#This was in my wips for longer than i want to admit to be honest.

[duckdotimg]

Another Secret

(Jenica - they/them, Matei - he/him)

[supernova-stardust]

A Tender Thing

a jegulus long fic wip with background wolfstar, rosekiller, dorlene, pandalily, and emmary

ao3 is down so i figured i would post the first chapter of my fic here for y’all - there are currently 9 chapters published and i update weekly!

full chapter after the break, rating: 18+, chapter word count: 5,145, or read more on ao3

Remus always hates patrolling. It doesn’t matter who it’s with or the time of day, walking for so long always irritates his hip and quite frankly, he’d rather be spending his time doing… basically anything else. He does appreciate spending time with Marlene and Peter right now though. He hasn’t been able to see them as often lately, so he’s trying to be optimistic. But his hip really does fucking hurt.

“I don’t really know why we need to be patrolling anyway,” Marlene complains. “It’s broad daylight, it’s not like they’re really just going to come out right now to kill any muggles, right?”

Remus and Peter shrug in unison. To be honest, Remus isn’t sure why they’ve been going on so many patrols lately either. It seems like they’ve all been working longer and harder these days with very little results. Voldemort is still keeping to the shadows and the Death Eater activity has been more and more sporadic.

They turn down a back alley, the stench of stale piss and garbage filling the air around them. “Really would hate to die in a place like this, let’s keep moving,” Peter says frantically. Remus can feel his nervous energy all around them but really, why does Peter always have to bring up dying? Frankly, it’s annoying.

A flash of green light flies past in his peripheral vision, the three of them ducking behind a dumpster. Peter trips as they go, Remus pulling him into their hiding spot. The three of them exchange a worried look. Okay, so he has to admit that maybe this is why Peter is always bringing up dying. Fucking hell.

He hears a maniacal, half-crazed laugh echo down the alleyway and immediately knows who it belongs to. “Oh, did I scare the alley rats into hiding? Come out and play!” Bellatrix sing-songs as her heeled boots click clack on the pavement. Another flash of green lights up the alley as Remus and Marlene get ready to cast stunning spells. Bellatrix has reflexes like a cat, so the only way they’re getting out of here is to overwhelm her and block off escape routes. If they both cast, hopefully one of them will get lucky.

Flashes of red fill the space as Remus and Marlene cast in different directions. Marlene does in fact get lucky and lands a blow on Bellatrix as she dodges Remus’ spell. Peter lets out the greatest sigh known to man as Marlene screeches and jumps for joy. Marlene runs over to Bellatrix’s prone form, kicks her for good measure, then dances around like nothing in the world could stop her as Peter slowly lurches to his feet. Remus looks up as Peter holds his hand out.

He grasps Peter’s had and as he rises, he can tell that his hip is well and truly fucked. The moon just passed a few days ago and yeah, Sirius told him he shouldn’t have come out at all, but he’s sick of everyone coddling him. He’s only 26 for fucks sake, he shouldn’t be this damaged. And yet, he is. Every full moon he aches a little bit more, the transformations taking more and more away from him.

“You know Sirius is gonna go mental over this, right?” Peter laments to Remus, Marlene is still in her own world and neither of them want to be the one to try and pull her out of it. “Yeah, I know. If we didn’t have to give a debrief to Moody I wouldn’t want to tell him at all. You know how he gets.”

Everyone in The Order knows all too well how Sirius gets.

***

Sirius is relaxing on the couch when Remus comes through the door to their flat. He looks particularly worse for wear, his clothes are filthy and his hair is more rumpled than usual. Sirius feels his heart stop in his chest. He really doesn’t know what he’d do if something happened to Remus.

He jumps up, crossing the living room at record speed, reaching Remus before he’s even finished taking off his shoes. “What happened?” He stretches his hands up towards Remus’ face, cupping his cheeks with his palms and searching his eyes as Remus sighs heavily.

“I’m fine,” Remus insists instead of answering him.

“I know what you look like when you’re fine and it’s not… whatever this is. I knew Moody was sending you out too soon after the full moon, you’ve barely recovered.” Sirius feels frantic now. He knows that every time one of them leaves the apartment they could die, but the way Remus looks right now is making it all feel far too real.

“I don’t want them to coddle me, Pads. I really am fine. It was just a little altercation, Marlene and Pete were with me, we’re all okay. I just need a shower and I’ll be good as new, promise.” Remus kisses him softly, a chaste and sweet kiss. Full of promise and love.

“What do you mean by a little altercation, Moony?”

Remus gently grabs Sirius’ wrists, lowering his hands from his cheeks to his lips, placing gentle kisses up and down his palms. “I’m fine, Pads. Please drop it. Wanna join me in the shower?” He’s trying to distract him and they both know it.

“Not until you tell me what happened,” Sirius is feeling stubborn about this but he can’t help it. He needs to know why Moony showed up at home covered in filth and sweat, looking mildly shell shocked.

Remus lets out a sigh and drops his hands. “Fine, Bellatrix showed up. It was brief, barely anything happened. She tried to curse us but she missed, Marls and I knocked her out, we debriefed with Moody, then I came home. No harm, no foul, yeah?”

“What curse, Remus?” Sirius feels frozen in place and time. Bellatrix? She hasn’t shown her face in years, far too important to Voldemort to be risked skulking about in London. There’s no way this was a coincidence. She had to have been here for a reason and Sirius will find out why, even if it kills him. He doesn’t care how hypocritical that seems right now.

“Is it that important? She missed,” Remus mutters under his breath. He’s decidedly avoiding eye contact at this point and Sirius feels like he’s going to lose his mind.

“She tried to kill you, didn’t she?” Sirius can barely breathe. He could have lost Moony today. He could have lost Marlene and Pete too. They’ve become far too relaxed on these patrols lately, especially if Bellatrix is showing up in broad daylight. They all could have died if they had been a moment too late. Sirius could have lost them all.

“She missed. That’s what’s important here. She missed, Sirius.”

“Remus, you nearly died! She has to know what you mean to me by now, this was personal. Nothing you say will convince me otherwise,” Sirius starts pacing around the apartment and talking with his hands. His nerves are officially wreaking havoc on his body and he’d very much like this war to come to a close so he can stop worrying about everyone he loves every minute of every day. He feels like every day it gets more horrific rather than coming closer to an end. What the fuck are Moody and Dumbledore even doing to stop it at this point? Everyone is dying left and right. Last week they nearly lost Frank and he was on a mission with Kingsley, one of their strongest fighters. Kingsley trained them all and if he can be caught off guard, who’s to say they all can’t?

“Love, I’m fine, I swear.” Remus crowds Sirius, wrapping his arms around Sirius’ neck and backing him into the kitchen counter.

“How would I have known if you weren’t though? I should be going with you, we shouldn’t be separated anymore.” Remus starts nuzzling his face into the crook of his neck, breathing him in. “I know what you’re doing,” Sirius groans.

“Hmm?” Remus starts trailing open mouthed kisses down from behind his ear to his collarbone, “I’m not doing anything.”

“You’re trying to distract me and it’s not going to work. I mean it, I’m going to talk to Moody about this. We should stick together, we make a great team. The only reason they keep us apart is because they don’t want our emotions getting in the way, but mine are getting in the way of me thinking straight at this point.” Remus’ hands begin to wander down his body, making him shiver.

“Do you really have to be so serious about it? It’s not a big deal, I’m fine. I can prove it to you right now,” he says as he pushes his hips into Sirius’ thigh, gripping his waist with both hands.

“I am literally Sirius,” he gasps. Oh he’s a weak, weak man.

“Oh, shut up.”

Remus sinks to his knees and Sirius does in fact shut up for now.

***

James walks right into Sirius and Remus’ flat, arms full of beer. He hasn’t felt the need to knock on their door since the first day they moved in together. They were all roommates for so long, they’re brothers, and Saturdays are their weekly ritual to get pissed drunk together anyway. He’s the last one here, as expected. Marlene is laying on the floor next to Peter who’s sitting up and watching Sirius like he’s an animal at the zoo. Sirius is already drunk, pacing around the living room and ranting about Remus nearly dying. What the fuck did he miss?

“I still can’t fucking believe they’d try to kill my boyfriend when I wasn’t even around to do anything about it,” Sirius complains, his words slurring together.

“Pads, come off it,” Remus sighs. “It didn’t even come close, honest. Pete, you were there the whole time, it wasn’t as close as he's making it out to be, right?”

“Uh, I mean– yeah, it wasn’t as bad as what you’re thinking, Pads, honest,” Peter tries, and fails, to soothe Sirius.

“Moony, you almost fucking died. I don’t believe Wormtail for a second,” Sirius huffs, plopping onto the couch next to Remus.

“Wow, thanks for that,” Peter glares and grabs a case of beer from James, ripping it open the moment he sets it down on the coffee table. James wanders over to the kitchen, opens the refrigerator, and piles the rest of the beer inside. As he comes back to the living room, he helps himself to a beer, popping open the can and taking a long sip. He’s going to need it, based on the way Sirius is behaving already.

“So, we all had a good day, huh?” James jests, trying to lighten the mood. Everyone glares at him as he plops on the floor across from the couch where Remus and Sirius are perched.

“Oh just lovely, considering Remus almost died and doesn’t want me to be upset about it,” Sirius pouts and grabs himself another beer. None of them mention that he probably doesn’t need it.

“Well, you’re going to love this then,” James braces himself for Sirius to fly off the handle with his news. “I heard from Mary today that your little brother is getting married, they’re hosting an engagement party tonight.”

Sirius drops his beer, splashing the cold drink all over the couch and himself. “Fuck, you can’t be serious? Married to who?”

Remus gets up and crosses over to the kitchen, grabbing a towel to mop up the mess. Sirius is unphased by any of this, too fixated on the news to even register that his pants are wet. Peter hands Sirius a fresh beer, not that he needs it.

“Narcissa, apparently. Blacks really do love to keep it in the family, huh?” The moment James heard about it from Mary he couldn’t believe it. He knows that the purebloods are having a hard time keeping their bloodlines pure, but really? Regulus’ first cousin?

James takes another long sip, steeling himself for Sirius’ reaction to the news.

“Oh no fucking wonder Bellatrix is here, her fucking sister is marrying my fucking baby brother. See Remus, I knew this was personal,” Sirius looks like he could murder, he probably would if they don’t calm him down.

James will never pretend to understand what it’s like for Sirius. When they were young, he and Regulus were inseparable. Sirius looked out for Regulus no matter the cost. Sometimes that cost was deathly high. When Sirius refused to take the Dark Mark, he begged and pleaded for Regulus to come with him and he outright refused. He hasn’t had a real conversation with him since. A few years later, they found out that Regulus had taken the Dark Mark and Sirius announced to them all that his brother was dead to him. That’s the last time any of them had even so much as mentioned his name in Sirius’ presence. Until now, that is. James couldn’t keep this from him, no matter how much he wanted to. If Sirius knew that he knew about it, James doubts that he’d ever forgive him. James wouldn’t forgive himself either.

“I have an excellent idea,” Sirius practically whispers, his eyes wide and pupils dilated. James can guarantee that his idea is not excellent.

“Sirius, love, whatever it is, let's just wait until morning, yeah?” Remus coaxes, placing the towel down and rubbing his hand up and down Sirius’ thigh. In hopes to distract him, no doubt.

“No!” Sirius pushes Remus’ hand off his leg, jumps from the couch, and starts pacing around the living room. “We should go to their stupid fucking party! How would they even know it was us? Everyone has to wear masks at those events besides the betrothed and it’s not like I’ve been around Mother and Father dearest in years.” Sirius has that gleam in his eyes that tells James there’s no way any of them are going to be able to change his mind, but he has to at least try.

“Oh fuck yes, we could go undercover, it’ll be great!” Marlene squeals, clearly the woman has no sense of self preservation.

“Sirius, your parents may not recognize you but there’s no way that your brother won’t lock eyes on you the moment you step foot in Grimmauld Place. You know this! It’s like he has some weird secret Sirius sense or something.” James feels like he’s yelling, but he’s really just desperate to have his best friend listen. Regulus would absolutely have the four of them thrown out, if not executed on the spot, for crashing his engagement party.

“Nah, Reggie wouldn’t rat me out.”

“He might not rat you out, but I can guarantee that he’ll murder the rest of us the moment he knows we’re there. Please, just drop it. I just thought you should know before you saw it in the Daily Prophet,” James begs.

Sirius absolutely will not drop it and that’s how the five of them find themselves outside Grimmauld Place for the first time since Sirius was sixteen years old, masks in hand and wands tucked up their sleeves.

***

Regulus sits at his desk, hunched over and writing his “sad boy poetry” as his brother always teased him. He’d never admit it out loud, but he misses Sirius and all the stupid shit he said. He’s been gone for almost ten years now and every day he misses him a little bit more. Honestly, how pathetic. No wonder his brother tormented him.

Sighing, he glances out the window. He was so engrossed in his writing that it’s already gotten dark outside, the lights in the garden blinking on, one by one. The roses are in full bloom and with the windows open he can smell their sweet scent billowing into his bedroom on the breeze. He stretches his back, arms rising above his head. He knows he has to get ready for the party soon, but really who would notice if he didn’t go? The real star of the show is Narcissa anyway.

Narcissa.

Of course his mother would arrange his marriage to his own fucking cousin against both of their wills. He had thought if he casually dated other purebloods for a while that his mother would simply allow him to figure it out. And by figuring it out, he means finding a lovely woman who doesn’t care that he’s gay as can be and will agree to a farce of a marriage.

But really, Narcissa?

At least he knows neither of them wants anything to do with this wedding. She is eating up the attention that the engagement brings her though. For someone who the family neglected to name after a star, she really is the brightest of the bunch.

“Okay so I was thinking-” Dorcas bursts into his room. “What the fuck, you’re not dressed yet?” She storms over to the closet, pulling out his dress robes that Mother so kindly had custom tailored just for this event. “Did you even shower? You’re expected to make your appearance with Narcissa in a half hour, Reg! I know you think I can perform miracles, but I can’t make this bullshit end.”

She’s standing in the middle of his room now, his robes draped on the bed, glaring at him. He hasn’t moved an inch.

“Yeah, yeah. I just got caught up with things.”

“What things? Writing prose and lamenting at the flowers?”

“Yes, actually.”

She smirks, clearly proud of herself for knowing her best friend so well. “Go shower, you stink,” Dorcas practically rips his arm off as she pulls him from his seat and shoves him to the adjoining bathroom.

When Regulus emerges from the bathroom, a towel around his hips and his hair dripping on the floor, Dorcas is perched on his bed, reading the book from his nightstand. “What were you thinking when you came in here?”

Dorcas looks up, clearly trying to recall what he’s talking about. “Oh! I brought whiskey!” She reaches over to her purse on his bed and pulls out a flask. “You can’t very well be sober during your engagement party to your loveliest cousin, now can you?”

They share a conspiratorial smirk and pass the flask back and forth as Regulus changes into his clothes and dries his hair. He’s putting on his shoes when they hear his mother knocking on the door, demanding that he meets with her and Narcissa at the top of the stairway to the parlor. A few moments and some breathing exercises later, he’s making his way down the hallway to meet them.

He’s never been good at controlling his anxiety, but the breathing exercises do help. He can’t help but think about how his brother found him one day when he was much younger, curled in a ball in the corner of his room, hyperventilating. He crossed the room and crouched down with him, gently brushing his hair from his face, begging Regulus to breathe with him. In for five, out for five, in for five, out for five. He hasn’t had his brother to breathe with him, but he still counts in and out for five multiple times a day.

Narcissa and his mother are whispering under their breath to each other, but when he finally gets close enough he overhears Narcissa saying something that peaks his interest. “I can’t stop Bellatrix from being Bellatrix, Aunt Walburga.”

Of course Bellatrix would do something to try and steal attention from Narcissa’s special day.

“I don’t care what it takes, we need to reign that woman in. She’ll be too impulsive one day and ruin the good name of The Noble and Most Ancient House of Black,” his mother, Walburga, sneers. “Ah, finally. Regulus. You two will enter the parlor arm in arm after we’ve made the announcement. Don’t do anything that could jeopardize our good name. You’re the only heir to the family and we have high hopes for this match. Do not disgrace us.” With that, she leaves him and Narcissa alone to prepare for their grand entrance on her cue.

“How do they still not know?” Narcissa chuckles, her eyes sparkling with laughter.

“Know what?”

“That you’re so gay we’ll never produce an heir together.”

“You’ll just have to find someone who wants to produce my illegitimate heir, Cissy, she doesn’t need to know at all.” Once, when he was young, Regulus had considered coming out to his family. Once, when the world wasn’t so dark. Once, when Sirius was still his safety net, always willing to catch him when he fell. Now, he doesn’t think there’s anywhere he could be safe. He doesn’t think he’ll ever know what it’s like to live his life with any semblance of freedom.

“I mean, obviously. You could find someone to love, you know.” The tenderness that she speaks those words hits him like a train. Never had he considered that he could seek love in this marriage too. This entire time he’s just been thinking of Narcissa, of how they were going to pretend they had a happy marriage and sex life, of how they were going to further the family tree. Could he experience love?

If he’s honest with himself, he gave up on love a long time ago. Back when Sirius was still at home and sometimes invited Regulus along to visit James Potter. Those days were much brighter, warm and golden. They were only allowed to visit the Potter Manor because the Potters were technically purebloods, once considered pure enough for their family trees to intertwine. And then the dark days came and the Potters refused to kneel for the Dark Lord. Now, Sirius belongs with James in the sun and Regulus is cold and alone in the dark.

“I’ll keep that in mind. For now, let’s get through this party.” They smile softly at each other, linking their arms, and descend the stairs.

***

James is thankful that the man at the entrance didn’t recognize any of them since they had to exchange the masks they brought for silver and black ones at the door. It looks like everyone in Grimmauld Place is wearing the exact same ones, so he’s hoping that they’ll be able to blend in with the crowd. He grew up going to parties like this, but since Lord Voldemort began his thirst for power the Potters haven’t joined in any of these pureblood farces. Everyone is fake here. They all hate each other and James really doesn’t understand why they don’t just say it.

He sways a bit as they make their way through the crowd of people. He hadn’t realized how many people would show up, but I suppose that the most powerful pureblood family having an engagement party for two of their own would make for a large turn out. Everyone will be trying to arrange their own marriages for their children in hopes to secure a spot in Lord Voldemort’s favor. Scanning the room, he recognizes Evan Rosier and Barty Crouch Jr. whispering to each other, leaning against the wall near the stairway.

He’s not surprised to see Evan, he’s from an old pureblood family that allied themselves with Voldemort immediately, but he is surprised to see Barty. James is pretty sure that Barty’s father still works at the Ministry, but he supposes that the integrity of the Ministry has been up for debate for quite some time.

