#but now its slightly more structured making something up

[thedragonagelesbian]

For the BG3 character development asks: 1 , 10, and 19 (sorry!).

1: Where in the Faerûn is your Tav from?

Main timeline Cyrus is from Baldur's Gate (with the caveat that he spent the first ~25 years of his life on the move across the Sword Coast with his mother and father).

Ranger Cyrus is... uhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh

/crawling out of the forgotten realms wiki five hours later covered in blood/

I am (with immense hesitation and tentativeness for fear that ed greenwood may strike me down) going to claim the city state of Iriaebor as the providence of the dispossessed noble that Cyrus pledges himself to. [redacted] who uses him to violently reclaim and maintain power while assuring him that it's for the greater good (and who Cyrus eventually kills before vowing to root out as much of their influence as possible). What existing lore there is for the city includes its lawful ruler being ousted by the Zhentarim, which seems to me to be a perfect set up for the lord's daughter/son* to have need of a paladin who could very easily be convinced that the Zhentarim must be expelled by whatever means necessary.

This also means Cyrus' decision to leave that life behind lines up with the city coming under the influence (but not the direct control) of a recently established Elturguard, and I can't help but wonder if that might've had something to do with it-- a reformed and redeemed Champion of Iriaebor being hailed as a symbol of the city's independence or something.

As for his exile cottage, I think it makes the most sense for that to be in the Wood of Sharp Teeth for its proximity to Baldur's Gate, putting him in decent tadpoling range (and, unlike the other place I was considering, the Reaching Woods, THIS woods doesn't have a thing about gnolls very recently slaughtering all the other humanoids because canon D&D lore is just fucking like that sometimes.)

*I don't have a definitive identity for [redacted] yet, but depending on the day/mood, they're based either on Cullen or Meredith............................

10: Are they proficient in playing any instruments?

Nope-- in any timeline or game, Cyrus doesn't consider himself to be particularly creative (or intellectual for that matter), and it's not like a full-fledged point of insecurity, but he's much happier to leave it to others

(Unless he gets drunk and starts singing)

19: How do you think they'll meet they're end?

Hmmmmmm not sure for shadow sorc and ranger Cyrus-- while I have a pretty strong idea of ranger Cyrus' immediate endgame (living a very good life with Duke Wyll), I haven't thought at all about what things will look like after Wyll passes (do we know if the devil transformation has affected his lifespan at all?).

And as for shadow sorc Cyrus........................................ well. He's a sword. That situation will resolve itself SOMEHOW, but I haven't planned much beyond some vague ideas of it involving a Wish spell (ESPECIALLY if Astarion has to choose to use it to help Cyrus instead of curing himself of his vampirism...)

As for our darling main timeline oathbreaker, I am quite content imagining him living a long and happy life with Halsin in the recovering Shadowlands, with all the work and the joys that are entailed in trying to rebuild an ecosystem that sustains and nurtures more equitable relations and communities. I just love the idea of this high leveled Oath of the Ancients paladin and archdruid pair planting deep, unshakeable roots and becoming mythic quest givers a la Keyleth of the Air Ashari (and also fucking nasty all day everyday).

In which case, if Cyrus doesn't martyr himself protecting the land and its people (which Halsin won't let happen easily), I imagine his death is a peaceful one of old age.

[steakout-05]

quick post clarifying what i'm gonna do with my Crarry art and my Craig design moving forward

i just wanna make this post as short and sweet as i can as i've been struggling to find a way to write this in a coherent fashion (i'm VERY tired today, lol), especially with everything that's been going down in the fandom lately. people are not happy right now. this is a post meant to explain what i'm going to be doing with my Crarry stuff from now on, as well as how i'm gonna be using my fan design for Craig.

on the topic of my Craig x Barry art: i've been a little bit conflicted on what to do with it for a little bit, but i've mostly decided towards keeping it up on my blog for archival purposes. i don't like having to remove my art, especially when 1. it was made with the context that the (at the time) canon truth was that Barry and Craig were nothing but unrelated friends, and 2. it's still good art and it brought me a lot of joy when i first created it. i've regretted deleting art in the past and i think that i'd definitely regret deleting it now, especially if there was a threat of it becoming lost media and i didn't have the files to back it up. i care too much about my art to do that. so, it's all staying up on my blog, with the added disclaimer that it was made before August 17th 2024 and that it was obviously not supposed to portray weird incest stuff. can't do much about putting a disclaimer on it if it's already been reblogged though, so it's only gonna appear on the original post :/

on the topic of Craig himself: this is the bit i'm most excited about, but it's also the hardest bit to explain in a way that makes sense, so i'll try not to get ahead of myself here.

so, to start off with: in this post, i made some doodles showing an improved fan design i had made for Craig that portrays him as a blond nerdy guy with glasses and an injured eye. this is obviously not how Craig ended up looking like in canon and wasn't what i expected him to look like, it was something i made for myself and my own art. even so, he was practically just a skin applied to a pre-existing character whose personality had already been established. but now that the Craig i intended that design to be attached to has been revealed to be something we thought he wasn't (barry's entire freaking dad), i'm gonna do something a little different with my Craig to differentiate him from canon. i'm gonna take everything i liked about him before the reveal, retool him and his personality to better match the ideas and headcanons i had brewing in my head for him, and create a whole new canon for him to reside in. i've basically made him into a slightly divergent alternate version of canon Craig, basically. and it is incredibly self-indulgent, lol. (isn't that what being a creative is all about though..... self indulgence and insane storycrafting)

this bit might be slightly controversial, but what i'm planning with this version of Craig is that i'm gonna continue shipping Barry with him instead of Canon Craig like before. i really like the dynamic that Barry and Craig had in canon before the Dad Reveal Jumpscare Incident, with them sort of being polar opposites who would have some silly banter with each other, but also having a few similarities and shared interests that would bring them together, so that dynamic is gonna be brought over to this canon i've created for myself. it's basically gonna be a smorgasbord of everything i like about these characters with some expansions and slight changes to better fit with what i think would have been cool to see actually happen in canon. i'm likely gonna make a post about how i want to characterise my Craig later, but just know that 1. CranBarry is a thing in my little universe and 2. my Craig =/= Canon Craig and there will be a disclaimer explaining that on each fanwork i make depicting the ship from now on. i should probably give my Craig a last name so i don't have to keep calling him "my Craig" for disambiguation......

this hasn't been done out of spite or disrespect towards HB or anything at all. i'm disappointed with the change they made, and i do think it was very poorly executed, but at the end of the day, what happens in canon is not my story to write no matter how much i want to see in the series, and all i can do is sigh, shrug, pick up a pencil and start enacting the change i want to see for myself. i'm someone who believes that, while art can absolutely be criticised, it's up to the artist to decide what they want to do, and they don't have to cater to feedback if they don't want to. granted, it is a little different in Halfbrick's case because Jetpack Joyride is their product, and they are a sizable company who also makes money and business decisions and has a big audience and whatnot, but you get it right? it sucks, but like.... there's not really much you can do about it apart from write something you'd want to see.

so yeah, that's pretty much everything. i'm hoping this will go over well with everything that's happened because i really do love the gay little relationship i've given these two, i just can't continue doing it with the canon version of Craig for obvious reasons. the only problem i really see this causing is the very slight irritation that will come with possibly having to clarify this every time i post a Crarry thing. it'll probably be no biggie though, i'll just link to this post explaining everything. i sure do love coming up with incredibly convoluted solutions to simple problems looolll, it's my special talent at this point XD ahh well. if there's a bright side, it means i get to be even more self-indulgent and creative with these doofuses, and there might be some new headcanon and fanfic stuff coming later, as well as new Craig art. sucks that canon decided to fold in on itself, but i'm gonna try to ignore it for the most part.

[crystalskiesandcherrywine]

The way you say my name

Feyd Rautha Harkonnen x female!Reader

Its pure smut and since its about Feyd, there are some warnings: he is not so gentle. There is desire on both sides and it ends up getting in the praise kink/forced orgasm territory.

Summary: Your planet has brought magic into the galaxy - a source of new spice- and upended the political status quo. You are the sole heiress of your house and the emperor decided that the best way to protect your family's survival is to betroth you to the most enigmatic but violent fighter in the known universe: Na Baron Feyd Rautha Harkonnen, dangerously seductive and very intrigued by you …

2.203 words

one shot ( for now)

_________

Your whole body was tense, filled with anticipation and nervousness. You noticed your fingers were unconsciously playing with your belt again, and with effort you made yourself refrain from doing so. It was not your first time in the Emperor's court, nor was it your first state reception. Still, it was the first time you had set foot on Kaitain since the new spice was discovered on your planet. Something that had been considered impossible for millennia and that would shake the existing power structures in the Landsraat and the entire known universe. From an insignificant house on a planet beyond Orion, blessed with centuries of stability because of it, your family has been catapulted into a position of a central political player. Your fate, albeit a small piece of a power play against the backdrop the these developments. "Our task is greater than ourselves. Our fears, smaller." The mantra that helped you hold a steady course. You relax your shoulders and notice how your back straightens. 

At that moment, a festively dressed servant entered the room to announce Baron Vladimir Harkonnen and his nephews arrival. Even though you had been prepared for this encounter, the sight was a shock to her. At the first glance he is less imposing then Rabban, who moved into the room like a mountain of muscle and leather uniform. But there is a slow and steady menace in the way he carries himself. His demeanor, both elegant and commanding, reminded you of a marble statue brought to life; his skin almost seemed to illuminate the room, a contrast stark against the dim flicker of torches.

If he had eyebrows, he would certainly have raised one a little crookedly by now. But as it was, his ice-blue eyes suddenly started at you, and you sensed a hardness in his entire demeanor that you weren't used to at home and whose traces you might have felt in her upbringing with Bene Gesserit, but which had always been wrapped in a velvet glove. But power, violence and strength were clear to see in this man. The reason why the Emperor wants to make him your husband - the only one who can apparently guarantee the safety of your planet. He was not used to having to hide his true character. And that is exactly what you would make his downfall.

The formalities dragged on endlessly, time seems to slow down under his gaze. He cannot comprehend you, the strangeness of your features, the luxuriant curls of your hair falling over your shoulders in an elegant half updo, the waves of burgundy silk of your cloak adorning your shoulders, your dress of the same silk and lace - how can anyone appear so vulnerable and exposed? Especially one who holds the key to the most coveted of secrets - a new spice, as powerful as the one exported from Arrakis, but with fewer dangers, Fremen rebellions and more sustainable methods of harvesting. Only this thin fabric separates you from him, something his knife could shred in seconds. He notices that your eyes have left his and are now focused on his hand, gripping the blade at his waist so tightly that his knuckles turn white. He unclenches his hand and offers it to you, bowing slightly. 

"My lady, would you allow me to escort you?"

You place your hand on his and he almost jerks back, surprised by its warmth.

"A mere twist of nature, I tend to forget how shocking it must be to someone not from my home. Our temperature has evolved to be slightly higher than the average, so that when the temperature drops at night, we never fall below a certain threshold".

He listens to you as you walk down the hall towards the banquet room, taking in your voice, the slight swish of your gown on the floor, the click of the delicate gold chains around your neck disappearing into the modest cut of your dress. 

His thoughts oscillate between genuine intrigue with you and your planet, both of which he will soon call his, and a burning desire to test your seemingly obvious fragility, to see how many times he can take you before you beg for mercy, how many bites into your skin will make you whimper, how many slaps on your ass will bring you to your knees regretting whatever misdeed you may have done. You can see his hunger, thinly veiled by manners, and you are sure that he is not accusing you in front of everyone for being in the Emperor's house and not on Giedi Prime. He seems so lost in thought that you have to repeat your question.

"Are you all right, Na Baron? Is something wrong? My conversational skills must be truly dull to bore you so".

He seems to come back to the present, his eyes resting on yours again, the colour of pure blue, like a deep frozen mountain lake. You look down, and just as he finds his voice, the Emperor rises to end the banquet.

"Then I shall bid you good night. If you wish, join me in the botanical garden tomorrow before noon. Perhaps my conversation skills will have improved by then".

He nods and stands to pull out your chair, taking the opportunity to let his fingers slide down your spine through your dress as he moves the chair to the side. He will join you tomorrow alright.

_____

The sun flickers through the canopy of trees above you, leaving a mosaic of shadows on the small, flat cobblestones of the path. You have your hair in a braid that sits like a halo around your head, your arms bare in the sun, dressed in a light linen top and form-fitting trousers that allow for more movement as you tend to the plants. The small patch in front of you is half empty, with small plants dug up. Their purple roots are gnarled and wobbly, while the vines are the darkest shade of green. A tiny bead of sweat clings to your eyebrow, and you pull off your glove to remove it. 

"Is this how my intended likes to spend her time?" His voice behind you, rough and deep. You are startled and drop the glove. He picks it up and holds it out to you, looking straight into your eyes again.

"Thank you. Sometimes I do," you give him an open smile and take the glove back from him, he holds it for a second longer than necessary, seemingly puzzled by your open expression once again. "These plants are from my home, the Emperor tries his best to cultivate them here, but we cannot figure out why they do not develop as they should," you look up at him, his gaze still unmoved from your face.

"Am I boring you again, Na Baron?"

"Not at all," his tongue moves over his lush lips, brushing his cupid's bow.

"Well then, these tiny plants are one of the main factors in the production of the new spice. Their sap is..." You take a small knife from the box beside you and just as you cut into one of the roots, your hand slips and a red streak of blood appears on your left hand. In an instant, a small trail of red drips down your palm and onto the light stones at your feet.

His eye darkens as he grabs your post, ignoring the plant in the flower bed, and brings the injured hand to his lips. A shower passes through you, his tongue brushing your skin, electrifying.

"You should be more careful, my lady." 

His voice almost a growl, his soft and plush lips sucking lightly at your skin, leaving a red mark around them. 

"Yes, I should, Feyd," you are not sure if calling him by his name was a familiarity you allowed yourself too soon, but his reaction proves you wrong. His arms are wrapped around your waist, his face inches from yours. You feel your breath mix, his scent sweet and musky around you.

"Say my name again" There is no politeness to hide his hunger now.

"Feyd..." An almost unbearable exhalation is all you can manage. And with that, he closes the gap between you and descends on your lips, devouring you. His kiss tastes slightly metallic as you taste your blood on his lips, his tongue touching your teeth, demanding entry. You give in, melting into his ministrations, your hands unable to stay still, reaching for his neck, nails digging into the porcelain skin, he almost Monas into the kiss, his hands clawing at your bottom, gripping the flesh in an iron grip. You make a small sound that seems to be all he has been waiting for. Leaving your swollen lips, his attack continues in your jaw and neck, leaving small marks. You feel his arrousal pressing against you and your right hand lets go of his throat and slides over the leather in a rhythmic motion. Before you can think how you can take so much, his size is obvious even fully clothed, he grabs the knife from before and cuts open your top, not bothering with the buttons, leaving your chest exposed to him. His mouth travels to your nipples, his tongue dancing around them before his mouth closes on them and his other hands pinch the other hard. You moan, the pain delicious and unexpected, making you arch even more towards him. He unties the rest of your clothes, leaving you bare to him. A drop of your wetness makes its way from your core along your inner thigh as you melt in his arms. His hand wanders deeper along your hipbones and thighs and as he catches the drop his predatory smile becomes a grin. 

„My lady seems to be enjoying herself... Kneel down".

You obey, the hard floor hurting your knees almost immediately. He pulls his swollen cock out of his trousers and strokes the head along your lips. You open your mouth and begin to lick his shaft with broad strokes, sucking the tip in and letting it fall from your mouth with a wet plop. He watches your every move and pushes a lock of hair that has come loose from your braid out of your face.

"Yes, that's a good girl, keep going."

Spurred on by the praise, you redouble your efforts, disregarding the discomfort of kneeling on the pavement and look up at him to find him completely mesmerised. He cannot believe how willingly you give yourself to him, without reservation. He feels as if he has found something sacred, something so precious and wild that he cannot imagine ever getting enough of it. He steadies your neck and finds his own rhythm, fucking your throat hard, the gurgling sound coming from you like music to his ears, you are struggling for air but he is relentless, filling you with his cum until you swallow every last drop. Your eyes almost in tears, you try to catch your breath, but Feyd has other plans as he helps you to your feet and lays you down on the patch of fresh earth. He spreads your legs and caresses your core. The pain seems to dissolve into a sea of pleasure, leaving you disoriented and greedy, your hands pressing the back of his head into your cunt. He moans in approval, sending more delicious vibrations through your cleat and as his tongue fins you entrance, you lose yourself in the orgasm, chanting his name with more earnestness than any prayer that was ever to leave your lips. 

He looks up at you and just when you think you are going to get a break from his ministrations, he pauses only to strip, his leather overalls falling to the floor and revealing his muscles. He grasps your hips and you spread your legs even wider, giving him an unobstructed view of you and your pulsating cunt.

"So ready to take me, my lady, so ready for my cock to fill you," he smiles, aligning himself with your entrance and thrusting in at once. His cock, thick and throbbing, disappears inside you as you continue to chant his name. He rams into you with abandon, his head touching your wall as his hands wander from your hips to your breasts, kneading them, whipping you into the frenzy of the second high, spasming even harder around his cock. 

"I think you can come again for me, my Na Baroness," he whispers in your ear as he lowers himself over you, one hand loving your breasts to study himself on the floor, the fingers of the other circling your clit. You moan, overstimulated and hot, writhing under his touch.

"I know you can do it," he continues, not slowing down, and he is right as you cum again, this time sending him over the edge, his movements becoming ragged as his seed fills you. As your both breathing calms, you look into his eyes again and you know he is a goner, lost to the magic of your touch and how your desires dance together.

