#can you haunt yourself even if you didn’t die?

[nahimjustfeelingit-writes]

P.S. I Love You.

Summary: You suddenly receive letters that re open the wounds of grief. But they turn out for the better.

Warnings: ANGST, FLUFF, FLASHBACK

The call you hadn’t expected to receive came through your cell phone one hot, summer day in Charlotte. It changed the trajectory of your life from then on. A horrifying scream pierced the air, causing your mother to drop her coffee mug while sitting out in the yard, the ceramic glass shattering against cobblestone. When she’d found you in the kitchen, you were in the fetal position, body trembling as you wailed. She rushed to your aid, down on her knees with frantic eyes and a continuous chant of ‘what happened’ spilling from her lips.

“TERRY! HE’S GONE!”

The words didn’t seem real. When the tears came, hot and endless, you ached from the pain entering your world without the decency to knock first. Your mother’s words couldn’t be heard over your despair.

You cried as if your brain was being shredded from the inside. Emotional pain flowed out of your every pore. From your mouth came a cry so raw that even the eyes of your mother’s were suddenly wet with tears. You grabbed onto your mother, your violent shaking almost causing her to to fall flat and from your eyes came a thicker flow of tears the more you begin to understand.

Not Terry. It didn’t make sense for him to die. He was strong, the pinnacle of a man who in your eyes was unstoppable. No. This was a nightmare. You had to wake up from the nightmare. On that kitchen floor you questioned God. Your mother’s cries didn’t help calm you down. The whole world had vanished for you, now there was only pain enough to break you, pain enough to change you beyond recognition.

“No, no, no, no—”

Mike and Terry were killed in Shelby Springs, Louisiana. You refused to hear the details. Terry had a thing for saving his cousin from whatever he’d get himself involved in. You developed resentment against Mike and how he called on Terry to come to the rescue because he knew that he wouldn’t say no. Something in your gut told you that this time, he really shouldn’t leave.

Dried tears made your face feel tight and your eyes were blurry. Your chest burned and a nauseating sensation settled into your belly. You had your head in your mother’s lap on the sofa as the sun set. Across from you were your aunties and cousins, all silent and attempting to comfort you with soothing rubs and kisses to your forehead.

“I’m so sorry, Y/N…”

“Everything will be okay…”

“I can’t believe this…”

“I wish this never happened to you.”

You’d forgotten what it felt like to speak.

Going back to your shared apartment would only reopen the fresh wounds.

His pictures.

His smell.

His clothes.

His side of the bed.

What’s worse is his parents wanted you to join them in traveling to Shelby Springs to bring his body back home. You were his fiancé. As terrified as you were, you knew it was the right thing to do. Your mother joined you on the journey and her support gave you the strength to walk into that morgue and see him. It was cold and eerie. The silence unnerving. As you enter with his parents, your eyes fall to a stainless steel table with a body covered in a sheet.

Your knees buckle and you stop suddenly, too weak and afraid to carry on. Everything was happening so fast. You’d gotten the call about Terry two days ago, and now you were here barely standing in a room for corpses. Your mother had her arms wrapped around you as you take slow steps towards the table. Heart hammering in your chest, you watch as the sheet lowered to reveal his face.

You’d lost the ability to stand.

He’d suffered. Haunting images of his battered face and chest littered with bullet holes frightened and angered you. Nothing can prepare you for something like this. He didn’t look like himself. Death changed him in ways you weren’t prepared to see.

Pale. Bruised. Lifeless. Still.

It was something you couldn’t even force yourself to see even during his funeral. And neither could his parents. After what felt like hours, you all were on your way back home with Terry, making arrangements for him to be cremated. After all, it was Terry’s wish. Intrusive thoughts flooded your mind the days leading to his memorial service.

Clearly, he suffered, but what was his last words? What was the last thing on his mind? Did he think of you? What had he eaten that morning?

The morning of his memorial service a few days later, you sat within your bedroom, burying your nose in his clothes and sniffing his cologne. You wanted his belongings, but it was evidence back in Shelby Springs. They were building a case on the corupt police there and if found guilty, a multi–million dollar paycheck would be given. For Mike and Terry. The teardrop diamond engagement ring on your finger twinkled in the sun as you sat surrounded by family and friends.

Behind your black shades, your puffy eyes stared at a photo of Michael and Terry. All smiles and laughter. Terry’s deep voice and adorable smile flooded your mind and it shook you to the core. His big arms circling your waist made you wrap your arms around yourself to mimick that feeling. The smell of his beard whenever you’d nuzzle your face against his neck.

His urn sat on a podium and when you’d gotten up to deliver a speech, you touched it. You’d pressed your lips against it. Taking a deep breath, you opened a folded piece of notebook paper to read from, but soon, you found that you couldn’t speak without your voice quivering. The distant sound of sniffles and encouragement was static noise.

Fuck this.

Your fingers began ripping the paper into shreds. Fuck a proper speech. Your person was stripped of life at the tender age of thirty two. He was a good man.

You part your lips to speak, “Terry Richmond is the love of my life…and I don’t know how I’m gonna live without him. This all feels like I’m being punished. How could god take someone like him away from me?”

You spoke those words truthfully. Yes, you were questioning God. Why him? Why Terry? Why not the ones who did this to him? Why not ANYONE who’s ever wronged him? Why did his cousin call him to help? Why did Terry go instead of staying with you?

Fuck the many stages of grief. You were filled with rage and sadness so powerful. There was no way you’d come to accept this. While others moved on, you would have a constant reminder that your soulmate was stripped from your life. A part of you wanted to join him. Wherever he was.

That’s how you felt for a long while, but as time progressed, because that’s what happens with life, Terry’s absence didn’t hurt as much. Of course, during special occasions it would trigger the grief, but you’d taken the time to speak to a therapist and talk about how his death affected you. That was a year ago.

Everything is recycled, or so that is what you see with your eyes. The atoms of one thing become those of another. The energy from one place becomes energy in another. So while you have no idea where he is, or what God asked him to become next, you’re looking forward to being with him again and you feel his love so strongly in the ether. So, call it reincarnation or recycling, you’re okay with whatever. Terry’s still somewhere, and that's what matters to you.

——

“Morning!”

You walked with a pep in your step towards your mailbox after your Pilates class. Something you’d always wanted to do but never had the courage to before. It’s expensive, but you loved it. Opening the mailbox, you don’t have much but credit card bills and junk mail. As you grab your mail, you notice a thick, distressed, stationary envelope fall to the floor within the lobby of your apartment building.

Your eyes follow the envelope facing downward. You crouch down to pick it up, the pain in your legs from Pilates causing you to groan. Once you were up, you lock your mailbox and head towards your elevators. On the ride up, you think about what you’d like to prepare for dinner. Maybe steak would be nice since you hadn’t eaten it in a while.

The doors slide open and you were out of the elevator and approaching your door. As you pushed it open, you were welcomed by your orange and white cat. The new decor courtesy of your cousin who is an interior designer gave an impression of something straight out of a catalog.

A promotion.

New Apartment.

New Car.

You were starting over. It felt good to do that. You still lived in Charlotte, but letting go of the things that triggered your grief was the best way for you to move forward.

You’d kicked off your running shoes and sat the mail down on the living room table to go through. As you flipped through, the envelope caught your eye. Fancy penmanship covered the front and as your eyes scanned, your body became rigid. Your heart sank to your stomach.

From: Terry

To: My Beautiful Fiance’

You blink twice to see if this was real and what you were actually reading.

How is this possible?

As you sat on your sofa, your eyes began to flood with tears. Was someone pulling a sick joke or did Terry actually write you a letter? So many questions and a lot of confusion. You could feel your tears trickling down your cheeks and over your lips the more you stared at the envelope.

So much for getting better. The fear you felt at that moment alone in your apartment is what stopped you from opening the letter. You place it down on the coffee table and wrap your arms around you. Your cat nudged you against your leg and as you look down, her yellow eyes stared back with a softness that helped to calm you.

Terry had gifted you this cat for your birthday a year ago.

Shortly before he’d left for Shelby Springs.

She nudged you again and you felt it was her way of telling you to open the envelope. With one shaky hand, you grab the envelope from the coffee table and use your almond-shaped finger nail to open it. Inside is a folded piece of paper. You retrieve it and open it slowly, heart racing. Black ink and cursive.

Hey, baby.

Surprise. I know this probably feels a little bit morbid... But I just hate the idea that I'm not gonna be there to see you freak out over turning 30. I mean, it kills me not to be there. Heh-heh. That's funny. Okay. No, it's not. You're gonna be so impressed. I have a plan, baby. Can you believe it? I've written you letters. Letters that will be coming to you all sorts of ways. I waited till your birthday. I figured you weren't stepping out of the house for a while. Letter number one will be arriving tomorrow. Now, you gotta do what I say, okay? Don't try to figure out how the letters are coming. It's too brilliant and it'll ruin my plan. Just go along with me on this. Because the thing is, I just can't say goodbye yet. So for starters. I want you to get dolled up, and just go out and celebrate tonight. Go out with your girls. I hereby free you from a party with your family, especially your mom. I’m Sorry, I couldn’t be there, baby. I’m a need you to get a little crazy. So have a slice of cake, put on my favorite dress and get out of the apartment. Y/N, make a plan. For me, okay? And know that wherever I am, I'm missing you. Happy birthday.

P.S

I love you.

You wept silently, your tears blotching the paper. You shut your eyes tight and allow yourself to cry with a bounce of your shoulders and an aching feeling of sorrow. As you read the letter, you could hear his deep vibrato. You pictured him sitting somewhere on a hammock writing to you. Surrounded by the wild and reminded of how it was his peace. 

Bringing the paper to your nose, you smell the parchment and try your best to catch his scent. It only smelled of paper with its lignin aroma. Sniffling, you wipe away snot and tears before placing the paper on the coffee table, carefully folding it. Your birthday was indeed tomorrow and you had only planned to have dinner with your mom at her place. Just the two of you.

Your friends had suggested going out for drinks, but the thought of partying and being surrounded by so many people overstimulated you in the worst way. You couldn’t bring yourself to go out and enjoy life and what it has to offer when your forever person is six feet under. Trying your best to shake those thoughts from your mind, you meditate. Calming your breath and releasing the tension from your muscles. This was something you’d never stop doing.

Opening your eyes, you blink to adjust to the blurry view. Too emotional, you finally stand from the sofa because you were unable to read the letter again. After taking a long shower, you start on dinner with a vinyl record playing. While flipping your steak, the sensation of strong hands trapping your waist caused a shiver to slither down your spine. You drop the spatula and touch where you’d felt it, body seizing up in fear. Sharp breaths escaped your mouth.

Your mind was most definitely playing tricks on you. Terry loved to creep up behind you while you were cooking to touch on you and kiss you neck. He’d whisper in your ear because he knew that his voice drove you crazy no matter ther octave. That ghostly sensation triggered nostalgic memories of what it felt to be wrapped up within the embrace of Terry Richmond.

“SHIT—”

You rush to the stove to check on your steak. The hot grease popped your arm painfully, causing you to groan. You finish your steak and plate it with your broccolini and mashed potatoes. Some wine sounded great. You open your drink cabinet and soon realize how high up the wine is. On your tip toes, you reach up, struggling to grab a bottle of red wine. Fingertips touching the cork, you strain, one knee on the counter now.

“Nah…whatchu doing, baby?”

Terry plucked the bottle from the top shelf with ease because of his towering height compared to yours. You give him a dirty look, snatching the wine from his hand. Terry gave you a lazy smirk with low eyes. He looked oh so delectable in his white T-shirt and bootcut jeans.

“That’s how you do me when I come to the rescue, munchkin?”

“I could have gotten it, T,” you roll your eyes.

“When I’m around you know I get everything in the high places, Y/N. Fix your face,” Terry pecks your forehead, “C’mon so we can eat this good steak. I’m tryna see you model that new lingerie.”

Terry backed away with a bite of his bottom lip and a wink. Instantly, your frustration melted away and you couldn’t fight the urge to smile…

Blinking, you bring your attention back to the present. Of course, you have a step stool in the pantry. You retrieve it and place it on the floor. Stepping up, you succeed in grabbing a bottle of red wine. You scan the label before sitting it on the kitchen counter to pour yourself a heaping glass. Sitting on the bar stool, you eat your food and try your best to forget that sudden recollection.

It was so hard to forget. Everything about him was so hard to put away forever. Goosebumps on your skin, vivid memories of how he’d undressed you, talked you through it, admired you, professed how much he’d loved you. Over and over. You take a sip of your wine, fingers trembling around the stem.

That letter triggered everything.

——

The morning of your birthday was uneventful. You woke up later than you’d expected, phone buzzing on its wireless charger with texts wishing you happy birthday. Wiping the crust from your eyes, you roll over onto your belly, snatching up your phone. Friends and family flooded your inbox and created social media posts.

You’re thirty.

You’d think it would feel so odd saying that. Honestly, it didn’t feel any different. Sitting up in bed now, you reply to everyone before climbing out of bed. After your usual morning routine, you make yourself a quick breakfast before heading to your mom’s house. You planned to cook dinner with her and catch up.

The drive over took about forty minutes. You spotted your mother grabbing mail from the mailbox in her robe and slippers. She waved to you happily while standing on the porch. You pull behind her SUV and put the car in park. Stepping out, you give your mother a big, toothy grin before rushing over to embrace her.

“My baby! Happy Birthday!”

You squeeze her tightly, the smell of her scented lotion comforting you.

“I’m glad you’re here. I still have some hot breakfast on the stove.”

“Mama, I ate already.” You reply with a smile.

“You may get hungry again, come on.”

You enter your childhood home to the smell of grits, biscuits, bacon, and eggs. Suddenly, your stomach starts rumbling. Maybe you’ll have a small plate.

“I just had to run out and check the mail—”

You paused your curiosity at the cake your mother baked you when a gasp could be heard. You turn and spot your mother with a hand over her mouth and eyes wide.

“Mama, what is it?”

“Wha–there’s a letter here–from Terry—”

You rush over, taking it from your mother’s hands. She tried to snatch it back but you had your back turned.

“Y/N—”

Hey, Mama.

It’s Terry. Make sure my baby has a good time. Make sure you do everything you wanna do, whenever you wanna do it. And make sure my baby does things. I want you to take her to all the places she’d wanted to go. And be sure to give her a big kiss for me. She’s my special girl.

Love you.

“What does it say?”

Your mother lingered behind you with caution. You read the words a final time before turning, holding out the paper for her. She gripped the edge carefully and it slipped from your grasp. You could feel your knees getting weak, so you flop down into a dining chair. Your mother read the words allowed, her voice trembling.

“I wonder who sent this?” Sniffling, your mother turned the paper over, “it’s been a year.”

“I got a letter in the mail yesterday.” You revealed.

Your mother took a seat across from you. She placed the letter on the table, pressing out the folded line to make it straighter.

“It’s his handwriting for sure,” Your mother stroked the penmanship, “This is so eerie…”

“He’d planned this. Maybe he had a feeling that his days were numbered when he’d left for Louisiana…”

You stand, pacing back and forth. Your mother folded her hands against the table as she watched you.

“Even so, why would he leave? Why would he leave if he had a feeling—”

“Maybe he didn’t.” Your mother said.

“No, the way he worded these letters…it’s as if he’s speaking like he knew he was going to die—”

Your mother put up a hand, “Okay, that’s enough—”

“It’s never going to be enough! It’s never going to be the same!”

You feel your eyes welling up with tears. You release a shuddering breath and try your best to calm your nerves.

“It’s your special day, baby. Please don’t get yourself worked up. Terry wouldn’t want that.”

It didn’t matter what he’d want anyway. He’s gone.

“I need a second.”

You turn on your heels, making your way towards your old bedroom. Inside, you shut the door and settle into your old bed. Kicking off your shoes, you gather the sheets over your body and hide yourself from view. Tears rolled over your nose as you stare at the floral patterns stitched into your comforter.

Your mother is right, this is supposed to be your special day. You’re supposed to be happy and celebrating. Not crying and sad. Not that it wasn’t okay to be sad, but Terry wrote two letters expressing how he’d wanted you to enjoy turning thirty and make the most of it.

Uncovering yourself, you slip from the bed and walk over to your dresser. Opening the top, right drawer, you retrieve a bottle of tequila and a shot glass. Your emergency stash…

“Come on..”

You opened your bedroom door, darkness awaiting you ahead. Distant chatter and laughter from your relatives became muffled when your boyfriend, Terry slipped in behind you before shutting the door. You stumble your way towards the lamp on your end table, flicking it on and igniting the room with a low ambiance. Terry stood with his back pressed against the door, a wrinkled white dress shirt on with black slacks. You had on a navy blue summer dress.

Everyone gathered at your mom’s place after a funeral service for your great aunt May. You didn’t like the woman much. She’d always been hard on you and favored your cousins. Terry walked around your room, eyeing old photographs from your high school days. The sound of your drawer opening caught his attention and he made his way over toward you. With a finger pressed to your lips, you pull out a bottle of tequila that you’d snagged from your parents liquor cabinet.

You were of age to drink, but after being around your family, you needed to sneak a little something. Terry chuckled and shook his head before accepting a shot glass that you’d gotten from a trip to Canun. You pour some in each one before clinking glasses, some of the tequila spilling over the rim and causing both of you to laugh.

You knock back the drink and while your face scrunched at the taste, Terry simple smiled at you.

“Burns, doesn’t it?” He whispered.

“Yeah,” you clear your throat, “I don’t really like this one.”

“Don’t let me find out you can’t handle alcohol.”

“Shut up.”

Terry approached you. Your smile wavered, eyes blinking up at him slowly. The smell of his cologne lingered in your nose. He eyed you down before taking the bottle from your hand.

“I think we should get outta here before your mama comes looking for us,” Terry said.

“Afraid to be alone with me in my room, TJ?” You tease.

Terry chuckled, bringing his face closer to yours.

“I’m afraid of what I might do to you if I stay in here any longer. We both know how loud you can get…”

Standing in your room with that shot glass from Cancun in your hand, you recall that night. You hadn’t washed the glass afterwards, just put it away. You fill it and toast to being thirty before drinking it down in one motion. You were reminded of how bad it tasted but it was worth it.

You put it away before fixing yourself back up to join your mother. She was in the kitchen prepping for dinner when you walked out. She’d heard your footsteps and paused cleaning the collards to look at you.

“I’m sorry for lashing out on you.” You apologized.

Your mother gave you a small smile, “It’s okay. I’m glad you’re better.”

You walk into her arms and she wrapped them around you.

“It’s okay to be sad. It’s okay to cry.”

“I know,” you shut your eyes, “We had so many plans for my birthday.”

“I know,” your mother held your face as she looked at you, “And you can keep that memory and enjoy yourself. Surround yourself with the people that love you. Go out and have a good time tonight. Shake some tail and get drunk!”

You laugh and roll your eyes.

You can almost feel the hangover in the morning.

——

“HE DON’T WANNA BE SAVED DON’T SAVE HIM! THAT IS NOT MY NIGGA DON’T CLAIM HIM!”

You rap to the lyrics, the trap beat driving you to shake ass and get low. Birthday sash over your body like a pageant girl and birthday crown on your head, you make the most of your thirtieth birthday at the lounge with your girls as they hype you up.

“GO Y/N! GO Y/N! GO Y/N!”

You felt sexy in your red dress with a plunging neckline that hugged your curves. Strappy stilettos dawned your pretty feet and you’d done a full makeup look. You felt good and looked good, turning heads and drawing attention. Another shot made its way into your hand and you drank it down as your girls cheered you on.

“Woah woah, birthday girl!” Your girlfriend, Candace had to help you because you would have face planted the table covered in drinks, “Take a seat, Princess!”

“I’m too hype to sit! This music is fire!” You drunkenly shout.

“And too pretty and valuable to end up in the ER!” Another friend by the name of Marsha yelled over the music.

You wave them off but sit anyway. A bottle of water was thrust into your hands and you accept it, drinking down half.

It felt good to get out and have a good time. Two years is a long time. Being surrounded by loyal friends warmed your heart. The drunkenness was going to make you cry but you refused to ruin your makeup. They’d been there to protect and support you through it all. You look at each one of them, a big smile on your face.

“What is it?!” A friend named Nancy asked.

“I JUST LOVE YOU GUYSSSSSS!!!!”

You open your arms with a pout of your lip and they all get up to hug you.

“I needed this!” You dab your eyes with a napkin, careful not to ruin your eye makeup, “After everything with Terry, I didn’t know what it felt like to have fun and let loose.”

“IM GLAD YOU DECIDED TO STEP OUT! TERRY WOULDV’E WANTED THAT!”

Curious, you lean into Marsha to speak to her closely.

“Did you ever…receive a letter from Terry?”

Marsha’s eyes grew wide. Your other girls came in close to see what was going on.

“You did, didn’t you?” You asked.

“…I—yes. We all did. We…we didn’t want to tell you because we didn’t want trigger anything—”

“Please don’t be upset!” Nancy begged, “We didn’t want to make you sad.”

