had raised them well. You raise your glass in solidarity. A few donations fall into your pocket, easily summed up as: make them suffer.

Muting the discord call, you give a single response, “Oh, I intend to.”

i hope this doesn’t awaken something in me

^already too late for me bro

As caught up in wreaking havoc among your viewers as you are, you miss Sykkuno’s entrance, though from what you can tell, Charlie gave a stern warning to back the fuck off to him, too. He’s playing into your plan so beautifully. Truly, you couldn’t do this without him. Back to stalking the chat you go.

Your eyes flicker to the game upon Bretman’s signature drawl and “Hi, daddy.”. You have no time to get offended at Corpse’s sweet “Hi, honey” back, because the next person to join the discord call and the lobby leaves you speechless. You knew, of course, you had been informed of the line-up, but still, you had never expected yourself to be so close to Jomes Chorles himself. You make a weird gesture with your hands, half wave half excited wiggle, as if you’re telling the audience to calm down, when, in fact, it is you that needs calming.

He goes saying his hello’s like doing a public service, name by name, before, lastly, uttering, “Hi, Miss Y/n. Loooove the vids.”

He’s a roach in disguise, who could’ve known?! Your audience is so diverse and unexpected, gosh, you’d shed a tear if the mascara wasn’t so expensive.

“Hi!” You reply with a grin, and it’s genuine this time, a glimmer of your old self, “Hi, I love your videos, too. It’s like, really cool to finally meet you.”

“Oh my God, you too!” Is his enthusiastic reply, “Okay, the energy in the studio today? Love it.”

“Is this all of us?” Quackity asks.

“Sadly.” James says with a note of disappointment.

“HEY!”

“Okay, guys!” Ash chimes, “Let’s do this! Proximity Among Us, round one, go go go!”

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Luck does not shine upon you during the first round- you are stuck as Crew Mate, your life cut short by Bretman who had the audacity to bite your head off. You’re positive Ke$ha wrote her hit single Cannibal about him, and if she didn’t, she definitely had a That’s So Raven moment and predicted it. It’s also insanely suspicious as after you are eliminated he sticks real close to Corpse, feigning innocence (and this is a controversial opinion you do not endorse) better than even you. It wounds your pride, having been picked off so casually, so quickly, and now stuck a ghost you roam the halls of the dying spaceship, lost, confused, heartbroken.

Charlie runs past you, not once even glancing in your direction. “Brother...” You mutter sadly, “Do you not see me here? Do you not feel... the loss of your twin’s heartbeat...?" Damn, these mimosas really are making you emotional. You sniffle and take a sip to calm the storm within you. No rage, just sadness. You are still processing your own tragic demise.

Suddenly, a meeting is called. There’s a horrible red X on your astronaut. You are the only one dead so far, and of course the rest won’t vote out the fucker. How bitterly you sit! With your arms crossed over your chest and your glare sharp enough to cut through glass. Fuck the sad shit, now you’re just angry. At the very least, the second Impostor could’ve given you some company!

“I knew something felt off.” Charlie is first to speak.

“Who the fuck killed Y/n?” Corpse questions, and his voice ignites a whole discussion that lasts much too short. The others skip, having no suspect yet. It’s much too soon to start pointing fingers, but you still feel like they should have at least tried. Pouting, you fix yourself another drink.

“Stop drinking!?” You gasp, exasperated at your chats demands, “I’m dead! What else should I do, the tasks?! Nah, fuck that. I’m done. I’m out. Charlie better employ his fucking detective skills because if the Impostors win, I will literally quit the game--yes I will, no I’m not bullshitting, fucking watch me.”

Thankfully, Bretman was caught venting, and you didn’t have to end the stream prematurely. The second Impostor, your roommate (oh, the betrayal, Rae, how could you?!) was voted out due to Corpse’s suspicion. Victory to the Crew Mates! The game restarts and you find yourself back in the lobby.

“Miss Y/n,” Bretman says, “I am sooo sorry for killing you first, baby. It was just too easy. I couldn’t pass it up.”

Giggling, Quackity chimes, “Sister slaughtered.”

“Oh my God,” James groans, “shut up!”

