#and then you can perfectly understand my au and everything about it i promise. and you'll see how good it is

[daz4i]

is it too much to ask for.

[andvys]

Eyes don't lie ⭐︎ S.H

⭐︎ Summary: Nancy got everything she wanted but at what cost? Her eyes won't leave you, her hands crave to touch you, she finds herself in daydreams with you, wondering what it would be like to kiss you, to feel your lips on hers instead of his -- the girl Steve left for her.

And Steve, he is still haunted by what he threw away for a girl he could never love the way he loved... loves you. And while they are longing for something, chasing for someone that they both broke, you are only out for one thing, revenge.

⭐︎ Pairing: Nancy Wheeler x fem!reader | Steve Harrington x fem!reader | mentions of Eddie Munson x fem!reader and Billy Hargrove x fem!reader

⭐︎ Warnings: cheating, mentions of unrequited feelings, mentions of breakups, previous steve x reader, stancy, angst, this is some unhinged au of I knew you'd linger like a tattoo kiss (iykyk). they're all in college (in Hawkins), mentions of affairs, no happy ending... yet? no smut yet, but it's coming I promise

⭐︎ Author's note: This was supposed to be a oneshot but after talking to @hellfire--cult (as always, my hero) we came up with more filth and this will definitely be getting a part two so buckle up hehe. Also thank you for choosing the title bby!!!

Also this took me way too long to post but I lost inspiration AND now I got it back and I can't wait to get started on part two!

Nancy could not focus on anything Professor Harris was saying, she couldn't care less about the numbers he was writing on the board, her mind was elsewhere and her eyes too, no longer focused on the green board or the young Professor that all the girls were lusting over as they sat there in their short skirts, twirling their hair and blinking at him cutely. 

While everyone was focused on him, her attention was fully on someone it should not be on, but no matter how many times she tried to look away, her eyes would always find their way back to you, tracing every inch of you, from your hair to your face, from your nose down to your lips, from your neck to your chest and then down to your exposed legs, skirt riding up on your thighs, skin glowing softly. 

Your eyelashes kiss the skin beneath your eyes every time you blink, your tongue traces your bottom lip before you bite down on it in concentration, your hair falls over your shoulder, locket nestled perfectly in your cleavage. 

She can smell your perfume from here, every time you pass by her, she gets a whiff of it and it causes goosebumps to rise up on her skin. 

Something in her belly stirs every time she sees you and it's nothing new, it happened the very first time she laid her eyes on you but back then you were always in the presence of the guy she now calls her boyfriend and back then, things were different, so very different. She thought that it was jealousy that she was feeling every time she saw you two together, she could not stop watching you both, but she placed her focus on the wrong person, she wanted the wrong person, she went after the wrong person.

Nancy was horrible for what she did,  and she knew it from the moment she started chasing Steve Harrington when he was still yours and it got even worse when she stole him from you. 

She killed the light in your eyes, she caused the sadness that found home in you, she took away your happiness and for what? Her eyes still follow you, her stomach still tingles and burns when she sees you talking to someone who stares at you a little too intensely, who looks at you the way he once did every time he pulled away from your lips and she can’t understand why, she refuses to let herself see why. 

Regret resides in her, it’s gnawing at her, making her sick on the inside for what she did to you and the feeling only intensifies when he kisses her – she blames the guilt that settled into her body, for making her obsessed with you, for making her unable to look away from you or search for you in the crowd. 

She isn’t the only one, she can see the way he still looks at you, she can see the longing gazes between you both, the way he stops listening to her every time his hazel eyes find you, the way his lips curl into a smile before it becomes a sad one when he stares for too long. She knows that he thinks about you, she knows that he imagines you when he is inside of her, she knows it when he buries his face in the crook of her neck, refusing to look at her, holding her tighter and moaning louder, though biting his lip just so he won’t say your name when he comes undone. 

Steve Harrington may be her boyfriend now but he doesn’t belong to her and she knows it, he is still yours, he always will be. 

And a part of her, doesn’t give a damn fuck – she just can’t see it yet, she refuses to. 

It’s been weeks, months, since he had left you for her and not a single day goes by when she doesn’t wonder why he did it. 

She compares herself to you and her mind can’t comprehend why someone would leave you, why someone like Steve would leave you for her. 

Sometimes when she can’t sleep at night, she thinks about you, about you with Steve, about what you looked like underneath him, how your face contorted into pleasure when he unraveled you with his tongue, how his large palm would press down on your lower stomach to keep you from squirming away from him, how you tugged at his hair, desperate and needy, grinding your sopping pussy against his face before he pounded you into the mattress, kissing and biting your skin, covering you in love bites, making you moan and whimper in need as your boobs bounced while he pleasured you, balls deep inside of you, cock filling you up so perfectly that it made you cry and drool all over the pillow beneath you – by the end of each fantasy that haunted her, her stomach was burning and her thighs were clenched together. It was because of him, it was because of Steve, she told herself but it was a lie, he was there, but he wasn’t who her mind focused on, it never was. 

“Cunningham might chew your head off if you keep staring at her girl,” Barb whispers into her best friend’s ear, making Nancy frown at her words. She turns around, catching the blonde cheerleader glaring at her but she isn’t the reason for her frown. “Her girl?” Nancy asks as she looks away from Chrissy with an eye roll.

Barb chuckles, shaking her head as she starts to gather her books, “come on, everybody knows that Chrissy has a crush on her, she follows her around like some lovesick puppy.”

The feeling in Nancy’s chest tightens, the pit in her belly growing as a snarl makes its way on her face. 

“Right.”

Nancy never really paid attention to Chrissy or the way she looks at you but now that Barb mentions it, she sees it too, especially when the cheerleader grabs your hand and drags you out of the classroom once the lesson is over, a possessive look in her eyes that is directed at no one but Nancy. 

“You never saw it?” Barb chuckles, rising up from her seat, she grabs her coffee that she’s been sipping on all afternoon, holding the paper cup against her chest. 

Nancy shrugs, pretending not to care even though that thought is starting to take up every space in her mind. 

“Well, pay attention tonight, wait – you’re still going to Tina’s party, right?” 

“Yeah, it’s all Steve has been talking about,” Nancy grumbles, clearly not impressed by it or him. 

There is only one reason she will go to the party and it isn’t him. 

To… get drunk, yeah, just to get drunk, nothing more or less, only that. 

Not to observe and obsess over a certain someone. 

-

But it’s not what she ends up doing, not even in the slightest, she downs one drink and that’s all, she can’t even feel the alcohol in her system but she gets drunk on the way he looks at you as sick as it sounds, something within her burns deeply whenever she catches him, the fire only grows bigger when she sees the way you look at him, burning bright red whenever your eyes lock and Steve tenses up beside her – she knows all too well why he tenses up the way he does, why his knuckles are white as he holds his cup of beer tightly, why his brows are furrowed so strongly, why there is a scowl on his face. 

You are on the dancefloor, hands in your hair, a lazy smile on your lips, cheeks burning from the heat of the room and from your dancing, a skimpy little dress being the only thing keeping certain parts of you hidden, the glittery material keeps riding up on your thighs, dangerously high but not enough to expose your ass. You are moving your hips so smoothly, so effortlessly, your skin looks so soft and kissable beneath the string of lights above the room, you know how to move your body, how to put on a show, how to steal the spotlight in the room, how to make everything and everyone around you disappear – everyone except for Billy Hargrove who is snug behind you, hands on your waist, chest pressed against your back as his lips are dangerously close to your neck, ready to kiss and bite, ready to mark you up.

Nancy swallows harshly as she watches you, cheeks burning, chest rising up and down heavily, she licks her bottom lip as her eyes catch Billy’s hands moving to your front, palm pressed against your lower stomach to press you tighter against himself. She squints her eyes, nose scrunching in displeasure when you press your own hand over the larger one on your body. 

Steve scoffs under his breath, mumbling words that Nancy can’t make out in the loud room, she narrows her eyes at him, the red solo cup in his hand has dents in it, his eyes are dark, nearly black, his lips curled downwards as his focus is on nothing other than you and Billy. 

He is pissed and he is jealous, it’s written all over his face. 

Jealous over a girl he left, a girl he dumped – the girl he could never stop loving, the one he still craves and aches for. She knows it all, she always did. 

And now she can’t help but wonder why she doesn’t care, why there isn’t a single part inside of her that is filled with rage over seeing her boyfriend pine after his ex-girlfriend. Shouldn’t she be angry? Shouldn’t she feel hurt and jealous? Shouldn’t she feel possessive or even sad? 

She can’t feel any of those things when she looks at him – she doesn’t feel anything at all when she looks at him. Steve is a handsome guy, there is no doubt about that, he is one of the most good looking she has ever seen, from head to toe, he is gorgeous. His perfect hair, his soft hazel eyes, his lips – he is pretty, yeah, but his lips are rough and his hands are too, his skin not as soft as… the one of a girl. 

And when he talks of his future, she finds herself cringing, looking away to avoid the dreamy look in his honey eyes. Waves of nausea crash over her when he mentions marriage and kids, when he talks of a white picket fence and the RV he wants to explore the country with before going back to his small town life, with wife and kids. She hates it, it makes her sick. 

She looks up at him, arms crossed over her chest, bangs hanging in front of her eyes, her heart sinking into her stomach but not because of the way he is watching you, no, but because of the realization that dawned on her only now. 

Steve Harrington is her own personal nightmare. 

Steve Harrington is everything she never wanted. 

And he is only with her because of the summer they shared, the drunken nights, the giggles after smoking a joint together, the comfort he found in her while you were gone ‘doing god knows what with god knows who’ as he had said back then as though you would have ever done anything to hurt him, you worshiped the ground he walked in, the way he should have done for you too. 

You were in love with him and anyone could see it. 

She heard the rumors, the ones that drove him crazy, the ones that led him away from you and pushed him into her arms – well, not exactly, nothing happened between them until he officially broke up with you. But those rumors were only… rumors and yet, Steve believed in them, he believed Carol Perkins when she told him that you were seeing someone else while you were visiting your cousins in Chicago, that you were spending your nights in a dingy bars, admiring skilled fingers working on a red electric guitar, that your lips touched different ones, that your hands were too busy taking off his leather jacket instead of picking up the phone and calling him. 

He believed it with no evidence, he didn’t need it, his insecurities were enough to push him away from you – the sight before him only confirms the rumors of your sinful summer, though Billy isn’t the guy he was worried about during that time, he was always a problem, as well. 

He poured his heart out to the only who listened and that was Nancy, she comforted him with words, with alcohol and weed, nothing more, there was never a moment that could have led to anything more but her mind back then was wired differently than it is now – now she can’t understand how she misread between the lines so badly, how she mistaked platonic feelings for deeper ones, why she was so angry when you came back to college and to him, why the sight of you kissing your boyfriend filled her with so much rage. 

She was jealous. 

She was so jealous. 

But not because his lips touched yours but because yours touched his. 

It wasn’t a sight she had to endure for long because before she knew it, Steve slipped through your fingers after a big fight caused by the rumors he confronted you about, he didn’t give you a chance to explain yourself, didn’t allow you to tell him what had really happened that summer, he just dumped you, like it didn’t tear his own heart out, like he didn’t regret it the same moment he did it. He dumped you and then he left. He showed up at Nancy’s apartment, not caring about her weird roommate who gave him an odd look when he opened the door and stared at him for a good while, just watching the tears streaming down his cheeks before he called for Nancy, who held him through the night and kissed him in the morning, hoping for a taste of something she would only continue to dream about. 

Now they are here and they are together and they are more miserable than ever with each other.  

They are better off as friends and they both know it… deep down, at least. 

Your giggles break her out of her thoughts, she tears her eyes away from Steve and finds you walking into the room, completely ignoring her and his presence as you make your way over to the table filled with drinks and snacks, Billy close behind you, eyes heavy on your ass, bottom lip caught between his lips. 

Nancy rolls her eyes at him and Steve scoffs at the jock, something that doesn’t go unnoticed by the blond.

“Harrington,” Billy smirks, nodding at him mockingly, “how’s it going?” He looks between him and Nancy, lifting his eyebrows at her but she only squints her eyes in response, glaring at him. 

“Peachy,” Steve replies with an unimpressed look on his face. 

You ignore the presence of the couple in the room, not paying attention to them or their interaction with Billy who won’t stop chasing you, especially after your dance with him – it was a mistake and you won’t make any bigger ones, not tonight. 

“Trouble in paradise?” Billy smirks, puffing his chest out as he takes a step closer to Steve, “you don’t look like you’re enjoying yourself,” he chuckles, looking Nancy up and down before his eyes flicker back to Steve’s, “either of you.”

“Why don’t you mind your own business, Hargrove?” Steve grumbles, eyes falling behind the figure in the back, taking in the sight of you so close to him now, the way your dress hugs your body, the way the strap of it falls down your arm and you don’t even bother to fix it, too fixated on the drink in your hand.

“Why don’t you lighten up a bit, hmm? Shouldn’t you be the life of the party, now that you’re with your ‘dream girl’?” 

Nancy nearly gags at the words of the blond. He always knows how to get under his skin and hers and she sees the way you tense up at Billy’s words, as much as you try to ignore the conversation in this room, you can’t unhear it. 

Steve tears his eyes away from you, looking into the blue ones before him, he takes a deep breath and unclenches his jaw, he opens his mouth to speak. 

“Hey guys, we’re playing truth or dare, wanna join?” Tina’s voice cuts him off, the brunette peeks her head inside the kitchen, looking between all of you with a curious spark in her eyes, a bit of mischief lingering in her eyes as well when she senses the tension. 

Steve rolls his eyes, scoffing in annoyance, “what are we fifteen–”

“I’m in.” 

All the attention is on you now, every pair of eyes in the room, staring straight at you as you stand there confidently, with a smirk on your lips, one that surely doesn’t match the look in your eyes as you are looking straight at your ex-boyfriend. 

“I feel like finding out some dirty truths.” You tilt your head to the side, sparing Nancy only a short look but one that leaves her swallowing harshly and blushing furiously. 

You hate her, she can see it in your eyes, you never fail to make it known either, not with words, but with all the glances and glares you direct at her whenever you catch her staring. 

Steve holds your gaze, intensely so. An unamused chuckle falls from his lips, “yeah, why don’t we uncover some dirty truths, Dolly?” He mocks you with the nickname from your childhood. “Let’s go, I’ve been dying to find out more about your summer.” 

If looks could kill then Steve Harrington would drop dead, right now. 

He never gave you a chance to explain yourself, he never even tried to talk to you about the rumors he had heard. When you came back, he pretended like everything was fine, he kissed you and held you, spent time with you, he was distant but he was still there… and then, he wasn’t. 

Nancy purses her lips, watching the way you slowly make your way towards Steve, ignoring Billy’s presence and hers as you halt before him, tilting your head to the side, you lick your lips as your eyes flicker between his eyes and his mouth. 

You are close, close enough to make her feel like she is floating, getting lost in the scent of your perfume, in the color of your eyes. Nancy isn’t sure if she had ever been this close to you before but something in her chest stirs when her eyes follow the way your lips curl downwards, the way your chest rises up and down, necklace stuck between your boobs, the softness of your skin. She digs her nails into her palms, fighting the thoughts in her mind. 

“Oh, now you want to talk?” You scoff and cross your arms over your chest, “we could’ve talked months ago but you were the one who just walked out on me after believing the shit Carol made up about me. I didn’t believe Tommy when he told me about your dirty little secret,” you mumble with nothing but hatred in your voice when you glance at Nancy. “But clearly I had every reason to believe him, unlike you, Harrington.” 

“Yeah, right.” Steve looks down, avoiding your eyes as he finds himself drowning in regret but also in denial. 

He had every reason to believe her, didn’t he? 

He remembers him, he remembers the metalhead that you befriended before he left his hometown to pursue his rockstar career, the same metalhead that Steve used to buy from, it was his fault that you had crossed paths with him anyway, he invited him into his home, you were there when he showed up to drop off the weed, Steve had asked for. The smirk that crossed Eddie’s face when he saw you skipping down the stairs in nothing but Steve’s shirt, should have worried him then already but it didn’t, not even when you invited Eddie in and he started showing up more frequently, not even when Steve was out of town, visiting his grandparents in Colorado, leaving you to spend spring break with your new friend. 

Only when he came back, did the sudden insecurity hit him, when he saw how close you and Eddie had gotten while he was away, when he saw the playful touches and heard the soft giggles, when he saw the sadness in your eyes when the metalhead left for Chicago after graduating high school. He got suspicious, he got insecure and it only worsened when you chose Chicago out of all places to spend your summer at — he knew you had family there but you never visited them before that, so why this summer? 

You never gave him a reason not to trust you but he was deeply insecure and scared that his fears would come true, that had pushed him into Nancy’s arms, the overthinking and the rumors that Carol had started about you and Eddie, the ones that already got around while the metalhead still lived here – Steve ignored them then but he couldn’t ignore them any longer when you left.

Steve felt sick to his stomach at the mere thought of what or who you could be doing, the thought that you had fallen out of love because of someone else made him feel blue, though your voice through the phone had sweetened his day and made him forget about what had previously made him cry but even that didn’t save him or your relationship that started to crumble without your knowledge. 

“What?” You scoff again, eyes glaring into his so intensely that it almost makes him shrink, “don’t act like you’re fucking innocent, we both know you aren’t.”

Nancy shifts on her feet, uncomfortably so, she glances at Tina who is still watching the interaction, amused and intrigued by it all, just like Billy. She rolls her eyes and looks back at you, a part of her wants to speak up, to defend Steve, tell you that nothing happened between them then but her words are caught in her throat. 

“Oh and you are?” Steve replies, taking a step closer to you, he looks down at you in anger, like his heart isn’t aching and yearning for you, like it’s easy for him to look down at you like you don’t mean a thing to him, like you aren’t still the girl that he would do anything for. “Don’t act like you weren’t messing around with the freak–”

“Don’t call him that,” you spit back, frowning at him. 

A dark chuckle falls from Steve’s lips, his eyes flicker with rage and jealousy. 

“Freak? That’s the first thing you’re going to address, not the fact that I just said that you were messing around–”

“I never did that.” 

At this moment, Nancy can’t tell whether you’re telling the truth or not, she was convinced that you weren’t messing around with Eddie Munson – she saw the way he looked at you, the way his eyes followed your every move, filled with softness and adoration, filled with lust. But she also saw the way you looked at Steve, you were devoted to him, only to him. 

Though Steve’s insecurities made her question you as well, especially now. 

“Yeah sure, you didn’t, Dolly,” Steve clenches his jaw. “You were just friends, hmm right.”

“Yeah, like you and Nancy,” you fight back, looking at him smugly, angrily. “You were just friends, right? When I came back to Hawkins, that’s all you were right? Just friends, huh? Funny how you dumped me shortly after you had befriended her.”

Her name fell from your lips and that’s all she could focus on, on the anger in your eyes that sparked something within her, that made her lick her lips. 

“I didn’t cheat if that’s what you’re saying,” Steve frowns, eyes lingering with disgust. 

“Of course you didn’t,” you chuckle in disbelief, “that’s why you had no problem getting into a new relationship only a day after breaking up with me, right?... I don’t know about you but I can’t imagine dating a friend, you do realize what it made you look like, right? A cheater, Steve, a goddamn cheater.” 

Steve swallows harshly, shoulders relaxing from the tension that resided in his body for the past minutes when he sees how glossy your eyes get, how pain is the only thing left in them, no ounce of anger showing anymore, only sadness and heartbreak that you had refused to show in these past months since he left. Seeing this, seeing through you, feels like a blow to his chest, something he refused to look at to avoid the regret is now right in front of him, on full display. 

You huff again, shaking your head as you take a step back and look between them, eyes meeting Nancy’s for a moment before you lower your head, glancing down at your drink, you bring it up to your lips and down the rest of it, you slam the empty cup on the counter and step back towards Steve, looking into the hazel eyes that you used to love so much, you pat his chest, “I wasn’t the one who left with no explanation, I wasn’t the one with the dirty secrets and I wasn’t the one who cheated and then accused you of doing it, asshole, so spare me your bullshit.” With one last glare, you step away from him and direct your gaze at the girl who can’t seem to tear her eyes away from you, you step towards her, unknowingly making her heart flutter, “I hope you can taste me when he’s kissing you.” 

You think that anger is what she feels from hearing your words but it’s not that at all, not even in the slightest. 

Her eyes follow you when you walk out of the room, brushing past Tina who looks like she is ready and excited to spread around what she just witnessed. The moment you are out in the hallway and making your way upstairs, she giggles loudly and runs off, making Steve roll his eyes. 

Nancy feels like something is pushing her, pushing her to walk the way you just did, to follow you upstairs, to talk to you… alone, to explain what had really happened this summer or these past few months. 

Billy’s laughter echoes through the room, a satisfied grin appearing on his face, one that Steve easily ignores, he slams his drink down next to your empty cup, not caring about spilling it. 

“I’m gonna get some fresh air,” he announces, sparing a poor glance at Nancy before he walks out of the room and out of the house, slamming the front door shut so loudly that it’s even heard over the music. 

“Sure,” Nancy mumbles when he is outside already, uninterested. Her mind is in a haze, body angling towards the stairs. Billy’s eyes are on her, intensely so, but she doesn’t bother to turn her head to look at him, her feet carry her out of the room before she can rethink the decision her mind had already made. She pushes past the people in the hallway, ignores the curious glances from Carol and Tommy. 

Her heart is pounding in her chest as she walks up the stairs, fingernails digging into her palms, she bites down on her lip nervously, letting her body move on its own accord. She doesn’t know where to look first, where to go but it's like something is leading her to her wanted destination. 

She finds you in one of the bedrooms, sitting at the end of bed with tears running down your cheeks, sniffles sounding through the quiet room, the lights from the hallway illuminating the dark room, you jump in surprise when you notice her in the doorway. 

“What the hell do you want?” 

Nancy sucks in a sharp breath, the guilt in her continuing to eat at her when she sees the pain in your glassy eyes before your expression hardens at the sight of her. You wipe your tears angrily and push yourself up, smoothing down your dress, you blink, trying to get rid of the tears. 

“I’m sorry I-I just wanted to–”

“What did you want?” You snap back, frowning in rage as you stalk towards her like she is your prey. “Did you want this room to yourself? Am I in your way? Oh, I’m sorry, let me just make space for you.” Your voice is sarcastic, your face angry but it does nothing to scare her or push her away from here. 

“No,” Nancy shakes her head, knowing all too well what you mean by those words. She sighs, “no, I just wanted to check up on you.” 

Her words are clearly something you weren’t expecting, because for a good moment, you’re dead silent, staring at her with confused eyes and parted lips — ones that Nancy can’t look away from. 

It would’ve been dead silent too if it wasn’t for the voices downstairs, for the loud music or the sound of laughter outside. 

“Check up on me!?” 

