#but you won’t find a guy fucking the ghost of his first love who he lost contact with ages before

[lady-tortilla-chip]

.

[imaginedisish]

I'm Not In Love (Logan Howlett x fem!Reader)

A/N: Okay, so this if my first fic in over a year, and it's also my first Wolverine fic...so please be kind. I'm just getting back into the groove. Expect it to possibly be a little rough. This is big time inspired by "I'm Not In Love" by 10cc. This fic is also thanks to a request I got from an anonymous user! Thanks for the idea, anon! Hope it's okay! Enjoy guys.

Summary: After harboring a crush on Logan for months, things finally come to a head while on an overnight mission.

Warnings: SMUT. 18+ MINORS DO NOT INTERACT. There's like no plot here just smut, Unprotected PIV sex (wrap it up), Oral (f!receiving), AFAB reader, Sizekink!(this was a specific size kink request, and so the reader is therefore described as being smaller than Logan/his shirt being big on her), cursing, praise kink, OOC!Logan (just putting this out there because I haven't seen the X-Men movies/read X-Men comics in forever and I'm probably giving him terms he doesn't use/having him act in ways he might not typically), feelings, cocky!Logan, softdom!Logan, one bed muahaha, probably grammar errors, think that's it?

Word Count: 3,162 I got carried away

He was driving you absolutely crazy. Logan. Logan fucking Howlett, with his cocksure attitude and self-satisfied smile. Maybe it’s the way he thinks he’s always right. Maybe it’s that stupid stubbornness, that prowl he does when he walks across a room to meet you. To mock you. His whole being towering over you—his musky, pine-scented cologne filling your lungs. He’s everywhere—and not just metaphorically—literally and physically. His giant frame shadows yours, and you can’t help but admit that there’s something about it…something about him. 

You want him. Bad. And although you won’t admit it, you’ve wanted him for months. And so, as of lately, he’s not so much a nuisance as much as he’s a distraction. 

You just had to be sent on this mission with Logan—this ridiculous two-day stake-out that you could have done on your own. You’re certainly strong enough; your telekinetic powers and regenerative abilities are enough to handle any situation. And yet, here you are, walking up to a motel with Logan fucking Howlett. 

His frame practically consumes yours as he stands behind you on the sidewalk. You swear you can feel the ghost of his fingertips against your waist, impatient and ready to guide you forward. You silently wish he would—wish he would grab your hips and take you down that alleyway and—

“You okay, darlin’?” His voice is gruff against the shell of your ear. “You seem awfully distracted.”

You swallow your embarrassment and hope he won’t pick up on how fast your heart is beating. “I’m fine, just tired,” you mutter, lying straight through your teeth. You can feel his smirk against the side of your head. He has to know what he’s doing. He has to know how much you want him. 

He chuckles and his chest vibrates against your back. “Too tired for the mission, bub? We’re almost at the motel, don’t worry.” The condescension in his voice is palpable. He knows exactly how to get under your skin. You’re putty in his hands. 

He steps out from behind you, and before you can mourn the loss of the contact, he grabs your hand and leads the way through the doors of the motel. “This okay?” He whispers in your ear, his massive hand giving your smaller one a squeeze. All you can manage is a nod as you approach the front desk. You know it’s just to support your cover—you and Logan are posing as a married couple—but you can’t help but hope it means more. You need it to mean more. 

God, you are so fucked. 

You’re so distracted thinking about how close Logan is to you that you almost miss the moment when the worker at the front desk says the only room left has just one bed. 

You crane your head to look up at Logan, who you find is already looking down at you. 

“That’s perfect,” he says, his eyes still on you. His stare doesn’t budge as the man behind the front desk slides the key towards the two of you. Logan grabs the keys and finally breaks the moment. His hand is still holding yours as he navigates the two of you toward your motel room. 

The room is…small. There’s one queen bed in the center, a bathroom on the other side of the room, and an old box television resting on an even older-looking oak dresser. On the bright side, the place appears to be clean. 

“I should freshen up,” you say, taking off your shoes. Your hand slips out of Logan’s as you pad over to the bathroom with your bag. 

The bathroom isn’t horrible either. Dated, but clean. You brush your teeth and wash your face before undressing and searching for your pajamas in your bag—which, naturally, you forgot to pack. 

“Ah fuck,” You mutter louder than you meant to. 

You hear Logan stirring in the other room, his footsteps quickly approaching the door. “You okay?” You can sense the concern in his voice, and you can’t help but smile. 

“Yeah, just forgot to pack something to wear to bed.” There’s more shuffling on the other side of the door. You hear Logan’s bag zip. 

“You want my shirt?” He asks, standing just outside the door now. 

“I’d feel bad, then you—” Your protests are ignored as he opens the door just enough to toss his Calgary Flames t-shirt onto the bathroom sink, closing it tightly once the shirt lands. You smirk as you walk over to the shirt and put it on. The hem lands at the middle of your thighs. Logan really is massive, you think to yourself. 

You take a deep breath, slowly twist the knob of the bathroom door, and head outside. Logan is lounging on the chair next to the dresser, his eyes on you as you place your bag down on the floor at the foot of the bed. 

“Th-thanks for the…” You stutter, trailing off as you nod down to the shirt. 

Logan smirks as he pushes himself out of the chair and makes his way toward you. You think you see him take you in, look you up and down, but that can’t possibly be.

He shakes his head as he stops at your side. You swear you hear him mutter a low fuck under his breath. “You look good.” But he doesn’t stop for long. He pushes forward and into the bathroom. “I’ll sleep on the floor,” he mumbles as he shuts the door behind him. 

“Let’s just share the bed,” you shout back, unsure of where the confidence to say that came from. But there’s no response, just the running of water from the sink. 

You sit on the edge of the bed, waiting for what feels like forever, but Logan doesn’t take long at all. After a few minutes, you hear the sink shut off and the door creek open. 

You shake your head as you stand from the bed to face him. “By the way, you’re not sleeping on the floor, don’t be ridic—” You’re too stunned to say another word. You’ve seen Logan shirtless before, sure, but not like this. Not in just his boxers. Not in a room with him, alone, for an entire night. You need to relax, to calm down, but there’s nowhere else to go, and nothing else to look at. You know he can your heart beating out of your chest now. 

 He steps toward you, engulfing you with his presence. You stare up at him. “Am I really that scary?” He closes the distance between the two of you. 

You try to play dumb. “W-what are you talking about?”

“Every time I get close to you, that little heart of yours practically explodes.”

You swallow roughly. “I d-don’t know what you’re talking about, Logan.” But your shaky voice gives it away. You know exactly what he means. 

His arms snake around your waist, resting on your lower back. “Yeah, you do, darlin’,” he says. “You afraid of me or something?” God he is so fucking cocky, you think to yourself. 

“’M’not afraid of you,” you whisper. “Could never be afraid of you.” 

He smiles and walks you to the edge of the bed, your knees threatening to buckle under the pressure. “What is it then, hm? You like how big I am? That it?” Your eyes frantically search his face for some sort of excuse, some sort of denial. But he can read you like a book. “Yeah, I think that’s it.” He’s towering over you, caging you in. 

“It’s more than that,” you admit. 

He cocks his head to the side. “Oh yeah? What?” He won’t let that be enough—you know he won’t. He’ll tease it out of you. His presence is dizzying and distracting. You’re not even sure you can form another complete sentence. 

“I-it’s just you,” you finally choke out. 

But it’s not enough for him. “What about me?”

Everything, you want to say. You want to tell him how you feel. “Logan, I…” But you can’t. I’m not in love, that’s what you’ve been trying to convince yourself of for months.  

“Go on, say it. What’s got you going?” He tightens his grip around your waist, his thumbs rubbing gently along your back. He leans down, his lips brushing against your forehead. “Use your words, sweetheart.” 

Your eyes flutter shut, and you take a deep breath. He’s everything and he’s everywhere. He’s in your head and in your hands. You can smell the musk and the pine and a hint of mint and that extra thing that is just distinctly him. He’s warm and his breath ever-so-lightly tickles your ear as his forehead rests against yours. 

And then finally, it comes out.

“I want you, Lo.”

You open your eyes and immediately notice the change in his expression. That cocky grin is gone. He isn’t teasing anymore. This is something else. Want. No, stronger than that. Desire. Adoration. Longing. Like those four words undid something in him. Untangled some knot that had been there for far too long. Almost like he thought you maybe wouldn’t want this. That maybe someone wouldn’t want him. 

So, you say it again. “I want you, Logan.” 

He shuts his eyes. “Fuck.” 

And then he’s pushing you down onto the mattress. His lips find their way to yours, crashing like the world is about to end. You can feel his hunger, his desperation. He rests one hand next to your head for balance and slips his free hand underneath the shirt he lent you. He’s exploring the curves of your body, the dips and turns, eventually pulling the shirt up and over your head. 

He comes up for air as his fingers play with the clasp of your bra. You watch his Adam’s apple bob in his throat. “This okay?” He asks, waiting for your approval. You nod and the hooks are immediately undone. You arch your back so he can slip the bra off. “Fuck, pretty girl,” he mumbles. “You’re so fucking beautiful.” 

His hands find their way to your chest, his thumbs brushing over your nipples, teasing you, pinching lightly. 

“Lo, please. Need you,” is all you can say. 

He trails a line of kisses down your jaw, your neck, your collarbone, the center of your chest, his mouth traveling achingly slowly until finally landing on one of your tits. He kisses your nipple before taking it into his mouth, biting lightly and licking the hurt away. 

“Please,” you beg again. 

He comes up for a moment. “Please what?” He asks before moving on to the other side. 

“Need you so bad,” You whimper. But he doesn’t stop. “N-need you to touch me.”

He pauses again. “Think I’m already doing that, darlin’. Gonna have to be more specific.” 

“Fuck me, please.”  

He shakes his head. “Wanna make you feel good first, pretty girl.” 

You sit up a bit, ready to protest. “But you are. You’re making me feel so—” You’re cut off by the sight of him staring up at you as he trails kisses down your stomach, stopping at the top of your panties. He grabs your hips and pushes you further into the center of the bed. His fingers slip under the hem of your panties, waiting for your approval. You nod, and he practically tears them right off you. 

Logan kisses the inside of your thigh, slowly charting a path toward your core, his thumb tracing circles on the other thigh. You’re already squirming under his touch. “Lo,” You whimper. “Please—Fuck!” Without warning, his tongue licks a long stripe up your folds to your clit. His lips lock around it, sucking softly, his fingers suddenly teasing your entrance before slipping a finger inside.

“So tight darlin’. Gonna feel so good,” he mumbles against you, the vibrations of his deep voice sending a jolt up your spine. 

He’s taking his time, tasting you, savoring you. His tongue laps at your cunt, licking slow circles as his finger pumps in and out. You need more.

“Lo,” You call out, your back arching in pleasure. But he doesn’t answer. He keeps going as if he’s gotten lost in you, as if there’s nothing that can possibly be said to bring him back. “Lo, please,” you moan again. 

He chuckles against your core. “Please what, pretty girl?” He mumbles. You can feel his smirk against you.

“M-more,” you beg. You can feel his smirk grow wider as his motions stall. “No don’t stop, please don’t stop.” 

He looks up at you, his finger buried deep inside your cunt, his lips just inches from your clit. “Wanna take my time with you, darlin’.”

“Y-you c-can,” You stutter. “W-whatever you want. Just need more.”

“More?” He repeats, arrogantly tilting his head. Your breath catches in your throat at the sight. 

“Yes, please.” But you know by the look in his eyes that you’re getting more than you bargained for. 

He adds another finger, pumping in and out faster than before. His lips latch onto your clit, sucking roughly. It’s overwhelming, and you know he isn’t going to let up. His tongue draws circles around your core, flicking harshly before ruthlessly sucking again. You can feel a third finger prodding your entrance before slipping in and stretching you out. 

“This what you wanted?” He teases.

“Lo, I—” It’s too much, you can’t speak. 

“I’ve got you darlin’. I’m right here. You’re doing so good for me.” His words by themselves practically send you over the edge. 

“’M’so close Logan,” You whimper, spurring him on. His pace quickens; his circles become harder. You can feel your walls tightening around his fingers. 

“I know, pretty girl. Wanna feel you come on my fingers. Can you do that for me?” 

You can’t even speak anymore. All you can manage is a hum that passes for an affirmative. He pumps in and out of you, still alternating between sucking your clit and circling it with his tongue. 

“Look so beautiful like this darlin’. So fucking beautiful,” He husks. And that’s all it takes to make that liquid heat, that tension building in the bottom of your stomach, cut like a knife, pouring out of you. Your vision blurs as you let yourself go. You chant his name like it’s a prayer, a spell, something otherworldly. He finally slows down, letting you ride out your orgasm. 

He pulls out and away from you, crawling up your body so that he’s on top of you. He’s absolutely huge; his arms rest next to your head, caging you in. “You alright sweetheart?” He asks, one hand coming up to cup your cheek as he presses a chaste kiss against your forehead. 

“Hm,” You hum. “Like you like this.”

There’s that cocky smirk again. “Like what?”

“O-on top of me,” You admit freely now. Your arms come up to wrap around his shoulders, but he quickly pins them above your head.

He smiles widely, his forehead coming down to rest on yours. You can feel his erection press against your core through his boxers. And—fuck—he’s big. “Gonna fuck you like this then, okay pretty girl?”

“P-please,” you stutter. 

He sits up, pulling his boxers down, revealing just how big he is. You swallow harshly, sitting up and watching as he casts his boxers to the side. He doesn’t let you watch for long. He pins you down again, one hand keeping your hands above your head and supporting his weight, while the other guides his cock to your entrance. His slides against your folds before slowly sinking inside you. You can’t help but arch your back to meet his chest. 

Everything is slow. He’s taking his time again, letting himself feel every inch of you, giving you the chance to adjust to the size of him. His free hand reaches in between your bodies and finds your clit, drawing slow, gentle circles. 

His forehead rests against yours as he thrusts into you. “Wanted this for so long,” he confesses, his thrusts growing faster. “Always wanted you, darlin’.” You can feel your heart burst in your chest as his lips meet yours. You can feel his hunger, his desire. 

“Wanted you too,” You whisper against his lips between kisses. 

His cock rubs against your walls, hitting that sweet spot every single time. He’s massive, stretching you out with each pump. He builds speed, his thrusts growing rougher as his fingers circle your clit faster. 

He whispers praises in your ear. “You feel so good, pretty girl. So fucking tight. Need you, darlin’. Always.” 

Always. 

It’s all too much. The words, the vulnerability, the feeling of him rutting into you with no end in sight. The promise of something else, something more. 

“Logan, I’m gonna…” You trail off, your walls tightening around him. It’s all so overwhelming. But if you’re being honest, you never want it to end. This. This feeling. Him inside you. Him around you. 

He curses under his breath, his thrusts becoming sloppier and faster as he chases his orgasm. “I know darlin’. Wanna feel you come on my cock.” He keeps his fingers steady on your clit, circling roughly, chasing your orgasm too. 

“Lo,” You mumble. “It’s so good. Y-you’re so good, so b-beautiful.” You’re a bumbling mess, but you want him to feel good too, to know what he’s doing to you, to know that he deserves this. Deserves to be wanted. 

You feel wetness on his cheeks as he buries his face into the crook of your neck. “Always wanted you,” he whispers again against the shell of your ear. “Always gonna want you.” 

The tension snaps, and you feel blaring white heat ripple through your body. Logan somehow buries himself deeper inside you as you come, your walls squeezing him tighter. 

“F-fuck,” he groans. “Where do you want—”

You cut him off this time. “Inside, please,” you pant. “Safe.” He curses under his breath and calls out your name as he fills you up. 

“So perfect,” he whispers. “So fucking perfect.”

His thrusts slow down as he finishes, and he slowly pulls out of you. But he doesn’t pull away. He keeps you close, moving you both towards the headboard. It takes a minute, but he manages to keep you close to his chest as he undoes the covers and gets you both inside them. 

Logan holds you tightly, peppering kisses against your temples every now and then. 

He’s the first to speak. “When I said always…” He trails off. You brace yourself for the worst. It was just the heat of the moment, bub. ‘M’sorry I said it. This shouldn’t happen again. It was a one-time thing and I—

“I meant it.”

You look up at him, eyes wide. He smiles. But it’s not that cocky smile, not that self-satisfied shit-eating grin. It’s that other thing again. Longing. 

“I meant it, too.” 

tags: @cypherpt5fttaehyung

[teddiesworldd]

after the world ends.

ghost finds you out in the woods during a zombie outbreak and falls in love with you. (2.6K words) read part 2 here!!!

a/n: this idea has been on my mind for a while and it was so sweet i just had to write it down and share it with you <3 also, if you'd like to be added to a taglist, let me know!

pairing: simon ghost riley x female reader

tags/warnings: nsfw, mdni!!, apocalypse au, mentions of weapons, killing (zombies), survival situation, unprotected p in v sex, cute fluffy stuff in the middle of a zombie apocalypse because why not?!, soap makes an appearance

day 17 of the apocalypse, 3 weeks after the first outbreak.

you had lasted this long purely by camping out in the back of your car, driving somewhere more remote to avoid the infected and rationing whatever you'd managed to bring in from your kitchen at the beginning of it all. but as supplies got low and you were down to your last water bottle, you were forced to venture out into the nearby woodland, gathering whatever you could forage from the streams and bushes. you knew absolutely nothing about surviving out here. you couldn’t hunt and could barely light a fire. the first day of winter was in less than a month and you had no real shelter to keep you warm. you had no idea which berries were safe to eat or how to filter water. all you had was your kitchen silverware for protection and your best winter jacket for the weather.

you’d last about 2 weeks out here at best, and that’s without the fucking zombies. 

you'd been walking for about an hour since leaving your car, and to be honest, you didn’t think you could find your way back now. everything looked the same. you had found only a pocketful of what you could only guess was edible, and a protein bar from the pocket of a dead guy’s jeans. every single noise scared the hell out of you. and the bite marks on his neck raised your adrenaline tenfold. 

thud. thud. snap.

footsteps. sticks breaking underfoot. 

“who’s there?” you called out. “i’m- i’m serious, come any closer and… and… i’ll kill you!”, shouting now, cold hand gripping your rusted kitchen knife tightly.

you saw a huge figure behind the trunk of a nearby tree, and he chuckled lowly at your brave attempt to scare him away. “you don’t scare me, sweetheart”, the voice said, deep and rough, walking out from behind the tree, “thought y'were a rabbit or something - cute lil' thing, rustling in those bushes. and if i was infected, you’d be dead by now, with a mouth on you like that.”

he was an absolute giant of a man, 6 and a half foot at least and built like a brick shithouse. he was in full military gear, skull mask over his face, armed with a rifle in hand and knives strapped to his chest and belt. he approached you slowly, palms facing you like he was trying not to spook a stray cat. part of you wondered if you were hallucinating - you'd not been sleeping well from the nightmares of the infected night after night.

