#god AND my eyes are getting shittier lately

[minotaurfemme]

screams

[waterkittywriting]

Again with me! I have a lot of ideas lately😭

I hope I'm not disturbing you

I request a clingy reader(fem!reader) with Chuuya(can be incest or no, your choice), I will say headcannons or not, so basically, they get in a argument, and Chuuya hits her!!! Out of anger! *gasp* :O

And chuuya tries and will make it up to her

Can be smut!

Angst to Fluff to maybe Smut????

I'll Make It Up To You

Warnings: Fem!reader, Slight manipulation, Hurt/veryminimalcomfort, chuuya being a freaking meanie, I'm much better at hcs but I wanted to practice doing oneshots, Kinda ooc

Characters: Chuuya

A/N: ilysm you are NOT disturbing me 💯 please keep requesting!!! You give me tons of motivation. All I have on this account is smut so I just made it hurt/comfort I hope that's okay 😇😇

Your front door slams, you hear shit falling off the walls and know he must be pissed. You creep down the stairs, tip toeing over to your boyfriend, pulling him into a hug. "Not in the mood." He grumbles, pushing you off by the head.

You wince a little at the pain of him tugging your hair, but say nothing about it. "Did you have a bad day at work?" You ask gently, taking a step back. "Oh my God, can't you just leave me alone? Are you capable of that?!" He snaps, turning around, glaring daggers into your eyes. "..Chuuya.. I just wanted to make sure you're oka-" Smack!

You look up at him, and he stares down with guilty eyes. Neither of you say anything until.. "Chuuya! What the fuck!" You take another step back, trying to stop the tears welling in your eyes from falling. "What is wrong with you??" You yell, your voice squeaky.

"Doll.. I'm sorry. You know I just had a bad day at work." He sounded exasperated. Really? Over him hitting you?? You storm back up the stairs, into your shared bedroom, and lock the door behind you.

You slide down the walls, head in your hands as you contemplate everything that had just happened. Was it really your fault for bothering him? No, it couldn't have been, those ads you see on YouTube.. those billboards on the road, always say it's never the victims fault. But are you really a victim? He only hit you once.. does the really count. You sat here for a minute, your mind pacing.

Your train of thought is broken by a small knock on the door. You stand up immediately to open the door, but you stand in the way of letting him in. He looked guilty, genuinely, really guilty. "Baby girl.. I'm sorry.. I just-" you cut him off. "Yeah, you fucking should be!" You yell, the tears starting to fall from your eyes. "..Isn't that a bit.. dramatic?" He groans.

"Dramatic? You're calling me dramatic now?" You scoff, staring at him in the eye. He sighs. "Bunny.. you know that's not what I meant, please, just let me make it up to you." Bunny, Doll, Babygirl, you were fucking tired of it.

"Stop with the fucking pet names you cunt! I'm pissed at you and you're calling me baby girl?!" You can't help but laugh. You're so angry and it's not funny but you just can't stop laughing. "What is wrong with you?" You ask, watching a pang of guilt in his eyes, "Ill.. um.. ill give you some more time." You swear you could hear his voice getting all squeaky and high pitched too, but you didn't comment on it.

You sat on your bed, contemplating the meaning of your existence, when you check your phone. It had been two hours since he came up to check on you, two hours since you made him feel shittier than he made you. You felt like such a terrible person.

You get off your bed, slowly opening the door and creeping downstairs to the living room where Chuuya is sitting on the couch with a glass of wine and a book. He looked.. unbothered. Meanwhile you had tears and mascara streaming down your face.,

"Chuuya?" You whimper, he looks up, sighs and looks back down at his book, patting the couch next to him. "Come sit down." He mumbles, turning the page. You practically run over to the couch, digging your face into his side, he wraps his arm around your curled body as he sighs and puts the book down, keeping the wine.

"..I'm sorry. What I did was not right. There's no excuse for me to hit you like that." You hear his voice shaking, and you know he feels guilty. "It's okay.." you can't tell if you're telling the truth. You don't know whether it's okay. Can it ever be okay? "I'm sorry too.. for yelling at you and calling you a cunt." You sniffle, feeling, embarrassed? You felt overdramatic, like you needed to stop making a big deal out of such a little thing. It wasn't his fault, he was just stressed.

"Don't stress it." He sighs, leaning back into the couch. "I love you." He mumbles, and you mutter it right back, just like always. "I love you." That was true. And you knew that, and that's all that mattered. You two love each other and sometimes people in love make mistakes. Just keep telling yourself that.

"I'll make it up to you sweets." He mumbles, putting his glass down and laying his head on top of yours. "It's gonna be okay, I won't let this happen again." It feels like he's talking to himself more than you, but you still appreciate the sentiment.

"I love you." You whisper, one more time, before falling into a deep, well needed sleep.

[fullofgutsndopamine]

Sleeping In The Garden (You Broke The Dark)

(or the single dad hasan fic no one asked for)

tw/cursing, insta-love

cavity inducing fluff below the cut, don't say i didn't warn you

more here

you arrived early to the library to set up.

you didn’t need a full hour and a half to unpack a small suitcase full of various cheap school supplies; Crayola paints and old brushes warn with age, stencils and small canvases.

it's winter break at the small school you teach, and to make ends meet, you've been doing small paint and sip activities at local libraries for the kids.

it gets the children out of their parents hair for an hour and a half, and they're usually excited to see the artwork they work on come to life-and the hot chocolate is an added bonus for most kids.

kids file in, and while the class was filled, you can't help but notice the seat in the corner unoccupied as you gather your supplies, say a quiet prayer to whatever god exists, and walk to the front of the room-

the door is thrown open, and a tall man ducks into the room, snow covering his mop of curly brown hair, hunched over so he doesn't tower over his kid, his hand on their back as he speaks quietly to them:

"Go on. You're okay."

She takes a step, but immediately retreats back and hides behind the mans leg, her tiny fingernails dig into his leg.

"Baby," he sighs, "C'mon. I promise-"

He looks up and sees you, his face turns pink and he stands a little straighter, takes the hat off his head and tries to wipe the snow out of his hair.

"I'm so sorry we're late," he sounds genuine, "I can offer you an assortment of excuses, each shittier than the last-"

"Papa."

he realizes his mistake, the curse word, and half turning around, speaks gently: "That's right. My bad. That's a quarter in the jar when we get home, okay?"

finally, a small giggle from behind his legs, and he stands a little straighter, as if proud of this breakthrough.

"You aren't too late," You reassure him, "We didn't even really start."

"Oh, good." and he sounds so genuinely happy, you have to bite your lip from smiling back, "She hasn't stopped talking about this since I signed her up."

"Papa."

A groan from behind his leg that makes him laugh

"You can stay," You say, probably too quick even, borders on pathetic, "If it makes your daughter more comfortable. Plenty of parents stay."

And that's not a lie, necessarily, a few parents stayed, but they mostly linger towards the back, by the various snacks, heads buried in their phones.

"Papa," the voice from behind his legs come, border on pleading: "Stay?"

and then, a little quieter, a little teary, she finishes with a, "Please?"

and listen, you don't know the man in front of you, or the kid either, but as he kneels on the floor, his head titled and voice low, "Okay." He nods, "I'll stay."

he pushes down the laundry list of things he needs to do; phone calls to make, grocery shopping to do-

his daughter comes first, always.

He looks up at you, a small smile on his face: "I won't get in the way, I promise, where do you want us?"

And he stands, and slings his daughter onto his hip, a carbon copy of him, a mop of curly hair on top of her head, some sloppy ponytail and a knit hat shoved over her head-

"There's a seat right there." You bite your lip and turn, pointing towards the empty chair, hoping you turned in time so he doesn't see the red of your face.

"Thank you uh-" He shakes his head, laughs, "Sorry, I didn't get your name uhm-"

You laugh, "Right, It's nice to meet you-"

And you offer your hand, hands in the air and feels awkward for half a second as you introduce yourself, but he laughs, shakes back:

"hasan," he gives the kid on his hip a gentle shake, "And this is Ophelia."

"It's nice to meet you two," You smile at the small figure on his hip, who buries her head into his shoulder blade, her hands hold tiny handfuls of his sweater, makes him roll his eyes but fond at the side of his lips as he bounces her on his hip, "Have a seat, and i'll bring everything over in a second."

He shakes his head, as if dazed, "Of course, right." and walks to the table, trips over his own feet, but manages to help himself from falling.

He sets Ophelia on a chair, and takes his own coat off, sits cross legged next to her on the floor, still towers over her, his voice low but he's smiling and pointing at everything, obviously trying to make her more comfortable-

You stand at the front, slowly starting the beginning instructions after you set hasan and Ophelia up with the supplies, watch as he carefully ties the apron around her waist, a tickle on her side as she finally giggles, reaches over and stars grabbing at the paint exctidely-

you go around, getting ready to serve the small paper cups of hot chocolate, once you realize everyone is mostly comfortable (even Ophelia, who has made friends with the little boy next to her) when you feel a presence by your elbow.

"Sorry, hope I didn't scare you," He smiles, scratches the back of his neck, "Thought i'd ask if you needed help."

He smiles weakly for a second before his eyes go wide, "Not that it doesn't look like you don't have this under control or anything!"

finally, you laugh, and it seems to make some anxiety he has go away.

"That would actually be great," You laugh, "If you wanna carry the tray, I can hand 'em out. We can doule team."

He nods, "Sure, of course-"

"And I can re-pay you," you continue, a smirk on your lips.

"Oh," He shakes his head, "No way. How happy Ophelia is, is good enough payment"

'and meeting you' hangs on the tip of his tongue, but he swallows that down

"The payment is unfortunately," you continue, turning around, "In marshmallows."

you turn back around, a large bag of mini marshmallows in your hand

he laughs, a giggle, his voice teasing, "Hot chocolate and marshmallows?"

"Marshmallows are my love language." You laugh, and before you realize what you're saying he's nodding, like that actually means something

"Good to know," he laughs, "I'll keep that in mind."

And your face blushes red again and you shrug, struggle with the ends of the bag for a second before he takes it, opens it without asking and hands it back

he snorts at himself, "I'm so sorry," he shakeshis head, "I think i'm still in dad mode."

You laugh, shake your head, "That's okay-"

He cuts you off, "You lead the way?" he says gently, "And maybe i can make it up to you later?"

for a second, you wonder what, exactly, he wants to make up, but as he looks at his dirty converse and kicks gently at the ground, his face red, you know what he's getting at.

"Yeah," you shake your head, hoping it doesn't come off as desperate as it feels, "I'd love that."

"Yeah?" his head whips up, and he nods, as if he's calm about the whole thing.

"yeah," he nods a final time, "It's a date."

and you two deliver hot chocolate with marshmallows, both of your faces tinged pink, ignoring the way your hands knock into each other the entire time.

[zoeysdamn]

Bark, Bite & Break Bones - Tyler Galpin x Van Helsing!reader | Part.10 [FINALE]

Summary: Deep into a rescue mission, you’re about to face some childhood traumas along with distressed werewolves. But if you’re here rescuing kids, who’s handling Tyler’s safety out there? Was it a mistake to choose to leave him in this tense atmosphere where everyone’s looking for a culprit? You just hope you won’t be too late to see the mystery of this curse unfold. 

Warnings: graphic gore depiction (be careful), swearing, angst, mention of blood, mention of arson, mention of child neglect (minor), mention of slapping a partner [THIS IS A PIECE OF FICTION, THIS IS NEVER OKAY IN REAL LIFE] Also, my sincere apologizes for the badly written fight scenes and even shittier plot lmao

A/N: oh my gOD the last chapter is finally out!! (who would have thought). Really not my best chapter, but honsetly I had 0 plot for this one lmao I’m still pleased of how it turned out. Read the warnings carefully, and enjoy! 

[Main Masterlist] [Wednesday Masterlist] [Prologue] [Part.1] [Part.2] [Part.3] [Part.4] [Part.5] [Part.6] [Part.7] [Part.8] [Part.9]

The heat was almost unbearable and hitched your skin. Ashes and the heavy dust from burning wood were veiling your eyes too, making them water in a pitiful attempt to clear your vision, but by now you weren’t really paying any attention to it anymore. A burning ache seemed to grow in your lungs every passing second, and you knew it was a matter of a few minutes before breathing would really become painful. 

Nothing looked like the dorms anymore. No matter how well you thought you knew the grounds, every corner was metamorphosed into unrecognizable burning piles. Time was of the essence yet you lost yourself so many times trying to scramble your way through the blazing building. 

Despite the burning in your throat, you tried to call out, “Hello?! Anyone here?” 

Nobody answered the raspy question. So you carried on your search under the unbearable warmth of the fire around you. Sweat beads dripped down your forehead and a cough tore from your aching throat. Then, very faintly, a whimper echoed somewhere behind a crumbled part of a wall. Through your coughs, you tried to call out again. 

“Hello? Are you in there?” 

Another long whine answered you and after pushing some rubble you could outline a shivering form through the thick smoke. Two students were curled up on the ground, trembling with fear and halfway through their wolf transformation. Unruly fur poked from under their skin at odd places, yet couldn’t hide the pure look of distress on the children’s faces. As soon as they noticed you through the thick smoke, a growl emanated from one of them; surely more instinct than real disdain. Despite the urgency of the situation and the burning flames all around, you carefully knelt in front of the shivering students. 

“It’s okay,” you tried to reassure them as best as you could, “I’m gonna get you out of here, okay?”

Carefully reaching out with your palm, you let the two children crinkle their snouts at your scent. Whether they knew who you were or not didn’t seem to change the fact they immediately winced and backed down even further against the wall, trying to growl in an intimidating manner. But the low whine that escaped instead didn’t fool you. The fire alone was a traumatizing experience, but an early, forced wolf-out was even worse. Memories of written testimonies of previous hunters flashed in your mind, their tales of great pain and tortured howls from werewolves who had been forced to transform too soon. Those kids right here were in more dreadful pain than anyone could imagine. 

Slowly unsheathing your dagger, you kept your eyes focused on the younger students. At the sight of the silver blade, one of the students let out a terrified cry. 

Immediately flicking the dagger so that the blade rested in your palm instead of facing them, you held out your other hand in a somewhat reassuring gesture. “Hey, hey, it’s okay,” you shushed, trying the best to ignore the blazing warmth of the fire around you. “I’m not gonna hurt you. See?” 

As to prove your words, the blade sank into your skin, drawing blood onto your palm. The strong copper smell of blood immediately made the students�� eyes widen and their half-transformed snout crinkle despite the bitter taste of ashes and flames all around. You knew that a werewolf transformation, particularly an early one, sharpened the senses and the smell ; thus, the strong smell of blood and silver should be upsetting enough for the human part of those students, and hopefully help them turn back. You simply hoped that the human part of them would take over quickly, it was becoming really hard to ignore the blazing fire around you. 

Fortunately, after what felt like the longest seconds of your life, the harsh features of half-turned students started to fade into softer, human ones. With heavy whimpers tainted in pain, the two children started to turn back in their usual normal selves and soon tears-stained cheeks replaced their furry ones. When they lifted up glassy eyes to you, it was the only sign you needed and you grabbed the arm of the closest student. 

“Come on,” you urged them, “we need to get out quickly.” 

If either of them wanted to speak, the protest died quickly. Sooner than later the two young students ended up clinging to your side, never letting go of each other as the three of you hurried through the burning corridors. 

The smoke made your eyes and throat burn, and despite trying to keep a clear mind you couldn’t help but an all-too familiar memory to overcome your senses. Flashes of another place, burning to the ground just like this one, and the dreadful feeling of panic overflowing your entire being, those were painfully familiar to you. For a moment you were this terrified little girl again, trapped inside your grandparents house while the fire destroyed everything and no one around to help you. But the iron-grip of the petrified children on your sleeve reminded you that no matter how the dread of memories tried to drown you, you had a responsibility. Those kids needed you, and you’d be damned if you couldn’t save those terrified children from this blaze just like you had been all those years ago. This time no child would feel as helpless and trapped within the flames, that you promised to yourself. 

A loud crack erupted just before a beam collapsed in front of you, making you jump backward with a curse. A tiny whimper escaped one of the students and you squeezed their shoulder in reassurance, looking around to find another way out. 

“Come on, stay close to me,” you coughed as you hurried to a window nearby. Getting out of the building was becoming more than urgent, or neither of you three would last long. 

Suddenly a gush of fresh air kissed your face and made your eyes widened. The exit was close, there was still a chance for you and the kids to get out in one piece. Following the feeling of night breeze, you clumsily reached the window you had previously noticed among the rumbles. Shouts of people outside became louder and clearer, a nice indication that the nightmare might be over soon. When you reached the window, you peeked outside to see the surroundings: first floor, some bushes at the foot of the outside wall, just before one of the paths leading to the outer courtyard where everyone gathered. Perfect. 

“Hey!” you shouted, and some other students a few meters away whipped their heads in your direction. “Over here! Come help me, there’s kids in here!” 

While a bunch of people hurried in your direction, you helped the two younger students climbing on the window ledge. When they noticed the height, they gave you frightened looks. 

“I can’t do this,” whined one of them, almost pleading. But you would have none of that, and grounded a hand on their shoulder. 

“Yes you can,” you said with a firm yet reassuring tone. “You’ve been very brave already, I know you can do it.” 

Some older students below started to organize themselves by climbing on each other’s shoulders to be able to catch the younger kids. At the sign they were ready, you hoisted the first kid on the ledge. 

“I’m right behind you,” you promised them when they gave you one last frightened look. “Trust me.” 

And so they did. Holding their hands to lower them until your arms couldn’t take it anymore, you let go of them only for a second before they were caught safely on the ground by the group of students down below. Seeing how well their friend’s rescuing went, the second kid let you guide them without a word, trusting you to get them out safely. Once the two rescued kids were back on the ground and outside of the flaming building, you let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding. That’s it, they’re safe. But a loud crack behind you brutally reminded you that you weren’t out of trouble yet yourself, and out of reflex you jumped from the window ledge before the flames could reach you. 

The sudden nature of the jump hadn’t allowed you to properly prepare yourself so you ended up half-landing, half-crashing on the ground rather unceremoniously. A grunt left your lips at a sharp sting on your ankle ; surely you had landed on it, spraining it in the process. 

Unknown hands came to help you up and you gratefully took them �� although you may have recognized Ajax among them, you weren’t so sure. Dozens of questions were thrown at you but you barely heard them. The adrenaline rush had died down, letting the pain and exhaustion crash into you like a wall of bricks. 

It was a familiar voice that dragged you out of the numbing limbo of thought. 

“Holy fuck Y/N, are you alright??” 

Lifting your head up, you were met with a pair of cerulean blue eyes ; to say that you were surprised by the fact they weren’t throwing daggers at you as per usual would be the understatement of the fucking century. 

Despite the soreness of your throat and the ache of your limbs, you couldn’t help but grin. “Awww,” you cooed with a raspy voice, “you actually care. Took you,” you coughed roughly, “a god damn fire to soften on me.”

Bianca scoffed at your antics, “Don’t flatter yourself Van Helsing.”

“Aaand here she is. But I’ll be okay, thanks.” 

Even with all the sarcasm and usual bitterness, you could see that for once, the siren truly was worried. It was hard to believe that she would at some point, after having tried to drown you barely a few months ago. 

A chuckle just next to you made you realize that you were literally leaning against someone who helped you walk away from the building – probably one who had helped you get up. Turning your head, you realized it was indeed a familiar gorgon student. 

“Through a fire and still being sarcastic,” he joked. “Is there anything that can actually kill you?”

You snorted, wincing in pain in the process. “Wouldn’t anyone like to know, uh?” 

“Y/N!!” shrieked a voice. 

The three of you turned just in time to catch a glimpse of a blonde and pink tornado rushing at your side. You hadn’t time to catch your breath that she was already crushing you into a hug. 

“Thank you!” Enid cried. “Thank you thank you thank you! You saved those pups, I can’t thank you enough!!” 

From above her shoulder, you caught sight of the two young werewolves students you rescued, surrounded by teachers and being taken care of. A sigh of relief got past your lips. Everybody was okay, that’s all that mattered. Wait. Everyone? 

“Where’s Tyler?” you asked abruptly, suddenly very aware of your surroundings. 