The anger on your face and in your voice should be enough of a reason for her to leave the room and avoid you, her brain is telling her that but her body… her body is telling her something entirely else. Somehow, you look even better with the fire behind your eyes, the burning gaze you look at her with, sets her lower stomach on fire, your skin looks even softer beneath this lightning, your lips look so… so kissable.

She can’t deny it any longer, not after months and months of observing and pining, even before she met Steve properly. It was never him that she looked at, it was never him that she wanted. 

“What? So you can laugh in my face and mock me? How you stole my boyfriend!?” 

Nancy shakes her head, “n-no, I’d never do that… I am… I’m sorry.”

You chuckle darkly but a hint of sadness is there too, she can’t even miss it. You roll your eyes at her and finally decide to step away, to leave this conversation that you never even wanted. But Nancy doesn’t even let you pass, in fact, she places herself in front of the door after slamming it shut, standing in your way with a stubborn look on her face. 

“What the— get out of my way, Wheeler.” 

“No.” Nancy shakes her head again, blue eyes burning into yours, cheeks glowing red. “I’m sorry, I really am, I-I know you hate me, I would too, what I did was… was messed up but I’m really, really sorry!” 

You can only stare in disbelief, blinking, you can feel your heart pounding and your chest hurting from it. 

You don’t need that, you don’t want that. 

You don’t want no apology, not from her and not from him. 

He betrayed you and he broke your heart, stomped on it like it was nothing, and then, he just moved on, right away, like you never meant anything to him, like he never loved you, like it was the easiest thing to just forget about you and date someone new. 

And Nancy, she never owed you anything, no loyalty or sympathy, but what she did still hurt, a lot. And her apology angers you in ways you can’t even describe with words. 

“Fuck you.” The way those words leave your lips followed by the venomous look in your eyes should make her feel intimidated, it should make her draw back and let you leave but instead, she feels any of what she should feel. Your anger makes her feel something she had never felt before, some sort of anticipation, a curiosity she never felt with any guy, not the cute guy from summer camp last year whose name she forgot, not Jerry Carlson who was the first ever to ask her out on a date, not Steve Harrington, no guy had ever made her feel the things that burn in her now, only you. 

Fuck. 

Only you. 

She can’t tear her eyes away from your lips any longer, she can’t fight the desire in her that calls your name, she can’t fight the urge to move closer to you and the way your eyes flicker to her lips, even if only for a second, gives her the push to take a step closer. 

You have to feel the tension too, right? 

The fire between you – maybe it’s only anger on your part but maybe, hopefully, it isn’t only that. 

Nancy’s heart starts pounding, she suddenly feels drunk, hazy. Her feet move on their own accord, her feelings act on their own, she no longer feels control over her own body. 

“You and Steve are unbelievable, you know that right?” You snap at her, flipping your hair over your shoulder, arrogantly. “He fucked me over and you helped. You both got what you wanted, you got each other, so why can’t you just leave me the fuck alone!?”

She doesn’t answer you. 

She doesn’t say anything. 

She just looks at you. 

Her eyes are almost unrecognizable, dark and barely blue, a wild look lingers in them as she stares at you like you’re her prey, like she’s about to eat you alive, maybe it should terrify you but it doesn’t, you are too angry to feel anything else. 

Nancy watches the way you roll your eyes like some goddamn brat and she is beginning to lose her patience with your attitude – she deserves it, she knows she does but her feelings overwhelm her and your bitchiness doesn’t help much. 

Enough of her silence, you move forward, about to push her aside so you can make your escape, you reach for the doorknob but freeze in your place when her hand wraps around your wrist and she gives you a stern look and it only angers you more, even when there is a small part of you that feels intrigued by the way she looks at you. 

“I swear to god, Nancy,” you sigh. 

There is guilt in her eyes, beneath the flames that linger and it irritates you so deeply. 

If she is burdened by guilt at this moment, then she must’ve been back then too and it only makes you wonder. 

“Why did you take him?” You ask, trying to hide the pain in your voice, trying to hide what you have been feeling for the past months. 

“I never wanted him.” 

Her own eyes widen after those words leave her lips, not out of shock but out of relief – the truth that’s been there all along, finally uncovered and revealed, not only to you but also to herself because a part of her didn’t want to see it, didn’t want to admit it, that it was you, that it was a girl whom she wanted. 

A gasp tears from your mouth and your eyes widen, hand falling from the doorknob you were holding onto so tightly, your heart lurches to your throat and something stirs within you. It takes you a long moment to realize what is happening, to realize what she is doing, to realize what she just confessed. 

You feel warmth, in your body, on your body, on your lips. You feel her hands cupping your cheeks, you taste her raspberry chapstick, the rum she must’ve had earlier, you feel the intensity radiating off her. 

She is kissing you. 

Nancy Wheeler is kissing you after confessing that it wasn’t him who she wanted. 

Your ex-boyfriend’s girl is kissing you like her life depends on it – lost in the kiss, she looks completely in bliss, with her eyes closed and her lips moving against yours passionately, softly in a way only a girl's lips can feel. 

She kisses you in a way no one else ever has before, with a kind of desperation and need that can only come from someone who has been longing for this moment for a long, long time and to your surprise it makes your stomach flutter but your confusion guides you, you raise your hands and press them against her shoulders, pushing her away from you with furrowed eyebrows and puffy lips. 

Your heart is racing, your thoughts are too. 

What the hell just happened?

Nancy slowly opens her eyes, cheeks flushed and eyes needy as they flicker back and forth between your eyes and your lips, like she’s hungry for you, like she yearns for you, like she needs and wants more. 

You open your mouth to speak but not a single word falls from your lips because what is there to say? You are confused, more than that you are irritated by the fact that the kiss made your stomach burn and your legs shaky, that it left you craving for another taste of the girl that stole your happiness but she looks at you like you’re… something special and it makes your heart flutter and it makes you angry because she is still Nancy Wheeler. She is still the girl who is the reason for all your hurt, she is the girl your Steve left you for. 

She blinks, lashes fluttering as her eyes soften, vulnerability crossing her face. 

“I wanted you.”

Your breath hitches in your throat, your face flusters at her confession. You don’t know what to think of it, of her. But that little voice in your head, that angry one that has been trying to take control over you these past few months is telling you to use this given opportunity to get back at him. 

She wants you. 

Steve’s girlfriend wants you. 

She looks at you like she is ready to drop everything and everyone for you. 

She is. 

Your eyes flicker to her lips, you can’t deny the fact that it felt good to feel them on yours and you can’t help but wonder what they would feel like in different places on your body. 

But you don’t know whether it’s the thrill, the curiosity or this opportunity that fell right into your hands. 

She wants you so very badly, you can see it in her blue eyes, the way she is practically begging for you to let her in, to let her have a taste, to let her have you, she is needy, not for Steve, no, not for him, for you, only for you. 

And who are you to pass up on an opportunity to have a good time and get your sweet revenge all at once? 

So after a lot of heavy breathing and contemplating, you break out of your trance and move forward, catching her by surprise this time, you grab her face and slam your lips against hers, earning a whimper from her the second you kiss her. 

Satisfaction rushes through you, numbing the anger and filling you with pleasure to know that this will ruin her. 

And him. 

Both of them. 

♡

tagging ppl who might be interested!!!

@thesickestqrmydcll @prettyboyeddiemunson @fanfic-fanatic-2024

[ilium-ilia]

a fox cries; never howls

simon "ghost" riley x fem!reader | in limbo au | masterlist

Part (1/3): marco's girl

a/n: this is an alternate universe to my story, In Limbo. you do not need to read In Limbo to understand this au, but if you are reading In Limbo, i recommend not reading this story until you've read chapter 14 due to some spoilers. please take care to read the warnings on each chapter, this is a very heavy fic.

tw: rape/non-con, pedophilia, human/sex trafficking, forced prostitution, abduction, suicide, self harm, whump, hurt/comfort, reader has long hair for plot reasons (can be natural, braided, etc)

Each time it happens, you tell yourself it’ll be different, but it never is. 

Broken promises lay in glistening shards around the heels strapped to your feet as you grit your teeth through the pain. No matter how much you beg and plead, it’s always the same. That visceral ache shooting through the core of your being still brings tears to your eyes the same it did the first time. It will continue to plague you. Haunting your cheeks in messy streaks as it drips onto the counter your hands so desperately palm at. Each tear that splatters by your fingers shimmer with black flakes. Running mascara. It stains everything it touches—especially you.

You’re prettier that way. Ruined. At least, that’s what you’ve been told. 

Always pretty on your knees; bent over; looking up; crying; pleading; beg; beg for it; and keep crying; yeah, just like that. 

Your skin is scarred, marked in the shape of greedy lips, and it stings like the wound is fresh. Words seep into the soft tissue where it continues to fester. Burrows its spindly roots until it can bear fruit. You can pull at the stem all you like, but you can’t escape the fact that it’s now a fundamental part of you. It’s the only thing keeping your bones from crumbling. This mantra. This throe. 

“Not tryna hide, are you?” 

Avaricious fingers dig into the firm cartilage of your throat as you’re yanked back and forced to look at yourself in the mirror. The ripples of your defilement echo throughout your body—and you’re forced to watch it. The bounce of your breasts and the smudged makeup dripping along your cheeks. In some odd way, you are a masterpiece. You’re sculpted of nothing but obloquy yet carved just like if you were made of stone. You would close your eyes if you thought you could get away with it.

But Marco likes when you watch. Savors the tremble of your lips as your eyes find him in the mirror. Pristine teeth glint in the pallid light. Perfectly white and straight. He always takes care of himself—of his appearance. It shows in the carefully carved muscles that flex in his abdomen as he pistons into you; in the well groomed locks of his dark hair. This is the sweetest liquor he could ever indulge in—enjoying not only destroying you, but of making a show of it. 

He must always be the performer and the audience; having his cake and eating it too. 

A fury of grunted whispers slice straight through your ear drums. It’s a hardly comprehensible slurring of English and Russian, and though your fuzzy brain can’t make sense of it, you know what it means. Marco teeters close to the edge, hands dragging your body back against him as he holds himself flush against the crux of your ass. Hot warmth spills into you, and despite the hand around your throat, you’re finally able to breathe. This impiety does not offer you comfort in your tainted skin, but it offers you the one commodity you rarely seem to come by: rest. 

That incessant ache lurks deep in the pit of your stomach, even as Marco pulls out, but it’s quiet. Doesn’t demand your attention. You feel the dull throb that harasses the raw tissue of your cunt, and you try not to wince as you feel his seed spill out. Chuckling, he releases your throat in favor of wrapping his fingers around your hair, bunching as much as he can into the palm of his hand. It’s overgrown. Messy and dead. But he refuses to allow you to cut it. 

Nothing about you gets to change without his permission—not even your appearance. 

“Look at you, my sweet little girl,” he coos. Sharp teeth nip at the side of your jaw and you wince. You’re surprised his mouth doesn’t unhinge; that he doesn’t shove you into his maw and swallow you whole. “So goddamn perfect. Can’t get enough of this pussy. Christ.” 

When Marco backs away, you swear your knees will give out. Without his puppeteering hands to hold you up and bend you to his desires, you’re nothing but mush. A disgusting mess of smeared eyeliner and dripping cum. You can hardly stomach the sight of your body in the mirror. Neck littered with faint teeth marks, body bare and on display—used and abused to his content. You’re abhorrent. A pathetic creature you can’t stand to behold. 

Marco’s belt clinks just as a knock rattles the door. Your heart thuds loud enough in your ears that it nearly drowns out the sound of his heavy footsteps crossing the glorified dressing room. You attempt to steady yourself as you back away from the mirror, but the straps of your heels dig into your toes. They’re the only article of clothing you’re allowed. Marco says he likes the way they make your legs look longer. Likes the angle it gives him when he bends you over to fuck you.

When you turn to face him, he’s already sitting on the loveseat shoved into the corner of the room. A fresh bottle of mead sits on the tray next to him, and he pours himself a generous amount before knocking it back for a sip. The soft amber liquid overflows and dribbles past his lips, soaking his bare chest. His verdant eyes find you as he collets the drink on the tips of his fingers, then sucks them clean one by one. 

“Didn’t you hear that knock? You have a guest,” he says, tilting his jaw toward the door. 

With each step you take, you feel Marco’s seed dribble down your legs. It makes a sticky mess between your thighs, and you know he wouldn’t have it any other way. This is how he marks you. How he makes sure everyone knows who you belong to before he lets them take a piece of you home. 

A stranger with a thick neck stands at the door when you open it. His eyes are an odd shade of grey that sends a shiver down your spine as he looks you over, greedily drinking in the sight of your bare body. The chill of his gaze gets worse as the door closes behind him. He begins to crowd you and the sharp stench of vodka fills your nose. There’s something familiar about him. Every man in this club is familiar to you, in some way. Always hazy. Too fuzzy to place a name to. You think it’s your brain’s way of protecting itself. Of purging the bad things done to you as best as it can, lest you crumble in the palm of Marco’s hands. 

The sharp point of your heel catches on the plush rug that sprawls out in front of Marco’s feet, and you squeak as you nearly lose your footing. Both Marco and the stranger chuckle. The cacophonous tone grates against your eardrums, but you hide your discomfort as you stare at the ground. You wait. For the exchange. For the banter. They speak in Russian with one another through laughter as cash is passed to Marco. The air is still cold, and your thighs are still soiled, but the stranger looks at you like he would never dream of having any other meal than you. 

“Well, go on then,” Marco prompts. You look up at him with dull eyes. He swirls the mead in his cup as he tilts his head. “On your knees, babe. Wants to use your mouth tonight. Be a good girl, now.” 

Comply. Listen. It’s all you can do. So you sink to your knees like the well behaved girl you always are. Resting on your haunches, you look up at the man with a tight throat. He smiles, and your stomach drops. Roils and screams as he begins to unbuckle his belt. As he fishes himself from his trousers, you remind yourself all things are temporary. Especially pain. 

Nothing lasts forever—though, it often feels like it will. 

When it’s all said and done—when you’re thoroughly used—Marco walks you to the door like a gentleman. Hastily adorned clothes hang from your body as you pull your jumper tight around your core. Your cervix still aches from the virulent abuse it had taken earlier, but you attempt to ignore it as he opens the exit. Your only reprieve from this nightmare is that he didn’t parade you throughout the club like this; looking like a whore for hire, advertising you to anyone else with fingers itching in greed. Tonight, he allows you to take the back exit far away from prying eyes. 

Cool night air cuts through your scanty clothes, and you stare out at the vast space of the car park before you. Weekdays bring little business and customers to Makarov’s club. Most of the strippers who work for him end up lazing around in back rooms and closets, getting drunk or high enough that they can forget all about their shitty night. 

You wish you had that luxury. 

“Hey,” Marco hums, grabbing your wrist. You turn to face him. Dim shadows from the flickering hallway lights cast his face in darkness, but the glint in his eyes is unmistakable. “See you tomorrow, babe.” 

He sends you off with a kiss. Sloppy and wet—he likes messes. Savors making one out of you. Sweet mead and mint seeps into your mouth as you kiss him back with a tight jaw. When his hands caress your cheeks, pulling you closer, you wonder if he can taste the brine and bitter cum that lurks in the back of your throat. If he relishes in feeling every single way in which you’re destroyed. 

“See you tomorrow,” you murmur. 

Breathing only comes easy the moment you’re locked in your car. The movement is fluid—that gentle expanding of your chest—but it’s still agonizing. Diaphragm seizing with the sobs you fight back, it’s another reminder that you’re alive. As long as you draw breath, you don’t belong to yourself. 

Hot tears sear down your cheeks as you turn the key in the ignition. A gentle rumble follows as the engine hums to life. It’s a smooth, quiet purr. A car that’s much more expensive than you deserve. A lovely gift from Marco. It’s not at all uncommon for him to give you things. Expensive things. A car; an apartment; clothes—you’ll pay it back eventually. The numbers just add up to the big debt that’s hung over your head since you were sixteen. It ebbs and flows but not enough to save you. Not enough for you to belong to yourself again. 

As you bring the heels of your hands up to wipe your eyes, a gentle glow catches your attention. It moves. Dances and swirls in the numbra of the car park. Blinking, you focus on it. Golden yellow embers flicker and fade as life is breathed into them. It’s faint, but it reminds you of the well adored fireflies in America. Squinting, you can make out the outline of a car. It sits patiently and silent, but the windows are cracked. Faint smoke swirls through the openings where it climbs into the dull night sky and dissipates. 

Someone sits inside of the car, puffing away in a nicotine haze, but when your eyes lock onto the fingers pinching a cigarette, they freeze. Glowing embers quickly smother and die somewhere inside of the vehicle, and you’re left with nothing. You stare into the darkness, and it stares back. You feel its gaze tingling along your spine. Sniffing, you look away from that void. Be it man, or be it monster, you know nothing ever happens to you without Marco’s permission. 

That sentiment is equally as terrifying as it is comforting. 

When you arrive home—to the apartment paid for with your own body—you shower. No amount of water and soap is enough. You can lather yourself in all of Marco’s favorite scents, but the mint on his tongue still follows you everywhere. It lingers like an old scar that refuses to fade. As you exit the bathroom, you leave feeling just as disgusting as when you entered. Nothing but some sordid creature that hardly knows how to take care of herself. 

Looking at yourself in the mirror, you feel sick. Golden glitter still stains your eyelids, and the teeth marks on the side of your throat have only grown more noticeable. Still, nothing is worse than the mark on the back of your neck. Though you can’t see it, you feel it. It makes your skin itch and crawl, and you find your fingernails tearing at it. As if you could rip it off like a bandaid. But it stays. Festers and embeds itself deep inside of you. 

Swallowing, you try to forget it as you continue to dry off. This is your brief moment of comfort, where you’re too far out of reach and well out of sight to be gawked at and abused. Your only reprieve before you spend another night rotting as a trophy of glitter and bone. 

Weekends are better, but only marginally so. Wide eyed men fill Makarov’s club to the brim with wads of cash and twitchy fingers. Lingering gazes and hands brush against the crux of your ass and the back of your neck as Marco parades you through the crowd by your wrist. With your strappy golden heels and matching exiguous outfit, you’re flashy merchandise. Something soft and sweet that he flaunts in an attempt to make a quick quid or two as a way to fund his means of pleasure and keeping control of you. While you’d normally spend most nights on your hands and knees, on busy nights, Marco allows you to earn your living in an honorable way—

—dancing. 

Sharp heels tap on soft mahogany as your hips and arms sway, practiced and repetitive, atop a round table. Dull music thrums and shakes the dust off your bones as the men on the crescent sofa surrounding you chat and laugh the night away. Marco’s in the mix of them all, cold glass resting on his knee as his foot taps against the floor. A hazy film covers the spring green of his irises as the liquor settles deep into his marrow. Each time you rotate his way, you watch his pupils dilate. A vast forest covered by the smokey darkness of that void, he licks at the alcohol on his lips as he stares at your clothed cunt. 

His fantasy fills your mind before his own can even make sense of it. Every spare glass and bottle that litters the table around your feet would be thrown on the floor in an instant just to put you on your back. To open your vulnerable stomach. To tear off the little clothing protecting your feeble dignity and truly put you to work. He’d spread your limbs and pin them like a specimen to a board, and he would cut and slice until you have nothing left to hide. Until there is nothing left of you at all. 

“Babe!” 

Marco’s voice cuts through the discordance of the crowd and pulls you out of a nightmare and back into the present. Your terrifying reality. Slowly, you turn to face him, and he looks up at you with a grin on his face and a card stuck between his fingers. That sly haze still obscures his vision as he offers you his hand. Numb to the feeling of his skin against your own, you take it and allow him to help you down from the table. He wastes no time in dipping his fingers into the strap of your lingerie where he secures the card beneath the band. 

“Looks like you’ve got work to do,” he teases. 

Warm hands settle on the curve of your hips as he guides you to turn around, faced away from him. Then, they wander up. Greedy fingers brush along the line of your spine before they find purchase in your hair, grabbing it as if he were trying to help you put it up. You hate how long it’s gotten. That he won’t let you cut it. He doesn’t care if it’s straight, curly, braided—anything. Marco wants it long. Uses it like a leash in which he keeps you bound to him with. 

“I know you’re a good girl, so I’m sure you won’t forget, but a little reminder never hurts,” he coos into your ear. Intoxicated breath fans across the side of your face as he leans closer to breathe you in. A shiver prickles across your skin as he kisses the back of your neck, and your throat involuntarily contracts at the sensation. It’s as if he’s marking you again. Branding you. “If this… patron wants more, I get to watch.”

Swallowing, you nod as best as you can with his fist gripping your hair. “I know.” 

Chuckling, he relinquishes his grip on you before stepping back. “Of course you do, smart thing you are. I’ll be waiting here for you.” 

You wait until you’re well away from Marco and his friends before you fish out the card he stuck beneath the strap along your hip. A pitched ringing plagues your ears as you enter the VIP section of the club. Things are quieter. Less crowded and the speakers don’t blare as loud. But the silence allows something malevolent to burrow inside of you. It festers as incessant tinnitus and broiling nervosity in your stomach. A wordless, desperate prayer breathes past your lips as you approach the room in which your patron awaits you. 

You pray he is kind. You pray that he wants nothing more than to hold you and vent his problems, like others have. 

When you open the door and step into the threshold that always makes your palms sweat, you think for a single fleeting moment that you are lucky. The room is abandoned. Dim lights illuminate the dull leather of the couch in front of you and yet there is no man sitting there for you to serve. Gentle music drones over the wireless speakers, giving the impression that there should be someone here with you. The attendants even set out the ice and whiskey for his drink. It now thaws on the tray, water nearly overspilling in its decay. 

Brows furrowing together, you look down at the card to ensure you haven’t misread it in your haze. The attendant’s handwriting is chicken scratch. He always manages to make a nine look like a zero, but you’re certain this is a six. The door clicks shut behind you as you sigh, too defeated and confused to make sense of this confusion. A pit forms in your stomach at the thought of slinking back to Marco with some saturnine cloud hanging over your head. 

If you can’t find work tonight, he’ll make some for you. 

That pit quickly becomes a gaping hole the moment a fat palmed hand clasps over your mouth. Cardstock flutters out of your fingers like dainty butterfly wings, and hits the ground just as your back collides with an immovable chest. You don’t scream, but your heart nearly stops when you feel the cold press of metal against your throat. You are stuck in a vicious cycle. One of fear and sharp blades you’ll never wield yourself. 

“Not a fuckin’ word.” The voice that growls in your ear rattles your spine as the words erupt in his chest. Faint tobacco stains his fingers. Its earthy aroma seeps into your nose as your hands tremble against his tattooed forearm. “Don’t wanna hurt ya, so make this easy and listen to me, yeah?” 

Marco has taught you plenty well enough that the word no should be expunged from your vocabulary, so you nod. 

“Good.” 

You’re as stiff as a board when this stranger releases you. No amount of curiosity can get you to turn around and face the violent truth, not even as a thick jacket is tossed over your shoulders. The fabric is warm. Freshly removed off of the man behind you and placed on you as if it were a blanket. He presses his hand on your lower back and despite his caution, you still jump. 