[h8ani]

Sasuke Uchiha x Reader

Word Count - 4k

Warnings - smut, angry sex, public sex, fear of getting caught, hair pulling, angst, slight paranoia, kinda non-canon structures (its been a long time since i watched naruto tbh so disregard the village not being exactly how the anime is), oral - male receiving, face fucking, gagging, degradation, penetrative sex, fem!reader, choking, reader is described to be wearing a dress in this chapter, there’s a voyeur

A/N - Just a reminder that if you have joined my taglist and change your username please let me know! If you haven't joined I put the link down below :) But holy hell you guys I can't believe I actually finished this after almost 5 months in my drafts, but I hope you enjoy it!

taglist! - @bloodsiren @blackfire2013 @benkeibear @suyacho @kodzukein

join my taglist → here

Part One → Part Two → Part Three → Part Four

It’s been a few days since the last time Sasuke was over. You’re used to the silence in between his visits; it’s become second nature to go days, even weeks, without seeing him, and the radio silence between each time he visits has become more common than the last. 

It doesn’t bother you. It does. You could really care less. Sasuke has been the only thing that’s been on your mind. You absolutely hate him. You feel…conflicted.

~~

Limbs tangled with one another, all you could hear were the heavy breaths that escaped both of your lips, your body rising and falling every time Sasuke took in a deep breath as you laid on top of him, his hands dancing along the skin of your back so featherlight it almost tickled. 

Neither of you had uttered a word, just basking in the feeling of touching the other’s skin; the warmth radiating off each other’s body heat brought a sense of familiarity that you couldn’t quite pinpoint just why you felt most comfortable in his arms. You mentally shook the thought away; there was no need to focus on that. Your mind had already cleared up from the sex fog he had put you under and had started to race with a million different things that you wanted to bring up to him. Why did he do what he did? When was he going to leave again? He’s going to leave right away, don’t be stupid. When were you going to see him again? Why did he leave in the first place? You wanted to bring up so much, but you couldn’t brush off this feeling that something was about to happen, as if the rainstorm you were caught up in earlier today was a warning of a disaster brewing and about to happen. 

“What’s wrong,” Sasuke spoke up, his words sounding more like a statement than a question. His eyes were trained on you, making your stomach involuntarily tighten with their intensity. He had been focusing on the multitude of expressions that had graced your face within the last minute; you were completely oblivious to his stare; somehow, he wanted to blame the sex for your lack of inattentiveness and not the fact that you may feel safe around him, no it couldn’t be that. Being distracted has nothing to do with him and everything to do with you being incompetent. Yeah, that’s it.  

Your eyes met his, and before he knew it, your eyes lit up, a small smile appeared, and a simple shake of the head erased any form of contemplation he had previously seen. “Nothing.” You quickly say, “Just thinking.” Bullshit

“About what?” He interjects, his hands that were once dancing lightly across your back were now holding your hips, gripping ever so slightly. 

“Just thinking, random thoughts, it doesn’t matter.” 

“If it doesn’t matter, then you can tell me.”

Huffing a sigh, you stare back at him, his emotionless pools of black not letting you get a read on him, yours: uncertainty. “You won’t answer me even if I ask.”

He raises and sits up, causing you to reposition yourself in an upright position as well; your eyes stay trained on him as his stare hardens, almost as if what you just said offended him somehow. His eyes glance into yours as if he needs to be wary now. “I’m not answering anything about why I’m back in the village or why I left.” He blurts out quickly, a scoff following soon after. “You know you can’t say anything about seeing me. Don’t go blabbing about it to any of your little friends, or I won’t be coming back.” His stare solidifies as your jaw drops ever so slightly; the hardened look he’s giving you makes your chest tighten, and your body rises in temperature. 

Sasuke sees your expression fall ever so slightly before you catch yourself and, in turn, sends the signature scowl he’s grown accustomed to back in his direction. Your eyes narrow while you sit up straighter, the discarded sheet on the bed now pulled tightly to your chest, and he curses at the way that made his stomach clench. He doesn’t care if you’re mad at him, but he can’t lie and say he didn’t want to ruin your two’s good momentum today. The sex was great, and he wanted to leave on what would be considered a good note for the both of you.

“I think you should go,” you say simply. You avert your glare and decide to stare at the wall instead, avoiding his eyes. “You know where the door is.” Ouch.

He rubs his face and sighs. “Look, you don’t get-”

“I don’t care, Sasuke. Like I said, it didn’t matter. So why don’t you just leave? I never saw you, and I’m not going to tell any of my “little friends.” 

You sigh and throw the blankets off you, quickly grabbing your clothes and slamming your bathroom door shut. 

Your throat tightened from the moment you got up, wanting to get away from him from the very moment he opened his stupid mouth. You take a slow, deep breath and let it out; the tightness in your throat drops to your stomach. Why would he even snap like that? What gives him the right to think he could speak like that to you? You miff another sigh out as the conflict in you bubbles up even more with the thoughts running rampant. How stupid could you be for thinking he actually could’ve been somewhat of a nice human being after today?

Your thoughts were quickly silenced by the sound of your front door opening and closing, the door shutting louder than necessary. Fucking asshole.

~~

You shake your head to rid yourself of your thoughts as you look at yourself in the mirror, you fix your hair and check over your outfit in the mirror, quickly doing a little 360 in your mirror. Everyone had decided that tonight was a good night to hang out and have some drinks as no one had any missions for tomorrow, so there was no need to worry about any impending hangovers. 

You changed into a nice dress that fell mid-thigh; it was form-fitting and casual enough that you didn’t overdress or underdress with it. You pulled your hair into a high ponytail and just enough makeup to cover any eye bags that were more prominent than usual, no less from your sleepless nights thinking about he-who-shall-not-be-named-or-thought-of. You looked yourself over in the mirror and smiled. You felt pretty tonight, and it was nice not constantly to be in work mode for once.

The stressors from work and the expectations you always got from everyone took a toll on your body more than you would have liked. You were expected to never make any mistakes and always be three steps ahead, and it was simply a lot. Was it fair? Probably not, but it was also what you got for being a perfectionist at such a young age. You gave everyone expectations where you could only rise instead of fall. If you fell, everyone would know, and you just couldn’t have that. 

You leave your apartment and make your way down to meet your friends. The air had a slight chill to it as the sun was finally setting, but something along with the chill was bothering you. You couldn’t brush off the feeling that someone was watching you. 

Your feet skid to a halt as you spin, eyes cascading along the rooftops of the buildings around you. Your breathing picks up as your heart begins beating, and you feel every thump as your anxiety spikes. You internally curse yourself for being so stupid as not to even bring a single shuriken with you. For god’s sake, you could’ve popped one in your purse just for safekeeping. The anxiety you feel is derived from being paranoid, and you have to remind yourself no one is watching you and that it’s just your own mind playing tricks on you. You take a deep breath as you hear a name call out to you; turning back around, you see Shikamaru and Choji waving you over. You speed walk over to them, swallowing down the feeling of someone’s eyes on you. Was Sasuke here again? You wouldn’t expect him to be over so soon after the fight you two had just days ago. He’s never over this soon after he leaves anyway. Usually, it takes weeks for him to come over, sometimes even months. Although his eyes being the ones you’ve felt had to have been it, there’s no other explanation.

~~

The buzz of the alcohol was finally settling in; once you got inside, you decided you needed a tiny little shot to calm your nerves and anxieties, then another once all your friends arrived and wanted to take a group shot, and now here you are ordering your third. You’re a lightweight, no shock about that, and feeling a bit dazed as you stare at the shot of alcohol sitting in front of you. You’re so zoned out, not even realizing the presence of someone taking the seat next to you at the bar table.

“You look nice tonight.” A familiar voice catches your ear, and you turn, seeing Shikamaru next to you. A sudden rush of heat hits you as you stare back at him. “Oh, T-Thank you.” You stutter out and mentally smack yourself. You divert your attention back to your shot glass, suddenly remembering how intriguing it was just two seconds ago. 

Suddenly, hearing the sound of glass scraping against the bar table, you look up and see a similar shot in Shikamaru’s hand. “Cheers?” He holds up his shot glass, waiting for you to do the same. A small chuckle leaves you as you hold yours up and clink your glass with his. “Cheers.” 

You knock back the shot, grimacing over the familiar burn down your throat and the fuzzy feeling deep in your stomach. You sigh and slump back against your seat as you look at Shikamaru. “You look nice too, I think I forgot to compliment you back.” 

He chuckles, “Thanks, I didn’t really know what to wear. I wanted to come in sweats and a hoodie, but Ino just about had a conniption when I mentioned that.”

“Oh, don’t lie, you didn’t even want to come to this.”

“And you did?”

“Well, you got me there, didn’t you?” 

Laughter fills the air around you two as you continue to talk about past missions, the latest drama you’ve heard around the village, and even as mundane as the midnight snacks you two have had, you were actually…enjoying yourself; the thought of Sasuke had been dissipated like the rain that had come and gone from the prior days. Listening to Shikamaru talk was something you found yourself rather enjoying. Still, maybe that’s just the alcohol in your veins talking. Yeah, that was definitely it. “So, what’s new with you?” Shikamaru asks, his eyes finding yours, and the sudden tightness is once again back, whether that being because the only thing that seems to be ‘new’ in your life was Sasuke and every little defiling and obscene moment between you two replayed again in your head or because you actually might be liking the attention Shikamaru is giving you the world will never know. 

“Ah, you know. Lots of training, lots of missions, lots of-”

“Staying in your apartment all day and night?”

You quirk an eyebrow up at him, lips slowly following suit. “Shikamaru Nara, are you stalking me?” An indiscernible giggle leaves your lips, which shocks not only you but also him. You can see the pink rising to his cheeks at your minor faux accusation; his eyes widen, and his hands immediately come up to defend himself. “No, I just hear Ino constantly nagging at me to hang out with her, that’s how I know. I don’t stand out of your window or anything like that. Do you know how much time and energy that takes? Do you know-”

“Shikamaru?” 

“What?”

“I was joking.”

“Oh.”

“You know, for someone with an IQ higher than a tree, you’re kinda dumb.”

“You know what…Shut up.”

~~

The air around you as you step outside drops a few degrees, causing you to shiver despite the multiple shots you had earlier. Glancing around, you notice how barren the pathways are and how barren the town seems. You glance back over your shoulder to see that Shikamaru is already on his way with his teammates, all drunk themselves, as you see them stumbling against each other. 

Your apartment isn’t far from where you are, so you, in turn, make your way down the path. Bad idea. The more you walk, the more you regret that last shot you took and every single life choice you seem to have made tonight because the line you had been walking in had slowly turned into a wave, making you plant your hand on the building beside you. “Just a little more, and I’m almost home.” You blow out a sigh before taking another step forward. Looking up, your body freezes as you see a rock fly past you and fall to the floor to your right. Your senses come to realize that someone is near as you stare at the rock. The alcohol has slowed your reflexes because you’re yanked backward, a scream bubbling up in your throat. Still, before you can release it, a hand is clasped over your mouth, and you get dragged in between the two buildings down the small alleyway.

You begin kicking back and screaming into the hand, fighting as you’re dragged back further into the small space between the two buildings, your front pressed against the wall and the chills finding their way back up your spine once you hear his voice. “How stupid could you be?” His voice is loud in your ear, hand still firm against your mouth, not allowing you to utter a word. “Walking home drunk is one thing, but what the fuck are you wearing?” He seethes. Your dress is already riding up higher on your thighs, just below your ass, due to being pressed between the wall and the man himself. It took all of one big gust of wind to blow it up or one perverted old man to ‘drop’ something of his to catch a look up your dress. The anger that welled up in his chest was undeniable as he pushed off of you and spun you around to slam you harder into the wall itself. Your eyes caught him scanning over you; his already dark eyes seemed even darker tonight. The dress you wore hugged every inch of you perfectly, and it drove him madder seeing it hiked up higher than intended, all thanks to him. One more inch, and he could see the little lace thong he knew you were wearing. He finds your eyes and tsks at the dumbfounded look you gave him; just how stupid were you? 

“Sasuke-”

“Shut up and get on your knees.” He cuts you off, hands gripping your arms and tugging you down until you plop down on your knees. The dirt underneath you digs uncomfortably into your skin. You look up, pupils dilated as you stare up at the ravenette. “Unless you want us to be caught, I suggest you not utter a single noise.” Without warning, Sasuke pushes two fingers past your lips and into your mouth, pumping the digits like they were his cock until they were soaked with your own spit. “I suggest you act right, given your circumstances.” He speaks, and your eyes narrow up at him; the urge to clamp your teeth on his fingers threatens to come to fruition, but you can’t ignore the subtle throb in between your legs. “Suck.” He says while pushing his fingers deeper and tugging his pants down with his other hand, pulling down the material along with his underwear, allowing his cock to spring out. You could feel yourself salivate just looking at him, wanting to trade his fingers for his cock against your better judgment. He presses his fingers down harder against your tongue, causing you to gag and choke on saliva; you can hear the snicker that comes from him as he watches you trying to quieten your coughing spout. 

His hand threads into your hair, messing up your almost perfect ponytail, the grip burning your scalp as he pulls you forward, knees dragging against the ground while the tip of his cock presses against your wet lips, his precum smearing across them in an almost erotic way that Sasuke doesn’t think he could last by just looking at you. 

You drop your jaw open while he pushes his cock past your lips, enveloping himself in the warmth that is your mouth. The grip on your hair grants you nothing but pain as his hips begin to move to their own rhythm, his cock hitting farther back than the last thrust. You try your best to breathe through your nose as he fucks your face to his liking; maybe if your mind weren’t so focused on Sasuke being here, cock down your throat and his eyes watching you so meticulously, you’d have the nerve to push back, make him slow down, maybe even explain why he knew you were out with your friends in the first place and not at home. 

Tugging you even tighter, Sasuke pushes your head until your nose is brushing against his stomach; your throat tightens as he effectively pushes each inch into your throat. “You feel me? Do you think that Shikamaru could ever stretch your throat out like I do? He might as well try something with you seeing how fucking drunk you were tonight.” His hips rock forward until his dick hits further back into your throat. You choke around him, drool effectually spilling past your lips and down your chin. 

Eyes squeezing shut, you sputter another cough, which turns into a gag around his length. A disapproving noise is heard from him as he pulls away, allowing you to take in deep breaths. As you open your eyes, you see him crouched down in front of you, a look one can only describe as displeasure. “How stupid could you be?” he says, slightly shaking his head before he speaks again. You’re supposed to be better than them.” 

“Better than-”

Crack!

“Naruto! You idiot!” You gasp as you hear the rest of your friends walking down and getting closer to the alleyway you were in. They must’ve just now left the bar you all were at; this isn’t good; you need to leave; they can’t see you like this. You pull farther away from Sasuke as you see them pass the opening between the two buildings, all of them stumbling and unknowingly passing you as they walk. 

Another tsk leaves his mouth as he shoves you forward; you catch yourself on your hands while grimacing at the sting that travels through the skin of your knees. You feel his hands positioning himself behind you, all while pushing your dress up to your hips and pulling your thong to the side. Suddenly feeling every bit of alcohol drain from your system, you become hyper-aware of what is really happening; you jolt forward, and before you can spin around to ask him what he thinks he’s doing, you’re yanked back by your hair, back arching to the point where you’re staring straight into his eyes. “Make sure to be quiet, or else everyone is going to see how much you love taking my cock.” A deep chuckle vibrates through him. “What would they think when seeing you on all fours in an alley? Perfect little (y/n) crying from how good my cock makes her feel; how would you ever live that down? You think Shikamaru would ever give you the slightest bit of attention after that?” 

Letting go of your hair, a knee between your thighs pushed them further apart while you balanced yourself on your hands. The itching feeling that someone could see or be watching from a distance burns brighter than the pain in your knees. The swollen tip of his cock prods your already glistening entrance; you bite down on your lip to stop any form of a whine from slipping out. You swallow down the nerves as his hand leaves your hair to slip around your throat; the silent plea that he wouldn’t make this difficult left the moment his hips slammed into yours, his hand tightening on your throat, restraining the scream that threatened to bubble out. He gave you no time to adjust, his hand leaving your throat and falling to your waist, fingers digging into your flesh so tight as he slammed into you that you knew bruises would be there by morning. 

You can’t help but glance up, fearing that any of your friends could leave the bar at any time and pass by, seeing you in the most compromising position you feel like you’ve been in. The subtle feeling that there’s a pair of eyes on the two of you grows larger while you scan around. No one has passed by the entrance, and this feeling could only be explained by you being scared of getting caught. 

Sasuke’s breathy grunts found your ears, and a pang of alarm shot right through you as he was the one making noise. The subtle sound of skin slapping skin makes you even more fearful. The coil in your stomach is already winding tight; the quieter you have to become, the more your pussy grips him. You clench around him, pussy squeezing for dear life. Your nails dig into the ground beneath you, knuckles turning white. 

“Oh, God…” You pant, dropping your head down between your shoulders. The sounds of everyone’s voices can be heard in the distance, and you try desperately to focus on anything other than the impending orgasm that’s slowly building up. 

Sasuke shifts, bringing his hand in between your legs and fingers quickly to find your clit, rubbing quick little circles. You bite down hard on your lip, the silvery taste of metallic dancing on your tongue from allowing the moan that threatened to escape. No, You won’t give him the satisfaction of making you cum, especially this fast. You grab his hand to stop his fingers and feel his hand that was once placed on your waist slide across your skin and reach back up to your throat, drawing your back flush to his chest, knees digging deeper into the gravel on the ground and seemingly reaching deeper within you, a desperate whine left your lips as your eyes faintly rolled back. “Stop me from making you cum, and I swear to god, you’re going to regret it.” He growls while tightening his grip on your throat and bringing his other hand back to your clit. His hips snapped into you even deeper while he assaulted your clit. You struggle to gasp as the coil in you snaps; your body shakes as you lean back into him more, pushing him even deeper that you swear you see stars. You spasmed as you dug your nails into the hand that held your throat while he continued to pound into you. 

