#convincing yourself to kill you grandmother

[shaiyasstuff]

pretend | zayne

synopsis : In a tale of academic burnout, fried chicken, and poor impulse control, chaos incarnate—that’s you—somehow convinces your emotionally constipated med-student best friend to drink half a beer—which, shockingly, nearly kills him. Queue: slow realization that maybe, just maybe, you’ve both been idiots in love this whole time. content : fluff, drunk zayne, i wrote this with absolute zeal in mind, college!au

“Yes!” you exclaim, throwing your hands in the air like you just won an Oscar for Most Sleep-Deprived Human Alive.

Across the table, Zayne lifts a brow and smirks—annoyingly composed for someone who just witnessed you spiral through caffeine-fueled thesis chaos.

“I’m finally done,” you announce dramatically, like you just ended a war. “Let’s go out tonight. I need meat on sticks and bad decisions.”

Zayne closes his book with a soft thud, taking off his glasses in that maddeningly slow, deliberate way—like he knows exactly what he’s doing to your blood pressure.

“I pity the skewers who will die by your hand tonight,” he deadpans.

You snort. “I pity you, who’ll have to witness me demolish a six-pack like a college frat bro on a redemption arc.”

It wasn’t a dig. It was a fact.

Zayne doesn’t drink—ever.

You’re convinced his blood is 80% black coffee and quiet judgment.

So, naturally, you’d assigned him the title of Sir Zayne, Protector of Drunk Y/N, a role he never officially accepted but continues to perform with the patience of a long-suffering saint and the sighs of a man who has seen too much.

Honestly? If that’s not love, you don’t know what is.

But you and Zayne never crossed the line.

Not because he didn’t want to—at least, you hoped that was the case—but because you never let it happen.

Courtesy of your own sparkling cocktail of overthinking, self-doubt, and the lingering fear of ruining something good.

Zayne was tall, handsome, smart—the kind of man who made professors nod in approval and grandmothers sigh wistfully.

And you? You were the chaotic best friend with a penchant for questionable snack combos and emotional repression.

You’d watched him grow up beside you, shedding his shy, bookish shell to become the quietly confident man sitting across from you now.

The same man who still gave you his hoodie when you complained about the cold and remembered your coffee order down to the sugar granules.

And sure, you said you loved each other. Threw it around between jokes and “don’t die today” texts.

But it was always buffered by a safe, platonic bubble wrap. You never dared to mean it the way your heart did—aching and wistful, quietly begging for something more.

Because admitting it out loud?

That would change everything.

And some things felt too fragile to risk breaking.

“I’m gonna take one very relaxing shower and meet you there, cool?” you say, slinging your backpack over your shoulder like the protagonist of a teen drama walking off into the sunset—except sweatier and more sleep-deprived.

Zayne gives you a look, all cool and composed as usual. “Don’t make me wait again.”

You gasp, offended. “It was one time!”

But he’s already walking off like he just won that round—he probably did, and you’re left chasing after him, muttering something about false accusations and revisionist history.

Back at your dorm, you kick the door shut with your foot, strip off the layers of thesis-fueled misery, and step into the shower.

The hot water hits your skin, and for the first time in weeks, your shoulders unclench.

Your body, a battlefield of all-nighters, instant noodles, and bad posture, finally starts to forgive you.

Maybe tonight wouldn’t just be about beer and skewers.

Maybe, just maybe, you’d let yourself hope for something more.

You step out into the cool night air, tugging your hoodie sleeves over your hands and rubbing them together like a gremlin summoning warmth.

The city hums quietly around you—streetlights flickering, distant honks, the occasional bark of a dog that clearly has beef with the moon.

It doesn’t take long to reach the barbecue stall, that familiar greasy heaven you and Zayne have treated like your unofficial therapy spot for years.

And there he is, already seated inside, calm and collected like he hadn’t just been abandoned seventeen minutes ago. Your favorite order of fried chicken sits next to him, still warm.

Because of course it does.

You beam, tapping him on the shoulder before plopping down beside him. “Was I late?”

He doesn’t even look at you. “By 17 minutes, yes.”

You snort, already digging into the chicken like a woman possessed. “Big deal,” you mutter through a mouthful of food, completely unapologetic.

Zayne simply shakes his head, the corners of his lips twitching in the ghost of a smile.

You were chaos, and somehow, he always made room for it.

“So, what are your grand post-thesis plans, Doctor Zayne?” you ask, popping open a can with a dramatic pshhht that echoes like a battle cry into the night.

Zayne glances at you, then at the can in your hand like it personally offended his morals. “Hopefully not babysitting a tipsy gremlin.”

You raise your can in mock salute. “Too late. You signed up for this the day you let me copy your homework in seventh grade.”

He exhales through his nose, which is Zayne-speak for you’re unbearable, but I’ve made peace with it. “I’m thinking of applying for that research position at the hospital. Maybe specialize in cardiac surgery.”

You pause mid-sip, impressed. “Heart guy, huh? Makes sense. You’ve already stolen mine.”

He gives you a slow, pointed look.

You grin. “Kidding. Kind of.”

He doesn’t reply, just leans back and sips his coffee—the man’s choice of poison—and you wonder, just for a second, if maybe your heart wasn’t the only one on the table tonight.

Who were you kidding? Of course it isn’t.

If there was anything Zayne was good at—aside from saving lives, surviving on black coffee, and giving you judgmental looks—it was being honest. Blunt, even.

The guy didn’t know how to sugarcoat if his life depended on it.

So if he felt anything beyond friendship, he would’ve said something… right?

He wouldn’t just sit across from you night after night, remembering your order, walking you home, and quietly watching over you like some emotionally constipated guardian angel—unless it really was just friendship.

Right?

You shove another piece of chicken into your mouth, suddenly feeling very attacked by your own thoughts.

Maybe you were reading too much into it.

Maybe the long stares and rare half-smiles meant nothing.

Maybe he looked at everyone like that.

…Or maybe he didn’t.

But knowing Zayne?

If he wanted something more, he would’ve told you.

And that’s the part that hurts the most.

You finish your chicken in record time, like a seasoned warrior who’s trained her whole life for this exact moment.

Zayne watches you with the mild horror of someone witnessing a natural disaster unfold in slow motion.

“With all that grease you eat,” he scoffs, sipping his drink with far too much elegance, “it’s a wonder you’re still so thin.”

You wipe your mouth with a napkin and flash him a smug, greasy-lipped grin. “Courtesy of late-night study marathons and crippling stress. Better than any diet plan.”

He shakes his head, muttering something about clogged arteries and self-destruction, but the corners of his mouth twitch in that way that tells you he’s more amused than annoyed.

You lean back, arms stretched, feeling the food coma start to settle in. The air between you buzzes with something unspoken—comfortable, familiar, and maybe just a little tragic.

Like always.

You take a long sip from your beer can, eyes narrowing playfully at him over the rim. “You know, you should really start seeing someone.”

Zayne doesn’t even blink. He just turns his head, gives you that pointed, deadpan look—the one that says I’m humoring you, but only barely. “I am perfectly fine, single.”

You snort. “Yeah, perfectly fine sitting alone in your apartment reading medical journals and judging me for my life choices.”

He raises a brow. “Someone has to.”

You laugh, nudging his leg under the table. “Seriously, though. You’re handsome, smart, stable. Tragic levels of emotionally unavailable, but that’s practically a dating app requirement these days.”

Zayne doesn’t respond right away. Just takes a calm sip of his coffee, gaze lingering on you a second too long.

“Maybe I’m just waiting for the right kind of chaos,” he murmurs.

And just like that, you forget how to breathe.

You quickly look away, composing yourself with the grace of someone pretending not to be internally combusting.

The heat crawling up your neck? Yeah, definitely the alcohol. Totally not because of that look or that line.

You take another sip, stalling. “Seriously? I always thought you’d go for the quiet, put-together type. You know, the kind who alphabetizes her spice rack and drinks herbal tea.”

Zayne hums, eyes still on you. “I already have enough order in my life. Why would I want more of that?”

You blink, caught off guard. “So… chaos is the goal?”

He tilts his head slightly, a rare glint of mischief in his gaze. “Not chaos. Just… someone who makes life feel a little less dull. Someone who challenges me. Keeps me on my toes.”

You let out a breathy laugh, unsure if it’s the beer, the tension, or just him.

“Sounds exhausting,” you mutter.

He smiles. “Not if it’s the right person.”

And suddenly, you’re not so sure you can blame the warmth in your chest on the alcohol anymore.

You push all your thoughts aside—shove them into that dark mental closet labeled Feelings: Do Not Open.

With a practiced grin, you raise your can in mock toast. “Well, be sure to send me an invitation to the wedding,” you quip, voice light, smile lighter.

For someone who lives and breathes chaos, you’ve gotten remarkably good at pretending things don’t get to you.

Zayne just smirks, as if he sees right through the performance. And then—without a word—he reaches for a can of beer.

Pop.

The sound cuts through the air like a record scratch. You freeze, staring at him like he just broke the laws of physics.

“Wait, are you—what—you’re drinking?”

He shrugs, raising the can to his lips. “It’s just one.”

You gape. “You’ve lectured me for years about alcohol rotting brains.”

He glances at you, his voice calm. “Maybe I just needed a reason.”

And this time, it’s not just your cheeks that feel warm. It’s everything.

You cough, almost choking on your drink. “Are you sure?”

Zayne glances at the can in his hand, then back at you with that maddeningly unreadable expression. “What, afraid I’ll lose my sense of control?”

You blink. “Yes! That’s exactly what I’m afraid of. Who are you and what have you done with ‘water-only’ Zayne?”

He takes a slow sip, completely unfazed. “It’s just beer.”

“You say that like I didn’t once watch you refuse soda because it had too many bubbles.”

He shrugs, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. “Maybe I’m evolving.”

You narrow your eyes at him. “Or maybe you’re trying to impress someone.”

He doesn’t answer. Just leans back in his seat, eyes still on you—calm, unreadable, dangerous in the way that makes your heart skip.

And now you’re the one who needs another drink.

Soon enough, Zayne learns the harsh truth of his choices.

Because not even halfway through the can, the damage is done—his face flushed a deep, telltale red, his breath coming in shallow little huffs like he’s just walked through a wind tunnel.

You glance over at him mid-sip, eyebrows shooting up.

“…You good?”

“I’m fine,” he says, voice stiff and defensive—classic Zayne—but he’s blinking too much, his back too straight, like he’s focusing really, really hard on staying upright.

You stare. “You’ve had half a can.”

He shifts uncomfortably, tugging at the collar of his shirt as if the night air suddenly turned tropical. “I didn’t eat much today,” he mutters, clearly struggling to save face. “Also, the ground feels… uneven.”

You nearly snort beer up your nose. “The ground is fine. You are uneven.”

His glare is valiant, but his ears are glowing, and he’s gripping the edge of the table like it’s the only thing tethering him to Earth.

“I told you this would happen,” you say, half-concerned, half-delighted. “You’re like a lightweight legend.”

He groans, dragging a hand down his flushed face. “Remind me never to do this again.”

You lean your cheek into your palm, grinning. “Remind me to never let you not do this again.”

He exhales sharply—half sigh, half chuckle—and despite the mess he’s in, there’s still that look in his eyes.

Soft. Open. A little reckless.

And God help you, it suits him.

The night carries on, as nights with you usually do—spiraling steadily into chaos.

One of your many bad decisions includes convincing Zayne to finish the rest of that cursed can. He protests, of course—weakly, half-heartedly, with the conviction of a man who already knows he’s lost.

“I really shouldn’t—”

“Just a little more,” you grin, shoving it toward him like it’s a dare and not a crime against his entire system.

He sighs, long and resigned, then tips the can back with the tragic acceptance of someone walking into a trap they dug themselves.

Moments later, he’s slumped over the table, forehead resting on his arm, a soft groan escaping him. “I think I’m dying.”

You? You’re no help.

You’re already tipsy, which means your moral compass has long since clocked out. You’re doubled over with laughter, wheezing uncontrollably at the sight of composed, stoic, impossible-to-rattle Zayne looking one sip away from meeting God.

“You look like a Victorian lady with the vapors,” you cackle.

“I hate you,” he mumbles into the table.

“This is love,” you giggle, nearly falling off your stool.

And despite the headache he’ll definitely have tomorrow, he doesn’t argue. Not really.

After a few more cans—questionable choices all around—you find yourself leaning back in your seat, finishing the last of your skewers with drunken determination.

The stall’s almost empty now, the night stretching quiet and still around you, save for the low hum of streetlights and the occasional car passing by.

Zayne, meanwhile, is completely knocked out beside you.

Head lolled to the side, glasses tucked away somewhere, lips parted slightly as he breathes slow and deep.

His usually sharp features are softened, flushed, and peaceful in a way that makes your chest squeeze a little too tightly.

If you didn’t know better, you’d say he looked cute like this.

But you do know better, so you just shake your head and smirk at the very real mess you helped create.

Tossing the empty skewer stick aside, you slide off your seat with a wobble, then crouch beside him.

You nudge his shoulder gently. “Come on, let’s go,” you whisper, voice low, a little fond, a little guilty.

He doesn’t budge.

Just lets out a tiny groan, eyelids fluttering like he’s having an incredibly dramatic dream about betrayal and liver damage.

You sigh, laughing under your breath. “This is what I get for enabling you, huh?”

Still, you loop an arm under his and begin to help him up—because even if he’s heavier than you remember and absolutely no help at all, he’s still your idiot to carry home.

And for once, he lets you.

You somehow manage to haul him upright—well, half-upright—his arm slung over your shoulders as he leans most of his weight on you.

He mumbles something incoherent against your hair, something that sounds like “never again” but could also be “chicken skewers are evil.” Hard to tell.

His dorm’s way too far, and in his current state, he’d probably collapse somewhere tragic and inconvenient—like the middle of the sidewalk or a bush with questionable origins.

So, you make the executive decision.

“My place it is,” you mutter, shifting his weight and starting the slow, awkward shuffle back toward your dorm.

He stumbles once or twice, groaning like a disgruntled old man, and you stifle a laugh.

“This is karma,” you tell him, breathless from both the effort and the ridiculousness of it all. “For every time you judged my life choices.”

He doesn’t respond, just leans more heavily into you—like he knows you’ll carry him anyway.

And you do.

Step by step, wordlessly and willingly, until your dorm door finally clicks open and you ease him inside, one breath, one stubborn heartbeat at a time.

You finally manage to plop him down onto your bed with the grace of someone who’s done this exact thing zero times and is running purely on muscle memory and spite.

Zayne flops back like a ragdoll, one arm splayed dramatically over his eyes, as if the sheer emotional weight of the night has bested him.

You shake your head, chest heaving, cheeks still warm from your own drinks. “You’re lucky you’re pretty,” you mutter, mostly to yourself.

Crossing the room, you grab your water bottle—your trusty, slightly dented savior—and take several deep gulps yourself before crouching at the edge of the bed.

Then, without thinking twice, you press it gently to his lips.

“Here,” you say, voice softer now. “It’ll help you feel better.”

Zayne makes a vague, pitiful noise. But he drinks, eyes still closed, brows faintly scrunched like he’s never tasted water before in his life.

You hold it steady, watching him carefully, your expression torn between amused and quietly tender.

It’s such a stupid, intimate moment.

And somehow, it feels like more than it should.

To your horror, he downs the entire bottle. Every last drop.

“Hey—hey! That’s mine!” you protest, trying to pry it from his hands, but Zayne holds it like a lifeline, drinking until it gives a dramatic little hollow gulp at the end.

He sets it down with an exaggerated sigh, flopping back against your pillows like he just climbed a mountain.

“You have legs,” you grumble, snatching the empty bottle. “The water dispenser is literally down the hall.”

“It’s too far,” he mumbles, eyes closed again. “Your bed is nice. I’m dying. Let me die hydrated.”

You roll your eyes, turning to set the bottle aside—and then pause when you feel the weight shift beside you.

Zayne suddenly sits up.

You glance over and freeze. He’s staring at you.

Not blinking. Not swaying. Just… staring.

A little too intently. A little too seriously.

“…What?” you squeak, completely thrown.

He doesn’t answer right away.

Just keeps looking at you like you’ve said something outrageous.

Or like he just realized something important.

And suddenly, the room feels a little too quiet.

A little too close.

He stares into your eyes, and for a moment, everything else fades—the buzz of alcohol, the low hum of the city outside, even the dull ache in your limbs.

Then, slowly, his hands reach out and grasp your arms—not rough, not urgent, but firm enough to make your breath hitch. Before you can say a word, he pulls himself to his feet, swaying just slightly, and starts walking.

Pushing you back with each quiet, deliberate step.

You move without thinking, heart hammering in your chest as your knees bump into the edge of your desk.

You’re trapped between the wood at your back and the look in his eyes—sharp, unreadable, burning through the haze of the night.

“Zayne…” you breathe, voice barely above a whisper, unsure if you’re warning him or yourself.

He doesn’t answer. He just stands there, too close, the heat of him bleeding into your skin, his hands still lingering on your arms like he’s afraid you’ll disappear.

And in that moment, you swear the entire world narrows to the space between you.

And whether it’s the alcohol or the truth breaking free—

You can’t tell the difference anymore.

“Uhm… are you okay?” you ask, your voice uncertain, breath catching in your throat as you stare up at him.

Zayne shakes his head, just once. “No.”

You blink, concern flaring. “What’s wro—”

But you don’t get to finish.

He closes the distance between you in a heartbeat, hands moving to cradle your face as his lips crash against yours.

It’s not soft. Not hesitant.

It’s hungry.

Like he’s been holding it back for far too long. Like something inside him finally snapped loose.

Your back presses harder against the desk as he leans in, kissing you like he’s afraid this moment will slip away if he doesn’t take all of it now.

And for a second—just a second—you forget everything else.

The drinks. The laughter. The years of pretending.

All that exists is the heat of his mouth on yours and the staggering, undeniable truth of it.

His lips crash into yours before you can even finish your sentence—urgent, messy, filled with too much longing and too little clarity. It catches you off guard, your breath stolen, your thoughts scattering like the loose papers on your desk.

At first, you freeze.

Then your hands move to his chest, trying to push him back. “Zayne—wait—”

But he’s already pulling you closer, an arm slipping around your waist, the other sweeping across your desk in one rushed, careless motion—books, pens, everything clattering to the floor.

He grabs your hips and lifts you effortlessly, placing you on the desk like it’s instinct, like he’s done this a thousand times in his head.