“no use shouting, anyway - they’ll find you straight away making all that noise.” he continued, leaves crunching under his black boots, walking closer, “what’s a girl like you doing out 'ere, all alone?”

you were frozen in place, like a deer in headlights. he was already intimidating as fuck without the massive armoury hanging round his waist, but now he was so close you could feel his breath on your face. a thought crossed your mind that if he tried to kill you now, there would be absolutely nothing you could do to stop him. it made a shiver run down your back.

his gloved hand reached out to hold your chin. you looked up at him, eyes welling up from the pure fear that ran through you.

“lost?” he said quietly, tilting his head to get a proper look at you. 

you nodded slowly.

“well, you won’t get far with that old thing, love” he smirked through the mask, eyeing the blade in your hand. “here, i’ll take you back to camp with me, make you a proper meal, yeah? when did you eat last?”

you engaged in some light small talk on the way, finding out he was called “ghost” and he used to serve in a special operations unit for a private military company. i guess it made sense that the best survivors would be the soldiers. you mentioned how you’d been living in your car for the past two weeks, which seemed to amuse him. he probably thought you were just some dumb girl who’d somehow managed to scrape through until now.

he wasn’t wrong, really.

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

his camp was much nicer than the back of your car. 

it wasn't far from where he'd found you. they had lots of weapons and food and beds. and people. there must of been about 10 men in total. the infected weren’t really an issue with their impressive arsenal. there was a large fence surrounding the camp and the men took it in turns to kill anything that tried getting inside. it was pretty clear that ghost was closest to one of the other ex-military guys called "soap". they sat together when they ate and stayed up late at night talking together around the fire - matching dog tags glinting in the dim light. you often watched them through your tent door - enjoying their company but not wanting to interrupt their conversation. you listened as they talked deeply, recounting their time serving together, telling stories of bravery and bloodshed. it became your routine to fall asleep listening to them.

after about 3 or 4 weeks, following the first snowfall, you’d adjusted to life in the camp. soap had taught you a few things and often spent the mornings taking you hunting or showing you how to use the guns - a hand on your waist as he lined you up for the kill shot. he had a sweet nature and silly charm to him, telling you ridiculous jokes that only made you laugh because they were so stupid. you would never tell him that though - he thought you found him hilarious.

however, it was ghost you’d grown closest to, giving you anything and everything you needed. he was mysterious and that drew you to him. one time, he took you down to the river to wash the cookware and yourselves, and you'd caught a glimpse of him pulling off his clothes and mask, blonde hair and muscles seeing the light of day. you couldn't deny it - he was gorgeous.

he often checked on you in the evenings, making sure you’d settled in okay. he sat next to your bed, running a gloved hand over your hair, rubbing small circles into your scalp.

“you like the boys?” he’d ask, “they treating you okay?”

and you’d nod, just like you’d do every night.

“not scared, are you, doll?”

you shook your head.

“good. just making sure.”

and with that, he’d leave, heading to his own tent to rest, or out to guard the fence.

but one night, before he got up to get some sleep, you grabbed his hand. he looked back at you, dark eyes watching yours.

“stay?” you whispered.

and he did, without a word. stripping off his heavy gear and perching next to you in bed, rough camo trousers scratching against your bare shoulder. 

and he stayed, just like you asked. watching over you like a dog and keeping you safe.

sometime in the night, you’d turned to face him where he sat, resting an arm over his thigh. but he didn’t push you off. he just let you rest - your warm breath causing a dampness throughout the tent. 

it was only when the winter sunlight streamed through the tent that you realised he really did stay - all night. you opened your eyes to see he’d settled in next to you, his sleeping body alongside yours in the small camp bed, your arm still around him. 

and when you tried to pull yourself away out of embarrassment, he pulled it back, keeping it over his chest. 

“for warmth, yeah?” he said quietly, voice all deep and sleepy.

and how could you argue with that? these were trying times, after all. 

after a moment's silence, he said “you’re a pretty thing, love. always thought so, even when i first met you and you were all scared and dirty.” he continued, heavy eyes looking down at your vulnerable form. “soap thinks so too, but you’re mine, yeah? i found you - you’re mine.”

there was something about the possessive glint in his eye that showed you he really meant it - his gaze trailing down from your face to your uncovered hips that had shuffled out the sheets in your sleep.

"cm'ere" he said, taking your arm in his grasp and pulling you towards him. "i mean it, love. do you wan' to be mine?" eyes watching your face to see how you'd react to his question. your faces were close now, closer than they'd ever been. he'd looked after you so nicely, giving you everything you needed, protecting you from harm all this time. you couldn't help but agree with him. how could anyone not fall for this attractive man who cared for you so much? and the feeling of his chest under your hand made you fall for him even harder.

"yeah," you whispered against his masked face "...yours."

your small hand reached up to reveal his lips under his mask. he pulled you in, kissing you softly. it was short but there was so much behind it. you could tell he wanted more but he was holding back. he didn't want to accidentally push you away by moving too fast. he pulled back to look at you, hands cupping your soft face, which was still clouded with sleep.

"you're so beautiful, you know that?" he spoke so softly now. it was like the walls he'd put up had fell instantly. he just wanted a moment to be yours. no one else's. not the camp's cook or the guard or the hunter. just yours and nothing else.

you pulled yourself back to his face, kissing him again but soon moving your lips down to kiss his chin, and then his neck. but you didn't get far before he stopped you.

"no, no, love. let me take care of you - you deserve it." he said, turning you around so you were on your back, head resting on your plush pillow as his touch relaxed you.

it was almost as if for just a moment, you weren't in the middle of a fucking nightmare. you were at home, in your own bed. maybe you'd met him at work or out on a date - anywhere that wasn't in a forest full of zombies. and he'd taken you out for dinner a few times and you'd decided he was sweet enough to be kissing down your body, rolling his tongue over your nipples.

but here you were, in a camp full of strangers, being transported by this man who you barely knew, covered only by the walls of a thin tent. but it just felt so right to let him take you like this. you trusted him with your life. and in return he worked your body like magic. his touch was so gentle - yet his skin was so rough compared to your own.

"you want me inside you, baby?" he spoke to you so softly, having kissed down to the top of your underwear now. his eyes watched you, waiting for your permission to carry on.

"please," you replied, "i want you."

that was all he needed to hear. he pulled off his shirt and your underwear, tossing them both to the side. he admired your body shamelessly, eyes tracing the outline of your waist and your body. you couldn't help but do the same, entranced by the way his muscles practically glowed in the light that came through the tent. he was built like a rugby player, pure muscle but with a good layer of fat on top to smooth everything out. you watched as he unbuttoned his pants and pulled out his cock.

he was huge. you knew he was a big guy but you weren't expecting it to apply to all of him. it was definitely bigger than anyone you'd ever been with. his tip was an angry shade of red from how hard he was, precum running down his shaft. noticing the expression on your face, he reassured you.

"don't worry, i'll be gentle with you."

he lined himself up with your entrance, your wetness being enough to allow himself to push slowly inside. it stretched you more than you ever had been, causing you to hiss as it dipped inside you. he bent forward down to kiss you sweetly, silencing your pained noises, shushing you each time his lips left yours. he continued to move in until he bottomed out inside of you.

"you okay?" he grunted, "tell me when to move, love."

you paused for a moment, adjusting to his size before nodding to let him know he could start moving.

he didn't fuck like you expected him to. you thought a guy like him would be railing you like an animal, but no. he made love to you, his slow but deep thrusts hitting all the perfect spots in your gummy walls. it was pure bliss, and he thought so too, struggling to keep back his grunts each time he thrust into you.

"fucckkkk baby," he'd say, dog tag hanging down as he fucked you, "your pussy is so tight, gripping me so good". he hooked your legs behind his back and moved his big hands onto your hips to hold you in place. " is it good for you too, doll? you look so pretty with that fucked-out look on your face." he went on, smirking at you like he was proud of his work.

you couldn't even form words, let alone piece together a decent response. he felt amazing, pulling all the way out so only his tip was inside of you and then pushing all the way back in again, until you were an absolute drooling mess, jaw slack and whining on his cock. and just when you thought it couldn't get any better, he moved his hand between your legs and rubbed lazy circles on your clit with his thumb. almost instantly your pussy started pulsing around him - with you blubbering out incoherent swears and moans - having sent you completely over the edge in a matter of minutes. he wasn't far away either - your clenching making his hips stutter back and forth as he helped you ride through your orgasm. you could of swore you were seeing stars by the time he pulled out of you and came over your stomach with a moan, pressing his forehead to yours.

it took you both a few minutes to come back down again, giggling and kissing his lips once more. your arms found their way around his neck, holding him close to you. you were both a panting mess, clothes discarded across the tent floor and the scent of sex heavy in the air.

"my girl- you're gorgeous," he managed to huff out, catching his breath. " 'm never getting over you."

when news broke that a zombie apocalypse was spreading, you had no idea it would lead to this hunk of a man in bed with you - spoiling you and loving you like this. you weren't complaining, though. not at all. at least something good came from it.

he cleaned you up so carefully, being sure not to press too hard on your sensitive body. and when he'd made sure you were okay, he brought you something to eat and led down with you, stroking up and down on your back, drawing shapes and letters on your skin. part of you couldn't believe this was the same guy who you watched shoot a zombie in the face through the fence the other day. his hands were so gentle, always cautious not to hurt you under his touch.

and as your eyes grew heavy again, revelling in his embrace, you heard him say something into your skin.

"simon," he said quietly, face buried in your neck. "my real name's simon."

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[long-live-astronerd-ghost-king]

DPxDC. Talon Dick. Part 2 of Danny Fenton is a new master of The Court of Owls

~Hail, Emperor, those who are about to die salute you~

Danny was terrified when he got the body of Talon in his morgue. The Court of Owls was notorious for leaving no trace after work. But Talon, a young man only a few years older than him, did not look like a mindless killing machine at all. Of course, the first time he had a couple of stab wounds from his new acquaintance but after numerous assurances that his help would remain their little secret and that he would not inform his superiors that he had fucked up on the mission, Talon began to trust him a little. as one dead boy to another. In a few months, most of the Talons come to him for first aid, and of course he got attached to the guys. After all, Gotham is not Amity Park and without the other dead ones around Phantom felt a little lonely. It was nice to give these poor people a few quiet minutes. Danny’s assistant has warned him many times not to mess with the Court of Owls, but Danny are Phantom and from the first time he met one of them he was planning to lose his temper and beat the boys' bosses to free them.

Fenton was not prepared to lead the Court of Owls. Even if Danny got his education as a villain he never thought he’d work according to his profession. But leave a whole den? nest? of creatures turned into weapons he could not. Of course, the best choice after defeating the leaders of the Court would be to destroy the entire organization. But Danny couldn’t do that.

Talons were killers, means of intimidation, even if not of their own volition. They will be killed (again) or sent to prison for the rest of their lives. Talons needed safety and a good therapist, not all of this. Danny’s scared, and he doesn’t know how to take care of them, but the others won’t do it. People are afraid of everything different. They won’t care that these dead are just victims, they’ll only see monsters. He could be half-human, but now he has to think like a full ghost. Talons are dead like him. And they have been dehumanized, tortured, used. People can be cruel. To do the right thing, he has to protect them.

It was difficult for Danny to identify likes and dislikes of his new friends because they always had the same facial expression and were taught that they had no feelings. Bullshit. Danny’s parents also think ghosts have no emotions, but they just have wrong theories and do not manipulate them to make ghosts think the same. Well, maybe it’s because they don’t think ghosts can think at all, but still! So, Danny know that number three loves strawberry jam, and number five always steals some of his cereal, and number 11 always gets closer to the music column to enjoy the sound. And he also know that the Talons weren’t fully fed in their organization because they definitely have problems with their digestive system, and he is going to fix it. Vlad said that he had trouble taking human food for only a few months after the portal accident, and some of the Talons were dead for years and still use injecting nutrient solutions. When a Dead Man can’t have a couple of spoons of treats, well, that’s a crime.

He needs to find a way to consult with Frostbite and conduct a full-fledged health diagnostics for his 'minions'. And he needs to settle the paperwork so guys have a legitimate reason to live in the Infinite Realms.

~~~~~ Danny: Hey Jazz, I’m in trouble. When can you come to Gotham? This time I don’t mind hearing a little advice.

~~~~~

Even though Dr Fenton smelled like death and blood all the time, the smell was different. And this difference was enough that something dead inside them swore allegiance to this Owl at their will. Not that they had it, of course. Weapons don’t have free will. But at least pretending to be able to choose is nice.

The new Master was weird, but in a good way. Not that this Talon know more about what is good than any other Talon. Ah, Di- Talon had a headache. Anyway, serving him is right. They all feel it..And feelings matter!! Well, they are not supposed to have them too but… looks like the young owl didn’t mind.

Master was not angry at how Talon № 4 frowned when the master had to pull a bullet out of his shoulder, and he missed Talon's sweet laughter when it saw the battle of Signal and Spice King on TV. The only times he raised his voice to them were when they were trying to threaten people near the master. Looks like this owl wanted to instill fear on his own. Strange. Usually there was always an enemy of the court who had to be hunted down and destroyed.

~~~~~

Danny: See, when you kill people, you do not make it easy for me. First, I will need to examine the bodies and write the report of their death. Second, if their souls remain restless, they will become my problem again. No more trying to get the cashier to have a heart attack. He said they ran out of the product I needed, not that he’s cursing my family for the next millennium. No one wants to see any more angry ghosts in Gotham. Me after a 24-hour shift is enough, okay?

Talons were alarmed. So far the master had shown no signs that he might want to completely break one of the weapons. But what if this owl is planning on punishing them for all their mistakes at once when he’s really angry?

Talon is not supposed to show initiative or empathy. But Talon 12, who suffered an injury in the course of a mission with old owls, has not yet recovered. They inadvertently hid it when the leadership changed. 12 has not yet met Doctor Fenton, and they do not know whether the privileges of medical care are retained now when they belong to him. So far, the Master has been rather careless about their movements and a few of them have slipped away for a while to check on a fellow. They didn’t lie if they weren’t asked about another weapon, right? They shouldn’t be punished too severely when the Owl finds out. Talons were hoping that Doctor Fenton, who was not in a hurry to look at the document of the court, would allow them not to write off the damaged thing. № 12 was an old and experienced weapon and could train beginners even if it has only one hand now.

Well, that was the plan. Talons allowed themselves to become too careless. Terrible mistake. Even the Owl that is usually nice to them remains dangerous. They need to find a way to satisfy their young master. Young Owls always have anger issues, not that Talons can judge.

The youngest Talon shared information that he sometimes had flashbacks of a working red bird who always had a murderous expression until he got to the coffee pot fluid. And it's non-Talon past was never afraid of this bird. The chick could always be calmed with this dark liquid. Coffee is something that will return the master to the favorable mood!

Talons rejoiced at this remarkable discovery and decided to send one of them on a mission as soon as possible to get rid of the potential danger.

~~~~

Danny: Thanks for the coffee, man. Hey, you also took another drink, judging by the dollars in the check. I'm so proud of you! How it was? Good?

Talon thought for a second and nodded. Yes, it was good. He didn’t drink the drink himself but when a coffee shop employee wrote down his order with a trembling hand, a boy appeared in the door.

This boy, now almost a young man, he was from his memories. Another coffee was automatically added to the order.

On his way out, Talon walked up to the sleeping chick and gave a cup to him. Even without opening his eyes, the bat’s cub sniffed and sucked the drink. Dick chirped with delight and patted boy's head, ignoring the frozen people.

That's a true magic drink which is commanding the minds of the powerful of this world. Yes, it will help them for sure!

~~~~

Danny: See, Jazz, Dick’s making progress! He went to the coffee shop today. That’s great, isn’t it?

Jazz: First, don’t call him that, we’re still not sure that’s his name and not the way Owls used to insult him.

Danny: Hey, the fact that he hissed when you called him Richard proves nothing. I don’t like being called Daniel either, or, over my dead body, Dan. I have to call him something. They’re all Talons. What are your suggestions? Jazz: We’ll talk about this later. Now back to the coffee question. Danny, did you forget anything when you let Talon go for a walk? Danny: Which one? Jazz: Don’t play dumb! Did you open the news headlines today or not? This is serious! Danny: What? Shit...civilian clothes. I didn’t think he’d wear a combat suit for it. Jazz: Didn’t you give them outfits for everyday use? Danny: Yeah, I did! But they still wear their Halloween outfits. All the time. Look, it’s not my fault they take everything I say as an order. When I asked them to make the tea and our teapot broke, they broke into some guy’s house and stole it. Jazz: Which guy? Did you at least apologize? Danny: One of Hood’s goons. I’m pretty sure he’s already met Dick on patrol, 'cause the first thing he did called Jason and start crying about being followed. Lucky for him Red was at my house that night and went to calm goon down. But I swear to you, Dick was a little shit on purpose. Of all the apartments choose his? Nah, such coincidences do not exist.

Jazz: I could be happy that he’s getting more independent in his decision making but now I feel like I have to offer the poor guy a discount therapy course.

Damian: Drake, we need to talk. I know about your investigation. You suspect one of the Talons is our missing Grayson. I’m willing to provide some evidence in exchange for… Tim: I don’t suspect, I know that. Damian: What? Where from? Tim: Well, the quadruple somersault was a good hint. And the fact that the Red Hood ran from him through the streets screaming that he wouldn’t take lunch from a damn golden child is also a tip. Damian:...Not a word to my father until we know more, right? I don’t want my older brother thrown in Arkham. Tim: Agree. It’s not like he doesn’t have a memory problem. He wouldn’t have made Alfred worried if leaving was his choice. We need more information.

Meanwhile in Gotham, Alfred aka the only one batfam member with more than one functioning brain cell *on his way to his first grandson and future husband of his sweet angel Jason*.

Danny: Jazz, we need to clean this house right now. Jazz: Since when do you start spring cleaning? Danny: I don’t know how to explain, it’s not a ghost sense, it’s more an unexplained sense of danger. Where’s the vacuum cleaner?

