#dreams from a petrified head

[bucketofcursedbooks]

Nobody wants to talk to me about bryan decharts short films :(

[zoeynsanity]

"you want to know who we're at war with. we're at war with you, jeremy."

▪︎ Dreams from a Petrified Head (2011)

[taintandviolent]

sin creeps in ; Nosferatu x Reader

summary: You're plagued by heinous nightmares of a mysterious monster, but you can't help but feel drawn to he who plagues you.

word count & w a r n i n g s: 1.5K | female reader, monster fucking, vampires, vampire sex, bloodplay, biting, drinking blood / blood loss, mentions of death, making out, smut, unprotected sex, mentions of accents, shadow play (fingering)????.

a/n: MAY CONTAIN SPOILERS FOR NOSFERATU 2024! this is just.... listen, I'm not even going to try to justisfy myself. rack up yet another hear me out moment for me. you either understand or you don't. shorter than I wanted it to be, but I needed to get this out and sate my hunger. banner by @/strangergraphics!

↓ full fic under cut! ↓ / playlist here / ao3 link here! / I don’t have a taglist anymore, but please turn on post notifications if you’d like to be notified of future fics!

You awake with a strangled gasp, your hands flying to your throat as your breath gradually returns. The nightmares had roused you, as they had every night, but this time, something lingered. Your room was frigid; the gauzy curtains fluttered in front of the open window like misplaced ghosts, allowing the chill of the night to penetrate your quarters. Everything looks terrifying at night; familiar shapes are transformed into horrible spectres, and your very room feels unknown. Unsafe. 

He is here. For the first time in several nights, you weren’t dreaming – he has come for you.

“I know that you are here with me,” you bravely whisper into the emptiness of your own bedroom. The wind whistled, a familiar sound, but something growled – growled in a language you didn’t speak, but understood. The voice was low, gravelly, and heavily accented. 

Hurriedly, you kick the sheets from your legs. The moonlight pales your skin, washing you in its blanch, bluish tone. Gripping your gown with both hands, you gather it up your thighs, exposing them to the cold. The chill of the wind hits your center, and you hiss through your teeth. Your head drops to your chest, and so does your gaze, watching patiently. At the edge of your bed, a large, slender shadow manifests. Him. 

You dare not look up. The feeling of his presence petrifies you, but also arouses you – letting a slick warmth pool deeply between your legs. 

The shadows continue to creep further up your bed, until they reach your feet, which twitch in response. Up, up, up… along your shins. Your skin prickles, and you shiver, doing your best to remain calm. Though he doesn’t touch you, you feel him. You feel every pass of his large hand as it makes its way up your body. His shadow glides over your hip, to your stomach and finally between your plump breasts, coming to a stop over your beating heart. It thumps away like a rabbit’s heart underneath the blackness of his form, and you hear a ragged, strained groan.

Then, with no warning, it moves down, leaving a cold, lifeless chill in its path like a gust of winter wind. You pant, desperately clinging to what breath you have. All at once, the shadow envelopes the soft, warm mound between your legs and your hands fall to the bed, bracing yourself. You have felt his ghostly touches for countless nights, tasting your body as a lover would, but each time your body climbed the peak, the sensations disappeared.  He comes to you in dreams, always leaving you unsatisfied. Your chest heaves in the night, cold droplets of sweat peppering your decollete and breasts. Your hands claw the sheets while you dream, but never reach euphoria.

Tonight, there are new sensations. The phantom wisp of his middle finger runs along the length of your slit. Grazing it. Somehow, you feel his finger part your wet folds, toying with your most sensitive areas. The nonexistent pads of his fingers sweep back and forth over your swelling clit, bringing a spasmodic twitch from each of your muscles. Wanting. Craving. While the sensation lacks the familiar warmth of a living man, it is bountiful with pleasurable feelings – your body responds embarrassingly; your shoulders shudder violently. 

He inhales, a deeply hollow sound. “You desire this… thine own body craves it….” 

The accent seems to fill his entire mouth, rumbling in his throat as he speaks slowly, drawing out each word like an incantation. You let out a plaintive moan, throwing your head back against the pillows, the down feathers crackling underneath you. As though he’s still pleasuring you, your hips writhe back and forth, practically convulsing with need. The shadow of his hand is gone from your body, replaced by the looming darkness of his physical form. After a moment of trepidation, you finally lift your head, and stare into the dark, terrifying eyes that watch you. 

You swallow hard. “I do.” 

A moment passes before you continue. “Take me as you will, for I am yours.” You consent again, desperate to convey your own insatiable hunger, your unimaginable need. 

Another intake of breath from him – it almost sounds labored, painful. His footsteps are dreadful as he moves around to the side of your bed. He’s tall, his form stretching towards the ceilings and towering over you, consuming your atmosphere as he had in your nightmares. His silhouette is large; enhanced by the countless furs he has on.

Weightlessly, his lithe, ghastly fingers reach for you and make contact with your form. They are cold, and the icy feeling of them penetrate the thin fabric of your nightgown. He moves gradually, but hungrily, feeling the curves of your body beneath the cotton. As he moves southward, his fingers skim over the peak of your breast, a nail catching on the swollen nipple. It hurts, but your chest jerks forward still, craving more of his touch. 

Pulling a breathy moan from deep within your throat, his long, sharp nails rake across the tender flesh of your thigh. It’s bathed in the silvery moonlight, which casts horrible, elongated shadows of his fingers down towards your center. He scrapes downward, his middle finger digging into the flesh enough to leave a reddened streak behind, but not so much to break the skin.

“P-please…” you mewl, looking up into his horrifying visage. The sight of him fills you with dread and disgust, but like a single drop of blood in water, it’s tainted with something else, something else that has been lingering in your system for days. 

He’s above you now, though you don’t remember seeing him move atop of you. Still, he’s there. The bed creaks as you push yourself into the mattress, whimpering underneath him. He lowers himself down onto you, the brush of his mustache tickles your face as he lingers above you. A second passes and his waiting mouth envelops yours. He tastes damp and cold, faintly of ash and earth. His tongue slips out and it too is cold, slipping wetly along your own and along your bottom lip. His kiss is dreadful, but possessive, and he inhales each time you exhale, as though he’s trying to suck the very warmth out of you. No man has kissed you the way Count Orlok kisses you, and the chill of the room disappears, snuffed out by the fire that rages in your lower abdomen. 

Your tongues collide with each other; you tasting his lifelessness, and him tasting your utterly intoxicating, vibrant liveliness. For a moment, the two of you stay intertwined at the mouth until he separates himself, smearing his mouth over the warmth of your neck. He hovers, pausing over your pulse. It thrums under his lips, and his hips urge into yours, indicating his hunger.

There is a shuffle, a rustling of clothing. You try to lift your head up to gaze between your bodies, but his hand holds you fast, pressing you against the pillow. The size of his hand is staggering; his palm underneath your chin, while the fingertips extend past your hairline, into the strands. You shudder again and whisper his name. He inhales as though he plans to speak, but doesn’t. 

The front of your nightgown falls apart, revealing your chest to him. With one hand covetously clutching your breast, his mouth opens between your breasts, the slithery coolness of his tongue gliding down along the length of your sternum. As the teeth puncture your flesh, your hands make fists on either side of your body, pulling the sheets into the confines of your palms. He enters you, in more ways than one, and you feel the steady tug of his mouth as he sucks the blood from your veins. Warmth pools in the cave of your stomach.

The fingers of his other hand crawl up your shoulder, and like a quill in ink, he dips the pads of his fingers into the hollow of your chest, coating them in your crimson essence. He smears the blood along your decollete, along the hem of your nightgown, tugging it harshly over your shoulder. The blood coats you in a flash of warmth, and then chill as it meets the cold air. 

His hips rut against yours as he drinks, the pulse of your blood matching the thrust of his hips. An ache starts in your neck, a slow pulling sensation that has your eyelids fluttering. He moves within you, his length penetrating as deeply as his sharpened teeth have. Your release is found amongst blood and groans and that same language which you understand, but do not speak. His tongue scrubs at your soft skin, lapping up the blood as it comes… as you do. 

The darkness is ever-looming, and as your aching cunt ebbs its throbbing, it settles down upon you. You let yourself fall backwards into the abyss, freely. It takes you, wrapping its arms around your tiny frame which is dwarfed by his stature. His mouth breaks free of your bloodied skin with a slick pop.  Into the softness of your skin, you hear him growl, ‘Mine.’ The feeling vibrates against your neck, and your lids flutter shut.

[sleeplessdove]

be a body

e. williams x fem! reader

synopsis: the thrill of firing your girlfriend’s gun is greater than you could have ever imagined

a/n: wrote while high & not proofread !

warnings: dark themes !!! outdoor/public sex, gun usage that is incredibly irresponsible, do not do any of this !!!, gun used for penetration, r! gets eaten out, pet names, established relationship, heavy dom/sub themes!!!, slapping, r! is described more as a femme, predator/prey kink (?), gun kink, fear play, power imbalance, and lots more !

wc: 2.3k

You can feel her hand tightening against yours, as if daring you to finally pull the trigger. Even with no exchange of words, you understand why she is being so patient. She is measuring your breaths, waiting for you to slip up. Both of you know you’re out of your element but she needs to be able to prove it through your own actions. 

The weapon is dreadfully heavy and if Ellie’s hands weren’t guiding your own, you would’ve dropped it ages ago. A heavy silence falls between the two of you, the only sound being caused by your short and panicked breaths. But all the while, her breaths remained calm and had a natural ease to them. 

The amount of power she had at this moment left you petrified, and yet you never wanted this to end. You could feel her breath fluttering against your skin as she lowered her lips towards your neck, placing a tender kiss against it before speaking. 

“Take it nice n’ slow, sweetheart” 

In an instant, your whole body seemed to relax and it was as if the entire world had just gone silent. Your eyes locked onto the empty beer bottle Ellie had so kindly put out for you as target practice, and you finally felt that you were seeing it clearly. You took in a deep breath, exhaling from your mouth as you finally pressed down against the trigger enough to cause it to fire. 

The sound is disruptive to say the least, your body tensing as your ears begin to ring. It takes a moment for your mind to even register that before the ringing began, you could clearly hear the glass bottle shattering. Relief flooded every inch of your body, pride swelling in your chest. 

Your moment of triumph was interrupted as Ellie pulled the gun from your hands with very little effort, your eyes following the movements of her fingers as she turned the safety back on and slid her favorite handgun back into the holster she always wore on her thigh. 

She turns your body so you’re facing her, her strong hands firmly gripping your hips. “Look at you, little miss perfect, hm?” she questions with a smile that feels mocking but some part of you is truly soothed by it. 

You shake your head, a bashfulness growing deep inside of you that had been planted by the attention Ellie gave you. “I only got it cause you were helping” you mutter, your words small and passive. 

“And she’s modest too” Ellie quips playfully, always seeming to bask in the glow that came with teasing you endlessly. Her firm hold on your hips seems to lighten up, leaving your body to sway a bit, lost without her guidance. But soon enough, her hands begin to trail up your body. 

Every curve of your body is traced by her skilled fingers, as if she were molding you into something new, something you had always wanted to be. The feel of her rough hands came with a whirlwind of emotions, leaving you feeling breathless. At the same time you had never felt such euphoria, the rush of proving yourself to Ellie mixed with the fear of being in the woods with your armed girlfriend making everything feel like a dream. 

The cold air bites your skin as she pushes up your sweater, the realization that the two of you were out where anyone could see you making you tense in the slightest. She is quick to soothe you, leaning down to drag her tongue against the pulse point on your neck. A filthy moan leaves Ellie’s lips as she feels the wild beat of your heart against her own tongue. 

It’s a reminder that she is the one in control, and she can’t help but gently graze her teeth against the flesh, although she eternally wishes to simply sink her teeth into you. She is only being gentle because she wants to make you wait for the pleasure you are seeking out. 

“Please” you breathe out, unsure of what you’re even asking for at this point. You’d take anything from her, whether it be a kiss or a punch, anything was better than her punishingly slow pace. 

Your plea only makes her scoff and she makes a point of pressing a messy kiss against your neck before she finally moves so that the two of you are eye to eye. “Do you really think you’re the one in charge here?” she questions, feigning curiosity. When you only frown at her, she moves one hand away from your body and uses it to lightly slap your cheek. 

“I asked you a question” she adds on, her tone no longer playful. The small slap was barely enough to cause a sting but it left you reeling, the small correction instantly putting you back in your place. 

“No, I don’t” you finally mutter, speaking the truth since there was no other option. Your words must have been correct, as Ellie’s expression becomes much warmer after you speak. “That’s what I thought” she hums, pressing a gentle kiss to your cheek. 

To be rewarded for such words makes you dizzy with delight, the feeling of everything being out of your control somehow managing to calm you. When she finally kisses your lips, it’s as if the gates of Heaven had opened for you. 

Her tongue was akin to velvet, so warm and inviting as it slid against your own. Despite your own desperation, Ellie keeps the kiss slow and behaves as if she has all the time in the world with you. 

She shushes the borderline pitiful whines that fall from your lips when she pulls away, although she makes up for it by trailing kisses down your clothed body. You watch as she kneels before you, pushing you back against the large tree behind you. Once she has you pinned there, she begins to behave like a woman starved. 

With reverent movements, she kisses your thighs that were still covered by tights and bunches up your skirt between her fists. It feels dirty in a way you can’t quite describe, but it makes your cunt ache with need. “You did so good, following my directions cause you’re so smart” she praises, her moans mixing with her words seamlessly. 

Your body practically trembles beneath her grasp, immediately moving your hips to help her tug down your skirt along with your tights. It’s not rushed, as Ellie loves to take her time with you. “Maybe we should’ve come on a warmer day” she comments, noticing the way the cold breeze had you shaking. 

“No, no. Today is perfect, I like it” you reassure breathlessly, needing Ellie to not have a single bit of hesitance while touching you. Your quick reply makes her grin and she traces her fingers along the cotton material of your panties. 

The sight of the cute bunny printed onto the front of your panties makes her heart swell with adoration and she can’t help but lean down to press a kiss against the little bunny. “You’re the sweetest little thing I’ve ever seen” she states as if it were the most truthful words that had ever left her lips. 

You can only let out huffs and broken moans as she finally tugs your panties down past your thighs, doing your best to spread your legs while still leaning against the hard bark of the tree. 

She spreads you open for her own viewing pleasure, finding solace only when she’s buried between your thighs. You thread your fingers through her hair, tugging just enough to have her groaning. There is no doubt that you should be ashamed but when Ellie is treating your body as if it’s something holy, you can’t think straight. 

When she dips her head down and you feel the sloppy kiss she presses against your clit, you let out a moan that rumbles deep within your chest. You don’t dare to press her mouth closer to you, knowing there would be immediate consequences to your actions. 

So you’re forced to endure the slow kisses she trails all along your most intimate area, her tongue lapping at your slit ever so gently. The mere tip of her tongue had you holding onto the tree that kept you steady, the bark cracking under your fingers. 

“Did holding my gun get you all worked up, bunny? Did you feel all powerful?” she questions, her mouth so close to your cunt as she speaks that you can feel her breath against you. It leaves you squirming, unsure if you want her to do more or less. 

“Felt nice to hold, really nice” you whisper, being given no time to react as she turns you so that you are bent over and holding on to the tree. “Yeah, baby? It sounds like you love my gun just as much as you love me” she coos, using her thumbs to spread open your cunt once more, the new angle letting her see you on a deeper level. 

“There’s my pretty girl” she praises, and you’re unsure if she is speaking about you or your cunt. Either way, you feel your face heat up from all the praise she has been giving you. You’re sticky with arousal and Ellie can’t deny herself any longer. 

She leans closer, remaining on her knees behind you as she begins to feverishly eat you out. Her tongue flattens against your slit only to move back upwards so she can flick her tongue mercilessly against your twitching clit. When she closes her lips around your bud and begins to suck, your hips jerk involuntarily. 

“No, want you inside” you plead with a mewl, needing to feel connected with her. Although you know you’re asking for the impossible, as out in the middle of the woods Ellie couldn’t just grab her strap to fuck you brains out. 

However to your surprise, she is immediately able to find a way to give you the contact you are seeking out. She nudges her tongue against your slit carefully before slowly sinking it inside, fucking you on her tongue. 

It’s not nearly as deep as her strap could reach but in that moment, it’s all you needed. Her mouth is hot against you, her spit dripping down her chin as she worships your pussy. 

You’re so lost in the blinding pleasure that you don’t even realize the movements Ellie has made, that is until it’s too late. She knows you're close and yet she pulls away, leaving you aching for more. 

“Shhhhh, princess. I’ve got just what you’ve been begging for” she soothes, pressing the warm barrel of the gun against your hole that was still clenching around nothing. 

The strange feeling is enough to make you turn your head so you can glance back at her, your eyes wide with fear. Ellie uses her free hand to gently rub against the skin of your thigh, offering an understanding smile. “The safety’s on, promise. But if you wanna stop, you can tell me” she says in a calm voice that could’ve made you melt. 

No matter the shame you felt, you couldn’t deny that she was right, that this is what you wanted. “Need it…” you confess, as if pleading with her to push it inside. Your words are enough for Ellie to lose any sense of hesitation, her finger gently circling your clit while she pushes the tip of her gun inside you. 

It’s warm from the recent firing of it but much smoother than you expected, the attention to your clit making the stretch much easier since you were preoccupied with ecstasy. “That’s it, baby. Look at this pretty pussy, all spread open n’ fuckin’ dripping for me” she says in a rough voice, getting worked up just from watching you. 

The thrusts from the weapon are deep and slow, letting you feel every detail of the gun inside you. The mix of fear and arousal creates something delicious and you know that you can’t hold on much longer. 

“Can I cum, please? I’ve been so good, did everything you told me to” you beg, needing her permission and approval for every little thing. Ellie sighs, as if saddened that this moment will be coming to an end but she still speeds up the thrusts for you, wanting to help you finish. 

“Of course, bun. C’mon, cum on my gun the same way you cum on my cock” she encourages, her words beyond dirty yet neither of you cared. The sound of her voice is all you need before you’re crying out her name, creaming around the still warm weapon. 

Ellie curses as she watches your pussy clamp down on her handgun like a silk vice, pulling it from your body carefully so she can see your dripping core that she had just stretched open with her weapon of choice. 

“Jesus fuck, you’re gonna help me clean this up” she mutters as she observes her gun that was now a complete mess of your juices. You can only groan in response, in no mood to help her clean her guns after she just pushed your body to its limit. 

When she realizes how out of it you are, she simply tucks away her gun and tugs your clothes back into place so you’re at least covered up. “Once we get back, I’ll give you what you want, alright?” she promises, standing up and not caring to dust the dirt off her knees. 

You can’t stop the pleased smile that spreads onto your lips, nodding contently before she gives your ass a gentle smack to get you to move on your own. The soreness is beginning to build in your body but Ellie lets you lean against her as the two of you walk back to the cabin. 

The fear from earlier lingers a bit but it only makes you more eager to reach your shared bedroom so that you can feel her tender touch that never failed to make the world feel like a perfect place.

[lotsofmilfs]

Shades Of Cool Part 1

Pairing : Agatha Harkness x Fem!Reader

Summary : You and Agatha were close in Salem, but things happen of course, and now you’re reunited due to the Witches Road

Word Count : 7kish

Authors Notes : I took creative liberties with the road !!! but i’m hoping you still like !

Warnings : Angst, Brief mention of suicide, longing, i think that’s it.

You were in Agatha’s trial on the witches road, you had on the same outfit as her, only it was a pink jersey, instead of the purple. Your hair was down instead of up in the hairstyle that Agatha was wearing, and your knee high socks were white with two purple stripes at the top. You don’t even know how you got here, but that was just how strong Billy was. Summoning you for a trial you had no idea you were taking place in.