“Yeah, Y/n.” Charlie speaks, and there’s an accusatory note in his calm voice, “Why the fuck did you allow yourself to be eliminated first? Real noob shit, I expected more of you.”

“HUH?!” You frown, “What’s with the victim blaming?! I literally was doing my task and Bretman snuck up on me. It’s not like I had a weapon to defend myself!”

“You have been avenged,” Corpse states, “and that’s all that matters.”

“Thank you, Corpse!” You say, “At least someone cares.”

“Hey, I helped, too!” Dream pipes up.

“No, you didn’t.” Corpse shoots him down, “I was the only one.”

“You were not--”

“Literally was. Isn’t that right, Sykkuno?”

“Uhhhh-” Sykkuno trails off, “Well, we-we all helped!” You can hear his shy smile, and you just know he’s bobbing his head up and down at this exact moment, “We all helped. Team work!”

“Team work!” The rest echo, save for yourself, Corpse, Charlie, and the two Impostors. Silence speaks more than a thousand words or whatever. You pray to any higher power willing to listen to finally assign you the role of the villain, the one you were born to do. 

Sadly, higher powers must have either shitty customer service or are in need of hearing aids, and you almost scream in frustration when your astronaut appears along with the others, the bold CREW MATE title chipping away at your master plan.

✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼

“Hey, Y/n, hey! Hey, Y/n!” Rae finds you in Cafeteria, where you, metaphorically, are eating your feelings. Not that she needs to know, of course. She sounds chipper, a bit ditsy, and that must mean she’s sufficiently tipsy. You store that information for later, and forget about it as soon as you notice Dream and Sykkuno, like her very own personal bodyguards, trailing after her, “Wanna play a game?!”

“Is this Saw?” You inquire, somewhat lazy. You’d be lying if you said the alcohol wasn’t affecting you, it’s just instead of making you bubbly, it makes you mellow. This was supposed to be fun, you were supposed to terrorize everyone and laugh as they perished by your hand, yet here you are, wallowing in self-pity. The roaches start worrying. The donation jingle chimes.

BEATINGS & SLUTATIONS yns_fishnets donated 5$ mom just wait it out & dont worry youll get your vengeance soon lead them on!!!!

Your fishnets have a point! 

“Saw?--No, no, haa, no it’s a drinking game.” Dream sounds like he has had one too many rounds of this mysterious game, and naturally, you are intrigued.

“Where we drink!” Sykkuno clarifies. Right, well that explains everything! If you had any questions, you surely have none now.

“Okay, so, name a category, and you have to, like, say a word associated with it...Or something along those lines.” You hadn’t even agreed and Rae is explaining the rules already. She knows you too well. It’s both a blessing and a curse, “Can be anything! Okay, Y/n, Y/n, Y/n start!”

“Uhh--” If only your brain computed as fast as she spoke! “Song lyrics! Wait--who drinks?”

“You fail, you drink!” She hurries, “Choke me like you hate me but you love meeeeee. Syk, go, go go!”

“Uhm, ah, I don’t wanna feel like this, uh, fuck?” He laughs--it’s a raspy, embarrassed little sound, “I don’t...wanna look like this? Dream, now you!”

“Wait, we’re singing Corpse’s songs?”

“Any song!” You urge him quickly, “Hurry! Or drink!”

“She say I kill her cat like I'm Luka Magnotta--”

“Hey! That’s cheating! You can’t use my song!” Rae protest.

“That wasn’t in the rules!” He counters.

“Y/n! Time’s running out!” Sykkuno exclaims.

“Oh, uh, will-will the real Slim Shady please stand up!”

NOT EMINEM WHAT THE FUCK

MOOOM WHT THE HELL THIS ISNT 2008 T_T

“Ra-Ra-Rasputin, Russia’s greatest love machine--”

“All...All the other kids with the pumped up kicks better, uhh, run better run, faster...-faster than my gun?”

“Uhh, shit--fucking hell.” Dream laughs, and Rae practically screams at him to keep going, “Alright! Okay! I’m singing--uh, you’re so golden, na na na na?”