“We’re going for a quick drive. Easy now. You’ll be home before sun up. C’mon,” he mutters. 

There is no such thing as saying no. There is no such thing as fighting. 

The knife vanishes from your sight but it’s all you can think about as this stranger leads you through the haze of the club. Everything blurs around you as you’re escorted to the nearest exit through quiet hallways that reek of cheap perfume. The only thing you can focus on is your feet. The glittery heels that match perfectly with your pedicure. You want to trip. To fall forward and hit the ground. Cry out and demand attention. The hand on the small of your back is all too grounding for you to make any mistakes. 

You approach and exit through an emergency fire door and the alarm doesn’t trip. Night air hits your skin like razor blades as you’re escorted across the car park. He shoves you into the back of a black car, and you only squeal a little when he slams the door behind you. When he situates himself in the driver's seat, the car hums to life and quiet lights flicker on just enough to scarcely illuminate his face in the rearview mirror. His eyes are dark. The darkest you’ve ever seen. 

“There’s a blindfold in the seat next to you. Put it on,” he orders. Stuck on autopilot, you do as he says. It’s a thick scrap of cloth, something you hastily tie around your eyes and knot at the back of your head with trembling fingers. It only touches your skin for a fleeting moment before it’s soaked in briney tears. “Don’t even think ‘bout takin’ it off.” 

Not even your morbid curiosity can convince you to peek from between the threads. The word no is not in your vocabulary. Neither is disobeyment. 

Each turn the man takes as he brings you to some unknown destination has you swaying in your seat. Every pule that leaves your lips is smothered behind the palm of your hand as you wipe snot along the ridges of your knuckles. You do well to keep the aftermath of your fear to yourself. Even though this man has abducted you—something that was all too easy for him to do as you fawned, and you’ll surely pay for this when Marco finds you again—you do not want to ruin the coat around your shoulders with spit. 

Of course you think of escape. You always do. It’s a self soothing daydream that florescences in the neurons of your brain. Unlock the door. Open the handle. Jump out. It’ll hurt. It always does. And it’ll hurt when you’re caught, but it always does. 

You don’t move. Freedom is just a dream.

Despite the knife he greeted you with, this man is surprisingly gentle. His touch is soft when he eventually parks the car, and his fingers do not dig too terribly into your skin as he helps free you from the back seat of his car. You do not trust his softness as he leads you into a room that smells like alcohol and cigarettes. Nicotine burns your nose as you’re settled into a plush seat, and for a fleeting moment you think you were only driven around the block before being thrown right back into Marco’s maw. 

That theory is proven terribly wrong when your blindfold is ripped from your eyes. 

A man with impressive tepidity sits across from you at an antique wooden desk. Rich red walls close in on you. Crushing. Looming. Smoke blurs the space between the two of you as he puffs away at a thick cigar, blue eyes scanning a single piece of paper. He’s dressed nicer than you anticipated. A dark button up shirt, neatly combed hair and groomed beard—he hums to himself as his eyes scan the page in front of him before they land on you. You look away as if his gaze has burnt you. Instead, you focus on your nails and the manicure Marco made you get last week. Baby pink gel; his favorite color on you. 

“It’ll take more than crocodile tears to tug on my heartstrings, love,” he hums. 

The climate in your mouth suddenly becomes sere. All the snot and saliva that had built up before seems to vanish at his words. He’s nonchalant; terrifyingly so. 

“I don’t… uhm,” you attempt. 

“No need to explain yourself,” he interjects. “I understand. We all need to make a living.” Pausing, his eyes flicker back to the paper in his hands. “You’re Marco’s girl, aren’t you?” 

Thick obloquy heats the pit of your stomach as your fingers twitch. That term—that title. It fills you with more shame than you can name. You attempt to swallow down the cotton-like dryness in your mouth as your hand paws at the back of your neck. Expertly manicured nails scratch at the skin, and you wish nothing more than to peel back the layers of your epidermis and toss them aside to rot. 

Stiff, you nod. 

“John Price,” he introduces. 

He drops the name like it bears weight. As if it should crush you with each heavy letter that it carries, yet it doesn’t add on to the anxiety raging in your stomach. Your hand falls back into your lap as you dare to look at him once more. His eyes are sharp, as if he’s using his gaze alone to cut back your layers, but there is nothing to show for it. No secret except for a sour ignominy that you’ve carried for so long it imprints in your very skin. 

“Has Marco not told you about me?” he asks. He’s not upset; or if he is, he hides it well behind curious eyes. 

“No,” you answer truthfully. 

John chuckles. “Thought the man would’ve at least told his benefactor about me.” 

You blink. “...Benefactor?” 

“No need to play dumb. Like I said, it takes a lot more than faux tears to get me to feel sorry for you.” 

Your fear and confusion grips you so relentlessly that you don’t even feel it anymore. It’s wound so tightly around you, restricting blood flow to your body, that everything tingles if it is not numb. This man—John Price—gives you no chance to rest or fix your muddled thoughts. He tosses the paper in his hands across the wooden top of the desk, and your eyes nearly cross at the numbers printed on the pristine sheet and the amount of commas between them. There’s math. Addition and subtraction. Transactions of a bank account with a name at the top: 

Marco Anatolijus Kanas

Funny. You’ve never seen his full name before. He’s only ever been Marco.

You’ve only ever been his girl. 

While you stare at the numbers, John throws question after question at you, none of which you know how to answer. He asks about transactions. He asks about what they’re for. Each and every time he’s met with the same answer. You are just as clueless as him. Marco does not concern you with his real work. The work that gets him enough money to have a bank account as padded as the one you’re looking at currently. 

His finances make the sparse contents of your stomach curdle. The amount of money you owe him for your unfortunate existence is trivial compared to what he already has. So miniscule it would hardly budge his savings. Marco has been making you work half your life away for something akin to a mere couple quid to him, and it stings just as bad as it always does. Seeing it at face value just how trapped you are—how Marco owns you and always will. 

“Don’t get coy with me.” John’s getting frustrated. Each question he presents you with is met with the same carking response of I don’t know. It’s nothing but the truth, but he seems to be informed otherwise. You’re significantly less important than he believes you to be, but the man looming behind you doesn’t help in settling your nerves enough to explain your situation properly. “Word on the street is Marco’s girl supplies him with his spending money. You’re tellin’ me I heard wrong? Or are you too daft to ask him what he’s using his finances on?” 

You swallow. What a polite way to put it—the things Marco does to you. 

“He… He makes money off of me but I… I don’t know how much or what he uses it for,” you choke out. “Well, I… I know a little bit but it’s not, it’s not like, whatever you’re asking, it’s just… it’s stupid things, it’s like, my housing or… it’s not… important.” 

There’s a quiet beat that settles between you and John, and you feel whatever vexation he harbored for you previously quickly evaporate in the air. He’s silent for so long that you force yourself to look up at him. You’re expecting curiosity, even the most morbid of iterations. John Price is not curious. You can tell by the way his jaw unclenches and eyes soften that he finally understands what you’ve been too inept to say. 

“How long have you been workin’ for him?” he questions, softer this time. 

“Since… I was sixteen,” you reply. 

“Sixteen?” He’s appalled. Repeats the word like it’s the worst taste he’s ever had on his tongue. “What’s he making you do for work? Dance?” 

Shame sears the back of your neck, leaving nothing but wounded, marked skin in its wake. You palm at the burn. Try to will it away with desperate fingers, and the movement causes the coat resting limply around your body to slip off your shoulder. This is the first time you’ve considered lying to John. Omitting the truth just to save the small shred of dignity you still have left, no matter how imaginary it might be. 

“Yeah. I… dance on stage but he… has me do private sessions too but he… sometimes he-” 

A hand brushes against the side of your arm and you flinch so hard your teeth nearly pierce through your tongue. Weathered wood squeaks beneath your weight as you freeze after nearly jumping out of your skin. This well meaning hand that startled you so terribly is well meaning. It pauses in its endeavor to cover your body once again with this stranger's coat, and instead lets it fall. You had almost forgotten all about him—the strange man who stole away Marco’s favorite toy from right under his nose. 

John and the stranger share a look as you retreat back into yourself. Hands folded over your bare lap, you didn’t feel naked until they finally understood who you are—what you are. Pristine nails dig into your palms as you swallow back the bilious vomit that threatens to spew free. 

“If we take you home, will you be safe there?” His eyes land back on you, but you can’t bring yourself to give him the same courtesy. 

You shake your head. “He’s going to be so mad. He… he pays for my apartment. I don’t have any money of my own. I don’t have a phone. I… There’s nothing. I have nothing. Marco’s provided everything for me and I never… he never gave me the chance to…” 

“I understand,” John interjects, carefully quelling your rambling. He waits for a moment before leaning back in his chair, retracting every bit of malice he exuded while interrogating you. “I’m sorry, love. Should’ve done our research better.” 

“It’s okay… Marco didn’t leave much of me to find.” 

John’s eyes darken in a way that would leave most men with their tail tucked between their legs. You’re too busy making yourself small to notice. “We’ll fix that.” 

In the next few hours, your life changes drastically. It’s sudden and feels just as violent as everything always does, yet it is intimidatingly soft. The gazes that are cast your way scream pity instead of lust, and you are handled with so much care you’re convinced you’ve become nothing more than a tchotchke. At least these men treat you with fragility rather than flippancy. 

You learn the man who took you from Makarov’s club is named Riley. You’re able to get a better look at him without the blindfold and terror willing your vision elsewhere. He’s intimidating. Arms drenched in ink, it’s almost enough to smother the scars that map the story around his body. It can’t shroud the ones on his face. The thin line that dissects his eyebrow, or the one on his nose which only makes the curve of the bridge more dramatic. His eyes are darker than anything you’ve ever seen before—so empty and yet full at the same time; nothing but a contradiction as he watches you pull his coat tighter around your shoulders. 

It is decided that—for your safety—you are to live with Riley until it is determined you are out of Marco’s reach. 

Despite your apprehension, you can’t say no. 

Riley’s house feels like a den. Well guarded but comfortable, the plush cushions that cradle you on the couch feel false. Fake. Everything does, but it’s mostly you. Your hair. Your clothes. Your skin. Nothing about you is tangible, not even to yourself. 

You’re still swaddled in Riley’s coat by the time he tells you that your room is ready. Really, it’s his room. You want to tell him you’d rather sleep on the couch than in some stranger’s bed, but you can hardly bring yourself to speak a single word to him. He scares you, but not in the way people usually do. It’s not the fear of pain that he riles within you, but rather something light. Something that flickers and sputters, waiting to grow. You smother it as he hands you proper clothes to change into. You don’t know where he got them from or why they fit so well, and you don’t care to ask. 

His room is… what you expected of a man like him. Plain walls, sturdy wardrobe and bed. A wristwatch ticks on the nightstand. It laments quietly, so much so that you only notice it when you sink into the mattress. He’s changed the sheets and pillowcases for you, but it’s not enough to snuff out the faint scent of tobacco. You like it, you decide. Or rather, you don’t mind it. Grounding earthy notes are much better than the synthetic chemicals Marco soaks himself in. 

Sleep comes about as easy as you expect it to. A TV drones on quietly in the living room as you toss and turn among unfamiliar sheets. Dull anxiety claws within the cage of your chest, but it holds itself at bay better than you anticipated. Or rather, you are just too numb to fully appreciate the pain. You should be afraid. You know it, and it’s lurking there even if you can’t fully feel it yet. 

It manifests suddenly as you feel the ghost of Marco’s hands on you. His teeth digging into your skin, demanding flesh. He wets his maw with your blood just as he wets his cock with your cunt. It sears. Rips through you in the brutal way it always does. Raw. Sinew on bone. And you don’t cry because it’s what he wants. He wants that brine and that sapor and he’ll claim it with claws and a smile. 

His mantra pants. It sweats and drips. It’s wet on your ear. 

There’s no escaping him.

You wake just after the sun does, and it is only then that you cry. 

Grief is the quintessence of escape. You’ve crossed the threshold—you were dragged beyond it—and now there’s no way back to the way things were. Your life wasn’t good, and it was far from comfortable, but it was familiar. You only know how to navigate things when bound. Chained to an unforgiving master. How are you supposed to live with free hands? 

What happens when Marco yanks your leash and finds no tension? 

What becomes of his favorite toy—Marco’s girl—then? 

By the time you finally gather the courage to leave the room, you find Riley in the kitchen. It’s what drew you out of your hiding spot originally; that scent of freshly cooked food. Sizzling meat and steaming eggs. He works at the stove with his back turned to you, arms dancing above the heat as he fries up a breakfast that should make your mouth water, yet it fails to do so. 

“Morning.” He hears you before he sees you, but he pauses with a spatula in hand to look at you from over his shoulder. He gestures to the island in front of you—something you suspect was only built to compensate for the lack of counter space on either side of the stove—then hums to himself as he turns his attention back to his work. “Breakfast’ll be finished soon, if ya wanna grab a seat.” 

There’s a stiffness that plagues your limbs as you sit on the high top chair Riley pointed to. It rolls off you in waves. Taints the air; souring it with your presence. You are not comfortable in this place—with this man. His palm haunts the chapped skin of your lips the same way his chest haunts your back and you can’t help but wonder what he and John would have done to you had they deemed you guilty. If they had looked at Marco’s girl and saw an opportunity rather than a pitiful creature, would you be sitting here now? 

Breakfast is a quiet affair of scraping plates and muffled chewing. Riley doesn’t sit next to you. Rather, he stands on the other side of the counter with a bowed head as he shovels egg and bacon into his mouth as if he’ll starve if not. He tries to rest his elbows on the counter, but it’s too low. It curves his spine uncomfortably, and he shifts as if standing on hot coals. 

Hunger does not pull at your stomach. Nervosity fills you to the brim—too full to consume something other than the ache. 

“I’m sorry ‘bout last night.” Riley’s nearly finished with his food by the time he speaks, prompting you to look up at him for the first time since you sat down. All you’ve managed to do for the last few minutes is drag the tip of your fork around your scrambled eggs. “Boys really thought you were dangerous. That you were workin’ with Makarov and Marco. Shouldn’t have grabbed you like that.” 

Dull teeth dig into the wet flesh inside your cheeks. “It’s okay.” 

“It’s not okay,” Riley argues adamantly. “But I am sorry.” 

It’s difficult to discern the purpose of his apology. Is it to make himself feel better for what he did? For dragging you out of that club and into John Price’s office? To interrogate you until your innocence was proven? Does he say sorry to comfort himself, or you? To prove he’s not as monstrous as he looks with dark eyes and tight lips. He is, after all, awfully kind for a monster. You have yet to meet a beast that knows how to apologize without digging their teeth into you afterwards. 

Perhaps his apology is truly for you. To settle fried nerves. To make you feel safe. 

You know better than that. 

You were safer in the clutches of Marco’s jaw than you are now. 

“Riley, can… can I ask something?” 

A cheeky remark bubbles along his tongue. You just did. He takes one look at you and decides to bite it back. “Course.” 

A noisome lurch pulls at your stomach, embittering the sparse bites of food you were able to force down your throat. Thunder roars in your chest as your heart attempts to break free—leave your body behind to rot while it escapes. 

“Would I… Could I get the pill?” you ask. 

“The pill?” he repeats. 

“Yeah, like… the… the morning after pill?” 

His silence doesn’t surprise you, but it stretches long enough to be concerning. Looking up from your cold food, you’re met with soft eyes. They’re the softest ones that have looked at you for what feels like ages. Gentle. They don’t greedily rake over your body to soak in every twitch of your skin—rather, he reads you. Between the lines and and in the margins, he devours every word. 

For the first time in your life he makes you feel more like a victim than a toy, and you’re not sure if that feels any better. 

“Will you be alright by yourself if I go buy it for you?” he asks. There’s no judgment; only pity. 

You nod. 

Riley mulls it over as his tongue swipes along the back of his teeth. When he straightens, he brings his plate with him as he steps back and hums. Your attention is quickly brought back to your hands as he sets the dish in the sink to be cleaned later. 

“Alright.” You try not to choke as he motions to your plate. “Should eat. I’ll be back soon, yeah?” 

Once again, you nod. “Okay.” 

Not a single morsel has been consumed off of your plate by the time Riley returns home, and you are not in your seat. Disappointment buzzes at the base of his skull, but he’s not surprised. He knows what it’s like to be too full to eat—to be plagued with something not even hunger can triumph. He sets aside the pill box to clean up after you. Food in the bin. Plate in the sink to be washed later. 

It’s quiet. It’s never this quiet. Not even when he’s home by himself, which he usually is. Riley stands in the kitchen with furrowed brows as he looks around the room like he’s misplaced something. His keys. His lighter. 

God, he could use a smoke. 

Heavy feet cause old wood to creak as he pokes his head into the bedroom. An imprint of your body still dips into the mattress from this morning, but it’s gone cold. He was going to stay politely stationed in the doorway until the thought flickers across his mind that you’ve left. Got too scared of the brute whose home you’re trapped in and ran off. Away. Hiding from the world—from Marco. 

There’s little reprieve to be found when he notices the light shining through the crack of the bathroom door, but it’s smothered the moment he hears you crying. They’re pathetic, stifled pules. Ones you attempt to desperately hide, yet they bleed out of you anyway. He wants to leave you alone, to let your emotions wash over you, but he can’t. 

Even with your crying, the house is too quiet. 

“Everythin’ alright?” 

Both his voice and knock startle you, and your sobbing swells. Breathing out of control, he can hear you choke on the snot flowing through your sinuses. You’re panicked, and he realizes that this is more than grief. More than anxiety. More than fear. 

You’re terrified. 

You’re standing in the bathtub like a scared cat when Riley opens the door. Tears stream down your face. Relentless. They nearly glisten as bright as the kitchen knife in your hand. 

You told yourself it would be easier for him to clean up the mess of your corpse if you killed yourself in the bathtub. Blood festers and rots in the smallest of crevices, but there’s none of that to be found in the ceramic that surrounds you. However, you’re having trouble getting any blood to flow at all. You’re not sure if it’s you or the knife, but you’re hardly able to break the skin on your wrists. The crimson blood that flows through your minor cuts feels trivial. There needs to be more. 

It’s not enough. You’re scared that you might have to stab yourself. Spill your guts in the tub. Witness your offals for yourself before you fade away. Something. You want to die, but you don’t want it to hurt. 

You don’t want it to hurt, but you need to leave. 

“Hey. Hey, easy now.” Riley feels as if he’s talking to an animal. Some feral cat poised to bite and scratch if he’s not cautious. He approaches you with his palms faced out in surrender, and the walls around you seem to close in. “You don’t wanna do this sweetheart. Give me the knife.” 

“You don’t understand. I can’t. I can’t do this. You-You don’t know what he’ll do to me. Marco he... It’s- I- fuck, I can’t. I can’t do this, please just let me do this.” 

Each word is muffled. So far from your ears that it hardly reaches you. Still, they spew along with your cries. It doesn’t deter Riley from closing in on you. Swallowing the spit building on your tongue, you hold the knife with both hands. A simple kitchen blade, now brandished like a weapon. It’s nearly laughable. You couldn’t even kill yourself. How can you expect to hurt him? 

“I know it doesn’t feel like it, but it’s gonna be okay. We’ll make it okay, but I can’t do that if you’re not here.” His words feel stupid in his mouth, but he knows he has to try something. “Please. Give me the knife. I don’t wanna hurt you. Hey, give- fuck!” 

There’s a lunge. Grabbing. Blade on skin. Blood on tile. 

Riley meant it when he said he didn’t want to hurt you, but you still cry out as he yanks you out of the tub. Once again, your back is against his chest. You are enveloped by him as the two of you sink onto the bathroom floor, held down by his weight, and it is then that you truly can no longer hold yourself together. Vision darkening, chest ceasing; you panic. It rips through you with shaking hands and writhing legs, causing your feet to kick at the dull kitchen knife at your feet. 

For a moment, you are lost. Consumed by overwhelming grief and fear, and still Riley holds you through it all. You feel his heart beating against your spine, feel the exhale of his lungs dance on the top of your head. It’s a flicker in the darkness. In the primal fear of knowing you are still somehow chained to the man who has abused you for countless years. 

Dread transcends physical space. Marco planted it inside of you the first time his lips found the quiver in your throat. 

“Breathe, sweetheart. I’ve got ya.” 

Riley’s voice fades in like radio static. Disconnected and muffled, yet growing evermore clear. Then, it hits all at once. The slight sting of your wrists and the ache in your leg. Did you trip? You feel the growing bruise pulse and throb on your shin, and another one in your hip. It’s hardly bearable, but neither of them are as uncomfortable as the warm, sticky mess seeping into your shirt. 

It takes several seconds for you to realize it’s blood. 

“There, good. It’s alright,” Riley whispers. His voice is thick—heavy enough to make your stomach sink. 

“Am- Am I bleeding?” you stutter. 

“No, you’re alright. Don’t worry ‘bout the blood.” 

But you do. You worry about it because you don’t want it to hurt, you don’t even think you want to die anymore—you just want it gone. For it to dissolve around you, or for you to waste away into dust. Your chin rests against your chest as you look for the source, scouring your own body for the wound. Your wrists, your arms your legs—

—the wound is on Riley. 

Blood gushes through a gash on the top of his forearm, obscuring your view of the damage. It’s just as steady as every stream you ever used to jump over as a child. It slices through the meticulously crafted ink that graces his skin, and you feel as if you’ve cut through the canvas of a painting. Ruined something good. Something more useful than yourself. More than that, you hurt him. 

“Oh my god, your arm,” you gasp. 

“It’s nothing,” Riley attempts to assure. 

“There’s so much blood, I-I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to.”

“It’s nothing,” he reiterates. “Just a cat scratch, sweetheart.” 

His cat scratch takes twenty minutes to patch up. You count the time on the ticking of his wristwatch as you lay in his bed. Body too weak and afflicted with malaise to make something of yourself, you stare at the ceiling as you listen to him hiss and grunt. It’s the blood, you’re sure. Despite the flow, he manages to smother it to nothing more than a scab beneath pristine dressings. 

It takes him another ten minutes to clean you up. He assesses the wounds you left on yourself—shallow horizontal cuts along the delicate skin of your wrists. You stare at them as he cleans and bandages them, and you tell yourself the sting from the antiseptic is what makes your eyes water. 

You’ve created a mess for nothing, and Riley is the one paying for it. 

“There.” He secures the last piece of tape on the gauze. It feels unnecessary. Band-aids would have sufficed, and you tried to tell him as much only for him to mutter something about infections. “Not too tight?” 

You shake your head. “It’s fine.” 

Content, he hums as he steps away from the bed, gathering up items off of the nightstand. You watch as his fingers swallow rolls of tape, forearm flexing beneath his own dressings. Teeth digging into your bottom lip, your heart lurches, as the guilt pierces through you like a blade. You’re not sure why it lurks. Is it because you hurt him? Because you tried to leave a corpse for him to come home to? 