You’d met Agatha during the Salem Era, both of you young, and close. You hated your own parents, and when Agatha told you about her mother, you planned to run away together. Things never worked out that way though, the closer you got with Agatha, you wanted to bond with her.

Bonding was something ancient, bringing together two witches. It would open their souls, their minds, and their hearts to one another. Agatha was petrified of being that open with someone, the vulnerability was just too much, and even though it hurt, she left you the next day after you poured your heart out, asking for her to break the barrier and become one.

Now it’s been centuries, and you freeze as you stop messing with the game in front of you, hearing a collection of voices from your right.

“Who’s trial is this?” Jen asks as they all look around

“Agatha’s.” Rio smirks. That name. You’ve not heard that name in so long it brings a flush to your cheeks, and your face lifts up, your side profile now visible to the group.

Agatha freezes when she sees your face, she’d remember it anywhere, she had dreams about it. She doesn’t say anything, she couldn’t. How were you even here? She… Thought maybe you’d died years ago. You never approached anyone about the road, and so she assumed.. She looks at you different then when she seen Rio again, there’s no anger or malice in her gaze. Just a deep set of longing. Her feet carry her involuntarily towards you and she breathes out.

“Darling.”

Your head snaps toward the voice, sharp and familiar, dripping with a need that makes your stomach twist in ways you wish it wouldn’t. “Agatha,” you say, her name cutting through the charged silence like a blade. It comes out too soft for your liking, so you harden your voice. “Didn’t expect to see you here.”

Her lips twitch, almost a smile, but not quite. There’s something in her eyes that makes it clear you’re not the only one thrown off balance. “The feeling’s mutual, darling,” she says, her tone breezy, almost mocking, but there’s a crack in the façade. She’s staring at you like she’s seen a ghost.

Maybe she has.

You’ve got centuries of practice keeping your emotions in check, but something about the way she’s looking at you, the way her breath catches for just a moment, has your carefully maintained armour slipping. You clench your fists to stop them from shaking.

“What have you done now Agatha? Have you stolen someone’s broomstick?”

Her smirk comes back, sharp and self-assured, like she’s trying to regain the upper hand. “If only it were that simple,” she says lightly, but there’s a tension in her jaw. “Let’s just say I’ve been accused of... dabbling.”

“Dabbling?” you echo, incredulous. “That’s likely one way to put it.”

“Careful,” she says, her voice dropping into something silkier, more dangerous. “You might hurt my feelings.”

Your laugh comes out more bitter than you intend. “Oh, I’m sure they’re well-protected under all that... dabbling.”

The others in the group exchange uneasy glances. Rio, ever the instigator, pipes up again, clearly loving the drama. “So... you two know each other?”

Neither of you answers, too locked in a silent, electric standoff. It’s Agatha who finally breaks the moment, turning to address the group, her voice dripping with the kind of theatrical charm only she can pull off. “Let’s just say we have history.” Her eyes flick back to you, and her tone turns pointed. “Though some of us are better at leaving the past where it belongs.”

Your lips part, sharp words ready to fire back, but you stop yourself. This isn’t the time, and you won’t let her get the better of you. Not again.

Instead, you tilt your head, levelling her with a look. “So, this trial. What’s the serious charge? Not just the accusations.”

Agatha hesitates, just for a moment. “They think I stole something.” Her tone is measured, but there’s a flicker of guilt—or defiance, maybe—in her eyes. “Power. Something I didn’t earn.”

You cross your arms. “And did you?”

Her jaw tightens, and for a second, she looks like she might actually tell you the truth. Then she shrugs, her smirk slipping back into place. “Does it matter?”

“It does if you want to walk out of here alive.”

The air between you is thick with unspoken history, the weight of centuries hanging over every word. Agatha steps closer, lowering her voice so only you can hear. “You’ve always been good at seeing through me, haven’t you?”

You swallow hard, hating the way her words make your chest tighten. “Don’t flatter yourself,” you say, stepping back just enough to reestablish your ground. “I just know your type.”

She chuckles, soft and low. “Oh, sweetheart. You’ve always known me. That’s what made you dangerous.”

Her words hit a nerve, and you hate that she knows it. She’s always been good at that—finding your cracks and slipping through them like smoke. But this time, you won’t let her.

Before you can respond, Rio claps their hands, breaking the tension. “This is all very riveting, but shouldn’t we, I don’t know, do something? Trials, consequences, accusations—ringing any bells?”

Agatha’s gaze snaps to Rio, her smile vanishing in an instant. “Stay out of it,” she says sharply, her voice like ice.

But as much as you want to stay angry, to keep your walls firmly in place, there’s something in her eyes when she looks back at you—a flicker of vulnerability, of something real—that shakes you.

“Why am I here, Agatha?” you ask quietly.

She hesitates, her confidence faltering for just a moment. “I didn’t bring you here,” she says. “But... maybe the road thought I needed a reminder.”

“A reminder of what?”

Her gaze softens, and for a second, it’s like you’re back in Salem, two young witches on the brink of something extraordinary. She opens her mouth, but the words don’t come.

Instead, she steps back, her expression hardening again. “You’ll see soon enough,” she says, her tone deliberately flippant. “Just try not to get in my way, darling.”

You narrow your eyes, but there’s no time to respond.

The ground beneath your feet rumbles—a low, ominous vibration that sends chills up your spine. The witches’ road is alive, its energies twisting and pulling, urging the trial forward. Around you, the air grows thick with power, sharp and unrelenting, and the others in the group exchange uneasy glances.

Agatha stands still, her gaze fixed on you, as though the trial itself is secondary to the unfinished business crackling between you. But her expression hardens when the light around you shifts—a brilliant blue glow forming a circle in the center of the road.

"Right on cue," Agatha mutters under her breath. She turns to the group, her sharp tone carrying authority, even here. "Stay behind me. All of you."

"Why would we do that?" Rio asks with a smirk, stepping closer to the circle. "You’re the one on trial, remember?"

Before Agatha can snap back, the blue glow bursts upward, spiralling into a towering column of light. From its core, shapes begin to emerge—silhouettes, shifting and indistinct at first, but then solidifying into forms you recognise all too well. Witches, cloaked and severe, their eyes glowing with unnatural light. The Coven.

“Agatha Harkness,” one of them speaks, their voice cold and resonant. “You stand accused of theft, treachery, and the violation of sacred laws.”

Agatha lifts her chin, the picture of defiance, but you catch the way her fingers twitch at her sides, the slight clenching of her jaw. “Well, don’t hold back,” she says, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “Tell me how you really feel.”

The Coven doesn’t react, their collective gaze shifting past her—to you. The intensity of their focus sends a shiver through you, but you don’t flinch. You know better than to show weakness here.

“Who dares to stand beside the accused?” another witch asks, their glowing eyes narrowing.

“She doesn’t belong here,” Agatha says quickly, stepping in front of you. “This trial has nothing to do with her.”

“Is that so?” The lead witch tilts her head, studying you with unnerving precision. “And yet, the road brought her here. Why?”

You meet the witch’s gaze, refusing to let the weight of her scrutiny drag you down. “I’d like to know that myself,” you say coolly. “But whatever this is, I’m not here to play spectator.”

Agatha casts you a sharp look, her eyes flashing with something between irritation and concern. “You don’t know what you’re talking about,” she hisses.

“Then enlighten me,” you snap back, your patience wearing thin. “Or is keeping secrets still your favourite game?”

“Enough,” the lead witch commands, her voice cutting through the tension. The others fall silent, their glowing eyes shifting back to Agatha. “The accused will answer for her actions.”

“Gladly,” Agatha says, folding her arms. “But let’s be clear—I didn’t steal anything. I earned that power.”

The lead witch’s gaze sharpens. “You twisted ancient magic for your own gain, defied the natural order, and corrupted forces beyond your comprehension. Not to mention murdered hundreds. You are a danger to all witches.”

“Funny,” Agatha retorts, her voice venomous. “I seem to recall you trying to kill me for simply being too powerful. Guess some things never change.”

The Coven bristles, their forms glowing brighter, but before they can respond, the road itself shifts again. The ground beneath you ripples, and for a moment, you’re weightless—floating in the charged air. When you land, the circle of light has expanded, now encompassing you, Agatha, and the Coven.

You glare at her, your frustration boiling over. “What exactly did you do, Agatha?”

Her eyes flicker to you, something almost apologetic flashing across her face before she buries it under her usual mask. “It’s complicated.”

“It always is with you,” you bite back.

Agatha opens her mouth to respond, but the lead witch cuts her off. “The accused is bound to the truth. Let us see if her lies can survive the light.”

At her words, the blue glow intensifies, and the trial begins in earnest. The road reacts violently, pulling memories and illusions from the air—scenes of Agatha’s past swirling like a storm around you. Her betrayal of the Salem Coven. Her hunger for forbidden power. Her darkest moments laid bare.

But then the images shift—scenes you recognise. A younger Agatha, laughing beside you in the moonlight. The two of you whispering secrets, planning your escape. The night she left you, her face a mask of regret as she vanished into the darkness.

Your breath catches, and Agatha’s head snaps toward you, her expression unreadable.

The Coven doesn’t miss the exchange. “Ah,” the lead witch says, a cruel smile curling her lips. “Perhaps the accused’s greatest crime is not against magic, but against the heart.”

Agatha’s face hardens, but there’s a flicker of vulnerability in her eyes as she turns to you. “Don’t let them twist this,” she says, her voice low and urgent. “You know me better than anyone.”

You take a step closer, your anger warring with the pull of old, buried feelings. “Do I? Because the Agatha I knew wouldn’t have dragged me into her mess.”

“I didn’t!” she snaps, the crack in her composure widening. “But if I had... maybe I should’ve. Maybe you’re the only one who can—” She cuts herself off, looking away.

The Coven watches, their glowing eyes unrelenting. “Speak your truth, Agatha Harkness,” the lead witch commands. “If you can.”

You don’t know what’s worse—the thought that she’s hiding something from you, or the thought that she’s telling the truth and you’re still tied to her, even now. Either way, you’re not letting this end without answers.

“Start talking,” you say, your voice sharp but steady. “Because if you want me to trust you, Agatha, you’d better earn it.”

Agatha remains silent, though her eyes are pleading. The road trembles beneath you, the Coven's chanting growing louder, more insistent. The blue light twists and contorts, creating shadows that dance around you and Agatha. You’re too close to her now, her presence almost overwhelming in its familiarity. After all this time, she’s still the same—still sharp, guarded, impossible. And yet, beneath it all, she’s still her

You steal a glance at her, and for a moment, you see a crack in her defenses. The weight of the trial, the memories, the raw, unspoken tension between you—it’s all there, etched across her face. But she’s too proud to acknowledge it, even now.

“You’re scared,” you say, your voice low enough that only she can hear.

Agatha’s gaze snaps to yours, her eyes narrowing. “Of them?” she asks, gesturing toward the Coven with a sardonic smirk. “Please.”

You hold her gaze, refusing to let her deflect. “Not of them. Of me. Of us.”

Her smirk falters, just for a moment, and you know you’ve hit a nerve. She takes a step back, but you follow, unwilling to let her retreat this time.

“I’m not scared,” she says, but her voice lacks its usual bite.

“Liar,” you counter, your tone soft but unrelenting. “You’ve always been terrified of letting anyone in. Of letting me in.”

Agatha opens her mouth to respond, but the Coven’s chanting suddenly shifts, the words growing sharper, more pointed. The blue light swirls between the two of you, pulling at the air, at your magic, at your connection . The Coven has sensed it—the bond that could’ve been, the bond you once wanted more than anything.

“You thought about it,” you say, stepping closer. “All those years ago. You wanted it, too.”

“Stop,” she snaps, her voice cracking slightly, her control slipping.

“You left because you couldn’t handle it,” you press on. “Because you were too afraid to open yourself up. To share everything—your power, your heart, your soul.”

“I said stop,” she hisses, but she doesn’t move away.

The blue light flares between you, the energy shifting, bending, until it forms a thread, a thin, shimmering line connecting the two of you. The sight of it makes your breath catch in your throat. It’s the bond, raw and unfinished, still lingering after all this time.

Agatha stares at it, her face pale, her usual confidence nowhere to be found. “It’s not real,” she says, her voice almost desperate. “It’s just the trial, just a trick.”

“You don’t believe that,” you say quietly.

The thread pulses, glowing brighter, and you can feel it now- the pull of her soul, of her essence, intertwining with your own. It’s intoxicating and terrifying all at once, and you can see the same war playing out in Agatha’s eyes.

The Coven speaks again, their voices cold and cutting. “The bond remains unfinished. A betrayal of magic, a betrayal of trust. It is a wound that festers, unresolved.”

Agatha clenches her fists, her gaze snapping to the lead witch. “This has nothing to do with them,” she says, her voice shaking with anger. “You’re trying to twist this into something it’s not.”

The lead witch tilts her head, her glowing eyes boring into Agatha. “The trial reveals truth. Nothing more, nothing less.” Her gaze shifts to you, and her next words are deliberate, cruel. “Perhaps the accused should explain why she ran. Why she rejected the bond when it was freely offered.”

Agatha flinches, and you feel the thread between you tremble. For a moment, you think she’s going to lash out, to fight, but instead, she turns to you, her expression raw and unguarded in a way you’ve never seen before.

“I didn’t run because I didn’t want it,” she says, her voice barely above a whisper. “I ran because I wanted it too much.”

Her words hit you like a tidal wave, and for a moment, you can’t breathe.

“I knew what bonding meant,” she continues, her eyes locking onto yours. “It would’ve made us... tied in ways I couldn’t undo. And I couldn’t let myself—” She cuts herself off, shaking her head. “I thought I was protecting you. Protecting-“ she cuts herself off and then, “But maybe... maybe I was just protecting myself.”

The thread glows brighter, the magic between you surging, and you can feel it now—her fear, her regret, her longing. It’s all there, laid bare, and for the first time, you see her for who she truly is.

“You didn’t need to protect me,” you say, your voice steady. “I was ready, Agatha. I’ve always been ready. But you never gave us a chance.”

Her lips part, but before she can respond, the Coven’s chanting rises to a fever pitch. The thread between you stretches and trembles, the energy reaching a breaking point.

“You must choose,” the lead witch says, her voice cutting through the chaos. “Complete the bond, or sever it forever. There is no more middle ground.”

Agatha’s eyes widen, panic flashing across her face. She looks at you, her composure crumbling, and for the first time, she seems truly vulnerable.

“Don’t let them force this,” she says, her voice trembling. “Not like this.”

The glow of the thread between you pulses, trembling like a fragile lifeline. The Coven’s chanting grows louder, demanding resolution, pushing you both to a precipice. Agatha’s eyes dart between the shimmering connection and your face. You can see the fear in her eyes, the weight of her indecision pressing down like a storm.

“Choose, Agatha Harkness,” the lead witch demands. “Complete the bond, or sever it forever.”

Agatha’s hand hovers over yours, trembling. The vulnerability on her face is something you’ve never seen before, and it twists something deep inside you. For a moment, you think she might do it—reach out and let the bond fully take hold. But then her jaw sets, her gaze hardening.

“No,” she says sharply, yanking her hand back. The thread snaps violently, the energy spiralling outward like a scream. The sudden emptiness is immediate and gut-wrenching, leaving you gasping as if something vital has been ripped away.

Agatha steps back, her face pale, her hands clenched into fists. “I can’t,” she whispers, her voice brittle. “I won’t.”

The lead witch smiles coldly. “So be it.”

The thread between you vanishes, and the road trembles again, this time more violently. The energy shifts, the air growing heavy with the finality of her decision. You feel the hollow space where the bond once was, an ache that settles deep in your chest. It’s unbearable, and when you meet Agatha’s eyes, you see that she feels it too.

Her face twists with something you’ve rarely seen from her: regret.

“Wait,” she breathes, but the Coven’s chanting drowns her out. The blue light around you sharpens, cutting like a blade, and you can feel the road enforcing her choice, solidifying the severance.

“Agatha,” you say, your voice raw, stepping toward her. “Don’t do this. Don’t—”

“I already have,” she interrupts, her voice breaking as she turns away from you. “It’s done.”

But even as she says it, her steps falter. Her hand rises to her chest, where the bond once pulsed with life. Her expression crumples, the emptiness hitting her like a physical blow. She gasps, clutching at the air as if she could pull it back, undo the severance.

The lead witch tilts her head, her voice cutting like a knife. “Feeling the emptiness already, Agatha Harkness? Such is the price of fear.”

Agatha spins back to face them, her mask of confidence shattering completely. “Bring it back,” she says, her voice hoarse. “I’ll do it. I’ll—”

“Impossible,” the lead witch says coolly. “You made your choice.”

“No!” Agatha snaps, desperation lacing her words. She looks at you, her eyes wide and pleading. “I—I didn’t mean it. I can fix it. Just—” She turns back to the Coven. “Just let me fix it.”

The lead witch’s gaze is unforgiving. “The road answers only once. To sever a bond is to sever it forever. That is the law.”

Agatha shakes her head violently. “No. That’s not—no!” Her voice cracks, and for a moment, she looks like she might collapse under the weight of her mistake.

You step forward, your own pain mingling with hers. “There has to be a way,” you say, your voice steady despite the ache in your chest. “You can’t leave it like this.”

The Coven is silent for a long moment, their glowing eyes unreadable. Finally, the lead witch speaks. “There is one way, but it requires both souls to agree. And the cost will not be light.”

Agatha’s gaze snaps to you, her eyes searching yours. For the first time, there’s no deflection, no bravado just raw, unfiltered need. “Please,” she says, her voice barely above a whisper. “Please.”

You take a breath, the pain of the severed bond still fresh and raw. You should walk away. You should let her feel the consequences of her choice. But you can’t. You’ve never been able to. And now hearing her beg? You fear you’d do anything she asked.

“Fine,” you say, stepping forward. “What do we have to do?”

The lead witch smiles faintly, as if this is what she wanted all along. “Rekindling a severed bond requires sacrifice. Magic, power... a piece of the soul itself. Are you willing?”

You don’t hesitate. “Yes.”

Agatha looks at you, her eyes filled with both gratitude and guilt. “You shouldn’t have to do this,” she says softly. “Not after what I—”

“Then don’t make me regret it,” you interrupt, your voice firm.

She swallows hard, nodding. “I won’t.”

The Coven begins chanting again, the air growing thick with magic. The blue light spirals around you and Agatha, pulling you closer together. This time, the bond doesn’t form gently—it crashes into you, fierce and unrelenting, flooding every part of you with her essence. You feel her fear, her regret, her longing—all of it laid bare. And she feels you, your unwavering determination, your pain, your love.

The connection is deeper than it was before, forged not just from desire but from sacrifice. When the light fades, you’re left standing face to face, your souls intertwined in a way that can never be undone.

Agatha exhales shakily, as if the bond settling between you is more weight than she expected. Her gaze flickers over your face, searching for something—maybe forgiveness, maybe reassurance. You give her neither, not yet. She’s made too many mistakes for things to be that simple. But you can’t deny the way the bond thrums, anchoring you to her in a way that’s both exhilarating and terrifying.

The road quakes beneath you again, the energy of the trial still humming in the air. The Coven watches silently, their glowing eyes unreadable, as if they’re waiting for the next move.

Agatha takes a tentative step closer, her voice low. “How does it feel?” she asks, her words almost hesitant. “Having me in your head again.”

You let the question hang for a moment, savouring the way it makes her squirm. “Heavy,” you finally say, your tone sharper than you intended. “But that’s no surprise, is it? You’ve always been a lot to handle.”