Candace sat in silence staring at you.

“I’m not upset! It’s okay!”

“You sure?” Candace questioned, grabbing your hands.

“Totally! What did it say?”

They each shared a look.

“It sad something along the lines of making sure we look after you and that he wants you to make the most of your birthday and life and have fun and not worry about him. He said that he loved us and appreciated us for always being there for you.” Marsha revealed.

Candace and Nancy nodded their heads in agreement.

“Wow,” you give your friends a drunken smile, “He wrote you guys too. I miss him so much…”

Marsha strokes your back while Nancy fanned your face to cool you down. You release a meditating breath before laughing.

“Terry always had a trick up his sleeve! How he managed to pull this all off is amazing to me!”

When they realized you weren’t sad, they joined in on the laughter.

“He was always a man on a mission! You remember how he got you, right?” Candace said.

“Had that man showing up to your job with flowers! Took you on fifty first dates like your favorite movie!” Nancy recalled.

“He knew what he wanted and he didn’t hesitate! That’s a man right there! God created only one Terry Richmond for a reason! That shit can’t be replicated!”

“I know that’s right!” Marsha shouted.

“Let’s toast to Terry and his forever love for our girl!”

With new shots, you all raise a glass and look towards the ceiling before tapping it against the table and drinking it down.

The rest of the night went by in a blur. You were dropped off to your apartment and tucked in. Your alarm went off, waking you up with a raging headache and a dry mouth. Your makeup stained your pillow and the smell of bacon wafted your nose. You sit up abruptly, looking around with crusty eyes.

“TERRY?!”

Your loud voice alerted whoever was in your apartment and several footsteps could be heard outside your door. Marsha, Candace, and Nancy came in wearing t-shirts and panties with spatulas in their hands.

“Hey, Y/N, you okay?” Candace asked with a worried look.

“I…”

You look around, swallowing spit with difficulty.

“What’s wrong?” Candace placed a hand on your knee.

“I must of been having a nightmare.”

You scratch your head and plaster on a smile.

“I’m okay. I smell bacon!”

Candace stood up to let you out of bed. You skip towards your bathroom to brush your teeth.

“We’ll be out in the kitchen, Y/N!”

“Okay!”

The door shut behind them and you stare at your reflection, the running water filling your ears. You were used to waking up to the smell of bacon whenever Terry cooked you breakfast. You brush your teeth and clean your face, putting your hair up into a bun before exiting your room.

As you make your way into the living room, your eyes light up when you notice a large bouquet of red roses dusted with glitter. Your friends enter the living room, filling you in on the surprise being left at your door. You admire and smell the roses before retrieving a card that was attached to the vase.

Taking a seat, you open it, staring down at a pretty birthday card. Opening the card, two plane tickets fall out and there are written words on the inside.

Dear Y/N,

You know I had to get you red roses! Remember how we always talked about visiting Jamaica? Well, here’s two tickets. I have family there and I want you to stay with them and make the most of a good time. Take your mother with you. I know that would make you happy. When you get there, you’ll be able to visit all my favorite places. Happy Birthday my special angel.

P.S,

I Love You.

You were so drawn into the card that you hadn’t realized your friends were reading too. They wiped away tears and admired your pretty roses. You smiled, the tickets in your lap. They each hug you tight, causing you to cry. For once, they were tears of joy. You couldn’t wait to surprise your mother with the ticket. She’d always wanted to go to Jamaica.

——

Soft white sand beneath your toes.

Turquoise water stretching out for miles.

Palm trees swaying from the warm breeze.

Red, green, and yellow dress wrapped around your body snugly.

Your faux locs brushed across your back, the hair charms tickling your skin. You turn to pick up your coconut, bringing the straw to your lips and sucking down the delicious water.

The smell of ackee and saltfish wafted your nose. The spices traveling from the open patio doors that led into the compound. Bob Marley serenaded you as you sway in your spot.

Terry had cousins in Montego Bay that welcomed your mother and you with open arms. An entire compound surrounded by the beach. They cooked tasty Caribbean dishes everyday and you got a good tan whenever you could. There were jeeps on the compound and your mother and you would drive out to town to shop and do tourist activities.

Being surrounded by Terry’s relatives brought out a comfort you hadn’t felt in a while. You’d see his parents from time to time, spoke with them everyday, but his mother brought out a sadness in you that you tried to avoid. In Jamaica, you were filled with laughter. They showed you photos of Terry in his youth. Big ears, goofy smile, deep tan, and a surfboard in his hands.

You had a letter waiting for you.

This is where I sat thinking about you after the very first time we met. You didn't look real to me at first. I never saw so many colors on one girl before... But you looked like you belonged out there, all right. You and all your colors. Do you remember the first thing you ever said to me? ("I'm lost.") Oh, you didn't look lost, not to me. At first, the no-talking thing didn't last. Before long, I couldn't get you to shut up. But you were so cute, trying to impress me with all your grand plans. I had no idea what you were talking about... I didn't have a clue, actually. I loved you right then and there. Life had changed as I knew it. And now it's changed again, love. See, I don't worry about you remembering me... It's that girl on the road you keep forgetting. "My business is to create. It doesn't even matter what you do." You told me that, remember?

P.S.

So go home. Go find it. Find that thing that makes you like nobody else. You’re unique.

“Y/N! You hungry?”

You turn, shielding your eyes from the sun rays. Your mother stood on the patio with a drink in her hand. Your stomach rumbled as you pushed yourself up from the sand, brushing the grains from your dress. You jog over, trying to avoid your feet from reacting to the hot sand. Slipping on your sandals, you climb and take a seat on a patio chair. The table was covered with all the foods you’d grown to love on your trip. You help yourself to a few pieces of plantain first.

Around your neck is one of Terry’s necklaces from his child hood. A handcrafted, wooden, beaded necklace with the colors of the Jamaican flag. Your mother sat next to you and made your plate for you. Terry’s great aunt, uncle, and cousins joined you. This was your last day in Jamaica and tonight there would be a farewell ceremony.

“Dig in!” Terry’s Aunt Chandice said. She had carob skin that glistened like onyx stone in the sun with thick locs that almost touched her ankles. His uncle Sean reminded you of Terry with his green eyes and striking features. He too had long locs that he wore in a bun.

His cousins were older than you but only by a few years. Two boys and a girl. Chris, Tarone, and Raeni.

You learned that the two boys and Terry used to compete in surf competitions. Raeni was into music and dance. During your trip she’d taught you how to move your hips and she even dragged you to a club or two where you let loose with her friends.

“You’ll come back, yeah?” Aunt Chandice asked while they cleared the table.

“Of course!”

You loved it there. You didn’t want to leave.

After lunch, you took a long nap and afterwards you went for a swim. The hours ticked on and soon it was ceremony time. All of you dressed in all white as you stood on the beach, torches lit beneath the sunset. You brought out a small tightly sealed canister filled with some of Terry’s ashes. Handing it over to Uncle Sean, you stand back and watch them have their own traditional memorial ceremony to honor Terry.

Fresh tears cascaded down your cheeks while Aunt Chandice, Raeni, and your mom comforted you. Uncle Sean soon asked you to step forward with the others, each of you taking turns to pour his ashes into the sea. A piece of Terry sprinkled in places that he’d loved. You danced and laughed, twirling around and picturing Terry’s soul watching you from the clouds with a proud smile.

After many cups of rum, you retreat to your room, falling in bed and staring out at the moon. Sleep overcame you and as you drifted off, you dreamed of being in a boat, slowly floating under the moon. Strong arms circled you and the smell of sea spray tickled your nose. You open your eyes and look up, a pair of eyes that reminded you of the Caribbean Sea staring back at you.

“Terry Richmond.” You whisper.

“Y/N.” 

He’s shirtless with white linen pants on.

“What do you love most about Jamaica?”

“It’s a part of you…it’s a home away from home.”

Terry hummed, stroking your arm.

“Are you happy?”

Terry peered down at you. He sat up on his elbow, hovering above you, the moonlight creating a glow that surrounded him. You reach up to stroke his sculpted cheek.

“I am. More now that I know you’re okay.”

“It’s not easy,” Your eyes shine with tears, “I’m going to miss you forever.���

“I know, it’s okay,” Terry gave you a reassuring smile, “I’ll always miss you.”

Terry closed the distance between you two and his soft lips that tasted of mangoes and saltwater molded into yours perfectly. You stroke his broad back with your fingertips, electricity sparking your heart. The kiss went from patient to fervent, Terry’s hands in your hair, stroking the pattering of your butterfly locs. His tongue flicked yours and he sucked on your lips hungrily.

“Baby, baby,” Terry spoke against your lips, forehead against yours, “I have to go…I love you.”

“No…don’t leave me…”

You wrap your arms around his shoulders and kiss him more. Terry grunted into your mouth. You stroke his tanned skin, squeezing his muscles and molding your hands against his body to feel as much of him as you could before it was too late.

It was already too late. But this felt so real.

It felt as if you were grabbing air.

“Terry…no…please.”

“I love you, Y/N…”

Shooting up from the bed, you feel around, trying to grab a hold of something. Anything. You look around, the reality of where you were settling over you like a weighted blanket. You clutch your chest, sweaty skin beneath your palm. With your other hand, you touch your lips. Shutting your eyes, you see the last images of Terry before they faded away.

It was him. It had to be him.

He visited you in your dreams. He’s happy. He’s in heaven. You smile as tears roll down your cheeks.

Acceptance.

——

Dear Y/N,

I don't know how much time I’ll have left with you in this world. I don't mean literally, I mean you're out buying ice cream and you'll be home soon. But I have a feeling this is the last letter, because there is only one thing left to tell you. It isn't to go down memory lane or make you buy a lamp, you can take care of yourself without any help from me. It's to tell you how much you move me, how you changed me. You made me a man, by loving me Y/N. And for that, I am eternally grateful... Literally. If you can promise me anything, promise me that whenever you're sad, or unsure, or you lose complete faith, that you'll try to see yourself through my eyes. Thank you for the honor of being my fiancé. I'm a man with no regrets. How lucky am I. You made my life, baby. But I'm just one chapter in yours. There'll be more. I promise. So here it comes, the big one. Don't be afraid to fall in love again. Watch out for that signal, when life as you know it ends.

P.S.

I will always love you.

All of his letters.

You sat on your living room floor with a glass of wine on his birthday. This letter you hadn’t opened months prior, wanting to save it for his special day. He would have been thrity–three. You stare at a framed photo of Terry in his MCMAP attire surrounded by recruits with a big smile and a sweaty face. You’d cut your hair and got a couple tattoos honoring him. One of which was on your butt. That made you giggle. Maybe you would fall in love again someday. Maybe not.

There’s only one Terry Richmond.

Grabbing a pen, you open a notebook and start writing your own letter. It was more so for closure. When you think of Terry now, you smile and reminisce on what it felt like to be with him. You cherish the memories and created new ones.

Dear Terry,

you said you wanted me to fall in love again... And maybe one day I will, but there are all kinds of love out there. This is my one and only life... And it's a great and terrible and short and endless thing... And none of us come out of it alive. I don't have a plan except that it's time my mom laughed again. She's never seen the world. She's never seen The Botanical Garden, so I'm taking her there to where we started. Maybe now she'll understand. I don't know how you did it, but you brought me back from the dead. I'll write to you again soon.

P.S.

Guess what.

The End

@theereina @bombshellbre95 @planetblaque @trippyscotch @megamindsecretlair @uzumaki-rebellion @thesweetestdrug @theblulife @hotgrlcece @blackerthings @deja-r @hearteyes-for-killmonger @kaylabuggggg06 @skyesthebomb @blyffe @gwenda-fav @beenathembo @blackpinup22 @novaniskye @melaninhawtie @urfavblackbimbo @avoidthings @rose-bliss @xo-goldengirl @kinginwithbreezy-blog @mysecertdiaryofableedingheart @sirenmouths @creartivefairy @soulfulbeauty19 @therealmrsrhodes @hrlzy @nayaesworld @gg-trini @brattyfics @flydotty @writingsbytee @shiania @browngirldominion @notapradagurl7 @kismet83 @aristasworld @sl33p-deprived-princess @erynnnn @itssbrie @melaninangel @withoutmusiclifewouldbflat @sweettea-and-honeybutter r @dashhoney25

[heyyesimtrash-whatofit]

Yo J ! Do you think you can draw Marty & Jennifer walking through a graveyard fearfully linking their arms tightly with each other on their way home from staying late at school ? Spooky season is upon us ! So I thought I might as well give a chilling drawing idea 👻

“Do you ever feel like you’re being haunted?” “All the time, Jen. All the time.”

Hope you don’t mind me taking a few creative liberties with this prompt haha 😅. Finally had the motivation to draw again after so long just in time for the spooky season. Some people say that their past haunts them- Marty is starting to wonder if it actually can. I mean, everyone in the old west assumed he was dead after all. Can you haunt yourself? Time travel is confusing…

Anyway yeah, just a little higher effort thingy for this lovely ask! I swear I’ve wanted to do this for ages but life just loves to get in the way of everything lmao. Hope you enjoy this either way!

[unriding]

KINKTOBER DAY 17 — APHRODISIACS. dan heng (hsr) x f!reader! ﾉ link to return to kinktober 2024 masterlist & taglist

it’s only natural that you’d try to play it off, especially when he had already warned you about this ahead of time. your bad, you’ll admit. unfortunately for you though, this aphrodisiac is one of the strongest, and it won’t be going away anytime soon.

CONTAINS — aphrodisiacs, hints of mutual pining, marking, wall sex, squirting (reader cums from him putting it in)

To your surprise and nobody else’s, Dan Heng was right after all.

A small part of you knew he was when he had initially warned you- advised that you stay on the Express because you’d make for an easy target, but you also couldn’t deny that you’d much rather join him than stay cooped up in your room all week.

Any time with Dan Heng is better than no time with Dan Heng, or so you thought. Maybe if you’d pictured this outcome in your head a bit earlier, you wouldn’t have tagged along.

But you’d also rather die than admit you were wrong.

The Express’ hallway looks hazy when you try to make your way back to your room after wishing him a good night. Similar to how the world appears when you’ve come down with a high fever. You think you can feel the blood buzzing in your ears, and it wasn’t even a direct hit. You’re certain of this fact- you’ve always been quick on your feet.

But this one has already started to make you feel lightheaded.

The thought of him taking notice of how your nails dug into his door frame earlier to prevent yourself from collapsing onto the floor haunts you a little. He’s so observant that you’re surprised he hasn’t said anything yet- besides a couple glances and maybe one or two concerned “Are you alright?”

Perhaps he really didn’t know, and you were just that capable of hiding the fact that you’ve been hit with one of the strongest aphrodisiacs in existence.

Though that seems unlikely.

It seems to only worsen with each passing minute. Switches from the initial dull ache between your legs to a sharp throbbing, and you feel so hot. Feverish. Maybe even delirious at this point. It takes all the strength in your body just to roll over in bed and flip open your computer to search if aphrodisiacs can actually kill.

You sure hope not. What’ll happen if you’re dead by morning? Having never kissed Dan Heng a single time?

You don’t even want to imagine a life with that kind of depressing end.

It’s possible that you ended up lasting for another thirty minutes at least. Maybe five in reality. Though it’s hard to keep track of time when you’re rubbing your cunt back and forth against your pillow like it’s the last thing you’ll do. Imagining that it’s him you’re straddling only seems to make it even worse.

You want him so bad.

That’s why after some time, you find yourself in front of his room again- head hanging low, chest rising up and down in heavy pants, and your legs barely able to hold up your weight. You don’t even bother facing him. Not when you can already tell what face he’s making when he says the words,

“I told you that you shouldn’t have come along.”

If you wanted to give him a sheepish laugh, it only comes out as a pained whine instead. “S-sorry,” your eyes widen at how strained your voice sounds, and you think you see him stiffen in front of you. “Do you think….. um, do you know to fix it?”

It falls eerily silent.

“..Please…? I can’t… can’t really.. ask Welt for help.”

“Don’t ask Welt.” His voice softens ever so slightly, but you think there’s something unfamiliar behind it. You suck in a sharp breath as soon as he takes a step forward to reach around you and close the door behind you— slowly, as if giving you time to change your mind. “I know how to help.”

Your first thought is that he smells nice. Really, really nice. You’ve always thought that he’d smell good, but with the way you are now, it’s intoxicating. Your knees almost buckle, and you hope he doesn’t hear you swallow a gulp.

You could just lift your arm and touch him. You could pull him in for a hug and take a deep inhale straight into his chest. You could bury your face deep in-

“If I were to help you fix this, then I would need to touch you.” Your eyes widen, walls instinctively fluttering around nothing at the suggestion. His words carry more weight to them, and you at least know Dan Heng well enough to recognize this as his way of asking if you’re okay.

And you’re much, much more than okay with receiving his help.

“Please…. yes please.”

Time seems to slow down as he closes the distance between the two of you— backs you up until you’re pressed against the wall and your face heats up. Your entire body follows as soon as you look at him, head fuzzy and clouded and you’re barely able to process just how close he is.

This is something you’ve always wanted. Maybe even dreamed about.

“I…” your eyes slam shut when you feel him hike up your skirt— slowly, and his fingers briefly ghost over your waist before he finally slots his thigh between your legs and nudges. “F-fuck..!” Your head falls back, back of your hand instinctively coming to hide your face— and he freezes.

That sensitive? You didn’t know it was possible for it to worsen. If you weren’t in such a daze, maybe you’d feel more embarrassed about it. “Close your eyes,” his voice is so close that it sends a shiver down your spine, “and let me touch you more.”

You listen. It’s a confirmation to him that you desperately need his help— because you never listen. “You’re lucky that you weren’t hit directly,” you feel him tilt your chin up, and a part of you wishes you could hold it— nuzzle your cheek against his palm— but then something suddenly clicks in your head.

“..You… you saw—”

His lips slot against yours the next second. Just one peck, and then another. It shuts you up immediately- sends a weird warmth coursing through your body and bubbles up in your core. Feels good. Feels good and he hasn’t even started. He pulls away, only to mumble a “yeah. I saw everything. I always keep an eye on you because you never listen..though I couldn’t make it to you in time” before his lips are back on yours.

To his surprise, you keep your eyes shut like he told you to. Maybe it’s all too much for you to take in, so closing your eyes and focusing solely on how he feels is the only way you know you’re not dreaming. Your body goes into overdrive, knees buckling as soon as he deepens the kiss and you almost moan when you feel him wrap an arm around you to keep you upright.

You’re practically melting. Melting into the kiss- letting him pull you even closer and letting him press his thigh into your cunt. Everything after that becomes a blur in your head. Where you end and he starts is something you don’t bother thinking about. It’s a mess of kisses— deep and full of tongue— and he trails them down your neck, ends just below your ear after he’s kissed every inch of your skin.

You’re certain he’s left marks, but his lips feel too good for you to care. The exact moment when he picked you up to press your back against the wall never registered in your head either. You only open your eyes when you finally feel him prod at your hole, and your heartbeat is practically thumping against your ribcage. “I’m going in. Hold tight.”

He starts to pushes inside, and your vision goes white. “Wait— w-wai—” You choke, embrace around his neck slipping, loosens just a bit too much and you sink down onto his length— mouth falling open in a silent scream as soon as he bottoms out in one rough motion.

It hits you all at once. A violent orgasm that rips from deep inside you- one you’re not quite familiar with- has you screaming into his shoulder, nails digging into the muscles of his back as you gush all over him. He practically growls at the feeling, fingers digging into your thighs even when they tremble and jerk against him.

The room falls silent aside from your panting and his breathing. Your walls spasm around his thickness- strongly feeling the aftershocks, and he feels your slick dripping down his cock and onto the floor beneath you.

“‘S n-no fair at all,” you whimper, “feels too good. I’m almost scared—”

“Don’t say things like that.” If it was even possible, he holds you even closer. Even with the softness in his voice, you can tell he’s struggling to hold back. “You don’t need to think about anything,” he reminds you, “just hold tight and let yourself feel everything.”

“Trust me to take care of it.”

dividers by @ cafekitsune

[wizardrousactivity]

The Rat, Dead Dog. 

The Rat, Dead Dog. 

“I’ve told you, it’s not me-” — You were trained to never fall under pressure, your pleas falling under his deaf ears. Another cut to your calf when he doesn’t hear you forthwith giving up the information, it doesn’t matter how desperate you sound, nobody is here to save you anymore. They can’t trust you anymore. 

He’s trying to convince himself he doesn’t feel bad, that he’s only doing his friends a favor. Getting rid of you for good - dispensing with the waste of the world, which unfortunately had to be you, didn’t it? The only person that he thought he could trust, you bewitched him. The mask had slipped off because of you, the imperfections were perfected because of you. Now it’s only a cold shoulder - if he’d even give you that. “Give us the fucking information,” The use of your moniker is the way he’d gain your sultry glare. 