“Zayne, stop!” you protest, voice sharp now, your palms pressed firmly against him.

And just like that, he halts—everything in him going still.

His breath is ragged, face flushed, eyes wide with a dawning realization as he looks at you—really looks.

Silence stretches between you.

Then he slowly steps back, as if waking from something he didn’t mean to fall into.

“…I’m sorry,” he says, voice low, shaken. “I shouldn’t have—”

You don’t answer right away. You’re still catching your breath, still feeling the echo of what just happened.

Because part of you is furious.

And part of you is trembling.

And somewhere, buried beneath it all, part of you wanted it.

But not like this.

Not drunk.

Not blurred.

And certainly not like something he’ll regret in the morning.

You try to steady the shaking in your voice, the racing in your chest, and force out a laugh—thin, awkward, strained.

“See?” you say, trying to make light of it, to patch over the tension like you always do. “This is exactly why you should get a girlfriend. Someone to… I don’t know, handle all that bottled-up intensity.”

But he doesn’t smile. Doesn’t look away.

Instead, his gaze sharpens—sober, unwavering, cutting right through your joke like it never existed.

“I don’t want one,” he says.

Simple. Final.

The room falls quiet again. The words hang in the air, heavier than you expect.

Your smile fades a little, the humor faltering on your lips. “Then what do you want?”

He doesn’t answer right away.

But his eyes never leave yours.

And that silence says more than words ever could.

“I want you,” he says quietly, each word deliberate, leaving no room for misunderstanding.

His eyes stay locked on yours as he takes a step closer.

“Only you.”

Your breath catches—completely, helplessly.

There’s no teasing in his tone, no drunken slur, no hesitation.

Just the raw, unfiltered truth of it. It lands in your chest like a drop of ink in water, spreading fast and uncontrollably.

You should say something. Anything.

But your voice is gone, swallowed by the weight of his words and the way he’s looking at you now—like you’re the only thing in the world worth reaching for.

You’d spent so long convincing yourself that he didn’t feel this. That he couldn’t.

But now?

He’s standing in front of you like he’s known all along.

And like he’s finally tired of pretending he doesn’t.

You open your mouth, stammering, grasping for something logical to say—anything to bring the air back into your lungs, to slow your racing heart.

“Zayne, you’re—this is just the alcohol talking, you don’t mean—”

But he cuts you off, his voice low and steady.

“I’m done pretending.”

The words hit you like a sudden shift in gravity.

There’s no hesitation in him now.

No trace of the usual restraint he always wore like armor. He’s standing there—bare, honest, and dangerously close.

You search his face for some sign of doubt, some crack you can cling to. But there’s nothing.

Just the truth laid out between you, heavy and real.

And your heart doesn’t know whether to run or leap.

“I don’t want this to happen just because you’re drunk,” you whisper, barely able to look at him.

It comes out softer than you mean it to—fragile, almost trembling—because beneath all the banter, beneath all the years of pretending, you’ve always been afraid of this exact moment.

Of wanting it too much and it not being real.

Zayne’s expression doesn’t falter. If anything, it deepens—his gaze steady, clear, unwavering.

“I’m not drunk enough to forget this,” he says quietly. “And definitely not drunk enough to lie.”

You look at him, really look at him, and for the first time, you don’t see the walls he always kept between you. They’re gone. Just like that.

What’s left is him.

And the truth you’d both been trying so hard not to touch.

His hand reaches up, fingers brushing against your skin as he gently tilts your chin up to meet his gaze. His touch is careful—soft in a way that makes your chest ache.

“It’s hard to see you trying to push me away,” he says, voice low and raw. “All the time.”

Your eyes widen, guilt and surprise rushing in at once. “I just thought…”

He leans in closer, his breath warm against your lips, eyes searching yours like he’s waiting for you to see what he’s been trying to show you all along.

“No more thinking,” he murmurs.

Then he kisses you again—but this time, it’s slow.

Careful. Like he’s trying to tell you everything he couldn’t say with words.

And when he finally pulls back, he doesn’t move far. His forehead rests against yours, the space between you now completely, irreversibly gone.

“I’m sorry,” he breathes, “about earlier.”

A pause.

“But I’m not sorry for this.”

And just like that, you close your eyes and let it all fall away—the fear, the doubt, the need to overthink every moment.

Because for once, the truth is simple.

He’s here.

He chose you.

And despite everything you tried to convince yourself, despite all the ways you kept your heart guarded—you want him too.

You exhale, slow and shaky, forehead still pressed to his, your fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt like an anchor.

No more pretending.

No more running.

You let yourself fall—not blindly, but willingly. Into him.

Into this.

Into whatever comes next.

masterlist

[miniaturesuitgladiator]

Batfam x Neglected mortal kombat reader

Lucid dreams...

Notes: this has nothing to do with my other series. Reader is not Bruce's kid in this. Instead readers mom marries bruce. Readers bio dad is scorpion from mk. Reader and readers mom traveled to the DC universe to get away from scorpion. Reader basically saves jason before the joker can kill him. Reader is the oldest kid in this and just for the heck of it were gonna mess up the time line and say that bruce already has tim and damian. I'll explain the rest in another fic if you guys have more questions just ask I don't mind.

-💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗-

Five senses.... Every since you could remember you've had lucid dreams...Dreams that were so so realistic, but in reality they just weren't real. And your Five senses was a way your grandmother had taught you to see if you were having a lucid dream. And right now you hoped you were having a lucid dream..

1. Smell: You know exactly what you smell.  It's a fluid that you've learned to deal with every since you were younger. A liquid that now covers your whole body. It's blood ,you smell blood. It's not your blood but you wish it was.....

2. Taste: You can't quite place what you Taste. Maybe it's the food you had earlier?  Or maybe you inhaled so much smoke that even your mouth Tastes like it? But that doesn't help much.

3. Touch;  'This one's hard' you think to yourself. Your hands are bawled into firsts. So you feel your finger nails digging into your skin... and your jaw is clenched so tight trying to keep in the words your mind is begging you to say....

4. Hearing: Your mother's voice echoes throughout the batcave and you'd recognize that tone of voice anywhere.. it's not the tone of voice she'd use on Dick, Tim, Jason ,or even damian.. No, that tone of voice was reserved for only You.

But you can also tell that this time you went to far.. Her voice is so cold that if you didn't know any better you'd think that she didn't know you...

5. Sight: your heads hung low... so all you can see is the floor of the batcave...it's unusual for you to look like this but...you're to scared to look up and see your mother's disappointed eyes... you cant.. you must look pathetic right now. But how you look right now is the least of your worries..... But you have to look up to see if this is a lucid dream or not. As you look up you see bruce ,he's leaning against the batcaves computer he's still wearing his batman suit so you can't see his eyes. But you have a feeling you know exactly what his eyes look like under his mask. Then your gaze goes over to your mother's eyes and it's like the whole world freezes..and everything goes silent the only sounds heard is the sound of your heart beating....

You search her eyes hoping to see something else but it's all you can see..

Fear... you see fear in your mother's eyes ....she's scared of you.. scared of what'd you've become... you remember seeing that fear in her eyes long ago. She had looked at your father with that same fear....And you remember promising to yourself that your mother would never have that look in her eyes again because you'd protect her...but how are you supposed to protect her from yourself?

What have you become? 2 hours ago you had thought that you made the right choice.. that sure maybe bruce wouldn't be exactly happy about what you had done but your mother would surely convince him that what you did was reasonable....right?

You had to do it...it was the only way! Right?

No. No, that's what your father would have done....killing the joker wasn't the only way...killing the joker was your father's way ,not the right way. Your hands begin shaking and nomatter how hard you squeeze them they won't stop shaking.

'They don't understand.' You think to yourself.  And your right they dont understand what you felt when you saw how the joker had tied jason up like a damn pig. They don't understand the rage you felt... so you look down at the floor again... but you brought jason back alive! Isn't that supposed to count for something?  No, to them it doesn't.

Yeah you brought jason home and there happy that you did ,but you didn't have to kill the joker. They know that ,you know that. But it still doesn't feel like that.

Your throat tightens and you feel like you can't breath with all the emotions you feel...

You know that if anyone else was in your position and they would have killed the joker they would have gotten away with a slap on the wrist ...but it's not anyone else..it's you....

The child that was never supposed to be...the child that shouldn't have been born... A bastard child.. A mistake...as you look around the room not daring to look at your mother's eyes any longer you think to yourself ......

'why couldn't this be a damn dream.'

-💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗-

Thanks for reading!

@Taglist: @dhanyasri , @kore-of-the-underworld , @i-adorehannah

[insomniac-dot-ink]

WANTED

You find the advert face down on the table. You’re picking up after your grandma. She insists her mind is sharp as a tack but her empty tea cups and loose handkerchiefs and day-old newspapers litter every surface. You scan the paper, and a part of you is sure there aren’t any more jobs like this.

The paper is yesterday’s paper and the various jobs match LinkedIn. Nannying and dog walker and kitchen staff. The advert, the one, is stark against the others. You read the tiny printed words over and over, always getting stuck on the word WANTED.

Your friends told you not to go: what kind of job asks you to meet in the middle of the woods? What kind of jobs has no website or contact info? What kind of jobs were advertised in the goddamn paper? You friends wouldn’t get it.

Anastasia, your best friend since third class, tells you to keep your “Find My Phone” on and call when you get there. She really wouldn’t get it. Your grandma tells you that this is the world, the other version of it, and you are her granddaughter. So go.

You walk the three and a half miles in your high heels. This job probably wouldn’t even expect high heels, but old habits die hard. You were once convinced in college your girlfriend cast a curse on you, the sleepless nights and a relentless rash proved it. Now that you’re an adult, an adult-adult, you don't think so anymore. If anything was a witch’s spell, it was LinkedIn. Hours and hours of youth wasted on the same go-around.

5 years of experience and 3 different references and no street parking but the bus is only a block away. You can walk, right? Unpaid overtime and shaving your legs to go sit for an hour in an uncomfortable plastic chair. That’s an unusual last name, is it a family one? Ah. I see.

You can walk for a long while. Your heels slup, slup, slup in the soupy ground and it takes you longer than you’d like to look around. The street lights dwindle. The trees gather. The path disappears. The woods are thick and unfamiliar and an iron fence rises in the distance. Despite the late summer heat, the air smells of frost. Maybe Anastasia was right–whether you are your grandmother’s descendent or not.

She comes out of the woods on rail-thin chicken legs. Her skirt is short, cut at a horizontal angle, and she looks like where the punk scene from the 80s went to die. She has a studded leather jacket and bleach-blonde asymmetrical hair. You shove your hands in your stupid suit jacket and check the skies. Half-moon, just risen, you’re right on time.

“You here for the advert?”

“It’s half-moon, isn’t it?” You say back and flash her a tight smile. You have a sudden sinking feeling about her ability to write you a paycheck. 

She looks you up and down. “Spirit?”

“Ghoul.” You shrug. “Yaga?” She sticks out one of her stalky chicken legs. “Servant of one. Two gens back. On my father’s side.” Your strained smile gentles. “I’m Katie. You?” Her smile sharpens in response. “Stephanie. Come on, let’s take a walk.” “Was that a real advert, Stephanie?” You saddle up beside her despite yourself. “Cause if you’re just here to pull my leg, know that I'm pretty hard to put down.” She lets out a harsh laugh that sounds like it hurts. “I’m counting on it.” She winks. “Now, not sure I know your line so well, what’s the difference between a ghoul and a spirit?” What is a spirit or ghoul? What was a gig worker or a salaried one? Perhaps a whole length away. Stephanie pushes a bush aside to reveal a hole in the iron fence and leads you through. The grass turns from wild heather to manicured green and you emerge into a field of rolling hills. Your skin prickles. You might be hard to kill, but maybe not to capture. You stay low to the ground.

“Can I be paid upfront?” Her breath smells of winter frost and fresh-turned soil. “You down that bad?”

You survey the trimmed grasses and gentle slopes, the unnatural prickle spreads through your skin to your bone. A house rises in the far-distance, and you swallow thickly. “Is this some Scooby Doo shit?”

“Come on.” She pushes your shoulder. “I’ll pay upfront. The only real question is if you’ve got a pair of lungs on you.” You toss your ponytail back. “For as long as you like. But, I gotta ask, are there really not any free banshees right now?” Stephanie’s smile falters for the first time. “Old world is dying,” she snorts. “Or just buried deep enough to feel that way.” “We’re still here.” “Still here.” She slips you two hundred and takes you to the side of a small lake. The water is murky and the edges form an unnatural drop. She hands you a lightweight dress, gauzy and impossibly white, and you wrinkle your nose. You looked back and forth between the far-distant house and the lake.

It took you the whole walk to place the gate and the house and the land: The Turnpikes. Built almost seven generations back and larger than ever. You couldn’t imagine. The old world was dying, but you supposed it was also just right there. You put the dress on and kick your heels off. Gathering your stuff, Stephanie gives you a big thumbs up and backs away. You take a deep breath, you don't need many, but you had a feeling it would count.

A light in the far-distant window turns on. You see your grandma in your mind’s eye, her tangled green hair and wicked little smiles. All this for two hundred? But ghoul isn't a banshee. You jump in feet first.

The wet and the cold and the dank water with no memory swallows you. You submerge in the tiny manmade lake, and when you come out, you come out screaming.

The fear of ghouls is an ancient one–something hard to kill. That can walk forever, fight forever, go Without forever. And you think, as you toss your head back, drip water, and let your lungs rattle in your chest, that you might scream forever too.

For two hundred bucks, a ghoul can be a banshee and a world can be made old and new and when you scream, you can scream until you’re made real again.

FIN

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

Newsletter 🧡 Pre-order my new book!

[starmocha]

ok, imagine you have a nightmare about caleb exactly two months before his death. he happens to be staying with you, a day off just to say hi that turned into a sleepover. you find him at 3am, crawl into his bed, his lap, he's trying to soothe you, asking what happened but you're sobbing, playing a shaking hand over his chest just to feel his heart beating. he manages to calm you down, holding you close, letting you cry it out until he thought you were sleeping/ end part 1

ANON. EATING THIS UP. EATING THIS UP!!!!! nooo pls don’t ever apologize for that. I was so delighted to see the Caleb spam. They’re always welcome in my inbox :)))) Here. I wrote a little something, because I see Caleb and I’m weakened instantly 🥹 And if you haven’t already, pls check out my beloved @rose-tinted-kalopsia’s fic, baby, kiss it better. She wrote about Caleb comforting you after your nightmare. Literally in my top 5 fave LADS fics overall 💖💖💖💖💖

but stay with me

It was the most horrible sound you had ever heard. So godawful, it woke you up from that nightmare.

Still shaken, your fragile heart was racing, pumping erratically against your chest, your own breathing was just as irregular. The heavy panting was mixed with the choked back sobs, your emotions in complete turmoil as you tried to convinced yourself that everything you had just witnessed was not real. It was just a nightmare.

It took you a few extra minutes before it finally clicked in your head that your face was wet with tears. You wiped at your eyes furiously with the side of your arm, but it seemed to have only encouraged more tears to fall, your chest tightening with each painful breath taken.

It was a nightmare. Just a nightmare.

You repeated the mantra, a vain, pitiful attempt to calm yourself.

It was not real. It was just a nightmare.

Except, it wasn’t the boogeyman that scared you. It wasn’t the social anxiety of standing before a large crowd giving a speech while naked. It wasn’t even something like your dolls coming to life to murder you.

Those were all irrational figments of your imagination, concepts so exaggerated they had no place in reality.

But this.

It could very well happen. The world was scary enough to allow this to happen.

You closed your eyes.

You watched him turned his back on you, his hand on the door handle. He opened the door, entering without you, the door closing in your face. Just as you reached for the very same handle he had touched, there was an explosion that knocked you back, leaving you crumbled on the floor staring in confused abject horror as your grandmother’s house went up in flames, destroyed within a blink of an eye for seemingly no goddamn reason.

In just a few seconds, he was ripped out of your life.

In just a few seconds, he was stolen from you.

In just a few seconds, the boy who had promised to always be by your side was gone.

Caleb…Caleb…!

“Caleb!” you screamed out his name, no longer sure whether you were still within that nightmare or if you were awake, suffering from the lingering horrors you had witnessed, the cruel image now ingrained deeply in your mind like a stubborn weed you couldn’t kill, its roots strong and hardy going far deeper into the soil than you could ever reach.

Get out of your head, you scolded yourself firmly. Caleb is alive. He’s asleep in the living room.

It was such a nice day. Caleb had arrived in Linkon for a surprise visit from Skyhaven, managing to find time to slip away from the Deepspace Aviation Administration to see his favorite person in the world and celebrate her recent achievements at the Hunters Association. You both spent the day catching up, reminiscing as you both bumbled your way throughout the city, going from store to store, taking countless pictures to preserve the memory of the day, and laughed until your sides hurt and your cheeks sore from all of the smiles exchanged.

When you came home, Caleb made all of his signature dishes, spoiling you even when he was a guest in your home. It was just a habit he couldn’t break, one that he also showed no particular interest in rectifying. Like a summer breeze, Caleb brought warmth into your home, into your life. When Caleb was here, the world seemed just a bit gentler, a little safer, and you found your guard lowering, letting yourself drown in his familiar warmth.

Caleb was the very feeling of home, and he would always be home to you, encompassing all of the warm memories borne from the innocent years of growing up together.

You tried to steady your breathing once more. There was a hollowness in your eyes, your mind settling but still restless.

You wondered how such a perfect day gave way to the most horrific dream of your life.

Like a zombie, you left your bed, moving sluggishly down the halls to the living room with no clear thought in your head. You approached the couch, peering down at the figure asleep, curled up on that small sofa that could barely contain his large stature.

You stood next to the couch, staring down, breathing a little shaky again now that you are looking at him. He was there, asleep, where he should be.

You could see him clearly with your own eyes, but there was still a seed of doubt planted in your mind, a nagging voice trying to manipulate you, spreading lies in your head that he was just a figment of your imagination, that you were just in another layer of a dream.

You reached out, the pads of your fingers skimmed over his cheek, barely making contact, but perhaps there was still just enough of an electrifying touch to rouse Caleb from his deep slumber.

He stirred.

You quickly pulled your hand back, your breathing worsening. Before you could turn and retreat, Caleb called out to you in the darkness, his voice raspier than normal, still caught somewhere between dreaming and consciousness.

“Pipsqueak? What’s the matt—”

The words died at his lips, his perfect vision noticing instantly even in the darkness your puffy, red eyes. He immediately shoved the cover to the side, rushing to his feet as he gripped your arms, bent down to your height to thoroughly examine you.