~~~~~

Talon №5 stood in the knitting shop in thought. What color would the little mistress prefer? It should remain useful even if the Owl does not give them direct orders. Knitting a cute sweater for mistress Dani would be a good start. Yeah, that color’s gonna be perfect. And maybe it should stop holding those needles like a weapon, it makes the cashier nervous, and he wants to pay without saving a civilian from losing consciousness.

~~~~~

Danny became a little alarmed when Talon threw himself at the old man standing on the porch. To his surprise, the Briton readily embraced the bird, and Dick let him. Talons who stood behind Danny happily chirped. Making their youngest member happy things always meant something good.

Alfred: Gentlemen, good afternoon. I guess I should thank you all for taking care of my dear grandson. Would you let me come in for a cup of tea?

[wttcsms]

as it was ; suguru geto.

pairing suguru geto x f!reader  word count 4.2k  synopsis suguru comes back, only to find that you've been waiting and wanting this whole entire time. content contains modern no curses!au, gojo's sister!reader, brother's best friend, creampie, pet names (good girl, baby), most of the fic is geto's introspection, possessive sex, mutual pining/longing author’s notes im not even horny for geto like that, but i wanted to write angsty smut abt spreading ur legs for a guy that left u & who else is better for this than geto <3

First words are always a bit tricky to get right, especially whenever he has to take into account that he essentially ghosted you a couple of years ago, after taking your virginity no less, and now he’s back in the godforsaken city he swore he was never coming back to, and he’s just at a loss about what to say and more importantly, how to say it. 

He supposes an apology, for starters, would be a good first move. And maybe it would be, could be, should be, if only he wasn’t him and you weren’t you, and the two of you were not something so confusing and intricate that it’s hard to put into words and harder still to describe with emotions. The two of you are something raw and painful, both of you taking turns playing both sadist and masochist. 

Even to himself, the extent of your relationship sounds twisted, but there was always an underlying purity to it, something that justified its existence. To this day, Suguru Geto is certain that you’re the only person who ever loved him for him, with a love so pure and just that he tries to hide it from everyone else before they can get their filthy hands on it and taint it, twist it into something it’s not. 

Sorry I left won’t cut it, and Geto doesn’t even bother trying to come up with any other variations of apology because it’s not necessarily your forgiveness that he’s come back for. The opportunity to say “I’m sorry” and have it actually mean something has long since passed. All that’s left to say is the truth for why he left, which for some odd reason, seems even harder to do than his original disappearing act.

I missed you — that’s a slight improvement. It’s the truth, if not an understatement of it. He doesn’t regret leaving Tokyo, he just regrets leaving you. Which he could say, if you would actually open the door to face him. 

He figures it’s what he deserves. He deserves worse, if he’s going to be entirely honest. He deserves a slap to the face, or a kick to his balls, or for you to tell him that you hate him, that you never want to see him ever again. 

He knocks on your apartment door, harder this time, as if it’s something urgent. And maybe it is. He’s felt more like himself than he ever has after moving, but the solitude of the countryside got boring soon after, leaving him only with the ghosts from his past to keep him company. He thinks if he doesn’t see you, in the flesh, he might actually go insane. 

He knocks again, only to be met with more silence and a door that’s starting to become more of a familiar sight than he would like. Fuck, what is he even doing? Showing up here was a bad idea to begin with, and it’s only seemingly getting worse by every agonizing second that ticks by. Even if you do open the door, there’s always the chance that you won’t let him get a single word in — that’d be the smart choice, anyway. 

And you’re a bright girl, don’t get him wrong. Something about the Gojo bloodline makes your family incapable of producing anything less than prodigal sons and daughters. If you’re not proof of this fact, there’s your older brother.

Yet another reason why showing up here is such a shitty plan. Satoru will catch wind of his visit, and when he does, he’ll show no restraint in showing Suguru what all of his private boxing lessons are good for. A broken nose and missing tooth would be a fair exchange to see you for at least a second, though. A tradeoff that he doesn’t need to debate on. 

You have to leave your apartment eventually. Suguru dances with the idea of just making camp outside your door and waiting for your stubbornness to fizzle out. It’ll be embarrassing, and your neighbors will surely have something to say about it, but it would be well worth it.

He hears the ding! of the elevator opening and human reflex causes his head to turn at the sound of the noise. 

Oh.

The world becomes contradictory at this very moment. The air suddenly stills, but the atmosphere itself seems to come alive at the same time. Stagnant air, bursting with electricity and something awe-inspiring. Everything seems to slow down, but suddenly he’s acutely aware of just how alarmingly fast his heart is beating. It’s been a while since he’s last seen you, not even bothering to check up on your social media because he knows one DM from you would have him crossing the ocean to be back by your side. 

The reason why you weren’t answering your door was simply because you weren’t even home. Relief floods his body, makes him less tense, only for him to stiffen up once more whenever his eyes trail over to the warm body awfully close to you. 

Or maybe it’s the other way around, since you’re the one clinging onto him.

You and Kento Nanami both look like you two have seen a ghost, and all things considered, you wouldn’t be wrong. 

“What are you doing here?” You’re the first to speak, with Nanami’s arm wrapped protectively around your waist, and it’s this closeness that’s the only thing Suguru finds himself able to focus on. It’s been years. He shouldn’t feel this way. You’re free to do whatever you want with whoever you want. It’s your life. He’s the one that chose to walk out of it, anyway. 

“I just wanted to talk,” he answers. Which isn’t a lie. He wanted to talk. He wanted to fight and make up and fuck your brains out and beg for forgiveness and cook you breakfast in the morning and warm your bed, amongst other things, too. But, he figures the condensed version of his list will do, especially considering that three’s a crowd, and most of his itinerary was for your ears only. “Did I come at a bad time?” 

You bite your bottom lip, slowly removing yourself from Nanami’s grip. Nanami looks at you first, concern evident in his warm eyes, eyes that you wish were just a bit darker and colder, so that they would be the ones you’re so accustomed to drowning in. 

You like Nanami well enough. He’s kind and looks out for you, and sometimes you even consider making a move on him first since he’s too much of a gentleman to cross any boundaries. Then again, you don’t think Nanami sees you as anything more than a little sister, and the last time you fucked one of your brother’s best friends… 

It’s why you just give Nanami a smile, one that tells him that you’ve got this under control. His facial expression doesn’t give any indication of what he’s thinking, but the glare he sends Suguru’s way says enough. 

Suguru can appreciate the fierce protectiveness Nanami has towards you, but it doesn’t mean he likes it. Especially when it’s Suguru that’s considered to be the threat.

You move to unlock your door once Nanami makes his reluctant exit, and when you enter your apartment, you conveniently don’t shut the door. Suguru trails behind you.

You turn on the lights, your living room and kitchen blending together in an open-floor plan, bathed in the stark, white lights hanging from your high ceilings. Your apartment, at least what Suguru can see of it, is tastefully decorated. Courtesy of your mother, he’s sure. He would ask about her, ask how she’s doing, but he figures now’s just not the right timing. 

It doesn’t seem to be the right timing for anything he wants to say. He wants to mention that he’s thought about you, thought about reaching out — sometimes to explain himself, and other times just to discuss the mundane aspects of life — but he thinks that would be even worse than apologizing. It would be cruel of him to dangle this information in your face, haunt you with the knowledge that all this time, he’s truly been avoiding you. Knowing you, you would have questioned him on why he didn’t bother reaching out, and he would have been stuck admitting that it’s simply because he was too scared that you wouldn’t answer. 

“Want a drink?” You ask him, back facing him as you peer into your fridge. He catches a glimpse of shiny glass bottles, water bottled in Europe and with the optimal pH balance, he’s certain of it. His throat feels a bit dry, but he tells you no. 

“I drank enough water on the drive up here,” he tells you, which again, isn’t a lie. Suguru feels a bit pleased with himself, even if it is a bit narcissistic of himself for expecting a pat on the back for doing something so simple. He supposes it’s just because he’s gotten so used to never being honest with himself — or others, for that matter — so his current streak for telling the truth seems like something to celebrate. 

“I didn't drink enough.” You say, and he can’t tell if it’s alcohol you’re talking about or water. You’re a lightweight; yet another trait that seems to be passed down the Gojo family. That explains Nanami escorting you home, then. 

“Aren’t you going to ask how I found you?” Suguru helps himself to taking a seat on the white couch in your living room. Because there’s no walls separating the two different spaces, he can still look at you from this position as you rest your elbows on your kitchen’s island, as if needing the support. 

“If you wanted me to know, you’d let me know.” It’s the way you say it that reveals that this comment isn’t made just in reply to his current question, but for everything else Suguru was going to follow it with. Don’t you want to know where I went? Don’t you want to know why I left? 

It’s amazing what humans are capable of. Nearly six years since the two of you have lost contact — since Suguru broke all contact — and yet, you can still read him just as well as he can read you. You see him for what he is, not whatever mask he wants to disguise himself with, and it’s scary, he thinks. Scary to be seen by someone. And nice. It’s nice to have someone know you’re a monster and still not run away.

He’s not quite sure what that says about you.

“It’s a bit of a funny story.” He says, trying to steer this conversation to a more lighthearted tone even though the two of you are nowhere close to feeling light and the jury’s still out on whether or not Suguru Geto has a heart. “You don’t need the reminder, but don’t ever tell Mei Mei a secret you want to keep.” 

The mention of your shared friend — if Mei Mei can even be considered one — makes the corners of your pretty mouth tilt upward. Mei Mei was born with a silver spoon, but the running joke is that it wasn’t in her mouth because she bartered with the doctor and blackmailed him into giving her a gold one. If you have the funds, Mei Mei has the information you’re looking for. 

She’s the only number Suguru saved in his phone contacts, and it’s only because he knew that if he needed anyone else’s number, Mei Mei would readily give it after her Venmo request goes through. 

“Of course she would tell you my address.” You say, but you don’t sound upset at all. Just amused, like this whole situation is something endearing, and you don’t harbor any ill feelings towards either of them, even though both Suguru and Mei Mei technically violated your trust. Suguru more so than Mei Mei, but, well, semantics. 

“Aren’t you mad?” The “at me” is unspoken.

“Mei Mei is a free spirit.” It’s a joke, and Suguru makes a sound from his throat that resembles a laugh. Mei Mei may do whatever she wants, but nothing about her comes free.

He knows you know what he was actually asking. He’s been trying to gauge your reaction to everything he says, trying to see if you hate his guts or not. 

“I missed you.” You tell him suddenly, and while he’s imagined those words coming out of your mouth, it still shakes him up a bit. It’s hard constantly posturing as if he’s cool and collected, nothing ever bothering him, his body and expression never betraying him. But it’s his heart that gives him away, and it’s heart that you hold, and no matter what face he puts on, he knows that you’ll know what the words he won’t say are.

“Don’t apologize.” You continue, closing the distance between you two and opting to take a seat next to him. There’s about six inches of space separating you two. The distance shapeshifts in his mind, sometimes becoming mere millimeters and sometimes feeling more like there’s an ocean between you both. 

The sorry was on the tip of his tongue and it traveled all the way there from his heart. It would be a waste of a journey for him to not say it, but he’s certain the apology would do more harm than good, even if it is genuine. 

Suguru stands out against the stark white of your apartment. Your mom likes the aesthetic of it, and since it’s your parents’ money, you merely shrugged and let her do whatever she wanted. In his black pants and black sweatshirt, he looks almost out of place in your home. 

The thought that he doesn’t belong makes your heart hurt more than the burn of the alcohol from tonight going down your throat. 

You don’t waste time wondering where Suguru went because for all intents and purposes, you never even knew where he came from to begin with. You knew him since you were children; your favorite out of all your brother’s friends because it was always Suguru who let you tag along and trail behind them. No one really knows much about Suguru’s life, his past, present, and future all a big blur to anyone but himself. From the way he slowly turns to face you, dark eyes meeting yours, you start to think of the possibility that maybe not even Suguru is an open book with himself. 

Suguru looks like a shadow, standing out from the brightness of everything that is surrounding him in your living room. You want to ask him the questions that plague your mind ever since he’s been gone, but you don’t, because you’re scared he is a shadow. One wrong move, and he just disappears from your grasp once again. 

There are the hard-hitting questions, of course. The ones that search for why he left and why he told no one and why he didn’t bother taking you. Then there are the gentler ones that would still require him to rip himself open and bare himself to you, things like how’s your new place and meet anyone interesting? You feel his gaze travel from your eyes to the slope of your nose and the apples of your cheek, downward to your lips. The intensity of his stare makes you nervously lick your lips, a tiny, quick action, but his eyes greedily take in the sight of the tip of your pink tongue casually making an appearance, only to retreat behind your pretty pink, glossed lips. 

“Are you mad that I came back?” Suguru finds himself taking the role of interviewer, since it’s evident to the two of you that you know better than to bother asking him any questions. He feels like you’re treating him a bit like a stray cat, all cautious and scared of provoking him or forcing him to run away. He wants to tell you that this is not the case and that he actually plans on staying this time around, but he hasn’t entirely convinced himself yet, so he’s not going to break your heart with any more empty promises. 

“No. Like I said, I missed you.” He wants to be able to blame your honesty on account of you being drunk, but he knows that you’ve just always been honest to a fault. 

“You shouldn’t.” He tells you this, and you scoff. Probably because Suguru is the last person who should be giving any sort of life advice. 

“Guess what I’m thinking.” You say, and Suguru feels something come alive from within, like he’s been frozen for the past six years, and the more he gets to bask in the warmth of your presence, the more he starts to defrost. There’s not a single hint of anger or malice in your tone, just the familiar, lighthearted, girlish tone of yours. 

“That you think I’m a creep and want me to get the hell out.” 

You frown, rolling your eyes, tucking your feet beneath you to get more comfortable on the couch.

“I’m thinking about that last time you told me I shouldn’t be doing something.” There’s a gleam in your bright eyes that clearly spells out desire, and Suguru is very, very close to defrosting. In fact, there’s a heat that’s beginning to settle deep in him, and maybe he should know better than to indulge in it, but it’s been years, and you are sitting here in front of him, pretty and fresh, and his hindbrain takes the driver’s seat. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” But he does know, and he knows that you know that he knows, just as you seemingly know everything about him. Maybe not about his childhood — or lack, thereof — or what he’s been up to, but you know the important stuff. The things that make him tick and all the words he fails to say. Three words. Three words that he doesn’t think he’ll ever muster enough courage to say to you, but from the look in your eyes, you already know. 

“I’ll jog your memory.” 

And suddenly, your lips are pressed against his. You’re kissing him, and like the lovesick fool he is, he’s kissing you back. It’s pure muscle memory, maybe even animal instinct. He thought that leaving Tokyo was the right thing to do, and for the most part, it was, but with your lips perfectly melding with his own, he thinks that leaving was stupid. 

Making out is such a juvenile ordeal, but he relishes in it because Suguru feels like he’s spent most of his youth trying to outrun it, and now he’s trying to take advantage of what his boyhood should have consisted of. The kisses are now bordering on sloppy and hazy, and somehow, you end up straddling his lap. He’s hard, and he should be embarrassed at popping a boner just from wet kisses, but it’s you. You have an effect on him that no one else does. His Achilles. The one weakness only he can feel. 

Suguru knows that he is not a good person because a good person doesn’t go behind their best friend’s back and fucks their little sister. He had told, thirty minutes before introducing you to the feeling of his cock stretching you out, that the two of you shouldn’t be doing that. Suguru knows that he is not a good person because he cannot be any happier at the fact that history has a funny way of repeating itself. Six years later, and the two of you are back in a similar position.

You’re starting to rut against him, your dress riding up your thighs and exposing more of your skin to him. Suguru helps himself to handfuls of your soft flesh, squeezing in a manner that can’t be defined as gentle, but he loves how you take him as he is without any sort of complaint. All you do is let out a low moan, your pantyclad pussy grinding against his equally clothed bulge. 

Your movements are a bit desperate, frenzied. You’re getting lost in pleasure already, and he hasn’t even done much to elicit such a reaction. The idea that only he can get you this riled up with doing so little makes him impossibly harder, and he looks down, realizing that you’re so soaked, your panties are practically translucent. 

The two of you have the option of taking things slow, but neither of you want to do that. When you spend some time starving, you don’t savor the meal, you scarf it down. 

That’s what the two of you are — hungry, greedy — as you both hastily strip as much clothing as you can bear to spend time getting out of. Your minidress is tossed carelessly on the living room floor, and Suguru can only bother with unzipping his pants and pushing down his briefs just enough to free his cock. 

The intrusion of the tip of his cock entering your wet, needy cunt is less of an intrusion and instead akin to something rightfully returning to where it belongs. Your hands are tangled in his hair, and he relishes this feeling. This wholeness, this concept of being complete.

The inviting warmth of your pussy makes him want to cum right on the spot, but he can’t waste it. He’s spent years pining after you, missing you, and he wants you to feel like the time apart had been worth it. 

“I missed you.” This time it’s him who makes the admittance. You tighten up at this confession, and it evokes a low groan from him, almost as if you had forced the sound to come from all the way down his throat.

“I know.” You gasp out, not able to speak clearly with how deep Suguru is hitting. Your living room is filled with the wet clicks and slaps of skin against skin, your juices coating his cock every time he pulls out. 

The vein on the underside of his cock rubs against your walls, and the slight curve of it enables him to hit that gummy spot inside of you that has you seeing stars. You’ve never given much thought to cocks, but you know that Suguru’s is the prettiest of them all. 

“Tell me you’re mine.” He grunts out, lips brushing against the soft skin of your neck before biting down; gentle enough not to draw blood, sharp enough to still leave a mark. You rock against him, hips moving in tandem with his thrusts, the steady hum of pleasure continuously building up in your lower belly. You are dizzy with pleasure; blanketed in it, being spoon fed it. 