You’ve been beaten and battered for days by Simon, and it still feels like months the longer his torture traverses. The metal of the chair you sit on starting to turn red with gore. You fear to lose yourself, if not for the keen rage that fumes, revenge written on its blemishes. “I don’t have the information you want.” You never thought you’d be in such a position with him, a foolish hound falling victim to your framing.  

It’s surprising you weren’t immediately cut off with another lash, the gash he’s continuously spread starting to reach your bone, you dread the stinging of your flesh, held back by a grunted-sob.  For only a second you see his gaze soften with emotion he lacked, like he truly wanted to believe you, and by-god did he wish to - in the event that the threads didn’t lead to you. He swallows. 

There’s too much evidence against you, and his team. His own pathetic feelings aren’t worth the risk of keeping you around, he doesn't think he could handle having you captive with them for long, holding a rat that was dressed up with a story just to use them, use him after everything that happened. The sight would haunt him if you weren’t gone, the weight of his loved one turning out to be a spy, living in a room on base.

The depravity of reality sets on him now, painfully dawning on him. 

He needs to dispose you. For everybody’s sake. 

His hand white-knuckles around the knife, your chest tightens while the behemoth starts to stand to his full stature - an unpredictable mongrel you can only imagine what is coming next, his dilating pupils trembling as he looks at you with terror. The task of your murder would save his mates, and eat him from the inside once he was finished. If there is no information you have to spout - you are better useful dead to them, they could get it themselves. “Simon..” There's no response from him. You are not needed anymore. Don’t make it painful. 

Yet you’re saved by the bell, his head turning as the call from the mohawk is made. Shouting for his arrival with urgency. You only look to the floor as footsteps echo, signifying his leave for the day. "Fuck you."

The gashes in your legs have pooled themselves and made home around your feet, cold air running along the insides of your flesh, and you shudder against your constraints - the feeling is enough to make you nauseous with the sensory you experience. There’s nothing for you to throw up anyway, if there was, it would be your intestines. 

Your heart cinches, as you sit there with the thought of having to live with the fact you’ve been framed, then to die known as the rat in 141, that’s all you’ll ever be now. You’re just another damaged dog, you’ve joined their cult of forever deprecating. Their muffled banter plays beside your ear as you weep.

You’ve accepted that your funeral won’t be made, that nobody will ever honor your death or mourn during it.

[seranextdoor]

HAUNTING ~ JASON P. TODD. 18+

Summary: Maybe blocking Jason isn't such a great idea.

Contents: dry humping, oral sex (female receiving), fingering in the alleyway, fucking in the alleyway hence risky sex slash teeny tiny bit of exhibitionism, rough sex, size difference, unhealthy relationship.

Pairing: Jason P. Todd X Female! Reader.

Word count: 2.6k

Author note: an anon implied that they want a part two of the drabble i made abt ex! jason. it is here... and it's valentine's day special. sorry for dropping bangers and leaving for another 2 months. will do it again. enjoy!

🖥️ MAIN MENU. PART ONE.

I know if I’m haunting you,

you must be haunting me.

You told yourself this was going to be the last time. The morning after Jason had left, you were already blocking his number and changing the lock to your front door the next day. Maybe it’s the post-nut clarity that helps you realized that maybe… maybe this things going on between you and him wasn’t exactly healthy. Maybe it’s a good idea to ignore the calls you’ve been getting from ‘unknown’ caller knowing full well it was him.

You think it’s a little cute when he went as far as to text you from Dick’s number.

He thinks you’re a brat.

Besides, who cares if what him and you had going on wasn’t healthy? You didn’t have to blocked him.

Whatever, what’s done is done. “He’s going to stop reaching out eventually.” you told yourself only to see him leaning against his bike, waiting for you in one of the alleyway you always passes after your night shift a week after blocking him. The red helmet slightly glints in the dark when the streetlight hits, “come here,” he murmurs, head tilts slightly to the side. There’s a battered bouquet of red roses in his hand, the veins on his forearm pokes out from how tight he gripped the bouquet to the point that the stems are crushed. “Happy Valentine’s Day, princess. Come get your flowers.” Jason adds, his other hand reached up to removed his helmet as he placed it on the seat of his bike.

”I don’t want to.” A small huff left your lips.

”Just do it, goddamnit [Y/N].”

Old habits die hard.

Your shoulders drops in defeat as you dragged your feet to him, you can’t help it. As much as you want to keep up the ‘I’ve-totally-moved-on’ acts, you just can’t. So here you are, not even five minutes in and Jason already had his arms wrapped around your waist, his lips naturally finding their way to yours the second you had your head slightly tilts up. “Blocked my number, huh? What, you think you’re so mature, huh?” He snorts, letting the bouquet falls from his hand to hold you tighter in his arms. “I didn’t block you…” You whined, standing on your tip toes to keep him quiet by smothering his lips with small pecks.

”Yeah right, that’s totally believable.” He scoffed in between the pecks you're giving him, his head tilts down to make it easier for you to reached in for more kisses. “Because my texts and calls totally got thru.” You can practically taste the sarcasm dripping from the way he talks to you. “I might have accidentally blocked you.” You pulled back slightly to watch as his face gradually sours. He stared back at you with an annoyed look, his brows furrowed before a low groan leaves his lips. “Face the wall.” He groaned, his fingers running thru his black locks before you reluctantly turn to face the wall, “We’re doing it right here?” You stuttered as you spared him a glance over your shoulder, your eyes quickly widened when he pressed himself against you. His bulge slightly rubs against your ass, his hands digs into your hips to keep you still. “Damn right we are.” He says, his breathing slightly staggered as he moves his hips slightly to get more friction against his clothed cock.

You leaned the back of your head, fingers latching onto his forearms as a support. “You’re so annoying, you know that, right?” He speak with a gruff, there’s creases on his forehead as Jason looked back at him. “How many times are you going to do this, huh? Acting like I don’t exist and blocking my number the second we had sex. I’m gettin’ real sick of it, [Y/N].” His hand reached up to grabbed your chin, forcing you to look up at him  as he grinds himself against the curves of your ass. “Fucking brat.” He adds, his thumb gently brushing over your lips. “My fucking brat.”

“I don’t know,” you breathes, your lips instinctively parting as Jason slips his thumb into your mouth. “…until you’re bored of me?.” You muffled out your words, eyes slowly turning cloudy from the having his cock brushing up against you. He scoffed at your reasoning, rolling his eyes before he pressed his thumb down your tongue.

”As if.” He mumbled, leaning down slightly to rest his chin on your shoulder. “You’re gonna block me again after this?” His eyes flickered to looked back at you. You stared at him for a solid minute with only the sound of his jeans and your skirt rubbing together can be heard before he removed his thumb off your tongue to let you speak. “No?” You stammers, mentally cursing yourself when he smirked at your answer. “Good girl.” He replied, his hand falls to the hem of your skirt.

”I missed you,” A soft whine left his lips as his fingers desperately reached down to rub your clit. Jason leaned against you to leave kisses on your neck and up to your jaw as his fingers pushes your panties aside. “You’re so wet already, baby.” He mutters, massaging the bundle of nerves in a circular motion. He slowly swipes his fingers between your folds as you leave trails of your wetness on his fingers. “Looks like this pretty little thing misses me too.” He chuckled when you whimpers at the feeling of his fingers being pushed inside of you. “I missed you too…” You whined, eyes shut tight as he pumps his digits deeper into your sopping cunt. The wetness between your legs sticks to your thighs and clings to his fingers, his teeth hungrily leaving marks on your neck. “Sorry for blocking you.” Your body shuddered in sheer bliss when his fingers curls with his calloused palm constantly brushing against your clit.

”Yeah? You’re sorry?” He asked, his voice growing breathy while his other hand clumsily undo his belt and zipper. A small frustrated groan leaves his throat before he pulls his fingers out of you causing you to pout and whine. “Oh, come on. Give me a second.” He laughed, turning you around but this time facing his bike. He moves your leg up on the seat before he kneel down behind you. “Fuck… Look at that.” He whispers, his warm breath fanned against your pussy before he desperately buried his face in between your thighs. “Jason!” You squeaked, toes curling upon feeling his tongue lapping on your clit with his fingers tightly gripping your thighs. His thick fingers leaving marks on your skin as you squirmed on his bike, causing him to land a spank on your cheek.

You whined. “What’s that for?” You looked back at him only to be met with his dazed eyes and his mouth still latching onto your pussy, drinking every liquid that drips out of you. For once in the span of an hour filled with nothing but his sarcasm, he was quiet. Except for the occasional groans and moans every time you pushes deeper against his nose. Your nails digs into the cushion of his seat as you whimpers when he slide his tongue into your entrance, prodding in and out of your entrance before he finally pulled back for some air.

”Jeez, Jay…” He looked up at you when you pouted, his cheeks and chin were coated with your juices before his eyes cast down to the way you wiggled your hips at him. “…keep going.” You bat your lashes at him, the excitement in your stomach stirs as he tugs his pants and boxer just low enough for his cock to springs out of the tight confinement before gently slapping against his stomach. His thumb keeping your panties aside and your entrance exposed to him, "Calm down, princess." He sighs before his teeth digs into his lower lip, it's been a hard week since he felt anything close to this. Sure, he settled on his fist for the first two days before he completely stopped when he realised that fucking his fist to the thought of you wasn't as good as fucking you.

He slowly moves his hips, managing to bury the tip of his cock inside of you as he lets out a choked moan. "Still feels good as ever." He moaned, head tilted back with his eyes closed. His cock twitches in you when small whines falls past your lips, sending vibrations down to him as the muscles tightening around his length. "Christ, you're still not used to me?" His breath were shaky before he looked down to you, admiring at the clear size difference between the two of you as you tried your best to take every inch of him.

"S'not my fault," You huffed, your legs slightly trembles underneath him. Jason shifts your position slightly, holding you by the waist with one hand while his other hand makes their way under your shirt to fondled with your tits. "Never said it was." He replied, pushing his cock deeper inside of you until he’s halfway in when he stopped, noticing the way you tensed up. “It’s okay, baby. Just a few more inches and the hard part’s over.” Your body shuddered from his whispers, his breath tickling the back of your neck before you quickly nods at his words. His hand reached to wiped the sweats off your forehead before his hips slowly moves, “Mhm, just like that… Just relax.” Jason coos, planting small kisses on your temples.

A whine break out of your sealed lips when he completely buried himself inside of you, filling every crevices off your pussy with his twitching cock. The curve of his length itches just the sweet spot to make you see stars, “Jason…” The sound of you calling his name temporarily distracts him from the way your pussy clamped him down. His fingers had its deadly grips on your hips as you stand on your tip toes just to slightly fuck yourself on his cock, “Yeah?” He croaked, replying back to you with a deeper tone as he glanced down to the way your ass softly slaps against his pelvis, “You’re adjusting?” He asked before you let a small ‘mhm’ left your lips.

“You’re just fucking yourself on me.”

“No, I’m not.” You lied with a crooked grin. Jason rolled his eyes.

“Just look at the damn wall. You’re gonna break that dainty little neck if you keep looking back at me like that.” He mumbled, moving his hips into you in a more quicker pace. “Hold onto my helmet. Drop it and I’m stopping.” He grabbed a fistful off your ass while you quickly grabbed the red helmet, hugging it to your chest. The sound of skin slapping can be heard throughout the dark alleyway, your shared moans and groans reverberates and bounces off the brick walls. He moves his hand down between your legs, his fingers pressing down on your clit as he moves it in sloppy, circular motion. His other hand holding on the handle of his bike, “Lift your ass up, baby.” He grunted, brow furrowing as his hips moves back and forth, every thrust felt like he’s sending you over the edge.

”I’m trying!” You said in a hushed tone, too breathless. You weren’t sure if your knees can take anymore before they buckled to the dirty ground. In an act of desperation, Jason lifts you up with his forearm under your stomach causing your legs to dangled off the ground before he continue shoving his fat cock into your dripping pussy. You let out a small gasp, he’s really doing it-- he’s quite literally carrying you like a doll. “Can’t even do the simplest thing.” He huffed, eyes closed with his the tip of his nose tickling the crook of your neck as your fingers clings to his helmet, not wanting to dropped it lest he stopped just for the sake of making you miserable.

Your eyes lazily gazes at the other end of the alleyway where anyone that decides to passed the alleyway can noticed the both of you. Your cheeks warmed up at the thought, minimizing your moans into small squeaks and whines. You glanced at Jason, hoping he doesn’t notice only for him to sharply thrust into you to elicit a loud moan out of you, green eyes narrowing down at you. “Don’t be quiet,” He whispered, his other hand reached to traced the curve of your spine with his thumb lightly. “Let me hear you.” He dragged his voice to sound slightly whiny just to tease you even further.

You hated how much you expected this from the get go.

Blocking him was never an option, Jason has a knack when it comes to keeping you tied to him. One command from him and you’d rushed back into his arms like a puppy, hopelessly lingering around him. “Feels so good…” You whispered back, lashes thick with salty tears as wanton moans spills out of your swollen lips. You hated the fact that the both of you knows this. You’re not even sure if the both of you were even exes at some point. The feeling of the head of his cock brushing against your sweet spot sends you shivering despite being half dressed, it doesn’t help how godly his cock is. The delicious curve that sends you whining for more, the noticeable vein on the side of his length, the way his balls slaps against your clit, the thickness of it-- all of it drives you insane, fills your body with nothing but carnal desires.

“Outside? Inside?” He asked in between his groans, strands of his black locks sticks to his forehead as his jaw clenches. You know it’s near when his movement grow sloppy and inconsistent, his eyes darkened with sheer lust and the muscles on his bicep flexes. “Fuck, don’t just gimme puppy eyes, princess. Answer me.” He said with gritted teeth, purposely moving his hips rougher into you as you cried out of pleasure. “Out, out, out…” Your babbles almost went incoherent when you choked on your own moans while you blinks away the tears that welled at the corned of your eyes. He nods his head, burying his face into your shoulder as his arm around your waist tightens.

”Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck…” He curses, his head spinning and leaving him dizzy. Jason wanted to stay inside of you badly, the warmth of your cunt wrapping snugly around him screams nothing but heaven. And the fact that you’re already cumming on his cock before he even gets to pulled out? God, you’re just torturing him at this point. He pulled out of you right before he finishes, wet and sticky seeds shooting on your back and staining your skirt as he winces when the cold air hits his cock. “Oh my god.” His chuckle were airy, skin were slightly flushed from the lovemaking. Jason cradled you in his arms, turning you around to face him before placing you on top of his bike.

”You okay?” He asked, softly massaging your inner thighs. His forehead presses against yours, his gaze softened at the sight of you looking back at him with tired eyes. “Yep.” Your answer were short as you steadied your breathing, your arms wrapped around his neck to pulled him closer while Jason fixes your clothes.

”Wanna go rest at my place?”

The both of you stared at each other for a solid minute. You give him a small nod.

“That’s my girl.”

DO NOT COPY, TRANSLATE OR MODIFY ANY OF MY WORKS. ©️ KENNEDYBABY.

[okwonyo]

✴︎ FROM THE START.

PREC𝒾S ⟡ cupid plays one last trick on you.

( 엔하이픈 정원 ) ୨୧ f .. r 14OO brother’s best friend au fluff getting together sort of ── awkward flirting skinship use of profanity mention of kissing mention of passing out choking on water ⠀ ｡｡ ⠀ recue𝑖l

ˊᗜˋreblogs&feedbacks 。C𝑙𝑖CK

DED𝑖CATED to ✶ to @bywons (jiru always alive and well)

“i’m home!” you shout into the space of the hall of the front door.

taking your shoes off, a heavy sigh coming from deep in your chest echoes in the empty house. of course, your brother is not home yet when he was the one asking you to come home as soon as possible. you should have listened to your guts and hung up right in his face, he doesn’t deserve your patience.

you sigh again as you head to your kitchen. the thought that you may have spoken too soon builds itself in your head when you hear someone moving inside of the room you were aiming for. you already get your annoyed tone and face ready before even seeing your brother.

“what’s wrong with you?” you start, stepping inside the kitchen and seeing a man’s back facing you. “i was on a d—”

cutting yourself off, your breath gets stuck in your throat when the person in front of you finally shows their face. you should have guessed it was not your brother by the height of the man in front of you. the latter seems as surprised as you are because he cuts himself too.

“dude, i’m going to leave if—” your brother’s best friend’s eyes meet yours. he holds a bowl of chips in his hands, comfortably, as if he belonged in this house. “oh.” he says before breathing out your name in a tone that makes your stomach close on itself. well, at least it feels like it.

it gets worse when his eyes drag on your whole form. meticulously eyeing every inch of your body as if he was scared it would disappear if he looked away for a split second. there is a smirk, that you know all too well, tugging on his lips as he goes on. his eyebrows shot up when he reaches your feet, then he goes back to locking eyes with you.

water. you need water.

you walk to the opposite side of where he stands, thanking god the water is right there, before he can notice the obvious blush on your face.

while you pour water in a glass you took from the cupboard hurriedly the silence between the two of you wraps around your neck and threatens to choke you. you hear the man shift behind you— his presence gets closer and closer to your circle of warmth. you shove the water down your throat.

“you look so fine,” he says and you choke.

putting the glass down you cough with a hand on your chest. you swear, if you die because of this idiot you will haunt him for the rest of his life. a punch almost lands on his nose when he puts his hand on your lower back, softly asking, “are you okay?” but you like that. his touch.

when you finally catch your breath, you sigh for the ninth time before turning your attention to him. the proximity between the two of you hits you in the guts, your hand puts itself on his peck, “jungwon.”

he holds his hands up in surrender. you push him slightly establishing a safe distance between him and you. the last time he was this close, it didn’t go very well.

leaning yourself on the counter behind you. you try to avoid jungwon’s stare but no matter how hard, your eyes won’t listen to your brain. “i-is riki not home?”

the man in front of you catches your stutter and he smiles, putting the bowl of chips on the plateforme in front of him. “no, he left a while ago and told me to wait.” he shrugs and embarrassment grows in your belly. “i was about to leave—”

you groan, leaning your head back in pure despair (jungwon has to stop himself from kissing your exposed neck), “god, what a moron,”

of course, out of all the possibilities on earth, you had to have a stubborn idiot as your brother. he thinks he can control people’s feelings and actions, as if he was some sort of cupid. thankfully, he is not. you don’t know what kind of couples you would see in the streets if so.

you want to tell him that you are not talking about him but maybe a little part of you is.

jungwon gives you a confused look, “you can leave if you’d like,” you hug yourself, suddenly feeling beyond shy and too much seen. “riki won’t come back.”

his eyes grow wide in realization before he chuckles softly, “let me finish,” he tells you. “i wanted to leave but not anymore.”

oh.

oh.

his words sink right inside your chest. your veins take them in, they melt inside your blood, his voice resonates in your ribcage, you can feel the weight of his strawberries scented words all over your body— the room keeps getting warmer. there is no way you can hide that flush anymore.

thankfully, jungwon clears his throat and speaks up. alas, you got relieved too soon. “were you on a date?”

you almost choke again. this just keeps getting worse and worse. your hand moves from your shoulder to your elbow, your chest rise as you let out a heavy sigh, “uh, yeah,”

jungwon stays silent for a long while and as he licks his lips, you cannot help but reckon the feeling of his hot mouth on yours. what a goodbye kiss it was. you dreamed about it for over a year. even last night. even a few hours ago. everytime you close your eyes. his hands all over you, his tongue licking the inside of your mouth, his body pressed against yours.

he interrupts your daydreaming when he talks again, “did riki made you end it?” he asks, worried. “you can go back if you’d like!” (you would find it funny how this flirt of a man can turn into a total stuttering mess in the space of three seconds if you weren’t as pathetic.) “i-i don’t want to—”

his tone gets more nervous as he goes on, begging for you to stop him before he gets out of breath and pass out, “no—no!” you exclaim awkwardly, your hands moves frenetically in front of his face to shut him up he finally stops and you laugh nervously, “it was boring anyway.”

you watch jungwon’s broad shoulders fall down after you talk. he nods softly, a blush appears on his face and you guess it is because he noticed that he panicked over nothing. he looks down, fidgeting with his fingers as you scratch the back of your ear.

you want to disappear into the ground.

he speaks again, “i-i know a place,” he doesn’t seem so confident anymore, you have to hold back a laugh. his gaze meets yours and he smiles, “we can, uh, go have dinner if you’d like,”

you think for a moment. after pressing your lips together you open your mouth, “i already had dinner,” there is a sense of satisfaction when junwgwon’s has the decency to look sheepish. you want him to feel the way you felt last time. you push it, “with my date.”

he nods, biting his lips. you stare at each other for a while. and although you resent him a bit, you can’t hold grudge forever. he left, but you are at fault too— you ignored him everytime he tried to reach out.

here he is now, trying and being better. this, if you stop messing around and let him.