“I’ll get you some water. Ought to take that pill sooner rather than later,” Riley says, turning to leave the room. 

He only makes it a few steps before you stop him. “I lied.” 

Pausing, his eyes find you with more confusion than you expected. “Yeah?” 

“I lied about… needing the pill. I just said it so you would leave,” you admit. You push yourself up from the bed, legs swinging over the side of the mattress to sit and properly look at him. “When… I first… Marco used to make me take birth control. Like, the actual pills. I got pregnant anyway. Made me get the IUD after that. It’s more effective, so I don’t think I’ll really need it. I mean, I’ve never needed it before, so…” 

Listening, Riley nods as you bare the raw parts of yourself. It’s impossible to share without that warble in your tone—that pain that always leaks into your voice—but in some strange way, it feels good. Refreshing. You’re airing out an old, festering wound that hasn’t ever seen the light of day. 

“You got a kid to take care of? If they’re with Marco-” 

“No,” you interrupt. Riley’s words die on his tongue. “No, he… he made me get an abortion, too. It’s for the best, really. Kids shouldn’t be around that monster anyway.” 

Again, he nods. The house feels loud. Every inch of the four walls around you seems to buzz with an energy you’re not privy to. 

“Well, some water wouldn’t hurt. Food wouldn’t either, since you never finished breakfast,” he continues as he turns. “Want anything specific?” 

He’s so… casual. Nonchalant despite the trauma you subjected him to. He should be angry with you. Furious at having made a mess; at having hurt him. His entire life was turned upside down the very same moment yours was—he should hate you for it, but he doesn’t. 

“Whatever’s easiest.” The floorboards are loose by the door. They squeak as he crosses the threshold, and you feel your stomach lurch. “Riley?” 

Pausing, he turns on his heel as his head pokes back into the room. “Yeah?” 

So calm. So patient. 

“Thank you. For everything. I just… Thank you, Riley,” you choke. 

For the first time since he caught you in that club, he smiles; small and kind. 

“Just Simon to you, yeah?”

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[cheriewoo]

Sharing Is Caring | Kim Hongjoong & Park Seonghwa ☆

~ ~ call me chérie ☆

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☆ Day 15 : Cuckholding

↬ [ Synopsis ] : After hearing his precious angel struggling with loneliness in his absence, Hongjoong suggest a solution. That solution is Park Seonghwa. Will he be your one-stop remedy, or will someone become possessive along the way?

☆Word Count : 2.5k ☆Genre : Smut, Idol Au. ☆Pairing : Fiance! Hongjoong x F.Reader x Park Seonghwa

☆☆☆WARNINGS : Pure smut (18+), rough sex, edging, overstimulation, cuckholding, praise, neck bites, unprotected sex ( be careful pls), emotional talk, mild friends with benefits, dom Hongjoong, switch Seonghwa and sub reader, possessive Joong, pet names (angel, baby). {lemme know if I missed it }

NOTE : Grinding hard to catchup my loves as my exams had a chokehold on me but Day 15 is here with our Matz duo ma cheries. Hope you enjoy it. Its kinda written in a hurry so I apologize for any mistakes. Nonetheless, Hope you love it so much lovelies.

You are his fiancée, but Hongjoong doesn’t even have a moment to spare for you. He sleeps in his studio, his days consumed by producing, photoshoots, and practice, and he’s rarely home. At first, you understood and respected his work ethic and the responsibilities that came with being a leader. But now, as his fiancée, with the two of you soon walking down the aisle, promising to spend your whole lives together, you’re on the verge of questioning this choice all over again.

That’s when Seonghwa entered your life.

Seonghwa had always been there as a member of ATEEZ, but there were a few things you hadn’t realized. For starters, Seonghwa definitely had his eyes on you and eagerly took the chance when Hongjoong mentioned your loneliness to him.

What could have been a simple “friends with benefits” situation turned into something much more spicy and fun. Park Seonghwa, with his irritating empathy, absurdly good looks, and exceptional ability to handle you while perfectly understanding your pace, had you on your knees for him.

Boy that was difficult conversation, though!

—

Finally, after a long day, Hongjoong was home, holding you in his warm embrace. It felt like ages since you’d last been this close cuddling together on the couch. You were itching to have the conversation with him, but with each passing moment, it became harder to find the words as you grew more and more anxious. This could go very badly, but you didn’t know when you’d get another chance to have this important conversation.

So you decided to just go for it.

“Joong… there’s something I need to talk about….” you began carefully, rehearsing the words in your head for the hundredth time.

“Yeah, honey?” he responded, eyes closed, his head resting in the crook of your neck.

“Umm… it’s just… we hardly get to spend time together like this anymore. I-I understand your responsibilities as the leader of ATEEZ, and…and I respect that. I’m not at all saying you should leave everything just to spend time with me, but… sometimes…well, quite often, actually...” You spoke quickly, trailing off as you hesitated for a moment before sitting up slowly, unsure of how to continue.

Hongjoong sat up too, now fully attentive, his intense yet soft eyes processing everything you were trying to say. He gently caressed your head as you struggled with your words.

“I feel like… this engagement… I don’t know if I can do it. I’m not saying I regret it or anything..” you continued, tears brimming in your eyes.

“You’re feeling lonely,” he finished softly. Gulping, you nodded as a tear escaped, trailing down your cheek.

“I had a feeling. And I’m really sorry…” he whispered.You only nodded, laying your head on his chest.Hongjoong held you close, his voice soft. “I know I haven’t been around much, and it breaks my heart to think that you’ve felt so alone.”

You nodded, the weight of your words still lingering between you.

After a pause, he continued, hesitant. “What if... Seonghwa stepped in? He cares about you, and I trust him. Maybe he could be there for you when I can’t.”

You blinked, heart racing. “Are you suggesting...?”

Hongjoong nodded, brushing the tear from your cheek. 'Let’s put the engagement aside for a while. I just don’t want you to feel lonely anymore.'”

—

Hongjoong knew that leaving his stunning fiancée with an equally handsome man could lead to serious trouble in the future, but it was the only way to fill the loneliness that had taken root in your heart. It seemed to be working though, as you appeared happier and more vibrant than ever.

What had started as a relationship with your consent and Joong’s approval was now taking center stage, overshadowing the true bond between you and Hongjoong.

Seonghwa's once-a-month visits quickly escalated to weekly meetings, and now, with neither of you holding back your lustful desires, those cheeky visits turned into almost daily steamy makeout sessions. Somehow, Seonghwa always managed to adjust his schedule, finding time to be with you.

But someone was definitely feeling a bit possessive. Hongjoong made a mental note to come home early that day.

The day started innocently enough, just you, alone in the house making breakfast as Seonghwa came over to keep you company. It was supposed to be a simple morning with the two of you enjoying breakfast. Just breakfast.

But somehow, things took a wild turn. One moment you were laughing over breakfast, and the next, you were pinned against the kitchen counter as Seonghwa thrust into you.His each thrust was precise as if he was savoring every moment with you. Slow and deliberate, each thrust teased you, making you beg for more. As his pace quickened, his grip tightened, as he pounded into you, like a maniac off leash, gifting you the kind of pleasure which took you to heaven, each stretch of his cock, each thrust hitting the spot, making your mind go blank.

“Hwa… more... don’t stop” you moaned as he decorated your neck with purple bruises, your fingers tangled in his hair, tugging and urging him on. Your lips parted with each thrust, his length hitting your cervix so perfectly that your toes curled from the intensity.

“Is my baby loving this? Want more, love?” His voice was soft yet teasing as his lips brush against your jaw.

“God, yes!” you gasped, your body arching into him as his lips left a trail of hot kisses along your jawline. His hips snapped harder, each thrust deeper than the last, sending waves of pleasure coursing through you.

Your body trembled as the tension built, every nerve lit up under Seonghwa’s precise rhythm. “Hwa… I-I can’t-t” you stuttered, the pressure overwhelming.

Each of his thrusts threatened to snap the tight knot inside you. You were on the edge, ready to break apart, knowing that when you did, Seonghwa would be there, holding you, carassing you, whispering sweet nothings into your ear with his honey-like voice.

“Oh, but you will.” he murmured darkly, his hips snapping against yours, driving you closer to insanity. His teeth grazed your jaw, sending shivers down your spine as the knot inside you finally snapped. Your breaths turned ragged as you came undone around him, moaning loudly at the intense pleasure coursing through your body, overwhelmed by the maniacal pace and precision Seonghwa had just gifted you.

This! this was what you had been missing. The craving, the slow burn, the sultry pleasure. While quickies with Hongjoong had become routine, you needed something deeper, something that lingered. And Seonghwa was giving you just that, more than you even realized you craved.

As your body trembled, still recovering from the high Seonghwa had just taken you to, you expected a moment to catch your breath. But Seonghwa clearly had other ideas. He smirked as he wrapped your legs around his waist, effortlessly lifting you, carrying you to the couch where the movie you’d planned to watch together played softly on the screen.

“We were supposed to watch this, remember?” you teased, but the glint in his eyes told you the movie wasn’t his focus.

“Oh, we will,” Seonghwa grinned mischievously. “Just in a different way.”

Before you could protest, he had you pinned against the couch, his hands sliding down your thighs as he repositioned himself between your legs. With one swift motion, he was back inside you, making you gasp. His slow, deliberate thrusts contrasted with the background noise of the film, but you couldn’t focus on anything other than the feeling of him filling you again.

Suddenly, the front door creaked open. Hongjoong stepped in, freezing in the doorway as his eyes took in the scene before him, you sprawled on the couch, Seonghwa thrusting into you with an unbothered smirk on his face.

Seonghwa cocky side immediately showed up. He didn’t stop, not even when Hongjoong entered. Instead, he met Hongjoong's gaze, flashing him a smug smile.

“Guess we couldn’t wait,” Seonghwa smirked, his voice dripping with playful arrogance as he kept thrusting, the rhythm of skin against skin blending with the muted TV in the background.

Hongjoong’s jaw tightened, eyes narrowing as he surveyed the scene, but Seonghwa just chuckled. “Come on, Captain, she needs more than your quick fixes.” he teased, his tone sultry.

His gaze locked onto yours, a wicked gleam in his eyes as you whimpered, caught between overwhelming pleasure and Hongjoong’s silent presence. “She loves being spoiled, doesn’t she?” he murmured, lips brushing your ear, the heat of his words igniting the moment. All you could do was respond with breathless moans as you eagerly waited for Hongjoong’s reaction. This was the first time Joong was present while you were being fucked by Seonghwa.

Even if Seonghwa’s attitude was rubbing Hongjoong the wrong way, he was enjoying the sight in front of him a little too much. Seeing his precious angel taken by his mate was something he didn’t know he would enjoy so much. Your pretty moans were the cherry on top, turning him on as he watched the steamy make-out session happening in front of him.

Seonghwa’s cocky smirk faded as Hongjoong stepped closer, his gaze dark and dangerous. “Think you’ve got her all figured out, huh?” Hongjoong’s calm voice carried an unmistakable dash of dominance.

Without breaking eye contact, he unbuttoned his jacket, tossing it aside before leaning over the couch, his fingers grazing your cheek. His touch was gentle, but the command in his eyes was clear.

“She loves being spoiled,” he murmured as his lips brushed on your forehead pressing a gentle kiss. His thumb slid down to your jaw. “But you forgot one thing, Hwa.” His gaze flicked to Seonghwa, who slowed down at the silent command. “She’s mine to spoil. It’s time I show you how it’s done.”

Hongjoong’s fingers curled possessively around your throat as he whispered, “Ready to let me take over, angel ?” His voice was a low growl as he gently moved your head onto his lap settling sideways on the couch while your body stayed beneath Hwa. “Let’s start with a kiss, shall we?” he suggested, his voice dripping with playful authority as he turned his attention to Seonghwa. “Show her just how steamy, messy and tasty you can be, Seonghwa.”

Seonghwa leaned in, his lips finding yours with an urgency that sent heat pooling in your core. The kiss deepened, and you melted against him, completely lost in the warmth of his mouth and the way he kissed you, his tongue exploring the sweet tastes of your mouth, messy yet it was as if you were the only thing that mattered in that moment.

“Now, my favorite spot,” Hongjoong teased, his tone low and sultry, the way his voice dropped sending a thrill through you. “Just behind her ear. You know how sensitive she is there.” Seonghwa chuckled softly, giving the captain a nod, his lips trailed from yours to the delicate curve of your neck, planting soft, lingering kisses that made you shiver with anticipation. Each brush of his lips sent electric tingles cascading down your spine, and Hongjoong’s eyes darkened, clearly turned on by the sight of you succumbing to Seonghwa’s touch.

You just had a steamy make-out session before Hongjoong, but what was happening now was on a whole different level. Hongjoong guiding, more like commanding Seonghwa as he explored you like a treasure map, following every route his captain suggested, moving from one checkpoint to another, finally arriving at the treasure chest, was not something you expected. But you weren’t complaining either. This had to be the best you’ve ever felt in your life.

“Perfect, isn’t she?” Hongjoong murmured, his gaze flickering between you and Seonghwa with a possessive glint. “Now, why don’t you play with my angel a little ?”

Seonghwa’s fingers glided down to your chest, teasingly brushing against your nipple. He rolled it between his fingers, the sensations drawing soft gasps from your lips. Hongjoong watched intently, his breath hitching with each gasp you made. “You like that, don’t you?” Seonghwa teased, his voice a sultry whisper that made your heart race as you gave him a faint smile.

“Mmm, she loves it,” Hongjoong chimed in, a playful smile on his lips, his own arousal was quite evident with how hard he was geeting. “But let’s keep exploring, shall we? How about a kiss on her waist next? Make it slow and sweet.”

Seonghwa’s mouth traveled down, kissing a trail along your waist, his lips warm and tender against your skin. The way he took his time made your breath hitch, anticipation building with each lingering kiss. “You’re such a treasure.” he murmured, making you blush. Hongjoong’s fingers tightened on your throat, the sight igniting a fire within him that was impossible to ignore.

“Now, for the main event,” Hongjoong said, a playful smirk on his face. “Show her what it means to be spoiled. Give her that delicious attention where she craves the most.”

Seonghwa wasted no time, lowering himself to the floor, his mouth finding your core which wwas dripping with sweeet juices, begging for attention. He teased you with slow, deliberate movements, his tongue explored you, each flick and swirl of his tongue had you gasping, pleasure radiating from your center as you whimpered beneath him.

“Look at her, Hwa,” Hongjoong encouraged, his voice thick with desire as he watched the two of you, his own arousal rising with each desperate sound that escaped your lips. “She’s absolutely perfect. Make her feel good, just like she deserves.”

Seonghwa’s mouth worked tirelessly, sending waves of bliss crashing over you, each lick drawing you closer to the edge. “God, you taste divine.” he murmured against you, the vibrations making you quiver, and Hongjoong’s breath caught in his throat, his excitement too hard to ignore as he took his hard cock out, which was rock hard and angry asking for a release.

He took your soft hand and wrapped it around his hard member trying to release some tension while Seonghwa was devouring you.

Seonghwa's tongue moved with expert precision, teasing and tasting you in ways that had you speedrunning to the edge. Your body trembled beneath him, each flick of his tongue sending shockwaves through you, while your hand instinctively rubbed Hongjoong's thick length. The heat of the moment had him throbbing in your palm, his breath hitching with every stroke, his head falling back on the couch.

"That’s it, angel. Just like that.." Hongjoong whispered, his voice strained with arousal. He guided your hand as Seonghwa intensified his rhythm, every movement perfectly timed to push you closer. The intense pressure building inside you was impossible to hold back, and finally, with a broken moan, you shattered beneath Seonghwa’s tongue, your release washing over you in waves as you came hard in Seonghwa’s mouth.

While Seonghwa licked you clean of your release, he held your free hand, his thumb tracing gentle circles to soothe you through the aftershocks. Meanwhile, Hongjoong groaned, his hips bucking into your other hand. The heat of the moment overtook him, and he followed soon after, his release spilling into your fingers. The sensual air was thick with shared satisfaction as all three of you were lost in the intense pleasure.

After cleaning up and changing into fresh clothes, the three of you finally settled on the couch, this time actually watching the movie.

You were nestled comfortably in the warm embrace of both Hongjoong and Seonghwa.

Thoughts of the wedding slipped to the back of your mind as you let yourself savor the present, enjoying the quiet comfort of the moment.

~ ~ Chérie ☆ signin’ off

Disclaimer : This is totally fictional and not a real depiction of the ATEEZ members. It's all just for fun only so please don’t take anything seriously and keep the mood light around here.

© ShixCherie.

[anton-luvr]

Hi, how have you been? I love your blog and the way you write!💖 I have a request to make, if you're comfortable with that... How would Riize react when you think they are cheating on you, but in reality it's all a misunderstanding, and they're just too busy. (English is not my first language so I'm sorry if this is a little confusing!)

# WHEN YOU THINK THEY'RE CHEATING ON YOU ; 7riize.

⚝ bf!riize x gn!reader | angst | bf au ⚝ note ; im kinda busy, but im doing good!! thank you so much ily :( and don't worry abt it i understood your req perfectly!! thank u for requesting, i hope u like it <3

# SHOTARO. - for the first time ever, shotaro doesn't smile. he can only sit in silent shock while he processes your words, and the first thing he can think of to do is to hug you. holds you tight as he whispers apologies over and over again, feeling terrible that he made you think that he was cheating on you. reassures you gently that he would never, and promises that once he gets a rest day, he'll spend all his free time with you.

# EUNSEOK. - eunseok isn't one who usually shows his emotions, but pain and guilt is so evident on his face after hearing what you said. he had no idea that you were feeling this way from how busy he's been these days, and he feels awful about it. tells you that he's sorry while wiping your tears away, and he swears to himself to start treating you with more love and care from that day onwards, starting from right now.

# SUNGCHAN. - he hates himself for making you think that he was cheating on you. calls up his boss immediately with the fakest cough and sneezes, lying without batting an eye about how he was 'terribly sick' and needed 'at least two days off' to 'recover'. he spends those two days with you, never once leaving your side as he takes you out to all your favorite places and showers you with love and compliments.

# WONBIN. - even though he immediately reassures you that he's not cheating on you and spends the night with you in his arms, he still feels so bad. life still goes on as usual for the both of you the next day, him busy at work while you were busy with yours. but just to make it up to you, wonbin has a bouquet sent right up into your office - a bouquet of a hundred and one roses, reminding you that you're his one and only lover.

# SEUNGHAN. - he understands how you feel and why'd you think that way, so other than seunghan promising that he'll try to spend more time with you, he also lets you voice out your worries in detail. he listens with full attention, nodding when you mention how you didn't like one of his female coworkers because she seemed so close with your boyfriend. and right after the words have left your lips, seunghan slips out his phone and blocks her on everything, right in front of you. he wants you to rest assured knowing that he couldn't care less for anyone else in this world other than you.

# SOHEE. - sohee has not and would never cheat on you. he loves you too much for that. he tells you just that as he gently kisses away your tears, holding you tightly in his arms for the rest of the night. he feels horrible for making you feel insecure in your relationship, so he makes sure to shower you in extra affection for the next few days. breakfasts in bed, long kisses before he leaves for work, and constant updates with photos about his day to you.

# ANTON. - his heart literally shatters into pieces. he can't help but cry too, because how could he make the love of his life feel this way? he apologizes to you through sniffles and sobs, promising you that he'd never cheat on you. tries his best to finish up his work faster the next day so he can come straight home to you and into your arms.

© anton-luvr, 2023.

taglist : @wonbons @mxlly143 @keehobaldboy @shawyle @yenart @lycheecheeseyogurt

[thisonehere]

Can you write about yandere MK1 Kuai Liang getting jealous of female reader and Smoke's growing relationship and kidnaps the reader to try to convince her they are meant for each? (Maybe a bonus scene where Tomas goes to save her)😁

Yandere!Kuai x Reader

A/n: Oooo that's pretty dark...love it! I never really did a gull on yandere fic so this should be interesting lol

Tags: Request, Drabble, Mk AU, NSFW, Yandere

C/w: things get kinda dark, Kidnapping, light torture, starvation, vomiting, violence, happy(ish) ending

"Please, you have to understand...this is the best for you."

Kuai assured you as he tightened the ropes around your wrists. He had asked you to come into a private room with him, he said it was important, an emergency with Tomas. Before you knew it, he overpowered you and then everything went black. When you awoke your arms were bound to the bedframe in some strange room. You fought desperately at the bindings, maybe almost getting them loose. And then Kuai walked in. "Thank the Elder Gods, you're awake."

At the sight of him, you felt the pounding in your head. You screamed at him in confusion. He shushes you so calmly, as if he didn't attack you. You looked into his eyes and saw a crazed look in it. Like a predator looking down at its helpless prey, ready to pounce.

Kuai had always wanted you. He was so sure you wanted him as well. How couldn't you? He was the only one for you just as you were the only one for him. Even better, he was the best of the brothers. Tomas, though Kuai loved him, was too soft...too broken to be loved. Bi-Han was a prideful hothead. He, in his mind, was the perfect brother. Surely you had to see it. He was loved by so many, regarded with honor and praise by Liu Kang and so many others. He had the love of the people, but he wanted yours as well, all of it. He refused to share it.

The closer you grew together, more of your friends ghosted you, more of your family suddenly stopped seeing you, anyone who so much as tried to flirt with you suddenly went missing, you seemed to be in constant danger and Kuai would always be there to save you, leaving you with no choice but to stay with him. At that point you clung to him that your very life seemed to depend on him.

He was so sure you were all his...then you and Tomas happened. Words cannot describe the fury he developed. He loved Tomas greatly...but you were his, not Tomas's. Kuei can't count how many times he has served in anger watching you two be together. But you didn't know about this for a second, he seems so happy for the both of you. You had no idea that he was in your room watching you and him sleep, that he had been following you to, that he has been taking things like your clothes and even a lock of your hair to smell as he touched himself.

He knew you were never anything official you being with Tomas was like cheating on him, playing in his face as you happily paraded your little affair with his brother like the malevolent whore you were. "My first thought...My first thought was to kill you, I won't lie..." Kuai said as he pet caresses your cheek, a sweet smile on his face. The image of him strangling in you flashes past his eyes, he softly chuckles. "But before that...I think you owe it to me and yourself to give us a chance." His voice was so sweet, so soft, his touch was warm, his smile was kind, he seemed like such a beautiful soul...if only you knew about this devil's true form.

"This is Insanity!" You try to argue "Kuai, I don't-please just let me go, please. I-I promise, I won't tell anyone, please." Kuai just stared at you, perfectly calm as if he expected this. "We belong together, Y/n" he says finally. "I won't release you until you understand that."

"W-What about Tomas!?" Kuai's smile flinched slightly at the mention of his brother. "I know you two have a...bond, but soon you'll forget all about him. You won't think about another man, Im the only one for you after all "

---

"Have you seen Y/n?" Concern was heavy in Tomas's voice. He hasn't seen you in days, he is getting really scared now. He spent hours pacing across the floor worrying where you were, he got a little more paper, her stopped eating as much, he even stopped sleeping, he was so scared for you how could he care for such things when you were missing?