“What’s wrong? What happened? Are you hurt somewhere? Do you feel unwell?”

You sniffled, unable to answer the barrage of questions being hurled at you. When you try to speak, the fragments of your nightmare resurfaced, forming that awful image in your mind again. Unable to say anything, you threw your arms around his waist, the suddenness surprised Caleb into losing his balance and you both fell back onto the couch with you on top of him. Instinctively, Caleb’s arms wrapped around you, the familiar warmth of him was already easing your anxiety, but it still didn’t feel like it was enough. You wanted more, needed more.

Needed him. Just so.

Your face pressed into his chest, his heart beating softly and you started to breathe easier again. His body heat spread to you, his gentle voice calling out once more.

“What’s wrong?” His fingers were under your chin, slowly lifting your head up so your eyes could meet. He sighed, disheartened, upon seeing just how red and swollen your eyes were. “What could have made the fearless Miss Hunter here so terrified that she cried until her eyes were so red and puffy?”

You recognized the faint teasing lilt in his voice, the same one he had used since childhood as a way to console you, to brighten your mood, and coax out whatever secrets you were keeping from him. It always worked, and you would confess to him about your fears, reveal the bullies who were tormenting you, or any worries that filled your little head, and Caleb would always come to the rescue and make the world right again.

This time, though, you did not want to tell him.

You quietly lowered your eyes, missing the instant hurt on Caleb’s face when you refused to speak to him.

An awkward silence started to creep into the room, but neither one of you spoke. You continued to withhold this nightmare from him, afraid that if you voice it out loud, something would get set in motion and what was once just a horrific dream would become an irreversible reality.

Caleb himself felt a little lost and suddenly helpless, a role he was unfamiliar with. He was always your protector, your confidant, and your companion, so to see you so terrified to the point that you couldn’t even speak to him made him question his own worth. He closed his eyes briefly, and exhaled, deciding that this silence had gone on long enough.

Easily, he scooped you into his arms, ignoring your surprised cries as he stood up and carried you back to your bed.

“Ca-Caleb?”

“It’s late,” he murmured, not looking down at you, “Let’s get you back into bed.”

You huffed and lightly beat at his chest with one small fist. “Caleb, I’m not a kid anymore,” you said, muttering softly, “You shouldn’t speak to me like that.”

You were lowered down into the soft mattress, and before Caleb could straighten, you grabbed at the front of his shirt, yanking him down until he fell on top of you in surprise.

“Pipsq—”

Your lips pressed to his, and Caleb was stunned into silence, his eyes widened in surprise. A million thoughts seemed to race through Caleb’s mind, and not one of them made sense or even tried to rationalize what was happening in this instance.

Your lips felt so warm and soft against his, and perhaps in a moment of weakness, he closed his eyes, returning the kiss, deepening it further, realizing that this was everything he had wanted for years. The line he had always wished to cross but hesitated was now gone. You were the first to cross to him, so how could he just refuse this moment? Refuse you?

Neither of you know how much time had passed, breaking apart only when you needed to breathe. Caleb’s hands were pressed into the mattress on either side of your head, his eyes locked with yours, both your cheeks flushed and your breathing labored.

“Caleb…you’re leaving soon…”

He looked confused, unsure of what was going through your head. You were behaving so abnormally tonight, so emotional and distressed, he was starting to go mad with worry, wanting to do anything to chase away the anxiety that was grappling you.

“Not for another three days,” he answered as calmly as he could, “I’m all yours until then, pipsqueak.”

“Will you be mine tonight?”

He stilled, his breathing stopping the moment he heard those words, wondering if maybe his hearing might have deceived him. It was a few seconds before he managed to find his voice, though as he spoke, it wasn’t even registering in his head that he was speaking to you, “What…did you say, pipsqueak?”

You looked up, blinking away the tears that still remained. You stared into his violet eyes, wishing to look into them forever. “I want you, Caleb…please…”

“You’re not thinking clearly,” he said, his voice wavering enough that he wondered who he was trying to convince: you…or him?

You shook your head vehemently. “No…I am. I am, I am, I am, I am…!”

Your hands cupped his face, your voice steadied and assured. “This is the most lucid I’ve ever been.” As you stared into his questioning eyes, your heart dropped suddenly. There was an acute shift in your expression, reflecting your sudden mood change, and to others, it was subtle enough that no one would notice, but with Caleb, he was always aware of everything about you. He saw the shift, that flicker of fear in your eyes before you had blinked them away. Quietly, you asked, afraid of his answer, afraid of whatever truth awaited you in the next few seconds, “Or…do you not want me?”

Caleb’s eyes widened in shock, his heart stirring at hearing the anxiousness in your feeble voice. One large hand slipped under your head and you were pressed forward closer to him, his lips crashing against yours in a heated kiss, the depths of his feelings like a tidal wave sweeping away everything in its path.

“Fuck no,” he groaned, the rasp in his voice more prevalent than normal. “I…I’ve always wanted you. I’ll always want you.”

“Re…really?”

“Really.”

“Really, really?”

“Really, really.”

His breathing stuttered, his eyes flickering from your own, a mix of fear and yearning in your gaze, to your lips, trembling and waiting. He swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing, before he leaned down closer, the warmth of his breath caressed against your lips as he spoke, “Are you sure?”

“I’m sure,” you answered.

“One last chanc—”

You kissed him, swallowing that last word. He instantly submitted to you, his kisses ravenous as if a dam had just been broken, and now there was nothing holding back his own feelings. As you kissed him, gasping in between, your hands fumbled against his clothes, tugging at his t-shirt. He let you guide him, the shirt slipping off and revealing his toned torso.

You didn’t have long to appreciate them before you realized his own hands were on the waistband of your shorts, giving an experimental tug down. He shifted his gaze to you, waiting, and you nodded. He smirked and made quick work of discarding your bottoms, his breathing growing heavier now that the only thing left were the light pink cotton panties you wore.

“Caleb…” your lips found his again, pulling him back to you. As you two kissed, his lips trailing all over, marking you up in ways you had never dreamed about before. You gasped, arching up into him when you felt his bulge brushing over your core, the thin fabric of his pajama bottoms not enough of a barrier between the two of you.

The way he was breathing so heavily, his pants making you more aroused than you could have ever realized. One large hand slipped under your shirt, easily covering your entire breast. You whined when that same callous hand circled your breast, his fingers finding your nipple to pinch and play with until it firmed under his touch. You fidgeted against him, whining softly at his teasing treatment.

“Are you always this sensitive?” he asked, gazing down in amusement at your flushed cheeks. He laughed softly when you lightly glared at him. His voice lowered, his mouth so close to your right ear that when he spoke, you could feel butterflies fluttering in your belly. “Or is it…only for me?”

He kissed your neck soundly, the warmth of his lips still lingered even when he pulled back, his smoldering violet eyes gazing down at you with such desires, you quickly forgotten your frustration with him. His hands skimmed down your body, resting on your hips, his thumbs rubbing against the waistband of your panties. There was still some hesitancy left in him, as if he was afraid that once he crossed this line with you, things would never be like before.

You guided his fingers, letting more of the fabric slip lower and lower, his breathing the only sound heard in the stillness of your bedroom. Once he had slipped the garment off, it seemed like everything moved much faster, the restraints that held both of you back gone in that instance as you both succumbed to the once dormant desires within both of you.

“Ah…Caleb…!” You gasped as he grabbed your thighs, spreading you more. His hardened member pressed against your slick folds, the tip slipping in and you moaned as you took him in slowly. Your thoughts raced as you realized that not only was this happening, but Caleb was much bigger than you could have anticipated. Your belly tightened, body tensing as more of his large length filled you.

He kept you spread, his body leaning forward, the barely-contained groans filling your ears. “So fucking tight,” he rasped, “Fuck, you feel so…so good…better than I could…could have…imagined…”

Your chest heaved, the feverish expression you wore betrayed your feelings, showing him that his words barely registered in your head as all you could do was focus on the feel of him filling you so gloriously. He hummed happily as he leaned down and kissed your lips, giving one final thrust to fill you, your startled gasp swallowed by him as he continued to ravage your lips as he let you get used to the feel of him buried deep inside you.

“Ah…Ca…Caleb…” you whimpered his name in between kisses, your hips rolling against his.

Understanding your need, Caleb slowly pulled out before he thrusted back in, your moans more heavenly than he could have ever thought, and now that he had a taste of the once forbidden fruit, he knew he could never give you up even if he wanted to. Once he was sure you were enjoying yourself, he found a pace that was pleasurable for the both of you, letting go of all the previous hesitancy and yielding completely to this moment of passion.

With every movement, every burning touch, you moaned his name, begging and pleading with him for more, to take you harder, make you his completely. You had said his name so many times before, in so many different tones and with so many moods accompanying them, but he had never heard his name uttered in such a sweet, lascivious way as this with that pretty voice of yours spilling such perverted words. He could get addicted to this, wanting to greedily covet all of these sweet sounds for himself.

His length reached deeply inside you, hitting that sweet spot that had you arching into him, clenching around him. He groaned into your neck, his voice hoarse with desires. “Whatever you want,” he murmured, his voice so soft and lazy, it was almost like you were getting intoxicated by him, “I will give you.”

“Ca…Caleb…”

“Hmm…” He kissed you again, long and slow, savoring your lips and this moment for as long as he could. “I will never stop spoiling you,” he whispered, nipping your bottom lip. His forehead pressed to yours, and another roll of his hips had you arching into him, arms wrapped around his neck as you buried your face into his shoulder, crying softly. He gripped your legs on either side of him, pulling you closer to him as he shushed you gently. “You’re so close, baby,” he continued in that same leisure tone, his own groans of pleasure mixed in between his words, “Are you going to cum for me soon?”

“Ye…yes…”

“Yes what?” He was teasing you again, wanting to rile you up. He kissed along your neck once more, his sinfully sweet voice coaxing you closer to the edge. “Tell me. Say it with that pretty voice of yours.”

“Cale…Caleb…”

He hummed again, waiting. He pressed a kiss along your shoulder, his movements quickening to meet your needs.

“Oh god, Caleb!” You gripped him tighter, feeling every deep, hard thrust. You whimpered as he gripped your chin, keep your face close to his.

“Eyes on me,” he commanded, a lecherous smirk on his handsome face. “I want to see what you look like cumming on my cock.”

Oh, fuck.

At those perverted words, the long building climax came crashing, your body pulsing with pleasure as you cried out his name with such ecstasy. The sight of you beneath him, shaking in pleasure, lost in a blissful state of euphoria stole his breath away as he chased after his own climax, driving into you over and over again with reckless abandon.

You whimpered, his forearms suddenly resting on either side of you, keeping you completely trapped beneath him as he continued to penetrate you so deeply with quickened movements. His intense kisses assaulted your lips before his hips stuttered and suddenly, he was emptying into you, filling you with ropes of his seed.

“F-fuck…” he panted, his weight heavy on you. For what seemed like several minutes, you both stayed like this, feeling the aftershocks of your climaxes still coursing through your spent bodies. You could feel Caleb’s lazy kisses trailing along your neck, his lips finding your temple. He spoke first, voice soft and gentle, “Are you alright?”

You nodded tiredly, and he smiled.

He pulled out of you, breathing shuddering as his eyes took in the erotic sight of his cum dripping lewdly from your cunt. He didn’t say anything, but this was having more of an arousing effect on him than he could have realized. He swallowed and quickly looked up, meeting your satiated gaze. His expression softened, pleased to see you were in a calmer state now compared to earlier.

He settled down in bed, pulling you into his embrace. You arm draped over his chest as you both basked in the afterglow. The silence that followed was more comfortable this time as both your breathing slowed in time together.

Your eyes drifted close while Caleb ran his fingers through your hair, a troubled expression passed his features suddenly, almost as if he was unsure whether or not he should ruin this mood with the question lingering in his mind.

He didn’t want things to just get swept away, to be forgotten just like that, especially not when he knew you were in such pain before, and he doubted you were completely fine now. Whether this was a good decision or not, Caleb needed to at least try and break through this new barrier you had put up tonight. So, he asked: “Do you want to tell me about your nightmare?”

You stayed completely still in his arms, not moving or reacting in any way. You could sense Caleb’s intense stare, but he was patient as he waited for you to answer his sudden question.

You could still hear the explosion, the crackling of flames left in its wake. The heat was so unbearable, scorching like the fires of Hell itself.

You burrowed into Caleb’s embrace, shaking your head silently as you held him just a bit tighter, the squeeze a gentle reminder that he was still here, still in your arms.

He was safe.

He was safe in your arms.

And he was warm and real and here and yours.

“Alright,” Caleb whispered, his lips pressed to the top of your head. “I’ll be here if you ever want to tell me.”

Your voice sounded so small and helpless, as if you were a child again chasing after him. “You’ll be here?”

He smiled. “Even if I am away, I will always find my way home to you,” he said, his resolve strong. “From Skyhaven or wherever else, I will always return to you no matter the distance.”

“Promise?”

“Promise,” he answered, not missing a beat. Still seeing the worried creases on your face, Caleb rubbed your cheek affectionately, asking with a tinge of teasing in his voice, “Have I ever broken a promise to you?”

And you smiled for the first time that night, because no, he never had.

And he never will.

[raytoebiter]

iv. don't you dare forget the sun (written work)

The area around your café, just a few meters down the block, was a small, isolated town. The reason why it was dubbed as isolated was due to its vulnerability to endangered animals. It used to be popular. It really did. That was, until people eventually got tired of the lack of availability and access to the city resources. So, eventually, they moved to the city.

So to say, it's a really small town with only elders typically living in the area since they were mostly the ones who knew how things went from there. And since your café was just right outside of the pathway that led to said 'small town', it was mostly habituated with a lot of elders, tourists, and sometimes, students. The only season that it gets crowded is when it comes to exam season, so it's a bit hectic.

And now that you're a senior in highschool now, your grandmother decided it would be a good idea to hire a bit more employees to help you out.

Well. Not if said 'employee' is your damn rival!?

The sound of a groan interrupts your internal panic, and you're met with creepy, damn purple eyes and an ugly sneer with the ugliest fucking face, "stop looking like an addict and stop using your phone."

"Shut the fuck up, what are you doing here?" You narrow your eyes, scowling at him as he smiled, "and I wasn't using my phone, mind you."

"Sure," he scoffs, before leaning into the counter with a sneer, “don't tell me you kiss your nanny with that mouth, [Name]?"

Your eye twitches in indignance, and the shit-eating smirk on his punchable face only widens, "answer my question, Scara."

Indignantly, Scaramouche finally drops the facade and shrugs you off, "take a guess, fuckwipe. who do you think your new slave is?"

You freeze. Fuck, what the fuck. It's real. What. The. Fuck.

And as the sound of his breath drags out of his mouth in a painstaking manner, you burst.

"What do you mean? You're the new barista? You gotta be fucking kidding me—"

"No shit–"

"Dealing with you in school is already enough, but now I have to deal with you in my precious free time in work too—"

"I'm not enjoying this as much as you don't, FYI–"

"I don't care if you enjoy this or not, you're ruining every aspect of my life with that presence of yours!"

"Now that's fucking selfish, isn't it? I won't enjoy being in that cramped little space dealing with your bullshit either–"

"Well, get out of here then!" You lash out, feeling the sweat in your palms build up as you glare into his damn creepy purple eyes staring you down. The sound of your heart palpitating at a rapid rate feels way too clear in your ears to the point you're convinced it's as if it's right next to it. But, you pay no heed to it and continue glowering at the frowning man in front of you.

You could practically see the gears turning inside his head before his brows furrowed down even further and before he could open his mouth, a bell chimes just right beside you, followed by a hoarse, gentle voice.

“Oh? Is that the new kid? Why are you two arguing? I could hear you all the way to the back.”

“No, we're just—”

—Then, a hand grips the top of your head. What the fuck. Roughly, too.

Perhaps turning to him with the most confused and disgusted expression would scare away the hand gripping your head as if it was a stress ball, right? Because, it really was starting to hurt. And, never mind that. Why? What the fuck is up with thim. Also, he's lucky he's taller than you despite being 5'6. Fuck this piece of—

"Nah, actually, we're super fine here. She's just being noisy 'cause I scored higher than her earlier in our recitation." Scaramouche says casually with the most pseudo smile, all the while threading his fingers to your hair more gently this time.

And, what the fuck. Why is it gentle. Why. Why. What in actual fuck is happening. Didn't he just tell you to kill yourself just a few hours back in your classroom. What the fuck. Never mind that, why the fuck is he smiling like the fakest bitch you've ever seen.

And amidst your dilemma, your grandmother beams, and it's so comical in the way her eyes light up and her grin widens, "is that so? Do you two know each other? classmates? friends?"

The fingers that were once gently scraping its fingertips onto your scalp tenses; and briefly, you could feel what he was feeling from the way his fingertips slightly trembled—and it feels weird, because why would he be trembling?

Slapping his idle hand away from your scalp, a sigh rattles your body, "yeah, no. we're just classmates."

Unfortunately, goes unsaid in the air.

“Ah. So, friends it is!”

The heck.

In that case, you have no idea how to tell her that you considered murdering the said "friend" beside you with a pen back when he shoved his damn palm onto your face just so he could get the points first.

You sheepishly clear your throat. “no, we're just—”

Scaramouche cuts you off, shrugging indignantly, “yeah, we're friends.”

What a dick.

Baffled, you're about to interrupt when he turns to you with sharp, narrowed eyes before continuing with a tired tone, “can we just start the meeting? I have an appointment by—” he glances at the clock, noting it before facing your grandmother again with an apologetic smile, “..around three hours from now.”

Her wrinkly eyes darted to the clock, before rushing to the door and flipping the sign over, “my! how impolite of me, come, come! help me with the boxes before we start with the meeting. Hurry, you two!”

--

A few things run in your head as you sat through two hours of the meeting with the same monologue you've heard over the past years.

First off—why the fuck was he acting like the kindest dick you've ever known. Why is he even acting so kind in front of your grandma. Why is he even here. Why did he use your head as a fucking stress ball. Why did his fingers tremble upon the mention of you two being friends. Did he hate you that much that even the image of you two being friends scare him. Damn, you kinda agree to that though. And goddamn, did you literally crash out in front of him? God—

As your grandmother finishes her long introduction to the café rules and the like, she finally leaves you two alone at the expense of getting snacks and coffee. And to talk. Apparently.

