#because my fingers go faster than my brain processes and when it catches up it sees what came out and just goes ‘…what’

[magentakat]

Me, trying to get around the screaming and blocks my demand avoidance loves to put on me whenever it can so I can actually write some of the shit stuck in my head because I have so many story ideas (and want to be able to post and share them with others, damn it!), is always an… interesting time.

The latest strat, since a long-time issue of mine is “write a little, then edit those bits to death until i toss it all in the trash because I’m sick of editing but can’t get myself to write more”, is, like pretty much everything relating to getting around demand avoidance, stupidly round-about. How so? Well…

Basically, take advice of “write everything at once without editing, then edit (and revise and all that) once you’ve got it all written out!” but add the reward/rule-bending/getting out of that semi-demand of “…but you can edit anything still visible on the page while you’re writing” to shut up the brain gremlins gnawing at the bars and trying to painfully twist their way out of their cage.

But the important thing with this tactic is that I use typewriter mode in my writing program of choice, which sets the line I’m writing on in the center of the screen. There’s maybe 12 lines visible at most above that so pretty much all I can edit as I go that’s “on the page” is within the last paragraph or two at most as I’m counting from whatever the last stuff I’ve written is.

Get one-upped, silly brain.

[thewintersoldierdisaster]

a/n: hey there! i never actually planned on writing a sequel to ‘9 pm’ but a few anons asked about it and i liked the idea of giving them some happiness following that fic! the perfect title gave me the idea for the fic and here we are ☺️ i hope you guys enjoy!!

word count: 2.8k

tw: brief and minor mention of a miscarriage, pregnancy

direct sequel to 9 p.m. in vancouver

summary: andrei’s off on a road trip and you’re more exhausted than normal. once you realize why, you have to call andrei immediately

It’s barely ten at night and you’re falling asleep on the couch, Friends rerun playing at a low volume on the TV. Your blinks get longer, eyelids heavy, while Joey yells about the Coast Guard.

A yawn creaks at your jaw and you try to blink away some of the sudden exhaustion in your body. It doesn’t really work, another yawn catching you a few minutes later. You wrap your arms around one of the throw pillows, cheek smashed up against the pillow tucked under your head.

It’s been a long few days, work overwhelming you and Andrei up in the tri-state area for a mini road trip. The Canes had lost to the Flyers before beating the Devils. They’re currently up two goals on the Rangers, according to your NHL app updates, with just a few minutes left in the third.

The team will spend the night in the city before heading to Long Island for the second half of a back to back tomorrow.

It’s a grueling schedule so early in the season, four games in six days, and you know Andrei will be exhausted when he gets home on Monday morning. At least they’re off for two days before hitting the ice for a home game on Wednesday. You yawn again and decide vaguely that maybe you’ll go to the game, if you can keep your eyes open. It’s been a while since you went to the arena and you miss watching Andrei play live.

You can’t help but think briefly about the game in Vancouver last November, almost a year ago now, and your hand drifts to your stomach.

The baby would’ve been four months old, probably keeping you wide awake right now.

You don’t really think about the loss as much anymore, you can go long stretches of time without thinking about him - because you’d decided that it was a boy, even though it was too early to ever tell. Your due date had come around at the end of July and Andrei had spirited you out of the country, the both of you quiet and moody for a few days.

And then training camp had started and you’d gotten busy with work and then the season started and you didn’t dwell on the loss for a while.

But now it’s late and you’re tired and you haven’t seen Andrei in a few days and you should be cuddling a baby right now.

A few tears trickle down your temple and you swipe at them, emotion clogging your throat.

“God, get a grip,” you mutter to yourself, shaking your head slightly. It’s not even like you’re on your period to be so hormonal right now. Your brain takes a second to process the thought and when it does, your eyes widen and you kick your legs out, struggling with the blanket to try and sit up.

“Oh, oh my god,” you scramble for your phone, tossing blankets around until you hear the tell-tale thunk of the phone hitting the floor. You lunge for it, the TV remote going flying, but you barely pay attention to that as your fingers wrap around the loop on the back of your phone case and snatch it off the floor.

Your hands shake violently as you unlock your phone and thumb over to find your period tracker app. The app takes seconds to load, seconds where your heart beats wildly and your vision goes a little blurry. You mutter, “come on, faster, faster,” under your breath and suddenly the screen loads and there in the center of the screen, in bold font, is the notice that your period has been late for more than thirty days.

You’ve missed two periods.

Without even realizing it.

To be fair to yourself, after the miscarriage, everything was thrown off and you’ve only had seven or eight periods in the past year. So it’s not totally crazy that you didn’t realize you missed two cycles.

Your stomach lurches a little bit and you chew at your lower lip. You probably should take a test. But do you want to know without Andrei, again?

It didn’t work out so well last time.

You’re probably not even pregnant, you rationalize, it’s the stress of a new season starting and your body getting back to normal.

Never mind the fact that you’ve long been cleared to get pregnant again and your gynaecologist hadn’t said anything was wrong at your last appointment.

Your phone vibrates in your hand, nearly scaring the shit out of you. It’s just a notification from the NHL app - sometime in the last few minutes, while you’d been spiralling, the Rangers had tied the game and it was going to overtime.

Overtime anxiety is better than maybe-pregnant anxiety, so you tune into Bally, the sudden brightness of the glare off the ice making you blink. You’re half-heartedly paying attention, fingers tapping against your thigh while the players zip up and down the ice, trading scoring chances. Andrei’s on the ice for a shift and then he’s back on the bench. Pyotr makes a save and then another and then he doesn’t.

You frown at the TV, watching Andrei and the guys file off the ice, miserable for the team’s loss. You change the channel back to Nick at Nite, not interested in seeing the post-game analysis of the loss.

The audience laughter from the show echoes around the living room and you chew at your lower lip anxiously. Andrei won’t be back to his hotel room for hours, the post-game process already underway, but between media, a shower, and the travel. Well, it’ll be at least close to midnight before you can talk to him.

He’ll reassure you that you’re overthinking, that it’s nothing. But a quiet part of your brain is insistent that you’re pregnant and it just won’t shut up.

The smartest thing would be to take a test, find out once and for all if you’re even going to mention anything to Andrei. You’re pretty sure there’s no tests left after last time and if there are, they’re probably expired.

Your fingers tap at the screen of your phone almost by memory, the Google search showing that there’s a twenty-four hour CVS just a ten minute drive away.

The episode ends and another begins while you sit on that information, giving yourself a moment to imagine what you’ll do if the test is positive. He has to know immediately this time, you don’t think you’d be able to wait.

“Oh fuck it,” you mutter to yourself, pushing the blankets off your legs and getting up from the couch. Your vision goes fuzzy, briefly, the blood rushing from your head. You blink and everything shifts back into focus, your heart hammering a little.

Before you can overthink it, you turn off the TV and head for the front door, making a stop at the front hall closet to grab a jacket. Your fingers close around the sleeve of one of Andrei’s, the jacket dwarfing your frame as you slip your arms into the sleeves. You shove your feet into a ratty pair of Uggs and drop a faded Canes ball cap on your head.

You look insane, more like a college kid doing a walk of shame than a married woman, but Andrei’s scent embedded deep into the collar of his jacket is comforting you.

At CVS, you grab at the pregnancy test boxes like a woman possessed - Clear Blue, First Response, and the CVS generic brand all go into your basket, along with a bag of pumpkin shaped Reese’s Cups and a pack of Twizzlers. Something about the waxy, artificial strawberry ropes seems appealing right now.

Thank God for self-checkout, you don’t think you can face another person right now.

The pregnancy tests feel like they weigh a million pounds in the plastic bag and you gnaw anxiously on a Twizzler as you drive back home.

It’s well after midnight by the time you manage to drink enough water in order to pee on all the sticks and this round is more anxiety producing than when you’d done it over a year ago. Once you’re done, you set the timer on your phone and flip each stick over on the counter, so you can’t see the displays.

Instead of waiting in the bathroom, which is feeling small and stuffy despite how large it actually is, you pace around your bedroom for the few minutes it takes for your timer to count down. You wonder if you could call Andrei now, be on the phone with him when you look at the display, but if you’re not pregnant and he’s on the phone, he’ll be disappointed right before the next set of games. He’s been talking about it a little more lately, in the abstract, how nice it’ll be to have a baby one day. And you maybe haven’t been as enthusiastic as he’s been, so you don’t want to get his hopes up.

If you’re not pregnant, Andrei doesn’t need to know that you worried yourself into a tizzy over nothing.

But if you are? Well, Andrei will be the first call anyway.

The timer goes off on your phone and the sudden, shrill noise makes you jump. Your stomach lurches and you flatten your palm over it. Underneath the anxiety, there’s a little bubble of excitement growing, the thought of a baby providing a little spark of joy.

You wander back into the bathroom and close your eyes before flipping the tests over with shaking hands.

The plastic clatters against the countertop and you squint one eye open and then the other, vision focusing on the little displays.

“Oh!” You gasp, eyes immediately filling with tears, hands flying up to cover your mouth.

All three are positive, the little Clear Blue display declaring you ‘Pregnant’ in tiny letters.

Tears slip down your cheeks and you start giggling wildly, overwhelmed in the best possible way. Your hands press on your stomach, palms flat and fingers splayed.

“Hey there, baby,” you murmur, looking down. “Stay safe in there, okay? We want to meet you.”

The tears fall faster and you wipe at them with your shoulder, a damp splotch forming on the fabric of your sweatshirt. It’s so late, but you need to tell Andrei, and you move on autopilot, climbing onto your bed and finding your phone among the messy covers - the bed hasn’t been made in two days because Andrei is more of a stickler for that than you are and you like to get right back into the nest of blankets at the end of the day. It’s on your list of things to do before he’s back in a few days. Now, you pile yourself into a little cocoon of the blankets and comforters, warm and happy.

You text him first, just a quick ‘you awake?’ that you know he’s going to read as a request for phone sex.

True enough, your phone vibrates in your hand a few seconds later, Andrei’s name at the top of the screen. You grin and slide the bar to answer, “hey there.”

“Is late,” he replies, a faint laugh in his tone. “Thought you would be sleeping.”

“No,” you giggle, feeling a little unhinged. “Not asleep. Couldn’t sleep. Um, are you alone?”

Your husband laughs fully now, the sound echoing over the line. “Solnyshka, been a long day. I love you, but we have early morning,” he teases and the rumble of his voice makes you smile.

“No, not for that you perv,” you shoot back, twisting your fingers in a loose thread. “I wanted to talk to you about something.”

You know you’re sounding vague and strange, but to his credit, Andrei doesn’t call you out on it. Instead, he’s quiet for a second before your phone vibrates against your ear, signalling an incoming text. You pull the phone from your ear and tap over to your messages, laughing when you see the picture Andrei just sent.

The hotel room is nearly pitch black, but you can still make out the shape of Martin Nečas passed out in his bed with what looks like an eye mask covering his face. Andrei’s grinning face is cut off in the corner of the picture.

“Guess that’s a yes then,” you smile, bringing the phone back to your ear.

“Neci has earplugs in too,” Andrei informs you. “Says I snore, which is lie.”

It’s not, but you don’t feel like relitigating that particular point with him right now. So you move on.

“I know I should’ve waited, done something cute, but I’m bursting,” you let the words come out in a rush, feeling lightheaded with excitement. “I couldn’t, I had to tell you right away, Drei, baby, I’m pregnant.”

Andrei’s silent on the other end and a slightly manic laugh bubbles out of your mouth while you wait for him to say something.

“Pregnant?” He repeats, sounding like he’s just taken a blow to the stomach - winded and hoarse. “Like, with baby?”

“Yeah, mhm,” you hum, just letting the news soak in. Andrei’s breathing is audible in your ear, a soft ‘huh’ puffing out.

He starts to laugh and you can hear the grin in his voice when he says, “oh, solnyshka, fuck, I’m… ya chertovski schastliv.”

He slips into Russian and you’re not totally familiar with the words, but he repeats them in English, “I’m so fucking happy. Are you okay? How you feel?”

“I’m okay, I was feeling a little tired earlier,” you say. “That’s kind of why I took the test, just to see.”

Without asking, Andrei switches the call to a FaceTime and you pull the phone back, his grinning face taking up the entire screen. He looks lighter and happier than he has in months and the sight of him, of that smile that you love so much, makes you emotional.

“I wish I could kiss you,” he shakes his head, still smiling. “Hold you, something other than smile like idiot on phone.”

“I’m just happy to see your smile,” you say truthfully. A hug wouldn’t be unwelcome, but just seeing Andrei’s face has you calmer. “It’s late,” you continue, catching sight of the time in the top left corner of your phone - nearly 1:30 in the morning. “You should get some sleep.”

The adrenaline is starting to wear off now and you slump back against the pillows and headboard.

Andrei nods. “Call me when you get up,” he requests, phone bouncing slightly as he shifts on the bed. “We leave early, but call any time, okay?”

“Okay,” you promise, pressing your lips together to smother a yawn. “Hey, I love you.”

“Ya tebya lyublyu,” Andrei replies in Russian, warm and awed. “You and baby, both.”

You’re both quiet for a bit, comfortable and sleepy, reluctant to end the call. You just want to enjoy his long-distance presence and this little bubble, but eventually Martin lets out a snore on his side of the room, startling you since you forgot he was there. Andrei laughs faintly and reluctantly ends the call, after telling you he loves you again.

Now that Andrei knows, your whole body relaxes and you sink happily into the nest of blankets and pillows, curled up in a c-shape, one hand on your stomach.

There’s a million things to figure out in the coming days, weeks, and months, a million worries to ruminate on, but for now, you fall asleep with a smile on your face and pure happiness bubbling in your stomach.

The next morning, you snooze your alarm and allow yourself to wake up slowly and lazily. It’s an easy morning and you don’t plan on getting out of bed until you hear the doorbell ring.

With a grumble, you climb out of bed and shove your feet into a pair of slippers to pad downstairs, wondering who could be at the door this early.

It’s a delivery man, half-hidden behind a huge bouquet of flowers. You accept it, surprised at the delivery but not at the sender.

The oversized bouquet made up of baby roses, baby’s breath, and a few other types all in various shades of baby pink and baby blue can only be from your husband. Your face hurts from the size of your smile and you dig out the little card from between a pale pinks rose and a light blue hydrangea.

‘I love you, we will celebrate as soon as I am home. A hug and a kiss from New York for you, mama. -A’

It’s not Andrei’s handwriting, but you trace your fingers over the letters and feel tears well up. Any concerns or worries you might have about having a baby are pushed aside.

Andrei’s going to be the best dad and you’re so lucky to be doing this with him.

[q1ngqve]

What if Ratio's s/o is feeling a little insecure about herself and Ratio's like "Are you saying I have bad taste? 🤨 Quite dumb of you to say. Allow me to show you how much I adore you..."

Fingers his s/o to the point where she squirts, and then stuffing his cock inside her cunny while whispering about how much he loves her...

"perfection is not defined by arbitrary standards imposed by society. true beauty emanates from authenticity, and you, my love, possess an authenticity that shines brighter than any star in the cosmos."

CW; insecure reader, fingering, squirting, overstimulation, penetration (v)

he'd be offended (lowkey) because he thinks very highly of you! so don’t blame him when he frowns, a slight downward tilt on his lips as he asks why you would ever feel / think this way

"are you saying I have bad taste? quite dumb of you to say so." despite his harsh words, his tone is soft and comforting, wrapping his arms around you in the process, head resting on your shoulder

you are literally the most amazing person he's ever met (I would say perfect but he knows nobody is perfect), he just couldn't wrap his head around your reasons for being insecure, but he understands that everybody has their low days, and it just so happens to be yours!

and what good is he as your boyfriend if he doesn't cheer you up and show you just how beautiful you are to him?

plants kisses on the side of your neck lovingly, and you giggle softly as his hair tickles you, making him chuckle between his kisses. separates himself from you before grabbing your wrists and leads you to the bed, gesturing for you to lie down

"god, you are beautiful."

leans down to kiss you passionately, tongue running along your bottom lip as he removes your pants, flinging it to the side of the room. you pull back to catch your breath a few seconds later, eyes flickering away from his intense gaze. his red eyes burning straight through the wall you built, staring right into the deepest part of your soul, and you suddenly feel incredibly vulnerable

"I'm not..."

your boyfriend's head shakes, a sigh leaving him, "then allow me to prove you otherwise, show you just how much I adore you." your eyes meet his once again, and you feel your cheeks heating up at his statement

with a small nod of head as consent, his hand reaches for your face, cupping your cheek for a moment before moving down to your neck, to your collar bones, his mouth following after the trail he left behind

you squirm in place, feeling extremely insecure about yourself, today really isn't your day. he notices this almost immediately, and distracts you by sucking on your nipple through your shirt, letting his warm tongue prod at the perky bud

whines leave your lips as his hands trail further down, dipping in your damp panties, drawing slow, sensual circles on your clit with his middle finger, "ratio..."

your body tenses when a finger slips in, "stunning. absolutely stunning." a breathy laugh escapes him as your hands fly to the back of his neck, pulling him down to kiss him fervently, "feels good, hmm?"

another finger joins the first, embarrassing squelching sounds fill the room as he pumps them into you with precision, hitting all your sensitive spots. it doesn't take long before you come undone on his fingers, and you feel a shudder run down your body when he smiles, "one more."

he doesn't give you the chance to calm down, plunging his fingers back in, and you clench around him, hard. the overstimulation making your head go empty, all negative thoughts of your body leaving your brain

when he hits that one spongy spot deep in you, your nails instinctively dig into his shoulders, successfully making your boyfriend smirk at your reaction

"wait— slow down! or I'm gonna—"

and of course he doesn't heed your warning, pushing and curling his fingers at a faster pace, thumb rubbing your clit, the occasional brush of his ring leaves your knees weak, your hips bucking on its own accord, trying to get that delicious friction again

a sudden warmth fills your core, your brain shutting down, and all you could hear was white noise buzzing inside you, your legs clenching together with his arm still between them

ratio curses under his breath at the sight before him — you with your back arched, eyes closed, mouth open, hips grinding against his hand as you ride out your high. he knew you were cumming, but he did not expect you to squirt, drenching his lower arm with your juices, the wetness shining under the bedroom light

your legs are pushed apart as you feel him climb between them, the clanking sound of his belt falling to the ground has you opening your eyes. you find yourself whining his name pathetically at the sight of him stroking his erect dick, the tip red and angry, curving at a slight angle with his veins looking like they may burst anytime

"apologies, my dear, but my patience is running out."

air gets knocked out of your lungs the moment he pushes all the way to the hilt, pulling a scream out from you. your body shakes uncontrollably from the overstimulation, hands desperately clawing at his chest and shoulders, trying to ground yourself with all your might

his hands grab at your hips, lifting you up slightly to thrust into you better as he kisses you again, this time so hard and rushed that your teeth clanks at some point. he'd pull away when you push at him, almost suffocating from the kiss, and you'd watch with tears in your eyes as he grits his teeth, jaw flexing each time he hits your cervix, soft grunts sounding at the back of his throat with each thrust

"you. are. absolutely. phenomenal." each word comes out hoarsely with each thrust, "every inch of you, perfection." tears stream down your face at his words, tiny gasps of whatever insecurities leave your body, "and don't you ever forget that."

you feel your pussy spasming around him, you're so so near to the edge, and you know he will he send you over with ease — angling his hips at the perfect angle, his own high approaching with each spasm of your warm gummy walls

"fuck— cum with me, please."

and you tense, gripping down on him like a vice, barely registering his groan of your name against your neck as you fall over the edge yet again. spurts of hot liquid fill your insides, leaving you a whimpering, crying mess under him. your boyfriend above you pants against your neck, his arms giving out slightly to press his body weight on you, trapping you beneath him, the weight and heat a comforting anchor for you to come back down

it takes a few minutes for the both of you to recover, and when you do, he's already kissing your collarbones, hands kneading your body softly, massaging at the red hand prints of his grip on your hips from before

sobs leave you unexpectedly as you wrap your arms around him, breaking down against his chest, wetting the fabric there. ratio's hands reach for your hair, pushing the fringe on your face back behind your ear, his thumb brushing the stray tears away from your eyes

soft tenderness appears in his own eyes as he leans closer to you, forehead touching yours, "while I may not fully comprehend the intricacies of your emotions, rest assured that my commitment to you remains unwavering. you are the reason my heart beats with such fervor, and you are cherished beyond measure."

you break into small giggles as more tears pour, and your hand reaching up to cup his face when you notice his nose and eyes turning red, tears welling in those beautiful shades of red and purple

"I love you."

