#but he still can't remember him so he's just afraid and desperate and so confused T~T 💔

[munsonsmixtapes]

Maybe the reader and ghost are childhood best friends who lost touch after he joined the military and one night he’s at a bar off base that the force dragged him to on night off and they run into each other and reconnect and he confesses that he was always in love with her but couldn’t say anything and she admits the same??? And maybe after a confession where the both feel stupid for not saying anything sooner they hook up in his truck or something maybe 👀

This was so much fun to write!

cw: MDNI (18+) smut (p in v) unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it) public sex, grinding

The bar is pretty empty when Ghost enters it. The guys forced him even though he didn’t want to come. He just wants to curl up in bed and read one of the emails you’ve sent him over and over again until he falls asleep. 

And the thing is, he knows it’s pathetic. That he’s making so much out of nothing but he can’t help it. Right now, that’s all he really has to keep him going. He misses you more than he’ll ever admit because then he’d have to tell himself that he’s in love with you. But he’d never do that. You’re just friends. 

The kiss you shared before he left has taken over every inch of his brain, so much so that there’s not room for anything else. And he’s not so sure that he’s upset by that. Part of him wants to tell you exactly how he feels but that’s not exactly something could say in an email. He wants to do it in person, not that he could get himself to do that either. He just misses you and is counting down the days until he can see you again. 

What he doesn’t know yet is that you’re there too. You’re standing at the bar, nursing a beer, already writing out your next email to Simon. Your friends are caught up in conversation and you can’t even get yourself to participate. Ever since he left, there’s been a hole in your heart that can’t be filled with anything other than him coming back into your life. 

You’ve been thinking about him and the kiss every day since, but you can't get yourself to say anything about it, though, because you’re scared. You know you’ll just end up telling him the truth, that you want to be much more than you are. But you’d never do that. You’re just friends. 

You miss him. So much so that you see him everywhere. Even right now at one of the tables where a group of men in uniform are sitting. He’s facing you, laughing at what his friends are saying and that’s when you realize that he’s real. 

You set your drink on the bar and make a beeline for the table, having to squeeze by multiple people in your path, somehow making it there without a scratch considering that he was the only thing you were looking at. 

“Simon?” You ask as you get to the table and when his eyes lock on yours, you instantly melt, all of the feelings you have for him, rushing to the surface, driving you absolutely mad. 

His eyes widen as he takes you in but he’s quick to stand from the table, pulling you into a hug, squeezing you tight because he’s so afraid of letting you go again. You fit in his arms just like always and it takes everything in him to let you go even though all he wants to do is hold you for the rest of the night. 

“I missed you,” you tell him and he can sense the hurt in your voice. He still remembers the tears streaming down your face when you said your goodbyes. Just seeing you cry almost made him stay there with you. Leaving you like that was the hardest thing he ever had to do. He knows you would have forced him to go anyway so he didn’t even bother putting up a fight. Now he wishes he had. 

“I missed you too. So much.” He knows how desperate he sounds but he doesn’t care. It’s taking everything in him not to lay it all out on the table when he pulls away. 

“Oh my god, you’re the girl,” one of his friends pipes up which just leaves you confused. Simon’s talked about you? Well, of course he has. Your friends. 

“Yeah, the girl from his wallet,” another adds. Simon’s cheeks go bright in pink at that and you think it’s adorable. You love seeing this side of him. 

He has a picture of you in his wallet. You gave it to him to remember you and he keeps it in his wallet? This is the best news you could have ever received. 

“He stares at it all the time, don’t you Simon?” His name is said in a teasing tone and he would love nothing more than for the floor to swallow him whole. This is not at all how he was expecting your reunion to go. 

He was hoping for love confessions and kisses, not being embarrassed in front of the only woman he’s ever loved. You probably think he’s a freak now and he won’t blame you if you walk out that door. 

“He reads your emails too,” another one speaks up. “Every night before bed.” 

Your heart warms with every confession from his friends and when you look at Simon, he’s staring at you, his eyebrows pinched together, his cheeks and ears a bright shade of pink which you can’t help but giggle at. He’s so adorable. 

“Do you want to get a drink, Simon?” You ask, sensing his unease and need to get away from his friends for a little bit. 

“I’d love a drink,” he replies with that bright smile you know he reserves specifically for you and you grab hold of his hand, leading the way to the bar where your friends are still sitting. They all know him very well and they are all happy to be able to tease the two of you again. 

Everyone in your tiny little town has been rooting for you to get together since you were kids and as much as you wish that could happen, you just don’t think it will. If it was meant to be, it would have happened by now, right? You’re both grown adults with your own lives. No longer attached at the hip, no longer sharing everything with each other anymore. 

Whenever something exciting happened, you’d always run to Simon, but now that all of his time is taken up, all of the reactions-albeit, still matching yours-are way after the fact when the moment has passed. 

And you feel guilty when you get upset because it’s not his fault. And you encouraged him to go when he was asking for any reason to stay so you suppose you really don’t have any right to be upset. 

“Well look who’s back,” one of your friends speaks up. “You’d have thought you died with how upset y/n was.” Now it’s your turn to be embarrassed. Your cheeks heat and you see Simon trying his best not to laugh out of the corner of your eye. 

You turn to look at him and his eyes are already on you, that warm look in them that’s always reserved just for you. You missed this. Even though things seem very different than they were last time, you’re still so happy that he’s here and now that book you were looking forward to finishing tonight is long forgotten on your bedside table. 

You want everything to go back to the way it was. There’s tension where there never used to be and now it all just feels so weird. You both know you need to talk about it, but it’s clear that neither of you wants to be the one to make the first move. 

You turn back towards him and sip on your drink, not missing the way his eyes drop to your lips as they wrap around the straw, almost like he wants them to wrap around something else. He steps forward and you set your drink down on the bar, letting him take your hands in his. He holds them gently as he leans forward, his lips right by your ear and his hot breath sends a chill down your spine. 

“Can we talk?” He asks and all you can do is nod before he leads you towards the front doors of the bar. Rain is pouring down so Simon is quick to take off his jacket and hold it over your head as the two of you race into the parking lot where his truck is conveniently parked out front. 

He opens the passenger door for you and helps you into the seat before rounding the front to get into the driver’s seat. As soon as the door is closed, he leans over the bench to reach into the back for something and once his attention is captivated, you shamelessly look over just in time to see his shirt ride up, the wet skin making your mind swirl with the dirtiest things. 

He sits back in the seat and hands something to you. Once you hold it up, you realize that it’s the hoodie he always lets you borrow. You bring it to your nose and just as suspected, it smells like a mixture of laundry detergent and his cologne that he always sprays on it for you. You immediately unzip it and when he sees that you’re taking off your damp shirt, he clears his throat and turns to face the window, closing his eyes so he’s not tempted by the reflection. 

Once he hears the zip, he turns back to face forward as the two of you both unknowingly replaying the exact thing you’re intending to talk about in your heads over and over just like you have been this whole time. 

“I guess I should just be honest,” he says, taking a deep breath, turning to face you as his tongue runs along his bottom lip before chewing on it- a nervous habit he’s had since you've known him. “I haven’t stopped thinking about you nor that kiss since I left and it’s been driving me crazy that I haven’t been able to see you.”

The pit that's been in your stomach for months suddenly disappears and you’re so happy at Simon’s confession that you can’t help but let out a laugh. His cheeks go bright pink and he suddenly feels sick now that you’re laughing at him. Now he wishes he had the power to rewind and not say anything else. 

You seem to sense his unease because your laughter fizzles out and you scoot closer to him, taking his face in your hands. His eyes widen at your closeness and he has no idea what’s happening but he decides not to question it. 

“I love you too, Simon,” you tell him and he can’t help but grin, a little chuckle falling from his lips. “And I wasn’t laughing at you. I was laughing at the fact that we’ve been in love with each other so long and somehow neither of us picked up on it.” 

The more he lets the words sink in, the more he feels the urge to laugh as well, laughter bubbling up inside him and pretty soon, the two of you are cackling about the whole thing even though it’s not nearly as funny as you think it is. 

Once you both sober up, you realize how close you got in your fits of laughter and now your thighs are pressed together, holding onto each other, your hands still on his cheeks that are aching from how much he’s been smiling tonight and his hands now on your waist, the two of you now in the perfect position. 

“Can I kiss you?” He whispers and you smile wider, your own cheeks hurting now. 

“I’d be really disappointed if you didn’t,” you reply and Simon is quick to lean in, his lips capturing yours in a sweet kiss. This is so much better than either of you remember, and now that you know there will be more in your future, you take your time to explore each other’s mouths. 

Your tongue flicks into his mouth and as he pulls you into his lap, Simon swears that he’s going to lose his mind. You taste like the margarita you’ve been sipping and he’s still so surprised that you’re in his truck and willingly making out with him. This is something he’s fantasized about for so much of his life and part of him still can’t believe what’s happening. 

He feels you grinding against him and he can’t help but let out a moan at how good it feels. You feel yourself getting even more wet at hearing it as well as feeling his bulge hitting against you. His hand slide up your hoodie, pressing against your bare back your grinding picks up, your heavy breaths progressively fogging up the car. 

You push his still wet hair from his forehead as your fingers thread through it as his hips buck against yours. He decides that he needs you and needs you now so his hands move up to the zipper of your hoodie and he slowly unzips it, pushing it off your shoulders and only pulling away to get a glimpse of your naked torso. You’re even more beautiful than he imagined and he takes a moment to look at you, the woman he’s been in love with his whole life. The only woman for him whom for whatever reason he’s still unsure of is in love with him too. 

He helps you lie back on the bench as his own shirt comes off, though this is a struggle since he got most of the rain. You pull him down onto you, going for another kiss as you both attempt to finish undressing each other, various clothing items flying around the front of the truck until you’re both naked. 

Simon’s hands reach for yours, threading your fingers together as he slowly slides inside of you, both of you moaning and whining as he thrusts in and out, having no barrier feeling so good. You both fit so perfectly together and neither of you can believe that you haven’t done this sooner. 

Simon takes his time, slowly moving in and out of, wanting the first time to be soft and sweet. He gently squeezes your hands as he tells you how much he loves you over and over which you return before he goes back to complimenting you any chance he gets. He just feels so free and now he feels the need to tell you everything that he likes about you that friends definitely shouldn’t tell other friends.

“You look so pretty like this,” he says as he presses a gentle kiss to your shoulder. “In fact, I think this is the prettiest you’ve ever looked.” Your once freezing body is now on fire as his lustful gaze roams all over it.

“I feel the same way about you,” you reply, letting your eyes roam over his body too. You slowly take in his tattooed arm, the very tattoos that you’ve traced with your fingers over and over while you’ve been cuddled up on the couch.

Simon picks up the pace just a little bit but that seems to do the trick as your moans get louder and louder with every thrust. You can feel your orgasm approaching quickly and Simon is quick to encourage you, talking you through it with his sweet words.

“That’s it,” he says. “Just like that, sweetheart.” Your name falls from his lips in a loud moan and he can see that you’re going dumb on him so he’s quick to pull out before grabbing some napkins from the glove box to clean the two of you up. 

He grabs your clothes and helps you put them back on, pressing a kiss to your lips as he zips up his jacket for you. 

“Did so well, sweetheart,” he compliments against your lips. “Think you’re willing to go for round two at your place?” All you can do is nod as he gets himself dressed before buckling your seatbelt for you. Once your all set, he pulls out of the parking lot and heads to your place that he still doesn’t need directions for as he drives much slower than usual since he’s got precious cargo as well as his favorite passenger princess in the front seat.

[howthesleeplesswander]

❛ i’m sorry, but i’m just thinking of the right words to say. ❜ // @Kazuma but... Masked Apprentice Kazuma?? 👀👀👀👀

Songs from the 80's Sentence Starters | Accepting! | @tenacquity

((hoooOOOWEE ARE YOU READY TO CRY?? 8'D I SURE HOPE SO, HERE WE GOOO))

The right words?