“Cygnus and Druella Black and Orion and Walburga Black are pleased to announce the engagement of Narcissa Black and Regulus Black,” someone announces to the parlor, pulling James from his thoughts. The entire room pauses, looks to the top of the stairs, and offers a polite applause as the couple descends.

Sirius bumps into him and they both take in Regulus standing arm in arm with Narcissa. Sirius can’t stop staring at Regulus, eyes wide and tearing up and immediately James can tell that Regulus feels Sirius’ gaze on him. His entire body stiffens, his steel gray eyes sharpen like daggers. The long separated Black Brothers lock eyes and James knows that’s the end of the game. There’s no way Regulus is going to let Sirius out of this party without a confrontation.

As soon as Regulus and Narcissa have joined the crowd and the chatter begins again, James gets Sirius moving. They need to avoid Regulus at all costs. Coming here was such a bad idea, but he really can’t fault Sirius for it. In the end, he knows this was just his way of wanting to be here for his brother. Being disowned didn’t mean he stopped loving Regulus, even if he acts that way to the rest of the world. James knows in his heart that there’s a whole lot of love between them.

He scans the room as they go, noticing that Regulus has joined Evan and Barty near the wall. Regulus is clearly freaking out, even if he’s trying to keep it quiet and subtle. Maybe to everyone at this party, he’s just excitedly chatting with his friends, but James knows better. Regulus is pissed. They should have never come here.

They stumble out to the garden, Marlene leading the way. Remus and Peter finally catch up behind them.

“Regulus saw us come this way, I think we should get out of here,” Remus says, a little out of breath. “C’mon, you showed up, it was a bad idea, let’s all go home, yeah?” They all turn a corner, trying to find their way out of this mess, and Marlene barrels head first into Dorcas. Regulus’ best friend. Oh, they’re so fucked.

“What the hell are you guys doing here? This is the last place you lot should be,” Dorcas whispers, clearly alarmed. Her amber eyes glaring in turn at each of them, light twinkling off the golden charms in her braids piled on her head.

“Dorcas, please, we all got a little drunk and carried away, we’re leaving, right Sirius?” Marlene begs, trying to walk around Dorcas to make way for their escape.

“Go now, I won’t be able to cover for you if anyone notices that you’re here, but I won’t say anything either,” Dorcas moves aside, making her way back to the party. “If you keep going that way you’ll find a back gate, it’s hidden behind some shrubs, just make sure you close it after yourselves.”

Remus takes Sirius’ hand, clearly begging him in that secret language that only they speak. In that way only people who know each other inside and out can. Soulmates.

Sirius reluctantly nods, James watches as the four of them make their way deeper into the gardens, searching for the back exit to avoid being caught. He knows they expect him to follow, and he will, but first he wants to scout out who else is at this party. This information is surely valuable to The Order, right? He’s already here, so he might as well, he knows that he can blend in well enough. Besides, it’s not like Regulus will recognize him. James turns on his heel to head back into the parlor, but instead he finds himself face to face, chest to chest with Regulus Black and he never realized just how beautiful he is.

***

Regulus could have run into any one of Sirius’ friends, but of course it had to be James Potter. James Potter with his stupid smile. James Potter with his golden eyes glowing in the twinkling lights of his favorite garden. James Potter staring at him with heat that he’s never seen in his eyes before.

“What the fuck are you doing here,” he snaps. He can’t believe how terrible his luck is that James Potter would show up here tonight, when he has to pretend to play the dutiful heir. The universe really hates Regulus, he just knows it. Why else would James be here, taunting Regulus with everything he’s ever wanted and could never have.

James stumbles back a bit, catching his bearings. He seems drunk, wobbling a bit on his feet, his cheeks slightly flushed. He’s so beautiful it hurts. “Look, I just wanted to stop by and tell you congratulations. Innocent stuff, I swear. But then you just looked so pretty and I thought it’d be such a shame if I had to leave you alone with your cousin, or, er - fiancée I suppose, for another moment.”

James Potter just called him pretty and Regulus is absolutely positive that he’s going to implode. His brain is spiraling. Regulus has wanted to hear James call him pretty since he was ten years old and first learned what a crush was, this can’t be real.

“What?” Regulus needs to hear him say it again. Needs to confirm that he didn’t just hallucinate James Potter calling him pretty.

“I mean, I’m sure the formalities of all of this is exhausting. Narcissa will be fine in there, she’s the sister who got all of the manners you know. Your mom picked the best cousin for you, I suppose. Way better than Bellatrix, eh?” James smirks as he rambles and Regulus wishes he would just stop and tell him he’s pretty again.

“Shut up, you idiot. What did you say before you got fixated on the fact that I’m marrying my cousin?” He’s getting impatient now. James is so insufferable. Why is he even asking him to say it again? It’s not like he can act on his childhood crush looking at him like this.

“Oh, er, I said you were pretty. And Godric, you really are beautiful…” James trails off, staring at Regulus with a type of longing that no one has looked at him with before. Regulus feels frozen in time. He can’t believe this is real. He wants to kiss him so badly it hurts, but he’s also aware that James was clearly at this party for nefarious reasons. This could all just be a game. Regulus’ heart couldn’t handle it if it was just a game. Instead, Regulus shoves James further away.

“You shouldn’t have ever come here,” Regulus feels like uttering these words betrays his very soul, but James doesn’t belong here. He’s innocent, free from the clutches of the Dark Lord and the dark, cold things that lurk beneath Regulus’ skin. James belongs in the sun.

Suddenly, James looks around the garden, grabs Regulus’ hand, and pulls him along the path. He hesitates at first, but James is relentless, tugging at him until they reach a willow tree. The branches reach down towards the ground in a thick curtain, James holds them aside and they slip under the willow. It feels like they’re in their own world, dark but not cold. Warm, because Regulus is holding James Potter’s hand.

[bloodlegacies]

LOOKING | HAYDEN ELKAR

So, I said I would bring it and I did, although a little late, but here it is! Hayden's point of view of that scene. However, I won't be accepting headcanons for a little while longer, then I'll see if I bring some more POVs, depending on what you guys want, of course, and maybe I'll do a poll about it. At the moment, I'll be focusing on writing my other wip because I'll also bring an update for it this month, and then another update for Blood Legacies. Anyway, thank you for your attention and enjoy!

____________________________________________

Looking.

Hayden wasn't anxious, no, not at all. That would be ridiculous, although they were always honest, even with themselves, they were not willing to admit to that. No, not at all, they still had a reputation to uphold.

However, they couldn't help but look around, their blue eyes trying to find someone who was definitely more interesting than the vultures around them. They ignored the meaningless conversations and flirtatious attempts of those around them, and as much as Hayden enjoyed flirting and hooking up with some people, these past few weeks they could only think about one person, and that person hadn't arrived yet. Hayden gave fake smiles to those who tried to talk to them, and it seemed to distract them, and they smiled back and puffed out their chest as if they were proud of it, as if any of them were worthy of their attention.

They were distractions, and nothing more than that, annoying distractions that on other days, Hayden wouldn't hesitate to please, just to have someone to distract their mind from the pressures and suffocating days, just to focus on something, even if only for a moment and only physically. Hayden wasn't a puritan, after all, and it annoyed their father that they weren't virgins anymore, so why not enjoy it? Irritating him has always been one of their favorite pastimes. It was petty, they knew. But their father knew exactly how suffocating he had been, how much pressure had been placed on their shoulders every day.

You hadn't arrived yet, and Hayden tried to think of something else, but with every person that left the castle or the bushes, their eyes always went in that direction, just to have their hope crushed every time. They wondered if you would come, but it doesn't seem like it's going to happen anytime soon. Maybe Hayden can go to you? Their lips curved into a smile at the thought. It would be fun, especially imagining the expression on your face when Hayden appeared in front of your room, or maybe already inside...

Hayden could think of things to do, to try, but they wouldn't dare to be too bold. As stupid as they may be, they didn't want to make you uncomfortable, and they know that some boundaries must be kept, although Hayden wished to break them as soon as possible. There was a wall between you, albeit a small one, Hayden hopes. They want so badly to destroy it, this little barrier, and maybe this fake relationship thing that you proposed (which brings an even bigger smile to their lips, thinking that you chose Hayden for it) is the key to that. They think, many times, about how it would be to hold your hand, how your lips would feel, how it would be to taste them, how it would be if...

Wait, those are...

You were here, you... were holding Cecilia's hand? Hayden furrowed their brow and stared at you. They can't help it. Feeling tense at the sight. You wouldn't... no, that would be silly. You wouldn't regret choosing them, right? You wouldn't change your mind and choose Cecilia instead, would you? Hayden clenched their jaw and couldn't stop a small spark of insecurity from arising within them, okay, maybe a little more than a spark, not that they would admit it out loud. Hayden couldn't help but think that maybe it's not possible anymore, that maybe you don't... They shake their head, no. But it wasn't just that, it was... You, holding Cecilia's hand amidst everyone there, showing everyone that factor, without fear, without hesitation. Hayden would be lying if they said they didn't want to be in Cecilia's place, they would be lying if they said they didn't want you to have that courage with them. They wanted to be the ones whose hand you held, and they weren't. But it was meant to be, you had proposed the idea of a... fake relationship, but still...

They realized moments later that it was jealousy, pure and simple. And this fact almost made them want to melt right there, and for a moment they felt ashamed. They shouldn't feel this way, not about you, not when you weren't officially together, you were free to do whatever you want, with whoever you want, and yet... Hayden knew exactly what they were feeling, and they weren't afraid of it, but maybe you are, and a part of them would love to tell you the truth right in your face and try to make you confront it instead of avoiding it, but it's too early. And they knew that you needed time.

They felt their lips, which were previously closed in a thin line, curve into an involuntary smile. Of course, of course they feel jealous. They wouldn't be afraid to show it, but they fear that maybe their methods of calming this feeling within them would be too much for you. Hayden thought of a few things, they thought of going to you, of placing a hand around your waist, of touching your face, your cheek, your lips... right in front of everyone, just to make it clear that you were with them, to make it clear that they...

Your eyes met theirs, and Hayden held their breath.

Too soon. Too early.

They stare at you from the other side, and you don't look away, remaining unchanged, staring at them as if it were a challenge, but there was a touch of confusion there, a small touch, and then you avert your gaze.

They could wait, Hayden thinks, the heart that raced within them was impatient, but their mind wasn't.

You would leave tomorrow, and Hayden wanted to go as well, with you, to at least ensure that you would be okay, no matter how silly it was to think that way, after all, you knew how to fight and take care of yourself, but a part of them still wanted to protect you from getting hurt and to make sure you would return safely, but they knew their father wouldn't allow it, and undoubtedly there would be guards following Hayden for the entire time you were away, even if their father didn't know about the little arrangement between the two of you, he knew that they might try to anger him and go on the mission without authorization.

He wasn't wrong.

Hayden tried to distract themselves with the trivial conversations the others around them were having, and they didn't dare to look at you for a while, until they felt the eyes on them. Normally, Hayden knew that there would always be eyes on them, after all, they were attractive in many ways, but this gaze was different, and they recognized you the moment you stepped towards them. Hayden feels themselves getting a bit tense, and dismisses the onlookers, waiting until you reach them, and they can't help but say... "You know, when we agreed to have this thing between us, it was supposed to be as a couple, and not you holding hands with someone else." Not them, that's what they really wanted to say. They changed their minds, they don't like feeling jealous, but since when do they hold back from speaking their mind?

Okay, maybe for you, they will. And a tiny bit for their own pride.

Oh, they were so confused.

[fkajohnlennon]

Not going to lie, I am intrigued by the catboy and the buggered Beatle WIPs 👀🐈🐈‍⬛

Catboy is soooo small and tiny right now!!! Like a little baby bird! I don’t have much more, but what I do have is buggered Beatle, one of my babies that I really want to finish one day!! Honestly, it might be my favorite WIP 💗

The prompt for that one was as follows: John Lennon: ‘I was trying to put it ‘round that I was gay, you know - dancing at all the gay clubs in Los Angeles, flirting with the boys”, plus the rumors that John AND Paul were spotted together in a gay bar … what if J & P spotted a cute guy and used the line ‘Hey, we saw you from across the bar and really dig your vibe’ ….

Up to the writer to decide who the guy is, whether he’s younger or older, on what basis he is chosen. Bonus points if a bit of jealousy arises during the 3 way hookup

They’re both piss drunk when they first talk about it: a thankful bit of lubrication which opens their mouths just a bit easier than either of them anticipated.

“Did you ever do it?” Paul asks, lazily sucking on a cigarette and zipping up his pants.

It’s 1965 and they’re both coming off the high of a show with the fire of expensive liquor coursing through their veins. They’d wanked one out in the venue toilet stalls next to each other, calling out names like their former schoolboy selves used to until they could no longer speak, only pant. When John unexpectedly called out the last name, Montgomery Clift, Paul came so hard and suddenly, he had to brace himself on the stall door.

“You’ll have to be more specific than that, Macca,” John slurs, stealing the cigarette from Paul. He hasn’t washed his hands yet, and something glistens on his skin under the fluorescents.

Paul grimaces. “You know, did you ever—” the words are stubbornly sticking to the roof of his mouth. “Did you and Brian…?”

“Did I ever shag Brian?” John asks with a raised eyebrow, and Paul nods mutely. John pauses like he’s thinking something over; a pensive look with a drunken edge that slows it from fleeting to noticeable. “Nah,” he finally answers, and Paul breathes out, only for John to hit him with: “I let him fuck me.”

Paul is too stunned to speak. He just gapes at John, who is very pointedly not meeting his eyes.

“Well,” he gathers himself after a moment, once he’s taken the cigarette back from John, “how was it?”

John chuckles. “Bloody fantastic, if I’m being honest. Did you know we have a spot, like girls?”

Paul can feel he’s blushing, but he’s too drunk to care. He can’t imagine that John notices, not under the influence of his own alcohol. There’s a gnawing, nauseous feeling in Paul’s stomach as John talks, but Paul, ever the student, is also dreadfully curious. He’d never even been within ten feet of a homosexual, not before he met Brian, and he has to admit, he is curious.

“How do you mean?” he asks.

Finally, John’s mouth curls into a familiar sharp smile. “I mean: you know when you’re giving it to a girl, and you curl your fingers just right and she screams? Well, we lads have that, but it’s…” he hesitates.

“Up our arse?” Paul supplies. John answers with a roar of laughter.

“Right, right. I’m telling you, Macca,” he goes to move towards Paul, but he’s so wasted, he stumbles over his few small steps. He lurches forward, and Paul steadies him with a firm hand and a giggle. “I’m telling you, when you feel it, it—it’s better than any wank you can imagine. Honest!”

Paul is enthralled. He’s also sick to his stomach. “John, are you a homosexual?” He hopes the question comes out as earnest rather than disgusted. He’s too drunk to fight off an angry, equally drunk John right now without coming out with a black eye.

Thankfully, John just placidly shakes his head. “Nah, but I wanted to try it. You should too— every bloke should. It was liberating. Made me kind of understand how the bird’s feeling. Made me a better lover, I think.”

[rewordthis]

Episode 17

Right, ok, let me be salty for a moment at Gege for making me believe that Sukuna is a heartless fiend that has absolutely zero care in the world.

He was so freaking excited to see Uraume, man! Did you hear him properly? Did you? I never expected his blasé ass to be so damn happy from literally the bottom of his heart about anyone and anything other than bloodshed!!!

And then he goes off to save Megumi because he has business for him. Like… can you please not be so all over the place, King? I know that you need Megumi for your agenda and that was the sole reason you performed RCT on him, but now I am curious why you wanted him. Is it because he’d make a good candidate for something? Because you only realised halfway into the battle that Makora was able to adjust to your CT. And pal, was I looking at a Sukuna that truly loved the fact that someone (something) was able to see his technique. See him. I’m 100% sure he’d drag the battle a bit more just for kicks if it didn’t have an immediate effect on Megumi’s life. And that was actually terribly honest of him, saying that if Megumi had indeed summoned Makora back in the detention centre then he’d really have bid farewell to this world. Hahaha I sure love him, for that aspect of his character. He’s not afraid to admit his opponents worth or his worthlessness (caused explicitly by his meat-suit) so far for that matter… 😎

Ah, but you see… I am very, very , very curious as to how he’d react in case Uraume gets killed. Bonus points if Gege has the balls to do it in front of his eyes. 😈

And Megumi. Megumi saying sorry to Yuuji because he was going to sacrifice himself to perform the ritual… 🫠 Why are you like this, child? I love the little details that come up in his character. And the fact that Megumi and Nanami share the same MBTI type is just… pfff~ the cherry on top, ok? Because why did I ever made Nanami in one of my WIPs say the same thing? Why? Why are we so predictable, Gege?! 😩

Also, now that I think about it, what did Sukuna do with Haruta? 😗 He said that it was a good thing he saved him, but I got the sense he was referring to his CT. Could it be that Sukuna hacked his technique, too? Like he did with Jogo? Hmmm… didn’t seem like he did in that very moment but maybe at some point? 🧐 And on that note, I’m also contemplating the way he spoke that incantation during his battle with Jogo. I always thought that the box was a means of censoring but in the anime he really mouthed ‘hako’ aka box. Well, considering how accurately an anime can replicate the way something is pronounced that is… after that, the kanji for ‘fuuga’ is the kanji that means ‘to open’, but is also used in other meanings as well like ‘starting’ etc. However, and you can totally call me stupid or paranoid, the first thing that I remembered the minute I heard it was the name of Maya from Saint Beasts. ‘Fuuga no Maya’ had the power to manipulate and control ghosts, which considering how interconnected and vague almost all of those meanings are, could potentially also mean that Sukuna commands the ‘spirit’, or like I had mentioned in a previous post the subconscious that is ‘jujutsu energy’ to open up to him. Well, this is a stretch, but somehow it feels very possible?

By the way, Yuuji’s eyes burning red when he changed back made me think that he’d go full berserk mode but baby boy seems to have had so much rage in him that he just snapped and decided that that’s it; he needs to die and take Sukuna along in Hell. He must definitely believe he can’t handle this beast any longer. Because those black-hole orbs just weren’t Yuuji’s eyes anymore ok?! He’s gone crazy right now. He’s checked out and that is the one thing Gojo tried to tell him he should not do! Jujutsu sorcerers need to keep levelheaded, Todo said the same thing, in order to be able to summon their full strength when they’re fighting. Please, Gege don’t make my kid lose himself any more than this. Don’t drop on him all Hell, all at once! Give him a moment to breathe. Let him meet up with someone that will calm him down enough to realise that he should not waste his energy without a care.