Enid parted from the hug, looking confused. Bianca, Ajax, and Wednesday – surely arrived shortly after Enid – looked at each other, shrugging. 

“Nobody knows where he is?” you asked frantically. At the shake of their heads, a new feeling of dread sank into you. Suddenly, you could sense that something was very, very wrong. 

WIthout really thinking, you pushed yourself off Ajax and started to search frantically around you for a familiar freckled boy. But Tyler was nowhere to be found. Ignoring the calls of Enid, Wednesday and Ajax, you hobbled the best you could through the courtyard. Still no chance. 

As you started to fear that he might have disappeared, your gaze focused on the forest. The pit of dread growing in your stomach only worsened, and you realized that something much more dangerous was most likely to occur. The fire, the sudden panic, with all this pressure and stressful situation, Tyler could lose control over the Hyde at any moment. And you hadn’t been here to contain him and keep him grounded like you had promised him to. 

Limping toward the woods the fastest you could, you truly hoped that you were wrong, and that there was no Hyde running wild out there. 

The chilly air of the night did nothing to calm your nerves as you rushed through the woods. Even with your limping leg, you searched frantically for Tyler but he was nowhere to be found. Calling him would be useless, it would only frighten him more, should he not recognize your voice from afar. 

Mentally, you couldn’t help but scold yourself a little. None of that would have happened if you hadn’t agreed to follow Xavier, Wednesday and Bianca in the first place. Sure, the fire would have happened anyway, but at least you would have remained on Tyler’s side all along. Maybe those two kids were safe thanks to you, but if anything happened to Tyler you would never forgive yourself. 

A faint crack made you whip your head around; only to find a dark silhouette clutching its head a few meters away. Carefully approaching the groaning form, you knew who it was before even seeing their face. No matter how gray his skin was starting to turn, how his bones seemed to want to pop out in sharp edges or how fucked up the situation was, you could recognize your boyfriend anywhere. 

“Tyler?...” you called him, voice barely above a whisper. 

A grunt answered just as he whipped around to face you. Halfway through his own transformation, surely fighting against the Hyde within his own body and mind, Tyler stared at you without really looking at you. With ragged breaths, he found himself standing still and you used it to slowly approach him, a hand halfway held in his direction. 

“Hey there big boy,” you said softly, careful to not upset him more. His lack of reaction made you optimistic, and for the briefest moment you thought it could go easily. Boy, you were wrong. 

In a blink of an eye you ended up thrown against the nearest tree, back hitting the trunk forcefully as a clawed hand squeezed around your throat. The force of the impact against the tree was so strong, your head bumped harshly and made you dizzy for a handful of seconds. When your eyes refocused, there was nothing left of Tyler in front of you; the full-grown Hyde’s face breathed heavily inches from yours, sharp teeth and furious eyes threatening to tear off your head any moment. His transformation had been so fast you hadn’t even been able to see it. 

Another growl, more impatient this time, escaped him and the Hyde’s claws squeezed harder around your throat. 

Breath getting short, you yet couldn’t help but to let slip a snarky comment. “Jokes on you, I’m into that,” you rasped with a smirk. 

That definitely didn’t ease the creature and he slammed you once more against the tree, tearing off a pained grunt out of you. Internally you cursed your natural sarcasm and some more rational survival reflexes finally sprung out. Your right hand came to cling on the monster’s wrist, like it would do anything to make him drop you - just like the pathetic attempt of kicking your tired legs. The more seconds passed, the more tired you grew ; you knew there wasn’t much you could physically do in this state. Your right ankle throbbed in pain, and the previous walk-through in the fire had drained you from all energy. But you had to fight to stay alive, or else there would soon be nothing left of Y/N Van Helsing. 

So instead of fighting, barking and biting with all your might, you forced yourself to relax as much as you could, gulping slowly and easing your muscles. The sudden stop of resistance seemed to surprise the Hyde, for his growls ceased for a moment – but not the iron grip around your throat though. Trying to push a smile on your tense face, you put on the most soft expression you could pull. 

“It’s me,” you whispered softly, voice rough and cracking. “It’s me Tyler…Look at me babe, please look at me…” 

The creature cocked his head at the sound of your voice. The calmer tone, although it had still some panicked edge, seemed to ground him. Sensing this as a progress, you pushed your luck a bit further, your left hand slowly raising to reach his distorted face. He flinched a little under your touch, but except for a light grunt of surprise, let you cradle his cheek. 

Thumb grazing the rough surface of his bony cheek, you tried to keep a soft smile despite the pain. “I’m not gonna hurt you Tyler,” you promised in a soothing tone, “I can’t, you know that.”

The creature grunted again, like fighting with himself. You truly hoped that you could get a hold on the human part of Tyler and help him come back. The more he felt the caress of your hand on his face, the more it seemed to help him turn back into his human form. 

Inhaling sharply, you decided to take your chance. 

“Tyler,” you called him slowly, “I’m gonna need you to let me go. Can you do that?” 

He struggled so hard, you could practically see the raging internal battle between the Hyde and Tyler. 

“Let me go,” you whispered, eyes pleading this time, practically on the verge of tears. “Please…”

Slowly, very slowly, the clutch around your neck eased a little. The newfound arrival of air made you gasp but you had to refrain yourself from making any loud noise to not frighten the Hyde. Instead, your left hand still cradled his cheek, as a sign of encouragement. The creature lowered you gradually, and when your tiptoes finally touched the ground again you choked on a sob. 

“Thanks Tyler,” you whispered, careful as his claws were still wrapped loosely around your throat, “you’re doing great.” 

A spark of consciousness flashed in his globulous eyes, like his human self resurfaced for the briefest moment. 

But then something seemed to make him snap, a gurgling roar tearing from the monster’s throat in fury. What was a hopeful moment a second ago turned into unbridled rage ; the other clawed hand of the Hyde rose high in the air and before you could even register what was happening, dove right onto your face. Everything went very quickly, one second the glint of sharp nails urged your survival instincts to try to cover your face with your left hand ; then a slice and a faint moment of blackout. A second later, the pain exploded. 

A wail left your lips but you didn’t even hear yourself scream, nor did you feel your body drop on the forest floor. The pressure around your throat was gone, but the pain erupting through your left hand numbed everything else. Vision got blurry as you stared at the teared open flesh and puddle of blood that was once your left hand: a large gash opened your palm from forefinger to the wrist, as three half sliced fingers dandled, barely holding from their base by a thin tendril of flesh. The cover of your face from the Hyde’s claws had cost your hand. Taken aback in surprise - maybe by your scream, maybe just because of the blood - the creature had dropped you on the spot, jumping away from you – but right now you couldn’t care less, too busy clutching your butchered hand, curled on the ground. While you whimpered, spiraling down this overwhelming pain, the Hyde groaned, barking erratically like fighting some invisible demons. His very own body seemed to struggle with itself, so much that after long seconds he started to turn back, his bones replacing themselves, the gray skin fading to be replaced with his human, freckled one.  

The loud thump of Tyler’s body falling on the ground suddenly reminded you of where you were, taking your mind away from the pain for a second. And no matter the throbbing of your hand, or the fact a monster was squeezing your throat to death only a few minutes ago,the sight of Tyler laying on the forest ground, shivering and whimpering made your heart clench so hard it was almost as painful as the rest of your body. 

Clutching your injured hand close to your chest, you tried to crawl closer to Tyler, calling him with a pathetic whimper. HIs head rolled slowly, glossy unfocused eyes searching for the source of your voice. It wasn’t until you finally reached him and reached for his hand that he seemed to fully regain consciousness. 

“Y/N…?” he rasped with a sore throat. 

Hearing him again almost made you cry, so relieved that he was safe. “Yeah,” you choked on a sob, “it’s me, babe. You’re back, it’s going to be okay.” 

Tyler tried to push himself up, but his attempt ended in failing miserably and he slumped on the ground once again, grunting. “I can’t move,” he moaned. Surely his transformation had left him more groggy and drained than any previous one. “Where are we?”

Another groan of pain tried to get past your lips but you swallowed it. “Somewhere in Nevermore’s forest, not sure how far…do you remember anything?” 

“I…not really…the fire, the screams it- it became too much for me. And- and I started to feel dizzy so I walked away to calm down but…I don’t remember anything else…”

You nodded, hissing at the odd sensation of your three fingers dandling from your hand in an awfully gory way. Tyler heard and tried to get a better look of you. His eyes widened at the sight of your butchered limb and the bruises around your neck. 

He paled, holding out trembling fingers. “Did I…did I do this to you?...”

The brush of his fingers on your cheek should have comforted you ; but despite your better judgment, you flinched at their contact. Tyler felt his heart break; oh my god, he did that to you. 

Just as the grueling panic and shame slated to overflow him, you immediately gripped one of his hands with your good one. 

“Hey, hey,” you said softly, “look at me Ty. Look at me,” at your insistence, he finally lifted his watery eyes to meet yours. Despite the pain and the tiredness plaguing both your mind and body, you tried to hold a steady and convinced gaze. 

“It’s gonna be alright, okay? Shit like that happens during hunts, I’m used to it and you weren’t yourself.”

“But–”

“Shh,” you interrupted him. “Keep your strength. I’m going to get us out of here, we’re gonna be alright.” 

“How touching to see you this optimistic,” quipped a voice behind you. 

Startled in surprise, you whirled around, leveling yourself in a seating position thanks to the adrenaline rush this sudden appearance gave you. Standing a few feet away, a man stood with a heavy coat, blonde hair and a satisfied smile. It took you a handful of seconds to pinpoint exactly where you had seen this prick’s face before. Yet last you remembered, members of the school board didn’t usually carry guns with them. 

Staring warily at the medium, you snarled at him. “What are you doing here in your cheap typical villain outfit? Here to peek at naked and injured students like a creep or to finish the job?” 

His smile didn’t falter. “As a matter of fact, it is indeed why I’m here, Miss Van Helsing.” 

You squint your eyes at him, careful to ot let panic rise too high. “So are we expecting some classical villain speech where you unfold the whole plan or is your boss gonna do it himself?”

The medium cocked his head to the side in amusement. “I’m afraid I don’t get what you’re implying. I work alone.”

Slowly, the pieces started to add up in your head. Everything was aligning and went clear. “You’re the one who put the nithing curse on the school,” you realized. “You did this.” 

“That I did,” he agreed, loading his gun meticulously. “I had to make enough diversion to trigger the Hyde without too much suspicion. I must admit, the fire wasn’t what I expected but my, it did work splendidly.” 

On the ground, Tyler whimpered, mind trying to get a grasp on reality through the haze. “I know…this voice…” he slurred. 

The look of disdain on the psychic’s face wasn’t even hidden by the night. “You gave me more struggle than I thought, I give you that. For some pathetic creature, you sure were hard to convince to unleash once your precious bodyguard was gone, earlier.” 

The thought of that arrogant fucker messing with Tyler’s mind just to make him lose control made you blood boil. “You’re a fucking psycho,” you seethed. 

The board member only shrugged. “You left me no choice. If you had died in that coffee shop like you were supposed to, none of this would have happened to Nevermore, my dear.” 

To the boiling anger added disgust and you snickered bitterly, “Of course you were the one who hired the mercenaries,” you spat, rolling your eyes. “Couldn’t do anything by yourself, uh? Why even doing all of this when you could have just refused Tyler’s application to the school, uh?”

This time, the medium knelt in front of you, taking in your injured self, pathetic and tired – the laying form of Tyler didn’t even seem to have his attention. 

“Because it would have been much more beneficial for me to have the nuisance of Y/N Van Helsing being removed at the same occasion,” he said with a sick smile. “Do you even know how much is the bait placed on your head by some vampire covens, little hunter?”

You scoffed, “I don’t know, do enlighten me then old fart.”

Admittedly not your better insult, but the flaring of his nostrils was enough proof it was pissing the medium off. Good. 

“Way too many numbers for you to count.”

“Nice,” you grinned in a provocative way, which seemed to anger him even more. Without hesitation, he pressed the barrel of his gun against your forehead. 

“It would have been so much easier to have the Hyde kill you,” he seethed, clearly starting to lose patience. “He would have been put back in jail, and you would be six feet underground. Everyone would have been happier like this.” 

The realization of his sick plan made you growl. “You expected Tyler to kill me by putting him in stressful situations. Too much of a coward to pull the trigger yourself?”

As the only response you heard the click of the gun being loaded. The previous calm and composed attitude of the psychic was gone, long replaced by irritation and febrile movements thanks to your insolent attitude. What could you say, without any weapon or functional body, it was all you were left with to fight. So if you had to walk away from life with bites and sarcasm, this asshole better be prepared ‘cause you fucking would. 

“Shut your bloody mouth,” he spat on the verge of patience. “Do you know how hard it is to earn your place as a psychic? When you don’t have a name like mighty Vincent Thorpe?”

“Boo-hoo, poor little you,” you pouted. 

“I had to crawl my way up to where I am now,” he continued, ignoring your remark. “The things I’ll do when the higher families of vampires will thank me for bringing them your head, I’ve earned them.”

“By putting some kids’ lives in danger, your fucking psychopath,” you spat at him. “You’re delusional as fuck if you think they’ll treat you as an equal.”

An amused smile stretched his lips and his finger pressed on the trigger. “I’m willing to try.” 

For a second, your breath stopped and you thought that you really were about to die here. You didn’t shut your eyes but squeezed Tyler’s hand on the ground beside you, not knowing if he really felt it or if he had passed out. You just wanted to let him know that you were by his side until the end. 

Then something jumped on the psychic, tackling him to the ground with force; the shot went off somewhere else behind your shoulder but you actually felt the heat of the bullet brazing your skin. 

The psychic screamed, fighting the giant beast that had attacked him under your wide eyes. Between fits and bites you caught sight of blonde fur with pink tufts somewhere. Even in the dark you understood who it was. Enid’s werewolf form. It didn’t take more than a couple of seconds to hear shouts from behind you, adding to the wolf’s grunt and the wails of the man crawling for his life under her. You started to feel dizzy, eyelids heavy and head spinning just as quick as the adrenaline dropped from your body. When you picked up familiar voices such as Ajax, Wednesday or even Weems’ voices, your body allowed itself to let go. From what you remembered, it might have been Bianca or Xavier that caught you before you crashed unconscious face first on the ground, with the screams of terror of the psychic being torn apart in the distance. 

You had woken up a day later in Nevermore’s infirmary, splint around your right ankle and head feeling like lost in the fog. Groggily, you had taken notice of your surroundings, mostly beds occupied by students who needed medical support after the fire. The more your senses came back, the more you had become aware of the throbbing of your left hand. Glancing down at it, you had been met with a heavily bandaged limb, specks of blood soaking through the cotton. Angry red lines crossed by stitches peaked from under the bandages; it wasn’t pretty, but at least you had all your fingers. Whoever operated you must have been able to stitch back the three of them that had threatened to get lost before it was too late. 

Ultimately, you had lifted your head to see Tyler at the door of the infirmary, looking at you with wide eyes. You had smiled at him; then he did too. For your first reawakening after the long night the previous day had been, it was all you could ask for. 

Two weeks later, and you found yourself sitting in the corridor of Weems’ office, waiting to be called in by the headmistress. 

In the past weeks, things had been kind of hectic. First there was of course the betrayal of the board member who had deliberately put students’ lives in danger – multiple times – and whose betrayal couldn’t be ignored, no matter if he was going to spend the next few months in a hospital bed thanks to Enid. Then the fire that had destroyed a good half of the dormitories ; aside from the trauma it inflicted on all of the students, it took some organization to find arrangements to keep a roof above everyone’s head. 

On a personal level you had to deal with physical recovery, which was slow but not doing so bad after all. People at school did not look at you with utter disdain anymore – the two students you rescued even hugged you. Hell, even Bianca Barclay definitely buried the war hatchet. But the problem lies elsewhere. 

Tyler hadn’t been the same after that fateful night. Of course, when you two reunited in the infirmary, he had brought you in a bone-crushing hug for long minutes, not caring if anyone saw his tears of relief. Then he had kissed you senseless, drunk in joy of holding you alive and well in his arms again. But the overwhelming joy of reuniting had been short-lived. 

If he refused to leave your side – as if you would ever leave him either – he always stood a little setback. Like putting a safe distance between the two of you, not too important to mean a break up, but enough to miss him; to miss the old him, to miss how you were together. The first days he didn’t even dare to touch you, it was always you who initiated the physical contacts, reassuring him this was more than alright. Now he didn’t hesitate anymore but you still sensed him stiff in some of your embraces. More held back. 

Fidgeting with the bandages on your left hand, you felt your heart squeeze at the thought. With everything going on in the aftermath of the whole story, you didn't really have time to speak about it yet. Maybe today was the right moment. 

The sound of the door opening made your head lift up. Exiting the principal’s office, Tyler had his shoulders slouched despite the encouraging smile of Weems behind him. When he saw you, your boyfriend gave you a sincere, soft smile. But it didn’t last long and only a few seconds after he looked away, almost ashamed and scurried to the end of the corridor without another word. 

Mouth agape, you watched him practically running away from you without any explanation. The headmistress calling your name tore you out of your deception surprise and you turned to her. 

“I’ll be with you in a couple of minutes, Miss Van Helsing. Do you mind waiting a little more?”

Still taken aback by your boyfriend’s odd behavior, you only nod your head to the Headmistress, who gave you a small smile before shutting her office’s door. Sighing, you slumped in your chair feeling a bit lost. 

“How are you holding up?” 

The sound of her voice made you realize that Dr.Fern had taken the seat next to yours. The fae therapist was looking at you with kind, concerned eyes. Although she knew you weren’t going to pour all your emotions on the spot, the aura of wariness and sadness you carried around kind of worried her. 

Despite her original thought, you shrugged. “I’ve been better. I’ve been worse too, so I guess not so bad in the end.” 

That made the fae smile sadly. Surely you hadn’t the best coping mechanism, but in all honesty after everything you went through, she thought that you were, indeed, not doing so bad. As to prove that, you dodged the subject. 

“Why are you here?” you genuinely asked. “I thought that Weems only wanted to hear the testimonies of people who had been here?” 

“She wanted my insight on the self-defense aspect of Tyler’s transformation,” she said. “Although it was more for a legal aspect, I’m pretty sure she had been convinced of it before I even stepped in the room. I wouldn’t worry about him being framed again.” 

You nodded, grateful to hear that. Still, the pained look in your eyes didn’t fade away; this wasn’t what was truly bothering you. Sighing deeply again, you slumped, looking at the wall in front of you. 

“How long before he gets eaten up by guilt?” you asked in a tired tone. 

Dr.Fern’s eyebrows rose up a little, but frankly she was only half surprised. You didn’t seem like the kind of person to trust a therapist’s opinion, but this wasn’t the monster hunter who asked it. This was the young adult worried for her boyfriend, and afraid of how drifting apart you two were. 

“He’s already plagued with guilt,” she answered after a silence. “I’m not sure it will leave so soon.”

You shook your head, more for yourself than for her. “No one’s expecting it to. Everyday I tell him he doesn’t have to feel guilty, that I don’t hold any grudge against him, I just…”

“Yes?”

You hesitated, then turned to face the therapist. The tears on the corner of your eyes stunned her. 

“I don’t want to lose him,” you muttered, throat tight. “Not like that. Not when I can feel him drifting away a little more everyday, watching him destroy himself with guilt and not being able to do anything. And if he leaves I… I’m not even sure what I would do.” 

The way your voice broke a little at the end of your sentence truly made her sympathetic of you. For a moment, you almost felt relieved to have been able to put words on what you felt, and to share it with someone you could trust. But just as quick, your protective self came back and you wiped the tears that were threatening to fall. The therapist respectfully looked away, knowing that showing yourself being vulnerable had been quite a progress for you already. She didn’t make any comment either when you awkwardly adjusted your posture on the chair, like nothing happened. 

“You know,” she said after a silence, “I always wondered how you managed to get Tyler to let you help him.” 

Frowning, you looked at her, “What do you mean?”

“Well he was always willing to take therapy sessions with me, but I’m his assigned therapist, it makes sense. However he was never too keen on letting strangers get close, did he?”

You thought about it. “I suppose?...”