He may have laughed at the statement if he remembered how. If it weren't so cruel in its irony. For the words this man spoke didn't matter when the mere sound of his voice shook the Apprentice to his core.

Every time, without fail. After months of wandering the foggy London streets like a wraith plucked from a ghost story, the feeling of being utterly lost was never as powerful—or as weak—as in this man's presence.

He made the emptiness inside of him better, yet simultaneously worse. As the Apprentice watched him struggle to speak, he didn't recognize the churning depths of his eyes or the thoughtful crease to his brow—and that unfamiliarity ached unlike anything else. Earth-shattering, even though he couldn't understand it. Powerful enough to change everything if only he could remember.

And he wanted to, with a desperation he didn't know himself capable of feeling before their fateful meeting in the Prosecutor's Office only yesterday. But he couldn't. He'd tried. And the same thought crushed down upon his shoulders now as it did then:

What right did he have to something—to someone—he did not know?

He shouldn't be here.

He'd never intended to face him to begin with. With the halls of the Old Bailey dim and abandoned for the night, the Apprentice had been about to leave, too: prepared to spend another night searching for anything that might trigger his memories, if the other man hadn't found him first.

Wasn't this exactly what he'd wanted? No—not this. It was too much. Too painful.

The Apprentice took a step back. Then another. Each one soundless yet stilted as he battled against himself: trapped between a visceral urge to flee, to leave this man behind—and an equally powerful conviction that he couldn't. Not again.

—again?

He didn't...They didn't... Did they?

It was too much...!

In the end the Apprentice moved no further. He merely watched, dark eyes unreadable in the shadows of his mask and cloak. Silently weathering the tempest of nonsensical emotion surging through his rib cage. Waiting for something he didn't understand.

Or, perhaps, simply waiting for the right words.

[deikshen]

The Amnesiac Ghost King Shen Yuan who wakes up in his territory surrounded by bestiaries, shadow demons loyal to him, animal skins, with a fateful feeling of loss and... he has a wife? He knows he has a wife! Well, a man-wife? Just by looking at a couple of his maids he is convinced that his wife cannot be a woman.

He have to find his wife! Husband. Spouse? In fact, he has forgotten almost everything except his own name and the fact that he is dead and is a ghost king, so with the covert help of his servants, he manages to leave and sets out on a quest. He has to find his beloved!!

... It's difficult when he doesn't even know what he's really looking for. He is a little disappointed, but suddenly, he hears disturbances in a forest. There is a fight between a beautiful man and a wild beast. Oh! He sees him, he recognizes him! His wife!!

He claps his hands in the air, stopping the beast's attack; the beast quickly scurries away, afraid that it has disrespected Shen Yuan. The man dressed in noble elegance and a zuiyin on his forehead looks at him, annoyed, but Shen Yuan doesn't even notice him as she hugs him.

"Oh, wife!" Shen Yuan says. He feels him for wounds. He is strong, he knows it! But still, he's irrationally worried. Just because he was strong didn't mean he couldn't be hurt, and that would be horrible!! "It's been a while. This husband of yours asks for forgiveness. Some creature ate his memories, but I have found you. This husband of yours would recognize his wife anywhere, no matter how many memories they take from me. Is my wife safe?"

Shen Yuan misses the chaotic array of emotions on Luo Binghe’s face. Confusion turns to doubt, doubt to shock.

"Husband" he says, the voice a little strangled, and Shen Yuan only squeezes him tighter in his arms.

"There, there," he consoles, dragging Luo Binghe's head down, towards his neck, to hug him and brush his hair there. What a lovely wife of his, letting himself be pampered so well. "Everything will be okay, you've been a good boy in my absence, I can guess that. How would you be anything else? So beautiful. So strong."

Shen Yuan keeps showering his wife with pampering, sweet words. He feels that he must say all that! It is necessary! It is necessary for his wife to know!!

His wife - Luo Binghe, provides his mind, and Shen Yuan is pleased to remember that as well - lets himself be hugged and adored. Shen Yuan hugs him and takes care of him until he feels he can detach himself a little to cover his face with tender and sweet kisses. So adorable!

Finally, when the reunion leaves them calmer, Shen Yuan is satisfied to go eat somewhere and then begin the hunt for the monster that ate his memories. He is definitely dying to remember more about his beloved!

... His loving wife doesn't seem to find it all that necessary. Long days of irreverent flirting, wet kisses, and groping in wooded corners pass by. The hunts turn into hot sessions of kisses, moans, a little more desire here and there. Shen Yuan rides his wife with joy and satisfaction. His wife lets him kiss, suck and spoil him as if it were the only thing that gave him happiness in the world.

Neither he nor his wife can keep their hands to themselves. His wild groping ruins the chances of hunting the beast that ate Shen Yuan's memories more than once. In the end, Shen Yuan can't be upset with his anxious wife, though he pushes out his frustration by pushing him against a tree and taking him standing there, making his needy wife cry with pleasure.

When they finally hunt down the beast, before Shen Yuan can regain his memories, his wife is hesitant. He asks Shen Yuan not to be too angry with him. Shen Yuan has no idea why he would be angry. He loves his wife. Nothing would make him angry with his beloved wife.

... The next morning brings back memories for Shen Yuan. It brings back to Shen Yuan not only the memories of the desperate papapa from the previous night, but all of his damn memories. His transmigration. His second death. Becoming a ghost despite everything!! Rising up the ghost food chain to become a ghost king!!! Take over his own territory by raising beasts and creatures! Stand back from Binghe's growing empire so as not to be overthrown!

And now, what the fuck?! Why did he think of the protagonist as his wife?! Why would the mighty Emperor Luo Binghe agree to that?!

Why would he think he doesn't like women anyway?! He's so damn straight!! But all that... papapa with the protagonist... damn...

Luo Binghe enters the inn room without knocking. He has breakfast in his hands and a soft expression on his face. Shen Yuan feels so guilty that his stomach feels twisted.

"My Lord, this humble one is so sorry, I shouldn't have assumed..." he starts.

Luo Binghe blinks at him… confused?

“Who Lord?” he asks, his voice extremely soft. The expression on his face, soon, looks so betrayed that it seems he is going to cry. “Was my husband expecting someone else?”

Shen Yuan blinks once. Twice. What the fuck.

Oh, he suddenly thinks. They must have been careless and now Luo Binghe's memories had been eaten by another beast. Ah, crap. That would make sense, considering that, uh, after killing the beast and releasing those memories, well, uh, the heavenly pillar had been inside of him for a long time, so, uh... distracted. Very distracted.

"Oh no, sweetheart, this husband got confused" Shen Yuan says as quickly as he can. "Come to bed. Are you okay? What's the last thing you remember?"

Luo Binghe blinks his sweet eyes, and walks over to the bed. He carefully puts down the tray before snuggling up next to Shen Yuan, as if he weren’t taller, stronger, and more powerful than him.

"This wife only remembers his husband," Luo Binghe said, sighing. "And he doesn't think there's anything else important to remember."

Shen Yuan strongly disagrees. Luo Binghe, don't you have a huge harem and a fucking empire to run!? Lots of important things to remember there!!

"It's fine," he hums. "We will have breakfast and go hunting. My wife deserves his memories back."

Luo Binghe nods, a happy sound coming from his mouth. Shen Yuan sighs and kisses his cheek, because he's supposed to think he's his wife, and ah, he's not going to treat him badly now, right? And Luo Binghe looks happy and sounds happy and Shen Yuan could enjoy that a little bit more. He'll have his crisis later.

They will hunt down that beast, recover Luo Binghe's memories, and then he will never see him again. Eh. If he survives Luo Binghe's fury for subjecting him to these humiliations. Damn.

...

(In fact, Luo Binghe has not lost any memories.

In fact, he just wants to convince this beautiful ghost who treats him so well to stay by his side longer. He will do whatever it takes! Hadn't Shen Yuan wanted a wife? He will give him a perfect wife now! A wife so perfect that even with his memories back, he will never want to leave him!!)

[yanderefarm]

I need us pretending/threatening Emil with a divorce even after saying we wouldn’t 🙏🙏

this is a part 2 to this story

in your villain arc fr. i know if emil knew how you were manipulating him and playing him like a puppet he wouldn't even be mad he'd be like "thats hot wtf"

cw;; drugging, cheating, non-con (implied), abuse, manipulation

oh your poor husband, he's so pathetic and easy to break.

after your brutal breaking of his body with the cheating scandal you had been oh so generous to help him rebuild his all his lost favour. his ever loving husband who loved him past his worst flaws gave him a better reputation just by staying by his side. all he had to do was give into you, take you places, stop holding you at arms length like he was afraid of you running away and getting close to him at the same time. really all you wanted was more of his love and if that meant you had to break him down to nothing then you guess that's what you would do.

you walked into his office to find him surrounded by people, a familiar sight since his last scandal. you pushed past them to his desk, watching emil flinch away from your presence. you didn't need to yell and get angry this time, you knew exactly how to break him.

"i want a divorce."

you placed the newspaper on the desk to punctuate your sentence, the headline was a young noble woman's testimony of how the king had cornered her at the last royal banquet. another lie you had paid a pretty penny to get out there. you knew emil's head had been fuzzy since the last scandal, all it took was hiring a woman from a family desperate for money to force herself on him and then lie about it. he didn't even remember the night, he couldn't argue with you about it.

you heard his pathetic sob. that sound he would never usually make in front of anyone else. you turned back to see him still surrounded by his advisors and other noblemen but among their shocked faces you could see your husband had tears in his eyes.

"out." you ordered and they very quickly filed out leaving you two in a familiar position.

you walked back to the desk and stared down at him. your husband, already a broken and confused mess, hung his head like a kicked puppy dog so you couldn't see his eyes you could only hear him crying. you let out a heavy sigh.

"what am I supposed to do, emil? you clearly don't love me."

"that's not-"

"how many more women do i have to find out about before you admit it?"

"i don't remember that night... i don't think- i-"

a silence formed between you both only interrupted by his crying.

"i remember that night. i remember you left the party early to get some fresh air and you didn't come back."

he was shaking.

"..... if you had just talked to me we could have come to an agreement about concubines. if you didn't want to be with a man all you had to do was tell me. you don't have to keep humiliating me publicly and then lying about it."

"im not ly-"

you slammed your hands on the table making him flinch.

"you are. you're lying to me. you slept with the maid and then you lied about it and i forgave you. i forgave you because i thought you would learn your lesson."

"please... please punish me again please anything else... kill me, torture me, hate me, anything but leaving me..." he finally looked at you and you could see his pink eyes were cloudy and confused as tears dripped down his face.

".... that's pathetic emil. you want me to beat you but..." you forced your own tears along with your voice cracking. "you can't even say you love me."

emil tried to stand up, stumbling against the desk as his legs wobbled underneath him.

"don't leave me. please." his hand weakly grabbed your wrist

"do you love me?"

"yes."

"how am i supposed to trust that? how am i supposed to trust you? can you even say it? can you tell me you love me?"

"i...i...."

you ripped your hand away from him making him stumble again.

"I'm going to get the divorce papers ready. you're going to sign them."

you turned on your heel and left your husband sobbing in his office.

your plan to make the great emil landorr your mindbroken bitch was going along perfectly. it was going to be harder to drug him when you moved into the queen's palace but you were confident that the separation would drive him just as crazy.

[yandere-chocolate]

A concept has been scuttling around in my head. A reader who is PETRIFIED of storms and their roommate Macaque who can't sleep listening to their whining. Desperately need a comfort fic TwT

I'll take a shot at it!

--♡--♡--♡--♡--♡--♡--♡--♡--♡--♡--♡--♡--♡-

Macaque didn't necessarily need to sleep, but he liked to. It was a great stress relief, and he needed that after living as long as he has. He drifted off to sleep one night until he was awoken by your screams. I leapt out of bed and slipped into the shadows. It was a demon, for sure, and he was going to make whoever was trying to hurt you pay dearly for even thinking about it.