[slasherholic]

Disclaimer: This is a repost! I deleted then remade my blog (more on that here) and people have requested for me to repost some of my old fics as they have become unavailable due to my deletion. Enjoy :-)

Synopsis: You are Michael’s plaything. Tonight, he is toying with you in a very mean way: by trapping you in an abandoned building and hunting after you mercilessly.

The Shape is on the prowl–you are his prey. Run, and for the love of god, don’t get caught.

Alternatively: An entire flippin’ Halloween movie starring you as the final girl. Only when Michael catches you he’s going to fuck your brains out.

Contains: lots of gore n violence, lots of death, lots of Michael bullying the reader, eventual non-con

Note: this is an abandoned work :')

End of the Line | Michael Myers x Reader | Chapter One

You recall reading once about a woman who woke up in a morgue.

She’d been declared brain-dead, toe-tagged, and stuffed away into a cramped, dark, cold little space like a sardine in a tin can to rot until further notice. Perfectly suitable living arrangements if you’re an unfeeling corpse.

Not so much when you’re alive to recognize the walls pressing in around you. Not so much when you’re aware enough to feel the panic swelling in your gut.

You lie on your back in the swirling darkness and blink rapidly, your knees drawn into your chest, your neck and joints painfully stiff, your every heavy breath drawing a sour odor deep into your lungs, and your rationale tells you that the trunk of your car is not, in fact, a morgue; but it sure as hell feels like one.

The car goes over a bump, and one of the many grocery bags stealing your much-needed breathing room topples over on its side. What you think is a milk carton comes tumbling out to poke you in the ribs. You’re vaguely aware that you’re squishing the bread—or something else cushy—but your concern for it penetrates no deeper than “awareness.” Instead, you focus on your counting.

“Forty-eight, forty-nine, fifty.”

Your words are fainter than a whisper, swept away by the purring of the engine. You absently stroke the fuzzy carpet lining on the sides of the trunk as you count—a distraction, to keep that creeping, suffocating panic that makes your hands tingle with cold-pin pricks from clawing its way back to your head again. Count, you remind yourself, whenever the tingling begins to spread up your limbs—count.

“Fifty-eight, fifty-nine, sixty.” Another minute you’ve been along on this involuntary ride.

Bringing you to a total of thirty-two since Michael seized you off your front porch on your way to the door, dragging you back across the driveway like a pig to the slaughter, thrusting you down into the trunk, slamming the door, nearly taking your fingers off in the process.

The counting had been a last-ditch effort to try and screw your head back onto your shoulders before you lost it completely, and it seemed to be more or less working. Having a sense of time is a solace. The bigger picture of the puzzle is impossible to know with so much missing information, but you clutch at your tiny piece of it anyway, because without it you are blind, and with it, at least you know this is no trip down the street. Michael is taking you somewhere far away—and you suspect that when the trunk is popped, there will no longer be any rosy Illinois suburb to greet you.

You try your hardest not to think about that though; because the thoughts of what will happen after that will all come flooding back.

Here comes one now, wriggling like a parasite through your marrow: He’s done with me. He’s driving me somewhere to kill me and after that he’s gonna dump my body in some gutter.

Don’t let it in. Don’t let it in. If you do you will only start to cry again, and the tingling will sweep back up your body to crash like a wave over your head, and you will lock up like a corpse and breathe harder and faster until you are suffocating, or at least that’s what it feels like, so please please please, for the love of god, don’t let it in.

“One.” You start over and your voice is tight. You try your damnedest to ignore the pressure building in your sinuses.

The car goes into a smooth turn, and a can of something knocks against your hip. You haven’t even been jostled too much on the ride—Michael is a surprisingly competent driver. He takes the speed-bumps a little too fast, which accounts for most of the jostling. And sometimes he hits the brakes too hard. But it’s nothing that would get him pulled over, and you guess that’s the point. Slipping undetected through the background is what Michael does best.

Going over another speed bump, your head knocks against the side of the trunk, making you chomp down on your lip. A warm coppery taste floods your mouth. You sniffle and count harder.

“Ten, eleven, twelve…”

The car goes into a hard turn, like he’s cranked the steering-wheel all the way to one side, the momentum flattening you up against the trunk door.

“Fifteen, sixteen, seventeen—” Frantic counting.

The car screeches to a stop. You forget how to breathe.

Then, it starts to reverse.

“Twenty.” You grab a handful of the nearest plastic bag because it is the only thing to hold onto.

“Twenty-two.” The car is still backing up, the tires crunching over what sounds like broken glass. The panic has numbed your fingers and is spreading up your chest, a hot-cold tingling sensation.

“Twenty five.” There is a shrill squealing of brakes as the car slows to a crawl—

—and you stop counting. Because the car has stopped moving.

Beneath you, the tickling of the engine cuts off.

Your heart was already sprinting in your chest but now it accelerates feverishly, ramping up to a blistering speed.

Outside you hear the drivers’ door squeal open. Then the crunch of boots over what sounds like glass as Michael steps out of the car.

Danger, says some dumb little instinct in the primitive core of your brain, danger is coming, fight, fight for your life. You call it your lizard-brain, and the lizard-brain is oblivious to the crushing reality of the situation which your rational-brain already knows: there will be no fight.

Whatever Michael’s goal is in doing this to you, be it fear or blood or most likely both, he is going to take it from you. Trying to stop him is like trying to stop the turn of the very earth beneath your feet, and the harsh truth of the matter is that you are once again pathetically at the mercy of a predator who has none.

The scrunching of his boots gets nearer—he’s walking around the side of the car, toward the trunk.

Don’t make it easy for him, insists the lizard-brain, refusing to go belly-up and die.

The handle of the trunk pops with a “click.”

Fight. Fight. Fight-fight-fight-fight—

It is dark outside the trunk. Michael is nothing more than a looming outline of black, just a shape, with broad shoulders and strong arms and eerie stillness bordering on unnatural.

One gape-mouthed look up at his familiar figure is all it takes to silence the chanting of your lizard-brain.

His thick arm shoots suddenly inside the trunk. Another dumb instinct seizes your body before his hands do: freeze.

Strong fingers snake around the front of your shirt. In one quick tug Michael sweeps you fluidly up and out of the trunk, your spine scraping against the metal lip on your way out. Your world flip-flops as you topple over the edge, tumbling into a free-fall for a split second, spilling to the ground.

Your head and back knock against a cold floor. Wheezing, you look fearfully up at the dark shape that is Michael, aware that you’re half-laying across his boots.

But you don’t move.

His hand comes reaching down again and it’s closer to your face this time so you scrunch your eyes shut tight. His fingers take up root in your hair and suddenly you’re being whisked across the floor like a burlap sack—but you don’t move. Where your shirt rides up across your lower back the broken glass scrapes against your skin like nails, and the tightness on your scalp is agony, and you clamp your jaw shut tight, whimpering through your teeth—but your fingers don’t shoot up to pry at his, your heels don’t dig into the floor to hinder his lugging.

You are dragged fifteen feet before Michael drops you. Your shoulders knock against the ground as his hand withdraws. Your scrunched-up eyes stay shut tight, tears now slipping out from beneath your lids. His heavy footfalls retreat again, crunching back toward the car.

You lay still in the exact spot where Michael dropped you in the dust and glass on the cold floor, still not knowing why he’s dragged you all the way out here (or even where here is,) but you do know one thing, and that is don’t you dare move a single inch.

Sure, your lizard-brain may still bark at you when your heart gets pounding, but it no longer has any desire to bite Michael back.

This new instinct—one that locks your joints and glues your limbs—is your law, and your law goes like this: Be limp. Be obedient. No matter how ugly it gets. Fighting only excites him, so don’t do that. And never, ever, ever run; only prey run, and you can’t be his prey. The moment that happens is the moment you lose your life.

So although your heart is beating nearly out of your chest, although the tears are coming freely now, you lay like a discarded toy on the ground and try not to cry too loudly while you wait for Michael to come back and play with you some more.

But because not knowing where he’ll pounce from next is far too gut-wrenching, you peek your eyes open a sliver to watch.

Michael’s shadowy figure stalks back around the car to the open drivers’ side door. He bends and dips down out of view, reaching for something within.

In the meantime you have the briefest of moments to study your new surroundings.

It is some sort of corridor, you realize, squinting. You can just make out both walls, lined with rows of what you think are lockers of a color you can’t make out—narrow, but not quite claustrophobic. And Michael appears to have backed your car right up into the building.

Tilting your chin toward your chest, glancing beneath the car, you catch a glimpse of the world outside, past what was, at one point, a pair of glass doors. Their metal frames lie on the ground now, shattered.

It’s not so dark out there, under the moonlit sky. You see a big, empty lot. Unlit street lamps. Faded parking spaces.

A lizard-brain thought arises which tells you to crawl beneath the car, dash out across the lot, and book it into the night before Michael returns. And at that your rational brain chuckles and procures images of Michael calmly and coolly getting right back into your car, putting pedal to metal, and running you down flatter than a pancake—and oh, he would, he’d do it in a heartbeat.

If he didn’t slit your throat then and there perhaps he’d haul your shattered body right back inside the building, right back to this very spot; and then you’d have to suffer through his torment with broken limbs and broken ribs and broken god-knows-what-else.

Michael’s boots crunch suddenly as he shifts his weight, startling you. Your eyes flit to him just in time to see him standing up from the car, shutting the door behind him.

Even in the dark—especially in the dark—Michael is a formidable sight to behold. The moonlight filtering through the open doorway bathes his figure in a silvery outline and cloaks the front of him in shadow. The flared collar of his coveralls juts proudly out around his neck at mismatched angles, and the resulting silhouette is regal and imposing in a wild, vicious, untamable sort of way.

It is the sort of sight which, were he safely behind a foot of glass, you would have paused to study in awe and admiration.

But a predator is far harder to appreciate when it’s stalking right towards you.

Michael advances—and you become a small defenseless animal, caught beneath the gaze of a monster. Shivering all over, you scour the blackness where his eyes should be for any glimpse of murderous intent—but in this dismal lighting Michael’s cold irises can’t be seen. Only felt.

He stops in front of the trunk and goes sill. Lurking there. Watching you come undone.

You gnaw your lower lip until it starts to bleed and blink away the tears as they come.

Half a minute passes before you notice the elephant in the room.

In Michael’s left hand he clutches something stark and white, eerily visible in the surrounding dimness. His mask.

But in his right, clutched as nonchalantly as if it were some harmless prop, silver moonlight dancing across its sharp edges, you eyeball the unmistakable curve of Michael’s favored murder weapon.

All seventeen deadly inches of it.

Your heart drops like a stone. Your mouth goes bone-dry.

The bite of that knife is more familiar to you than the kiss of a lover—you have the scars to prove it.

So fixed you are on that awful, awful knife that when Michael’s still silhouette at last jerks to life you flinch, uttering a little cry, positive that he is going to surge forward and seize you.

But he is only reaching up to put on his mask.

It occurs to you now that you have never actually seen Michael putting it on. You’ve seen the reverse plenty of times though, and there is no mystical transformation to be witnessed when the veil lifts away from his face, no change in his mannerisms, no difference in his stiff posture—Michael, for all intents and purposes, is the same dark, lurking, deadly force as before the mask came off.

But at least with it off he is still human; at least he still has a face, however barren; at least he still has eyes, however uncaring, however cold.

Now, as Michael pulls the mask down over his mess of dark hair, down over his eyes, over all his features, over everything that makes him readily identifiable as human, if you didn’t know better you might say that the person beneath the mask had been effectively hidden away.

But you do know better.

Nothing at all about Michael is being hidden. The empty mask does not conceal. It only reveals. It reveals Michael’s deepest nature better than his face ever could. The black voids in place of his eyes communicate his intentions more effectively than any of his stony glares ever could.

You know that Michael does not become The Shape when he disappears behind that mask, because he never stopped being The Shape in the first place.

It’s just that now, he cannot be mistaken for anything else.

Michael tugs the mask all the way down until it settles around his neck. Like clockwork comes his breathing—in to fill his lungs and broaden the silvery outline of his chest, out again.

The Shape is complete.

You shiver on the cold ground, staring, not moving.

The Shape towers above you, a dark monument—and you have never felt so incredibly small.

All your worst fears have been realized.

The shoddy line drawn in the sand that separated you from all those other victims has been kicked over, scattered to the wind.

You are prey. And Michael is going to hunt you.

His motionless form comes alive again, lunging. The chanting of your lizard-brain comes roaring back. Not fight fight fight, but simply,

Run.

No. No, you can’t. No, there is no running from him.

Run. Run or he’s going to kill you.

Shut up. Shut up. Shut up.

He’s raising his knife—it’s over. Run. Please run.

And suddenly the thoughts searing through your mind are not lizard-brain thoughts but just your thoughts, ringing true and clear.

Michael drops to one knee and throws his full weight into the momentum of the thrust—the knife in his fist cuts an arch through the air, racing toward your sternum.

You throw yourself onto your side, out of its path. Pain shoots down your shoulder blade as you roll, the knife raking across your back, barely missing your ribs—if you had reacted a millisecond later you would be choking on your own blood right now.

Your laws fall to anarchy. You scramble backwards across the floor, cutting your hands on the shards of broken glass, pulling your legs beneath your body, shooting to your feet, nearly toppling from the momentum, regaining your balance in the very next step, and breaking into a blind sprint down the hallway, into the all-consuming wall of blackness, the terrible unknown.

[neon-kazoo]

A Misunderstanding

[Context: A vigilante and a villain have an arranged, cooperative deal between them. That is, until something goes wrong, much to the vigilante’s confusion. This story takes place from the POV of the vigilante, beginning in the middle of an unrelated mission/project that the villain is unaffiliated with.]

(Warnings: threats, kidnapping, gun mention, knife violence, blood, fairly descriptive cut/stab wounds, interrogation/torture, helplessness, self-harm kinda, more language than usual, sexual harassment mentioned with implied past experiences)

Note: Technically these are ocs of mine, so if you catch any unexplained details that’s where they’re from. This whole snippet was intended to develop their dynamic, but at this point it’s really just whump lol. I just realized I had over 4000 words written that would otherwise never see the light of day so I made some tweaks to post it. If I missed any name replacements you saw nothing; there was a lot of words ok?

This is extremely long and heavier than most of my snippets, so be careful!

———

“Vigilante, grab some tubes from that room down the hall. I think it’s the third door on the right.”

I left the room to grab the materials for the project. Walking down the hall I lazily counted: one…two..

I reached the third room, and I could see the PVC from the doorway. Eyes locked on the stack at the back of the room, trying to figure out how I was going to carry so many large pieces, I missed the uninvited guest lurking beside the open door, allowing him an opportunity to catch me off guard and shove me into a wall. I opened my mouth to yell for the team but my eyes processed faster than my mouth and stopped me in my tracks.

What was Villain doing here?

I must’ve looked shocked- because I was. A personal appearance from this man could mean nothing good.

I racked my brain for any reason he might have to come find me. I came up empty. I certainly didn’t remember doing anything to him worth wall-slamming me over.

The slight ease I had at identifying the familiar face disappeared when I looked closer at his expression. There was a subtle anger painted on his usually-carefully-blank features.

“I’d suggest coming quietly,” he stated in his signature effortlessly-menacing tone. He spoke easily, like he executed an impromptu abduction every Tuesday morning.

“Come where?” I questioned, immediately suspicious. What was this?

“Somewhere to answer some questions,” he replied. His words were vague. Empty. His tone suggested I wasn’t going to get anything more out of him, but I felt the urge to press.

(Why not here, why now, what was so important?)

I knew better than to argue, but I hadn’t quite grasped the gravity of my situation yet. I shifted, ready to plead that I was in the middle of something rather important, when a knife appeared at my throat, pulling me right back down to Earth.

“Or we can skip the questions.”

Questions it was.

I walked obediently when prompted and he held solidly to my arm. We exited the building via fire escape (how did he know I was here?) We reached the doors of a black SUV parked conveniently in an alley a block over from my operation. As slowly as I could manage, I worked my fingers up into my sleeve. PSAs about the odds of surviving being taken to a second location flashed in my head but were interrupted by the introduction of a gun at my side.

“Press it, and you’re dead.”

Well, fuck.

