#but it’s better than getting trapped there and not being able to escape a true natural killer

[makoredeyes]

6. OBEY YOUR GOTDAMNED EVACUATION ORDERS. It’s not just about you. While emergency responders are fighting to get your stubborn ass out of your house to somewhere safe, someone somewhere else is in imminent peril and now waiting their turn for help and maybe perishing in the process. You are not a hero. You are not going to be remembered as brave and courageous later regardless of if you turn out to be fine (lucky you!), or not. None of your stuff is worth your life and you CANNOT save it from what’s coming. You need to go.

If you’re asked to leave and go somewhere safer, grab your emergency shit (be ready to grab your emergency go bag) and FUCKING GO. Please. For yourself, your friends, your family, and for the people who are worse off and left on the line while stubborn stragglers inadvertently take up precious Human Resources.

Be safe.

My friends who have never experienced flooding, and who are about to deal with it from this storm, please remember:

1. NO. YOU CANNOT MAKE IT THROUGH THAT WATER ON THE ROAD. I DON'T CARE WHAT YOU'RE DRIVING. TURN. AROUND.

2. DO NOT GO WADING THROUGH THE WATER. EVEN IF YOU JUST WANT TO SEE HOW DEEP IT IS. THAT. WATER. IS. CONTAMINATED.

3. IT IS CALLED FLASH FLOODING FOR A REASON. THE WATER RISES AND SURGES IN A FLASH. STAY. HOME.

4. If you're at risk of flooding, raise up any of your belongings now. Put the legs of tall things in buckets. Know where your important documents are.

5. Stay safe.

[angelicyoongie]

lovesick (X)

— pairing: yandere ot7 x (f) reader — word count: 4.8k — warnings: yandere, stalking, obsessive behaviour, spanking as punishment, minor injuries, other content that may be triggering. — summary: You dreamed of the day you would get your very own soulmark. Though, you didn’t expect to wake up to a searing hurt in your arm, the phantom pain of your shoulder being dislocated and your forearm fractured. As if dealing with the worst possible soulmark ever wasn’t bad enough, you also have to come to terms with the fact that you’re being stalked. When the letters and gifts you receive begin to escalate and the police offers no help, you have no other option than to figure out who’s behind it yourself – and hopefully before it’s too late.

Previous – Next

You wake up to the sound of gravel crunching under Namjoon's shoes.

Your face is tucked against his chest, breathing in the scent of the crisp night air that lingers on his coat. It takes you a moment to reorient yourself, for the last tendrils of unconsciousness to slip away.

It all comes crashing down over you like a cold bucket of water as reality sets in; he's taking you back to the cabin.

It'll be as if the last hours never happened, as if you never stepped foot outside the sturdy wooden structure. You're going back to them – except, perhaps it won't be the same men that you left that you'll have to face once you step back inside. The soulmates you ran away from were terrible and selfish but they were never cruel. After your failed escape attempt, however, you no longer know if that still rings true. If that's something you can count on. 

Your body locks up at the thought of the monsters waiting for you down the road, muscles spasming with the need to move despite the utter exhaustion weighing you down.

Namjoon tightens his grip around your middle as you grow stiff, arms locking you securely against his body.

"You're awake," He notes, the usual honey in his voice gone. "It's for the best. We can deal with everything much quicker this way."

The fearful whine that shoots up your throat gets trapped behind your teeth, your lips too numb for the noise to pass through them. It takes great effort for you to move your head over, turning just enough that you're able to pick up on your surroundings. Namjoon must have parked just down the bend from the cabin, his steady steps already closing in on the dark silhouette looming between the trees in the distance. 

Your heart feels like it's trying to beat itself out of your chest as you pick up on muffled yells, shivers racing down your frozen spine as you make out six distinct voices. The soft light emanating from the cabin sends ferocious shadows dancing across the ground, their movements erratic and violent.

It gets harder to breathe the closer you get, your chest refusing to move as Namjoon steps up on the small patio in front of the entrance. Blood rushing in your ears, you try to make yourself as small as possible in his arms as he reaches out for the handle, wishing you could just melt away into nothing. Anything would've been better than this.

The cabin goes deadly still as Namjoon pushes the door open. 

Your vision blurs as you're brought into the heat, your eyes stinging as you attempt to blink some moisture back into them. You can barely make out the six fuzzy figures scattered around the room, their bodies stock still as if they're frozen in time. The chilly wind that blows into the cabin is nothing compared to the sight that greets you as your eyes adjust – the six men in front of you looking everything from angry to icy to hurt. A few of them even have the gall to glare at you with something akin to betrayal; like you were only stringing them along for your amusement and not your survival. 

It leaves you trembling with fear, the knowledge that no matter what you do, nothing will make them understand that they're the ones in the wrong. That they're the selfish ones.

Namjoon takes another step forward, chest rising with a small sigh as he readjusts you in his grip. Perhaps he regrets bringing you back now that he can see the state the others are in, their hair and clothes rumpled, the furniture in the common room strewn about like a hurricane has torn through it.

You glance back up at his face in time to see him set his jaw, his voice tight as he says, "We're back." 

The door that slams shut behind him jerks the cabin back into motion, the noise that was sucked out before suddenly rolling over the room like a crashing wave. You screw your eyes shut as their yells blend into each other, feet thundering across the room as they stumble over themselves to reach you. 

"What were you thinking?!" You flinch as Taehyung's voice booms across the cabin. You can't discern if it's anger or concern that's got him so agitated, so loud, and that scares you. 

"Calm down, Taehyung. I know you were worried but this isn't the way to show it," Yoongi hisses. 

His voice drifts closer, a little softer, as he addresses you, "You're lucky Namjoon found you, Y/n. You're already chilled to the bone." 

"Never scare me like that again, angel," Seokjin sounds wobbly as he pats over your hair, hushing the choked noise you make at the contact. 

Your eyes flutter open against your will at the low, irritated snort that travels through the room.

Jimin stands with his arms crossed over his chest by the couch, scowling as the two oldest keep fretting over you. "Don't tell me you already forgot why you were so distraught in the first place, hyungs? Y/n ran away. She was just playing with us with whole time – she doesn't love us." 

Seokjin's fingers still in your hair, the warm touch of his hand slowly receding as he takes a step back. He throws a hard glance over his shoulder, mouth pinched in annoyance, "Jimin, did I not tell you to shut up for the rest of the night?" 

Jimin grits his teeth at Seokjin's tone, turning his head to stare blankly at the wall. 

"He's right though," Hoseok says, hand brushing over Jimin's shoulder as he steps closer. "Y/n tricked us. She betrayed the trust we gave her and we can't let that slide without any consequences." 

"What are you suggesting?" Namjoon leans back on his heels, fingers digging into your thigh.

"She deserves a punishment," Hoseok blankly states, eyebrows cocked as he stares you down, "Don't you agree, Y/n?" 

"N-no," You weakly shake your head.

The tsk you get from Hoseok in return makes you recoil, the fear in your body so tangible you can taste it on the tip of your tongue. 

"I think you're right, Hobi." 

A small, betrayed gasp leaves your lips as you hear Yoongi's careful drawl. His agreement stings more than expected, somehow you had deluded yourself into thinking that Yoongi wasn't as bad as the other men in the room; that he and Jungkook actually seemed to care a little for you and not just your soulmate connection.

Jungkook still hasn't moved from where he's sat in one of the big ratty armchairs near the couches. His doe eyes are shiny with tears when you meet them across the room. Jungkook starts curling in on himself the longer you look, shame pulling at his features as he ducks his head.

"Fine," Namjoon says, "But nothing too bad." 

"Of course not. I don't actually want to hurt sunshine, she just needs to learn a lesson," Hoseok scoffs.

The men around you share a look, a silent conversation passing between them. You have no idea what they're thinking but it frightens you to know that this must have been something they have already discussed, that they've already decided on a punishment should you ever disobey them. 

"Who–?" Seokjin trails off, biting his lip nervously between his teeth.

"I'll do it," Taehyung sounds chastised, his voice meek as he adds, "I should do it." 

He takes a seat in the middle of the couch, dragging his hands over his jeans as he gives Namjoon a nod to show that he's ready. 

"W-what, no!" You uselessly tug at Namjoon's coat as he strides across the room, your frozen limbs making it impossible to fight back as you're carefully manhandled across Taehyung's lap.

Fingers wrap around your ankles, keeping your legs glued against the couch as you futilely try to push yourself up with shaking arms. Another hand is pressed against the small of your back, rendering your movement useless. No matter how much you try to squirm, you're simply too exhausted and cold to shake them off.

It takes you a second to recognize the position you're in, disgust curling in your stomach as it hits you that you're about to be spanked. 

"I'm not a c-child," You bite through clattering teeth, fingernails digging into threadbare cushions. 

"No? You sure act like one," Hoseok scowls. "Big girls wouldn't run off like you did." 

You jerk as Taehyung's hand settles on the back of your thigh. You turn your head back to look at him as the others crowd around the couch, voice breaking as you whisper, "Please don't." 

Taehyung doesn't meet your eye. His gaze is trained resolutely on his hand, his expression pinched. The corner of his mouth is downturned as he moves his hand from your thigh to your butt, his long fingers easily spanning over one cheek.

You let out a shuddering breath at the unwanted touch, pressing your forehead to the couch to hide away from the six burning pairs of eyes that surround you. Taehyung's fingers flex against the material of your trousers as he murmurs something under his breath, the feeling so weirdly intimate it makes your eyes cloud over, hot tears trailing down your temple. 

"It's just ten, babe. We could do a lot worse," He comments gruffly. 

There's no preamble before Taehyung raises his hand and delivers the first hit, the harsh smack echoing through the room. You bite your tongue, choking down the strangled cry that tries to rush up your throat.

You feel the imprint of his fingers burn on your cheek, the sudden pain so consuming you barely register how someone else hisses out a low curse.

It's only when Taehyung is on the third hit that you feel how he jolts as his hand makes contact; how it takes him a moment to collect himself before he delivers the next one. The fifth smack brings a weird sense of clarity to you, Yoongi's irritated cough finally making you realize that you're all feeling Taehyung's slaps. Your soulbond is connected through pain so the hurt that blooms with every hit doesn't just affect you – it has an impact on them as well.

The somber atmosphere in the room isn't just because they're disciplining you for running away; they're also punishing themselves for letting it happen. 

You let out a harsh breath at the next smack. Despite the numbness in your limbs, you can feel how horrible your butt is stinging, the alternating hits doing little to lessen the pain a new one brings. It becomes harder and harder to think with each hit, your mind slowly falling apart under the excruciating combination of fear, exhaustion and pain. 

The final smack seems to linger in the room and the silence that follows feels so thick you might crumble under it. 

Your right-hand aches as Taehyung uses his to lightly rub over your smarting ass, his breathing shaky as he tries to soothe the bruises that are no doubt already starting to form. 

"Hyung," Taehyung rasps.

The hands pressing on your back and ankles disappear in an instant. Taehyung springs away as Namjoon lifts you, moving your body into Seokjin's waiting arms. You try to blink away the tears clinging to your lashes as Seokjin leans you back against his chest, taking some of the pressure off your backside as you're maneuvered to lay on your side. 

"You're absolutely freezing, angel," He tuts. He motions for Yoongi to grab him a nearby blanket, quickly tucking you in. The warmth that wraps around you is a small comfort, but it's not nearly enough to quell the shivers that are still rattling through your body.

"Let's do this quick, she needs to warm up." 

You swallow thickly as Namjoon kneels by your feet, gently pulling your socks off. They're so cold you struggle to move your toes. 

It's not until a rush of warm air hits your exposed skin that you realize you're hurt. Your soles are aching something fierce and you catch a glimpse of blood on the socks Namjoon throws down beside him. 

"Darling," Namjoon furrows his brows as he looks at the torn skin, tongue poking into his cheek in disappointment. "Why did you do this to yourself?" 

He shakes his head as if you're going to answer him. Heaving out a heavy sigh, Namjoon wordlessly accepts a small basin of warm water and a cloth from Hoseok, wetting and wringing the material out before he brings it to your feet. 

You let out a wounded hiss as he makes contact, your foot involuntarily jerking away from the water that stings your open cuts. The quick movement causes you to drag your sole against the couch and it only causes you more hurt, a sharp pain shooting up your leg.

"Fuck," You whimper, body shaking against Seokjin's as Namjoon quickly reaches out to grab your foot, holding it securely over the side of the couch. You can feel Seokjin's leg twitch as the pain moves through the soulbond, the others grimacing as they feel it too.

"Angel, please be careful," Seokjin admonishes as he tucks his head over your shoulder, holding you in a tight hug as he rests his cheek against yours. 

You shudder as Namjoon once again brings the cloth back to your skin, wincing as he meticulously and carefully cleans up all the dried blood and dirt clinging to your wounds. Namjoon's voice is perturbed as he moves on to your other foot, holding it with a firm grip as he says, "This is why we were holding you down during your punishment, darling, so you wouldn't hurt yourself more by moving around. We don't enjoy doing any of this." 

You choose not to voice your disbelief. Judging by the sour look Jimin sports as he stares you down, you're sure it's written all over your face regardless. 

Namjoon hands off the dirty water and cloth to Yoongi, switching it out with an antiseptic cream that he starts dabbing on your cuts. 

Seokjin's warm breath hits the corner of your mouth as he cautiously asks, "What made you come back, Joon? You weren't supposed to return until tomorrow." 

The bandage that's being wrapped around your left foot pauses, Namjoon tilting his head as he mulls over what to respond.

"I think it was that pull you've talked about before. I just suddenly felt like I had to go back to the cabin, that I was needed here," He lets out a low snort, humorless. "I guess whatever feeling it was, was correct." 

"Interesting," Yoongi muses. He leans against Jungkook's chair, absentmindedly patting the youngest's hair. Jungkook leans into the comforting touch, face still marred with shame as he chances a glance over at you in Seokjin's arms. 

You stare blankly down at Namjoon's hands as he finishes up one bandage and moves on to the next, his words echoing in your head. Did the soulbond somehow call him back? If it knew you were trying to put distance between yourself and your soulmates, can it work against you to keep you from separating from them?

You don't want to believe that it can affect you that much. But if it is true, does that mean your own soul is betraying you – that it'll do whatever it takes to keep you close to these monsters who don't actually care about you, as long as it'll keep the bond strong? 

"It's definitely too strange to just be a coincidence," Hoseok purses his lips.

The sweater you picked out this morning suddenly feels too heavy on your shoulders. Was it just by chance that you picked out one that belongs to Namjoon, or is there something else to it? Can you even trust yourself anymore? 

You barely register as Namjoon finishes wrapping up your foot, the blanket being pulled away from your body as Seokjin lets go of your waist. Your chest is tight and your vision spotty as you're handed off to Yoongi, too many awful thoughts and feelings all vying for your attention at once. 

You feel yourself being carried again, the lights going from soft to bright, but it's like everything is underwater, muffled and out of reach. Yoongi's blurry face is suddenly in front of yours and it takes you once, twice, to focus on what he's saying; for the words to make any sense. "–can you do it yourself?" 

Yoongi sighs as you stare blankly back at him. He brushes a finger down your trembling jaw, wincing at how cold your skin feels. "Y/n, you really need to warm up. I'm going to place a stool for you inside the shower so that you can rest and we can keep your feet outside of it and dry. I know you'd rather not have me undress you, but are you able to do that yourself?" 

"Yes," You croak, disgust rippling across your body as you think of Yoongi undressing you, of any of them seeing you so vulnerable. 

"Okay," Yoongi says, unconvinced. You bite your lip harshly as you're placed down on the closed toilet seat, the pressure awful on your bruised ass. 

Yoongi steps over to turn the shower on for you, the old pipes rattling as water starts spewing out of them. He keeps his hand under the spray until he deems the temperature good enough. His expression is sorry yet firm as steps back, nodding to the door as he explains, "I can't leave the room but I'll keep my back turned to you the entire time. You're too weak to be left on your own right now. I won't turn around until you tell me it's okay. I promise." 

"Do you want help to get over to the stool once you're undressed?" Yoongi eyes your bandaged feet, eyebrows drawn tight with worry.

"No," You whisper.

The toilet is only a few steps away from the shower but even just that feels like miles with a body so tired and battered. Still, you're willing to push yourself until you collapse if it means none of them will touch you like that. 

"Just let me know if you need help, love," Yoongi sighs as he walks over to the door, facing it head-on like promised.

Getting undressed is a battle but it's one you refuse to lose. You keep your eyes locked on Yoongi's back as you pull off layer after layer, the steady steam rising in the bathroom only making your shivers worse. You refuse to strip down further than your underwear, the pieces offering you some modesty in a situation that just feels so mortifying. 

You pull yourself up on your feet with a yelp, legs shaking with pain as you slowly hobble over to the shower. You're not sure how you manage to maneuver yourself down on the stool but you do, and the relief of warm water cascading down your frozen body is so great you can't hold back the sob that rips out of your throat. 

Yoongi's back tenses as he hears the broken noise, his hands gripping the doorframe to keep himself in place. He never turns his head, choosing instead to rest it against the door, taking deep and measured breaths as he listens to your choked cries and whimpers.

The warmth slowly returning to your limbs is downright awful. The cold clinging to your skin refuses to bulge at first, and when it finally does slip, it feels like pins and needles being hammered into your flesh as the water rains down on you. The shivers slowly ebb away the longer you sit in the shower, your dry calves and feet prickling with the weird temperature difference.

You lose track of time as the heat gently returns to your body, face swollen and puffy as the last of your hopelessness trickles out through your eyes. 

You're exhausted and everything hurts. It's like your mind and body has been fractured into a thousand pieces, all of them poking and pricking you no matter what muscle you flex or what direction your thoughts try to stray.

You just want to sleep, to forget, for a little while. 

Yoongi straightens up as the water is turned off. His voice is hoarse, much like he's been crying himself when he asks, "Are you done, Y/n? Are you still cold?" 

You take a deep, shaking breath, filling your lungs with as much bravery as you can muster. "'m done." 

"Wrap yourself up in the towel by the shower, love. Let me know when you're covered, yeah? I'll open the door and grab the clothes Jungkook left for you." 

You do as Yoongi asks, watching as he opens the door just enough to snatch the clothes waiting for him outside. He walks backward towards the shower, still somewhat respectful of your privacy as he leaves them on the toilet. "Take the time you need to get dressed. I'll wait by the door until you're ready." 

Your mind is hazy and drifting as you attempt to dry yourself off, exhaustion weighing your lashes down. Slipping your wet underwear off under your towel in exchange for Jungkook's clothes isn't an easy feat, pain still flaring up your feet as you're forced to put pressure on them. Still, it's a small consolation that Yoongi doesn't attempt to help you until you raise your voice and say that you're done.

Yoongi sweeps you up into his arms before you can even blink, strong arms holding you close to his chest. He swallows hard as he glances down at you, voice unbearably soft as he says, "I really am sorry, Y/n." 

He, much like Namjoon, knows he won't be getting an answer. Yoongi steps out of the bathroom with measured steps, making sure not to move you around too much. The cabin is dark and quiet as he carries you down the hallway, the others nowhere to be seen.

"It's been a long day for all of us," Yoongi mutters as if he senses your confusion. 

Your fingers find Yoongi's shirt as he steps closer to your room, shock hitting you like a lightning bolt as you see the state of it. The door is broken off its hinges, halfway torn off the frame. The desk you pushed against it is flush with the wall and the rest of your room looks absolutely trashed. Furniture has been flipped over as if they were looking for you under it; your belongings scattered everywhere. The brute force they must have used to get into the room makes you realize just how badly this return, this punishment, could have gone for you. 

The moment passes as Yoongi walks further down the hall, but the sick feeling in your stomach lingers. 

He nudges one of the ajar doors with his foot, stepping into the room as it opens. The bedroom is bathed in soft light, the pillows on the bed fluffed and the covers already drawn aside. Yoongi carefully places you down on the mattress before he tucks you in, his expression troubled as he watches how you wince and grimace as you try to get comfortable. 

"This is Seokjin hyung's room," Yoongi explains, "He'll be staying with you tonight. We ... we're going to be taking turns watching over you." 

"Thank you for the introduction, Yoongi-chi," Seokjin's smile is a little strained as he enters the room, a glass of water clutched in his hand. He places it down on the table next to you, patting Yoongi's back before he takes a seat in the plush chair that faces the bed. 

"You can go rest now." 

"Alright," Yoongi nods. He meets your gaze for a split second, mumbling out a gentle goodnight before he turns on his heel and leaves.

Seokjin lets out a small sigh as the door clicks shut. "I should've given him a talking to for not drying your hair properly but I'm sure you're tired, angel. Damp hair must be the least of your worries right now, huh?" He shakes his head.

You pull the covers up to your chin, eyes alert despite how your lids keep attempting to fall shut every other second. There's not an ounce of trust for them in your body but it's so terribly difficult to stay awake when you want to do nothing but sleep. 

"I'm sure you saw the state of your old room," Seokjin winces, "You'll be spending one night with each of us on rotation. You might not wish to have us so close all the time but you shattered the trust we had in you, Y/n."

He folds his hands in his lap with a frown, staring down at his slightly crooked fingers as he says, "You can use the bathroom alone as long as one of us is right outside of the door, but aside from that, we're going to have to watch your every step. We won't allow you to hurt yourself again. I'm sorry it had to come to this but, well, it was the best thing we could settle on." 