As Macaque moved from the shadows and into your room, he was confused. No demons anywhere, but you were shivering. It was a trick, it had to be.

"Hey kid," he spoke, "what's wrong?" Macaque asked, swiftly moving to your side and wrapping an arm around you protectively. To say he was confused when you told him it was a severe fear of thunderstorms was a bit of an understatement. The demon had been beaten, betrayed, ripped to shreds, and even enslaved, so he did not understand how anything could fear simple thunder. But you were only human, and he had to remember that.

"Hey, it's just thunder, kid... nothin' to be afraid of." This didn't work, of course, it just invalidated your feelings, but he still couldn't understand. But he wanted to help.

"Look, how about I keep you nice and warm and safe tonight, okay sunshine?" He teased, collecting you in his arms as best he could. The demon snuggled up to you in the bed and heard your fearful whimpers as thunder wracked the sky and rain pounded against the window. His tail curled up around your leg, "Don't worry. I'll protect you. I love you."

It wasn't common for Macaque to say such a thing, but it warmed your heart just a little bit to have this demonic simian protectively around you, almost as if shielding you for the storm.

--♡--♡--♡--♡--♡--♡--♡--♡--♡--♡--♡--♡--♡-

[ivystoryweaver]

3 Times Jake Lockley Tried to Kill You and 1 Time He Saved Your Life

Part 3 of 5 - Hands

previous || Miniseries Masterlist || Main Masterlist || next

Pairing: Jake Lockley x f!reader

Summary: Jake can't waste any more time or he will be the one who ends up dead...but killing you doesn't come as easily to him as he'd hoped

Word Count: 2.8k

Content: nsfw, mdni, more below the cut

Frottage, groping, choking, language, glove kink, dry humping, violence, murder, a surprise guest, not beta'd

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ

He invaded your mind almost every second of the day.

Who was he?

Why was he toying with you?

When would you see him again?

You needed a drink. Several, in fact. So, for the first time since the night before Jake's first "attempt" on your life, you descended upon Chicago's nightlife with your friends. Your so-called friends anyway. You didn't feel incredibly close to anyone, but the girls provided a decent enough distraction for drinking, dancing and gossiping.

Tonight your dress reflected none of your typical classy air. The cut and fit of the outrageously tiny garment scandalously displayed the rage roiling inside you.

"If your father sees a photograph of you like this, he'll kill you," one of your bodyguards warned.

Kissing your teeth, you climbed into the awaiting car. "If I tell him how you just ogled me, he'll kill you."

That shut him up.

Still, he had a point. Your father liked to think he still had some sway over how you conducted yourself in public. Well, fuck him. Because of him, someone wanted you dead.

Someone you desperately craved to see again.

Three drinks and several dances later, the slightest bit of tension began to ease out of you. The flashing lights, thumping bass and strong alcohol blurred the worry and frustration, at least for the moment. Your two so-called friends and their hookups had already vanished.

Then you felt a gloved hand wrap around your bare arm as a warm body crowded in behind you.

"Dance with me," he breathed on your ear, gripping both your arms and pulling your back against the solid wall of his chest.

All the air rushed out of you - a wild, raging kind of relief confusing you. Danger surrounded you - it seemed to roll off him - but your lowered inhibitions had you rubbing yourself up against him before you could even remember to be afraid.

The rhythm of his body instantly matched yours, the two of you moving in delicious synchrony as he gripped your hips, corresponding to the heat and vigor of your grinding.

"I don't know you." Your head fell back onto his shoulder as your lips chased his ear, so he would hear you over the club's thump and roar. "I don't even know who's trying to kill me - not even your name."

Jake's smile teased the shell of your ear - his stubble temptingly tickling your flesh. Maybe he was growing his beard back out.

Pushing his hands down over the tops of your thighs, he spread your legs apart, as you danced up on him. Tracing his gloved fingertips back up your legs, he halted when he felt a gun situated in a thigh holster.

His cock, half hard already, stiffened against the curve of your ass. "You kept it," he rumbled into your ear, leaving the weapon in place. "Good girl." He then dragged his hands up over your hips to wrap securely around your abdomen, holding you almost like a lover would. "Did you have as much fun with the gun as you did the knife?"

Normally, you would have spat back a reply full of snark and cursing, but, the alcohol had smoothed your rough edges for the moment. "I had more fun this time," you admitted freely. "Fucked myself with it. Came so hard."

"Jesus," he whistled, grinding into you with obvious intention, while you gladly rubbed your barely covered ass up and down his length to the music's pulse. His hands crawled up to your breasts as he realized how far beyond his control he'd let you take him.

He'd never behaved so unprofessionally, allowing a mark to slip away twice, even encouraging you to protect yourself, with his own weapon, no less.

And now, probably walking right into a seductive trap, his cock hungry for a good fuck, tense and ready after images of you fucking your sopping cunt down on his gun filling his mind. He wanted you more than anything. No one had made him feel so out of control...well, ever.

There was no hiding what the two of you were doing now - with Jake groping both your breasts and thrusting wildly against you. Despite the debauchery around you - your own vulgar display was beginning to draw some attention.

"Not here," you said forcefully, shifting away from him, feeling the slightest victory that he seemed to really want you - to actually be distracted and overcome with desire.

Shaking himself out of his stupor, Jake gripped your hand and led you to a much more secluded spot, darker, up against a wall. Not entirely private, but better.

Caging you in, the heat of his body trapped you there, sturdy thighs pressed against yours as he adjusted his hips to rut his cock up against your core.

You mewled out a whimper, your legs falling open for him.

All he wanted was to sink his teeth into the meat of your neck, suck his mark there and push into you until he came, just to get some goddamn relief, but he feebly held onto his last shred of self-preservation.

The air between you shifted drastically making you instantly regret pausing your dance out in the middle of the floor.

"No more games," he gruffly warned, gathering your wrists and pushing them over your head, easily holding them in place with one hand.

His free hand slid back down the length of your arm to the top of your breast, which you hoped he would fondle indulgently - instead, he shifted back up to wrap it around your throat.

Cold eyes bore into yours as his jaw twitched with something like apprehension.

"No," you quickly choked out before he squeezed.

Dark eyebrows arched and in his gaze, you saw the storm of conflict. But you were losing him.

"This ends tonight," he huffed, nodding once as if trying to convince himself as much as you.

Gone was the fire of your sensual dance. He wasn't getting off on this. He wasn't playing around. He was here to finish the job.

"P-lease..." you gasped, desperate for air, hating yourself for begging. Although, it actually worked. He eased off, if only a fraction. "I'm s-sorry," you whimpered, tears slipping out of your wild, terrified eyes. "I'm sorry about your brother. Please..."

Jake's jaw clenched as his eyes flashed with something unrecognizable. Maybe hesitation. Or doubt. "He was just a kid," Jake spat. "Your father is a monster."

You could try to struggle against his compact but strong frame. You could hope to signal your bodyguards that beneath the music’s roar and the dim lights, a murder was about to occur.

But you found that you wanted him to decide not to kill you.

"I know," you whimpered, nodding quickly. "I know what my father is. What he's done." Sniffling, you squeezed your eyes shut as fresh tears spilled over your lashes. "Do what you have to do if it will give you peace. But just decide." This life-or-death edging was pure torture. And you only hated yourself for how badly you wanted him. "Please don't do this to me anymore."

Suddenly, Jake's entire demeanor changed. His shoulders stiffened, body tensing as his dark eyes flickered all around you.

"There's someone here," he breathed on your ear, finally, officially removing his hand from your throat.

"It's a club - there are tons of people here - "

He shushed you, releasing your arms from over your head, pushing your shoulders up against the wall instead.

"Shit," he hissed. "They're here for me." His boss was apparently tired of waiting.

His eyes found yours. "I'm Jake." Wetting his lips, his eyes flickered down to your throat and back. "I'm...obviously I'm not going to kill you."

Reaching for your thigh, he patted the gun you had stashed there. "This loaded?"

"Y-yes," you stammered, reeling from...everything.

"Good. I'm going to lead them out of here," he explained. "They're after me because I haven't finished the job." He locked gazes with you again. "So they might be here for you too."

"Nice to meet you, Jake," you huffed with a slight pout, your usual fire extinguished by the emotional whiplash of the evening. "You're just a ray of fucking sunshine. Been a real pleasure."

Before he could fire back a protest, you grabbed his jacket and pulled him close. "My bodyguards are right behind you. You really are off your game."

Then you kissed him, hard. He tried to pry himself free, to assess the danger, but the heat of your tongue and the tangle of your fingers through the curls at the base of his neck made him forget this entire shit storm for a few heavenly moments - the taste of you more delicious than he could ever have imagined. You sucked his tongue so hard he almost lost his balance.

He finally broke the kiss, eyes darting wildly, trying to get his bearings.

"Kiss me again," you commanded. "My bodyguards think we're hooking up. They won't fuck with me, trust me."

Jake's chest heaved with desire and trepidation. His boss had definitely dispatched two men that Jake had spotted so far. "I'm not worried about those idiots. We have a much bigger problem."

"Where?" You gasped, your hands twisting hopelessly in his jacket, holding onto him as if you were afraid he would vanish again, leaving you afraid and weirdly sexually frustrated.

"My nine o'clock and eleven. Don't look."

You chewed on your lip, resisting the urge to do just that.

"Trade places with me," you ordered, "up against the wall. Let me hide you."

"It won't work - "

"Turn the fuck around, Jake," you commanded, your eyes flashing. "I don't think they've spotted you yet or we would be dead already." Jake quickly traded places with you, pushing his back up against the wall and dipping his knees as you practically climbed him.

A rush of air passed his parted lips as you pressed your breasts against his chest, draping yourself over him. "Trust me - they won't be looking at you - not while I'm wearing this dress."

You shifted your hips until you could feel his hard cock press against your core, right where it felt so good. If you were in this world of shit because of Jake, you might as well enjoy it.

"Now make them believe there's nothing to see here but my ass," you breathed on his ear, barely finishing your sentence before his gloved hands gripped your backside, pushing you down over his length as his mouth fused with yours.

Fuck. The seam of his pants caught on your clit, through the flimsy material of your lace thong. The roughness of the lace only added to the sensation, sending sparks of pleasure up and down your spine.

And his mouth, god. His lips were as soft as you imagined - predictably demanding, and the stubble of his chin scraped and tickled you deliciously. His tongue rolled hot in your mouth, luring you into a salacious tangle of breathing and sucking and tasting.

The rhythm your bodies shared on the dance floor quickly returned - two moving as one in a wild, writhing tangle.

Sucking his tongue, you moaned into his mouth, rubbing your clit over the outline of his tip with increasing vigor, fingers tangled hopelessly in his curls.

Jake could feel you chasing your orgasm - he knew he could make you come like this, but you might not understand the reality of how much danger lurked around you both.

He couldn't kill you now. He realized, as he tilted his head and flexed his forearms along the curve of your back - he didn't even want to kill you - not even for revenge. Not to hurt your father back or avenge his brother.

And not just to fuck you either. A fire burned in you - something rare and wild and beautiful and he didn't want to be the one to extinguish it. He understood now that he couldn't accept anyone else hurting you either.

You panted his name, tugging hard on his hair, your heated breath temptingly falling on his throat.

"I got you baby," he found himself murmuring. "You gonna come for me like this?"

"Fuck you," you gasped, but he heard no venom in your curse as your mouth sought his again.

His protective and survival instincts clawed through the hazy fog of lust, prompting him to tear his mouth away, touching his forehead to yours as your wild panting tickled his lips.

"They'll kill you," he gasped, pulling you into something of a protective hug. "They're not like me. They won't miss. They won't stop. We have to go. Now."

Shaking yourself out of your near-orgasmic state of bliss, you gripped his jacket once more, trying to think clearly.

"Isn't that what you want, Jake?" You asked him seriously. "For me to die? To hurt my father?"

You pushed hard on his chest, but he trapped your hands.