“he is my age and he still sounded like he was thirteen,” you add after letting jungwon marinate in rejection. “maybe i would like to go with someone else,” you can feel yourself blushing down to your feet, “tomorrow.”

enthusiasm washes over his face and his smile becomes more teasing, more flirty. he eyes looks down, “i’m an older guy with brain and rythme,” he looks up, his irises look straight through yours, your heart explodes in your chest. “isn’t that better?”

you only huff, getting your lower back off the furniture behind you. you turn around, hiding your nervousness, takinf the glass of water that almost killed you in your hands, tapping on it, looking for something to say. jungwon is silent, moving to stand beside you. he opts for the pose you had earlier; leaning on the kitchen’s counter with his arms crossed.

his look seems weirdly satisfied, you look up at him with your eyes narrowed, “you know riki planned all this,” your brother’s best friend smiles wider, “right?”

“why do you think i stayed that long at first?” he questions back, bumping his shoulder in yours. maybe your brother isn’t that bad at playing cupid.

𓈒ㅤㅤ𓈒 taglist open !

(..◜ᴗ◝..) i love giving my works an hidden lore and barely explaining it ... hope this work felt like a pat on the head from me ^^

[clown-cult]

( SPOILERS AHEAD) Things that will haunt me about the new live-action Avatar, the Last Airbender show:

Iroh being confronted by his past as a fire nation general and war criminal. Of course, Iroh is a cog in the machine of war that he’s part of and he’s changed his ways since, but that doesn’t change what happened in Ba Sing Se under his leadership.

Sokka overhearing Hakoda being disappointed in him. Y’all were worried that Sokka wouldn’t get as much characterisation in this version. Well, we got this and it broke my heart.

Katara witnessing her mother being executed in front of her. She immediately covers her mouth to keep herself from screaming. Her mother died so she could live, and so even as she cries, Katara quiets herself so her mother didn’t die for nothing. What a terrible responsibility to place on yourself.

Zuko sitting with Iroh next to Lu Ten’s casket. Cue that goddamn instrumental of Leaves From The Vine. This version really understands and cares about Zuko and Iroh’s bond.

Gyatso telling Aang that even if he had come back that night, he wouldn’t have been able to make a difference. It wasn’t his fault. This broke me. We hear from Katara in TLOK how much the Air Nomad genocide affected him through his entire life, despite everything he achieved. He never recovered from the guilt of wondering “what if”. He carried it his entire life…and Gyatso waited as long as he could in the spirit realm so he could free him of it.

Ozai’s face as he burns Zuko. Iroh looking away, Azula watching as a mixture of emotions go over her face as she witnesses her brother be mutilated, Zuko’s cries…girl I was struggling. Then we cut to Ozai’s expression and my heart plunged into my stomach. To me at least, and several others, it looked like he was trying not to cry. Ozai has done more terrible things than you can count…but he’s still a person and you have to sit there and watch in horror as some tiny, humane part of him revolts at the monstrous act he’s committing and his son screams in agony.

I know this show is getting a lot of criticism and that’s fair. It’s not perfect. But there are definitely parts of it that will stick with me for a while.

[theprettynosferatu]

CW: Non-consensual, Intox (aphrodisiac), Mind breaking.

Two years. Two fucking years of work down the drain. The worst two years of her life, working towards a goal she knows she’ll never see, and all because someone up the chain of command got bribed or threatened or who knows what else. What matters is someone fucking sold her out and now she’s bound up, staring at the gang of absolute sadistic freaks she has pushed herself so hard to infiltrate. 

Shit, the things she has done to be accepted as one of them! Well, “one of them” is stretching it. More like a trusted groupie, she figures. The amount of “slutty, fiery latina” acting she has been forced to do almost makes her throw up. It’s a stereotype and a racist one at that but damn it if these dumb motherfuckers raised by porn didn’t appreciate it, in a sick way. And all of it for a goddamn rumor.

They have this new shit, this kinda spray thing, makes any girl wanna fuck you like crazy… True Love, they call it.

Yeah, right. But still, the chance that such a drug could exist and flow through the streets, paired with some rather bizarre incidents of victims fighting to remain by their captor’s side… it was enough to try and get someone on the inside. And she’s ambitious, young, and most importantly, with the proper… attributes to play the gang-doll. Even now she almost wants to chuckle at the memory of the chief trying to explain that part, fighting so hard not to mention her ass. She’s not dumb. Wasn’t then, isn’t now. Without what she, modesty aside, considers the most spectacular ass in the city, the gang would have never even taken a second look at her. And she wouldn’t be here, now, tied up. 

Fuck. She realizes her mind is rambling, going on tangents, trying to escape the simple reality of the situation. She can’t move, and seven men are looking at her like she’s dessert, discussing exactly what to do to her. 

“Maybe we should use it, you know” one says.

She thinks she’s “it”, for a moment. She realizes she’s wrong as Karl, who has more muscles than brain cells and yet for some reason always calls the shots, removes one of the floorboards. Fuck! She has been in this warehouse dozens of times, looked everyone for evidence of the supposed magic drug, and has always come up snake-eyes. And it’s right fucking there, under the goddamn floor. What the fuck is it, the 1950’s? She’s tried every phone, installed keyloggers on laptops, learned every password- in her head, there had to be some clever operation at work, some devious method to keep such a huge deal secret. Nope. It’s under the fucking floor. She wants to tell them to untie her, just so she can kick her own ass. 

They laugh as they get naked, and a wave of shame crashes over her. She realizes she has seen all of these bodies before, and it makes her sick to her stomach. Sure, men get talkative when bragging and trying to get someone into bed. And men lower their guards after they bust a load- that is, if they don’t just roll over and fall asleep instantly. She has used that, over and over, to get information, to get chances to snoop.

Did she have to, though? That question has haunted her, and now it seems to grow solid, like a rock in her chest. Did she truly have to play up all those stereotypes to become some fucked up fantasy of whatever a hot latina is supposed to be? Did she have to buy all those booty shorts, those cheap jewels, those slutty heels? 

And didn’t a part of her enjoy the attention?

Fuck. Chances are she’ll die here, and she doesn’t want to die a delusional bitch. Yes, fine, being the center of attention felt nice. But the sex? No. That was awful. Pretending to be attracted to these meatheads, doing anything they wanted just so her reputation as a grade-A piece of ass would spread, faking orgasms…

Bull and shit. You’re dying here, Mariana. Stop lying to yourself. You didn’t fake all of them.

She’s yanked away from her little spiral of shame by the loud hiss of spray being applied. They’re passing a little can around, coating their cocks with… 

No. It can’t be real. It just can’t. There is no magic spray. It can’t possibly work. Sure, these idiots might think it does, but in reality, no, True Love isn’t a thing.

The images flow into one another like photographs. She knows, rationally, what is happening. A knife is cutting her bindings as two sets of hands are holding her arms. Her shorts are being sliced, ripped off her. Her legs are being held wide open for Meathead Karl. She files these things in her mind, and feels nothing. She’s there, but she’s not really there. Ah, yes. Dissociation as a defense mechanism for trauma. Mariana has read about it, and now feels mildly fascinated by the experience. 

The pain drags her back to reality. Her instincts kick in, and she braces for the suffering that is to come after that initial opening salvo. She grits her teeth, and…

The pain doesn’t come. She hears laughter as her eyes grow wide, a horrible realization dawning on her. The feeling between her legs is a warm thing, a pleasant thing, slithering up her body, unlike anything she has ever felt before. 

“Starting to hit you, Officer? Oh, this is just beginning”, someone says, his voice coming to her as if from a million miles away. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. It’s real. Fucking True Love is real. Her mind reels, the interviews with previous victims rushing in her memories. The way they spoke about their abusers as if they were Gods. The way they defended them. The way they longed for them, like junkies going into withdrawal. She can’t become like them. She can’t lose herself like that. She can’t…

She can’t focus. Her mind is getting fuzzy as the delicious sensation reaches her nipples. Every inch of her skin feels sensitive, overwhelming. A pussy. My whole body is one giant pussy. She has no idea where the thought comes from, but it grows inside her as she squirms and little moans escape her lips. No. Don’t give them the satisfaction. Don’t moan. Don’t move.

“Oh, now you’re getting it. Don’t worry. It will get much, much worse”

Whose voice speaks? She can’t tell. She finds it harder and harder to care. Suddenly, her body betrays her as her hips start moving on their own, seeking pleasure, trying to coax the cock inside her deeper…

She feels on fire. She hates herself, hates how good every thrust feels, how much she needs more and more and more. Thoughts flood her, like a strange invasion taking over her mind. Cock. Cock feels good. Cock feels so fucking good. This is good. This is perfect. This is exactly what I should do. This is all I want. This is all I have ever wanted. Her mission starts to fade away. She can barely recall why she ended up being fucked like a good girl by this marvelous cock, and it feels so unimportant, so insignificant. Only the pleasure matters. She needs more. Her eyes cast around her. Cocks. Big, hard cocks, stiff for her. She starts drooling. The men laugh. She doesn’t care. There are hard cocks near her. Why aren’t they using her?

No. Snap back, Mariana. This isn’t you.

Why not?

Isn’t this better than whatever she was before?

One of the men lowered his body, his cock inches away from her face. She needs to taste it. She needs to wrap her tongue around it. She needs to worship it, body and soul.

“Oh, poor slut wants it?”

She’s not sure she understands the words. But she does understand, with a frenzied animal cunning, the desire behind them. They want her to beg. Some distant remain of sanity is pleading with her not to give in, not to surrender her voice, to keep some small part of her true self. It screams in vain.

“Please… give… cock…” she manages to mumble between moans.

“No. Not yet. You see, officer, your mind might be going, but your body is learning very fast. It’s so open now… And we intend to keep you around for a long time. No quick sell for you. So we need to… train you a bit”

Mariana knows the man is talking. The words don’t reach her until he starts playing with her nipples, and a single word takes over her entire existence.

“Cum”

She shakes. She screams. Her entire body is reduced to a single, shining sensation of absolute pleasure. She can feel something inside her breaking, giving in. She pants and a part of her expects the sensations to subside, but they don’t. If anything, the constant pleasure grows, leaving her right at the gates of another orgasm. She tries to grind, to move, to use the cock inside her to cum again…

“Not without permission, toy”, someone says. She almost manages to squeak out a complaint, but the stimulus is too strong. All she can do is squeal and moan.

The world swirls around her, colors heightened, bleeding into each other. She never wants to go back to the gray, solid, difficult past. She wants to stay here, be this- be pleasure.

“Cum”

Yes. She cums, and nothing else matters. This is all she needs. All she exists for. Her eyes are unfocused, her mouth hanging open. She feels the cock touch her lips before she even consciously sees it. The imperative is immediate. Suck. Lick. Take it deep in your throat. Use your tongue, pressure with your lips, the vibrations of your moaning. Use everything you are to please cock. 

“Cum”

Every time it gets stronger, going beyond whatever she ever thought possible. No mind can hope to withstand such a tidal wave of pleasure. As soon as she realizes they’re starting to move her, she hops up. The men don’t have to tell her what they want from her. She wants the same thing. She’s just holes. Holes need to be filled with cock. She impales herself on Karl’s dick and leans forward, letting him suck on her sensitive nipples, leaving her asshole ready, eager. She’s presenting herself like an animal in heat, and she’s loving every second of it. She’ll do anything to keep feeling like this, forever.

“Ass…” she manages to say.

“Not good enough, cunt. Come on, you can use your words better than that”

Words. Words for cock. Words to make cock happy. They own her words. They own her mind. They own her body.

“Please… use my ass… fuck my tight little hole… ram it hard! Wreck it! I need it so bad, need it so bad, need you to take me, take my ass, make me cum, never let me go, please please please…”

Even the pain feels good. Everything feels good. Humiliation feels good. Their mockery feels good. Their spit on her skin feels good. Obeying feels good.

One cock in her ass, using it with no care for her or any pain it might cause. One in her wet cunt, driving her mad. One in her mouth, using her like a breathing fleshlight. One in each hand, the promise of cum to come. This is it. This is bliss. This is heaven. This is all any woman could ever desire. This is home. 

“Such a good fucktoy…”, one mutters, trying to hold back his own orgasm.

The word infects her. Fucktoy. It starts overwriting everything inside her. Fucktoy. Her police training crumbles in her memory. Fucktoy. Her memories of her family fade away, forever. Fucktoy. Her hatred for cruel men vanishes. Fucktoy. Fucktoy. Fucktoy. It is all she is. All she has ever been. All she ever wanted to be. She’s mumbling it in between taking cock in her mouth. It rises like a gigantic obelisk in her mind, ruling over her, conquering all.

Fucktoy.

“Cum. Cum. Cum.”

Wave after wave of pleasure overtake her, crashing into each other, blasting away all that was and all that could ever be.

By the time she gets back something resembling consciousness, warm cum is coating her skin. She can feel the wonderful jizz inside her holes, taste it on her tongue still. She must have swallowed it. Like a good fucktoy. She feels so proud, so valuable, so beautiful. She made cocks cum. She was good. She was useful.

“Officer, remind me… what were you looking for?”

She looks at the man like a confused puppy.

“Cock?”

“I see. And what’s your name?”

She straightens up, full of pride. This one she knows.

“Fucktoy!”, she smiles.

Did you enjoy this story? You can support my work and get access to the full library at patreon.com/prettynosferatu

[marvelfanfn2187a113]

The Loudest Silence

Sam and Dean Winchester x little sister!reader

Requested by Anonymous

Synopsis: You become mute after seeing Sam die in season 2, and it’s something he and Dean have to figure out together when he comes back.

Dean should’ve left you behind. He should’ve gotten there sooner. He should’ve saved Sam. He shouldn’t have let you see your big brother die.

You were sitting by Sam’s bedside, and Dean didn’t have the heart to tear you away. It didn’t feel right, letting you sit there beside your dead brother, but it felt even more wrong to tell you you couldn’t.

You hadn’t spoken, not since it happened, and Dean didn’t have the energy to try to get you to speak. He didn’t feel much like talking now, either, although it seemed different than you. He was grieving; you looked haunted.

“Hey kid.” Dean turned his head to look at you as Bobby walked up to speak with you. Bobby had decided to leave, and Dean refused to go with him, but Dean wanted you to go. You didn’t belong here, you shouldn’t have had to see Sam die, and you shouldn’t be sitting by his body now. You would be better off with Bobby, but Dean needed time to himself.

“Kid, Dean’s gonna stay here for a little while, but I want you to come home with me, alright?”

Bobby got no response. You didn’t even take your eyes off of Sam to look at him.

“Hey.” You flinched as Bobby placed a hand on your shoulder, and finally your eyes met his. “You’re gonna come home with me, ok?” It wasn’t exactly a question; neither Bobby nor Dean was about to let you stay here, but Bobby didn’t exactly want to drag you either, so he was willing to take it slow.

You didn’t speak, but you nodded and stood, one hand coming up to latch onto Bobby’s jacket. He noticed, but didn’t comment.

Dean watched as your eyes lingered on Sam’s body as you followed Bobby outside. Just before the door closed behind you, your gaze shifted to Dean.

He would never be able to forget that haunted look in your eyes.

…

It had been two weeks. Sam had come back not long after his death, but it had been two weeks since you’d spoken.

Once Sam had figured out that he had actually died, he understood your response a bit better, but it was no less troublesome. If Sam was worried about your condition, Dean was beside himself.

As if your sudden silence wasn’t scary enough, you had also glued yourself to Sam. Everywhere he went, you were there, the corner of his jacket fisted in your hand as you shadowed him. Sam didn’t seem to mind at first, but as the days wore on, it became obvious that this may not be a temporary thing. Sam had begun trying to get Dean to help him force you into some healthy distance, but Dean had refused.

Sam didn’t understand, but Dean couldn’t bring himself to force you out of what made you feel safe. It was his fault that you felt this way, after all. He’d let Sam die, and it was his fault that you’d been there to see it. So no, he couldn’t hurt you even more.

“Hey kid,” Bobby said, and you looked up. “How’s about you come with me to the kitchen and we can fix some lunch?”

Bobby had been trying to coax you away from Sam for days, with no luck. Today didn’t seem to be any different as you shook your head, your body unconsciously leaning even closer to Sam as your fingers tightened around his hand.

“N/N,” Sam spoke very gently as he pried his hand carefully out of yours. “How about you go with Bobby, ok? I’ll be right here, won’t move a muscle, I promise.” As soon as his hand was out of yours, you’d moved your hand to his jacket, unwilling to let him put distance between you.

Dean watched the exchange silently, unwilling to participate but hoping that you would listen to the men.

You were quite a long moment, your gaze fixed on Sam as his eyes bore into yours, silently pleading for you to listen. Finally, your fingers went slack on Sam’s jacket, and you turned your attention to Bobby. You gave him a slight nod and held your hand out to him.

Bobby was most certainly not one for hand holding, but after this victory he’d make an exception for you. He closed his fingers around yours and led you into the next room.

“She’s getting better,” Dean said finally.

“It might go faster if you helped,” Sam grunted.

“I don’t want her to feel ganged up on.” Dean’s excuse was a lie, and they both knew it.

But neither man said a word.

…

Sam sat on the edge of his bed, breathing a sigh of relief when you finally fell asleep. He knew it could be a while before he got some time away from you, so he planned on using it wisely.

As soon as Dean stepped into the motel room, Sam practically cornered him.

“We have to talk,” Sam said.

“Alright…” Dean glanced at your sleeping form, then back at Sam. “Why can’t she hear it?”

“She doesn’t have to be a part of this. Dean, how could you do it?” Sam swallowed “how could you…how could sell your soul?”

“You know why.” Dean shook his head. “I wasn’t going to let you stay dead.”

“You can’t mess with death like that!”

“I already did, and we’re not going to change it by talking about it.”

“It’s not just me, you know,” Sam said. “She’s gonna have to watch you die.”

“You think I did this thinking it would hurt her?” Dean shook his head. “I did this for her! You’ve seen what she’s going through now, and that’s with you back! What do you think would’ve happened to her if you stayed dead!”

Both boys were so caught up in their argument that they didn’t see you slip out of bed.

“She could’ve gotten over it,” Sam continued. “But now we all have to go through this all over again, we-“

“I don’t care!” Dean ran a hand over his face, still not noticing as you stepped up behind Sam.

“Exactly!” Sam threw up his hands. “That’s the problem, Dean! You didn’t do this for her, you did it for you!”

“I-“

“No!” Sam interrupted. “No, just shut up!” Sam flinched when he felt your hand touch his arm, and turned to look down at you.

You were staring up at him, eyes wide.

“Not…not you,” Sam’s voice had gone surprisingly quiet, and his features softened into a melancholy expression. “Sweetheart, what I want from you is for you to talk again.”

Your mouth opened, like you were trying to speak, before slowly closing again. You launched yourself forwards, and Sam held you tightly in his arms as you began to cry against him.

“I know,” he whispered. “I know you’re hurting, kid. But I want you to come back to us. You haven’t been the same, and we miss you.”

His argument with Dean was far from over, but this was far more important.

Dean watched his siblings, and he struggled to reign in his emotions when he saw you, still struggling to try to speak. He knew you were trying, and he would never forgive himself for being the cause of it.

“Dean.”

Both brothers were alerted by the sound of your voice, though it was scratchy and near-silent. It was then that Dean noticed your hand, stretching out towards him.

“Hey baby,” he put on a smile for you. “I’m here.”

“Sam.”

Sam smiled when you reached up to play with his hair, the way you had when you were little.

“Hey, you ok?”

“Don’t fight.”

“Yeah, o-ok.” Both brothers knew that Sam’s words were just to appease you, but they were done fighting for the moment. “You feeling better?”

You gave a gesture that was half nod, half shrug, but it was enough.

“Yeah?” Sam smiled. “It-it’s good to hear your voice.”

You looked up at Sam, and his worry eased at seeing the smile on your face.

“I love you.”

Neither brother had to fake their smile at your words.

“Yeah, we love you too.”

[starkwlkr]

neeeeed a seb or kimi fic where the reader is a driver plsss

little lies | kimi räikkönen

requests are closed

Over the years, you had a habit of lying to the media. It all started during your first season of f1 when a reporter had asked if your parents had attended the race to which you replied that you never met your parents. It was soon revealed that both parents were in the garage watching you overtake and land a podium finish. They weren’t mad since you had done it before in school lots of times, they actually found it funny.

The internet had definitely caught on to your constant lies, some even making compilations of all of them.

The media wasn’t the only ones being lied to by you. The other drivers were also victims. You remember one time when Mark and Fernando gave you a cake for your birthday then when you ate it, you started to cough. “Does this have gluten?” You asked.

“I think so?” Mark said unsure.

“I’m allergic to gluten!”

It took about two seconds for the Red Bull driver to start panicking.

“Oh god, she’s going to die!”

“Mark, shut up! I was joking.”

Fernando wished he had a camera to capture the moment Mark thought you were going to pass away.

“One day you’re going to say the truth and none of us will believe you.” Fernando said. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

Yeah, sure.