“I tell you what a woman loves most,” You chime gleefully, “it’s a man who can slap but can also stroke.”

finally, the mother mother representation we’ve all been waiting for

i aint exactly gay but i aint exactly not gay >:)

the bis won

“I steal a few breeeeaaaths from the woooorld for a minute--”

“Mitski?!” You question, eyes bulging, “Baby, who hurt you?”

Even if you can’t see her, you know she’s waving her arms around and shaking her head, “Not the point! Sykkuno!”

“Uh, I-I, uhm, I don’t--”

“Drinnnnk!” You all chorus. 

“It was a good concert,” You say, “Syk, I’ll drink with you.”

“Thank you, Y/n. That’s very kind of you.” He says softly, with a smile lining his lips. You grin.

“Oh, fine. Everyone, bottoms up!” Rae decides, and no one protest. A moment of silence passes, then, “Well, GG, GG, let’s do some tasks?”

Your enthusiastic Ariana Grande-esque “yuh” is cut short by the second meeting of game two being called. The first one to go had been Ash, voted out during a bathroom break as a joke, and you still feel a bit bad about that. Now, you notice Charlie has been eliminated. A sense of righteousness fills you--while you mourn for your brother from another mother and father and family tree, you feel like this is divine punishment for slandering you before the start of this round. Karma. Nothing much is discussed, and the meeting ends shortly with everyone skipping. 

You spend a good ten minutes wandering around with Dream, who’s mission appears to be convincing you to join his Minecraft server, and really, there was no need for him to try so hard. You failed to provide him with a concrete answer only because it would've been to humiliating to admit that you agreed instantly upon hearing the word Minecraft.

That’s when things get fucking weird. Another meeting is called whilst you’re in the middle of fixing lights, and once the board with the members appears you audibly gasp. There had been 8 living, breathing astronauts rushing around the map, and now only 4 remain. You, Corpse, James, and Alex. 

“What the fuck--what the fuck?!” You screech alarmed, noting Dream being among the perished crew, “I was just with Dream fixing the lights, I was just with him, what the fuck--”

“Okay, no one panic.” James says, “Let’s figure this out. Okay? Okay. Who else is close to Electrical?”

“I’m at Nav.” Quackity says.

“I’m at Cafeteria, but Y/n--” Corpse starts, “kinda weird that Dream died when you were with him?”

“I didn’t fucking kill him, I swear to God, Corpse, why are you accusing me?”

“Don’t be so defensive.” He says smoothly, “I’m just pointing out the obvious. We all have a reason to be sus, no? Considering you were right with him.”

“...It is suspicious.” James agrees, and a part of you dies inside. You understand their hesitance to trust you, but it doesn’t make it any less frustrating!

“Guys, I didn’t kill him, I swear. He invited me to play Minecraft, I wouldn’t do that to him, not after that!”

Corpse merely hums, and it brings no comfort what’s so ever. The situation is spiraling, and not in your favor. Trying to salvage your chances at freedom, you try again, “Wh-James, James, you called the meeting, right?”

“Yeah, I found Rae’s body near Medical.”

“So I couldn’t have killed her and Dream at the same time!” You latch onto that piece of information, hoping it will save you.

“You could’ve vented.” Corpse points out, “Plus, there’s no telling how old the body is.”

“Killing five fucking people? It’s the work of one person, or else the game would have already ended. As it stands, I am no way sober enough to think all of this out.”

A brief silence hangs in the air; your lungs constrict from tension, from spilling words so hotly. You grasp your glass, as if for emphasis, and take a shy sip. It taste sweet, a bit too sweet for your liking. Must be your nerves. You drink again to wash the taste out of your mouth, which, surprisingly, doesn’t work. You whine a little, stomping your feet like a child about to throw a temper tantrum.

“...I believe her.” Quackity says. You breathe out a sigh of relief.

“Alex, thank youuuuuu!” You gush, batting your lashes as if he could somehow see you and that would somehow portray your innocence, “I knew I liked you for a reason!”

He mutes his mic, his spill of words lost to your ears, but chat helpfully informs that he’s screaming because you don’t hate him. 

y/n out here collecting men like pokemon cards

Now all that’s left is to convince the others. You start with the one you know will work, “Corpse,” You address him in your sweetest voice.