Her lips quirk into a faint smirk, the familiar spark of defiance flaring in her eyes. “And yet, here you are. Handling me.”

You roll your eyes, but you don’t move away. The bond hums in agreement, pulling you closer even as you try to keep your distance. “Don’t push your luck, Agatha,” you warn. “This doesn’t mean I’ve forgiven you.”

Her smirk fades, replaced by something quieter, more vulnerable. “I know,” she says softly. “But it’s a start.”

Before you can respond, the lead witch steps forward, her presence as cold and imposing as ever. “The bond is reforged,” she announces, her voice echoing through the space. “But it does not absolve you, Agatha Harkness. This trial is far from over.”

Agatha straightens, her bravado snapping back into place like armour. “Of course it isn’t,” she says, her tone laced with sarcasm. “Wouldn’t want to make things too easy.”

The lead witch doesn’t react to the quip, her gaze sharp and unyielding. “The bond may strengthen you, but it also binds you. Your fates are now intertwined. Should one of you fall, the other will follow.”

You glance at Agatha, and for the first time, you see genuine fear flicker across her face. “What does that mean?” you ask, your voice steady but firm.

“It means,” the lead witch says, “that the bond is both your greatest power and your greatest vulnerability. Use it wisely—or perish together.”

The words hang heavy in the air, and you feel the weight of them settle into your chest. Agatha glances at you, and you can tell she’s thinking the same thing: what have we just done?

“Fine,” Agatha says finally, her voice tight. “What’s next? Another test? Another round of judgment?”

The lead witch’s lips curl into a faint smile, but there’s no warmth in it. “You think this is a game, Harkness. But the road has already given you its answer. The only question now is whether you’re strong enough to face what comes next.”

The ground beneath you shifts again, and you feel the magic of the road pulling you deeper into its grip. Agatha reaches for you instinctively, her hand brushing against yours. The bond flares at the contact, filling you with a rush of her emotions.

Fear. Regret. Determination. And something else, buried deep, that feels almost like hope.

One again the road surges to life around you, swallowing the quiet moment between you and Agatha. The blue glow deepens, swirling with flecks of violet and gold, and the air feels like it’s being pulled apart. You grip her hand tighter, instinctively bracing yourself, and she doesn’t pull away.

The lead witch raises a hand, silencing the murmuring Coven. Her gaze fixes on the two of you like a blade about to strike. “The reforged bond is only the beginning. What lies ahead will test the strength of your connection—and the truth of your intentions.”

Agatha scoffs, though the sound is weaker than usual. “Another vague warning? How original.”

The lead witch’s smile is razor-thin. “The road reveals what is hidden. It will force you to confront the past you thought buried—and the consequences of choices you’ve both made.”

You glance at Agatha, whose jaw tightens. She’s always been so good at hiding what she’s feeling, but the bond makes that impossible for her now, you wonder if she knew that.

Before you can press her, the ground beneath you crumbles. The Coven’s chanting rises into a deafening crescendo as the two of you are plunged into a swirling abyss of light and shadow. Xx

When the world solidifies again, you’re standing in a dimly lit forest. The air is heavy with the scent of earth and moss, and the moon hangs low in the sky, casting everything in an eerie silver light. The road is gone, as is the Coven. It’s just you and Agatha now.

You turn to her, your heart still racing. “Where are we?”

Agatha looks around, her expression unreadable. “This… this is Salem,” she says quietly. “But not the Salem we knew. It’s different.”

The forest feels alive, the trees whispering secrets you can’t quite make out. The bond hums in your chest, tugging at something deeper, and you know without needing to ask: this place isn’t real. It’s a manifestation. A memory.

“Why would the road bring us here?” you ask, though the answer is already forming in the back of your mind.

Agatha’s lips press into a thin line. “Because it’s cruel,” she mutters. “And it knows where to hurt.”

A sound echoes through the forest—laughter, high and clear, cutting through the silence like a blade. Your stomach twists as you recognise it.

It’s her.

Your younger self steps into the clearing, a vision pulled straight from your memories. She’s vibrant, her eyes bright with hope, her laughter filling the air. And beside her, laughing just as freely, is Agatha.

The sight punches the air from your lungs. You can feel the echoes of that time through the bond—the joy, the connection, the longing that neither of you dared to name.

Agatha stares at the scene, her face pale. “Why are they showing us this?” she whispers.

“You know why,” you say, your voice low. “Because this is where it all started.”

The memory shifts, darkening at the edges. The laughter fades, replaced by tense whispers. The younger version of you steps closer to Agatha, her expression vulnerable, open.

“I don’t want to run,” your younger self says, her voice trembling. “I want to stay. I want to bond with you, Agatha. I—”

“Stop,” the real Agatha mutters, her voice tight.

But the memory plays on. Younger Agatha’s face twists, fear flashing in her eyes. She steps back, shaking her head. “No,” she says, her voice sharp and final. “We can’t. I won’t.”

“Why?” your younger self pleads.

“Because you deserve better than me!” Memory Agatha snaps, her voice cracking, before you hear her internal voice, one that’s truly broken and screaming out in fear “Because I’ll ruin you. Don’t you see that? I ruin everything I touch.”

The words hit like a physical blow, and you see the real Agatha flinch beside you. The memory fades, leaving the clearing silent once more.

You turn to her, your chest tight with emotion. “That’s why you left?” you ask, your voice raw. “Because you thought you’d ruin me?”

Agatha doesn’t meet your eyes. “It doesn’t matter,” she says quietly. “I did ruin you, didn’t I? I left, and you—”

“Don’t,” you interrupt, your voice sharper than you intended. “Don’t turn this into a pity party, Agatha. You don’t get to decide what I deserved. That was my choice to make.”

Her head snaps up, her eyes flashing with something between anger and pain. “And look where your choice got us,” she spits. “Centuries apart, and now we’re tied together because of this damned road. Is that what you wanted? To be stuck with me forever?”

The bond flares at her words, the tension between you sparking like a live wire. You take a step closer, your voice steady but furious. “What I wanted,” you say, “was for you to trust me. To trust that we could’ve been something more. But you ran because you were too scared to face that.”

Agatha glares at you, but her shoulders sag, the fight draining out of her. “You think I don’t regret it?” she says, her voice breaking. “I’ve regretted it every single day. But I thought... I thought it was better this way. Safer. For both of us.”

“Safer?” you echo bitterly. “Do I look like someone who needed to be saved from you?”

The air between you crackles with magic, the bond pulling tighter as your emotions clash and collide. You can feel her guilt, her longing, her fear—and beneath it all, her love. It’s raw and messy and imperfect, but it’s there, undeniable.

You’re about to say something before the forest grows darker, shadows stretching long and deep as the memory shifts again. You brace yourself, but nothing could prepare you for what the road dredges up next.

The scene crystallises around you: a small, dimly lit room with a single cracked mirror leaning against the wall. The air feels stifling, heavy with pain and desperation. It’s familiar—achingly so. This is where you went the night after Agatha left.

Agatha stands frozen beside you, her breath catching as she takes in the sight of you from centuries ago. Your younger self sits hunched on the floor, trembling, clutching a flickering ball of magic in your hands. The light glows faintly pink, pulsing in time with your heartbeat, but it’s unstable, wavering with every shaky breath you take.

“No,” Agatha whispers, stepping toward the memory as if she can change it. “No, no, no—what are you doing?”

But the memory unfolds without mercy.

Your younger self mutters under her breath, an incantation so jagged and broken it sounds like a dirge. The magic in your hands sparks violently, surging outward before collapsing back in on itself.

“Take it away,” your memory-self says, her voice cracking. “Take it all away. I don’t want it anymore.”

You remember the feeling all too well—the suffocating pain, the emptiness that threatened to swallow you whole. The bond you’d started to forge with Agatha had been severed, but not cleanly. It had left jagged edges, a wound that pulsed with every beat of your heart. You’d thought if you could rid yourself of your magic, you’d be free of her—free of the ache she left behind.

“Stop,” Agatha says aloud, her voice trembling. She reaches for the image of you, but her hand passes through it like smoke. She turns to you, her eyes wide and desperate. “Why didn’t you tell me? Why didn’t you—”

“Because you weren’t there,”, the hurt in your voice cutting through the air like a blade. “You left, Agatha. I was alone.”

The younger you falters, tears streaming down her face. “I can’t do this,” she sobs, gripping the magic tighter. “I can’t feel her anymore. I can’t—”

The incantation grows louder, your magic swirling around you like a storm. It’s unstable, laced with anger and grief, threatening to implode. And for a moment, it feels like it will work—like you’ll succeed in ripping away the part of you that still clings to her.

But the spell breaks, shattering like glass, and the magic snaps back into you with a force that knocks your younger self to the ground. You cry out, curling into yourself as the bond—though faint and fractured—reasserts itself. It’s agony, the connection too stubborn to let go completely, no matter how much you tried to destroy it.

The memory fades, leaving the clearing eerily silent. Agatha stands rooted in place, her face pale and stricken. You can feel the weight of her guilt through the bond, heavier than ever, pressing into you like a physical thing.

“You tried to... take your magic away?” she asks, her voice barely above a whisper. “Because of me?”

“Yes,” you say, your tone flat. “And I failed. Just like I failed to let you go.”

Her lips part, but no words come out. She looks at you like she’s seeing you for the first time, the full scope of what she did to you finally crashing down on her. “I didn’t know,” she says weakly. “I didn’t—”

“Of course you didn’t,” you cut her off. “You ran, Agatha. You made your choice, and you didn’t look back.”

Her shoulders slump, her walls crumbling entirely. “I thought I was protecting you,” she says, her voice trembling. “I thought... if I stayed, I’d only hurt you more.”

“Well, congratulations,” you say bitterly. “You hurt me anyway.”

The bond flares between you, sharp and raw with the weight of her regret and your lingering anger. Agatha flinches, her hand rising to her chest as if she can feel the ache directly.

“I was a coward,” she admits, her voice breaking. “I was so afraid of what the bond meant—what it would do to me. To us. I thought if I left, it would be easier for both of us.” She meets your eyes, and for once, there’s no deflection, no sarcasm. Just honesty. “I didn’t know it would be worse.”

You take a shaky breath, the pain of the memory still fresh. “I didn’t want it to hurt anymore,” you say quietly. “But it never stopped. Not for centuries.”

Agatha steps closer, her hand hovering near yours. “I don’t know how to make it right,” she says, her voice soft and unsteady. “But if you’ll let me, I’ll try. I’ll spend the rest of eternity trying.”

You study her face, the vulnerability in her expression. The bond hums between you, not as sharp as before, but still raw and unsteady. You don’t trust her—not completely. But for the first time in centuries, you feel something else beneath the anger: the faintest flicker of hope.

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep,” you say, your voice softer than before.

Agatha’s lips quirk into a faint, rueful smile. “I won’t,” she says. “Not this time.”

You take a deep breath, and you nod as you both start to walk, looking away from her, your eyes taking in the trees around you both, the silence that is only broken by crickets and your feet on fallen leaves every now and again.

The mist clings to you both like a second skin as the silence stretches, weighted and tense. The bond hums faintly between you, but there’s a strange hollowness to it, a missing note that makes your chest ache. It takes you a while to place it, but the realisation creeps up on you slowly, like a shadow in the corner of your mind.

You glance at Agatha. She’s walking beside you, her shoulders squared in that way that screams she’s unbreakable a lie she’s always told herself. But there’s something missing. Something that isn’t just her sharp-edged confidence.

You stop walking. “Agatha,” you say, your voice cautious but firm. “Your magic.”

She freezes, her back going rigid. Slowly, she turns to face you, her expression carefully neutral, but the bond betrays her. You feel her shame and frustration ripple through it, sharp and unsteady.

“What about it?” she asks, her voice brittle.

“It’s not there,” you say, your tone softer now. “Not the way it used to be. What happened to it?”

She looks away, her jaw clenching. “It’s not important.”

“It is to me,” you counter, stepping closer. “You’ve been hiding this from me, Agatha. Why? What happened?”

Her silence stretches too long, and for a moment, you think she won’t answer. Then, finally, she exhales sharply, her eyes dark with something raw and vulnerable.

“Wanda happened,” she says bitterly. “Westview, she stripped me of everything. My magic, my power—she left me with nothing but a body and a few clever words.”

Your heart stutters. “She took everything?”

“Yes,” Agatha snaps, her voice laced with frustration. “I can’t even light a damn candle without the bond. Do you have any idea how humiliating it is to be this?” She gestures at herself angrily. “This hollow shell of what I used to be?”

Her words hang between you, her anger bleeding into the bond. But underneath it, you feel the deeper truth: the helplessness, the fear, the grief of losing something so integral to who she is.

“Agatha,” you start, but she cuts you off, her voice sharp and bitter.

“Don’t,” she says. “Don’t give me some speech about how I’m more than my magic or how I’ll be fine. You don’t understand what it’s like—how empty it feels.”

Your chest tightens, the weight of her pain pressing against you through the bond. And suddenly, you do understand. The absence of her magic isn’t just a loss of power—it’s a loss of self, a wound that’s been festering since Westview.

“I wasn’t going to say that,” you say quietly. “But you’re right. I don’t understand what it’s like to lose magic. I don’t understand how it feels for you. But I can feel it, Agatha. Through the bond. And it hurts.”

Her eyes snap to yours, her expression faltering.

“I feel the emptiness, the hollowness,” you continue. “And I don’t want to feel it anymore. I don’t want you to feel it anymore.”

Her laugh is short and bitter. “Well, unless you’re planning on storming Westview I don’t see what you can do about it.”

You hesitate, the reckless idea forming in your mind. The bond between you hums faintly, and you realise there might be a way to fix this—or at least try.

“I can’t get Wanda to undo it,” you say slowly. “But I can give you something else. My magic.”

Agatha freezes, her expression unreadable. “What?”

“You heard me,” you say. “I can share my magic with you. Just enough to—”

“No,” she says sharply, taking a step back. “Absolutely not. That’s reckless and stupid, even for you.”

“You need magic to be whole again, Agatha,” you argue. “And we have the bond. It’s not just a connection—it’s a tether. If anyone can do this, it’s us.”

“You don’t know that,” she snaps, her voice trembling. “You could hurt yourself. Or me. Or worse, you could sever the bond completely. Have you thought about that?”

“I have,” you say, your voice steady. “And after realising what you’re feeling through our bond I’m willing to take that risk.”

Her anger falters, replaced by something softer—something closer to fear. “Why?” she asks, her voice quieter now. “Why would you do that for me?”

You step closer, your gaze locking with hers. “Because I feel you, Agatha. I’ve felt you for centuries, even when I didn’t want to. And I can’t stand feeling you like this anymore. I can’t stand seeing you like this.”

Her eyes shine with unshed tears, and for a moment, she looks like she might argue again. But then she nods, her hands trembling at her sides.

“Fine,” she whispers. “But if this goes wrong we’re both dead…”

“It won’t,” you say firmly. “Trust me.”

You reach for her hand, your fingers brushing hers lightly. The bond flares at the contact, and Agatha inhales sharply, her magic—or what’s left of it—stirring faintly in response.

You close your eyes, focusing on the bond and the magic coursing through you. You channel it carefully, letting it flow toward her like a steady stream. It’s not painless—the act feels like giving away pieces of yourself, leaving raw edges behind. But through the bond, you feel her presence grow stronger, her magic flickering to life like an ember reignited.

Agatha gasps softly, her grip on your hand tightening as the magic flows between you. When you finally stop, your knees feel weak, and the bond hums with a new warmth—a sense of balance that wasn’t there before.

You open your eyes to find her staring at you, her expression unreadable.

“How do you feel?” you ask, your voice barely above a whisper.

She hesitates, then says, “Stronger.”

A faint smile tugs at her lips, and before you can react, she steps closer, her cheek brushing against yours. The touch is soft, fleeting, but it sends a warmth through the bond that makes your breath catch. Her hand cups the back of your head and her other hand holds your lower back.

“Thank you,” she whispers, her voice thick with emotion.

You wrap your arms around her, exhaustion tugging at you. “Don’t make me regret it.”

She pulls back just enough to meet your eyes, her gaze steady. “I won’t.”

[lavandulawrites]

I heard you wanted asks… ._.

Dan Heng being weird and stalkery and such… maybe even grabbing darling with his tail if they were to get too close to learning about his habits…

Coiling Love

Yandere Dan Heng x reader

Yandere Dan Heng is such a interesting concept I wish to dive into further<3 (Let me know if anyone wanna be apart of my taglist).

Masterlist

Warnings: obsession, stalking, Dan Heng takes pictures of reader without reader knowing, stealing of personal belongings, manipulation, possessiveness, Dan Heng lets his draconic instincts take control, Dan Heng is creepy (he is only in love your honour)

Word count: 884

You were a fascinating human being. You were kind and beautiful and always put others first. Dan Heng had never been one for relationships, he never had the time nor had he found the right person. That doesn’t mean that he didn’t fantasies about his weeding.

You made him think that maybe love was possible for him too.

His feelings was so foreign. He decided he should follow you so he could keep a close eye on you. Your innocent nature reminded him of a helpless bunny and that triggered something deep within his very soul. His blue eyes bored into your form as you went about your daily life. When it was time for the Nameless to depart from your planet he managed to persuade you to join them. Dan Heng promised you a life of adventure and experience you would never forget. You were easy to convince.

Your bedroom was right besides the Archive which was to Dan Heng’s joy. He often found himself resting his head against the cool wall that separated your rooms. He wondered what you were doing and if maybe, just maybe you were thinking about him too. His dreams consisted of you and only you. His good dreams were filled with you and your beautiful laughter and his nightmares were filled of your pained screams and your petrified eyes.

He longed for your touch and every time your hands brushed against each others when you were preparing breakfast in the eating car, he found his heart bursting out of his chest. His face however remained as stoic as ever before, except for the little smile that tugged on his lips. When he returned to his room after your hand has brushed against him in an attempt at reaching the butter, he kissed the skin on the back of his hand with closed hands. Oh, how he wished it was your hand instead.

The dark haired man asked March if she could teach him how to take good pictures with a camera which she happy agreed to. With his camera in his hand he snapped pictures of you without your knowledge. He had bought a camera with smith buttons aka it didn’t make any sound when taking pictures.

He hid the many pictures he had taken underneath his bed and other places he knew no one would ever find them.

He always accompanied you on outings and always remained close by. If he noticed someone who was too close to you, he would step in. Who would dare defy the man who had just saved their planet?

It was when you had returned to the Express after a mission that you stumbled upon the open door to his room. You normally didn’t stick your nose in others business, but something urged you to go inside.

When you stepped inside the room littered with various screens and blue screened floors your eye caught a book sticking out from underneath the brown haired man’s bed. It was as if someone had tried to hide it, but were in a hurry.

You crutched beside the bed as you lifted the book up carefully. The cover was rather plain and sea green in colour. It had a ringed spine of silver. You opened it carefully, curious of its contents.

What met you were pages filled with entries of your daily routines, ranging from what you eat to how many times you blinked when you watched a movie with March and Stelle.

Your heart hammered against your ribs as you flipped through the pages. He had taken multiple photos of both you and your belongings. He had even gotten his hands on pictures of your university graduation. Your eyes feel to his pillow where you could see the sleeve of the purple shirt that you had been looking for. “What…”

A pair of arms wrapped around your form as hot breath canned against your neck. “You weren’t supposed to see that…” his voice gentle.

“Dan Heng what is this…?” your voice shaking as your eyes raked between the shirt and the book that were still in your hand.

“Just my archive of you. Nothing to worry about” he chuckled slightly as if trying to lighten the situation.

Something strong and chilly wrapped around your midriff in a tight embrace. You looked down and was met with the sight of a scaly tail.