He was chasing his own release, and the way he felt like you two would be caught at any moment spurred him on even more. He knew tonight was a lot, even on his standards of fucking you, but the way your pussy was fluttering around him, the deeper he got, and the rougher he became, he couldn’t stop. Your walls clenched around him, climax dragging out as your pleasure was heightened as he fucked into you; your name tumbled off of his lips before he bit into your shoulder, muffling the sinful moan he released as he came. You both fell forward, barely catching yourselves before hitting the ground, with heavy breaths syncing with one another while you catch your wit on what you two just did. 

The feeling of someone watching you never did go away. 

The angry pair of eyes attached to the redhead at the back end of the alleyway never left you two, either. 

network: @enchantedforest-network

[sweetimpurity]

ੈ✩‧₊˚ day 22! coming in late ugh! but we get a two for one special today be on the lookout cw: minor breathplay wc: 932 ੈ✩‧₊˚

It’s not often you’re the one being chased. You’re usually the one finding anomalies and taking them down, taking them back to HQ. But tonight, you’re the one who’s being hunted. Tonight you’re the villain and he’s on the prowl. 

Your webs strain and thwip from building to building. Running and sliding over rooftops, climbing windows and fire escapes. Trying to find a place to hide out and see if you can spot him. You know he’s not far behind you. But you both turned your trackers off so there’s no telling where he is exactly. 

It’s exciting. All of this. And you told him to play it up. Told him to pick you up and throw you around a bit if he wants. Something you’ve been craving.

The hairs stand up on the back of your neck. A telltale sign that he’s close. You can sense him. You’re perched on a skyscraper, tuning out the sounds of busy Nueva York city to listen for him. Trying to listen for his breath, his heartbeat, his steps, anything. 

Staying deadly still, dialing your senses to 11. Scanning your surroundings and trying to pick up anything you can. A metal creak has you turning to see the source, only for his hand to grasp your face, sharp talons pricking your cheeks. “Found you.” He growls. 

Instantly you’re jumping from your hiding spot. A rush of adrenaline and energy. His hands try to grab onto you as you launch yourself from the edge of the building, thwipping and pulling yourself to a neighboring skyscraper and making your way down the block. The chase is really on. 

As fast as you can, you’re pulling yourself through buildings, sprinting across rooftops, looking back at any chance you get to see him trampling up the sides of buildings. Huge and hulking as always. His claws digging into the brick and sparking off metal siding. It’s scary. Like being chased up a flight of stairs. Knowing every new step you take, he’ll already be up one step too. Your heart is beating so fast and hard. 

You get to the edge of a crane, more than a hundred feet in the air. The wind whipping past your cheek and taking one second too long to decide your next jumping point. When his red glowing webs reach you, wrapping around your torso, making you gasp, trying to break out of them but he’s gaining on you, climbing up the crane on all fours, like an animal stalking its prey. “No no no!” You squeal with a smile, heart beating out of your chest and messing with the webs to break them. And he’s smiling too, watching you trying to escape him. 

Once the webs finally break and you’re free, you lean back, allowing yourself to freefall. But he lunges forward, talon tacking in your suit before grabbing you by the throat, his big hand firm yet gentle. Not to hurt you, just to hold you. “You should stop running, baby, I caught you…” 

“I can still get awa-” You gasp, your hands coming up to hold onto his wrist as his fingers tighten just slightly around your airways for a moment. Forbidding you from finishing your sentence. The pad of his thumb pushes your head to the side, and his head tilts to keep looking in your eyes. “Go ahead and try… see if I’ll let you get away…” 

The words stoke the fire already burning inside you. Making you want him, making you need him right now. But you need to play the game. And you can see that glint in his eyes, telling you he’s loving this too. 

He moves quickly, releasing your throat and grabbing you up in his arms, pressing himself to you and trying to squeeze you in his grasp. And there’s that vulnerable moment you’ve been waiting for. Squirming from his hands and stepping back off the crane structure, falling off the edge and out of his grasp, but he’s instantly on you. Soaring through the air and he swoops in, grabbing you around the waist, instead pulling you the opposite direction. Swinging on his neon webs up through the night sky. You could struggle, you could fight, but the feeling of being so snuggly kept beside him, the cold air in your face, the flip in your stomach as you fly through the sky, knowing he’s got you now, knowing you’re caught. It’s enthralling, it’s intoxicating. 

“I’ve got you, just give in to me…” He smirks, jumping onto a skyscraper rooftop. Wind whipping past both of you. The moon is the only source of light this far up. City lights are far below. “You can’t run anymore…” 

He’s on you, stopping your squirming and smiling when he can hear the laughter that bubbles up in you. Pushing you down on the cold metal, holding your hands behind your back and wrapping some of his webs around them. Not the artificial ones that glow red, but his. And it’s now you’re like a fly in his trap, in his web. He’s quick to shred your suit, finding how wet you’ve become. Who knew you’d love being chased like this, treated like you’ve done something you need to be punished for. 

“You stay nice and still now…” He huffs, prodding your core with his cock and nudging at the entrance. His long fingers grabbing into your hair and tugging gently, just to lift your head and hear the gasps, the whines, the cries that escape you as he slips in your cunt to the hilt. 

Taglist!! love my sweeties!

@spooky-sculder

@slushycoookie @xxyaoi-nationxx @snails-doodles22 @scaryplanetdestroyer @fate13

@divorcepaperz @yeahnohoneybye @zaunsin @tomalymme @drefear

@mrs-pondwater19 @saintdiior @aphinthestars @hyjionie

@palomanh @maxad99 @muuuwoppppp @reader-1290

@sp0ck136 @lazyninjaphilosopher

@pinkdizzyship @opalwitchart

if you'd like to be added/dropped from the taglist, please comment on my masterlist post. Or else I might not see it! thank you! 🩷

[yohanisnothere]

You must be haunting me..!

⋆˚✿˖° In which you're forced to join the ghost hunting at the haunted house with your friends, but then they left you with the lingering ghost.

⋆˚✿˖° Pairings: Ghost!Satoru X Fem! Reader

⋆˚✿˖° SMUT, oral sex (f receiving), missionary, p in v, swearing

It's kinda long, but enjoy ;D

✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆°°✩✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆°°✩✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆°°✩✮ ⋆ ˚｡

The soft hum of conversation and the clatter of dishes filled the cozy little restaurant as you sat with your friends. It was one of those rare moments when the four of you managed to gather around a table without someone running late or bailing at the last minute. The smell of freshly cooked ramen filled the air, and you were halfway through a steaming bowl when Nobara spoke up, her eyes gleaming with excitement.

"You guys know about that old haunted house, right?" Nobara's voice cut through the conversation like a knife. She leaned forward, elbows on the table, her usual boldness giving way to an almost mischievous grin. "We should totally go check it out tonight."

You paused mid-bite, glancing between Yuji and Megumi, unsure if she'd just suggested what you thought she had. Yuji, ever the thrill-seeker, looked intrigued already. He set down his chopsticks and shot Nobara a grin. "Ghost hunting, huh? I'm in! It sounds like fun."

Megumi, however, wasn’t sold. He raised an eyebrow, the usual calm expression on his face hardening slightly. "That place? You mean the one everyone says is cursed?" He sighed, clearly conflicted. "I don’t know, Nobara. People have gone in and… well, weird things happen."

Nobara waved her hand dismissively. "C'mon, Megumi. Weird things always happen when you look for them. It's just an old house. What’s the worst that could happen?"

You could see the hesitation in Megumi's eyes as he looked at you, like he was silently asking if you were going to back him up on this. But then Yuji nudged him with his elbow. "Don’t be such a buzzkill. It's just one night, and it'll be over before you know it."

Megumi groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Fine, but if something actually happens, don't say I didn't warn you."

As they turned to you, all eyes locked onto yours, you could feel the weight of the decision pressing in. You weren’t exactly eager to spend your night in a house famous for scaring the living daylights out of anyone who dared enter. But with your friends clearly set on going, it was hard to see a way out of it.

⋆˚✿˖° ⋆˚✿˖° ⋆˚✿˖° ⋆˚✿˖° ⋆˚✿˖° ⋆˚✿˖° ⋆˚✿˖° ⋆˚✿˖°

Whether you like it or not, you'd still need to join anyway. The house stood before you like a shadow of its former self, tall and looming, with broken windows and peeling paint. The air around it seemed unnaturally still, as if the night itself held its breath. The old iron gate creaked in the wind, and the overgrown lawn looked like it hadn’t been touched in decades. A cold chill ran down your spine as you stared at the dark structure.

"Well... here we are," Yuji said, trying to sound casual but failing to hide the slight tremor in his voice.

Nobara grinned, her excitement unshaken. "Perfect. Look at this place! It's just like one of those haunted houses from the movies. We’re definitely getting some good stories out of this."

Megumi sighed, his eyes narrowing at the house as though sizing up an enemy. "This is a terrible idea."

"You already agreed, remember?" Nobara teased, nudging him. "Don’t chicken out now."

You stayed quiet, your gaze locked on the front door that looked like it hadn’t been opened in years. The longer you stood there, the more the oppressive atmosphere of the place seemed to weigh on you. It was as if the house was watching, waiting.

"Alright, let’s do this," Yuji said, breaking the silence as he pushed open the rusty gate, the screeching sound making you wince. He led the way with a flashlight in hand, illuminating the narrow path that led to the entrance.

As the group walked closer to the house, every step seemed heavier than the last. Nobara was practically bouncing with excitement, while Megumi lagged behind, his eyes scanning every shadow, every movement.

You felt your heart hammering in your chest as you approached the front door. There was no turning back now.

The air inside the house was thick with dust and the faint scent of mildew. Each step you took echoed through the empty hallways, but after a while, the fear you felt outside began to fade. The house was silent—too silent—but as time passed, nothing unusual happened.

“This place isn’t so bad,” Yuji said with a forced laugh, trying to lighten the mood. “All those stories must’ve been made up.”

“Right?” Nobara added, glancing around at the cracked walls and sagging ceiling. “A haunted house, my foot. I bet people just freak themselves out.”

Even Megumi, who had been tense the whole time, seemed to relax a little. “Let’s just hurry up and leave. We’ve seen enough.”

You nodded, relieved that the visit might end without anything strange happening. But just as you were about to agree and suggest heading back, the sound of footsteps echoed down the hallway behind you—footsteps that didn’t belong to any of you.

You froze, your heart suddenly pounding in your chest. Yuji, who had been walking a little ahead, turned to face the hallway behind him. “Did… Did you guys hear that?”

Before anyone could answer, the unmistakable sound of footsteps grew louder. Then, at the far end of the hallway, a pair of glowing blue eyes appeared, floating in the darkness. The light from the eyes was dim at first, but as they grew brighter, the air around you felt colder, heavier.

Nobara’s bravado cracked, her voice trembling as she whispered, “What the hell is that?”

Without warning, Yuji let out a panicked yelp and bolted down the hallway. “Nope! I’m out!” His footsteps pounded against the wooden floor as he sprinted ahead.

“Yuji, wait!” Nobara called after him, but the fear in her voice betrayed her own nerves. She and Megumi quickly ran after him, disappearing around a corner.

You stood frozen for a moment, the glowing eyes still fixed on you from the other end of the hall. A cold sweat ran down your back, and you turned to chase after them. But before you could make it to the hallway's end, the door to the room you were in slammed shut with a deafening bang.

You grabbed the handle, twisting it frantically, but it wouldn’t budge. “Guys?” you called out, your voice breaking as you pounded on the door. “Guys, the door’s stuck!”

But all you heard in return was the faint echo of your voice, swallowed by the heavy silence. The glowing eyes vanished, leaving you alone in the dark room, the air around you suddenly colder than before.

Your heart raced as you tugged at the door, desperate to get it open. Panic surged through you, but before you could call out for your friends again, you felt something else—something cold. Icy fingers wrapped around your waist from behind, pulling you away from the door.

You gasped, struggling for breath, your heart hammering in your chest. Every muscle in your body tensed, but when you turned around, the sight before you made your breath hitch in an entirely different way.

Standing before you was a man—a ghost, no doubt about it. His skin was impossibly pale, almost glowing under the faint light of the room. His eyes, an eerie yet mesmerizing shade of blue, twinkled with mischief. A sly smile curled on his lips, and though the chill from his touch still lingered on your skin, there was something undeniably handsome about him.

"Whoa there," he said, his voice smooth and playful. "Where do you think you're going, running off like that?"

You blinked, your mind struggling to process what was happening. His arms stayed casually wrapped around your waist, holding you close in a way that felt far too intimate for a ghost.

“Who… who are you?” you stammered, trying to push back, but your movements were weak under his steady gaze.

He tilted his head, amusement dancing in his eyes. “Name’s Gojo Satoru,” he introduced, his voice laced with confidence. “And you are… definitely not supposed to be here.”

You swallowed hard, trying to pull your thoughts together, but he made it impossible to focus. “W-what do you mean?”

Satoru’s grin widened as he leaned in a little closer, his cold breath brushing against your neck. “I mean, a place like this isn’t meant for someone as cute as you. So what brings you to my humble, haunted abode?”

The way he looked at you—how his gaze roamed over you like he was savoring every second—made you painfully aware of just how touchy he was. Even though his skin was cold, his hand slid from your waist to the small of your back, fingers lingering as though he were still alive and not some phantom.

Your face heated, though you weren’t sure if it was fear or something else. “We—my friends and I—we just came to check out the place.”

Satoru chuckled softly, shaking his head. “Curiosity’s dangerous, you know. Especially around here.” His voice dropped into a teasing tone as his other hand lightly brushed your hair back from your face. “But then again, I can’t say I mind having a little company.”

You were flustered, torn between the chilling realization that you were talking to a ghost and how undeniably charming, even flirty, he was. Every word he said dripped with playful teasing, and his constant touch only made your pulse race faster.

“Are you always this... forward?” you managed to ask, trying to regain some composure.

Satoru smirked, not bothering to hide his amusement. “When I see something I like? Absolutely. Besides…” His hand trailed down your arm, sending shivers down your spine. “It’s been a long time since I’ve had anyone to talk to. Might as well enjoy the moment, don’t you think?”

His playful, flirtatious demeanor wasn’t helping your already frazzled nerves, but despite yourself, you couldn’t deny the strange pull he had over you. He was a ghost—he shouldn’t feel so real, so present. And yet, here he was, teasing you, touching you like you weren’t separated by life and death.

Satoru's arms stayed firmly wrapped around you, his presence overwhelming in the stillness of the room. His smirk widened as he studied your flustered expression, clearly enjoying your reaction. He leaned in a little closer, his breath cool against your skin.

“You know," he drawled, his voice dripping with playful mischief, "it's pretty naughty of you to be in here alone... with a male ghost, no less."

You blinked, his words sinking in. Alone? Your gaze quickly flickered around the room, only now realizing where you were standing. The creaky old bed in the corner, the tattered curtains, and the musty scent—it wasn’t just any room. It was the bedroom.

Your face burned with embarrassment, and you tried to pull away, but Satoru held you firmly in place, a wicked grin spreading across his face.

"Something wrong?" he teased, eyes sparkling with amusement as he watched your discomfort. "I thought you’d be more adventurous, sneaking around a haunted house at night. Or were you hoping for a different kind of thrill?"

You opened your mouth to protest, but his words caught you off guard. Before you could speak, Satoru tilted his head slightly, his voice softening into a low, seductive whisper. “Tell me, have you ever thought about... experiencing something new?”

You hesitated, your heart pounding in your chest. “What do you mean?”

The grin on his face deepened, and without answering, Satoru leaned in closer. His hand moved from your back to cup your cheek gently, his icy fingers sending a shiver down your spine. His face hovered just inches from yours, and for a moment, everything seemed to stop. The air felt thick, charged with an intensity you hadn’t expected.

“What I mean,” he murmured, his lips brushing yours ever so slightly, “is something like this.”

Before you could react, he closed the distance, pressing his lips to yours in a kiss that was surprisingly soft, but undeniably electrifying. The coldness of his touch contrasted with the warmth that suddenly bloomed in your chest, and for a second, the world outside that room ceased to exist.

Satoru’s kiss was slow, teasing, as though savoring the moment. He was a ghost, an ethereal being, and yet somehow, he felt so real, his presence so tangible that it made your head spin. You couldn’t tell if it was the fear, the surprise, or something else entirely, but you felt like you were sinking deeper into the strange, thrilling connection that held you both together.

When he finally pulled back, his eyes gleamed with playful mischief. “So… how’s that for something new?”

Before you could even gather your thoughts or catch your breath, Satoru leaned in again, this time with far less patience. His lips crashed against yours in a rougher, more urgent kiss, one that left no room for hesitation. Your breath hitched as his hands tightened around your waist, pulling you flush against him, the chill of his touch seeping through your clothes.

The softness from before was gone, replaced by an intensity that sent shockwaves through your body. His kiss was deeper, more demanding, like he was claiming you in that moment, and despite every rational thought screaming at you to push him away, your body betrayed you, rooted in place by the magnetic pull he had over you.

The sensation of his lips, cold yet somehow fiery with passion, made your head spin, your mind blanking out everything except for him. His fingers trailed up your back, sending a rush of goosebumps across your skin as his mouth moved against yours, not giving you a second to process what was happening.

Satoru broke the kiss for a split second, his lips hovering dangerously close to yours as he whispered, “You taste even better than I imagined.” His voice was low, husky, dripping with a teasing tone that made your heart pound even harder.

Before you could respond, before you could even catch your breath, he was on you again, his kiss rougher still, like he couldn’t get enough of you. His hands roamed your body, cold and possessive, as though he was determined to make sure you wouldn’t forget this—wouldn’t forget him.