“Y/n,” James warns, “don’t you dare--”

“Baby, I didn’t kill anyone, I’m crew mate, you gotta believe me.”

“She's innocent.” Corpse declare, thoroughly convinced.

“Oh my fucking God, you fucking simp!” James laughs, “She’s obviously manipulating you!”

“No, no, she isn’t. She’s innocent, I agree with Quackity. Now, it’s either you or him.”

“Could be you for all we know!” Alex accuses.

“Guys, time’s running out.” You mutter fretfully, noting the seconds tick by from white to red. 

“I’m voting Alex.” Corpse says.

“What?! Fucking traitor! Fine, I’m voting for you.” Alex hisses.

“Ugh, hate agreeing with Quackity, but I’m also voting Corpse. Sorry, hon, nothing personal.” James says. The VOTED icons pop up beside their characters and you panic, pressing your mouse idly but it’s too late, there wasn’t enough time, and you cry as Corpse is thrown into lava. The chat spams F, and it feels like salt on a fresh wound.

In a second you’re back in Cafeteria, shell-shocked and trembling, and Quackity cusses because the Impostor is still among you. His frustration doesn’t last long as you watch in horror as Jams Chortles, beauty guru supreme, murders the only other crew mate in cold blood and all you can do is gape and let his cheerful laughter fill your ears. The screen bleeds red, informing of Impostor victory, the second one being Ash. Looks like you voted her off for the right reason, but little difference did it make.

“Corpse!” You yell past the cacophony of voices, all in varying forms of excitement or anger, beelining for his in-game figure, “Corpse, I’m so sorry, I panicked, I tried pressing the button but I wasn’t quick enough--”

“It’s alright, baby. Don’t worry about it.” He’s so calming, so gentle, you might burst into tears again. What did you do to deserve him? You wish he was with you so you could smother him in a hug. Alas, all you can do now is say “I kith you, mwah!” and rush to the other side of the lobby, as if to hide from such a bold display of affection, even if it was a joke (it wasn’t).

yall say corpse simps for y/n but the reality is y/n simps for corpse harder

queen stop its embarrassing

bhaddies can simp!! i wouldnt but its her choice <3

More deliberations, commentary, and short breaks. Once everyone has returned, the countdown starts. You’re still reeling from the chaos of emotions, the five stages of grief you experienced in 1 second upon Corpse’s unjust demise, that it takes you a moment, a single heartbeat to realize what you’re seeing on screen.

The letters IMPOSTOR hang above your astronaut, with Dream standing just behind you as your newly appointed partner in crime. And suddenly, all the sadness and the tenderness and sympathy vanish with a curt exhale. You slowly turn your head to the chat, muting the Discord call, your soft chuckle of disbelief turning into a full blown laugh.

it’s happening!!!! 

omg omg omg omg

VILLAIN ARC VILLAIN ARC VILLAIN ARC

You slap your palm over your lips, trying to contain your wicked smile, to tone down your broken giggles, “N-No, I can’t laugh yet,” shaking your head softly, you look into the camera, “they’re all going to die.”

pack it up light yagami

this has awoken something in me.

^ same

The crew mates go their own ways, rushing to do their tasks like the diligent little workers they are. How adorable. Their grim fate is still miles away from them. The shit you’ll pull will be for the history books. Much like your outfit, which you picked keeping in mind your newfound thirst for blood, you had devised your plan of action with care and consideration. You had been mulling it over all day, drawing on paper like the absolute madwoman you are; hell, you even made sticky notes on who to go for first and what to say. Sure, being moderately drunk hinders your memory slightly (an understatement of the century), but you got a feel for what you’re going to do. It’s nothing short of evil.

Dream and you don’t exchange words, you merely nod at him-- which he, of course, can’t see-- but your criminal bond enables telepathic communication. You can hear his thoughts, ones that strangely sound like drink drink, drink drink. And really, who are you to refuse such an enticing offer?! As he fucks off to stalk his victims, or play pretend, you take a sip. The cocktail is still sweet, but this time it’s not the icky sweet you had tasted prior. You glance at your sticky notes, ones the roaches can’t see, and nearly spill your drink for the second time today as you jerk.