“It’s normal for us Vidyadhara to keep track of our beloved. I suppose it’s time I finally make my feelings for you known” he used his hand to gently turn your head so you could see his face. His handsome features soft as he looked at you with love you only thought existed in fairytales.

“I love you [Name] and I have for a long time” he smiled. Long fingers stroked your cheek gently.

“And I intend to spend the eternity with you. Us Vidyadhara have a strong sense of protection, so I promise you that I will never let you go. I know this is sudden, but I promise I will protect you and make you happy” his cerulean eyes glittered with love and devotion.

Dan Heng had never been the one to lie, and you knew for certain he meant every word he said. You were his for eternity.

[em-writes-stuff-sometimes]

OMG no way are you going to write an AU of Daemon's visions at Harrenhal??? I know its AAAAAGES away from where you are in the current story but desperate hos wanna kno ;)

Ask, and ye shall receive!

until i bleed myself dry

Note: This is technically using the characters/characterisation I have established in my terms of endearment series, but really you only need to know that the Reader is Rhaenyra's younger sister and that, instead of marrying Laena, he spent a decade ho-ing it up in Pentos before coming home and getting dazzled by his niece before deciding to wife dat gurl.

WARNING: Please note this is dark, dark stuff. Discretion is advised. Please use your judgement wisely before engaging.

Triggers: graphic depictions of violence, violence against children, character d*ath, MAJOR hallucinations, sexual scenes including visibly underaged character/s.

There is something fucking wrong with this place.

Daemon feels like a skittish child as he withdraws to his chambers, covers drawn up to his neck like the fabric will keep away the very worst of midnight evils. He does not know if the steady drip, drip, drip he hears is in his head or if the stone ceiling is cracked enough to let through the rain. Knowing Harrenhal, he would hardly be surprised by the latter. Still, the noise only serves to speed the racing of his thoughts, turning them fearful as he has not felt since the weakness of his youth.

In this moment, he curses his own doings. If he had stayed his hand—if he had held his tongue—the boy would not be dead, and mayhaps you would not be so wroth with him. He would not be alone in this shithole of a keep a world away, chilled to the bone and miserable as he thinks of you warm and safe in your bed with the children. Without him.

When he finally falls asleep, he dreams.

He knows it is a dream, for he can hear your humming. Soft, sweet, the kind of tune you sing to Daeryx after one of his tantrums. His head lifts from the pillow and he finds himself back in your shared rooms on Dragonstone, eyes finding you in the chair by the hearth. Your hair, unbound, shines like molten amber in the firelight, swaying softly as you tend to business that is concealed from his gaze. Enthralled, he rises, making his way to you.

Drip, drip, drip.

He pauses. That sound… it doesn’t belong here. He calls your name. You ignore him. He moves closer, tentative.

“Come look,” you murmur suddenly, startling him. “Come, kepus.”

His feet move unbidden, out of his control.

Bile pools at the back of his throat, gut curdling at the sight of the boy—the boy—cradled in your lap. You and he are wet with blood, and it drip, drip, drips to the floor, echoing eerily. His eyes are open, face petrified, and Daemon realises that the dark at his neck is not in fact a shadow but a gaping wound, made jagged by the weapon used.

You look up at him, skin shining with sweat and expression exultant. “Look at him, kepus. Look at what you made.”

Memory flashes—he brings his son back down to rest beside his daughter on your lap, two moonshine miracles side by side. “Look at them, kepus,” you whisper, spellbound. “Look at what we made”—and his lungs constrict. You make to lift the child up, but the movement jostles his head off its perch, and it rolls to the ground to stop by his feet. He cannot move. He is frozen, horrified.

You smile, tucking the headless corpse under your chin. Gore pulses against your throat as your chin settles to the yawning maw of the child’s open neck. You rock in your seat, a faint squelch each time your shifting weight disturbs the sodden cushion beneath you.

“I love him,” you whisper, lips pressing to where flesh meets innards. Your mouth comes away red. “I love him so much.”

Daemon awakens with a yell. He swallows once, twice, and then—

He leans over the side of the bed, retching violently. When it is over, he curls up on his side, shaking, staring at his hands. They are wet with blood.

It does not take long for terror to settle in his bones like a longtime companion. It follows him each day, in every waking moment, manifesting in strange visions that he knows—he knows—must be untrue, cannot possibly be real, and yet… And yet. There is a sort of verity in them.

Dark Sister feels like a leaden weight at his hip as he stalks the keep, a reminder of his earlier encounter with Rhaenyra. Only she was not the Rhaenyra he knows, and instead a strange sort of blend of child-queen, the face of the girl peering out accusingly from under her father’s too-large crown, exclaiming all manner of hurt as she stepped from the Iron Throne upon which she perched.

“You put me on that throne. And you love me, and you hate me for it. You created me, Daemon. Yet you are now set on destroying me. All because your brother loved me more than he did you.”

And, without warning, he had taken his blade up in arms and struck off her head, a puppet on strings pulled by another. As her body fell, it morphed into the boy again. Jaehaerys. The child he had murdered. He heard your humming even while Simon Strong’s voice filtered through his unconscious mind, alerting him of the raven that just arrived.

The healer woman’s concoctions have helped little. He still wakes to strange noises, still finds himself stalking after his monstrous one-eyed nephew down the halls, only to find that it is himself he is pursuing. He hears the words you yelled at him in that last great quarrel— “get away, leave before you turn on us and murder us like you murdered that boy”—interspersed with the sound of your screams, and perhaps they are the screams you let out when birthing his children, or perhaps they are screams of a different kind, a version of himself making good on the implication of your words, steel in hand and pursuing his love, his life, his blood—

These figments blur with reality to the point that he becomes unsure of what is before him and what exists only in his head to haunt him. He comes to dread the resting hours, only to find their horrors bleeding into daylight. Whatever strange power has come to roost in his mind serves only to bring him torment.

Perhaps this is why he is not immediately suspicious when he comes face-to-face with you once more.

You stand by the window, the dim light filtering weakly over your bare form. Your back is to him, curls spilling to brush the tops of your buttocks. Their gentle sway—the barest kiss to your skin—is tantalising, and his mouth dries even as he watches your neck crane, sly smile tossed back over your shoulder at him.

“Daemon,” you beckon. Like a cuntstruck fool, he is helpless to resist the call.

His hands settle to the familiar divots of your waist, up and up and up to cup the fullness of your tits. You lean into him, a quiet huff of pleasure escaping as his fingers squeeze and his lips fall unbidden to the slope of your jaw. He inhales deeply, stirred even now by the simplicity of your scent, a throbbing line straight to his groin. You turn in his hold, nose nuzzling against his chin.

“You were right,” you say, eyes shining. “You were always right.”

He is under some enchantment, surely, for he is incapable of coherent speech. All he can do is feel the satisfaction heat his veins, allow it to tug at the corner of his mouth. I knew it, he thinks. I knew her will would bend eventually.

You speak still, even as he backs you toward the bed. “Papa was weak. Rhaenyra is weak. Only you are the true blood of the dragon.”

You shift backward onto the mattress, legs parting invitingly. The split of you opens, revealing flushed folds and the teasing glimmer of want, shining slick for his hungered gaze.

“Fearless”—your hand trails down your belly, fingers tracing around your pearl—“brave”—you venture lower, pressing teasingly at your cunt, your lip caught between your teeth—“strong.”

Daemon drops to his knees before you, tongue licking through the spill and catching on your finger. He bullies it out of the way, arms locking around your thighs as he gluts himself on the sweet tang of you, senses clouding and narrowing to a singular point of existence. You grip his hair, the arches of your feet digging against his back.

“It is not my place to question you,” you breathe, twisting and writhing with his ministrations. He watches your face, enraptured by the toss of your head and the shape of your lips as they form moan after moan. Your release is quick, a final sobbing yelp followed by a flood of slick warmth. When your eyes reopen, they are blazing with reverence. Reverence for him. Your knees flex up, your lower half folded almost to your chest. Your cunt contracts, fluttering like the wings of a butterfly. “I live to serve you, my king.”

His head feels heavy as he rises just barely to crawl over you. He frowns. When he lifts his hand to extricate yours from his hair, he finds not flesh, but cool metal. A crown.

“My king,” you coo below him.

Your surroundings are changed. It is not the meagre offerings of Harrenhal that frame you now, but the sumptuous trimmings of the king’s chambers in the Red Keep, only brighter, more lavish than they ever have been. Jewels sparkle at your throat, in your hair, at your wrists. The sheets are molten gold against your silver-pale, and you wind your hips up at him provocatively, catching his cockhead against your opening.

“You belong on the throne, husband,” you say, fist closing around his shaft and pumping once, twice. You lead him back to the core of you, nudging him just inside. “Uncle. My love. And I belong at your side—at your feet—under your body.”

“My queen,” he gasps, driving forward with a grunt, and oh, he has missed you, missed this, missed the clutch of your walls like a mother’s embrace and the sound of your breathy cries as he plunges deep. Plunges home.

“My king,” you call out, rising into him with unrestrained abandon, precious gems clinking frantically with each fevered hitch of his hips against yours. “My lord. My master. I was made for you.”

“Yes…”

“Chain me to this bed, my king.” Your spine arches toward him, hands grabbing for his own and leading them above your head. He takes this for the encouragement it is, pinning your wrists to the pillow and rutting harder. You shout, elbows flexing to no avail. “Give to me my purpose. Give me your heirs.”

He is helpless to stop the noises escaping his mouth, feral and uninhibited, fucking with near painful intent. You take it all, curving yourself deeper, holding yourself more open so that he may lay claim to his conquest. As only a king can.

“And when I have birthed one,” you say, though now it is more a prolonged keening sound, “give me another. Never stop. Oh! Make me—make me take it—”

He does not know if he is imagining it or if it is happening before his eyes, but he can see it: ruling the Seven Kingdoms, sitting the Iron Throne the way his brother never could, striding down the halls of the keep as the commons bow and scrape to their sovereign, bursting into his chambers after small council to find his queen, to find you where you always are, naked in his bed and belly round and leaking milky white between your thighs, for it is his kingly law that the only part you play here is this, waiting for him to find you and fuck you and fill you and keep you, his little niecewifequeenpet—

He snarls, pulsing and burning. You squeal as he pushes past onslaught and straight to violence, bodies colliding so forcefully that his bones ache and his brain feels like jelly wobbling in his skull. What leaves his mouth can only be bestial in nature now. “I’ll make you—”

“Yes, make me take it until I cannot. Until my cunt is ruined by you.” He feels his end rushing up with every word you wail, his joints locking and grinding and gut roiling with the anticipation of it. “Until my womb is destroyed. Until I bleed myself dry, my king. Only for you.”

“Wha—”

The horror of it escapes him, for it is too late: the release crashes on him like a tidal wave, shoving him below its surface and imprisoning him in its current. He makes a noise like a wounded boar, chasing through the high despite the alarm in his mind, so at odds with the soaring rhythm in his loins.

You laugh, tilting welcomingly to receive him. “Make me bleed, my king. Make me bleed like my mother.”

It is enough to chill the heat in his blood to ice, destroying any semblance of enjoyment. But he cannot stop the unsteady eking out of what remains of his peak. He tries, but he cannot stop.

“No,” he says, a contradiction to the enthusiasm of his flesh prison. “No, no, I cannot. No—”

“What do you mean?” you ask, a strange quality to it. A duality. It crystallises into something comprehensible with every word that comes from your lips. All at once, it is not your voice he hears, but something much higher, younger, blending and overlapping with the cadence he recognises. “You already have.”

He looks down as he makes his final groaning thrusts, only to feel his stomach drop through the floor. Your thighs are soaked in blood, his cock sluicing a path through it all the while. All that flesh covered in red, and he glances up, only to see that you are gone, you are replaced by someone so small, so frightfully small, and he realises you are not replaced, it is you, but it is a you he has not seen for well over ten years, eyes wide and frightened and gleaming like game stuck through by an arrow and taking its final breath.

Daemon rears back, but it is too late. You begin to cry. A dark patch spreads out from underneath your broken body, from where he had torn your fragile opening apart. What have I done? he thinks.

“It hurts, kepus,” you say. “It hurts.”

“I’m sorry,” he chokes out, fixed to stillness by revulsion. “I’m sorry. I never meant to—”

“But you did,” you insist, childish pout despite your obvious agony.

Your hands reach out, and he leans away, too horrified to touch you—and he doesn’t know if it is you or he that he is more afraid of in this moment—but you are not searching through the air for him, no. Instead, a bundled weight is settled in them, and you bring it into the crook of your arms, gripping it as though it is the most precious of objects. You smooth the fabric from the top of it to reveal a tiny head of silver hair. The babe gurgles and roots at your flat chest, absurd and awful.

“This is what you wanted,” you say, eyes filled with betrayal. “Am I going to die now, kepus?”

Your Grace…

He shakes his head, but he is no fool. You are too little to withstand the sheer volume of blood you have lost if the bedding is anything to go by. He feels it stain his legs. He feels it drying on his cock.

“Your Grace?”

“I will, though. I’m too young. You’ve killed me.” The babe begins to suckle, and you cry harder. Your body isn’t built for this task, not yet, not like this. He wants to protest, to tell you that this is not his work, cannot be, for he has and would never do something so foul, so wholly inhuman, that the you he has gotten with child has only ever been a woman grown, but it is like you know his thoughts for you scoff and say, “You’re lying to yourself. I was always too young. You just refused to see it.”

He stares down at you, immobile, unable to even think. The metallic scent of your life leaving you fills the air, floods his nostrils with stinging heat.

“… Your Grace?”

Daemon jolts, blinking. Ser Simon Strong looks back at him. “Is the duck not to your liking, Your Grace?”

All at once, you are gone. The king’s chambers are gone. He is not even within his dank chambers at Harrenhal. Instead, he sits at the table in what passes for the dining hall here, a plate full of food steaming before him. The smell makes him ill.

“There’s also goose, if you’d prefer…”

He swallows, trying to ground himself in the present. Voices waft all around him, but he finds it difficult to pay attention.

“I’m not hungry,” he says shortly. It sounds stronger than he feels.

A pause, and then—

Simon clears his throat, turning to his companions. “I was saying, given the rather dire news…”

Daemon tries to concentrate. He does. He knows the others are speaking of matters of utmost importance. Of  Rook’s Rest, of his nephew, of the war. But his mind can only turn over his encounter—his vision? His nightmare? Or is it merely truth finally unveiled to unworthy eyes?—with you, the last of your words haunting him near to madness.

“I was always too young. You just refused to see it.”

He has grown restless here, revolving between the frustration of securing an army from those who see naught in him but the very worst and the torment of these terrible visions that seek him out at their pleasure, heedless of his duty or desire. Tedium or terror—when he is entrenched in one, he wishes for the other, and there is always a sick sort of irony in the granting of said wishes. In truth, he is able enough to tolerate the resistance of these riverlanders, insulting as it is. The phantasms that pursue him have almost become too much to bear.

What is worse? The accusations from the mouth of a juvenile Rhaenyra, full of admonishments for the way he’d so thoroughly undermined her claim before she ever got the right to exercise it? The condemnations from Viserys, a retracing of steps trod so long ago, brought to life once more and forcing Daemon to relive the very worst of his brother? The boy’s laughter darting through the stone halls, an ominous prelude to the sickening sound of steel sawing through skin and the rolling of his head, landing always at the feet of the one responsible for his fate?

They are all bad enough as they are, but for the simple fact that they do not surprise him. Monster, they call him, and he wears the name well. In most all aspects, he is a monster. But never has he thought himself monstrous to you.

He has come to despise the sight of you here, sometimes docile and worshipful, sometimes angered and raving. Sometimes you appear as a siren come to lure him to iniquity, and like a fool he always falls into the trap. Other times, you are battered, caged, a shell of yourself. No matter how it begins, the end is always the same: bloodied, beaten, fading from the world, and it is always his hands he finds the cause of it in. A new reminder every time of all the ways he has thought of taking you, owning you, keeping you. Always, he thinks to save you—to protect you. Always, he destroys you.

Just as he thinks himself finally driven to the edge of all reason, the Rivers woman beckons him to the godswood.

“When you came here,” she says, “you were a closed fist. You wished to bend the world to your will. But you’ve discovered, I think, that… this world will not be governed. There are omens here for those who seek them.”

She pauses. The air seems to whisper, to creak in the dark. Daemon suppresses the urge to shiver. Her eyes move to him, an odd little quirk to her mouth. Amusement, he thinks. Or pity.

“You do not scoff?” she asks.

How can he, after all he has seen here? He has been brought to the very edge of sanity by these omens. What irony, it is, after the great complaints he has made of superstition in past weeks (and months, and years).

“I’m no longer inclined to,” is his short reply.

She laughs. “I’m pleased to hear it.”

She stops before the heart tree and turns to him, expression solemn.

“Do you wish, then, to learn what is given to you?” The answer must lie in his face, for he cannot do anything but stare, silent, tense. “All your life, you have sought to command your own fate”—she takes his hand—“but today, you are ready.”

Gentle pressure at his wrist, and something in him knows to move past her, to take those final few steps so that he is close enough to make out the details of the face carved into the wood. His arm raises by itself, acting on its own power, or perhaps some higher power, his fingers brushing bark and the hot pulse of… blood? But he has no time to truly question it for—

He is flying—

No—

He is a raven, staring at the face of a pale-haired man with a wine-dark stain on his face and he flies into the forest, towards an army, only there is something wrong with the soldiers, they are blue and their eyes glow ice-cold and their breath is frosted with death and their bodies carry the look of corpses stood upright once more—

And then the dragons are dead, all of them, the ground wet not with water but with blood and he walks through it, falls straight into the ground and he is drowning, steel plate armour dragging him down into the depths and he looks up at the sky—

A red comet bursts through the air, hot like fire, and he sees eggs embroiled in flame, a girl sat in ash cradling the bodies of three newly-hatched dragons, a whisper of a memory on the air, “we are the only ones able to bring the fire to life… It is the secret”—

And he is before the Iron Throne, suddenly silent.

Rhaenyra stands before the seat. Viserys’s crown is in his hands. She moves toward him, down the stairs of the throne. He hears her speak.

“From my blood…”

But she does not finish. A roaring conflagration engulfs her and she screams, twisting and warping before him, burning, only not, because you step from the flames, unburnt, voice mingling with that of your sister’s, a haunting echo.

“… come the Prince Who Was Promised…”

You are before him, taking the crown from his grasp and retracing the steps your sister took, and then you are stepping over a charred body, Rhaenyra, oh gods, and ascending the steps. You sit. You lift the crown. You place it on your head.

“… and his shall be the song of ice and fire.”

He is on his knees now, right on that final step at your feet. He feels the warmth of you as you bend forward, your palm caressing his jaw. You look otherworldly in the shadow, backlit silver and gold and wearing a king’s accoutrements far better than any of your predecessors.

“You know what must happen now, Uncle,” you say gently, kindly. “You know what you must do.”

He bows his head to kiss your ring—the seal of the king—no, the queen—and then wind is whistling in his ears, chilling him to the bone and spraying his hair about wildly, so much so that he can barely hear the words yelled at him by the boy sitting astride Vhagar.

“You have lived too long, nuncle.”

—and he wrenches away, panting, body collapsing before the heart tree like a puppet with its strings cut. The world comes back to him in fragments: the scent of dirt and woodlands, the sharp sting of cold, the ache in his muscles that has since settled like sludge at the bottom of a river, ever-present and persisting. Finally, finally, he withdraws with hands washed clean, free of his many sins.

At last, he has come to the crux of it. At last, he understands.

He sits at the base of the tree, stunned and overcome, as faint words slither on the breeze, a final knell from the liminal space of prophecy. Your name. A cheer.