And with the way your body reacted, you weren’t sure you ever could.

Without warning, Satoru's hands tightened around you, and with a swift, effortless motion, he pushed you backward. You stumbled, barely managing to gasp before your back hit the mattress, sinking into the creaky old bed. The springs groaned beneath your weight, and you stared up at him, your heart racing.

Satoru loomed over you, his pale face framed by the dim light filtering through the cracked window. His eyes gleamed with a mixture of mischief and something darker, more primal. His grin widened, satisfied with how easily he had you at his mercy.

Satoru grabbed the bottom of your shirt and pulled it up, revealing your lacy bra. He took a moment to admire the sight, before straddling your waist, his hands gripping both of your wrist together with his hand.

"You're mine now," Satoru growled, his voice thick with lust. "I'll take what I want from you." He pressed a kiss to your neck, nipping at your skin, before trailing his lips down to your collarbone, making your breath hitched and let out a small whimper. "And tonight, I want to fill you up with every drop I have."

Satoru's hands roamed your body, unfastening the clasp of your bra, letting it fall to the side. He leaned in, taking one nipple into his mouth, sucking and nipping at it, before switching to the other one. His hips rocked against you, grinding against you through your shorts. You feel your panties sticking to your pussy because of how wet you are.

"Soon, my sweet," he murmured, his voice low and seductive. "Soon you'll be begging for more." You couldn’t help but rock your hips back to his harden cock, needing to release the desire pooling between your thighs.

Satoru chuckled darkly, feeling your body respond to him. "You're such a tease," he said, his voice laced with desire. He pressed his body further down on yours. "But I like it," he admitted, his mouth finding yours in a deep, hungry kiss.

Breaking away, Satoru trailed his lips down your body, his hands exploring your curves, making your body shivered slightly with his cold lips. For some reason, it makes your desire for him heightened. He pull your shorts down before hooking his fingers into your panties, pulling them down your legs, tossing them aside. He could see the wetness, smell the scent of arousal, and it drove him wild.

"You're so ready for me," he said, his voice low and husky. He spread your legs wider, positioning himself between them. "But first," he said, his eyes locked on your wet pussy, "I need a taste."

"W-wa- ngh..!" before you could protest, he leaned in, his tongue flicking out to lick your folds, tasting the sweetness. Satoru groaned, his cock throbbing at the sweet taste of you. He began to lick and suck, his tongue exploring every inch of you, driving your mind to a haze, your back arching slightly at the feeling of the wet muscle exploring your cunt. Your hand instantly went down to tugged on his hair, his tongue is cold too, and it provides you a different sensation.

Satoru grinned, feeling your hand in his hair. "You like that, don't you?" He asked, his voice muffled by your body. He continued to pleasure you, his tongue teasing your clit, flicking it before he sucked it into his mouth. He could feel your body tremble beneath him, the sounds of your moans and whimpers fueling his lust.

"S-satoru..I-I can't..!" you moaned, your clit too sensitive at every single flick of his tongue.

"It's okay, baby. Cum for me," he growled, his grip on your hips tightening. "Let me taste it." He continued to work your body, his fingers joining in, slipping inside your wetness. He knew the perfect rhythm to push you over the edge, and he was determined to succeed.

Satoru's own arousal was nearly unbearable, but he wouldn't let himself climax until you did. He wanted to feel your body quiver against his mouth, your release coating his tongue.

You feel the coil in your belly tighten and he knew you were close by the way your walls tighten around his fingers. You bucked your hips against his mouth, seeking for more pleasure. "F-fuck..faster please..!" you begged.

He smirked as he obliged, speeding up his ministrations, sucking harder on your clit, his fingers pumping inside your pussy. "You want it faster, huh?" He teased, his voice thick with lust. "You'll get it."

He could feel the tension building, your body trembling as he pushed you closer and closer to the edge. He didn't want to stop, didn't want to miss the moment you came undone. "That's it, darling," he encouraged, his voice low and encouraging. "Let it go, let me feel it."

Satoru increased the pressure, his tongue flicking over your clit, his fingers thrusting in and out, hitting your sweet spot. "N-ngh! Satoru..I-I'm gonna...g-gonna cum-!"

It was only a matter of moments before he felt your body shudder, walls clenching around his fingers as you came. He lapped up your juices, savoring the taste, before pulling away.

"Good girl," he praised, smirking as he wiped his mouth. "Now it's my turn." He pull down his pant enough to reveal his cock, long and girthy as he positioned himself at your entrance, throbbing with need.

Satoru pushed his cock into you slowly, groaning as his length fills you up and how tight your pussy is. You bit your lower lip, holding in your moans. "Y-you're so big Satoru.." you said softly.

Satoru smirked, his eyes never leaving yours. "You'll get used to it," he promised, before he began to move. Slow, deep thrusts, letting you get accustomed to him. He could feel your body adjusting, tightening around him, and it made him even more aroused.

He leaned down, capturing your lips in a deep, searing kiss, his hips rolling, grinding against you, your moans muffled with the kiss. "God, you feel so good," he whispered against your mouth. His hand reached up to cup your breast, squeezing it gently, before moving down to stroke your clit. Your body quiver, your nub still sensitive.

"Let me hear you, sweet," he growled, his voice low and commanding. "Let me hear how much you love this." He began to thrust harder, faster, his cock sliding in and out of her, the sound of bodies slapping together filling the room.

"H-hah! F-feel so good..!" you moaned, eyes rolling back to the back of your skull at each of his thrust against your G-spot. Satoru's grip on your breast tightened, his other hand holding your hip, keeping you pinned. "Cum for me, my sweet," he demanded, his voice thick with lust. "Cum while I'm inside you."

Satoru groaned, his own pleasure building. He was close, so very close. "That's it," he praised, his thrusts becoming more erratic, his body losing control. "You're so tight, you're going to make me lose it."

His thrusts became more desperate, more frantic, his grip on your body tightening. He could feel the tip of his cock swelling, the need to release building. "Come for me," he growled, the last of his restraint slipping

"C-cumming!" you screamed. Satoru could feel your body tensing again, and it was enough to push him over the edge. With a deep growl, Satoru let go, his cock pulsing inside you as he filled you with his seed. "Fuck," he swore, his body trembling as the wave of pleasure crashed over him.

He collapsed onto your body, his breathing heavy, his cock still buried deep inside you. "God, that was good," he murmured, his voice hoarse. He stayed there for a moment, enjoying the feeling of being connected to you, before pulling out and rolling off you.

"That was...something.." you spoke, still trying to process what had happened. Satoru chuckles softly, his finger caressing your cheeks with a smile. "Sleep my darling, I'll clean you up."

For some reason, his voice makes you sleepy, like he's lulling you to sleep. So you decided to trust him and closed your eyes. It doesn't take too long until you finally fell asleep by his side. By the side of a ghost.

✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆°°✩✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆°°✩✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆°°✩✮ ⋆ ˚｡

You blinked against the soft morning light filtering through the curtains, slowly becoming aware of your surroundings. The warmth of the blankets cocooned you, and for a moment, you felt safe and content. But as your eyes adjusted, the reality of where you were began to seep back in.

You turned your head to the side and froze. Yuji and Megumi were sitting on the edge of the bed, concern etched across their faces. Nobara stood nearby, her arms crossed, looking equally worried.

“Thank goodness you’re awake!” Yuji exclaimed, relief flooding his voice. “We were so worried!”

“What happened?” you croaked, the memories of the night flooding back in a chaotic rush. The haunted house, Satoru...

“We found you unconscious in that bedroom,” Megumi explained, his expression a mix of guilt and concern. “We thought you’d just gotten scared or something, but you wouldn’t wake up.”

Nobara stepped forward, her brows furrowing in apology. “I’m so sorry for leaving you alone! We should have stayed with you.”

You shook your head, still trying to piece together what had happened. “I was fine. I… I was just resting.”

“Resting?” Yuji raised an eyebrow, his tone skeptical. “You were out cold! What really happened?”

You hesitated, the memories of how you just had sex with the ghost in the house still vivid in your mind. “It’s... complicated,” you finally said, your heart racing at the thought of how to explain.

Megumi's gaze softened. “We just want to make sure you’re okay. We thought maybe something... strange happened to you in that house.”

You glanced at them, their concern genuine, and felt a wave of gratitude mixed with confusion. “I’m fine now,” you assured them, though the lingering feelings from the night before were hard to shake. “Really. Just a little... overwhelmed.”

Yuji grinned, though his relief was clear. “Well, let’s get you something to eat. You need to regain your strength after scaring us like that!”

As they helped you sit up, the warmth of their friendship surrounded you, but the memories of what had happened in that haunted house lingered at the back of your mind, leaving you wondering about the strange encounter that felt so surreal. You hope..that it's actually a real encounter.

✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆°°✩✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆°°✩✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆°°✩✮ ⋆ ˚｡

[moondirti]

Who from the 141 speaks the best arabic do you think? From one arab girl to another, it’d be so hot if any of them were fluent 🫠

if my memory serves me correctly, we get a bit in the first campaign from price. to me it seems to be a basic knowledge. a few sentences he picked up on the field and memorised to make his job easier. evac orders, cardinal directions, how to ask for water, food, medicine. that kind of stuff. pure utility, though that’s his approach to most things.

i like to believe (call it bias or whatever) that gaz is fluent. this ties in to my headcanon that he’s the only member who attended and graduated uni, but he strikes me as someone intensely curious about everything. introducing him to something, be it language or cuisine or a skill he hasn’t mastered yet, is like knocking down the floodgates. it’s his time in urzikstan that does it. hearing the way it rolls off farah’s tongue (let’s ignore doumit’s canon pronunciations), or how she’s able to translate a long, winding, clumsy sentence to something short. beautiful.

there’s a word for everything, he finds. one for the state of gossiping with your friends over morning coffee. one to congratulate someone on their cleanliness after a haircut. one that means may you be the one to bury me, for it would be unbearable to live without you – that is used so casually in conversation, kyle is stunned when he learns the true meaning. it doesn’t hold the same expectation, the same trepidation, as it does in english, though it retains its weight all the same. he wonders what makes a language so special that its intrinsic devotion has found a common place within its cultures, and he sets to find out.

this turns into a thing. more rambling under the cut.

the largest learning curve is the alphabet. the sounds that don’t exist in his mother tongue. he’s especially hard on himself when it comes to enunciating them properly – half the beauty is in the way words flow together, and there would really be no point in indulging in arabic’s more lyrical aspects if he’s off pitch. he gets the hang of it eventually, of course, one too many vocal exercises later.

the weathered dictionary he picks up at a second hand store teaches him that most words have three letter roots, and that it isn’t so easy as to look them up alphabetically. picking up new vocab becomes infinitesimally harder, then. for twelve million choices, the distinction between some words comes down to diacritical marks. necklace, decade, contract, held, complicated, and knots are all spelt the same way, yet pronounced ever so slightly different — a fact he learns the hard way when he tells the cashier at the kibbeh place he frequents that he likes her decade.

reading. reading is what helps him get over that.

(he probably should touch on basic grammar first — nouns, verbs, particles, sentence structure, that sort of stuff — but figures he'll pick it up as he goes, basing his methodology on an inability to remember any rules for the english language. he grew up hearing it, reading it, watching it, surrounded by it, so it just is what it is now. why work so hard on task books made for kids, then, when he can just get right into the meat of the matter? acclimatise through force.)

he picks up stacks of books upon books upon poetry. naguib mahfouz. ghada al-samman. al-mutanabbi. mahmoud darwish. it takes him a month to get through the first, and another month for the second. which only means he really takes his time with them, roving over the same line until it's etched into his memory. the cadence, the beats for pause, the way a word he has to punch from his throat is followed by one that lilts, all sing-songy. eventually, he starts to (inadvertently) mimic that sweeping manner of speech, employing it in contexts which certainly don't call for it.

the cashier — the very same one whose age he mistakenly stressed, despite the fact that she couldn't have been much younger than him — is far too nice to say anything about it, smiling instead, endeared, while he waxes poetic about meze.

farah calls him out immediately the next time they catch up.

apparently, no one speaks in classical arabic anymore, go figure. it would be like talking in shakespearean english, she tells him. he imagines it, iambic pentameter and all, and cringes, newly determined. his own research unearths (though it wasn't really a secret) the fact that there are roughly 25 different dialects belonging to different regions — and while some are pretty similar (syrian and lebanese), others could classify as a whole other language on their own (moroccan).

reddit tells him what he already knows; that the best way to learn is through exposure. there are no dictionaries for patois. and farah, despite her total enthusiasm at his interest, is far too busy of a woman to help.

(really, it just gives him an excuse to finally do what he's been meaning to.)

the next time he's craving kibbeh, he's fixed on not making a fool of himself when he asks the cashier out to lunch.

[lovelykil]

baby assignment

ᯓ izuku midoriya

synopsis; class 1-a has been assigned to take care of fake babies for an assignment! This assignment will be helpful for hero work and other skills as well. some are wary of this assignment, especially the pairing. You got paired up with Izuku.

note; this one feels so rushed 😓

part 1

the two males look around the carrier, they search around the seat desperately. Even going as far as holding the thing upside and down and shaking it, in hopes something would fall out of it. Their disappointment grew deeper when nothing fell out.

bakugo threw the thing across the room in a fit of rage and frustration, grunting harshly when he did it.

"THIS THING DIDN'T COME WITH INSTRUCTIONS??" He roared. Kirishima held the baby near his shoulder and patted it softly to comfort it after his partner's anger out burst.

"bakugo you GOTTA stop shouting! You're going to make the baby cry more then we'll fail.." bakugo looked over at his friend still a little pissed in the face but calmed down momentarily. He went to pick up the carrier and walked over to kiri.

"this assignment is bullcrap.." kirishima glanced over at katsuki's irritated face but now calm demeanor, his lips curled into a small smile.

"I agree but maybe we'll learn a valuable lesson from this weird assignment." He holds the baby away from his chest to stare upon it. Bakugo quickly glanced over at it, standing beside his partner with one hand stuffed into his pocket and the other holding onto the baby carrier by the handle.

"we should name this little dude!" Kiri exclaims, his smile bright and wide when he looks over at the blonde. Bakugo scoffs at the idea but then snickers a few seconds later with a stupid grin.

"how about shithead?"

kirishima gives him an unfazed expression that leaves Bakugo puzzled, he crosses his arms to his chest. "It fits him, fucking shithead."

"oh, it's a he?" The redhead nudges his partner in the shoulder, obviously teasing him. Bakugo doesn't reply just goes to set down the carrier on his bed, kirishima watches him and so does their fake baby.

"why not? This thing could be a mini me." He takes a seat on the bed, his body is relaxed as he supports himself with his hands planted on the sheets behind him. Kiri looks at him for a brief moment before chuckling like if Bakugo had just said a funny joke.

"as if we need another one of you... we're naming him Airhead!"

bakugo sat up quickly and began barking, "WHAT'S THAT SUPPOSED TO MEAN? ALSO AIR HEAD? WHAT KIND OF NAME IS THAT?!"

"better than bakugo 2.0 or shithead.."

. . .

"so how do we even take care of this thing?" after ignoring the baby's cries with the cover over it, the baby eventually quieted down and looked back at you. Its robotic green eyes scan your facial expression as you lean over to examine it.

you were initially asking izuku but after a few seconds passed, you were now speaking to a wall. You lean away from the baby to look over at Izuku who was at his desk writing something down, there he mumbled incoherent words you didn't quite catch.

you felt a little awkward now,

"uhm izuku?" You called out only to get nothing in return. You grow a bit impatient possibly slightly annoyed as well.

"Midoriya!"

"AH—!? uuhm! Yes??" The stunned boy dropped his pencil on the sheet of paper to turn towards you. He seemed genuinely surprised at your yell like he was stuck in some trance just seconds ago.

"did you forget we have a CHILD in our care right now?" You set your hand on your hip while you point toward the baby. You slightly grin as he squirms, apologizing for his forgetfulness.

"sorry! I just got distracted with homework but I guess I can save it for later." Midoriya sits up from his seat and walks over to the kid.

you watch him silently as he goes to sit on his bed and turn the carrier his way. The baby watches him now, recognizing his facial structures. It suddenly reaches for him, his eyes widen.

"woah this baby.." Midoriya reaches inside to lend it his hand, the baby quickly sucks on his finger making some familiar baby noises.

you shuffle over to his side to check out what has his eyes big and wide.

"oh wow this thing is like a real baby, huh?" You and Midoriya watch in amazement at the this advanced technology, the fake baby was scarily like the real one.

this assignment was sure going to be very interesting.

izuku nods slowly as the baby kept sucking on his one finger, the scene was entirely too cute with its tiny hands around his finger. You look over at the teen a few seconds later, feeling your heart thump.

he had a warm smile spread across his freckled face and his kind green eyes peering gently down at the infant. He was admiring the baby and at the same time, you were admiring him. Your face grew warm, your body tensing up,

he was always so cute but here in this moment, he looked so.. surreal so peaceful and so at ease.

"I think it's gonna chew my finger off.." izuku nervously chuckled. He looked over his shoulder to you still with a nervy expression, he opened his eyes momentarily, and to his surprise you were already looking at him

and so close.

his shoulder jolted up as he blushed a bit too harshly from being so close to a girl, he suddenly blurts out from shyness,

"Y/n-!? You're so close..?!"

when caught you quickly jumped back, your face was crimson red as you began to quickly change the subject.

"was I? My bad.. uhm anyway, she's cute— or er I mean.." You end up fumbling over your words, finally giving the baby a gender. You rub your hot cheek and curse to yourself at the slip-up and well, that whole interaction just now with him.