The bell chimes again the second time that night, and all that was left in the cramped staff room was you, the whiteboard with the new schedule and a very pissed-frowning Scaramouche.

“Fuck,” he muttered while glaring into the new schedule. As if staring at it with such disdain would have it engraved into his mind.

Naturally, you react with a sigh, “so, you're actually going to work at this place, huh?”

He drowsily leans back into his chair, still glaring into the damn whiteboard, “Unfortunately, yeah. didn't think I'd have to spend my fridays with you in it too.”

Humming, you mutter a small, “yeah, same.”

Then, silence.

“So—”

“Can I—”

Both of you pause to look at each other with frowns and sharp glares.

“Why in the fucking hell are we acting like two damn middle schoolers about to engage in intercourse.”

Another question courses through your head and this time, you voice it out loud in genuine curiosity, “why are you so vulgar? this is like, the 10th curse word I've heard from you.”

Scaramouche rolls his eyes, “surprise, surprise, ass-kisser.”

“Ass-kisser? What—”

“When can I fucking leave? It's almost time.”

Ugh. Welcome Lieutenant of Patience here, everyone!

Your brow twitches upward in annoyance, “you're not even going to wait until grandma comes back?”

Frowning, he turns to you with a scrunched expression, “I don't plan on making friends here, [Name].”

You scoff as you roll your eyes, right. He stands with a creak, already turning to the exit.

“Back door’s to the right! I'll tell grandma you had to leave early, since it sounds like you're going to piss your pants for that appointment you have!"

His figure briefly stills for a second in the reflection of the whiteboard, and with a dubious tone, he mutters under the dull hums of the AC, "ugh. thanks. or whatever.”

The door clicks to a close and you stare at it with absolute disbelief.

What the fuck has this day gone into.

───────────────────⋆⋅☆⋅⋆───────────────────

|| previous episode - next episode. ||

───〃★tunes of your heartbeat masterlist

synopsis: in which your fate somehow gets entangled into a messy jumble between punk music in cozy cafés, intense rivalry, cherished yakults, parallelograms and quantum physics, competitions in contests and rainy days. or in other words; the universe seems to fucking hate your guts for whatever reason and decided to curse your love life with your awful crass emo twink-a-fuck rival. the question is; did the curse work?

taglist (44/50): @toekissers , @raineyun , @onigirilaw , @ecinoriri , @localscarasimp , @potteraep , @shutingstar , @kaikaidenki , @starsacubi , @scaraenthusiast1 , @dazqa , @wraithisd3adinside , @x-hihihi-x , @rxi-n-lyche3 , @automaticpatroltragedy , @mi2ukiss , @lalalaloveallmydays , @trulyylee , @jayzioxx , @featuredtofu , @kazemiya , @capcryooo , @help-whatdoimakemyusername , @skyoverkill1 , @phoenix-eclipses , @anqelkoz , @miyakomari , @saechiro @shyentsfoundthetrink , @swivi , @vixialuvs , @eternally-kira143 , @heusalettle , @kumikssr @yomishen , @mywillt0live , @baldrapunzel @jiminscarmex @sushitushi , @liuaneee , @shynsgore , @mechanicalbeat1 , @marivaudages

authors' notes - why is tumblr being a bitch smh also DOUBLE UPDATE WIPEEE

(ask to be added or removed)

[llamagoddessofficial]

Can you believe I've never done Farmtale Sans before? As a certified country girl? Shocking, I know. I'll rectify this issue with my latest brainrot scenario immediately

---

“whoever this is, it better be real fuckin’ important,” the voice at the other end said, gruff and tired, heavy with a mix of annoyance and sleepiness.

Immediately, shame washed over you. The very small amount of steam you’d managed to muster up completely dissipated from your body as you imagined Sans’ disappointed and disbelieving reaction to your pathetic request.

This was a mistake.

“... H-hey. Uhm... I’m fine, I didn’t mean to call. Butt dial, hahah.” Your voice nearly cracked. “Sorry for waking you up.”

“... wait.” His voice instantly changed. “hey, don’t hang up-”

You didn’t hear the rest of what he said. You hung up, and put the phone down. Now you were right back to square one, sitting at the kitchen table in a freezing empty house at 2 in the morning. It had taken you almost half an hour to muster up the courage to call him- thirty minutes of sitting by the phone, wrapped up in your coat, shaking and holding back tears. You started plotting places you were going to sleep. Maybe if you put more wood in the kitchen stove, you could just sleep at the table until morning. 

... You inherited this place from your grandmother. It was a ‘rustic’ house that hadn’t seen human company for over a decade, in the middle of the deep countryside, cut off from almost everything. Spooky, draughty, on nights like tonight sitting in the kitchen was like sitting in a fridge. You had moved out of necessity- your landlord in the city had evicted you from your beloved apartment to jack up his prices, and you couldn’t find anywhere else to live except this middle-of-nowhere house left in your name.

You had lived in the city your whole life. You weren’t used to being in the country, not at all. The month you’d spent here had only reinforced that fact to you, over and over.

Something made a noise outside. An animal, maybe. You curled your coat tighter around you.

The only upside so far had been meeting the monsters that made up the tight-knit community you had been unceremoniously dropped into. Papyrus and Sans, especially, had been so wonderful and helpful. Sans had told you to call if you needed anything.

... Which was exactly why you didn’t have the heart to tell him why you were really calling. You didn’t want him to think any worse of you than he probably already did. A stuck-up city girl who doesn’t know what she’s doing.

You were scared.

... 

The phone rang. The sound made you jump, it felt so loud in the silence. Despite your increasing shame, and the desire to just let it ring... you picked up.

“c’mon, don’t be like that.” He sounded much softer than when he had first answered. “what’s wrong? something happen?”

“N-no.” Hearing someone else’s voice was so comforting. You felt so alone, far away from everyone. “It’s nothing.”

You obviously weren’t very convincing. “doesn’t seem like nothing. you sound terrified.”

“I’m just cold.”

“didja kill someone? do i need to come over and help hide a body?”

You couldn’t help it, that made you giggle a little.

...

It just came. You didn’t entirely know why. Probably because it was two, and you hadn’t slept since six the previous morning. Unable to help yourself, you just... burst into tears.

“hey. s’ok, you’re gonna be ok. i’m on the way.”

“N-no, no, please,” You pressed your sleeve against your eyes The shame was absolutely overwhelming. “Please don’t come,”

“too late. already outta bed, it’s serious business. you gonna tell me what’s got you all shaken up?”

You pulled your knees up to your face. Well, no hiding it now, huh? He’d heard you sobbing over the phone. Your voice crumpled under a mixture of tears, fear, immense fatigue and shame. You felt like such a baby. 

“Th-there’s a huge spider on my bed,” you finally admitted, feebly. “I-I’m... I don’t know what to do.”

“aw jeez. why didn’t you just say?”

You could suddenly barely talk through the crying. Hours of stress, all coming out in one mess. He probably thought you were pathetic.

“hey. knock knock.”

As he said that, you heard two soft knocks on your side door. You jumped up, what the hell? Was that Sans? You dropped the phone and rushed to the door to let him in, almost tripping over yourself. 

You opened the door, the air was full of the sound of wind and crickets. Sans stood in the darkness outside of the house, dressed in a thick knitted sweater, blue and white striped pyjama bottoms, big heavy boots, and a coat over the top of it all. He had the phone in one hand, and his smile widened when he saw you.

Shocked, you scrubbed at your eyes and nose again, self consciously trying to wipe off the tears and snot. He lived half an hour's drive from you. “H-how... how did you get here so fast?”

“shortcut.” He winked, those lovely emerald green eyelights glimmering in the low light. “can i come in?”

You nodded, not trusting your voice, stepping to the side. Maybe he knew roads your map apps didn't. Sans eagerly came into the light, kicking off his shoes and closing the door behind him.

“this way?” he asked. 

... You showed him to the bedroom, but cowered in the doorway. 

“I-it’s under the sheet.”

Sans didn’t even hesitate. He approached the bed and flipped back the sheet. The spider hadn’t moved since you last saw it scurry under your bedclothes, still sitting right there, with its fat hairy body and sharp legs. It was probably the biggest spider you had ever seen in your entire life. You felt a horrible chill pass over you.

“dang. he is big. look at the size of that gangly fucker.”

Having said that, Sans just... grabbed it. He picked the spider up before it could run and held it in his enclosed fist like he was scooping up a penny he had dropped on the floor. Just like that, he moved across the room and pulled back the curtain, cracked the window open, stuck his arm out, and threw the spider out into the darkness.

He closed the window again. The air felt less heavy. He even tugged the handle to make sure the window was all properly sealed up, pulling the curtains closed again.

It took him all of fifteen seconds.

“all good.” He turned to you, grinning and showing you his open palms. No spider. “successfully evicted.”

...

You started crying again. 

Sans mumbled a soft ‘aw jeez’. He didn’t hesitate to cross the room, wrapping his arms around you and pulling you into a warm hug, ignoring your babbled apologies. 

“he really spooked ya, huh?” A gentle hand smoothed over your hair. He smelled like sweet hay, hours of sunshine, and something slightly musky. “how long were you tryna drum up the courage?”

“T-two hours,” you sobbed, muffled in his sweater.

You’d expected him to laugh at you. But he didn’t. He just held you, letting you cry out all the stress that had been building up over the course of the night. You were pretty sure this was the first time you had been hugged since before you left the city.

Eventually, you calmed yourself down, reducing to just hiccups. Sans didn’t let go until you did, allowing you to pull away, but keeping a steadying hand on your arm. 

“easy, pet.” His voice was so warm and soothing. “you’re all good.”

“Fucking... I’m just such a baby.” Your sleeves were damp from all of the tear wiping you were doing. You made an unattractive sniffling sound. “You didn’t even hesitate.”

“cus i’m used to ‘em. also, i’m a skeleton, so i don’t gotta worry about being bitten. no shame in bein’ scared of the big ones.” 

Your voice was hoarse. “I’m sorry you came out all this way.”

“... did you think i’d be mad at you?” he asked, softly.

“M-mhm.”

“i really don’t mind bein’ yer bug removing hero." He patted his nonexistent bicep. "tell ya what, it makes me feel very big an’ tough.”

He had you giggling again. He always did. He seemed proud of himself- his presence was balm to your Soul right now. 

“I just... I get so scared at night.” Your cheeks were hot. “It’s so quiet, and dark. I feel like I’m the only person around for miles. I don’t know why I thought I could do this.”

"this?"

"Living out here."

“hey, i beg to differ. yer already doin’ so much better than most who move to these parts.”

You looked up at him. Why did that tiny bit of praise make your heart swell so much? You didn’t feel like you were doing ‘better’. You’d just called your nearest neighbour at 2 in the morning to come save you from a spider. “But I’m always asking for help.”

“exactly. you’re askin’. that’s the important part.” His eyelights were so warm. “that’s how we make it work, out here. we help each other.”

Goddamnit. You were gonna cry again. You just about managed to choke it down.

“... the animal noises also probably freak you out too, huh?”

“Y-yeah, hah.”

“if you don’t know what yer hearin’, it can be pretty scary.”

... You sniffled.

...

“... you’re shaking. d’ya want me to stay?”

How did he know? He always just seemed to know. You nodded, meekly. You didn’t want to be alone right now, and you knew the house would feel even colder and emptier once you’d known how it felt while you had company.

“Will Papyrus be worried?”

“he knew i was headin’ out to help ya. he’ll be fine.”

... You didn’t need to say out loud where you wanted Sans to sleep. Both of you knew.

The two of you finally took off your coats, and Sans turned off the lights. His forest-coloured eyelights were the only illumination in the room. As soon as he shuffled into bed beside you, you gratefully curled up against him, he was so calming and so warm. He reciprocated, wrapping his big arms around you, his comforting smell soothing your shot nerves. 

“... Thank you.” Your voice was almost a whisper.

“yer really warm.” he hummed. “just so you know, i’m a bit of a snorer.”

You probably should’ve been more concerned, sharing a bed in a very secluded location with a guy you barely knew. But you didn’t have the energy for it. For the first time in a long time, you were warm, didn’t feel lonely, and weren’t worried at all about bugs. 

“I don’t mind.”

... It was the best night’s sleep you’d ever had.

[strawberrynightmere]

Drugs And Candy [Yandere Andrew Graves x Female Reader]

TW⚠️: yandere tendencies, smut/nsfw/nsft/18+, hate sex(?), pharmaceutical student reader, reader is socially detachedbut academically ambitious, group projects, what is presumed to be a one-night stand become an obsession (for Andrew at least), etc

A/n: Honestly, I think I might write a prequel to this. Thank you for the request, anon.

What a waste of your time, a group project with one of the people you hate most. You see, you had the misfortune of meeting Andrew Graves and his dysfunctional family since your grandmother used to live in the same building as them. Honestly, the whole neighborhood was trash. You're glad you convinced your parents to move her somewhere else so she could spend her last days in peace.

But back to topic.

You are not a fan of group projects, nor of anyone from the Graves family, and a double negative doesn't mean it's a positive. What the heck is the professor thinking by combining law and pharmaceutics? What's the common ground here?

"Professor #*+&#<+*, I would like to change partners." That's the first thing you sain when you approached your Professor.

"Afraid not, Miss [Last Name]." They denied.

"Can I at least work alone?"

"No, a group project is a must in this case. If there's a problem, take it up with your partner, like a reasonable adult. Isn't that right, Mr. Graves?"

"Yes, Professor." That creep was standing behind you the whole time. Those people who say that Ashley is a lunatic clearly didn't have a chance to analyze Andrew's behavior.

And his creepy staring makes your skin crawl.

Once the professor left, it was just you two.

You sigh in frustration. "Listen," you started off, "I don't want to do this anymore than you, so to make this easier, let me do all the work, and you can just write your name and do the presentation part."

"No."

That brat, you just offered him something that any student would take in a heartbeat, and he refused.

"I want a good grade as much as you do, come to my dorm room after class."

"What... No!" You right out refused.

"Fine then, I'll come to yours." There's no way you're gonna let him anywhere near your stuff.

"No, no. I'll come to your room."

"Good, I'll see then." He leaves, and you are hit with the realization of what you just done.

"Son of a-"

🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸

Now you're standing in front of his door, contemplating whether to ditch and fail or knock and risk getting killed.

Should've worn body glitter, so your chances would be low.

Taking a risk, you knock, and to your delight, no one answered.

"Hey."

And your luck decided to turn on you.

"Did you wait too long?" Andrew asked so nonchalantly.

"No, I just... got here."

Andrew just walked past you and opened the door.

"Come in."

🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸

After hours' worth of work and preparation, you two called it a day. As you were packing up your things, you glanced at Andrew. As much as you hate him, you won't deny that he's handsome, the type of guy you'd end up having a one-night stand, but definitely not someone you'd be in a long-term relationship with.

"[Name]-"

"Listen, we both hate each other, and you're probably a sexual deviant, so why don't we just a fuck and then never talk to each other after the presentation?" In your defense, anything that provided socialization has been an alien concept to you and the people around you would bother you with the phrase 'come on, live a little!' So why not? You'd be killing two birds with one, unfortunately shaped rock.

You wait for Andrew to stop panicking and once he did, his hands were covering his face.

"Is that a 'no'?"

"It's not a 'no'... I...I do want to." So it was embarrassment that he was expressing.

Not wasting much time, you place yourself between his legs and undo his pants, the bulge in his boxers has gotten bigger. Carefully, not to get smacked in the face, you take off his boxers, and his dick sprung out. It was way bigger than what you saw o those porn websites after getting baited.

Wrapping your hand around his shaft and moving it in an up and down motion, earning a small hiss from Andrew.

'Intrestin.' You thought as you picked up the speed a bit, making his breathing ratchet. Deciding that that wasn't enough, you pressed your lips to the tip, which rilled him up more. You were done with teasing and put the tip inside your mouth and bobbing your head, taking more of him in.

Andrew ended up moaning your name, which made you abruptly stop. Who knew that your name could sound thrilling when it's moaned out.

You continued on until you felt it twitch inside your mouth.

Suddenly, you feel Andrew's hand bunching up your hair and pushing your head, forcing you to deep throat him as he came.

Well, the taste was ... something.

Once you were free and done with your coughing fit, you noticed Andrew was bricked up again.

"You don't happen to have protection?" That's right, you needed to be safe about this.

Andrew just opens a drawer and pulls one out.

Now, what happened in between that short amount of time was a blur. What is currently occurring is that you, in only your bra, are on top of Andrew with his dick deep in your cunt. Hands on your hips pushing you up and slamming you down at an uforgiving speed, drawing you closer to your release.

🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸

You wake up in Andrew's bed and come to yourself. You shot up and looked around you.

The time! You need to know the time!

There was a clock that said 1:15, and since it was dark outside, that meant it was morning.

Grabbing your stuff, you quietly make it out of his room and successfully sneak into your dorm room.

A while later, Andrew wakes up and notices you're not next to him. Turning on the lamp on the desk just confirmed that you left, but you seem to have forgotten something.

Your underwear laying at the foot of his bed. Picking up the garment, he noticed he was turned on again.

Andrew sits on his bed, with one hand on his shaft and the other one that is holding your panties, now pressed to his face.

If you haven't found him repulsive before, wait until you find out what he does when he stalks you.

A/n: Sometimes I wonder if I go too far with my writing.

[ray-jaykub]

Climbing Floors to Purple Light

This is a little brain worm I've had, for who knows how long, and I finally got it out. I know there isn't much interaction between reader and Donnie but I'm gonna be honest the point of this fic was to give you guys a reader who has the chance to fight for herself. Domestic violence is a rampant and killing oppression that many people face. Some do not have the strength to leave their situations, some may not even know they're in situations to begin with, and some do die. I come from a childhood filled with domestic violence and child abuse, and many years I had laid awake watching out that trailer window not knowing that what I was going through was wrong but knowing I never wanted it for myself. Sadly, that doesn't make me immune to falling into the cycle my mother and grandmother had, we are all at the potential of falling into harmful relationships. Stay aware, stay safe, and stay open to help. You are not alone

Tw: domestic violence, crude language, ugly men, ominous ending for ex

It's a little bit of a rainy night here in New York, drizzling against your umbrella as you walk back to your apartment with a pep in your step. The guy's and April had made the plan to have a fun game night to start off the weekend, and afterward, the guys would head out to do their usual rounds. Hanging with them was always the best, Mikey had a habit of making whatever drink you have coming out your nose with his jokes, but you were more excited about one brother specifically.