You close your eyes to avoid the sad look Seokjin gives you, your chest constricting with fury. If they're trying to guilt trip you, it's not working. You can't believe they're trying to frame all of this as them simply looking out for you when in reality, they're robbing you of any agency you have. 

As you take deep breaths to quell the anger bubbling in your stomach, you feel yourself growing heavier and heavier, your body sinking into the mattress below. You want to be angry, you want to fight, but what's the use? You won't get another chance at escaping the cabin and your own soul clings to the soulbond, refusing to let you weaken your connection to them. 

You fist the sheets, sniffling as darkness begins to drag you under. If the universe wants you here, wants you to stay with them, maybe.. maybe it's time you give up and accept it. 

You wake up, drowsy, to the sound of something clattering. It takes you a second to realize that it's coming from you – your teeth rattling in your mouth from the cold that has seeped into the room while you slept. Everything is dark aside from the pale moonlight shining through the window on the other side of the room, your breath fogging up the air in front of you as you breathe.

You gingerly flip over on your other side, pulling the sheets as tight to your body as they can go, but it doesn't help fend the cold off. It's no wonder this cabin is abandoned during most of the year, not if it's reliant on the fireplace in the common room to heat up the entire place. 

After what feels like an eternity of shivering, you hear Seokjin's raspy voice calling out in the quiet room. "Angel? Are you cold?" 

Fabric rustles as he shifts in the chair. You hold yourself as still as possible as footsteps pad across the wooden floors, Seokjin's darkened silhouette coming into view. He hesitates by the side of the bed for a second, just enough for your teeth to start clattering again before he makes up his mind and climbs in. The mattress dips as Seokjin's weight settles upon it, the man in front of you scooting down until he's facing you in the dark. 

A rush of cold air hits your body as he raises the sheets to shimmy under them, an arm curling around your waist before you can even think to open your mouth. Seokjin presses himself flush against your body, mindful of your injuries as he tucks your face into his neck. 

"I'm still upset with you, angel, and I know you're upset with me, but you need my body heat if you want to sleep." 

Seokjin is very warm. 

You inch closer without even meaning to, your sleepy brain desperate for the heat that radiates off him. Seokjin lets out a small gasp as your cold nose skims against his throat, his hand pressing between your shoulder blades to keep you close.

Sleep slowly begins to weigh down your eyelids again as you soak up Seokjin's warmth, your body relaxing so deeply it feels like your bones have been turned to mush. The last thing you remember is Seokjin nuzzling his face into your hair, lips pressing against it in a soft kiss that makes your heart flutter.

Perhaps, if you had been a little more awake, you would've realized it wasn't fear that made it skip a beat.

a/n: you can read ch 11 of lovesick early by clicking here!

it only took ten months but we're back baby!! how are we feeling about what happened in this chapter? namjoon bringing her back, the boys' reaction and her "punishment", her private moment with yoongi and seokjin ... lots of things happened so i would love to hear what you're thinking!!

see you in the next chapter and remember to wish jimin a happy b-day!! 💖

[another-lost-mc]

For Your Ears Only: When MC sends them audio porn

Featuring: The Dateables + Side Characters (+ bonus Michael and Karasu) x gn!Reader

NSFW // Content: Explicit smut. Sex toys, sexting (audio/pictures/video), demon forms mentioned, penetrative sex and fingering (gn!reader receiving), size kink, breeding kink, creampie, light dom/sub undertones, guided masturbation, orgasm delay/denial, corruption kink if you squint, clothing kink, car sex, oral sex (gn!receiving), implied switch!reader & switch!thirteen, pet names, rough sex. 6.8k words.

For Your Ears Only series: Part I (The Demon Brothers)

DIAVOLO // royal treatment

Diavolo has been in his office all morning. He’s bored out of his mind from signing the endless stacks of paperwork that Barbatos puts in front of him. He would gladly welcome any excuse to escape, and your message gives him something to look forward to. He’s curious about your warning to listen to it alone, so he waits until Barbatos excuses himself from the office to prepare more tea.

Desire pools in his belly when Diavolo finally listens to your recording, and by the time it’s over, he’s gripping the armrest of his chair so hard that it cracks. He holds his D.D.D. to his ear while he storms from the room. He replays the message again because there’s something so alluring about listening to your sweet sounds like this. The desperate, breathy whimpers of his name as you fuck yourself with that inferior toy rile him up even more. He strides through the castle towards his private chambers, ascending the stairs two steps at a time in his haste to see you.

(Diavolo doesn’t even notice that he rushes past a very irate-looking Barbatos. No matter how much he wants to protest, the butler knows better than to get in the prince’s way; Diavolo is radiating power and lust and the need to claim, and trying to stop him now would be a dangerous mistake. Besides, there will be time for lectures about propriety later.)

Diavolo’s true form is completely revealed by the time he enters his bedroom. His blood pumps at the mere sight of finding you naked and waiting for him on his dark silk sheets. Your knees are bent and you part your thighs so invitingly when he kneels on the bed and crawls on top of you. His large hand cups the hot, wet mess between your legs. His fingers stroke you teasingly, and your body shivers with sensitivity from your recent orgasm. He crushes his lips against yours and swipes greedily at the seam of your mouth so he can lick inside and taste you. He teases two fingers into your hole while you're distracted by the kiss, and he stretches you just a little more.

(You buy toys smaller than him on purpose so that no matter how much you might tease yourself with them, they'll never match how thick his cock is, or reach as deep as his rough, powerful strokes do.)

You whimper when he pulls away too soon for your liking, but he bares his fangs in a feral smile and finally sinks his cock inside you. Your back arches against the mattress as he stretches you open, and he pants heavily while he resists the urge to fuck into you like a rabid beast. His thrusts are slow and shallow at first, but your warm, soft body enveloping his cock and your nails digging into his back urge him to move faster, harder, and deeper.

He comes with a roar and you whine at the sensation of his hot release painting your walls and marking you as his. He stares between your bodies and grinds his cock inside you so that he can trap his cum inside you a little longer.

Nothing in this world can fuck you or fill you the way the future demon king can, and he spends the rest of the day proving it to you.

BARBATOS // servant of two, master of one

When you send Barbatos teasing messages, you do so knowing that the likelihood of him being able to come see you anytime soon is slim to none. He's incredibly busy assisting Diavolo and taking care of other important work. Early in your relationship, you both agreed on reasonable expectations that took his many responsibilities into consideration. He doesn’t want to neglect you, but you don’t want to disturb him either.

He cherishes all the photos and videos you send him. They’re sentimental tokens he hoards selfishly for himself; they remind him that you love him and desire him like you've never wanted anyone else. If he’s too busy to call you or visit you, they offer temporary relief for the longing he feels. After he receives the message you sent him today, he has a new treasure to add to his collection.

He listens to your recording when he's completing mundane chores alone in the laundry room. No one else sees the butler’s infallible mask slip: his breath hitches slightly, and the freshly-laundered sheets slip from his fingers when his hands tremble with the sudden need to touch. He grunts and clenches his fists when your breathy crescendo of fuck–fuck–fuck—! ends with a broken cry of his name.

He feels unusually warm when the recording ends and all he hears is his own ragged breathing. His cock stirs in his pants and he takes a few minutes to calm himself and regain his composure. He can't perform his duties with a hard, throbbing cock ruining the crease of his pants. By the time he’s calm and leaves the room, he’s decided how to respond to you.

Barbatos has to prepare the Young Master's lunch next, but he has a bit of time to spare and walks to his bedroom first. He doesn't dare sit on the bed; fond memories of fucking you between his sheets might tempt him to linger. He doesn't call you either, even though he desperately wants to. He records a voice message for you instead, and he carries on with his work once he confirms you’ve received it.

You listen to his message from the comfort of your bed, you can tell right away that he sounds less composed than usual. His voice is a bit rougher, and it makes you giddy knowing you have that impact on him. You smile as you listen to his compliments and praise and he tells you (with explicit details) how lovely your surprise was. He asks for a favour from you, if you’re willing, and he gives you instructions for how he'd like you to use your toy next.

You lay back and let the soothing cadence of his voice guide your actions. You move the toy in and out of your body at the pace he commands. He coaxes you to the edge of pleasure but denies you over and over; despite how close you are, you stop when he tells you to. When he finally asks you to come for him, the breathless, pleading tone of his command shakes you to your core. He anticipates that you need a moment to recover, and the recording is silent until his gritty voice reminds you how good you are for him and how much he loves you.

You feel wonderful knowing that he'll be pleased with your obedience, and you send him the proof he asked for: another recording of yourself, and a picture of the new mess between your legs. Your body trembles slightly as pleasure fades and your body melts into the mattress. You relax in your bed, naked and cum-stained, and when your D.D.D. pings, you read his new message with a smile. He decided to rearrange his schedule after all, and he’s on his way to take care of you himself.

SIMEON // savor the moment

He’s not the most skilled when it comes to technology, but Simeon figures out how to play the recording you sent him. He heeds your warning that he should listen to it in private, and he escapes to the dimly-lit sanctuary of his bedroom and sits on the bed. Sometimes you send him voice messages about your day. Other times, you remind him how much you love him and miss him, and you confess how sinful your thoughts become when you think of him.

He’s shocked when he recognizes the sounds that filter through the speakers of his phone and fill his room. He’s heard them so many times when he makes love to you between his sheets (or yours), or on the sofa in the sitting room, and even once against the front door when he was too impatient to wait—

Whenever Simeon is with you, his carefully made plans to take you apart slowly and lovingly burst at the seams when he finally has his hands on your body. Everything about you is irresistible. He denied temptation for so long that he can’t control the raging passion inside him when he’s with you.

The sounds you make for him on this recording are a bit different though. It’s almost like you’re teasing yourself towards the edge, instead of hurtling towards it with abandon. Your moans and cries become breathier and louder and it’s the most beautiful symphony he’s ever heard.

He senses that you’re basking in the slow, sensual delight of touching yourself, rather than the passionate frenzy that often happens when you’re together. Even as lust stirs inside him and makes his cock swell, he’s stunned by your intimate gift made for him alone.

He loosens his belt and slips his hand inside his pants as he listens to you again. He spreads the pearly-white fluid leaking from the tip of his cock down his shaft. Pleasure blooms within him when the soft, wet glide of his strokes match your rhythm.

He lays back and wonders if you felt tormented by the temptation to move faster like he does now. How did you resist the urge to pump your toy into your greedy hole with desperation as you chased your release? You maintained your slow rhythm until the very end, and he desperately tries to do the same. It feels like you’re leading him to ecstasy; you’re the only person he would ever follow blindly without hesitation or doubt, because he loves you so.

The pleasure that warms his body and makes his limbs tremble feels like a wave cresting upon the shore. Your name falls from his lips in reverent sighs and gentle moans, instead of his usual harsh groans and mumbled curses that he muffles against your skin.

He strokes his cock slowly so he doesn’t come until you do. Despite the gentle pace, his orgasm still causes his back to arch off the bed as a long, whiny moan rips from his throat. He thrusts into his fist and the bed frame creaks slightly underneath him. Ropes of cum cover his belly and part of his chest. He lets go of his cock when he gasps from the sensitivity of wringing the last drops of pleasure from himself.

He catches his breath and sighs tiredly. He feels sticky and needs a shower and clean change of clothes. After he’s tidied up, you send him a message and ask if he wants to come see you. He’s tempted, but he invites you to dinner first; he wants you both to enjoy this slow, sensual seduction a little while longer.

SOLOMON // at your beck and call

Sometimes you forget that there's not much Solomon won't do for you. He's selfish with your time and greedy for your love and affection. He uses his (frighteningly immense) power as he sees fit, and he doesn't mind being irresponsible from time to time if it means giving you what you want.

Your little surprise is a welcome distraction from a boring meeting he was told he couldn’t miss. He excuses himself quietly when his D.D.D. pings, and he holds his phone to his ear and listens to the recording in the hallway outside. His soft smile sharpens into something wicked when he realizes what you sent him.

Anyone that might see him now would notice how his eyes grow darker as his pupils dilate, or that he adjusts himself discretely as his cock hardens in his pants. He doesn’t feel any hesitation or remorse when he abandons the meeting and teleports to his home where he knows you're waiting. (He'll make his apologies and excuses to the Sorcerer's Society later, after he's fucked your brains out.)

He re-appears in his bedroom and he's already unbuttoning his shirt eagerly, but his excitement deflates when he realizes his bed is empty. He knows you must be nearby; the scent of your musky arousal and sweat lingers near the bed. The sheets are still in disarray, and he can even see the small wet spots you made.

The sound of running water catches his attention, and he lets his shirt fall open as he approaches the half-closed door to the en-suite washroom. Your toy is cleaned and dry on the counter, and you splash water on your face with a tired sigh. You jump when you meet his gaze in the mirror, and you smile bashfully at his sudden appearance.

You didn't think he would really come, and he decides to remind you that nothing could possibly keep him away. He steps inside and embraces you properly so he can enjoy the feeling of your warm, bare skin against him. Your legs are still trembling slightly, and your scent is so much stronger now. 

There's so much he wants to say–you're so beautiful, darling or you're a naughty thing, teasing me like that during my meeting–but he kisses you instead.

It's sweet at first, and he pours his love and desire for you into the kiss. Sometimes he wishes he were a more patient man, because your first whimper against his lips reminds him of all the delightfully carnal things he wants to do to you. The kiss becomes heated and passionate as your mouths slot together perfectly, and he matches your delighted noises with soft groans of his own.

His mouth coaxes your lips open, and he curls his tongue with yours as he backs you against the counter. The hands that cradle your face so lovingly slide down your body, and he groans as he explores the familiar dips and curves of your chest and waist. His hands smooth over the swell of your ass and he squeezes. He gropes the soft flesh a little more before grasping the back of your thighs and lifting you up.

You're lost in the loving haze of his kiss and make a startled noise in the back of your throat when he sets you on the edge of the counter. He pulls you flush against his chest and you gasp as the outline of his cock rubs against the wet, sticky space between your legs. The hunger in his eyes mirrors that of your own.

You fumble with his belt and pump his hard, leaking cock while his fingers tease your entrance. He moans at the delicious friction of your hand on him. He breathes out a stuttered sigh when your soft, warm walls welcome his fingers so easily.

You prepared yourself so well for him, and he can’t wait anymore. His hand curls around your hip as he removes his fingers and fucks into you with one deep stroke. He cradles your neck as your head falls back with a choked off moan. He nips at your throat and groans as your body clenches around him. His pace is fast and brutal, and even when you come on his cock and your legs tremble around his waist, you whisper his name over and over again and beg him for more.

My silly darling, he thinks when he carries you to his bed and fucks you again with renewed vigor, how could I ever resist you?

MEPHISTOPHELES // tied up

Mephisto is busy today with Newspaper Club business, but you send him his gift knowing he’ll listen to it eventually. After you catch your breath, you walk gingerly to your ensuite washroom to shower. There's a ping on your D.D.D. while you're stripping the sheets off your bed to wash them.

Mephistopheles: I'll pick you up at 7:00 tonight for dinner.

Mephistopheles: And bring the tie with you.

He doesn't even mention the recording, but his request for the tie makes you feel giddy with mischief. His unique fashion accessories are something you think only he can pull off. He comes across as pretentious, but you understand that the things he wears are a personal choice and not necessarily about his status and wealth. You tease him playfully from time to time about those particular ties he likes to wear, but he knows you like them, no matter how much you deny it.

You slipped one of his ties into your pocket when you were at his home a couple nights ago. You fetched the silky cloth from its hiding place in your dresser earlier; you got a whiff of his expensive cologne and the barest hint of his natural scent underneath.

It's what inspired you to make the recording to begin with.

It was clenched in your hand while you fucked yourself with your toy earlier, and the material is creased and a bit dirty with your cum now too. When you were still catching your breath, you snapped a photo and sent it to him. It was a blurry picture of your arm resting across your waist, but there's no way he could miss the dark, silk tie underneath your glistening fingertips.

His car arrives at seven o'clock sharp, and his driver steps out to open the door for you. You slide into the seat beside Mephisto. His expression is unreadable in the poorly-lit backseat, but he takes off his gloves and pats his thighs invitingly. You straddle his lap and his bare fingers grip your waist. He teases the bare skin just underneath the hem of your shirt.

"You're a terrible distraction, pet," he murmurs, and his voice sounds so rough that you squirm. He’s already hard and he grunts quietly when you rub against him. He glares at the smile blooming across your face, but there's no heat to it.

"I missed you," you say after you lean forward and press a chaste kiss against his mouth.

He licks his lips and hums. "Did you bring it with you?"

"You mean this?" You pull his crumpled tie from your back pocket and dangle it in front of his face. His eyes lock onto it immediately, and if you can smell yourself on it, you know he does too. 

He tries to be discreet when he leans forward so his nose brushes against the fabric, and his eyes flutter slightly. There's a low purr rumbling in his chest and his pupils dilate noticeably even in the dark corner of the car.

His fingers dig into your hips when you lean against his chest. "You should probably remove the stains first before you wear this again," you whisper against his ear.

He groans when he tilts your head and captures your lips in a filthy kiss. There's nothing decent or composed about the way he starts grinding his hips up against you, or how his other hand slides under your shirt and scrapes his nails against your back. 

You scratch lightly against his scalp and tug on his hair, and he breaks the kiss with a growl. He maneuvers you off his lap and pushes you back against the seat. His face hovers above your waist and his hand rubs against you through your pants. He can feel how damp you are already, and he makes quick work of undoing your pants. You lift your hips so he can shimmy them down your thighs.

He's too impatient to undress you properly, but he bends down and licks against the edge of your arousal. He waits until you meet his gaze and then he does it again, and he grins when you whimper his name.

"I thought you wanted to go out for dinner?" you ask breathlessly. This wouldn’t be the first time he's gotten frisky in the car, but you’re worried about being seen like this.

"We’re taking a scenic route," he explains with a groan, “but I want a taste of you first." He leans down with a smirk before he sucks you into his mouth.

RAPHAEL // inevitable defeat

Raphael hesitates only for a moment before he taps Play on the screen and puts his phone to his ear. He closes his eyes at the first soft sigh that escapes you. He swallows around the lump in his throat when you moan, and he bites his lip when he hears the faint sound of the mattress creaking beneath you. His ragged breathing matches the quick pace you use to fuck yourself with your toy. The wet, squelching sounds are obscene, but he's never heard something so sinfully beautiful before.

His body feels overheated, and the first beads of sweat start to roll down the back of his neck. When his name tumbles from your lips as you come, he squeezes the phone so tightly he's worried the case might snap in his fist.

He has responsibilities in the Devildom–tasks assigned to him from Michael, chores he splits with his roommates, the relationships he has to foster with demons as part of his mission. Meeting you was inevitable, and perhaps falling for you was inevitable too. Everything you are and all the things you say and do affect him–and this is no different.

He should be getting ready to leave for a meeting, but he's frozen in place and his body quakes as he tries to smother the lust coursing through his veins. How can he walk to RAD when his cock is hard and aching? How can he think or speak of anything else except how beautiful you are and how badly he wants you? No, it won't do at all–he'll apologize later for shirking his responsibilities.

Better to beg forgiveness than ask permission.

He pushes his door closed and leans his forehead against the cool wood while he taps the screen and replays your message. He holds the phone to his ear with one hand while the other reaches into his pants and palms himself, slickened by the copious fluid leaking from the tip of his cock. He's so fucking aroused by you. You make an utter mess of him and you’re not even here. His hand is soaked with his own pre-cum, and the fast strokes of his cock sound as obscene as your noises do.

Sometimes he grunts in unison with you, and other times he echoes your moans with a bitten-off curse of his own. When he closes his eyes, it's so easy to picture you naked and writhing on his bed. He wishes he could smother his sounds against your bare skin as he fucks you. All he can do now is bite his lip so hard that he can taste copper on his tongue.

He comes with a deep groan moments after you do, and his door is painted with the ropes of cum that he can’t catch. He pumps himself through the aftershocks until he winces and his hand falls limply at his side. He pants heavily against the door as he catches his breath; his skin is hot and clammy with sweat, and he'll need to shower again before he goes out.

He glances at the pearly-white mess that coats his fingers and his clothes and the door. If he were a better angel, he would tell himself that poor self-control is responsible for this mess.

But he's not a better angel, because all he can think is, what a waste I couldn't come inside you instead.

THIRTEEN // the wild card

Thirteen’s reactions to your dirty messages are unpredictable, and today you have no idea what to expect once you send her the recording. 

Sometimes when you send her a raunchy text, she sends you back something just as filthy. If you send her photos of your body (with or without clothing), she gushes about how gorgeous you are and how she can’t wait to see you in person. 

There are times when she confesses how lucky feels that she met you. Those are the days when she comes to your bed (or sneaks you off to her cave) and keeps you up all night. She murmurs praise into your ear as she fucks you so slowly, and afterwards she rolls you over and begs for you to fuck her too.

You don’t hear from her by the time you change your bedsheets and clean your toy, and you decide to have a shower and plan the rest of your day. Maybe she’s busy doing reaper things? (She’s a bit tight-lipped about the things she does that she says delicate humans like you don’t need to worry about.) Or maybe she’s trying to prank Solomon again?

You leave your en-suite washroom with damp skin and a towel wrapped around you, and you yelp in surprise when you realize someone is sitting on your bed.