"Listen to me," he hissed. But he paused, swallowing hard as he regarded you, as if for the final time. "I'm going to lead them out of here - "

"Jake - "

"Use your weapon if you need to." He nodded over your shoulder. "Your closest bodyguard is maybe ten paces on your six. Walk straight to him and get out of here. Call your father."

"Jake, you can't - "

His mouth crashed into yours desperately, tasting your lips one at a time before he licked into your mouth hotly, folding you against his chest with one arm. His free hand gripped your jaw as he kissed you for one more indulgent moment.

Easing back, he stared deeply into your eyes before using his teeth to pull his glove off. He pushed it against your chest.

"Something to remember me by...or maybe play with." He managed a wink before brushing his fingertips over your lips.

You realized then that he'd never really touched you before - not without gloves on.

"I'm sorry I hurt you," he went on caressing your face - your chin, your jawline - raking his fingers over the curve of your cheek. "Now go. Don't get hurt because of me."

He tried to push you away, but you clung to him. "Jake...will I see you again?" You asked with trembling lips, your eyes darting over the handsome contours of his face.

He shook his head. "Not unless you want me to finish the job."

"You asshole," you seethed, gripping his glove in your hand before shrugging one shoulder, trying to pretend you didn't care. "At least I got a new toy out of it. Good luck not getting yourself killed."

With that, you turned on your heel and walked straight to your bodyguard, and away from the inept assassin named Jake.

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ

Jake woke up in a warehouse on the south side of the city.

The night had started out well enough - getting to see you again - to touch you, kiss you...

But had turned bloody. Deadly. Apparently.

Jake hissed, feeling haphazard stitching feebly holding together the gash on his side, attempting to get a good look through his brand new black eye.

"Fuck," he hissed, realizing he'd missed a few hours. He blacked out after he left the club. And woke up here.

An empty beer bottle sat nearby - along with various other bits of trash from whoever partied or slept here last.

Jake noticed his reflection in the glass.

"I would've taken care of it," he offered up a protest to anyone who might be listening.

But he knew why his deadly alter fronted. It was them or him. Or you. They were after you as well, and it was his fault.

His sluggish mind finally registered what might have happened while he was absent from the body.

Jake grabbed the beer bottle, barking an accusation at his dim, distorted reflection. "Did you hurt her?"

Shit. Marc Spector did not fuck around. If you were a mark, he would finish the job if he thought the body was in real danger. He didn't come around often, not nearly as often as Steven, but he was probably the reason Jake was still alive after all these years.

"Answer me, Marc. Is she alive?"

Marc didn't answer. He never answered. He protected.

Jake should have sliced your throat the first time he grabbed you in that park. Saved himself the trouble.

No one was worth all this shit.

But if that were true, why was he panicking? He had to know.

So he would try to see you one more time. Then he would surrender the body to Steven and let him live in London like he wanted.

next

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ

Jake Lockley-Centric stories

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[lokotrona11]

So you're leaving

Pairing : Peter Pevensie x Reader

summary : Love is gone?

gender: Sad, broken heart

Word count : 800 I think

AN : I hated the ending, I wanted it to be even more devastating and I messed it up, sorry.

This is not pre-corrected and remember that my language is not English, I hope it does not have spelling or writing mistakes.

The gif is not mine!

-------

Peter was having a bad time, a very bad time.

His campaigns had the expected result, he was conquering lands and a very good king, his people loved and respected him, his great heart, intelligence and courage were reflected in each public display.

His brothers had a perfect life and health, they were happy.

He did not suffer from poverty or anything like that.

But even with all that, his heart suffered. Why?

Because his beloved no longer loved him, or so he felt.

Peter had been dating her for two years, and he was beginning to feel a lack of interest from her.

She had always been affectionate and her eyes sparkled when she looked at him, but now he didn't feel it anymore, there was no sparkle in her face.

Peter felt knives pierce his heart when he took his girlfriend's hand and she gently let go, using the excuse of being busy.

He felt his chest tighten when he left for a long campaign, and as a farewell he only received a kiss on the corner of his lip.

He lived like a madman for fear of not being the only man in her life.

"Love?" He looked for her in their shared room.

"Come in, Peter," he heard his girlfriend's voice.

"What are you doing?" He said as he walked in and saw her sitting at the wooden desk.

She didn't take her eyes off that remote place, so insignificant but now strangely mesmerizing.

"Nothing, I just think."

"In What?" He asked, afraid of the answer.

"In us..." I leave a bitter silence.

"What about us?"

"Do you still love me, Peter?" Ask now looking at him.

Peter felt his heart beating at an unimaginable speed, his beloved's eyes were so deep that they stabbed into his insides. "Yes."

"I don't know if I still love you."

Nothing, Peter didn't say anything.

What can you say when you're no longer loved?

"Peter, listen to me..." He began to ramble. "I still care about you, a lot, but I think the love is fading away, can't you feel it?"

The king's insides were shattered, his soul ached and he felt as if tons of stones were falling on his body, crushing him, because of course he felt it. A tear fell.

"I don't know if love has gone away... If that's what you mean," he said dryly, struggling to speak clearly.

She stood up, moving closer. "Peter... It's not the same anymore."

"For you." He said sharply.

"Peter.."

"I can wait for you, for you to fall in love with me again." He heart was desperate.

"I love you and I can understand your confusion." He took her face in his hands.

"That's why don't leave me, I need you.." he begged, pressing their foreheads together.

She took the king's hands and gently pulled away. "I don't deserve to be waited on.. because you don't deserve to have to wait."

The blond's eyes never left the woman he loved, burning her.

"You deserve a love that loves you for life, without conditions and time, and I am not that person Peter.."

"I don't care, I love you." He tried to get closer again but she didn't allow it.

"Peter, that's enough." She pulled away at once. "I'm sorry, but I can't love you, my heart won't let me."

"So you're leaving me?"He nodded.

"This is over."

"What? You're just going to tell me that? You're just going to leave?" I accused.

"I've already told you everything."

"Are you in love with someone else?" The thought alone gave her stomach ache.

"No Peter, there is no other."

"Are you sure? And Caspian?" He raised an eyebrow.

"What's wrong with Caspian?"

"Do you like him?"

"No!" she said quickly. "We're not even friends."

Peter's legs were weakening. "So what do you need to do to stay? What do I need to change? I swear, I'll do anything."

She quickly shook her head. “No, Peter, you don’t have to change anything. You are perfect like this, the problem here is me.”

"If I don't need anything else, why do you stop loving me?"

Tears flowed uncontrollably from her eyes, it was the first time she cried like that in front of someone other than her family.

"Because I need to change, pet."

Peter sighed, giving up. What else could he do? "So you're leaving me?"

"Yes." She walked to the bedroom door, and before opening it she looked at him.

"Thank you for everything.. and sorry."

Peter didn't answer and waited until he heard the door close before falling onto the bed, his heart broken, his chest aching, and all the love in his hands.

What was he supposed to do now with all this pain? How was he supposed to rule a Kingdom with his heart broken because of his queen?

.

[crimeronan]

Ok wait BUT, we know it's possible to remotely enter someone's mind scape. So what if Luz let's Camilla and Vee run hunter off cause she doesn't remember him. So Hunter decides to (SOMEHOW) drag Darius into fixing her mind. Darius brings raine along, and it's like the worst version of them figuring out if she would have been an Evil Empress.

Hunter desperately trying to fix luz which would REQUIRE him to see all the grimwalker shit. Raine thinking they fucked up so bad to not see this all. Everyone is bitching with everyone else.

"Little prince are you all right?"

"I'm so good rn Darius. I'm a zombie clone but also luz Knows, and that means she remembers me, so everything is great hahahahaa"

But they fix it all, right? Hunter is having a breakdown, but they got all the memories in place.

And then Luz wakes up next to Vee, and she is freaking out!!!!! She sent HER BOY away!

hunter is like darius, if you don't help me, i'm going to find a way to do it myself. and her inner self probably won't be too fond of me, given what i saw. i don't know exactly what belos did to her, but she was scared of me, so i know he did SOMETHING. you KNOW she'd never be afraid of me

& darius, who has been dealing with the fact that hunter managed to sneak past all his security to go get himself killed by belos, is like for fuck's sake. you really will, won't you.

fine. Fine.

raine gets roped in because they're good with luz & hunter trusts them implicitly. so they're on official Keep The Inner Luz Calm duties.

also, luz's two-tiered mindscape.... she has all her (now incomplete/jumbled/confused) grimwalker memories on the surface. all her memories of when she pretended to be an unfeeling little tyrant to please belos. so even when they put the pieces back together, hunter is STILL like no. something's wrong. these can't be right, that's not.... that's not LUZ.

while darius is trying to be gentle about "that IS luz." except, yknow. darius doesn't have a gentle bone in his body. so he's just like welp. sucks to see her true self. she's probably better off left in the human realm, huh??

meanwhile raine is the one to be like no... this doesn't feel right to me either. this doesn't account for any of what i know about luz.

if and when the inner luz shows up, i think she'd solve this for them.... she can SEE that something is wrong with her memories, she's soot-stained with unhealing burn injuries and she keeps coughing and she needs Help. she'll take whatever help she can get. she'll lead them to the lower levels and the "real" luz memories. and everything down there is a blackened wasteland -- all her wild magic, all her childhood memories, all her love for hunter.

and that's worse for hunter than even fixing the grimwalker memories was. seeing just how devastated her mindscape is, just how damaged and in pain her inner self is....

and then yeah. luz wakes up healed in the real world & is immediately Frantic. more frantic than vee or camila have ever seen her. running out of the house, out into the street, not bothering to watch for cars. stumbling over her own feet. calling hunter's name. screaming at both vee And camila when they try to calm her down and get her to come inside.

ough. Ough.

babies....

[dilxcc]

chapter eight

summary. in which two friends who desperately clings to each other until the other slips away . . .

contains. fem!reader, friends to lovers, this chapter contained some suggestive stuff, fluff, slowburn, cussing, grammatical errors . . .

a/n sorry if this chapter is short 😭 i promise the next chapter will have fluff (they might made up) ALSO I MADE A PLAYLIST FOR THIS BOOK FJKHASJHDHA

previous chapter

the old satoru wouldn't believe it. he wouldn't believe the fact that he had kissed you and pulled away almost immediately, saying that it was a mistake.

he left you heartbroken despite you finally giving in to him. your hand was quick to catch his hand. "what do you mean this was a mistake?" you asked, your voice barely above a whisper. "it was a mistake. you don't have to worry. it's not your fault," satoru explained quickly, not once turning around to meet your eyes.

the grip you had on his wrist loosened and he took it as a sign to leave. "yuuji is alive," was the last thing you heard from him.

.

you thought that after what he had said, he would act the way he had always act with you. but you were wrong. the thing that you're most afraid of had happened again. it had repeated it's history.

you could only push aside your personal feelings even when the two of you walked passed the hallway and act like a stranger. you were sure that fushiguro and kugisaki were confused as to why the satoru gojo hadn't been clinging onto you for the whole day just yet.

"miss, did you have a fight with gojo-sensei?" the girl asked. "you kids just focus on getting strong. this is nothing you have to worry yourselves about," you quickly brushed away her question.

you can't believe how in love you are to the point that you would cry every night before bed despite saying that you were fine to shoko. and if you're given a chance, you would like to at least slap his face once. just to let him know your pain.