“Fuck!” You exclaim, shoving your headphones off and spinning in your chair. You hastily stand up, wobble -- the world is pleasantly funny right about now -- and giggle. Stepping past the mountains of abandoned clothes and pillows and blankets and anime plushies, you maneuver your way to your bedside table and yank it open, nearly taking out the whole drawer with you. In the mess of old diaries and bad drawings, pencils, jewelry, and stickers, you fish out something you should not be wielding in your inebriated state.

It’s a knife.

In midst of teenage angst you had ordered it off of Amazon with your mom’s credit card, all the while whining that it’s not a phase, mom, and it’s what all of my cool kid friends with fried hair have, and don’t you want me to fit in, don’t you want your daughter to be happy?! You think it’s about that time, the time of too much uneven eyeliner and black eye shadow, that she took to calling you little raccoon. Trash rabbit was your personal favorite, but she used it sparingly. When you presented your Macy’s outfit, holding up a fucking butterfly knife, to your dad, asking if it was a look, he glanced up from some boring business magazine all boring business dads read and said, with a bright smile might you add, “It’s a something!”.

Oh, how it gleams in the lilac light. You used to do tricks with it, back in eight grade maybe, and--what the fuck? Why did you parents allow you to buy it in the first place? Well, because you’re the only child, the only one important, of course they got it for you and clapped enthusiastically at your performances, because why wouldn’t they? The whining they’d face otherwise would’ve been harder to endure than a whole dance number to Panic! At The Disco’s greatest hits. Broadway looked so fucking shabby in comparison. Your mom said so, so it must be true.

Stumbling back to your extremely confused viewers, you take your seat, feeling a bit more grounded now that you’re not standing on your platform shoes anymore. Putting on your headphones, you grin at the chat that starts swimming, and not from too much drinking either. You do a quick flick of your wrist, one that thankfully doesn’t end in injury, and the sharp tip of the exposed knife points upwards, glimmering. It’s a rainbow colored one, because one, it’s pretty, and two, you weren’t hardcore enough for the jet-black or straight up military ones the other emo kids had. Cute and dangerous, just like you.

So you just sit there, holding it up, looking somewhat sly as the roaches capture this momentous moment with screen-caps. Someone definitely clipped you trudging past the obstacle course to obtain a weapon of mass destruction. You must be already trending on Twitter, though you can’t exactly log on and confirm your suspicions. You just feel like you might be, like you should be, because your audience wouldn’t let this slide. Thankfully, your friends don’t have time to check social media, or you’d be outed in an instant.

“Y/n?” Your roommates voice booms from your headphones, and you perk up with a stupid realization that you completely forgot about Among Us. Stuck at the start, at the lobby where Dream had left you, you see her astronaut waddling to you, “What are you doing here? Wait--Have you not moved from the beginning?” She can barely finish the sentence without giggling. 

You grin, “I was looking for something.”

Your voice is soft, too calm for your usual frantic spill. You gently set the knife down, hand coming to rest on your mouse, fingers idly, slowly, bouncing on the buttons.

“...What were you looking for?” She’s none the wiser, the numerous drinks consumed tonight numbing her sharp mind. She would have noticed. Your eerie composure would’ve given it away in a heartbeat, or at least hinted at something being objectively wrong. But she sounds curious. Poor girl, hasn’t she heard? Curiosity killed the cat.

“A knife.”

“A knife?!” There’s something about her tone that implies a mental clicking, the puzzle pieces falling together, “You have a knife?!”

“Yes.”

“No!”

You think it would only be appropriate that the random sequence of killing animations renders the backstabbing one. You grin, biting your lower lip with a quiet snicker.

i love women

if evil bad...why seggy?

You take your time leaving her there -- in true serial-killer-to-be fashion, you stick around for a bit longer, admiring your handiwork, or more like the chat singing your praises. You joined today with the intent of making an interesting stream. You have no doubt in your mind that now it will be legendary.