She giggles at your expression. “Aww, did I scare you? I just wanted to surprise you.” She pats her phone that’s next to her on the bedspread. “We’re both full of surprises today,” she murmurs, and you notice the way her eyes roam your nearly-naked body appreciatively. She leans back on her hands and spreads her legs wide so you can stand between them.

“I didn’t hear from you. I figured I’d see you at school,” you admit with a shrug.

She tugs playfully at the knot keeping the towel wrapped around you. “You can’t blame me for being a little late, lovely,” she says teasingly. The towel gives way after another stubborn tug of her wrist, but you don’t bother picking it up. Her eyes are scorching as she drinks in your exposed skin, and her strange eyes are the most striking when she stares at you like this.

“What do you mean?” you ask curiously.

Instead of replying, she leans forward and traces your mouth with her fingertips. You flick your tongue out to tease her, but you nearly moan when you recognize the faded taste of her cum. It’s not like anything you’ve ever tasted–it’s syrupy-sweet unlike anyone else’s you’ve tasted–and you eagerly suck her fingers between your lips.

“Sometimes I can’t wait to be with you either,” she confesses quietly as she watches your lips wrap around her fingers. Her other hand settles on your waist and dances along your hip and over the top of your thigh. “And I have to compete with all those fools for your attention,” she grumbles bitterly, but she leans forward and kisses your belly as her hand seeks out your arousal between your legs.

You gasp as she strokes you, and she pulls her hand away from your mouth so she can hold you steady as your legs start to tremble. Desire blooms inside you all over again. You feel so desperate, and it would be embarrassing how quickly you fall apart for her, if it weren’t for the lovestruck look in her own eyes.

“I only want you,” you whimper as your hips rock against her hand and your fingers wind through her hair.

“I know, lovely,” she coos sweetly, and she coaxes you into her lap as she lays back on your bed. She finally kisses you and curls her tongue with yours as she continues teasing you between your legs. One of her fingers slips inside you, and you both break away from the kiss with a gasp.

“You’re ready for me,” she whispers against your ear while her finger stretches your walls and brushes against the spongy spot instead. “But I’m ready for you too,” she confesses with a breathy laugh.

You reach down between her legs and slide your hand up her thigh. You noticed she was wearing a skirt today, but she’s not wearing any underwear. You moan when you feel her hot, wet heat against your fingertips. You gather some of her slick on your fingers and trace her clit with slow circles.

“Is it greedy of me to want all of you?” you whimper, and she adds a second finger inside you.

“This first,” she suggests as she rolls her hips against your hand and moans quietly, “and then I can fuck you after?”

“I wanna fuck you too,” and you hate how whiny you sound, but nothing would be more perfect than seeing her bouncing above you right now. You saw her bag on the floor near your bed; you know she came prepared for anything you wanted to do.

She crooks her fingers inside you and grins when you start to fall apart around her fingers. “Oh, lovely, I promise we’ll both get to have a little fun.”

MICHAEL // tranquil moments

Michael would love nothing more than to ignore all his duties when you visit him in the Celestial Realm, but sometimes his absence can’t be helped. He left you earlier that morning to meet with some other high-ranking angels, and he promised to return shortly.

He saw your message during the meeting but had to ignore it until now. He puts his phone to his ear so he can listen to the recording on his way to find you. He bites his lip to stop himself from groaning at the sounds you’re making in his ear. He rushes to his room while he tries to ignore his half-hard cock that starts tenting his robes.

He enters his room but he’s surprised (and disappointed) that you’re not there anymore. The bed is still unmade and the stain he touches with his finger is damp. He lowers his nose to the mattress and inhales your sweet, musky scent into his lungs. He doesn’t know where you are, but he knows how to find out. He taps your name on the screen and waits while the dial tone rings.

“Hello, Michael. I’m surprised to hear from you so soon. I thought you might still be busy.”

“Oh, I’m going to be very busy soon. Tell me, little lamb, where are you hiding?”

“It’s not much of a surprise if I tell you, is it?”

He listens to your airy laugh, and he strains to hear the noises around you. He can’t pick up anything at first, but then there’s a hushing noise across your end of the call, almost like a heavy breath, or the wind—

He grins when he glances out the window and sees the trees outside sway gently in the breeze.

“I’ll see you soon, little lamb.”

“I hope so.”

Michael finds you lying underneath the willow tree in his private garden. Your teasing smile widens when he shrugs off his robes and lets them fall onto the grass. The sight of his broad, naked body is enough to leave you breathless.

He kneels between your legs and braces himself above you. He holds himself steady on one arm while the other dips into your pants and he groans when he feels how messy you are. Two fingers slip inside you easily when he presses them against your entrance.

“You brought the Archangel to his knees in less than two minutes,” he mutters under his breath. His eyes glance down between your bodies as your hips rock against his hand.

“I want you so badly,” you whine quietly, and his throat feels thick with emotion when he swallows.

“Let me take care of you, little lamb,” he whispers before he kisses you. He peels your clothes off until you’re bare and trembling underneath him. Your thighs rest against his hips, and he distracts you with another deep kiss as he replaces his fingers with his cock.

He fucks you until your voice grows hoarse. He moans his pleasure into the crook of your neck when he comes shortly after, and he doesn’t think anything can feel more perfect than this: the sun shining on his back, a gentle breeze cooling the glistening sweat on his skin, and your body clenching around his cock while you moan his name like a prayer.

KARASU // new experiences

Karasu is too busy to notice the notification of your incoming message on his D.D.D., but his computer terminal alerts him so that he never misses something you send him. He can play the recording through his computer, but he raises his eyebrows at your warning to listen to the audio file in private. He slips on his headset and continues debugging some new code after he hits Play.

His fingers hover frozen over the keys when he hears the first soft sigh in his ears. By the time he’s listened to the entire thing—barely two minutes later���he’s breathing heavily and his fingers are digging into his thighs. His cock is hard against his zipper and he’s leaking in his underwear.

He plays the recording again and turns up the volume so he can hear you over the sound of his heavy, ragged breathing. Your moans and cries fill his body with hot, raw desire; the wet, rhythmic sounds of the toy you're fucking yourself with make him feel desperate.

He knows he can satisfy you better than that toy can. He can fuck you as hard as you want, as much as you want. Is that really what you want from him? He’s all you need. He tosses the headset aside and pushes away from his desk so he can prove it to you. 

He shrugs on his coat to hide his erection and strides out of his office towards the elevator. He sends his assistant a message that he’s going to be off-site for a private matter and he shouldn’t be disturbed. As soon as he’s outside the building he works in, he unfurls his wings and takes off in a running jump.

You put on a bathrobe and start tidying up the bedroom after your morning activities. You haven’t heard from Karasu yet, but you hope he liked your little surprise. It’s the first time you’ve sent him something like that, but hopefully it gives him something to look forward to when he gets home.

You’re pulling the sheets off the bed to wash them when you hear a thud on the roof. You glance at the ceiling and shrug when silence follows. It's less than a minute later when you jump as the front door opens and slams closed. You hear loud, heavy footfalls of someone striding down the hall.

You recognize Karasu when he suddenly appears in the doorway, but the demon standing in front of you is different from the one you said goodbye to earlier that morning.

The air thrums with the power of his aura, and you realize you’ve never seen his true form before, not entirely. His wingspan is too wide for the doorway and he looks large in the cramped space. His suit is gone, and he’s wearing a sleeveless black muscle shirt and leather pants. He’s breathing so heavily that you think he might be hurt, but his eyes are blazing with something more intense than pain. You glance down and notice the outline of his cock straining against his pants.

It suddenly dawns on you why he’s here looking this way, and you feel bashful and flattered and a little confused that he left work in the middle of the day to see you. He doesn’t say anything, but there’s a quiet rattling noise emanating from his chest.

“I take it you got my message?” you ask awkwardly. He’s still staring at you with those glowing red eyes, and the rattling noise in his chest is louder now. “Did you…did you like it?”

He crosses the room faster than you can blink and he reaches for you. When he pulls you into his arms, he crushes his lips against yours with a deep groan. You wrap your arms around his neck and press even closer to him.

His hands fumble with your robe until he loosens the belt and slides it off you. His hands roam eagerly across your bare skin, and he walks you back towards the bed. He kisses you with a desperation you’ve never seen before, and you break the kiss with a huff of amusement. “The sheets are in the laundry,” you tell him with a glance towards the bare mattress.

“Don’t need ‘em,” he mutters in a rough voice, and suddenly his hands are on your hips and spinning you around. He pushes you forward and you balance your hands against the mattress.

His fingers are cool against your skin, and you shudder when he pushes your back into a deeper arch. He teases your entrance and moans when he feels how wet you still are and how easily his fingers slip inside you. He pumps his fingers a few times before he removes them just as quickly, and you gasp as the sudden emptiness. There’s a clink of metal sliding against metal behind you, and you groan when his cock slides between your ass cheeks and brushes against your hole.

“Tell me what you want,��� he snarls against your ear when he leans over you and presses his chest against your back.

“You, I want you—“ your voice breaks into a cry when he sheathes himself to the hilt in one deep stroke.

His pace is fast and punishing, and the harsh sounds of his skin slapping against yours fill the room. He’s panting loudly against your shoulder and his grunts are punctuated by curses and the odd, animalistic noises he makes when words seem to fail him.

Karasu usually prefers to be face-to-face when he’s inside you, and he’s usually soft and almost hesitant when he explores your body. He never fucks you like this, but you’ve never felt so utterly consumed by someone before and you love it. 

You can see glimpses of his fluttering wings from the corner of your eyes. One of his hands is curled around your hip, and the other is laced on top of yours on the mattress. Your breath hitches when you realize sharp talons have replaced his long, nimble fingers. He’s careful not to hurt you, but with every sharp snap of his hips, his talons dig long scratches into the plush mattress covering. You should be terrified that those same talons are wrapped around your hip to keep you still beneath him, but it only arouses you more.

Everything he’s doing to you sends you spiraling towards oblivion. You're so close to coming already; his cock grinds inside you so perfectly and his relentless pace makes you dizzy with pleasure. His rhythm is starting to falter, and you realize he won’t last long either. “Wanna come with you,” you whimper, and you feel his head nodding against yours.

“Fucking hell,” he groans. His thrusts seem almost desperate, and you can tell he’s trying to delay his own pleasure until you find yours first. “Touch yourself,” he grits out between clenched teeth. “I can’t—please—!”

It only takes a few strokes between your legs before you fall apart with his name spilling from his lips in a loud, shuddering cry. He gasps when your body tightens around his cock and he comes too. The noise that rips from his throat is like nothing you’ve ever heard before. He moans as he pumps his cock inside you until he’s completely spent, and there’s so much—you can feel his cum trickle down your thigh.

His cock softens and slips out of you, and his demon form fades away. He guides you down onto the mattress with him so you can both catch your breath. He holds you against his chest and peppers the top of your head with kisses. “Dear one?”

You glance at his face when you hear his hesitant tone. “Are you okay?”

He sniffs and your heart clenches when you notice how embarrassed he looks. “I should be asking you that. I was overcome, I don’t—I’ve never been like this before.” He looks away nervously. “With anyone.”

You cup his cheek softly and turn his face so he looks at you again. “It was unexpected, but I liked it.” 

He wraps his arms around you and sighs. “I’m sorry if I startled you, but I’m glad you found it enjoyable.” He clears his throat. “And I would be agreeable to doing this again in the future, if you want.”

You laugh. “What, me sending you dirty messages at work, or you coming home from work so you can fuck me like this?”

Karasu’s nervous smile curls into a teasing smirk. “Both.”

Read more: Obey Me! Masterlist

[storiesforallfandoms]

freedom ~ oberyn martell;game of thrones

part one

word count: 2608

request?: a single person asked if there would be a part two so yes?

description: in which she finally gets to enjoy her freedom with the man she loves

pairing: oberyn martell x female!reader

warnings: swearing, use of y/n, lil bit of dirty talk from oberyn teehee

masterlist (one, two, three)

The sun shining in through the open window stirred her from her sleep. She wasn't sure what time it was, but judging by how groggy she felt, she had definitely been asleep for a very long time. It was the first night since the evening before Joffrey's wedding that she had slept in an actual bed.

(Y/N) and Oberyn's plan had gone way better than she was expecting. She did as Oberyn told her and packed one bag of her most essential things. Oberyn had one of his men take it to the carriage so that non of Cersei's servants would catch (Y/N) doing it. She sat through the ceremony with the best fake smile pained on her face the entire time. The second the ceremony ended, (Y/N) slipped away while Cersei was distracted and they started their journey back to Dorne immediately.

It was a long journey spanning a number of days. They only stopped to rest a handful of times as Oberyn insisted on going for as long as the horses could stand so the risk of being caught by the Lannister men that Cersei was undoubtably going to send after them. (Y/N) was tense the entire time and wasn't able to relax until they reached Dorne.

Oberyn's brother, Prince Doran, was waiting for them when their carriage arrived. Oberyn had just stepped out when Doran said, "We received a message from King's Landing about the kidnapped Lannister girl."

"I kidnapped no one," Oberyn said. "She came with me willingly because she was being terribly abused by the Queen."

"The former Queen," (Y/N) corrected as she stepped out beside Oberyn. "Now that Joffrey is wed, Cersei is no longer Queen." She turned to Doran and curtsied. "My Lord."

Doran nodded in response. "Lady (Y/N). We hoped my brother wasn't so stupid as to kidnap a Lannister the day of the young kind's wedding."

"What Oberyn says is true. I have come with him of my own free will to escape my sister. She is claiming my capture so that y ou will send me back to her and will punish Oberyn so he cannot come for me again. I do not wish to go back, not ever. I will attest to this myself to my family back in King's Landing if you wish."

Doran looked between the two of them. He took a deep breath and said, "They will come."

"I will speak to them," (Y/N) insisted. "They cannot take me by force."

"They will not take her by force," Oberyn interjected.

Doran nodded. "I pledge my full support to you. I just hope you know what you are doing, brother."

Oberyn had brought her to a room that would be her own for the time being. He had promised her they would share a bed in due time, but he would not do so until they were properly courted. She would have argued further, but she was so tired and her body was aching from the long carriage ride, so all she wanted was to lay down in a soft bed.

Now that she was waking up from such a long slumber, it took a few moment for her to remember where she was. When she did remember, she smiled to herself. She was so giddy with happiness to finally be free and not feel so stuck and trapped in Westeros anymore.

A knock came at the door. She beckoned for them to come in, thinking (or rather hoping) that it was Oberyn. she was surprised when a lady she did not recognize stepped into her room.

"I am sorry for the intrusion, my lady," the woman said, bowing to (Y/N). "My name is Kenziah. I will be your handmaiden. I was told to come prepare you for a meeting in the Prince's throne room."

"Has something happened?" (Y/N) asked.

"Your father arrived early this morning, my lady. He requested a meeting with you and both Princes."

(Y/N) was quick to get out of bed and allow Kenziah to dress her. She tried to keep a brave face as she was led to Prince Doran's throne room. Doran was sat on his own throne while Oberyn was stood next to him. A tall figure was back on to (Y/N) as she walked in, but she didn't need him to turn around to recognize who it was.

Tywin Lannister looked down at his daughter as she entered the room. "My daughter, you have caused quite a disturbance."

"So I have heard," (Y/N) said. "I apologize if I disrupted Joffrey's wedding day. That was not my plan. Truthfully, I did not think Cersei would even notice my absence."

"You severely underestimate your sister then."

(Y/N) brushed past her father to stand next to Oberyn. She held her head high as she addressed Tywin, "I know what Cersei has tried to say about my disappearance. I am saying to you, father, that I willingly left with Oberyn to come to Dorne. I am not under any sort of duress, and I will not be returning to King's Landing with you."

Tywin raised an eyebrow. "Is that so?" (Y/N) nodded. "King Joffrey could order for your return."

"He would have to come take her himself," Doran cut in. "But he would have to go through the Dorne army."

"Are you threatening the king?" Tywin asked.

"No, I am protecting one of my own."

(Y/N) glanced between Tywin and Doran. Oberyn was silent beside her, but he had moved closer, protectively. For the first time in her life, (Y/N) actually felt cared for and safe.

Tywin's gaze moved to his daughter. "Is this truly your wish, my child? To stay in Dorne with the young prince?"

"I cannot go back to that palace, father. It was my prison, and I have finally escaped from it. I will not return to King's Landing willingly, and if you try to force me, I will fight back to the best of my abilities."

Tywin nodded. "I cannot force you to do anything against your will, (Y/N)."

"Will you tell Cersei that?"

To her surprise, Tywin nodded again. "If this is what you truly want, then no one else shall bother you while you're here."

(Y/N) bowed her head. "Thank you father."

Tywin paused a moment as he started to leave. (Y/N) wondered if he would say anything more. But he merely nodded to Doran and Oberyn before turning to leave the room. When he was gone, (Y/N) finally allowed her body to relax. Oberyn took her into his arms and kissed the top of her head.