“So he would never have let anyone he didn’t know help him, let alone inspiring respect right?” she continued. “Yet you managed to make him do both, I wonder how.”

Remembering the rocky beginnings of your relationship, you snorted softly, “I was a bitch to him, that’s how I did that.” 

That made her smile too, “Then maybe two times’ the charm.”

The door of Weems’ office opened, the headmistress expecting you in and that put an end to your conversation. Dr.Fern gave you one last polite smile before taking her leave too, leaving you quite perplexed by the chat you two had. 

But after all, maybe she was right. You didn’t want Tyler to leave because of some stupid guilt – then maybe it was time to bitch him into his way out of it. The old fashioned Y/N-Van-Helsing-way. 

Twenty minutes later, after a very short and for once not unpleasant meeting with Weems, you made your way confidently to your dormitory. This part of the building had thankfully been relatively untouched by the fire, so you still had most of your belongings here. And so did Tyler. That’s why you were pretty sure you’d found him in your room, packing his things in a hurry before you came back. And that’s exactly how you found him when you bursted in the room unannounced. 

A shirt in hand and the other opening a backpack, Tyler jumped in surprise, staring at you. He stood here with eyes wide as saucers, like a deer caught in headlights. You gave him a half-soft, half-snarky smile. 

“Oh, you’re packing? Don’t forget your visa, you’ll need it to get to the checks-in of Dumb Man Land.” 

“I– “

“Take some sweaters too,” you said casually, neatly folding one of said pieces of clothes like everything was normal, “I’m not sure that thick skull of yours would be enough to keep you warm.” 

Tyler dropped his bag, approaching you slowly. “Babe I–”

“I assume you know my address to keep me updated,” you cut him, packing a pair of jeans too, “surely you already have it and planned to leave a note to me when you would have left without a word, right?” 

“Hey,” he said, gripping your hand to make you face him. “Look at me.”

The two of you stared at each other for long seconds. Him with pained, guilty eyes, you with a mix of sarcasm and hurt. And just like that, he knew how pained you were, fully aware of what he had planned, no matter how much casualness and sarcasm you put into your action to stay strong. His heart broke at the sight. 

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, “I have to leave.”

“Like hell you do,” you scoffed.

The tone you used was softer than he would have thought. 

“I can’t stay here with you,” he pressed, voice wavering. “I can’t be around after everything I did.”

“Says who?” you countered daringly. 

At first the bold attitude had surprised, then puzzled him, but now it almost irritated him. How could you not understand? 

“I do,” insisted Tyler frantically. “Don’t you see? I’m a fucking danger Y/N!”

You shrugged, “Not that I’m aware of. Well, except in bed but that’s not something I would complain about, tiger.” 

The wink at the end of your sentence almost made him lose it and he gripped your shoulders frantically. Even through your clothes, you could feel his hands shake and his eyes were full of tears. 

“Why don’t you get it!” he cried, on the verge of maniac tears. “None of this should have happened! I’m a fucking monster Y/N, just– look at you!” he pleaded, letting go of your shoulder to hold up your left hand – very carefully – between his larger ones. “Look at what I did to you!!”

The slap echoed before it stung. Cheek red, Tyler didn’t move his head under the sheer shock of your action. You however, stood very calm with your hand mid hair. Slowly recomposing his spirits, he turned to gaped at you. 

“Did- did you just…”

“Slapped you? Hell yeah I did,” you huffed in a firm voice. “And if you’re pulling out the “You’ll be safer without me” bullshit, I swear to God I’ll fucking do it again.” 

“You would be safer away from–” 

Another slap landed on his other cheek, this time with your bandaged hand. The shot made the pain rise up again and you cursed at it. That made Tyler glance at you with worry. Instead, you gave him a smug smirk – or at least the best you could pull through the wince of pain. 

“See? I can still slap some sense into you with my frankenstein’s hand. Seems good enough for me so drop the bullshit.” 

Equally stunned by your words and your actions, Tyler could only stare at you. To be honest, he had expected every kind of reaction from you; cries, rage, maybe even begging. 

But he would have never thought that you would literally punch some sense into him; it felt like the first time you had pinned him on the ground when he had tried to attack you on his first day here. Even with a half healed hand and a splintered ankle, you stood here tall and proud before him, not taking any of his shit. 

As the realization sinked in him your eyes softened and you took his face in both of your hands. 

“I’m fine, Tyler,” you said softly. “Doctors patched me up, I’m in one piece, the rest will heal with time. I’m fine,” you repeated, gently forcing him to look at you. “You have no reason to feel guilty about anything.”

“I attacked you,” he muttered in a broken voice. “I hurt you,” he continued, fingers grazing your bandaged hand, “how can you not be angry at me?”

A sad smile made its way to your face. “You weren’t yourself,” you reminded him, “there’s nothing to be mad about.” 

Tyler could feel the sincerity of your words, he truly did. Still the guilt wasn’t so easy to brush away. So you continued. 

“Do you know what hurt me the most?” you asked softly, and his eyes widened in fear. Dozens of answers swirled in his mind. 

Noticing it, you caressed his cheekbone with your thumb to ground him before carrying on, “That you thought leaving me would actually help me. Or you.” 

He stuttered a bit. “I…I didn’t think you would ever want to see me again,” he confessed. “Or being with me.”

You cocked your head to the side, “What did I do to make you think that? Did I act any differently with you since that night?”

“...no,” he admitted. 

That, at least, made you smile sincerely. “I’m tough Tyler,” you promised. “But not tough enough to see you walk away to punish yourself and hurt the both of us in the process.”

He bore his deep brown eyes into yours, and with that you were unable to stop the tears from falling. 

“I love you,” you choked on with a sob, “so I’m asking you this with everything I have: please, please, don’t leave me alone. I can’t do it anymore, not when I still get the chance to hold you in my arms, Tyler. Do you want me?”

“Always,” he answered feverishly without a doubt. 

“Then let me be with you,” you smiled through tears, “I don’t want to fight alone, never again. I found a home with you Tyler Galpin, please don’t shut yourself from me again. Don’t let me shut myself to you again, or else I don’t know what kind of atrocity I would become without you.” 

A beat passed. Then you were enveloped in a tight, bone-crushing hug, pressed against Tyler’s chest. The moment you felt his arms around you, you didn’t bother anymore to hold back tears and let yourself sob against his shoulder. Tyler’s face was buried in your neck, and although he didn’t make any sounds, you could feel him shake with his own sobs. You held each other tightly, painfully aware of how close you had been to losing each other just moments ago.

At some point, you didn’t really know when, you had ended up laying on the bed, still entrapped in each other’s embrace. Carefully lifting his head from your neck, Tyler pressed a long kiss against your forehead. 

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I love you.”

“I know,” you sniffled, curling yourself to tug your head against his collarbone.

“I’m an idiot.”

“I know,” you repeated with a chuckle, then lifting your face to meet him. “But you’re my idiot.” 

Tyler smiled warmly and pressed his lips against yours, making you sigh through the kiss. it felt like it was the first time you kissed him since that night. It felt like finally, he was back. 

“Promise me you won’t abandon me,” you pleaded softly between kisses. 

Looking at you lovingly, Tyler caressed your face. “I won’t,” he promised before diving on your lips again. 

This time you moaned, and you slid one hand to his cheek, keeping him close to you. But then you felt him taking your hand gently in his and you broke the kiss, looking at him intensely. The freckled boy looked at your bandaged hand with sad eyes, before dropping soft kisses on each of your knuckles. 

“I’m truly sorry about your hand.” 

“It’ll heal,” you reassured him. “Plus, you won’t be the only one with badass scars to show off now,” you winked. 

He chuckled and the sound made your heart flutter. “Or I’ll have to find how to make it up to you for the rest of my life.” 

It was your turn to grin. “I’m sure you’ll find something to work with,” you teased as your other hand slid under his shirt. 

-

Almost two months later, all of the students and professors of Nevermore academy stood in the courtyard. In front of a newly reconstructed building, Principal Weems proudly stood on a stage, delivering diplomas to last year students with large smiles. 

The day was promising for everyone, for it held a symbol of accomplishment for some, of vacations for others, and for most the end of a complicated year. For Tyler and you, it was a little bit of the three. 

You both stood in the courtyard among graduating students, your diploma in your right hand. Next to you, Tyler was holding your left one lovingly. His own diploma was secured in his pocket; the proof that he had made it through the year and that he was, as the agreement with the judge had specified, now a free man. He glanced at you, a soft smile on his lips. You too were free now; he couldn’t help but wonder what the two of you could do now. 

As Principal Weems was making one last speech, you felt Tyler’s gaze on you and turned to him with a smile. 

“What is it?”

The only sight of your smiling face brushed the lingering doubts away from Tyler’s mind. Maybe he had an idea of what you could do after all. 

Raising your hand with his, he pressed a kiss on the back of it. His lips left your skin, but he still brushed one of the scars around your fingers with his thumb. All of that under your loving gaze. 

“You know,” he whispered to you, “I have thought of how you could cover those scars.”

Slightly surprised, you cocked your head, “Oh yeah? How?”

Looking up at your face, Tyler gave you the soft smirk you had fallen in love with. 

“By putting a ring on those fingers.”

Around you, the crowd cheered and applauded the last speech. At first you didn’t react; but then the biggest grin grew on your face. Just as if they were coming home, your lips naturally found their way to graze Tyler’s. 

“Sounds like a plan, pretty boy.”

A/N: Annnnd that’s a wrap!!  Again, I’m so so very sorry for the long period of time it took to write the last three chapters, and for the shitty plot of the last one QwQ Life had been complicated and hectic for the past 4 months, writting had been incredibly hard.  Still, I’m satisfied with this fic and wanted to thank everyone for your patience and your kind words!  Take care of yoursleves ♥♥

-Zoey

Taglist: 

@igotanidea @officerrrfriendly @beggingforxavierthorpe @aliciahlewis @stresseyzesty @katiemrty @leightonsteele @black-swan-blog27 @mooniesthings @nightfurya @steadypoetrydinosaur @hellokittysblog0 @thecraftoflove @yasmine302 @huang-the-geek @sahvlren 

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@spiceyhotsherbet

[afandommultiverse]

Showing Miles Quaritch the Vitraya Ramunong

❀ A/n - oh. my. god- IT FEELS GOOD TO BE BACK LMAO!! Finally got these HCs out only AFTER I got my car back from it being stolen and my college semester is over🤩 but you know what? AWOW is on Disney+ now and I put that shit on so fast and IM READY TO WRITE AGAIN!! I missed my hardass colonel🥰

❀ EXTRA A/n - I know it’s been super long but these HC’s are for @isimpforfictionalppl as they asked for a continuation on the last post! Sorry it took so long boo🫶

❀ Warnings - None really besides my foul language and the amount of fluff in this

❀ WC - 2.6k

*.·:·.✧ ✦ ✧.·:·.*

✿ After nearly a month and a half of being a hostage for Quaritch and his team, the anger of being captured and taken from the people you’d come to love and live with began to dissipate. Don’t get me wrong, it was still there, but the feeling of anger and always fighting back was exhausting, so slowly but surely, you were coming to terms with your predicament.

✿ However when Quaritch told you Jake and his family, your family, fled to the islands, that anger returned, and there was a good week where you didn’t eat, yelled, and threw fits when Quaritch demanded his usual lessons on ‘All things Na'vi.’

✿ That was when Spider would step in and take over lessons for the day, knowing that giving you time and space was the best thing for you now. He knew you were hurt—not just angry; he was too, but you had a long history with Jake and Neytri, and this felt like a bigger betrayal to you.

✿ Quaritch could sense this too; even though it was pissing him off and stupid to him, he could see where you were coming from and tried not to bother you until he deemed it necessary. When the hissy fit of yours hit for seven days, he was over it and knew he needed to get you over it too.

✿ So he took you out—no guards, no other squad members, and surprisingly, no spider. He had offered, but Spider decided against it, instead choosing to stick with the science geeks. He warned you with the usual threats, warning you not to run, attack, or do anything else stupid that would leave him pissed and you in a shittier mood for even longer.

✿ The second you hit the forest line, you ran. You can run so fucking fast that you didn’t bother to wonder if Quaritch was following you. You weren’t running away; you couldn’t. You couldn’t leave Spider, and you knew you wouldn’t be able to get away; they would find you, and if they didn’t capture you back up again, they would only follow you to see if you would lead them to the village to use against Jake, even though they couldn’t even find him now.

✿ You ran fast, but Quaritch was faster; it wasn’t long before you heard his thundering footsteps and loud curses, calling out to you to stop now or your punishment will be worse. You didn’t listen; you were only ducking under branches and roots and running through creeks and ponds. Quaritch didn’t realize you weren’t running away until he saw you turn your head and smirk at him. He could see the humor in your eyes from here.

✿ He was so captivated by that look in your eyes that he almost ran into you when he realized you had stopped. You took a deep breath and sat down on your knees, taking a few more breaths before leaning forward and laying your arms out and your face in the grass. He didn’t know what you were doing, but he let you; he watched you and waited.

✿ When you picked him up, he heard a sniffle, his ears twitching at the sound, and he immediately hated it. When you turned to look at him, two stray tears slowly fell from your cheeks. You motioned him forward, guiding him to sit just as you were.

✿ "You want your lesson for today?" Your voice is a bit more hoarse from no use, and when it was used, it was usually just yelling as of late.

✿ "I wouldn’t mind having my favorite teacher for today." He joked—well, you thought it was a joke, but in truth, he was being honest. You corrected him in ways he would remember, usually by smacking him on the side of his head or pulling his tail, but it worked. Lessons with Spider didn’t usually stick with Quaritch; Spider wouldn’t dare hit him like that; rather, he would reply with smart remarks that turned into arguments.

✿ "Take your shoes off." He gave you a weird look before shaking his head.

✿ "No. The kid tried that, no." He shook his head, his lips pinched in disapproval. You rolled your eyes, wiping your cheeks, and gave him a no-nonsense look.

✿ "Do you want your lesson?" His lips frowned into a thin line, staring at you hard before grumbling and turning away to shuck off his shoes. All while he mumbled how ‘stupid’ it all was.

✿ Finally, he stood barefoot on the grass beside where you sat.

✿ "What do you feel?" You asked, looking up at him questioningly. You had your thoughts and opinions on the workings of these new recumbents; they had to have just as much of a connection to Eywa as yours and Jake's hybrid bodies did.

✿ "What do I feel? I don’t feel anything. What, you mean the ground?" He stepped around, looking for something to feel, but still felt nothing other than the soft, dewy grass beneath his feet.

✿ You stood up, grabbing his forearms on top and guiding his hands to hold your forearms as well. He stood watching you quietly before you looked up at him and demanded he close his eyes. He did, not even thinking twice before obeying your order. Something about that bugged him, but he continued to follow it.

✿ "Take a deep breath." He took a weak breath in and out, hoping that would appease her, but the quick kick to his shin let him know it wasn’t, so he took a deep breath in, and the tension in his back and shoulders he was trying to keep to stay alert fell away in one, two, or three breaths. That was when he felt it.

✿A buzz underneath his feet, not like a vibration or movement, just the hum of life underneath his feet. He began to step around, thinking, ‘Did you just make me step on a toxic plant?’ He was immediately suspicious of the feeling beneath him that slowly began to course up his legs.

✿ "What do you feel?" you emphasized. That was when he opened his eyes, finding yours staring up at him with emotions that made him fall silent. There was hope in those eyes—not one he had ever seen before during your stay here. Miles had seen your eyes, angry, sad, and even a little happy, but this hope was different than your hope to escape. So he replied.

✿ I don’t feel nothing, nothin’." He felt your fingers push harder on his pulse, but he was smarter than that and, of course, older than that. This body may be young, but he is still the man he once was. That hope of yours was dashed; your eyes narrowed, and you let go of his arms, stepping away from him. He almost missed you, but he too stood back, going to put his shoes back on.

✿ "No, come on." You turned and started walking away without hesitance; he looked back.

✿ "Where are you going?" He leaned down and grabbed his boots, ready to catch up with you when you broke out into a sprint again. He had no choice but to drop the shoes if he really wanted to catch up with you; running barefoot around here was going to have to make him focus more, and he hates to admit it, but you are faster than you look.

✿ So they were gone, and he was trying not to step on anything sharp, poisonous, or anything else above that could render him in any shape or form. As much as he wanted to, he couldn’t trust you.

✿ When you finally stopped and waited for him, it made him grind his teeth as he jogged up to your smug smile, barely even breathless while he took a second to gather himself. "Just what the hell is this?" He waved to the bush you stood in front of. A smug smile fell from your face as you rolled your eyes and turned around, facing the bush and pulling down its leaves to reveal a tranquil, illuminated sight.

✿ "Vitraya Ramunong," you said, stepping through the bush that seemed to move around you to let you through, and the bush held open waiting for him to pass as well. As we walked through, I felt it close behind him, closing in on him until he was out on the other side. ‘The Tree of Souls,’ he thought to himself.

✿ He had never seen them before—not in person anyway. It was a sight; he felt his eyes grow wider as he looked on. He never realized how translucent the branches were; he could almost see the works of the tree as they circulated like veins. As he stood in awe of one of the smaller trees, you stood by and watched him.

✿You knew he was lying; he had to be; even Eywa recognized him. ‘Eywa,’ you thought to yourself, questioning this sign and its meaning. When you zoned back into the moment and Quaritch still stood in awe of the tree, you hesitantly reached out and grabbed his hand.

✿ His attention pulled away from the trees, and he looked down at your conjoined hands before meeting your eyes. He even went to pull away his hand, but you held on. "Come." You pulled him deeper into the glowing forest, bringing him to what appeared to be a sapling compared to the other illusive trees. You sat down in front of it, once again bowing and pushing your arms out, except this time you kissed the ground, whispering something in Na'vi tongue, before looking back up at Quaritch.

✿ "I want to show you something." You grabbed your queue, bringing it over your shoulder, and opened it up before him. He had looked at himself a lot when he first woke up, but nonetheless, the sight of a queue unfolding was still incredible, and when you held out your hand, he was weary of your future intentions.

✿ "Now hold up, sweetheart. I like you and all, but I know how this goes, so I appreciate the offer and all-" Your offered hand moved quickly and slapped his shoulder hard, leaving a reverberating sting, and before he could react, you slapped him again in the same spot. "What the hell was that for?" Grabbing your hand in case you intended to strike again

✿ "That is not what I meant! I want to show you a memory!" You held out your hand again, and he stared at it for a few seconds before gilding his hand down his queue. He hesitated before setting it in her hand, staring at your palm, but he handed it to you gently.

✿ He watched as you held it, the queue unfolding, before you guided it to a branch and attached it slowly. It wasn’t long before you laid yours down as well, covering the very top of his.

✿ "Take a deep breath." You said that, and Miles complied, taking a deep breath, but when he opened his eyes again, he almost freaked out.

✿ A different environment surrounded him; the soul trees that once surrounded him were gone, replaced with a meadow with tall flowers and giant leafy plants that hung over his head. He looked around, searching for you, and found you behind him.

✿ "Where are we? What happened?" He walked towards you, but you only held your finger up to your lips and hushed him, turning around and walking a few steps forward.

✿ "Mom?" A young voice called out, searching through the plants before stumbling out and finding you. A little boy, his face lighting up at the sight of you, bolted towards a giant smiling and pulling at his lips.

✿ "Mom!" He jumped, and you grabbed him, swinging around and throwing him up in the air a bit before catching him and putting him down. "What are you doing, my little spider?" You spoke, leaning down to look at his hands, which held different assorted flowers in them.

✿ "I think I have all the flowers I want." He held them up to show you, explaining why he had chosen them. Miles watched, numb with shock and almost not believing the sight in front of him. ‘This is a memory," he whispered to himself, looking on and observing the interaction between you two.

✿ You stood and grabbed his hand; he led you forward, and Miles followed shortly behind the both of you. He realized now that Spider couldn’t see him; after all, it was a memory, your memory. He wondered what other memories you could show him.

✿ Spider stopped in front of a tall and rigid tree, where a big rock with moss growing all over it stood, a single pink flower growing at the very top edge. He crouched down and set the small bouquet he had gathered on the rock.