You and Donatello had been going steady for… 6 months? You struggled to remember, but he could tell you the exact days, minutes, and hours. He was a total upgrade from your last relationship, kind and attentive, patient, and forgiving. April claimed this should be considered the norm, but your bar had been set kinda, maybe super, low. But that just made everything better in your eyes! And yeah, sometimes when he was nose deep in some business, you can get kind of lonely. But you can't even dwell on it long before he door dashes a treat to your apartment or sends you plans for a date that he'd rolled in his brain for the past couple hours.

Just thinking about him makes you smile, and quickly, you pull your phone out, shooting a quick text to him that you're about to be inside the building. Maybe you were moving too fast with him, falling in so deep, sharing parts of yourself with him that you probably wouldn't have done with any other guy. Yet, it all felt so right.

There was one part you had not shared with him, though.It hadn't helped that your last relationship was so…mean. Being hit hurt more than it looked on TV, and a long time ago, you had convinced yourself that a part of you deserved it. The hair pulling and kicking your knees, gripping you till there were big purple splotches. You lost friends, somehow didn't lose your job, and at this point could feel the look of pity from miles away. Being handed brochures on how to leave dangerous situations by supporting groups or defacs workers and being asked if there was trouble at home by worrying grannies. You would persist that it was fine, would throw away the pamphlets or guiltily shove them in an old coat pocket in the back of your closet.It had taken being beaten down on the bathroom floor just because of how you were "looking at him" to finally realize it'd be best getting out of there. That resulted in a restraining order and moving in with April, which led to meeting the turtles and led to meeting someone who made you so happy. It was the best choice you had made in a long time. It's been nearly 2 years since then, he felt like a distant memory behind you.

You're quick to put your card key to the door panel and swing it open, shoes clicking onto the linoleum when you get in. The elevator was straight across from the main door. All you had to do was get in, and you'd be a hallway away from your apartment. Pressing the button, you wait, watching the numbers above the door dwindle down as they come to the lobby and ding open. Stepping in, the overhead light is dim, having not been changed in who knows how long, and the buttons are worn, but you know which is yours.

You expect the doors to shut, but a hand shoots out and stops them, and in a dark hood and a ball cap, your ex's face pops up.

"Y/n?" He's not even waiting before he wedges himself in through the barely opened doors. Your stomach drops, and a heavy weight makes you nauseous as your tongue feels cemented to the top of your mouth. He's standing on the opposite side of the elevator, at least, but you're thumbing your phone in your pocket. "Hope you don't mind, I followed behind you when you opened the door."

What?

Had you been so careless not to notice him right there??

"You were behind me?" It comes out as even as you can make it, a little breathless from anxiety. He nods like it's the most casual thing in the world, and the elevator doors are sliding shut. Like the heavy gates to some cage, they squeak, and your center of gravity feels off as it lifts."Yeah," He shuffles a bit, hands in his pockets. "I had to wait for you at work and everything to figure out where you were staying. You're pretty hard to find." He double takes when you do, noticing your panicked state and defensively raises his hands. "But it was just so I could talk to you! I really wanna work things out babe…"

"I don't!" Your voice cracks, and he looks stunned, so you gulp a breath down and speak again. "We are done. We have been done, I don't know why, why you at all thought it was okay to come find me li-" He's coming towards you and it makes you flinch, shoulders pressed into the corner of this suddenly very too tiny elevator. He doesn't touch you, just crowds, body blocking your line of sight from the elevator panel and doors.

"Y/n, liten to me…" You're already shaking your head and trembling hands reach up, leaving your phone in your pocket, just in the hopes to maybe keep space between you both. That makes him sneer. A rough hand tries to knock them away, but you yank away, trying to slide past him. "Y/n!"

"No! I don't want to!" You hate that you're getting panicked so easy. But he had been so cruel the last time you had seen him, had left you there to pick yourself up while he went out without you. You couldn't do it anymore. And now that he's in front of you again, it's like you're a rabbit in the jaw of some hunting dog. Raised and bred by their hunting, neglectful fathers, and sad, pushover mothers to be hateful and harmful to women. A cycle that you had repeated onto you, a flower squashed in some book about war, you can't let it happen again.

You try to turn away from him and pull your phone out but freeze as the elevator stops, the emergency alarm beeping from overhead. "I said listen to me, Y/n."You barely get to turn and see that he had pushed it before knuckles meet your face, and you crumple away from him, phone skidding across the small floor. You feel like you're blabbering as you beg for a second to catch yourself. "Wait, wait, please -"

"I don't know why you're acting like such a major bitch." He's crouching down, grabbing your ankles, trying to drag you to him. "I did a lot for you, I was the reason you even had friends, even got your job." You sober up quickly when you feel yourself coming closer to him, fingers digging into the floor to drag and lift yourself. Those few self-defense lessons Leo had given you wouldn't be for naught.You've gotta get to your phone and get out of here.

—

"Hey, where's Y/n? She was supposed to be here a couple of minutes ago, right?" April wonders, leaning against the counter as she watches the queso dip heat in the microwave. The brothers sit in the living room, watching as Raph indecisively scrolls through what movie they'd play in the background. Mikey is stacking the game boxes ridiculously high in one corner while Leo lazily scrolls on his phone. Donnie is the only one to lean back and answer her, though.

"Yeah, she texted me earlier and said she was close, so I'm assuming it'll be another minute or two." A toilet flushes, and Casey walks out from the hall, adjusting his pants.

"What are we talking about?" He comes into the open kitchen with April snuggling up to her side. "Y/n isn't here yet. Did you wash your hands?" He freezes awkwardly and backs up, sheepishly moving to the kitchen sink.

"Eeew, Case C'mon.""I bet if you ask those four, they're not washing their hands." April's face pinches up, but Donnie snorts. "I don't know, Leo is pretty anal about that kind of stuff."

April can hear Mikey and Raph giggling before they even open their mouths, and she can't help but smile herself. "Okay, you guys are officially nasty!"

Everyone laughs, carefree, and floating out the window.

—

You're panting. This elevator feels like a grave to you, buried under cement and hidden from everyone. Your phone sits, cracked in between you both. Your eye feels like it's throbbing, blood drips down your nose, and you taste it in your mouth. He has scratches on his cheek, and a part of his hair is ugily skewed from being pulled. When he had gotten ahold of your ankles, you had kicked out of them, but he was quick to lunge and slam his fists down on you.

You had done everything you could, kicked your knees up into his stomach, and slid yourself away. You had tried picking your phone up again, hands fumbling, but he knocked it from you. Crowding you again, hands going into your hair and yanking to the point it brings tears to your eyes, you take a hand and slash at him, coming up again to pull his own hair. He had a grip on you, though, shaking you violently by your hair and standing you both up. His other hand punched at your face again with no direction. One hit collided with your eye, directly into the lens. You hear your glasses crack, and the plastic pinches your nose and the soft skin of your eyebrow.

"All you had to do was hear me out!" Spittle hits your face, head whooshing, and you can barely hear him with all this sound. The emergency alarm sounds louder than it had before, thrumming in your ears and flooding your senses. And in slow motion, you're colliding with the wall of the elevator, body slammed against metal. "Why are you so fucking dense! You never learn!"

It's like a sleeper agent coming to life when you hear that phrase. The last thing he had said to you the last time he had seen you, what you had hoped was the last time.

"GET OFF ME!"

With a sudden rush, you're awkwardly hiking up your leg and shooting it straight at his gut. Your work shoes must've hurt because he's stumbling back, hand releasing your hair.

This is what leads to you both standing across from each other. Your phone, in the middle, the button to get the elevator moving beside him, nothing beside you. The choice you had to make, the levels of importance. To get this elevator moving brought you closer to home, to get your phone would let your friends know you needed help.You don't even give him a chance to open his mouth before you're jumping for the elevator panel.

You throw yourself against it, crying out as his arms wrap around you, throwing you down onto the floor. You wilt for a second, thinking you had wasted it as he grabs at your clothes, a seam ripping as he drags you again, but victoriously, the alarm stops and the elevator is in motion once more.

"You bitch!" He's staggering to get up and press it again, the elevator moving throws him off balance. And you, with vindication,kick the back of his knee and watch him stumble nose-first into the railing.

"Siri!" You shout, and the chime rings, cutting the moment of silence, and he's whipping around. The first name that comes out of your mouth, the one you had waited for all day, your purple light in that dark tunnel. "Call Donatello!"

…

"Calling Michelangelo!" Good enough!Your phone is ringing when a punch lands on your ribs. The pain makes your whole torso ache. You still have to fight, to shout, you wouldn't lie down again, and this time you wouldn't be alone picking up pieces of yourself, you were not gonna be left broken. You hear the phone pick up, Mikey's happy 'Sup Gurl!' Murmurs from the phone, and you gasp, gathering the air in this little space…And scream.

—

Things had started getting set up, Leo insisting they pull out a game so when Y/n got here, the ball would be rolling. They're all sitting around the coffee table, clue is set up, and everyone is picking pieces.

"I just don't understand why you won't let me have Mrs. Peacock." Leo fusses, looking sourly at the Reverand Greene pawn he's holding.

"The only reason is because Y/n likes her," Donnie insists and cutely makes Professor Plum and Mrs. Peacock touch faces, his oldest brother stares the action down, unamused. "It'd be unfair to leave her with leftover characters just because she's running a little late."

"Uh huh, sure," Mikey teases, fiddling with his own pawn. "Definitely not because you're thinking that's you two in another life."

"That's not plausible," Donnie snarks, "We're far more compatible than Professor Plum and Mrs. Peacock. We just like these two.

"My Bubblegum by Rasheeda starts up, coming from Mikey's pocket.

"There is no way that's your ringtone!" April giggles, watching as Casey dances in his seat to the music. Mikey is cheesing, glad it's getting recognized.

"Well, duh! It's trending right now," Taking a quick peek at his phone has him sitting up, though. "Uh oh Don, it's your snookums, think she changed her mind on which brother is the best?" He's waggling his brows for show as Donnie rolls his eyes, big hands still pressing Mrs. Peacock and Professor Plum together. Mikey answers the phone on speaker phone and with a quick "Sup Gurl!" And before he can follow up asking where she's at, her scream cuts through the speaker, shrill and frantic.

Everyone is suddenly standing, the air tenses as some man is shouting profanities at her, and dull thuds can be heard.

"Where the hell is she?" Raphael asks, but Donnie is already looking concerned at a screen with a dot flashing on it."She's here." He tries, eyes roving over nothing, trying to think of any spaces there are, but a ding reaches over her struggling, and the dots connect.

"The elevator!" April confirms, having heard the ding every day coming home. It was hard to miss. Leo starts to grab his sheathed katanas, already thinking of how to get access."Alright, we need to find a way to get into the elevator shaft, if we can get the dro- "

He doesn't even get to finish before Donnie is racing right out the front door and into the hallway. His brother's call behind him, warning him of the risk he's taking, but they don't deny following after him, Casey tailing to watch any doors that may open.

He can see before he touches the door that the elevator has reached its floor, but before the doors slide open, there's a thud, and the emergency alarm blares from it again. Donnie gives it no time before he's taking both his hands and wedging his fingers through the elevator door. What would've taken two or three men to open only took him, with barely any strain, and the sight before him makes his vision spotty.

—

That call had been your saving grace. The silence on his end showed you they had understood. The pain is nothing to the relief in that moment, his hand around your neck as the other reaches behind him and slams into the emergency button again. This time, the lights go off, and the strain on the elevator makes the overhead bulbs pop.

You fear the fight you'd have to put up in the dark, weakly kicking your feet, his hand trying to tighten around your neck, but then you hear this loud groan. A sliver of light peaks through where the doors are, and in a sense of urgency, your ex pushes off of you and separates himself. He's already stammering out some excuse as you lie there trying to catch your breath, but whatever he sees has him gasping.

"Wh, what the fuck!" His voice goes up an octave, face drained of color, the scratch marks on his face now starkly red. Your head feels heavy, flat on your back knees still hiked up in defense, you try with the last bit of your strength and turn to see.

Donnie, with the hall lights shining on his back, looks objectively terrifying and threatening. To anyone, he would be considered a monster, but to you, it was, again, that purple light in the dark tunnel.

He doesn't even pay mind to the other person in there with you, crouching down to gently lift you to your knees and beckon over some of his brothers.

"You did so good," He gently murmurs, brushing back your hair and fretting over your broken glasses, taking them off your face and pocketing them. Michelangelo comes behind him, hands reaching to guide you out, but you feel hesitant leaving Donnie, your body still shaking. "I'll handle the rest, Dove. They've got you."

That gentle nudge convinces you to move into Michelangelo's arms, being lifted and carried past a rather calm Leonardo, Raphael, and Casey, who almost look like they're holding post in the hallway. April meets you at her door, rushing Mikey in and racing for her first aid kit. You feel numb, like the energy was sucked from you, but Mikey still fidgets with your clothes, trying to imitate the way Donnie had pet your hair back.

"Don't worry, angel, it's gonna get handled, your ol' Donnie's on it." And all you can do is nod and breathe, the pain slowly growing as that adrenaline and fear fade away. April is coming back with a mess of a box when you see it, beyond the open doorway. An old man is shutting his door.

—

He watches as Michelangelo takes her back down the hall and doesn't turn back until they're both out of sight. He looks at his two older brothers, at Casey, who all nod."Do what you've gotta do." Raphael, ever the one to encourage a fight. But Leonardo looks like he's ready to agree.

He's about to speak, but a door creaks open, the one across from April's, where an old man peeks out to see what the noise is about. He freezes for a second, seeing this scuffed up guy in the elevator, but then he sees Y/n crying, sitting in sight of the doorway of April's apartment, looking worse.It doesn't take a man long to understand what's happening here. He knows Casey and April, knows their good character, and whatever they let happen with these men must be for good reason

."Have a good evening, boys, yeah?" And he shuts the door, doesn't even bother to lock the door, and it's just them again.

That was his cue.

Donnie stands to his full height, looking down at this shaking leaf, and takes a looming step onto the elevator. It creaks a little under his weight, dipping just an inch past being level with the floor, and reverently, Donnie leans over to the panel and turns the emergency alarm off. The Guy must realize what he's trying to do, and scrambles, trying to bolt out, but he's snatched up by Donatello, harshly gagging as the collar of his shirt chokes him. The elevator dings, yet the light doesn't come on, and as the doors are shutting, Donnie brings this guy right to the front of him, peering down. "Let's see if you can last as many floors as she did."

Darkness envelopes both of them.

[sparrowrye]

Archivist's Oath || Alastor x Reader, Chapter 3

Synopsis: Alastor is starting to realize that he may have fallen a little too hard for us

Master List

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Alastor sat stiffly on the couch, long hooves tapping the old carpet while his fingers played with the string he found in the couch the other day. Rain pelted the forest above but little of it reached the alcove thanks to the trees and brambles protecting this hidden secret. You had barely completed your chores before the rain forced you inside for the remainder of the day.

The normally self-assured mage was at a complete loss at how to proceed. He stole glances at you from where you sat on the opposite end of the couch. Since the kiss you'd shared the night before, you had grown quiet and reserved again. You hadn't pulled away, not exactly, but you weren't leaning into him or striking up a conversation like you usually did. It unnerved him more than he wanted to admit.

He tied the string around one of his fingers until it cut off circulation. He shouldn't have kissed you. He was going to leave soon and trying to involve himself with a woman so cut off from the rest of the world, so far away from his home, and an Archivist no less, was not exactly the most ideal candidate for his affections. To be frank, he didn't know he even had it in him.

But then...

What if he convinced you to come with him? What if he convinced you to join him at Pentagram City? What if he convinced you to share the books with him? If you were as invested in him as he expected, would you be willing to bend your oath?

The idea was outlandish, he knew that, but still crossed his mind. Archivists were well known to be unbreakable. There wasn't a single known Archivist to have given in and shared their books or knowledge. They either burned the books, were killed in interrogations, or committed suicide before anyone could question them.

Alastor knew you had resilience. That much was obvious given that you continued to live alone for five years after the passing of your grandmother and mother, even if it was painfully obvious that you were lonely. Could he entice you out of your little cave and into a world full of colors and excitement?

Then there was the matter of...him.

How often had you used the old crank radio? Did you listen to his broadcasts? Did you know who the Radio Demon was? Even if you didn't know who he was, what would happen when you did find out? Would you seal yourself off forever, falling back on that stupid oath on default? You already had a tendency to lock down when something...tense happened.

He uncoiled the string from his finger then roughly raked his fingers through his hair. Serves him right for being interested in an Archivist of all people. He had only met one other Archivist in his life and the man shouted his oath on repeat until his dying breath.

Granted, Alastor's meeting with the Archivist had been thirty-seconds at best but it was plenty for him to want to know more about this hidden group. He knew he would meet at least one more on his conquest, but developing...feelings was something he hadn't planned for.

He stole more glances your way. You were sitting on the other edge of the couch, your legs tucked up neatly, as you sketched away at the kitchen scene before you. Your shoulders were visibly tense and it was usually you who wouldn't stop staring, not him.

He let out a sigh and dropped his head against the back of the couch cushion, a hand coming up to rest on his stitches. Even though it was boring, this life style was a sanctuary he hadn't been expecting. Perhaps, until he could find a way to communicate with his team, he could enjoy this a little bit longer.

He lifted his head and gently called your name. You gave a hum in response, eyes not moving from your sketch. He dug his heel into the carpet. "You seem...distracted."

~*~

"I'm not," I mumbled. I continued to shade in an area on the floor, accidentally darkening it too much as my attention split.

"You've been...quiet."

I shrugged. "Probably the rain. I'm not a fan."

I heard him shift on the couch and spared a glance his way. He was watching me closely, those beautiful crimson eyes weighing on me with an intensity I wasn't prepared for. I looked back to my sketch.

"I don't often find myself at a loss for words but..." He pulled at the collar of his shirt like it had just shrunk a size. "I must admit you seem to render me speechless at times."

"Your humor says otherwise." It was meant to be a jibe but it failed...miserably.

"My dear..." his tone grew more serious. "I can't help but wonder...did I overstep?"

My hand stilled over the drawing. My heart started to race as the silence grew, the intensity with it. I wanted to look but not at the same time. I had been hoping he wouldn't bring up yesterday but that had been a far-fetched hope. All he ever did was talk.

"No."

I went back to sketching. I continuously glanced in his direction, as if worried he might move too quickly for me to react to something. I could tell he had a quick temper from our previous exchanges and I had to remind myself that I barely knew him. I knew what he was like in the given circumstances, but I didn't know him.