"You are officially free, little lion."

~~~~~~

(Y/N) was sat in front of a mirror as Kenziah braided her hair. It had been a full day since she had arrived and she was already feeling more at home than she ever had in King's Landing. Oberyn had sent Dornish clothes for her to wear, and she was currently wearing one that was a similar color to the robe Oberyn had been wearing when they first met.

Now that she had been able to properly settle in after their long journey and Twyin's visit, Oberyn had called for (Y/N) to meet him outside of Water Gardens, their palace. She had a feeling she knew what this meeting was about, and the thought alone made her very giddy.

"You are trembling, my lady," Kenziah said. "Are you alright?"

"Yes, Kenziah, thank you," (Y/N) said. "I am just feeling nervous to see Oberyn is all."

"Nervous? But you seemed very fond of him before."

"I am fond of him! I guess nervous may be the wrong word. I feel a number of things about seeing him, because I know he will likely ask me to be his wife today. He said when we returned to Dorne that he would court me and make me his wife."

Kenziah smiled. "He does seem to feel very strongly for you, my lady. I see the way he looks at you."

(Y/N) smiled to herself as well. She had noticed the ways in which Oberyn looked at her, and every time it made her melt a little. She had never felt so infatuated with anyone before. The thought of being so close to him asking her to marry him made her insides feel fuzzy and warm.

When Kenziah finished braiding her hair, she placed a few flowers in the braids. "There, all finished."

(Y/N) moved to look at her hair in the mirror. She was almost surprised by the reflection looking back at her. She looked so beautiful, and she felt it, too. It was almost as if she was meant to be in Dorne, she just had to find a way to get there.

"Thank you, Kenziah," she said.

"You're welcome, my lady."

When she was sure she was ready, Kenziah brought (Y/N) to where Oberyn was waiting for her. He looked just as handsome as ever, almost glowing under the Dornish sun as he looked out at a pond below them. When she approached, he turned to her and smiled.

"You look beautiful, my little lion," he said. He took her hand in his and raised it to his lips, pressing a light kiss on her knuckles. It sent a spark through her entire body and made her hand feel like it was tingling.

"Thank you," she said. "I really love the clothes you sent for me. Dorian wear is so much nicer than what I had back in the palace."

"It suits you better, too. Like you were meant to wear it."

(Y/N) was smiling so much her cheeks were hurting. Oberyn beckoned for her to come closer. She did, moving as close to him as she could dare. She gasped when he put his hands on her hips and moved her so that she was stood right in front of him. His body was pressing against her backside, and she felt like she was weak in the knees from the feeling.

"I wanted to show you what I was looking at," he told her, his mouth dangerously close to her ear. He pointed towards the pond. "Just down there."

She was having a hard time concentrating on what it was he was trying to show her. His closeness was making her very dizzy. But she tried her best and managed to make her eyes focus on the pond. It was full of children, splashing around and laughing. She wasn't quite sure what he was trying to show her, until she spotted a familiar young girl with a head full of blonde hair.

She gasped. "Myrcella."

Myrcella was Cersei's middle child, and only daughter. Cersei adored Myrcella more than (Y/N) had seen her adore anyone in her life. When she had been sent away to Dorne to be a bride to Doran's son, Trystane, Cersei was practically inconsolable. It was the only time (Y/N) had ever seen weakness from her sister.

But Myrcella was also much different than her mother, or her older brother for that matter. She had a heart of gold and she cared very much for the people around her. That included (Y/N), much to Cersei's displeasure. (Y/N) loved her niece dearly. She had almost abandoned hope of ever seeing her again.

"She has been taken care of here," Oberyn assured (Y/N). "We will wait until she and my nephew come of age before they wed. Until then, she gets to live the life of a child."

"Why are you telling me this?" (Y/N) asked. While she was definitely glad to see her niece, this was not where she expected this conversation to go.

"She spoke very highly of you. Ever since she arrived, she has voiced how much she has missed her mother and her aunt. I can tell she is not like her mother, so I figured seeing her would be a welcome surprise."

With his hands still on her waist, Oberyn spun (Y/N) around so that she was facing him. Instinctively, she wrapped her arms around his neck. Their bodies were still pressed so close together. (Y/N) found herself feeling something she had never felt before; a tingling sensation between her legs. Looking up into Oberyn's eyes, she wanted nothing more than to start kissing him, and to beg for him to touch her and make the feeling go away.

She had a feeling that he would know exactly how to pleasure her, and that thought made her feel even more weak.

"I want you to be happy here," he told her.

"I am happy," she assured him. "As long as I am with you, I can't be happier. You have saved me, Oberyn. Truly."

He smiled. "And I am glad that I have."

When he lowered his head towards her, (Y/N) wasted no time in closing the space between them. She kissed him so deeply that she made herself dizzy by doing it. His hands had moved from her waist to the small of her back, holding her to him. She could've stayed like this forever if that were possible.

When he broke away, she inadvertently let out a whine. He chuckled at her desperate sound. "I will kiss you as much as you wish, my little lion. But first, I do have a promise to keep."

He stepped away from her. Her body suddenly felt cold without him so close. He held her hands in his and looked deeply into her eyes as he spoke, "I told you that when we arrived to Dorne, I would properly court you and wed you. I believe I have successfully courted you already, so that just leaves us with one last step."

"Yes," (Y/N) blurted. Oberyn was amused by her outburst. "If it was not obvious, I very much want to marry you, Oberyn."

"I had a feeling," he teased. "I spoke with my brother already to get his blessing as well. We will have the wedding in a few days time."

"Can we do it now instead?"

Oberyn shook his head, an amused smile on his face. "My dear, sweet little lion. You must have patience. You must know what it takes to put a wedding together, especially one for people of royal blood such as us. Besides, I do not think you should wish to rush into marriage this quickly."

(Y/N) furrowed her brows at him. "Why?"

He stepped closer to her again. He leaned into her ear and dropped his voice to say, "Because once we are wed, I no longer have to worry about defiling your innocence. I may keep you in my bed for many days and nights before I decide to let you have a break from me, and even then I may only decide that because you are carrying my child."

(Y/N) stumbled a little and Oberyn was quick to catch her.

"You are mistaken, my love," she told him. "That only makes me wish for us to be married much sooner."

Oberyn cupped her face and pulled her for a kiss.

"I promise, my little lion, I will make the wait worth it," he said. "For now, you will just have to settle for stolen kisses."

"I will take anything as long as it is from you."

They kissed once more, and (Y/N) finally got to revel in the fact that she was finally getting her own happy ending.

[ghouldtime]

Tomorrow. (An "Alone. Truly Alone." Drabble)

Wrote this because I was getting stumped on Chapter three. Have a little tiny Ghoap moment ;3

I love him so much look at him!! What a guy!! (Also being able to actually see him in motion has helped me so much trying to figure out how to write him)

Mwah I wanna kiss his face

CW: Mentions of blood, death and dying. Nothing too graphic but it's still very much there! It's angsty too

💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀

Tomorrow.

Oh, how he loathed that one, single, simple wretched word uttered carelessly without as so much as a second thought by so many. How he hated tomorrow. 

Tomorrow stood as an uncertain promise held aloft every evening as the sands of time trickled through their limitless hourglass, slowly emptying into the chalice that soon would turn as the earth once again shone a different face to the sun. Tomorrow wasn’t something anyone could truly count on when the tides could shift in an instance, changing everything you knew. Simon Riley knew that better than anyone.

Serving years slaving away in arid deserts and frozen tundras alike with nothing but the weighty gear on his back and a gun in his hand meant he knew better than any other that tomorrow was a measure of time, nothing more. No matter how many times tomorrow had been said, promised, spoken so truly imbued with intent already plotted on its horizon, it didn’t change fate. It didn’t change whether you were going to make it to then or not. The world didn’t care if you made it through or to tomorrow. It only made tomorrow happen.

How many tomorrows had passed since he had been trapped in this washed-out, colorless hell surrounded by walls damning him to eternal solitary confinement with no promise of escape was something he couldn’t answer.  The sun had long since ceased warming him with its golden rays in the morning and the moon had made itself scarce, never showing when it hung in the twinkling night sky. A being damned to purgatory didn’t deserve such warmth or beauty. Every wall encasing him determined such a thing would be true as long as he lived in his unliving state. Cold and unfeeling, nothing he did could change the immovable fate that shackled him down and buried him alive in the cement cage.

That didn't stop him from etching the passage of everything he loosely guessed was a day into the walls. Keeping track of something, as minute as it may be, at least kept him saner than he would be with nothing else. Carving into the walls with the few tiny metallic medical tools that had been abandoned and left to rot, the same as him, stood as the only form of retribution against his prison that he could manage.

Each nick, dig, and mark struck against it stood in a silent testament to say that he lived despite death itself having clasped its frigid, clammy hands around his neck as it choked him out until his lifeforce faded. Every insignificantly significant tiny white line marring the concrete stood in testament that even if he was trapped, the bitter taste of defeat still remained foreign on his decaying tongues. His normal body may have long been forgotten and replaced with too many twisted limbs and cerberic heads, but he was still Simon; the very same Simon that would fight with all of his too many teeth and blackened nails until his true final breath.

Though his life had been forced from his mortal shell with the reaper's digging claws until it was pulled from his body, he still somehow lived. How fitting of an "end" for someone like Simon, someone who couldn't even catch a breath when the dark angel came calling his name, only to turn him back to the world as it took a part of him with it. True peace was never fitting for him, he supposed. When all of his life was spent dedicating to fighting, it's only expected he would go toe to toe with his own mortality too.

Yet this pathetic existence hardly classified as what he could call living. He breathed, yes, air filled his lungs but it served no function. Nor did the existence of his heart or any of his organs that were little more than placeholders these days. It was a blessing to be some form of alive and to still have his brain perfectly functioning, but being trapped in this shell stood as an eternal, tormenting curse. Punishment for escaping death one too many times, endlessly taunting it as he dodged all too many bullets, is often how it seemed.

Death would've been the preferable option than staying trapped in the decaying government facility alone and the body that held him prisoner to match.

How he wished he could be permanently buried in the dirt, his eyes closed in a true state of rest. The waking world was a poor imitation of what he hoped death's true embrace would feel like as it came calling his name once more and beckoned a single, crooked skeletal finger. Thin, yellowing sheets that covered the dusty hospital beds where he lay each night offered little comfort for the constant numbness surrounding him in a static void.

Every physical sensation that brushed against his poor-excuse for flesh drowned in the barrier of his unalive state before it could reach him. Heat, cold, pain, pleasure, hunger, thirst - none of those things mattered to a being who could no longer feel in such a corporeal sense.

The same couldn't be said for his feelings. Now that the pesky things such as normal human bodily needs abandoned his form, his heart and mind made up for their absence tenfold as they held him down and forced him to feel everything and anything in between in the murkiest depths of his soul. Like a twisting, red-hot blade they relentlessly engraved their grievances on chunks of his very essence, permanently scorching his soul as they scarred far deeper than any of the hundreds of weapons that had been turned against him ever could hope to.

Despite the stillness of his heart and the absence of what used to be a steady, rhythmic beat, his heart still burned as if it were thrown into the deepest depths of hell whenever he turned his gaze and locked eyes at the tiny picture on his nightstand of him and Soap together, blacked out in tactical gear. He should've thrown an arm around him and made their last picture together more memorable - but it was too late for that. Should've was already too late. He was too late.

The extra heads forced together by sinewy webbing never were much help when it came to focusing with his already clouded vision. Straining to look as he brought the picture closer to his faces, to truly see through all of his eyes, was minor inconvenience he could bare. For it meant that his eyes were graced with three sets, three times, the visage seared into his memory of the one who took on the world for him. The same one who fought for the world, his world, and so readily gave it up for him without a second of a hesitation. He deserved that at the very least - to be seen, recognized, admired. Johnny deserved that and the world itself.

Pouring pure alcohol into his veins and setting it alight would hurt less than the pang of primal agony that rippled through him, shredding his heart and spitting its venom into his soul, whenever he set the picture down and glanced at his left size where an arm - Johnny’s arm, lay fused to his own. Taught skin webbed between it and where his own original arm stood long before he became an abomination and a product of science going too far. The strong fingers that had cradled his hand so gently throughout some nights when the other thought he was asleep, the hand that strangled, shot, and killed for him - now usually clung to the tattoos that inked up his flesh as if afraid to let it go once more even in this harrowing state.

The single limb agonizingly sacrificed to him remained the only one didn���t have perfect control over. It never fully listened, much like the man it came from. No matter the orders he barked at the sergeant, he wasn't one to heed with his head alone. Sometimes that noble, brave heart of his that let him charge up the ranks so fast took the reigns before he could do anything about it.

Stand down, Johnny.

Get out of there, MacTavish.

Don't you dare, Johnny. It's not worth it. Not for me.

....

The longer he lived with the errant limb and dealt with the non-compliance, and the usual near constant grip on his forearm, in a twisted way, he didn’t want things to change. He didn't want it to listen. That wouldn't be Johnny's arm - that wouldn't be Johnny if it did. It wouldn't be the last solid reminder he had if it complied, even if it was connected to his consciousness now.

For now, it was something he could cling onto like a starving dog lapping up scraps of meat outside the back of a butcher shop. Deep down, he knew that he was feeding the delusions as he blindly clawed for anything he could cling onto as a reminder, but bringing himself to care enough to stop wasn't an option (as unhealthy as it might be). Living with the miniscule fantasy served as a balm to his gouged soul that bled out more and more as the seasons marched on and days tumbled forward into one another. It was enough for a man like him who would scavenge for anything his many hands could get ahold of, clinging to any threads as if they could carry him out of the abyss until they inevitably crumbled to dust under the crushing weight of him.

Some nights as he lay on the creaky hospital bed staring up at the same blank ceiling that matched the same gray that covered his senses in a blinding fog, he could almost pretend that Johnny was still here, still talking to him in the thick brogue that was so distinctly him, still smelling of the scotch he loved so much tinged with gunpowder from all the explosives he had set up.

If he closed all six of his milky eyes, the phantom sensation of Johnny's warm form beside him as he imagined him close once more nearly caused him to feel something along his sensationless form. Those deft fingers that worked along intricate wires of dangerous weapons never followed the same pattern twice as he traced his tattoos in the same routine he had many nights before as they lay near one another underneath a flimsy tarp deep in enemy territory, the uncertainty of their own mortal lives continuing for another sunrise strung along the stressful line of their work.

And sometimes if he truly shut off his brain, his mind could truly run wild as it conjured up the words he’d heard so many times before. The same point of contention uttered once more that Johnny always circled back to as he marveled the black lines marbling Simon's skin, “You really should let me color ‘em, LT.” He’d breathe, voice so quiet it could be lost on a breeze as he stared at them with the softest look he had seen on the sergeant’s face, a quiet contemplation written in the furrow of his brows.

If confronted, he knew it would be played off as a joke and nothing more. But the way the roughened pads of his fingers traced the whorls permanently etched into his skin spoke otherwise, echoing words and feelings that ran deep that neither dared to voice. Every moment he lay there alone in his new "life", regret sank its fangs into the vulnerable underbelly of his heart, the heavy feeling settling like molten lead in his stomach as he berated himself for not touching him back, even if it was a tentative hand smoothing a thumb over the back of his.

No matter how many nights and countless times Johnny fell into the routine of tracing his tattoos, Simon's dark gaze would fall right back over the other to trace the tired lines on the other's face and the stubble of his jaw with his eyes. His fingers always twitched restlessly as they lay folded on his chest, aching to feel something aside from the fabric underneath. Yet the ugly, grating voice of doubt pestered him until he hesitated, never letting him the courage to reach up and caress him, even for a second.

His turmoil was obvious to anyone who knew him like Johnny did. The tension in his body, the near constant movement of his fingers, the unblinking look in his eyes as he couldn't help but to stare. But Johnny was smart, significantly smarter than many gave him credit for. He knew better than to point it out with his voice alone but the small upward twitch of his lips spoke a thousand words as he shifted closer, closer.

“Add a little more color to your life. Things can’t always be black and white.” Johnny always insisted as he leaned further in, the weight of his body sinking in, nurturing the warmth blooming in his chest.

Breathing had never been harder as those blue eyes peered up at him through dark lashes. All air left his lungs in a flash, his heart halting as he stared into those eyes, helplessly held captive by those beautiful blues that would put the finest aquamarine gems to shame.

How he wished he listened.

What he wouldn't give to go back to that moment, if only for a fraction of a second, to get lost in those expressive pools of his newfound favorite color.

No amount of time nor disease would pry that memory from him as he lingered in the stagnant, abandoned base. The warmth he felt that night bloomed within his chest even now, even when hindered and reduced to nothing more than a faint fuzzy feeling tickling his chest.

Not even the fusion of the two heads on the side of his could even hope to gnaw it away with their own plaguing whispers and intrusive thoughts that bit through his skull as they tried to worm their way into his brain like the parasites that they were. But he wouldn’t let them. Nothing could.

No, nothing could make him forget Johnny. Not even the end of his world as he knew it. Death may have taken him temporarily into his clutches, dangling him between the precipice of life, but that wasn't enough. Because his world didn't end when he died, no. That was insignificant. His world ended not when he rasped his last breath, endless rivers of crimson spilling onto the operating table. It ended when he used the last of his energy to tilt his head to take one last look at Johnny, knowing that he would never see him again.

...

Endless amounts of tomorrows could add up in the gouges of more tally marks and scores into the wall, covering every nano angstrom of the base and he still would loathe them with all the contempt his heart could well up until it sat in a venomous soaked vat of his festering rage.

He hated tomorrows because each mark was another reminder of the tomorrow that wasn't to come, the tomorrow swiped from underneath his feet by fate's cruel hand, the tomorrow he promised, the tomorrow that would never be - the tomorrow with Johnny.

[kirbybecomesastarwarrior]

Once again I thank you all so much for supporting me during the Kirby OC Tournament. Especially all my followers & mutual who humored me with all the poll reblog stuff.

As promised the lore. (And I've been cooking this turkey for a while and it's ready to come out of the oven.)

Fair Warning contains spoilers... I will not be explaining all the details of what happening. This is incredibly vague & via musical... so I won't spoil that much (since this does take place during the final arc... Void Termina Saga). The events that are being shown do not happen exactly how they are portrayed, however the essence of what's happening is the same.

Morgan shall be singing "Last Midnight from Into the Woods,"

Spoiler warning, (More drawn content is contained below)

(OH NO WHAT'S HAPPENING TO KIRBY...Sorry, I can't explain it just yet... Nor why Meta Knight's mask is broken in half... maybe he got into a fight or something, hold the phone I thought Galacta was trapped in insanity... what happened... Sorry if I tell anything of that it'll spoil the good stuff)

Dame Morgan: It's the Last Midnight

So in summary: After they refuse to hand Kirby over, Morgan reveals there's a traitor in their midst... Fumu is the reason why Kirby is in the state he is in (Fumu is currently regretting her life choices). Leaving Meta & Gala shocked, and scared to death at Kirby's current state, while Kirby is sad, and betrayed again...~

And Morgan just having herself a time, living her best life~

In the KBASW series, she tricks three major characters:

Namely: Queen Ripple, Hyness, and Fumu/Tiff. (the most devastating one she tricks)

Dame Morgan is basically a mixture of: "The Witch" from Into the Woods, Morgan from (Merlin's 2008 TV series), Eris from Sinbad (she has the voice of Eris), and the Joker from Batman.

Morgan represents the opposite of Celestine... (via Morgan vs. Merlyn wizard rivalry) The Anti-Celestine so to speak~

The one person she hates more than Arthur is Merlyn/Celestine.

Celestine sees magic as a tool, not a solution or the answer to your problem... promoting true self-improvement comes from within. For there will always be...: another bridge to cross, another monster to slay, another woods to go into. The only way to ever truly be prepared in this world is to learn from each other... and to be kind to one another & share the experience. If you cheat your way throw life will just get harder and move with you... Being better and leading a good example will inspire others to be better along with you.

The change starts within, with us...

While Dame Morgan:

Life is unfair, you play by their rules, you follow the system, sacrifice everything to fit the mold, and yet you can still be cheated out of what you deserve...

And you're telling me I should just "hang in there," "hold on", "it's gonna be okay eventually keep smiling".... nah? Let's stop "pretending to be good", everybody is just in it for themselves so... if you do that you're just a fool waiting to be tricked.

Why not live just for yourself... why not cheat back... why not be the bad guy? That's why her theme is "Stella Jang(스텔라장) _ Villain(빌런)

Morgan represents the easy way out, a quick fix... to blame someone else...an escape. How did she obtain this dark magic... The Jamba Heart...Granting everyone's selfish desires... the reason why everyone falls for it is because she has the charisma to make the offer far too tempting and to pass it up, no.

And guess who was her first customer... Hyness~

The biggest change I probably did the to mix anime & game lore. (Kirby Star Allies) In KBASW AU... Morgan the one who convinced Hyness the Jamba Heart was what he needed to restore his clan. It's the reason she's able to stay hidden for a long while...Allowing the negative to naturally corrupt him and use him as a figurehead...

Despite giving him the Jamaba Heart... she did not tell him exactly how to break the seal on Termina... (Whoops she must have forgotten, how clumsy of her...) Purposely having him fail~

However, the secret to this lies with... FUMU!? Due to the reincarnation of the first ruler of Dreamland... she holds the key to unsealing & controlling Void Termina... She throws them to the wrong person. She's very much tricked into thinking she's helping "Kirby," but... yeah this happens instead.

And of course, there's always a price... though once you do realize you've been bamboozled, she'll remind you that she gave you a choice... Ultimately making you realize it's your own fault at the end of the day. Very much rubbing your head in the mess you've made for yourself. (which is exactly what she's doing to Tiff/Fumu right now.)

In summary, she pretty much invites you to be your worst self; she's the villain but deliciously so! :3

[jinx-xxed]

Mission Gone Wrong

☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆ .。.:*

A/N; Coming back to retry this one after I abandoned the idea months ago :’) got some random motivation!! Also gonna preface this by saying I did in fact make up the first planet <3

Art credit to @/KasiopeaArt

Summary; Your mission for the resistance goes south, so you and Ben have to find a way to escape the First Order.

Content; Jedi/resistance AU, Ben Solo never turned AU, Jedi reader, Jedi Ben, running from the space cops, reader gets injured, Ben patches you up, saving two kids, Ben has the Solo Sass™️, piloting the Falcon :), Jedi rules be damned I’m gonna make them kiss, Ben’s family dynamic, Ben’s a mama’s boy, his parents love you, fun shenanigans, fluff

Wc; 7k

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“Stop! In the name of the First Order!”

The sun blazes above you, the sky a perfect blue with no clouds in sight—a contrast to the chaos happening below. The pound of your boots against cobblestone and the rapid beating of your heart fills your ears. Your breath comes in short, quick pants, your lungs burning as you try to suck in air while you run. The crowded streets of the Sandura trader outpost don’t make it easy. You dodge and weave between civilians, shouting excuse me’s and sorry’s every other second; you know that more than a few of them cuss you out in native tongues you don’t quite understand.

You spare a glance to your right, making sure that Ben is still keeping up. You’ve always been faster than him, more agile and lithe, so you have to be mindful that you don’t leave him behind. But you have no reason to worry because he’s right there with you, running just as quick from your pursuers. You can hear the heavy, plastic clanks of the Stormtrooper armor that slows them down as they chase after you. They’re too close for it to be comfortable but luckily the streets have too many civilians packed in them that they aren’t stupid enough to open fire.

Or so you’d think. With all of the commotion, people naturally move out of the way. They tuck into corners, squeeze under shop awnings, innocently clearing the path so they don’t get trampled. In doing so, they make you an easy target. You yelp as the first blaster shot is fired, wizzing right past your head and finding purchase in the corner of a building you run past.

“This is not how this was supposed to go!” Ben shouts, sweat trailing down the side of his face. His Jedi robes flutter behind him with his movements, both of your cloaks that were meant to conceal you long lost and forgotten.

“You think?!” You yell back, teeth gritting together from your annoyance. This mission was supposed to be simple. It was supposed to be easy. You were just going to set up a fuel trade with one of the bosses stationed in the outpost, pick up some extra ship parts on the way since stocks are running low. You have those at least, they slam into your side with every step you take as the bag you carry jostles about. The fuel tanks on the other hand…

The boss you had been meeting with, Kaijat, turned out to be a slimy two-facer who sold you out to the ones who offered him more credits. That naturally happened to be the First Order, their desire to eradicate the Jedi and the Resistance knowing no bounds. You and Ben had barely escaped from Kaijat’s facility before Stormtroopers circled the whole place, trying to trap you inside and imprison you. Your lightsabers had come in handy. You cursed yourself over and over for not being able to tell Kaijat’s true intentions, for not being able to see how he was going to betray you. You’d made deals with him before, you thought it would be fine. You should’ve known better—nobody can be trusted for very long anymore, if at all.

You’re ripped from your thoughts by searing pain in your left arm, a choked and startled yell coming from your throat as your running falters. A blaster shot went clean through, cutting about an inch into your shoulder. The outer layers are automatically cauterized but the deeper layers begin to bleed generously, crimson running down your skin and staining the whites of your robes. There’s a feeling of worry that blossoms at the forefront of your mind, and you know that it’s Ben with the way he shouts your name. Your bond connects you in a way that allows you to feel what the other feels, see what the other sees. You reassure him through that bond that you’re fine. You’ve had worse.