He doesn’t need you to say it to know it’s true, but you moan it out anyway, both to appease him and because there’s a sort of pride in knowing that you belong to him. 

“I’m yours. I belong to you.” The words are separated, punctuated, by the little gasps for air you give out because with every word, he thrusts up even harder, hitting that special spot that will have you cumming all over him, making a mess. 

“Yeah?” It comes out sounding like a shaky breath, and he’s close, you know it, you can feel it. 

Calloused pads belonging to fingers much larger than yours are being pressed against your clit. You’re soaked, and the dryness of his hands combining with your overall slickness gives way to delicious friction that has you cumming with his name as a broken moan filtering through your swollen lips. 

“That’s it, baby. Good girl. Good fucking girl.” He mutters, relishing in the way your walls tighten, spasm, clenching and unclenching sporadically as your body loses its energy and you press yourself up against his chest.

He follows after just a few more sloppy thrusts, the last one forcing himself as deep inside of you as possible. His cum is hot and thick, and it’s filling you to the brim. If he pulls out now, it’ll flood out of you, and the thought is both sad and hot at the same time. You want his cum inside of you, to serve as a reminder that this is real, that he’s real. 

But seeing the physicality of him staking his claim, white seed dripping out of you, turns you on. Him, too, with the look of fascination and boyish wonder he has in his eyes as he stares at how the two of you are connected.

Before he can bother with confirming a round two, a sharp knock on the door has the two of you comically jumping a bit in surprise, both of you glancing at the door and then at each other.

“[Name], I know you’re in there!” You freeze. 

Satoru. 

Suguru wants to try to calm you down, whisper to you that everything’s going to be fine, but the anger laced in his best friend’s — former best friend’s — voice is enough to make him freeze up, too. Not just his icy tone, but what he says.

“I know you’re back, too, Suguru.”

[rosepinks-world]

‘𝐼 𝐿𝐼𝒦𝐸 𝒴𝒪𝒰𝑅 𝒢𝐼𝑅𝐿𝐹𝑅𝐼𝐸𝒩𝒟 𝒮𝐼𝑅’ / Simon Riley x Female! Reader

Summary: After weeks of guessing what Ghost’s girlfriend would do for work they finally find out when they meet you, much to Ghost’s dismay.

Ghost had, had it.

He was dumb enough to answer a call from you in front of Soap and Gaz, not thinking anything of it but he was wrong.

The little shits had been non stop attempting to guess what his girlfriend looked like and what she would do for a work for nearly the whole week now.

Tuesday:

‘A goth maybe!’ Soap shouted out of nowhere

‘Oh you’re right there mate! Goth girls are fit!’

‘Can you pricks stop playing guess who and keep your fucking mouths shut.’

Wednesday:

‘Sir is your girlfriend a therapist?’ Gaz inquired.

‘Oh yeah! Maybe that’s how they met.’

‘Soap keep your fucking mouth shut.’

Thursday:

‘Oh! I know! She’s a teacher!’

‘You’ve cracked it!’ Ghost replied with fake enthusiasm.

‘Really?

‘No. Keep your eyes on the fucking road.’

It was now Friday, the squad had bagged a weekend off and were eager to get their work done so they could fully relax. And of course, Simon stupidly left his files at home.

So when he’d asked you to bring them to him he made sure to tell you to come through the back entrance (to avoid Soap and Gaz) but of course they were the first two you saw when you entered the building.

‘Why hello there miss! What can I do for you?’

You awkwardly smiled, ‘Um I’ve just brought these in for my boyfriend he forgot them at home.’

Soap took a look at the files and his heart dropped. There were some fucked up things in those files why would your boyfriend just let you have them?

‘Whose the lucky guy? And why would he let you see those?’

You laughed, ‘Simon Riley. And trust me I’ve seen worse.’

‘Oh my fucking god! Gaz!’

The man named Gaz turned around from where he was standing. ‘What.’

The man with the Mohawk repeatedly pointed at you with a big smile on his face. ‘Ghosts girlfriend!’

Gaz immediately ran over to you and started asking you a million questions.

‘You guys are very sweet -in a way but can you just tell me where Simon is and I’ll answer your questions.’

Soap grabbed your hand and dragged you to Ghosts office as quick as he could because he wanted to get answers immediately.

When Ghost looked up he groaned.

Was he happy to see you? Without a doubt

Was he happy to see you with his very inquisitive co workers? No comment.

‘Simon, I have your files.’ you said handing them to him

‘Thanks love.’ He replied pulling out a chair for you to join him at his desk.

You both awkwardly turned to Gaz and Soap as they were just stood there staring at the two of you smirking.

‘You two. Out.’

‘Yes sir.’ Gaz said immediately going to walk out but Soap held the door handle.

‘Sir I will never bother you ever again-‘

‘I find that hard to believe.’ He interrupted and you laughed.

‘Just please let me ask her one question.’

He rolled his eyes

‘That’s fine with me but ask Y/n first.’

Soap looked to you and you nodded. ‘Ask away mate.’

‘What do you do for work?’

Ghost scoffed and you looked at him confused but still answered.

‘I’m a forensic pathologist.’

They gave you a blank expression.

‘I do autopsies, collect evidence from crime scenes to do tests on.’

They finally picked up on it.

‘Oh my god! That’s so cool.’

Gaz was all ears, ‘What’s the most fucked up thing you’ve seen.’

‘One question lad.’ Ghost said gesturing to the door.

You laughed. ‘This won’t be the last you’ll see of me boys, Laswell actually requested my help for this mission so don’t worry you can ask me more questions.’

When Gaz and Soap finally left you turned to your boyfriend.

‘They’re sweet.’

‘Are they?’

‘Oh don’t lie you love them really.’

At the end of the day, Ghost walked you to the exit and waved you goodbye.

‘See you when you get home! Love you.’ You said

‘Love you too.’ He replied and as soon as he turned around his two friends stood eagerly behind him.

The pair were laughing and smiling untill they noticed the look their mate was giving them.Gaz was now shitting himself and didn’t want to dig his grave any further but Soap tried to sweet talk him.

‘I like your girlfriend sir. You did well she’s… wow.’

‘Shut up Soap fucking hell.’

(Mick and Stacy Thomson. Mick reminds me of ghost in a way.)

[supernova41st]

Can I request tf2 mercs with a reader who is genuinely terrifying. Like there quiet, sneaky, uncanny, basically reader is kinda like the mercs very own cryptid. (Bonus points if reader is tall af<3)

Boo ��

A/n: Spy’s is a little short here 😣 I hope you weren’t too eager to see his lol. I got a little experimental with this one, not too much tho. Also I’ll be going on another break, I know I just finished one but I’m going through an unexpected rough time rn. So sorry guys, hope you enjoy <33

Warnings: Video used may be a spoiler for s2 of scream queens, Praying is used in a humorous light

To start things off, you introduced yourself in the worst way possible. The bus that you were supposed to take got broken down so you had to find your way through the base without knowing where the entrance was. So what’d you do? Bang into a bunch of glass windows at 3am while it was RAINING. Some of the mercs were up trying to fix up the power generator and..

I saved that clip for weeks I’m so happy I have a reason to use it now

I know they’re all supposed to be big bad mercs but you scared the living FUCK out of them.

Scout

This man went running. He went all the way from the generator to the fucking bunks in the span of a minute! So what’d he do when he got to his room? He grabbed his cross necklace, got on his knees, and started PRAYING.

“Please god Jesus frickin’ Christ hear my prayers, save me-I’m sorry about all those magazines I keep under my bunk and I’m sorry that I told spy to go fuck himself when he told me I couldn’t pull bitches and I’m sorry I call girls bitches please just don’t let me friggin’ die dude!!”

He just kept chanting the same things until Miss Pauling found him cradling himself on his bed with a blanket wrapped around him.

“Scout what are you doing?”

“THERE IS A GHOST IN THE BASE.”

“Oh, you mean y/n?”

‘Hi 👁️‍🗨️👁️‍🗨️’

Yea he was pretty freaked out by you. To make it worse, you always just stare at him. He can’t remember a single moment where he looked at you and didn’t catch your tiny pupils locked onto him.

At first he’d just gently wave awkwardly while you did the same so freakishly. Eventually he decided to say something because it was scaring him, something he’ll never admit

“Yo you got a problem or somethin’, what’s with all the stares?”

“Nothing, I just like looking at you. Your structure pleases me.”

“..oh, well that’s actually-wait I thought-hold on do you really-pfft-Yeesh, I didn’t expect you out of everyone to haha.. Yknow”

Yeah he was blushing like crazy, such a straightforward compliment.

He’s still scared of you, but he uses you as his hype man every now and then. He’ll fish for compliments and WILL receive them

“Dontcha think I got some nice racks for a guy?”

“..Totally”

He could literally walk up to you and threaten to kill you and your reaction is just “yuh go for it”

If you’re freakishly tall then he calls you tree. Cuz

If you’re on the shorter side then he would just pick you up from the shoulders and kiss you on the forehead. He knows you won’t do shit, you’re literally just 🧍‍♀️

(gotg reference)

“I am hideous? :(“

“You kiddin’? You’re horrifying to look at”

Engineer

He didn’t even notice everyone else went running, he just kept on working on the electrical box. So when he stood up and saw you staring straight into the glass, he jumped a little but was mostly just confused

“What in the..”

“tap tap-Can you let me in?”

You’re lucky he didn’t go running like everyone else, you probably would’ve died from the flu if you spent another second outside in the freezing rain.

He puts a bell on you. He just had one laying around and tied it around the your wrist, it didn’t work because of how stiff your movements were so to ‘help’ you rang it against his ear.

“..”

“…..🔔🔔🔔🔔”

“GOD DAMN IT- oh, y/n”

“Sorry, the bell wasn’t ringing how you wanted it to so I rang it myself”

“Uh-huh, thanks for the warning partner”

From my experience southern people love to make conversation, but you aren’t really familiar with that. So when he tries to flirt it gets pretty awkward

“How’s it goin’ sugar, I reckon your looking quite nice today”

“👁️‍🗨️👁️‍🗨️”

“..you gonna say anythin’ back?”

“Oh, um.. I like your face.”

“Woah, alright then.”

He feels so embarrassed when he stands next to your tall ass, it makes him feel belittled. Especially when you actively have to look down just to make eye contact

But if you’re short then he loves it. Finally for once he doesn’t have to be reminded of his height when standing next to anyone.

Spy

He’s gone as soon as you show up. Like straight up disappears. He doesn’t like to show fear-makes him look weak

He’s convinced you could still see him though, cuz you happen to look in his direction even while he was invisible.

You don’t scare him as much as the others, if anything he took a bit of a liking to you because you stressed him out the least compared to the others. He always stood next to you + you were always his first pick for missions

You always make small talk with him. He doesn’t enjoy it but he still responds

“What is under your mask?”

“That is none of your business.”

“Why? Do you look like me?”

Spy doesn’t know if he should feel offended or annoyed

You don’t necessarily startle him like everyone else but you do make his heart jump slightly when you pop out of nowhere, you can see it in his pupils but never his body.

Pyro

HE RAN TOO BUT DIDN’T KNOW WHY LMFAO

He just saw everyone running and went ‘oh okay we’re doing this now 🏃‍♂️’

But seriously, he fell in love with you at first sight. Your features felt so intricate to him, you always gave each other blank stares, zoning into each other’s eyes.

‘⚫️ ⚫️’

“👁️‍🗨️👁️‍🗨️ hi”

“⚫️ ⚫️ mmf”

You’re the only person who can fully understand him. No, not using his body language, you can actually tell what he’s saying. He aw’s at that, finally someone knows what he’s saying.

It makes him more self aware than how he was before, he’ll say some really petty shit and when you react he panics

“Mmph mmm”

“um pyro I need you to calm yourself”

“Mm!”

Somehow you disturb HIM, you’ll point something out to him and talk to him like he’s crazy which makes him crazy

“Pyro, you reek of fire, it’s 30° outside, and it’s a cease day. Do you have any thoughts?”

“Mmmf mmm mph ☹️”

*plz leave me alone

Since you and him are so observant, the rest of the mercs are a little spooked by you guys. You’ll be in the corner with him watching and everyone is fairly weirded out.

“Mm mmmfmm mm”

“Pyro you’re hilarious.”

“What did thing say?”

“He said that if you were a littlest pet shop figure you’d be #508”

“..heavy is not sure what he expected”

[sexydoffyman]

GHOST IS THE KIND OF GUY

genre: fluff

characters: Simon “Ghost” Riley

P.1 P.2 P.3

Ghost is the kind of guy that gets confused when he falls in love. It’s the first time he ever felt like that. He always saw himself as the guy who won’t get fooled by romantic feelings, but here he is, thinking of you.

Ghost is the kind of guy that got into social media just to find out more about you. He never understood the importance of social media in relationship-making. He just found out how much information he can find.

Ghost is the kind of guy to share his progress with his best mate only for him to tell him, “You know that you’re a stalker?” Ghost could only look at him with disbelief. He didn’t understand how someone could stalk someone else on the internet.

Ghost is the kind of guy that realises that what he’s doing isn’t normal. Ge realises that viewing old pictures is normal but reading every caption, looking at every friend and follower and researching everyone you follow is strange. In his eyes, he was just trying to find what you like.

Ghost is the kind of guy to wonder if he should tell you and apologise. He doesn’t think that it was such a bad fuck-up, but he still feels some kind of guilt.

Ghost is the kind of guy to act like a teenage boy when he interacts with you. His palms sweat and his cheeks flush with bright red under his mask. Soap is in the corner of the room, reminding himself that Ghost is an actual adult man with years of experience in the army.

Ghost is the kind of guy to try and figure out why he’s acting like that. He still doesn’t know that he’s in love. He lays awake in the middle of the night thinking about how he responds so aggressively to other people, but you make him freeze in his face like you were the damn general.

Ghost is the kind of guy to be in denial after Soap tells him about what he’s feeling. He doesn't believe it or at least he doesn’t understand how he could fall in love so easily.

[illicitghoul]

you’re instagram if you were in the BAU (p2)

prt 2 that nobody asked for 🥱 (this is so fun)

part 1 (linked below)

————————————————————————————

yourusername

liked by jen.jj45 and 46 others

yourusername JJ LOVE CLUB (i am also in jj love club but they all voted me to take the photo 💔)

pennycia and you did a great job 👩‍❤️‍💋‍👩

yourusername i love you pen 💌

pennycia I LOVE YOU MOST Y/N

derek.m0rg4n @spencer.re1d i love you

spencer.re1d Stop lying for social media clout

derek.m0rg4n fuck you AND your fuck ass haircut

prentiss.em LMFAO

prentiss.em we are such cuties some ppl wish they were us 🥱

yourusername @prentiss.em real asf

yourusername

liked by elliegreenaway & others

yourusername me and spence were conjoined jellyfish in another life

spencer.re1d Can we be anglerfish

yourusername no? wtf is wrong with you

spencer.re1d 🥱🥱🥱🥱BORING

r0ssi81 that is a very interesting photo

yourusername YOU KNOW HOW TO COMMENT?

r0ssi81 you’re pushing it girl genius

yourusername you’re pushing something…

r0ssi81 when i find out how to block someone you are gone y/n

prentiss.em this is quite cute y/l/n 😭

yourusername you’re quite cute 🤫

prentiss.em send me toe pictures 😂😂😂😂

yourusername NO EMILY!!!!!!!!! (ill email them)

yourusername

liked by spencer.re1d and 51 others

yourusername my cute glowing girlfriend (idk who that random man is 🤷‍♀️ kinda scary)

prentiss.em yeah that is really weird 🥱 anyway i love u wifey mwah mwah

yourusername ugh ily lets go frolic in a field or smth

spencer.re1d Yeah that is really scary - be careful guys

spencer.re1d OH MY I LOOK LIKE A GHOST 😁😁

jen.jj45 it’s like i can still hear his voice…

yourusername :( i miss his cute smile

prentiss.em 🎉

spencer.re1d @prentiss.em You aren’t funny

pennycia 😭😭😭😭

prentiss.em ok comedy police spencer reid????

jen.jj45 shes like an angel !!!!!!

prentiss.em I LOVE YOU JENNIFER 🙁🙁

yourusername

liked by aaron.hotchner and 37 others

yourusername i said serve and they devoured

spencer.re1d Slay !

prentiss.em y/n meant to say i devoured and you kind of chewed…

spencer.re1d Can you stop harassing me?

prentiss.em i kiss your girlfriend on days that end in y

yourusername TRUTH 👩‍❤️‍💋‍👩

pennycia what cuties!!! seeing their smiles makes me so happy!!!!!!

spencer.re1d You’re my best friend

derek.m0rg4n everytime you speak it breaks my heart

jen.jj45 HAHAAH WHAT

pennycia CRYING

yourusername

liked by elliegreenaway and 43 others

yourusername my bag broke before i left spences 🙁

spencer.re1d Sigh…. the theory for a broken bag means you have to stay where it broke 🤷‍♂️ i dont know i just heard that

derek.m0rg4n my bag broke in your heart… why won’t you let me stay

yourusername you ate with that one derek

yourusername broke bag mountain

elliegreenaway @yourusername LMFAO

pennycia i’ll fix it for you!!! come over girlie!!!

yourusername omw!!!!!

yourusername

liked by derek.m0rg4n and 49 others

yourusername day out with my four wives

pen : fanny pack with snacks and a book

jj : losing her mind (too warm)

em : complaining 🥱

me : having a good time :)

aaron.hotchner I hope you all worn sunscreen

yourusername yes 🫡

prentiss.em 🥱

pennycia i had a great day!!! (i read 3 pages)

jen.jj45 i am LOSING it the HEAT i am gonna COMBUST

derek.m0rg4n @spencer.re1d @aaron.hotchner @r0ssi81 could be us

r0ssi81 I am busy for the foreseeable future

dreak.m0rgan @spencer.re1d @aaron.hotcher

at least rossi replied…

[serpentandlily]

Wicked Games II

Dark!BatBoys x Reader (modern au!)

Summary: Desperate to pay off a debt, you decide to break into the penthouse of one of Prythian’s richest males, one rumored to make his money in a less than legal way. But after witnessing something you weren’t supposed to, you find yourself caught in a wicked game of cat and mouse with three of the most dangerous males in Prythian. 

Warnings: smut (minors dni pls), dubcon, drugging, violence, dark themes (if you would like more in depth warnings before reading, feel free to message me!)

a/n: thank you guys for the love on part I! Hope you enjoy this one just as much <3

➻❥ Part I

༺♥༻

Part II

༺♥༻

As soon as the shock of seeing Rhysand in your tiny studio apartment wore off, you quickly grabbed your phone off the floor and started to dial 911. Before you could hit the last digit, a large hand yanked your wrist forward and snatched the phone right out of your own hand.

You gaped up at Rhysand as he cruelly smiled at you, snapping the phone into two pieces right in front of your face. He released the broken phone, letting it fall to the floor. 

“I don’t think so, darling,” he purred. 

You let out a yelp and turned for the door to make your escape but Rhysand grabbed you by the back of the neck and pulled you back into his hard chest. Your heart skipped a beat, panic now setting in. You were fucked. So fucked. 

“Don’t even think about running, little mouse.” His breath ghosted the tip of your ear. “Do you remember my two friends?”

You said nothing, your body freezing subconsciously, as if it knew you were now in the hands of a predator. And a sick, twisted part of you liked it. 

“I asked you a question,” he snarled, his hand that was holding you by the back of your neck moved until it wrapped around the front of your throat. He squeezed and you let out a whimper, finding it in you to nod finally. 

“Good,” he said, easing up on the pressure. You choked some air in, gasping. “Well, they’re waiting out there for you. So run and you’ll find yourself in their hands, instead. And let me tell you something. I think you’ll find I’m a lot more merciful than they are, darling.” 

He twisted you until faced your own apartment and then pushed you forward onto your bed. You crashed into the mattress face first, letting out a curse. You flipped yourself over to see him staring down at you, arms crossed and an eyebrow raised in amusement. 

“I’ll scream,” you threatened, brushing the hair out of your face. 

“Go ahead, darling. I don’t think anyone will care.” 

You hated that he was right. No one would care. Not in this neighborhood. Screams, shouts, cries for help. Those all went ignored. You narrowed your eyes at him. 

“What do you want?” Your voice was a near growl.

Rhysand raised a single eyebrow at your tone. “You break into my apartment, steal my money, and have the audacity to have an attitude with me? Oh, little mouse, you are more than I expected.” 

“If you’re looking for your money back, it's no use. It’s gone already. And you won’t find any cash lying around here.” 

Rhysand’s flickered around your pathetic apartment. “I’m not here for my money.”

“Then what do you want, asshole?”

Rhysand’s lips ticked upwards, a small challenge flashing in his eyes. “I want to know who you’re working for, little mouse.”

“I’m not working for anyone,” you scoffed and went to stand but Rhysand’s eyes darkened.

“Sit down,” he ordered, his tone lethal.