.

satoru felt his heart clench at the sight of you. how it sped up every time you walked past him. how did you ever get more beautiful than before? or was it that you've always been this beautiful but it was just him who didn't realize it?

he regretted kissing you that day. it wasn't that he didn't enjoy it. hell, he wished he could kiss you forever. but he was afraid. the satoru gojo was afraid that he would be too greedy and only want you to himself. he was afraid that you might change your mind and that resulted in his heart breaking. was it really wrong that he was trying to protect his heart despite how badly his decisions hurt him?

the face you made when he said the kiss was a mistake - he didn't even have to look to know how much it had hurt you too. so why was he still running away? why was he so afraid of the love that you would gladly give him if he let you?

he snapped out of his train of thought, hands still shoved in his pocket as he walked into the pastry shop. every time he sets his eyes on a pastry, he thought to himself, would you like it if he bought you this?

satoru started walking mindlessly, going into multiple shops and coming out empty-handed. though at one particular shop, he went inside and stopped for once. it was the shop where the two of you used to hang out with suguru and shoko during high school. he smiled to himself, remembering how you, him and suguru would get in trouble for skipping school while shoko didn't join you because she for one, doesn't need any more trouble in her life.

his smile dropped once again and he left the store, walking mindlessly down the street again. his eyes landed on a flower shop and smiled slightly at how you reminded him of roses. how beautiful you are yet dangerous when not held carefully.

if he were to be born again after he died, he wished to not hurt you - to not make you cry and make you happy instead. he hoped that it wasn't too much of him to ask - that it wasn't selfish of him to ask for that.

.

"satoru, do you ever think of love?" you asked randomly, your eyes focused on the book you were reading. the white-haired male pretended to have pondered on your question. it was obvious to himself that he thinks of it every day, every hours, every minutes and every seconds. it was getting embarrassingly pathetic at how much he was thinking of you.

he had thought that you were a form of love in his eyes. "yeah. why do you ask?"

"well, i wondered if we're ever going to get married since we're..." you trailed off. "we're bound to die early," you smiled. "die early?" satoru scoffed. "you're not going to die early. i'm here," he said. it was short and simple. but his words put your heart at ease. "and i will be seeing you get married," he smirked.

you rolled your eyes playfully. "no way. you'll ruin my wedding," you said playfully, nudging his side. "i'll let you ruin mine," he smiled softly. "what's this? the satoru gojo is thinking about marriage?" you said in a teasing tone, your eyebrows slightly raised at the revelation. he shrugged his shoulder, brushing away your teasings. "everyone thought about it at one point, i'm sure,"

"then if you ever have any kids, i will make sure to tell them how uncool you actually are," you stuck out your tongue at him mischievously. 

a single tear managed to slip down his cheek. he was surprised. he hadn't shed a single tear ever since the death of his dear best friend. it spoke volumes at how much you meant to him. 

he quickly wipes away his tears, clearing his throat before letting his feet wander on their own. 

taglist: @wooasecret @charisthemaniac @tw0fvced @1lellykins @dnnalssndra

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[demonslayedher]

Things that went through my head while watching this episode:

--The episode in which Kamado Tanjiro tries and fails to be a supporting character

--And he tried really, really hard too! After all, Genya is his friend (according to one of the two parties involved), and now he understands his dream. I do kind of wish they had a moment when Genya could explain, "I want to be a Pillar because only Pillars can meet Pillars" so that Tanjiro can reply, "No you don't, you just have to be in trouble! Here, Nezuko and I will help you stage doing something bad!"

--Genya makes the best confused noises--as well as the best desperation noises. But the way his confusion is so abject that it slows down the whole pace of a tense episode so we can truly feel the way the gears in his brain (which pounds super fast with how powered he is by adrenaline) is great, and it's even better how many times that happens in the span of a few minutes.

--Still, the difference between Tanjiro and Genya, when it comes to capability in battle, is palpable. Genya is not incapable--not by a long shot!!--and has earned this rank in the Corp by doing a whole lot more than eating demons. He isn't afraid of hard work, and his isn't willing to give up, but he is not as adept at analyzing a fight and fight and adapting on the fly. He is a throw-everything-got-and-then-keep-throwing-anyway kind of fighter who wins based on his own gumption, but being so driven by that heightened emotion has its limits.

--And what's key to Genya's character is that he knows it. While Himejima has surely had a good influence on his temper, but Genya accomplished character growth in a matter of minutes which Inosuke took more time to begrudgingly sort of figure out. In this episode we see Genya go from "I'm going to be a Pillar (and I hate you)" to "I can't do it. I'm leaving it to you." Way to be a bigger person, Genya!

--I wish we knew how old Genya and Sanemi were in that flashback. In order for Sanemi to have had enough time to go through Wind Breath training, climb the ranks, and becoming a Pillar colleague to Kanae, this was at the very least six years ago. What was Genya doing all that time before he entered the Final Selection?

--Also, I love Genya's maturity so much in recognizing that if Sekido kills him there, he'll leave Sanemi with those hurtful last words exchanged between them, whereas Genya's gets to comfort himself by seeing Sanemi's kindness and smile as the last thing in his life flashing before his eyes. Only a kind person would find that unfair.

--Remember how this episode aired, like, on Mother's Day? Yeah. Yeah.

--This....... flashback, man. It was done good but that's why I'm sad.

--One some other notes: Tanjiro's swords still glows hot red, he pulls the mark back on with ease and the effect is noticeable, and in that chase scene with Hantengu, I love how we see his expression change and adapt as the situation changes. I also love how among all his ongoing analysis of Hantengu and his weak points and how to avoid being overtaken by the Ki-Do-Ai-Raku attacks and how to locate the true body and catch up to him, he has not bothered to analyze what's going on with Genya whatsoever. It's a non-issue.

--Little Nezuko wave after "don't kill my sister, btw," ily.

--Skimper-skampering little Hantengu is still something I find very, very funny.

[chaoortu]

8-20 Analysis

I LOVE MISCOMMUNICATION SO MUCH, I LOVE NICK NELSON'S DRUNK ASS. (spoilers below the cut)

See I did have a gut feeling that Elle and Tao were gonna be a little mean to Nick. But again, something I can't help but hold in the back of my mind is that this is like, the first time we've seen Nick this drunk in canon-- the first time Nick has been this drunk around is friends and presuming in general. Maybe it's the like big sibling in me or something but like wow guys!!! That's not very kind of a thing to say to your very drunk friend who yes, is being a little annoying but that's every drunk person on the face of the planet. I do REALLY like how there is a triangle of communication issues between all the couples. Darcy not talking to Tara, Elle and Tao struggling to meet in the middle, and Nick just straight up not sharing his anxieties with Charlie.

as drunk person who has been told to chill before, this really made my heart hurt. i felt that embarrassment through the screen man. and i can't help but wonder if they let nick talk a little more if some of the issues he and charlie are having would have come to light? the whole; "we know you and charlie are perfect but we literally didn't ask" line is SOOO Tao, so I can't be mad at him but I think Nick being that drunk, it kind of stings that no one popped in until Tara told him to chill and it makes me wonder about the dynamics of their friend group and where they're at. Is Nick their friend or is he still categorized as Charlie's boyfriend? You know. I'm loving that we're starting to see how his parents' divorce have shaped Nick's view on relationships. He sort of has this like... desperation to avoid conflict as much as possible and BOY do I get that. Big child of divorce moment right there and I am forever grateful Nick's with Charlie bc if Nick was with a worse person... Ohhh my fucking God. I do wonder though if Nick is afraid to bring up any concerns about their relationship with Charlie out of fear of causing a relapse though. Charlie... did treat him unkindly during that era and I can't remember if they've ever sat down to talk about it or if they will. Right now I am wondering if this guy who seems to be trying to flirt with Charlie will cause Nick to either a. get aggro, b. have a menty b or c. have him wandering off with no coat just his feelings to keep him warm. i doubt this will happen but i think it'd be a neat if nick walked away to be in his feelings if he ran into darcy (if alice is working up to the kicking out plot, maybe?) like if nick finds them at a park and he's like WOAH your gf is looking for you and then they talk about stuff together. I think Darcy and Nick are so similar in that they're the "golden retrievers" and do not get checked in on as often/ bury their actual feelings behind humor or kindness. I LOVE NICK'S LITTLE ANGERY FACE HERE LOOK AT HIM...

Again, something that's really bugging me is the fact that Nick is really drunk, the drunkest he's been in front of his friends and none of them are checking in on him? Idk. Maybe I'm the friend that's too woke but I do not let my friends walk away from me if they're that fucking plastered. no sir. I am your babysitter now come drink some water and eat these snacks real quick. It makes me really sad! I know everyone is having their issues in these pages but it worries me.

now big applause for charlie for not entertaining this. it's a very quiet dismissal, confused, even. now! the fact that both nick and charlie got flirted with back to back and alice shows us how they are shutting that shit down. delicious! I will say-- i'm curious to know if Charlie knows this guy is flirting with him, because Nick didn't seem aware that the girl was flirting with him in the previous chapter. Although, I'd argue Charlie is much more socially aware of things than Nick is (both because of his history with being bullied, OCD making him overthink every interaction he has, more experience, etc.) However, I also think this dude planted a seed of doubt in Nick's mind and I'm wondering if Nick will try to break up with Charlie so Charlie can have more/better experiences and I wonder if that's the case, if Charlie will step up and take control of the situation because Nick has... kind of been getting worse for a while now and it seems like Charlie is the only person who's been picking up on how stressed Nick's been? Thirdly, this is my specific thing but I think Nick needs to get physically unwell before people start going OH there is something wrong with you. I need him to have a bit of a come apart so desperately!!! I'm gonna backread some of the stuff starting at 8-1 but it hurts fellas. it hurts real bad.

[shostakobitchh]

book snape dimension travels to your fanfic and finds out another him had a daughter with lily.

or

your snape has a dream/coma?? or something like that about canon and thinks it’s real and can’t understand who this harry person is and where his daughter is

The last thing Severus remembers is the sound of his daughter screaming.

It's a broken but feral thing. He sees her arm reaching towards him as Bellatrix shoves Severus backwards, watches her face twist in triumph as his daughter shrieks and hurtles towards him.

It is too late -- and for this, Severus is glad. She just misses his hand as he falls into infinite black, watches the light slowly fade as he goes, and the last thing he hears is his daughter snarling something that flashes green before the empty void of dark consumes him.

When Severus awakens, it is bright.

Too bright -- blinding. Not green though, but white.

Severus blinks, his eyes adjusting to the stark brightness. The white slowly resolves into a familiar sight - the vaulted ceiling of the hospital wing at Hogwarts, sunlight streaming through the high windows. He inhales deeply, the sharp scent of medicinal potions and starched linens flooding his senses.

A slight movement draws his gaze and Severus turns his head on the pillow to find Dumbledore seated beside the bed, resplendent in midnight blue robes scattered with twinkling silver stars. The headmaster's eyes are serious behind his half-moon spectacles as he regards Severus.

"Welcome back, my boy," Dumbledore says softly. "You gave us quite a fright."

He forces himself upright fully -- looks around a bit wildly, causing Dumbledore to jerk his head, try to capture his eyes with his own, but Severus is only looking for a familiar pair of black.

"Where is she?" Severus asks, flinging off the covers, but he doesn't move. He waits for her to come bounding out from behind the curtain, and when she doesn't, his entire body goes rigid -- taut with that nameless emotion akin to fear, but it's stronger -- it's more precise, more debilitating.

Dumbledore’s mouth furrows into a frown. “Who? Poppy? I can fetch her, if you wish —” 

“No, goddammit.” Severus snaps. “My — you bloody well know who! Where is she?” 

He goes very still, his ice-blue eyes like crystal, translucent, and Severus feels a shiver go through him at this. Severus waits, waits another moment or so before throwing his legs over the side of the cot and summoning his robes and boots. He’ll find her himself, Bellatrix had been out for blood, and she wouldn’t have stopped with Severus — no —

Ariel wouldn’t have — she would be here, Dumbledore would have reassured him of this — he always did. It was the first thing — he knew this — 

Severus's heart pounds in his chest as he struggles to his feet, ignoring the wave of dizziness that nearly sends him pitching forward. He grips the edge of the bed, knuckles white, as he fixes Dumbledore with a withering, but desperate glare. 

“Where is she? She’s not —”

He can't bring himself to finish the thought, to give voice to the terrible fear clawing at his insides.

Dumbledore's brow furrows in confusion. "Severus, I'm afraid I don’t understand.” 

“My daughter, goddamn you. Where is she?” 