"No, I am sorry, brother." Kuai looked at his brother sadly. Hearing this made Tomas's heart sink lower. He began to bite at his nails in nervousness. Where could you be, are you okay? Did he do something that caused you to avoid him? Oh gods, he would do anything to see you. Kuai noticed the dark circle around Tomas's eyes, he laid a hand on his shoulder, his gaze softened. "Don't worry, Tomas, I am certain that Y/n us okay. She has a good reason for all of this, I sure." His smile is a slight comfort, his words put him at a somewhat ease. Wherever you are, whatever you're doing he hopes that your okay.

--

How long has it been? You wonder. The last time you counted was a month and 3 weeks, but wherever Kuai moved you didn't have any windows or any outlet to let you see the outside world. You touched your hollow belly as you rumbled, Kuai hadn't fed you for what felt like a week, the punishment for you trying to escape. You were so tired, so thirsty, so sleep deprived. Kuai left you a thin mattress, a blanket, and a small pillow, but how could you sleep through something like this. You spent most of the time staring at the wall, or what you thought was a wall, the room was so dimly lit that you could barely tell and your eyes were puffy from hours of crying.

You wondered about Tomas, was he thinking about you too. Maybe he thought ghosted him and moved on. No, he was no doubt still wondering about you, probably really sad, Tomas really loved you. And you, perhaps you took it all for granted, you didn't take him seriously enough, maybe. All you knew is that if you ever saw him again, you'd hold him and never let go. You'd rather him than Kuai any day. All this time, you had thought he was the level headed and calm brother, the good one. But being here, after all that Kuai has done to you, it has made you rethink things immensely. Perhaps that is what Kuai wanted, for every to believe that he was the good one. He used Bi-Han's actions, every outburst and every time he snapped and was mean, to make himself look good. At least Bi-Han was blatant about who he truly was and didn't hide, he wasn't a wolf in sheep's clothing like his Kuai.

Your thoughts are quickly interrupted as you hear the door's lock clicking open. The door slowly swings open and light is poured into the room, you haven't seen light in so long that it burned your eyes to see it. It made it even harder to look as Kuai enters, his face is so calm and pleasant looking, it made you sick to see it. He smiles at you warmly and you feel your stomach churn as you try to avoid looking at him. "I have a gift for you, a treat. You have been so good for me that I had to reward you." He held a plate of moon cakes and a glass of milk, something he didn't give you often. He gently lays it next to and stays near it, you had to crawl over and eat it, the chain attached to the collar around your neck made it hard hard to reach it. You mumbled a thanks under your breath but just enough for him to hear you, it was painful to do it, but you were so hungry that you were willing to swallow your pride to swallow even a bit of sustenance.

He smiles as he watches you, "You are most welcome, beloved." You didn't like that word, and you like how he reached out to caress your face. But you didn't fight back, you were too scared to. If you made one wrong move then it would be likely that he'd hurt you. So you just sat there as he looked at you with that sickening smile. "We belong together, Y/n. Tomas is good, but you should be with me. You must feel it like I do. Just give yourself to me and I'll give you a better place to stay, maybe even let you go outside, Fang Jian is so beautiful this time of year. I would love to hold your hand in the sun, make love to you in the fields." The idea of him on top of you, smiling as he pumped into you, oh gods, this was a nightmare. You would sooner let an infected Tarkatan take you here and now than that.

You structure your face to give a demure expression, giving the illusion that you're actually considering such a thing. This is enough for Kuai, he smiles at seeing you seemingly considering it. "Please think about this. Think about us. Tomas loves you...but I adore you." And with that he kisses you softly on the forehead, rising to his feet and leaves. As the door closes, all of the light is that once flooded the room now slinks away back behind the door, leaving in darkness again. You tried to force another bite down, tried not to think about anything. But it fights it way up from your throat, through your mouth, and spills into the floor. You clung tightly to yourself as you begin to sob uncontrollably.

You can't take this anymore, you have to escape...be it in life or by death.

---

It has been almost 2 months, where are you!? Tomas barely got any sleep, he got up early in the morning and late in the evening to search for you. He won't stop looking for you, he won't give up on you. Kuai and the so many other members of the clan aid him in his search. It's like you disappeared from the face of the earth. "Did you find anything? Any possible trace where Y/n might be?" Tomas said as he saw Kuai enter the room. Kuai sadly shakes his head appearing guilty ridden at his failure. "No trace of her, I have spoken with Liu Kang, he'll Raiden and Kung Lao in searching." He lied.

Tomas sighed with relief, knowing that Liu Kang and his champions would be siding with him at some ease. They'll surely be a great aid, maybe you'll be found. Though he did feel a bit anxious about himself, this was a being who knowingly sacrificed Tomas's family just to help his keep his timeline "perfect". But he was so worried over you that he couldn't care less who was helping him, just as long as they helped get you back. He looked back into his brother's eyes, hopeful, he couldn't help but notice an upset look on his face. Like he was internally seething about something. "Kuai, are you-"

"I am well, I am just...so worried about Y/n. Anything could be happening to them right now. She could be getting tortured, or alone in a dark and cold cellar, or-" Tomas wanted to listen to his brothers words...but he couldn't help but notice the left side of his face. 4 small cuts decorated it.

---

Kuai is going to kill you, you're sure of it. You're so scared, you hugged yourself tightly and you rolled up into a ball. You were too frightened to even think about how empty your stomach was. You swiped at him, marking his face and leaving blood between your fingers. You don't remember why you did it you had blacked out, maybe he tried to force himself onto you, maybe you just snapped and attacked him. All you could remember was Kuai standing over you, a furious look on his face as blood dripped down it. Before you say anything, you felt the back of Kuai's collide with your face, causing you to slam into the ground. He lets out a frustrated sigh.

You tasted the hot, iron blood on your tongue as you tried to regain your barrings. Kuai turned his back from you, his fist clenched, he stormed out of the room and violently slammed the door behind him. Leaving alone in the dark, your heart racing, your eyes leaking with tears.

Now you're here, your face bruised, your body in a tight ball trying to console yourself as you face your possible doom. What does Kuai mean by "convincing"? Oh gods, was he about to murder you in a crime passion, a "if I can't have you no one can" sort of way. It was going to lock you away, somewhere darker, colder, where he would torture you into obedience. Can you imagine it? You left a hollow shell of what you used to be, bent to Kuai's will. No longer you, you're wants now his wants.

---

Tomas must've been crazy, surely he was. Surely Kuai didn't do it, surely he didn't kidnap you. He wouldn't, he'd never. The Kuai he knew and loved was an honorable warrior, a good man. He was kind, he was loving, he was his brother. He'd never do such a genius thing...if that was the case then why was he following his brother? He wondered. After he saw those claw marks on his face. He must've been crazy because those fresh claw marks reminded him so much of you. He remembered how he used to spend hours holding your hand, it was the most intimate thing you've done.

Kuai said it was an animal attack, something he acquired while looking for you. Tomas tried to convince himself that that was the case over an dover again. But that didn't stop him from wondering, didn't stop him from following his brother. He kept a good distance, clinging to the shadows, keeping his feet light, and staying invisible for the most part. Where was his brother going? He didn't stop at any shops as he passed through a market place, he passed Madame Bo's, the only thing in this route was a secret safe house that was established years ago.

Why was he going there though? Maybe it was to meet with a possible source that knew of your whereabouts, he hoped. He prayed silently to any god that was listening, practically begged, for that to be the case. But as they near the building, that seems to be less and less of the case. There was no one around, the house was empty. Kuai marched through the house and opened a door to go into the underground level of the building. He didn't seem to aimlessly wander about, he was marching with a purpose.

He flew down the dimly lit hallway to a door at the end. It had multiple locks attached to it, they looked new, freshly bought and couldn't have been there for more than two months. That's how long you've been missing. No...dear gods, please, it can't be. Tomas felt sick to his stomach and felt like he was about to lose his balance. Kuai took a key out of his pocket and unlocked each lock with care. He then would open the door, in a haunting slow manor and then went inside.

The whole world felt like it was going in slow motion as Kuai entered the room and Tomas followed.

---

Kuai approached you, his footsteps echoing off the walls. Your vision was blurred thanks to the sting of your tears, you haven't cried this much since you were first taken. You feel a strange thing inside, hollow yet full of grief, empty yet overflowing with tears. You finally looked up to see him, Kuai looked down at you both calm and annoyed. "I don't understand you, Y/n, why do you this game up. Some days you're so warm, things are perfect, other days..." He trails off and angrily shakes his head. "I'm so tired of this Y/n, having to convince you how perfect we are together, how right your hand is in mind, and then you pushing me away. I don't think I can play this anymore."

He reaches out and strokes your cheeks, wiping a tear away, he eyes the mark on your face. A remorseful look spreads across his eyes and he softens, no longer angry at you. "I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to hurt you. Sometimes I just get frustrated, and sometimes I need to let it out. You made me do it, I love you so much, you make it so difficult to love you this much. If you would just be good then I would never need to do that." He pulled you in close, you cry even harder. "Shhhh, it's okay, Y/n" he comforts you. "I know your sorry, you don't have to say it, I forgive you." His coos gently.

He holds tightly, so tight that it feels like he could crush your ribs if you resisted, all you could do was continue to weep in his arms. The sweet scent you always knew him for now smells so repugnant your nose. At this moment you felt ready to die, ready to take any necessary steps to get away from Kuai. Maybe provoke Kuai into killing you. Tomas would be the last thing you thought of, the last name you cried out as you went.

You missed him so much, you wanted him, you needed him. It was all so bad that you started to imagine him appearing in the doorway, a horrified expression on his face. Oh gods, you missed him so much to the point of hallucination.

"Y/n...Kuai..." At this, you felt Kuai's muscles tense.

---

Tomas's feet felt heavy as he stepped forward. "Kuai..." He started, but he didn't know what to say, what would he even say? He stared at his brother, his arms around you as he was faced away from his brother. He looked you in the eyes, the giant bruise on your face as you red eyes spewed tears. If Tomas were to ever go to hell, this is what he'd see.

"Tomas..." Kuai addressed him, his voice unusually cold and distant. He slowly rose to his feet, and he slowly craned his neck around to look at his brother. Kuai face was solemn and knowing, as if he anticipated this happening. A hint of a remorseful shadow looks over his face for a moment before fading back into a stern look. "What is this? What did you do to Y/n?! What is happening." Tomas demanded with a shaking voice. His eyes darted from you to his brother finally resting on Kuia, being sure to look him in the eyes. "You...you were keeping Y/n here, all this time...it was you!" Kuai just nodded silently as he returned Tomas's horrified gaze.

"Why...WHY!!" Tomas's voice vibrated off the walls. Kuai closed his eyes and took a deep breath. "Tomas, you have to understand, I never meant to-" "Why!?" Tomas interrupted. "Because I love Y/n!" The room fell silent for a second. Tomas's vision was blurred with fresh tears starting to burn down his face. "I love Y/n, I love her in ways that you can never comprehend, Tomas, and seeing you two together...do you have idea how maddening that was? How painful to see the one I love with another?" Kuai himself began to shed a few tears as he stared down his brother, his voice was also getting shaky. Tomas looked at his brother through a new disturbed look. Kuai knew that the day would come where he would have to reveal everything to Tomas, he knew To as wouldn't take it the best. But the look he gave Kuai hurt more than could ever anticipate. All the brother could do was stare other down.

"Kuai, please," Tomas begged as he slowly approached Kuai. "Let Y/n go. Please, I'll let Y/n go too. For her safety we'll both let her be free, away from us, where she can be happy." Kuai's eyes widen as he backs away, being sure to block Tomas's path to you. He shakes his head, "No..." He bellowed, "I want Y/n, I can never let her go. Y/n belongs with me, not you, not anyone else, me."

At that second, you rise up quickly and stab Kuai in the back. While he was embracing you, he didn't notice that you had gently slipped his kunai from his side. Kuai let out a scream as he drugged the blade into his flesh and fell to the ground. For sadistic pleasure, you twisted the blade just a little bit causing him to whine in pain. He looks at you, heartbroken and betrayed. "Y/n..." He moans in pain, the tears fall even heavier. He gives you a longing gaze as he seems to go unconscious, you return his gaze with disgust.

Tomas stared at his brother, nothing could come to his head. The whole world felt like it was frozen again. His brother laid there bleeding out, you stared at him too, a sense of relief seemingly washes over you. "Y/n!" He stammers as he rushes at your side, and he embraces you, "Are you okay?"

His scent, his warmth, everything you've missed so much. "No...I'm not." You thought you missed it at least, but you felt so empty inside, you wanted to be happy so badly, but Kuai took all the joy from you in all those months he spent holding you captive, torturing you with hunger and loneliness. All you wanted right was to hold Tomas tight, cling to something, anything that would bring you some peace. You felt so filthy, so broken, now all you wanted to feel was Tomas's warm flesh as you wept. You honestly hoped Kuai wasn't dead, death was too good for him. After all he put you through, you wanted him to suffer all the more.

You bury your face deeper into his chest as you continued to sob and clung to him desperately. "Everything's going to be okay, I'm going to get you out of here and everything's going to be okay..." He stared at his brother's bloody body, his eyes fixed on Tomas and you embracing, tears continued to fall from his eyes. "Everything's going to be okay..." he repeats to you, his voice shakier as he cries harder.

[fanfic-inator795]

Slay the Evil Scientist: A Perryshmirtz fic inspired by the game, "Slay the Princess".

((Still can't believe that it was this AU and Perryshmirtz in-general of all things to break my nearly half-a-year bout of writer's block. But hey, I'm not complaining! And I hope you all enjoy this.

This fic can stand on its own, so you don't need to know anything about StP to read this - although I do somewhat spoil the big twist of the game so fair warning on that. Also, trigger warning for temporary character death and mild violence, though nothing too gorey or descriptive. And remember: This is a love story))

The Agent opened his eyes, and took in his surroundings. He wasn’t sure how he’d gotten there, or what he was supposed to be doing - but before he could start to ponder or panic about this, a stern voice in his head told him all he needed to know.

“Agent, you’re on a path in the woods.” This much was obvious, given all the trees that surrounded him and the dirt road underneath his webbed feet.

“At the end of this path is a tower,” the gruff voice continued, “and in that tower is a scientist. An evil scientist. Your mission is to slay him… or the entire world will end.”

As he heard this, the Agent’s eyes widened. Slay? As in kill? He didn’t even fully know who he was, and he was expected to just take a life? Just like that? It was more than a little jarring… At the same time though, the words “evil” and “world-ending” weighed heavily in his mind.

If the Voice was telling the truth, then his ‘mission’ of sorts would still be a noble one, regardless of its gruesome nature. And even if he couldn’t remember much about this world that surrounded him, the twisting trees looming over like towering shadows and the bright moon shining down on him like a spotlight, the Agent knew in his heart of hearts that he couldn’t just stand passively by and let this evil scientist destroy everything.

So, the Agent steeled his nerves and began trekking down the short path. In only a few minutes, he reached the tower, just as was promised. The tower was a faded purple in color, sharp and angled with only a single light shining through its open balcony.

Entering the tower, the Agent immediately spotted a laser gun resting on a small table near the front door. The Voice advised him to take it, as it would make completing his mission much easier, and the Agent did so without much hesitation.

As the Agent climbed up the stone stairs, the Voice continued to warn him of what was to come. “He will lie, cheat, trick, trap - he will do anything to try and get the upper hand. Do not give him that chance. You cannot let him win. Your mission must be completed, for the sake of this world and everyone in it.”

The Agent nodded, understanding perfectly. Once he reached the top of the stairs, he swiftly kicked the door in, and kept his steady hand on the gun’s grip as he stepped inside.

Naturally, his sudden presence caught the attention of his target, the so-called evil scientist. Really, the only thing ‘scientific’ about him though was his stark white lab coat that was somehow free of dirt (despite the fact that the scientist was sitting on the dust-covered floor, forced to do so due to the heavy metal chain around his wrist). His brown hair was wildly messy, and he had dark bags under his eyes.

For a moment, the Agent thought the scientist looked a bit concerned - a bit scared, even. But, when the scientist spotted the laser gun in his hand, he sneered coldly at the Agent. “And just what do you think you are going to do with that, hmm?” he asked, with noticeable venom slipping into his thick German accent. “What? Are you here to thwart me or something?”

The Agent glared back at him and raised his weapon, pointing it directly at the Scientist’s head, the Voice’s warnings still echoing in his head. This was for the greater good. Taking only a second to aim, he fired. ZAP!

It was a fatal wound, that much was obvious, just as it was a bit of a relief. Evil or no, the Agent had at the very least tried to make it a quick death, figuring that even world-destroying villains deserved that much. 

However, as the scientist began to slump over, a shocked expression still stuck on his face, he could’ve sworn that he heard the villain quietly mumble “Curse you…” before hitting the floor. Dead as a doorknob, though that didn’t stop the Agent from wincing at the sight. He felt sick, a cold chill going up his spine.

The Voice, meanwhile, was as pleased as could be. “Well done, Agent! Your mission is officially a success! Thank you for saving our world. You did the right thing.”

The Agent said nothing, his gaze still locked onto the scientist’s corpse, doing his best to push back any questions and potential feelings of regret he might have had. Eventually, he was able to turn himself around and begin his trek back down the stairs.

Except, he never made it to the tower’s front door. A sort of mysterious force began to surround him, sweeping him up like a wave and plunging him into unconsciousness.

When he woke up, the Agent was back in the woods on an old dirt path, with a gruff voice in his head giving him his mission.

()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()

“This is your mission, your duty,” the Voice insisted, “One that you MUST complete, for all our sakes.” There was no other option, at least as far as the Voice was concerned. No compromise, no option to fail or surrender.

It was… a lot to take in. Frankly, regardless of the Voice’s claims, the Agent wasn’t sure if he could understand it - if he could just blindly accept this ‘mission’ without any argument. Just what was so ‘evil’ about this scientist anyway? Did he really need to-?

“No,” the Voice boomed in his head as he walked towards the tower, “You CAN’T question the mission, Agent!” 

Despite himself, the Agent just barely resisted the urge to flinch at the commanding tone to - barely resisted the urge to completely fall in line to the Voice’s whims. 

As if understanding this, the Voice quickly took on a more sympathetic tone. “Please, I understand that the fight can be taxing, but trust me when I say you cannot reason with evil… If you do, it could put everything - everyone - in danger…”

The Agent said nothing in return, though he did offer the Voice a short nod in acknowledgment, not completely ignoring its perspective even if he himself was still mulling over his next few choices.

In the end, he still decided to grab the laser gun as he entered the tower, just in case. However, instead of choosing to kick the tower’s final door down, the Agent used his hand to simply turn the knob, entering the room in a relatively peaceful manner. Once he was fully inside, he could see that the Scientist was chained by his wrist to the wall near the balcony, looking unsure and cautious as the Agent stepped forward.

“…And just what do you want?” the Scientist asked, managing a small scowl. The Voice continued to whisper warnings of “villain” and “evil” and “trap”. But the man still seemed harmless. Maybe not innocent, but not yet a threat.

So the Agent stepped forward, curious to see if the Scientist would actually make a move and prove the Voice’s concerns right. The Scientist raised an eyebrow, but didn’t do anything more.

“…Are- Are you actually going to use that thing?” he asked as soon as he spotted the Agent’s weapon. “Because, if you’re asking ME whether or not to shoot me, I- I definitely wouldn’t recommend it! Yep. Toooootally unnecessary.” The Agent huffed slightly, unsure if the Scientist was joking or if he was simply failing to give a serious plea for his life.

“Although,” the Scientist continued, lifting his imprisoned arm, “You could maybe use it to get me out of here. Just one little zap should do it! And it really would help me out here. …Soooo?”

The Agent stayed silent as he weighed his options. He didn’t think it was completely necessary to take the scientist’s life, but he wasn’t sure if just letting him go was the best choice either - especially when the Voice just kept warning him of how badly doing just that could backfire on not only him but also a world filled with innocent people.

“You cannot reason with evil… He will lie, cheat, trick, trap - he will do anything to try and get the upper hand…”

The longer he stayed silent, the more impatient the Scientist became. “Okay, okay, fine. Don’t help me out then, I can get out of these chains just fine on my own. Oh yeah, I’ve got a lotta big ideas up in here-“ he pointed at his head, doing his best to look confident, “Tons of ‘em! And none of them involve the help of some duck-beaver guy who can’t stop giving me the silent treatment. So there!”

A boastful claim, and one that the Agent rolled his eyes slightly at. As far as he could tell, this ‘scientist’ didn’t exactly seem all that clever, regardless of whether or not he was actually dangerous. And it was this thought that allowed the Agent to let his guard down ever so slightly…

“Yep, I could… Let’s see, I could… I could invent my way out! Yeah, I could create some sort of chain-picking-inator! Or- Or a chain disintegrator-inator! That could definitely be handy. Heh, get it?” The Scientist put on a cheeky grin as he waved his hand at the Agent, rattling the chains with each movement. “Handy? It would be handy? …Be-Because my arm is- is the thing that’s trapped. You get it, right?”

The Agent just stared flatly at him. Yep, definitely a fool. As far from an ‘evil mastermind’ as you could get. (Even if he is a fool, he’s still a danger that needs to be stopped once and for all, the Voice reminded him.) 

The Scientist then shrugged slightly, dropping all sense of boastfulness. “Or I could, you know, just break my hand. That could probably work too. I could break it juuust enough for me to slide it out! Of course, I imagine that would be pretty painful, so maybe we save that for Plan C or D.”

Twisting the heavy chain in his hand, the Scientist slowly lifted his gaze, looking the Agent straight in the eyes. “Although, if you were in my shoes and were trapped here as long as I have, I think you’d agree that there are much worse things than a few broken bones…”

A familiar chill ran up the Agent’s spine. Even if he was able to speak, he wasn’t sure if he would have been able to think of a proper response to that. Just how long HAD the Scientist been trapped in this tower?

“Buuuut in the meantime, if I had to go with the best Plan A, I would just use that thing right behind you!” the Scientist suddenly shouted, pointing over the Agent’s shoulder.

Without thinking, the Agent turned to look - and immediately felt something grip the scruff of his neck, yanking him forward. If not for his instincts, he likely would’ve gone straight into the purple-bricked wall, probably bruising his beak or possibly even earning himself a nasty concussion. Instead, the Agent managed to tuck his head in just in time, meeting the floor instead of the wall.

He heard the Scientist let out a sharp laugh in victory. “Ha, gotcha!” No longer gripping the Agent’s neck, he then reached for the laser - an action that sparked enough panic in the Agent that he was able to tighten his grip on the weapon as he rolled over onto his back. A hard kick sent the Scientist flying backwards, stretching the still-attached chain as far as it would go.

With a grunt, the Scientist glared. “Ugh, why you-!” He lunged for the laser gun again, and was actually able to get his hands on it. The Agent growled back at him, refusing to let the gun go. They wrestled over it for what felt like several pulse-pounding seconds stretched out to minutes, neither of them able to take aim. 