You swallowed nervously and sat back down, suddenly realizing the most dangerous male in Prythian was here, in your apartment.

“Tell me who sent you to my apartment. Tell me who you’re working for.”

You shook your head. “No one, I’m not working for anyone. No one sent me to your apartment. It wasn’t personal. I just needed to pay off a debt and I figured you’d hardly notice six grand missing from your stacks of money.” 

“And who do you owe money to?”

You looked away from him, debating if you should tell him. Rhysand probably didn’t even know who Tamlin was. Tamlin was a small-time criminal, nothing like Rhysand. 

“Tamlin,” you murmured. 

Rhysands’s grin turned feral and you wondered if you had made a mistake in telling him that. 

“What kind of debt do you owe Tamlin?”

Shit, maybe he did know who Tamlin was. “None of your business.” 

Rhysand studied you. “Well, little mouse, it seems that you owe me a debt now.” 

Your mouth went dry. “I-I thought you weren’t here for money.”

“I’m not,” he chimed, stroking his well-defined jaw. You tensed as his eyes roamed your figure from head to toe, his gaze darkening as he met your stare again. “It's you I’m here for, little mouse.”

“M-me?” you stuttered. “I don’t…what do you mean?”

Rhysand lurched forward, grabbing your chin in his hand to force you to keep looking up at him. You winced at the pain of his fingers digging into your skin and that only seemed to rile him up more, his pupils dilating. 

“What I mean, darling,” he purred, “is that I own you now. You are mine.”

“What–What does that even mean?” You tried to pull out of his grasp but he only tightened his grip further until tears lined your eyes at the pain. “You can’t just own someone!”

“Oh I can and I do,” he smirked. “You’ll soon come to find there are many people in Prythian that I own.” 

“I’ll go to the police,” you snapped. “I’ll tell them everything I saw at your apartment.” 

“No, darling, you won’t.” A stray tear fell from the corner of your eye and you watched Rhys track it down with his unusual eyes. “Gods, you are so pretty when you cry. The second I saw you, I knew you had to be mine. I guess I can thank you for that, for putting yourself on my radar, little mouse.” 

“I’m not yours. I don’t belong to anyone,” you argued. You tried to rip yourself from his grip again and this time, he let you. He stood back to his full height, straightening out the ends of his sleeves. 

“Think what you want but you are mine now, darling. I own you, remember that,” Rhysand said and turned to make his way across your shitty apartment to the door. You huffed, pissed that he had dismissed you like that. 

“I don’t know what you mean,” you yelled at him, standing and following him to the door. “Do you think you have some sort of blackmail on me? What are you going to do? Tell the police I stole some of your dirty cash?” 

His hand twisted the door knob but he paused for a second, turning to stare at you over his shoulder. “I’ll be in touch, little mouse.”

Your lips pressed together in a flat line, angry that he wouldn’t answer. 

He left out the door and you rushed forward, sticking your head out to watch him leave. 

“How are you going to do that? You broke my phone, asshole!” you shouted at his back. 

You heard him chuckle before he disappeared around the corner. 

༺♥༻

“So let me get this straight,” Vivianne, your friend, shouted over the booming music of the club. She and Valerie were sitting in the private booth across from you. “You stole from the Rhysand.”

You nodded, sipping on your gin and tonic bitterly. You were still perturbed by your visit from Rhysand yesterday. Still had no idea what he wanted or what he had meant by anything he had said. 

“And you managed to get away only for him to figure out where you live and show up at your apartment?”

You groaned, resting your head against the cushion behind you. “He broke into my apartment. He was already there when I got home from dealing with Tam.” 

Both of them made a face at the name of your ex. “And all he did was break your phone, threaten you a bit, and then left? Do you…Do you realize how lucky you are to still be alive, y/n?!”

“Yes, I’m aware,” you replied with a sigh. “Turns out even Rhysand is more forgiving than my ex. How depressing is that?”

“Sorry to interrupt, ladies,” a waiter cut in, stopping at your table. You glanced up to see him holding a small tray in his hand, a cocktail sitting on it. “That gentleman over there sent this for you, miss.”

He was looking at you as he said that, setting the drink down in front of you. You looked over to where he had gestured to see a fairly handsome man staring back. 

“Thank you,” you said to the waiter who took his leave. 

Your two friends giggled. “Well, are you going to go talk to that gentleman?”

You snorted. There were no gentlemen in this club. He had bought that drink hoping to get in your pants. But it had been awhile since you had sex and the male was attractive. You shrugged, tossing back your old drink and picking up the new one. 

“I think I am,” you said, standing. 

Vivianne winked at you, knowing exactly what you planned on doing with that man. “We expect all the details tomorrow morning.” 

“You know I never disappoint,” you purred, with a wink back, before saying good-bye to your friends and making your way over to the male at the bar. 

༺♥༻

You groaned, rubbing your eyes, as you sat up in your bed. You blinked awake, struggling to reach for the glass of water on your nightstand. You went to reach for your phone to check the time before remembering that Rhysand had broken it. You cursed him and looked at the small alarm clock you had, realizing it was already one in the afternoon.

You had gotten home in the early hours of the morning after leaving that male’s apartment. The sex hadn’t even been that good. Definitely not worth this headache.

You made your way to your bathroom, going through the motions of showering and getting ready for the day. You had a shift tonight at the diner you worked for as a waitress. 

You went to the kitchen, squinting your eyes at the sun’s light streaming through the window. You filled up your glass of water before fishing in one of the drawers for some advil. You tossed two back and turned towards the counter.

A scream escaped your lips and the glass you were holding slipped, crashing to the floor and splintering into a million pieces. You backed up until you hit the cupboards behind you, gasping with a hand over your mouth. 

Sitting on your counter was the decapitated head of the male you had gone home with last night. His face was frozen in a scream, his eyes glazed over. Blood was still dripping from the hole where his neck once was, making a huge mess all over your counter. Pinned to his forehead was a note. 

You inched forward and ripped it from the head with shaky hands.

To My Little Mouse,

I don’t like my belongings tampered with. Let another male touch you again and there will be hell to pay. And don’t bother calling the cops, darling. I think you’ve realized now that you are being watched. They won’t help you anyways. 

Rhysand

Fuck. This…This had to be some joke. Some fucked up joke. The head probably wasn’t real. It was probably from one of the Halloween stores that had popped up last week, at the start of October. You glanced back at the head and vomited all over the floor. It was real. It was fucking real. 

On the counter next to the head, but far away enough not to be sitting in the pile of blood that had accumulated, was a big black box with a red bow on top. When you finally composed yourself, you scooted out of the kitchen, trying your hardest not to look at the human head on the counter, and grabbed the box from the other side. 

You brought the box into the living space, trying to get as far from the head as possible before you opened it. You tossed aside the black tissue paper inside to see a brand new iphone sitting on top of something folded. Another note was on top of the phone. 

Sorry for breaking your phone, little mouse, but I’m sure you’ll like this one much better.

Rhysand

You frowned, setting the phone and letter to the side before pulling out the other thing in the box. It was a little black dress. You set it aside, confused. 

You picked up the phone, pressing the side button to turn it on. It seemed the phone had already been set-up, going to the home screen instead. A picture of Rhysand was the wallpaper and you rolled your eyes at his arrogance. 

Before you could even look through the apps and stuff, a text message came through from an unknown number. 

Unknown: I see you’ve received my gift, little mouse. Hope you enjoyed the other one, as well. Consider it your first lesson. 

You: What the fuck is wrong with you? I’m calling the police. Now.

Unknown: You won’t. We both know you won’t. And you wouldn’t want to make your punishment any worse than it already will be, darling. 

You wanted to chuck the phone at the wall, to snap it in half. You were certain this was just another way for him to track you. But if he already had people watching you, did it matter? You groaned, looking down at the phone again to see another text.

Unknown: Did you see what else was in the box, little mouse?

You: A dress?

Unknown: Yes, that is what you will be wearing when I pick you up tomorrow at 9pm. I’ll be sending over two girls to help you get ready at 8:30pm. Be home or else.

You: I’m not going anywhere with you. And I certainly won’t be letting two random strangers into my apartment! FUCK OFF

Unknown: Such naughty words, little mouse. Maybe you want to be punished more. I will see you tomorrow night. Don’t worry about your other little gift. Someone will be by to take care of it when you leave for work. 

How the hell did he know your work schedule? Gods, he wasn’t lying when he said he was having you watched. You were in deep waters now. Truly. 

And you had no idea how you were going to get yourself out of it. 

You clicked out of the messages and pulled up the dial pad, hitting 911. You held the phone up to your ear as it rang, both fear and anger rushing through you. Fuck him. You were calling the cops. You didn’t care if you would get in trouble for stealing from him. There was a fucking head of a dead male in your apartment. 

“911, what is your emergency?”

“I need to report a murder,” you said quickly, whispering as if Rhysand was in the apartment with you. “There is a… head of a dead male in my apartment.” 

“What is your location, ma’am?”

“1962 Alis Ct, Hewn City. Apartment number 333.”

There was a pause before the operator spoke again. “Okay, the cops are on their way. Stay on the phone with me until they arrive, okay?”

“Okay,” you said, the phone shaking in your hand. 

“Do you know the identity of the male?” 

“Yes and I know who killed him too,” you answered quickly. 

“Okay, ma’am, I’m going to need you to speak slower. You said you know the person who killed him? Who? Can you give me a name?” 

You squeezed your eyes shut, still shaking. “Yes, his name is Rhysand. He’s the owner—”

“Excuse me, ma’am. Did you say his name is Rhysand?”

“Yes! H-he’s stalking me! He showed up at my apartment two days ago and I know he’s the one who put the…head here.” 

Another pause.

“Ma’am, do you know it's illegal to make prank calls to the police emergency line?” 

“I–I…what?! I’m not…I’m not making a fucking prank call. There is a real, fucking head in my apartment! I have text messages. I can prove it was Rhysand!” 

“Do you know what the penalty is for prank calling the police? Up to ten thousand dollars in fines and a year in prison. That is what you’re looking at. It is in your best interest to end this call now, ma’am. Or the cops that were on the way to your apartment can come arrest you instead. What will it be?”

“You–You’ve got to be kidding! This isn’t a fucking prank call! Please, I need the cops. I need help! There—”

“I’ll give you one more chance, ma’am. End the call now or be arrested.” 

“Fuck!” You cursed before hitting the red button to end the call. You let out a scream of frustration. What the fuck? Why the fuck did she think you were lying? Or did Rhysand have more sway over this godforsaken city than you thought? 

The phone dinged again, a message popping up on the screen.

Unknown: Naughty little mouse. I told you not to bother with the police.  

This time you really did throw the phone across the room. 

༺♥༻

You didn’t even have to let the two girls in at 6:30pm the next day. Apparently, Rhysand also had made keys to your apartment. You had nearly peed yourself in fright when the door to your apartment swung open. Two women sauntered in dressed in all black. They were beautiful with long dark hair and onyx eyes. Twins, it seemed. 

They didn’t even say anything to you, didn’t answer any question you asked them. Instead one of them wrestled you to sit at your clean counter and began to unpack a whole traincase full of make-up and hair products. 

The other one grabbed the black dress from the floor and hung it, smoothing out the winkles.

They proceeded to do your make-up, giving you a black smokey eye and a red lip to compliment it. They also curled your hair and then pushed the black dress in your hands, gesturing at you to change. You made your way into the bathroom, not wanting to get naked in front of them, and put the dress on.

It was strapless and clung to your body. It was fairly plain except for the bottom of the right side where the dress was cut in an arch and rhinestones dangled from the edge to fill in the spot. You had also been given matching earrings to wear along with a thin, silver bracelet. A pair of black heels had been included as well. All of it seemed expensive, you even recognized some of the luxury brand names. This outfit alone was probably worth more than your monthly rent here. 

By the time you got dressed and made your way out of the bathroom, the two girls were gone and you were alone again in your apartment. A knock on your door had you jumping in place, your heart accelerating even more than it already was. You hesitantly walked over to the door and opened it.

You were surprised to see not Rhysand, but one of the other males that had been present that day you had snuck into his apartment. It was the beautiful one, with his elegant bone structure and hypnotizing cold, hazel eyes. He gave you a once over, a muscle ticking in his jaw, before he held out an arm towards you. 

You stared at it.

“You are to come with me,” he said, his voice as dark as his presence. You remembered Rhysand’s remark about his friends and decided not to test the male. 

A shiver ran down your spine and you placed your hand in the crevice of his elbow. He guided you out of your apartment like a true gentleman. You gulped, staring up at him as he led you down the stairs. 

“Who are you?” You finally worked up the courage to ask. He glanced at you again, his eyes darkening as they drifted down your face. 

“Azriel.”

Your heart nearly stopped. “A-Azriel? As in…the Shadow of Death?”

He said nothing else but his lips ticked up for a second, an answer in itself. You found yourself shaking the rest of the way down the stairs now knowing who you were walking with. Azriel. That name was known in the criminal world, though most people called him the Shadow of Death. Because wherever he was, death normally followed.

Of course, nothing could ever be proven, no evidence ever tied back to him. Which is why he was here with you and not in prison. 

Waiting outside for you two was a black limo, all the windows tinted so you couldn’t see in. The door swung open as you approached and Rhysand was there, sticking out a hand to help you in. 

He grinned as he looked you over. “You look just as I hoped you would.”

You gritted your teeth, sliding into the limo. Azriel followed behind you and the other male from that day was already seated inside. He gave you a small smirk, his eyes also unabashedly trailing over your body and face. 

Rhysand pulled you to his side but you pushed him away with a hiss. “Where the fuck are you taking me, asshole?” 

“Oh, the kitty cat has claws,” the taller and more muscular male chuckled. The other two laughed at his remark, causing your cheeks to turn hot with embarrassment. 

“I told you she had a filthy mouth, Cassian,” Rhysand said, stroking your arm. You grimaced at his touch, pushing his hand away. 

“Do you want to try asking that question again?” You gasped, not even noticing how close Azriel had slid in behind you. You could feel his hot breath against the back of your neck. You shivered again at his dark, sensual voice. Your hands clenched into fists.

“Where are you taking me?” you asked again, through gritted teeth. 

“Where are you taking me, sir,” Azriel cut in. “Try again.”

You glanced at him over your shoulder with a glare but he only stared down at you with that icy expression. You turned to see Rhysand watching you with amusement. 

“Where are you taking me, sir?” you spat. 

“I needed an escort for tonight.” Rhysand shrugged. 

“I’m not a prostitute,” you hissed. 

“Of course not, darling,” Rhysand said with a flick of his hand. “You are my date.” 

You couldn’t stop your cheeks from turning a bit pink at his words. Couldn’t stop the coiling in your stomach. You bit your lip, looking away from him and his stupid, hot, smug face. 

Rhysand shot forward, plucking your bottom lip free from your teeth. You wanted to back away from him but Azriel was still behind you and you found yourself pushed against his hard chest, now squeezed between the two males. 

“Don’t touch me,” you breathed out, your chest rising and falling rapidly. 

“You won’t be saying that by the end of the night,” Rhysand purred. “I can promise you that.”

“You’re delusional if you think I’ll ever want any part of you,” you managed to choke out. 

“I don’t think, darling, I know,” he replied, gripping your chin in his hand like he had the other day to force you to look up at him. “Besides, you are mine. I own you, little mouse. I will do whatever I want with you.”

“You’re sick,” you spat, trying to ignore the heat that just blazed through your skin at his words. You were just as sick as him for even being slightly turned on right now.

Rhysand sat back, tossing his arm over the back of the bench seat with a shrug. “I am. But so are you, little mouse.”

His violet gaze apparently saw right through you. 

He reached forward and plucked a champagne bottle from the ice tray on the other side of the limo. He filled up a glass for himself before handing the bottle off to Cassian.

“You have a very important role tonight, little mouse,” he said, twirling his glass in his hand. “I expect you to play it well.”

“And what role am I supposed to be playing?”

“You are going to sit there and look pretty.” Rhysand turned to look at you again with a smirk. “Should be easy enough for you.”

“And how is that supposed to help with whatever the fuck you’re doing tonight?”

“Because, darling, you are going to be quite the distraction.”

You said nothing else during the car ride while the three males talked with each other. You were surprised by how they were acting, like they were truly best friends and not just partners. You had never seen anything like it. Tamlin had never been like that with his two guards.

The limo finally stopped and you realized you were at Velaris, the nightclub owned by Rhysand. You were also far away from your apartment, from your neighborhood in Hewn City. And this area was entirely different. Clean and filled with rich people. 

“Come, little mouse,” Rhysand said, holding out a hand to you to help you from the limo. You took it, remembering that you’re supposed to be his date, and let him lead you into the club, right past the long line of people waiting to be let in.

It wasn’t the first time you had been here, so you were familiar enough with the place once you were inside. The music was blaring, lights so dimmed and different colors, creating a dark atmosphere. 

You held his hand as he maneuvered your group through the crowd until you made it to the vip section. The guard standing at the roped off section let you guys through as soon as he saw Rhysand.  

You were pulled into a far corner, into a private lounge area secluded from the rest. 

The three men filled the booth and you stood awkwardly, wondering where the hell you’d fit. 

Rhysand patted his lap with a feline grin. “Come here, darling.” 

“You’re joking,” you muttered but he didn’t falter. 

“He’s not, little mouse,” Cassian said. His voice was as masculine as his appearance was and you found yourself feeling slightly warm at the sound of it. “Better get comfortable. It’s going to be a long night.” 

You sighed but obliged, perching yourself on Rhysand’s lap. Rhysand was quick to wrap an arm around you, his hand spreading out on your stomach as he pulled you back even more so you were resting against his chest. 

Your legs dangled off the side of his thighs, making you face Cassian. The male ran a hand through his long hair, sending you a wink which you scoffed at, looking away. But your cheeks still turned pink and you were certain he noticed. 

A table girl came by a second later, dropping off four drinks at the table, already apparently knowing their orders. Rhysand slid a clear one in front of you and the smell of vodka reached your nose. 

He pulled something out of his pocket with his free hand. It was a little baggy filled with white powder. He tore it open with his teeth and poured half of it into the drink in front of you. It disappeared into the liquid. 

“Drink that,” he ordered. 

You snorted. “You literally just put who knows what into that and you really think I’m going to drink it?” 

“You are,” he said smoothly, bringing his own drug-free drink up to his lips. His was whiskey, you figured out by the smell of it. 

“Like I said,” you replied, crossing your arms. “You’re delusional and sick in the head.” 