Dumbledore's eyes widen behind his spectacles, a look of profound bewilderment settling over his aged features. He rises slowly from his chair, hands outstretched in a placating gesture as he approaches Severus' bedside.

"My dear boy," he says gently, "I'm afraid I don't know who you're referring to. You don't have a daughter."

Severus' heart pounds in his chest, a sickening dread spreading through his veins like ice. He stares at Dumbledore, searching the old wizard's face for any hint of deception, any glimmer of the twinkle that usually dances in those blue eyes when the Headmaster was being particularly coy or evasive. There is only confusion and concern etched into the lines of Dumbledore's face, a terrible sincerity that makes Severus want to start screaming.

“What the sodding fuck are you talking about, Albus?” Severus snarls. “You mean to tell me that Miss Evans —” 

“Lily has been dead for some time now, Severus.” 

“I’m not talking about — for fuck’s sake —” 

He stills — his head spins anyway. He fights a wave of nausea crashing over him. If she’s dead — if she’s gone — if he’s failed — why would Dumbledore not say it? Why would he not admit and let Severus be done with it — be done and go to her? 

"Albus," Severus says, fighting to keep his voice steady. "Ariel Rose Evans. Born July 31st, 1980. The only known survivor of the Killing Curse, the child the Dark has sought for over a decade — my daughter. She's been a student here for five years now. You cannot possibly have forgotten her existence."

Dumbledore's expression softens, but the bewilderment does not fade from his eyes. He shakes his head slowly, sadly. "Severus, I assure you, I have not forgotten anything. There is no student by that name at Hogwarts, nor has there ever been. Lily and James Potter had one child before their deaths - a son, Harry."

Severus feels the room tilt dangerously around him, Dumbledore's words echoing in his ears like a cruel taunt. He grips the bed frame tighter, his knuckles turning white as he struggles to remain upright.

This can't be happening. 

It's not possible.

Dumbledore's eyes are full of pity now, and it makes Severus want to lash out, to Hex the old man into oblivion for daring to look at him like that. Like he's some poor, deluded fool who's lost his grip on reality.

"I'm so sorry, my boy," Dumbledore says softly. "But I'm afraid whatever memories you have of this Ariel... they simply aren't real. Lily and James' only child was a son named Harry. That is the truth."

A son — 

Harry --

A Potter — 

No — no. 

Severus shakes his head, fights the wave of darkness surging up within him. He knows his girl with perfect clarity, the wave of her auburn hair and sharp black eyes, the way she smirks at him in class whenever she gets something right and he refuses to give her the recognition. The sound of her laughter that pierces straight through him every time he hears it. She is as real as his quickening heartbeat, she is — woven into every fiber of his being, as vital and essential as the blood in his veins. Without her, he is nothing. A husk of a man, empty and hollow.

"No," Severus says, his voice low and dangerous. "I don't know what game you're playing at — but if she is — if she is gone —” 

Dumbledore sighs heavily, looking suddenly very old and weary. "Severus, please try to understand. The mind can play strange tricks sometimes, especially after a traumatic experience.”

“I had her — Bellatrix Stunned me from behind, sent me hurtling through the whatever monstrosity the Dark Lord conjured --"

"We found you collapsed in your quarters last night, by all accounts. Harry found you - he was arriving for his Occlumency lesson with you."

"No," Severus says again, more forcefully this time. "That's not possible. Bellatrix had infiltrated the castle, taken the girl —” 

He breaks off, a sickening realization dawning on him. If Ariel doesn't exist in this twisted version of reality, then everything else he remembers about her must be false as well. 

It can't have all been a lie. A figment of his imagination, a fever dream conjured by his battered mind. She was real, she was real — he has no memory of Potter spawn, only his girl — 

Dumbledore is watching him with that infuriatingly pitying look again. "Severus, I know this is difficult to accept. But you must try to see reason. These memories you have, they simply don't align with the facts."

"To hell with your facts!" Severus snarls, slamming his fist against the bedframe. The pain that lances through his knuckles is sharp and grounding. "I know my own mind, Albus. I know my daughter.”

Severus takes a shuddering breath, trying to quell the rising panic and fury within him. He fixes Dumbledore with a piercing stare, his black eyes glittering dangerously.

“If she is dead, tell me now.” he says.

Dumbledore looks at him sadly, shaking his head. He looks — beside himself, for once, speechless. 

He pushes past Dumbledore, ignoring the wave of dizziness that washes over him as he staggers to his feet. He summons his wand with a flick of his wrist, gripping it tightly as he strides towards the door of the hospital wing.

He will search every corner of the castle, interrogate every student and staff member if he has to. He will not rest —

As Severus reaches for the door handle, it swings open of its own accord. Standing in the doorway, his hand still raised as if to knock, is a boy.

He's a scrawny thing, all knobby knees and messy black hair that sticks up at odd angles. Round glasses sit askew on his nose, slightly too large for his thin face. He knows that face, a rush of loathing so strong, so thick it nearly knocks Severus off his feet, because it’s him, it’s James fucking Potter — 

But it's the eyes that stop Severus cold - brilliant green, the exact shade of — 

Eyes he hasn’t seen in over a decade. Eyes that should have been on his daughter’s face, had she not been cursed with Severus'. 

The boy - Harry Potter, Severus realizes with a jolt - blinks up at him, surprise and wariness warring in his expression.

"Professor," he says hesitantly, "I... I came to see if you were alright. You weren't at breakfast, and after last night..."

He trails off, shifting awkwardly from foot to foot. Severus stares at him, drinking in every detail. The lightning bolt scar peeking out from beneath his fringe. The way he worries his lower lip between his teeth, a nervous habit so painfully reminiscent of Lily. Even the way he holds himself, shoulders slightly hunched as if expecting a blow or harsh word at any moment - it's all achingly familiar, yet jarringly wrong.

This is not his child. This is not the fierce, brilliant girl he raised. 

This is --

It's --

He sways on his feet, gripping the doorframe for support as he stares at the boy - this thing who wears Lily's eyes in James Potter's face.

"Professor?" Potter-thing asks again, concern lacing his tone now. "Are you -- should I get Madam Pomfrey?"

There’s a hand on Severus’ shoulder now. The boy — that thing — his eyes are on it, green eyes — impossibly green — widening. 

“Severus,” Dumbledore says. 

“What the fuck is that?” Severus whispers. 

[taffingtons]

WIP meme

i got tagged by both @fablewritesnonsense and @notanandalitebandit so y'all are gonna get... hm... y'know what, let's go with the current draft of my prologue for let the moss gather, the first fic in my series but i can't stop

fun fact: if you go to the memory den before the main quest takes you there, you can go through a trial to see if they'll take you as a client! it, uh, doesn't go well. that hidden quest serves as the inspiration for this opening

just in case tumblr eats the formatting, the text in asterisks is supposed to be indented...

---

"This one — Here."

"Open it."

She remembers. The cold, bone-aching. The frosted window. The shadows, deep and swallowing. The stark light. The echoes — The voices.

She has a good memory.

"Is it over? Are we okay?"

"Almost. Everything's gonna be fine."

Riley. She can't bring herself to look at him. This isn't... This isn't how she wants to remember him. Confused. Desperate. Soon, in pain.

Focus.

Those hazmat suits aren't Vault-Tec design. That man is wearing leather and armor. The way he carries himself —

"Come here... Come here, baby."

"No! I've got him."

Riley. She remembers. She can't help but remember. He is —

He was so full of sunlight he couldn't hold it in, no matter how he tried. Always gentle, with her, with the dog, with Shaun. The kind of heart the wasteland sees so rarely, and needs more than anything. Riley cares — cared — so much, he —

"Let the boy go. I'm only gonna tell you once."

"I'm not giving you Shaun!"

That gunshot.

*"Oh my god...!"*

Explosive. Echoing. Made only louder by all the cold steel around them.

That — That's what she's here for. That clue. That gun.

She saw it back then, of course she did, and she remembers the size of it, but not the make. There — Revolver. It was a revolver. If she's to guess, .44 Magnum? Bull barrel, ventilated. Synthetic grip, not wooden. Clean, but well-used. Post-War.

"Goddammit. Get the kid out of here and let's go."

That man's face, so close to hers —

"At least we still have the back-up."

She has a good memory. She remembers. She remembers his face. The length of his nose, the curve of his jaw, the color of his eyes, his stubble. That scar.

That's not what she's here for.

It’s not just the gun. It’s — Every little thing matters. The unusual design of those hazmat suits. The way they spoke. The condition of their clothes. If they left dirty or muddy footprints.

Details she lost in the haze, the rush, the fear, the shock. The grief.

"Cryogenic sequence re-initialized."

Riley. Slumped back in his pod. Hole in his chest. (The size of that entry wound matches her .44 estimate.)

Was there still a small part of him awake in there when the door closed? Did he feel Shaun sliding out of his arms? He'd already lost his wife, months before the bombs fell. Was he still alive, even if barely, to know he lost his son, too? Riley —

He didn't deserve this. He didn't deserve a vault. They were going to be left there on ice forever, even if this didn't happen.

She knew better. She knew they couldn't trust Vault-Tec. How many times did she see it? Vault 11. Vault 19. Vault 22. Vault 34. Even Vault 21.

Why didn't she beg Riley to stay at the house? Why did she think she could protect them once the door closed? Why —

*"Elle! Try to calm down. Your blood pressure is spiking."*

It's her fault he died like this, alone and afraid and so, so cold.

It should've been her. It should've been her. She should've paid the price. She's never the one to pay the price. It isn't right. It isn't fair. It should've been her. It should've —

*"We're reaching the end of the memory. Hold on."*

No —

She can't leave him again —

*"I'll have you out of there in three... two..."*

[sinsandsweetness]

Desperate (sex and zombies- chapter 14)

pairing- {Daryl x fem!reader}

summary- You find yourself needing a helping hand.

warning- 18+ content, immediate smut, no plot just absolute filth, humiliation, dirty talk, fingering, slight crybaby reader?

notes- If you are here for the overall plot, this scene would be placed back in the prison, before things actually pick up with Rick. During the week while they are ignoring each other because he lost it on her.

*For that sweet anon who wanted another Daryl chapter; I assumed you liked 'transient' because of his attitude and dirty talk, so I tried to keep that in. Let me know if this satisfied your needs <3

You laid there, shaking and whimpering like a little bitch. Overaware of your own sounds, covered in a light sheen of sweat, with the sheets kicked to the edge of the bed. Hand in your shorts, and fingers stuffed up your cunt as far as you could manage. It wasn't enough. You'd been at it for an hour at least. Breathing all heavy and fucking your own hand, trying to find some kind of relief in the heat of the non air conditioned prison. Sexually frustrated from... well everything really. Rick mostly. Him losing it on you. You were avoiding him like the plague, afraid to make him any more mad. Afraid that he'd hold a grudge, and that you'd never even have a shot with him. As silly as it sounded, it is what you'd wanted from the start, so you really didn't want to fuck up your chances now.

You picked up your pace, bucking your hips further onto the three digits you'd managed to fit in your sopping wet pussy. A pool of slick had already dampened the sheets below, proving just how desperate you were to finish. Fuck. Why can't you finish? It's not like you'd never touched yourself before. You knew your own body. Right?

You were just stressed. At least that's what you figured. Stressed from the farm, and being on the road, and then the prison. Everything that had happened since arriving. It was really dampening your mood. 

You let out a frustrated cry and bit your lip hard, trying to contain your emotions, still finger fucking yourself as fast as you were able to, but every time you thought you were close, it would just disappear. A salty tear slipped down the side of your face. Oh my god. How pathetic are you? You can't even make your own self c-

"Hey- Oh shit." 

You ripped your hand out of your shorts and immediately went for the sheets, pulling them up to cover your embarrassment.

"What the fuck Daryl, have you never heard of knocking?!"

"Sorry I didn't know you were- I thought you had a headache..." Daryl stood, rather awkwardly right at the entrance of your cell. The curtain swaying slightly from where he'd just interrupted your, not so peaceful, privacy.