You move down the hallway, and you let your imagination wander: you can almost feel the stuffy air of your helmet, can almost hear your loud footsteps echoing in all this hush, can almost see your reflection in the spotless tile floor. It’s not long before your second victim makes an appearance, running circles in Cafeteria. You hear his voice first before you see him, recognizing Alex by his unhinged screech of “Let’s go, let’s go, let’s goooo!” 

“And what’s got you so excited?” How cool and collected you are, gosh, you barely contain the quiver of excitement that threatens to slip out. 

“Y/n!” He exclaims, rushing to your side like a lost puppy--he’s really making this easy for you, he’s not even trying, “You just missed--Oh my fucking God, you just missed James, he-he called me tall, he called me fucking tall! Let’s go, let’s gooooo!”

“Well, you are tall, aren’t you?” You chime sweetly, almost as sweet as the drink that lingers on the tip of your tongue, “Real 6′3 energy, no?”

“Yes, yes, exactly! You get it, you fucking get it--” Once again, his mic goes mute, and you glance at the chat for help.

hard to transcribe what hes saying but hes taking shots and yelling that he loves you good job mom

hey, queen! girl, you have done it again, constantly raising the bar for us all and doing it flawlessly

mom plz dont kill alex hes too cute hes all uwu rn

Oh, how you’re about to break his poor little heart. If you had any good left in you, you’d spare him. You don’t, and you’re not taking requests at the moment, so all you do is smile at your chat and they know. They just do. Hive-mind shit, you’re all two-faced little fuckers.

You giggle, and it sounds a tad fake, “You’re so weird, Alex,” You start, and he’s back in the call, a sound of confusion echoing in your ears, “but I get it, you know. You’re weird. You’re a weirdo. You don’t fit it, and you don’t want to fit in. I mean, really, has anyone even seen you without your stupid hat?”

“...Do--” He sputters, bellowing a laugh, “Do you have that whole fucking monologue memorized?!”

“Is it because you’re bald?”

“I’m not fucking bald!” His giddiness is quickly replaced by anger.

You hum, pretend to think, lastly barking a “Liar.” before you kill him. His scream is cut off, leaving only deafening silence at it’s wake. Unlike with Rae, you don’t stick around. You didn’t appreciate how little he enjoyed your recital.

You run into James near Navigation, most likely on his way to Cafeteria. He ends his song mid-note, and you breathe a sigh of relief, “Finally! Someone! I’ve been looking all over, where the hell is everyone?” You question, blocking his way, lest he accidentally stumbles onto the crime scene and easily pins it on you. You’re not done yet.

“Honestly? No clue. I’m searching for them myself, like, everyone’s scattered. I hope no one died.”

You smile. You tried not to, but you can’t contain it, “Me, too.” You echo the sentiment, urging him to join you, and he does. Too trusting. Everyone in this game is too fucking trusting. You lead him back to Nav, feigning that you have a task here. As you pretend to move the spaceship, you can’t help but ask, “Hey, James?”

“Yeah?”

“What’s your favorite scary movie?”

A beat of silence passes, “Oh no, fuck that, I don’t like this at all.” He states, about to spin on his heel and bolt like he should do, but you’re quicker-- killer instincts and all-- and he’s dead before he makes it out the doorway.

“See, after your No More Lies video, I figured you’d only tell the truth.” Yes, this is the part of the anime where the villain monologues, only the hero in this case is an astronaut cut in half, and not exactly alive to listen to you. You hope James’ ghost sticks around, “Case in point, why the fuck did you tell Quackity he’s tall?” You eye the chat, which’s mostly spamming W and comparing you to Ryo from Devilman Crybaby. “Such a shame...” You murmur, pressing the REPORT button.

“What?! How are so many people dead?!” Ash gasps, her kind voice tinted with fear and confusion. Your three kills, like military stars on an uniform of a distinguished officer, are displayed on the board. Dream appears to be slacking, having yet to take a life.

“Someone’s been real fucking busy.” Charlie observes. It’s true, you have been.

“I found James in Nav, but holy shit--” You begin, exasperated, “--what the fuck, guys, how did we miss this shit? Where is everyone?”