Izuku looks back at the baby after he calms down, his blush settling down as well as his brain, but he couldn't help but keep in mind of your little accident.

a girl huh? He thinks. Izuku pulls his finger away to wipe the slobber on his changed set of clothes, he then smiles once again.

"we should name her..." You gaze over at him as he ponders a name. You look a bit surprised that he didn't question your idiot mouth, maybe he was thinking the same thing.

that the baby was definitely a girl, or at least your baby was.

you mumble a suggestion out, scratching your cheek.

"izumi?"

"izumi..?" He repeats, his hand leaves his chin to look at you. You subtly nod, hoping he wouldn't connect the dots. You actually came up with that name on the spot since it sounds like his but a girl version.

you saw him think some more, he briefly looked away. You sweat a bit, suspecting he might've caught on.

"or if you have another sugge—"

"no no, I like it! Izumi.. hmm." He reassurs you with a swift smile then turns toward the now-named baby, Izumi.

he boops her nose lightly, calling her name.

"well hello izumi." He cooed softly. Izumi cooes back even appearing to smile back at him. You stand and watch from afar with an aching heart, you didn't know how much you could take from these adorable interactions.

well apparently not for long, she began crying just seconds later.

you and izuku went into panic mode.

"oh god she's crying again!"

"oh wow, you didn't need to rant this time... huh.."

"y/n!"

"sorry.."

[lunarmoves]

you don't think you'll ever get over how tall the daycare attendant is.

it's a bit intimidating at times, you think. all seven-foot-something of metal and silicon that tends to loom rather ominously over your own figure from time to time. you're not sure why they were made that tall, but you figure it has something to do with being able to see kids easier around the daycare. or maybe fazbear entertainment just likes making freakishly tall robots. who knows.

the first time it really strikes you how much of a height advantage they have over you is during the daytime hours of the daycare. some poor kid had gotten their toy thrown up onto the playground structure and it was stuck on the outside, nestled between two bars that you definitely can't reach from the ground nor from the inside of the structure.

you look down at said kid holding onto your leg after you'd scolded the other two who were the culprits of such an act and let out a small sigh. you don't like climbing, not particularly, but you guess you're going to have to suck it up for now. if only so the poor kid can stop making that teary-eyed expression at you.

you pat the kid on the head and take the few steps to the playground so you can grab onto one of the bars and pull yourself up. but before you can even attempt to shimmy your way farther up, a bright and certainly loud figure comes swooping in from behind you.

"heellooo friends! that's awfully dangerous to be doing here!" sun exclaims as he grabs you easily on the sides and lifts you from the playground to set you back on the floor. you blink up at him and watch as he extends a long arm (seriously, his arms are way out of proportion compared to the rest of his body) up to the toy and easily grabs it from its stuck position.

"i believe this belongs to you?" he asks the sniveling kid standing next to you, and they immediately brighten once their toy is back in their hands. sun gives them a little hair ruffle. "don't go losing it again, now! we don't want to get any boo-boos climbing where we shouldn't be, right?"

"mmh!" the kid nods, then wipes their snotty little nose on their sleeve and runs off to show their retrieved toy to their friends. sun's head turns 180 degrees to watch them scamper off, and then he's turning back around to face you with a wagging finger.

"friend! you know you can always ask me for help, yes?" he chides you in a way that makes you feel a bit embarrassed, but you only roll your eyes in good nature.

"c'mon sun, i'd thought you were busy with the others!" you frown, and the sight makes sun reach out a large hand so he can smush your cheeks together until your lips are puffed out like a fish's.

"i'm never too busy to help you, silly!" he says as you bat his hand away and rub at your cheeks. "all you have to do is ask!"

"i had it handled," you murmur, looking anywhere but at him. with the way sun is looming over you, slightly bent at the torso, you're covered in his shadow. it makes you feel small.

"climbing the outside of the playground does not set a good example for the children!" sun says, and his words make it seem like he's scolding you, though his tone is light and airy. "no, no, no, friend! we don't want you to get hurt, do we?"

"i get it already," you reply, stepping back slightly so you can look at him better without having to crane your head back. sun's head tilts slightly to the side, but he doesn't comment. "i'm not a kid, you know. a fall from that height won't hurt me." okay, yeah, maybe your pride's just a bit wounded at needing someone taller to do a simple task for you. sue you.

"it can if you fall right on your head!" sun gasps dramatically, bringing his hands up to his fixed smile. "no, better to be safe than sorry, okay?" he reaches down to boop you right on the nose. you wrinkle it at him then concede with a large sigh that's more for show than anything. this was a dumb semi-argument anyways.

"okay, i'll ask you for help next time," you relent, and it makes sun spring up, his rays spinning happily around his faceplate.

"wonderful!" he chirps, then reaches a lanky arm down to grab your wrist. "now, come! it's almost naptime!" you get practically dragged over to the sleeping mats, sun's long stride making you do an awkward jog to keep up.

you've long come to realize that sun tends to use his height to help you with different things. whether it may be cleaning parts of the playground equipment that you can't reach, or helping you stack things on shelves that were way above your arm's length. he just wants to be of good use, you suppose, no matter how teeny tiny it makes you feel.

you can't say the same for moon.

for where sun may inadvertently make you feel small, moon does it on purpose.

"moon, c'mon!" you groan, standing before him in the dark daycare after hours as he dangles your phone just out of reach over your head. you raise your arms up half-heartedly and try to snatch at it, but he pulls it up farther away from you when you do. "give it back."

moon snickers, white eyes upturned into crescent moons of delight. "no."

"moon," you say sternly, as though you have any power of authority over him (you don't). "please."

"no texting on the job," moon replies, even though you know that he knows you were literally just checking the time. you give him an exasperated look.

"moon. phone. now."

"no." then, as though to taunt you even further, he bends down to pinch your nose. "shorty."

you give him a glare and bat his hand away so you can rub at your poor nose. both him and sun liked to squish and squeeze you, you've noticed. "moon!"

he says your name back at you in the same tone you just used. it just makes you huff.

"if you don't give me back my phone, you'll regret it," you say ominously, mustering all the darkness you have in your body to make your scowl as scary as possible. moon just giggles. you don't think you're successful. he probably thinks you look like a wet cat.

"yeah?" it's obviously an invitation. he wants to see what you can possibly do. your mind's practically in overdrive trying to think of something on the spot. and you do come up with something. unfortunately.

there's a moment where all you do is stare at him. his head rotates curiously to the side. and then you launch yourself at him, hands gripping at his torso so you can claw your way up his body like you're some kind of small animal (to him, you probably are).

moon freezes for the slightest of seconds, and it gives you ample opportunity to shimmy your way up so that you can grip at his thin shoulders and pull yourself farther up. then he's leaning backwards slightly, his arm raising higher above his head to prevent you from reaching your phone.

"give!" you demand as you hook your feet around his body like he's a sliding pole and use one of his shoulders to keep yourself balanced as you extend your arm as far as it can go.

"cheating! cheater!" he barks out in response, and his voice is a bit muffled from where it's nearly against your stomach, but you don't care.

"not cheating! give me back my phone!"

it's a few moments more of this kind of struggling until you finally just end up yanking his nightcap over his face in a temporary distraction. it works, too. at least long enough for you to yank his arm down, grab your phone, and then leap off of him. you stumble a little when you hit the ground and spin around with a triumphant look as you notice moon has lifted his cap high enough so you can see the lower half of his eyes.

"ha!" you gloat, pocketing your phone right away so he can't snatch it out of your hands again. "you asked for it!"

moon simply stares at you. and just when you're starting to think that maybe he locked up or something, his mischievous smile returns with a vengeance as he bends low and raises his arms like he's about to grab you.

uh oh. you know that look. you don't even hesitate as you spin around on your heel and immediately make a run for it.

and well... as moon chases after you through the plex, his long shadow constantly overlapping your own, you figure that you'll just have to get used to being constantly swamped by the significantly taller animatronics. it isn't the worst thing, at least, but it will certainly take some time.

even if moon's an ass about it.

[peppermintquartz]

Hi! If you're still taking prompts: Buck/Tommy, "You're the love of my life"

As the sun paints the clouds of Los Angeles a garish orange and pink, Tommy sits next to Evan on their bench on the front porch. Neither of them speak.

It's late enough in the season that it gets a little chilly once the sun goes down - chilly for LA anyway - and Tommy holds out the extra hoodie he brought out with him earlier. Evan takes it with bad grace, but he takes it and puts it on, so Tommy counts that as a step taken in the right direction.

There isn't much traffic in this cul-de-sac. A red Toyota drives past, its LED headlights glaring. Then they hear the eerie calls of coyotes floating in the air.

"I'd still do it," Tommy finally says. "Knowing everything, I'd still go in there to look for him."

Evan snorts. "Of course."

"You'd have done it too."

"Maybe." Evan folds his arms more tightly over his chest. "But I would have had Eddie watching my back when I do so. Not charge in solo like an action hero in a, a movie or something."

Tommy grits his teeth and stuffs his hands into his pockets. "There wasn't time. I'd have thought that you of all people would understand... You used to-"

"Don't you dare accuse me of being reckless now," Evan bites out. "I learned my lesson. You know I have. You could've died. For a pet turtle."

"Evan." Tommy takes a deep breath, blows it out. It's the same old argument since he got home three hours ago, and he is sick of it. "Chandra said the structure was still stable. I assessed the scene as well, I knew I would be safe enough, and Gus was not that far from me either. No one expected the tree to fall and the roof to cave in, but we got out of the way quickly enough. I got the turtle, I got out. Can we please stop fighting?"

He reaches for the hem of Evan's hoodie and tugs it lightly.

Evan sniffs. "I'd have hated writing your eulogy. A goddamn turtle."

"The turtle's name was Mr Speedy, if that helps with the eulogy." Tommy smiles and then yelps when Evan punches him on the shoulder. "Ow!"

Though he is still pouting, Evan's expression softens slightly. "Mr Speedy. That's so stupid."

Tommy grabs his husband's hand. "I won't ask my crew to take a risk that I can't take myself. And I will always, always try my damndest best to come home to you. You're the love of my life, after all."

"Liar," Evan says with a small smile. "The love of your life is asleep in his bed right now."

"I'm not lying, I love you both equally," says Tommy, kissing the back of Evan's hand. He nibbles on a knuckle and adds, "Make-up sex for tired parents?"

"I'm not that tired," Evan murmurs, leaning in for a kiss.

[kitkatscabinet]

Whumptober - 05: Buried Alive

Simon Riley x gn! reader

A/N: Laptop finally fixed but now I'm sick!! Motivation at zero too but I hope y'all enjoy.

You woke gasping for air, coughing as your lungs filled with dust particulate. Taste was the first of your senses to return, an unpleasant mix of ash and plaster stuck to the linings of your mouth. 

Your head aches something fierce and though your vision is still slightly blurry you can still see the blood that covers your fingers from after you’d touched your hairline. The ringing in your ears is almost unbearable and it makes your head ache even more.

Your memories are even hazier than your vision and it takes more than a few minutes before you remember where you are. You remember Gaz’s voice, far more frantic than was typical of the usually cool man, as he’d yelled at you to get out of the building. 

You think you’d only made it about halfway down from the top before the bomb went off. In hindsight, it’s probably the reason you’re still alive and not completely buried under five floors' worth of building materials. 

Some might call it lucky that you hadn’t been outright crushed or even blown up in the initial blast. But as you lay there in pain unable to do anything but slowly die you can’t find it in yourself to agree. 

Though you’d probably die soon, whether from blood loss or lack of oxygen, there’s a sudden groan from the structure surrounding you and for a brief moment you think you might just get crushed after all. 

Tears slip from your eyes both from the pain and despair. You don’t want to die, not like this, cold and alone buried beneath tonnes of cement, but you know you will. 

The little movement you have in your neck is used to try and orient yourself to your surroundings, the darkness and dust greatly hindering your efforts. Any more attempts to move are instantly thwarted by a mix of sharp pain and weight bearing down on your body. Specifically your left leg, it’s too dark to see all that well but you can tell your leg is pinned by a slab of what used to be the wall. Or maybe the ceiling.

It was so painful that you quickly gave up, not wanting your last moments to be spent in that much pain. All in all, you were fucked. 

As you lay dying you couldn’t stop your mind from wandering to your lieutenant. You wondered how he’d react to your untimely death. As terrible and selfish as it was for you to even consider, you hoped he’d mourn at least a little. 

Simon Riley had wormed his way into your heart and you doubted he’d ever leave. You just wish you could have told him, told him that to you, he was the sun. 

There’s a slight crackle and through the ringing in your ears, you hear what you think is Price’s baritone echoing around the space. Somehow your radio has survived the blast, but as you try and pinpoint its location it quickly becomes clear you won’t be able to reach it to respond. 

You almost don’t even try, it’s not until you hear Simon yelling that an ounce of your energy returns. Maybe if you could just reach the radio… then you could tell him how you felt. 

Reaching out, you stretch your fingertips through the darkness, your muscles straining and shaking in protest. There’s a concerning creak and more dust and gravel sprinkles over you in another shower as your movements unsettle the collapsed pile surrounding you. 

Still, you refuse to stop and eventually, your fingertips clasp over their target and you pull it close, even as something in your pinned knee cracks and you let out a shriek of pain. Dragging the radio towards you shakily you manage to form two words before the pain catches up once more. 

“East stairwell.” Instantly there's chaos over the coms once more, hardly anything you can make out over Price barking orders and Soap’s colourful swearing. Black dots are splotching in your vision and your lungs work in overtime to collect air once more. 

The pain is blinding and you want so badly to just pass out and be free from it all but your traitorous body won’t let you. 

Above you, Simon is digging through the rubble furiously, blood roaring in his ears as he screams at his teammates to help him. His throat is raw and his fingers are bloody but he refuses to give up, continuing to speak through the comms, to let you know that he was coming for you. 

Simon has had a lot of shitty, earth-shattering moments in his life but as he sifts through cement and rubble in a desperate search for you he thinks this might be the worst. From the moment it had become clear you hadn’t made it out in time it was like the earth had been pulled from beneath his feet. 

His face is wet, and it’s not until Soap and Price collectively manhandle him away from the rubble that he realises he’s crying. He’s screaming at the both of them, words he can’t even hear and Soap’s right eye is already starting to blacken from where Simon had socked him. 

They’re trying to talk him down, getting him to sit and breathe but Simon doesn’t even feel like he’s in his own body anymore. He can’t hear anything through the ringing and pounding, can’t see anything except the image his brain conjures of you lying dead or dying and so alone. 

He wonders if you’d called for him. You always did, even if nobody else realised. Whenever you were overwhelmed, stressed or in danger it was his name that came to you first, and he always answered. Always. 

He’s standing once more, trying to push past his captain and Soap who are still trying to corral him away from the site. He didn’t understand why they were preventing him from helping you. Simon would always come when you called, he needed you to know that he’d come to save you. He needed-

Gaz is shouting something and it takes the two men holding him back by enough surprise that Simon manages to muscle his way through. He doesn’t hear what Gaz said, but as he gets closer he realises it doesn’t matter because he can see you. 

Bruised, bloodied and covered in dust and ash but he can see you. 

He drops to his knees by your side, ignoring the sting of whatever sharp object he’d landed on and cups your face with shaky hands. Gloved fingers run delicately over your skin as he wipes away the grime. He’s begging you to open those pretty eyes, to let him see that you’re ok. 

You don’t hear or answer his pleas, and Simon remains rooted to the spot, desperately taking in every last inch of your face and committing it to memory, even as your blood stains his pants and gloves. 

[himasgod]

Neuvillette x Reader enemies to lovers!

You've been seeing the darkest side of Fontaine's justice and you're up against your hated Neuvillette, when he judges you in a battle of wits.

SCENARIO: You have been learning and investigating the dark and corrupt side of Fontaine's politics while having Neuvillette investigating you, stepping on your toes, with whom you had shared so many moments, now he was cold as you faced each other privately at Court.

(Maybe I'll do a second part if I see that it has support? I actually have a lot of ideas for this particular story, enjoy!)

The storm raged over Fontaine, a relentless downpour lashing the city, as if the very sky itself was bent on drowning every corner of the Nation of Justice. Lightning illuminated the Court, its majestic structure silhouetted against a black, furious sky. The sea on the horizon was rough with colossal waves, mercilessly lashing against the shore. But within the solemn walls of the Court, the fiercest storm came not from outside, but from the icy gaze of Neuvillette, Fontaine's Chief Justice.

This was no ordinary trial, nor was it a common defendant who stood across the courtroom. You, the source of his deep displeasure, stood with a defiant haughtiness that would not bend under his scrutiny. You had been brought before the Court on charges that, in his opinion, were but an echo of your true crimes. Neuvillette, ever so solemn and meticulous in his pursuit of justice, had been quietly investigating you for months. He had uncovered enough evidence to make a case that, in other hands, would have been enough to convict you. With you, however, the matter was more complicated.

You had dared to defy Fontaine’s laws, not with the brute force that many others used, but with your razor-sharp intelligence and a cunning that bordered on the insidious. You had found loopholes in the system, played with the words of the laws he so revered, and you had gotten away with it for far too long. Neuvillette disliked the way your eyes glittered, defiant, whenever you faced him. You looked so self-assured, as if not even he, with his relentless sense of justice, could touch you.

“Incredible, isn’t it?” your voice cut through the tense silence of the room. “This whole spectacle just for me. Isn’t that a bit much, Monsieur Neuvillette?

The silence that followed your words was deafening, broken only by the steady patter of the rain. Neuvillette didn’t respond immediately; his eyes, normally calm and emotionless, seemed to flash with something darker as he watched you. You hadn’t just earned his disapproval, but something deeper, something that made you smile with malicious amusement. You had touched a nerve that no one else had dared to touch.