✿ "Is it okay to miss her? Even though I never met her, mom?" You smiled softly, reaching your hands out and fussing with his locks, laying them nicely and pushing down flyaways. "Of course it’s okay; she is who made you, carried you, and brought you into this world lovingly. Never forget her, my little spider; without her, you would cease to exist." You rubbed his cheek softly, patting it softly before pulling away.

✿ Spider looked at the rock and sat in silence for a second before turning back to you. "What about my dad?" You looked at his small face, turmoil turning in his eyes, searching for the answers he hoped you would have. You took a deep breath and looked up at the sky, watching birds fly to other trees and creatures swing from their branches, thinking of the words to say.

✿ You didn’t know the relationship Quaritch had with his newborn son before he died, but what you did know is that Petra would talk about his visits with him, and while he sounded distant, he nonetheless cared for the boy. "Without him, you also wouldn’t exist, my little bug; he may have done some wrong, some things even I don’t know about, but he loved you, and that deserves remembrance." Spider nodded his head and turned back to the rock. He took a few steps toward it before pulling something from his belt. He revealed an old tooth, specifically a front one from a Thanator.

✿ "Where did you get that little bug?" You asked, watching as he set the tooth on top of the rock. He sat there and looked at it for a bit before answering.

✿ "I found it while playing with Kiri; she fell and hurt herself, and when I helped her up, I saw it. I thought maybe..." Spider didn’t continue, but you knew what he meant. He wanted somewhere to pay his respects not just to his mother but to his father as well. Spider didn’t know the full story as he was still young; however, he did know enough to think that his father was the best of men in the eyes of Na’vi, and with your approval, he felt better about missing the absent figure in his life.

✿ Spider looked a little longer before slowly turning around and walking back to you. He sat down and rested against your chest as you wrapped your arms around him, holding him and rocking him slowly, humming an old song from when you were younger back on earth.

✿ "Oél ngáti kámeie, Mom." You leaned down and gave Spider a soft peck on the forehead before replying,

✿ "Oél ngáti kámeie, my little spider." Things around Quaritch slowly started to shimmer and disappear in a white light before the light completely engulfed Quaritch and caused his vision to become blank.

*.·:·.✧ ✦ ✧.·:·.*

❀ A/n - I hoped you guys all enjoyed this little comeback, please remeber to like or comment or even request your own scenario. Thank you for reading! 🫶

[muuuumin]

I don't know why I woke up with angst in my mind, maybe it's the bad weather? But here's just some thoughts on angst for Jaytim

I've read a few scenarios where Jason is afraid that he'll hurt Tim again, leave him a bloody mess but worse. It doesn't matter that he's gotten a better hold on the Lazarus pit rage, the scars that will never fade from Tim's body is a reminder that it will never truly be gone.

Maybe one time Jason's lazarus pit bubbles inside and its a terrible mix with whatever toxin Scarecrow has injected into him- he's fighting terrors and its too late by the time his fist connects with Tim's cheek. Thank god it wasn't his full raw strength, he'll be forever grateful that Nightwing was attempting to hold his arms back from behind. But it still leaves a nasty bruise on his babybird's face and when he comes around from the antidote, he can't bear to look at Tim who is by his side. Jason hates how Tim is only worried for him when he's the one with a bruised face, hates that his wonderful boyfriend has tried to cover the worst of the bruise with makeup and gives him a reassuring smile. Jason absolutely hates the fact that Tim forgives him before he even says he's sorry.

Jason has never felt any shittier.

"I hurt you."

"We always get hurt on the job." Tim gives him a small smile and reaches forward to hold his hand, but Jason pulls away. Tim's eyebrows furrow as he frowns a little.

"Yeah but I was the one who hurt you."

Tim sighs and shakes his head, "Jason, the toxin was influencing you heavily. I don't blame you at all."

"It wasn't just the toxin, Tim. It mixed with the Laz.. the Lazarus pit inside me. It means its still very much there and we won't know what will happen the next time something goes wrong."

Tim seemed to be staring hard at Jason's face, not liking how his boyfriend was avoiding his eyes. His mind calculating his next words carefully with a small swallow.

"You've come a long way Jason, the toxin would have caused you to become aggressive with or without the lazarus pit so-"

"I think we should take a break."

Jason interrupts Tim, teal eyes returning to him.

Jason and Tim both know there isn't a simple 'break' for them. It's either a harsh clean or they stick it through, anything else was too complicated.

"You don't want that." Tim says firmly and crosses his arms over his chest.

"I don't want to hurt you again."

Tim flushes angrily, "and this isn't hurting me? Because it makes me so happy to hear those words come from you?"

Jason flinches and wishes that they weren't at the batcave.

"Tim please, I-"

But Tim snaps, "I know you're scared. I'm scared too, but I'm scared that this single incident from our 3 years of dating is making you want to throw it all away. I know you're hurting, but please don't give up on us. Not... Not unless you stop loving me." His voice falters to almost a whisper at the last sentence, and Jason instinctively reaches out to him, pulling Tim close to his chest, to his beating heart.

"I will never stop loving you." He mumbles into Tim's hair, breathing in the shampoo they share together. "I'm sorry.."

Tim doesn't say anything, just trying to compose himself and pressing his face into the comfort of Jason's chest.

[papercutsunset]

Gold and Steel

Listen-- PMS has been kicking my ass and I forgot to edit this yesterday. Even now, I'm hunched over because (glitter here) the nausea's back. BUT!! The Bloodsaw brainrot is also back. This would take place right before Tunnels of Terror. (Also, peep the Harrison Bergeron mention. Remember how Bloodsaw died protecting him and then he died of [redacted]?)

WIP: The Monster Lesbian Support Group

Word count: 998

Prompt: Sex (didn't use it much. It's more implied)

Warnings: some homophobia stuff (mentions. it's 1997.)

Sitting on the edge of the bed with her sweater undone, Laura fumbles the chain of her cross. Putting it back around her neck is always an issue of fingers on lobster claws and chewed-down nails aching. She isn’t the one who needs to wash her hands, anyway. 

I would consider doing it for her, but I’m not sure why she wears it. It’s not faith. She told me that months ago, sitting on the hood of my car in a secluded spot by the edge of the lake where nobody could see us.

I know why, I suppose. It’s not a question worth asking. Appearances need to be kept up, right? Laura Mandarin needs to be the pristine, god-fearing former-high-school-cheerleader as much as Caroline Bradshaw needs to be the opposite. They would blame the fry cook at the Dairy Prince for corrupting such a vulnerable girl as Laura Mandarin. Never mind that all this was her idea. I know how the blame game works. It wouldn’t be the first time.

It’s a small thing, the cross. Delicate. Gold. Treasured. She got it when she was twelve, back in Pine Valley. How fitting, compared to the steel up my ears and in my eyebrow. 

I toy with the edge of the curtain, propped up on one elbow by the window. The plaster is crumbling again. It’s a side effect of living in this shitty second-floor-apartment with a shittier landlord in an even shittier town. I fucking hate this place. 

The only question worth asking, while I shrug my bra and shirt back on, is, “Do you need a ride?” 

She takes her hair out of the back of her sweater and lets the blonde waterfall cascade down white polyester. “Don’t you have to get to work?” 

“Don’t answer my question with a question.” 

Laura looks at me over her shoulder, eyes connecting across every plane of existence. “I don’t need a ride.” 

“Alright.”

“But I’d like one.” 

My heart skips a beat. I’m not going to admit it. “I’ll drive you home, then.” 

“Will you help me?” She holds up the cross, dangling from the gold chain, swinging back and forth like a pendulum. 

You could call me hypnotized. It’s a moment of intimacy in the dark of a room in the morning, a moment of intimacy before we go back to acting like nothing ever happened, a moment of hands brushing hair from her neck so I don’t catch it in the clasp. 

She’s the perfect picture of America. Not late-nineties-hip, but pure. Skirt down past her knees when she pulls it back down, sweater neat and tucked in, cross hanging delicately around her collar. It’s like these moments together that make things feel right: her hands in my hair, tangling black snarls around slender fingers, rings cast on the floor, the sheets tousled and left as askew as us. 

I move her hair back into place and lean around her, the snake around Eve’s torso. “You know, I don’t have to get to work for another hour.” 

She giggles when my fingers brush her chin. I melt in turn. But, in the way the routine dictates, she shimmies away. “I have to get home. You know my dad worries.” 

“He still thinks you’re seeing some guy named Bloodsaw.” 

“Yeah, and he isn’t stoked.” Laura stands, smooths out her skirt. When she turns around, she leans down over me with her hands squarely where she had been sitting. “But I am.” 

She plants a quick kiss on my mouth before I turn my legs and get out of bed, stretch myself out, and stare the day in front of me down the barrel. It’s a routine I’m used to. I wash my hands in the kitchen sink. Breakfast is peaches-and-cream oatmeal and toast with cream cheese. She does her makeup in the bathroom; I put on pants before we leave; she only entwines her fingers with mine when we’re alone in the hall or the stairwell. I’ll take what I can get, even if I want more. 

I drive her home to the sound of the scat station on the radio. We mostly listen to it as a joke, a merit patch for living here. It goes by all too quickly, and then we’re at her father’s— and then her hand is gone from my leg, and she’s out on the curb. 

She leans down to look at me through the window, hair falling to frame her face. “Parting is such sweet sorrow, but I’ll see you at the party later, right?” 

Right. That dumbfuck rich kid tunnel party I explicitly wasn’t invited to. I swallow. “Yeah, sure. I have to work, though, so I might be late.” 

“That’s fine. As long as you’re there.” She assesses my face, reads something I didn’t mean to write there. “I want you there, you know.” 

“I know. I’ll try.” It’s a promise I don’t mean to make. It rests on my tongue, anyway. 

“Good.” Her grin is May sunshine; I wish she would kiss my cheek. “Maybe we can sneak off, if we’re careful.” 

I can’t hold back a soft laugh. “With all your preppy friends around?” 

“Oh, Care. I know you like cheap beer, and there’s going to be plenty. Harrison promised.” 

Harrison, that fucker. Laura captivates me, though. That’s the issue with having a girlfriend you would do anything for. “Fuck. Fine. Okay.” 

Another ray through the clouds, lips wide over perfect white teeth. “Good! I’ll see you there.” 

She takes my hand in hers— gold-painted nails on steel rings through the window of a car I know is going to break down later. The blame game doesn’t work here. This is a moment where she didn’t watch her last boyfriend die; this is a moment where I don’t kill demons because angels told me to. There’s no blood on our hands and faces. It’s just us.

I want so desperately, it hurts. “I’ll see you there.” 

[themadsquirrel09]

Find you ☆ Chapter 8

👉 Click here to go to chapter 1! 🎆

👉 Or read on AO3 💬

Fandom ☆ South Park

Ships ☆ KenMan ♡ KenEric (Eric Cartman x Kenny McCormick), Clybe (Bebe StevensxClyde Donovan) and Creek (Tweek TweakxCraig Tucker). There might be some glimpses of other ships.

Characters ☆ Kenny McCormick, Eric Cartman.

Rating ☆ M

Warnings ☆ Swearing, violence, fluffiness, tegridy. They are aged up here. It starts when they are 14, but happens mostly when they are 18, at the last year of school. 

Chapter summary ☆ Where do you go when winning means nothing?

☆ 395 words ☆

With love: (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧ Stan

The fight is over and I won, but it never feels like it. I put my Mysterion costume on and walk aimlessly, but end up right in front of Cartman’s house. Maybe because nobody is looking, I can’t hold back the tears. That is until a light hits my face.

“Kenny?” Eric comes close and pulls me by the wrist. “Shit! Come here. Try to stay quiet so Liane won’t hear us, ok?” This time, I’m the one squeezing his hand while we go upstairs. “God-fucking-dammit. What is going on?” He asks as we get into the room. 

“I got into a fight with the old man, busted his face real good,” I say, smiling bitterly.

“Fuck,” His eyes fill with tears. I know he cries easily, but I wasn’t expecting this! He looks pretty though, with the emotion free and tears gleaming on his clear eyes.

“Eric… it's ok.” He hugs me. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t,” he whines. 

“Is not that bad, I just need to sleep.”

“No Kenny, we have to clean those wounds first.” He pushes me away, then goes out of the room; soon Cartman is back carrying food and a first aid kit. “I knew your parents were assholes, but I thought they mostly fought each other,” I sit on the bed and he gets ready.

“Lately they seem to have it against Karen, they don’t hit her, but they insult her and I can’t fucking contain myself.” He puts his hands on my shoulders and I relax my tensed fists. 

“I should make them into chili.” I let out a snort.

“No, I don’t want to end up far away, in a place that’s even shittier.” I take his hand and it is calming, we were in the same foster home and it sucked, even if it was just for a while. 

“You can stay here. We could bring Karen.”

“Are you serious?” 

“Wait, don’t move,” Eric says, lifting my chin, cleaning a cut. I look at him, kneeling in front of me, healing my wounds. I want to remember this. “Well, I don’t know what else we could do without killing.” I take off his hat, run my fingers through his hair. 

“I’ll think about it.” Suddenly, I’m too tired. I get into the covers, he says something and I’m not sure if I fall asleep or pass out.

Prev ☆ Next

[blackirishweab]

@mevima I got you

[Video starts]

Person 1 (suit): You know, we used to be called Dunkin Donuts, but now the donuts are trash thanks to him.

Person 2 (lab coat): they’re dry, cruel, stale… almost resentful hunks of cardboard.

Person 3 (apron): *clearly stressed* it’s an unsustainable way to make donuts.

Suit: we are hemorrhaging cash on these things, gentlemen.

Apron: there has to be a reason.

Lab coat: he’s lost it.

Apron: *starting to sweat* that man invented the Strawberry Refresher and the Everything Bagel. He knows what he’s doing.

Suit: listen, the board wants him out. Just, just talk to him, Jo (referring to apron).

*camera pans to a disheveled person (hair) who’s sorrowfully staring at one of the driest donuts know to man like it holds the answers to all the secrets of the universe, but it’s too late for any of those answers to have any impact on the world*

Jo (apron): sir? What would you have us… uh… do about the donuts?

Hair: *quietly* more. dry.

Suit: I’m sorry sir? (Asking Hair to repeat himself)

Hair: *still speaking quietly* more. dry.

Jo: sir, how can we-

Hair: *half shouting* I said more dry!

Lab coat: sir, any drier and the structural integrity of the donut, it’ll fail.

Hair: *with eyes and hair hinting at his carrying a burden almost too large for one person to shoulder* I want them dusty, scaly, chafen, hard… the pastry equivalent experience of fucking a skeleton.

Jo: we used to stand for something: quality donuts and coffee. And and, and now…

Suit: fine, you know, we could add Popeye’s biscuit mix to the formula

Hair: yes

Lab coat: a bit of concrete.

Hair: yess

Suit: fuck it, kitty litter,

Jo: *sweats and shakes his head in denial*

Hair: Drier, tougher, denser.

Lab coat: procure some kind of freeze dry machine/dehydrator that would remove all water from the donuts.

Jo: *sweating harder and shouting in distress* that’s just a round, shitty, cracker for fuck’s sake!

Hair: Fucking good, then! Good!

Jo: *dripping* why are we making these dry, fucking terrible, gross, stale donuts that no one will buy?

Lab coat: *glistening from the stress of having to bring so much pain into the world*

Hair: And what do we do with the donuts no one buys?

Suit: we dispose of them. We throw them all out in the garbage.

Hair: And where does the garbage go?

Jo: *even his hair is dripping wet now* into the garbage trucks, I’d imagine.

Hair: the garbage goes into unmarked box-trucks, headed for undisclosed government locations!

Jo: *starting to crumble under the thought of these donut shaped atrocities* And why the FUCK would you be doing that?

Hair: Joseph-

Jo: why are we stockpiling millions of fucking terrible donuts-

Hair: JOSEPH-

Jo: -that no one fucking wants?! *starting to sound desperate and worn down*

Hair: because… Jebicon 885, a 12 kilometer wide asteroid is headed directly for Earth. Dunkin’ has partnered with NASA in creating and engineering-

Jo: wha-

Hair:-the advanced heat shield tiles for the new space shuttle in using our shitty, dry, gross-ass, fucking shitty donuts to protect its crew from atmospheric entry and the blast of a 10 megaton nuclear payload that they must detonate inside the core of Jebicon 885.

…

Jo: oh my god…

Lab coat: so that’s why they’ve been so dry, stale, and hard all these years…

Suit: *nodding in stressed understanding*

Lab coat: …heat shields for the new space shuttle…

Hair: And if I have to be known for making the grossest, driest, most fucking terrible, shitty donuts to protect humanity, then so be it. You all are thinking quarterly. I’m thinking survival. Legacy. Alpha Centauri. Space and shit!

Suit: you can count on us. Whatever it takes, we’ll get it done.

Lab coat: we’ll find a way to make them even drier and shittier, sir.

Jo: we’ll get right on it sir.

Hair: *turning his back to the room* now get to work.

*Lab coat and Suit leave the room*

Joseph: Hey sir, I… I just wanted to say I, um, I’m sorry for doubting you, and-and I’m so proud that… you know, after this is all over, we can go back to making quality donuts that are soft and never frozen, and made at each location like we used to.

Hair: except… *turns back around* we won’t stop.

Jo: *shocked, confused, heartbroken, and utterly speechless*

Hair: How do you think they felt, Joseph, when my wife and infant daughter were quenched to death in the chihuahuan desert? How do you think they felt-

Jo: what?!

Hair: their pain, the key to saving humanity? And they live on through all those who choose to endure their suffering by eating these fucking abomination donuts?!

Jo: this can’t save them…

Hair: *perspiration gathering on his upper lip as he gives what started as a monologue, but spiraled into a deranged and sadistic manifesto* and, in turn, will lead to more Strawberry Refresher sales.

Jo: *mind shattering*

Hair: Can you see it now, Joseph? See the clock for all its inner workings, in its festooned ornamentation?

Jo: *absolutely losing it* no, no, no, no…

Hair: to see… everything. How do you think My Family felt?! A bit thirsty? A bit quenched? A bit… dry?!

[video ends]

This is better than any Marvel movie I have ever seen

[gantzxjoel]

arrival. ft. moon siheon

well, this certainly is not the pearly white gates his christian upbringing had told him would be awaiting him. 

it’s not the other place, either. 

in fact, it seems kinda like a shittier version of his own apartment, with bare white walls and scuffed wood floors. except, unlike his apartment, there’s some people milling about, in anxious little bubbles here and there, chatting mildly while apparently waiting for… something, joel’s not entirely sure what.

the only person present who isn’t in a group is a small figure, seated against a nearby wall with knees pulled up, in a position far too casual for how short a dress they’re wearing. like they know where his gaze will be drawn, and sure enough, they’re right.

 well hey, i’m already dead. what’s the worst that could happen? approaching the other - god, that’s a lot of pink. pink hair, pink dress, pink blush… wonder where else they’re pink too. - joel whistles lowly, putting on one of his more charming smiles as they look up. “i think i’m a little lost? i know there’s no way they let me into heaven, but if an angel like you’s around, then that must be where i’ve ended up.”

it’s cheesy, sure, but a pleased little smile crosses their face, so joel marks it down as worth the cringe. 

“i’m joel.” he continues, tucking his hands into his pockets, aiming for something near cool��despite the fact that he kinda looks like a hot fucking mess. his t-shirt is probably older than the person in front of him, a huge hole in one armpit, bearing the name of a band that broke up before he could even walk. he couldn’t bear to throw it out, same with his worn-out jeans and ratty ass sneakers. he feels comfortable, how he supposes someone should, right before they kick it, even if he kinda looks like an arctic monkeys reject. “can i sit?”

“siheon.” they smile, drawing his attention to their mouth, shiny with lip gloss. strawberry, if he had to guess. maybe cherry. “i was actually about to get up.” extending a small hand towards him, siheon entreats joel’s help to stand. dusting themselves off, siheon straightens their dress, watching joel as he watches them. “i know i’m short, but my eyes aren’t that far down. i take it you like it?” 

“like is kind of an understatement.” he’d forgotten to pencil flirt with someone in purgatory into his plans for the day after kill yourself, damn. “what is this place, anyway?”