"Then...what is it?" he ventured.

Of course he put it back on me. I drew the same line repeatedly as I brewed over how to respond to a question like that. How was I supposed to answer a question that I didn't even know the answer to myself?

"It's nothing," I mumbled. I could never explain the inner turmoil I was facing.

"Perhaps I misread the room," he said with a sigh. "It hadn't been my intention to make you uncomfortable."

"No...you're fine." Pencil in hand, I dropped my forehead into my palm. "I'm not...it wasn't...uncomfortable."

"Would you prefer it if I...didn't do it again?"

"No. I wouldn't." My face grew impossibly warm as I went back to my sketch. My knees were starting to ache from keeping them bent so high and tight. My fingers, too, from clutching the pencil so hard.

The silence continued to drone on, the faint sound of rain drenching the forest above. The lines in my sketch were starting to blur and my head throbbed softly from the adrenaline rush still running through my veins.

Al shifted to lay down and dropped his feet directly in my lap. My glare met his smirk. "What are you doing?"

"Getting comfortable," he articulated. "That way at least one of us is."

My mouth opened and closed twice, words failing me until I shoved his hooves off, only for them to return a moment later. "Absolutely not. You're just at fault."

"Then relax a tad, my dear." He fluttered his fingers and a gentle breeze pushed against my shoulders in an effort to push me back into the couch cushion.

"It's a tad hard to when you're a footrest." I tried pushing his feet off again but they suddenly wrapped around my waist and gave a quick pull to dislodge me from the armrest. "You're impossible." I dropped my sketchbook on the table then attempted to pry his feet off once more. He locked his ankles on the other side of me.

"Oh come now, I'm the one whose injured. Surely you wouldn't begrudge me this small comfort." He placed a hand on his chest and feigned an innocent smile that made me want to do nothing but stare at him for hours.

"Perhaps I would if you actually took care of your hooves." I wiggled the footclaw by the tip of its point. I smoothed my thumb down the inner edge until I reached the furry spot between the hooves. "These things look like they haven't been--"

He jerked his leg sharply and let out a choked, undignified snort. Our eyes widened at each other, mouths slightly agape while his leg hovered in the air between us. It lasted only a moment before realization hit me.

It was my turn to smile mischievously. "You're ticklish."

"I'm not." He sat up and tried to pull his other leg free but I leaned back into the cushion and grabbed his ankle, effectively pinning it behind me.

My grin grew wider. "You totally are." With the leg still trapped behind my back, I reached down and lightly gripped the bottom of his foot. The reaction was immediate and glorifying. He cursed my name with a barely contained laugh. The break in his usual calm, composed, and prideful demeanor melted all the tension away in an instant.

"Stop that!" he cried through another burst of laughter. He gave a harsh pull of his leg, dragging me with it until I was within reaching distance. I let go and sprang off the couch but he was faster, arms grabbing my waist and pulling me back down so my back was against his healing chest. "You don't know what you started, my dear."

His fingers moved along my sides and under my arms as I burst into laughter and tried to pull away. It took one arm on my waist to keep me trapped to him while the other moved around my flailing arms.

"Al no! I can't--stop! Al! I don't...I don't wanna hurt you!" I finally grabbed hold of his wrist but he was unnaturally strong, still reaching under my arms and pulling more fits of laughter. I could hear softer laughs behind me as I failed to free myself. "Okay okay! I give up! Please!"

At once he relented. I scrambled to the other end of the couch, giggles trailing off as I tried to catch my breath. Al bore his smug smirk as he, too, took a moment to breathe. A red tipped hand splayed over his chest as he did.

"Are you okay?" I asked, my own smile still pinching my cheeks.

"Let that be a lesson to you," he said instead, "Not to mess with me again."

I laid down to mirror him and draped my feet over his legs. "You're in my home. You should be lucky I tolerate you."

He shifted lower and extended his ridiculously long legs to rest by my shoulders, warily watching my hands in case I were to test him again. "Ah, and tolerate me you do."

{|}

"You're being awfully cryptic tonight," Al said. The forest was quiet save for the gentle gust of wind through the trees and the crunch of sticks and leaves under their feet. Never did he go anywhere without his boots but since his arrival at your bunker, he had yet to actually put them back on. The soft earth felt too good under his hooves.

"It's called a surprise," you replied, hand gripping his and dragging him through the trees with his blindfold still on.

"It feels more like you're testing my endurance." The tips of his hooves grazed over a rock. You were surprisingly upbeat and chipper since the tickling match the day before. It was refreshing.

"You'll see."

"That's hardly an answer."

"It's the only one you're gonna get."

He furrowed his eyebrows but didn't venture further. Instead, he let you guide him through the forest in a twisted pathway that left him more disoriented than when he first left the alcove. He wasn't sure if that was done on purpose or by accident from the sporadicalness of your nature.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, his blindfold was removed. They stood before one of the old buildings that surrounded the forest, towering several flights overhead. The stone was chipping and cracking away but the vines and other natural elements seemed to be gluing everything together.

"You know I've seen one of these before, right my dear?" he teased.

"Save your breath. You're gonna need it." Without another word, you disappeared into the dark entrance of the building. He let out a sigh with a shake of his head but followed.

A single lantern in your hand led the way up the broken stairs. He was slower, thanks to his injury, and he felt a trickle of magic from the floor above before he clambered up. When there weren't any stairs, thick vines and brambles took their place.

You had magic.

Little, by the feel of it against his own magic, but magic nonetheless. You were just one big puzzle piece he enjoyed putting together.

Eventually they reached the roof. His hair was sticking to his forehead with sweat and he welcomed the cool gust of wind. He barely had time to catch his breath before it was promptly taken from him again as you blew out the lantern, revealing a sea of stars before his very eyes. He lost his balance on his knees but continued to stare up at the night sky.

He had seen this same sky before but it somehow felt different this time. It expanded well beyond everywhere he looked, blanketing him in its navy pastel canvas. The stars felt so close yet so distant. Perhaps he had hit his head a little too hard on his fall into your alcove.

Your giggle broke the trance as you laid down, hands behind your head. He joined you, situating himself so there was barely an inch between your shoulders.

"I didn't take you for the stargazing type," he commented.

"I used to come here all the time as a teenager," you said softly, almost wistfully, "It was the one thing I could count on. Even if there were clouds, I still knew the stars were shining behind it, just waiting to break through." You extended a hand into the sky and pinched the air, like you were trying to pluck one of the crisp stars from its spot.

He turned his head to look at you, his chest welling with something he couldn't quite place. "I didn't think there was much to...be concerned about in your life."

You were quiet for a moment and he mentally berated himself for the comment. His scolding was silenced when you spoke up, "No, but there's always something to stress yourself out with. My mother and grandmother didn't always see eye to eye, and neither did my mother and I. Once my grandmother died...things were really tense between us."

A moment passed while Alastor tried to think of what to say next. "And you brought me all the way up here because...?"

You shrugged. "I thought you might like it. You don't seem like the stargazing type, either." You turned to look at him too, now realizing how close his face was to yours. He could've sworn he saw a blush in the starlight. "But...also because I wanted to share it with someone."

His fingers twitched, then reached out to carefully, uncertainly, rest over yours. He watched a smile creep across your face and he took that as a green light, covering your entire hand and threading his fingers with yours. "Beautiful..." he murmured.

A soft giggle. "Me or the stars?"

"You."

He lifted your hand to press a gentle kiss to the back of it, deep crimson eyes never once leaving yours. It made your smile grow and your curled towards him on your side. "That wasn't very subtle of you."

"I wasn't trying to be." His smile mirrored yours as he lowered your clasped hands on his chest. You shifted closer so your shoulder was finally touching his, warmth seeping through your bones and up to your cheeks.

~*~

As the minutes stretched, the silence grew heavier, but not uncomfortably. The wind whistled softly up here and the stars shone down on us. It was a peace I had never known. It was a peace I didn't want to let go. It was a peace I was so afraid of losing.

I had grown used to letting things happen to me. I had grown used to going with the flow, of doing what I was told. I had grown used to so much in my plain, simple life. For once, I didn't want to let something just happen.

I pulled my fingers out of his grip, earning a worried look from Al as he let me pull away. I shifted and propped myself up on my elbow so I was leaning partly over him, just as he had done to me the other day. His smile, though slightly wary, grew as I laid a gentle hand on his stitched chest. His other hand came to rest on my lower back.

"Do you ever wonder what's out there?" Al asked, a slight shake in his tone. His hand covered mine that was covering his stitches.

"Sometimes."

He raised an eyebrow.

"Well, a lot," I corrected. "I used to imagine what it would be like to escape. To leave everything behind and be...whoever."

His fingers trailed up my arm softly, raising goosebumps in his wake. They touched my shoulder then tucked my hair behind my ear, giving way for him to rest his palm against my cheek. His smile was sweet and wide enough that one of his canine teeth poked through his lips.

"But...lately," I went on, voice softer now as I leaned closer, "I find myself appreciating what's right in front of me."

His fingers on my cheek and back tightened just a smidge, but I had been anticipating a reaction and noticed. My hand fell off his chest to hold myself up on the other side of him, replicating the exact stance he had pulled with me.

"Do you, Al?"

He didn't answer right away, eyes drinking in every inch of my features in the darkness. One of his red ears twitched again. It brushed against the stone and made me giggle softly. It seemed to help him find his words. "There's many things I don't appreciate. However...I think you've shown me a new kind of appreciation for things."

I leaned closer. "That's good."

His eyes reflected the starlight, making it appear as if the universe was looking back at me. In that moment, he was my universe.

His lips parted to say something but nothing came out. He tried twice more with the same results. His star-filled eyes continued to look at me, searching and vulnerable. It was a look I had never seen on anyone, least of all him. We may not know each other's past, but somehow it still felt like we knew everything. It felt raw and soul-deep; a mutual understanding that the stars were aligning just for us.

Before I could think better of it, I leaned down to kiss him. It was just as gentle as the first, and even a little shaky. His hand moved to the back of my head and his other one pressed into my back.

The stars and the universe faded to the back of my mind. There was only him. The strength of his arm, the beating of his heart, and the warmth of his lips.

I pulled away. Not very far—just enough that the tips of our noses brushed against each other's. His eyes fluttered open, reflecting the stars once more and the outline of my silhouette. There was only me. Nothing else had his attention, not even the gorgeous sprawl of stars behind me.

The press on my back pulled me in. Heavy breaths filled my lungs as the intensity grew in a split second. His arm climbed the rest of the way so it hooked on my shoulder, keeping me pinned against his mostly healed chest. I hooked my foot around both his knees to bring him closer as my lips burned against his.

His breath fanned my upper lip through the kiss but I had yet to take another breath. I had to push against his grip until he let go, cheeks flushed and lips glistening in the blue light. "Breathe through it," he instructed, pulling me back down before I could catch my breath.

His tongue gently touched my lips before slipping inside. I stilled at the new sensation but he was quick to keep going, dousing me in scents of leather, smoke, and cinnamon. Breathing deeply, I gave in to temptation.

My hand threaded through his hair, and I slowly reached up for his ears as his fingers dragged all over my back. I touched the base of his ears and his hand fisted my hair, making me whimper from the sting.

Almost instantly he moaned and the vibrations ran down my throat and in my chest. I returned the moan, one hand gripping his ear that was unnaturally soft. He'd never let me touch them.

He moved down my spine and grabbed my ass. I yelped, momentarily breaking the kiss, but he was quick to lure me back with a guiding hand on the back of my head. Our bodies shifted against one another and hands gripped at clothes like we starved for touch. We were.

Then it happened.

A soft ruffling broke the stillness. I pulled away sharply, leaving Al to stare wide-eyed at the new display above him, breath uneven. A pair of delicate, white tipped feathers shimmered in the dim light, the stars licking the edges of my wings in a soft glow.

"No! I'm sorry!" My hands struggled to keep my shirt over my chest while the other tried to shove them back into the tattoo on my back. They weren't listening!

"Don't." The softness of his tone made me freeze, and I glanced over to see him sitting up. His eyes jumped between my face and the wings I was failing to hide behind my smaller frame. "Don't hide them."

My wings had pulled my shirt up and I covered my slightly exposed chest with both arms. Al shifted closer. "I-I'm sorry," I apologized again, leaning back on my heels as he drew nearer. "They—it sometimes happens when I'm...overwhelmed." I bowed my head as embarrassment bled through like an open wound.

"Overwhelmed, huh?"

My glare was half-hearted at best. "Don't start."

He chuckled but his eyes were drawn back to the still visible wings. Tentatively, he reached out. "May I?"

My wings stuttered as I drew them back to their normal position, directly in front of him. His dark fingers brushed one of the feathers, eyes lighting up in awe. "They're...gorgeous."

"You're not upset?"

His red glazed flickered to me. "Why would I be upset?"

"That I...didn't tell you about them?"

His smile softened but his eyes remained on the feathery veil. "There is a lot that we aren't telling each other." His fingers reached further up to touch the lean muscle that carried the feathers. I flinched and he retracted his hand, then slowly reached again. His fingers moved along the soft muscle and sent a funny feeling down my spine.

When was the last time someone had touched my wings?

A chill ran through my body when he moved closer to my back. His stupid smirk returned, though not as intense as it usually was. "Sensitive, hm?"

"Okay, you don't get to touch anymore." I pulled my wings out of reach and turned to face him completely. He chuckled and crossed his legs in front of me, red tipped hooves grazing the old concrete.

"You're really something, you know," he said sweetly. He rested his chin on his hand and just...looked at me.

~*~

Alastor watched the way your wings curled inward and successfully hid you behind a blanket of brown and white feathers. "Are you hiding from me?" He shifted closer, yet again, until his knees touched the feathers.

"No," you mumbled.

Was that a...tail he saw behind you?

He reached through the soft wall and found your knees. His fingers moved lightly up and down your thighs, finally able to feel the strong muscles you had built from your lifestyle. Your wings shuttered at his touch.

"They're very expressive," he said with a gentle squeeze on your thighs.

"So are your ears."

As if on cue, they both flicked. They twisted backwards as he grumbled. He rarely gave them much thought since they rarely did anything other than stand up straight, but then again, you elicited a lot of different things in him.

He graced over the comment. "You don't need to be shy, my dear."

"I'm not shy," you said as if you weren't still hiding behind a veil of feathers. He found your arms and moved down to grasp a hand, gently pulling it out of the feathery cave and placing a kiss on your knuckles. Your wings fluttered again.

He gripped both your thighs and gave a quick, sharp pull towards him. Your wings sprung open in an attempt to keep your balance and he moved quickly, snaking his arms under your legs and pulling you to sit on his lap. Your feet crossed behind him while your arms latched onto his shoulders, his hand pressing into your back—in between the joints of your wings—to bring you closer.

His tail wagged softly as he coerced you even closer, finally able to feel your slightly exposed chest against his. He briefly closed his eyes as he rubbed the tip of his nose against yours.

He wasn't thinking. He was acting. He wasn't strategizing. He was running with the wind. He wasn't floating. He was falling deeper and deeper in those beautiful eyes, sweet scent, and soft skin. He was falling deeper in a place he never believed was possible.

I'm done for, was all he could think as he kissed you.

His hands moved along your bare back and gripped the base of your wings. It made your whole body shudder, wings ruffling behind him and encasing both bodies in a protective, feathery circle. Perhaps, just for once in his life, he could indulge in something without thinking it through.

He hungrily ate your every moan, shiver, whine, and heated breath. He held you tight, afraid to lose you, afraid that you would suddenly disappear. His fingers tangled in your hair as his tongue slipped into your scalding mouth. You were warm. You were calm. You were strong. You were steadfast. You were everything he wanted.

He sucked in a breath through his nose, a slow, deep breath to draw in your earthy scent. It was as if he had known that scent all his life. It was as if he had known you his whole life.

Your fingers clasped behind his head while your legs held onto him, pulling you even closer than you already were. But it wasn't enough. He wanted to lose himself in the starlight of your eyes, in the glow of your wings, in the warmth of your kiss, and in the gentleness of your touch.

Nothing could pull him from this moment. Not the way his stitches constricted, not the way his pants felt a size too small, not the way your teeth clanged frequently against his, and not the way you gripped his ear a little too hard. You were all he wanted.

In the distant future, he knew the nature of things would make it rough, but this time—this time—he would actually fight for something he truly wanted.

Little did he know how much of a fight he would actually have to face.

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Author's Notes:

Y'all voted for head-over-heels-Alastor, and I provided :)

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Taglist:

@sirens-and-moonflowers @papas-ghoulette

[monosignificfromtwitter]

BORDERLANDS CHARACTER OF THE DAY #10!!!!!!!!!!

Todays Borderlands character isssss...

Handsome Jack!

Handsome Jack was first introduced in Borderlands 2 as the big bad final boss character! During the game, he will usually taunt the player or make fun of them in some way during main missions, and after you reach Eridium Blight, will offer the player two side missions, being Kill Yourself and To Grandmother's House We Go.

Other Appearances!

Handsome Jack also appears in Borderlands The Pre-Sequel as one of the main characters, being the man who hired the vault hunters to hunt the vault on Elpis, pandoras moon. This appearance also helps flesh out Handsome Jack's character more and show why he's such an (excuse my language here) asshole.

He then appears in Tales from the Borderlands, being a hologram inside of Rhys's head. He can influence the players choices, along with being able to control machines. During the events of TFTBL, Jack's character gets more fleshed out, and near the end he attempts to convince Rhys to join him in owning Hyperion, and no matter what the players choice, he ends up attempting to kill Rhys. Later on, the player can choose to either kill or keep jack, but the choice doesn't really matter in the end.

Jack also appears in Borderlands 3 during a side mission involving him and Angel. This side mission helps the player understand why Handsome Jack kept Angel in the bunker.

After the events of Borderlands 3, there is the Handsome Jackpot DLC, which I haven't been able to play so I can't comment on it. All I know is that it takes place in the space casino that Jack owned before he died after the events of Borderlands 2.

That's all folks!

Remember, if you have a suggestion for BLCD (Borderlands Character of the Day), you can leave them in my ask box included in my profile. It's listed as BLCD Character Suggestions!

[blue-slxt]

It Was Supposed To Be Us - Chapter 5

🔞Minors Do Not Interact🔞

A/N: We have reached the end of our story! Thank you to everybody that's interacted with this series. Every like, comment, and reblog mean so much to me. I hope you guys enjoy this finale. I'm not great at writing action scenes so forgive me if it's a little mid. All characters are aged up.