On second thought, I actually adored second locations. I dutifully climbed into the back and used my remaining energy trying to stay calm as my hands were secured to the seat and a bag placed over my head. My bracelet was, of course, removed.

I love car rides. I tried to imagine this was just another trip, it was just….dark out. At 9 in the morning. Yeah, and I had no idea where we were going. I would be trying to think of how I was gonna play this—whatever this was—but I genuinely didn’t think I had ever risked pissing Villain off. As a result, I was painfully unprepared for whatever was about to happen. I wanted to say how unnecessary this all was, that I would come willingly if asked, but something stopped me.

Fear. Something was wrong.

It was probably just a misunderstanding.

Probably.

I lost track of time and turns, instead just counting my breaths. In for four, hold for four, out for four, repeat. I successfully held my panic at bay and was able to stand on my own two feet when I was finally pulled out of the car and led to who-knows-where. I blindly shuffled all the way through somewhere to a chair in front of a table to which my ankles were secured. My hands were left free and the blinding sack was removed.

The ceiling was covered in fluorescent lights that my eyes struggled to adjust to. I dropped my gaze to the floor, which was clean white tile with a silver disk in the center. Villain stood by the door, and apparently the ride had given him enough time to re-craft his careful features back into a perfectly smooth slate. The air in the room was uncomfortably cold, enough to raise goosebumps on my arms if it weren’t for my jacket.

A proper interrogation, but for what.

“Empty your pockets onto the table.”

He was all nonchalance now, and it was extremely off-putting. He studied me closely, and I barely refrained from squirming under his gaze. In the spirit of cooperation(survival), I obeyed the order, laying out a substantial array of multi tools, first aid, gadgets, and more onto the table top. When I finished, Villain strolled over to the table, studying the items before swiping them into a bag which he settled by the door. All but a switchblade, which he left sitting closest to his side, out of my reach.

He rounded the table to my seat, gesturing for me to slide off my jacket—which he threw by the door, much to my chagrin—and kneeling to pat the rest of me down. He found nothing.

He was silent as he returned to sit in the chair opposite me across the table.

Logic told me to copy his stare and his silence, but my anger and confusion made me reckless. The urge to speak overrode my rational mind.

“Dude, what the fuck.”

Hopefully, that statement would confirm my innocence, as it was definitely designed to do. I was not at all pissed about the deliberate jacket move, or being dragged out of an important mission against my will. Humanizing myself. That’s good, right?

“What? Are you surprised your actions have consequences? Did you think I wouldn’t find out?” His voice dripped with condescension.

He placed his hand over the switchblade and I came to the sickening realization that there was a drain in the floor.

“I thought you were smarter than this, I really did.”

“What the fuck,” I repeated slowly, “are you talking about?”

He stood, and the knife was open. I ignored the blade and kept my eyes locked on his.

“I cannot defend myself if I don’t even know what you think I did.”

“You do not play dumb with me. I do not give second chances.” His voice entered a register that I had never had the misfortune of hearing before.

This was not the man I knew. This man was somehow more dangerous, and he wasn’t making sense. He wasn’t listening.

“I wonder if you keep your knives sharp,” he spoke aloud with mock curiosity, twisting and turning the tip of the blade against his fingertip. He advanced around the table and I could do nothing to stop him. This stubborn, arrogant man was about to hurt me over nothing.

I had my hands, but they could not reason with him. They could only hold tightly over his wrist as he held the knife close to my skin. Rapid acceptance flushed through my brain as reality finally registered like a heavy weight descending upon my shoulders.

If he could be stubborn, so could I.

“Fuck you, Villain.”

The tip of the blade pierced the skin of my arm and I held my mouth firmly taut. He was cutting right above where the foundation and concealer covered the tattoo on my upper arm. The leaking blood was going to ruin my careful color correcting.

Blessedly, he skipped over the rest of the upper arm and focused his efforts on my lower arm instead, which he now held in an iron grip. I hated the feeling of being grabbed but I wouldn’t show it. He did not need any more power over me.

“You’ll take a lot for that man,” he noted incorrectly as he traced down my skin with the metal.

I was at a loss.

“For who?” The pain made my words fierce. I was angry and there wasn’t anything I could do about it except let it leech into my mouth.

“I am not an idiot, [real name].” He leaned in, and fuck him.

I seethed, “Apparently, you are, since you’re spending your time cutting up someone who doesn’t know shit about what you’re on about.”

The knife plunged deep into my forearm, and I gritted my teeth hard.

“Is he worth it?” Villain taunted.

“WHO?” I demanded, still trying to guess, to figure it out before I got diced like a vegetable but the pain made my brain foggy and I just couldn’t concentrate. The knife twisted slightly, and with it brought heat and a sickening pulling sensation.

This was not what I signed up for.

The blade came up to my face, mixing blood with sweat and the salt of involuntary tears as it slid across my cheekbone.

“To think, all this time, you were just [Politician]’s bitch,” he whispered.

Affronted was an understatement, but my offense was overridden by confusion.

“Who the fuck is-“ I stopped as the gears in my brain finally started to turn, greased by the crimson dripping across my skin.

“Are you talking about that asshole counselman?”

The gears were rusty but- what was his name? CM [Olitic]? [Politi]? [Politici- Politician]! CM [Politician]. The man I blackmailed into tipping me off about low-profile cases because he couldn’t keep his hands off interns? I was getting scored like sourdough dough with my own knife for HIM?!

Villain didn’t react, just continued to drag the knife down my neck and lined it up at my collarbones. He had to cut and pull my tank top down slightly for better access.

“You’re his spy. What have you told him?” He hummed, and I took a second to gather myself despite the biting pain.

“His WHAT. Where the fuck did you get that from because let me tell you I would not kill an ant for that man let alone spy for him-”

The knife slashed over my other collarbone, and I raged.

“ARE YOU INCAPABLE OF A CIVIL CONVERSATION? LISTEN, YOU ARE WRONG. Wrong. Use your fucking words.” I wanted to spell it out. One more cut and I would be sent over the edge. “You absolute. Mother. Fucker.”

“Just a loyal. Little. Dog.”

He punctuated his dig at my supposed obedience with a hand wrapped around my throat. Possessive.

Oh, so he was trying to make me angry. I really should have seen the angle earlier because damn him it was working.

I couldn’t keep giving him the satisfaction. I took one deep breath and then another, ignoring the sting it brought up across my chest, and the restriction around my neck.

“Ask me a question, and I’ll answer it.” I looked him dead in the eyes when I continued, “or kill me and go fuck yourself.”

“What is your deal with him?”

A silent sigh of relief. Finally, something productive.

“He tips me off for counsel cases,” I explained-rather graciously might I add, given the circumstances. “He didn’t ask me to do shit for him, nor would I. I am not his personal spy. I keep the association off his back, and that is it.”

I reserved a few more choice words about his questioning techniques and waited while he absorbed my response. I sounded far more civil than I felt.

“And why would he do that for you?”

I thanked every god I knew that he seemed to finally be playing ball. Words I could work with, knives I could not.

“Blackmail,” I answered simply.

“Explain.” He raised an eyebrow, and also my knife.

“The association opened a case on him for sexual harassment. I have evidence that would prove rather unsavory for him, I hold on to it in exchange for his information. Basically, he tells me shit and I don’t bury him.” I looked to Villain expectantly. I had nothing else to say on the matter.

He tilted his head. He wanted more, or worse, he knew I had more.

My lips stayed shut.

He had a dangerous glint in his eyes when he spoke, “You don’t withhold from me.”

“Since when. That was not part of our deal.” Anger, deeper and older, burned cold inside me.

“It is now.” It was not that simple.

“I gave you enough,” I told him. I intended my words to be final. He had no right to ask anything of me anymore.

“You don’t get to decide.” Like Hell I didn’t.

“It is none of your business,” I spit back.

“I’m making it my business.” He just kept going. What I wouldn’t give to wipe that self-assuredness right out of every cell in his body.

“Cut me again and I swear you’ll never hear another word out of my mouth,” I blustered. With every fresh drop of blood, he was taking a middle finger to our entire arrangement, everything I had built.

“I highly doubt that.” He flipped the knife around in his hands. He ran his eyes along each of my new, bloody, decorative lines. Fine, maybe I was all talk. But he definitely didn’t need to know that.

“Put the knife away.” I smiled sweetly, but I was getting angry again, and I was losing the will to stop it. My self control spilled out of me in the streams of crimson blood that ran down my face and chest and arms to where it would ultimately flush down the drain and leave me defenseless. Still, that was exactly what he wanted. I couldn’t let him win.

“Or are you too scared of an equal conversation?” I challenged. Two could play at the angering game.

Unfortunately for me, Villain was focused elsewhere and didn’t take the bait. He had found a thread and he intended to pull it.

“Tell me the proof.” Impressively, he just didn’t know when to stop.

“No.” Welcome, Villain, to the hill I was willing to die on. “You cut me up for being a spy, which I’m not. I didn’t break our deal, but you just did. I owe you nothing. I will give you nothing.”

I wanted to tell him that he would never see another cooperative action out of me for as long as I lived, that he should watch his back, that he should expect to see me again soon, but I still needed to live through this and threats were definitely not in my best interests. I wouldn’t betray myself like that.

My skin burned and my arm throbbed. My heart beat aggressively against my rib cage but my adrenaline was crashing. I hurt and I was tired and I just wanted this to be over.

All that trust, and all for nothing.

Villain did not get the hint that I was done. For real this time.

When he brought the knife back, I grabbed it. I pulled it towards me to catch him off guard, sinking it inches into the flesh of my hip before ripping it from his hand and flipping the blade back towards him. He must not have thought I would do it, because he stayed close enough for me to be able to sink the blade into his stomach before he wrestled my arms under control.

A second later, I couldn’t move and I knew it was over.

“I hope it fucking hurts,” I spit coldly, blinking away my burning tears.

A flash of something–maybe surprise?– passed briefly over his face. I hoped it was fear. I needed the win. Before this all got worse.

My wrists got strapped to the chair and Villain was out the door quickly, knife still sheathed in his abdomen. I rolled my head towards the ceiling, eyes unfocused and blinking out tears. I felt satisfaction, then something darker tried to push its way to the surface.

I paid it no mind, just breathed and let it pass. That wound would not be fatal.

Exhaustion soon sent me into a state that was a pitiful excuse for rest. My head rolled forward and the burning faded into the background. I floated for an indeterminate amount of time.

The door opened, closed. A prick. I didn’t care.

I dreamt in flashes of hands and grabbing and helplessness. Fingers, digging into my arm, pressure, where there shouldn’t be-

When I awoke, I was on a cot covered in a thin layer of sweat. I was confused by the freedom of movement and the light smell of laundry detergent. I must’ve slept like a rock, because my cuts were cleaned and my forearm bandaged. I was also bundled in my freshly-clean jacket.

What on Earth-

Was this a motel?

No sooner than thirty seconds after I sat up did the door open and none other than the devil himself appear.

“I figured we’d try again,” the ghost of a grimace passed over his face as his eyes landed on me. “…differently.”

I blinked.

Unconsciousness had returned a bit of my clarity, and if I looked closely, Villain appeared…sheepish. A slight hunch, face pained like he was trying hard not to avert his eyes. Was he…remorseful?

I almost laughed at the thought, but managed to maintain a plain face.

“Uh huh,” I sounded cautiously, shaking off the last of my sleep-induced disorientation. What exactly did that mean: differently?

I gathered something had changed, but I did not voice this, knowing the man in the doorway would never bother to explain himself to me.

Instead, I added humorously, “be a shame if I didn’t believe you.”

I rubbed my eyes and smiled ruefully and he actually looked away. Villain, the original Big Scary Man, was unable to make eye contact with me. Instead, he pointed out a bathroom and said he’d be back in five minutes. The win was too good to be true.

It wasn’t until I made to slide down my waistband that I remembered the self-inflicted wound on my hip. It had also been tended to, a medium size gauze pad taped over the opening.

Now that I was once again aware of its existence, I noticed certain movements did send a shooting pain along the skin and into the fat that had been cut. I wondered how I didn’t notice it earlier. I suspected I would find stitches if I removed the patch.

Carefully pulling the elastic back over the medical tape, I stood in front of the sink, cupping my hands under the faucet and drinking until it no longer burned to swallow. Water drenched the front of my tank, but I didn’t care.

I checked my bandages and studied the open cuts in the mirror. A few had the skin held together with butterfly closures, the rest slathered in Vaseline or Neosporin. I ran my fingers gingerly along the cut on my cheek and wondered if it would scar. Keeping still had worked in my favor though, it didn’t seem too deep.

My left arm took the brunt of the damage. The rose on my upper arm was uncovered and wiped clean, and I thanked several deities it was untouched. I opened and closed my fist to make sure the hole in my forearm didn’t take out anything too important. I was no doctor, but I determined it was probably fine. Villain knew what he was doing, after all.

I studied my reflection one last time, shrugging my jacket back over my arm carefully. I took in my face, discarding the uncertainty and anger and leaving my features assured and closed. The Villain special. I walked out the door.

Villain was waiting.

He didn’t touch me, instead we walked side by side back into the room I had woken up in, which now had an apple sitting on a table to the right when we walked in. Ignoring all of it, I went straight to sit on the bed. I didn’t know what to make of his complete 180, so I drew one knee up to my chest and waited. I let a little hope trickle into my thoughts.

Maybe it just took a good stabbing to force some common sense into Villain.

He paid my refusal to sit at the table no mind and just casually tossed the apple to me after taking his own seat. The hunger I felt must have been built over many, many hours because I did not hesitate to take a bite. And another. And another. The juice dripped down my chin and I didn’t bother to catch it.

Villain respectfully waited until my more ravenous bites had passed before he spoke.

“I propose a trade.”

I just about spit out my apple. Pushing past my knee-jerk response of dignifiedly telling him to “eat shit,” I studied the man to try and determine if he was being serious. His gaze was unwavering. He seemed to be waiting for me to respond, but I wasn’t exactly in a talking mood. I felt clearer but also…off.

“Information for information,” he continued.

Wow this was a really good apple. I turned it over and studied it in my hand. A gala, maybe?

He clarified, “I want your evidence on the counselman.”

Yeah, no shit. So he does know how to use his words after all.

My apple was reduced to just a core. I supposed I had to speak sometime, lest the knife make a reappearance.

“Do you slice, dice, and drug every person you want to make a deal with, or am I just special?” I cocked my head but cast my gaze past the table towards the door.

In my peripheral, I caught his face still impassive.

“I acted on bad intel.”

Villain? Explaining himself? And I thought anger-inducing Villain was scary. Remorseful Villain was straight up terrifying. I was probably reading too far into it, just telling myself what I needed to hear, but—if I squinted—I could imagine it was an apology.

But on further evaluation, I accepted that it was all an act. Every moment I’ve spent with him carefully crafted. This was just another angle.

But what could I do about it?

Knowing didn’t make it better. The cuts were real, my fear was real, my pain was real.

In the end, I still put myself into this world, and I wasn’t going to stop.

“And what do I get out of this?” I questioned. My life? To leave? Some negotiation that would be.

“What do you want?”

Putting the ball in my court is new. Concerning. Is this a trick? How badly does he want to bury this guy?

A terrible, horrible idea hit me. I wouldn’t. I shouldn’t.

I couldn’t resist.

“Apologize.”

I stood up, walking over to the table and taking a seat, looking him dead in the eyes, and waited.

It was his turn to blink.

For what I presumed to be the first time in his life, the man in front of me had been stunned to silence.

Because of me.

Joy flooded me with the thought.

“I-“ he coughed, and I smiled with a sweetness that would send anyone without a functioning pancreas scrambling for insulin.

“My apologies,” he started, and to his credit, it didn’t sound too forced.

“For?” I pushed, and the look in his eyes suggested I was seriously pushing my luck.

I didn’t care.

“For,” he forced out, “the ‘slicing’ and ‘dicing’. The drugging, I believe, was justified.”

“You stabbed me first,” I shrugged nonchalantly, adding, “You got a pen?”

He held my gaze for a moment, before slowly getting up to retrieve a branded notepad and pen from the nightstand across the room.

He slid them towards me, and I clicked open the pen with a motion that jolted my forearm. I hid my grimace and somehow refrained from dropping the writing utensil onto the carpeting. I wrote down the number with a degree of difficulty. I pushed it towards him, but kept my fingers on it for a second.

“Wait 24, then call it.”

I could tell he wanted to ask for more details, but he wisely considered this ordeal to be over and my civility worn out.

I walked right out the door, and he didn’t stop me.

I thought about trying to get word to the team, but decided against it. I wasn’t integral to the plan. They could go on without me, and most definitely had considering the importance of the mission and the estimated time I had been gone. If they even knew I had been taken—I seemed to remember the building we were using having cameras—the chances that they would interfere in my business were limited.

So I probably had about 12 hours, give or take. Long enough for a natural nap and a rushed processing session with fuzzy pajamas and ice cream. I would have also indulged in a nice warm bath, but unfortunately I was correct about the stitches, making the whole watery adventure ill-advised.

After I had totally-effectively self-cared the whole experience away, I went out on the town.

I was making a round up City avenue when I spotted a shadow trailing behind me.

Round two, baby. Let’s go.

I stopped, and the shadow closed in.

“What kind of game are you trying to pull?” The shadow confronted angrily.

“You didn’t call the number,” I stated plainly.

“I traced it. It comes back to one [full legal name]. Do you think this is funny? We had an arrangement.” I couldn’t say why, but his words just didn’t seem as scary.

“You’re one to talk about the sanctity of arrangements. We did have one. One that you spit on. Or have you already forgotten?” I could tell he wanted to advance on me, but he was hanging back. “Speaking of which, I don’t really know when to take these stitches out.”

“So you think you can just walk away from this?”

It didn’t seem like he really believed that. It didn’t really seem like he knew what to believe.

“‘I am not an idiot’, Villain.” I threw his words back at him. It was the least he deserved. “I don’t work with people who break my trust. I made an exception. Do I need to take it back?”

He’s smarter than this, isn’t he?

He took a single step forward.

“Wow, you are thick lately. I gave you exactly what you asked for but you just can’t open your eyes and see it.”

“I didn’t ask for this,” he held the scrap of paper up in a tight fist. “I asked for evidence, and if you’re not gonna give me what I clearly asked for-”

“Put your threats away and use your brain for once. Dust off the cobwebs and whatever the fuck has you so messed up and just think.”