“not hell, but something close enough.” siheon sighs, idly checking their nails. “not everyone’s here yet, that’s why it hasn’t started. you’ll see once it does though. the boba,” they gesture behind joel, where there’s a large black orb that he hadn’t even noticed, too distracted by thirst, “will start talking, and we’ll be off doing god knows what. hopefully not more rats.” their nose wrinkles, evidently not a fan.

“rats?”

“yeah… there was like a maze, and rats… i don’t know. i’m probably the worst person you could’ve asked about what’s going on, honestly. when they explained it all the last time i was kinda having a breakdown. recently deceased and whatnot, y’know?”

oh, right. if he’s dead, that means siheon’s dead too. fuck. he wonders what happened. they look young, not like the kind of person who’d do something like he did. maybe drugs? either that or robbery. the charm bracelet around their tiny little wrist is worth more than joel makes in a year, at a quick glance.

“a maze sounds cool. not so sure on the rats bit, though. more of a snakes guy myself.” siheon shudders dramatically at this, making him crack a smile. “when’s the boba start talking?”

“once everyone’s here, i guess. we’re all supposed to be here by the hour. i don’t know what happens if you’re late, and i’m not exactly keen to find out.” shaking their head, siheon looks around, evidently observing the crowd. “watch out for that guy over by the door.” they nod off to one side, where a guy who looks like he could bench-press joel easily is stood, surveying the group. “he nearly killed me and one of the other players last time. you’ll know which one when you see him. the guy who looks like he’d be on the cover of men’s health.”

now that piques joel’s interest, more than rats or dudebros with anger issues. “you mean to tell me there’s not one, but two hot ass people here other than me? fuck, this really is heaven.”

siheon laughs, folding their arms over their chest. “this isn’t exactly a place to meet your next partner, unless you’re into trauma bonding. plus, captain korea’s a dick.”

“i love dicks.” double entendre, nice. 

“i gleaned that much, yeah.” alright, call his ass out then, damn. “i’ll let you make your own decisions, but you can’t blame me if you waste your time with it.”

“sounds like you’re speaking from experience.” does siheon have tea? fuck, joel hopes they have tea. being dead kicks ass, so far.

laughing, siheon shakes their head. “i barely know the guy. like, literally, i don’t even know his name. i think we exchanged like, maybe 20 words to each other? not my fault most of his were rude. made a stellar first impression.” not the tea he was hoping for, but still spicy. hot people arguing? dinner and a motherfuckin’ show, if joel plays his cards right.

sucking his teeth, joel tries not to look too disappointed. “damn, and here i was hoping we were about to play house with some ripped daddy.”

this makes siheon pause in their fidgeting, glancing up from where they’d been absently picking at a loose thread in the bow on their dress. “are you always this insufferably horny?” insufferable, him? never. and here joel’d thought they’d been into it. hmph!

“mm…” joel pretends to consider, “nah, i think being dead is really doing it for me though. purgatory, giant talking boba… really gets the engine going.”

siheon hums. guess it’s not the craziest thing they’ve heard, all things considered. joel’ll have to try harder. “maybe get laid before the next time. last thing we need is some horny dog trying to hump our legs while we are in the middle of a battle. somebody’ll probably shoot you.”

skrrt, wait, back up. they get to have guns? forget getting laid. “we get to have guns?” the excitement must be visible on his face, as the look siheon gives him turns mildly concerned.

they seem to consider him for a moment, playing with their tongue piercing. not that he’s looking.

he’s kind of looking.

sighing, siheon rolls their eyes so hard he’s pretty sure they can see their brain, before shaking their head once more, as though disappointed. “i changed my mind. i think you’ll fit in just fine around here.”

[stayarmytinyzenmoa-l]

Prominence [WCh. 2.70]

Social Media AU ; Idol AU ; Added Unit AU CW/TW: Language Genre: Comedy, Romance Pairing: NCT x Idol!Reader, Seonghwa x Reader Y/N Pronouns: Female (She/Her) Word Count: 3.2K

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Notes: Hehe…. more angst Disclaimer: Please remember that this is an AU and a work of fiction, obviously the idols mentioned/written about in this story would never partake in these actions. The idols mentioned in this work are meant to be seen more as face claims rather than the actual idols themselves.

Feedback is greatly appreciated!! Thank you for reading!

26 February 2022

Yangyang woke up slowly, his eyes still heavy from staying up so late the night before and every limb aching from sleeping on the floor. He tugged at his pillow to turn over, but when instead he heard a groan, he backed off immediately.

"Dude, get off of me!" Yangyang pries Mark off of him.

"I should be saying that to you!" Mark groans. "Ugh... I can't feel my arms," Mark pushes up on the bed to stand. "(Y/N), are you-" He stops.

"What's wrong?" Yangyang sits up.

"Where... where did she go?" Mark's face drops into a frown. Yangyang shakes the grogginess out of his face.

"Oh no," Yangyang stumbles when he stands up. Grabbing one of the stuffed animals that had mascara wiped all over it. "Aww... poor Yuumi," Yangyang frowns.

"You're worried about the cat plush? We have to find (Y/N)!" Mark freaks out. The door opens next to him, Xiaojun standing there with his arms crossed and face mask freshly applied.

"She went with Kun for a walk," he says.

"Oh, thank god, I was so worried," Mark's shoulder slouched.

"I know. The walls are thin," he says. "Oh, and by the way, 'You're hot, why wouldn't Seonghwa want to date you again?' is not the right way to console a woman, Yangyang," Xiaojun shakes his head and Yangyang face heats up and Xiaojun closes the door.

"Do you think... do you think I was too harsh last night?" Yangyang asks. Mark shakes his head.

"I'm going to be honest, Yang, I don't think (Y/N) even remembers a lot of what you said. And even when she does, I think she kind of needed that. You know (Y/N), she's too stubborn, you really have to sit her down and give it to her cold for her to finally acknowledge things," Mark says.

"I mean... but still," Yangyang says. "I made her cry."

"She was already crying!"

"But still! I feel like a shitty friend!"

"You'd be an even shittier one if you didn't say anything, though. Just think of it like an intervention," Mark says. "Plus, she was sobering up around that time too, so she'll probably remember soon. If it wasn't us who told her that, it probably would've been someone else. I'd rather her hear that from us than from, god forbid, a police officer or anyone else," he says. Yangyang sits down on his bed, thinking back to last night.

"Yeah, you're right about that," Yangyang falls back, allowing himself to bounce on the mattress. He grabs onto the pillow and screams. "She hates me!"

"She doesn't hate you!"

"Oh my god, our friendship is ruined!"

"She probably doesn't even remember any of it!" Mark tries to console him.

"What about our blood pact, Mark?!"

"Our what now?!" Mark's jaw dropped and Yangyang reaches under his bed, pulling out a piece of paper with hastily drawn scribbles all over it with three fingerprints stamped onto it that were very obviously blood. "When the hell did we do that?!" Mark gasps. Yangyang holds it up to his face and squints, trying to make out the illegible writing.

"You know what? I have no idea," he frowns.

"What does it even say?"

"I can't really read it, but I think we're entitled to each other's first borns," Yangyang says with uncertainty. Mark's face remained in a state of shock.

"Man, if that's the worst that our drunk charades have gotten, then you have nothing to worry about last night," Mark says. Yangyang shoves the contract back under his bed.

"Yeah... you're right," Yangyang yawns. "I can't believe I let her take the bed, I should've made her walk back to her room, now my back's all jacked up," Yangyang twists uncomfortably and Mark chuckles.

"She needed it more than we did," Mark sighs. Yangyang could only nod, trying to salvage his messy bed.

Mark was right, he just said what you needed to hear, and if he was lucky, you'd remember it subconsciously at least.

~

Four hours earlier.

"Yeah, I knew she wasn't going to sleep," Yangyang watched you pace around his room, hands squeezing each other while you muttered incoherent things to yourself. Yangyang's hand flew up instinctively to catch whatever you threw at him.

"Get out of my room!" You shout.

"This is my room!" Yangyang gasps. "Why would you have a roll of toilet paper in your room?!" He argues. Mark shakes his head.

"Not the best argument, Yang," Mark grimaces.

"Seriously? I'm a guy!"

"You're disgusting," you flung a bottle of lotion at him next, something Yangyang quickly dodged.

"Okay, well, if I'm going to get lectured, I at least want you to be sober when you do it," Yangyang walks passed you and lightly pushes you on the bed. You dramatically sprawled over it and turned to Mark.

"Mark, did you see that? He hates me."

"He doesn't hate you, (Y/N)," Mark handed you a water bottle and you sat up.

"Why can't drunk you mistake Mark's room for your room for once? Why's it always mine?" Yangyang whines.

"Because I hate the 127 dorms!" You shout.

"Hey! What's wrong with my side of the dorms?" Mark asks.

"Doyoung is there!" You screamed into a pillow and, once it falls onto your lap, you stared at mark with the utmost seriousness. "He scares me."

"So you're not afraid of a literal stalker but you're afraid of Doyoung?!" Yangyang's jaw drops.

"That's different! I can't call the cops on Doyoung!"

"Why are we calling the cops on Doyoung?" Mark interjects.

"We're not! He just doesn't like me and I don't want to deal with that because it's not my problem!" You explained. The two boys stared at you and you scoffed. "Go away, I'm tired," you muttered, pulling the comforter over your lap.

"You're in my room! Go to yours!" Yangyang throws a pillow at you, but you quickly swat it away, its trajectory instead landing on Mark. "Mark! No! Baby, what happened?!" You cried. Mark only sighs.

"(Y/N), you're drunk, go to bed," he pushes you down gently, but his hand quickly retracts when tears well up in your eyes. Before he could move away, you latched yourself to his waist and Mark instinctively hugged back. "Is everything okay, (Y/N)? What happened out there?" He asks. Yangyang rolls his chair closer to the two of you, a comforting hand on your back now.

"I'm sick of everything right now," you blabbered. "I'm so sick of it. No one used to like me, everyone used to hate me, the hashtag '(Y/N)Out' trended weekly on Twitter then all of a sudden I have a stalker?" Your words were almost entirely slurred. "It's just not fair, Mark, what did I do? What the hell is this timing? Why is everyone blaming me for it?" You frowned. Mark just pat your head.

"Hey, come on, it's not your fault, (Y/N), none of us are upset over something you can't control," he says. "(Y/N), this is on the company to handle, they're the ones managing you."

"It's not that simple! This has been going on since I debuted! You may not be upset about it, but everyone else is, Mark! The company keeps saying that they'll handle it but then it just gets worse! I'm so sick of it! I breathe and people get pissed! It's just so horrible! There are so many horrible things about me that everyone's saying, but none of them are true! Jeno's like a brother to me, I can never see him romantically! I don't even have the skills to seduce anyone, alright? Seonghwa asked me out first, not the other way around! Hell, I wasn't even friends with him first, that was all Wooyoung! Keeho and I have known each other for years, Yeonjun and I just met, and I only happened to be in the same room with other guys! I've never bullied anyone in my life! I'm not lazy, I just can't dance in skirts as short as the ones they give me, alright? And I'm not a clutz either! I genuinely don't know where any of those stockings I used went, or any of the makeup brushes, or ribbons they put in my hair, I even use my own paycheck to get new ones! And I most certainly do not kill kittens!" You rambled. "Imagine, imagine, if I involved anyone else, it would just get worse for everyone's reputation, so it's better if everyone would just let me handle it," you insisted.

"(Y/N), did you not hear a single thing I said earlier?" Yangyang asks.

"Oh, you're the one to talk! I went out for dinner with you and Mark once before Photograph was even announced and people were calling me a prowling harlot while they were babying you both on Twitter," you argued. "Seriously! It was even your idea!"

"Geez, (Y/N), this is why we keep telling you to stay off of Twitter!" Mark steps in.

"Even if I salvaged my relationship, what if Seonghwa just hates me more now? I overreacted so much for no reason and I hate thinking about it because it's embarrassing!"

"Oh my god, (Y/N), you're hot, why wouldn't Seonghwa want to date you again?!" Yangyang insists.

"You think I'm hot?" You ask.

"That's not the point right now!"

"And, besides, what does the opinion of strangers on the internet mean in comparison to ours, (Y/N)? Your actual friends," Mark's voice, for the first time, had gotten louder than his usual comfort. Your lips sealed. Yangyang takes a deep breath.

"Look, (Y/N), I know it doesn't seem like it, but we get it, hell, we probably get it more than anyone else," Yangyang says. "What we don't get is why you're dealing with it on your own. You have Saeron and the others, you have Mark and I, and... I don't know what the hell is going on with you and Seonghwa but I'm pretty sure you have him too, there's no need to beat yourself up about any of those rumors. You know they're not true, we know they're not true, why does anyone else's opinion matter? It's just bad luck that it all happened after your breakup, but even then, you're both talking it out now, right? There's nothing to be worried about," he says. Mark hands you the discarded roll of toilet paper and you pushed it away.

"Don't touch that, Mark, who knows what Yangyang did to that," you mumbled.

"Oh thank god she's back," Mark buries his hands in his face. "Are you sobering up?"

"The world is blacking out around me."

"Oh my god, what did you drink?" Yangyang's shoulders slumped. You threw your arms open and beckoned both of them to come closer.

"Ah, what the hell," Mark hugs you first before dragging Yangyang to join.

"I love you two so much," you sniffled. "You're both like brothers to me," your voice wavered.

"Yangyang... what stage are we at?" Mark asks.

"The last one, she should be passing out soon," Yangyang whispers.

"I can't wait to take your first borns."

"What?" They both turned to you, but you had already fallen asleep, your head knocking against the wall behind you.

"Well, I'm sleeping on the floor tonight," Yangyang removes one of your limp arms from his shoulders.

"I'll stay here too just in case. She likes me more when she's drunk."

"I wonder if that's like a thing?" Yangyang pulls the comforter from under you and places it on the floor.

"I think it's more of a she hangs out with you more and me less thing," Mark shrugs.

"Sure, yeah, let's go with that," Yangyang stretches out over the floor. "Shit, the things I go through for this girl, (Y/N), you're lucky we're best friends."

"She's not going to remember any of this, is she?"

"Nope."

That should've been the end to that conversation, but, as Mark digested and went over everything that had been happening these past few days, and how could he not? It's been bothering his close friend for ages, how could he not worry? Two things suddenly stood out to him, and slowly everything started to fall into place.

"Hey, Yang?" Mark looks up at the ceiling. "You don't think..." Mark looks at his phone now, going through a specific set of messages with his stylist. "You don't think this and that are related, right?"

"Mark, a lot of shit happens, please be more specific."

"I'm talking about the missing items from the stylists and Kyungjae, dude."

"Oh, shit, dude," Yangyang props himself up on and elbow and he and Mark look at each other. "You don't think that Kyungjae's the one taking them, do you?"

"I do, I think it has something to do with those crazy messages (Y/N) has been getting too," then, as if the devil heard, your phone buzzed above them. It was only out of blatant curiosity that Yangyang grabbed it, the unknown number sending you multiple messages at once of the same topic.

'Just leave. The group's better off without you.'

"Geez, how many of these has she been getting?" Yangyang clears the message from your screen and places it back on the charger pad. Then, in that moment of silence, Yangyang gasps. "I've connected the dots."

"You didn't connect shit," Mark shakes his head. "I did."

"We've connected the dots!" Yangyang scrambles on top of his bed and shakes you. "(Y/N)! (Y/N), wake up we found out who's stealing your shit!" He shouts. You placed a hand on his face and shoved him away from you, Yangyang promptly landing on Mark.

"Don't piss off the sleeping beast," Mark groans.

"We'll tell her in the morning later."

~

Six hours later

Winwin listened with intensity, trying his best to picture everything in his head. His hand was pressing against his temple while the other one held his phone up.

"Well, any questions?" Xiaojun asks on the other side of the phone. Winwin hums.

"Uh... yeah... Who's Kyungjae?"

"Hyung, he is literally the antagonist of this whole story!" Ten sighs on the other screen.

"Just give me a second! It takes me a while, okay? And who's Wooyoung?!"

"Oh god," Xiaojun brushes his hair back with his hands. "Kun, you tell him the story." Kun looks away from his computer and to the screen.

"Hey, I'm just here to fact check, you're the story tellers."

"Okay, wait, wait, hyung, what do you think about (Y/N) and Seonghwa getting back together?" Xiaojun moved closer to his screen.

"Well, it's not much of my business, but if they're happy together then they're happy together? Sure, I think they should probably work some things out first, I think Seonghwa might be hiding something still, but that's a bridge they'll cross when they get to it," Winwin shrugs.

"So you're team YNSH," Ten says.

"Team... Team what?"

"We need better names for these," Ten rolls his eyes.

"Hyung! You need to be team YNYY!" Xiaojun shouts

"Team... YN... YY?" He asks. "(Y/N) and Yangyang?!"

"Yes!" Xiaojun throws his hands up. "He's our junior! We have to be on his side!"

"Oh my god, Dejun, YNYY is dead! That was so last season!" Ten scoffs.

"Let me dream, Chittaphon!"

"Okay, okay, break it up you two!" Kun says sternly. "Winwin still needs the finer details explained to him."

"Don't worry, I got this," Hendery grins. "So, basically, (Y/N) has a mech-"

"Shut up, Hendery!" Everyone cut him off.

"Where are you guys sourcing Seonghwa's side of this story anyway?" Winwin asks.

"Oh, I have my sources," Ten says. "Very reliable sources that don't want to be named."

"That's even more worrying," Kun shakes his head. "And... Ten have you been typing this whole time?" Ten freezes.

"No."

"Oh my god, you're taking notes!" Hendery gasps

"I have clients too!"

"(Y/N)'s private life is not meant to be sensationalized!" Kun scolds.

"Ugh, I'm changing their names anyway!" Ten sticks his tongue out.

"Good god," Kun shakes his head.

~

Elsewhere.

The sound of a keyboard clacking was the only thing that filled his ears. A cup of coffee steamed next to him while he looked between the two monitors as well as the files next to him. Pictures, text receipts, audio transcriptions, he had enough to build a case but at the same time not enough for a hefty conviction. Not to mention a motive, but is there ever a stronger motive in sasaeng cases?

Not to mention, the items stolen are essentially borrowed items, none of which actually belonged to you. Hard to build a case around that as much as he'd want to.

He answered his phone as soon as it rang.

"Is it enough?" The feminine voice asks.

"Not necessarily," Kanghoon sighs. "I'm sorry, I know you're paying a lot for this. Are you sure the company isn't doing anything, Saeron?" He asks.

"I keep asking, and the answer is always that they're working on it."

"I don't even want to know how you got most of these."

"Let's just call it undercover work."

"Infiltrating a sasaeng group chat is hardly undercover work," Kanghoon sighs. "I'm just surprised you found out my line of business so quickly."

"You're not very private for a private investigator," Saeron says. "Besides, you can't tell me that you weren't already looking into this." Kanghoon pauses. Sure, maybe he did look into a few things after your breakup scandal, but it was only to make sure you were alright. Naturally, any investigator would be concerned about malicious messages. "Is there anything I can do to help?" Kanghoon looks over at his third monitor.

"Sure, there's a Twitter account that's been standing out to me, maybe you could leak a thing or two about it on your 'private' account, looks like you've amassed quite the following."

"Which one?"

"Looks like you may have interacted with them before, the @ should be 'I know how this works' no capitals and no spaces."

"Alright, I'll see what I can do," Saeron sighs.

"Does (Y/N) know you're doing any of this?" He asks.

"No, this is all my own doing," Saeron answers. "You must think it's over the top, don't you?"

"No, not at all. You'll be surprised how often my agency gets requests like yours, we usually turn them down but... well, she is my sister."

"Right, thank you so much for your help, Kanghoon, I mean it, I owe you one," Saeron says.

"It's nothing... just make sure she's alright for me, yeah? She didn't look too hot when I ran into her."

"I can do that for you, thank you." With that, Saeron hung up. Kanghoon placed the cigarette between his lips, lighting it without another thought, and took a slow drag.

"All of this just to be an idol, what's even the point?" He wonders aloud. "Is it even worth it?" He continues. How could he forget how tired you looked earlier? It was heart wrenching. He opened your texts, finally clearing out the '100+' notification on that icon and did a brief skim through all of them. The light at the end of his cigarette burned brightly.