But as always, you should’ve listen to Fernando.

It wasn’t until the 2014 when you and Kimi started to date. It started with one date to a drive in movie, that very night you had kissed Kimi, one thing led to another and soon you and Kimi were dating. The first person you told was some friends from your hometown, which of course didn’t believe you.

“Fuck, the old man was right.” You told yourself one day when you realized that all those years of lying finally came to haunt you.

It was after the driver’s briefing when you couldn’t take it anymore. Several drivers were making plans to go out for dinner and they had invited you and Kimi, but you had other plans since you were going on a date.

“I can’t, I have a date.” You said. Then you heard laughs scattered around the room. “What? What’s so funny?”

“Mate, you can just say you don’t want to. Last time you lied saying you were sick then we found you at a casino.” Jenson said.

“Well this time it’s real, I have a date so I can’t go.” You replied. “And it only happened once!”

“Twice.” Kimi said from beside you. It was true, you had said no to going out for dinner another time because you were planning a trip to visit Kimi’s family.

“Oh, I guess it did happen twice. But this time it’s real.”

“Sure. Who’s the lucky guy who’s putting up with your lying mouth?” Jenson laughed.

“Kimi.” You said causally.

Again, you received laughs as a response. So you got up from your seat. “Later, losers.” You said and gave Kimi a quick kiss before you left the room.

The iceman stared at you adoringly as you left. It was clear to everyone that you were telling the truth. Kimi noticed how quiet the room had gotten and looked at the other drivers. “What?”

“She was telling the truth?” Sebastian questioned.

Kimi nodded. “You don’t listen.” He got up from his seat. He could care less if they thought he was also lying, he had a date to prepare for with the love of his life.

[hashtagboykisser]

HARRY POTTER HCS !!

FIRST “I LOVE YOU” !!

prompt: harry potter characters and their first “i love you”s in relationships

characters included: harry potter, ron weasley, hermione granger, draco malfoy, ginny weasley, seamus finnigan, fred weasley, george weasley

warnings: you and seamus smoking in seamus’ part, swearing, physical abuse in george’s part

harry j. potter…

who said it: harry

when: 5th year

“cmon… just a little bit more..” harry cooed patiently, hands placed on your hips. “forget it, harry. i don’t think i’ll ever get it right.” you sighed, wanting to throw your wand down on the ground.

dumbledore’s army had just begun merely a few sessions ago, and no matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t get your patronous just right.

maybe it was because you upset professor dolores umbridge today and pushed her far beyond her limits (not even on purpose, for that matter). or maybe it’s because colin creevey was stuck way too far up your arsehole whenever you would do something wrong when it came to today’s D.A session.

“well, maybe i can give you a happy memory to think about.” harry suggested. “how on earth do you plan to do that?” you questioned, wary of what he may do.

“maybe…like this.”

and with that, harry began to scan your lips with his, feeling for all the fine details that no one else would get to see but himself.

harry felt you smile against his own lips before pulling away, with a lopsided grin smearing his cheeks.

“i love you.” harry smiled, sounding as if he’s been waiting a century to say those words to you.

“i love you too.”

ron b. weasley…

who said it: him

when: 3rd year

“oh no!! oh no no no..!!” the ginger boy roared as he was being dragged by the foot by the black-furred dog (unbeknownst to him, which was sirius black), “i can’t die yet!! i haven’t told (y/n) how much i love her yet!!”

“you bloody moron, she’s right here!!” the shorter bushy haired girl replied, slightly jealous it was her best friends name and not her own.

“i love you, (y/n)! if i die, i promise my ghost will haunt you!!” ron shouted before being dragged away out of sight.

“i love you too!” you yelped, hoping he could still hear you.

hermione j. granger…

who said it: you

when: 7th year

“i know this isn’t much… but i wanted to be able to do something for you for our anniversary.” hermione said, rubbing her neck in pure embarrassment.

you, hermione, harry, and ron were on a hunt to look for all of voldemort’s horcurxes, and because of that, you all were staying in a rubbish tent in the woods.

the tent was empty for the most part, other than the small radio player that had muggle romance music on it.

“harry and ron are out of our hair…well for now anyway. i told them to go look for anything that could be useful, i just wanted to have a nice 3 months you.”

“you kicked them out for me?” you asked, disbelief leaving your throat.

“well yes — and i know it’s not much but-” the brunette would’ve continued if you didn’t interrupt her, and she gives a slight pout because of it.

“but it is much, it is something ‘mione! it is because i love you.”

“i- uhm. repeat yourself, please?”

“i love you, hermione.”

draco l. malfoy…

who said it: him

when: 6th year

“isn’t that right, ms. (y/n)?” the barely human wizard, voldemort, said, looking at you from the other side of table.

you gulped quietly, your shoulders stiffening. “yes, sir.” you murmured, glancing at the platinum blonde boy next to you before averting your gaze.

you and draco grew up together - as your mothers were very close in their teenage years, your fathers, not so much. but they got along okay.

when draco first became part of the death eaters, his mother decided it’d be easiest to have you there, to make it a little less hard on him.

“excuse me for a moment.” draco mumbled, somewhat abruptly, as lucius and the lord were in the middle of a conversation. draco stood up within the blink of an eye, and sped walked out of the room.

“would you be a dear and check on him for me, honey?” narcissa leaned over and whispered in your ear, as you were seated between draco and his mother.

you gave a small half-smile with a nod, as you politely excused yourself, afraid of what voldemort could do if you had done it in a way of which he didn’t like.

you went around the halls of malfoy manor, the walls of which most of your childhood memories took place, as sad as that is.

you saw a crack in the door of draco’s room, and you opened the door a tad more

draco said there, looking down at his folded hands, not saying anything.

“are you okay?” you asked, even though you already knew the answer.

“those meetings…get to me, sometimes.” the blonde mumbled, his voice cracking slightly.

“me too..” you answered, rubbing your hand up and down his back, as you sat next to him.

“thank you, for always being here. i’ve spent my whole life with you, i never want to let you go.” draco said, giving a small smile.

“i won’t ever leave you behind, okay?”

“this is exactly why i fell in love with you all those years ago.”

“wait…what?” you denied, your voice quiet.

“you heard me, i love you (y/n).”

ginevera m. weasley…

who said it: her

when: 5th year (well 4th year for her)

“hey (y/n)!” a familiar, high, squeaky voice called out to you, sounding a bit distant.

“oh, hi, ginny.” you half smiled, looking down at the younger girl.

“i need to talk to you, now.” ginny asked — well demanded, but she meant to ask.

you’ve known ginny long enough at this point to know sometimes, when she wants to ask a question, it can accidentally turn into a demand. especially, when she’s nervous.

“okay, no problem.” you reported, knowing exactly what she was going to say.

she grabs your wrist with a firm grip — but not firm enough for your to be hurt. and walks you down to a more empty side of the hogwarts express.

“i love you. and quite frankly, i hate it when you spend more time with my brothers and less time with me because it’s not fair, i fancy you!” the smaller ginger insisted, with a small stomp of her foot to show she meant what she said.

“i love you too, don’t worry, gin.” you spoke, as you tucked a string of hair behind her ear, that was before in the middle of her face.

she gave a lopsided grin before happily skipping off and giving a sing-songy goodbye.

seamus d. finnigan…

who said it: him

when: 4th year

the yule ball of the 1994 school year was slowly coming to a close, but you were unable to find where your date had ran off to, one moment he was with his best friend, dean thomas — and now you have no bloody clue where he is.

there was only one placed you hadn’t looked yet — the astronomy tower.

you begin your walk up the tower of many staircases and you hear some intense coughing the higher and higher you reach.

before your eyes, you see your boyfriend — or date, or technically boy friend, as the relationship between the two of you is a bit complicated, with a cigarette between his fingers.

“hey seamus.” you say, as you sit down next to him, leaning into his touch.

“hi doll.” he says, grinning as he puts an arm around your waist.

“can i smoke with you?”

“absolutely not, angel!” seamus gasps, shocked, putting a dramatized hand to his chest, his mouth open a gap.

“huh? why not?” you asked, now just confused.

“because! i love you! i’m not letting a gorgeous goddess inhale that shit!” seamus replied, now tossing his cigarette away into the distance.

“you love me?”

“with every inch my body stands.”

fred g. weasley…

who said it: him

when: 5th year (3rd book/movie)

“i don’t know how you could even do this, i don’t know what half of this is supposed to to mean..” your ginger boyfriend said, cuddled up into your side, as the two of you studied for the following potions exams.

“well, to make it’s quite simple, it’s just seeing it on paper is the hard part.” you said, nudging him slightly, to make sure he wouldn’t fall asleep again.

“oh, how so?” he asked.

“well actually you take the-”

and before you could get any further, your boyfriend pecked you on the lips.

“sorry, at first i was interested and then i just didn’t care anymore.” fred said with a chuckle.

“fred gideon weasley!!”

“i’m sorry, i love you, does that make it better?”

“i… yes.”

george g. weasley…

who said it: him

when: 7th year (5th book/movie)

i mustn’t make mistakes any longer.

i mustn’t make mistakes any longer.

i mustn’t make mistakes any longer.

i mustn’t make mistakes any longer.

i mustn’t make mistakes any longer.

the words on your arm continued to ring in your ear, like the tangy feeling on your tongue after eating spicy foods.

none of this would’ve happened if you didn’t snap at the new d.a.d.a teacher - dolores umbridge.

the torturous (literally), cruel woman put you through so much pain in one detention.

don’t get me wrong, you’ve gotten detention once in 2nd year, but this could never compare.

the words on your arm were the ones that made you cry terrifying sobs as you had to continue to write and write and write - thanks to your low physical pain tolerance and somewhat sensitive heart, you just couldn’t bare it.

sprinkles of raindrops began to form in your eyes, they ground onto the table you were sitting at, as you tried to rub your eyes before anyone happened to notice.

“hey, love, are you okay?” george weasley - your boyfriend asked, scurrying over to you.

your arm was angled in the correcting lighting and point of view to where the taller ginger could see your scars perfectly.

“blimey!” your boyfriend shouted, pointing, before madam prince gave him a stern shooshing.

“what happened?”

you clung onto him immediately, sobbing quietly,

“hey love — it’s okay, i love you, i’m here and i always will be.”

[feyascorner]

9 | The Fangs Between Us

summary. Rather than taking offense, he merely smiles. “You’re so harsh, love.”

“I wouldn’t be harsh if you didn’t deserve it.”

“I’m aware.” His voice lowers. “Though I rather like it when you’re cruel to me.”

You blink. 

Has he always looked at you like this?

warnings. angst, comfort, slow burn, tav reader is a bard, italics are flashbacks

pairing. Astarion x GN!Reader

parts. TFBU masterlist

a/n. officially in act 2 so there's like a few weeks of a timeskip!!!! finally getting to that blurry line between hatred and...wtv they are

also praying the tags work this time

“Wake up,” you whisper. “Wake up, Astarion.”

His body shakes as you pull him closer to your chest, ignoring how cold his skin feels against yours. There’s nothing out here except the two of you and the blissful gaze of the moon glimmering against all the other stars in the sky. Here, it’s as if nothing else exists.

Yet, the nightmares continue to haunt him.

“Cazador, he’ll come for us. He’ll come for you. He’ll make me watch as you die and laugh at my agony before he tosses me into that damned prison again for another year. Maybe even more,” he rasps. “Gods, you were so–there was so much blood—your blood—and all I could smell was–”

You shush him, running your hand through white curls. The sensation seems to calm him just the slightest. “He’s not here. I’m alive, and so are you. See?”

Gently, you raise his palm to where your heart rests and wait patiently for him to come back to you again. He melts into the steady thumping of your heart, shoulders slowly relaxing. It takes some time, but eventually, his panting slows, and he slumps into your touch. When you pull him close again, he shakes his head.

“I’ll kill him for what he’s done to me and what he could do to you.”

You answer him by intertwining your fingers with his own. In response, he tightens his arms around your waist.

“I’m going to love watching him scream.”

Crashing onto the ground does little for your already trembling knees.

“Again.”

Weeks have passed since your last uncomfortable encounter with Astarion, and you’d much prefer to keep it that way. And while things have mostly smoothed over with your companions, the obvious issue of the spawn remains a concern, though the murders have decreased significantly in passing times. You’re grateful there aren’t as many bodies, but it also makes you wonder what’s preventing them from killing as many as they did. Fear it, even.

Lae’zel’s wooden sword wipes you off your feet again, and you land face-first into the grass. Embarrassment floods your cheeks despite there being nobody else in the park.

“You’ve gotten rusty, istik.”

Clambering onto your knees, you grip your own sword to stabilize yourself. “Are you sure you’re not the one who’s gotten significantly better?”

“Flattery won’t save you on a battlefield, bard.”

“‘Was-bard,’” you correct her, using the sword to bounce back onto your heels. “And I think it’s saved us more than a few times. Remember that time I persuaded Yurgir to kill all his friends before we killed him?”

“A silver tongue has no use if the enemy is deaf,” she lunges at you, and you barely manage to stumble out of the way.

You hiss. “Why the hell would I be fighting a deaf enemy? And can you please warn me before you try to stab me?”

“There are no warnings in a real battle.”

“We’re not in real battle!”

She ignores you and lunges once more without warning.

You land on your ass again and again until you’re sure there’s a nasty bruise on half of your legs. There’s not enough time to register the soreness spreading to your knees, however, because by the time you’re up, she’s already coming at you again. It’s hopeless, you think, blocking another attack. Just as you’re about to give up and admit defeat, you see an opportunity in her stance. Seemingly laid back with how miserably you’re failing, you take it as a weakness and practically pounce at the opportunity to launch at her in return for your own bruises.

By some miracle, it lands.

She doesn’t fall as pathetically as you did, but she stumbles.

“Have you lost your touch, Lae’zel?”

You whip your head around to the voice where Shadowheart is under the shade of a tree, a letter gripped in her fingers. She paces closer to you and your opponent, raising a brow at the state you’re in. “Was it really necessary to beat them so harshly?”

“It worked, didn’t it? They managed to hit me,” Lae’zel scoffs, a hint of pride in her tone.

“Well, as wonderful of a time it is to watch you fight one another like beasts,” Shadowheart rolls her eyes, lifting the letter. “Tav and I need to get new clothes tailored, it seems.”

Lae’zel snatches the letter before you can take a look, her eyes scanning over the words before shooting to you. “A celebration?”

“A ball, more like,” the cleric steals the sheet right back, handing it to you. “In our honor, of course, for defeating the elder brain. About time we received something in return.”

You only briefly glance at the words printed on the letter. “This is too much.”

Both heads turn to you inquisitively. “I thought you’d be ecstatic for something like this. I recall you always used to sing about the songs people would make about your adventures.”

“That was ages ago,” you sigh, but Lae’zel doesn’t seem much happier either.

“They choose to celebrate while the city’s citizens are being picked off like prey by spawn? No wonder its inhabitants have turned out so puny,” she glances at you while she speaks. You contemplate rolling your eyes, though you’d rather not get knocked on your ass again.

“You and Gale can go tomorrow. I made reservations at the tailor for all of us, but Figaro says he can only take two a day,” Shadowheart tells Lae’zel. “You wouldn’t mind if I took your punching bag for a few hours, would you?”

“Tchk. I have the wizard as another target if need be.”

She tosses her braid over her shoulder as she nods. “Great. Let’s hurry then.”

They don’t give you much room to protest in the matter, already having made up their minds—not that you were going to object in the first place. You’re honored, really, that the city finds you impressive enough to throw a celebration in your honor, and you know your companions are more than deserving of it, too. But it’s as Lae’zel said.

There’s another battle brewing under the city, in its shadows, and in plain sight, yet you can’t do anything about it. It’s not like the elder brain. Killing the brain itself was enough to rid of the mind flayers, but in this case, killing one spawn only leads to hunting 7000 more. Most of which are being lied to by Astarion’s siblings.

You shake your head to rid of the thoughts. No. You deserve this. You went through hell and back with that bloody parasite in your head, so hells be damned if you can have one bloody night to yourself. One that doesn’t consist of consistently worrying about whether another body will drop dead while you sleep blissfully in the walls of your own home. You need this after all you’ve been through.

Still…

The silence as you walk alongside Shadowheart makes you cringe.

It’s not like she’s angry at you, nor are you at her. You understand her reactions toward Astarion, and you like to think that she does too. But with how things ended with him last time, your interactions with the cleric have grown increasingly curt, with short conversations baring down to the bare necessities. You’ve tried to speak with her, but each time the two of you are alone, the guilt gnaws away at your stomach—your confidence along with it.

This time, you swear. This time you’ll apologize.

“Shadowhea-”

“I shouldn’t have done it.”

You blink. Twice.

She doesn’t look at you, continuing to stride through the city streets. “It was unfair of me to blow up at you for letting Astarion feed. It wasn’t my choice, and I know that. I was only…”

You wait for her to continue, increasing the speed of your footsteps to catch up.

“...It was a selfish reason,” she mutters. “I did not want to lose you to him again. I’ve seen you the last time he hurt you, and you were practically a stranger to all of us. Even with defeating the elder brain, you didn’t seem happy in the slightest. He ruined so much that I—-I instinctively tried to make a decision that I have no control over.”

“It won’t happen again. Lying, I mean,” you blurt immediately. “I’ve learned, as hard as it might be to believe. I don’t want to drift from you again, either. I’m just sorry it took so long to bring this up.”

“I’m in no place to complain. It took weeks for me to understand how in the hells your thought process seems to work…And how you manage to make such bad decisions that somehow have a knack for working out,” she purses her lips. “I still don’t understand. Not completely. But I do also trust you know what you’re doing.”

You don’t know what you’re doing, but you think it’s better to avoid telling her that.

She smiles, and you already feel lighter. “It’s a miracle I’m alive, to be honest.”

“It really is. Trust me, I’d know,” she snorts in return.

“I do have quite the skilled healer at my side, which helps.”

Shadowheart stops in front of Figaro’s store, glancing back at you. You hadn’t even realized the two of you had walked this far, but she shrugs with a smug grin as she pushes through the door.

“Whatever would you do without me?”

You’ve searched the Blushing Mermaid at least a dozen times over now, in case you missed any of Dalyria’s things that might aid you in your search for the other siblings. Despite the tavern owners blocking the entrance, a simple mage hand or two was enough to pry open the wooden boards nailed to the basement door.  It’s been nearly three times now that you’ve come up empty-handed, but what harm could a fourth try do? Sure, you’ve scrummaged her desk seven times alone, but perhaps you might have missed a drawer or two…

The stillness of the night is disturbed as you lift the hatch leading to the basement, waving away the dust that flies into your face. You pocket Dalyria’s journal and begin your descent downward. The humidity hits your cheeks, and you sigh, swallowing your distaste for the crumbling lair to resume your investigation without any distractions. You expect another endless night of useless rummaging through the Hag’s old things and some of Dalyria’s own belongings, but doing nothing would weigh too heavily on your conscious.

Just as you enter the actual lair, you find that you are not alone.

A blond man stands on the other side, his back turned to you as he searches the desk you’ve already looked over multiple times.

Petras.

Sure, you’ve been searching for him for quite a while now, but for him to just waltz into you like this? You’re not sure if you’re insanely lucky or simply unlucky for not having stumbled into him until now. He remains unaware of your presence, and you take the opportunity to reach for your knife, willing your footsteps to feel lighter to avoid detection. Another skill a certain rogue taught you at a certain point, but never mind that.

The floorboard creaks under your weight.

Dammit. You’ve never been as good as he was.

He whips around, immediately on the defense. But as soon as he spots you, his shoulder relaxes, a scowl falling as he blinks. “Oh. You.”

Embarrassment burns in your cheeks, feeling like a child who’s been caught stealing an extra sweet from the cookie jar. Still, you straighten your back, shifting so he can’t see the knife clenched in your hand. “What are you doing here?”

“I was wondering when I’d see Astarion’s pet again,” he ignores your question, stepping away from the desk toward you. It makes your body tense. “You’ve been up to quite a lot since the last time we spoke, haven’t you? I hear you nearly captured my sister.”

“I’m not his pet,” you snap, more harshly than you intended. He raises a brow. 

“Fine. His blood bank.”

Your sharp glare is enough to send him your sentiments.

“Not a very willing blood bank, I see.”

“What are you doing here, Petras?” you finally snap.

He ignores you again, and this time, you contemplate chucking the knife at his head. “How’s my brother doing? Horrible, I hope.”

“He’s fine,” you retort through gritted teeth. It’s the nicest thing you can conjure up at the moment. “We would be doing better if you weren’t making a bloodbath of the city.”

“You nearly killed my sister as well.”

“Your sister is the one that attacked us after she said she was going to kidnap Astarion like he’s some sort of object. What was I supposed to do?”

“Well, I can’t blame you. She’s always been stubborn,” he shrugs. “But I am disappointed you chose to take my brother’s side after all he’s done to you. I would pity you, really, if you hadn’t gone and killed almost four of us already.”