You channel your pain to your fingertips, calling the Force to you as you abruptly stop and turn. You use the Force like a second set of hands, digging its fingers into the cobblestone and cement below you, ripping it up and curving it into a sort of wall to create an obstacle that’ll buy you more time. You’ve always been more attuned to the physical aspects of the Force, using the objects and earth around you to your advantage. Ben is much better with the psychological aspects, easily being able to see into the thoughts and feelings of anyone he desires. That’s why you make such a great pair.

You both keep running, not wasting a second of the time that distraction has given you. Though you don’t look back, you know the Stormtroopers are already squeezing around the wall you made. You can tell by the way their blasters keep firing.

“This way!” You say, grabbing Ben and making a sharp left. You skid against the ground from your speed, accidentally banging your injured shoulder into the wall and leaving a smear of blood. You try to ignore the wave of nausea.

The new path seems promising, perhaps even having a way out of the outpost. Until you see the wall ahead begin to close in and you curse more than a few times. “No, no, no! Shit!” You snap. You and Ben slow your pace, coming upon a dead end. A death sentence. You beat a fist against the brick like that’ll do anything while Ben runs his hands along it like there’s a secret button you’re missing that’ll magically open it up. There’s nobody else around, nowhere to hide. Nowhere to go. You look up, trying to calculate how difficult it’d be to just scale the damn thing. There’s barely any footholds so you’d most likely just slip and bust your ass. Your hand begins to reach towards your lightsaber as the sounds of the Stormtroopers get nearer.

“Hey! Jedi! Over here!” A voice whisper shouts to you. You whirl around, searching for it. Ben does the same. “Look down!”

You do what it says and see a manhole cover lifted up by tiny hands, an equally tiny face poking out from between the gap. It’s a child, a young girl. “Follow me! They won’t find you down here!” She urges. The shouts and footsteps are getting closer. “Come on!”

You don’t give yourself a second to hesitate, forcing Ben along with you. You’re already in deep shit, you don’t think this’ll make it any worse. You both jump down into the manhole, the kid then dragging the cover back to its original resting spot so that anyone above ground is none the wiser. Just in time too, because you hear the Stormtroopers just above you, entering into that alley you were trapped in seconds before.

Looking around, you’re surprised by what you see. Somebody’s made a comfy living space of underground tunnels, outfitted with mismatching furniture like couches and chairs and tables, scraps of rugs and carpet covering the stone floors, pieces of drapes and paper clippings glued to the walls. There’s cozy lights strung along the seams of the curved ceiling, bathing the tunnels in a warm glow.

“What is this?” Ben mutters, eyes going every which way just like yours.

“Welcome to the tunnels of Sandura! Or home, as we like to call it.” The little girl from before is in front of you now, a big smile on her face. She looks to be eight. Her brown hair is messy and sticks up in all different directions, her face has smears of soot on it that hides her freckles, and her abnormally green eyes shimmer with childlike mischief. Her clothes are torn at their edges, like they’ve been worn generously or found in a trash heap.

You lift a brow. “We?”

The girl turns to shout down the tunnels. “Shamar!” There’s a pause and then the sound of little footsteps before a boy appears, looking to be only a year or two younger than the girl. You can see in their faces how they’re related, same round cheeks and pointed ears and sloped eyes. Their differences lie in the boy’s black hair, though it’s just as messy as his sister’s, and in his blue eyes.

“This is Shamar, my younger brother. I’m Almae. We’ve been living in these tunnels for years.” She says it proudly. You can tell the boy is the more nervous one of the pair as he looks you and Ben over with scrutiny. He hangs farther back, letting his sister lead the charge.

“Where’s your parents?” You can’t help but ask. You don’t sense any other life forms within the tunnels save for some rats maybe, but no people.

“They’ve been gone for a while. It’s just us now.” Shamar says it like it’s the simplest thing in the world.

Ben’s eyes narrow. He’s always so skeptical, you can feel his suspicion through your bond like it’s your own. “Why’d you save us?”

“We don’t like the First Order none, either. We know you Jedi folk, you go around the galaxy helping people and such.” Almae says, nodding to herself. “So we wanted to ask you to help us. We’ll take you through the tunnels and get you out of the city as long as you promise to take us back with ya.”

You’ll admit that’s not exactly what you expected. What you did expect was for them to ask for credits or ship parts they could resell, it’s what everybody’s after these days. That’s why you don’t like going on missions very much, you have a bad habit of coming back with empty pockets. At least when Ben joins you, he keeps that from happening.

“How do we know you’re not going to sell us out?” Ben demands, immediately going on the defensive from already being double-crossed once today.

You tug on his sleeve, pulling him to the side. “Ben, relax. They’re children.” You whisper.

“Children can still be convinced with the right amount of credits.” He retorts. “I’m trying to not get us captured.”

You roll your eyes. “I appreciate it, but read the two of them. Do they seem malicious to you?”

He hesitates, looking back at the siblings. You feel how his Force reaches out, roaming over their minds in a way that’ll leave them none the wiser. Through your bond, you’re able to get what he’s sensing. There’s no secret motive, no evil desire. It’s just hope, anticipation, and a desire for freedom, for something more than this. They just want out, they want to get away from the back-breaking jobs they had to take to scrape by, from the adults who yell at them for doing something wrong. They want to get away from always having to steal their next meal and living in the dark of the tunnels where they can’t see the sky. You feel a strong pang of sympathy in your chest, and you know Ben experiences the same.

You turn towards the kids, you crouch down to their level. Shamar shies away behind his sister, still eyeing you suspiciously. Good instincts on him. You hold out your pinky. “You pinky promise you’ll get us out of here?”

Almae grins, interlocking her little pinky with yours. “Pinky promise!”

“Alright,” you smile, “lead the way.”

Almae squeals. “Shamar! Go get your bag!” She tells her brother, shoving him towards one of the offshoot tunnels. Their bedroom, if you had to guess.

“I hope we don’t regret this.” Ben mutters once they’re gone, arms crossed over his chest.

“C’mon, they’re so cute.” You tease, nudging him. “How could we say no?” There’s a quirk of a smile from him and you know you’ve won. You always do.

Shamar and Almae come hurrying back a minute later, each with a heavy satchel slung over their shoulders. They’re full of any belongings they feel they can’t leave behind, like mementos from their parents, books, little trinkets and toys, and a few pairs of clothes. Everything else will stay behind in the tunnels, waiting for the next person to discover.

“Let’s go!” Almae says excitedly. You give her a nod, telling her to go ahead. She grabs her brothers hand and begins to walk, you and Ben following dutifully behind.

The further you get from the main living space, the darker it becomes. There’s the occasional overhead light or cracks in the foundation above luckily making your path more visible. The kids seem to know exactly where they’re going, probably traveling these tunnels hundreds of times over and using them to escape from the authorities trying to capture them for stealing. You admire their resourcefulness, even though kids shouldn’t have to live this way.

“How’s your arm?” Ben mutters to you after a while of walking in silence.

The pain had dulled, instead becoming a constant throbbing you could ignore. You’d basically forgotten about it. “I’m fine. I’ll patch it up when we get back to the Falcon.”

“Are you sure?” He presses. “I don’t want you passing out on me again.”

You groan. “That was only one time!” You laugh at the memory, even though it definitely wasn’t funny for Ben. You can tell by the way he scowls. It’d been an exploratory mission, scoping out a new planet and seeing what the resistance could make of it. You’d gotten yourself injured by one of the creatures inhabiting it and you’d brushed off your wounds until you’d passed out from blood loss. Ben had nearly had a heart attack, then having to drag your body over rough terrain and back to the ship. You’d done his chores back at Luke’s academy for a month to apologize. Besides that, he’s always been so concerned about you, acting like a mother hen with the way he frets. You certainly don’t do him any favors by constantly diving headfirst into danger. “I’m fine, I promise. You’ll be the first to know if I start feeling lightheaded.”

The siblings take a final left before Almae is shouting back at you because you’d fallen a bit behind. “We’re here! Come on, slow pokes!”

You hurry along, coming to a ladder that leads all the way up to another manhole cover. Almae climbs first with Ben right behind in case there’s danger above ground. Shamar follows, and you bring up the rear. The cover is shoved aside by Almae, the thing screeching in protest, and you have to squint your eyes as unfiltered sunlight pours in to the dark tunnels. The others climb out and you don’t hear any shouts of Stormtroopers or blasters going off so you assume it’s safe. Ben gives you a hand to help you and you gladly take it to relieve your bad arm of the strain.

Coming out of the tunnels, you immediately look around to get your bearings. It seems the path you followed brought you right to the outer border of the outpost, the wall of it standing tall directly behind you. In front of you stretches the lush jungle forest that makes Sandura what it is. The trees stretch to the skies, covered in moss and lichen, animals of all kinds roaming freely amongst the leaves above and underbrush below. Within that forest is where the Millennium Falcon waits for you, and that’s where you now head.

You and Ben take the lead this time, keeping the two kids between you to both protect them and keep an eye on them. You follow the invisible string of the Force that connects you to the Falcon, helping you find it within the massive jungle. You’d parked the ship far, far from the outpost, away from any sensors or prying eyes. It was common practice for people like you, to trek practically halfway across a planet because you couldn’t risk your ship being spotted. Especially something like Han Solo’s Falcon, just about everyone in the galaxy knew about that thing. The only reason Ben’s father had allowed you to use it today was the premise of getting in and out fast, something his ship was an expert in. Ben had sat through a multitude of rules and threats from Han, something that happened any time he was allowed to use his father’s ship. Ben swore up and down that Han loved the Falcon more than him, and sometimes you couldn’t help but think he’s right.

Honestly, you can’t blame Han either as you come upon the ship tucked into the forest. It really is a gorgeous piece of work; it looks at home between the vibrant greens of the bushes and trees. It’s huge, and the dappled sunlight reflects beautifully off its shiny silver exterior. Han takes such good care of it nowadays, showing it more attention as both of them have climbed in age. There’s not a scratch or dent on it, not a wire or panel out of place. You can’t recall how many conversations you’ve had with Han about the Millennium Falcon, how many hours you’ve spent talking and talking about all the intricacies of the ship—even when Ben would beg you to stop so he wouldn’t have to listen to his father drone on anymore. You’ve loved flight crafts ever since you were a child, there’s always something new to learn and they feel so powerful under your hands. You take to tinkering with your X-wing whenever you have free time, seeing what you can possibly improve and fix. You and Ben are some of the best pilots to come out of the Jedi academy, even rivaling Poe who’s more than happy to challenge either of you.

It seems Almae and Shamar share in your awe of the Falcon, both of their heads tilting all the way back to try and take in the whole thing. It’s impossible, you know that because you did the same when you were a kid seeing it for the first time. Even now in your late twenties, you’re still finding out new things about the ship.

“I didn’t know they were this big!” Almae exclaims, immediately running beneath the kickstands holding up the ship, twisting her body every which way in an attempt to look at it all with wide eyes.

“You’ll see much bigger ones when we get back to base.” Ben tells them, hitting the button to lower to ramp. “Come on.”

The siblings don’t hesitate to rush past him into the ship and you laugh as pure fear crosses over his face. “Don’t touch anything!” He shouts after them, hurrying the rest of the way inside. You follow behind, doing him a favor and shutting the ramp since he’s busy corralling two kids as they try to run this way and that. More laughter bubbles out of you and tears prick your eyes while you watch him, your poor, dear Ben so frazzled by a pair of children.

He finally gets them to sit down on the main couch that’s curved against the wall, then tightly securing the seatbelts over them so they can’t escape. Almae and Shamar pout. “That’s not going to work on me.” Ben tells them sternly. “I’m not risking my dad tearing me a new one because you two want to go exploring. Now just sit there and… I don’t know, play dejarik or something.” He clicks on the table in front of the couch, the holographic board game coming to life.

“You think they’ll know anything about that game? I can’t even understand it.” You mutter to him as you head towards the cockpit. The kids seem fascinated enough by the moving creatures at least.

“I know, it makes it very easy for me to beat you.” He says with a knowing smirk. You punch his shoulder.

There’s a familiar beeping and the sound of rolling metal as your droid, BB-3, comes from around the corner. You had left him behind in the ship both to avoid obvious suspicion and so that he could keep a robotic eye on it. “Hey buddy, you miss me?” You say affectionately, crouching down to run a hand along the top of his head. You love your droid, he’s been with you for years after you’d found him stuck in a garbage chute on some nowhere planet where he was going to be scrapped for parts. You cleaned him up and he’s never left your side since.

He notices the injury on your arm, one of his compartments opening to reveal the spare medical supplies you keep inside him in case of an emergency. You smile. “Aw, thanks bud but I’ll patch myself up in a bit. We need to get out of here first.” He beeps at you, rolling back and forth once.

He follows you to the cockpit where Ben’s already waiting, flipping switches and pressing buttons that have the Falcon roaring to life. You hear the kids shouts of excitement as everything powers on. “They’re fun.” You say with a laugh as you sink into the copilot’s chair.

“Uh huh.” Ben mutters. He grips the controls in his big hands, steadying the ship as it lifts off the ground. He keeps it low until you’re even farther from the outpost, not wanting to risk anything after you’d already been chased by Stormtroopers. They’ll be looking for you, for the Falcon. Once he thinks it’s safe, he brings the ship up, up, up into the atmosphere while you prepare the hyperdrive without him even having to ask. You’ve flown together enough times to know the sequence. You’ll jump to hyperspace in order to get away from Sandura, and then travel normally the rest of the way back to D’Qar in order to not blow all the fuel reserves.

You grip the chair under you as space around the viewport begins to blur, turning different shades of blue and white. You both get pushed back into your seats when the ship successfully makes the jump, speeding across the galaxy.

“What’s all that?”

You and Ben startle at the sound of the voice, turning to see Shamar peering at the control panel from between your chairs. “How did you- where’s your sister?” Ben demands, struggling to look at the kid and also keep his focus on controlling the Falcon.

Shamar shrugs. “I dunno, looking at some turret type thing.”

You and Ben both look at each other with wide, fearful eyes. The laser cannons. You’re out of your seat immediately, running across the ship and into the sectioned off compartment that houses the guns. Almae is indeed in there, about to touch the controls before you lift her by the armpits and yank her out of the chair. She yells in protest, thrashing her arms about. She manages to wheel back a fist that smacks your open wound, making you hiss and nearly drop her from the wave of nausea and pain you get. You set her roughly on the ground, your free hand coming up to clasp your injury as you wince. You feel fresh blood on your palm.

Almae instantly stops, body language changing as guilt sweeps over her. “I’m.. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to. You- you just startled me is all. I just wanted to look around.” Her eyes are so big, so scared. “Please don’t take us back! I didn’t mean to hit ya, I swear!”

You can practically taste her fear on your tongue from how much it swells, how obvious it is across the Force. She truly thinks you’d take her and her brother back to Sandura and turn them in, leave them to sit in a jail all over again. You sigh, using your breathing to get past the pain. You guide her back to the main room where Sharma is waiting, sitting her down on the couch. She’s crying, small body shuttering as she sniffles.

“Hey, hey, listen to me.” You say softly, trying to get that strong girl you saw before to come back. She seems to calm a bit when she realizes you’re not angry, finally meeting your gaze. “It’s okay. But we told you not to move from these seats, that was for your own safety and ours. If you messed with something you shouldn’t have, it could’ve gotten us detected by the First Order or messed with the ship. We brought you both here to help you so we expect you to respect us and follow the rules we give you, alright?” You’re honest with her, but not cruel. You know that’s what children need to be able to understand, and Almae seems to get it. She nods, wiping stubbornly at her tears with a fist.

“M’sorry.” She mumbles. “I really didn’t mean it.”

“I know you didn’t. It’s okay, Almae. You’re not in trouble. We’re not going to take you back.” You say, putting a comforting hand on her head. Besides, doing that would only get your own selves arrested. “You’ll get a tour of the Falcon sometime later, I promise.” She perks up at the sound of that, nodding. You buckle her and her brother in a second time and they seem like they won’t be making any moves to escape again.

BB-3 beeps at you when you turn around, concerned by the new blood on your arm. “Yeah, yeah, I got it.” You mutter, going to plop yourself onto one of the bunks built into the wall, a heavy sigh leaving you. It’s time to finally patch yourself up, you suppose. The Falcon shudders as it comes out of hyperspace and you feel some tension release from your muscles. You’re grateful nothing decided to chase after you from Sandura.

You take one of the med kits and settle it next to you, popping it open and grabbing what you’ll need. Wipes, anti-bacterial, gauze. From BB-3 you take your small canister of bacta, something you keep hidden because of how precious it is. You begin to try and clean yourself of your blood, finding it a little difficult because of the angle. You run through more than a few wipes, leaving them stained red and scattered around you.

You’re about to try and apply the anti-bacterial before a large, warm hand encompasses yours. You look up to see Ben leaning over you, your eyes meeting. “Let me do it.” He says softly. Your faces are so close you can’t help but reach forward and kiss the corner of his mouth, making him smile. You always love his smile, the way his dimples show.

“I can handle it, Ben.” You say with a good-natured huff. “Don’t you have to go pilot?”

“It’s on auto. You’ve always sucked at bandaging injuries, just let me.” He insists. You roll your eyes, slapping the anti-bacterial into his waiting, open palm. Amusement twinkles in his eyes because he knows you always end up giving in. It’s true, you do suck at bandaging injuries because your hands aren’t careful enough for it, nor are you meticulous enough. You only are when it comes to a ship, something you can’t kill. Ben has always been more of the medic between the two of you—he has to be with the way you are—always taking such care when it comes to you.

He sits next to you on the bunk, making you scoot over to accommodate his huge frame. When cleaning your wound, he becomes so concentrated, his brows furrowing in the way you like with a slight crease to the side of his mouth. You wince as the anti-bacterial stings and he mutters out an apology, too focused for anything else. You know he’ll give you plenty of kisses for it later though, he always does. Ben coats the strips of gauze in bacta and then wraps them around your arm, not too tight and not too loose. Perfect, just like his dressings always are.

As you suspected, he takes you into his arms and kisses you plenty once he’s done. Your cheeks, your nose, your lips. He’s generous in his attention and love, the happy and gentle emotions filtering through your bond to match. It has you smiling like an idiot. When he’s satisfied, he lays back in the bunk, sitting against the wall with you between his legs. That’s when it hits you both, how tired you are. All the fighting and running, all the stress and anger, and now bringing along two kids. You look over and find the siblings asleep in their seats, heads lolling to the side. You want to follow them, want to just fall asleep in Ben’s lap. He’s so warm, and his robes are so comfortable. Easy to wrap yourself in and ignore the outside world.

But you know you can’t, you have to stay alert in case something happens, and Ben will have to get back to piloting soon. So you settle for sitting there and enjoying the way he holds you, because that’s always been more than enough.

» ☆ «

You must’ve dozed off despite your efforts because when your eyes are opening again, Ben is gone and you can feel that the Falcon is being lowered to the ground with the way it shakes and the sounds of it powering down. You sit up with a small grumble, wiping sleep from your eyes. Your legs ache in protest when you stand, exhaustion still weighing heavy on your body.

Almae and Shamar are up now too, shaking in their seats from excitement. Ben appears from the cockpit, having successfully parked and turned off the ship. He comes over to you, brushing some of your tussled hair from your forehead. “Did you sleep well?” He teases. You have half the mind to punch him again.

You settle for sticking your tongue out instead, then brushing past him to release the kids. You unbuckle their seatbelts and they immediately jump off the couch, clutching their bags against themselves. “I want you two to stick close to me, okay? There’s going to be a lot of new people and things to see. I don’t want you to get lost.” You say, holding your hands out so the kids take them. You’re glad when they oblige you, their tiny hands fitting snugly into yours.

Ben leads the way, once again pressing that button to release the ramp hatch. As it lowers, bright sunlight filters in and the fresh, damp air of D’Qar fills your nostrils.

There’s a crowd of people waiting when you exit the ship—resistance pilots welcoming you back, engineers already inspecting for repairs, captains and generals waiting for reports. It’s nothing unusual, it’s something that happens just about every time you two make a return. The rebellion hold the Jedi in such high regard that they always have to get some sort of glimpse of you, to see what you’ve been able to accomplish. You were right in taking Almae and Shamar’s hands because you can feel the way they startle and tense, too many sights and sounds coming at them. They shy away from the crowd, instead trying to hide behind you and BB-3 where it’s safe.

People begin to disperse within the minute, most having seen what they needed to see—that the two Jedi made it back alive. The rest of them part when the general comes through, her familiar gold-plated companion right behind her. Ben’s attention immediately shifts, and you smile knowingly.

“Welcome home, son.” Leia says fondly, having to reach up to cup Ben’s cheek in a weathered hand even after he tries to lean down for her. She tucks a strand of his black hair behind his big ears out of habit, even though he hates it. He’s always been self conscious about his ears despite how much you love them.

He huffs. “Thanks, mom.”

She chuckles, looking around him to greet you as well. You dip your head towards her with respect. “So, how did things go?” She asks.

You wince. “Well…”

“Kaijat betrayed us. He sold us out to the First Order, we almost got captured.” Ben’s words are blunt, his expression stony. He always gets that way when giving a mission report; he learned from his mother.

Leia curses under her breath. She seems troubled for only a moment before it disappears, a sigh leaving her. She’s always so put together, something you’ve admired about her ever since you were a kid. “There goes that, then. Did you manage to get anything? Were either of you hurt? Were you followed?”

“I got some of the ship repair parts you were wanting.” You say, motioning to the satchel you have slung over your shoulder. “I got shot in the arm, but it’s nothing too bad. Ben patched me up, of course.” Leia nods along with that, a twinkle in her eye, knowing exactly how her son takes care of you.

“And no, we weren’t followed. It’s all thanks to these two that we were able to escape.” You pull the siblings out from behind you, then holding them against you so they don’t scamper off. “It’s okay, guys. This is Leia, Ben’s mom and the leader of the resistance. She’s a powerful lady.”

Leia smiles, immediately softening. “And who are you?” She asks, trying to meet their eye level as best she can.

The kids are clearly too stunned to speak, making you laugh. It’s a big difference from how they were when you first met them. “C’mon, it’s alright. Introduce yourselves.” You whisper.

“I- I’m Almae and… and this is Shamar, my little brother.” Almae says, swallowing down her fear.

“It’s lovely to meet you, Almae.” Leia says, holding out a hand for her to shake. Almae hesitates for just a second before breaking into a smile and taking the hand. Leia does the same for her brother. “And Shamar. Now tell me, how’d you save these two delinquents of mine?” Ben rolls his eyes.

“We lived in the tunnels at Sandura, ya see, and the First Order had been there for a while. We don’t like them none, they’re all hoity toity and mean. They almost got us a few times when we were trying to get food.” Almae says, more than happy to launch into a story. She becomes much more open and expressive as she talks. “So we hear all this commotion above us one mornin’, all this shoutin’ and stompin’. I go to try and see what it is and it’s a pair of Jedi! They were running from the Order so I figured I’d help ‘em escape when they got stuck. We went through the tunnels and those stupid Troopers had no idea. Then the nice lady let us on the big ship. The big guy was kinda mean though.”

Ben glowers. “Why you-“

You smack a hand against his chest and he grumbles, crossing his arms. Leia laughs. “Well, aren’t you two brave? I have to thank you for saving the both of them. I don’t know what I’d do if anything happened to them.” She says earnestly. There’s a warm feeling that builds in your chest from her words, and you know Ben experiences the same. “I think you’ll fit right in here.”

“Really? We get to stay?” Sharma says, big eyes hopeful.

“Of course you do. We have a place for children just like you where it’s safe. C-3PO, give them a little tour of the place, will you? I’ll come find you in a bit.” Leia says, turning to the droid who’d been happily engaging in some type of conversation with BB-3.

“Oh, certainly general.” He teeters forward on his stiff legs, waving his arms at the kids. Almae looks overjoyed. You can already tell she has the heart of a mechanic in her, just like you. “Pleasure to meet you, I am C-3PO, human-cyborg relations. Please, follow me this way.”

The kids seem hesitant, instinctively looking back at you. You smile. “Go on. It’s safe here, everyone’s a friend. Just make sure to stay with the droid so you don’t get lost, okay?” You lean in to whisper, “and ask him stupid questions. He loves those.” The siblings grin impishly at you.

“You’ll come visit us, won’t you?” Shamar asks, tugging on the hem of your robes.

“Yeah, of course we will. Once you get all settled.” You promise, patting him on the back. You watch as they hurry to catch up to C-3PO; it wasn’t too hard, he doesn’t move all that fast.

“They’ll have to be transferred to one of our more remote civilization bases. This one is too dangerous and open to have children on it.” Leia says once they’re gone, both hands resting on her cane.

You sigh. “I figured. I just didn’t have the heart to tell them.” Ben’s hand finds yours, a small comfort.

“There you are!”

All three of you jolt at the sound of Han’s voice as he comes up to you with long strides, Chewie right behind him. “I was wondering when you’d come back with her.” He says to Ben, meaning the Millennium Falcon. “No issues with her, right?”

Ben sighs, automatically knowing what his father would say to him. “No, dad. Nothing happened to your precious ship.”

Han nods. “Good. Chewie and I are gonna head out for a bit. We’ll keep in touch.”

“Sure you will.” Leia mutters.

Han is about to walk up the ramp past you when he stops. “Hey, kid.”

“Hey, Han.”

“How ya been?”

You shrug. “I’ve been alright. Doing the usual.”

He nods again. “Good to hear. I’ll see ya later.” He points at Ben. “Keep that boy out of trouble.”

You can’t help the small smile on your face. Ben’s parents accepted the fact that you two were inseparable a long time ago, and they know you don’t really go anywhere without the other. Not if you can help it, at least. “I will, Han.”

When Chewie walks by, he ruffles both you and Ben’s hair with a big, furry paw—his own way of saying hello. You laugh while Ben groans, immediately trying to fix the mess. Then Chewie and Han are gone, disappearing into the Falcon and getting it powered up. That’s typically how your interactions with Ben’s father and his companion go, always short and sweet because Han is always on his way to do something, to go annoy someone in some part of the galaxy.

Leia just shakes her head. When she moves past you, she puts a gentle hand against your bandaged wound. “I want you to go see the medic when you can, dear.”

“I will, Mrs. Organa, don’t worry.” You reassure her. “Ben won’t leave me alone until I do.” She seems satisfied with that.