He ignored you, looking over your head at Azriel. Before you noticed the look they shared, Azriel fisted your hair and yanked your head back. You let out a cry of both surprise and pain.

Rhys took advantage of the moment, pouring the drugged drink into your mouth before you could react. He slammed your mouth shut with his hand and held it closed as you looked at him with wide, panicked eyes.

“Swallow,” he commanded. You shook your head, desperately trying to pry your mouth open but he was too strong. “Swallow it. Now.” 

A bit of the minty tasting liquid slid down your throat and you choked on it, unintentionally letting the rest of it follow. Rhysand let go of your jaw and you gasped for air, glaring at him.

“What the fuck did you just give me?” 

“Just something to help you relax, little mouse,” he purred. “Calm down. It’ll make you feel good, I promise.”

“You’re a fucking asshole,” you spat him. “If you rape me, I swear to the gods—”

Rhysand’s eyes darkened as he met your stare. “No one is going to rape you. I would never let that happen, little mouse.” 

You wanted to spit something back at him but the genuine look on his face made you falter. You swallowed back your retort just as a slinky looking male walked over to the table. Rhysand’s persona flipped in an instant, that cocky, smooth look back on his face. You tuned out the men as they started to talk, focusing on the alcohol that was now spreading through you as well as whatever fucking drug Rhysand had put in it. 

More people came up, only ever one by one. He was dealing with some sort of business thing but you didn’t bother listening. The more you knew, the more trouble you’d be in when this all eventually got shut down. 

The table girl came back a few times, bringing new drinks. Rhysand had slid another drink in front of you, not putting anything in it this time. You decided to drink it. You were already drugged, what more could possibly happen? You had wanted to keep a sober, attentive mind tonight. But Rhysand clearly had other plans. 

The alcohol hit its mark, or maybe it was the drug, because you finally relaxed into Rhysand’s hold, the feeling of warmth spreading throughout your body. He seemed to notice, grinning down at you, satisfied. You continued to sip on your drink while Rhysand did his business, perched on his lap just like he wanted. 

His hands were all over you. Part of you wanted to protest, but a dark side of you liked how his hands felt on your body. His hand rubbed circles on your waist, his thumb rising up high enough to brush against the underside of your breast, occasionally causing you to suck in a breath. His other hand was resting on your thigh, petting your exposed skin.

There was a break in people coming to the table, the three males just talking amongst themselves. You leaned forward to grab your drink, taking another sip. A bit of liquid dribbled out of the corner of your mouth. You went to wipe it by Rhysand grabbed your hand before you could. 

“Cassian, our little mouse is making a mess out of herself. Clean her up,” he ordered.

Your eyes went wide as you looked at the other male. He smirked, his own eyes flashing with both amusement and hunger. He leaned towards you, swiping your lip with his thumb before bringing up to his mouth and sucking the spilled alcohol off of it. His devilish grin had your pulse spiking. Fuck. Why were these males so attractive? It wasn’t fair. 

You released the breath you were holding in as Rhysand let your arm drop. You looked up at him through your lashes. “I thought you didn’t want other males to touch me.” 

Rhysand leaned down to whisper in your ear, “They are the only ones allowed to touch you. And I think you want them to, little mouse. They are like my brothers. We share everything.”

He pulled back winking at you and you looked away, your cheeks turning bright red as the image of you squished between the three men popped up in your head. Rhysand seemed to read your mind, chuckling as he took a sip from his glass. 

Whatever drug he had given you was working now. You felt fire pulsing through your veins. Your skin was warm but you wanted to be touched. Rhysand went back to stroking you and you couldn’t stop yourself from arching into his touch. Not when it felt so good. 

This feeling only grew and grew the longer you sat there in his lap. You shifted again, crossing your legs to try and ease the tension between them. Rhysand growled, his hands tightening their hold on you. 

“Stop moving around so much,” he hissed into your ear. “Or I’ll take you right here in front of everyone. Unless, that is what you want, darling.”

Fuck yes, it was what you wanted right in this moment. 

“No,” you huffed, feeling shame and embarrassment at how much his words had affected you. You squeezed your thighs together, blaming it on the drug he had given you. Asshole. 

“Then be a good girl and sit still.”

Fuck, that only turned you on more. What the fuck was wrong with you? You were seriously fucked in the head. No. It was that fucking drug he had put in your drink. It had to be. Your skin felt so hot now, the ache inside of you impossible to ignore. What the hell did he give you?

His hands went back to touching you all over and you bit down on your lip, trying to ignore the feeling. It's like he was doing it on purpose. You glanced up at him to see him smirking to himself as the male in front of him talked. Scratch that. He was absolutely doing it on purpose. 

Another hand brushed against your thigh under the table and your eyes widened, looking up at Cassian. He gave you a wolfish grin before his attention went back to the male across from them. You looked back up at Rhysand but he didn’t give any indication that he knew what Cassian was doing. 

Cassian’s hand traveled further up your thigh and you held back a groan as his calloused fingers brushed against your soft skin. You debated pushing his hand off of you but it felt so good to be touched right now. You glanced at him again but he was still paying attention to the other male, even as his hand began moving again.

Fuck, you should stop this. But gods, your skin sang at Cassian’s touch. You felt heat pooling in your stomach, your core pulsed in need. 

No, stop. It was the fucking drug. You didn’t want this. Did you?

This time you did try to push away Cassian’s hand, but Rhysand grabbed your hand instead, stopping you. So he did know Cassian was touching you. Your nails bit into his skin. 

Cassian’s fingers traveled higher and higher, your core tightening along with it. Fuck. Your skin was impossibly hot now. You bit your lip harder, drawing a bit of blood as his fingers brushed against your underwear, tracing the lining against the junction of your thigh. Your nails were still digging into Rhys’s hand and you let out a small whimper, unable to stop yourself.

“Darling,” Rhys purred. “We’re trying to have a conversation. Be a good girl and keep quiet.”

You could understand the double meaning behind his words. He looked down at you with a wicked glint in his eyes. He let go of your hand as Cassian’s fingers brushed against your underwear again and you realized he was giving you a choice now. Push Cassian’s hand away. Or not. 

You should. You really fucking should. But gods, you were on fire. Blazing hot with the feeling of their hands all over you. You glanced around. You were out of sight from the rest of the club but that other male was still here talking to Rhys. 

You needed their touch. Your skin was singing for it, electricity sparking at every touch of Cassian’s fingers. You were craving it now, feeling hot and flushed. The pressure inside of you wouldn’t let up. You chewed on your lip, your hand fisted on your thigh. That was apparently the sign both of them were waiting for. 

Cassian pushed your underwear to the side quickly before his fingers stroked against your core. This time the moan slipped free from your lips and you arched in Rhysand’s arms. Your face turned hot as the conversation stopped again at the noise. 

Rhysand leaned back down to whisper in your ear so the others couldn’t hear. “Keep yourself composed or there will be trouble. You wouldn’t want that, would you, darling?”

How the fuck were you supposed to stay composed? Was this your fucking punishment for calling the cops? Did he purposely give you a drug that would make you so fucking horny, you wouldn’t be able to resist their touches in the middle of a club? Be forced to keep quiet and sit still?

Cassian’s fingers circled around your clit and a spark of electricity roared through your body. You bit your lip harder but couldn’t stop from wiggling a bit on Rhysand’s lap. He held you tightly, pulling you higher up on his lap until you could feel his hard length beneath you. You held back a gasp at the feeling, at the proof that he was just as turned on by this as you were. 

You took a peek at the stranger across the table to see his eyes trained on you, full of lust. So this is the distraction Rhysand wanted you to create. You should be more embarrassed, put a stop to this. But Cassian’s fingers circled around your clit again and all reasonable thought left your mind. 

“Don’t look at her,” Azriel growled at the male.

The male swallowed audibly and forced his eyes back on Rhysand. 

This was so fucked up. So, so fucked up. 

Cassian’s fingers quickened and so did your breathing. You were nearly tearing apart your own lip now, swallowing your moans as he caressed you. Fuck you needed more. More and more and more. Heat was pooling in your stomach, between your legs where his fingers were. 

It was Azriel who leaned in to whisper to you this time, his hand traveling up your shoulders to the back of your neck to hold you there. “Don’t you dare come without our permission, sweetheart.” 

His deep voice caused your heart to jump in your chest. You wanted to give into Cassian’s touches. Wanted to unravel right there. But Rhysand was still talking to the male who looked like he was almost sweating with the effort of not looking at you. 

Your chest was rising and falling rapidly as Cassian’s fingers continued their assault. Fuck, you could hardly breath. Sweet, hot pleasure was sweeping away every thought. 

You were beginning to tremble as Cassian continued to rub his fingers around your clit. Rhysand held onto you tighter and tighter, his hard length pressing into you from behind. 

The embarrassment of having them do this to you, especially in public and in front of a stranger should be overriding everything else. But the pleasure kept you locked in place. You licked your lips, tasting blood. You knew you had split it open with your own teeth, trying to keep your cries in. 

Cassian’s fingers moved down, to circle around your entrance and you almost bucked in Rhysand’s lap if it wasn’t for his tight hold on you. You squeezed your eyes shut, not wanting them to see how his touch made them roll to the back of your head.

You whimpered as he slid in one finger, slowly pulling it back out and thrusting it back in. This time you did moan. It was too much, the feeling was too much to keep yourself quiet.

Rhysand grabbed you by the jaw, forcing you to look up at him. “What did I tell you, little mouse?” 

You opened your mouth but no words came out, not as Cassian pushed another finger into you. Another whimper escaped from your mouth and Rhysand’s eyes darkened. His thumb brushed against your bottom lip. 

“Answer me. Now.” 

With Rhysand’s grip on your chin, Azriel still holding you by the back of the neck and Cassian sliding his fingers in and out, quickening his pace as you flushed red with pleasure, you almost unraveled right then and there. 

“Y-you said to keep q-quiet.” Gods, it was torture getting those words out without a bunch of moans coming with them. Cassian was still thrusting his fingers in and out of you, his thumb circling your clit. Fuck. You were close now, that warm feeling spreading all the way down to your toes. 

You were panting now. You wanted more. So much more. Fuck.

“And you disobeyed me,” Rhysand purred. He still held you by your chin, now forcing you to look at the male across the way who was staring at you with desire. “So this is your fault, little mouse. Don’t forget that.” 

You were confused but Azriel stood as quick as lightning, pulling his dagger free and stabbing the man across from you in the neck. Rhysand wrapped a hand around your mouth before you could scream. The man gurgled before slumping over. Dead. 

Your eyes went wide, tears building up. 

Cassian yanked his fingers from you and you would’ve cried in protest if it wasn’t for the dead body across from you. He smirked at his brothers as he licked his fingers clean, groaning at the taste. “Gods, she tastes so good.” 

“Are you pleased with yourself, little mouse?” Rhysand growled into your ear, keeping your face towards the dead man. “It's your fault he’s dead. Do you want to know why?” 

You shook your head no, unable to talk with his other hand still wrapped around your mouth. 

Rhysand continued anyway. “He’s dead because he got to hear your moans, your cries. And you know why that upsets me?”

You shook your head again as he turned your face back to him. You stared up into those devastating violet eyes. He let go of you finally. 

“You are mine, little mouse,” he snarled. “No one should ever be able to hear those cries of pleasure except us. Just like no one should ever touch you again except us. Do you understand?”

Gods, this was your punishment for sleeping with that guy the other night. Had killing him not been enough of a message?

“He asked you a question, sweetheart,” Azriel growled, squeezing the back of your neck. “Answer him.”

“Y-yes. I understand,” you stuttered out. Azriel squeezed your neck again, a little harder this time. You yelped in pain before giving him what he wanted. “Yes I understand, sir.”

“Good,” Rhysand said with a pleased smile.

“But I—this wasn’t my fault! I didn’t want this. You drugged me! You made me want this.” 

His smile stayed as he pulled that baggy out of his pocket and tossed it into your lap. You looked up at him in confusion. “You were never drugged, darling. Those are just crushed up mints. You’re just as sick as we are, aren’t you, little mouse?” 

You grabbed the baggie with shaky hands, bringing it up to your nose to smell it, to see if he was telling you the truth. You sniffed and the scent of mint hit you. He really had never drugged you so…so all of that, all of the pleasure and want you felt, all of the desire, that had all been real. 

Rhysand, Cassian and Azriel were all grinning now and you knew it that moment that you were completely, utterly fucked. 

༺♥༻

Tag list: @justdreamstars @minakay @f4iry-bell @godletmebeanf1wag @judig92 @a-frog-with-a-laptop @peaceandcrackers @glitterypirateduck @gorlillaglue25 @the-lake-is-calling @danikamariemain

[inkwolvesandcoffee]

Coffee & Salted Caramel (Dad Best Friend!John Price Dark Romantic Headcanons)

CoD ML

It takes a moment for John to realise it’s you standing in front of him. However, after carefully scrutinising your face under the guise of a polite smile, there’s a spark of recognition in his pretty blue eyes.

In his defence, the last time he saw you was about ten years ago when you were an awkward teen just entering puberty. So little could have prepared him for seeing you now, blossomed into a beautiful young woman.

He doesn’t go in for a hug or a handshake, though it looks like the latter. Nevertheless, as soon as you’ve placed your hand in his, John brings your knuckles to his lips and kisses them. “My lady.”

The dark satisfaction blossoming in his chest due to your flabbergasted expression is carefully concealed behind a cheeky smile. A smile which is easily mistaken as amused, kind.

Without any other implications than friendship.

Picks you up from work if you’re working late and during winter. If you’re working the morning shift and therefore have to be there early, he’ll escort you to make sure you’re alright. At first John tells himself he’s simply being a gentleman, a proper captain. Moreover, he’s doing his best friend a service by keeping his daughter safe.

From men like him.

To keep you for himself.

Your father may or may not have let slip you go to the gym. A comment in which John saw a golden opportunity to get closer to you and reconnect. Or, rather, truly connect.

So you now find yourself three times a week working out alongside your father’s best friend, who kindly picks you up and drops you off after each session.

Who you’ve noticed glaring and sometimes even downright scowling at the other men there. Especially when he’s acting as your personal trainer.

Ngl, he makes for a good workout partner. Of course he respects your boundaries, but gradually tries to push you beyond them. Henceforth, when one week you swear you won’t be able to do a deadlift with 10kg on either side, you find yourself more than capable the next.

Though he’d never admit it, John loves showing off his strength and size. He might be middle aged, but he sure is still as capable, if not more, than in his younger years.

Another thing he’d keep a secret is how you wearing a choker tempts him to submit fully to instinct, play dangerously with the thought of claiming or, rather, owning you.

Frequently takes you out for hikes, picnics (weather permitting), trips around the country, and coffee. Whereas your father regards the outings with his best friend as enrichment because you two don’t get to do that stuff and acts of kindness, John actually sees them as unofficial dates.

Small moments during which he can properly fancy himself your partner.

You sing as a side hustle and have landed a performance at John’s favourite pub. Now, being a good friend to your father and simply being kind, he offers for you to stay overnight at his place. After all, the venue is too far from home to make it there afterwards safely.

Despite being seated in the back amongst the shadows, you feel John’s eyes on you throughout the show. Little do you know he occasionally closes his eyes, shutting out the world to enjoy your voice. It’s a lullaby that temporarily puts the rage seething beneath his skin to rest.

Gets grumpy when a guy approaches you to strike up a conversation after you’re done.

John knows you’re your own person and yet here he is, sulking and brooding over a pint because of a nagging sense he knows is unjustified. For fuck’s sake, you’re his best friend’s daughter! What the hell would you do with a guy his age, damaged beyond repair and haunted by ghosts?

Yet, he stands before you in no time and roughly grabs your wrist, dragging you behind him towards the exit. “On your feet. We’re leaving.”

On the way to his house, his grip remains iron-like regardless of how you struggle, whimper, beg, and try to pry his hand loose. Nonetheless, he remains as quiet, as tight-lipped, as when you ask him about his years in the army. Only when you call out his name with an ugly sob does he let go.

You flinch and step back when he turns around and comes closer, mortified by his fuming expression. John takes a deep breath, wishing he could kick himself in the face now that he finally sees how he hurt you. Moreover, in spite of his own disregard of rules and protocol, this type of behaviour would put any good captain to shame. That is, when directed at a loved one rather than a teammate. “I… I’m sorry.”

“What’s this about?” His gaze remains steady on the ground, even when you come closer to bridge the distance between you. “What’s gotten into you?”

“I don’t know, poppet. Maybe it’s just the pints that get me a bit violent. Drank one too many.”

“John-“

“Let’s go home.” Hands tucked into his pockets, he turns on his heel and starts walking again. He’d hold your hand, but after that little incident he’s too terrified to touch you. More than that, he grows bleak at the thought this or similar incidents which perhaps have yet to occur will eventually lead to you resenting him.

With you, he doesn’t want to be Captain Price.

He wants to be a man rather than a soldier.

A man properly caring for his girl by making sure she doesn’t want for anything.

Trying to sweep the incident on the street under the rug once you’re at his place, John stands in the doorway to the guest room as he watches you rummage in your bag. “Something wrong, love? Forgot your post-concert snack stash?”

You share his smile, the idea of glaring at him evaporated the moment you lock eyes. “Very funny, John.”

“I can make us something, though, if you’re still hungry. I ain’t a good cook, but I think I can manage scrambled eggs on an English muffin. Sober enough for that, at least.”

“I’m alright. Still, thanks. Turns out, I forgot my pyjamas.”

“You can lend a shirt. Let me find one.”

A wee while later, after being occupied a little too long with picking something for you to wear and distracted by the strain in his pants, he returns with a hoodie. He’d rather you be too hot than cold.

“Arms up, doll face.” Without questioning the nickname, you do as he says. His breath hitches as you wriggle into his hoodie, staring up at him with doe eyes.

It takes every ounce of self-control not to pick you up, twirl you around, and tuck you into bed. Say what you will, but beneath the lust there’s the genuine want to take care of you.

Distrustful of his hands, he crosses his arms and nods to the bed. “Hit the hay. I’ll make sure there’s breakfast, so don’t worry about that.”

“Thank you. Goodnight, John.”

He almost breaks, almost reaches out to pat your head to satisfy himself as much as he allows himself. But he doesn’t. “Goodnight, love.”

Nothing could have prepared him for seeing you do Pilates in the morning.

He stops in the doorway, frozen in place by fascination and the feeling he hasn’t been able to shake off since seeing you again for the first time in forever. Honestly, seeing you stretch and bend this way and that doesn’t help him think any clearer either. In fact, it only throws him deeper down the rabbit hole created by the fantasy of you pinned beneath him, breathless and whimpering his name as he has his way with you.