“Just- Just give it to me already!” the Scientist shouted in frustration before elbowing the Agent sharply in the stomach. But, with the Scientist now being so close to him, the Agent was able to take advantage of this new angle. Grappling his opponent’s arm, he twisted it and forced the Scientist to release his grip. Once the weapon was his, the Agent took aim and fired - ZAP! - hitting the Scientist square in the heart. A fatal wound.

The Scientist gave a grunt, and before succumbing to his fate, he gave the Agent one last scowl. “C-Curse you…” he stuttered before finally falling dead on the floor.

Still panting a bit, the Agent quickly picked himself off the floor, taking a couple steps back from the corpse. But as the Voice congratulated him on a job well done, it all just fell on deaf ears as the Agent still kept an eye on his former target, wanting to make sure he didn’t get back up.

The fight didn’t feel over, somehow… And indeed, as darkness crept into the tower and the mysterious cycle began anew, the Agent promised himself that he would never underestimate the Evil Scientist again.

()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()

For several lifetimes, the Agent was able to truly understand the full spectrum of the sort of threat that the Evil Scientist could be under the right circumstances as their rivalry with each other continued to grow and shift and change.

There were times when, whether it be out of returning curiosity or a sudden burst of empathy, the Agent actually gave him a chance to try and fight for his freedom (much to the Voice’s disappointments and frustration), where the Scientist was actually able to show off his skills - his many so-called ‘-inators’, built from his own imagination and whatever scraps of material he could find within his prison, each of them varying in ability and often prompting unexpected (sometimes even impossible!) results.

Even with the claims of “Evil, Villain, Destroyer, Monster” continuously echoing in the Agent’s head each time he confronted the imprisoned scientist, the Agent didn’t feel this was accurate, at least not completely. The Scientist was maybe a bit unhinged, sure. Certainly still a bit foolish too. But he was also fascinating in a way, his own brand of cleverness being something that the Agent could never get a complete grasp on, no matter how many times they fought - every sudden trick and makeshift trap and surprise punch always caught his attention.

It was interesting, exciting… Maybe even a bit fun! And, while he still fought for the Scientist’s continued imprisonment, the Agent couldn’t help but somewhat appreciate the more notable surprises that came from the Scientist each time he brought out a never-before-seen invention or surprised the Agent with a new countering move. Even during their most intense fights, they’d manage to smirk and grin with each passion-filled clash, each punch or kick or trick or glorious fight-ending explosion. 

But not all fights had moments that could be enjoyed or appreciated. Far from it, in fact...

Sometimes, when the Agent was reminded of just how dangerous (how evil) the Scientist could potentially be when pushed to his brink, the tower morphed and shifted upon his following return, becoming a whole armory, its atmosphere now harshe and cold.

Though he was still bound by chains and unable to escape on his own accord, the Scientist - now looking more like a dictator of sorts, clad in black instead of white with a scarred eye and gloved hands that seemed to be built for merciless cruelty - was surrounded by weapons. Guns and knives and vicious machines, all meant for the sole purpose of winning their eternal face-off.

But, even if he only had his lone laser pistol and his fists, the Agent never backed down, facing the Dictator head on. They’d clash over the course of an eternity, equally dealing fatal blows to each other as they each desperately tried to gain the upper hand. It was all futile, however, for even if the Agent was able to stop the Dictator from escaping and unleashing his wrath upon the world, often he would end up perishing soon after.

“Heh, at least… we’ll both go… together,” the Dictator noted with gritted teeth before adding a “Curse you…”, making sure to have the last word as they both died.

As for the times where he managed to live, the Agent still never made it past the tower’s front door, being immediately swept into another world - another mission, another fight. 

Sometimes though, when he was truly leaning into his pure chaotic nature, the Agent didn’t meet with the Dictator.

Instead of looking like a defensive artillery, the Tower would sometimes take the form of a Wizard’s keep, filled with dangerous magic that took the form of twisted staffs and bubbling potions in huge caldrons instead of weapons and gadgets. 

The Wizard himself still dressed in dark colors, now with horns adorning the top of his head and glowing red eyes while the rest of him was draped in a dark green cloak. The Wizard’s unhindered access to magic sometimes made it difficult for the Agent to keep on his toes, still only ever being given a single laser gun by whatever force controlled the world that surrounded them - but different strategies and all the new ways they both used to fight back against one another still led to the same batch of results in the end.

In worlds where his opponent’s desperation was reaching a breaking point, however, something more wild and primal was found lurking in the tower’s plant-filled shadows…

No longer a Scientist or even fully a man, the Beast would present itself with torn clothes and golden fur covered in dark spots, growling and glaring with narrow green eyes as a long tail twitched behind him with an immovable chain clasped around his neck. The Agent, in turn, would have to let out his own animalistic side when they fought, lest he be mauled (or even worse) by the Beast.

But whether he was a Beast or an Inventor or a Wizard or Evil Dictator, the Agent still fought with all he had, succeeding in his mission over and over and over again. But, even as his memory continued to be wiped with each death or dive into unconsciousness, the fatigue started to linger, as did his sympathies for his eternally-imprisoned adversary.

“Please,” the Scientist begged with gritted teeth, unable to stop the tears from forming in his eyes even as he tried and failed to land just one more punch, “I just want to go! I- I hate being trapped in this stupid tower! I hate it!”

Their eyes met once more, and the Scientist’s shouts became a whisper. “You hate being trapped in all this too, don’t you?” The Agent said nothing, though his expression told his opponent all he needed to know. “W-We can leave this tower together, just the two of us. We don’t have to be trapped anymore. We-”

His heart might have started to wane - but the Voice still cut through the Agent’s mind like a knife. “Absolutely not.”

ZAP! The Agent didn’t even remember pulling the trigger, but he couldn’t forget the look of utter betrayal and hatred and pain that the Scientist gave him as he crumbled to the floor, his tears finally being allowed to fall. “Curse you,” he mumbled before finally breaking his gaze.

The Agent’s gun clattered to the floor, and he felt too sick to move. “It was your duty, Agent. For the mission,” the Voice reminded him, a hint of sympathy (but never regret) now present in his tone. The Agent just scowled, and silently passed his fallen enemy’s curse along. 

()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()

“Agent, you’re on a path in the woods. At the end of this path is a tower, and in that-”

The Agent growled at him, his fists clenched. No. No more. He was done.

“W-What? Agent, please, you can’t! This- This is your duty, and you must-!”

Nope, not happening. Screw the Voice. Screw the world. He was done being a pawn. Without another thought, the Agent turned on his heel and stomped away from the familiar path, the tower in the distance becoming smaller and smaller with each step.

Angered now, the Voice continued trying to assert his authority, his endless orders now making him sound less like a firm guide and more like some sort of commander - a general, or perhaps a major. But the Agent refused to bow to this authority, and continued forward even as the path began to wind and morph beyond normal comprehension.

But despite how hard he fought against fate, he still eventually came face-to-face with the tower once more - standing firm and tall within the newly formed void, assuring that the Agent no longer had any sort of choice. Except, of course, the choice to come in peace. And so, when he finally entered the tower, the Agent refused to take the weapon with him, continuing to ignore the Voice’s rage as he climbed up the stairs unarmed.

The tower’s balcony was bare, no weapons or inventions to be seen. A lone figure stood in the dark, illuminated through the light of the full moon shining through the open window. The chain attached to the shadowy figure was covered in a thick coating of dust (for what reason had he had to ever move from his assigned spot?) and the figure itself was as still as a ceramic statue, his clothes simple and bare and without personality. Was he even still alive, the Agent wondered.

It was only when the Agent began to step back towards the door did the figure finally speak, his shaking voice breaking like glass as he quietly pleaded. “D-Don’t go. Please don’t go. I- I’ll be good! I’ll just stand here, forever! Just please- please don’t leave me alone again. I-I don’t- I don’t know who you are but, but I don’t want to be alone anymore. So please… please stay.”

The Agent’s heart ached with every word, and in only just a few short, swift steps, he was embracing the human statue, holding him tightly in his arms. Sobbing now, the figure slowly yet eagerly moved to return the hug, ignoring whatever aches it might have brought his long unused muscles.

“This is all a trap - a mistake,” the Voice insisted, “Agent, please! You have no idea what sort of danger he could bring to the world if he steps foot outside this tower!”

Then, the Agent silently countered, we won’t leave this tower.

Continuing to tightly clasp the Figure’s hand, letting him know that he wasn’t going anywhere, the Agent moved back from his embrace and sat down on the dusty old floor, motioning the Figure to do the same. It took a bit more coaxing, but as they sat hand-in-hand under the moon’s spotlight, the Figure slowly began to speak, letting out a lifetime’s worth of thoughts.

Some were simple, others more complex and strange, and some were just completely absurd and random - just a bunch of never ending thoughts about loneliness and heartache and dreams and hopes and -inators never built and the sympathy he now had for other things that had been forced into solidarity like garden gnomes and lost balloons. 

But the Agent listened to every single one of them, more than happy to spend an eternity doing so and refusing to interrupt even as the aging tower began to crumble around them.

()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()

“And just what do you think you are going to do with that, hmm?” the Scientist asked, sneering once he spotted the weapon in the Agent’s hands. “What? Are you here to thwart me or something?”

Solemnly, the Agent shook his head… and then placed the laser gun on the floor, right in front of his enemy. It would be easy enough to snatch and use in whatever way he saw fit, yet the Scientist could only gape at the Agent, unable to believe what had just happened. Not that the Agent was all that surprised, for it seemed like he always remembered a bit more about their previous meetings than the Scientist did. 

He remembered that slaying his so-called enemy wouldn’t do either of them any good, and that if he were to try and rescue the Scientist by destroying the chains himself, either the Voice or the mysterious force surrounding them would always get in the way - would always present some sort of other obstacle that would prevent them from successfully escaping.

So, the Agent was letting his enemy take the lead on what to do next, because as far as the Agent was concerned, there weren’t too many other moves they could make. But hey, the Scientist did have a knack for surprising him, so he trusted him.

Even if the Scientist didn’t yet trust him in return. “This- This is some sort of trick, right?” he asked accusingly, “I mean, who brings a laser with them just to give it to someone else they don’t even know?! This HAS to be a trick! Like, I’m gonna take the laser and it’s going to just blow up right in my face! Or- Or you’re going to let me think that you’re going to just let me escape, and when I do you’re going to bop me right in the nose! That’s right, I see your little game, and I’m NOT falling for it! So there!”

Instead of trying to argue, the Agent just shook his head once more before rising to his webbed feet. Ignoring the call to pick his weapon back up and finish the mission, he looked the Scientist in the eye, giving one last nod towards the laser as he offered his silent permission to do whatever he wanted with it, and turned around to head back towards the door.

After a few moments and a couple steps, he heard the rattling of chains. Then, a loud ZAP! He heard the weapon fire long before he felt its crippling burn. Without much resistance, the Agent fell to his knees.

“Ha-ha, yes! I got you! I- ...Wait.” He could catch the panic in the Scientist’s voice now as it became louder. “Wait, wait, no! Nonono, I- I take it back! I didn’t mean to- I mean, y-you weren’t supposed to-!” There was more chain rattling accompanied by the sound of feet scraping against the floor, desperate to reach him. “Please! I’m sorry, I- I didn’t mean to! I’m sorry!”

But the Agent held no contempt for his companion, instead giving him a small smile as he slipped into death’s embrace. It didn’t do much to slow the Scientist’s tears, and even when the Agent closed his eyes, the Scientist’s apologies continued to echo through the darkness.

The very next time that the Agent was forced to return to the tower, he noticed how the old purple building was covered in thick, spiky vines that forced him to climb it instead of going through the door. Once he’d climbed onto the balcony, he saw that instead of being chained to a wall, the Scientist was now in the direct center of the dark room.

His head was hanging low as he sat in his small cage, imprisoned and handcuffed and unable to (unwilling to) do anything to free himself. The Agent frowned deeply at the sight, and once he was close enough to it, he kneeled in front of the cage. He tried to reach a hand in through the bars, but the Prisoner flinched away from it. “Don’t.”

The Agent let out a sympathetic chitter, and it was enough to make the Scientist actually look up, his fatigued eyes now filled with relief and recognition and, above all else, immense regret.

“This is for the best,” the Scientist muttered, lowering his head again, “Me being stuck in here forever… This is just how it has to be, it seems. I mean, whoever or whatever trapped me here apparently wants me to STAY here no matter what and I…” His tears began to return. “I don’t want to hurt you again.”

The Agent cooed sympathetically - he still felt the phantom pain from his healed wound, unable to completely forget it, but still able to forgive it. What’s more, he was tired of hurting him too. So, so tired - and reached his hand inside the cage once more. This time, the Scientist didn’t move away from him, allowing the Agent to take his hand and squeeze it gently.

“...Do you really think it’s possible?” the Scientist asked, “For us to actually get out of here together? Without destroying each other or everything around us?”

The Agent nodded firmly. Maybe he didn’t know for sure if there was such an option for them, but he wasn’t about to give up on trying - and though he had no magic key that could offer a perfect solution to their woes, he was at the very least able to unlock his Scientist’s cage with just a single touch, allowing him to open to it like magic.

“...Hmph, you really don’t want to just give up? You really wanna go through all of this again? Even if it possibly leads to something worse?” The Agent nodded one final time, and the Scientist sighed. “Curse you,” he mumbled, his words completely free of any real anger or frustration, as he crawled out of the cage, now with nothing there to stop him from pulling his former enemy into a tight embrace (remaining handcuffs be damned).

()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()

“Agent, you’re on a path in the woods. At the end of this path is a tower, and in that tower is a scientist. An evil scientist. Your mission is-”

The Agent interrupted his commander’s usual briefing, seemingly acknowledging what the Voice was going to say before he could finish saying it. He already knew exactly what his mission was by this point, and he wasn’t about to let anything, anyone, or any force in the universe get in his way.

“...Oh,” the Voice replied in mild surprise as the Agent swiftly made his way down the path, “Well, er, good! I’m glad you’re already up to speed, and that you understand just how important this mission is, as well as why you can not fail.”

The Agent nodded again, his gaze steeled ahead as the purple tower came into view. As always, he entered the door, taking notice of the laser gun resting on the nearby table. This time, however, he refused to take it.

“...Um, Agent? You forgot your weapon.” The Agent ignored him as he began to climb up the stairs. “It’s going to be a lot harder to complete your mission without it, you know. Are you listening, Agent? Agent!”

With a ghost of a smile on his face, the Agent opened the tower’s final door, stepping into the room with ease. He could see that the Scientist was chained by his wrist to the wall near the balcony, but given that the Agent was approaching him unarmed, he looked much more curious than surprised.

“Well, this is unexpected,” the Scientist noted, “And by unexpected I mean… really unexpected. Seriously, I thought that I would be stuck here forever!” Ah, so he forgot again. But it’s alright, the Agent thought to himself. After all, he tended to remember enough for the both of them.

“Anyway, are- are you here to give me a hand here?” the Scientist asked, giving his chained wrist a slight shake, “Or, are you just here to…” He trailed off, obviously concerned about the alternative, but the Agent tried to soothe these fears with another smile and a firm nod.

“...Wait, what? Agent, what are you-?”

“Oh. Oh so you ARE here to help me escape!” the Scientist grinned, “That’s great! So, do you have a key or maybe some sort of lock-picking tool? Though, if I’m being honest I’m not sure if either of those would actually be much help… I don’t even think this chain even has any sort of keyhole on it! Apparently whoever trapped me here REALLY didn’t want me to leave, but maybe between the two of us we could think of something, right?”

“Absolutely NOT! Agent, please, you can’t! He’s evil, and if he escapes, the fate of the world-!”

The Agent continued to push the Major’s pleas and commands to the back of his mind, instead putting all his focus on his chained companion. Knowing fully well that the Scientist was much more than simply a seemingly-scatterbrained prisoner, the Agent gestured to his lab coat’s pockets.

“Hm? Oh, well, I guess I was tinkering with a little something-” Reaching into his coat, the Scientist pulled out the makeshift device, crafted out of an assortment of odd things - bits of collected metal and rock and stone, along with more ‘unique’ items like paper clips or bits of wrapper from a long-eaten bar of peanut brittle. Altogether, it had been fashioned into some sort of… laser? Or maybe it was more of a bomb. Or maybe it was simply out of the realm of proper categorization all together.

“I know it doesn’t look like much, but I didn’t exactly have a lot to work with in here,” the Scientist explained somewhat sheepishly, “but hey, when you’re trapped and can’t go anywhere, you tend to improvise - even if it means using whatever trash is in your pockets and using your feet to try and get more tools and materials that are just baaaaarely in reach. Heh, lucky break for me, right?”

Perhaps it was luck, or perhaps it was fate. The Agent knew by this point that the Scientist could craft just about anything - any sort of ‘-inator’ that he could put his mind to, ranging from the chaotic and the truly dangerous to the impressive and even the amazing. 

“Say, I bet if you can help me finish this thing, we could both get out of here together!” the Scientist said, now smiling much more brightly. “Since you don’t have to worry about reaching the end of any chain, you could probably strip this place of all its worth! I just need a couple more things to stabilize my -inator, and maybe a better fuel source or igniter of sorts if you can find one.”

The Agent gave him a thumbs up, and though he kept quiet (or at least relatively so, given how admittedly eager he was to actually talk with someone after being alone for what seemed like an eternity), the Scientist couldn’t help but take notice of just how safe he felt around the Agent - how… familiar he seemed, and how right it felt to just be near him. 

Unfortunately, other than a few loose screws and some more broken pieces of stone, there really wasn’t much that the Agent was able to find for the Scientist. He couldn’t search the rest of the tower either, as the Mysterious Force had locked the door, to where not even a good kick or shoulder-raming could break it down.

It seemed like this time around they were totally stuck… That is, until the Agent’s foot bumped against something much more useful than rocks or scraps - not to mention something that was certainly familiar. It was the laser gun, somehow now in the room with them despite originally being abandoned near the entrance.

“Huh! Well, would’ja look at that, Agent!” the Voice spoke up, his tone now much chipper than it usually was. “It’s that weapon you forgot! A weapon that would certainly make it pretty easy to complete your mission now! Maybe the universe is trying to say something, hmm?”

Rolling his eyes, the Agent picked up the laser gun… and immediately handed it to the Scientist. He trusted the Scientist, and the Scientist had no reason to not trust him. So, he eagerly took the weapon, thanking the Agent profusely as he began tearing it apart, his nimble fingers practically becoming blurs as he picked out all the useful materials he could use. 

“You’re making a mistake, Agent,” the Voice warned him with a sigh, his disappointment evident. Both of them knew that, at this point, with no weapon currently in the Agent’s hands, there was nothing that the Voice could do to try and stop him - to stop them. 

What’s more, the mysterious force that had kept them trapped - that had forced them to fight and hurt each other over and over and over - would soon enough no longer be an issue, and though the Agent gave the Voice his sympathies, he also had no regrets.

After just a few minutes of work, the device was nearly complete. “I think… I’ve juuuuust about… got it!” Letting out a victorious laugh, the Scientist held up his device. “Behold! The break-out-inator!” Setting the device down on the floor, right next to the wall that he was chained to, the Scientist activated it and then quickly backed away as far as his shackle would let him. 

“If this works, it won’t just break whatever my chain’s connected to, but it’ll also give us a pretty easy way to get out of here too!” he continued before pausing. “...You’re okay with climbing down from the tower, right? Not afraid of heights or anything like that?” The Agent shook his head firmly. “Ah, good! Good to know… And also, well… I just wanted to say thanks. Again. F-For helping me break out of here, and for just being here. I actually don’t really know WHAT exactly is beyond this tower, but… I think I’m ready to see it.”

The Agent was ready too. More than ready, actually. With each tick of the -inator’s countdown, his excitement and nerves swelled. This was it… Well, hopefully it was. And if not, then maybe he would at least get to keep this memory - this feeling of partnership and genuine care.

As the -inator reached its final numbers, the Agent and the Scientist took each other’s hands as they turned away from the device, shielding themselves as best they could. It was a glorious explosion - one that not only rocked the tower’s fragile walls, but the world itself. Even the sky was forced to crack and break at its unexpected power, and as an otherworldly light shone upon them and the rest of the world began to fall and fade away, that was when the Agent truly understood what his mission was. What he was.

()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()

Chaos and order. Disruption and restoration. Creative madness and stoic logic. Surprise and routine. Randomness and stability. Two forces that, while natural opposites of each other, also kept each other in balance. Not true enemies, just contrasts of one another. Two parts of a natural extreme, yet also two halves of one whole.

This was what they were, what they always had been - and what they were now meant to be once again, now that they were nearly free, their original power (a power that could shape the multiverse itself) nearly being back in their grasp.

In some ways, the Agent could still understand the Major’s motives for trying to create what he could only see as a better and safer world - for trying to eliminate what he saw as something that could only ever be destructive and dangerous. A force that, with enough power and without any boundaries, could destroy a million worlds. It really wasn’t a wonder why the Major strictly saw it as ‘evil’, as something that needed to be stopped once and for all.

By forcing both beings into conflict on a much, MUCH smaller scale, there was a chance he could have created a scenario where Order and Stability ALWAYS came out on top over Chaos, eventually eliminating the threat of Chaos completely and allowing for a universe shaped by a much more rational and overall much more safe (much more ‘good’) force of nature.

But that was a world that could never be. Not without true sacrifice, at least.

“...You know, I really had no idea that I was a god.”

The Agent turned to look at the Scientist. Despite it being how the Scientist originally was, he was still getting used to seeing his true form. (It was also admittedly hard to remember to use his adversary’s true name, even if he now knew it.)

“I mean, me? A god? It’s still pretty shocking,” the Scientist continued. He stood with two arms folded over his chest while the rest of his many arms fanned out like a peacock’s tail, desperate to touch the rest of the universe that laid beyond their current realm after being trapped and held back for so long. His pure white coat was now a coat made out of living stars and careening comets and slowly-expanding black holes, his new form now a stark reminder of all the beauty and danger that came with an unpredictable universe.

“I knew that SOMETHING had trapped me - that I didn’t belong in some old and lousy tower all chained up - and looking back, there were a few times where I felt like I was remembering something or that I had a bit of deja vu, but I thought maybe I was in some sort of time loop. And yeah I was but, well, as we both can see there was clearly a LOT more going on.”

The Agent nodded with an exhausted huff. That was certainly an understatement. As a godly force of nature, he had never felt so… mortal before. But, as painful as it had been at times, he could also feel a distinctive change within him. A permanent shift in what he had been and what he now was - a humble dash of humanity, mixed with several dozen lifetimes of experiences both good and bad.

“...So, what should we do now?” he heard the Scientist ask, sounding just as tired as his companion was. “I mean, I know I said I wanted freedom and all that but… this is all just a bit much, don’t you think? I don’t know if I even want to go back to being a god, even if it’s apparently what I’m supposed to be.”