I wasn’t angry, just exasperated. I knew my words were entering dangerous territory, but I felt they had to be said. This was not what I was used to dealing with. A brick wall would be more reasonable.

“If I was trying to trick you, I’d give you the number of the local pizza place. If you can’t get this I can’t help you.”

A pregnant pause.

“You,” he breathed.

Finally. A connect-the-dots champion.

“Me,” I confirmed.

“Witness?”

So close.

“Victim.”

I could almost hear the click. His whole demeanor shifted, his walls building back up, self-assuredness back in place.

“I see.”

He looked me up and down one more time with newly-appraising eyes before abruptly turning around and walking away. He melted back into the darkness, disappearing without so much as another word.

Asshole.

[thekind97]

Meeting friends

A continuation of the Xaden x Reader - Not My World

Part one here :) Part 1 

All I can do is try to figure out why I'm here. I hit my head. Is it a concussion? Am I in a coma, and I'm only? "Mira, she doesn't have to answer you if she doesn't want to," Violet says, touching my shoulder compassionately. But I can't focus on anything besides my family back home, who must be at my bedside while I lay in a hospital bed or found dead in the bathroom.

Mira scoffs louder. "It's just her name. I want to know where the hell she got this," she says and touches the vest at the end of her sentence.

I take a deep breath. "My name is y/n Andor. I don't know if you know my family. We live away from other people in the mountains." I am trying to say it as confidently as possible. I did not want to use my real last name since that would sound so fake in this magical universe. So, the last name of a character I like will have to do.

"Thank you. See, that wasn't hard. I still want to know how you got this, though." She looks at me and glares. It feels like my stomach left my body when she gives me a look I can only assume dragons give you before death.

"Family heirloom. It came from my great-grandfather. It gets past down to the firstborn of each line." My mouth says faster than my brain can process it. But it seems to work enough because Mira takes a step back and focuses her eyes on Violet.

"I love you, Violet. Remember everything I've told you. Don't become another name on the death toll." She says, and she grabs Violet in a grip as if she has no idea if she will see her younger sister again.

Violet promises to her sister, "I'll be alright."

"I know, let's go," Mira says, moving through the courtyard.

Violet looks at me, puts a fake smile on her face, and gives me her hand.

"We might as well stay together now, huh?" she says, and I take her hand, giving her a genuine smile.

"Oh yes, that will be a good idea." I laugh, and she looks a little confused but chooses not to question it.

We are moving through the crowded courtyard. I now see instructors, commanders, and what seems to be General Sorrengail as Violet squeezes my hand in fear and flashes her eyes wide. We keep following Mira through the crowd. She moves quickly, suddenly stops, and looks at Violet with pleading eyes.

"Find Dain Aetos," Mira tells Violet. We keep moving towards the open gate.

"Dain?" Violet starts smiling when Mira mentions his name. I roll my eyes at the name of the section leader.

"I've only been out of the quadrant for three years, but from what I hear, he's doing well, and he will keep you safe. Don't smile like that," Mira chides. "He'll be a second-year." She shakes her finger at Violet. "Don't mess around with second-years. If you want to get laid, you should." She lifts her eyebrows and looks at me briefly before returning to Violet. "Often, considering you never know what the day brings, then screw around in your own year. Nothing is worse than cadets gossiping that you've slept your way through to safety."

"So we're free to take any of the first-years we want to bed," Violet says with a little grin. I pipe in, "Just not the second or third years."

"Exactly," She winks at Violet. "At least she catches on quickly." She nods to me.

We move towards the rider's quadrant line, and we watch the majority of the crowd move to the line at the base of the northern turret, which is the entrance to the infantry quadrant. Some of the flock of people move towards the gate behind us to the healer's quadrant. That's where I would actually go if I grew up in this universe. I would not know what was ahead of me. I wouldn't know that Xaden and Garrick are around here, taking names of the people who want or are forced to try to become riders. I wouldn't know a lovely boy named Liam Mari dies at the end of the first year due to saving Violet's life. I wouldn't know that what Mira told Violet about only sleeping with first-years would be in vain. Violet will kiss a second year and do much more with a wing leader.

It feels like I am a psychic; I can tell the future, but if I told anyone how I would be murdered or given to the government. So I will stay the girl who has to watch as she lives in her favourite book and watch those characters get hurt.

We get a good look at what might be the death of me. A long stone parapet that will quickly turn slick with the rain that is to come.

I look down at my hiking shoes in horror. They are my brand-new hiking shoes from home. The logo and everything else are grey and blue. Everyone else's shoes are brown or black and a bit worn. I am now very aware that besides the vest, I am wearing clothes from home. My socks were a gift grandma got me for Christmas. They are longer socks that have cute pastel mushrooms on them. As my eyes moved up my body, I got more and more out of place; it was no wonder that Mira was cautious about me. Wearing your green cargo pants that have white stitching resting over your hips and belly button. A white button-up shirt rests underneath my dragon-scale vest. 'I look like more of a fish out of water than I feel.' I think.

"And to think, I've been preparing for the scribe's written exams all these years." Violet's voice drips with sarcasm. "I should have been on a balance beam." Mira ignores what Violet says, but I can't. Yes,  I've played some sports and wrestled with my siblings when I was younger, but I'm about to enter a war college. Where half of the class is going to be dead before the second year. 68 people die just walking the parapet, well maybe it will be 69 with me here.

"Don't let the wind sway your steps," Mira demands to Violet.

Two candidates ahead of us, a woman sobs as her partner rips her away from a young man, the couple breaking from the line, retreating in tears down the hillside towards the crowd of loved ones lining the road. But no one you know or love is standing there for me.

"Keep your eyes on the stones ahead of you, and don't look down," Mira says, the lines of her face tightening. "Arms out of balance. If the pack slips, drop it. Better it falls than you." Mira looks at me and down my body. "Do you not have daggers on you?" She says, raising her voice at me with a bit of concern. Looking at her and Violet, they have sheaths filled with daggers, and I have none when I look down at myself.

This mother fucking world could give me a dragon-scale vest but no daggers. I have thrown knives for fun at parties, and I have wicked precision for someone who has never trained. But I will need at least one dagger to survive at this hell people call college. What will I do when I have to fight people for their daggers, 'I need at least one.' I just keep thinking. Mira and Violet are watching every thought and emotion I have on my face.

"Well fuck, here, take mine. I can get more, before you refuse you can't." Mira says. Taking off four of her sheaths and handing them over to strap to you. But watching me struggle, Violet helps me while Mira can block people from looking. "At least you have a chance before dying, y/n." She says protectively, "Wait, where is your family? Shouldn't they be here to say goodbye?" Looking down at me with softened eyes. I am trying to hold back tears, jamming my fingernails into my palms as hard as possible.

"They aren't around anymore," Which is not a lie but not the whole truth, I try to fill my lungs before saying. "So it's just me." I move my arms from my sides to prove my point.

"Well then, both of you can take care of each other. Alliances mean everything over there. Don't forge friendships. But neither of you will die from you making stupid mistakes, correct?" Mira says. We both nod.

Two people are in front of us now. A woman with a pack filled to the brim with her belongings. She has high cheekbones and dark skin. Her hair is done in several short braids, barely reaching her neck. My brain puts two and two together. That's Rhiannon Matthews.

The second boy is a muscular blonde man with a woman crying over him. His rucksack is even bigger than Rhiannon's.

Violet and I are looking around when we both see a rolling desk with a muscular man standing there with a clipboard. I see a dark tattoo on his wrist and disappearing under his riding leathers. Violet's eyes widen, and her voice comes out sheepish. "Is he...?" Mira glances, and mutters curse words, "A separatist's kid? Yep. See that shimmering mark that starts on the top of his wrist? It's a relic from the rebellion." Violet lifts her eyebrows, and my eyes widen. I can't take my eyes off of this man.

Violet whispers, "A dragon did that?"

Mira nods her head. "Mom says General Melgren's dragon did it to all of them when he executed their parents, but she wasn't exactly open to further discussion on the topic. Nothing like punishing the kids to deter more parents from committing treason."

I've read this more than once before, but something still makes you even sadder now that you are witnessing it firsthand. These children are forced to live with the burden of their parents doing the right thing. But I can't tell Violet; I know Dain's hands will be all over her, searching for her memories. As much as I want to warn Violet about everything, how everything she thinks is wrong, I can't.

"Most of the marked kids who carry rebellion relics are from Tyrrendor, of course, but there are a few whose parents turned traitors from the other provinces—" The blood drains from her face, and she grips the straps of Violet's pack, turning her to face herself.

"I just remembered." Her voice drops, and Violet leans in. My heart jumps at the urgency in her tone. "Stay the hell away from Xaden Riorson."

The air rushes from my lungs. That name... oh, he is going to be trouble for me.

"That Xaden Riorson," she confirms, fear lacing her gaze. "He's a third-year, and he will kill you the second he finds out who you are."

"His father was the Great Betrayer. He led the rebellion," Violet says quietly. "What is Xaden doing here?"

"All the children of the leaders were conscripted as punishment for their parents' crimes," Mira whispers as we shuffle sideways, moving with the line.

"Mom told me they never expected Riorson to pass the parapet. Then they figured a cadet would kill him, but once his dragon chose him..." She shakes her head. "Well, there's nothing much that can be done then. He's risen to the rank of wing leader."

"That's bullshit," Violet seethes in rage. I can see it building up in her body.

"He's sworn allegiance to Navarre, but I don't think that will stop him where you're concerned. Once you get across the parapet—because you will make it across—find Dain. He'll put you in his squad, and we'll just hope it's far from Riorson." She grips her straps tighter. "Stay. Away. From. Him."

"Noted." She nods.

"Next," a voice calls from behind the wooden table that bears the rolls of the Riders Quadrant. The marked rider I don't know is seated next to a scribe I don't know either, but Violet clearly does.

The older scribe's confused face meets Violet. "Violet Sorrengail?"

She nods, picking up the quill and signing her name on the following empty line on the roll.

"But I thought you were meant for the Scribe Quadrant," Captain says softly.

Violet's sadness and envy are painted on her face, and I don't blame her. This isn't where she wants to be.

"General Sorrengail chose otherwise," Mira supplies.

Sadness fills the older man's eyes. "Pity. You had so much promise."

"By the gods," the rider next to Captain Fitzgibbons says. "You're Mira Sorrengail?" His jaw drops, and I can smell his hero worship from here. I get it, and I am standing with a literal main character.

"I am." She nods. "This is my sister, Violet. She'll be a first-year."

"If she survives the parapet," someone behind us snickers. The wind just might blow her right off."

"You fought at Strythmore," the rider behind the desk says with awe.

"They gave you the Order of the Talon for taking out that battery behind enemy lines." The snickering stops.

"As I was saying, Mira puts a hand on Violet's small back. This is my sister, Violet."

"You know the way." The Captain nods and points to the open door into the turret.

"I know the way," she assures him.

And then he turns to me. "Sign your name." He says clearly, a little colder than just earlier with Violet and Mira. I sign y/n Andor. This is as good as my name here, and it will never be known as y/n l/n again. I wished to be called cadet l/n, but Andor will have to do. So after I sign, he looks at me and nods to the door. Violet and Mira seem to be waiting for you.

Leading us past the table so the snickering asshole behind us can sign the roll.

It looks ominously dark, and I fight the urge to run like hell or jump off the parapet.

We pause at the doorway and turn toward each other.

"Don't die, Violet. I'd hate to be an only child." She grins and walks away, strolling past the line of gawking candidates as word spreads of precisely who she is and what she's done.

[alter-ipse]

Day 5

My ankle still hurts. I was taught never to complain, of course– back in school, complaining made you look weak, and weakness made you look like a target. The day I had the temerity to look tired after I finished up in the gym was the day I got ambushed in the locker room.  It wasn’t as if they could do much to me– we all had the same standard-issue equipment, so I had nothing worth stealing– but most of my face was a ruin of bruises for weeks. It was midway through my first year, so my schoolmasters didn’t care. If anything, it let them know that they weren’t working me hard enough. I was going to replace a hero! I was going to have to kill a hero. If she was good, I had to be better. Didn’t I know how lucky I was to have this chance? I wouldn’t want to let them down, would I? So I got extra time as a punching bag in the sparring ring, and my classmates got to see my face turn all the colours of the rainbow. Call it a bonus art lesson.

Like I say, some people took the false memories a bit too well. Picture this: you’re a shining new person, blank as a sheet of paper. You have opened your eyes for the first time, to take in the most beautiful thing you have ever seen: the face of a human. The lab fluorescents glint off their goggles and illuminate their fly-away hair. They are ethereal and animate, and you don’t know what this world is but if it has more things like this in it, you want to discover it all. And they take your hand, and they lead you out of your pod and into a chair. They slide a sort of helmet over your head, and you’re not afraid, because you don’t know how to be afraid yet. So you lean back and watch the way the lights flicker across the consoles at the back of the room, miniature moving constellations laid out just for you. You’re sure they’ll tell you why you’re here in a moment. And then something hits your brain so hard your vision judders and blurs around the edges. You feel it like a physical pain, like somebody’s dropped a rock on your head, but you can’t worry about the agony because the information is already racing through your skull, faster than you can process. And there’s so much of it. You try to cling to a thought, any thought, but they all slip through your fingers like so many grains of sand, and your head spins. And then everything goes dark, and when you wake up, all you feel is deep, primal rage. It’s the anger of a person you didn’t know existed, but at that point, what’s the difference between their rage and yours?

Or so I imagine, anyway. I blacked out halfway through the information upload, but when I woke up, the memories were fuzzy and indistinct, disappearing as soon as I tried to catch hold of them.I realised that something was meant to have happened, except, apparently, it hadn’t. 

I felt exactly the same as I had before, but that was clearly the wrong way to feel. I knew that from the second the doctor came over to ask how I was, with an expectant weight to her sentences. So I smiled hesitantly, and told her that it was all a bit strange, but I thought I’d be alright soon. Thank my intuition that I was assigned someone as drippy as Alter, and not somebody with an actual backbone. For the next few hours I smiled and nodded in all the right places, and once they fitted me out with a uniform they mostly left me to it. 

I still don’t feel much these days, if I’m honest. I don’t know how that works– perhaps clones can only have feelings if they’re taken from natural humans. I’ve always considered it to be one of my strengths. After all, it was something like sentimentality that moved Alter to save me, and you’ve seen how that’s working out for her. All I am is my mission: simple, clean and uncomplicated. I can live or die by the orders of my creators, and that’s the way I like it. They seem to know what they’re doing, which is more than you can say for anyone around here.

[a-bucket-of-trash]

Bonds Like Tree’s Roots- Kelvin x Female Reader – P11

P10

Tags: :3

It hadn't been more than two days after the picnic you guys had on the outskirts of town that Kelvin was jaded. He couldn't stop thinking, imagining, planning, his hands, lips, his entire body burned. He wanted to scream, and he partly did it in his head, before looking at the time, taking the keys from motorbike and driving like a maniac to your house.

You opened the door, confused, seeing him enter like a mutant from the island, without saying a word, standing in the middle of the room. Not only his behavior was strange, but also the time. So early that you had barely finished breakfast, and he hadn't even told you that he was coming to see you.

“Kel? What's happening?" You saw him tense, excessively tense and he worried you a little "Are you okay?"

“Give me…a moment…” He paced around like a caged dog.

"Ok?" You hesitated.

“I… God!” He held his head for a moment "I'm going to have a panic attack..."

"Kelvin..." You reached out to grab his arm "What...?"

“Wait…” He pulled away, looking at you for a moment “God, just… Let me finish…” He sighed deeply and moved, steeling himself as if he were about to go to the front lines to fight “Okay… OK! Go!" He pointed his finger at you seeing you open your mouth to speak “No, no, shush Don't say anything! Let me talk…"

You raised your hands in surrender, waiting.

"If I can speak! What the hell!?" He shake himself a bit. "Come on, Keaton!" He looked at you again "Can't I or what?!...Listen...I hated that I was engaged then you know? When you… ask me to be more than friends? But… It's not what I wanted to say, damn it” He patted his forehead.

"I'm not understanding anything" You whispered, absolutely lost.

"Listen, listen" He approached you, with a face that wanted to beg you, faster than F16 in a tailspin "I know you're too much of a woman for me and that I'm a silly goofy with a thousand flaws, I know that I hit you and everything, and that I've I lost my chance when I then said no... I don't even deserve to ask you for an opportunity, but I would love an opportunity, because I adore you, I really adore you, since you have no idea, and I love you, for a long time, even since then, I didn't know it, but I loved you, but now I know, and, and, and, you're wonderful, baby, and if you say no, at least let me be your friend."

You remained still, trying to process his accelerated verbiage, trying to string together what he was saying, trying to convince yourself that some of the words you heard had not been misunderstood by your own desires.

"And if you say no, let's be friends, it'll be fine" He continued "More than fine, I swear, I adore you, my love, with a hug from you I'll be fine, and if you let me kiss your head I'll be the happiest man in the world, but don't run away, darling, I need you, no one understands me like you, with no one I can talk like I do, nor be myself, you were always the one who kept me safe, on the island or here, It was your love that kept me going, and now I love you too much to keep quiet, I need you to know, I need you to be aware of that, that I love you like no one else in my life, that I want to take care of you and pamper you and fill you up of love and gifts, I adore you, I adore you…”

Even more paralyzed than before, you watched him pull away a bit, gasping to catch his breath after speaking so fast, anxious to every fiber of his being.

Your brain processed everything, like a bullet. You scrambled to grab a cushion from your couch, buried your face in the fabric, and screamed long enough for you to gasp for air, while Kelvin looked at you in utter confusion. But he got even more confused when you approached him to hit him several times with the cushion, quite firmly.

"Idiot" You said while hitting him "Idiot!" You smacked him once more, before tossing the cushion aside and hugging him around the neck, muttering another "Idiot."

"I am..." He murmured, somewhat down, "I'm sorry..."

"Idiot" You looked sweetly into his eyes, smiling, stroking his hair "Idioooot, you're a fool... A fool... Kelvin... Tell me it's not a joke..."

“I'll be an idiot, but not that much…” He stared at you, sensing that your smile was meaning something “I love you… Really…” He saw you smile more, feeling the adrenaline rumbling through his heart, beginning to understand what your expression was telling him “What…?”

Later you would tell him what was going through your head, now you were too busy colliding your lips with his, holding onto his neck as if you were forbidding him to leave.