And he just dealt with his morning wood before coming downstairs.

As silent as a ghost, John slips back upstairs to calm himself down yet again, only leaving the bedroom when he hears you in the shower.

We all know perfectly well why I had to include this particular gif. And no, I’m not sorry.😝😹

Using the towels he prepared for you last night before dragging his ossified arse to bed.

Breakfast is elaborate with croissants, freshly brewed coffee (and your favourite syrup to put in it, salted caramel), orange juice, bread, jams, yogurt, and fruit. The food extravaganza makes you stop in your tracks to take in the sight.

“Thought I’d surprise you and apologize for last night. I stepped out of line.” John settles down and gestures to the one across from him. “Please.”

You nod, still too flabbergasted by the feast.

After a few moments of eating and drinking in silence, you pose the question which has been weighing heavily on your mind. “Why did you really act like that?”

“Guys like that want nothing but sex with a pretty young thing.” Despite the casual tone, his gruff voice is strained as he pours you another cup of coffee. After adding enough syrup to make it to your liking, he slides the cup towards you. “Besides, I promised your dad I’d watch over you, keep you safe.”

You glance to the side. “Bullshit. Like I’m that pretty.”

“You are. I’m surprised you don’t see how easily you can wrap any man around your finger.”

“Right. Let’s say you’re correct. I still don’t know how to… you know… have… sex.”

“Suppose you haven’t found the right person yet. Someone with the patience to take you through the motions. Who wants to take the time to love you right, map every detail of your body and learn what makes you shiver.” His eyes darken. “Someone with experience.”

Prompted by the way he sees you squirm in your seat and the front you try to put up despite the blush on your cheeks, he stands up to walk over to your side. “Someone who’s loyal. Faithful. Committed,” his breath is hot on your ear as his fingers touch your cheek, finding you pliable, your senses full of his cologne and presence, “to you. Maybe also someone who’s a little older.”

Before you can respond, John’s lips are on yours. His beard feels ticklish, but surprisingly much smoother than you thought it would be. A pleased hum reverberates in his chest when you run your fingers through it.

A lovely sound that turns into a gasp when you push him away, horrified as the truth sinks in. For nothing is more terrifying than common sense.

“I…” you begin, grasping at straws to explain yourself. It doesn’t help your heart cracks at the sight of the sadness in his eyes, badly concealed beneath the mask of the composed and determined captain.

“Y/N-“

“I should go.”

Judging by your tone, John knows he won’t be able to explain himself. “I’ll pack up some food. Have it along the way. A soldier isn’t anything if they don’t have a full stomach.”

“Text me when you’re home.” He can see the fight between confusion and affection rage in your eyes. “So I’ll know you’re safe. It might be broad daylight, but that doesn’t mean nothing won’t happen. Please, Y/N,” the way he says your name with an uncharacteristic plea hidden beneath barely composed sternness makes you waiver. “Just a text. That’s all I ask.”

“Alright.” You pull out your phone, create a new contact, and keep your gaze down towards the screen. “Spill the secret info, captain.”

After a moment’s hesitation, John curls his finger beneath your chin to tip it upwards. There’s a tremble in his hand as he cups your cheek, afraid you’ll pull away.

Change your mind.

And leave him behind.

“Promise?”

You nod, slightly leaning into his touch. “I promise.”

Packed up, the shirt he gave you the first thing to find its way into your bag, and his number in your phone, you silently leave. You know that once you turn around you’ll run right back to him, to what he can offer you. Nonetheless, to avoid problems with your father, you keep walking.

John’s gaze hot on your back, drinking salted caramel coffee.

I might turn this into a proper fic. Ah dinnae ken when or how, but what’s for sure already is that I’ve got plenty thoughts and ideas.😉

[nathandrakeisabottom]

Headcannons about them with an anxious SO? Love your stuff x

Thank you, friend! Now, in full canonical honesty, I don’t believe that either Nathan or Sam would be particularly good at dealing with their deeper anxiety, let alone someone else’s, let alone someone else’s who they loved dearly and would only be afraid to make it worse (that many crumbling bridges and a guy’s gotta if consider his only superpower is the ability to destroy everything he touches) for most of their young lives. 

However, I do believe that post-UC4 (perhaps a little earlier for Nathan), and a good dose of necessary therapy (paid for in pirate coins, of course)--- they’d be more than willing to finally take on the challenge. 

For themselves, and for the person they love more than anything.

Drakes with an Anxious S/O Headcanons

Nathan:

In his younger days, the prince of the awkward smile and half-hearted clap on the back. A pulley doll whose only catchphrases were “Man, that’s hard”, “Yeah. Yeesh.”, and “Soooo, I guess this would be a bad time for a joke, huh?”. Scurries to the bathroom as soon as they’re not in tears anymore, and stays there for as long as it takes to stop hearing the residual sobs.

However, his late 30s and 40s bring him a much healthier perspective (and therapy— Jesus, finally) and being the smarty pants he is, he passes on no opportunity to put his new skills and knowledge to use.

That playfulness and desire to find the lightness in even the hardest situations never leaves him at any age, though.

A panic attack? “‘Is something… wrong with you’? You realize you’re talking to the guy who accidentally destroys ancient temples for a living, as an archaeologist? And I still consider myself a not so bad guy. So in my eyes, you’re basically a lesser known Mesopotamian god.”

Got a bad grade? “A D in Psychometrics? I don’t know, sounds like they don’t know anything about math if they’re using a letter to grade you. Maybe they should go get their teaching certificates checked. Hey, how ‘bout I just draw you a PhD myself? You know I have an eye for art.” 

Dealing with shitty parents? Landlord? Roommates? Exes who won’t leave you the fuck alone? “What? That buffoon? Guy who can’t even spell their own name right? That asshole isn’t worth a thought of a thought of a thought in your head. Pretty sure they haven’t had a thought in their own head since 1996.”

As soon as the first wide-toothed smile is won, he’s leaning into his partner with a secretive smirk: “Ya wanna get the hell out of here?” 

Because distractions always helped him before. 

Will act especially gentlemanly, and theatrically play it up, while taking their partner for a frozen yogurt, antique shop, Target trip, public park, laser tag (yes, really) decompress. Bows when he opens the car door for them. Pays for everything. Calls them ‘your majesty’ for the entirety of the excursion.

All he wants is to get them to smile. And he’s not stopping until he sees it. 

When the night creeps in and his S/O starts to lose steam, Nathan’s own worry grows more obvious, though he tries his best to keep it to himself. 

Watches them with wide eyes. Gives them space, but still asks every few minutes if they need a cup of water. No? Tea? Arnold Palmer? Popsicle? Massage? Hot Pocket? Sexy pillow fight? However many it takes to make his partner laugh again. But he fully means every offer he gives.

Says nothing as he helps them undress and into their PJs. Touches are tender and intimate, gently rubs their shoulders and neck. Never too hard, never too direct. Plays the friendly ghost and lets their partner take the lead, but never, ever just sits around to watch.

Makes them a beverage of some sort, even if they say no. Hot lemonade with honey is his personal homecure. Says yellow is a happy color, so it must be good for you.

And right before they turn the lights out, Nate timidly offers— with a shy, trying chuckle— if they want him to read them a bedtime story. 

Somehow shocked every time they say yes. Mumbles something self-derogatory about himself (“Ya know, not the best actor, but—” “Personally I think I have the voice of a dying goose, but—”) before sitting on the nearest surface and cracking open a book.

If he’s still feeling a little awkward, will uneasily ask if they wanna hear what he’s been reading lately, and will do so if asked— but really wants to read the pirate storybooks his mother read to him and Sam when they were kids.

It always made him feel better when the world felt too big, too scary, too cruel. 

So he wants to share it with the person he loves. 

He wants to share everything with the person he loves.

And without even asking, goes to the medicine cabinet and brings them a tablet of whatever they need when the anxiety gets especially bad, and says “I know, it’s scary. But we’ve been through scary before, right?” with a kiss on the cheek as they swallow it down with a sip of lemonade.

Lingers, eyes down, and vaguely nods to nobody as he stands and walks to the door.

“Want me… uh, want me to keep reading to you?” But he offers before he can even get past the door frame. 

“Do you want me to want you to keep reading to me?” 

And the last thing he wants to see is his love, alone. The idea of them crying beneath the covers because they were too afraid to burden him with it, too afraid to be seen. Everything he felt he had to do when he was 6 and his mother “passed”, age 9, 10, 11, 12 after a black eye, the words that his brain told him wrong: spoken aloud by the playground bullies he feared he’d never be stronger than. 

But he knew they were wrong. The bullies were wrong. The ones in his brain. The ones in theirs.

“Yes.” He replies without missing a beat. 

And he makes sure to hold their hand in his free one until the second they fall asleep… and a few hours after, just to be safe.

The next morning they fucking better expect breakfast in bed— and he maybe, just maybe, might even be willing to spring for McDonald’s, if that’s what they want. As long as they promise to eat actual fruit after. And hell, maybe even a vegetable or two when he makes dinner that night. Did you know that eating right and exercise are actually primary solutions to poor mental health—? That’s what Dr. Dorian said— No, potatoes don’t count as a vegetable— no, especially not if it’s fried— NO, FRENCH FRIES DON’T COUNT, BABY—

Sam:

Sam takes a bit longer to warm up to discussing anxiety than Nathan does, mostly due to struggling so deeply with it on his own. It’s not like prisoners (or Shoreline guards) made the most comforting companions. 

The better he could keep secrets, the less he could reveal, the safer he’d be.

So it makes sense that it’s both his greatest strength and weakness when it comes to emotionally turbulent times. 

In his younger, more avoidant years, he’d be the first to leave the room, leave the building, hell, sometimes even leave the city after a particularly heavy cry or confrontation with his then-partner. Only to come back the next morning and act like nothing ever happened. 

But now, he doesn’t run. After prison, after Rafe, after Madagascar, all he wants is to be allowed to stay. To be wanted to stay by someone who loves him. 

Is happiest to just sit with you in the silence. His biggest skill is his ability to weather the storm. And whether you need to scream bloody murder, or need to sit and decompress and just fucking feel, but can’t do it alone, Sam’s there. Listening. 

Once you’re done talking, he takes one last, long drag of his cigarette, stubs it out onto the pavement, and asks simply: “So do you want solutions… or something else, sweet’art?” 

You can see in his eyes— darting less than solid, certain against your own— that he really means it, in every way that he was too afraid to when he was younger.

The wonderful and terrifying thing about having anxiety while Sam is there is that it’s a vulnerable experience for the both of you. He’s learning, discovering, trying right along with you. And he may not be able to lift you up so easily, but he’ll be able to sink into the dark places with you, and not be afraid to see what’s down there. 

And maybe seeing someone he loves so deeply, sees as so beautiful, so smart, so kind, so wonderful, so absolutely perfect to him feel the same ways he does about himself… maybe it makes him think that he’s not as terrible as his brain tells him, either. 

Helps you take action by letting himself (finally) not be the smart one: “When ya… get like this, what do you usually do first, sweet’art? Paint me a pit’chure.” Gives you complete control, and smiles softly when you wipe your tears and the logical, the archaeological mind awakens. Mimics unraveling an ancient map when you begin to explain, and you inadvertently hiccup out a laugh. 

At times, it’ll feel like he’s trying to run again, but when he stands up and walks across the room— he always returns. This time with your favorite of his jackets, the denim one that smells like him even though he just cleaned it, and drapes it protectively over your shoulders. Clasps his palm at the back of your neck and rubs out the knot he always finds there. Smiles toothy and wide when your words are broken up by sighs of relief. Only to be filled once again with silence, gazes meeting sweet and safe. 

“Remember Indonesia?” He offers with a smirk, despite your furrowed brow.

“I guess? What about—?” 

“I read the runes’ instructions and ran us in circles all around Bali, only to reread the transcript and realized I got three letters completely wrong. J—V—A. Java. It was goddamn Java the entire time.” 

“Your point being?” 

He smiles and shrugs. Trying. Maybe he’s wrong, a foreigner in some ancient, uncertain land, but he tries.

“Sometimes our brains are just wrong.” He tries for you. “That’s all.”

You sniffle, and he leans in to press a prickly kiss to your cheek. His jacket is still warm from the dryer, wafting with the residual sting of cigarette, Old Spice Captain, cheap mouthwash, even cheaper aftershave, and something else completely unnameable. 

And maybe some others would think the scent appalling, but it’s the strangeness, the specificity, and yes, the stank— everything that makes Sam him— that makes you love it. Love him. The depth. The difference. 

The pain, and what he chose to do with it. 

Another kiss, this time down your neck. This time, the sigh of relief is his own.

What he chose to change it into. 

“So… any chance sex therapy might be a thing?” He asks grinningly.

“Why don’t we find out, ‘sweet’art’?”

[rollingsins]

all hers, part xviii

part i | part ii | part iii | part iv | part v | part vi | part vii | part viii | part ix | part x | part xi | part xii | part xiii | part xiv | part xv | part xvi | part xvii | part xviii | part xix | part xx | part xxi | part xxii | part xxiii | part xxiv | part xxv | part xxvi | epilogue

summary: R and the Scooby-gang put into place their Ghostface trap.

warnings: (+18), Tara is Ghostface, violence, murder.

word count: 2.1k

a/n: thought it was time for the GF reveal! were you right? wrong? idk, let me know!

You make it to the school in the passenger seat of Sam’s car without speaking the entire journey. 

You feel hollow. Like the world is crumbling around you, and Sam must feel it too. Her grip on the wheel is tight, sturdy, like she knows exactly what she has to do now. 

What you both have to do now. 

Get him. Kill him. For Tara. 

Mindy’s waiting outside the school when you pull up. 

She peers into the backseat, looking for Tara, looking a little confused when she can find her. 

“Where’s Tara?” Mindy asks.

Sam brushes her off. 

“Change of plan. Tara isn’t coming. It’s just us.”

Mindy’s eyes widen. 

“Sam,” She says, voice slow. Her eyes dart to you, “We can’t do this without Tara.” 

“Tara isn’t coming,” Sam stresses, “And we need to do this. For Tara, do you understand?” 

Mindy blinks. She fidgets with her phone. 

“I’m going to call her first and check.” She eyes you, no doubt terrified of the consequence if something were to happen to you. Tara isn’t shy about her love for you, and she certainly isn’t shy about what would happen to anyone who ever hurt you. 

“She’s been arrested,” You say, voice impatient, “She won’t pick up. The only way to help her is to catch this guy.” 

Mindy gawps. 

“She’s been arrested?”

“There’s no time,” Sam says, urgently, “Mindy, come on. YN, go to detention.” 

She puts her hands on your shoulders, squeezes tight. 

“And good luck.” 

-

The plan is so stupidly simple, yet there are about a hundred ways it can go wrong. 

You run through them on your way to detention, mind whirling, barely having the strength to put one foot in front of the other. 

Firstly, the band of so-called Ghost-face protectors is possibly the worst collaboration of people in the entire school to do the job. Chad’s a meathead. Liv, his ditzy companion. Mindy is all ludicrous theories and useless horror film knowledge, and you’re either so small or so weak your hundred pound, five foot one girlfriend can put you on your back without so much as breaking a sweat. 

Your only saving grace, it seems, is Sam. 

You’d left her with Mindy, shotgun in hand, dressed in a tank top and a pair of old ripped jeans, looking very much like she’s about to rip through a horde of zombies, rather than take on a single Ghostface. 

The only bright side to this awful situation is you no longer have to worry about Tara at the end of Ghostface’s knife. But the alternative - Tara locked in a jail cell for the rest of her life, is almost as bad. 

Principal Garcia greets you, looking very much like he’d rather be anywhere else on his Saturday off. Sam had called ahead about Tara and he either doesn’t care, or can’t be bothered to ask how she is. 

Instead, he sits at the front of the classroom, peering down at a newspaper through his spectacles as you settle into the front desk, nervously tapping your foot against the ground. 

Your eyes draw to the clock on the wall. 

The quiet click. The sound of Principal Garcia flipping his newspaper every now and then. Your heart is in your throat and it’s pounding so loud it drowns out almost everything else. 

This has to work. 

It if doesn’t - you’re fucked. 

You look behind you, to the closets lining the back of the room and pray Chad and Liv are already in there. You have one of Sam’s handguns in your backpack. You keep it on your lap, resting your hand on it, needing it close. 

Minutes pass. 

Ten. Twenty. Thirty. 

No sign of Ghostface. 

Your eyes glance up at the clock once more. 

You swallow. Start to think maybe this entire foolhardy plan is all for nothing. 

And then you see it. 

Through the crack of glass in the door, the bone-white of the mask. The long, black mouth. The hood. And before you can so much as cry out - Ghostface is ramming into the classroom, his knife raised. 

You scream. 

Principal Garcia’s head jerks around. 

Ghostface’s movements are steady, calculated. He rushes forward and in one easy swing, he slashes his knife towards Principal Garcia and slashes through his raised forearm.

“Sam!” You cry out. 

Ghostface’s head whips around to look at you. Principal Garcia crumbles to the ground, gasping, holding his bloodied arm. 

The cabinets burst open. 

Chad and Liv stumble out. Chad lets out what can only be described as a war-cry and charges forward, taking Ghostface off guard and tackling him to the ground. 

You stand, hands shaky as you reach for the pistol in your backpack. You click the safety off and raise it. Chad has Ghostface pinned down. The knife in his hands clatters to the ground. 

You squint, heart pounding as you try to find the shot. But their bodies are entwined, Chad’s grip on Ghostface lessening slightly as Ghostface juts his head upwards and smacks it into Chad’s. 

Chad cries out. 

Ghostface musters the strength to shake Chad off. 

You fire out a shot. 

But your grip isn’t steady. Your aim all over the place. The bullet whizzes past Ghostface and lodges itself into the blackboard. 

Ghostface reaches for his knife and stands. He’s tall, menacing. He steps closer. 

“Sam!” You cry out. 

The mask tilts. The knife in his hands gleaming. He takes another step closer, confident. Like he knows you’ll miss again. 

“Don’t come any closer, asshole.” Liv says. You feel her behind you, at your shoulder, “Shoot him, YN!” 

You fire again. 

And miss. 

All those practices with your Dad. All those bottles you’d blown clean open have nothing on the real thing. The adrenaline is too much. The fear of him is too much. 

“Where’s your girlfriend, YN?” He taunts. He flashes the knife, stepping closer once more. Another step and he’d be close enough to disarm you. You stumble back, gun in your hand shaking madly. 

“Guess she’s finally getting what she deserves,” He says, “And now I’m going to give you what you deserve.” 

The classroom door rams open once again. 

It draws both of your attention. It’s Sam, Mindy at her side. Her shotgun is drawn, her eyes blazing. 

“Back up asshole,” Sam says, voice even. Her hand isn’t shaking, she’s calm. Steady. You know she won’t miss. 

“Take off that mask and I won’t blow you bit from bit,” She says. She moves a little closer. 

If Ghostface knows he’s cornered, he doesn’t act like it. He turns from you like you’re not a threat, looks over to Sam and tuts at her. 

“Sam, Sam, Sam.” Ghostface says, “So protective. Such a good sister. I wonder if you’d still protect her if you knew. If you knew what sweet baby-Tara did in her spare time.” 

Sam cocks the gun. 

“Last chance,” She growls, “I won’t ask again.”

The adrenaline in your body evens out. Your heartbeat slows, the determination in your eyes settles. You steady your hands, knowing what you have to do. 