Megumi despite all odds is safely at Shoko’s hands…

Nobara as far as we know is ok…

Nanami should fucking go back and receive treatment because I don’t know what that man is trying to do by going down there in this state… I mean, you know there are special grades in the station, love! You know you can’t really compete with them if you already faced such an awful ‘defeat’ by one that didn’t even stick around to finish you off. Where are you going?! Why are you going? But you’re going because you care, huh? Because you want to make sure everyone is alright. To protect them…. Because one way or another, you believe that the only one who can save everyone is Gojo and you need to help him out because you are the one qualified enough that’s left to help. Stupid! Have you never realised that Gojo trust you to be the first after him?! That he considers you second only to him?! Have you only ever looked at him through those stupid glasses, idiot? He trusted you his students! His biggest secret when he needed someone to take care of Yuuji — the resurrected vessel of Sukuna — the boy that every single higher up wanted dead by all means. He believed you to be his ally. His little minion! He trusted you with the future of the jujutsu world, even if you considered him just a self-centred and indifferent individual, he still wouldn’t want the world he loved and thrived into to be destroyed! He trusted you… because you were you! Why are you acting like you have a fucking death wish?! Why are you doing that?! Don’t you care how much disappointment you’ll feed him? Or maybe that’s your revenge, for being the kouhai that gets teased all the time… Tsk tsk tsk. You got too caught up in your sense of duty, Nanami and that’s not going to end well(yes, I know. It’s been splattered on my feed for a year now…). I hate you. Actually, I hate that you’re so… proper on your everything. Be a little more disobedient, damn it! Why are you a little sarcastic prick only with Gojo but never to anyone else? I bet if he’d told you to “go down to that platform”, you’d first come up with a snarky comment and then go because he’d force you to… Jeez~ 😑

Why my 57 heart… 🥺

[covenofthearticulate]

20 Qs for fic writers

1. How many works do you have on A03? 22

2. What’s your total Ao3 word count? 134,415

3. What fandoms do you write for? Vampire Chronicles, plus a few Umbrella Academy pieces

4. What are your top five fics by kudos? La mort dans dentelle (Death in Lace), Pink, An Aching Pulse in Search of a Home, and Bright Star. (Basically, all the fics that I no longer really like, that I wrote pre-hiatus in like 2018 that have been up on AO3 the longest so statistically have the most kudos just from age LOL)

5. Do you respond to comments? I really really try to!!! Most of the time I get really overwhelmed though like YOU GUYS ARE SO NICE LMAO so just saying "Thank you!" doesn't feel like enough and I get really nervous about not seeming grateful so it takes me approximately 10 years to reply to comments. I try to catch up every couple of months, though.

6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending? I'm sorry I love angst, but I am one of those writers who likes to have a satisfying emotional wrap-up at the ends of my fics so honestly most of them end on a sweet note. The closest thing is maybe les rousseurs amères de l'amour which was still soft, but definitely bittersweet.

7. What’s the fic you wrote with the happiest ending? aksdjfhcabdsfk they all have happy endings bc I am a sucker and a sap!!! Home Court Advantage is definitely the silliest fluffiest ending though :)

8. Do you get hate on fics? Only if you count the comments that compliment my writing as being in-character for the tv show characters LOL (seriously one time someone commented that they could hear Jacob Anderson's voice come through in my dialogue and I had to go lie down lmfao)

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind? These days I mostly write smut LOL but even in the pwp pieces I see most of my smut as opportunities for character building, so most of my work tends to fall into the Smut With Feelings category lmfao

10. Do you write crossovers? What’s the craziest one you’ve written? I don't write crossover fic anymore, but back when I was crazy active on my rp accounts, I wrote hella crossover! It was moreso on the Umbrella Academy side than my VC side, but I did have some fun rp threads between Louis and Philippe D'Orleans (specifically the tv Versailles version lmao).

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen? Not to my knowledge! Please don't do that!

12. Have you ever had a fic translated? Not yet!

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before? Once upon a time, baby High School Ash co-wrote an insane crossover fic with a friend I had met through tumblr. It was Barnabas Collins (from Tim Burton's Dark Shadows) x Mrs. Lovett. I feel so brave for admitting this LOL I really truly was so emotionally invested in that fic and it's so cringe-worthy but I had fun and that's what matters!

14. What’s your all time favorite ship? I mean. I'm a Loustat girlie through and through LOL but I also love Louis with Armand, or in any configuration of any of the poly ships! As long as Louis is there, you can count me in.

15. What’s a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will? Maybe one of the Louis/Lestat/Armand pieces I started....I love the 3 of them but I get burnt out so quickly because all 3 characters are so complex and so everything feels like an Ordeal with them because they're all very opinionated and only work in a certain dynamic if that makes sense!

16. What are your writing strengths? I think the thing I'm most proud of is my lyrical prose! I like writing sentences that just punch you in the face with feeling! I want my writing to feel evocative, I want the words and details to stick in your head and rattle around.

17. What are your writing weaknesses? I wish I had better stamina and pacing to write longer pieces LMAO like honest to god it's looking like my next fic is gonna be around 9k-10k and it really truly felt like I was going to die writing it LOL it's taken me like 2 months and it has felt like pulling teeth the entire time. For someone who likes writing, I sure wish I liked writing more asdsfkfjghdxghn

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic? Like Kacy said, if it's done well and adds to the world of the fic, then sure! I'm definitely guilty of this trope, but I try to reserve it for the really high-stakes moments so that the language lands differently and is more impactful. But I also think dialogue (and even certain dialects) in different languages have the power to do more harm than good. Like, as a reader, I know that if I see a line of something in a language I can't read, the first thing I'm going to have to do is open another browser tab to google translate, and then go back and read it in context again, and by that time the flow is disrupted and everything is off and it's just hard!!

19. First fandom you wrote for? ooooh girl you should've seen some of the spicy Sweeney Todd fic I was hand-writing in my notebooks in high school. Actually it was more psychological angst than smut but LOL listen I'm a ride or die Mrs. Lovett girlie, what can I say.

20. Favourite fic you’ve written? I think in the grand scheme of things, Air Catcher will always have a special place in my heart. It was one of those rare lightning in a bottle instances where the idea came to me so suddenly and so clearly, and the concept felt so obvious I was like "SURELY someone has written this already???" but then I checked and NOPE no one as far as I was aware had written about vampire top drop, and so I just fucking went to town with that fic. It was among some of the first writing I'd done since coming out of hiatus, and to this day I think it's the only fic I've ever written where the end product was exactly what I had envisioned and hoped it would be. That fic was a gift from god to me LOL and it'll be one year old this summer! wild!!!!

Tagged by: @monstersinthecosmos <3 Tagging: adkjhfbcjhdsb once again I feel like all my fic-writing friends have been tagged by this point but PLEASE if you're reading this, do it and say I tagged you <3

[nightwingshero]

WIP I’m Always Late To These Things

I was tagged by @simonxriley @detectivelokis @aceghosts @sstewyhosseini thank you lovelies!!! 

Tagging: @playstationmademe @jinfromyarikawa @marivenah @direwombat @ghastlyrider @voidika @shegetsburned @socially-awkward-skeleton @minilev @fadedjacket @vampireninjabunnies-blog @strafethesesinners @cobb-vanthss @glowwormsmith and anyone else who would like to share!

I don’t know how but I managed to skip right over writing for RDR2 to writing for Resident Evil. I don’t know what happened yes I do, I just don’t want to admit that I’m in the merciless grip of Leon Kennedy. I also want to point out that this is very rough, I’m probably going to rewrite this because I’m just throwing words down to get the scene out of my head. Don’t @ me. 

My heart was pounding almost as loud as my boots were against the wet concrete, making me wince with each step I had to take. Everything in me was begging me to turn around, but I couldn’t. Sitting ducks meant that I was just a trapped animal waiting for slaughter and I refused to be helpless as the world around me went to shit—if I was going to die, I’d do it with a shotgun and my middle finger in the air, chipped black nail polish and all.

But it wasn’t that drastic urge to fight like some heroine in a sci-fi movie that had me leaving the odd comforts of the tattoo shop I was holed up in once shit hit the fan. No, I wasn’t some alien-slaying badass like in the movies, I was scared shitless and the only thing that had me stepping outside was the crash I had heard. Close enough for me to tell it was a semi and enough to make me almost piss myself from the jump scare it caused. But I sucked it up and held the cool metal and wood in my hands as the rain poured, making my hold tighten even more. The black tears began to run clear hours ago, the rain and constant need to wipe my face with shaky hands forcing any remaining eyeliner off. In a city full of zombies, it was nice to know that I looked less like a psycho clown and more like a drowned rockstar with a shotgun.

I wasn’t sure which was worse if I were being honest.

The rain just continued to seep into my clothes, my oversized flannel no longer protecting me from the elements as it clung to my skin, the tank top underneath wasn’t much better off. It was the skinny jeans that were the most irritating. Wet jeans were annoying at best, hard to move in at worst, but I was sure that it was the least of my issues as I came to an abrupt stop, my breath catching in my throat. I took a step closer to the brick building, ducking down only slightly from behind a taxi that had crashed off the street, as I watched silently. There were two of them, one next to a pile of cars as they burned, the other standing in the middle of the road as it shuffled aimlessly. They both mumbled, groaning things that were too low for me to hear over the rain as it splattered against the yellow metal of the car. Letting out a slow, unsteady breath, I began to make my way around the car just as it turned and walked back towards its friend.

Once the way was clear, I made a mad dash to the alleyway and made a quick turn at the end.

It was a mistake. Mostly because I didn’t look before bolting down the secluded area or that I didn’t take a second to hear the horrid noises coming from it. All it took was a couple of seconds. In the first, we had both rounded the corner at the same time. The next had us lifting our weapons simultaneously as my heart hammered so hard I thought I would suffer from cardiac arrest in the filthy alley of Raccoon fucking City. My hands shook at the thought. I was terrified and I couldn’t quite bring myself to care if he saw it or not, not as my shotgun was aimed right at his chest as I took the next second to take him in.

He was calmer than me, not by much, but the way he pulled his gun and held it told me enough that he was comfortable enough to handle himself. I had a bad feeling about the implications as he shifted his weight on his feet just slightly. The rain was making his brown hair dark, his blue eyes clear as he watched me, though it made me feel as if he was seeing way more than I had. I couldn’t help but wonder how I looked to him, beanie sogging wet and stuck to the long black hair that was long plastered to my cold skin. I hoped it wasn’t how my hands shook slightly.

“Whoa, easy now. Put the gun down.” he ordered softly, as if he knew the words to say but hadn’t had them leave his tongue often enough for them to feel quite right.

“Fuck you.”

[rriavian]

WIP Wednesday - Snippet

As always I almost forgot to post this! It's from the still unnamed seduction au :) and editing it is taking so much longer than I thought. Thanks for all the asks last night (still making my way through a couple) and I hope you enjoy! <3

-

It was then that a plan started to form. 

Though to call it a plan would be more than generous. It was just the ghost of an idea at first, churning in the back of his mind, something the Corinthian didn’t want to think about because the very first thought was rage. He didn't want to contemplate it, yet the idea came to life one evening, an idling thought as he pressed another man down on soft sheets, this idea that now blazed bright and brilliant and very nearly complete—

What would Dream be like if he did this to him?

The Corinthian had to admit he'd never quite thought about it like that, as something he could do, had always found it a sign of weakness, of humiliating longing. He let the human leave, had been intending on making a kill after he'd taken his pleasure, now losing interest in them entirely. This new idea needed proper attention, could be more than just an inconvenient fantasy, had made him realise something important.

Even after all these years the Corinthian hadn’t even considered trying to ensure he survived his rebellion.

While he'd never just give in, would take as many decades of freedom as he could, the Corinthian knew that he’d eventually be called back, that he'd be found wherever he tried to hide. He'd always known he'd be hunted down as soon as Dream was free, cornered in a position without so much as a single advantage.

Now though, now, he had a plan.

A potential way out. 

The Corinthian was going to seduce Dream. 

There was a fair amount of surprise at his own audacity, a moment where even the Corinthian couldn’t believe what he was actually suggesting he should do. The thought came to him while he sat on the edge of his bed, the sheets messy, the remnants of that interrupted fuck, this impossible idea so outlandish he couldn’t really take it seriously.

He sat there and laughed.

But then the Corinthian thought about it, actually considered the possibilities, and found that his plan might not be so ridiculous after all. If it were done properly, if it were done right, and that meant he'd need to spend a fair amount of time thinking about the practicalities of his idea because this would need to be planned meticulously.

And if it didn’t work, well—

If the Corinthian played his cards right it might still be a spectacular way to go.

First though, before he mired himself in strategy, the Corinthian wanted to skip over the how, that first crucial step of avoiding destruction, had found something he liked the taste of and wanted to begin where the fantasy could unfold beautifully. He deserved to have a little bit of fun; the Corinthian reached for his cock, settled back into bed, got comfortable—

He was already hard, the mere thought of having Dream like this a crime, intrinsically dirty, so wonderfully wrong the Corinthian didn't even need to touch himself to stir desire. To be honest it only made it hotter, even contemplating fucking him felt like rebellion, and oh the Corinthian should have done done this much sooner. He should have spent all the time he wanted getting himself off to the thought of fucking god.

The Corinthian would just have to make up for lost time.

How would Dream like to be touched?

The body might be just as human as it appeared, might have the same responses, might react just right if he targeted the erogenous zones. Some humans had a spot just behind their ear that drove them wild, had another on their neck; would Dream like it if he kissed him there? Would he shudder if the Corinthian brushed his fingers across bare skin? He’d find out, would enjoy testing that, mapping it out, finding exactly what impulses his creator had given his pretty little body—that taunting slim thing, too fine for anything but begging corruption—Dream always constructing his creations forms with deliberate purpose. 

It made sense he’d do the same with his own.

The Corinthian would get him naked, would strip him out of his clothes, would take his fill of what lay beneath. He wondered what his creator would wear in this century, knew it’d all be black, selfishly hiding the gleam of starlit skin. 

Would Dream need persuading? 

The image of that—of a scowl, a frown, of hesitance that might just be true discomfort—kindled the heat in his gut from smoulder to flame. He chased it lazily, idling strokes of his hand, lay the other flat on the bed and imagined pressing Dream onto it, kissing him before he could speak, pinning the hand that tried to push him away and instead pressing even closer. There’d be no leverage at that angle; the Corinthian would bear down, slip his tongue into Dream’s mouth, taste him like he owned him because all he had to do to have it was believe that he did.

The Corinthian bet none of Dream’s lovers had tried to take him like that.

[dhyanshiva]

Announcement

Posted and Pinned: 07.11.2023

Hi, so the short of it is that I will not be writing from February of 2024. This naturally means that by extension I will not be posting anything after 02.2024.

I will be uploading a standalone something on 20.11.23 and the final installment of 'the pool' series by the end of January. At most.

Note: I will not be clearing out my AO3 or disowning any existing works. The profile will remain on the platform as it is.

I will remain on socials, though, all platforms (to DM, serious post and shitpost as per usual). Yet to get used to discord because I haven't used it often but yeah.

Further explanation of this decision sits under the cut if you want to know more beyond this. It's a tad lengthy than is necessary but... whatever.

Going cold turkey is arguably worse. I think.

(I have tried to keep a rein on my... descriptions. Apologies if I have offended anyone, I did not mean to in the least)

CW// some swearing and overall negativity tbf

Right, so. After finally wrapping up a long term commitment on 30.10.23, I decided to give this decision, the finalisation of this announcement some time, aware that I could be thinking in haste or in some sort of reverb from all that. I have, however, been contemplating wiping my AO3 for a long while, so this has stemmed in some ways from that consideration.

Again, this will not be happening because the pieces on there are markers for me and apparently a source of escape for others. Some older pieces still get interacted with, which, while it mystifies me, is not my place to judge or question that.

The reasoning

Ok so no more faffing about.

Simply put, I'm in a lot of pain, have been for a long while. Longer than I wanted to admit to myself, even.

Work - Expression recently has been dominated by S1 of Cla$$ (Netflix India, 2023). Self evident. However, there's a range of storylines and plots that I have completely ignored - sidelined, disregarded, call it what you will - and remained... fixated on a select few. Chief of those being the highly subjective experience of grief and loss.

Yes, the running thread and temporal back and forth is rooted in the "investigation" of the central character's murder but let's be honest here.

Like... is it really that deep or had I leapt of the deep end preemptively?

Looking over at my AO3 now fills me with a strange sense of revulsion and incredulity. Apart from "Rise", I honestly cannot claim to have exercised or demonstrated any creativity. Nor has any catharsis that I so desperately hoped to 'achieve' been... achieved.

(Even in Rise itself, the graphic descriptions have no grounds - I ask myself more so now, how necessary was all that? Was it respectful, was it justified? The answer to these three, in my eyes is no.) I could've taken an implicit route but.. didn't.

So all of this, to what end? Just constantly relentlessly mixing canon with extrapolated and distorted amounts of pain. Some of it being my own. My perception of the reality of canon was unfortunately completely skewed by my own state of mind and carrying that forward, to me, was unacceptable beyond a certain point. Which I believe I have long since crossed.

The aforementioned October - end commitment has depleted me, had been leeching from me the whole while and has left me spent. I don't have energy for normalcy let alone the absurdity that is my "creativity".

The pieces I've written for my eyes only are also just... what the fuck. Truly some wild stuff. I have many issues, scattered liberally across these documents.

And all the ideas I have for existing WIPs sit on one hell of a spectrum. Some of my plotlines and dialogue ideas terrify and horrify even me - and trust me, my angst and pain threshold is unusually high. I cannot, with whatever conscience I have left, dig my claws into characters that aren't my intellectual property, nor can I inflict such harm on the characters that are mine and THEN put all that out into the world.

Nope. I'm quite the miserable and depressed cunt, frankly, but that's my problem, it doesn't have to be anyone else's.

I don't have it in me to continue writing for any media or for myself. I cannot imagine, envision, I cannot plan, I cannot create. I can't and am apprehensive to express myself with this medium because the extent of the abyss is unknown even to me and that is unacceptable. To me.

Until I can begin to heal from some long-standing things, I cannot hope. I cannot infuse a requisite and consistent amount of optimism, joy, love, peace in my writing.

Nothing that sustains, only demands, demands and destroys.

Unfortunately, I am not that talented to write from a separate space. Not in the least.

I can project till kingdom come, but consistently pummeling a narrative with unbridled agony is something I have no right to do. And the output you see is still highly filtered; no I don't ask you to imagine the starting point of it all. Highly unpleasant and triggering, to say the least.

I have to be healthier first for myself and then for my craft. And that's a long, long, non - linear and arduous journey.