Finally, his voice echoed through the room, deep and authoritative.

“I warned you that you would never evade justice again,” he said, in that voice that always managed to silence even the most recalcitrant criminals in Fontaine. “This time, you won’t be able to find a loophole in the law to save yourself.”

“Oh, please,” you scoffed, a bitter laugh echoing through the empty room. “What will you do, Neuvillette? Lock me up in the Fortress of Meropide? Or perhaps something more… drastic?"

A spark of fury crossed his eyes, but as quickly as it appeared, it dissipated. Still, you had noticed, and that gave you the advantage you needed. You had learned, throughout your encounters with the High Judge, that his unflappable exterior was nothing more than a carefully maintained facade. There were chinks in his armor, even if he was determined to deny it.

But today, something in his expression seemed different. There was a tension in his shoulders, a slight tremor in his breathing, that you hadn’t noticed before. It was as if he was on the edge of something, and your very presence was pushing him even closer to the edge.

“You think you’re so clever,” he whispered, leaning forward slightly from his dais, his voice so low you barely heard it over the pitter-patter of the rain. “But justice always prevails, even when those who defy it believe themselves to be above it.”

You bit your lip, a spark of defiance in your eyes. That was the same song you always heard from him, that same refrain about justice and morality. And yet, how many times had you seen how justice in Fontaine was not as blind as it claimed to be? It was something you had grown tired of seeing: how the laws were bent to benefit the powerful, how they were used to crush those who did not have the means to defend themselves.

“Tell me, Monsieur Supreme Judge,” you said, your tone dripping with sarcasm, “where was your precious justice when the Court favored the rich merchants while the poor drowned in debt? Where was it when you decided to turn a blind eye to the crimes of high society?”

Neuvillette clenched his jaw, and for a moment, you wondered if you had gone too far. But his self-control was legendary, and he did not give you the satisfaction of seeing his mask crack.

“You have no right to question my decisions,” he replied, his voice now a whisper filled with venom. “Not after what you’ve done.”

“After what I’ve done?” You let out a laugh that sounded almost hysterical. “If you knew the things your dear Fontaine has allowed, you would see me as a mere pawn in this game.”

The tension in the room was palpable. There was no one else there, not even a guard, because Neuvillette had preferred to confront you in private. Perhaps he knew that the spectacle of seeing you break down would be too… personal.

“Your doom is sealed, and there is nothing more to say,” Neuvillette said, his voice now colder than ever.

But you were not willing to give in so easily. Because, even if you did not admit it, there was something about those moments alone with him that stirred your blood, a confrontation that had evolved over time from a mere game of intellects to a battle of wills that bordered on the visceral. And, deep down, you knew he felt it too.

“Very well, Monsieur Neuvillette,” you whispered, taking a step toward him. “If you are so sure of your justice, then… judge me. But do so without hiding behind your laws and your pretty words. Judge me as the man you are, not as the automaton you pretend to be.”

For an instant, a flash of fury and something else flashed through his eyes. But it wasn’t enough to break his iron grip. Without another word, he turned and walked away, leaving the courtroom shrouded in a heavy gloom laden with unspoken secrets.

Thunder roared, drowning out the sound of your final words:

“You know I’ll always come back, Neuvillette. No matter how much you hate it.”

And in that instant, as the door slammed shut, you knew that, though the Iudex would never admit it, this feud of yours was the closest he’d felt to a true challenge in centuries.

Here is my masterlist, in case you are interested in any more of my work or want to send me a request <3

[heys0ulmate]

veneration (this faith's got me high)

pairing: sofia falcone/gigante x f!reader

summary: sofia isn't the same anymore- but you've waited too long for her to care.

warnings: uhh .. unnegotiated/dubcon, gun usage, slight bondage, passing out, im sure im missing stuff, not proofread, major abuse of italics sorry lmao

word count: 4.6K

A/N: this is the first part of what i PLAN to be a series, tho im not sure when the next part(s) will be out. i legitimately havent published a fic in over a decade so im sorry that its like. poorly structured LOL. not much smut in this one sorry yall. title from holy by zolita btw. also this was posted prematurely by accident cus it was still in my drafts but oh well

〰️

You don't recognize the room you're in, but you feel no danger. All you feel is giddiness and bliss.

There's something warm next to you. Sofia.

Her red, pretty lips are moving, corners curled up slightly, but you can't hear her. You laugh despite the fact, because it feels right. The joy in your chest overwhelming.

She's closer, now. You're laughing hysterically, to the point of tears. It's getting hard to breathe.

Sofia cups your face. She looks scared, but you still can't hear what she's saying. You can't speak- all you can do is laugh and choke for air.

The room changes.

It's crowded.

You spot Sofia from across the galley.

Something in you tells you to run to her, as fast as you can, like you'll die if you don't. It's an all-consuming type of panic, the inability to breathe slowly creeping back.

You push past the crowd, but the more progress you make, the larger the room seems to grow.

The crowd parts, and you see her. She's leaving the room, hand in hand with her father. Her lips are parted in a scream that you still can't hear.

"Sofia!" You shriek, running as fast as you can now that the people have cleared a path.

You're inches away from Sofia and the grip her father has on her when you suddenly hear her voice loud and clear from behind you.

"She's not here anymore."

You bolt up from your bed, gasping for air and flailing under your blanket, desperately trying to wrestle it off.

It takes a minute to gather your bearings.

"Shit," you mutter to yourself, rubbing your eyes.

It shouldn't phase you. You can't remember a single night in the past ten goddamn years that you haven't woken up from a some sort of dream-turned nightmare about Sofia. But something about this one seemed to stick to you like summer heat, an uncomfortable, lingering sensation that seems to amplify the harder you try to ignore it.

"She's not here anymore."

It rings through your head like a catchy song as you stumble into the kitchen for a glass of water.

In the ten years since Sofia was taken from you, you haven't heard her voice even once. You weren't allowed visitation as a non-family member, and phone calls were prohibited for the same reason.

It was almost if the sanctions had carried over into your psyche, some form of cruel punishment that prevented you from hearing her even in your dreams.

At least you were able to see her at night.

You'd never grown used to the inevitable, debilitating dread that suffocated you each time you awoke, but you still looked forward to falling asleep each night, knowing it'd grant you a brief illusion of having Sofia by your side again.

"She's not here anymore."

You try not to think to hard about it, to instead appreciate the blessing of being graced with her voice, even if it was just subconscious. You tell yourself it's probably just a result of the weeks recent events; the flooding of Gotham city. The death of Carmine Falcone.

The impact of it all must have rattled you.

That's all.

But... you can't shake the nagging feeling that there was something more.

It's then that your phone rings on your bedside table. *BRRR*

You set your water cup down with a huff, shuffling your feet slowly towards your bedroom. You're in no rush to pick up. Who the fuck call at this time of night; and without warning?

In your experience, this meant one of two things: the call was your basic, run of the mill scam attempt, or a reporter who had found your number and was desperate for some kind of story. Not that you'd ever give them one, of course. Even when Sofia was still around, and your relationship was somewhat in the public eye, you never discussed anything with journalists of any kind.

After Sofia was sent to Arkham, the scrutiny on you had increased. You went from being the occasionally mentioned girlfriend of Carmine Falcone's daughter, to 'the woman who loved The Hangman.'

Generally, the public saw you as a pseudo-victim; someone who had been manipulated by The Hangman, paraded to maintain a false image, and used as a front to keep Sofia's cover. They didn't believe you when you claimed to have been with Sofia on three of the nights that those women were killed. "The poor girl- who knows what that woman subjected her to, to make her lie for her?"

The year following her arrest was the peak of your exposure. You were relentlessly assaulted with press whenever you went outside, and you had to change your cell phone number four times.

Everyone was dying for an inside scoop on what it was like to know The Hangman intimately.

By the second year, you were more comfortable leaving the house. You moved just outside of Gotham, and slowly, the pressure for statements and interviews died down the longer Sofia was away. You still get the occasional phone call, someone hoping that now that it's been 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10 years, maybe you'd be willing to share your 'story.'

You'd hang up immediately every time, until you got to the point where you just stopped picking up.

*BRRRRR*

You approach your bedside table with every intention to hit the reject button, squinting at the brightness of your screen in the dark of your room.

That's when you see the caller ID.

*000*

You pause.

So far, every telemarketer, every scammer, reporter, and journalist, were listed as either Unknown Caller, or a string of numbers.

The only time you received calls with three digit numbers was when it was Alberto.

A part of you hesitates. Alberto does this, sometimes, though it's become more sparse over the years: he goes on a bender, gets too in his feelings, and calls from a nurner phone and leaves you a barrage of voice and text messages. It's always the same, with him going on coked-up rant about how he's going to get Sofia out one day and wrong everyone who wronged her.

Outside of that, though, Alberto never called. When Sofia was sent away, Alberto had begun simultaneously spiraling and attempting to survive and thrive in the Falcone family. Between the drugs and job, Alberto became a lot more isolated than he used to be. Any attempt on your part to reach out wasn't successful. He stopped responding from the number you'd had saved, keeping communication one-sided.

Still, every week, you texted him the same thing at the same time. Sunday, 9AM, an hour before you knew Sofia had visitation hours. Tell Sofia I love her, please.

You'd never get a response, but you never really expected to, either. You had no way of confirming if he was seeing your messages. The only way you knew Alberto still even thought of you or knew your number was with the increasingly infrequent, triple digit ID calls.

Either way, the occasional drug fueled messages always left you feeling even more depressed. Knowing Alberto was suffering just as much as you didn't bring any sort of comfort; it just reminded you of your own pain.

*BRRRRR*

Between the unease from your dream and timing of the call, though, every instinct in your body is telling you to pick up the phone.

Your hands tremble as you clumsily smash the answer button with your thumb, bringing the phone up to your ear.

"Hello?" You wait with baited breath as you hear Alberto on the other side of the line. "...'Berto?" There's nothing but silence for a moment.

Then, you hear him clear his throat. "I, uh-" There's a pause, and a sniff. "I'm gettin' her out, [Y/N]."

You're heart pounds almost painfully. "Y-you mean-"

"Yeah," Alberto confirms with a disbelieving laugh, as if he can't wrap his own head around it. "Yeah," he says again, more firmly this time, confirming everything you've wanted, pleaded, prayed for, for ten years. "She's comin' home."

The news breaks two days later.

Two days of silence from Alberto after he dropped that fucking bomb on you.

You aren't sure if you're in shock, or if it literally hasn't quite hit you yet. Maybe it's because, despite a part of you accepting you'd never see her again, you always had faith in your heart that she'd come back to you. That naive hope kept you alive for ten years.

You aren't sure what to do with yourself, now. You've grown so accustomed to just... existing. Holding hope, with nothing to really do with it. This sort of feels likes that, but with more anticipation knowing what's to come.

Except, it doesn't.

She comes home, yes. You watch the reports about it, read the headlines, hear the outcries. But you don't see her. You don't hear from her, or Alberto, and you're resigned to waiting for one of them to reach out.

After a few days, you grew impatient. The anxiety you'd felt from waiting around had turned into a sort of panic, an all consuming need to make any attempt to quell your nerves.

Why hadn't you heard anything? Had something gone wrong? Did they forget?

You'd gone to the Falcone residence. It was fucking packed with news casters, journalists, rioters and spectators. It had taken you a while to shove your way through the mob, and when you had, you were turned away like everyone else.

You went back the next day, and the next, and the results were the same.

And then, Alberto dies.

You think the shock will return, but all you can think is Sofia, Sofia, Sofia. Your Sofia. Your girl, who must be hurting so tremendously right now, who you can't cradle and comfort.

It seems your deep seeded need to be by Sofia's side reignites some of your more rational thinking, though, and you consider your options.

The crowds of cameras and protesters should disperse by the time the sun goes down, you'd assume, giving you more of a shot to see her.

So, you decide to return to the Falcone's late that evening, when the moon has settled and the stars are at their brightest.

Despite the time, it seems the family is well awake, as all the lights can be seen as you walk up the driveway. You hear voices, though you're too far away to tell if they're shouts from behind the walls, or conversations outside.

Soon, two of the guards notice you approaching. "Hey!" One hollars, hoisting up his gun as he stalks towards you. "What are you doin' here? You got business with Luca?"

You should probably be more concerned about the possibility of being shot by a paranoid guard, but your adrenaline is pumping too hard to care.

"Uh- no, I'm- I don't," you stutter. "I wanna see Sofia."

As the second guard approaches, you hear a soft chuckle. "Ah, yeah, I remember you," he drawls, before turning towards the other man. "Used to hang around Sofia," he explains to him, making the other relax his posture slightly.

"She's not available," the first one grunts, "probably won't be for a while."

Being turned down does little to deter you. "So she's here? Just, not available?" You ask hopefully. They don't get a chance to respond. "That's fine. I can wait."

You make a bold move to squeeze past them, speed walking over to the grand stair case in front of the house with purpose.

Behind you, the guards bicker. You don't hear what they say, outside of something about 'letting Ms. Falcone decide,' but based on the lack of pushback, you assume the one who remembered you was suggesting the other guard leave it be.

You're perfectly content to sit for as long as you need to. You've waited a decade for Sofia; you can wait a few hours- or even until the morning- to finally see her after all this time.

To your surprise, though, you only wait for about 45 minutes.

The front doors of the mansion swing open, and you hear the click of heels stomping down the steps.

"Fuckin' pricks," someone mutters, and you immediately recognize the voice.

Your heart leaps into your throat as you stand on shaky legs, and you can't turn around to face her fast enough. You almost lose you balance in the process, but catch yourself in time for Sofia to notice your presence.

She has a cigarette halfway to her lips as she stares at you, an unreadable expression on her face.

You blink.

She blinks.

"You're..." her voice sounds empty for a moment. Then she shakes her head a little, blinking hard a few times and huffing. "What are you doing here, [Y/N]?"

You open your mouth, but your brain is moving a mile a minute. Nothing comes out, and you just gape at her like a fish for a few moments. "Uhhhh..." you trail off dumbly, but you're too frozen to even feel stupid about it.

Sofia rolls her eyes. "Come on," she says as she resumes her walk past you, lighting up her cigarette as she does. "I'm not staying too far from here at the moment."

You practically trip over yourself in your rush to follow Sofia. It's a bit of a struggle to keep up with her pace, but you manage. The car is parked at the end of the driveway. A burly man is propped against the hood, and he moves around to the back door when he sees Sofia quickly approaching. He opens it for her with a quick acknowledgment as she slides in smoothly, and remains silent as you clumsily follow suit.

Sofia keeps her eyes fixed out the window as the man gets into the drivers seat. You can't help but stare at her, though, something akin to awe making it impossible to look away.

A few minutes into the drive, you see Sofia tentatively shift her eyes towards you. She looks on guard, as though unnerved by your eyes on her.

Still, she says nothing. Her gaze stays trained on the passing scenery for the remainder of the ride, like she's stubbornly making an effort to ignore your blatant staring.

Sofia hardly waits until the car is parked to unbuckle and hastily exist the vehicle once it's pulled in front of her building. You rush to get your door open, jogging a little to catch up to her.

You're paid no mind as Sofia struts inside and walks to the kitchen. It's almost like you're invisible, a silent, unseen witness.

Sofia moves around the kitchen with a practiced ease, retrieving a glass and wine bottle that she pops open, pouring a sizeable amount. She takes a long, long sip, her head tilting back until the contents of her glass are almost completely gone.

Then, she sighs, her shoulders relaxing a bit as she embraces the warmth of the alcohol.

Finally, she looks at you, indifference written all over her face. "You didn't give me an answer earlier," she states simply.

You take a small step forward. "Sofia..." You blink hard, suddenly overwhelmed with emotions.

Sofia is looking at you. You see her. You hear her.

You take another step, and another, until your knees buckle in front of her. "Sofia," it's an almost reverant sound that makes Sofia inhale sharply.

She's so close.

You wrap your arms around her legs as you kneel before her, nuzzling against her thighs.

"Sofia," you say again, just as softly.

You can breathe again. After ten long, dreadful years, you finally feel like the air in your lungs is pure and real.

Sofia freezes. She's unsure of how to process this.

You're here. In front of her- willingly.

It feels wrong; you bowing before her when you have no idea who she is anymore.

"Cut it out," she mutters, lightly pushing your head away and taking a small step back.

You remain on your knees, looking up at her with half lidded eyes.

The adoration in them makes Sofia uncomfortable.

"Get off the floor," Sofia says, her tone indescribable. "You aren't an animal." She turns to top off her wine glass, takes a sip, and leaves the room.

It takes you a minute to gather yourself, but you slowly move towards the direction she headed in. You find her in a room down the hall, an open, office-adjacent space. She's sitting on a loveseat in the center of the room, staring blankly ahead as she sips away.

You pause in the doorway to observe her for a minute, wondering if she's aware that you've followed. You decide to let your presence be known, taking a few confident steps forward.

Sofia doesn't look at you when she speaks.

"Whatever you're here for," she starts, "you won't find."

"No," you find yourself saying. "No, Sofia, I..." you trail off as you come closer. "I... I just want you."

Sofia's jaw clenches. "You don't know what that means anymore," she spits, before taking another sip of her wine, attempting to grow the irrational anger brewing inside her.

There's a certain, panicked heat that comes over you then, feeling unheard and misunderstood. "No, no," you say hastily. "No, Sofia, please," you drop in front of her again. "Please, Sofia. I don't care what that- what that means. All I care about is you."

Sofia scoffs, her temper getting the best of her. She grips your hair without thinking, pulling your head off her lap to look up at her. "You want me to show you what it means?" She hisses, eyes wide and manic. "Okay. Take your clothes off."

You're momentarily stunned, not expecting Sofia's request. "What? Ah-!" Sofia yanks your hair again, gritting her teeth as she speaks. "Take off your fucking clothes," she repeats.