Sam wants him alive. Sam wants him to see justice. 

But if he’s alive, he can talk. 

If he’s alive he’ll tell everyone what Tara’s done. And you can’t have that. 

You lift your gun, only slightly. You close one eye, the way your Dad had taught you. 

You feel ethereal. Out of body. This is what Tara must feel like when she does it. Vision tunneled, like there’s only one thing in the world you want to do. 

And then you shoot a bullet right into Ghostface’s chest. 

Liv screams. 

The sound of the gun firing leaves your ears ringing. 

Sam blinks, startled, as Ghostface stumbles back, clutching the bloodied hole in his chest. 

He crumples to the ground, right next to Principal Garcia, gasping. 

You charge forward, kicking the knife out of his hands. 

There’s only one thing on your mind. You have to know who it is. You have to see his face before you blow it clean off. 

You lean down and rip the mask off the fuckers face. 

Liv gasps. Chad gawps. 

Sam’s grip on the shotgun wavers. 

You blink down in surprise. 

It’s Richie.

His eyes are wild, hazy. Blood pours thick and fast out of the bullet wound in his chest. The look in his eyes is terrifying. Pure hatred, hatred of you. Hatred of Tara. His mouth opens like he wants to speak, but he’s too injured. He’s moments from death, you can see it in his face.

Sam almost drops her gun. She sinks back, caught only by Mindy who steadies her shoulders. 

You swallow, mind racing. 

All those nights with him, the games with him. He’d slept only doors down from you and Tara. Tara had been so insistent it was him and you hadn’t listened. Because it didn’t make sense. 

Why?

He’s dead before he can give you an answer. 

“Holy shit.” Chad murmurs. His hands grip Liv’s shoulders. He looks to you, wide-eyed, “Are you alright?”

There’s a frog in your throat. You clear it once, twice, unable to take your eyes off the man who had tormented you for the past few weeks. 

“He didn’t get me.” You say. You suddenly remember Principal Garcia and look over to him. He’s clutching his arm, eyes as wide as everyone else's, but other than the gash, he looks okay. 

“Sam,” You murmur, looking over to her. 

Her face is white, no doubt her entire world crumbling around her. 

“Sam, are you okay? We need to call the police.” 

“They’re on their way,” Mindy says, rubbing Sam’s back, “I called them preemptively. Thought we might need them.” 

You place your gun on one of the desks, move over to where Sam is sitting. You crouch down, rest your hands on the tops of Sam’s thighs.

“Sam,” You say, “It’s over. It’s going to be okay. This is going to save Tara.” 

Sam blinks back at you but she’s barely there. She looks as though she might pass out. 

“Sam,” You promise, “It’s over.” 

-

The police arrive not five minutes later. 

The Sheriff blazes through the halls, stares wide-eyed at Richie’s dead body, Ghostface mask clattered next to him. 

They take your statements, one by one. 

Mindy tells them in great detail about the plan to capture him. Principal Garcia is rushed off to hospital to treat his arm. Sam sits quietly, not uttering a word until she’s spoken to. 

“My sister-” She says, voice hoarse. She’s blinking, slow, “You’re going to let her go now?”

The Sheriff pauses. 

“It’s not that simple, Sam,” She says, “We have witnesses- she was the last person to see my son alive-”

“That doesn’t mean shit,” Snaps Sam. She gestures to Richie’s body, “We’ve given you him. Clear as day. He framed my sister and you need to let her go.” 

Sheriff Hicks considers this. 

She looks over at Richie’s body, a little mournful, “If you’d kept him alive we could have interrogated him and cleared Tara’s name for good-” 

“It was self-defense.” Liv says, immediately, “He came at YN and the only way she could protect herself was by killing him. Right guys?” 

Mindy and Chad nod in unison. 

Sheriff Hicks stares at you. 

“Why would he kill my son?” She asks, and it’s urgent. Her eyes flitter, a mesh of grief and sorrow and confusion, “He didn’t even know him. Why would he kill him?”

“I don’t know.” You say. You swallow, “I’m sorry, Sheriff Hicks.” 

She stares back at you a moment. 

Then she’s nodding, blinking away the array of emotions she’d briefly allowed you to see. 

“That’s for me to figure out,” She says. She looks over at Sam, “We’ll release Tara. But Sam - that doesn’t mean she still isn’t a suspect. If we find any link between them-”

“There’s no link.” Sam says, “My sister is innocent.” 

The Sheriff nods. 

“I’ll call the station.” 

She moves over to speak to another officer. The relief on Sam’s face is palpable. You squeeze her thigh, mirror her relief with yours. 

Tara’s coming home. You’d given the police what they wanted - a suspect to pin the murders on. She’d come home and you’d kiss her and hold her and never let her go again. Your veins flood with dopamine, the nicest high you could possibly imagine. 

Tara’s safe. 

But Mindy's frowning. You move over to her, frowning a little. 

“What is it?” You ask. 

Mindy turns to you, the look in her eyes urgent. 

“Richie was there that night,” She says, “The night Tara was attacked. He was there with you and he wasn’t Ghostface. Not that night.” 

You blink. 

Mindy seizes your arm. 

“There’s two, YN,” She says, “There’s fucking two of them.” 

And your blood runs cold. 

[loulouhattie]

The Vampire’s Violin

Pairing: m!Tav x Astarion

Summary:

In my playthrough, Astarion multiclasses as a bard. My HC is that he loved music once, and played it before Cazador took him. Now, with his taste first of freedom in 200 years, he indulges himself by trying again. But doesn't anticipate Finn watching him

Tav: Finn is a half drow fighter/paladin who puts up a front of being a too-cool, tough guy jock. In reality, its a mask for his sensitive and gentle nature

Rating: teen

Tags: fluff, romantic tension, little bit of enemies to lovers, but very light

This is a very self indulgent one-shot I wrote because I couldnt stop thinking about this story hc, and then I had to draw it to bring it to life and

Well

Bon appetit i guess

————————

‘Gods above!’

Astarion almost dropped the violin, swinging around to see the Finn staring through the bushes, eyes gleaming and his face split into a mischievous grin.

‘How bloody long were you standing there!’ he hissed.

Finn shrugged.

‘I only came out here to find a tree to piss on. Certainly didn’t expect to find you giving the squirrels a concert!’ Finn smirked at him.

Astarion's fingers curled around the bow. He hated this feeling that he’s been caught.

But there’s nothing wrong with what he was doing, is there?

Finn noticed the tension in his shoulders, and his sneer softened.

‘Can I listen?’

‘What? No. Fuck off,’ Astarion spat, ‘and if you tell the others, I’ll decorate your bedroll with your innards.’

Finn stepped out from the bushes, standing only a few feet from the pale elf in clearing. Astarion’s eyes narrowed, his hackles tense like a cornered cat.

‘I won’t breathe a word, honest. I guess I’m just surprised, you don’t strike me as...well, it’s nice to learn a little more about you,’ Finn explained earnestly.

His tone was sincere, but Astarion’s eyes remained narrow.

‘well, it’s not much to learn about. It was a long time ago. From before I was turned,'

He absently twirled the bow,

'I suppose I got curious. People have often said such skills never leave you, and, well, like I said. I got curious.’

‘Cazador not a music lover?’

The bow stopped twirling.

‘That had better be a joke.’ it came out in a snarl.

Finn raised his hands in apology. The silence in the clearing was cool and comforting, accented by the occasional chirp of insects.

Astarion’s shoulders relaxed, and he turned so that he faced Finn fully.

‘You’re not going to fuck off. Are you?’

‘Nope!’ the half drow’s eyes couldn’t possibly get any rounder as he plonked happily down on the ground, legs crossed and beaming like a child.

Astarion scoffed. He twirled the bow once more, chewing the inside of his cheek.

‘If you’re going to insist on staying here, just keep quiet. It won’t do to distract me.’ he snapped at Finn, raising the violin to his chin. Out of the corner of his eye, Finn’s eyes sparkled as he shifted to a more comfortable position.

The pale elf exhaled, pressing the rest into the crook of his neck. With his bow hand, he plucked the string. He turned the peg for the corresponding string slowly, plucking steadily as the note sharpened.

A hot spot in his fingertip formed under the string’s friction. The note pinged clearly through the clearing, and he was satisfied. Onto the next 3 strings.

Finn watched the vampire intently. He couldn’t help but notice that his posture shifting. His brows were always so furrowed with malice, but now the focus on tuning the instrument had melted them.

There was a ghost of gentleness to his red eyes. Finn made sure not to move, careful not to disrupt this trancelike state.

Astarion plucked all 4 strings once more, their notes singing gently into the air. Shifting his stance, he raised the bow to the instrument. The insects were silent, waiting. Waiting for the performance to begin.

But the elf hesitated. His gaze clouded. Finn felt a sense of melancholy radiate from him.

‘Is…is something wrong?’ Finn probed gently. Astarion lowed the bow, dejected.

‘I don’t know what to play.’ he admitted.

200 years without so much as thinking of playing, and he was going to just give it a go?

Pathetic. What a stupid, foolish idiot he was! He wasn’t good for anything beyond manipulating and seducing pretty things-

‘I know!’

A sharp whistle sang through the clearing, making Astarion winced.

What was this idiot doing now? Astarion stared at him incredulously, about to snap at him.

Finn’s face scrunched with focus as he barely got a half cooked tune out between his lips. The only time he ever whistled was for Scratch, and this tone deaf fool couldn’t get a note out!

Then, he heard it. In between the very flat notes, he recognised that tune.

It was the song that Alfira sang in the Grove.

Astarion went still. He focused on the notes that wove together in a tapestry of melody.

Could he piece that melody together? Something he had only heard once?

He raised the bow, and passed it across the instrument. The strings squeaked in protest.

A grimace.

Finn continued to whistle... well, he continued to struggle.

Astarion repositioned the bow in his fingers. He pulled it across the violin again.

And this time, the note flowed forth. And melted into the next, flowing into a song.

It was as though mage hands were gently guiding him. The dust fell slowly from his memory as he recalled the forms for playing.

What started as rough squeaks began to form into a melody, a song. It filled the clearing, and he instinctively began to shift his weight from one foot to the other to keep his tempo.

Finn watched, transfixed. What he thought was a shift in demeanour before when he was tuning the violin was nothing compared to what was before him now.

Moonlight gleamed off Astarion’s pearlescent skin and snowy curls, dancing off him to the song he deftly coaxed from the instrument. He was a different being entirely - he was lost in the music.

His face creased in focus, not out of his usual snidenesss. He was transcendent, his brows and lips dancing to the rhythm as he bow flowed across the strings.

The song came to an end. And both men were still.

Neither said a word for a beat.

‘I won’t lie: you’re a bit shit.’ Finn broke the silence.

Astarion let out an uncharacteristic bark of laughter. Finn snickered to himself. The air was light, and mild around them.

A blush crept up Finn’s ears.

Astarion lowered the violin, letting it hang at his side. The silence of the forest permeated the clearing. He was suddenly aware of how exposed he felt out here. The bliss of feeling the music vanished in an instant.

‘We should head back, before some goblin or beast comes calling for an encore.’

‘Wait,’ Finn stood up quickly, dusting off his trousers. ‘I really enjoyed that. Listening to you play. Do you…'

He shifted on his feet, scooting dust beneath his shoe,

'if you play again, could I come and listen?’

Astarion took in the half-drow before him. He hadn’t noticed before, but his ashen skin seemed to absorb the moon and starlight. A gift of the Underdark, perhaps.

His red eye sparkled, and he recognised the blush on his ears and cheeks. The faintest hint of desire.

This would be easier than he thought.

‘Darling. I suppose we could arrange a more intimate viewing.’ he stalked past Finn, taking care to breeze so closely by that he brushed delicately past Finn’s fingertips.

He heard the faintest trace of his breath catching, and he knew he had him in the palm of his hand. He gazed at him through lowered lashes, a smile etched across his face. Poor, pathetic boy.

‘Let’s head back to camp. Maybe tomorrow night, we can arrange another little…performance.’

[mr-bas00nist]

Can you do 141 x m!reader who’s like VERY GREEK like after missions when they’re out drinking - he’s very drunk on tables breaking plates and yelling “OPPA” with a thick ass accent

As an Italian man with numerous Greek friends, this is and accurate 💀

Gaz, Price, Soap and Ghost involved

Cw: Slight Ghost x reader but can be seen as platonic and goofy, drinking and violence lol

Gaz

•He always takes you out because he knows how you get

•He takes videos of you being drunk asf

•He likes to laugh at them occasionally and likes to remind you of the night

•much to your dismay

•he thinks it’s hilarious

•especially when you get violent with the silverware

•He once filmed you yelling at a fork in Greek

•he was crying

•He loves it

•it’s so fun seeing this big tough Greek guy go fucking crazy after being so calm and collective

•He’s gonna be egging you on every step of the way

•He still of course makes sure you don’t hurt yourself

•Your friends, of course he’ll look out for you

Price

•He’s not pleased

•At least that’s what his captain side is saying

•He honestly finds it funny of how different you are while your drunk

•In the day your some quiet guy who’s always focused

•but in the night your a loud ass Greek dude who doesn’t know when to stop the rounds

•He tries to stop you from getting too out of hand but it never works

•Your always throwing tables and chairs by the end of the night and he’s come to terms with it

•He tried to get Gaz to stop filming you because he knows he’s just gonna use it as blackmail leverage

•Also tries to stop soap from force feeding you more booze

•He honestly feels bad for laughing but hearing you on a table yelling words in Greek cracks him up

•Once the funs over though he makes sure you get back safe and not too hurt

•In the mornings he’ll reprimand you for how careless you were acting but it’s all in good heart

•He just wants you to keep yourself safe and not cost him a fortune from your obsession with breaking things

Soap

•He’s no better than Gaz

•If anything he’s worse

•You can always expect him to peer pressure you into drinking more because he knows how you get

• “Soap I’ve had enough-“ “Drink it.”

•He means it all in good fun though

•He loves it when you climb atop tables yelling and then begin singing some song in Greek

•He always asks Gaz for the videos he takes later

•If you begin drinking more after your in this state though he will FINALLY stop you

•He knows how bad your hangover already will be there’s no need to make it worse

•You have thrown numerous plates at him before and he’s narrowly dodged all of them

•The first one nicked him but he didn’t want you to feel bad so he shrugged it off as a simple cut

•Usually the day after that he’ll sit next to you and just watch the video Gaz took of you and laugh

•You just stare in embarrassment of yourself after drinking

•When he sees you looking he smiles at you

• “You are one hell of a guy dafty.” He says with a smile

Ghost

•Where to begin…

•So Simons a weird case

•He honestly is the only TRUE voice of reason alongside Price

•He desperately tries to stop soap from force feeding you liquor because to be honest….

•Your kind of scary when your drunk

•The plate smashing and chair throwing is what’s concerning to him

•He won’t go out his way to grab you and tell you to stop but he’ll stand alongside you watching you throw things as he tries to tell you to settle down

•You usually listen to him though even in your drunk state

•You recognize your lieutenants monotone voice

•Ghost finds it amusing that you immediately set down whatever you were holding down to look over to him

•You usually babble in Greek before hugging him and kissing his cheek for some reason

•You’ve done it so much he’s not even fazed by it anymore

•He just rolls his eyes as he leads you back to your barracks

•In the morning Ghost is sitting next to you watching you groan in annoyance at your hangover

•He finds your drunk fury’s funny but he doesn’t tease you over it because there’s no need

•He does let out an occasional snicker though when he sees the video soaps showing of you

[rozugold]

Ok ramble time

Ok imagine you’re Tubbo. You just got your distant brother figure and your bestie off that damn mountain, though not in the most ideal way (I will make those comics eventuallyyy)

But that’s beside the point. You saved your best friend! You did something right for once! Except sike! your best friend hates you now, and you kind of hate him too (you let him know as much) then you guys stop talking. Which is fine, i mean, it’s not like he was your entire world.

You return to Snowchester! It’s a ghost town, obviously. There’s a memorial of you, decorated with fresh flowers and dusty knick knacks. The flowers are from Ranboo, he’s pretty sweet. He’s also been the one to upkeep your town while you were gone. You hang out with them a lot, they’re the only one who sticks around these days. They’re pretty sweet.

You try to go back to doing the things you did before you died. There’s those nukes you never finished making, so you work on them. And you work on them. And you work on them. And you get nothing done. Your brain feels scattered and far away, it’s impossible to focus. So you give it a break, you can afford to. It’s pretty safe these days with Dream gone, you know because you keep tabs on everyone on the server. There’s some strange things going on here and there but nothing too concerning. You hang out with Ranboo more.

Ah fuck, you two find a baby. It’s a piglin, infected but not fully zombified as it has enough thought to run up to you two for help. So you take it back to snowchester and give it potions to stop the infection. Ranboo is worried it won’t work, you tell him it probably won’t. But you reassure him that if it doesn’t, you’ll take it back to the nether to let it “live” out the rest of it’s days. (Do zombies live?) Ranboo spends the night in your attic with the piglin. He’s pretty sweet. Regardless you tell him to not keep his hopes up too high.

Next morning, it worked! You “dub thee Michael!” Ranboo is relieved. There’s a kid living in your house now.

There’s a kid living in his house now. The timeline becomes unclear at this point since I’m still figuring it out. But now that Michael is in the picture Tubbo starts getting worried. He realizes he has no way of protecting him. Maybe the syndicate come visit Snowchester and that shocks him into thinking about the nukes again. And so Tubbo starts throwing himself into projects again. And it starts getting ✨bad ✨

Honestly, It’s been really fun figuring out how Tubbo deteriorates because everything is so internal with him compared to Tommy. It’s obvious with Tommy, you could see him visibly fall apart (think his exile skins, he stops feeding himself, he doesn’t care when he takes damage) But with Tubbo it isn’t so obvious, atleast not right away. Sure his eye bags get darker and he stares off into space for a little too long. But he still looks put together. (Habitable maybe. Or a learned skill.)

Maybe he eventually gets the nukes working but they’re not as successful as he wanted them to be and that guts him. He takes it as another failure. What if he’s just cursed? Is everything he cares about forever doomed to feel like holding water in his hands? What is wrong with him?

I’m gonna share a song and explain this next part using its lyrics because I’m so ILL over it, it’s the most di!tubbo song ever. Throw on …Well, better than the alternative by Will Wood 👍

Tubbo’s feelings towards Michael is complicated… He absolutely loves him to death but he’s really apprehensive about being a dad. He has this fear that he’s going to somehow corrupt Michael and or fail to keep him safe. So he ends up becoming emotionally distant from him and at his worst he gives him up completely to Ranboo.

I think Ranboo and Tubbo get married as a joke at first. But Ranboo continues to love him so unconditionally and honestly and Tubbo catches a crush, which is absolute HELL for him at first sjdhdj. I imagine him being arospec so this crush is a completely new and surprising feeling and he doesn’t know how to handle it. So he doesn’t, and keeps playing it as a joke even as their relationship develops.

Also the repeat of “everybody’s up on everybody’s business” is very fitting for describing the server. There’s things to be developed here I just haven’t yet… I’m just thinking about the possibilities like the egg, the syndicate, las nevadas… hmmm

This song is begging to be made into an animatic because I can imagine Tubbo screaming at Tommy during this part. He was just trying to help the best way he could… yet things still end badly, and everyone ends up hurt… di!clingy oh di!clingy, they’re such a mess. A bitter, angry, grieving mess. Wait ok i wasn’t planning on writing grieving there but then my next thought was “who are they grieving?” EACH OTHER. THEY’RE GRIEVING EACH OTHER. o(-(

Ok that’s it. Phew that was a lot of writing. Here’s some drawings for your time