It took him a moment to react, to realize that you were kissing him, that he wasn't dreaming, that you had accepted him. His chest filled with euphoria as he hugged you tightly, looking for your mouth more, going crazy. All of his encapsulated dreams of him at that moment, come true. Your lips tasted like coffee, and he wanted to drink from there, closing his eyes, enjoying you, in a kiss halfway between tenderness and passion.

In the end, your slight suspicions were founded, he really had been flirting with you, he wasn't just friendly. And feeling how he purred in your mouth, how he ran his hands over your back, you hated that you had not asked him before. His lips had always seemed succulent to you, you had always wanted to try them, and now they were all for you.

You buried your fingers in his hair, rubbing his scalp, hearing him growl your name between kisses. Although you also heard the kettle on the fire, hissing furiously, as if it were a representation of how you felt inside.

"Shit..." You mumbled barely, separating your mouth from his with difficulty "Wait..."

You heard him laugh softly, as you quickly went to put out the fire, battling the hot steam.

"Get used to the hot, darling," He purred, walking slowly toward you.

"I'm the one who was in love with you since our time on the island, believe me, I'm used to hot" You smiled, seeing him close.

"Mhm, sorry about that" He took your hands, kissing them long "I'm a little late to the party"

"Oh, you calm down, the real party starts now" You gently cupped his cheeks, contemplating him "God, Kel... You're absurdly attractive and absurdly cute at the same time..."

"You say that, because you can't see yourself with my eyes" He placed his hands on your hips, looking at you widely "Oh, I'm overly romantic now..."

"Oh Kel..." You laughed softly, hugging him as tightly as you could "You're mine... finally..."

"All yours" He hugged you perhaps stronger than you, tenderly rubbing his lips on your head "I hope I don't saturate you... If I was cuddly being your friend, imagine now that I'm your boyfriend"

The word “boyfriend” rumbled through your brain, making you laugh even more.

P12

Me after write this chapter:

[solarwonux]

59.  “I’m still sore from last night.”

single dad!jungkook x f!reader

w.c: 2.3k

warnings: fluff, non-penetrative unprotected sex. Jungkook thinks too much lol.

note: hello, first and foremost, THANK YOU FOR 1K. I’m over the moon honestly, I found out while I was on my mini vacation and it just made it 10x better so thank you so much. Anyway, I hope you like this one, it was so much fun to write, let me know your thoughts. Send me a prompt or two if you’d like. hehe <3

sequel

MASTERLIST || PROMPTS

The single ray of light peeked through the slit of Jungkook’s dark curtains, making his eyelids flutter open in discomfort. He sat up on his elbows, looking over at your splayed-out body occupying the usual empty spot next to him. Arm lying lazily around his midriff and leg wrapped around his waist. In a poor attempt to hold him hostage. He could easily slip out without waking you up, but this was a rare sight for him. You in his bed, hair messily fanning out against his dark pillows, and his sheets hanging off your naked body. Your skin glowing under the peeking sun rays of the morning sun, painting tiny sunspots all over your body. 

It was a rare sight for him because you rarely stayed over, and he wanted to revel in the quiet and still moment as much as he could. As much as you allowed him to do so. Before you woke up panicking peeling your limbs away from his body in a frantic sleepy search for your clothes that occupied every inch of his one-bedroom loft.

He was outgrowing it in every sense of the word. Last week he had to replace the crib in the far with a twin-sized bed, leaving little room to comfortably move around it. It had been proven to him last night when you accidentally bumped your knee into the corner of his daughter’s bed while you helped him clean up his place, while she was away at her grandparents for the weekend. 

It was why you had shamelessly decided to stay over. It was why he was able to wake up next to you. Why he was contemplating on waking you up so the two of you could hunt for apartments together. Why he had been turning the same sentences over in his head, looking for the right way to ask you to move in with him. To marry him. Would asking the two questions side by side be too overwhelming, or will knocking two birds with one stone be the right thing to do?

He didn’t know, this was all new to him. Haneul’s mother didn’t want her, didn’t love her and left her to him before disappearing without a trace. You were the first person he called when he arrived at the hospital to pick her up. Having his daughter in his arms, a daughter he had no idea he had until that morning, was terrifying and in the midst of his breakdown, he dialed your number. You were his best friend back then, now you were his girlfriend and the only mother Haneul had ever and will ever know. He wanted everything to be official but he didn’t know how or if he should.

Frustrated, he lays down again, running his hand down his torso until it reaches your hand. He walks his fingers up your arm in a ghostlike matter, while humming quietly, contemplating the ever-present questions that he always found himself swallowing. It was never the right time, but the right time never seemed to come, so maybe he should just blurt it out and then hide away. 

“Good morning,” you croak, sleep still present in your voice. A smile creeps onto Jungkook’s face, his thoughts fleeting to hide in the back of his mind again. He turns to face you, wrapping his arms around your waist and pulling you close. 

“Good morning my beautiful girlfriend.” He hums leaving a gentle kiss on the tip of your nose before burying his head in your neck. You smelled like green tea and white sage; the scent of your body lotion and him. It made him feel calm. Though if he were to ever express that thought out loud you would just say that it was the work of your stress-free body lotion. But no, you smelled, felt like home to him and it made him feel calm. 

You twinkle your fingers down his bare back, the gnawing emptiness in the pit of your stomach returns. Your alone time with him was coming to an end and you hated it. “I have to get up, I have to go.” You whisper, planting a gentle kiss on the crown of his head. 

Jungkook makes a disappointed sound, tightening his hold around you. “No five more minutes.” He whines kissing down your neck and lifts his head. A smug smile painting his beautiful features. “I can convince you to stay.” He quirks a brow, rolling his hips into yours. 

“Babe.” You place a hand on his chest, your head hitting his pillow again, as the pleasure overtakes your body. “I-I can’t, I’m still sore from last night.” You breathe out as he grinds his half-hard cock against you. 

He hums, chest swelling up in disgusting testosterone-filled pride. He knows he rocked your world a few times last night. Still remembers how he had you screaming louder than usual underneath him, enough to have his neighbors banging furiously against his wall. “We don’t have to go all the way, we can just stay like this.” He whispers, kissing your temple, grinding his hips against yours experimentally. It was slow and careful. He didn’t want to work himself up to full mast without your verbal agreement. Jungkook always respected your boundaries and he knew your body better than anyone you had allowed to touch you in the past. So, if you were to tell him no as much as he wanted you not to he would stop without a complaint ever leaving his lips. 

You smile and push him down, straddling him. “Okay but relax, I could literally hear you thinking while I was still sleeping.” You roll your hips, your clit brushing against the tip of his fired-up cock.

He lets out a pleasure-filled sigh, resting his hands on your ass, “I got a lot to think about.” He winks before moving up his bed resting his back against the headboard of his bed, your chest now against his. “Keep going, I want to paint your pretty lips with my cum.” He mumbles kissing your cheek. 

“For a dad, you’re always horny. I thought having a kid would kill your sexual prowess.” You sigh running your wet pussy over his cock harder, your lips fluttering around him, ready to take him in fully. 

He laughs, bucking his hips against yours, a whimper falling out of your lips. “It did at first, remember?” He hisses when your clit brushes up against his angry head again. He wants to be inside you so badly, but he knows he’s already pushing it just with this, though, he can’t complain. When it comes to you, everything was euphoric. 

You nod, looking down at him with hooded lust-filled eyes, resting your palms against his shoulders to use him as leverage to go faster. “Y-Yeah, you couldn’t get it up for the longest time, now I swear, f-fuck, it doesn’t stay down.” You rest your forehead against his. 

Jungkook moves his hand between your bodies, his thumb on your clit, rubbing slow careful circles, making you jolt. “I can’t help it, you’re so sexy, everything you do is sexy.” 

“Mmm, don’t stop please.” You arch your back, your hard nipples brushing against his. The bars decorating them still catch you off guard. They had been an on the whim decision back in college during a particularly stressful finals week. You had held his hand throughout the entire piercing process and wiped away his tears as he made you swear not to tell anyone he cried in pain and came in his pants all at the same time. You did and have kept his secret ever since. Now using the ladder against him during sex.

He rubbed your clit fast, his cock trapped between the wet lips of your pussy, quiet pants falling out of chapped lips. The pleasure was building fast against the pit of your stomach, “I’m close baby, are you?” 

Jungkook hummed, grabbing hold of your hips and rolling them against him. The change of rhythm was much more intimate and arousing. There was no space between the two of you, your clit was brushing against the short course hairs against his mound, and it was driving you insane.

“Yes, baby, do you want me to pull away?” 

“No, no want to feel you close Kook.” You threw your head back, pulling on his hair, letting your desperate need take over your body. 

Jungkook moaned your name silently, moving your hips faster chasing both of your highs, “Gonna let me cum on you my sweet girl, gonna let me paint you with my cum. God, I wish I could fuck it into you after, but we can stop here, just let go please.” He bit down on your neck, making you arch your back. 

“Oh my-, I’m cumming Jungkook f-fuck.” You whimpered, letting your orgasm take over, moving your pussy harder against his cock, riding out your high. You looked so beautiful and fucked out, the image burning brightly inside the corner of his brain that kept all the dirty versions of you. Your swollen clit rubs over him one last time before he’s cumming. Hot sputters of his sticky white essence coating your cunt and his abdomen, your eyes wide as you watch him spill himself all over you, the immorality of it all, enough to get you going again if you could. 

“That was sexy.” Jungkook pants, making you roll your eyes. He leaves a delicate kiss against your collar bone before looking at you with soft doe pleading eyes. You never understood how he could have the dirtiest things spewing out of his mouth one second and the next he’s looking at you the same way Haneul does whenever she wants a chocolate bar before dinner. “Did I convince you to stay longer?” 

“Yes, but I might consider it more if you tell me what’s been bothering you since yesterday.” You tilt your head and stand up. Jungkook blushes when he truly assesses the mess the two of you had made, making his cock twitch at the sight. “Join me in the shower?” 

“Wait.” He wraps his fingers around your wrist and pulls you down on his lap again. “Not yet, wait a while please.” 

“Jungkook as much as I wanted to be covered in your cum, it’s a little gross to just stay here cuddling.” You pout, running your hands through his hair pushing his dark bangs back. 

“I know but,” he chews on his bottom lip, the questions from earlier return and he wonders if this is the right time. You sitting on his lap covered in his cum, or if he should wait until after the two of you have showered. This was truly driving him crazy and there was no way to hide from you because you knew him better than anyone else in this entire world.

“Babe, you're thinking again and loud. What’s wrong?” You run your index finger down the side of his, tracing the tiny minuscule freckles on his cheek connecting them. 

“This is so hard, I don’t know how to just ask you to marry me and move in with me. It’s been driving me up the wall for like two weeks now. And like I don’t even have the ring yet, because it’s still being made, but they told me it would take only two weeks and it’s been a month because they’re backed up but that’s okay because they're short on staff. But I wish I had everything with me because I want everything to be perfect, you deserve perfect always and fuck, I-I just want you here forever by my side. By Haneul’s side because you make us complete and god, I don’t know how to ask you.”

There was a brief silence before you’re bending over laughing against his chest. Jungkook is left there sitting dazed and confused holding you as you laughed against him. Did he say something funny?

“Jungkook, I think you just asked me?” You lift your head, placing a hand against your chest trying to calm your nervous laughter and the pounding over your heart. 

“Fuck,” he hits the palm of his hand with his forehead, his neck flushing red from embarrassment. “I didn’t want to ask you like that please, just forget about it.” He pleads sadly, tears brimming in the corner of his eyes. He wants the ground to swallow him whole. 

“I don’t want you to.” You say stubbornly wrapping your arms around his neck, “and I want to say yes I will move in and marry you, will you let me?” Your fingers play with the hair resting on the back of his neck making him shiver. 

He’s looking at you wide-eyed and in shock, “are you sure? We can forget about it and I can ask you when we’re not covered in cum and I have everything. I’ll even write a speech.” He says fast, his heart beating hard against his chest, threatening to fall out. The only other time he’s felt this way was when he held Haneul in his arms for the first time ever. 

You shake your head, pecking his lips softly, scrunching your nose, remembering that two of you still hadn’t brushed your teeth yet. “I don’t want a do-over, this was perfect, I mean I still want my ring so I can show it off, but this was perfect. It was us.”  

He lets out a sigh of relief, his shoulders falling forward, letting the tension leave his body. He was stressed out for no reason. “I love you so much,” 

“I love you, now can we shower?” 

“Yes, and then we can get breakfast and pick up Haneul together?” 

“Sounds like a dream come true.”

[haikyuuwaifu]

3

Breakeven: The Script

Genre: Drama, Angst

Warnings: Swearing

Masterlist

Her best days will be some of my worst She finally met a man that's gonna put her first While I'm wide awake she's no trouble sleeping 'Cause when a heart breaks no it don't break even, even, no

“Dynamight! Dynamight over here!” A reporter shouted on the screen. Izukue had just finished a gruesome patrol, and he felt his muscles ache all over. Returning home, he made no move to shower, simply settling down on his couch and flipping on the local news. On the screen, Kachan was scowling as a reporter shoved a microphone in his face. “What the fuck do you want?” The blonde grumbled, pulling his phone out of his pocket to check his texts. “We want to know if the rumors are true!” The reporter shouted, shooting the man a sly wink. “There’s tons of rumors dummy, ya gotta be more specific.” He mumbled, mildly distracted by the messages on his phone. “Rumors about you being off the market of course! Fans want to know if someone really did catch the elusive heart of the #2 hero!” Kachan only snorted, rolling his eyes. Izuku could see the slight flush of his rival’s cheeks, as the blonde narrowed his eyes. “What’s it matter to you extra’s if I’m off the market or not?” He huffed, stuffing his phone in his pocket. “Your fans just want to support you and your new found love!” The reporter declared, clutching the microphone to her chest. “It’s no secret, that something has changed about you over the last few months.” She stated.��“Your rescue numbers have bumped up faster than any hero in the rankings, and your number of arrests are following quickly behind that.” The blonde man only shrugged, looking around. “I suppose, I’ll let you extra’s in on a little something.” He grinned, looking away from the camera. Izuku watched, curious to see who had finally melted the stone walls of Kachan’s heart. “I’ve got someone, that I want to make proud constantly enough, that I will give everything I have to ensure that the world she lives in is safe.” Katsuki mumbled, eyes going soft as he looked out of the frame. The reporter followed his direction, and smiled softly as the camera panned over to a woman. To Izuku’s shock, that woman was Y/n. Y/n waved at the camera, before making her way over to her boyfriend. Smiling at the reporter, she let out a laugh and a shake of her head. “Don’t let him fool you, he’s just a big softie.” She whispered, winking at the camera. The fans around them erupted in cheer, as the blonde man scowled, blushing into his girlfriends neck. “Let’s get you checked out stinky, and then it’s a race to the sushi place.” Y/n declared, clenching her fist in determination. “Loser is on laundry duty for a week!” Katsuki let out a snort, rolling his eyes as he looked at the reporter. “Jokes on her, I always let her win because I love her.” He whispered, giving the fans a wink and a wave, before following his girlfriend out of the shot. Izuku shut the television off, sitting alone in the silence.

Izuku didn’t know how long he sat there, staring into the darkness of his apartment. He figured it had been a good number of hours, his brain trying to process what he’d seen on the tv. Since the break-up, he spent a lot less time on his socials and a lot more time burying himself in work. He gave his PR team control of his accounts since he couldn’t look through Y/n’s pages anymore. Grabbing his phone, he pulled up his accounts, and started scrolling. 

What greeted him first, were pictures from the media, of Y/n and Katsuki out and about. They looked like every other couple in Japan, holding hands and acknowledging the paparazzi. There were a few screenshots from interviews, where Kachan made a comment or another about a special “someone.” Swiping his fingers, Izuku went to Kachan’s pro account and found himself shell-shocked at the amount of pictures he had posted of Y/n. Some of them looked like they were from dates, or even get gatherings with friends. In one of them, it was Y/n and Shinsou hugging each other as Kachan congratulated them on a work award. Izuku wasn’t even aware that Y/n had actual friends. He knew she and Shinsou were in gen-ed together, but he had assumed they’d parted ways when Shinsou transferred to the hero course. The other photo’s Kachan had posted were of the more intimate variety. Photo’s Izuku felt shouldn’t be shared with the public. Didn’t Kachan understand just how dangerous it was to post Y/n so openly. Izuku scoffed, rolling his eyes as he continued scroll through his feed. 

Reading through the comments, Izuku was surprised to see that all of Kachan’s fans were nothing but supportive of his new relationship. Out of all the heroes in the top 10, Kachan’s were the most vicious. He’d seen them tear apart strangers that were even hinted at dating the #2 hero. But all he saw, was nothing but support and adoration for the #2 hero and his girlfriend. His fans had even shared posts from her work account, spreading the word about fundraising and charities. Izuku tried clicking on Y/n’s work account, only to see that he still couldn’t access it. He debated making a burner account, but before he could, his phone start ringing; alerting him to a phone call. Letting out a sigh at the sight of Uraraka’s face, Izuku ignored the call and shut his phone off. Unwilling to accept what he’d seen and unsure of what he should do. Surely, he needed to reach out and explain to Kachan, the dangers of exposing Y/n like that; but he found himself falling into a flashback, of one of the worst fights he and Y/n had ever had in the entirety of their long relationship.

*Flashback*

“I’m not embarrassed of you honey, I just wish you’d understand just how dangerous it would be if the public knew you were my girlfriend.” Y/n snorted, as she crossed her arms. “Do you know how it feels, when you’re watching your boyfriend on the television being flaunted and fawned at, at the hero gala he’s never once considered taking you to?” Y/n asked, with an exhausted sigh. “Do you know how it feels, listening to people talk about how you and Uravity would make such a suitable match. When you’re sitting right there, trying in vain to mind your own business.” She questioned, looking up at him. “Probably not, because you’re Deku. The golden child and the golden hero.” She scoffed, looking away from him. “I am the golden hero,” He mumbled, reaching out to try and take her hands. “And that’s why I need you to be safe. Because if something happened to you, it would devastate me.” He mumbled, eyes watering.  Y/n only sneered, pulling her hands into her lap. “It’s always the same song and dance with you Izuku, and I’m getting tired of it.” She sighed, looking toward the window. “I am a literal teacher at UA, where I am surrounded by nothing but Heroes and hero hopefuls, and you still treat me like I’m some kind of fragile little idiot.” “You’re not an idiot.” He declared, moving closer to her on the couch. “Sure seems like I am to you, and I’m tired. So fine, you fucking win again; I’m not going to discuss this again.” She sighed, moving to stand. “I’m going to take a shower and go to bed early.” She whispered, making her way to the bedroom. “I’d appreciate it if you slept in the guest bedroom tonight.” 