Right, so, given that language and communication is something I rely heavily on, it's not that the ideas won't keep jostling about in my mind, but I won't put pen to paper, finger to keyboard for them.

I have experienced long bouts of writer's block and this is most definitely not that, by the way.

I do not have the capacity to find new media, God forbid my infliction on them too (so best avoided for the greater good).

Round off

(status updates as of date of posting: 07.11.23)

Ok so if this has made a modicum of sense (I'm just rawdogging this in the drafts, I can't touch my Notes app or GDOCs), I am going to confirm that of my existing ones, only "the pool" will get its... closure. Or whatever the fuck you'll call what is going down in P3. Sorry. In advance but also generally for the series.

[I mean let's be for fucking real here okay? I can't do, well * gestures * all that, INCLUDING ripping out the staircase scene for an important pair of characters' 'closure' and not at least attempt to justify all of it, I don't think]

DOS, though planned in its entirety will not be completed and its summary will be altered to indicate this.

The LIF series too, will only have two pieces and its completion status will be changed to 'yes' - it has these characters outlined, their respective docs buried:

The rest of the Manzoor family

Dhruv

Veer

Sharan

Suhani

Neeraj

Yep. That's about it. Nothing more, nothing less. If you wanted a rough idea on how any of these was going to traspire, feel free to DM me. Any and all queries will be addressed.

This announcement post will be linked to my 20.11.23 and Jan - mid / end upload and to my AO3 profile itself.

My Spotify Profile:

Conclusion

This is about it, at least without turning this into some even longer vent and woe betide me "fuck my life" rant when there are far far worse things happening around us. Also without being too transparent and TMI because... well duh.

Still, fairly long, I know. And I'm sorry for the same.

Last but most certainly not least,

Thank you for reading this, any of my work, and a sincere, specific thank you again - always indebted - to (you know exactly who you are) the wonderful people I've had the distinct honour of being introduced to via my writing endeavours.

Much love,

Dhyan x

P.S. what do you know, I've written this whole thing in English, no Hindi, Kannada or the unexpected German! I can in fact write in only English, just decided to be a nuisance in my pieces!

[If this ever changes, it will be unpinned accordingly x]

[midnightstargazer]

So, um. For anyone who's reading Reborn from the Ashes, I promise I haven't abandoned it! There's an update coming soon-ish. In the meantime, here's some random rambling about what's taking so long.

The hard part about writing Hogwarts Professor Regulus is that putting him at Hogwarts means he inevitably needs to interact with Snape, and Snape is a difficult character to get right. Especially through the eyes of someone who he doesn't get along with, but who isn't necessarily a better person than he is. I've written a few scenes with Death Eater Snape in To the Dark Lord and dropped hints about offscreen spy for the Order Snape in Toujours Vivant, but Potions teacher Snape arguing in the staff room with Ancient Runes teacher Regulus is something else entirely.

Especially because Snape is not wrong. Regulus has had a much easier time. He started out with a huge unfair advantage in life due to his family's wealth and his status as a pure-blood. Then, later on, Regulus definitely got a better deal when defecting from the Death Eaters. That's a choice on my part as the writer, and one that I think makes sense; Regulus showed up saying, essentially, "I'll give you the key to defeating the Dark Lord if you promise me x y and z in return," whereas Snape asked for nothing for himself and was willing to do whatever Dumbledore wanted so long as Lily was protected. Honestly, that makes Snape a far more selfless person than (my version of) Regulus. But of course he would be resentful that another ex-Death Eater went to Dumbledore for help and got to spend the rest of the war behind a Fidelius charm doing relatively safe, behind-the-scenes type work while he was instead put in even more danger as a spy.

He's right about something else important, too: Regulus is definitely after his position as Head of House. On the one hand, who can blame him? He's a Slytherin, he's ambitious, of course he has his eye on a promotion. But on the other hand, he walks in feeling entitled to someone else's position of power, and there is an element of prejudice in that. He's already admitted that if the other ex-Death Eater turned Hogwarts professor had been Evan Rosier instead of Snape, he would have an easier time respecting him as Head of Slytherin and would not be so interested in taking that away from him. Why? Because Evan and Regulus were close friends right up until Regulus went after the locket. Why was Regulus not friends with Snape? Personality could have something to do with it, but it's probably largely a matter of blood prejudice and classism.

This is the first fic in the series that I've tagged with "Good Regulus Black" as opposed to "Morally Gray Regulus Black," and I'm starting to second-guess that. Because despite being 100% on the right side and working towards positive goals now, not actively using or advocating for the Dark Arts, and being way closer to giving up on blood prejudice than he was in Toujours Vivant, he's still a mess. Things are still complicated. To be honest, I'm still figuring out just how much further he still has to go even as I'm writing it.

Anyway, my point is, the fic is from Regulus's POV, so of course he's offended by Snape's resentment and suspicion. And the worst of what Snape thinks about him is definitely not true: he didn't help Sirius betray the Potters, because ... come on, you all know the drill, the traitor was Peter Pettigrew. But overall, Snape's feelings are not unwarranted.

And trying to get that nuance across from Regulus's point of view, while also dealing with the fact that Regulus thinks Snape is being very unfair to him ...

This chapter has been a WIP for several weeks. And it's probably going to be a while longer before I'm happy with it. Just FYI.

[karatechick1984-blog]

You'll Walk Alone - WIP - Prologue - 2nd Attempt.

My hand was numb.

It’s not like it was the first time.

I glanced at my palm frowning slightly, studying it in a disinterested way. Meghan was talking but her words had faded to white noise, simply acting as filler. This also wasn’t the first time that had happened either.

I wasn’t proud to admit it but lately everyone's stories had kind of started to blend together. They no longer gripped me, breath held, at the edge of my seat, desperate for answers and understanding. Every word was no longer a bomb shell of understanding and vindication Now, it was just people talking and if I was being honest with myself, I’d stopped listening a long time ago.

There was a part of me that felt guilty for tuning it all out. There was also a part of me that wondered why I even bothered still coming to “Talks.” Sure, the first few stories I heard had been helpful but now these weekly meetings had been sucked into the bottomless pit of apathy that was my life.

I flexed my fingers, once, twice and gave my hand a little shake, hoping movement would jump-start blood flow. As I waited for the cooling rush of feeling to return, I shifted in my seat and let my eyes wander.

Meghan was still talking, staring at her hands which lay open in her lap. As I glanced her way, she lifted her head, the gesture making the fluorescent light hit her skin just right. The pale, crescent shaped scar on her neck gleamed for a moment and then my gaze drifted. I knew that if I let my eyes roam around and take in the others seated with us, almost everyone would have a similar mark. Some could be hidden by hair or clothes but regardless, they all acted as neon signs pointing to the irrefutable proof of two things.

Vampires were real. Life was shit.

Though you may think #2 is subjective, I feel safe in saying that everyone in that room would agree with me. Our lives were now empty husks of what they had been because of #1. We’d all been bitten. We’d all survived. We were all so damn lucky to still be breathing, or at least, that’s what it felt like everyone was thinking. I didn’t feel lucky though. I felt useless, empty, numb. I felt like less than nothing because I was less than nothing. I was an afterthought, a distraction. That’s all I was good for, or, that’s all I’d been good for the night of the attack.

I’d survived.

My sister hadn’t.

And I was currently trying to deal with the guilt of existing by sitting in a support group for survivors of vampire attacks. Meaghan’s voice trailed off and before the room could dissolve into silence, Maddie, began to speak. I knew there’d be gentle, encouraging words and praise for us all for having the strength and courage to get to this meeting.

It was all rote.

Instead of listening and taking heart in what Maddie said, I let my gaze fall back to stare at my own scar. My own reason for being here tonight and for all the nights before. Instead of going out and living my life, I came here, to a retrofitted warehouse in the South End, once a week and listened to people relive the worst moments of their lives.

Like in AA, we drank bad coffee, ate stale cookies and explained in great detail the nights our worlds had been shattered. It was obvious to me now that I’d heard all there was to hear. There was nothing new to learn from these people. The horror, the blood, the screams. Hearing it from someone else’s lips didn’t make it any worse or better. When I first decided to come to “Talks” I was scared, eager, hoping for answers, wondering if I would find solace in company. But all I’d realized was that no matter how much I talked about it, it wouldn’t bring my sister back. Nothing would.

I tried not to let the hopelessness I felt in my heart, show on my face. If anything, these last few years had taught me how to put on the brave front. Smile bright and pretend like you’re fine, even though you’re screaming on the inside. And that’s what I wanted to do right now but I managed to simply take a breath and let it out slowly. I swallowed it down, the guilt, the rage, and kept my face a careful, neutral mask.

Maddie, the woman who ran “Talks”, a perpetually smiling, kind and gentle soul was bringing the meeting to a close. I always wondered what it was that Maddie did when she wasn’t playing “the king’s men” to our “Humpty Dumpty.” And though I wondered, always curious and honestly, a little jealous at her seemingly constant optimism, I didn’t care enough to ask.

I didn’t care much about anything.

Don’t get me wrong, everyone at “Talks” had always been super supportive and genuinely amazing people. But I was just so numb, so done, so dead inside that not even the brightest ray of light could break through. I had sat through “Talks” and now, I would go home and continue to live my pathetic, pitiful life. No answers given. No epiphany of why I’d gotten to live, and Cara hadn’t. I’d gone in with nothing and now, I was leaving with nothing.

Standing, I shrugged my bag over my shoulder and made a beeline towards the door. A passing glance caught Maddie’s eye and I saw concern. Before she could come towards me though I simply kept walking, offering a few small smiles and nods as goodbye. Once I made my escape and stepped outside, the cool September air was refreshing and I allowed myself a small breath, a millisecond to relax. The warehouse where “Talks” was held was bright, comfortable, open but tonight, it had felt close and claustrophobic. It was in the rows of buildings on Black Falcon Pier, one of the many places in Boston that had been built up and gentrified.

The rising cost of living was barely a blip on my radar though. I couldn’t have afforded to live here even at my best. When life was normal, my family was alive, and my biggest concern was navigating the social hierarchy of high school. Teenage crushes and “fitting in.” It all seemed so laughable now, so unnecessary and unimportant. I could feel my already foul mood, darken and I focused on pushing in my earbuds and drowning out my thoughts with music.

The bus, the train, it was all instinct now. I moved on autopilot, eyes staring forward, trying hard not to think. A glance at my phone showed it was closing in on 8:30 pm. I’d missed rush hour but there were still a handful of people on the train. A gaggle of teenagers, laughing shrilly. A couple sitting across from me, totally absorbed in each other. A few other loners like me, staring at phones or tuned into music. None of them caught my interest though; my eyes were all for one man, standing at the end of the train.

He had ear buds in, like me. He had a bag slung over his shoulder, like me. He was wearing a hooded sweatshirt and jeans, like me. He could have been meeting friends for a late dinner or drinks. But I had a feeling that wasn’t it. I knew it wasn’t fair of me to assume but, I did. It wasn’t like he looked up at me and flashed a fang filled smile, but there were other signs. Most people wouldn’t notice but I did because I’d trained myself to notice them, like a bloodhound on a scent.

The easy, fluid way he moved to match the rocking and swaying of the train, never off balance or stumbling. The fact that he was paler than me, which was a feat in and of itself. It was a joke in my once existent social circle, that I was so pale, I was translucent. But this guy was so wan it was startling. That was a common side effect of not being able to go out in the sun or you’d explode. Okay, that didn’t actually happen, or at least, I didn’t think it did but still…

Shutting my eyes, gritting my teeth against my jumbled, rambling thoughts, I tried to block out the man and what he was. I leaned back, the glass of the window on the train cool against the back of my head. I focused on breathing, simple, slow, in and out and tried desperately to lose myself in the music.

It never worked though. Every time I saw one of them, it brought it all back.

The random night of spontaneity. The decision to get out of the house, grab dinner, see a movie, do things that normal people did. Do things that occupied our minds and made us laugh. Things that did the bare minimum, but something to fill up the aching, unending loneliness that had become a part of us. When it all felt like too much and that our lives had devolved into endless, monotonous, grinding away to simply live, Cara and I would treat ourselves to nights of fun. Nights when two sisters in their early twenties allowed themselves to act their age. It wasn’t often but it was enough. It was enough to remind us that we were in this together. That we would get through this. That nothing could come between sisters, nothing could tear us apart.

Cara’s throat being ripped out by a Vampire did a solid job of proving our naive optimism wrong.

Seeing the man at the end of the train had brought it all back, as it always did. It tore that still weeping wound wide open and left me as sore and scarred as if it had happened yesterday. The memories of the terror in Cara’s eyes, the sound of her flesh tearing threatened to flood my eyes with tears.

Fortunately, I was saved from the public humiliation of crumbling into a hysterical mess by the train jerking to a stop and jarring me back to the present. My eyes snapped open and with a glance around, I realized the Vampire was gone and I was at my stop. Clearing my throat, blinking the tears away, I forced myself up and out the door on shaking legs.

The short walk from the train station to my apartment helped to ease my racing heart, deep breaths forcing my mind to concentrate on the here and now, to be present. I felt a little calmer once I reached the two-family house that I’d lived in all my life. I unlocked the door into the hall and stepped forward, fingers already on the key when the door beside mine opened.

Both of us jumped, not having expected to run into anyone but with a breath of a laugh, my Uncle Jeff eased the tension with a small smile and soft words, “Val, hey.”

Whenever I saw Jeff, I saw my mother. They were both slight and slim, dark haired and dark eyed, like Cara and I but Jeff had a more serious set to his jaw. A more somber demeanor, his forehead seeming to always be creased with concern. Or perhaps that was just me projecting.

Jeff had always been a constant presence in my life, but things had definitely changed since Cara’s death. Jeff had been a saint, as always, making the arrangements, taking care of everything so all I had to do was focus on putting one foot in front of the other. But now I always felt like he was waiting for me to break. His voice was always soft, his words always gentle, careful, like walking on eggshells, afraid that one word would make me snap. And I really didn’t blame him. Some days I found myself wondering when it would happen too.

When I would throw my hands up in the air and just stop. Give up. Walk away. Forget about everyone and everything because let’s face it, I didn’t really have much of anything anymore. But then I’d swallow down the self-pity and remember that Jeff had been through the same horrible shit as me. I wasn’t the only one who had lost people. So instead of just ignoring him and walking upstairs, I forced myself to stay put and give him a weak smile as he spoke while locking the door to his apartment.

“Barb made some baked Mac and Cheese for dinner and, you know your aunt.”

“Enough to feed a small army” was my murmured question and Jeff’s grin and nod was answer enough.

“So, you just come down and have as much as you want, any time, okay?”

I forced myself to keep that smile in place, knowing it didn’t reach my eyes. My voice was too high, too tense but Jeff didn’t say anything, he just accepted my words with silence. “Yeah, sure, that’d be great. I’ll grab some soon. Thanks Jeff.”

Then I’d unlocked my own door and shut it behind me.

I didn’t wait for the sudden solitude to become oppressive. Instead, I simply locked the deadbolt and headed up the stairs, unlocking the main door and stepping into my small apartment. The familiar smell of home, of coffee, books, sleepless nights, restless days, good times and bad wafted over me and settled on my shoulders.

Now that I was alone, in private, I let the memories come, I didn’t try to fight them. They moved with me, memories of times spent here with my mom and Cara, the only sound to disrupt the silence, my soft footsteps as I wandered from room to room. I had a routine. A place for everything and everything in its place. And once I was done with said routine, I headed towards the fridge, shoulders stooped with the weight of remembering.

I already knew the fridge was bare, but it was force of habit that had me look. A brief thought of my mother and how horrified she’d be at the emptiness of my fridge made a small, pained smile cross my lips. For a moment, my stomach clenched, and I felt tears sting again but I forced them back. I missed her. I missed them both, but I knew that if I let myself collapse into a sobbing mess, it’d be a waste of time. My grief, though all consuming, wasn’t powerful enough to bring them back.

Nothing was.

The sound of my cell phone dinging dragged me out of my head, cleared away the rage and the guilt for a moment and allowed me to move. I grabbed a cider and shuffled to the living room. On the coffee table my phone screen blazed, bright white as it dinged again, making sure I was aware that I had a text message. Rolling my eyes at the persistence of cell phones, I put the bottle down, picked up the remote, flicked the television on and grabbed my phone as I eased back into the cushions of the couch. I was honestly curious as to who might be texting me, since my social life was non-existent, and I’d just seen my uncle. So, it was with genuine curiosity that I read the message on my phone.

Val, hey, it’s Maddie from Talks. I just wanted to check in with you and see how you’re doing cause you seemed quiet tonight.

Maddie. Kind, genuine, attentive Maddie. The only woman who could sit through people reliving blood and death without flinching. Even as that thought formed, I realized something. For all the times I’d gone to “Talks” and heard these horror stories, Maddie was a constant presence. She was quiet, considerate, always supportive. But she was also always there. At every single meeting. Every night I had gone, it was always the same.

If “Talks” was some sort of volunteer thing, like AA, then, wouldn’t someone else have run a meeting once or twice? Maddie’s constant presence suddenly seemed strange and unnerving. Also, now that I was dwelling, what the Hell even was “Talks”? Like, who created a support group for survivors of Vampire attacks? Or even better, why the actual fuck had there been so many vampire attacks that a support group needed to be created?

Yeah, everyone knew there were Vampires. Like, even reclusive, hiding in the dark, Troll-like me knew about Vampires. I can’t remember the exact date but there’d been news stories and stuff, when Margaret Beauchamp and the other leaders of the Clans made their presence known. But, in all the media, Vampires are shown as influential, affluent and elite. They’re the Echelon. And from, what’d I read, they fed off humans, but they didn’t hunt.

So, what the Hell had the vampire that killed Cara been? Like, a runaway from his provincial life? He wanted to earn his keep, so he decided to slum it and hunt humans.

The very existence of “Talks” was proof that there were way too many vampire attacks happening and shit was being done about it. The fact that so many of us had survived too, it just seemed sloppy. It seemed like something the Echelon clans would never allow. It seemed like something to gloss over and cover up.

I remember the policemen explaining what had happened once I woke up in the hospital. In detached, clipped, clinical tones they explained that Cara had died within seconds. My bumbling attempts to do something to save my sister had been enough to distract the Vampire. It’d latched onto my wrist and probably would have killed me too if someone hadn’t scared it off. The police had received a call saying there’d been an attack at Government Center with multiple victims. The EMTs had arrived in time to keep me from bleeding out.

So, who’d made the call?

Who’d scared the vampire off?

Had someone been there to help me out of sheer dumb luck or was it something more? Maddie and her constant presence, enough survivors to constitute the need for a group, I suddenly realized how odd and coincidental it all seemed. Cara would have laughed at the fact that it had taken me at least 3 months to figure this all out.