Maybe it was time he stepped in.

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[bradshawburner]

This one…. This one sticks with me in the best and worst ways. For all the hopeful glimmers, I’m always hoping that the ending plays out different. And I’m so tender out it. God, it hurts so good! 😭😭😭

It’s the slow motion car wreck and the painful fall out of two people who love each other. Their needs and their wants not being in sync, of knowing you could be doing better and just not trying. It gets me every time I read it!

More for you under the cut:

Because the thing about being a twenty-something that you’ve come to uncover is that life is shitty. Paying rent is shitty. Paying an arm and leg for a pilates workout is shitty. Office jobs are shitty. Office jobs that house cruel know-it-all men are even shittier. — OOF AINT THAT THE TRUTH (weeps in *in love with reformer Pilates*)

And what if, through this whole slue of hypotheticals that hadn’t happened yet but had the potential to happen, you found yourself in a position to be alone? What if your boyfriend - your darling, kind, and sweet boyfriend - finally saw you how you saw yourself? And what if what he sees makes him want to walk away? — the intrusive thoughts, the self doubt, the spiral. Oh I feel for her here, where it’s one thing after another and when you finally think there’s nothing left to worry about that you brain finds a way to glom onto something new.

The sniffles scratch at your chest like a stray dog begging to be let in. The whimper you let out is pathetic and you would’ve laughed at yourself if you hadn’t been so concerned with getting inside.//Fuck. Was unlocking Bradley’s front door always this difficult? — this really is such a great bit of foreshadowing and imagery. That the one place she’s always felt safe and good coming too, is even putting up a fight. Because she’s feeling that way that something’s not right in the relationship. And oof.

But if he’s being honest with himself, he had always been that way. Despite his innate desire to recreate his parents’ epic love story, being empathetic and filled with space to make homes of other people’s sorrow was just something he was born with.— I love this switch to his inner mind here, and is such an interesting look into him

Weakness isn’t something you’re allowed to show very often; not with Mikes and Bills breathing down your neck looking for something to boot your sorry ass out of the front doors of their company. — THIS IS NOT AN ISSUE IN BARBIE LAND

Your eyes refuse to drink in his appearance for more than five seconds at a time because you know that you’re an angry crier who gets set off very easily. Exchanging looks with the fuel that set fire to the burning in your belly would not do you any good at this moment. — that tension of waiting to see who will break first

It always gave you rug burn but you never complained. Having Bradley was something you craved so deeply that no consequence could ever outweigh the desire; even damn near purple knees and a sore ass from how domineering he could be. — this and the reference to the shower in Year 3, that she’ll give those bits away her own comfort because she’ll take whatever she can get of him? If her putting his needs ahead of her own? 🥺

Because you, much like her and so very much like Bradley, would rather suffer in silence and let the thoughts of not feeling good enough eat you alive until the joys of who you are become eroded to make room for the sorrows of who you aren’t — oh okokokokokok 😭😭😭 my heart aches for her

You both knew that you’d have it across your shoulders come nightfall when the sun had set and the late fall wind chill kicked in.— even as the dread starts settling around at this point because I know what’s coming, there are still such nice spots like this that point to the good and sweet parts of their relationship, that’s like THIS this is how it can and should be, that they know each other enough to know she’ll be cold and he’ll hand over his coat because they’ve been together so long and that history has happened for them to get to that point of just innate knowing?

Thoughts of the Law and Order episodes you watched leisurely slammed themselves into the forefront of your mind as the thought of a dangerous predator sent shivers up your spine. — as a fellow anxious girlie this amused me because it’s always WHAT IF WHAT IF WHAT IF 😂😭😂

“She’s letting you hit raw and you still haven’t knocked her up yet?” you heard an unfamiliar voice say, “Jesus, Fitch, are you broken?”— it’s like such a record scratch this part with its crudeness. That it’s just “locker room talk”, trying to gaslight a whole population into thinking that it’s just chat versus disrespectful and reductive. Who let Evil Ken back?

His eyes are softened from both the scotch in his system and the tenderness he held in his heart for your being. Something in you just won’t allow his hazel irises to bleed into you. You already have enough blood surrounding the metaphorical stab wound that he unknowingly caused you tonight to last you through the goddamn week. — oh this part hurts every time. That he can sense something is wrong, and his concern, but also the angst of it being him that’s the source of her pain in that moment?? 🫠

The thing about Bradley, though, is that he’ll never bring up someone else’s issue with him. He’s confrontational at heart but only about things that cut him deep; about things that stain his fingertips red with anguish and disappointment.//But because he’s him and because you’re you, he decided to let you come forward and let you confront him with your problem because the absolute last thing he ever wanted to do was upset you, and he certainly fell short in avoiding that scenario tonight. — no Bradley, it’s not her problem to bring up if you KNOW what you’ve done and what you’ve said and the fact that your actions are the reason she feels that way. I’ve had friendships like this and the frustration of feeling like “if you cared about me you’d reach out” and then someone just avoiding it until you bring it up… it’s sucks. Because it’s so selfish. And I ache for her.

Your anger angered him, and instead of being open to the idea of criticism and accepting his party in making you miserable tonight, his need to deflect kicked in instead. Old habits die hard, and he just couldn’t resist.  — bradleyyyyyyy do better, be better. But that feeling where in the moment if feels so good to give into all those negative things that you know you’ll regret later on.

He didn’t care about you in front of his coworkers, so why should he get the privilege of caring about you now?  - 🥺

Most of all, he hurt your feelings tonight and he had yet to acknowledge that he was the cause of it. Yet here he is, trying to get in your good graces because the guilt of knowing that he had done something was chewing him up and spitting him out currently. — the trying to smooth things over vs actually being sorry of it all… because he’s valuing his feelings over hers… and ouch

So attuned to your needs but never to your feelings. Same old Bradley. — THISSSSSS

His touch burned you. Made your heart volcanic. Sent fiery tears streaming down your face. His touch had betrayed you. Made you small. Made you insignificant. Made you feel like he never cared. — I’m just 😭😭😭😭

You looked so hurt. So broken. So done with him. Like maybe, just possibly, the love you had for him had finally given out. — it’s like a slow motion car crash

His gaze caught Bob’s eyes. Sweet, innocent Bob who thought the world of everyone. Sweet, innocent Bob who knew that Bradley was digging his own grave, but continued sipping his glass of red wine. The gawky metal frames that rimmed his friend’s eyes bore into his soul, almost magnifying the wrongfulness of what he was saying. — ugh a disappointed bob, that’s when you know you’re in the wrong

“Tightest thing I’ve ever put my dick in.” — like every time I know it’s coming, but it’s so so shitty. And the “thing” of it all…. Like she’s so dehumanized here and I hate it so much. Because he knows better and yet….

He hated peer pressure. He hated the way he was acting. He hated the way he was treating you behind your back. He hated the way his friends were laughing.//He hated himself more for doing it because you deserved so much better. But clearly, he didn’t feel bad enough to stop. — this part always hits me in the chest. Knows better but doesn’t try to DO better

If he felt that way about you, felt like you were around just for your body and not for you, what did everyone else think? Was Natasha only friendly because she thought you were too immature to be left alone at gatherings? Did Rueben and Mickey actually give a shit about what you had to say when they asked about your work? Did Jake and Javy even know your name?//Did your boyfriend even like you? — POOR SWEET GIRL! Because in the spiral wondering if her boyfriend, the person she loves and thought loved her enough in return to respect her has let her down like this, then where does she even stand with anyone else?

“How the hell is Jake Seresin defending me before you even thought to?” — !!!!!!

“You said you were sorry because you want me to accept your apology, but what next, Bradley? Are you actually gonna fix it?” — call him outttttt

“Hard to when every little thing that slightly offends you sends you into a goddamn spiral.”//Your weakness. He’s got you there. — that sharp tongue, knowing exactly what to say to make someone feel just as bad as you… this is so rough

He’s apologizing for the sake of saying sorry. For the sake of diminishing your anger. For the sake of being able to be truthful about never going to bed angry if someone asks. For the sake of doing so because if you accept, he’s still allowed to stay the same and he never has to change.//But you’re saying sorry for being a nuisance. For embarrassing him. For bruising his ego and for being accusatory that he never gave a damn about you. —oh I hate this for them, the beginning of them end

And what you don’t realize is that you should really be saying sorry to yourself, because while you’re boxing yourself up to make space for him, he’s not sorry about forcing you to do it. — this just HURTS

Love is all about sacrifice and banged-up feelings; even if that means that the love of the man you would do anything for suffocates you as you lay curled into his side with a heat made by his chest and his soft snores in your ear. — relationships should be work, but they should be hard. And this makes me so sad for her.

Bradley had watched you type it out and his sagging shoulders wore disappointment on them.//You knew.//You knew he was both feet out of the door with your relationship; his hand still on the doorknob to close it but not having the guts to lock the door while he’s at it. — IM TOO TENDER FOR THIS

But yet you cling to what little time you know you have left with him. - I ache and ache and ache

“Don’t hurt her. Don’t hurt her. Don’t hurt her,” his heart begs, but his brain knows that either way, hurting you is inevitable. -🥺🥺🥺

“I don’t want to get married and you do. That’s miserable.”/…/“Uh-uh. No,” you say. You paw at your eyes with your hand ferociously. “No! You don’t get to do that. You know that’s not fair!” You spring up from his lap like he was a fire that had just licked your skin with white-hot heat. — this hurts so muchhhh

“Why can’t you just be better then?” — 😭😭😭

“You’ll find someone who’s an even better best friend than I am,” he sniffles. He hadn’t even noticed that he had started crying again. “Someone who doesn’t make you cry.”— this whole section is just gut wrenching, their talk of being best friends, or how to navigate being them in a post break up world, how to move on?? 😭

“You’re the kindest man that I know even though you stomped on my heart.”— STOPPPPPPPP

One where you don’t get the ring and the house and the babies. One where he doesn’t get the girl and the family and the happily ever after. One where you both don’t have a soulmate anymore. — it’s too much for meeee I’m a messssss

“I love you. I’ll always love you.” //“But you’ll never love me enough to try.”  —- on the floor it’s fine I live here now 🫠🫠🫠

None of it matters if he doesn’t love you enough to be what you need.— a gut punch, oh it’s so saddddd

My heart achessssssss. This was so lovely and so gut wrenchingly sad all at the same time.

‘cause no one breaks my heart like you

“Last times always make him uneasy. He thinks that he should be used to it by now from his track record of being abandoned (willfully or “out of their control” situations alike). None of this should hurt him as deeply anymore.” or Bradley Bradshaw is terrified of commitment and he decides to stop being selfish (even though it’s hard to see). 

A/N: Okay so EXTREMELY long time, no see! I’ve been working on this little project since the end of September and have been driving myself crazy in trying to sculpt the words the way that I wanted and how to make this seem as realistic as possible. I appreciate every single person who has been so patient with me and my inconsistent posting and hope you enjoy 19k words of our favorite guy in the sky. 

(Year 3)

He loves me. He loves me not. 

He loves me. 

The strange thing about crying is never knowing when the tears will fall. There’s this burning sensation that comes with it; clearly juxtaposed to the watery mess your eyes want to produce. Your nose burns, your face is hot, and the all-consuming, mind-numbing squeeze of rubberband-like pressure around your temples makes you dizzy. 

Keep reading

[keilemlucent]

long days for bad people

(r18+)

hawks | takami keigo x reader

ao3

word count: ~6k

Being a prized, adored possession was far better than you thought it would be.

warnings: light daddy kink (no age play, just the name in mostly jest), spit kink, crying kink, degradation, brief descriptions of blood + violence, kidnapping (consensual?? read a/n), brat taming, light sadomasochism, mind break, praise kink

------

here it is, mafia au, villain hawks, dom, brat tamer, soft(?!) hawks. what more could you want? 

there’s briefly described kidnapping at the beginning of the fic but it is reiterated throughout that this is consensual! no yandere/stockholm stuff in this fic. 

i’ve been working on this one for a while and i’m happy to finally share it. hope y’all enjoy!!

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You shouldn’t have fucked around with the League.

God, it was common knowledge in the parts of town and circles you inhabited. Of all criminal syndicates, mobs, to fuck with, the League wasn’t one of them. They were known for their complete cruelty and violent delights. The League had such a reputation due to the fact that they openly left bodies carved up and burnt as they pleased.

But, you were a fucking idiot and got involved anyways.

It was a small loan, Giran almost seemed to scoff when he gave you the cash. You and your almost-stranger of a roommate were just very late on some bills and were going to lose a lot of material items if you didn’t scrounge up at least two paychecks in about three days. 

You swallowed your pride and took the first and easiest loan you could get. That just happened to be with gap-toothed, wide-grinning Giran of the League. He, you knew from what you’d heard, was somewhat fair in matters like yours. 

You had two weeks to pay him back.

...

You didn’t make it in time.

You were close to the amount, notably. You scrounged and clawed your way into getting the cash back. You weren’t much of a pickpocket, but you snagged some odd jobs around the apartment building that you and your roommate were still fortunate enough to keep a room in.

After one particular job, a nasty carpentry gig that you weren’t qualified for, you returned home tired and worn.

Sure, you were a day late on payment. But with this last gig, you were so close. The League would have to pity two, stupid, stupid young girls?

They didn’t, you realized, as you stepped into your apartment.

Your roommate's slain corpse was laying over the arm of your cheap couch, eyes vacant and mouth dripping blood onto the old beige carpet.

You dropped to your knees, horrified and completely stunned.

“You should’ve known better,” it was a hum from across the room, from a figure you didn’t even know was in the room until then. “Really, you’d expect folks to be smarter.”

Your mouth dried as the figure moved from the nighttime shadows, flashing a dazzling smile and ruffling crimson wings.

Hawks.

You’d heard of him, everyone had. Terrifying, fast, precise, and cutthroat. He took orders and didn’t ask questions other than snark. He talked too much, fucked too much. 

“W-wait,” You didn't know why you were pleading, but you had to try, right? “I’m so close, wait—”

Hawks sauntered up to you wielding one of his feather blades, the red of blood mixing with the filaments of his feathers.

He crouched down in front of you, tsking, “I don’t like begging, angel. I’ll make this quick for you. Your friend there?”

Hawks jerked his finger behind to your dead roommate.

“She fought, pleaded, begged, all that normal shit I don’t like hearing when shitheads like you two don’t make payday,” his voice was slow, talking about death like some casual thing. “I’ll make this nice and fast if you don’t run your mouth anymore, how about that?”

You swallowed, nodding.

The small percentage of your brain that was fully functioning figured dying quickly was a much better way to go than whatever the hell had happened to your roommate. There was far too much blood for that to be quick.

Hawks hummed, the tip of his feather blade tipping up your chin so you were forced to meet his gaze. You vaguely heard the pitter-patter of your tears hitting the carpet below. Blood rushed in your ears as you stared death in the face.

Hawks appraised you.

You watched the metaphorical cogs and wheels turning in Hawks’ skull as he looked you up and down before flashing forward, gathering you in his arms and flying from the apartment. 

Your first thought was obvious as you clung to him in the open air:

He’s going to drop you and kill you.

When you screamed, tears growing thicker, he slapped a gloved hand over your mouth, “I’m giving you an out, kid. Trust me. You’ll prefer this over death.”

 ||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||

 Your new existence was certainly better than death.

If you were ever caught and convicted of any of the illegal things you participated in, you’d be fucked, thrown into prison until you rotted, until you were just dust and bone.

But, until then, you worked for the League.

You had groveled at the feet of their leader, Shigaraki, hands clasped on your lap, claiming your worth, or maybe lack thereof. Not many attachments, not many people who’d miss you, a semi-useful quirk. 

With a boot shoved into your skull, he sneered that you’d be the League’s new errand dog. 

The real reason they accepted you was due to the threatening air Hawks was exuding and the fact that their old ‘errand bitch’ had died the week prior. They needed a new body to act as a civilian and do things that only an unsuspecting-looking ‘civilian’ could. You fit the bill, and Hawks had taken a liking to you.

 Oddly, working for the League was actually pretty okay.

You got your own room. It was small, but you only had to share a bathroom with the somewhat unhinged Himiko, but she was fairly nice once she warmed up to you. Everyone lived in the League’s HQ and went about their business, getting drunk at their bar front each night.

Most of the mess happened at night, but it was important to put on a nice veneer and keep spirits high. Not to mention that no one would dared to fuck with the League, anyways. The cops and federal government had long been paid off due to the resources that the League had acquired for them. 

You felt somewhat untouchable.

A lot of this confidence was due to the fact that you had become Hawks’s... Keigo’s...

‘Songbird’

As he liked to call you, anyway. 

Keigo was the general, loveable annoyance of the League, but his connections were invaluable and his skills were unmatched. Despite how he could grate on people (read: Dabi and Shigaraki), he was respected and feared just as much as everyone else was, if not more so. And being his metaphorical and literal pet had its perks.

Sure, the first time he had you come to his ‘office’ and he fucked you against the window until it was smeared with cum and blood was a bit surprising, but god, if you didn’t fucking love it. Being Keigo’s personal fucktoy came with protection, pleasure, and a surprising amount of genuine attention. The dude was lonely, and so were you. The two of you made a good ‘couple’, if you could even call yourselves that. The sadism he doled out was always counterpointed by affections that did seem genuine. 

Keigo was fond of you, and you of him. Maybe your brush with death had twisted something in your head, to even allow yourself to get close to a man like Keigo, but you couldn’t make yourself care. 

You were comfortable and content. 

...

[bird boss]: hey babe ;^) get to my office in the next thirty minutes 

[you]: what if i don’t

[bird boss]: do u really want to find out

[you]: ...

[you]: im just curious 

[bird boss]: don’t get cheeky songbird 

[you]: u make me wanna u know

[you]: i know it gets you riled up

[bird boss]: tread lightly kid

[you]: oooo i gave you some guff over text

[you]: what’re you gonna do about it?

[bird boss]: use your imagination

[bird boss]: 25 minutes now, songbird

[bird boss]: don’t make this worse for yourself <3

 You set your phone on your cheap duvet, quickly primped yourself to see Keigo. He wasn’t too strict about your appearance but wearing dark clothes and some of the more expensive gifts he’d gotten you over the months he’d been screwing you never hurt. Something about ownership with him always got him hot and bothered. 

You tried to remind yourself frequently that Keigo saw you as some sort of possession, but a possession with feelings.

Meandering through HQ was always a bit daunting, despite your protections. Your skimpy outfit choice and hardly-hidden lingerie made you feel a bit more like an object than you liked too. 

There were hardly hungry mouths around the League, they kept you all fed, but god, were there starving eyes. 

Dabi wolf-whistled as you walked past him through a common room, shouting something about how Keigo was collecting his pound of flesh for the day. Maybe a line or two about being a whore, but that was all flavor at that point. Keigo called you far meaner, more sinful things. And hell, it wasn’t like Keigo hadn’t... shared you on more than one occasion. 

Maybe you were a little fucked up for enjoying your lifestyle to the degree you did, but why not indulge where you could? Life was far shittier scraping paint off old fences and picking up cans to just scrape by. 

Opulence was a breath of fresh air. And if you were Keigo’s fuck toy? Then, god, you were Keigo’s fuck toy.

When you arrived at Keigo’s office, you knocked gently on the door, quickly adjusting your skirt and blouse. 

The door opened, though no one was behind it. Only a single one of Keigo’s feathers allowed you entrance. 

His office seemed daunting and extravagant for a man who did most of his ‘work’ in far-shadier, far-bloodier places. The walls were covered in mirrors and old paintings, something out of vanity and pride, knowing how Keigo saw himself. There were several black leather couches scattered around against walls, some stained by your various... activities. There was a broad desk parallel to a back wall made entirely of windows. 

Night had fallen, leaving the room lit by a few lamps and warm fixtures. 

“Hey, boss,” You hummed as you stepped in, shutting the door behind you just before the lingering scarlet feather flicked the lock on the door.

And the other one.

And the deadbolt.

You swallowed thickly. 

As much as you enjoyed a lot of the perks of your... position, it was also daunting.

Keigo was daunting, all bloody colors, vanity, and hunger. 