“You can’t blame me for self-defense.”

Petras frowns. “Tell me, why didn’t you take our deal?”

“What?”

He paces a few steps toward you, standing at the platform of the lair while you stare up at him in bewilderment. “We’ve been watching you for an extended period of time now. We offered you everything you could possibly gain from a deal like this one, and you still rejected it. You’d get rid of us and keep the city safe. All the while, you’d never have to see my brother again. Dalyria says it barely seemed to phase you. I want to know why.”

“It’s—” you trip over your own tongue. You don’t even know why you feel obligated to answer him. “It just felt right at the time.”

“What kind of half-baked answer is that?”

“I answered your question, didn't I? Now answer mine.”

Petras furrows his brows, glancing at Dalyria’s desk behind him. “I take it you know what we plan to do?”

You purse your lips, and it’s enough of an answer for him.

“I wanted to take Astarion by force, personally. But Leon and Dalyria…they’ve grown considerably soft after Cazador left,” he rolls his eyes at the thought, crossing his arms. “...A shame. That kind of fragility won’t get them anywhere in this world. Those fools are destined to die or to live at the bottom of the barrel, forever feeding on city rats.”

The way he speaks of his siblings makes your stomach churn.

“You’re a bigger fool if you think I’m going to let you go through with the ascension,” you hiss. “You’ll kill all those spawns. They’ve put their trust in you to lead them, and you’re lying straight to their faces as if their lives aren’t worth the crap on your shoes–”

“And how did things turn out the last time you tried to stop the ascension?”

This makes your throat go dry.

“Take this as our last warning, bard. Or else we’ll come and take him ourselves.”

“He’s your brother,” you blurt in exasperation, waving your hand in disbelief. “You can’t possibly want to kill him, even if he’s an asshole from time to time! Cazador is gone. You’re free! There’s nothing else to run away from!”

You don’t know why you’re defending him.

But it pours out of your chest, and you already know trying to choke it back up won’t reverse what’s already been said.

With your words seemingly going in one ear and out the other, Petras clenches his fist at his side and glowers down at you with a sharp inhale. Despite his attempts to appear composed, you can see the vein bulging from his forehead, threatening to burst if you push him any longer. “He stopped being my brother the second he tried to ascend.”

“Still—”

“He attempted to kill the rest of us for the sake of his own wellbeing. What makes him any different than Cazador himself?” he argues. “Cazador always took a special interest in Astarion. I see now that it’s because they’re so similar. In life or in death.”

For some strange reason, this makes your blood burn.

You can hear Astarion’s gasps as his master’s nightmarish toll awoke you both on those starry nights when the parasite still swam in your heads. How cold he’d felt in your arms, rasping into your chest as you calmed him. White curls brushed against your hand as you pulled him close. You’ve never wished to the gods for much, but in that moment, you begged them to let him forget. To give you something—anything—to soothe the trembling of his hands.

Astarion could have been like Cazador. He’d come dangerously close to becoming the very monster that tortured him for centuries, but he hadn’t. Whether it was voluntary or not, it doesn’t matter because, at the end of the day, he isn’t Cazador. And you plan to keep it that way as long as your fingers can still clutch your blade.

“I was planning on paying you a visit,” Petras says, catching your attention once more as he slips out a scroll from his sleeve. “Though I suppose you’ve made this easier on the both of us…especially if you die here.”

You take a step toward him, heels digging into the ground. “If you think I’ll just—”

“If you’ll only get in my way, then I have no problem with watching you perish.”

With a shout, the scroll glows a lime green, and a long groan echoes from the bodies scattered throughout the room.

Shit.

The spawn adjusts his hood back around his head, sparing you a pitiful stare. “You’ve chosen your side, and it's the one that's destined to lose. Good luck, bard…I hope your death isn’t as painful as it could have been at Astarion’s hands.”

And just as the undead begins to crawl toward you with an agonizing screech, he puffs up into a cloud of red smoke and vanishes.

You need a bath. Terribly.

Barely scraping out with your life, you can’t say you’re a pleasing person to look at with the dirt and blood smeared across your body. The sleeve of your shirt is torn open, and while a few healing potions have done the trick to heal most of your injuries, the more minor splits and cuts remain an insistent reminder of the war you’ve just declared with the vampire spawns.

Well, they’re the ones who declared it, but the point stands.

You manage to wash out a lot of the blood by the time you return home, praying your disheveled state can’t be seen with the effort you’ve put in to look presentable. Your worries are put to rest, however, when you realize just how late it’s gotten into the night, as all your companions remain blissfully asleep as you limp into the house, barely able to stand upright.

Everything is a blur. How you managed to fight off a dozen undead is a mystery to you, but it’s not unwelcome. At least there’s nobody here to scold you.

But even that, you realize, is a false sense of security when you sense him from the stairs. You’ve learned not to anticipate any creak in the floorboard when he’s the one pacing on them. Rather, you’ve learned to expect a concerning bloodthirsty presence and two eyes boring into the back of your head as if you’ve grown another head. It eventually becomes easy to sense his aura even from across the living room.

You hope the darkness conceals the bruises on your body. “What do you want?”

“You’re bleeding again,” he says, and it’s not a question. “I could smell it from upstairs.”

A scoff. “What are you? A dog?”

Astarion doesn’t bother responding to your snide comment, coming closer. You can finally see his expression in a daze as he approaches your vicinity. He’s present, but not really, as his focus shifts from you to your hand to your face again repeatedly as if he’s unsure what he’s even doing here.

You’d recognize his mannerisms anywhere.

“Are you drunk?”

“I recall you saying you were visiting the tavern.”

“I was at the tavern.”

He barks a laugh. “My dear, you can tell as many pretty lies to the others but not to me. I can see right through your little game like an open book.”

Curse him.

“I asked you a question first,” you opt to change the subject, remaining firm. “How much did you drink?”

“I didn’t break any rules, as far as I’m aware,” his words slur messily as he leans against the wall, a pink hue spread across his cheeks. “I just drank…a tiny bit more than usual.”

He’s most undoubtedly tipsy, at the very least.

Astarion pushes himself off the wall and toward you, where he squints down at you with what you assume to be some variation of curiosity. His eyes do not hold the usual hostility they usually do, somewhat clouded in a mist of relaxation that’s dangerously close to overflowing. You inch backward.

“Your turn,” he breathes. “Why are you bleeding?”

While you were out risking your life, the bastard must’ve been having the time of his life if the unsteadiness of his steps is any indication. You bite the inside of your cheek bitterly.

“I met Petras just now…more like ambushed, actually,” you respond, pacing the kitchen to wipe off the dirt staining your elbows. You pour yourself a glass of water, but the second it touches your lips, you flinch, the split on your lip still too new to be challenged. So, instead, you set the glass down, eyeing the way he mindlessly stares at you without a thought running through his mind.

Still, he’s giddier than usual, snorting at the state you’re in. “You couldn’t have possibly lost to my brother. He has muscle but barely any wit.”

You remain silent, and his smile grows wider. “Oh! You really let the bastard get away. Well, isn’t this a surprise! Excuse my error; perhaps you aren’t as invincible as I pegged you to be.”

“He caught me off guard.” Hot discomfort courses through your veins.

“Pish posh,” he waves you off, teetering in your direction. “It’s no good if you refuse to admit defeat, my dear. It’ll come back to bite you in the behind later.”

You watch with half-lidded eyes, unmoving from your spot beside the counter as he scrummages around the cabinets for nothing other than the very substance that’s reduced him to this pitiful state. Ironic, you know, considering the tavern had practically been your home only a few months prior. “How did you even get drunk? There isn’t nearly enough blood here for that.”

His face brightens when he finds what he’s been searching for. He uncorks the glass bottle and inhales the stench of blood. While it makes you scrunch your nose, he sighs dreamily, shoulder going slack. “Gale accompanied my hunt again, and I managed to find not one but two bloody bears. One of which was oh so gratefully already wounded. You can be smart when you want to be; I’m sure you can imagine the rest.”

You don’t want to imagine it, actually.

“I think you’ve had enough,” you pluck the bottle from his hands, and his expression immediately falls. He almost looks like a kicked puppy. It makes your chest swell with pride.

“Why? Would you rather I drink from you?” he tries to reach for it, but you step out of the way. “As enticing as that sounds, I’ve already had my fill of exotic blood for tonight. All I need is the dessert to top off the feast I’ve had, and I’ll be satiated for at least a few days.”

You glare at him. “You’re already drunk, you don’t need anymore.”

“But I want more,” he slurs again, and you attempt to move the bottle behind your back, but his hand is already expecting this maneuver. With embarrassing ease, the bottle slips into his grasp, and he takes a long sip of blood while forgetting how you remain caged against the counter, arms blocking any sort of exit you can take to slip away.

You can count his eyelashes from this distance.

He lifts his hand to wipe at his mouth, and much to your relief, you manage to escape the suffocating feeling of being surrounded by him. His scent, his voice, just everything. You close your fists, itching to retreat into the comforts of your own bedroom rather than continue to watch his focus zone in and out until narrowing down on you. “Are you done?”

“Mm, it’s sweet, but not sweet enough. It’s not quite a dessert, I’m afraid.”

“You don’t even like sweet things,” you scoff. You don’t know why you remember this. You shouldn’t remember this. It’s not even your concern anymore.

He stares at you. “I make exceptions.”

Unwillingly to figure out the implications of his words (and whether or not it comes off as a threat), you run a hand through your hair and sigh. “Petras seems hell-bent on kidnapping you.”

“Let him try. The poor fool wouldn’t stand a chance against any of us, much less all of us simultaneously. At least it’ll make for quite a show.”

“And let him kill more people in the process?”

Astarion tilts his head, albeit only slightly. He lacks the usual polish of his charm. “Ah, we couldn’t dare allow a few unlucky souls to perish. It’s not like the inevitable fate of death is waiting for them anyway.”

Sarcasm dripping from his tongue, you decide he’s not nearly sober enough to talk about this. He’s barely keeping himself upright with his arms perched on either side of the counter. He’s close enough that the scent of blood muddles all of your other senses. The softness in his eyes makes you squirm, and the small voice in your head that is your intuition screams for you to get away before…well, you’re not sure what, but it’s what it’s telling you.

“Go to bed,” you order him, though it sounds more like a plea. “We’ll talk in the morning.”

“The night’s only begun, though.”

The answer spews out immediately. “I miss to see where that’s my problem.”

Rather than taking offense, he merely smiles. “You’re so harsh to me, love.”

You open your mouth to respond, but the nickname catches you off guard. It’s one he hasn’t called you since…everything. One that you’ve learned to bury into whatever corner you can find in your memories, hoping never to see them again. For a split moment, you can feel your resolve falter. Still, you refuse to show him what a simple word does to you and steel your will to leave this for a proper time when you’re both not nearly delirious. One from blood and the other from a battle.

“I wouldn’t be harsh if you didn’t deserve it.”

“I’m aware.” His voice lowers. “Though I rather like it when you’re cruel to me.”

You blink. 

Has he always looked at you like this?

He’s not just drunk, you reason. He’s completely wasted.

“Astarion,” you lean away. “You’re drunk.”

He ignores your warnings with a click of his tongue. “My mind is clearer than it's ever been after I got that damn parasite out of my head.”

His delirious expression says otherwise.

Pinching the bridge of your nose, you sigh irritably. “Whatever game you’re playing, I want none of it. I’m tired, so just leave me be, will you? Get out of my way.”

“I could say the same to you.”

“You’re the one blocking me from leaving!” you fume, pointing at his arm.

“That’s not what I mean. You’re…” he sighs, dropping his head wearily. “…you’re no different than that parasite, come to think of it.”

Appalled, you just gawk at him, jaw agape. “Please tell me I did not just hear you say that.”

He laughs, throwing his head back as he straightens his back. His arms fall back to his side, providing you just enough space to squeeze out of the way, but you find yourself staring up at him as he recollects himself. “It’s rather frustrating. I suppose, at the very least, unlike that worm, you’re a pretty thing to look at.”

What in the hells is going on?

First, he calls you a parasite and then proceeds to flatter you barely two seconds later, having nothing but hazy blurs in that thick skull of his. You wouldn’t be surprised if he tried to kill you again next. In fact, you think it’s probably best to retreat now when you can—even if he’s gazing down at you as if he expects an answer to his previous statement.

You should leave.

Your legs remain rooted in place.

You should definitely leave.

“Call me that again, and I’ll install bars on your windows,” you grumble, only half meaning it. Mainly because it would be a hassle to build. “Just go, Astarion. I don’t want to speak with you.”

“Convince me.”

You quirk a brow. “What?”

“Convince me that you don’t want me here,” he says firmly. “Then I’ll leave.”

Gods, has he lost it?

“Are you serious?”

“Am I ever not? I may deceive you, but I always take you seriously. You must know this.”

Barely stopping yourself from punching that smug smile off his face, your brows furrow. And with gritted teeth, you hiss. “Well, for one, you stink of blood.”

“What a pleasant fragrance indeed.”

“Two,” you continue. “You’re barely standing on both feet, which tells me you aren’t in any position to discuss what I want to right now—which, by the way, is your own damn brother.”

He hums.

“Three, you’re an asshole.”

“Very convincing, darling.”

“So I’ve heard,” you snap, rolling your eyes. “Do I need to say more?”

Astarion steps closer, making your shoulders tense. “Tell me more about how I’m an asshole.”

The blood he drank must contain some sort of drug, surely.

“You leave bottles all over the living room,” you begin, and slowly, the words begin to spill out as if they’ve been waiting to be thrown at him for a while now. “You don’t help clean at all. You make jokes only you find funny. You fight with Shadowheart all the time, and it makes everyone uncomfortable. You walk around at three in the morning and scare the crap out of me just because I wanted some water.”

He nods. “Go on.”

“You’re always sneaking out, even though we tell you not to. You don’t even tell us where you’re going and then get surprised when Lae’zel wants to execute you again! You come home at bizarre times, and the hallway smells like blood all the time, and—and—-” You’re rambling now, you realize, but you’re too exhausted to give a rat’s ass about it. So instead, you push a finger into his chest pointedly, scowling. “---you’re just not pleasant to be around. You’re the biggest asshole I’ve met, and trust me when I’ve met a lot of assholes. I’d rather all of them than you.”

Astarion’s lashes flutter as his gaze flits across your face. “Is that so?”

With narrowed eyes, your fists tighten. “Hells, I don’t even know why I’m here with you because I should’ve been at the tavern sleeping with some other random bastard by now if your damn brother didn’t-”

Suddenly, the breath in your lungs is knocked out as the back of your hips bumps against the counter, knocking over your glass of water.

Before you can discern whatever emotions are being evoked by his lack of awareness, the already minimal distance between the two of you closes as he smashes his lips against yours. It’s harsh. Fueled by hatred, it’s by no means a pleasant show of affection. It burns, sending sparks throughout your entire body as you sink into his touch, feeling the full force of the smallest of movements; he seems dangerously close to what you might describe as desperate.

Unable to fully process what’s happening, you only stand there, stock still.

Your eyes might fall out of its sockets with how wide they are.

He’s kissing you. 

Astarion is kissing you.

And instinctively, your body, if for a split moment, kisses back.

What. The. Fuck.

Thankfully, you’re quick to realize what’s happening, and you abruptly shove him away, stumbling in the process. It seems he’s sobered up on his end because he appears just as shocked as you are, the blood staining his pretty lips being the only proof that the kiss did indeed happen. He blinks rapidly, first trying to take in your expression. You don’t think you’ve seen him this lost in ages. But that's not your concern right now.

He starts. “Darling, I–”

Your fist punches into his stomach, and he reels.

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[luverine]

Mothman x Reader

2.1k words // How mothman and you became mates. // 18+ // breeding and smells/pheromones // angst to smut

Every night you hear tapping on your window. You didn’t really think anything of it as you live in an old creaky house, it's bound to make some odd noises.

The tapping comes from your bedroom window only and it always happens quite late into the night. It appeared four or so months ago and is consistent.

You’re starting to have an uneasy feeling every time you go to sleep. You feel eyes on you and it sends cold pins down your spine.

“Maybe the house is haunted?…” You look around the room you've been sleeping in for the past nine months. Checking every crevice and crack, possibly getting a clue on this “haunting.” You bought it off an auction giving you no idea what the past was for this house.

You decide this is the night you’re going to stay up late and do a paranormal investigation in your own home. “I’m pretty sure this is how people die or become possessed.” You mutter pointing a finger on your lip in thought.

Preparing for the night you set up some candles and light them in your bedroom and bathroom attempting to create the perfect ambiance for a ghost.

The sun was coming down fast as winter was right around the corner. A chill runs through your body just on the idea of winter. Living in the woods wasn’t ideal but the small Victorian house with below par insulation was everything and more than what you wanted.

…

As the moon awakens into the night you make your way up the stairs to your bedroom. A thud can be heard when you reach the door. You tilt your head confused, opening the door you find nothing. The window untapped, sheets folded, hamper full. Nothing has changed, but the noises…

You uncover the bed sliding yourself into the sheets then reconverting yourself in the soft blankets you’ve stacked on your bed. Turning away from the window so only your back can be seen. You pretend to sleep, your breathing slows down and the blanket's warmth almost knocks you out immediately.

Fighting sleep for around an hour as comfort pulls you into its embrace. You hear it! The tapping on the window begins its three taps… pause… three taps.

You wait a few more moments listening to the slightly annoying rhythm before deciding it is investigation time.

You shuffle gently, switching to face the other side of the room. The window is to your face all you have to do is peek and see if there’s anything there. Or maybe the house just has a squeaky window?

You open one eye very slightly peeking through your eyelashes. There’s a silhouette but you can’t make out what it is. A ghost? Demon? Witch? You don’t know. The only thing you can do now is sleep or confront whatever is in front of you.

Of course you’re going to approach the silhouette. You jolt out of bed quickly. Scaring whatever was by your window. It disappeared in the blink of an eye.

You let out a sigh frustrated and lay back in bed this time actually falling asleep.

…

The morning after that silly attempt at an investigation. You ponder on what you could do to lure the thing to interact with you. Find out why it’s been tapping your window every night for the past few months.

You settle on opening your laptop and search for window tapping paranormals. Hoping this won’t be an original experience.

All you came across were ghost stories and clickbaity videos about “ghosts caught on camera.” You raise your eyebrows at these dense posts giving you no help, not even a hint of what’s happening.

…

The day has reached nightfall, it's pitch black outside and nearly midnight.

You’re going to do the same thing tonight. Catch the creature when you turn in your “sleep.” You aren’t confident in the plan but it’s the best you could come up with. Repetition works!

Except this time you open the window half ajar. The cold from the autumn night wafting a chill into your room. You lay in bed covered up in your cozy blankets lightly shivering waiting for the silhouettes tapping to begin.

…

Luan is nervous to approach your window. He doesn’t want you to see him. Uncertainty seizes him as your window is open. He knows it is cold. He freezes every night just to see you.

Swiftly Luan shimmies through the window into your room. It’s so cold… He tries his best to shut the window, unsure how to use some human technology.

Stepping close to your sleeping body he can feel the coolness radiate from you. This scared him you’re supposed to be warm. He chirps worryingly in a panic. What does he do? He can’t lose you!

Luan isn’t the warmest himself naturally but he’s desperate to warm you up. He moves the covers in a hurry sliding himself onto the bed and holding you against him.

He can’t believe this is real. He’s holding you! He can feel your heartbeat. You are perfect against him.

He caresses your face as you start warming up from the freezing temperature the room became.

You're at peace from the sensation of something rubbing your face. It's hard and fuzzy- wait what? You jolt sitting up on the bed, your whole body reacts to someone lying next to you.

“What”- You whisper out looking at the “thing” on your bed. A big dark creature with antennas, sharp long claw-like hands, and what appears to be wings tucked over the both of you.

The reaction you gave frightened Luan causing him to let out a scream. He scatters to the window trying to open it but of course the window doesn’t play in his cards right. It doesn’t open.

He hurriedly rushed himself to a corner cowering his wings shaking in anxiety. He already understands that you won’t love him. What was he thinking? Stray tears slip down his moony eyes.

Your heart beats fast out your chest. The creature is terrified and you feel bad… Trying to catch it for your own solace you didn’t even think about what the thing you’d find would feel or act.

Slowly you tiptoe through the room to where it is curled up in the corner. You go down on your knees once you are at arm's length of the creature.

You slowly shuffle closer to it tilting your head side to side in curiosity, your eyes traveling its frame. Luan flinches at how close you are to him. Your figure now radiates heat and he’s always cool.

Unmoving, the both of you familiarize yourselves with each other. The bedroom doesn’t feel so suffocating anymore as the uncomfortable atmosphere dimmed and breaths match.

You make the first move to feel it. Pulling your hand from under your knee you bring it up close to its face holding your hand out letting it know you aren’t dangerous.