“Oh, and Luke wants you two to contact him within the next few days. He may ask for your return to Ossus. I believe he has some things to discuss, but it didn’t seem like there was a big rush.” She says. You and Ben share a look, wondering what your Master would have to say. You’re both too exhausted to care about it right now though. “I’ll leave you both to it. But do stop by tomorrow morning to give a full report, hm?”

“Sure, mom. We’ll see you then.” Ben says, generously leaning down again so Leia could give him a little peck on the cheek and hold him close.

She takes a few extra seconds than necessary, Ben beginning to squirm in her grasp. She sighs after finally letting him go. “I’m glad you both made it back safely. I didn’t realize how dangerous things have become. We may have to rethink how we go about negotiations so this doesn’t happen again.”

“We’ll figure it out, we always do.” You try to reassure her, even though you’re feeling doubtful yourself. The First Order is expanding, taking more planets, spreading their control.

Leia hums in agreement, trying to keep up some semblance of optimism. “I’ll have to speak to Luke, he needs to make his move. That means you both will need to be on alert.” She says, tone heavy. She waves a hand suddenly, shaking her head. “We’ll worry about it tomorrow, you two don’t need to listen to me trying to figure out a war right now. Go rest up. I need to make sure C-3PO and those kids didn’t get into any trouble.”

“Good idea.” Ben mutters, knowing those kids are probably trying to get into all kinds of mischief.

With a final goodbye, you two and Leia are going your separate ways. You stretch your arms above your head, enjoying the feeling of the sun on your skin. “Now let’s go get something to eat, please, my stomach is digesting itself. I hope they still have some of those sandwiches I like.” You say, practically drooling at the thought of those tasty sandwiches they serve in the cafeteria.

Ben scoffs. “This late in the afternoon? You’re dreaming.”

“Don’t ruin it for me.” You groan.

Even without the sandwiches, as long as you get some type of decent food, you’ll be okay. As long as Ben is with you, you’ll be okay. You know that you’ll both grab a meal together, you’ll sit side by side, never seperated. You know that when you’re done, you’ll both find somewhere quiet, preferably bathed in sunlight, you’ll curl up together looking like two puzzle pieces, and you’ll sleep for as long as you want. Because it’s what you always do, and because you earned it.

[sleepingdeath-light]

s/o who stays with him hcs ; lovesick!wally

requested by ; anonymous (06/05/23)

fandom(s) ; welcome home

fandom masterlist(s) ; here

character(s) ; wally darling

outline ; “Sweeet! Could I get Lovesick! Wally x reader where reader realizes that Wally is aggressive when he's ignored and most of his love is focused on them so they decide to stay inside Home, getting sick too but Wally is calm and stops trying to escape, just wanting to be around reader now”

warning(s) ; lovesick au, reader succumbs to the same sickness as wally, self sacrifice, references to reader losing their mind, author is new to writing for welcome home so characterisation might need some tweaks in the future

you were doing this to protect the others — everything you had done was for them and if you kept on reminding yourself of that then, maybe, this whole situation could be that bit more bearable for you

but, then again, there was only so much one could do to ease their mind when you were spending every second of every day trapped inside of the same four walls with someone who was sick

so very sick

and you knew you were too

you could feel it in your mind, warping your perceptions and thoughts — making your mind feel less and less like you

you wondered if this was what wally felt before he became too far gone — before the aggression and obsession kicked in and he started to jeopardise the lives of everyone in the neighbourhood to get to you

spreading this disease through words and a phone line that nobody could bring themselves to cut off no matter how many times you begged them to

so, with no other options in sight, you gave in

gave him exactly what he wanted

gave up the potential for a cure or salvation

gave up your freedom

gave it all up because they deserved better — they didn’t deserve what wally was putting you all through

julie deserved to keep wandering through the neighbourhood and styling her hair and her clothes in ways only she could pull off

frank deserved to keep chasing butterflies

sally deserved to keep on pursuing her passion for performance

barnaby deserved to keep on entertaining everyone and being himself

poppy deserved to be able to keep on baking the foods she loves

howdy deserved to keep on tending to his business and multitasking with an expertise only he could have

eddie deserved to be able to keep on doing his job and pursuing what he loves

they deserved better than this

they deserved freedom, and that was your last gift to your friends — the last act of true kindness that you were allowed before you too became trapped in home

trapped with the man who had been incessantly calling you, preaching his adoration and affection and obsession through the speakers every day — moving on to others when you stopped picking up

calling once then twice then dozens and hundreds of times a day when he realised you weren’t answering intentionally and he started to become frantic

desperate for your attention, your affection, your adoration

to hear your voice, to see your smile

he wanted you — needed you

and now he had you

and now you realised just how far gone your old friend was — how wally hadn’t been wally in a very long time

it was his eyes, they’d changed and you couldn’t help but notice how drastically they had when you had nothing else to do but look at him

they were filled with hearts

no

they were branded with them, like he was filled to the brim and bursting with this overwhelming feeling and it was starting to warp even his appearance

but that wasn’t the end of it

his usually perfectly styled hair had been left to flop over his face — an ocean of messy, tangled blue only partially obscuring his painfully dilated warped eyes as he stared at you all day long

a small part of you wondered how much your own appearance had changed — a larger part of you was terrified to find out

the small consolation that you had was that wally had become completely docile once he’s realised that you were now staying with him

the escape attempts stopped and as did the constant calls, as he had no reason to keep on doing either

you were right here, after all, so why would he ever need to leave?

most of the time he just sits and stares at you, love ringing clear in his dreamy expression as he looks at you like you yourself hung the stars in the sky

like you were an art piece to be admired

like he could see you for exactly who you were

you felt exposed, naked, vulnerable

but you couldn’t leave so you just grinned and beared it

making sure to cut all of the phone lines the moment you settled in to your new, comfortable prison

other times he’d actually talk to you, his words well considered and his tone oddly airy and light — carrying like a dandelion seed in the breeze, more whisper or hum than words really — and hanging so dearly off of every word you said

he treated your statements like gospel, your syllables like sermons, your words like the greatest philosophical constructs — considering each thing you said heavily before responding

sometimes he’d just touch you, grasping your hand, running his fingertips along your face when he thought you were sleeping

like he couldn’t believe that you were really there

like it was all a dream and he was going to wake up and it would all go back to the nightmare he was living before

and through it all you were coping with the reality of just how sick your friend was — how horrifically obsessed he’d become with you and how it would ruin him if you left

and you could feel yourself slipping

bit by bit; slowly at first

your eyes would linger on him for a few seconds longer than you meant to

you’d catch yourself smiling whenever you stumbled upon his restful form

but over time these changes became so significant that you could no longer dismiss them

you were sick, really sick, and you could feel yourself slipping away

and in a sick and twisted way you couldn’t find yourself caring — the small part of you that did being massively drowned out by the larger not-you part that was already too far gone

you were sick and you were changed but you were in love and you had your wally

and in much the same way that wally lost all of his aggression the moment you relented, you lost your will to fight before it had even formed

because you had him and thus, really, you had no reason to leave

your neighbours would get over your loss eventually, you were sure, but for now what you really needed was to give your love a hug

it had been far too long since the last…

[anantaru]

𝐃𝐎𝐍‘𝐓 𝐁𝐄 𝐂𝐑𝐔𝐄𝐋

after you were trying your hardest, over and over again, to make your relationship work yet still failing in the end, you ultimately decided it‘d be better to end it with scaramouche.

୨୧ WORD COUNT: 1.7k

୨୧ WARNINGS: angst, gn! reader, mention of past intimacy between each other, break up, slight yan ?? a sprinkle, scara‘s overwhelmed and doesn‘t know how to be normal.

love.

love is kind, patient. As calm as a rural sea on a silent night.

love takes delight in the truth, in mutual understanding and trust. It never takes offense, it is not resentful.

additionally, love is able to forgive, to hope and to endure so why, why did your love fly away, with no strings and a pair of attached, imaginary wings on their back?

how often did you try to see the once shining radiant light in midst the insufferable darkness you called your relationship with scaramouche.

being guided by nothing but sorrow, you remembered that it wasn‘t always like that, was it?

as a strong believer in the saying of ”whatever you held onto about yourself will eventually come true“, you had manipulated yourself into thinking just that, which had later on caused a swell of deep hope to cover the majority of your burning heart.

you manifested for your relationship to take a sharp turn after barely overstepping each hard coming without escaping unscattered.

committing to a relationship was first and foremost, to accept each trait your significant other had, it truly didn't matter if it was good or bad as long as you were well equipped enough to be there for them.

but when does that not apply anymore?

exactly when it seemed as if you were forgetting about your own well being.

you see, you can twist and turn the narrative but in the end it was obvious that scaramouche had to work through more than 'just' a few hardships.

maybe it would be better for his own health to be alone for a while, to find his true nature and gather a newfound feeling of love towards himself before being able to hold love towards another person.

with an aching, deep throb in your heart, you opened the door to the bedroom you once shared as you spotted your boyfriend, well, soon to be ex boyfriend right away, sitting on the edge of the bed, his sight lowered towards the cold floor.

"you‘re here."

with the burn of pain those words caused alone, the idea of holding yourself back was in vein, scaramouche had you already figured out from the start so hiding the blatant truth would only feed into each negative aspect of the conversation that was developing right now.

"you told me to come, why shouldn't i be here?"

it was strange, truly, the immediate change in his usual tone was apparent, scaramouche sounded distant, as if he already knew what was coming next.

breaking away from your frozen stance, you proceeded to close the bedroom door, each small step well thought out until you were as close as necessary, proceeding.

"can you look at me?"

no matter how much you wanted to get this heartfelt decision over with, you still desired to end it properly, without leaving unanswered questions hidden which would sooner or later poke your mind, more so eat you from the inside out until nothing was left to be devoured.

for a short amount of time, he did not speak, his arms were resting on his thighs as he kept his eyes pierced towards the cold wooden floor, never daring to break away.

you gave him the time, as much as he sought after. At the back of your mind ominous darkened thoughts found refuge in, a cold spider like sensation was swarming up and down the entirety of your spine, deepening the restraint in your voice.

you watched in silence, thousands of questions prowling through your cloudy mind as he, in a trice, decided to speak up, "how ungraciously backward you can be, to force me through this."

the inner voice inside you churned through your body, desperately warning you, a dazed look of bewilderment crossing the irritated state your face was trapped in.

"what do you mean by that?"

with an attempt to keep your trembling lip under control, you gathered the soft flesh in between your teeth, only a tiny bit until the self restraint of your body returned to you.

"i mean it exactly how i said it." on a heavy sigh, he continued with a demeaning voice, the epitome of gradient turmoil blistering your heart, you absolutely despised it whenever he got to talk to you in that precise manner.

"you know my past and yet you still persist." at his final word, he at last, lifted his head to meet your glowing eyes, glowing for the wrong reasons that is as they were welling up with warm tears.

"what do you expect me to do kuni?"

scaramouche flinched at the name you decided to use, after all, it was long forgotten yet whenever you said it, whenever you referred to him with it, it sounded all the more familiar and intimate.

"nothing.. nothing."

swarmed with the view of him, your throat seized. Indigo eyes, crystallized mind, his attention on you was heavy as you decided to move forward, cautiously taking a seat next to him.

the mattress shifted of your added weight, there was no point in arguing but for some unexplained, fucked up reason, it always proceeded to end up like this.

"i never intended to hurt you, but i'm at my limit." the tears in you made your eyes glimmer, the previous confidence that was utterly dominant upon approaching the bedroom before, was long gone with your head hung low, but you still desired to finish what you had started.

"it's always the same, it will always end the same."

much to your surprise, scaramouche for once decided to listen to you. You were wary of the sudden change in mannerism but didn't complain, it gave off a pleasant way to articulate what you wanted to say to him.

"and we need to break up in order to get better."

another hesitation in your voice, he immediately noticed, his throat loosening with an approaching laugh, "oh, so that's how it is."

with a tumble forward, he got off the bed to stand tall, his shoulders tugged back in a confident stance, turning around yet again.

"you just want to cast me aside too, don't you?"

this wasn't fair, how could this possibly be fair in any other occasion?

all the preparation to this conversation, thrown aside, the burning, heartbreaking feeling was tearing you apart, as if trapped in a maze, one you couldn't escape, one that got smaller within each minute, one that would squeeze you to death by the very end.

"you don't see my point, can you at least try to understand?" the past was continuously invading the present, it was devastating.

"can i try, what?" he draws one touch on you, only one, forcefully grabbing your chin in between his fingers to make you look at him, but still keeping the contact with your skin light, as to not hurt you.

your throat grew tighter as a natural response to the once cold air becoming thicker as you spoke, each sentence alluring the feature.

silent anger, like true liquid fire but it didn't spill, he kept it to himself while only showing short nuances of the burning ache eating away his blazing core.

mindlessly sitting on the edge of terror, you bristled on the faint independence you had left in yourself.

"i will always love you, but don't you realize that right now, you're literally showing me why it won't work."

scaramouche could no longer see anything but the threat of losing you, he couldn't hear you, not anymore, his mind was at risk to collapse and break, the hand on your chin beginning to tremble.

is it possible to scream without screaming? to cry without crying or to die without dying? because to scaramouche it felt as if those things were happening to him, right this second in front of you.

"what about all those times we made love to each other, hm? does this mean nothing to you anymore?"

a tear, barely to be perceived, danced around the corner of his eye as it spilled, alone and lost, plastering the cold floor.

"or when you told me that you'll never leave like the rest of them?"

scaramouche remembered those distinct feelings within his chest now, how hysterical laughable, he thought he had long since disposed of them entirely.

yet the one you managed to awake in him was still there, like a micro organism feeding on its damaged host, eating away the spirit until death was inevitable.

the first time he had perceived those world-shattering emotions, he was cast aside by his creator, his mother.

the words you intended to say were murdered in your throat, rejected, "i don't know what to say."

each decision had a consequence laced around it, some more gruesome than the other.

"you don't have to say anything." his innermost self, his being, gathered the last courage to lock his eyes with yours before lastly letting go of your chin, straightening his posture.

you felt the chill in your blood, ice water in your veins, the silence in your ears, the death of your failing relationship. Part of the pain, you could endure.

but could he?

"i should go." with clear, pure agony in your soul, you ultimately rose up from your seat to pass him and reach the door to the exit.

he stood still, not moving an inch of his tensed muscles, letting his thoughts walk out around him, in search of something he knew he couldn't get, at least not now.

"if you think that's the end."

scaramouche didn't intend to finish his sentence to you, nor reveal it, more so did it involuntarily divulge out of him.

what he meant by that was unclear to the both of you, it lingered both unpredictability and uncertainty in the air.

something was not right but you could not decipher the darkened suspicion with your alarm bells pointing right towards them.

it was the end, like a book you closed after reading through it, even if you dared to pick it up again, nothing would change in it.

your relationship was nothing but a broken mirror within a casted ray of sunlight, damaged and split as you left at last, scrambling the final steps out of the apartment you once shared.

to turn around, to watch you go, with the world around him animating death.

passed by limitless silence, he closed his eyes, endlessly consuming the darkness that were his thoughts.

and so, it wasn‘t a tear that slowed out of him, but a hysterical laugh, side splitting and crazy, as he commented for the very last time.

"how foolish you can be, dear."

©2022 anantaru do not share, copy, translate

[flufffilleddonut]

Angelic Retribution - Part 2

Summary - Even a whole year later, Adam hasn’t forgotten Lute’s attack on Extermination Day. Luckily for Adam, Lute gets herself in a similar situation, allowing him to carry out his revenge.

Word Count - 1100

-

It had been one year since Lute ‘convinced’ Adam to deal with his own issues, and the first man seemed to have gotten the message. Lute was called upon less, and given more important duties, which she was pleased about.

However, as Lute would soon learn, she wasn’t the only angel with a thirst for revenge.

-

Extermination Day had rolled around once again, and Lute was chasing down a sinner. She followed the demon into a rickety old building, where they had climbed the stairs up to the roof, with Lute flying close behind.

Confident she had the sinner cornered, Lute forcefully grounded herself on the roof with a thud. As she slowly approached the sinner, spear raised, she heard a creaking sound below her.

Before Lute could react, the roof gave out beneath her, causing her to fall through. She further smashed through the second-story floor before feeling herself stop in space.

Being as tough as she was, Lute was more dazed than harmed. She looked around at her surroundings in an attempt to gain her bearings. 

She was dangling from the ceiling by her wrists, which were pinned on the floor of the second-story by debris from the roof. From her position, she could see the building’s front door, but could not reach the ground. She eyed her spear laying on the floor a ways away.

Lute tugged at her wrists, but they were fully pinned. She flew up through the hole and attempted to push at the debris with her helmet, but it wouldn’t budge. She let herself fall back down through the hole with a sigh. She wasn’t sure how she would get out of this.

That is, until a figure appeared in the doorway.

Lute recognized it as Adam immediately. A wave of relief washed over her.

Adam, alerted by the loud sounds, took a few steps inside before stopping in his tracks, having spotted Lute hanging from the ceiling.

He burst out laughing.

“Luhuhute?! Is that yohohou?” Adam questioned.

Lute’s feelings of relief were replaced by those of embarrassment.

“Yes, sir.” She grumbled, a light blush covering her face. “Mind giving me a hand?”

Adam slowly began approaching, still chuckling to himself.

“I thought you were better than this, Lute. Letting yourself get trapped in Hell? Not quite Lieutenant behaviour…” He commented.

Lute blushed further, starting to get annoyed.

“Need I remind you that you were in the exact same situation last extermination, sir?” Lute responded.

Adam reached Lute, standing in front of her with a smug look on his face.

“True, true. Tell me, though, what did you do when you found me?” He questioned, beginning to circle Lute.

Lute’s heart dropped. She hoped that Adam had forgotten what she had done last extermination, as, otherwise, she knew that he wouldn’t let it slide without getting his revenge.

“S-sir, we don’t have time for this. Extermination Day is almost over.” Lute said, starting to squirm.

“It’s your own fault, Lute. You shouldn’t have gotten sloppy~” Adam teased, stopping behind her.

Lute was ready to protest further, but suddenly felt fingers wiggling in her underarms.

“Ahahadam! Dohohont!” She giggled.

“Yeah, no. I need to settle the score.” Adam said, continuing his attack. “Besides, you should be thankful that I found you instead of whichever sinner you were chasing.”

Lute, knowing Adam well enough to understand that she wouldn’t be able to get him to stop, decided to focus her energy on controlling her reactions. She hoped that Adam would eventually get bored and move onto something else.

Lute managed to stifle her giggles, with only the odd sound escaping her lips. Adam noticed immediately.

“What’s this? Playing hard to get, huh Lute?” He said, stopping his hands and moving to her front. “Alright then.”

Without another word, Adam took hold of Lute’s uniform and raised it up, exposing her stomach.

Lute was confused before she saw Adam taking in a large breath. She began to panic.

“No, wait! Adam! Adam don’t you-” Lute began to plead.

“PFFFFFBT!” Adam blew a large raspberry on Lute’s stomach.

Lute shrieked and began kicking her legs.

“AHAHAHA! AHAHADAM!” She cackled.

Adam continued blowing smaller raspberries and brought his hands down to Lute’s hips, which he lightly scratched at.

“AHAHAHAHA!” Lute was in hysterics, unable to form words. Adam pulled his head back.

“Jeez Lute, you sure can take a lot.” He said, tracing light circles on her hips.

Lute took the opportunity to recover, regaining her breath through giggles.

In the corner of his eye, Adam noticed her flapping wings, reminding him of how Lute had attacked his own. His smug look returned as he began grazing his fingers over her wings.

Lute froze at the touch.

“Ahahadam, stohohop!” She giggled.

“Come on, you can handle a few more tickles, can’t you?” Adam said as he fluttered his fingers up and down the wings.

“Ahahaha! Nohohoho!” Lute laughed, softer this time. She shook her head back and forth, kicking her legs once more.

Adam continued until he noticed something outside one of the building’s windows. The exorcists were all flying into the sky, presumably into the portal to Heaven that opened when Extermination Day ended.

“Oops, looks like we’re out of time. Don’t wanna miss our ride out of here.” Adam said, pulling his hands away from Lute.

He struck a rock pose and shot a beam of ‘Holy Light’ at the ceiling, bringing Lute and the debris crashing down. Adam caught her in his arms.

“Did you just fall from Heaven, babe? Because you’re an angel.” Adam said with a wink.

Lute groaned and gave him a shove.

“I’m kidding! I’m kidding.” Adam said, handing Lute her spear.

Lute took it and tried taking off, but winced, a tinge of pain going through her wings as they tried to support her weight. It seems that they had been damaged from the fall, her current exhaustion making it worse.

Lute felt Adam’s hold tighten.

“Can’t fly? That’s okay, I got you!” He said, exiting the building.

Adam took flight, heading towards the portal to Heaven with Lute in his arms.

“We’re even now, by the way. So don’t think about trying anything again, you hear?” Adam asserted.

“Yes, sir.” Lute said.

Although he could be a real jerk, Lute felt that she had a special bond with Adam. She enjoyed spending time with him, even if that time included him decimating her with tickles. He was right, she could handle it, and she knew that she could return it just as well as he could.

Not that she had to worry about it, since Adam had made things between the two even.

For now.

-

[iliveforyouilongforyouvesuvia]

What do you think M6’s answers would be to the question “is it better to feel all the pain or nothing at all?” I haven’t played all the routes so I can’t answer for everyone but I think

Julian -feel it all

Asra -nothing

Muriel -at the start of his route nothing but as he grows as a character it would shift slowly to feel it all

Portia -feel it all

I’d also love to hear your answer if you’re comfortable with that! As someone who’s felt both my answer is nothing bc in my experience the numbness allows you to still function. Even if the life you’re experiencing isn’t as full as it could be, you still get to experience it. When I become so overwhelmed by Everything I completely shut down and cease to be a person. I am my emotions. And I think in Asra’s route this kinda gets explored in that they choose to not feel as deeply ever again bc a muted life with MC is better than a full one without them. Anyway can you tell I recently reread The Giver lol

Woah, that's a good question friend!!

To be completely honest, I think all the M6 progress from the "numb" to the "willing to feel everything" point throughout their routes - as is the case for many people who are in the healing process! (essay below the cut)

Julian, while fully embracing the misery of his situation, is also running from the part of him that wants a happy ending. Meeting the MC is his slow journey of self-acceptance, realizing that his happiness is valuable and worth fighting for. He stops choosing one feeling to drown out all the others and starts feeling everything in a context of loving and being loved.

Asra's in a similar situation. They don't see giving up half their heart as something to regret, but they still talk about the reduced ability to be attached to people as a loss. Reconnecting with MC, being able to slowly bring down the walls that used to facilitate a drifting, untethered survival mode, allows him to start caring more about the people around him since he has a person to call home again.

When Nadia wakes up, she's lost. Seven years of memory have blipped out of view, she's responsible for a city she knows very little about, and the people who are supposed to help her are only getting in her way. She speaks of a similar numb state, being detached and uninvested in the world around her, until meeting MC and finding a way forward gives her what she needs to flourish again. We see a lot of that emotional progression in her reconnecting with her family.

Muriel is an almost textbook case of complex trauma and the myriad of coping mechanisms that arise from trying to escape it. I've written whole essays on the effects of his deal on that process before, but his journey with MC starts with him just wanting them to forget about him, and ends with him asking MC to help him collect the memories of himself and his people.

Portia isn't quite as much numb as she is stuck. From the moment her parents' ship wrecked, she's lived her life in the orbit of other people. First her older brother, then the children and grandmas of Nevivon, then her older brother again, now the Countess - it isn't until she begins to receive that same attention from MC that she starts to really own herself and discover the true depth of her capacity. While we never see her choosing to be numb, we do see her hesitating to come fully into her own. With MC's empowerment, that's exactly what she ends up being able to do.

And finally, Lucio - he's literally numb. He's spent the last three years trapped between realms in a ghostly form that won't let him feel anything at all beyond hunger. While MC is instrumental in returning him the capacity to feel, it's Lucio's own choice to take advantage of that as a fresh start.

[neetily]

↳ EVENT 19. M!Whitney (Breeding & Incest)

— ✧ warnings: stepcest, Creampie, Breeding, Baby Trapping, pregnancy ment — ✧ word count: 3,432

— ✧ A/N: reposting from my old account since i was asked to! formatting might be off, but it's still readable.

The number one worst thing about having a hot step sister glued to his side at all times is that every day he has to fend off all the disgusting creeps that show up to his door, because you're too fucking dumb to see their true intentions and rely solely on him to be your moral compass. You've got a tight fucking body, don't y'know that? No, they don't wanna date you, idiot. They don't wanna court you, or take you on some romantic trip like they so often claim. They just wanna use your holes and milk you for all your sorry ass is worth because you're too pretty for your own good. How does he know that? Well, because he isn't any fucking better himself, truthfully. Throw him in with the rest of the town and you'd not be able to tell the difference between him and the guy next door— but you trust him too much, don't you? More than that, you need him to protect you. It's what big brothers do, despite how he may feel internally, and despite how often he speaks against that ideal; he wants to keep you safe, too. Even if only for more self serving reasons, driven mostly by how his cock thinks, rather than his brain.