Her tone sends you into motion, and you scramble to remove your top. Sofia settles back against the couch as she watches you undress for her, keeping her features schooled.

Once you're bare, you shift on your knees a bit, unsure of what to do. Being naked in front of Sofia certainly isn't new, but, it's also been ten years since you've last been intimate with her. You never anticipated it happening again like... this. Sofia never acted this way with you in the last. Usually, she undressed you herself, slowly and with kisses on each inch of skin she revealed. She had been teasing, sure, but never so stern.

It stirred something in you that you couldn't place your finger on. All you know is, you certainly aren't complaining.

So, you stay still, not wanting to do anything without instruction lest Sofia decide she's no longer willing to entertain you. You bask in Sofia's predatory gaze, letting her drink in your exposed body.

Soon, though, you start to squrim a bit. It's not cold, per say, but the air was just brisk enough on your bare skin that you couldn't ignore the slight chill.

You shiver a little, and Sofia smirks.

"You cold?" She asks knowingly. Sofia keeps her eyes on you as she reaches for her wine glass, standing as she does.

You tense a little as she begins to stalk closer to you, a small sneer on her face.

She's behind you, now, but you don't dare to move your head, not even when you hear the clink of her wine glass on the ground. Instead, you stay still and complacent as Sofia picks up your discarded shirt and begins to wrap it around your wrists. You moan inadvertently at the feeling of her skin on yours, but Sofia takes a deep breath. She ignores the sound, instead making quick work of restraining your hands behind your back.

When she's done, Sofia picks her glass back up as she towers over you. There's a dark, empty look in her eye that sends a chill down your spine.

Sofia, of course, notices this.

She smirks. "Is that it? You chilly, sweetheart?" Her voice is patronizing and full of faux concern.

You're not sure if she wants an answer or not, but aren't given a chance to respond either way, Sofia suddenly splashing the remenants of the wine from her glass onto you.

You flinch, and gasp loudly at the cold sensation. You're hands instinctively move to rub at eyes in an attempt to clear your vision, but you find yourself tugging fruitlessly at the shirt Sofia had binded your wrists. The wine soaking your face and dampening your hair ends trickles down your body, erupting goosebumps in it's wake.

You're still blinking heavily in an attempt to normalize your seeing when hear a breathy cackle. You feel her pinch your jaw, a strong grip on you as she licks a filthy stripe up your face, lapping up the spilt wine. She releases you, the sound of footsteps echoing through the room as Sofia struts past you and towards the desk by the window. You can't see what she's retrieving, your eyesight blurry and unfocused.

By the time Sofia circles back, you've mostly regainedy your vision. You don't have any time to visually process what she has in her hand, though, as she wastes no time in forcing the barrel of her handgun past your parted, panting lips, and into your mouth.

"It's a terrible feeling. Isn't it?" The gun presses a little harder, and you cringe at the feeling of rough metal pressing against your tongue. "Nothing left to hide behind," Sofia drawls, her voice is surprisingly even, though her words feel weighted.

You blink up at her with an unnerving lack of fear.

Sofia bares on with a tilt of her head. "The guards at Arkham stripped us bare every morning," she states, and your heart clenches at the thought. "It was humiliating," Sofia continues, a subtle anger brewing in her voice with each punctuated annunciation, "being turned into a thing."

Sofia shoves the gun hard enough to make you gag, and presses forward until you're bending backwards. Sofia straddles you, her grip on the gun directing your movements. She has you sprawled on your back, hands twisted painfully under you, pressed between your spine and the hardwood floor.

Sofia lowers her face, her wild eyes inches from yours. "You think," she growls, "that I'm still who you knew?" She smiles, though there's no joy in it. "That I'm not just a thing?"

Apparently, it wasn't a rhetorically question, as Sofia yanks the gun out of your mouth.

You sputter for a second, before rushing to respond, "no," you gasp. "I- I don't expect you to- to be the same, Sofia, I don't." Your voice cracks a bit, and you pray that your eyes convey your earnesty. "I don't care that you- you don't feel like yourself, Sofia, if you feel different, now. I love you. I love you. I love you, Sofia," you insist, your voice soft.

Sofia regards you for a long minute, and you wait with abated breath to see how she'd react.

For a moment, you think she's heard you. Really heard, and believed you- believed in your unconditional love and devotion for her. There's a hopeful, but guarded look in her eye, something akin to a skittish street cat assessing if it should trust the hand reaching out to pet it. But, just as quickly as it appeared, it's gone.

Sofia's features go hard again, and she moves her face away, straightening her back and kneeling over you.

"You don't get it," she says- simply, quietly, almost as if to herself.

You part your lips to protest, but Sofia is quicker, and slaps her hand over your mouth. "Don't," she warns.

Sofia hates it. The way you don't even struggle under her; the way you just take it, like you understand what this means.

Why don't you get it? Do you really not understand what kind of horrors she was exposed to? What they did to her; what they turned her into?

It pisses her off.

How dare you, how dare you, prance back into her life, expecting her to be untouched by the hell that was Arkham?

Do you think she's naive? That she'd truly believe, after all this time, you'd still want her? Want her for who she actually is now?

You don't even fucking know her anymore.

Fuck.

It infuriates her for so many reasons that she refuses to acknowledge right now.

Instead, she let's herself embrace the unbridled rage that's always threatening to erupt inside her.

"Alright!" She exclaims, a Cheshire Cat grin spreading across her face. "You love me?" She taunts. "You think you want me?"

She shoves herself off of you to pull her underwear down her legs. You're heart thuds as she slips off her fur coat and hikes up her dress. Sofia easily drops back down, straddling your face and gripping your hair with one hand. "Show me, then." With that, she lowers herself completely, smothering your face in her cunt.

Your primal instincts kick in, then, and you press forward, your tongue eagerly swiping through her folds.

Jesus fuck, you think somewhere in the back of your mind. Finally, finally, finally.

You hadn't realized how much you craved the taste of Sofia until this very moment. It feels like you're starving, like you haven't eaten in ten goddamn years, and Sofia is the first meal you've been granted.

Your ministrations are messy and desperate. You can hardly think straight, overwhelmed by the taste and scent and feel of Sofia. All you do is lick and suck and moan, embracing the pure bliss you feel. The rapidly decreasing supply of oxygen in your lungs is easy to ignore when you finally have the privilege of pleasuring Sofia again.

Sofia's eyebrows furrow. You won't struggle under her. You won't look up with panicked eyes, even as she deprives you of air, even as she suffocates you.

You don't get it.

Sofia narrows her eyes and her hips buck forward. It's almost violent, the way she fucks your face, riding harder and harder. She grunts softly, losing inhibition as she watches her slickness spread all over your face.

Still, you only whine as though you're the one being pleasured.

Why don't you fucking get it.

Sofia tightens her grip in your hair, pushing your face impossibly closer against her cunt as she feels her climax approaching. She's panting harshly through her noise, controlling the means threatening to spill out of her.

Just then, your eyes slugglishly blink open and lock with hers. It's clear that you're moments away from passing out, and Sofia can only stare down at the dazed look in your eyes.

Still, there's no fear there. There's nothing but adoration.

Your eyes roll back, and your eyelids flutter shut. Sofia's breath hitches as your body goes limp under her.

It's then that she cums, her body tensing and jerking. A ragged moan escapes her as she grinds and grinds against you, using your unconscious body to draw the waves of pleasure out.

Sofia slumps off of you, sitting by your side as she recovers from the exertion. She just sits for a while, until her breathing regulates, and she gathers the courage to look over at you.

You're still passed out, but the slight rise and fall of your chest tells Sofia you are, in fact, alive.

It doesn't do much to relieve Sofia- not when there's a sick, familiar feeling of dread forming in the pit of her stomach.

No.

Sofia squeezes her eyes shut.

This isn't supposed to matter.

This doesn't mean anything.

Sofia stands, and smooths out her dress. She can't afford to have regrets; to have... things that make her question herself.

That's not her anymore.

Sofia takes a deep breath.

She squares her shoulders, and doesn't spare you a second glance as she forces herself to leave the room.

[lobautumny]

Alright, guess this toy's gonna talk about Palworld, because it's seen Discourse™️ start to crop up about how "supporting the game is immoral because it's stealing designs from Pokemon!"

Now look, this toy's not about to sit here and tell you that all of the monster designs in Palworld are completely original and the game isn't, on some level, a bootleg. Obviously a lot of the designs are bootleg pokemon. That's not the point it wants to get at. The point is that it doesn't really matter.

First of all, nobody is being hurt by Palworld having knockoff pokemon among the ranks of its monsters. Game Freak is not some tiny indie developer struggling to make ends meet having their work unfairly co-opted by a big, bad corporation. Pokemon is, in fact, the largest, most profitable media franchise of all time, and Palworld is an indie game. The reason that something like this would hypothetically be scummy/shitty is if someone were taking someone else's work, changing it slightly, claiming it as their own, and thus depriving the original creator of credit/visibility that they should've had. But that literally can't happen here, because everyone already knows what Pokemon is. So unless it gets found that they're stealing designs from fakemon artists or something (there was one alleged instance, but it seems to have just been a coincidence of two different people having the idea of "what if Chimecho but with big, bulky arms?"), Palworld is hurting nobody through having bootleg designs, so the moral argument against the game falls flat.

With that out of the way, there's a much more interesting topic to discuss here: Why is it that when someone's fangame gets C&D'd, everyone immediately jumps to the creator's support, accurately assessing that our copyright system is broken and primarily serves to hurt independent artists, but the moment a developer makes the changes necessary to make sure their fangame doesn't get hit with a C&D (and to allow them to make money off of it), it's suddenly bad and cringe and unoriginal?

The argument that "Palworld is lazy and unoriginal and therefore bad because the monster designs are too similar to Pokemon's designs" is something that this toy would be willing to hear out if Palworld were a turn-based singles-format RPG with similar systems/overall structure to those found in Pokemon games, but, uh. It isn't. It's a third-person shooter with monster-catching mechanics and, like, Factorio-ass automation and base-building, from what this toy can tell. And it doesn't know if the game is good, as someone who has not played it (or even really seen gameplay of it), but it can absolutely tell you that the game's not lazy.

Sure, they could have done more to make the monster designs feel more unique, and that's absolutely a valid criticism for the game. This toy doesn't want to come across like it's saying otherwise. It just wants people to recognize that that's kind of a nitpick when the game is, on a mechanical and genre level, something completely different from anything any Pokemon game ever has been or ever will be, and that nobody would be complaining about laziness or a lack of originality if this came out as a fangame literally just using actual pokemon. In that reality, people would've been popping off at how high-effort it is, actually. And like, even putting money aside, this game literally could not exist as a fangame. A while back, someone uploaded some videos on Youtube showcasing a fangame they were developing that was an FPS where the enemies were pokemon. They got hit with a C&D and their Youtube account was terminated within a couple days of the videos being uploaded. The game was not monetized, and in fact, never even had a download link, to this toy's recollection. Palworld would have suffered the same exact fate if it wasn't its own IP.

[materlux]

Nemophilist

Nemophilist: (n.) A haunter of the woods; one who loves the forest and its beauty and solitude.

  The script brings Kafka and Blade to a post-post-apocalyptic world, inhabited by primitive humans who believe in ghosts and monsters. But in the forest a monster really does live, but it’s not evil, just slightly stupid. The monster is you, by the way.

CW: Idk?

Honkai Star Rail | Main Masterlist

This planet had experienced a catastrophic incident many amber eras ago, this has left its remaining life forms cut off from the rest of the cosmos. The people of this planet are, what the Genius Society would label, primitive. They do not understand the giant metal structures left behind by their forefathers, they have no knowledge of the aeons, or of the place they once occupied in the vast universe. To put it simply, it’s like someone pressed the ‘reset’ button on their civilization.

   This explains why the script was so simple and short, no one on this planet knew who they were, they believed they were celestial bodies from beyond the stars. Kafka enjoyed the treatment, compared to how they normally had to avoid all open areas, it was refreshing to be welcomed. Although Blade would much prefer the usual, if only because then he’d be left alone.

   Their mission is simple: Retrieve an ancient maschine core, something this planet's forefathers used to trade for high prices, and get back. The hard part would be to locate the core, it has been deactivated for centuries and the ruins of old have become overgrown.

   The locals are of little help, only talking of wild superstitions and monsters in the forest. The village they are at now borders with a dense forest of tall trees, the locals fear it, saying it’s home to ghosts and a monster. Kafka smiles and nods along as they explain, but her smile is one of barely hidden amusement, not sympathy.

   But a local makes a comment that catches both their attention, the monster lives in the body of a giant metal box, surrounded by other metal boxes. It’s a crude way to describe it, but this planet’s people used to live in giant artificial floating cities, the machine core they were searching for must be hidden in one such building.

   Kafka comes up with a plan and uses the people's beliefs of a monster to her advantage, she promises that she and her companion, Blade, will slay the monster for them. She makes a show of telling the people of their great endeavours and heroic acts, Blade thinks she lays it on too thick, singing her own praise more than anything, but it works.

   The locals see them off as they enter the forest, creaking branches sway tall overhead, the ground is covered in plant growth. Luckily there is a passage carved through the bush, dirt and stone crunch under their boots.

   “This is like a walk in the park, it makes you wonder what the locals are so scared of.” Kafka makes idle musings as they walk, Blade pays her little mind, keeping his eyes on the surrounding undergrowth.

   “It’s been a while since we’ve had this simple of a mission.” Kafka continues to fill the silence, not expecting a reply. “Maybe we’ll even have time to stop by some of the other planets in this solar system.”

   Something fast moves between the ferns, Blade halts his movements and watches for a culprit, more ferns sway violently as it moves closer. Kafka watches with lax eyes, observing the way Blade tenses and summons his weapon; whatever small forest critter is moving its way towards them is surely going to regret it. But it’s not a small forest critter that stands at the edge of the path, it’s a small, vaguely humanoid, looking spirit thing; with wide blank eyes and stubby limbs. More gather at the edge, tilting their heads in thought.

   “These are the ghosts the locals fear?” Kafka can barely contain her amused grin. “They’re quite cute, no?” She looks at Blade, who is poking at them experimentally with the tip of his blade.

   “Cute is not the word I’d use,” Blade mutters as the small ghostly figures grab at his sword, unfazed by the threat. Kafka huffs a quiet laugh as she begins back down the path, Blade follows her, the small ghostly figures hot on their heels a few hanging off his sword.

  The path narrows the further in they go and the trees seem to grow in size, more of the ghostly figures gather around them, creating a long trail behind them. Until the ghosts break away from the path to effortlessly climb a tree, Kafka pays them no mind and neither does Blade, at first.

   But something large moves in the canopy above, Blade stares unblinkingly up at it, but there is nothing to see and the movement stops, the wind rushes through the leaves.

   “C’mon Bladie,” Kafka calls from up ahead, “it was probably just the wind, or a bird, or something.” He glares at the leaves for just a moment longer, before he follows after Kafka.

   Maybe if he had stood there for two moments longer, he would have seen you, but luckily for you that lady distracted him. The small ghosts gather around you, they clamber their way up your sides, and hang off your arms and antlers. An abomination of the abundance some would call you, although you were no child of a God, simply an oddity created in the chemical fallout of the apocalypse; not entirely plant, not entirely animal, not entirely human, but wholly alive and curious.

   His striking red eyes had pinpointed you immediately, even though you were certain you were hidden behind the branches, could he perhaps sense you. You slink off further into the canopy, the small ghosts ride along on your back, you move from branch to branch, from tree to tree with ease.

   In a clearing of flowers you lounge, limbs, human and not, stretched out in the soft grass. The small ghosts watch you from the shadows, unlike you, they are not immune to the sun’s rays. A patch of striking red flowers catches your gaze, they remind of the man, Bladie the lady called him, he’s been stuck on your mind for the past hours. It’s not often anyone wanders into the forest, and something about these two told you they weren’t like the locals.

   Maybe this would be your chance to find some company, as mean as it sounds, maybe you could even leave, you love the ghosts really, but they don’t make for great company. Compared to the newcomers who spoke and weren’t frightened of the monster in the forest, they were far better company. 

   But you had to make a good first impression, especially on the man, Bladie, he was the one most on edge, even threatening the small ghosts. Your eyes land on the red flowers again and an idea pops into your head, the locals give each other flowers as a sign of good intention, right?

   Grabbing a handful of flowers, you move up a nearby tree with ease, the ghosts happily follow after you as you weave along the canopy.

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

   Kafka sits perched on a rock as Blade walks the edge of the small clearing, large branches overhead creates some shade. After looping around one last time he too settles down, he keeps his sword out and eyes alert, flicking around the canopy.

   “I doubt whatever you heard has followed us,” Kafka reasons, but Blade pays her little mind. A hoard of small ghosts tumble out of a large tree, gathering at its base and watching the canopy expectantly. Something larger and humanoid surprisingly elegantly makes its way down the trunk, Blade stands at attention like a guard dog, sword drawn and pointed. Kafka on the other hand leans back on her hands, curiosity in her eyes as she watches you move into the grass.

   You watch the man as he watches you, he’s threatening you, if you were smarter or maybe more skittish you’d have turned tail and run. But you weren’t, you had a plan and a handful of flowers, so calmly you walk across the clearing.

   You stand a sword’s length away from him, he is far taller than you and more noticeably built, for a moment you do consider turning tail. But you muster up the courage and extend your arm, red flowers shake in your hold. The two of you just stand there, staring at each other, it’s actually the lady that makes the first move.

   “Bladie, lower your sword, they just want to give you some flowers,” she coos, making her way through the grass. She stands by your sides and gently lowers his sword for him, he relents and sends it away, you watch perplexed as it disappears into thin air.