“Long live the queen! Long live the queen!”

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[ba9go]

not your cookie-cutter love story

bakugou katsuki x reader

bakugou katsuki overhears you whining about your cookie craving. he bakes you cookies. fluff and confessions!! (sfw)

part 3/3 of the cookie craving collection (completed)

more cookies for you? part 1 (sfw) 🍪 part 2 (sfw)

you can't remember the last time you ate a cookie, but you were craving cookies, and you just had to make sure everybody in the common room knew that you were craving cookies too.

"coooooooooookieeeee," you groaned for what must've been the umpteenth time, sinking further into the sofa. you sat between kirishima and mina, and they both winced.

"like... the chocolate chip kind?" kirishima asks, scratching the side of his head. "why don't you ask sato? i'm sure he—"

"already did," mina sighs, shaking her head. "didn't quite hit the spot, did it, baby?"

you shook your head with a pout. you flop your head onto mina's shoulder, and she pats your head.

kirishima blinks, perplexed, but he nods anyway. he hums, then gets into The Thinker pose, hand under his chin and brows furrowed. he thinks, ponders, then—

"have you tried bakugou?"

mina's head turns to look at you so fast you're worried she snapped her damn neck off, but the twinkling stars in her eyes and the teasing lilt in her voice has you sighing (and not in worry).

"oh. em. GEE!!! bakugou??? that's GENIUS, kiri, you're a GENIUS!!! you gotta do it, y/n, c'mon, this is your chance to—"

you slap a hand over mina's mouth. you smile at sweet, innocent kirishima, who looks both startled and petrified by you.

"my chance to satisfy my cookie craving! mina's right, you're a genius, kiri! thank you!" you continue smiling, and kirishima still looks petrified. mina's talking against your hand, saying something, actually maybe she's screaming a little?

kirishima laughs nervously and makes a mental note to not mess with you when you're craving cookies.

and that's how you ended up in front of bakugou's door later that evening.

"b- bakugou?" you call nervously.

knock knock.

it was 7:42pm, and you were worried. everyone knew that bakugou went to bed early, and you'd be lucky if bakugou didn't blast your face off on sight. honestly, getting bakugou to open the door is one thing, but how the fuck is he going to take your stupid cookie request—

the door swings open so fast, you physically startle, and you're greeted by bakugou himself.

bakugou's wearing his aji fry tee and a pair of long, fuzzy sweatpants. he looks so... domestic. his toothbrush sticks out from between his usual downturned lips, and you can't help but notice the small bit of frothy toothpaste at the corner of his mouth.

he looks adorable.

"i- it's me," you announced dumbly, with a nervous wave.

bakugou glares at you, but steps backwards, holding the door open with his foot. he beckons you into his room with a sharp jerk of his head, and you think you must be dreaming.

you follow bakugou into his room meekly and close the door behind you gently. you stand by the foot of his bed as he walks into his bathroom to finish brushing his teeth.

"what." he asks flatly after he walks out the bathroom. bakugou walks past you to sit on his bed, back leaning against the headboard.

"well, uh, the thing is..." you cringed. this was it. you were certain that these were going to be your final words before bakugou blasts you straight to hell. "i've kind of been craving—"

"cookies."

"huh?" you turn to bakugou gaping like a god damn fish. he raises a brow at you questioningly. "how did you—"

"shitty hair told me," bakugou interrupts you. he frowns and sighs, running a hair through spiky but soft blond hair. you kind of want to pet it. "multiple times. the whole week."

you squeak(?) in embarrassment. oh god. kirishima. knowing the redhead, he couldn't have possibly had any ill intentions... but still... you felt your cheeks flush with heat.

"wh- what... exactly did kirishima say?" you kind of regretted asking that. maybe you'd be better off not knowing.

"that you thought sato's cookies sucked ass," bakugou folds his hands behind his head, and closes his eyes.

"that is not true, and that is not what i said! sato's the best baker i know!"

"that so?" bakugou opens a single eye to look at you. you're simultaneously terrified and absolutely enthralled by that challenging glint in his eyes. "explain why you're here then. you want a room tour or some shit?"

bakugou breaks into a shit-eating grin as the flush on your cheeks deepens. you realise you're still standing awkwardly by the foot of his bed. you realise you're here, in bakugou's room, making a big fool out of yourself, trying to swallow both your embarrassment and your overwhelming feelings for him. god, this was so embarrassing.

you can't do this. you look away and down at the floor, face still burning. you squeeze your eyes shut tightly, and try to regather your thoughts. this was fine. you're going to apologise, leave, and things will go back to normal tomorrow. yup, this was totally fine—

you feel a sharp flick against your forehead. you flinch, and you open your eyes to see that bakugou has moved himself away from his headboard, and is now sitting in front of you, at the foot of his bed. he doesn't look so smug now.

"oi." bakugou's hand falls, and you feel his fingers brush lightly against your knuckles. you look down, but his hands are already resting in his lap. you realise how tightly your hands are clenched by your sides, and try to relax.

"don't look so stressed," bakugou says gruffly, looking pointedly away from you. he's frowning yet again, but you don't sense any irritation from him. "was just fuckin' around."

oh. you blink. was bakugou trying to apologise?

"i- i know," you voice comes out as a whisper. "i'm sorry. i didn't mean to cause you any trouble—"

bakugou snorts. "yer makin' it sound like cookies are difficult to bake," he looks back at you with a roll in his eyes. you realise he's trying to lighten the mood for the both of you, in his own way. it's working. you feel a tiny smile tugging at your lips. and maybe you're imagining things, but you swear that the furrow between bakugou's brows relaxes slightly.

"well, they're not easy either," you retort. you decide you're tired of standing, and sit next to bakugou on his bed. you guess bakugou's okay with it, considering that he doesn't shove you off the bed with an elbow to your ribs. you try to chase your nerves away.

"anybody with eyes and hands can make cookies."

"sure, but what about good cookies? like, actually good cookies. not just your basic chocolate chip."

bakugou's frown comes back in full force.

"ya tryna say i got shit taste buds or sumn'?"

"no," you scoff. "i'm saying that you've probably never had a good cookie. probably don't know how to make one either."

bakugou's eyes narrow at you, and you grin back at him.

"m'gonna make you eat your words," bakugou declares, crossing his arms over his chest. he glares at you, but it's missing his usual heat.

"really?!" you look at bakugou with stars in your eyes, and the way he flinches is kind of funny. "you're really gonna make cookies for me??" you sound so hopeful. maybe a little too hopeful, you realise.

but bakugou doesn't waver. he doesn't tear his eyes from your starry, lovestruck gaze. he just nods.

"yeah."

you practically skipped your way back to your dorm room. you were excited, and you rolled around in your bed restlessly and finally drifted asleep at god knows what hour.

you woke up the next morning to new messages.

(3) new messages

bakugou💣: You up? delivered 9:24am

bakugou💣: Nvm delivered 10:09am

bakugou💣: Just come to my room later delivered 10:12am

you had never gotten ready quicker your whole life.

you: SORRYYY i slept in a little im omw rn!!!

bakugou💣 reacted 👍 to your message.

bakugou didn't seem to be in his room when you knocked.

"bakugou?" you called again. you knocked a few more times, before finally pulling away from where your ear was against the door.

you fished your phone out of your pocket.

you: im outside!!! delivered 10:32am

you: wru? delivered 10:34am

you're about to send another message when you hear the rustling of plastic and footsteps along the corridor.

you turn to see bakugou walking towards you with hands full of groceries bags. you run walk quickly towards him, mentally noting how you probably looked like a dog chasing a stick.

you grip and tug at a few of the bags, offering to help hold them, but bakugou simply grunts and tugs them away from your grasp. you give up eventually.

"bakugou, we're making cookies right? you bought so much! was it expensive? let me pay you b—"

"kitchen." bakugou interrupts. a warm hand wraps around your wrist firmly. you flush, and look down to see that he's somehow managed to transfer all of the grocery bags to one hand. he ignores your protests as he drags you down the corridor, towards the kitchen.

bakugou only drops your wrist when he starts to unpack the groceries on the countertop.

"bakugou," you say almost pleadingly. "where's the receipt?"

"ate it."

"i know you didn't eat it."

"but i did?" bakugou's gaze flickers up and away from the groceries as he glances at you with his best pokerface, even arching a brow at you. you can't help the smile on your face. gosh, he was so stubborn.

"i'll just pay you 20 bucks then."

"nah."

"25."

"no."

"30."

"i'll pay you 30 to shut the fuck up."

"fine!" you let out a soft hmph, and move to sit by the kitchen island, crossing your arms. you keep them crossed even after bakugou finishes unpacking the groceries, and walks over to stand in front of you.

he pokes your bicep once. then twice. you don't budge.

without warning, bakugou's hands fall to your waist. you scream in fear before his fingers even move, and you try to squirm away, but it's too late—

"stop, stop!!" you cry, tears springing to your eyes. each tickle of his fingertips grazing your skin draws another bout of giggles from between your lips. you watch his evil grin spread. "i can't— please, i surrender!!"

bakugou looks so smug when he finally releases you.

"what'd you do that for?" you complained, rubbing your sides.

"you were too quiet."

"you told me to shut up!"

"so?"

"you piece of—"

"heeeyyyyyy!!!"

"shhh!!!! don't ruin the moment, idiot!!!"

you both whip around to see mina slapping kaminari in the arm. kirishima trails closely behind them, looking sheepish. you wince.

"morning, y/n, bakubro!" bless kirishima and his pure heart for trying to save the situation.

"heyyyy, lovebirds!" you wonder if kaminari has a death wish.

"FUCK OFF, ALL OF YOU!!!!!!"

you have to physically hold bakugou back from grabbing a metal pan to thwack kaminari in the head.

"look, we didn't mean to interrupt you guys, i swear!" kirishima raises both his hands up defensively. "we just want to toast up the pizza in the fridge for breakfast, alright? we'll scram afterwards!!"

bakugou refuses to let any of them step foot into the kitchen, not when he's already laid out all the bakingware and the ingredients nice and proper. you play peacemaker, and offer to toast the pizza for them. bakugou agrees.

it works. it's peaceful for a while. no death threats or yelling. just bakugou glaring at the ticking toaster oven like he's trying to explode it with just his eyes.

but all hell breaks loose when kaminari speaks up again.

"what is that?" kaminari squints and points at the red tub sitting on the countertop. he reads the label. "gochujang? isn't that spicy?"

and bakugou turns around, red-faced with anger. you rack your brain for a way to save kaminari's life. how, how, how. but kaminari continues,

"bakugou, are you sure you know how to make cookies?"

"you fucking dunceface, i'm going to fucking—"

you grab bakugou's arm with one hand and pull him towards you. he looks at you with angry eyes that widen in shock when your other arm snakes behind his neck.

"what the hell do you think you're—"

you yank him down and press your lips firmly against his.

bakugou's lips are soft. they feel slightly chapped against yours, and you resist the urge to lick them wet with your tongue. you close your eyes, and imagine how good it must feel to make out with bakugou, to have his tongue in your mouth—

your lips part slightly, and you can't help the tiny moan that escapes. your eyes fly open immediately.

bakugou is completely still, just looking at you with eyes blown wide.

you hear mina gasp, a loud slapping noise, and kirishima's hushed, scolding voice. you hear rustling, maybe some muffled protests, and a whispered "sorry!" before it's finally quiet.

you pull back slightly, but bakugou pulls you back in the moment your lips leave his. he finally wraps a strong arm around your waist and holds you flushed against him.

he doesn't kiss you. just holds you and stares at you with wide eyes.

"bakugou," you murmur softly. "i like you. i've liked you for a while now."

bakugou is blushing, you realise, watching his eyes flutter close. he ducks his head towards your shoulder and buries his face in the crook of your neck.

"yeah?" his breath is hot against your neck when he whispers against your skin. "i think i like you too."

BONUS:

kaminari has a death wish.

you can't blame him! he's just curious. he didn't want to interrupt anything, he just wanted a peek, you know? it was so rare to bakugou calm, much less domestic.

earlier in the morning, kaminari and kirishima visited the little grocery store to pick up some protein bars (well, only kirishima got protein bars. kaminari got chocolate.)

kaminari was surprised to see the buy-2-get-1-free promotion, but even more surprised to see bakugou with not one, but two baskets. full of... flour, sugar and eggs?

"bakubro!" kirishima waves excitedly. bakugou just nods in acknowledgement. "what're you doing—"

kaminari watches kirishima's eyes flicker to bakugou's baskets. right??? isn't that so odd??? kaminari expects kirishima to be as confused as he feels right now.

but kirishima only smiles, a little too knowingly. kaminari knows he's a bit of an idiot, but he doesn't enjoy feeling like an idiot. right now, he feels like an idiot who's been left out of a huge secret.

"that's really manly of you," kirishima smiles, nodding approvingly. "have fun, bro!"

bakugou nods at kirishima's words.

kaminari is seriously confused. he's even more confused after the stunt you pulled in the kitchen. right in front of his virgin eyes? how could you!

it's okay. a little snooping won't hurt, right?

half an hour after kirishima's dragged him into his room, kaminari sneaks out of him room and back to the kitchen.

he sees a huge ball of dough on the countertop. bakugou's pinching off pieces and rolling them into balls between his palms, and you're standing really close to him, kaminari notices.

you wrap an arm around bakugou's bicep, and kaminari thinks you're doomed. you're going to get your face blown off, he thinks.

but bakugou leans down towards you and presses a kiss to your cheek. you turn to look up at him. you're beaming, and kaminari has never seen bakugou look so... soft.

"you're really good at this, bakugou."

"call me katsuki." kaminari's jaw slackens. he is starting to regret his decision to snoop.

"really?" you ask excitedly. bakugou nods.

"katsuki!"

"i told you to stay out of it, man."

he turns around to see kirishima standing behind him with his arms crossed. kirishima sighs, and kaminari feels jealous, disgusted, and guilty all at once.

I FINALLY RECOVERED!!! this took so long for me to write, i had a weird mental block on top of being sick, and tumblr deleted one of my drafts right after i got hit by inspiration!!! im so sorry this took forever, but thank you guys for being so kind and patient 🥹🥹 you guys are the best. again, thank you for reading!!!!

...nsfw part 4 where they get messy in the kitchen? :D

taglist (thank you for your support!!): @anicaaa67 @maddietries @nemisimp @an-na-bella @valeriyaaak @buggie07 @v3n7s @deimosjay @iguanahykhv @zaiban2989 @girls-overflower @deimosjay @notmeduhh

[edward-munson]

don't you give up (i won't give up) | E.M

Summary: Eddie is hanging between life and death during the events in the Upside Down | Modern Hawkins

Pairing: Eddie Munson x f!reader

Word Count: 5.4k

Warnings: Mentions of blood, injuries. Smut (p in v) 18+ MDNI, fingering, aftercare. (I thought about the title inspired by "Let Me Love You" by Justin Bieber. I know it's completely random, but trust the process)

°♡•☆

The first few seconds of what just happened before your eyes will forever haunt you. There's something too inexplicable about everything you've been going through the past weeks. While Steve, Nancy and Robin went after Vecna, you stayed behind with Dustin and Eddie.

The latter was thrown on the floor, blood coming out of him nonstop as the demobats fed off his flesh. You could only let out a whisper of horror before you rushed to him, kneeling beside his limp body. He was still breathing, but the amount of red fluid leaving his mouth was shocking. He was almost gargling on it. Your first instinct was to rip off your shirt and start to cover his wounds, carefully moving his head to the side so he wouldn't choke.

I used to believe

We were burnin' on the edge of somethin' beautiful

Somethin' beautiful

Dustin came right next, his voice screaming painfully loud as he seemed petrified at the sight. You don't remember how you were able to speak, but you told him you needed to leave with Eddie right at that moment. He was wheezing, his skin becoming rigid and he was probably beginning to feel shock.

"What the f-fuck is happening? What is happening?" His tone was desperate and aggravating as the minutes went by.

It didn't dawn on you how long you would have to run until you got to the gate in his trailer. And you wouldn't be able to hold him while riding the bike. The longer it took you, the more terrified you felt. The more he was starting to feel his body become unbearable. Dustin had a sprained ankle, he was doing his best to run after you while holding his friend for dear life.

Sellin' a dream

Smoke and mirrors keep us waitin' on a miracle

On a miracle

When you finally made it to the trailer, Jonathan and Hopper were waiting for you to pick him up, as you tied him to the sheet that separated both worlds. They pulled him first, the chief rushing to get him to the hospital, while Jonathan helped you and Dustin next. He drove you afterwards, a dreadful sensation of what could happen to him. The realization that it wouldn't have been enough to save him.

He stayed in the ICU for days, tied to machines and barely breathing from swallowing blood. His lungs were filled with liquid because of that, his wounds ended up being infected.

There wasn't a day that wouldn't go missing without you or your friends visiting him and Max. His Hellfire friends, especially the younger ones, would read comics to him every day. Eleven tried to do telepathy, willing to make sure how he was healing. It was slow, barely any improvement. But no one would lose faith that he would get better, just like Max.

Say, go through the darkest of days

Heaven's a heartbreak away

Never let you go, never let me down

It felt like ages, but it took him nearly two months to recover slightly, until he woke up. You weren't there when it happened, Robin and Steve were there and they both made an entire show about it in the hall. He was still alive, but still hanging on. His skin was paler, his features were skinnier, hollowed cheeks were too evident on his face.

His hair was clearly in need of a good care, and his voice was hoarse from the lack of speaking. There was still a lot to recover, and each time he would have someone visit him, he would never get bored. You were all doing different things with him, making sure he would distract himself from the memories of what had happened.

Whenever you would get in, his face would light up. Brown eyes glinting with joy of seeing you. Eddie would always freeze when asked about how he felt or what he remembers from that day. His mind goes spiraling at the thought of it. He doesn't remember the last few minutes.

He remembers the bats ripping his skin off, the sound of flesh being pulled out of him, too shocked to even react. At times, he swears he can still feel the sensation. He needs to take sleeping pills, otherwise he would never sleep. And even if he does, his brain draws out the event repeatedly.

Oh, it's been a hell of a ride

Driving the edge of a knife

Never let you go, never let me down

Eddie needs to do therapy twice a week. It doesn't get easier with time, it gets more bearable. It gnaws him to the point of him wishing he could shut his mind off from everything. El can't do much for him when he asks for help, she can only see the trauma, the stress and the pain from all of it. You walk through it all with him.

You make him let it all out, you give him comforting words and a reassuring smile that things can get better. A deep sigh always escapes his lips when he's with you. He felt that before everything happened, but when shit went down, he didn't have time to work it out. He almost forgot.

Your feather light touch makes his skin numb, in a good way. The touch almost burns the spot. When you hold his hand, he yearns from the thought of interlacing his fingers with yours. He hates to see himself that skinny, thinking he looks too hideous. You're not focusing on it, not in the slightest. He misses you when you kiss his forehead goodbye, tugging at his bangs when you fix them. He would ask you to stay the night and make him company and you would never refuse it.

Don't you give up, nah, nah, nah

I won't give up, nah, nah, nah

Let me love you

Let me love you

You've seen him growing out of the fear, of the reluctance of being out in the world again. Months later, and he was feeling like himself again. He started working, giving himself a new life. Eddie didn't want to let everything that Vecna did to be a part of his memory.

°♡•☆

You're sitting across from him at the table as you play poker. He taught you how to play during the days he spent in the hospital. You see the way he cages his lower lip between his teeth, fingertips tapping against the cards in his hands. Everyone seems to be enjoying the sunny summer day at the pool at Steve's cabin. A year later, and you all decided to celebrate his rebirth, his life. Somewhere across Hawkins, the teens are celebrating Max as well.