*End Flashback*

Izuku recalled having to spend a week groveling, to get her to forgive him. Letting out a frustrated sigh, Izuku stood from his spot on the couch and made his way to the bedroom. Preparing for another night of restless sleep.

Prev/Next

[frostedfaves]

Naive (1)

Masterlist

Pairing: demon!Wanda Maximoff x fem!reader

Summary: Of all the humans Wanda has met, you’re suddenly her favorite.

Warnings: 18+ ONLY, dark!fic, demon things™️ (be warned that this shit will get much darker in the future), subtle hand kink (don’t @ me)

A/N: special shoutout to the anon that inspired this fic series, I hope you enjoy this weird combo of AOU x IW Wanda. also if you have any previous knowledge of demons, throw it out the window before you read this because I guarantee that things will not add up here lmao

-

Wanda’s favorite thing about interacting with humans is her effect on them.

Walking through a crowd is fine. She’ll brush a few shoulders and rattle a few unsuspecting adults, flash solid black eyes at kids that either stare or scream. It’s temporary and brings a bit of fun to an otherwise dull day.

The real joy comes from direct contact. Wanda travels miles away from her apartment building, choosing different stores, restaurants and cafés just to keep things interesting. A new cashier each time. She’ll have an air of friendliness about her that isn’t exactly fake; she finds most humans to be charming, despite their fragile minds.

“Will that be all?” Roy--according to his name tag--asks with a grin and Wanda nods in response. “Okay, your total is $21.14. You can just swipe or insert your card in the machine there.”

Wanda inserts her card carefully, complimenting the decor as she waits for the transaction to be completed. After returning it to her wallet, she flashes a soft smile at Roy as he hands her the receipt, purposefully brushing her fingers with his. As his skin makes contact with one of her rings, she notices the goosebumps rising along his arm and hears his breathing pattern change.

“Roy? Everything alright?”

She hears the concerned voice of a coworker as she makes her way to a table to wait for her meal, already seated by the time Roy coughs in an effort to collect himself.

“Yeah, just feeling off I guess. I’ll be fine.”

A chuckle falls from her lips as she watches the poor cashier attempt to return to his previous state of mind, finding the urge to smile and wave when his eyes cut over to her. His voice trembles when he calls her name and he stands as far away as possible when she approaches the counter to grab her order.

“Thanks for everything, Roy.”

Sensing that he’s startled enough without it, she keeps her other tricks hidden in her sleeves and simply walks away, holding her laughter until the doors close behind her. A good meal with a side of human interaction, her absolute favorite.

-

The next day brings Wanda to a bookstore around lunchtime. She takes a minute to browse the aisles, taking an exceptionally long time lingering in the section harboring books on angels and demons. The stereotypes amuse more than upset her like they used to in the beginning.

“Is there anything I can help you with?”

Wanda turns to make eye contact with the employee behind her, about to ask a question for the fun of it when a laugh catches her attention. Her gaze redirects to the café counter straight ahead, and a warm feeling washes over her when she hears the laugh again.

You’re genuinely entertained by the elderly woman purchasing a bagel with exact change, and Wanda manages to catch the end of the conversation as she draws near.

“Safe to say, I haven’t worn the blouse since that day.” She bids you farewell with her bagel and receipt in hand, eyes twinkling as she observes Wanda on her way past. “You have such bright and beautiful hair, dear.”

“Thank you,” Wanda responds with sincerity, attention locked on you while approaching the counter. “Hi.”

“Hey,” you greet her with a voice much calmer than the one you use with most of your other customers. “What can I get you today?”

You watch the orange haired woman turn her head to study the items behind the glass, taking the time to do your own inspection. You admire the dark red jacket that covers most of her torso, gaze lingering on the multiple rings hugging her fingers that seem to be smoothing nonexistent wrinkles in her dress, almost in a nervous fashion. It brought you a bit of comfort, assuming that she was affected in the same way.

“What do you recommend?”

“Oh, well…” You walk over to open the glass case from your side of the counter, naming each item as you grab it. “I usually have this pretzel that’s stuffed with spinach and cheese and this brownie. I can heat both of them for you, if you’d like.”

“I would love that,” Wanda responds in a grateful tone, placing a bottle of water on the counter after taking it from the fridge. “And I’ll also have one of these incredibly overpriced waters.”

You begin her order with a laugh, and she watches you ring everything up with the speed and expertise of a seasoned employee, wondering how she’d gone this long without running into you. The total price is brought to the digital screen just before her card is inserted, and she takes the time to quickly slip her rings into her pockets while you’re taking the pretzel and brownie over to the miniature oven. The last thing she wants to do is scramble your brain before she even gets the chance to explore it.

“Here’s your receipt,” you announce while giving Wanda the slip of paper, your eyes lingering on her hand for a moment before looking at her again. “Your food should be ready soon.”

“Okay, thank you…” Her sentence trails off as she searches for your name, the letters rolling off her tongue with ease when she finally locates it on the apron covering your chest.

“You’re welcome…” You trail off in the same fashion and she catches on quickly.

“Wanda.”

“You’re welcome, Wanda,” you repeat as you hand her the water bottle before she can walk away.

Less than two minutes later, you approach the table she’s taken over with two small ceramic plates and a sheepish grin.

“I should’ve asked if you were going to stay a while, but I can grab some bags if you need to go.”

Wanda shakes her head with a laugh as she takes them from you, startling you when she doesn’t react to the excessive heat radiating from the dishes.

“This is perfect.”

She takes her time with eating, and your attention is drawn to her between customers, grateful that she’s too busy with her phone to notice your stares. On the other hand, Wanda’s mind is filled with thoughts of you. What you look like when you think she can’t see you glancing over, what you smelled like when you were close. The nerves, the kindness, the desire to learn her name despite her being just another customer to you. She knows that you noticed her missing rings, but she’s already prepared with a cover story. A two minute conversation has her dying to pick your brain more, learn your habits and become more familiar with your body, beyond a simple brush of your fingertips. She already wants you to herself, just the way you came, without her interference for now; that’ll come later.

A good meal with a side of human interaction, her absolute favorite.

-

Despite Wanda leaving an hour before your shift ended, she lingers in your thoughts on the bus ride and walk home. You find yourself recalling her kind smile, fidgeting fingers and the scent of her perfume when she passed you on her way out, and you’re so deep in your memories that you end up colliding with your apartment door.

“That’s not going to get you inside any faster, dear.”

Your cheeks burn as you face Ruth for the second time today, the first time being earlier when you sold her a bagel.

“I know, Ruthie,” you respond sheepishly as you pull your keys from your pocket. “Is everything okay? You’re usually in bed watching a cowboy show by now.”

“I’ve been waiting for you to come home so I could talk to you.” She checks to see if the hallway is empty before opening her door and waving you over. “Come on, quickly.”

You scurry into the apartment behind her, taking in the scene before you while she locks the door. Having visited her before, you know she keeps the television at a higher volume, but it seems louder than normal.

“I know I might seem like I’ve lost my marbles, but I wanted to warn you about that woman you saw today....The one with the bright hair.”

“You mean Wanda?” you question, eyes widening when she nods. “Warn me about what?”

“There’s something off about that Wanda, if that even is her real name.” She snatches her arm out of her robe and brings it closer for you to see. “I’ve had these chills since I brushed against her earlier. Something’s not right with her. How do you even know her name? I’ve never seen her before.”

“Hey, it’s okay,” you assure her as you help her slip her arm back in the sleeve. “I only know her name because we were having a friendly conversation and she used mine. I was just being polite to someone I’ll probably never even see again.”

“Just be careful,” she pleads as you head toward her door again, and you offer your best attempt at a relaxed smile.

“I’ll be fine, Ruthie. Get some rest, okay?”

You hear her lock the door behind you as you make your way back to your own apartment, rushing through the process of unlocking the door and securing it once you’re inside. As much as you don’t want to let Ruth get you worked up over a stranger, you can’t help thinking about the odd little things you noticed earlier. 

It isn’t unusual for someone to linger after buying food or drinks from your counter, whether they have homework or even just a phone to keep them busy. Wanda seemed to be waiting for someone the entire time, and you remember hoping that she wasn’t on a date, despite not wanting her to be stood up. But she simply slid her phone in her pocket and departed with a friendly wave as if nothing had happened.

You especially remember her waving at you with those ringless fingers, and wondering silently where the intricate jewelry had disappeared to. Obviously you just assumed that the rings were tucked away on her person and not dumped in the trash, but she doesn’t seem like the type of person to give up on her accessories in the middle of the day. Part of you--a part that you didn’t dare to address--wondered if she’d emptied her hands to send you a subtle sign. No, that can’t possibly be it.

Sleeping proves to be difficult with so many unanswered questions floating about, but you eventually give into the act. A few hours later, you peel open your eyes when you think you hear something in the room. The digital clock that sits on your bedside and serves as an alarm and occasional radio reads 3:34am, and you’re just about to close your eyes again when you hear another sound. You raise your head to turn toward your closet, and a scream is trapped in your throat as you catch sight of a figure in the shadows.

The next time you wake, the sun is out and your alarm is blaring on the nightstand beside you. Your gaze flickers over to the closet as you reach out to silence it, your heartbeat dropping slightly when you don’t see anything other than clothes. Deciding that you must’ve been dreaming, you shake away the fearful thoughts and head to the bathroom to start getting ready for another day of work.

The only thing you haven’t decided on yet is whether you want to see Wanda again.

[missmorosis]

sick manager :)

-> feat. bokuto, oikawa, and tsukishima

part 2 with sugawara and kuroo here!

personally i loved writing these, so lmk if you want a part 2 with other characters 👀

TW: PASSING OUT :))

To sum up how you felt in one word, you were exhausted. You were physically overworked; pushed to your limit with tons of schoolwork, stress, extracurriculars, and on top of that, you were your school's volleyball team manager. You were merely a first year, but you did your job well, and the entire team loved you.

You had tried to power through the classes, running with just two hours of sleep. Work was starting to pile up, so you had no time for sleep.

You felt yourself falling asleep during lectures, curling up on the grass for quick naps during lunch, and throughout the day, you had the worst headache.

With luck, you managed to make it through, but you still had hours of volleyball ahead of you. You blinked hard, trying to get rid of the sleepiness clouding your head. Your head pounded, and nothing was really registering in your brain.

There was no denying it, you were sick.

It was bound to happen sooner or later, but it was still annoying. You didn't want to miss the day's volleyball practice, because you had an upcoming game, so you decided to just push through and deal with it. 

Ignoring how bad your head hurt, you slung your bag over your shoulder and walked out of the classroom.

"Hey, hey, hey!" Bokuto, someone you recognized as the captain of the team you were the manager for, spotted you from a distance and was already bouncing, beaming as he waved. You smiled back with a small wave. He didn't mind that you didn't match his enthusiasm; he was used to it, so he didn’t find anything suspicious about it.

The two of you walked down to the gym, Bokuto talking animatedly the whole way there in the background. You didn't mind though, it was nice to just listen. However, every word he chirped bore into your brain, seeming to echo.

You didn’t want to be rude, but you couldn’t help but try to drown out his voice by focusing on your surroundings.

A green bush. A tall tree. A group of students.

“Y/N?” Bokuto waved his hand in front of your face, and you looked up at the mention of your name.

“Hm? Sorry, sorry, I’m just... oh, we’re here!” you said, quickly changing the subject. You didn’t want him to worry, and it was no big deal anyways... You could finally see the gym, and you let out a sigh of relief. It felt like the short walk was actually several miles long. 

You finally made it- 

Shoot.

A sudden dizzy spell overtook you. Shutting your eyes tight, you stumbled on your own feet, your legs giving out beneath you. No, no, no....

"Y/N!" Bokuto yelped as he caught you. He pulled you close to him, and whimpering, you leaned on his chest, trying to stay conscious.

“Sorry...” you breathed softly, just trying to focus on the way Bokuto’s chest went up, and down.

Up... and down. You shut your eyes tighter as a wave of your headache hit. Bokuto’s arms around you were definitely helping you stay standing, and you were thankful. Up... and down.

Then you slumped into his arms.

...

The second your eyes opened again, you were knocked back with a hug. You grunted at the unexpected impact, but smiled when you realized it was Bokuto.

"Y/N! You're awake!" Bokuto yelled, his voice watery with relief. "I thought you died," he sobbed, and you hugged him tight.

"I'm fine, I promise," you said with a laugh. "Just... thirsty." Bokuto leaped to get you a glass of water as fast as he could.

While he was gone, you looked around to see that you were in the nurse's office. You could just imagine Bokuto running with you unconscious in his arms, and you smiled at the thought.

Bokuto came back with the promised water, and he lay a hand on you to check up on your temperature.

"You're really burning up... why didn't you tell me you were sick?" he asked, pouting.

"I didn't want you to worry... I thought I would be fine, and that I would make it through practice." He shook his head.

"I want to know, okay?" You nodded with a smile.

"How long was I unconscious?" He thought for a second before responding.

"Only for a couple seconds, but you were kinda drowsy so we made you rest. It's been a couple hours now." You immediately got up.

"Practice isn't over yet?" you asked, still hopeful. Maybe you could at least stay for an hour? It was better than noth-

"Y/N..." he sad warningly, and you knew going wasn't an option.

"Fine..."

"Good," he responded, satisfied with your answer.

Walking out of the classroom, you met eyes with Oikawa Tooru, who immediately lit up at the sight of you. His smile immediately turned into a frown, immediately noticing something was different about you, given how perceptive he was.

"What's wrong?" he questioned slowly, and you shook your head.

"Nothing's wrong, Tooru... I'm just tired," you said, but he looked at you suspiciously.

“You should take a break,” he reminded you gently, and you shook your head, no matter how tempted you were.

“I really can’t, I’ve got… a lot to do. But I’m fine, I swear,” you assured him, gesturing towards the gym, despite the sick feeling in your body. You swallowed, trying to swallow the dizziness. “Let’s go!” You tried for a smile, and Oikawa responded with a hesitant one, finally deciding to let it go. 

Starting to walk towards the gym with the volleyball player following close behind, you shook your head, trying to shake out the growing light-headed feeling that you dreaded. It wouldn’t go away.

Shutting your eyes as tight as you could, you didn’t even notice that you stopped walking until someone tapped your shoulder. 

“Hm?” You peeked your eyes open slightly to notice Oikawa standing next to you. 

“Y/N-chan?” His face was written all over with concern.

“Sorry, I just…” You laughed sheepishly, trying to shrug it off, but the pain was beginning to be way too much. “I.. just…” you tried to say, but you were unable to finish as you swayed to one side, tripping over your own feet trying to stay standing. You heard Oikawa's yelp as he rushed to catch you, and you blinked slowly before passing out completely.

...

As soon as you woke up, you found yourself in your own bedroom. When you got up, wondering how you got there, you were met with Oikawa's frown.

"When was the last time you had at least seven hours of sleep?" he asked, disapproval in his eyes as he pushed you back into bed. You gave a shy smile.

"Maybe... two weeks ago?" Oikawa gasped dramatically before tutting in distaste.

"You need to sleep, or else your health will plummet," he said, shaking his head. Of course, at that moment, your headache had to come back. You winced and shut your eyes, burying your face into your hands. "What's wrong?" You shook your head with a sigh.

"My head's killing me," you admitted. "It's been like this all day."

"Wha- Y/N," he scolded, leaving the room. Where was he going? Ah. He came back with some medicine and a thermometer.

"Thanks." You swallowed the medicine, and Oikawa immediately forced the thermometer into your mouth.

"103.2?! Y/N, you'll be here for a good three days. I'm not ever letting you leave your bed until you get better, and I won't leave either." You laughed at his motherly antics.

"But what about pract-" you started, but Oikawa shushed you.

"Think of it as a much needed break." You stared at him.

"Did you at least go today?"

"No, of course not! You were freaking unconscious, I can't go and hit some good serves if I know that my precious Y/N could possibly be in pain," he said with a pout.

"Aw, Tooru..." You kissed his cheek. "You're too swee-" He pushed you back into your pillows, pulling the covers up before you could finish.

"Now rest up, Y/N-chan."

You glanced at your phone; you still had an hour until volleyball practice...

A little nap wouldn't hurt, right?

You found a nice, private corner, and huddled up. Using your backpack as a pillow, you fell asleep almost instantly.

Some time later, Tsukishima was walking by, on his way to practice. His eyes spotted you asleep in the corner, and he smirked.

"Idiot," he muttered under his breath, laughing to himself softly. "Hey, get up, Y/N." He flicked his finger on your forehead, and laughed when you began to stir awake.

"Mm?" Your voice was raspy from both sickness and sleepiness, and you blinked your eyes, trying to adjust. You shielded your face from the light with your hand, and you finally made out Tsukki's tall figure kneeling in front of you. "Oh, hi Tsukki..." He held out his hand with a smug smile, offering to help you up.

You groaned when you realized that the nap didn't make your headache go away. Getting up too fast, you swayed for a good two seconds; Tsukki's hands were on your shoulders, trying to steady you.

"Ten bucks you don't make it through practice without passing out," he joked, but you had a feeling he was going to be ten dollars richer soon enough. You nodded sleepily, but quickly froze.

"Wait- am I late for practice?" You frantically dug your phone out, sighing in relief when you learned that you still had ten minutes to spare.

"What, you think I would be late?" Tsukishima said, jokingly. "But anyways, I'm not letting you go to practice today. Clearly you need rest... and..." His hand rested on your forehead, and he nodded. "Like I thought, you have a fever." You swatted his hand away.

"Today's practice is important, I can't miss it. I'll be fine, Tsukki, since when do you worry about me?" You turned around, heading towards the gym, when your head hurt just a bit too much. You winced, and faster than your brain could process what was happening, you were already falling to the ground and everything went dark.

...

"Oh, you're awake." You opened your eyes and saw Tsukishima waiting for you. You were in the nurse's office from the looks of it, and Tsukishima got up with some water and medicine.

"Here, take this." You nodded and followed his command.

"Thanks," you said, rubbing your head.

"Hm. You know how you asked when I started to worry about you?" he asked, sticking a thermometer into your mouth.

"Hm? Oh... yeah." You recalled how you had said something like that right before you passed out. You took the thermometer out and glanced at the temperature.