I took a breath and shut my eyes in a vain attempt to clear my head and then opened them again, swallowing down a sick feeling in my stomach, shaking fingers tapping out words.

Hey Maddie. Yeah, I’m fine, just, work and stuff. Thanks for checking in though.

The accursed three dots wavered on the screen and then Maddie’s text popped into view.

Of course. Just know, I’m always here Val

I fought the urge to type back, yes, you are apparently, and instead replied with a vague goodnight and hoped that brought the conversation to a close.

Now that I’d realized how weird the very existence of “Talks” was, I couldn’t get it out of my head. Why did people get attacked by Vampires and the police do nothing about it? Or…no, they knew about it but if vampire attacks were common enough that a support group needed to be created to aid the survivors, then, what the Hell was going on? What was the hold up on creating some sort of special task force to patrol the streets for vampires who’d gone rogue from their life of luxury?

My mind raced with questions and possibilities, thoughts scattering at breakneck speed as I tried to make sense of it all. Honestly though, I was only thinking myself in circles. And my mother had always been a big proponent of going out and getting answers if you were curious about something. Knowledge was power after all, and right now, I felt completely and utterly powerless.

Like a match being struck, I suddenly realized what I had to do. What steps I had to take to either get some answers or bring my misery to an end. It was easily the stupidest thing I’d ever done but I figured there were two ways my plan could go. Either I’d actually get some damned answers, or I’d be dead.

Honestly, either scenario was preferable to my current miserable existence. So, terrified beyond reason but with just a glimmer of hope, I shut the TV off and rushed through the apartment, knowing that if I thought too much about what I was going to do then I wouldn’t do it. So I didn’t think, I forced my body to move, to grab my phone, wallet, keys and slip out the door, down the stairs and into the cool night air. My pace was quick, my breathing even, finally sure, after all these months of crushing doubt, that I knew what I had to do.

[jayswritings13]

TMNT 2012: Headstrong/Independent Blind s/o

Request: "2012 TMNT, April(?) and Raph with a blind s/o? But with Toph‘s (from ATLA) personality?" by Anon

💗Masterlist | WIP Page

April O'Neil

April actually met you through school.

She was working on a project with you for your English class.

Before then she didn't know much about you, as you tended to keep to yourself most of the time.

Though between the different rumors around school, April wasn't sure which ones were true or not.

As always, Casey had his own theory.

"I heard that they were a stuck-up prep."

"What was that Jones?"

April turned to find you standing right beside Casey.

"Ha-ha, (Y/N)! I really didn't think that you'd hear that."

"Clearly. I'm blind, not deaf."

"Noted." Casey said, glancing over at April. "I'll remember that."

"Good." You stated. "Because, if I ever hear my name come out of your mouth, you're gonna wish you never learned to speak."

And with that you then made your way over to April, who was still reeling from the very real threat you made to Casey.

"So, where are we meeting for this assignment, O'Neil?"

"Um....I- uh, maybe my place?" She suggested.

"Sounds like a plan."

It didn't take long for April to enjoy spending time around you after that night.

You soon became April's favorite person.

Communication was never an issue between the two of you, as you often told April how you feeling and what was bugging you.

There were times were you could be a little too blunt and honest than April could handle, leading often to small fights between the two of you.

You both were stubborn as hell, often dragging out the fights longer than they needed to be.

You were also fiercely protective of her, knowing well enough about the dangers and cruelty of New York City.

April didn't always need it, but she did appreciate that you cared enough for her to stick by her and stand up for her.

"Listen assholes, I suggest that you back off."

"What are you gonna do about it?"

"Oh, you are so messing with the wrong person."

"(Y/N)..."

"No April, they're a dick and they're gonna pay for what they said!"

April always hates how you jump into things so fast, but is always there to help you afterwards.

Afterall, one of the things that April admires about you is your independent and curious nature.

She also may like that you push her to be more rebellious, even if she doesn't want to admit it to you.

April doesn't know much about what life is like for a blind individual, but often researches about it and learns a lot from you.

You don't mind talking to her about it, but you are thrilled that April takes it upon herself to learn more about it herself.

You never told her, but April always knew how much it meant to you.

Raphael Hamato

Raph has not been exposed to anyone like you before.

Well, to be fair, Raph hasn't been exposed to much before his trip to the surface.

He had a run in with you in one of the alley ways during one of the nights Raph and his brothers were out.

Obviously since you saw them, they had to give you the whole 'don't tell anyone about us' talk.

"Tell anyone about what?"

".....you're kidding?"

"Not really." you said, crossing your arms.

"Nothing's throwing you off about us? Nothing at all?"

"Well, I mean you feel slimy, but so do most New Yorkers." You shrugged.

"Man, you really must be blind to not see it." Raph remarked.

"Raph!"

"I am, actually." You said, "But, I'm guessing that you are kind of dumb for not figuring that out."

Since then, interactions between you and Raph were a bit strained, well until Raph saw you fight once.

You reminded him of himself in a lot of ways, and his brothers saw it too.

"Dude, they're just like you!"

"They're not just like me!"

"Oh, right, I forgot. They're better."

It didn't take long for Raph to quick go after his two younger brothers.

Raph often turned to you for pretty much everything, as you understood him the best out of everyone he's know, besides Casey.

You thought the same thing about Raph, even sharing details about your home life with him.

"I mean, it's like they think that I'm some precious little china doll." You growled, "They have always treated me like that. Protecting me."

"You? Badass who can kick more purple dragon butt than anyone else I've seen?"

"Yeah, well, they don't see me as that."

"I get you. Splinter kept us down here for 16 years, sheltering us from the human world."

Even with the similarities, it was most often that due to those similarities that the two of you clashed so much.

You both were very headstrong and stubborn.

Much life with April, fights were often dragged much longer than they needed to, especially with both of you being very stubborn and prideful at times.

But you often kept communication open, which was what drove you crazy about Raph, as he often preferred to keep everything inside.

A lot of the times, Raph wished that he was able to be that vulnerable with his thoughts.

But, you are always there to confront him if needed.

"What's wrong?"

"....nothing."

"That's bullshit. You've been sighing for the past 20 minutes. Either something's wrong or you're trying to get my attention." You said, "So which one is it?"

it usually didn't take too much prodding after that to get Raph to spill.

[spotsandsocks]

Throw back Thursday

Tagged by @blaidddrwg1982 whose genius idea this was and the lovely @imsupposedtobewritting

The Rules: Dig back into your archive, published (post the link too!), not published, WIPs that are side-eyeing your new babies. Anything and everything. Let's show love to the days of yore! Post a snippet, a summary, a plot point...anything at all!

I’ve realised I’ve never posted any actual words from my dragon riders AU here so maybe it might tempt someone to check it out. This is Buck meeting Chris for the first time right before he meets Eddie who has is the grip of the worst tragedy a Dragonrider can endure, the death of his dragon. (I have art too- pinned post on my blog) To Fly the Skies Read on AO3

I am very large Cal says proudly

Did you see I’m bigger than Jiminith.

Really? Buck thinks doubtfully, Jiminith is a fairly large bronze, he loves Cal but he is sometimes prone to exaggerate

Yes. My tail is at least half a measure longer. It’s obvious.

Buck’s still chuckling when he hears a voice.

“Are you ok sir?” He looks down to see a small boy, maybe about 8 turns old, leaning on crutches looking at him.

Oooh who’s that?

Have you found a new friend for us?

“Hello, to be honest I’m a bit lost!” He admits to the boy.

“Do you at least know where you want to be?” the boy asks with a cheeky grin.

Buck’s amused and smiles back “Well yes, I do know that, I’d like to find the kitchens. I missed breakfast and I’m sooo hungry” he pulls a face that makes the boy laugh.

The boy raises his eyebrows and says with a little shake of his head, “You are very lost.”

“Can you help me? Please, you're my last hope!” Buck asks playing it up for the boy's amusement, “I’m starving and I’m gonna miss the midday meal too at this rate.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll save you.” the boy says still smiling.

Buck can’t help but beam back, this kid is cute. They chat on the way to the kitchens it's a fair distance, he really was lost.

Along the way he learns the boy is called Christopher and his interests include, but are not exclusive to; the stars, the ocean (which he’s told he misses), how volcanos are made and animals.  He’s also learnt all about his plans to be a Dragonrider one day. A shadow crosses the boy’s face at that but he carries on chatting anyway.

Buck listens totally entranced. Calenth’s also impressed he’s been listening along with Buck, something he's not always interested enough to do.

I like this small person he’s funny and smart

He is isn’t he Buck agrees

He’d make an excellent rider. Any dragon would like him.

Buck smiles and tells Christopher “My dragon, Calenth, says any dragon would be proud to have you as their rider.”

Christopher beams and yup,Buck’s a goner. This kid is going to wrap him round his finger.

“Do you want to meet Cal?” he asks. He’s surprised when Chris frowns instead of accepting straight away.

“I’d have to check with my Dad" he says. "He’s uh not, I mean,” there’s a pause, “well he might say no.”

I’m delightful Cal says in his head.

Who wouldn’t want their small person to meet me he sounds affronted

Not everyone has to like you Cal he teases his friend. He can feel the shock down their bond

Go and eat something right now he’s told firmly you’ve clearly gone mad , its probably your desperate hunger

He stifles his laugh at the ridiculousness of his dragon because Chris is looking sad and worried all at once and he wants to fix that.

Tagging to share their past creations @loveyourownsmiilee @jacksadventuresinwriting @sibylsleaves @hetrez @elvensorceress @the-likesofus @rogerzsteven @ajunerose

[shig-a-shig-ah]

LAYING CLAIM

» pairing: dabi x fem!reader

» cw: dubcon, revoked consent, noncon (we’re going on a journey, okay?), rimming, anal fingering, anal sex, crying, gratuitously fanon characterization. 18+, minors DNI.

» a/n: Started this months and months ago, and since I’m finally getting around to wrapping some WIPs, I guess you can have it now. Thanks @thebiggergroove​ for beta-reading!

» wc: 5.3k

» ao3 mirror

Like my work? Support me on Ko-fi or request a commission.

The thing about Dabi is he's not usually a possessive guy. Fucking is fucking, as far as he's concerned—it doesn't really matter who is doing it with whom as long as everyone is getting off on it. But goddamn if there isn't something about you that makes him want to make you his.

And he's gotten that, more or less. It took some sweet talking and cajoling, and a few late nights where he made you come until you couldn't see straight, but you agreed not to go sleeping with anyone else. Sure, you've made him promise the same, but that's fine. Not that he's going to actually stop, of course, but he goes out on recruiting missions alone and he figures what you don't know won't hurt you.

That's all enough to satisfy him, at least for a little while. But then a few weeks pass and there it is again: that stupid jealousy and all those unbidden thoughts about the people you were with before him. People he knows. You never talk in too much detail about your past hookups, but he's not stupid, is all too aware that he's not the first one in this ragged band of miscreants that you've crawled into bed with. You've fucked Jin, and Shigaraki, and probably even Magne, god rest her soul—Dabi hadn't missed the way the two of you had huddled up giggling in the corner of the old bar one night, disappearing together unusually early, making those bedroom eyes at each other. And in theory that's fine. Nothing wrong with two girls having fun together, after all. Hell, bi chicks are hot and Dabi wouldn't mind taking advantage of that someday.

But first he needs to find a way to get the image of you with your legs spread for half the League out of his goddamn head.

If he's being honest, it's Shigaraki who bothers him the most. Magne is dead. Jin is a decent dude and, Dabi has to imagine, tame as a kitten in the sack. But Shigaraki, well...Dabi can tell just by looking at the guy that he's a freak, and the idea of you riding Shigaraki's dry, crusty dick, of letting him do who-knows-what filthy shit to you? It just gets to him.

And then Toga has to suggest that stupid game and go putting ideas in his head.

You're all sitting around the crumbling office space that passes for a hideout, drinking to celebrate the League's first successful double-amputation (because fuck that germophobic, transphobic prick), and blondie is just begging to play a drinking game. Normally Dabi doesn't go for that shit—why anyone needs an excuse to get wasted is beyond him—but he's in a good mood, and you make that adorable pouty face as you tell him that you played in college, that it's really fun, and somehow he finds himself sitting in a circle on the dusty floor with the rest of you losers playing 'I haven't' or whatever the fuck it's called.

It's all bland shit to start. Toga's never driven a car, Shigaraki's never gone to school. But, after you've made your way around the circle once, everyone seems to be loosening up and Spinner takes one for the team by getting to the interesting shit and admitting he's never slept with a girl. It spurs a moment of awkward silence made all the worse by his red face and obvious self-consciousness about being a virgin, but then Compress stage-whispers "Neither have I," before winking salaciously at the blushing lizard and taking a dramatic pull from his beer bottle. It's enough to lighten the mood.

After that, Dabi's forced to admit it's a decent game. There's not much he hasn't done sexually or criminally, and since those are the two topics everyone focuses on, he finds himself getting hammered faster than usual. It's a good thing too—his buzz makes it easier to ignore the look you and Shigaraki exchange when Jin announces that he's never tried watersports, easier to pretend his gut isn't twisting at the knowing smirk on your leader's face as he raises his beer bottle to drink and you follow suit.

That particular moment makes it all the more surprising when, on your next turn, you hide an embarrassed face behind your hand and announce that you've never taken it in the ass.

Dabi can't stop thinking about it the rest of the night. Obsessing over it, and the idea of being your first, your only, even if only in some less than conventional way. The thing is, it's downright tame in comparison to a lot of what you two get up to, so barely even kinky that it's almost impossible to believe you've never tried it. Sure, you've never done it together, but he'd just figured neither of you were all that into it, since it hadn't come up when you were doing lewd shit to each other.

That kind of sex is fine from his perspective, but only fine. He doesn't actively seek it out because in his mind nothing beats the feel of being balls-deep in a warm pussy, but that doesn't mean he hasn't done it. He's hooked up with plenty of girls that were into it and has always been happy to oblige; hell, he's even taken it more than once, on account of the fact that when it comes to the bedroom he's willing to try anything twice.

But doing it with you? Well, that thought sticks. The two of you finally go to bed and Dabi's so turned on by the idea of your virgin ass that he can't help testing the waters, prodding teasingly at that tight hole with one spit-slicked finger until you're squirming away and whining. He doesn't manage to convince you right then, but he makes those puppy dog eyes that are far more effective than they have any right to be, and you agree to give it a go in the future.

"Not here," you specify, the words fuzzy on your drunken tongue. "Someplace nicer, with a real bed." You already have your reservations, and you certainly don't relish the idea of undertaking that particular venture now, on a worn mattress in this falling apart building, with its paper-thin walls and complete lack of hot water. Between your booze-fueled haze and the seeming interminability of the League's poverty, you mostly forget about that casual promise by the following morning.

But Dabi doesn't. He picks up a small bottle of lube the next day and carries it around in his pocket shamelessly, a little reminder that he has something to look forward to besides roasting that prick Endeavor, and he strokes himself off to the idea more than he's proud to admit as he waits for the League to move on to better things. He can be patient, when he needs to be.

That patience takes a toll though, and the minute the League settles into their new digs in Re-Destro's sprawling villa, where there's actually privacy and clean, comfortable beds, Dabi shows up at your door with a cheshire grin and every intention of finally getting something from you that's just for him.

You grimace when you remember that promise, try briefly to talk him out of it even, but he isn't so easily dissuaded. It's made all the harder by the fact that you can't give him a specific reason why you've never tried it, beyond that it seems uncomfortable and you hadn't particularly enjoyed the couple instances when you'd allowed someone to slip a finger or two in there.

"C'mon, baby girl," Dabi coos, his breath hot in your ear as he pins you to the wall, working two unnaturally warm fingers into your cunt. "I'll make sure it's good for you. Be gentle, get you nice and warmed up first, all that sweet shit."

It really is unfair how persuasive he can be when he fixes those pleading turquoise eyes on you. The way the pads of his fingers are curling just right deep inside isn't helping either, and he teases you like that until you give in to his cajoling, though you still insist on waiting a couple nights so that you can do your research and make sure you're entirely prepared. Dabi demonstrates his appreciation by burying his face in your cunt and not surfacing for air until you've come three times and are begging for a break.

When the night finally arrives, Dabi's feeling positively giddy. He slips into your bedroom with a bottle of wine and a couple glasses he's brought, a little something to help you relax because he's a gentleman when he wants to be. It should be good booze too—he lifted it from Re-Destro's private stash, and he's certain baldy doesn't drink anything that costs less than ¥30,000. Of course, Re-Destro doesn't love sharing either, but the uptight prick is too scared of Shigaraki to complain about anything the League does. They all take advantage of that, because they can and because it's fun to watch him bite his tongue when they piss him off.

You don't make it easy for Dabi to focus on pouring the drinks though, not when you're reclining in that armchair by the window, freshly showered and fidgeting nervously. He was half-erect before he got here from just thinking about what he was going to do to you, and the sight of you acting like you're some blushing virgin spurs him all the way to rock-hard. By the time your glasses are close to empty, he's straining uncomfortably in his pants, and can't fight back his impatience any longer.

"What do you think, doll?" he murmurs, setting his glass to the side and standing up, shrugging his jacket off before leaning down to ghost his lips over your neck. "You ready to move this to the bed?"

The way you chew at your lower lip anxiously before nodding makes his dick throb.

You empty your glass with one final, large swallow, your heart racing as you rise. You know it's stupid—you and Dabi have fucked countless times and a lot of it hasn't exactly been vanilla—but it's been a long time since you've actually tried anything new. His obvious excitement doesn't help either, paradoxically; it leaves you fretting about what will happen if you're somehow bad at this, or if you can't take it and have to stop. You've never really worried about disappointing him before, but now the thought weighs acutely on your mind.

It's with halting steps that you approach the bed and then, when you can't realistically drag your feet any longer, you finally tug the nightgown you're wearing off your shoulders, letting it fall to the floor to reveal what's underneath.

"Damn, baby girl," Dabi breathes, looking you up and down. You'd figured that since it was a special occasion you might as well dress up, donning a strappy bra and panties. They're little more than elaborate, crisscrossing pieces of lace, all white since he'd seemed so fixated on this pseudo-innocent, first-time act. His reaction doesn't disappoint, eyes lighting up as he stares at you hungrily.

You let yourself fall back on the bed, nestling against the many pillows. The look on his face has your stomach fluttering, and the wine has helped you to relax a bit despite your nerves, a pleasant warmth spreading throughout your body. It's joined by a different kind of heat when you feel the mattress dip beneath Dabi's weight as he positions himself over you, one knee resting between your thighs, just barely brushing against your center, a hint of what's to come.