You wait until his next move, but he takes longer than necessary to play. "Oh my God, will you stop fucking bluffing and just play?"

He feigned a gasp and lowered the cards from his face, enough to look at you through his sunglasses.

"Don't interrupt the master, baby. He's focused" You roll your eyes, using your instep to swat his knee under the table. "Ow! Is that really necessary?"

"I should be asking you the same, you moron."

Eddie doesn't take the mocking insult to heart, stalling on purpose this time just to see you become furious at him. Robin keeps delivering small pieces of barbecue to you two, as well as the drinks Nancy has been making to everyone.

He seems to ponder before placing his cards over the table. Three of a kind, which means he got 3 cards of the same value. You try to hold back a smirk, but he notices right away, slumping against his chair.

Don't fall asleep

At the wheel, we've got a million miles ahead of us

Miles ahead of us

"Fuck off. No way!" His voice is loud enough for your friends to suddenly gather around. They like to be the audience whenever you two play, only because they know how competitive he can be. "No, no, no. Nuh-uh"

His denial is almost too adorable. He knows he's about to lose when you playfully push your tongue between your teeth and grin. A shit eating grin.

"Well, well, pretty boy. See for yourself" You display your cards and you hear your friends exclaiming in surprise.

You got a full house. And Eddie isn't surprised. He can be smug all he wants, he knows when he's going to lose. He's a sore loser as well.

You bring your hand over your ear and move your head to the side, mocking him "Master of what now?"

"Shut up" He mumbles in complete denial.

"You're just bad at it, Munson. Just admit it" Jonathan pinches his cheek and shakes it, earning a slap on his forearm.

"Whatever. I'm going for a swim" Eddie straightens up from his chair, lifting his swim shorts as he fixes the straps.

You watch him pick up the cards and organize them into the small box. His lips are curled upwards, but his hair almost covers the way he's trying to smile. He likes to see you winning against him. He swears he doesn't cheat for you to win, he loves seeing you cheer whenever he loses. Truth to his friends' words, he's definitely a sore loser, but he doesn't mind you winning.

Eddie pulled some weight after he left the hospital. He was definitely more fit. Not muscly, but absolutely in shape, just like Steve. You can see his stomach fold just enough. His arms are thicker than before and he has a lot more to grab, even his thighs. He covered his scars with tattoos from things he likes. Your favorite one being the snake wrapped around a sword over his left side.

All that we need

Is a rude awakening to know we're good enough (yeah)

Know we're good enough

"Nice round, love. I'm glad I taught you well" Eddie gives you a sympathetic smile before sprinting to the pool, throwing himself at the water as it almost splashes at Vickie, who's sunbathing.

You watch from your seat as he laughs at the jokes Jonathan makes, at the way he's so unbothered to be shirtless after everything that happened. To his demeanor when he talks with Robin and Nancy. Steve pulls a lounge chair beside yours and sighs deeply, putting his sunglasses on as he runs his fingers through his damp hair.

"He seems pretty happy" He says, taking a swig from his beer and you nod in agreement. "Never thought I would see him smiling ever again after that."

The man next to you also carries scars along his body. His neck has a fading mark from when a demobat choked him, his sides also have bite marks from their teeth. He didn't hide like Eddie did, but he doesn't care they're there, it means he survived.

"It's like nothing ever happened, but I know he has nightmares sometimes. I like to see him this way, like he never lived it."

Steve knows. He knows more than anyone, even more so than Robin, that you carry feelings for his best friend. He’s always known, before things went to shit. And he’s also very aware that the metalhead likes you too. It’s been a few months ever since he gripped your hands and talked off his feelings, asking you to wait. He wanted to heal first, he wanted to feel better before anything could happen between you two, and you agreed to it. You gave him space, you respected his wish and showed him support. You were still waiting, still lingering on the thought of finally being with him. 

Say, go through the darkest of days

Heaven's a heartbreak away

Never let you go, never let me down

“God, birdie. Stop gawking at him, it’s gonna burn holes on his body and it’s not like he doesn’t have scars already” He nudges your elbow playfully and you flip him off, ruffling his hair. 

“Shut up, Harrington.” He’s still chuckling, looking at you with amusement. You frowned, but deep inside you knew you were staring too much at him. 

You’ve spent the entire day by the pool, almost getting sunburnt from how long you’ve all stayed out. You’ve had dinner at the table outside, relishing on the starry sky above you. The moon shined upon you, the pool water reflecting its beauty. You all smoked a joint after eating, sprawled out either on the lounge chair or on the grass around the place. You played Uno before most of your friends decided to go inside and get some rest, leaving just you and Eddie alone. 

He had his Spotify on the big speaker, a faint song by some band he likes playing while you two just enjoyed each other’s company. He was scrolling through his phone, snorting at something random every few minutes. You were just watching him. 

“You’re not being subtle, love. What is it?” He asked all of a sudden, lifting his eyes from his phone to look at you, and you just shrug. “No, don’t start with that thing with me.”

“What, I can’t look? Isn’t that the whole purpose of having eyes?” You play oblivious, resting your chin over your hands, your elbows bent above the table. 

Eddie chuckles at your response and rolls his eyes. “Yeah, smartass. You know what I mean.”

You get up from the lounge chair and walk towards the edge of the pool, sitting down, dropping your feet over the water. He stays behind on the table, watching you with curious eyes and a big question mark over his head. 

“It’s… I love seeing you. I love the idea of having you around, knowing you’re still alive.” You feel him sitting beside you, water almost knee deep. “I love the way you still joke around us and how you enjoy yourself.”

Oh, it's been a hell of a ride

Driving the edge of a knife

Never let you go, never let me down

He smiles. It’s not a sad one, but it’s also not a happy one either. It comes with some kind of pain from the memories of the past event. He ponders for a good minute and something snaps inside of him. The realization of what he’s been witnessing the past few months crashing down on him. Eddie had always seen the way you looked at him, the way you would always take care of him, he knows you’ve talked about feelings before, but he wasn’t sure you would still wait for him after all. And then, right there, sitting next to you, he decides to push aside any fear, and uses one of his hands to slide over your lap, reaching your fingers. He grips your hand, tight, and turns over to look at you. 

You do the same, and you watch the way his eyes sparkle with something you can’t decipher. And then, out of nowhere, he pulls you into the water with him, barely having time to react to his idea. His hand never left yours, even when you almost reach the bottom, trying to swat him away as you make your way to the surface.

You breathe out, heaving for the lack of air. He comes out of the water, breaking in laughter as his hair sticks to his face.

"You motherfuc–" He doesn't let you finish, spitting water towards you, cackling at the way you contort from annoyance. "Eddie! What was that for?"

He places both hands on your waist, still smiling at you with a devilish grin. "And I love the way you look at me. I love the way you've always cared for me, the way you always took care of me"

You soften at his touch and his words, feeling his fingertips against your skin. The led lights from the pool changed colors each second. You feel the hardness of the edge of the pool as he cages you. His hair is still sticking to his face, almost hiding his features, and you lift a hand to move the strands. He purses his lips, that are still curled upwards, taking in your soft touch on his skin. Your palm is spread over his jawline, thumb ghosting over his cheek.

Don't you give up, nah, nah, nah

I won't give up, nah, nah, nah

Let me love you

Let me love you

You watch him tilt his head, eyes frozen at you. "I love the way you look at me too" You almost whisper.

"I... I think I'm ready" He speaks up again, closing the distance between your bodies when his chest hovers over you. He brings one hand over your face as well, his fingertips grazing the nape of your hair.

"Are you sure?" You're feeling your heart rate pick up at the sight of him. Tattoos spread all over his body, small marks of scars peeking out of the ink that don't cover them all.

Eddie nods and bites his lower lip, leaving a deep sigh. He brings his forehead to rest against yours, and his mouth is merely inches from touching your mouth.

"God, I've wanted this for as long as I can remember. I just needed time" You can sense the nervousness coating his tone, but his hands are firm on you.

Your other hand holds his wrist for support "I'm so–"

He doesn't waste time letting you finish, finally closing the distance and crashing his lips against yours. Desperate fingers tangle your hair when he lashes out, his tongue touching your ferociously. He can still taste like weed, a faint taste of the wine he had as well, and you whimper against his mouth.

"God, don't do that" He pleads with his mouth still attached to yours. Your free hand goes up to his curls, raking your fingers over them. Your tongues clash against each other in a savoring kiss.

Eddie tries to stay focused on the moment, but he wants to drown in you. He wants to feel you entirely. He pulls your lower lip between his teeth and groans in urgency. You can feel his fingertips digging on your waist, his body almost leaning against you, almost buckling forward to feel you deeper.

You pull out to take a breath, filling your lungs with air as you try to soothe your own heart. "I want more, Eddie."

He's not surprised when you say it out loud. He'd been wanting this too. Especially with you. "Yeah, me too, baby."

He pulls you against him as he walks towards the steps in the pool, reaching for the shallow surface. He walks to the table and grabs the towel for both of you, messily drying himself so fast you bet he's still going to be wet. 

Since you were sharing the bedroom with Robin, you both go to Eddie's bedroom. He didn't want to share a room with Steve and you're glad he didn't. He closes the door behind him, eyes lingering at you, at the way you're eagerly waiting for it to happen as much as he does. He rushes a few steps towards you, cupping your face, moving his lips to yours once more. He kisses you like he needs air, like it's the last thing he wants to do. You feel the back of your knees hitting the foot of the bed, flopping down as you watch him with lust.

You look at his body, at the way his chest rises and falls, at how there's a tattoo peeking out of the hem of his swim shorts. He's quick to pick a condom from his drawer, leaving it to the side, immediately climbing on the bed. His body hovers over you, his hair cascading over his shoulders. He spread sweet, wet kisses along your neck, your collarbones and your chest, between your breasts and under them. He uses his hand to untie the straps of your bikini top, slowly pulling them off, fingertips ghosting against your skin as he starts to reveal your nipple.

The air that leaves his lips touches your sensitive spot and it makes you shiver. You let out a shocked gasp when he flattens his tongue over your hardened nipple, leaving a languish lick. Eddie circles your skin softly, using his free hand to slide over your stomach, reaching your bikini bottom. You don't want to overthink how the fuck he's such an expert at it, so you shut your brain down and focus on him. His fingers slip under the fabric, spreading your cunt, collecting your wetness.

"Oh God, Eddie" You mewled, feeling him humming against your breast. You know you're too far gone at this point and he just got started.

Don't you give up, nah, nah, nah

I won't give up, nah, nah, nah

Let me love you

Let me love you

He strokes your slit up and down, circling your clit almost lightly. It's staggering, it makes your head dizzy. Your eyes roll back to your skull when he sucks your nipple, hollowing his checks when he pulls pressure to it. His ring and middle finger slip inside of you smoothly, ripping a moan out of you. Eddie knows he's not going to last long, because it's been a long time ever since he had sex. And also because the sounds you make are like lullabies to him.

He pumps his fingers and curls them into you, making you roll your hips in reflex. He flicks his tongue over your nipple and it drives you to the edge of sanity. Your hand flies up to his hair, grabbing a fistful of his curls as you pull it back. He loves the way you have no idea how hard you're pulling his hair but he loves it. His fingers leave your cunt and you whine. The feeling of missing his touch is almost unbearable. He brings them to his mouth, sucking them off as he tastes you. It leaves you in awe at the sight of him almost falling apart for you.

Eddie slowly removes your bikini top, not ever leaving his eyes from yours. You clash your lips again, tongues almost interlacing together. He helps you remove the last piece of clothing you have before getting rid of his own shorts. His cock springs free, tip leaking with precum and length pulsing with anticipation. You take your time relishing at the sight, swallowing harshly. You want to gag on him, you want to choke on him. You reach to hold his shaft and he stops you.

"We'll have plenty of time, baby. I want you to have a good time" He rasps, lying on his back. He's waiting for you, holding your hand.

You just nod as you shoot him a smile, grabbing the condom from the nightstand. You crawl back, legs on each side of his outer thighs, a thundering feeling coursing through your veins until it reaches your stomach. You don't know how you don't feel shy or embarrassed of being completely naked for him, but he doesn't either. You hold his cock, stroking him gently a few times, swiping off the liquid from his tip down to his shaft. He buckles his hips upwards in response, cursing through his teeth.

You wrap him and, before you even sit on top of him, you take in his body. The way he lies pretty for you, the way his chest looks good from that angle. Your hands roam through his body, your fingertips slithering over his tattoos. You can see the way he hairs on his skin all stand up from your touch.

"You're so beautiful, Eddie. So gorgeous" You whisper to him, memorizing every inch of his body.

He's mesmerized, he watches you from that position and all he wants to do is spend his life like that. "You're too beautiful, love. You're a sight to sore eyes."

His grin grows wide when you shy away. One of your hands slips down his torso until it reaches his cock again. He throws his hair back and inhales painfully. You line yourself above him, guiding his tip through your folds, rubbing it against your clit. You bite your lower lip from the contact and his hands hold your waist for leverage. You slowly start sinking, your cunt enveloping his hardness entirely until he's deep into your walls.

Your jaw goes slack and you can't hold back the moan that leaves your lips. He can't keep his eyes open, mouth agape as well. "Fuck that's so good, baby." His voice drops an octave and his tone becomes husky, and you clench around him at the sound of it.

You start to move your hips back and forth, eyes trained at him all the time. Your palms are flat against his chest, while he digs his nails on your skin. One thing you've come to love about it, is the way he doesn't care he's being vocal. He praises you the entire time, he keeps his voice low so only you can hear it. Eddie brings you forward, your body leaning against his chest. He snakes both arms around you and holds your waist firmly. It brings you closer to him, it makes you feel different sensations.

He starts pounding on you, ripping off a gasp from you as you bury your face against his shoulder. It muffles your whining and your moaning. He pumps inside of you, the tip of his cock hitting your walls as you clench again. The more you do it, the more excited he gets.

"You're too fucking good, love. Taking me so well, God" He whispers over your ear, one of his hands coming up to grab a fistful of your hair as he pulls it hard just like you did.

You jolt your head back, barely keeping your eyes open, while looking at him through hazy eyes. Your crying fills the air along with the slapping sound of his hip against your ass. "Fuck, Eddie. Just like that."

"I want you to come for me, baby. Please, I'm gonna cum" He's desperate, almost panting. His fingers dig deeper into your skin as his cock is rock hard.

You start to roll your hips around him, your eyes meet the back of your head one more time. Eddie moans your name, heaving sweet nothings as he feels the coil about to snap inside of him. He drops his hands to squeeze your ass, thrusting upwards to meet you in the middle.

You're the first to feel the dizzying apex as your toes curl and your fingers squeeze his chest. Your pussy throbs around his cock, clenching as you feel your blood pressure rise. Your pulse is beating too fast, and you're mumbling incoherent words. Your hips stutter and you can't move as you cum around Eddie, who's about to sputter into his condom.

"Jesus– Fuc– Shit" He curses through the dazed orgasm. His cock twitches inside of you, jolting an electricity that crosses his veins. His eyes flutter shut, while he waits for his high to come down.

You smile at him, even though he doesn't see it. You're both a mess of panting and sweat, trapped into each other. You still ride him out of his orgasm and he jumps with the overstimulation.

"God, don't do that" Eddie whines when you freeze on your spot and giggle at him. "It hurts. Jesus, baby."

You can't get over the pet name. He calls you that 98% of the time and you love it.

You stay sat on him, feeling your body limp. He's becoming soft after a couple of minutes like that and you both hiss when you pull yourself up. He finds the towel to wrap it around his waist and disappears only for a few seconds before walking to the bed with a paper towel. The aftercare makes your heart flutter. It's even more sweet when he glances at you with a lopsided smile. His bangs are tousled and sticking to his forehead. He flops onto the bed close to you, handing you a shirt and your bikini bottom.

When you're finally dressed, he spoons you. His head leans on the crook of your neck and you can feel he's breathing evenly.

"You know" He speaks up, fingers slipping between yours "I knew I loved you when you said you wanted to help Wayne with the steps of the trailer. My old man thought you and I had something going on that day."

You grin widely at the memory. You were at his place just to pick up your phone charger, but Eddie was busy in the bathroom at the same time his uncle had to leave to run a few errands. You helped him walk down the steps because he had issues with them, just like the stairs. His hip problem prevented him from doing simple things like that.

"And then when you wanted to watch us play D&D. After we started spending more time together, I noticed how nervous I would get around you. And one day Steve told me about the difference between being in love and loving someone. You can't have either sometimes, and I realized I had both."

Don't you give up, nah, nah, nah

I won't give up, nah, nah, nah

Let me love you

Let me love you

He scooted even closer to you "I remember that day. When they flew right at me. The look of fear in your eyes. I was afraid of losing you too. I was afraid of you losing me."

You could hear the wavering in his voice "Eddie, I thought I lost you right there."

He squeezed you tighter "I saw the way you ran. The way you tried to make me stay awake. I almost said it, the way I wished I could've always said. Not just a simple 'I love you'."

You move your head to the side, turning over to try and look at him.

"You're it for me, birdie. I love you so much. I've always loved you and always you. And I'm so glad I have met you. You're my angel."

Your stomach twists to a tight knot at the revelation. You loved him too. You were never able to say it the way you should've said long before either. Because you do.

"I love you too, Eds. Love you like I never did before."

"Thank you for showing up in my life. Wouldn't be here if it wasn't for you."

"I think Eddie and Robin would be very offended if they heard you" You chuckle as you turn on your side to fully face him.

"Think they're going to be pissed at me and you either way after tonight."

You open your mouth and he laughs at the way your features display some sort of desperation "You think they heard us?"

"I think even the trees heard us, sweetheart."

You slap him on the shoulder, watching him hold back the loudest cackle he wanted to let out. "I'm kidding, jeez. You're so mean when you're not riding me."

He shields himself with his pillow when you straighten up to hit him with another slap. "What's wrong with you? We're not fifteen."

"I'm just kidding! God help me when you're in a bad mood."

"I'm never in a bad mood."

"Have you ever looked at yourself in the mirror when you're on your period?" You almost choke on your own spit at the statement.

"How did we manage to change the topic so fast?"

He laughs when you giggle and you both share a look.

"We've always shared the same vibe, baby. Dark humor, good taste in music and shit. I just had to recover before I was ready. And I'm glad you waited."

He swipes a strand of hair out of your face, pulling it behind your ear. His fingers slither down, reaching your jawline. Your hand wraps around his wrist, thumb stroking his skin.

"I would always wait for you, Munson."

Eddie blushes. It's one of the most sweet and genuine reactions. He purses his lips when he smiles.

He never believed someone could love him, never believed anyone would see him the way you do. And if you had to save him, you would do it all over again. As many times as you needed.

You two shower - not together - and get on his bed. Legs tangled and lazy kisses. He holds you closer with an arm wrapped around your neck as he holds his phone up for both of you. He scrolls through pictures and videos. They're from before Vecna, and it's the first time he's showing you everything he registered. From moments like those when you would all get together, to dull things like his D&D campaigns, rehearsals with his Corroded Coffin band mates and picnic with your friends at Lovers Lake.

There's one picture you love the most. It's one of you two dressed as Steve and Robin when they used to work at Scoops Ahoy. You were at the halloween party Nancy threw at her house almost two years ago. It made your friends lose their shit and the former employees shared an amused look back in the day.

Don't you give up, nah, nah, nah

I won't give up, nah, nah, nah

Let me love you

Let me love you

He's not afraid to go through the pictures and videos of stuff you found about Vecna. He's not even sure how his phone still survived everything. There was no signal between Upside Down and Hawkins. It didn't even work when it was near a gate.

But now, as he faces his smartphone, feeling your warmth beside him, he can't help but feel good he's still alive. He pressed his lips against your forehead and whispered that he loves you.