Previous Part

Pairing: Neteyam x Fem!Omatikaya!Reader

Warnings: Mentions of DV, PTSD, Anxiety, Violence, Blood, Smut, P in V, Fingering, Loss of Virginity, Creampie, I think that's it

Word Count: 4.7k

Summary: Neteyam takes care of Ralu.

Sleep seems to elude Neteyam for the night. Every time he closes his eyes, he’s haunted by visions of your beaten face and body. It’s devastating. His stomach twists with nausea and guilt. He tosses and turns trying to get comfortable, but it’s useless. Before long, the sun starts to rise. Neteyam knows his father will be up soon. He’s going to need his support if he was going to pull this off without actually killing Ralu. And, as tempting as that idea sounds in his head, he knows it’s not the smart thing to do. Neteyam sits outside of his family’s home sharpening his knife and waiting for his dad. And almost on cue, Jake appears from inside.

“Neteyam, you’re up early” he says a bit taken aback.

“Couldn’t really sleep” he says continuing his work on his weapon.

Jake lets out a big exhale sitting next to Neteyam on the ground, “Talk to me, boy. Tell me what’s going on.” Jake still wasn’t clear on the details of what all was going on. When he took Neteyam away yesterday, he didn’t speak much on why he did what he did. Jake knows his son well enough to know that he wouldn’t snap like that on somebody for no good reason, but he couldn’t help if he didn’t know the entire situation.

Neteyam drops his knife and uses two fingers to pinch the bridge of his nose while he comes to grips with everything. “He is not a good man.”

“Yeah, you mentioned that yesterday, but what you haven’t said is what makes you feel that way.”

“He…he hurt her, dad…” his words trail off as he finds himself needing to literally bite his tongue to keep the tears at bay. “You should have seen what he did to her…”, one tear slips.

Jake nods solemnly understanding the situation now. “Is she okay? Is she safe right now?”

“Grandmother and Kiri are keeping her in the healing tent.” His jaw clenches in frustration, “I should have been there. A man is supposed to protect his own and I failed.”

“Do not blame yourself. You couldn’t have known this would happen. And son…she isn’t yours.” Jake doesn’t mean it to sound as harsh as it probably comes across.

Neteyam looks his father in the eye, “She is in every way that matters.”

In this moment, Jake doesn’t see just his son, he sees a man doing his best to defend what is precious to him.

“Alright, so what do you want to do?”

…

Neteyam propped himself against a tree deep in the woods while he waited to carry out his plan. Even just with the waiting, he can feel how his blood is beginning to boil. He would be lying if he said that he wasn’t nervous. But he wasn’t nervous about his plan failing. He was more worried about controlling his own wrath. As far as Neteyam was concerned, Ralu deserved whatever fate befell him, but his father discouraged him from being the one to deliver that fate. “Let Eywa handle that part.”

Neteyam hears footsteps coming his direction. It was time. He remains in his spot against the tree and watches the figures in the distance grow closer. Jake was leading Ralu to Neteyam. Jake had convinced him that he wanted to apologize for his son and get his side of the story. Jake didn’t truly care for whatever excuse or lie Ralu tried to come up with for what happened to you. Before he agreed to help with this, he had already gone to speak with Mo’at about your condition. He didn’t actually see you out of respect for your privacy and dignity, but Mo’at gave him a very clear picture of your condition. And she confirmed that however you were injured, it definitely was not from “falling in the woods” as you had described to her. He had heard all he needed to.

Once Jake and Ralu reached the clearing, Ralu locked eyes with Neteyam and stopped dead in his tracks. He looks between the two Sully men and suddenly realizes that he’s trapped. He weighs his options on if he should stay or leave. But his own ego and anger cloud his better judgement as he decides to stay and stand his ground.

“Okay, I see what this is” his arrogance is obvious in his tone.

Jake and Neteyam exchange a glance and Jake gives his son a small nod before he walks into the woods a bit. He’s close enough to come running in case anything goes wrong, but his main purpose for standing there was in case Ralu attempted to run.

“Let me guess, this is about your little girlfriend, isn’t it?” Neteyam takes one step towards him, “Don’t you dare even talk about her. Be grateful I even left you a tongue to speak with.”

Ralu smirks at him, a smug display of his amusement. “You may be the son of toruk makto, but you need to learn to keep your hands off other people’s things. That bitch had it coming.” Neteyam had heard enough and lunges for Ralu knocking him over. Ralu kicks Neteyam off and attempts to take a swing at him, but he dodges. Neteyam takes a swipe at Ralu with his knife and manages to make a shallow cut on his outstretched arm. He pulls his arm back to look at the cut.

“That the best you can do?” he taunts.

Neteyam is unphased, “Says the only one bleeding.”

Ralu launches himself at Neteyam and manages to get him into a hold that Neteyam can’t quite maneuver out of. Instead, he flips around the knife still in his hand and cuts across Ralu’s abdomen. It’s not deep enough to cause any serious damage, but it is enough to make him release his hold. This makes him retreat from Neteyam in pain and give him an opening. Neteyam snakes around staying close to the ground and grabs Ralu from behind and wrestles him down to the ground. His legs lock and hold Ralu’s while his arms have him in a headlock and his knife is alarmingly close to his throat.

Ralu struggles against Neteyam’s hold, but with no success. The threat of Neteyam’s knife pressing into his skin makes him finally go still.

“You will never come near her again, do you understand?” Neteyam hisses in his hear. “She is not yours and she will never be yours. And if I ever, ever see you even so much as look at her the wrong way, I will personally see to it that you suffer an excruciating end.”

Ralu scoffs. He doesn’t think Neteyam actually has it in him to follow through on his threat. Neteyam is seeing red as he flips the knife in his hand and jams it through Ralu’s shoulder. He screams out in pain and writhes in Neteyam’s hold. He pulls it out and presses the very tip of his knife into the skin on Ralu’s throat coaxing out a single dribble of blood. “Answer me!” Neteyam was fully prepared to do away with this man for good and deal with whatever fallout came after.

“Neteyam!” Jake calls out to him. When he turns to look at his father, he has a stern look on his face urging him to do the smart thing.

Ralu knows he can’t actually beat Neteyam and he’s ready to end this whole ordeal finding you not to be worth all the trouble. He begrudgingly agrees with a nod of his head.

Once Neteyam is satisfied, he sets him free and watches as he gathers himself to leave. “And do not go to the Tsahik for your injuries. She will not help you.” Neteyam calls out after him.

He falls to the ground catching his breath when Jake comes over to him. He had quickly looked over Ralu as he left and, from what he could see, Neteyam had done what he needed to. He checks in on his son, “You did good, son.”

Neteyam offers his father a small smile and a nod, “Thank you, sir.”

…

“You don’t think anything has happened to him, do you?”

“I already told you, I don’t even know what’s going on. But this is my brother we’re talking about. I’m sure he’s fine. Now, hold still while I check your eye” Kiri tells you while looking over your face. You had been borderline pestering her all day about Neteyam and whatever he was planning to do. Your anxiety had ramped up as the hours dragged on. He had asked you to wait for him inside the tent and you did, but you couldn’t help the worry that still plagued your mind. How long were you meant to wait? Kiri did her best to reassure you, but she didn’t know exactly what was happening either. She had minimal information as she had only partially overheard the conversation between her father and Mo’at. She didn’t know what her brother had planned to do about Ralu, but she trusted that if their dad was with him, he wouldn’t go off the deep end.

She continues inspecting your wounds from the other day and is pleased to see the swelling around your eye going down slowly, but surely. And your body no longer felt like the fire of a hundred suns. It was now more of a dull ache. You still weren’t in ideal condition, but it was leaps and bounds from how you first walked in.

“Thank you, Kiri. For letting me stay here for the night and taking care of me.” You were truly, deeply thankful that she gave you a safe place to recover. Even going so far as to physically stand in the way of danger to make sure you stayed safe.

She grabs ahold of your hands and squeezes them tight. “Mated or not, you are family. We take care of each other.”

You can feel yourself getting choked up so you try to change the subject, “So, how do I look?”

She follows your lead, “Much better than yesterday. I’d say it’ll take another day for the swelling to go completely down, but it’ll still be bruised for roughly another week.” She lets your hair fall back in front of your face. You preferred to keep your eye covered while it heals.

Immediately after, Jake and Neteyam come into the healing tent and Jake bends down to give you a once over. “How are you feeling, baby girl?” “Oh, I’m much better today. Thank you. Kiri has been taking really good care of me. I owe her a lot.”

“Don’t be silly. You never owe me.” She says standing up.

“Is she okay enough to go for a walk?” Neteyam asks her.

“Yes, just take it easy okay? Your wounds physically look better, but don’t push yourself if it still hurts.” Kiri answers from across the tent.

Neteyam holds his hand out to you and you take it. He leads you out of the tent and your eyes subconsciously dart around the area around you. Neteyam can feel your unease and notices the curl of your tail. He gives your hand a reassuring squeeze, “It’s okay. I promise.”

You swallow hard following his lead. You let him lead you through the forest and he helps lift you over large branches in your path that you would normally be able to hop over with ease.

“Neteyam where are you taking me?”

“Oh, like you can’t guess?”

You playfully roll your eyes at him. Of course, he’s taking you to your spot.

It seemed like it had been forever since the two of you came here together like this. Out in the open in broad daylight. No worries about sneaking out under the cover of night.

Neteyam leads you into the center of the clearing and helps you to sit while he kneels in front of you.

“Any particular reason you lead me all the way out here?” you ask genuinely curious. It’s not that you didn’t love being here or being here with him, but why right now?

“Actually, there is. It’s because I couldn’t think of a better place to say this.” He takes a big breath trying to calm his own nerves.

“Listen, we’ve known each other for most of our lives now and ever since the first day I saw you, I knew. I knew that I wanted to be with you forever. I knew I could never live without you again. When we promised to be together, that was the happiest moment of my life. And with everything that’s happened recently, I couldn’t help but feel like I let you down. As soon as I returned, I should have stood my ground and declared my intentions with you, but I didn’t and it caused you to get hurt. I should have protected you.” “Neteyam, you—” he holds his hand up to stop you. He already knows that you would say it wasn’t his fault and that he couldn’t have known what would happen. And even though the logical part of his brain understands that, it still brings no comfort to his still-aching heart.

“I knew I had to do something to make it right. I promised you I would take care of it and I did.” “What did you do?” you’re almost scared to ask.

“Please do not worry about it. Just know that he will never come near you again. You don’t ever have to worry about him.”

His words ring through your head while you process them. Just like that? It was over? You wouldn’t have to be on high alert anymore or live in fear? You were free? He holds your hands and locks eyes with you.

“But I wanted to officially ask you if you’d do me the honor of letting me court you and being my mate.” He smiles at you, but his eyes are scanning your face looking for any little indication that you may reject him. He, of course, finds none.

“Do you really still need to ask?” your expression is overjoyed and Neteyam takes his first real breath since he started talking.

“You couldn’t have honestly thought that I would reject you, did you?”

“W-well, it’s been such a long time and I just wanted to be sure. A-and…” Neteyam starts to ramble just like he always did any time he was flustered or nervous. It was adorable and you can’t hold back the giggles especially when you notice the slight purple color starting to stain his cheeks.

You hold his face in your hands and his words trail off at your touch. “’Teyam, stop talking. The answer is yes. It was always going to be yes.” He captures your lips in a tender kiss and your heart soars. Everything was finally falling into place.

…

Over the next week while you heal your wounds, you and Neteyam find your footing as a new official couple. He courted you just like he said he would, showering you with the most extravagant gifts. Rare beads, intricately woven accessories, beautiful flowers, your favorite foods, you name it. Neteyam probably would gift you the moon itself if you were to ask for it.

It was still difficult some days, though. Even after your physical wounds healed, your mind still stayed vigilant at all times. It would cause you to jump at sudden sounds or touches.

Poor Neteyam looked so forlorn the day he tried to reach out and hold you and your instincts made you flinch away from him without you meaning to. He insisted that he understood why you reacted the way that you did. It still made you feel awful, though. You didn’t want to still be afraid, especially not of the one person you felt safest with. The one person you never had to be scared with.

It took time. A lot of time. Some nights, you still had nightmares about it all. His voice and touch still so vivid in your mind that you would swear he was there in the room hovering over your sleeping body in the middle of the night. Of course, he wasn’t actually there. Only Neteyam resting next to you and who would hold you a little closer to himself when he felt you stir awake from your midnight hauntings. Soft shushes and whispered words of reassurance would calm you back into a state of sleep.

Ralu truly never did dare to even look your way again. You would catch sight of him among the clan and it would make you pause briefly in your steps, but he never gave you so much as a glance. Neteyam never really told you what happened between the two of them, but you settled on the decision that it was probably for the best that you were left out of the loop. If you had to guess, though, it probably had something to do with the new scar he was sporting on his shoulder. In truth, how he did it didn’t really matter. The only thing that mattered was that you were out of the nightmare. You had your person. He was yours and you were his.

…

It was finally time. The day had come when you and Neteyam would finally be mated before Eywa. Your heart thunders in your chest gazing up at him under the glow of the Tree of Souls. His star-like freckles glowed a little brighter accentuating his features.

The ceremony had come and gone fairly quickly. Your union was acknowledged by the Tsahik in front of your families as they cheered and sang prayers for you both. Prayers of a long, happy partnership and many healthy children. After the ceremony, they sent the two of you off to have some privacy for your first night together. It was Neteyam’s idea to come here specifically. And you were so happy you let him choose. The setting was beautiful and buzzing with an energy that made everything feel even more alive and connected.

You’d be lying if you said you weren’t a little nervous. You knew what was expected of mates. But you had never been touched in that way by anybody else. Your biggest fear was that it would hurt. You had tried to experiment a couple days ago in preparation for this night. You hesitantly and carefully tried to push one finger inside of yourself, but panicked at the feeling and cut the experiment short. It was frustrating. You loved Neteyam with your whole being and you wanted him to become one with your being. You wanted him to touch you. You couldn’t stand the thought of the last man who had laid hands on your body being Ralu. But could you really go through with this?

“What is wrong, yawne?” Neteyam asks you knowingly.

“Nothing. Why would anything be wrong?” you try to brush off his question.

“Your tail is doing that thing again. I know something is on your mind. Talk to me, tíyawn.”

You breathe a big sigh, “I think I’m just nervous. Now that we’re mated, I want us to…you know…do what mated people do. But I am nervous that it is going to hurt because I’ve never had anything inside before.” Your head drops in embarrassment and your eyes cautiously look up at Neteyam who is only smirking at you.

“You are too precious”, he says kissing your forehead. “We do not have to do anything that you are not ready for yet. And, when you are ready, I promise to be as gentle as possible.” “But I want to do it now. I want to become one with you.”

Neteyam thinks for a moment before he speaks again, “Here, let’s try this.” He pulls his queue forward and you follow him. “When we make tsaheylu, we’ll be able to completely feel each other and I will know how best to take care of you.”

You nod your head processing his words. The tendrils at the end of your queues dance wildly in front of you. You both bring them closer together until they meet in the middle and hold one another melding the two of you together.

Both of your pupils blow wide open as your minds take in all the new stimuli from not only your own bodies, but each others’ too. You can feel Neteyam’s breathing and heartbeat as if it were your own. Every single sensation he feels is coursing through your body all the way down to the feeling of the ground beneath his feet and the ends of his braids resting on his shoulders. It’s overwhelmingly euphoric.

You make the first move to reach out and touch Neteyam’s face and press your lips to his. He wraps you in his arms kissing you back deeply. You happily open your mouth for his tongue to explore. You both settle down on your knees and he lays you down on your back. Using one of your hands, you push your top up to reveal your breasts. Neteyam’s hand freely roams about your body massaging your soft skin. His fingers trek down your chest and waist and right past your loincloth to rub messy circles on your clit. Your breath hitches in your throat and Neteyam swallows the moan you let out. He breaks the kiss so he can watch your face.

“I’m going to put one inside, okay? Just breathe for me.” You take a big breath and as you release the air, Neteyam pushes one digit into your heat. The feeling is indescribable. It’s not quite uncomfortable, but it’s unlike anything you’ve ever felt before. When he slowly starts to pull out and push back in, it feels like a lightning strike in your body and you love it.

Now, Neteyam can feel himself getting harder by the minute. Feeling your tight, slippery walls squeeze around his finger has his head spinning thinking about how good it would feel around his dick. It’s even more intensified by the bond you two held, feeling your pleasure radiate through his own body.

Once he feels your body relax more around him, he pushes in a second finger. The stretch is a little more intense, but still not anything you couldn’t handle. Your breath is heavy in your chest as you look up at him. “Neteyam…”

“You are doing so well, tíyawn.” He kisses your lips again and takes advantage of the way your body melts into him to push one final finger into you. He can feel through tsaheylu the dull sting that comes from being stretched like this for the first time. He holds his fingers in place just long enough to let the feeling pass for you before he moves again.

“’Teyam…please…I want it.” Your big doe eyes look up at him pleadingly.

Fuck, you were just too precious for Neteyam to ever deny you anything you wanted. Plus, he was just about at his own limits of his patience. He pulls his fingers from your core and the sudden emptiness makes you wince lightly. He helps to pull your loincloth off and you raise your hips to help him. He pulls the knot on his own loincloth loose to let it fall to the ground.

Your eyes widen seeing him for the first time. He’s big. Too big. There’s no way something like that will fit inside of you. Your nerves are starting to get riled up. Even without tsaheylu, Neteyam can feel your anxiety. One of his hands finds your chin to lead your eyes back up to his. He reassuringly rubs his thumb against your skin, “Slowly, okay? Just focus on me.” You re-steady your breathing and nod your head. You close your eyes when you feel his tip prodding at your soaking entrance. Neteyam pushes his hips forward towards yours and his tip presses on past your folds and right into you. You gasp and grit your teeth trying to push past the feeling.

Neteyam slowly inches himself further into you. You wince and whine at the feeling. “Shhh…just a little more. You’re doing such a good job.” It was as if he was pushing your organs to the side to make room for himself inside of you. It was almost suffocating how full you felt. But his soft voice and the caress of his fingers on your face help strengthen your resolve. Suddenly, he stops moving. “You can look now.” Your eyes lower to find your pelvises pressing together and a small bump poking through your abdomen. The sight normally would’ve horrified you had it not been for the immense pleasure coursing through your veins.