"You look so good I could just eat you up," Dabi whispers hotly against your ear before tracing his lips over your jaw. Even though he wants to take his time, let himself savor this, it's taking every ounce of patience he has to keep the promise he made to get you worked up and ready for him, to not to tear those pretty bits of satin and lace off and have his way with you right then.

You whine eagerly when his mouth slants hungrily over yours, savoring the feel of those mismatched lips, the way the rough skin of the bottom one contrasts so deliciously with the top. Hot hands run over your sides as the kiss deepens, your tongues tangling together, and you moan against him.

When you finally break for air, Dabi moves his lips to your throat, his tongue lapping at your pulse before he sinks his teeth into you. He loves to mark you up, loves making sure everyone can see that you're indisputably his, and it's even hotter now that he knows he's going to fuck you in a way no one else has. You're shivering beneath him as he works, your hand tugging insistently at his hair, and Dabi lets out a low, throaty growl.

"Guess I'm not the only one who's eager, huh?"

Your hips tilt in response, pressing needily into his firm thigh, and Dabi can feel the skin on his cheeks straining against his staples as he grins. He traces one hand up over your ribs, cupping at your supple breasts, teasing your hardening nipple through the flimsy fabric of your bra. Those deft fingers work under the seam of your lingerie as he shifts his weight, increasing the pressure against your center while he pinches and tugs at the peaks of your breasts until you're whimpering, spreading slick along his leg even through your thin panties.

Dabi pulls away abruptly, rolling onto his back and tugging at you to change positions, shaking his head when you move to mount his hips.

"Come here, baby girl," he says, his tongue tracing over his bottom lip. "Like I said, I wanna eat you up."

The promise in those words sends a bolt of heat straight through your core as he guides you to straddle his face, hot breath tickling your inner thighs. One calloused thumb brushes your clit lightly through your underwear, blue eyes sparkling when your breath hitches at that soft touch. When he pulls that useless fabric to the side and runs his tongue over your already-damp slit, you shudder.

Dabi lets out a pleased groan at your reaction and gets to work more earnestly, lapping at your sensitive nub, licking and sucking until you're moaning and only then shifting a little so that he can lap at your insides, that same rough thumb replacing the pressure of his tongue on your clit. It strokes firm circles as he buries that hot, wet muscle inside you, the metal barbell there teasing your inner walls as you grind involuntarily against it. You can't help but whine when he withdraws it, but that disappointment is quickly replaced by you startling as that same wet muscle extends further back to tease at your puckered entrance.

"A-ah, Dabi, wait," you protest, your face heating up self-consciously almost at once.

Dabi pauses, shifting just enough to keep his reply from being muffled as one warm hand runs reassuringly up your thigh. "I don't think I can help myself, doll," he says, his slick-coated lips splitting into a wide grin, "you just taste too good."

That heat in your face worsens as he dives back in, not even waiting for you to respond before he's flexing his tongue to poke at that tight ring of muscle. You still try to squirm away, feeling unprepared for this. You hadn't even considered it among the possible activities were volunteering to participate in, but Dabi is holding you firmly in place with the hand not working at your clit, and when another whine of protest escapes you, it's weaker than the first. The foreign sensation of his tongue against your neglected hole has you hyperaware of the press of his thumb at your apex, and you can feel tension building in your core even as you writhe in embarrassment.

It's as though he knows, too, and you suppose maybe he does; after all, he's the one who's done this before. He thrusts his tongue a little deeper, rolling your clit between two hot fingers with enough pressure to cut off any further protests. A long moan is the only sound you can muster as you spill over the edge, your thighs clenching around his head and your hips jerking shakily as you ride out your climax with his tongue still buried obscenely in your rear.

Dabi's face is covered in your juices by the time he slides from between your thighs, and he wipes it away carelessly with one arm as he repositions you again, pinning you on your back and wasting no time peeling away your now-soaked panties. He grins at the sight of your glistening folds and swollen clit before stripping off most of his own clothes, kicking them unceremoniously to the side and relaxing between your legs, kissing at your still-trembling thighs.

He teases at your sensitive cunt with his fingers, coating them in your juices as you whimper. "Ready for a little more?" he asks, and you nod despite the fact that your cheeks are still burning from before and your stomach is knotting with nerves.

"Just...go slow, okay?"

"Of course, baby girl," he promises, "I told you I'd take good care of you." With that, he starts to work you open, dipping one finger into your tight hole just until he reaches the first knuckle, working it in and out slowly. His other hand toys at your clit, stroking and rolling that puffy nub again, making you mewl.

Dabi waits until you're relaxed before trying any more, pulling away from you just long enough to dig the lube from the pocket of his discarded pants, coating his fingers with it. He works that lone finger deeper this time, in and out until it's buried to the last knuckle.

The sensation is strange, but not entirely unpleasant; even if you think you'd rather have that finger curling in your cunt, the slight stretch is still adding to the faint throb already growing inside you, the one that worsens when his thumb returns to your apex.

"Fuck, you're so tight," Dabi growls when one well-placed stroke of his thumb has you clenching lightly around his finger. He ruts his hips against the sheets, trying vainly to find some relief for his aching member, but it's not enough—he needs to feel you, needs the vice-like grip clutching his fingers to be wrapped around his cock, and he needs it soon.

You feel him withdraw to add more lube, and then he's fingering you again, adding another digit to stretch you wider. It comes with a stab of discomfort when he forces his way past the second knuckle, and you reflexively try to pull back. "Dabi, that's too much."

He abandons his soothing attentions to your clit, one warm palm pressing you tight against the mattress to keep you in place, stroking soothingly at your hip. His breath tickles over your inner thigh as he chuckles softly. "If you can't take this, how are you ever gonna take me, hmm?" he says teasingly. "You're doing great, baby, just relax."

You will yourself to unclench, trying to picture Dabi's satisfied face once you're taking him, that adoring look he sometimes gives you, the one that you relish. Your efforts are only marginally effective, but Dabi keeps pushing deeper, fucking you slowly but insistently with those fingers, and when you don't complain again, his thumb returns to caressing your sex.

"That's a good girl." Dabi picks up the pace, cursing under his breath. "You're doing so good."

You're wriggling against his hand now, trying to increase the friction at your center, not quite minding the foreign sensation of his fingers and the uncanny fullness they bring so much now that there's heat thrumming in your core. "Y-yeah, like that," you pant encouragingly, and Dabi grins.

"That doing it for you?" he purrs. "Think you can take more?"

You start to shake your head—the stretch now feels like all you can handle—but Dabi's already adding a third slick finger, shoving it in with less restraint than before. You feel more than discomfort this time when three knuckles breach your asshole, and it quickly dampens the arousal that had been steadily building. "Dabi, slow down," you gasp.

"Aw, are you sure you can't handle it?" His blue eyes meet yours, pupils blown wide with arousal as he looks you over with the hungry gaze. "'Cause if I'm being honest, it feels like you're trying to suck me in. Like this greedy little hole wants to get fucked."

The huskiness of his voice sends a shiver down your spine, even as another whine of discomfort escapes you. For just a second his expression darkens slightly, but then he's slowing his movements, twisting his fingers instead of thrusting them in and out.

"Better?" he asks, and you think you catch an edge of impatience in his voice.

It is better though, a little at least, enough that you can focus on the way your cunt flutters every time his thumb strokes over your clit. So you just nod; it's not like this wasn't bound to be a little unpleasant at points, right?

Dabi's smile stretches wider, his thumb working faster. A mewl slips from between your lips and Dabi takes that as encouragement, his fingers resuming their persistent thrusts. It's still uncomfortable, though not quite as bad as when he started, and your teeth sink into your lower lip to bite back your complaints. You let your eyes fall closed instead, trying to focus on his attentions to your hooded nub, on the heat that's pooling in your lower belly. You're inching towards another release, and you let a hand lift to your breast, tweaking at the pebbled flesh of one nipple to help yourself along.

"D-dabi, I'm close," you stammer, your hips bucking against his hand.

"Yeah?" His movements speed up, his voice breathy and excited. "Do it, baby girl. Come for me and then I'm gonna fuck this tight little ass of yours."

You swallow hard, trying not to dwell on those words for now—you can tell you've loosened up more, tolerating the jab of his fingers, but his cock is substantially larger than those, all too intimidating. Thankfully, it's not hard to remain distracted, to focus only on your approaching peak.

Dabi can feel that orgasm rip through you when it hits, your asshole clenching around his fingers as you keen, and it's then that he reaches the limits of his patience. He needs you now, needs the thrill of burying himself in your tight ass and claiming you for his own, of reaching his own release deep inside and then watching his seed spill out afterwards. What a satisfying sight that will be.

He scrambles up from between your legs to catch your lips with his, fumbling his boxers off as his tongue invades your mouth. When he pulls away, his eyes are bright, needy. "Ready for me?" he asks.

You're not, not really, but you can see the fervor in his eyes, hear the urgency in his voice, and you convince yourself that he won't be able to work you open much more with his fingers no matter what. Your agreement doesn't matter anyway—he's already rolling you onto your side and slotting his chest against your back, his straining erection poking at the cleft between your thighs.

"Like this?" you ask, surprised by the choice of position.

"Just like this," he pants in your ear. His teeth nibble at your lobe as he slicks his cock generously with lube. "Want you spooned against me so I can see those cute faces you make, feel you squirming when you take me."

And fuck, when he slips one hand back down to finger your asshole one last time, it doesn't disappoint—your body ripples against him when that invasion catches you off guard, and he can see the way your lips part obscenely as you gasp at his touch. His fingers abandon your tight hole almost as quickly as they'd entered, and then Dabi is aligning himself with your entrance, using the last of his restraint not to slam his hips forward and bury himself inside with a single thrust.

You can feel the spongy head of his glans, and the slick coolness of the ring that adorns his tip, prodding at your rear. One of his arms worms its way under your side, his hand groping distractedly at your breasts as you tense in anticipation.

"Relax, baby girl," he murmurs, but he doesn't wait for you to even try. He's already slipping in, moving slowly until he encounters resistance an inch or so inside, and then pausing.

He has to struggle to keep his composure. Even like this, with not even the full head of his cock in your ass, his balls are tightening, just the thought of what he's doing nearly enough to send him over the brink. He waits until he's sure that won't happen and then starts moving, pushing insistently to work you open around his length with shallow thrusts.

"A-ah, Dabi, g-go easy," you stutter, already squirming. You can feel your body resisting the intrusion, so much larger than his fingers, and it aches slightly every time he tries to breach that inner ring.

"I am, baby, don't worry. I'll take care of you." His cheek is nuzzling against yours, his lips kissing and sucking wherever he can reach, but his motions don't change at all even as he murmurs so sweetly. He only slings one arm over your hips, toying lazily at your clit. That attention helps you relax, helps distract you a little, but it's not enough to prepare you for when he drives himself in further, finally surging past that taut band of muscle.

The invasion brings a sharp pain, one that has you crying out. Tears prick at the corners of your eyes, your body reflexively contorting to try and escape the cause of that hurt, but his arms tighten around you, holding you in place as he continues to work himself deeper with every thrust.

"Dabi, that hurts." Your words are sharper this time as each stroke sends another unpleasant throb through your overstretched hole, but his only response is to plunge the fingers rubbing at your clit into your dripping cunt.

"Shh, you're doing great." He curls his fingers, stroking against that spongy spot deep inside. It makes you writhe, but that does nothing to address the pain between your legs as he fucks you.

"Dabi, don't, that's not helping, I—"

"It's okay, baby girl, you're taking me so well," Dabi coos. You'll adjust, he knows you will—you're usually up for anything, of course you can take this. And fuck, there's no way he can stop now, not when it's even better than he'd imagined—hotter and softer, your pillowy walls enveloping his length every time he plunges into you, the exquisite tightness of your entrance massaging his shaft with each thrust.

"I'm not— I don't— I don't want to do this anymore." You can hear the desperate edge in your voice now. Your heart is racing and there's a cold sweat forming on your skin as tears of pain and confusion start to leak down your cheeks. "Dabi, stop."

"Shh, shh, you're fine. You—fuck—you feel so amazing. 'S never been this good with anyone else, fuck."

"I don't care, I don't want this." You can't understand what's happening, why he's not listening. You twist your head to look at him, pleading with your eyes, but he's barely even focusing on you. His blue eyes are glazed and half-lidded as his lips wander over your shoulders and your neck, all the while murmuring those useless reassurances against your skin. You're thrashing now, your feet scrambling for purchase on the sheets as you try frantically to pull away, but he keeps his tight grip on you, one of his legs hooking around your own to hold you in place. "Dabi, I said stop!"

He shushes you again, rutting into you harshly, and a choked sob escapes you when he bottoms out inside you, his hips flush against your backside as you struggle against him. You feel sick to your stomach, and it only worsens when he pulls out until nothing but his tip remains, then drives himself back in with one agonizingly rough thrust.

You keep begging, pleading, wracking your brain and trying every past safe word you can recall, but he only continues to pound into you, his breathing erratic as he pants in your ear. "It's okay, baby. You're taking my cock like such a good girl. You're—ngh—making me feel so good."

The ache between your legs is diminishing slightly as you adjust to his girth, your body entirely unconcerned with whether you want that or not. He's still fingering your sopping cunt too, his palm grinding against your oversensitive clit with each plunge of his long digits, the lewd squelching sound of those attentions mingling with the sharp slap of his hips against your ass as he fucks you.

"You like this?" he asks, but you know he's not really asking. "You like knowing I'm the only one? That I'm making you mine, just mine, just like how it should be?"

"Dabi, stop. Please stop." Your appeals are feeble now, far more for yourself than for him as you continue to utter them between quiet sobs. Dabi's somewhere far away, awash in the tight heat of your ass and the satisfaction of finally staking his claim on you, aware of your supplications but not hearing them, not really.

You slump, still sobbing, and let him take what he wants. His attentions to your cunt have a coil tightening in your gut, but when your climax hits it's perfunctory and mechanical, no real pleasure to be found even as your hips jerk and your holes spasm, a joyless whine passing from your lips.

No real pleasure for you, at least. But fuck, the feel of you squeezing around his cock as you come is what Dabi has been waiting for, your insides massaging his length as though desperate for him to decorate your walls with his cum. It's a gift he's glad to grant—he rocks his hips more urgently, keeping his thrusts shallow now so that he's sure to get it all deep inside.

"Fuck," he groans against your neck. "Gonna make me come, baby girl. That what you want? Want me to fill you up?" You shake your head, but his movements are already growing spurtive and erratic, his grunts louder and throatier, and then you can feel his cock jerking inside you, a hot rush of cum flooding your guts.

Dabi doesn't stop then, either, keeps fucking his seed into you until he's softening, not quite able to work himself in and out of your tight, abused hole any longer, and only then does he finally pull out, a dribble of cum leaking obscenely down your thigh.

You're sniffling, drawing shaky breaths, and you try to pull away the moment his arms relax around you. They only tighten again, his lips planting soft kisses along your temple.

"Shh," he murmurs. The sound of his shushing makes you want to scream. One hand lifts to wipe at the tears on your cheeks. "You were so good, baby girl, there's no need to cry. You were fucking incredible." He means it too, doesn't think he's ever come so hard in his life as he did now, making you his.

Dabi can't wait to do it again.

[leviaju]

forgiveness

pairing: belphegor x GN! reader, hints of everyone x reader

words: 8.1k+

genre: angst, fluff at the beginning and a bit at the end if u squint

warnings: mentions of mc and lilith’s death, foul language

preview: “I’m sorry,” He begins, voice much weaker than anticipated. “I know that will never cut it, and it will never be enough, but I’m sorry.” 

“You’re right, Belphegor. It won’t cut it.”

hey guys what up. so... i’ve done a lot of thinking about belphegor’s dynamic with MC, and, like many others, was really bothered by the sudden switch after... he killed them. u know. typical stuff. i wanted to fill in the gaps!!! if im being completely honest, this has sat in my wips for.... like half a year. it’s my first time writing for obey me, so i hope that everyone’s not too terribly ooc LOL

anyways yeah. i mention how belphegor killed mc a couple of times, so proceed with caution! hopefully, if i get any ideas, the next stuff i write will be a lot lighter. hope you enjoy! (also requests r open soooooooo)

The weight on your chest crushed your rib cage, threatening to snap your bones like they were nothing more than twigs. All you could see was the pitch black of eternal night, and whether your eyes were opened or closed you couldn’t tell. What commanded your attention was the searing pain in your lungs, growing exponentially every half-second, and the unrelenting grip that was slowly shattering your esophagus. No matter how hard you struggled, squirmed and fought against the weight holding your body down, there was no use. It was pointless. The pain spread from the raging fire in your lungs to the tips of your fingertips, and everywhere felt as if you had been set aflame. Slowly, a light illuminated the force keeping you down. 

You couldn’t make out much, save for the cackle that rang insufferably through your ears, and the intense eyes that were staring you down. 

They held no remorse. 

-

Bones ache as you rest against your bed, finally allowing the tension in your muscles to melt away. You’d never mistake this feeling for regret of a busy day, having spent so much time with the people you care about, but it certainly took its toll on you. 

It began with Satan, who’d asked you the night before to accompany him on an early morning walk. It wasn’t an uncommon occurrence — he’d invite you to join his morning routine on every day off, and you’d never refuse — hence, at the wonderful time of 7:00am, you were venturing around the Devildom, hand in hand with the Avatar of Wrath. The two of you would walk, occasionally resting on a park bench for longer than either of you would like to admit, for about an hour and a half before you took an official break. The time was filled with pleasant chatter and comfortable silence. Every so often he’d squeeze your hand, and when you’d look over, the fondest of smiles crossed his face. It was a reminder of how glad he was that you joined him. 

At around 8:30, he took you into a café for breakfast, and two of you spent only about thirty minutes there chattering away happily. For the most part, he was vividly and excitedly discussing a book he’d just finished the night before…

Until you were interrupted.

“Hello, lovely!” Asmodeus wrapped his arms around you from behind, just before pressing a kiss on your cheek. Satan sighed, resting his head in his hand as he watched the interaction. 

“My selfish older brother’s been hogging you all morning, I couldn’t help but want to whisk you away!”

Despite the glare Satan was sending his way, Asmodeus took a seat next to you, happily engaging in conversation as he completely ignored his brother. He told you that the mall was opening in about an hour, and Asmo desperately wished to get his perfectly-manicured hands on a new makeup product being revealed that day. 

“But of course I can’t go alone! How positively dreary that would be.” His fingers twined with yours as he looked at you hopefully, and you ran your thumb across his hand. A sheepish smile crept its way onto your lips, and you looked over at Satan. He simply nodded, flicking his hand as a gesture for you two to leave, and Asmodeus didn’t hesitate. He was quick to stand and pull you with them, holding tight to you as he whisked you away. You called out to Satan, now alone at the table with a reluctant smile on his face as he waved goodbye. 