Because of that, the second worst thing about having a hot step sister within his immediate vicinity is the fact that he's always hard when you're around. And he can't easily escape you, given that you're literally right through the fucking wall from him. Pining, yearning to bury himself balls deep in your little sister cunt to seek solace for the feelings resting sickly thick in his tummy every time he sees your stupid face. A burning bile, rising to the tip of his tongue when he sees you smile, threatening to spit venom at you when you act all aloof and cute like that. Like you've got no idea what sort of things you do to him, or the general public. Ignorant to how pretty you are, so fucking annoying, especially when you unknowingly leave him with blue balls every night, causing him to fuck his fist to only the memory of you like some sort of seedy stalker.

But isn't he kind of just that? Watching your every move, making sure you don't step too out of line or too out of his eyesight in fear of you straying too far. Late at night, when his fist is wrapped too tight around his fat cock and even fatter beads of precum drool from his red hot tip, he convinces himself that he's just looking out for you. Just being a good big brother at the end of the day. Pleasuring himself to the thought of you in private because that's what good big brothers do. Stealing secret glances of you in the kitchen while petting his fat bulge because that's what good big brothers do. Stealing your panties to sniff at them while his fist fucks his needy cock before placing them right back where he found them; only now a little stained sticky with seed, because that's what good big brothers do. In that, he's tried so hard and for so long to treat you as he's supposed to. Protective, perhaps a little too much so, but nonetheless genuine in his attempts to shield you from the harsh realities of this world. Even at the cost of his own sanity, and his poor cock.

But as he lingers around your open door, shoulder resting against the frame, one foot tucked behind the other, he gets an idea. An insidious one at that, borne out of sheer desperation to reconcile with himself in such a selfish manner it's almost shameful, but an idea nonetheless. Encouraged by the tiny little sleeping shorts you've decided to wear tonight, ass facing him like an invitation, face pressed close to your phone as a display of submission. He briefly wonders if you've even picked up on his presence yet, caught on to the fact that your big brother has been busy for the past few minutes simply staring at your ass, nursing a growing erection with an open palm circling his tip. Because if you have, you certainly haven't let on. But the thought of you being so fucking dull, enough not to feel his ever watching presence at your back side, has his cock twitching for your attention, drives him insane with sexual frustration. Horny at how well you ignore him, God, you're so pretty but so dumb. Fucking slut, you better not be doing this on purpose— riling him up without even fucking trying, it's so beyond frustrating that he has half a mind to treat you as unfairly as you do him, just like how all those abusers outside would like to ruin you. Though, on a more positive note, your complete and utter lack of self preservation only strengthens his secret resolve. You need to be taught a harsh lesson, at the very least, to be more aware of your surroundings.

There's really only one way to keep you by his side forever, to be the best big brother you could ever ask for; eager to provide you with whatever you may need so long as you can satiate the ever growing hunger he feels for you. And besides, it's not like he's technically going to be doing anything wrong... Right, step sis?

Carefully, he creeps towards you. Stalking prey, straying from the creaky floorboards he intimately knows about, reaching the foot of your bed before you know it and pounces. Calculating his fall so that he's got your wrists pinned above your head and your legs locked under his own. A breathy laugh follows, he can't quite believe just how easy you are to catch, but isn't that further proof that you need big brother to be by your side forever? See, he's doing you a fucking favour by keeping you under him.

"Got you." He mumbles absentmindedly, smiling down at your squished into the pillow face as you writhe and wriggle around for freedom under him. You're not helping his hard on, y'know that?

"Whitney! What's your fucking deal— Ouch, that hurts, asshole—"

"Quit yer fuckin' whining." He sighs, dismissing your petulant cries by tightening his grip on your wrists anyway to show how serious he is, and tilting his head to the side, lowering his upper body to get closer to your face. And for a few moments he merely stares at you. Takes in the sight of your confused expression, the furrow of your brows. Cute, he thinks to himself, cautious not to let his hips drop down too low in fear of rubbing himself against you. Usually others appear more scared when he's on top, but like a good little sister you intrinsically know the trust him, right?

In that case, fuck it, he thinks. A split second decision, coaxed into giving in to his more baser instincts by the pretty pout you send his way, a low mutter of you're heavy, can you please get off? as if it were even a fucking question. It's your own fault, really. Should have known that displaying your innocence in such an honest fashion would only lead to others wanting to corrupt. To dirty you, stain you as vile as they are.

Which doesn't exclude your own brother, especially as he yields to his perverted fantasies and drops his hips in one fell swoop, heavy hard cock resting between your ass cheeks that he knows you can feel the outline of. Shoulda worn something less provoking, then. The pretty gasp you let out at the contact causing his own brows to knit together in focus, biting down on his tongue to withhold expletives when you question his ethics.

"Are you— Are you hard, Whitney? Really?"

"Yeah, what about it?"

There's no use denying it, not when his hips are pressed flush against your backside. His heart racing, thumping hard against his chest at the prospect of finally getting a taste of you, his precious, highly sought after, baby sister. He's in your room for only one reason tonight, a selfish seeking to protect you. Whether you agree to it or not is of no consequence, he's only doing what's best for you, okay? And besides, he's so much stronger than you, isn't he? Bigger too... There's nowhere you can run that he won't find you, if you ever get the opportunity to escape.

Given his nonchalant answer, he hears you sigh in response, a deep sound that has his cock dripping more pre just for you. And he can't stop thinking about how lucky he is to hear your resignation. To be resting his weighty cock on top of your pretty ass just to have you simply accept it as par for the course.

And though he'd love to take his time with you, to really enjoy everything you have to offer, to make you cry on his cock— he's been wanting this for a long time. Seething in secrecy, longing for a taste of your sweet sister cunt; he can't wait any longer. Not now that he has your unvoiced blessing, watching as you bury your face back into your pillow and wiggle your ass against his cock— fuck, you already feel so good against him.

"C'mon then," Your voice is muffled, but nonetheless encouraging. A pang of pain in his heart at the way you seem to be wanting him too, a comfortable hurt borne out of disgusting adoration for the one person he isn't supposed to have. And here you are, supporting his lewd love for you. Releasing one of your wrists with the intent to get a move on like you're asking, but instead his hand stops mid air when he witnesses you tugging down your shorts for him. "Before mom and dad get back, okay? Just want you out my room so don't... I don't wanna do it when they're here."

"Fuck me—"

He hears your stipulation, of course. It makes total fucking sense. Fucking his little sister? Perfectly fine. Fucking his little sister when other people are in the house? Fucking weird, don't fucking do that. But he curses loud and proud at the sight of your no panties, like you knew he was coming in to steal you away for the night. Had he stolen your pair tonight? He can't quite remember, mind empty beyond the thought of finally attaining what he's worked so tirelessly for. Helping you pull down your shorts the rest of the way; or at least until they rest by your ankles because he's too eager to get his cock wet already.

Immediately, impulsively, he spreads your legs wide enough to accommodate him. Letting go of your other wrist to allow you breathing room, but also so he can selfishly explore your body. Running his hands up and down your ass, spanking you a few times for good measure. Cock pulsing at the yelps his hands smack out of you, biting down on his bottom lip when he drops his pants low enough only to let his cock spring free. The cool air that hits his sopping tip is almost sobering, if not for the way you pout his name so prettily. An effortless attempt to turn him on, no doubt.

"Yeah yeah, I got it. Want me to hurry up and fuck my slut, right?" He sneers, not even gracing you with eye contact as he spreads your cheeks apart to get a greedy look at your holes. His hips fucking forward on their own at the small glimpse he gets, prompting him to hang his head in shame so that you don't catch the way his cheeks heat up. How the idea of keeping you all to himself, truly turning his baby sister into his little slut fills him with so much joy that he can't help himself from rubbing his cock against your ass, humping his hips against you in barely there snap thrusts just to provide himself some sort of stimulation. Just something to take the edge off as he gathers the courage to put it in already.

Because once he does, he knows he won't be able to stop. And that's a little worrying, considering he's so used to having control over you.

He hadn't intended to wait for you to respond to his rhetorical question, but the way you practically beg "Please." is music to his ears. God, he can't even compare it to the countless faceless sluts he's fucked in the past, completely focused on how his baby sister drips slick for his tip to collect, angling his cock down to catch on your pretty little hole for the first time ever.

And it feels so fucking good to finally have contact with you like this, holy shit. Even just letting precum bead out against your hole would be enough, he thinks. Enough to have him feeling better than he has before, dirty slut, you've only went and ruined his hand for the rest of his life. You better fucking own up to that, yeah? Let him cream your cunt with the intent of knocking you up so that he can be your big brother for life, that'd be a good start, don't you think?

With the way you wiggle against him, leaking all over his cock as if he wasn't providing you enough lubrication with the abundance of precum your simple existence coaxes out of him, he automatically rolls his hips into you. Into your cunt. Gasping for air the second he pushes past your entrance, choking at the way your insides wrap around his tip, and soon enough his whole length when he can't stop himself from ruining his pretty little sister now that you've given him permission.

And after the first few little humps he has you endure, he's settling an unfairly fast pace. Pent up frustration, almost resentment expressed in every relentless thrust over how fucking perfect you are, so much so that your cunt practically shuts him up for once in his lifetime spare some crass comments about your pretty body, or about how fuckin' tight are you? fuck, can barely fit inside, God, look at how pretty my little slut is bouncing on my cock. Mean words as an attempt to hide how downright in love he is with you, how he wants to fuck only baby sister cunt for the rest of his life, moaning openly at the sound of wet skin on skin slapping with how hard and fast he thrusts into you. Like a dog in heat, drool collects in his mouth as his eyes roll to the back of his skull, hands innately finding home on your hips for stability, like they were always meant to be there.

You feel so fucking good it's cruel, cock aching with every pulse your cunt offers around him, every suck of your insides begging to keep his cock inside as he repeatedly fucks you up the bed. You were right, it's best to do this was no one else at home, else you get exposed for being the dirty little sister slut that you are— taking big brothers cock so well, aren't you? Fucking made for him, babbling cute strings of nothing from how frantic his humps are, accidentally cutting you off mid mumble with every greedy fuck; he just can't stop himself. Hasn't a hope in Hell of showing a mere modicum of control while inside of you, head empty and cock hard for you.

And as he's fully sheathed inside, groaning out at the feeling of his balls slapping against your backside, intimate with the way his thighs are tacky like your own from every gush of your wet little cunt around his too big cock, he remembers exactly what he came here to do. The sole reason why you're a moaning mess on your bed right now, tangling the sheets in your cute little fists as if that was gonna help the stretch of his fat cock bullying your insides. His voice comes out hoarse, having to choke on a cough to clear the lust coating his tongue as he continues pumping away inside of you.

"Gonna fuck ya pregnant, kay?

Almost immediately, lagging a little from that good dick, aren't you slut? You start to whine. That same petulant tone you used earlier, and just like earlier, it goes straight to his throbbing cock, makes his balls all taut and his muscles all tense as he keeps you pinned in place with large hands. Greedy hands, bruising in their grip of your body so that you know who's in charge. So that you can't escape him, this is all for your own good, remember?

"Whit— don't, stop I— Ah—!" It's no use though, is it? His cock feels too good in your tight little cunt, big brother just wants to make you feel good, okay? He just wants to feel your cunt suck him off so well, your body is begging for his seed, right? And because he's such a good big brother, he's more than happy to give you a taste. Over and over again, until his seed takes to your womb and you're stuck with him for life, tension building in his tummy at the thought of walking around with you hand in hand, big pregnant belly scaring off anyone who even dares to look at his sister. His slut, whining like a pretty bitch as he drags your ass back down to meet his every thrust, can you feel how desperate he is for release? So eager to stain your insides white in an effort to prevent others from touching you, to keep you safe forever; it's just big brother duties, it's okay if dumb little sister minds can't understand his reasoning. All you have to do is lay there and fucking take it. Take his pounding, take the pinches and slaps on your ass, take his sticky precum coating your thighs, just as well as he honours the ring of your cream at the base of his cock. You're so pretty, his eyes trained on the spot where he disappears over and over again into your tight little hole, greedy little cunt. But he's fucking it too fast for it to truly capture his attention, instead his head is thrown back with a dopey grin tugging on his lips, sheer pleasure rolling down his spine with a gasped: "Shut up, doin'— 'M doin' ya favour. Fuuuck, jus' like that—" before shooting a load deep into your sister cunt. Still fucking himself through the orgasm that washes over him, that has him drooling from how fucking good it feels to finally claim you as his own, hopeful that his stink will scare off anyone else from even attempting to get close to you in order to abuse you the same way he has tonight.

And, if he's lucky, the continued thrusts he provides your tender, swollen hole, milking himself for all he's worth against your cervix, he'll have successfully filled you up enough to impregnate you. Doesn't that feel good? Poor baby was probably just a little worried like he was, right? His breathing is laboured, heaving for air by the time he's done emptying his balls inside of you, but still the first thing he does is collapses on top of you. Smiles to himself at the soft little oof you let out with his added weight, but he's not here just to laze around.

From now on, you're officially his. And he likes to take good care of his sluts, especially if they're as precious as his little sister. Step or not, he cares about you enough to wrap his big arms around you with a chaste kiss to the back of your head, hiding his face against your neck to nose at your scent as he calms down.

"Gross." You whine at his affections, and he agrees. Rolling you over onto his side with him so that he can sneak a hand between your legs, warming his spent cock in your hole still as he brings attention to your puffy, touch starved clit. The resulting moan you let out is thanks enough for securing your future with him.

Though, what's worse is that he's thinking about doing the exact same thing tomorrow, planning to leave the house only once.

You'll need some pregnancy tests, won't you?

[lovelyyandereaddictionpoint]

The Darling Who Beats Their Yandere at Yandering 

As a darling too many times have you been abducted, manipulated, blackmailed by your yandere. Well, how would they like it if they had to go through everything you go through? 

“So How do you like it huh? Do you like how I tied you up and gagged you? No? Well too bad it's what I went through! How do you feel not being able to do anything, huh? To have your freedom stripped away?” 

Whether you’ve been a good darling for a long time now or narrowly had escaped their attempts to have you. 

“Oh~ I love it! Keep going, baby! Tie me! Gag me! Baby, please do what you want~!” 

André Mortesque both pre-househusband era and after dude’s obsessed with you up and down. Punch him, kick him, kiss him, kill him for all he cares; the very air you breathe is sacred to him. If he has to kidnap you at any time it doesn’t really break his obsessive love for you. Your tied or he’s tied or you both are just naked in bed he loves it all.

“Go ahead baby~! A-actually i-if y-your doing what I did can you get my aphrodisiac pills from my bedside table!” 

“Hehehe love bug…okay…I get it.”

Morgan Jox pre-househusband era is put in his place. He’s tucking his non-existent tail between his legs. He really did plan to scoop up your unconscious body and lightly tie it to a bed. He didn’t mean to make you feel bad or trapped. He’ll sob and cry for your forgiveness after all he just wants to protect and love you the most. But househusband Morgan has a different reaction altogether if you are able to tie down this himbo hunk of muscle in the first place he’s tilting his head, in confusion. “But that’s all just minor in the shadow of our love.” He’s a hopeless romantic who doesn’t mind the journey rather than the destination. He thought by now you would have understood that…maybe the journey for your love hasn’t quite reached its destination.

“Lovebug, maybe you should spend some more time in the ropes then after we can both talk about how we feel. Does that sound like a plan?”

“Well isn’t this a familiar position? Tell me, darling, are we reverting back to our…hehehe…old ways?”

Wezley is an enigma to most and it's probably best it stays that way. After all, it is the reason why he’s agreed to be a househusband in the first place. But long before all that you’ve replayed this scenario with him. This time it's with rope but one time it could have been electric chords or steel chains. As well as who’s within those binds in the first place. You can say he’s simply ecstatic he’s getting a taste of your original rodeo. He gets bored of the home life

“Ah my (Y/n)! Shall we do the other thing we used to do?”

“Well yes but this means something completely different when you know how to get out.”

Michael Froth your dear eldest brother knows how to tie a good knot and how to undo them. He’s your wretched mother’s favorite child(after you) after all having taken all of her worst traits. He sees now. You’re frustrated, huh? Then the color therapy must not be working then. No matter, he has a contingency plan I’m sure you’ll feel a lot better once he starts that routine with the sleeping meds. He’ll enjoy it when you drunkenly let him rock you to sleep, like in the olden days.

“That’s fine (Y/n). I understand where you’re coming from but this charade has been fun. Time to sleep.”

“So unfair (Y/n)! You’ve put me in this horrible situation! All because you don’t think.

Rue, the roommate turned villain, is amused but he doesn’t appreciate you switching roles. He’s already felt helpless before, helpless when you refused him for who he is, helpless when you didn’t support him in his true occupation. You made him feel absolutely trapped when you almost died; now this! It’s simply unfair! Now its only right he give you one of his special punishments! He’ll make sure you’ll be forgetting your own name by the end of it.

“Ah darling I’ve decided I’ll be picking your punishment tonight and I promise I won’t go easy!”

[dani-luminae]

Ok but I'm really curious I wanna hear your Wish rewrite ideas!!!!!!

What we were promised: "An origin story for the Wishing Star!" What we got: not an origin story, the Wishing Star just happens to be a character.

So, here's how I would rewrite it to honor the original premise and the finished film. (And no, there's no Starboy.)

🌟 Asha and the Wishing Star 🌟

Asha tells the story of Rosas, of how Magnifico learned magic, married Amaya, and founded their kingdom, primarily as a prologue to the (movie) audience but also revealed as a story for the new visitors to Rosas, whom she still greets and leads on a tour like in "Welcome to Rosas". After the tour she visits her friends in Dahlia's bakery where the whole "King's apprentice" ambition is revealed, and Sakina and Sabino arrive - a bit early for the Wish-Granting Ceremony, but they also wanted to come and wish Asha well in the interview. Sabino is still turning 100 that day, and has been waiting for his wish to be granted for 84 years (if my math is right.)

Queen Amaya still comes to retrieve Asha for the interview. Of course, Asha continues to hold the true values of Rosas at heart, just as in the finished movie, and Amaya sees this in her. In the king's study, Asha is very interested in all of the alchemy equipment, etc. but instead of approaching the dark magic book, she is repelled by it, staying away and then immediately being drawn towards the glowing wishes even though they are hidden from her at first. This is what gets King Magnifico's attention swiftly, rather than Asha touching the evil book's glass. Both of them hold wishes in very high regard and know them to be incredibly precious and needing protection ("At All Costs") - for very different reasons, of course, but that's not obvious yet. Asha still hopes for her grandfather's wish to be granted, but Magnifico refuses, still saying that Sabino's wish - to create something that inspires people - is too dangerous and vague, and that Sabino is better off not even remembering his wish. At the Wish-Granting Ceremony, King Magnifico still makes a show of refusing Asha's wish and dismissing her as a possible apprentice.

Later that evening, after the disagreement with Sabino who doesn't want to remember a wish he'll never see granted, Asha makes "This Wish," and of course, Star answers. He's a little hurtling ball of boundless energy which leaves Asha so confused at first, but then when she understands he came here because of her, she tells him about the wishes trapped by Magnifico, and they're resolved to find Sabino's wish and free it. Asha, however, already questions her own abilities compared to Star, which leads to the song "I'm a Star," about how every living thing has stardust in them - but Asha herself has always been able to perceive wishes in a way that few humans are truly able to. However, no star is able to use the full extent of their magical power without a wish being made to them, and once that wish is granted, a star must return to the sky to watch over all the world.

King Magnifico is alarmed by the light that shone when Star first arrived, and like the movie, has to be persuaded by Queen Amaya not to turn to the book. Instead, he gathers the people to claim Asha to be a traitor and ask them all about the light; Dahlia and the rest of Asha's friends cover for her with endless questions as Asha and Star get into the tower to get Sabino's wish, and Star is curious about the dark magic book, only for Asha to pull him away, saying she doesn't know how, but she's certain that it's incredibly dangerous. They retrieve Sabino's wish and escape - but not before witnessing Magnifico's spite towards the kingdom for questioning him and his turn to use the dark magic book ("This is the Thanks I Get?!")

Asha returns Sabino's wish to him, and asks Sabino what wonderful music he'll create first, only for Magnifico to arrive and confront them, crushing Sakina's wish as he does in the movie and Asha pulling down a bookcase on him for her and her family to escape. Asha sends Sakina and Sabino to a nearby island as she knows that Magnifico is a danger to all the kingdom, and that she must free all the wishes so that people are able to leave. She enlists her friends' help.

Queen Amaya witnesses King Magnifico with the dark magic book and staff and understands swiftly that a line has been crossed there's no coming back from. Worried but initially uncertain, it's not until the gathering in which Simon's wish is "granted" and he names his other friends as traitors helping Asha, when Star is able to get a message to Queen Amaya.

Asha and her remaining friends regroup, alongside Star and Valentino, and resolve to defeat Magnifico, joined soon by Queen Amaya ("Knowing What I Know Now"). At nightfall they enact their plan, with Asha once again acting as bait in the forest and aided by a magic wand while Dahlia and the others getting into the tower with Star and Amaya's help while Magnifico is seemingly distracted. But the trick is revealed as Magnifico sent Simon to pursue Asha and the real king has been waiting in his tower to catch them all in their treachery, trapping all the wishes and blocking out the sky. Asha's friends alone manage to escape him.

Star initially fights Magnifico and actually does fairly well for a few minutes, being more zippy and annoying than actually a threat, before Asha makes it back to the kingdom and is dragged to the top of the King's tower so he can make an example of her. Star attempts to interfere as Magnifico attacks Asha with magic, but Star is thrown aside as Magnifico derides him, saying "how could [Magnifico] have ever thought [Star] was a threat? He's nothing to be worried about at all, how can he grant even the measliest wish?"

Asha attempts to defend Star, challenging Magnifico, only for him to carelessly throw her from the tower - seemingly to her death. Star dives after her, too late to rescue her before he finds her motionless on a roof below, surrounded by Dahlia, Hal, Safi, Bazeema, Gabo, Dario, and even Simon who had been freed from Magnifico's control and come to find his friends. As it seems all is lost, Star mourns with Asha's friends and tries to comfort them all with gentle nose-boops, before he lays himself against Asha's heart, and begins to glow, brighter and brighter until both of them are blinding golden - then the glow fades, revealing only Asha remaining. She stirs and wakes, bewildered at first before her friends tell her what Star did. When Asha sees her heart glow the way that only Star had made it possible, realizes that not only has he had given himself to restore her, but he had also bestowed her with his magic, that he trusts her deeply to be able to defeat Magnifico. Wiping away her tears, Asha vows that she won't let Star down, and looks up to the tower under the darkened sky. She says she needs her friends, and that since Star touched them with his magic as well, she knows they cannot fail.

Having disregarded Asha and Star the moment they were out of sight, Magnifico descends to the stage where he always has them gathered and taunts the kingdom, snaring them all in his dark magic, saying there will be no more wishing on stars and none of them will ever escape - before Asha appears. She attempts to fight Magnifico, but he overpowers her again and throws her to the stage floor, and as Asha looks out at the trapped kingdom, she remembers that stars can only use their full powers to grant a wish, and she entreats the people of Rosas to make a wish ("This Wish (Reprise)"). As the people make a wish, Asha shines brilliantly and transforms into a radiant form (I particularly imagine this redesign by by @princess-ibri but you all are of course free to imagine her design however you want but it's definitely more than just sparkles!) and is able to rival King Magnifico's powers for the first time, disarming him and causing him to actually fear her. He attempts to flee from her, disappearing into the palace and charging up the tower. Asha does not pursue him, but as she commands, starlight breaks through Magnifico's dark clouds, causing them to begin to thunder and lightning.

Magnifico flees up the tower and finds all possible escape routes blocked by Asha's friend armed with magical weapons that were taken from his own chamber, determined not to let him get away. Upon reaching the top of the tower once more, he attempts to threaten the kingdom, trying to restore the darkness over the sky. However, the wishes of Rosas as granted by Asha's power are too much for him, and as he backs away from the seven friends, raising the staff, a lightning bolt of sinister green dark magic strikes the staff, causing a reaction that causes Magnifico to fall from the tower as the staff breaks into pieces. He is trapped in the mirror-like jewel, unforgiven by Amaya, and will be locked away behind the protected glass that once housed the dark magic book.

With Magnifico defeated, however, the wish that Asha made and Star answered is fulfilled, and now Asha must ascend to the stars in Star's place to continue watching over the world. She breaks the orbs containing all the wishes, allowing them to be returned to all of Rosas, and begins to bid good-bye to her friends, who will all miss her. Most of all, Asha says, she is sad that she will never be there in person to hear all the wonderful music that Sabino will write to inspire the world.

Sabino tearfully embraces her, and says she will know of it, he will make sure.

After seeing that the kingdom is in good hands under Amaya's care - that the queen still holds all the values of Rosas at heart - Asha rises into the air, transforming into a beacon of light that soars away through the stars. The star she becomes glows brighter than the rest in the sky, so the people of Roses will always know her.

For the ending scene, Sabino and Sakina sit outside their home, looking up at Asha's star self in the sky, as Sakina says "Asha will be happy. Her greatest wish was always to help people. So long as people wish, she will be there." "Yes, she will be," says Sabino, and he picks up his lute, picks a few notes, and then begins to compose the first lines of 'When You Wish Upon a Star'. "And she will be there to grant wishes wherever they come from."

The end credits shows Asha's star overlooking moments from all the original Disney animated films throughout history. Maybe she didn't actively participate... but she was there, watching over them all.