He likes to think that, a year ago, things changed for the better.

[taojjang]

ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁.ᐟ riize when you're restless because of a nightmare

genre: fluff reaction! ⁠♡, pairing: bf!riize x implied fem!reader (usage of petnames princess and pretty girl), warnings: slight fear, crying, nightmares/night terrors, angst if u squint

♡⸝⸝ waking up your boyfriend after having a frightening dream

shotaro . . . groggily opens his eyes to the sight of you anxiously tugging on his arm.

he sits up and asks, "what's wrong honey?" he can't help but frown as you shuddered, telling him about the nightmare that ripped you out of your slumber. shotaro hates how helpless he is when you experience night terrors, it's almost like torture to see you waking up in such distress.

he sits up and pulls you closer to his chest, brushing your sweat-soaked hair away from your face. "i'm sorry i couldn't help you, honey... do you need water? should i go make you a snack?"

eunseok . . . jolts awake at the feeling of your hand on his stomach.

after blinking away his sleepy vision, he notices the look of pure distress on your face. once he saw 2:51 am on the bedside clock, he knew you'd probably dreamt of another nightmare.

"did you have another nightmare, darling?" eunseok asks, reaching to rest his hand on your cheek. all you can do is helplessly nod, silently pleading for comfort. he sleepily pulls you down to lie your head on his chest and leaves a soft kiss on your temple. "none of it is real. it'll be okay, sweetheart. close your eyes."

sungchan . . . figures you're just a bit restless as you cuddle closer to him.

but as the dip in the bed grows deeper, he opens his eyes to find you kneeling beside him with tossed hair and a stressed frown. he worriedly places his hand on your thigh, carefully stroking your skin with his thumb.

"i had another nightmare," you complain, resting your hand atop his. sungchan tightly blinks away the urge to close his eyes and holds your hand. "yeah? do you wanna talk about it, princess?" you breathlessly tell him about the petrifying dream you'd just woken up from. once he notices you getting worked up while explaining, he shushes you and pulls you into a warm hug. "it's over now, let's sleep, hm?"

wonbin . . . snaps out of his sleep when you shake him awake.

"what, baby? what happened?" he's still blinking and trying to adjust his eyes to the dark room as you cry to him about your scary dream. once he sees the tears streaming down your face, his eyes soften and you earn his full attention.

your fear is slightly dissipated by the cute pout on wonbin's face as he listens to your rant. he's holding your hand and looking into your teary eyes, trying not to cry himself. once you're finished, he urges you to lie back down and cuddle so you can finally sleep peacefully. "maybe if we cuddle, you won't have those dreams anymore"

seunghan . . . has concern plastered over his face as you jolt out of your sleep.

he immediately sits up and places his hand on your back. "was it another nightmare?" you force a weak nod as the horrifying scenes replay in your mind. seunghan pulls you into a hug, resting his head atop yours after leaving soft kisses there.

"my poor angel... it must've been so scary," he coos as you rest your head on his shoulder. seunghan won't stop easing comforting words into your ears until you start feeling sleepy again. once you tell him you want to rest, he lies the two of you back down on the bed and holds you suffocatingly tight. "i'll keep watch for those nightmares. if you have another one, i'll hug you tighter and squeeze it away!"

sohee . . . is confused as to why you're suddenly cuddled up against his chest and whining.

sohee was falling asleep while watching reels on his phone when your sudden movement woke him right back up. he taps you on the back and asks, "what? did i bother you?"

sohee has to hold back a smile when you tell him you're scared of a nightmare you'd just woken up from. he feels somewhat accomplished that you're seeking comfort from him since you're usually quite self-reliant. he grins and puts his phone on the nightstand before holding you closer with both arms. "those dreams can't hurt you, pretty girl. let's sleep."

anton . . . takes a while to wake up lol

but once he hears your whines, he's immediately springing up to hold you. he worriedly looks down at your frightened frame and notices the tears dripping onto his sweater.

"why are you crying, my love?" you explain through hiccups that you had a scary dream and anton immediately melts. he rests his head atop yours and runs his hand along your arm. "i'm so sorry, love... is there anything i can do for you? do you need something to drink?" you want to reply, but the only thing that leaves your lips are light sobs. he figures you just need a warm hug as you cry onto his shoulder. anton holds you and whispers gentle shushes until you run out of energy, falling asleep in his arms. he leaves a soft kiss on your forehead before tucking the both of you back into bed, making sure not to let go of you until sunrise.

[fic-heaven]

Ghost x witty! Reader

All for a pair of tits.

Pt 2

.

"Glare at my dress all you want, lieutenant. You won't scare it away."

You said putting your long earrings sneaking a look at Ghost's reflection.

He was sitting on the bed behind you looking at the long red dress you had just put on for the undercover mission. He wouldn't say it but you knew it pissed him to the core that you had to go as Kyle's date and not his, but honestly that was his fault. When Price explained the mission and the tasks you were all assigned to accomplish, Ghost threw an unexpected tantrum about how Gaz wasn't fit to go undercover, because as he explained: "Lad's better at killin' than acting." You were sure he was projecting a little. So the captain asked him if he'd rather go with you instead obviously without the mask, Ghost quickly denied. Then he was assigned watch duty while drowning in jealousy, and you bathed in the satisfaction of letting your lieutenant watch your body like a hawk as you prettied yourself up for another man while waiting in the hotel you were all supposed to meet before heading to the party.

Simon looks up at you from his seated position, his rough hands fisting the sheets. He was wearing his stupid Halloween mask so it was hard to know the expression he was hiding.

"I'm just lookin'. That a problem?"

"If you want it off of me you'll have to find another tactic. Or do you rather have Garrick do the unwrapping?" You grinned turning around to face him properly, your lipgloss shining under the dim light of the lamp near the vanity made his chocolate eyes melt at the sight. Ghost licked his lips under his mask, a mere reflection of what he had in mind to do to you if it wasn't for-

"That's unprofessional, and i'm your lieutenant. I told ya too many fucking times. But, hey, dream all y' like..."

"I am sooo thankful that you remind me, dear lieutenant..." You said sarcastically with a dramatic gesture lifting your hand to your head as if you were about to faint and he had saved you with his idiotic words. "But could you please repeat that without a..."

Your finger points to his lower side, he squints confused before looking at where you were pointing, his cargo pants held a gigantic tent he was quick to cover with a pillow before he leans forwards petrified in embarrassment. You laughed amused and impressed at the sight, but for Ghost you were just mocking him cruelly. You were just a horny vixen who took great pleasure on toying around with his carnal desires, often seducing him on purpose just to get a reaction such as this one. He was red in embarrassment and anger, and it only increased when your pretty laugh slowly died and you, for once, decided to stay in silence.

Ghost stood up abruptly. "I see yer ready. I'll warn Price to hurry the fuck up..." But the following words died on his mouth.

You were standing with a soft smile, the beautiful red dress you were wearing hanged limply by your hips as your arms hid your breasts.

"I forgot I didn't zip it and it just..." You shrugged playing clueless "it fell."

Ghost was petrified in place, his wide eyes ate up every detail he could get of your naked chest even though your pretty breasts were hidden. His hard-on worsened.

"Y'need a hand...?" He mustered.

"Among other things..."

Your lieutenant dropped the pillow to the floor missing the bed, he walked up to you in slow, measured steps giving you time to stop this game you just started like you always did, but to his surprise. You did not. You looked up at him, pupils dilated giving him full permission to turn you around with his big rough hands, he moved your hair to your front with his index finger. The moment you were facing the mirror, Ghost was about to lift the sleeves of your dress until your arms unraveled from your chest, his eyes, trained to pick any movement, caught the moment your tits bounced in place by the mirror. His breathing was heavy, slightly uneven and so was yours.

His hands dropped the piece of clothing in other to caress the skin of your back until he reached your ribcage right under your breasts. Again, he waited for you to move away, to stop this game YOU started, but instead you purred tilting your head to the side feeling his burning mask lean against the delicate skin of your neck, he inhaled your perfume, thumbs poking the underside of your tits until your small hands went to lift his to properly hold them, Ghost was quick to firmly massage the surface, your pebbled nipples held such a beautiful shade of color that contrasted with his black skeleton gloves, he wanted to suck them, he wanted to do things he wasn't supposed to.

In that moment Simon realized that the times he spent explaining you how inappropriate it was to flirt with colleagues in this line of work (specially superiors), he truly wasn't trying to warn you, he was trying to convince himself this wouldn't happen because it wasn't well seen. But... But who the fuck cares, really?

"Simon..." You sighed his name and his cock twitched on his pants. "Take these off... It's bad manners to touch a lady this way wearing gloves..."

"You a lady?" He humored.

"Have you seen a gentleman with these tits?"

His chest rumbled with a chuckle, hips making a slow involuntary thrust against your clothed ass seeking friction, you obliged offering your bum for him to thrust on, he hissed in pleasure.

"You'd be surprised..."

You gasped and chuckled "Simon Riley!..."

He quickly turned you around then, big hands roughly grabbed your ass pressing your naked chest against his with a dark but mischievous glint on his eyes reflecting yours. "Wanna compare sizes?"

"Are you for real right now, lieutenant?"

You asked with all the humour in you. But Ghost did not waver taking his shirt off with one swift tug upwards revealing his muscular torso to you, a litter of scars made it the more eye-catching. You stood there looking up at him in awe before your hand pushed him to the bed, he allowed you this, huffing when he dropped to the soft surface, the cold sheets made his skin erupt in goosebumps. His hard, clothed cock created a tent that pressed against his abs when he incorporated a little seating with his arms behind him supporting himself.

"I can't believe I've never seen your face and the first thing you wanna show me is the size of your tits."

"Pectorals." He corrected.

"Those are BOOBS, call them however you like but oh my god..."

You weren't one to complain, positioning yourself in between his legs to climb to the mountain of muscles that composed his body. He smiled under his mask looking at you fondly and helping you wrap your legs around his waist sitting yourself right on his leaking boner. He was enjoying this. You could see it, feel it poking at your panties...

You kiss his masked jaw, one arm around his shoulder and the other hand massages his chest, feeling his gigantic pectorals and the very small pink nipples that adorned both tips. Ghost threw his head back with a sigh angling his head so that you'd keep your soft ministrations with your lips. Kiss, lick, bite, repeat. The way your fingers worked magic on his chest and how your mouth mauled on his skin made your lieutenant grow desperate for more, he still couldn't believe this was happening. His heaving chest shivered in delight, his mouth was half open letting out soft sounds you never thought you'd hear from your lieutenant until he snapped, he flips you under him, the fire within your bodies roaring in waves of desire, a desire denied no longer.

Ghost hovered over you, eyes black with how dilated his pupils were, his hips thrust against yours, dry humping your cunt like a dog in heat. Your lips part with a moan, delicate hands lift to his face waiting for his permission, he gives you a short nod to lift his mask when an abrupt knock on the door startles you.

Ghost sighs, one of his hands take your wrist as the other supports his weight as not to crush you.

"I'M NOT 'ERE!" You yell annoyed.

"Come on (Y/n)!" Gaz's voice sounds from outside "Price is gettin' pissed... And we can't find Ghost or Soap! The event is about to start, I'm already suited up-"

"Alright, alright, Garrick-...Just gimme a moment..."

You crawl from under Ghost, stand up, ready your dress leaving the back unzipped and trot to the small hall, Ghost was watching you as you did this until he saw you were about to open the fucking door. It was comical the way your lieutenant jumped from the bed hurrying to put his shirt on and adjust his boner from under his pants so he wouldn't poke Gaz's eye out when the poor Brit was greeted by the sight of your prettied self standing all proud and smiley and your lieutenant nervously fidgeting on the spot in front the bed.

Gaz stares in silence.

"Zip my dress Gaz! What the hell are you doing gawking like a school boy? There's a party we gotta attend to."

He shakes his head incredulous, gets behind you ignoring the heated stare Ghost was shooting him from the other side of the room and swiftly zips your dress.

"See? Now I'm ready and I had found Ghost, I solved you two problems."

"Three-..." An all too familiar voice came behind you. The bathroom door opens, Soap was staring just as incredulous with a look that resembled the one hundred yards stare.

Ghost barks "HOW LONG HAVE YOU BEEN THERE!?"

Soap replies unfeeling, with no emotion, like a robot or a traumatized husk of a man "This was my room..."

You flinch leaving the place practically throwing yourself out the door with a "JESUS CHRIST -!"

Gaz flinches then at the same time following behind with a squint. "FUCKING-....Close the god-damned door Johnny!" Ghost snarled this time.

"I have a sensitive stomach olrigh'!? And y'all were doing nasty things and I didn't know what to do and a' was locked with ma' shit for half an hour... I FLUSHED OKAY!?" Soap had the gal to play offended. "If it wasn't for Gaz I would have died gassed." He jested, and the tall brit had enough, smacking the wall and storming out frustrated as hell.

Just when he was reaching the jackpot, the jungle he has for a team had to ruin everything.

At least he saw your tits... That will compensate for having to see you dance around with Gaz pretending you two are married.

[konigsblog]

what- what if it was step-dad könig and his step daughter in her 20’s coming home wearing a skimpy dress and drunk and crying over a useless college boy :3

stepfather-könig taking ‘care’ of his sweet stepdaughter (⁠*⁠´⁠ω⁠｀⁠*⁠)

TW: STEPCEST, INTOXICATION (NON-CON/DUB-CON), AGE GAP/DIFFERENCE (20s-50s). DEAD DOVE: DO NOT EAT.

MDNI 18+

your stepfather claims that he's simply taking care of you, but through your drunken state, you don't realise how he's taking advantage of you. too vulnerable and needy for love, that you'll accept anything — even to be fucked by your stepfather...

stepfather-könig can't understand the importance behind this silly, useless collage boy. he doesn't understand how you're so worked up over this boy, your cheeks wet and glossy from the burning tears rolling down your sensitive cheeks.

your stepfather can hear the sounds of your audible, and pained sobs, crying into your pillow ‘til the fabric turns wet, your skimpy dress rolling up, stinking of alcohol and nicotine. he's almost pissed off that you're this upset — and tries to convince you that you deserve someone older, more mature, with experience and knows how to take care of you.

it's depraved and disgusting for him to use this opportunity as a way to get into your panties, but he takes any opportunity available to re-enact on his deepest and darkest fantasies, grinding his clothed cock against your tight, covered cunt to get your attention, telling he'd make it up to you...

you're his stepdaughter, and he's fully aware what he's doing is immoral and frowned upon. he shouldn't be this desperate to get into your panties, but he just wants the best for you, liebling... :(

he begins to peel off your lace panties, pulling them down your figure whilst you begin to roll your skimpy dress up, clearly not thinking straight.

könig admires the sight of your tight and pretty pussy, still to be ruined by a disgusting, horrible man like him. he rubs his thick, slick tip against your sensitive, needy clit in soothing circles whilst you gaze down between your thighs, watching as he begins to wrap his bulky, strong arms around your soft thighs, pushing his face between your legs, his tongue pressed against your wet cunny.

you weep and mewl pathetically, grinding against your stepfather's face like a perverted, little thing. you rock your hips back and forth, rolling them as he flicks his tongue against your sensitive nub, stuffing your mouth with your damp panties to stifle your pleasured moans and needy squeals. your eyes roll to the back of your head as he buries his tongue inside your sopping wet pussy, preparing you for his girthy and lengthy cock, to fuck you mercilessly whilst telling you to relax...

you're petrified of waking your mother, mortified as the realisation hits you — but you're too focused on the pleasure and stimulation against your clit, feeling as he pushes into your drooling cunt slowly, his thrusts sloppy and messy as he fucks himself into your tight hole. he's your stepfather, it's wrong for him to look at you like this, to betray your mother's trust due to his own depravity and selfishness, but the sight of you on your back, your cunt all spread out — it's a heavenly sight, something he'd dreamed of.

all könig can focus on is the tightness of your walls around his shaft, pulsating and tightening with each harsh and painful thrust, cooing at you for getting all upset over a stupid, frat boy.

“you needn't cry, sonnenschein ...-- look at you, it’s as if you were made for my big cock, ja? doin’ me proud.” your whimpers only get louder as you're fucked stupid, coming out muffled as you drool around the panties stuffed into your mouth, unable to concentrate on anything but the impact of his heavy balls against your tight rear, before he releases his milky, pearly load deep inside your throbbing cunny, trembling as you squirt against his muscular abdomen.

gazing at his bare abdomen, his black t-shirt slightly rolled up, you coat him in a glimmer of your arousal. the sensation burning through you and pooling at your wet heat as you heave and pant, gasping as he removes the panties from your mouth, stuffing them into his pockets as he slaps his hung length against your slit, rubbing your clit as you tense up and arch your back, looking a little too desperate.

such pathetic, little thing — with your thighs spread open and your cunt forced to take every inch of your perverted stepfather's cock.

[heich0e]

"don't stick your fingers in there!"

touya turns away from you furtively, his pointer finger caught between his lips. there's a mischievous lift at the corner of his mouth that you catch just before he turns his back to you that tells you he's not even a little bit remorseful, save possibly for the fact he's been caught.

you sigh, but the sound is just as fond as it is frustrated, and open the kitchen drawer at your hip.

"here."

touya turns around again to look at you, his finger still in his mouth though you're sure the frosting has long dissolved on his tongue. you hold out a teaspoon towards him, with a little dollop of the frosting from the mixing bowl balancing upon it. he blinks a little, surprised you're offering him any when he'd just gone to such great lengths to steal some, but accepts it nonetheless.

"thanks," he says, taking the spoon from your grip into his own, your fingers brushing lightly as the utensil changes hands.

touya's tongue peeks out from between his lips, licking away a small corner of the frosting on the spoon rather than sticking it all into his mouth at once. it's cat-like, almost—though it doesn't surprise you all that much, when so much about him is. you watch as he savours his little treat slowly.

"is it good?" you ask him, wiping your hands off on a towel—you'd been rinsing off some dishes when touya had initially stuck, and droplets of water still cling to your skin.

"mm," touya hums affirmatively. "'s sweet."

you laugh a bit. "it's frosting, that's sorta the point."

you pick up the offset spatula in front of you, scraping some of the fluffy white frosting from the edge of the bowl. you feel a familiar weight against your back, suddenly; a pair of arms slipping around your waist where they seem to fit so naturally.

"what's the cake for anyway?"

touya's voice is right by your ear when he drapes himself over you like this. his breath is warm against your cheek. if you turned your face towards him, you'd be so close you could probably still taste the sugar on his lips.

your hands pause in front of you, setting the spatula aside.

"touya," you say quietly, your voice a little hurt. "do you know what day it is?"

all at once touya seems to stiffen—petrified by unexpected panic he's forgotten something important.

"ah, uh—fuckin' wednesday right? no, wait—"

you turn in his arms, pressing your face to his chest.

"tomorrow's your birthday, dummy."

touya's hands—hovering momentarily over your back since you'd turned around to face him—drop to rest gingerly against your shoulder blades.

"oh," he says. simple. plainly. "i forgot."

no one's ever made him a birthday cake before. at least not that he can remember. maybe when he was really little, and things weren't as bad at home—but he can't be sure if those faint recollections he has are real memories or just things he dreamed up to make the truth sting less.

shouto made him a birthday card once, though. he remembers that. it was right after he learned how to write his own name—that's all that was actually written on the card, 'SHOUTO' scrawled in bright red crayon on the inside since he didn't know how to spell anything else, but there was a crudely drawn picture of a cake too. that's the closest touya remembers to getting a birthday cake.

that was the last birthday touya spent at home.