“Thanks for breakfast! Get home safe!”

You almost missed the chuckle that left his lips, the café door closing behind you. 

Asmodeus kept you until noon. He got a hold of the lipstick he wanted almost right away, but insisted on buying an outfit to match the colour. Regardless of what you’d initially thought, the outfit wasn’t for him.

“Oh, we’ll look positively stunning together!” He exclaimed after about two hours of forcing you in and out of changing rooms, putting his hands all over you to “adjust the clothing” as he deemed necessary. Near the end, you could feel soreness deep in your muscles creeping in from such an active morning, but Asmodeus’ cheery face and constant flirtations helped you forget about it almost completely. 

It wasn’t until you got home that you truly felt the effects of on-and-off walking since early in the morning. Be that as it may, your stomach was growling, loudly reminding you that it was now past lunch. As much as you wished to give up on food for the time being and instead head to your room to collapse, the pain in your belly was enough to urge you to cease any arguments, instead ready to try and ignore the ache in your bones in order to quell the angry rumbling of your stomach. 

Unfortunately, when you finally made it to the kitchen, there was no food prepared. Instead, what you found was a dejected Beelzebub, frowning softly as he once again was at the receiving end of a lecture from the eldest of his brothers. As quiet as possible, you snuck into the kitchen, trying to listen in on their conversation. 

There was silence, followed by a sigh. 

“It’s easier to simply ask what’s going on as opposed to trying to eavesdrop, MC.”

You jumped, then bashfully made your way into the kitchen, a sheepish grin on your face. Lucifer was rubbing his temple. 

“Beelzebub was supposed to be on lunch duty, but ended up ‘taste-testing’ to the extent that he ate it all. Again.” Lucifer sighed. The typically perfect eldest brother was being run ragged, if the bags forming under his eyes told you anything. “So, instead of working on the papers I have to get finished for tonight, I’m stuck making lunch while he cleans up.”

Beelzebub’s frown tugged at your heartstrings, and in spite of the exhaustion clawing relentlessly at your bones, you relented. 

“Why don’t I help? Four hands are better than two,” you proposed, and a small smile graced Lucifer’s face. He lifted his hand to brush the disheveled black hair out of his face, and your chest ached just a bit at the sight. You made a mental note to drag him to bed for a nap the next time you saw him like this.

“That would be more than welcome. Please, if you may.” Already you turned to start working, but Lucifer’s voice made you pause. 

“But no feeding Beel. He’s eaten more than his fill already, he can wait until we’re all done.”

Needless to say, every so often you’d slip Beelzebub a piece of chopped vegetable or cooked meat, and he’d very happily (but quietly!) munch away, his expression radiating warmth and joy. And Lucifer, who seemed to almost be omniscient at times, never once mentioned it. Once the three of you were done cooking, Lucifer placed his hand on your head, patting you gently. 

“Good work, MC. I must leave now, but I trust that the two of you will be able to clean everything up. Your help was much appreciated. You will be paid back in kind for all of your hard work.”

If nothing else, the slight blush on Lucifer’s face as he ever-so-gently pressed his lips to the crown of your head was more than enough payment. 

“Thank you.” Beelzebub cleared his throat, washing the dishes as you dried them. “I… Thanks for helping. And feeding me.”

His smile warmed your heart, and you nodded, bumping your arm with his gently. The small bit of pink that dusted his cheeks compelled you to coddle him, but you resisted the urge. Barely.

“Anytime, big guy.”

After you ate lunch, the only thought in your mind was the prospect of curling up under your covers and passing out. The fretful, broken sleep the night before wasn’t helping at all in keeping you awake, and that on top of the rest of the day’s events had you yearning for the feeling of your pillows. 

Unfortunately, you hadn’t even made it through the door when your phone began to blow up, one notification after the other in quick succession.

GGKKJFLFJG

MC

CMOE QUIC K

PLS

SUPE R RARE EVENT IN MONONONOKE 

PELASE 

YOU HVE TO BE PARTNERED WIHT SOMEONE TO GTE THE PRIZE

MC

MC

PL E A S E

HURRYHURRYHURRYHURRYHURRYHHHUUURRRRRYYYYYYYYYYY

You found yourself in Leviathan’s room, sat in his lap as he explained the event to you. Your half-asleep brain did its best to keep up with his quick speech, but that, along with the warmth of his chest against your back, became the most soothing lullaby. 

“Hey! Normie! I agreed to let you sit here so I could easily help you through the event, but if you’re going to fall asleep on me, I’m pushing you off—“

“I’m awake! I’m awake. 

...Now, what was I supposed to do?”

The unintentional giggle that escaped your lips at his expression caused Leviathan to huff, exasperated, despite the flush of his face. Diligently, however, he thoroughly explained the event, for the second time, and the method to obtain the rare prize: a level 2000 I’m Going To Murder You So Hard That You’ll Come Back To Life Just To Die Again Death Sycthe, the strongest weapon ever released in the game. It was a partner event, which explained Leviathan’s desperate and urgent request for aid. You didn’t mind though. While yes, you’d probably never be able to get to his level of gamer, you were more than happy to go along for the ride. It made him happy! 

Leviathan rested his chin against your shoulder as he played on his phone, focused to such a degree that the usually easy-to-fluster demon was completely unphased by your proximity. Your phone, set to AutoFight, rested untouched near Leviathan’s leg, abandoned on the floor. You watched him expertly take out enemies that would have one-hit KO’d you through heavy eyelids, and every time he beat a wave of enemies, his attention would momentarily avert from the screen, looking at you from the corner of his eye expectantly. A kiss on his cheek was more than enough to motivate him to continue on, albeit with a pink glow on his cheeks until his attention was once again completely wrapped up in the game at his fingertips. 

-

“Levi! I said open up, goddamnit!” 

The pounding against the door was enough to distract Leviathan from his game, subsequently killing his character in the process. He groaned, cursing the demon who interrupted the two of you as he gently lifted you off of his lap, before getting up to open the door. 

“The hell do you want?!”

To be completely honest, you were so wrapped up in watching Leviathan play his games that you had forgotten about your weekly movie night with Mammon, who had come over to his younger brother’s room to drag your ungrateful ass  back to your own. Leviathan had cleared the event in Mononoke Land hours ago, but not wanting you to leave just yet, invited you to keep watching him play. Setting aside how tired you were, how could you say no? You’d wanted to spend time with him, too. 

Unfortunately, you lost track of time, and your phone, battery completely drained from the event, rested uselessly in your pocket. A consequence of this happened to be missing the countless messages and calls Mammon had sent your way, before he began his hunt for you throughout the house. The last place he checked was, of course, Leviathan’s room.

“Come on, human, I ain’t got all day. No one keeps the Great Mammon waiting!” 

“Except for MC,” you heard Leviathan mumble under his breath, and a laugh escaped you before you had the chance to slap a hand over your mouth. Mammon flushed deeply, before striding into his brother’s room. 

“Hey, wait, you moron! I never said—!” 

The force of Mammon throwing you over your shoulder wasn’t enough to hurt, but it certainly was enough to leave you breathless for a moment. “Let’s go, fragile human. I picked the perfect movie already.” Mammon’s words came out in a bashful mumble, but he had enough courage to lift his head and smirk at Leviathan as he carried you out of the room. All you could do was smile apologetically at the blue haired demon before Mammon turned, bringing you out of sight. 

Mammon was all complaints as he carried you to your bedroom, but you knew it came from a place of love. Even though he’d never admit it, you could tell he was hurt by you unintentionally ignoring him. Because of this, instead of demanding he let you down, you allowed him to hold you like this, not a single complaint leaving your lips. 

When he brought you to your room, you were set on the bed you’d missed dearly and he went to put the movie in the player. 

“Hey! No sleepin’ on me, alright? I wanna watch the movie with ya, and I can’t if you’re passed out, now can I?” 

And so here you are now, bed frame creaking as Mammon climbs onto the mattress. Rubbing your eyes, you nod, and lean into him once he gets close enough for you to. 

“Seriously, I’m gonna hafta have a serious talk with Levi,” Mammon grumbles, slipping his arm around your waist and pulling you in so that you’re almost in his lap. He pulls the blankets over the two of you as you rest your head on his chest, and hum quietly in return. “He used up all your energy, and now we won’t be able to get to enjoy the movie as much! Honestly…”

The vibrations of Mammon’s words can be felt through his chest, and you simply cuddle into him more and try to train your bleary eyes on the television screen. The Avatar of Greed shuts up completely when you take his hand in yours and press a gentle kiss to it, before doing your best to focus on the movie. As time passes, however, the idea of giving into your whims grows more than tempting, and oh-so-easy for you to do. 

-

“Hey! Yo, MC! Seriously… You’re hopeless.”

A chiding, yet gentle voice draws you from the confines of rest. You puff air from your nose in response, cuddling closer to whatever it was that had been so comfortable in the first place.

“MC… Come on. Ya gotta wake up, ya didn’t even watch any of the movie! It was really good, y’know.”

Mammon’s hand rubs circles on your back as you mumble incoherently, a noise to acknowledge the fact that he‘s been talking, and that you are indeed awake now. 

It takes a good amount of time, as well as some gentle encouragement from Mammon, to get you to finally open your heavy eyes, and even longer for you to be able to apologize to him for missing out on the movie he was so excited to watch. He pouts a bit, but the blush on the highs of his cheeks lets you know that he didn’t mind all that much. You smile and yawn, and his chuckle resonates in your ears. 

“I gotta go now, otherwise Lucifer’s gonna kill me for staying so late. Sorry I woke ya up, but ya look so tired now that you’ll probably fall back asleep right away.”

And so, after a quick goodbye and a kiss on the cheek (which made Mammon turn the prettiest shade of red), you close your door and… sigh. If you had been able to stay asleep, the fact that you aren’t in pajamas and haven't brushed your teeth wouldn't be that much of an issue. Now that you‘re slightly more conscious, however, it’s hard to convince yourself to simply climb back into bed. Your breath is bugging you a bit, and the jeans you’re wearing certainly aren’t at all as comfortable as your pajama pants.  For that reason, to your own dismay, you begin getting ready for bed — properly this time. 

A small “finally…” tumbles from your lips after you finish your nighttime routine. Lacking any form of grace, you plop into bed once more and pull the blankets to your chin, nuzzling into the pillow. Your bed still smells like Mammon’s cologne, and you hum softly to yourself before closing your eyes and waiting for sleep to take over once more, and hold you hostage until late in the morning. 

Alas, sleep seemed to be evading you now, similar to how you had ignored it during the day. The mattress you lay on simply isn't comfortable anymore, and the blankets that hug your body cause you to overheat. Unfortunately, if even one limb is out of the blanket, you get so cold you start shivering. None of your typical sleeping positions are anywhere near as effective as they typically are, and you’re left to wrestle with sleep alone, hoping to beat it into submission so you can finally get some proper rest. 

After about 45 minutes of tossing and turning with no results, you finally relent. The nap you’d taken while watching the movie royally fucked you over, and you groan. Eventually you decide to give up on trying to fall back asleep, and huff as you sit properly on your bed. 

Blanket dragging behind you as it drapes from your shoulders, you slowly make your way through the silent hallways of the House of Lamentation. The only sounds floating through the walls were the light buzz of electricity running through the wiring of the house, and your own footsteps as you began walking up one of the many staircases in the large building. 

You aren’t sure how long you’ve been walking, the passage of time different at night to a hazy mind, but eventually you arrive at your favourite area in the house, second only to your lush bedroom. There are no artificial lights, only the gentle cast of the night sky providing the ideas of shape in the planetarium. You’ve never seen stars so vibrant and bright, and there are so many more in the Devildom than anywhere you could go back home. Even though the only light comes from the stars, it’s enough to create soft, fuzzy edges around everything in the room; this includes the bundle of various blankets mussed in the centre of the floor. Slowly, cautiously, you make your way towards the pile. 

Since you’d arrived in the Devildom, the planetarium at the top of the House of Lamentation became your safe haven. Your room, without a lock on the door, was way too easy for intruding demons to enter without permission, and on nights when everything became too much for you to handle, you’d head up to the planetarium to clear your mind. There’s just something so calming about a starry sky on a clear night that releases you of your fears and anxiety, and helps you get a grip on the situation around you. 

After freeing a certain someone from their attic-based captivity, however, you learned that the planetarium was a place favored not only by you. Since he’d been freed, you’d been kind, but there were still fears plaguing your mind, reminding you of everything that has transpired between the two of you. It’s something that you can’t escape, following you even - especially - in your sleep, when you wished you’d be the most at peace. It makes sense, considering the sin he embodies, but you wish it wasn’t like that nonetheless. 

Once you’d learned that this was one of his favourite rooms in the house, especially on nights when he can’t fall asleep, you found yourself avoiding this area. It’s not that you hate him; it’s the opposite, really. Nevertheless, you can’t help but feel the tightening of his fingers around your neck, and the burning sensation in your lungs that’s screaming for oxygen, and the desperation to alleviate the seer of deprivation. 

Still, you trek on. Closer and closer to the pile of blankets, your gut cries to you to run away. You ignore it. The nearer you get to the nest of blankets, the faster your heart beats, the more lightheaded you feel. But you continue. 

Eventually you get close enough to make out the shape of a familiar pillow, the cow print on the case worn and well-loved. From the moment you walked in the room, you knew he was here. All the same, you walk on, and the only sounds in the room are the gentle taps of your clothed feet against the tile, and the quiet noises of your quickened breaths.

You’ve avoided being alone with him since… Since you… Since the event. Your heart screamed at you to forgive him, to love him just as much as you love his brothers. That said, there’s nothing in you that can stop your stomach from churning whenever he gets too close. 

Butterflies beat aggressively within your heart and stomach, and it’s years before you get within his range of sight, but you sit down on the floor, holding the blanket tight to your body. 

There’s one beat, 

two beats,

three beats of silence before you can hear him sucking in a breath through his teeth. In your peripheral you can see his lips parting, closing, parting again as he tries to find the words. He heard you walk in, and was pleasantly surprised when you didn’t immediately bolt in the opposite direction. However, this proximity leaves him with an entirely new predicament. He wants to talk to you, he wants to laugh and joke with you the way his brothers do, but one look at your face and he notices the dark bags under your eyes, and the frown that tugs at your lips as you stare up at the stars. He can hear your heart racing, and feel his own in the tips of his fingers. He opens his mouth again, but the crack in his voice betrays his usual collected personality. 

“I’ll go,” Belphegor begins, begrudgingly starting to gather his blankets. His body freezes when his eyes pass over your figure and you’re looking right at him, through him, and he swears he can feel the blood in his veins stop pumping. Your expression is unreadable, almost scary, and he’s never in his life been in fear of a human until this moment. 

The seconds pass as years do, both of your bodies chilled to the bone but neither of you able to look away. In the end, the one who casts their gaze somewhere else is you, and he exhales loudly. 

“Don’t.”

Your reply is simple, but he’s stuck in place. Slowly, he nods, sitting down again the way he had been prior, and pulling his beloved pillow close to his chest. He can’t breathe, the tension suffocating. It doesn’t help that now you refuse to look at him. 

“... If you want,” he replies dumbly, staring at the floor. He feels trapped in place, afraid to move and scare you off. Despite every nerve in his body screaming at him to leave you be, he stays. You told him to, after all. Slowly, you sit down, his blankets creating a low wall between the two of you.

It’s only now that he gets a good look at you. You're tired, he knows, watching as your eyelids droop and your lazy movements when you get more comfortable under your blanket, but there’s more to it than just that. You seem so fragile, like sugar glass, breaking with even the slightest amount of pressure. He feels he can reach over and shatter you with the gentlest of touches, and that thought alone roots him in place. Since you came back, he’s never seen you without a smile. Your genuine smile was the prettiest, he decided rather early on, one that lights up your face and brightens those around you. Belphegor really, truly loves your smile.

He knows there was a point in time, not long ago, where he could have made it so no one saw it ever again. He can’t help but be grateful he didn’t succeed when he sees you smiling at his brothers. 

That’s never the smile you show him though. It’s not for lack of effort; you certainly try, and he loves you for that. But the smile you show him is always plastered on, and he knows you’re doing it for his sake. With Belphegor, your smile never reaches your eyes. Be that as it may, you’re never weak around him. Fake smiles prove exactly how strong you really are, but your heart races every time he enters the room. As much as he wishes your palpitations are out of excitement, he knows better than to give himself false hope. 

That’s why he’s so taken aback when he looks you over and you seem so vulnerable. Never, not in a million years, would he ever let himself believe that you’d allow yourself to look weak in front of him, not after what he did. Even so, here you are, shaking, knees drawn into your chest, and his heart soars because you’re showing him a new side to yourself. It aches at the knowledge that you’re feeling so vulnerable because of him. 

His eyes burn holes in the side of your head. You know he’s watching you, studying you, but you can’t bring yourself to meet his gaze. Not when the hands he uses to pull the blankets over his body are the exact same ones that led you to your untimely and violent demise, and not when every time you look at his face, you can also see Mammon’s above you, sobbing as he tries to will you not to fade away into nothingness. 

There’s no putting it nicely. You were murdered, and Belphegor was the one who killed you. As much as he tries to pretend it never happened, to act around you the same as his older brothers do, you would never forget. Neither would he, regardless of the effort he puts into pushing the memory out of his mind. His chosen way of coping was to laugh with you, to get close and have you forgive him without acknowledging the situation. It was too painful to talk about, after all. He willingly, happily snuffed out the life of someone his brothers love, and someone he’d find himself loving too. You became someone who changed him, helped him grow and be better. It was easier, simpler to act as if you’d met him the same way you’d met any of his brothers. 

Belphegor killed one of the last remaining parts of his past, a part that, while once warm and light, mutated and infected him, causing his anger to grow out of control, like a weed that suffocates any flower that tries to flourish. He killed a descendant of his sister, and the fact that you’re here now is more of a second chance than he thinks he could ever deserve in all his millenia of living. 

And yet, here you are. Scared and shaking, but here. The silence has stretched on for longer than he’d like; he wants to be able to love you, openly and happily, but knows it won’t happen. It can’t, unless he does what he thought was the very last thing he’d do. 

“I’m sorry,” Belphegor begins, voice much weaker than anticipated. He can hear your heartbeat pick up, and he curses himself mentally. Your lip between your teeth, you remain silent. His nerves force him to speak more. 

“I know that will never cut, and it will never be enough, but I’m sorry.”

There’s more silence. He feels like he can’t breathe, the tense atmosphere forcing its way around his throat and tightening its grip. He doesn’t know how long it takes you to even contemplate replying, let alone allow yourself to respond. Belphegor’s ears ring almost deafeningly loud. He can’t take it.