It moves its chin onto your hand and rub your thumb on its soft fuzzy cheek. Inspecting the creature you see that it's dark skin is covered in short silky fur especially around its neck where it’s more thick.

Luan makes a vibrating sound from the affection his mate has gifted him. The moon has answered his prayers; she loves him as he loves her! His wings let out a small flutter in relief.

He shows you his hand just as you had done. Instead of holding your hand he holds on your other hand he moves your hand side-to-side turning it to get a good look at you. Your skin is smooth, flawed or unflawed he couldn’t care; your hand was so dandy compared to his it made him joyous at the thought of being your protector.

His contentment didn’t go unnoticed. He let out a chirp while he got a hold on you and began to twirl you around the room.

It made you giggle, the fear of the “monster” washing away at the affection you were receiving. It was somewhat bewildering at the way the creature was behaving but you had a fond feeling growing in your chest from the pure glee around you.

Luan was seeping in tenderness. You accepting his advances made him believe you agree to his courtship.

All the times he left rocks and small crystals at your doorstep, the stick trinkets left in your garden, the window tapping. The freezing nights outside your window waiting for you, praying to the moon. It was all worth it!

He had you and will never let go, nothing will separate the two of you.

…

As the night gets older, Luan can feel sleep creep on him. He knows you’ll wake soon and he doesn’t want you to leave him alone.

He holds on tightly to your warm frame. He's always so cold during this time of year there’s a fulfilling sense to finally have comfort after what felt tortuous to be complete.

Luan makes a faint grumbling noise as he lays his head down on a pillow your pheromones wash over the room. Every inch of him is swimming in the waves of you; it's intoxicating.

He grumbles again as he looks to where you are at rest. Liam’s head is light he wants you, his body begs him to act on his overcoming need to have you completely. He’s wary of how you will react to becoming one wholly.

Feeling claws rake through your hair, you wake from your dreamless sleep. The bewitching creature has its face tucked into your neck taking deep inhales ticking you. You let out soft laughter as you wipe the sleep from your eyes ready to begin the day.

Luan can’t resist no longer your voice enchants him. Your smell is intoxicating. He must have a taste. Luan opens his mouth on your neck and licks big stripes along your jugular.

You shutter at the feeling of its wet tongue on your neck practically devouring you. Letting out low mains and quiet giggles. You rest your hand on its fuzzy head playing with its feathery antenna as the alluring creature teases you.

Oh gods you’re playing with his antenna. Shaking in anticipation Luan runs his clawed hands on your body. Feeling every crevice. He plays with your nightshirt wanting to feel your skin against his.

You get where things are advancing and decide to reward the mesmerizing being by letting go of its antenna and pulling off your shirt where nothing but your breasts lies underneath.

He’s never seen anything like this before… Spending his whole life searching for his mate gave him no time for curiosities. The buds on your mounds intrigued him, the soft yet subtle sharpness to you. Luan poked and prodded with your breast learning and loving how sensitive and reactive you are to his little taunts.

When he’s done playing with you Luan decides to taste your poor nipples now red and swollen from his teasing. Swirling his tongue around one and the next going back and forth he finds it so enjoyable and delicious how warm and wanting you’ve gotten.

You are a mess and so little has been done, it's tongue doing wonders to you not even in your most sensitive spot yet you are soaked. “Please I need you badly!” Begging for a release as the creature has put you on edge.

Luan knows exactly what you’re asking and he won’t say no. He tears your wet panties off of your hips leaving you as bare as him. He panting it’s too much his wings ruffle from the overwhelming feeling of lust.

You rub your hands up and down its arms and legs comforting the fair creature. It seemed almost nervous- well that’s what you thought until its slit between its legs opened revealing a dick hard, heavy, and leaking.

Luan let out a gutteral chirp as he pulled you into his lap ever so slowly pushing his cock deep into you filling every inch within you.

“Yes! You-“ Not being able to make complete sentences due to the pleasure rolling into your body so savory. You can’t make any sound other than moaning as you hold onto his shoulders. Occasionally brushing your fingers on his wings causing him to let out low squeaks.

Luan’s having trouble keeping at ease he feels his very being cry out from how intense the pleasure of you is. He feels his hot seed escaping him.

Letting out a whine Luan fills you with his love painting your womb white. You’re mostly incoherent as ecstasy is running through your hot veins.

Luan covers himself around you like a big teddy bear. Both of you are sweaty, flush, and sleepy. You hold onto the beauty the moon has blessed you with.

Luan looks out the window where it all started to see the silvery moon falling and the hot sun rising.

The moon answered his orison.

Likes, Comments, Reblogs appreciated ♥︎ Inbox open!

A/N: This took a MINUTE to write whew. Anyways I really like the way this turned out I didn’t really proof read it just edited it as I went, so sorry for any mistakes… Special thanks to Luan’s wife for the encouragement (you know who you are lol) Next up You and Luan’s babies!

Want more Luan? Here and here ♥︎

[froggiewrites]

i love your writing so much and im so glad you opened requests!! :) i would love if you wrote a fic about zoro being dominant (maybe some spanking/spitting?) him having a dirty mouth, and perhaps some edging? i have another idea that i'll send in a diff message too! even if you dont choose this one i look forward to reading the others <3

I've never written anything with a lot of dirty talk or dominance before, but I tried my best, and I hope I did it justice! 😊

Playing Rough

Pairing: Zoro x Reader

NSFW

Summary: You're being terribly stubborn, insisting on fighting battles you can't handle. Zoro decides to put you in your place. Warnings: Smut, Dom Zoro, Spanking, Dirty Talk, Slight Edging, Begging Word Count: 2.4k

It was a stupid argument, one that shouldn’t have happened.

The battle you had been through was rough, sure, but you didn’t take any damage that wouldn’t heal. Zoro had insisted you not fight on your own, not take on any challenge you couldn’t handle, and you had insisted that you were more than capable of handling it. And you were. You came home, didn’t you? And the bruises might be nasty and the stitches weren’t terribly fun either, but you were in one piece. You had managed to hobble your way back to the ship on your own, and you didn’t even collapse before making it into Zoro’s arms.

You were too out of it to comprehend the words he said, though you understood the panic and fear in his tone well enough. And you certainly understood the words he spoke when you first woke up.

“Are you stupid?”

“Excuse me?”

Before you could truly get angry, his arms were around you, crushing you against his chest. You can feel a slight tremor as he takes a deep breath, nose buried in your hair, taking in your scent, your warmth, any evidence that you are here with him and alive. He takes a shuddering inhale, the closest thing to weakness you’ve ever heard from him, before his voice comes back again, rough and absolutely furious. “You almost died.”

“I didn’t almost die.” You try to say it sweetly, soothingly, but his fingers tighten in a way that is less than kind.

“You almost died. You went even though you knew you shouldn’t, and you almost died. I almost lost you.” His voice isn’t shaking, not quite, but you swear you feel the tremor anyway. Zoro is not a man easily rattled, yet somehow you have shaken him to his very foundation.

“You could never lose me, Zoro. I knew what I was doing, I promise.”

“You knew the risk you were taking?”

“Yes. But I had to do it.” You bring a hand up to run through his hair. “I knew I would come back. I knew what I was doing, and I knew I was strong enough. I promise.”

You’re suddenly devoid of his warmth as he pulls away, glaring at you. “You have no idea what you’re talking about. Chopper said if you got back even a few minutes later…” He trails off, clenching his teeth.

“But I didn’t,” you insist. “Everything turned out fine, Zoro.”

“Do you think that’s all that matters?”

“Kind of!”

He huffs. “I’m glad you’re okay.” He stalks out of the room, slamming the door as he leaves. You throw yourself back onto the bed, wincing as you realize your ribs are very much broken. Every inch of you is bruised, and it hurts to breathe. But it was worth it. He would understand that eventually. Not every fight has a pretty ending, but that doesn’t mean you shouldn’t finish them.

He did not understand, as it turns out.

He still helped you as you healed, your dear protector always carrying you so gently, so purposefully. But you could feel the distance, the tension. Neither of you acknowledged it, focusing on your health first and foremost, but it haunted every moment you two were together. Touches were fleeting, conversation was sparse. But finally, finally, today you have been officially given a clean bill of health by Chopper.

“You’re cleared for everyday activity, but I still want you to stay out of fights for a while. And don’t do anything that reckless again!” Chopper’s words are law when it comes to your health, so you’ll do your best, but you can’t help but think of how no one else on this ship would follow such instructions.

“I’ll try.” No promises you can’t keep, and Chopper purses his lips a little when he realizes, but after a moment he simply nods. He’s used to patients even more stubborn than you, of course.

As you leave the office, ready to get back to your regular life, you’re instantly met by Zoro’s broad chest as he pulls you into him.

“You’re fine now?” There’s a tension to his voice you don’t fully understand.

“I–yeah? I guess?”

“Good.” He throws you over his shoulder, not exactly gently, now that he knows being rough with you won’t open your stitches.

“What are you doing?” You try to pull yourself up to see where he’s taking you, but he gives you a quick swat on the ass that makes you squeak as you fall limp again.

“You’ll see.” He jogs down a hallway you only recognize right before you reach your destination: his room. When the door slams shut behind you, enclosing you in darkness, it almost sounds like a death knell.

He throws you onto the bed carelessly, pushing a hand onto your stomach to keep you from bouncing. His other hand makes quick work of your pants as you squirm, not out of fear but out of pure confusion.

“Zoro? What’s going on?”

“We have a conversation to finish.” His voice is flat. You don’t need to ask him which conversation. You know damn well which one. He’s finally rid you of your pants, throwing them carelessly to the floor, and he begins to work on the buttons of your shirt.

“Is that what this is going to be? A conversation?”

He hums. “No, I guess not.” His callused hands are rough against your bare skin as he unhooks your bra and grabs your breasts. “You aren’t going to be doing much talking, today. It’s finally time for you to listen.” He kneads your chest for a moment, pinching harshly, before he moves to slide off your panties.

“Listen?” Your voice is a little strained as you feel his fingers slide against your bare skin for the first time in weeks.

“Yeah, listen. You weren’t willing before, so I have to try something else.” He flips you over before pulling you onto his lap, ass in the air. “Make you remember our roles here.”

“Our roles?”

“Yeah. I’m the protector of the ship, of our crew. That’s my job.”

“Oh? And what’s mine?”

“In general? To survive. Right now? To take what I give you.”

“And what are you giving me?”

“Do you think you’re in a position to interrogate me right now?” His hand grabs one of your ass cheeks, an attempt to remind you exactly who’s in charge. And you know, of course, who’s in charge here. But that doesn’t mean you can’t push him.

“You’ve been answering, haven’t you?” You can’t keep the mischief out of your voice.

He chuckles in spite of himself. “Yeah, I have. I’m being too nice, aren’t I?” His voice gets a little deeper, an intensity creeping in. “I’ll give you one more, as a treat. I’m giving you exactly what you’ve earned, for acting so fucking recklessly. And then, if you’re good? I’ll give you my cock. I’m sure you want it, hm? All cooped up in the infirmary for weeks, thinking about it, knowing you can’t have it. I bet it’s been driving you insane.”

With that, you feel the sharp sting of his hand as he brings it down. It makes you cry out as it connects with your soft flesh, but you know he isn’t using even half of his strength, holding back, somehow taking care of you even now. You feel him harden when he does it, though you can’t tell if it’s from the sound you make or from the action itself. Maybe both. His hand gently caresses the growing handprint, a moment of tenderness, before he raises his hand again and you tense.

“Just relax, sweetheart. It can’t be any worse than what you put us through.” Another smack, this one on the other cheek, and another, and another, alternating each time. You can’t help the small squeaks and whines you let out, and Zoro can’t hide the effect they have on him, breathing growing heavier and smacks becoming more intense as you both lose yourselves.

“That’s it. One more. You can take one more.”

“Ah!”

“That’s right. Another. You’re enjoying this, aren’t you? You’re practically dripping.” You clench your thighs together, trying to hide the fact that he’s right, about this, about the fight, about everything here. When you try, he tuts, bringing his hand down yet again, making you jolt. “Don’t go hiding yourself from me, pretty thing. You’re mine, every inch of you. You can’t hide a thing from me. Can you say it for me, sweet thing? Admit that you’re mine?”

“I’m yours, Zoro!”

“And that I was right?”

“You were—ah!” His hand comes down again, but you force your way through. “You were right, Zoro!”

“There we go.” His hands finally stop, coming to rest on your red and stinging ass. “Was that so hard to admit?”

You keep silent, your stubbornness still carrying you through.

He laughs at you. “You know, I could add a bit to your punishment for not answering. But,” his fingers find your entrance, wet and waiting, “I think you’d probably like that, huh?”

You hum, pushing your face into the bed, trying to hide your red face and ears. He lifts you up, pulling you up into a sitting position, holding your chin and forcing you to look him in the eyes. “Hiding again? You really liked your punishment, didn’t you? As much as I’d love to continue, that’s not all I had in store. So eyes on me.”

He quickly strips off his shirt before easily lifting you with one arm so he can slide off his pants. As he does, you can see a wet spot where you were resting. It’s a little mortifying, realizing how easily he can turn you to putty in his hands, literally dripping wet for him. Your embarrassment quickly subsides when he frees his cock, red and twitching, and you realize you hold just as much sway over him as he does over you. He lines himself up with your entrance, ready to give you exactly what you want.

As he slowly slides you down on his cock, you let out a moan, and he groans in response. His eyes are locked onto where your bodies meet, taking in the sight of you stretching around him. “Fuck, you take me so perfectly. Like you were made for me.”

Once he’s fully sheathed in you, you both take a moment to breathe in, enjoying the feeling of this first sweet stretch. The second you breathe out, he begins to bounce you roughly, making you squeak. “Oh, you thought I was going to go easy on you now?” He laughs, continuing his fast pace, fingertips digging into your hips. “Fuck, you feel so good, pretty thing. Bouncing on my cock just like that.”

One hand leaves your hips, moving up your body, finding its place at your chest. He pinches your nipples, making you squeal, before he leans forward, breathing heavily in your ear. “God, when you squeeze around me like that…” he squeezes your chest again, moaning. “You kill me, sweetheart.”

His hips continue to snap harshly into yours, pounding relentlessly as the sounds of slapping skin fill the room. His lips latch onto your neck, sucking and leaving a mark that clearly defines you as his. You can feel the heat rising as your orgasm builds, your sounds growing more wanton and desperate as Zoro begins to pound into you even faster, and faster.

And then it stops.

“Wha–”

You can feel the rumble of his chest against your back as he laughs. “Oh, did you think I was going to just give it to you?”

“I–But–I was good,” you say petulantly. Your voice is still a half whine as you try to ground yourself, the tension in your body slowly unraveling and leaving nothing but a cold dissatisfaction.

“Hm.” He presses his cheek to your shoulder, humming as though he’s thinking. “Well. Maybe if you beg you can cum on my cock. If you’re real sweet about it.”

It’s embarrassing how quickly the frantic cry leaves your mouth. “Please, please, please Zoro can I cum? Please?”

“Hm. I think you can do better.”

“Please, can I cum on your cock, Zoro! Please, I need you, please!”

“Alright. Since you asked so nicely.”

His fingers find your clit, rubbing circles around it. He enters you again, pace slower this time, but strokes deep and deliberate. You can feel every inch of him as he pulls in and out, feel the heat of his breath on your ear, hear his quiet moans as you clench around him. He will give you your release, but not as quickly as you want it. You’ll get it on his terms.

Even still, you reach your precipice quickly, and he whispers huskily in your ear. “Are you ready?”

You’re beyond all practical thought at this point, but you still manage two simple words. “Yes! Please.”

“Alright then, pretty thing. Cum for me.” With one final thrust, one final movement of his fingers, you do, gushing around him as the world shatters. You’re panting, desperate for breath, but you can’t seem to make your lungs listen to you over the symphony of pleasure you’re drowning in. Right as you manage to regain some control of yourself, you can feel Zoro go tense beneath you before you feel him spill inside of you, filling you to the brim as he quietly moans out your name. 

You both sit together a moment, you limp in Zoro’s arms as he falls back onto the bed, before he speaks up.

“Promise me you’ll never do anything like that again. Really.” His arms wrap around you a little tighter. “I…I couldn’t stand the thought of losing you.”

“I won’t do it again, Zoro, I promise.” Your voice is weak, but you look up to see a sincere smile creep onto his face and you know he heard you. “...Are there other things that might get me punished like this? Less deadly things?”

He laughs. “Oh, there are plenty. And I’m sure you’ll do them all.” His hand runs through your hair affectionately. “But I’ll find more excuses to spank you later. I think you need some rest.”

With that, you two simply lay together, the only sound in the room your quiet breaths and the sound of Zoro’s heartbeat, growing slower and slower as you both drift off.

[interlunium-opus]

►DANCING WITH THE DEVIL #004 [Sunghoon.] — teaser

Previous Parts ‣ #001 | ‣ #002 | ‣ #003

Abstract: Eight years have passed since you betrayed Park Sunghoon, leaving his fate shrouded in uncertainty. You thought you'd left that world behind, but the serial killings in the capital city —which bore a haunting resemblance to that in your past—pulled you right back into the shadows you once escaped. What began as a quest to prove your worth soon unraveled into something far more sinister: a labyrinthine network of power, deceit, and danger hidden beneath a veneer of opulence. Now, amidst the grandeur of a castle steeped in blood-soaked tradition, you find yourself, once again, entangled with Sunghoon—a ghost from your past whose motives remain as inscrutable as ever. The stakes are now higher, the games deadlier, and survival feels like chasing a mirage. As you navigate a web of twisted rituals and deadly alliances, the tension between you and Sunghoon ignites once again. But this time, the game is different. With whispers of betrayal and lingering wounds threatening to consume you both, you must decide if trust is a risk worth taking—because in doing so, you are not just exposing the truths they've hidden, but also the feelings you’ve fought so hard to suppress and bury.

Genre: vampire!sunghoon | horror | thriller | fantasy | romance (or is it? 😋)

Status: currently being drafted

>>> | Masterlist |

Author's Note ((if you want a teaser, read me lol)):

Ack, I can't believe I came back (for the last time, probably).

I have written almost 20k and I think this is 70% of the story in my head already. To give you a teaser of it: if you like the gothic and eerie ambience of this series, Part 4 is on another scale -- I bring you right at the nexus of that vampire world (yknow castles, full moons, venetian masks, a ball, lots of fangs and deaths). If you like the tension between Sunghoon and y/n, I can assure you THAT is something that will never die from this series BUT lemme just say this time, the tension is different. I think thus far, the tension and dynamics between them has always been very much an attempt at one-upping the other -- fiery and chaotic, fuelled by emotions they didn’t want to admit even to themselves ((if there were any emotions there is 👀)). But in part 4, the tension has matured -- leaning more into proximity, vulnerability, and unspoken questions. It's less about winning or one-upping each other and more about unraveling hidden truths and struggling with the emotional weight of their past and present. Basically, here's another moodboard because boiii, I needed the main moodboard to have Sunghoon's beautiful face all over so I can't fit the other "important" pics hahah

And that is about as much as what I'll give you hahaha. I really plan to end the series with this part so it will stop haunting us ((me especially)) so I hope your interests has not waned and if you're new to this, I hope this sparks you to read from the beginning hehe

If you're interested to know about the creative process behind this. You can read on: it was effing torturous. It was very hard to think of how to reunite these two in a way that is not cliche nor rushed. It was even harder to try and make them realistically not want to kill each other after the ending of Part 3. Hence why it took me so long. On top of that, I was juggling a full-time work and very recently, academics so you can just imagine. But I digress, hopefully Part 4 will be a good ending to this ((whether it ends positively or not 👀))

-A.

[genshinluvr]

Final Moments

Pairings: Various Honkai Star Rail Men x Isekai'd!Reader

Summary: You're somewhere alone, bleeding, and on the verge of death. Everyone is scrambling to reach out to you, but you're not picking up your phone, and no one knows where you are. Not even Nanook knows your whereabouts. You didn't think you could die in a universe you didn't belong to, but you were wrong. At least you were able to hear their voices in your final moments, right?

Note: I haven't written angst in so long. This is probably not the best angst I've written. This is an answer to an ask I received not long ago. I'm not sure how I feel about this mini-fic, but I think something sad happening for once is somewhat good for a fanfic one-shot series. To be really honest, it doesn't feel like angst to me. Idk if it's because I wrote it or if it's because it's not sad enough. Who knows. I don't post anywhere else but on Tumblr (Genshinluvr) and on AO3 (Aaliah_exo).

Warnings: Major character death, blood, probably my worst angst

Word Count: 3.9k

Your connection with Nanook has been severed. Whenever you sleep, you and Nanook communicate while you’re asleep. When you’re unconscious due to being knocked out by a flying prosthetic arm, Nanook is there— while you’re physically unconscious. You and Nanook have always been connected through body and mind since your arrival to their— Nanook, your Astral Express, Stellaron Hunter, Xianzhou Luofu, and Jarilo-VI companions— universe. However, this is the first time you realize you and Nanook are no longer connected to each other.