103.2. You hid the thermometer behind your back, knowing Tsukki would not be happy with your temperature.

"The answer was always; I always care about you, even if I don't seem like it."

"Wow, Tsukki..." It surprised you; you never thought you would hear anything nice coming out of Tsukishima's mouth.

"Also, you act like a five year old sometimes, people can't help but worry about you," he added. You rolled your eyes, but you couldn't help but smile. "Now hand over the thermometer. I didn't forget." Sighing, you reluctantly gave it to him.

"Welp, will you at least cuddle with me until I get better?" you asked with pleading eyes.

"Come on, Y/N. You're contagious..." You pouted, and he sighed. "Fine."

BUT ANYWAYS I HOPE YOU ENJOYEDDDD!! THANKS FOR READING BABE

this is 100% not edited or proofread IM SORRY- IT MAY NOT EVEN MAKE ANY SENSE HAHSJFJRI

ANY THOUGHTS?? IM DYING TO KNOW OMG

send an ask to be added to my haikyuu taglist 👀

[delimeful]

failed bounties and fresh bonds

commission for @the-panmixxia! thank you so much for your support! :)

warnings: fear/panic, unintentional child endangerment, pretty bad injury, hypothetical gore/death mentions, remus being remus

-

Virgil pressed his palm over his mouth, struggling not to make any noise even as his lungs strained for air. There was someone in his forest, and he was sure they were here to kill him or worse.

He should have left before tonight, gotten as far away as possible, but... He’d lived here for longer than any of the other temporary homes he’d found. It was the safest place he’d found.

The trees in the forest were old and huge, enough that they sheltered him from view. The mountain was even more so, with old dragon caves that he could spend hours exploring. There was a little town to the south, but the forest was big enough that no travelers stumbled across the part where he lived.

He’d only snuck down to the town because he’d wanted to see the lights that had been strung up in the streets. He wasn’t sure what they were for, but they were bright and beautiful.

He hadn’t meant to get so close. He hadn’t meant to be caught.

But between one moment and the next, there had been a tiny gasp, and he’d turned his head to see one of the townsfolk, a young woman, staring up at him in frozen terror. The sight of the human had terrified him just as much, and he’d tipped back onto his butt, his hand knocking into a market stall with a crash of splintering wood.

The spell of silence broken, the woman screamed, the alarm spreading as windows began to light all down the street. Virgil had scrambled back like a crab, before turning and fleeing into the woods, leaving behind the distant noise of opening doors and raised voices.

It had all led to this. He’d been seen, and they’d set a bounty on his head, and now there was a strange human in his forest.

Virgil could hear the stranger humming, his tone nasal and low, occasionally straying painfully off key. He’d been using the sound as a guide, creeping away as quietly as he could whenever it came into range, but no matter how hard he tried to put distance between them, the wind would carry that hum back to him the moment he settled down to hide.

The stranger was a skilled tracker, maybe, or had extraordinarily good luck, or actually had seen Virgil that first time and had been following him from a distance ever since, tiring him out like a wolf stalking a deer. He didn’t sound like a knight, didn’t move with the crash of steel or ride a horse. Virgil hoped he wasn’t a knight, almost more than he wished he’d never gone down to that village at all.

He let himself breathe in, quiet and shaky, and then pushed away from the wall of his cave, listening for the stranger so he could try and sneak away once more.

Between the distant trees and night sky, there was silence.

Virgil leaned towards the cave’s opening, scanning the sharp silhouettes and straining for even the most muffled sound of twigs underfoot.

At the lip of the cave, a human-sized figure swung into view upside down, baring bone-white teeth in an unhinged grin. “Boo!”

Virgil couldn’t help the small scream that tore from him, the noise echoing against the cavern’s walls. His heart racing, he bolted back down those familiar tunnels without another thought, fleeing even as the human’s cackling cut off sharply.

“—Hey, wait, get back here! I didn’t spend all night wandering in the cold-ass woods just to have a monster blueball me out of a fight again!”

Shouted into a deep cave, the stranger’s words bounced and overlapped until they were just meaningless noise around Virgil, only propelling him forward faster. He took the corners sharply, scrambling up near sheer cliffs, barely noticing the way sharp protruding rocks scraped against his shoulders or pierced the soft bits of his feet.

He didn’t realize he was cornering himself until he turned into a dead end, the paths somehow warped and unfamiliar under the force of his panic. Quick, skipping steps were pursuing him in the distance, which meant that the human could still hear his footsteps, and so he shuffled into the furthest corner of the cavern and focused on making himself still and quiet, no matter how hard his body wanted to tremble and shake and sob.

There was no doubt about it; the stranger was a bounty hunter, and Virgil was the bounty.

That nasally voice continued to echo down to Virgil as he rambled on, complaining or singing or making jokes Virgil didn’t get, all while steadily pursuing his quarry.

Bit by bit, the noise drew closer and closer, accompanied by the crackle of a merrily burning torch. He seemed to be utterly undeterred by the twisting, unsettling nature of the mountain, and what little hope Virgil had began to fade. There was no way that the stranger would just happen to pass him by.

It would take a miracle to save him now.

A cavern away, a chunk of old stone gave way under an overconfident foot.

—-

“Oh, fuck—,” Remus shouted, his brain nearly shorting out as he tripped directly into freefall.

His divination provided him with a slurry of unhelpful images, each one matching a tiny movement he made while falling: him landing on his legs and shattering both of them so hard he blacks out, him landing on his head and doing a lot worse than blacking out, ragdolling all the way down the crevice below, twisting so that his foot catches on a crack in the wall and wrenches his ankle— That one!

He howled as his foot caught, and then the bitch that was gravity caught up with him and his back and skull slammed against the wall, knocking the air out of him and causing little white flashes to appear in his vision.

It took a long moment to come back to himself through the pain, but when he did, he found himself still dangling in place by a single ankle. He’d lost his torch somewhere in the process.

He glanced down, and knew immediately that the shadowy drop below was fatal, the cracks of potential future bone breaking settling into his brain.

Glancing up, he knew immediately that his ankle was boned, going by the interesting angle it was making with the rest of his leg.

He contemplated reaching up with his other foot and trying to wedge it in another crack. His brain offered him visions of the whole bit of cliff face snapping into brittle pieces, and then more falling to his death.

He crossed his arms, letting all the blood rush to his head in hopes of that generating a better idea. Instead, he got a headache.

“Well, shit,” he said, succinctly.

Something big shifted, just barely in earshot. Remus didn’t bother looking ahead; it was obvious that the giant he’d been hunting had just figured out how thoroughly the roles had been reversed.

Sure enough, the movements shuffled closer, surprisingly hesitant, and then two huge, glowing eyes peered down at him.

“Come to grind my bones into paste?” Remus asked, genuinely curious. “Or squish all my organs out through my ears?”

Those eyes scrunched up a bit in revulsion, which was hilarious coming from a monster about to kill him. He wiggled his limbs around a bit, ignoring the resulting pain and cracking of brittle rock in favor of hopefully enticing the creature to grab him already. Just hanging around was getting boring.

The breathing above him quickened a bit, and then there was a curved, warm surface under him, lifting slowly until his ankle was no longer carrying all of his weight. Remus considered yanking the injured foot free before the monster could do it for him, but before he could follow through, there was the silhouette of large fingers poking and prying at the rock until it really did crumble away.

The cupped thing he was splayed across had to be a hand too, he realized as he breathed through the sharp jabs of pain from his ankle being released. From the way the townspeople described it, he’d expected something less… human-shaped.

Between his ankle and his head rush, it was no surprise that he blacked out a little.

When he managed to wake back up, they’d returned to a tunnel that led outside, going by the fresh air he could feel against his face. It must have taken the creature a lot more time to make the trip while carrying him.

Whatever it wanted him for, he wasn’t sticking around to find out. He cast around for potential futures-- he rolls out of the grip and smacks his head on stone, he lands on his bad ankle and instantly blacks out again, he waits a little longer and is set on the ground outside by--

“You’re a kid?” he blurted, his vision of a distinctly human, distinctly child-shaped face fading away. The hand under him jolted, and the kid made a startled sniffle.

“You’re alive?” he asked in return, his voice deep and big but also rough with… tears? Jeez, had the kid really been that upset about some asshole bounty hunter biting the dust?

The hand curled in a little tighter around him, one fingertip coming to settle on his chest as though to check that he really was breathing. The motion was gentler than he thought possible for a giant, and he realized fairly abruptly that the ‘terrorized’ people in the town below were full of shit.

He’d hunted this kid for a whole night, and all he’d done in return was avoid him and then save his life. Some ‘monster’.

The kid seemed to remember himself, and flattened his hand back out before shuffling forwards more. There was a subtle shaking running through him, and Remus had the feeling that the kid was going to bolt the minute he set him down.

“Anyone else live up here with you?” he asked, flopping back onto the hand casually. He felt that giant gaze drop onto him and continued casually. “I came up here for a bounty but it turned out the townsfolk are dirty liars. I haven’t seen a single monster.”

There was a little surprised inhale from above him.

“In fact, this place is so nice I might camp here for a while,” he added, waving a hand at the forest ahead lazily. “Make sure to send off any other bounty hunters so they don’t waste their time up here.”

“R-Really?” the kid asked, his tone full of doubt and suspicion.

“Yup! I’ve been told I’m an absolutely detestable neighbor, disturber of the peace, totally unrecommended, zero out of ten,” Remus paused. “But I’m great at getting rid of uninvited guests!”

The kid took that last step out of the tunnel, the early light of dawn spilling over both of them. Remus sat up, waving his fingers in greeting as they both took each other in as more than silhouettes.

Apart from the fact that he was giant, the kid looked like... a kid. An long-limbed, underfed, lonely kid. One with distinct cuff-shaped scars around his wrists and ankles.

Remus shoved down his anger, tore his gaze away from the old wounds, and offered the kid a sharp-toothed grin. The kid tilted his head, wary. That was okay. Remus could handle wary.

“So, what do you say?”

“... Neighbors,” he replied, hesitant and hopeful. Remus cheered obnoxiously.

He was going to have fun making those people regret ever putting a bounty on this kid.

[the-insomniac-emporium]

Bound Blood (Cassandra Dimitrescu/Reader, Soulmate AU) Pt. 1

Fandom: Resident Evil: Village Rating: T for blood, language, brief nudity. Later chapters will be M Warnings: Nah fam Summary: Local vampire finds out she can't kill soft human (because they're soulmates, baby), human becomes insufferable bastard, oops they fuck later. Soulmate AU where if one person gets injured, their soulmate feels the same amount of pain and receives a scar in the relevant area.

1: Sharing Is (Not) Caring

It’s not that you had expected to survive this- being locked in the dungeon of Castle Dimitrescu, waiting for the day you’re picked to be someone’s meal. Oh no, you had given up on surviving long ago, it was just that… well, you had hoped that someone with a softer touch would do you in. But here you were, too exhausted to cry, hanging naked in front of none other than Cassandra Dimitrescu. Her eyes were trailing you up and down, examining every inch of your skin, every flaw, every unique trait. It was like she was making a mental map of which parts of you would taste best. Goddamn, you wanted to spit in her face, or scream, or say something, anything that might make her feel even an ounce of what you had felt for weeks.

But you know that she’s already planning to kill you, and to make it painful. Why give her any more reason? Why dare her to find a worse way to end your life? There was no good answer, so you stayed still, just watched her move. Maybe if you looked bored enough she’d make it quick, just stab a knife in you and drink you up like a capri sun. Or, maybe, if you kept a straight face, she would admire your courage. Oh, how you longed for people to think of you kindly now, in your last moments, when dying clean and pretty was no longer an option.

Pulling a blade from some hidden sheathe, Cassandra approaches you with a wicked grin. There’s still blood on her lips from her last victim. Had they not sated her? Or had she been like this for some time? When she inevitably drank from you, how long would your blood remain on her lips? You weren’t sure that you wanted to know. In your mind, you picture her cleaning up as soon as she was done with you. It does not make you feel any better. Neither does the way she traces a finger across your chest, left to right, practicing for the incision to follow. She pauses to lick her lips, making direct eye contact as she does.

What happens next passes by so quickly that you don’t process any of it until the whole ordeal is over. The blade’s tip digs into your chest, just below your collarbone, before dragging along half the width of your torso. It hurts like hell, but you manage to keep your misery to yourself. But your pain is soon replaced with confusion; Cassandra screams, loud enough to echo throughout the basement, doubling over herself. In an instant her knife has clattered to the floor, forgotten. Instinct takes over your brain, the default programing kicking in, and you say something that fills you with instant regret.

“Are you okay?” Your voice is a bit quiet, and raw, worn out from lack of hydration. But it is enough, evidently, for Cassandra to hear. She’s rising back up and glaring at you, one hand clutching her chest. Something in her expression tells you that she thinks you’re mocking her. While that wasn’t technically the case, there was a part of you that found joy in this, watching your captor get a taste of their own medicine. The question left in your mind was why she was in pain. “I’ll take that as a no,” you said, again left with regret at your choices.

Now her hand is swiping at your face, nails cutting you open. Once more she hisses in pain, now clutching her head, shaking a little as she does. When she meets your gaze, you see that she’s more confused than anything. More than that, you see the marks on her face, knowing instantly that they match your own. Oh hell no, you thought, grimacing.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” Cassandra growled through clenched teeth. Bouncing back and forth on her heels, she seems tense, unsure of how to process what’s happening. You feel the same way, desperately wanting to pretend that this doesn’t mean you’re her soulmate. Maybe the universe had just messed up, crossing some wires, or decided to pull a prank on the two of you. Either way it was better than the alternative. Eager to think about something else, you start considering your options. The first that comes to mind is ridiculous. Stupid, really. But would it amuse you? Absolutely.

“Not gonna lie, I feel better about the idea of you killing me now. Feel free to make it painful, darlin’, I won’t mind,” you snarked, lips curling up into a smirk. Oh boy was it satisfying to watch Cassandra’s response. One of her hands raises to smack you, only for her to freeze before releasing a torrent of swears. Hurting you meant hurting herself. “What’s the matter? Can’t handle a little aching? Haven’t you ever imagined what it’s like to be on the other side of things? Under the blade yourself, blood soaking your skin, eyes too dry for even a single tear? Poor thing,” you purred, tone as teasing as it could get. Apparently it’s aggravating enough for Cassandra to fight through the pain, as she slams her fist into your stomach, leaving both of you gasping for breath. “This is fun-” you pause to cough out a few drops of blood- “really, really fun. Hey, if you kill me, how bad do you think you’ll feel?”

Before Cassandra can react, either to speak or hurt you worse, the sound of approaching footsteps draws her attention. From where you hang you can’t see much, too many cells and hanging bodies blocking your vision. But your “soulmate” seemed to know who was coming. Her face scrunches up a little, and she adjusts her robes, trying to cover the mark on her chest. Had you not still been coughing, you would have sarcastically asked her how she intended to hide her face.

“What the hell is going on, Cassandra?” An unfamiliar voice asked. The footsteps grew louder, and faster, until the new figure stood in the same cell as you. Not even bothering to spare you a glance, she approaches Cassandra, reaching to examine her face. “Did a prisoner manage to get you? I’ve told you a thousand times-”

“Don’t fucking touch me, sis,” Cassandra snapped, pushing away her sister’s hand. Both of them are visibly tense, and for a moment they stand still, staring each other down. Then the sister (who you assume to be Bela, from things you’ve overheard recently) shifts her focus to you. Something tells you that she has no intentions of being gentle.

“Did you do this, you rotten little thing?” Bela questioned, glaring at you hard enough to send a shiver down your spine. But that doesn’t stop you from trying to have some more fun.

“Oh, of course I did! I rattled my chains real good, scared the shit out of her, made her fall on her own knife a few times. You know, like that one musical?” You must look insane as you speak, grin wide but face dripping with blood. If it unnerves Bela, she hides it well, though you doubt it does. As soon as you’re done poking fun she’s pulling out her sickle. Still grinning, you make eye contact with Cassandra, who realizes what’s happening a second too late. Then the two of you cry out in unison, as the blade carves into your shoulder. Instantly Bela pulls back, stunned, turning to her sister with genuine concern. “I might have lied. Rest assured though, it was for comedic purposes.”

The next thing you know the two sisters are shuffling away from you, Cassandra begrudgingly being dragged along by Bela. Though the younger of the two had been adamant about not receiving help, she now had little choice in the matter, skin searing from your blood bond. Even you are starting to breathe harder than you’d like.

“Was it something I said?” You barked, barely able to manage a fit of giggles between your coughing. Bela shoots you a glare over her shoulder, but quickly returns her attention to her sister. They talk, quickly, soft enough that you can only make out a few words here and there. It’s hard to make meaning from it, especially considering their vastly different tones. Cassandra is pure anger, gestures fast and wide, while Bela is oddly solemn, even regretful. When you finally catch a couple full sentences, things start to make a little more sense, though you wish they didn’t.

“We can kill them painlessly, in their sleep. That way you won’t have to suffer,” Bela whispered. She’s doing her best to comfort her sister, despite the tension in the room, gently patting her on the back. Briefly, you make eye contact with her. In that moment she looks equal parts executor and unwilling jury. But she looks away quickly, even shifting her angle to prevent it from happening again.

“No, fuck that, fuck this, I’m… I’m not killing them. Nobody is,” Cassandra growled, daring to emphasize her point by pushing Bela away. Now it’s her turn to look at you, brows furrowed, eyes betraying something more than just anger. Somehow it’s a million times worse than when she first came in. You strain yourself trying to look away, cursing the chains keeping you in place, resorting to closing your eyes and pretending none of this was real. “I don’t care what you think, Bela. They’re already my ‘meal’, might as well get what enjoyment out of this that I can.”

Again, footsteps echo through the basement. Tension locks your muscles in place, and your eyes are still clamped shut, to the point that you don’t realize your chains are being undone until you’ve hit the ground. Cursing under your breath, you finally open your eyes again. There’s blood on the floor, only some of it yours, and you’re suddenly aching for a bath. More than that, though, you’re praying for something to cover yourself with. Certainly Cassandra didn’t need to see everything, now that you weren’t a piece of meat for her to enjoy? As if reading your mind, the middle Dimitrescu daughter flings open a nearby cabinet, messily searching for something. Eventually she gives a hum of approval, then tosses a blanket in your direction.