The Agent nodded again, making it clear that he shared those sentiments. He didn’t really know what they should do either, and he wasn’t used to feeling so unsure. They may have had options, sure, but he wasn’t used to having so much power weigh into making them.

“...I think you should be the one to decide.”

The Agent blinked, and looked back over at his partner, who just gave him a small smile in return. “Hey, you were the one always reacting to whatever I was doing, and if you ask me, I think you’d know what to do better than I ever could. Besides… I still trust you. So, just do whatever you think is right for the universe or- or the multiverse or reality or whatever.”

The Agent looked back at him, staring at him for what seemed like another eternity before finally nodding, accepting the responsibility with only a little reluctance. Once he truly thought about it though, he realized that maybe the choice wasn’t so hard after all.

Reaching down into himself, he brought forth his natural godly abilities… and used it to pull them both down back onto the mortal plane.

Maybe in a different life, he would’ve chosen to accept his role as a God of Order and Stability, and he and his companion would have continued their celestial battles against one another as they watched billions of worlds be threatened and saved and destroyed and put back together. A beautiful routine, certainly… but it wasn’t theirs anymore.

As he let his power go into the vast emptiness of the space surrounding them, the Agent could briefly see a third being out of the corner of his eye - framed in silver, sharp-angled and unbending, with a familiar voice quietly echoing out from it as it permanently faded into oblivion, his own personal mission of trying to use the power of two gods in his own agenda now officially a failure. At the very least, the Agent hoped that the Major could now find some sort of peace.

In the blink of an eye, the Agent - now back to being JUST an Agent - found himself back in the old tower’s foyer, a laser gun still resting on the small table near the doorway. He took the weapon, just in case, and began to climb up the stairs. The door to the balcony opened with ease, and the Scientist was there waiting for him, no chains or shackles in sight.

The Scientist almost immediately noticed the gun, but he didn’t react to it much beyond a short hum. “I actually remember the first time I ever saw you with that thing now,” he said, unafraid but still just a bit cautious. Not that the Agent could blame him, given how efficient he had been at ‘completing his mission’ their first time around. Perhaps he could properly apologize for that now.

With no chains to try breaking and no -inators to build in order to gain their freedom, the Agent casually tossed the gun away into the shadows of the room, making it clear that he hadn’t changed his mind about not slaying his other half. He didn’t want them to be mortals again just so he would have an easier time defeating him. He just wanted to live, and he didn’t want to do it alone.

So, he held out his hand. “...You’re sure?” the Scientist asked. “We still don’t really know what’s out there, or what us giving up our- …well, everything, is gonna do to the world. N-Not that I don’t still trust you, but…” He trailed off as they looked into each other’s eyes.

A sense of anticipation and anxiety could be felt in the cold air around them - even the Agent could admit that he was a bit scared of the unknown that awaited them just outside the tower’s front door. But as they looked at one another, they knew that whatever sort of world they faced or whatever sort of life they decided to live on this plane of being, they would be doing it together. They would never be alone again.

“...Okay.” Without any more hesitation, the Scientist took his hand, and they walked out of the room and down the stairs, with there being nothing to interrupt them or get in their way. This was truly it.

The Agent felt the Scientist’s grip tighten as they reached the final door. “I- I’m not THAT nervous, really!” he insisted (in spite of sounding completely unconvinced himself). “Just- Just give me a moment…”

The Agent gave him a soft smile, and after a moment, he lifted both their hands, resting them on the doorknob as he gave a quiet chitter.

Smiling back at him, the Scientist replied, “Yeah? …Yeah, I love you too.”

Together, they turned the knob and stepped out into a brand new world.

((PHEW! So... yeah! This was my little StP Perryshmirtz AU! Glad to finally have it out of my head, lol. But yeah, feel free to leave comments/reblog and leave your thoughts about it in the tags. Also, to anyone else who wants to play around in this AU, PLEASE be sure to tag me in your art/fics- I'd love to see other people's interpretations of the game's routes and how they'd work for Perry and Doof. Thanks again for reading! ^v^))

[incomingalbatross]

(I hope it's okay to keep spamming you with asks about City between because I have THOUGHTS)

I keep thinking about the chain of events in the last few books and how easily things could have gone just *slightly* differently.

For example - If events had turned out differently, Zero might have been king.

If they'd run into a few more obstacles/distractions, Ruth might not have figured out who the killer was when she did.

In a world where *both* those things were true - where we run through the events of books nine and ten but with Athelas a full part of the team and this somehow ends with Zero on the throne - what do you think Athelas would have done?

His goals are accomplished: the king and Lord Sero are dead.

And yet he is also not dead . . . and no one knows what's done. Yet.

Zero is definitely still invested in the identity of the murderer! But he's also probably going to be way too busy to be personally investigating right at the moment.

I can't stop picturing a scenario where he just. Delegates the investigation to Athelas.

If that happened, do you think Athelas would confess? (Probably not, seems too direct for him. But he WAS laying that trail of evidence. So maybe . . . sideways confess? Get Zero to assign him some help and make sure the other investigators figured it out?) Or would he take the opportunity to thoroughly cover it up - "Good news, my lord, the murderer was sworn to one of your political enemies! :) I killed him when he attempted to evade arrest! :) Sorry if there were any further questions you wanted to ask! :) No, I do *not* want any tea right now, Pet, and also here is a random nice thing I did for you, do not ask me why."

(It is ABSOLUTELY okay, I love City Between Thoughts and I very much understand the feeling!)

I. OUCH??? This is a HORRIBLE concept. I love it. Had to take longer to answer this because it made me a little insane.

AU where Athelas gets everything he's ever wanted EXCEPT all the most important parts are still under false pretenses. MAN.

Zero could ABSOLUTELY delegate it to him. He's the other expert! He's the only one who knows the case as well as Zero! And I... I don't know how he'd handle that.

My impression is that in book 7, or certainly by book 8, he's resigned himself to the reveal as being inevitable. Planting the trail of evidence was way back in book 4, though, so it may have been his plan all along... Either way, though, planning for that and then getting an unexpected reprieve? Somehow coming out of everything with Zero on the throne and their trust in him intact?

He could decide "it's still inevitable, I should take control of the circumstances" and steer them that way... but he can't label himself The Enemy the way he could in canon, because he already helped them take down Sero and the King! So would he still go for some kind of self-destructive reveal? Or would he let them find the answers and then just disappear into the night?

I don't see him hoping for forgiveness, so any kind of reveal would be burning his bridges. The question is whether he'd plan to survive that or not.

And MAN the route where he covers it up... AUGH. Yeah, I can see him looking at this unexpected chance and not being able to throw it away - even if part of his brain is still insisting it's going to end badly, why pull things down on top of himself? Why rush into something that will, in fact, just hurt everyone?

...I don't know if it's worse to imagine him getting caught, or worse to imagine he doesn't. Maybe new dangers of exposure keep coming up from unexpected directions, and he has to keep crossing more lines he promised himself he was done with, to stay safe. Or maybe there are no dangers, and everything is perfectly fine! No one will ever know his true crimes... except him. But that's fine. :)

TERRIBLE. Thank you so much for sharing. I'm going to be haunted by this now.

[qin-qin16]

[notes: this is NOT a ship post, so don't tag this as sanshipping, sanscest, mirrorshipping, etc. And for people who like nicemare, yeah, he is not nice here.]

I am absolutely delighted with @dollance 's post and decided to create my own headcanons about this duo. First of all: I loved the name trigger happy duo, it fits them perfectly.

So, I think they would fit really well if Murder's background were something similar to what @/yeosin-n talked about in this post, where Murder broke free from Nightmare because he didn't want to work for him (I don't blame the guy, who in their right mind would work for someone like Nightmare??) and ended up having his AU destroyed, being sent to a universe where the skeleton brothers, Sans and Papyrus, never existed.

I think it would be nice for Dream to enter Murder's life in that scenario, feeling responsible for his brother's abuse and for not being able to stop it (even though, in reality, Dream isn't responsible or obligated to feel guilty for Nightmare's actions). Murder, preferring to be called Sans, is initially hostile to Dream, not trusting his gentle approach and lack of malicious intent.

However, after a lot of patience and possible activities together, I believe Murder would open up to Dream, allowing him to get closer. Murder, even in a more gruff way, resembles Nightmare before the corruption to Dream—someone introverted, quiet, with fear of something he doesn't understand. Meanwhile, Dream is someone so positive, always seeing the bright side of things and always wanting to give second chances, someone so similar to Murder's Papyrus… I think these similarities would make him understand that not everything was lost forever (and it could make for some good angst with codependency in these situations heheh).

I also see them more as a duo because, let's be honest, not every relationship has to be romantic to be appreciated—and I think with their views on their brothers and projections of each other, it would feel strange if they were a couple... Anyway, this was my idea that you guys were all so worried about :D

Maybe I’ll write about them to see if I can understand their relationship better… maybe… no promises. It's still a very fresh idea, so I have small scenarios about them haha.

@t3m1 @rosettasgraveyard @yo4sblog @what-have-i-unleashed @unamzi @twinribbonz

[drabblesandsnippets]

Snippet #2

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Plus-size female character (name removed)

Background: Another edited scene from an AU soulmate story. No snap/blip. After leaving Wakanda, Bucky moves to Brooklyn and joins the Avengers. He meets a woman who has premonitions and they fall in love. 

Summary: Short snippet of Bucky helping his girlfriend with her anxiety.

Warnings: 18+ Only. Sexual content. Mention of anxiety.

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

Her skin feels like it’s crawling, like there’s a current of energy just beneath her skin, itching to be released somehow.

She knows the feeling all too well, and even though her anxiety has been better lately, she’s not sure it’s something she’ll ever be free of. 

A quick glance at the clock tells her she needs to try to go back to sleep, but the deep breaths and tapping exercises are useless. The anxiety just keeps rising.

The feelings intensify with each slight movement of her limbs as she searches for a more comfortable position until it becomes too overwhelming. She can’t lay here anymore.

Just as she’s about to throw off the covers, Bucky’s hand brushes across her bare back. “You okay?” His tender touch and gravelly voice send a shiver down her spine, immediately making her curl up more, encouraging him to keep going.

Not that he ever needs any encouragement, he’d happily spend hours touching her, enjoying the feel of her softness underneath his fingers. Bucky knows her better than anyone ever has and it only takes a few words for him to understand exactly what she’s going through.

“Firm or soft?” he asks, closing the distance that sleep had created, his thighs fitting perfectly against hers. 

The moment the word ‘firm’ leaves her lips, the heat of his body presses against her and he wraps his arm her waist to hold her tight. They’ve done this dance so many times, she wonders why she still tries to handle things on her own. 

“I’ve got you,” he murmurs, kissing her shoulder blade, the familiar gentle scratch of his beard helping to channel her focus away from her anxiety. It’s not enough though. She needs more, and the subtle movement of her hips and slight tension in her thighs makes her intensions clear.

Bucky happily obliges, his vibranium hand sliding up to take a hold of her hair, reminding her how well he knows her, and her body. “Yes,” she breathes.

The soft exhale of such a simple word causes Bucky’s cock to twitch between them and he rewards her with a soft groan, gripping a fistful of her hair, sending a burst of pleasure straight to her core.

“Is that what my woman needs?” he asks, all evidence of sleep gone from his voice, his desire for her obvious. “To help her forget about everything except the way I can make her feel?”

There’s nothing subtle about the way she grinds back against him this time and he lets out an approving grunt, his cock already hard and ready to go. There’s no doubt that she’s wet for him, the smell of her arousal making him dizzy with lust.

True to the nature of their relationship though, he won’t take this further until she’s vocal about what she wants, no matter what her body is telling him.

“I need you to use your words,” he reminds her, his free hand inching closer to her breast with every heavy breath she takes, a teasing promise of what’s to come. “Do you want me to keep touching you, or should I stop?”

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

Main Masterlist

[vividiana]

chapter 11

a/n: not gonna lie, this chapter cost me a lot of tears. I'm proud of it but also I'm glad I don't have to work on it anymore.

pairing: Astarion x f!Durge · word count: 6.1k

rating: Explicit (18+)

tags: modern AU, witness protection, strangers to friends to lovers (see AO3 for a more exhaustive list)

summary: It’s been over a year since Eve had to uproot her life and assume a new identity—anything to distance herself from the past she wishes she could forget. When an erratic, if oddly charming, newcomer stumbles into her place of work, she recognizes something familiar within him and the two can’t seem to stay away from each other. But Eve is not the only one running from her past.

An alternative, modern take on the Dark Urge x Astarion romance, filled with friendship, secrets, healing, and ABBA.

previous chapter · read on AO3 · dividers

Days pass quickly to the beat of empty promises, slipping through Eve’s fingers like grains of sand. It’s not long until she is once again in Halsin’s office.

“Eve, I would like to try something,” he says after a longer lull in the conversation.

Oh god. 

Even worse than Halsin’s hypothetical questions are the exercises he has her do sometimes.

“In much the same way that you’ve just been mulling over the worst-case scenarios, you can also try to imagine the best possible outcome of your conversation with Astarion. I understand that it’s not instinctive, that it might feel forced, that that’s not where your brain goes immediately. But that’s exactly why I would like you to put in the effort to think about that for a moment. Do you think you can do that?”

“I can try.”

“So, we’ve already practiced what you might say to him. Now, tell me: what would be his response if this were a perfect world. If–” He pauses for a second, as if pondering his word choice, then asks: “Are you familiar with Dungeons and Dragons?”

Eve can’t help but chuckle. That’s one of the last things she expected to hear right now.

“Vaguely…?” she says, unsure of where this is going.

“Well then, imagine that you rolled a natural twenty in that conversation. A critical success, meaning that everything goes exactly how you want it to, or even better than you would dare to dream of. What does Astarion say in that scenario?”

Eve sighs heavily before taking a sip of her tea. She might as well indulge him—it’s not like she has anywhere else to be right now.

“Sure.” The cup clinks loudly against the ceramic coaster as she puts it down. “Okay.” 

Eve stares at her hands and imagines Astarion holding them. She pictures the way he looked at her in the car a week ago. The soft, careful tone when he spoke:

“You can tell me anything.”

“If everything went perfectly well, then he would probably thank me for being honest,” she starts hesitantly. “He might even sympathize with me. Like, ‘this must have been so hard for you to navigate. You must have been so stressed about my reaction. I wish you’d told me sooner, but only because it would have spared you all this stress and anxiety.”

The words feel overly saccharine, but she can’t deny that a small part of them rings true.

“Keep going,” Halsin says softly, giving her an encouraging nod.

Eve sighs to make her displeasure known, but still she continues:

“Maybe a part of him would be relieved that I knew all this time and didn’t treat him differently for it. And when I tell him about my stuff, he might say...” 

She pauses for a moment, cracking her knuckles. She doesn’t recognize the emotions coursing through her, gripping at her chest, painting her tone watery.

“He would be understanding. He might sympathize, but without pity. And he also wouldn’t call me brave or strong or whatever, he would just… accept it, as a fact of life, and not ask me too many questions.”

“Anything else?” Halsin asks calmly.

“He would thank me for trusting him enough to share it. And reassure me that it doesn’t change anything. Like,” she hesitates, voice trembling when she continues, “this doesn’t change the way I feel about you. I still want this and I want you and I like what we have and… And I’m glad that things are all cleared up now. That we can be honest from now on.”

She swallows thickly, eyes tracing the veins on the back of her hands, refusing to look at Halsin.

After a moment, he says:

“Thank you for doing that, Eve. How did it feel?”

She scoffs, looking up to meet his yes.

“It was physically uncomfortable, that’s how fake it sounded.”

But that’s not entirely true. 

What was uncomfortable was voicing her deepest hopes, knowing how far from the reality they might be. It was a risky indulgence, to allow herself to believe that everything might end up alright. An indulgence Eve isn’t sure she can afford.

(read more on AO3)

taglist: @roguishcat @arzen9 @nerdalmighty @irondeficienttav ✨ (lmk if you'd like to be added! or removed, no shame in changing your mind)

my masterlist

[mentally-ill-vaquero]

O'Driscoll Sean MacGuire AU (Part One)

I decided to make a timeline for my O'Driscoll Sean AU. Honestly, it just makes everything easier to keep track of.

Just a heads up, there are some references to anti-Irish sentiment as well some violence, @rosesvineyard

1894

Seventeen-year-old Sean MacGuire sneaks into an O'Driscoll camp, attempting to steal food and valuables to sell, but ends up getting a little too cocky and attempts to steal a holstered gun from one of the sleeping figures.

Of course, he (accidentally) wakes them; he doesn't realize until he receives a punch to the face, causing a sickening ringing in his left ear.

He attempts to crawl away like a wounded animal but instead gets a sharp kick to the stomach, and soon some of the other men begin to join in.

Everyone was punchin' or kickin' Sean recounted years later, when the secret was out They were yellin' and jeerin' then, curling in on himself, he added, in a quiet voice Then they wouldn't stop laughin'

Sean is out cold for the next couple of days, and when he eventually wakes up, everything aches. Bruises are sprinkled across his face and stomach, and he can hardly move.

Over the next few days, as his body attempts to recover from the beating it endured, Colm had a tendency to visit at the most random intervals one time he visited early in the morning and didn't come back until dusk.

Sean just focused on breathing, and tried not to worry about what the future may hold for him.

Colm O'Driscoll---who for some reason pronounced it 'c-oo-Im' and 'c-ol-um', which really got on Sean's nerves after a while---would soon reveal himself to be a man not be trifled with.

But Sean didn't see that side, not at first. When he talks to you, when he talks to you nicely, it's like the sun is shining Kieran explained once, and did that capture it perfectly.

At that moment, all Sean saw was a man who'd offered him a chance at a better life, just like how his Da had promised the same when they emigrated to America.

He still kicks himself for not realising that these 'promises' were lies, whether intentional or not.

Because, after those first couple of months, things started to get ugly.

Really, really ugly.

Colm and his gang occasionally made dealings with another group of outlaws known as the Van Der Linde's, and, though Sean had never seen this with his own two eyes, he noticed that there was more food on some night than others, more money in Colm's pockets.

And then, for inexplicable reasons, their leader, 'Dutch' (that surely wasn't his real name? thought Sean), had murdered Connor. That's what Sean around camp, anyway.

Things were quiet for a while.

No more extra food or new camp supplies, though.

Then, six months later, Sean was dragged out of camp by Colm. It was late, and Sean kept yawning every three minutes or so. Colm eventually slapped him around the head, and told he needed to be quiet for this.

'This' involved holding a knife to a sleeping woman's throat.

Dutch murdered my brother, so I'm gonna---

Murder Dutch's brother? Sean finished then flinched when he realised he interrupted.

But Colm nodded. His son, too.

Except Dutch's 'brother' and 'son' were out doing a job, which seemed to go into accordance with Colm's plan.

If you hear any of Dutch's boys come near here, you kill the girl, understand?

Sean was terrified. He didn't know what these people were capable of; for all he knew, this woman could be the deadliest killer in the area.

No, that title would always belong to Colm.

He nearly pissed himself when he heard a gasp and realised the woman's eyes were focused on him, filled with fear.

No, no, don't scream... please? Sean hissed under his breath.

Everything after that is a blur.

He can recall the rapid beating of his heart, thundering in his ears.

Then, out of nowhere, quick footsteps emerged... heading towards the tent.

Annabelle screamed Hosea! or rather was about to; Sean attempted to make her shut up by pressing his hand over her mouth.

She struggled and attempted to strike him, but...but...

Colm burst inside the tent, disheveled, ready to start barking orders at Sean, but paused when he took in the scene before him:

Annabelle, lying prone on the bed, Sean's knife lodged into her throat, crimson staining her night gown and bedsheets.

I...I, uh...l... Sean wanted to throw up.

Colm laughed, ignoring his own oozing wounds, and pulled Sean out of the tent.

Back at camp, Sean was numb to the world. Anxiety flooded his system.

He remained in a state of shock for the next week, even when they packed up everything and moved to a new location.

Turns out, Dutch's 'brother' and 'son' (who aren't really his brother or his son) were still breathing; they'd gained quite a few new members since Connor's death, and Colm didn't clarify further.

But that didn't matter: Sean had murdered Dutch's girl, and that would sting just as bad, maybe even worse.

Sean wasn't ready to revel in the praise; he spent so much time attempting to scrub the blood from his hands, but he'd never be able to scrub it from his memory.

And no one cared. Someone even told him to suck it up and grow a pair.

He didn't belong here. He needed to leave.

Now.

[unhealthyfanobsession]

Prompt for you: either modern au or Canon where cassian finds out nesta is afraid of swimming or helps steady her when she's having issues

Hey so guess what I actually saw this prompt come in months ago and started working on it then forgot about it but I went back and there was enough there for a little drabble so enjoy:

When Nesta was a child swimming had been her favourite thing in the world. There were no rules underwater. No propriety to be observed. No skirts tripping her up at the ankle, no perfectly bored expression to maintain. It was the only time she felt truly free. It was an indulgence that most proper ladies were meant to stop partaking in before the age of 10, but Nesta never could let it go.

Taking her horse out at the break of day in summer and riding to the little lake on her father’s lands was the truest rebellion Nesta ever knew as a human.

It was everything a proper young lady was not supposed to do. Stripping down to her underclothes (sometimes less), letting the sun darken her pale skin, and wading into the water. Nesta could spend hours out there, kicking and paddling to stretch out her muscles or just lying on her back. The feel of cool, fresh water all around her, as if her skin and bones and blood could meld with the liquid itself. As if she could turn elemental.

She never spoke those thoughts aloud back then. It was nonsense to humans. Being made of wind and rain and gale storms was for the evil fae across the wall.

Nesta had always loved the water. She loved the silence, really. The flow of tide in her ears, the squish of mud beneath her toes. The clear, blue sky above.

So why was she standing on this sandy beach at sunset, staring out across the endless, sparkling, turquoise sea, with her toes exactly far enough back that the tide did not touch them when it washed ashore.

“Have I told you how stunning you look yet?” Nesta smiled just a little as Cassian came up behind her, chin resting on top of her head, his hands fisted into the sheer blue gossamer meant to cover up her swimming costume. It didn’t cover anything, really, but Tarquin said the silk matched her eyes as he gifted it to her and Cassian grumbled in annoyance so she simply had to wear it.

“Not in the past fifteen minutes, no.”

“A crime,” his entire chest rumbled against her back along with his laugh.

Nesta had come down to the beach ahead of Cassian. He suggested the sunset swim after the fourth time he caught her looking wistfully out at the sea from the Summer Palace windows, daydreaming while the other High Lords and emissaries were speaking, which was incredibly unlike her.

Nesta agreed and left before him, hoping, desperately, that she would be able to summon her courage before he arrived.

Cassian’s hands reached around to untie the little slip of ribbon holding her robe together and Nesta shivered as his hand pulled away with a whisper of silk. “Walk or jump?” He asked with a little grin.