~~~

🌟 This was lots of rambling and no it was not proofread lol. Anyways I just think that Wish missed a lot of potential and this at least is my perfect rewrite. 🌟

Hope you don't mind me referencing your redesign @princess-ibri! It's just my perfect idea of Asha getting the incredible transformation she deserved.

[st4rryecl1pse]

There’s this little theory in my head right now regarding TPOT, although it is mostly based on speculation (and copium) and there are quite a few counterclaims that I thought of that I’ll cover too to be fair. I also doubt that the writing team had anything too big planned for Teardrop after Satomi was removed so.. :,] let me just jump into it (of course, SPOILERS FOR TPOT haha)

The gist of my theory is that One is the reason why Teardrop joined TPOT (yeah I know, weird theory I just wanted something more to grasp onto than “teardrop was being a sore petty loser and wanted to win somewhere else despite placing 3rd which is pretty good”).

1. First of all, seemingly nobody from post-split BFB knew where Teardrop went after BFB 30 (either TD is just really sneaky and didn’t bother to tell anyone about her leaving, or she was poofed away to TPOT land by One or something.. I mean, how have sudden disappearances of characters happened in TPOT?).

1 Counterclaim: We don’t truly know if everyone at that beach was clueless about where Teardrop went. We know for a fact that Ruby doesn’t know, but the fact that Lollipop replies to her so nonchalantly instead of also being worried about her friends suggests that she does know where Teardrop is. It would make sense for Teardrop to tell Lollipop, too, because of their friendship from the newbie alliance. The second counterclaim is that One probably would have still been trapped in the moon during BFB 30. If One was incapable of doing anything while inside the moon, then they wouldn’t be able to reach Teardrop. Overall, the more probable scenario is that Teardrop along with Profily decided they wanted to join TPOT, so off they went without telling (mostly?) everyone.

2. One makes their first appearance after Teardrop’s elimination, in the same episode (TPOT 9). It is a little goofy to imagine, but maybe once One saw that Teardrop was eliminated, they went “real sh!t” and busted out of the moon when they realized it was broken enough. They would see that they’d need to be a little more active and make deals with more objects at once if they were to achieve their goal.

2 Counterclaim: This could be entirely a coincidence, and most likely, One escaped from the moon because it was weakened enough to be broken, not because their algebraley senses were tingling because Teardrop got eliminated •_•

3: This could possible explain why Teardrop suddenly gained all these abilities in TPOT she never showcased before; One could be giving her those powers to help her out, such as PLOT ARMOR especially since she was put on a team on her own. Also, this could explain why One seems to like messing with the teams and being more in control of the contestants (rearranging the teams themselves in TPOT 12, and allowing 2 debuters in TPOT 13), since she wasn’t able to with Teardrop.

3 Counterclaim: It is very likely that Teardrop had just gained these powers herself, and she was already capable of gaining new ones in BFB with her magically walking up walls (please tell me if BFB was the first season she ever did that). Teardrop has a strong sense of self-preservation in TPOT, so it’d make sense why she’d train herself to have this influx of abilities to give her an advantage in challenges. Also, the tidbit with One rearranging teams themselves because they weren’t able to put Teardrop in a better position to win Two’s power is a little bit of a stretch, in my opinion.

4: One possiblyyy getting Leafy at the start of TPOT 13 shows that they’ll make deals with just about anyone to get Two’s power, even people who aren’t even in TPOT. Maybe One is trying their chances again with getting outside help to get Two’s power. No counterclaim to this one, just a thought.

5: This is not really evidence, but Eraser’s “do you even need the power of two?” comment to Teardrop in her TPOT 9 elimination would be a moment to look back on and go “HMMM” if this theory ever turns out to be true somehow (because One wants the power of Two hahhah and Teardrop FAILED hahaha). Look, I’m just picking at scraps here, leave me alone >:[ no counterclaim again.

6: What kind of deal would One make with Teardrop anyway? As a strong believer that, mute or not, Teardrop does not want to speak, it wouldn’t be to have a voice or whatever. Aaand now this is where I go back and think “maybe Teardrop is just a little salty saltwater drop” because my best guess is that One promised to give Teardrop the BFB or something. Teardrop is visibly disappointed when she was eliminated in BFB (I mean… who wouldn’t be?) and she seems to have a disliking for Flower, who won BFB. Again, this isn’t really evidence, just more speculation.

7: Out of the post-split BFB cast, I can see One seeing Teardrop as the most viable option out of all of them. She’s intelligent, she’s athletic (just lacking in physical strength), she’s got powers of her own already, and she’s not afraid to betray other contestants to save herself. Again, this is more of me picking for whatever scraps I can get :,)

Aaand that’s my theory about Teardrop working with One in TPOT 👍 I don’t believe it’s very likely to happen, I counterclaimed the heck out of my own theory, but hey, it’s fun to theorize and speculate :] please i just want a definitive canon reason as to why teardrop joined tpot in the first place that isn’t just satomi liking her so much

[moonlightdancer26]

can you show me where in the books it implies/says that sirius was abused? /gen I honestly don't remember, all I recall is him saying his mother didn't like that he was in gryffindor and not a blood purist etc and they fought often bc of it.

Allow me:


Kreacher bowed again and said, “Whatever Master says,” then muttered furiously, “Master is not fit to wipe slime from his mother’s boots, oh my poor Mistress, what would she say if she saw Kreacher serving him, how she hated him, what a disappointment he was —” (OOTP, Chapter 6) 
  
“Leave?” Sirius smiled bitterly and ran a hand through his long, unkempt hair. “Because I hated the whole lot of them: my parents, with their pure-blood mania, convinced that to be a Black made you practically royal . . . my idiot brother, soft enough to believe them . . . that’s him.”

“He was younger than me,” said Sirius, “and a much better son, as I was constantly reminded.” (OOTP Chapter 6) (Being consistently reminded that your younger brother is so much better than you because he’s a pureblood supremacist? Ouch)


“It was my father’s,” said Sirius, throwing the ring into the sack. “Kreacher wasn’t quite as devoted to him as to my mother, but I still caught him snogging a pair of my father’s old trousers last week.” (OOTP Chapter 4) 


“He’s [Kreacher] been alone too long,” said Sirius, “taking mad orders from my mother’s portrait and talking to himself, but he was always a foul little —” (Sirius about Kreacher, OOTP Chapter 6) 


 “I don’t know,” said Sirius, “I haven’t seen anyone from the Order all weekend, they’re all busy. It’s just been Kreacher and me here . . .” 
There was a definite note of bitterness in Sirius’s voice. (OOTP Chapter 14) 

Hasn’t anyone told you? This was my parents’ house,” said Sirius. “But I’m the last Black left, so it’s mine now. I offered it to Dumbledore for headquarters — about the only useful thing I’ve been able to do.” 
Harry, who had expected a better welcome, noted how hard and bitter Sirius’s voice sounded. (Chapter 5)

Sirius heaved another great sigh, cast a dark look at the tapestry, and he and Harry went to join the others. (Chapter 6) 

“I don’t like being back here,” he said, staring across the drawing room. “I never thought I’d be stuck in this house again.” (Sirius, OOTP Chapter 6)


I mentioned Sirius’s mental state and bitterness a lot here because I don’t have a doubt that being stuck in his childhood home where he was clearly very “mistreated” made it much harder for him. He showed blatant signs of alcoholism, depression, and PTSD. Many people brush this off as him “being moody that he’s being quarantined and therefore acting out in childish and frustrating ways,” which is true, but I think it’s seriously (no pun intended) disregarding of what he was going through. This happens to be the book where Sirius annoys me the absolute most, and while I don’t think having gone through something like that justifies your later behaviour; I really try to understand and sympathise with what he went through and how he acted because of it. He spent a majority of his life being trapped: being trapped in his parents’ house as a kid/teen (where he later ran away), being framed and wrongfully sent to Azkaban for over a decade (where he escaped), escaping Azkaban only to be forced to stay at his parents’ home, and then having the only time he left the house resulting in getting murdered in front of his godson. 😀

Anyway, seeing people brush off the blatant emotional and mental abuse he went through simply because it “wasn’t physical” (abuse comes in many forms, just because he wasn’t abused in “that way” doesn’t mean he wasn’t abused in “this way”) or because they don’t like him is extremely disgusting. Especially considering that I not only went through something extremely similar with my mother when I was a kid, but because the Snapedom has to constantly ask of Snape antis to merely not dismiss the fact that Snape was abused. You cannot criticise the Marauders fandom for doing things like that and simultaneously doing the same thing to the characters you hate. Double standards as a whole infuriate me, no matter which “side” of the fandom I’m on. If you have a rule, stick with it.

All of the quotes I’ve mentioned are from Order of the Phoenix, I just added the chapters. I’ve had these saved in Notes in case I needed to whip out receipts for arguments. But thank you for your question, Nonnie, I’ve been meaning to talk about this.