In the state of unconsciousness, you’re in the void. Only this void is different from the one where Nanook is covering the sun and sky. This abyss you’re in is pitch black, and you’re the only living being in the endless darkness. There’s no sky, no sun, no stars to light a path along the way in the void. At first, you’re uncertain whether you’re physically in this void or if you’re just unconscious.

That is until you hear ringing in your ears, and light starts flooding in. You gasp aloud as if you finally made it to the surface after being underwater for more than you can handle. Your lungs hurt, and so does your head. As a matter of fact, now that you have regained consciousness, your entire body aches, and you’re tired. So tired. Your eyelids threaten to shut, but you’re trying your best not to lose consciousness again.

Where are you? 

What happened?

You push yourself upward and slump against the wall, choking out a gasp and breathing heavily. Your heart hurts— you didn’t think it was possible for you to feel your heart hurting to the point where you want to cry. Your vision is blurry, and you try to rub your eyes, but you can’t feel your arms. Exhaustion soon overtakes your body, and you fall unconscious.

Meanwhile, on the Astral Express, everyone is crowding around on the Parlor Car, their phones facing upward on the table. Everyone has been trying to call you, only for them to get a voicemail, or the call would fail to go through. The monotonous beep haunts their minds as everyone frantically tries to reach out to you.

“Are you sure the signal is good? Maybe we can’t call them because of the awful signal on the Astral Express,” Caelus comments, chewing on his nails.

March ignores Caelus’ comment. She presses her phone against her ears, listening to the ringing. If the signal was terrible, then how come the phone call was going through for her? The ringing stopped briefly, making March gasp, startling everyone on the Astral Express.

“Hi, this is [Y/N]! Sorry, I can’t come to the phone right now—”

March groans, ending the call. “Never mind. I thought they answered my call, but I was wrong,” March sighs in defeat, sliding her phone on the table.

The lights on the Astral Express flicker, and the door slams open. Nanook steps into the Parlor Car, his gold eyes scanning the Parlor Car, searching for your face. Nanook sighs and stays close to the entrance, running his hands through his hair. Just as Nanook feared: you’re not on the Astral Express either. 

Welt furrows his eyebrows at the Aeon of Destruction. “Nanook. Your presence is sudden,” says Welt.

“Where is [Y/N]? Are they not on the Astral Express?” Nanook asks, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Unfortunately, they’re not on the Astral Express. We,” Jing Yuan gestures to him, Blade, Luocha, Luka, Sampo, and Gepard, “were contacted by the Astral Express in hopes that [Y/N] is on the Xianzhou Luofu or Jarilo-VI. To everyone’s disappointment, they are nowhere to be found.”

After hearing Jing Yuan’s explanation, Nanook starts to visibly panic. The Aeon of Destruction paces back and forth, taking deep breaths and muttering something under his breath. Everyone on the Astral Express gazes at Nanook worriedly. This is the first time they see him act this way. Nanook has always had this cool, calm, and collected exterior. Nothing can phase him, and only you can get a reaction out of him.

Sampo raises a finger. “Hold up. Why are you asking us where [Y/N] is? Aren’t you the one who can communicate with [Y/N] inside their dreams?” Sampo asks, crossing his arms over his chest and raising his eyebrows at the Aeon.

“Nanook, have you been able to contact them by any chance? We’ve been hitting countless dead ends, and we’re really worried about them,” Gepard says, looking at Nanook pleadingly.

Nanook sighs and stops pacing. He looks at the people on the Astral Express with a deep frown. While Sampo is correct about him being able to communicate with you through your dreams, the people on the Astral Express, Xianzhou Luofu, and Jarilo-VI aren’t the only ones whose struggling to get into contact with you.

Nanook wasn’t able to contact you through your dreams prior to your disappearance. When Nanook brought you into this universe, Nanook made sure to form this connection with you— this unbreakable bond between you and him. But despite creating this unbreakable bond, it somehow severed, and he can no longer contact you through your dreams and unconscious state.

This bond is supposed to be a way for him to track you anywhere in this universe. No matter how out of reach you are from him. Whether you’re in the Astral Express, on Jarilo-VI, the Xianzhou Luofu, the void, etc., Nanook should be able to feel your presence somewhere throughout the universe. Nanook mutters something, closing his eyes and pulling at the roots of his hair with frustration.

“What’s Nanook saying?” Himeko whispers, not taking her eyes off the anguish Aeon.

Luka whispers, “He’s muttering something about [Y/N] and the bond between them. I can’t hear what Nanook is saying, but those are the things I can pick out.”

Dan Heng stares at his phone intently, staring at your contact picture while listening to the monotonous ring. This is the fourth attempt. The fourth time he’s tried to call you, only for there to be a voicemail or just constant beeping that’s shaking him to his core. You can be anywhere in the universe, and finding your precise location without you telling them where you’re at will be the most challenging thing they deal with.

“Are they still not answering their phone, Dan Heng?” Luocha asks, approaching the black-haired man.

Dan Heng sighs, ending the call when he hears your voicemail through the speakers. “No,” Dan Heng mutters, shaking his head.

Blade stares at the panicking Nanook, frowning deeply. Blade sighs, rubbing his temples with shaky hands. As much as Blade wishes he was mishearing the things Nanook was muttering to himself, the more Blade thinks about it, the more it makes sense. Nanook is the one that brought you into this universe— he should know your exact location no matter what planet and fleet you’re on. Nanook should be able to communicate with you through your dreams or unconscious state, and because Nanook is visibly panicking and stressing out over your whereabouts, Blade concludes that—

“Your connection with [Y/N] has been severed, isn’t it?” Blade asks, breaking the tense silence in the Astral Express and bringing Nanook out of his thoughts.

Nanook clenches his jaws, nodding. “It has been severed, unfortunately. I do not know how it happened, and I’m sure [Y/N] isn’t the one that severed it. There’s no way for them to sever the connection,” Nanook replies.

Everyone stares at Nanook in horror. If Nanook is unable to contact you, then it’s very unlikely they’ll be able to find you sooner. You, [Y/N]. The same person not from their universe, the same precious star everyone holds dear to their hearts— whether as a best friend, little sibling, or a small crush that developed into something bigger— the same star that shines the brightest in the universe. You’re somewhere out there in the universe, exposed to dangers you’re not used to handling. Heck, everyone didn’t plan on letting you be exposed to any hazards that exist in this universe, but now?

“So, you’re saying there’s no way for any of us to contact [Y/N]?” Welt asks, raising his eyebrows at Nanook.

While Welt looks calm on the outside, the man is freaking out internally. How did this happen in the first place? You were supposed to be safe and sound under his watch, but you suddenly disappeared without a trace, and no one was able to reach out to you or track you down. Not even the Aeon of Destruction is able to track you down, and the Aeon has connections with you— well, had a connection with you.

“What are we going to do now, Mr. Yang? Searching for [Y/N] seems impossible at this point,” Caelus says, plopping down on the chair and running his hands through his hair.

Jing Yuan shakes his head. “I’ll have Yanqing lead the Cloud Knights to search throughout the Xianzhou Luofu,” Jing Yuan says, taking his phone from the table and sending rapid texts to his blond retainer.

Gepard nods. “And I will have the Silvermane Guards patrol the Overworld and the Underworld. If they see [Y/N], their duty is to detain [Y/N] until we arrive to get them,” says Gepard as he grabs his phone to message Dunn.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa! Detain [Y/N]? As in, keep them in cuffs and behind bars?!” Sampo exclaims, propping his hands on his hips, and looks at Gepard with disbelief.

Gepard, Welt, Nanook, and Dan Heng sigh simultaneously, rubbing their temples and pinching the bridge of their noses after hearing Sampo’s question. March snorts, rolling her eyes. The door to the Parlor Car opens. Pom-Pom waddles into the room, his eyes scanning the Parlor Car for a familiar face other than the ones that are present. 

Pom-Pom sighs with disappointment. “I see that none of you have found [Y/N],” Pom-Pom says, crossing his arms over his chest.

Himeko gives Pom-Pom a sympathetic look. “Sorry, Pom-Pom, but we still haven’t found them. They’re not answering our texts or phone calls, and not even Nanook can contact them,” Himeko replies.

Pom-Pom sighs and waddles to the Phonograph, pressing his forehead against the machine. A dark stormy cloud looms over Pom-Pom’s head as he lets out a string of whimpers and sniffles. Everyone on the Astral Express nearly forgot about how close you and Pom-Pom are. The closeness between you two is adorable, and Pom-Pom treats you like his favorite passenger on the Astral Express. Well, you are his favorite passenger. There’s no denying it. Sometimes, when everyone is asleep, you would keep Pom-Pom company and spoil him with his favorite snacks.

Of course, that was before Nanook became a passenger on the Express. Now you would keep Pom-Pom company on the nights you can’t sleep or when Nanook isn’t on the Astral Express due to his duty as the Aeon of Destruction.

“Pom-Pom?” March asks softly.

Pom-Pom turns to face them, his eyes blurred with tears. “How could all of you fail to protect someone that protected me!?” Pom-Pom wails, tears cascading down his cheeks. “What if we never see them again? They could be in danger!”

Everyone looks away, their shoulders slumping. Pom-Pom’s right. They did fail to protect you— this is the second time they failed to protect you, and they wish they could turn back time and prevent it from happening.

“There’s nothing to worry about. We’ll find [Y/N] and bring [Y/N] back to the Astral Express, alright?” Luka says, kneeling in front of Pom-Pom and patting the conductor’s head.

Pom-Pom whimpers. “But what if they’re injured?” Pom-Pom whispers.

“Then I will do everything in my power to heal them,” Luocha answers.

You’re rudely awoken by the sharp pain in your lower abdomen. You gasp and sit up, letting out a strained gasp and whimper. You look down at your body, now realizing the state you’re in. You don’t remember what exactly happened, but the more you look at your surroundings, the more you start piecing things together. You were attacked by the Mara-struck. It happened so fast that you weren’t able to comprehend what happened before it was too late.

And now you’re here, on Cloudford, bleeding out, going in and out of consciousness, with no cell signal to call or text your traveling companions. You can’t even contact Nanook due to the severed connection between you and the Aeon of Destruction. No matter how many times you lose consciousness, Nanook isn’t there— even if you scream his name, bloody murder. You will always be in the void, alone and searching for the Aeon that brought you into his universe.

You sprawl out on the ground, digging your phone from your pockets. Your vision blurs every few minutes, making it hard for you to do your task. You turn your phone on, attempting to call the first person on your contact list. Blade.

You tried to call Blade, but the call didn’t go through. You tried calling every person on your contact list, but the call continues not to go through. You push yourself off the ground, nearly slipping on the pool of blood beneath you. It’s a miracle that you manage to hold on for so long. The question is: how much longer can you hold on? Black dots dotting your vision, you’re extremely tired, your eyelids are threatening to close, and your legs and arms are tingling.

“I can do this, I can do this,” you chanted, limping as far away as you can. “I’ll be okay. I’ll be okay.”

You’re not sure if giving yourself a false sense of hope is going to do any better. Still, it’s better to do that than lay in your puddle of blood, watching the time tick away and your life slipping from your fingers. With each step you take, you feel your strength slipping away. You’re exhausted, and everything hurts. The Mara-struck did not go easy on you until they assumed you were dead. 

As much as you wanted to blame yourself for not being careful enough, there’s no one else to blame. Not even yourself. People will blame you for not being careful and watching your surroundings, but is it really your fault? The Mara-struck are ruthless, and they’ll attack anyone and anything that is alive and not Mara-struck like them.

You’re brought out of your thoughts and self-pity when your foot gets caught over the other, sending you to the ground with a loud thump. You let out a screech of pain and remain on the ground as every part of your body is stinging and throbbing with pain. The small cuts on your body reopen as fresh blood oozes from the wounds, spilling to the ground.

“Please, just end my misery,” you whisper, tears rolling down your bloodstained cheeks as you slowly drift in and out of consciousness.

The faint sound of buzzing coming from your phone wakes you up. You gingerly turn your head to see the screen of your phone lighting up and vibrating. You reach for your phone and roll over on your side to see Blade calling you. You swipe to the green button and hear a faint scream and frantic voices coming from the other end of the call.

“Blade?” You croak, wincing when you feel how dry your throat feels.

Blade sighs in relief on the other side of the call. “Thank the Aeons, you’re okay. Where are you? Are you safe?” Blade asks.

You chuckle bitterly, close your eyes and continue to lie on the ground. At least you’ll be able to hear their voices one last time, right? It’s better to listen to their voice before…. Someone calls your name, grabbing your attention.

“Huh? Sorry, I didn’t catch onto what you were saying,” you mumble, squeezing your eyes shut and fighting back a whimper that’s crawling up your throat.

“[Y/N], please tell us where you are. We’re very worried about you,” Dan Heng says.

You sniffle. The pain is beginning to feel unbearable. Everything hurts so much, and you want someone or something to end your pain and suffering already. You shouldn’t have played dead when the Mara-struck attacked you for who knows how long. You should’ve let them end you right then and there so you wouldn’t have to continue to suffer like how you are right now.

“[Y/N]? Are you still with us?” Caelus asks, his voice crackling through the speakers.

Fuck. Is the connection starting to act up?

“Yeah, yeah. I’m still here,” you reply, black dots dotting your vision. Is it normal to see a small burst of stars in your eyes each time you blink? “Sorry, I’m not feeling well right now.”

The other end of the call falls silent after hearing your response. As of now, Jing Yuan and Gepard haven’t received any reports from the Silvermane Guards and Cloud Knights about finding you. 

The General of the Xianzhou Luofu and the Captain of the Silvermane Gaurds text their trusted companions regarding the search, only for Dunn and Yanqing to reply that they have yet to find out despite the number of Cloud Knights and Silvermane Guards scrambling to find you. 

Mr. Yang walks over to Blade and takes the phone from his hands. “Sweetheart, can you look at your surroundings and tell us where you are? Even if you don’t know the precise location, do you know whether you’re on the Xianzhou Luofu or Jarilo-VI?” Mr. Yang asks.

“I’m on, uh, the Xianzhou Luofu. The Mara-struck…” you trail off, closing your eyes. Your hands are shaking— you don’t think you can hold your phone up any longer. Your arms feel awfully weak, and your phone feels heavy.

Jing Yuan’s voice crackles over the speakers. “What happened with the Mara-struck?”

Jing Yuan sounds frantic.

You shrug, completely forgetting that the others can’t see you. “They attacked me out of nowhere. They left me for dead, and there’s blood. So much blood,” you whisper, cracking your eyes open and looking at your surrounding.

“[Y/N], can you turn on the video call so we can see where you are?” Gepard asks, his voice crackling in the speakers.

You sigh, gritting your teeth as you turn on the video call. Your face appears on the screen— if you weren’t bleeding out and losing consciousness every few minutes, you would be gasping in horror at the sight of your reflection. Dear Aeons, you look horrendous. You blindly show your surroundings for the men to see where you’re at, but you don’t think you’re doing it correctly. Your arm soon grew tired, and your arms collapsed beside you.

“I’m really sleepy, guys,” you whisper, swallowing the lump in your throat. You nearly gagged when you tasted a mouthful of blood. You don’t know how much more you can hold on until they find you.

“Does anyone recognize that area? We’re not from the Xianzhou Luofu— nothing looks familiar for us,” Sampo mutters, gazing at the others worriedly.

Luocha steps forward and takes Blade’s phone from Mr. Yang’s grasp. “I know this is going to be complicated for you, but do not fall asleep, alright? Keep your eyes open and try to stop the bleeding. We’ll be right there soon,” Luocha instructs.

The men hear and see nothing coming from Blade’s phone. The camera is pointed to the sky of  the Xianzhou Luofu— they see the color of your hair peeking in the corner. You rub your eyes and press your hands against the deep gash on your abdomen. You lift your head to see various cuts on your body. All are bleeding.

You whisper, “Which ones do I cover? There’s too many,” you mumble, gazing at the gashes with bleary eyes. 

You let your head fall back on the ground, attempting to cover up as many as you can. How much longer are you going to hold on? You can hear a commotion coming through Blade’s phone as you lie on the ground, your phone lying beside your head. You didn’t think you could die in a universe you didn’t belong to.

“Stay on the phone with us, alright? We’ll be there soon, we promise,” you hear Blade say through the phone.

You can’t tell if Blade is panicking or not. He sounds so far away, no matter how close your phone is to your ears. How could this have happened anyway? It was all your fault, wasn’t it? Were you reckless like last time? No, no. Last time, the Astral Express was under attack. But this time, you left the Astral Express and ended up getting attacked by the Mara-struck. And now look at you, bleeding out on the Xianzhou Luofu while trying to stay conscious.

“You’re not mad at me, are you?” You whisper, staring at the clear blue sky above you.

Luka grunts. “We’re not mad at you, [Y/N]. We’re very worried about you,” Luka replies.

Luka is trying his best to remain calm, but his heart is racing against his chest to the point he fears it might burst. 

You close your eyes, feeling nausea hitting you. “Is Nanook mad at me?” you ask weakly.

Dan Heng looks at Nanook from the corner of his eyes as they run through Cloudford, searching for you. It’s just them racing against the clock to get to where you are— racing against the clock to save you. But will they make it on time before you lose consciousness?

Dan Heng shakes his head. “I’m sure he’s not mad at you, [Y/N]. Why do you think that?”

You crack a smile. “I… Nanook and I aren’t connected with each other anymore. Did I do something wrong for him to sever that tie between us?” You whisper, tears blurring your vision. “If I did something to upset him, please let him know that I’m sorry for whatever it is that I have done to upset him.”

Nanook snatches the phone and gazes into the camera, his gold eyes searching for your face. “I’m not mad at you, little one. However, if you lose consciousness, I will be upset with you,” Nanook states.

You laugh weakly, tears rolling down the side of your face. “I’m sorry, everyone. I’m sorry for not being strong enough,” you whisper.

Just when you lose consciousness, you feel someone cradle you in their arms. Your vision slowly turns black as the voices around you fade away— almost sounding like you’re underwater, sinking deeper into the depths.

“No, no, no, no! Please don’t leave me,” Nanook whispers, pressing you against his chest.

Your head lolls back, laying limp in his arms as blood continues to pour out of your wounds. Luocha kneels before you and Nanook, frantically trying to heal the cuts and deep gashes on your body. Sampo, March, and Himeko look nauseous at the sight of the pool of blood below you and Nanook.

March looked away, closing her eyes as a stray tear made its way down her cheeks. “Please tell me [Y/N]’s going to be okay, please,” March pleads.

Nanook presses his index and middle finger against the side of your neck, frantically searching for a pulse. Nanook buries his face into your neck, his body wracking with sobs as he holds onto you tighter. You can’t be gone. Please, please, please, please. Luocha’s hands fall to his side, and he looks away. 

“Well?” Dan Heng demands, his chest rising and falling with heavy breaths.

Luocha shakes his head, tears rolling down his flushed cheeks. Luocha grabs your cold hand and presses a kiss on your knuckles. Maybe in another lifetime, you will meet them again. But for now, stars don’t live on forever.

Note: Just because this is angst with death doesn't mean it impacts the overall HSR isekai series. This is a mini-fic, and to make it up to all of you, I will make a Nanook smut for this upcoming week! Yes, smut is finally here! Nanook got the majority of votes. Therefore Nanook is the first HSR male character to be getting smut! As I have stated in my Genshin Isekai fics, the fics in the series are like my multi-verse. Anything can happen in these fics, but it will not significantly impact the overall series. So, even if something traumatic happened to the reader in one fic, the next fic, it never happened to the reader. Some things will impact the story, but others won't be mentioned in other fics. For those who want to be on the taglist, here is the [Google Form]. For those who want to join the Discord server but weren't able to, here is the new temporary link to [Zhongli's Abode]! Please make sure to read the server rules— you can lurk, chat and hang out on the server if you'd like! If you don't vibe with the server, you can leave whenever you want ^^ To my new and/or returning readers, please keep in mind that I ONLY post on my Tumblr (Genshinluvr) and my AO3 (Aaliah_exo)! Nowhere else except Tumblr and AO3!

Taglist for the HSR one-shot series: @mompt2, @elegantnightblaze, @lunavixia, @jadedist, @reversearrowhead, @pinksaiyans, @aurelia-xyt, @lilliansstuff, @ssunset0, @starrry-angel, @kaoyamamegami, @kodzuvk, @for3very0urs, @a-cosmicdawn, @g3n0dtt, @theblades, @raaawwwr, @immahuman, @irisxiel, @siaracarroll, @crazydreamcat, @sagekun, @orichalcumthief, @dyingsweetmackerel, @rosiesareblue, @ichikanu, @hispasian-otaku, @asoulsreverie (Accounts that I was unable to tag are not tagged in this fic. Those who do not want to be tagged in a specific fic are not tagged. Remember to check your settings to see if you're allowing people to mention you/tag you in posts or not)

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