Nesta swallowed, following his eyes to Tarquin’s private dock just behind them. “I don’t …” Her mouth was so dry, “I don’t think I’m ready to uhm, to …”

Cassian stepped in front of her with a single stride, thumb tucking under her chin. Nesta darted her eyes away from his. “What is it?”

“I don’t … I don’t want my head under.”

Cassian’s brow furrowed and Nesta remembered that she had never actually talked about this with him. She told Feyre, but … no one else.

“I have found it … difficult.” She swallowed, “since-”

“The Kelpie?” 

“No,” Nesta said quietly. “Well, I suppose that didn’t help, but no since … since the-”

“Let me help you,” Cassian whispered, eyes flooding with understanding. “Let me help you like I couldn’t that day.”

“It wasn’t-” Cassian lifted her up quickly, one arm hooking under her legs.

“See,” he grinned, “now you can watch me in the water before you have to touch it.”

Nesta blinked. Then nodded. “Okay.”

It was strange, how few words she had.

“There is no water like the summer sea, I promise.” He spoke softly, carefully. “It is warm and bright and,”

“Alive,” Nesta cut him off. Cassian stepped to his ankle in the water, watching her expression carefully. “There is so much life all around,” she whispered as he cautiously took another step forward, water pooling just below his knees now.

“The creatures or the water itself?” He asked, stepping far enough in that Nesta’s dangling toe just touched a wave.

“The water itself,” she breathed, stretching her toe farther. Cassian was right, it was warm. Like a massive bathtub filled with salt and air and life.

[seramilla]

Ok another AU: basically the deal between Stolitz but make it Seramilla

Overlord Carmilla finds out that Angelic Weapons can be remade with the proper conditions and starts collecting the ones that the Exorcists leave behind. No one in Heaven knows that Heaven-made Weapons release a Holy Energy that acts like radiation to demon kind. If left out long enough the Holy energy purifies its surroundings, killing anything "unholy" within its radius and leaving the metal unable to perma-kill sinners.

Sera finds out about the new Demon Overlord that's been collecting the weapons and sets up a private meeting with them, fearing that they'll try to use the Weapons against Heaven. She doesn't tell Lucifer exactly why she needs to talk to this Sinner but Lucifer agrees all the same. When they meet, Sera is gay panicking hard and can't get her thoughts in order. Carmilla on the other hand, knows EXACTLY why she was called here and, fearing for the safety of her girls and people, she offers to do anything for Sera.

Sera short-circuits, but thankfully recovers quickly and in a haze, offers to allow Carmilla to keep and continue collecting the Exorcist Weapons only if Carmilla agrees to sleep with her. Carmilla is shocked and a bit indignant at first, but after thinking it over decides that her body and dignity is a small price to pay for her family's safety and prosperity. So, once a month, Sera will open a portal to Carmilla's place (wherever she feels is secure) and Carmilla will go to Heaven for their "agreement". And hey, who knows? maybe if Carmilla does a "good job" Sera might even give her new heavenly ores to plays with. Sera can't leave as it would alert both the Elders and Lucifer that an angel has left Heaven and entered Hell.

And just like that, with Sera still not completely there or thinking clearly and Carmilla accepting her fate, the deal between Seraphim and Overlord is signed.

Sera would feel guilty for basically forcing Carmilla into this deal later, but Carmilla is just so good at this Sera can't bring herself to end it.

I changed it up a bit. Sorry, not sorry. Brazen Carmilla just grabbed me by the throat and wouldn't let me go until I wrote it this way.

When Sera discovers that one of Hell's most powerful overlords has been capitalizing on all the angelic weapons left behind after the Exterminations, Sera hadn't been expecting her to be so...beautiful.

Carmilla Carmine is nothing like she expected -- she'd thought someone gruff, warrior-like, and intimidating would show up to her office. This woman before her is calm, confident, and resonates a certain lackadaisical attitude about everything. Sera is almost offended that she seems more interested in all the books lining the shelves in her office, instead of the Seraphim sitting at the desk right in front of her.

"Ms. Carmine," Sera says, clearing her throat, trying to draw Carmilla's attention back to her. "This is a serious matter. Will you please pay attention?"

Carmilla continues to walk the line of bookshelves with her hands behind her back, standing perfectly upright with impeccable posture, before she eventually turns back to Sera, to give the angel the attention she so desperately craves.

"I don't really think we have much to discuss on the matter. You've given me no good reason to halt my machinations. This is my livelihood now. It's just business. Certainly you can understand that."

Sera sighs heavily, exaggeratedly so. This woman may have the demeanor of a mafia boss and the presence of a model on a runway, but she is also no slouch, and has not given Sera an inch ever since she agreed to an audience with her.

The Sinner is not even grateful that she'd invited her here, to her office in Heaven, and treated her to a day away from that literal Hellscape she calls home. Not even the promise of a day pass had been enough to get her to see reason.

"Certainly, Carmilla, you can see my point of view," Sera tries again. "I can't exactly have a Sinner confiscating weapons that have the power to pose a threat to my people. How do you think that makes me look in the eyes of the elders?"

"I fail to see how that's my problem."

Sera huffs out loud, unable to hide her frustration behind her mask of indifference any longer. This Sinner is getting under her skin like no one else has before. And if the way Carmilla is looking at her is any indication, with that shit-eating grin and casual way she just saunters over to Sera's desk and sits on the edge of it...she's quite enjoying herself, too.

Carmilla seems to sense Sera's unease. Looking the angel up and down, a mischievous smile spreads across her face. She slides across the desk, in an almost sultry, seductive fashion. She dangles her feet off the edge, right next to Sera, and swings them back and forth. Sera is a tall woman. Her desk is huge. Even Carmilla's feet can't touch the floor while sitting on it.

"You seem a little...tense," Carmilla says. Without warning, her hand slides slowly across the smooth, expensive wood beneath her, until three of her fingers just barely graze against Sera's. Sera gasps at the touch.

Then one of Carmilla's legs shifts to place itself invasively between her knees, spreading Sera's legs slightly. Sera's heart, or whatever she has that beats inside her chest, is now pumping a mile a minute. She gulps again. Carmilla leans in closer.

"How about I...help you out there?"

Sera's face immediately brightens several shades of gold. Faster than she thinks she's ever moved in her life, she leaps out of her chair and backs herself away from her desk...right into one of her bookshelves. Why does she have so many books??? Who needs this many books??? She keeps repeating this in her head, as her back hits the shelf of tomes, and she's trapped, and Carmilla quickly advances to close her body in against hers.

Sera holds out her hands in front of her, as if that will in any way protect her from the likes of Carmilla Carmine.

Sera starts rambling. She doesn't quite know what else to do, under the circumstances.

"You know, this is getting quite a bit...is it hot? I'm starting to feel it getting very hot--"

Sera gets cut off, as Carmilla Carmine practically slams her large clawed hand into the shelf next to her, causing a few books to fall and scatter all around them.

Sera almost scolds her, but she doesn't get a chance, because Carmilla takes the taller woman's arms within her grasp, turning her around, and not-so-gently pushing her back toward the desk, until Sera plops backward into her chair in a heap.

Sera is breathing hard at this point. From her chair, she has to look up at Carmilla standing over her, with the most delicious, predatory look adorning her features. Sera swallows, and tries to speak, and swallows again when she can't form the right words. The words that actually manage to come out are shaky, confused, and uncertain.

"What is--what are you doing to me?" Sera asks. In lieu of an answer, Carmilla stands directly in front of Sera. The overlord bends down, hands propped on the arms of the chair, until she's eye level with the Seraphim. She's looking at Sera's lips, not her eyes...like she wants to lean in and kiss the angel. Or eat her. Probably both.

"What do you want me to do to you?" Carmilla asks, with absolutely zero restraint or decorum in her question. It's like she doesn't even care she's talking to a Seraphim this way.

Somehow, Sera finds herself unable to care about that, either.

"I...uh...well..." Sera starts. The words are still escaping her. If she's honest, she's never been in this particular...position before. With anyone. Even the thought of someone coming on to her normally makes her want to vomit. But somehow, with this woman...everything she thought she knew about herself is subsequently flying out the window.

That's okay, though. Carmilla seems perfectly capable of speaking for the both of them.

"How about we...find a solution that works for both of us?" Carmilla suggests; she's so close now, that Sera can practically feel the heat of her breath on the sensitive skin of her face.

"What--what do you mean?" Sera asks. The grin on Carmilla's face only gets wider.

"I'll stop collecting angelic weapons left behind during the Exterminations," Carmilla suggests. "Instead, you start supplying them to me directly. Out of your own stores. Fresh ones. New ones. I can still protect and provide for my family. You get the elders out of your hair...they think you've done your job, that Hell is no longer a threat...and in return, I give you..."

Without warning, Carmilla finally does make contact with Sera's face, crushing their mouths together in a passionate, all-consuming kiss, one that makes Sera lose all sense of self and substance for several glorious seconds. It's Sera's first kiss, but obviously not Carmilla's. It's an out-of-body experience. The woman does so many delicious, mind-bending things with her tongue in Sera's mouth, that Sera can't help but whimper, when Carmilla inevitably pulls away.

"...That."

"That?" Sera repeats, confused about what has just transpired. "I get...you kissing me in return?"

"Or whatever else you would like. As a crafter of weapons, I'm rather proficient with my hands...as well as my mouth. But that last part has nothing to do with making weapons."

The insinuation is palpable. Carmilla rubs one large, clawed hand against Sera's cheek, with so much tenderness and gentle care, Sera almost forgets what those claws could do to her face, if she were to let her guard down.

Sera melts. The next words exiting her lips are completely out of character, against her will, and against all common sense. This woman must have her under some kind of spell. There's literally no other explanation for why she says what she does.

"Once a month," Sera starts, and when Carmilla looks at her confused, Sera extrapolates, "We get new shipments from the forge master once a month. I do this for you...you come here once a month to collect. And then we...umm, you can show me..."

Sera lets her thought linger in the air, but Carmilla understands. The overlord smiles. She nods. As if Sera needs any other reason to completely fall apart at the seams, Carmilla then has the absolute gall to sit directly in Sera's lap, and kiss her again. This time, with her arms wound tightly around Sera's neck, pushing her even further into her chair, until it starts to bow backward under their weight.

Carmilla swirls her tongue around in Sera's mouth again, and runs her fingers through Sera's long, voluptuous locks, for good measure. To give the disheveled Seraphim a preview of what to expect in the coming months. When she pulls away again, Sera's hair is a mess, and so is her face, with Carmilla's lipstick all over her cheeks and mouth. Sera's giving a sheepish, love-struck grin, and Carmilla can't help but smile back at her.

"Is it a deal, then?" Carmilla holds out her hand. Sera hesitates, knowing the implications of a deal with an overlord from Hell can be fraught with complications.

She weighs the risks in her mind, and comes to the conclusion that for her, it is worth it. Timidly, she takes Carmilla's hand and intertwines the demon's large claws with her delicate, human-like fingers. Even with Carmilla's strength and capabilities...nothing the demon could do to her would cause her permanent damage. Right? At the end of the day, the risk to her is relatively low. She's willing to cage that bet, if it means she can see Carmilla again.

So she shakes Carmilla's hand, accepting her fate, and Carmilla leaves with the promise of her return at the next full moon. Sera is left sitting in her chair, wondering and contemplating, who exactly is this woman she's entangled herself with, and what exactly she has gotten herself into now?

[polyhexian]

adslkfjksdjkf okay loving the horror-esque route we're going down with this AU. Is it horror-esque? I actually don't know much about the horror genre so idk.

I had this idea that I didn't include earlier but it could be useful now - maybe Jasper and Hunter do something with Enoch's skeleton to reinforce the evidence that it's Hunter's, and that's how she gets connected to him. Like, that thing Jasper did in MH to trace Mara's magical signature to her location? Something something attaching a bit of Hunter's magical signature to Enoch's bones so when the magical forensics team takes a look they can confirm that this is indeed the Golden Guard. Not enough that they could tell Hunter is actually alive and find him, just…enough to settle the fact that the bones are his. Which is also enough to awaken a ghost. Hunter and Jasper can eventually fix this mess by breaking that connection.

Enoch's patient, we know this. So she takes her time sizing up the situation and figuring out how to use it to her advantage. She quickly sees that Hunter can easily get her to Belos, but Jasper is going to ruin everything again with his stupid sentimentality if she doesn't do something about it.

But she takes it slow. She needs to understand her abilities and limitations and the situation she's working with, she can't mess up this unexpected second chance. So she's whispering in Hunter's subconscious before she moves on to more direct action.

Hunter knows he needs to act like a curious traitor. He's pretending to run away from Belos, he just learned some crazy shit. He needs to ask. He wants to ask. He's not sure if he wants to know. But he needs to know. Does he need to know? It doesn't matter, actually, because he's pretending to be a traitor and a traitor would want to know. So he has to ask about the bone pit.

(Hunter is so good at being in denial and defending Belos that it's hard to even tell how much of this would be Enoch in the beginning.)

Jasper starts explaining things and Hunter is in this weird situation where he wants to defend Belos but he can't because he's supposed to be running away and betraying his uncle. So he can't deny that Belos is evil. And the more he learns the more it's like, oh titan. Belos is evil. (But he's still my uncle and I love him and he'll want me back.) Belos has created and killed so many Grimwalkers and Hunter is a Grimwalker and Hunter probably should make his fake betrayal a real betrayal and never go back. (But he has to go back, he wants to go back it's his duty.) The Martlet is a former Golden Guard who escaped. (Coward.)

He can't defend Belos but maybe he shouldn't defend Belos. He needs to keep up the act, except it turns out what he's pretending to be might be what he SHOULD be because everything he's learning is INSANE. Enoch's just muddying the waters.

The more Hunter learns the more conflicted his emotions get. Jasper's like, okay, yeah, it's perfectly normal to have conflicted emotions about this! You're fine. It's fine. If you still care about Belos or have issues with me that's fine, just…please, promise me you won't go back? Please?

And Hunter agrees that logically, yeah, he really shouldn't go back, not after learning all this. (Except he should, he should, he should--)

He's upset at the Martlet/Jasper, but maybe not as upset as he is in the regular eventually AU cuz he doesn't have the rest of his support network telling him that how Belos treated him wasn't okay and then he takes that out on Jasper. Jasper is his only support network here. So he's upset but Jasper's all he's got.

And Jasper…does really seem to care. He cares more than Belos ever has. Hunter's…not sure how to deal with that. (Hunter should hate the Martlet for how he treated him.) Jasper's been really understanding about the whole situation, it's been weird but nice. (He won't be so nice when he learns Hunter's been lying to him.) Jasper has been kindly providing Hunter with food and clothing and even an entire bedroom furnished just for him. (He misses his old room in the castle.) Jasper says he's…he's Hunter's dad. If he wants him to be. (He doesn't need a dad, dads are overrated, he's fifteen years old and he's gotten by without a dad just FINE he DOESN'T NEED A DAD.) Jasper really wants to make up for years of fighting against and hurting Hunter, he obviously wants Hunter to stay. (Hunter should hurt him, he should just leave, Jasper is useless and never saved him from anything and only ever made his life worse and--and Hunter should leave him behind, should cut him out, should kill him--)

What. The fuck.

Hunter's not sleeping well, even by Golden Guard standards. He thinks he sees a shadow in the corner of his eye but there's never anything there. Jasper notices, asks, but there isn't really reason for either of them to be suspicious--Hunter's learned some pretty devastating truths in the last week, he's dealing with a lot, insomnia is probably just part of the package.

Hunter keeps telling himself it's just stress, even if this feels different from his usual stress. Jasper is concerned but supportive, Hunter thinks he might appreciate it. (He hates it.) He can't keep up with the thoughts in his head. He doesn't want to hurt Jasper. (Yes he does.) He doesn't want to go back to Belos. (Doesn't he?) No, he wants to…he wants to sit here on the couch with Hawk and a book about wild magic and (Eat the palisman, eat it like Belos does, it'll make him stronger, EAT IT--)

Hunter throws himself off the couch and tries not to have a panic attack on the floor. Hawk is worried. Jasper is worried. Hunter insists he's fine and doesn't tell them that the thoughts in his head are seriously starting to scare him.

Enoch gets tired of trying to mentally manipulate this kid so she starts experimenting. She tests her control, makes him go nonverbal for chunks of time, keeps him lying in bed for hours after he wakes up. Every so often she yanks Hunter out of his body for a minute or two, tests taking over herself. She never does anything drastic. Hunter floats next to his body and is just like, ah, okay, this must be that dissociation thing I read about. Okay then. This is happening.

Jasper figures his poor kid is just experiencing an endless buffet of trauma responses while he processes…everything. He does his best to help, but the problems Jasper is trying to help with are not the problems Hunter is actually experiencing.

The "dissociation" thing starts happening more often, for longer periods of time, and then Hunter's body starts doing or saying things without his volition, and--okay, sure, you can do and say things while you're dissociated, but something about this is wrong.

I have to assume at this point that Jasper and Hunter gave up the artificial staff when they faked Hunter's death, cuz if it's in the cave with them Enoch would immediately take it and storm the castle, lol. Instead she has to make sure she can get Hunter to the castle without Jasper stopping them.

By the time Hunter realizes there's something else in his body with him, it's too late. Enoch has too much control. If she isn't possessing his body, she's stopping him from talking, he can't tell Jasper anything about what's happening. He tries to figure out who she is, reason with her, and she makes it clear that she doesn't care about him or what he wants and that she's focused on her own agenda.

And then Enoch starts talking to Jasper with Hunter's mouth and--no. No. Why would you say that to him? (Oh, like you aren't upset at him yourself.) Of course I am, but--wait. Wait. How…how long have you been…? (Long enough to know you're upset at him.) Am I? (Of course you are.) W-well, even if I am, I--he's--I don't know what I want yet, I'm still--you're going to make him hate me, I don't want him to hate me! You can't ruin this! It's mine! (You really are as pathetic as I thought you were.)

At some point Enoch says something nasty enough to Jasper that he gets up and walks to his room and closes the door and Enoch just sits there in Hunter's body, not even bothering to look smug. Hunter is distressed and doesn't want to be near her so he goes after Jasper and realizes he can phase through the wall. He watches Jasper sob and berate himself and yank his hair and say a lot of things to Hawk, and Hunter's just floating there like, oh my god. He really does care.

Hunter will have to make contact with Jasper at some point, idk how. Drawing messages on the bathroom mirror? Bloody Mary incantation? Jasper's on the crystal ball and sees Hunter on the other side of it, or reflected in the surface, even though he knows Hunter is currently in his room? However it happens he ends up trying to comfort his son's inconsolable, panicking spirit while he tries to understand what's going on.

Jasper vs Enoch In Hunter's Body would be…wow. I don't even know but wow. Righteous anger while trying not to cause harm on one side, and emotionless focus on the other. Yikes. Would probably have to come down to actual magic instead of fighting, though. Not flashy magic but like, magical practices. Salt circles. Jasper wrestling a necklace of iron around Hunter's neck to hold Enoch at bay so Hunter can get back into his own body.

I like the idea of them not getting rid of Enoch immediately. She's still there. Hunter still has to deal with her manipulative thoughts, but at least he knows they're hers now. She's waiting for an opportunity to take control, and he knows it. She slips through sometimes, can't do much so long as he's wearing iron, but I have this idea of like, Jasper never fully sure if he's talking to Hunter or Enoch. Jasper having a cheerful conversation with Hunter, only to turn to see his son staring at him with a blank expression. She tells him he's a sentimental coward who failed to kill Belos because he was worried about a baby, and he snaps back at her. Hunter still has trouble sleeping because Enoch is making his dreams unbearable, and he often wakes up screaming, only to find Jasper already holding him steady and stroking his hair.

I imagine the only way they can fix this is by breaking the bond between Hunter and Enoch's bones. This suits Enoch just fine. After all, Belos is still trying to figure out how her skeleton is imbued with Hunter's magical signature, so he hasn't tossed her back in the Grimwalker pit yet. Her bones are in the castle.

Absolutely SCREAMING

Imagine Enoch takes over hunters body and says something to jasper that really gets a rise out of him enough he yells at her, but she dips and lets hunter back in just in time so that jasper has yelled at HIM and even though he KNOWS it was at Enoch it's like. He just got yelled at. Big flinch. Undermined feelings. Getting worse. She's trying to get him to kill jasper and eat hawk Hunter oh my GOOOOODDDDDD

[holdmytesseract]

Lil' Announcement...

It's nothing bad, I swear. Rather good. 😁

I have been struggling a bit with my writing - like you know. Now, I'd say I have it under control again. The smol writing department in my brain isn't misbehaving anymore - which makes me honestly very happy. I've been writing A LOT of Baby Fever fics lately and I decided that I need a break from it. Don't get me wrong. I love this AU with all my heart, but we need some distance, in order to work perfectly together again. Therefore, I'm postponing the wedding (again, as well as the requests in my askbox) and write some other stuff. I need a ✨change of scenery✨. I hope this helps, 'cause I want the wedding to be perfect.

To cut a long story short, I decided to open up requests again. 🥳 Not that long, though, 'cause I've still got a few left and if I have too much I feel under pressure quite fast. 🙈 Plus, I don't want y'all needing to wait so long. So, I thought about a 'new concept' for doing this...

Rules:

I will only leave them open for a few hours (12 max. Depends on how many requests I get... I think I won't take more than 15 😬)

Everything that gets send in after I close them again will be deleted. I know this sounds hard and I'm really sorry for that, but I need to draw a line. Every time I opened requests and got 10 (for expample), I ended up with 15 - long after I closed them again. I've always been so kind to still accept and write them, but this puts me off my stride. I don't close them without a reason. Closed means closed. I hope you all can understand that.

No nonnies anymore. I love nonny requests - don't get me wrong. But I had a lot of moments in the past, where I wished to talk to the person who sent me the request and I couldn't. If you don't want me to publish your blog name, no problem. Just tell me and I'll keep you anonymous.

There are things I'm not comfortable with to write. Please respect that and take a look at my Request Rules for that.

I can't promise you that I'll write your request. This is something that happens VERY rarely. Sometimes there's simply no inspiration for a certain request and it's neither cool for me to pressure me into writing it, nor for you who gets a shitty story to read in return. I hope you can understand that as well. Happens really not that often, though.

Please be patient. I'm not always the fastest writer.

Characters I'm going to write for:

Loki (No requests for the Baby Fever AU please.)

Tom Hiddleston

Will Ransome

Jonathan Pine

James Conrad

I wouldn't say no to a Magnus Martinsson request either... 👀

Well... I think that's it... 🥳

Let's get started! 🔥

Peeps, who might be interested in knowing this... @fictive-sl0th @muddyorbsblr @lokisgoodgirl @eleniblue @aagn360 @mochie85 @multifandom-worlds @lokiforever @anukulee @chennqingg @loz-3 @jennyggggrrr @lady-rose-moon @lou12346789 @evelyn-kingsley @iamlokisgloriouspurpose @smolvenger 🧡 Absolute NO pressure, though. Just thought you might be interested. ☺️