"I did-" you took a deep breath. You actually did, a few hours ago. And then you woke up feeling much better and weirdly aroused from some dream you couldn't quite remember. So you thought, what better time then to rub one out while no-one would bother you. 

Your whole face was on fire, the humiliation of the situation setting in completely. "Just get out please." You covered your eyes with your hands and the sheet, attempting to shield your entire self from his gaze. No way were you coming now.

"Were you- uh, were you touchin' yourself?" His mouth was curled into a funny little smirk.

"Get. Out. " You said through your teeth, this time looking up at him, giving your absolute best death glare. 

He stepped closer, confusion forming on his brows.

"Were you crying? " He asked, taking a couple steps closer, making your whole body burn bright red. Ohmygod just leave already. 

"No." You quickly wiped away the wetness on you cheek.

"Well it looks like you were crying."

"I just- can you get the hell out please. Fuckin' seriously." 

"Hey," his face softened at your tone. "I'm not tryna be mean okay. I was just checking up on you. Thought I'd bring you some water." He waved the bottle in the air, the sound of the liquid splashing around inside the plastic.

You didn't answer, instead just trying to focus on your heart rate that wouldn't calm the hell down. 

"Why were you crying?" He asked, really sincere this time. 

"I can't-" you sighed again. Pulling your knees up and burying face as you admitted the reason. "I can't finish. It's- I don't know, it's like I'm broken or something."

"You're not broken," He sat on the edge of the bed, a hint of amusement in his voice. He was way too close for comfort, and the fact that your sleep shorts were soaked through with your own wetness didn't help. "You're propably just stressed. A lot's been happening."

You nodded into your knee, not caring to make eye contact with the man. You'd asked him to leave a million times already and he clearly wasn't listening.

"You want some help?" He offered, hand coming up to your calf, gently squeezing it. 

You scoffed an almost laugh. "Um no. I want you to leave."

"You uh... You sure?" His eyes travelled down to the wet spot on the bed, which you quickly moved to cover with your leg.

"Daryl I swear to fucking god-"

"Hey-" he moved forward, hands on your legs, pushing them apart and leaning in to you. "Relax. You've helped me out once or twice, c'mon. Let me. Last I checked, you can finish with me... Unless you've been fakin' it or somethin'..." 

"Ugh." You fell back in frustration, head hitting the cushiony pillow below. "You don't get it. I've been trying for an hour and it just like..." You tried to come up with how to describe it. "Like it's never enough, I get so close and then it just... it hurts." 

"So you gave yourself blue balls?"

What a freakin' boy. "Yeah, I guess if that's what you wanna call it." You rolled your eyes, propping yourself up on elbows, seeing him in between your legs. A patient look on his face. His bulging muscles extra apparent in his tight black long sleeve. Jesus Christ he was just making it worse.

"Try again." He suggested.

"I've been trying Daryl. It's not fuckin' working."

"Just," he grabbed your hand, and positioned at your core. "Let me see. Try again. Touch yourself."

The second the words left his mouth you felt a jolt in your pelvic muscles. His energy shifted from playful to possessive. 

"I don't really-"

"It's nothing I haven't seen before." He counter argued. True. Though it felt different. More... intimate. Being on display wasn't really your thing.

"C'mhere." He tugged at your legs, pulling you down the bed and settling himself on the other end, one leg crossed under himself as the other hung over the tiny mattress, foot planted on the ground. "Take your shorts off."

You still felt the pink on your cheeks but the thought of actually finishing did help tame some of the embarrassment. You shimmied out of the shorts, tossing them to the ground. 

"Shirt too."

"Daryl-" You warned. He was pushing boundaries for sure. 

"Take the shirt off." His eyes were dark and you couldn't help but stare at the very prominent outline pulling at the denim of his jeans. 

You swallowed hard and took the top off in one fluid motion, nipples immediately forming little peaks on your supple breasts. He licked his lips, hands twitching, ready to touch you, but holding back. Situating himself even further into the mattress. 

"Well go on, show me what you were doin' before I walked in here."

You shook your head at him. 

"Do it. Or I won't touch you at all. Is that what you want? Do you want me to leave you here all hot and bothered? Or do you wanna come?"

"I wanna come." You whispered. So quiet it was a shock he even heard.

"Then go on. Show me." 

You closed your eyes and let your head fall back. Trying to escape into the marshmallowy mattress. And despite your reluctance, your fingers trailed down your stomach and reached your clit. Rubbing it a few times and falling on a circular pattern. Breath steadily moving your chest up and down, as you went to grab at your nipple with your other hand. Pinching it a little, trying to emulate what Daryl often liked to do to you.

"That's sure hot n' all, but it definitely ain't what you were doin' when I walked in."

You let out an unintentional sound at the thought of him watching. The thought of him being turned on by you touching yourself. You moved your hand even lower, middle finger dragging through your wetness and back up, spreading it onto your clit. Then dipping down again and inserting one digit. You swore you could hear Daryls breath hitch. You continued pumping in and out and soon added another finger.

"Look so pretty like this, all wet and needy." He said, his own hand finally making its way to your leg. Pushing you open so he could see you even better. "How's it feel?"

"Uh- It- It's ok," You grunted out, curling your fingers towards yourself, trying to focus on the end goal and not the way he was staring right into you.

"Relax your shoulders." He demanded, shifting around on the bed. "And breath." You did as he said, not realizing how tense you were. You stayed there with your eyes closed and your mind started drifting to thoughts about his own fingers instead. 

"I don't think it's working Daryl." You huffed as you slipped your fingers out, rubbing them both on your clit from side to side.

"It's workin' for me." He quipped. A hand now on your thigh, squeezing down on the muscle of your quad. 

Another tear escaped your eye with a shaky breath. What the actual fuck was wrong with you. 

"Aw baby, don't cry." He leaned over you, an adorable smirk plastered on his face, as he wiped the frustrated tear from your face. "Why don't you keep rubbing and I'll try and help you out, okay? I ain't gonna leave you here like this alright?" 

You nodded pathetically up at him. His dark hair falling into his eyes as he dipped down and placed a sweet kiss on your belly.

"Don't you fuckin' tease me Dixon I swear-" 

"-to fucking god, yeah, I know." He kissed downwards once more, closer to where your hands had come to a stop, right above your clit. "I didn't tell you to stop, did I?"

You whimpered. Absolutely aching for his beautiful eight inches to be filling up your cunt, destroying your cervix and making you cream all over him and those jeans he always kept half way on.

You kept rubbing fast circles onto your puffy nub. His own hand moved to your slit, startling you a little, at first. But as soon as he had three fingers, knuckle deep and fucking right into your sweet spot, you could barely form a cohesive thought. Just Him. His pretty blue eyes, his biceps flexing as he worked you into a writhing mess. His deep southern voice whispering a plethora of dirty little comments. One in particular, telling you to shut the fuck up before Rick walked in and caught you being a desperate little slut. It was working. Whatever he was doing was clearly working, because you could feel the extremely overdue orgasm starting to build. The familiar feeling of a knot forming in your stomach. Ready to unravel. 

"How are you so good at that?" You asked him through laboured breaths, involuntarily fucking yourself onto his hand. Not that he minded. His eyes were glossed over and locked in on what he was trying, and very much succeeding at doing. 

"You gonna come for me baby?" He ignored your question.

"Yeah I'm - Yes. yes." You would. At that pace you definitely would. He moved your hand out of the way and dipped down, pressing a hot open mouthed kiss to your clit. He huffed out a laugh against you at your reaction. Tightening around his fingers and letting out the most pathetic sob he'd heard all day. The vibration of his laugh sending you into orbit. He sucked on your clit as he curled his fingers, physically pulling the orgasm right out of you. Your head shot up off the mattress and your hands went right to his hair, keeping him held down, "Don't stop, Don't stop-" You moaned, feeling your core shake as you finally climaxed. The orgasm itself lasting a record breaking amount of time, until the tongue on your pussy was just too much and he pulled his fingers out, glistening white with your cum. 

"Think you made a little mess sunshine." He said, licking clean each of his fingers. The sight making your stomach do a backflip. You could feel the rest of your cum on the sheets below, all wet and gooey. You could already go again. Actually you needed to. Even though you had finally finished, you wanted him. To feel every thick inch of him fucking you into another mind blowing orgasm.

"You got one more in there for me?" He asked, as if reading your mind. Leaning himself back up and starting at his belt.

"Yes daddy." You clamped both hands onto your mouth. Why the fuck would you say that? His eyes got all big as he grinned at your response. 

He chuckled, "Y'know I won't make fun of you for that today, with you cryin' and all, but I hope you know I won’t forget that." 

You groaned. Knowing it would come back to bite you in the ass. "Please can we just-"

"I got it." He pushed you back down, settling between your legs. His cock seeming a lot more intimidating than you previously remembered. Standing proud in his hand as he jerked himself a few times, aligning himself between your legs. He pushed himself in, throwing his head back as he grunted. The pressure making you both moan.

"So fuckin' wet for me aren't you?"

"Yes, all for you Daryl, so fuckin' wet..." you trailed off, eyes rolling back into your skull. He fucked you hard and slow, drawing it out nice and long. He was so used to quickies in a car or in the basement of an abandoned house, that he'd forgotten what it felt like to actually fuck someone. To really experience it. And was he ever experiencing it. His pupils completely blown, watching you squirm on his cock. His shirt pushed half up his abdomen, hands gripping your thighs and positioning them wherever he wanted. As soon as he had them up and over his shoulders, that tight, burning sensation hit the sides of your nose, forcing a few more tears out of your pretty doe eyes. Out of pure pleasure this time instead of pain.

Eventually he moved both your legs to the side, contorting you into a twisted mess of sobs. Grabbing your face and forcing you to watch his pelvis slam against your asscheeks over and over. That's it. With the grip on your jaw, and his cock buried deep, you let out a raspy moan, tugging on the comforter until your knuckles were white, signalling you reaching your climax. You didn't even have to let him know. You let the feeling wash through your core as he fucked you through it. He pulled out quickly and shot thick white ropes onto your skin and the sheets below. Too far gone to care that you'd need a shower, even though you'd already taken one that morning.

"Fuck." You whispered, as he collapsed down next to you, pulling his boxers back up.

"Yeah..." He was out of breath, Just laying next to you, hand moving to tickle a pattern onto your knee. You grabbed the sheets, pulling them up and wiping off.

"Hand me that sweater, will you?"

He grabbed the oversized sweater off the ground, handing it to you, you slipped it over your head and climbed halfway over him, reaching into your bag and grabbing some clean boy shorts, slipping them on as well. Then collapsing right back next to Daryl. To rest your shaky legs.

"I told you, you aren't broken." He tickled your thigh, biting back a laugh as you smacked his shoulder. 

"God you're such an asshole." You chuckled along with him. 

"What's that baby? You think daddy's actin' like an asshole?'

Your smile dropped and you could almost feel the tears forming again. "You promised..."  He'd already forced a few too many emotions out of you for the day. You just didn't have it in you to take the jokes at your expense anymore.

"I'm sorry!" He put his hands up in surrender. "Seriously!" He smiled sweetly at you. You let him take your hand, pulling you up off the bed. "C'mon, let's go get you washed up. They're probably making' supper right now."

The entire time you ate, he kept grazing the bare skin of your thighs, toying with the hem of your sweater and glancing at you through his peripheral. It was a miracle that no one asked why you were blushing so hard.

[miyamiwu]

Not so much a theory but just me trying to make sense of everything that's happened so far. This will be a stream-of-consciousness dump.

LINK CLICK S2E8 SPOILERS!!!

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

So remember how, in season 1, when CXS changed something in the past, it would later reflect in their present? In the kidnapped child case, kid!CXS and adult!CXS had appeared at the same time. In the Xu Shanshan case, the gang received a mysterious call, which turned out to be because an alt!CXS had issued a challenged to red-eyes in the past.

So with that in mind, we can just focus on one timeline—the one being shown to us. Any changes made in alternate timelines would reflect in the present that the audience sees.