“Are you okay?” Neteyam’s patience is thinning by the second, but what little is left of his better sense urges him to go slow for you and make sure your first time is a good one. But damn if the way you were choking his dick didn’t make it difficult.

You nod up at him letting your body accommodate him. “I’m going to move now.” Your eyes cross at the drag of his tip along the spongey part of your walls as he pulls out and pushes back in. A small whine leaves your lips and your fingers hold on to Neteyam’s shoulders to give you something constant to focus on while you adapt to the new feeling.

Before you know it, the pain starts to dissipate and your chest falls dramatically letting out a breath you hadn’t even recognized you were holding onto. Your body relaxes fully and lets Neteyam in. His hips rock into you a little faster testing the waters and more moans fall from your lips. “’Teyam…” Neteyam feels just about ready to snap hearing how his name drips from your tongue in ecstasy.

He thrusts into you with more force and the sounds it pulls out of you triggers a carnal desire in his brain that his eyes are desperate to see as they roll back listening to you. Nevertheless, he pulls them back into place to find your half-lidded gaze on his face and parted lips calling his name. He’s positive he’s never found you more beautiful than this moment right now. But he craves to see your beautiful expression twist into something sinful. He can’t stop himself anymore from starting to pound into you.

“Ah..A-ah! Ah, Neteyam!” your hands feel around and search the ground around you for something to hold on to as you feel the pressure building in your stomach. Neteyam’s hands find yours and he threads his fingers between yours while he pours all his feelings for you into his thrusts. Both of your eyes look down between you to see the small bump in your stomach disappear with every retreat of his hips and re-emerge with every push forward. The sight is enough to drive you both to your release.

“’T-teyam! Gonna…g-gonna..” you can’t even grasp the words as your orgasm comes to the forefront of your mind.

“Do it. Cum with me.” He’s mere seconds from painting your walls completely white.

Your orgasm hits you like a truck and it’s prolonged by Neteyam continuing to fuck you through his own release deep inside you. His thrusts grow slower and gentler as you both come down from your highs. Your vision starts to refocus and your body goes limp. Neteyam slides out of you and your body tries to remember its original shape before he had made space for himself.

“Are you alright, tíyawn?” the lustful haze of Neteyam’s mind is clearing and his expression is slightly concerned while he checks on you. But your sleepy smile reassures him and you nod your head. “I’m more than okay.” Your hands wrap around his neck and pull him down to kiss you again.

He rolls you both onto your sides and you break the kiss to rest your head against his chest. “Can we do that every day?” a small chuckle rumbles in his chest as he kisses the top of your head.

“We can do it as much as you want, yawne.”

[aces-to-apples]

Illario!Rook AU

One person said yes, good enough for me!

Picture it:

Treviso, 9:50ish Dragon.

You’re the least loved member of the highest family in the Antivan Crows and everyone knows it. The only person you love and who loves you doesn’t love you enough to choose you over your mutual abuser, your evil grandmother, and in fact he’s speed-running working himself to literal death in order to avoid making that choice even harder. What do you do? Do you find the most powerful blood witch in Tevinter that you can, seduce her, and then convince her to kill your beloved cousin for you before he can do it himself so that you can maybe be even slightly as loved as him for once? Don’t be absurd, there’s way too many points of failure in that plan, and this lady’s mental!

No, see, what you’re actually going to do is find the most powerful blood witch in Tevinter that you can, seduce her, and then convince her to fake your death! Much better plan! Presumably the plan she knows is that you’ll lay low and then join her in Tevinter to become evil mad scientists together or whatever but fuck that. The Venatori do their jobs well, your death is well and truly faked, and now you’re free. Free to do what? Whatever the fuck you want, for fucking once. And that includes ditching the blood witch.

You float around a bit before settling in Rivain to weather the fallout of your supposed death. Your evil abuser grandmother won’t especially care that you’re dead so much as that one of her favorite tools (and punching bags) is dead, but your cousin loves you (doesn’t he?), he’ll mourn you (surely), he’ll miss you (he fucking better). So Rivain, you know the language and are good at blending it and there’s nothing Rivainis love more than handsome dangerous strangers popping up out of nowhere and acting like they’ve been here all along. Genuinely.

Weeks pass. You’re fucking bored. Freedom is nice. Answering to only yourself and your own wants and needs is nice. You’re so bored you’re about to start stabbing people soon. You’re a big dog breed with innate instincts to Do Tasks and the training to know both what and how to do Said Tasks and you’re Not Doing Any Tasks for the first time in your adult life. This is very dangerous.

You end up meeting a glittering pirate queen dressed in ocean blue, shimmering gold, a bigass hat, and no pants whatsoever. She’s fantastic. Her crew is boorish and boring and (would be) extremely easy to kill but you resist because this fantastic lady pirate is looking for locals (or “locals”) who want in on fighting a nearby dragon and looting her hoard and that sounds incredibly stupid and dangerous. Which of course is exactly what you’re interested in right now. Why not? Why the fuck not??

You’re high on life babeyyyyy and these “"Lords of Fortune”“ are your best fucking friends! They’re nothing but gold and glory and fighting and fucking, taking hits and taking shots and taking whatever life gives them with both hands! You throw yourself into the revelry of it all with wild abandon, Isabela the Pirate Queen watching you with dark eyes and a familiar smirk. She gives you ocean blue of your own, jobs of your own, a life of your own, (you need to earn the gold on your own but what else is new and honestly? Fair) and suddenly it’s been months, over a year, and you’re a Lord of Fortune with a hoard and respect and admiration and maybe not family or friends but frankly that’s always been overrated as hell.

You become used to the rhythm of it all, which is of course when that rhythm gets fucked, because that’s what happens whenever you find the slightest amount of contentedness.

You end up standing on a beach, watching the glittering Pirate Queen and her Lords sail away. A dwarf with too-knowing eyes stands at your side and asks your name. It used to be a series of half-baked lies no one ever cared to call you on. It used to be Laidir, drunkenly offered by someone who said you reminded him of a brother who doesn’t need it anymore. It used to be Illario fucking Dellamorte, prince of the House of Crows.

He calls you Rook.

[satureja13]

First Witch: "When shall we three meet again? In thunder, lightning, or in rain?" Second witch: "When the hurlyburly’s done, When the battle’s lost and won." Third Witch: "That will be ere the set of sun." (Lines above are the opening of Shakespeare's MacBeth)

Noxee arrived at Hummelshain Castle ere the sun fully rose up over the ocean. She left Moonwood Mill before Greg woke up or otherwise he wouldn't have let her go. They just had a few hours together after he returned from training the Boys beyond the Veil. Since Noxee is co owner of Strawberry Cake Fashion, she picked some clothes from the new pack and this outfit was one of the very few pieces she liked. (There are so many talened creators out there, why do we get such ugly clothes? for a romance pack at that. And if there's something nice, the colors are so ugly.)

The girls are still busy. Noxee decided to wait in the kitchen and make some Churros for their meeting. She will need all the good vibes she can get ö.Ö' Noxee knows how much Ms Coombes hates Jack...

Churros are the only meal Noxee can cook and she hopes they will meet the taste of the girls. Noxee loves her kitchen at the Bunker, but this one is just amazing. It makes her almost wish she could really cook ^^'

The girls are done with their seance. First Witch Ms Coombes: "Ach, these Boys!" Oh oh, Ms Coombes doesn't seem to be in a good mood... I wonder what she saw in her crystal ball ö.ö And poor Noxee has to try to convince her and the others that Jack and Kiyoshi can be mates, just mates...

At least Francine greeted her cordially. Since Francine is Jeb's grandmother and Saiwa is Noxee's 'Baby', they are quasi family :3 (They are utterly convinced that Sai and Jeb will find their way back together again - and if they are, who am I to question it ^^') Dtui is Kiyoshi's mentor. And she's also Ms Coombes fated mate. They even have the same hairstyle today... So she will be on Ms Coombes side as it seems ö.ö

Ms Coombes looked at the Churros: "As sparkly and glittering as the cook who made them." Is this meant as a cut-up or intended to be funny - or as a compliment? Noxee, always on the bright side of life, goes for a diplomatic: "Thank you, I'm glad you like them."

Ms Coombes: "I know you want the Boys to be happy. But we have to think of the future of the Resistance. We never had a deity within our rows. And Kiyoshi hasn't even reached his full potential yet. All the good he can do for all of us. We can't let Callahan drag him down. He will keep his distance to Kiyoshi." Noxee: "Kiyoshi worked himself sick at the Temple and as a mole for the Resistance. He even had to leave the Temple. He already did a lot of good for all of us - until he broke." Ms Coombes: "It was Callahan's fault Kiyoshi had to leave the Temple! He asked to much of Kiyoshi, wanted him all for himself with his groundless jealousy and paranoia. He almost killed Kiyoshi! And himself! Noxee, you've seen yourself how broken Jack was. These two are not meant for each other. Fate must have made a terrible mistake." Spoken this, thunder roared over the castle. Dtui: "Rita, you know that's not true. Jack is Kiyoshi's fated mate and Kiyoshi failed him because he believed he had to make it up - for all the wrongs his family did." Ms Coombes: "We never asked anything of Kiyoshi, all he did for the Resistance was of his own free will." Noxee: "I think we all agreed to not overly mess with their lives. They are all grown up and they should be allowed to make their own decisions. It's not on us to tell them with whom they should hang out and with whom not. They don't have to listen to us anyway." Ms Coombes proofed Noxee wrong and showed her the contract: "Oh, they have to when it interferes with the guidelines of the Resistance. They all agreed to this, see? Kiyoshi is an important member of the Resistance and Callahan puts his powers in jeopardy."

Francine: "Let's all calm down, hm? Kiyoshi did so much better with Jack around. And the sad truth is that Kiyoshi wasn't of any help for us for months. He might never fully return to this realm and only drift further away." Dtui: "And Kojin likes Jack." Well, that's a knockout argument. Kojin is Dtui and Kiyoshi's deity, the one who saved their lives at their execution. Without Kojin, there would be no Kiyoshi - and no Dtui either. They owe him. Dtui: "And I know of a certain couple *she looked at Ms Coombes* who also dated against the will of the Resistance back in their days. They stated, a roughneck like you, Rita, would drag me, the Resistance's Golden Child, down. And look how strong and powerful we became together, hm?" Ms Coombes stopped Dtui before she spills more of their tea: "Ach, fine! Let them be mates, just mates or whatever!" Phew - Ms Coombes drives a hard bargain. But in the end, she agreed that Kiyoshi and Jack can be mates, just mates (or whatever). Francine chuckled. Just like herself, Rita and Dtui are also loyal receivers of the spicy monthly subscription boxes of Ye Olde Magick Shoppe.

After these exhausting negotiations, and to reward herself, Noxee so needed to go shopping. She went to Moda Capoliveri. Her favourite shop at Tartosa. Here she gets inspired by the latest fashion trends for Sai and her online store Strawberry Cake Fashion. And she also hopes to find some hot dessous - to reward Greg.

Noxee stays at the castle over night and just returned from the bathroom, where she took a long, hot shower and tried her new, hot outfit on. Back in her room, she found Greg waiting for her! Noxee: "Greg! What are you doing here?"

Greg: "Gods, you look gorgeous!"

Greg: "I missed you. Didn't want another night without you." And then he kissed her.

Greg: "This outfit is so, so hot. Do you think the gems will stay in place when we..." Noxee: "There is only one way to find out."

They did stay in place.

Greg seems to sense that Noxee has something on her mind. But she had promised Jack not to tell Greg about his condition after the bolt hit him in his chest. Greg: "I won't push you." Noxee: "I love you."

Greg: "This glue is just like magic. If the gems survive another round, I'll order it for my shop." Noxee: "Another round, hm?"

Spoiler: After thorough testing, Greg ordered the glue for his shop ;) (So Greg seems to have a jewelry shop in the real world too, not just ingame. Tiny Can being very accurate again ^^)

'See, don't ever set me free I always wanna be by your side Girl, you really got me now You got me so I can't sleep at night

Yeah, you really got me now You got me so I don't know what I'm doing, now Oh, yeah, you really got me now You got me so I can't sleep at night' You really got me - The Kinks

Outtakes

Now I know where Jeb has it from ^^'

From the Beginning 🔱 Underwater Love 🔱 Latest

Current Chapter: 'Here comes the Sun' from the beginning ▶️ here Last Chapter: 'Who killed Jack?' from the beginning ▶️ here

📚 Previous Chapters: Chapters: 1-6 ~ 7-12 ~ 13-16 ~ 23-28

[rjschoicesstuff]

Ok I watched both playthroughs for Paths Not Taken now, spoilers ahead of course!!

And incoherent rambling ahead

I'm a huuuge fan of how the choices you make rly do impact stuff!! I hope that's a sign that that might become more common in future books!

Evil thought: I kinda would've loved it if they'd been killed when you abandon cas/gabe at the creator's camp... So you're just fr on your own with your li from there on + getting to see the story with no cas/gabe. But ok then the whole thing with the beech tree couldn't have happened then and I thought that was interesting too.

I LOVED the glimpse of a Crimson Beech without leylines in one of the endings!! And a mc who stayed human!! And the whole implication that the creator will be back!!

I think the oooone thing I do rly strongly disagree with is in Gabe's route. After you find out she's a vampire and you call her a monster, she disagrees with you like 'no I used to think so too but these past weeks with you made me realise im not.' Cuz I'm like, idk I feel like that part of Gabe's character development only really happens once mc actually knows she's a vampire and still loves her despite it? Like to me that always felt like a realisation she could only have under those circumstances?

Also idk how to word this but like, I'm also never a fan of when at some point there's a spot that can be taken by different characters. (Think of AME Teagan and Bianca, terrorfest) so stuff happening to/with them isn't unique to them anymore? (Tho I get y they do it because it's easier that way) Which in this case is like once you get back to the nexus and one of them conspires with their coven leader. But like also it didn't feel ooc for either of them in either route + from what I saw their dialogue was different at least (like it always bugs me the most when characters take that place and get the same dialogue). Prob more believeably in character for Cas, like I always felt like for a while he still has a high opinion on Astoria and his opinion of her lessening is due to mc, so not applicable here. For Gabe I think it's very interesting to imagine this version of her that actually trusts Lewyn, and enough to do that/let him manipulate her like that, because I always assumed she'd just always have been more wary of him. But like it doesn't seem ooc TO ME, I can even imagine her in a way viewing him as someone who 'saved' her grandmother because by letting Gabe turn, her grandmother got spared (and still lived for a while after that, from what I understood). Like you know when you just start making yourself believe shit to cope/make a situation easier to accept? I can imagine it like that for sure. Like it's better to convince herself her covenleader is the lesser of two evils. And who at least cares about the humans too. And finally she's also surrounded by vampires who have a very high opinion of him (think of when mc meets Gabe's vampire friends and how they talk about him).

All in all it definitely confirms to me that those three are just supposed to be together, like that's when they are at their best. Nods in agreement with myself

[dreamlandcreations]

Phantom of the Opera AU

Aemond Targaryen x Velaryon (Strong)!Reader

You thought you would never be able to sing like this but your dream came true no matter what your 'evil' step-grandmother did. The Phantom has chosen you. Your Angel of Music.

Alicent hid away his son after his eye was taken in the accident after your aunt's funeral. He was not only physically but mentally damaged too. Aemond only found solace in music and in your letters.

Several years passed since he had seen you but his feelings never changed. It may have been seen wrong in the eyes of people, after all your mother was his half-sister, but he did not care. Targaryens had their customs, even if no one practised them anymore.

Aemond has always known you were meant to be and it was time for you to see it too.

He did not truly reveal himself to you, not until he presented the sapphire engagement ring, asking you to be his.

You refused him, telling him it was wrong, horrified by the knowledge of who has been seducing you all along. But Aemond wasn't about to give up that easily but when his answers to your doubts did not convince you he could keep his rage to himself. He did not hurt you but he scared you to death, you wanted to run away and never look back.

Luke heard everything and tried to get help from Harwin to rescue you but both of them ended up dead. An accident, Aemond promised in sweet murmurs as he was holding you, swearing that no one would ever hurt you again. You didn't dare to argue with him that you knew he wanted Luke to pay for what he had done all those years ago, that he may not have intended to kill them but he was certainly not sorry about it and it was only him that hurt you.

You couldn't do anything about it though. Couldn't move, could barely breathe through your hiccupy sobbing. His words, his presence, and his touch were understandably not soothing you at all but you exhausted yourself, crying yourself to sleep.

In the morning you woke up in Aemond's arms and he proposed again, at your hesitation subtly threatening to get revenge on your brother and cousins too if you wouldn't give in. He reasoned that if he couldn't have you, all that was left for him is vengeance. And how could you deny him after that? You had no choice, this time you said yes.

• moodboards masterlist •

[corvidaerook]

Ngl, I think a lot about how angry Illario looks at Rook here after they bring Lucanis back from the Ossuary.

Like I know Illario is just mad in general, both because of how much his plans have gone to shit and because he's trying to convince people he's upset about Caterina, but the fact that he glares at Rook before visibly taking a breath and smiling is very fitting to me. Not just that he looks mad, but that he specifically shoots a pissed off look directly at Rook before reigning himself, putting on another mask to thank them.

Like, imagine you have your cousin/almost brother murdered and live with that on your conscience for a year, biding your time until you can become First Talon. Then some random person shows up asking questions, which leads to your grandmother admitting she never believed your carefully laid out plan, that you might have been discovered at any point since the murder and didn't even know that danger existed, and that your cousin is actually alive. Also, yeah, you probably got him horrifically tortured—your mind is full of all the things that might have been done to him because you know exactly the sort of person you made the deal with to have him killed. Which in turn probably reminds you of your insecurities because if you'd just been better, been more like your cousin like your grandmother wanted, you could have killed him yourself instead of involving someone else (but would you have? Caterina gave Illario's fate to Lucanis, Lucanis gave it to Rook, so could you really have brought yourself to kill your cousin if you'd been the one holding the knife? Or was the distance necessary for you to commit to it?)

Then that same random person successfully brings your cousin back, only for your cousin to leave again, effectively choosing a complete stranger over you, and affirming the idea you have that, no matter what, you will forever be everyone's last priority. You'll never be good enough to matter. You could lose everything and the only remaining family member you'd have would still leave you too.

I'd be mad at Rook too if I was him. Their visit was the catalyst that threw Illario's no-good, terrible, very bad time into motion, and if they'd minded their own business, he'd still be secure as Caterina's only living heir and, from his perspective, would probably never have had to confront any of the things he'd done to the people he was supposed to care about.