He sat behind his desk, wings puffed up, and partially extended over the back of his chair. The desk chair was massive, specifically acquired so that you would have enough room to properly straddle his lap for hours on end if he so wished. 

Keigo idly clicked around on his desktop computer. He leaned slack and back into the chair, legs spread wide and exuding casual confidence that reeked of his own ego. 

Keigo normally wore a mix of black and red, as edgy as it was. He liked to seem clean, hide the stains of sanguine that undoubtedly lingered on him no matter how he tried to cleanse himself. His black slacks were pressed, the seams pristine. The black shirt he wore was rolled up to his elbows, the buttons of his red vest undone as well. His black tie hung half-undone and limp around his neck. His tousled gold hair was mussed as normal, ruffled by his flights. His feathers might’ve needed preening, but you doubted that that was the reason he called you to his office. 

And based on the deep set of his brow and the sickly smile on his lips, he was already on edge and in a mood. 

“Songbird, come over here, will you?” Keigo sat back from his typing, watching you from across the room. He took you in the same way a parched man sucks down red wine, greedily and soon to be fucked. “On my lap.”

You complied, despite your earlier attitude. You padded across the room, going around his desk. 

As you moved to straddle his lap, worn hands gripped your waist. His amber eyes gave you a warning, crinkling at the edges, “Not like that, sweetheart. Do daddy right.”

Oh, so it was one of those moods. 

Maybe you were Keigo’s sexual punching bag so he could exert control on something he could later kiss better and patch up. 

Sure, he was going to fucking ruin you, but part of the fun with him was that the more it hurt, the nicer he was after. And, all things considered, with some of the... other folks the League brought in to satiate its member’s desires, you fared far better. Keigo cared about you, in his own particular way. 

You tried to lean over his lap yourself, but his hands and feathers positioned you perfectly as he wanted. With the tight grip he had on your waist and shoulders, dragging you just as he liked, it was easy to see his need for control. 

Your head hung off of one of his thighs as you squirmed in his lap. His bulge already pressed into your ribs, a wonderful reminder of the reward you’d reap later on. Keigo’s hands gathered your hand to the small of your back, a feather replacing their grip a moment later.

“Sit with me while I finish this shit,” Keigo grumbled, going back to clicking the desktop. His leg bobbed absentmindedly, his free hand rubbing over the curve of your barely-covered ass. “Be a good girl, (Y/N). If you can stand that.”

He laughed under his breath. 

You let your head dangle limply downwards, blood rushing to your cheeks. 

You’d thought you’d be in for more of an ass-kicking, but it appeared Keigo was taking things unusually slow. You knew better than to complain, but kicking up a bit of metaphorical sand couldn’t be that bad, right?

“I dunno,” You hummed, kicking your legs lightly. “I don’t think you like it when I’m a ‘good girl’, daddy.”

“Watch it.” A single, sharp smack to your butt was hardly enough to shut you up, but Keigo did so all the same, rubbing over the covered flesh a moment later, “I’m not in the mood.”

“Are you sure about that?” You wriggled, intentionally pushing up against his growing erection.

His breath stuttered, a smirk pulling at the corners of your lips. The hand on your ass didn’t rear again, rather Keigo kept thumbing smooth circles as he continued to click around on the computer. He might have been actually doing work. Or, he was ignoring you, egging your sass on. 

“If you didn’t want anything, why’d you call me in here?” You asked, way too cheeky for the way Keigo’s body was practically vibrating underneath you. Pissing him off had consequences, of course, but you weren’t in the mood to play ‘good girl’ that day.

“I told you, I want you to sit with me,” Keigo pinched your ass. “But, you’re too mouthy to do just that one thing. You’re usually better than this.”

“Am I?” You played innocent, craning to give him a wide smile. “Hadn’t noticed. What I am noticing, is your already-hard cock, dear.”

“Oh, ‘dear’?!” Keigo paused on the computer. “Cheeky. Cute.” 

Keigo would just dig in more, lean in, before ‘snapping’, if you could call it that.

You gulped as his hand swatted at upper thighs, his nails almost knicking your skin.

“Up and don’t get smart about it.”

Oh, you were going to be remarkably smart about it.

You rose but hardly stayed upright for long. Sliding down to your knees, you pushed at Keigo’s legs, “Wouldn’t you prefer me down here? Just for a treat while you finish your work?”

Keigo clicked his tongue, gaze flickering down to you, “Fine. Behave yourself.”

Yeah, right. You both knew that that wasn’t going to happen. 

You were already tucked underneath his desk, undoing the fly of his pants. 

You pulled his cock from his trousers, pumping his cock to full hardness. Smearing around preek for a bit of extra flare before inching forward.

Wrapping your mouth around Keigo’s dick was somewhat of a feat— he had a decent girth to him, so you usually took the opportunity to warm him (and yourself) up with a bit of tip-kissing and kitten licks.

But, you were feeling bold.

You spit on his dick, a move that normally would have earned you plenty of verbal snark, but anything Keigo could’ve said to you was swallowed as you took his cock down to the back of your throat.

You sucked around it, massaging the vein on the bottom with the flat of your tongue. Drool began to pool at the side of your lips as you let the head bump your throat, gag reflex be damned.

All the while, Keigo had stopped moving above you. The fabric of his trouser balled up in his ringed-fingers as he gazed half-lidded down at you. 

You smiled around his dick, looking up at him innocently as you began to slowly bob your head. His wings fluttered, twitches and air stirring around you. 

Keigo stifled a laugh, a hand tangling in your hair, “All that talk earlier and now you’re treating me to a blowjob without even me having to tell you to? Dove, you’re too much.”

You pulled off of him to reply, “I can only try.”

Before he could reply, you spit on his dick again, and went back to slurping around him.

You held the base of his cock in your hands, twisting and spreading spittle. It almost felt like your actions were for show, but Keigo’s eyes were rolling back in his head all the same.

You smirked.

A drool pool from your mouth, puddling in your lap and soaking your skirt. Not like you weren’t already dripping from the sinful sounds Keigo stopped trying to hold.

“A-ah, that’s it, angel,” Keigo fucked into your mouth with his hold on your hair. “Just like that.”

Your hand rose to play with Keigo’s balls, teasing at the sack as he cried out a high moan above you. 

Considering the performance you were giving, it was unsurprising to feel him tensing above you. You’d been on your knees for him hundreds of times; you’d learned to see the little twitches and puffs of breath he’d give when he’d get close to coming. 

You pulled off his cock with a pop, detangling the hand from your hair in the motion. It was all fast enough that Keigo couldn’t have stopped you in his hazy, pleasure-filled state. 

Based on the look of rapid disbelief he was giving you, your trick had worked well. Knowing Keigo’s... tendencies made you hesitant to push him too much in the past, but for whatever reason, you were feeling stupidly bold. 

Consequences.

“Sorry, daddy,” You wiped at your mouth with the back of your hand. “Didn’t feel like swallowing today.”

Keigo’s disheveled appearance was more than gratifying. Knowing how easily you made him come undone by that point was one of the perks of your position.

His hair was more than ruffled, strands and tufts chaotically curled around his cheeks and ears. There was a bright blush on his face, spreading from his nose to the apples of his cheeks, down his deck. At some point, he’d popped the buttons at the top of his shirt. He was covered in a sheen of sweat, half-panting and based on the darkness in his brow and the far-too peachy smile on his face, Keigo was fucking pissed.

His wings stood on end.

You gulped from below him.

Maybe you pushed your luck too far.

Maybe. 

“You’re playing real cute today, aren’t you songbird?” Keigo didn’t move, but his feathers twitched above him, wings flaring out even farther. “Real fucking cute.”

You were fucked.

Good.

A few feathers flew from Keigo, one snagging at your wrist, wrapping around it, and pulling you up from the desk.

You wobbled as you stood, dragged across the room as Keigo leisurely followed behind you. When you tried to set your own pace, Keigo swatted your ass with a huff, “You never learn, huh? I thought I’d trained you better than this.”

You opened your mouth to spit some dickish retort, but you were cut off as Keigo’s shoved you onto one of the leather couches.

“Don’t.” Keigo’s tone was acidic as he stood over your, wings still flared out. “I told you I wasn’t in the mood for your cute bullshit, dove, and you still decided to test your luck, huh?”

You kneeled on the cushions, sucking down air, shaking with anticipation.

“You don’t feel like swallowing today? That’s fine, I can work with that,” Keigo shrugged easily from above you.

Keigo had an... active sexual imagination, and you could tell by the crook in his lips that he had something devilish planned as retribution.

A sharp slap came down on your cheek, Keigo catching the opposite jaw and keeping you from recoiling too far. You blinked as the pain spread around your skull like licking flames against a frostbitten body. 

You wanted more.

A little grin stretched against your mouth as Keigo rubbed at your cheeks with his thumbs, “Aw, you always get so sweet like this, dove. You can be a good girl if you try, can’t you?” 

His actions carried candor and his words absolute torment. 

Despite how Keigo was trying to goad you into submission, you had a bit of spark left in you. 

Plainly, you spit on him.

The glob of saliva landed on Keigo’s cheek, under his eye.

He blinked at you. 

You continued to smile.

His own expression grew strained.

“Oh, songbird,” Keigo damn near lamented, wiping away the kind gift you’d given him. His voice was smooth without any bit of waver, all of the sexually-charged anger rolling just beneath the veneer. “You’re just being pain slut today, aren’t you?”

You were, absolutely. You could feel your arousal wetting your panties, the heat of the strike from your cheek beginning to boil something in your gut. 

“You just need a bit of special attention today, right? That’s all.” Keigo tsked, fully removing the tie from around his neck. “You just need a little reminder.”

“Reminder of what?” You asked, tilting your head quizzically. 

Keigo flipped you, feathers pushing and bracing you as needed while nimble hands tore off your clothes without reverie.

“Plenty of things, especially with this attitude you’ve got today,” Keigo’s tie looped around your wrists, binding them together at the center of your back. 

“You definitely need a reminder of who’s the boss around here,” Keigo shoved you forward, stomach flush with the back of the couch.

You reeled from the pace of it all, shifting your knees for any bit of stimulation you could get. Keigo’s feathers were slicing and pulling your clothes from your body faster than you could keep track of. It was overwhelming, making your mind swim in the best possible way. You throbbed. 

“Maybe a reminder about who fucking provides for you,” Keigo’s own clothes were shaken off, dropped to the floor and forgotten.

It was true. Keigo always made sure than you were taken care of, in more ways than one. Despite how fast-paced and laid back he could seem, he was always on top of making sure you had more than enough material and immaterial pleasure whether than be in the form of food, fucking, or otherwise.

You yelped as a smack fell across your ass. A feather caught the elastic of your panties, snapping a moment later, leaving you fully bare before him. 

Keigo’s worn hand came to press at your throat and jaw, tilting your head back as he climbed behind you, “Maybe, you need a reminder about who keeps you safe.”

This phrase was softer than the others, a sweet kiss pressing to your cheek and his voice a bit more gentle. It was jarring at the skin still stung from his earlier strike, but you cherished the heat besides. 

Once again, true. The folks in and outside of the League were greedy. There were plenty of unwanted souls that stole glances at Hawks’s prized songbird. There were starved eyes that tore into you whether you were dolled up for Keigo or not. There had been some... close calls, one could say, but Keigo always was there, in the end, unafraid to get his hands dirty. 

“You know what the most important reminder is, dove?” Keigo rolled his hips against you, cock wedging between your thighs.

“N-no,” You stuttered, brain turning gooey as Keigo’s arms snaked around your waist, sharpened nails leaving indents in your hips.

He nosed at your neck, leaving a few love bites in his wake.“‘N-no’, what?” 

“I don’t know,” You leaned back into Keigo’s chest, rubbing your thighs around his cock. 

 “Oh, songbird, you sweet thing,” He chuckled, all teasing and self-indulgent. “I’m the one who makes you feel good.” 

He was so right, wasn’t he?

With the way he’d learned your body over the last few months, he’d had some undeniable pursuit to make you feel the best. 

Keigo was inquisitive by nature. He had kept you on your back for hours while he finger-fucked you, watching every twitch and roll of your hips to figure out just the right ways to break you. He’d kissed and sucked and slapped every inch of you, sussing out the perfect ways to make you writhe and cry for him. 

Sure, you were an absolute terror to him sometimes. Not to mention that Keigo jumping you covered in the blood of that day's targets was as macabre and horrifying as it sounded. 

But, fuck, if he didn’t know how to bring you to ecstasy that fucking ruined you in the best way. 

Keigo got off on watching you shatter for him. It was the reason he’d torn you from that cheap, bloodied apartment in the first place. A kind, naive little morsel that he could play with as he wanted. You didn’t complain. Fuck, you reveled in his attention. You gave it back to him, like the fucked up, semi-divine being could be any more debauched than he already was.

Corruption spreads, but you’d never complain. If being plucked from struggling for pennies to being fucked stupid by a man who could kill you at a moments notice, a man who would kill for you, somehow poisoned you?

You’d die with a bitter taste on your tongue and a smile on your face.

 Keigo rubbed at your clit, nipping at your neck, and rolled his hips greedily. His cock was covered in a mix of your slick and his own preek, easily sliding between plushness of your thighs.

“You love pushing me, acting all tough,” Keigo chastised, clicking his tongue. “I mean it when I say it's cute.”

You don’t have any more quick retorts in you, not when his fingers are down your throat, gagging you as spittle dribbles down your chin onto the leather below. It was sure to leave a mark.

“Behind all that bark and snark, you’re just a good girl, aren’t you?” Keigo punctuated his words with a bite and nip to your neck. “Just needed a reminder, right, dove?”

You whimpered against his fingers at the praise, grinding against Keigo’s touch needily. 

His fingers pushed pinched your tongue, breath curling over the shell of your ear, “What are you?”

You mumbled against his fingers, “A g-good g-girl.”

It was humiliating in the best way. Keigo’s light laugh at your attempt. The way he nuzzled his nose into the sweat at the crook of your shoulder was just aloe on the burn.

“I misspoke, if you can believe that,” Keigo’s cock pulled out from your thighs. “Songbird, you know what I meant to call you?”

You squirmed at the loss, but he was quick to hush you. His fingers left your mouth with a thick trail of spit. 

“You’re my good girl.” 

You melted in his arms.

Falling back against Keigo’s chest, you craned your neck to lock your lips to his. 

Maybe that was it, why all the filth didn’t bother you. Because you had worth. Maybe it was insecurity, or maybe it was self-aware in the face of your lived experience. Before being taken, the life you’d lived made you just a rusty cog in a dying machine. You wouldn’t have amounted to anything, probably. 

But with the League?

You were the prized, beloved consort of an angry god. 

Keigo owned you, body, mind and soul, and you let him. That’s not even to mention how you had him wrapped around your finger. He adored you, under all of it.

Fighting with him was for sport, not blood.

Keigo licked past your lips, pressing his cock to your cunt teasingly. You whined against him, wriggling in his arms.

“What does my good girl want?” Keigo loved making you beg for him, claw for any bit of stimulation. He liked it even better when you were already soft for him.

Stray tears pricked at your eyes, “Y-your cock.”

He pinched the meat of your thigh, shaking his head, “Not good enough. Speak properly, dove. Clear and correctly.”

You swallowed, searching for the words in your own haze.

Your words were willed to be solid.

“I want your cock, daddy.” 

It was just enough.

Keigo pushed forward, the head of his cock already stretching your cunt. Consider the girth of it, the lack of preparation stung and burned more than you would’ve liked, as good as it felt to finally be filled.

Keigo cooed at your soft tears, keeping your face to his with a firm hand on your jaw. He shushed you, far too sweetly while licking the salt from your cheeks, “Relax, angel. Big breaths.”

You nodded, sputtering as he speared into you. Keigo’s free hand went back to toying with your clit, encouraging the tension to drain from your body.

As he bottomed out, you shuddered, falling back into his chest. Keigo’s wings fluttered, twitching in wait. Hot breath fanned over your face, Keigo groaning and locking his jaw. 

The stimulation was overwhelming. You had expected Keigo to be meaner, considering how mouthy you’d been. 

Yet, it made sense. Keigo had figured out one of the better ways to make you break was softness. 

(Truthfully, it made him crack in the same way, but he’d never tell.)

“Feel that?” He asked, just barely rolling his hips. 

Keigo released your jaw in favor of wrapping a hand around the front of your throat, tugging you as close he could manage.

“Uh-huh,” You panted. 

You could, the kiss of his cock head against your cervix was almost uncomfortable. The delicious pressure and sensitivity already had you reeling in his arms, unsteady and wanting.

“I fill you up so good, don’t I?” Keigo praised his own ego, his cock, but he wasn’t wrong. The curve of his cock rubbed against all the right spots. He stretched you just right, the burn ebbing away into a need for more, more—

“Please, Keigo—” You gasped. Your legs shook as Keigo slammed into you, shoving you forward and into the wall.

His pace was brutal. Hands and feathers kept your back in a harsh arch as he rearranged your insides to his liking. He was kind enough to keep stroking at your clit, bruising your hips and babbling filthy nothings. 

“I’m the one who makes you feel this good, only me, right, dove?” Keigo growled into your ear with a particularly hard thrust.

You nodded against the wall, aware of the drool slipping down your chin as your mouth lolled open. Your insides were hot like white flames, searing any ability to use coherent speech. 

Keigo snickered at your state. Slowing, he gripped your ass cheeks. You yelped, inside jumping as he pried them apart. You flinched, hole twitching as he spat down, the liquid cool against the flushed skin.

It was little moves like that, Keigo just subtly making your shudder and feel dirty that got you the most fucked up and fucked out.

You pressed back on his cock, panting against the wall and keening. You would’ve spoke, if you could, but anything that you had the ability to say would’ve been torn apart by Keigo’s sharpened, silver tongue. 

“My filthy little dove, huh?” Keigo sneered, watching you try to bounce on his cock the best you could. “Such a glutton when you get broken down like this, needy whore.”

The pleasure of Keigo’s cock tearing up your insides was all you could focus on through the fog of your mind, desperate and wanting and greedy.

“Y-your,” You corrected, the words bubbling from your lips, disjointed and messy. “Yours.”

Keigo may have been avian, but he purred like a damn cat at your admission. He held you like a possession, cock throbbing as he fucked you just right. 

“God, you’re sweet, angel,” He nipped at your jaw before wrapping his hand around your throat. “Even all fucked up, you know who you belong to so well, don’t you?”

You nodded, rolling your hips back. 

Keigo must’ve taken pity on you, squeezing at the sides of your neck. Cruel as he could be, he must’ve noticed the way your thighs and knees trembled against the leather. Keigo knew the cloud in your eyes well— how to get you hazy and how to fuck you perfectly through the fog.

He fucked back into your dripping cunt, pace harder and faster than before. You were helpless to do anything other than fall forward into the wall, cheek squished against the scarlet. 

“Who’s brat are you?” Keigo squeezed a bit harder at your neck as you swallowed against his palm.

“Y-yours—!” You squeaked out, mind going numb from the stimulation and pressure.

A wicked sneer curled against your ear as Keigo’s movements grew sloppier. His tongue lolled over your shoulder, messy kisses and slobbery bites and marks left in his wake. He was close, but you weren’t far off easier.

“Little bird,” It was sweeter, closer and hotter. “Can you come for me? Come all over my cock?”

You nodded.

“Not good enough.” Keigo bit down, nearly breaking the fragile skin of your neck. “You know I like words, angel.”

You gave him words, plenty of them. 

Nearly incoherent pleads and cries poured from your bruised lips as Keigo pounded into you. Each blabbering wail was met with Keigo groans and grunts, condescending little phrases spitting over you without release.

Your lack of leverage and use of your arms made you thumping against the couch and wall, vision darkening on the edges as the pressure in your gut and the hold on your throat remained. 

You were breaking in his arms, tears rolling down your cheeks as you held yourself from cresting. The exertion of it all was taking its toll, legs jellied and chest beading with sweat. 

Keigo sensed it, shifting his hips to hit the spongy spot in your cunt, “Come, dove.”

You let go.

A sob shattered in your throat as your climax crashed through you. Keigo released your throat, holding you by your bound arms as he bottomed out. His own harsh cry panged against yours as he stuffed you full. 