   “Red flowers, why red?” The lady asks you, if she expects a verbal reply, she’s sure to be surprised. Blade is, when you step up close to him and hold the flowers up to his face, right beside his eye.

   “Oh I see, those do match his eyes quite well,” she agrees, it makes you feel a little giddy. You don’t often get praised, it’s not often you have any social interaction at all, the locals are terrified of you.

   The lady, who introduced herself as Kafka, has now spent the better half of 30 minutes teaching you how to say her name. You kinda get there, but you only really make half the sounds before giving up. The two let you tag along as they explore the forest, reiteration; Kafka lets you tag along, Blade tolerates your presence at best.

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

   As the sun begins to set over the horizon, you wander off into the forest, making your way back to your home. A nest-like structure hidden away in some metallic ruins, you, who was here when they fell out of the sky, remember what the locals forgot. The only problem is, you don’t have a universal translator, and you cannot for the life of you remember more than a word or two in the universal language.

   “Where are you going?” Kafka asks as you stand before a tree, you tilt your head over your shoulder. You try to make sense of what she said, as well as come up with a proper reply.

   “Home?” You croak, your vocal cords having gone unused for years are straining to form just one word. Kafka smiles and nods, you relax, you think that means you picked the right word.

   “Can we go with you?” She looks amused, you think, by your little predicament. You decide to just copy her head movement, a nod.

   It’s not a long walk from the clearing, you make your way up the creaking metal structure, and make yourself comfy among the old fabrics you’ve scavenged. Kafka and Blade stay on a lower level, you hang slightly off the ledge to peer down at them, they start a fire to keep warm.

   In the morning you’re awoken by the sound of rummaging, you follow the sound to find Kafka and Blade, mostly Blade, Kafka wouldn’t want to dirty her nice clothes, looking through the wreck. You tilt your head at them as Blade moves a piece of metal with ease, he huffs when he finds nothing but more debris.

   “Good morning,” Kafka greets you, “I put Bladie to work.” She smiles.

   “Bladie,” you mimic her speech, the man in question freezes and then throws a glare over his shoulder, Kafka only laughs.

   “They’re like a parrot,” Kafka muses.

   “Parrot?” You tilt your head in confusion, but Kafka just smiles like you just proved her point exactly.

   As the day goes by and they continue searching for something, Kafka watches amused as you observe Blade, you mutter ‘Bladie’ at him a few times only to be met with his glare. You are very confused, when you mutter ‘Kafka’ at Kafka she just smiles, why does he seem so upset?

   At some point Kafka makes use of your curious nature and obvious understanding of this place, she shows you what they are looking for, a look of recognition passes over your face before you disappear into the wreck.

   A couple hours later, while Kafka enjoys the tranquil atmosphere and Blade continues to be ever vigilant, you stumble less elegantly out of the crash site. Something cradled in your arms, you settle before Kafka and offer it to her. Before her feet now lay the exact machine core they were looking for, and it’s still in good condition.

   “I told you this script would be easy,” she smiles at Blade, who only huffs. “Well thank you.” Her hand gently rests on your head.

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

   Helping them was easy and you got praise out of it, it made you feel good to help them, but now there is a new problem; they are leaving. You don't want them to leave, or rather you don’t want them to leave you. You offer them more flowers and other things, you hope to convey your message, but Kafka only coos at you and Blade pays you no mind.

   By the edge of the forest you make a sudden decision, Kafka stretches out in the sun, but before Blade can leave the shade. You latch onto his arm, he very nearly cuts your head off.

   “Stay,” you croak quietly. He tries to free his arm, but you don’t let up your grip. Kafka looks over the scene in amusement, but she interjects before Blade can actually hurt you.

   “We can’t stay.” She places a gentle hand on your head. “Why do you want us to stay?” She assesses the stressed out look on your face as you try to make sense of her words.

   “Alone.” Is the best response you can give with your limited vocabulary, Kafka coos at you again.

   “Sure, you can come along.” Blade makes a noise, but keeps his opinion to himself.

   The small ghosts gather by the edge of the forest, it’s they’re way of saying goodbye, you figure. In all these years you never thought you’d see the universe again, but before your eyes stars stretch for miles, you are now a member of the Stellaron hunters, or more like a glorified pet.

[edgeray]

hii edge! is it possible if i request an arlecchino/reader with beauty & the beast au :0? thank you so much in advance aaaaaa i love your writing so much it always makes my day^^

To Break a Curse

(Arlecchino x GN! Reader)

A/N - Hi anon! Of course, here's going to be my reminder that if you request from me again as an anon, give yourself a name/emoji :). So I technically have already made a beauty and beast au (here is the link), but I suppose I could just rewrite the concept. The original au did differ a lot from the ‘disney’ version so for this one, so for this one, I will actually try to align this more with the disney version. Slightly dark because I'm not going to have talking kettles and candlesticks in here. Will be assuming gn! reader for this. Also I'm glad that you enjoy my works and bit sorry for the delay ^^ I am so sorry the ending is shitty at the end I am deadass about to fall asleep, I was this close 🤏 to falling asleep. I was typing with my eyes close lol. It's like 3:30AM for me so I'm gonna hit the hay. Maybe I should stop writing these at 12AM lol.  Content warnings / info - mean arle at the start, semi-graphic violence, prolly forgetting something but I'm tired, 2.7k words 

You've heard of the rumored forsaken prince, everyone in your village has. People rarely mention her by name, opting to call the cursed prince ‘the Beast,’ based on her animal-like claws and her temperament–just as vicious as a feral beast. The castle which she alone resides in sits on the outskirts of the forest next to your village. Every villager warns you to never trespass into the Beast's territory, unless you wished to never return. However, you've never believed in the existence of the Beast and her castle--after all, you've gone to the forests numerous times and have never encountered her. Perhaps this was just a way to scare off children from getting lost. 

Today, you learned how wrong you were. Venturing into the forest to forage for your dinner, you had accidentally delved too deep into the forest, now lost. Night approached soon as you searched for an escape or a shelter, but your search was unsuccessful.

Trudging through the forest, you heave for breath, your feet aching from traversing the rough terrain of the forest, not helped by the uncomfortable shoes you chose to wear. You thought that the foraging wouldn't take long but you found a large patch of mushrooms that led you deeper into the forest than you intended. You gaze up at the sky, it being pitch black with only the moonlight and the stars guiding you through. 

The shadows produced by the trees unnerve you, your imagination and paranoia warping them into abstract monsters stalking you. You know that there is nothing in the forest that can hurt you, unless the rare bear, but the knowledge didn't soothe you any more. You feel something hit your forehead–something light and small… and wet. It takes a couple more droplets before you realize it’s now downpouring. You bite your lip out of frustration, wrapping your arms around yourself to store as much body heat to yourself. Your footsteps speed up and you look more frantically, until you see something imposing in the distance. It's hard to make out in the fog, but it seems like the outline of some sort of building. 

You run towards it, only to be faced with a wall. You follow along it until you reach a gate, and behind the gate, you can vaguely make out a structure larger and more obscene than anything you've ever seen before; it looks nothing like the village establishments. If anything, it dwarfs your entire village as a whole, likely massive enough to fit your village inside based on the height alone. At least this would provide you shelter from the rain and cold, is the only consideration you make before pushing open the gates and rushing down the stone path. 

You nearly trip over the stone passage and as you arrive at the entrance, you soon realize it’s a castle. Its uncanny shape now makes some sense, but from then on lack of light through the windows, it seems like no one lives here. You press on, entering the castle. You’re thankful you're no longer being pelted by the rain and then you're immediately struck with awe from the decor and grandiose of the interior. Although the castle is unlit, you're still able to make out some details of the room you enter. Admiring the spiral staircase and the magnificent pillars, a thought strikes you. Why does no one inhabit the castle? 

Abruptly, there is the sound of something shuffling and it makes your marveling halt. Your heart drops to the pit of your stomach and fear clenches onto you tightly as the incessant terror of not being as alone as you though plagues you. Spinning around, you search for the origins of the sound only to scare yourself when you accidentally kick against a piece of furniture. You yelp out, before silencing yourself when you cognize it was nothing. 

And then a thud. And another, coming from behind you. Paralysis enraptures your body and before you have the time to breathe, a heavy weight crashes into you, making you tumble into the ground. You let out a scream, turning around to view what just struck you, and two glowing red orbs stare back at you. You gasp wildly, trying to scramble away when your throat is suddenly tightened and you're forced against the ground. It feels like claws are just barely brushing against your neck, threatening to puncture into you if you so much as breathe. A whimper escapes you and a whispered plea escapes you as you lock your eyes on the pair of red. 

“P-please…” 

A deep, resounding voice responds to you, causing shivers down your body. “What are you doing in my home?”

Tears well in your eyes and you try your best to speak as clearly as possible. “I-I'm sorry. I didn't k-know! I'll go, p-please let me go!” You beg, your hands raise to pry off the hand over your throat but a feral growl stops you. 

“Do you know whose home you intruded into?” 

You shake your head. The grip around your neck intensifies for a few moments.

“Speak.”

“N-no…” 

“This is my castle, Prince Arlecchino's. Though, the villagers like to call me something else… what was it, ‘the Beast?’”

You suck in an audible breath as your eyes grow wide. This is the Beast? The Beast is real? Then are the rumors of people disappearing in the castle true as well? What will happen to you? Your mind goes into a frenzy, with all the wonderings of what the Beast would do to you.

“P-please don't kill m-me…”

“Kill you? No,” the Beast answers coldly. The hold on your throat slackens and the Beast’s hand slips away. “I won't kill you. But you've trespassed my home. And for that, you will remain here, for the rest of your life.” 

“W-what? B-but,” you breath is caught when you feel a tug on your arm pulling you up to your feet, the same claws that pressed against your neck digs shallowly into your arm, making you wince. 

“This is your punishment,” the Beast says, its red pupils glaring down at you coldly. You gulp, but accept your fate. The Beast could easily kill you with one swipe of her hand. 

“Follow,” it instructs, and you do, trailing behind the Beast as it navigates the dark surroundings effortlessly, a testament to how long it's been here. You trip over another piece of furniture, making you stumble onto the ground. 

“I'm sorry–” you stammer out an apology immediately.

“Be quiet,” gruffed the Beast. You scramble to get up but feel yourself hoisted up, by the Beast presumably. You yelp from the sudden position, now carried in a bridal style–its hold is surprisingly gentle and its claws don't prick you.

“Where are you taking me?” You inquire, clutching onto the Beast’s shoulder–which for some reason shocks you that it’s firm just like any other human, although you know that the Beast is a human–when it goes up the staircase. 

“A guest chamber.”

“A guest chamber?” 

“Would you prefer the dungeon?”

“No… thank you… Prince Arlecchino.”

The Beast pauses its movements, halting in place. 

Your thoughts flood with anxiety, wondering if this would trigger a violent reaction from the Beast. “Did I offend you? I’m sorry, I really am.” 

“No. It's just been a long while since someone referred to me from my title.” The Beast continues walking, unaware of how its–her–words shattered your mindset. 

That's right, how could you forget? ‘The Beast’ is still a human, cursed or not. Perhaps Prince Arlecchino deserved being inflicted by a curse, but you could not imagine yourself with the fate instilled on the forsaken prince, nor being singularly called ‘the Beast’ by every waking person. It's dehumanizing and awfully isolating, and it makes you question how long it has been since she's been called that, how long it has been since she has been seen as a human. 

It makes your heart ache. 

You count the flight of stairs that she goes up, and then for the first time, you see orange light coming from one of the rooms at the end of a corridor–an open fire likely. As the Prince walks closer to the room, you're able to make out more details; it's a bedroom, but more apparently, you can finally see her. You tilt your head up, and you expectedly, yet unexpectedly at once, you view a very princely face: pale, flawless skin framed by snow white hair and ebony strands, and sharp jaw. Prince Arlecchino glances down at you, sharp cross-shaped pupils burrowing into you. Her expression seems curious of yours. 

“You do look like a prince…” you think out loud absentmindedly, your face flushing as you realize your verbalization. 

The Prince says nothing, thankfully, and doesn't note your fluster. You look away from her face and glance at her hands. Like you've heard from the villagers, they are black, as if dipped in ink and her nails are red claws. Though what the villagers have yet to mention was the markings on her forearm, which are, admittedly, entrancing. She finally sets you down once she enters her chamber, which is obviously well-lived in. 

Taking a nearby candle holder and a few logs of wood set nearby the hearth the Prince silently exits her room to go into the room next to hers. You follow her into the room, this one obviously not used but still has a lot of furniture. Using the logs and the candlestick, she ignites the hearth and what you assume is going to be your room fills with heat and light. 

“This is your room from now on. Do not ask for me for the rest of the night,” she gruffs, and closes the door behind her. Her footsteps go away towards the direction of her bedroom. 

You blink, reality setting in. You’re still in your wet clothes, but you can't do much but strip and wrap yourself in dry sheets. You do exactly that, before sinking into the bed. It's like how you imagine sinking into a cloud to be–you fall to slumber in the manner of minutes. 

— 

You do not see her until the next morning, when the sun finally peaks out and you're able to see where you walk. Exiting your room, you note that she's not in her chamber, and you wander the castle. A whiff of something metallic combined with a musk catches your attention and you travel down the stairs until you reach the ground floor. You spot a figure crouched over something, and when you near the sight more, you discover the Prince hunched over a deer carcass. A sickening rip makes you cringe as a limb is torn off from the body. 

“P-prince?” You ask hesitantly. The Prince turns, a calm expression over her face. Only a bit of blood smears her lips. 

“Yes?” 

“What are you doing?” 

“Eating. It is also for you.” 

You stew in silence long enough for the Prince to turn back and resume. “Prince Arlecchino, how long have you been surviving like this?” 

“Since I was cursed.” 

Your heart aches again. “It is raw.”

“Indeed.” 

“It cannot be good for you.”

“It is all I have.” 

It is a sad sight. You think that ‘the Beast’ fits her the best here, like a starved animal instead of a human trying to live. 

“Prince Arlecchino, if you allow me, I can improve your eating experience. It would be healthier for you and it would be more appealing to eat.” 

The Prince perks up her head, glancing back at you.

That day, the Prince learns of the wonders of cooked venison. And perhaps, you've never seen a brighter, warmer light than the one that glints in the Prince's at her first taste. 

—

“What is it that you're reading?” 

Arlecchino glances up from her book. “It is a romance novel.”

“I didn't think that you'd be interested in such things, Prince.” 

“You grow curious about things you do not have.” 

You frown and contemplate. It seems like… she's always wanted company. “Prince, may I ask you why you chose to isolate yourself here?”

The Prince remains quiet for several moments before she responds, in a voice uncharacteristically quiet. “The villagers do not accept my appearance.”

“Because of your curse?”

“Yes. They’re afraid of me. Of my eyes, of my hands. Of my strength.” 

“Have you not tried undoing the curse?”

She bitterly laughs. “There is nothing that breaks the curse. It is impossible.”

You narrow your eyes. “There must be something. There's no such thing as an unbreakable curse.”

“You are right. However, the conditions to break this one is… unobtainable.”

“What is it?”

 The Prince's gaze shifts from you to the stack of books that pile by her bedside. You recognize some of the titles from your village library–they were all in the romance category. You never realize until now that the Prince looks at them with a hopeless longing. “To be loved and to love, is what it is in simple terms.”

There is that heartache again. 

You shake your head, trying to any more painful thoughts circling around the Prince. “If you truly gave up on breaking your curse, you would not still be alive, would you?”

“I will not entertain this thought,” is all she says, but you know her answer already. 

You sigh. “Can I at least… read with you?”

The Prince tilts her head and pauses. A clawed hand grasps onto yours, and you're pulled into her lap. The steady heartbeat of Arlecchino's can be felt from the contact. 

— 

It takes several weeks for you to figure that the Prince does not enforce her punishment. You have escaped out of the castle before, if only to find more things to forage. She has seen you exit out of the castle but she does not chase you or force you to return back. Although you’d like to see the village again, you're also not sure if you do want to go back–the castle is quite comfortable and you’ve had enough of petty village squabbles. You wonder why it is that she doesn't stop you, why she was so forceful of it at the beginning. 

You recall the discussion regarding her curse. She had given up on finding a way to break her curse, however, she had always sought out company. Perhaps she had the punishment to force you to stay… to enjoy a company she has been able to for years. Now, Arlecchino has given up on you being a potential cure to her curse. It must be why she's no longer hesitant to let you go.  

But she is wrong. In those weeks you spend with her, you've learned much more about ‘the Beast.’ You've learned that she is kind in a quiet, observant manner. She's hunted for you, lit your fireplace, made your clothes. She cares for nature, appreciates its beauty and intricacy unlike anyone else you know. And she is romantic, some of the village men could not compare to her when she's read so many books. 

One day, a rose is left on your bed, no doubt collected on your bed. 

That night, you approach her room.

“Prince Arlecchino?”

“Yes?”

“The rose… thank you for it.” 

The Prince remains in silence, observing you with adoration in her eyes despite her bone chilling features. “You’re welcome.”

“Roses are often used as a way to confess,” you say. You know that she knows already, given the amount of books she read. “Is this what I think it is?”

Prince Arlecchino nods. Tentatively, she takes your cheek in her hand and cups it, her claws gently brushing over your skin. “Yes. I think I am in love with you.”

A smile forms on your face and you lean in to press your foreheads against one another, creating an intimate air. “I love you too, my dear Prince.” 

The two of you lean against one another, your lips meeting each other and you close your eyes. The Prince places a hand behind your head, pushing you closer. You don't notice that her nails are no longer red, nor are they sharp. She doesn't notice either. 

The ink from her arms wash away, and with that ‘the Beast’ is swept away, stolen away by you. Prince Arlecchino stands in place of the missing ‘Beast.’