“Put it on, dipshit, then follow me,” she snapped, already walking away. For a moment you’re tempted to stay there, sitting still, waiting to see how long it would take for her to notice. But one look from Bela sends the thought back to whatever crevice of your mind it crawled out of. So you’re moving, hastily, awkwardly wrapped in a somewhat itchy blanket. Other prisoners eye you as you pass, some shouting curses or even spitting at you. At first Cassandra takes no notice, or simply doesn’t care, but eventually the noise seems to irritate her. Turning back, she takes her sickle in hand and slams the handle into the bars of a cell. It’s loud, making you flinch, but gets everyone’s attention. “Next one to make a peep gets the blood eagle!”

“Is that, like, a sex thing?” The words leave your mouth before you can stop yourself. Laughter rings out around you from the few prisoners capable of it. Cassandra is seething again, looking about ready to kill you. Then she’s shifting into swarm mode, spreading out wide, insects barreling through half the occupied cells. A few cries escape the prisoners, as the flies take bites out of them, cutting a perfect balance between pain and (a lack of) lethality. They’d be suffering for days to come, every movement making their wounds ache. “Not a sex thing, got it,” you muttered to yourself, just as Cassandra reforms in front of you. This time she grabs the blanket you’re wrapped in, using it to tug you forward, sending you towards the exit.

“Shut up for five minutes and I might let you put on actual clothes,” she growled, keeping one hand on your back to guide you. The offer is the closest thing to kindness you’ve seen from her, and you have half a mind to do what she says. Would you actually manage to keep quiet for that long? Well, you were certainly looking forward to finding out...

[finelinevogue]

Hello! For the continued part of the blurb in which Harry and YN get casted together; this is the reminder :))

Also here’s a thought about it:

Maybe since like Harry met Olivia on DWD, when Tangled started they're like broken up and so so to make it more realistic (It was more of a suggestion but just do you, your readers would love it either way) :))

Have a great day!!!

yes we will definitely continue this!! okay let’s go;

First day nerves were always the worst.

Whether it was first day of school, first day of a new job, first day at university or, in your case, first day on set, you always got a really bad case of the nervous butterflies. It was just unnerving having to meet new people and try and fit into the way everything worked around here. You were a very social person when you came out of your shell, but you could be a hard one to crack if you weren’t with the right people. Luckily for you this set definitely had the right people. After briefly meeting him on the red carpet for Don’t Worry Darling and then having him text you afterwards, you have to say that now working with Harry Styles seemed like a dream. His music and his charisma shaped him into someone you really liked and really wanted to know more about. He was your all time crush and unfortunately, for you, he’d probably gathered that by now - what with your blushing interview over him.

The weather was beautiful and the buzz on set was amazing. Everyone was rushing around and trying to busy themselves until filming started at 8am. You had just been in hair and makeup and were on your way to set now. The movie wasn’t being filmed in its’ complete order, so the first scene that you were filming was where Flynn climbs up the tower and meets Rapunzel for the first time. Where Harry meets you.

You couldn’t quite believe you were actually here. You were a Disney princess, and your favourite one at that. The purple dress was everything you’d imagined and you felt like a dreamy cloud in it. Your flip flops and robe covered most of your outfit though, to keep you warm until you were needed on set. Instead of going straight inside the filming building, you sat outside on a nearby bench hoping to calm your nerves.

To keep your mind preoccupied you went over and over your lines in your head, cursing yourself when you messed up over something so small. Your fingers picked away at each other, damaging the nail-art that had only recently been put on.

“You’re going to cost the makeup department a fortune if you keep doing that.” You didn’t need to look up to know that it was Harry who was approaching you, but you did anyways. He looked beautiful. His hair was styled the same way as Flynn Ryders and you could see the outlines of his costume underneath the coat he was wearing.

“Oh, sorry.” You laughed nervously, putting your head back down to stop him from catching your blush.

“Hey no need for apologises. Just wanted to make sure you were okay.” He spoke honestly and you felt the warmth of his words spread over your body, like butter on toast.

“Just really nervous.” You admitted shyly.

“Can I…” He pointed towards the bench space next to you.

“‘Course, yes.” You patted the space encouragingly and watched him pull the trousers up from his thighs to sit more comfortably. God, those thighs. You cleared your throat to detach the dirty thoughts from the back of your mind.

It was quiet until he spoke again. “What’s your favourite Disney movie?”

“What?” You asked confused and Harry repeated the question as calmly as he did last time. You expected him to start giving you words of advice, not asking you your favourite Disney movie. “Oh, um, Tangled of course.”

“You know you don’t just have to say that because you’re the lead actress in the movie.” He nudged you with his shoulder, making you laugh as you swayed away and then back to him.

“Yeah I know.”

“Pity.”

“Why?”

“Just would’ve taken you for more of an avid Lion King fan.” He joked, his dimpled smile boasting its’ way onto his cheeky face.

“I am, actually. I just, there’s something about Rapunzel that draws me to her. I don’t know whether it’s her childhood was similar to mine—”

“Wait you were abducted by a weirdly attractive evil woman who claims to be your— wait! So you’re a princess?” Before you can answer he knelt down before you, capturing your hands in his - neither of your missing the tingles of passion when your skin touched skin - and holding them tightly, whilst he began speaking again, “M’lady, forgive me for being so simple.”

“Harry! What are you doing, y’fool?” You laughed at him, trying to get him to sit back next to you as you’d drawn the attention from a few crew members.

“I’m grovelling at the feet of my future Queen.” He said so matter-of-factly you almost, nearly, truly believed him. Chuffing actor.

“Get up you oaf!” And he did with a little more persuasion. “What I meant was that my childhood was quite isolated and lonely - I didn’t have many friends at all.” You spoke from the heart, not expecting Harry’s eyebrows to furrow with confusion or for him to look so sad.

“I’m sorry.” You knew he meant it.

“At least I have Flo, though, now.” You smiled at the thought of your amazing best friend, whom also happened to be Harry’s most recent co-star. Their performances in Don’t Worry Darling were second to none and you were so proud of Flo for delivering such an awe inspiring delivery to her character Alice.

“And me. Don’t forget me.”

“I could never.” You turned to look at him, unprepared to find him staring back at you with hearts in his eyes. You blushed and had to look away, but you rested the side of your head on his shoulder out of natural instinct. It felt right and it felt comforting. “Thank you, though Harry.”

“Always.” He rested his head back against yours, both of you just watching the busy people prepare for your first scene. The nerves had gone though, now, and you were feeling more at peace with yourself - and with him. “Oh and Y/N?”

“Yeah?”

“I think that you’re drawn to Rapunzel, because she embodies your courage, kindness, beauty and compassion.” Your heart swelled at his words. You never thought someone could think of you this way, let alone Harry. You pushed your head tighter against his shoulder, wanting him to wordlessly know that you were really grateful for him.

“Smooth, Harry!” He laughed with you, “How long have you been rehearsing that?”

“Too many other lines to remember to be learning them ones too. That, Y/N, was all ad-lib.” And your heart swooned a little more again. He was just so perfect and he made you feel safe. There wasn’t a good enough phrase or word in the English dictionary to justify how good of a person he was or how much he meant to you.

“You’re too good.”

“Too good to maybe ask you out for a drink after today?” You brought your head away from his shoulder in shock from what he just asked. Harry, the Harry Styles, was asking you, Y/N L/N, out for a drink. What?

“No, I think i’ll let you take me out for a drink.” You smiled at him, admiration sitting heavily in your eyes that there was no way he could miss it.

“Yeah?” His eyes glinted back at yours.

“Only if you stop with the compliments, i’m so bad for accepting them.”

“Hmm, no can do.” You rolled your eyes and reached over to take his hand in yours and he instantly linked his fingers with yours. It felt right. Warm. Safe.

“Fine, but don’t be alarmed if I just jump you for being too nice to me or something.” Your words came out faster than your brain could process and your eyes widened once you realised what you’d just said to him. You’d just threatened to jump Harry Styles. Fuck sake. And now he wad laughing, at you or with you you didn’t know.

“Alright, but you don’t be alarmed if I do nothing to stop you.”

Now you understood why he didn’t need to ask what was wrong or if you were okay, his presence was comforting enough to make your nerves dissipate and focus on the only thing that now mattered; him.

[spideymarvelws]

 had so much fun writing the first scene dude... i feel like as a fanfic writer its a sin i haven’t written anything like it yet lmfaoo (to be fair i probably have but I just dont rem💀) anyways i hope you enjoy!

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Prompt : 9. “Then what are you waiting for?”

Warnings : just some cute floof, some cursing here and there

Word Count : 2.2k

Hesitation

Technoblade x GN!Reader

It was always peaceful in the tundra right before the sun set. Not only did the orange and red colours that reflected off the shiny snow send a wave of tranquility through the lands. It was a specific time where all the animals would go back into their homes before the mobs spawned at night fall, leaving the lands in complete silence.

Phil loved working at this time, getting small tasks done around the house that he wasn’t able to do throughout the day. Whether it was washing the dishes or dusting out the book shelves. Maybe even lounged around near the fireplace, planning out what he had to do the next day. It was always quiet, void of distractions to keep him from doing them.

But of course, with peace always came chaos.

“YOU CHEATED!”

“NO I DIDN’T!”

“YES YOU DID!”

The door cracked open, slamming against the wall behind it making the blonde jump from the sudden noise. He was ready to pick up his sword by his side until he recognised the voices of his house mates, shouting like little children.

Phil sighed, continuing to wash the dishes in front of him. While the bickering tended to amuse him at times, right then he just wanted to stay in the silence. He was quick to grab a pear of earplugs from his chest, pushing them snugly into his ear, blocking out the noise you both brought into the house while humming a small tune.

“There’s no way that your horse is faster that Carl! That’s just not possible!” Techno shook his head, his entire body still except for his left foot tapping consistently on the floor, “It’s just not possible.”

“Okay-” you pointed your finger in his face, “First off, her name is Raven and secondly, you just can’t admit that she’s better than Carl.” you crossed your arms on your chest, looking up at the piglin with teasing eyes.

Tech threw his head back with a groan, turning around gruffly and taking off his cape along with the skull mask covering his face.

“I won’t admit it because it isn't true!” he turned back to face you, mimicking your stance and tilting his head slightly to the side.

You raised your eyebrows at his response, nodding slowly, “Alright, alright,” you slowly took of your cloak, bunching it up and throwing it at him, his reflexes catching it before the fabric hit his chest, “Maybe it’s just the ridder and not the horse.”

Techno gasped, “You take that back.” he threw your cloak to the side.

You hummed, looking up and faking a thinking face, “Nah... I don’t think I will, I said what I said.” you stepped closer to the hybrid, sizing up his figure, “And what are you going to do about it?”

Techno squinted his eyes, a small smirk making its way to his face before he grabbed you by the waist, throwing you over his shoulder and walking away from the entrance into the living room.

“Hey!” You pounded at his back, wiggling in his tight grip, “Put me down you loaf!”

He laughed at your words but obliged, throwing you on the couch near the fireplace. Before you could sit up, he crawled over your form, knee besides one side of your waist with his other foot planted on the floor, keeping him steady hovering over you.

“Techno-” you chuckled nervously, trying your best not to stray away from his intense gaze, fighting the heat starting to rise to your face. Your hands pushed at his chest, weakening when he brought his face closer to yours, making you feel smaller than you already were.

He didn’t say anything, instead his fingers dug into your stomach, wiggling them across the fabric of your shirt. Your laugher filled the air, high pitched and bouncing off the walls of the cottage. You tried your best to control them, not wanting to give in to the blood god’s actions so quickly. But your hands on your stomach did nothing to stop his.

“Oh. My. God! Techno! Stop you fucking- oh god!”

“Take it back Y/n!” he laughed along with you, continuing his assault on your stomach, “Take it back or I swear to god you’re going to loose a canon life from being too ticklish.”

“NEVER!” you shouted between laugher, screaming when his hands began to move faster, knocking the breath out of your lungs. In the heat of the moment, he took your wrists into his fist, pinning them above your head, keeping your hands from interfering with his plans.

“Say. It.” even with one hand we was doing enough to keep you squirming underneath him, desperate for an escape.

“Okay! Okay! You- You’re a good rider Techno! You’re a good rider!” you finally admitted, your body falling limp against the cushions when he finally raised his fingers from your stomach.

Techno laughed at your state, leaning back with a cocky smirk on his face, “Glad to know we could come to an agreement,”

“I hate you,” you mumbled, your head rolling to the side on your shoulder as you caught your breath. You closed eyes in relief that the past few minutes were over, nearly falling asleep with the amount of energy you spent laughing.

Techno chuckled, taking your chin into his fingers, turning your head to look back at him, “Is that so?”

You nodded, fluttering your eyes open to look up at the pink haired man. Your breath hitched when you noticed how close his face was to yours. His entire presence felt suddenly close, his chest puffed out with long breaths, his legs practically tangled with yours, his face hovering over you, radiating heat you didn’t notice while he was tickling you. You watched as his face lit up red, his piglin ears straightening out of the side of his head, probably taking in the proximity as well.

Techno wasn’t one to get flustered often, but when he did it was always with the people he cared about. He trusted them enough to let that blood god persona he put on fade away leaving behind his shy, nerdy side you always adored. The side of techno who would read by the fireplace with Steve sat snuggly in his lap, the Techno who would spend hours trying to fix his glasses that broke constantly in his strong grip only having to craft a new one. The Techno who would grumble about compliments from you and Phil but the subtle spread of pink across his face told everyone otherwise. The Techno you grew to love the more and more he let you it.

He began to get a lot more playful with you as you friendship grew. When you moved in with him out in the snow it only increased drastically. It wasn’t out of the ordinary for the both of you to end up in this position or something similar to it (like the time he pinned you down during training), but he would always stop before things got too intimate and while it hurt, you’ve grown to accept it. You were glad to be his friend, his companion. You would take his friendship over not knowing him at all any time of the day.

You waited for him to pull back. To stand up and dust off his clothes, offering you his hand to pull you up with him and continue that night like normal. But he stayed, his dark, dull eyes staying down at you with a shine you’ve never seen up close before.

Techno didn’t know what to do either. He didn’t know what was prompted him to stay in this position, the sudden confidence that pushed him to keep his hand on your face, his lips so close to yours.  Maybe it was the voices in his head, annoyed with the constant stares and thoughts of adoration when you rode Raven around in the snow, your cape flowing beautifully behind you, face showing nothing but pure joy. They were relentless, calling him out on every emotion he was feeling because of you.

He wanted to move for your sake, he was the one on top of you in the first place, pinning you down. You were probably being polite not shoving him off of you, even if you’ve never done it before, he just always pulled away before you could. But he couldn’t, his muscles stiff and unable to move.

A small part of his brain told him you wanted this too, but he ignored it for his own sanity.

“Techno-” you whispered but before you could continue, the hybrid immediately took the single word as a protest, finally letting go of your hands but keeping his body close.

“Shit I’m sorry that- that was probably a bit much.”

You giggled softly, “No- uh, it was fine tech, no worries,”

He looked down at your bright smile glowing in his face.

“You’re really beautiful Y/n,” he whispered, letting the rough pads of his fingers trail down the side of your face, blushing when you nudged them with your cheek, accepting the comfort.

“You think so?” you whispered back, looking up at him with doe eyes.

“I-” he started, his breath hot against the tip of your nose as he glanced down to your lips, quickly looking back into your eyes. Why weren’t you moving? Why weren’t you cringing, laughing at the thought of ever kissing him?

“You- Do you want this.” you whispered, letting his thumb pull down at your bottom lip, watching as the plush skin softly bounced back.

He nodded, shivering when you tangled your fingers into his pick curls, pulling his face down and nudging your nose against his. He closed his eyes, a small, cute snort coming from the back of his throat at the affection.

“Then what are you waiting for?”

“FUCK!”

You jumped at the sudden curse, Techno falling off of you and on to the floor besides the couch. Before you could process what just happened, the curse sounded again followed by a crash, both of your senses on high alert when you realised it was Phil’s voice coming from the kitchen. You rushed to grab your weapons from nearby, quickly pulling yourself together on the fact that your friend was in trouble.

You both ran as fast as you could, Techno in front of you with his sword drawn while you were behind loading your cross bow with an arrow. He barged into the kitchen, holding his blade in the air, ready to attack but all he was met with was a pair of wings slapping him in the face.

You dove under the large feathers, bumping the winged man to alert him of your presence.

“Oh... hey guys!” He smiled, taking out something from his ears and resting them on the kitchen counter. He sent a pointed look to the weapons in your hands, crossing his arms over his chest in confusion, “Why the weapons?”

“Are you alright?” Techno said, rubbing his nose from the hit.

“We heard you scream, thought you were in trouble.”

Phil chuckled nervously, “Sorry, my bad,” he turned around to face the both of you, “I just dropped a plate.”

You and Techno let out an audible sigh, dropping your weapons to the floor with a clank. You didn’t know how many times your heart could deal with the sudden bursts of adrenaline. Walking up to Techno, you took his hand away from his face, inspecting the soft red mark across his face from the whip of feathers. No matter how small the attack, you always made sure to check up on him, even when he didn’t need it.

But with your delicate touch came memories of the events that just happened

“Were- were you here the entire time?” Techno said hesitantly, looking up at his father with worried eyes. You took in his words, immediately pulling away from the hybrid, ignoring his small noise of protest.

“Yes, but i put in some ear plugs,” he pointed to them on the counter.

“Oh!” you piped in, “That’s- That’s good.”

“Was there something I missed?” he crossed his arms over his chest, looking at the both of you curiously.

“Nothing!” You both shouted at the same time, chuckling nervously.

“Okay?” Phil dragged out, pointing back to the sink, “Well, I’ll just-”

“Yeah! You- uh, get to that phil,” you began walking backwards, bounced into the edge of the counter. You played off the pain with a quick thumbs up and walking quickly out of the kitchen, mumbling curses under your breath.

“Are they alright mate?” Phil asked his son who seemed to be lost in his own world, staring at the spot you were once in, “Techno?”

“I- what?” He shook his head, “Uh, yeah- they’re,” he let out a small sigh, letting  his hand pass over his face, “Yeah, they’re fine.”

“Are you alright?”

Techno didn’t respond for a while, stuck in his own thought. Phil turned to his son, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder, “Tech?”

“I think-” He let out a shaky breath, “I think I love them.”

...

IM SORRY FOR ENDING IT SO SUDDENLY

it was just getting to long and i didn’t want to loose motivation writing more😭

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