“I’m at Electrical.” Corpse voices.

“And I’m with Corpse.” One sentence is all it takes to figure out your next target: Bretman. Revenge for being killed first in the first goddamn round, and for spending so much time with your boyfriend.

Eep!!! Boyfriend boyfriend boyfriend!!! The word even makes you forget your thirst for blood, that’s how whipped you are. Sadly, it’s time to return to reality, to this grave situation.

“And what have the two of you been conspiring?” You keep your tone level, but that alone is enough to set everyone off. The unease you had planted within them before the game started is starting to bloom. However, if they suspect you, they don’t speak up, not yet.

“Fishnets, mostly.” Corpse says.

only partly a lie he was mostly talking abt u queen <3

corpse simping for y/n is the sweetest thing ever

the times corpse used y/ns name when talking abt y/n: 1. the times he used baby or my baby: infinite

“I’m wearing them right nyoooow.” Bretman drawls.

You hum, “What a coincidence. I am, too.”

“Wait--For real?” That seems to catch Corpse’s attention, because of course it does, you picked them with him in mind, after all.

“No peeping.” You tsk, obviously referring to his tendency to hop onto your stream unprompted. Whether he actually listens to your demands is beyond you, “Peeping means cheating.”

“For the love of fuck all, can we get back to the three dead bodies, please? Because I’m about to have a second coming of Christ moment and taste my consumed, digested beer for the second time.” Charlie interjects.

“I mean, anyone have any ideas who’d do this?” Dream takes hold of the conversation. Quiet, disappointed nos greet him. They have nothing to go on, no clues, not even a subliminal message. With everyone scattered, there is no way of locating the actual bodies and drawing a long red trail leading back to you. 

You’re too good at lying, and Dream is too good of a publicist. People tend to trust his judgement, which is his main asset (besides his calm demeanor of course). When the Among Us gods chose you as Impostor, they made sure you had every advantage. 

“Who-Who do you think it is, Dream?” Ash questions, “I trust you. I do. Just know that.”

“No fucking clue.”

“Y/n?” She tries again.

“Same. I’m a bit worried, though.”

“Let’s, uhhh, let’s skip?” Sykkuno offers. The consensus is to start voting at six. Your new mission is to make sure you dwindle the numbers down drastically before that can happen. You have no qualms about sacrificing Dream in order to meet your goals, either. Absolutely cold blooded.

Back at Cafeteria, there are words exchanged about Quackity’s body just laying there, forgotten. Blame is shifted: how come we didn’t notice sooner? Where’s Rae? And you mindlessly go along with their mourning, not really paying attention. Dream leaves with Charlie and Sykkuno, Corpse requests you stay with him and you sprout fake apologies. Not his time yet. Us girls need to stick together!, you sing, following after Ashley and getting further and further away from him, going deeper and deeper into the labyrinth of the spaceship.

You find yourself in Security with her, her cute astronaut pressed to the cameras, watching the live feed, “Let’s lurk here, okay? Maybe we’ll see something.” If only she saw who was standing behind her. 

“Who do you think is the Impostor?” You ask, standing in the doorway, “Or, more like, who are the Impostors?”

“Honestly?” She ends her word with a little sigh, “I think it might be Corpse and Bretman. I haven’t seen them at all this game.”

You smile, raising your brows, tilting your heard, and you sound so kind, like a dear old friend about to deliver a tender message, “...Have you seen me?”

“SHIT!”

Too late. In one smooth motion she joins the afterlife. You cut the lights, venting mindlessly till you spot Corpse and Bretman panicking in Weapons. Your existence is still a mystery to them.

“Fuck fuck fuck fuck--” Corpse mumbles, “Bretman, don’t you dare fucking kill me right now.”

“I’m not Impostor!”

“Okay, I’ll drink to that.”

They rush out of Weapons, most likely on their way to Electrical, and you trail after them like the Grim Reaper itself, biding your time till you can deliver the killing blow.

“Corpse?!” You call out, mild panic ringing in your voice, “Is that you?”

“Shit, Y/n? Where are you?” He questions. Crew vision is so sad, so small, how can he not see you standing almost right next to him? “Where’s Ash?”