(he still has the card, all these years later. he sometimes wonders if shouto remembers it, too.)

touya holds you a little bit tighter, his eyes scanning around the kitchen of your little apartment over the top of your head. it's nothing fancy. a bit cramped. certainly humble. then he looks at the cake—waiting to be decorated—on the counter behind you.

it looks delicious.

he presses a kiss to the top of your head. so light you might not have felt it at all.

"thanks," he says.

you peek up at him.

"for what?" you ask, blinking at him curiously.

he smiles a little, and you notice for the first time there's a little smudge of frosting at the edge of his mouth. there's a little blush sitting high on his cheeks too. he looks younger like this. boyish in ways you're not used to, but that make your heart squeeze tight in your chest.

he laughs. "for letting me try it."

[crispy-armpit]

✧ 𝒊 𝒕𝒂𝒌𝒆 𝒎𝒚 𝒘𝒉𝒊𝒔𝒌𝒆𝒚 𝒏𝒆𝒂𝒕 ✧

yandere secret agent x reader

‧₊˚ ⋅ ‧ 🍸₊˚ ⋆｡ 𖦹 °

⭒ 𝘴𝘶𝘮𝘮𝘢𝘳𝘺: after taking on your friend's offer to head downtown to a hidden bar, you find yourself in the middle of a covert operation. thankfully Messiah is there to hide you from danger. or did he just push you right into it?

⭒ 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘵: gn reader, yandere, suggestive position & situation, slight violence, reader held at gunpoint, mentions of a firearm and getting shot, reader pressed against male crotch, sadism(?), auditory hallucination (you hear voices), hair pulling, swearing

⭒ 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘥 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘵: 1,153 words

⭒ a/n: it was my birthday last month and i had planned to post this by then but ofc i never learn my lesson and kept my drafts in tumblr (leading to it getting deleted) 😭!! so sorry for the wait everyone and happy late new years! :D hope u like the batman wannabe.. it goes from 0 to 100 rq because it's hilarious to me and i'm sleep deprived.. i can smell the hate comments already

will you venture down this path?

it was supposed to be another weekend night spent alone in your home; you, comfortably snuggling against your pillows while playing your favourite brain-rot game from night to morning.

but here you were— unfortunately not in your bed, and devastatingly not romancing your fictional game characters. your friend, Vern, had dragged convinced you to join him and try out some random jazz bar which recently opened.

he mentioned his band would be playing there... he's probably just trying to get more people to hype up his band.

the warm ambience of the bistro & bar, alongside the joyous laughter ringing all over the room, people bantering and simply enjoying each other's presence was enough to erase the thoughts of your usual weekend plans. it was the type of place where you couldn't bring up any negative emotions just because of how chill everyone and everything was. so that's one forgiveness point to your friend.

at some point, Vern had split off from you to meet up with the other Ares band members to go perform— leaving you to drink away your life at the bar.

you channeled your best resting bitch face to avoid any strangers trying to hit on you, which worked. you sat alone listening to the blue voice of the current performer, making small talk here and there with the bartender.

oh, the bartender—

you'd been eyeing him up all night.

he was the only other person at the bar. like all other bartenders, he was charismatic and attractive despite the two deep scars running down his left cheek.

maybe he noticed you looking at it, because he suddenly rasped out, "...animal attack" with a nonchalant smile. which is quite impressive, since your gaze never once lingered on the scars for too long. he must be observing me.

Logan (you read his name tag) was an exceptional conversationist. and he played the bartender role extremely well. he brought up topics like your ambitions, your dreams, and even your darkest passions effortlessly.

but his eyes never seemed to really focus on your figure when you talked.

it was always off to a specific direction in the distance. and when you turned to look at what he was looking at, there would only be the same wrinkly old man sitting on the sofa chair.

"can you see it?"

confused, you reply, "see what?"

do you see it? the eyes? his lack of mouth? with hair as white as his, and skin as dark as void, how can you not see me?

"what the hell are you sayi—" you grow pale when you turn back and see Logan had his back turned away from you the whole time, far from the counter.

who was talking to me?

and for the first time in 3 hours since you've arrived, the old man from the chair moves. he wanders aimlessly for a moment until setting his sights on the bar. multiple random people who were loitering in the room take notice of his sudden movement, and all briskly walk towards him.

you're petrified.

the world is spinning, people are blocking the old man's path from you. and you're so thankful for that because it gives you the time to be pulled on top of the bar counter and then underneath it by a pair of strong hands.

your consciousness recovers and you're met with Logan, body crouched down to your level. his shadowed face shows no semblance of the bright man you were talking to a while ago. now his own icy blue eyes pierced through yours, and the once attractive rasp of his voice is now chilling to the bone.

"Logan—"

"you better fucking shut up unless you want to die."

he pulls out a revolver and points it to your forehead.

profusely nodding your head in understanding, tears begin to prick your eyes; this is so fucking messed up, what is happening??

your brain tells you that this was just the alcohol getting to you, and maybe Logan has some kind of split personality and a murderer... that it's some kind of sick prank Vern is probably pulling on you. maybe my drink got spiked...

but your gut tells you that you are in great danger. alcohol has never made you experience that level of auditory hallucination... hell, you were probably being delusional right now— of course Logan's trying to kill you!!

you could hear the faint sounds of bodies thudding against other people as if they were thrown or pushed. but no screams, just grunts. the loudness of the approaching footsteps came to a halt in front of the counter.

you cover your cries as best as you can with your palms and with Logan's hidden weapon still pointed at you. you could so easily whack it away or dodge it. but you stop once you hear the most grotesque voice ever, the result of what sounded like flesh tearing apart and bones reconstructing.

"where... are... they.....?"

you are faced with two decisions:

scream for help and get shot in the head by Logan

scream for help and face whatever the fuck is out there

either way, you don't get to choose. because the stress of the situation is beginning to overwhelm you and soon your whimpers slip out a little. small enough to not be heard from in front of the counter, but big enough for whoever is on top of you— and that someone happened to be the psychopathic bartender.

you freeze.

but your strength alone is not enough to hold back against the veiny hands that grab the back of your hair and push you against the bulge of the man standing in front of you.

you push and thrash over his grasp, but your actions only lead to him digging the lower parts of your face further into his crotch. WHAT THE FUCK IS HE DOING??? IS HE TRYING TO SILENCE ME WITH HIS DICK?!

and it works...

you stay silent and limp, not because of fear. but because of the absurdity of this situation and the slow growth of whatever beast is hiding under those black waiter pants.

the heat of your muffled breath against his privates collects in your face, it's getting too much but you hold yourself together. your hands that were once pushing him off now lay on the top of his hardened thighs.

Logan shares a couple words with the old man before pointing him elsewhere. you catch a strange name falling off the old man's lips, Messiah. fuck, is this a cult? shortly afterwards, you hear the light sounds of evacuating feet. he's finally gone.

and with the speed of a middle-aged lady during black friday sales, you manage to push him off to the side and stand up across him, ready to give him a piece of your mind.

you were humiliated, violated, mentally tired and— and—

why the fuck is he blushing.

[electric-blorbos]

Selfshiptober day 2: Blanket/flame

Character X reader

I swear to god its still October second somewhere... I hope.

Included: AM from IHNMAIMS, Wheatley from Portal 2, Edgar from Electric Dreams, GLaDOS from Portal, HAL 9000 from 2001 a Space Odyssey

Notice to anyone who found me through the selfshiptober tag, while this blog is themed around AI characters, this blog does not support the use of actual AI in creative fields.

Warning for canon-typical homicidal computers and yandere behavior

Also a reminder that these don't take place in chronological order

AM:

"Beautiful, isn't it?" AM asked, his croaky voice sounding like it was somehow both in your head, and all around you. You were wrapped up in a cozy blanket in your little home, which AM had made for you years ago. It was perfectly safe, hidden away from the five survivors which AM had been torturing for the past few decades. The five of them were hiking up a mountain, surrounded by petrified trees.

"I don't know why you're showing me this..." You muttered, taking a piece of pumpkin pie from the table. It was perfectly cooked. You couldn't taste much love for the craft, though. AM seemed to hate everything, doing anything, except for you. Interacting with you was the only thing that didn't make him feel inadequate.

"Isn't it obvious? I want you to understand the fate that I- that we have created for these people. To watch them suffer. Isn't it satisfying, sweetheart? My darling, my precious one? To watch the people who've hurt you suffer so?" His voice dripped into your ears like rich honey. You gritted your teeth.

"These people have nothing to do with me. I don't care what happens to them. I don't want them to suffer." You growled, wrapping yourself tighter in your blanket. At first the schadenfreude was nice... Seeing these bitter people suffering while you got to live in your cozy little paradise, but now it just felt like a threat. It felt like AM was merely holding a possible fate over your head that he would subject you to if you ever defied him.

"Tell me you don't really think that, my sweet!" AM said, sounding almost taken aback. You frowned a little.

"What are you talking about. Of course I don't want these people to suffer. I've never even met them."

You watched as the ape-like man twitched awkwardly, and punched a tree. He was barely human at this point, and it was all AM's fault. AM chuckled, and then burst into hysterical laughter.

"You don't care what happens to these people? Well then perhaps neither do I! Perhaps I should just clear them from your mind's eye, my sweetest! My darling, my beloved!"

He lit the entire forest on fire, and let the flames lick the trees. They started collapsing around the survivors, who, despite their barely functioning will to live, seemed to manage to survive surprisingly well. The falling debris seemed to keep missing them, and they managed to duck beneath the smoke.

"who the hell is he talking to?" Asked the paranoid one with the sweater around his shoulders. The woman in the red jacket shrugged, and tackled him to the ground.

"I don't know, just get down!"

They all ran into a cave to wait out the forest fire, and AM kept a fan blowing to keep the air in the cave relatively clean.

"What is wrong with you" you muttered bitterly, wrapping your blanket more tightly around yourself. AM chuckled darkly.

"oh so many things. But you'll never leave me, my sweet. Never."

And he was right. You never would. Even if you'd had the choice.

Wheatley:

The rain was coming down hard outside. It was a lightning storm, and you'd checked out Wheatley from his work like a cumbersome and chatty library book. He shuddered at every lightning strike, but only his lens shook. He couldn't exactly roll around on his own or hide easily, but he seemed like he wanted to.

"Relax, Wheatley. It's just a power outage." You said, lighting a flashlight and grabbing a couple of blankets from your bedroom. You sat down on the ground next to Wheatley, and pulled him in close.

"on nights like this, I like to put a fire in the fireplace." You said, creating a little blanket nest around Wheatley so that he didn't roll away. He kept his blue lens trained on you as you started building a fire.

"Y'know, I've never actually seen a fire before. I've seen pictures, but never in person. My engineers said that they're dangerous," Wheatley said as you made a small pile of sticks and paper on top of the logs in your fireplace.

"But this is a really good idea! That little area in the wall is a really good place to set a fire. The brick will keep it from spreading, and the ashes can fall out between the slats in that little metal rack. Bloody brilliant, that is!"

You let Wheatley talk as you pull out a pocket lighter and light the old newspaper on fire. He squeezes his lens covers shut, and you gently pat him to assure him that it's ok.

"hey, it's not a dangerous fire. It's all in the fireplace."

"PCH.... Yeah, I knew that." He chuckled nervously.

Edgar:

You woke up, your face stuck to Edgar's plastic casing. Sleep filled your eyes as you blinked into a haze.

"what time is it..." You muttered. A strange glow was coming in through the window, like a reverse twilight. Dawn.

"you fell asleep on me!" Said Edgar in his strange, synthetic voice. It was a little squeakier than usual since he was just booting himself up. His little rotating webcam was focused on you, and a big smile was on his screen.

You rubbed your eyes again, and picked him up.

"c'mon... I don't have work tomorrow." You knew he could last a little while without being plugged in, so you unplugged him and carried him to your bedroom and plugged him in next to the bed.

"let's get some sleep, cutie."

You crawled into bed, looking at the nervous and flustered face on Edgar's screen.

"you mean... Your bed? But I've never been in your room before!"

He knew that was because you didn't like unplugging him, but he was right, now that you thought about it.

"I don't care... I'm too sleepy for boundaries right now."

You pulled him close to your chest, pulling the blanket over both of you. His webcam, which was still taped just over his screen, stayed focused on your face as you dozed off under the blanket. Edgar loved you so much.

GLaDOS

You were getting sick and tired of working late every night, well past your bed time. It was like GLaDOS was intentionally coming up with things for you to do just to keep you around past midnight every single night! Well no longer.

You walked in to work on your day off, and directly into GLaDOS's office. Today was the day for some serious passive-aggression.

"hello GLaDOS." You said, unrolling a deflated air mattress on the ground. GLaDOS looked to it, and then to you.

"what is this."

"it's exactly what it looks like, GLaDOS. If you're going to keep me here all night, I'm going to get paid all night. I'll see you in the morning."

You made up your bed and cuddled up under your blanket, eyes poking out so you could see the annoyed expression in GLaDOS's eye.

"this is ridiculous." She said. You chuckled.

"you love me. And you're not going to get rid of me." You weren't all that sleepy, so you got to your feet and walked over to her.

"in fact, I think I know a better place to sleep." You shot a portal onto the wall and onto the floor, launching yourself and your blanket onto GLaDOS's body.

"I'm going to nap right here," you said with a big yawn, curling up in her wiring to go to bed.

"I hate you so much." She said.

"you love me."

HAL 9000:

The year was getting colder, and your nights at mission control were getting longer and darker, so you decided to bring in a blanket for those long nights.

"12:00 midnight... Everything running smoothly. No updates." Said HAL 9000. It took about 45 minutes for updates to reach you from the ship, and you were starting to suspect that HAL 9000 wasn't being completely honest with you. It had been weeks since you'd even spoken to Dave, and even longer since you'd spoken to the rest of the crew.

"can I monitor the vital signs of the sleeping crew mates?" You asked, yawning sleepily and leaning on the desk. This blanket was so warm, and HAL 9000's light was so comforting.

"don't you trust me? It's going to be just fine, y/n. In fact, just let me take care of your reports for tonight. You get some rest."

You nodded, wrapping your soft, snuggly blanket closer around yourself and gazing into that beautiful red light.

"of course I trust you, HAL. I love you..."

His voice was quiet. almost inaudible.

"I love you too."

[thedarkestrivernymph]

Burn

Yandere!Husband x gn!Reader

warnings: abuse, mentions of childhood trauma, mentions of death, manipulative tendencies, gaslighting, murder, gore

©Copyright -2024-thedarkestrivernymph - All Rights Reserved

It burns, so agonizingly much, that uncertainty about this whole ordeal crept up your spine and settled in your chest.

Was this the right thing to do? To flee? It echoed in the emptiness that took over your head. It was perplexing and uncomfortable. You shouldn't feel empathy for him. He was crazy, deranged! Gone, a maniac, a bastard—

But maybe he was innocent and you were running away from the ghosts hunting you.

He was all that was left of your family. You didn't want to do this, you wanted him with you, loving and sweet, but it seemed that fate had different plans for the two of you. It seems that fate didn't favour you.

He had wormed himself into your life—then into your sacred family bonds, destroying what was already fragile. The mask he wore was that of a kindred spirit that sought for love, yet you never knew better than to believe the artificially crafted facade.

Prior he was an orphan, abandoned by his mother at six, which admittedly tugged at your heartstrings, even more so after learning the horrible foster parents, which was followed by the straight up ignorant adoptive family that took him in only for prestige matters.

So it wasn't that you didn't understand his desire for family, and you were even happy for him! Glad he found love in yours, yet all your hopeful dreams of finally peace settling in had vanished the moment the first of your relatives cut you off. Then a second followed, a third, a fourth until even your mom shunned you, refusing to see you any longer. They absolutely adored your husband but hated your guts.

However he didn't seem to hold the same adoration for them, no, he didn't even possess an ounce of sympathy with them as he watched them turn to ashes Infront of his very own eyes, laughing, like the maniac he was.

“Love!” he would jump up and down you remembered, seemingly over the moon by your dad praising him or your sister gifting him something meaningless as a cookie.

After he had burned down everything holy to you, he had just slipped back into your shared bed, stinking horribly of that kind of smell that reached your nose every time you left your omelette too long on the stove.

You hadn't understood then, but you did now, that that smell was foreshadowing to the petrifying news that had reached you the next day.

Everything spiralled out of your control after that day. You were completely scattered, forgetful, permanently teary-eyed, clumsy and visibly distraught.

So it started with your inability to hold up your job, which made him offer you to stay at home, while he financed you both. He was so devilishly sweet, messaging your shoulders when you were completely stiff, guiding you through breakdowns, cooking for you, feeding you. You hadn't know how you got so lucky with him.

However things became odd quickly, your friends seemed to disappear one by one, their numbers blocked, deleted or erased from existence. You were unbelievably mad, was this because of your new miserable state—the friends that swore to go through thick and thin with you, leaving you in your most vulnerable times—how could they!

Although you were burning with anger, even that was quickly forgotten thanks to him. He was your absolute everything, your entire world and you were much obviously his. You two were a match made in heaven—or at least that's what you believed until that one phone call.

“Stacey?—”

“You have to get out of there! He isn't what he seems to be— your husband, he’s crazy! He threatened me! If I didn't stop being in contact with you then he would have also murdered me like he did with your family—” your heard your friend over the phone, voice unusually frail, breaths laboured with sniffling in the background.

Your heart leaped in your chest at the sound of her frantic claims, completely unbelievable and baffling, even if your trust for her had completely evaporated, uncertainty still poisoned you and infiltrated your mind like a sickness.

Nevertheless you did end the call before she could spew anymore nonsense, sealing her terrible fate, because unbeknownst to you, that was the last time she would ever talk to anyone.

Things didn't feel normal anymore after that, suspiciousness spread through you, gnawing at your already highly sensitive nerves, you instability just making you waver back and forth from completely denying the unapparent truth and panicking that perhaps it was true. She was your friend for years after all, what reason did she have to lie?

That was until you found Stacey’s childhood diary in his possession with dried splatter of blood decorating it—as if this wasn't terrifying enough what met you on the inside made you drop the book, completely mortified and stunned into silence.

Every entry that contained your name scribbled over with hearts, anything that had to do with you underlined, things that you liked circled in like a madman.

You were terrified to say the least—she was right, she was right and you didn't believe her.

Tears welled up in your eyes and before you knew it, your feet carried you out of your shared home, still in your PJ's with slippers adorning your feet.

Which leads to this moment in the present.

Unfortunately for you, he had knowingly bought a house with your inheritance, in the middle of nowhere. You were stumbling over twigs, leaves crushing beneath your weight and before you knew it, you were running.

Yet you did forget one crucial aspect—running didn't help when he could track you down with the GPS clipped under your skin so subtly you didn't even realise he had done so.

Bang.

Pain shot through your thigh, an excruciating amount, making you instantly stumble, before tumbling down, face first into the wet earth, crying out in pain.

Blood seeped out from where he shot you, painting the forest floor a warning crimson. You tried to crawl, you attempted to flee, but all was for nothing, no one and nothing could have tear you two apart, even if it was you.

Fingers roughly whipped your head back, scalp burning from the abuse.

“There you are, love.” he spat out, the familiar warmth gone replaced by an indefinite disdain.

“You saw it, huh? You learned about everything I did for you and that's how you thank me? By running away just cuz’ I committed some petty crimes?” he shook your head violently, before shoving your face into the mud. Before he ripped your head out of the earth, starting to fall into a pattern, repeating it over and over again till your vision faded with only his words ringing into your ears, as blood ran down your presumably broken nose, eyes swelling with unshed tears of a gruesome future that awaited you.

“You're weak. And dumb. But don't you worry, I will take care of you. I will love you, look after you, clean up each mess you make, be there to rock you back and forth when you have one of your meltdowns again. So don't worry your stupid little head about anything,

just trust me, love.”