“You’re right.” 

His eyes, which he trained to the ground, dart up to your profile once more. You pause, wetting your lips. 

“You’re right, Belphegor. It won’t cut it.”

There’s not enough time to process your words before he really, really looks at you. Almost fearlessly, you meet his eyes. 

Almost fearlessly. 

The shaking of your hands betrays the strength of your voice. Belphegor’s chest aches. 

“But…”

There’s a pause as you speak. He can’t look away again, even as your eyes meet the stars once more. There’s no chance he’ll miss a word you say, even if it tears him apart.

“It’s… it’s really difficult. I know you know that, but…”

Each time you pause, Belphegor’s mind begins storming. He can’t figure out what you’re going to say, or how you’re going to react, and it drives him crazy. He’s usually so good at reading people, but you’re an enigma. It sends a chill down his spine. 

His throat is caught. Even if he had words to say, they wouldn’t be able to come out. So he sits in silence as you find your own. 

“I don’t want you to feel worse than you do.” You lick your lips. “Or maybe I do? I… I really don’t know. I don’t know how I’m supposed to feel about you, Belphie.”

The nickname tugs at his heart, more than he could ever admit. He wants to cry, wants to scream, wants to do anything other than look at your melancholy face, knowing he’s the problem. He wants to run and hide, to sleep forever. He can’t, though. Not when you’re here. Not now. 

Knuckles turn white as he clutches desperately onto his pillow. His breath shakes as he draws in air. 

“I want to love you. I want to love you as much as I love your brothers, and care about you as much as I care for them…”

You struggle to find the words. 

“... But it’s hard.”

You curse your lack of eloquence. Now, of all times, when your words are the only thing that enable you to communicate how you truly feel, they fail you. This might be your only chance to ever properly show Belphegor how you feel, what makes you so conflicted every time he walks into the room with a smile on his face, and yet all you can say is “it’s hard”. Obviously. 

A breath finds its way into your lungs, and the sound of your lips parting in the otherwise silent planetarium echoes in your ears.

You continue.

“It’s hard because every time I see your face, or I hear your voice, or I-”, you falter, heart catching in your throat, “or you touch me, I can’t help but be reminded of what happened.”

Belphegor doesn’t dare tear his eyes away from your form. The grief that settles into his face perfectly matches your own, eyebrows upturned and bottom lip quivering just the slightest bit. Even the trembling of your hands is replicated in his own. He’s never seen you like this, so incredibly vulnerable, and it tears him apart inside to know that he is the cause of it.

A shuddery breath comes from Belphegor, and you fight your instincts to check if he’s okay. You know he isn’t.

The silence deafens you, thundering in your ears so harshly that you're tempted to place your hands at the side of your head to muffle how quiet it is. You don’t, however, and whether it’s because you don’t want to look crazy, or because you’re afraid you might shatter if you move, you’ll never know. Do you want him to talk? Do you want him to say anything? Do you want an apology?

If you had an answer for that, you’re sure that things would have patched themselves up much quicker than this. You caution a glance at Belphegor, and the weight pressing down on your chest gets heavier at his expression. It feels almost as if you can inhale the guilt he feels, the emotion radiating off of him in waves.

“I… Logically, Belphie, I get it.” Again with that cursed nickname. Usually, hearing it from your lips makes Belphegor feel warm and goddamn near giddy, but now it only seemed to drive the knife in his gut further. 

“I understand what happened and why you did it. I may not agree… but I get it, you know?” You swallow.

“In the end, I’m still here. And… and I’ve come to learn that you’re nothing like that anymore. You’ve grown, and changed, and the guilt and anger that consumed you took control, and that's why you-- that’s--” 

You pause, clutching the blanket around you to try and ground yourself. The shakiness in your voice is not missed by Belphegor, and even if it had been, there’s no way he’d be able to ignore the tears that threaten to spill from your eyes. Slowly, subconsciously, one of your hands comes up to rest against your neck, a phantom of the grasp that once threatened to crush you.

“S-So… I understand why you did it. And I’m alive, and we’re friends, so it should all be okay, right?” Belphegor casts his glance away.

“But Belphie… as much as I want to forgive you, I also know that I’m never going to be able to forget what happened. It’s there in my dreams, and it’s there in your smile, and it’s there every single time your arm brushes mine and I flinch like a total loser.”

A weak chuckle makes its way out of your chest, and the halfhearted smile that follows forces a tear from your eye. You’re quick to wipe it away, hopefully quick enough so that it goes unnoticed by Belphegor.

It does.

What he does notice, however, is the frustration that holds tight to the edges of your sentences. The frustration is not directed at him, no. You would be yelling if that were the case, and maybe that would be easier for him to hear. No, this frustration is directed at yourself. You’ve been trying so hard, and all Belphegor has been doing is running away. His teeth dig so hard into his bottom lip, trying desperately not to show any anger he feels at himself, that he tastes iron.

“And then we became all buddy-buddy, you know? Like I was never lied to, or used, or manipulated, or-- or--”

Belphegor is torn from his self-pity when you continue, and he almost wishes you’d stop speaking. The thought that you might break him with your words has him shaking, and a feeling similar to fear courses heavily through his veins. Please, stop. He wants to go back to running away.

But you continue, as you always have.

“And I’m left not knowing how to feel. I’m so mad at myself for being such a coward and not being able to just get over it like everyone else, and I’m so fucking pissed that I can’t just exist around you like I do for everyone else. I mean, I used to be terrified of Lucifer, too.” Another fragile laugh, and you sweep the hair from your eyes with a shaky hand. Belphegor swallows hard.

“But I… I can’t pretend like nothing happened. As much as I want to be near you, and hug you, and take naps and play pranks on Luci with you… I can’t. I can’t act as if what I feel isn’t real, and what you did didn’t happen. It’s so hard, Belphegor.” You sigh, and finally look at him once more. He can’t meet your gaze, slumped over himself and hugging his pillow so tight to his chest it seems as if he wishes to disappear into it. “Especially because I really, truly want to understand why everyone loves you so much. And I want to love you, too. I want to know why Beel smiles every time you’re brought up in conversation, and I want to smile just the same. But… But right now, I can’t.”

Talking has gotten easier. The words that used to escape you have become accustomed to being used again, and confidence has restored in your gut. You sit a bit straighter as you watch Belphegor carefully, a sad smile lifting your cheeks. 

Belphegor knows that this is when he should swoop in, say something so intellectual that you’re caught off guard, and he can save you from… himself. This knowledge does nothing to save him from himself. He can’t even open his mouth to mime a sentence, let alone actually speak. The thought of how pathetic he must look settles under Belphegor’s skin, and he can feel his irritation rising. Not at you though, never at you. Not even when… When it all happened. His anger was misplaced, but he has never been angry at you.

Finally, when the quiet becomes too much, he forces himself to meet your gaze. The way you look at him, just as vulnerable and bare and scared as he is… he feels safe. He knows, even though your words sear his heart, that you never mean to hurt him, especially now. You’re being honest, and simply expect the same from him.

Belphegor inhales a deep breath, before willing himself to speak.

“I thought--” he croaks, and quickly clears his throat. Fuck. “I thought that if… if I could pretend that nothing happened, then I wouldn’t have to face any consequences.”

He curses audibly. Just how pathetic can he sound? Belphegor’s voice is hoarse and quivering, and weak. “Weak” is never a word that he would have used to describe himself, but now it echoes hauntingly against the confines of his skull. One of the most powerful demons in existence, and he finds himself quaking before a mere human. He cares for you, though, and he cares for you viciously. Something in Belphegor knows that he’s never going to be able to prove that to you unless he pushes his way through this.

So he forces himself to continue, even with every cell in his body desperately screaming at him to stop.

“I did what I did out of a place of guilt… and regret. I couldn’t stand the fact that it was because of me, that it was my fault, that I’m the reason that Lilith--”

Belphegor stumbles over his own words, and he sets down his pillow before he accidentally tears a hole through it. Instead he braces himself on the cool floor, in need of something steady to hold onto. This whole conversation shook him to the core. He can hardly believe he’s talking about his sister. She’s a topic that he’s avoided even around Beelzebub…

But if Belphegor ever wants even the possibility that you’ll forgive him, he knows he has to. Everything is on the line. His blunt nails press against the tiles and he focuses on steadying his voice.

“I couldn’t accept that it was my fault.” A newfound steadiness weaves its way around his words, and he finds himself sitting a bit straighter. “I’m the one who introduced her to the human world, and kept bringing her back. I’m the reason she suffered, and why the war started, and why we fell, and why she…” Belphegor coughs. “In the end, I couldn’t accept that I’m the one who killed her.

Your heart yearns to tell him that no, he’s wrong, it’s not all his fault. You know it won’t help right now, though, and that it isn’t your time to speak. Settling back a bit, you let your blanket fall from your shoulders. 

Belphegor’s heart stutters, and pounds so hard that he feels like it's trying to tear through his chest. Even so, he doesn’t miss the way your hand reaches out to smooth over his own, and for a moment he feels himself wanting to melt just from the simple touch. 

Belphegor pulls away. He doesn’t deserve your comfort, not yet.

“So… So when you said that you’re a descendant of Lilith, I-- I couldn’t help myself. I jumped at the chance to get to know you, learn about what makes you similar and what makes you different. Her blood flows through your veins, and I was quick to ignore what I did in favour of getting to know you, and… and inevitably, becoming just as fond of you as my brothers… but that can’t erase what I did.”

The feeling of understanding floods you and you find yourself nodding at his words. To be completely honest, even now, you’re scared. Your heart beats for many reasons, fear one of them, but you don’t run away. Not anymore. You couldn’t bring yourself to even if you wanted to.

Your hand, abandoned next to Belphegor’s, lay dormant. The need to comfort wills you to once again place your hand on his, but you don’t move. When he’s ready, if he ever is, you’ll be there.

Just as he’ll be there for you.

“I killed you, MC. And in doing that, I killed Lilith. Again.”

Countless emotions storm their way through Belphegor’s conscience, despair clawing at his throat, regret snapping his back, and guilt slowly crushing him under its weight. How is it that one can feel so empty, and yet so filled to the brim with misery?

“And not only that, but if I succeeded… I would have completely missed out on getting to know you, and caring about you as much as I do now. It would have been a loss that I never would have understood, but know for a fact that I would have felt. Even… Even when I was proud,” he spits out the word as if it’s poison, “of what I’d done, watching my brothers’ hearts break at the sight of your body… Even then, I felt it. The ache. It’s so fucking stupid.”

His tone, now bubbling with anger, stills you. It’s not directed at you, and you know this, but despite yourself, you freeze. Belphegor notices, and quickly clears his throat, relaxing his shoulders. He allows your heart a moment to slow as he regains his composure, and you find yourself breathing again.

“I know that me saying sorry is never going to cut it.” Belphegor turns his body to fully face you. He’s no longer running from his feelings, or from you. He knows he can’t anymore. Hesitantly, he lifts his trembling hand to place over yours. The muscles in your fingers tense, and he pauses to gauge your reaction. When you slowly nod your head once, he delicately places his hand on yours, using his thumb to gently begin massaging the tension away. “And I know that even if I do everything right from here on out, that there’s a chance that you won’t ever forgive me. And I understand why.”

Your heart sinks at his expression, his gaze locked on your joined hands. As aloof as he normally is, you can see none of that on his face now. When you turn over your hand he quickly pulls away, but your shaky movements to bring his hand back and intertwine your fingers urges him to go on. 

“But I want to try. And really try this time. I want you to be honest with how you feel, whether I’m frustrating you or scaring you or anything like that, and… and I want to be honest with you too. I…”

Belphegor trails off, but you squeeze his hand. He draws in a slow breath. 

“No matter what happens, no matter how you feel, we’re stuck together for the next few months. I want to spend that time getting to know you, and I want us to be as close as you are with any of my brothers… but I also want you to know that you shouldn’t feel forced. If it’s ever too much, I need you to tell me, and I promise I’ll back off.”

The smallest of smiles makes its way onto your face as you quietly agree. Belphegor doesn’t allow himself to try and figure out if it's genuine, out of pity, or sadness, but in spite of everything, it makes him feel a bit lighter. Just a bit.

“This won’t fix everything right away,” you say, and he now knows that your smile is a combination of the three. Along with this, though, Belphegor also knows the small sparkle in your eyes is hope, and he’s willing to take that hope and nurture it for however long he must.

“I know,” he sighs, but even he can feel the small tilt of a smile on his face, “but I’m willing to take as much time as you need to decide how you feel about me. And… And if you decide you hate me, which is fair, and that you never want to even be in the same room as me, I’ll respect your wishes.

Until then...Until you decide that you really, truly hate me, I won’t stop trying.”

There’s no way of telling how long his words linger in the air around the two of you, circling around your heads and making their way through your body. Even so, Belphegor diligently watches you, wanting to make sure he’s not overstepping his bounds. He even contemplates letting go of you, but is reassured when slowly, almost unnoticeably, you begin smoothing out the lines on the back of his hand with your thumb.

As much as you want to tell him that you could never hate him, you also know you can’t promise anything. Still, for now, just as much as him, you’re willing to try. You stay in silence, more comfortable than you’ve ever been in his presence, gently caressing the hand held in your own.

Eventually, Belphegor clears his throat once more. The vulnerability has made him tense and rendered his voice weak. 

“Can… can you hug me?” He all but whispers, fragility making his body quiver once more. He was completely open about his feelings for the first time in a lifetime, and the intensity of it left him craving affection. He knows how unfair this is to you, but he can’t help himself. He wishes to be held, for his fears to be quelled by someone so much stronger than him. “If you don’t want to,” he falters, speaking quickly, insecurely, “I won't even touch you. I-If you do, I promise I can keep my hands behind my back, and I won’t even--”

His words end abruptly as he feels you release his hand, and his heart sinks. He debates running away again, until he hears you moving towards him, and he finds he’s frozen in place. Slowly, but surely, with more courage circulating through your veins than you’ve had all night, you make your way over the blankets that divide you and position yourself right next to Belphegor, pulling him into your chest. Even now, he can feel how quickly, persistently your heart races, and yet you stay. True to his word, Belphegor rests his hands on the ground behind his back, but he doesn’t stop himself from nuzzling into your chest… and he cries. The complete, uninhibited release of his emotions hit him like a truck, and he sobs heavily into you, tears slowly but surely staining your shirt. You adjust yourself so you can hold him closer, slowly and reassuringly rubbing his back as he lets go of everything he’s been holding on to for longer than you can even imagine. This is a man who’s run from his emotions for centuries, and the fact that he’s willing to face them for your sake comforts you, cradles your heart and presses gentle kisses against the cracks. You know that you’re not going to wake up tomorrow with everything okay, but for now… for now you’re comfortable with his touch. Heaving in a deep, steadying breath, you reach down just enough to take Belphegor’s arms, and guide them to rest his hands on your hips. At this silent permission, he slowly, delicately wraps his arms around your waist, despite craving your body closer, wanting to hold you tight and never let go. He cradles you like you’re made of the most brittle glass, and you smile. The gesture touches your heart, and… and you feel safe. You know that all he wants to do is embrace you as tight as he can, but he doesn’t, even with permission. 

Here, in Belphegor’s arms, you feel safe. Here, where Belphegor’s grip on you is so gentle that it wouldn’t even crumple paper, you feel loved. As he cries into your chest, holding you as if you were an antique, hope slowly fills your heart.

Everything is far from perfect, but it’s still on the right track, here in the quiet planetarium.

[jjksblackgf]

♡ end of 2021 fic review ♡

tagged by: @amourtae <3

rules : post the top 5 works you're most proud of that you released this year (not necessarily your most popular), your top 4 current WIPs that you're excited to release in the new year, your top 3 biggest improvements in your writing over the past year, your top 2 resolutions (ways you wish to improve your writing/blog) for the new year, and your number 1 favorite line you've written this year!

 → 5 works i'm most proud of

  ↳ i've been missing you myg the first fanfic i wrote with more than 2k words. I was procastinating the whole time to finish it, but when i did and looked at the word count, I was shocked. turns out I can write "long" works, pat on the back for me.

  ↳ grey area jjk my first angst. I was so insecure in my abilities of writing angst, and now I'm kind of obsessed with it, lmao.

  ↳ call me papi ksj this one should've been longer, to be honest. It's my favorite papi!jin installment so far. Thank you @eatjeanjin & @triviafics for the stroke of genius. The things awoken in me by this piece... anyways...

  ↳ competitive knj oh, competitive is my favorite one shot. I loved writing this so much, ugh! grad school!namjoon is bae! the chemistry, the sexual tension.... i'm proud of myself with this one

  ↳ bts reaction: you wearing a bonnet to bed ot7 this one is number one for me. being black, sometimes i don't feel like i fit in anywhere, and I know that if i'm feeling like this, then there's other black women, fems, nonbinary babes, etc that also feel like this. this one is cutesy, cheesy, fluffy all the way through, and I think that's just what we deserve, a space to relax and take a deep breath. the one thing that i'm most proud of is being able to create a safe space to all poc and disenfranchised minorities, and for black women in specific, and to know there's almost 2 thousand of you following me is crazy, let me stop before i'm crying on the floor lmao, just know that i love you and i'll support you forever <3

 → 4 current WIPs that I'm excited to release

  ↳ gobble up, ot7 this one is a sister series to my eating you out series, i loved doing so much that i'm going to write a sequel :D

  ↳ i got that fuck you money, ot7 i was going to spoil this one a little bit here, but i decided that i'm not going to. let's just say oc has enough money to go around the world being wild...

  ↳ dámelo dos, papi, ksj & guest the new installment of papi!jin endeavours, this time with a guest 😈. you can't see it, but right now i'm smiling like the evil genius i am.

  ↳ untitled, kth so........ i had a sex dream with taehyung LMAOOO and the result is this piece. I haven't outlined it yet, all i can spoil is boss!taehyung is coming

 → 3 biggest improvements to my writing

  ↳ I am a little less self conscious about my skills

  ↳ I can identify errors much easier, so editing is less tiring

  ↳ I'm better at outlining my stories

 → 2 resolutions to improve my writing/blog

  ↳ don't let the amount of notes a post gets to determine my self-worth

  ↳ don't be ashamed of making mistakes

 → 1 favorite line I've written

  ↳ "I have to admit, it is entertaining to watch something so small chase an even smaller creature, even if made of plastic or fabric." — sweet kiss of death. incubus!seokjin being a softie for his cat will always be the best to me <3

tagging: @yoon2k @kithtaehyung @eatjeanjin @triviafics @kookskingdom @agustdef @agustdealer @pjmsdior @rosiekoo @ressjeon @sugasbabiie @taegularities if yall want <3