“I dunno,” You say, “when the lights went out I ran. Please don’t kill me.”

“I’d never do that, baby.”

Too easy. They’re all too fucking easy. You bite your lower lip, trying to stop the laugh bubbling in your chest, to stop the lightheaded dizziness that overcomes you with a rush of excitement. 

“Thanks, pretty boy.” You mutter, and it sounds a bit lower than you intended, a bit darker, something sinister lurking underneath cotton candy words. It instantly clicks in Bretman and he makes a noise, something like a whine, and you see him backing away, “I know I can always trust you.” 

Whether Corpse notices the odd shift in tone, he doesn’t show it, “I like it when you call me that.” Is all he says, and you hear the smile in his voice, the appreciation. The trek to Electrical is all but forgotten. You slowly make your way to Bretman, “Where are you? Come here.”

“Just a minute,” You say cheerily, “I just need to kill Bret first.”

“Holy shit.”

“N-” Your victim’s sentence is cut off in a second, and you can’t contain your manic cackle this time, because the screen bleeds red, the words VICTORY splattered on it, depicting yours and Dream’s sneaky astronauts. You’re still laughing as the voices of your fallen friends ring in your ears.

“Y/n, what the fuck, you’re an actual monster.” Dream says, but there’s no actual weight behind his words, each syllable punctured with a laugh.

“I knew the second she asked me about my favorite scary movie that I’d get the chop.” James states.

“Wait, Y/n, did you kill everyone?” Corpse questions.

“She fucking did!” Dream answers for you, “I got Charlie and Sykkuno, and barely at that. What the fuck.”

“I’ve been waiting so fucking long for this.” You admit, giggling, raising you glass, “I toast to you, Dream. My perfect partner in crime.”

“I didn’t really do shit, but cheers.”

Quackity heaves a heavy sigh, “Y/n, Y/n, you don’t actually think I’m weird, right? Right?”

“No, she does.” James chimes.

“WHAT THE FUCK DID I EVER DO TO YOU, DUDE?!”

More commotion, more noise, and you just sit there, buzzed, snickering, reading the chat as the rest agree to play another round. You thank the people who donated that you had accidentally missed among the, you know, murder, reply to a few questions, bow dramatically to the many praises and invisible flowers you receive for such beautiful assassin work. When you look back at the screen, you throw your head back with a maniacal laugh.

Impostor again, only this time it’s with Charlie. Family bonds are often restored when united under a common goal. You’re so happy. So happy. You weren’t done terrorizing your friends yet.

✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼

✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼

tags (in italics is those i couldn’t tag! make sure all’s ok w your settings!) : @littlebabysandboxburritos​ - @fairywriter-oracle​ - @tsukishimawh0re​ - @ofstarsanddreams​ - @bbecc-a​ - @annshit​ - @leahh19​ - @letsloveimagines​ - @bellomi-clarke​ - @wineandionysus​ - @guiltydols​ - @onephootinfrontoftheother​ - @liamakorn​ - @thirstyfangirl​ - @lilysdaydreams​ - @pan-ini​ - @mxqicshxp​ - @tanchosanke​ - @yoshinorecommends​ - @flightsandfantasy​ - @liljennyx3​ - @bingusmode - @unknown-and-invisible​ - @sinister-sleep​ - @fivedicksinatrenchcoat​ - @mercury–moon - @peterparkerspjsuit​ - @unstableye​ - @simonsbluee​ - @shinyshimaagain​ - @ppopty​ - @siriuslystupid​ - @crapimahuman​ - @ofthedewthesunlight​ - @mythicalamphitrite​ - @artsyally​ - @corpsesimpp​ - @corpsewhitetee​ - @corpse-husbandsimp​ - @hyp-oh-critical​ - @roses-and-grasses​ - @rhyrhy462​ - @sparklylandflaplawyer​ - @charbkgo​ - @airwaveee​ - @creativedogs​ - @kaitlyn2907​ - @loxbbg​ - @afuckingunicornn​ - @fleurmoon​ - @yeolliedokai​

more tags are in the comments bcs tumblr only allows me to tag 50 people max 💙