Our current present is LG saving CXS from being kidnapped, resulting in him taking his place.

Qiao Ling had hypothesized that maybe that wasn't Lu Guang but an alt-timeline!CXS because LG seemed more physically strong.

For this hypothesis to be true, CXS has to dive into the past as Lu Guang and rescue the past!CXS in one go. (A photo can only be used once.)

The chances of this going correctly is slim. Without Lu Guang, Cheng Xiaoshi has no idea what's gonna happen while in the dive. He didn't even know what object Lu Guang used to break the window (it was definitely not the kettle!). Also, does he even know where to find a speedboat? How about driving one? And if you had looked closely in the LG and LTC fight, you can see that LG was always trying to avoid being touched by LTC. That means he already knows how his ability is activated. On the off-chance CXS manages to reach past!CXS on time, it will all be for naught anyway coz he won't able to defend against LTC.

That's why I think Qiao Ling is wrong. It was never an alt!LG. It was the real Lu Guang all along.

As for how to explain his improved physical state... well, that's something I don't have an answer yet for. I do believe in the alt-timeline/future Lu Guang theories, though. If LG is from the future, maybe he's had some time to train.

Another theory of mine is that LG didn't actually suddenly got better at martial arts. He just knew how Li Tianchen would move, so he was able to defend against him. (Maybe LG can see the future).

Or maybe Lu Guang had relived this rescue many times and only now did he finally get it right. (Time loop maybe?)

As for him being able to resist the pain of his injury... idk man, adrenaline, I guess? Love can make you desperate lol.

Anyways, writing-wise, it's so easy to just dump everything on Lu Guang coz he's still shrouded in mystery. He's always seemed like he knows a lot about their abilities, and who knows what the true extent of his abilities is.

If Cheng Xiaoshi can't do the rescue right in one go, then how are they gonna explain him diving a second time?

Also, I find it hard to believe that CXS would want to endanger Lu Guang many times while he's acting as him. If he just doesn't dive, won't Lu Guang be saved?

What's sus here is the photo LG left. Did he know CXS can open his phone, or was that a save point he had actually left for himself in case he fails to save CXS?

But why would he not bring his phone? Was he afraid the enemy would get ahold of it?

But without his phone, and by extension, the photo, how can he go back in time?

Maybe his time-travel ability doesn't require a photo? (LTC definitely didn't have a photo when he was controlling WJ and CXS. His ability was just activated by touch)

Come to think of it, CXS's ability is also activated by touch (clapping). What about Lu Guang? Maybe he has a touch-based ability, too. After all, they can have more than one abilities.

LG can see what happens in a photo, and thru CXS diving, he can also record it. If it's a CCTV, he can hijack it and make it his eyes.

LTC can possess someone directly, but he can also just bewitch them through touch.

CXS can go back in time, and he can also possess people

I have no idea where I'm going here... Still confused as ever

[autistic-gale-dekarios]

BG3 OC Lore: Hugo

Meet Hugo :) The first character I made in BG3 and still probably my fave. This post is all about him.

Basics

Full name: Hugo Lightquill (His chosen name -- he can't remember his birthname)

Race: High half-elf

Gender: M (trans) (he/him)

Birth date: 14 Flamerule 1451 DR (age ~41 during game events)

Class: Evocation Wizard

Background: Haunted One (Dark Urge)

Stats: 8 STR | 13 DEX | 15 CON | 17 INT | 12 WIS | 10 CHA

Moral alignment: NE (pre-game) / CN (early game) / NG (endgame)

Personality (MBTI, Enneagram): INFP, 6w5 ((self-insert spotted))

Neuro stuff: Autism, depression + anxiety, C-PTSD, dissociative amnesia

Sexuality: Gay

Romanced character: Gale (ship name: Weavequill)

Media

Tags: #oc: hugo (my posts about him); #hugo core (posts that are him coded)

Pinterest board

Character playlist

Weavequill playlist

A full rundown of his story is under the cut (CW for brief self-harm mention; spoilers for Dark Urge & general BG3 storyline)

Pre-game

Early life

Hugo was the only child of two high half-elves living in the Upper City of Baldur’s Gate. His father was a sorcerer and his mother was an apothecarist. He took an interest in arcane magic as a child and was encouraged by his parents to pursue it. He had a fairly sheltered upbringing, largely homeschooled by his father and private tutors.

Hugo was born and raised female, but from a young age he felt different. He struggled with many aspects of his identity and sense of self. By his early teens, he was suffering not only crippling gender dysphoria, but also intrusive thoughts of violence that seemingly came from nowhere. The dysphoria and the Urges were equally distressing to Hugo, and slowly became intertwined, inseparable -- the desire to remake himself, and the desire to unmake others.

Deeply confused by and ashamed of these feelings, Hugo never confided in anyone, and grew increasingly withdrawn throughout his teen years. Hugo didn't understand where the Urge came from, but he knew he had to conceal it at any cost. What few friendships he’d made as a youngster disintegrated, and he avoided getting close to people in an effort to protect himself from the world, and the world from himself.

Hugo began writing as a coping mechanism. He would bring a notebook wherever he went, write down his most shameful thoughts and feelings and urges, and hide them away. He would draw, too -- producing increasingly grotesque illustrations that came so automatically, it often felt like his hands had a mind of their own -- and he would terrify himself with some of the things he created.

For a time, pen and paper were his lifeline. But despite his best efforts to vent in this way, the Urges eventually proved too much, and Hugo sought more material ways to satisfy them. He started by hurting himself, then moved onto small animals -- mice, birds, anything to quiet the screaming in his head. It was getting harder to control his behaviour, and Hugo noticed he'd started losing himself sometimes -- blacking out and then coming to minutes later with little to no memory of what just happened.

To the rest of the world, Hugo was growing into a promising young wizard -- a bit of a weird kid, perhaps, but undeniably talented. At 18, he applied to Blackstaff Academy but didn't make the cut (to the disappointment of his father). Instead, Hugo pursued an apprenticeship in the literature department of Sorcerous Sundries. He was getting by, just about, but he felt like he was constantly hanging by a thread, and the slightest push could tip him over into the dark.

Cult of Bhaal

The final push came when Hugo was walking home from work one night. Sceleritas Fel approached him on the street and promised him everything he wanted. Sceleritas somehow knew all of Hugo's secrets, and spoke of a "powerful god" who could offer him a new body and a new life. He promised acceptance and belonging -- a place where Hugo wouldn’t have to hide who he was. Afraid and desperate and with little fight left in him at this point, Hugo followed Sceleritas to the Temple of Bhaal, and never returned home.

Hugo had known very little of Bhaal and his followers before this point, but he was re-educated quickly. He was told of his birthright and his "purpose" as the one true Bhaalspawn. He agreed to become the new leader of Bhaal's cult. In return, Bhaal resculpted Hugo’s body into a male form, and offered him a new name, which was to be respected without question within the Temple. Hugo felt truly himself and truly seen for the first time in his life. He believed this was proof of Bhaal’s love for him, and felt indebted to him.

With his new corporeal form, a sense of purpose, and nothing of sufficient value to return to outside, Hugo remained in the Temple, where he was groomed into a Bhaalist poster child, a merciless killer. Violence was rewarded, everything else stamped out; his magical abilities honed to enact the Dread Lord's will. Even in the depths of depravity, he retained his habit of writing -- he became known for writing and drawing in blood, even using it as quill ink. Hugo spent the next two decades as Bhaal’s Temple leader and, eventually, Bhaal’s Chosen.

During game

When Orin infected Hugo with the tadpole, the damage to his brain made him regress to an earlier state of consciousness. He lost not only his memories and much of his powers, but also the ruthless aggression that he’d learned from Bhaal. When he woke up on the nautiloid, he was his fragile younger self again -- alone, afraid, and tormented by shame and self-loathing.

Hugo began Act 1 with no moral compass, and tended to act in self-preservation above anything else. Meeting Gale and bonding over magic with him helped Hugo relearn what it meant to be good and rediscover those principles within himself.

Gale was Hugo’s first love and his first healthy sexual relationship. They were both grounding forces for the other: Gale’s gentleness was a foil for Hugo’s violence, and Hugo’s caution a foil for Gale’s hubris. Despite them both being wizards, their first time was decidedly free of magical enhancements. Hugo just wanted to be close to Gale, to feel loved in the purest and simplest way. They didn’t just bring out the best in one another, they saved each other from their respective catastrophic acts of self-destruction. (I Can Fix Him, He Can Fix Me, Fixing Him Will Fix Me, Fixing Me Will Fix Him, etc.)

Throughout game events, Hugo suffered incessant nightmares, flashbacks and hallucinations of the horrors he'd inflicted in his past. These were especially distressing early on, when he had no context for them. While he did his best to control himself, the bloodthirsty side of him would sometimes emerge. (He’d always get a little crazed in the heat of battle, which Gale found disconcerting and also kinda hot.)

After the revelation about Hugo’s past involvements with Gortash and the Absolute, Gale distanced himself from Hugo for a while, and Hugo fell deep into depression, convinced he had blown his only chance at finding real love. However, the two became close again toward the end of Act 3, when Hugo convinced Gale not to pursue godhood and Gale realised how much they really needed each other to not lose touch with themselves.

Aside from Gale, Hugo got along well with the rest of the party. He became especially close friends with Shadowheart, bonding over their similar experiences of being groomed into a cult, losing their memories and having to relearn how to be good.

As Hugo regained his powers and his memories, he felt more and more able to resist his Urge. After defeating Orin, he rejected Bhaal and went on to destroy the Absolute, saving Baldur’s Gate from the evil he had once created. Only then did the weight of Hugo’s guilt finally begin to lift.

After their victory, Hugo persuaded Gale to leave the Crown of Karsus where it fell, and with it any prospect of ascension. Walking away from their respective pasts, Hugo and Gale decided that their ordinary, mortal love was more powerful and valuable than anything their former gods could offer. <3

Post-game

Shortly after game events, Hugo and Gale got engaged and went back to Waterdeep. In a long letter to his parents, Hugo apologised for leaving all those years ago, came clean about who he was, and invited them to his wedding. They both attended.

With the orb quelled, Gale returned to Blackstaff as a professor, with Hugo initially staying at home and helping Tara clean up Gale’s neglected tower. After a year in Waterdeep and with a shining commendation from Gale, Hugo secured a position on the Blackstaff faculty as a co-director of their magical archives, specialising in blood magic and evocation scrolls and tomes.

Hugo stayed friends with Shadowheart for many years, and she became like a surrogate sister to him. She came to visit him and Gale for dinner every so often, where they'd talk her ears off about their work while she fussed over Tara and only half-listened.

Hugo continued writing, and went on to publish a memoir and several text books on what he’d learnt from his dealings with Bhaal and the Absolute -- all of which took pride of place on Gale’s bookshelf.

Trivia

Hugo’s favourite colour is powder blue, his favourite season is spring, his favourite food is mushroom soup and his favourite animals are pigeons.

Hugo is a good cook and he and Gale regularly cook together.

Hugo is a nerd. He loves to learn and, once he comes out of his shell, he loves to talk about things he has learned (though he'll never compete with Gale's levels of infodumping).

Hugo has a soft spot for animals, perhaps partly out of remorse for hurting them in the past. Once he settled down with Gale he decided to stop eating animals, volunteered at a local stray shelter, and cooked vegetarian meals for Gale until he liked them too. He also conjured his first familiar -- a large black raven called Leopold.

Hugo is a very subby bottom and he has a praise kink

Characters that inspired Hugo include: me, Viktor Hargreeves (TUA), Frodo Baggins (LOTR), Donnie Darko, Father Paul (Midnight Mass), Will Byers (Stranger Things) and the Tin Man (The Wizard of Oz).

If you're still reading, thank you for being interested :') Feel free to send asks about Hugo (or any of my OCs!) because I will always welcome the opportunity to yap. I'll make similar posts for my other 3 tavs at some point soon.