Surprisingly gently, he rocked his hips against your own, letting the ambient throb of your cunt milk him dry.

You came down, rolling and spinning as you sucked down air a bit too fast. Keigo panted behind you, though the sound seemed dull.

The pressure from your wrists released, soft thumbs rubbing at where the fabric had bitten into your forearms, “Hey, angel, you with me?”

You could only nod weakly, exhaustion and aches creeping in. 

Keigo repositioned the two of you, setting himself against the arm of the couch, wings up free to drape and splay over the floor. He dragged you with him, pulling you to lay on his chest. The stickiness of his spunk, your slick, and general sweatiness might’ve been uncomfortable, but you weren’t quite lucid enough to care.

“How are you feeling? Still feeling a little mouthy?” Keigo teased, already knowing your answer. 

You muffled a groan against his chest, shaking your head against the sweat of his chest. 

“Awww,” Keigo chuckled, fingers brushing over your cheeks, “Is my dove a little fucked out?”

“Keeeigo, b-be nice.”

Your voice broke, parched.

Keigo snorted, pressing a kiss to the side of your forehead, “I guess I can manage that. Just for you, though. Can’t let the others see me get all soft.”

You wouldn’t; seeing Keigo warm and gooey, both of you mutually fucked-out, was a pleasure only you got to indulge in. And you loved every moment of it. 

++++++++++++

taglist: @sinclairsamess (msg me if you’d like to be on it!)

ko-fi

[theodorecanaryhood]

Rough night

I am currently writing this at 2.30 am, London time, due to loud, selfish neighbours playing loud music.

Jason Todd x female reader

WARNING: swearing

The night breeze hit your arms with a gentle kiss as Jason wrapped his arms around you lovingly.

It started with an argument from next door, thumps, bangs, shouting. Then the drunken slurs came out.

You sighed and rolled over onto your other side to face Jason, closing your eyes again trying to block the noise and fall asleep.

The gentle kiss from Jason as he stirred slightly, he rasped and groaned as he woke up hearing a loud thunk. Jason just pulled you closer, hoping his body would block the noise out for you.

That’s when the music began, it was loud and almost vibrating. You could almost hear the ornaments on your bookshelf rattle from the vibration. Jason got up out of bed, sighing and swinging the bedroom door open.

You lay there listening to the music blasting from next door. Rolling your eyes and sitting up, making your way into your kitchen, you started the kettle and made yourself a cup of tea to calm you. Jason was pacing in the hallway. He then decided to go into the shower.

You had a few run ins with the neighbours next door, they weren’t ice when they had been drinking. Which seemed to be all the time lately, you told Jason to avoid them and not give them a reason to start anything with the two of you. Jason hated feeling vulnerable and weak, but he knew it made you feel safe.

The music seemed to calm down after an hour or so, the arguing had stopped. You washed out your mug and went back to bed, Jason following suit.

‘Shall we try again?’ You asked him calmly, Jason smiled and got back into bed with you.

As you both began to sink into the bed and feel sleepy again, the music started back up again. This time louder. Jason rolled into his back and ran his hand through his hair.

‘Are you fucking kidding?’ He shouted, you sat up and went to the window, ‘Assholes, shut up’ Jason shouted again.

You went back to the kitchen, seemed like every room you went to the music was the same volume, the arguing was the same volume.

‘Must be a big fight tonight’ you called out to Jason. He just rolled onto his side.

As the music they were playing seemed to quiet down the second time, you both got into bed and tried once again, to go to sleep.

The final straw was pulled as the music came back on, you could hear the anger in Jason’s breathing. He was getting really wound up.

‘Stay here’ Jason said as he rolled out of bed again, you checked the time in your phone to see it was 3.45am…you had to be up for work in 3 hours.

‘Jason? Jason? Don’t go over there, not worth it. Jason?’ You called after Jason as he walked out the apartment door.

Jason stormed over to the next door neighbours front door and began to pound on it, you swore if he pounded any harder his fist would go through the wooden door.

‘What?’ You neighbour said as he swung the door open aggressively. He was a big guy, but Jason had muscle in him to take him out if he needed.

‘Turn it off, or I break the God damn stereo. It is almost 4 in the fucking morning, you have neighbours’ Jason said surprisingly calm, ‘get some respect’ Jason finished.

Your neighbour looked Jason up and down, chuckling. Then he looked over at you, smiling.

‘He always this much of a pussy?’ He asked, Jason clenched his fist tight. ‘What’s a pretty lady like you doing with a sack of shit like this?’ Your neighbour asked you laughing as he pointed at Jason. Jason grabbed your neighbours wrist and twisted his arm behind his back.

‘I don’t hit my girl, I don’t talk to women like shit. And I sure as hell have respect for my neighbours. Also, the pretty lady over there, screams my name all night every night, while you’re being a dick and playing shitty music in your even shittier apartment’ Jason growled in the mans ear, ‘talk to my girl like that again, hit your girl or play loud music again and I will personally make your life hell. Got it?’ Jason growled again.

‘Yes’ the man replied huffing in pain, Jason let him go and the man rushed back into his apartment.

You smiled at Jason as you heard the music shut off. For good this time.

‘Come on y/n’ Jason smiled as he kissed you

Both of you getting back into bed and going to sleep that was well deserved.

[basiccortez]

Hi! If your requests are open could you do a coco x reader where he tells you he loves you for the first time xx

A/N: I am super sorry this is so late!!! I honestly have no reason why this took so long to get around to. But I am so sorry. I have actually been looking into writing to a bigger crowd, i.e. being a gender neutral author. This is my first time writing with a gender neutral character, so please please please, give me feedback on it and ways that I can make my writing better and more inviting to all readers!!

pairing: Coco x Gender!Neutral reader.

warnings: fluffy shit

He wasn't sure when it first hit him. Was it when you didn't put up with his mother's shit? When you held him after he killed his mother? The fact that you didn't run when seeing what he could do. Or was it when you took in Leti as your own? Doing whatever was possible to make her feel welcome in your home, helping her with school, and even putting forth enough money to help her buy her own car. Or was it when he was hit with a Molotov cocktail and was blinded in one eye? Spending the night by his bed, holding his hand and praying to whatever God was out there that he was going to be okay. Or was it when he was on his last life, and no one, not even the club wanted to deal with him? When he had disappeared for a month and not even his daughter knew where he was. He had shown back up on your doorstep, looking worse for ware, and listened to you as you went in on him about the drugs, running away from the club and getting help, and stealing Leti's iPad, car and college money.

Coco was surprised when you walked into the guest bedroom the next morning after he came stumbling to your door. You looked as beautiful as ever, but also mad as hell.

"I'm sorry-"

"Shut the fuck up." You responded.

"Babe-"

"No, Johnny. Where the hell have you been? Do you know how worried we have been? Me, Leti, even fucking Gilly. Your daughter thought you died. And I actually believed it!" You yelled at him. Coco winced at the sound of your voice.

"I'm sorry. I thought, I thought I could keep things away. The demons and everything. It started with the oxy they gave me after surgery, and just went from there. I'm sorry, I never meant for it to get this bad. I broke the promise."

You looked at the ground and then back up at your boyfriend, "You need to get clean. If I have to take up extra shifts and the hospital I will. Coco, I will spend every cent to make sure you get yourself back together. You get clean here, or I ship your ass of one of those celebrity rehab centers Doctor Drew works at." You said and Coco nodded, "You not only let me down Coco, but you let your daughter down too. You're gonna have to work hard to win that trust back."

Coco took your words to heart, and he did start working hard. And like promised, you never left him alone. You were by his side at 2 AM when he thought bugs were crawling all over his skin. Or in the heat of the day, when he wanted to go for a walk and ended up vomiting in your rose bush. You never left his side. Coco could see past your tough exterior, and saw that your heart was breaking watching the person you care for tear his body apart.

By the third month, Coco finally felt normal. He had replaced his heroine habit for tending to succulents. You and Leti had grown annoyed that your guest room was filled with small green plants, but both agreed it was better than crack. Coco had apologized to his daughter, and agreed to get a job to help her pay for school. He had also reached out to the club, explaining to Bishop what had happened. He knew what could happen, intravenous drug use was against the rules. But Bishop, desperate to fill his table after Steve and Taza, let it go, but still made sure that he was clean.

The last thing he had to do was apologize to you. It wasn't that he hadn't told you he was sorry or how grateful he was, but he knew you deserved more. He wanted to give you more and he was going to do that. He had cleaned the house, done laundry and even decided to get a haircut, knowing how much you loved when his hair was shorter. Coco had gotten Leti to keep you busy, and take you out to for a 'treat yourself' day.

"Thank you, Leti." You said as you dropped Leti off at her friends house, "I can't remember the last time I had a day to myself. I was really needing that back massage."

"I should be thanking you, and everything you did for my dad. I haven't seen him that happy or healthy in months. You really did work your magic."

You smiled to yourself and nodded, "Im just happy you got your dad back."

"I am too. I'll see you later." Leti said and kissed your cheek before heading into her friends house.

You sighed as you sat in front of your house, never knowing what you're about to walk into. You trusted Coco, and trusted that he was staying clean, but you never know. You said a silent prayer, and got out of the car to go inside.

Your breath caught in your throat as you opened the door to bushels of white roses and candles surrounded the living room. The house looked spotless and the vomit stain in the couch had been cleaned.

"What did you do?" You asked your boyfriend.

"I uh. . . I cleaned, and Gaby helped me. I wanted to apologize. For everything. I've been a shit father and an even shittier boyfriend to you. I didn't realize how fucked up I had gotten. I promised you that I wouldn't be like my mother, and I did exactly that. Baby, I never want to be that man again, I love you."

"You love me?" You asked, tears in your eyes, "Johnny, you've never said that."

"I was waiting for the right time. I love you, mi alma." Coco said, grabbing your waist and wiping away fallen tears. He caressed your cheek softly before placing a soft kiss on your lips, the first time he's kissed you in months.

"I love you too, Coco."

[pomegranates-and-blood]

Not You (500 Celebration)

500 Celebration Masterlist

Pairing: Ivar/Reader

Prompt: From the Quotes category: “You are shaking fists and trembling teeth. I know: you did not mean to be cruel. That does not mean you were kind.”  

Word Count: 2.3k

Warnings: Ivar (he is a warning, idk what to tell u). Angst. Graphic descriptions of violence. Blood. Death. My shitty writing.

A/N: I’m slowly getting back to writing, I’ll try to get to the requests and challenge entries soon. I am so so sorry for being so slow lately. Thank you for being patient, and for your support!

Also, this isn’t very good (I was in between two paths to take with this, and fitting the quote into it was tricky lol) so I apologize in advance, I just really need to push forward w/writing, so you’ll have to bear with me with some shittier than usual stuff for a while lol. Love ya!

There’s something you have learned a while ago, long ago enough that you cannot recall when it was that the realization dawned on you.

You’ve learned there are countless different ways Ivar tells you he loves you.

He tells you quietly, a whisper against your lips, as he prepares to leave for the spring, as he leaves behind your home to lands unexplored, as he leaves your embraces for battles to fight. You savor those times with the bittersweetness of goodbye, with the promise of yet another reunion; and each time he promises one last I love you, barely audible over the winds of the coast, you taste the salt of the sea on your lips and save your words, the silent order to return to you if he wishes to hear it back. He always does.

He tells you fervently, words stumbling over one another, as you make each promise he asks of you, as you promise to be by his side for as long as the Gods let you, as you promise to become his wife before the Gods and any who may be present. You can almost hear the same promise of his own being made as he repeats those three words; and each time he vows his love in between starved and frantic kisses broken by words and too-wide smiles, you still the fervor with but a touch as you always did, promising the same love with the lowest of voices, hoping he can hear. He always does.

He tells you hoarsely, a litany accompanied by your name as his voice gives out, as your hands and lips trace over every inch you wish to and remind him of what hunger feels like, as you put him at your mercy and remind him of what being yours feels like. You feel power running through your veins like lightning with each of those prayers in the shape of your name, in the cadence of an I love you; and with each breathed truth and each jagged moan that speaks without words what you already know, you press yourself as close as you can to him, and promise the same with reverent kisses over fever-warm skin, with sighs of his name, with the certainty he can understand, can see it in your eyes, how much you love him. He always does.

He tells you hesitantly, with the sudden fear of who jumps not really certain there will be a safe spot to land on, as a years-old certainty is dragged to the front of his mind and happiness is nothing is a truth more than your love for him could ever be, as the self-loathing that still surprises and catches you off guard makes itself known in his voice and in the blue of his eyes. You always feel your heart break a bit more at each of those times, at each admission that love like this after a lifetime of pain can only mean that it will leave -and you hear the words he doesn’t say, you will leave- and bring forth agony when it does; yet you still promise your love and pray he believes you. He always does.

There are countless different ways he tells you he loves you.

The door to your rooms opens, and your hands clench into fists in the rose-colored water you were washing them on. You don’t turn around, but the familiar sound of Ivar’s steps stopping a fair distance away from you tells you that he knows you are aware of his presence.

You refuse to look at him until you can get the blood of your hands, though. For a moment you are afraid you never will be able to wash off the stain.

Emir’s words, accusing, biting, true, “You look at a monster like him and you choose to love him, at all the monstrous things he does and you choose to love him despite them. You are worse than he is.”

With the dark eyes of the man you were once married to set on you, you didn’t feel anything other than anger, than the familiar ire and drive to defend the man you love. And even now, with the evidence of the monstrous things the man you love does still staining your hands, you don’t feel any regret, any shame.

You shake the water off your hands, and the instinctual movement to dry them haphazardly on the front of your dress is jarringly stopped when you notice the blood still staining the sleeves of it. You grab a linen instead, and count your breaths before you turn around.

Ivar is sitting near the door, head turned to the side as he watches his thumb run over and over, almost compulsively, over a ridge on the top of his crutch. You linger for a few breaths watching him, the uncharacteristic nervousness of the man that killed without second thought and would again, the jarring humanity of someone capable of such cruel things, and the truth behind Emir’s words doesn’t bother you at all.

Ivar takes a breath, but doesn’t look at you, still following with his eyes the repetitive movement of his hand, when he says, “I love you.”

There are countless different ways he tells you he loves you, and now, now it sounds like an apology, like an apology and something else, something more fragile. Like a request, like a plea, but you don’t know what for.

Taking a deep breath, you step forward.

Big eyes look up at you as you approach, but he doesn’t move, he doesn’t say anything else. Heart heavy, you have to curl your hand into a fist to keep traitorous fingers from falling into the temptation of tracing the slight furrow of his brow, of soothing the lines of worry you see etched in the angles of his face, to follow the line of his jaw and remind him not to grit his teeth like that.

“I know you do,” You whisper quietly, and it isn’t the answer you usually give. Past the flare of anger in his eyes, you see something else, something that looks like fear and makes acid churn at your stomach. You swallow thickly, “Ivar, I-…”

“No, no, just…just-…you know I wasn’t thinking,” He interrupts, and though there’s a frantic edge to his words, it is quickly overshadowed by that anger particular to him, that anger at feeling unmoored, that resentment at being vulnerable. “Anger overcame me, it wasn’t-…what would you have done, hm?”

“What?”

“He was trying to take you away from me, he was trying to convince you to leave me. I know that.”

He doesn’t mind the look you give him, pushing forward, “When we were children you would risk punishment by stealing to feed the hunting dogs, remember? Now you help Ivar the Boneless raid our land, overthrow our King, your brother? You’d burn the world for a man like him?”

Your eyes fall closed, and all you can offer is a sigh that gets halfway stuck in your throat.

Ivar stays silent, mercifully. Or cruelly, maybe. You aren’t sure you know the difference anymore. You aren’t sure you care.

Emir and you parted ways a long time ago, a marriage of convenience that blossomed into friendship, but that once your parents and his guardian were dead had no reason to continue to be so. Seeing him earlier tonight on the feast was not something you were expecting, and not something you thought would end the way it did. And his presence, his absence, beg the question he asked last and you are afraid to answer, what would you be willing to do for him? What would you forgive, what would you condemn?

His hands settle on the sides of your hips, a grounding touch, you aren’t sure if for your benefit or his own. Ivar pushes on when you remain silent for maybe too long.

“I need to know you can forgive me. I can make it better, I can…I can do that,” You don’t know if he is reassuring you or himself, and at your silence Ivar lifts big eyes to you again. There’s no hiding the fear now. “I l-love you.”

The scream is caught on your throat as Emir drops to the ground, the axe grotesquely stuck on the base of his neck. Your hands tremble, your whole body does, as you try helplessly to stop the bleeding as he gasps and chokes on his own blood.

A few involuntary jerks of his body as death grips him, and you lift your eyes and find Ivar’s unwavering gaze. He doesn’t give away anything other than cold fury, just the ruthless glare of the man Emir saw and was killed for speaking against.

You squeeze your eyes shut, “Stop saying it.”

“It is true, you know that,” He says, swallowing once before attempting, “And you love me.”

“You killed him, Ivar.”

“I had to.” He insists, searching your gaze as he uses his hands on your hips to tentatively bring you closer.

“You didn’t have to, you chose to.”

He grits his teeth, and there’s the clear tell of anger, of stubborn affront; but he doesn’t argue. Instead, searching your gaze for a few breaths, he asks,

“Can you forgive me?”

And it is at his words, at the answer that you can so easily give, that a pit grows in your stomach and ice runs through your veins. You can. You have already.

By all the Gods, if Emir is right and Ivar is a monster…what does loving him make out of you? What does forgiving the horrible things he does make out of the girl that would steal to feed hungry dogs?

Maybe the answer is in all the ways he tells you he loves you, in all the ways he promises devotion and protection and love. Maybe the answer is in how it has only felt real, it has only felt true, when it is Ivar the one telling you he loves you.

Maybe because you are not something other than that girl by loving him, but just by who you are, by growing past the desire to keep the world and learning to choose to let it burn for the sake of those you love. Maybe because you love him because of who you made out of yourself, not the other way around.

The ghost Emir’s voice becomes one with your brother’s, who still lives but not for long -not when his head holds a crown you are interested in and the man you love is willing to grant you-, and at what you made out of yourself they ask if you are content with your decision.

Searching his gaze, you mutely nod your head, both to his question and the one your ghosts ask.

“I can’t lose you,” Ivar admits past the clear tell of gritted teeth. He shakes his head, almost imperceptibly. “Not you.”

Torturously slow, the tips of your fingers dance over the side of his face, tracing the scar on his cheekbone

“You won’t.”

At your promise Ivar sighs, the first deep breath you have heard from him in a while, as if he were holding his breath; and leans forward, burying his face against your stomach and holding you even closer.

“Tell me you love me.” He beseechs, no longer attempting to hide the need to hear you say it.

You are sure there are countless ways you tell him you love him too, you are sure in times like these you tell him you love him like a promise to never leave him, like the assurance that he won’t ever lose you; and he needs to hear you say it.

“I love you,” You promise him, your arms around his shoulders as best as you can. Your eyes fall closed and you wonder if the words should taste like shame when you offer yet another truth, “Nothing could change that.”

Quietly, so quietly you are half-convinced it is imagined, he whispers, “I’m sorry.”

“He was our enemy, he would have died in battle anyways.” You tell him, and it is true, and maybe worse. Emir would have died fighting against an invasion you are part of the reason for, he would have died defending a kingdom Ivar will claim because it was once your home, he would have died alongside an army whose weaknesses you whispered in Ivar’s ear a long time ago.

He would have died, and you would have been the reason why. And it would have mattered to you as much as it does now.

But Ivar shakes his head, “I’m sorry, for…for all that I do.”

You wonder absently if he apologizes now not for Emir’s murder but for something else, something more human. You wonder if he apologizes for craving your gentleness, for needing your reassurance, for asking for your love. You wouldn’t put it past those worst thoughts he has about himself to make him believe he ought to seek repentance for something as simple as humanity.

Your fingers tracing absently over the short hair at the nape of his neck, you take a deep breath, but say nothing, certain it isn’t words what he needs from you now.

After an eternity, or maybe a moment, Ivar speaks again.

Solemn, he promises, “I love you.”

There are countless different ways he tells you he loves you. Sometimes, sometimes an I love you is just that, an admission, a declaration. A truth.

Thank you for reading!

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